Per Caritatem

As we know from Augustine’s Confessions, what proved to be a particularly important breakthrough for Augustine was Ambrose’s explanation of the “spiritual” interpretation of Scripture.  Commenting on Ambrose’s hermeneutic, Augustine writes,

I delighted to hear Ambrose often asserting in his sermons to the people, as a principle on which he must insist emphatically, The letter is death-dealing, but the spirit gives life [2 Cor 3:6].  This he would tell them as he drew aside the veil of mystery and opened to them the spiritual meaning of passages which, when taken literally, would seem to mislead (Confessions, p. 140). 

Louis Mackey, in his fascinating chapter on Augustine entitled, “From Autobiography to Theology,”[1] adds a creative variation on the spirit vs. the letter theme. 

Materialism, the violence of the letter that kills the soul, is countered by the violence with which God chastises Augustine’s carnal affections in order to save his life in the spirit.  The spirit gives life by doing violence to the letter in order to counteract the violence of the letter (“From Autobiography to Theology,” p. 23). 

Mackey goes on to say that once Augustine embraced Ambrose’s spiritual orientation to Scripture, Augustine not only views the Catholic demand for faith as sane and salubrious, but he also “sees that it is precisely the Manichaeans’ rationalism, materialism, and dualism which are diseased.  The pride of reason must be cured, and faith is the remedy [cf. Confessions VI.5.7] (“From Autobiography to Theology,” p. 23). 

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[1] The quotes from Mackey are taken from his book, Peregrinations of the Word:  Essays in Medieval Philosophy (Ann Arbor:  University of Michigan Press, 2000).

According to Hegel, we abstract the notions of finitude and infinitude and tend to set these up as opposite notions.  However, according to Hegel, if you analyze the notion of absolute infinity, the infinite must include the finite or else it is itself finite.  A consequence of this reasoning results in Hegel’s claim that God must create. 

Contrast this with Scotus’ definition of the infinite: “What I call ‘infinite’ is what excels any actual or possible finite being to a degree beyond any determinate measure you take or could take.”[1]  Scotus recognizes that the notion of infinity as a perfection is not self-evident.  For example, in Greek philosophy infinity was a sign of imperfection-of that which lacked form.  That which was infinite lacked form and consequently was dominated by matter or potentiality. Interestingly, the transformation of this concept took place largely via Christians. Given the dominant Greek understanding of infinity, Scotus’ first move is to present the infinite as perfect rather than imperfect.  Second, Scotus had to move beyond the notion of the infinite understood mathematically-i.e., in extensive terms where 10 is greater 9 and so on ad infinitum.  This is to understand the infinite in a strictly quantitative sense.  Third, Scotus develops an understanding of the infinite in an intensive sense. 

If you consider a number sequence in which you can always add an additional number (the idea of 1, 2, 3., n+1…), this sequence is dominated by potentiality.  Scotus then engages in a thought experiment in which this infinite sequence is understood in act.  In other words, he asks us to imagine the sequence being finished. If we can think of the sequence as finished, we have an infinite quantity in actuality.  If we grant Scotus’ thought experience, then we have an (actual) quantitative infinite. 

Scotus then moves away from mathematical examples and speaks of entities. That is, he moves from quantity actualized to entity in terms of degrees of perfection.  Here one has to accept that it is intelligible say that one being is more complete or better than another (a human e.g., is better than a dog).  If we have the sequence A is less than B is less than C etc. and I = Infinite Being (God)-even if creatures were not created, God would persist in undiminished being and goodness.  However, it does not follow from that that creatures are nothing, but it will appear that way if you approach the sequence (A, B, C=various creatures) as additive.  In contrast, consider Aristotle’s god, who is the “best part” of the whole.  For Aristotle, it would unintelligible to say that there is god and nothing else.  Hence, the fact that this notion of the infinite applied to entity takes place in Christian philosophy is not accidental. 

For Scotus, being is a perfection which is open to degrees of perfection;  it is open to finite perfection which involves a large sequence of degrees, but with the infinite the difference is only one-and it is an infinite difference.*  

*The reflections on Scotus are based largely on lectures given by Dr. W.A. Frank at the University of Dallas.

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[1] Wolter and Frank. Duns Scotus Metaphysician, p. 59.  [As found in Reportatio IA in the "reply to the third question"]. 

Thomas Williams argues in his article, “A Most Methodical Lover?  On Scotus’ Arbitrary Creator,” that the affectio iustitiae implies a kind of imperfection or lack and thus cannot be applied to God.  According to Scotus, both humans and angels possess wills that have two affections or inclinations: (1) the affectio commodi and (2) the affectio iustitiae.  The affectio commodi or affection for the advantageous is an inclination toward the agent’s own perfection, which in the case of a rational agent is happiness.  The affectio iustitiae or affection for justice allows the agent to transcend its own telos and to seek the intrinsic goodness of things for their own sake (not simply for the advantage of the agent).  In addition, the affectio iustitiae serves as a check on the affectio commodi which can love immoderately.  For Scotus, contra Anselm these two affections are intrinsic to the will and neither are superadded grace gifts.  In fact, with the affectio iustitiae, Scotus claims that the will would not be free because it would simply act for the agents’ own advantage in a way similar to the operation of a the appetite of a non-rational animal acts to perfect its nature. In other words, the affectio commodi would reduce to a natural appetite of an intellectual nature and would be determined, not free. Wolters seems to want to argue that the affectio iustitae is a pure perfection (perfectio simpliciter), that is, that it is a perfection with no limitations or defects-something that in all cases it would be better to possess than not possess (e.g., wisdom).  Since God possesses all pure perfections, God would therefore possess an affection for justice.  Williams, however, disagrees, pointing out that (1) God does not have an appetite for happiness as humans do, as he is perfectly happy in himself and necessarily so.  (2) God cannot love himself immoderately. (3) The possession of the affection for justice implies that the will needs to be held in check. Such a situation does not obtain in God because God does not sin.  (4) Williams also argues against the interpretation that an affectio iustitiae is that which inclines an agent to love things for their own intrinsic worth.  As Williams points out, God always does what he does for His own sake; hence, it seems that rather than an affection for justice, God possesses that which more akin to an affectio commodi.

Williams has significantly more to say in his lengthy article, on which I may blog in the future.

Wolters notes that Scotus (in his initial questions on book IX of the Metaphysics) clarifies a number of ambiguities with regard to act and potency.  As Wolter points out, concerning potency, Scotus makes the important distinction between “potency as principle and potency as a mode of being” (Wolter: 167).  Here Scotus takes principle as a sort of cause-viz., an efficient or material cause-or originative source.  Passive potency is correlated with matter broadly speaking, and active potency with some kind of efficiency.  With a number of other scholastics, Scotus expands the “notion of an active potency or principle beyond that of an agent that imparts motion to include that which gives being or existence as such to its effect” (Ibid., p. 167).  Though Scotus makes further distinctions (he is the subtle doctor after all), for our purposes the following rough sketch suffices to describe an active potency, viz., that which gives existence to something (Ibid., p. 168).  Wolter then adds that describing an active potency in this way has the added bonus of

stressing that cause is cotemporal with its effect, and that the causal action is a continuous creative and sustaining productivity, as opposed to the Humean notion that views all causality as a necessary temporal relationship between an antecedent and a subsequent event. Scotus needs this type of relationship if he is to clarify how the will as an active potency can create or elicit an action of volition or nolition, or how it can not only initiate but sustain a voluntary action such as singing or walking (p. 168). 

Here I take Wolter to be pointing out the insufficiency of a mechanistic or external view of causality with regard to free will as understood by Scotus.  For Scotus the will is self-determined (not externally determined) and at every instant (hence,Wolter’s stress on causal action as “continous creative and sustaining productivity”) has a potency to do its opposite and can refrain from acting.  However, with regard to Hume’s view, my understanding is that since he considers causality, necessity etc. to be supplied by the mind via habit or custom, free will is in a sense guaranteed because we as free agents are not part of the (supposed) causal nexus.  If I understand Hume correctly, then am I correct to see Wolter’s main point to be contrasting a mechanistic view of causality with Scotus’ understanding of the will as self-determined (and hence, by definition not externally caused)-if so, what am I missing with regard to Hume’s view to make everything that I have said above harmonize?

*A. Wolter, “Duns Scotus on the Will as Rational Potency,” as found in The Philosophical Theology of John Duns Scotus. (Ithaca:  Cornell Univ. Press, 1990), pp. 163-180.

 

In writing an email to a friend, the following thought occurred to me that seems worthy of further engagement, viz., might there be a number of interesting parallels between the increasing attempt to logically arrange the major theological loci into a comprehensive systematic whole [e.g., the movement from Lombard's Sentences to St. Thomas' ST and beyond] and the increased sophistication in musical notation which had the effect of diminishing the practice of improvisation and creating an image of improvisation as intellectually substandard, as well as producing sharp dichotomies (at least in the Western way of thinking about music) between our ideas of (1) improvisation and composition, (2) the composer and the performer, and (3) the musical score and the (one correct) interpretation of that score. 

According to Jeremy Begbie in Theology, Music, and Time the majority of academic writings on music have been commentaries on written scores. Though this is understandable given the difficulty of reconstructing music that is not written out prior to the invention of recording devices, it has nonetheless produced an extremely one-sided view of the history of musical practices.^[1] To cite one well-known example, many music scholars have brought to our attention that even following the development of music notation, we find composers such as J.S. Bach, Handel, and Mozart highly skilled in the art of improvisation and expecting those who performed their pieces to possess this skill as well.  Tracing some of the possible reasons why improvisation’s high reputation and regard began to wane, Begbie points to the increasing sophistication of notation, as concerts in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries gained in notoriety.  Even the improvised solos sections purposely crafted by composers to display the talent of highly gifted soloists were with time significantly diminished by written solos.^[2]  Although this increase in notation severely diminished opportunities for improvising in classical music, the improvisatory elements even in meticulously notated music cannot be totally removed so long as human beings are the performers.  Avid music listeners can attest that whether speaking of an individual soloist or a orchestral unit, the personalities, stylistic particularities, and interpretative nuances manifest in the actual performance a musical work all contribute a degree of creative liberty that falls within the sphere of improvisation broadly construed.   With Begbie, I tend to agree that

All this suggests that the customary picture of improvisation as a discrete and relatively frivolous activity on the fringes of music-making might need to be replaced by one which accords it a more serious and central place.  Instead of regarding thoroughly notated and planned music as the norm and improvisation as an unfortunate epiphenomenon or even aberration, it might be wiser to recall the pervasiveness of improvisation and ask whether it might be able to reveal fundamental aspects of musical creativity easily forgotten in traditions bound predominantly to extensive notation and rehearsal.^[3]

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[1] Ibid., p. 181. [2] Ibid., pp. 182-83. [3] Ibid., p. 182. 

A short essay of mine entitled “What makes music beautiful” has just been posted on The Church and Postmodern Culture Blog (hosted by Baker Academic and coordinated by Geoff Holsclaw and Jamie Smith).  If you are interested, please join the conversation.