Listen to this essay on YouTube here: https://youtu.be/vi9g40Fz9u0
This is my second essay dedicated to the late Tom Trelogan. Again, I finally read this whole book. It took me two months.
As you may have noticed, I took a couple philosophy courses in college, and the foremost thing I learned from them is that I do not consider myself a philosopher except in the most direct meaning of the word. I am a lover of wisdom, but otherwise there is a barrier between me and the true discipline. After thinking about it, it’s probably the same reason I can’t consider myself a mathematician. The rigorous way in which philosophy seeks to answer its questions is absolutely fascinating. Dialectical reasoning, sophistic argumentation, mathematical processes and laborious logic are all brilliant ways to discover the absolute truths of the world that are unique to humans, and it’s just as beautiful and puzzling as our abstract concept of number theory. The problem is that my mind, in itself, must grasp things in a different way, a way which can incorporate this type of analysis, but only on a rudimentary level. I’m just a little too sentimental.
Reading Aristotle did not help me very much, I’m sad to say. If reading Plato was like going on a nice, brisk jog, then Aristotle was like diving into an Iron Man triathlon wearing lead shoes with no prior training. His writings spun circles around my head each day, and I simply did not have the energy to truly sink into his work.
That being said, I came away with some observations, which is what I will be discussing here. I don’t have much in the way of a thesis; instead I have three mini-topics to wrestle with.
First off is: I knew prior to this reading that Aristotle dismissed Plato’s theory of the Forms, but I didn’t understand how he did it. I want to dig deep and hash out the major differences between the Platonic Ideals and Aristotelian form theory. (To get a quick look at the Platonic forms, check out my last essay here.) Most of what I read in the way of this topic comes from the excerpts in the Physics, and some from De Anima. In effect, Aristotle believes in what may be called “forms,” but instead of physical objects participating in an elevated ideal of themselves to achieve their end result, the “form” already exists inside of the object, as a part of its “nature.” The closer something gets to its own “nature,” the more formal it is. This is exemplified in the first states of certain objects. Aristotle considers this what we’d think of as the ingredients of an object. For example, think of a bookshelf. Plato would imagine that there is an ideal “bookshelf” that exists, and all bookshelves participate in its being to achieve the desired effect, yes? Well, Aristotle asks, why on earth would all trees not be considered bookshelves since the material they are made of is the same material that makes bookshelves? It’s all wood!
Thinking along those lines, he recognizes that within each bookshelf (made of wood), there is wood also, which contains its own nature. So, a bookshelf has within it portions that reflect itself as a bookshelf, and portions that are wood, and perhaps portions that are stone and metal when considering nails and screws and glue. All this compounds to create the essential “whatness” of the item in question. The “bookshelf-ness” of the bookshelf is its own form, which is what animates it—it is what gives the item its “soul.” The rest of what Soul is to Aristotle is a book within itself, and so I won’t go into it here. But ponder this: Animals, animation (i.e. Movement), and souls are all inseparable. After all, this is what Aristotle’s book De Anima is titled; On the Soul.
So, the form of an object comes from its several natures compiling into a soul, and is all internalized rather than external. This was one thing that I wanted to become comfortable with while reading the text. Alongside, it turns out that I had another question answered for me, which was a question that I didn’t even realize I had. It’s rather timely, I think, and so it may be one that you as well have wondered about recently. It has to do with the subject of Metaphysics. Metaphysics is something that I, like most other people, have a minimal understanding of. Metaphysics, in our day, means something along the lines of “portions of scientific inquiry that go beyond the typical scientific method.” Things like crystal energy, the Zodiac, herbal cures for significant diseases, chakras, essential oils, vibrations and other what-have-yous that seem to promise to elevate one’s life out of mundanity and into a higher state. It’s all very wishy-washy, and feels both new and ancient, so much so that I didn’t realize I had been wondering where this phrase, and the real definition, comes from. I’m glad to say that Aristotle gave me an answer.
As it happens, this notion, the “new age” idea of Metaphysics is almost entirely an incorrect anachronism. Aristotle’s ideas directly informed the true study of Metaphysics—a very different field of study—and even then, he was not the one who created that phrase; an editor of his spotty and barely complete works is the one who coined the term hundreds of years later, and he did that only to have it mean “the section of Aristotle’s works that I have placed after the section called Physics.” Meta-Physics, meaning “after the physics.” That’s all the term really meant.
However, there is a deeper purpose to the word Metaphysics, which is closer to the contemporary use of the phrase than this original meaning. Meta is a prefix of Greek origin that essentially implies that a noun is self-referential. If Physics is the study of movement, then Metaphysics is the study of the study of physics. Don’t overlook the fact that, at the time, the word Physics was not simply the study of heavenly bodies, but all movement, including that which moves animals (biology), that which moves our emotions (poetics and rhetoric), and importantly that which moves our health (which is why we have physicians today). This means that by “the study of the study of Physics,” I mean “the act of studying the way in which we study the world scientifically.” A Metaphysician would be one who takes our concept of the Scientific Method, and scrutinizes every part of it to determine each function, surmise gaps within, and suggest changes.
In this way, Throughout the Metaphysics, Aristotle explores movement so deeply that he does his best to rigorously define the “first mover.” Here’s this in a nutshell: all movement can only occur if something that is moving enacts that movement on something else, but if all things must have a beginning, then there must have been something that moved first. So that is what Metaphysics really is: the study of whatever began everything.
This is how we get to the modern conception of Metaphysics. After all, most who ponder the origins of our human experience end up considering God, divinity or some sort in that sphere to be a sufficient cause of all things. Spirituality ends up intwined with the exploration of existence’s beginnings, and our contemporary take on Metaphysics is one that covers all things spiritual.
This semantic shift is not the only one that I ended up meeting with during my reading of this and all other philosophy. As a means to conclude this essay, I want to end on this point. The word Philosophy, and Philosopher at large, appear to me to have undergone a change in meaning in our world today. More and more, I find that people continue to use these terms to mean: “Smart person,” “thoughtful person,” or “intellectual idea,” and things of that nature. I can’t provide any evidence of this other than anecdotal, but these uses have become so common that it’s noticeable. It appears that “Philosophy,” now is just another word for “Being smart.” Truly, this is not the case. Intelligence as its own item is not and has never been the same as philosophy. Being a philosopher does not mean you have a high IQ (A terrible benchmark anyways). All Philosophy means, as I said in the beginning, is the Love of Wisdom. It is a practice that involves using as many tools as possible to discover the capital T Truth, simply for the joy of one’s own maddening curiosity. You don’t have to be traditionally smart to be a philosopher. You just have to enjoy thinking hard. In this sense, perhaps I shouldn't be so quick to say I don't tick the boxes.
Thanks for reading this one. The next essay is a little bit of a surprise, so watch out for it!