Remembering Freedom is for the aspiring defender of truth. Standing in opposition to relativism, this book presents the wisdom of Aquinas, John Paul II, and traditional Catholic philosophy without becoming mere historicism. It offers a synthesis of complex intellectual traditions in a way that is both timely and relevant, giving clarity by integrating traditional ideas to a worldview for the modern age.
Remembering Freedom is designed to be both engaging and practical, articulating abstract concepts through real-life stories from marriage, military deployments, and more to show how "abstract" things look in the real world. If you are looking to enter into discussions, or if you find yourself wondering how on earth we got to the point we are at now, Remembering Freedom is the book for you.
Remembering Freedom is for the aspiring defender of truth. Standing in opposition to relativism, this book presents the wisdom of Aquinas, John Paul II, and traditional Catholic philosophy without becoming mere historicism. It offers a synthesis of complex intellectual traditions in a way that is both timely and relevant, giving clarity by integrating traditional ideas to a worldview for the modern age.
Remembering Freedom is designed to be both engaging and practical, articulating abstract concepts through real-life stories from marriage, military deployments, and more to show how "abstract" things look in the real world. If you are looking to enter into discussions, or if you find yourself wondering how on earth we got to the point we are at now, Remembering Freedom is the book for you.
“Logic invents as many fallacies as it detects; it is a good weapon, but as liable to be used in a bad as in a good cause.” Christian Nestell Bovee, (Day’s Collacon, 1895)
Recently, I was astounded to see a YouTube video featuring Michael Knowles entitled “Bar Fight.” Of course, as anyone would do, I watched it. I, of all people, can’t resist the urge to see one of my favorite commentators just open up in a fist fight. And, while that wasn’t exactly what I was treated to, I was not disappointed with the actual production. The video was not a physical brawl; it was a heated exchange of ideas in a very public space.
If you haven’t seen it yet, I do rather recommend it. There is lively participation from the other bar-goers, sound name-calling from the opposition (like every good bar fight has), and, of course, that one weirdo who somehow received the center stage for a brief moment. I never thought a bar fight would be where I find Knowles. But yet again, I was not really surprised either when I saw it published. Such theatrics are becoming more and more popular; and, rather than indicate a return of carousing and name-calling, actually herald a global return to the vicious and ultimate human sport of debate.
I will be honest: A Nashville bar would not have been one of the first places I would have looked for a publicized intellectual debate. Don’t get me wrong: A beloved friend and former squad leader and I have frequented many bars in several states, wherein the beers flowed as freely as our bandied positions went back and forth. We’ve even made our own bar from time to time in the comfort of our own homes. And, in this, we are not alone: alcohol, friendships, and deeply personal (dare I say spiritual) conversations often go hand in hand. There is nothing like the moderate shared drink to establish some camaraderie and loosen the tongue just a bit. So, though I found myself surprised at finding Knowles featured in a Nashville bar, the simple fact that there was a discussion happening and being videoed in a bar was not that surprising.
The debate itself did not surprise me. What did surprise me, however, was the public nature of the debate, the ground rules surrounding it, and the public figures participating. It was a formal affair, complete with microphones, voting, and some level of moderation. Now, that is not to say it did not devolve into insults, weird topics, and even weirder audience participation: It just wouldn’t have been a bar fight without all the rest. No, it was an honest-to-goodness fight, just not with fists. It was a fight of ideas and words. And the audience loved it.
The most surprising thing about the whole affair was how into it the audience got. They bought it, hook, line, and sinker. And, judging by the decibel levels from the crowd, Knowles wasn’t even unanimously agreed with—even though Nashville is his own turf. Some of the other ideas were looked upon favorably by the cheering (and booing) audience as well. And even though there was a clear loser in the fight, even his ideas were met with interest from some parties. All this to say: The public exchange of ideas was enthralling enough in a bar to merit active participation and to avoid calls to turn the TV back on.
The sport of public debate is back. It has been on the rise for quite some time. The world simply is not capable of operating under the radical subjectivity we have been subjected to in the past decades. People are increasingly interested in watching Knowles debate, taking classes from the Crucible and Andrew Wilson, seeing Charlie Kirk (requiescat in pace) collide with college campus, and so many more.
The return of the sport of debate allows us to witness, experience, and participate in something once commonplace in the great societies of history. And yet, even as discourse is returning to our everyday lives as the medium of truth-seekers, its existence in the public sphere is merely tenuous. While popular platforms, such as Jubilee, allow for a lot of good sound bites and might trick us into thinking that a debate is happening, there is no true exchange of ideas there. Ideas clashing and contrasting in the eyes of the viewer isn’t really a debate, nor is it a conversation between two parties. Rather, too often modern “debate” platforms allow for two people to talk right past each other, insult each other, and walk away feeling superior. What is lacking is an engagement with both opposing parties in a way that is simultaneously coherent in its worldview, willing to hear the opposing worldviews, and seeks to uncover the truth in a way that might be known. And so, the continued presence of a true debate relies on how we as a society can answer two questions: What does it mean to be “open-minded?” and What does it mean to “know” something, anything?
The first question, What does it mean to be open-minded?, is the prerequisite for all good-faith discussion. We begin every position from an opinion supposed to be true: No one personally holds a stance they think is wrong or absurd. A person may play devil’s advocate, engage in sophistry, intentionally mislead, or simply reject discourse in his stubborn attempts at “winning.” But every position we genuinely hold as true (including the timidity that causes us to end our advice with, “I don’t know, though . . .”), we hold only because we think it is actually right. If we did not think it was correct, we would simply be incapable of holding it as our own.
And yet, with the return of debate as a public sport, we find ourselves confronted with the clash of ideas in the open marketplace—and the opportunity to confront different beliefs from our own. How do we know whether we are right or wrong in our own opinions? We are in the precarious state of trying to hold some stable notions so that we are not mere driftwood people, and yet not hold our own opinions so true that we are the arbiters and ultimate judges of what is correct and what is false. Under this light, the question about what it means to be “open-minded” now becomes: How is it that I come to truly know about anything—including myself? And that is the first question I intend to address in this book.
The second question, on the nature of the verb to know, is clearly related to the first question. If we hold something to be true, then there must be some basis or metric by which we are able to judge its validity, value, and verifiability. But how are we to know that what I hold to be true is not merely my opinion? Since I have subjective senses, and everyone comes at the same object from different perspectives, how am I to know that I am right, and another’s genuinely held position is simply wrong? We have already stated that we must begin from a place of stability in order to actually reach traction in a conversation: Where do we find that stability from which to proceed? This is the second question I intend to address in this book.
In short, both questions can be answered with the same statement: There is an objective truth, and that Truth is personal in nature. It is not simply true that we, persons, encounter truth as subjective individuals with senses, opinions, and backgrounds; it is also true that the truth is a Person who beckons us come, recognize Him in the created nature we perceive around us.
It is true: We encounter the world and formulate opinions based on the data we receive through our senses. The data collected and interpreted by us is as unique and numerous as there are people on the earth. But if we left our considerations at that concession of subjectivity (as so many institutions of higher learning do today), we end up with a sort of radical relativism that leaves us free to accept or dismiss another’s statement as “your truth.” It is as absurd in the grand scheme of things as it is insurmountable to the individual arrested in this thought who goes no further.
This precarious and at times humorous predicament is captured beautifully by Chesterton in his book, Orthodoxy. There, he describes insanity (or, in our case, the absurdity of relativism) as somewhat beautiful—but recognizable or beautiful only in relation to and by the not-insane (or through objective truth). He writes:
“It is true that some speak lightly and loosely of insanity as in itself attractive. But a moment’s thought will show that if disease is beautiful, it is generally someone else’s disease. A blind man may be picturesque; but it requires two eyes to see the picture. And similarly even the wildest poetry of insanity can only be enjoyed by the sane. To the insane man his insanity is quite prosaic, because it is quite true. A man who thinks himself a chicken is to himself as ordinary as a chicken. A man who thinks he is a bit of glass is to himself as dull as a bit of glass. It is the homogeneity of his mind which makes him dull, and which makes him mad. It is only because we see the irony of his idea that we think him even amusing; it is only because he does not see the irony of his idea that he is put in Hanwell at all. In short, oddities only strike ordinary people. Oddities do not strike odd people (G. K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy (New York, NY: Barnes & Noble, 2007), 8).”
For the person arrested in their own subjectivity, their worldview is complete. They are content to hold the truth as mere point of view, as perception based on cultural construct and sense receptivity. And hopefully, by reading this book, you will know how to refute that absurdity—and realize how we got to suppose it true in the first place.
The Intended Audience for This Book
Any good writer, publisher, beta reader, or editor is bound to approach the project at hand with one primary question in mind: Who is the intended audience? I know they approach it this way because it has been the universal initial reaction I have received. This being the case, I do not think I am a very good writer.
My military career has taught me that a sentence is only allowed a maximum of fifteen words, that only the active voice is used, and that you must maintain professionalism and conciseness at all costs. Conversely, academia taught me to write so that my readers’ interest is kept and engaged. In addition, I am encouraged to write utilizing stories and examples to encourage my readers’ memory and understanding of the topics at hand. I am free to use the passive voice. Finally, I am able to engage with hard, abstract concepts in the spirit of dialogue and exploration. A good writer would take both of these styles and combine them to create a work that concisely communicates concepts while also providing a presentation worthy of a painter. I apparently combine the two into an amalgam that leaves many scratching their heads at its density and confusing presentation. It turns out that I am my own primary intended audience.
If you are like me, welcome to this book. You are a Catholic (or at least an active Christian) whose faith plays a consequential role in your decision-making and worldview. Personal freedom is important to you, as is upholding the dignity and freedom of the person (whatever that means). You see the world progressing toward chaos and Western society progressing toward an increasingly isolationist foundation. You consider yourself an ideological moderate, rather than extreme on one side or the other. You lament society’s decreasing orientation toward autonomous license and away from coherent cooperation. You wonder (or are interested in) how we got to this chaotic society and wonder if the path to sanity is in our rearview mirror or lies ahead of us. Finally, you enjoy open-minded discussions and are willing to follow them wherever they may lead—even if that road is twisty at times. If this is you, you are in for a treat.
If the above description is not you, don’t worry. You are also welcomed with excited enthusiasm. Though some of the concepts within this book are presented with technical language, I firmly believe the discussion held within these pages is accessible to anyone who seeks to engage. If you find yourself with little to no philosophical background, those technical subtleties may prove harder to grasp at first read. I would encourage you to do two things.
First, I encourage you to read slowly and find someone with whom to discuss what you read. Knowledge and understanding are intricately linked with being able to discuss that which we consume. And second, seek additional context for some points of discussion. For a coherent progression of thought, I tend to give a brief overview of where such figures as Plato, Aristotle, Kant, Ratzinger, and Pieper (to name a few) fall on the particular issue I am discussing. If this is your first time hearing any of these names, or you have not read any of their primary sources, I encourage you to spend some time getting to know those authors. Though the overview I give to each key author is accurate to my understanding, it remains a gross oversimplification of the author’s worldview. These brief summations do a disservice to the authors unless you are already familiar with them.
Now that you know who the book is for and what it is about, I would like to give you a brief overview of our conversation to come. Hopefully, the summation I present to you here will serve as a roadmap of sorts to return to. If I am successful, it will provide you with contextual relevancy for where our discussion is headed and where we have come from.
Overview of the Argument
The foundational principles of our discussion are epistemology, teleology, anamnesis (commonly—if not strictly accurately—called conscience), personhood, freedom, will, and desire. Both in a spirit of discussion and in an attempt to retrace how we got to our current societal premises, we try to move in a linear fashion, from classical philosophy through modernity. In short, we hopefully encapsulate where we are in society today and where we go from here.
Our first stop is establishing a connection between knowledge and the body. This is achieved through closely related Chapters I and II: They focus on how the person is related to the body by briefly exploring the science of epistemology, or the study of how and what we can know. Our discussion surrounding the necessity of the body for knowledge and action will move from epistemology proper to the subcategory of teleology. Teleology is the study of what we can know about a thing by its ends, or purposes. Here, we take as a given that God exists. Through the created reality, God reveals Himself to the person by way of encounter through a recognition of the moral order. The moral order itself is experienced in the physical world through the body and recognized by the dictates of conscience.
Our discussion will claim that conscience, not consciousness, is the defining point of personhood and subjectivity in human experience through the senses. A properly formed conscience orients us to see the world in terms of an encounter with God, created to bring us closer to Him—even though the dictates of conscience are often not such a formal recognition of God. We will also see that utilizing conscience as a defining point of personhood necessitates an inclination toward community with other persons. Human inclination toward a community of persons leads us to the conclusion that the male body is unintelligible without reference to the female body, and vice versa.
In both Chapters I and II, we touch upon an important ramification of assuming the Christian God exists: He is our Creator. As an Intelligent Being, God creates only with a specific end in mind. Every created reality has an end or purpose, which is essential to its nature and makeup. As a result, we will conclude that the gendered body matters as a way of encountering God through the physical world. The gendered body must have a specific purpose within the physical world, informing the person how they are to act toward other persons as they seek to fulfill their innate inclination toward community. Through the course of Chapters I and II, we discuss epistemology (how and what we know), teleology (knowing things according to their purpose), and anamnesis. Anamnesis is a technical term in Christian writing coined by Cardinal Ratzinger as a specific way of speaking of the conscience. Though these topics may seem an abstract technical beginning, they constitute a necessary part of our larger discussion.
Introduced through Chapters I and II, our discussion of anamnesis continues in Chapter III. Utilizing the writings of Cardinal Ratzinger, we discuss how anamnesis within the soul is aware of God, even if only subconsciously. It orients the person toward Him through a recognition upon encounter. This primal awareness of God stems from knowledge of the divine, which has been instilled into the heart of Man from the moment of the person’s creation. Conscience demands the human person seek and encounter the truth about God in the physical world, orienting the actor toward constantly choosing God as the Chief Good which truly makes Man happy. As a result, it will follow that freedom is an essential characteristic of the person, and an attribute which must always be championed and protected. What is more, acting through freedom in the pursuit of adhering to conscience allows the individual to actually know themselves and be more in touch with their own identity, since they will be engaging in activity that is already present within themselves as those specific ways they encounter God.
We continue in Chapter III to address the grave confusion regarding the nature of freedom today, present as one of the central dilemmas in society and a key component to the equality paradox. This confusion stems from misconceptions of freedom, construed as an autonomous license—a capacity not to choose to pursue what brings us happiness but rather to decide whether we wish to pursue happiness or evil. These misconceptions are inherited from the philosophies of modernity, particularly evident in the writings of William of Ockham. The idea that one is more free only insofar as he is able to choose without external influence contradicts our concept of personhood through the conscience. The claim of conscience is that God Himself, a Person external to the human subject, has placed this inner orientation toward the good within the heart of the person. The correct understanding of the freedom found within the human person and how it relates to Man as a body-soul composite endowed with reason is the concluding topic of this chapter.
Concluding the Introduction
Michael Knowles is no small figure within the public sphere. He has more than just a Wikipedia page. He has testified to Congress. He has a very successful show. He is an actor, comedian, cigar salesman, and debater. And yet, to hear him speak, one is not subjected to an egoism born from a sort of elitism in exclusively being right: Knowles, in spite of his correct positions, bears himself with a sort of humility and levity that is as disarming as it is remarkable.
Now, this book is most assuredly not a fan book about Knowles. He simply serves as a very proximate example of someone who successfully applies a virtue long known to be foundational to basic human activity: humility. Everything we do—debate, discern our personal preferences, create culture, everything—must first come from a place of humility. We must cultivate a sense of vulnerability and openness to a truth that lies outside our personal bubble, if we are ever to proceed along the road to knowledge.
One might think that our world today is simply bereft of humility. We certainly do not see openness, vulnerability, and good-faith discussions happening, even as we see a rise in debate within the public sphere. It might seem that the world no longer has humility might be a fair conclusion. I, however, agree with Chesterton when he offers an alternate view.
Again, turning to Orthodoxy, we find Chesterton suggesting there is not so much an absence of humility in the world as much as there is a misplaced humility. He writes:
“Modesty has moved from the organ of ambition. Modesty has settled upon the organ of conviction; where it was never meant to be. A man was meant to be doubtful about himself, but undoubting about the truth; this has been exactly reversed. Nowadays the part of a man that a man does assert is exactly the part he ought not to assert—himself. The part he doubts is exactly the part he ought not to doubt—the Divine Reason . . . we are on the road to producing a race of men too mentally modest to believe in the multiplication table. We are in danger of seeing philosophers who doubt the law of gravity as being a mere fancy of their own (Chesterton, Orthodoxy, 24).”
Humility with regard to oneself is simply paramount to any knowledge or exchange of ideas. When the truth is personal, we are tasked with not so much cataloguing data as much as we are learning what that person reveals about themselves. We reveal ourselves to that person in response.
And so, with no small amount of humility, I welcome you to the discussion contained within the book that follows. There are not many (if any) original ideas that you will find herein; I, like so many before me, stand on the shoulders of Giants, and relate other authors’ works to my own musings.
And yet, though you may not find originality in the pages that come after, you may find a unique perspective in how they relate to each other. If nothing else, I hope you will find them to be a roadmap which can lead back to a correct anthropological understanding of Man’s epistemology. From that foundational understanding of Man, the operations of his intellect, the nature of Truth, and Man’s freedom in relation to that Truth, I hope my esteemed readers will find themselves well-equipped to take their place behind the microphone. Enter into the public sphere of debate! Boldly defend yourselves in the open marketplace of ideas! And, above all, I hope and encourage you to find yourselves as willing participants in a life aligned with knowledge of the Truth.
Let us begin.
Connor Curley is a brilliant, intelligent man. I know this because his book, Remembering Freedom, is well above this reviewer’s pay grade, and I’m told I’m a smart guy. This book may very well be one of the most intelligent things you’ll read from a small press when it comes to Greek philosophy and Catholic thought. However, it is either the most illuminating or the most opaque book you may read. Not helping things is that Curley lacks confidence in pursuing his ideas, writing things such as “I do not think I am a very good writer” and “there are not many (if any) original ideas that you will find herein.” He concludes this work by admitting that as “the time comes to begin putting words to paper, I am veritably plagued with fears, worries, and doubts.” Clearly, this work is not one written by a man who feels self-assured in his own work.
Part of the problem is that Remembering Freedom, as the author hints in the remarks above, relies heavily on direct quotes from secondary sources and does little to paraphrase what they mean. It is also full of what I would call bafflegab – sentences that may only make sense in the mind of the writer: “Anamnesis is indeed related to the intellectus form of knowledge inasmuch as it is passive.” This would be ironic, for Curley notes that his “intention is definitely not to write a philosophy textbook bogged down with technical differences.” There’s the kernel of a good idea here: the book strives to be about “where we are in society today and where we go from here.” However, Remembering Freedom doesn’t live up to that promise. Instead, the tome is more about how “freedom,” as described by the author, is “tied to a restlessness of the will, desiring goods only insofar as they lead to God.”
All in all, Remembering Freedom feels like a squandered opportunity. It’s the product of a person who has read a lot – there are about 200 footnotes in a work that’s roughly 250 pages long – and the mind that produced it is sharp. However, a lack of focus and self-assurance has led to plodding, and dare I say? perplexing work. It gets an extra star for effort, but it's either a one-star book that makes little sense to the layperson or five stars for being superbly thought out by a complex mind. You decide. My mileage varies.