I've begun to work through several key sections of Aristotle's Metaphysics. Not so much for the sake of getting any unique thoughts out, or for the sake of readers, but more for the sake of retaining the information myself, I've decided to record some of the key points as blog entries. So, here goes.
Book I, Chp. I of the Metaphysics seems to be constructed to argue for the following conclusion: That all men, by nature, desire to know (as he says in the first sentence of the work). In favor of this conclusion, as I see it, he offers (roughly) the following three justifications: (1) The pleasure we take in our senses, (2) the end for which our cognitive faculties seem to be constructed, and (3) the fact that the human race exalts knowledge for it's own sake as being the truest sort of wisdom.
In defense of (1) Aristotle notes that we enjoy our senses, and especially sight, for their own sake. That is, even when we're not planning on using any of our senses for a particular practical end, we would still prefer to have them "up and running", so to say. Aristotle implies that this delight in our senses is because in the act of sensing, we are coming to a knowledge of the things around us. He also says that, in addition to this, sensing allows us to make real distinctions between things, and that this act of making distinctions (construed as an act of coming to know them) is part of what we enjoy.
Aristotle's defense of (2) seems to be offered in a sort of round-about way. He talks about how, unlike various other animals (he uses bees as an example), our cognitive faculties are endowed with memory. The end for which memory seems to exist is to produce what Aristotle calls "experience" (that is, experiential knowledge). This experiential knowledge, then, leads to the generalized areas of knowledge he calls "art" (what we'd probably just call a "discipline" or "science"). So, then, it seems that our cognitive and perceptual faculties aim at knowledge, showing that the "desire to know" is innate and natural to the human species.
Aristotle, anticipating (I think) the objection that this knowledge is nonetheless aimed only at practical ends, argues the following: Although it is true that art, and experience, are equally valuable and essential to "getting things done" (e.g., a doctor needs experience and technical medical knowledge to operate on someone), nonetheless we as a species appear to value art over experience. Art, Aristotle says, entails a knowledge of universals (or general principles), whereas experience entails a knowledge of particulars (how this or that specific object behaves). Another way he expresses this is by saying that knowledge of universals is knowledge which is aimed at causes (the "why"s of things), whereas knowledge of particulars is aimed at instances (the fact that something is such and such, as opposed to why it is). Aristotle argues that art, this knowledge of universals, is not only valued over experience, but it is most highly valued when utterly divorced from experience. This, he says, is why we say those people are most wise and to be honored who strive to acquire knowledge for it's own sake, and no other end. As he puts it, it is theoretical knowledge which is valued most by humanity. And this (the proposition expressed by (3) above), he takes to be further evidence that humanity desires, and loves, knowledge simpliciter; knowledge for no other end but itself.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Monday, April 26, 2010
Phenomenological Reflection
Some things are appearing bright to me. Whatever bright it is; I guess I know it directly. I have an intuition that this thing is different from that thing. But the difference doesn't seem to come from any analysis of the thing itself, but rather a direct knowledge that the qualia are different. I see a cross. I wonder if this person is Catholic. There's a sense of kinship that seems to naturally grow when you become part of a new group, regardless of whether the members of that group are members de facto or de jure. I probably have more in common with the average Buddhist than the average Catholic. Then again, I'm not that much of a de facto member of the Church as well. There's no life in me. There are certain inpenetrable anxieties that afflict me over things I already know. I guess I should be in class right now, but I don't think I could be missing anything significant; or maybe I am; I'm not quite sure; I'm sick unto death. I feel this violent madness directed at the world. This is probably a most frequent intensional state. It's the anxiety, the Angst, of the world imposing itself on me in ways I can't understand; in ways I can't control. The violent urge seems to be justified. How do we expect ourselves to live in a world that so violently imposes itself on us. It's like existential rape. We try and try to impose ourselves back on all this sound and fury, but our voices don't and can't rise above it. Everyone whom I've loved seems to be a feature of this violent imposition. It's a quale I recognize as distinctly unique, but one which the world impresses, then yanks away at the first sign that I am seeking to impose myself on it. How can I begin to account for all this? We're so machine-dependent. It's technological gluttony. That's all too abstract. I want to be here, now, with her. Without her. With the thought of her in herself. But there is no one in themself. Being is not itself if not being-in-the-world. I just wish I could leave it. I wish there were a noumena, but there's not. Just an endless series of impressions, features, dreads, stillness, and abrupt silence.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Is Causation a Purely Philosophical Question?
Here's an argument in favor of such a view (using largely Humean premises):
1. All beliefs are justified either a priori or a posteriori.
2. We have a justified belief in causation.
3. No beliefs about causation are justified a posteriori.
4. Therefore, all beliefs about causation are justified a priori.
5. Whatever is justified only a priori can never be confirmed by experimental evidence.
6. Therefore, beliefs about causation can never be confirmed by experimental evidence.
7. Whatever cannot be confirmed by experimental evidence is not an empirical hypothesis.
8. Therefore, hypotheses about causation are not empirical hypotheses.
9. All justified hypotheses are either empirical, logical, or metaphysical.
10. Causation is a justified hypothesis.
11. Causation is not justified empirically or logically.
12. Therefore, causation is justified metaphysically.
1. All beliefs are justified either a priori or a posteriori.
2. We have a justified belief in causation.
3. No beliefs about causation are justified a posteriori.
4. Therefore, all beliefs about causation are justified a priori.
5. Whatever is justified only a priori can never be confirmed by experimental evidence.
6. Therefore, beliefs about causation can never be confirmed by experimental evidence.
7. Whatever cannot be confirmed by experimental evidence is not an empirical hypothesis.
8. Therefore, hypotheses about causation are not empirical hypotheses.
9. All justified hypotheses are either empirical, logical, or metaphysical.
10. Causation is a justified hypothesis.
11. Causation is not justified empirically or logically.
12. Therefore, causation is justified metaphysically.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Platonism and the Early Church
It is often claimed by various historians of philosophy that early Christianity was influenced by Platonism in the following way: That it turned it's focus away from earthly things, devalued the place of the senses for attaining knowledge, and all-around looked down upon the natural world as something at least pseudo-evil (I'm careful not to say pure evil, for that would be blatant Gnosticism). I've recently run across claims similar to this in Bertrand Russell's History of Western Philosophy.
This seems to me, though, false. Although it's true that Christians have a hope for a future world, the relationship between that hope and the present world is a subtle one. On my reading, the early Church, though incorperating much of Plato (e.g. St. John, Origen, and St. Augustine), still retained it's essential belief in the importance, dignity, and central place of the created order, and in particular the human body. Augustine, one of the most paradigmatic examples of a Platonist we have in the early Church, says the following in Book I, chapter 13 of The City of God:
"Nevertheless the bodies of the dead are not on this account to be despised and left unburied; least of all the bodies of the righteous and faithful, which have been used by the Holy Spirit as His organs and instruments for all good works...For the body is not an extraneous ornament or aid, but a part of man's very nature."
This seems far from the sort of natural-world-escapism implied by many philosophers and historians examing the early Church period. The true relationship between the present natural world, and the future world, in Christian theology was, and is, this: God created the present world, and it was good. Through the fall, the goodness which the creation initially possessed became marred with sin and corruption. Much of it's goodness, if not most, was however retained, and God promised that He would redeem and restore it at the culmination of history. This picture, ironically, is the exact opposite of the escapist accusation brought against Christian theology. The world we are awaiting is a physical world, just a new and transformed one. This has been pointed out well in recent years by such New Testament scholars as N.T. Wright, who point out that the early Christian's conception of the future world was always grounded in Christ's resurrection body. It was a glorious body, a body exuding the Spirit, yet it was physical. Jesus ate fish and bread with his disciples on the shores of Galilee. This key point about the transformation and renewal of the created order, as opposed to it's destruction, is made poignantly by St. Paul in his epistle to the romans:
"For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now. And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience." -Romans 8:19-25 (NSV)
The anticipation for new creation can be clearly seen in this passage; and why wouldn't it? St. paul was an orthodox Jew, familiar with prophecies in the Old Testament that implied such renewel, a day when the trees would "clap their hands" and the whole earth would be full of the glory of God as the "water fills the seas". Platonism was definitely an influential philosophy in shaping the Church's theology from it's inception, but it by no means ever overthrew or skewed this essential Judeo-Christian assumption.
This seems to me, though, false. Although it's true that Christians have a hope for a future world, the relationship between that hope and the present world is a subtle one. On my reading, the early Church, though incorperating much of Plato (e.g. St. John, Origen, and St. Augustine), still retained it's essential belief in the importance, dignity, and central place of the created order, and in particular the human body. Augustine, one of the most paradigmatic examples of a Platonist we have in the early Church, says the following in Book I, chapter 13 of The City of God:
"Nevertheless the bodies of the dead are not on this account to be despised and left unburied; least of all the bodies of the righteous and faithful, which have been used by the Holy Spirit as His organs and instruments for all good works...For the body is not an extraneous ornament or aid, but a part of man's very nature."
This seems far from the sort of natural-world-escapism implied by many philosophers and historians examing the early Church period. The true relationship between the present natural world, and the future world, in Christian theology was, and is, this: God created the present world, and it was good. Through the fall, the goodness which the creation initially possessed became marred with sin and corruption. Much of it's goodness, if not most, was however retained, and God promised that He would redeem and restore it at the culmination of history. This picture, ironically, is the exact opposite of the escapist accusation brought against Christian theology. The world we are awaiting is a physical world, just a new and transformed one. This has been pointed out well in recent years by such New Testament scholars as N.T. Wright, who point out that the early Christian's conception of the future world was always grounded in Christ's resurrection body. It was a glorious body, a body exuding the Spirit, yet it was physical. Jesus ate fish and bread with his disciples on the shores of Galilee. This key point about the transformation and renewal of the created order, as opposed to it's destruction, is made poignantly by St. Paul in his epistle to the romans:
"For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now. And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience." -Romans 8:19-25 (NSV)
The anticipation for new creation can be clearly seen in this passage; and why wouldn't it? St. paul was an orthodox Jew, familiar with prophecies in the Old Testament that implied such renewel, a day when the trees would "clap their hands" and the whole earth would be full of the glory of God as the "water fills the seas". Platonism was definitely an influential philosophy in shaping the Church's theology from it's inception, but it by no means ever overthrew or skewed this essential Judeo-Christian assumption.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Some thoughts on my coming conversion
So, I have been a fairly staunch Calvinist over the last couple years (and a Protestant from birth), but I have recently decided to embrace the Roman Catholic Faith. I have come to the conclusion that Roman Catholicism is what many have called the '"fullness of the Christian faith". Thus, I thought I'd give a brief explanation of my decision to convert for any of my friends and family who are interested. There are, I think, four main reasons. They are as follows:
1. Philosophical:
My philosophical reasons for considering Roman Catholicism were manifold, but there was one that was more decisive than any other: The issue of authority. The more I thought about it, the more I couldn't believe that God would not take every possible precaution to protect the truths of His Gospel. Sure, it's possible that God could have vested His authority purely in Scripture, and then have left it up to us to interpret properly. But the real question is, is it likely. Or, more concisely, is the Protestant view of authority more likely, or the Catholic view? I think it's obvious that God would have provided the sort of institutional, apostolic, interpretive, and living authority that we see in the magesterial structure of the Roman Catholic Church. Chesterton called it the "guardian of truth". I think this is a very true picture. If God cares to the upmost about our salvation, and about truth itself, then I can believe in nothing less than Catholicism.
2. Theological:
As Peter Kreeft and others have pointed out, there really isn't a significant difference between the substance of salvation in Protestantism and in Catholicism. It's true that justification is concieved of as progressive in Catholicism, and revelatory (of salvific stance) in Protestantism, but in both the term 'salvation' refers to an entire process leading to glorification. I found it rang more true that God really makes us just, and doesn't just declare us as just. Afterall, even Protestants believe He will be able to say, truly, that we are 'just' at glorification. Catholics just believe that what Protestants refer to as glorification (in the instantaneous sense) begins during this lifetime through charity and the sacramental life of the Church (and completely by grace, mind you). Of course, all of this also depends on varying interpretations of the atonement, but that's another discussion altogether.
3. Mystic Intuition:
What I mean by 'mystic intuition' is something along the lines of what C.S. Lewis called "Joy". It's a deep, near inexplicable, sense of the story-like nature of life, and the heart of reality. The sort of thing you feel while watching The Lord of the Rings, reading Paradise Lost, or viewing the sunrise over the ocean. It's a sense of longing for a world full of magic, wonder, and mystery (a world very much like an ancient myth). This mystical intuition I have found is most fully captured in the mystery and wonder of the Catholic Church. There is something immense, something so transcendent, something so mythic about it. The experience of Joy compels me to accept it as a true representation of the way things are. Thus, I must follow this 'scent from another land' (again, as Lewis put it) and follow it right into the gates of God's True Church.
4. History:
This was the most vital component in my decision to convert to Roman Catholicism. Just a skim through the Early Church Fathers provides, I think, reason enough for any Christian to accept Catholic Christianity. It became clear to me, in the most unambiguous and obvious way, that the early Church resembled the modern Catholic Church vastly more than any Protestant Church. Things like Baptismal Regeneration, the Real Presence in the Eucharist, an oral tradition passed on from the Apostles, and essential oneness of the visible Church are almost taken for granted in these writings. Because they are the closest to the historical events themselves, Jesus, and the Apostles, I must accept their view of such doctrines as being more pure and reliable than any modern interpretation (as I am no historical revisionist). It is more likely that they recieved these doctrines in the form in which they understood them from the Apostles than that such doctrines were so immediately, and drastically, corrupted.
The reasons I have come to accept Catholicism go far beyond this brief explanation. But it, in essence, captures the core and key reasons. There were also several authors who influenced me in the decision (including the likes of G.K. Chesterton and Peter Kreeft). The life of John Paul II was also a great inspiration to me when I began my study. Suffice it to say, I am converting to Roman Catholicism, and am as excited as ever to enter into the fullness of the Church of my Lord.
-Ben C.
1. Philosophical:
My philosophical reasons for considering Roman Catholicism were manifold, but there was one that was more decisive than any other: The issue of authority. The more I thought about it, the more I couldn't believe that God would not take every possible precaution to protect the truths of His Gospel. Sure, it's possible that God could have vested His authority purely in Scripture, and then have left it up to us to interpret properly. But the real question is, is it likely. Or, more concisely, is the Protestant view of authority more likely, or the Catholic view? I think it's obvious that God would have provided the sort of institutional, apostolic, interpretive, and living authority that we see in the magesterial structure of the Roman Catholic Church. Chesterton called it the "guardian of truth". I think this is a very true picture. If God cares to the upmost about our salvation, and about truth itself, then I can believe in nothing less than Catholicism.
2. Theological:
As Peter Kreeft and others have pointed out, there really isn't a significant difference between the substance of salvation in Protestantism and in Catholicism. It's true that justification is concieved of as progressive in Catholicism, and revelatory (of salvific stance) in Protestantism, but in both the term 'salvation' refers to an entire process leading to glorification. I found it rang more true that God really makes us just, and doesn't just declare us as just. Afterall, even Protestants believe He will be able to say, truly, that we are 'just' at glorification. Catholics just believe that what Protestants refer to as glorification (in the instantaneous sense) begins during this lifetime through charity and the sacramental life of the Church (and completely by grace, mind you). Of course, all of this also depends on varying interpretations of the atonement, but that's another discussion altogether.
3. Mystic Intuition:
What I mean by 'mystic intuition' is something along the lines of what C.S. Lewis called "Joy". It's a deep, near inexplicable, sense of the story-like nature of life, and the heart of reality. The sort of thing you feel while watching The Lord of the Rings, reading Paradise Lost, or viewing the sunrise over the ocean. It's a sense of longing for a world full of magic, wonder, and mystery (a world very much like an ancient myth). This mystical intuition I have found is most fully captured in the mystery and wonder of the Catholic Church. There is something immense, something so transcendent, something so mythic about it. The experience of Joy compels me to accept it as a true representation of the way things are. Thus, I must follow this 'scent from another land' (again, as Lewis put it) and follow it right into the gates of God's True Church.
4. History:
This was the most vital component in my decision to convert to Roman Catholicism. Just a skim through the Early Church Fathers provides, I think, reason enough for any Christian to accept Catholic Christianity. It became clear to me, in the most unambiguous and obvious way, that the early Church resembled the modern Catholic Church vastly more than any Protestant Church. Things like Baptismal Regeneration, the Real Presence in the Eucharist, an oral tradition passed on from the Apostles, and essential oneness of the visible Church are almost taken for granted in these writings. Because they are the closest to the historical events themselves, Jesus, and the Apostles, I must accept their view of such doctrines as being more pure and reliable than any modern interpretation (as I am no historical revisionist). It is more likely that they recieved these doctrines in the form in which they understood them from the Apostles than that such doctrines were so immediately, and drastically, corrupted.
The reasons I have come to accept Catholicism go far beyond this brief explanation. But it, in essence, captures the core and key reasons. There were also several authors who influenced me in the decision (including the likes of G.K. Chesterton and Peter Kreeft). The life of John Paul II was also a great inspiration to me when I began my study. Suffice it to say, I am converting to Roman Catholicism, and am as excited as ever to enter into the fullness of the Church of my Lord.
-Ben C.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Some Thoughts on Events
In considering our ontology, I think that a distinct category we should include as being a part of it are what are commonly called 'events'. What is an event? Common examples include things like a bird flying, a man yelling, or a ball falling. Note that these examples, and virtually any other one might think of, contain present participles. And, even if they are gerunds, they still typically denote temporal states of affairs (Note: One may make an exception to this in considering certain gerunds or what one may call 'eternally-present participles', such as 'God has been eternally thinking'. But this is not an issue, as I am only trying to demonstrate that events tend to be associated with temporal states of affairs).
So then, what should we think of events? I think we should regard them as a certain kind of states of affairs. But what kind? What marks them out as distinct, say, from states of affairs like 'the car being red'? Given what I noted above concerning the temporal language usually associated with what we call 'events', I think we should regard them as states of affairs which are temporally located. We may put it formally as follows:
1a. For some state of affairs S, S is an event if and only if S obtains at some time t-n and ceases to obtain at some time t-x.
The question obviously arises as to whether we should consider certain timeless states of affairs as events. I think, though, that any examples of such states of affairs may be regarded properly, and reasonably, as 'states of affairs simpliciter'. And, consequently, states of affairs which temporally obtain in the sense defined in (1a) may be regarded as events. Also, keep in mind that (given actualism) states of affairs which are events don't need to exist temporally, they need only obtain temporally.
But wait. Isn't this still incomplete? Aren't there plenty of states of affairs which obtain temporally, but which are obviously not what we call events? For example, the aforementioned state of affairs 'the car being red'? A car being red, i.e. exemplifying redness, obtains temporally but isn't an event, it's just a temporally obtaining state of affairs. Consider the fact that the idea of a car being red remains coherent when rendered a timeless state of affairs ('the car has been exemplifying redness from eternity'). So then, we should ammend (1a), which is vague, to something more concise, like the following:
1b. For some state of affairs S, S is an event if and only if S necessarily obtains temporally.
Now we have made the claim stronger, and I think it an adequate account of events. Consider things like, 'kicking a ball', 'flying a kite', or 'eating a sandwich'. They all have a necessarily temporal nature. The idea of kicking a ball, flying a kite, or eating a sandwich timelessly seems incoherent. I think we can recognize why without exploring this further, but let's do so just for fun.
I think the reason things like 'kicking a ball', 'flying a kite', and etc. are necessarily temporal states of affairs is because they seem to refer to a certain kind of collection of states of affairs. Consider the example of kicking a ball. We may say it is the collection of the following states of affairs:
2a. Rearing one's leg back.
2b. One's foot making contact with the ball.
2c. The ball being located at spatial points x,...,y.
Individually, each of these states of affairs could exist timelessly (with the exception of 2b, which included various spatial points in sequence for convenience' sake, but you get the point). But, for 2a-2c to be considered as just one state of affairs, it seems that they must stand in some sort of causal relation to one another. But causal relations can only exist in time (using the term 'causal' in it's everyday sense, not in it's aristotelian 'explanatory' sense). And so, we may with even more conciseness say that events are collections of states of affairs which bear a causal relation to one another (2a bears an existing prior to relation to 2b, 2c bears an existing after relation to 2c, and so on and so forth).
Note: The difference between (2a) and (2b) is subtle, and I think it worth to clarify in modal terms. (2a) could be taken as "necessarily, it is possible that p be a q", as opposed to (2b) which can only be taken as "it is necessary that p be a q".
So then, what should we think of events? I think we should regard them as a certain kind of states of affairs. But what kind? What marks them out as distinct, say, from states of affairs like 'the car being red'? Given what I noted above concerning the temporal language usually associated with what we call 'events', I think we should regard them as states of affairs which are temporally located. We may put it formally as follows:
1a. For some state of affairs S, S is an event if and only if S obtains at some time t-n and ceases to obtain at some time t-x.
The question obviously arises as to whether we should consider certain timeless states of affairs as events. I think, though, that any examples of such states of affairs may be regarded properly, and reasonably, as 'states of affairs simpliciter'. And, consequently, states of affairs which temporally obtain in the sense defined in (1a) may be regarded as events. Also, keep in mind that (given actualism) states of affairs which are events don't need to exist temporally, they need only obtain temporally.
But wait. Isn't this still incomplete? Aren't there plenty of states of affairs which obtain temporally, but which are obviously not what we call events? For example, the aforementioned state of affairs 'the car being red'? A car being red, i.e. exemplifying redness, obtains temporally but isn't an event, it's just a temporally obtaining state of affairs. Consider the fact that the idea of a car being red remains coherent when rendered a timeless state of affairs ('the car has been exemplifying redness from eternity'). So then, we should ammend (1a), which is vague, to something more concise, like the following:
1b. For some state of affairs S, S is an event if and only if S necessarily obtains temporally.
Now we have made the claim stronger, and I think it an adequate account of events. Consider things like, 'kicking a ball', 'flying a kite', or 'eating a sandwich'. They all have a necessarily temporal nature. The idea of kicking a ball, flying a kite, or eating a sandwich timelessly seems incoherent. I think we can recognize why without exploring this further, but let's do so just for fun.
I think the reason things like 'kicking a ball', 'flying a kite', and etc. are necessarily temporal states of affairs is because they seem to refer to a certain kind of collection of states of affairs. Consider the example of kicking a ball. We may say it is the collection of the following states of affairs:
2a. Rearing one's leg back.
2b. One's foot making contact with the ball.
2c. The ball being located at spatial points x,...,y.
Individually, each of these states of affairs could exist timelessly (with the exception of 2b, which included various spatial points in sequence for convenience' sake, but you get the point). But, for 2a-2c to be considered as just one state of affairs, it seems that they must stand in some sort of causal relation to one another. But causal relations can only exist in time (using the term 'causal' in it's everyday sense, not in it's aristotelian 'explanatory' sense). And so, we may with even more conciseness say that events are collections of states of affairs which bear a causal relation to one another (2a bears an existing prior to relation to 2b, 2c bears an existing after relation to 2c, and so on and so forth).
Note: The difference between (2a) and (2b) is subtle, and I think it worth to clarify in modal terms. (2a) could be taken as "necessarily, it is possible that p be a q", as opposed to (2b) which can only be taken as "it is necessary that p be a q".
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Aristotelian Ethics and Morally Valuable States of Affairs
Take states of affairs to be sets of concrete particulars, necessary abstracta, or whatever you'd like. It seems to be that with respect to certain states of affairs, humans share the following basic intuition: That there are some states of affairs which are themselves morally valuable. An aristotelian, or neo-aristotelian, metaethic tends to define good as "the end for which something exists". That is, some entity x's good is the end for which x exists (think of this as "the Good" being equivalent to the proper functioning of a thing). If this is true, then what are we to make of the aforementioned intuition? Take the following state of affairs as paradigmatic:
S1: A child and his parents enjoying time together on Christmas Eve.
On the aristotelian metaethic, what sort of moral properties, if any, are we to assign to S1? The aristotelian might say something like the following: S1 is a morally valuable state of affairs in virtue of its constituent parts exemplifying proper function (their good). But the leap seems unwarranted. Just because the parts are morally valuable doesn't mean the state of affairs of which they are part is (just because 2 is an even number doesn't necessarily mean that the set it belongs to is the set of even numbers. It could be the set of, say, all Natural numbers). The state of affairs itself has no good, it's just a state of affairs (and, again, this seems to remain the same regardless of your view of states of affairs, whether nominalistic or whatever). Yet, it does seem intuitively obvious in this case, and in many others, there is such a thing as states of affairs, such as S1, exemplifying the property of moral goodness (or being an instance of that trope). Afterall, wouldn't the average neo-aristotelian want to claim something like the following (taking possible worlds to be collections of states of affairs)...
P1. Given two possible worlds, w¹ and w², w¹ is more morally great than w² if and only if w¹ contains more creatures fulfilling their end, and therefore their good.
But, this is inconsistent if the aristotelian wants to continue defining good in such a minimalistic way. That is, the conjunction of an aristotelian metaethic, a belief in S1, and the assertion of P1 is inconsistent. So then, is there a way out? I think only if the aristotelian will accept that goodness is a property which extends beyond the realm of proper function (e.g. to individual states of affairs, or possible worlds). But in this case, they must change one of the main assertions, of not the main one, of their metaethic.
S1: A child and his parents enjoying time together on Christmas Eve.
On the aristotelian metaethic, what sort of moral properties, if any, are we to assign to S1? The aristotelian might say something like the following: S1 is a morally valuable state of affairs in virtue of its constituent parts exemplifying proper function (their good). But the leap seems unwarranted. Just because the parts are morally valuable doesn't mean the state of affairs of which they are part is (just because 2 is an even number doesn't necessarily mean that the set it belongs to is the set of even numbers. It could be the set of, say, all Natural numbers). The state of affairs itself has no good, it's just a state of affairs (and, again, this seems to remain the same regardless of your view of states of affairs, whether nominalistic or whatever). Yet, it does seem intuitively obvious in this case, and in many others, there is such a thing as states of affairs, such as S1, exemplifying the property of moral goodness (or being an instance of that trope). Afterall, wouldn't the average neo-aristotelian want to claim something like the following (taking possible worlds to be collections of states of affairs)...
P1. Given two possible worlds, w¹ and w², w¹ is more morally great than w² if and only if w¹ contains more creatures fulfilling their end, and therefore their good.
But, this is inconsistent if the aristotelian wants to continue defining good in such a minimalistic way. That is, the conjunction of an aristotelian metaethic, a belief in S1, and the assertion of P1 is inconsistent. So then, is there a way out? I think only if the aristotelian will accept that goodness is a property which extends beyond the realm of proper function (e.g. to individual states of affairs, or possible worlds). But in this case, they must change one of the main assertions, of not the main one, of their metaethic.
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