Prefatory Note:
This is a very long blog — of nearly 3,000 words — and I have some concern over ‘inflicting’ it on you, the reader. In addition, I should say that it is quite certain that Aunt Edna will not like it (!), and neither will fundamentalists of any persuasion. I hope that its tone does not reflect that of Richard Dawkins, Sam Harris, or Christopher Hitchens. We have had enough of their stridency. I have tried very hard to be fair and reasonable. However, my patience with the theologian, Paul Tillich, has I fear run out; and I can only hope that I have made my reasons for this transparent.
It is perhaps a paradox that, although I am a ‘natural’ atheist — having never for an instant believed in God — nevertheless I remain permanently interested in religion, and specifically in Christianity. Probably the reason for this is that we are all in the west fundamentally Christian in out ethics and Platonist in our world view. Since Plato, for better or worse, we cannot rid ourselves of the notion that mind or soul is separate from body or matter. I believe [sic] that this is an illusion, formed before we had the least notion of the (near miraculous) nature of the physical world. Yet, we should notice that, as the faculties of the body deteriorate, so too do those of the mind. We have been plagued with dualism for centuries, and people are murdered every day in its name. It will be a good day when we can accept Emerson’s definition of mind as, ‘matter pressed ever so fine.’
~ ——————————— ~
Reason v revelation
In a previous blog, I wondered why it was necessary to ‘label’ myself in relation to my belief(s) — of whatever kind: Freudian, Neo–Darwinian (if such a category exists), Buddhist, Atheist, Theist, and so on. After all, scholars — as, for example, Joel Porte and Walter Kaufmann — have written (respectively) extensively on Emerson and Nietzsche, and yet neither identify themselves as Emersonians or a Nietzscheans. However, I have strictly in mind religious beliefs, and I find that not everyone is happy with my suggestion–cum–determination to remain in what I see as a necessarily permanent position of uncertainty. However, if it is insisted that I nail my colours to the mast, then I would not be at all unhappy to call myself a rationalist (though I have to admit that rationalism is scarcely compatible with theism, and that I am therefore more or less compelled to call myself an atheist). Be that as it may, rationalism needs to be explained — as I shall make no assumption that everyone reading this will immediately feel at home with the term. The full sense of Rationalism as a term in philosophy is in fact very complex, but I shall use it as described by Peter Angeles in his A Dictionary of Philosophy (Harper Row, 1981): Rationalism In general, the philosophic approach which emphasises reason as the primary source of knowledge… And, as an additional aid, I will add this clear and short account from Peter Medawar’s essay The question of the existence of God from The Strange Case of the Spotted Mice ~ And other classic essays on science (OUP, 1996 selection):
I am a rationalist — something of a period piece these nowadays, I admit — but I am usually reluctant to declare myself to be so because of the widespread misunderstanding or neglect of the distinction which must always be drawn in philosophic discussion between the sufficient and the necessary. I do not believe — indeed I deem it a comic blunder to believe — that the exercise of reason is sufficient to explain our condition and where necessary to remedy it, but I do believe that the exercise of reason is unconditionally necessary and that we disregard it at our peril.
Primarily, then, rationalists place reason above all other forms of evaluating experience. However, this in no way means that they therefore deny the fundamental importance and reality of inspiration, intuition, tacit knowledge, and similar life experiences. Rather, rationalists stress the danger of flying off at a tangent, taking these experiences as certain knowledge, and turning their minds into a mess of pottage. Meaning, specifically, the embracement of conspiracy theories, crackpot religions, New Age hocus-pocus, and similar.
A paradigm example of the necessary use of reason may, I think, be applied to Acts 9:3–5 in the New Testament. This is the account of Paul’s conversion from a persecutor of Christ to a follower:
And as he [Saul/Paul] journeyed, he came near Damascus: and suddenly there shined about him a light from heaven: and he fell to the earth, and heard a voice, saying unto him, Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me? And he said, Who art thou Lord? And the lord said, I am Jesus whom thou persecutest: it is hard for thee to kick against the pricks.
Now, I have no reason to suppose that Saul did not have what we have come to call this Damascene experience. However, as to the precise nature or truth of this experience neither I nor the countless theologians who have studied this passage have the remotest idea. (Although, as a rationalist, I have no belief that Christ communicated directly with Paul in this manner — the means of transmission and reception entirely escaping me.) Certainly, we may say that a contemporary Paul would have a very hard time explaining himself on the Today program. He would be met with a justified scepticism, and we may easily see why it is now impossible for any new religion to be born. However, whatever we may think of Paul — and I am not at all sure that Christ would have warmed to him — we should note the far–reaching consequences of his interpretation of a single event. This is a perilous way of decision–making — some echoes of which we witnessed in the conviction politics of Tony Blair — and when passions are raised to such a pitch that reason is trodden underfoot, who then can say what mayhem may follow.
The problem of evil
The greatest problem have with theism — and belief in an all powerful and loving God — relates to the amount of suffering in the world. Technically — in philosophy and theology — the problem of suffering is divided into two classes: 1/ Human evil: the things that human beings do to one another, to animals, and to the natural world. 2/ Natural evil: earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, tsunami, pandemics, etc. The latter term is somewhat awkward, given that we generally associate evil with human intention or agency, which is inapplicable to natural disasters. It is true that we could attribute natural evil to God — as having created a world subject to such catastrophic events. However, given that there is no correlation between natural cataclysmic events and the moral standing of the victims (contingently placed), we would then find it next to impossible to absolve God from the charge of foreseeing tragic consequences but doing nothing to prevent their future occurrence. In this case, natural evil remains a problem for the theist. However, it is a mistake to say that the problem of evil is only such for theists. As Albert Schweitzer writes, we are all more oppressed by the riddles of the universe than we allow each other to see. For example, predation in the natural world remains to me a fundamental enigma. What need is there for puff adders, alligators, funnel–web spiders, fangtooth fish, etc.? Admittedly, many predators are useful in keeping down vermin and other ‘pests’. But what need of the evolution of vermin and other ‘pests’ in the first place?! And please note that this remains a problem for me quite irrespective of the existence of God or otherwise, and I would suggest that many of us may find ourselves in the same boat in this instance.
Fangtooth fish
Equally, I find myself in the same boat as theists in relation to disease and illness. Just what, I ask myself is the point of it? What purpose does it serve? I work part–time as a data collector in the Paediatric Intensive Care Unit at Addenbrookes Hospital (UK), and it will not surprise readers to know that I have become familiar with some of the most distressing conditions which can afflict babies and children. I cannot of course discuss individual cases, and I do not intend even to list some of those conditions with which I am only too familiar. However, I do feel at liberty to talk about a friend who died aged 29, from a brain tumour. And I have to ask, in this context, what possible meaning could be given to his suffering. A rabbi visited him in hospice, and asked — with unbelievable insensitivity — how ‘he felt about his situation’. You may easily imagine my friend’s response to this. The rabbi had nothing to say, for indeed there was nothing to say. Religion had no comfort for him, and what little I was able to give came from an extended hand.
Taking Tillich to task
Sachsenhausen. Prisoners involved in
forced labour. 1940
Paul Tillich was one of the most radical religious thinkers of the last century. Unfortunately, he was at times also one of the most incoherent — almost as if he had taken Ezekiel as his model… It is in relation to the problem of evil that I find myself most at odds with him. In two of his sermons, reprinted in The Shaking of the Foundations (Pelican), Tillich discusses Divine providence, suffering, the ultimate good, and the Kingdom of God. I confess that I have no idea what Divine providence is, and that it has never manifested itself to me. Equally, I find myself wondering what exactly would constitute an ultimate good; when historically this might be expected; and who might be present at the time — if I may so express it. Moreover, I have not the slightest idea what is meant by the Kingdom of God. However, I am of course quite familiar with suffering, and on solid ground there. Still, if we are to criticise then we must make what we can of the statements made — while noting that in this case we are not dealing with arguments: there are no propositions, the truth of which we may judge for ourselves. Here is a passage from The Meaning of Providence, which I would imagine was written during WW2:
…the content of the faith in Providence is this: when death rains from heaven as it does now, when cruelty wields power over nations and individuals as it does now, when hunger and persecution drive millions from place to place as they do now, and when prisons and slums all over the world distort the humanity of the bodies and souls of men as they do now — we can boast [sic] in that time, and just in that time, that all of this cannot separate us from the love of God. In this sense, and in this sense alone, all things work for the good, for the ultimate good, the eternal love, and the Kingdom of God… Providence means that there is a creating and saving possibility implied in any situation, which cannot be destroyed by any event.
Words almost fail me. Where, I would like to ask, could we find a ‘creative and saving possibility’ in the deaths of Victoria Climbié and baby Peter? Not to mention all those thousands of children who are sexual slaves in India. Here is an extract from a New York Times article by Nicholas D. Kristof, published April 22, 2007, entitled The 21st-Century Slave Trade: Along the India/Nepal Border:
Anyone who thinks that the word ''slavery'' is hyperbole when used to describe human trafficking today should meet Meena Khatun. She not only endured the unbearable, but has also shown that a slave trader's greed sometimes is no match for a mother's love.
Human trafficking is the big emerging human rights issue for the 21st century, but it's an awful term, a convoluted euphemism. As Meena's story underscores, the real issue is slavery.
Meena was kidnapped from her village in north India by a trafficker and eventually locked up in a 13–girl brothel in the town of Katihar. When she was perhaps 11 or 12 — she remembers only that it was well before she had begun to menstruate — the slaver locked her in a room with a white-haired customer who had bought her virginity. She cried and fought, so the mother and two sons who owned the brothel taught Meena a lesson.
''They beat me mercilessly, with a belt, sticks and iron rods,'' Meena recalled. Still, Meena resisted customers, despite fresh beatings and threats to cut her in pieces.
Finally, the brothel owners forced her to drink alcohol until she was drunk. When she passed out, they gave her to a customer.
When she woke up, Meena finally accepted her fate as a prostitute. ''I thought, 'Now I am ruined,' '' she remembered, ''so I gave in.''
Meena thus joined the ranks of some 10 million children prostituted around the world — more are in India than in any other country. The brothels of India are the slave plantations of the 21st century.
Every night, Meena was forced to have sex with 10 to 25 customers. Meena's owners also wanted to breed her, as is common in Indian brothels. One purpose is to have boys to be laborers and girls to be prostitutes, and a second is to have hostages to force the mother to cooperate.
[My emphasis]
Full article:
Well, let us now hear some more from Tillich — from The Two Servants of Jahweh [God]. Here, Tillich is discussing the ‘forces [for good] in our battered world.’ He identifies one of these as consisting of the unseen servants of God who exist in all countries.
We do not know where these servants live, or what they will make of the future. But we do know that they exist, and that their suffering is not in vain. They are the hidden tools of the God of History. They are the aged and the children, the young men and the young women, the persecuted and the imprisoned, and all those sacrificed for the sake of the future, for one small stone in the building of the Kingdom of God, the cornerstone of which is the perfect Servant of God. [My italics]
I have italicised the two phrases above because I would suggest 1/ That we do not know that the suffering of these putative people was ‘not in vain’; and 2/ I believe that the idea of such imaginable suffering on so vast a scale — ‘for the sake of the future, for one small stone…’ — is a truly monstrous idea. It would be evil were it not so ludicrous. I do not want to live my life fulfilling a purpose established by some other. I did not ask to be born. Moreover, to be told that I am here to do the will of some other, and yet to find that that will is opaque and beyond all knowing is not credible — and it would be a cruel game if true. Who among us would dare to suggest to Meena that there was ‘a creating and saving possibility implied’ in her situation? I have to wonder what kind of man Tillich really was. Probably he would have agreed with St Paul’s strange utterance in 1 Corinthian 1.22–24: …Jews demand signs and Greeks seek wisdom, we preach Christ crucified, a stumbling–block to Jews and folly to gentiles. Certainly, Tillich was scornful of Greek thought — despite the fact that the works of Plato, Aristotle, and the Hellenistic philosopher have for centuries been ransacked by Christian theologians! — as may be seen in the following passage from Doing the Truth:
In Greek thought truth only [sic!] can be found. In Christianity truth is found if it is done, and done if it is found. In Greek thought truth is a manifestation of the eternal, immovable essence of things. In Christianity truth is a new creation, realising itself in history. Therefore, in Christianity the opposite of truth is a lie, and not — as it was in Greece — opinion.
Well — leaving aside the fact that to the Greek philosophers opinion was anathema — we may note that the above paragraph, once again, consists entirely of statements unsupported by argument. (It is true that we have one ‘therefore’, but the conclusion is based on unproven premises.) Daniel Dennett has described Tillich as, ‘a continental obscurantist.’ I am not much in favour of these dismissive summations — even though guilty of wickedly producing them myself! However, in this case, I think the description is fair enough. Tillich is an object lesson in how not to think. I have been tempted to bin The Shaking of the Foundations, but will instead keep it on my shelves as a salutary warning.
If God is God He is not Good.
If God is Good He is not God;
Take the even, take the odd,
I would not sleep here is I could
Except for the little green leaves in the wood
And the wind on the water.
If God is Good He is not God;
Take the even, take the odd,
I would not sleep here is I could
Except for the little green leaves in the wood
And the wind on the water.
Archibald MacLeish
No comments:
Post a Comment