Adeptio

This will conclude my treatment of Jean-Baptiste Brenet’s account of the unexpected thought of the 14th-century “Averroist” John of Jandun, which confounds and unsettles quite a number of stereotypes. One of the surprises is that this seemingly obscure chapter in the history of medieval philosophy turns out to be a significant episode in the formation of what in recent times have been regarded as modern concerns pertaining to the so-called Subject.

(Let me just briefly suggest that to be humane — to seriously care about people — and to develop concrete accounts of human subjectivity need not be tied to the frequent modern assumption that whatever is ethically important about human beings must be expressed in terms an account of the human as Subject.)

Here it is a matter of what in the Aristotelian commentary tradition came to be called “acquired” intellect (adeptio for the Latins). The point is that what is called intellect in the Aristotelian sense is not reducible to something we are born with. What we have from nature and for the most part live by is a kind of imagination. Within John of Jandun’s elaborate account of the nature and progress of so-called acquired intellect, we encounter both a “metaphysical” or “cosmic” dimension and an elevated concern with the status of human individuals.

Brenet writes, “What the ‘state of acquisition’ signifies [for John] is only a momentary union, a transitory contact and not a stable terminal state. The human sleeps, drinks, and eats, and is not a philosopher when she does so” (Transferts du sujet, p. 379, my translation throughout).

“The image not being an obstacle, it is a matter of seeing what happens with adeptio” (p. 380). “It is important not to confound the order of being and the order of knowledge. The agent intellect is in effect an invariable forma informans [informing form] of the possible intellect. That is to say that in its substance, it is always united to it in the same manner. The only relation between the two that can be modified is that of knowledge: it falls to the possible intellect to know the agent intellect better and better. What is adeptio, as a result? Not only the formal conjunction of the agent intellect with the possible intellect, but the perfect knowledge of one by the other. The agent intellect is acquired when the intellect in potentiality comes to think substance: it knows it in what it is, and not only in the punctual acts that it causes. In short, adeptio is produced when the human intellect knows itself” (p. 381).

Brenet points out that John’s distinction between substance and knowledge in this context is not to be found in Averroes. It seems to me also that this identifies knowledge of substance with a very immodest claim of immediately reflexive human self-knowledge that has no place in Aristotle.

We note that at the end of the above he says “the human intellect”. Up to that point, we might have been reading an account of al-Farabi, who substantially elaborated the elaboration of Aristotle on this point by Alexander of Aphrodisias. The way John and other medieval writers speak about intellects can sound rather “metaphysical”. But after the initial controversies over the translations of Averroes, it became obligatory among the Latins to stress the human element.

John of Jandun in his day was famous and notorious for his defense of Averroes against theological objections. But Brenet documents how deeply John is affected by what might be called the theologically motivated “humanism” of the Latins, summarized in the slogan “this human thinks”. This does not eclipse the “metaphysical” dimension of the discourse about intellect, but rather is layered on top of it.

For John, “This knowledge of self on the part of the intellect, independent of phantasms, subtracted from all intermittences of cogitation, is always there, since always, in the same manner. It is radically different from that which can fall to this or that human, even if in a sense it serves as a model of cosmic success toward which tend those who work to actualize philosophy” (p. 383).

Brenet observes that “this idea is faulty from the start, since for the Cordovan [Averroes] there is no sense in conceiving a cosmic bond between the two [intellects] that operates without the intermediary of individuals and their images” (p. 385). Averroes stands out among the medievals for his rejection of neoplatonic emanationism. John back-pedals on this.

“Each time an abstraction is produced, as a consequence, the possible intellect thinks itself, and thinks the agent of that abstraction. It knows itself as that which informs the intellectual act, then it knows the operator of that act. It knows the subject of thought, it knows the (efficient) cause of it. As imperfect grasp of its substance, the intelligere seipsum [self-understanding] of the intellect accompanies the thought of the world; as achieved thought of itself, it conditions the contemplation of God. In sum, the knowledge of self intervenes at two points in the process that leads to happiness” (p. 391).

Here we have self-knowledge of intellect identified with an imperfect knowledge of substance that seems more achievable. But he speaks of an efficient cause of the intellectual act, which is again problematic.

“The insertion of the problem of knowledge of self into a theory of intellect was inevitable for John of Jandun. It suffices to cross the Nicomachean Ethics and the Metaphysics: from the first, he takes it that happiness resides in contemplation, that God is nothing but this contemplation, and that the human, to be happy, should strive to do like God, in contemplating the divine realities; from the second, he takes it that for God, contemplation comes down to thinking oneself. The First principle subsists as Thought that thinks itself, and the happy human comes to see with this self-knowledge” (p. 393).

Here we seem to be back on more or less Aristotelian ground again. At this point he is neither claiming super-powers for the human, nor reducing intellect to something explainable by efficient causes.

“[John] divides the knowledge of self in two: in imagining an eternal rapport of thought between the agent intellect and the possible intellect, outside of all relation with humans, he misunderstands the essence of intellectus, and loses what is really posed in the text of Averroes: the existence of the philosopher” (pp. 393-394).

“The acquired intellect [adeptio] is the intellect that thinks itself” (p. 394).

“John speaks for Averroes, but like Alfarabi…. In disputing on junction with the separate substances, John [recovers] the program of the Parisian scholastics of the 1240s, where it was a matter of completing Aristotle with the Book of Causes, Avicenna, and Alfarabi…. John holds that the acquisition of the agent intellect does not take place on the level of the intellection of the pure intelligible. For John that is only a stage that rehearses (and does not crown) an ascent to the supreme intelligible. As a consequence, what Averroes poses — i.e., that once joined to the agent intellect, which has become for us our form in act, we ‘effectuate by it the action that is proper to it’, John interprets according to a model that is not Averroes’ own, a cosmological and emanationist model of thought in which it is via the agent intelligence, the lowest of the separate Intelligences, that the human soul accedes to the superior forms and to God. Adeptio is the necessary condition of a re-ascent into being, which according to him is involved in the cosmic gradation of forms between the first Cause and the world of bodies. At the end of her first journey, that of theoretical apprenticeship that ends in the abstraction of the intelligible of the world, the human thinks the agent intellect, then the nearest immaterial substance of a superior degree, and so on. In this way, knowledges that mimic in their order the causal articulation of these substances that pilot the world are assembled in a chain. As a consequence, adeptio is not the last word of noetics. It inaugurates metaphysics, passing the preliminary that is abstractive knowledge. For John, the ‘acquired intellect’ represents a kind of extreme point of two worlds” (pp. 395-396, emphasis in original).

“Averroes nonetheless does not mean this. The formal junction with the agent intellect for him equates to an immediate and total access to the pure intelligible. Under these conditions, how are we to understand the fact that John insists on a progressive ascent, when the text he is reading seems to be satisfied with a direct union with the principle of thought. And what sense should we give to this difference?” (p. 396).

Here for once John’s view sounds more plausible than the one attributed to Averroes. Nothing in Aristotle is “immediate and total”. Plato too is more careful. Immediacy and totality are inventions of later monotheistic theology, belonging to the same order as miracles and omnipotence.

“The term ‘adeptio‘ (Arabic istifada…) is Farabian [from al-Farabi] in origin, and for the Second Master designates the state of ‘acquired’ intellect (‘adeptus‘ or ‘acquisitus‘ in other translations), that has arrived at the ultimate degree of its achievement, where the agent intellect becomes form for the intellect said to be in act, itself a form of the potential intellect. This ‘acquired’ intellect is at the same time identical to the agent intellect, and different from it in that it is the realization of it in the human. At the same time that it is the highest form of the human, it is also contiguous, in the emanationist hierarchy of beings, to the last in the order of separate forms, the agent intellect that is the tenth and last of the celestial Intelligences emanated from the One. This characteristic allowed thought that ascends to the intelligible not to have the stage of ‘acquisition’ as its ultimate term. Rather it was possible, using it as a springboard, to ascend beyond the most eminent of the forms related to matter, to ascend, stage by stage, the whole hierarchy of the separate Intelligences, even to the contemplation of the One, even if this idea is only suggested by Alfarabi, for reasons no doubt related to religious censure. On the other hand, for Averroes, who repudiated the emanationist system of the oriental philosophers, the notion of ‘acquired intellect’ could no longer have this significance. In fact the Cordovan sometimes uses the notion of adeptio for his own proper account, as a synonym pure and simple of the continuatio-copulatio [two key terms for the relation between intellect and the soul in the Latin translation of Averroes], and sometimes in a polemical context he refers to the Farabian sense of the term, in order to reject its pertinence and to deny that ‘acquisition’ is a stage of the actuality of intellect distinct from ‘junction with the agent intellect’, the ultimate end of human knowledge. But precisely, it seems that John of Jandun could not measure the consequences of Averroes’ break with the emanationist model of Farabian origin” (pp. 397-398).

”John’s misunderstanding is explained if we refer back to the idea of an intellect ‘coming from outside’ or ‘acquired from outside’, of which Aristotle speaks in [The Generation of Animals] II 3, as well as the Arabic tradition that was the outcome of the Greek reading posed by Alexander of Aphrodisias in his [On the Intellect]. For the latter, the extrinsic intellect is the agent intellect of Aristotle. Otherwise said, it is strictly the same intellect, but under another name. An error was introduced in the Arabic text of Alexander, which gives aql mustafad (literally ‘acquired intellect’) for nous o thurathen [intellect from outside]” (p. 398).

“Alfarabi gave this notion a sense that it did not have, that of the final perfection of the human, delivered by the agent intellect but distinct from it…. We progress from the acquired intellect to the agent intellect, from the agent intellect to the immediately superior celestial intelligence, etc., up to the First. But for Ibn Rushd [Averroes] it doesn’t go the same” (p. 399).

“For John of Jandun, the Rushdian theory of formal junction to the agent intellect is overcome by another doctrine, of Farabian inspiration, of the ascension of the ladder of the separate beings” (p. 400). “According to John of Jandun, Aristotle defines human happiness as an actus sapientiae, as the act of theoretical wisdom that consists in contemplating the divine realities, God and the separate beings” (p. 401).

“John deduces that Aristotle and Averroes do not strictly speak of the same thing, and proposes to articulate their two positions. He does this by distinguishing two modes of knowledge, two ways the human can have the knowledge of the supreme substance that is God. The first is an intuitive and simple knowledge of the divine quiddity. The second, more rich, more extended, is discursive…. Adeptio is an example of the first, and the actus sapientiae the second…. Relative to the other intuitive knowledges, it certainly constitutes the final degree, but it is only a preparatory stage for the ultimate knowledge that the metaphysician obtains when he demonstratively unfolds the folded ensemble of the essential characters of God” (p. 402).

It is noteworthy that John treats discursive knowledge as higher than intuitive knowledge. I hold this to be true for both Plato and Aristotle, as well as for Kant and Hegel.

“Each in their order, these two stages constitute maximal goods. But they remain ordered toward the accomplishment of a discursive knowledge of the divine essence, the only absolute felicity” (p. 404).

For John, “The achieved state is not the work of anyone in particular. The perfection of knowledge is not the lot benefiting an elite. It is not a privilege. It is not simply incarnated: the totality of philosophical knowledge only results from the integration of partial knowledges. One could thus compare knowledge to the silver in circulation on the earth: this silver is indeed a sum, a capital in which humanity partakes, but never the wealth of one alone. Indeed philosophy is not reserved for the fine flower of humanity, it is not this activity that divides the humans and separates their species in two (the brutes and the simple thinkers on one side, the philosophers on the other); on the contrary, it is the fruit that engenders the combination of their efforts” (p. 424, emphasis in original).

This anti-elitist conception is another aspect of John that I find admirable.

“Almost at the same time, this idea of a collective actualization of intellect is found in the Monarchia of Dante. The latter posed that there is an end common to every human society, the universal end of the human species to which God has destined it by nature. It is a matter of a ‘proper operation’, an operation, ‘which lends itself neither to the individual alone nor to the family alone, nor to the town, nor the city, nor the realm taken apart from others’. What is it? Constantly reducing to act all the power of the possible intellect. Knowledge by this intellect is in effect the specific activity of the human species: outside of the human there are only being, life, and sensation that serve minerals, plants, and animals just as well; and above them the intellectual nature of God and the separate substances has something particular so that it is never potential but always in act; there is only a self-knowledge that is never eclipsed. As a consequence, only the human is in potentiality to knowing; and only the ensemble of human beings accomplishes it” (p. 425).

“In reality two things are posed, and this is the central thesis of the Monarchia that profoundly distinguishes Dante from John of Jandun: the participation of all the humans is necessary to actualize the possible intellect’s power of thinking, and to allow humanity to attain its end; but this ‘multitude’ is only possible in ‘peace’. No peace, no universal human society; and only the ‘temporal monarchy’ is capable of eliminating wars. As R. Imbach notes, this means that the actualization of the possible intellect in Dante not only has a social dimension, it has a ‘political dimension’. It is by the just political organization of the world that the human comes to attain her proper end at every instant: the perfection of knowledge, because it is from the monarchy that humankind acquires the power to think in common” (pp. 425-426).

This political dimension was somewhat similarly developed by John’s friend Marsilius of Padua.

“Dante takes from Aristotle’s Politics how to conceive this last point, but it is to the Long Commentary of Averroes on the treatise On the Soul that he makes reference, when he maintains that the (possible) intellect cannot remain in potentiality…. The philosophy of Averroes in effect marks a rupture with the fundamentally neoplatonic attitude that sustained the conception of intellectual perfection among his Arabo-Moslem predecessors. For Averroes, the existence of the community is a necessary condition for the existence and maintenance of philosophy” (p. 426).

It is this dimension of Averroes that inspires Marsilius and Dante.

“What Averroes confronted was an Islamo-Andalusian tradition of praise of philosophical ‘solitude’, illustrated in his time by Avempace [Ibn Bajjah] (d. 1139), then in an undoubtedly more radical way by Averroes’ elder the doctor Ibn Tufayl, in the novel Hayy ibn Yaqzan…. It is with this conception, and those who maintain it, that Averroes resolutely breaks….The community participates in the achievement of philosophy” (p. 427-428).

This too I find quite admirable. It is not individual genius but dialogue and discourse that grounds philosophy.

“On the question of thought, [in John] the doctrine of Averroes certainly meets its demise almost in its totality. John retains almost nothing: neither his conception of the accomplishment of intelligere, nor that of its attribution, nor that of its final perfection. But two new ideas, at least, proceeded from this decomposition. The first is the more powerful, without doubt, and it determined John’s philosophical production: it is that of the individual who experiences herself as the author of a thought produced in herself. But second is beautiful, asssuredly, and it concludes this part: if it is no longer a question of the subordination of society to a group of people in whom total knowledge is incarnated, it is that of an immanence to the human species of its proper destiny” (p. 432).

“According to [John], subiectum in the case of the image does not mean ‘support’ for Averroes but ‘object’; the image is the mover of the species and not vice versa. He judges incomplete the first opinion: that the human individual does not think only because her image is the cause of thought, or of the intelligible species; but he rejects the other absolutely: the image is not the place of thought, one of its two places, and it is not such a localization that gives reason, according to the Commentator, either for individuation or for the attribution of intelligere. This second critique revolves around a fundamental passage of the Long Commentary. We have read it closely to bring out three things. First, there are reasons that justify the Rushdian formula of the duo subiecta [two subjects] of thought. Here we can see the lexical trace of a youthful theory, since the Cordovan took from Avempace the idea that images are spiritual forms serving as a substrate for the intelligibles in each individual. But we must recognize above all that the idea of the ‘two subjects’ or, more precisely, the designation of the image as subiectum, was grounded in the very letter of the De Anima of Aristotle. Certainly Averroes elaborates in his manner the Aristotelian analogy between intellection and sensation, combining in a single paragraph elements that the De Anima treats separately, but it remains that it is in the Stagirite that we find the term hupokeimenon used for the sensed ‘object’, and that he indeed would agree that the subiectum of the Long Commentary should not be weighed down with a local determination it absolutely does not have. If Averroes maintains that conceiving by the intellect is accomplished by the intermediary of the ‘two subjects’, it is above all because, like Aristotle, he compares the intellective process to sensation, and because he reads in the De Anima that the sensible is subiectum. The latter designates the object of sensation; in the same way that the image is the mover of thought, and not its receptor. Besides, in the Long Commentary, the rupture with Avempace is explicit: the image is the subject-mover of the universal in act, and only the material intellect receives it. It is absolutely not a question of a bilocation of the intelligible. If we speak of a substrate, the intentio intellecta has but one, the (material) intellect; and the fact that the intelligible is in potentiality in the image in the Long Commentary has nothing to do with the determination of that image as subiectum. Also, Averroes never claimed that the intelligible species was in the image, its subject of inherence, and that the human by this comes to thinking in person. In making the image one of the subjects of thought, he did not designate a sub-jection of the intelligible in it, any more than he intended to conceive of a transitive subjection of that intelligible in the human as support of images. The model of the duo subiecta has no worth from the Rushdian point of view if we do not systematically assimilate subject and substrate. His ‘theory’ of the two subjects is not a topic. His idea of individual intellection is not governed, on the basis of a conception of the image-substrate, by a theory of the human as hupokeimenon of thought.”

“As a result, it appeared clearly how the Latin misinterpretation by other important authors such as Herve de Nedellec and Durand de Saint-Pourcain was situated…. And paradoxically, the solution they opposed to the doctrine of Averroes appears intimately related to the principle their erroneous critique had extracted from him, that is, the idea that the human only thinks by being in a certain manner the subject of thought. This is the second thing we have raised. Where Averroes problematizes the question of the noetic subject of thoughts (the ‘problem of Theophrastus’, which bears on the being of the material intellect, related elsewhere to that of the intellective process within which the image-subject is the mover of the concept, his Latin critics believed they read a theory of the bilocation of the intelligible that made the human who imagines a second ‘substrate’ of thought, having from this position the possibility of thinking in her own right. In fact this was inexact, and in any case the Latins contested that that would be possible in the system of the Commentator; but the problem of the human subject of thought had emerged” (pp. 440-441, emphasis in original).

“This suspended the question of the attribution of intellection in favor of the human as substrate of that act: this the Latins will hold onto, in order to maintain that the human only thinks if she herself is the subject of thought, or if some part of her can be (which from their point of view implied that intellect could not be separate and unique, as in the Rushdian system). Thus authors like Herve or Durand denied that the system of Averroes could satisfy the principle of [what Heidegger callled] subjectity, insofar as intellect was cut off from the humans and the image could not serve as the place of the universal, but they were re-launching for themselves the principle that their misinterpretation had quite simply invented” (p. 441, emphasis in original).

“[John’s] displacement appeared remarkable to us: while he with good reason notes a misinterpretation of the word ‘subject’, applied to the image, he seems nonetheless to subscribe to their principle, produced in this faulty reading, requiring of the human that she be the subject of thought in order to think in her own right. And this is the sense of his inclusion of intellect in the thinking human, of his partition of the human being that repatriated the receptor of thoughts for each, insofar as she thinks. This ‘recentering’ as well is only the first face of a new idea cut in reality from two sides. Averroes’ theory of continuatio is in effect reinscribed in another disposition; it is rethought as a theory of productio. Averroes writes that the human thinks in the measure that she joins herself to the intelligible in act by her images (which constitute potentially the formal part), but John translates that the human thinks insofar as she produces the act of thinking, and that intellect is thus aggregated to her; she produces it in herself: my thought is through and through made in me” (pp. 442-443).

As I have noted before, this kind of creative misinterpretation anticipates (what I would call the error of) Descartes with his cogito.

“Although he aims to save the Long Commentary from the Latin attacks that castigate the inability of the Cordovan to rationally ground the psychological fact, the Parisian master, inheritor of the quarrel between Thomas Aquinas and Siger of Brabant, constituted a theory that finally differed in nearly all respects from that of Averroes, and which left behind the two ‘canonical’ models of ecstasy or of ‘prolongation’. It was a complex theory, as witnessed by his use of denomination (‘thinking’ denominates the individual at the same time as subject, by ‘her’ intellect, and as cause, by her image). It is also a theory that we willingly call Latin, where in the field of psychology there is imposed a certain articulation between ‘human’ and ‘subject’ that other thinkers (William of Auvergne, Peter Olivi) had already in their manner put in place. In defending the idea of the human aggregate, in integrating intellect into the human, in posing that the thinking human is active and that it is within herself that she produces her thought, John of Jandun, the prince of the Averroists, is effectively in solidarity with the sliding, on Latin ground, that transformed the question of the noetic subject of thought into that of its personal or human subject. How did ‘subject’ become so to speak the privilege, indeed exclusive, of the human? To this question that Heidegger posed, the study of the Averroist crisis from now on provides an entirely new response” (p. 443).

“Finally, after the study of the theory of intelligere and that of continuatio, we passed to the transfer affecting the theory of adeptio, the ultimate junction with the separate beings and with God. In John’s re-reading it is in the responses to a series of objections that the transformation it is subjected to becomes manifest. On four major points, the Rushdian doctrine of perfection is undone and re-done otherwise: the necessity of the image, once the stage of theoretical accomplishement has been attained; the rapport of the two intellects with one another, when one is acquired by the other; the after-junction, i.e. the passage of the intellect adeptus to the thought of the pure intelligibles; and finally, the harmony of the adeptio of Averroes with the actus sapientiae of Aristotle” (ibid).

“John is hesitant at first where it concerns knowing whether it is still necessary to imagine once we have come to think perfectly. He responds in the affirmative, no doubt because he does not conceive the ultimate junction as a stable state but as a transitory contact that it is necessary to regain each time. He makes a great effort to clearly conceptualize intellectual access to adeptio, and notably to reconcile the abstractive process expounded in the Long Commentary (which leads to perfect junction by abstraction from all the mundane intelligible) with that presented in the commentaries on the Physics, where we pass from caused movement to the moving intelligences, i.e. to the pure forms. On the question of the relation between the two intellects, agent and possible, he develops a theory of the self-knowledge of intellect: it is in the order of knowledge and not that of being that the information of one by the other progresses, such that there is ‘acquisition’ when the intellect knows itself perfectly” (p. 443-444).

“John is led in his exposition to alter the text of Averroes: on the one hand, and it is the effect of the disputes to which he was contemporary. He introduces distinctions that are not found there: the ontological and gnoseological relations between the two intellectus, the intellect taken insofar as it is separate and insofar as it is united to us, the different phases of auto-reflection (the reception of the species, then the consideration of the species, then that of its receptive power, then that of the substantial subject of that power, etc.); on the other hand there slips away from him in his interpretation of a capital text on the continuity of knowledge a fundament of the Rushdian noetics: the position of the existence of the philosopher. He thus develops a different theory of ‘acquisition’ from that of Averroes. Besides, the term adeptio was not completely suitable to the doctrine of the Commentator, and this lexical floating equates in reality to a sliding of the foundation. On the question of the after-junction, in fact John is more Farabian. He opts for an ascent of the ladder of separate beings, on the basis of the acquired intellect conceived as a springboard for ascending by stages up to God. Indeed he aggregates to the Rushdian model of theoretical accomplishment another model, in solidarity with an emanationist conception of the universe that relegates to second-class status the formal junction to the agent intellect, the latter perceived as nothing more than a means, a preparation for the enjoyment of a yet greater intellectual perfection. This evidently has effects on his conception of happiness: on its nature, its sharing, its possibility, as well as on the harmonization one could make of the Long Commentary of Averroes with the Nicomachean Ethics or the Metaphysics of Aristotle. John posits that adeptio is not the ultimate degree of beatitude, but solely that it conditions the discursive practice of metaphysics, which concerns the essential predicates of God. The completely happy human is the metaphysician of Aristotle, who must, in order to be such, have known the acquisition of which Averroes speaks. As a result, John develops a typology of happiness that distinguishres between the successes that the individual knows according to the stages of her ascent. In this process, the direct junction to the agent intellect and the fiducia philosphantium [philosophical faith] have only a relative value for the human” (p. 444).

“The end of the analysis again changes what is given. When John disputes on the sharing of ‘felicity’, he says it is difficult to earn, notably by reason of the moral exigence that places the intelligent life above the right life and its severe discipline; but it is nonetheless possible, and it is necessary to see what is proper to the philosopher, to whom falls the premier place among the humans of the city. Nonetheless, when John passes to the explication of a strong proposition of the Commentator, who maintains, he writes, that ‘philosophy is always perfect in the major part of its subject’, he concludes that the ‘subject’ of accomplished philosophy designates the humans, and that there is not — or so rarely that one returns like the mythical phoenix — an individually perfect philosopher. Only philosophy is complete at every moment, if we add together all the particular knowledges of individuals on the earth. Against the eventuality of personal successes, John indeed opts for the idea of an ahistorical totality, without progress, complete in permanence, which confers to science a conservative or patrimonial dimension: philosophy is actualized collectively, from all eternity, if we integrate the sum of partial knowledges. Whatever we may fear, the spirits never desert to the point that the number of brutes surpasses the number of thinkers. After having constructed a theory of individual intellection in solidarity with the Latin problematization of that intellect that makes the human the ‘subject’ of thought, and having at the same time completely decomposed the theory of the continuatio that Averroes develops, John makes humans the ‘subject’ of philosophy, and undermines one of the basic principles of [Averroes’] doctrine of the ultimate perfection: the necessary and permanent existence of the philosopher. Surrounded by professionals like himself, John of Jandun is probably beholden to the theoretical model of the universitas, and to the distinction dear to the artists [secular professors] of the end of the 13th century, between the unity of truth and the fragmentation of knowledges. No doubt he did not have the idea of a philosopher-king like Averroes with his imam-philosopher. If specialization is the grand word of the thought of the university (and there was no Almohad university), John finishes here with the thesis of the integration of partial knowledges, which acquires a striking anti-elitist bearing and excludes making the ‘artist’ the metonymy of the philosopher, on a ‘globalized’ vision of philosophical actualization, inspired not only by this or that scholastic debate but, more profoundly again, by the institutional framework that was his own” (pp. 444-445).

So he adds both an unfortunate conservative dimension and a laudable anti-elitism.

“In displacing the question of the noetic subject, to the point of losing it in that other problem of the intellect forma corporis [form of the body], in ruining, without having been able to demonstrate the intellectual illumination of the phantasm, that of his imaginary subject, and finally in articulating as he does ‘human’ and ‘subject’, sometimes for producing a theory of individual intellection that slides from the concept of junction to that of internal production, sometimes for saving the idea of a total accomplishment of knowledge that integrates the fragmentary participations of each, John of Jandun properly annihilated the Long Commentary of the Cordovan. The epigones, we know, are not always the most faithful to the masters they claim to serve. We have said also, from the beginning, that John is not Rushdian. But here the division is abyssal” (pp. 445-446).

“Contrary to what [the great 20th-century Thomist] Gilson could allow to be understood, the emancipation of philosophy in the 14th century is not entirely made in the form of a condemnation (or abandonment) of Aristotelianism. Gilson saw in the current incarnated by John of Jandun a frankly ‘conservative’ movement, or ‘an obstinate and limited Aristotelianism’. The description of the ‘transferences of the subject’ has seemed to show us the contrary” (p. 448).

Typical modernist historiography fails to recognize things like the existence of an “emancipation of philosophy in the 14th century”. On this point, I have to sympathize with the Thomists. However, Brenet also points out a notably anti-Aristotelian element in 20th-century neo-Thomist historiography that is in accordance with both traditional theological and modernist anti-Aristotelian prejudice. In the modern period, there has often been a sort of unprincipled bloc of theologians and modernists, who in this regard are united only by their quite differently motivated hostilities to Aristotle. Brenet finishes by remarking that his investigations have also shown “how philosophy continued to advance within Aristotelianism, and not (or not only) against it” (p. 449, emphasis in original).

The question of the subject does not exist, any more in the modern epoch than in this period of the Middle Age. We have been able to see, on the other hand, what problem of the subiectum applied to the human (what determination or assumption of the individual as subject) is posed in [John’s] rearticulation of the Rushdian noetic. A question of the human subject of thoughts arises, which requires that [what Heidegger called] subjectity place itself in the human (and for some, already, in ‘the’ me), if we want to accurately reflect intellectual personality” (p. 448, emphasis in original).

Turn to a Subject

This continues a reading of Jean-Baptiste Brenet’s Transferts du Sujet (2003). Up to now, broader themes related to the common modern assumption that there must be a univocal “Subject” behind all the varied appearances and experience of subjectivity have remained mostly in the background. Now they are beginning to move to center stage. How did we get to a point where it seems natural to attribute all our particular thoughts, feelings, and perceptions to a tight unity called “the Subject”?

Plato famously likens the soul’s unity to the rather loose one of a city. Meanwhile the Aristotelian word translated as “subject” (hupokeimenon) has no specifically psychological meaning. It is a much more general logical term that applies to anything that in a quasi-syntactic way “stands under” something else. Brenet uses the Heideggerian term “subjectity” to distinguish this older meaning.

Augustine insists on the active character of the soul, as an image of God and analogue of the Trinity. Contrary to Aristotle, he attributes an immediate reflexivity to the soul or mind. But he sharply rejects the idea that the soul or mind is a “subject” (subiectum). Augustine argues that this would make things like knowledge and love inhere in us as mere properties or predicates.

But in the 13th century, the Latin translation of Averroes’ Long Commentary on Aristotle on the soul raised the question what is the Aristotelian “subject” of thought? Augustine’s followers began to insist on exactly what Augustine rejected. This is the point at which the term “subject” acquired a psychological meaning. Brenet points out its adoption by the Augustinian William of Auvergne, whose work Brenet previously translated to French.

“[W]hen the reading of Averroes began, the notion of ‘subject’ was already on the scene. An exemplary witness is the work of William of Auvergne, bishop of Paris between 1228 and 1249. William asserts not only that the human soul is the ‘subject’ of thought, but that it knows itself reflexively as ‘subject’…. [I]t is the knowledge that it knows, and the knowledge that it knows as the subject of knowledge. This is not a deduction that from acts of knowledge oriented toward objects conjectures the existence of a power serving as their substrate, but indeed the knowledge of the self as that subject” (Brenet, Transferts du sujet, p. 333, emphasis added, my translation throughout).

According to Brenet, William takes up Avicenna’s metaphor of the flying man. “If since birth a man were suspended in the air, without use of any of the senses, he will nonetheless necessarily think, and think of himself as thinking, as a spiritual substance, as receptor and substrate of the intellectual forms. Besides the recurrence of the word subiectum, attributed to the soul in this spiritualist conception of the human, the great interest of William of Auvergne’s psychology lies in the combination he makes of this notion of ‘subject’ with the dynamic one of ‘agent principle’ (principium agens). The thinking soul in effect is not pure passivity…. It must be actrix and effectrix…. (this is why William, a firm adherent of the principle of the indivisibility of the soul, rejects the division within it of an agent intellect and a receiving intellect). The sensible is nothing but an occasion for an immanent act of intellection, which excites the soul to produce its own proper concepts from itself and within itself. William cites the joint authority of Augustine and Boethius here…. When it thinks itself, as a result the soul apprehends itself as the receptacle of a self-engendered knowledge; it is like the water of the sea or a river that welcomes the fish to which it gives birth” (p. 334).

“This is a captivating double aspect for us: first of all because, having been said of the human in a fundamental sense (the human is her soul, and it is first of all as subject….), the subiectum in William of Auvergne is intimately related to an idea that our modernity retains: an active power of foundation, a causal determination of acts…. Secondly, because William of Auvergne injects the concept of the subject into an Augustinian analysis of cognitive processes or of spiritual knowledge that a priori does not tolerate it. We know in effect that Augustine rejects the model of ‘subject’ as support of accidents, for thinking the relation that is maintained between the spirit and its faculties” (pp. 334-335).

Brenet summarizes the view of Augustine:

“The spirit knows that it understands and thinks, it knows itself entirely in its proper substance; and it is not as ‘subject’ that it is present to itself; it is that being of which the very essence is to know itself; it is not as attributes that its spiritual powers are manifested, since they each reveal to the spirit its own being or substance. Neither intelligence, nor memory, nor will, etc., is a quality in the spirit, inhering in it. The spirit is made in the image of God, who in the proper sense does not subsist (God is not susceptible to being the subject of accidents that affect their bearer). It is the model of the Trinity itself that allows the relation of the faculties and the spirit to be thought. That is to say, the circumincession of the Persons, or perichoresis (perichoresis being the mutual immanence of the Persons of the Trinity)” (pp. 335-336).

“It is thus necessary to think the relation of the powers to the spirit as like that which the divine Persons have to God. In the ‘perichoretic model’, to take up the expression of Alain de Libera, the spirit and its faculties, while being distinct from one another, are essentially one. The paradigm of inherence of qualities in the subject is indeed inoperative in this context, and its rejection leads to the expulsion of the Aristotelian notion of hupokeimenon [underlying thing] from the field of psychology” (p. 336).

“From this angle, William of Auvergne’s theory of the soul breaks the project that wants to be Augustinian at the heart. In elucidating the unity of the mens [Augustinian “mind”] with the subiectum, that is to say the infallible intuition that gives the soul knowledge of itself as ‘subject’, the Parisian bishop did much more than enrich a vocabulary. He crossed two models that the Middle Age up to that time had kept distinct: a theory of the me as clear presence to self, and a theory of the subiectum as being sub-jacent. He introduced subjectity in the soul, and conferred on the thinking human, active in this production, the new status of support of mental acts” (pp. 336-337).

“Having once raised the preceding considerations, we can better appreciate the anti-Averroist solutions of Durand de Saint-Pourcain and Herve Nedellec, who both affirm that the human thinks only as subject of the intellective act…. Before the problem posed to the Latins by the duo subiecta [two subjects] of Averroes, there was already question of the human-subject of thought” (p. 337).

“What effectively characterizes the anti-Averroist conception that John of Jandun confronted, and what is progressively put in place, is a new articulation of ‘human’ and ‘subject’…. It is not only a matter of saying, like William of Auvergne, that the soul is the subject of intellectual sciences, and that it thinks itself as such. It is not only a matter of posing, with Thomas Aquinas, that that by which the human thinks can only be her substantial form. It is necessary from now on to ensure, like Durand de Saint-Pourcain and Herve de Nedellec do, that the human can only be thought in her status as subject of the intellective act” (ibid).

“One says not only that the human thinks, and that she is the subject of her thought, but that she thinks insofar as she is the subject, on this condition alone. ‘Subject’ is not the term that one predicates of the thinking human (in supposing the necessity of a sub-jective power, assuring the possession of acts of knowledge), neither is it how she intuits herself, but rather it is the very thing on which the propriety of her acts in thought depends. Otherwise said, it is less the appearance of the subiectum in the field of psychology that we remark on here, than its place in the anti-Averroist project of the Latins. The notion of subject, applied to the human, becomes the centerpiece of the offensive. Where did this come from? What authority justifies that one has recourse to a ‘subject’ in the conceptual construction of these responses? None other than that, evidently paradoxical, of the Long Commentary itself. It is from the text of Averroes that the Latins take the idea that they oppose to him” (p. 338, emphasis in original; see “This Human Understands”; “This Human”, Again; Averroes as Read by de Libera).

“The faulty reading of the theory of ‘junction’ and of the duo subiecta brought about the appearance of two things: on the one hand the attribution to the human, by the inclination of her images, of the title of subiectum; on the other hand the idea that the individuality of thought depends on this status. This is to say, combining the two: that the human only comes to think under her subjective condition, insofar as she is subject, if not of thought, at least of the intelligible species that lead to it. It is this articulation that the Latins preserve, while denying that it can be realized in the system of Averroes. They denounce in him the impossibility of a thing whose importance was invented by their misunderstanding. It is in the work of the Cordovan, interpreted crookedly, that this adjunction was brought out that was supposed to rationally justify the multiplicity of acts of intellection, in spite of the unity of the intellect” (ibid).

“As a consequence, the pivotal role of this transposition of subjectity into the human is not attacked, any more than it is in Thomas Aquinas. When the Aquinate reproaches Averroes for making the human only a being that is thought, and not a thinking one, in truth he has no issue with it being said that the image is the ‘subject’ of the intelligibles, and indeed with the placement of the human so that she thinks as the subject of universal species: he does not contest the idea of the human-subject, but the fact that reason is given for a doctrine in which individual images, and ultimately the individual herself, are nothing but furniture for the act of intellect. Averroes claims that the thinking human is (also), by means of her images, subject of the intelligible, but this is theoretically impossible for him, since the image has to be abstracted and by it, in it, the human can receive nothing of the universal” (ibid, emphasis in original).

Brenet is not saying that images and the individual are mere furniture for Averroes, but recalling that according to Aquinas’ critique, they would be.

“In fact, Aquinas does not insist on the term subiectum — which after a few years became, notably among other Dominicans, a decisive philosophical element that was believed to take Averroes at the stronghold of his own logic, and show that it is incapable of satisfying its principal postulate: contrary to what [Averroes] says, the human is not the subject of the intellecta in actu, and the intellect in which the intelligibles are truly subjected has nothing to do with the human or the individual” (pp. 338-339).

“When we look at the 70 years that separate the entry of the Long Commentary into the Latin language from the intellectual activity of John of Jandun, we are as it were constrained to ask why the notion of ‘subject’ came to play a preponderant role in regulating the problem of the individuality of thought. Why is it all based on a certain arrangement of the triad human-subject-thought? How, in the paradoxical opposition to the noetics of Averroes, did the matter of intellectual individuation become in part constituted or effectuated in the University as the question of the subject? The idea of the human as subject of acts of thought was not the already available counter-argument, and the evolution of formulae from Thomas Aquinas to Durand de Saint-Pourcain or Herve Nedellec is revelatory of the intense elaboration that took place, up to the vindication of a human subjectity for thought” (p. 339).

“While Averroes posed the question of the noetic subject of thought, the Latins, based on his text, problematized that of its personal or human subject. This came down to transposing subjectity into the human, to placing into the terrain of subjectity, insofar as it is human, the problem of the humanity of thought, that of her individuation, that of thought’s appropriation by singular persons” (p. 340).

“This human who thinks, Socrates, is the body composed with intellect: an aggregate, a whole that unites the soul that cogitates and that which thinks. When thought is produced, intellect is not only a separate intelligence whose act passes on occasion by the intermediary of human images and is joined by humans who are humans without that; on the contrary, ‘it’ enters into the definition of each person. Even if in a non-substantial way, ‘it’ is constitutive of what individuals think. Otherwise said: in its separation, intellect is a part of the thinking human; and from this angle the humanity of the latter participates as ‘intrinsic operator’ that exists as her form” (p. 341).

“Thomas Aquinas says that a thing only acts by its form? John of Jandun too! Durand de Saint-Pourcin says that an individual can only think if the subject of thought is aliquid hominis [something human]? John of Jandun too! Certainly they don’t strictly understand the same thing: because this form and this subject are for John an ‘intrinsic operator’ without substantial support, because it raises an issue for personal immortality, etc.; no one denies the importance of these disagreements. Nonetheless, John shares this idea that it is necessary to include intellect in the human, and not only unite the latter to thought. We can see the effect of [Siger of Brabant’s] De anima intellectiva, but not only that; it is the effect of a previous Latin problematization that poses the subjection of the concept in the human as the condition of her proper thought. One could say also: which required that intellect in its entirety be an intellective soul. If we say that Averroes decentered the subject, John of Jandun recentered it: this thought is mine if that which it operates as thought is ‘of’ me” (ibid).

I have frequently commented on the non-Aristotelian character of the common scholastic term “intellective (or intellectual) soul”. Here we see its motivation.

“With Siger of Brabant, John constructs his response in two stages: he shows first that intellect-operans intrinsicum, along with the body, is a part of the thinking human; then, playing anew with the cosmologico-noetic analogy, that the act of a part can be referred back to its whole. On the basis of the human-aggregatum, the second function of the celestial comparison is in effect to indicate that the act of a part can be attributed to the composite — a way of maintaining with Aristotle that ‘it is the human, by her soul’ who thinks, and not only the soul” (p. 342).

“Vision is only in the eye, in the organ that receives the seen, and nonetheless we say that the human sees…. When the human thinks, the intellect is operans intrinsicum for her” (p. 344).

“In his questions on the Metaphysics, John defends the idea of an effective unity, a unity realized by the production of an effect” (p. 346).

“The exclusivity of human being follows from the affinity that the cogitative, the best of the sensory faculties, has with intellect” (p. 349). “The intellect does not abstract the brute image, the image of brutes, it requires a preliminary refinement…. The human intellective soul is the first of the separate forms, the most distant from the First, and the cogitative is the last and most spiritual of material forms” (p. 350).

“More exactly, without the existence of bodies the intellect cannot accomplish its end, which is the thought of the pure intelligibles, junction with the separate beings and with God” (p. 352). “Without the body, which conditions the engenderment of the intellect in habitu, the intellect, deprived of adeptio, cannot really be intellect…. Intellect depends on the human species, conceived as an uninterrupted succession of multiple supports of images, and not on this or that one in particular” (p. 353).

“The cogitative is a sensitive soul, the perishable form numbered with the humans, inherent to the body. It is its individual proper form, which also constitutes its specificity. Moreover, and without contradiction (on the contrary, because the order of the universe requires it), the human has a second substantial perfection, which is aggregated to her body in thought…. The human is not only a cogitating body, the bodily individual, but the whole formed by the operative unity of intellect with the body” (p. 357).

“For one who asserts that the possible intellect is unique, it remains to find solely in the particular organic faculties of humans the reason justifying the diversity of their thoughts” (pp. 358-359).

“A human thinks if she produces the act of thinking…. [T]he vocabulary of junction is succeeded by that of production, and the idea of a continuatio with the intelligible in act is succeeded by that of a production of the intellective act itself” (p. 361). “It is in the individual herself that thought is produced, and it is the internal dimension of its engenderment that makes a thought her own…. In estimating that junction with the intelligible in act is equivalent to production of the act of thought, that this production is the act of the human and that it occurs within her, John distances himself [from Averroes]” (p. 363). “John’s position coincides on an essential point with the anti-Averroist theses of certain great doctors of the School…. In spite of all their oppositions, John supposes no different thing: the human produces thought, and it occurs in her” (p. 364). “More generally, the act of intellect is attributed ‘denominatively’ to the human, in the measure that the last is in some way the cause” (p. 366).

“What governs the question of individual thought is not a doctrine of continuatio like that of Averroes: it is the idea of an intellectual production founded on a theory of the ‘subject’: a theory of the human as subject of the actus intelligendi, such as is elaborated at nearly the same time, in thinkers like Durand de Saint-Pourcin or Herve Nedellec” (p. 368).

Next in this series: Adeptio

Imagination, Cogitation

I’ve been rereading Jean-Baptiste Brenet’s Transferts du sujet, an exemplary case study of the now mostly forgotten 14th century philosopher John of Jandun. John’s use and misuse of Averroes and the surrounding anti-Averroist controversies both turn out to have major relevance for the history of Western concepts of “subject” and subjectivity. The discussions involve a fascinating mix of psychology, epistemology, and so-called metaphysics.

After examining the relation between Aristotelian “intellect” and the body, the second major topic Brenet addresses has to do with the cognitive role of Aristotelian phantasia or “imagination”. A while back, I excerpted and commented on an essay of Brenet’s on imagination in Averroes (see Desire, Image, Intellect). More generally, this is an area where the Arabic and Latin traditions greatly expanded upon Aristotle’s rather minimalist account of these matters. To begin with, they divide phantasia into three aspects, or interrelated but distinct “faculties”: imagination proper, memory, and what Averroes calls cogitation (and Avicenna calls estimation), which is broad enough to cover most everyday “thinking”.

Aristotelian imagination in the narrower sense is explained as involving sensible forms or images that we experience without external sensation. Memory involves sensible images that are similarly independent of external sensation. Like imagination and cogitation, memory deals primarily with particular sensible things. Aristotle explicitly says that memory requires a living body, whereas the “intellect” (nous) associated with knowledge of universals does not inherently have such a dependency. I would say that instead of depending on the body or individual consciousness, Aristotelian intellect and universals depend on language, discourse, and what contemporary writers call the “space of reasons”. Cogitation on the other hand, like memory, is generally treated as individual and bodily, and some writers treat intellect in the same way.

“Cogitation” is a kind of concrete everyday thinking by individuals that works with particulars and accidental properties rather than universals and essences. This includes pretty much everything we call “thinking” in ordinary life. (Its etymological connection to the Cartesian cogito is no accident. Cogito in Descartes is a first-person verb, though modern people treat it as a noun. It has the same broad scope as cogitation in Averroes.) Averroes criticizes Alfarabi and Avicenna for making Aristotelian intellect too transcendental. Late in life, he also comes to criticize Ibn Bajjah for going too far in the other, “Alexandrian” direction of effectively reducing human “intellect” to an “imagination” that is considered to be inseparable from a material body.

Brenet asks, “What does an image do? It is concerned with the production of the universal and the active role of the individual in that genesis. At stake is not only the empirical basis of thought, but the motive efficacity of the phantasms in the intellective process, and their dynamic function in uniting the body and intellect” (p. 133, my translation throughout).

“This is a subject that Averroes raises many times in his Long Commentary. The rational soul, he writes, has to consider the ‘intentions’ existing in the imaginative faculty, just as the senses have to inspect sensibles. If we left the image out of the production of the intelligible, it would be necessary to admit that thinking is a direct operation of the agent intellect on the material intellect. But that is inexact. The image is an indispensable subject of intellection and ‘one cannot say that the connection [rapport] of the agent intellect in the soul to the generated intellect is from every point of view like the connection of arts (artficium) to the artefact'” (pp. 133-134).

Intention is a concept from Arabic philosophy that was particularly developed by Avicenna. It acquired wide currency among the scholastics. This idea was rediscovered in the late 19th century by Brentano, and acquired wide currency in Husserlian phenomenology and analytic philosophy. Brandom credits Kant and Hegel with developing a non-psychological alternative account of intentionality.

“As intelligible species, ‘universals’ are concepts. What is proper to a species is in effect to ‘represent’. And if a sensible species represents a singular, an intelligible species represents an essence or quiddity (representitiua quidditatis). Concepts are produced. An intelligible species is not given from the outset or always already available. As ‘intention’, the universal is posterior to singulars. It does not exist outside of things” (p. 135).

A multitude of elaborate accounts and critiques of intelligible and sensible “species” were elaborated in the Latin tradition. Scholars have debated about the origins of the Latin term species (possibly Stoic?), but in any case, like the fine semantic distinctions of the theories of “supposition” and the far more heated but also highly sophisticated debates over various versions of nominalism and realism, this non-Aristotelian usage of the term “species” became a scholastic commonplace. It was not so much attributed to Aristotle as grafted into an already hybrid discourse. (Is there a discourse that is not hybrid?) More Aristotelian is the notion of “conceptualism”, a variant of which has been attributed to Peter Abelard.

“It is indeed in the intellective soul that the stone exists, or the human, and not in nature. The universal is something intellected, which can neither be really separated from the beings with which it is concerned nor really confounded with them. It is this conceptualist thesis, directed against Plato, which serves as the theoretical sub-basement for John of Jandun’s questions on noetics, that is to say the idea, derived from the Aristotelian distinction of the two intellects, of a production of intelligible thought as abstraction. But what is the detail of this operation?” (p. 136, emphasis in original).

The idea here is that universals are something rarefied and actively constituted, rather than something commonplace that is somehow given to us. All sensible things are regarded as particular. Ordinary life arguably deals only with particulars, like the peasant with her cows at the beginning of Hegel’s Phenomenology. Aristotelian ethics meanwhile emphasize goodness of fit to the particulars in any situation.

This is complicated by the simultaneous non-Aristotelian discourse about species, which on some accounts precisely are supposed to be ubiquitous and given. Medieval species are paradoxical because they are alternately treated as universals and as objects. But either way, they are often supposed to be natural and/or God-given.

On the more active side, there are developments out of the Aristotelian notion of “abstraction”, which is supposed to be a process by which universals are derived from particulars. Some accounts make it sound like this just happens. There is a common interpretation that identifies abstraction with a simple logical induction of generalities from particulars. All dogs have four legs, and so on. But both “Alexandrian” and “Averroist” readings of Aristotle treat abstraction as a process of progressive removal of accidental properties, or progressive distinction of the essential from the accidental. This is sometimes called “geometrical” abstraction, due to the way geometry uses figures to represent universals. Aristotle’s minimalism on this key question led to many creative elaborations by later writers, from Alexander of Aphrodisias (late 2nd/early 3rd century CE) to Zabarella (late 16th century).

Brenet notes that many of the more detailed later accounts of Aristotelian abstraction are expressed in terms of expanded accounts of imagination, memory, and “cogitation”.

John of Jandun “asks if intellect is a virtus passiua [passive virtue]. We know his answer: there is in the human intellective soul a passive ‘power’, the possible intellect, which permits it to receive the intelligible species and thought. It is passive because it is moved by something ‘extrinsic’ to it, the human phantasm, without which intellection cannot occur…. It is absolutely necessary that the images ‘move’ the intellect for it to pass to the act of thinking…. This means that intellection comes down to passivity, to the intelligible mediante phantasmate [mediating phantasm]…. It is clear, as a consequence, that the image intervenes as motor in the intellective process, by making an intelligible species arise in the possible intellect” (pp. 136-137).

The “human phantasm” is basically coextensive with experience. Meanwhile, intellection is construed narrowly as concerned with universals. So when Brenet says that intellect for John is a passive virtue, this does not mean there is no activity in broader human thinking. The whole discourse about “production” of intelligibles makes the classic Aristotelian point that forms are not just “given” to us.

“For what is it that can produce the species that the intellect finally has need of to exercise itself? It is not the species present in the sensitive faculty of the individual, it is not the possible intellect, it is not solely the agent intellect, it can be nothing else than the phantasm. The sensible species is incapable of that, because it is not ‘spiritual’ enough, i.e., not close enough to the nature of the immaterial intellect. The possible intellect, which is a pure power of reception, cannot do so either. As for the agent intellect, it cannot be since it is the universal cause of all the species” (p. 137).

“If a phantasm is found in the imagination of an individual human, an intelligible species is received in the intellect; if the phantasm disappears, the intelligible species disappears with it…. And we can deduce that the image is to the intelligible species as the light of a luminous body … is to the illumination of the transparent medium: … an active cause (causa activa)” (p. 139).

“Universals are colligata [bound up with] imagined intentions. Is this to say that they are vaguely related, without being able to make precise the nature of the relation? John’s whole demonstration aims to show on the contrary that the image and the species in the intellect maintain a relation of principle and product…. This conditioning is a relation of causal genesis in which the image is given a motive efficacy” (p. 140).

“The image can indeed intervene as a motor in the production of the intelligible species. But it does not act alone” (p.142). “The image by itself is powerless to exceed its singularity, to transmute itself, to yield the intelligible species” (p. 144). “The agent intellect is necessary for the image to be related as cause to a product, the intelligible, whose nature surpasses its own” (p. 145).

“The universal form is taken from the image by the intellect, issue of their synergy: without the phantasm, intellect turns emptily, and without the intellect, the phantasm is unable to limit itself” (pp. 145-146).

That sounds like a famous quote from Kant about the interdependence of what he calls understanding and intuition.

“But what does the agent intellect ‘do’ when it intervenes on the image?” (p. 146). “We know the point of departure (the image) and the point of arrival (the intelligible species), and the necessity of the passage from the one to the other under the action of the intellect. But the modality of the transfer stumbles. The intelligible species is not already in the image, like an accident of imagination that the intellect has the function of de-subjectifying and de-localizing in depositing in the intellectual receptor. It is indeed not the intelligible species that is displaced by the agent from one order to another” (p. 148).

“The agent intellect and the image are both necessary for thought…. It is on the singularity of an image that the power of the agent intellect must be exercised if we want to think something. Images alone do not suffice for thought, which would come back to something confounding the individual and the universal” (p. 157). But according to Brenet, John rejects the view that “As a consequence, without contact, without influx, the presence of the agent intellect allows an object to appear, and an object of thought” (p.158).

“The mere presence of the agent intellect cannot make one intention rather than another modify the material intellect. For abstraction is impossible unless it is preceded by a separation of objects. Because it is always singular, the very act of thinking presupposes this exclusivity and this determinate modification: all thought is the thought of an image, or of a quiddity of images. It is not sufficient to put the agent intellect in the presence of a mass of phantasms for a thought to take place. For a thought to take place, it is necessary to explain why it is on this image that it is exercised” (p. 161).

John argues against Thomas Wilton that “It is intellect that gives objects to the will, and not the inverse” (ibid). “When [Averroes] affirms that we abstract and think when we will it, in reality, explains John, it is necessary to understand: when we cogitate, i.e. when we make use of the cogitative faculty that is proper to us. It is the cogitative that separates the imagined intentions” (ibid). “The truth, for John of Jandun … is that the cogitative ‘cogitates’ the individuality of a quiddity to the exclusion of another and that, in doing so, it disposes the possible intellect to think that quiddity” (p.162). John complains that Wilton “ignores the determining role of the virtus cogitatiua in the separation of individual intentions” (ibid).

“John of Jandun’s ‘solution’ is in effect the following. The phantasm acts in the possible intellect in producing the intelligible species and does so alone, without competition. It is the immediate cause and the unique active principle of that species” (p. 165, emphasis in original). “The individual imaginative faculty is the sole cause of an intellectual product…. From the process of production of the intelligible, in any case, the agent intellect is absolutely excluded” (p. 166). “The phantasm causes the intelligible species, and that is all. It is a motor, it moves the intellect in making the species. Nothing is said of the mode of its intelligibilization, of its genesis…. The production of the intelligible form is nonintellectual…. If abstraction is equated with producing the universal species, then the agent intellect does not abstract the intelligible” (p. 167, emphasis in original).

“The Parisian master indeed seems to reject the idea that the intellect has a connection with the image: it is certainly the abstracter, it is in this very capacity that it is united from the outset to the thinking individual; but not every abstraction is a universalization of forms and, in a certain sense, when the agent intellect ‘abstracts’, it acts on a form that is already universal. It is thus without direct connection to the phantasm — it does not act on it, or on the possible intellect, but on the product deposited in that intellect from the activity proper to the phantasm” (pp. 167-168).

“The phantasm alone is the principle of the intelligible that precedes thought” (p. 174). “The singularity of [John’s] reading lies in the fact that intellectual abstraction designates not the intelligibilization of the phantasm, but the intellection of what is intelligized…. This abstraction is not the act that assures the production of the intelligible, but that which operates the effectuation of its representative function” (p.175).

“What is left of the Long Commentary on the De Anima and of Averroes? Hardly more than words. For John, the image is endowed with an autonomous and self-sufficient motricity; the intelligible, although produced, precedes any intellectual intervention; and the intellect is no longer an abstracter save in name only, deprived of any connection to intelligibilization” (p. 176).

“Two things, at least, can be deduced from the preceding analyses. First, there is no unified Averroist doctrine of abstraction…. Second, the hypothesis of the ‘Averroist’ John of Jandun on abstraction is not at all Rushdean” (ibid).

Brenet says that in fact John’s formulations on abstraction have an unrecognized strong connection to the thought of Duns Scotus, who also holds that the universal in act precedes the act of intellection.

Next in this series: Cogitation, Intention

“Intellect” and the Body

The Latin scholastics invented strongly univocal concepts of “substantial form” and “intellectual soul”, and read them back into Aristotle. The work of Jean-Baptiste Brenet shows how this is interwoven with the prehistory of the modern notion of a psychological subject as a knower and agent.

In the book that served as his doctoral thesis, Brenet develops a case study of the “prince of the Averroists” John of Jandun, who turns out to be closer to his Latin peers than to Ibn Rushd (Averroes) himself. Brenet has also published French translations of Aquinas’ questions on soul and body from Summa Theologica, as well as a work On the Intellectual Soul by the English Averroist theologian Thomas Wilton, whose theses we will see are disputed by John of Jandun.

Averroes had insisted that it is only equivocally that intellect is said to belong to the same soul that is said to be the form of the body. According to Brenet, John of Jandun wants to avoid two extremes. The first, which he associates with Alexander of Aphrodisias, in effect makes the human intellect entirely material, by insisting on the univocity of Aristotle’s definition of the soul. The second, represented by Themistius, treats intellect entirely as a transcendent principle, and absolutely denies that it is the form of the body. This latter view is often mistakenly attributed to Averroes. But in any case, John of Jandun reverses this emphasis, and pushes for a more “Alexandrian” solution. He searches the text of Averroes in order to highlight all the passages where Averroes says or suggests that intellect, in spite of its transcendent dimension, is nonetheless also in some meaningful way ours.

“Against the noetics of Averroes, to which he opposes in the first instance the experience of personal thought, Thomas Aquinas maintains in his De unitate intellectus that intellect is ‘a power of the soul that is the form of the body’. He even comes to write in this polemical context that ‘intellect is the form of the body’. It is this ‘information’ that, according to him, confers to each of us a principle for thinking that is our own” (Brenet, Transferts du Sujet, p. 35, my translation throughout).

Siger of Brabant had argued against Aquinas that the relation between intellect and the body is not one of substance, but rather is a kind of operational unity. Intellect is not the substantial form of the body, but is properly called a sort of “intrinsic mover or operator” within the soul. John of Jandun “is a child of this inaugural dispute. He inherits words and formulas from it, but not only that: he subscribes to the scholastic idea and its expression, that it is the form of the body that gives thought to the human” (ibid, emphasis in original).

“In fact Averroes, who paid extremely close attention to the exact problem of the being of intellect in potentiality, did not really seek to know in what sense intellect, without qualification, could be the form of the body. On the one hand, it is in effect the perfection of the human [i.e., the composite of soul and body] that interests him; on the other hand, he nearly always proposes a divided approach to the question” (p. 46).

“Not only must we not speak vaguely of the relation of intellect to human individuals, but things do not go the same way with each ‘intellect’. What is involved may be the thought of an infant, or that of a sleeping person” (p. 47). “The essential of [Averroes’] Long Commentary is developed in the third book, in the arborescence of modes of possible junction for the human, when Averroes details the diverse degrees of mediation that lead to the immediate information of the intellect, acquired at the end of the theoretical stage of thought: at this moment, the agent intellect has become directly our form” (ibid, emphasis in original).

(Here we have explicitly an immediacy that is not originary, but rather is a product of mediation. Hegel was not the first to raise such a possibility.)

John follows Siger of Brabant in modeling human intellect on the celestial intelligences that were believed to move the spheres by which the motions of the stars were explained. Like Siger, he uses Averroes’ commentary on Aristotle’s On the Heavens to derive conclusions about human intellect that conflict with what Averroes says in his more famous Long Commentary on Aristotle’s On the Soul.

“If intellect is the form of the body, it is so insofar as it is an ‘operator’. Every form is a giver either of being or of operation: the intellectual soul is precisely forma dans operationem” (p. 72).

Not without some irony, Brenet observes that “If we abstract away the corruptibility of the individual body, as well as its composition, if we neglect the fact that intellect has need of the image and needs it in its primary operation, we can justifiably say that it is a ‘form’ analogous to the celestial intelligence that is the mover of a sphere ” (p. 84).

“Between an immaterial form and a body that are ontologically separate, there can exist a relation in the order of act, a purely functional relation…. Even if it is separate from its Intelligence in its being, [the celestial sphere] is united to it in a certain way, i.e., to recall what John says himself, ‘at least as subject‘…. subjectum or ‘place’: the sphere-subject gives place to movement, the act of the Intelligence has a place in this sub-jection ” (p. 85, emphasis in original).

“Certainly, the Parisian master could say, the anti-Avicennan and anti-Platonic empirical orientation of the noetics of Averroes means that the implication of the body in the elaboration of thought must be strong, but intellect only has need of the human body for making thought, and not for being there” (p. 86).

“If the celestial sphere is indispensable as subject-receiver of the act caused by the Intelligence, insofar as it receives movement, how can it be compared to the human body, which does not receive thought from the intellect and is not, in this sense at least, the ‘subject’?” (p. 87).

Note well that intellect is not said to be “received” by the human here. In this Averroes differs from Alfarabi and Avicenna.

“We do indeed find a cosmologico-noetic analogy in Averroes, but Averroes does not reason in the same way. He does not found noetics on cosmology, he does the inverse, and goes from analyses of the human intellect to say something about the celestial Intelligences” (pp. 87-88). “John of Jandun seems to reverse this relation when he layers noetics over cosmology” (p. 88).

For Averroes, this raises the “problem of Theophrastus [Aristotle’s collaborator and immediate successor]”: How can we say that the material intellect has no form of its own, and yet that it is a being?

“Nothing can be in act that we call a ‘this’, which is to say a body or a faculty existing in a body, like the sensory faculty. The absolute denuding of its being is the condition of its receptivity to universals; in order for it to potentially be the intelligible, there can be nothing of its own in its being-in-potentiality” (pp. 89-90).

Here he is effectively saying that no concrete particular can be “in act” in the Aristotelian sense. Being a particular involves accident, and accident is incompatible with pure act.

“If the material intellect is by definition ‘that which is in potentiality all the ‘intentions’ of universal material forms, and is not any being in act before having conceived it, it is excluded that its nature could be that of (prime) matter, that of the separate forms, or that of a hylomorphic composite” (p.91).

(I am inclined to think that the notion of prime matter (i.e., matter abstracted from the form with which it is ordinarily said to be inseparable, and supposedly having no properties of its own) is an interpolation due to Alexander of Aphrodisias.)

“As a consequence, the subject of the intelligibles… constitutes a being sui generis…. The interpretation that Averroes gives in the Long Commentary rests on a double rejection of the readings of Alexander of Aphrodisias and of Themistius” (p. 92).

Brenet quotes Averroes, “Alexander explains the demonstration of Aristotle concluding that the material intellect is not passive, that it is not something of which one says ‘this’, (aliquid hoc), that is to say a body or a faculty [existing] in the body, as intending the preparation itself [for the reception of intelligibles] and not the subject of the preparation. That is why he writes in his book On the Soul that the material intellect more resembles the preparation that is in the tablet that has not been written upon, than the prepared tablet itself” (pp. 92-93, brackets in original). Averroes continues, “But it is impossible to show the nature of the preparation proper to the intellect without having recourse to the nature of the subject, since the preparation proper to each subject is parallel to (currit cursu) the perfection and the form of the subject” (p. 93).

Brenet continues, “Otherwise said, Aristotle could not speak of the receptive power of the material intellect without considering the very essence of that intellect…. Averroes in effect rejects the idea that a form adjoining a corporeal substrate can be other than inhering in and mixed with it: an intellect-disposition of the body can only be a corporeal form whose implication in matter renders impossible any apprehension of the universal” (ibid).

Logical and epistemic access to universals is for Averroes neither natural nor supernatural. I like to call it “ethical”.

“As a consequence, contrary to what Alexander of Aphrodisias maintains, the material intellect is really or substantially the subject of the intelligible; it is not the accident of a support; it cannot be reduced to a pure disposition attached to the material composite” (p. 94). “Themistius errs too, because he makes the material intellect a substance in which is found the disposition to receive the intelligibles” (ibid).

“Averroes bases his conceptual elaboration upon the being of the material intellect, and it is this that governs his cosmologico-noetic analogy, i.e., a reflection on the subjectity of the subject of universals. His question is not: Is the receptive intellect a subject or not? but rather, What subject or what being must it be?” (pp. 95-96).

“Averroes and John of Jandun do not defend the same thesis. John holds that the intellectual soul is to the body of the human as the mover-intelligence is to the heaven it moves, whereas Averroes maintains that the ‘celestial body’, i.e., its ‘soul’, is to its intelligence and to the separate forms of the universe, that which the material intellect is to the agent intellect and to the intelligibles it receives. This does not mean that John’s idea, which remained very current throughout the Middle Age, is absurd, impossible, or absolutely contrary to what Averroes wanted to say” (p. 104).

“In not working on the problem of the ‘fourth kind of being’, John truncates cosmology and unbalances its relation to noetics…. The master of arts develops his reading of Aristotle and Averroes from the angle of a question that the Cordovan does not pose: what is it that unites intellect to the human body? Like Siger when he was cornered by Aquinas, he is already dominated by the will to find the kind of union that will allow us to say that hic homo intelligit [“this human understands”], or that homo formaliter intelligit [the human formally understands]” (p. 109).

“[Averroes] does not ask himself about the act that unites intellect and the human, but first of all about the very possibility of any intellectual act, about its material possibility. Under what conditions is the intelligible received? Where can it be received? These are his questions. He wants to determine what is the subject of thought, independent of seeking to know who thinks, which far surpasses the question of human consciousness and that of individual intellection” (ibid).

In a footnote, Brenet quotes Jean Jolivet: “The contingency of individual knowledge, the empiricity of its constitution, are overlooked by a globalizing conception of being, of thought, and of their adequation. Transposing the matter into modern terms (with the required precautions), one could say that Ibn Rushd elaborated a philosophy not of consciousness but of the concept, that puts itself on the same side as Aristotle, properly understood, but also that of Spinoza, Hegel, Marx” (p. 109n).

The “Averroist” theologian Thomas Wilton “judges that the agent intellect is neither a forma inhaerens nor a forma informans, but that it intervenes solely as forma assistens” (p. 116).

But “For the Parisian master, … our intellect is constituted by the possible intellect and by the agent intellect, and the latter is united secundum esse [in being] to the first. Clearly opposed to Thomas Wilton, the master of arts goes so far as to say [the agent intellect] is our form informans” (p. 117). “This comes back to his conception of the intellectus possibilis and of the intellectual soul: John in effect rejects the idea that the possible intellect should be in act, … just as he denies the fact that the agent intellect is not part of the human soul” (p. 118).

Next in this series: Imagination, Cogitation

Transferences of the Subject

Here we have an important chapter in the emergence of the modern notion of “the Subject” as a mental entity.

The doctoral dissertation of Jean-Baptiste Brenet — supervised by Alain de Libera, and published as Transferts du sujet: La noetique d’Averroes selon Jean de Jandun (2003), is on John of Jandun’s reading of the noetics of Averroes.

John of Jandun was declared a heretic and excommunicated, but this was due to his support for his friend Marsilius of Padua’s work Defensor Pacis. That work uses a combination of theological and Aristotelian arguments to contest the pope’s and the Church’s authority over civil government. Marsilius reportedly also made the radical early claim that democracy is the best form of government. Like John, he is typically labeled as an “Averroist”.

Nineteenth-century scholar Ernest Renan wrote that “Few authors have been more cited and afterward more forgotten than John of Jandun” (quoted on back cover of Brenet’s book, my translation). Brenet, however, finds Renan and the great 20th-century Thomist Etienne Gilson to be extremely prejudiced in their accounts of so-called Latin Averroism.

The mid-20th century Thomist scholar F. Van Steenberghen wrote that John of Jandun was the first true Latin Averroist. Thirteenth-century figures like Siger of Brabant only defended a few key theses of Averroes. Brenet agrees that there was no real Latin Averroism in the 13th century, but he sharply challenges Renan’s and Gilson’s characterization of the “Averroism” that did emerge in the 14th century. They declared it completely lacking in philosophical substance, and claimed it was held together only by sheer dogmatism. Brenet’s book provides abundant evidence to refute this.

By Brenet’s account, John of Jandun sees himself first and foremost as a serious commentator on Aristotle. His works are full of references to Averroes, but his actual positions on issues by no means simply follow Averroes. Like many of the scholastics, he writes as a thoughtful philosopher examining questions that others have discussed. His original arguments about active sense are but one example. Conversely Averroes, known to the Latins as “the” Commentator, substantially influenced many writers whom no one would call “Averroist”. At one point during the nominalist controversy of the 14th century, it is reported that the pope explicitly directed European universities to continue teaching Aristotle using the commentaries of Averroes.

John of Jandun endorses the originally anti-Averroist slogan “this human thinks”. He accepts a variant of the scholastic “intellectual soul”. On a key question like the so-called material intellect’s relation to the human, he follows Siger of Brabant’s original theory that intellect is an “intrinsic motor”, a concept that has no precedent in Averroes.

I plan to devote a few posts to some of the details in Brenet’s book. For more context, see Aristotelian Subjectivity Revisited; “This Human Understands”; “This Human”, Again; Averroes as Read by de Libera; Averroes to Eckhart?; Desire, Image, Intellect.

Next in this series: “Intellect” and the Body

Second-Person Thinking?

Still pondering Habermas’s notion of illocution, I wanted to add some informal thoughts. He criticizes first- and third-person thinking, and suggests that they are actually parasitic on a more primary, second-person thinking that would be characteristic of what he calls communicative action and illocution. I find this quite intriguing.

Second-person thinking would be “dialogical”, in contrast to the “monological” character of first- and third-person thinking. These terms, used by Habermas, were introduced by the Russian literary theorist Mikhail Bakhtin. According to Habermas, monological thinking is objectifying, whereas dialogical thinking has the character of participation in a dialogue.

What psychologists more commonly refer to as internal “monologue” is sometimes also called internal dialogue. Apparently not everyone experiences this, but it is considered completely normal. Common speech says “I” talk to “myself”, but the self involved here is not really clear. “I” is a convenient shorthand (a sort of indexical reference to a flowing movement toward unity of apperception, as Kant said).

It is a bit ambiguous whether we are addressing “ourselves” or an imagined other when we have internal dialogue, but then the notion of self is itself ambiguous (see numerous posts under Subjectivity). Paul Ricoeur wrote a fascinating book called Oneself As Another. Plato in the Republic has Socrates compare the soul to a city. Aristotle says we regard our friend as “another self”. (Descartes did not really invent the so-called Cartesian subject either, as Alain de Libera has amply documented. Insofar as there is a common modern notion of a strongly unified self, it has a long prehistory in certain strands of theology.)

Habermas uses his notion of communicative reason as a way of getting at an originally intersubjective character of thought. As Brandom has noted, this picks out essentially the same conditions that Hegel associates with the ideal of mutual recognition. But Habermas apparently does not accept Brandom’s provocative claims that mutual recognition is by itself sufficient to ground genuine objectivity, and that normative discourse under conditions of mutual recognition can bootstrap itself.

Heidegger vs Hegel

Returning to Pippin’s book, we finally arrive at the main act, a philosophical clash of titans. But the conflict takes place under very uneven conditions, because Hegel was not around to defend himself, and until recently, virtually no one else stood up for him either. The Frankfurt School critical theorist Theodor Adorno bucked the trend of Continental enthusiasm for Heidegger in The Jargon of Authenticity (1964), but Adorno had no interest in defending Hegel.

“Heidegger’s interest in Hegel is prepared for and accompanied by his growing attention to Kant and the entire German Idealist tradition. He lectured on German Idealism in 1929, the same year as his remarkable book on Kant, Kant and the Problem of Metaphysics, appeared. He lectured on Hegel’s Phenomenology in 1930/31, on Kant’s transcendental principles (this would become the basis of the book The Question Concerning the Thing) in 1935/36, on Schelling’s On the Essence of Human Freedom in 1936, and on The Metaphysics of German Idealism in 1941. He continued to publish on the Idealists in the later phases of his career as well, as in his acute formulations of his differences with Hegel in Identity and Difference in 1957 and his evaluation of the importance of ‘overcoming Hegel’, and Hegel’s idealism, became more and more prominent” (The Culmination, p. 139).

In my youth, Identity and Difference was a significant text for me. Heidegger’s positive thesis, which I rightly or wrongly understood to be that difference is in every way that matters prior to identity, was just what I wanted to hear at the time, so I did not look too critically into Heidegger’s negative claim that Hegel privileges identity, especially since it seemed consistent with general scholarly consensus about Hegel.

However, the “speculative identity” by which Hegel overcomes various oppositions, like that between subject and object, is clearly very different from the formal identity whose very definition is the absence of difference — a distinction Heidegger seems to refuse to recognize. As we have seen across many posts, Hegel constantly criticizes formalism and objectification. Hegelian speculative identity should be understood rather as comparable to Aristotelian hylomorphism — a kind of practical inseparability that is compatible with irreducible difference.

Pippin summarizes Heidegger’s basic stance toward Hegel. “Hegel must be overcome by radicalizing the way in which the problem [of the meaning of Being] is put; and at the same time, he must be ‘appropriated'” (ibid).

This will be a complex maneuver. Heidegger will aggressively read into Hegel a stance on Heidegger’s own trademark question of the meaning of Being, and he will attribute an epoch-making significance to Hegel’s expression of this stance. He will aim not simply to refute Hegel, but rather to show that various things Hegel says are right, then ultimately to turn the tables and claim that Hegel convicts himself of Heidegger’s charges.

The charges meanwhile seem to involve something much more insidious and far-reachingly horrible than just being wrong. Heidegger wants to make philosophy somehow globally responsible for the ills of the modern age. It all gets started from his imposition of an interpretation that redefines the aims of all philosophy since Plato. For someone like myself who cares a great deal about philosophy from Plato to Hegel and identifies with it, this frankly feels comparable to gaslighting and emotional blackmail. Our best impulses are turned against us, and twisted into evidence of something bad.

“Fulfillment …could mean that the basic problems posed by Greek philosophy were ‘solved’ by Hegel, such that there is no longer philosophical work to do. But it could also mean that the distortions and obscurities inherent in the metaphysical tradition were taken on and thought through by Hegel to the point where it became clear (not to him, but retrospectively) that the whole tradition had ‘culminated’ in a dead end…. Heidegger means that Hegel has made the clearest of anyone the inevitable commitment by Western philosophy (Platonism) to the metaphysics of presence” (p. 140).

I agree that the metaphysics of presence is horrible, but I don’t think it is fairly attributed to Plato, Aristotle, Kant, or Hegel, but rather to those who privilege consciousness or immediacy. Far from being oriented toward pure presence, the way of philosophy from Plato to Hegel is rather to be identified with the long detour. Philosophy is what teaches us to look beyond mere presence. If the metaphysics of presence nonetheless does have a deadening hold on human culture, that is due not to philosophy but to a lack of philosophy.

“[I]dealism in this sense invokes the deepest principle of Western rationalism, the principle Heidegger is so interested in illuminating: ‘to be is to be rationally intelligible’…. The most famous way of putting it looms large in Heidegger’s account: there is an identity of thinking and being…. Given that, the world as it matters to us is available because of our conceptual and explanatory capacities'” (p. 141).

Heidegger claims that the pre-Socratics did better than all later philosophers. Identity of thinking and being specifically recalls one of the surviving fragments from Parmenides. Based on the radical conclusions that Parmenides and his follower Zeno drew from this assertion, this really does seem to be a claim of formal identity. This is all very ironic in context, because Hegel is the original great critic of formal identity. Hegelian “speculative” identity is patterned on Aristotelian hylomorphism, and also anticipates Paul Ricoeur’s notion of “narrative identity”.

“We should recall that idealism in this tradition… should not be understood as a claim about the mind-dependence of the world or about mind-imposed structure in experience or as a so-called objective idealism (a claim about the nonmaterial nature of the real, in favor of its ideal or immaterial nature), but first and foremost as an objection to empiricism, the claim that all knowledge is or must be based on empirical experience. By contrast, idealism in Kant, Fichte, and Hegel is a claim about the capacity of pure (empirically unaided) reason to determine that all that is knowable is knowable, and how it is knowable. Since this amounts to a claim about the normative authority of knowledge claims, and since it is pure reason alone that demonstrates such normative authority, this means that human reason is to be understood to be self-authorizing, a tribunal unto itself” (p. 140).

Heidegger explicitly puts the Kantian/Hegelian autonomy of reason in a negative light. Derrida’s Heidegger-inspired term “logocentrism” concisely captures Heidegger’s negative view of the autonomy of reason as making unsupportable knowledge claims, and as promoting bad, presumptuous epistemology and ontology. Heidegger really does not at all address Kant and Hegel’s own primarily ethical motivations for defending the autonomy of reason.

Heidegger is not dealing in any of the common clichés about idealism. But to my surprise, Pippin goes further, and says he thinks Heidegger understands key aspects of German idealism — and especially the significance of Hegel’s Logic and the relation of logic to metaphysics — better than anyone else.

Pippin thinks that Heidegger is the only one who anticipated Pippin’s own thesis that for Hegel, “logic” (i.e., Kantian transcendental logic and Hegel’s own development of it) really is “metaphysics” in the sense of an account of being qua being. Indeed, Heidegger does also seem to recognize that “logic” for Hegel has a very different meaning from that commonly ascribed to it. From my point of view, this all poses quite a challenge, because up to now I have been very impressed with Pippin’s reading of Hegel, even though I put much less weight on the “logic is metaphysics” claim than he does, and reject the being-qua-being interpretation of Aristotle.

“The idealist claim is that pure thinking can specify the possibility of the determinability of anything at all. In so doing, idealism is a metaphysics. For Heidegger, this all indicates an errancy, a distortion from the start, since, for one thing, thought’s focus is on ‘the beings’, or what is required for a being to be the being it is. It leaves unanswered, ‘unthought’, the meaningfulness of Being itself” (p. 143).

Heidegger does not like questions about what things are or why they are the way they are. Instead, he refers us to the mystifying notion of a Being that is not a being, not an abstraction, not the Christian God, and not a Spinozist whole, but is the ground of all beings. Contrary to this, I want to advocate the position that emphasis should be on seeking the richest possible understanding of “the beings”. For one thing, I believe that all beings should be treated with fundamental respect (see also Regard for Objects). Emphasis on the alleged ontic-ontological difference puts all real beings (whatever they may be) in an unfairly negative light. I do not claim to be presuppositionless in this, only to be open to any sincere attempt at dialogue.

Knowledge of the mere “possibility of the determinability” of anything at all does not presuppose actual knowledge of any particular determination, or any knowledge of existence. Hegel’s most far-reaching claim is that reason as higher-order reflection can evaluate “possibilities of determinability”, independent of the evaluation of concrete cases. This is related to the way that Kant investigates the conditions of the possibility of this or that. As Hegel himself also says, this “transcendental logic” that he practices in common with Kant is a “realm of shadows”. I would say that truth or falsity in the mundane sense only comes into the picture when we come back to interpreting concrete cases, in ways that take the long detour into account.

Pippin explains that Hegel’s motivation is to show that there cannot be any self-sufficient epistemology or, as Pippin puts it, that epistemology cannot be separated from metaphysics.

“[Hegel’s approach] amounts to an attempt to show that any isolation of the question of whether the subject’s putative cognitive powers are actually adequate for the task of cognition, knowledge of reality as it is in itself, ignores the fact that any such conception of the powers of knowing presupposes a conception of the proper knowables. If we ignore that connection and take ourselves to be focusing on our cognitive powers alone, we inevitably end up with skepticism, since there is no way from ‘outside’ the attempt at knowing to measure the exercise of these powers against what really is. (The ‘view from nowhere’ is nowhere, nowhere any finite being could ascend to.)” (p. 144).

Heidegger “disagrees with the dogmatic assumption that the meaningfulness of Being in its availability is originally its knowability…. ‘[F]initist’ critiques often draw large implications from what I believe to be a distorted interpretation of Hegel. However, … Heidegger has, with some glaring exceptions, a sophisticated, deep, highly accurate, and insightful reading of what Hegel was trying to do in his main text, The Science of Logic” (p. 145).

It seems to me that in claiming that Kant and Hegel put “knowability” first, Heidegger is assimilating them both to a neo-Kantian reading of Kant. Part of the basis of this is that Hegel wants to call self-consciousness a kind of knowledge, although self-consciousness does not seem to meet the conditions Aristotle lays out for knowledge (episteme) in general. I think Hegelian self-consciousness mainly has to do with apprehension of meaning and values, rather than knowledge in a strict sense, which is a relatively rare thing.

Pippin goes on to briefly discuss “idealism” in Kant, Fichte, and Hegel.

“Eventually, I want to say that Hegel’s most important potential contributions have been both misunderstood and undervalued, even by Heidegger, for all the power and depth of his interpretation…. Let me proceed to a ridiculously brief summation of the idealist ambition” (p. 146).

While I admire Pippin’s attempt to be even-handed, I must take exception to the claim of “power and depth” here. It may be true that there is a narrow slice of the argument of Hegel’s Logic that Heidegger has read better than others, but in view of how appallingly misconceived common views of Hegel are, this is not necessarily much of a compliment. Pippin is clearly impressed that Heidegger anticipates Pippin’s own view that what Hegel is doing in the Logic really is a kind of what Aristotle would call first philosophy.

“The central idealist claim began with Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason and his assumption that reason was capable of determining what it was entitled to claim and capable also of restricting itself if it could not provide such authority. This almost immediately generated the concern that such an enterprise would not only end in a destructive skepticism but in an all-destructive ‘nihilism’ (F.H. Jacobi’s original coinage), leaving nothing of moral substance or objective status standing” (ibid).

Here the two claims are that reason can determine for itself what it is entitled to claim, and that it is capable of limiting itself to what it is entitled to. These two abilities are both clearly different from any putative first-order “knowledge” about how things are.

“[A] priori knowledge, while in some sense to be specified ultimately about the world, consists in thinking’s or reason’s knowledge of itself“…. This is what distinguishes classical rationalism from idealism, as Hegel (and Kant) understood it. The former holds that reason has access to its proper objects outside itself; the latter that the object of pure thinking is itself…. One long-dominant interpretation of Hegel on this point … holds that these two claims can be both assertible only if what there ‘really’ is, ‘the really real world’, what is accessible only to pure reason alone, is itself thought … something like the Absolute’s or God’s thinking itself…. Pure thought thinking itself is the manifestation of the noesis noeseos, God thinking himself, or it is the divine-like apprehension of the noetic reality that underlies experienced appearances. I cannot do so here, but I have argued for some time that this interpretation does not fit the text (p. 147).

For Aristotle too, the object of “pure” thinking is itself. That is to say that what is called “pure” thinking is distinguishable specifically as a higher-order thinking, or thinking about thinking that inquires by sincerely questioning itself. Contrary to what one might think based on common connotations of “purity”, this typically occurs in a mixed context that also involves thinking about some concrete beings. I call this mixture interpretation. It occurs in the course of thinking other things, and always has an implicit or explicit ethical dimension, or rather it is the ethical dimension. Kant and Hegel call this “reflection” in a specialized sense that I also relate to Aristotelian contemplation (see multiple articles under Subjectivity and Hegel). This more developed Aristotelian-Kantian-Hegelian notion is what I want to say that “thinking” is. Hegelian mutual recognition and Platonic dialogue are based on socially shared versions of this kind of reflection.

“Pure thinking’s object is itself but not as an object or event; rather, its object is the thinking also interrogating thinking — a circle, not a dyadic relation. Hence the provocative notion of ‘infinity’, without beginning or end” (ibid).

(For Aristotle, the circle is a symbol for entelechy rather than infinity, but in spite of his general finitism, Aristotle does hold that time has no beginning or end.)

“In the most decisive case in the tradition for Heidegger, the dependence in question is what Kant emphasized, the dependence of thinking on sensible intuition, of pure thinking on pure intuition…. Hegel’s prioritization of the Concept — in his terms, the identification of the Absolute as concept — is said to be a prioritization of absolute subjectivity and so to require a relation to what is other than thought, nature, as pure domination…. It would be hard to overstate the influence of such an argument form … from Schelling to Heidegger and Adorno” (p. 148).

“Absolute subjectivity as pure domination” is completely abhorrent, and completely un-Hegelian. Hegel never endorsed one-sided “domination” in any context. Ethical reciprocity is one of his fundamental concerns (see New Biography of Hegel). What is true is that questions of meaning and interpretation in a certain way encompass all other questions.

“In Hegel’s treatment, the topic of pure thinking is presented as having nothing to do with the existing human thinker, the subject, consciousness, the mind. Rather, the topic raises as a problem the possibility of the intelligibility of even whatever is being touted as pre-conscious source or hidden origin, the intelligibility of what is assumed in any such determinate identification as a knowledge claim, even of the ‘neither subject nor object’. That is either something available for some kind of apprehension or it is not. If it is, it must be subject to some regime of intelligibility for this determinacy to be accounted for. This is what Heidegger denies when he insists that the meaning of Being, Being as such, is not ‘a’ being and not subject to the requirements of determinacy. Insisting it begs the question” (pp. 148-149).

Intelligibles act “in” us, rather than “on” us. The common prejudice that we talking animals should understand ourselves as subjects in a syntactic sense is not shared by Aristotle or Hegel.

“In face of this, if someone simply persists in asking ‘but where is all this thinking and explaining happening?’ all one can reply is ‘wherever there is thinking’. This is not to say that there is not always a thinker or subject of thought; it is to say that thought that can be truth-bearing is constituted by what is necessary for truth-bearing, by any being of whatever sort capable of objective (possibly true or false) judgment…. Any such criticism, insofar as it is a thinking, a judging, a claim to know, is always already a manifestation of dependence on pure thinking and its conditions, and such ‘moments’ of pure thinking are to delimit (but not to limit) the normative domain of intelligibility (what can rightly be distinguished from what, or rightly posited as ‘ground’, for example) and not any process or series of events that goes on in supposed independence of the empirical world. Pure thinking, as Hegel understands it, is neither dependent on nor independent from the empirical, or from materiality or the brain or the ‘indifference point’ or whatever new ‘absolute’ comes into fashion” (p. 149).

Intelligibility is not thing-like, and intelligent beings are better understood as not thing-like either. I think that intelligence and intelligibility are inherently not self-contained. Self-containedness would correlate to a kind of stupor. Like Meister Eckhart, I might say that my awareness is over there in the wood I am looking at. To participate in intelligence is to transcend narrow boundaries of self.

“[This] is, rather, to argue for the autonomy of the question of ‘any thinking at all’, whatever the existential status of the thinker” (p. 150).

Shareable thought doesn’t really have an owner, even though it does have a history.

“In knowing itself, what pure thought knows is the possible intelligibility, the knowability, of anything that is. But the intelligibility of anything is just what it is to be that thing, to be determinately ‘this-such’ (tode ti), the answer to the ‘what is it’ (ti esti) question definitive of metaphysics since Aristotle” (p. 151).

The “self” in self-knowledge is not a substantial thing, but a reflective relatedness.

“Kant and Heidegger agree that at the most basic level, thought is finite because thought, understanding, knowledge, cannot create its own objects; it depends on a comportment toward what is other than the subject. With things set up that way, it looks like Hegel’s claim for the infinity of thought is a claim that thought does create its own objects. That is not at all his position, but it remains a common interpretation” (ibid).

Thought does not “create” what goes by the name of external reality.

“The other Kantian claim of massive importance to [Heidegger’s] critique of idealism is his argument… that pure thinking can arrive nowhere, certainly not at the determination of the ‘horizon’ of all possible objectivity, without being everywhere not only intertwined with but dependent on sensibility, especially with the ‘sensible’ faculty of the imagination” (ibid).

Thought has a dependence on imagination and sensation. Even “pure” thinking may be said to have such dependencies.

“We should note the change in emphasis insisted on by Hegel. The new metaphysics, logic, concerns things as grasped, gefaßt, in thought, whereas the old metaphysics was a thing-metaphysics” (p. 153).

Philosophy should address meanings rather than “things”.

“Kant and Hegel certainly share the so-called discursivity thesis (which Heidegger does not). Thinking for both is exclusively a spontaneous or productive power, in no sense a perceptual or passive, receptive capacity. It would be hard to exaggerate the magnitude of this common assumption. More than anything else, it sounds the death knell of traditional rationalism, and it plays a crucial role at the decisive beginning of the Logic, where Hegel demonstrates that the thought of mere ‘being’ can be no actual thought at all, its indeterminacy renders it a mere ‘nothing’ without some predicative determination other than the mere thought, being” (p. 155).

Here I have to pause, because the idea that thought is not just significantly or mainly but exclusively active seems me to be an overstatement of an otherwise good point. At the very least, hylomorphism and the inter-embeddedness of thought with sensation ensure that “we” are not exclusively active.

“Kant had also already realized that the pure forms of thought were not features of the human thinker, were not in that sense psychologically subjective, but necessary for any discursive thinker, which means any non-divine thinker. But since these forms of judgment are the forms of any possible truth-bearer, and since truth is either truth or not, it makes no sense to say that these forms delimit something like ‘what is merely true for discursive thinkers’. There is no such thing as ‘truth for X’, even if there is ‘what seems true to X’. The ‘subjectivizing’ elements in Kant are, though species-specific, the pure forms of intuition. And if we reject that doctrine, as Hegel does, we can return to a position like Aristotle’s, where we can study being by studying the forms of predication” (p. 156).

As he says, contrary to some well-meaning attempts to be generous that fall into subjectivism, there is no such thing as a separate “truth for me”, only what seems true to me. It is only appearance that can be immediate and private.

The way Pippin expresses the point about the non-psychological character of thought here nicely minimizes the difference between Kant and Hegel. But Aristotle’s concern with statement-making is normative and not grammatical. The association of Aristotelian statement-making with mere predication is a common error that loses the essential normative dimension of criteria that make something properly said. To put it another way, Aristotle’s concern is not with any random saying, but with how things are properly said to be.

“At some point, and it doesn’t matter (for philosophy) at what point or how, natural organisms reach a level of complexity and organization such that they begin to become occupied with themselves and eventually to engage each other and to understand themselves in ways no longer appropriately explicable within the boundaries of explanations proper to nature considered apart from such capacities. Hegel’s language about this is everywhere practical, not substantive. It is not that Hegel is denying that self-consciousness and intentional agency are facts. He is claiming that no fact about the organic properties of such beings accounts for what it is to be self-conscious or agents, and there is no need for the positing of nonmaterial entities or capacities” (p. 158).

The “practical” aspect is essential here. Ethics, broadly construed, is for Kant and Hegel prior to epistemology and ontology.

“Of course, spirit remains embodied and so subject to mixed explanations, in which its natural properties bear on its activities as spirit…. Consider this passage from the Lectures on Fine Art. ‘Art by means of its representations, while remaining within the sensuous sphere, liberates man at the same time from the power of sensuousness. Of course we may often hear favorite phraseology about man’s duty to remain in immediate unity with nature; but such unity, in its abstraction, is purely and simply rudeness and ferocity, and by dissolving this unity for man, art lifts him with gentle hands out of and above imprisonment in nature'” (p. 159).

Art lifts us with gentle hands. This is important to mention, because Hegel is being accused of logocentrism.

“It doesn’t matter that there are also natural-scientific explanations for what happens in the body and brain when all this occurs, or when we make or enjoy art. The question that has emerged — the only emergence that is relevant — is whether the norm, art, has been rightly and fully realized, or whether the justifications agents offer each other and themselves can in fact be defended, whether the structure of ethical life is consistent with the potential of such a self-liberating being. There is no need to appeal to a vitalist, self-dirempting nature to account for any of this…. This is so for Hegel because the dynamic in question is historical, not biological, even though it clearly has numerous specific natural-organic conditions and involves no commitment to anything non-natural. Correspondingly, the question of the possibility of freedom is not for Hegel a question about the possibility of how a spontaneous causal agency exists in a material world. His theory is a self-realization theory, and that asks for the right achievement in our understanding of ourselves and in our relations to others, again a historical and social question, not one that descends from any account of substance” (ibid).

“I have been suggesting that far and away the deepest, most thoughtful engagement with Idealist and especially Hegelian thought in post-Hegelian philosophy is Heidegger’s. In fact, a good case can be made that Heidegger’s distinction among all such anti-Idealism positions is that his is the first genuine confrontation with Hegel in all the post-Hegelian European tradition” (p. 161).

Heidegger might have been the big-name 20th-century philosopher whose treatment of Hegel was the least worst, but that is really not saying much. However, first in Germany after World War II and now for several decades in the English-speaking world, Hegel scholarship has improved tremendously, and Pippin himself has played a significant part in this.

“[E]specially important is what was published as the second part of Identity and Difference…. Heidegger goes immediately and directly to the heart of Hegel’s enterprise and states it accurately as just what it is. Heidegger tells us that the subject matter, the Sache, of thinking for Hegel is ‘thinking as such’ (Denken als solches). And he immediately adds exactly the right qualification. ‘In order not to misinterpret this definition of the matter — thinking as such — in psychological or epistemological terms, we must add by way of explanation: thinking as such — in the developed fullness in which what has been thought…, has been and now is thought” (ibid).

As I mentioned, this work was significant to me in my youth. But at that time I had no glimmer that I would come to appreciate Hegel as much as I do now, and to take issue with any reading that makes Hegel out as a partisan of strong Identity. That many people can’t be wrong, can they? But they were. Hegel’s “speculative” identity is clearly not a formal or strong identity. It is more like Aristotelian hylomorphism, to the point where I wonder why he calls it identity at all, instead of nonseparation or something like that.

“That is, Hegel thinks of thinking as Being, and not as a subjective epistemological condition; or, said conversely, Being is only available in any sense in its thinkability. Heidegger realizes that pure thinking’s taking itself as object does not result in a mere theory of thinking, or the rules of thinking, or a ‘philosophy of pure cognition’. As Heidegger says directly, for Hegel, ‘being is the absolute self-thinking of thinking’. The last thing that Heidegger means by this is that Being is mental activity, whether human or divine” (ibid).

So far so good.

“Because of his own approach, Heidegger is in a unique position to realize that the subject matter of the Logic is not in any sense whatever a being, not ‘the’ Absolute’s self-positing, not the noetic structure of the world, not abstract objects, not the mind of the Christian God, not a substance, but, in his language, the meaning of Being, the Sinn des Seins. As he puts it in his distinctive language, ‘The Being of beings reveals itself as the ground that gives itself ground and accounts for itself. The ground, the ratio by their essential origin are the logos, in the sense of the gathering of beings and letting them be. They are the hen panta [One-All]. And he tells us what he thinks Hegel means by logic. ‘We now understand the name “logic”… as the name for that kind of thinking which everywhere provides and accounts for the ground of beings as such within the whole in terms of being as ground (logos). The fundamental character is onto-theo-logic'” (p. 162).

Here I come to a big doubt. The negative setup is nice. But then we are told that Being, which is not any of those things, is the ground of beings. Heidegger has no compliments for the Thomistic notion of God that was traditionally supposed to represent pure Being in a “full” sense. He insists that Being is not a being and certainly not the Creator, but his notion seems to be even much further removed from that thinnest of abstractions that is sometimes suggested. But Heidegger’s Being has in common with Aquinas’s idea of God that it is supposed to be the ground of beings. Late in life Heidegger made cryptic statements like “only a god can save us”, but he made it clear that the Christian God could not meet his qualifications.

“The ‘divine’ at stake in what Heidegger means by theo-logic is, he constantly explains, not a being, not anyone to whom we can pray or play music to or dance to, he notes with a hint of contempt….. [B]ecause … thinking is self-grounding and thereby serves as ground (for any being being intelligibly what it is), this thinking is also ‘theology’ because it concerns the causa sui. Pure thinking is productive and self-generating” (ibid).

Causa sui is “cause of itself”, which implicitly brings in all the questions about the nature of causality. Traditionally, some writers have applied this term to God. (On the other hand, Aristotle says there is no such thing as self-motion — that a thing that appears to be self-moving is better understood by distinguishing a mover part from a moved part. His first cause is not a “self”-mover, but a first unmoved mover, and he sees motion as belonging on the side of the moved thing. But a mover for Aristotle is a more specific notion than a cause. See Moved, Unmoved.)

The Kantian/Hegelian autonomy of reason is neither a self-motion nor a self-moving thing. Can it be assimilated to the notion of something being the cause of itself? I don’t think it is intended to work in the register of causality in the modern sense. And what Aristotle proposes instead of self-motion is the notion of entelechy.

“From his interpretation of Hegel in [Being and Time] on, Heidegger has emphasized … that this ground-giving is what Hegel means by the Concept ‘giving itself its own content’, and this by means of the beating heart of the dialectical process. That is, in Hegel’s language, the Concept is ‘self-negating negativity’. Thinking is discriminating, differentiating, and thus determining, and this is possible by any ‘moment of pure thinking’s differentiation of itself from its other, its self-negating. That self-negating means its lack of self-sufficient determinacy, and this by means of its essential relation to and differentiation from its ‘other’. It thereby returns to a moment of stability and putative sufficiency. It negates its own negation of that original self-sufficiency and ‘momentarily’ reestablishes it, only to require again a self-negating of this putative independence and internal self-definition” (pp. 162-163).

Heidegger also apparently preceded Pippin in explicitly recognizing the importance of Kantian unity of apperception in Hegel.

“Heidegger is right that this is one way of formulating Hegel’s attempt to establish an internal derivation of the moments of pure thinking required for the determinacy necessary for anything to be what it is. And here Heidegger is again correct when he claims that behind this in Hegel, what can account for the source of this development, is the apperceptive character of any thinking, that any moment of thinking is a self-conscious moment and so aware of the commitment it undertakes to establish the determinacy of a conceptual moment” (p. 163).

“But Heidegger continually interprets this ‘presence of the I to itself’ in a Cartesian way, as if it is the I’s demand for such a ‘presence’ (that meaning of Being that is the original sin of Western metaphysics) to itself as the telos implicit in any moment of thinking, an interpretation that construes what Hegel is doing in a formal way and that neglects the way Hegel wants to make his case on the basis of the internal self-negation of the conceptual moment. To use the formulation of the [Phenomenology], ‘thought disturbs thoughtlessness’ because of the incompatible commitment created by such incomplete thinking, not because of a subjective dissatisfaction and demand (ibid).

It is quite a mystery to me why Hegel is so complimentary to Descartes in his history of philosophy lectures, when Hegel’s own philosophy is so anti-Cartesian. Clearly he feels antipathy toward scholasticism, although like many modern writers, he knows it mainly from a few sketchy stereotypes. Perhaps that explains the great relief he expresses on getting to Descartes.

The language emphasizing conflicting commitments versus subjective demand makes an important point. This is another way in which we can have major concern for subjectivity, without centrally referencing an ego-like substantial subject.

“For Hegel, again as Heidegger understands him, to be is necessarily to be determinate (a this-such, discriminable from any other ‘such’) and the requirements of determinacy were also the requirements for anything to count as a being…. The beginning of wisdom for the early Heidegger is that, on the contrary, there was clearly a being not at all comprehensible as, not at all being, ‘determinate’: the being Heidegger called ‘Dasein’ precisely to indicate that it was not a determinate this-such” (p. 164).

Here we get to a major point of dispute. Classic early Heidegger’s Dasein seems to inherit some of the paradoxical characteristics of the Aristotelian intellect that is “nothing at all” until it begins to think, but unlike Aristotelian intellect it seemingly is supposed to refer to a whole human being. Ironically, this combination puts it in territory close to that of the scholastic “intellectual soul”, which I’m sure Heidegger had no patience for.

Heidegger wants to call Dasein an openness rather than an essence. The notion seems to be that essence applies only to caged or fossilized things. This led to Sartre’s claim that “existence precedes essence”, where existence becomes another name for Dasein. For practical purposes Dasein seems to be largely equivalent to a human “consciousness”, albeit one outfitted with existentialist characteristics. I on the other hand take a rather dim view of the promotion of mere being and mere consciousness, and aim to recover a more interesting, specific, and useful notion of essence (importance; the making of distinctions) that has nothing to do with fossils or cages.

“Dasein is openness to the meaning of Being itself, ‘being there’ at the site of any manifestation of such meaning. There could be no logos in the Hegelian sense to a being, Dasein, that was what it took itself to be, a being whose mode of being is to-be, existence, a self-interpreting being…. Such a being could never be simply ‘what it is'” (ibid).

I see, more simply: openness to meaning. With a revitalized notion of essence, we have all that we need. It is Being with a capital “B” that is a reification.

“[Heidegger] notes approvingly that Hegel’s approach is developmental, not deductive, and that this developing thought-thinking-thinking is intertwined with the history of thought, with the history of philosophy…. ‘The only Western thinker who has thoughtfully experienced the history of thought is Hegel” (p. 165).

Heidegger does get points for recognizing the extreme importance of the history of philosophy. He is right that Hegel more or less invented the philosophical history of philosophy. (Besides Hegel, several contemporary French writers, including Alain de Libera, Olivier Boulnois, and Gwenaëlle Aubry, have made significant contributions to what they call philosophical archaeology, which is another kind of philosophical history of philosophy. This is an outgrowth of Michel Foucault’s “archaeology of knowledge”, which ironically was originally conceived by Foucault as radically anti-Hegelian. Much less satisfactory to my mind, but also related, is the “storytelling” motif promoted by Richard Rorty.)

“While Hegel thinks the ultimate identity of thinking and being, Heidegger’s basic thought is about difference” (ibid).

That is how Heidegger presents the matter. I think he actually has a less interesting, less supple account of difference than Hegel does, and I don’t believe the myth of Hegel as an identitarian. Blind pursuit of identity is about the furthest thing from Hegel that I could imagine.

Hegel was supposed to be the sneaky one, making us think we were escaping the bad stuff, while actually pulling us in deeper. Heidegger largely invented this now pervasive trope, which is more sophisticated than the head-on confrontations with Hegel that we see in Schelling and Kierkegaard.

“If we take our bearings only from [Being and Time], then we can put the point in Schelling’s way: we would say that the mark of thinking’s finitude is the ‘unreachability’ of human existence itself…. It remains ineffable, not available…. [Existence] finds itself uncanny, not at home anywhere, the anxious, null basis of a nullity, something it cannot help but flee in a tranquilizing (‘falling’) everydayness. But once Heidegger has fully shifted attention to the problem of metaphysics, another issue looms much larger: the absolute difference between Being and beings, our inevitable confusing of the question ‘what is it to be?’ with ‘what is it to be this or that being?'” (p. 166).

For Heidegger, the most important feature of difference is what he calls the ontic-ontological difference, Being versus beings. He doesn’t really care about all the richness and diversity of particular beings, only for the one thing, Being, which he insists is not an abstraction and is not God. For me the richness and diversity of particular beings is everything, and is endlessly liberating.

“Hegel does insist that the question of Being necessarily always amounts to a question about what it is to be this or that being. That is the result of the first moment of the Being Logic, and it is that moment where the deepest ‘confrontation’ (Auseinandersetzung) with Heidegger must take place. In this, as in so much else, Hegel follows Aristotle. Being is said in many ways, but there is a primacy to being as tode ti, a this-such, determinate being” (ibid).

“Kant, Hegel, and Fichte wanted to say that the only assumption necessary for an account of pure thinking is only the ‘I or he or it’ that thinks, but Heidegger insists that this leaves out the question of the mode of being of the subject, and he is certainly right. The notion of a transcendental-logical’ subject is merely a way to avoid the question” (p. 168).

This is subtle and tricky. Leaving out the question of the mode of being of “the subject” is hardly as terrible as Heidegger makes it out to be. Meanwhile with this talk of the mode of being, he distracts attention from what seems to be a rather conventional modern notion that what we are asking about when we consider human “being” is after all most appropriately addressed as a unitary “subject”. I see human (and nonhuman) being as infinitely richer, more multiplex, and more refined than that. This is rooted in the major Hegelian ethical point that we find ourselves in the other, and that human maturity and true spirituality begin from learning to be at home in otherness. Moreover, I think the distinction between empirical and transcendental subjectivity is not at all a mistake but the beginning of wisdom — a recognition that subjectivity is multi-dimensional, and not reducible to one thing.

“Thinking thinking thinking is the enacting of thinking, and the reflective self-consciousness at the end of the Logic, the Concept of the concept, of intelligibility itself, is a form of self-consciousness about the intelligibility of any being, not something like ‘Being as intelligibility itself’…. It does not and cannot include what Heidegger seems to be after: ‘what it means for Being to be thinking’s self-determination of thinking'” (p. 169).

Very true.

“This is not at all to deny that there is something also quite limited and often tendentious about Heidegger’s assessment of Hegel. There are other passages where he does not charge that the question of the mode of being of the thinker has been left unthought by Hegel, but that Hegel did ‘think’ it, and as a Cartesian, that the subject is understood as nothing more than an individual center of consciousness…. While it is true that Hegel does in the Encyclopedia (albeit in the special context of Philosophy of Nature…) say such things as that spirit is ‘the eternal’ and that the eternal is ‘absolute presence’, it is clear from a more charitable reading that Hegel doesn’t mean present-at-hand, or standing presence, as Heidegger claims…. [Heidegger’s claim] assumes that the dialectical self-negation of concepts and eventual sublation results in some sort of abidingness or stability, and, as so much Hegel scholarship after the war has demonstrated, that is the last thing Hegel wants to say” (pp. 169-170).

“This all also raises the question of whether Heidegger is right to draw the rather apocalyptic consequences he does from this ‘forgetting’ or not asking this question; in a word (his word) ‘technology'” (p. 170).

“Heidegger does not here discuss any of the modal questions involved in philosophical conceptuality…. We want necessary conditions. We want: without these elements in place, this availability would not be possible…. In Kant, necessity is tied to necessary conditions of experience. That means, necessary for a unity of consciousness, the Transcendental Unity of Apperception to be possible. In Hegel, necessity is internal to the development of the Concept…. Whether this is defensible or not, we can at least see the basis of necessity in this internal self-negation and developmental necessity. And in Heidegger? Without what would there be no availability, no manifestness, no clearing?” (p. 171).

“But Heidegger and many Hegel scholars pay no attention to the strange limitation Hegel suggests, that Hegel calls these essentialities ‘shadows'” (p. 178). This constitutes “a concession to finitude that Heidegger does not see” (p. 179).

This is extremely important. Hegel may rhetorically rhapsodize about the infinity of reflection, but really he is not at all hostile to the concerns of advocates of the finitude of human powers. Pippin’s Hegel’s Practical Philosophy develops this in great detail.

“Hegel’s speculative identity claim… is wrongly characterized by the traditional notion of individual determinacy. The relation of dependence goes the other way too. Such determinacy must be rethought in the light of the theory of interanimated pure concepts. (This is roughly the same logical point we saw in the implications of the inseparability of thought and intuition in our discussion of Kant.)…. Hegel has many of the same objections to the understanding — ‘forgetting’ its provisional and merely useful status — as Heidegger does” (p. 180).

Pippin is absolutely right here.

“The metaphors can threaten to pile on each other clumsily here, but it is essential to see that by ‘shadows’, Hegel means to point to the insufficiency of the Logic — even as a metaphysics — if considered as a stand-alone part…. It is an abstraction, a necessary one, but its isolation from the system it animates, while necessary, can produce only shadows of the Absolute. We must see it ‘alive’ in the development of the sciences of nature and in the historical development of human Geist before it can be fully understood. It is the same with Aristotle, Hegel’s guide in so much. ‘What really is’ is the being-at-work (energeia) of the individuated species form in a particular, a tode ti. The universal species form is indispensible in knowing, but isolated it is a ‘shadow’ in the same sense” (ibid).

Well said.

“Since Hegel’s Philosophy of Nature clearly incorporates unanticipatable historical developments in the natural sciences, and since the Philosophy of Spirit refers to many distinctly modern elements of civil society and the state, then the reciprocal relation between the Logic and the Encyclopedia cannot be ‘closed’. Further developments in either normative domain must affect what could count as the logical moment they depend on. To be sure, this point does not mean that logical or conceptual reflections are ‘driven’ by empirical discovery and historical novelty. Every such change must be understood as an amplification and further substantialization of what in the Logic are mere shadows. Any such amplification and deepening must always occur ‘shadowed’ by the necessities of the Logic’s requirements for intelligibility. This does, however, mean … that the Hegelian a priori … must be a historical a priori … at a moment of development in the investigations of nature and the developments of civil society” (pp. 180-181).

“Does any of this mean that Heidegger’s critique misses the mark? Not decisively, I would suggest…. There is no way into or out of Hegel without the Absolute, the Concept, the Science of Logic. And Heidegger is right. There is no Absolute. There cannot be an Absolute” (p. 181).

That is disappointing. The Absolute that cannot exist, I want to suggest, is not Hegel’s. I’m walking the edge here, but in spite of numerous passages that do have inflationary rhetoric, the Hegelian absolute is actually a relatively simple and modest notion.

“The Logic, we recall, begins with the ‘resolve’ to think being, and it is fair enough for Heidegger to interpret this as a question about the meaning of Being. And, since all thinking is inherently apperceptive, upon reflection the result of attempting to think Being itself is shown to be an unsustainable thought because indeterminate and so unthinkable, not a thought” (p. 186).

“In other words, Hegel draws exactly the wrong lesson from the unthinkability of Being as such, a generality that is so general that it dissolves into something unavailable” (p. 187).

I would argue with that.

“However, [Heidegger’s] main question and the critique it is based on are only weighty, fundamental in his sense, if it does not remain a kind of black box of chaotic indeterminate, unsayable revelations across historical time. What is this new sort of thinking?… Without some answer to this question, it is Heidegger who looks like our shopper searching in vain for ‘fruit'” (p. 188).

Pippin recounts Heidegger’s discussion of an anecdote by Hegel of an apparently very Socratic shopper who went to the store to buy Fruit with a capital “F”, but found only apples, bananas, pears, and the like, and considered the venture a failure. Heidegger tries to turn the tables on Hegel in this example and claim that Hegel himself is really like that shopper, but Pippin is saying this is not a legitimate reading.

Pippin quotes Heidegger, “One must think in both a literal and a substantive sense, namely, that the unique unleashing of the demand to render reasons threatens everything of humans’ being-at-home and robs them of the roots of their subsistence” (p. 189).

This is a horrible mischaracterization of what is wrong with the world. People looking for reasons are hardly the cause of the apocalypse. Reasons are ethical before they are epistemological. We need them and like them. They are our friends, and help us make things better. To claim that reason is inevitably alienating is simplistic, utterly wrong, and a terrible piece of bad faith.

“The gods have fled, though, and some new ‘thinking’ (thinking that is not what he had called ‘logic’) is necessary if Heidegger is posing a real alternative to the twenty-five hundred years of metaphysics begun by Greek ‘aesthetic objectivism'” (p. 191).

OK, now we’re calling it in. Aesthetic objectivism, really? I guess that for Heidegger the birth of ethical reason with Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle was a non-event.

“Hegel does not mean that Spirit will no longer exist in time but that its self-comprehending over time assumes a teleological structure, a goal that, when reached, transcends its necessary appearance in time, or its finitude…. As we have been seeing, Heidegger denies that Dasein has any such structure or goal…. (The temporal form of the fundamental meaning of Spirit’s being is for Hegel provisional; not final.) Such a denial is unwarranted and dogmatic, according to Heidegger” (p. 192).

“It is this notion of a genuinely progressive inner self-correction that Heidegger challenges as merely staged” (p. 195).

The thing in Hegel that Brandom seems to love most — a confident, proto-Deweyan vision of progress — is false, according to Heidegger. This is a delicate point. Hegel has been called both an optimist and a pessimist in different settings. Once again, I think that a charitable interpretation is a modest interpretation. Even Brandom also refers to the “path of despair”, a phrase of Hegel’s that is farther than I would go in the other direction.

“A key issue in what bothers Heidegger about this procedure and indeed the key to understanding what Hegel is trying to do is the concept of negation involved in Spirit’s periodic self-negation, that ‘self-consummating skepticism’. This sort of phenomenological negation is said by Hegel not to be indeterminate” (p. 196).

“The journey is governed by the assumption that any moment must be a ‘self-knowing knowing’, that any being must be discursively articulable…. But there is a prior question about the meaning for Spirit of what it experiences, a meaning Hegel simply assumes” (p. 197).

“Our natural consciousness would stubbornly insist it knows what it sees, even if it cannot say so precisely. Hegel’s contrary claim is that the inherent and unavoidable commitment to full logical intelligibility (‘science’) is both partially and ever more self-consciously revealed as an inherent, unacknowledged commitment in any claim to know or (ultimately in the journey) to act justifiably and that we are led to a full acknowledged commitment in full self-consciousness about what we had been doing. There is nothing illicit in the presence of the assumption; that is what is being demonstrated. It is simply un-self-conscious and coming to self-consciousness” (p. 198).

“Heidegger has, in other words, confused the fact that an implication may be implicit in a position and coming to see that and why a claim that an implication is implicit in a position is justified. We may know at the end of Hegel’s journey that ‘the Absolute’ was ‘already assumed, already present’, but we are not entitled to any such position at the outset” (p. 199).

“A second criticism is also a familiar and predictable one. Who is the ‘subject’ of this putative experience?” (ibid). “[Heidegger’s] clear assumption is that any such subject will still be ‘thing’ or ‘substance’ like and will not diverge from the basic presuppositions Heidegger notices in the consciousness section” (p. 200). “Likewise with the emergence of the logical prejudice in his explanation of the transition from consciousness to self-consciousness, that ‘being is determined logically, such that logic manifests as egology'” (p. 201).

“It would take an interpretation of all the first four chapters of the [Phenomenology] to challenge Heidegger’s reading, but we should at least note in passing that, at least as Hegel understands his book, it cannot be considered an ‘egology’ like Fichte’s, say…. Rather, individual egos should not be considered as, ex ante, atomistic, self-sufficient egological origins of such commitments to a collective subject, as if Geist comes into being only as a result of constituting acts by ex-ante spiritless (geistlose) atomic individuals. They are the individuals they are only as already ‘formed’ (gebildet) within and as inheriting such collectivities” (ibid).

“The difference between Hegel’s ‘shapes of spirit’ and Heidegger’s ‘world’ comes down to whether such shapes of spirit can become self-conscious to themselves in ways reflected in art, religion, and philosophy, and in coming to do so, reflect on and move on from deficiencies in such self-understanding…. This co-constituting mutual dependence is why Hegel can frequently say something that would otherwise be mysterious, that spirit, this social subjectivity, is ‘a product of itself’. (Geist is this co-constituting relation — the product of individuals who are themselves the products of their participation in Geist. Geist has no substantial existence apart from this mutual reflection.)” (ibid).

Next in this series: Poetic Thinking

Versions of Finitude

Heidegger claims to radicalize Kantian finitude. He “wants to applaud Kant for appreciating the finitude of thinking — in Kant its dependence on sensible and pure intuition — also note the hidden importance of the imagination in Kant’s project, and yet also demonstrate that Kant has not broken free of the prior metaphysical tradition but remains solidly within its assumptions” (Pippin, The Culmination, p. 82).

“Kant treats our immediate familiarity with the world as an unimportant issue, since real knowledge of what really is resides in mathematical physics, and how things show up in ordinary experience is of no account” (p. 83).

Pippin is characterizing Heidegger’s view here. The last part strikes me as an overstatement by Heidegger. Kant aims, among other things, to give an account of ethics and human life that would be compatible with Newtonian physics, but never even comes close to suggesting that ethics could be explained in terms of physics.

“Heidegger claims that not only is freedom a problem of causality, but causality is itself a problem of freedom” (ibid).

Kant does occasionally mix up discussions of freedom and causality, as when he makes the unfortunate suggestion that we think of freedom as an alternate kind of causality besides the one exhibited in Newtonian physics. But in the main, he treats ethical freedom and mechanical causality as two very different registers. Heidegger is tendentiously assuming that for Kant, physics must provide the outer frame of reference for ethics. But despite Kant’s great reverence for Newton, he famously argues for the primacy of practical reason.

“Heidegger wants to explore the implications of the remarkably Fichtean formulation that anything actual must be understood to be ‘posited’, that being, the meaning of being, is ‘positing'” (p. 84).

This notion of positing has come up several times, in relation to Hegel (and Fichte, who first made it a major theme). It is closely related to the contested notion of judgment. As Aristotle might remind us, judgment is said in more than one way.

“Position or positing is treated throughout as judging, the discursive form of representing” (p. 85, emphasis in original).

Judgment in the sense I care about mainly names a kind of free inquiry where the outcome is not decided in advance, rather than a completed conclusion. It should be understood as subject to all the nuances that affect jurisprudence. Judging as an activity has to be an open process of interpreting, not the mere representing of something identified in advance or known in advance. Only in hindsight — with a conclusion already in view — can judgment even be expressed in terms of representation. But the early modern tradition in logic identifies judgments with propositions, assertions, or conclusions.

Pippin quotes Heidegger quoting Kant, “The concept of positing or asserting [Position oder Setzung] is completely simple and identical with that of being in general” (p.86).

To “be” X is to be well said to be X.

For Kant, Pippin explains, “We have the power to determine objectively when something exists or not, so that what there is can be understood as what this power can determine…. [T]he concept of something existing beyond our capacity to determine in principle if it exists (or if we cannot but believe it exists) is an empty notion” (pp. 86-87).

He quotes Kant again, “I find that a judgment is nothing but the manner in which given modes of knowledge are brought to the objective unity of apperception. This is what is intended by the copula is. It is employed to distinguish the objective unity of given representations from a subjective unity” (p. 87).

This will lead Heidegger to say that for Kant, the meaning of Being is unity of apperception. That seems plausible enough.

“The primordial mode of being of Dasein is not primarily as a perceiver but being-in-the-world” (p. 88).

Heidegger wants to disqualify any purely cognitive approach to these issues, and simultaneously to claim that all the philosophers do take a purely cognitive approach, which renders their conclusions invalid. This second claim is once again highly tendentious, because many of the philosophers take a normative approach that is in no way “purely cognitive”.

“Kant takes himself to have demonstrated that all that relation to an object, a determination of any being, can amount to is the objective unity of an apperceptive synthesis…. And there is no indication that he thinks that demonstration will show that the mind imposes a form on a formless matter” (p. 89, emphasis in original).

Hegel and Heidegger both at times blame Kant for using language that tends to suggest the two-stage, “impositionist” view.

“[Kant’s transcendental] deduction is not about ‘stamping’ but about demonstrating that there cannot be any intuited content (i.e., any cognitively relevant content) that is incongruent with the required a priori conditions…. But Heidegger is simply asserting that this unity is ‘subjective’ and imposed…. There is quite a lot, most of it simply assumed by Heidegger, packed into ‘Thinking is esconced in human subjectivity'” (p. 90).

“As a student of Husserl, Heidegger is certainly aware of the objections to any psychologistic account of judgment, and his suggestions about ‘stamping’ and being ‘sunk’ in subjectivity do not trade on any such psychologizing…. Judgment too is a mode of public comportment towards entities, a modality of being-in-the-world, and not originally an inner episode…. [H]e appears to think that locating the intelligibility of being in judgment unavoidably transforms the objects of judgment into mere present-at-hand entities. Given the claim that the primordial, fundamental, or original meaning of beings is as pragmata, equipment, read-to-hand, our fundamental mode of comportment towards beings is engaged and unreflective use, and any interruption of such unreflective use, such as a cognitive judging, must lose any grip on this primordial meaning and primordial comportment in favor of a present-at-hand substance” (p. 93).

Judgment as public comportment rather than inner episode makes good sense. Beings as pragmata are fine. But I simply do not see any “unavoidable” transformation of objects of judgment into present-at-hand entities. Yes, something like this fixing of presence-at-hand does occur in various circumstances. But the history of philosophy provides plenty of counterexamples, among whom I would include Plato, Aristotle, Kant, and Hegel. Hegel even addresses the issue very explicitly, with his famous complaints about “dead” objects and such. It is disingenuous for Heidegger to ignore this.

Heidegger also appears to claim that unreflective engagement in the world is unequivocally superior to the best Kantian and Hegelian reflection. Unreflective engagement should be granted some role and dignity, but this goes way too far.

“Unless there is such a link between judgment as such and being as constant presence…, this mere link to a thinking subject… would not appear to justify any claim to a distortion or unthinking appropriation of the core metaphysical tradition” (p. 94).

I think we just established that there is no such unqualified link.

“[I]t would not be fair to Kant to insist that he understands this cognitive or judgmental modality as either exclusive or even privileged…. In fact, a good case can be made that one of Kant’s contributions to philosophy is his demonstration that our primary and most significant mode of comportment towards being ‘as a whole’ is not cognitive but practical, the experience of the moral law, our own status as free subjects, and our sensitivity to the beautiful and the sublime” (ibid).

Yes indeed.

“And Kant is famous for denying the possibility of ontology, claiming that the proud name of ontology must give way to the humbler analytic of the understanding” (p. 99).

And I say he is right to do so, and that Hegel follows him in this.

“But there is no moment in Kant that holds that the Being of beings is a matter of disclosure” (p. 100).

Indeed not. If anything, Kant is overly categorical in asserting the purely active nature of thought.

“There can be no undifferentiated mere matter of sensation that is then in a second step shaped by pure concepts” (p. 101).

As I mentioned, Pippin and Brandom have pretty conclusively refuted the old “two stage” reading of Kant on thought and intuition.

Pippin quotes a particularly outrageous claim by Heidegger, that “In order to understand the Critique of Pure Reason, this point must be hammered in, so to speak: knowing is primarily of intuiting…. All thinking is merely in the service of intuition” (ibid).

“This is not exactly Kant’s position. It would be more accurate to summarize it as: knowing is always a thinking intuiting and an intuiting thinking” (pp. 101-102).

Heidegger “even freely admits that Kant insists on a reciprocity between thinking and intuiting, but he proposes forging ahead anyway with his claim for the priority of intuition” (p. 104).

“The ‘basic faculty’ is the imagination, and it is ‘pre-ontological’ because it is the exercise of a nondiscursive, nonconceptual imagining” (p. 109).

I am myself fascinated by the role of imagination in Aristotle and Kant (see also Sellars on Kantian Imagination). I would not claim, however, that imagination is the root of all thought. Imagination in its immediate presentation is nondiscursive and nonconceptual, but Kant’s subtler point is that discursive and conceptual elements nonetheless get wrapped into it. Imagination in the broadest Aristotelian sense seems to be a kind of link between organic being and thought. Without imagination, an organic being cannot be said to think. But thought is more than just imagination. What makes thought rational is its non-arbitrariness. Kant would tell us that imagination cannot be completely arbitrary either, since the categories of thought also apply to it, as he argues in the famously difficult “transcendental deduction” in the Critique of Pure Reason. (See also Capacity to Judge; Figurative Synthesis.)

“More radically put: both intuition and understanding are derivative…. What he appears to mean by derivative is that there could be no role to play for the understanding and intuition conceived as distinct capacities, were there not an original imaginative projection of a horizon of possible encounterable beings” (p. 111).

This part seems unobjectionable.

“So, the question is not whether conceptual capacities are necessary for any experience…. The issue is rather the mode of conceptual actualization. The chess grand master has ‘immediately’ ‘in mind’ a sense of areas of threats, dangers, degrees of possibilities and probabilities, all because of the years he has spent playing and reading chess books. But those moves are determinate, and concepts are in play” (p. 114).

This illustrates what Hegel calls “mediated immediacy”.

“The point of all these metaphors is, of course, to find as many ways as possible to suggest some spontaneous activity in intuiting other than assertoric judging or acts of conceptual sorting, or deliberate rule-following” (p. 115).

In a Kantian context, spontaneous activity and intuition are mutually exclusive, though in real life we never get either of these purely by itself.

“The horizon-forming work of the imagination is not a determination of conceptual intelligibility but our comportment with a world everywhere always already ‘irradiated’ with meaning, significance” (ibid).

This again seems fine. The notion of horizon comes from Husserl’s phenomenology.

“He means that one cannot say of a Dasein, a human person, that this sort of being is simply ‘in time’, in some supposed ‘flow’ of temporal moments. It can, of course, for various purposes, be considered that way, as if Dasein were a table or a plant, but that aspect is derivative from how Dasein orients itself in in time, and in that sense ‘affects itself’…. Heidegger means, again in a way that involves the imagination, that we never experience time simply ‘passing’, but our temporal awareness always (again) involves the issue of meaning…. [T]he notion of time is presented as [a] kind of self-determining and so self-affecting, since time is a pure intuition, where that means not a pure intuited but a pure intuiting…. This is not an empirical event, and so there is not a self that ‘affects’ itself as already present to itself as a substance-like self, a subject” (p. 117).

Here we get to why Heidegger called his magnum opus Being and Time. He wants to give us anything but a boring mathematizing theory of uniform Newtonian time. A radical, nonuniform, constitutive experience of time is one of his more interesting thoughts. It seems to start from Kant’s notion of time as a “pure intuition”. (See also Ricoeur on Husserl on Memory; Ricoeur on Augustine on Memory.)

“A self is the way it stretches itself along in time” (p. 118).

“According to Heidegger, the world, a historical world, sets a horizon of possible meaningfulness — fundamentally the meaning of Being as such — and Dasein’s inheritance of and orientation from such a horizon does not require any self-conscious discursive orientation, but is a matter of simply being involved in the interrelated nexus of practical significances that amounts to the various tasks and projects of the world” (p. 120).

That orientation from a horizon is generally not self-conscious goes with the territory. The same might be said of a human’s uptake of culture.

Heidegger contrasts a good “ready-to-hand” with the bad present-at-hand. The good one is supposed to be original and primordial, which seems to mean it is that by comparison with which he will say everything else is effectively in bad faith (though that is not his term).

“[T]his primordial meaningfulness of entities should be understood as (although not exclusively as) the ready-to-hand, Zuhandenheit, affordances, and not the present-at-hand, at-handedness simply present before us, the vorhanden, primarily stable substances enduring through time understood as a sequence of nows, what Heidegger generally calls standing presence, ständige Anwesenheit. By contrast with empirical intelligibility, our understanding of the ready-to-hand is a matter of attunement and appropriate comportment, something like skillful involvement. This fundamental level of significance has been obscured by the metaphysical tradition since Plato and Aristotle. This is because of the mistaken assumption that our original familiarity with beings in a world is illusory and truth is a struggle towards cognitive intelligibility” (pp. 120-121).

I think something like attunement and comportment and skillful involvement is very much present in Plato and Aristotle (and in Stoicism and Epicureanism, for that matter), so for me the whole negative argument about metaphysics never even gets off the ground. Heidegger is reading what is really a modern issue too far backwards in history.

“Every projection of what matters to us into the future involves a being, Dasein, with no inherent teleology or universal or even available ground (an answer to the question of why what fundamentally matters in the world does or ought to matter). What originally matters is inextricable from our thrownness into a certain historical world, so what comes to matter is a question of contingency, what we plan out concerning what matters is subject to the massive contingency of our lack of control not only over our own ‘ground’ but over our fate or our ever-possible death” (p. 121).

We have not seen any argument why there is no “teleology or universal or even available ground” related to human being-in-the-world, though this is a common modern assumption.

“Most importantly for our present purposes, the priority of the ständige Anwesenheit assumption cannot be assumed in the question of our own being, how our own being is a meaningful issue, at stake for us. At the heart of Heidegger’s analysis in [Being and Time] is the claim that the authentic meaning of Dasein’s being can also crudely but accurately be summarized: anxious being-towards-death” (ibid).

Heidegger has exerted a very great influence on Continentally oriented discourse about the “question of the subject”. There does seem to be a kind of correlation between the broadly syntactic definition of substance as an “underlying thing” in Aristotle’s Categories, and what Heidegger calls “standing presence”, but this is precisely the definition that is superseded in the Metaphysics.

The whole notion that “anxious being-towards-death” is the most important aspect of human subjectivity — and the key to its “authenticity” — seems very implausible. I stand with Spinoza’s “The philosopher thinks of nothing less than of death”. This stuff about death is directly personal for me, as a recent cancer survivor. I choose to meditate on life — the good, the true, and the beautiful — and as much as possible to cherish every moment.

“Heidegger’s basic picture focuses on Dasein’s unique awareness of our own mortality, and so the question of whether one lives with a resolute readiness for anxiety, or a flight from such awareness by the tranquilizing notions like ‘everyone must die; we can’t do anything about it, so why worry about it?’ or ‘what a morbid way to look at life'” (pp. 121-122).

I choose neither of these. Heidegger tries to force us with a false dichotomy.

“This is also a dramatically isolating and individualizing approach. A background standing attunement to the constant impendingness of one’s own death is intensely private and unshareable, and with such a notion at the center it makes almost all of ordinary life escapist and even cowardly” (p. 122).

What Pippin correctly recognizes as a “dramatically isolating and individualizing approach” does not bode well for ethics.

Calling almost all of ordinary life escapist and cowardly sounds like emotional blackmail. This is of a piece with Heidegger’s very uncharitable account of the history of philosophy.

“If we ask this question of Kant in the register in which Heidegger asks it, then it would hardly be correct to suggest that for Kant, ‘primordially’, what it is to be a human, to exist in a distinctively human way, is to be a self-conscious knower…. Kant is under no illusion about the fact that our little ‘island’ of factual knowledge of nature, the pinnacle of which is Newtonian mechanics, is of no deep significance for human life. This is a radical rejection of so many conceptions of philosophy, from the Socratic-Platonic notion of philosophy as a way of life to the notion of philosophy as therapeutic in the Wittgensteinian sense. Human significance and worth are based wholly on a rational faith in our moral vocation. That is what primordially matters. We don’t ‘know’ that we have such a capacity, but its availability is a matter of its practical undeniability” (ibid).

For Kant, our status as what I would call ethical beings is more “primordial” than our status as knowers. I see harmony rather than conflict between the Socratic-Platonic notion of philosophy as a way of life, and a rational faith in our moral vocation.

“Heidegger understands this feature of Kant, that the true significance in being human does not for Kant reside in being a knowing subject” (ibid).

“It is not enough to acknowledge our finitude in this context by noting the inevitability of moral struggle. If there is moral struggle at all, that is already an indication that the moral law is not practically motivating just by being acknowledged. That would be what Kant calls a ‘holy will’. This is a pretty close analogue to his conclusion that the unity of the understanding and intuition requires that the nature of the understanding itself cannot be formulated in terms of the logic of judgment alone (that it requires the prior function of pure imagination). The bearing of pure reason on our sensible inclinations cannot be understood as a mere imposition on an independently conceived sensible nature. (There is also an analogue to Hegel’s early critique of Kant — that this picture of imposition means the law is experienced as wholly positive, an alien authority, as alien as a divine command theory of morality, the mere imposition of a law ‘from without’. It is Hegel’s way of raising the necessary question of what our moral vocation means to us, beyond merely ‘being commanded’.)” (p. 124).

Plato already has a well-developed alternative to a command theory of morality, as well as a good awareness of the importance of mixed forms (see Middle Part of the Soul). As Pippin has already suggested, Kant scholars now generally reject the attribution of an “impositionist” theory to Kant.

“Even if imperfectly, Kant realized that our access to the moral dimension of our being is through a kind of attunement…. As in so many other cases in Kant, what look like two steps, acknowledgement of our duty, then producing a consequent feeling of respect, is actually one moment” (p. 125).

Heidegger approves of Kant’s talk about moral feeling, but he wants to counterpose feeling to judgment in ways Kant would not accept. He does correctly make the important point that meaning is of greater import for ethics than causality.

Feeling obligated is feeling respect. (A summary account of Heidegger’s point would be that the whole issue of respect looks different when the framework is not the question of practical causality but the meaning of our moral vocation)…. Respect is what gives the way morality fits into a life as a whole its meaning. This is why Heidegger applauds Kant so enthusiastically” (p. 126). Pippin quotes Heidegger, “This feeling of respect for the law is produced by reason itself; it is not a feeling pathologically induced by sensibility…. [M]y having a feeling of respect for the law and with it this specific mode of revelation of the law is the only way in which the moral law as such is able to approach me” (ibid).

“There is more ambiguity about this in Kant than Heidegger lets on. Heidegger’s interpretation of Kantian respect, at least prima facie, would ultimately not seem to be consistent with the notion of autonomy so important to Kant” (p.127).

Kant would not use a metaphor of revelation. He certainly would not call it the “only way” we encounter ethical principles. And he would not speak of the moral law approaching us. For Kant, it is we who are the agents, because it is we who are ethically responsible.

As a would-be experimental poet in my youth, I used to be fascinated by these metaphors of Heidegger, where Being reaches out to us, and so on.

“Heidegger does not think Kant can make any of the metaphysically significant distinctions he wants to make between a phenomenal or psychological subject and a moral or transcendental subject because he treats them all as substances underlying thought, action, and empirical sensations” (ibid).

Here we come back to the question of what a subject is for Kant. Heidegger is right that it should not be thought of as a substance in the sense of Aristotle’s Categories.

“The other conception of the thing or any being is what he calls primordial, authentic, originary, and closest to us — what is directly available in our ordinary comportments, a being always already irradiated, to use Wittgenstein’s word, with meaning” (p. 129).

This seems to be an immediate that is supposed to be more true than any mediation.

“We have somehow come to misunderstand and distort what is and always remains most familiar to us…. What we inherit is a world where the unreflective basic and orienting meaning amounts to an assumption about what matters (and therewith what doesn’t matter or matter very much), that what is cared about, what in the world has ‘prevailed’ (gewaltet), is manipulability, beings understood as manipulable stuff, available for satisfying human self-interests….We have even come to experience ourselves in this way, as things of a sort” (ibid).

There is a significant grain of truth here, but a similar insight can already be found in many of the world’s religious traditions; in a more philosophical form among the neoplatonists; and in a purely philosophical form in Hegel.

“We do not recognize our own openness to meaningful being. This is not like ignorance or a mistake…. There is a kind of self-evasion even in dealing with, comporting with, objects that makes them predictable and secure, manipulable all out of a kind of thoughtless, laziness, and instrumentalizing scientism” (pp. 129-130).

He seems to be saying that humans as a whole are dominated by a kind of willful bad faith that imposes shallowness on everything, and for which we are more culpable than if we were merely ignorant or mistaken.

“Mention is made again of the fact that ‘the essence of the thing [is] determined on the basis of the essence of propositions’…. Language, history, the work of art are all understood in terms of this ontology, which has now assumed the role of a pre-ontological orientation, distorting our self-understanding, our own experiences of ourselves. He even suggests that the reason poetry is so poorly taught (a claim he simply assumes) is because poetry teachers cannot distinguish between the distinct mode of being of a poem and a thing” (pp. 130-131).

To put it another way, Heidegger claims that humans in general — and Western philosophers in particular — distort everything in theoreticist and logocentric ways. It’s hard to know what to do with such sweeping condemnations. I earlier compared this to the circular logic of emotional blackmail, which basically tells us that if we disagree, we obviously must be part of the problem.

Pippin suggests that for Heidegger, at root this is an issue with the social dominance of modern science. I have my own criticisms of modern science, but I by no means see it in a purely negative light. The neo-Kantians who dominated German philosophy in the early 20th century seem to have been one of Heidegger’s main targets, both because of their relation to Kant and because of their strong advocacy of modern science.

“[I]t has proven to be inevitable that our self-understanding would have to change to accommodate the approach of scientific naturalism, and that was and remains the intent of the project. A look at how modern economics understands rational agents, or how psychiatry does, or the research paradigms in the social sciences and now even in the humanities make that clear…. Heidegger’s idea for a recovery, a new beginning in philosophy (which he accuses of complicity with this ‘standing presence’ project since its beginning) rests on the claim that such claims of scientific objectivity can be shown to be based on a distortion of a primordial level of meaningfulness” (pp. 134-135).

While I would put a modest notion of ethical being ahead of the requirements of science, I do also believe that there are requirements of science. Methodological criticism should not be confused with global dismissal. I generally disagree when philosophers globally dismiss other philosophers.

Next in this series: Heidegger vs Hegel

Heidegger’s Story About Metaphysics

This will be quite a long one. For a quick capsule of my own views in this area, see Simple Thoughts About Being.

In Heidegger we have another instance of philosophical historical storytelling, such as came up recently with Brandom’s discussion of Rorty’s links to Dewey’s pragmatism, but this one is the story of a disaster rather than an optimistic vision of progress. This post is part of a response to Robert Pippin’s new book on Heidegger’s “overcoming” of German idealism. I am no Heidegger scholar, but I do know something about the history of things that have been called metaphysics.

Heidegger has famously promulgated an extremely simplified story about the history of Western metaphysics, as from beginning to end the story of a wrong direction. All the philosophers — from Plato to Hegel and beyond — stand indicted, except for Heidegger himself. Any such sweeping condemnation ought to be automatically suspect, but this thesis gained wide currency in the 20th century. According to Heidegger, Hegel’s substitution of “logic” for traditional metaphysics makes the wrong direction that metaphysics has always taken completely explicit.

“Heidegger begins by noting that Hegel, ‘the culminator’, had correctly seen that the underlying commitment of the Western tradition is that metaphysics… is ‘logic’. He does not, of course, mean formal logic, …but what Heidegger calls begreifendes Denken, conceptualizing thinking. He means a commitment to the view that what he calls the actuality of the actual, or the real essence of anything, is what can be grasped conceptually…, a determination of what must be the case for anything to be a determinate thing at all” (Pippin, The Culmination, p. 8).

“This means that being is already understood as what Heidegger will call ‘standing presence’ (ständige or beständige Anwesenheit). By this he means a being that is determinate, discriminable from other beings, and so potentially available to a subject in the present and able to endure through a temporal phase. The comprehensive concept for such an understanding is ousia, substance” (p. 11).

The ousia that has these characteristics is substance in the merely syntactic sense that it is given in Aristotle’s Categories for use in formal logic. Across many posts, we have seen how one of Aristotle’s main goals in the collection of manuscripts the ancient editors called “after the Physics” (meta ta phusika) involves explicating ousia not as a syntactic category, but first as form, and then as act and potentiality.

“This then raises the question that is at the heart of the matter for Heidegger: Why have we not asked whether this (let us say as shorthand, determinately standing being as thinkability) should be assumed to be the orientation for any inquiry about the meaning of being qua being? What grounds can justify such an orientation? Is it possible that a finite, mortal being can understand itself as an in-principle, completely self-knowing being with respect to the fundamental issues of first philosophy? If the question is the meaning of Being as such, it must mean the meaning available for the one being open to that question, and that being is not rightly understood as exclusively self-conscious, a pure thinking being, but as a living, finite being — what Heidegger calls Dasein — and the task of first philosophy must be reformulated in the light of the analysis of that being, a Daseinsanalytik. So, instead of a Phenomenology of Spirit, culminating in the self-knowing of a Science of Logic, we need a ‘metaphysics’ of Dasein” (ibid).

Pippin rather carefully states Hegel’s claim: living, finite beings can have reflective self-knowledge “in principle” and “with respect to the fundamental issues of first philosophy”. This involves neither infallibility nor omniscience.

Heidegger is right that Plato, Aristotle, and Hegel, among others, think of being as inseparable from intelligibility. He is right too that Aristotle and Hegel, in their pursuit of intelligibility, direct inquiry away from being qua being as a matter of principle. I would say this is because their investigations have convinced them that being qua being cannot explain intelligibility or meaning. But Heidegger has only asserted — and not shown — that the sincere pursuit of intelligibility must inevitably go wrong.

Pippin emphasizes Heidegger’s insistence that we are finite, mortal beings. Heidegger criticizes Kant for allegedly giving up his insistence on our finitude in the second edition of the Critique of Pure Reason, in favor of emphasis on the transcendental.

Hegel takes the emphasis on finitude to be a defeatist stance. He provocatively claims that in spite of our finitude and mortality, language and reflection introduce humans to a kind of infinity. He argues that we should embrace that infinity.

“But when Heidegger argues against any absolute status for philosophical judgments, he is not merely arguing against Hegel or an old-fashioned self-understanding but against all traditional philosophy itself” (p. 12, emphasis in original).

This is all deeply related to the question of whether humans can have genuine knowledge at all. Hegel is an optimist about this; Heidegger is a pessimist.

The vexed term “absolute” seems to be used by Heidegger in a blunt, black-and-white sense. For better or worse, “absolute” was a much overused term in Hegel’s Germany, made fashionable by the Schellingians. Hegel has quite a few wry comments about these pundits of “absolute” truth.

I have suggested that for Hegel, knowledge is said to be “absolute” when it fully recognizes its own relativity, which is to say its own conditioned character. Hegel’s claim would then be that anything deserving the name of knowledge in the fullest sense can and must in principle be capable of recognizing its own relativity. Perhaps indeed this is a criterion for knowledge in the fullest sense, not unlike the Socratic criterion for wisdom as recognition of all we do not know.

“[I]increasingly after Being and Time, Heidegger came to characterize what he was about as an attempt to ‘overcome’ Hegel, whom he consistently characterized as the ‘culmination’ of the entire Western tradition as well as German Idealism” (p. 13). Pippin quotes Heidegger, “with
German Idealism, it seemed as if philosophy as such had reached an end and had entrusted the administration of knowledge exclusively to the sciences” (ibid).

“This is all tied to Heidegger’s view that true metaphysical thinking is not to be understood as a strictly cognitive exercise of pure reason, and this is linked with a hermeneutic rather than analytic character of thinking. For him this means that such interpretive or ‘meaning-seeking’ thinking is inseparable from how such thinking should matter to any thinker” (p. 14).

But Aristotle and Hegel each in their own way do practice a kind of thinking that is more hermeneutic than analytic. They just don’t use the word, at least in its contemporary sense. (Aristotle’s On Interpretation is literally hermeneutike, but it is among the least hermeneutic of Aristotle’s texts.) Aristotle and Hegel’s difference with Heidegger is that like Paul Ricoeur also does, they recognize that more “analytic” investigations do also have value for a primarily hermeneutic orientation.

“And this mattering is complicated by the fact that such thinking is burdened by a dependence on a ground we constantly experience as beyond our ability to grasp conceptually” (p. 15).

Here is where things get complicated. For Heidegger, the ground is in principle beyond our ability to grasp conceptually. I think this assumes what Hegel would call an unreflective and therefore untrue (representational) notion of what is conceptual.

Brandom has written a lot about the very unordinary because nonrepresentational notion of the conceptual in Kant and Hegel, and I see something similar in Aristotle. (I find it a bit odd that Brandom is so generous in his reading of Heidegger, and am quite sure that Heidegger would not return the favor.)

“Heidegger has rejected understanding beings as mere objects standing over against a subject as a derivative and misleading assumption, and his references to Being are not to a being. So ‘being lasts as the withdrawing-proferring’ must refer to an ultimate source of meaningfulness that emerges historically, contingently, in a way that orients Dasein but cannot be determinately discriminated” (p. 20).

I find this ironic. It could be said that Hegel’s life work was devoted to promoting a point of view other than that of a subject confronting an object. Hegel can be abstruse and frustrating, but I better trust his version of this.

“[T]here is no other being like Dasein, whose own being is what Heidegger calls ‘existence’, a being of pure possibility that flees its call to itself to interrogate the meaning of its being, until wrenched out of its daily thoughtlessness by anxiety” (p. 21).

The description of “pure possibility” recalls some discussions of potential intellect in the broadly Aristotelian tradition. Of course, Aristotelian intellect does not “flee its call to itself”, or need to be “wrenched out of its daily thoughtlessness,” or experience anxiety. On some accounts such things might be said of the soul, but Aristotelian psyche has organic roots and is in no way a pure possibility. On the other hand, as a result of a complex contingent development, a fused notion of “intellectual soul” gained wide currency in the Latin middle ages, and this laid the ground for the oddly amphibious character of the Cartesian cogito and the Lockean understanding, which obliterate any distinction at all between intellect and a psychological entity.

“Dasein is described as always already ‘thrown’ into its world, inheriting a structure of significance, mattering, salience, and importance that forms a horizon of meaningfulness for any Dasein’s self-interrogation” (p. 22).

This sort of thing is probably one of the major appeals of Heidegger. Some of the vocabulary is uniquely his. But what is being said here is actually not that far from a traditional view (substitute “the soul” for Dasein). Experiences of encountering meaningfulness in a “world” that is already constituted independent of our willful doing are not far to find.

“The continuity of [Heidegger’s] emphasis on meaningfulness as the crux of the issue of Being’s availability is the interpretation I want to defend…. We can call this a resolute reading of Heidegger” (p. 25).

“The major question is the question of the meaningful availability of being at all”…. In Division One of [Being and Time], the possibility of any such nondiscursive availability is established by demonstrating phenomenologically that Dasein is Being-in-the World, not a subject standing over against objects, and a being whose meaning is care” (p. 26).

I am tempted to suggest that Hegelian Geist could also be said to be “Being-in-the World, not a subject standing over against objects, and a being whose meaning is care”. The difference is that Heidegger insists this all occurs at a nondiscursive level. A common Hegelian model is that things that do not start out as immediate can effectively acquire an immediate character.

(This calls for a brief sidebar on the strange way “discursivity” is used in the literature on Kant. Discursivity ought to simply mean something depending on articulation in discourse, as opposed to intuition or immediacy. But what is commonly called Kant’s “discursivity thesis” is his rather extreme claim that the understanding is entirely active, and includes no passive or receptive component or aspect whatsoever.)

“This is not at all to deny that this emphasis after the war shifted from existential thrownness into a world to the problem of language. But the general theme of most relevance to the critique of German Idealism — dependence, and so the impossibility of Hegel’s (and all of philosophy’s pure, autonomous thinking — is still apparent. In ‘Poetically Man Dwells’, a 1951 lecture…, we read, ‘Man acts as though he were the shaper and master of language, while in fact language remains the master of man’ ” (p. 27).

Brandom might remind us here of Hegel’s own very sharp critique of “independence” and mastery.

“But, and here lies the source of the difficulty, what we have come to understand as metaphysics actually has never really addressed the question it poses for itself, aside from traces of an appreciation of the genuine issue in the pre-Socratics. Metaphysics has asked instead about the possible meaning of the ‘beings’…. The ancient answer to such a question was, of course, form. But… that leaves unanswered, in all traditional metaphysics, the possible meaningfulness of Being qua Being itself” (p. 28).

Here we get Heidegger’s line — only the pre-Socratics and Heidegger got Being right, and everyone else in history is completely off base. What’s peculiar is that Heidegger, who emphasizes how the Latin tradition distorts the Greek, takes up the scholastic valorization of “being qua being” without seeming to recognize how un-Aristotelian it actually is. Not that the equivalent phrase never appears in Aristotle (it does, in a relatively peripheral role), but only a huge weight of commentary promoted it to the central role it has in Aquinas.

“The problem of the ‘meaning of being’ is the problem of the meaningfulness of beings — that is, beings in the way they matter…. The source of that meaningfulness is the possibility of meaningfulness as such, the possible meaningfulness of Being as such. That possibility of meaningfulness question is not a transcendental possibility for Heidegger because it cannot be raised in strict distinction from the meaningfulness of beings. That is, this relation, between the general possibility of meaningfulness of Being at all, and the meaningfulness of entities, is not a matter of conceptual necessity but of what Heidegger calls ‘primordiality’…. There is a profound difference between the two regimes of meaningfulness, what Heidegger calls the ontological difference” (pp. 31-32).

Heidegger’s insistence on a radical split between “ontic” and “ontological” things — beings versus Being — is unprecedented. I cannot help being reminded of the sharp division between created things and the Eternal in the Hegelian “Unhappy Consciousness”. Perhaps Heidegger represents a contemporary Unhappy Consciousness.

“In his 1927 lecture course The Basic Problems of Phenomenology, Heidegger is unambiguous about what he considers the basic philosophical problem. ‘We assert now that being is the sole and proper theme of philosophy.’ Philosophy itself is said to be ‘the science of being’. That Heidegger believes is unambiguous. No philosopher has ever concentrated so intensely on one question for the entirety of his fifty-plus-year career. But the first question for any student of Heidegger is simply what this question concerns…. Is the question of the meaning of Being even a question — that is, a question with a possible answer?” (p. 33).

Before this book of Pippin’s, I was very aware of Heidegger’s reverence for Parmenidean Being, but the close linkage that Pippin brings out between the “question of Being” and general questioning about meaning is new to me. My own attitude is that Aristotelian first philosophy is best understood as itself a kind of higher-order or generalized hermeneutics, and that general questioning about meaning does not benefit from being related to a notion of being as such.

“This issue is made more difficult because Heidegger is eager to qualify and to some extent marginalize the usual and much more familiar semantic ways of addressing the problem: the various senses of the word ‘is'” (ibid).

Indeed. Aristotle’s classic discussion of the ways in which being is said is structured entirely around the transitive senses of “is”. Being as such is not a substance but a transitive verb, “to be x”. Aristotle mentions it mainly in the context of the extreme generality of an incompatibility of contradictory assertions that is more than just syntactic. Being as such is something separate from Aristotle’s own notion of first cause (see also here); this identification was introduced much later.

“[Heidegger] tells us that such formulations assume the answer to the question he is trying to pose and so do not point to a way of addressing it…. Heidegger’s lifelong claim is that forgetting the question of the meaning of being is a catastrophic event in the history of mankind, that it leads to nihilism and a predatory, self-destructive technical manipulation of the earth” (p. 34).

If “forgetting” the question is a catastrophic event in history, this implies that it was previously clearly understood, at least by pre-Socratic philosophers such as Heraclitus and Parmenides. We are then supposed to return to an immaculate origin. But history doesn’t show any such immaculate origin, and Plato’s dialogues already demonstrated that the teachings of both Heraclitus and Parmenides are untenable as they stand. Plato is vastly more sophisticated than either of them, with respect to the kinds of arguments he exhibits in his dialogues. And Aristotle is even more sophisticated than Plato. Here we really do have an example of the kind of progressive development that Brandom, following Rorty and Dewey, thinks we should be looking for in history. But as Nietzsche said, philosophers tend to be untimely. No historic society or culture as a whole has ever lived up to the deeper insights of Plato and Aristotle. In terms of sophistication of arguments, the contemporary world at a broad social level still has a pre-Platonic level of understanding.

“His is not a question of ontological commitment, the question of what beings there are or what kinds of beings. (E.g., Is there a God? Are there minds? Are there possibilities? And he does not ask: what makes it possible for beings to be the determinate beings they are? How can they be what they are and be differentiated from other beings? (E.g. what is it to be a mind? What is it to be a possibility?… He does not even mean what must be true of anything at all” (p. 35).

Heidegger argues for the primacy of “fundamental ontology”, which he distinguishes from the ordinary ontology that presupposes a great deal of implicit understanding about things in the world. This latter kind of ontology was already decisively criticized by Kant as dogmatic. But at least as interpreted by the neo-Kantians who dominated German academia in the early 20th century, Kant’s critique represented a turn toward epistemology. Indeed the whole “modern” tradition from Descartes on is sometimes characterized as primarily epistemological and science-oriented. Heidegger is definitely arguing for something new here, a new kind of first philosophy linked more closely with art and poetry.

“[A]ll consciousness-based and representational models of intentionality, are all improperly formulated and misleading. The possibility of such intentionality should rather be understood as requiring ‘being in the world’. A subject-conscious-of-a-distinct-object model should be replaced by an inseparable subject-object nexus, a subject always already transcended in a practical and unthematic relation to its objects. The relation is not one of spectatorship or simple perceptual awareness but ‘comportment’ (Verhalten), an active engagement with the world, an involvement that is driven by how things have come to matter” (p. 36).

We are agreed on this. But Brandom has argued that Kant and Hegel already moved beyond a consciousness-based or representational model of intentionality to one grounded in normativity. Moreover, the normativity model seems a better fit for Plato and Aristotle as well. So what Heidegger is criticizing does not seem to apply to any of the four greatest philosophers in the tradition.

“For Heidegger, world is not the totality of what there is, as in Kant, or all that is the case, as in Wittgenstein. World is a necessarily presupposed (i.e., primordial) condition for the possible availability or accessibility of beings within such a world in the first place…. This notion of availability as deep familiarity implies a kind of immediacy in our original encounter with beings in the world, but not like the direct presence of intentional objects as in theories of a pure ‘given’…. This implies a kind of immersion in the field of significances” (ibid).

I’m not quite sure about this. Immersion in a field of significances sounds promising, but what is this deep familiarity and immediacy that would not be a direct presence?

“In a very shorthand way, we can say that the background world for any possible accessibility and for [the individuation of humans] is a historical world — what Heidegger will call, using another term for openness, a clearing (Lichtung), not a species form” (p. 39).

Heidegger’s metaphor of a “clearing” has a kind of appeal. This seems to be a kind of historically emergent indeterminacy. All human experience is historically conditioned. There is no logos without ethos.

“Dasein is what it takes itself to be, within a world into which it is thrown, over which it has no power or influence. This means that primordial access to beings and to beings as a whole, being as such, is not originally cognitive, not the object of judgments, but requires instead what Heidegger calls a prior attunement…. [I]t is that involvement within a world that allows meaningful access to the beings that show up in such a world” (ibid).

Here we see a number of familiar themes, expressed in a novel vocabulary that is more dramatic and more categorical. The “taking” part is a familiar Kantian notion, but here it seems to be absolutized for the single individual in a way that Hegel at least would call one-sided. The social/ethical reciprocity in the constitution of meaning that Hegel so emphasizes is completely absent here. The world into which we are thrown again seems to be a very blunt dramatization of the non-independence and non-mastery that is an essential feature of human being for Hegel. But Kant or Hegel would also never say that we have no power or influence over the world, only that it is finite.

I’m still not quite sure what is going on with this vocabulary of “access” and “availability” of beings. At first I thought Pippin meant to associate it with what Heidegger pejoratively calls presence-at-hand, which seems to involve a kind of prejudice, like what the philosophically oriented sociologist Karl Mannheim calls ideology in the general sense. (Mannheim does in fact rather superficially refer to Heidegger, among others.) But here this access or availability seems to be playing a more positive role in Heidegger’s account, and to the extent that it does, it suggests a rather Cartesian separation of subject and object, which seems very ironic. Heidegger denounces all of “Western metaphysics”, from beginning to end, for supposedly assuming something like this. I don’t think this “Cartesian” notion of subject and object really applies to key figures like Plato, Aristotle, Kant, and Hegel, among others. Meanwhile, the researches of Alain de Libera on the “archaeology of the subject” strongly suggest that what is called the Cartesian subject has deep roots not only in scholasticism, but also earlier among the Christian church fathers.

I think the sharp dualism Heidegger puts between the bad, empirical ontic of the everyday and the good, metaphysical ontological that addresses only Being with a capital B is undesirable, and too much like the uncrossable separation between worldly beings and God in what Hegel calls the Unhappy Consciousness. Heidegger throws away too much. The philosophical dignity of the ontic should be rehabilitated. Even Hegel — who is very concerned not to swallow all particulars up in the whole in the way that he says that Spinoza does — sometimes seems to me to go too far in his critique of reified “things”.

“If there were no Dasein, there would be all the entities there now are, but none of them would mean anything. The world is the condition of availability…. The question of what accounts for things existing at all is not Heidegger’s question” (p. 40).

If there were no interpretive activity, there would be no meaning. He is right that this has nothing to do with the uninteresting question of whether things exist or not.

“The task of metaphysics is said to be to ‘awaken’ a fundamental attunement to the world (or to awaken us to the realization that we are already attuned)… in the musical sense of being tuned, on the right wavelength, or appreciatively engaged in this field of what matters” (p. 41).

The musical metaphor, like the appeals to poetry, has a kind of intuitive resonance, but here we have to tread carefully. Heidegger seems to appeal to simple intuition in places where there would be ramified reflection in Hegel.

“The ontologically significant states that disclose such meaningfulness as such are attunements like anxiety or boredom, where all such mattering in a sense fails, and so, in such a brutal contrast, the fundamentality (and contingency) of meaningfulness and manifestness as such is salient. And Heidegger always insists that such a significance, such degrees of mattering, cannot be understood as a subject projecting onto otherwise meaningless entities. There are no two steps in such Bedeutsamkeit, or meaningfulness: an encounter with a mere object and then a subjective projection of value by an individual or community. There are not two steps because there is no such first step; Dasein is ‘always already’ within the world of meaningfulness” (pp. 41-42).

That there is an “always already” aspect to our engagement with meaning seems entirely right. But what is this “manifestness as such”? It sounds like mere appearance that contributes nothing to understanding.

“Heidegger is proposing to shift the main tasks of philosophy from the analysis of concepts involved on knowledge claims, empirical experience, and moral claims to an interpretive enterprise, at the center of which are these notions of familiarity (Vertrautheit), meaningfulness (Bedeutsamkeit), and care (Sorge). As he tells us, a ‘fundamental ontology’ is a ‘hermeneutics of facticity’, and for all the revisions in his language and approach, I don’t believe he ever changed his views about the ‘fundamentality’ of such a hermeneutics (p. 42).

I found an early (1923) lecture course of Heidegger entitled Ontology: The Hermeneutics of Facticity, in which he emphasizes that hermeneutics is “not just a doctrine about interpretation… Hermeneutics has the task of making the Dasein which is in each case our own accessible to this Dasein itself with regard to the character of its being, communicating Dasein to itself in this regard, hunting down the alienation from itself with which it is smitten” (p. 11 in link above).

Heidegger delights in putting forward new jargon, like specifying what is to be interpreted as “the being-there of Dasein in the awhileness of temporal particularity” (p. 5 in link above). In any case, Dasein is supposed to better characterize us than reason or intellect or Husserlian phenomenology.

I agree that interpretation does (or should) come before any account of knowledge or being. Meaning is never reducible to something merely given to us, but requires a kind of practical engagement. It is something that we create or construct as much as find.

“That is why the epistemological issue is not prominent in what follows. The manifestation of such significance… ‘happens’ as a matter of mattering and is not a problem of idealism and realism… [also] not a psychological or social-normative issue” (p. 43).

He wants significance to be something that “happens”. I agree it is not a psychological or sociological or other empirical fact. At a simple level, significance could be said to “happen” when interpretation happens. But as such, meaning is no more an event than it is a fact.

“Heidegger’s question is not about the content of the concept Being, but rather about the meaningfulness of our engagements and comportings” (p. 44).

“As Heidegger increasingly insists throughout the ’30s, manifestness in this sense is an event” (ibid).

Unlike meaning, it does seem as though manifestness could be considered at least closely related to a kind of event (an appearing). But I don’t think meaning or significance is reducible to such manifestness.

“Beings don’t have this familiar signification in isolation but within a horizon of possible meaningfulness — that is, within a world…. [T]he world can never become an object, a being, in the world…. And he claims: ‘We can never look upon the phenomenon of world directly’…. That is, the problem of the worldhood of the world in effect names the problem of the meaning of Being as such…. The combination of the world’s centrality and relative cognitive unavailability is what produces what Heidegger refers to as a kind of homesickness, an uncanniness at our being always subject to such a world into which we are thrown, but which we cannot redeem, make sense of theoretically, or directly articulate…. [S]uch worldhood is not a source we have any extra-worldly access to. Anyone for whom anything matters knows that such mattering cannot be understood as the result of any prior reflection on what ought to matter” (p. 45, emphasis in original).

There is no meaning of anything in isolation. Meaning exists only in relation to other meaning. It is an effect of the interconnection of things. “Worldhood” is a name Heidegger gives to this non-isolation of meanings, of which I note again that Hegel was the pioneer in modern times. But once more, I do not see what this would have to do with being as such. The relations that make up the world are concrete.

“Given that the emphasis here on our primary access to the meaning of Being as such is an attunement, not any theoretical claim, and given this focus through boredom, it is clearly the case that Heidegger is tracking how things ‘mean’ to us (‘how things stand concerning us’) as a matter of mattering, a kind of mattering that could contingently collapse and thereby reveal itself” (pp. 47-48).

Heidegger’s novel focus on motifs like boredom and anxiety in Being and Time became a major catalyst for 20th century existentialism. Pippin is generously tracing this back to the much more general question of how things come to “matter” to us. I think there is a more direct and more classical path into this question of mattering, which need have nothing to do with boredom or anxiety. At the level of “us”, we need to stop dichotomizing reason and feeling. As Aristotle said, ethical choice is “either intellect fused with desire, or desire fused with thinking, and such a source is a human being”.

Pippin expands on what he means by “mattering”. His account recalls both Hegel and American pragmatism.

“Our initiation into any historical world is primarily an initiation into this realm of mattering…. Language use is normative not only grammatically but in the matter of its proprieties. That is, we are implicitly attuned to proprieties, or meaningfulness and significances, in daily exchanges with others. (Being so attuned is not incompatible with disregarding or challenging such assumed norms. In fact, it is a necessary condition for doing so.) Likewise, when we learn a task, like cooking, we learn the normative proprieties of the art: what utensils are for, how to use them, what makes for good seasoning, good time management, best techniques, mis en place, etc. We learn to understand the relation between eating and dining, and the place of food and cooking in the rituals of family and social life. In this and many other domains, all the beings we encounter are encountered within a world in which public proprieties have come to prevail, and we are onto these not by having beliefs about them or as a result of explicit evaluations but through being in a world, coping with other beings and other Dasein, in our Verhalten, as Heidegger keeps saying: comportment, a practical mode of access everywhere normative” (p. 48).

Clearly, “mattering” has what the Kant scholars would nowadays call a normative character.

“Heidegger’s main point is that the present-at-hand seems to be such that an engagement with mere substances and their proprieties is treated as if it weren’t a worldly interpretation. We are engaged in a practical comportment that we take ourselves to be avoiding, to be aspiring to ‘the view from nowhere’. This would be like saying that what has come to matter most is a ‘not mattering’ world-relation” (p. 50, emphasis in original).

Pippin elsewhere compares the Heideggerian present-at-hand to the point of view of mere Consciousness in Hegel’s Phenomenology. They are both concerned with the reification of experience into subject and object. They both suppress their own interpretive character.

“I should also signal here that, especially with respect to Hegel, we will have to revisit the issue of a logical prejudice and examine whether Hegel is guilty of it. After all, Hegel relies in the Phenomenology on such nondiscursive moments as the struggle for recognition, which is certainly not an exchange of judgmental claims” (ibid).

Pippin elsewhere points out that Heidegger’s claim that Hegel’s approach to meaning necessarily involves a “logical prejudice” and ignores nondiscursive dimensions is itself tendentious.

Where he seems to have more sympathy to Heidegger is in relation to the Hegelian talk about the absolute. It now seems to me that like Brandom, Pippin ultimately rejects the Hegelian absolute, rather than just having a deflationary interpretation of it, such as I would propose. I think the “absolute” is inflated (originally Schellingian) rhetoric for the much more modest claim that there is after all some knowledge in the strong sense of episteme. Properly speaking, the Hegelian absolute is not God, though Hegel does figuratively connect the two, especially when he is trying to be understood by nonphilosophers. More properly, the absolute is any instance of pure thought. But the reality of pure thought is itself challenging to explain, especially as applicable to us humans, who experience and indeed are constituted by the fusion of intellect and desire. Aristotle, Averroes, Hegel, and Husserl all make important contributions to such an explanation.

“[T]he way in which the problem of being as such gets any kind of grip on Dasein is not as the result of judgmental claims. The manifestness of beings as a whole cannot be understood as the content of any ‘as such’ judgment. That is the ‘apophantical as’ and cannot be original because it depends on a prior ‘hermeneutical as’…. [T]he meaning should not be thought of in terms of discursivity — again, the cardinal sin of the metaphysical tradition, culminating in Kant and Hegel” (p. 52).

It seems to me that Heidegger’s notion of discursivity is too narrow. In Pippin’s account we see a kind of dichotomy operating, between the kind of judgment associated with assertion, and interpretation. Yes, the “apophantical as” does indeed depend on the “hermeneutic as”, but in my view this was already anticipated by Aristotle. Wisdom is excellence in interpretation, not allegedly “knowing” some pre-existing truth. Truth is not prefabricated in Plato or Aristotle; it is only arrived at through sustained inquiry, and it is the sustaining of the inquiry that gives it its solidity.

“[F]or Heidegger, in all of Western philosophy, we do not know what we mean when we simply note that something, whatever it is, is manifested as what it actually is, endures, or is still alive or occupies space — or, to broach a large topic for him, what ‘happens’ to be” (p. 55).

I say that this is obscurantist. Mere happening to be in and of itself has no meaning at all. It corresponds to inarticulate noise. We begin to have meaning when we talk about some detailed way of being. A mere accident has no meaning.

“So the question is not what some being is, or what it is as such, but what it ‘means’ for it to be at all. By ‘meaning’ here he does not mean linguistic meaning (he says that all linguistic meaning is founded on ontological meaning), and he does not mean meaning in the sense of purposiveness” (p. 56).

So the conclusion does not follow. The linguistic meaning that is rejected here seems to be that of a banal representationalism, and the purposiveness a banal form of utility. But ordinary linguistic meaning is not purely representational; it too has a “poetic” dimension. And internal teleology in Aristotle and Hegel is precisely not reducible to utility (see Teleology After Kant).

“Heidegger will often also note that being should be considered a ‘presencing’ (Anwesende) of being, not something present at hand. By making this distinction, he means that any being present to us (which Heidegger thinks we usually and thoughtlessly attend to as merely present-at-hand (Vorhanden) is only a result” (p. 58, emphasis in original).

That everything that seems to be simply given or present at hand is better understood as a result, is an insight that goes all the way back to Aristotle’s insistence on the priority of ends. It appears in a particularly vivid form in Kant and Hegel.

“This would mean a wholly contingent shifting from beings available as substantial in one period, …to, in another, beings available as created beings, to beings available only as represented for a subject, to being available only as material for technological manipulation…. The Greek notion of ousia (which Heidegger insists is already connected to property, material for use, disposability), the medieval focus on ens creatum, the post-Cartesian notion of represented-being, and the technological orientation all involve a kind of concealment (and therein lies a crude summary of Heidegger’s entire history of metaphysics) that must be different from the inevitable and, one might say, ontologically appropriate sort of ‘concealing’ (more a kind of elusiveness) in the ‘work of art’ — a Greek temple, say” (pp. 66-67).

This recognition of “elusiveness” goes all the way back to Socrates and Plato. It is what underlies Socratic questioning and the long detour.

“Plato and Aristotle set us in a direction we have found it impossible to free ourselves from — the metaphysics of presence, the primordial mattering of intelligibility, knowing, which shows up even in Nietzsche’s claim to have freed us from metaphysical illusions” (p. 67).

Plato and Aristotle were the original critics of the metaphysics of presence. In modern times, this critique was notably taken up by Hegel.

“Nothing is ever originally available to us as such present-at-hand beings, but remarkably we have come to experience the world through some sort of willful blindness thanks to which our everyday world, what should be closest to us, the familiarity of the world as pragmata, is furthest from us…. The question of the meaning of Being has been not only forgotten but suppressed, layered over with some putative ‘neutral’ posing of observing subjects against present at hand substances” (p. 69, emphasis in original).

Hegel’s Phenomenology is from beginning to end an elaboration of a more sophisticated version of this insight.

“Heidegger asks… ‘Why is logic the science of assertion?’…. But there is an obvious answer to Heidegger’s question. The assumption behind the priority of logos is that only an assertion can be a truth-bearer, can be true or false. And if true, then an assertion says how things are, corresponds with being ” (p. 70).

I say logic is a tool that is helpful in interpretation.

“[C]ontrary to what Heidegger says, truth must still reside in some assertion about what is disclosed. An event cannot itself be true or false” (p. 71).

Assertions are what is “true or false”. But I also recognize poetic truth, which is not “true or false”.

“The meaning of one’s being is one’s ‘ownmost’….Such knowledge can only be arrived at first-personally…. And so in cases like these (where the meaning of Dasein’s being is at issue), a propositional formulation would get us nowhere” (ibid).

Essence is not reducible to propositional content, to statements that are true or false. It involves propositional content and valuation and poetic truth. It is characteristic of Plato’s depictions of Socrates that he already makes makes a major theme of showing in many different ways that essence is elusive. That is what distinguishes it from appearance.

“The issue of the original meaningfulness of being in any historical world is simply not statable in propositional terms, and its availability in literature and life is a matter of interpretation, not cognition, attunement not assertion…. Instead any propositional formulation and assertion must be said to presuppose a ‘context of significance’…. Such a context is not one Dasein has a mediated relation ‘to’; hence all the formulations about Dasein being its disclosedness…, that it is the ‘clearing’ where such disclosure happens'” (p. 73).

In the mode of poetic truth, it could even be said that we interpreting animals come to be what we are by participating in the clearing where meaning “happens”. But if we are to speak of a happening of meaning, it should be said that such happening is not at all purely contingent. I am inclined to think that “purely contingent meaning” is an oxymoron. Where there is meaning at all, it must be possible to give some kind of account of it, even if it be not univocal.

Next in this series: Versions of Finitude

Pippin’s The Culmination

Robert Pippin is the author of two of the best books on Hegel I know, and much else of interest besides. In The Culmination: Heidegger, German Idealism, and the Fate of Philosophy (2024), he promises to thoroughly examine the thorny issues of Martin Heidegger’s claims about the history of metaphysics and the meaning of Being, which philosophically villainize both Hegel and Aristotle. For some time I have felt a need to better settle accounts with Heidegger, and this looks like a good occasion for it.

In my youth, I was impressed by secondary descriptions of Heideggerian “being-in-the-world”, and was for a while attracted to the poeticizing approach of his later works. At a very broad level, he seemed to endorse a principle that was my own first independent philosophical thought — that relations should be understood as coming before “things”. His name was associated with a critique of the Cartesian subject that I broadly agreed with. I agreed with some of his critique of Sartre. For several years I was even an enthusiast for Derrida’s extension of Heidegger’s critique of the notion of presence. But I always felt there was something repugnantly unctuous in the Heideggerian talk about Dasein — his special word for specifically human being — which stands sharply counterposed to Aristotle’s more empirical characterization of humans as rational or talking animals.

When fascism is even remotely in the mix, otherwise innocent philosophical doubts about the legitimacy of reason take on a whole different character. I have come to take much more seriously the implications of Heidegger’s involvement with Nazism (lengthy Wikipedia article here). Whatever one concludes about that, his strong identification with the agenda of the Weimar German “Conservative Revolution” (another lengthy Wikipedia article here) is undisputed. Though not technically fascist in the sense of being grounded in a mass movement of the displaced petit bourgeoisie, the Weimar Konservative Revolution embodied many of the attitudes typical of fascism, and has been a wellspring for the European New Right. While it is not my aim to write directly about politics here, let me say bluntly that fascism is close to pure evil, and the road to it is built on many lesser evils. What needs to be assessed is the extent to which the concerns about Heidegger are more than just an invalid ad hominem, and affect what should be said about the substance (that word, again) of his thought.

Finally, I have come to adamantly oppose reductive broad-brush negative generalizations about “Western metaphysics”, which long ago I too easily accepted from Alan Watts (Wikipedia here) and similar sources. Heidegger was the 20th century’s most authoritative and influential promoter of claims of this sort. This kind of gross oversimplification is the direct opposite of the kind of carefully differentiated and nuanced philosophical “archaeology” to which my work here is dedicated. Sometimes it is indeed necessary to simplify in order to make a point (for instance, I just suggested a very un-archaeological polar opposition), but I believe that due diligence entails an obligation to be able to answer questions about what the simplification leaves aside, so I want to make good on that.

Meanwhile, my own attitudes toward Kant and Hegel have undergone almost a 180 degree shift. Influenced by writers associated with so-called structuralism in France (even more confusingly called “post-structuralism” in the English-speaking world), I formerly related German idealism as a whole to a bad philosophy of subject-centeredness, while retaining sympathy for the Greek philosophers precisely because they did not seem to be subject-centered (see The Dreaded Humanist Debate.) But I have learned to leaven and indeed overturn some of these judgments, and now seek the best of both worlds, just as I have found a space for sympathetic reading that can include everything from anti-authoritarian secularists to medieval theologians and neoplatonists.

Next in this series: Availability of Being?