Video Shootout

My Minnesota hometown is the sort of place where neighbors look in on each other and leave the doors unlocked. As in Lake Woebegon, the children are all above average. In September one of those children brought a .22-caliber Colt semiautomatic to school and shot and killed two of his classmates.

As with similar shootings at Columbine and in Kentucky, the media were quick to note that the shooter (in this case 15-year-old Jason McLaughlin) had been an avid video game player. This almost goes without saying. The National Institute on Media and the Family (NIMF) reported that in a survey of 778 students in grades four through 12, 87 percent of all students and 96 percent of the boys said they play video games regularly.

Shortly after the shooting in Cold Spring, I asked my college students about their experience with video games. The young men in the room had a lot to say -- video games are a large part of their life.

Today’s video games are far from the world of early games like Pac Man or Super Mario. They are visually stunning, complex and deeply immersive. There are role-playing games, puzzle and strategy games, simulations and sports games such as virtual soccer or skateboarding.

The largest category of games, however, and the ones my students prefer, are "first-person shooter" games in which the player faces down other players, monsters or characters. Favorite games have names like Street Fighter, Vice City, Doom, America’s Army and Manhunt. One student noted, "Everything but the sports games requires you to kill."

And the killing has become increasingly graphic. In the ‘80s or early ‘90s, shooting an opponent resulted in the collapse of that figure on the screen. Today’s graphics provide gore, flying body parts, realistic writhing and screams of pain. "There’s blood everywhere," one student said. While most games used to come with a "blood off" default setting, today’s games are generally "blood on." The new games involve not only more graphic kills, but more kills. The video world is especially hostile toward women -- games often include rape scenes, prostitution, full nudity and disembodied body parts.

In response to this increase in violence, the Entertainment Software Rating Board has come up with a system designed to keep the most violent games out of the hands of young children. But this system is little understood by parents and often unenforced by vendors. The most restrictive rating, AO (adults only), is for games that include "graphic depictions of sex and/or violence." Most major retailers will not sell AO games, so this rating is almost never used.

Some games that include both graphic sex and violence, such as Grand Theft Auto or Manhunt, are rated M (not appropriate for persons under 17). Yet according to the NIMF survey, 87 percent of boys in grades four through 12 play M-rated games, and 78 percent of the boys rank these games among their top five favorites.

But it’s only a game, right? Killing a fictional character doesn’t cross a moral boundary.

The question is what the simulated violence does to the player. Several recent studies offer evidence that playing violent video games increases aggressive behavior. A Japanese study of fifth and sixth graders showed a correlation between the amount of time spent playing video games and later physical aggression. Two other studies found a similar link between violent game playing and aggressive thoughts and behavior, even after controlling for innate temperament and exposure to violence in other sources, such as movies and television.

The results of these studies are no surprise to the U.S. military which uses video games as recruiting and training devices. America’s Army, a first-person shooter game, is distributed on CD by army recruiters and is downloadable from the army’s Web site. The Marine Corps has used the game Dune. David Grossman, retired professor of psychology at West Point, says that these games provide a script for rehearsing the act of killing: "It is their job to condition and enable people to kill . . . [These games] teach a person how to look another person in the eye and snuff their life out."

While it is disturbing that these games imitate war, it is even more disturbing to realize that these days war seems to be imitating video games. The current policy of preemptive attack, for example, sounds like life in the video game world, where you must "get the bad guys" before "they get you." Video games are strong on quick reaction to threats and weak on reasoned response.

The administration’s focus on the initial conflict rather than postwar planning also resembles the video game universe, where games never progress past killing. General Wesley Clark has described Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld’s vision for Operation Iraqi Freedom as simplistic -- detect and destroy enemy forces with minimum risk to one’s own forces. This vision emphasizes dominance through precision strikes. In the words of one senior officer: "Imagine a box of enemy territory 200 kilometers wide and 200 kilometers deep; we should be able to detect every enemy target there, and to strike and kill any target we want." War as video game.

Exposure to simulated violence and death desensitizes people, lowering inhibitions and making it easier to commit violence in the real world, Video games romanticize violence and equate it with personal power and achievement. Some include "back stories" that explain the characters and their motivations. Revenge is a common feature, and the stories foster the notion that violence as payback is justifiable. Nick Yee, a student in communications, notes that "it’s hard to have an in-game and out-game moral compass. . . . When you play the game, your moral compass gets influenced and impacted by your decisions." Though one does not kill real people, one gets used to the concept of killing. From a Kantian or utilitarian ethical perspective, one has neither used nor hurt another person. But virtue ethics warns us that one’s character is formed by one’s habits. First-person shooter games present the world in adversarial terms and inure players to violence.

Or course, not all video games are violent. Some test and teach strategy, concentration and observation skills. In one category of games, the emphasis is on designing functional tools or worlds -- in other words, on showing oneself to be master of a particular game environment. Unlike other games, however, in these the player works alone, trying out different scenarios to see how things interact within the game’s world. In the "God games," the player builds and controls a virtual environment. Examples of God games include SimCity, in which cyber characters go about their day-to-day lives; Tropico, in which the player manages a banana republic; RollerCoaster Tycoon, in which one builds and runs a theme park; and, for an odd twist, SimAnt, in which players build a simulated ant colony.

Role-playing games, a third category, also have a large following. Many are designed in an adventure/quest format. Again the person is an autonomous agent trying to gain advantages in a virtual world. In EverQuest, one of the most popular multiplayer role-playing games, players create their own characters, go on quests, solve puzzles and kill evil creatures. Other players may be teammates or opponents, and some of the quests can be solved only in groups. Yet the players often make decisions too quickly for them to be in any real sense collaborative.

While these games are not violent, they suggest that the player can manage alone -- all she has to do is assert herself and exercise her will. Video games promote this propensity to view oneself as alone, rather than as cooperating with others. Reinhold Niebuhr said that the human will-to-power lies at the root of sin. "There is a pride of power in which the human ego assumes its self-sufficiency and self-mastery" To-see the self only in terms of mastery is risky.

In the end, the world of video games is a very lonely place -- there is no socialization, as in Monopoly, and no engagement with a live opponent, as in tennis. And there is definitely no physical activity. Instead, the games present virtual people, and actions with simple and predictable consequences, all occur-ring inside of a box. If you walk around a certain corner, you’ll get shot. If you fail to maintain the buildings in your simulated city, some will fall down. The consequences have little relevance to real world complexities, and the only experience gained is the experience that’s been set up and bounded by the game’s creators.

Many of my students play video games as an occasional release, a way to hang out with friends, a chance to get an adrenaline rush in a safe way. As an occasional pastime, video games seem harmless enough. But when the average American child spends nine hours a week playing them, we need to ask what sort of worldview the games are furthering. What are they teaching children about what it means to be human, about decision-making, about social roles, about living in the real world?

Eugene Provenzo, professor of education at the University of Miami, testified before a Senate committee:

[These games] are the cultural equivalent of genetic engineering, except that in this experiment, even more than the other one, we will be the potential new hybrids, the two-pound mice. It is very possible that the people killed in the last few years as the result of "school shootings" may in fact be the first victims/results of this experiment.

In my hometown, a student responded to persistent teasing by acting out the role of first-person shooter. What influence did video games have on his view of the world? We may never know. But such events call us to pay attention to the nature of our entertainments.

Learning to Read the Bible Again

A cartoon in the New Yorker shows a man making inquiry at the information counter of a large bookstore. The clerk, tapping on his keyboard and peering intently into the computer screen, and peering intently into the computer screen, replies, "The Bible? . . . That would be under self-help."

As the cartoon suggests, in postmodern culture the Bible has no definite place, and citizens in a pluralistic, secular culture have trouble knowing what to make of it. If they pay any attention to it at all, they treat it as a consumer product, one more therapeutic option for rootless selves engaged in an endless quest of self-invention and self-improvement. Not surprisingly, this approach does not yield a very satisfactory reading of the Bible, for the Bible is not, in fact, about "self-help"; it is about God’s action to rescue a lost and broken world.

If we discount the story of God’s gracious action, what remains of the Bible is decidedly nontherapeutic. We are left with a curious pastiche of ancient cultural constructions that might or might not be edifying for us, in the same way that the religious myths of any other ancient culture might or might not prove interesting or useful. Indeed, some postmodern readers have come to perceive the cultural alienness of the Bible and find it dangerous and oppressive.

The difficulty of interpreting the Bible is felt not only in secular culture but also in the church at the beginning of the 21st century. Is the Bible authoritative for the faith and practice of the church? If so, in what way? What practices of reading offer the most appropriate approach to understanding the Bible? How does historical criticism illumine or obscure scripture’s message? How are premodern Christian readings to be brought into engagement with historical methodologies, as well as feminist, liberationist and postmodernist readings? The church’s lack of clarity about these issues has hindered its witness and mission, so that it fails to speak with wisdom, imagination and courage to the challenges of our time. Even where the Bible’s authority is acknowledged in principle, many churches seem to have lost the art of reading it attentively and imaginatively.

In order to address these problems, the Center of Theological Inquiry in Princeton, New Jersey, convened a group of 15 scholars and pastors who met periodically over a period of four years (1998-2002) under the collective name "The Scripture Project." The group’s individual members contributed expertise in the fields of Old Testament, New Testament, systematic and historical theology and parish ministry.

Our aim was to overcome the fragmentation of the theological disciplines by reading scripture together. As one member of the group remarked, at one time the church’s great interpreters of scripture (such as Origen, Augustine, Aquinas, Calvin and Luther) did not think of themselves narrowly as specialists in Old or New Testament or in theology or church history; for them, interpretation of the Bible was a seamlessly integrated theological activity that spoke directly to the needs of the church. Thus what we were doing, he joked, was assembling 15 specialists to function corporately as a "complete theologian."

The joke captured something of the truth, and it became for us a working description of the ideal we were pursuing. In seeking to explore, exemplify and nurture habits of reading scripture theologically, we hoped to recover and extend the church’s rich heritage of biblical interpretation in a dramatically changed cultural environment.

In the course of our consultation, the conviction grew among us that reading scripture is an art -- a creative discipline that requires engagement and imagination, in contrast to the Enlightenment’s ideal of detached objectivity. In our practices of reading the Bible, we are (or should be) something like artists. This conviction entails some bad news and some good news.

The bad news is that, like every other true art, reading scripture is a difficult thing to do well. Strangely, we do not often mention this difficulty in church, in sermons or in teaching. Our attitude seems to be that interpreting scripture is a cut-and-dried kind of thing. In most liberal churches, the issue hardly seems worth discussing. Even in more Bible-oriented churches, there is little acknowledgment of the fact that making good sense of the Bible and applying that sense wisely to our lives is hard to do. The disciplines of attentiveness to the word do not come easily to us, accustomed as we are to user-friendly interfaces and instant gratification. (It is worth noting that recognition of the difficulty of interpretation is one of the huge differences between Jews and modern Christians; Jews have always revered the reading of scripture as the greatest and most difficult of all art forms.)

But the good news in recognizing scriptural interpretation as an art is that reading scripture, like other forms of art, has the potential for creating something beautiful. Interpretations of scripture are not just right or wrong, although at times such categories are useful and necessary. A more adequate way of judging our readings might be the way we judge works of art -- according to the standards of beauty. To what extent do our readings reveal the intricacy, the wondrous quality of what the biblical writers call ma’asei Adonai, "the works of the LORD"? To what extent do they draw us toward something, a way of being that is -- to use Paul’s language -- more "lovely," more "gracious," more "excellent," "noble," "worthy of praise" (Phil. 4:8)?

Our readings will produce such beauty precisely to the extent that they respond faithfully to the antecedent imaginative power of God, to which the Bible bears witness. We normally say that God relates to us through God’s power of love, of compassion and so on -- and of course that is true. But if imagination is the capacity to envision the existence of something that does not yet exist -- the clearest instance of this being the artistic imagination -- then it makes sense to speak also of the divine imagination.

The creation of the world, the covenant between the Creator of heaven and earth and an old man named Abraham, the formation of a nation of priests out of a band of runaway slaves, the incarnation of the Godhead in human flesh, the destruction of death’s finality the inclusion of the gentiles in God’s covenant with Israel -- all these and more are remarkably imaginative acts on God’s part, acts through which God envisions and effects something totally new, totally unimaginable before it was brought into being. If we are faithful readers of the stories of these imaginative acts, we will find our own imaginations expanded and transformed. Thus scripture claims us and gradually forms us into a new people.

If reading scripture is an art, there follows one more conclusion: we learn the practice of an art through apprenticeship to those who have become masters. We come to read scripture imaginatively and well only by learning from those who have gone before us and performed, in their lives of embodied faithfulness, beautiful interpretations of scripture. For that reason, we in the Scripture Project immersed ourselves in the history of biblical interpretation, paying special attention to the patterns and practices of reading that have characterized the lives of the saints -- those whom the church has recognized as the most astute and faithful exemplars of scripture’s meaning.

As our consultation progressed, the members of the project found growing agreement on a set of core affirmations about the interpretation of scripture. The group as a whole formulated these affirmations in the form of Nine Theses. These theses do not represent a novel hermeneutical proposal; rather, they articulate a way of approaching the Bible that has historically characterized catholic Christianity. Nonetheless, we believe that the theses serve as an urgently needed reminder in our time, and that they can help the church to read scripture deeply and as a source of guidance for Christian life.

Yet the careful reading of scripture always generates new questions and often yields a range of understandings rather than a single clear "answer. Therefore, each affirmation is conjoined with some of the questions that accompanied it in the Scripture Project’s discussions. The questions are as important as the theses; it is our conviction that both together may encourage the emergence of fresh and faithful insights when we read scripture as a church. In the spirit of seeking to hear the word of God together, we offer these theses and questions to the wider community of faith as a basis for further conversation, debate and reflection about the art of interpreting scripture:

Nine theses on interpreting scripture

1. Scripture truthfully tells the story of God’s action of creating, judging and saving the world.

God is the primary agent revealed in the biblical narrative. The triune God whom Christians worship is the God of Israel who called a people out of bondage, gave them the Torah, and raised Jesus of Nazareth from the dead. This same God is still at work in the world today. God is not a projection or construct of human religious aspiration. Readers who interpret the biblical story reductively as a symbolic figuration of the human psyche, or merely as a vehicle for codifying social and political power, miss its central message. Scripture discloses the word of God, a word that calls into existence things that do not exist, judges our presuppositions and projects, and pours out grace beyond our imagining.

For ongoing discussion: How is the biblical story of God’s action related to God’s continuing work in the contemporary world? How is the affirmation that God is at work in the world to be related to widespread evil and human suffering?

2. Scripture is rightly understood in light of the church’s rule of faith as a coherent dramatic narrative.

Though the Bible contains the voices of many different witnesses, the canon of scripture finds its unity in the overarching story of the work of the triune God. While the Bible contains many tensions, digressions and subplots, the biblical texts cohere because the one God acts in them and speaks through them: God is the author of scripture’s unity for the sake of the church’s faithful proclamation and action.

How are nonnarrative portions of scripture to be understood in light of the claim that scripture is a coherent dramatic narrative? How do we understand the character of the Bible’s unity in and through its polyphony? The character of God’s speech through scripture? Of God’s authorship? How do we understand particular texts that seem theologically or morally problematic -- does God speak through all the texts of scripture?

3. Faithful interpretation of scripture requires an engagement with the entire narrative: the New Testament cannot be rightly understood apart from the Old, nor can the Old be rightly understood apart from the New.

The Bible must be read "back to front" -- that is, understanding the plot of the whole drama in light of its climax in the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. This suggests that figural reading is to be preferred over messianic proof-texting as a way of showing how the Old Testament opens toward the New. Yet the Bible must also be read "front to back" -- that is, understanding the climax of the drama, God’s revelation in Christ, in light of the long history of God’s self-revelation to Israel. Against the increasingly common contention that Christians should interpret "the Hebrew Bible" only in categories that were historically available to Israel at the time of the composition of the biblical writings, we affirm that a respectful rereading of the Old Testament in light of the New discloses figurations of the truth about the one God who acts and speaks in both, figurations whose full dimensions can be grasped only in light of the cross and resurrection. At the same time, against the assumption that Jesus can be understood exclusively in light of Christian theology’s later confessional traditions, we affirm that our interpretation of Jesus must return repeatedly to the Old Testament to situate him in direct continuity with Israel’s hopes and Israel’s understanding of God.

How is ‘figuration" related to traditional understandings of allegory and typology? How do we honor claims about the centrality of Christ while honoring the abiding significance of Israel? How do we deal with New Testament texts that appear to say that Israel has been rejected by God and superseded by the church?

4. Texts of scripture do not have a single meaning limited to the intent of the original author. In accord with Jewish and Christian traditions, we affirm that scripture has multiple complex senses given by God, the author of the whole drama.

The authors and editors of the canonical texts repeatedly gave new contexts and senses to earlier traditions, thereby initiating the process of discerning multiple senses within the text. The medieval "fourfold sense" is a helpful reminder of scripture’s multivalence. The church’s traditions of biblical interpretation offer models and guidance about how the fuller sense of scripture should be understood. This does not entail a rejection of historical investigation of biblical texts. Indeed, historical investigations have ongoing importance in helping us to understand scripture’s literal sense and in stimulating the church to undertake new imaginative readings of the texts.

How, then, do we learn from modern historical interpretations of scripture while also drawing on the church’s premodern traditions of biblical interpretation? Should either modern or premodern traditions be privileged in the church’s reading of biblical texts? What criteria ought to be employed to provide some determinacy to the interpretation of particular texts?

5. The four canonical Gospels narrate the truth about Jesus.

The Gospels, read within the matrix of scripture from Genesis to Revelation, convey the truth about the identity of Jesus more faithfully than speculative reconstructions produced by modernist historical methods. The canonical narratives are normative for the church’s proclamation and practice.

How are the four portraits of Jesus related to one another? To what extent are historical investigations necessary or helpful in understanding Jesus? How is the entirety of scripture necessary to an accurate portrayal of Jesus? To what extent is a right understanding of the whole of scripture necessary to an appropriate understanding of the identity of Jesus?

6. Faithful interpretation of scripture invites and presupposes participation in the community brought into being by God’s redemptive action -- the church.

Scriptural interpretation is properly an ecclesial activity whose goal is to participate in the reality of which the text speaks by bending the knee to worship the God revealed in Jesus Christ. Through scripture the church receives the good news of the inbreaking kingdom of God and, in turn, proclaims the message of reconciliation. Scripture is like a musical score that must be played or sung in order to be understood; therefore, the church interprets scripture by forming communities of prayer, service and faithful witness. The Psalms, for example, are "scores" awaiting performance by the community of faith. They school us in prayer and form in us the capacities for praise, penitence, reflection, patient endurance and resistance to evil.

What does "participation in the community" entail? Does it require particular creedal or sacramental understanding? At what point does a community lose its status as an identifiably Christian community? How does the disunity of the church affect the interpretation of scripture?

7. The saints of the church provide guidance in how to interpret and perform scripture.

From the earliest communities of the church, through whose scriptural interpretation we received the Christian Bible, to the present communities of biblical interpreters, generations of Christians have received this book as a gift from God and sought to order their lives according to the witness of scripture. This chain of interpreters, the communion of the saints, includes not only those officially designated as saints by the churches but also the great cloud of witnesses acknowledged by believers in diverse times and places, including many of the church’s loyal critics. This communion informs our reading of scripture. We learn from the saints the centrality of interpretive virtues for shaping wise readers. Prominent among these virtues are receptivity, humility, truthfulness, courage, charity. humor and imagination. Guidance in the interpretation of scripture maybe found not only in the writings of the saints but also in the exemplary patterns of their lives. True authority is grounded in holiness; faithful interpretation of scripture requires its faithful performance.

How much of a gap can be endured between one’s right interpretation of scripture and one’s failure in performance (e.g., churches that practice racial exclusion or unjust divisions between rich and poor)? How do we understand what goes wrong when the Bible is used as an instrument of oppression and division?

8. Christians need to read the Bible in dialogue with diverse others outside the church.

There is a special need for Christians to read scripture in respectful conversation with Jews who also serve the one God and read the same texts that we call the Old Testament within a different hermeneutical framework. There are also diverse others to whom we need to listen and from whom we need to learn. This includes critics who charge us with ideological captivity rather than fidelity to God.

How do we pursue the tasks of learning (again) to read scripture faithfully in the church while also being in dialogue with those outside? How should we understand and engage people who find themselves, in some sense, simultaneously inside and outside a fragmented church?

9. We live in the tension between the "already" and the "not yet" of the kingdom of God; consequently, scripture calls the church to ongoing discernment, to continually fresh re-readings of the text in light of the Holy Spirit’s ongoing work in the world.

Because the narrative of scripture is open to a future that God will give, and because our vision is limited by creaturely finitude and distorted by sinfulness, we lack the perspective of the finished drama as we seek to live faithfully in the present. Yet we trust that the story is moving to a final consummation in which God will overcome death and wipe away every tear from our eyes. Knowing that we do not see ourselves and our world from God’s point of view, we are grateful for the gifts of scripture and community and for the possibilities of mutual correction in love that they offer. We are also grateful for scripture’s promise that the Spirit of God will lead us into truth, which gives us hope that our speech and practice might yet be a faithful witness to the righteous and merciful God who is made known to us in Jesus Christ.

If the story has not yet reached its conclusion, does this have implications for understanding the relationship between scripture’s identification of God and the claims made by other religious traditions? How are our fresh rereadings to be distinguished from interpretations of scripture that purport to separate the "kernel" of the gospel from the "husk" of cultural accretions? To what standards of accountability are we called in order to keep our rereadings faithful to the God of Jesus Christ?

The complex implications of these theses are more fully developed in the collection of essays that grew out of the Scripture Project: The Art of Reading Scripture (published last year by Eerdmans). This volume proposes a quiet revolution in the way the Bible is typically taught in theological seminaries. At the same time, it also calls pastors and teachers in the churches to rethink their practices of using the Bible.

Yet we do not understand the Scripture Project as a solitary voice in the wilderness; in recent years a number of other scholars and theologians have called for a recovery of an unapologetically theological approach to biblical interpretation.

It is our hope that the Nine Theses might stimulate and strengthen a gathering new consensus about the need for the church to reclaim its own heritage of biblical interpretation -- and with that, its conviction that the Old and New Testaments of the Christian Bible tell the true story of God’s gracious action to redeem the world. Because that story is inexhaustible, each generation in the church is called anew to practice the demanding and yet delightful art of reading scripture.

Good Work: Learning About Ministry from Wendell Berry

Recently I celebrated 15 years as pastor of a congregation in East Texas of under 200 members with about half of them present for Sunday worship. At denominational meetings and around town I’m asked, "When are you going to a bigger church? Why do you stay?" Sometimes I give along, rambling explanation, but often I respond with, "Because I read too much Wendell Berry"

I’ve been reading Berry since ‘80 or ‘81. I discovered his essays while serving a rural congregation. I was looking for any insight I could get into the life of my congregants. At the same time, I was beginning to explore the issues of hunger, poverty, agriculture and economics. Somewhere I found a footnote mentioning Wendell Berry. One book led me to another; it wasn’t long before I was reading everything I could find of Berry’s.

I was in good company. As veteran pastor Eugene Peterson writes, "Wendell Berry is a writer from whom I have learned much of my pastoral theology. Berry is a farmer in Kentucky. On this farm, besides plowing fields, planting crops, and working horses, he writes novels and poems and essays. The importance of place is a recurrent theme -- place embraced and loved, understood and honored. Whenever Berry writes the word ‘farm,’ I substitute ‘parish’: the sentence works for me every time" (Under the Unpredictable Plant).

Yes, Berry is a farmer and not a pastor. How are we to read him as a pastoral theologian when he has an ambiguous connection with the church? Berry is technically a member of New Castle Baptist Church, where he was baptized; he attends worship with his wife, Tanya, at Port Royal Baptist Church. He remembers going to church as a boy with his grandfather, and now his own grandchildren attend with him. But while Tanya is a church deacon and a board member at the new Kentucky Baptist Seminary in Lexington, Berry’s relationship to the church may be more like that of his fictional character Jayber Crow, who attends church but sits in the back pew.

Berry’s much beloved Sabbath poems were written about Sundays when he may be walking through his fields, pastures and woods instead of going to church. In his fiction, the church exists on the periphery of the community’s fellowship, and exhibits what philosopher Norman Wirzba calls a "disincarnate form of Christianity," a kind of gnosticism, isolated and disconnected from where the people live their lives during the week. Many of us are recovering gnostics and have served in those "disincarnate" churches.

I engage Berry as a guide to good pastoral ministry by starting where he starts: with his place. "Place" is a beginning from which to counter the disincarnate forms of the faith that disturb Berry and go against the grain of biblical faith.

Berry’s place is Port Royal, Henry County, Kentucky, where his family has lived and farmed since before the Civil War. He was a boy in the decade preceding World War II, and saw the end of farming that used horses and mules instead of tractors. After World War II, everything rapidly moved toward mechanization and an urban, industrial economy. Berry says, "I began my life as the old times and the last of the old-time people were dying out" (Wendell Berry and the Agrarian Tradition, by Kimberly Smith). But his father and grandfather taught him how to farm with horses and mules, and he continues the practice to this day.

After receiving his bachelor’s and master’s degrees in English from the University of Kentucky, he married Tanya and studied creative writing at Stanford University with Wallace Stegner. An aspiring writer, he traveled for a year in Europe, after which he wrote and taught in New York. Then he decided to move back to Kentucky. Most of his friends and colleagues thought he was crazy. He bought a small, marginal farm and reclaimed it, took care of it, and farmed it using traditional methods.

In the more than 40 years since that move, Berry has written over 40 books of fiction, poetry, essays and biography. His first novel, Nathan Coulter (1960), was the beginning of a series set in and around his fictional Port William, Kentucky. The latest in the set is Hannah Coulter.

Berry’s character Jayber Crow says, "To feel at home in a place, you have to have some prospect of staying there. Berry committed to staying on the farm. Somewhere along the way I decided that I needed to do the same -- commit to a particular congregation of people over the long haul. I want to pastor like Berry farms.

We live in what Berry calls the culture of "the one-night stand," and clergy are often little different. I’m among the first to say that God sometimes calls us to move to another congregation and that sometimes, by circumstances beyond our control (economic pressures or denominational policies), we have to move. Many of us will admit that occasionally we move because we’re climbing the denominational success ladder. But faithful staying and committing in the world of "one-night stands" is a witness to the gospel of "the Word that was made flesh and dwelt among us. Besides all that, good ministry takes awhile.

Years ago Berry wrote, "During the last 17 years . . . I have been working at the restoration of a once exhausted hillside. Its scars are now healed over, though still visible, and this year it has provided abundant pasture, more than in any year since we have owned it. But to make it as good as it is now has taken 17 years. If I had been a millionaire or if my family had been starving, it would still have taken 17 years. It can be better than it is now, but that will take longer. For it to live fully in its own responsibility, as it did before bad use ran it down, may take hundreds of years."

We all have church members whose lives are deeply scarred by bitterness, anger, hurt, abuse, disease and death. Add to that the deep scarring caused by war, consumer capitalism, nationalism and racism. In short, scarred by sin. For the gospel of Jesus Christ to grow and heal such worn-out, eroded lives takes patient, long-suffering, detailed work. It takes time to cultivate the habits of peacemaking, forgiveness, reconciliation and love where previously violence, mistrust and fear were the norms. It takes time to grow Christians.

And we need more. We alsoneed "correct discipline" along with "enough time" to properly farm and to properly pastor. "Propriety" is an important word to Berry. "Its value is in its reference to the fact that we are not alone. The idea of propriety makes an issue of the fittingness of our conduct to our place or circumstances, even to our hopes. . . . We are being measured, in other words, by a standard that we did not make and cannot destroy" (Life is a Miracle). Proper work is the practice of submitting our lives to this call and to these people in this place. It includes the pastoral practices of preaching and teaching and leading the liturgy, but also the detailed, painstaking, mundane care of nurturing the people and paying attention to God working in them. Proper work is work that fits with the purpose of God in this particular place.

Every pastor-to-be should ponder this passage, in which Berry describes a farmer who is considering the purchase of a piece of land (he sounds like a pastor looking over a new church assignment or call):

When one buys the farm and moves there to live, something different begins. Thoughts begin to be translated into acts. . . . It invariably turns out, I think, that one’s first vision of one’s place was to some extent an imposition on it. But if one’s sight is clear and one stays on and works well, one’s love gradually responds to the place as it really is, and one’s visions gradually image possibilities that are really in it.. . . Two human possibilities of the highest order thus come within reach: what one wants can become the same as what one has, and one’s knowledge can cause respect for what one knows.

The good worker will not suppose that good work can be made properly answerable to haste, urgency, or even emergency. . . , Seen in this way, questions about farming become inseparable from questions about propriety of scale. A farm can be too big for a farmer to husband properly or pay proper attention to. Distraction is inimical to correct discipline, and enough time is beyond reach of anyone who has too much to do. But we must go farther and see that propriety of scale is invariably associated with propriety of another kind: an understanding and acceptance of the human place in the order of Creation -- a proper humility... . It is the properly humbled mind in its proper place that sees truly, because -- to give only one reason -- it sees details. (Standing by Words)

Instead of designing a blueprint of how the farm ought to be and then reworking the farm to fit the design, Berry pays attention to the particularities of the land itself and listens to others who might have wisdom about what has worked well on this place and what has not. He works patiently and humbly and lovingly. There is a kind of "hermeneutics of farming" similar to John Howard Yoder’s "hermeneutics of peoplehood" in which one patiently and humbly listens to the sense of the congregation and the Bible and the Spirit in a particular context. For Yoder, the Bible has no isolated meaning "apart from the people reading it and the questions that they need to answer."

To do proper work we must acknowledge that some of what we bring to a new ministry with a congregation is an imposition upon it. It can be a kind of violence. It might be the violence of forcing a particular biblical interpretation on a congregation, or a church marketing strategy that we picked up in seminary, or maybe an issue of social justice for which we are particularly impassioned. Sometimes we are reacting to our previous congregation as we serve our present one, or bring our "ideal" church vision and impose it on a new parish.

In my first congregation I decided within the first few weeks that I needed to confront racism. I went at it with a hard-charging "thus sayeth the Lord" intensity. But after lots of conflict and threats and near-brawls with a few people and good counsel from some wise ones, I began to pay attention to my congregation and to what God was saying through them as well as to them.

I started learning how to do a hermeneutics of people-hood, sitting on front porches and working gardens with the people and drinking iced tea afterwards while listening to their stories, including their stories of race and fear. As a result, my preaching and teaching changed. I still talked about race, but how I talked about it was different. My sermons began to grow out of the conversation between the people and the Bible and the place where they lived. I learned to listen throughout the week in order to speak for 20 minutes on Sunday morning.

The Baptist prophet Carlyle Marney said that one time he had a couple of preacher-boys in his study telling him all of the plans they had for ministry in their first congregations. "These fellows were going to bring in the kingdom with bulldozers," Marney said.

The kingdom of God is not brought in with bulldozers. It cannot be imposed and still be the kingdom of God. The means God uses to bring about his reign must fit with the purpose of God’s reign of justice, peace, harmony and reconciled relationship with God, with humanity and with all of creation. It cannot be coerced with bulldozers, tanks or guns or with prayers ordered by the state, laws passed by Congress or manipulations engineered by Madison Avenue. God calls us to do the work of ministry that fits with the Prince of Peace, the Suffering Servant, Jesus.

Unlike the work of bulldozers, which Berry calls "a powerful generalizer" that works against the impulse "to take care of things, to pay attention to the details," "good work is always modestly scaled, for it cannot ignore either the nature of individual places or the differences between places, and it always involves a sort of religious humility, for not everything is known. Good work can only be defined in particularity, for it must be defined a little differently for every one of the places on earth."

Berry’s essays are peppered with biblical references and quotes, and his stories are drenched in the Bible. His knowledge of scripture, along with the tradition of Christian faith through literature, makes his work an invaluable preaching resource. "Making It Home" is a short story about a "lost" son who has been away at war and journeys home to his family and farm. His father meets him out in the middle of a plowed field and turns to the little brother. "Honey, run yonder to the house. Tell your granny to set on another plate. For we have our own that was gone and has come again."

"Watch with Me" is an extended meditation on a community watching out for a "lost" member who has had a "spell" come over him. They watch him and try to keep him safe until he is himself again. "Thicker Than Liquor" is about a nephew seeking the one lost, drunk uncle and bringing him home. In "Are You All Right?" neighbors check on a household that is cut off from everyone else due to rising flood waters. And the short novel Remembering, with allusions to Milton and Dante, tells of a young farmer who has been "dismembered" by a farm machinery accident and a loss of a sense of self, only to be "re-membered" back into family and farm and community. For Berry, the good shepherd pays attention to the details of even one lost sheep and goes looking for it until he finds it.

A veteran pastor told me "that there never has been a pastor fired for visiting too much." I spend an enormous amount of time paying attention to the details of members’ lives. In the afternoons I am usually out visiting with folks, for I have found that most of the good, deep-down work of cultivating disciples happens where they live and work and spend their time, and much less often in my study and in the crisis times. It is during the crisis times that people reap from what was planted and nurtured during their day-to-day living.

It is a rare day that only one sheep is missing or in trouble. Most of the time there are eight or ten sheep missing or sick, on top of the others I’m trying to nourish and teach and encourage. Some sheep find ways to get lost over and over again. All of us who are decent shepherds know that not only do we need some help but good New Testament ecclesiology says that it is the whole flock that takes care of one another.

In Berry’s stories it is the community -- those who live and work and share lives -- that looks out one for one another. How did they get like that? From whom did they learn to share a common life, including taking care of one another in crisis? Berry says they learned it from a community-across-time tradition. Extended families passed it along to mothers and fathers who passed it along to their children. "Human continuity is virtually synonymous with good farming and good farming must outlast the life of any good farmer. For it to do this . . . we must have community" (Standing by Words).

But communities of people who share life in this way are rare, and the sense of tradition is practically extinct. Here is where we have to move beyond Berry. In his stories the church exists on the edge of the common life of the people as only a fading, pale reflection of the larger community. We need churches that are instead the very ground of community, that define and build and embody a kind of common life that can move beyond the walls of the church and demonstrate common living in the wider society. In other words, we are to do the proper work of helping congregations know that we are the body of Christ. In Christ, we are re-membered every Sunday in worship as the body and our liturgy, our work, extends beyond Sunday through the rest of the week. At the same time, our common life during the week helps keep our Sunday work from becoming gnostic.

Berry provides images and stories for congregations that have no concept of what this common life looks like. For example, his characters work together and eat together. How can we encourage this in our people? I want my parishioners to eat together as often as possible. On most any weeknight, adults and families are on their way home from work, going by the grocery store to pick up something quick for supper or stopping at a drive-through for the evening meal. Each and every one of them goes to their individual home for supper even though many drive by the church on their way.

Our congregation decided to encourage these people to come to the church to share their mealtime. Our church kitchen is available, and all they have to do is coordinate with one another about what time they’ll gather. Then they eat together for about an hour, clean up and head out the door.

I’m also on the lookout for ways that the people of the congregation can share work, beyond the good work of projects like Habitat for Humanity. Most of them do yard and garden work, so we’ve decided that those who own lawnmowers and garden tillers will share them with those who need them. We also share kids’ clothes and child care. If someone is visiting a shut-in, he or she encourages others to go along, including young people who can learn how to visit and how to pray with others. We urge veteran Christians to link up with young people and children. Even a church finance committee meeting is a place for youth to learn -- not only about money matters, but also about how mature Christian people deal with such matters,

My work as pastor is to nourish and encourage the common life in my congregation. It’s hard, Sometimes tedious work, and often overlooked by others. Yet it is also good and satisfying work; there can be pleasure in it. I work hard but am learning to recognize my limits and trust God for the rest. I spend more time working in the yard, more time with my daughters and my wife, and more time on my front porch. Berry concludes "The Amish Economy" with: "But now, in summer dusk, a man / Whose hair and beard curl like spring ferns / Sits under the yard trees, at rest, / His smallest daughter on his lap. / This is because he rose at dawn, / Cared for his own, helped his neighbors, / Worked much, spent little, kept his peace." That is the kind of pastor I want to be.

Berry tells of a cold December day when his five-year-old granddaughter, Katie, spent the day with him while he hauled a wagon load of dirt for the barn floor, unloaded it, smoothed it over and wetted it down. For the first time, Katie drove the team and was proud of herself, and Berry says that he was proud of her and told her so. "By the time we started back up the creek road the sun had gone over the hill and the air had turned bitter. Katie sat close to me in the wagon, and we did not say anything for a long time. I did not say anything because I was afraid that Katie was not saying anything because she was cold and tired and miserable and perhaps homesick; it was impossible to hurry much, and I was unsure how I would comfort her.

"But then, after a while, she said, ‘Wendell, isn’t it fun?"’ May our work, at least from time to time, be full of such satisfaction.

Company of Friends

Ray was tired, worn down to the nub. It was the year he was turning 60, celebrating the 40th anniversary of his ordination and marking 15 years as pastor of his congregation. Ray knew that every pastor goes through dry periods. What shook his foundations was suddenly coming face-to-face with his mortality, or at least the mortality of his ministry. As he put it, "I realize that I’m not going to see the kingdom come during my ministry." He continued, "You spend your entire ministry thinking, planning and praying with the future in mind. ‘This is what we’ll do next year,’ and ‘Someday that will come to pass.’ Suddenly, I know it’s not going to happen. There is no tomorrow. This is it."

Six of us pastors had been gathering twice a year for over five years to laugh, gripe, blow off steam, and enjoy a day or two away from clergy life. But this was the first time that one of us had shown up with a major personal crisis. To make matters worse, Ray was the elder member of our group, the veteran who always knew what to tell the rest of us. If Ray was in crisis, good old solid Ray, what about us younger and less-experienced pastors? Ray’s crisis scared all of us -- all of us, that is, except Nathan.

Nathan had been a pastor long enough to have a few campaign ribbons and battle scars of his own. We did not know it then, but he too had been to the pastoral abyss and returned limping but alive. He was the most theologically liberal among us and the most irreverent. I thought of him as sort of a theological Rod McKuen until, before our eyes, Rod McKuen turned into Virgil leading Dante through the Inferno.

For a day and a half, while the rest of us were praying with Ray and offering words of support, Nathan questioned, wrestled, confronted and cried with him. We stood around the edges while these two veterans "went at it" about vocation, mortality, pastoral ministry and what it takes to stay with it over 40 years, especially when it is not turning out the way you had always thought it would.

After 36 hard hours, Ray emerged, blinking in the light, and returned to his pastorate. Six years later he continues to serve in what have been the most fruitful, thriving and fulfilling years his congregation has seen in a generation. Nathan walked out after the gathering clad in shorts, flip-flops and Hawaiian shirt. The rest of us walked out barefooted; we had been on holy ground.

It was then that we realized that the semiannual overnight gripe and bull session was not enough. We needed each other more than we had realized, and we needed more time. We decided to try a retreat of three or four days. And we called ourselves "the Neighborhood," named for Will Campbell’s company of friends in The Glad River.

Twelve years ago, we had needed some time away. As six pastors from the handful of progressive Baptist churches in Texas, we knew each other enough to know that we wouldn’t get into a fight over theology. Our congregants were good folks who believed in "getting it done." Since there were not many progressive Baptists in the state, they thought they could make up for small size by working harder. Churches with this kind of mind-set tend to produce or call pastors with the same mind-set, so we each lived in an endless cycle of running here and there and being constantly busy. Finding each other at "Baptist battles," we would talk about how badly we needed some sabbath time and how good it would be to take some of that time together. One of us knew of a small cabin available, so out came the calendars, and we scheduled the first date.

Twice a year for six years, I’d leave home early on a Thursday morning and drive four and a half hours to Austin to meet the others. We’d shop for frozen pizza, Oreos, Diet Cokes, coffee, beer and cigars, then drive to the cabin and begin 12 hours of rapid-fire conversation. Eventually we’d drop onto air mattresses, get up early the next morning and jump back into the car for the drive home. We enjoyed being together, but it was no sabbath. I came back more exhausted than when I left.

Because the frantic pace of our gathering was an extension of frantic lives, we didn’t realize that anything was wrong. When you’re busy every day, your habit is to be busy. Not to be busy feels so abnormal that you keep filling up the time in order to never stop being busy. Learning to slow down took time and commitment

First, we found new places to meet. Two of us had relatives who owned farm or ranch land with houses available for a couple of weeks each year (no more sleeping on the floor). The kitchens were well furnished, so we could have healthy meals, and each of the houses had porches where we could sit and talk.

Before the first retreat, we called and e-mailed each other to make sure each of us would follow through. None of us had ever taken this much time away from our congregations except for family vacations or perhaps official continuing education events. To take four days twice a year to do nothing but be together was unheard of, but if any of us backed out because we were "too busy," the whole thing would come tumbling down.

We had to come to terms with leaving our congregations. Could we trust God and trust God’s people to get along without us? Would they even let us go? After all, we wouldn’t return with Continuing Education Units to show for our time away. When I queried our deacons, their response surprised me. They reminded me that I was always quoting the Puritan phrase "Good sabbaths make good Christians." I should put my time where my mouth was. "Go to the Neighborhood. We’re the deacons. We’ll handle the pastoral care." So I did.

Nowadays we arrive at the farmhouse late on a Tuesday afternoon and eat supper in a small town café nearby. Our first day or two together still has a frantic edge to it, and it takes a couple of days to detoxify from busy-ness. But by the end of the second day we begin to slowdown, and by the third day we’re finding a sabbath rhythm of morning prayers and coffee followed by whatever we want to do or not do.

Often Nathan can be found in a hammock taking a nap while Ray is smoking his pipe on the porch and Larry is sifting his way through a stack of good books. A layperson at Charlie’s church taught him how to smoke a good brisket, so Charlie puts the brisket on in the morning for us to enjoy for supper (frozen pizza is out). Joe, who can’t sit still, might chop wood for the smoker while I watch a herd of white-faced Hereford cows graze amidst live oak and mesquite trees and relish the fact that I don’t have to organize them to accomplish a task.

It doesn’t take a genius to watch a herd of cows and remember Jesus’ words: "Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. . . . And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life?" And it doesn’t take a saint to call the office and hear, "Everything’s fine," then go for a leisurely walk across a pasture and think, "But if God so clothes the grass of the field . . . will he not much more clothe you? . . . . Therefore do not worry." After a while we begin to get the message: "Perhaps I need to be a different kind of pastor." "Maybe I do need to trust God and God’s people." And, "Why haven’t I learned this before?"

After a couple of days we get past the frenetic banter and catching-up and move on to conversations that probe beneath the surface of our lives. For professional handlers-of-the-holy, talking about God as amateurs is not easy, and our crises and challenges are not always as apparent as Ray’s was. It took a while for one of us to talk about the difficulty he was having with his teenage stepson. One of us confessed that his marriage was at risk. We talked and prayed with him and, when we got home, we checked on him to see if he was in counseling with his wife. We listen to one another’s expressions of exhaustion, frustration and loneliness, and have learned to trust one another enough to talk about our ambition and sense of rivalry with other clergy, even our sense of rivalry with one another.

Our deeper conversations remind us that we are different kinds of pastors with different perspectives and approaches to our common vocation. Charlie preaches to 2,000 people every Sunday morning while I preach to 90. He has a strong CEO streak, while I approach the call like a farmer. We have a lot to learn from one another. I am learning that not all big-steeple pastors are ambitious religious capitalists; he is learning that small congregation pastors are not necessarily lazy underachievers. He’s no Enron executive; I’m no Snuffy Smith.

Joe and Nathan also approach pastoral life differently. Nathan, in his Hawaiian shirt, is laid-back and casual, while Joe’s easygoing smile masks intensity. And we all learn from Ray and Nathan, who have been pastors longer than the rest of us.

My congregation knows that the Neighborhood is one of the most important events on my calendar. When we do annual planning someone always asks, "Now when are your Neighborhood gatherings?" The church plans around them on my behalf -- they know that I come back refreshed and full of new ideas, and that I have changed over 12 years. They trace some of that change to time spent with the Neighborhood.

I have learned, for example, that good sabbaths not only make good Christians; they make good pastors and good churches too. Practicing sabbath has allowed me to loosen my grip on running the church. It’s not my church anyway. It’s God’s church, and God and God’s people are perfectly capable of taking care of business. I am not called to attend every committee meeting or to visit every single person in crisis. The people of God, the body of Christ, minister to the members. As I have learned to back off, the congregation has stepped forward. And when I speak about the need for sabbath, I speak with an authority I once did not have. I practice more of what I preach, and the congregation listens.

In his essay "Health Is Membership," Wendell Berry says, "To be healthy is literally to be whole. . . . Our sense of wholeness is not just the completeness in ourselves but also is the sense of belonging to others and to our place. . . . I believe that the community -- in the fullest sense: a place and all its creatures -- is the smallest unit of health and that to speak of the health of an isolated individual is a contradiction in terms."

Those of us in the Neighborhood hear Berry’s words differently now than we did 12 years ago. Our health is connected with one another, and we sense that we are more ourselves when we are together than when we are separate. Biblically, the concepts of salvation and shalom describe a condition of community wholeness, in which each individual is in good health only when he or she is an integrated member of God’s people.

Through sabbath and holy friendships, God’s salvation now has a concreteness that previously was abstract for us. Sabbath, friendship and salvation are connected. We are like the paralyzed man carried by his four friends who lowered him through the roof to bring him to Jesus. Mark records (the italics are mine): "When Jesus saw their faith, he said to the paralytic, ‘Your sins are forgiven."’

From Criticism to Mutual Transformation? The Dialogue Between Process and Evangelical Theologies

 

I. Background of the Dialogue between Process Thinkers and Evangelicals

The publication of Pinnock’s Theological Crossfire (1990) signaled a significant change in the tenor of evangelical responses to process thought. In effect, it initiated a third phase of the process/evangelical dialogue. Cobb and Pinnock’s Searching for An Adequate God (2000) and Stone and Oord’s Thy Nature and Thy Name is Love (2001) build upon that change to further the dialogue between process thought and evangelical theology.

The first phase of dialogue was friendly. Throughout the early 1900s, traditional Christian thinkers such as Lionel Thornton,1 J. Scott Lidgett, and Charles H. Malik responded appreciatively to Whitehead’s newly published writings by making careful use of Whitehead’s concepts in their theological writings. However, the situation rapidly changed. Process theologians leveled trenchant criticisms at the traditional Christian understanding of God as unaffected by the world. Traditional Christian theologians responded by sharply critiquing process theology. Evangelical theologians such as Royce Gruenler and Ronald Nash challenged the claim of process theology even to be "Christian" theology

Even during this second phase of public conflict, informal contacts took place. Individual process thinkers such as John B. Cobb, Jr. visited evangelical institutions such as Wheaton College in Illinois. Evangelical graduate students studied the thought of Whitehead, Hartshorne, Williams and other process thinkers at Chicago, Claremont, Union in New York, Southern Methodist University and other universities. These informal contacts led to the publication by individuals such as Richard Rice, Stephen Franklin, James Mannoia, and David and Randall Basinger of several articles and an occasional book with a more reflective understanding of process theology and some appreciation for process concepts.2

Utilizing the format of an essay, questions about the essay; replies to the questions, and a responsive essay, evangelical Clark Pinnock and process theologian Delwin Brown initiated the third phase of evangelical/process relations. Although Theological Crossfire as a title sounds adversarial, Pinnock and Brown agreed that Christians needed to move beyond sniping to conversation. As moderates, they began a dialogue by examining major theological doctrines with the hope that an accurate understanding of the other side would prove helpful to both sides.

In 1994, evangelicals3 who agreed with some of the process critique of traditional Christian theology and sought to reformulate the tradition to take account of that critique without accepting the process alternative published The Openness of God. It challenged the traditional Christian understanding of God as unaffected by the world on scriptural rather than philosophical grounds, but the description of God sounded very similar to that of process theology. In order to retain credibility with evangelicals, the authors carefully distinguished their understanding of God from a process concept of God. The Openness of God contributed indirectly to the evangelical/process dialogue by developing the evangelical perspective. The characteristic evangelical distinction was that God’s limitation by the world was based upon God’s choice to be self-limited rather than upon the metaphysical necessity of the world.4

Two conferences at Claremont provided important opportunities for dialogue between process and evangelical thinkers and contributed to the publication of two additional books: Searching for an Adequate God and Thy Nature and Thy Name is Love. The 1997 conference grew out of a shared concern by process and evangelical thinkers to respond to the rationalism of the Enlightenment. The participants in this conference included Clark Pinnock and Delwin Brown, three of the authors of The Openness of God, the editors and authors of Searching for an Adequate God, and six of the contributors to Thy Nature and Thy Name is Love. Further conversations between process and evangelical thinkers took place in a session at the Whitehead Centennial celebration in 1998 at Claremont.

Many of the contacts between process and evangelical theologians in the third phase of the relationship have involved individuals identified as Open or Free Will theists. But, the Wesleyan/Methodist tradition has also supplied occasions for discussions between evangelicals and process thinkers.5 Because Wesleyan theology is neither exclusively liberal nor evangelical, this discussion has revolved around the more specific relationship between Wesleyan theology and process theology. The presence of evangelicals and process thinkers who have a common tradition in Wesleyan theology provides another perspective in the dialogue between process and evangelical theology.

II. The New Dialogue

(a) Theological Crossfire

Theological Crossfire brings liberals and evangelicals into conversation. Brown speaks for the liberal side, primarily process theology, and Pinnock speaks for the evangelical, or conservative, side. They dialogue in the midst of crossfire because they share a commitment to the Christian faith and a conviction that the contemporary division of the Christian church into two parties needs to be addressed. Rather than seek to arrive at a common understanding, they hope to hear and be heard. Although giving different descriptions of the two sides, they do, in fact, agree in their description of the parties involved in conflict. For example, Pinnock says that evangelicals seek to maintain doctrinal continuity with the apostles and the early church while liberals work inductively from contemporary experience (13). Similarly Brown, in discussing Scripture, distinguishes between those who emphasize the past and those who stress judgments characteristic of the present (22).

Brown and Pinnock each present their side in chapters on theological method, God, human nature and sin, Christ, salvation, and Christian hope. While agreeing on a number of issues in each topic, differences do arise. Theological methodology and the doctrine of God elicit the clearest differences between the two positions. The other differences tend to follow from these. Further, the other differences are held much more tentatively with a willingness to consider alternative positions.

The difference in theological methodology relates to the use of the past and the use of contemporary experience. While Brown acknowledges that liberals have often failed to listen to the Bible and tradition, he challenges the evangelical claim that there is uniformity in Scripture. Because of the diversity of Scripture, Brown rejects absolutizing any specific understanding of the tradition (25-27). For Brown, the Bible has the power to create Christians, but this does not result in uniformity and occurs in an on-going conversation with contemporaries (28-29). Pinnock appeals to absolutes revealed by God as the final authority in theological reflection. The heart of this revelation is the proclamation of Jesus in Scripture as God’s saving action (36). This does not result in a simplistic methodology because it recognizes that theology arises out of Scripture, tradition, experience, and reason (39-40). Pinnock acknowledges the diversity in Scripture as the ultimate authority but appeals to continuity within diversity and the early creeds as the basis for theology. The continuity in the midst of diversity consists of recognizing the existence of an infinite, personal God, the brokenness of the world, God’s decisive action in the Anointed One, and the Trinity (49-50). These methodological differences show up in the understanding of Scripture. Pinnock understands Scripture to be the source of truth (13), but Brown understands Scripture to be the source of transformation (28).

Liberal and evangelical differences with regard to the concept of God grow out of different understandings of the relationship between God and the world. Evangelicals base the relationship between God and the world upon God’s transcendence, or independence from the world (63). Because of God’s independence, God can and does choose to create and to continue to be related to the world. This on-going relationship is such that God is vitally related to the world and affected by the events of the world (67). In contrast, the liberal understands the relationship between God and the world as a relationship characterized by God’s involvement in the world (88). Even efforts to speak of God in distinction from contemporary experiences are affected by those contemporary experiences. This does not reduce God simply to contemporary experience. Liberals retain a concept of God’s transcendence in that God cannot be identified with any one understanding of who God is (93-95).

Pinnock’s utilization of the doctrine of the Trinity expresses the evangelical emphasis upon God’s transcendence. The doctrine of the Trinity provides Pinnock with a way to reconcile God’s loving relationship with the world to God’s independence from the world. Pinnock agrees that it is meaningful to speak of God as love only if there is something to love. This appears to make the world necessary for God and thus to qualify God’s independence. But God’s independence is preserved if God exists as three persons in a relationship of love because then God loves without needing the world (64). Brown, consistent with the liberal emphasis upon God’s relatedness with the world, finds this understanding of God as self-related, self-communicating, and self-loving inconsistent with the New Testament understanding of God. For him, the concept of God as eternally related to the world more adequately describes God as love (73).

The different understandings of God’s relationship to the world also result in different understandings of God’s power to change the world. Pinnock holds that God’s power is self-limited and that this allows room for human influence upon God (70). However, since God’s power is self-limited, God can both act independently from the processes of nature in the present and will act independently of human agency at the end of time in a final judgment (71, 76). Brown rejects the concept of God’s self-limitation. If God is self-limited, then evil, even if allowed rather than caused by God, is still the result of God’s action, or inaction. A more adequate understanding of God’s power views it as supreme in relation to other powers but not as an irresistible power now or at the end of time (74, 86).

Theological Crossfire made several important contributions to the process/ evangelical dialogue. It initiated a meaningful dialogue between the two parties. In doing so, it increased the understanding that each side had of the other. It also identified an issue that has proved central to the ensuing stages of dialogue. Pinnock’s utilization of the doctrine of the Trinity in order to avoid God’s dependence upon the world has been developed especially by the Open concept of God to differentiate evangelical theology from process theology. Theological Crossfire continues to be significant for the current dialogue through the model it provides for dialogue. It expresses both an awareness of differences based on the other side’s own understanding of its own position and an appreciation for the alternative position. For example, Pinnock challenges, with process theology, the Reformer’s concept of God as manipulating the world (67). Brown agrees that Scripture is crucial to the Church as a source of transformation and that evangelicalism’s emphasis upon transformed individuals gives it a valuable vitality Pinnock accepts the liberal effort to recognize the diversity in Scripture and the importance of Christians speaking to the contemporary situation.

(b) Searching for an Adequate God

Searching for an Adequate God continues the discussion initiated ten years earlier in Theological Crossfire. John B. Cobb, Jr. and Clark Pinnock provide essays introducing the discussion by describing the basic difference between the Open view of God and the process concept of God. The structure of the volume involves two sets of articles and responses with interesting differences between the two sets. One set consists of an initial essay by Griffin with Hasker’s response and the final essay in the volume by Hasker with Griffin’s response. Essays and responses by Howell, Wheeler, and Rice compose the second set.

The Griffin-Hasker exchanges provide insights into the similarities of the two positions, critiques of the other’s position, and responses to critiques of their own position. Howell, Wheeler, and Rice write and respond to one another as individuals who have been influenced significantly by process thought and an evangelical heritage. Drawing on their own experiences, they discuss how process thought has been helpful to their theologies. For Howell, process thought along with her evangelical heritage provides important resources for her position as a feminist. For Wheeler, process thought provides a metaphysic to support, articulate, and challenge his position as an evangelical. For Rice, process thought provides important resources, which must be modified, in order to be consistent with his evangelical position. While all of the authors in the volume share a concern for the integrity of both perspectives, Griffin and Hasker seek to show the adequacy of their own position. Howell, Wheeler, and Rice, however, seek to show how both process and evangelical thought make important contributions to their individual Christian theology

The two types of dialogues point to some significant similarities between process and evangelical theology. Griffin lists the similarities between Open free will theists and process free will theists as agreements that (a) the criteria for judging theological positions are broadly biblically based, rationally consistent, and consistent with the best knowledge of the contemporary world, (b) God is the supreme power and is perfect in power, (c) God created our universe, (d) God is active in nature and human history, (e) God is a personal, purposive being involving temporality and response to the world, (f) God is essentially love rather than power, and (g) there is salvation after death (10-14). Griffin recognizes that the latter point, which he himself strongly affirms, Is controversial within process theology. The most significant agreements involve understanding God as love and the nature of God’s action in the world. And yet, these agreements lead to differences on two points when examined closely.

God as love provides the basis for the relationship between God and the world. Both sides in Searching for an Adequate God understand love as an involvement with an other in which the other significantly affects and changes the one who loves. Hence, the world affects God. This contrasts to the traditional Christian understanding of God’s relationship to the world, which holds that God affects the world but is not affected by the world. The Open view explicitly affirms that love involves being affected and that this applies to God as love (See Rice, "Process" 183-84 and Hasker, "Adequate" 216-17).

The basic agreement about God as love becomes disagreement when the primary object of God’s love is specified. Process theists hold that the world is metaphysically necessary in order for God to be a God of love (See Griffin, "Process" 12-14 and Howell, "Openness" 74). If there is no object of love, love is impossible and God as love is impossible. Because it is metaphysically impossible for God to be love without the world, traditional Christian doctrines such as creation from nothing, God’s power to act unilaterally, and God’s foreknowledge of future events as actual are logically inconsistent with understanding God as love. The Open view responds to this process perspective by developing Pinnock’s utilization of a doctrine of the Trinity in Theological Crossfi re. God is essentially love in the relationships among the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Because God is necessarily related to God as Trinity, God does not require the world. Since the world is not necessary for God to be God, God can choose to create and to love the world (Rice, "Response" 91-92). Griffin questions the adequacy of basing God’s love upon choice. The existence of evil in the world indicates the absence of God’s love. Thus God chooses not to love all the world but rather to love the members of the Trinity Practically, God chooses to love some and not others, and this limits God’s nature as love (Griffin "Process" 17-18).

David Wheeler proposes overcoming the difference between understanding the world as necessary or as contingent by recognizing the point of the doctrine of the Trinity. Rather than focusing on the Trinity as internal or external, as God as love in the Trinity or God as love requiring the world, he suggests recognizing the Trinity as expressing diversity in unity ("Confessional" 117-18). However, this suggestion will require significant development in order to be satisfactory to each side of the discussion. Evangelicals are likely to find it too general to be helpful while process thinkers will hesitate to accept it as a description if there is no recognition of the metaphysical necessity of both diversity and unity.

Howell suggests that the identification of the difference between the two positions be refined. It is not that one side holds to a necessary world while the other side holds to a world that is the result of divine choice. Instead, she points out that different understandings of where necessity and contingency occur in the relation between God and the world give rise to the disagreement ("Response" 204, 206). From the process perspective, a world is necessary but this or any other specific world is contingent upon God’s choices with regard to that world (Griffin, "Response" 251). On the other hand, the Open view maintains that the existence of a world depends upon God’s decision to create from nothing but that having created this world, God is bound to this world by God’s love for the creation (Rice, "Process" 199). Howell finds the different understandings of necessity and contingency creative ("Response" 207) while Rice finds the difference between the world as necessary or contingent unresolvable ("Process" 200).

The second point of general agreement, which becomes disagreement in the details, is the nature of God’s action in relation to human existence. Both dialogue partners agree that God’s action in the world takes into consideration the reality of what God has created, namely that there are realities that exist without being the direct result of God’s will (See Rice, "Process" 185). God’s action in relation to these realities can be understood as involving mutual interaction (persuasive), unilateral (coercive) action, or some combination of both mutual and unilateral actions. In spite of the common understanding that process theists limit God to persuasive action and evangelicals affirm that God acts coercively both sides agree that God ordinarily works in human experience through mutual interaction, or persuasion (Hasker, "Response" 41). Hasker and Rice both acknowledge the destructive nature of unilateral action for human freedom. In fact, Hasker states, "In this age of the world, God does indeed persuade but he seldom compels" ("Adequate" 237-38). However, in contrast to process theology, evangelical theology does affirm God’s capability of unilateral action and the actuality of God’s acting unilaterally. God’s unilateral action is present in creation (See Rice, "Process" 191 and Hasker, "Adequate" 228-29), in occasional events in individuals’ lives, and in God’s final triumph.

Although the majority of process theists have asserted that God is able to act only in a mutual manner due to the reality of other agents, there is some recognition that some of God’s actions involve less mutuality or are "quasi-coercive." Griffin states that in the original conditions leading to a specific world, God’s action is quasi-coercive because no past exists to compete with the divine purposes ("Process" 30). Howell affirms that God acts unilaterally in unifying the multiplicity of the world in God’s being ("Response" 205). Process theists do not conclude in these cases that God acts coercively, but they do recognize that in God’s own becoming and in events of creation, God’s actions take priority over the actions of others. It can be said that God initiates, but that does not mean that God is the sole agent because God is responding to prior events in the unification of multiplicity and subsequent events respond to God’s purposes in moments of creation.

Part of the Open view’s interest in retaining the concept of God’s unilateral action grows out of the concern that God’s actions be unique to specific situations rather than constant and universally the same. The Open view’s criticism is that the process understanding that God presents possibilities to events misses God’s provision of specific salvation for individuals (Rice, "Process" 185, 192). God’s ability’ to choose to create and love makes it possible for God to relate to events in the world as individual events making a personal relationship possible if God chooses to enter into a personal relationship. While the process concept of God presenting a unique purpose to each occasion is a metaphysical generalization, it does not preclude a variety of possible aims for further feelings of God, which would be unique depending upon the response of each event. Cobb (xiii) and Griffin ("Process" 12-13) explicitly affirm the variability of divine action. This appears to provide for God’s specific action in relation to specific events. Rice, however, still finds that process thought is not helpful in thinking about God’s relationship to the world at the level of God’s involvement in specific events. His objection appears to be that the generality of metaphysical description in process thought imposes limits upon God’s action that are not necessary. Although Open theists and process theists both hold that God acts in various ways that are appropriate to specific situations, Open theists hold on to the importance of God’s unilateral action.

The identification of differences even in similarities that results from the dialogues in Searching for an Adequate God clarifies the foundational difference between process theology and Open theists. Cobb identifies this foundational issue most clearly. He characterizes process theists as holding that God’s actions flow from God’s nature while Open theists emphasize God’s will over God’s nature (xiii). Griffin in his response to Hasker provides some additional delineation of this foundational difference. According to Griffin, metaphysical principles describe the nature of God and the relationship of God to the world rather than being imposed by a reality’ other than God. Thus metaphysical principles are linked to God’s nature. In contrast to that, Hasker expresses a completely voluntaristic perspective by deriving both the existence of a world and the characteristics of this world from God’s choices (Griffin 251). Understanding God primarily in terms of God’s nature as love or understanding God primarily in terms of God’s will to love distinguishes process theism from Open theism. This distinction leads directly or indirectly to the other differences between the participants in this dialogue. For example, the evangelical rejection of the necessity of the world for God is based upon the affirmation of God’s unlimited expression of will. If the world is necessary for God, God cannot act without the world.

Searching for an Adequate God has made important advances in the dialogue between process thinkers and the Open view of God. A much more complete and precise identification of similarities has been accomplished. Differences between the two perspectives, which were identified in Theological Crossfire, have been examined and defined more clearly. Several important issues for future dialogue, such as whether God should be understood primarily as nature or as will and the issue of how to account for God’s saving action in the events of an individual’s life, have arisen out of the process of clarification. Finally, the theologies of Howell, Wheeler, and Rice demonstrate the possibility of creative interaction that goes beyond either perspective by itself.

A review cannot convey all the riches of this dialogue. Reading these essays and the give-and-take that occurs in them will enrich anyone seeking to better understand both the differences between process thought and the Open expression of evangelical theology and the potential for significant development in theological responses to the contemporary religious and intellectual context.

(c) Thy Nature and Thy Name Is Love

Thy Nature and Thy Name Is Love examines the relationship between process thought and Wesleyans in the last half of the twentieth century. During this time, those such as United Methodist Paul Mickey and Church of the Nazarene Mildred Bangs Wynkoop drew upon process concepts.6 Recognizing also that many process theologians have been part of the Wesleyan/Methodist theological tradition, the editors seek to show how an explicit interaction between process theology and Wesleyan theology leads to distinctive contributions to contemporary debates in metaphysics, epistemology and ethics. To this end, the editors have included essays dealing with the historical connections between Wesleyan and process theology, the God-human relationship, the doctrine of the Trinity, concepts of divine power, epistemology, aesthetics, and the appropriate human responses to divine grace.

The presence of four themes throughout the essays manifests the impact of the Wesleyan/Methodist tradition upon this volume. The first theme is the priority’ of divine grace as the basis for human freedom, vital to human knowledge, and enabling transformed living (Ogden, Stone, Cobb, Culp, Moore) The second theme is the importance of human response to divine grace culminating in Christian living (Suchocki, Stone, Cobb, Young). The importance of human response leads to the theme that human experience and praxis are vital to theology (Ogden, Suchocki, Stone, Walker, Moore, Young). Finally; these essays fit the title of the collection in that they express the theme that God is characterized by love, which responds to humans (Stone, Maddox, Lodahl, Moore, Young). However, these essays do not simply restate Wesley in a contemporary context. They include critiques of Wesley’s and the Wesleyan/Methodist tradition’s acceptance of simple foreknowledge (Maddox), basing human freedom on God’s self-limitation (Oord), a soteriological understanding of the Trinity (Powell) and homocentrism (Odgen, Stone, Walker, McDaniel, Farthing).

The clear presence of theological themes that are central to the Wesleyan theological tradition makes dialogue possible between process and Wesleyan theology in this volume. The awareness of the distinct identity of each tradition enables the participants in this dialogue to recognize both the similarities and the differences between these two theological traditions. Stone and Oord, Ogden, Suchocki, Moore, and McDaniel and Farthing offer lists of the similarities between process and Wesleyan theologies. These lists and specific references in other essays identify six similarities: (a) God is understood as love involving God’s presence in human experience and God’s response to that experience, (b) human existence depends upon God’s grace and that grace makes humans free, (c) humans respond to God resulting in the fulfillment of God’s intentions in the concrete experiences of individuals, (d) knowledge involves more than subjective sensory experience, (e) experience broadly understood is crucial for theology, and (f) reality is characterized by diversity and relationality.

The awareness of differences results in concerns about process theology that are similar to some of the concerns expressed by evangelicals in Searching/or an Adequate God. Padgett’s warning about comprehensive metaphysical systems and Powell’s critique that process thought does not sufficiently recognize the difference between God’s being and other beings make specific the concern in Searching that God not be limited by metaphysical categories. Maddox’s uneasiness about the process limitation of God’s action to luring creatures and Lodahi’s concern that the process rejection of creation from nothing limits God’s ability to save all reality offer additional statements of the concern in Searching that God does not relate personality to individuals.

The Wesleyan/process dialogue in Thy Nature and Thy Name is Love contributes to both partners. Generally, process thought provides a theoretical basis for Wesleyan theology. Often process thought supplies a metaphysical basis for Wesleyan convictions. Cobb finds that Whitehead enables Wesleyans to avoid any human boasting regarding salvation. Culp finds that process epistemology challenges the dominant epistemological reliance upon sensation and provides an explanation for Wesley’s discussion of spiritual senses. In body, in conceptualizing the Trinity uses process thought to account for God’s nature and power as social in a challenge to substantialistic metaphysics. Stiles uses process insights to broaden Wesleyan theology by recognizing the role of the aesthetic in theology. Other essays draw upon process thought to challenge homocentrism in contemporary thought. Process thought enables Walker to appreciate the other including the other of non-human existence. Moore draws upon the process recognition of human responsibility for the ecosystem. Process concepts also support responding to social injustice and consumerism in Young’s and McDaniel’s and Farthing’s essays.

But there are also points at which Wesleyan concepts assist process theology. Oord takes Wesley’s concept of God as Spirit and explains how God as provider of initial aims is not responsible for the evil that results from human action because God does not have the control that humans have over human bodies. Lodahl develops the idea of God’s nature as love to identify God’s love as eternal, the world as the result of God’s eternal loving, and God’s ability to save all reality as an alternative to the either/or response of process theology to the doctrine of creation from nothing. Rather than appeal with the Open view to God’s will to save, Lodahl bases God’s saving action on God’s eternal nature as love. The essays by McDaniel and Farthing and Moore point out how concrete Wesleyan expressions of process theoretical positions make abstract concepts actual.

Finally, several essays go beyond contributing to the dialogue partners theology by providing examples of mutual transformation. Stone brings together the Wesleyan expectation that God will be personally present to those who respond to God’s initiative with the process awareness of relationality, creativity, and freedom in order to reappropriate the theological sense of God’s presence in the world in both cosmic and individual aspects. Cobb utilizes Whitehead’s understanding of the immanence of God in each occasion to resolve the tendency to oppose grace to freedom and to make Wesley’s insight of God’s mutual relation with humans a consistent reliance upon God’s grace as the source of human freedom. Lodahl seeks to move beyond the rejection of creation from nothing without breaking the relationship between God and the world by focusing upon God’s eternal love in order to show the necessary effectiveness of divine love.

While this volume focuses upon the process/Wesleyan dialogue, it also contributes to the broader process/evangelical dialogue in two ways. One contribution comes through making the Important similarities between Wesleyan and process theology evident. Awareness of these similarities or compatibilities assists in keeping the discussion alive because it helps the partners recognize shared grounds for conversation. This volume also provides specific examples of the value of the dialogue. Specific examples of metaphysical support and mutual transformation encourage the search for additional ways that process and evangelical thinkers can assist each other in responding to the contemporary situation.

The vitality and insight of the essays in Thy Nature and Thy Name is Love demonstrate how process theology can help evangelicals broaden their recognition of God’s presence from being limited to God’s presence in the world in Christ. This volume persuasively argues for God’s presence In understandings of being, epistemology, practice, anthropology, and Christian life.

III. Conclusions and Possibilities

The diversity among the evangelicals in these three phases of the new dialogue leads to an important conclusion regarding the continuation of the discussion While the evangelical participants can generally be described as moderate, they come from a variety of traditions. Baptists, Free Will Theists, and Wesleyans have found process thought helpful in communicating God’s love to the world. Being aware of the diversity present within evangelical theology will help process theologians recognize that there is a basis for discussion even though many evangelicals reject process theology. For their part, evangelicals need to recognize the diversity within evangelical thought in order to avoid narrowing the evangelical tradition in a way that loses its vitality. To focus upon propositional understandings of truth and a concept of God as controlling narrows evangelical theology and loses the evangelical concerns for Scripture as living and for commitment to Christ as expressed in daily life. The broader understanding of evangelicalism will enable evangelicals to recognize that there are commonalties making dialogue possible.

Future discussion among process and evangelical theologians will need to deal with four issues raised by these three recent publications. Rice raises the issue of God’s personal relation to the world. He fears that descriptions of God’s general relation to the world do not do justice to God’s specific saving events in individual lives as part of salvation history ("Process" 192, 197). Process theologians will need to develop the theoretical structures in process thought that acknowledge the personal nature of God’s action for salvation in an individual’s life in order to respond to this concern. In developing that response, process theologians may also find the concrete concerns of the Wesleyan/Methodist tradition helpful in linking actual experiences to theoretical structures.

The other three topics for future discussions constitute a nest of issues beginning with the debate about the status of metaphysical principles. Evangelicals understand the affirmation of metaphysical principles as limiting God. While evangelicals accept the validity of logical limitations in understanding and describing God’s action, they reject identifying these logical limitations as metaphysical principles. They understand logical limits as arising out of the limitations of human understanding rather than being based upon the nature of existence (Griffin, "Response" 257). In responding to this understanding of logical limits and metaphysical principles, process theologians will need to recall the concern of evangelicals to hold metaphysical principles tentatively But that is consistent with Whitehead’s understanding of metaphysical principles as generalizations.

The issue of whether God should be understood primarily in terms of God’s nature or God’s will underlies the different understandings of the status of metaphysical principles. Historically, the emphasis upon God’s will stressed divine sovereignty rather than love. Process theologians have argued that an emphasis upon God’s will makes the problem of evil insoluble and thus conflicts with understanding God as love (Griffin. "Response 251). Lodahl points to the importance of God’s nature and will in his discussion of creation from nothing. God’s nature establishes God’s identity as love, which God expresses through God’s will to save not God’s will to control. Careful reflection on the relation between God’s nature and God’s will by both sides can prove fruitful, but the priority of God’s nature appears necessary in order to resolve contemporary questions about what God is doing in the world.

The final issue involves methodology, which has not explicitly been part of the discussion since Theological Crossfire. The specific issue is how God’s identity is recognized in the world. Evangelicals identify God’s presence in the world predominantly through difference. God to be God must be different from the world. God differs from the world even in God’s presence and activity in the world. Identifying God through differentiation tends towards understanding God’s sovereignty in terms of control rather than cooperation. Furthermore, it results in understanding persuasion as psychological rather than metaphysical and thus missing the point that it is the nature of God to persuade rather than an externally imposed requirement that God use persuasion. A process methodology understands identity as a unique synthesis. This synthesis involves an actual event including the presence of Love in relation to all and novelty or newness for each situation. Thus God as love is not identified by means of differentiation but by means of inclusion.

This difference in methodologies has implications for the evangelical/process dialogue. This dialogue cannot conclude with a clear identification of difference. Instead, there needs to be an ongoing utilization of the insights of both sides in the dialogue that transcends either side. That will challenge the contemporary emphasis in postmodern thought upon God as Other. While identity through distinction, identity as Other, cannot be overlooked neither can it be final. Both process thinkers and evangelicals agree that God is love and active love in the world. The identity of the presence of that Love in the world is never complete when it is defined exclusively in terms of difference from the world.

 

Notes

1. See Lewis S. Ford. "Response: Lionel S. Thornton and Process Christology," 479-83. See also John Culp, "Modern Thought Challenges Christian Theology: Process Philosophy and Anglican Theologian Lionel Thornton," 329-51.

2. For both critical and appreciative critical responses, see the Center for Process Studies bibliography, "Process Thought, Anglo-American Evangelicalism and Fundamentalism."

3. While the Open view is most commonly identified as an evangelical understanding of God, there are evangelicals who challenge that identification. For the sake of accuracy, "Open" will be used rather than "evangelical" to describe the partner in this phase of the evangelical/process dialogue when all evangelicals would not hold to a specific position.

4. This basic distinction has been maintained in the development of the Open view of God. See David Basinger, The Case for Freewill Theism: A Philosophical Assessment John Sanders, The God Who Risks: A Theology of Providence; and Gregory A. Boyd, God of the Possible: A Biblical Introduction to the Open View of God.

7. See the Introduction to Thy Nature and Thy Name is Love, and the Center for Process Studies bibliography "Wesleyan Responses to Process Theology."

8. For Paul Mickey see "Toward a Theology of Individuality: A Theological Inquiry Based on the Work of Alfred North Whitehead and David Rapaport," and Essentials of Wesleyan Theology. For Mildred Bangs Wynkoop, who was influenced by Daniel Day Williams, see her A Theology of Love.

 

Works Cited

Basinger, David. The Case for Freewill Theism. A Philosophical Assessment Downers Grove: InterVarsity P, 1996.

Boyd, Gregory A. God of the Possible: A Biblical Introduction to the Open View of God. Grand Rapids: Baker, 2000.

Cobb, John B. Jr., and Clark H. Pinnock, eds. Searching for an Adequate God: A Dialogue between Process and Free Will Theists. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000.

Culp, John. "Modern Thought Challenges Christian Theology: Process Philosophy and Anglican Theologian Lionel Thornton." Anglican Theological Review 76 (1994): 329-51.

Ford, Lewis S. "Response: Lionel S. Thornton and Process Christology." Anglican Theological Review 55 (1973): 479-483.

Griffin, David Ray. "Process Theology and the Christian Good News." Cobb and Pinnock 1-38.

Gruenler, Royce Gordon. The Inexhaustible God: Biblical Faith and the Challenge of Process Theism. Grand Rapids: Baker, 1983.

Hasker, William. "An Adequate God." Cobb and Pinnock 215-45. ___"In Response to David Ray Griffin." Cobb and Pinnock 39-52.

Howell, Nancy R. "Openness and Process Theism: Respecting the Integrity of the Two Views." Cobb and Pinnock 53-79.

Malik, Charles. "An Appreciation of Professor Whitehead with Special Reference to his Metaphysics and to this Ethical and Educational Significance." Journal of Philosophy 45 (1948): 572-82.

Mickey, Paul. Essentials of Wesleyan Theology. Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1980.

____"Toward a Theology of Individuality: A Theological Inquiry Based on the Work of Alfred North Whitehead and David Rapaport," Th.D. Dissertation, Princeton Theological Seminary 1970.

Nash, Ronald H. The Concept of God. Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1983.

Pinnock, Clark H., and Delwin Brown. Theological Crossfire: An Evangelical/Liberal Dialogue. Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1990.

Rice, Richard. "In Response to David L. Wheeler." Cobb and Pinnock 86-95.

____"In Response to Nancy Howell." Cobb and Pinnock 86-95.

____"Process Theism and the Open View of God: The Crucial Difference." Cobb and Pinnock 163-200.

Sanders, John. The God Who Risks: A Theology of Providence. Downers Grove: InterVarsity P, 1998.

Stone, Bryan P., and Thomas Jay Oord, eds. Thy Nature and Thy Name is Love: Process and Wesleyan Theologies in Dialogue. Nashville: Abingdon, 2001.

Wheeler, David. "Confessional Communities and Public Worldviews." Cobb and Pinnock 97-148.

Wynkoop, Mildred Bangs. A Theology of Love. Kansas City: Beacon Hill, 1972. "Wesleyan Responses to Process Theology." Process Studies Bibliography. Center for Process Studies.

The Metaphysical Significance of Whitehead’s Creativity

A common interpretation of Whitehead’s creativity is that creativity refers to the clement of self-creation and self-determination, characterizing every concrescence. Creativity means, according to this interpretation, that every actuality is a free, creative act of unification, determining its own being, i.e., its own becoming. Interpretations like those of William Christian, Ivor Leclerc and even Charles Hartshorne (to name but a few) go in that direction; notwithstanding all their differences, they all tend to limit creativity to the level of concrescence. Whether one stresses in the concrescence the aspect of unification or the aspect of freedom (two interpretations closely related to one another), there is one common element: creativity has only to do with the self-creation and self-determination of a concrescence. An implication of this is that creativity actually only applies to the present. The past is no longer active, not in its own constitution, nor in the constitution of the present: as past, a superject is no longer active because it is no longer actual. Therefore, Leclerc states, "an efficient cause cannot ‘act"’ (110).

In this paper, I want to challenge this interpretation, because it is at least one-sided and this one-sidedness has some important consequences, both for the interpretation of Whitehead’s philosophy itself and for the claim that this philosophy is a valid contemporary metaphysics, addressing all basic metaphysical issues in an intelligible war. First I will sketch some fundamental problems in interpreting creativity. Then I will show how these problems in a way are caused by Whitehead himself. In a third point I will look for the questions the concept of creativity is designed to answer. Fourthly, I will try to indicate what the ultimacy of creativity means. And finally, I would like to give some indications as to the relevance of Whitehead’s metaphysics of creativity on the contemporary metaphysical scene.

I. The Meaning of Creativity

An interpretation of Whitehead’s creativity as sketched above, referring only to the self-determination of each new concrescence, raises serious questions, with important bearings upon the whole of Whitehead’s philosophy.

(a) First of all, there is the problem of transition, which Whitehead calls, together with concrescence, another "kind of fluency" (Process 210). It is not necessary to agree with Jorge Luis Nobo to recognize that the fact itself that his article on transition and his later book have given rise to so much discussion and even some irritation, indicates that he has touched a central nerve of the Whiteheadian metaphysics. One cannot escape the impression that he has put his finger on a weak spot in both the general Whitehead-interpretation and in some of the expressions of Whitehead himself. It looks as if Whitehead came to that realization. One indication is his letter to Dorothy Emmet after the publication of Emmet’s book. In that letter Whitehead writes:

You seem to me at various points to forget my doctrine of ‘immanence’, which governs the whole treatment of objectification. Thus at times you write as tho’ the connection between past and present is merely that of a transfer of character. Then there arises (sic) all the perplexities of ‘correspondence’ in epistemology, of causality, and of memory. The doctrine of immanence is fundamental. (xxii-xxiii)7

Emmet published her book one year before Adventures of Ideas. But I will come to this later on.

(b) Another reason why all this is important is the status of the past and immediately linked to that, the concept of causality. As to the past, this raises the question: is the past no longer actual? What is the status of past occasions? The answer to that question has important bearings upon the question of causality. Interpretations limiting creativity to the (free) becoming of novel togetherness (concrescence) must in some way or another deny a real physical influence of the past upon the present, limiting this influence to conformation of character, reenacting the same eternal object, the new occasion prehending that past etc. In such interpretations, causality is rather, as Emmet says "a ‘picking up’ and not a ‘passing on’ view of transition" ("Creativity" 77).

(c) A third problem in that context is the problem of the cause ski. All these interpretations stress the causa sui-character of an occasion. But what does causa sui mean here? Whitehead says that every philosophy in some way or another recognizes an element of causa sui in what it considers to be ultimate matter of fact. He manifestly thinks here of Spinoza. But does that mean that for Whitehead each actual entity is causa sui, just like for Spinoza substance is causa sui? I don’t think that can be said intelligibly.

For Spinoza, only Substance is causa sui, i.e., reality as such, but not any of the concrete modes or realities. To say that all concrete actualities are causa sill in the sense of Spinoza’s Substance, would be, first of all, a mixing up of the ontic and the ontological level, but besides that it also violates one of the most fundamental presuppositions of reason, i.e, that nothing just happens, out of nothing. To put it in Whitehead’s own terms: "It is a contradiction in terms to assume that some explanatory fact can float into the actual world out of nonentity. Nonentity is nothingness" (Process 46). That is also true for Whitehead’s actual entities. One cannot say that they just create themselves, that they are cause of themselves, "out of nothing." Such a metaphysics would not be something very original, but rather something really unintelligible. "Out of nothing, nothing comes."

All this affects in a radical sense the meaning of creativity. Creativity, I will argue, has to do first of all not with freedom or spontaneity, but with "the passage of nature" or "the creative advance." In other words: with ongoingness. It is in that context that the function of creativity is fundamentally situated by Whitehead, both historically and metaphysically. Historically, in the sense that in the earlier works, creativity2 is immediately linked to the "becomingness of nature -- its passage or creative advance" (Enquiry 61), while freedom and novelty only become a real issue from the writing of Science and the Modern World and following. Even in his later metaphysics, the first function of creativity has to do with the creative advance. Novelty, freedom, spontaneity are secondary vis-à-vis ongoingness: there has to be novel concrescence in order for there to be freedom, spontaneity or novelty What has to be explained is becoming, which for Whitehead means: "the creative advance of nature" (as he puts it in the earlier works), or "the creative advance into novelty" (as he puts it later on).

Why is there ongoingness? Why is there continuing becoming of new concrescences? It is not enough to refer to the concrescence itself. What has to be understood is the becoming of the concrescence itself: where does that new concrescence come from? This is not the quest for a creator. Specific for Whitehead’s philosophy of creativity is that God and creativity do not coincide and that creativity is not, for its very being, dependent upon a Creator, either. Equally fundamental, however, is his insight (though often less clearly stated) that a new actuality does not arise either out of nothing, nor out of a purely passive situation. Time and again, Whitehead talks about a transfer of energy about the efficacy of the past, etc. It is true that the formulations of this insight are often ambiguous. In Process and Reality one sometimes gets the impression that he does mean that the present just creates itself again and again, out of nothing, by taking up what is given. Causality then becomes merely prehension: a "picking up" rather than a "passing on," as Emmet puts it.

In this respect, Whitehead’s definition of transition is important: The creativity in virtue of which any relative complete actual world is, by the nature of things, the datum for a new concrescence, is termed ‘transition"’ (Process 211). Hence, transition has to do with the transition of the many to a new one. Just before that, Whitehead wrote: "the fundamental inescapable fact is the creativity in virtue of which there can be no ‘many things’ which are not subordinated in a concrete unity" (Process 211).

The use of the term "transition" is not limited to Process and Reality. In Religion in the Making Whitehead talks about a transition of creative action itself: "there is a transition of the creative action, and this transition exhibits itself, in the physical world, in the guise of routes of temporal succession" (92). In Science and the Modern World he sees transition as the transition of things, the passage one to another (93).

Transition and concrescence, thus, are related to the "many becoming one." In both cases creativity is the drive towards new unification. This drive, however, has two aspects: there are "two kinds of fluency" which together form the one activity of unification, the one creativity which, according to its original meaning refers, as Whitehead remarks, to the Latin verb "creare, ‘to bring forth, beget, produce"’ (Process 21 3).3

The importance of all this becomes manifest when we look at the wavering within the Whitehead-interpretation when it comes to the "explanation" of ongoingness. If creativity is interpreted as being only the element of self-determination characterizing every concrescence, it can not account for the coming into existence of a new entity. To fill that "explanatory gap" quite a few interpretations, from William Christian, to John Cobb and Norris Clarke, to the recent book of Thomas Hosinski, turn to God: it is actually God, they state, who through the initial aim, is the real initiator of a new entity. Such an interpretation actually comes very close to re-installing God as the creator -- an idea Whitehead explicitly wanted to overcome. For Hosinski for instance, God is not only the ground of value but also the source of the living reality of the present:

The "living" subjective present cannot originate from die "dead" objective past. The past objective world, though necessary as the ground upon which present subjectivity "stands," offers no reason for the living immediacy of the present moment. Nor can that living immediacy simply appear "out of the blue." It requires a "reason," an actual entity that is its ultimate ground. This is the metaphysical problem of the ultimate ground of all subjectivity (159)

What these interpreters have seen is that a rational metaphysics cannot afford a serious explanatory deficit. But their interpretation at least goes against what Whitehead really aimed at. That such interpretations come up again and again, however, indicates that there are some problems either in Whitehead’s treatment of creativity itself, or in its general interpretation.

II. Whitehead’s own Development

One cannot deny that especially in Process and Reality, some and even many expressions seem to go in that direction. Without doubt, Whitehead in that book stresses creativity most often in terms of concrescence. For that reason, it is not at all surprising that many interpreters, from the very beginning up to our days, tend to understand creativity as the actual occasion being causa sui, creating itself out of a passive past. Yet, on the other hand, Whitehead tries to avoid such a view.

In a remarkable passage in Adventures of Ideas, Whitehead explicitly takes up that topic again, in a strong attack at a certain interpretation. Very rarely do we see Whitehead reacting so vigorously. There clearly is something that bothers him. Let me quote from the passage at length. Whitehead is talking about the "objects" or "data." He says: "but both words suffer from the defect of suggesting that an occasion of experiencing arises out of a passive situation which is a mere welter of many data." Then, under the heading "Creativity," Whitehead continues:

The exact contrary is the case. The initial situation includes a factor of activity, which is the reason for the origin of that occasion of experience. This factor of activity is what I have called "Creativity" The initial situation with its creativity can be termed the initial phase of the new occasion. It can equally well be termed the "actual world" relative to that occasion. It has a certain unity of its own, expressive of its capacity of providing the objects requisite for a new occasion, and also expressive of its conjoint activity whereby it is essentially the primary phase of a new occasion. It can thus be termed a "real potentiality" The "potentiality" refers to the passive capacity, the term "real" refers to the creative activity, where the Platonic definition of "real" in the Sophist is referred to. This basic situation, this actual world, this primary phase, this real potentiality -- however you characterize it -- as a whole is active with its inherent creativity, but in its details it provides the passive objects which derive their activity from the creativity of the whole. The creativity is the actualization of potentiality, and the process of actualization is an occasion of experiencing. Thus viewed in abstraction objects are passive, but viewed in conjunction they carry the creativity which drives the world. The process of creation is the form of unity of the Universe. (179)

This is a difficult text and to some extent even an ambiguous one. It is not only the longest but also the latest explicit text Whitehead has written on creativity and on the way it should be interpreted. Given the development of the text,4 it comes all of a sudden, as it were. At least, it is not really needed there. It is as if Whitehead was anxious to clear up a misunderstanding once and for all. (It is not impossible that this has to do with his letter to Emmet, one year earlier.) The text is undeniably written with a clear message: "The exact contrary is the case." It is not Whitehead’s habit to write in such an emphatic way. It would be hard to state the message more explicitly, at least as far as the position is concerned that he wants to reject. That position is the very common interpretation, as I said, from Leclerc, Christian and, to some extent -- at least at that moment, even Emmet -- up to the present, i.e., that an occasion of experience arises out of a purely passive situation which is a mere welter of many data.

Less clear, however, is what Whitehead then really wants to be the true interpretation. The text sometimes is ambiguous, as I said, when, for example, it seems to equate the initial situation (out of which an occasion arises) and the initial phase of that occasion itself. Here again, we see the problem of the continuity and discontinuity coming up, a problem that is at the core of the difficulties.

In the earlier works, before Process and Reality, there is no indication that Whitehead thought of the past as so passive. On the contrary, in An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Natural Knowledge and The Concept of Nature Whitehead rather seems to think in terms of a real flow of activity. Only in Process and Reality do we find the explicit theory that the past actual entity is a dead datum (164). That theory is reflected in the treatment of the notion of "power" in that book. Referring to Locke, Whitehead says: "Locke adumbrates the principle that the ‘power’ of one actual entity on the other is simply how the former is objectified in the constitution of the other" (58). In Modes of Thought, on the other hand, Whitehead gives a far stronger conception of power: "power is the compulsion of composition" (119). In that book there are also strong statements as to the activity of the past: "The whole antecedent world conspires to produce a new occasion" (164). Further: "Each occasion presupposes the antecedent world as active in its own nature" (165, emphasis added).5

Again and again, we find in Whitehead’s later works an ambiguity -- or, maybe better, the ambiguity -- that permeates the whole of his later philosophy, it seems to me: on the one hand the necessity for real continuity, and on the other hand, the metaphysical necessity of atomicity, which means discontinuity. The whole problem comes up when Whitehead starts to emphasize more and more the metaphysical necessity of atomicity. He then drops the theory of events extending over other events. According to that theory, creativity was conceived in terms of real continuity,6 without any radical break. Although events passed away and new ones came into existence, there was never a real gap between past and present. Such a gap there is, Whitehead claims in The Concept of Nature, in the "materialistic theory": "On the materialistic theory [i.e., the theory that in Science and the Modern World is called "scientific materialism"] the instantaneous present is the only field for creative activity. The past is gone and the future is not yet" (72). Whitehead’s philosophy aimed to be a radical critique of that conception, from the very beginning. Instead of materialism (with its instantaneous present) we should think in terms of durations. Whitehead then continues: "The passage of nature leaves nothing between the past and the future" (72).

When the atomic theory comes to the forefront, more and more7 (over against F. H. Bradley) a fundamental problem arises; how to think continuity in the discontinuity?8 In any case, the solution can not be such that it goes back in the direction of the materialistic theory which was the starting point of Whitehead’s critique -- and in that sense of his whole philosophy. "The instantaneous present" is not "the only field of creative activity" (Concept 72). Right up until Whitehead’s last treatment of creativity. that remains the central insight upon which his whole philosophy rests and which Whitehead explicitly wants to make clear, even after the introduction of the theory of atomicity.

How can this be conceived, however, given the fact that an occasion, once it has become, is past and in that sense it "is" no longer? Many interpretations, especially those leaning heavily on Process and Reality, solve the problem by dissolving almost all continuity, except in the sense of a transfer of character (as Whitehead stated it in his letter to Emmet). This, however, is a way out that Whitehead himself explicitly wants to close. Indeed, such a development would bring us back very close to doctrines that he always has rejected: either the materialistic view" (as he called it in The Concept of Nature), or the traditional doctrine of creation. The only possibility left is to stick to a doctrine that combines strong continuity with the inescapable discontinuity.

The text of Adventures of Ideas seems to be an attempt to do that. Here Whitehead suggests a model that in a way always has been his, especially since the introduction of metaphysical atomicity, but that he never stated as explicitly as he does now: "viewed in abstraction objects are passive, but viewed in conjunction they carry the creativity which drives the world." This model has different important components: (a) if one sticks to strong atomicity, one has to say that the past is passive; (b) yet, out of a purely passive past, one cannot explain the coming into existence of a new subject. In that case one has to accept, in one way or another, a transcending activity or (better) an activity of transcendence; (c) that activity of transcendence however, is not some-thing, purely in itself. It transcends the past, to be sure: that is exactly the point of the long passage in Adventures of Ideas. Yet it is never something ab-solutus in the etymological sense of the word, viz. "unrelated." It can only be what it is and do what it does, as carried by the (passive) objects, not as individual entities but as a whole. It is, Whitehead says, the "conjoint activity whereby (the actual world) is essentially the primary phase of a new occasion" (Adventures 179). Whitehead here clearly conceives of creativity not as "a" but as "the" activity of transcendence, permeating the whole of reality, transcending what is and yet carried by it, leading to ever new becoming. Creativity is nothing more, but nothing less either, than "this factor of activity:" "this factor of activity; (included in the initial situation) which is the reason for the origin of that occasion of experience" (Adventures 179). "The point to remember is that the fact that each individual occasion is transcended by the creative urge, belongs to the essential constitution of each such occasion. It is not an accident which is irrelevant to the completed constitution of any such occasion" (Adventures 193). "[T]he processes of the past, in their perishing, are themselves energizing as the complex origin of each novel occasion" (Adventures 276). In Modes of Thought Whitehead states this again: "The whole antecedent world conspires to produce a new occasion" (164).

It is clear from this that an actual occasion is not entirely its own "reason" for being there. It is causa sui indeed, but only, as Whitehead says, as far as the "clothing of feeling is concerned" (Process 85). An actual entity, "the subject is responsible for being what it is in virtue of its feelings" (Process 222, emphasis added), but not for the fact that it is.9

III. Creativity and the Fundamental Metaphysical Questions

Speculative philosophy is the attempt to frame a "system of general ideas in terms of which every element of our experience can be interpreted (Whitehead, Process 3). Speculative philosophy is an attempt to think experience: not only the fact of experience itself but also what shows itself in the welter of all our experiences: experience drunk and experience sober. To elucidate experience is to elucidate the fact that things are the way they are. That means: (a) the fact that things are and (b) that they are the way they are. How can we understand all this? The quest for understanding thus has two aspects, respectively related to the "what" and to the "that" of what we experience. The first question is: how can we understand that things are the way they are? But the second question has to do with the "that": that things (actualities) are the way they are. One could have the impression that this is nothing but the traditional metaphysical question (the question for metaphysics according to Heidegger): "why is there anything at all, why is there something rather than nothing?" But in a philosophy of becoming this is not the whole content of the quest for the "that." Given that there is something, why should new actuality always come into existence? Why is actuality always actualizing itself, again and again? Even if such a question is not easy to answer, it is at least a reasonable question.

As to the question "what" it is evident that for Whitehead the whole burden of the answer rests upon the notion of creativity, in both of its "functions," namely, as principle of unification and as principle of novelty The basic feature of reality is its creativity, and that creativity is always a particular way of bringing together the given multiplicity The way this is done explains why these actualities are the way they are. In that sense, actuality explains itself: it is responsible for its own specific characteristics. This is the element of causa sui: all actuality, Whitehead says, is "responsible for what it is" (Process 222). There are no reasons of metaphysical necessity here: "the final accumulation of all such decisions -- the decision of God’s nature and the decisions of all occasions -- constitutes that special element in the flux of forms in history, which is ‘given’ and incapable of rationalization . . ." (Whitehead, Process 47).

Decision in Whitehead implies unification and novelty. Both of these are to be understood as aspects of creativity. That actuality means "unification" is understandable (and, in that sense, is explained) by the way the ultimate descriptive notion of creativity has to be conceived. It is essentially linked to the many-one relationship. The Category of the Ultimate does not only contain the notion of creativity, but also those of the many and the one. This connection gives creativity a kind of a transcendental characterization: a characterization not of its content but of its fundamental structure. Creativity is intrinsically related to the many and the one, i.e., to the ongoing activity of unification.

Each such unification also implies the possibility of novelty, at least in principle. In his exposition of the Category of the Ultimate, Whitehead calls creativity also the principle of novelty. I have already drawn attention to the fact that in his later work Whitehead replaces his earlier expression "the creative advance of nature" by "the creative advance into novelty." More and more, creativity is linked to freedom, novelty, causa sui. Because of that aspect of creativity, there can be no ultimate explanation for the specific characters of things, except their own nature, i.e. their creativity: what they are does not follow from the essence of ultimate Being (as in Spinoza), nor from the ultimate decision of a God. What things are is the result of their own decision, at least as far as "the clothing of feelings" is concerned. They do not decide what is given, nor that the structure of their own actuality should be a structure of unification: that structure of creativity is an ultimate "given" too.

Further questions are possible, however. Why; for example, is actuality characterized by creativity at all? For this ultimate characteristic, there is still less a "reason." In this respect, we cannot even refer to any decision, but only to description: "That’s the way it is." Whitehead often uses in this respect the phrase "by the nature of things." Eventually, we can only state this "nature of things," not "ground" it: "there can be no explanation of this characteristic of nature" (Concept 57).

A further question then arises: why is there creativity at all? This would be Whitehead’s rendering of the age-old metaphysical question: "why is there something rather than nothing?" Here again, no reason can be given. Actually, in this respect Whitehead’s answer is the same as the one given by almost all metaphysicians, from Parmenides over Spinoza up to Heidegger, because it really is the only possible answer. What it actually means that "no reason can be given" may be interpreted in different ways by different authors, but every metaphysics has to end up with an absolute that cannot be explained by anything further. "In a sense, all explanation must end in an ultimate arbitrariness" (Whitehead, Science 92), whether it is the givenness of Being, or the givenness of God and of his decisions, or the givenness of creativity: all explanation must come to an end, as Wittgenstein says. That is why Spinoza calls his Substance causa sui, which is the replacement of the more classical rendering: "non ab alio."10 There is nothing else to refer to.

By conceiving this ultimate given as "creativity;" however, Whitehead gives a specific turn to the quest for the "that." Creativity is, as Whitehead says, linked to "the Latin verb creare, to beget, to produce." Whitehead’s metaphysics is a metaphysics of becoming. Not "something" is ultimate (neither Being, nor God, nor Substance) but only becoming itself. Reality is ongoing becoming. The ultimate metaphysical question then is for Whitehead: how can we understand that? How can we understand that always new actuality comes into existence? It is here that the full content and relevance of Whitehead’s notion of creativity comes to the fore.

In order to "understand" the origination of a new occasion, it is certainly not enough to refer to the past, particularly when that past is conceived as purely passive: out of a pure passivity, no activity can start in an intelligible way. One could argue that the new occasion starts out of its prehensions of the past, and in that sense we cannot say that it starts from nothing. But the question then is: how does that prehending activity come into existence at all? Prehensions account for the multiplicity within the occasion (just like perception does in the Leibnizian monad)11 but not for the "happening" of the occasion (and of the prehension) itself. It is not enough, moreover, to say that the occasion is creative. The whole question is exactly why something that is creative comes into existence, i.e., why new instantiations of creativity become at all. One could say: it "just happens," and in a sense it does just happen. But Whitehead’s notion of creativity makes it intelligible that it "just happens," while at the same time elucidating how it happens. Creativity is for Whitehead not just related to spontaneity, freedom, or even to togetherness only. It is first of all what Whitehead, in The Concept of Nature, calls "the creative force of existence" (73).

Johan Siebers, in his Ph.D. dissertation, suggests that the question "why is there a next?" is the same as "why is there something rather than nothing?" Therefore, he argues, there can be no answer to the question why there is a next (141). Yet, for Whitehead, creativity is the answer. "Science can find no creativity in nature; it finds mere rules of succession" (Modes 154). Creativity, however, is designed to understand that and how there is succession. There is a next because creativity is precisely transcending activity or activity of transcendence. That is why it is so important that there are "two kinds of fluency" within the one creativity, namely, transition and concrescence. A new actuality always arises out of a given world that "condition[s] the creativity which transcends [it]" (Whitehead, Process 43). (Note that Whitehead writes -- here and elsewhere -- that the past occasions condition the creativity and not [only] the later actual entities). It comes about by that "factor of activity which is the reason for the origin of that occasion of experience" (as Whitehead puts it in Adventures 179.)

Out of nothing, nothing comes. Even out of a purely passive situation, no new activity can arise in an intelligible way. Whitehead is certainly not an irrationalist in the sense that he would negate that. His concept of creativity, while remaining radically descriptive, is such that it is at the same time "explanatory" of the fact that always new actuality comes into existence. For him, the basic structure of reality is such that it is permeated by "that factor of activity" whereby new actuality -- which will be creative in the sense of causa sui of its own determination -- comes into existence.

This I take to be the meaning of a sentence in Science and the Modern World in which Whitehead refers explicitly to the "that" of things: "We have to search whether nature does not in its very being show itself as self-explanatory. By this I mean, that the sheer statement of what things are, may contain elements explanatory of why things are" (92). "What things are" clearly refers to "the ultimate nature of things," i.e., their creativity That creativity, it is said, "may contain elements explanatory of why things are."12 The "nature of things" is ultimately given; it cannot be "explained" but only elucidated. That ultimate given, however, is itself "explanatory." Here lies the real specificity of the way Whitehead conceives of "the ultimate." Whitehead’s metaphysics can be called a radically descriptive one. It is not descriptive in the sense that it is not concerned with the question "why;" but it is radically descriptive in the sense (a) that the ultimate "explanation" eventually ends up in the ultimate description, and, most importantly, (b) that the structure of the ultimate description is such that it "explains" (i.e., that it makes us understand) why becoming never stops but always realizes itself in a "next."

"That things are" is a wonder. Wittgenstein would call it the mystical. "Not how the world is, is the mystical, but that it is." That the world is, i.e., that there is creativity at all, also is a wonder for Whitehead.13 Yet he does not stop there. We have, he says -- probably in direct reaction to Wittgenstein in his Tractatus (a book that appeared just a few years earlier and that Whitehead certainly knew about) -- we have to "rationalize mysticism": not by causal reasons, but "by the introduction of novel verbal characterizations, rationally coordinated" (Modes 174). Because of the fact that the ultimate is conceived in terms of creativity, this "ultimate" can explain ongoingness (the creative advance). That is also the reason why Whitehead in Science and the Modern World talks about "substantial activity" and not just about "Substance": Substance "is," but "substantial activity" is for Whitehead nothing but "the underlying . . . activity of individuation" (Science 123). Whitehead reproaches Spinoza for his arbitrary introduction of the modes (Process 7). Creativity, however, compared to Spinoza, is nothing but the introduction of modes.

To sum up: all this indicates that for Whitehead creativity is more than the self-determination of the new concrescence. Both after and before Process and Reality, he holds a position that is metaphysically "stronger." This is evident in Adventures of Ideas, such as in the passage on "Creativity" quoted at length above, or in its reference to the dart of Lucretius.14 It is also evident in Modes of Thought, for example, its statement about "the whole antecedent world conspiring to produce a new occasion" (164). This "stronger" view of creativity is completely in line with Whitehead’s earlier work, such as Science and the Modern World, where creativity is conceived as the substantial activity, which was "an activity of individuation." In Process and Reality, especially the aspect of spontaneity gets more emphasis: creativity is also the aspect of causa sui and "the principle of novelty." This does not mean, however, that Whitehead there has a new conception of creativity, on the contrary. This emphasis is nothing but a further elaboration of one and the same: the creativity of the universe.

IV. The Ultimacy of Creativity

Whitehead’s reference to Spinoza in the context of creativity has often been the subject of harsh critiques. Such a reference seems to make creativity something in itself, while it is clear that Whitehead did not want to do so, as he says again and again. Yet Whitehead does refer to Spinoza, not only in Science and the Modern World but also -- and emphatically -- in Process and Reality. No other comparison in the context of creativity (e.g., the one with Aristotle’s matter) is repeated so often and developed so much. This is at least an indication that the comparison to Spinoza is not just a slip of the pen. What then, could have been Whitehead’s intention?

The reference to Spinoza is to the point -- not to make creativity something over and above the actualities but -- because for Spinoza, as for Whitehead, Substance is not without its modes. "Modes" mean: the ways in which Substance "exists." Creativity only exists in its modes: it is "no-thing" without them and they are not without it.

A second aspect in which the comparison to Spinoza is to the point is that outside of Substance, there is nothing. Also for Whitehead, nothing escapes from creativity. Everything that exists is by necessity one of its modes. Here the Platonic notion of the receptacle also is relevant for conceiving creativity:15 creativity is the a priori receptacle, the a priori metaphysical locus of all actuality.

Another comparison Whitehead makes in the context of creativity is that with Aristotelian prime matter. After all, this comparison is not so much different from that to Spinoza. Whitehead refers to Aristotle’s prime matter because it is, like creativity, without a character of its own. Yet, matter has a very important metaphysical status for Aristotle. It is (a) the principle of potentiality, (b) the principle of individuality, and (c) it is never without forms, yet (d) not reducible to them, either. It is not unimportant to note that Whitehead never says that creativity is reducible to actual entities (although it is nothing in itself): he always talks about the occasions being instances of creativity and conditioning the transcendent creativity (Process 43).

What the comparisons of creativity with Aristotle (and even with Plato) as well as with Spinoza try to elucidate is (a) that creativity is without specific character of its own, (b) that it is always ontologically related to the concrete actualities,16 yet (c) transcending all of them, in the sense of: never being limited to them, but in principle, though potentially, infinite.

Most of the reactions to the comparison with Spinoza are inspired by’ the ontological principle. Whitehead’s creativity, unlike Spinoza’s Substance, is not actual: it is not "something" in itself and for that reason, it is said, it cannot be a "reason" for anything or an "explanation," since the ontological principle rules that out.

The ontological principle is stated by Whitehead again and again in Process and Reality (18-19, 24, 40, 43, 166, 244), although in somewhat different formulations. It is understood in connection with Aristotle, Locke, Hume and even Descartes.17 In the Category of Explanation xviii, it is formulated as follows: "that every condition to which the process of becoming conforms in any particular instance has its reason either in the character of some actual entity in the actual world of that concrescence, or in the character of the subject which is in process of concrescence." As such, Whitehead calls it "the principle of efficient, and final, causation" (Process24). Whitehead summarizes: "no actual entity, then no reason" (Process 19).

Because of this principle, creativity cannot be a "reason," in the sense of an efficient or final cause. Does that mean that it can have no explanatory power? William Garland has argued that this is not the case. For him Whitehead implicitly works with two different kinds of explanation: the "causal" or "ordinary" kind of explanation appealing only, in agreement with the ontological principle, to actual entities, and an "ultimate explanation," which appeals to the principle of creativity and not to specific actual entities (221).18

I think Garland is right in stating that more is needed (and more is present) in Whitehead’s metaphysics than just the ontological principle, considered as the principle of efficient and final causation. The fact that there are efficient and final causations cannot be explained exhaustively in terms of the ontological principle itself. To the extent explained above, creativity "accounts" for the fact that there are continuously new actualities (causes) coming into existence. This, however, is not an explanation completely beside or above the ontological principle, either. It is not, as Garland characterized it (at least in the earlier version of his article),19 a rationalistic explanation over against the empirical ontological principle. In fact it is intrinsically related to the ontological principle, at least when this is taken in all its nuances. As said already, Whitehead has given many formulations of that principle. Besides the one quoted above (Category of Explanation xviii), Whitehead also circumscribes it, in reference to Locke, as ‘‘the principle that the reasons for things are always to be found in the composite natures of definite actual entities" (Process 19). Later on, he relates it to Hume’s doctrine "that nothing is to be received into the philosophical scheme which is not discoverable as an element in subjective experience. This is the ontological principle" (Process 166). These formulations lead to a more open understanding of the ontological principle, i.e., as the principle that only elements discoverable in the composite natures of actual entities can enter into the philosophical scheme and as such be "explanatory." Only such elements exist in some way or another,20 because only actual entities really exist. It remains true that "in separation from actual entities there is nothing, merely nonentity -- the rest is silence" (Whitehead, Process 43). But from the summary statement: "No actual entity, then no reason," the only logical conclusion is not that only actual entities as such can be "reasons."21 What Whitehead really seems to mean is that only elements, discoverable in actual entities (Process 166), or found in the composite nature of definite actual entities (Process 19) or in relation to actual entities (Process 43) can be reasons or at least enter into the philosophic scheme and in that sense be explanatory. The distinction is not irrelevant. In the latter interpretation, creativity as elucidated above, can quite well function as an "explanation" within the philosophic scheme: not as a rationalistic explanation besides the empiricist one, but as a truly empirical explanation. Creativity does "not float into the world from nowhere" (as Whitehead phrases the ontological principle in Process 244). It is directly discoverable as an element in the composite nature of actual entities, even if it transcends all present and past actuality. In other words, Whitehead’s reference to creativity as the universal "factor of activity which is the reason for the origin of the new occasion of experience" (Adventures 179) is not against the ontological principle. One might prefer not to talk about "reason" if one identifies reason with (efficient or final) causation, but even the weaker word "explanation" would do here. Creativity has an ultimate explanatory power that is not reducible to the actualities in themselves, yet it is never independent from them.22

V. The Relevance of Whitehead’s Notion of Creativity

The discussion as to the real range of Whitehead’s notion of creativity, is more than of purely academic interest. It reaches further than the question as to the right interpretation of Whitehead itself. It also determines the viability of Whitehead’s philosophy as a contemporary metaphysical option. The real issue is whether that metaphysics offers an intelligible answer to the basic age-old metaphysical questions, taking into account the fundamental contemporary insights. In this paper, I tried to show it does.

In contemporary metaphysics, the problem of becoming is inescapable. Time and becoming have made their entrance in every realm of thought. Everything is being historicized: the concept of man and the concept of nature, the "natural law" and the ethical rules, the concept of reason and the concept of Being. Eventually even the concept of God does not escape temporalization.

In fact, Western metaphysics grew out of the Greek (meta)physics of becoming and time. The central topic of early Greek philosophy was the problem of "physis," of movement and change, of origination and decay. Yet, Western metaphysics has been a metaphysics of being since Parmenides. Becoming and change were at best secondary, if not purely "non-being." Western thought had to wait until the romantic period before time and becoming started to play an essential role again. The first metaphysician to insert history into the heart of the Absolute was Hegel: history is an essential element in the being (becoming) of the Spirit. Without history, Spirit ("Geist") is only an abstraction.

In Hegel, however, the relevance of becoming and time is limited. The Spirit "necessarily appears in time, and it appears in time, just as long as it does not grasp its pure concept, i.e., does not delete time."23 Time, though extremely relevant, in the end is "elevated" ("aufgehoben").

For Nietzsche, too, time is at the heart of reality, but now as unending, the eternal return of the same. By the same token, temporality is radically linked to the becoming of nature and no longer to the Jewish-Christian conception of history (in which the emphasis is more on the future than on the past). In Nietzsche’s philosophy; there is no place for history as an upward directed arrow; except as a construction, due to the will to power of the slave.

Few philosophers have emphasized the importance of time and history as much as did Heidegger. Being and Time is not by accident the tide of his first magnum opus. Heidegger’s radical link between -- up to an identification of -- Being and Time would have been unthinkable in a mediaeval and even a modern context: to talk about Being and Time would have been something like talking about God and the world, or about the (eternal) Infinite and the (temporal) finite. In Heidegger, time has become so important that it is the central word to talk about Being and about the subject. Time here is not the same as the becoming of nature, though Being is eventually conceived in terms of "physis." It is history; but disconnected from the traditional link to the idea of progress. Contemporary French post-modern thought follows Heidegger in this respect, "l’événement" being an interruption of the continuity; the unity and the progression.

Whitehead’s philosophy of creativity developed out of this same growing awareness of time, becoming and historicity. From the very’ beginning it was concerned with "the becomingness of nature" (Enquiry 61). It wants to be a thoroughgoing thinking of becoming, though in such a way that can be accounted not only for the becoming of nature, with both its "degradation of energy" and its "upward course of biological evolution" (Whitehead, Function xx) but for history, too, with also its progression and its degeneration. It aims to develop a scheme in which becoming can be thought in all its possible directions24 and in which all the basic issues can be addressed: the ongoingness as well as the novelty, the "that" of becoming as well as its "what," its absoluteness as well as its relationality. As such, it searches for further answers than a philosophy of concrescence and self-determination can give.

Whitehead’s philosophy is a "metaphysics of becoming," in the full sense of the term. As a metaphysics, it wants to "rationalize" becoming, as far as possible. From that point of view, Whitehead sides with rationalism, but not with a rationalism as opposed to empiricism, but a rationalism opposed to an anti-intellectual approach.25 Whitehead’s philosophy of creativity is a radically empirical though rational metaphysics of becoming. It is both descriptive and explanatory: it elucidates how and in what sense the ultimate description can also be the ultimate explanation. It is an "event-metaphysics,"26 moving from physics to physis (Lackmann 137), as Heidegger wanted to do. As such, it goes further than a rational analysis of concrescence. It wants to give, first of all, a metaphysical "explanation" of the basic characteristic of nature, that "nature is ever originating its own development" (Enquiry 14). This is the ultimate fact of "concrescence" itself. The task of Whitehead’s entire philosophy, from beginning to end, has been to think that fact.

Notes

 

I. Emmet (xii-xxiii).

2. The word "creativity" as such is used only from Religion in the Making and following publications.

3. Whitehead’s remarks on Locke are also very’ illuminating for the concept of transition: "the notion of ‘passing on’ is more fundamental than that of a private individual fact. . . passing on becomes "creativity" in the dictionary sense of the verb creare, "to bring forth, beget, produce. . . . An entity is at least a particular form capable of infusing its own particularity into creativity" (Process 213).

4 "On Objects and Subjects." The chapter is mainly on perception, knowledge, personality, mind-body, and Plato’s Receptacle.

5. It must be said that many texts on creativity in Modes of Thought can be read also as stressing mainly the creativity of the concrescing occasion itself.

6. That is, "the continuity of events" (Enquiry 203).

7. This is so mainly for metaphysical reasons, i.e., the (related) problems of individuality and of the irrevocableness of the past. In Adventures of Ideas, however, Whitehead links that ambiguity also to the evolution in contemporary physics, from Clerk-Maxwell’s continuity to the later atomicity (185).

8. In An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Natural Knowledge Whitehead wrote: "continuity is derived from events, and atomicity from objects. . . . a scientific object is an atomic structure imposed upon the continuity of events" (203). In Process and Reality, on the contrary, the position has changed: "Continuity concerns what is potential, whereas actuality is incurably atomic" (61). So now the problem is no longer: how can there be discontinuity (atomic objects) in the continuity; but how can there be continuity’ between atomic actualities?

9. Nobo writes:

By the self-causation of an actual occasion Whitehead cannot mean that the occasion brings itself into existence. For to say that something is absolutely self-caused, or self-created, is to say that that which is non-existent somehow brings itself into existence. Thus, taken in a literal and absolute sense, self-causation is an unintelligible, self-contradictory notion. But even if absolute self-creation were an intelligible notion, it would still not be what Whitehead meant by an occasion being causa sui; for as we have just seen, he held the actual occasion to be the result of efficient causation as well as of self-causation. Moreover, he took the result of efficient causation to be the given, or primary, stage of the occasion’s existence, the stage from which self-causation starts. Thus, ‘causa sui cannot mean ‘absolute cause of its own existence’." (152)

10. Actually, for Whitehead there is still another metaphysical given, i.e., the primordial divine conceptual valuation: that is "the ultimate irrationality" (Science I), "irrationality"’ meaning here not that this valuation is irrational, but that its rationality cannot be grounded further.

11. In Leibniz, like in Whitehead, there is perception (prehension) and this perception accounts for plurality within the monad. The monad itself, however, has been created by God. Even if for Whitehead the occasion has windows, the prehensive activity cannot account for its own "happening."

12. It is nature that is said to be self-explanatory; not an occasion, meaning that the description of nature (its creativity) may contain elements "explanatory"’ of why things are. I am not unaware of the fact that one could read this statement -- like so many others -- not only from the perspective here defended, but also from the perspective in which creativity is the creativity only of the concrescence (in the sense that the creativity of the concrescence may contain elements explanatory of why this concrescence is). But that is certainly not the literal reading and, as I hope to have made clear in the foregoing, not the best reading either.

13. Compare Whitehead, Modes "Philosophy begins in wonder. And, at the end, when philosophic thought has done its best, the wonder remains. There have been added, however, some grasp of the immensity of things, some purification of emotion by understanding" (168-69).

14. "The creativity of the world is the throbbing emotion of the past hurling itself into a new transcendent fact. It is the flying dart, of which Lucretius speaks, hurled beyond the bounds of the world" (Whitehead, Adventures 177).

15. Whitehead refers to Plato’s receptacle mainly in the context of the extensive continuum, though it does not fit there very well because the receptacle for Plato is precisely without characteristics of its own -- something Whitehead rather says about creativity He also refers to the receptacle in the context of the problem of personal identity (Adventures 187). Nevertheless, the notion can be elucidating for creativity; too, as Walter Stokes has very well argued (83 ff., but also 367), even if Whitehead himself does not use it in that context.

16. "In all philosophic theory there is an ultimate which is actual in virtue of its accidents" (Whitehead, Process 7).

17. See Process and Reality pages 19 regarding Locke, 40 on Aristotle and Descartes, and page 166 on Hume.

18. In the original version of his article, Garland characterized the first kind of explanation as "causal explanation" (366a). In the reprint in Explorations in Whitehead’s Philosophy the term "causal explanation" is replaced by the term "ordinary explanation," while within ordinary explanations, a distinction is made between a specific explanation (referring to actual occasions) and a generic explanation (referring to God’s primordial decision) (219).

19. Garland, "Creativity" 366b. In the reprint the characterization "rationalistic" is not used any longer (see 220-21), while the characterization "empiricist" is retained (218).

20. See in this respect also the circumscription of the term "real" that Whitehead is reported to have given in one of his classes: "real because it expresses a fact learned from the actual world and concerning the actual world" (Lackmann, 132).

21. Whitehead, Process 24. Not only actual entities as such can be reasons, but also elements in them can be reasons, as they influence, for example, a specific character in a later occasion.

22. A metaphysical explanation is more than giving efficient (and final) causes: it is more than physics. Besides, Whitehead attributes explanatory power to eternal objects, too, and these are not actual entities: they are not in isolation from actual entities and especially not in isolation from God, but they are not reducible to the actual entities or to God, either. The same holds for creativity. In Religion in the Making eternal objects and creativity are both (together with God) attributed the special (metaphysical) status of "formative elements."

23. Hegel 429 (my translation). Hegel writes: "deswegen erscheint der Geist notwendig in der Zeit, und er erscheint so lange in der Zeit, als er nicht semen remen Begriff erfasst d. h. nicht die Zeit tilgt." The classical English translation of A.V. Miller is less literal: "Spirit appears to itself in time till it achieves full notional grasp and thereby abolishes time," 591.

24. For this, the disjunction of creativity and God is essential: God is the "Eros of the Universe," and as such not only a condition for actuality but also an ideal and a critique (Compare Whitehead, Religion 63).

25. Compare Whitehead: "I am also greatly indebted to Bergson, William James and John Dewey. One of my preoccupations has been to rescue their type of thought from the charge of anti-intellectualism, which rightly or wrongly’ has been associated with it" Process (xii).

26. As such, Whitehead’s philosophy’ of creativity shows the possibility of what some contemporary French post-modern philosophers consider to be something like a contradiction in terms, i.e., a metaphysics of plurality and of "l’événement."

 

Works Cited

Emmet, Dorothy. Whitehead’s Philosophy of Organism. 2nd ed. London: Macmillan. New York: St. Martin’s, 1966.

____."Creativity and the Passage of Nature." Whitehead’s Metaphysik der Kreativität: Internationales Whitehead-Symposium Bad Homburg 1983. Ed. Fried-rich Rapp and Reiner Wiehi. Freiburg-Miinchen: Karl Alber, 1986.

Frankenberry, Nancy "The Activity of the Past." Process Studies 13 (1983): 132-42.

Garland, William J. "The Ultimacy’ of Creativity." Explorations in Whitehead’s Philosophy. Ed. Lewis S. Ford and George L. Kline. New York: Fordham UP, 1983. 212-38

Hegel, G. W F. Phänomenologie des Geistes. Gesammelte Werke 9. Ed. W. Bonsiepen and R. Heede. Hamburg. Felix Meiner, 1980. Transl. A. V. Miller. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1977.

Hosinski, Thomas E. Stubborn Fact and Creative Advance: An Introduction to the Metaphysics of Alfred North Whitehead. Lanham: Rowman and Littlefield, 1993.

Lackmann, Rolf, ed. "Susanne K. Langer’s Notes on Whitehead’s Course on Philosophy of Nature." Process Studies 26 (1997): 126-50.

Leclerc, Ivor. Whitehead’s Metaphysics: An Introductory Exposition. London: Allen and Unwin, 1958.

Nobo, Jorge L. "Transition in Whitehead: A Creative Process Distinct from Concrescence," International Philosophical Quarterly 19 (1979): 265-83.

_____ Whitehead’s Metaphysics of Extension and Solidarity. Albany: State U of New York P, 1986.

Siebers, Johan Isaac. The Method of Speculative Philosop4y: An Essay on the Foundations of Whitehead’s Metaphysics. Dissertation, U of Leiden, 1998.

Stokes, Walter E. The Function of Creativity in the Metaphysics of Whitehead. Dissertation, St. Louis U, 1960.

Whitehead, Alfred North. Adventures of Ideas. 1933. New York: Free Press, 1967.

____ The Concept of Nature. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1920.

____ An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Natural Knowledge. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1919.

____ The Function of Reason. 1929. Boston: Beacon, 1958.

____ Modes of Thought. 1938. New York: Free Press, 1968.

____ Process and Reality. 1929. Corrected Edition. Ed. David Ray Griffin and Donald W. Sherburne. New York: Free Press, 1978.

____Religion in the Making. 1926. New York: Fordham UP, 1996.

____ Science and the Modern World. 1925. New York: Free Press, 1967.

 

 

 

 

 

Being and Freedom: The Metaphysics of Freedom

 

It was Duns Scotus who said: There can be no contingency in any second cause in causing unless there is contingency in the first cause in causing (De Primo Principio, Ch. 4). Scotus, of course, had God in mind, but his comment still sets the issue of freedom nicely where metaphysics is concerned. We often deal with the question of human freedom internally to humanity, our wishes, and our acts. However, ultimately the problem of human freedom reduces to a metaphysical issue of the basic structure of the world. It would be difficult, if not strange, for human beings to be the only part of nature subject to contingency. It is possible, of course, but it certainly makes the defense of human freedom more difficult if we have to prove that we somehow stand alone within a natural system governed by necessity.

All, of course, do not want to argue for any such exception for human nature. It has been thought that the scientific study of mankind would be facilitated if human nature observed the same kind of necessary cycle which the stars do or the elements of chemistry. But I leave those who are content with determinism aside, those who assume no action could be other than it is, that is, necessary. Instead, I find abroad in the world today the loudest clamoring for freedom and self-determinism human history has yet witnessed. If this social and political goal -- the ability of the individuals to decide for themselves and to guide the course of their own destinies free from higher determination -- is to find philosophical support, it must be grounded in a contingency which is characteristic of nature itself. Our question is whether freedom, more than, say, unity or necessity, is the key characteristic of Being-itself. Being has been approached via form, nothingness, time. Can we also understand Being with freedom as our primary category of approach?

Sartre has suggested that we understand Being via ‘nothingness and Heidegger has suggested ‘time’. If our metaphysics is fixed by the approach we first choose, whether or not we start with freedom is a matter of crucial importance. As an example and test case, I propose to consider freedom as an attribute of God. In the way that substance functions in Spinoza’s ethics, I believe ‘God’ is a central concept the analysis of which gives us a clear model to observe how basic structures relate. Of course, God has been subject to much controversy and is thought to add not only obscurity but an element of partisanship into metaphysics. The continual controversy over God is evident, but I still believe this swirl of differing opinions deepens the insight possible rather than blocking it. God is a good metaphysical test case.

In traditional theology, we can phrase the question as one of God’s omniscience and omnipotence. If contingency is real in the nature of things, and if human beings are free to make selective choices which fix the future course of events, God’s power cannot be unlimited and his knowledge cannot be complete. In other words, we return to our dictum from Duns Scotus: There must be contingency in the divine nature, a free determination not fixed in advance of the moment of choice, or else human freedom is a fiction. Of course, Spinoza defines freedom so that it means "from the necessity of its own nature," in which case freedom can be interpreted so as to be compatible with necessity. But I am assuming that such interpretations of freedom are unsatisfactory, that we seek an element of genuine contingency dependent on human or divine will to determine, and that some actions are undetermined in advance of the moment of decision.

Of course, all events need not be so indeterminent. To be genuine, however, freedom requires that, at least in some crucial instances of decision, the movement of the act of will be the decisive factor. In spite of Hume, the sun need not make a decision to rise each morning, but perhaps human beings must. Certainly Kierkegaard is correct that many of us allow events to be determined for us by our failure to act decisively in time, in which case forces outside our own nature take over and fix the future. The question is not whether human beings can fail, but whether, if we intervene to act in time, the consequence of our decision is at least one factor in determining the direction of the future. The question is not whether God intervenes constantly to disrupt or to fix the course of human affairs, but whether this option is open to him if he chose to exercise the power of his will.

In modern thought the mood of many has been to abandon the notion of divine omnipotence. If we wish to make freedom the primary attribute in a notion of God, this tendency is inevitable. The issue, I believe, is not so much whether liberty, freedom, and contingency are our prime considerations today, as it is whether the power over Being-itself is still lodged in a divine Being. An unrestrained use of freedom leads to chaos and a lack of control. Can we, then, use freedom as a central concept in understanding Being and its structure without the risk of losing all rational order? Sartre approached Being through Nothingness, an even more radical concept, and Heidegger found in a new analysis of Time his key to the grasp of Being. Both, I believe, wanted to increase the sense of human freedom and the role of contingency in the structure of all beings. But wouldn’t this be more easily accomplished if freedom were taken to characterize Being-itself?

But what does it mean to say this, when we admit that the sun does not need to decide to arise each morning, and that many men fail to exercise the indeterminate options they have? We return to the notion of God as our illustrative concept for understanding metaphysical structure. The question, then, is not whether the sun has options and contingencies in plotting its daily course, but whether God, as the Being who establishes the structure of Being-itself, had options and a genuine freedom open to his exercise before the astronomical system was fixed as we find it. Could other bodies be and the sun not be? Could light and heat be provided by alternative means? Need the form of nature be as we find it? If not, then freedom extends to Being-itself because it need not be as it is, and in fact is not complete in itself. As Plato concluded, Being includes not-being. On our account, what we call Being-itself is not necessary, but is only one election from an infinity of possible systems and structures.

If freedom characterizes Being-itself, in that it need not be as it is but is subject to infinite variety of form, the prime question is not Heidegger’s "why something rather than nothing at all" but "why was this structure given to Being rather than some other possible structure?" Yet, in shifting the basic metaphysical question to this form, we also get an insight into how to keep a stress on freedom from dissolving into disorder and chaos. We see before us one particular order of Being and a structure to nature we can probe rationally. We may have our doubts along with Hume about the certainty of our knowledge of the sun’s course, but we do find an order established and not no-sun-at-all. Thus, a decision was made to elect one out of an infinity of possible natural orders. Will must be strong enough -- in some instances at least -- to face unlimited freedom and still to establish order by a definite decision.

Theologically and religiously, God has served as a model for many, even if we admit that his nature is viewed in a variety of ways. Metaphysically, God becomes a model for the use of freedom. He is the Being who deals with contingency and is capable of decision in time so that order is established over chaos by the action of a will backed by the power necessary to sustain it. Of course, we have to admit that human beings have neither the unlimited power that characterizes divinity with respect to humanity nor the scope of insight and knowledge which has been characterized in the tradition as omniscience. Given our stress on freedom in the divine nature, we need to reinterpret omniscience of the future so that it means not a fixed knowledge of every coming event held in a timeless instant, but the simultaneous grasp of an absolute infinity of possibles -- a capability we human beings lack -- and an instantaneous calculation of the odds for all future possible events and actions.

We often fail for lack of a complete knowledge of the options before us, but God has no such limitations. We often are unsure of the outcome of an action, and so we refrain, while God knows not the actual outcome but at least the likely result of every move. He can know the odds but not the actuality, because his freedom to set the future comes up against the limit of the freedom he originally decided to grant to man and deny to nature. We know he does not change his mind on these primal decisions quixotically as we often do out of ignorance or insecurity, because the course of nature has remained fixed since its unfolding was set -- at least as far as we can determine this. Of course, our freedom fails to be perfectly exercised more due to our limited power rather than any restriction on our knowledge or predictive powers.

God may quite likely feel a sense of insecurity, but it does not stem from an uncertainty about any earlier decision or a worry about his ability to sustain an announced course due to insufficient power. A divine sense of insecurity comes through the original grant of freedom to human nature, so that he knows what we might do and the odds for various options, but not what in fact we human beings will do in detail. God could have blocked out the effect of insecurity in his own life by denying freedom, but he could not decide to create (which means to choose an option for actual existence) and at the same time deny the most basic feature of his nature to the elected created order. He is not grudging, as Plato observed, and so holds nothing of his own powers completely to himself. However, he cannot bestow his own freedom on any other being perfectly, as Plato and Spinoza both argued. Ironically, we men and women face divine problems of choice with only inferior powers at our disposal.

Thus, Being as we know it is not characterized by a full and perfect freedom. The regularity of the particular pattern of nature before us and the weakness of persons who fail to exercise the options before them make it possible for philosophers and ordinary people to fail to see that freedom is the primary attribute of Being-itself. Because we restrict the meaning of Being to the observable structure, we fail to see that Nature itself is the result of a choice from an infinitely wider range of possible orders. Thus the question over Being is really the question of whether metaphysics must take as its object all that possibly could exist and not simply what has in fact come to exist. If we take the widest possible range of objects (all that is possible) to constitute Being, our particular order appears less necessary in its constitution than fixed Nature as we find it.

Aristotle, for instance, approaches the metaphysical task with two primary concepts: first, that necessity characterizes what is good; and second, that thought forms the essence of what is divine (Metaphysics 1072 b10). Thus, Aristotle excludes change from his first principle. Not to be capable of being otherwise (i.e., necessary) is best, and so contingency is excluded. Actuality must always be metaphysically prior and regulative. This defines for Aristotle what is divine, and this excludes contingency and freedom, except in the way in which Spinoza uses freedom. In any case, uncertainty does not enter in, nor can freedom mean that the future is undetermined. Life becomes thought, and actualized thought at that. Certainly emotion is excluded from such a life, although it might be appropriate if the future were indeterminate. Moreover, unlike human thought, divine thought does not change. This would be an imperfection, and so what is divine excludes movement (1074 b25).

A God modeled on Aristotle’s metaphysical principles has the freedom of Spinoza’s substance, that of being cause of itself and dependent on nothing other than itself. Aristotle first takes omnipotence, using theological language, and defines the freedom of his first substance in that light. Thomas Aquinas follows Aristotle in citing actuality first where God’s perfection is concerned. Freedom involves dependence and potentiality, we know, so that freedom in the sense of contingency is excluded from Thomas’s God. Immutability becomes God’s perfection too, and succession is excluded. In God, Thomas says, will follows on his intellect (Summa Theologiae, Pt. I Q19, Art. 1), and God’s will is entirely unchangeable. Given this situation, freedom as human beings know it is impossible. Passion is also excluded from God (Pt. I, Q20, Art. 1), yet freedom as we know it involves such emotional power. Evidently, if freedom is to be constitutive of Being, we must not only see Being in its widest sense, but the contingencies of our life must find a base in Being itself.

Thomas subjects the exercise of free will to divine providence (Pt. I, Q22, Art. 2). Given the Aristotelian metaphysical base on which he constructs his notion of God, we know that free will cannot involve indeterminacy. Thomas admits a contingency in events, but, like Spinoza’s use of freedom, all events are still foreseen from eternity as happening. The crucial point is that, for Thomas, there is no distinction between what flows from free will and what is from predestination. Necessity embraces all, although God is further from being the direct cause of some events than others. Interestingly enough, Thomas expands the meaning of Being to include all possible worlds, but God’s will is not involved in the actualization of one possible order (ours). The power to actualize is not the result of an act of will on God’s part but follows from his nature (Pt. I Q25, Art. 5). God’s nature will determine his will, not the other way around, as Sartre would have it.

If we are to exercise genuine freedom of choice, and if this contingency is to be reflected in the structure of Being itself, will and intellect cannot be the same, but Thomas will not allow this (Pt. I, Q27, Art. 3). Freedom requires a basic diversity in the attributes of Being, not the dominance of unity, as so many have thought. Will can restrict its scope in actualizing in order to allow other wills their option of choice, restricting foreknowledge and prediction but not necessarily the power of one who voluntarily limits what might otherwise be full control over the future. Thought prefers completion, omnipotence, form, necessity, and actuality. But volition and affection are compatible with freedom and an openness to the future. Freedom involves changeability, incompleteness, and the absence of necessity -- not always, but at least at crucial junctions in the affairs of man and nature.

The aspects of impulse and caprice in will as a source of freedom have often caused metaphysicians to bind God to necessity in order to avoid what they consider arbitrariness. But affection can use intensity and passion as a way to open alternatives, rather than to close them off arbitrarily. We need to distinguish the kind of volitional force which is a liberating and not a binding power on others. If we do, Being-itself can be characterized by some degree of contingency and does not need an unrelieved necessity to insure its consistency. God may alter the dominant qualities in his own nature at times, and Being is self-regulating and self-sustaining but not immune to the emergence of novelty. Emotion will find its base in God and in Being-itself, as that which sustains consistency during change, rather than necessity.

God could have fixed the world on a necessary course. Power allows that. Being could be all that exists or will exist and allow no alternatives. But our human experience of contingency and the press for freedom and self-determination in our time indicate a different notion of God and a more flexible structure to Being-itself. We need to turn our attention away from grasping necessity and more toward discerning how choice is made and control is exercised. Some decisions are determinative, others not. We need to understand how and when volition can be successful in changing presently fixed structure. Our experience has more the quality of a lottery and a gamble than of a succession of events fixed by necessity. Eternity seems more to mean "not subject to failure" than it does "untouched by time or motion or contingency." There is no novelty without risk, and we seem to live in a universe capable of accepting the excitement of risk. We should not exclude God from this experience.

Is the world like a labyrinth in which we wander, more than a fixed course set out in advance? If so, freedom must be constituent of Being and be prized by God in his own life. Freedom need not lead to license and lawlessness. We began by asking if human volition, which gives freedom to fix what otherwise would remain indeterminate, is an exception in the natural order or if freedom can belong to Being-itself. Kant, of course, answers that we will never know, but that result comes from the metaphysics he constructs, not so much from the impossibility of the structure’s being other than necessary. Kant’s analysis is confined to phenomenon as they present themselves to him, and, of course, other possible worlds never appear in space and time -- except as constructs of our imagination. But hasn’t human imagination grasped something real?

We easily visualize other orders, a variety of modes for the future, and we deliberate over which direction to commit volitional energy. These are as real in human experience as space and time, and the way contingent future events are sometimes altered by volitional decision makes us unwilling to see that human effort is of no avail. The past is what it is, but we seldom think of the future in the same way. Are past and future distinct in the structure of Being-itself, and what does it mean to say this? I think it means that Being is not full, can never actualize all possibilities, and that its structure is given final form in time. In its outer limits and sensual shape, this is the result of God’s volitional action, since the Being within which we live and move has its shape defined by divine decision. What must remain unactualized is infinite. Human volitional action operates on a much smaller scale and sometimes renders itself ineffectual. But when it acts, it structures Being in the same way God structures himself.

 

Note

1 For a more detailed, and contrasting, exposition of this point, see my The God of Evil (New York: Harper and Row, 1970).

The Problem of Evil in Process Theism and Classical Free Will Theism

No topic in the philosophy of religion seems to be so universally engaging as the problem of evil. This problem can be counted on to hold the attention of practically any audience, regardless of their degree of philosophical sophistication. During the past several decades there has probably been more writing on the problem of evil than on all of the theistic proofs put together, and the flood shows no sign of abating.

This problem is generally regarded as the most powerful weapon wielded by atheists in their attacks on theistic belief. But it also comes into play in the internecine controversies among theists, where different conceptions of God are judged acceptable or otherwise in no small part because of their ability (or lack thereof) to provide a satisfactory solution for the problem of evil. In particular, this is true of the debate between process theists and traditional or "classical" theists. It would be no exaggeration to say that many process theists regard the phenomena of evil as providing the decisive reason why traditional theism should be rejected and their view preferred in its place. Many traditional theists would agree that process theism enjoys a certain advantage at this point, while holding that other benefits of traditional theism are more than sufficient to outweigh the advantage of process theism with respect to the problem of evil.

I have come to see, however, that there is one version of traditional theism that is very much on a par with process theism in its treatment of the problem of evil. The version in question has been described by David Griffin as "classical free will theism"; its adherents usually refer to it as the "open view" of God, or simply as "free will theism."1

In what follows I shall begin by briefly characterizing the two views in question; then I shall proceed to examine their respective implications for the problem of evil. For the process approach I shall be relying mainly on the writings of David Ray Griffin, probably the best exponent of the process view of this topic. It is by no means my intention to provide a complete theodicy; but I will be giving special attention to those aspects of the problem where the two types of theism might seem to show major differences.

I. Free Will Theism and Process Theism

We begin with classical free will theism, a view that is closer to the mainstream of the theological tradition. In common with the tradition, this view holds that God is both omnipotent and omniscient. Omnipotence may be defined as God’s power to do anything that is neither logically incoherent nor inconsistent with God’s moral perfection. A singular exercise of divine omnipotence is found in the divine creation of the universe ex nihilo, out of nothing; omnipotence also entails the ability to perform miracles, actions that lie beyond the natural potentialities of created beings. Omniscience, similarly, means that God knows everything that is capable of being known. In contrast with the majority of the tradition, free will theism in its most consistent form holds that contingent future events are inherently unknowable and thus do not fall within the scope of omniscience, any more than it falls within the scope of omnipotence to create a square circle.2 Chief among the reasons why some future events are inherently unknowable is that they will come about through the free actions of creatures, where freedom is understood in the libertarian sense such that the agent is fully able, under the existing circumstances, to perform some other action in place of the one that is actually done. To be sure, God retains the power to "overrule" creaturely actions, but for the most part he graciously refrains from doing so, preferring to grant to the creatures a genuine, though limited, power of self-determination.

Process theism understands divine omniscience in a way that is similar to that described above, but its conception of divine power and its exercise is very different. The mode of God’s activity is formally the same in each and every event that takes place. God provides the "initial aim" for each momentary "occasion of experience"; this initial aim represents, one might say, God’s "ideal will" for that particular occasion. But the occasion then exercises its inherent power of self-determination in selecting its "subjective aim"; in so doing, it may follow closely the initial aim provided by God but it also may deviate widely from that initial aim. It is particularly important to see that God has no ability to control which of these actually occurs. God’s role in the situation is strictly limited to the provision of the initial aim. This means that the traditional doctrine of creation ex nihilo must be abandoned; the metaphysical structure of reality is such that God is always, and necessarily, confronted with an "other" which he must persuade, shape, and "lure" in the direction which he sees as being best and as leading to the richest fulfillment of experience. Process theists generally do not describe God’s power as "omnipotence," but they resist vigorously the suggestion that God as they conceive of him is weak or ineffectual. God, they say, does not have all the power that there is, but he has the most power that any being could possibly have, and to see this power as weakness is gravely to underestimate the ability of persuasive love to gain its ends, given sufficient time and patience.

With these thumbnail sketches in place, we are in a position to consider the implications of the two views for the problem of evil. That problem may be simply stated by asking, How can we reconcile the supposed existence of a loving God with the many and grievous evils that afflict the world God has created? On the face of it, it would seem that this problem is far less acute for process theism, simply because God’s control over the events of the world is so much less. God provides the initial aim for each occasion, and that aim, we are assured, is for the best that is attainable in the given situation. If however the subjective aim pursued by the occasion deviates from the initial aim, resulting in pain and suffering, this is not God’s fault, and God can do nothing about it except to continue the process of loving persuasion in the hope of a better future.

Classical free will theism, in contrast, attributes to God a far greater degree of control over worldly events. God created the world ex nihilo, with no prior constraints apart from those of logical consistency. Creation, to be sure, need not take the form of the instantaneous production of a universe such as we see today. But even if the creation involved a very long and gradual developmental process, God has the power to control such a process and to assure its resulting in the very sort of world he intended to produce. It appears, then, that God carries a much greater share of responsibility for the evils of the world than would be the case on the assumptions of process theism. Process theists, to be sure, welcome the emphasis on libertarian free will for creatures, and consider this a major advance over the theological determinism that is characteristic of such classical theologians as Augustine, Aquinas, and Calvin. In spite of this, however, they maintain that God’s assumed ability to intervene supernaturally, and to exercise unilateral control over the course of events when necessary, leaves the free will theist with an intractable problem of evil.

We can see, then, why it has seemed plausible to process theists that their view is less troubled by the problem of evil than is any variety of classical theism, and why many classical theists have tended to agree with this assessment. Nevertheless, I shall maintain that, where the alternative view in question is classical free will theism, the perception of an advantage for process theism is largely an illusion. In order to see this, we must review in detail specific aspects of the problem of evil.3

II. Moral Evil

Charles Hartshorne once wrote that the "only solution to the problem of evil ‘worth writing home about’. . . uses the idea of freedom, but generalizes it" (13). About the generalization (to natural as well as moral evil) we will be speaking shortly. But the reference to freedom points to an important area of commonality between process and free will theism. Both views agree that a vast amount of the world’s evil and suffering is traceable to the morally wrong actions of human beings. Both views hold that these actions are free in the libertarian sense, meaning that they are not predetermined by any prior circumstances. Both views agree, then, that the primary responsibility for these actions lies with their human perpetrators and not with God, who has in some way provided the circumstances in which the decisions are made but does not control the decisions themselves.

So far, then, there is agreement, but process theists are likely to think that their view still holds an advantage in dealing with moral evil. One possible line here is to point out that, on the assumptions of classical theism, God has deliberately chosen to endow his creatures with this kind of freedom; thus God, even though not directly responsible for the individual choices, bears a heavy responsibility for turning loose upon the world a freedom that has had such devastating consequences. For process theism, on the other hand, freedom is not the result of a divine choice; it is rather an essential component in the metaphysical structure of the world.

The argument in this form cannot succeed. Freedom in some form or other may be necessary according to process theism, but the complex and sophisticated variety of freedom involved in human agency is not; God could have refrained from "luring" the world in the direction that led to the development of such freedom. Or, freedom in this form having entered the world and having proved too costly, God could simply allow the world to revert to its earlier, less highly evolved state. So the existence of human beings possessing both free will and the capacity to use this to create great goods and great evils is indeed the result of a divine decision. Free will theists will agree with David Griffin, and with other process theists, that "God’s purpose . . . is to bring forth creatures with ever-greater capacities for realizing and influencing others in terms of the higher forms of positive value," and that "this purpose necessarily means evoking into existence beings with ever-greater capacities for using their power in ways that are contrary to the will of God" (Cobb and Griffin 34). Which is to say: both in free will theism and in process theism it is God who is responsible for the existence of creatures who have the freedom and power to bring about great evils.

A more subtle form of this same argument is deployed by David Griffin when he points to a "serious objection" to the standard free will theodicy:

This objection takes the form of doubt that freedom is really such an inherently great thing that it is worth running the risk of having creatures such as Hitler. If it were possible to have creatures who could enjoy all the same values which we human beings enjoy, except that they would not really he free, should God not have brought into existence such creatures instead? In other words, if God could have created beings who were like us in every way, except that (a) they always did the best things, and (b) they thought they were only doing this freely, should God not have created those beings instead?

This argument seems convincing, given its premises. But process theology rejects its premises. (Cobb and Griffin 74)4

Griffin goes on to point out that the correlation, noted previously, between a creature’s capacity "for realizing and influencing others in terms of the higher forms of positive value" and that same creature’s capacity "for using [its] power in ways that are contrary to the will of God" is on his view necessary rather than contingent, so that the process God could not have brought into existence beings with the positive capacities of human beings but lacking their potential destructiveness. A God endowed with classical omnipotence, however, would not have been limited by such a necessary correlation; such a God could -- and, Griffin implies, should -- have created rather the beings described in the quotation above, able to enjoy the positive values we now experience but endowed with a freedom which is illusory rather than real.

This argument abounds in problems. If it is acceptable to substitute the illusion of freedom for actual freedom, why not the illusion of knowledge for actual knowledge, and the illusion of love for actual love? Why, for that matter, shouldn’t God take on the role of a beneficent Cartesian demon, and create for each one of us an illusionary paradise within the recesses of our own minds? Descartes, it will be recalled, introduced the demon precisely because he was unable to suppose that God, who is "most good and the fountain of truth" should be capable of such deception. It seems to many of us (but not, apparently, to Griffin!) that Descartes was right in holding it impossible for God to engage in a policy of massive deception.5

Perhaps, however, Griffin’s argument could be modified so as to dispense with the notion that created persons are to be deceived about the sort of freedom they enjoy Perhaps rather than being given the illusion that they enjoy libertarian freedom, created persons could be content with the possession of "compatibilist freedom," freedom which consists in the ability to act upon one’s own inclinations, without being compelled by external forces. (After all, there are a good many people who even now persuade themselves that this is all the freedom we have, and all we really need.) So the argument would go as follows: The God of process theism, who is constrained by the inherent metaphysical structure of the world, could not create beings possessing the positive capacities of human beings but lacking in libertarian freedom. But God as conceived in classical theism, not being limited by such metaphysical necessities, could have done just that, and morally ought to have done so. So there is indeed a moral objection -- a problem of evil -- for classical free will theism that process theism is not subject to.

This version of the argument is more plausible than those canvassed previously, but it is still far from unproblematic. For one thing, free will theists would not endorse the view that all of the higher values enjoyed by human beings could be available to creatures lacking libertarian freedom. For example, all free will theists hold that libertarian freedom is essential for moral responsibility. Many would also assert that there could not be a genuinely personal relationship between God and human beings, if God were to exercise the sort of unilateral control over human actions postulated by Griffin’s argument. Thus, one of the crucial premises needed for the argument is not available.

It is also noteworthy that the process theist, if she espouses the argument just described, is in effect putting herself in the position of a disappointed Calvinist! That is to say: she thinks it would be better, all things considered, if God had been able to exercise complete, unilateral control over the world, exactly as postulated by Calvin and other theological determinists. In fact, however, God (the process God) is unable to do this, so she (and God!?) are obliged to settle for second best -- for a universe containing the potential for all of these positive values, but also containing the peril and potential destructiveness of libertarian freedom. I suspect that very few process theists will upon reflection find themselves comfortable with such a stance.

In order to test this claim, I invite the reader to join me in a thought experiment. Imagine yourself then, as a prospective parent shortly before the birth of your first child. And suppose that someone has offered you the following choice: On the one hand, the child will be one that, without any effort on your part, will always and automatically do and be exactly what you want it to do and be, no more and no less. The child will have no feeling of being constrained or controlled; nevertheless, it will spontaneously carry out your wishes on any and every occasion. Or on the other hand, you can choose to have a child in the normal fashion, a child that is fulls’ capable of having a will of its own and of resisting your wishes for it, and even of acting against its own best interests. You will have to invest a great deal of effort in its education, with good hopes to be sure, but without any advance guarantee of success. And there is the risk, indeed the near-certainty that the child will inflict on you considerable pain and suffering, as you strive to help the child become all that he or she can be and ought to be. Which do you choose?

Such a choice is admittedly deeply subjective, and it may well be that some readers will choose the first alternative, to have a child that is always and automatically in compliance with their wishes for it. It is my hope, however, that many readers will agree with me in saying that it is far better to accept the challenge of parenting a child with a will of its own, even at the price of pain and possible heartbreak, than to opt for an arrangement in which the child’s choices will all really be my choices made for it, its life a pale reflection of mine lived through the child. I will hazard the conjecture, furthermore, that almost all process theists will End themselves in this latter group: if their preferences were otherwise, they would most likely have been Calvinists all along.

I conclude, then, that none of the arguments we have considered concerning moral evil affords process theism any advantage over free will theism. In both versions of theism it is God who is responsible for the existence of creatures who have the freedom and power to bring about great evils, and both versions of theism must hold that this choice of God’s is worth the risk it entails.

III. Natural Evil

Critics of theism often take the view that natural evil presents an even more intractable problem for theism’s defenders than does moral evil. David Griffin agrees with this: he asserts that classical free will theism "is even less able to explain natural evil, in the sense of evil produced by nonhuman nature than to explain humanly caused evil. The free will defense, he goes on to say, "provides no help with the problem of animal suffering, at least insofar as this suffering has not been due to human agency. [Free will theists] have not, therefore, given any explanation for the vast majority of the suffering that has occurred during the history of our planet" ("Process" 16-17).

What is the right way to view animal suffering?6 My own view is that the world of nature, human depredations aside, is indeed the good creation of God, and that animal suffering, an inescapable part of a world so constituted, does not negate the world’s goodness overall. Griffin evidently disagrees with this, but what is the precise nature of his complaint? One possible view is that the world of nature as we know it is a bad thing, so bad that its existence is worse than its non-existence, and a good person would never have brought it into being. This, however, is profoundly inconsistent with the ecological consciousness, involving a celebration of the world of nature, that Griffin, along with John B. Cobb Jr., and many other process thinkers, thinks we should cultivate. It is also inconsistent with the process idea that God has "elicited" the existence of this very world by his guidance of the evolutionary process.

Griffin’s view, then, must be a different one. The most plausible alternative is that the world of nature, though not bad overall, is nevertheless distinctly inferior to alternative worlds we can envisage which a God endowed with classical omnipotence would have brought into existence in preference to the present one. Such a perspective is often thought to be plausible, but I believe it faces at least two serious objections, one derived specifically from process theism and the other quite general in its application. From the standpoint of Griffin’s process theism, it is hard to see why the world of nature should not have come out very much as God wanted it to be. In the chaos preceding the present cosmic epoch, according to Griffin, "the divine influence, in seeking to implant a set of contingent principles in the universe, would have no competition from any other contingent principles," and would thus be able to "produce quasi-coercive effects" ("Process" 30). And what this means is that the fundamental laws of nature, established in the first moments of this cosmic epoch, will be exactly as God desires them to be.7 Subsequent to this, evolution takes over, but an evolution that is not explainable along exclusively Darwinian lines. (About that, at least, Griffin and I are very much in agreement!) The "saltations," or major advances in the evolutionary process, are brought about by "a specific form of divine creative-providential activity" ("Process" 29). Since it is these evolutionary "jumps" that determine the new types of creatures that appear, and these jumps are the direct result of special divine activity, it seems likely that the new forms are very much as God wanted them to be. And it is, of course, these new forms that determine the future lines of evolutionary development and thus, ultimately, the overall shape of the natural world God is luring into existence. It is conceivable, to be sure, that in some instances the creaturely response to the divine initiative was not what God desired, and things went awry as a result. It seems implausible, however, that the major sources of natural evil can be accounted for in this way. Consider, for instance, the origin of predators: Perhaps God was trying to produce a super-antelope, and a saber-toothed tiger emerged instead! But how plausible is this? I conclude that, on process assumptions, it is quite unlikely that the world of nature is radically different than God intended it to be.8

The other objection to the theory in question (that the world of nature, though not bad overall, is less good than other worlds we can see to be possible) is that we just do not know anything like enough about possible alternative systems of nature to have any reliable views about what is and is not possible and/or desirable. Science-fictional fantasies and idyllic paintings of the "peaceable kingdom" just aren’t enough to go on here. In fact, our best present knowledge strongly suggests that even minor modifications in the fundamental laws of nature would result in a universe in which human life, and any form of carbon-based life, simply could not exist.9

While Griffin’s assault on free will theism seems unsuccessful, Hartshorne’s suggestion about generalizing the free will defense to include natural evil may have considerable merit, and its sphere of application need not be limited to process theism. (the physicist-theologian John Polkinghorne has made a similar suggestion, quite apart from any commitment to process thought.) There is good evidence from physics that natural processes are inherently indeterministic, and our experience of living creatures certainly suggests to us that they exercise a genuine spontaneity rather than being deterministically controlled. If we add to this (as free will theists should) that God generally refrains from exerting direct control over such indeterministic natural processes, we arrive at the view that non-human nature does operate to a significant degree without being immediately controlled, though to be sure it does not exhibit moral agency as such. Thus we need not hold (for example) that God directly decreed the existence of the AIDS virus; no doubt viruses, like higher-level organisms, evolve so as to occupy an available ecological niche. The full development of these thoughts, however, must await another occasion.

With respect to all these considerations, process theism and free will theism seem to be very much on all fours with each other. (And both of them, let it be said, enjoy major advantages compared with other views such as Calvinism and Molinism.) If we are to find any distinct advantage for process theism, we must look farther.

IV. Divine Intervention

The most promising topic in this regard is undoubtedly divine intervention. According to process theism divine intervention, in the sense of God’s bringing about events that lie beyond the inherent powers of natural agents, is an impossibility. God’s role in the world is strictly limited to the provision of the "initial aim" for each occasion of experience, and in doing this God always selects the best possible aim for the occasion. Quite literally, God is doing all he can; the rest is up to us and to our fellow-creatures. That this is so is not, perhaps, in all respects a ground for rejoicing. It has often been pointed out, for example, that on this view any future triumph of God and of goodness is at best a conjectural possibility, resting on the hope that at some time in the future the overall response to God’s lure may be a great deal more favorable than has been the case up to the present. But it does mean that, with no possibility for God to do more, there is also no remaining question as to why he does not do more; on this topic, then, there is no problem of evil for process theism.10

With classical free will theism, things are much different. God’s modality of acting in the world is not limited as it is for process theism. God can do anything that is logically coherent and consistent with his own moral perfection -- and to our eyes, at least, there is a great deal that could use doing. So, why does God not intervene, or do so more frequently, to prevent great evils? Let us call this the problem of divine non-intervention.

On this point, then, a distinct difference emerges between process and free will theism. And it is clear that there is an initial advantage for process theism, in that there is a question that free will theism needs to answer whereas for process theism there is no such question. Whether this initial advantage turns into a permanent advantage will depend on whether an effective answer is forthcoming. In order to focus the discussion I shall proceed by stating and defending four propositions which together constitute an answer to the question on behalf of free will theism.

(1) The problem of divine non-intervention is a serious difficulty for free will theism only if it is clear that there are situations in which God ought to intervene but fails to do so. This should be evident, but it needs saving because we may tend to assume the opposite. The mere fact that there are cases in which we might wish for divine intervention but none is forthcoming is not evidence that something is amiss in the government of the world, any more than the fact that we are shocked by some instances of predation shows that there is something wrong with the constitution of the natural world. What is needed here is a sober argument, one which is compelling after mature reflection, showing that a powerful and morally good being would of necessity intervene.

(2) Frequent or routine divine intervention would negate many of the purposes for which the world was created in the first place. Clearly this is a very large topic, and a full discussion would go far beyond the scope of the present essay, But a little reflection will show the plausibility of this contention. If part of the purpose of creation was to bring about a rich, intricate, closely-interrelated natural order, then it would be a sign of failure if that order required frequent interference in order to function properly (Consider in this regard Newton’s conjecture that God must intervene frequently in order to maintain the stability of the planetary system.) Furthermore, some of the natural occurrences we might think most in need of restraint are demonstrably essential to the functioning of the system as a whole. There could be nothing like the ecosystem as we know it without extensive predation. Monsoons and hurricanes cause destruction, but also deposit much-needed rainfall in what would otherwise he regions of perpetual drought. Natural selection, an essential part of the process by which organisms evolve into richer and more complex forms, inevitably involves a great deal of suffering, death, and general failure of organisms to flourish.

It should not be forgotten that we are directing this answer, in the first instance, to the process theist. It would be intelligible that someone might think that the world of nature as we know it is bad overall -- that a good God would not have created such a world, and would certainly not have used an evolutionary process involving natural selection. Such a challenge, if made, would require to be answered. But the challenge cannot sensibly be made by a process theist who believes that God has in fact lured into existence the present system of nature, using an evolutionary process in order to do so. One might, to be sure, suppose otherwise -- could the process theist not maintain that, while an evolutionary process was the only option available for the process God, a God endowed with classical omnipotence would rather have chosen to short-circuit the process by instantaneously bringing about the universe in its present state? This, however, would be in effect to maintain that the world of nature is a bad thing -- one whose existence at present must perhaps be tolerated as instrumental to the existence of moral agents, but whose past existence during the vast epochs of evolutionary development (both cosmic and biological) is on balance a bad thing which had better have been eliminated. But this, let me say once more, is profoundly at odds with the advocacy of an ecological consciousness, and of love and reverence for nature, which forms an integral part of the process perspective.

The point is if anything even more clear where moral evil is concerned. If it is of great inherent value for persons to exercise free moral choice (as the free will defense postulates), then that value -- and free will itself -- would be negated if God were to interfere each time a wrong action is about to be performed. Furthermore, were God routinely to intervene to prevent evil from being done, there would be far less incentive to form effective human communities, a large part of whose function is to encourage good behavior and to restrain evil. Much more could be said, but it really should not be necessary to belabor the point further.

It is, however, important to stress what has not been said here. It is not claimed that the observations in this section constitute by themselves a complete answer to the problem of divine non-intervention. Much less is it claimed that, in view of these considerations, no divine intervention in the world’s affairs is possible. But it does seem that frequent and routine intervention -- the sort that would be needed to substantially reduce the world’s evil overall -- would not be consistent with what we reasonably assume to be God’s creative purposes.

(3) In order for the problem of divine non-intervention to be an effective objection, we must be able to identify specific kinds of cases in which God morally ought to intervene but does not. That this is so may not be immediately evident, but a little reflection shows it to be correct. We have a situation in which a great many serious evils are constantly occurring, and God is believed to have it in his power to prevent any or all of them. It is clear, however, that for God to do this on a routine basis would undermine God’s purposes in creation. In fact, it seems that the amount of special intervention that could occur consistent with those purposes maybe rather small; almost certainly far less than would be needed to materially affect the overall balance of good and evil in the world. Now, it still might be the case that we can identify certain specific evils, or certain classes of evils, such that a wise and good God could not permit those particular evils to occur. But if not, we must remember that we are (by hypothesis) dealing with a God of infinite wisdom, and we must be prepared to defer to that wisdom concerning the suitable occasions for special intervention. So the principle stated above holds, and those who would employ the problem of divine non-intervention as an argument against traditional theism need to be looking for a strongly supported criterion by which to discern the situations in which intervention would be mandatory.

(4) The needed criterion cannot be provided by supposing that God must prevent all "gratuitous" evils. At this point our argument departs from the conventional wisdom on this topic. It is often supposed that we can define a category of evils that are "gratuitous" in the sense that God could prevent them without incurring any equal or greater evils and without losing any goods that would be sufficient to outweigh them. It then seems reasonable to assume that a good God would of necessity prevent all such gratuitous evils, while allowing those evils that could not be prevented without either incurring some equal or greater evil, or losing some commensurate good. Given these assumptions, opponents of theism will point to instances of evil that give every appearance of being gratuitous in the sense specified, while defenders must maintain that all of the evils that actually exist are non-gratuitous. The initial advantage in this argument pretty clearly lies with the critics; defenders of theism are left with a tough defensive battle.11

In contrast with these widely held views, I believe the attempt to construct an atheological argument from evil on the basis of gratuitous evil is doomed to failure: A strong argument can be made that a theist should not accept the claim that a good God would necessarily prevent all gratuitous evil in the sense defined. Unfortunately, the full argument for this conclusion is complex and cannot be reproduced here in its entirety, so for the present the following sketch must suffice.12 We have already seen that, if God were to prevent all evils whatsoever, almost all of our own incentive and motivation to deal constructively with situations conducive to such evils would disappear. But what would be the consequence if, instead, God were known to prevent all gratuitous evils -- all those evils whose occurrence would not lead to any greater good? If we knew that this was God’s policy, would not our own motivation to prevent or alleviate the world’s evils be greatly reduced? For whatever the evil in question, we could be certain that, if the evil in fact occurs, it has been allowed to occur by God only because its occurrence will lead to some greater good, or to the prevention of some other equal or greater evil. By preventing some evil that would otherwise have occurred, we are most certainly not increasing the total goodness of the world, and may very well be causing the world overall to be worse than it otherwise would be! Thus, the claim that God does and must prevent all genuinely gratuitous evils runs counter to God’s intention to make of us responsible moral individuals; such a claim should not, then, be endorsed by any Christian believer.13

It has not been shown that the requirement stated in (3) above could be met only by supposing that God must prevent all gratuitous evils. To my knowledge, however, this is the only plausible candidate for such a criterion that has been put forward, so that its failure leaves a very large hole in the argument based on the problem of divine non-intervention. And since that problem marked the only remaining significant difference between process theism and free will theism with respect to the problem of evil, I conclude that the two positions stand roughly at parity in their ability to deal with that problem.

Almost certainly, Griffin would not agree. Even if the points just made are successful on their own terms, he would contend that the essentially defensive nature of the strategy employed leaves the free will theist with a position that is psychologically unsatisfying and thus at a distinct disadvantage vis-à-vis process theism. He writes:

But surely "psychological appeal" is what theodicy is all about! The question is: Can the ways of God he justified to human beings? And that is a psychological question. If theodicy does not have psychological appeal, it has failed In any case, theodicy is not primarily a game played by philosophers of religion, in which one wins simply by showing that no rigorous disproof of one’s idea of God has been produced. The question is whether that idea of God lends itself to an explanation of the world, including its evils, that is psychologically convincing to thoughtful men and women. (Evil79)

Perhaps this is correct. If so, then may I respectfully suggest that we should consider which view of God, and God’s relationship with the world, has in fact proved most convincing to the vast majority of Christian believers? It is unquestionably true that there are some who find the explanation of evil given by process theism more satisfying than those that are given by more traditional versions of theism, including free will theism. But it is also true that a very large majority of Christians are unconvinced and unsatisfied by the process doctrine of God. The advantage in terms of pastoral and evangelistic effectiveness does not lie on the side of process theism.

To be sure, such considerations by no means settle the issue in favor of free will theism. One may hold (and Griffin clearly does hold) that the widespread preference for a more traditional concept of God is merely a product of the religious conditioning to which many in our culture have been subjected,14 and one may hope that a future generation of believers will be more enlightened in their conceptions of the divine. What one cannot do, however, is invoke psychological appeal as a criterion for validating a theological position, and then disregard the actual track record of practical success for the positions being compared.15

 

Notes

1. Representative books presenting this position include Pinnock et al, The Openness of God; Pinnock and Brow, Unbounded Love; Basinger, The Case for Freewill Theism; Boyd, God at War, Sanders, The God Who Risks, and Cobb and Pinnock, eds. Searching for an Adequate God.

2. There is however a definitional question here: David Basinger has used "freewill theism" in such a way that "the sole defining characteristic is that God cannot unilaterally control free choice" (Basinger, private communication), the nature of God’s knowledge being left open. In my view however, it is important to exclude Molinism, since divine middle knowledge, if it existed, would make a significant difference to God’s providential governance of the world. But this issue does not surface explicitly in the present discussion.

3. 1 am indebted for some of the points that follow to David Basinger, "Process Theism Versus Free-Will Theism," as well to his earlier discussion in Divine Power in Process Theism. Griffin discusses Basinger’s critique extensively in Evil Revisited.

4. The volume is co-authored, but Griffin has informed me that he is primarily responsible for the sections dealing with the problem of evil.

5. It is noteworthy that Griffin repeated this argument as recently as 1991; see Evil Revisited 83-84. It is clear, furthermore, that Griffin is still thinking of God as exercising deception: "[T]hey would not really be free to act contrary to God’s will, . . . [but] they could feel and believe that they were really free" (83).

6. Some of the material in the remainder of this essay is taken from my "In Response to David Ray Griffin."

7. Griffin needs to hold this in order to account for the "fine tuning" which, according to the best current physics, was required for the production of a cosmos that would be friendly to carbon-based life.

8. James Keller has pointed out to me that process theists recognize the possibility of deviations from God’s intention in situations where, given the assumptions of free will theism, God would be able to prevent these deviations. He asks us to "assume for the same of argument that God wanted to allow the dinosaurs to continue to evolve and work with their descendants rather than the descendants of the mammals who existed 65 million years ago. Process theists would hold that there was nothing God could do to prevent the extinction of the dinosaurs [as the result of an asteroid impact], but free will theists would hold that God could have prevented the object from striking the earth" (private communication). My response is that the process God would have been lucky to lose the dinosaurs, whose potential for evolution into intelligent forms was arguably a great deal less than that of the primitive mammals! In any case, a world inhabited by intelligent dinosaurs would not have been one without disease, or predation, or floods, or earthquakes, or volcanic eruptions.

9. For an extensive discussion, see John Leslie, Universes.

10. Note, however, that these considerations by no means dispose of the problem of evil as a concern for process thought. There remain all the questions, alluded to in the previous sections.

11. An excellent collection of articles discussing the problem of evil from this perspective will be found in Daniel Howard-Snyder, ed., The Evidential Argument from Evil.

12. For a more extensive discussion of this argument, see my "The Necessity of Gratuitous Evil"; David O’Connor, "Hasker on Gratuitous Natural Evil"; and my "O’Connor on Gratuitous Natural Evil." An additional paper, "Can God Permit ‘Just Enough’ Evil?," is now in preparation.

13. I must, however, emphasize that the argument encounters complications that cannot be pursued here; interested readers should consult the articles referenced in the previous note.

14. See Griffin’s God, Power, and Evil 258-59.

15. My thanks to David Basinger and James Keller for their extremely helpful comments on an earlier version of this paper.

Works Cited

Basinger, David. The Case for Freewill Theism: A Philosophical Assessment. Downers Grove: InterVarsity Press, 1996.

--. Divine Power in Process Theism: A Philosophical Critique. Albany: State U of New York P, 1991.

--. "Process Theism Versus Free-Will Theism: A Response to Griffin." Process Studies 20 (1991): 204-20.

Boyd, Gregory. God at War: The Bible and Spiritual Conflict. Downers Grove: InterVarsity Press, 1997.

Cobb, John B, Jr., and David Ray Griffin. Process Theology: An Introductory Exposition. Philadelphia: Westminster, 1976.

Cobb, John B., Jr., and Clark H. Pinnock, eds. Searching for an Adequate God: A Dialogue Between Process and Free Will Theists. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000.

Descartes, René. Meditations on the First Philosophy, I.

--. Principles of Philosophy.

Griffin, David Ray Evil Revisited: Responses and Reconsiderations. Albany: State U of New York P, 1991.

--. God, Power, and Evil: A Process Theodicy. Philadelphia: Westminster, 1976. Process Theology and the Christian Good News: A Response to Classical Free-Will Theism." Cobb and Pinnock 1-38.

Hartshorne, Charles. Omnipotence and Other Theological Mistakes. Albany: State U of New York P 1984.

Hasker, William. "In Response to David Ray Griffin." Cobb and Pinnock 39-52.

-- The Necessity of Gratuitous Evil." Faith and Philosophy 9.1 (1992):23-44.

--. ‘O’Connor on Gratuitous Natural Evil." Faith and Philosophy 14.3 (1997): 388-94.

Howard-Snyder, Daniel, ed. The Evidential Argument from Evil. Bloomington: Indiana UP, 1996.

Leslie, John. Universes. London: Routledge, 1989.

O’Connor, David. "Hasker on Gratuitous Natural Evil." Faith and Philosophy 12.3 (1995): 380-92.

Pinnock, Clark, and Robert Brow Unbounded Love. A Good News Theology for the 21st Century. Downers Grove: InterVarsity Press, 1994.

Pinnock, Clark, Richard Rice, John Sanders, William Hasker, and David Basinger. The Openness of God. A Biblical Challenge to the Traditional Understanding of God Downers Grove: InterVarsity, 1994.

Sanders, John. The God Who Risks: A Theology of Divine Providence. Downers Grove: InterVarsity, 1998.

Bitten to Death by Ducks: A Reply to Griffin

My overall response to David Griffin’s critique is that I am in danger of being bitten to death by ducks! Ducks are not equipped by nature to be fearsome biters, but if one is being gnawed on by a huge swarm of them all at once they can be quite troublesome. Similarly, none of Griffin’s arguments strike me as being particularly forceful. But there are a great many of them, and there is too little space in this reply to deal with them all, so the reader may well receive the impression that my position is in serious jeopardy. The theme of my reply, then, is "So many ducks -- so little time!"

I need, then, to begin by swatting a few ducks, just to give the reader an idea of my problems with the critique. I am amazed that Griffin spends several paragraphs indignantly denying that he is responsible for my "first version" of the process argument against free will theism. Of course he is not; that is why I carefully avoided attributing it to him. This version was introduced merely in order to set up the second version which I correctly attribute to Griffin. On the other hand, it is incorrect to say, as Griffin does, that my "modified" argument is his. The modified argument supposes a situation in which humans are aware of possessing only compatibilist free will, whereas Griffin’s argument has God deceiving humans into thinking that they possess libertarian free will. The two versions are not at all the same!

Griffin doubts that Descartes would agree with me that such deception by God is impossible. There may be room for discussion about just how Descartes understood free ‘will, but it is out of the question to suppose, as Griffin does, that Descartes might have allowed that we are deceived by God about our free will. According to Descartes, "It is so evident that we are possessed of a free will that . . . this may be counted as one of the first and most ordinary notions that are found innately in us. . . . [W]e are so conscious of the liberty and indifference which exists in us, that there is nothing that we comprehend more clearly and perfectly" (Principles of Philosophy 39, 41). So much for Descartes as Griffin’s ally!

I must confess that I had overlooked Griffin’s eventual admission (in Evil Revisited) published 15 years after Process Theology) that God’s so deceiving us would be "morally questionable." The right conclusion, according to Evil Revisited, is that it is a "difficult question" whether it would be preferable for God to deceive us or to grant us genuine freedom.1 If this is a difficult question, then the ethical premise In Griffin’s argument against free will theism is not clearly true, and there is no reason a free will theist should accept it. And the argument is not much of a refutation, if a key premise is admittedly up for grabs!

I also had failed to grasp the point that the "values enjoyed by the creatures" in Griffin’s argument -- the values that make our lives worthwhile -- consist merely of subjective states of consciousness, regardless of their connection or lack of connection with any objective situation in the world. It follows that knowledge of the truth, genuine relationships with our fellow-creatures and with God, appreciation of beauty, and the achievement of moral goodness are not of any worth in themselves. Their value consists entirely in the subjective enjoyment they produce, and that value would be unaffected even if the subjective enjoyment were totally at variance with the actual, objective state of affairs. Falsely believing that one knows the truth, then, is intrinsically just as valuable for the person concerned as actually knowing it; falsely believing that one is in a love relationship is just as valuable as actually loving and being loved. Human beings, to be sure, lack the power, in a great many cases, to prevent the objective situation from obtruding itself and disrupting the illusionary happiness. But God suffers from no such debility; why not, then, place each of us in an illusionary paradise, where we would never have to deal with the real, obstinate, wills of other persons? If Griffin’s process view really is committed to this extreme value subjectivism, many of us would consider that in itself to be a sufficient refutation of his position.

Yet another, equally serious, problem arises concerning the relationship between Griffin’s critique of free will theism and his own constructive views. I was and am well aware that the metaphysical frameworks presupposed by the two views are different, in spite of Griffin’s repeated (but unsupported) allegations of confusion about this on my part. But I had assumed that the ethical and value judgments implied in his criticisms were intended to be common ground between process theists and free will theists. And in view of this, I had also assumed that the value judgments employed in the critiques needed to be consistent with Griffin’s own, positive views. Now, however, we learn that this is not the case -- that, for example, when he suggests that a God who would be "Calvinistic in power but Whiteheadian in goodness" would be preferable to a God who permits his creatures genuine freedom, "no conclusions about my [Griffin’s] own position can be drawn from this internal argument within an alien framework." So these "internal" arguments against free will theism are purely ad hominem, drawing upon ethical views that free will theists are thought to accept but which need not be shared by the process theist making the argument. If so, then it needs to be noted that such arguments are fully and completely answered, and removed as objections to free will theism, by my saying (as I did say at various points in Searching for an Adequate God)2 that free will theists need not, and many of us do not, subscribe to the ethical judgments in question. Griffin, however ignores my disclaimers and freely attributes to us a variety of ethical views subscribed to by some traditional theist or other (persons, often unnamed, who may or may not be free will theists in the sense at issue here), that support one or another of his objections. This, I submit, is uncharitable in the extreme, and it also violates the principle, to which Griffin subscribed in Searching for an Adequate God, that a position ought to be criticized on the basis of its "core doctrines" and not on the basis of views that may have been espoused by some adherents but are not essential to the position itself. Clearly, in Griffin’s present essay we have a case of massive backsliding from that admirable principle.

In each of these three respects, then, I must acknowledge that I have come to a better understanding of Griffin’s position as a result of the present exchange. I fail to see, however, that his case against free will theism is any stronger as a result of correcting the misunderstandings. If anything, the reverse is the case.

I find Griffin’s remarks about natural evil somewhat perplexing. I had claimed that, on his process assumptions, "it is quite unlikely that the world of nature is radically different than God intended it to be." Griffin’s reply is that this is irrelevant even if true.3 The reason it is irrelevant is that even if the process deity got things pretty much the way he intended, there is a "big gap" between such a world and the world that would have been created by the God of traditional theism, whose ability to create is limited only by what is logically possible. What Griffin seems to have in mind here, are worlds that would be radically different from the world as it actually exists -- worlds in which, for Instance, beings capable of high-level intrinsic values exist without predation,4 or in which we and other animals could have existed without requiring food. It is noteworthy, however, that he makes no effort to imagine such worlds in detail, or to assess what other values might be gained or loss given the changes he proposes.

What Griffin seems not to appreciate is that determining whether a world of a given sort is even logically possible is not a simple matter. What at stake is not merely the logical possibility of a particular, limited situation, such as higher values without predation, or animals who need no food. (Though if Griffin really thinks predation is a bad thing one would expect him to feel disgust, rather than reverence, for our present natural order which depends upon it so heavily.) What is much more difficult to ascertain, however, is the compossibility of all the different elements in a highly complex situation in which a large number of potentially competing values are simultaneously realized. I submit that neither Griffin nor any of the rest of us has anything like an adequate grasp of the various possible goods God may be seeking through creation (and I reject absolutely the notion that nothing in creation is of any value to God except for intelligent creatures). Nor do we have any thorough understanding of the way in which these goods may combine and support one another, or on the other hand come into conflict.5 And to repeat, Griffin makes no attempt to show us in detail what the "worlds" he suggests would be like, let alone to show that such worlds, conceived in detail, are logically possible or that they would be superior to the kind of world that actually exists. In view of all this, I conclude that Griffin’s talk about a "big gap" between the kind of world that exists and the sort of world that would be created by the God of traditional theism amounts to little more than whistling in the dark.

Before leaving the topic of natural evil, I would like to take up just one more of Griffin’s baseless allegations of confusion on my part -- to "wring the neck of one more duck," so to speak! I am well aware of the difference between "cosmological determinism" and "theological determinism," in Griffin’s terms. It is precisely for this reason that, after discussing the indeterminism of natural processes, I added the following proviso: "If we add to this (as free will theists should) that God generally refrains from exerting direct control over such indeterministic natural processes . . . etc." I am well aware that some theological determinists combine their view with an acceptance of indeterminism in nature. But what does that have to do with what a free will theist should think about this?

We turn, finally, to the problem of divine non-intervention. Griffin disputes each of the four propositions deployed to defend freewill theism on this topic, and there is too much material here to cover in detail. We have, once again, Griffin’s value subjectivism: The value for a person of making free choices would be just the same even if the person’s freedom were only an illusion created by God, who in reality controls all such decisions. Another theme that surfaces is Griffin’s tendency to claim that evil is a grave problem for theists simply on the basis of the psychological reactions of various people, regardless of whether or not there is a substantial rational basis for such reactions. This shows up in several ways. He claims, for example, that "Traditional free will theism has a problem insofar as it seems likely to people that God should have intervened to prevent the tragedy in question." (It doesn’t matter whether they have good reason to think this likely,) And there is no need for a criterion by which to determine the cases where God ought to intervene; it’s enough to have a "more or less vague list of such cases." It is not a new discovery for free will theists that some persons will adamantly seize on a particular evil and insist, with indignation and genuine anger, that if God didn’t prevent this, God is not good or else doesn’t exist at all. This is, if you like, a problem of evil, but it is not so far a philosophical problem.6 Griffin, of course, does develop the problem of evil as a philosophical problem, but under pressure he tends to revert and argue as though he could win the day by appealing to people’s psychological reactions -- as in his claim, cited in my paper, that "psychological appeal is what theodicy is all about." But when confronted with the fact that the vast majority of Christians find more psychological appeal in traditional theism than in the process variety, he quickly retreats to an imaginary situation in which, he opines, process theism would be found to be more appealing. For my part, I think it is generally unhelpful, in a philosophical discussion, to appeal to popular psychology as the basis for one’s philosophical claims. But if Griffin thinks otherwise, he needs to deal with the actual situation, not with an imaginary one invented by himself.7

Griffin is puzzled by my assertion that "we are (by hypothesis) dealing with a God of infinite wisdom, and we must be prepared to defer to that wisdom concerning the suitable occasions for special intervention." This is not, as he appears to believe, a circular and question-begging assertion -- much less a "conversation-stopper." I understand the problem of evil as an internal problem for theism (or a particular variety of theism); the argument from evil represents an attempt to show that it is irrational to hold the variety of theism in question. The quoted statement amounts to pointing out that, given the traditional conception of God, and given also that (as I had just argued) the amount of divine intervention that could occur without conflicting with God’s other purposes is relatively small, we should not suppose that it is up to us to determine which are the situations in which God ought to intervene. This is no more question-begging than it is question-begging for Griffin to appeal to Whiteheadian "metaphysical principles" in explaining the process answer to natural evil.

There remains the topic of God and "gratuitous evil." But this topic, as I noted in my paper, is far too involved to discuss in detail at the end of another paper, much less in a reply such as this. All I can really do is to recommend once again to the reader -- and to Griffin himself who evidently has not read them -- the articles cited in Note 12 of my paper, where many of the objections made in his paper (and others besides) are considered and answered.

As I bring this reply to a close, I can hear the remaining ducks still munching away! There is much more that could be said, but life is short (and journal pages scarce), and I should not presume further on the patience of both readers and editor. I can only appeal to the reader to consider these thoughts fairly, and not to assume that because I have not answered all of Griffin’s many complaints, no good answers are available. With that appeal, I rest my case.

 

Notes

1. Is this supposed to be a conundrum also for God? Are we, that is, supposed to picture the Lord saying to himself: "Should I give my creatures real freedom, or only the illusion of freedom? I wish I knew Even better, I wish I were like the process deity, and were let off from making such choices because of my metaphysical limitations."

2. For examples, see my "In Response to David Griffin, 39-40.

3. In a footnote Griffin argues that my argument for this is unsound, because I "downplay the extent to which, over time, even very small deviations from the divine aims would lead to enormous gaps between the actual and what would have been ideal in an abstract sense." Now it is true that such an effect might well exist, and I acknowledge as much in my paper. The extent of the effect is, however, highly conjectural. What I claim in my paper is that such deviations are quite unlikely to be responsible for the existence of the major sources of natural evil -- animal pain and suffering, predation, natural disasters, and the like. Griffin may disagree with this, but I can’t see he has given us any solid reason in support of his disagreement.

4. This at least is surely possible, given Griffin’s view that beings could enjoy high-level values even while existing in a world of solipsistic illusion!

5. It is for this reason, and not because I implicitly accept the process notion of non-logical metaphysical principles, that I write about the relation between God and nature in the way I do. I have no doubt that God could create worlds vastly different from the present one; what I deny is that any of us has any adequate grasp of what such worlds would be like, or of the values that might be realized by them.

6. Alvin Plantinga has suggested that we should distinguish the philosophical problem of evil from the pastoral problem of evil. Answers to the philosophical problem are not wholly irrelevant to the pastoral problem, but neither are they sufficient to deal with it.

7. It may well be true, as Griffin suggests, that most ordinary believers have never heard process theism presented by an advocate for that position. But isn’t this fact in itself a reflection of the fact that process theism has made relatively little progress in the church as a whole, in spite of having been the leading theological option in most nonconservative seminaries for a number of years?

A Response to Joseph Bracken’s "Prehending God in and through the World"

In "Prehending God in and through the World" (Process Studies 29.1) Joseph Bracken comments on the recent discussion concerning the means by which finite actual entities might be able to prehend God. In this response my aim is not to add to the specifics of that debate, but rather to focus on aspects of Bracken’s own proposal. Specifically, I will reflect on the attention Bracken pays to the idea of a common field of activity. My reason for so doing is that I see Bracken as moving the central debate away from the notion of God as a metaphysical necessity (though he does indeed see God in such a way) and towards that of the functional nature of God in terms of the moral and religious implications of God for persons. Bracken states his purpose thus:

Hence, the task for contemporary Whiteheadians is to make whatever modest revisions are needed in . . . [Whitehead’s] scheme so as to justify Whitehead’s own non-systematic vision of God in dynamic interrelationship with the world as presented in the final pages of Process and Reality. (6)

If I understand his thesis correctly, Bracken argues that there is a general field of activity within which creative activity (and resultant actuality) takes place. He uses the notion of a field to allow the internal or subjective "feelings" of God for the world to permeate and inform determinate actualization. The ‘field’ is specifically related to a theory of Whiteheadian "societies":

In many books and articles over the years, I have argued that Whiteheadian societies, while not possessing agency in and of themselves, nevertheless possess objective ontological unity from moment to moment in virtue of the collective agency of their constituent actual occasions. The unity thus achieved is in my view the unity of an ongoing structured field of activity for successive generations of actual occasions undergoing concrescence within the field. (6)

The claim of "objectivity" suggests that unity is somehow external to the putative society as a component of actualization. In correspondence, Bracken has offered the clarification that "actual occasions by their intersubjective relationship constitute something objective." Thus his argument prioritizes subjectivity, and, in particular, subjective agency. It is through the internal relationship of the components of a society that its coherence emerges as object. This notion has implications for Bracken’s treatment of God as the decisive (and intentionally deciding) element in the coherent realization of determinate being A clear distinction is being drawn between the ontological ground and the divine agent. God is societally structured.

I suggest that Bracken is correct in his general thrust to impute a structural coherence to the societal "mass"; but I believe also that he is too defensive in treating such coherence as existing atomistically from "moment-to-moment." I would argue that the coherence implied by the idea of "society" is a necessary part of the beingness of the society qua society, and as such should be regarded as a category of the overarching, and continuing, event that is deemed societal.1

In Bracken’s words, a society is sustained by an "ongoing structured field." It is important to note that this suggests that the field (if we are treating it as in some way actual) enjoys what appears to be a state of continual concrescence.2 If, however, we limit our treatment of ongoingness to a description of potential prehensive grasp at the level of "wide vagueness" (i.e., the field is taken as a sufficiently determinate ground which pervades and extends across the narrow focus of what must be regarded as its actual content), we are moving much closer to a position that favors a normative conception of personhood and personal (continuing) identity. Either way, the maneuver side-steps at least some of the more intractable problems of subjective continuity within Whitehead’s scheme.

I said at the outset that the main focus of the article relates to religious conceptions of God, and by implication the problems of conceptualizing such a God within a Whiteheadian context. It is to this that I now turn my attention. Arguing against the invocation of the transmutational prehension of eternal objects as the means for effecting societal coherence (on the thoroughly reasonable grounds of unnecessary complexity, Bracken prefers the adequacy of the notion of conformal regard for the (ongoing) field itself I also prefer it. It is simple, and requires nothing outside the notion of the society in order to be effective: it is nothing more nor less than the conforming of successive entities to the overarching and achieved coherence of their predecessors. Well that’s not strictly true; it requires the field as the "stuff" to (or through) which the actual entities conform, a notion which itself introduces an additional "layer" of reality. Indeed this is highlighted by his suggestion that "one cars postulate that the universe or cosmic process is at any given moment an all-encompassing ‘structured society’ or structured field of activity for all the actual entities emergent within it" (7).

Unless I am mis-reading this, we have here a description close to that of the conventional Whiteheadian God, and it is precisely this that triggered the debate to which Bracken responds. The important additional factor within Bracken’s position is that there is within the field a potential for God’s agency, and that God’s agentive impulses are felt generally rather than prehended directly.

The move is deliberate, and relevant. God in Bracken’s scheme must be more -- much more, in the experiential realization of a human religious imperative -- than the ground upon which existence rests, and he is wise to steer clear of the implicit notion that God is definitionally the summative expression of actualizing reality. That is, Bracken draws a careful distinction in his model between God as a relational participant of human religious concern and a common, if broader, process conception of God as the ultimate expression of unified unity. An alternative way of looking at this is to say that the move reconfigures God as an epochally resonant ground: it is neither necessary in and of itself, nor absolute. It is simply an accident (or condition) of this present mode of being. The result of Bracken’s argument is that God qua God is brought inside the metaphysical ground. God qua ground is relegated in functional and relational significance.

If God (in the sense prioritized by Bracken) is to be meaningful to persons (and if not meaningful to persons, then "why God?"), then God must be worthy of worship, or effective as a purposeful and responsive agent. God must therefore be prehensible, and must be capable of at least a degree of intentional agency with regard to finite entities. Bracken writes:

The concrescing actual occasion, however, does need to prehend God’s feelings toward that objective order of things in order to initiate its own appropriate feeling-level response to that situation. If it fails to note, or in any case fails to heed, God’s feelings toward its existential context, then the actual occasion is likely by its own self-constituting decision to extend further or even aggravate an already disordered state of affairs which it has inherited. (7)

This prioritizing of God as the agent and arbiter of ordered and maximally valued existence is explicit within Bracken’s model, as "only God fully knows and understands" how the potential and possible are most appropriately brought Into connection within the consequent and primordial natures of God.

The underlying assumption upon which the above depends attributes a maximal purpose and teleology to existence-in-general, but removes any grasp of such understanding from the field of human experience. The position is almost certainly necessary to a (Christian) religious conceptualisation, but nonetheless is open to criticism in the very assumption of directive purpose. The general coherence of reality (which this aspect of God is intended intentionally to support) might alternatively be treated as a function of societal integration via the mutual relationship of micro-fields of identitive societies. The standard notion of conformity should be adequate to support such a position, and the need for ultimacy in purpose or understanding accordingly obviated.

A second assumption is that the mode of transmission of the divine understanding is indirect, and is "felt" via a commonality of field rather than as an appreciation of an other. That is, "God shares a common field of activity with finite actual entities." This latter statement treats God fully as a co-traveler in experience, and enables (at least in principle) the primary type of interaction which characterizes religious worship. Taken together, the two elements provide a context through which God’s private understanding remains an aspect of a private subjectivity, whilst God’s agentive relationship with the human is enacted within the mutuality of creaturely activity. For a position claiming relevance to God-human relations, this has much to commend it. My difficulty with the overall construction is in the implication of God’s purposefulness and (partial) transcendence. If we put this element to one side, the description becomes one capable of bearing intersubjectivity irrespective of the ontological status of the related entities. It is in prioritizing God as ontologically distinct (i.e., as being relational although not actualized), that, I would argue, the system breaks down.

I referred above to the intentional support that God is presumed to offer to the world, something which impacts directly on issues concerning the status of God. As Bracken points out, the normative position within Whitehead’s scheme is that God is "ever-concrescing," and thus it is difficult to present a mode whereby God could achieve adequate determinateness in order to relate internally or externally to the world. Bracken’s proposed solution is intriguing in that it evades the need for a divine "satisfaction" and posits

that a finite actual occasion does not directly prehend the objective integration of the primordial and consequent natures within God hut only the results of that integration, namely, God’s feelings toward itself as mediated in and through the occasion’s prehension of the objective structure of the world within which it is concrescing. (8)

If this is indeed so, a case is being put forward for the relativization of private subjectivity: the implication is that God’s internal self-constituting is referenced 3 by the societal field of general experience and is thus available for mediated prehension. Whether such a position can obtain within the constraints of Whitehead’s treatment of subjectivity is questionable, but it is precisely in dealing with the subject-object relationship that Whitehead tends to betray a substantialist psychology which undermines his intention to move wholly to an event ontology.4 What is to be welcomed in the proposition before us is that it enables us to begin to grasp the means through which non-physical attributes might be capable of effective agency in what is generally understood to be a physical world. In particular, it provides a basis for the broadening of our understanding of inter-subjective relationship and for the prioritizing of ethical and aesthetical concerns.5

Establishing inter-subjective relationship is clearly essential to Bracken’s purpose, but his solution that "God’s influence" should be considered "simply in terms of divine feelings vis-à-vis objective possibilities already present in the world as a common field of activity" is almost certainly inadequate. He does refer to Judith Jones’ notion of subjective transmission as explored in her book Intensity, but rejects that thesis (if not its intention). However, his own solution is rather less plausible than Jones’ in that it requires the treatment of the "possible" as objective. The only means for so doing (within the scheme being offered) would be to introduce a notion of divine priority in deciding and actualizing those possibles, but it has already been argued that there can be no such direct reach into the subjectivity of God. The mediated reach of the divine intention is just that: mediated and (relatively) indeterminate; a feeling rather than a form.

In adopting a field-oriented approach with overlapping fields building into ever more complex and related societies, we are, despite the problems articulated above, presented with a view offering a good deal of explicative power in terms of our personhood. The relationship with God, Bracken says, is

effected, not directly through the finite actual entity’s objective prehension of the ongoing integration between the primordial and consequent natures within God, but indirectly through the transmission of feeling from God to that same actual entity about its social location within the cosmic process and its possibilities for self-construction. (10)

I am not clear that such a mechanism can deal fully with the problem of "objective possibles," but it does enable us to define an actual entity in terms of its social location; that is, via its boundaries. In so doing the high level abstraction of atomistic thinking is significantly reduced, and reality is more closely bound to its effective relationships without needing to find absolute physical or temporal location. The notion of social location is inherently more flexible than either of the traditional locational concepts of space and time. As Bracken puts it, the effect is to side-step the Whiteheadian-Hartshornean debate concerning continuity and seriality in God. With regard to the mediating field he adds: "Only God’s feelings . . . re-mediated to the actual entity through the field of activity common to both of them" (10). The argument is essentially that the "common field" is capable of transmitting subjectivity equally as well as it transmits determinateness.

In closing his paper, Bracken returns to the relationship between societies and fields, and argues that "the divine field of activity… is the principle of continuity within the divine being." This is equated with an "enduring intentional field of activity for successive moments of consciousness" (11) within humans. The theory is filled out by the notion of the overlapping of the intentional fields of societies and the structural field of activity "proper to the universe"(l 1). The positing of a system of layers of related activity that inform but don’t wholly contain each other is extremely helpful. Notably, it enables a blurring of boundaries, and suggests that reality can be taken as inter-dependently active on otherwise discrete levels. In other words, it allows us to consider a multi-dimensional matrix of relationship within which each specified entity may participate in more than one dimension (or mode) concurrently. Our difficulty in conceptualizing this type of multi-modality is reflected in the persistent reversion of much of our common thinking to substantialist models, and specifically (in the specialist arena) in our difficulty in identifying actuality in mental occasions.6

There is much to commend in the position set out by Bracken, particularly with regard to his use of field-theory to effect a mediation between the metaphysical and cosmological aspects of the divine.7 By moving the debate away from the serial-continuous nature of God, Bracken enables us to focus attention on the effective agency of God in terms of the God-human relationship. My sense is that more work needs to be carried out if the field-theory is to succeed, because by treating the field as distinct from the activity within it we are left with an at least partial dependence on a metaphysical transcendent. There is also a high degree of complexity in the idea of the inter-relational fields through which feeling is transmitted and prehended. It may well be that detailed exploration of these will reveal difficulties, in terms of Whitehead’s system, similar to those precipitated by our more usual focus on the entities within those fields. I am thus wary that the path proposed might lead to a re-capitulation of the problems of continuity but on another level of abstraction. Nonetheless, the attempt is likely also to provide new perspectives on these problems, and in so doing offer new lines of thought for analysis. My guess is that these will impact on the question of intersubjective relationship in its most general terms.

I will admit to having no ready solutions, and will therefore put forward no more than an idea which others may embrace or reject as they see fit. It occurs to me that if we carry forward the idea of overlapping fields of activity, but regard them as functions of different thicknesses of actuality, then there may yet be scope to develop a coherent field theory that is genuinely self-perpetuating and sustaining. The field will perhaps be contingent on actual occasions (or societies of occasions, or mental occasions), but actualized in a mode of embracement. And just possibly, the different modes of actualization will impact on the atomism of temporal relationship, thereby circumventing the very real problem of continuity implicit in Whitehead’s broader theory. If we can achieve this, then the concept of personalist constructions of deity, and of our mutual enjoyment of independence within interactional relationship, might well be brought into sharper -- and more agentively effective -- focus.

 

Notes

1. I am aware that buried within my treatment of societies are significant issues concerning temporality and concrescence. They are too complex to explore in detail here, but in essence I am treating time as simply a category expressed within subjective experience. In addition, I am adopting a relativist treatment of subject and object that posits a notion of sufficiency in actualization and objectification. In this, I am clearly at odds with the mainstream of Whiteheadian thought.

2. Alternatively, we can treat the field as a function of a society, but if we choose such a route it is rather more difficult to claim "objective ontological unity." My discussion focuses on Bracken’s position, though my inclination is to develop a relativist approach.

3. 1 use the term "referenced" to suggest no more than that the field of general experience develops some form of "index" of the subjective content of its constituents. In itself this index is passive, but it provides some general notion of the more private intention of the originating subject.

4. There are a number of possible criticisms of Whitehead’s position, but Judith Jones expresses part of the debate well when she writes: "Adopting the Cartesian distinction between "formal and objective reality" undermines Whitehead’s repudiation of the Cartesian definition of the individuality of existents, and leads to an inability to define individuality coherently within the organic atomism being advanced" (26).

5. See Robert C Neville, Recovery of the Measure. passim.

6. See Robert Neville, Reconstruction of Thinking 73-75 for a discussion on the relationship between mental and physical occasions.

7. The distinction here reflects Robert Neville’s work in this area.

 

Works Cited

Bracken, Joseph, A. "Prehending God in and through the World." Process Studies 29.1 (2000): 4-15.

Jones, Judith. Intensity: An Essay in Whiteheadian Ontology. Nashville: Vanderbilt UP, 1998.

Neville, Robert C. Recovery of the Measure. Albany: State U of New York P, 1989.

____Reconstruction of Thinking Albany: State U of New York P, 1981.