Prehension

Gabor Karsai suggested that I might explain to you some of the contributions that Alfred North Whitehead has made to philosophy. I will, of course, speak as an American and in terms of the philosophical situation in the United States. I should also say that I am a theologian, and that means that my interest in philosophy is not purely theoretical. I am interested in its existential or personal implications and how it shapes human sensibility.

The topic on which I focus, and to which Whitehead made a particularly important contribution, is the relation of human experience to the remainder of the world. My plan is to identify schools of thought in terms of their accounts of this relationship.

Most American philosophers in the past half-century have belonged to the school of analytic philosophy. Since this label refers to a style of approach to philosophical issues rather than to underlying convictions about the way things are, analytic philosophers do not all adopt the same position with regard to the issue I have in view. Accordingly, my classification of major options does not correspond to the way American philosophers are likely to identify themselves.

Recognizing, then, that my typology is tendentious, I offer it nonetheless as one useful way of describing the present scene. The first three positions, the ones that I criticize, are materialism, Humean empiricism, and Kantian dualism. I identify the fourth school, the one in which I locate Whitehead, as nonmaterialist naturalism. Since I want to devote most of my time to explaining Whitehead's contribution, my treatment of the first three options will be extremely schematic.

I should also acknowledge that I am an anti-foundationalist in the sense that I do not believe that there is any place to begin philosophizing that does not already express important assumptions. That means that philosophers cannot prove and demonstrate. I will not make any effort to prove that Whitehead is correct and others are wrong. I will, however, explain why I find his treatment of the relation of human experience to the natural world more satisfactory than the major alternatives.

I also acknowledge that I begin with a bias toward common sense. By this I do not mean the culturally-conditioned common sense that is notoriously unreliable. I mean, instead, those convictions that everyone lives by in practice whatever they may say in theory. My colleague, David Griffin, has labeled these "hard-core common sense." For example, I believe that anyone who speaks presupposes that there are hearers who have a reality similar to that of the speaker. I believe, further, that the speaker presupposes that he or she has some kind of self-determination, that is, is not simply a complex arrangement of matter or a mere product of the past. Arguing the contrary seems to me a self-contradictory activity. Indeed, I believe that philosophically arguing against the assumptions entailed in the activity of arguing is self-defeating.

With respect to my major concern in this paper, I believe that noone can actually avoid believing that she or he is intimately involved with a physical body whose reality is not dependent on conscious thought. Further, I doubt that anyone can avoid acting as if this body is continuous in character with other bodies that make up our environment or can doubt that there are causal interactions among these bodies. In short, whatever we say about the external world theoretically, we continue to act as though it has a reality prior to and independent of our mental activity.

These convictions provide for me norms by which I judge philosophies. That is, I favor philosophies that explain, rather than explain away, these common sense assumptions. Of course, adequacy to universal common sense is not the only norm. There is much else to which a philosophy should be adequate. Also I am committed to consistency, coherence, and relevance. But I assume that my convictions about the importance of explaining hardcore common sense beliefs rather than explaining them away may be the most distinctive part of my assumptions. Obviously, these preferences and prejudices play a large role in my objections to materialism, Humean empiricism, and Kantian idealism.

II

Materialism continues to be widespread in the United States. A great many scientists have been socialized into accepting it, even if they rarely attempt to provide a sophisticated account. A smaller number of philosophers do attempt to defend it, and many others, even if they rarely discuss the question directly, show their materialistic bias when they discuss such questions as the mind-body relation. Probably the most widely accepted views in the United States are psychophysical identism and supervenience. Since both deny any causal role for human experience, locating all causality in the material brain, they seem to be continuations of epiphenomenalism under different labels. Although this may not be an extreme form of materialism, since it does not flatly deny the occurrence of conscious experience, by rejecting any role of such experience, it comes close enough for me to use the label.

Obviously, this kind of thinking fails to account for the ongoing experience of being affected by our bodies and of, in turn, influencing them. It must count the latter, at least, as wholly illusory. It requires that we suppose that the apparent influence of our experience in one moment on our experience in the next is also illusory. Since I believe noone can act as if this is so, I regard adopting such a belief as a profound philosophical weakness. This is to say nothing about the extreme difficulty of providing a coherent notion of matter in the first place, a problem well explained by both Hume and Kant.

I have qualified the empiricism of which I want to speak as Humean. I do so because I regard my own position as a form of empiricism. The empiricism I reject holds that all knowledge of what is outside the body is mediated by the senses and that what is provided by the senses are sensa or sense data. I call it Humean because Hume gave it its classical expression, and subsequent discussion of sensory empiricism has largely accepted his work as a starting point.

Hume showed that when we take the data of sense experience as the basis for all our knowledge of the world, many of those assumptions that we all make in practice are unintelligible. We cannot explain why we suppose, unfailingly, that there is a world consisting of something other than these sensory data. We cannot explain why we are so sure that there other subjects. We cannot explain our sense that one event happens because other events have happened. We cannot explain the role of our bodies in the experience of the world.

Despite these problems, Humean assumptions are still widely asserted, and many analytic philosophers employ them, at least part of the time. Many discussions of causality in American philosophy still follow Hume's lead. Sometimes Humean empiricism is combined in remarkable ways with materialist habits of mind, as they were even in Hume himself.

My own judgment that this whole approach is wanting is obvious in the way I have set up this discussion. Humeans "solve" many problems by simply deducing conclusions from the assumption that all knowledge of the world must be developed from the data of sense experience. The fact that these solutions contradict many beliefs that in practice no one escapes is not allowed to count against them. For me, on the other hand, it counts heavily against them.

Probably most Americans are vaguely, if not explicitly, dualistic. They are quite sure of the reality of their own feeling and thinking. They also suppose that the world they see and touch is for the most part of a quite different order. Perhaps Cartesian dualism is still the cultural common sense of Americans, and it plays its role in philosophical discussions as well.

Nevertheless, I have qualified the dualism I want to discuss as Kantian, because this is the form of dualism that is most likely to be systematically and critically defended by philosophers. Just as, after Hume, earlier forms of sensory empiricism came to be chiefly of historical interest, so also, after Kant, earlier forms of dualism were largely superseded.

Kant, of course, shared my dissatisfaction with the results of sensory empiricism. His response has been of enormous importance in the history of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. It is my impression that, on the European continent, it is the basis for almost all subsequent philosophical developments. In the United States the situation is more diverse, as I have already indicated, in that Humean empiricism and materialism still flourish in various guises. But Kant has been very influential there also, partly directly, and partly through the many other European thinkers he has influenced.

It would be foolish for me to attempt to instruct you about Kant. I suspect that you are all better Kant scholars than am I. I have the impression that in his Critique of Judgment there are formulations that differ markedly from the features of the Critique of Pure Reason that I am highlighting. I believe that book may contain resources for my topic that still remain to be mined. However, my interest here is not to discuss the intricacies of Kant's thought but to lift up his impact on subsequent thinkers with respect to the relation of human experience to the external world.

Kant accepted Hume's account of sensory experience and the extreme limits of what can be learned from it, when it is taken by itself. Indeed, Kant went even farther than Hume. He showed, for example, that from the data of sense experience we gain no sense of time. But Kant knew that in fact we have a sense of time and also that we are aware of causal relations in a way not accounted for by the regular succession to which Hume appealed. Accordingly, Kant argued, the organization of the data of sense experience is the work of the mind.

Kant posited a noumenal world that in some way supplied the sensory data. But this acknowledgment of an external world was not successful. He could say nothing about what it is, and his own account of causality precluded assigning it any causal role in relation to the phenomena. Accordingly, his followers generally gave up Kant's noumenal world and adopted a more fully idealist position.

I call this idealism dualistic, nevertheless, because it affirms two quite distinct spheres. There is the sphere of the creative activity of mind. There is the sphere of the nature that appears to us because of that creative activity. These are to be understood and studied in radically different ways.

From my perspective, the greatness of Kant's contribution lies in showing the immensely creative activity of the human mind in constituting the world in which we live. In the United States today, there are relatively few who follow Kant himself closely, but there are many who emphasize how human languages construct and constitute the world in which human communities live. Much is said of the social construction of reality. Feminists have been particularly influential in showing how reality is constructed in many societies for patriarchal purposes. Some philosophers of science argue that the work of science is to construct the world rather than to describe it. Since so much of social construction is an expression of power, there is now much interest in its deconstruction.

The emphasis on the construction of the world can also be quite individualistic. Much has been written on how our diverse life experiences lead us to construct our worlds differently. A psychotherapist can hardly help patients without provisionally entering into the ways they have constructed their worlds. The purpose of therapy can be understood to be to help patients reconstruct their worlds in ways that bring them less conflict and pain.

The Protestant denomination that calls itself "Christian Science" developed out of the New England transcendentalism that was deeply influenced by Kant. Practitioners believe that the mind constructs the body, so that if one's mind is fully healed there will be no sickness or disruption in the body. They refuse medical care because this is based on physicalist assumptions. Although this denomination is now declining, similar ideas are widespread in related movements and in some New Age groups.

Much as I appreciate and admire the brilliant analyses that have followed from the view that our worlds are constructed by our minds or our language, I am convinced that, taken by itself, it leaves central features of our experience unintelligible. No language could construct our bodies in such a way that they cease to need food. The explosion of an atomic bomb is not simply a word-event. This does not mean that we cannot study the diverse ways in which societies have constructed the eating of food. Nor does it mean that the way we interpret the explosion of an atomic bomb is unimportant or that the prior construction of the world was not a major factor in the occurrence of this event. But a philosophy that does not recognize a distinct physical component in food and atomic explosions, one that is impervious to how humans think about them, is inadequate. What I am calling Kantian dualism fails to account for the autonomous reality, activity and causality of the natural world.

III

I am calling the school of thought in which I locate myself nonmaterialistic naturalism. It reflects the understanding of some physicists that what they have called matter in the past is better viewed as energy. Among its members are William James, Henri Bergson, John Dewey, and C.S. Peirce. My own teacher was Charles Hartshorne. But because of limited time, I will confine myself to Alfred North Whitehead, who is generally recognized as the most rigorous and comprehensive thinker in this group.

When critically discussing the limits of empiricism above, I was careful to speak of sensory empiricism. This is because another label for this group of thinkers is "radical empiricism." They agreed with Kant that sensory empiricism cannot account for our experience, but they undertook to overcome this limitation through a more exhaustive, or radical, examination of what is given in experience. Despite differences in emphasis and style, they have much in common with some schools of phenomenology.

Whitehead deconstructed ordinary sense experience into two elements. One he called "presentational immediacy". When we attend to what is most clearly conscious, this is what appears, and it is understandable that Hume, and some of his predecessors limited themselves to this. In vision, for example, presentational immediacy presents to us as immediately given patches of color. Hume took these as exhausting what is given in visual experience, and he drew consistent implications.

Ironically, these consistent implications do not account for the fact that we experience these patches of color as derived from beyond ourselves. The naïve notion that the brown of the rug as such characterizes the rug in itself apart from visual experience can, of course, readily be shown to be absurd. But that the rug is such that, given suitable lighting, it causes multiple persons to have the visual experience of brown when attending to the region in which it is located is not a naïve view. It fits the facts as we know them. Also, it can be investigated by physics and physiology. From a scientific point of view, there is an indirect causal effect of events in the rug on the neurons in the brain. From the subjective point of view, there is a sense of derivation of elements of experience from beyond themselves. The correspondence here gives some justification for the claim that when we examine our experience radically we discover that the perception in the mode of presentational immediacy to which Hume gave exclusive attention arises out of "perception in the mode of causal efficacy".

This doctrine, that we perceive the causal efficacy of the world, is the radical and distinctive contribution of Whitehead. Because it is unfamiliar, it is this that I want to discuss in the remainder of my paper. To convince you that it is an idea to be taken seriously will require approaching it from several angles.

I have begun with the aspect of experience (vision) in which the experience of causal efficacy may be the most difficult to identify phenomenologically. Let us turn to another kind of reflection in which the argument that causal efficacy is empirically experienced may be more readily accepted. I ask you to focus on the flow of your own experience. Consider the relation of one moment of experience to its immediate predecessor. It is my judgment that what we find on such an examination is that the earlier experience flows into the later one. The later one is what it is largely because of this influence of the earlier one. On the other hand, the earlier one does not determine every feature of the later experience.

One way to focus attention on this relationship is to consider the experience in which one is hearing the final chord in a musical phrase. If we focus on presentational immediacy alone, the sound would be just what it is in itself. But in fact we hear it as the completion of a phrase. The sounds we were hearing in the preceding seconds are still resonating in our present experience. Otherwise there would be no music.

The point is equally clear when we listen to speech. In presentational immediacy we have only a single sound. The sound may be the completion of a word. But as such, in presentational immediacy, it is simply the sound that it is. That it is for the hearer the completion of a word depends on the continuing presence in that moment of what was heard before.

Or consider another thought experiment. Bertrand Russell once argued, based on his own commitment to sensory empiricism, that there is no reason not to suppose that the world came into being just as it is in the present moment. In other words, sensory empiricism provides us no evidence that there has been a past. Yet we all know that there has been a past. In a very significant way, we experience that past. We know that this moment of experience is not the first because we feel the present experience as growing out of past experiences.

The argument here is that actual empirical experience does not have the character it would have if all that is given in experience from outside itself were sense data. Empirically, or phenomenologically if you prefer, there is a sense of derivation from the past that is particularly clear in relation to one's own immediately past experiences. This does not have the vividness of the sense data, and it is rarely attended to, but it remains experiential. Whitehead believes it deserves an attention it has rarely received in the history of thought.

Whitehead calls the relation of one occasion of experience to its predecessor a "prehension". A prehension is the way in which one momentary experience incorporates or takes account of earlier such moments. The prehension to which I have directed attention is the one in which we can, at least vaguely, be conscious of both the act of prehending and the occasion that is prehended. We prehend the earlier occasion of our experience as itself a subject prehending other occasions. Through its mediation we prehend these other occasions, and through them, others.

This prehension of past occasions of experience is central to understanding both epistemology and causality. It is the way past occasions participate in constituting present ones. It also explains our deep conviction that experience has as its object or data things that have some reality apart from our experiencing them. That is, my prehension of the immediate past experience is an example of the way past occasions of experience exercise causal efficacy in my present experience. At the same time such prehensions are the reason that I know that I am experiencing a past reality.

IV

Now, if we are to go on to Whitehead's rich speculations about the role of prehensions in the world, I must ask you take the example I have given you and reflect about it. I hope you will find meaningful the notion that experience flows from one occasion into the other. The earlier occasion participates in constituting the later one. The later one incorporates the earlier experience in part, integrating that into itself. This is the prehensive relation.

I have urged you to focus on the prehension by one occasion of your experience of the immediately preceding one because we can be more or less consciously aware of this relation. But most of the time we are not aware of it. Certainly it is not the sort of thing to which we normally attend. In the evolutionary process conscious awareness and attention have been directed to events in the vicinity of our bodies. Our ancestors needed to be alert to danger, on the one hand, and to prospects of food, on the other. Attending to the internal flow of experience would not have contributed to their survival.

If this prehensive relationship is constantly taking place quite apart from any conscious awareness, it is not hard to suppose that other prehensive relationships occur that can never become conscious at all. Whitehead speculates that each occasion of human experience prehends not only past human experiences but also the events in the brain and through them events in other parts of the body and beyond. To put it in another way, there is a flow of causal efficacy from the events external to the body to bodily events and from them to the occasions of human experience.

Although we cannot identify in experience the prehensions of events in the brain, we do discover in our experience a vague but indubitable awareness of our bodies as causally effective in our experience. This awareness is heightened when there are acute pains of pleasures. My misery is caused by an aching tooth, or my pleasure, by the massaging of my back. Whitehead assumes that the prehensive relations involved follow the lines traced by physiologists. He also notes that in the evolutionary process bodily functioning developed to highlight for conscious awareness events in some parts of the body and not others. We feel the events in nerve endings but not in their transmission through other nerves.

This movement between human experience and bodily events is rendered plausible only by emphasizing the primacy of events. An occasion of human experience is an event. The firing of a neuron is also an event, as is the aching of a tooth. Metaphysically, Whitehead affirms that events are the primary realities, not objects or substances. Some events are partially conscious. Most have no consciousness at all. But all are related to others by prehension. That is, each event takes into account earlier ones and flows into later ones. The presence or absence of consciousness is not decisive for this process.

Although consciousness is rare in the universe, subjectivity is not. Since so many philosophers identify subjects with conscious subjects, this point must be stressed in any explanation of Whitehead's philosophy. He speculates that every event is both subject to the influence of other events and acts in its own constitution and causal efficacy for others. In these respects it is like conscious human experiences. Since most of what transpires even in the most highly conscious human experiences is not conscious, it should not be too difficult to understand that events with no consciousness at all still prehend antecedent events and are prehended by others. These prehensions constitute the natural causes that Hume thought could not be asserted and that Kant posited as the contribution of the human mind. Human experiences are complex events fully immersed in this web of natural causes.

It is important to see that in this cosmology causes are influences. A cause determines some feature of the event in which it exercises causality. It never necessitates that the event in question have, as a whole, just the character that it does. In human experience we cannot but believe that although much of what we are each moment is simply the result of the past, in each moment there is also some freedom. Just how to assimilate all the causal influences from the past and to integrate them in the present is decided in that present. The range of choice may be quite limited, but, in some moments, it is of immense importance for the future.

Whitehead sees no reason to deny that self-determination is also present in the experiences of other living things. Since consciousness contributes to the width of the range within which decision is made, as the role of consciousness declines, we would expect decision to play a smaller role. But even in human experience the moment-to-moment decisions are not conscious choices. So, even when consciousness is wholly lacking, we need not posit that events are totally determined by the past. How much spontaneity we can attribute to events of diverse sorts, and how precisely they can be predicted from their boundary conditions, are questions for investigation, not dogmatic prejudgment.

One caution is important here. The word "events" has a wide range of uses. We speak of a conversation as an event. But that event can be broken down into sub-events and those into other sub-events. A moment of human experience is the sort of sub-event that can no longer be broken down. It either occurs or it does not. It is these unitary, indivisible events that are the final subjects that take account of others and act on others. Cellular events seem to have this kind of unity, as do electronic ones. The event of a rock falling does not. We must look for the indivisible events in this case by analyzing the larger event at least into molecular ones. The prehensive relations are among the molecules or smaller units in the rock. The rock as a whole is a society of unitary events, and as a society it does not itself prehend or have any self-determination. Whatever spontaneities there are in the unitary events that compose the rock are statistically cancelled out by their vast number and randomness.

Thus far I have suggested a vision of a universe of interconnected events. Of course, the actual picture is far more complex since these events vary greatly in their relations and in their complexity. But the main point here is to show how the notion of prehension provides a way of understanding the causality that pervades nature, inclusive of human experience, without suggesting a deterministic world. I turn now to the epistemological side.

V

Whitehead believed that ordinary sense experience is in fact an integration of perception in the mode of presentational immediacy and perception in the mode of causal efficacy. He called this integration "perception in the mode of symbolic reference". Perception in the mode of causal efficacy is the kind of prehension of which I have been speaking, viewed from the side of the receiving subject. My personal past and my body influence my experience. They bring into the here-now what was there-then. The aching in my tooth a tiny fraction of a second ago is my aching now. But it is felt as derived from the tooth. Perception in the mode of presentational immediacy locates it in clear consciousness there-now in the place where the tooth's aching occurred a fraction of a second ago. When abstracted from the perception in the mode of causal efficacy from which it arises, perception in the mode of presentational immediacy gives no clue as to its source or as to time. When integrated with perception in the mode of causal efficacy in symbolic reference, we have the experience of the tooth as aching now.

In presentational immediacy there is no truth or error. The sensa are as they are. But in actual sense experience, there is error, because the sensa are referred to the real, present world. With regard to the aching tooth, the great likelihood is that the tooth is continuing to ache in the present much as it was aching a fraction of a second ago when nerve impulses carried the message to the brain. There is unlikely to be significant error. But we all know about phantom pains, when one continues, in symbolic reference, to locate the pain in the amputated limb.

Similarly, with visual experience of nearby objects the error in locating the color in the present object is normally trivial. If, however, we are gazing at the night sky, presentational immediacy locates the star in terms of the place from which the light came, which may be far indeed from where the star now is.

There is another kind of error involved in much symbolic reference. When we attribute aching to the tooth, there may be little error. What is happening in the cellular events in the tooth may not be drastically unlike the pain we attribute to that source. But when we attribute greenness to the grass, the difference is quite considerable. This is often dismissed as naïve realism. Greenness as a color is brought into being out of light waves by the eyes and brain. The cells in the grass have no comparable experience. This suggests that the world as given us in presentational immediacy may be totally discontinuous with the real world despite the fact that in Whitehead's vision all of nature is intricately interconnected.

Whitehead speculates that the disconnection is not quite that sharp, and Charles Hartshorne developed this speculation in a remarkable book, The Philosophy and Psychology of Sensation, in which he provides supportive scientific data. The theory is that colors and sounds, textures and tastes, all have strong emotional bases. We often use adjectives that seem more appropriate in one sensory realm in application to another. For example, a color may be cool or warm. These terms apply directly to the subjective, emotional component of the perception of that color, which is derived from the perception in the mode of causal efficacy that gives rise to the perception in the mode of presentational immediacy. Some colors, some sounds, and some tactile sensations may all have much the same emotional basis.

Whereas it is certainly naïve and erroneous to suppose that the cells in the grass experience greenness as a sense datum, it is not necessarily absurd to think that cellular experiences have an emotional component. Presumably this is quite unconscious, but so are most human emotions. One may then speculate that the emotional character of the experience in the cells in the grass are somewhat replicated in the emotional component of their prehension in the mode of causal efficacy from which the sense datum, green, arises visually.

I have stressed that this is speculation. Of course, this whole discussion of causality and epistemology is speculation. But I highlight the speculative character of the present discussion because it is unnecessary to the basic structure of the cosmology. Its importance to Whitehead and Hartshorne is existential or religious rather than conceptual. For both of them, it is important not only to know that we are part and parcel of the natural world but also to feel this. There are many people who do have this sensibility, and it involves a sense of connectedness and kinship, some would say, oneness. The belief that the feelings that the objects of sense experience arouse in us have no continuity with what is felt contributes to a sense of isolation or alienation. To show philosophically, with some scientific support, that those who intuit closer connections may not be wrong seems of some importance to Whitehead and Hartshorne – and to me. We believe that it makes sense to think that the world in some ways replicates itself in our experience.

VI

Thus far I have spoken only of one type of prehension. Whitehead writes about two basic types and the many complex ways in which they are integrated. The one of which I have been speaking Whitehead calls "physical". A physical prehension is a prehension of another occasion of experience. The prehension of one's past experiences is physical. Of course, the prehension of neuronal events is also physical. This is the causal efficacy of the world for the occasion.

But Whitehead is convinced that we cannot understand human experience as simply physical. We also prehend pure potentials, or pure possibilities, in abstraction from any embodiment. The colors of which I have been speaking are such possibilities. Initially, the point here is that from the actual entities we prehend physically, we can abstract some forms, potentialities, or possibilities. All of our sciences depend on the ability to entertain these in abstraction from their specific embodiment. We can imagine ways in which these may be combined with each other and embodied in the world. All conscious experience depends on the ability to compare what simply is with what may be. In short, "conceptual prehensions", as Whitehead calls these, are of immense importance in human experience.

Much of Whitehead's writing consists in a detailed account of how conceptual and physical feelings are integrated in human experience. He speaks of physical purposes and transmuted feelings as well as of various kinds of propositional feelings and intellectual feelings. The discussion of symbolic reference that I offered above can fit into this rich analysis of experience.

The doctrine of conceptual feelings opens the way to its own share of interesting speculations. Whitehead believes that we can entertain possibilities that we do not abstract from the data of physical prehensions. He believes that the realm of possibilities has a certain order that makes possible order in a world pervaded by freedom. He believes that the activity of creatively integrating the past in the present, moment-by-moment, depends on the lure of particular relevant possibilities. He believes that all these possibilities must be "somewhere" and that somewhere must be in some actual entity. His speculations about conceptual feelings lead him to an original and distinctive doctrine of God. For me, as a process theologian, these speculations are of great interest and provide a welcome alternative to the dominant theological cosmologies.

However, my topic today is prehension. If one accepts this doctrine, one can account for the highly complex conscious experiences of human beings in a fully non-reductionistic way, while at the same locating human beings fully in the context of the natural world. Nature no longer appears as passive, mechanical matter. It is dynamic. Even those things that we call inanimate are made up of entities that are continuous with simple forms of life. The emergence of life and consciousness in the evolutionary process is no longer sheer mystery. Our study of the natural world can be continuous with our study of the human world. Our experience is continuous with that of other animals and even with much simpler entities. Our deeper understanding of the world will reject objectification as its mode. We live as subjects in the midst of subjects. For me this is a great gain over materialism, sensationalist empiricism, and all forms of dualism.

Whiteheadians are almost of necessity ecologically oriented. Our concern about the natural environment is, of course, partly motivated by our concern for the well being of humanity. But we are also concerned about other beings for their own sake. Everything has some value in itself. Everything has value for other things. All things are related. All things are akin. Nothing exists in itself and of itself, least of all human beings. Humans cannot be saved apart from the natural world. We have enormous influence in the shaping and reshaping of that world. But it is equally true that that world shapes us. Indeed, we are simply one form – one very special and valuable form -- taken by that world.

Whitehead and Buddhism

Obviously, the comparison of one philosopher with a great tradition is awkward. Still some generalizations are possible. I will begin with some large and obvious differences.

Whitehead was a mathematical physicist interested in developing as coherent and intelligible a cosmology as possible. He was certainly not indifferent to its existential and religious meaning for those who accepted it. Nor was he unaware of its provisional character. He identified his project as that of speculative philosophy, understanding that to be the process of formulating hypotheses, testing and modifying them. He strove for as much objectivity and accuracy as he could attain, believing that there is real human value in conceptual understanding.

The Buddha and those who followed him most closely were critical of devoting efforts to speculate about the nature of the world. The goal was the relief of suffering and the attainment of enlightenment. This process required detachment from concepts rather than their pursuit. Ideas of various sorts may have usefulness on the way to enlightenment, but they are not part of enlightenment itself.

Nevertheless, certain ideas did become central to the Buddhist tradition. These included the rejection of substances and the notion of impermanence. These were explained by such central concepts as pratitya samutpada, which, for many Buddhists, has a quasi-metaphysical character. Although all of this, for Buddhists, subserves religious purposes, it is also deeply a part of the Buddhist worldview.

It is these features of Buddhism that Whitehead's conceptuality so closely resembles. No Western thinker has more emphatically or systematically rejected the idea of substance. Included in that rejection is also the rejection of permanence. Nothing remains the same. To be an actual occasion is to occur and then become part of the past, succeeded by other actual occasions. Experiences are fully actual, but they do not occur to a subject. Any idea of an enduring "subject" or "self" can only be an abstraction from the flow of experiences.

Furthermore, Whitehead's analysis of each occurrence as an instance of "the many becoming one" is remarkably like the analysis of pratitya samutpada by many Buddhists. We often translate that into English as "dependent origination." For Whitehead, also, we could understand each actual occasion as an instance of "dependent origination." Thus the replacement of substance by "the many becoming one" in Whitehead and by "dependent origination" in many Buddhists is very similar.

The similarity is sufficient that a few Buddhists have decided that Whitehead's detailed account of how an occasion of experience arises out of other occasions can be appropriated for Buddhist use with little or no revision. I claim them as Whiteheadian Buddhists.

There are, on the other hand, others who find it important to make a clear distinction between Buddhist thought and Whitehead on this point as well as others. My friend and discussion partner, the Zen missionary to the United States, Masao Abe, is one of these. He insists, following some well-established Buddhist traditions that, although at the level of ordinary experience and thought there is a difference between past and future, at the deepest level of experience, the enlightened level, this difference disappears. Pratitya samutpada expresses what is seen from this level. Whitehead's conceptuality, in Abe's view, remains at the ordinary level.

Abe is certainly correct that for Whitehead the difference between past and future is metaphysical. Whitehead strongly opposed those Western thinkers who ultimately denied the reality of temporal succession. He would certainly not be more appreciative of this denial coming from a Buddhist. Hence, there is a real issue here.

If it is essential to Buddhist thought to hold that the process of dependent origination originates in the same way from the future as from the past, then there is a deep conceptual difference between Buddhist ontology and that of Whitehead. For Whitehead, future events do not exist. What will happen in the future is still not determined. An occasion arises from the now determinate past. It anticipates a future and even seeks to influence it. But the causal efficacy of the past and the anticipation of the future must be clearly distinguished.

It is for Buddhists to say whether a lack of difference between past and future is essential to their thought. I know that not all Buddhists agree to that. Some share the Whiteheadian view that past and future differ and that that difference remains even from the fully enlightened perspective. I am encouraged to think that we Whiteheadians need not part company with Buddhism as such over this difference, although certainly we disagree with some Buddhists.

Even if there can be agreement on the nature of events and experiences, there is a striking difference in evaluation. Whitehead developed this aspect of his philosophy quite apart from existential or religious concerns. For Buddhists, the realization that nothing is permanent, that I am myself nothing but an instance of dependent origination, is profoundly liberating. Here, by "realization" I mean, not the sort of conceptual affirmation that is found in Whitehead's philosophy, but the making of this fact experientially real. That entails a fundamental freedom from the supposition that there is a permanent self about which one can reasonably be concerned. Nothing of this sort is discussed by Whitehead.

Indeed, it is striking that those attracted to Whitehead in the West often resist this doctrine of no continuing self more than anything else in his philosophy. They think they can appropriate much else while holding on to a stronger doctrine of ontological selfhood. I am quite sure that they are wrong, but my point here is that Whitehead's lack of appreciation of the religious importance of the no-self doctrine leads some of his readers to think they can follow him in general without appropriating this doctrine.

The response of others among Whitehead's admirers is to appreciate the possibility, through our encounter with Buddhism, to learn of the positive existential and religious importance of this doctrine. The dialogue with Buddhists has been extremely important for Whiteheadians for this reason. We may not change our conceptuality, but we discover implications of that conceptuality that are of immense importance. Some of us have been drawn to become practitioners of traditional Buddhist meditation of one sort or another.

Recognizing the danger of identifying views that arise in quite different contexts, I nevertheless do believe that somewhat different lines of reflection have led, in this case, to the same understanding of reality. This is quite reassuring to me and other Whiteheadians, since we believe that Buddhists have been testing this hypothesis for a long time. I hope it can prove reassuring to Buddhists as well, since Whitehead shows its extensive relevance and value in the interpretation of scientific findings. There is growing interest today among physicists in Whitehead's vision, and that implies, basically, in the Buddhist vision as well.

I turn now to a feature of Whitehead's analysis that has not been highlighted or thematized in Buddhism. This is the note of self-determination. It is not absent, I think, in Buddhist thought, but the issue of freedom and determinism that has been so important in Western philosophy has not be debated very clearly in Buddhist circles. One can read some Buddhist discussions as deterministic. The denial of any ultimate difference between past and future makes any theory of self-determination very difficult.

On the other hand, there certainly seems to be the possibility of breaking the chain of causation. Also there is exhortation to live in some ways rather than others, implying the ability of hearers to make decisions. Hence, I do not believe that what Whitehead emphasizes is in contradiction to Buddhism. On the contrary, I believe that as Buddhists participate in contemporary global conversation, they may find Whitehead's analysis of self-determination useful.

Whitehead's full statement is that "the many become one and are increased by one." This reflects the difference between past and future on which I have already commented. Otherwise, it seems quite compatible with Buddhist analysis. However, it opens the way to asking whether the new "one" is simply the product of dependent origination or whether the process of origination also introduces some originality. Whitehead believes that it does so. The new "one" is not simply the vector resultant of the past occasions that come together to constitute it.

Whitehead distinguishes from the initial conformal phase a second phase that he calls supplemental. The occasion is informed not only by past occasions but also by possibilities. These are those possibilities that are relevant to that particular past. But here there are alternatives. Just which possibilities will be realized in the process of synthesizing the past is not determined by the past. It is decided in the moment. That is, there is an element of self-determination in each occasion. That is why we hold ourselves and others responsible for some aspects of our beliefs, attitudes, and behavior. We could have decided differently.

It is important to emphasize that this self-determination is quite limited. We cannot determine just what past will form us. Karma in the sense of the causal efficacy of the past is not affected by our decision. But just what we will do with that karma in this moment is important for the future. And even if, moment-by-moment, the novelty and spontaneity is quite small, over time it can change the impact of the past on the present quite dramatically. The presence of self-determination in each occasion is a matter of great importance.

For Whitehead, this importance is not limited to issues of human morality, although he is keenly concerned about these. Without this element of novelty and self-determination, the world would be a machine, what William James called a block universe. In such a universe, evolution could not have occurred. Actually, there could be no life at all. Certainly there could be no thought or meaningful communication. Hence, just as important as the fact of dependent origination is the fact of self-determination. Since so much of contemporary thought, or the assumptions of contemporary thought, deny that there is any freedom of this sort, it is dangerous simply to take it for granted, as some Buddhists seem to do. It is well to have a way of articulating clearly how the present can be something more than the sheer outgrowth of the past, and Whitehead offers the needed explanation.

One reason some Buddhists may not want Whitehead's help on this topic, however, is that it is connected with his theism. For Whitehead, God is the reason that there is freedom or self-determination in the world. Obviously, many Buddhists do not want to be drawn toward theism. In any case, the connection should be explained.

Perhaps the main reason that determinism has had such a hold over modern thinkers has been that they could not see how anything other than the past could have efficacy in the present. To explain what happens in any moment is to show how and why it happens, and this explanation is entirely in terms of efficient causes. Such efficient causes are always entities or events. One cannot appeal to abstractions to explain concrete reality.

Whitehead was sympathetic with this objection to the affirmation of freedom. Everything that explains what happens must be an actual entity. The relevant possibilities that inform an occasion and call for decision cannot simply float into the occasion from nowhere. There must be an actual entity that mediates between pure possibility, which is fully abstract, and the occasions that are coming into being in the world. He called that entity God. His own sense of religious importance focused on God rather than on the realization of no-self. Christian process theology has followed Whitehead in this focus.

My friend, Abe, regards this as another point at which Whitehead is simply incompatible with Buddhism. Buddhism cannot allow for a cosmic actual entity on which we depend for life and freedom. I agree that Buddhism cannot accept the traditional doctrine of God as developed in the West. But I do not agree that Buddhism as a whole and in general is precluded from considering the reality of God as Whitehead conceived God.

First, for Whitehead, God is not a substance. Instead God is an instance, albeit the all-inclusive instance, of dependent origination. In Whitehead's full analysis, God originates not only from all the possibilities God mediates to the world but also from all the occasions that have ever occurred in the world. God depends on creatures. Creatures depend on God. God does not violate the basic Buddhist understanding.

Second, Buddhism is not wholly lacking in moves in the direction of such a God. The Sambhogakaya can be understood in some such way. In Pure Land Buddhism, Amida as the Sambhogakaya is one on whom the believer relies, much as one may rely on the Whiteheadian God. Granted, the functions of Amida are more purely soteriological, whereas Whitehead's God also has a creative role in the whole course of events. But some Pure Land thinkers do not see that acknowledging a wider role for the Sambhogaya would violate any fundamental Buddhist principle.

Some Buddhists, of course, regard talk of the Sambhogakaya as itself a concession to unenlightened needs. In that case, the connection to Whitehead disappears. For Whitehead there truly is a divine element in the whole of things apart from which there would be no life, or thought, or freedom, or love. In short grace is real. For some Buddhists, any talk of grace distracts attention from the need to discipline one's mind and heart. But for others, the denial of grace is the denial of hope. This means that a Whiteheadian theist sides with some forms of Buddhism against others. My only claim is that there is nothing in Whiteheadian theism that is fundamentally in conflict with the deepest and most widely accepted Buddhist insights.

I believe also, as you would guess, that Whitehead's understanding of God is profoundly Christian. It is in sharp tension with much in orthodox Christianity, but on many of the points of difference, it is more biblical than the philosophical theological development of the traditions under Greek influence. The Greeks celebrated imperviousness to external influence and, accordingly, insisted on God's impassibility and immutability. The Bible represents God as deeply affected by what happens in the world and profoundly interactive with the world. The tradition absolutizes God's power and affirms that God is literally omnipotent. The Bible takes for granted that human beings make their own decisions, often contrary to God's desires and purposes. When the word "almighty" appears in our European translations of the Bible, these are following the Septuagint in its substitution of this word for Shaddai, a proper name that has no such connotation. The God revealed in Jesus is far more like the gracious Love described by Whitehead than the omnipotent ruler located in a heavenly sphere that so many suppose is the Christian God.

My conclusion, you will guess, is that Whitehead's conceptuality can support the deepest insights of both the Buddhist and the Christian traditions. We do not have to choose between them; we can embrace both. This possibility of being both Buddhist and Christian is being lived out today by hundreds if not thousands, especially among Catholics in Japan, but not only by them. I am convinced that it is a promising direction for the future.

Of course, there remain massive problems. Even if one can conceptually affirm both sets of insights in a coherent way, the existential and religious developments informed by these insights often remain different. Consider, for example, the attitude toward personal existence.

Both Buddhists and Whiteheadian Christians understand that there is no substantial identity underlying personal life. There is a succession of occasions that are largely informed by their inheritance from the personal past. In fact, the relation of an occasion to its personal past is not ontologically different from its relation to other past events. Personal existence is a relative matter.

Given this conceptual understanding, two evaluations are possible. There is a tendency among Buddhists to oppose any clinging to personal existence. Enlightenment entails the deep realization that what is is just the present occasion in which the whole world comes together. There is no underlying self, uniting this occasion to others. What comes to be in the future will not be, or have, an identical self. In this way one can cease to think of oneself as a person, the same person now and in the past and future.

Christians, on the other hand, prize personal existence. This prizing does not depend on the substantial understanding of self that has so often accompanied it. The recognition that personal existence is not ontologically grounded may add to the concern to retain and strengthen it. One needs to own what one has been and be concerned for what one will be. Ethical responsibility to fulfill commitments made in the past depends on this strengthening of personal existence. Also, the importance of developing good habits entails the belief that these will shape one's future personal existence.

Deep differences in the traditions are apparent here. On the whole, Buddhists are focused on a final spiritual liberation or realization that lies fully beyond the ethical realm. It cannot be attained apart from a disciplined, moral life, and when it is attained the compassion that follows leads to behavior that transcends the need for ethical concern. On the whole, the Bible depicts the ethical and the religious in intimate continuity. Like Buddhism, it seeks to go beyond ethics, teaching that love fulfills the law without the burden of obligation and conformity to rules. But this fulfillment is more an extension and completion of the ethical than disconnection from it. It does not go beyond the need for rationally guided action for the common good. It does not set aside personal responsibility.

These are among the topics on which dialogue between Buddhists and Christians can be particularly fruitful. We do not have to debate whether there are substantial objects or substantial selves. Let us agree that for two and a half millennia Buddhists have been right about this and about much else. But this does not mean that the Jews gained no wisdom or insight through their extraordinary history of life with God. They gained a sense of history, for example, that I find convincing and inescapable. And this is connected with the way many of us understand ourselves as having some small role to play in that ever-changing historical scene. There is nothing to prevent Buddhists from integrating such understanding into their own tradition, and in fact this is happening. Buddhism is being transformed through its encounter with the Abrahamic faiths. Christianity is being transformed through its encounter with Buddhism. Whitehead's philosophy can give us an account of how such transformations occur in a healthy and creative way. In this way, also, it is relevant to the appropriation of Buddhist insight in the West.

 

The Presence of the Past and the Eucharist

One of the great philosophical mysteries is that of time. What are past, present, and future? One of the great Christian mysteries is the "real presence in the Eucharist. How can Jesus Christ be present today? The two mysteries are connected, for in the Eucharist an event of the distant past is re-presented or made present again.

1. Whitehead’s Vision

Whitehead’s philosophy was not developed to explain this Christian mystery, but it does involve fresh reflection on the philosophical mystery of time. At the heart of his vision is creativity," which he describes as "the many become one, and are increased by one" (FR 32). Each "novel entity is at once the togetherness of the ‘many’ which it finds, and also it is one among the ‘many’ which it leaves" (PR 32). The many are the past of the becoming entity, and that entity is the togetherness of that disjunctive past. Each present actual entity is the conjunction of that entity’s entire past world. Every actual entity in that entity s past participates in the present conjunction of all those entities into the new, present entity. Whitehead’s most fundamental metaphysical vision thus affirms the effective presence in every concrescing entity of all the entities in its past, both near and remote. Creativity is this many becoming the new one.

At times Whitehead describes the same process as a concrescence of feelings or prehensions instead of as the many actual entities becoming a new actual entity. But this does not change his meaning. A physical feeling or prehension is the way a past actual entity functions in the concrescence of the present one. It is the causal efficacy of the past entity achieved by its actual immanence in the present one. Viewed from the perspective of the present occasion, prehensions are the processes of appropriation of "the already constituted actual entities" (PR 335). The philosophy of organism is an account of how past actual entities are effectively immanent in their successors.

Whitehead explains quite specifically how prehensions introduce past actual entities into the new one. Each prehension is analyzed into two aspects, the objective datum and the subjective form. Both belong equally to the prehension and hence also to the prehending actual entity. Selected feelings of past entities jointly constitute the objective datum for the new one. To a large extent the new subjective form is a reenactment of subjective forms in the objective datum, so that there is a flow of feeling from the objective side to the subjective side of each entity. Thus each entity objectively includes feelings from the past and subjectively reenacts many of them.

I labor this point because the best systematizers of Whitehead’s thought have obscured it or even denied it. Ivor Leclerc, without doubt one of Whitehead’s finest interpreters, allowed his interpretation to be guided by Whitehead’s questionable classification of physical prehensions as a mode of perception. Leclerc assumes, as Whitehead does not,1 that perception "is having ideas in the mind as images of what is without."2 For perception in this sense, the perceived is passive and external. Hence he interprets Whitehead to mean that in physical feeling, what is felt is mere condition and datum for the feeling. He thus substitutes for the dynamic actual world of Whitehead, whose perpetual constitution of itself into new entities is creativity,3 a lifeless past, incapable of exerting real causal efficacy.4 Ironically, when Leclerc turns to the philosophy of nature on his own, he sees that causality requires the agency of the cause, which Whitehead illumined by his basic vision of creativity and immanence. But having excluded that side of Whitehead’s thought from his earlier interpretation, Leclerc now criticizes Whitehead for failing to provide the requisite doctrine.5

Nevertheless, despite the blindness of his interpreters, Whitehead’s own vision of causal immanence remains as lure for feeling, elaborated in a score of ways, and challenging our habitual assumption that one actual entity cannot be literally, ontologically ingredient in another. Each occasion, for Whitehead, is constituted by the literal, ontological (but partial and objective) presence within it of every entity in its past.

The account of "real presence" in this essay is inspired by Whitehead’s vision. It is not, however, argued from the texts of his writings. Instead, under his influence, I have analyzed what is involved in our experience of past and present to show how the past is truly felt as effectively present.

2. How the Past is not Present

The ministry, death, and resurrection of Jesus are present today in that they are remembered. The Eucharist is particularly designed to call these events to memory. For some Christians this is explanation enough of the real presence of Jesus Christ in the sacrament; but for others it is insufficient, since it does not distinguish the Eucharist from a mere memorial." The implication is that in a mere memorial what is present is only a picture of what is supposed to have happened in the past, and that such a picture may not be in fact derived from what occurred in the past. People are often moved by deceitful pictures or even by purely invented ones. If what is present is only the picture, then the connection of the picture to events that may or may not have occurred is irrelevant. In this view, even if the picture were accurate, those events would not really be present.

If, however, a memorial involved true memory, and not the mere production of a picture or idea, then what is present is what is remembered, namely, the past events. Eucharist as memorial is a representation of Jesus Christ, that is, a service in which Jesus is made present again. Jesus’ real presence in subsequent Christian experience is at least partially of this sort.6 But there are major obstacles to understanding how memory can function to make the past effectively present. For much common sense it seems evident that what is present is precisely what is not past, so that talk of the presence of the past is perceived as nonsensical; and there is no doubt that there are some meanings of "present" in terms of which no past event can be present.

Of the many meanings of "presence" three are primarily in view when presence is rightly denied to past events. The first is suggested by the expression "my present subjectivity." Here I have in view my own subjective immediacy. By definition nothing other than this immediacy itself and its formal ingredients can be present in this sense, and of course no past event is identical with that subjectivity. Hence this kind of presence must be denied to the past.

The second and third meanings inapplicable to historical events in the past have to do with modes of presence in which something other than one’s own subjectivity is present to that subjectivity. The second identifies the present with all that is occurring simultaneously with this subjectivity. Present in one’s world in this sense are the events that are now taking place. An astronomer can calculate where a star is now in distinction from the locus at which it is seen in the night sky. The assumption is that since the time when the star emitted the light that is now reaching us, the relative positions of the star and the earth have changed. The star is not at present where it appears.

Since all sensory experience takes time to happen, the distinction that is magnified in the case of the star obtains everywhere to some minimal degree. The events presently transpiring on the hill across the valley are not identical with the ones that gave rise to the sound of a rifle shot that is now heard coming from that direction. In visual experience of events at a distance of a few feet, the temporal lapse is insignificant. Nonetheless, the principle remains that what is present in this sense of now occurring somewhere in the universe, near or far, is not yet felt by the subject. In the language of Whitehead, contemporaries occur independently of each other.

The third meaning of presence depends on sense experience. Whatever the astronomer says about the present locus of the star in the second sense, in experience it is located where it is seen. It presents itself there. Phenomenologically that is where the star presently is. Even if there are reasons to suppose that in the millions of years since the departure of the light that is now reaching the earth the star has exploded or burnt out, the star is still present to human experience there now.

More generally "present" often describes all of that which one is aware of through touch, hearing, or sight. What is present is what the senses present as there-now. When distances are not great, this is commonly identified with what is present in the second sense, but philosophically this identification is responsible for considerable confusion. Strictly speaking, what is present in the sense of contemporary is never present in the sense of presented, and what is presented is never contemporary.

3. The Reality of the Past

These three senses of presence are often taken as the only literal ones. When this is done, no argument is needed against the real presence of a past figure, for a past figure by definition is not the present subjectivity, is not contemporary, and is precisely one no longer subject to being presented through the senses.7 The presence of a past figure can be made intelligible and justified only by a quite different notion of presence specifically appropriate to the relation of the past to the present.

However, formulating such a notion of the presence of the past depends on surmounting a second obstacle -- the tendency to deny reality to the past. According to this view, what is now past was once real, namely, when it was present; but now only the present is real. The remembered past is acknowledged to have reality in being remembered. But in this view the locus of that reality is exclusively internal to the present. By implication, the remembered past does not have a fundamentally different status from the falsely imagined past.

The question is whether past events now have reality only in present events or whether they have their own integrity for present events as givens. An example will help to direct attention to the crux of the issue. I now remember a conversation that occurred yesterday. Clearly the conversation is not now occurring. What is occurring now is the remembering. What then is the status of what is remembered? Does it have its reality only in being remembered, that is, does the present act of remembering bestow reality upon it? Or does the present activity come up against the past event as something given with its own independent integrity to which the remembering attempts to conform itself?

Phenomenological analysis indicates that remembering relates the present to something objective to it, something with determinate content, something which it may more or less fully and accurately grasp. I make mistakes in recalling what occurred. This would be impossible if the remembering constituted the past it remembers.

Examples could be multiplied. One could appeal to the dominant assumption of historians that, despite constructionist theories to the contrary,8 they are engaged in discovering and reconstructing aspects of what occurred rather than in constructing a past or bringing it into being. Historical writing is distinguished from fiction -- at least in its intention and in the norms by which it is judged.

The case for the objective givenness of the past is so strong that the question arises as to why the denial is so persistent. The problem is that of locus. Where is the past now? The assumption is that only what is somewhere now, is given; that is, that only what is present in the three senses considered above is real. Thus a tight circle is drawn. Only the present is real because the real is necessarily present.

This denial of reality to the past has been disastrous for philosophical discussions of efficient causality. There is widespread agreement that the cause precedes the effect, which means that the cause is past when the effect is present. But if the past is real only as it is given reality by the present, most of the connotations of "cause" cannot apply to it. Indeed the reality of the "cause" becomes the effect of its effect! In this view present reality becomes the only cause, and it causes nothing but itself.

Many philosophers have simply abandoned the idea of "cause," but it is impossible to give up all notions of the effect of past events on present ones. Most transitive verbs imply such effects. The sense of the derivation of experience from our bodies would have to be regarded as illusory apart from causality. In general, explanations of events would become meaningless.

Since the denial of reality to the past has so many results that are in conflict with common sense and universal experience, the intuition that supports it should be subjected to critical scrutiny. That intuition is that what is real must be somewhere now, and that the past is nowhere. The simple answer to this is that the past is in the past. The difficulty is that the idea of "somewhere" is bound up with the notions of presence discussed above, so that, by definition, the past is excluded as a locus.

The contention here is that the notion of "somewhere is confused, and that when the confusion is overcome, the apparent self-evidence that it refers only to the present can be dissipated. The self-evidence reflects a common sense in which locus refers to a three-dimensional space, whereas modern physics and philosophy alike require that locus be defined in terms of four dimensions, including time. In Whitehead’s language, the extensive continuum as the potential locus for all standpoints underlies the past and future as well as the present (PR 103). When this mode of thought is really internalized, it should be possible to recognize the four dimensional past as the locus of the reality of past events.

If the past were not real, there would be no escape from solipsism of the present moment. That is, the individual occasion in the moment of its becoming can have no real relation to strictly contemporary events, and if the phenomenologically given present is not caused by past events, then it must be pure projection. Only by recognizing the past as that given reality with which every present has to do can these absurd consequences be avoided.

4. Causal and Real Presence

The past is not present in any of the three senses considered above, but it is present in a fourth and equally important sense. It is causally present. This present causal efficacy of past reality can also be viewed from the side of present novel actualization. That actualization takes account of the past realities or, in Whitehead’s language, prehends them. Whitehead teaches that the world is so intricately bound together that every past actuality is prehended to some extent, however trivial. The new event selectively embodies and reenacts elements of the past. The selectivity is partly due to the fact that no event can reenact all the richness of feeling available to it. It is also due to the fact that the selectivity of past realities has long since obscured most aspects of the remote past. That there is such a past with its own complete determinateness is felt, but most of its determinate feelings are not available for present experience. Historians, believing that there is a determinate and settled past, seek information about it. They provide well-warranted propositions about past figures to which we give assent. But this must not be confused with the primal feeling of the reality of past events.

In relation to the vast majority of past events this primal feeling is vague, trivial, and unconscious. In it, nevertheless, the whole past is causally present to each new occasion. This causal presence of the past is ontologically more fundamental than any other form of presence. Every event is causally present in all subsequent history (cf. PR 350f.).

Causal presence is certainly real. But since all the past is present in this sense, the causal presence of most historical events is trivial. If the idea of the presence of a particular historical figure has any importance, it must be by virtue of diversity in the way different past events affect the present. It would not be helpful to speak of "real presence as identical with causal presence in general.

There are several useful distinctions here. First, there is the distinction between contiguous and noncontiguous past occasions. A contiguous occasion immediately precedes and adjoins the prehending one. The fill richness of its feeling is available for reenactment. Even here selection takes place, since there must be integration with feelings derived from other contiguous occasions, but no preceding act of selection restricts this one. There is the possibility of very extensive continuity of feeling. For example, in one moment I am likely to enjoy an experience very much (never exactly) like that of the preceding moment. Noncontiguous occasions, on the other hand, are felt through the selective mediation of contiguous ones. Ordinarily this selection progressively restricts their potential contribution.

However, there is no direct correlation between proximity and importance of contribution. In some instances the contiguous occasions do little more than mediate the novel feelings of a relatively remote occasion. The experience of touch affords a good example. The nerve endings at the tips of my fingers feel a rough surface. Their feelings are mediated through the nerves in the arm to the brain. The result is that I feel the feeling in my fingertips. One could also say that what I directly feel is the feeling of contiguous occasions in the brain, which in turn feel their neighbors, and so forth. There is truth to this as we know by the fact that a surgical cut or an anaesthetic can stop the communication to me of the feelings in my finger tips. But it is also misleading. However much my doing so depends on intervening events, what I feel in the ordinary sense of the term is the feeling in my fingertips. The two points can be accurately combined by saying that I feel the feeling in the finger tips as this was felt by contiguous nerve cells as these were felt by others and so forth.

The feeling in the fingertips is a special case of causal presence. In spite of its being spatiotemporally somewhat remote, it is present to me subjectively with an immediacy and effectiveness lacking to the presence of even the contiguous occasions in the brain. All are causally present, but to distinguish this special form of causal presence, I will call it "real presence." The causal presence of a past noncontiguous occasion is real" when it is rightly felt as originating elements of feeling that are important to the becoming occasion and when intermediate occasions function primarily to mediate these elements as they are derived from that entity.

In the case of the senses, the structure of the central nervous system in the healthily functioning human body facilitates the frequent real presence in personal experience of the nerve endings. Other parts of the body are rarely really present except when something goes wrong. But real presence is not limited to this kind of physiological base. It can be found also in the field of memory. Particular past experiences, especially if they were emotionally intense, continue for a long time to affect the emotional tone of subsequent occasions. After such experiences it is said that one will never be the same again, and this is quite literally the case.

The film The Pawnbroker offers a vivid and believable portrayal of this kind of real presence. The pawnbroker’s experience in a Nazi concentration camp shaped the emotional tone of all his subsequent relations. The film explains this through flash-backs suggesting that at decisive points in his subsequent life he vividly recalled the acutely painful experiences endured in the camp. These experiences were really present to him.

A third example of real presence can be taken from the collective American experience of the assassination of President Kennedy. This collective experience is not adequately conceived as the sum of individual experiences, as if these occurred in relative autonomy. The reactions of each interacted with the reactions of others and were especially affected by the news media, so that a national mood emerged which shaped the feelings of highly diverse individuals. To some extent that mood has permanently affected the collective (and therefore the individual) American feeling about being American. From time to time, as on the occasion of the assassination of Robert Kennedy, that event has become really present again collectively. It is more often really present for individuals.

Real presence usually involves the presence of relevant ideas. These ideas change through the passage of time. This history of the associated ideas profoundly affects the experiences in which the past event is really present. But the real presence of the past event is distinct from simply the presence of these changing ideas. It is a mode of the causal presence of particular elements of the past that had emotional intensity and originality of content. These are lifted out of their vagueness and triviality by being highlighted and focused upon in the becoming occasion. The intervening experiences that had obscured them are transformed in this respect into mere transmitters of the originating events. This occasional renewal of the real presence of the Kennedy assassination, for example, brings changing ideas to the fore. But what is really present is a causally effective event.

5. The Presence Of The Distant Past

The discussion thus far has left open the possibility that events that are really present have their effect only through the mediation of temporally intervening events. This may be the case, and "common sense supposes that it is. Nevertheless, the vividness and intensity of the real presence that some past events occasionally display suggests a more immediate relation, and there are speculative philosophies that imply its possibility.

William James envisioned a "common reservoir of consciousness to exist, this bank upon which we all draw, and in which so many of the earth’s memories must in some way be stored."9 James speaks of this as "a cosmic environment of other consciousness."10 And he employs this theory in his speculative interpretations of mediumship.

Henri Bergson, who was also interested in parapsychological phenomena, taught that "all our past is conserved."11 "Consciousness implies both the existence in space of what is beyond our present perception and the existence of a past in memory of which we are not actually conscious."12 For him it is not remembering that requires explanation, but forgetting.13 No more than James did Bergson suppose that the past is stored in the brain. On the contrary, "the role of the brain is to mask the useless part."14 "The brain cannot be the storehouse of memories, but it may contain the machinery by which memory translates itself into action."15 What is important now for the organism s survival is not this cumulative past but what is occurring in the current environment. ‘Our reluctance to admit the integral survival of the past has its origin, then, in tile very heart of our psychical life -- the unfolding of states wherein our interest prompts us to look at that which is unrolling, and not at that which is entirely unrolled."16

Whitehead shared this Jamesian-Bergsonian vision of a past that is now effective and is given in and for present experience. He developed the idea less than did James or Bergson for the interpretation of extraordinary experiences, but his account opens the way, equally with theirs, and with greater precision, for such extension and application.

In Whitehead’s language the question is whether an experience can include unmediated prehensions of noncontiguous events. He believed that his general doctrine of each experience taking account of the entire past favored the view that there are direct or unmediated prehensions of other than contiguous events. But he acknowledged that current physical theory makes no use of action at a distance. Hence, as a contingent fact about our world, he agreed that probably physical causation in our cosmic epoch requires spatio-temporal contiguity. However, he saw evidence that we can be affected by mental experience even at some spatial distance. His major illustration is telepathy (cf. PR 468-70).

Even if the empirical evidence for telepathy is sufficient to warrant its acceptance as a reality, that in itself does not necessitate the view of action at a distance. Telepathic communication could be analogous to speaking. In speech there is the air in which waves are produced to mediate the sound to the hearer. We know now that thought is accompanied by waves of various sorts. It is possible that these waves reach a recipient who can associate meanings with them in much the way we hear meanings in the sounds of words. One who accepts telepathy but denies action at a distance can appeal to some such theory.

This is not impossible, but if there is no a priori objection to action at a distance, then the simplest explanation of telepathy is that the entertaining of a thought by one person can directly affect the experience of another; or, from the other point of view, that one person may prehend directly aspects of the experience of another. The apparent irrelevance of distance and the importance of particular personal affinities in the more striking stories about telepathy favor this interpretation.

Whitehead does not discuss memory in these terms as Bergson does, but his theory of prehensions of noncontiguous events illuminates memory as well. Consider an instance of vivid recollection of a past experience. Assume the rare instance when much of its detail reoccurs with some exactness. How does this past experience reach the present?

There are two ways in which this experience may be mediated. First, it maybe mediated through the cells in the brain. The brain is an exceedingly marvelous and complex organ, and it would be danger-otis to assert limits to what it can do. However, it is difficult to conceive how the complex unity and integration of parts of a past experience can be mediated by the brain. Certainly no single cell could contain such an experience, and it is difficult to think that a particular circuit set in action by that distant past event has retained it in the intervening time so little affected by subsequent events. It is plausible to think of each human experience as having an effect on many of the circuits in the brain, and these in turn as having a complex effect on subsequent human experiences. But it is not plausible to think of such an experience as permanently "stored" in the brain.

The second possibility of mediation is through the successive human experiences. Contiguity could be maintained on this view only if in dreamless sleep there are such successive experiences, so that the chain is never broken. Since consciously the experience in question may not have been remembered for many years, it must be assumed that it was unconsciously felt. This unconscious feeling would have to retain the experience in all of the richness and individuality with which it is now recalled. Indeed, everything in the past which can in principle be recalled in the future under hypnosis, for example, must be fully present in unconscious experience at every moment. This is an enormous role to assign the unconscious!

If there are a priori grounds for assuming that direct prehension of noncontiguous occasions is impossible, one of these theories must be adopted with all its difficulties. If there is no a priori ground for denying that, in addition to being influenced by the brain and by intervening experiences, there is also an element of direct recall of past experience, then a much simpler theory, more in accord with introspective evidence, is possible.

Even if there is direct recall of experiences in the noncontiguous past, those past experiences are also mediated to us through intervening events in both the brain and unconscious personal experience; for every experience takes some account of the entire past. Hence it is impossible for any experience simply to reenact a past one, near or far. Also one would expect that a past occasion would be directly prehended in a significant way only when conditions were peculiarly conducive to this unusual occurrence. There should, for example, be correlations between direct prehensions of a noncontiguous event and activity of particular brain circuits associated with that event.

Parapsychological literature tells of another set of experiences not shared by most people. Incredulity here is understandable, but if there are no a priori grounds for denying direct prehensions of thoughts and feelings from the past, the evidence should be examined. Some psychics seem to be able to prehend aspects of the past experiences of other persons, usually in conjunction with handling objects worn by them. Some people have "memories" of events in the lives of past persons, which have led to theories of reincarnation. The incredulity aroused by these claims is associated with the impossibility of explaining them in terms of mediating fields or events. If they occur, they can only be direct prehensions of occasions in the lives of other persons.17 Such indications as exist ofa "collective unconscious are also explicable in terms of unconscious prehensions of a shared past. Sir Alister Hardy believes that analogous phenomena function in the animal world and have played a role in evolution.18

It is necessary to point to striking cases like these in order to explain the general hypothesis that there are prehensions of noncontiguous occasions. But if the hypothesis is true, it should be exemplified in unspectacular ways in ordinary experience as well.

The examples given above entail that the subject prehend the past experience in terms of its content or objective data as well as its emotion or subjective form. But in most prehensions of our past experiences, even the contiguous past, what is felt is primarily its subjective form. Emotions are transmitted from moment to moment of experience, often without clear indication of their original objective correlate or source. Psychologists have made us aware that much of our emotional response to new situations is not appropriate to them. It is explained by past experiences whose content has been forgotten but whose emotions are still effective.

There is also evidence that the subjective form or emotional tone of present experience is affected by the emotional tone of other people. Whitehead refers to the "instinctive apprehension of a tone of feeling in ordinary social intercourse (PR 469). These days one speaks of vibrations. There are times when one feels another persons empathy in a way that suggests a more immediate response to ones feelings than can be accounted for through the orthodox view of interpretation of physically mediated stimulation of the brain.

6. Jesus’ Presence in the Eucharist

This long discussion of the way in which past events are effectively and experientially present provides a context for considering the real presence of Jesus. That presence is a special case of the general principles. If the possibility of unmediated prehension of noncontiguous events is allowed, that category can be applied to Jesus’ presence and can deepen the understanding of the experience of presence. If it is denied, Jesus’ real presence is still intelligible.

Jesus’ presence in this sense, in distinction from the presence of the Risen Lord or the Eternal Son, is rarely asserted clearly in traditional theology. Perhaps the assertion of the presence of the past has seemed too paradoxical. Yet the rhetoric of piety frequently suggests it in its prayers and hymns, in the proclamation of the Word, and especially in the liturgy of the Eucharist. What are most explicitly represented in the Eucharist are the events of Jesus’ eating with his disciples and of his passion.

The interpretation of the Eucharist has been a point of bitter contention in Christendom. Roman Catholics have often insisted on a transformation of the substance of the bread and vine into the substance of the body and blood of Jesus. Lutherans have sometimes agreed that the presence is substantial but denied that this involved replacement of the natural substance of the bread and wine. Calvinists have thought more in terms of a spiritual presence to the believer effectively signified by the bread and wine.

In light of this long history of controversy it is striking that theologians representing these traditions today do not insist upon their historic formulations in a divisive way. Instead they find that widespread agreement is possible. Many of them agree that Jesus Christ is really present, that the bread and wine are efficacious signs of his body and blood, and that the presence is not dependent on the subjective faith of the participants.19

The preceding discussion of the presence of the past shows that these shared tenets are intelligible and credible when Jesus Christ is understood to be the historical Jesus, or the decisive and climactic events of his life. Indeed, the crucifixion followed by the resurrection experiences were events of such intensity and significance as inevitably to constitute a real presence in the subsequent experience of the disciples and of any community that grew up about them. But they would have long since faded into trivial causal presence had the community not committed itself to their repeated renewal. The renewal of the real presence was effected in many ways, but it focused in the Eucharist repeated specifically in memory and symbolic reenactment of the event. Typically it was in the Eucharist that the otherwise diffuse and vague causal presence of Jesus became vivid, consciously effective, and therefore real. Each observance of the Eucharist mediated his real presence to subsequent observances.

In relation to the contemporary tendency to psychologize the sacrament, this understanding of the reality of the past and its causally effective presence supports the theological consensus of a presence not dependent on the subjective state of the worshipers. The worshipers recognize an existing causal presence. Through symbolization of the past event, that causal presence is enhanced to significant efficacy. That symbolization is also partly objective to the subjective states of the individual worshipers. These subjective elements are thus affected by the objective presence of Jesus.

Causal presence objectively precedes the reenactment of the event, and the reenactment heightens that presence into real presence in a way that is partly objective to the individual worshiper. But subjective factors are equally important. Without a suitable intention there is no real presence, and the extent of the effectiveness of the presence in the individual worshipers depends on their receptivity. Although the general causal presence is independent of subjective factors, the real presence is a result of the polar interaction of the objective and the subjective. Subjective intention and receptivity presuppose objective presence, and the effectiveness of the objective presence depends on the intention and receptivity. Heightened objective effectiveness resulting from subjective factors in turn deepens and purifies intention and increases receptivity.

While rejecting psychologizing, this view of real presence also opposes the magical tendencies of some traditional doctrines. First, real presence is not limited to the Eucharist or to a list of sacraments. Jesus’ causal presence is everywhere, and that influence can become a real presence at other times and places than in the Eucharist.

Second, the real presence is in the total event of the Eucharist and is focused in the participants. It is not in the bread and wine as such. The causal efficacy of Jesus for the elements considered in abstraction from the participants is trivial. This does not make the elements superfluous, since the reenactment of the symbolic repetition of Jesus’ eating with his disciples is the appropriate and adequate way to make Jesus’ presence real. But the bread and wine are the occasion and not the embodiment of his presence.

Third, the Eucharist has other values than effecting the real presence of Jesus. The communion of the participants with each other and with God may be more important than their communion with Jesus. Making vivid the ideas associated with the Eucharist may make more differences in the lives of the participants than making Jesus himself really present.

Fourth, although the sacrament has been central to most of Christianity, the main agency of mediating Jesus’ causal presence and making it real, it is not essential to Christian existence. This is both because Jesus presence can be realized in other ways and because Christian existence can occur where Jesus’ presence is not realized. The Society of Friends has as much claim to the label Christian as has any other group, in spite of its rejection of traditional sacraments.

But the facts that the real presence of Jesus is not limited to the Eucharist and that not all forms of Christianity are bound up with the realization of this presence do not remove the importance of the idea. For many Christians this effective presence is important, even central, for Christian life. A clearer understanding of how this presence functions may help to reduce both the tendency to conceive it magically and the total rejection that has expressed the reaction to this abuse. It may help to give renewed reality to the celebration for those for whom it has become an empty rite. The potential contribution of the Eucharist to Christian life and unity might then be more fully realized.

 

Notes

1On page 272 of his excellent book, The Nature of Physical Existence (London: George Allen and Unwin; New York: Humanities Press, 1972), Leclerc quotes from Science and the Modern World in support of his interpretation of Whitehead. He is probably correct that in that book Whitehead has not fully broken from "the Neo-platonic doctrine of ideas" (p. 273). However this break is complete and systematic in Process and Reality and most explicit in Adventures of Ideas, Chapter X, where the notion of one actuality as truly present in another, and not merely represented in it, is asserted to be the one fundamental metaphysical advance since Plato (AI 214f.). In the latter book Whitehead recognizes the danger that his earlier rise of "perception" can lead into confusion, and he acknowledges "that it may be advisable for philosophers to confine the word ‘perception’" to "experiential functions which arise directly from stimulation of the various bodily sense-organs" (AI 229). What Whitehead means by physical or causal prehension is not a species of perception in this sense, and it is not to he understood in terms of the Neoplatonic doctrine.

2 Leclerc, op. cit., p 273.

3 Leclerc’s interpretation of Whitehead in The Nature of Physical Existence draws out the implications of his earlier interpretation in Whitehead’s Metaphysics: An Introductory Exposition (London: George Allen and Unwin; New York: The Macmillan Company, 1958). There, in his otherwise lucid and illuminating explanation of Whitehead’s doctrine of creativity (pp. 81-87), he says nothing of ‘the many becoming one" with its strong note of the agency of the many, and he identifies creativity instead exclusively with the "self-creating activity" (p. 87) of concrescing occasions. He provides, of course, no documentation for this one-sided emphasis.

4 It is significant that in Whitehead’s Metaphysics Leclerc has stated, without textual support from Whitehead, that for Whitehead past entities do not "exist in the full sense of ‘exist’, and . . . are no longer properly ‘actual " (p. 109). For Whitehead, in contrast, "existence" in the sense of "the categories of existence" is the status of data for feeling (PR 36).

5 The denaturing of Whitehead’s doctrine of causal efficacy in Leclerc’s interpretation is expressed on page 110 of Whitehead’s Metaphysics. There Leclerc quotes Whitehead as follows: "The functioning of one actual entity in the self-creation of another actual entity is the ‘objectification’ of the former for the latter actual entity" (PR 34).After noting the parallel language with respect to the functioning of eternal objects, Leclerc writes: "It should be noted that the term ‘functioning’ in neither case implies ‘agency’ on the part of the entity functioning. This should be stressed because the contrary supposition might arise from Whitehead’s statement . . . that upon objectification an actual entity ‘acquires efficient causation whereby it is a ground of obligation characterizing creativity’ " (PR 40). That "functioning" is some kind of "agency" is, of course, just what any reader of Whitehead would suppose, and Leclerc quotes nothing from Whitehead against this reading. But having interpreted creativity as self-creating activity and having denied existence to the past, Leclerc must interpret Whitehead as denying agency to the past as well. In fact, Whitehead’s doctrine of the causal immanence of the past in the present provides for the kind of mutual "acting on" and "relating" that Leclerc’s own reflections on the philosophy of nature lead him to demand (The Nature of Physical Existence, p.309).

6 I do not want to foreclose other possibilities such as that Jesus’ presence is mediated by God or is that of the risen Jesus who is now enjoying new experiences in "heaven," but this essay deals only with the re-presentation of past events.

7 It is entertaining, but not particularly fruitful, to reflect that events in our past are in the present of observers in other solar systems in both the second and the third senses of present. One such observer may now be watching Jesus being baptized by John. Another, whom we calculate as present in the second sense, may so calculate such presence that Jesus’ baptism is for him now present in the same sense.

8 Constructivism is vigorously defended by John W. Meiland, Skepticism and Historical Knowledge (Random House, Inc., 1965).

9 John J. McDermott, ed., The Writings of William James (Modern Library, Inc. 1967), p. 799.

10 Ibid., p. 798.

11 Darcy B. Kitchin, Bergson for Beginners (C. Allen & Co., 1914), p. 246,

12 A. D. Lindsay, The Philosophy of Bergson (Kennikat Press, Inc., 1968), p. 167.

13 Henri Bergson, The Creative Mind (Ottawa, New Jersey: Littlefield Adams and Co., 1965), pp. 153ff.

14 Kitchin, Bergson for Beginners, p. 246.

15 Lindsay, The Philosophy of Bergson, p. 176.

16 Harold A. Larrabee, ed., Selections from Bergson (Appleton-Century-Crofts, n.d.), p. 55f.

17 On this theory they do not provide evidence for metempsychosis as usually understood.

18 Sir Alister C. Hardy, The Living Stream: A Restatement of Evolution Theory and Its Relation to the Spirit of Man (William Collins Sons & Co., Ltd., 1965), pp. 253ff.

19 Cf. the summary of results of recent bilateral conversations among world confessional families in Nils Ehrenstrom and Günther Gassmann, Confessions in Dialogue (World Council of Churches, 1972), pp. 117-23. The history of the overcoming of the dominance of substance categories in Roman Catholic circles is told in Joseph M. Powers, Eucharistic Theology (Herder and Herder, 1967). Aldous Huxley, The Perennial Philosophy (Harper & Bros., 1948), p. 266, makes this point in a chapter on "Ritual, Symbol, Sacrament" which, in dependence on C. D. Broad, develops a doctrine of real presence similar to the one argued for here.

Points of Contact Between Process Theology and Liberation Theology in Matters of Faith and Justice

The term "liberation theology" is used in two senses. Sometimes it refers specifically to the work of Latin American theologians committed to showing how the gospel is good news for the poor. Sometimes it refers to black theology and feminist theology as well, and it can also include various Asian and African theological developments. It would complicate this paper too much to deal with all the theologies of liberation; so in this paper I shall limit the reference to Latin American liberation theology.

My assignment is to speak on points of contact. This might appropriately mean areas of agreement and overlap. These certainly exist. Process theologians can hardly read the writings of liberation theologians without being pleased to see that many of their emphases are highly congenial. They struggle against static views of authority, of the church, and of God. And the direction their thought moves on these topics seems to be parallel to ours. On many topics we see them as companions and allies. Similarly, with respect to the concern for freedom, it seems to us that what they say is right.

In recent books by Schubert Ogden and Delwin Brown, some of these areas of overlap have been explored and the contribution of process theology has been articulated. Since so much work remains to be done, I have chosen to write this paper as a transition from what has already been published to what still needs attention. Accordingly, I am organizing my remarks around five topics where tensions still exist between liberation theology and process theology, believing that reflection on these tensions can lead to fruitful changes on both sides. In the first three instances needed developments in process theology will move it toward a role complementary of that of liberation theology. In the fourth and fifth cases, needed changes on both sides can lead toward confluence.

1. Reflection on Social Location

Process theologians are overwhelmingly white North Atlantic middle class academicians, most of them, indeed, North Americans. I am glad to say that it is no longer appropriate to say "males." Also, there are a few process theologians who are not white and some who live outside the North Atlantic area. Further, there are a considerable number of process theologians outside the university -- in parishes, for example. But when all exceptions have been noted, the fact remains that the determinative social location of process theology as a style of thought has been the white, middle class university or seminary, chiefly in North America.

This matter of social location can be taken as simply accidental. But liberation theologians are among those who have most effectively warned us against such a view. What and how we think is a product of who we are; and profession, class, and geographical location are important ingredients in who we are. When we fail to recognize this, our work is likely to be unconsciously ideological, justifying our privileges.

The point is not that we should be ashamed of who we are. There is a long and proud intellectual tradition to which the middle class, white, North Atlantic professor is heir. This tradition is one of the great achievements of the human species. Its critics are hardly less indebted to it than are its supporters. Indeed, self-criticism has been one of its great strengths, so that it can readily assimilate even those who picture themselves as standing outside it. To enter into the world of public discourse on a global basis today is almost by definition to join this tradition. Even in faithfulness to this tradition, self-criticism in light of social location is required.

Within the North Atlantic theological community it is the German political theologians who are most effectively calling the church to the type of self-criticism that follows from reflection on social location. They are helping us all to see that the Biblical message expresses the hopes of and for the poor, whereas the church ministers primarily to the hopes of the middle class. They call the church to reorder its life in a way that is appropriate to its authoritative sources.

In alliance with liberation theologians and other concerned Christians, they have had some success. At denominational and ecumenical levels the church often speaks for the poor and sometimes acts for them despite the fact that its support is firmly rooted in the middle class. One cannot write off all the activity of the North American white churches as simply the expression of bourgeois ideology. The current attack on the ecumenical churches by critics within and without who are committed to bourgeois values indicates that the Biblical word does have some power in the church.

Far more impressive was the move of the Latin American bishops at Medellin to reorient the Roman Catholic church in that important part of the world to identification with the poor. This move was sustained at Puebla despite heavy pressures. This has made possible a continuing development of the theological work that led the bishops to this redirection of the church. The social location of liberation theology is in a church which has, at least to some extent, taken the preferential option for the poor.

Process theology has just begun to reflect on its social location and the effects of that location on its work. There is nothing about such reflection that is uncongenial to its basic self-understanding. Whitehead provided us with a model of occasions of human experience that makes clear that their content is provided by the societies out of which they come into being. They are conditioned through and through by their actual worlds. But they are not simply determined by these worlds. There is always a transcendent element and a moment of self-determination. Thought is not simply the outcome of the world. Therefore criticism is possible, including criticism of how that world shapes thought.

The concern for justice and the bias for the poor are so deeply embodied in the Christian heritage that thoughtful Christians rarely reject them out of hand. Certainly process theologians have been sympathetic with the aspirations of the oppressed. Hence, insofar as our social location has led us to neglect the needs of the poor and the oppressed, we can only repent. To repent is not primarily to feel ashamed. It is metanoia, turning around, taking a fresh start. One point of contact between process theology and liberation theology depends on repentance on the part of process theologians. Some of that has already taken place. The occurrence of this conference expresses that fact. Much more is needed.

If we are to accomplish any major change, we must first reflect on how difficult any such change will be for us. We can think of that also in terms of the Whiteheadian model of human experience. It does include an element of transcendence, but the transcendence in question is that which is relevant to the actual world of that occasion. It is not transcendence to a world of pure objectivity within which academic and philosophical work can be supposed to take place. Thinking occurs in a very specific location which largely determines the respective force of the many factors that impinge on the occasions in which that thinking occurs.

We are extremely conditioned and extremely limited beings. We are egocentric, even though not absolutely so. We transcend egocentrism primarily by identifying ourselves with the social group to which we belong. Hence we are ethnocentric, or we identify ourselves with our class and its interests. We intellectuals are apt to suppose that our transcendence of these identifications is greater than in fact it is. We have a strong need to think well of ourselves and therefore of the groups with which we identify ourselves. We are inclined accordingly to attend to those ideas that enable us to be proud and to neglect those which threaten our self-esteem. If we are forced to deal with the latter, we are likely to be angry with those who compel us to do so, including those we have injured. In any case we devote ourselves inevitably to the people, the needs, and the problems that are close at hand, and where it seems we can make a difference. We prefer to believe that helping those with whom we have contact will be an appropriate contribution to helping all those in need, and we resent the suggestion that this may not be true.

In view of these obvious features of the human situation, what is remarkable is not that ordinary people of good will fail to reorient their lives in ways that would benefit persons they will never meet. What is remarkable is that the idea that this should be done has wide acceptance. That most theologians, even those whose social location in the white North American middle class, verbally support efforts to achieve the changes needed in our society to make some minimum of justice possible elsewhere, such as in Latin America, is already a testimony to the power of the gospel.

Nevertheless, the distant poor have little reason to expect much of us or even to trust us. I am repeatedly impressed how quickly I, and other well-meaning Christians, turn from impassioned statements about the evil of oppression and hunger on a global scale to talk of our need for better salaries, our hopes for economic security in retirement, and our boats or Summer cottages. This is not to say that we are insincere in our profession of concern for the poor. It is to say that the bulk of our activity responds to other urgings and binds us more tightly into the system that produces and depends upon oppression. That this is true of intellectual work, including our theology, is to be expected.

My point here is that we need to take our social location very seriously, to be suspicious of ourselves, and to work constantly to correct for the bias that our location introduces. Liberation theologies are not free of the distortions made inevitable by the human condition. Nevertheless, identification with the oppressed is a real option for them in a way it is not for most white North American theologians.

For the most part, we men should not suppose that we can be feminist theologians. We whites should not pretend to be black theologians. And we North Americans should not claim to be liberation theologians in the Latin American mold. What is possible for us is to take seriously what is said by those who speak from the side of oppressed groups, to do what we can to make sure their voices are heard, and to try to adjust our own living and thinking to make them more appropriate to what we have learned. In this sense we can all become political theologians.

I am not saying that one person cannot be both a liberation theologian and a process theologian. I see no problem for one whose social location is close to the poor to be a liberation theologian who appropriates the basic categories of process thought. Indeed, I believe that those few liberation theologians who have seriously studied process theology have profited from doing so. There is nothing in the social location of liberation theologians to prevent this. There is nothing in process categories that is inherently white, North American, or middle class. My point is only that if one is white, North American, and middle class, as are most process theologians, then one would be hesitant to suppose that one can really think in a sustained way from the perspective of the oppressed. But even white, middle class North Americans can become responsive to what they hear from the poor. To avoid thinking in ways that are unresponsive to their rightful claim upon us, we need to cultivate habits of a kind of self-criticism which is still largely foreign to our tradition. Here we must humbly learn from liberation theologians. When white, middle class, North American process theologians consider our social location seriously and adapt our theology to the understanding that results, North Atlantic process theology as a whole can become complementary to liberation theology.

2. Theological Methods and Topics

The social location of the two theological traditions has informed their problems and methods. Liberation theology has redirected theological reflection to the burning issues posed by the society in which it is developed. That has led to the focus on oppression and the structures that sustain it. The liberation theologian does not first work out questions of the nature of God and Christ and the church in one context, such as that of the academic community, and then apply these answers to the social situation. On the contrary, the theologian thinks about God, Christ, and the church as these topics arise in the analysis of the social situation and in action aimed at justice. Doctrines are tested in practice and reformulated in the light of their effects and their illuminating and motivating power.

This is a profoundly different approach to theology from the one that has been characteristic of process theology. Process theology has taken as its situation the decline of credibility of Christian belief in the modern world. It has concluded that much of this loss has been due to formulations of faith that are not worthy of credence, and it has undertaken to provide more credible statements of what the Christian believes. This is not a mere game. There are millions of people who have rejected the Christian faith because of its incredibility, and the doubt and confusion of those who remain are often painful. Often the pain that is addressed is that of process theologians themselves. Whatever is said in justification of the practice of process theologians in the past, however, it must also be recognized that in the encounter with liberation theologians we are called to repent. Intellectual credibility is not unimportant, but when it is bought at the price of neglecting concrete suffering caused by the lifestyle in which the thinkers are themselves involved, something has gone profoundly wrong. If Christians must choose between thinking clearly and relating rightly to human suffering, they must choose the latter. The justification for devoting ourselves to the former must finally be that it helps in the latter task.

In the past generation systematic theologians in general have looked to ethicists to deal with public issues. It has been supposed that these issues are so complex that only specialists can lead us responsibly in addressing them. The results have been disastrous. This compartmentalization is deeply against the understanding of reality of process thought. We should have known that neither theology separated from ethics, nor ethics separated from theology could function adequately. But it has taken the challenge of black theology, feminist theology, and liberation theology to shake us out of these habits of mind. Until these external pressures became strong, our social location in the departmentalized university had more effect upon our way of working than did the conceptual models with which we worked!

This does not mean that when we follow liberation theologians in the turn to praxis, our method will be exactly the same as theirs. In my book on political theology I noted some differences between a process approach and a praxis one.

In addition, the topics to which attention is given must be affected by our social location. We cannot neglect questions of intellectual credibility. When North Americans turn to the issues of the day which set the agenda for theology, the issue of nuclear war will properly loom larger for us than for Latin Americans. It was striking that it was this issue that for the first time moved the American Academy of Religion from its academic and objectifying stance to one of involvement.

That there are dangers in preoccupation with this issue we have learned from third world theologians. I myself believe it would be better if the AAR had moved from the academic to the involved stance over the wider global issue posed by the World Council of Churches in terms of the just, participatory, and sustainable society. That nuclear war is totally incompatible with that goal goes without saying. But placed in this larger context the concern about war would not tend to be abstracted in dangerous ways from the concern with justice. Perhaps the greatest achievement of the World Council of Churches assembly in Vancouver was to bring peace and justice back into appropriate relations.

In the social location of all North Americans, issues of race, also, will rightly play a larger role than they have played thus far among Latin Americans. The United States is a racist society. We must pay attention to this immediate oppression within our nation at the same time that we take account of the global effects of our way of life. Similarly, the quite different issues raised by feminists properly have a priority for us that they do not yet have for most liberation theologians. Again, the recognition that our inherited christologies have shared responsibility for the holocaust gives an urgency to overcoming our anti-Judaism that is not yet widely felt by Latin Americans. In addition, the unemployment that is caused by the flight overseas of North American heavy industry poses for us the problems of the international economic order in ways that will not have comparable priority for Latin Americans.

The main point, however, is not that North American topics will necessarily differ from Latin American ones. The main point is that we are being forced to learn from those who have experienced an oppression for which we share responsibility that our theological habits must change. Painful though it is to repent of what has become a comfortable professional style, we know that we must, and we are beginning to do so. For this we are grateful to liberation theology. We hope that, as we turn, our work will become increasingly complementary to theirs.

3. Justice

Process theology has failed to deal extensively with the issue of justice, at least under that rubric. To some extent this is a question of terminology, the importance of which should not be exaggerated. Whitehead, for example, did deal at some length with the questions of equality and freedom, and the latter topic, at least, has been a common one in process thought.

Still it is important to ask why the word "justice" does not appear more prominently in the works of process theologians. Its absence does not mean that process theologians lack a strong preference for justice over injustice. In Whitehead’s case it may indicate that he did not think it was the best term to use in dealing with social reality and cultural goals. The philosophical discussions of justice after Plato have not been the most fruitful bases for radical social thought. Even today philosophical discussions of justice tend to be theoretical and abstract.

The passionate concern for justice arises where injustice is keenly experienced. Since Marx, this concern has rarely gained expression in a convincing vision of a just society. On the contrary, it is usually focused on concrete evils. Nothing touches us at a deeper level than the sense of being treated unjustly. Criticism of United States’ foreign policy often elicits outrage from citizens who feel it to be unjust. Whether they are right or wrong in their judgment does not affect the strength of the feeling. We all think that we know injustice when we see it, and we want it corrected. We do not need a comprehensive theory or even a successful definition of justice before demanding this correction.

I have placed this on a personal and existential level. But the same point can be made in terms of economic and political systems. Even though it is very difficult to describe what the just society would be, it is not at all difficult to identify profound injustices in existing societies and in the existing international order. Black theology, feminist theology, and liberation theology all arise out of the keen and accurate analysis of injustices. None of them has appealed to or provided a well-developed theory of justice.

Occasionally liberation theologians suggest that injustice is a function of capitalism and would be overcome more or less automatically in a socialist society. But such statements cannot be taken at face value. Few would deny that there have been gross injustices in the Soviet Union and, more dramatically, in Kampuchea. Millions of Chinese will testify to the gross injustices they suffered under the cultural revolution, which was the most serious effort thus far to make of China a radically socialist society. The flight of homosexuals from Cuba to the United States indicated that they did not feel justly treated in their socialist state. There is strong evidence that the workers of Poland do not feel that they are being dealt with justly. It may yet be possible to construct a just socialist society, but if so that must be carefully distinguished from unjust socialist societies. One cannot answer the question of what constitutes the just society by pointing to socialism as such, while among capitalist societies there are varying approximations of justice.

One conclusion from these facts is that the category of justice works best in the context of preaching and propaganda where people are roused to oppose concrete forms of injustice. But does that mean that theoretical work about the kind of society that would minimize injustice (and other evils) is irrelevant? I do not think so. We cannot suppose that mobilizing energies against concrete injustices can constitute the whole task before us. Without a realizable vision of a just society, overcoming one set of injustices may produce another.

If it is the task of liberation theology to speak from the point of view of the victims of social and economic injustice, what is the appropriate response of those theologians in the oppressor community who hear and want to support the aspirations of the oppressed? The German political theologians see their task as calling the church to repentance for the way in which it supports the oppressors so that the church may speak effectively against injustice in every society. They are reluctant to go beyond this to propose, as Christian theologians, what kind of society is to be sought. They remember too many times when Christians have attempted to identify the political theory and practice that is appropriate to the gospel and have in fact supported entrenched interests.

The liberation theologians see that stance as too detached from the real choices, at least in Latin America. There, Christians must involve themselves in the struggle for liberation in the economic and political arena and ally themselves with others in that struggle. This often means supporting the forces that seek socialism against the supporters of the status quo.

It is difficult for white North American theologians to follow the Latin Americans here. But this does not restrict us to the role adopted by the political theologians in Germany. The alternative position is to wrestle, as Christian thinkers, with the question: What kinds of social, economic, and political changes are required in our own society if the United States is to abandon its alliances with local oppressors in Latin America? Since these changes will not occur without the acceptance of different economic and political theories from those that are now dominant, the development of theories acceptable to Christians is needed.

I believe that process theology has both the opportunity and the responsibility to share in the development of a new economics and a new political theory. Other widely influential theologies see themselves as responsible to carry forward a theological tradition that is separate from other areas of study and thought. But for process theology boundaries of this sort are a major part of the problem. Christian thinking about God and Jesus Christ and the human self cannot be separated from Christian thinking about the body, human society, and the natural world. Process conceptuality should draw theological insights together with creative new thinking in other disciplines.

There is a very real danger that if middle class process theologians in North America construct a vision of a just society, the values they express and try to realize will be the middle class values of their own social location and that the results will once again sanction and sanctify the oppression of others. But the question I am asking is how North American theologians can appropriately respond when they acknowledge the truth, and the critical importance, of what they hear from liberation theologians. My argument is that we are called to project a vision of a just society that would be at once attractive to middle class North Americans and also get us off the backs of oppressed people who are seeking liberation. I believe process theologians should take a lead in working on this.

The suggestion that a projected vision should be attractive to middle class North Americans naturally arouses suspicion. Does this express a naive view of the possibility of harmonizing all interests? This suspicion often arises with respect to process theology because of the emphasis on harmony in Whitehead’s philosophy. But this reflects a fundamental misunderstanding. The reason harmony is so highly prized in process thought is that the basic vision of reality is one in which the conflict of interests is overwhelming. There is no preestablished order which guarantees that there are limits to mutual destructiveness. Chaos appears as the most natural expression of the radical pluralism of events constituting the totality. Even the degree of harmony expressed in the simplest of living things is a source of wonder. We must marvel at the precarious harmonies that make human community possible. As the scope of interdependence grows larger, chaos and order imposed by force are to be expected. But we believe that even here God works for harmony and that we are called to work with God. Perhaps it is naive to believe that any harmony at all is possible. Perhaps we are condemned to the clash of force with force and the slavery of the defeated. But as Christians we live by hope, and our hope is that some elements of harmony will soften the horror of the apparently dominant forces of conflict.

But is not the aim at an attractive future likely to gloss over the gross injustice in which middle class North Americans are now involved? Perhaps. Certainly it is a different strategy from that of prophetic denunciation designed to arouse guilt. The "prophetic" approach would be to call on middle class North Americans to abandon their privilege and power for the sake of the oppressed. Is it not a weakness of process theology that it does not express itself in this form of prophesy? Perhaps. But we must ask what assumptions underlie the call to prophesy in this manner. One assumption could be that the absolute will of God must be proclaimed in every situation regardless of whether there is any likelihood of obedience. A second assumption could be that if the call to public repentance were rightly formulated it would succeed in winning over the majority of North Americans and thus change the national life style and public policies.

Few process theologians can accept either of these assumptions. Although we do not hold to a simple utilitarianism or pragmatism, we do believe that we have a responsibility to the future and that we should take the probable consequences of our actions into account when we decide what to do. We may have hopes that in devout Christian circles a clear appeal to the ideal of collective sacrifice at a massive level will have positive effects. But we do not believe that the policies of the government of the United States will be swayed in that way. The great majority of middle class North Americans will see no reason to make significant sacrifices for the sake of other peoples. Politically speaking, the backlash against such proposals is strong. If we are persuaded that our true interests can be realized only by the oppression of others, most North Americans will support oppression.

In this situation it is still possible to appeal on moral grounds for adjustments and improvements of policy. The effort to obtain a change of present policy in Central America is not foredoomed to failure. But the much deeper changes that are needed will not occur unless citizens see the possibility of a good life on a basis different from the economic system which now falteringly supports it. It is to the task of proposing a just alternative that we are called. If process theology moves in this direction, then the result would be an appropriate complementarity with liberation theology.

4. Interest and Perspective

Liberation theology focuses attention on the political sphere, whereas process theology has devoted considerable attention to the cultural and religious spheres. This difference of focus is part of the reason that justice has played a much smaller role in process theology. But there have been gains as well as losses for process theology.

There is little doubt that the concern for cultures and religions expresses the middle class social location of most process theologians, whereas the focus on political and economic issues and the concomitant demand for justice express the identification with the poor that is the glory of liberation theology. In the first three sections I have spoken of the need of process theology to learn from liberation theology and to develop an appropriate complementary response. The question now is whether there is any point of contact on the side of liberation theology for the concerns of process theologians in areas to which liberation theologians have paid less attention. I believe there is, and I think that liberation theologians are becoming aware of this.

Let us consider the revolution in Nicaragua as a splendid example of the impact of liberation theology. Its leaders are committed to making those changes that are needed to overcome the age-old injustices suffered by the peasants. This is a matter of economic and political reform, and no doubt they will succeed if the interference of the United States does not prevent them.

The Sandinistas wished to extend these reforms to the tribal Indians. But whereas their efforts elsewhere are generally appreciated, their efforts with the Indians were felt as repressive. The reason is that whereas class analysis was illuminating in relation to the peasants, cultural differences with the tribal Indians fall outside that class analysis. Well-meaning efforts to draw the tribal peoples into the economy of the new country are experienced by these peoples as a threat to their very identity. The result has been a tragic counterrevolution by some of the Indians against the Sandinista government.

The importance of cultural analysis has been apparent when peoples in Asia and Africa have been inspired by the Latin American example to develop their own theologies. The economic and political issues raised by the Latin Americans have relevance everywhere, but in much of the world they are closely intertwined with cultural matters. Much of the oppression felt in Asia and Africa has been the suppression of the perspectives and attitudes indigenous to those cultures. It has been supposed that only Western ideas have respectability. Even Marxist class analysis is experienced as one of these Western ideas that have suppressed those that are bound up with the very identity of the people.

Minjung theology in Korea will serve as an example. The minjung theologians are certainly concerned about the exploitation of the peasants and workers for the sake of rapid industrialization. Many of these theologians have lost their jobs and spent time in jail because of their activities in behalf of the poor. But they see oppression not only as political and economic but also as cultural. They want to recover and support the deepest intuitions of the minjung, that is, the common people of Korea. To this end they study Shamanism, Confucianism, and Buddhism, and they search for ways in which Christian faith can be appropriately expressed in relation to this heritage. The results, as they are only now emerging, will be no less radical than those of the Latin Americans.

I have used this example to show that the interreligious dialogue into which process theologians are so naturally drawn is not irrelevant to the concern for the poor. This does not mean that process theologians have entered it for that reason, or that indeed other reasons are not valid. But it does suggest that thought experiments of process theologians may find a point of contact with an ever growing and deepening liberation theology. The earlier tendency to dismiss these questions as irrelevant to the "truly urgent" issues is fading.

The distinction between the emphases that have been characteristic of liberation theology and process theology respectively can be indicated with the words "interests" and "perspectives." Liberation theology has participated in the Marxist critique of ideology as a way of thought that rationalizes and justifies the economic and political interests of a dominant class. The process theologian, Daniel Day Williams, on the other hand, called his theology perspectival, emphasizing that what one believes expresses one’s historically and culturally conditioned perspective. What I said in section 1 suggests that process theology needs to take very seriously the hermeneutic of suspicion, including suspicion of itself, generated by the analysis of interests. I am now suggesting that liberation theology needs to take seriously the diversity of perspectives. To interpret cultural and religious differences in terms of a theory of interests works no better than to ignore the role of class interests within all societies.

Thinking in terms of interests has quite different results from thinking in terms of perspectives. The discussion of interests assumes that the desire for wealth and power exercises a strong influence on thought. Thought subserves these interests. It is blatantly clear why scientists employed by the tobacco industry arrive at quite different conclusions on the relation of smoking and cancer than do others. We have all learned to ask for whom scientists work before we accept their reports at face value.

More critical analysis is needed to show how the whole direction of modern scientific work serves the interests of the rich and powerful and worsens the condition of the poor and powerless. Such analysis makes clear that scientists work on projects for which they are rewarded and that these deal with the needs and desires of those who are in position to pay. Very few scientists devote themselves to research that would enable the poor to have more control over their own destinies. Still further reflection shows that it is not science alone but education in general as it is now institutionalized that widens the gap between the rich and the poor. Even where it is made available to the poor, it rarely functions to help them deal with their own problems. Instead, it prepares them to serve and operate in bourgeois society.

This means that the high valuation of science and education, so widespread across the world, is an expression of the interests of the rich and powerful. To realize this is not immediately to establish a clear idea of what change would be of service to humanity. The simplistic response of abolishing higher education and advanced science was tried in China under the cultural revolution with results that are not encouraging. But once one has seen that the advocacy of education and science as solutions to the world’s problems expresses the interests of those who are rich and powerful and that the actual effects weaken the weak and impoverish the poor, one discounts the arguments of proponents of the existing systems. One need not assume that they are consciously working for the interests of the ruling class, but one rejects their statements nevertheless. The critique of interests is designed to lead to the rejection of what is analyzed.

Perspectival analysis could in theory have been developed in this direction. But in fact the suspicion of the distortion introduced by interests has been learned from neo-Marxists. Perspectival analysis has had the concern to open us to the truth and value of modes of thought and expression that differ from our own. It does this by making us aware of the historical and cultural conditionedness of our own thought and by enabling us to see that the different effects of other histories and cultures on thought are neither necessarily better nor necessarily worse. It relativizes all claims to wisdom. Like analysis in terms of interests, it raises suspicions about the final validity of the assumptions that dominate our culture. But it does not suggest that once we see through the absolutistic claims, we are in position to see things as they really are. It suggests instead that the relativity of perspective is never overcome. However, this does not lead to cynicism. The fact that every perspective is relative does not mean that nothing is rightly seen. Quite the contrary. From every perspective some things are seen rightly, although much is distorted or missed. If we can avoid absolutizing our own way of seeing and learn from others what they have seen, we have the possibility of

enlarging and enriching our perspective and moving toward greater adequacy to what is there to be seen. Thus the function of perspectival analysis is the positive one of discriminating the wisdom that is to be found in each perspective from its admixture of exaggeration, onesidedness, and blindness.

Perspectival analysis has been of special value in intercultural and interreligious dialogue. Indeed, until there is some willingness to recognize the relativity of one s own beliefs and values, dialogue can have only a very limited function. Once one acknowledges that one is shaped by a particular history and that those shaped by other histories may have seen aspects of reality that one has missed, then dialogue becomes the context of sharing and learning. Most dialogue has some of this element. Dialogue can be improved by more thorough perspectival analysis.

My thesis in this section is that analysis in terms of interests and analysis in terms of perspective are both needed. They are already combined in Black theology. Feminists have called our attention to the fact that in all societies women have had a very different experience than men. To understand these differences we need both an analysis of how male-dominated cultures have expressed male interests in maintaining domination and also awareness of the perspectival differences between men and women in those cultures.

It is not easy for blacks to acknowledge that there are values in the white perspective when they see so clearly how white culture has expressed white interests. It is not easy for feminists to recognize that there are values in the male perspective when they see so clearly how male dominated society has expressed male interests. It may be even more difficult for liberation theologians to admit that there are values in the perspective of the oppressor when they see so clearly the marks of interest in the structures of society the oppressor has organized and in the ideology by which these are justified.

Process theologians are just beginning to appropriate the wisdom of those who think in terms of interests. Liberation theologians are just beginning to acknowledge the importance of perspectival analysis. But there is no reason for either to hold back from fuller appropriation of what is to be learned from the other. As this happens one may anticipate a confluence of process theology and liberation theology.

5. The Poor and the Non-Human World

Both process theology and liberation theology have a natural antipathy to the dominant pattern of development economics. This operates in terms of established power structures and predominantly from the top down. It does not empower ordinary people to make decisions about their own lives.

The protest of liberation theology has grown out of participation in the experience of having development forced upon a people. Usually industrial wages are held low, and an agribusiness approach to farming reduces the need for labor. Small farmers are often put at an increased disadvantage. The resulting unrest is quelled by force. Such democratic forms and human rights as had existed are weakened, and in most cases military dictatorships are established.

Process theologians support liberation theologians in their protest against this kind of economic development, which as Peter Berger has pointed out, leads to the sacrifice of a generation of the poor in hopes that a future generation may be affluent. Middle class North American process theologians can only be grateful to liberation theologians for having forced on their often reluctant attention the evils of programs they would otherwise have been likely to view as benevolent "foreign aid."

But there is another dimension of the problem of development that became apparent to process theologians before it was noticed by liberation theologians. The dominant theory and practice of development treat nature as if it were an inexhaustible resource for human beings. This is wrong on two counts. First, the planet does not provide inexhaustible supplies for human use. A program of development that fails to recognize this will produce for future generations not affluence but devastation. Increased industrial production at the expense of depleted and poisoned air, soil, and water cannot count as progress. It leads to hunger and disease.

There have been tensions between those who saw the basic issue as the exploitation of the poor and those who emphasized the destruction of the environment. The former rightly saw that the latter were mostly middle class, and they interpreted what was said from this middle-class perspective in terms of a theory of interest and ideology. This interpretation was not entirely false, but because it led to discounting what was said, it delayed recognition that what was seen from this perspective was true and important. Part of what was seen is that human population growth is exceeding the carrying capacity of the land. China has recognized this truth and is acting on it with greater seriousness than any other nation.

I would speak here of a convergence of liberation theology and process theology. There is no conflict between an emphasis on the liberation of the poor and on the preservation and restoration of the land from which they and their descendants must live. The policies that oppose the people are for the most part also the policies that sacrifice the long-term productivity of the land for short-term gains. The society both liberation theologians and process theologians want is one in which health and growth are developed from the bottom up, enabling peasant communities to determine their own destinies instead of manipulating them for the sake of urban-industrial development.

The second error in viewing nature as inexhaustible resource is that nature is not simply a resource for human beings. This is more difficult for liberation theologians to accept. The insistence on the value of other creatures seems to many liberation theologians to be an effort to impose on poor people unnecessary limits to the way they go about meeting their urgent needs. It appears to express the interests of the affluent for whom nature is experienced primarily as a place for recreation rather than the source of sustenance.

Again, the suspicion of interests is not mistaken. There is a literature on the value of nature that reflects no sensitivity to the urgent needs of the poor. Some of it reflects the interests of mountain climbers, naturalists, hunters, and sightseers. There is another literature that argues for the preservation of species on the grounds of their possible eventual usefulness to human beings. This can be read as willingness to sacrifice the interests of the poor of this generation to the possible benefits of the affluent of future generations.

Process theologians, however, regard these arguments as too anthropocentric. For us the question is, finally, what things are in themselves and for God. And we are forced to witness to our conviction that not only human beings but also all things, especially all living things, are of worth both to themselves and to God regardless of whether they are of worth to human beings. We cannot surrender this perspective because of the charge that it is middle class. We know that it is not the perspective of most middle class people and that if it is taken seriously it will run sharply counter to the interests -- at least the perceived interests -- of that class. It brings us much closer to primal cultures such as that of the natives of North America.

When we ask how this once widespread notion was lost and replaced by the radically anthropocentric thinking so dominant in our society, we see that middle class and male interests played a considerable role. The spread of anthropocentrism around the world has been closely associated with Western imperialism. Even in Latin America we suspect that there is an indigenous perspective that comes closer to ours than to that of many liberation theologians. We notice also that in the Genesis story God recognized the goodness of other creatures even before humans existed.

There remains the question as to whether adopting the perspective that locates human beings within the whole creaturely world, albeit as the most valuable part of it, would in fact work against the interests of the poor. There are certainly instances in which this appears to be the case. Land-hungry peasants in Africa want to cultivate areas that are reserved for wild animals which they are forbidden to hunt. Indeed, in the short run there can be little doubt that the poor could profit from the slaughter of the remaining elephants by selling the ivory and farming the land.

I certainly do not want to be party to proposing the sacrifice of the present generation of the poor for the supposed benefit of future generations. But few people want to make quick profits themselves if the result is to impoverish their children. When we adopt as our goal a sustainable as well as a just society, then there are far fewer instances in which there is marked opposition between the interests of the poor and of the whole biosphere. Indeed, those who are sensitive to the value of other creatures are often among the first to argue for policies that are necessary also for the sustaining of human society. For example, deforestation, which usually accompanies development as now practiced, has been more vigorously opposed by those who see intrinsic value in the whole of the living world than by those who are concerned chiefly for peasants and workers. The latter are likely to see that the poor find employment for a while in the lumber industry and to be swayed by that fact. At times there has been the danger that those whose perspective is shaped by the needs of the urban and agricultural poor have been less sensitive than one would wish to the fate of those forest people whose whole culture and livelihood (and sometimes lives) are destroyed when their habitat is eliminated. It has often been those who cared about the whole life system of the forests who have also pointed out the flooding of farms and villages downstream that typically follows deforestation. Even for the present generation of the poor a sustainable use of forests is preferable to their quick elimination. The interests of the poor and those of the forest community are not really in basic conflict. Indeed, I am convinced that the true interests of the poor will be served better as the situation is viewed in an inclusive context and that there is often much wisdom in their own tradition to support such an approach. I hope that there can be convergence here too between process theology and liberation theology in Latin America as there already is in some other parts of the world.

6. Concluding Remarks

I have spoken of three types of points of contact between process theology and liberation theology. There are, first, large areas of agreement. To these I have merely alluded. Here process theologians hope to offer philosophical undergirding and enrichment. Second, there are areas where the goal, in general, should be complementarity rather than identity. The first three sections of this paper have illustrated this, indicating the changes needed on the side of process theology as it responds to the truth of what liberation theologians are saying. Third, there are features of the two traditions which are still quite different but which are potentially mutually enriching. Here we may look forward to confluence. The fourth and fifth sections of this paper offered examples.

I recently came across "A Statement of Shared Concerns" written by a group in India concerned about their environment. I found there, powerfully stated, some elements of the confluence for which I hope. I will close with some quotations.

"It is false to argue that environmental conservation acts as a brake on economic development. On the contrary, the experience gained in the last three decades has convincingly shown that there can be no rational and equitable economic development without environmental conservation. Environmental degradation invariably results in increased economic inequalities in which the poor suffer the most. Environmental degradation and social injustice are two sides of the same coin.

"In a country like India, with a high population density and a high level of poverty, virtually every ecological niche is occupied by some occupational or cultural human group for its sustenance. Each time an ecological niche is degraded or its resources appropriated by the more powerful in society, the deprived, weaker sections become further impoverished. For instance, the steady destruction of our natural forests, pasture lands and inland coastal water bodies has not only meant increased economic poverty for millions of tribals, nomads and traditional fisherfolk, but also a slow cultural and social death: a dismal change from rugged self-sufficient human beings to abjectly dependent landless laborers and squalor-stricken urban migrants. Current development can, in fact, be described as the process by which the rich and more powerful reallocate the nation’s natural resources in their favor and modern technology is the tool that subserves this process.

The culture exported from the so-called developed countries, which we are adopting unthinkingly is at the heart of the crisis. We never ask the question: developing towards what? This growing multinational culture must be destroyed because it leads to economic chaos, increased social disparities, mass poverty and filthy affluence in coexistence, environmental degradation, and ultimately civil strife and war.

"To get a balanced, rational development and to preserve the environment, a new development process is needed. The biggest intellectual and political challenge of our times is to articulate and demonstrate this new kind of development.

". . . Women invariably suffer more from unbalanced development and environmental degradation. As our understanding of both the feminist and environmental concerns grows, we find that women are more interested in the restoration of the environment, which provides the family with its basic needs, than their cash-hungry men. Especially within families where basic needs are gathered, it is women who are left to fend for the family. The new development process will demand that women and men share equal power in society.

"Thus an environmentally enlightened development process necessarily demands a new culture, which will be: egalitarian, with reduced disparities between rich and poor and power equally shared by men and women; resource-sharing; participatory; frugal, when compared to the current consumption patterns of the rich; humble, with a respect for the multiplicity of the world’s cultures and lifestyles; and, it will aim at greater self-reliance at all levels of society."

(This is taken from "The State of India’s Environment 1982 -- A Citizens’ Report," prepared by the Centre for Science and Environment, New Delhi. The quotations are taken from Anticipation, July 1983, p. 33f.)

It is my conclusion that collaborative and complementary work by process theologians and liberation theologians can contribute to the realization of this Indian vision.

The Philosophy of Charles Hartshorne

 (This article is a revised version of a lecture given on September 30, 1991 in Claremont California during a conference celebrating Charles Hartshorne and the publication of The Philosophy of Charles Hartshorne, Vol. XX in The Library of Living Philosophers Series, edited by Lewis Edwin Hahn [La Salle, IL Open Court Press, 1991].)

 

 

Today we are celebrating the publication of the twentieth volume of "The Library of Living Philosophers." Its publication would be cause for rejoicing, whoever its subject. It is a sign that under its new editor, Lewis Hahn, this important series has a great future. But we are celebrating especially because this volume is on the philosophy of one whose thought has been of utmost importance to those of us related to the Center for Process Studies and whose person continues to be our inspiration.

Let me begin by describing the volumes in this series. The pattern is to have an intellectual autobiography, followed by critical essays and responses by the living philosopher, as well as a bibliography. Paul Schilpp, the founding editor, believed that too often critical questions are not raised about the thought of philosophers while they are alive. Later, scholars wonder fruitlessly how the philosophers would have answered certain questions. Schilpp wanted the questions asked while the philosophers could still answer.

In this respect the format has not always been successful. Sometimes critics have not understood their subjects well enough to formulate astute questions. Sometimes the philosophers have not understood the questions or have answered in generalities. But in this volume the ideal of the series is realized very well indeed. The twenty-nine commentators and critics for the most part understand Hartshorne’s philosophy well, and many of them raise quite provocative questions. Best of all, Hartshorne replies to each one with sensitivity and precision. Even where there is serious misunderstanding he works patiently at the task of clarification. The 160 pages of his replies genuinely answer many questions about his intention and meaning, sometimes in ways that even those who have followed his thought most closely will find fresh and illuminating.

Before dealing more substantively with the picture that emerges from this interaction, I would like to give you some statistics about the bibliography. The bibliography of philosophical writing includes 19 books and 478 articles and reviews. That is impressive. But even more impressive to me -- as one who turned 65 not long ago -- is that about half the books and half the articles were published after Hartshorne had reached that age.

In the book Hartshorne comments on the advantages of longevity for a philosopher and on his own good fortune in this respect. My personal projections have been to continue active as a productive scholar until I become 80. In view of that expectation, I have been even more struck by the fact that Hartshorne has published four of his 19 books and a hundred articles and reviews after his eightieth birthday.

Even this does not tell the whole story. The bibliography is complete only through 1987 when Hartshorne reached 90. He has published another book since then. And he still has plans! I wonder whether any other philosopher has continued so productive so long.

In addition to all this, there is a second bibliography, this one on ornithology. It is not nearly as long -- sixteen articles and just one book. But Hartshorne tells us that a second book on birds is in the works!

Reading this book confirms the impression that Charles Hartshorne is, above all else, a metaphysician. I am not sure that any other major philosopher in the whole history of thought has concentrated attention so singlemindedly on metaphysics. Further, I feel little fear of contradiction in asserting that he is the greatest living metaphysician.

This is a tribute to his brilliance and hard work. It is also a tribute to his innerdirectedness.

Charles Hartshorne’s career has spanned a period in which to be a metaphysician was to swim against the stream. The twentieth century has been a time of nothing-but" thinking, ridiculing all attempts to plumb the depths of reality. Metaphysics survived chiefly in the shelter of the Catholic church, but Hartshorne did not associate himself with any of the forms of Thomism that were nurtured there. Indeed, he played the role of critic in ways not calculated to win friends among the Thomists. Instead, he did his metaphysical thinking in the midst of the most modern of the philosophers, in dialogue with logical positivists and modal logicians as well as pragmatists and phenomenologists.

Furthermore, he did not attempt to appease the hostility of the anti-metaphysicians by sacrificing theism or even minimizing its importance in his thought. On the contrary, God has played the central role in his metaphysics. That might be thought calculated to win support from the religiously inclined, but most of them wanted to distance themselves from philosophy and did not welcome his intrusion. In any case, much that he said about God was offensive to most of the believers. It is true that there is now a group of theologians who work positively with his ideas, but that is because some were converted to his way of thinking -- not because he tailored his formulations so as to win allies.

Hartshorne has been a self-described rationalist in a time when "rationalism" has been a term of scorn among philosophers and theologians alike. This volume strongly confirms this judgment. Yet Hartshorne’s rationalism has involved a rejection of the older rationalism as well.

In the past, rationalism has been associated with deduction from first principles. The assumption has been that some starting point can be adopted with certainty and that reason can establish other truths deductively from that. It has generally been associated with a deterministic understanding of the world.

Not only does Hartshorne reject the conclusions of the earlier rationalism, he rejects its method as well. He continues to deduce the consequences of premises in a logical way, but this is in order to test them as hypotheses, not to establish the truth of their consequences. Only if the validity of deduced consequences can be tested in some other way does the method work.

For Hartshorne one very important method is to elaborate the logically exhaustive options in dealing with a traditional metaphysical issue, and then to examine the logical implications of each option. This enables him to avoid the common philosophical procedure of establishing one position by showing the weakness of a contrasting one. Hartshorne uses logical rules to make sure that all possible positions are considered. Often it is one of those heretofore not considered options that turns out to be the most adequate.

For example, philosophers have often argued for the necessity of God by showing the unacceptability of any idea that the divine existence could be contingent. Having shown the necessity of God’s existence, they conclude that no element of contingency can be found in God. Similarly, having shown the contingency of worldly entities and events, they deny to them any element of necessity. Hartshorne shows that this procedure ignores a variety of other options. One of these is that both God and the world are necessary in some respects and contingent in others. He argues that in fact the conclusions deducible from this hypothesis are far more plausible that those deduced from any of the other options.

This method and comments scattered throughout his replies in this volume make very clear that Hartshorne’s extensive use of reason and confidence in its power does not have all the features often associated with rationalism. He does not suppose that any of his beliefs derive from reason alone or can obtain objective certainty through reason. He recognizes that his thought is conditioned by his culture and his personal intuitions affected by his own upbringing. Attaining mutual understanding with persons who come from other perspectives, he knows, is very difficult. Without that, one cannot even consider attaining agreement.

But Hartshorne does not give up. And, furthermore, he does not believe that every metaphysical issue remains forever simply open. For example, even if many philosophers have not acknowledged that the relation of the present to the future is fundamentally different from its relation to the past, Hartshorne is convinced that the weight of reason strongly favors this asymmetry -- and he is prepared to argue the point again and again.

Hartshorne’s rationalism, in its sharp antithesis to the dominant ethos of our time, shows up in his favored relation to historical materials. In some ways it is a return to the Medieval scholastic style, leaping over the Renaissance humanist reaction and all that has followed it. Of course, Hartshorne does not deny the value of the literary and historical treatment of the writings of past philosophers. To understand them in their own contexts has its place. But Hartshorne also believes that there are some basic issues, especially metaphysical ones, that have been recognized and treated in many historical contexts, and that what is said on these issues can be considered as a proposed solution to a problem that is not context dependent. For him it is more important, for the sake of contemporary philosophy, to discover the alternative solutions of these problems, and the arguments given in their support, than to locate old discussions in ancient contexts. If one finds that a solution is faulty because it overlooked an important alternative, one may note that in that historical epoch that alternative was not available for consideration. But the error remains an error, however understandable.

A highwater mark of rationalism has been the ontological argument. It moves from a rational idea, the idea of God, to the metaphysical reality of what is thought, independent of any empirical evidence. It has offended the sensibility of empiricists, who have responded, from Anselm’s day to ours, with quick rejection and ridicule. Despite Hartshorne’s difference from the older rationalism, this argument has fascinated him as well. From graduate school days on, he has been convinced that this quick rejection and ridicule are not warranted. For him the argument expresses a profound truth.

Hartshorne’s discussion of the ontological argument in earlier books has been thorough and extensive, if not always entirely easy to follow. In this book, his discussion is brief, but clear and clarifying. There is one point of which he is very sure. The idea of God is incompatible with the contingent existence of God. The mode of God’s being, if God exists at all, is necessity. That means that it cannot be a factual question whether God exists. If God does not exist, God’s non-existence is also necessary. We cannot discuss the matter as if what might not exist in fact does exist or what might exist in fact does not. All appeals to empirical evidence, that is, to contingent facts, whether in support of belief in God or in opposition to such belief, make this mistake.

This is a point that should shape all discussion of the existence of God. But the point is most clearly and finally made in the ontological argument. Hartshome believes that most ideas of God are incoherent, so that the God, so conceived, necessarily does not exist. But he also believes that a fully coherent idea of One who necessarily exists would entail the necessary existence of that One. It can not be possible to conceive God coherently if God’s existence is metaphysically imposssible. The main task, therefore, is to discover whether such a coherent idea is possible. And Hartshorne has made his greatest contribution to theism in his development of a relatively coherent doctrine of God.

I say "relatively coherent" because Hartshorne acknowledges that he has encountered problems he cannot solve. These are especially acute in the relation of God to the temporality described by relativity physics. Part of the problem is that the implications for time of that physics are inherently confusing even to the best physicists. But however it is interpreted, its relation to the unique serial order of divine experiences, as Hartshorne long thought of God’s time, is problematic.

Hartshorne once spoke of "proofs" of God’s existence. He now recognizes that the word proofs is misleading. It suggests that one could begin with unequivocal and indisputable premises. There are no such premises. But there are arguments. For Hartshorne now, the two most important arguments are those from order and from meaning. But the premises are themselves complex and themselves require supporting arguments.

For example, Hartshorne’s argument from order presupposes his psychicalism. That is, it is because he sees the universe as composed of myriads of self-determining individuals that the relative order resulting from their independent decisions requires explanation in terms of a cosmic principle of order. Further, it is because the order pervading this cosmic epoch is contingent that it must be explained by a decision rather than being itself an ultimate ground. If these premises are accepted, the argument for the conclusion is strong. If not, some other argument from order may be possible, but not this one.

Of course, Hartshorne does not regard his premises as arbitrary. He provides arguments for them as well. But these arguments require premises, too. And these premises in their turn require support.

I have been emphasizing the extraordinary independence of Hartshorne’s mind. Emphasizing this might lead to the impression that he has had a need to be different from everyone else. But that is not the case. He is at pains to identify those philosophers from whom he has learned and others with whom he finds himself in agreement. Only occasionally, and somewhat hesitantly, does he identify certain ideas as original with him. He is far more likely to understate than to overplay the distinctiveness of his own views.

Hartshorne repeatedly emphasizes his debt to Charles Saunders Peirce and to Alfred North Whitehead. In part this was their confirmation of intuitions he was already in process of developing before he encountered them. In part it was a matter of learning new ideas. In this volume there is not a great deal of discussion of his relation to Peirce, but there is considerable discussion of his relation to Whitehead.

Several essays in this volume treat of Hartshorne’s differences from Whitehead. Most of these are matters of emphasis rather than direct opposition. Yet emphasis is important, and there are also points of disagreement. Hartshorne notes in his generous response to my contribution that I have followed Whitehead more closely than him, and he is correct. That means that I have found Whitehead’s emphases more congenial and Whitehead’s doctrine on some, but not all, of the points of disagreement, more fruitful. This does not reduce my indebtedness to Hartshorne, since it is from him that I learned Whitehead.

So far as I can recall, I have never discussed in print my reasons for leaning toward Whitehead. This is partly because I have wanted only to praise my teacher, not to criticize his work. My contribution to this volume continues in that vein. It raises no objections or challenges. I suspect that, instead, honest criticism is the form of praise Hartshorne most appreciates. I shall use this occasion to express my reasons for preferring Whitehead’s emphases to his. I want also to express my delight that over the years the features of Hartshorne that made me uncomfortable have softened.

I noted above that Hartshorne no longer speaks of "proofs" of God’s existence or of anything else. The attitude expressed in the use of that word was part of that against which I reacted. He once wrote as if there were starting points for arguments that were not themselves thoroughly problematic. I found more congenial Whitehead’s sensitivities to the endlessly conjectural, hypothetical, or speculative character of all thought. There once seemed to be a real difference between Whitehead and Hartshorne on this point. Today it is only a matter of emphasis. I still prefer the Whiteheadian emphasis, but I find nothing to oppose in what Hartshorne now says.

Related to this difference is another. Metaphysics for Whitehead seems to be the final limit of speculative hypotheses that begin in particular fields of experience. As Hartshorne notes in criticism, the line between metaphysics and cosmology is not sharply drawn by Whitehead. Differentiating between what is universally true of all entities in our cosmic epoch and what must hold true in all cosmic epochs is, for Whitehead, a meaningful endeavor, but one in which success must be partial and uncertain at best. Earlier I described the quite different relation in Hartshorne between the metaphysical and the empirical. This difference has not softened over the years. Even though the two positions are not in direct conflict, they support different philosophical styles. I am more comfortable with Whitehead’s. I will illustrate.

Hartshorne’s approach to metaphysics is heavily dependent, as I have noted, on the formulation of exhaustive sets of possible positions on a particular issue. I am confident that much has been gained in this way. Hartshorne knows that this method works only when the terms of the discussion are clear and univocal. But he does not see this as an overwhelming problem. I, on the other hand, see the task of attaining clarity and precision about terms, especially metaphysical ones, as endlessly difficult. What a term means is bound up with what other terms mean, and these meanings already involve metaphysical assumptions. This is not in direct conflict with what Hartshorne says and does, but it makes me more interested in the pursuit of understanding than in argument. As Hartshorne notes, it is a complaint against Whitehead that he does not argue. That complaint, Hartshorne rightly says, is exaggerated, but it does point to a difference. The complaint would never be directed against Hartshorne!

The issue of the refinement of what is to be said, rather than accepting the terms commonly used in argument arises with respect to some of Hartshorne’s favorite language. For example, he has shifted from panpsychism to psychicalism in describing an important feature of his thought. My problem is with the continuing role of the term "psyche." I think it means more to the hearer than Hartshorne intends and perhaps more to Hartshorne than is fully warranted or needed. I fear that it puts obstacles in the way of acceptance of what I regard as the basic truth of the position.

Let me explain. Hartshorne approaches the problem from the standpoint of the long debate about mind and matter. In that debate there was a tendency for participants to think they knew what "mind" means and what "matter" means. Hartshorne occasionally seems to accept those meanings and argue in terms of them for the ontological priority and generalizability of mind. However, he usually avoids this. "Psyche" includes "mind" but is not exhausted by it. "Mind" emphasizes thinking and is virtually inseparable from thinking in its denotation. "Psyche" brings emotion fully into play. Since feeling is so fundamental for Hartshorne, this is a great gain.

Furthermore, when we ask for continuities among all entities, we have nowhere to begin except with the occasions of psychic life. This is Hartshorne’s point, and I support it fully. It is aspects of the psychical that can be generalized, not the apparently inert objects of experience. Hence I find the shift from "mind" to "psyche" a great gain.

Nevertheless, from my point of view, "psychical" is still not the right word. Although it includes feeling, it also accents high grade aspects of conscious life such as thinking, recalling, and anticipating the remote future. Also "psyche" contrasts most directly with "soma;" so that it seems that what is generalized is not bodily. Careful reading of Hartshorne counters much of this, but not all.

For Whitehead what is to be generalized from our experience are precisely not those aspects which emerge in evolution for the first time in the animal psyche or soul. They are the primitive aspects of experience that do not require the complexities of a brain. For example, and most fundamentally, they are the physical feelings that constitute causality throughout the world. Of course, there are no physical feelings without subjective forms, and no subjective forms without subjective immediacy and subjective aims, and there is no subjective aim without some primitive flash of unconscious mentality.

I think that all Hartshorne really needs to mean by psychicalism is present in Whitehead. But the effect of overcoming the dualism of the psychical and the material by pronouncing entirely in favor of the psychical is different from overcoming the dualism of the mental and the physical by saying that both elements are present in every occasion as forms of feeling. The former sounds like the victory of idealism over materialism; the later, like the synthesis of idealism and naturalism in an idealistic naturalism or a naturalistic idealism. Again, the difference is one of language and emphasis more than doctrine, but language and emphasis are important, and I prefer Whitehead’s.

The objection to Whitehead for which Hartshorne is best known is against his doctrine of eternal objects. At this point I know that I do not know how to think. Hartshorne’s objections to treating the sensory continuum of color, for example, as though it were composed of a finite number of discrete shades, is quite convincing. On the other hand, his complaint that if all possibilities are primordially envisaged, the course of events can add nothing to what God already has, seems to me to confuse pure and impure possibilities and to be based on a different view of the relation of actuality to possibility than Whitehead’s. Since I know that contemporary mathematicians do not find Whitehead’s view of the ontological status of their objects attractive or illuminating, I am further shaken and perplexed.

But I am troubled by Hartshorne’s solution. In Whitehead as in Hartshorne God is the ground of order. But in Process and Reality, even more emphasized is that God is the ground of novelty. I like to say that it is because of God that there are novel order and ordered novelty. Also natural law changes as societies change. Whitehead’s analysis of how this happens is in his doctrine of conceptual feelings. I have found this both attractive and convincing, both existentially and ontologically. I am loath to say that there are no conceptual feelings or that conceptual feelings feel nothing at all. Hence I cling to the view that relevant possibilities, even when unrealized in the world, can and do play a role in my experience. I do not think Hartshorne denies this, but I have not learned how to interpret this aspect of my own experience in his conceptuality.

I now want to return from this discussion of differences between Whitehead and Hartshorne to Hartshorne’s own creative work. This has dealt in many areas of social importance. Another important part of it has been scientific.

It is often supposed that preoccupation with metaphysics makes one’s work irrelevant to the real problems of life, to matters of public policy, for example. At least in Hartshorne’s case, this is far from correct. A conversation with Jack Hutchison a couple of weeks ago suggested something of the direction I am taking in these remarks. He had noted with surprise Hartshorne’s writing about ecological issues long before this topic became fashionable. The same is true of feminism. Hartshorne has written on social and political policy and on such emotionally laden topics as abortion. In all these cases the relation of his views to his metaphysics is clear. I regret that this side of his work is not treated in this volume, but at eight hundred pages it is large enough.

It is also often supposed that rationalism is opposed to empiricism. But this does not apply to Hartshorne’s version. His rationalism is a sustained argument that most of what is, even in the life of God, is contingent. It is knowable, therefore, only by empirical study. But Hartshorne does not leave matters there. The conceptuality developed rationalistically provides hypotheses for empirical research that are often strikingly different from the ones actively tested by most scientists, since the latter work, largely unconsciously, out of a different metaphysics.

I was delighted to find that the first set of responses to Hartshorne’s work is identified as "empirical inquiries." The very first essay is written by Charles Birch, who affirms Hartshorne’s influence on his biology. He has written on "Chance, Purpose, and Darwinism."

But Hartshorne has not simply developed his metaphysical ideas and hoped that scientists here and there would find them fruitful. Nor has he depended, as we have here at the Center for Process Studies, on collaborative work. He has directly entered scientific fields with hypotheses suggested by his metaphysics, proposed testable hypotheses, and himself tested them against the empirical evidence.

His first book was of this sort. It is entitled The Philosophy and Psychology of Sensation. Generally a sensation has been taken to be primitive, and sensa related to different sense organs have been taken to be incommensurable. Hartshorne’s metaphysics led him to the hypothesis that more fundamental than the sensa are affects and that the same affect is expressed in sensa associated with diverse sense organs. His theory has not been influential in the ongoing course of psychology, so that those who do not understand how academic disciplines develop may suppose that it is outdated. Wayne Viney, a psychologist who has written about it in this volume, notes that there is much more evidence for the theory today than when Hartshorne put it forward. He also notes that even now a research program based on this hypothesis could prove quite fruitful.

Still more striking is Hartshorne’s lifelong research in ornithology, especially birdsong. Here he has not depended on the empirical research of others but has gathered his own data. Indeed, he has probably recorded more birdsongs from more parts of the world than has any other scientist.

Here, too, his research is guided by an hypothesis suggested by his metaphysics. According to this metaphysics, there is no drastic line separating human beings from other creatures. Evolution seems to give a great deal of support to this view, but the working assumptions of most scientists are still Cartesian. According to these assumptions, animal behavior is to be viewed mechanistically. Birdsong, for example, is assumed to be instinctual. Birds are programmed to act in ways that have had survival value, and their singing follows from this programming.

Hartshorne does not question that the ability to sing developed for an evolutionary reason. The same is true of our ability to speak. But this does not mean that the singing occurs only when and because of this evolutionary programming. Once the ability arises the results can be enjoyed!

From this general hypothesis that birds like to sing and enjoy their music, Hartshorne developed other hypotheses that are testable. He employed his extensive evidence in the testing of his hypotheses. The hypotheses were supported. Of course, this does not amount to proof of his general hypothesis, much less of his metaphysics. The debate continues among ornithologists. But some of the greatest specialists, including Alexander Skutch, who has contributed to this volume, are very favorably impressed with Hartshorne’s work, and he has been given full status in their professional society.

I need hardly point out that very few of the philosophers who pride themselves on their empiricism have made comparable contributions to empirical science in our century. It is ironic, in terms of the widespread prejudices against rationalism, that this should be so, but it is completely consistent with Hartshorne’s version of rationalism.

I hope these comments accurately reflect Hartshorne’s views of the relation of rationalism to empiricism. Rational inquiry shows that most of what we need to know is empirical. It shows that all empirical inquiry works with hypotheses informed by assumptions that should be rationally considered. But rational inquiry also shows that there is one set of questions that are not empirical. This set defines metaphysics. To complain that in doing metaphysics one does not attend to the particularity of the particular, but treats it only as an exemplification of metaphysical principles, is an objection to metaphysics itself as Hartshorne understands it. It is true, but not valid, in his view, as a reason for rejecting the enterprise. Metaphysical questions are far too important to set aside because they are not empirical.

The relation to phenomenology is different. Metaphysical hypotheses or insights arise in experience. To formulate them well requires close attention to experience. The hypothesis is that fundamental features of the philosopher’s experience are characteristic of everything whatsoever. Hence the phenomenological examination of experience is fundamental for Hartshorne’s metaphysics.

Nancy Frankenberry, in a brilliant essay, notes the tension between Hartshorne’s strong statements about the importance of phenomenology and his commitment to views of what is really going on that are quite different from what is phenomenologically observed. For example, Hartshorne is full committed to Whitehead’s epochal theory of time, which entails that human experience consists in a succession of momentary experiences. On the other hand, phenomenological accounts of experience present it as continuous.

This is one of those places where Schilpp’s hope was fulfilled. Hartshorne has a chance to answer the question that might otherwise not have been asked until after his death. What is immediately experienced and thus phenomenologically accessible both provides the starting point for reflection and must be explained by the conclusions of reflection, but the reflection must consider hypotheses that are only indirectly related to experience. In this case, staying with the hypothesis of a temporal continuum of experience leads to paradoxes, those of Xeno, for example. Reason, confronting paradox, seeks alternative hypotheses. If these can solve the paradox without generating new ones, and are compatible with the phenomenological evidence, even if not suggested by it, they should be accepted.

One mark of our time is that a philosopher who wins a following among theologians is handicapped among philosophers. Our support can be the kiss of death. George Lucas recently published a book entitled "The Rehabilitation of Whitehead." In it he is trying to persuade philosophers to take Whitehead seriously by separating him from the theologians. In Hartshorne’s case such separation would be even more difficult. Some of us feared that our admiration as theologians would prevent Hartshorne’s inclusion in this series. We rejoice that it did not.

Wisely, I think, the planners of this volume emphasized the philosophical character of Hartshorne’s work in their selection of respondents. They did include a few scientists as well as a Buddhist and a Hindu. Quite late in the day they decided it was a bit artificial to exclude altogether attention to Hartshorne’s contribution to Christian theology, and I was invited to write an essay on this topic. For that I am grateful. Now that the book is published, I hope we theologians do no further harm by celebrating his achievement.

I was particularly pleased by the Buddhist contribution to this volume. The affinities between Hartshorne’s metaphysics and the Buddhist vision have been apparent, and they have been emphasized by Hartshorne himself. But most Buddhists have tended to belittle the similarities and to take offense at the rationalism and metaphysical theism. This prevents the kind of engagement from which they might benefit.

There are exceptions. One is Sallie King, who wrote the essay for this volume. King does not, of course, adopt the whole of Hartshorne’s theistic metaphysics or even his method. But she recognizes, rightly, I think, that certain topics have been left unnecessarily confused in Buddhist thought. For example, the reality of freedom or self-determination is at best paradoxically formulated, whereas Hartshorne shows that it can be clarified in a way that conforms with the basic Buddhist vision.

The autobiographical essay in his volume is forty pages. After writing this, Hartshorne developed it into a full-length book, The Darkness and the Light. This is the book I mentioned as not included in his bibliography.

Hartshorne’s biography is not filled with exciting adventures. His has been the life of a professor in American universities. Even his intellectual development lacks dramatic twists and turns. He tells us that his basic intuitions were in place at the age of fifteen. Indeed, he sees his ideas as quite continuous with those of his father. The enormous scientific and technological changes that have occurred since his birth in 1897 have dramatically altered the face of the earth, but they have been only the incidental backdrop for Hartshorne’s metaphysical reflections. Thus his life is coherent with his deep conviction that investigation of the necessary features of reality is only incidentally affected by changes in the contingent ones.

Although Hartshorne’s line of thought has been quite separate from the dominant philosophical currents of the century his life has spanned, he has not been personally separate from the leading actors. Much of his autobiography is an appraisal of these figures and of his relations to them. He is always charitable in his appraisals and quick to acknowledge his share of the responsibility when things went wrong, but he does not draw back from incisive judgments.

One senses that many of these other philosophers have not known what to make of this strange character who asked all the questions they held to be irrelevant or meaningless and believed many things they thought absurd. Many of them would have preferred to dismiss him as one of the crackpots who haunt the fringes of philosophy. But they could not. He answered their objections too astutely and responded critically to their own positions in ways they could not ignore if they were to remain responsible to their own convictions. On the whole they paid as little attention to his ideas and arguments as possible. Yet they could not quite exclude him from the conversation. In his "Preface" Lewis Hahn, the editor, notes that Hartshorne has contributed to eight of the first nineteen volumes of the series, more than any other philosopher. It was not possible to keep him entirely on the sidelines.

Nevertheless, the tendency to carry on philosophical discussion as if his ideas and arguments did not exist has been noteworthy. Sometimes I have thought Hartshorne hardly understood this phenomenon. Since he himself treated every idea according to its philosophical merits, and regardless of its source, it made no sense to him that the obviously interesting and important ideas he put forward together with elaborate argumentation elicited very little of the critical response he coveted. For example, a renewed discussion of the ontological argument in analytic philosophy as initiated by Norman Malcolm proceeded almost as if Hartshorne’s much fuller treatment had not been published. Hartshorne accepted this inequitable treatment with remarkable equanimity, although occasionally one detects a plaintive note.

I close as I began by celebrating the publication of this volume. Perhaps after these remarks you will understand better the depth of satisfaction that underlies this celebration. The twentieth-century, despite its anti-metaphysical character, has produced a great metaphysician. He has lived a lonely life (philosophically speaking), his arguments largely ignored by the mainstream. Even the following he has gathered has damaged his reputation in his own community more than it has helped. His admirers have wondered whether acknowledgement of his stature must await a later historical epoch or whether twentieth-century philosophy could also acknowledge it. We rejoice that, at least to the significant degree of inclusion in this series, twentieth-century philosophy has risen above its prejudices and recognized a strange and alien greatness.

Re-Reading Science and the Modern World

I. Ford’s Contribution

Lewis Ford has made many contributions to Whitehead scholarship. His founding of Process Studies and editing it for a quarter century retained for a Whiteheadian form of process thinking a visibility it would otherwise have lost in an unfavorable philosophical environment. His interactions with those who offered contributions to the journal not only improved the quality of many essays but also stimulated and refined the thinking of interested scholars. His independent metaphysical reflections made clear that his interest was not merely the scholarly study of particular texts but the solution of basic philosophical problems. And his work has contributed to the enlargement of the discussion, especially of the ways that God may be thought of in relation to basic Whiteheadian categories.

Despite all of this, perhaps his greatest and most distinctive contribution will turn out to be his critical reconstruction of the development of Whitehead’s thought based especially on his work on the texts of Science and the Modern World and Process and Reality. Along with many other students of Whitehead, I have believed that there was a considerable difference between Whitehead’s cosmological and metaphysical vision as worked out in his Harvard years and his earlier philosophy of science. But I de-emphasized the diversity within the early Harvard period.

Readers of Science and the Modern World and Process and Reality have always known that their final forms were not identical with the original lectures. In their prefaces Whitehead tells us this, and in the former case he is specific about some of the additions. But most of us still tried to read each book as a coherent statement of a single position. Furthermore, although we recognized that much of what was worked out in the later book was absent from the former, we read the former in light of where we understood it was tending, namely, the system that we identified as Whitehead’s great achievement. Our explanations of texts in Science and the Modern World were often dependent on what we had learned from Process and Reality. What did not fit well, we sometimes passed over, assuring students that Whitehead’s meaning would become clearer in later writings.

Ford saw that this was unsatisfactory. He had no systematic or personal axe to grind. He was led simply by an urge for accuracy and honesty to call us to read each passage in terms of what Whitehead was thinking at the time he wrote. This is possible, of course, only if we know when that passage was written. In Science and the Modern World distinguishing between the original lectures and the added material was relatively easy, whereas in Process and Reality the task is immensely complex. But Ford has worked though both books and much other material. Some of his conclusions in regard to Process and Reality are somewhat controversial. They deserve thorough discussion far beyond what they have yet received. But with regard to Science and the Modern World, few critics have challenged his reconstruction significantly.

Ford has not only undertaken to sort out the material chronologically, he has also drawn conclusions as to how Whitehead was thinking at each stage of his writing. Here controversy abounds. In part this results from different hermeneutical principles. Ford attempts rigorously to exclude from the interpretation of the text any idea from later writings for which the texts do not give clear evidence. They are to be interpreted, instead, from Whitehead’s previous writings. Others, and I include myself in this number, believe that Whitehead’s own later development of the ideas also give clues as to their meaning. But I have been convinced by Ford that I have misread many texts because of this hermeneutical principle and that only Ford’s demanding alternative could have brought me closer to historical accuracy. Others testify to similar indebtedness.

Ford believes that Whitehead himself invited and encouraged many of these errors in interpretation. He saw his new ideas as developments out of the old ones. By inserting new passages into the text as expansions of the old ones, while leaving much of the earlier writing intact, he invited us to read the earlier expressions in light of the later ones. Ford tells us that this is especially true of Process and Reality but that it applies to Science and the Modern World as well. If Whitehead implicitly guided us to view his work in this way, then a hermeneutic that does so, even if only unconsciously, cannot be all bad. Ford acknowledges, therefore, that his analysis supports the conclusion that what has been generally regarded as the normative Whiteheadian view, the one that has captivated many of us, is close to his final position.

For these reasons, Ford’s vast labor of deconstruction of the text does not lead to revolutionary judgments as to Whitehead’s major contributions. Those chiefly interested in using his conclusions in various fields of study. can continue to do so in ways that are little changed.

Those challenging what Ford takes to be the normative interpretation, and those with more specifically philosophical interests, will be more affected. To understand why Whitehead adopted the conclusions at which he arrived, Ford argues that we need to know when and why these insights emerged. That means we need to know just how he was thinking before the insight emerged, what was unsatisfactory, and how the new idea responded to that problem. This knowledge can help both in developing a more accurate understanding of Whitehead and in clarifying the relation of Whiteheadian process thought to other process philosophies which are sometimes closer to stages through which Whitehead passed. Yielding this knowledge is the principal goal Ford sets for the genetic analysis of Whitehead’s writings.

Of course, Ford’s work raises dozens of questions about textual interpretation. This essay will treat only one, one that has continued to evoke debate down to the present. This is the question whether, when Whitehead gave the Lowell Lectures that were developed into Science and the Modern World, he thought of all events, or all actual occasions, as having some measure of subjectivity, mentality, or experience. If the answer is negative, there is a further question whether that notion is found in the material added to the text before publication.

Ford’s insistence that this tendency toward panpsychism was read into the Lowell Lectures rather than found in them has aroused strong reactions from two other Whitehead scholars: David Griffin and Leemon McHenry. My own reading of Science and the Modern World has been, in the past, more like theirs. But following the debate has led me to side more with Ford, and even to take a less equivocal position than his. It is for this reason that I write this essay as a tribute to him.

II. Terminology

Before launching into a closer examination of the debate, I need to express my objection to the use of "panpsychism" in discussing Whitehead. No doubt the term is sometimes used in philosophy for any position that asserts that the things constituting the world are subjects, that is, units of experience that are affected by others. Whitehead certainly adopted this doctrine, and the proper debate is whether he had it in view when he gave the Lowell Lectures.

But the term "psyche" is the Greek word for "soul," a term that was important to Whitehead, at least when he wrote Adventures of Ideas. It is equivalent to "the living person" in Process and Reality. The soul or living person, for Whitehead, is by no means limited to human beings, but, equally, it is by no means universal. In general it seems that we can be sure there are souls only where there are central nervous systems providing sufficient stimulus in some locus in an animal body for a unified experience to emerge far more complex than that of individual molecules or cells. The vast majority of actual occasions are not soulish events as "panpsychism" implies. Whitehead’s failure to speak of his views in this way was not accidental. The other proposed terms – "pansubjectivity," and "panexperientialism" -- may be clumsy, but they have the important merit of being more accurate and following directly from Whitehead’s text.

Ford develops a clear definition of panpsychism in terms of the universal presence of mentality. My preference would be to call this "panmentalism." Since Ford accepts Whitehead’s understanding of mentality as a criterion for panmentalism, there is no question but that Whitehead became a panmentalist. For Whitehead, mentality is by no means limited to those high-grade occasions that constitute souls. To avoid the possible implication that things are only mental, we would then need to emphasize that Whitehead is a panphysicalist as well.

III. Are the Lowell Lectures Pansubjectivist?

In his portion of the Process Studies review of Ford’s The Emergence of Whitehead’s Metaphysics, Griffin devotes one section to the question of whether pansubjectivity is found in Science and the Modern World (LSF 195-198). He has no difficulty in pointing out that Ford’s own statements are somewhat inconsistent because of shifts in the meanings of key terms. Ford subsequently acknowledges this; so it is not now the issue. But whereas Griffin takes this inconsistency to weaken Ford’s case that full-blown pansubjectivity or panexperientialism (Griffin’s preferred term) is absent from the Lowell Lectures, Ford moves to a more consistent rejection (FPP 43). This means that there develops a clear substantive disagreement between Griffin and Ford as to how Whitehead was thinking when he gave the Lowell Lectures.

Griffin musters considerable textual testimony to support the view that already in Science and the Modern World Whitehead attributed subjectivity, mentality, and experience to all actual occasions. His strongest evidence, however, is from the material added to the Lowell Lectures before publication, and we will turn to this later. It cannot be used against Ford’s argument that pansubjectivity is absent from the Lowell Lectures.

In the Lowell Lectures themselves, Griffin points out the great importance Whitehead attaches to the attribution of value to all events in nature. Whitehead associates this repeatedly with the intrinsic reality of every event as something in and for itself. Griffin quotes a key formulation of this point: "the element of value, . . . of being an end in itself, of being something which is for its own sake, must not be omitted in any account of an event as the most concrete actual something. ‘Value’ is the word I use for the intrinsic reality of an event (SMW 93)." This statement makes excellent sense in the context of Process and Reality. There it is emphasized that value, being an end in itself, and being something which is for its own sake, can be characteristic only of subjective experience. For those of us informed by Whitehead’s final synthesis, the emphasis in Science and the Modern World on the value of every event implies quite directly that every event is a unit of subjective experience. Ford cautions us that at the time of the Lowell Lectures Whitehead may not have drawn these conclusions. Clearly, he does not state them directly.

Consider in this connection another passage in which Whitehead emphasizes the virtual identity of an organism with value that emerges for its own sake. "The organism is a unit of emergent value, a real fusion of the characters of eternal objects, emerging for its own sake" (SMW 107). Here what constitutes an emergent value is "a real fusion of the characters of eternal objects." This could mean the subjective form of prehensions of actual entities and eternal objects, as in Process and Reality, but there is no indication that it does.

The chief argument that Whitehead had not drawn pansubjectivist conclusions at the time of the Lowell Lectures lies in the explicit formulations of his metaphysical position within those lectures. He calls himself a provisional realist. And he summarizes what he means by this in the pages immediately preceding the passage on value quoted by Griffin.

The realism in question is the affirmation that the world of sense is common to all observers and hence not dependent on our cognition of it. In addition, our cognitive experience depends on our bodies. It is, most fundamentally, an experience of a bodily event. This bodily event is one of unifying "in itself all aspects of the universe" (SMW 92). We must affirm it as real, independent of our cognition, and we should also affirm, therefore, that the bodily events of other people are real. These events are events in nature, and we should posit that all events in nature are similarly unifications in themselves of aspects of all the other entities in the universe. Accompanying a unification of this sort, "there may or may not be cognition" (SMW 92). Since "perception is cognition of prehension" (5MW 71), Whitehead’s provisional realism is that these prehensive unifications are real independently of their being perceived.

The issue, then, with regard to pansubjectivity, is whether in the absence of cognition, events in nature, including bodily events, but not only they, are "subjects." In the terminology of Science and the Modern World the answer is clearly negative. "Subjectivism" is for Whitehead at this stage the doctrine that the sensory world exists only for cognitive experience. This particular type of event, which may or may not accompany an event in nature, is the only "subject" explicitly considered in this book. There is no suggestion that the events in nature are also "subjects."

Nevertheless, the realism Whitehead is affirming is far richer than the assertion of modern realists that matter in motion occurs regardless of human knowledge of it. Whitehead is affirming "secondary qualities in the common world" (SMW91). These are provided for cognitive experience by the bodily event; so they must be attributed to that event. If they are found in this event in nature, they can be attributed to other events in nature also. But this does not, in the Lowell Lectures, require that the bodily event be a subject alongside the cognitive event; so the generalization from the bodily event does not involve being a subject.

Of course, we might say that unifying in itself aspects of the universe and embodying secondary qualities entail subjectivity. We might say, rightly I think, that Whitehead’s intuitions were already leading him beyond what he systematically affirmed. Still, his systematic affirmations, as Ford has helped me see, were based on a distinction between events in nature and human cognition of such events and by means of such events. He generalized from bodily events to other events in nature. He did not generalize from human cognition to the rest of nature. And when he speaks of a subject or of the subjective, he seems to have human cognition always in view.

The passages quoted by Griffin are certainly consistent with a pansubjectivist position. The question is whether they are also consistent with the position that, in dependence on Ford, I have sketched. I believe the answer is that they are. Since this position is explicit in the Lowell Lectures and pansubjectivism is not, they should be read in this way when we are trying to understand just what Whitehead meant by them at the time. We can also see that they prepare the way for further developments of the sort that we are so strongly tempted to read back into them.

IV. Are the Lowell Lectures Panexperientialist?

Griffin knows, of course, that in Science and the Modern World Whitehead did not extend the term "subject" explicitly to events in nature. But terminology is not the basic issue. He writes, "the crucial question is whether he had in the Lowell Lectures affirmed that all events have experience" (LSF 198). He quotes a passage in Whitehead’s critique of Leibniz to give terminological support to the thesis that Whitehead was at that time a panexperientialist. The passage quoted by Griffin reads as follows: "He did not discriminate the event, as the unit of experience, from the enduring organism as its stabilization into importance, and from the cognitive organism as expressing an increased completeness of individualization" (SMW 155). Griffin italicizes "unit of experience" to show that already at the time he gave the Lowell Lectures, Whitehead understood all the events in nature as units of experience. He states that the "most natural reading of this statement is that Whitehead is pointing out how his own philosophy solves the basic problem in Leibniz’s. If so, he clearly attributes experience to all events, whether or not they have cognitive mentality" (LSF 198).

Griffin is correct that for one who has read the later writings of Whitehead this is the most natural reading. It has certainly been mine except as I have been taught by Ford. Reading the passage as so taught, however, I do not find Griffin’s argument so strong. The context of this quotation is Whitehead’s acknowledgment of Leibniz as a philosopher of organism. Since Whitehead’s philosophy of organism differs from that of Leibniz, he must explain why.

Leibniz’s monads are subjects with successive experiences. In his critique here, Whitehead does not take on this issue. His point is that because Leibniz retained the prevalent substance-quality scheme he was not able to explain how the monads were constituted by internal relations.

Clearly, Whitehead does not direct his criticism of Leibniz to the idea that monads experience or that they are constituted by experience. For purposes of this critique he lets that stand. This is significant in itself and one more indication that his thinking is open to the shifts that did in fact take place. But because he uses the term "experience" only in the explication and criticism of another philosopher, one cannot establish from this that he had himself adopted this way of thinking of all events. That the use of the term "experience" here should not be pressed is suggested also by another discussion of Leibniz. Whitehead states that for his purposes he is "toning down his monads into the unified events in space and time" (SMW 70). This would be an odd point to make if Whitehead wanted to retain the notion that all these events are units of experience. He goes on to say: "In some ways, there is greater analogy with Spinoza’s modes" (SMW 70). These are differentiated into physical and mental and the former are certainly not units of experience.

That the "toning down" is quite radical is suggested by another reference to Leibniz. Whitehead writes in his discussion of volumes as the most concrete elements in space: "I can use Leibniz’s language, and say that every volume mirrors in itself every other volume in space" (SMW 65). Unless one claims that every volume of space is a unit of experience, which would be markedly different from Process and Reality, we cannot think that for Whitehead the Leibnizian mirroring of the world necessarily requires experience.

I have belabored these passages about Leibniz, not out of confidence that I understand them correctly, but because Griffin places a weight upon the first against Ford that it will not bear when read in the context of Whitehead’s formulations at the time of the Lowell Lectures. Again, it may well be that it points forward to fresh thinking, that the idea that all events in nature can be thought of as units of experience stayed with him until it became his own position. This way of reading Whitehead seems tome quite legitimate and valid. But Ford is right to insist on the distinction between what the passage explicitly meant at the time of writing and how it leads into his later thinking.

It should be easier to believe that at this point Whitehead was not thinking of events in nature as having subjectivity or experience, when we see how many thinkers today affirm the intrinsic value of the natural world and the interconnectedness of all things without taking this step. Most deep ecologists are not panexperientialists, but they make strong statements about the intrinsic value of nature. They urge us to treat it as an end in itself and recognize that it exists for its own sake, not for ours. Similarly, many process thinkers not committed to the Whiteheadian or Hartshornean form of process thought affirm the reality and value of nature along with some idea of internal relations without accepting panexperientialism.

To those of us who are convinced by Whitehead’s later conclusions, this seems vague and unsatisfactory. Griffin brings together passages in Science and the Modern World which show that, from the later point of view, Whitehead should have drawn the conclusion of panexperientialism. Further, we know that considerations of just this sort did lead him to draw those conclusions. But we should recognize that Whitehead himself could be provisionally satisfied, at one stage of his thinking, with affirming intrinsic value and internal relations without the generalization of subjective experience to all events.

V. Ford’s Affirmation of Interiority

Ford himself is not quite able to avoid reading Science and the Modern World in light of later writings. He writes that Whitehead’s statement about value shows that he attributes "interiority" to events in nature (EWM 42). He supports this idea of interiority in his interpretation of prehensions: "Prehension is not simply internal relatedness but must be conceived from the standpoint of one of the relata. What is this but to conceive that relatum "from the inside" (EWM 42)?

Ford is correct that a prehension is the way one event or eternal object is internal to another event. But does this mean that the relatum is conceived from the inside? What would that mean other than that the relation is constitutive of the event? Any additional meaning is difficult to reconcile with the following passage dealing with volumes as the most concrete element of space.

Accordingly the prime fact is the prehensive unity of volume, and this unity is mitigated or limited by the separated unities of the innumerable contained parts. We have a prehensive unity, which is yet held apart as an aggregate of contained parts. . . . Thus if A and B and C are volumes of space, B has an aspect from the standpoint of A, and so has C, and so has the relationship of B and C. (SMW 64-65)

Clearly volumes of space have prehensive relations. And clearly these relations are internal to each volume. But does this mean that "interiority" is to be attributed to them? Or that the prehensions are to be viewed "from the inside"?

Ford appeals to the connection of prehension to perception to establish the interiority of the former. Whitehead’s statement on this point is clear. "Perception is simply the cognition of prehensive unification; or more shortly, perception is cognition of prehension" (SMW 71). There is, of course, no question but that perception is subjective, experiential, and expressive of interiority. But does that imply that what is cognized is also characterized by interiority? Since much prehensive unification is not so characterized, it would take more argument than Ford offers to justify this conclusion.

Ford, like his critics, is misled by the fact that in presenting his case for internal relations or prehensions in Science and the Modern World Whitehead begins from the human experiential side. This is dictated in part by his historical approach. He works from the writings of philosophers who take human perception as their starting point. He shows how their analysis of perception leads to the recognition of internal relations. This suggests that he arrived at his position through a generalization from human experience. This would entail viewing natural events as like moments of human experience and at least raise the question of which aspects of such moments should be generalized. In the past, this is the way I have myself read Whitehead’s later writings in general and Science and the Modern World in particular.

To understand Whitehead, however, we should pay more attention to his well-known statement that while we can come to an understanding of internal relations in this way, he did not do so. He came from the side of mathematics and physics (SMW 152- 153). He recognized that these disciplines abstract from the full event, including especially its value, but he does not say that they abstract from the interiority or subjectivity of events in nature.

My argument is, in a sense, one from silence. In Science and the Modern World Whitehead does not explicitly attribute experience or subjectivity to events in nature. He does attribute these to cognitive events. He relates cognitive events to events in nature in such a way as to explain that value and internal relations belong to the latter and are derived from them by cognitive events. Internal (or prehensive) relations exist among entities to which the attribution of subjectivity or experience would be extremely unlikely. Many thinkers have attributed value to nature without attributing subjectivity or experience. None of this proves that Whitehead did not attribute subjectivity and experience to all events in nature. It simply shows that there is no clear evidence that he did.

VI. Late Additions

There remains the question of whether the passages added to the Lowell Lectures for inclusion in Science and the Modern World introduce pansubjectivity or panexperientialism. At the time he wrote The Emergence of Whitehead’s Metaphysics, Ford thought that they did. The Lowell Lectures, he said, affirmed universal interiority (EWM 42). To obtain subjectivity what was needed was universal mentality. In the last four paragraphs of the added chapter on "Abstraction" Whitehead introduced this.

So far I have been considering an actual occasion on the side of its full concreteness. It is this side of the occasion in virtue of which it is an event in nature. But a natural event, in this sense of the term, is only an abstraction from a complete actual occasion. A complete occasion includes that which in cognitive experience takes the form of memory, anticipation, imagination, and thought. These elements in an experient occasion are also modes of inclusion of complex eternal objects in the synthetic prehension, as elements in the emergent value. (SMW 170)

The language in this quotation remains odd from the point of view of Process and Reality. An actual occasion on the side of its full concreteness is a natural event, but this natural event, which is fully concrete, is an abstraction from a complete actual occasion. Apparently concreteness is physicality and what more is present in a complete actual occasion is not concrete. The fact that Whitehead states that up until this point he has considered actual occasions only in their concreteness, and that this means only as events in nature, supports the nonpanexperiential reading of the Lowell Lectures. Further, that these additional elements in a complete actual occasion are elements in the emergent value indicates that emergent value is also found in the events in nature apart from this added richness.

The paragraph goes on to distinguish the mode of ingression here considered from that which has been in view heretofore. The difference is described as "abruptness." He concludes: "This breaking off from an actual illimitability is what in any occasion marks off that which is termed mental from that which belongs to the physical event to which the mental functioning is referred" (SMW 171).

In this paragraph Whitehead explicitly attributes mentality to all complete occasions. Further he calls complete occasions "experient" occasions. The explicit description of all complete occasions as having mentality and experience differentiates this passage from anything to be found in the Lowell Lectures.

Ford came to read this passage as saying that there may be some occasions which are natural events and are not complete, whereas for completion such an occasion requires the addition of the mental (FFP 49). He prefers this interpretation because there are passages in Religion in the Making that imply this position. This reading makes this added passage only a minor adjustment of Whitehead’s position in the Lowell Lectures (PEHP 25-26). But Ford is not supported by Whitehead’s statement that such natural events are abstractions from complete actual occasions. This was not stated in the Lowell Lectures.

Further, it is clear that Whitehead is affirming that there are noncognitive occasions that have mentality. To argue that this leaves open the possibility that there are other noncognitive occasions that lack mentality strains the text. It is much more plausible to understand Whitehead as asserting that there are no complete actual occasions that lack an element of the mental. This is the doctrine of panmentalism that is equated by Ford in The Emergence of Whitehead’s Metaphysics with panpsychism.1

VII. Do Prehensions Presuppose Experience?

Ford’s denial of panpsychism to the Lowell Lectures has been challenged again, more recently, this time by Leemon McHenry. McHenry’s particular concern is to show that with regard to the concept of prehension "the crucial idea of the perspective of the individual experience seems to be with Whitehead from the very outset of his excursion into metaphysics" (WPSP 1).

McHenry is correct in emphasizing the central importance of the idea of prehension in Whitehead’s philosophy. He rightly notes that it is an idea that most contemporary philosophies ignore, reject, or have not understood. He may also be correct that "the very concept of prehension makes little sense without viewing Whitehead’s events as centers of experience actively selecting from their environments" (WPSP 11).

Nevertheless, these judgments do not establish that Whitehead appreciated the necessity of subjective experience for the occurrence of prehensions at the time he gave the Lowell Lectures or even when he completed Science and the Modern World. I noted above that in the Lowell Lectures a "volume" has "prehensive unity" in a context in which it would be very difficult to suppose that all the volumes referred to have subjective experience (SMW 65). For example, he says of a volume of space, A, that its prehensive unity "is the prehension into unity of the aspects of all other volumes from the standpoint of A" (SMW 65). If McHenry is correct, and every volume has subjective experience, then the reading of Science and the Modern World to which Ford has drawn me is wrong. But I find this improbable.

Much of McHenry’s argument takes the form of showing that the doctrine of internal relations or prehensions, so important to Science and the Modern World, does not make sense apart from experience. Whitehead came to agree with this. But Ford has taught me not to suppose that such conclusions can be assumed to have been reached at the outset of Whitehead’s metaphysical reflections. Hence McHenry’s systematic arguments are not persuasive with respect to the historical question of what Whitehead thought at earlier stages. In other respects, McHenry’s thinking overlaps with Griffin’s. Nevertheless, he raises fresh issues.

He points out, rightly, that in Science and the Modern World Whitehead is calling for greater concreteness. Whitehead puts forward his scheme as more concrete than the one he is rejecting -that of matter in motion. In McHenry’s words, Whitehead claims

that a philosophy of nature must be founded on concrete experience. This he combines forcefully with what he calls "an attitude of provisional realism," i.e., nature conceived "as a complex of prehensive unifications" to form the basis for a common world independent of our experience (cf.: SMW 64, 68, 72). This view of primary organisms as experiences for themselves is a generalized concept of organism that allows Whitehead to unify the physical and biological sciences. (WPSP 9)

In reading this argument it is important to recognize that the last sentence is McHenry’s interpretation of the meaning of the previous ones, which closely follow Whitehead’s wording. McHenry sees the "concrete experience" on which the scheme is to be founded, as Whitehead does in Process and Reality, as referring to the units of nature as they are in themselves. These are then understood as the prehensive unifications that constitute a common world independent of human experience. But he does not provide reason here for rejecting Ford’s alternative reading that the concrete experience in question is that of the human observer and that the events in nature are constituted by their internal relations to all the others. The model of "organism," in this reading, taken from biology (rather than psychology) and applied to all these events, highlights the inseparability of the entities of the world from their environment. It does not imply that they enjoy subjective experience.

VIII. Do All Organisms Have Purposes?

A more distinctive argument comes from McHenry’s attention to what Whitehead says about evolution. Whitehead states that the standard model of matter in motion provides no basis for evolution. One can have only changes in the relative location of material bodies -- no change in the bodies themselves. Whitehead presents his own scheme of organisms constituted by internal relations as providing units that can and do evolve.

McHenry makes his case for the subjectivity of all organisms as follows:

Whitehead identified two sides of the machinery of evolution: adaption to the environment, which he claimed had been emphasized by Darwin’s followers, and the creativeness of organisms that results m a modification of the environment. With the cooperation of other organisms, a single organism alters the environment according to its own purpose (SMW 111). Whitehead’s notion that "the emergence of organisms depends on a selective activity which is akin to purpose" accounts for this neglected side of evolution (SMW 107). (WPSP 10)

The fresh point made here is that organisms have purposes or selective activity akin to purpose. Obviously, if Whitehead says that all organisms have their own individual purposes, he is far advanced into what McHenry calls panpsychism and what I refer to as pansubjectivity or panexperientialism. But this is a place where Ford warns us to be cautious. Does Whitehead say this, or are we reading it into the text because we have learned from his later writings that every actual occasion has a subjective aim?

The first passage to which McHenry refers reads as follows:

The other side of the evolutionary machinery, the neglected side, is expressed by the word creativeness. The organisms can create their own environment. For this purpose, the single organism is almost helpless. The adequate forces require societies of cooperating organisms. But with such cooperation and in proportion to the effort put forward, the environment has a plasticity which alters the whole ethical aspect of evolution. (SMW 111-112)

The use of the term "purpose" here does not warrant, by itself, McHenry’s conclusion that an individual organism alters the environment to "its own purpose," although the passage does not exclude the presence of purpose in individual organisms. It does attribute agency to the organisms that evolve. Whitehead speaks of "cooperation" and "effort." Whether he thinks of this as instinctual or genuinely purposeful is not clear, but that the living beings that evolve participate in changing the circumstances of their existence is the point of the quotation.

Further, McHenry is correct that Whitehead identifies his units of prehensive unification with organisms. Whitehead makes a point of taking a concept from biology to understand physics instead of interpreting biological organisms from models developed in physics. Since he generalizes from biological organisms to physical ones, the question is which features does he generalize, in the Lowell Lectures, to all occasions. At this point the question is specifically, do all organisms individually have something akin to purpose as is the case in Process and Reality? For evidence, it will be useful to look at the other passage on which McHenry draws:

It is doubtful that this states that there is in each organism The doctrine thus cries aloud for a conception of organism as fundamental to nature. It also requires an underlying activity -- expressing itself in individual embodiments, and evolving in achievements of organism. The organism is a unit of emergent value, a real fusion of the characters of eternal objects, emerging for its own sake.

Thus in the process of analyzing the character of nature in itself, we find that the emergence of organisms depends on a selective activity which is akin to purpose. The point is that the enduring organisms are now the outcome of evolution: and that beyond these organisms, there is nothing else that endures. (SMW 107)

It is doubtful that this states that there is in each organism something akin to purpose. Organisms are the product of an underlying activity which is a selective activity akin to purpose. They have intrinsic value, but this passage does not speak of their individual purposes.

IX. Conclusions

McHenry may be correct that when Science and the Modern World is viewed against the background of Whitehead’s earlier writings it "becomes less rather than more intelligible" (WPSP 11). Systematically speaking I share this judgment with him. Whitehead did so also at a later point. But this does not count against Ford’s interpretation of the text. Metaphysically speaking, the gap between The Concept of Nature and the final form of Process and Reality is large. That Whitehead did not cover this distance immediately when he entered the metaphysical arena should not be surprising.

That his texts invite interpretation in terms of the end of the journey on which he was embarking is significant. It means that there was no need for him to reverse direction. For the full coherence and intelligibility of what he was thinking in these first major steps, the further steps were required.

The importance of Ford’s work is highlighted by the amount of resistance it has elicited from excellent Whitehead scholars. This does not mean that he is always correct. Since he, like Whitehead, repeatedly advances, any such claim would be absurd. But his basic thesis -- that Whitehead’s writings should be understood as expressing a succession of changes, and that earlier positions should be acknowledged as having their own distinct, if imperfect, integrity -- is sound and important.

 

References

EWM Lewis S. Ford, The Emergence of Whitehead’s Metaphysics 1925-1929. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1984.

FPP Lewis S. Ford, "From Pre-Panpsychism to Pansubjectivity," Faith and Creativity, edited by George Nordgulen and George W. Shields. St. Louis: CBP Press, 1987.

PEHP Lewis S. Ford, "Panpsychism and the Early History 0f Prehension," Process Studies 24 (1995), 15-33.

LSF David R. Mason and David Ray Griffin, "Lewis S. Ford, The Emergence of Whitehead’s Metaphysics 1925-1929," Process Studies 15(1986), 192-197.

WPSP Leemon B. McHenry, "Whitehead’s Panpsychism as the Subjectivity of Prehension," Process Studies 24 (1995), 1-14.

 

Notes

1See, however, Ford’s later recognition of the misleading character of the term "panpsychism" for a position that holds that every actual entity has both mental and physical features (PEEP 15).

Necessities for an Ecological Civilization

I

It is my great joy and privilege to welcome you to Claremont. We are truly honored that you have come to exchange ideas with us. You certainly should not come to the United States in hopes of finding here an ecological civilization. What you may find are people who have been hoping and working for breakthroughs in this direction, but have grown increasingly frustrated by developments in this country. The chance that China may take the steps that could lead to such a civilization is for us a source of great hope. But the chances of any nation actually doing all that needs to be done for such a civilization to emerge remain uncertain.

One requirement for a nation to move far in the direction of ecological civilization is cultural or spiritual. People are not likely to treat nature with the necessary respect if they do not deeply feel that they are part of it. In this regard the remnants of indigenous cultures point the way, but none of them are in position to lead a contemporary nation. As hunting and gathering cultures gave way to agricultural ones and then to urban-oriented ones, deep diversities emerged with respect to the relation of human beings to the encompassing world. The separation went furthest in Western Europe, climaxing in what we call the Enlightenment and modernity. Chinese civilization, on the other hand, retained something of the ancient feel for participation and belonging in the natural world.

Not everything about modernity is bad, and not everything about traditional Chinese culture is good. Nevertheless, the persistence of the influence of that culture almost certainly supports an ecological consciousness better than do those cultures that have been alienated from nature for many centuries. The awareness of a tension between tradition and modernization in China may offer the most hope for the emergence of a new consciousness fully supportive of the move toward an ecological civilization.

Another prerequisite for a nation to move toward ecological civilization is that those with greatest power care about the well being of the nation’s people as a whole and especially for the poor. A nation that is largely controlled by corporations and especially financial institutions, such as the United States, can do very little. I believe that the Chinese government still remains dominant over those who have private economic power, and I hope this continues. In every society wealth threatens to corrupt, and China is not free from this danger. But as of now I believe that the government can act, and that it has the will to act, for the common good of the people of China, and to a lesser extent, of the world.

A third prerequisite for moving toward an ecological civilization is control of population. There is no way that an ecological civilization can be established with an exploding population. The population must be stabilized. Such stabilization has been achieved in some countries without effort or even intention. But the problem has been a difficult one for China as for many other countries. Among those nations in which economic and cultural factors did not support the move toward this goal, none has worked as hard as China to achieve this stabilization. In the process China has encountered many problems and many criticisms, some of which are valid, and despite the seriousness of its efforts, they may have been insufficient. But if any country is to be given high marks for its efforts to deal with the problem of overpopulation, it is China.

Beyond these basic prerequisites, China has taken the great step of announcing its intention of becoming an ecological civilization. Of course, even genuine intention does not mean that this one goal replaces all others. China also has the goal of being a great power, and it has not abandoned the goal of growth in conventional GDP terms. The question is now whether it will envision the nature of an ecological civilization wisely and quickly begin the experimentation and implementation that is so urgently needed.

Most of the current discussion focuses on what can be done to reduce the rate of exhaustion of limited resources, the polluting of air, water, and soil, and the rate of global warming. This is important and deserves all the attention it is getting. But if the world is on a collision course with disaster, it is also important to consider how the disaster could be avoided and not only delayed. In 1972 we held here in Claremont a conference on "Alternatives to Disaster." This question still preoccupies me. And I will summarize my present judgment.

We can divide most of contemporary global society into two parts: rural and urban. The countryside provides what is most essential for any society: food and fiber, as well as raw materials for construction and for industry. On the othr hand, most of the construction and industry along with commerce, government, and advanced education, communication, and entertainment, take place in the urban sector. In the world in which we now live, neither the countryside nor the city is sustainable. I will make two proposals for change, one about agriculture in the countryside and the other about the physical construction of cities. In conclusion I will comment on how these changes would contribute to the solution of other problems.

II

In a survey of issues especially affecting the countryside, one would need at least to consider mining, forestry, and livestock in addition to farming. I select the latter for my example. To be an ecological civilization a nation must be self-sufficient in food and fiber, and this must be produced in sustainable ways. I will separate the two points: self-sufficiency and sustainability.

1) Until recently China was basically self-sustaining in agricultural production. In 1995 Lester Brown published a booklet entitled, "Who Will Feed China?" Since China was self-sufficient, many did not appreciate the book. But Brown saw that as Chinese became more prosperous and ate more meat the situation would change even if the population of China did not increase. Now the Chinese government is seeking to gain control of large tracts of land especially in Africa from which it can supply the additional food Chinese will need.

This is from many points of view a wise and farsighted move, but it is not compatible with an ecological civilization. Africa does not have genuinely surplus land. On the contrary there is much hunger, even starvation in Africa. A truly ecological civilization will do as little damage as possible to weaker and poorer people in the process of supplying its own needs. Furthermore, nations that are not self-sufficient will increasingly enter into conflict with one another over control of such assets. An ecological civilization cannot be one that is frequently at war.

But is there any alternative? Obviously the first responsibility of the Chinese government is to its own people. Even if China is still nearly self-sufficient, its needs will increase, and problems with Chinese agriculture will worsen. Deserts will continue to spread; aquifers will be exhausted; and the glaciers in Tibet will melt.

I cannot speak to this question of an alternative possibility with any personal authority. I will only say that I believe that the most important research for China to engage in now is how to produce more food and fiber with less water and less arable land. This involves both the more efficient use of water and the development of crops that need less. Further, since China’s need for agricultural products is increasing, the quest must be for ways of farming that are even more productive than those now used. This is asking for a great deal.

The need to produce more agricultural products with less water and arable land will tempt a modernizing China to engage in crash programs of high tech farming that will prove radically unsustainable. This will make the achievement of an ecological civilization impossible. China must not go the way of industrial agriculture. China should build on its great resource of skillful hard working peasants who can learn to be even more productive. This will be a labor-intensive form of agriculture, and, if China becomes an ecological civilization, it will owe this achievement most of all to skilled farmers who learn how to produce more with less. A major element in envisioning such an agriculture will be the shift from annual to perennial grains now led by Wes Jackson of the Land Institute.

People who know assure me that there are methods of sustainable farming that can increase total production. They are very labor intensive. They have been developed here and there at the fringes of organic farming. Learning from them and developing a highly productive agriculture appropriate to each ecosystem will require a great deal of study and training.

Mainstream economists have taught farmers how to economize on labor, that is, how to produce more crops with less human involvement. The modern industrial farm has resulted. The agriculture of the future will need to economize on land, water, and chemicals. If it requires a great deal of human and animal labor, so be it. An ecological civilization is one in which the needs of all are met in sustainable ways. This may require hard work. It will require a love of the land and a sense of solidarity with all life that is very different from the feelings of those who drive huge combines over vast fields. I believe China has the possibility of developing this form of agriculture and achieving self-sufficiency of a sustainable sort. That will be a huge step toward an ecological civilization.

For this to work, farmers who are skilled in making more out of less in a sustainable way should be honored by all of society. This is both a matter of paying well for their products and public recognition of the importance of their skills. If we want farmers to engage in sustainable and even regenerative agriculture, we must make sure that they see what they are doing as contributing to the well being of their children and their children’s children. Developing an ecological civilization involves cultural, social, and economic changes as well as technical skills.

Critics will point out that food will cost more when its production is so labor –intensive and when the labor of farmers is well-compensated. My reply is, so be it. The cost of food is going up under the present system as well, because the cost of oil is rising and even with more chemical additives the supply is not keeping up with demand. But in the present system the profit from the rising price goes primarily to the great agricultural corporations. Sometimes the income of those who labor on the farms grows less than what the price they must pay to eat the food they produce.

There must also be a reversal of the trend, dictated by urban growth and economic policies, to turn much of the best farmland into industrial and residential sites. An ecological civilization will prize its farmland too much to continue this process. This trend results in part from policies that make moving to cities attractive to members of farm families. Hence celebrating and rewarding farm labor will reduce the process of shifting population from the countryside to the cities. But we also need to reconceive cities so that the trend will be to return land to its most important use.

III

This leads into the second major element in an ecological civilization – ecologically frugal urban habitat. For habitat to be ecologically frugal it would need not only to use little of scarce resources and to end pollution; it would also need to use less land, especially land needed for agriculture. In this regard many years ago I was captured by the vision of Paolo Soleri. He proposed that many structures, such as bridges and dams could have multiple uses, such as providing housing without taking up additional space. But, most important, he showed that what at first glance seems to be unpleasant crowding could in fact improve livability.

A great deal of the space in our cities is devoted to transportation. In addition to the streets and highways, there are also parking lots and filling stations. All this contributes to noise, crowded streets and sidewalks, and pollution. Much can be done to improve this by building subways and using bicycles. But Soleri proposes a more radical solution. Remove the streets altogether and fill that space with buildings, or rather incorporate it, along with the existing buildings into a single architectural ecology or arcology. Build this single structure high into the air. It will then be able to house not only a large population but also businesses and schools and sports stadiums and theaters. At the base of these arcologies will be the industries that support them. Within the arcologies, there will be elevators and escalators and moving walks as well as walking and biking paths. Much of the land now covered by streets and buildings can be returned to agriculture or woodlands.

IV

One particularly unecological feature of our current world is its rapid consumption of fossil fuels. These are a finite resource, but more serious than that is the consequence of their consumption. Pollution and global warming are the results. Industrial agriculture adds greatly to the use of fossil fuels. Transportation is another great user. And cities consume enormous quantities to heat and cool their buildings.

An ecological civilization will greatly reduce its use of fossil fuels. Of course, this can be done by shifting to other forms of energy, but most of these also have problems. This is especially true of nuclear energy, which does not belong in an ecological civilization. Only passive solar energy seems to be completely free of such problems. The goal of an arcology, like that of ecological agriculture, would be to meet all its needs with passive solar energy. Soleri believes that if sufficient energy can be gathered for the industries at the base of the arcologies, the waste heat from these industries can meet the other needs for energy. The solar energy might be collected in vast greenhouses that would also be part of the labor-intensive agriculture of the ecological civilization.

There would remain transportation between cities and between them and the countryside. The first goal here, too, would be to reduce the need. Consider first, human movements from one city to another. In our social and economic arrangements a great deal of this is required. However, the goal in an ecological civilization would be to make arcologies together with the nearby countryside as self-sufficient as is practical. Most businesses would operate in only one arcology. Business travel would be greatly reduced. There would be less tendency for family members to disperse to distant arcologies, so that the need to travel for family reasons would also be reduced.

Nevertheless, communications with people all over the country and the world would continue to be important. Advances in technology are already making it possible for widely scattered people to interact extensively and satisfactorily without being physically together. This should be encouraged. Of course, some travel would continue, mostly by rail, but also by air.

More important than human movements is the transportation of goods. Here physical movement cannot be avoided. The products of the countryside must be brought into the city and the produce of factories must be taken to the countryside. Some increase in the use of animals for this purpose is possible, but for the most part the task will be to find the most efficient means of such transportation and use solar energy as far as possible to power it.

However reduced, there should and would be continuing exchange of goods between arcologies. This should be done mostly by rail with trains powered as much as possible by solar energy. These trains could, of course, also carry passengers.

Even in what I am sketching as an ecological civilization there would, thus, be some use of fossil fuels. But it would be a small fraction of present use. Hopefully, it would be within the limits of nature’s capacity to absorb wastes. Technological progress should further reduce it.

Obviously the economic system that would fit in with arcologies and the primacy of farming would be quite different from the one that has dominated most of the world in recent times. The major issue would not be capitalism versus socialism. It would be meeting the needs of an ecological society. China rightly decided some years ago that prices should be set by the market rather than the government. Arcologies together with their surrounding countryside would provide markets of sufficient size for there to be sufficient competition in many fields. Considerable freedom of action in the business community would be possible.

However, the economy would be market socialism, that is, a civilization in which the society as a whole insisted that its comprehensive well being be the goal of all of its functions. Economics would change its bottom line from growth measured by money to success in meeting the needs of all people in a sustainable way.

Needless to say, my effort has been simply to sketch an outline of what would constitute an ecological civilization. The real work is in the development of details. But I hope that an overview can encourage us to recognize that the task, though difficult, is not impossible. I believe that China is uniquely positioned to lead the world.

 

Ecological Agriculture

I

It is my special pleasure to welcome you to Claremont for this conference. The topic is one about which I know very little myself, but about which I have had the good fortune to have met others who know a great deal. They have persuaded me that no topic could be more important for the future of humanity. I want to share that conviction as widely as I can. It is my special hope that China is ready to hear it.

I was awakened to the global environmental crisis in 1969. The threat to the human future came to me as an overwhelming shock. Even before then, I had been aware of particular environmental problems. Rachel Carson’s Silent Spring had aroused the public in 1962 to stop the widespread use of certain chemicals. In southern California, everyone was aware of smog and hated it. But these were isolated issues to be listed with many others. My Christian upbringing had led me to give priority to issues of justice and peace. As a Southerner coming from a slave-holding family, the injustice we had inflicted for centuries on our Black neighbors seemed particularly important. Smog did not seem to be in the same league so far as importance was concerned.

Awakening to the fact that human activity overall was on a collision course with the capacity of the Earth to support human civilization was a terrible jolt. It meant, for example, that segregated and exploited Blacks were threatened even more by this assault of humanity on nature than by direct human oppression. We could not choose between issues of social justice and ecological degradation. The fate of the Earth needed to be given the central role in all ethical and practical thinking.

One reason that "ecological" functions so prominently in the discussion of the crises in the natural environment is that many of those who first warned us were biologists specializing in ecology. They saw that all over the world the ecological systems they studied were in decay. They saw the connection between our industrial system, the striving everywhere to extract more from the natural world in order to expand the artificial one, and the decay of eco-systems. Their warnings made of me a part of a vast popular movement calling for an end to the abuse of nature and a new relationship to it.

II

I will not rehearse the story of this movement except to point out one of its glaring omissions: agriculture. The ecologists focused on natural systems and saw agriculture as a kind of necessary evil to be contained as much as possible. Agriculturists in the United States had been so fully drawn into industrial patterns of thought that they continued to assume that their task was to deal with the need for increasing food production for the growing population to which the ecologists pointed with alarm. Their great accomplishment of the sixties and seventies was the "

I am not saying that there were no thinkers involved with agriculture who were thinking in ecological ways. I am simply saying that they were not publicly visible at this time. Ecology as a branch of biology, and agricultural theory as what was taught in schools of agriculture, seemed to be totally disconnected. The ecological movement seemed to have nothing positive to say to farmers. Their job remained production, and economic considerations reigned undisputed.

Of course, there were exceptions. One of them is a key participant in this conference. I refer to Dean Freudenberger. His personal experience as an agricultural missionary in Africa had prepared him to see the damage done by imposing Western-style agriculture on the African landscape. For him it was evident that a vision of an ecologically sustainable world must have a very large place for an ecologically sustainable agriculture. He joined our faculty at the Claremont School of Theology and led our efforts to shape our curriculum in relation to global reality. What little I know about ecological agriculture I have learned directly or indirectly from him. Clearly we can only have an ecological civilization if we can meet the needs of a large population in ways that are genuinely sustainable. Since for ten thousand years agriculture has been practiced in unsustainable ways, and since the application of science to agriculture has thus far only made matters worse, the task is immense.

III

Nature’s eco-systems are, almost by definition, sustainable over long periods of time. Indeed, since it is they that have built up the soil on this planet, we should say that they are generative. Students of nature had long been impressed by its creativity.

For hundreds of thousands of years, human beings lived on the products of nature. Like other animal species, they sometimes disrupted nature’s systems, but overall they were subject to its laws. If they overused some elements in the system in such a way as to disrupt it seriously, they paid the price in reduced food supply. Often their numbers in a particular location suffered. Over time they learned their lessons and nature typically recovered.

The balance of hunting and gathering peoples with nature should not be exaggerated. Hunting, especially, was responsible for the extinction of many species. Also planetary weather changes led to the destruction of whole ecosystems. Nevertheless, overall, prior to the rise of agriculture, the planet as a whole supported increasingly diverse ecosystems and biomass. The great reversal came with farming. This was the first massive assertion of the human will over natural systems. Human beings have been impoverishing the soil ever since then in order to extract more of what people want from the land.

There are, of course, huge differences among farmers. Some farming has impoverished the soil only very slowly. Systems have developed that have a large component of recycling. The manure from animals fed from the land is returned to the land as fertilizer. Crops are rotated. Some plants fix nitrogen in the soil. No-till farming has been practiced. At the opposite extreme has been much of the initial exploitation of the land as European farmers moved West across the United States, often turning productive prairie into dust bowls in only a few years.

As long as vast areas of arable land remained untilled, care for the land seemed sentimental. As today in the Amazon region, methods have been used that glean a large profit for a few years and then leave behind a wasteland. But today there is little unused land left for production of crops. In a few areas natural ecosystems with their native animals are protected. And a great deal of land has been taken over for human habitat and industrial purposes. But the reserves that once existed are gone and global food demand has caught up with global food production. Practices that use up the land in a few years are no longer justified even by narrow economic considerations.

IV

The last time the world faced food shortages on a global basis, agricultural scientists produced the green revolution. The whole ethos of the science of agriculture points to further movement along this trajectory. Transgenetic crops are expressions of this technological achievement. They carry forward human domination and exploitation of the land still another step. They express the conviction that human beings are infinitely wiser than nature and can master any challenge nature throws at us.

There is an alternative, and it, too, is attracting worldwide attention. It does not involve any setting aside of human intelligence, but it seeks to use that intelligence in the service of a humbler wisdom. It builds on practices that have developed all over the world out of peasant experience. And it seeks to follow nature’s guidance in the development of agricultural ecosystems that can have the generative capacities of natural ecosystems.

The appeal of organic farming is already widespread. It is as productive per acre as industrial farming. It suggests an alternative trajectory. Thus far in the United States, at least, the resources devoted to advancing along this trajectory are a small fraction of what has been devoted to high tech developments. But popular support grows. Around the fringes of the agricultural establishment more and more individuals are repulsed by the threat to the sustainability of food production built into the industrial model. More and more want to learn from nature.

V

Probably the greatest obstacle to a major shift of direction in the United States comes from the field of economics. Economics is the science of maximizing profits by the most efficient use of resources. It assumes that resources in general are unlimited, but that labor is limited. Accordingly, it encourages the use of other resources to replace the amount of human work required in production.

This idea was fundamental to the industrial revolution. Factory production reduced the need for labor in part simply by organizing workers in such a way that the task of each was highly simplified and could be repeated rapidly. But it also depended on harnessing the energy found in coal and later in oil. With this organization and substitution of fossil for animal and human energy, it vastly increased the amount that could be produced per man-hour of work. Since fewer hours of work could produce more goods, more people could enjoy more goods and work less. This was the magic of the industrial revolution.

This magic worked best when accompanied by the free market. Building factories and acquiring the needed energy and raw materials requires investment. Investment is also somewhat risky. It is undertaken most when the potential rewards are high. Those with a high stake in the process are likely to seek every means to reduce costs and raise output. The price at which they sell can best be controlled if they compete with other producers in a free market.

This is the basic model with which economists work. They are confident that the magic of the market produces the most, and the most desired, goods at the lowest price. Thus it leads to the greatest growth of the economy as a whole. The larger economy means that overall the largest number of people is better off economically. With more money, they can acquire more of what they most want. Thus the nation that liberates its markets prospers.

There are, of course, other stories to be told. When artisans are replaced by factory workers, the satisfaction gained by work is reduced. Human relations in a factory or in the slums of industrial cities are typically inferior to those in the villages that are displaced. When labor is plentiful, workers must compete for jobs in a race to the bottom. The system in itself leaves out those who are too old or too sick for factory work. The class structure of capitalist and worker is socially undesirable.

Economists as economists minimized these considerations teaching that the greater prosperity resulting from the system more than compensated for such suffering as it engendered. But many of them supported social programs and services that mitigated the problems. Although labor unions did not fit the model, they were eventually tolerated and even given a respected role. National governments saw that their relative power depended to a large extent on their industrialization; so they were prepared to deal with the problems without questioning the system. Ownership of the factories by the government instead of by capitalists was tried, but the quality of life of workers was not greatly improved and the quality and quantity of production was less. It seemed the basic economic theory was vindicated, and economics definitely became the "queen of the sciences." Its object of devotion, economic growth, became the virtually universal object of devotion among the nations of the world.

VI

In this context, it is obvious that the primary focus of thought about agriculture is how to accomplish the same miracle there that factories had accomplished in the production of industrial goods. The goal once again was to replace human and animal labor with fossil energy, in this case chiefly from oil. In much of the "developed" world, this process has gone a very long way. A farmer is primarily an operator of machines rather than one who works directly with the soil. Oil is used to power the machines and process the food. Its products kill the insects and unwanted plants and provide the chemicals that have been depleted in the soil. It may be used also to bring water to the field. Plants are genetically developed in order to fit into this pattern.

This whole process has been brilliantly successful in reducing the need for human labor on the farm. The American countryside is largely depopulated, with the people moving to slums and suburbs of the cities. Those who were once farmers have for the most part lost their land in the process of competing in this new system. The system favors size; so only those able to acquire their neighbors’ land survive.

The objections to this process are much like those to industrialization generally. Not too long ago the independent family farm was the backbone of American culture and life. When urban folk lost their jobs or grew ill and could not work, they often returned to the family farm where they would be housed and fed. Family farms played a large role in mitigating the suffering caused by the great depression. But these farms have now been replaced by technicians and desolate villages. Farmers buy their food at the grocery store along with the rest of us. Sociologically, the losses have seemed far greater than the gains.

But there are other concerns as well. Our food supply is now overwhelmingly dependent of oil. It is unlikely that our oil fields can supply the growing global demand. Already prices are rising. That costs in general in an oil dependent society will rise is certainly a problem, but the most critical problem comes with those things that are essential to life. The products of farms rank very high on this list.

Economic theory assures us that as the price of oil rises, additional sources will be found, it will be used more efficiently, and substitutes will be developed. Standard economists want all this left to the market. Meanwhile their indifference to natural limits, such as soils, supports an agriculture that reduces the quality of the soil and increases dependence on other scarce commodities such as water. And industrial agriculture contributes substantially to the global warming that exacerbates all the other problems.

VII

Since the seventies I have been quite sure that standard economic theory is profoundly mistaken in its basic premises. Natural resources are not inexhaustible as a group. We live in a world of limits. We should be most concerned not about reducing human labor but about protecting sinks and resources. Growth as measured by GDP is not a good, but more a necessary evil. We should aim to meet the needs of all with as little increase in GDP as possible.

Although there is no consensus around any such formulation, I am sad to say that among economists in general and agricultural economists in particular, there are a few who are engaged in fundamental re-thinking. In this regard, we are very fortunate to have John Ikerd with us. From him we will learn in much more precise and sophisticated ways how an economist can think wisely about agriculture. I hope that China will be open to this wisdom.

Autobiography

I was born of Southern Methodist missionary parents in Japan and spent most of my childhood there to the age of 15. This saved me from imbibing the racial attitudes so central to the culture of Georgia, which was their home. If my parents shared those attitudes, they never showed them or spoke in terms of them in my presence. My attitude toward racial differences was shaped by relations with Japanese. We were a minority treated with great courtesy. Both we Euro-Americans in Japan and our Japanese hosts were fully conscious of our racial differences. But it never occurred to me to think of our hosts as inferior.

My schoolmates at Canadian Academy were of many nationalities, and about a third were Eurasian. These were often the best students. I never saw anything wrong with mixing races.

None of this freed me from feelings of racial guilt. The Cobb family had been leaders in the Southern slave-holding plantation aristocracy. Participation in collective guilt is both motivating and disempowering.

Attending a Canadian school led to my learning another lesson. Around junior high we studied in successive years Canadian history from a Canadian textbook, U.S. history from an American textbook, and British history from a British textbook. Despite the close kinship and friendship of these countries, the treatment of the American Revolution and the War of 1812 differed radically. So far as I recall there were no contradictions and no falsehoods. But one could not but see that Canadians, Americans, and British had very different historical memories. At home I read a history of Georgia and another of the Confederacy. The importance of the interpretation of history for the self understanding of a people was clear.

Knowing that I was a Southerner affected me. I shared the knowledge of having lost a war and suffered the consequences. I knew also that our cause was wrong. This understanding of one’s history has complex psychological effects.

My three and a half years in the Army during World War II and its immediate aftermath gave a new direction to my life. Although my knowledge of Japanese was very limited, it got me into the army’s language school at the University of Michigan and saved me four months of a twenty-month program. What was formative about those years was the exposure to a quite different world from any I had known. Most of my fellow soldiers were Jewish and Catholic New Yorkers who preferred the life of scholarship to that of fighting. They were the first "intellectuals" I had met, and I found that the Georgia pietism that had formed me appeared to them as a curious sociological phenomenon. It was during those same years that I felt and responded to the call to ministry, but because of my new awareness of the intellectual world and its marginalization of my beliefs, I decided to immerse myself in that world before going to seminary.

I enrolled in the Humanities Division of the University of Chicago. I chose the program in "The Analysis of Ideas and the Study of Method." This took courses in a variety of departments with a focus on my special interest. I defined that as the study of the reasons for loss of belief in God in the modern world.

Within six months I went through my own "death of God" experience. What destroyed my sense of God’s reality was not any particular argument but immersion in a world of thought that simply had no place for God. For me this loss of God was the loss of the meaningfulness of life as well.

During the period of immersion in the dominant climate of modern thought I was also exposed to James Luther Adams and Joachim Wach from the Federated Theological Faculty. It was clear that they knew well the intellectual and scholarly culture that had overcome my piety. Yet they were still Christian believers. I had also studied with Charles Hartshorne, and it was clear that he was fully conversant with the modern atheistic world and had constructed an alternative in which God had an important role. Before abandoning all that had shaped my life until that time, I needed to expose myself more to this alternative.

I enrolled in the Divinity School. It was just what I needed. It was a radically theological place. Under the leadership of Bernard Loomer, the questions were all about basic beliefs. But the climate was the opposite of fideistic. One could not get by with asserting anything on the basis of authority or tradition. The question was whether one could provide and defend reasons for believing whatever one asserted. The Divinity School was far more of an intellectual hothouse than anything I had found in the Humanities Division.

In the Divinity School the two most widely respected thinkers were Reinhold Niebuhr and Alfred North Whitehead. I had worked through The Nature and Destiny of Man while in the army. And I had begun to get acquainted with Whitehead through Hartshorne. Through Loomer, Bernard Meland, and Daniel Day Williams, and to a lesser extent Wilhelm Pauck and Adams, I became acquainted with a quite different Whitehead. They had all been influenced by Henry Nelson Wieman. Where Hartshorne was highly rationalistic, Wieman was radically empiricist. Wieman earlier appreciated a great deal in Whitehead and taught his students and colleagues to do so. But he eventually turned against him. He had just retired before I entered the Divinity School, but his influence was still enormous, and I wrote my masters thesis on his thought. I came to recognize that Whitehead transcended the distinction between empiricism and rationalism and could not be captured in either of these frameworks. I owe a great deal to both Hartshorne and Wieman, and to Loomer for creating that rare thing, a truly open-minded and intensely serious community of inquiry about the most important questions. What I discovered during my years at Chicago, and what has shaped my intellectual life since then, is that although Whitehead was certainly not the last word, he had thought more deeply than the thinkers of the modern world and had brought into being a more viable alternative.

Whitehead belongs to a family of philosophers that includes William James and Henri Bergson. The basic moves they made beyond the dominant forms of modern thought reopened the question of God. Whereas God simply does not fit into the modern intellectual vision, God is not alien to this new one. Whitehead spelled out a description of the sort of God that does fit into and completes his view of reality. What he concludes involves rejection of some traditional doctrines, but it resonates well with much biblical thinking and Christian experience. The theological ideas of Whitehead can commend themselves to Christians quite independently of their interconnection with science, but for me the fact that they are part of an overview that also deepens our scientific knowledge is a strong reason for giving them serious consideration.

I left Chicago at the time that we veterans were completing our studies and colleges were shrinking in size. Teaching positions were scarce. I had become sufficiently reestablished in my faith that I asked for ordination in the North Georgia UMC conference. I was appointed to a parish in Appalachia half time, and taught half time at a local church junior college, named for its founder, Young Harris. I became a full-time teacher after one year and stayed there another two. I then taught at Emory University for five years before following Pomp Colwell to Claremont in 1958. I taught here for thirty-two years.

An important change in my life-orientation occurred in 1969. Largely under pressure from one of my sons, Cliff, I was awakened to the environmental crisis. I wrote articles and books, lectured, and organized conferences. The "Alternatives to Catastrophe" conference in 1972 brought Herman Daly and Paolo Soleri to Claremont. They have been important friends for me ever since.

The awareness of the crisis affected me in several ways. It made me more of an activist. It broke me out of my own disciplinary captivity. I changed my working definition of "theology" from an academic discipline to intentional Christian thinking about important questions. I discovered that Whitehead’s thought had important implications for action.

Meanwhile the Divinity School at Chicago had ceased to be a distinctive school of thought. The tradition that had been so important for me now had no institutional grounding or support. I wondered if I was called to respond.

Lewis Ford spent a sabbatical year in Claremont in the late 60’s, and we shared our concerns. In 1970 we launched a journal, Process Studies, so that work in process thought could be published. Ford was editor, and we handled business matters in Claremont. Ford was especially interested in technical philosophical studies that other philosophical journals would not want. I was especially interested in applications of Whitehead’s thought.

I dreamed of doing something more, especially in order to test and develop the relevance of process thought across a wide spectrum of fields. Jim Laney invited me to create a center at Emory University, and I would have gone except that, much to my surprise, Claremont made it possible to have a similar center here. In 1973 David Griffin joined us.

Our first conference was on "mind" in nature and was held at the Rockefeller conference at Bellagio, Italy. Among the biologists who participated were C. H. Waddington, Sewall Wright, and Theodosius Dobzhansky. The star of the show was the physicist, David Bohm, whom Waddington introduced to us. Arthur Koestler also came. We owe this auspicious start entirely to Charles Birch, who died a few weeks ago.

The second conference was held at the University of Hawaii with leading Buddhist thinkers. My work with Masao Abe in Buddhist/Christian dialogue began there. It resulted in a series of international dialogs and contributed to the formation of a Society of Buddhist/Christian Studies with its own journal.

The Center for Process Studies has expanded gradually. Our first new program was Process and Faith. The main work of the Center was oriented to the university, and many of its members were not church-oriented. We formed a new program for the church with separate membership.

Process theology thinks of itself as the appropriate theology for the progressive church, but we know that many progressive Christians do not want to identify themselves in this way. As the progressive segment of the church was increasingly marginalized, Process and Faith considered how a broader movement could be stimulated. Motivated by those discussions, I went to see George Regas, and what is now Progressive Christians Uniting was born.

For many years the Center did not engage in serious research on Whitehead’s own thought. Recently the Whitehead Research Project has been launched by our new professor of process theology, the Austrian Catholic who has joined us from the University of Vienna, Roland Faber.

David Griffin did remarkable work in planning conferences and securing the best people to participate. He also developed a considerable number of volumes out of these conferences and produced his own corpus. In addition he created a sister organization in Santa Barbara that ran conferences directed to the public. Out of these emerged a book series with SUNY press, "Constructive Postmodern Thought." Griffin edited some thirty volumes. In the United States this series has garnered only modest attention, but in China the first volume, The Reenchantment of Science, struck a chord. National conferences were held to consider this different kind of postmodernism. Zhihe Wang, the publications officer of the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences, came to Claremont to study with Griffin. Later his wife, Meijun Fan, gave up her position as chair of the department of Chinese literature in a Beijing university to work with him. We call their work the China Project of the Center for Process Studies and have also evolved the legally separate "Institute for the Postmodern Development of China."

The effects of process thought in China are incommensurable with those elsewhere. Fan publishes a bi-monthly paper, "Cultural Communications," that reaches numerous high-ranking officials. Eighteen universities have centers for process studies. We have co-sponsored and provided speakers for conferences on a wide range of topics.

The area in which there has been the greatest interest is education. This is a topic on which Whitehead himself wrote. Several of our process centers are in universities of education. Thirty-five million Chinese students are now experimenting with a Whiteheadian curriculum.

Most surprising to me is that the Chinese Marxists are interested in our ideas about the economy. I was invited in the fall of 2008 to give the keynote address at a conference on capital. I declined because I was committed to a trip to India in January. They changed the time of the conference so that I could attend it on my way home in January. I understand that my lecture has been published in the leading Marxist journal.

Ecological consequences have led to the greatest dissatisfaction with the modern development at which China has been so successful. This spring we expect at least fifty Chinese scholars and government officials to come to Claremont for the fourth of our series of conferences on "Ecological Civilization." Wang thinks that the announcement by the government that China aims to become an ecological civilization was influenced by our work.

When the Chinese thought of ecological improvement of their cities, they tended to create tree-lined boulevards and large parks in city centers. These were beautiful, but they increased the distances for commuting within the city. We have held conferences on sustainable urbanization, and we took my favorite architect, Soleri, to China. There is still no immediate prospect of the Chinese building an arcology, but they have an exhibit of his work currently in Beijing and the group coming to our conference on ecological civilization plans to visit Arcosanti. We have at least introduced a different way of thinking of an ecological city.

When we learned that the government wisely plans to focus attention on rural development, we rejoiced, but we also feared that this would involve the modernization of agriculture on a vast scale. That means substituting fossil fuels for labor and the depopulation of the country-side where a billion Chinese still live. We believe this would be disastrous, and we set out to make sure that decision-makers would be aware that there is a different, postmodern, alternative that we might call ecological agriculture. We held a conference at an agricultural university at which one of Dean Freudenberger’s sons, David, read a paper that he had co-authored with Dean. This paper has had wide circulation. Last November, we co-sponsored, with the Academy of Social Sciences and the governor of an agricultural province, a second conference. We are now confident that our message has been heard. Another conference this May, in Claremont will also be attended by influential leaders.

I am no doubt overestimating the extent of our actual influence. China is so vast, and its government bureaucracy and university system are so complex that what I have spoken of is a drop in a large bucket. But in comparison with our influence anywhere else in the world it is a very large drop. This is obviously not because of us Euro-Americans. It is because of Wang and Fan

I am deeply pleased by our Korea and Latin American Projects as well. I rejoice also in the global growth of the process movement not directly connected to us. We had a meeting in Claremont a decade or so ago that gave birth to the International Process Network. Its existence has helped to encourage people in other parts of the world to organize around process thought. Japan has been well organized for thirty years. Interest and organization is developing rapidly in Western Europe. Three new centers have been founded in Eastern Europe. I am particularly pleased that two closely related centers have been established in Congo. A Catholic archbishop is involved. Our seventh International Whitehead Conference was held in Bangalore, and it generated interest in India. So even though we have had very little effect in the world of thought and research in the United States, we can take satisfaction in the global growth of the movement. Institutionalizing the process tradition was a good decision.

I have spent much more time teaching and writing my own books than promoting programs. I take great satisfaction in those activities as well. I am especially joyful as I think of the students with whom I have worked closely. As examples, I’ll mention two who were my seminary advisees and three whose RelD projects I supervised. I’ll then note a few with whom I worked on dissertations.

Very soon Progressive Christians Uniting will celebrate one of my seminary advisees, Mary Ann Swenson. She was also associate pastor of our church next door to the seminary. Often the people of whom I am most proud are persons whose ability and strength are such that they had little need of me. That was certainly true of Swenson. She knew what she wanted and she did what she needed to do to prepare herself for pastoral ministry. On the other hand, I do not think that she sought the episcopacy. That was the choice of others.

Another seminary student was Rebecca Parker. Her gifts were obvious when she was a student in Claremont. She has now served for many years as president of Starr King seminary. Even though she was not a Unitarian and had none of the obvious credentials for such an office, the Unitarians wisely picked her. Starr King has flourished under her leadership. Her books with Rita Nakashima Brock, whom I also claim as a PhD student, are models of the sort of writing from which I have hopes of spiritual change in the church. They combine the depths of personal experience with the depths of scholarly learning.

Turning to my RelD students, the one you know best is Ignacio Castuera. It was easy to recognize his brilliance. He wrote a thesis that was feminist and liberationist before those movements existed. At the time I hoped he would complete a PhD and be the creative spokesperson of Christian Hispanics in the United States. He made other choices. To this day his fertile mind generates new ideas faster than any five human beings could implement them. Nevertheless, we are working together just now on organizing a new movement to change the political landscape of this country. A bit ambitious, we will admit. But nothing could be more exhilarating than this kind of envisioning with him.

A second is Ed Hansen. Ed spent a year working at Glide in the tenderloin and wrote up his experiences and his reflections. As Ignacio introduced me to feminism and liberation, Ed taught me about homosexuals and the suffering they undergo in a patriarchal society. At the time, Ed did not identify himself with the gay community, although his brother had come out and suffered accordingly. When teachers say that they learn more from their students than they teach them, they may exaggerate, but at least in these two instances for me it is an understatement.

A third is Chip Murray. When he was a student in Claremont he taught my oldest son in Sunday School next door. When we invited my advisees socially to our home, we could count on Chip to entertain us with his stories, mostly true ones about his experiences as a black in a racist society. He also became the leader of the black community in Pomona. It did not surprise me that he went on to become a major leader in Los Angeles. Claremont wanted him to teach our students how to preach, but he had more important work. I contributed negligibly to his achievements, but I rejoice in all he has done.

Selecting a few from the PhDs whose dissertations I supervised is even more difficult. I have given some indication of the work of David Griffin; so I will not repeat that here. However, I will mention that in addition to his extensive corpus in philosophical theology and his vast work as organizer of conferences and editor of the writings of others, he has become the leading spokesperson for the 9/11 truth movement. As one who is fully persuaded by Griffin’s information and arguments, I rejoice in this work and consider it immensely important.

The other student who has also been a very close colleague is Marjorie Suchocki. She has great technical skill in philosophy and theology, and more than any other student, she persuaded me to change my own thinking and formulations. She led Process and Faith for years, and continues to organize the International Whitehead Film Festival. She served as dean at Wesley and in Claremont. She is an immensely popular speaker and has spread the message of progressive Christianity, specifically in its process form, throughout much of the Methodist church.

When I look beyond those with whom I work locally, I begin with Del Brown, chiefly because of his recent death. He was a fine dean at Iliff and at PSR. Quite independently of our efforts in southern California, he worked to clarify and strengthen the progressive wing of the church. He also built bridges to the more progressive segments of the conservative evangelical community. I miss him.

One of those with whom I have worked closely over the years is Jay McDaniel. He has settled in Hendrix College in Conway, Arkansas. I dare say he is the most appreciated and beloved member of that community. He has published extensively in ecology and spirituality from a process perspective and has built a network of connections that are invaluable in getting things done. In recent years he has been our finest representative in China.

Probably my most brilliant student was Catherine Keller. Her mind was so much quicker, more incisive, more imaginative, and more sensitive than mine that I hesitate to think of myself as in any way her teacher. She would bring me fifty pages of a draft of her dissertation. I would congratulate her on it and tell her to keep going. She would toss the pages aside and start over. She has established herself among cutting edge intellectuals both in the religious community and beyond. Her problem was to learn to speak and write for ordinary people. She has mastered that skill, and I consider her the finest theologian in her generation. I know that I am prejudiced, but I think I am not alone in this judgment.

Another brilliant woman student was Mary Elizabeth Moore, now Dean of Boston University School of Theology. Her field was Christian education, but she wrote about that as a theologian. At the time she was finishing her program, a national search for a professor of Christian education brought us back to her. She related theology to the practice of ministry and became a leader in developing a new understanding of practical theology. Her practice extended to working with her students in the actual care of the earth, which she understood as part of practical theology. I am sure she relates her theoretical commitments also to her work as dean. It was a joy to be her colleague for some years at Claremont.

As I write this I am impressed by the extent to which my students have become administrators. Nancy Howell was dean of St. Paul’s Theological Seminary for a while, and it happens that Susan Nelson, the current dean of the Claremont School of Theology, was also my student. She has been a full partner with Jerry Campbell in creating a truly new vision of theological education. I am indeed proud.

But I must stop. I am proud of them all, even those with whom I have lost touch. I rejoice also that as my own students retire, some of their students carry on the torch. I believe there is a future for process thought.

The Practical Need for Metaphysics

In introductions of process thought, we usually tread lightly on the topic of metaphysics. I considered avoiding the word in entitling what I want to say today. I feared that many would assume they could not understand what I would say or that, if they did, it would be of no interest.

But I decided that avoiding this unpopular word is not wise. It leaves the impression that metaphysical questions are obscure and that we can get along well without asking them. In my judgment they are not really all that obscure, and the consequences of not attending to them in the past two centuries has had seriously damaging and dangerous consequences.

The origins of metaphysics are in very simple questions. In all civilizations one is likely to find some listing of the elements of which the physical world is composed. For example fire, water, air, wood, and stone may be listed, with the supposition that other things can be seen as mixtures of these. Simply classifying things in such ways is not yet metaphysics. But suppose one asks which of these is primary or whether they are all expressions of some underlying reality. The pre-Socratics asked this kind of question. Their work is the precursor of metaphysics. These questions become truly metaphysical only when reflection about the world has advanced. Only then can one distinguish scientific inquiry from the deeper question of the nature of what science studies.

I am not speaking today primarily about the positive contributions made by metaphysics. Instead, I am going to talk first about the damage done by holding to established metaphysics in the natural sciences and in theology and then the damage done by dismissing metaphysical inquiry. I’ll conclude, as you will expect, by proposing process metaphysics as a way forward in those two fields.

I. THE NATURAL SCIENCES AND METAPHYSICS

I begin with science because that is where "meta-physics" began. After Aristotle had sketched the best science available in his day, he wanted to go further. What implications did that science have for the nature of the physical world with which it dealt? His intention was to develop the meta-physics only after the physics. If science had always followed this pattern the role of metaphysics would have been far more positive. Unfortunately, once a metaphysics is formulated, it is likely to take on a life of its own and to force science and theology to adjust to ideas that may not fit what is known in actual experience. This is why metaphysics has done damage.

The natural sciences are in fact tightly bound up with a particular metaphysics, namely, the one developed by Rene Descartes. This is true in two ways, (1) the self-definition and standard claims of science as a whole, and (2) the beliefs about nature that shape its inquiries.

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Western science arose in a context dominated philosophically primarily by Aristotle and secondarily by Plato. In another place we could discuss the positive role both played in this regard. Today I will speak only of the negative. Although serious scientific work was done in terms of Aristotle’s metaphysics, especially in biology, the ready appeal to final causes in explaining physical phenomena blocked needed inquiry into efficient causes. This led to the emergence of modern philosophy with Rene Descartes. That Descartes’ metaphysics provided a crucial context for the further development of science is unquestionable, but I am here focusing on the negative role it played and continues to play today.

Science aims to be empirical in that it deals with the world as it is given to human sense experience. Sometimes this is called the "objective" world. Science seeks in the objective world the causes of all the events that transpire in it. This is the "nature" it studies, and it understands this nature to be self-enclosed. That is, it rejects the idea that the objective events that constitute nature could require explanations that lead outside of this objective world. This excludes the possibility that God is the cause of any natural event. It also excludes the possibility that one must appeal to subjective experience in order to explain what happens objectively.

Prior to Darwin’s work, scientists assumed that alongside the natural world they studied there was also a human one. This is the famous Cartesian dualism. Human experience is just as real and important, for Descartes and his followers, as any bit of matter. What transpires in this human sphere is to be explained by different categories than what happens in nature. Each is sufficient to itself. Mental events have no causal effect on physical ones, and material events have to causal effect on mental ones.

In my view, this was a very bad metaphysics. It was in fact strictly incredible. Given that metaphysics, my decision to type a word must be understood to have no effect on my actually typing it. And a physical wound caused by an accident has no bearing on my subjective feeling of pain. I assume that no one really believes this, but this dualism became immensely important in intellectual and cultural life.

When evolutionary theory brought human beings into nature, this kind of dualism faded. But this only made the situation worse. A common sense approach would have been to say that now that we understood that human thought and feeling are part of nature, we should no longer suppose that nature consists only of material objects in relative motion. This view has been proposed from time to time. But among scientists in general there has been no change in the understanding of nature as a result of including themselves within it. It is still the world as objectively given to human observers.

Science now assumes that human beings, like everything else, are to be fully explained without any reference to their subjective experience. Our decisions are supposed to have no causal role in the world. If the reality of subjective experience is acknowledged at all, it is held to be fully caused by physical events and to have no reciprocal causal influence on them. Strictly speaking, human beings are automata.

The only reason for holding this view is metaphysical. This is so, even though most scientists will profess to have no interest in metaphysics and to consider it scientifically irrelevant. Indeed, this metaphysics continues to shape the program of science precisely because the intended rejection of metaphysics prevents any questioning or examination of the denial that human decisions can have a role in what happens in the world.

I am quite sure that no one really believes this metaphysics, and the actions of scientists themselves certainly show that they do not. But it remains the systematic implication of what most scientists believe about the nature of science. They believe it deals comprehensively with nature, and they believe that the nature with which it deals is objective. This excludes the subjective from nature and from playing any role in nature. Thus a metaphysics that no one can believe shapes the self-understanding of science.

You may suppose that if no one believes it, its public dominance makes no difference. But that is not true. One of the few things that the culture still reveres is "science." We devote enormous resources to its advancement. This "advancement" includes the fuller and fuller demonstration that we are automata, that is, that our subjective experience and activity play no role in determining what happens in the world. Those who develop the counter evidence, showing that the subjective and objective worlds interact, have to do their research on their own time and don’t get to teach about it, at least as a part of "science."

To take just one example, the only theory of evolution that is allowed is the one that excludes the role of purpose from the behavior of animals, including human beings, and, just to make sure, also excludes animal actions from having any role in evolution. The only reason I know to support this theory is that it fits with the metaphysics that has played so large a role in science.

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Science has been formulated in terms of a metaphysics of matter in motion. Its data are chiefly patches of color in various relations. But the explanation of these data lies in the motions of a "material substances" that are inaccessible to sense experience. In the seventeenth century, philosophers were comfortable with positing that underlying the sensory qualities that cause us to speak of stones and chairs there are "material substances" in which these sensory objects inhere and to which we rightly attribute them. But the philosophical analysis of Berkeley and Hume in the eighteenth century showed that neither the idea of "matter" nor the idea of "substance" made sense.

Early in the nineteenth century, Immanuel Kant came to the rescue. He agreed with Hume that human beings had no basis for saying anything at all about what the real world is like. He asserted that the only world we can describe is the one that the human mind creates. Remarkably, he affirmed that this was just the world described by seventeenth-century metaphysics. By the time he wrote, scientists were paying little attention to philosophers anyway, but if they did care to do so, they could find justification in Kant for continuing their program, unchanged.

Through the nineteenth century physicists believed that atoms were, as the name implies, tiny pellets of matter not susceptible of further analysis or division. They were related to one another only externally. That means that the only way one affected another was by its motion. These relations were depicted as being like those of billiard balls. The task of science was to explain everything in terms of the motions of these atoms. The result was mechanistic determinism. Some physicists thought their task was almost completed when the break-up of the atom created consternation and chaos.

This break-up would not have been a threat to the metaphysics that shaped scientific research and discourse if the entities into which what had been previously identified as indivisible were found to be constituted of tinier bits of matter obeying the basic laws of motion. Then the world could still be understood to be constituted exhaustively by matter in motion. But we all know now that this was not the case. At its base, the world does not consist of matter in motion. Also the exclusion of the observer from any causal role in the nature that is observed, a principle so central to the self-understanding of science, could not be applied. The metaphysics so tightly related to science was wrong.

There were intense discussions in the early part of the twentieth century about this new situation. One response was to develop a new meta-physics in Aristotle’s sense. That is, given the scientific evidence, what answers can we now give to the question: Of what does the world consist? In my view, the failure of the scientific and philosophical communities to pursue this question is one of the tragedies of intellectual history.

A second response was to make the smallest possible changes and restrict their application to the subatomic world. This has been the practical response of the scientific community. There were two familiar concepts with which they had organized the world of matter in motion: wave and particle. They found that in some respects the mathematics they had developed for wave phenomena fit the new evidence while in other respects the mathematics of particles was applicable. They could not say whether the subatomic entities were waves or particles, and since a wave cannot be a particle or a particle a wave, they recognized they had no idea of the actual nature of what they studied. So they introduced the notion of paradox. That meant that science, which had heretofore prided itself in conceptual precision would simply acquiesce in incoherence. And it meant that it would continue to use the old metaphysics without paradox elsewhere. Also it would hold to the basic understanding of science that I explained earlier – a self-contained system that excluded any role for subjectivity or God.

Since the inherited metaphysics was discredited, and the effort to re-think metaphysics was abandoned, the culture generally began to pride itself in outgrowing any interest in metaphysics. That means we do not try to find out what really exists or occurs and to care whether one’s thought in one area is consistent with one’s thought in other areas. Science now simply develops hypotheses about the readings on meters when certain actions are taken. If predictions are successful, we should not ask what we are talking about. That different fields of study operate with different assumptions is perfectly acceptable. If one seeks comprehensive or integrated understanding, one shows that one is out of step with advanced thought.

I’m sure you understand that I consider this a serious step backward. But if you have been socialized into the modern world, you will ask, what is wrong with this? Twentieth century science added enormously to our store of information and our ability to control nature. If it could do this best by abandoning the quest for realism and coherence, was that not the right move?

In my view, on the other hand, the abandonment of both reality and reason is a very serious matter. It opens the door to irrationalism and nihilism in all dimensions of our thought. It blocks the way to real advance in understanding either the world or ourselves. It trivializes philosophy.

Most important, at a time in human history when there is urgent need for wisdom to guide us through a crisis of unparalleled proportions, it removes any interest in wisdom from the intelligentsia in general and the modern university in particular.

II. THEOLOGY AND METAPHYSICS

I will discuss this topic also in two ways. Traditional theology was clearly metaphysical, and I will briefly consider the negative aspects of the metaphysics in question. Then I will consider the fate of theology and the church when metaphysics is abandoned.

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Jewish thought of God, including that of Jesus and Paul, was metaphysical in the sense that Jews unquestioningly affirmed God as a reality with causal efficacy in the world. On the other hand, Israel did not develop philosophy and, accordingly did not articulate the implicit metaphysics. However, Jewish thinkers recognized the relevance of philosophy to their affirmations. Philo was a great Jewish thinker, a contemporary of Jesus, who made use of Greek philosophy to explain Jewish thinking. Christian thinkers followed in his path. Thus Greek metaphysics played a large role in shaping Christian thought.

To have failed to form this alliance would have left Christian thought about God naively anthropomorphic. But the categories adopted from Greek metaphysics were in sharp tension with biblical thought, so that the alliance led to major losses as well as gains.

Much of process theology has focused on some of these losses. I will now deal with just two of them. The Greeks prized invulnerability. For example, if we are subject to being affected by what others say or think about us, we are at the mercy of their responses to us. We cannot be happy. Happiness requires that we have our well being in ourselves in ways that others cannot disturb. Of course, no human being can be entirely invulnerable, but when we imagine perfection, it will include this character. God’s blessedness cannot depend on anything that happens in the world. God, therefore, is conceived as a self-contained substance. For Aristotle, for example, God contemplates only God. To attend to anything else would make God vulnerable.

This is profoundly different from biblical thinking about God. In the Bible God cares greatly about what happens in the world. Especially from the New Testament perspective, God’s central characteristic is love. A major aspect of love is compassion, feeling with. God rejoices with us in our joy and suffers with us in our misery. We are called to love one another in this way. Of course, we can never do this fully, but Jews and Christians affirmed that these characteristics, imperfect as they were in us, were perfect in God.

Christian philosophical theologians were greatly influenced by Greek metaphysicians in their formulations about God. They affirmed that God was "impassible," not subject to suffering. They could not deny that God is love, since this was so central in scripture. So they were forced to reinterpret love in a way that omitted compassion altogether.

The Bible may be described as a long account of the many ways in which God and humanity interacted. To the Greek philosophers this seemed anthropomorphic and demeaning of God. This is partly because it meant that God was not invulnerable, but the problem was broader. It made God very much a temporal being. The Greeks thought that perfection must transcend time altogether; so the Christian philosophical theologians declared that God was immutable and eternal. Their biblical commitments would not allow them to deny God’s role in history, but the pressure of Greek metaphysics worked against this. Augustine solved the problem for himself and many subsequent theologians by denying the ultimate reality of time as human beings experience it. For God all events happen at once, so that there is a single eternal divine act. Obviously, nothing of this sort was envisioned by the biblical authors.

With the renewed emphasis on the Bible in the Reformation and the rise of modern philosophy, the hold of Greek thought diminished. It was possible to think again without qualification of temporally sequential acts of God. Nevertheless, many of the attributes of God derived from the Greeks retained their hold. The idea that what happened in the world affected God was rarely articulated, although much worship and practical piety assumed it.

One reason was that the idea of substance retained its hold on the Western mind and may have even become more rigid. A substance is something that exists on its own and relates to other things only externally. Other substances were thought to derive their being from God, but God is the perfect substance that derives nothing from others. Obviously, there is no such notion of substance in the Bible.

From time to time, there were protests against the role of Greek metaphysics in shaping Christian thought. Some of them were really directed against critical thinking as such, but for the most part, they were directed against the Greek assumptions that shaped philosophy in ways that were in sharp tension with the Bible. Luther is a great example. Pascal also distinguished the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob from the God of the philosophers. To this day many of the protests against metaphysics are directed against aspects of distinctively Greek metaphysics, with little awareness of other possibilities. They seek to free the thinking of Christians from the straightjacket of Greek metaphysics.

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Until the work of Kant, it was assumed that there was a metaphysical dimension in any doctrine of God. God was thought to be the creator of the world. Whether this was creation out of nothing, or order out of chaos, God was explanatory of the existence of the world we know, and that world was understood to be fully real. The metaphysical affirmations involved might be made as "common sense," or simply on the basis of revelation, or on the authority of the church, but they remained metaphysical. Atheism was the denial of this metaphysical reality.

Beginning with Kant, the situation has changed. God is often not located beyond the physics, but in other contexts. In Kant God appears as meta-ethical rather than meta-physical in Aristotle’s sense. God’s reality is posited rather than simply affirmed, and it is removed from the realm of theory and located in that of practical thought. Still, reality is posited of God as clearly as it is posited of the physical world. In that sense, God is still metaphysical.

Of course, metaphysical treatments of God reemerged in Hegel and Schleiermacher and their followers. Those who appealed to religious experience as the context for speaking of God for the most part believed that this experience was testimony to a holy reality.

But since then there have been more radical rejections of metaphysics in theology. The linguistic turn shifts the discussion from God as a reality to the word "God" and the way it functions. Some have insisted that the meaning of the word can only be found in its relation to other words. Others may allow that it is related also to human acts. But the traditional assumption that the word has reference to something that is real apart from language is now often rejected. This is a full rejection of metaphysics.

Kant opened the door to radically nonmetaphysical ways of thinking of God through his emphasis on the creative activity of the human mind. The phrase, "the social construction of reality" is not his, but it grows out of his work. He thought that the human mind created a common world at all times and places. But Hegel emphasized that it creates changing worlds. In some of these there is a place for God, in others not. Thus God is real in the same way that other parts of the socially constructed world are real. But we cannot meaningfully ask about a reality that transcends and is prior to all social construction. Whereas earlier everyone assumed that God is the creator of human beings, many now suppose that human beings are the creators of "God."

Much of this reflection has been for the sake of undergirding Christian thought and worship. Nevertheless, it has in fact profoundly weakened that segment of the Christian community, chiefly to be found in liberal Protestantism, that has followed it. Worship and trust require the belief that there is in reality something worthy of worship, something one can trust. Something humans create does not qualify.

III. PROCESS METAPHYSICS

I said that I consider the failure of scientists, theologians, and philosophers to pursue the quest for a new metaphysics in the early twentieth century to be a great tragedy. I also consider it fortunate that not everyone abandoned the quest. William James and Henri Bergson were two who dared to explore new ways of thinking about the world. Many physicists engaged in fresh thinking about the implications of new findings for the understanding of the world. Even when the consensus came to be as I described it above, some scientists continued their reflections. Teilhard de Chardin, a paleontologist, is probably the best known. David Bohm is an example in physics; Ilya Prigogine, in chemistry; C. H. Waddington, in biology; Roger Sperry, in physiological psychology; Donald Griffin, in zoology. These remain recognized figures in their several fields, even if their break with the dominant scientific conventions is not followed by their guilds. Feminists and ecologists also introduced new creative challenges. There are many others who could be mentioned. There are also some who have been largely excommunicated by their guilds because of the new directions they have taken. Herman Daly, in economics, and Rupert Sheldrake, in biology, are clear examples.

Now it might seem that the multiplicity of people who have continued on new lines of thought would mean that there are a great number of directions in which new metaphysical developments might occur, so that process metaphysics is simply one from which to choose. That would be true if by process metaphysics we meant simply Whitehead’s version. Nevertheless, there is a commonality in the direction that most have taken. One could argue that mostl belong to the community of process thinkers.

This is not a matter of chance. A healthy metaphysics grows out of the best science of the day. Evolution, relativity, and quantum theory are decisive forms of science in the twentieth century. There is a broad recognition, largely ignored in practice, that science as a whole should be reordered so as to take what has been learned in these new fields into account. Those who are doing so, inevitably have some emphases that were absent in the seventeenth century metaphysics that still exercises a strong hold on science as a whole.

For example, evolutionary thought cuts differently from the static vision that preceded it. We now know that even what we call physical laws evolve. The whole universe evolves. Evolution is certainly a process. Change and novelty are important features of the world. New and surprising things emerge along the way. All of this is quite different from the Cartesian vision of nature. There will be commonalities among those who take evolution seriously.

The new fields in physics in different ways emphasize relations over substances. What a thing is has to be recognized as largely a function of what other things are. The billiard ball model has little relevance to advanced physics. A meta-physics that grows out of cutting-edge findings today must be relational.

If we understand the entities that make up the world as inherently relational, we cannot consider them simply as they appear to us objectively. Constitutive relations are necessarily internal relations. Visual objects have no internality, but it is clear that the real world does. Internality means also subjectivity.

I stressed earlier that science is typically defined so as to exclude subjective experience from any explanatory role. Those I have mentioned here are restive with such demarcations and open to modifying them in various ways. A metaphysics that allows for the influence of subjective experience on objectively observable events is quite different from the seventeenth-century metaphysics that still holds sway in science. Significant variety still occurs, but the new positions belong to a single family, the one I call "process."

The next step is to choose among process philosophies. Choices can be made on various grounds. Some prefer to stay as close as possible to description of what we now know, minimizing generalization and speculation. Having rejected both Greek and modern metaphysics, they are in no hurry to formulate another one. Some are quite critical of Whitehead for having developed so complex a speculative scheme. Some are especially disturbed because Whitehead affirms the reality of God and even attributes a large role to God in what happens in the world.

But one can hardly dispute that Whitehead has engaged more fully than any other in the engagement with recent physics. He has played the largest role in the development of the philosophy of mathematics. He has the most fully elaborated metaphysics. Some of us believe that these are accomplishments of great importance, and that of all the process thinkers he has the most to offer. That does not mean that his metaphysics is the final word. But for some of us it means that Whitehead’s metaphysics is the one most worthy of serious study and engagement.

Whitehead’s detailed work can lead to overcoming the basic problems of modern science. Science may be able, once again to give a coherent account of reality. It may be able to integrate relativity and quantum theory. It may be able to avoid the absurdities in which it now ends up.

Those in the Abrahamic tradition can once again have support from science and philosophy for their conviction that what they worship is worthy of their worship, that, at the base of reality is something worthy of their trust. At the same time they may be freed from destructive features of their traditions.

Explaining this and purifying the traditions from elements introduced by earlier and more alien forms of metaphysics is the task of process theology. Much of this can be done without being explicit about its metaphysical basis. But I remain profoundly grateful to Whitehead for having made this work possible.

Finally, it is my judgment that as the world as a whole enters into a time of unparalleled dangers, the contribution of Whitehead will become more and more important. Those who would guide us through these crises must see the world in its complex interrelated unity. Whitehead, as no one else of whom I know, makes that possible.