Austin Hall Library

Importance of the Right Mentors

“And so I came to Milan to Ambrose the bishop.” These are the poignant words of St. Augustine, simply recording in the late fourth century his arrival to study under the man who would become his mentor. Initially charmed by his rhetorical skills, Augustine eventually realized Ambrose’s preaching the “sound doctrine of salvation,” was “drawing him closer.” (CONFESSIONS, 5.13.23).  Simplicianus, a devout cleric, was Ambrose’s mentor, and his eventual successor in Milan.

In A.D. 397, Augustine wrote a very important watershed work entitled, TO SIMPLICIANUS: ON DIVERSE QUESTIONS, in which he completely upends much of his previous work on sin, free will, grace, and other critical issues. This work came as a result of the effect of St. Paul’s writings on Augustine and a serious and lengthy study on the fallenness of man. From A.D. 396 onward, St. Augustine’s doctrine of the fall of man is central and determinative of virtually everything he wrote. Whether he was right or wrong, failure to understand the development of Augustine’s thought, his mentors, and these watershed events is failure to understand Augustine.

How critical it is to have the right spiritual and intellectual mentors. For good or bad, our lives have a way of becoming intertwined with our mentors. We first choose them, and later they mold us—imperceptibly at first, but powerfully in the end.

The "Culture Wars" Began in the Middle Ages

If one enjoys reading intellectual history, Richard E. Rubenstein's Aristotle's Children is a book not to miss. Following an introduction to Plato and Aristotle, and a discussion of the collapse of the Roman Empire in the West, Rubenstein shifts his focus to the mid-twelfth century, when a group of Muslim, Jewish, and Christian scholars working together began translating Aristotle's rediscovered works. The dissemination of those translations sent shock waves through Europe and eventually led to Thomas Aquinas's great life work of reconciling faith and reason. It is a rich book and well worth the read.

Of particular interest, however, is chapter seven, "'Ockham's Razor': The Divorce of Faith and Reason". Rubenstein does a good job of showing that with the work of Duns Scotus and William of Ockham, the Aristotelian revolution took a radically new turn. In fact, their work, and particularly that of William of Ockham, severed the link postulated by Thomas Aquinas between our mind's and God's. Moreover, this radical turn would eventually cut loose natural science, social thought, and all other branches of philosophy from their Christian moorings, and de-intellectualize the Christian faith. In short, the separation between faith and reason, and the drift of Western Civilization did not begin with the Renaissance, but with the work of Duns Scotus and William of Ockham in the late Middle Ages.

And to this day the influence of these two men and their followers can be seen in (among many places)  the so-called culture wars. They may be seen in the potentially destructive idea that one party's views are purely rational and scientific, while the other's rest on pure religious faith. Such claims and views eliminate any possibility of dialogue because, according to modern conceptions that began with Duns Scotus and William of Ockham, rationality relies on reason and objective evidence, while faith is validated, if at all, by non-rational means entirely.

For God's Sake, Think!

In the opening chapter of James Schall's new book, The Order of Things, he describes a delightful New Yorker cartoon by S. Gross, which, though likely unintentional, pretty well sums up what life is all about.

A large cat is depicted as standing upright and walking on his hind legs while pulling behind him a little toy cart on a long string. In the cart at the steering wheel is a little mouse. Behind the cart, however, is another little mouse furiously yelling at the contented mouse behind the steering wheel, "For God's sake, think! Why is he being so nice to you?"

It is the second mouse's cry, "Think!" "For God's Sake!" that captures it all. The cat is being a cat. The  little mouse ought to be able to think, to separate this from that, to identify accurately what each thing is, to see the order of how this thing stands to that thing, to know what it is that cats do. But, he isn't and doesn't. He thinks he is on a joyride. But, the second mouse knows the relation of cats and mice. The rational mouse knows that the cat's goodness, as it relates to mice, is not natural. The cat is being "catlike", but the first little mouse just doesn't get it. He isn't being "mouselike," from our point of view, he isn't being rational.

Schall points all this out and notes that an implicit order is presupposed in the cartoon, and we laugh when we see the incongruity of the scene depicted. But, we notice such incongruity only when we simultaneously see the congruity of things.

It is the second mouse--the rational one--who reminds us that we are commanded to "Think!" But, we are not just to think in some disorderly fashion, but to think "For God's sake!"--that is, by what is the very cause of our being. 

Why We Need Our Imaginations

One of the great books by one of the greatest modern writers is G.K. Chesterton's Orthodoxy. In it, Chesterton wrote:

Imagination does not breed insanity. Exactly what does breed insanity is reason. Poets do not go mad; but chess-players do. Mathematicians go mad, and cashiers; but creative artists very seldom. I am not . . . in any sense attacking logic: I only say that this danger does lie in logic, not in imagination. . . . To accept everything is an exercise, to understand everything is a strain. The poet only desires exaltation and expansion, a world to stretch himself in. The poet only asks to get his head into the heavens. It is the logician who seeks to get the heavens into his head. And it is his head that splits.

Whether Chesterton's observation is strictly true or not is not the point here. As George Weigel notes, it is the sacramentality of life that Chesterton is emphasizing. "To reduce what we can 'know' to what we can rationally 'prove' is dehumanizing--and it's another deprecation of the world and its sacramentality. You can't 'prove' the 'truth' to be found in friendship or love, in intellectual or political or spiritual passion, in Mozart's 'Prague' Symphony, in Rachmaninoff's Vespers--or in hitting the low outside corner with a 90 m.p.h. slider. But these 'truths' exist, and they give life not only its tang but its meaning. To deny the truth of these things is to lock oneself into the prison of a windowless world. It's stifling. And you'll eventually suffocate." (Weigel).

Slow the Pace

One of the most significant shortcomings of modern life is anxiety created by feverish activity that does little to improve one's quality of life and much to ruin it. When life is feverishly lived, virtually everything we do is badly done, our mind is cluttered, and there is no leisure to reflect upon anything.

Often, those who sincerely long for a reflective and well-ordered life are at the same time deeply entrenched in a feverish life and strangely satisfied with their lot. They are intoxicated. They love the fever and they are concerned that to live in quietness would be akin to no longer living. Whether it is true or not that to live quietly would be like death to some, it is certain that a feverish life is disordered. It is bad for the health of the body, which simply wears out with overuse; it is bad for the health of the mind, which becomes incapable of deep reflection; it is bad for the soul, which no longer maintains its composure.

So, if you are anxious, uneasy, restless, nervous, apprehensive, or suffer from any other such modern  malady, don't seek to suppress such feelings with more feverish activity. Rather, slow the pace, learn to to say no, work on the discipline of small things, relish the gift of monotony, build a fire, pick up a book and reflect. 

A Thought on the Relationship Between Intellect and Will

Reading Jacques Leclercq this morning I came upon the following quote: "It is one of the miseries of our human state that the intelligence sees good more easily than the will embraces it."

It is very often overlooked that the health of the mind depends upon seeing things as they really are. Seeing things as they really are depends, in some measure, on the health of the will. The health of the will depends upon the object of its love.

Developing and Nurturing Intellectual Life

I have touched a bit on this before here and here. But, it is much on my mind these days when I have a moment to reflect, that most of our actions are inspired by motives or impulses of which we are unaware at the time of acting. Our conscious life is immersed in an intellectual and moral atmosphere which, unknown to us, makes up our frame of mind or way of thinking.

Thus, the conscious and directed growth of intellectual life calls for an intellectual atmosphere that develops intellectual affections. If one has no intellectual atmosphere that develops intellectual affections, one will still take action but it will be inspired by motives and impulses virtually unknown to, and consciously unformed by, the actor at the time of acting. In other words, who knows what guides the thinking of such a person? One can be sure that motives and impulses lead to action, but can never be sure that action will be the result of reason.

It is similar with religious life. To grow rightly, it calls for an atmosphere that develops religious  affections. Religiously motivated architecture with its stained glass, statues, beautifully ornate side chapels, high vaulted arches, stunning frescoes and mosaics, stations of the cross, and high altars are eloquent expressions of spiritual life, zeal, and religious affection. The absence of these, while not always the case, can be a reflection of the soul turned in on itself.

Intellectual Knowledge and Materialism

Recently reading Silvano Borruso and St. Thomas Aquinas (I am always reading Aquinas) has prompted me to reflect on the nature of intellectual knowledge.

While it may be true that materialism as a philosophy is not as popular as it once was, it seems that materialism is by far the dominant presupposition I encounter among people today. Perhaps few would be able to explain it in philosophical terms, but more and more people seem to regard matter as the only reality in the world. Or, at least they live and think as if matter is the only reality.

Simply stated, materialism seeks to explain everything that occurs in the universe as resulting from the conditions and activity of matter. Consequently, it denies the existence of God and the soul. But, it seems to me that to be consistent it must deny as well any intellectual knowledge at all.

Strictly speaking, that which acts and exists without involving anything material, and thus without any organ, is immaterial--like thought, or intellectual knowledge. The brain is a material organ, but thought most definitely witnesses to something immaterial. In fact, it may be said that the human mind can think of notions that are realizable just as well without, as with, matter--for example, the true, the beautiful, the good. Moreover, the human mind can even think of realities existing entirely independently of all matter--like God, an angel, a soul.

While a growing number of common people today seem to presuppose a practical materialism, it is a presupposition subject to correction. Moreover, for those intentionally wed to a philosophical or scientific materialism, it should be pointed out that such a view is irrational. People may hold such a view, but they cannot do so as the result of rational thought. For thought and intellectual knowledge itself is evidence of immateriality and, thus, a direct denial of materialism.

By the way, the photo in this post above is one I took a couple of weeks ago of the original painting housed in the Vatican Museum. Known as "The School of Athens," it is one of the most famous paintings by the Italian Renaissance artist Raphael. Enlarge the photo and you will see that the painting shows the greatest philosophers, scientists, and mathematicians of classical antiquity. Plato and Aristotle, considered the greatest Greek philosophers, are standing in the center of the painting on top of the steps. Plato is holding his Timaeus and Aristotle is carrying a copy of his Nichomachean Ethics. Their gestures correspond to their philosophical interests--Plato pointing upward toward the heavens, and Aristotle gesturing down toward the earth. Diogenes is lying casually on the steps before them to show his philosophical attitude: he despised all material wealth and the lifestyle associated with it. To the left, the man leaning on the block is Heraclitus, meant to be Michaelangelo. This figure was an afterthought. It was not in the original drawing. Raphael snuck into the Sistine Chapel to view Michelangelo’s work on the ceiling by candle light. He was so awed by the unfinished work that he added Michelangelo after the manner of his depiction of the Prophet Jeremiah, to show his respect for the artist.

The "School of Athens" is displayed next to the entrance of the magnificent Sistine Chapel, the walls and ceiling of which are adorned with the most marvelous artistic works known to man. Each time I have been in that room I have been powerfully moved almost to tears at the reality of the immaterial. While I view a composition of material colors on a material wall, it is the immaterial beautiful and the immaterial true that touches my immaterial soul.

 

A Fundamental Virtue for the Intellectual Life

The most significant substantive impact on my own intellectual life in the last ten years has come through reading the works of St. Thomas Aquinas. The French philosopher Etienne Gilson wrote an in depth and very fine treatment of Aquinas's thought in The Christian Philosophy of St. Thomas Aquinas. It may be the best introduction to Aquinas available today in English. Gilson is gifted at explaining difficult concepts, but this book is one to be read more than once.

Chapter three of the book is titled "The Personal Life," and it is a short masterpiece on the application of the virtues to reason and the intellectual life in general. Gilson opens the chapter with these words: "The moral life of man consists in the highest development of the potentialities of his nature by acting at all times and in all circumstances under the direction of his reason." Stated differently, by nature (as designed by God), man possesses a number of potentialities that reach fruition to the degree that man acts at all times and in all circumstances under the direction of his reason and not his passions. This is the expression of man's moral life.

Gilson goes on to note that prudence is "a kind of general moral virtue whose duty it is to guide the other virtues themselves in choosing the means leading to their ends." For example, the virtue of justice has certain ends (goals), and the virtue of prudence guides man in choosing the means best calculated to achieve the ends of justice. Gilson then writes of the life's work of acquiring prudence and states: "[T]his is truly an art. How am I to deal with such and such a man in particular circumstances without humiliating or injuring him? This is the kind of problem which the virtue of prudence places before the understanding."

I would like to think that I always keep in mind the virtue of prudence, but I find myself returning to Gilson and St. Thomas on this issue primarily when I face difficult or complex decisions. I am in one of those periods now, so I naturally thought of Aquinas and turned to him for help. And, I ran across these insightful passages in Gilson and thought of just how fundamental is the virtue of prudence to the intellectual life.

Everything has to be put to work in order to acquire this quality. We must know how to listen, how to follow the advice of those whom knowledge and age have equipped to counsel us. Docility is a part of prudence. But it is not enough to learn from others. We must be prepared to discover on our own how to act in a particular case. This is called address (eustochia, solertia), and is a part of prudence. It is a practical presence of mind. All these qualities demand a well-trained reason, capable of working out the particulars of a problem, of foreseeing the probable consequences of an act, of using powers of circumspection, of weighing the individual circumstances of a situation, of exercising caution lest good intentions ultimately do more harm than good. Reasoning, foresight, circumspection, precaution are all essential elements of prudence, and there is no real prudence without them (Gilson).

What is Your Intellectual Orientation?

I remember a conversation of several years ago with an individual who insisted that he approached subjects with no preconceived notions whatsoever--as an intellectual blank slate, so to speak. My reading of Dorothy Day's autobiography (referenced here) reminded me this is not so.

It is fashionable, particularly among the intellectual elite, to believe that one approaches reading and learning without preconditioning, but the observable facts just don't support that view. Intellectual climates change and ideas gain traction often because they happen to be congenial to the intellectual climate of the times. In the 1920s, skepticism was the intellectual order of the day; in the 1930s, the predominant sympathies were Marxist (just read Day's autobiography); in the 1940s, the intellectual climate was predominantly logical positivist. And, so on, to today's climate of postmodernism and the methodology of deconstructionism, etc. It  never ends.

It pays to know the prevailing intellectual climate that predisposes sympathies in advance, particularly  if one's vocation is the intellectual life. What's the "climate" that is currently caught rather than taught; the instinctive sympathies of individuals in the climate; the arguments that will seem to them immediately appealing; what are the conclusions that they will naturally tend to draw; the views they will regard as old fashioned or nonsensical? In short, what is the preconditioning intellectual framework from which an individual comes, into which some ideas will fit ready-made, while others are rejected out of hand as implausible? We all have such an intellectual grid. We are unique, just like everyone else. The real question is which intellectual framework best comports with reality?