"If we admit for the moment that the rule of Pharaoh's empire was the external reason for the appearance of the monotheistic idea, we see that this idea, uprooted from its soil and transplanted to another people -- after a long latency period takes hold of this people, is treasured by them as their most precious possession and for its part keeps this people alive by bestowing on them the pride of being the chosen people."
-- Moses and Monotheism
Reading Freud's book has led me to think about his sources. As intellectually ambitious as he was, Freud wasn't going to create a new theory of Biblical scholarship working from scratch. He leaned on recognized authorities in the srea. One of these was Ernst Sellin.
Grapple with Sellin as a figure in the history of biblical scholarship? A task for another day, at least for me.
Showing posts with label philosophy of religion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label philosophy of religion. Show all posts
29 May 2011
07 August 2010
A Question About Kant
On yahoo!answers, a fellow calling himself Fitzy recently asked us to "discuss Abraham's sacrifice of Isaac in light of Immanuel Kant's categorical imperative?"
Of course, Abraham didn't sacrifice Isaac in the end. But presumably we can discuss his willingness to do so, and his binding of Isaac.
My first thought was this:
"I don't know if Kant ever commented on the story, but I would expect that he would have found the idea of it revolting.
"Kant's categorical imperative (in one of its formulations) says that we should treat every human being as an end in himself, never solely as a means to an end. Abraham's willingness to obey the Lord in this means that he was about to treat his son NOT as an end in himself, but as a means, as a game piece in the big game of obeying commands.
"That sounds pretty thoroughly anti-Kantian to me."
Here's a more amusing take on the story.
Anyway, another visitor to yahoo!answers informed me (and Fitzy) that Kant did specifically address this point, in a text available through the miracle ofGoogle Books.
Turns out Kant's reaction was roughly what I thought it would be, though with a twist. Kant thought that since we know (through Kantian reasoning) that a good God could not possibly have ordered Abraham to do such a thing, we must infer that the voice Abraham heard was that of a demon pretending to be God.
"If God should really speak to man, man could still never know that it was God speaking. It is quite impossible for man to apprehend the infinite by his senses, distinguish it from sensible beings, and recognize it as such. But in some cases man can be sure the voice he hears is not God’s. For if the voice commands him to do something contrary to moral law, then no matter how majestic the apparition may be, and no matter how it may seem to surpass the whole of nature, he must consider it an illusion."
[That's at p. 115 of the Google-accessible book.]
Of course, Abraham didn't sacrifice Isaac in the end. But presumably we can discuss his willingness to do so, and his binding of Isaac.
My first thought was this:
"I don't know if Kant ever commented on the story, but I would expect that he would have found the idea of it revolting.
"Kant's categorical imperative (in one of its formulations) says that we should treat every human being as an end in himself, never solely as a means to an end. Abraham's willingness to obey the Lord in this means that he was about to treat his son NOT as an end in himself, but as a means, as a game piece in the big game of obeying commands.
"That sounds pretty thoroughly anti-Kantian to me."
Here's a more amusing take on the story.
Anyway, another visitor to yahoo!answers informed me (and Fitzy) that Kant did specifically address this point, in a text available through the miracle ofGoogle Books.
Turns out Kant's reaction was roughly what I thought it would be, though with a twist. Kant thought that since we know (through Kantian reasoning) that a good God could not possibly have ordered Abraham to do such a thing, we must infer that the voice Abraham heard was that of a demon pretending to be God.
"If God should really speak to man, man could still never know that it was God speaking. It is quite impossible for man to apprehend the infinite by his senses, distinguish it from sensible beings, and recognize it as such. But in some cases man can be sure the voice he hears is not God’s. For if the voice commands him to do something contrary to moral law, then no matter how majestic the apparition may be, and no matter how it may seem to surpass the whole of nature, he must consider it an illusion."
[That's at p. 115 of the Google-accessible book.]
25 July 2010
The Problem of Evil
If a loving God is all-powerful, why is there evil? Why, for example, do the good so often die young?
Efforts to answer such questions are known, technically, as "theodicy," or less technically as the problem of evil.
Here is Josiah Royce, giving it a run from his own idealistic-Hegelian point of view.
"If our theory of Being assigns to every objective fact a character as a relative fulfillment of the ideas which refer to it, death also, in so far as it fulfills ideas about death, is to just this extent no instance against our theory. Or, in case you will to know the facts about death, would your will be fulfilled if you remained ignorant of death?"
Of course, if a friend of mine dies young and I am parted from him forever, I am unlikely to be consoled by the thought that this is part of my knowledge of death, so I am "fulfilled" thereby. Royce acknowledges this. Still, he says a bit later: "And in presence of death you do thus seek for the Other, namely for the meaning of the fact, for the solution of this mystery, for the beloved object that is gone, for the lost life, for something not here, for the unseen, -- yes, for the Eternal. And in this your search for the eternal lies for you the very meaning of death and of finite despair."
(I'm not endorsing this theodicy, simply quoting what seems to me a very well-phrased sample of such thinking.)
Efforts to answer such questions are known, technically, as "theodicy," or less technically as the problem of evil.
Here is Josiah Royce, giving it a run from his own idealistic-Hegelian point of view.
"If our theory of Being assigns to every objective fact a character as a relative fulfillment of the ideas which refer to it, death also, in so far as it fulfills ideas about death, is to just this extent no instance against our theory. Or, in case you will to know the facts about death, would your will be fulfilled if you remained ignorant of death?"
Of course, if a friend of mine dies young and I am parted from him forever, I am unlikely to be consoled by the thought that this is part of my knowledge of death, so I am "fulfilled" thereby. Royce acknowledges this. Still, he says a bit later: "And in presence of death you do thus seek for the Other, namely for the meaning of the fact, for the solution of this mystery, for the beloved object that is gone, for the lost life, for something not here, for the unseen, -- yes, for the Eternal. And in this your search for the eternal lies for you the very meaning of death and of finite despair."
(I'm not endorsing this theodicy, simply quoting what seems to me a very well-phrased sample of such thinking.)
13 March 2010
Leibniz and the Mind-Body Problem
The trickiest questions in modern philosophy, i.e. those with which I have struggled most for decades, are those that involve the body/mind (or body/soul) connection.
Does the thinking-stuff that is "me" really interact with the material-stuff that the rest of the world sees and knows as me? If not, how can the two "Mes" be said to be one? Yet if they do interact, how is that possible? It seems to "me" that the two are so very different that it is hard to get a grasp on this.
I recently encountered the blog of a self-described "contemplative scholar," a Quaker who teaches philosophy at a small college. You can make this discovery for yourself here.
He said he has recently been teaching Leibniz to his students in the Modern Philosophy class. So I free-associated on Leibniz in his comments section. I'll just reproduce most of that comment below:
Leibniz, if I remember my college years at all, had a drastic solution to [mind body issues], -- preestablished harmony. Mind and body only seem to interact, as two trains running on parallel tracks at the same (predetermined) speed might seem to be moving deliberately in concert.
This calls for a rather distinctive conception of God, one at odds with much of the revelation offered to each of the "peoples of the book," and it all seems a very high price to pay for the resolution of the mind/body muddle.
Just my two cents.
To which the Contemplative Scholar replied with a fuller account of what Leibniz said in that line, and with his own thoughts on the matter. I'm sure that any of my readers who follow the above link will appreciate his reaction.
Does the thinking-stuff that is "me" really interact with the material-stuff that the rest of the world sees and knows as me? If not, how can the two "Mes" be said to be one? Yet if they do interact, how is that possible? It seems to "me" that the two are so very different that it is hard to get a grasp on this.
I recently encountered the blog of a self-described "contemplative scholar," a Quaker who teaches philosophy at a small college. You can make this discovery for yourself here.
He said he has recently been teaching Leibniz to his students in the Modern Philosophy class. So I free-associated on Leibniz in his comments section. I'll just reproduce most of that comment below:
Leibniz, if I remember my college years at all, had a drastic solution to [mind body issues], -- preestablished harmony. Mind and body only seem to interact, as two trains running on parallel tracks at the same (predetermined) speed might seem to be moving deliberately in concert.
This calls for a rather distinctive conception of God, one at odds with much of the revelation offered to each of the "peoples of the book," and it all seems a very high price to pay for the resolution of the mind/body muddle.
Just my two cents.
To which the Contemplative Scholar replied with a fuller account of what Leibniz said in that line, and with his own thoughts on the matter. I'm sure that any of my readers who follow the above link will appreciate his reaction.
31 January 2010
The Invention of Lying
I finally saw the recent Rick Gervais movie, "The Invention of Lying," on Friday evening.
Here's a link to the wikipedia article, though let this be a 'spoiler' warning before you click it.
Anyway, the movie is very funny. It is also gutsy, because it is an implicit philosophical argument of a sort that would be extremely unpopular in the U.S. were it a tad more explicit. The movie protrays a society much like the contemporary northeastern US within an alternative universe in which humans have never lied, never created any fiction for that matter, and don't even have words to explain the possibility of doing so. Their movies are filmed lectures about dramatic events from the past, and indeed we catch a quick reference to an upcoming film that will be called "The Invention of the Fork."
The protagonist of "The Invention of Lying" evidently has some neurological quirk that makes him different from everybody else, in that he can "say something that isn't," as he puts it at one point, trying to explain it to a friend.
That protagonist, Mark Bellison, played by Gervais, is surprised to discover this difference about himself, and for the most part he uses it benignly. He does con a bank out of some money -- but that is presented as due to desperate circumstances. Later he helps a homeless man, and offers his mother consolation on her deathbed.
Here we get to the crux of the matter. There is no evidence in this film that any sort of religion existed prior to the "invention of lying." His dying mother is expressing the predominant view of this alternate world's human species when she tells him how frightened she is at the imminent prospect of entering "a giant everything of nothingness." Gervais makes her final moments comfortable by telling her that she is going to a wonderful place where all the people she has loved and lost over her lifetime are waiting for her -- a place without pain or want.
It is important to the philosophical weight of this movie that the reason that he starts telling stories about the nice place we all go to after death is a benevolent one, told by a guy with whom we can't help but sympathize. Yet it is still a lie. And one with unexpected consequences.
Unbeknownst to Mark Bellison, the doctor and a handful of hospital staffers are behind him, listening to this conversation. They hear all these things about the life after this one, and since there is no concept of "saying what isn't" in their world, they believe it. They want to tell people this wonderful news. Word spreads, and soon the protagonist is a prophet. Everybody wants to know more.
One incidental oddity that struck me is that their world has a history to it very much like our own. From various references one gathers that there was a "black plague" that took place in the 14th century, and that the use of terms such as "14th century" or "1st century" for that matter, mean pretty much to them what they mean to us. But why, in a world without religion, would the "1st century" be called that? Why would a count have begun then?
Another less-incidental oddity (it may be considered part of the film's message) is that the ability to lie is connected to an ability to consider the subjective aspect of other people. Mark and his love interest (Anna, played by Jennifer Garner) have an idyllic moment in a public park, which turns into his effort to explain to her that people are not solely what they seem -- that, for example, the overweight fellow lying on the grass to their left may not be the lazy loser he seems, but may be "the world's greatest poet," who gets his inspiration in this way.
Over time, Anna grasps the seeing-beyond-the-surface part of Marks' message, although she never does really grasp the 'lying' thing. So: are those two memes closely connected, or not?
There's something else that sticks with me. At some point soon after his first lie, Mark decides to help a homeless man -- a guy who has been sitting on the street with a sign that says, "I don't understand why I'm in the street and you have homes." This fellow is played by Michael Patrick Gough according to imdb. Mark takes him into the bank, says something to the clerk (we can't overhear this bit) and the clerk hands the homeless guy a large chunk of money.
Leter, we see a homeless man again. The shot comes and goes so quickly that I'm not sure whether it was the same guy, and/or the same sign (though another wordy sign was involved). What is the message there? That lying doesn't realy solve social problems? Or does this imply also that money doesn't really solve social probelms, and that even if the money had been given honestly the original homeless guy may have difficulties, such as an expensive addiction, that would have put him back on the street anyway?
Here's a link to the wikipedia article, though let this be a 'spoiler' warning before you click it.
Anyway, the movie is very funny. It is also gutsy, because it is an implicit philosophical argument of a sort that would be extremely unpopular in the U.S. were it a tad more explicit. The movie protrays a society much like the contemporary northeastern US within an alternative universe in which humans have never lied, never created any fiction for that matter, and don't even have words to explain the possibility of doing so. Their movies are filmed lectures about dramatic events from the past, and indeed we catch a quick reference to an upcoming film that will be called "The Invention of the Fork."
The protagonist of "The Invention of Lying" evidently has some neurological quirk that makes him different from everybody else, in that he can "say something that isn't," as he puts it at one point, trying to explain it to a friend.
That protagonist, Mark Bellison, played by Gervais, is surprised to discover this difference about himself, and for the most part he uses it benignly. He does con a bank out of some money -- but that is presented as due to desperate circumstances. Later he helps a homeless man, and offers his mother consolation on her deathbed.
Here we get to the crux of the matter. There is no evidence in this film that any sort of religion existed prior to the "invention of lying." His dying mother is expressing the predominant view of this alternate world's human species when she tells him how frightened she is at the imminent prospect of entering "a giant everything of nothingness." Gervais makes her final moments comfortable by telling her that she is going to a wonderful place where all the people she has loved and lost over her lifetime are waiting for her -- a place without pain or want.
It is important to the philosophical weight of this movie that the reason that he starts telling stories about the nice place we all go to after death is a benevolent one, told by a guy with whom we can't help but sympathize. Yet it is still a lie. And one with unexpected consequences.
Unbeknownst to Mark Bellison, the doctor and a handful of hospital staffers are behind him, listening to this conversation. They hear all these things about the life after this one, and since there is no concept of "saying what isn't" in their world, they believe it. They want to tell people this wonderful news. Word spreads, and soon the protagonist is a prophet. Everybody wants to know more.
One incidental oddity that struck me is that their world has a history to it very much like our own. From various references one gathers that there was a "black plague" that took place in the 14th century, and that the use of terms such as "14th century" or "1st century" for that matter, mean pretty much to them what they mean to us. But why, in a world without religion, would the "1st century" be called that? Why would a count have begun then?
Another less-incidental oddity (it may be considered part of the film's message) is that the ability to lie is connected to an ability to consider the subjective aspect of other people. Mark and his love interest (Anna, played by Jennifer Garner) have an idyllic moment in a public park, which turns into his effort to explain to her that people are not solely what they seem -- that, for example, the overweight fellow lying on the grass to their left may not be the lazy loser he seems, but may be "the world's greatest poet," who gets his inspiration in this way.
Over time, Anna grasps the seeing-beyond-the-surface part of Marks' message, although she never does really grasp the 'lying' thing. So: are those two memes closely connected, or not?
There's something else that sticks with me. At some point soon after his first lie, Mark decides to help a homeless man -- a guy who has been sitting on the street with a sign that says, "I don't understand why I'm in the street and you have homes." This fellow is played by Michael Patrick Gough according to imdb. Mark takes him into the bank, says something to the clerk (we can't overhear this bit) and the clerk hands the homeless guy a large chunk of money.
Leter, we see a homeless man again. The shot comes and goes so quickly that I'm not sure whether it was the same guy, and/or the same sign (though another wordy sign was involved). What is the message there? That lying doesn't realy solve social problems? Or does this imply also that money doesn't really solve social probelms, and that even if the money had been given honestly the original homeless guy may have difficulties, such as an expensive addiction, that would have put him back on the street anyway?
01 March 2009
Eight theories of religion
The title of this entry is also the title of a book by Daniel Pals, a professor at the University of Miami.
Strictly speaking, the first edition, in 2006, was called "Seven theories of religion." Pals has included an eighth, and thus the new title, for the just-printed second edition.
The eight theories, identified by their most prominent theorists, and by the brief explanatory phrase for each he uses as his table of contents, are:
1. E.B. Tylor and James Frazer (animism and magic)
2. Sigmund Freud (religion and personality)
3. Emile Durkheim (society as sacred)
4. Karl Marx (religion as alienation)
5. Max Weber (A source of social action)
6. Mircea Eliade (The reality of the sacred)
7. E.E. Evans-Pritchard (Societies 'construct of the heart')
8. Clifford Geertz (Religion as cultural system).
The new chapter in that lot is the fifth, on Weber.
Strictly speaking, the first edition, in 2006, was called "Seven theories of religion." Pals has included an eighth, and thus the new title, for the just-printed second edition.
The eight theories, identified by their most prominent theorists, and by the brief explanatory phrase for each he uses as his table of contents, are:
1. E.B. Tylor and James Frazer (animism and magic)
2. Sigmund Freud (religion and personality)
3. Emile Durkheim (society as sacred)
4. Karl Marx (religion as alienation)
5. Max Weber (A source of social action)
6. Mircea Eliade (The reality of the sacred)
7. E.E. Evans-Pritchard (Societies 'construct of the heart')
8. Clifford Geertz (Religion as cultural system).
The new chapter in that lot is the fifth, on Weber.
22 February 2009
From George Fox' journal
"When the Lord sent me into the world he forbade me to put off my hat to any, high or low: and I was required to 'thee' and 'thou' all men and women, rich or poor, great or small. And as I traveled up and down, I was not to bid people Good-morning, or Good-evening, neither might I bow or scrape with my leg to any one. This made the sects and professions rage. Oh! the rage that was in the priests, magistrates, professors, and people of all sorts: and especially in priests and professors: for though 'thou' to a single person was according to their accidence and grammar rules; and according to the Bible, yet they could not bear to hear it: and because I could not put off my hat to them, it set them all into a rage."
In German, there is one word "you" for both plural and formal use "Sie" and another word "you" for singular and more informal use: "tu."
In English in the 17th century, if I understand correctly, "thou" was like "tu," it was the informal and singular use. The custom, though, was to call aristocrats "You" just as one would call a plural grouping "you."
Fox resisted this, as the above passgae indicates. He called all singulars by the terms "thou" or "thee," reserving "you" for the plural. So he didn't distinguish between aristocrats and peasants in terms of the form of address.
All are God' children, all are worthy of the same form of address.
In German, there is one word "you" for both plural and formal use "Sie" and another word "you" for singular and more informal use: "tu."
In English in the 17th century, if I understand correctly, "thou" was like "tu," it was the informal and singular use. The custom, though, was to call aristocrats "You" just as one would call a plural grouping "you."
Fox resisted this, as the above passgae indicates. He called all singulars by the terms "thou" or "thee," reserving "you" for the plural. So he didn't distinguish between aristocrats and peasants in terms of the form of address.
All are God' children, all are worthy of the same form of address.
06 December 2008
A Passage to India
Inspired by a recent viewing of the classic movie A Passage to India on a DVD, I decided to get a hold of the famous novel.
I'm reading through Forster's classic now, with great delight.
There's a thoughtful bit early on that involves two missionaries, Church of England presumably, and their debates with one another about the theological consequences of evolution. Or ... I think that's what it's about. Tell me if I'm wrong.
The missionaries, Graysford and Sorley by name, didn't make it into the movie at all (unless there's a bit I've forgotten already). They are present in the book so far as I can tell not as plot elements but as pieces of scenery -- local color. And here's the passage by which I'm intrigued:
Not one shall be turned away by the servants on that verandah [of "our Father's house"], be he black or white, not one shall be kept standing who approaches with a loving heart. And why should the divine hospitality cease here? Consider, with all reverence, the monkeys. May there not be a mansion for the monkeys also? Old Mr. Graysford said No but young Mr. Sorley, who was advanced, said Yes; he saw no reason why monkeys should not have their collateral share of bliss, and he had sympathetic discussions about them with his Hindu friends. And the jackals? Jackals were indeed less to Mr sorley's mind but he admitted that the mercy of God, being infinite, may well embrace all mammals. And the wasps? He became uneasy during the descent to wasps, aand was apt to change the conversation. And oranges, cactuses, crystals and mud? and the bacteria inside Mr Sorley? No, no, this is going too far. We must exclude someone from our gathering, or we shall be left with nothing.
Now there's a fascinating slide down the Great Chain of Being!
I'm reading through Forster's classic now, with great delight.
There's a thoughtful bit early on that involves two missionaries, Church of England presumably, and their debates with one another about the theological consequences of evolution. Or ... I think that's what it's about. Tell me if I'm wrong.
The missionaries, Graysford and Sorley by name, didn't make it into the movie at all (unless there's a bit I've forgotten already). They are present in the book so far as I can tell not as plot elements but as pieces of scenery -- local color. And here's the passage by which I'm intrigued:
Not one shall be turned away by the servants on that verandah [of "our Father's house"], be he black or white, not one shall be kept standing who approaches with a loving heart. And why should the divine hospitality cease here? Consider, with all reverence, the monkeys. May there not be a mansion for the monkeys also? Old Mr. Graysford said No but young Mr. Sorley, who was advanced, said Yes; he saw no reason why monkeys should not have their collateral share of bliss, and he had sympathetic discussions about them with his Hindu friends. And the jackals? Jackals were indeed less to Mr sorley's mind but he admitted that the mercy of God, being infinite, may well embrace all mammals. And the wasps? He became uneasy during the descent to wasps, aand was apt to change the conversation. And oranges, cactuses, crystals and mud? and the bacteria inside Mr Sorley? No, no, this is going too far. We must exclude someone from our gathering, or we shall be left with nothing.
Now there's a fascinating slide down the Great Chain of Being!
23 November 2008
Stoicism
Stoicism is a venerable philosophy with continuing resonance throughout the western world - and with analogs in eastern culture as well.
It comes to mind because I suspect if the economic circumstances are as bad as they seem, and as bad as some of the experts say they will remain -- a lot of us in the industrialized west are going to need to adopt stoical attitudes.
The heart of it then is this, from Epictetus:
"There is only one way to happiness and that is to cease worrying about things that are beyond our will."
He and his fellow Stoics got there through the following steps.
1. Physics or cosmology. The Stoics were both materialists and pantheists. They saw the whole of the material world as a living being, whom one might well call God, Zeus.
2. Determinism. Associated with this cosmology is the idea of the future as unfolding with inevitability, i.e. a very strict fatalism.
3. Theory of knowledge. The Stoics were opposed to, and in turn opposed, the Skeptical trends of many of their contemporaries. They believed in what they called katalepsis, justified certitude about how the world works. They also believed that the acquisition of katalepsis has an element of consensus to it. This may have been analogous to an idea advanced in the 19th century by Charles Peirce, that truth is that which is fated to be agreed to.
4. Ethics. The Stoic sage, having achieved katalepsis about fate -- accepts that he can't change what will happen, and faces the world without passion. Passion, founded upon ignorance, is in turn the cause of misery. Thus we arrive at the sentiment of Epictetus with which I began.
The whole system of thought was sympathetically described by the novelist Tom Wolfe in A Man in Full.
I'm not advocating it, just putting it out there, in my lazy Sunday nothing-better-occurs to me kind of way.
Blame fate.
It comes to mind because I suspect if the economic circumstances are as bad as they seem, and as bad as some of the experts say they will remain -- a lot of us in the industrialized west are going to need to adopt stoical attitudes.
The heart of it then is this, from Epictetus:
"There is only one way to happiness and that is to cease worrying about things that are beyond our will."
He and his fellow Stoics got there through the following steps.
1. Physics or cosmology. The Stoics were both materialists and pantheists. They saw the whole of the material world as a living being, whom one might well call God, Zeus.
2. Determinism. Associated with this cosmology is the idea of the future as unfolding with inevitability, i.e. a very strict fatalism.
3. Theory of knowledge. The Stoics were opposed to, and in turn opposed, the Skeptical trends of many of their contemporaries. They believed in what they called katalepsis, justified certitude about how the world works. They also believed that the acquisition of katalepsis has an element of consensus to it. This may have been analogous to an idea advanced in the 19th century by Charles Peirce, that truth is that which is fated to be agreed to.
4. Ethics. The Stoic sage, having achieved katalepsis about fate -- accepts that he can't change what will happen, and faces the world without passion. Passion, founded upon ignorance, is in turn the cause of misery. Thus we arrive at the sentiment of Epictetus with which I began.
The whole system of thought was sympathetically described by the novelist Tom Wolfe in A Man in Full.
I'm not advocating it, just putting it out there, in my lazy Sunday nothing-better-occurs to me kind of way.
Blame fate.
21 September 2008
Tony Blair at Yale
The former prime minister of Great Britain, Tony Blair, is now a Roman Catholic.
That's old news? Well, maybe. But here's something a bit newer: he's also now a lecturer on religion at Yale University.
It's a part time gig. He'll deliver five lectures a year for three years, in return for a nominal fee and a donation to his foundation.
In his honor, then, here's a quotation from The Varieties of Religious Experience, on the appeal of the Church of Rome.
"To intellectual Catholics many of the antiquated beliefs and practices to which the Church gives countenance are, if taken literally, as childish as they are to Protestants. But they are childish in the pleasing sense of 'child-like,' -- innocent and amiable, and worthy to be smiled on in consideration of the undeveloped condition of the dear people's intellects. To the Protestant, on the contrary, they are childish in the sense of being idiotic falsehoods. He must stamp out their delivate and lovable redundancy, leaving the Catholic to shudder at his literalness."
That's old news? Well, maybe. But here's something a bit newer: he's also now a lecturer on religion at Yale University.
It's a part time gig. He'll deliver five lectures a year for three years, in return for a nominal fee and a donation to his foundation.
In his honor, then, here's a quotation from The Varieties of Religious Experience, on the appeal of the Church of Rome.
"To intellectual Catholics many of the antiquated beliefs and practices to which the Church gives countenance are, if taken literally, as childish as they are to Protestants. But they are childish in the pleasing sense of 'child-like,' -- innocent and amiable, and worthy to be smiled on in consideration of the undeveloped condition of the dear people's intellects. To the Protestant, on the contrary, they are childish in the sense of being idiotic falsehoods. He must stamp out their delivate and lovable redundancy, leaving the Catholic to shudder at his literalness."
15 June 2008
The weekend FT
There's an intriguing story in the weekend Financial Times about Darwin and the Sistine chapel.
Well, okay. That isn't exactly what it's about. Religion and science, origin and destiny, polarities and reconciliation. That's what it's about.
The Natural History Museum in London wants to create a new ceiling for one of its galleries, and it has commissioned proposals for several prominent artists.
The NHM has told the artists that it wants the new ceiling to celebrate the life and work of Charles Darwin, for 2009 will mark both the 150th anniversary of the publication of The Origin of Species and the 200th anniversary of its author's birth.
Comparisons to the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel are surely inevitable under those circumstances. "Hmmmm. There's that iconic image of God conveying life to Adam. But where's the analogous image for Darwinism? It oughta be on a ceiling!" Neville Hawcock's story in FT tells us there's "a whiff of the divine" in many of the proposals the artists have submitted. A whiff, at least, of an effort to turn natural selection itself into the sort of soaring Faith that might inspire a Michelangelo.
Here's the money quote: "Dorothy Cross suggests ... installing a floor-to-ceiling column of glass; within this would be engraved a skull, and engraved within that a skeletal foetus. This, she says in her accompanying statement [would represent] 'a collusion between birth and death, inheritance and thought, and particularly nature and art.'" My understanding is that the skeletal-foetus/skull would be inside a ball at the top of the column, and thus pressing against the ceiling. The ceiling itself would be gilt, and would simply serve as background for this icon.
At any rate, she's going for the sort of all-embracing reconciliation of polarities that religions have always offered.
So what? Well ... it gives one pause. As a philosophical pluralist,I don't want all the polarities to be reconciled, I don't want a block universe. I want the alpha to be the alpha and the omega to be the omega.
Still, good luck to Ms Cross. It sounds like this skeletal fetus on the top of a column would be a heck of a sight.
Well, okay. That isn't exactly what it's about. Religion and science, origin and destiny, polarities and reconciliation. That's what it's about.
The Natural History Museum in London wants to create a new ceiling for one of its galleries, and it has commissioned proposals for several prominent artists.
The NHM has told the artists that it wants the new ceiling to celebrate the life and work of Charles Darwin, for 2009 will mark both the 150th anniversary of the publication of The Origin of Species and the 200th anniversary of its author's birth.
Comparisons to the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel are surely inevitable under those circumstances. "Hmmmm. There's that iconic image of God conveying life to Adam. But where's the analogous image for Darwinism? It oughta be on a ceiling!" Neville Hawcock's story in FT tells us there's "a whiff of the divine" in many of the proposals the artists have submitted. A whiff, at least, of an effort to turn natural selection itself into the sort of soaring Faith that might inspire a Michelangelo.
Here's the money quote: "Dorothy Cross suggests ... installing a floor-to-ceiling column of glass; within this would be engraved a skull, and engraved within that a skeletal foetus. This, she says in her accompanying statement [would represent] 'a collusion between birth and death, inheritance and thought, and particularly nature and art.'" My understanding is that the skeletal-foetus/skull would be inside a ball at the top of the column, and thus pressing against the ceiling. The ceiling itself would be gilt, and would simply serve as background for this icon.
At any rate, she's going for the sort of all-embracing reconciliation of polarities that religions have always offered.
So what? Well ... it gives one pause. As a philosophical pluralist,I don't want all the polarities to be reconciled, I don't want a block universe. I want the alpha to be the alpha and the omega to be the omega.
Still, good luck to Ms Cross. It sounds like this skeletal fetus on the top of a column would be a heck of a sight.
16 December 2007
Bodily resurrection
I encountered recently in my internet surfing an expression of the idea that "substance dualism" is dead among neuroscientists and philosophers alike. Nobody with any relevant training and intellectual focus any longer believes that the soul is a thing that could survive and remain conscious separate from the body.
This author continued: "This is indeed a CRUSHING blow to religion in general, specifically Christianity, because the idea of an immortal soul is central to most religions."
Allow me just to respond to that. The disappearance of substance dualism might not be as crushing a blow as he would think, even if it were complete. After all, Christianity incorporates the idea of bodily immortality. The new testament insists that Jesus was no ghost after his death, that he returned in body, and in time ascended to heaven to the right hand of the father still in his earthly clay.
Millions of Christians believe that there will be a general resurrection of the saved. So to say that the soul will be immortal doesn't imply that it is something essentially separate from the body.
Augustine said that no dogma of the church is "more opposed" to the ways of the world than this. In his environment, filled with strict mind/body dualisms, the idea that the soul, having escaped the body, would willingly and gladly put it back on at the end of days was the most shocking aspect of Christianity to the pagans.
http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/12792a.htm
If we 'awake' onjudgment day to find ourselves in a reconstituted body, will we feel continuous with our present selves? Will it matter how much time will have lapsed? Will it feel like waking from a good night's sleep?
This author continued: "This is indeed a CRUSHING blow to religion in general, specifically Christianity, because the idea of an immortal soul is central to most religions."
Allow me just to respond to that. The disappearance of substance dualism might not be as crushing a blow as he would think, even if it were complete. After all, Christianity incorporates the idea of bodily immortality. The new testament insists that Jesus was no ghost after his death, that he returned in body, and in time ascended to heaven to the right hand of the father still in his earthly clay.
Millions of Christians believe that there will be a general resurrection of the saved. So to say that the soul will be immortal doesn't imply that it is something essentially separate from the body.
Augustine said that no dogma of the church is "more opposed" to the ways of the world than this. In his environment, filled with strict mind/body dualisms, the idea that the soul, having escaped the body, would willingly and gladly put it back on at the end of days was the most shocking aspect of Christianity to the pagans.
http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/12792a.htm
If we 'awake' onjudgment day to find ourselves in a reconstituted body, will we feel continuous with our present selves? Will it matter how much time will have lapsed? Will it feel like waking from a good night's sleep?
04 October 2007
A Pluralistic Universe
The title of this entry is also the title of William James' most metaphysical, most speculative, most free-ranging work.
I'll limit myself today to some observations about its structure. James defines his own position through a series of dichotomies, of either/ors if you please. The first two of them are set out clearly in the first lecture, the third appears more gradually.
There is first the question of materialism versuis some sort of supernaturalism. Philosophies of the former sort define the world "so as to leave man's soul upon it as a sort of outside passenger or alien" while supernaturalism of any variety "insists that the intimate and human must surround and underlie the brutal."
James opts for the latter. "Not to demand intimate relations with the universe, and not to wish them satisfactory, should be accounted signs of something wrong."
The second dichotomy takes place AFTER we have crossed the threshold of supernaturalism. Shall we worship a Being who transcends this world, or shall we worship the world itself as supernatural enough?
Dualistic theism or pantheism? Given the former, "Man being an outsider and a mere subject to God, not his intimate partner, a character of externality invades the field. God is not heart of our heart and reason of our reason, but our magistrate, rather; and mechanically to obey his commands, however strange they may be,
remains our only moral duty. Conceptions of criminal law have in fact played a great part in defining our relations with him."
With such a God as that, James will have nothing to do. So he will be a pantheistic supernaturalist. A critic might think this an oxymoron, since if we reduce God to identity with nature, then God has ceased to be supernatural. But what James really means by supernatural, remember, is intimate, vital, non-mechanical, and what
he means by God is that something intimate, vital, etc. that infuses or surrounds all that seems external, material, mechanical, etc.
That is what it means to say that nature is itself supernatural.
Still, we can understand this God/nature in one of two ways -- monistically or pluralistically, and filling out THAT distinction, the third in the series, constitutes the heart of the book. We have to give at least our provisional, for-the-sake-of-discussion consent to the first two steps he takes even in order to understand what he is on about thereafter.
I'll limit myself today to some observations about its structure. James defines his own position through a series of dichotomies, of either/ors if you please. The first two of them are set out clearly in the first lecture, the third appears more gradually.
There is first the question of materialism versuis some sort of supernaturalism. Philosophies of the former sort define the world "so as to leave man's soul upon it as a sort of outside passenger or alien" while supernaturalism of any variety "insists that the intimate and human must surround and underlie the brutal."
James opts for the latter. "Not to demand intimate relations with the universe, and not to wish them satisfactory, should be accounted signs of something wrong."
The second dichotomy takes place AFTER we have crossed the threshold of supernaturalism. Shall we worship a Being who transcends this world, or shall we worship the world itself as supernatural enough?
Dualistic theism or pantheism? Given the former, "Man being an outsider and a mere subject to God, not his intimate partner, a character of externality invades the field. God is not heart of our heart and reason of our reason, but our magistrate, rather; and mechanically to obey his commands, however strange they may be,
remains our only moral duty. Conceptions of criminal law have in fact played a great part in defining our relations with him."
With such a God as that, James will have nothing to do. So he will be a pantheistic supernaturalist. A critic might think this an oxymoron, since if we reduce God to identity with nature, then God has ceased to be supernatural. But what James really means by supernatural, remember, is intimate, vital, non-mechanical, and what
he means by God is that something intimate, vital, etc. that infuses or surrounds all that seems external, material, mechanical, etc.
That is what it means to say that nature is itself supernatural.
Still, we can understand this God/nature in one of two ways -- monistically or pluralistically, and filling out THAT distinction, the third in the series, constitutes the heart of the book. We have to give at least our provisional, for-the-sake-of-discussion consent to the first two steps he takes even in order to understand what he is on about thereafter.
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