(Cliques are all over the room. Discussions flare. Some sit. Some stand. Some are alone. Others have company. Matt edges his way to the podium. Hume looks as confident as ever. His cross-examiners look confident themselves. Indeed, they're a formidable group: Thomas Sherlock, Gottfried Less, and William Paley.)
Matt: Welcome back! We are through with Spinoza for now. The only stage left for Spinoza is a cross-examination of my own. For now, we have Thomas Sherlock. Mr. Sherlock, what say you to Mr. David Hume.
Sherlock: Thank you Matt. Let's get straight to the point, shall we? Imagine a man who lived his entire known life on a tropical island in the South Pacific. Can you do that?
Hume: I do, in fact, have the capacity for abstract thought, Mr. Sherlock. Yes, I can imagine that. May I ask where you're going with this?
Sherlock: Sure. On the one hand, you say we have the witness of nature; on the other, we have human testimony. And the resurrection of Christ seems to violate the laws of nature. But we have the testimony of the disciples that they saw the resurrected Christ. But, no matter, you say! We also have the witness of nature, and she never lies. So those conniving disciples have to be lying or deluded. In so many words, that's your position, no?
Hume: Beautifully paraphrased, thank you.
Sherlock: Back to my guy on the tropical island.
Hume: Oh yes. Him. What of it?
Sherlock: Suppose he has never seen water in a solid form. Suppose he had never seen ice.
Hume: Okay . . .
Sherlock: What if an inhabitant of Siberia testified to him that there was such a thing as ice?
Hume: Well, uh, . . . I guess he shouldn't believe it, but . . .
Sherlock: Of course, he should believe it. Especially if more and more people testified to it. But using your warped logic, the tropical man shouldn't ever believe it. And why? Because the witness of nature - at least, the nature he has experienced - is against it. Using your logic, he disregards valid human testimony contrary to his experience of the witness of nature. And that's absurd.
Hume: Oh, well, tell me what you really think . . .
Sherlock: And I will. And another thing. What if I claimed to you that I was once dead for 3 days?
Hume: I'd be shocked and wouldn't believe it!
Sherlock: What exactly wouldn't you belief? The fact that I was alive?
Hume: The fact that you were ever dead.
Sherlock: Exactly! And why would you disbelieve I was dead, rather than alive.
Hume: Because I see you're alive.
Sherlock: So, can I use human testimony to prove that I was never dead on the relevant dates?
Hume: I suppose so . . .
Sherlock: Look at it the other way. Suppose we read that a year ago, we saw a certain man executed for high treason. But then we heard reports that was alive! What then?
Hume: I doubt that . . .
Sherlock: That he died?
Hume: No, that he was alive.
Sherlock: And in each case, what was doubted wasn't what we saw, but what we didn't see. All this proves is that we tend to trust our senses over reports from other people. So, let's say you're one of the disciples. You saw Christ died; and then you saw Him alive again 3 days later. You say: Sherlock! I saw Christ died; and now He is alive! I'd respond: Yea right! I saw him die too - there's no way you saw him alive. By your logic, this is a good response. But wouldn't I be foolish not to believe you from your point of view?
Hume: I admit, I would be flustered.
Sherlock: And Houtteville is right - the 'course of nature', as we call it, is just in our imagination. What we experience are objects behaving in accord with the laws of nature. If I said the laws cannot be suspended, do I say something based on experience?
Hume: I suppose not. So, you're accusing me of overstepping my case. I'll note that.
Sherlock: That's all from me.
(Sherlock steps down. His delivery was succinct, as if practiced in a mirror beforehand. Gottfried Less takes the stage. He is an obsessive type, exacting. Detail is key. Hume still appears unwavering.)
Less: Good evening, Mr. Hume.
Hume: Good evening.
Less: Why don't we start by talking about the disciples.
Hume: By all means.
Less: You say they were unlearned, unsophisticated fisherman, low on the social-class totem pole.
Hume: That's right. I always found it rather strange that the testimony for miracles never comes from a cultured, civilized area.
Less: I'll get to that in a second, but let me ask you. What specialty of learning do you have to have to notice that a guy who was once dead is now alive? And no, this isn't a trick question.
Hume: I guess I'd say some medical knowledge was necessary . . .
Less: Isn't it true that a child can tell the difference between a formerly dead person and their present living status?
Hume: I don't suppose the ancients were idiots.
Less: As a pre-industrial society, they probably had more common sense than your average Enlightenment thinker, wouldn't you think?
Hume: I don't know about . . .
Less: And Ancient Rome . . . Yes! I entirely agree. Utterly savage and uncivilized. And the capital of a Israel, Jerusalem, a major Roman territory. Is this the rural outpost you're talking about? Are you out of your mind?
Hume: Ok, I admit that Rome was the apex of . . .
Less: And if the reports are true, the miracles were performed in front of hundreds. They weren't done in a secret place in the presence of some cult following. There were friends and foes alike!
Hume: That is, IF the reports are . . .
Less: And you say they have to be honest and trustworthy?
Hume: Well, if you'll let me get a word in . . .
Less: Is martyrdom a good enough criterion? Being boiled alive? Crucified? Crucified upside down? Scalded by hot tar? Stoned? Drawn and quartered? Beheaded? Yep. These sound like insincere liars, don't they?
Hume: I will admit their sincerity burned beyond reason . . .
Less: So it seems like the disciples were trustworthy, right?
Hume: Well, they were sincere. But that doesn't mean I should trust them.
Less: That's what I mean. They, at least, weren't lying. Will you grant that?
Hume: If they were sincere, then they weren't lying, which leaves delusion, but I'll let it go there.
Less: Alright. Let's move on to why you think miracles are impossible.
Hume: Indeed.
Less: Let's talk about Nature in general. Do you think Nature is the way it is because God willed it that way?
Hume: If I believed in God, then it's plausible, I suppose.
Less: If God willed a miracle, then, the miracle is willed in the same way any other event in Nature is willed, right?
Hume: It would more rare, though.
Less: No one denies that. The will behind the event is the same, in any case. How many times have you gone to Church?
Hume: Not many. Why?
Less: Well, when you willed to go to Church, this was the same will that you used when you do things you do more often. For instance, you like to read, and read more often than you go to Church. But when you went to Church, you used the same will you use when you choose to read.
Hume: So, my going to Church is on the same level as God doing a miracle.
Less: Only in the sense that each event is more rare than other events. One kind of event is willed less than other events.
Hume: I follow.
Less: Consider this as well. Should the Church have believed Copernicus that the earth wasn't the center of the universe?
Hume: Of course! That's where the evidence pointed.
Less: But the evidence pointed to something that was contrary to everyone's experience at the time. According to your logic, the Church shouldn't have believed Copernicus, because Copernicus was telling everyone something that wasn't a part of anyone's experience.
Hume: I think your twisting my logic around, but . . .
Less: Then what about this? Suppose I said that Jesus rose from the dead.
Hume: Then I would say that event probably didn't happen. Dead men stay dead.
Less: Why?
Hume: Experience unanimously says so.
Less: But you can only say 'unanimously' if you also prove this: Jesus did not rise from the dead.
Hume: I did prove that. I said experience unani . . . oh . . . I suppose I can't say 'unanimously' without first proving 'Jesus did not rise from the dead'. Hmmmm.
Less: Right. You can't say the disciples were wrong because they go against experience unless you also prove that Jesus didn't rise from the dead.
Hume: There's got to be something wrong in your logic here.
Less: Well, think about it. There's no rush. I'm done. Thank you.
(Less steps down. Thomas Paley makes his way to the podium. Hume looks visibly distressed. Yet he is still confident that the format of the interchange is keeping him from responding rightly. After all, there's only so much you can talk about in dialogue format.)
Matt: We'll take a short recess and then Paley will continue the cross-examination.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Spinoza: a cross examination - part 2
Le Clerc and Clarke seemed to make sense. But I had reservations about some of their lines of argument. I’ll withhold judgment, however. It’s best to see the interchanges and come to my conclusions after the entire case is on the table.
(Everyone settles down into their chairs. Spinoza gets back into the hot seat. Jacob Vernet gets his notes in order. The humming chatter gets more and more faint. Matt ascends the soap box.)
Matt: Welcome back everyone. I hope everyone is enjoying this as much as myself. Le Clerc and Clarke did a great job, and Spinoza has been a great sport so far. Remember, we’re all here to find out the truth, no matter where it leads. At this time, I’d like to ask Jacob Vernet to voice his criticisms.
Vernet: Thank you Matt. I don’t have much to offer. Le Clerc and Clarke stole much of my thunder. I will say I disagree with one thing Clarke said, . . .
(From the back of the room.)
Clarke: Aren’t we on the same side?
(Snickers are heard.)
Vernet: Now, now. I don’t deny we share a common ground. But let me get at Spinoza in my own way here. I do disagree with you, Spinoza.
Spinoza: Alright. And everyone is waiting for your reasons.
Vernet: Let me get clear on just what you mean. You deny miracles because they violate the laws of nature?
Spinoza: Yes.
Vernet: And Clarke rebutted you by denying that there were laws of nature. All we have is a God willing things to happen in a uniform way. That is, in a usual way. Nature isn’t on its own, going on ‘of its own accord’. Nature, to Clarke, is just the way it is because, at every moment, God is willing it to be that way. He just wills it to be some ways more than others. That’s why it looks to us as if there’s regularity, and therefore laws.
Spinoza: For goodness sake, do we have a question in the near future?
Vernet: I’m sorry. I don’t see the need to deny ‘laws of nature’ in your sense, Mr. Spinoza. I just don’t think these laws have to be necessary.
Spinoza: Why not? God is necessary, so the laws are necessary. The laws reflect God’s nature.
Vernet: And that’s where I disagree. I do think they depend on God’s will. No one denies that. But we have to remember a possibility here.
Spinoza: Such as?
Vernet: The possibility that we only think the laws are necessary because nature looks like it behaves the same much of the time.
Spinoza: I don’t follow you at all.
Vernet: How do we know the laws are necessary?
Spinoza: They never change.
Vernet: How do you know that? How old are you?
Spinoza: What is the relevance of such an insolent ques . . .
Vernet: Your life is a blip on the radar screen. In your entire life, you only observe a speck of the behavior of nature. But this is a speck on a humongous canvass. So, again, I ask: How do you know they never change?
Spinoza: They probably don’t change, is that better?
Vernet: As long as you acknowledge the other possibility.
Spinoza: The possibility that . . . what was the possibility again?
Vernet (looking exasperated): The possibility that you think the laws are necessary because they ‘look’ that way, and they look that way based on the experience you’ve had during your short life.
Spinoza: I guess I’ll concede that’s possible.
Vernet: Well, if that’s possible, then it’s also possible that the laws of nature aren’t necessary. They’re just what God happens to be willing at the time. And He can will something totally different if He wants to. Miracles are just the events that are more rare.
Spinoza: That would mean that the course of Nature isn’t necessary. What about the idea that came up in my talk with Clarke?
Vernet: What idea?
Spinoza: The idea that what you call miracles, I call regular old events that obey some law of nature we don’t know about.
Vernet: Yes, I remember hearing that. I’m not so sure. I think Le Clerc’s discussion gives us a good point, though. That might work for an isolated miracle, but not a consistent cluster of miracles during a certain short period of time.
Spinoza: That does make that possibility rather unlikely.
Vernet: It looks like that even though Clarke and I disagree on some peripherals, we are alike in that we have you at a deadlock here.
Spinoza: It does seem so.
Vernet: And that’s all I have for now. Matt?
Matt: Thanks Jacob!
(Vernet steps down. Spinoza looks uneasy. Houtteville is ready.)
Matt: Let me introduce Claude François Houtteville.
(Clearing of throats. Shifting in seats. Whispering abates.)
Houtteville: Thank you. I’m afraid I can’t add on too much more to what our distinguished guests have already contributed. For myself, I can’t see why God can’t do miracles. He can do what He wants. He’s God. He makes the laws what they are. And so He can make them in such a way that He can suspend them if He wants, period. Spinoza?
Spinoza: I mean, there’s not much else to say. You obviously weren’t listening to the other conversations I’ve had. If you did, you would have heard that the laws are necessary because God is necessary.
Houtteville: I did listen to the part where Vernet got you to concede that you don’t really have a good reason to think the laws are necessary, right?
Spinoza: True.
Houtteville: So, if it’s more probable than not that they’re not necessary, then I don’t see what’s wrong with my initial position: miracles are possible because God can do what He wants. But let me move this talk in another direction. Let’s assume your position for a second. You think the laws are necessary because God’s nature is necessary.
Spinoza (feeling like a pinnate): Yes.
Houtteville: But what about this possibility? The possibility that the miracles were planned. What if God’s nature is necessary, and necessarily willed these miracles to happen as part of the whole fabric of creation?
Spinoza: You know. That is a good point. I’ll have to think about that. This does, though, make miracles not violations of laws of nature, just what we know about the laws of nature. It’s hard to see how they’re ‘super’ natural if that’s the case.
Houtteville: That’s all.
(Houtteville steps down. A light applause follows. Spinoza stands for the first time, stretching. Sits again beside Hume. They begin whispering in each other’s ear. For some reason, Hume cackles. )
Matt: Thank you everyone. I know Spinoza is probably exhausted. We thank his willingness to debate these issues with us today. Tomorrow we’ll put Hume under the crucible. But we’re not done with Spinoza. After the guests have weighed in, I’ll put forth my own views. So, you guys are free to go! Same time next week!
(Everyone settles down into their chairs. Spinoza gets back into the hot seat. Jacob Vernet gets his notes in order. The humming chatter gets more and more faint. Matt ascends the soap box.)
Matt: Welcome back everyone. I hope everyone is enjoying this as much as myself. Le Clerc and Clarke did a great job, and Spinoza has been a great sport so far. Remember, we’re all here to find out the truth, no matter where it leads. At this time, I’d like to ask Jacob Vernet to voice his criticisms.
Vernet: Thank you Matt. I don’t have much to offer. Le Clerc and Clarke stole much of my thunder. I will say I disagree with one thing Clarke said, . . .
(From the back of the room.)
Clarke: Aren’t we on the same side?
(Snickers are heard.)
Vernet: Now, now. I don’t deny we share a common ground. But let me get at Spinoza in my own way here. I do disagree with you, Spinoza.
Spinoza: Alright. And everyone is waiting for your reasons.
Vernet: Let me get clear on just what you mean. You deny miracles because they violate the laws of nature?
Spinoza: Yes.
Vernet: And Clarke rebutted you by denying that there were laws of nature. All we have is a God willing things to happen in a uniform way. That is, in a usual way. Nature isn’t on its own, going on ‘of its own accord’. Nature, to Clarke, is just the way it is because, at every moment, God is willing it to be that way. He just wills it to be some ways more than others. That’s why it looks to us as if there’s regularity, and therefore laws.
Spinoza: For goodness sake, do we have a question in the near future?
Vernet: I’m sorry. I don’t see the need to deny ‘laws of nature’ in your sense, Mr. Spinoza. I just don’t think these laws have to be necessary.
Spinoza: Why not? God is necessary, so the laws are necessary. The laws reflect God’s nature.
Vernet: And that’s where I disagree. I do think they depend on God’s will. No one denies that. But we have to remember a possibility here.
Spinoza: Such as?
Vernet: The possibility that we only think the laws are necessary because nature looks like it behaves the same much of the time.
Spinoza: I don’t follow you at all.
Vernet: How do we know the laws are necessary?
Spinoza: They never change.
Vernet: How do you know that? How old are you?
Spinoza: What is the relevance of such an insolent ques . . .
Vernet: Your life is a blip on the radar screen. In your entire life, you only observe a speck of the behavior of nature. But this is a speck on a humongous canvass. So, again, I ask: How do you know they never change?
Spinoza: They probably don’t change, is that better?
Vernet: As long as you acknowledge the other possibility.
Spinoza: The possibility that . . . what was the possibility again?
Vernet (looking exasperated): The possibility that you think the laws are necessary because they ‘look’ that way, and they look that way based on the experience you’ve had during your short life.
Spinoza: I guess I’ll concede that’s possible.
Vernet: Well, if that’s possible, then it’s also possible that the laws of nature aren’t necessary. They’re just what God happens to be willing at the time. And He can will something totally different if He wants to. Miracles are just the events that are more rare.
Spinoza: That would mean that the course of Nature isn’t necessary. What about the idea that came up in my talk with Clarke?
Vernet: What idea?
Spinoza: The idea that what you call miracles, I call regular old events that obey some law of nature we don’t know about.
Vernet: Yes, I remember hearing that. I’m not so sure. I think Le Clerc’s discussion gives us a good point, though. That might work for an isolated miracle, but not a consistent cluster of miracles during a certain short period of time.
Spinoza: That does make that possibility rather unlikely.
Vernet: It looks like that even though Clarke and I disagree on some peripherals, we are alike in that we have you at a deadlock here.
Spinoza: It does seem so.
Vernet: And that’s all I have for now. Matt?
Matt: Thanks Jacob!
(Vernet steps down. Spinoza looks uneasy. Houtteville is ready.)
Matt: Let me introduce Claude François Houtteville.
(Clearing of throats. Shifting in seats. Whispering abates.)
Houtteville: Thank you. I’m afraid I can’t add on too much more to what our distinguished guests have already contributed. For myself, I can’t see why God can’t do miracles. He can do what He wants. He’s God. He makes the laws what they are. And so He can make them in such a way that He can suspend them if He wants, period. Spinoza?
Spinoza: I mean, there’s not much else to say. You obviously weren’t listening to the other conversations I’ve had. If you did, you would have heard that the laws are necessary because God is necessary.
Houtteville: I did listen to the part where Vernet got you to concede that you don’t really have a good reason to think the laws are necessary, right?
Spinoza: True.
Houtteville: So, if it’s more probable than not that they’re not necessary, then I don’t see what’s wrong with my initial position: miracles are possible because God can do what He wants. But let me move this talk in another direction. Let’s assume your position for a second. You think the laws are necessary because God’s nature is necessary.
Spinoza (feeling like a pinnate): Yes.
Houtteville: But what about this possibility? The possibility that the miracles were planned. What if God’s nature is necessary, and necessarily willed these miracles to happen as part of the whole fabric of creation?
Spinoza: You know. That is a good point. I’ll have to think about that. This does, though, make miracles not violations of laws of nature, just what we know about the laws of nature. It’s hard to see how they’re ‘super’ natural if that’s the case.
Houtteville: That’s all.
(Houtteville steps down. A light applause follows. Spinoza stands for the first time, stretching. Sits again beside Hume. They begin whispering in each other’s ear. For some reason, Hume cackles. )
Matt: Thank you everyone. I know Spinoza is probably exhausted. We thank his willingness to debate these issues with us today. Tomorrow we’ll put Hume under the crucible. But we’re not done with Spinoza. After the guests have weighed in, I’ll put forth my own views. So, you guys are free to go! Same time next week!
Spinoza: A cross-examination
It is so interesting to be around all these great minds. Spinoza seemed like he had a point about the laws of nature. But his critics look pretty eager to rebut him.
(Noisy chatter fills the room. 3 or 4 conversations are going on at once. We are in a room of sorts; I just don't know where. I see a stairway leading up to a source of light. I wonder where that leads? There are tables and chairs. Let me see if I can get their attention.)
Matt: Order! Order! I'm back! Can I get everyone's attention? Thank you. Thank you. As you well know, we've been talking about miracles for the last couple days. Spinoza gave his reasons why he thought miracles were impossible. And then Hume gave His reasons why we don't have a proof for miracles, and that even if we did, we couldn't identify them.
(Hume whispers over to Spinoza, while Matt's introduction continues in the background)
Hume: See how he over-simplifies our arguments?
Spinoza: Shhhhh! Let's just see what they have to say. It sounded like the gist of what you said to me?
Hume: I just hope they let us talk. I feel like we're about to be persecuted.
Spinoza: Oh stop griping. You had the floor. Now, out of fairness, let them ask us their questions.
(Continuing the introduction)
Matt: . . . ask for it to be quiet out of respect for those being questioned. The first questioner is Jean Le Clerc.
Clerc: Thank you Matt. I just have a couple questions for Spinoza. I'll be quick, and let the others have their say. How are you Spinoza?
Spinoza: Very well, thank you. Let's get down to the nitty-gritty. Just what about the laws of nature don't you like?
Clerc: I love the laws of nature. I think they exist. But you think they can't change. I think they can be suspended. And there's a reason why I think this. Have you looked into the evidence for Christ's resurrection?
Spinoza: I can't get into details, but I must say that the accounts are lovely metaphors for Christ rising again in His follower's hearts.
Clerc: I don't think the accounts were metaphors though. I think there's good reason to think they're not metaphors. I think there's good reason to think the Gospels' genre isn't that of mythology, but that of ancient biography.
Spinoza: Ancient biography? Says who?
Clerc: I can't get into that now. But I'll say this. If the Gospels are myths, they are the strangest myths ever written. There are scholars that read myths their whole lives who read the Gospels and don't think the Gospels are myths at all. It's just a completely different kind of genre of writing.
Spinoza: I don't know who these scholars are, but I guess I'll give them an ear if you'll talk with me after?
Clerc: Oh sure! As I was saying about the evidence for the particular miracle of Christ's resurrection. I believe the evidence for that outweighs the evidence for the laws of nature never changing.
Spinoza: Again. I'll have to see this evidence. As of right now, I'm in the dark.
Clerc: And that shall be provided as well. Hmmm. What do you think about Christ's resurrection and ascension? Are they natural events?
Spinoza: I think I said before that these were metaphors regarding Christ in the heart of His followers, didn't I?
Clerc: But are you willing to concede, that if you were given reasons for not regarding those events as metaphors, it would be impossible for those events to be natural?
Spinoza: I suppose I'd have to.
Clerc: Okay, let's talk about a simpler miracle. Jesus healed blindness? How do you explain that?
Spinoza: My point is that we don't automatically have to jump to miracle! It's possible there's an unknown natural law at work here, isn't there? My problem with Christians is that they immediately jump to saying it's a miracle when there's other possibilities to consider.
Clerc: I feel your frustration. But consider this. Why isn't blindness cured more often? That is, why doesn't it happen more often given it's the result of a natural law that we don't know about yet? Why did this cluster of so called 'natural events' happen just around the time of Jesus?
Spinoza: That is true. That would be quite improbable. I guess I'd have to say it's possible they've happened at other parts of the world at different times. But Enlightenment has happened. Why haven't we been able to observe such a strange event? Remember what I said though. All this depends on whether the evidence for them is good, which I'm suspending judgment on for the moment. If it is good, I will say that it does seem strange that those miracles happened only when Christ was around . . . .
Clerc: And consider something else. Isn't it more strange that the blindness was cured right when Christ said the words: "You are healed." Isn't that even more strange?
Spinoza: This is ONLY IF the reports are true, though.
Clerc: That will have to be another conversation. But I'll give you some books that will put you in touch with this evidence, and then we can have another talk about whether it is good.
Spinoza: I'd like that. But I am worried we're undermining the laws of nature. I don't like that at all. We need these laws for anything to be certain. I don't want to be lead down the path to atheism.
Clerc: I'm glad you brought that up. Samuel Clarke has some remarks about that issue.
(Clerc steps down. In his place, Samuel Clarke. He's confident and direct. A bit argumentative. And a staple Enlightenment thinker. This should be a good clash.)
Clarke: Thank you Jean. Gentlemen. Spinoza. I have a question about these laws of nature you're so concerned about.
Spinoza: You don't like them?
Clarke: By no means. In fact, I'm a huge fan of Newton. But you think these laws keep God from working miracles, right?
Spinoza: Right. It's like tampering with a perfect machine. It's an insult to the ingenuity of the designer! You don't see Michelangelo tampering with the Sistine Chapel after it was done. He painted the ceiling and left it alone. It was a masterpiece. To alter it anymore would defame it.
Clarke: I just disagree here. Let's talk about events in general. To me, from God's standpoint, all events are the same, whether they're miracles or not.
Spinoza: What preposterous sophistry is this?
Clarke: Just hear me out. Why do objects stay on the ground?
Spinoza: The law of gravity, of course.
Clarke: But why does the law of gravity make objects stay on the ground?
Spinoza: Because God's nature is the way it is. Remember, I said that the laws of nature reflect God's Nature.
Clarke: Understood. But let me ask you to do something for me. Pick up that pencil over there.
Spinoza: This is ridiculous.
(Picks up the pencil and waves it around like a baton).
Clarke: Wait a moment! Pencils don't float around contrary to the law of gravity. What's happening here?
Spinoza: I picked it up. I'm holding it in my hand.
Clarke: So, you're saying objects obey the laws of gravity unless they are interfered with. For instance, pencils fall to the ground given there's not a hand that's holding it.
Spinoza: Seems to make sense.
Clarke: Don't you see what this means? Perhaps miracles are "divine" interference. God raising a body from the dead is the same as you picking up a pencil. A law of nature hasn't been violated.
Spinoza: Yes it has! Bodies don't come back from the dead. That's against a law of nature.
Clarke: But the law only tells what will happen given there's no interference. It tells you nothing about what will happen if there IS interference. And there's no reason to think that the interference may not be human or divine.
Spinoza: I see what your saying. But . . .
Clarke: And this goes back to what I was saying. All events have a divine source, whether they be miracles or not. Even you admit that gravity is the way it is because it reflects God's nature, right?
Spinoza: Right, but you think God can violate His own nature by suspending gravity?
Clarke: You had no problem with that when you picked up the pencil, remember?
Spinoza: You're right. And I wouldn't want to say that we can do something God can't. Hmmm. What if miracles are the rarer ways God's nature is made manifest in the world, reflecting a more whole picture of what I thought God's nature was?
Clarke: Good question. And that's the gist of what I was thinking when I heard you talking to Matt yesterday. Miracles aren't against the laws of nature; they just express a different law that's more rarely expressed. Only in this case of miracles, there might be a law for divine interference with the laws of nature. This is along the same lines as when you picked up the pencil. The law of gravity isn't abolished once you picked up the pencil. Why?
Spinoza: Well, because we have other laws that explain why the pencil does what it does after it is grasped.
Clarke: My sentiments exactly.
(Clarke steps down. Matt ascends to the soap box.)
Matt: We'll take a short recess. If anyone needs to use the bathroom, it's located at the back of the room. Spinoza, did you need a handkerchief for your perspiration?
Spinoza: No, I'm fine.
Matt: Okay, the next speaker will be Jacob Vernet. And, yes, Le Clerc can meet Spinoza in the back of the room with that suggested reading list he promised. Thank you so far everyone. It's been a great discussion!
(Noisy chatter fills the room. 3 or 4 conversations are going on at once. We are in a room of sorts; I just don't know where. I see a stairway leading up to a source of light. I wonder where that leads? There are tables and chairs. Let me see if I can get their attention.)
Matt: Order! Order! I'm back! Can I get everyone's attention? Thank you. Thank you. As you well know, we've been talking about miracles for the last couple days. Spinoza gave his reasons why he thought miracles were impossible. And then Hume gave His reasons why we don't have a proof for miracles, and that even if we did, we couldn't identify them.
(Hume whispers over to Spinoza, while Matt's introduction continues in the background)
Hume: See how he over-simplifies our arguments?
Spinoza: Shhhhh! Let's just see what they have to say. It sounded like the gist of what you said to me?
Hume: I just hope they let us talk. I feel like we're about to be persecuted.
Spinoza: Oh stop griping. You had the floor. Now, out of fairness, let them ask us their questions.
(Continuing the introduction)
Matt: . . . ask for it to be quiet out of respect for those being questioned. The first questioner is Jean Le Clerc.
Clerc: Thank you Matt. I just have a couple questions for Spinoza. I'll be quick, and let the others have their say. How are you Spinoza?
Spinoza: Very well, thank you. Let's get down to the nitty-gritty. Just what about the laws of nature don't you like?
Clerc: I love the laws of nature. I think they exist. But you think they can't change. I think they can be suspended. And there's a reason why I think this. Have you looked into the evidence for Christ's resurrection?
Spinoza: I can't get into details, but I must say that the accounts are lovely metaphors for Christ rising again in His follower's hearts.
Clerc: I don't think the accounts were metaphors though. I think there's good reason to think they're not metaphors. I think there's good reason to think the Gospels' genre isn't that of mythology, but that of ancient biography.
Spinoza: Ancient biography? Says who?
Clerc: I can't get into that now. But I'll say this. If the Gospels are myths, they are the strangest myths ever written. There are scholars that read myths their whole lives who read the Gospels and don't think the Gospels are myths at all. It's just a completely different kind of genre of writing.
Spinoza: I don't know who these scholars are, but I guess I'll give them an ear if you'll talk with me after?
Clerc: Oh sure! As I was saying about the evidence for the particular miracle of Christ's resurrection. I believe the evidence for that outweighs the evidence for the laws of nature never changing.
Spinoza: Again. I'll have to see this evidence. As of right now, I'm in the dark.
Clerc: And that shall be provided as well. Hmmm. What do you think about Christ's resurrection and ascension? Are they natural events?
Spinoza: I think I said before that these were metaphors regarding Christ in the heart of His followers, didn't I?
Clerc: But are you willing to concede, that if you were given reasons for not regarding those events as metaphors, it would be impossible for those events to be natural?
Spinoza: I suppose I'd have to.
Clerc: Okay, let's talk about a simpler miracle. Jesus healed blindness? How do you explain that?
Spinoza: My point is that we don't automatically have to jump to miracle! It's possible there's an unknown natural law at work here, isn't there? My problem with Christians is that they immediately jump to saying it's a miracle when there's other possibilities to consider.
Clerc: I feel your frustration. But consider this. Why isn't blindness cured more often? That is, why doesn't it happen more often given it's the result of a natural law that we don't know about yet? Why did this cluster of so called 'natural events' happen just around the time of Jesus?
Spinoza: That is true. That would be quite improbable. I guess I'd have to say it's possible they've happened at other parts of the world at different times. But Enlightenment has happened. Why haven't we been able to observe such a strange event? Remember what I said though. All this depends on whether the evidence for them is good, which I'm suspending judgment on for the moment. If it is good, I will say that it does seem strange that those miracles happened only when Christ was around . . . .
Clerc: And consider something else. Isn't it more strange that the blindness was cured right when Christ said the words: "You are healed." Isn't that even more strange?
Spinoza: This is ONLY IF the reports are true, though.
Clerc: That will have to be another conversation. But I'll give you some books that will put you in touch with this evidence, and then we can have another talk about whether it is good.
Spinoza: I'd like that. But I am worried we're undermining the laws of nature. I don't like that at all. We need these laws for anything to be certain. I don't want to be lead down the path to atheism.
Clerc: I'm glad you brought that up. Samuel Clarke has some remarks about that issue.
(Clerc steps down. In his place, Samuel Clarke. He's confident and direct. A bit argumentative. And a staple Enlightenment thinker. This should be a good clash.)
Clarke: Thank you Jean. Gentlemen. Spinoza. I have a question about these laws of nature you're so concerned about.
Spinoza: You don't like them?
Clarke: By no means. In fact, I'm a huge fan of Newton. But you think these laws keep God from working miracles, right?
Spinoza: Right. It's like tampering with a perfect machine. It's an insult to the ingenuity of the designer! You don't see Michelangelo tampering with the Sistine Chapel after it was done. He painted the ceiling and left it alone. It was a masterpiece. To alter it anymore would defame it.
Clarke: I just disagree here. Let's talk about events in general. To me, from God's standpoint, all events are the same, whether they're miracles or not.
Spinoza: What preposterous sophistry is this?
Clarke: Just hear me out. Why do objects stay on the ground?
Spinoza: The law of gravity, of course.
Clarke: But why does the law of gravity make objects stay on the ground?
Spinoza: Because God's nature is the way it is. Remember, I said that the laws of nature reflect God's Nature.
Clarke: Understood. But let me ask you to do something for me. Pick up that pencil over there.
Spinoza: This is ridiculous.
(Picks up the pencil and waves it around like a baton).
Clarke: Wait a moment! Pencils don't float around contrary to the law of gravity. What's happening here?
Spinoza: I picked it up. I'm holding it in my hand.
Clarke: So, you're saying objects obey the laws of gravity unless they are interfered with. For instance, pencils fall to the ground given there's not a hand that's holding it.
Spinoza: Seems to make sense.
Clarke: Don't you see what this means? Perhaps miracles are "divine" interference. God raising a body from the dead is the same as you picking up a pencil. A law of nature hasn't been violated.
Spinoza: Yes it has! Bodies don't come back from the dead. That's against a law of nature.
Clarke: But the law only tells what will happen given there's no interference. It tells you nothing about what will happen if there IS interference. And there's no reason to think that the interference may not be human or divine.
Spinoza: I see what your saying. But . . .
Clarke: And this goes back to what I was saying. All events have a divine source, whether they be miracles or not. Even you admit that gravity is the way it is because it reflects God's nature, right?
Spinoza: Right, but you think God can violate His own nature by suspending gravity?
Clarke: You had no problem with that when you picked up the pencil, remember?
Spinoza: You're right. And I wouldn't want to say that we can do something God can't. Hmmm. What if miracles are the rarer ways God's nature is made manifest in the world, reflecting a more whole picture of what I thought God's nature was?
Clarke: Good question. And that's the gist of what I was thinking when I heard you talking to Matt yesterday. Miracles aren't against the laws of nature; they just express a different law that's more rarely expressed. Only in this case of miracles, there might be a law for divine interference with the laws of nature. This is along the same lines as when you picked up the pencil. The law of gravity isn't abolished once you picked up the pencil. Why?
Spinoza: Well, because we have other laws that explain why the pencil does what it does after it is grasped.
Clarke: My sentiments exactly.
(Clarke steps down. Matt ascends to the soap box.)
Matt: We'll take a short recess. If anyone needs to use the bathroom, it's located at the back of the room. Spinoza, did you need a handkerchief for your perspiration?
Spinoza: No, I'm fine.
Matt: Okay, the next speaker will be Jacob Vernet. And, yes, Le Clerc can meet Spinoza in the back of the room with that suggested reading list he promised. Thank you so far everyone. It's been a great discussion!
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Miracles continued . . .
Matt: Okay Hume. Sorry for the wait. You now have the floor. Why can't we identify miracles?
Hume: Thank you Matt. Let me start off by asking a question. If you're wise, you're going to base your beliefs on the evidence, right?
Matt: Sounds good.
Hume: If I have evidence that makes my conclusion almost certain, we have a proof! But if we have evidence that makes my conclusion likely, we're not talking about certainty anymore.
Matt: What's being talked about?
Hume: Probability. If I'm talking about probability, I need to have my belief based on the strength of the probability that my conclusion is true.
Matt: Give me an example.
Hume: Okay. Do you think it's safe to believe that Caesar probably crossed the Rubicon?
Matt: History records it. Scholars are agreed about its authenticity. So, I guess it's safe to say that it probably happened.
Hume: And I would say you're wise. You proportioned your belief to the strength of the probability involved.
Matt: Thanks.
Hume: But here's where I hit a snag. I think that even if you have a proof - let alone probability - we still wouldn't be wise to believe in miracles.
Matt: A proof? Are you sure? Why not?
Hume: Because we have equal proof that the laws of nature don't change, like what Spinoza and Voltaire and Newton were saying. With this proof, we have reason to think that miracles - even though they were reported - didn't happen.
Matt: But what if I have human testimony of a miracle?
Hume: It doesn't matter! The testimony is only as good as what science can allow it to be. We observe and experience stuff all the time! Mankind, since the beginning of time, has observed and experienced things. I mean, what if I told you I saw flying pigs yesterday? Would you believe me?
Matt: No, that's absurd.
Hume: And why is that?
Matt: Because pigs can't fly. No pigs have wings. Pigs flying with no wings is impossible. And we know from the laws of nature that things like that can't happen. So, I'd think you're deluded or you're lying, right?
Hume: And that's exactly my point. The disciples said they saw these miracles. But we have a solid proof that the laws of nature don't change! And we can inspect the validity of this proof anytime we want. On balance, if you're wise, you'll believe what science tells you about the laws of nature over what a fisherman says he saw thousands of years ago, no?
Matt: I see why you'd think that. Is that the end of your argument?
Hume: Oh no. Not yet.
Matt. Okay, go on.
Hume: The first point had to do with what would happen if we did have the full proof for miracles. Remember, it wouldn't work, since the full proof for the laws of nature will always outweigh the proof that comes from measly human testimony.
Matt: So, what's the second point?
Hume: That we don't have a full proof for miracles.
Matt: Well, why not? What's your argument?
Hume: Consider human testimony. Look at all the reports of miracles. Were they written by educated people? By honest men or women? Were they upper class? Usually, they're all lower class or poverty-level.
Matt: That sounds sort of snobby, but I'll let you finish.
Hume: On top of this, people want to believe in miracles and magic. Myths and fairy tales abound. This means we desire these things.
Matt: Anything else?
Hume: Well, all religions have miracles! They all cancel themselves out! They can't all be true. And since they are supposed to give support to contradictory doctrines, you get rid of the miracles in order to get rid of the contradictions.
Matt: I understand.
Hume: And that's pretty much it. The only miracle here is the miracle that anyone would believe in miracles based on human testimony. It goes against custom! It goes against experience! It goes against rationality! It's all blind faith!
Matt: No need to shout Hume. But thank you for your time. I have some other people I need to talk to. There are some people who have overheard this conversation and I think they're interested in the subject. But first, I want to talk to Jean Le Clerc, Samuel Clarke, Jacob Vernet, and Claude Fancois Houtteville. They heard me talking to Spinoza a couple days ago, and they seem like they want to set him straight. After that, we meet some guys who have problems with you, Hume.
Hume: I'd be delighted to hear what they have to say.
Spinoza: Yea. Who are those guys you named? What don't they like about the laws of nature, anyway?
Matt: Just hear them out, and then tell me what you think.
Hume and Spinoza: We will.
Hume: Thank you Matt. Let me start off by asking a question. If you're wise, you're going to base your beliefs on the evidence, right?
Matt: Sounds good.
Hume: If I have evidence that makes my conclusion almost certain, we have a proof! But if we have evidence that makes my conclusion likely, we're not talking about certainty anymore.
Matt: What's being talked about?
Hume: Probability. If I'm talking about probability, I need to have my belief based on the strength of the probability that my conclusion is true.
Matt: Give me an example.
Hume: Okay. Do you think it's safe to believe that Caesar probably crossed the Rubicon?
Matt: History records it. Scholars are agreed about its authenticity. So, I guess it's safe to say that it probably happened.
Hume: And I would say you're wise. You proportioned your belief to the strength of the probability involved.
Matt: Thanks.
Hume: But here's where I hit a snag. I think that even if you have a proof - let alone probability - we still wouldn't be wise to believe in miracles.
Matt: A proof? Are you sure? Why not?
Hume: Because we have equal proof that the laws of nature don't change, like what Spinoza and Voltaire and Newton were saying. With this proof, we have reason to think that miracles - even though they were reported - didn't happen.
Matt: But what if I have human testimony of a miracle?
Hume: It doesn't matter! The testimony is only as good as what science can allow it to be. We observe and experience stuff all the time! Mankind, since the beginning of time, has observed and experienced things. I mean, what if I told you I saw flying pigs yesterday? Would you believe me?
Matt: No, that's absurd.
Hume: And why is that?
Matt: Because pigs can't fly. No pigs have wings. Pigs flying with no wings is impossible. And we know from the laws of nature that things like that can't happen. So, I'd think you're deluded or you're lying, right?
Hume: And that's exactly my point. The disciples said they saw these miracles. But we have a solid proof that the laws of nature don't change! And we can inspect the validity of this proof anytime we want. On balance, if you're wise, you'll believe what science tells you about the laws of nature over what a fisherman says he saw thousands of years ago, no?
Matt: I see why you'd think that. Is that the end of your argument?
Hume: Oh no. Not yet.
Matt. Okay, go on.
Hume: The first point had to do with what would happen if we did have the full proof for miracles. Remember, it wouldn't work, since the full proof for the laws of nature will always outweigh the proof that comes from measly human testimony.
Matt: So, what's the second point?
Hume: That we don't have a full proof for miracles.
Matt: Well, why not? What's your argument?
Hume: Consider human testimony. Look at all the reports of miracles. Were they written by educated people? By honest men or women? Were they upper class? Usually, they're all lower class or poverty-level.
Matt: That sounds sort of snobby, but I'll let you finish.
Hume: On top of this, people want to believe in miracles and magic. Myths and fairy tales abound. This means we desire these things.
Matt: Anything else?
Hume: Well, all religions have miracles! They all cancel themselves out! They can't all be true. And since they are supposed to give support to contradictory doctrines, you get rid of the miracles in order to get rid of the contradictions.
Matt: I understand.
Hume: And that's pretty much it. The only miracle here is the miracle that anyone would believe in miracles based on human testimony. It goes against custom! It goes against experience! It goes against rationality! It's all blind faith!
Matt: No need to shout Hume. But thank you for your time. I have some other people I need to talk to. There are some people who have overheard this conversation and I think they're interested in the subject. But first, I want to talk to Jean Le Clerc, Samuel Clarke, Jacob Vernet, and Claude Fancois Houtteville. They heard me talking to Spinoza a couple days ago, and they seem like they want to set him straight. After that, we meet some guys who have problems with you, Hume.
Hume: I'd be delighted to hear what they have to say.
Spinoza: Yea. Who are those guys you named? What don't they like about the laws of nature, anyway?
Matt: Just hear them out, and then tell me what you think.
Hume and Spinoza: We will.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Can Miracles really happen?
Matt: Just to make sure. Hey, Isaac Newton! I'm trying to find out why miracles are impossible. I know you're in the 18th century, but what did you think about the world back then? Why did people think miracles were impossible because of the way the world was?
Newton: Hey Matt! I proved that the world was like a machine. The machine works great on its own. And you shouldn't tamper with it. If you do, it won't work right. God invented the machine, and all the laws He created make it work just fine.
Matt: Thanks Newton! I wonder why that makes miracles impossible.
Voltaire: Miracles violate the laws of nature, that's why. I wrote about that in my Dictionary of Philosophy. The laws are eternal, and like Newton said, you can't tamper with them or else the machine won't operate correctly.
Matt: Can't He suspend the laws to work a miracle?
Voltaire (with a snicker): Oh Matt. It's okay. You don't have a lot of exposure to these types of issues. Why ruin this machine? You guys have cars in the future, right?
Matt: Uh, yea . . .
Voltaire: If someone made the perfect car, and then started tampering with it all the time, we'd think it wasn't a perfect car to begin with, wouldn't we? But we're talking about God. God made this perfect machine. It doesn't need all these violations if the machine is perfect, does it? God is the perfect architect. The question answers itself!
Matt (detecting a bit of sarcasm): Okay, you made your point. Hey! Spinoza! Can I talk to you for a sec? I just have some questions about miracles. You didn't believe in them, did you?
Spinoza: Oh, of course not!
Matt: And why not?
Spinoza: I agree with Voltaire. You can't violate eternal laws of nature; they're never going to change. They are the way they are. And besides, miracles can't prove God's existence. If you use the Bible, all of those miracles are natural events. All the miracles you point out that are obviously - or so say you - not natural are that way for a reason - their accounts were written metaphorically.
Matt: I heard 4 points in there. Let's just focus on the first two points. Why can't God violate these laws of nature?
Spinoza: If God wills something, then that thing will necessarily come about. You can't thwart the will of God.
Matt: I object to a part of that, but go on.
Spinoza: Okay. I also think that God's willing things is the same exact thing as God's understanding things.
Matt: Okay.
Spinoza: These laws of nature - as Voltaire and Newton are talking about - flow from God's nature! God's nature is necessary and doesn't change. Therefore, the laws of nature are necessary and don't change.
Matt: So, if God violates the laws of nature to make a miracle, He violates His own nature?
Spinoza: Exactly. And since God's will and understanding are the same thing, if a miracle happens, then God's will and understanding will be in conflict with God's own nature!
Matt: Oh yea. Because God's will and understanding will be going one way, and God's nature will be going another. They'll be contradicting themselves, right?
Spinoza: Very good. So a miracle becomes an event. And not just any event. This event goes above and beyond what we know about laws of nature.
Matt: Okay, and what about your second point - the point about miracles not proving God's existence.
Spinoza: Thank you. I had forgotten. If you have a proof for something, that proof is certain, right?
Matt: I disagree, but go on so I can hear you out.
Spinoza: Remember my first point. Miracles violate laws of nature. But if the laws of nature can be violated, then nothing can be certain.
Matt: Why in the world is that?
Spinoza: Because we need the laws of nature to be left alone for anything to be certain! We can give a proof for God's existence only if we use the laws of nature to get there. We can't give a proof for God's existence that depends on the strange idea that the laws of nature have been violated! So, the argument from miracles might lead us to atheism!
Matt: Any other reasons you have that you might want to add on?
Spinoza: I'll add a couple. For one, why would a miracle prove God Almighty? Why not some lesser deity? Second, a miracle seems to be an event we just don't fully understand, and so an event that we can't explain. But this just proves we don't know everything about the law of nature under question, not that God caused the event. All this makes miracles impossible!
Matt: You definitely have an argument there. Before I get into evaluation, I see that David Hume has been dying to speak for about 5 minutes now.
Hume: Thank you so much. How is everyone? Good? Good. Spinoza is right on the mark, but there are some other great reasons out there to not believe in miracles.
Matt: What's your argument?
Hume: I won't follow Spinoza and say flat out that miracles are impossible. I will say that even if one happened, it's impossible to identify it.
Matt: That sounds absurd, but go on . . .
Hume: I believe that we can't possibly identify miracles for two reasons. One, you can't pick out any event and identify it as a miracle. Two, given what has in fact happened in history, the prospects look pretty grim for being able to identify a miracle, even if it did happen.
Matt: That sounds interesting. I have to go for now, but I'll be back tomorrow to resume the discussion! Thanks Voltaire, Newton, Spinoza, and Hume. Yes Hume, we'll give you all the time you need to prove your case. God Bless!
Newton: Hey Matt! I proved that the world was like a machine. The machine works great on its own. And you shouldn't tamper with it. If you do, it won't work right. God invented the machine, and all the laws He created make it work just fine.
Matt: Thanks Newton! I wonder why that makes miracles impossible.
Voltaire: Miracles violate the laws of nature, that's why. I wrote about that in my Dictionary of Philosophy. The laws are eternal, and like Newton said, you can't tamper with them or else the machine won't operate correctly.
Matt: Can't He suspend the laws to work a miracle?
Voltaire (with a snicker): Oh Matt. It's okay. You don't have a lot of exposure to these types of issues. Why ruin this machine? You guys have cars in the future, right?
Matt: Uh, yea . . .
Voltaire: If someone made the perfect car, and then started tampering with it all the time, we'd think it wasn't a perfect car to begin with, wouldn't we? But we're talking about God. God made this perfect machine. It doesn't need all these violations if the machine is perfect, does it? God is the perfect architect. The question answers itself!
Matt (detecting a bit of sarcasm): Okay, you made your point. Hey! Spinoza! Can I talk to you for a sec? I just have some questions about miracles. You didn't believe in them, did you?
Spinoza: Oh, of course not!
Matt: And why not?
Spinoza: I agree with Voltaire. You can't violate eternal laws of nature; they're never going to change. They are the way they are. And besides, miracles can't prove God's existence. If you use the Bible, all of those miracles are natural events. All the miracles you point out that are obviously - or so say you - not natural are that way for a reason - their accounts were written metaphorically.
Matt: I heard 4 points in there. Let's just focus on the first two points. Why can't God violate these laws of nature?
Spinoza: If God wills something, then that thing will necessarily come about. You can't thwart the will of God.
Matt: I object to a part of that, but go on.
Spinoza: Okay. I also think that God's willing things is the same exact thing as God's understanding things.
Matt: Okay.
Spinoza: These laws of nature - as Voltaire and Newton are talking about - flow from God's nature! God's nature is necessary and doesn't change. Therefore, the laws of nature are necessary and don't change.
Matt: So, if God violates the laws of nature to make a miracle, He violates His own nature?
Spinoza: Exactly. And since God's will and understanding are the same thing, if a miracle happens, then God's will and understanding will be in conflict with God's own nature!
Matt: Oh yea. Because God's will and understanding will be going one way, and God's nature will be going another. They'll be contradicting themselves, right?
Spinoza: Very good. So a miracle becomes an event. And not just any event. This event goes above and beyond what we know about laws of nature.
Matt: Okay, and what about your second point - the point about miracles not proving God's existence.
Spinoza: Thank you. I had forgotten. If you have a proof for something, that proof is certain, right?
Matt: I disagree, but go on so I can hear you out.
Spinoza: Remember my first point. Miracles violate laws of nature. But if the laws of nature can be violated, then nothing can be certain.
Matt: Why in the world is that?
Spinoza: Because we need the laws of nature to be left alone for anything to be certain! We can give a proof for God's existence only if we use the laws of nature to get there. We can't give a proof for God's existence that depends on the strange idea that the laws of nature have been violated! So, the argument from miracles might lead us to atheism!
Matt: Any other reasons you have that you might want to add on?
Spinoza: I'll add a couple. For one, why would a miracle prove God Almighty? Why not some lesser deity? Second, a miracle seems to be an event we just don't fully understand, and so an event that we can't explain. But this just proves we don't know everything about the law of nature under question, not that God caused the event. All this makes miracles impossible!
Matt: You definitely have an argument there. Before I get into evaluation, I see that David Hume has been dying to speak for about 5 minutes now.
Hume: Thank you so much. How is everyone? Good? Good. Spinoza is right on the mark, but there are some other great reasons out there to not believe in miracles.
Matt: What's your argument?
Hume: I won't follow Spinoza and say flat out that miracles are impossible. I will say that even if one happened, it's impossible to identify it.
Matt: That sounds absurd, but go on . . .
Hume: I believe that we can't possibly identify miracles for two reasons. One, you can't pick out any event and identify it as a miracle. Two, given what has in fact happened in history, the prospects look pretty grim for being able to identify a miracle, even if it did happen.
Matt: That sounds interesting. I have to go for now, but I'll be back tomorrow to resume the discussion! Thanks Voltaire, Newton, Spinoza, and Hume. Yes Hume, we'll give you all the time you need to prove your case. God Bless!
Kant you see, I just Kant understand Kant!
Thomas: Hey! What are you reading?
Matt: I'm reading about Immanuel Kant. He was a German philosopher.
Thomas: What did he have to say?
Matt: Well, do you agree that you perceive things?
Thomas: Uh, yes. Well, what do you mean? That I see things?
Matt: You can use all your senses to perceive. That's what perception means. You taste, smell, see, hear, and touch.
Thomas: I thought those were the senses.
Matt: Yes, they are. But through the senses, you perceive. The senses are the spectacles through which you perceive the world. If you take off the spectacles, you strip yourself of the perceptions.
Thomas: Okay, I guess it seems obvious that I perceive the world.
Matt: Well, Kant asks, "How do we perceive the world?"
Thomas: Through the senses, right? Isn't that what we just said?
Matt: Well, that's not what Kant's getting at by 'how'. The senses may be necessary for perception; but it seems like we need something more, something that orders the objects of perception.
Thomas: Whoa! Slow down. What you mean 'orders the objects of perception'?
Matt: Well, why do we perceive things to be 3 inches to the right of another thing? Or 67 miles from something else?
Thomas: Because we have a ruler that measures different measurements. Because every thing that can be measured is in a common space. Each thing makes up a point in space.
Matt: A hah! Space!
Thomas: Yea. What's the big deal?
Matt: Do you perceive Space?
Thomas: I guess not. I see different things.
Matt: Do you even directly see the things? If you look at a table, what are you directly perceiving? It's shape, it's color? But shape and color aren't tables; they're sense data. So, 'tables' are inferred from sense data. If all we directly perceive is sense data, then we are a far cry away from perceiving Space, right?
Thomas: Hmmm. But I think space exists . . . That's true. How do I know that?
Matt: We'll get to that in a second. Think about this too. What about time? From Myrtle Beach, Conway is about 20 minutes away. How can we say things like that?
Thomas: Okay. We agree that a minute is 60 seconds, another agreed upon convention for measuring Time. But, yea. It's true. It seems like I'm directly perceiving not Time, but its measurements in seconds, minutes, etc . . .
Matt: Exactly! So, how can we make true statements about Time if we never perceive Time?
Thomas: That's true.
Matt: And these are some of the questions Kant set out to answer. As with Time, how we can make true statements about Space if we never perceive Space?
Thomas: Okay, what did he say?
Matt: Suppose I said, "The tree is in my front yard."
Thomas: Well that assumes that there's objects in space/time.
Matt: Right. A tree can't be IN my front yard if there isn't a common space for them to be in. But what about the sentence you said? What about the sentence, "Objects exist in space and time."?
Thomas: We saw we don't perceive space or time. I don't know it by experience.
Matt: And it's not analytic!
Thomas: Analytic?
Matt: Take this sentence: All bachelors are unmarried males. This is true because bachelors ARE unmarried males. Not very illuminating. But it is a kind of sentence. Kant called it an analytic sentence, because the subject and the predicate were the same thing! So, what about the sentence: Objects exist in space and time?
Thomas: That doesn't seem to be the same kind of sentence. 'Existing in space and time' seems to add something new to the subject 'Objects'.
Matt: Right! Kant called these synthetic a priori sentences.
Thomas: Slow down!
Matt: Sorry. Synthetic means that the 'predicate' adds something new to the 'subject' 'A priori' means known independent of experience.
Thomas: Okay . . . I think that makes sense. I know objects exist in space and time, but I've never experienced space and time. So, 'objects exist in space and time' is a synthetic a priori sentence.
Matt: Very good. We'll stop here for now. Next we'll talk about Kant's Transcendental Deduction.
Thomas: No wait! What's that annoying word 'Transcendental' mean?
Matt: Okay, really quick. Remember. You don't perceive space and time, right.
Thomas: Right.
Matt: If you're going to analyze space and time, you have to do it Transcendentally.
Thomas: You just used to the word in the definition! That doesn't tell me anything.
Matt: Wait. I wasn't done. Kant says his analysis has to be Transcendental because it has to 'transcend' perception, what we perceive, what we can directly observe. We have to somehow 'get behind' or 'underneath' perception.
Thomas: Oh yea. Because we're trying to find out the 'conditions' for perception. How do we perceive things?
Matt: This Transcendental Deduction is what leads Kant to the unorthodox position that Space and Time aren't 'out there' in the world, but 'in the mind', making up features of the structure of the mind.
Thomas: You mean our minds analyze our sense data 'in a certain structured way'?
Matt: Right. In a way that perceives objects in terms of space and time. Space/Time are the spectacles that are cemented on our face. We can't take them off. And through these spectacles, we perceive the world, or so says Kant.
Thomas: Hmmmm.
Matt: Think of it this way. Space and time aren't the pieces on a chess board; they are the rules for the game of chess; and without the rules of the game, chess as a game wouldn't exist.
Matt: I'm reading about Immanuel Kant. He was a German philosopher.
Thomas: What did he have to say?
Matt: Well, do you agree that you perceive things?
Thomas: Uh, yes. Well, what do you mean? That I see things?
Matt: You can use all your senses to perceive. That's what perception means. You taste, smell, see, hear, and touch.
Thomas: I thought those were the senses.
Matt: Yes, they are. But through the senses, you perceive. The senses are the spectacles through which you perceive the world. If you take off the spectacles, you strip yourself of the perceptions.
Thomas: Okay, I guess it seems obvious that I perceive the world.
Matt: Well, Kant asks, "How do we perceive the world?"
Thomas: Through the senses, right? Isn't that what we just said?
Matt: Well, that's not what Kant's getting at by 'how'. The senses may be necessary for perception; but it seems like we need something more, something that orders the objects of perception.
Thomas: Whoa! Slow down. What you mean 'orders the objects of perception'?
Matt: Well, why do we perceive things to be 3 inches to the right of another thing? Or 67 miles from something else?
Thomas: Because we have a ruler that measures different measurements. Because every thing that can be measured is in a common space. Each thing makes up a point in space.
Matt: A hah! Space!
Thomas: Yea. What's the big deal?
Matt: Do you perceive Space?
Thomas: I guess not. I see different things.
Matt: Do you even directly see the things? If you look at a table, what are you directly perceiving? It's shape, it's color? But shape and color aren't tables; they're sense data. So, 'tables' are inferred from sense data. If all we directly perceive is sense data, then we are a far cry away from perceiving Space, right?
Thomas: Hmmm. But I think space exists . . . That's true. How do I know that?
Matt: We'll get to that in a second. Think about this too. What about time? From Myrtle Beach, Conway is about 20 minutes away. How can we say things like that?
Thomas: Okay. We agree that a minute is 60 seconds, another agreed upon convention for measuring Time. But, yea. It's true. It seems like I'm directly perceiving not Time, but its measurements in seconds, minutes, etc . . .
Matt: Exactly! So, how can we make true statements about Time if we never perceive Time?
Thomas: That's true.
Matt: And these are some of the questions Kant set out to answer. As with Time, how we can make true statements about Space if we never perceive Space?
Thomas: Okay, what did he say?
Matt: Suppose I said, "The tree is in my front yard."
Thomas: Well that assumes that there's objects in space/time.
Matt: Right. A tree can't be IN my front yard if there isn't a common space for them to be in. But what about the sentence you said? What about the sentence, "Objects exist in space and time."?
Thomas: We saw we don't perceive space or time. I don't know it by experience.
Matt: And it's not analytic!
Thomas: Analytic?
Matt: Take this sentence: All bachelors are unmarried males. This is true because bachelors ARE unmarried males. Not very illuminating. But it is a kind of sentence. Kant called it an analytic sentence, because the subject and the predicate were the same thing! So, what about the sentence: Objects exist in space and time?
Thomas: That doesn't seem to be the same kind of sentence. 'Existing in space and time' seems to add something new to the subject 'Objects'.
Matt: Right! Kant called these synthetic a priori sentences.
Thomas: Slow down!
Matt: Sorry. Synthetic means that the 'predicate' adds something new to the 'subject' 'A priori' means known independent of experience.
Thomas: Okay . . . I think that makes sense. I know objects exist in space and time, but I've never experienced space and time. So, 'objects exist in space and time' is a synthetic a priori sentence.
Matt: Very good. We'll stop here for now. Next we'll talk about Kant's Transcendental Deduction.
Thomas: No wait! What's that annoying word 'Transcendental' mean?
Matt: Okay, really quick. Remember. You don't perceive space and time, right.
Thomas: Right.
Matt: If you're going to analyze space and time, you have to do it Transcendentally.
Thomas: You just used to the word in the definition! That doesn't tell me anything.
Matt: Wait. I wasn't done. Kant says his analysis has to be Transcendental because it has to 'transcend' perception, what we perceive, what we can directly observe. We have to somehow 'get behind' or 'underneath' perception.
Thomas: Oh yea. Because we're trying to find out the 'conditions' for perception. How do we perceive things?
Matt: This Transcendental Deduction is what leads Kant to the unorthodox position that Space and Time aren't 'out there' in the world, but 'in the mind', making up features of the structure of the mind.
Thomas: You mean our minds analyze our sense data 'in a certain structured way'?
Matt: Right. In a way that perceives objects in terms of space and time. Space/Time are the spectacles that are cemented on our face. We can't take them off. And through these spectacles, we perceive the world, or so says Kant.
Thomas: Hmmmm.
Matt: Think of it this way. Space and time aren't the pieces on a chess board; they are the rules for the game of chess; and without the rules of the game, chess as a game wouldn't exist.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Plantinga and Kant
Back to Kant. Plantinga, in his book, Warranted Christian Belief, gave me some more help on the problem of Kant. I think I'm over the Kant hurdle for now.
Remember, Kant doesn't think we can know anything about Reality in itself (the Dinge, as it is called in the German) - another name for the Dinge is what Kant called the Noumena, where the Phenomena is what we can know. Now, of course, we shouldn't believe Kant unless he has arguments or reasons for his conclusion. The conclusion is - again - we can't know anything about the Dinge. We can't predicate properties of the Dinge. Plantinga summarizes Kant's conclusions thus: "our concepts are really rules for synthesizing the manifold into phenomenal objects we ourselves somehow constructed."
Where did this conclusion come from? Is it the result of a proof or argument? Or is it just a hypothesis that best explains certain data? Or is Kant's theory just elegant and beautiful and people are drawn to it in that way? Do people just bypass arguing for the conclusion because the theory as a whole is beautiful? But what if I too recognize its beauty, but I want an argument or reason for why it's true before I believe it?
A reason for Kant's theory might be what are called Kant's Antinomies. What if we have a powerful argument for the universe's beginning in time, and another equally powerful argument that the universe didn't begin in time? The two arguments are equally powerful. Suppose that for every thesis you come up with, you can give a powerful argument for it and a powerful argument against it. Kant thinks that if we can do this, this is proof of his Transcendental Idealism - objects in the world depend on the structure of our minds for their existence and structure. We have antinomies, Kant argues, because we think we're proving things in themselves, as opposed to Phenomena.
This happens, Kant says, when the principles of understanding step outside the bounds of the limits of experience. We're suppose to keep these principles within the bounds of experience, within the bounds of Phenomena, not the Dinge. For if we don't, if we extend them outside of experience, we have 'pseudo-rational' doctrines, doctrines that can't be confirmed or refuted, since both the confirmation and the refutation have equally powerful arguments supporting both!
So, what's Kant trying to argue for here? Remember his conclusion is: none of our concepts apply to the Dinge, the Noumena, the things in themselves. And because none of our concepts apply to the Dinge, none of our concepts refer to the Dinge, and so we can't think about the Dinge - we can only think about phenomena.
Possible Kantian argument for that conclusion: If we CAN think and refer to the Dinge, then the premises in the arguments for the thesis and against the antithesis are all true (or seem true to us). If the premises are all true, then so are the thesis and the antithesis (or seem so to us). If both the thesis and the antithesis is true, then a contradiction is true. But no contradictions are true. And it's impossible for there to be overwhelming reason to believe both P and not-P. Therefore, we can't think about or refer to the Dinge.
Objection: if Kant's above argument applies to the Dinge, why can't it also apply to the Phenomena?
Objection: Kant's antinomies are not good arguments at all. For example, Kant provides an argument for the conclusion: The universe had a beginning in time and is spatially limited. And then Kant also provides an argument for the conclusion: The universe had no beginning in time and is spatially unlimited. Without getting into detail, both arguments are not very good.
I'll expand more on the details, but in short, Kant doesn't give very good reasons for his conclusion that we can't think about or refer to the Dinge.
Remember, Kant doesn't think we can know anything about Reality in itself (the Dinge, as it is called in the German) - another name for the Dinge is what Kant called the Noumena, where the Phenomena is what we can know. Now, of course, we shouldn't believe Kant unless he has arguments or reasons for his conclusion. The conclusion is - again - we can't know anything about the Dinge. We can't predicate properties of the Dinge. Plantinga summarizes Kant's conclusions thus: "our concepts are really rules for synthesizing the manifold into phenomenal objects we ourselves somehow constructed."
Where did this conclusion come from? Is it the result of a proof or argument? Or is it just a hypothesis that best explains certain data? Or is Kant's theory just elegant and beautiful and people are drawn to it in that way? Do people just bypass arguing for the conclusion because the theory as a whole is beautiful? But what if I too recognize its beauty, but I want an argument or reason for why it's true before I believe it?
A reason for Kant's theory might be what are called Kant's Antinomies. What if we have a powerful argument for the universe's beginning in time, and another equally powerful argument that the universe didn't begin in time? The two arguments are equally powerful. Suppose that for every thesis you come up with, you can give a powerful argument for it and a powerful argument against it. Kant thinks that if we can do this, this is proof of his Transcendental Idealism - objects in the world depend on the structure of our minds for their existence and structure. We have antinomies, Kant argues, because we think we're proving things in themselves, as opposed to Phenomena.
This happens, Kant says, when the principles of understanding step outside the bounds of the limits of experience. We're suppose to keep these principles within the bounds of experience, within the bounds of Phenomena, not the Dinge. For if we don't, if we extend them outside of experience, we have 'pseudo-rational' doctrines, doctrines that can't be confirmed or refuted, since both the confirmation and the refutation have equally powerful arguments supporting both!
So, what's Kant trying to argue for here? Remember his conclusion is: none of our concepts apply to the Dinge, the Noumena, the things in themselves. And because none of our concepts apply to the Dinge, none of our concepts refer to the Dinge, and so we can't think about the Dinge - we can only think about phenomena.
Possible Kantian argument for that conclusion: If we CAN think and refer to the Dinge, then the premises in the arguments for the thesis and against the antithesis are all true (or seem true to us). If the premises are all true, then so are the thesis and the antithesis (or seem so to us). If both the thesis and the antithesis is true, then a contradiction is true. But no contradictions are true. And it's impossible for there to be overwhelming reason to believe both P and not-P. Therefore, we can't think about or refer to the Dinge.
Objection: if Kant's above argument applies to the Dinge, why can't it also apply to the Phenomena?
Objection: Kant's antinomies are not good arguments at all. For example, Kant provides an argument for the conclusion: The universe had a beginning in time and is spatially limited. And then Kant also provides an argument for the conclusion: The universe had no beginning in time and is spatially unlimited. Without getting into detail, both arguments are not very good.
I'll expand more on the details, but in short, Kant doesn't give very good reasons for his conclusion that we can't think about or refer to the Dinge.
Is Philosophy boring?
Just a quick thought.
Many people are baffled by how philosophers could wonder at something so boring as a philosophical theory. I was reading 'Metaphors We Live By' by George Lakoff and Mark Johnson, a groundbreaking work on the phenomenon of metaphor and how pervasive it is in language ('groundbreaking' is a geographical metaphor, 'work' is a carpentry metaphor, 'in' is a spatial container metaphor, etc . . .).
At one point, the authors are talking about how the metaphor of a Building structures the meaning in a bunch of talk about Theories. Buildings are visible; Theories are not. Metaphors explain the less obvious using the more obvious - and visible things are more obvious than invisible things.
One metaphor they talk about caught my eye and may serve to explain the wonder that philosophers feel as they explore (thinking is a Journey metaphor, wink!) various philosophical theories:
Remember, this is a variation on the simplistic: Your theory is a Building.
"His theory has thousands of little rooms and long, winding corridors."
I love that! Can't you just picture a child, filled with wonder, getting lost in all the hallways, each hallway filled with doors leading to various rooms, each of which has the key to one element in the overall understanding of an idea! It has the feel of a fairy tale.
Many people are baffled by how philosophers could wonder at something so boring as a philosophical theory. I was reading 'Metaphors We Live By' by George Lakoff and Mark Johnson, a groundbreaking work on the phenomenon of metaphor and how pervasive it is in language ('groundbreaking' is a geographical metaphor, 'work' is a carpentry metaphor, 'in' is a spatial container metaphor, etc . . .).
At one point, the authors are talking about how the metaphor of a Building structures the meaning in a bunch of talk about Theories. Buildings are visible; Theories are not. Metaphors explain the less obvious using the more obvious - and visible things are more obvious than invisible things.
One metaphor they talk about caught my eye and may serve to explain the wonder that philosophers feel as they explore (thinking is a Journey metaphor, wink!) various philosophical theories:
Remember, this is a variation on the simplistic: Your theory is a Building.
"His theory has thousands of little rooms and long, winding corridors."
I love that! Can't you just picture a child, filled with wonder, getting lost in all the hallways, each hallway filled with doors leading to various rooms, each of which has the key to one element in the overall understanding of an idea! It has the feel of a fairy tale.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Kierkegaard, Kant, and the Unknown Kingdom
A major hurdle for beginning philosophy students is how do get from the world as it seems to me to the world as it is in itself. There is a boundry here that we can't cross, says Kant. Hence, we can't know anything about the world in itself, only the world as it seems to me.Kierkegaard imagines that there are 2 kingdoms: one of language and one of music: the point is that his metaphor can apply to Kant, since we can make the kingdoms represent the world as it seems to me, and the world as it is. Here's the quote:
"If I imagined two kingdoms bordering each other, one of which I knew rather well and the other not at all, and if however much I desired it I were not allowed to enter the Unknown Kingdom, I would still be able to form some idea of it. I would go to the border of the kingdom known to me and follow it all the way, and in doing so I would by my movements describe the outline of t
hat unknown land and thus have a general idea of it, although I had never set foot in it. And if this were a labor that occupied me very much, if I were unflagglingly scrupulous, it presumably would sometimes happen that as I stood with sadness at the border of my kingdom and gazed longingly in that unknown country that was so near and yet so far, I would be granted an occasional little disclosure."
hat unknown land and thus have a general idea of it, although I had never set foot in it. And if this were a labor that occupied me very much, if I were unflagglingly scrupulous, it presumably would sometimes happen that as I stood with sadness at the border of my kingdom and gazed longingly in that unknown country that was so near and yet so far, I would be granted an occasional little disclosure."It is interesting to think about what would happen if we got news from the unknown kingdom 'from that kingdom'. Sure, it can come only when we know in our bones that entering the unknown kingdom is out of the question. But what if one of its denizens visited us? Could news from this kingdom - or even the unknown kingdom's borders - be music, or miracles, or even embodied in Christ Himself?
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Kierkegaard, Nietzsche, and music
Kierkegaard's pseudonym has a different perspective on music, but I somehow want to assimilate it into my own philosophy.
Anthony Kenny (philosopher) in "Philosophy in the Modern World" writes:
"Music, we are told, is of all the arts the one most capable of expressing sheer sensuality. The rather unexpected reason we are given for this is that music is the most absract of the arts. Like language it addresses the ear: like the spoken word, it unfolds in time, not in space. But while language is the vehicle of spirit, music is the vehicle of senusality."
This seems to demote music from the lofty rank Nietzsche gives it, but lets see. Kenny goes on:
" . . . the development of music and the discovery of sensuality are both in fact due to Christianity. . . . it took Christianity to separate out sensuality by contrasting it with spirit."
In Greece, we find sensuality and spirit in an undifferentiated, homogeneous whole; but Christianity made the two distinct.
Says K's pseudonym:
"If I imagine the senual erotic as a principle, as a power, as a realm characterized by spirit, that is to say characterized by being excluded by spirit, if I imagine it concentrated in a single individual, then I have the concept of the spirit of the sensual erotic."
This is very close to Nietzsche's Dionysian spirit, where language - for the psuedonym - signifies the Apollonian spirt.
In its immediacy this 'spirit' can only be expressed 'in music'.
Kierkegaard compliments Nietzsche even more:
"When he (the aesthete) is interpreted in music, on the other hand, I do not have a particular individual, I have the power of nature, the demonic, which as little tired of seducing, or is done with seducing, as the wind is tired of raging, the sea of surging, or a waterfall cascading down from its height."
This has parallels to Nietzsche's 'superman' and elements in the Dionysian spirit.
Anthony Kenny (philosopher) in "Philosophy in the Modern World" writes:
"Music, we are told, is of all the arts the one most capable of expressing sheer sensuality. The rather unexpected reason we are given for this is that music is the most absract of the arts. Like language it addresses the ear: like the spoken word, it unfolds in time, not in space. But while language is the vehicle of spirit, music is the vehicle of senusality."
This seems to demote music from the lofty rank Nietzsche gives it, but lets see. Kenny goes on:
" . . . the development of music and the discovery of sensuality are both in fact due to Christianity. . . . it took Christianity to separate out sensuality by contrasting it with spirit."
In Greece, we find sensuality and spirit in an undifferentiated, homogeneous whole; but Christianity made the two distinct.
Says K's pseudonym:
"If I imagine the senual erotic as a principle, as a power, as a realm characterized by spirit, that is to say characterized by being excluded by spirit, if I imagine it concentrated in a single individual, then I have the concept of the spirit of the sensual erotic."
This is very close to Nietzsche's Dionysian spirit, where language - for the psuedonym - signifies the Apollonian spirt.
In its immediacy this 'spirit' can only be expressed 'in music'.
Kierkegaard compliments Nietzsche even more:
"When he (the aesthete) is interpreted in music, on the other hand, I do not have a particular individual, I have the power of nature, the demonic, which as little tired of seducing, or is done with seducing, as the wind is tired of raging, the sea of surging, or a waterfall cascading down from its height."
This has parallels to Nietzsche's 'superman' and elements in the Dionysian spirit.
Language, music, and gesture
I ran into a quote by Nietzsche in his book 'Human, All to Human' about Language.
The whole phenomenon of metaphysics is based on the use of language in a particular way. But the question is: is there anything 'older', 'further back', 'more primitive' than Language? Keep in mind that Language too is the voice of Rationality and Reason. But if we can find something 'more' or 'bigger' than Language, we might find a clue to the meaning of life.
Nietzsche says:
"The imitated gesture led the imitator back to the sensation expressed by the gesture in the body or the face of the one imitated. This is how we learned to understand one another; this is how the child still learns to understand its mother."
Think of the polarity between saying, "I am in despair.", and the 'look' of despair on a face. Doesn't the 'look' communicate something more than any description in language? Isn't this pre-rational language our original tongue?
This 'gesture' is not mediated by subject/predicate language; it's the same with music. It is pure immediacy. And music and gesture are tied to one another. For music leads to bodily movement, dance, etc . . .
In 'Thus Spake Zarathustra', Nietzsche says:
"Only in the dance do I know how to tell the parable of the highest things: and now my highest p
arable remained unspoken in my limbs."
Also,
"The self does not say, 'I', it DOES I."
The whole phenomenon of metaphysics is based on the use of language in a particular way. But the question is: is there anything 'older', 'further back', 'more primitive' than Language? Keep in mind that Language too is the voice of Rationality and Reason. But if we can find something 'more' or 'bigger' than Language, we might find a clue to the meaning of life.
Nietzsche says:"The imitated gesture led the imitator back to the sensation expressed by the gesture in the body or the face of the one imitated. This is how we learned to understand one another; this is how the child still learns to understand its mother."
Think of the polarity between saying, "I am in despair.", and the 'look' of despair on a face. Doesn't the 'look' communicate something more than any description in language? Isn't this pre-rational language our original tongue?
This 'gesture' is not mediated by subject/predicate language; it's the same with music. It is pure immediacy. And music and gesture are tied to one another. For music leads to bodily movement, dance, etc . . .
In 'Thus Spake Zarathustra', Nietzsche says:
"Only in the dance do I know how to tell the parable of the highest things: and now my highest p
arable remained unspoken in my limbs."Also,
"The self does not say, 'I', it DOES I."
Friday, September 4, 2009
Chesterton, Art, and Rationality
This is from Chesterton's book Orthodoxy. I almost want to make this quote a major pillar in my own philosophy.
"We have all forgotten what we really are. All that we call common sense and rationality and practicality and positivism only means that for certain dead levels of our life we forget that we have forgotten. All that we call spirit and art and ecstacy only means that for one awful instant we remember that we forget."
All our faculties have the right role here. Common sense is of practical value; it can help us get on in the world, it can help us survive, make money, and have all the goods that come from material comfort. Rationality can help us with logic, thinking clearly about things we were meant to think clearly about. But we can't help but think that a pure life of rational contemplation sucks the sap out of the tree. We feel that there is something more primitive, primal, further back, on the other side of the world (almost), which we must feed upon so as to perserve spiritual sanity. This is hard because our minds are constantly daming this current. Everything has to pass the test of intellectual scrutiny. But there is something about who we are that isn't satisfied by pure rationality.
It does sort of feed into the idea that we forget that we've forgotten. The whole point of our existence is to remember who we are. Throughout our lives, we're supposed to find out more and more who we are by finding out more and more who God is. We have the wool drawn over our eyes when we have this pathological desire to engage in all these activities that are designed - by their nature - to not assist us in our quest to find ourselves.
But "spirit and art and ecstacy"! "For one aweful instant we remember that we forgot." Doesn't this just resonate with you? I have to remember that I cannot enter into the least bit of imaginative sympathy with the person who cannot feel this in his bones, or the person who has no desire for anything having to do with spirit, art, or ecstacy. I know these gods take on different forms, and I'm only directly acquainted with the way they manifest themselves in my own consciousness.
This all, again, supports my point that something is prior to rationality, something is there prior to the Logos, something or Someone begets this Logos, and it is a sublime mystery to me to pond
er the mode of existence the Logos spawns from. My imagination can only cling to images of tempests, ocean waves, galaxies, canyons, mountains, or feelings of awe, fascination, and dread, or things associated with the other-worldly, the ghostly, the alien, even the uncivilized, the barbarous, the primitive, the amoral, or pre-moral, a maelstrom, of which the tortured genius is a fleeting shadow, intense, undomesticated, unpredictable, like a lion.
"We have all forgotten what we really are. All that we call common sense and rationality and practicality and positivism only means that for certain dead levels of our life we forget that we have forgotten. All that we call spirit and art and ecstacy only means that for one awful instant we remember that we forget."
All our faculties have the right role here. Common sense is of practical value; it can help us get on in the world, it can help us survive, make money, and have all the goods that come from material comfort. Rationality can help us with logic, thinking clearly about things we were meant to think clearly about. But we can't help but think that a pure life of rational contemplation sucks the sap out of the tree. We feel that there is something more primitive, primal, further back, on the other side of the world (almost), which we must feed upon so as to perserve spiritual sanity. This is hard because our minds are constantly daming this current. Everything has to pass the test of intellectual scrutiny. But there is something about who we are that isn't satisfied by pure rationality.
It does sort of feed into the idea that we forget that we've forgotten. The whole point of our existence is to remember who we are. Throughout our lives, we're supposed to find out more and more who we are by finding out more and more who God is. We have the wool drawn over our eyes when we have this pathological desire to engage in all these activities that are designed - by their nature - to not assist us in our quest to find ourselves.
But "spirit and art and ecstacy"! "For one aweful instant we remember that we forgot." Doesn't this just resonate with you? I have to remember that I cannot enter into the least bit of imaginative sympathy with the person who cannot feel this in his bones, or the person who has no desire for anything having to do with spirit, art, or ecstacy. I know these gods take on different forms, and I'm only directly acquainted with the way they manifest themselves in my own consciousness.
This all, again, supports my point that something is prior to rationality, something is there prior to the Logos, something or Someone begets this Logos, and it is a sublime mystery to me to pond
er the mode of existence the Logos spawns from. My imagination can only cling to images of tempests, ocean waves, galaxies, canyons, mountains, or feelings of awe, fascination, and dread, or things associated with the other-worldly, the ghostly, the alien, even the uncivilized, the barbarous, the primitive, the amoral, or pre-moral, a maelstrom, of which the tortured genius is a fleeting shadow, intense, undomesticated, unpredictable, like a lion.Philosophy, the Arts, and Richard Rorty
I bought a book called Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature by Richard Rorty. I am excited to read this book because I think he is the clearest and best defender for various feelings I've been having about the analytic tradition in philosophy. To say the least, I haven't really favored the analytic tradition. I've had a falling out with it. But it hasn't been a complete divorce. It's almost like I'm telling it, 'It's not you, it's me.' Let's not get married; let's be 'just friends'. I want to make it a tool in my tool-box. Analytic philosophers want to make their philosophy the actual tool-box! They want it to be 'the privileged discourse'. More and more, I've wanted to make analytic philosophy a branch of something else, of something more ultimate - as long as it's not the trunk of the tree, or the roots from which the trunk grows.My personal philosophy is very nascent, but I have strong intuitions about its truth. I can't put it into words to my satisfaction, but I can hint at it by saying how I priviledge certain modes of expression over others. Music is high on the list; but then another part of me wants to call it Art in General, where Music can be branch. This view is highly influenced by Schopenhauer and Nietzsche. Nietzsche wrote the Birth of Tragedy out of the Spirit of Music. I have trouble relating to 'Tragedy', but I don't think it's too far off from a Movie, which I am very acquainted with. I want to say that these kinds of things 'come first'; but I have trouble putting into words exactly what I mean by this. Is it the very nature of my scheme that I can't analytically justify the order of the scheme itself? For if I could, the scheme itself is subsumed under the analytic tradition, and the tradition isn't a branch of something like I intially wanted it to be.
There is something very real in Music, however: something so real that when I am immersed in musical rapture, Descarte's demon almost seems like a harmless mirage. It's almost like the demon is only meant to haunt a mind dominated by the tyranny of the analytic tradition. But I want my philosophy to transcend that tradition's shortcomings: over-reliance on the mind, neglectful of intuitions, the arts, music, and movies. I really want to incorporate movies into my philosophy of life. For everything seems to come to a head in the movies: we can be moved by music, we have the visual representations who act, we have the arousal of emotions by the actor (which are feigned) and the audience (which are real), the themes and motifs which the film might want to indirectly transfer, and a host of other things.
Literature seems like a good candidate for making philosophy a branch of. But then Literature is a form of Art.
It's so funny to hear about the vexation people feel when a philosophy isn't direct and clear. But, as Nietzsche mused: what if truth is a woman? What if it really is? What if truth has to be coaxed out of us, or aroused in a certain way, and what if the most efficient way to do this is through the Arts? Even Rudolph Otto, in his 'The Idea of the Holy' admitted he was going to be talking about things which couldn't be directly mentioned. He had to invent or point out analogies and metaphors that were meant to arouse in us certain emotions. Why? Because the next step is to say that these emotions - the ones you feel now as a result of the metaphor - are analogous to the emotions you'd feel if you were in direct contact with that X of which we can't directly describe or communicate. He says that things of the Spirit have to be awoken in this w
ay. Spiritually, we are all asleep, trying to wake up with the illusion of Reason, not realizing that such an illusion may be a part of the dream.I'll see how Rorty can help me on my trek.
God's Hiddenness and Psychology?
I've been thinking about why people think that religious truths should be more obvious. If something as important as my personal damnation hinges on whether I know certain facts, why wouldn't God make more certain that I know these facts, or that everyone knows them? Now, I can't honestly ask this question with a straight face, because I think I have good reasons why the question doesn't make sense. Of course, I could be wrong, but I only have my mind to work with.Surely God knows everything. That's what omniscience means. We also know that everyone's psychology is unspeakably complex. Who knows what lurks beneath our own conscious lives, let alone everyone who has ever lived. For me, it seems entirely possible that for some people, people with a certain kind of psychology, a direct and obvious relevation from God would be met by revulsion, fear, rationalization, or perhaps even indifference, or even puzzlement. But then perhaps an omnipotent God can remedy this. But I don't see how He can do this without direct manipulation of thier psychological constitution, which would tamper with their free will, which is linked up with their psychology. It is intuitive to me that we have to perserve freedom.
So, it is possible that a direct revelation yeilds less saved than an indirect one. And it doesn't seem like we can overturn this possibility from the standpoint of our finite perspectives. I mean, what reason could we possibly appeal to so as to prove that God ought to have made Himself more obvious, or Christian Truth more obvious? It seems we extrapolate from our own expectations or our own idiosyncratic predicament to foist that upon everyone else. But there doesn't seem to be a good reason to engage in such an extrapolation. It doesn't even see
m like we have a good reason to apply it to the case we know about the most: our own. For the psychologists are the quickest to let us know that our knowledge of our selves is extremely limited, the vast portion of what may be called 'our naked personalities' submerged - like an iceberg - beneath a vortex of competing wishes, desires, and fears: what Freud might call the Id.Thoughts on the Argument from Reason
Victor Reppert popularized one of my favorite arguments for some sort of dualism. The argument first appeared in the 3rd chapter in C.S. Lewis' book Miracles called 'The Cardinal Difficulty in Naturalism'. I can't reproduce it here perfectly from memory, but I'll write what I remember.According to Naturalism, we are purely material objects. There is no part of us that is not made of matter. But then a question arises: how is it that we come to call our own thought rational? For, presumably, if something is purely material, all of its parts are non-rational. If we have 10 grains of sand or a billion grains of sand, we still have a bunch of sand.
Now, the scientists tell us that matter is completely governed by the law of cause and effect. This law governs certain bahavior of matter called events. Thus, if our minds are nothing but matter, then our minds are nothing but various events governed by the law of cause and effect. By definition, if X is wholly material, and therefore nothing but events, and therefore governed by the law of cause and effect, then X, and anything that X causes, is non-rational.
But if all this is true, we have lost all grounds to suppose that anything that I've typed so far is rational. We'd be reduced to saying that we should just call it rational for pragmatic reasons. So, what would have to be the case for our arguments to have rationality or validity?
Lewis here introduces another relation - along with the cause and effect relation - called the ground/consequent relation. I assume this relation is a universal that is in time, but not in space (can't expound on that anymore right now), for I have other reasons for thinking that our minds - or more exactly our mental properties - are in time, but not in space. That is, these properties have no extention, and so they are spaceless; and yet we seem to be related to this relation, and so the only other dimension I know of is time. When we argue validly or rationally, our minds hook up with or link with this relation in another dimension - a rational dimension - which is sufficiently free from the causal nexus so as to be determined by what it knows. Since we defined being non-rational in terms of being a lump of matter governed by the law of causality, we can in turn define the rational in terms of being a lump of matter with mental properties which allow the brain to link with the relation of ground and consequent, residing in a non-spatial, temporal dimension, so as to be free of the causal nexus; for if it not free of such a nexus, it is determined by physical causality, which will make it non-rational.
If the mindless process of events driven on by causality determines a particular event to be, what other conclusion can we draw other than that the particular event is a non-ration
al, determined product of blind determinative processes which came about like the millionth domino falling after the first was pushed over?If you are a naturalist, you have no ground to believe anything you say is rational.
Thoughts on Kant . . .
I had an interesting conversation with a woman at CCU. We got to talking about an assignment that was given to us in our Metaphysics class. She seems like a smart person, but she hasn't read very much, which she admitted. Since she hasn't read very much, but what she has read has alarmed her. For example, she said Kant jarred her - even made her feel like she couldn't look in a mirror. She needed the assurance that what she was looking at, what was reflecting back to her, was something real. Kant would, of course, admit it was real; the only catch is that it is real in the sense of being a part of the 'phenomena', or 'things as they seem to us', or 'things as interpreted through our 'categories of perception'.Without any other philosophers to help her, she becomes disillusioned, trapped in the cacoon over own senses. I mentioned the Medievals, and how they regarded the senses as doors to true reality, rather than prisons within which we don't get at reality at all. But she scorned the Medievals because she doesn't think them critical, or because they believed in God.
She doesn't want to invoke God in any philosophy for her. I told her I have no problem doing this as long as I have some rational assurance that it is true. She looked at me rather strange, as if to suggest that the very possibility of it being true was a foregone conclusion. It wasn't even an option, which is a frame of mind I have trouble relating to.
I did get a chance to introduce her toƒ the philosophy of Kierkegaard, and other Conti
nental philosophers. Continental philosophy is disdained by much of the faculty at Coastal. I mentioned that Kierkegaard's conception of God is much more attractive - from my experience - than that presented at your Church on the corner, or that which tends to be presented by institutionalized Christianity. Her face was peculiar at this point. Much of what I was saying was met by raised eyebrows, but not the kind that would suggest smugness, but that which might suggest shock. But not the kind of shock that is sometimes accompanied by disgust. It was accompanied by a sort of 'newness', a new fragrance, alien, and yet - perhaps - desired. But her guard was up because there was still a lot of talk about God, which was off limits.Kant seems like a big obstacle to her. He hasn't bothered me much. I disagree with him at the threshold. We have different starting points. But she is trapped because her and Kant share the same starting point. Why should I grant Kant's initial assumption: the distinction between the world as it is and the world as it appears to me. I know my senses sometimes deceive me; but then sometimes they don't. And when they don't, I'm getting at the world as it is in itself. And even if my modes of perception confine me to the world as it seems to me, why sink into despair? Perhaps Heaven is a place where we have different kinds of cognitive faculties, which enable different modes of perception, allowing our minds to have varied categories of thought through which to perceive reality. But that I don't have it right now doesn't make me despair.
Besides, I see no argument for Kant's assumptions. I have no problem siding with the Medievals. I think our senses put in touch with reality. I have no reason not to think this. And Kant hasn't given me a good reason.
Just some thoughts . . .
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Brief explanation of the Morgage crisis
Sheep: Hey, can I have a loan?Lender: Hmmm. We used to want proof that you can pay it back, but we don't need it. The cost of your house is going to keep going up. So, we'll just give everyone a loan, no matter how much. And no one will have to prove they can pay it back.
Sheep: Really! Cool! My job sucks, so that works for me. Those morgage payments would be a pain in the butt!
Lender: Here's a cool deal. No morgage payments for 2 years! Don't pay any loans.
Sheep: 2 years?! Wow. That works, because . . . uh . . . I can pay it then. I'll probably mo
ve up the ladder at my job by then. And . . . my house will be worth 50% more . . . so there's nothing to worry about . . . .Lender: Nope! No worries. Here's your loan.
Sheep: Thanks!
Sheep leaves.
Lender: Should I secure the loan? Nah . . . the bank will take care of it.
Bank 1: Wow! That's a bunch of loans you're giving there. I don't see any income from the loans, though. So, let's give out more loans! How do we get more capital to give more bad loans?
Bank 2: Well, we can sell the loans we've got already as assets. Let's promise that the loans 'will be' paid back, since the houses are going to be worth more in the future anyway. If the houses are worth more, the loans are worth more! So, we'll sell them, and people will buy a bunch, since they're worth a bunch. Also, we'll call the best of the bad morgages AAA, and give all the morgages different names! The really bad morgages are BBB. AAA and BBB sound better than just saying 'really terrible morgages', anway. The worst morgages don't get a name. Let's give people great interest rates on those securities!Bank 1: Good idea! So as people buy more and more of the loans, we get more and more money. And the more money we have, the more money we can loan again! But wait a second. If all the morgages really are bad, aren't we just slitting out own throats? In the short-run, we make money by selling the loan; but in the long-run, it seems like we're digging our own graves!
Bank 2: Stop with your worrying. We don't think about the future! We think about next quarter! Why? That's what OUR investors think about. And keep in mind that the price of houses will always go up! If not, the government will be our safety net.
Bank 1: How do you know the government will be there?
Bank 2: Well, duh! We and government are in this together. If we go down, we all go down.
2 years later . . .
Sheep: Hmmm. I still can't pay this darn morgage payment. And my house isn't worth more; it's worth less! Wait a minute. My morgage is worth more than my house! So, let me get this straight. I can default on my morgage; I can then get another morgage for a BETTER house for the SAME price. I'm not paying these stupid morgage payments.
Back at the bank . . .
Bank 3: I just bought a bunch of morgage-backed securities, but their not worth anything. What the heck is going on!
Bank 1&2: Oh. Yea . . . A bunch of people bought those. People all over the country and the world. Ummm . . . . We might have started a tiny, massive global recession.
Great.
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