Does life have meaning? What can we know? (Philosophy)

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Aquinas and Rose on Faith and Reason

Daniel B. Gallagher

Summary

Thomas Aquinas taught that faith and knowledge are mutually interdependent and reciprocally interpenetrating. By exploring the “knowledge” (epistBmB), “opinion” (doxa), and faith of Rose and the other Lost castaways, we can see why Aquinas held all three to be necessary. Knowledge supports faith, and faith perfects knowledge. The refusal to allow knowledge to be perfected by faith is “sloth” (acedia), and the refusal to allow reason to function within the context of faith is “presumption” ( praesumptio). Aquinas invites us to probe what we believe with our minds, and to allow our minds to lead us to belief.

If there is one thing Rose Henderson’s fellow castaways know about her, it is this: Rose “knows.” Hurley knows that Rose does not merely hope her husband Bernard is still alive, she knows he is. Charlie knows that Rose does not merely think he will receive help from on high if he asks for it, she knows he will. Locke knows that Rose not only surmises that their plight will come to an end, she knows it will – and knows that Locke knows the same. Her husband Bernard knows that Rose not only feels that the island has healed her from terminal cancer, she knows it has. Everybody knows that Rose knows. But nobody can refrain from asking, “How does Rose know?” She baffles everyone, including her husband Bernard, with a rather ordinary response: “I just know.”

The island Rose and her castaway companions find themselves stranded on becomes a place where everyone is challenged to give reasons for hope – not only in words, but in action. Some, placing their hope in an unseen satellite, decide to pitch in and help Bernard construct a large SOS sign on the beach. Others, placing their hope in what lies beyond the sea, get to work building an ersatz raft. Some gradually begin to place their hope in the island itself and relocate themselves inland. Some place their hope in the transceiver, others in firearms. Every time the castaways act upon certain hopes, they find themselves wrestling with how to best articulate them – to others and to themselves. All are confronted with the issue of

Irwin, W., & Johnson, D. K. (Eds.). (2010). Introducing philosophy through pop culture : From socrates to south park, hume to house. Retrieved from http://ebookcentral.proquest.com Created from utsa on 2019-11-29 10:27:41.

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120 Daniel B. Gallagher

whether hope is reasonable or unreasonable, rational or irrational. Rose, however, sets herself apart. While never wavering, she offers no explanation for her faith.

Thomas Aquinas (1225 –74), one of the most brilliant philosophical minds of the medieval era, taught that such a response holds no water (the one thing never lacking on the island!). Faith and knowledge are interdependent upon each other and interpenetrate one another. Aquinas would have admired the unshakeable certainty of Rose’s faith, but he would have cautioned her against letting faith trump the role of her natural ability to reason. Aquinas turned to Christian scripture in support of his conviction that faith cannot do without solid reason to buttress it: “Always be ready to give an explanation to anyone who asks you for a reason for your hope” (1 Peter 3:15).

The character of Rose Henderson spurns us diehard Lostaways to confront the same issue week after week as we throw ourselves onto the living room couch and join our friends on the island: just what is the relationship between faith and reason? Are they absolutely separate and distinct? Do they overlap? Or are they one and same thing? Is faith a type of knowledge? If so, can we give a more convincing rationale for why we believe the things we believe than simply, “I just know?”

What Can We Know?

Humans, of course, did not have to wait until the crash of Oceanic Flight 815 to begin asking such questions. They have been around as long as philosophy itself. Socrates, in fact, could not help but wonder whether all of our “knowledge” might not be anything more than mere “opinion.” Socrates’ star pupil Plato, in his Republic, continues to refine these two types of cognition. Knowledge (epistBmB in Greek) is the type of certitude we have only after all the sensible changeable characteristics of things are somehow left aside. Consequently, knowledge of a thing is only had when we fully possess the “idea” or pure “form” (eidos) of a thing. Opinion (doxa) refers to the imperfect, but by no means false, knowledge that we have of things through our senses.

So is faith one of these? Is it something like “knowledge” (epistBmB) or “opinion” (doxa)? When Rose says that she knows her husband is still alive, does she mean that her certitude even surpasses the concrete, sensible experience she had of him when they shook hands for the first time on that blistery winter night in Brooklyn (“SOS”)? If so, then perhaps faith is something like epistBmB. Or does she mean that she is quite satisfied with accepting even the fuzziest of premonitions as if they were cold hard facts? If so, then maybe faith is something like doxa.

Aquinas, following the lines of a highly influential definition of faith proposed by Hugh of St. Victor in the twelfth century, asserts that faith is actually “mid-way between knowledge and opinion.”1 He believes that faith shares both in the certainty

1 Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologica: Complete English Edition in Five Volumes (Westminister: Christian Classics, 1981), vol. 2, pp. 873 – 4 (I-II, q. 67, a. 3).

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Aquinas and Rose on Faith and Reason 121

we associate with knowledge, as well as in the imperfection characterizing opinion. In fact, “to be imperfect as knowledge is the very essence of faith.”2

The ongoing saga of Lost teaches us that we can begin to penetrate this paradox only after we have clarified the object of faith. We must ask ourselves what, or whom, we ultimately place our faith in. Aquinas, who is a master at making distinctions, begins by distinguishing between the “formal” object of faith from the “material” object of faith. Though the material object of faith is God, the formal object – that is, the aspect under which the believer views God as the object of his or her belief – is “first truth.”3

Just what is Aquinas up to here? He is making what philosophers like to call a “conceptual distinction.” A conceptual distinction is a distinction based on the variety of ways we can conceive a single identical object. A single piece of wood, for example, can be “conceived” either as a branch (when it is attached to a tree), a stick (when it is lying on the ground), or a walking-staff (when I pick it up and use it during my hike). Similarly, “God” and “first truth” refer to the same object (i.e., the divine being), but through different conceptual lenses. “God” refers to the omnipotent, omniscient being that is the source of everything. “First truth” refers to that same being, but with reference to the fact that such a being is the ground of all other truths. We could say that “God” refers to the divine being in a descending way (i.e., all things proceed “downward” from God), whereas “first truth” refers to God in an ascending way (i.e., all truths lead “upward” to God). Someday, when we behold God face to face, we will know the divinity perfectly and directly simply as “truth.” In the meantime, since our knowledge of the divinity is only imperfect and indirect, we are only able to conceive God as the “first truth” among many truths. We reason to the existence of a “first truth” because other truths appear to us as contingent and dependent. As we shall see, Rose falls into the trap of equating the power of “first truth” with all contingent truths. Her faith in a higher power tends to trump the uncertain and imperfect contingencies in the finite world. She claims to “know” things that she really only “believes.”

Let’s take the filming of the show we love so much as an example. I believe that the episodes of Lost are truly being filmed on the Hawaiian island of Oahu. I have not been there to watch the filming take place, nor can I deduce from watching the television program itself that it is indeed filmed there. I accept the statement that “Lost is filmed on the island of Oahu” as true because I heard the producers say this and I believe the producers are credible. Based on their testimony, I believe that Lost is filmed on Oahu; I don’t really know it as scientific knowledge. I have reasonable grounds for believing that when the producers tell me that Lost is filmed on Oahu, they are telling the truth. Although knowledge and belief seem at first to be the same, they are in fact quite different. The actors who have been filmed on Oahu have direct knowledge that

2 Summa Theologica, vol. 2, pp. 873 – 874 (I-II, q. 67, a. 3). 3 Summa Theologica, vol. 3, pp. 1185, 1191, 1193 (II-II, q. 4, a. 1; q. 5, a. 1; q. 5, a. 3). See also The Disputed Questions on Truth, trans. Robert W. Mulligan (Chicago: Henry Regnery, 1952), vol. 2, pp. 204 –206 (Quaestiones disputatae de veritate, q. 14, a. 1).

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122 Daniel B. Gallagher

the show has been filmed on Oahu. My belief that the show has been filmed on Oahu is indirect: it depends on the truth of the producers’ testimony, which in turn depends on where the filming has taken place. This is to say that my belief depends on a prior truth.

Chain of Truth

The truths to which the Lost survivors most often give their assent depend on prior truths. The truth of what Shannon claims to hear though the transceiver depends on the accuracy of her translation of the French. Assuming her translation is accurate, the truth of what is being said by the mysterious French voice (which ends up belonging to Rousseau) depends on whether the call for distress is still valid 16 years later. The list of dependencies goes on and on. All of the castaways’ deliberations are, in fact, based on an “if.” If there are other people on the island, then perhaps they can work together to find a way off. But this depends on whether or not the “others” are truly friendly. The dependence of every truth on a prior truth is what in fact keeps us coming back for the next episode.

The writers of Lost capitalize on the fact that human beings tend to place their ultimate hope in something, someone, or somewhere that ultimately fails to satisfy. In his life prior to the air crash, Jack placed his hope in his ability to cure people (“Man of Science, Man of Faith” and “The Hunting Party”). Kate placed her hope in her ability to deceive people (“Born to Run” and “Tabula Rasa”). Jin placed his hope in the employment offered to him by his father-in-law (“In Translation” and “Exodus”). Charlie placed his hope in his big brother Liam (“The Moth” and “Fire + Water”), Claire in the psychic Mr. Malkin (“Raised by Another”), and Locke in his biological father Anthony Cooper (“Deus Ex Machina”). The Virgin Mary statues containing contraband become a potent and multi-layered symbol of the human tendency to place ultimate hope in something non-divine, even when that something – or someone – should ultimately lead us to the divine (“House of the Rising Sun,” “Exodus,” and “The 23rd Psalm”). Because the hopes of so many of Lost’s characters had been shattered even before they found themselves on the island, they wander around carrying a heavy load of betrayal and regret during their plight.

Rose Colored Glasses

Except perhaps Rose. While everybody around her anxiously tries to make sense of what has happened, Rose is merely grateful to be alive. While others see only doom and gloom on the horizon, Rose accepts the small blessings that come her way.

Rose keeps her distance from what Aquinas calls acedia in Latin, the greatest sin against faith. Though it is often translated as “sloth,” acedia is a much more technical term. It designates a type of torpor preventing a person from enjoying

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Aquinas and Rose on Faith and Reason 123

things that are genuinely good. It is a spiritual paralysis that stymies the ability to look beyond the bad. It is “to look upon some worthwhile good as impossible to achieve, whether alone or with the help of others,” and it can “sometimes domin- ate one’s affections to the point that he begins to think he can never again be given aspirations towards the good.”4

No one on the island shows clearer signs of acedia than Charlie Pace, to whom Rose offers comfort early in the first season of the series. At that time, Charlie and Rose were standing on opposite ends of the spectrum spanning from hope to despair, from faith to acedia. Charlie was once religious, faithful, and repentant. He sought reconciliation for the sins he committed during the wild, early days of DriveShaft, only to be lured back into heroin addiction by none other than his big brother Liam – the handsome lead singer (“The Moth”). Charlie has been so deeply hurt through relationships with his father (“Fire + Water”), his brother, and Lucy – the one person whose trust he won only to abuse (“Homecoming”) – that he is all but completely incapable of entrusting himself to anybody or anything. Though he remembers how he was once a religious man, he now thinks he can “never again be given aspirations towards the good.”

Just at the moment when it seems Charlie would never dig himself out of his deep acedia, Rose reminds him that faith is never impossible (“Whatever the Case May Be”). “It’s a fine line between denial and faith,” she says to him as they sit together in the dark on the beach. “It’s much better on my side.” She then reminds Charlie of what he once knew, but finds impossible anymore to do: “You need to ask for help.” At this, Charlie breaks down and sobs, preparing him for the grueling road to recovery from addiction with Locke’s help.

Does Rose Really Know?

Rose herself, however, misdirects her faith. While she seems to rise above the fickle fortunes that distress everyone else, she is not immune from the temptation to mistake what Aquinas calls “first truth” for the truth itself. In other words, she claims to know what in reality she only believes. To understand the temptation, we have to take a closer look at what Aquinas teaches about the relationship between faith and reason.

Reason, Aquinas teaches, is the faculty by which human beings attain knowledge of what is real. Any such knowledge, Aquinas holds, must be acquired through the senses. “Nothing comes to exist in the intellect which does not first exist in the senses.”5 In this way, Aquinas distinguishes himself from the Platonic tradition we considered earlier. Though it is true that sensible realities are always in a state of flux and instability, our intellect is able to abstract a stable nature from reality that allows us to call it “x.”

4 Summa Theologica, vol. 3, p. 1256 (II-II, q. 20, a. 4). 5 Summa Theologica, vol. 4, pp. 1896 –1897 (II-II, q. 173, a. 2) and vol. 3, pp. 278 –9 (I, q. 55, a. 2).

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124 Daniel B. Gallagher

The fact that we can be mistaken about the natures of things, or the fact that we can have sensible experience of things without being able to articulate fully their respective natures, need not bother us too much. For the first several episodes, the “smoke monster” remained just as enigmatic to Lost’s characters as it did to its viewers. Later, Locke encounters it in the jungle (“Walkabout”), though we the viewers are not given a chance to look at it. Finally, when Mr. Eko stares it down “face to face” during his hike with Charlie (“The 23rd Psalm”), we are offered a good, long look at it. We see that it is composed of dark, black smoke, and that it seems to contain vague, flashing images within. There is more we would like to know about it, but we know enough about it to call it the “smoke monster” to distinguish it from other things. Our understanding of what (or who) the smoke monster is waits to be expanded, but it would be hard for us to doubt whether we have knowledge of it.

Do We Really Know?

If, as Aquinas teaches, all our knowledge comes through the senses, how can we ever attain knowledge of supersensible things? God, having no sensible qualities that can be seen or heard or touched, would be included among such things. Aquinas argues that although we can have no direct, sensible experience of God, we can come to know God’s existence by exercising our natural power to reason. Using Aquinas’s own terminology, the existence of God is not something obvious or knowable in itself (per se notum), but only by way of demonstration.6 Among the most famous of Aquinas’s demonstrations are his “five ways” in which he “proves” that God exists: by motion, efficient cause, possibility and necessity, the hierarchy of beings, and the government of things.7

The first two of these five proofs most manifestly begin with sensible realities and proceed to demonstrate that all finite things are dependent on a first efficient cause. In philosophical lingo, an “efficient cause” is not one that happens to be unusually successful in producing its effect. Rather, in the words of Aristotle, it is the cause which is “the primary source of the change or coming to rest” in a thing.8 The first of these efficient causes, Aquinas concludes, “is what all call God.” Philosophers continue to argue over whether the five ways can maintain their persuasive power if detached from the monotheistic Christian context in which they were formed, but Aquinas clearly believes that there is a reasonable, logical basis for the assertion “God exists.” That God exists is wholly within the grasp of natural reason; what or who God is can be partially penetrated by natural reason, but only comes to fuller light through revelation and faith.

6 Summa Theologica, vol. 1, pp. 11–12 (I, q. 2, a. 1). 7 Summa Theologica, vol. 1, pp. 13 –14 (I, q. 2, a. 3). 8 Introduction to Aristotle, ed. Richard McKeon (New York: Random House, 1947), p. 122 (Physica, Book II, Ch. 3).

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Aquinas and Rose on Faith and Reason 125

According to Aquinas, faith, insofar as its divine object infinitely surpasses the finite capabilities of the human intellect, can ultimately only be given by grace. Though unaided human reason can come to know that the divine being exists, it is unable to know the full nature of that divine being without the divine being’s aid. But we can prepare to receive faith through what Aquinas calls the praeambula ad articulos, or the “preambles to the articles of faith.”9 Philosophy can assert that God exists, God is one, and God is “first truth.” Philosophy can make other similar assertions because the human mind is able to deduce truths regarding supersensible realities based on its direct experience of sensible realities. Human reason, however, could never have come to know that God exists as a Trinity of persons, or that the second person of the Trinity took on human flesh, if it were not for the self-revelation of God and the gift of faith.

“I have made my peace” – Rose

Accepting God’s revelation is not such an easy thing to do. It is, so to speak, an all-or-nothing proposition. Rose shows clear signs that she has given everything to this divine proposition. This becomes more evident through her relationship with Bernard and the contrast between their attitudes of acceptance and non-acceptance. It begins the moment when Bernard makes his all-or-nothing marriage proposal to Rose at Niagara Falls (“SOS”). Only then does Rose return his proposition by informing him of what he must accept if she says “yes”: a wife who is terminally ill. This, so to speak, is the return proposition to him. He also accepts.

It is one of the more moving moments in Lost, but we soon learn that there are two different worldviews at work in Rose and Bernard’s relationship. Rose is at peace with the fact that she is dying. Bernard, though he initially accepted her, cancer-and-all, believes it’s worth taking every conceivable measure to stop her from dying.

Hence the trip to Australia to visit the faith healer Isaac of Uluru (“SOS”). Though it seems at first that Bernard’s efforts to find a cure for Rose are magnanimous, we discover a hint of selfishness in his motivations. In answer to her protestations against going through with the faith-healing ritual, Bernard begs her: “Will you try Rose? For me?” Bernard cannot help but put his faith into each and every worldly means that might lead to Rose’s recovery. Rose, on the other hand, has put all her faith in divine providence. “I have made my peace with what is happening to me.” She has accepted the all-or-nothing proposition of trust.

Aquinas teaches that the only thing that can elicit such a complete act of trust from us is a wholly perfect being – the first truth. Because this is a being which can neither deceive nor be deceived, it is the only being worthy of our complete trust. Aquinas quickly adds that this perfect being in no way undermines our freedom. Yet whatever trust we place in God is based wholly on the basis of God’s

9 Summa Theologica, vol. 1, p. 12 (I, q. 2, a. 2).

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126 Daniel B. Gallagher

own credibility. The act of faith is an act that transcends reason, but is by no means unreasonable.

Rose’s complete trust in this perfect being makes it impossible for her to receive aid from any other source outside of this being. Despite Isaac’s efforts to harness the geological energy that resulted in the miraculous healing of so many hopeless cases before Rose, he tells her, “There is nothing I can do for you” (“SOS”).

Though Rose calmly accepts, she makes a stunning decision: she will tell Bernard that she has been healed. She will lie to him.

Does Rose Presume to Know?

This is a critical turning point in Rose’s journey of faith. Her faith begins to trump everything else – even the moral rectitude of telling the truth. There is a strong allusion during the scene with Isaac that the “place” where Rose might find a home may not be the divine “heaven” she has hoped for.

The contrast between the respective theological and secular world-views of Rose and Bernard comes to a climactic point only after they are reunited on the island after the crash. While Bernard drums up support for his plan to construct a large SOS sign, Rose seems to have found a “home” on the island (“SOS”). Just as Bernard once searched frantically for a way to save Rose from imminent death, he now works furiously to save everyone from being perpetually lost. And this drives Rose crazy. “Why can’t you just let things be?” she asks him in exasperation.

Whereas at Isaac of Uluru’s house it was Bernard whose reasons were partly selfish, now it is Rose. What Isaac was unable to do for her, the island now has done for her. She “knows” that she has been cured of her cancer. Bernard feels as if he must do everything he can to help their desperate situation and get them off the island. Rose has found that the island has already saved her from a desperate situation. Whereas Charlie was guilty of acedia, Rose is now guilty of an opposite sin which Aquinas calls praesumptio (presumption). Aquinas defines “presumption” as “a certain type of immoderate hope.”10 The presumptuous person, though a person of faith, directs her hope (often unconsciously) toward one of God’s powers rather than toward God alone. Rose believes that this mysterious island has become an instrument through which God has worked a miracle in her life. Indeed, she even suggests that the island itself is the source of the cure. It has become the “place” of which Isaac spoke.

To Know . . . and Believe

The tension between two different ultimate horizons – secular and supernatural – is symbolized by the simultaneous construction projects of Mr. Eko’s church and Bernard’s large SOS signal (“SOS”). The church is a sign that the immediate, visible

10 Summa Theologica, vol. 3, p. 1256 (II-II, q. 21, a. 1).

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Aquinas and Rose on Faith and Reason 127

world is not the ultimate horizon. The letters in the sand are a sign that human beings must do everything within their power to save themselves. When Bernard insists that he is only trying to save everyone, Mr. Eko confidently remarks, “People are saved in different ways.”

Aquinas teaches that it is entirely possible to come to certain knowledge of certain basic realities – including God – that we tend to relegate exclusively to the realm of faith. The certain knowledge of those things, however, can only attain its true goal if one further assents to that which is revealed by God. Faith and reason are in harmony with one another, not in opposition. Faith does not abrogate the role of reason, but neither can reason wholly take the place of faith.

Rose is an inspiration to her companions because she is a woman of faith. But her faith has left little room for the role of natural knowledge. What she claims to “know,” she actually “believes”; not in the sense of doxa or opinion, but in the sense that those things she holds by faith pertain to a transcendent essence so as to be uniquely distinguished from those things she knows by the light of natural reason. The knowledge involved in faith is radically different from the knowledge involved in natural cognition. The latter begins in the senses, whereas the former is beyond the senses. According to Aquinas, the respective objects of natural knowledge and supernatural faith grant them each a legitimate autonomy. Rose is guilty of a con- fusion of idioms. She mistakenly believes that the type of knowledge distinctive of faith is interchangeable with the type of knowledge distinctive of natural reason.

Aquinas thought differently. “One should not presume that the object of faith is scientifically demonstrable, lest presuming to demonstrate what is of faith, one should produce inconclusive reasons and offer occasion for unbelievers to scoff at a faith based on such ground.”11 Rose doesn’t necessarily presume that she can “scientifically” demonstrate her faith, but her experience of being cured elevates all the things she once held by faith to the level of certain knowledge – epistBmB, to be precise. Rose knows, but Rose also believes. Aquinas admonishes her, and us, to know the difference between the two. At the same time, he urges us to probe what we believe with our minds, and to allow our minds to lead us to belief.

11 Summa Theologica, vol. 3, p. 1166 (II-II, q. 1, a. 5).

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