Philosophy of the Modern Era

General Characterization

The spiritual visage characteristic of the period of history commonly referred to as the Modern Era markedly diverges from that of the Medieval period. Among these distinguishing features, two stand out as the most significant: the decline of ecclesiastical authority and the ascendance of scientific authority. These two traits are intertwined with others. In Modern culture, secular elements prevail over ecclesiastical ones. States increasingly usurp the church's role as the governing body that oversees culture. The reins of power over nations initially reside predominantly with kings; subsequently, reminiscent of Ancient Greece, kings are gradually supplanted by democracies or tyrannies. The authority and competence of national states steadily increase throughout this period (with minor fluctuations), yet for the majority of it, states exert less influence over philosophers' views than the church did in the Middle Ages. The feudal aristocracy, which managed to resist central governments successfully north of the Alps until the fifteenth century, first loses its political and later its economic significance. It is supplanted by an alliance between the king and wealthy merchants, who share power among themselves in varying proportions across different countries. There is a noticeable trend of wealthy merchants entering the ranks of the aristocracy. Since the American and French revolutions, democracy (in the modern sense) has emerged as a significant political force. In contrast to democracy founded on private property, socialism first gained state power in 1917. However, it is evident that this form of governance, if widespread, must usher in a new cultural paradigm: the culture we shall address is predominantly "liberal," belonging to the type most naturally aligned with commerce. Notably, there are important exceptions, especially in Germany; the worldviews of Fichte and Hegel, to cite two examples, are entirely unrelated to commerce. However, such exceptions are not typical of their century.

The rejection of ecclesiastical authority, a negative characteristic of the new era, began earlier than the acceptance of scientific authority, which constitutes its positive hallmark. In the Italian Renaissance, science played a rather negligible role; the opposition to the church was associated in people's minds with antiquity, seeking its foundations invariably in a more distant past than the times of the early church and the Middle Ages. The first significant intrusion of science occurred with the publication of Copernicus' theory in 1543; however, it gained influence only after it was taken up and refined by Kepler and Galileo in the seventeenth century. This marked the beginning of a protracted conflict between science and dogma, in which traditionalists fought a hopeless battle against new knowledge.

The authority of science, acknowledged by most philosophers of the new era, significantly differs from the authority of the church, as it is inherently intellectual rather than governmental. No punishments descend upon those who reject the authority of science; no considerations of profit sway those who accept it. It conquers minds solely through its intrinsic appeal to reason. Another distinguishing feature of scientific authority is that it is seemingly woven from fragments and pieces, rather than representing, like the canon of Catholic dogma, a cohesive system encompassing human morality, hopes, and the past and future history of the universe. The authority of science only proffers judgments on what is currently scientifically established, which constitutes but a minuscule island in the ocean of ignorance. Furthermore, scientific authority differs from ecclesiastical authority, which proclaims its judgments as absolutely true and immutable through the ages: scientific judgments are empirical, made based on a probabilistic approach, and acknowledged to be subject to change. This engenders a mindset markedly different from that of the medieval dogmatist.

Thus far, I have spoken of theoretical science, which represents an endeavor to comprehend the world. From the outset, practical science, which aims to change the world, has also gained significance, and this importance has steadily escalated until it has nearly entirely supplanted theoretical science in people's minds. The practical significance of science was first recognized in connection with warfare; Galileo and Leonardo secured positions in state service through their projects for improving artillery and fortifications. Since the time of Galileo and Leonardo, the role of scientists in warfare has steadily increased. Only later did they begin to play a role in the development of machine production and the widespread adoption of steam and later electricity, with significant political ramifications of all this only emerging from the late eighteenth century. Science triumphed mainly due to its practical utility, and on this basis arose an attempt to separate this aspect from the theoretical one, thus rendering science increasingly a technique and increasingly less a doctrine explaining the nature of the world. The penetration of this viewpoint into the philosophical community pertains to the most recent times.

The liberation from ecclesiastical authority has led to the growth of individualism, extending to anarchism. Discipline—intellectual, moral, and political—was associated in the minds of Renaissance individuals with scholastic philosophy and ecclesiastical power. Aristotelian logic, as practiced by the scholastics, was limited, yet it instilled a certain precision. When this school of logic was rejected as outdated, it was initially replaced not by something better but merely by eclectic imitation of ancient models. Until the seventeenth century, nothing of significance was created in the realm of philosophy. In fifteenth-century Italy, a dreadful moral and political anarchy reigned, providing the soil from which Machiavelli's doctrines sprang. At the same time, liberation from spiritual shackles led to a remarkable blossoming of human genius in art and literature. However, such a society is inherently unstable. The Reformation and Counter-Reformation, as well as the conquest of Italy by Spain, brought an end to the Italian Renaissance along with all its virtues and vices. When the movement spread north of the Alps, it did not retain such anarchic characteristics.

Nevertheless, the philosophy of the Modern Era largely preserved individualistic and subjective tendencies. This is clearly expressed in the philosophy of Descartes, who posits that all knowledge is contingent upon the certainty of one's own existence, regarding clarity and distinctness (understood in a subjectivist sense) as the criteria for truth. Though less overt in Spinoza's philosophy, it reemerges in the windowless monads of Leibniz. Locke, a man of exceedingly objective temperament, is compelled, against his will, to defend a subjectivist doctrine, positing that knowledge consists of the agreement and disagreement of ideas— a view so contrary to his own that he avoids it at the cost of glaring contradictions. Berkeley, having obliterated matter, escapes from complete subjectivism only by invoking God, which most subsequent philosophers deemed inadmissible. In Hume's philosophy, empirical philosophy reaches its zenith in skepticism, which cannot be refuted nor wholly embraced by anyone. Kant and Fichte were subjectivists both in temperament and philosophical outlook; Hegel evaded subjectivism through the influence of Spinoza. Rousseau and the Romantic movement extended subjectivism from the theory of knowledge into the realms of ethics and politics, culminating logically in the thoroughgoing anarchism of Bakunin. This extreme variety of subjectivism represents a form of madness.

Meanwhile, science, transformed into technology, has asserted in individuals a practical perspective on the world, wholly distinct from any worldview discernible among theoretical philosophers. Technology has ushered in a sense of power: humanity is now significantly less beholden to the world around it than in times past. However, the power conferred by technology is of a social rather than an individual nature; an average individual cast adrift on a deserted island in the seventeenth century would have fared better than he could today. Scientific technology necessitates the cooperation of many individuals, organized under a unified leadership. Consequently, its developmental tendencies run counter to anarchism and even to individualism, as it demands a firmly structured social framework. In ethical terms, scientific technology is neutral: it instills confidence in individuals that they can work wonders but fails to indicate which wonders ought to be pursued. This represents its incompleteness. In practice, the aims toward which scientific prowess is directed largely depend on chance. Those at the helm of the colossal organizations birthed by scientific technology can, within certain limits, steer its course at will. Thus, the impulse of power acquires a scope it has never possessed before. Philosophical systems inspired by scientific technology are systems of power and tend to regard all that is non-human merely as raw material. Ultimate goals are no longer taken into account; only the skill of the process is valued. This too constitutes a form of madness. In our times, this manifestation is the most perilous, and it is precisely against this that sound philosophy must offer an antidote.

The ancient world succeeded in curtailing anarchy within the Roman Empire, yet the Roman Empire was a blunt reality rather than an idea. The Catholic world sought a remedy for anarchy within the church, which was an idea but never sufficiently manifested as a reality. Neither the ancient nor the medieval solutions proved satisfactory: the former because it could not be idealized, the latter because it could not be actualized. The modern world, it seems, is moving toward a solution akin to the ancient one: a social order asserted through force, reflecting more the will of the powerful than the aspirations of the common people. The enduring and satisfactory solution to the problem of social order can only be attained by merging the solidity of the Roman Empire with the idealism of St. Augustine's "City of God." Achieving this will necessitate a new philosophy.