Modern philosophy, like its ancient predecessor,
is haunted by a central problematic. The
ancients had a great deal of trouble with the concepts of coming-to-be and
change. For something to change, it must
become other than it already is; yet if it does so, how has it not been destroyed
and replaced by something new? For
something to come to be, it must come to be out of what it is or out of what it
is not; yet both are impossible. It
cannot come to be out of what it is, for what already is cannot come to
be. It cannot come to be out of what it
is not, for there is nothing there for it to come to be out of.
That these problems seem rather silly to us‑mere
word games, as it were‑is because Plato and Aristotle largely resolved the
problematic, albeit in somewhat different ways.
Plato’s Socrates resolved it by supposing a distinction between visible
objects and invisible but knowable ideas. As a tree seems to grow from small to large as
we approach it from a distance, without that particular tree actually changing
at all, so we recognize a variety of trees coming into being and changing
because there is one knowable thing, the idea of a tree, standing behind all of
them. That or something like that,
Socrates insisted, is how things are.
Aristotle resolved by positing three things
necessary for change and coming to be: a quality or formal identity, its
opposite or privation, and a substratum.
Thus a cold, blue metal becomes what it is not‑hot and red‑when you heat
it, and yet remains what it is‑iron‑through the process. Likewise, a living organism comes to be from
what it is not‑whatever it is eating‑and yet remains what it is because it
incorporates the preexisting materials. While
Aristotle’s solution is much more palatable to modern thinkers, both he and his
teacher worked essentially the same strategy: resolving an irresolvable tension
by assuming that the thing to be explained exists along at least two
dimensions: one of form and one of material.
The modern problematic is perhaps best stated in
its original, Cartesian form. The human
being seems to be two things at once: res
extensa, a body, extended in time and space, and res cogitans, a mind, invisible, intangible, and weightless. Cartesian dualism is pervasively taught by philosophy
teachers but almost never accepted. This
is because it seems impossible to resolve the problem of interaction: if mind
consists of a non-physical substance, whatever that might mean, how does it
interact with matter? Similarly, while
it is easy to understand how one physical thing emerges out of another, from
what and how does the non-physical mind emerge?
However, if modern thought largely rejects Cartesian dualism, it has not
freed itself from the Cartesian dilemmas.
To take but one case, consider identity theory in the philosophy of
mind. According to this position, mind
states are brain states. Thus my
pleasure as I eat an ice cream sundae (with my special bourbon chocolate
sauce!) just is a particular pattern of neurons firing in my brain. The more or less obvious problem is that
there doesn’t seem to be anything in my brain that looks, tastes, or smells
like an ice cream sundae.
Almost all modern theories of mind remain
trapped in these confines. Just as
ancient monists tried to resolve the dilemma by arguing that change and
diversity were illusions, so modern eliminative materialists have argued that
mental states do not actually exist.
Such theories are, I submit, symptoms of frustration.
In this essay, I will attempt something similar
to Socrates’ strategy in the Republic. There he presents an account of justice in
the soul by articulating justice in a political regime. This is legitimate, on the supposition that
justice is the same thing, the same idea,
in an individual mind as in a political community. I will focus on the idea of autonomy, proceeding
under a similar supposition. Autonomy is
a vital concept both in biological and political thought. It is the focus of some philosophers of
biology who propose that it is essential to explaining what living organisms
are and how they differ from non-living matter.
It is obviously important to descriptive political science and normative
political theory.
I will argue that autonomy is best understood as
a Platonic idea. Whether in a single
cell, resisting the influences of its environment, or in a group of hunter
gathers, resisting the influence of a bully, it is the same idea. My Platonism will be grounded in evolutionary
history. I submit that this approach
will point us toward a resolution of the modern problematic and hence toward a
richer and more robust understanding both of mind and matter. I will also suggest that it helps us towards
a healthy and substantial understanding of political liberty.
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