NOMINALISM (2) and another comment on Gaita

 

I’m afraid none of this is very original. Just trying to understand these issues.

Another critique of Nominalism: by denying analogical meaning, Ockham divorces faith from reason, the world from transcendence, man from God. Is that a fair criticism?

  

Analogy

    For Aquinas words can be used in three basic ways:

 

Univocally, i.e. same meaning in each case: e.g. triangle in geometry or phoneme in linguistic.

 

Equivocally, i.e., completely different meanings: “bank” (riverbank / financial bank)

 

Analogically, i.e., neither identical nor unrelated, but proportionally connected

 

A classic example: healthy

• A person is healthy (has health)
• Food is healthy (causes health)
• A complexion is healthy (sign of health)

The meanings differ, but they are ordered to one focal reality (health).

This is often called analogy of attribution.

 

A deeper example: good

• A knife is good (cuts well)
• A person is good (lives well)
• God is good (perfectly)

 

The meaning is not identical (univocal) but not unrelated either (equivocal). Rather, each case expresses goodness according to the kind of being involved. This is analogy of proportionality.

 

   The theological case: “God is good.” This is the crucial one for the Aquinas/Ockham debate. We do not mean exactly what we mean when we say “a person is good” (not univocal) but we also do not speak in a completely different sense (not equivocal, contra Ockham). God is good as the source and fullness of what creatures possess in a limited way. So creaturely goodness is participated, finite, whereas divine goodness identical with being itself.

   The use of the term proportional in connection with analogy has always confused me. Something like this is meant, sticking with the example of a good knife, person, and God: There is no single feature shared (like “cutting” or “seeing”). Instead, in each case, “good” means that the thing fulfills what it is, according to its nature. That is what unifies the concept, i.e., justifies using the same word-concept in each case despite the surface meaning differences. So the connection is:

 

             knife : cutting :: eye : seeing :: human : rational living

 

That is what “proportionately connected” means, i.e., that the same formal pattern (fulfillment) realized differently according to the kind of thing.

      At the risk of repeating myself, to say that analogical terms are “proportionately connected” thus means that they express a common intelligible pattern – such as fulfillment, perfection, or goodness – realized in different ways according to the nature of each particular, and grasped through concrete instances rather than imposed by a single abstract definition. This means that when we call a knife “good,” we are referring to its cutting well; when we call an eye “good,” we mean that it sees well; and when we call a person “good,” we mean that he or she lives well in a rational and moral sense. These uses do not share one identical definition, yet they are not unrelated either; in each case, the term tracks the thing’s proper perfection, what it is for as the kind of thing it is. The unity of meaning emerges not from an abstract formula applied in advance, but from recognizing across different concrete cases a similar relation between a thing and its fulfillment. Because these applications are grounded in the real natures and activities of things, they are neither arbitrary nor merely conventional. They are rather anchored in the intelligibility/reality of the beings themselves. Thus analogy allows us to speak meaningfully across different domains without collapsing their differences or severing their connection.

    Yet that which unifies these analogical concepts (and almost all interesting metaphysical and moral concepts are analogical) is not for Thomas an essence, strictly speaking. He terms such concepts transcendentals. The distinction can be put this way: in the strict Aristotelian sense, an essence is what can be defined univocally, which is to say, captured in a single account (genus and differentia) that applies in the same way to all instances, as with “human” or “triangle.” But many of the most important philosophical concepts, such as being, goodness, and truth, do not function like this. They apply across all kinds of things and therefore cannot be confined to a single genus or defined univocally. Their unity is not that of a shared, identical essence, but of an analogical pattern grounded in reality itself: for example, “good” names the fulfillment or perfection of a thing, though what counts as fulfillment differs according to the kind of being involved. Thus, when we move in central areas of philosophy like ethics, metaphysics, or theology, we are often not dealing with neatly definable essences but with these broader, analogically unified notions. This does not make them vague or subjective; on the contrary, their unity lies deeper than definition, in the structure of being itself, even though our language can only articulate that unity proportionately rather than in a single, univocal formula.

   For Thomas Aquinas, essence as such is grasped univocally (like triangle), but many of the most fundamental philosophical notions are not essences in this sense; they are transcendentals, whose unity is analogical rather than definitional. Thus, in cases like triangle or human, we can give a single definition that applies in the same way to every instance, capturing what the thing is through a stable genus-and-differentia account; here we are dealing with essences in the strict sense. By contrast, terms such as “being,” “good,” and “true” apply across all kinds of things and cannot be confined to a single genus or definition, since they cut across every category of reality. Their unity lies instead in a shared intelligible pattern – such as perfection or actuality (goodness) – realized differently according to the nature of each being, and therefore expressed analogically rather than univocally. The concept of essence is used univocally to mean “what a thing is,” but what counts as an essence varies according to the mode of being – fully definable in mathematics and many natural kinds, less so in moral and metaphysical contexts, and not in the same definitional sense when speaking of God. It is not that essence becomes analogical, but that it is applied within a reality whose structure is analogical. Thus Aquinas can preserve both the clarity of univocal definition where it is appropriate and the deeper, analogical intelligibility required for metaphysics, ethics, and theology.

   Analogy is structurally necessary for Thomist thought.  Without analogy theology collapses. If language about God were univocal, then good, being, wise, etc. would mean the same for God and creatures. God becomes just a bigger instance of the same kind of thing, which is to say, God is reduced to a creature. If concepts like good and being were equivocal as applied to man and God, i.e., if the words meant completely different things, then  “God is good” tells us nothing we understand and theology becomes meaningless. (This is Ockham’s view.) Therefore, only analogy allows meaningful, non-reductive God-talk.

     Aquinas’s project depends on reasoning from effects (creatures) to a cause (God). This requires that creatures really resemble their cause but in a finite way. Analogy provides exactly that: creatures are like God, but not in the same way. Without an analogical relation in reality, captured in the analogical use of concepts, there could be no inference from world to God, no bridge between reason and faith.

     At the metaphysical level, creatures do not just exist independently; they participate in being. Therefore, being, goodness, truth, etc. are said of creatures and God analogically because creatures possess them in a limited way, while God is them. Analogy is thus the linguistic expression of participation, which is central to Thomist thought.

     And analogy preserves intelligibility of reality. This connects directly to your my concerns. If analogy is rejected, then either reality becomes a set of unrelated facts (equivocity, Wittgenstein’s Tractatus) or everything is flattened into one level (univocity). With analogy, reality is a graded, ordered whole, where meaning flows from source to participation. Hence, science studies real structures, ethics reflects intrinsic goodness, and theology speaks meaningfully about their source.

     Thomist metaphysics requires analogy because it affirms both divine transcendence and creaturely participation; without analogy, one must either collapse God into the world (univocity) or separate God from the world entirely (equivocity), thereby destroying the possibility of metaphysics and theology as unified, intelligible disciplines. Analogy is the medium by which being, intelligibility, and intrinsic worth remain internally connected across levels of reality. So, translated into life, the child calls forth love, etc. Because being itself is analogically ordered toward goodness and that goodness is fully realized in God

  It is important to stress that analogy is not just a theory of words. It is the way a finite intellect can speak truthfully about an infinite source without collapsing the difference or losing the connection. And that is why, once it is weakened (as in Ockham), everything I have been worrying about – intelligibility, morality, the relation of world to source – begins to come apart. If analogical meaning is weakened or denied, then our language about God no longer bridges the gap between creatures and God. we can no longer reason from creatures to God in a rich way; moral intelligibility weakens; good as said of God and creatures risks losing inner connection; unity of knowledge loosens. Reason and faith occupy more separate domains. Less analogy means more separation. That is one way of putting what is at stake in this debate.

 

. . .

 

   Still, it would be unfair to say he denies meaningful God-talk. Ockham still holds that we can speak truly about God and believes that the concepts we predicate of God are not empty. But he argues against the Thomistic account of analogy, which posits that words like good, wise, or being signify in a proportionate but real way across God and creatures. Ockham tends toward a thinner semantics, which is closer to univocity (in some contexts) or equivocity. So the issue is weakening the metaphysical bridge.

    Once analogy is denied, several shifts follow (even if Ockham himself does not state them so starkly). The understanding of God is less grounded in metaphysical reasoning and thus more dependent on revelation and will. Morality is less rooted in participation in divine goodness and reality and more tied to divine command. And language is less expressive of real likeness as well as more cautious, less metaphysically loaded. Even if the connections between faith–reason, world–transcendence, and man–God do not collapse entirely on a charitable interpretation, their inner continuity weakens. In other words, by weakening analogical predication, Ockham removes the metaphysical framework that allows reason to move from creatures to God, thereby loosening the intrinsic connection between faith and reason, nature and grace, and human understanding and divine reality.

    For Ockham, this is not a loss but a safeguard, avoiding overconfidence in metaphysics, protecting divine transcendence, and preserving clarity and parsimony. Better a more limited but secure knowledge than a richer but speculative one. But I feel left with both a world of contingent facts and a God known only by will and revelation. Facts separate from value, reason from faith, and world from meaning. A leap toward the modern world.

 

. . .

 

Finally, I want to attempt a reductio argument against Ockham’s nominalism. Assume a broadly Ockhamist thesis: many moral truths do not arise from the natures of things but depend on divine command (so their obligatoriness is contingent). Consider three cases that seem to present intrinsic moral intelligibility: (i) a parent’s love for a child, where the child’s reality appears to call forth care; (ii) remorse after betraying a friend, where the agent recognizes having wronged someone; and (iii) honesty, where telling the truth seems fitting to what speech and trust are. Now suppose per the voluntarist hypothesis that God could have commanded differently: indifference to one’s child, betrayal without regret, or systematic deception. Then (a) either these acts would become genuinely good, or (b) they would remain intelligibly wrong despite the command. If (a), then the experienced authority of these cases – what Raimond Gaita calls the recognition of the other as someone – loses its grounding. “Love,” “remorse,” and “honesty” would track obedience to command rather than the reality of the child, the friend, or the practice of truthful speech. But that collapses the meanings of these terms: a “loving” neglect, a “remorseful” indifference, or an “honest” deception are not just counterintuitive, i.e., they are conceptually unstable. The practices themselves (parenting, friendship, testimony) would no longer be intelligible as what they are. If (b), then there are moral truths whose correctness does not depend on command. The child’s claim, the wrongness disclosed in remorse, and the fittingness of honesty would hold because of what these realities are. In that case, at least some norms are grounded in the intelligible structure of beings and relations, not merely in will. Either horn is problematic for the initial thesis: (a) empties moral language of its content; (b) concedes non-voluntarist grounding. Therefore, the strong claim that moral norms are (in many central cases) contingent on command alone is untenable. A more adequate account must allow that certain responses – e.g., love of the child, remorse for betrayal, honesty in speech – are fitting to reality itself, i.e., that value is internally connected to being rather than imposed from without.

     The force of moral experience, such as the love a child calls forth or the remorse following betrayal, presupposes an analogical connection between being and value; without such analogy, moral concepts lose their grounding in reality and collapse either into arbitrariness or emptiness. In these cases, we do not merely follow rules or apply conventions but recognize that certain realities stand in intelligible relation to fitting responses: the child to love, the friend to fidelity, speech to truthfulness. This pattern is not univocal, since each instance differs, yet it is not equivocal either, because the relations share a proportional intelligibility grounded in what the things are. Such recognition depends on analogy in the Thomistic sense, where terms like good signify a real unity expressed differently according to the nature of each being. If, with Ockham, this analogical link between being and value is weakened, then the connection between reality and moral meaning becomes contingent, reducible either to divine command or to human practice. But in that case, the intelligibility of moral concepts dissolves: either they become empty labels lacking intrinsic content, or they fragment into unrelated uses with no unifying ground. The very coherence of moral language thus depends on the analogical structure the reductio brings to light.

There is so much more to say about this.

. . .

Another footnote on Gaita

 

Gaita stands at a point where the phenomena he describes can be taken either as the end of philosophy (i.e., stopping at acknowledgment) or as pointing beyond themselves to a metaphysical account, as I am inclined to do. I assume Gaita would agree with much of my argument against nominalism: moral life is not projection or mere convention, and cases such as the child, remorse, and honesty are not arbitrary but present themselves as demanding acknowledgment. In this sense, the line of thought I am working on is indeed closer to his than to that of Ockham since both Gaita and I resist any account that reduces moral meaning to human imposition. However, Gaita’s discomfort appears not in what is seen but in how it is to be accounted for. Influenced by Wittgenstein, especially in his later philosophy, Gaita maintains that the authority of moral reality is not something that requires, or even admits of, further metaphysical grounding. When one moves from the recognition that the child calls forth love to the claim that there must be an analogical structure of being grounding this, Gaita worries that one is no longer attending to the phenomenon but substituting a theoretical construction for it. That, at least, is how I understand his position.

      This leads to his characteristic resistance to explanatory depth in this domain. For Gaita, moral understanding is fundamentally a matter of seeing rightly rather than explaining more deeply. The demand for a metaphysical ground, whether in terms of analogy, participation, or being, is, in his view, a misplaced demand modeled on forms of explanation appropriate to the natural sciences. The child’s claim upon us is not hidden behind appearances but is present in the reality we encounter. Or so I read him.

     Thus my reductio does not force Gaita into Thomistic metaphysics. While it shows that a thin nominalism cannot account for moral intelligibility, Gaita would deny that the only alternative is a metaphysical account grounded in analogy. Instead, he proposes acknowledgment without theory, in which moral reality is neither constructed nor explained away but faithfully described as it is experienced. To account for moral experience by giving an account of how the world must be in order to make the experience the experience of something real, he would argue, risks making moral reality depend on accepting a philosophical theory, thereby weakening its immediacy and authority. He seeks to preserve the idea that one can fully recognize the claim of the child without any commitment to a metaphysical framework.

   My position, by contrast, expresses the need for a deeper grounding. For whatever reason, I feel that if moral reality is objective and intelligible, it must be grounded in the structure of being itself; otherwise, it collapses into contingency or arbitrariness. Many believe that the world is contingent and arbitrary, and that skews how they think about and experience morality. Gaita believes, I think, that this demand for grounding misunderstands the kind of reality at issue, insisting that moral intelligibility does not require such an ontological foundation. I think we all have metaphysical frameworks, some which leave conceptual space for the moral realities he describes and others not.

      I feel there is a tension within Gaita’s position. He affirms the non-arbitrary, objective character of moral reality while refusing to explain why it is not contingent. Must he, therefore, confront a limit where he must either accept moral reality as primitive or concede the need for a deeper account?

    My reductio does not refute Gaita but perhaps brings his position to this limit. It reveals that the phenomena he so powerfully describes can be interpreted either as the terminus of philosophical reflection or as pointing beyond themselves to a metaphysical ground. The decision between these paths is not forced by the phenomena alone. My worry is that his descriptions (and experiences) depend on a silent metaphysical framework in the background and are only intelligible within this background. Thus metaphysics matters in so far as we have to fight to keep open the conceptual space in which such spontaneous responses of love, remorse, etc. remain intelligible.