How do we come to know things?

[StrawberryJam]

Imelahn, you said that from the analysis of language it is possible to analyze how our intellects grasp reality. Perhaps all this time I have been misinterpreting you, but I have understood that you say that any human being “grasps” reality, not only philosophers (what is special about philosophers anyway?). At any rate, even in that case, it should not be necessary that Parmenides had done a “philosophical analysis” of language for you to see how his intellect “grasped” reality (Parmenides, or Marx, or Sartre, Heidegger, Comte, or any other philosopher…). Or do you say now that only those philosophers that do a philosophical analysis of language (the language used by other philosophers who performed a philosophical analysis of the language of other philosophers that…) grasp reality?

Are you seriously positing this here?

 

[lmelahn]

Imelahn, you said that from the analysis of language it is possible to analyze how our intellects grasp reality. Perhaps all this time I have been misinterpreting you, but I have understood that you say that any human being “grasps” reality, not only philosophers (what is special about philosophers anyway?).

“Grasp” here means “apprehend” or “understand” obviously. I am simply saying that pre-philosophical knowledge is still valid knowledge, and that philosophical knowledge depends the former. Indeed the latter is distinguished simply by being systematic and directed to seeking the causes and principles.

At any rate, even in that case, it should not be necessary that Parmenides had done a “philosophical analysis” of language for you to see how his intellect “grasped” reality (Parmenides, or Marx, or Sartre, Heidegger, Comte, or any other philosopher…).

I agree, and all of those philosophers demonstrated, through their use of language, that they understood reality, in that pre-philosophical way.

(I think the systems of the all the philosophers you mentions had very serious systematic problems, but that is a problem with their arguments, not with their fundamental ability to know the world.)

Or do you say now that only those philosophers that do a philosophical analysis of language (the language used by other philosophers who performed a philosophical analysis of the language of other philosophers that…) grasp reality?

No, of course not. I am just saying that because language is a sign of how our intellects work, it can be a good place to start, when attempting the science of being qua being.

One thing is understanding reality; the alternative is psychosis or lunacy.

Another thing is seeking the principles, causes, and properties of reality. That is the task of philosophy. And here, the alternative is between doing a good job in that investigation, or a poor one.

 

[lmelahn]

If Aristotle offered a demonstration in the mentioned fragment, the best way you have to show it is by establishing the structure of his argument. Please do it, Imelahn.

Honestly, what I read in your comment above (first paragraph) is this:

“Aristotle defines “substance” and “accidents” in such a way that substance becomes ontologically prior to accidents. I strongly desire that everybody firmly believes that substances are known before accidents.”

When dealing with fundamental realities, the history of philosophy shows us that divergent discourses have arisen. You seem to insist that we discover in reality the systems of relations that are expressed in those divergent discourses. On the contrary, I affirm that we establish them as imitations of the interactions in which we participate, directly and indirectly. I can explain why those systems of relations are simultaneously powerful and weak. You can’t (based on your idea that we discover those relations).

Certainly, concerning fundamental realities no demonstration is possible, because any demonstration requires premises, and no premise is possible for fundamental realities. As for proofs of recognition, they “proof” nothing to those that spontaneously develop adverse discourses.

OK. Let’s go over the key steps to Aristotle’s demonstration. The key to a good demonstration is to begin with what is easiest to know, and then to proceed, by argument, to what is harder to know.

(1) The first and easiest thing for us to know is that something exists outside of us. This “something” is what Aristotle calls to on (in our languages ens or el ente). This ens is not some mysterious, underlying arché, but simply the things, the beings (ta onta), that we encounter every day.

(2) These ta onta are not all equal. Even though we attribute (categorein) to on to all sorts of things—trees, clods of dirt, and the ocean; but also to colors, sizes, weights, and actions—it is evident that we don’t attribute them in exactly the same way.

(3) There is a priority of one of these figures of attribution, which we call substance (ousia). (Note that I am not denying that Aristotle came up with that particular usage of the term substance*; but he hardly pulled the concept out of thin air.) The others (the symbebékota, or accidents) all refer in some way to substance.

All of these are observations made directly from experience and the analysis of language.

[Up to here, we are using material from *Metaphyiscs Book IV; now on to Book VII].

(4) The characteristics of the first figure of attribution, substance, are that it is definite (it is a tode ti—i.e., it can be indicated with the definite pronoun tode, “this”) and independent (choristón, “separate” from other realities, not completely dependent on something else). Again, this is simply a recognition from experience: I can indicate this tree, and see that it stands by itself; its greenness and brownness, on the other hand, do not have an independent existence.

(5) The very notion of substance indicates its priority over accident: as you point out, Aristotle chose the term ousia to indicate those realities that have definite and independent existence. Hence, there is not much to prove here—it is in the very notion. However, the notion is well founded, not simply made up.

(6) Substance is prior to accident in knowledge. This is not exactly the same thing as (5) it has to do, not with the notion of substance itself, but our knowledge of substances. Rather, he says that we know something most truly when we know “what” it is, not simply “what its properties are.” He does not go over his theory of abstraction (which is how we learn “what” something is) here—for that, we would need to go to his De anima. There, he argues that in our intellectual process, we first get a notion of the whole, and only afterwards fill in the details about its properties. Knowledge of accidents always presupposes knowledge of the substance they depend on.

(7) Substance is prior to accident “in time.” In order for there to be any accidents, there must first be a substance on which these accidents depend. In his words, “For none of the other categories [technically, the “categoremata,” the realities indicated by the categories] can exist separately, but substance alone (1028a34).”

The demonstration is not terribly long, because substance is such a basic notion, but it is there.*

 

[lmelahn]

When dealing with fundamental realities, the history of philosophy shows us that divergent discourses have arisen. You seem to insist that we discover in reality the systems of relations that are expressed in those divergent discourses. On the contrary, I affirm that we establish them as imitations of the interactions in which we participate, directly and indirectly. I can explain why those systems of relations are simultaneously powerful and weak. You can’t (based on your idea that we discover those relations).

The fact that there are divergent discourses simply shows that some philosophers got the answer wrong, or partly wrong; it does not prevent there being a right answer.

 

[lmelahn]

For the study of “relations” it is of great interest to investigate how a common term becomes technical. One feels the necessity of designing those terms to gain in precision. As far as possible, this would imply the avoidance of terms that have multiple meanings (we should limit them); or the selection of common terms to express notions that are quite different from the common ones (in those cases I deem it better to look for another word or to use a circumlocution).

Although I fundamentally agree, there are two problems that we have to deal with: (1) we have to work with the philosophical patrimony that is given to us. As Gadamer rightly observes, there is a “history of effects” that we can’t completely ignore. Aristotle chose to hypokeimenon to describe the principle on which the accidents depend. We could try to invent a new term, but we still have to deal with interpreting what Aristotle said.

(2) As I have been trying to argue , sometimes the very concepts we deal with are intrinsically analogical; being (to on) and its properties (the one, the good, the true, etc.) are like that. For someone used to mathematics or a similar discipline—which insists on neatly univocal notions—this can be frustrating at first, but it is indispensable, because reality is rich and multifaceted. Some beings “are,” tout-court; other beings depend so radically on the first kind of being (substance), that it would be better to say that they exist “in” a substance or “by” or “because of” a substance, depending on the kind.

I have no objection to what you say about the unity of the dog (that you propose as an example): we deal with it as a unit in our daily life. Imitating aristotelians I would say that interactions are principles of unity.

We do not simply “deal with it as a unity;” a dog really is one and whole.

In Spanish we do have the words “subyacer” and “sujeto”, but I guess the spontaneous development of our language has dissipated any relation that they could have had in the beginning. We were fortunate!

But that makes it more difficult to understand Aristotle…

 

[lmelahn]

I think I will give this discussion a rest until after the Paschal Triduum. (Time for some spiritual renewal; besides, I have to prepare a couple of homilies.)

However, I will leave you with the following example (which you will find in the footnotes of my master’s thesis, if you had a chance to look at it). It shows that knowledge is begins with the whole; only later do we discern the parts (e.g., accidents).

An example illustrates: suppose I awaken in the middle of the night in the dark, and I decide to rise and walk over to my desk. Suppose that on the way, I trip over something on the floor (without injuring myself). [Note that this is first hand experience!] At the moment of contact, I have no idea what the object is, but I do know immediately and infallibly that something has made me trip. Until I examine it and reflect on it, I know practically nothing about it except that it is—ens, as we saw, is the primum cognitum—and only gradually do I fill in the details: it is material, hard, mobile (I heard it slide a few feet after I tripped on it), inanimate (it did not scamper away), and so on. Although I only discover that it is a book—Heidegger’s Sein und Zeit, in fact [certainly large enough to make one trip!]—after I reach down to feel the object, or turn on the light, I know the thing, the whole thing (however confusedly), from the beginning.

 

[JuanFlorencio]

I think I will give this discussion a rest until after the Paschal Triduum. (Time for some spiritual renewal; besides, I have to prepare a couple of homilies.)

Yes, let’s dedicate this coming days to what is most important.

God bless you.
JuanFlorencio

 

[JuanFlorencio]

Are you seriously positing this here?

Yes, indeed; very seriously, Strawberry.

Regards

 

[JuanFlorencio]

I think I will give this discussion a rest until after the Paschal Triduum. (Time for some spiritual renewal; besides, I have to prepare a couple of homilies.)

However, I will leave you with the following example (which you will find in the footnotes of my master’s thesis, if you had a chance to look at it). It shows that knowledge is begins with the whole; only later do we discern the parts (e.g., accidents).

When you decided to walk over to your desk you did not expect to trip; and when you did, you were conscious of this specific interaction with the thing. But you interacted also with some other things in your room, and you were not conscious of those interactions. The unexpected interaction emerged among many others that were familiar to you. More than one object could have interacted with you in the same way (the tactile sensation, the sudden unbalance, the sounds…), making you trip. That is probably why you say that though you knew the whole thing it was confusedly, because you could not make up your mind about what the object was. When you turned the light on you added some other interactions, which made it possible for you to recognize “the thing” as a book.

Now, let’s suppose some variations to your example:

Let’s suppose that at the moment of your tripping you remembered that you had left the book on the floor last night. Based on this memory and on your limited interaction you would have realized almost immediately what the thing was. You would have known at that very moment the whole thing, and not confusedly.

Let’s suppose on the other hand that there were actually two or three objects on the floor. Your limited interaction with them would probably have allowed you to “know” the whole (though confusedly) of a “something”, not of two or three “somethings”, so to say; which would have been a false “apprehension”.

Consider this situation: You left a book on the floor, but someone else changes it for another object, without your knowledge. Then in the dark of the night you have your wish to go towards your desk, and trip. Probably you would have remembered putting the book on the floor, and you would have realized that the object which you tripped with was your book, without any confusion; but again, it would have been a false “apprehension”. You might have been confused at the moment you turned the light on and see that the thing was not your book.

And this situation too: Again, you awake in the darkness, full of desire to go over to your desk; you don’t trip with anything on the floor, because there is nothing there. But when you get where your desk was supposed to be, you find nothing. You immediately turn the lights on and you find that your room is empty. Your possessions were taken away while you were sleeping. Only your bed was left. The things whose unity and wholeness you were expecting to apprehend are not there. Surely there is more here than simple apprehensions. You were mentally putting your possessions there and you are surprised when you don’t apprehend them.

Think of this last scenario: you go to sleep, but while deeply slept your friends move you to another room that keeps certain similarities with yours (for example, there is a desk in the same relative position), but there are many differences too. Then, you awaken in the night and have the desire to go to your desk, and so you go. Most probably, you would feel confusedly that “something” around you is different (this “something” is actually many things), and you trip here and there. If you trip with “something” on the floor, this will not add much to your confusion (unless it injures you), because in this situation “confusion”, and not “familiarity”, is the general “background”. How many wholes would you be able to apprehend, though confusedly, in that situation?

It is clear that in your description you forgot to mention a great amount of details. Just a couple of examples: You said that you awoke in the night with the desire to go to your desk, which at first sight sounds like a complete account; but it means (as an example within the example) that in the middle of the darkness you “knew” there was a desk close to you (though there was the possibility that it was not there anymore), where it was located, how you could get to it, how did it look like more or less; that it was yours, what could you find on it, and many other things about it (without seeing it, without feeling it at all!). Concerning the thing you tripped with, you say you knew it was inanimate (because it did not scamper away). I guess you don’t have a lot of animated visible things in your room. Actually I am assuming you don’t have any; so, you didn’t mention that foreign notions (those related to living beings) came to your mind that assisted you on the identification of the thing. Also, you say that you “heard it slide a few feet after I tripped on it” (I know you will tell me about your estimative faculty; but I doubt it comes ready to measure in feet or meters by hearing sounds); which again implies that notions that come from other situations concurred in your mind to assist you.

Continues…

 

[JuanFlorencio]

My counter examples above intend to show that you did not “apprehend” the whole of the thing before its “accidents”. At least in cases similar to the one in your example, it seems that the whole of the thing is rather constructed than apprehended; and it seems that the experience of the limited interaction triggers the activity of your mind which “superimposes” past experiences over your memory of it, trying to complete it.

Perhaps you would insist that evidently you apprehended the whole of the thing, though confusedly (I interpret that for you the apprehension of a whole is the presence to you of an unknown something), through the limited interaction, and that it was only after reflection that you thought of the interaction itself. But one of my counter examples intends to show that even the amount of the things that you supposedly “apprehend” is constructed in your mind (it could have been one thing, or more than one); and that you could make a mistake even on that. Evidently, if you can make a mistake on such a basic thing it is because not even the amount of wholes is apprehended by you, but constructed.

 

[JuanFlorencio]

OK. Let’s go over the key steps to Aristotle’s demonstration. The key to a good demonstration is to begin with what is easiest to know, and then to proceed, by argument, to what is harder to know.

The first and easiest thing for us to know is that something exists outside of us. This “something” is what Aristotle calls to on (in our languages ens or el ente). This ens is not some mysterious, underlying arché, but simply the things, the beings (ta onta), that we encounter every day.

(2) These ta onta are not all equal. Even though we attribute (categorein) to on to all sorts of things—trees, clods of dirt, and the ocean; but also to colors, sizes, weights, and actions—it is evident that we don’t attribute them in exactly the same way.

(3) There is a priority of one of these figures of attribution, which we call substance (ousia). (Note that I am not denying that Aristotle came up with that particular usage of the term substance**; but he hardly pulled the concept out of thin air.) The others (the symbebékota, or accidents) all refer in some way to substance.

All of these are observations made directly from experience and the analysis of language.

[Up to here, we are using material from *Metaphyiscs Book IV; now on to Book VII].

(4) The characteristics of the first figure of attribution, substance, are that it is definite (it is a tode ti—i.e., it can be indicated with the definite pronoun tode, “this”) and independent (choristón, “separate” from other realities, not completely dependent on something else). Again, this is simply a recognition from experience: I can indicate this tree, and see that it stands by itself; its greenness and brownness, on the other hand, do not have an independent existence.

(5) The very notion of substance indicates its priority over accident: as you point out, Aristotle chose the term ousia to indicate those realities that have definite and independent existence. Hence, there is not much to prove here—it is in the very notion. However, the notion is well founded, not simply made up.

(6) Substance is prior to accident in knowledge. This is not exactly the same thing as (5) it has to do, not with the notion of substance itself, but our knowledge of substances. Rather, he says that we know something most truly when we know “what” it is, not simply “what its properties are.” He does not go over his theory of abstraction (which is how we learn “what” something is) here—for that, we would need to go to his De anima. There, he argues that in our intellectual process, we first get a notion of the whole, and only afterwards fill in the details about its properties. Knowledge of accidents always presupposes knowledge of the substance they depend on.

(7) Substance is prior to accident “in time.” In order for there to be any accidents, there must first be a substance on which these accidents depend. In his words, “For none of the other categories [technically, the “categoremata,” the realities indicated by the categories] can exist separately, but substance alone (1028a34).”

The demonstration is not terribly long, because substance is such a basic notion, but it is there.

So, it seems that the harder thing to know in this case would be that “ousia” is prior to accidents both ontologically and in the order of what we know. I eliminated the explanatory comments in your post above and interpreted what you said in some bullets using what you said in the others. The resulting sentences were as follows:

1. 
   *]I know that things exist outside of me.
   *]Some of those things existing outside of me are not completely dependent on others.
   *]I call “substance” the things existing outside of me that are not completely dependent on others.
   *]Some other things completely depend on others.
   *]I call “properties” those things that depend on others.
   *]Things that are not completely dependent on others are definite.
   *]To know something most truly is to know what it is.
   *]To know something less truly is to know its properties.
   *]The things I know first are those that are not completely dependent on others.
   *]To know the things that completely depend on others presupposes the knowledge of those things that are not completely dependent on others.
   *]If a thing A depends on a thing B, I say that B has ontological priority over thing A.
   
   As you can see, this is not an argument, but a set of loose sentences; and some of them even seem to belong to disjoint sets; so, I eliminated the ones that do not belong to the same set and those that seem redundant. This is what was left:
   
   1. 
      *]I know that things exist outside of me.
      *]Some of those things existing outside of me are not completely dependent on others.
      *]Some other things completely depend on others.
      *]The things I know first are those that are not completely dependent on others.
      *]If a thing A depends on a thing B, I say that B has ontological priority over thing A.
      
      Naturally, the elimination of some of the sentences does not make the remaining ones to constitute an argument, but they did not make it before.

 

[JuanFlorencio]

The fact that there are divergent discourses simply shows that some philosophers got the answer wrong, or partly wrong; it does not prevent there being a right answer.

It is not that simple, Imelahn…

“Partly wrong” sounds more precise to me, and less aggressive. It is also what Aristotle says (Metaphysics, Book II, Part I):

“The investigation of the truth is in one way hard, in another easy. An indication of this is found in the fact that no one is able to attain the truth adequately, while, on the other hand, we do not collectively fail, but every one says something true about the nature of things, and while individually we contribute little or nothing to the truth, by the union of all a considerable amount is amassed. Therefore, since the truth seems to be like the proverbial door, which no one can fail to hit, in this respect it must be easy, but the fact that we can have a whole truth and not the particular part we aim at shows the difficulty of it.”

Still, it is necessary to explain why a discourse can be partly wrong. As error is so common, it is commonly taken for granted; and the question about it is considered naive. This question runs the same fate as this one: “Why is it that there is something rather than nothing?”. But among philosophers, the question makes sense. Now, based on your idea that we discover our systems of relations in reality, you can’t explain this so common fact: error exists.

Aristotle’s words naturally apply to himself too, not only to everyone else. Let’s suppose they don’t; What would it mean that among all human beings, Aristotle would have been able to produce the discourses that not only unveil the truth, but that are The Truth itself? Aristotle would have been the singularity in History in which everything makes sense, in which reality finally reaches its perfection. But notice though that he would also have been the singularity in which the maximum sense collapsed and sank; because his discourses, once issued, became diverse through interpretation and through a spontaneous “degradation” of language (as happened with Spanish, remember?). Aristotle, a spark in the middle of our dark night, lost forever. Still, it would have been Aristotle, and no one else, the only person who could have said “my word is The Truth”. No witness would have had the authority, the power, to testify in his favor, because only him would have been The One: he would have been an unnoticed spark in the middle of darkness… But he did not say that. He wrote: “no one is able to attain the truth adequately…”. I agree with him: Our intelligence of reality is just a deficient imitation of it, and imitation admits diversity.

Concerning the right answer… we are still looking for it, aren’t we?

 

[JuanFlorencio]

Although I fundamentally agree, there are two problems that we have to deal with: (1) we have to work with the philosophical patrimony that is given to us. As Gadamer rightly observes, there is a “history of effects” that we can’t completely ignore. Aristotle chose to hypokeimenon to describe the principle on which the accidents depend. We could try to invent a new term, but we still have to deal with interpreting what Aristotle said.

I also fundamentally agree with you and Gadamer. It is obvious how Aristotle depends on the philosophical patrimony that was given to him. Still, I argue that he was selective; and he got rid of his predecessors too fast. Was it wrong? I have not said that. We also have received a tremendous philosophical patrimony, and due to its magnitude, we are forced to be selective as well. As an example, I have decided to be careful with the use of terms like “abstraction”, “substance”, “accidents” and some others.

(2) As I have been trying to argue , sometimes the very concepts we deal with are intrinsically analogical; being (to on) and its properties (the one, the good, the true, etc.) are like that. For someone used to mathematics or a similar discipline—which insists on neatly univocal notions—this can be frustrating at first, but it is indispensable, because reality is rich and multifaceted. Some beings “are,” tout-court; other beings depend so radically on the first kind of being (substance), that it would be better to say that they exist “in” a substance or “by” or “because of” a substance, depending on the kind.

Trying to argue… That is precisely the point, Imelahn! Concerning being as such (not the concept… Is there a concept?), some have argued that it is analogical, and others have argued that it is univocal. So, both parties have argued. Is it a matter of arguments, or of an experience which is at the basis of those arguments, or of the implications of each position?

Now, regarding mathematics, don’t you think that the very notion of “number” is analogical? Consider, for instance, natural numbers and complex numbers, and let me know.

Analogy is the way in which our intelligence works: we compare and imitate. But if that on which we are thinking belongs to the realm of interactions (numbers don’t belong to that realm) no analogy is found there. Analogy is a product of our intellectual activity.

We do not simply “deal with it as a unity;” a dog really is one and whole.

Rigorously speaking, a dog is not a unity; but we deal with it as if it were one. For example, if think of the cells in its body, we can say that each one of them is a unity. But we also see that the dog is a system (a very complex system). And I think that we can go on in the same direction, because it seems to me that the dog is part of a bigger system too.

But that makes it more difficult to understand Aristotle…

Granted, but…, without understanding him, are we unable to grasp reality?

 

[lmelahn]

When you decided to walk over to your desk you did not expect to trip; and when you did, you were conscious of this specific interaction with the thing. But you interacted also with some other things in your room, and you were not conscious of those interactions. The unexpected interaction emerged among many others that were familiar to you. More than one object could have interacted with you in the same way (the tactile sensation, the sudden unbalance, the sounds…), making you trip. That is probably why you say that though you knew the whole thing it was confusedly, because you could not make up your mind about what the object was. When you turned the light on you added some other interactions, which made it possible for you to recognize “the thing” as a book.

So far so good, although I insist again: human knowledge by default directs itself to the things that are known, not to the manner by which they are known. I came to realize the book was there through its action on me. The interactions are id quo cognoscitur (that by which the thing is known); the book is id quod cognoscitur (that which is known).

Now, let’s suppose some variations to your example:

…]

which would have been a false “apprehension”.

Not false apprehension, but faulty reasoning. In such a case, I would have apprehended correctly—“I just tripped over something.” This case is an example of jumping to conclusions: “I left the book out last night, therefore what I tripped over is that book.” However, in the scenario given, that is a non sequitur.

Consider this situation: You left a book on the floor, but someone else changes it for another object, without your knowledge. …] You might have been confused at the moment you turned the light on and see that the thing was not your book.

Again, same issue: it is not the apprehension that errs, but my reasoning. Note how closer examination quickly clears up the problem. Once I pass from relying on my reasoning to direct observation, the direct observation removes all doubt.

And this situation too: Again, you awake in the darkness, full of desire to go over to your desk; you don’t trip with anything on the floor, because there is nothing there. …] You were mentally putting your possessions there and you are surprised when you don’t apprehend them.

I hope I didn’t give the impression that apprehension can occur by itself. In reality, our notions—the fruit of apprehension—are always part of a composition or division. I apprehend the empty floor and walls, and realize (through a judgment—in this case a “division” or negation) that these are incompatible with having a desk there.

Also, we are mixing several levels here: I would recall how my room was the night before, but this is thanks to a sensory, sub-intellectual faculty (the imagination). I can apprehend from the imagination, too. Comparing the two (the desk that was there last night and the empty wall and floor), I can quickly judge that the desk is no longer there.

Think of this last scenario: you go to sleep, but while deeply slept your friends move you to another room that keeps certain similarities with yours …]

I think I am going to lock my door from now on!

So, when I come to the desk, in that scenario, you are right in thinking that I would probably assume at first that it is my desk. It is not necessarily an error, because judgments come in varying degrees of subjective firmness (ranging from absolutely certain to highly conjectural). Be that as it may, the error, if there is any, would be in my reasoning. Later on, I would realize that I was not in my room, and the error would be corrected.

But even so. When I got to my desk, before I got as far as “recognizing” it as my desk (through faulty reasoning), I would apprehend it correctly as something; then as a desk. The error, if there were any, would be in thinking it is my desk—or that it is located in my room.

We apprehend things as soon as they are presented to our intellects. As you correctly point out, it is their interactions—more precisely, their action upon us—that causes them to be “presented.” Hence, there are as many “wholes” apprehended as things presented to the intellect for knowledge.

In the hypothetical room, that would be whatever my conscious mind fixes itself on: the desk (even before I realize it is a “desk”), perhaps the floor (if the desk is in the wrong place)—whatever it is. There would doubtless be a lot of them.

(I agree I would sense that “something” is different—but this “something” is not concrete, like the book example, or the desk, just a vague feeling, based on my cogitative power, that my surroundings have change. But in general, this does not immediately result in an apprehension, because my mind is not focusing on a particular object as such.)

It is clear that in your description you forgot to mention a great amount of details. …]

I am not denying that I apprehended lots of other things at the same time; nor that I used my past knowledge; nor that I was assisted by my memory, imagination, and cogitative power; nor that these things helped me to know the object better.

But also keep in mind that this account is after the fact. I would hardly have made these reflections explicitly in the very act. Take the inanimateness. It is not as if I explicitly listeded for it to scamper away. But when my foot struck it, it slid and then stopped. In that very moment, I realized that it was some kind of relatively light, inanimate objecte. I did not have to think about it—my memory and imagination filled that in for me spontaneously.

 

[lmelahn]

My counter examples above intend to show that you did not “apprehend” the whole of the thing before its “accidents”. At least in cases similar to the one in your example, it seems that the whole of the thing is rather constructed than apprehended; and it seems that the experience of the limited interaction triggers the activity of your mind which “superimposes” past experiences over your memory of it, trying to complete it.

The last part, I can agree with: that the interaction triggers the activity of the mind, and then the mind (through the imagination) imposes past experiences over it.

But interactions can’t occur in a vacuum. They presuppose a “something” that interacts. We superimpose data from our imagination over something.

(Incidentally, the interior senses—especially the imagination and cogitatative power—can, in the terminology of Aristotle, err per accidens. I can imagine I am seeing a lion, and be scared by it, when, in reality it is the silhouette of a cat.)

Perhaps you would insist that evidently you apprehended the whole of the thing, though confusedly (I interpret that for you the apprehension of a whole is the presence to you of an unknown something), through the limited interaction, and that it was only after reflection that you thought of the interaction itself.

Almost. Except for the “unknown” part. Apprehension is the first stage of knowledge, so if we have apprehended something, it is because we are at least beginning to know it.

But one of my counter examples intends to show that even the amount of the things that you supposedly “apprehend” is constructed in your mind (it could have been one thing, or more than one); and that you could make a mistake even on that. Evidently, if you can make a mistake on such a basic thing it is because not even the amount of wholes is apprehended by you, but constructed.

Based on my replies, I still think we are not distinguishing correctly between the two acts of the intellect—apprehension and judgment—and between these and the use of reason (which is, if you will, our ability to compose judgments).

All of the mistakes that your counter-examples envision are errors in reason, not in apprehension.

 

[lmelahn]

So, it seems that the harder thing to know in this case would be that “ousia” is prior to accidents both ontologically and in the order of what we know. I eliminated the explanatory comments in your post above and interpreted what you said in some bullets using what you said in the others. The resulting sentences were as follows:

1. 
   *]I know that things exist outside of me.
   *]Some of those things existing outside of me are not completely dependent on others.
   *]I call “substance” the things existing outside of me that are not completely dependent on others.
   *]Some other things completely depend on others.
   *]I call “properties” those things that depend on others.

1. 
   Just a note that “property” has a special meaning in Thomistic terminology. Some accidents arise necessarily—like the intellect in man—whereas others don’t—like freckles. Technically a “property”*is an accident that arises necessarily—i.e., that is “proper” to that substance. I am not disagreeing with you, just pointing out a possible source of confusion.
   

   • *]Things that are not completely dependent on others are definite.
     *]To know something most truly is to know what it is.
     *]To know something less truly is to know its properties.

   • 
     In other words, “knoweldge,” tout-court, without qualification is of “what something is.” Knowing an accident (whether property or otherwise) would be knowing “about” something. That is the idea.
     

     1. *]The things I know first are those that are not completely dependent on others.
        *]To know the things that completely depend on others presupposes the knowledge of those things that are not completely dependent on others.
        *]If a thing A depends on a thing B, I say that B has ontological priority over thing A.

     1. 
        

        As you can see, this is not an argument, but a set of loose sentences; and some of them even seem to belong to disjoint sets; so, I eliminated the ones that do not belong to the same set and those that seem redundant. This is what was left:

        1. 
           *]I know that things exist outside of me.
           *]Some of those things existing outside of me are not completely dependent on others.
           *]Some other things completely depend on others.
           *]The things I know first are those that are not completely dependent on others.
           *]If a thing A depends on a thing B, I say that B has ontological priority over thing A.

        1. 
           

           Naturally, the elimination of some of the sentences does not make the remaining ones to constitute an argument, but they did not make it before.

           That is because they depend very closely on simple recognitions of fact. Although we can’t “prove” all of them them—they are more like the axioms in mathematics—we can defend them by showing that the opposite is either contrary to obvious fact, or absurd.
           
           (There is, however, an argument, here: from the independence substance and the dependence of accident, we deduce the participation of accident in the substance. That is, if you will, what we need to take home from Aristotle’s observations. It is just that Aristotle is suspicious of the word methexis (participation)—it sounds to Platonic—so he does not like to use it.)
           
           Note that things either stand by themselves, or else depend on something else. There can be no tertium quid. That should probably be inserted in that list, although it is implicit in Aristotle.

 

[Mount_Carmel]

With reference to the thread question - by not being born tabula rasa and being imbued with curiosity and exposed to experience.

There are also negative predispositions that can confound the purity/reality/truth of said knowledge.

 

[lmelahn]

It is not that simple, Imelahn…

“Partly wrong” sounds more precise to me, and less aggressive.

I agree, which is why I qualified. It is impossible to be perfectly, entirely wrong.

It is also what Aristotle says (Metaphysics, Book II, Part I):

“The investigation of the truth is in one way hard, in another easy. An indication of this is found in the fact that no one is able to attain the truth adequately, while, on the other hand, we do not collectively fail, but every one says something true about the nature of things, and while individually we contribute little or nothing to the truth, by the union of all a considerable amount is amassed. Therefore, since the truth seems to be like the proverbial door, which no one can fail to hit, in this respect it must be easy, but the fact that we can have a whole truth and not the particular part we aim at shows the difficulty of it.”

Still, it is necessary to explain why a discourse can be partly wrong. As error is so common, it is commonly taken for granted; and the question about it is considered naive. This question runs the same fate as this one: “Why is it that there is something rather than nothing?”. But among philosophers, the question makes sense. Now, based on your idea that we discover our systems of relations in reality, you can’t explain this so common fact: error exists.

Aristotle’s words naturally apply to himself too, not only to everyone else.

Again, I agree.

Let’s suppose they don’t; What would it mean that among all human beings, Aristotle would have been able to produce the discourses that not only unveil the truth, but that are The Truth itself? Aristotle would have been the singularity in History in which everything makes sense, in which reality finally reaches its perfection. But notice though that he would also have been the singularity in which the maximum sense collapsed and sank; because his discourses, once issued, became diverse through interpretation and through a spontaneous “degradation” of language (as happened with Spanish, remember?).

I never called it a degradation! Just a change in meaning that could be confusing if applied retroactively.

Aristotle, a spark in the middle of our dark night, lost forever. Still, it would have been Aristotle, and no one else, the only person who could have said “my word is The Truth”. No witness would have had the authority, the power, to testify in his favor, because only him would have been The One: he would have been an unnoticed spark in the middle of darkness… But he did not say that. He wrote: “no one is able to attain the truth adequately…”. I agree with him: Our intelligence of reality is just a deficient imitation of it, and imitation admits diversity.

Concerning the right answer… we are still looking for it, aren’t we?

Obviously, I don’t think Aristotle has all the answers. But if you ask me, “Is his theory of knowledge (in particular) fundamentally correct?” I would say yes. That doesn’t mean we don’t need to make corrections, improvements, and interpretations. But I do think he is on the right track. I think we can work with his theory.

On the contrary, representationist theories (by which I mean, theories that presuppose a re-construction of reality within our intellects, whose degree of fidelity to its model is in constant doubt—e.g., Descartes and Kant), it seems to me, create many more problems than they solve.

Descartes and Kant have problems right in their presuppositions; Aristotle begins in the right place. We might need to make some refinements, and we can dispute his more derived conclusions. But the general direction is correct, it seems to me.

 

[lmelahn]

I also fundamentally agree with you and Gadamer. It is obvious how Aristotle depends on the philosophical patrimony that was given to him. Still, I argue that he was selective; and he got rid of his predecessors too fast. Was it wrong? I have not said that. We also have received a tremendous philosophical patrimony, and due to its magnitude, we are forced to be selective as well. As an example, I have decided to be careful with the use of terms like “abstraction”, “substance”, “accidents” and some others.

Trying to argue… That is precisely the point, Imelahn! Concerning being as such (not the concept… Is there a concept?),

There must be, because we are talking about it, and we understand one another!

some have argued that it is analogical,

Mostly Aristotle and St. Thomas Aquinas, and most of the philosophers to claim to be Thomists (including, say Suárez, although his underlying philosophy is closer to Duns Scotus than Thomas).

and others have argued that it is univocal.

Plato and most famously Duns Scotus.

So, both parties have argued. Is it a matter of arguments, or of an experience which is at the basis of those arguments, or of the implications of each position?

I think it is experience that carries the day here. No one doubts, I think, that the blueness of a bluebird has less ontological consistency than the bluebird itself. The blueness hardly sings or makes nests.

The more important question is whether you think concrete being (to on, ens) arises because of an intrinsic act, or perfection (to einai, esse), or not. Aristotle and St. Thomas did; the others, evidently, did not.

Now, regarding mathematics, don’t you think that the very notion of “number” is analogical? Consider, for instance, natural numbers and complex numbers, and let me know.

Yes, but that is because numbers are abstracted from reality. They come from the accident that Aristotle calls “quantity.” What we are witnessing here is an analogy of reference: the easiest kind of number we grasp is the discrete quantity (in modern terminology, the “natural numbers”). By understanding the relations between those kinds of numbers, we can derive zero and the negative integers. By examining ratios (which are analogies!), we get the rational numbers. Then (taking our cue from geometry) we discover that some relationships are incommensurable—they can’t be represented as ratios of integers; hence the irrational numbers to complete the reals. The more arcane kinds of numbers—e.g., complex numbers, quaternions, and what have you—are numbers by a more distant kind of analogy, since they do not correspond as easily to the three-dimensional space we are familiar with. (Yes, I know that complex numbers can be interpreted basically as two-dimensional vectors, but they are clearly not “numbers” in the common sense of the word.)

Analogy is the way in which our intelligence works: we compare and imitate. But if that on which we are thinking belongs to the realm of interactions (numbers don’t belong to that realm) no analogy is found there. Analogy is a product of our intellectual activity.

Might not our intellectual structure be a reflection of reality? Might not the fact that we work by analogy indicate that the very reality we work in is analogous?

Rigorously speaking, a dog is not a unity; but we deal with it as if it were one. For example, if think of the cells in its body, we can say that each one of them is a unity. But we also see that the dog is a system (a very complex system). And I think that we can go on in the same direction, because it seems to me that the dog is part of a bigger system too.

I am unable to concur (no pun intended) that a dog is not a unity. It is a single organism. Take out its brain, and the individual parts will function for a time, but they will not be a single organism. Amputate a limb (I hope no one actually does these experiments!), and the organism will go on living (provided it is cared for), but the limb will decompose, no matter how much it is cared for.

To put it simply, a bunch of cells does not make an organism. In fact, a bunch of cells does not even make an organ (and a bunch of organs do not make an organism). There is a unity there that is irreducible to its constituent parts.

Take a more banal example: is a house just a pile of bricks, timber, plumbing, and wires? No, the parts have to be properly ordered. Now, if that is true for a house, which is not a substance (it is an aggregate of substances), it is all the more true for an organism.

Granted, but…, without understanding him, are we unable to grasp reality?

No, but I think he is a great help.

 

[JuanFlorencio]

Might not our intellectual structure be a reflection of reality? Might not the fact that we work by analogy indicate that the very reality we work in is analogous?

“Intellectual structure” is a nice metaphor. It is an analogy, isn’t it?

As you know, analogies are complex comparisons. So, when you say that the very reality we work in is analogous, I understand that you are saying that a part of reality “A” is comparable to a part of reality “B”. I would like to propose this example: It has been found in the past centuries that certain phenomena can be modeled through formally identical equations. Two of those phenomena are mass transfer by diffusion, and energy transfer (heat) by conduction. So, it is customarily said that there is an analogy between them. What it means is, for example, that you could make an experiment of heat transfer whose results will serve you to predict what will happen in a comparable system where mass (instead of energy) is transferred. If your experiment was well designed, your prediction will be good enough. We would tend to think that we don’t invent the analogy, but discover it, right? However, if you take the time to investigate how those equations were developed, I think you will realize that “discovery” is not the best word to describe them. We don’t discover analogy; we bring it into the world.

I will come back tomorrow.