Remembering Freedom invites intellectually curious Christians and philosophy readers into a conversation about truth, conscience, relationships, happiness, and what it means to exercise freedom well. What do you believe the classical philosophical tradition can contribute to contemporary conversations about human nature?

Philosophy used to progress in more or less a linear fashion. Someone would wonder something about the physical world, come up with a theory which best described what was observed, and develop ideas surrounding this theory. Others in the line of tradition would, in turn, read these theories, accept or reject them for any number of rational or pragmatic reasons, and develop their own theories to correct their predecessor’s which better explained what we could observe. Take for example the notion of a “person” as an individual subject with agency, autonomy, etc. The notion of person we hold today is actually absent from much of classical philosophy; it is a Christian injection in order to explain the Trinity. So, for early Christianity, Plato and Aristotle’s work might have been valuable, but wrong and lacking some key elements that would only be developed later on in light of a new factor (how there could be three distinct Persons within one Being). In this, classical philosophy actually fits the strictest definition of a “science:” humans developing theories to best determine what is observed. Sometimes what is observed changes through better tools, revelation, etc; sometimes what best explains that data changes.  

So it progressed from age to age, each generation in conversation with those who had come before – almost never simply accepting but always revising. This tradition of building upon the shoulders of those who came before continued until, in the grand scheme of things, very recently. 

In Remembering Freedom, I talk about Descartes and his novel idea to reject everything that had come before so as to somehow establish a mathematically certain base upon which he could really know things. Now, it’s not fair to Descartes to suppose he came up with his novel theory in a vacuum by himself. This idea was already growing and festering among the leading academics and scientists of his day. Descartes is merely the first operable articulation of an idea he himself inherited from his own surroundings. This being said, the skepticism he introduced as the platform from which we are supposed to build is pretty radical – and has remained influential throughout the ages. His Meditations presents something new in several ways. From changing what kind of knowledge do humans consider “real” to how do we get to that knowledge, everything to how we interact with our predecessors was changed, called into question, and, over the course of several years, ultimately rejected for this new position.

Here’s the irony, though. Descartes’ position is that you begin from a place of complete and utter rejection, to come to each fact on your own verification in order to see whether it’s true. His successors, however, don’t largely follow his starting point. They actually enter into conversation with Descartes, begin building upon his deficiencies, and, essentially, “do philosophy” pretty much the same way humans always have done philosophy. The difference between classical and modern philosophy, then, isn’t so much how we do philosophy; the difference is in the underlying premises surrounding epistemology. 

Modern philosophy brings up existential questions about human nature that are, in short, absurd – but because of their underlying premises, are difficult to refute. Because of this, allowing the Classical Philosophical Tradition a seat at the table does more than merely provide historical context to philosophy; it allows this school to actually be part of the conversation again. And conversation with those who have come before is pretty universal when it comes to philosophy, classical or otherwise. Classical philosophy challenges the premises prevalent today, and asks questions which avoid the absurdist/invincible pitfall much of philosophy post Descartes has fallen into. 

Classical philosophy is not the ultimate gem of answers. It got many things wrong. Descartes and his successors have in fact brought up many valid and legitimate things problematic in classical philosophy, particularly surrounding the subjectivity of human senses and experience. But that doesn’t make Plato and Aristotle irrelevant. Rather than throwing them out, perhaps we should do what humans have always done – revise, add, and cautiously reject. Phenomenology is one such study that has begun to do this, and I look forward to it gaining more traction as the academic world moves forward.

Anamnesis is an important concept in your discussion of conscience. How would you introduce that idea to a reader encountering it for the first time?

Anamnesis is a very technical philosophical term in the Christian tradition, so I think this question is really valid. It is, as you said, important in Remembering Freedom’s discussion on conscience. In fact, it’s such a crucial point in the book that the remembering part of the title is a direct reference to anamnesis, borrowed from the Platonic idea that all knowledge is really a remembering of sorts. Though I like to think of it more as a re-cognating (recognition).

Many people might equate “anamnesis” with “conscience;” and we could forgive those who, in the interest of simplification, try to do so. In fact, for a very first-time encounter with the word, it’s not a bad stab at it: anamnesis is a function of our soul which helps us recognize what is good, and call evil what it is. Sounds a lot like the conscience, when described like that! 

The key difference is that word “recognize,” and that’s where conscience and anamnesis take almost parallel roads. Conscience, strictly speaking, is tied to the will. It is what causes me to actively choose the good thing, since conscience seeks to understand the good. Anamnesis, on the other hand, is a recognition and a resonance with the good when I encounter it, as if it were already written upon my soul. In Remembering Freedom, I used the example of buying my Father a Father’s Day card. The conscience tells me it is good to honor my Father on that day (in this case that honor looks like getting him a card), but anamnesis tells me to get this particular card, because in this card I recognize (or realize, or fulfill) my relationship with him. I am simply more myself and can recognize myself as more fully me by doing this good thing – a good thing which is only good because God has ordained it to be so. As I put it in the book, “whereas conscience would have me seek to honor [my father], anamnesis would cause me to honor him according to my  personality, which is precaused by the way in which I recognize what is legitimately good.” Conscience does the good, but anamnesis recognizes and encounters it on a deeply personal level.

I do not think that, truly, anamnesis and conscience can be ever fully separated. It’s not really possible to comprehend or talk about one without the other; the difference is subtle – but important. For Remembering Freedom, knowing the good and recognizing it is prior to actually doing it. And knowledge is a deeply personal activity: it is me, a person, getting to know and recognizing another Person, who is God. I do really think that without the Christian element, the distinction between conscience and anamnesis is negligible and perhaps even nonexistent. For my book, it is primarily a recognition of God, the prime good that we all desire in one way or another. And so, even though we see concepts about knowledge and memory as far back as Plato (a pagan), how we deal with it here in this book is something related, but different – and definitively Christian. I think anamnesis is the discussion in the book which comes closest to what some would class theology rather than philosophy. 

In the years to come, more work needs to be done to formalize and clarify the distinction between the two and the operation of anamnesis as a function of the intellect as opposed to conscience which is a function of the will. 

How can readers move from intellectually understanding these ideas to applying them in everyday decisions?

To start, one might say that there is a danger in intellectually understanding anything. Because humans are both physical and intellectual, we can sometimes suppose that just because we understand something we therefore have risen above the physical reality of that thing. Just because I know that Luke Comb’s song, Ain’t No Love in Oklahoma, for example, gives me a rush of adrenaline, and just because I know the reason for this adrenaline is because it reminds me of the thrill I used to get during rodeo season, that doesn’t therefore mean that I can expect to listen to the song and not feel that adrenaline rush. We could even go into depth about what adrenaline is, what causes it, its affects on the brain, and, through self knowledge, the relative good or bad decisions I personally make when under an adrenaline high. From this I would even know what it means for my mood the rest of the day, whether I should listen to it as a warm up before having a sensitive conversation, winding down for the night, etc.

None of this knowledge, though, makes me immune to the adrenaline rush. Though I might understand what will, could, does, or is happening, the thing itself is still happening around or to me. So it is with more chemical, instinctive realities such as adrenaline; so it is with more anthropological realities such as, you know, having a body. So this is the first point of moving from an intellectual understanding to an application in real life: these intellectually understood realities are not abstract things. They exist here and now, in the life around you, whether you understand them or not. And merely talking about them does not then mean that the intellectual has risen above the physical. The physical reality and consequences of objective reality exist and apply. 

I think that word of caution really sums up the mechanism by which readers move from intellectual reading philosophy to “applying” them in real life, too: these ideas are in the here, not the abstract out there. Understanding these things allows us to know what we are looking for here in the real world, and equips us to really recognize what is truly happening. 

For readers of Remembering Freedom specifically, remember that this book is constructed around a simple syllogistic premise: a) you are most happy when you choose to do what really makes you happy, b) in order to do that you must be free to actually choose that thing, therefore, c) in order to be free, you must first know (or recognize) what really makes you happy. It might seem like humans are creatures with infinite choices, each with the potential to make them happy; really, though, that’s not the case. It might seem like pleasure is a source of happiness, and indeed pleasure is in itself good; but often pleasure is merely a lesser good, not the real thing your heart was yearning for (that yearning would be, in a sense, anamnesis which recognizes and finds fulfillment when correctly addressed.) While you are shopping and feel the urge to buy all the carbohydrates in sight, are you really wanting carbs? Or are you hungry, and the choice that would make you truly happy is grabbing a small snack to raise your blood sugar and continuing with your predetermined list? Either way, just because you might recognize the reality of what is happening, that doesn’t therefore mean you’re immune to the chemical and physical things influencing your desires in that moment. You can’t understand your way out of reality.

You might think that the questions about happiness in Remembering Freedom are bigger questions than low blood sugar and grocery shopping, but the principles are exactly the same: choosing well in all of our tasks allows us to live as authentically ourselves, unique as we are. “How do I know things?”, “What do I truly want in life?”, and “What inhibits my ability to choose that thing?”, are everyday questions that can apply to our thoughts and actions, big or small. To recognize and apply the intellectual ideas of Remembering Freedom in the outside world, start there.

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