Stoicism and the Four Noble Truths

Over the last decade or so an alliance of sorts has formed between the modern Stoic movement and a variety of Buddhist popularizers, especially those influenced by the secular Buddhist movement. It has been noted that both Buddhists and Stoics sought 1) to quiet their desires and minds through various techniques, 2) to impose on themselves a strict simplicity in thought, word, and deed, and 3) to take hold of a super-ordinary freedom. This point of view has been put forth in articles, books, and videoes. While no one reasonable claims that the two are identical (that Zeno would have become Bikkhu Zeno upon hearing a sermon, or that the the Buddha, had he traveled to Greece, would have set up shop under the Stoa) it often seems to me that the similarity is overstated between these two venerable traditions. As an experiment of sorts, I decided to imagine what a Stoic would think of the Four Noble Truths of Buddhism—how we would react and respond to the essential tenets of Buddhism, that were supposedly the core message of the very first sermon the Buddha taught after his Awakening.

The Franciscan Master

Today is the Feast of John Duns Scotus. I'm not Christian, but I have great respect for Scotus's work. Here is a quote from Efrem Bettoni's Duns Scotus: The Principles of his Philosophy depicting the great man in an act of intellectual heroism:

In 1304 Duns Scotus was already known both within and outside the Order as a religious of deep spirituality and as a man of wide culture and powerful mind. When Father Gonsalvus of Spain, Minister General of the Franciscan Order, proposed him to the Provincial of Paris as a candidate for a master's chair at the University of that city, he expressed himself in the following terms: "I recommend to your charity our beloved brother in Christ, Father John Scotus, whose laudable life, excellent knowledge, most subtle genius, and other remarkable qualities are fully known to me, partly because of my long association with him, and partly because of his widespread reputation.”

However, in 1304 Duns Scotus was no longer in Paris, as he had to leave the city suddenly in 1303, in the middle of the academic year. What was the reason for this sudden departure? In the first months of 1303 the struggle between Pope Boniface VIII and the King of France, Philip the Fair, which is better known from Dante's poem (cf. Purgatorio, XX, 85-93) than from the reports of historians, had become greatly intensified. Philip the Fair looked for adherents to his antipapal policies among the clergy. This led to a split even among the members of the religious orders. Duns Scotus, as is well documented by the list of the Friars Minor that took side with the Pope against the King—a list discovered and published by Father Ephrem Longpré in 1928—did not hesitate to follow the dictates of conscience and truth. Royal reprisal forced him to interrupt his teaching and return to Oxford in England, where he lectured during the scholastic year 1303-1304.

When in 1304, following the death of Boniface VIII, the storm subsided and all political difficulties were removed, John Duns Scotus was sent back to Paris by the Minister General in order to obtain the title of master. About Easter in 1305, when Simon of Guiberville was chancellor of the University, the official proclamation took place. 

This second period of teaching at the University of Paris became famous in scholastic tradition because of the theological dispute of the Subtle Doctor in favor of the Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Mother. Later traditions have invested this famous battle with legendary elements. Allegedly it ended in a grand finale, in which the Franciscan master, emulating in the field of culture the deeds of the bravest knights, victoriously withstood all the masters of the University of Paris, who were fierce opponents of his Mariology. However, the substantial historicity of this famous dispute has been proved in recent years by Father Charles Balic with an abundance of arguments which show how well Duns Scotus deserves the title of knight as well as of doctor of the Immaculate Conception.

The Goal of Skepticism

An article one of our authors, Brian York, wrote during his time as a student was recently published on pages eighty-five to ninety-three of the fourth issue of the independent journal Julep. I don't necessarily endorse everything he says in it, but it's worth checking out.

I haven't read any of the journal's other articles, which appear to be about subjects other than philosophy.

Can God Make a Picasso?

That God ultimately produced everything besides himself mediaeval philosophers had no doubt. But precisely what this creative act amounts to, whether and in what way it is ongoing, and how divine production relates to, say, human production—all these were important open questions. The title of this article is meant to focus our attention on one of the most interesting of these open questions, as it was discussed by Oxford philosophers Walter Chatton (d. 1343) and William Ockham (d. 1347). For while Chatton and Ockham would certainly have agreed that God is ultimately responsible for the existence of the works of Pablo Picasso (and indeed Picasso himself), they would not have agreed in precise detail about how to answer the question I intend in my title, that is: Does it violate God’s omnipotence to say that he cannot make something that Picasso made—for example, the painting Guernica—without using Picasso himself as an intermediate cause?

Rondo Keele. "Can God Make a Picasso? William Ockham and Walter Chatton on Divine Power and Real Relations". http://muse.jhu.edu/article/218279/pdf.

Constituent Versus Relational Ontologies

Since the relationship between God and universals is one factor in the controversy over divine ultimacy lurking behind the classical theist versus theist personalist dispute I discussed here, here and here, it seems fitting to review this old entry. 

Debates over the difference between Platonism and Aristotelianism, and the respective merits of each position, are likely to continue for as long as Man philosophizes. This post does not seek to take a stance on which position is correct but to provide clarification on an issue which is too often lumped into this debate, that is the way in which particulars are related to their universals.

I contend that many of the superficial charges Platonists and Aristotelians, particularly those who adopt such position in virtue of the role they play in wider philosophical systems, lay at one another's feet really relate to the alternative and more fundamental differences between constituent and relational ontologies. This entry is intended to give a brief run-through of these two approaches to ontology. To do so I will look at two claims attributed to each position, at least in popular presentations (let us call their proponents the ‘pop-Platonist’ and ‘pop-Aristotelian’ respectively).

Papers by David Lewis

I thought some of you might find Andrew Bailey's collection of David Lewis papers interesting. Lewis is wrong about a lot, but he's one of the finest prose stylists in recent analytic ontology and his papers usually have something of value in them.

Penetrate to the Very Marrow

... c'est [la raison] un guide qui s'égare: et l'on peut comparer la philosophie à des poudres si corrosives, qu'après avoir consumé les chairs haveuses d'une plaie, elles rongeraient la chair vive, et carieraient les os, et perceraient jusqu'aux moelles. La philosophie réfute d'abord les erreurs, mais, si on ne l'arrête point là, elle attaque les vérités: et quand on la laisse faire à sa fantaisie, elle va si loin qu'elle ne sait plus où elle est, ni ne trouve plus où s'asseoir.

... it [reason] is a guide that leads one astray; and philosophy can be compared to some powders that are so corrosive that, after they have eaten away the infected flesh of a wound, they then devour the living flesh, rot the bones, and penetrate to the very marrow. Philosophy at first refutes errors. But if it is not stopped at this point, it goes on to attack truths. And when it is left on its own, it goes so far that it no longer knows where it is and can find no stopping place.

Pierre Bayle, Dictionnaire Historique et Critique. Translated by Popkin.