The Epistemic Value of Tradition

As shocking as it may be, I do not consider tradition to be a valid source of knowledge. In addition, I find that apologists are (often) putting their tradition ahead of the truth. If one already has in mind what one wants to find, and one finds it, where is the truth-seeking? I seek truth because I do not have it; I love wisdom because I lack it. If reason cannot challenge the very core of my being, then of what use is it? It would be deceitful, giving the illusion of a bulwark against unbelief while only justifying me in my unjustified opinions.

But, at the same time, we are human. We are actually embedded in contexts, and we actually pursue our pursuits because of our interests. We rejoice when we find what we wanted, and this seems good to us. Moreover, what would we have without traditions? What could we possibly seek? Is it not gratifying to work through the thought of some great thinker, following in their footsteps? How else would we learn?

In order to separate these elements of tradition, I will look at it as (1) the efficient cause of our knowledge, and (2) as the formal and material cause. Keeping with the Aristotelian-esque analysis, I will close on (3) tradition as final cause, on our reformulation of tradition for others. By tradition I mean any sort of knowledge that is handed down between people, purely with respect to its character as testimony.

Tradition as the efficient cause of our knowledge is what I have problems with. By this, I mean the way in which we accept what traditions teach simply with respect to them being traditions, and so in a way the tradition is an external cause of our knowledge. This is not just grand traditions, like Catholicism, but the various things that we pick up from our parents or pastors. But insofar as it is simply tradition, it does not justify our knowledge. People hand down knowledge all the time in many contradictory ways, and they can't all be right. The means of knowledge is therefore unreliable. One could point out the trustworthiness of particular individuals, or particular methods but then one is seeking other justification than the fact that something has been handed down. In addition, if these personal characteristics or methods are widespread and yet lead to contradictory results, then they too are suspect.

The problem is further compounded by the fact that, in any chain of transmission, there have likely been not-so-great transmitters. Even with insightful, honest people, a game of telephone can ensue; add in a couple idiots and scoundrels, and the damage would be irreparable. Aquinas may have been a great thinker, but his transmission of Christianity is only as good as what has been given them by others. As a philosopher, then, Aquinas is worthwhile; as an apologist, however, he is limited by his traditional prejudices (which is to say, almost worthless for truth, though useful in the game of power between ideologies).

However, tradition as the material and formal cause of our knowledge is indispensable. By, I mean the more internal effect tradition has on our knowledge, as providing content and structure without regard to our acceptance of its truth. We cannot have answers without questions, and we must learn from others before we ourselves approach the truly difficult and worthwhile issues. We must learn from others what the worthwhile issues actually are. Even if the judgment of others is less than perfect on these matters, it still gives us a starting point. Modern science may be far superior to that of the Renaissance, let alone thinkers like Grosseteste, Philoponous, and Aristotle, but all of these thinkers found something worthwhile in their own explorations. Without their ruminations on the nature of things like matter and motion, there would be no contemporary science, even if they had to be superseded.

It is for this reason that I can approach Christian thinkers even after leaving the faith, or those from Hindu and Muslim traditions whose faith I never held. These are good thinkers, if considered as thinkers and not as merely bearers of the tradition. One can learn from Aquinas, from Scotus, from Avicenna and Al-Farabi and Shankara, from the way in which they approached life within their own contexts. One need not look to them for their testimony to their own traditions to use what they have provided, and one will be richer for any study of these thinkers.

Finally, there is the matter of what we do with our own understanding. We will pass it on to others, whether we like it or not. We have no choice but to shape children, students, congregations, and friends by our own rumination on life. On the one hand, this is a tremendous good. We can provide the conditions for other people to think about the world, with which to furnish their own narratives if they choose. Surely this is better than not providing for the thought-life of others. At the same time, we are not perfect transmitters either, and will most likely introduce problems and falsehoods to others, perhaps even life-destroying ones.

What is to be done, then? To the extent that others have a critical spirit (perhaps by our own influence), they may leave behind the good in the tradition because of the bad, and be impoverished. They in turn will impoverish others. To the extent that others are naively accepting, they may take in the bad along with the good, and in turn propagate these deforming errors. The "internal" and "external" causes of our understanding are not, in the end, separable, or perhaps even distinct. It seems to me that there is no solution to this problem, but merely a recognition that we must walk on this balance beam, sometimes trembling, sometimes calm, and acknowledge that we can do nothing other than be imperfect.

Scholarly Standards

Over this last year, I remember reading a collections of essays on Phenomenology and Islamic Philosophy. I leafed through one, and noted how it was only ten pages long and had only one or two footnotes. I thought, What passes for competent scholarship with these countries? At which point, I realized how modern American/European standards of scholarship have ingrained themselves in my brain with a fine-pointed laser.

From this, I started thinking about why we do what we do as scholars, and about the merits of the different positions. Reading this short, almost conversational article introduced me to an area of thought which I had not thought about before - Islamic Confucianism (which I still have not read up on, despite having been a major summer project). I didn't have to wade through swampy prose. My eyes were liberated from their volley between citations and body. I could enjoy reading it, in a similar way to how I could enjoy a relaxed intellectual conversation, and genuinely say that I had learned something new. And it most likely would never have been published in peer-reviewed, Euro-American journal.

There have been times where I have thought, wouldn't it be grand to be an Aristotle scholar? a Plato Scholar? Kant? maybe even Nietzsche, when I want to liven things up? But there is a drawback to studying a thinker: one must learn the secondary literature. And famous thinkers have collected a lot. It has been the rare secondary article, though, from which I have earned my knowledge in congruence with the weight of perspiration applied. I would rather be the bumbling historian who dabbles in Plato. Then I can have the sympathy of real scholars, who may tolerate my hobby and praise my toddling steps in the right direction, while I can still enjoy the thinker himself.

At the same time, I've seen other articles which have confirmed me in my standards of detail-oriented, thoroughly researched scholarship. Some articles in the book were simply awful. Assertions were so baldly stated and poorly formed that I found little to cart off of philosophical interest.

In another book, I read a comparison between Aristotle and Zhuang Zi; it promised to be an exciting paper topic for someone interested in comparative philosophy. The conclusion of the essay was, I believe, that Zhuang Zi is a much better philosopher because he realizes that an ox can be considered both as living being and as meat for a butcher, while Aristotle is locked into only one way of understanding. No discussion of the nature of form; no mention of teleology; no recognition of the difference between artifacts and natural objects (the ox was treated in exactly the same way as an axe). The author also said that an ox corpse is potentially an ox for Aristotle. I think that a person should have to at least read some of the thinker before commenting.

Sometimes, details matter. Sometimes, conversation matters.

Skepticism

I have heard some people, theologians in particular, criticize Enlightenment standards of knowledge. The argument goes like this: "Descartes et al. told us to doubt everything. But why should we not doubt this injunction in the first place?" Therefore, it seems, we should not have to doubt anything and can sit nice and safe in our communities. I think that this argument is rather sophistic, but it is widespread enough to be worth responding to.

Why do I go so far as to say that it is sophistic? Because, at least on one level, I do not think that it really interacts with what it means to doubt. If I can doubt a fact, that fact is therefore doubtable. Possibility of doubt already entails doubt; it is not an additional step. Certainty requires certainty, and nothing short of it. So, if there is any way in which doubt can enter, it has entered.

But at this point, one will say, "But we don't need certainty; we get by on probabilities most of the time." But, as I have said in an earlier post, we have no idea about what is probable except in a mathematical or pragmatic fashion. Mathematical probability entails certainty about those probabilities, and we are back to certainty. Pragmatic probability I think is closer to what is wanted.

But pragmatic probability doesn't lead to truth. It leads to efficiency. The fact that I can usually act as if sense data were accurate does not, in itself, mean that they are. It means that it may be the case that a deceit helps us to live better. Now, think that there are reasons for assuming that one can go from here to a certain reliability of the senses, but that requires that one argue for one's position and actually accept the skeptic's problem.

So, even on commonly accepted matters, we only have enough to go on to guarantee what works here and now. Hardly enough to establish anyone's metanarrative. In addition, people actually do disagree on quite important matters. Disagreeing testimony automatically brings the original testimony into question; possibility of doubt entails doubt. If one prefers, the amount and the quality of the disagreeing testimony is often high enough to be worth investigating, though it is always possible that the least source will overthrow everything you think you know. And you have absolutely no idea as to the probability of this happening

In summary, if one can doubt, this immediately leads to a rational doubt. If one is seeking for truth, this is always a problem. One can ignore the problem, and perhaps the problem of skepticism should be ignored. One just should not think that one has arrived at any truth by doing so.

Semantics

As philosophers, we often get into quarrels over the meaning of words. Alternatively, we dismiss issues as being simply matters of "semantics". To what extant is either justified? I will argue that there is some worth in semantic disputes for both theoretical and practical reasons, although they ought to be curtailed in theoretical disputes.

Theoretically, different uses of different words can open up new aspects of reality. Take the term "truth" for example. Now, some want to hold that only propositions can be true; this seems to be a standard analytical approach. Others want to use it for other matters as well; Avicenna uses the term (or at least an Arabic equivalent in "h.aqq") to first designate that which exists absolutely, second for what exists permanently, and third for propositions and beliefs when the correspond to external reality. Other uses abound.

So, which one of these definitions should we accept? But I take this question to be wrong-headed. Which of these definitions does not get at some aspect of reality? If the term works as a tool to help us to understand reality, why not use it as such? Now I can use the term "truth" to explore propositions, now I can use to explore Avicenna's more complex notion, and in both cases there is something of philosophical value.

Then, is there any room for quibbling over the meanings of words? For theoretical matters, there is some, but not as much as one often sees. To differentiate one's use of "truth" from others is beneficial because it helps to sharpen one's one use of the term. Also, these uses of the term are not accidentally related; there is no pure equivocation in the uses of "truth", but they are analogical and they do exist in tension with each other. This will lead into a practical issue in a moment.

What does not seem to be warranted is the triumph of one use over all others. One should argue for one's own use and should clarify it; this is all well and good, and may need to foil to be effective. However, one never has the resources to say that all other uses are wrong, ill-advised, and so on, on a completely theoretical level. In addition, not even our technical terms are completely unambiguous; try to find a single definition of "substance" in Aristotle or in Western thought in general. Let's not pretend that our discourse or our subject matter is clearer than it is.

Now on to practical matters. As I said before, the meanings of a term are in tension with each other. There is enough similarity in uses of the term "truth" that we want to wrestle over the term. Different uses call to mind different narratives, different perspectives, different connotations. There are sometimes reasons for suggesting that we put forward one set of connotations rather than another. This seems to come up especially in political contexts of various sorts; the language we use shapes our views of others. Theoretically, I can accept that "he" is (or was) just the standard pronoun used in gender-ambiguous cases. However, that doesn't completely explain the situation. Given contemporary attention, the exclusive use of "he" sends other messages, while the use of "she" sends different ones.

We are actually trying to communicate here, and communication involves other people who will understand things in certain manners. We have material conditions under which we work, even as analyzers of thought, and we must pay attention to these as well. So, for purposes of communication and for actually trying to create a perspective, attaching meaning to words does matter.

Types of Mysteries

When we talk about things which are mysterious, or beyond human ken, what do we mean? I would like to point out three different types of mystery, with reference to cause and effect. From this, I will argue that one of these types is essentially mysterious, one is accidentally mysterious, and one is BS.

With regards to cause and effect, the mystery can be either in the cause, in the effect, or in the link between them. I think that when people talk about mysteries simpliciter, or when Aristotle talks about the wonder that drives philosophy, the link between cause and effect is referred to. We see the effect and do not know the cause. There does not have to be anything intrinsic to the situation which makes it thus, and so this is an accidental mystery; we can learn later what the cause is for the effect.

The second type is what I see a lot amongst certain religious circles and artists. I do not indict these groups of people, but those are the circumstances under which I see this "fideistic mystery" as I will call it. This places the mystery in the effect. Either (a) the effect is such that it simply has no explanation, or it would be wrong to try to find one, or (b) there is supposed to be an effect, but I cannot for the life of me see it. Examples of the former are when one tells me that logic doesn't apply to discussions of God, or that it is wrong to investigate matters of faith. Examples of the latter are the supposed wisdom and righteousness of certain communities which are apparently there although inscrutable.

The third kind places mystery in the cause, and this is what I will call "rationalistic mystery". I think this category is ignored oftentimes, but it is important. Rational investigation does not need to dissolve every mystery; there can be mysteries which are supremely rational. I can logically talk about God, talk about God's attributes and creation of the world, and still say that God is essentially beyond knowing and perhaps even beyond speech. This is not something ad hoc as in the case of fideistic mystery. God is not mysterious just because; God is mysterious because an understanding of what God is entails certain restrictions of what can be known and said about God, either due to the (rationally ascertained) limits of our reasoning or the nature of God. I take Plotinus and Kant to be a good examples for this category. One may not agree with them or even like them, but they at least argue for their views and expect rational assessment.

Mysteries simpliciter then can be removed, and there seems to be nothing barring us from doing so if we wish. Rationalistic mysteries cannot be removed and so are the truest mysteries, most worthy of our consideration, but also of our continually probing and testing. Fideistic myteries by their nature cannot establish why we should not test them, and without such testing do not seem to be more than mysteries simpliciter with bouncers.