The excerpt that follows is from Dennis Bonnette’s latest book, Man’s Nature: Spiritual, Immortal, and Free, which explains the body and the soul. Please purchase a copy and support the work of Professor Bonnette.
Read excerpts from Book 1, Book 2, Book 4, Book 5 and Book 6.
We live in an age in which, oddly enough, human beings do not even agree upon what kind of a thing they are. Scientific materialists usually think that man is simply a highly developed animal, which means essentially a very complex aggregate of interacting atoms which possess no unity other than that which chemical bonding allows. Man is not really a single thing, but rather is a pile of atomic parts upon which we confer a single name.
Others believe man is a composite of a spiritual soul and material body, but that the two components are not really united into a single thing or being. This view, espoused notably by Plato and Rene Descartes, denies the substantial unity of man – making him essentially, not one single thing, but two things – temporarily united while he is living and separated at death.
A third view of human nature is that offered by Aristotle and taught by St. Thomas Aquinas, namely, that soul and body are two co-principles united in a single substance, but whose soul is immaterial and spiritual and will, as such, survive the death of the composite. This more sophisticated explanation will be shown within this book to be the only adequate view of human nature.
The first two chapters of this work will thus demonstrate the true nature of man as a unified living being with a spiritual and immortal soul. Also will be shown the important distinction between mere sense knowledge, which we share with lower animals, and genuine intellectual knowledge, which is exclusive to man alone among animals and which is key to proving the spiritual nature of the human soul.
Specifically, the unity of the human substance is inferred from the direct experience of our being and acting as a single being, both (1) with respect to the unified manner in which we receive the incoming data from the various senses and (2) the manner in which we react to that data in such fashion as to command all the powers of human nature so as to produce a singular course of action in reaction to it.
Sense experience in all animals, including humans, can be shown to immaterial in nature – not strictly immaterial or spiritual, but at least something not extended in space like purely physical things are. This is proven from our sense experience of things as unified “wholes,” as when even a dog perceives the thousands of illuminated pixels on a television screen as the image of a single, whole, say, cat – whereas all purely physical recording or “sensing” devices do this by distributing the representative data over thousands or even millions of digital data points physically separated in space. Thus, the unifying character of sense experience demonstrates a certain degree of immateriality in sentient organisms.
Still, an even more important inference can be drawn from understanding the radical distinction between the universal concept and the particular sense image. It will be shown that human beings possess the unique ability to form such universal concepts and that this ability proves that human beings alone in the entire animal kingdom possess a spiritual and immortal soul.
Chapter two shows seventeen irrefutable ways in which universal concepts are essentially distinct from sense images as well as that the nature of this distinction also proves the strictly non-material nature of such concepts. While all animals exhibit the ability to form sense images, man alone has this unique ability to form universal concepts.
This latter point, in turn, is used to demonstrate the strictly immaterial nature of the human soul, that is, that it is in itself existentially independent of the material human body. Because the human soul does not depend on its material body for existence, the human soul does not cease to exist upon death, but rather exhibits the attribute of personal immortality.
In the book’s third chapter, the power to make free choices through the exercise of free will is also explained in such fashion as to show how such allegedly free acts may still be compatible with the principle of sufficient reason, which insists that there must be reasons for everything, including free choices.
Many thinkers have denied free will based on metaphysical determinism, while others claim to defend it by suggesting that scientific theories, such as Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle, reduce freedom to mere chance events occurring at the subatomic level. This third chapter defends the authentic notion of free will as a power to make intentionally self-directed free choices, voided neither by determinism nor by mere chance events.
The fourth and far more extensive chapter of this book deals with the implications of ape-language research studies, which were widely interpreted as proving that lower primates possessed true speech — just like human beings. This fascination with “talking apes” was manifested by the series of the “Planet of the Apes” films which were popular some half of a century ago and have begotten sequels even to the present time.
Chapter four also deals with (1) possible space aliens and (2) artificial intelligence programming in contemporary computers – although these topics receive briefer treatment than do the ape language studies.
The connection between these seemingly diverse topics arises from the standard model for naturalistic or materialistic evolution, which maintains that life arose from a cosmos composed of nothing but very tiny units of material waves or particles. In this scenario, it is maintained that organisms gradually developed sensation making them animals. Some of these animals then further evolved to become the kinds of intelligent creatures that we call human beings. Space aliens are viewed simply as organic life forms on other planets that have developed similar intellectual powers to ours. In turn, these powers have enabled them to achieve interplanetary travel so that now, perhaps, some of these alien creatures are visiting us on Earth.
Ape-language research studies date mostly to the latter part of the twentieth century. Many people still believe that these studies proved that apes can talk much like human beings do – thus blurring what most people have formerly believed was the radical distinction between human rational life and the merely sentient life of lower animals.
Moreover, the advent of artificial intelligence in computers has led many people to believe that computers can be programmed to think and, in some cases, even reflect on their own existence, just like humans do. In fact, some people claim that human immortality can be attained by downloading the conscious life of one’s brain into a computer which can then maintain one’s self-awareness and life as long as the computer systems are kept running!
Therefore, the extensive ape-language research conducted mostly in the last century becomes fertile ground in which to examine these conflicting claims about the relationship between animals, human beings, possible intelligent space aliens, and artificial intelligence as found in modern computer systems.
Chapter four addresses these questions mainly by in-depth analysis of the history and claims of scientists who conducted the ape-language studies, starting in the 1960s, which gave rise to claims that apes could be taught to speak using American Sign Language. Apes lack the vocal dexterity of human beings, but they certainly can use their hands to communicate. Some apes were also taught to use computer keyboards to express themselves.
The central question was whether such impressive chimpanzee and other non-human primate abilities refuted the presumed uniqueness and superiority of human beings or not.
The extensive analysis of the philosophical significance of ape-language studies in this book is one of the most complete treatments of the subject available online or in print. This content alone should justify the reading of this material that is not readily available elsewhere. While there are a number of essays on this subject written from the perspective of natural science alone, what makes this work different is definitive philosophical interpretation of the scientific data.
Starting about 1979, some scientists began to challenge the claims about ape linguistic skills. In addition to examining the earlier history of scientific investigations of ape language abilities, chapter four contains material initially published in 1993 which may well have been the first detailed critique of ape-language studies written largely from a philosophical perspective, specifically examining the scientific data in light of the Aristotelian-Thomistic philosophical tradition.
A careful reading of this work will enable the reader to grasp that which makes him essentially different from a chimp – a radical distinction which many college graduates today simply cannot explain. Indeed, if one cannot rationally distinguish himself from a chimp or gorilla, ought he even be qualified to possess a college degree?
Hopefully, this book will enable its readers to pass that test.
This book, Man’s Nature – Spiritual, Immortal, and Free, contains critically important explanations revealing the true nature of what makes human beings such unique and intriguing entities in all of God’s creation.
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A Positive Demonstration
While much of the preceding discussion pertinent to man’s uniqueness as a species has focused upon signs of his spiritual nature and, to an even greater degree, upon the failure of lower animals to demonstrate any intellectual ability, philosopher and theologian Austin M. Woodbury, S.M., approaches the question with a fresh and more decisive perspective (Natural Philosophy, Treatise Three, Psychology [1951], III, Ch. 40, Art. 2, 432-465).
He points out that the effort to explain all animal behaviour in terms of sensation alone could never be completed and might produce no more than a probable conclusion because of the complexity of the task. One need only consider the endless anecdotal data to be examined (Psychology, 437).
To avoid the logical weakness of this negative approach, Woodbury proposes an appropriate remedy by seeking direct and positive proof that brutes are lacking in the necessary effects or signs of intelligence (Psychology, 438).
For, he argues, the necessary effects of intellect are four: speech, progress, knowledge of relations, and knowledge of immaterial objects. Since each of these is a necessary effect, “if it be shown that even one of these signs of intellect is lacking to ‘brutes’, then it is positively proved that ‘brutes’ are devoid of intellect” (Psychology, 438). In fact, Woodbury argues that brute animals are in default in all four areas.
While the most significant ape-language experiments were conducted after Woodbury wrote his Psychology, nonetheless his insistence on the absence of true speech among brute animals remains correct as we have seen above. He points out that animals possess the organs of voice (or, we might note, the hands to make signs), the appropriate sensible images, and the inclination to manifest their psychic states—but they do not manifest true speech since they lack intellect (Psychology, 441).
What Woodbury seems to be saying is that, if brute animals actually possessed intellect, they would have long ago developed their own forms of communication expressed in arbitrary or conventional signs. Their failure to do so is manifest evidence of the absence of intellect. On the contrary, since all men do possess intellect, all men develop speech.
It is noteworthy that even a chimpanzee brought up in a human family learns no speech at all whereas a human child does so easily and quickly. While it is conceded that chimpanzees and other apes lack the vocal dexterity of man, yet it must be noted that they do possess sufficient vocal equipment to enable them to make limited attempts at speech—just as would any human suffering from a severe speech defect. Yet, apes attempt nothing of the sort.
While Woodbury does not, of course, make reference here to the signing apes, it is clear that their behaviour is to be explained by imitation and the association of images. While man may impose signing upon such animals artificially, their failure to have developed language on their own and in their natural habitat demonstrates lack of true speech. That animals possess natural signs is conceded, but irrelevant.
Neither do animals present evidence of genuine progress. Woodbury points out that “from intellect by natural necessity follows progress in works, knowledges and sciences, arts and virtue” (Psychology, 443) While he grants that animals do learn from experience, imitation, and training, yet, because they lack the capacity for intellectual self-reflection, they are unable to correct themselves—an ability absolutely essential to true progress.
Even in the most “primitive” societies, true men make progress as individuals. For children learn language, arts, complex tribal organization, complex legal systems, and religious rites (Psychology, 444). Woodbury notes, “Moreover, the lowest of such peoples can be raised by education to very high culture” (Psychology, 444).
Woodbury points out that the appetite to make deliberate progress is inherent in a being endowed with intellect and will. For as the intellect naturally seeks the universal truth and the will seeks the infinite good, no finite truth or good offers complete satisfaction. Thus man, both as a species and as an individual, seeks continually to correct and perfect himself. While apes are ever content to satisfy the same sensitive urges, men erect the ever-advancing technology and culture which mark the progress of civilization. The failure of animals to make anything but accidental improvements—except when the intellect of man imposes itself upon them through training—proves the utter absence of intellect within their natures.
Commenting on his third sign that intellect is lacking in animals, Woodbury observes that brute animals lack a formal knowledge of relations. They fail to understand the means-end relationship in its formal significance. And, while men grasp the formal character of the cause-effect relationship in terms of being itself, animals are limited merely to perceiving and associating a succession of events (Psychology, 445).
Woodbury distinguishes between possessing a universal understanding of the ontological nature of means in relation to ends as opposed to possessing a merely sensitive knowledge of related singular things. Lower animals reveal their lack of such understanding whenever conditions change so as to make the ordinarily attained end of their instinctive activity unobtainable. For they then show a lack of versatility in devising a substitute means to that end. Also, they will continue to repeat the now utterly futile action which instinct presses upon them. Woodbury offers this example:
“Thus apes, accustomed to perch themselves on a box to reach fruit, if the box be absent, place on the ground beneath the fruit a sheet of paper and perch themselves thereupon” (Psychology, 447).
This same example reveals how lower animals “show no knowledge of distinction between causality and succession” (Psychology, 448). Clearly, had they any understanding of causality, the apes would not conceive a “sheet of paper” as causally capable of lifting them significantly toward the fruit.
The fourth and final sign that intellect is clearly lacking in animals pertains to knowledge of immaterial things. Woodbury points out that our intellectual nature impels us to a knowledge of science, the exercise of free choice, the living of a moral life, the exercise of religion, etc. (Psychology, 448). Such abstract and evidently supra-temporal objects are so clearly absent in the life of apes and other animals as to need no further comment.
Thus we see that brute animals, including apes, are clearly lacking in all four of the necessary formal effects of intellect, that is, speech, progress, knowledge of relations, and knowledge of immaterial objects. From this it follows with apodictic certitude that lower animals must lack the intellectual faculties.
Image and Concept
Perhaps the most important distinction to be kept in mind when attempting to understand animal behaviour is that offered by Woodbury when he discusses the intellectual knowing of universal concepts as opposed to the knowledge had through a common image or common scheme—since it is very tempting to identify the two, as materialists are so prone to do. He presents this definition of the common image:
“But a COMMON IMAGE or COMMON SCHEME is vastly diverse from a universal concept: for it is nothing else than AN IMAGE OF SOME SINGULAR THING ACCORDING TO ITS SENSIBLE APPEARANCES WHICH HAPPENS TO BE LIKE OTHER SINGULAR THINGS, SINCE THEY ARE LIKE THAT WHEREOF IT IS THE IMAGE” (Psychology, 433).
Since the entire sensitive life of apes and lower animals (including the phenomena associated with signing behaviour) is rooted in the association of images, and since common images are so frequently confused with universal concepts, one can readily understand the errors of so many modern animal researchers. They suffer the same confusion as the 18th century sensist philosopher, David Hume, who conceived images as sharply focused mental impressions and ideas as simply pale and derivative images (A Treatise of Human Nature [1956], Vol. I, Book I, Sect. I , 11-16). Neither he nor the modern positivistic animal researchers understand the essential distinction between the image and the concept.
And yet, it is precisely in this distinction that the radical difference between the material and spiritual orders becomes manifest. For, being rooted in the individuating, quantifying character of matter, the image is always of the singular. It is always particular, sensible, concrete and, in a word, imaginable—as one can easily imagine a single horse or even a group of horses. On the contrary, the concept—because it involves no intrinsic dependence upon matter at all—is universal in nature. It entails no sensible qualities whatever, can have varying degrees of extension when predicated, and is entirely unimaginable. No one can imagine horseness.
No single image of a horse or group of horses would fit equally all horses—even though the common image of “a horse” would enable a fox to recognize sentiently the sensible similarities of all horses. In fact, this “common image” is more useful for the instinctive life of animals—for it suffices the cat to know the common image of a mouse in order that its estimative sense may sensibly recognize it as an object to be pounced upon and eaten. The intellectual understanding of the internal essence of a mouse may well be suited to the interest of the professional biologist—but it is hardly necessary or even very helpful to the famished feline predator (Psychology, 434).
In order to see more fully the significance of the distinction between mere recognition of a common image and true intellectual apprehension of an intelligible essence, let us consider the following example: Imagine a dog, an uneducated aborigine, and a civilized man—all observing a train pulling into a station at the same time over successive days. All three would possess a common image of the train which would permit sensible recognition of the likeness of the singular things involved, that is, the sequentially observed trains. (Whether it is, in fact, the exact same engine, cars, and caboose is irrelevant—since similar sets of singular things could be known through a common image.)
Yet, the sensible similarities are all that the dog would perceive. In addition, the civilized man would understand the essence of the train. He would grasp the intelligibility of the inner workings of the causal forces of fire on water producing steam whose expansion drives pistons to move wheels which pull the whole vehicle, cargo and passengers as well, forward in space through the passage of time.
Well enough. But, what of the uneducated aborigine? What differentiates him from the dog is that, even though he may not initially know the intrinsic nature of the train, his intellect is at once searching for an answer to the why of the entire prodigy. He may make what, to us, would be amazing errors in this regard—as did the natives of Borneo who are reported to have attempted to give animal feed to cargo planes which landed there during World War II. But search the causes in being of the inner structure of the train, he certainly would! And, most importantly, with but a little explanation the aborigine would quickly come to the same basic understanding of the train as the rest of us—while the dog still would bark uselessly at its noise.
So too, when man and mouse perceive the same mousetrap what is perceived is quite different. The mouse sees the cheese; we see a potentially death-dealing trap. Small wonder, then, the divergence of perspective between psychologist Pribram and chimpanzee Washoe concerning the proper role of Pribram’s finger in the context of their “communication!”
For at every level of communication it must be remembered that the perception of animals is purely sensory while that of man is both sensory and intellectual. Thus the mouse sees the cheese in a strictly sensory manner and as the object of its purely sensitive appetite. On the other hand, a man sees both sensitively and in the analogous meaning of intellectual “sight.” Thus the deadliness of the trap is evident to man alone. The mouse—from a past close call—may react in fear before the trap because it associates an image of the trap with an image of earlier (non-fatal) pain. Yet, man alone knows why the mouse should be afraid.
By now it should be quite clear that the available animal studies are entirely consistent with the above explanation. Moreover, this explanation is the only one which fits the facts—since animals, as Woodbury has shown, reveal that they lack the intellectual faculties which we possess.
