This is the ninth in a series of posts on my own philosophical journey; the first post is here.

So, to recap:

First, modern philosophy struck me as nuts.

Then, rather later, Aristotelian and Thomist philosophy struck me as sane.

And then I discovered that although Aristotle and Thomas are often said to be have been proven wrong by Science! (Cue dramatic music) and by Modern Thought! (Cue more dramatic music), they were never really proven wrong; they were simply abandoned as unfashionable or, possibly, inconvenient.

In short, Thomist philosophy is a genuine live option. And so, for the past several years, I’ve been exploring it. I’ll have more to say about that in the coming weeks; there are a number of areas I find interesting, and a number of things I want to talk about. But this series has now accomplished what I wanted to accomplish, which is to point out that studying Thomist philosophy is more than just an academic exercise in the history of philosophy; it’s a return to philosophical sanity.

This is the eighth in a series of posts on my own philosophical journey; the first post is here.

When we last saw them, Thomas and Aristotle had formed a seemingly unbeatable team, so much so that Thomism became known as “the perennial philosophy.” And yet somehow, after Descartes interest in Thomism faded, except within the Church. Philosophers didn’t have time for Thomas and Aristotle anymore. What happened?

You’ll often hear some variant of, “Newton proved Aristotle wrong about physics.” In other words, Aristotle was abandoned the same way science had abandoned belief in the four elements or the bodily humors. He was passé, old hat, been disproved, found wanting.

The truth is somewhat otherwise. So what really happened?

First, Thomism was associated with the Catholic Church. For some, that was sufficient reason to abandon our friends. But second, and more importantly, Thomism suffered from its own success. It had been the philosophy of Christendom for centuries. It had been worked on, and embroidered, and elaborated, and extended, and systematized, and rehashed until it was virtually impossible to come to grips with.

Thomism, I have said, is based on what we know of the world around us. And as such, for it to remain alive it must be possible to take new information into account, to see how it fits in, to adjust the whole. This is hard, and the larger the system is, the harder it is to do. As I understand it, the defenders of Thomism in Descartes’ day were not up to the challenge. They treated Thomism as settled doctrine, as near-holy writ, to be learned, and understood if possible, but not to be meddled with. They were ill-suited to the times.

And then, thirdly, the goals of philosophy had changed. In olden times, philosophers, natural historians, and the like gather information about the natural world for its own sake. Man, as a rational animal, desires to know; and it is fitting for us to learn as much as we can about the world God created, for he created it to be known. But with Descartes the emphasis changed. The goal was not simply mere understanding—the goal was mastery. The question was no longer, “What is the world like?”, but rather, “What can I make the world do for me?”

In short, the perennial philosophy was too Catholic, too hard, and too high-minded.

Part XI

This is the seventh in a series of posts on my own philosophical journey; the first post is here.

So Aristotle, I discovered, maintained a sane connection with the real world; and St. Thomas followed him in this. But how did it happen that there was such a strong bond between the pagan philosopher and a Dominican friar who lived over a thousand years later?

It might surprise those who expect conflict between faith and reason, but the Catholic Church has always insisted that not only are the two things not in conflict, they cannot be in conflict. God is Truth; He is the creator of the world we see around us, and the revealer of the truths we hold by faith. If the two seem to be in conflict, then there’s a failure in understanding some place.

As a result, Catholic theologians in every age have looked to the best thinkers of the age and learned from them. Neo-Platonism was popular in the early centuries of the Church, and theologians from Justin Martyr to St. Augustine to Boethius and onwards from there drew on Plato to aid their understanding of the world and God’s revelation. Scholastic philosophy began in the 8th century or thereabouts, and was based on Plato’s work. Aristotle was pretty well neglected, so far as I can tell, through this whole sweep of time.

And then Avicenna, in 11th century Persia, and Averroes and Maimonides in 12th century Andalusia, began to pay attention to Aristotle, and to try to reconcile his thoughts with Islam on the one hand and Judaism on the other. Their work came to Europe and caused quite a sensation; and because Averroes’ interpretation of Aristotle was manifestly incompatible with Christian revelation, the old Greek was nearly cast out on his ear by the theologians of Christendom.

But not quite, because he made too much sense. St. Thomas studied Aristotle extensively, and had a friend in the Dominican order translate him into Latin from the original Greek. It is often said that Islam preserved Aristotle, and that Christendom received Aristotle from the Muslims, and this is true; but once introduced they went back to the sources. It wasn’t so much that Aristotle had been lost, as that he had been ignored.

St. Thomas’ work was controversial; there were several attempts to condemn it, all ultimately overturned, and much disagreement; but in the end, after his death, he was vindicated, and his philosophy and theology were taught widely throughout Christendom. If popularity were the sign of philosophical truth, then Thomas and Aristotle would win the contest in a heartbeat. There came to be a time when every Catholic priest, and many others who went to Catholic schools, were taught Thomist philosophy; and not just as a hoary old chestnut, something people used to believe, but as the best tool available for understanding God and His world.

And yet Descartes and his successors threw this all away. How come? What happened? What persuaded them that Aristotle was not worth learning from?

Part VIII