Guide to Rational Ecumenical Dialogue

Aristotle

Two years ago today I wrote, "One Precondition for Genuine Ecumenical Dialogue," in which I pointed out the distinction between rational dialogue and sophistry, and then described three signs of sophistry.

As surprising as it may sound, a major impediment to fruitful ecumenical dialogue is an unfamiliarity with the rules of rational dialogue, including the basic rules of logic. Many persons in the general populace have never taken a course in logic or even studied logic, and the result is that relatively few people know how properly to engage in rational dialogue. The new media encourages a soundbyte mode of interaction, which is usually unproductive and often counterproductive. It lends itself to sophistry rather than furthering mutual understanding and converging upon the truth. When the rules of rational dialogue are not followed, discourse tends to descend into the cacophony of narcissism and verbal violence. In many cases this is precisely what we find in comboxes. Here are some things that anyone who wishes to participate in ecumenical dialogue needs to know.

First, we need to know what an argument is. In common popular usage, an 'argument' is thought of as a quarrel or debate. But with respect to logic, an argument is a set of propositions or statements, one of which (called the 'conclusion') is said to follow from the others (called 'premises'). An argument is the smallest unit of speech containing reasoning from one proposition to another. So if some instance of communication does not include arguments, then that communication is only a series of assertions or questions. If it is part of an interchange, asking and answering questions can allow for shared contemplation and consideration of respective positions. And such exchanges can be very effective at paving the way for presenting arguments from shared common ground, because sincere questions and authentic answers are absolutely essential for coming to understand each other. And sometimes when we come to understand two positions more clearly, the superiority of one over the other becomes self-evident, and does not need to be demonstrated by further argumentation. But merely exchanging assertions is not shared reasoning by which two or more persons move together rationally toward agreement about the truth. In general, without arguments there can be no mutual movement of the intellect toward a shared conclusion. Merely trading assertions is futile, and for that reason a wise person will not do it.

In rational dialogue, when someone presents an argument, we evaluate the argument according to two criteria. First we evaluate the truth of the premises. That is, we check each premise to determine whether it is true. If we find that one or more of the premises is not true, then we show why those premises are false, or why the available evidence indicates that those premises are false. Then we evaluate the form of the argument. That is, we make sure that the conclusion follows from the premises. If the conclusion does not follow from the premises, then we show how the truth of the premises does not guarantee that the conclusion is true. However, if we find that the premises are all true, and that the conclusion follows by necessity from the premises, then we accept the argument as a sound argument, and we accept the truth of its conclusion.

So there are essentially three possible proper responses to a deductive argument. Either we show the argument to be unsound, or we accept the truth of its conclusion, or we withhold judgment for the time being, explaining that we need time to think about it or investigate it more deeply, and we take the time to think about it, until we can either refute the argument or accept the truth of its conclusion. We do not change the subject or criticize the person presenting the argument or talk about ourselves. Arguments are not properly evaluated by self-referring statements, such as, "I don't buy that argument" or "I am unpersuaded" or "I am skeptical" or "I am ...." The question at hand is not about oneself, but about whether the argument is sound. So talking about oneself is changing the subject, and avoiding the question at hand. The only two ways to refute an argument are to show one or more of the premises to be false or show that the conclusion does not follow from the premises. That is why none of the following statements refutes an argument:

(1) "That argument does not work."

(2) "That argument is unhelpful, uninformed, unimpressive, strange, betrays ignorance."

(3) "That argument is absurd."

(4) "That argument is convenient."

(5) "That argument is old/tired/tiresome/stale."

(6) "That argument is impossible."

(7) "That argument is unsatisfactory."

(8) "That argument is offensive." (or hurtful, harmful, disrespectful, toxic, tragic, appalling, painful, unpleasant, insulting, bigoted, stupid)

Other points:

(9) "I'd like to suggest that ... " or "I suggest that ..." or "I submit that ..." are not arguments; they are mere suggestions. Merely adding this phrase to the beginning of a claim does not turn it into an argument.

(10) An assertion is not an argument; it is merely an assertion. Assertions demonstrate nothing, establish nothing, show nothing, unless the authority of the speaker is sufficient to establish the truth of the assertion. An assertion without an argument is implicitly therefore an argument from authority, namely, the speaker's authority, and thus the speaker is implicitly presupposing that he or she is an authority on the subject in question, having sufficient authority on the subject so as to establish publicly the truth of the assertion merely by making the assertion.

(11) Avoid begging the question (i.e. presuming precisely what is in question between you and your interlocutor).

(12) We rightly accept or reject claims ultimately by their truth or falsity, not by whether believing them has (at least for some) desirable or undesirable consequences. A truth can lead to or result in undesirable consequences, and a falsehood can lead to or result in desirable consequences.

(13) "Your attempt rings hollow" transfers focus to the will (i.e. an 'attempt'), which is internal and subjective, rather than keeping the focus on one's argument, which is external and objective. It also uses an entirely subjective and vague evaluative criterion (i.e. "rings hollow"), rather than using "truth" and "falsity", "soundness" and unsoundness" as criteria.

(14) Similarly, an argument is not properly evaluated by whether it is "compelling," "convincing," or "persuasive," or "plausible". Those are subjective criteria. Just because I am not compelled, convinced, or persuaded by the argument, or do not find it plausible, does not show that the argument is unsound. (Only if I were the Logos Himself would this follow.) To use one's own not-being-persuaded, not-being-convinced, not-being-compelled, or not-finding-plausible, as the criterion by which to evaluate arguments is to treat oneself as God, and for this reason can be referred to as the divine identity fallacy.

(15) "That argument doesn't hold water" is not a refutation of an argument.

(16) "I would argue that x" is not an argument for x, but a claim that under other conditions, one would provide such an argument. This phrase is typically used because of a conflation of 'argument' and 'claim.' It is the subjunctive phantom argument fallacy.

(17) "That argument is hard to take seriously in all honesty." The fact that a person has difficulty taking an argument seriously (in all honesty) is not a refutation of the argument, but a statement about the person.

(18) "Why do you feel the need to say things like [x]?" This is an ad hominem. Instead of showing that x is false, it sophistically calls into question the interlocutor's motivations, by framing them in terms of misguided feelings aimed at alleviating some psychological need. Psychological deconstruction avoids refuting the interlocutor's claim, but instead presumes its error and attempts to construct a psychological reason for the interlocutor's [alleged] error. This is a form of the bulverism fallacy. Another example of this fallacy can be seen when criticisms of position Y are re-described (by an interlocutor) as fears of position Y. The bulverism fallacy can also be seen in cases where the decision to accept position X is treated by others as arising from some psychological desire for comfort, security, money, acceptance, power, etc. rather than as a result of arriving at the conclusion that X is true. Another form of the bulverism fallacy is the "if you disagree with me, you must be experiencing an illusion" stance. Rather than showing that the interlocutors are wrong, it presumes that the interlocutors are wrong and attributes their disagreement with the speaker to illusion, hallucination, disordered desire, or other epistemic or cognitive failure on their part.

(19) Abusus usum non tollit. Abuse does not nullify proper use. If people have appealed to a truth T in order to attempt to justify or rationalize harmful behavior B, that does not falsify truth T. The abuse of a truth does not falsify that truth. So appealing to truth T in order to rationalize wrongful behavior B is compatible with T being true. The objection conflates the truth and the misuse of the truth, by treating criticism of the misuse of the truth as if such criticism also shows T not to be true.

(20) "Go read a book" or "Go read book x," or any other imperative, does not refute an argument or falsify a claim.

(21) "Only someone who has never contemplated x or attempted y or been through z would make that argument or think that argument a good or sound argument." This is the ad hominem fallacy, and leaves the argument unrefuted. On ad hominems in general, see comment #28 in the Virtue and Dialogue thread.

(22) Criticisms of X are not endorsements of Y. Responding to another person's criticism of X with a criticism of Y, as if that nullifies the criticism of X, is a form the tu quoque falllacy.

(23) Questions are not arguments. Questions are not reasons. Questions are questions. One kind of sophistry is treating questions as substitutes for arguments.

I will be updating this page on a regular basis, with the intention of making it into a more thorough guide for rational ecumenical dialogue. If you have any suggestions, I'd be glad to hear them.

A Parable for Philosophers

"Homer and Hesiod have ascribed to the gods all deeds
which among men are a reproach and a disgrace:
thieving, adultery, and deceiving one another."

 - Xenophanes, quoted by Sextus Empiricus in Against the Mathematicians.

There was once a religion whose adherents believed that God sometimes spoke falsehoods. One day a lover of wisdom came and rebuked them for believing this about God. They first replied by denying that they believed this about God. "We do not call it speaking falsehoods," they said, "We think of it as God's speech not being restricted to matching reality." The lover of wisdom replied, "If it were speaking falsehoods, what would be different about it?" They were silent, looking down anxiously and shuffling their feet. Finally, their high priest responded, speaking not to the wisdom lover, but to the others concerning the wisdom lover, saying, "The power of the a priori notion that God's speech must match reality is patent in him." The others all immediately looked relieved, and joined in patronizing derision of the wisdom lover. In response, the lover of wisdom walked away quietly. That evening he nailed the following notice to the door of their temple: "Here a god is feared; here no god is worshiped."

When the notice was discovered the people rioted, dragged the wisdom lover outside the city and picked up stones to kill him. "Why do you seek to kill me? he asked. "Because you falsely claimed that we do not worship God," they replied. The lover of wisdom looked intently at them and said, "If my speech did not match reality, then I have imitated the God you claim to worship, in which case you should praise me. But if I did not speak falsely, then why are you angry?" No one could answer him. The wisdom lover turned and walked through their midst toward the neighboring city, and no one touched him or said another word to him.

Philosophy and Faith: Two replies

I wrote two brief replies involving the relation of philosophy and faith. One is to R. Scott Clark, and the other is to James Jordan.

The Gospel and the Meaning of Life

The Last Judgment (c. 1450)
Fra Angelico
Staatliche Museen, Berlin

My post titled, "The Gospel and the Meaning of Life" can be found here on Called to Communion.

Faith, the Ascension, and the Meaning of Life

I recently added two posts at Called to Communion. The first is about the nature of faith in relation to reason, and about a significant difference between Catholic and Protestant conceptions of faith in relation to the Church. The second is a reflection on the relevance of the Ascension to the meaning of life and finding true happiness.

Happy Pentecost, the birthday of the Church!

Love and Unity: Part 3

The Visitation
Mariotto Albertinelli (1503)

Part 1 is here, and part 2 is here.

In this part of my discussion on the relation of love and unity, I focus on St. Thomas Aquinas's distinction between two different kinds of love, and the types of unity to which they are ordered.

Two Types of Love
In his answer to the question "whether in God there is love", Aquinas writes the following:

An act of love always tends towards two things; to the good that one wills, and to the person for whom one wills it: since to love a person is to wish that person good. Hence, inasmuch as we love ourselves, we wish ourselves good; and, so far as possible, union with that good. So love is called the unitive force, even in God, yet without implying composition; for the good that He wills for Himself, is no other than Himself, Who is good by His essence, as above shown (6, 1, 3). And by the fact that anyone loves another, he wills good to that other. Thus he puts the other, as it were, in the place of himself; and regards the good done to him as done to himself. So far love is a binding force [vis concretiva], since it aggregates another to ourselves [quia alium aggregat sibi], and refers his good to our own. And then again the divine love is a binding force, inasmuch as God wills good to others; yet it implies no composition in God. (ST I Q.20 a.1 ad.3)

This consideration of the nature of love reveals the basis for Aquinas's distinction between love of friendship and love of concupiscence (amorem amicitiae et amorem concupiscentiae). (ST I-II Q.26 a.4) First he refers to Aristotle's statement that "to love is to wish good to someone." From this Aquinas draws the conclusion that love by its very nature has a twofold tendency: "towards the good which a man wishes to someone (to himself or to another) and towards that to which he wishes some good." This twofold tendency intrinsic to love makes possible the difference between love of friendship and love of concupiscence. He explains the difference between these two kinds of love when he says that "man has love of concupiscence towards the good that he wishes to another, and love of friendship towards him to whom he wishes good." These two kinds of love are related as primary and secondary, in this way: "that which is loved with the love of friendship is loved simply and for itself (simpliciter et per se amatur); whereas that which is loved with the love of concupiscence, is loved, not simply and for itself, but for something else."

If we love something in the sense of wishing good to it for its own sake, that is the type of love Aquinas calls 'love of friendship'. But if we love something in the sense of wishing it to be the good of something or someone else, that is the type of love he calls 'love of concupiscence'. For example, if we love an apple, we love it in the sense of wishing it to be a good for someone (either our self or someone else) when it is eaten. The type of love we have for the apple, in that case, is 'love of concupiscence'. But if we love a friend with the 'love of friendship', we love our friend not as a means to a further good to ourselves, but simpliciter et per se, that is, for his own sake, and that is why we wish good to come to him.

Aquinas then adds: "the love with which a thing is loved, that it may have some good, is love simply; while the love, with which a thing is loved, that it may be another's good, is relative love." So love of concupiscence is relative love; it is directed toward a good with the intention that it may be another's good. Love of friendship, by contrast, is love simply; it is directed toward something with the intention that it have some good.

If we are loving something as a good for ourselves, it is plain that such love is unitive in this respect, that we seek to be united to that good such that it becomes our good. In the example of loving the apple, we desire the apple to be united to us through eating the apple, so that it provides the goods of nourishing our body, satisfying our hunger and pleasing our palate. So the type of unity aimed at by the 'love of concupiscence' is the having of the beloved good by the lover.

In what way then, does the love of friendship aim at unity? Given what I have said about the manner in which love of concupiscence is unitive, it may seem initially that, as directed toward other persons, love of friendship is unitive only in the sense that the lover wishes that what is good for his friend be united to his friend. What I wish to show here and in part 4 is how the the love of friendship also seeks union of the lover and the friend.

Unity as a Cause of Love
In order develop this argument, we need to consider the ways in which union is both a cause and an effect of love. First, let us consider briefly how, according to Aquinas, union is a cause of love. According to Aquinas, union is a cause of love in two ways. The type of union that causes the love with which one loves oneself is substantial union. (ST I-II Q.28 a.1 ad.2) This claim has its basis in what Aquinas said earlier, namely, that "everything has this aptitude towards its natural form, that when it has it not, it tends towards it; and when it has it, it is at rest therein. It is the same with every natural perfection, which is a natural good." (ST I Q.19 a.1 co.) And elsewhere he writes, "But it is common to every nature to have some inclination; and this is its natural appetite or love." (ST I Q.60 a.1 co.) The transcendental relation of being, unity and goodness shows that insofar as everything is naturally inclined to its perfection, so it is naturally inclined to its being and unity. Hence Aquinas says elsewhere, "[H]ence it is that everything guards its unity as it guards its being." (Et inde est quod unumquodque, sicut custodit suum esse, ita custodit suam unitatem.)(ST I Q.11 a.1 co.)

The second way in which unity causes love is by unity of likeness. We have seen this already in our discussion of connaturality in Part 2, where we saw that the principle of movement in the appetite is the appetitive subject's connaturality with the thing to which it tends. Connaturality is a kind of likeness of natures. According to Aquinas, there are two types of likeness between things, and each type of likeness causes a different type of love. One type of likeness between two things arises when each thing has the same quality actuality. The other type of likeness between two things arises when one thing has "potentially and by way of inclination, a quality which the other has actually". (ST I-II Q.27 a.3 co.) The first type of likeness, that is, the type of likeness that arises when each thing has the same quality actuality, is love of friendship. Aquinas writes, "For the very fact that two men are alike, having, as it were, one form, makes them to be, in a manner, one in that form: thus two men are one thing in the species of humanity, and two white men are one thing in whiteness. Hence the affections of one tend to the other, as being one with him; and he wishes good to him as to himself. But the second kind of likeness causes love of concupiscence, or friendship founded on usefulness or pleasure: because whatever is in potentiality, as such, has the desire for its act; and it takes pleasure in its realization, if it be a sentient and cognitive being." (ST I-II Q.27 a.3 co.) Thus we can be caused to love another person by likeness in two general ways. Either the other person has actually some good quality that we have potentiality, or the other person has actually some quality that we have actually. In the former case, either we love the other as a means to the actualization of our potentiality, or we love the other as a pleasing subjunctive depiction of what we would be were our potentiality actualized. But in the case where both the lover and the beloved share the likeness of actuality to actuality, that which is like need not be only a quality or set of qualities; it may also be a nature, for example, human nature. Love caused directly by apprehended likeness of this sort is love of friendship.

Two types of Unity
Aquinas teaches that the union of lover and beloved is fundamentally of two sorts. "The first is real union; for instance, when the beloved is present with the lover. The second is union of affection: and this union must be considered in relation to the preceding apprehension; since movement of the appetite follows apprehension." Aquinas explains this when he says, "The first of these unions [i.e. real union] is caused effectively by love; because love moves man to desire and seek the presence of the beloved, as of something suitable and belonging to him (quasi sibi convenientis et ad se pertinentis). The second union is caused formally by love; because love itself is this union or bond. In this sense Augustine says (De Trin. viii, 10) that "love is a vital principle uniting, or seeking to unite two together, the lover, to wit, and the beloved." For in describing it as "uniting" he refers to the union of affection, without which there is no love: and in saying that "it seeks to unite," he refers to real union." (ST I-II Q.28 a.1 co.)

Again, in the reply to the second objection he writes, "There is also a union which is essentially love itself. This union is according to a bond of affection, and is likened to substantial union, inasmuch as the lover stands to the object of his love, as to himself, if it be love of friendship; as to something belonging to himself, if it be love of concupiscence. Again there is a union, which is the effect of love. This is real union, which the lover seeks with the object of his love." (ST I-II Q.28 a.1 ad.2)

In this first article of question 28, Aquinas is making two points. First he is showing that the union of affection is essentially love itself, and this union is likened [assimilatur] to substantial union inasmuch as the lover stands to the beloved as to himself (i.e. in love of friendship), and to a lesser degree if the lover stands to the beloved as one stands toward something belonging to oneself (i.e. in love of concupiscence).

Aquinas's second point is that real union is the effect or goal of love; real union is what the union of affection seeks to bring about. Regarding real union as an effect of love he says, "Moreover this union [real union] is in keeping with the demands of love (convenientiam amoris: for as the Philosopher relates (Polit. ii, 1), "Aristophanes stated that lovers would wish to be united both into one," but since "this would result in either one or both being destroyed," they seek a suitable and becoming union--to live together, speak together, and be united together in other like things." (ST I-II Q.28 a.1 ad.2) In seeking real union love does not seek to destroy its own possibility, but seeks rather that which preserves its own actuality. Both types of love seek real union of the lover with the beloved.

In the middle of this article, Aquinas distinguishes between the two types of unity that are apprehended by the lover, and which give rise to the love of concupiscence and the love of friendship, respectively. He writes, "Now love being twofold, viz. love of concupiscence and love of friendship; each of these arises from a kind of apprehension of the oneness of the thing loved with the lover. For when we love a thing, by desiring it, we apprehend it as belonging to our well-being (quasi sibi convenientis et ad se pertinentis). In like manner when a man loves another with the love of friendship, he wills good to him, just as he wills good to himself: wherefore he apprehends him as his other self (vult ei bonum sicut et sibi vult bonum, unde apprehendit eum ut alterum se), in so far, to wit, as he wills good to him as to himself. Hence a friend is called a man's "other self" (Ethic. ix, 4), and Augustine says (Confess. iv, 6), "Well did one say to his friend: Thou half of my soul." (ST I-II Q.28 a.1 co.)

The kind of unity that when apprehended gives rise to love of concupiscence is one in which the lover stands to the beloved as to something belonging to himself (ut ad aliquid sui). This unity seems to be apprehended as a potential unity. The kind of unity that when apprehended gives rise to love of friendship is one in which the lover stands to the beloved as to himself (ut ad seipsum) [ST I-II Q.28 a.1 ad.2]. This unity seems to be apprehended as an actual unity, though this leaves open the discovery and dynamic creation of further actual unity, as well as the apprehension of potential unity.

So to summarize, first, substantial unity gives rise to self love. Second, there are two types of apprehended unity that give rise to the two types of love. These two types of apprehended unity are an accidental unity (i.e. of having or possessing a good for oneself) and a formal subjective unity of being another self. They give rise to love of concupiscence and love of friendship, respectively. In the former, the union aimed at by the appetite is the union of possessing the good loved, such that this good actualizes the lover's potential and thus perfects the lover. In the love of friendship, by contrast, the union aimed at by the appetite is a union of subject with subject, and this grounds the love of concupiscence towards the good that the lover wishes to his friend. The object of the love of friendship is not loved as a means to one's own perfection, but as another self. This is primarily a spiritual union of a self with another self, an outward extension of the love that one has for oneself to that which is another self. But the beloved as an object of the 'love of friendship' does not cease to be apprehended as a good any more than in self-love the self ceases to be apprehended as a good. On the contrary, just as the self is apprehended as a qualitatively greater good than all those goods perfecting of the self, so likewise the beloved as an object of the 'love of friendship' is apprehended as a qualitatively greater good than all those goods perfecting either oneself or the beloved (God excepted).

In the next part in this series I will examine the three ways in which love effects mutual indwelling, focusing most especially on the third way. I will be focusing particularly on the way in which love of friendship seeks not only that what is good for one's friend be united to one's friend, but also seeks the union of the lover with the friend. For this I will draw on Aquinas's commentary on chapter four of book nine of Aristotle's Nicomachean Ethics.

Love and Unity: Part 2

Part 1 is here.

In order to understand better why love seeks union with the beloved, we first need to step back and consider what love is. I am not here addressing the theological virtue of charity. Grace builds upon and perfects nature, so to understand the theological virtue of charity, we must first understand natural love. Writing about the nature of love may not seem to have anything to do with the reunion of all Christians. But it serves as the philosophical background for the argument that if we truly love one another, then we will actively be seeking unity with each other, pursuing every attempt to be reconciled and reunited. Part of what it means to obey Christ's command to love one another, I will argue, is to seek unity with each other. If we say that we love each other, but are content with being divided, then we are deceiving ourselves. A week ago Pope Benedict said, "Is it indeed possible to be in communion with the Lord if we are not in communion with each other? How can we present ourselves divided and far from each other at God's altar?" Some of what I have written in this post is more philosophical in nature and terminology, so please bear with me.

Aquinas tells us that everything by its very nature has a natural aptitude or inclination toward its natural form, that is, its natural perfection. In things that do not have knowledge, this natural aptitude is called natural appetite (appetitus naturalis). (ST I Q.19 a.1 co.) Seedlings, for example, have a natural appetite for becoming full-grown trees, even though seedlings do not themselves have knowledge of this goal. The knowledge of their goal remains in their Designer, but the natural appetite for their goal is within the seedlings.

In addition to this natural appetite, animals and humans have something that plants do not have; we have the power to sense material things that are outside of us. Accompanying this power to sense material things is an additional appetitive power by which we can desire the things whose sensible forms we receive in our sense powers. In virtue of this appetitive power, animals and humans can desire the things that we sense insofar as we apprehend them as desirable, i.e. as suited to our natural perfection. (ST I Q.78 a.1 co.) This appetite is the sensitive appetite or "sensuality" (sensualitas). (ST I Q.81 a.1 co.)

Humans are distinguished from other animals in that we have a rational soul. This allows us to receive not just sensible forms, but also intelligible forms. In this way we are capable of understanding what a thing is, that is, its essence. But again, along with this greater power of apprehension is a greater corresponding appetitive power. This greater appetitive power is the "rational appetite", which is another term for the will. Aquinas describes this three-fold distinction in appetites in this way:

[A]ll things in their own way are inclined by appetite towards good, but in different ways. Some are inclined to good by their natural inclination, without knowledge, as plants and inanimate bodies. Such inclination towards good is called "a natural appetite." Others, again, are inclined towards good, but with some knowledge; not that they know the aspect of goodness [rationem boni], but that they apprehend some particular good; as in the sense, which knows the sweet, the white, and so on. The inclination which follows this apprehension is called "a sensitive appetite." Other things, again, have an inclination towards good, but with a knowledge whereby they perceive the aspect of goodness [boni rationem]; this belongs to the intellect. This is most perfectly inclined towards what is good; not, indeed, as if it were merely guided by another towards some particular good only, like things devoid of knowledge, nor towards some particular good only, as things which have only sensitive knowledge, but as inclined towards good in general[universale bonum]. Such inclination is termed "will." (ST I Q.59 a.1 co.)

Aquinas sums this up in his answer to the question of whether there is natural love in the angels. And here we see what appetite has to do with love. He writes:

But it is common to every nature to have some inclination; and this is its natural appetite or love. This inclination is found to exist differently in different natures; but in each according to its mode. Consequently, in the intellectual nature there is to be found a natural inclination coming from the will; in the sensitive nature, according to the sensitive appetite; but in a nature devoid of knowledge, only according to the tendency of the nature to something. (ST I Q.60 a.1 co.)

Notice that for Aquinas love is found in every existing thing. It is present in each thing as a natural inclination toward its good. For Aquinas, it is not the case that love is something had only by God, angels, and humans, and is devoid from non-rational animals, plants, and inanimate objects. For Aquinas, the primary movement of anything that moves, is love. But love is present in a thing according to the nature of the thing. In other words, things with lower natures love in only a limited way compared with things that by nature have greater apprehensive power. This correlation of love and knowledge is based on the principle from St. Augustine that nothing is loved except it be first known (nihil amatur nisi cognitum). (ST I Q.60 a.1 s.c.) Thus the greater a thing's natural capacity for knowing, the greater its natural capacity for loving.

This principle, quite importantly, also works the other way around: the more we love something, the more we are able to know it. We become more observant about it, more interested in every detail about it, more likely to retain it in our memory, and more intent on understanding it in its entirety and to its core. Where our heart is, there our mind operates. This is how someone like St. Thérèse de Lisieux, whose heart was bursting with love for God, and who never went to seminary or graduate school, and who died at the age of 24, could become a doctor of the Church.

So although love requires knowledge, knowledge is advanced by love. A being's capacity for love is dependent upon its appetitive capacity, which in turn is dependent on its capacity for knowing. Elsewhere Aquinas distinguishes these three appetitive powers in a similar manner. He writes:

Love is something pertaining to the appetite; since good is the object of both. Wherefore love differs according to the difference of appetites. (Unde secundum differentiam appetitus est differentia amoris.) For there is an appetite which arises from an apprehension existing, not in the subject of the appetite, but in some other: and this is called the "natural appetite." Because natural things seek what is suitable to them according to their nature, by reason of an apprehension which is not in them, but in the Author of their nature, as stated in the [ST I Q.6 a.1 ad 2; ST I Q.103 a.1 ad. 1,3]. And there is another appetite arising from an apprehension in the subject of the appetite, but from necessity and not from free-will. Such is, in irrational animals, the "sensitive appetite," which, however, in man, has a certain share of liberty, in so far as it obeys reason. Again, there is another appetite following freely from an apprehension in the subject of the appetite. And this is the rational or intellectual appetite, which is called the "will." (ST I-II Q.26 a.1 co.)

Aquinas then continues:

Now in each of these appetites, the name "love" is given to the principle movement towards the end loved (principium motus tendentis in finem amatum). In the natural appetite the principle of this movement is the appetitive subject's connaturalness with the thing to which it tends, and may be called "natural love": ... In like manner the aptitude (coaptatio) of the sensitive appetite or of the will to some good, that is to say, its very complacency (complacentia) in good is called "sensitive love," or "intellectual" or "rational love." So that sensitive love is in the sensitive appetite, just as intellectual love is in the intellectual appetite. (ST II-I Q.26 a.1 co.)

In each of the three appetitive powers, there is a principle movement towards the end loved, and this is love.

But first let us ask what Aquinas means by connaturalness, aptitude, and complacency? Connaturality shouldn't be understood as a relation of mathematical forms, devoid of teleology. For Aquinas says, "But the true is in some things wherein good is not, as, for instance, in mathematics." (ST I Q.16 a.4 s.c.) And yet connaturality is a principle of motion. But nothing moves except insofar as it moves toward a perceived good. Therefore connaturality should not be understood as the relation of abstract forms such as those of mathematics. Connaturality is a kind of sharing of the same nature, in some respect. Thus in the encounter of that which is connatural to oneself, self-love is extended outward to the other, and rests in the other as it already rests in the self. (More on that later.)

Regarding love as the principle movement toward the end loved, Aquinas says the same elsewhere when he says, "love is the first movement of the will and of every appetitive faculty" (Primus enim motus voluntatis, et cuiuslibet appetitivae virtutis, est amor.) (ST I Q.20 a.1 co.) In that same place he explains in more detail what he means in saying that love is the first movement of the will and of every appetitive faculty. He writes:

Now there are certain acts of the will and appetite that regard good under some special condition, as joy and delight regard good present and possessed; whereas desire and hope regard good not as yet possessed. Love, however, regards good universally, whether possessed or not. Hence love is naturally the first act of the will and appetite; for which reason all the other appetite movements presuppose love, as their root and origin. For nobody desires anything nor rejoices in anything, except as a good that is loved: nor is anything an object of hate except as opposed to the object of love. Similarly, it is clear that sorrow, and other things like to it, must be referred to love as to their first principle. Hence, in whomsoever there is will and appetite, there must also be love: since if the first is wanting, all that follows is also wanting. (ST I Q.20 a.1 co.)

Love then, for Aquinas, is the principle movement of the will and appetite, not in the sense of being temporally prior (even if it is temporally prior), but in the sense of being formally and teleologically prior. Every other movement of the will and appetite presupposes love, and therefore these other movements formally and teleologically depend on love.

We can see already, however vaguely, that love is unitive by its very nature. Since love is the first movement of the will and appetite toward the end loved, therefore love by its very nature aims at union of the appetitive subject (i.e. the one having the appetite) with the end loved. In the next post in this series, I intend to write about the distinction between the love of concupiscence and the love of friendship.

Prolegomena to the gospel

"The Expulsion of Adam and Eve from the Garden of Paradise"
Alexandre Cabanel (1823-1889)

In one of my philosophy courses not too long ago I had a student who had become convinced, based on Darwinism, that God had not made humans, and that religion was a human construct to meet an internal psychological need. Throughout the semester she was obviously antagonistic in the classroom to anything I said that had to do with God or religion. Whenever I referred to God, she would try to get me to re-state what I was saying in the form of a mere hypothetical, but even hypothetical references to God seemed to bother her. Toward the end of the semester, I had a significant discussion with her during office hours, and it turned out that she had been raised in a very conservative Lutheran tradition. When she came to the university and encountered Darwinism in her biology classes, she could not fit that with her fundamentalist conception of religion, and so she had basically tossed out the entirety of religion as just what Dawkins and Dennett claim it to be. But during my class, she had come to see the difference between scientism and science, and between evolution as a scientific thesis, and Darwinism as a philosophical thesis. She had come to see that she didn't have to choose between science and Christianity. (For more on this subject, see William Carroll's article, "Creation, Evolution, and Thomas Aquinas", or pick up the recently published book Creation and Evolution: A Conference with Pope Benedict XVI.)

Those who do not understand the difference between science (in the ordinary contemporary sense of the term) and philosophy are often convinced that if evolution took place, then philosophical Darwinism (i.e. there is no God, no ultimate meaning, no ultimate purpose, no right and wrong, etc.) follows. Creationists who do not understand the difference between science and philosophy often make the very same mistake, reasoning that if God exists and morality exists, etc., then evolution must be false. If you want to see how this works in practice, watch this interview with Jeffrey Dahmer (the serial murderer and cannibal), and notice how he moved from philosophical Darwinism (which served to justify in his mind his immoral actions) to a rejection of the scientific theory of evolution. (H/T: R.E. Aguirre)

What makes it more difficult in our age to hear and understand the gospel is that we tend not to be aware of the philosophical prolegomena to the gospel. When I was a teenager, the gospel seemed to be something that merely floated on top of my human existence; it did not go to the heart of my existence. I knew that I was mortal, and from the Bible I understood that when I died I would go either to heaven or hell. I did not want to go to hell; I preferred to go to heaven. Hence it was obvious that I should "ask Jesus into my heart", which I did when I was about four years old.

But I did not understand what knowing Jesus had to do with my present existence. Knowing Jesus seemed to be something that really mattered only as a necessary condition for determining where I would go in the life to come. Later, I came to understand that I had missed the whole point; I had construed the gospel in an entirely nominalistic and voluntaristic manner, as though it was only extrinsically related to my well-being. (I have discussed this in more detail here.)

If we do not know the answer to the question "What is my purpose in life?" or "Why am I here?" or "Why do I exist?", then we do not truly understand the gospel. The gospel will then seem like "good news" to us only in an indirect, penultimate sense, as relating only to our future state after death. But the philosophical question "What is the meaning of life?" is directly related to the gospel, and presupposed by the gospel.

Here's why. The old catechism asks the question: "Why did God make you?" The answer: "God made me to know Him, to love Him, and to serve Him in this world, and to be happy with Him forever in the next." Broadly speaking, that is the meaning of our human existence. The Compendium to the Catechism adds, "God Himself, in creating man in His own image, has written upon his heart the desire to see Him." The reason we exist, the reason God made us, is to know Him, to love Him, and to serve Him, and in that three-fold activity be eternally happy with Him. That means that our human nature, and more precisely the nature of the human soul, is made in such a way that we are not satisfied with anything less than knowing, loving, and serving God. This is why all human cultures express at least some 'groping about' for God in various forms of religion. This is what St. Augustine means when he says "Our hearts are restless until they rest in Thee." He is talking about the very nature of the human heart, as God designed it. It "can't get no satisfaction" until it knows, loves, and serves God.

We were made such that we find our complete happiness and fulfillment in fellowship with God. This blessed fellowship is what Adam and Eve had when God walked with them in the cool of the day in the Garden. Everything else besides God is finite, contingent, and incomplete, and therefore cannot ultimately satisfy the human heart. Idolatry is misery; contingent things take their rightful place in our overall blessedness only when we receive them as gifts from our Maker, not when we substitute them for our Maker. We can be perfectly free only in ultimate subjection to Perfect Goodness; ultimate subjection to anything else is slavery. Being made in the image of God involves being made such that we have a power in our soul that is intrinsically directed to the Cause of all causes, the Source of all perfections, the Truth underlying all truths, the Being underlying all beings, the Unity underlying all unities, the Good underlying all goods, and the Beauty underlying all beauties. When separated from fellowship with our Maker, we are lost, confused, miserable, dissatisfied, and blind. We have some sense that things are not the way they are supposed to be, but we are typically so blind that we often do not even recognize how miserable and empty we are. We may feel that we have no reason to live, no purpose in life. It is easy in such a condition to feel suicidal, because it seems like there is no point to living. And if there were no God, then there would be no point to living, because there can be no end [telos] at all if every end [telos] is subordinate to a higher end [telos], and nothing except one who is Goodness itself can be a highest end. We are by nature aimed at God, but in our darkened condition, we seem to have forgotten what we were made for, and lost sight of who we are. We treat ourselves as mere beasts whose purpose is to eat, drink, have sex and be merry, for tomorrow we die. But that mode of living is miserable for humans, because it doesn't satisfy the human soul, which in its very nature is directed toward the transcendent.

How did we get into this condition? Adam and Eve, by their sin, lost their participation in the divine life of God. They were banished from the Garden. Through their sin we all are born in a state of what is called "original sin", deprived of the life and righteousness of God, darkened and separated from that for which we were orginally made, i.e. fellowship with God. And yet this present life remains for us a period of testing. (See my "Monocausalism, Salvation, and Reconciliation".)

What we will be for eternity is determined by the state of our soul at death. If we die in a state of mortal sin, we remain eternally deprived of the life of God. We descend into hell, "eternal death" (CCC 1056). This is not annihilation. We continue to exist in a state of misery and torment, forever.

"Immediately after death the souls of those who die in a state of mortal sin descend into hell, where they suffer the punishments of hell, "eternal fire". The chief punishment of hell is eternal separation from God, in whom alone man can possess the life and happiness for which he was created and for which he longs." (CCC 1035)

Hell is what happens to us and in us when we reject our ultimate purpose, when we turn against the telos knitted into the essence of our heart, and reject what we are, i.e. creatures made in the image and likeness of God. When Jesus was challenged about paying taxes, He asked to be shown a coin, and then asked whose image was on the coin. When told "Caesar's", He replied, "Give to Caesar what is Caesar's, and give to God what is God's." (St. Matthew 22) The point is not ultimately about taxes, but about man. Whose image is on us? God's. We are designed to find fulfillment and complete happiness only in giving ourselves entirely and eternally to God, as a lover gives herself to her beloved for the whole of her earthly life.

The Judgment is not something merely tacked on to the story of our human existence; it is essential to understanding what it is to be human, and why we are here in this life. The whole purpose of this present life is a test. What will we choose? Who will we be forever? All of our deeds in this life are eternally and indelibly part of our history, for the rest of eternity. For the rest of eternity, I will be "the person who, during his earthly life, did x, y, and z". The Judgment is the once-and-for-all determination of the result of that test. The Judgment separates all humans into two categories: those who died in a state of loving God, and those who died in a state of mortal sin. (See this video.)

Understanding the gospel presupposes that we know all this. When the Evangelical comes along and asks, "Are you saved?", it sounds like a different language to the modern ear. Saved from what?, we might ask. "Sin, death, hell", he responds. That's true, but it doesn't get to the heart of the matter, because most people today have little sense of the relation between our human nature [our ultimate purpose in life] and "sin, death and hell". That is why "Are you saved?" always seems to come across as a sales pitch for afterlife fire insurance.

A better way to present the gospel to modern man is to start with our purpose in life: Do you know why you are here? Are you looking for the meaning of your life? We [Christians] know the meaning of life. It is to know, love and serve the God who made heaven and earth and all things, including us humans, whom He made in His very own image, to share in His divine life and have fellowship with Him eternally. Our first parents turned away from God and bequeathed sin, sorrow and death to us, but God has sent His Son to reconcile us to Himself. God's Son gave Himself to us, and now offers us His own divine Life, the very Life in which we were made to share eternally. We receive His divine Life through the sacraments which He established in His Mystical Body, the Church, before He returned to the Father. Believe and be baptized. Receive the Spirit without measure. In the sacrament of the Eucharist, Christ offers to you His Body and Blood. If you eat this Flesh, and drink this Blood, you will have in yourself the Life of God, the Life which you have longed for since you were a child, the divine Life than which there is nothing greater, and which alone truly satisfies the deepest yearning of the human soul. Jesus said, "As the living Father sent Me, and I live because of the Father, so he who eats Me, he also shall live because of Me." (St. John 6:57) And elsewhere, Jesus said, "Whoever drinks of the water that I will give him shall never thirst." (St. John 4:14) We never thirst again because we finally have found that alone which satisfies the human heart. Come, eat and drink without charge; Christ offers Himself to you freely, in love. This is why you exist: to know, love, and serve Jesus Christ, the Son of the Living God. This is what you were made for; this is why you are here, right now, to know, love, and serve the One who made you. Nothing else will satisfy you, because what your heart most deeply longs for is God Himself.

In order for Christians to be visibly united, we have to be united about what the gospel is. And in order to be united about what the gospel is, we need to be united about the prolegomena to the gospel, the philosophical and theological background presupposed by the gospel. We cannot understand salvation without understanding what man is, and what is the nature and telos of the human heart.

"Nos fescisti ad te, et inquietem est cor nostrum donec requiscat inte." (You have formed us for Yourself, and our hearts are restless until they rest in You." - St. Augustine)

How philosophy helped me accept the papacy

At this link I describe how philosophy helped me accept the papacy.

Presuppositionalism: Fideism built on skepticism

The problem underlying presuppositionalism is primarily philosophical, that is, the root of presuppositionalism's error lies in the domain of philosophy. Presuppositionalism is a form of fideism that is based on philosophical skepticism, a skepticism that can be traced back through Kant to Descartes. Presuppositionalists generally believe that theological assumptions or presuppositions are loaded into the epistemological foundation of every 'worldview' [i.e. philosophy]. Since they also believe that every worldview built on false presuppositions is a false worldview, and that Christianity is the only true religion, therefore, they conclude that only the worldview (i.e. philosophy) built on Christian presuppositions is true or reliable.

The error is located in the very first premise, i.e. in the notion that theological assumptions or presuppositions lie behind every claim or position or theory or philosophy. Why do they think that? In order to understand why, we need to consider a distinction made by Aristotle. Aristotle pointed out that for humans, the order of being and the order of knowing are not the same, but are opposite. We are animals. As animals, we start (in the order of knowing) with sense knowledge, with what is closest to the senses. Gradually we penetrate more deeply into the being of things, with greater abstractive power. Eventually, if we think deeply and carefully enough, we may arrive at the idea of being qua being, and even Being per se. But the order of Being is exactly the opposite from the order of [human] knowing. Everything comes ultimately from God; He is thus first in the order of being. What is most proximate to the senses is not first in the order of being, just as accidents are not prior (in the order of being) to substances. God is first in the order of being, but last in the order of natural [human] knowing.

Now, fast-forward to Descartes. Descartes tosses out all sense knowledge, and tries to start with an epistemically certain foundation, the cogito. But what about that evil demon? Descartes has to deal with the evil demon possibility by immediately positing a good God. So God comes in right away (epistemologically). For Descartes, in order to know anything about the world, one has to make a theological assumption. That is early presuppositionalism. For Descartes, the order of knowing is made the same as the order of being. (This is no accident, because Descartes in his philosophical anthropology is guilty of what Maritain calls "angelism", disregarding our humanity, and 'raising' us to the status of angels, where in fact the order of being and the order of knowing is much more aligned.) Presuppositionalists (for the same reason as Descartes) mistake the order of being (or the order of authority) for the order of knowing. They think that the order of knowing must be the same as the order of being (or the order of authority), when in fact it is our materiality that requires the two orders to be the opposite.

For the Calvinists, reason is fallen; it is totally depraved. Therefore, reason must build on no other foundation than the Scriptures. Calvinist presuppositionalists replaced Descartes's positing of a good God with the presupposition of the truth and authority of God's Word (i.e. the Bible), or with Christianity. Their claim that Christianity (or the Bible) must be presupposed as the foundation for all other knowledge, is itself based (not on the Bible, ironically) on Cartesian skepticism regarding the reliability of our senses and reason and intellect.

I have had Calvinistic presuppositionalists tell me the following:

"You cannot even call the experience of your senses knowledge without making theological assumptions."

Notice the [Cartesian] skepticism presupposed in that claim. Here was my response to a fellow who made that claim to me:

"This is fideism built on [philosophical] skepticism. The problem with this position is that if one cannot trust one's senses without first making theological assumptions, then one has no non-arbitrary grounds to trust one's reason without making theological assumptions. Then since one cannot trust one's senses and reason, one has no way of knowing which theological assumptions to make, whether such assumptions are true, and therefore whether such assumptions actually shore up one's senses and reason. One cannot appeal to Scripture (or anything else in the world) to acquire these theological assumptions, because one cannot trust one's senses to perceive Scripture or one's reason to interpret Scripture. Therefore, once one digs a skeptical hole, there is no boot-strapping one's way out of it, apart from a purely fideistic leap, [or from reversing the process by which one dug the skeptical hole]. Fideistic leaps can go in any direction (e.g. Allah, Buddha, Krishna, Gaia, Elvis, atheism, polytheism, pantheism, etc.). Fideism is the great equalizer. Given fideism, no leap is any better or worse than any other leap. The evaluative faculty (i.e. reason) has been stripped away by skepticism."

Another presuppositionalist claimed that "all positions start with equally unprovable assumptions and suppositions." Such a claim is a form of skepticism. It entails (though it itself could not acknowledge this) that nothing can be known at all. It entails that positions cannot even be tested on the grounds of coherence, since even the principles of logic are just assumptions and suppositions.

Presuppositionalism is especially attractive to those who either deny that philosophical knowledge is possible, and/or are ignorant of the possibility of philosophical knowledge. I've heard presuppositionalists say something like this: "Since every position starts with mere assumptions and presuppositions, you might as well build on the foundation of the Word of God." Other times they say that starting with any other foundation is idolatry, for it puts something other than God at the foundation. Notice there the mistake of failing to distinguish between the order of being and the order of knowing, and thus assuming that what comes first in the order of knowing is first in the order of being/authority. By claiming that they start with Scripture, presuppositionalists make themselves highly susceptible to being unaware of the presuppositions that they bring to Scripture. If you are explicitly claiming to start with Scripture, you cannot allow yourself to believe or recognize that you are actually starting with something that you are bringing to Scripture.

Often presuppositionalists mistakenly assume that what is highest in authority must be epistemologically foundational, as if the two are the same. That is why they insist you start with the Bible, not with sense knowledge and reasoning. (Of course, they are glossing over the problem of how we know that the Bible is the Word of God, and how we interpret the Bible, without presupposing the reliability of our sense knowledge and reason.) In actuality, the supreme authority of the Bible does not mean that all knowledge and reasoning must be built on the Bible. For example, we don't have to build our mathematics on the Bible (as some presuppositionalists claim). The supreme authority of the Bible means rather that we must strive to make all our knowledge in agreement with (i.e. compatible with) the teachings of the Bible.

Once sense knowledge and reason are knocked out (by skepticism), then the only kind of religious expression possible is some form of fideism. And that's precisely what presuppositionalism is. It is fideism, built on [Cartesian] skepticism. One way to show the problems with presuppositionalism to a presuppositionalist is to show its philosophical presuppositions, especially its skepticism. Presuppositionalists typically do not realize they have any presuppositions other than explicitly Christian ones. Presuppositionalism suffers from two irremediable contradictions: it starts with a presupposed foundation (e.g. Scripture) to which its own epistemic condition (e.g. skepticism) allows no access. (That is the first contradiction.) It then attempts to evaluate other 'worldviews' according to a standard found in its own (e.g. coherence), as if it were not fideistic (and thus relativistic) at its core. (That is the second contradiction.)

Presuppositionalists are typically highly suspicious of philosophy. See, for example, here. But true philosophy does not undermine the gospel, because truth cannot contradict truth.

When I was in seminary (Covenant Theological Seminary), at one point I naively believed that all doctrinal disagreements between Bible-believing Christians could be resolved (in principle) by exegesis. That was one of the reasons I worked very hard at exegesis, and at graduation received the American Bible Society Award for excellence in the field of Biblical exegesis. But it was already very clear to me not only that exegesis and interpretation are two distinct arts, but also that interpretation depends in large part on philosophical assumptions that one brings to the interpretive process. That is one of the reasons that I decided to continue my graduate studies in philosophy. If we do not realize that we are even bringing philosophical presuppositions to the interpretive process, we will not be getting to the fundamental causes of our interpretive disagreements. The first step for the presuppositionalist is to begin to realize that he is bringing philosophical assumptions to the interpretive process. Only then will he realize that he needs some way of evaluating these assumptions. (Claiming to evaluate them by way of Scripture simply ignores the fact that he would be using these assumptions to interpret Scripture, so the evaluation would be question-begging, and thus worthless.)

Here's an example from the "Joint Federal Vision Statement" of the tacit presupposition that we initially bring no philosophical assumptions to the interpretive process:

"We deny that the Bible can be rightly understood by any hermeneutical grid not derived from the Scriptures themselves."

If that statement is true, then either there is a missing exception clause for the first hermeneutical grid one uses to interpret Scripture (in which case the statement is ad hoc), OR the Bible cannot be rightly understood. (This is not a pedantic criticism; it is precisely this kind of sloppiness that makes it hard for presuppositionalists to see the inconsistency in their own position.)

Philosophical ignorance or error is another stumbling block to unity. What is more, it typically leads to debates that do not address the fundamental points of disagreement that divide us. So I pray that this post might be helpful in showing what is wrong with presuppositionalism, in order that this stumbling block might be removed from the path toward unity.

J.P. Moreland: "Fighting Bibliolatry"

Today I finished substitute teaching some classes on natural theology for a friend from seminary who is presently at the ETS meeting in San Diego. I see now that J.P. Moreland's talk on Wednesday seems to be the subject of conversation. Among the interesting points in Moreland's talk is this:

"A third area where Moreland critiqued evangelical over-commitment to Bible was in the scarcity of evangelical appeals to natural theology and moral law in their political and cultural discussions."

I agree. Subjects such as cloning, abortion, and sexual ethics are often treated as if there is no such thing as natural law. And sacred theology is often treated as if there is no such thing as natural theology or a positive philosophy that can provide a support for sacred theology. Moreland's call for a continued movement away from fideism is much needed. I was at the ETS meeting in Philadelphia in November of 1995 when Moreland gave the keynote, advocating the importance of the place of philosophy. When Moreland finished speaking, Greg Bahnsen stood up and went right after Moreland: "Couldn't you just replace [in your talk] every instance of your use of the word 'philosophy' with the word 'theology'"? asked Bahnsen. Moreland responded by explaining why he believed that philosophy served as a praeambula fidei. About two weeks later, Bahnsen died of mitral valve failure. (May his soul rest in peace.) From the point of view of improving prospects of a reunion between Catholics and evangelicals, Moreland's position is much better than Bahnsen's presuppositionalism (which is a form of fideism).

Protestantism is still recovering from its initial low view of reason, characterized, for example, in these statements by Martin Luther:

"Reason is the devil's greatest whore; by nature and manner of being she is a noxious whore; she is a prostitute, the devil's appointed whore; whore eaten by scab and leprosy who ought to be trodden under foot and destroyed, she and her wisdom ... Throw dung in her face to make her ugly. She is, and she ought to be, drowned in baptism . . . She would deserve, the wretch, to be banished to the filthiest place in the house, to the closets [i.e. toilets]."

"Reason is contrary to faith."

"Reason is directly opposed to faith, and one ought to let it be; in believers it [i.e. reason] should be killed and buried."

Granted that everything Luther said has to be taken with a grain of salt, but when one's view of reason is that low, fideism (and its resulting biblicism) is one's only option. As evangelical philosophers continue to discover the possibility of genuine philosophy and develop its role in the practice of theology, I think the prospects for Catholic-evangelical reunion will continue to improve.