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In his "Autobiographical Notes" Whitehead remarks about his direct contacts with Hegel: "I have never been able to read Hegel: I initiated my attempt by studying some remarks of his on mathematics which struck me as complete nonsense. It was foolish of me, but I am not writing to explain my good sense."¹ It was perhaps the very same passage he had in mind writing in Essays in Science and Philosophy:

I quoted those two passages at length because they reveal what should be said about Whitehead’s acquaintance with (German) Idealistic thought: Whitehead never had a relevant first-hand contact with German Idealism. Yet, he contends that he was influenced by Hegel. That influence must be interpreted -- as the fragment shows -- as second-hand.³ Whitehead knew Hegel and his philosophy by his conversation with McTaggart and Haldane and his acquaintance with Bradley’s philosophy. Concerning the relationship between Whitehead and Hegel, Victor Lowe’s conclusion seems to me to the point: "Only in his metaphysics -- particularly in his doctrine of coherence -- is a Hegelian influence notable. Had there never been a Hegel, I think Whitehead would still have been led to that by his instinctive acknowledgement that the truth is complex, and that different thinkers have got hold of contrasting aspects of it."⁴ In other words: Whitehead’s knowledge of Hegel’s philosophy has been completely irrelevant for his philosophy. And Lowe continues: "Some of those who know Whitehead wonder if William Wordsworth did not influence him quite as much as any other man -- and Shelley almost as much as Wordsworth."⁵ This hypothesis suggests that the direct acquaintance of Whitehead with Wordsworth’s poetry deeply influenced his philosophy. But this is somewhat paradoxical. For Wordsworth’s poetry is, to my opinion, in its very essence the poetical reflection, the poetic rendering of fundamentally idealistic thought. So, if Lowe is right, this would mean that Whitehead had an albeit poetical acquaintance with German Idealistic thought. But then the question is to what extent this acquaintance was relevant to Whitehead’s developing his own system and, furthermore, what could be interpreted afterwards as the ‘Idealistic Remains’ in Whitehead.

Those questions force us to examine more carefully the historical relationship between German idealism, Wordsworth, and Whitehead.

I. Coleridge, Schelling, And Wordsworth

When we want to examine the thought of Wordsworth, we cannot study it as an isolated phenomenon. We need to put it back into the broader context of the epoch. In this respect Whitehead even helps us to reconstruct partly the patterns of relevant relationships between the protagonists of the Romantic period. In Science and the Modern World he states: "In English literature, the deepest thinkers of this [Romantic] school were Coleridge, Wordsworth and Shelley. . . . We may neglect Coleridge’s attempt at an explicit philosophical formulation. It was influential in his own generation; … . For our purpose Coleridge is only important by his influence on Wordsworth."⁶ When we take the last sentence seriously, before studying Wordworth’s relationship to Whitehead, we have to examine Coleridge’s (philosophical) thought for its influence on Wordsworth.

a. Coleridge as philosopher

Coleridge must have been interested in philosophy since his youth. This is at least what he tells us in his Biographia Literaria.⁷ He has dealt with Plato, Plotinus, and Jamblicus since the very beginning of his poetical writing and read Locke and Berkeley. About 1794, the English determinist Hartley became for him the most convincing philosopher. In 1799 he wrote his friend R. Southey that he was "sunk in Spinoza,"⁸ and in the Biographia Literaria one can read that he had studied Giordano Bruno in 1801.⁹ But all those philosophers were not the most important ones to whom he felt "acquainted." We should add Kant, Schelling, and Schlegel to the list of philosophers mentioned above. The influence of the latter was far greater than that of any other. In order to understand this we have to consider one of its explanatory factors: Coleridge’s journey in Germany (1798-99).

This journey was of great importance for Coleridge’s development. He left for Germany in 1798. At that time he did not know anything about German philosophy.¹⁰ As a matter of fact he aimed chiefly at "a grounded knowledge of the German Language and Literature."¹¹ He studied mainly at the University of Gottingen (1799). Although he must have heard much about Kant and Fichte in those days, one can say he never met Kant, nor Fichte. According to Marcel he never met Schelling either, and it still has to be proven that he attended any of their lectures.¹² Most critics even agree that during this journey, Coleridge dealt with a diversity of subjects, but never studied philosophy seriously. Yet he bought several books on metaphysics.¹³ Nevertheless, once he was back in England (1801), his first and still superficial reading of German philosophy was enough to cause him to give up his Hartleyan necessitarianism and to direct himself towards a more careful study of Kant and Schelling.¹⁴

Gabriel Marcel argues that Coleridge had been reading the Kantian philosophy starting from 1802. Especially during his stay in Malta (1804-06) he studied Kant quite intensively.¹⁵ According to the Biographia Literaria he read Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason, the Critique of Judgment, the Metaphysical Elements of Natural Philosophy, and Religion within the Bounds of Pure Reason.¹⁶

From Kant, Coleridge may have drawn the distinction between ‘the mechanic’ and ‘the organic’ which underlies the important contrast between ‘fancy’ and ‘imagination’.¹7 As a matter of fact, Coleridge borrowed, at least to a great extent, the whole theory of the ‘faculties’ of Reason from Kant, especially the theory of the ‘Imagination’ ¹⁸ As Marcel notes, there is a very large coincidence between Coleridge’s and Kant’s theory of ‘aesthetics’. Coleridge appreciated most Kant’s Critique of Judgment.¹⁹ Almost all Kantian themes which later seemed important to Coleridge had their origin in this very work.

Coleridge also knew Fichte. In the Biographia Literaria he mentions his ‘Wissenschaftslehre’ or, as he calls it, the Lore of Ultimate Science.²⁰ Marcel asserts that Coleridge, besides the ‘Wissenschaftslehre’, read several other works of Fichte: Die Bestimmung des Menschen, Der geschlossene Handelsstaat, Das System der Sittenlehre, and Versuch einer Kritik aller Offenbarung.²¹’

Coleridge summarizes the significance of Fichte as follows: he gave the fatal blow to Spinoza’s system by starting with an act instead of a thing or substance; he supplied the concept of a systematic philosophy or a philosophical system;²² finally he laid the first stone of the dynamic philosophy, by the same way of substituting acts for things in themselves.²³ In contrast with his reception of Kant he rejected most of Fichte’s philosophy. He reproaches him for constructing an egotistical, lifeless (i.e., natureless), godless, and immoral philosophy.²⁴ His moral system would be no more than a caricature of Kant’s. ²⁵

In the list of philosophers whom Coleridge was acquainted with, we may not forget the literary critic and philosopher A. W. Schlegel. His Vorlesungen über dramatische Kunst und Literatur were very influential on Coleridge especially in respect to the theory of the genius and in respect to the application of the contrast between organic and mechanic forms in art and art criticism.²⁶ Coleridge’s interest in the writings of Schlegel went so far that he sometimes took over integral parts of it, even textually. Marcel attributes this to the very close similarities in thought between the two critics. J. W. Beach, on the contrary, is less conciliatory, and he bluntly accuses Coleridge of plagiarism. In his article "Coleridge’s Borrowings from the German" he quotes Schlegel in a passage concerning the so-called mechanic and organic forms in works of art, and he shows how the passage in Coleridge follows the German text so closely that one cannot but regard it as a mere translation.²⁷

Last but not least, there is Coleridge’s acquaintance with Schelling. In our examination of the relationship between Coleridge and German Idealism this is by far the most important issue. There is no critic who has not more or less elaborated on the very close relationship between the German philosopher and Coleridge.²⁸

However, before we examine this last element, some words should be said concerning Coleridge’s understanding of the-philosophy of Kant, Fichte, Schlegel, and, provisionally, Schelling. Marcel states that although Coleridge admired Kant very much, he did not understand the critical and profound intuitions of Kant. Marcel illustrates this by a passage of The Friend where Coleridge interprets Kant in such way that the principle of obligation is not Reason but God: in that sense our conscience would be God’s words in ourselves.²⁹ That is in complete contradiction with the core of Kant’s position. The same holds good for the understanding of Fichte’s philosophy. This becomes clear when we reconsider the passage quoted already, where Coleridge interprets Fichte’s transcendental investigation concerning the history of consciousness as a psychological description of the mental state, called reflection. This psychological description, according to Coleridge, emphasizes too much the central position of the Ego. As a result, Fichte’s philosophy becomes immoral, egotistic, godless, and hostile to Nature.³⁰ To understand transcendental philosophy as a psychological description is to understand not a single word of it.³¹

But the same could be said in respect to Coleridge’s understanding of Schelling. Although he gives the impression of having understood the main intuitions of Schelling’s philosophy of nature and his aesthetics, again, he did not see that all this had been written out of a transcendental, criticistic conceptual framework. This fundamental misconception can easily be illustrated. In the Biographia Literaria Coleridge tries to explicate the first and most basic intuition of his own philosophy, following thereby completely the strain of thought of Fichte’s ‘Wissenschaftslehre’ and Schelling’s Vom Ich als Prinzip der Philosophie oder über das Unbedingte im menschlichen Wissen. "This principle, so characterized, manifests itself in the SUM or I AM." In the ‘Scholium’, he continues: "If a man be asked how he knows that he is? he can only answer, sum quia sum. But if . . . he be again asked . . . he might reply, sum quia Deus est, or still more philosophically, sum quia in Deo sum."³² This last phrase is complete nonsense for a transcendental philosopher of the Fichtean or younger Schellingian type, because to their mind it is impossible to think of a God or the Absolute as an objective existing instance in and through which the I exists. This is a pure dogmatic position, which Schelling never would claim.

All this shows quite well how Coleridge understood German Idealism. He read many books without noticing that they were written from a criticistic point of view: he never grasped the transcendental meaning of the philosophical analyses. He understood the phrases as propositions concerning the actual world and not as statements about the necessary conditions for the understanding of what actually exists.

On the other hand Coleridge could easily think he understood Schelling’s philosophy of nature and his philosophy of art. For in those parts of his philosophy, Schelling de facto gave a lot of descriptions of the actual world, and his transcendental analyses could be understood in a realistic (i.e., dogmatic) way, without loss of meaning. But even in respect to those parts of Schelling’s philosophy one could say that Coleridge understood the phrases without grasping their underlying but truly intended meaning.

b. Schelling

I would like to make clear (1) that there was an important influence from Schelling on Coleridge; (2) that Schelling’s influence was a crucial if not determinant factor for the development of the final stage of Coleridge’s theoretical and poetical thought; and (3) that every type of influence that Coleridge might have had upon others (Wordsworth, and even Whitehead, for instance), bears the mark of Schelling’s system of philosophy. In order to show this we concentrate first on the actuality of the influence and secondly on its extent.

That there was a significant influence of Schelling on Coleridge can be deduced in the first place from the explicit quotations in Coleridge’s work. Furthermore, this influence has been generally acknowledged by most of the Coleridge scholars. The most significant utterances concerning Schelling are to be found in the Biographia Literaria. "God forbid! That I should be suspected of a wish to enter into a rivalry with Schelling for the honors so unequivocally his right, not only as a great and original genius, but as the founder of the PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE, and as the most successful improver of the Dynamic System . . . ; to SCHELLING we owe the completion, and the most important victories, of this revolution in philosophy."³³

Coleridge was obviously acquainted with Schelling’s philosophy, and he even appreciated him for his completion of the Kantian philosophy in respect to the philosophy of nature. He even read Schelling’s most important works before 1817, the year the Biographia Literaria was published: "I have not indeed . . . been hitherto able to procure more than two of his books, viz, the 1st volume of his collected Tracts, and his System of Transcendental Idealism; to which, however, I must add a small pamphlet against Fichte."³⁴

Thus Coleridge, by the time of writing the Biographia Literaria, was above all acquainted with Schelling’s transcendental philosophy, his ‘Freiheitsschrift’ and the important work on art criticism Ueber das Verhältnis der bildenden Künste zur Natur.

To evaluate the extent of Schelling’s influence on Coleridge, I think that the whole discussion concerning Coleridge’s plagiarism from Schelling could be instinctive. That discussion, well-known in circles of literary critics, but still too unknown among philosophers, is age-old. In case of plagiarism there are only two possible explanations: either Coleridge plagiarized because he attached great importance to Schelling’s way of saying things, which means that he was convinced that Schelling’s expressions were most useful to formulate his own ideas (this would mean finally that the correlation between Schelling’s and Coleridge’s thought is very large), or Coleridge plagiarized Schelling in order to give himself a philosophical aureole in the eyes of his countrymen. But if so, ‘Coleridge’, as we know him, is a mere fiction. Then the name ‘Coleridge’ only stands for ‘the person who transmitted and translated the writings of F. W. J. Schelling (and probably other German authors)’.

The history of the problem concerning Coleridge’s plagiarism of Schelling starts in March, 1840, six years after Coleridge’s death. An article of Ferrier in the Blackwood Magazine accused Coleridge of plagiarism.³⁵

Yet it is important to notice that Coleridge, although he never knew of the accusation of plagiarism, defended himself in advance against any charge in this respect.

In the Biographia Literaria he anticipates by two main arguments the later charge: "In Schelling’s ‘NATUR-PHILOSOPHY’ and the ‘SYSTEM DES TRANSCENDENTALEN IDEALISMUS’, I first found a genial coincidence with much that I had toiled out for myself. . . . It would be but a mere act of justice to myself, were I to warn my future readers, that an identity of thought, or even similarity of phrase, will not be at all times a certain proof that the passage has been borrowed from Schelling. Nor is this coincidence at all to be wondered at. We had studied in the same school; namely, the writings of Kant."³⁶ And he continues: "For readers in general, let whatever shall be found in this or any future work of mine, that resembles, or coincides with, the doctrines of my German predecessor, though contemporary, be wholly attributed to him: provided, that the absence of distinct references to his books, which I could not at all times make with truth as designating citations or thoughts actually derived from him; and which, I trust, would, after this general acknowledgement be superfluous; be not charged on me as an ungenerous concealment or intentional plagiarism."³⁷ This last quotation makes it completely impossible to decide what passage or which idea is his own and if not, to what extent it has been copied, or borrowed from someone else.

Schelling knew about the charge of plagiarism against Coleridge. In 1842, Schelling mentions the whole problem, although in a very conciliatory manner towards Coleridge: "I grant him with pleasure the borrowings from my works that were sharply, even too sharply criticized by his countrymen due to the fact that my name has not been mentioned. One should not hold such charges against a really congenial man."³⁸

It is remarkable that Schelling was not inclined to stress this point, because of Coleridge’s important role in transmitting ‘accurately’ the German science and poetry into England.

The "accuracy" with which Coleridge transmitted those ideas could be best illustrated by referring to Marcel’s dissertation (1909, published in 1971): he quotes in annex several rather extensive passages from the Biographia Literaria that are mere translations from Schelling’s System des transcendentalen Idealismus and Abhandlungen zur Erläuterung der Wissenschaftslehre.³⁹

The whole problem of Coleridge’s plagiarism, it seems, is summarized best in Wellek’s A History of Modern Criticism (II) (1955): "If we look at Coleridge... fresh from our reading of Kant, Schiller, Schelling, the Schlegels, . . . we must, I think, come to a considerably lower estimate of his significance, however great and useful his role was in mediating between Germany and England. . . . It seems to me a matter of intellectual honesty not to credit Coleridge with ideas distinctly derived and even literally transcribed from others."⁴⁰ In this way Wellek affirms on the one hand Coleridge’s plagiarism, and on the other hand he defines Coleridge’s final significance for the history of culture: the one who mediated in a fertile way between the cultural movement of the romantic epoch between Germany and England. In this sense Wellek’s evaluation of Coleridge’s plagiarism is very much the same as the one Schelling gave.

Far more important though, he stipulates the areas to which the borrowings and thus the influences of German authors belong. It is important in this respect to notice that the areas of influence Wellek notes are corresponding closely with those we found in Marcel. In general they both assert that in respect to (1) Coleridge’s aesthetics, especially the relationship between nature and art,⁴¹ (2) his philosophy of nature,⁴² and (3) his theory concerning the relationship between subjectivity and objectivity and the way to overcome this duality,⁴³ the influence of Schelling is obvious. Wellek adds that also the theory of literature and the complete so-called philosophical terminology has been borrowed from Schelling.⁴⁴ Marcel shows that Coleridge’s stress on the concepts of life and mind as active factors whereby any dualism can be surmounted is in essence Schellingian thought.⁴⁵ The same goes for any attempt Coleridge made to systematize his thinking: even there one can easily find the Schelling mind at work.⁴⁶

c. Wordsworth

Almost every Coleridge or Wordsworth critic agrees on the issue of Coleridge’s influence on Wordsworth. Even Whitehead points this out in Science and the Modern World⁴⁷ and so does Charles Hartshome.⁴⁸ Furthermore, if Coleridge was a necessary and fertile mediator between German Idealism and English poetry, we will find many ideas in Wordsworth that can be traced back to Coleridge’s principal sources in German Idealism, namely to Kant and still more to the philosophy of Schelling.

The most interesting examination of the relationship between Coleridge and Wordsworth can be found in Rader.⁴⁹

Rader tries to systematize the areas of thought in Wordsworth which exhibit the more or less obvious influence of Coleridge.⁵⁰ Summarizing Rader’s investigations, we can distinguish four topics concerning this relationship. In the first place, there is their joined critique on Hartleyan associationism and necessitarianism.⁵¹ This critique goes back to Coleridge’s emancipation from Hartley’s philosophy during his stay in Germany and his examination of German Philosophy afterwards, above all of Kantian philosophy. Secondly, from Kant, Wordsworth borrowed, mediated by his personal contacts with Coleridge, the concept of duty in ethics, and of reason and truth in epistemology and metaphysics.⁵²

However, thirdly, the influence of Coleridge is most obvious in respect to the stress on ‘free will’ and above all in respect to his concept of ‘Imagination’.⁵³ Here of course, one can see the influence of Kant. Yet, I am convinced that both concepts never would have been of such great importance to Coleridge if he had not seen how fertilely they were used in Schelling’s works. Indeed, it was Schelling in the first place who saw the remarkable importance of the concept of ‘Imagination’ (‘Einbildungskraft’) to found (a) the autonomy of the subjectivity, (b) the autonomy and autarky of nature, and (c) the production of art as the cultural counterpart of the basic activity of nature. This concept of the imagination, derived from Kant on the one hand, connected with another most fertile notion of the Critique of Judgment, the organism, becomes the cornerstone of Schelling’s philosophy of nature as a philosophy of organism. On the other hand, it provides the basic structure for the understanding of art in his philosophy of art. Without explaining this here, but referring to what we will say about it in section III, we can state formally that the concept of imagination in Schelling makes it possible, as Hablützel rightly assumes, to understand Nature as Natura Naturans, to understand man as an autonomous and reasonable free subject, to overcome the old problem of the dualism between subjectivity and objectivity, and finally to understand along this line the production in nature and the production in art as two analogous processes which are founded on the same principles.⁵⁴ In this very concept we meet the philosophy of Kant, Schelling, Coleridge’s thought, and especially his theory of literary criticism, and finally Wordsworth’s view on the relationship between Man and Nature.

All this is confirmed by Rader, who concludes -- and this is our fourth point -- that Coleridge’s influence on Wordsworth was most important concerning the concept of nature, which is founded upon and exhibits the structures and features of the (concept of) imagination.⁵⁵ This concept allows Wordsworth to think the organicity of Nature, which finally and metaphysically means: to think of the one as many and the many as one.⁵⁶ It need not even be said that such a concept of nature has its own repercussions on Wordsworth’s concept of God. This concept, Rader argues, evolves, under Coleridge’s influence, from a plain pantheism towards an immanent theism.⁵⁷ Whether this latter assertion is true or not we need not discuss here. However, we know that (1) also in Schelling and in Coleridge, an analogous evolution has taken place concerning their concept of God ⁵⁸ and (2) in Schelling this was due to his more careful examination of the ontological implications of the transcendental condition of possibility of the concept of Being, which he always conceived as structured according to the patterns of Imagination.

Therefore, we are inclined to conclude that the coincidence between Coleridge and Wordsworth concerning their theory of the relationship between subjectivity and objectivity, between nature and art, and finally concerning the concept of nature itself are based upon the notion of imagination, framed by Kant, but generalized, elaborated, and made fertile in a variety of ways by Schelling.

If all this is true, there must be a possibility to compare Wordsworth’s poetry, and more especially, the underlying philosophical intuitions with the system of Schelling.

In his authoritative book, E. D. Hirsch made this comparison at length.⁵⁹ It is remarkable, indeed, to notice Hirsch’s renderings of Wordsworth’s basic philosophical intuitions: the identity of subjectivity and objectivity,⁶⁰ the organic view on nature,⁶¹ the pantheistic or immanent theistic concept of God in his relation to the world,⁶² the idea of the analogy between the creativity in nature and the creativity in art,⁶³ the stress on ethics and aesthetics,⁶⁴ etc. The most significant point, however, is that Hirsch stresses, as did Rader in respect to Coleridge and Wordsworth, the importance of the generalized concept of imagination as the cornerstone of the philosophical framework in Wordsworth and in Schelling.⁶⁵ For it is the structure of the imagination which makes it intelligible that nature is a creative process towards the human mind which is therefore a creative instance too both in respect to theoretical knowledge as in respect to practical realizations, whether these have an ethical or aesthetical character. Finally, that same structure of the imagination makes is plausible to conceive the relationship between the world, both nature and mind, and its ground, i.e., God. Hirsch remarks very definitely that Schelling’s writings on this theme, expressed by his metaphysics of the ‘Bond’ or the ‘Copula’, is directly derivative of the structure of imagination and is very close to Wordsworth’s view on the relationship between God and the world.⁶⁶

I quote in this respect one of the most striking passages in which Schelling defines very accurately his concept of the ‘Copula’ and in which he expresses at the same time one of Wordsworth’s most fundamental ideas concerning the ultimate structure of reality: "The bond is the living unification of the one and the many. And, along with the bond, there is also that which has, out of the unity and multiplicity, become one."⁶⁷

But is this not surprisingly similar to Whitehead’s description of the category of the ultimate, i.e., creativity? In Process and Reality Whitehead writes: "[Creativity is the activity whereby] the many become one, and are increased by one" (PR 21/ 32).

This would mean that the Kantian notion of imagination in its very structure is quite similar to what is envisaged in Whitehead’s creativity. But this of course has yet to be proven.

The examination of the influence of English poetry on Whitehead constitutes the final step in our historical approach of the relationship between German Idealism and Whitehead.

II. The Influence On Whitehead

In the "Autobiographical Notes," Whitehead asserts that he was acquainted with Wordsworth before he arrived at the university in 1880. In secondary school he read Wordsworth and Shelley during spare time.⁶⁸ This acquaintance with Wordsworth, Shelley, and Coleridge becomes apparent through a consideration of the different passages in which they are mentioned. In Principles of Natural Knowledge he cites some lines from Wordsworth (PNK 200); in Process and Reality he quotes Wordsworth’s well-known phrase: "We murder to dissect" (PR 140/212). In Modes of Thought he suggests that he read Coleridge’s Biographia Literaria.⁶⁹ But the most important rendering of the romantic poetry we find in Science and the Modern World.⁷⁰ Let us therefore confine our investigation to the latter text, in order to see clearly Whitehead’s view on romantic poetry.

At the end of Chapter V, "The Romantic Reaction," Whitehead summarizes the significance of Romantic poetry: "I have endeavored to make clear . . . that the nature-poetry of the romantic revival was a protest on behalf of the organic view of nature, and also a protest against the exclusion of value from the essence of matter of fact."⁷¹ Here, Whitehead stresses the importance of the romantic concept of nature. That concept entails, according to the above quotation, two characteristics: (a) the organic view on nature and (b) the understanding of nature as exhibiting an intrinsic value-character.

Whitehead elucidates the former aspect as a (romantic) reaction against the mechanical, 18th-century scientific view on nature, whereby nature is reduced to mere abstract matter, devoid of any form of subjectivity. As to the latter aspect, Whitehead argues that the English romantic poetry "bears witness that nature cannot be divorced from its aesthetic values."⁷² This means to Whitehead that nature, in the first place, has to do with experience, but above all with the experience of value. Both aspects of the concept of nature in romantic poetry exhibit two dimensions of one and the same intuition namely, that of the fundamentally subjective character of nature. This subjective character has to be understood as the ever-acting ground, involved in any particular instance of nature:

Whitehead’s comment on English poetry in general, and his evaluation of the Wordsworthian poetry more specifically, shows that the most valuable contribution of that poetry consists exactly in this articulation of the concept of nature. This statement can be sustained through a closer study of the similarity in concept, principles, and elaboration of Wordsworth’s and Whitehead’s view on nature.

In Wordsworth we can find the stress on the organic pattern of nature. Moreover, while interpreting its value character, we are impelled to look at nature as an agent to be qualified as subjective. Finally, the concept of an ever-acting ground which is involved in and finds expression through all particular instances of nature allows us to envisage here in nuce Whitehead’s own principle of creativity. Hence, we can conclude that if there has been an influence of Wordsworth on Whitehead at all, it will have to do with his concept of nature. I would even claim -- but this has to be investigated later on -- that the particular synthesis of the concept of nature with aesthetics in Whitehead is almost completely Wordsworthian.

Of course, I will not go so far as to say that Whitehead borrowed his concept of nature from Wordsworth, or from any other English poet of the 19th century. I would claim that his own view was strongly corroborated by his reading of romantic poetry: it gave him the insights to fulfill his imaginative generalization -- as he understood his own method of philosophy -- successfully. The testimony of Whitehead’s daughter bears witness of the importance of Wordsworth for Whitehead: "He would read The Prelude, as if it were the Bible, pouring over the meaning of various passages.

Besides Whitehead’s own quotations most of his interpreters indicate that there has been a more or less important influence of Wordsworth and Coleridge on some central thoughts in Whitehead’s philosophy of organism. The evidence of this influence is so obviously recognized by those interpreters that it can hardly be overlooked. Especially Charles Hartshorne and Victor Lowe, and above all Mary Wyman stress this point. Talking about himself and about Whitehead, Hartshorne asserts: "I may have learned more metaphysically from Emerson’s Essays . . . and Wordsworth’s and Shelley’s metaphysical poetry (from which Whitehead also profited) than by reading and hearing Whitehead."⁷⁵ And Lowe states: "Some of those who know Whitehead wonder if William Wordsworth did not influence him quite as much as any other man -- and Shelley almost as much as Wordsworth There is in Whitehead a touch of Bergson, a touch of James, a touch of Samual Alexander, more of Wordsworth and Shelley."⁷⁶

Mary Wyman, however, not only states the actuality of the influence, she also tries to investigate to what extent and above all in what areas the influence should be localized in Whitehead’s work. Apparently in agreement to what we have said above, Wyman sees Wordsworth’s influence on Whitehead in the first place in his concept of Creativity. "The idea of Creativity then underlying Wordsworth’s autobiographical poem The Prelude would seem to be the main reason for its attraction to Whitehead"⁷⁷And the relationship between Whitehead’s concept of Creativity and the content of The Prelude should be interpreted in the way that "Whitehead’s theory of the creative process is akin to aesthetic theory and this suggests Wordsworth in his preoccupation with the poetic process of creaton."⁷⁸ The poetic process of creation is the central theme of Wordsworth’s Prelude: "the growth of the poet’s mind." This growth of the poet’s mind ends with the ‘Imagination’ as its last and most fundamental creative power.

As a result of the preceding, short analysis of the connection of Coleridge’s and Wordsworth’s thoughts with Whitehead’s philosophy, we may conclude (1) that there was a relatively important influence from Coleridge and Wordsworth on Whitehead; (2) that this influence deals with the relationship between nature and aesthetics, kept together in Coleridge and Wordsworth by the concept of the poetic process of creation, i.e., the concept of imagination, and brought together in Whitehead by the theory of creativity. The most important issue, however, now seems to be the suggested, but still vague, relationship between ‘Imagination’ and ‘Creativity’. This investigation will be carried out at length in the third section.

As the final outcome of the foregoing examination, four elements should be stressed.

1. The first philosopher who treated nature and art (aesthetics) starting from the principle of Imagination was Kant. According to Kant, Imagination is the ultimate foundation of the knowledge of nature and of art production. But, it should be said that Kant’s concept of nature, art, and imagination has to be understood from his transcendental point of view.

The Kantian subjective idealism is at first criticized by Schelling. He did not see nature or art merely as the final outcome of the activity of the subjective spirit. Indeed, according to Schelling, nature has a productive activity of its own (ontologically) which culminates in the production of human consciousness. The structure and the principles of that activity become manifest in the human spirit, more especially in his faculty of Imagination. Imagination is therefore not only a faculty of the human mind, but rather the most fundamental type of activity exhibited in and by nature itself. Furthermore, Schelling went on to claim his philosophy to be merely ‘idealistic’. This means that he did not want to give up the Kantian transcendental method of thinking. Whereas Kant wondered what we should take into account in order to explain our experience and our knowledge of the world, Schelling’s question was what we should take into consideration when explaining how nature produces objects (including man) which we experience and understand. Therefore it should be stressed that in Schelling we have an objective idealism on a transcendental basis.

2. It is important to notice that, as we stated above, Coleridge was in no way an objective idealist and that, in adopting Schelling’s system, he changed the very principles of it, which he did, to my mind completely unconsciously. Coleridge never grasped the meaning and the significance of the transcendental method, i.e., of the Copernican Revolution. Coleridge interpreted Schelling’s concept of nature, his concept of art and of Imagination in a dogmatic sense. Schelling would have called Coleridge an objective realist.⁷⁹

3. Nevertheless, it was that so-called objective-realistic rendering of Schelling’s philosophy by Coleridge that influenced Wordsworth’s poetry. As to the concept of nature, of art, and of Imagination, we have shown above to what extent Wordsworth’s insights were developed under the guiding influence of Coleridge. As a matter of fact, in Wordsworth we can find back precisely the Schellingian-Coleridgean structural position and conceptual elaboration of Imagination: it is the faculty in the human mind and the faculty in nature whereby art and nature, in their productive aspect, can be thought together.

4. It was the poetic elaboration, translation, and application by Wordsworth of those -- in principle -- Schellingian insights that struck Whitehead so much. He was impressed by the creative aspect of the Imagination that had been stressed by Wordsworth. In this respect it is indeed significant that Whitehead read Coleridge’s Biographia Literaria, which deals in so many places with that view on Imagination.⁸⁰ Therefore, I am inclined to see the Wordsworthian and Coleridgean interpretations of Imagination as one of the main sources Whitehead used to conceive the structure of the ultimate ground of all reality, i.e., Creativity.

However, this bold hypothesis concerning the relationship between Schelling’s concept of Imagination and Whitehead’s concept of Creativity needs more elaboration and clarification.

III. Imagination and Creativity: Schelling and Whitehead on Nature

When one compares Whitehead’s cosmology and Schelling’s writing on the philosophy of nature, it is remarkable that both philosophers conceive visible nature as an abstraction of its more basic dynamic structure, which is explained by recurrence to atomic processes of becoming, respectively called ‘actual entities’ and ‘Aktionen’ ⁸¹ In this respect, Schelling calls his own philosophy of nature a ‘dynamic atomism’, a term which corresponds well with Whitehead’s view.⁸² But there is more: both philosophers state that the activity of the particular processes of becoming is grounded in and therefore is a manifestation of the more fundamental ‘substantial activity’.⁸³ In Whitehead this is called ‘Creativity’; Schelling speaks in this respect of ‘Absolute Nature’, ‘Natura Naturans’, ‘The Bond’, ‘The Copula’, ‘The Soul (of the World)’, etc.⁸⁴

The aim of this last section now is, first, to show that the (abstract) structure of Whitehead’s Creativity and Schelling’s Absolute Nature is identical and can be conceived as the structure of ‘Imagination’. Secondly, I would like to treat three more concepts implied by that structure which are also shared by the two philosophers: (in Whitehead’s terms) (1) the Revised Subjectivist Principle, (2) the idea of the Creative Advance, and (3) the concept of a Philosophy of Organism.

a. The Imaginative Structure of Creativity

Kant states that the (pure transcendental) imagination is the condition of possibility of all experience, i.e., of the capacity of synthesizing a multiplicity in the unity of knowledge.⁸⁵ In 1802 Schelling writes that Imagination is the root of all reality.⁸⁶ The two statements beg the question of the formal structure of Imagination and of its more general application in respect to the understanding of reality as such.

Formally, imagination can be defined as an activity whereby two factors are synthesized into a third issue. In Kant these factors are the sense-data and the categories: they issue in the object of empirical knowledge.⁸⁷ The active unification of objective and subjective factors constitutes a finite product. As Schelling understands those objective and subjective factors as functions of what should be defined as (subjective) activities in themselves, (productive) imagination can generally be described as the active unification of two different activities issuing in a finite product. Furthermore, Schelling states that the two types of activity are opposed to each other, but infinite in themselves: for he qualifies both respectively as the absolutely ideal and as the absolutely real activity. In this way imagination can be understood as the activity whereby the infinite is unified into the finite, or as the act through which the many become one.⁸⁸ Imagination thus is a synthesizing activity which brings about finite products. Each finite product, therefore, is a ‘con-cretum’ ⁸⁹

In Whitehead Creativity can be defined in the very same way. It is activity synthesizing the data of the actual (the antecedent actual entities) and conceptual (the realm of the eternal objects) world into the unity of a concrete, new actual entity. It is even possible to understand both the actual and conceptual world as functions of experience in so far as they are actively prehended by that very actual entity. In this sense both the actual and conceptual world are functions of the physical and conceptual prehensions of the becoming occasion.⁹⁰

This formal concept of Creativity or Imagination can now be applied to the basic structure of nature. This results in three main ideas.

(a) Nature is understood as a creative activity. Nature, conceived in this way, is creation itself and not a mere result of it.⁹¹ Furthermore, as the creative activity produces finite instances, it can be regarded as the principle of individuation.⁹² Finally, as it is the most fundamental activity, it constitutes at the same time the ground of all creative activity, be it physical or mental. In this sense the imaginative art production in its very essence can be understood as identical with the fundamental creative activity in nature, manifesting itself, though, on its highest level.⁹³

(b) On the other hand it is clear that this activity does not exist apart from its products.⁹⁴ Therefore, one had better call it the principle of individuation. Although, as a principle it ensures the essential identity of all its finite issues: each entity is identical so far as it originates from the same ground.

(c) With the concept of a natural imaginative activity the Universe can be thought of as a relational whole: it constitutes identity in totality ⁹⁵ -- because, as a synthetic activity, resulting in finite instances, it links together subject and object, the mental and the physical, the organic and the inorganic. This is the ultimate reason why Schelling defines this activity as the ‘Copula’, the ‘Bond’.⁹⁶

So far, it is obvious that the formal and substantial aspects of Schelling’s generalized concept of Imagination fit perfectly with the concept of Creativity in Whitehead. It can be argued namely that Whitehead’s Creativity is indeed the creative principle of individuation.⁹⁷ The latter does not exist apart from its products (PR 225/ 344), but at the same time it ensures the relationality of the Universe as a whole and of its constituents, synthesizing in every instance elements of the conceptual and actual world (PR 22/ 33f.).

b. The Philosophy of Organism and Its Principles

Finally, I would like to make clear that this structure of Creativity and Imagination implies another three ideas which are once more shared by Schelling and Whitehead. I denominate them in Whitehead’s terms.

(a) The ‘Revised Subjectivist Principle’ -- Both Imagination and Creativity express the same basic activity of Mind: the active unification of subjectivity and objectivity. To say that this unification is the ultimate activity is to say that the structure of Mind is the final essence of reality. This idea is expressed in a quite different way in Schelling and Whitehead.

In Schelling, the paradigm of this basic structure is given by the self-conscious Ego,⁹⁸ whereas Whitehead’s paradigm is an unconscious experience. Although Whitehead’s claim for a ‘Revised Subjectivist Principle’ finds its origin in this very difference, things should be understood properly (PR 159-62/ 241-46). Schelling merely wants to express that in the understanding of ourselves as self-conscious instances, we become aware of the (dynamic) unity of subjectivity and objectivity that can generally be ascribed to reality as a whole and to its constituent parts. This structure in its dynamism is the imaginative activity, whereas in its static result it is the immediate unity of subjectivity in a finite (conscious or unconscious) instance of reality. In Schelling’s terms: "So it becomes manifest that nature is originally identical with that which in ourselves is understood as intelligent and conscious" (stress added).⁹⁹ In this sense: "Everything is = the Ego, and there is nothing that exists which is not = the Ego."¹⁰⁰

Furthermore, the claim for a ‘Revised Subjectivist Principle’ in Whitehead and Schelling finds its source in their common attempt to overcome the so-called ‘bifurcation of nature’. That principle enables them to consider the system of nature as identical with the system of Mind, or to state that nature is the visible Mind, and Mind, the invisible Nature.¹⁰¹ Here we meet again the common interest of the ‘Romantic reaction’ of Wordsworth, Coleridge, Schelling, and Whitehead in their struggle against any mechanistic interpretation of nature.

Dynamically speaking, the ‘Revised Subjectivist Principle’ makes clear that all subjects are resulting of objects, and that all subjectivity issues in objectivity. In other words, in this sense the human mind is considered as the final result of the activity in Nature, which in its very essence exhibits the structure of Mind.

(b) The Creative Advance -- If it is true that Schelling and Whitehead intend to understand the human mind out of its natural origins, then both will have to think of nature as an agency which, by developing itself, constitutes an evolution toward ever more complex instances, i.e., towards human consciousness in the end. This is apparently so in Whitehead: it can be illustrated by the development of his Theory of Prehensions (part III of PR). There he shows how, by the dialectical process of continually synthesizing new complexes of conceptual and physical data, consciousness is produced. But the same holds good for Schelling. In this respect he talks about the history of consciousness, which can either be described as regressive, starting with the Ego (this is the aim of the transcendental philosophy), or as progressive, starting with the ultimate natural processes (this is the aim of the philosophy of nature).¹⁰²

In respect to the evolutionary aspect of his thinking, Schelling even argues that the universe is still evolving by the dialectical intercourse of the two basic forces (the expanding and contracting, the positive and the negative, the real and ideal), which is the result of an original cosmic explosion that has set the forces free.¹⁰³

As the imaginative-creative activity is responsible for the dynamic production of evermore complex types of entities, Creativity (and Imagination) is also the principle of genuine novelty. No one will discuss this in Whitehead: he defines Creativity as the principle of novelty (PR 21131). Yet, it should be stressed that this novelty can only exist on the background of an actual system (PR 339/ 515) and, furthermore, that the amount of eternal objects in respect to the particular spatiotemporal setting of the actual world is definitely limited. Thus novelty is limited, not only by the definiteness of the actual world, but also by the definiteness of the new possibilities available for the near and remote future of that world (PR 65/ 101).

Concerning Schelling’s Imagination as the principle of novelty, things are not so clear. For German Idealism is commonly understood as the philosophical school that conceives any evolution or historical process as governed by a rigid necessity, excluding thereby the possibility of genuine novelty. Although lam convinced that the issue is far more complex, I will not discuss this here at length. I will simply point out some fragments in which Schelling definitely describes nature as governed by a teleological principle: the principle of balance (‘Gleichgewicht’).¹⁰⁴ The idea is that originally the universe was an absolute identity, which has been destroyed by the original explosion. As a result, two main forces came free and started to act upon each other in order to find back the original identity. In that way the setting of the forces is placed in an everlasting striving towards, i.e., in search for balance. Each time they realize a position of balance, a finite product is brought about. But as no finite product is able to restore the absolute identity once and for all, the position of balance collapses and the movement toward absolute unity goes on.

Of course, all this does not prove that there is a possibility of genuine novelty according to Schelling; it only suggests that on that point there is more Aristotelian teleology than Spinozistic determinism in Schelling.

(c) A Philosophy of Organism -- The concept of Creativity, as we have pointed out above, expresses at the same time that Creativity does not exist beside its creatures, that none of its creatures is an exhausting manifestation of Creativity itself, and that nevertheless there is a causal relationship between Creativity and its creatures. We could define this relationship as a relation of ‘internal causation’.¹⁰⁵ That same type of causation is at work in the process of concrescence where it constitutes the ‘causa sui’ of the becoming actual entity. According to Whitehead, macroscopic and microscopic processes of becoming are the two types of organic processes (PR 128f./ 196, 214f./ 327). In terms of causation, therefore, the organic process can be determined as a process of internal causation. Schelling defines organicity in exactly the same way: the organism is at the same time its own cause and effect; the organism produces itself, it constitutes itself.¹⁰⁶ In other words: each organism is the perfect unity of freedom and necessity.¹⁰⁷

Schelling rightly sees, as did Whitehead, that the finite organism cannot be explained by mechanical laws. Therefore, he assumes that the mechanic is derivative of the organic: the organic is logically fund ontologically prior to the mechanic.¹⁰⁸ But this implies furthermore that Nature, as the only ground for the finite organisms, must itself be an organic unity.¹⁰⁹ Each organism, as we know, is constituted by the activity of internal causation. Internal causation, in its turn, is the causal pattern of Creativity itself. This means, finally, that the activity of Whitehead’s Creativity and Schelling’s Imagination is in its essence an organic production. This is why Schelling states that wherever the Copula manifests itself in a finite instance, there is microcosm and organism:¹¹⁰ each finite organism is at once a unified world and an independent totality.¹¹¹

Schelling’s repeated stress on the importance of the concept of organism for the understanding of Nature and his explicit linking together of imaginative productive activity and its organic outcome allows me to say that in Schelling we meet indeed an elaborate philosophy of organism. As a matter of fact, he indirectly understands his philosophy that way. The philosophy of nature, he states, has to consider Nature in its activity, in its productivity, i.e., we must start from the concept of Nature as an organism.¹¹²

Section III entailed only an outline of some main correspondences between the two philosophers. I think the least we can say is that the suggested similarities are astonishing. Yet, two remarks should certainly be made.

(1) It would be worthwhile to work out the comparison between Whitehead’s and Schelling’s philosophy of organism more in detail, for the understanding of Whitehead and the elaboration of his thinking would be improved by an exhaustive confrontation with Schelling’s philosophical system.

(2) One should pay special attention to some very fundamental differences between the two philosophers. Let me mention two of them, showing that Schelling is in the first place a Kantian, transcendental thinker, whereas Whitehead is not.

(a) In Whitehead there is the fundamental problem of the relationship between God and Creativity. It should be clear that in Schelling the principle of Concretion or Limitation is a structural component of what we have called here Imagination. As a matter of fact, Schelling would never admit God as the first exemplification of Creativity, i.e., as an actual entity. If he would speak about God at all, he would identify him with the Absolute, which is, in respect to nature, the Imaginative Activity itself.

(b) In addition to the first remark, Schelling understands the Imagination primarily as a necessary condition of the possibility of the actual world which has to be thought of in order to understand Nature as a whole. It is the same line of thought in Schelling which is responsible for his analysis of nature in ultimate processes of becoming (‘Aktionen’), on the one hand, and his explicit remark in a footnote that those ‘Aktionen’ should not be interpreted as existing but only as ideal grounds (categories) of explanation.¹¹³ Thus, where Schelling and Whitehead seemed at first sight to be extremely close to each other, they apparently are almost in complete opposition.

Notes

1A. N. Whitehead, "Autobiographical Notes." In P. A. Schilpp (ed.), The Philosophy of Alfred North Whitehead (The Library of Living Philosophers, vol.111). La Salle, Illinois, Open Court, 1951, p. 7. (Hereafter cited as AN.)

2 A. N. Whitehead, Essays in Science and Philosophy. New York, Greenwood Press, 1969, p. 116. (Hereafter cited as ESP.)

3 This can also be illustrated by the only passage in which Whitehead quotes Schelling (CN 47). The quotation of Schelling is borrowed from Lossky, The Intuitive Basis of Knowledge (1919). The passage quoted is taken from F. W. J. Schelling, Werke. Bd. II, Ueber den wahren Begriff der Naturphilosophie. Nach der Originalsausgabe in neuer Anordnung herausgegeben von M. Schroeter. Munchen, Beck, 1927, pp. 730f. (Hereafter cited as SW, vol. number, title, page (s).)

4V. Lowe, Understanding Whitehead. Baltimore, The Johns Hopkins Press, 1966, p. 256.

5V. Lowe, Understanding Whitehead, p. 257.

6A. N. Whitehead, Science and the Modern World. New York, Macmillan, 1967, pp. 82f. (Hereafter cited as SMW.)

7S. T. Coleridge, Biographia Literaria (vol. I and II). Ed. with his Aesthetical Essays by J. Shawcross. London, Oxford Univ. Press, 1967, p. 93ff. (Hereafter cited as BL, vol. number, page(s).)

8 S. T. Coleridge, Collected Letters of S. T. Coleridge. Ed. By E. L. Griggs, Oxford, Clarendon, 1966, vol. I, p. 534. (Hereafter cited as Letters, vol., page). In a letter to William Taylor, Southey afterwards (1808) would write of Coleridge’s philosophical development: "Hartley was ousted by Berkeley, Berkeley by Spinoza and Spinoza by Plato" (quoted in M. Bader, Wordsworth. A Philosophical Approach. Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1967, p. 32).

9 BLI,103.

10 G. Marcel, Coleridge et Schelling. Paris, Aubier-Montaigne, 1971, p.39. (Hereafter cited as CS.)

11 BL I, 138.

12 CS, 42. In Schellings Wirkung im Ueberblick, Annemarie Pieper, on the contrary, states that Coleridge and Wordsworth, during their journey in Germany, attended Schelling’s lectures ("horten u.a. auch Schelling") (in H. M. Baumgartner (Hrsg.), Schelling. München, Alber Verlag, 1975, p. 144). As she gives no textual evidence (either in the text or in a footnote) for that assertion, this statement remains problematic.

13Letters I, 519.

14 Letters II, 706.

15 CS, 54.

16 BL I, 99: "The writings of the illustrious sage of Königsberg, the founder of the Critical Philosophy, more than any other work, at once invigorated and disciplined my understanding. The originality, the depth, and the compression of the thoughts; the novelty and subtlety, yet solidity and importance of the distinctions, the adamantine chain of the logic; and I will venture to add . . . the clearness and evidence, of the ‘CRITIQUE OF THE PURE REASON’; of the ‘JUDGMENT’; of the ‘METAPHYSICAL ELEMENTS OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY’; and of his ‘RELIGION WITHIN THE BOUNDS OF PURE REASON’, took possession of me as with a giant’s hand. After fifteen years’ familiarity with them, I still read these and all his other productions with undiminished delight and increasing admiration."

17 M. Rader, Wordsworth, p. 184: "The form devised by fancy is mechanic in the sense that it is artificially superinduced and lacks genuine cohesion. The form created by imagination is ‘organic’ -- in other words, it is no independent thing, imposed as from outside upon an alien content, but it is the inner structural harmony of the subject-matter brought to completion."

18 J. Shawcross, Introduction to the Biographia Literaria. In BL I, LVII. W. Greiner, Deutsche Einflüsse auf die Dichtungstheorie con S. T. Coleridge. Dissertation. Tübingen, 1967, pp. 68f. J. Benziger, Organic Unity: Leibniz to Coleridge. In Publications of the Modern Language Association of America (66), 1951, p. 26. A. O. Lovejoy, however, argues that Coleridge may have learned that theory more from Jacobi and Schelling than from Kant (cf. A. O. Lovejoy, Essays in the History of Ideas. Westport, Greenwood, 1978, p. 254).

19 CS, 74.

20 BL I, 101.

21 CS, 75.

22 BL I, 101.

23 Letters IV, 792.

24 BL I, 101f.

25 Letters IV, 792.

26 J. Benziger, Organic Unity: Leibniz to Coleridge, p. 27.

27 J. W. Beach, Coleridge’s Borrowings from the German. In A Journal of English Literary History (9), 1942, pp. 51f. A short but well-documented account of Coleridge’s borrowings from A. W. Schlegel can be found in B. Wellek, A History of Modern Criticism 1750-1950 (vol. II: The Romantic Age). London, J. Cape, 1966, pp. 154-57.

28 A. C. Dunstan, The German influence on Coleridge (II). In The Modern Language Review (17), 1922, pp. 199-201, Dunstan remarks that one should not exaggerate the influence of Schelling (and Schlegel). But with this assertion Dunstan is rather an isolated Coleridge critic. Moreover, B. Wellek argues definitely in Kant in England (Princeton, Princeton Univ. Press, 1931, pp. 95ff.) and in his "Coleridge’s Philosophy and Criticism" (In T. M. Raysor, ed., The English Romantic Poets. A Review of Research, New York, 1950, pp. 101ff.) that one cannot ignore the overwhelming evidence of Coleridge’s borrowings from Schlegel, Schelling, and others. In this connection he defends the position of J. W. Beach, quoted above.

29 CS, 70.

30 BL I, 101f.

31 This is at least what Schelling says: cf. SW III Uber dos Verhältnis der Naturphilosophie zur Philosophie überhaupt, p. 542.

32 BL I, 183.

33 BL I, 103f.

34 BL I, 105. With the "1st volume of the Collected Tracts" Coleridge means obviously the first volume of the Philosophische Schriften that was published in 1809. The contents of that volume are: Vain Ich als Prinzip der Philosophie (1795), Philosophische Briefe über Dogmatismus und Kritizismus (1795), Abhandlungen zur Erläuterung des Idealismus der Wissenschaftslehre (1796-97), Ueber dos Verhältnis der bildenden Künste zur Natur (1807), and Philosophische Untersuchungen, über dos Wesen der menschlichen Freiheit und die damit zusammenhängenden Gegenstände (1809). The small pamphlet against Fiebte must be Darlegung des wahren Verhältnisses der Naturphilosophie zur verbesserten Fichteschen Lehre (1806). It is important, however, to notice that Coleridge had not read the System des transcendentalen Idea lismus (1800) before 1813 or 1814. The same holds good for the Darlegung des wahren Verhältnisses derNaturphilosophie zurverbesserten Fichteschen Lehre (read in 1815 or 1816) and the other works of the first volume of the Philosophische Schriften (cfr. CS, 61). This means that he had not read any important work on the philosophy of nature before publishing the Biographia Literaria (1817). This means that he knew the philosophy of nature only in an indirect way: by its definition in the System des transcendentalen Idealismus.

35 CS, 118-22

36 BL I, 102f.

37 BL I, 104f.

38 SW VI Historisch-Kritische Einleitung zur Philosophie der Mythologie, p. 198: "überlasse ich ibm gerne die von semen eigenen Landoleuten scharl ja zu scharf gerügten Entlehunogen aus meinen Sebriften, bei welchen meine Name nicht genannt wurde. Einem wirklich congenialen Mann sollte man dergleichen nicht anrechnen."

39 CS, 243-65: German and English texts both are inserted in extenso.

40 B. Wellek, A History of Modern Criticism (vol. II), p. 151, 153.

41 CS, 161. B. Wellek,A History of Modern Criticism (vol. II), pp. 154,156.

42 CS, 213, 237. B. Wellek, A History of Modern Criticism (vol. II), p. 154.

43 CS, 113-16. B. Wellek, A History of Modern Criticism (vol. II), pp. 154, 156.

44 R. Wellek, A History of Modern Criticism (vol. II), pp. 154, 156.

45 CS, 117, 236.

46 CS, 237.

47 Cf. supra: SMW, 85.

48 C. Hartshorne, "In Defense of Wordsworth’s View of Nature." In Philosophy and Literature (4), 1980, pp. 82, 89.

49 M. Bader, Wordsworth, pp. 5-9, 27-30, 34-38, 71-76, etc.

50 It should be noticed that Bader studies the relationship between Coleridge and Wordsworth without treating or examining the preceding problem of Coleridge’s plagiarism from Schelling. Bader treats this subject as if Coleridge were a quite independent and above all original thinker.

51M. Bader, Wordsworth, pp. 21, 30.

52 M. Bader, Wordsworth, pp. 34, 37, 69, 71.

53 M. Bader, Wordsworth, pp. 21, 61, 71, 135, 139, 145-47, 184f., 187.

54 R. Habluetzel, Diolektik nod Einbildungskraft. F. W.J. Schellings Lehre von der menschlichen Erkeuntuis. Basel, Verlag für Becht nod Gesellschaft. 1954, pp.78-82.

55 M. Bader, Wordsworth, pp. 145-47, 158f., 176f., 184f.

56 M. Bader, Wordsworth, p. 76.

57 M. Bader, Wordsworth, pp. 35-37, 110.

58 CS, 93ff. The period of Coleridge’s religious crisis (1812-16) corresponds very well with Schelling’s ‘dark’ period after he published the ‘Freiheitsschrift’ (1809) and before he delivered his Erlanger Vorträge: Ueber die Natur der Philosophie als Wissenschaft (1821). During this period, Schelling reconsidered his philosophy of identity from 1801. As a result his concept of the Absolute and God was modified.

59 E. D. Hirsch, Wordsworth and Schelling. A Typological Study of Romanticism. New Haven, Yale Univ. Press, 1960, pp. 4f.: He denies any direct and even any decisive, indirect influence of Schelling on Wordsworth. Yet it should be noticed: the parallels between Hirsch’s and Bader’s analyses are astonishing, the differences are instructive. For Bader ascribes the main philosophical intuitions in Wordsworth to the influence of Coleridge, whereas Hirsch, rendering the same intuitions, tries to trace them back to the common ‘Weltanschauung’ that Wordsworth and Schelling shared.

60 E. D. Hirsch, Wordsworth and Schelling, pp. 17, 18, 20-23, 100-02.

61 Op. cit., pp. 43, 54, 56, 38, 41f., 48, 103.

62 Op. cit., pp. 29, 34 36, 43, 82, 141, 143.

63 Op. cit., pp. 43, 141-43, 121.

64 Op. cit., pp. 110, 117, 121.

65 Op. cit., pp. 98-108, 129, 134-40.

66 E. D. Hirsch, Wordsworth and Schelling, pp. 43, 141-43. In Schelling one can find that theory best explained in: SW I, Von der Weltseele, pp. 435-46, and in SW III, Darlegung des wahren Verhältnisses der Naturphilosophie zur verbesserten Fichteschen Lehre, pp. 635.

67 I quote the English translation of B. D. Hirsch, Wordsworth and Schelling, pp. 142f. The original text goes as follows: "1st das Band die lehendige Ineinshildung des Einen mit dem Vielen, so ist notwendig mit dem Band zumal auch das aus Einheit nod Vielbeit Einsgewordene" (SW III, Darlegung des wahren Verhältnisses der Naturphilosophic zur verhesserten Fichteschen Lehre, p. 654).

68 AN 6. See also: A. N. Whitehead, Dialogues. Ed. by L. Price. Westport, Greenwood, 1977, pp. 6f.

69 A. N. Whitehead, Modes of Thought. New York, Macmillan, 1966, p. 5. (Hereafter cited as MT.) It should be noticed that the passage to which Whitehead refers is not taken from the BL, but from On Principles of Genial Criticism. The confusion in Whitehead’s memory can be explained by the fact that the latter lecture has been added to the BL in the Shawcross edition (cf. BL II, 219ff.; first edition in 1907) which Whitehead probably read through. The passage in Coleridge to which Whitehead refers in MT goes as follows: "Many years ago, the writer, in company with an accidental party of travelers, was gazing on a cataract of great height, breadth and impetuosity, the summit of which appeared to blend with the sky and clouds, while the lower part was hidden by rocks and trees; and on his observing, that it was, in the strictest sense of the word, a sublime object, a lady present assented with warmth to the remark, adding -- Yes! and it is not only sublime, but beautiful and absolutely pretty’" (BL II, 224f.).

70 SMW, pp. 15, 76-94.

71 SMW, p. 94.

72 SMW, p. 87.

73 Cf. W. Wordsworth, The Poetical Works of William Wordsworth. The Excursion. The Recluse, part I, book I. Ed. by B. de Selincourt and Helen Barbishire. Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1966, pp. 286f. See also K. A. Gould, The Modern Wordsworth. A Comparative Study of William Wordsworth and Charles Hartshorne. Unpublished Dissertation. Pennsylvania State University, 1973, p. 166.

74 This phrase is quoted in Mary A. Wyman, "Whitehead’s Philosophy of Science in the Light of Wordsworth’s Poetry," in Philosophy of Science (23), 1956, p. 283.

75 C. Hartshorne, Creative Synthesis and Philosophic Method. La Salle, Open Court, 1970, p. xvii. In a quite recent letter addressed to me (December 4, 1984), Hartshorne stresses this point more strongly: "When I was a Freshman at Haverford College I read Coleridge’s Aids to Reflection. This was my first reading, except for Emerson, of an idealistic writing. Since then I have read some of almost all German, British, American writers of this sort and some of the French. And I call myself an idealist. Peirce and Whitehead came rather late in this influence and I was already an idealist before I encountered them." Also, in a recent article, Hartshorne claims that Whitehead’s system best supports Wordsworth, and consciously so ("In Defense of Wordsworth’s View of Nature," p. 88). In addition we may indicate that K. A. Gould has written a Ph.D. dissertation on Wordsworth and Hartshorne (The Modern Wordsworth, 1973; for detailed references, see above).

76V. Lowe, Understanding Whitehead, p. 257, 268.

77 Mary A. Wyman, art. cit., p. 285.

78 Mary A. Wyman, art. cit., p. 286.

79 SW I, Philosophische Briefe über Dogmatismus und Kritizismus, p. 254. Equivalent terms are, according to SW I, Vain Ich, p. 138: ‘Transcendent realism’, empirical idealism, ‘dogmatism’.

80 MT, p. 5.

81 PB 18f./ 27f; 27140. SW II, Erster Entwurf eines Systems der Naturphilosophie, pp. 17f., 22-25.

82 PB 35/ 53. SW II, Erster Entwurf eines Systems der Naturphilosophie, pp. 22f. SW II, Einleitung zu dem Entwurf eines Systems der Naturphilosophie, p. 293.

83 SMW, p. 107. SW I, Von der Weltseele, p.434; SW IV, Aphorismen zur Einleitung in die Naturphilosophie, pp. 137, 148.

84 SW I, Von der Weltseele, p. 449.

85 I. Kant, Kritik der reinen Vernunft (Phil. Bib. 37a). Hamburg, Felix Meiner, 1976, p. 173a (A 118); pp. 176a-177a (A 120).

86 SW I, (E)rgänzungsband, Fernere Darstellungen, p. 475.

87 I. Kant, Kritik der reinen Vernunft (Phil. Bib. 37a). Hamburg, Felix Meiner, 1976, pp. 182a-183a (A 124).

88 SW I, Briefe, p. 256; Abhandlungen, pp. 281, 317f.; SW 1 (E), Fernere Darstellungen, p. 468; SW II, System des Transcendentalen Idealismus, p. 626; SW III, Philosophie der Kunst, pp. 406, 481; Darlegung des wahren Verhältnisses der Naturphilosophie zur verbesserten Fichteschen Lehre, p. 654.

89 SW V, Darstellung des Naturprozesses, pp. 388, 405; Darstellung der rein rationalen Philosophie, p. 518.

90 This could be regarded as the transcendental aspect of Whitehead’s theory of prehensions ‘

91 SW I, Von der Weltseele, p. 446.

92 SW III, Philosophie der Kunst, p. 406.

93 SW II, System der transcendentalen ldealismus, p. 626; SW I (E), Fernere Darstellungen, p475; SW III, Philosophie der Kunst, pp. 406, 413.

94 SW I, Von der Weltseele, pp. 430, 435; SW III, Philosophie der Kunst, p. 413.

95 SW I, Von der Weltseele, pp. 430f.; SW II, Erster Entwurf, p. 118.

96 SW I, Von der Weltseele, pp. 429f.; SW IV, Aphorismen, pp.147f.

97 Here, I understand ‘Creativity’ as including God: for God is its first exemplification (cf. PB 7/11; 344/522). God as principle of limitation (concretion) is that aspect within the complex structure of Creativity as a whole that is responsible for the actual individuation; it is the aboriginal condition which qualifies the action of Creativity (cf. PB 225/344).

98 SW III, Darstellung meines Systems, p. 5.

99 SW II, System des transcendentalen ldealismus, p.341: "Wodurch offenbar wird, dass die Natur ursprünglich identisch ist mit dem, was in uns als Intelligentes und Bewusstes erkannt wird."

100 SW III, Darstellung meines Systems, p.5: "Alles sey = Ich, und existire nichts als was = Ich sey." This could be regarded as Schelling’s formulation of the ‘ontological principle’ -- cf. in Whitehead: PR 18/ 27f.; 167/ 254.

101 SW I, Ideen zu einer Philosophie der Natur pp. 689, 706.

102 SW II, System des transcendentalen Idealismus, pp. 331, 342, 398f.

103 SW II, Erster Entwurf, pp. 122-27, 101-04.

104 SW I, Von der Weltseele, p.501. See in this respect: H. Zeltner, Gleichgewicht als Seinsprinzip. In Studium Generale (14), 1961.

105 Whitehead uses the phrase ‘internal determination’: PR 25/ 38, 27/41, 46ff./ 74ff. See also: SMW, p. 123.

106 SW I, Abhandlungen, p. 310; ldeen zu einer Philosophie der Natur, p. 690; SW II, Erster Entwurf, p.145.

107SW I, Ideen zu einer Philosophie der Natur, p. 698.

108 SW I, Von der Weltseele, pp. 417f.

109 SW II, Erster Entwurf, p. 193; SW I, Abhandlungen, pp. 310f.

110 SW I, Von der Weltseele, pp. 442, 416, 449.

111 SW I, Abhandlungen, p. 311; ldeen zu einer Philosophie der Natur, p. 691.

112 SW II, Erster Entwurf, pp. 13f.; SW I, Von der Weltseele, p. 417.

113 SW II, Erster Entwurf, p. 23.

It has rarely been remarked that the very title of Whitehead’s major work contains a more or less explicit reference to that of F. H. Bradley’s: Bradley’s Appearance and Reality: A Metaphysical Essay (1893) becomes Whitehead’s Process and Reality: An Essay in Cosmology (1929).¹ Such an obvious and prominently placed allusion is perhaps already enough to suggest that in some important sense Whitehead’s thought can be seen as a critical reworking of Bradley’s. Moreover, Whitehead himself makes it quite clear where the site of this reworking is to be located: not in any secondary area, but in his massive elaboration and transformation of Bradley’s theory of feeling or immediate experience (PR xiii; AI 295ff.). It would thus seem that some understanding of the theory of feeling in Bradley’s work might prove to be, not merely a matter of antiquarian interest, but of use in determining the nature and status of Whitehead’s thought in the history of modern philosophy.

I.

Bradley’s work, like that of his contemporaries, can be defined as an attempt to overcome what was generally regarded as the central problematic of the age: the dichotomy of nature and spirit, ‘poetry and fact’ (ETR 444).² In this context it is not surprising that he and his generation turned to the reconciliatory absolutisms of the German Idealists, particularly Hegel. But what Bradley takes from Hegel, as he explicitly emphasizes (PL 515; AR 508n.; ETR 153) is his view of immediate experience as a nondiscrete continuum or whole of sense-contents. He begins, that is, not with Hegel’s logic but with his psychology. And contrary to the conventional reading of Bradley as a mere Anglo-Hegelian with no place in the native tradition stemming from Locke, this orientation is the product of contemporary developments in British philosophy. Indeed, the larger nature-spirit problematic in which Bradley elaborates his metaphysic here merges into the more specific philosophical problematic of his time: namely, the question of the nature of ‘feeling’ -- a term which both the Mills (themselves following Hartley³) employed as a synonym for ‘sensation’, and which as such did not merely denote pleasure, pain, or emotion.

It was J. S. Mill’s work which brought to a head the difficulties involved in the traditional atomistic conception of feeling. As a contemporary commentator noted as early as 1865, Mill’s anti-Hamiltonian view of feeling as a neutral stuff prior to the correlation of Ego and Non-Ego, and his confession that the continuity of feeling, though as real as the sequence, was a ‘final inexplicability’⁴ -- both positions impelled British philosophy in the direction of some kind of original unity.⁵ To this end, Bradley will conflate the ‘feeling’ of Hegel and of Mill in order to transform it from a psychological into a metaphysical category that can accomplish the reconciliation of nature and spirit.

II.

The basic continuity is easy enough to see: what unites Hegel and Mill’s psychological, and Bradley’s metaphysical, feeling is that both enjoy a first-level posting as some kind of experiential starting-point, i.e., both are regarded as prior to the ideal or relational differentiation of subject and object. And here Bradley sides with Hegel over against Mill’s residual atomism: as prior to relational differentiation, Bradley maintains feeling to be nondiscrete or non-relational in nature. He can thus appropriate the idealist view that there is no such thing as immediate apprehension or direct knowledge of particulars and define the objective world as a product of our ideal activity.

But whereas for Hegel as for Mill feeling is actual in the sense that it is an event in the history of the mind, for the later Bradley feeling is not an event or occurrence of any kind. Rather, its actuality resides in the fact that it is the permanent background’ (AR 461; ETR 176, 178) or ‘condition’ (ETR 176) of identifiable events and as such does not itself occur or exist. Hence feeling is no longer for Bradley an empirical or mental or subjective entity; in his hands, the psychological category of immediate experience takes on the status of a metaphysical substratum, the common root of all the contents of the objective world. As such, it fulfills a number of important roles in Bradley’s work.

In the first place, substrative feeling operates in Bradley as a ‘critical’ principle ⁶ which exposes the inadequacy of the relational form of thought to the connectedness of things, or what Bradley calls their ‘experienced togetherness’ (ETR 200). For Bradley maintains that in the nature of the case the non-relational whole of feeling cannot be ‘reconstituted (ETR 231) by its ideal or relational differentiation. As a result, it remains outstanding and thus requires us ‘to postulate a higher form of unity’ (ETR 190) which includes both itself and the

differentiation of the relational form, and which as such is cognitively inaccessible. This reconciling unity is of course Bradley’s Reality or Absolute.

The critical role of Bradley’s substrative feeling is, in the second place, closely tied up with its twofold epistemic role. For while with the idealists Bradley holds that there is no such thing as direct knowledge, and hence that no clear line can be drawn between the given and the made, at the same time he denies one of the implications they draw from that: he maintains the irreducibly of the distinction between the non-relational whole of feeling and the relational form of thought. And this strategy brings with it a particular advantage. For nor by means of any surd-like particulars, but as the difference between the non-relational whole of feeling and the relational form of thought. And this strategy bring with it a particular advantage. For while on the one side Bradley can maintain the distinction of thought and sensation, and the cognitive inaccessibility of the Absolute, on the other he is able to eschew any form of epistemological dualism.

This second aspect of feeling’s epistemic role can best be brought out by reference to Bradley’s essay ‘What Is The Real Julius Caesar?’ (ETR 419ff.). which was written in answer to Russell’s well-known contention that Caesar himself ‘is not a constituent of any judgment which I can make’.⁷ Against Russell Bradley contends that ‘the real Caesar. . . must himself enter into my judgments and be a constituent of my knowledge’ (ETR 409). In Bradley’s view, all objects of knowledge are ideal constructions -- for all objects of knowledge are ideal constructions or differentiation out of substrative feeling. As such, however, all objects of knowledge are also real, for objects of knowledge have no status as objects apart from their ideal differentiation, i.e., whatever they may be as elements of the Absolute, they are not, as objects, anything external to or apart from their ideal objectification. Hence Bradley is able to define Caesar’s objective reality as extending ‘just so far as it works . . . his reality goes out as far as what we call his influence extends’ (ETR 425).

There is, finally, a third or ‘functional’ role which feeling plays in Bradley’s thought. For in a late essay (ETR 159ff.) he maintains that non-relational substrative feeling manifests itself at the relational level by means of the part it plays in the cognitive determination of objects. So Bradley’s substratum no longer just supplies the pre-relational ‘togetherness’ of things; it is the pre relational ‘togetherness’ of things in feeling which is a formative, enabling condition in the objectification of objects.

To be sure, the difficulty in Bradley’s theory of substrative feeling is obvious: if feeling is non-relational, how can it be known or described at all? But it is in answer to this question that Bradley develops the notion of the functional role of feeling. And on that basis he is prepared to endow feeling with a specific constitution of its own. Hence, as the manifest ‘togetherness’ of things, Bradley does not conceive substrative feeling as blank or featureless; as he puts it, ‘There are no distinctions in the proper sense, and yet there is a many felt in one’ (ETR 174). And so far as it is not lacking in ‘internal diversity’ Bradley is prepared to acknowledge in feeling not only what he terms ‘an undeveloped ideality’, but also ‘change . . . though not experienced properly as [relational] change’ (ETR 174). Moreover, Bradley does not leave these peculiar notions merely at the level of casual speculations, but develops them into the complex and difficult doctrine of ‘finite centers’ of feeling.

As Bradley defines it (and here his own words are best), a finite center

In Bradley’s view, therefore, a finite center ‘is not an object. It is a basis on and from which the world of objects is made’ (ETR 411). Now Bradley readily admits that the concept of finite centers is not ‘wholly intelligible’. Yet he sees them as having the status of ‘necessary ideas’ (ETR 412) in so far as they formulate ‘the nature of that which lies behind objects’ (ETR 411), i.e., in so far as they help to define the nature of substrative feeling as an ‘active unity’ (ETR 248) of finite center and Universe. Here as elsewhere Bradley is prepared to tolerate the paradoxes involved in the theory of substrative feeling because it is, in his view, ‘the one road to the solution of ultimate problems’ (ETR 160). With this, Whitehead was not wholly to disagree.

III.

Whitehead’s connection with his idealist predecessors in the British tradition is easy enough to see, for he too defines his own problematic in the general terms of a nature-spirit dichotomy (SMW 119, 194). Hence it is not surprising that he acknowledges the importance of the idealists’ stress on continuity (Rel 5) and appropriates their key metaphor of ‘organism’. Unlike the idealists, however (SMW 79; FR 49), Whitehead is able to take advantage of contemporary scientific developments; he thus attempts to elaborate a redescription of ‘nature’ in terms of the mutual immanence of both poles of the traditional dichotomy.

Although in his early work Whitehead clearly has this possibility in mind, he insists that ‘such a synthesis is exactly what I am not attempting’ (CN 5) and restricts his program to the philosophy of science. Nevertheless, it is in this context that he addresses the more specifically philosophical problematic of his idealist predecessors -- the nature of sensation or feeling. To be sure, feeling -- for reasons which will emerge -- is not a term which Whitehead employs in his early works. Yet his indebtedness to Bradley’s theory there is clear. For Whitehead defines ‘nature’ as immediacy or ‘sense-awareness and interprets that in Bradley’s anti-atomistic terms as a whole or continuum (EPNK 7; CN 14) with ‘ragged edges’ (CN 50; cf. AR 156) which is ‘differentiated’ or ‘diversified’ by reflection (EPNK 59, 68f.; CN 49f.). Thus, by means of Bradley’s theory, Whitehead is able to install the notion of events and their overlap at the basis of experience. He can in this way realign philosophy with contemporary scientific theory, while at the same time providing the latter with a ‘ground’ in immediate experience which had been lacking in traditional empiricism, modeled as that was on corpuscular theories of nature.⁸ In his early work, Whitehead employs Bradley’s antiatomism within a classically empiricist framework; redefined as a continuum, sensation still plays its conventional role as a theory of ‘presentation’ (EPNK 60), the given foundation of the reflective process.⁹

IV.

Whitehead’s mature position is perhaps best characterized as a shift from ‘sense-awareness’ to ‘feeling’. For in the later work, where a full-scale ‘metaphysical synthesis’ is attempted, Bradley’s reconciling concept of feeling is now resorted to as an expression of the ‘togetherness of entities in the world, i.e., with Bradley, Whitehead does not see experience primarily as a matter of the cognition of objects. Yet feeling is redefined by Whitehead as ‘the basic generic operation of passing from the objectivity of the data to the subjectivity of the actual entity in question’ (PR 40). Just what significance does this redefinition have?

The most obvious feature of Whitehead’s redefinition is that it involves some kind of change in Bradley’s rendering of feeling as a substratum. For Whitehead sees Bradley’s theory as flawed because ‘he accepts the language which is developed from another point of view’ (ESP 117; cf. PR 167), i.e., he makes the ‘sensationalist assumption’ (PR 190) that feeling is only analyzable in terms of universals. Whitehead would be ready to admit that in his theory of feeling Bradley has attempted to resolve the problematic status of Locke’s substance, traditionally conceived as a substrate hidden behind experience, by turning experience itself into the substrate. But in Whitehead’s view Bradley still remains a prisoner of the substance-quality dichotomy: for feeling itself now takes on the mysterious character of a substance, about which all that can be known is its qualities. However, Whitehead’s readiness to exploit other aspects of Bradley’s theory is indicated by the way he goes about extricating feeling from its entanglement in substance-quality categories; for it is the functional role which Bradley accords to feeling in the objectification of objects that Whitehead takes up, transforming it into something far beyond the strictly-demarcated cognitive condition which it was for Bradley himself. When Whitehead defines feeling as ‘that functioning through which the concrescent actuality appropriates the datum so as to make it its own’ (PR 164), he is signaling a shift from a ‘substrative’ to a ‘functional’ concept of feeling, of a kind which will have to be closely assessed. Feeling itself is clearly no longer to be defined, in Bradley’s fashion, as the substratum; but exactly what status it has remains to be seen.

Some key features of the transformed functional role which Whitehead gives to feeling emerge in the context of his treatment of the distinction between subject and object, knower and known. With Bradley, he denies that the knower-known relation constitutes the basic structure of experience. Yet at the same time he rejects the idealist consequences which Bradley had drawn from this denial; with the realists, Whitehead wants to be able to distinguish between the experiencing subject and the object of experience in such a way that the latter can exist independently of the former. So, against Bradley, he sets out to disentangle the subject-object, from the knower-known, relation and to install ‘the subject-object relation as the fundamental structural pattern of experience... but not in the sense in which subject-object is identified with knower-known’ (AI 225).

Now of course for Bradley the subject-object distinction cannot be basic because it supervenes only at the cognitive or ideal level, i.e., only in the form of the knower-known relation. And as a differentiation of substrative feeling, the object cannot exist independently of the subject, for the object as such can be nothing else than its ideal construction. But having abandoned Bradley’s account of feeling as substratum, Whitehead is also able to abandon Bradley’s ‘levels’. By rendering feeling as the interactive function of dative and concrescent actual entities, he can maintain that the subject-object distinction does not merely supervene at any special cognitive level and hence need not be identified either with the difference or the identity of knower and known. Rather, the knower-known relation is a late sophistication upon a fundamental feature of the interaction of actual entities: that in any process of concrescence there are dative actual entities being ‘felt’ or objectified, and objectifying or ‘feeling’ actual entities on their way to subjective realization. Hence, what for Bradley is a distinction between thought and sensation, which as such can only be established as a distinction between levels of reality, is for Whitehead a distinction between past and present, dative and con-crescent actual entities.

In this light, the range and intent of Whitehead’s reworking of the functional role of feeling are evident. His crucial move is to render feeling as the process of objectification and concrescence of actual entities. In this way, for instance, value can now be established as an essential feature of the nature of things, in that from the subjective standpoint of a concrescing actual entity objectification is an evaluation of dative actual entities with a view to its own self-enjoyment and aim at satisfaction (RM 85, 101f.). By thus redefining the ‘vacuous actuality, devoid of subjective experience’ (PR 167) of Newtonian bits of matter in Bradley’s terms as contents of feeling (cf. PR xiii, Al 296), Whitehead is able to resolve the dualism of nature and spirit -- but without resort to Bradley’s monism or idealism. For the ‘internal diversity’ which Bradley could only place in feeling as one conflicting metaphor among others (cf. ETR 196), becomes in Whitehead the actual entities of which feeling is the ‘intermediary’ (PR 88); so conceived, Bradley’s ‘togetherness is appropriated within a pluralist framework. Similarly, the problematic ‘undeveloped ideality’ which, strictly speaking, could for Bradley only be a character of thought, can now be determinately specified as the process of objectification and concrescence itself. And this brings with it two particularly noteworthy advantages for Whitehead.

In the first place, Whitehead can secure his realism (cf. SMW 91) but without abandoning what he regards as Bradley’s insights -- for instance, in his treatment of the ‘real Julius Caesar’. With Bradley, Whitehead can maintain that Caesar’s objective reality extends ‘just so far as it works’; but objective reality need no longer be identified with ideal objectification. For all past actual entities have what Whitehead calls ‘objective immortality’ in that their ‘perishing’ allows them to be dative elements in a present concrescence of feeling. Thus their ‘reality’ is restricted neither to ‘direct acquaintance’ nor to ideal construction; it is involved in any objectification of them, cognitive or otherwise, and it is in this nonidealist sense that their reality extends ‘so far as it works’. It is evident that at least part of the meaning of one of Whitehead’s most important self-descriptions is to be understood in the context of his realist rendering of Bradley’s ‘Julius Caesar’: ‘Perishing’, he says, ‘is the one key thought around which PR is woven, and in many ways I find myself in complete agreement with Bradley’ (ESP 117).

In the second place, Whitehead’s translation of feeling into the process of objectification allows him to negotiate the Bradley-James¹⁰ debate on the relational nature of feeling in a significant way. To be sure, ‘thought’ is no longer in Whitehead the differentiation of a substrative level; but precisely as itself a complex form of the objectifying processes which it analyzes, it is, for Whitehead as for Bradley, a matter of abstraction and selection. Hence, with Bradley, Whitehead can render ‘change proper’ as a high-level conceptual abstraction from noncognitive processes of feeling. At the same time, however, just because it is conceived as a matter of objectification, Whitehead like James, can endow the process of feeling itself with the structural complexity that for Bradley could only be paradoxically expressed as ‘change, though not experienced properly as change’. And of course, so endowed, feeling becomes itself ‘analyzable’ (PR 221); it is now a matter of feelings, with a ‘complex constitution’ and differentiable according to their ‘variously special operations’ (PR 40f.). For Whitehead, the fact of the ‘togetherness’ of actual entities is indeed ultimate in the sense that it is not explicable by reference to anything else (cf. PR 21, 189); but this no longer means that ‘togetherness’ is Bradley’s unanalyzable substratum.

Perhaps, though, the most graphic picture of the transformation which he works on Bradley’s position is provided by Whitehead himself. ‘Reality’ is now conceived as the dative actual entities constituting the objective contents of the antecedent world, and ‘appearance as the transformation of that content by the concrescent actual occasions (AI 268ff.). In Whitehead’s hands, Bradley’s ‘vertical’ distinction between appearance and reality has become a horizontal, or, better, ‘vectorial’ distinction within the process of feeling itself.

V.

At this point, however, it can be asked just how much of a transformation of Bradley’s substrative feeling Whitehead actually achieves. And the issue can best be approached by putting the question: if feeling is analyzable, of what exactly is it the analysis?

The usual answer is that the structure which Whitehead imputes to his functional feeling is ‘micrological’ in character, i.e., that feeling, as the function of actual entities, belongs to an impalpable subatomic realm lying at the basis of things. On the micrological view, in other words, Whitehead’s actual entities and their process of feeling are conceived as having the status of a substratum, out of which the empirical world derives. Now of course, if this were the case, the difference between Bradley’s substrative, and Whitehead’s functional, feeling would not be so very great. Although not itself the substratum, nevertheless Whitehead’s process of feeling, like Bradley’s, would still have a first-level posting or substrative status, and, like Bradley’s, it would be in that status that it fulfills its functional role. To be sure, Whitehead’s substratum does not involve any Bradleian ontological distinction between ‘levels’ of Reality. The empirical world is not a distorting ‘appearance’ of the substratum of concrescent actual entities, but rather realizes or embodies its foundational elements in ever more complex grades and formations, i.e., it is not a distortion but an instantiation of its basic constituents. Yet this said, Whitehead’s rendering of feeling as functional is clearly not taken to involve any alteration in its substrative status. The point is, rather, that by allowing him to do away with Bradley’s substance-quality and idealist preoccupations, Whitehead’s functional feeling enables him to elaborate a completely novel account of the nature of the substratum. On the micrological view, it is not the notion of a substratum which is at issue between Bradley and Whitehead, but the way in which the substratum is to be defined and characterized.

The interpretation of the relation between Bradley and Whitehead which the micrological view implies can be specified by brief references to three topics. For instance, defenders of the micrological view would presumably be ready to acknowledge the similarities between Bradley’s nontemporally durational finite centers and Whitehead’s epochal actual entities.¹¹ The crucial difference would of course be that the latter are freed from the paradoxical entanglements of Bradley’s nonrelational whole of feeling. But on the micrological view, nevertheless, Whitehead’s actual entities, like Bradley’s finite centers, are to be seen as a basis ‘on and from which the world is made’.

Again, there would be no problem in acknowledging, on the micrological view, that Whitehead presents his concept of feeling as a descriptive generalization of (among other things) immediate experience. But at the same time, rightly enough, it would be insisted that Whitehead’s immediate experience cannot be conflated with Bradley’s; for in Whitehead, immediate experience operates as foundational only within the limited area of animal or human cognition and cannot, as in Bradley’s idealist metaphysic, be identified with the substratum itself. Rather, as Whitehead insists, immediate experience is itself in need of elucidation and analysis (PR 4,264; FR 53,63; SMW 55, 196). And on the micrological view it is the concept of a substrative process of feeling which provides the requisite elucidation, allowing immediate experience to be regarded, neither as atomic, nor as formless, but as a complex exemplification of the fundamental structurality of things. So while it would be admitted that Whitehead has redefined both Bradley’s feeling and his immediate experience by (so to speak) peeling them off from each other, nevertheless Whitehead’s redefined feeling would still be seen as endowed with the substrative status that in Bradley was accorded to immediacy.

Finally, Whitehead’s methodology of descriptive generalization would, on the micrological view, be seen as belonging within a particular tradition, i.e., as involving what might be called a ‘metaphysical reduction’ of the empirical world to some foundational and actual element, on the same methodological lines as Leibniz’s monads, Bradley’s substrative feeling, Alexander’s space-time matrix, or Heidegger’s Being.¹² In other words, Whitehead’s actual entities are conceived as having a special kind of actuality of their own as the ground or foundation from which the empirical world derives. A qualification would, however, be added at this point: the concrescent process of feeling is not for Whitehead to be regarded as that kind of metaphysical ‘ground’ on which can be established an account of the nature of things that has unrestricted universality. Whitehead, rather, offers an ‘essay in cosmology’, not a ‘metaphysical essay, i.e., repudiating any such metaphysical ground, he restricts his philosophical account to the present epoch of the universe (PR 197-99; AI 270). Yet apart from this limitation, Whitehead would be seen as one of the company of ‘metaphysical reductionists’.

Such then is the micrological view of Whitehead. The very least that can be said for it is that it allows the novelties of Whitehead’s thought to be nicely balanced within a larger framework of philosophical tradition. It has, however, recently been challenged by an interpretation which convincingly argues that Whitehead’s concept of actual entities and their process of feeling constitutes an analysis of the nature and structure of ‘any concrete existent whatsoever’.¹³ And in the present context this means that actual entities and their process of feeling are not to be conceived as a substratum from which the empirical world is derived. Actual entities are not the basic constituents of things, which are embodied in ever more complex formations; they are not a special kind of existent, or indeed any kind of existent at all. The concept of actual entities and their process of feeling is not the concept of a substratum, or of anything else, that is in any way actual qua existent, but is a descriptive model of the generic features of any existent, from the simplest to the most complex. It is in this, and not in any foundational sense that the concept of actual entities and their feeling-structure represents for Whitehead the ‘ultimate’, ‘final’, ‘real’, or ‘actual’ nature of things.

The details of this interpretation cannot be debated here, but its consequences for any reading of Whitehead in the context of Bradley’s work, and for the issues that raises, are clearly decisive. Thus -- summarizing briefly in the light of the preceding discussion -- it now becomes evident that Whitehead has not merely separated out Bradley’s feeling from Bradley’s immediate experience, but completely purged the former of the substrative status given it by the latter. For Whitehead does not employ any metaphysical reduction procedure, nor does he discover any special kind of foundational existent. Unlike Bradley’s concept of finite centers as a base on and from which the world is made, Whitehead’s actual entities and their process of feeling have a very different status as a descriptional model of the nature of all existents. And so understood, it becomes apparent that Whitehead’s process of feeling involves a radical transformation as much in the status as in the role of Bradley’s theory. The shift from ‘metaphysics’ to ‘cosmology’ is not just a restriction on the unlimited universality of the former, but represents the abandonment of an entire methodology characteristic of post-Cartesian speculative philosophy.

Once seen in this light it becomes possible to define Whitehead’s philosophy as an essentially ‘modernist’ philosophy. Bradley is, in comparison, a Janus-like figure whose thought faces in two directions at once and inhabits both the centuries which his life spanned. For on the one hand, with his theory of feeling Bradley rejects atomistic sensationalism and moves from the ocular imagery of perception and representation to ‘function’. On the other hand, however, he retains the notion of a substratum -- albeit now formless, unspecifiable, and self-consciously problematic -- and attempts by means of that tenuously to ground the unity of an incomprehensible world. Yet if, so understood, Bradley’s work can be seen as the axis which, in the Anglo-Saxon world, turns nineteenth-century German Idealism and empiricist sensationalism into the twentieth century, it is Whitehead who firmly inhabits the new age, establishing the structural model of the process of feeling in the place of any attempt to provide an original or final Real, or a center or privileged locus for the nature of things.

Nevertheless, Whitehead’s work is not without its own ambivalence, as is suggested by his remark that in the final section of PR ‘the approximation to Bradley is evident’ (PR xiii). For another aspect of the ‘complete agreement’ with Bradley which Whitehead records on the subject of ‘perishing’ resides in his readiness to endorse Bradley’s view that there is a final ‘reality’ which contains the subjective immediacy of all feeling-centers without loss or diminution (PR 350f.; AR 212,404). Again, it cannot be overlooked that Whitehead’s descriptional model does appear to contain a specific kind of actuality characteristic of metaphysical reduction procedures more traditional even than Bradley’s -- namely God in God’s primordial nature. But to assess the significance -- regressive or otherwise -- of these features of Whitehead’s thought, much more than reference to Bradley is required. At the very least, the other twentieth-century fates of Bradley’s metaphysics of feeling need to be taken into account: Dewey s rendering of feeling as an indeterminate materials-source with no special constitution of its own, and Collingwood’s translation of both Bradley’s and Whitehead’s main doctrines into the framework of an historical-hermeneutical theory of ‘epochal’ presuppositions. Here the critique of pure feeling -- the distinguishing thread of the modern Anglo-Saxon tradition -- emerges as a debate on the ‘end of metaphysics’. In the context of the debate, the significance of Whitehead’s methodology -- his antisensationalist, antisubstrative descriptive model of feeling -- resides in the fact that it represents a self-conscious attempt to retain the level of generality characteristic of metaphysics, without the traditional appeal to any special metaphysical underpinnings.

Notes

c The author wishes gratefully to acknowledge the generous support of the Alexander von Humboldt Foundation while writing this article.

1 The standard editions and abbreviations will be employed when referring to Whitehead’s work. The editions and abbreviations used for Bradley’s works are as follows: The Principles of Logic, 2nd ad. (Oxford, 1922): PL; Appearance and Reality, 2nd ad., 9th impression (Oxford, 1930): AR; Essays on Truth and Reality, (Oxford, 1914): ETR.

2 For a brief discussion, see my ‘F. H. Bradley’s Metaphysics of Feeling and its Place in the History of Philosophy’ in The Philosophy of F. H. Bradley, ed. A. Manser and G. Stock (Oxford, 1984), pp. 228-29.

3 See D. W. Hamlyn, Sensation and Perception: A History of the Philosophy of Perception (London, 1961), Chapters 8 and 9.

4 J. S. Mill, An Examination of Sir William Hamilton’s Philosophy, 6th ed. (London, 1865), pp. 248, 253.

5 See David Masson, Recent British Philosophy (London, 1865; 3rd ed., 1877), p. 260. For a similar view of Mill, see G. Santayana, Soliloquies in England (London, 1922), p. 205. The same consequences were also expected from the side of scientific materialism; see the remarks of the reviewer of Spencer’s Principles of Biology in The Westminster Review, 28 (1865), 78, and James Ward’s comparison of Bradley and Tyndall, Critical Notice of AR, Mind, 8 (1894), 116.

6 This is not to be confused with the limited ‘criteria¹’ role given to feeling in certain special circumstances in ETR 178-81. I am here discussing the role of feeling in Bradley’s work as a whole.

7 B. Russell, Mysticism and Logic (London, 1917), p. 221.

8 See Gerd Buchdahl, Metaphysics and the Philosophy of Science (Oxford, 1969), Chapter 2.

9 In terms of Bradley’s development, one can say that the early Whitehead stays close to the Bradley of PL where, in my view, the continuum of feeling enjoys precisely this traditional presentational status. See especially PL 52-55, 71.

10 See W. James, Essays in Radical Empiricism (London, 1912), I and II; F. H. Bradley, ETR 149-58.

11 I am not here suggesting that Whitehead’s concept is a straight ‘take’ from Bradley’s. Throughout this essay lam ignoring the influences which shape, determine, and filter Whitehead’s transformations and reworkings of Bradley.

12 I take the notion of ‘metaphysical reduction’ from Gerd Buchdahl, ‘Reduction-Realization: a Key to the Structure of Kant’s Thought’, Philosophical Topics, vol. 12, 1981, pp.39-98. He is not of course responsible for the use I make of it here. I should add that the differences among the various thinkers mentioned would in any full discussion be as important as the methodological similarity on which I am concentrating.

13 F. Bradford Wallack, The Epochal Nature of Process in Whitehead’s Metaphysics (New York, 1980) p. 7. See especially Chapter I. For what follows in the text, it should be noted that while I agree with Wallack that Whitehead’s concept of an actual entity refers to any concrete existent whatsoever, I do not accept that for Whitehead this means that any concrete existent is an actual entity. In my view, Whitehead’s ‘generic notion’ of ‘actual entities’ must be taken as that and nothing else, i.e., as a metaphysical description of the nature of real things, and not as involving any claim that actual entities are real things or the real constituents of things. In Whitehead’s philosophy, real things must be described as actual entities, but this does not mean that things are really actual entities or that actual entities are real. The point of Whitehead’s ‘cosmology’ -- as of any modern cosmology -- is that its generic concept (the concept of an actual entity) is a true descriptive model of the world, and is in that sense ‘actual’ or ‘real’; Whitehead is not maintaining that the world is full of descriptive models. The view of actual entities as real existents (whether microscopic, macroscopic, or ‘hypothetical’), rather than as descriptions of the real, has vitiated the understanding of Whitehead from the outset. In the present article I am concentrating on the shift Bradley’s feeling undergoes in Whitehead in order to bring out the contrast between the traditional ‘metaphysical’ (substrative or ‘actual’) and the Whiteheadian ‘cosmological’ (descriptive or modular) modes of speculative philosophy.

Much philosophical thinking in the twentieth century is characterized, on the negative side, by a critique of philosophy as inextricably entangled with the concept of "ground." On the positive side, this is matched by an extensive elaboration of what may be called "self-realization" as the principle of analysis, where whatever is taken to be the proper subject matter of philosophy is understood as reflexive in nature, i.e., as in some sense subject and object of itself, immanently constituting its own order and character. This spectrum of concerns has been expressed in a variety of ways, of which perhaps the best-known are the self-creating, rebellious individual of Sartrean existentialism and the problem-solving, tool-wielding subject of Deweyan pragmatism.

From the point of view of the later Wittgenstein, however, the concept of a world-producing subject, existential or pragmatic, is itself just another secularizing expression of the metaphysical concept of ground. The human subject for the later Wittgenstein is a "decentered" subject: it is understood as constituted by the structures of languages it inhabits, structures which have the self-organizing, groundless character of "play" (Sprachspiel) as the site where language and world coextensively open up or unfold each other.

Similar considerations have been developed in the theory of interpretation. Gadamer, for example, drawing on the aesthetics of the German Idealist tradition, finds his primary models for the self-expanding question-and-answer structure of dialogue both in the substrateless character of play and in the work of art, understood as immanently unfolding and enacting its own meanings.¹

But the twin themes of groundlessness and self-realization find perhaps their most radical specification in thinkers such as Whitehead and the later Heidegger, who may be regarded as making these concepts themselves the proper subject-matter of philosophy. This they can be said to do by universalizing self-realization, so that, in one way or another, all things are understood as self-realizing in nature -- a position which they express by characterizing self-realization in terms of the realization or "temporalization" of time.

These two moves are intimately related. Where self-realization is the universal principle of analysis, the self-realizing natures of things are necessarily also a matter of the realization of time, i.e., temporal form and particular content have to be understood as reflecting into each other perfectly. In consequence, where self-realization is the universal principle of analysis, time cannot be treated in traditional fashion as a prior structure in which things happen. Rather, time has itself to be characterized in terms of its realization -- a requirement which has significant consequences.

Firstly, in virtue of the ultimate irreducibility of time -- i.e., the fact that time cannot be broken down into non-temporal elements of which it is a construct or synthesis -- the realization of time can only be described in temporal terms. Whitehead and the later Heidegger therefore give time-concepts a privileged position in respect of the concept of self-realization: because self-realization is a matter of the realization of time, and time is irreducible, self-realization is characterized in terms of temporal entities -- by the concept of "occasions" in Whitehead and by that of "event" (Ereignis) in the later Heidegger.²

Secondly, these event-concepts or event-analyses (as they may be called) have a specific rationale. On the ground that, where self-realization is the universal principle of analysis, time is not a prior structure in which things happen, Whitehead and the later Heidegger maintain that time cannot be understood as infinite time, i.e., as a continuous series of nows, infinitely divisible and stretching endlessly into the future. Instead, in attempting to characterize time in terms of its realization, they treat it as a matter of discrete, indivisible and finite elements which are unique and unrepeatable and in that sense radically new. This position is represented by their respective event-concepts. Their work can be taken as expressing the claim that, where self-realization is the universal principle of analysis, both self-realization and time require to be described in terms of event-concepts.

These concepts are the subject of the present essay. The set of concerns they represent will for brevity be referred to in what follows as the theme of radical novelty, or the self-realizing new, as is convenient.

In part, the theme of radical novelty is inspired by developments in modern physics, which from the early 1900s treats matter not as a substance occupying the infinite receptacles of space and time, but as the immanently unfolding order and passage of space-time events. Nevertheless, the theme has its own philosophical anticipations: for example, in Marx’s identification of humanity with its history; in the unique Moment or Now in which Kierkegaard’s believer leaps anew into faith, thereby conferring reality on past and future as the history of redemption; in the utterly discrete, underived Moment where Nietzsche’s artists of the future create their own freedom; and in the temporalizing constitution of the early Heidegger’s Dasein.

There are of course significant differences between these positions. Marx does not deal with time other than as history, which he understands as a linear and teleological continuum constituted by the actions of communal subjects. For Kierkegaard and Nietzsche, in contrast, time -- and thus history -- is a matter of a discrete series of breaks or ruptures engendered by the free acts of individual subjects. And while the early Heidegger shares this view, unlike Kierkegaard and Nietzsche he does not treat time mainly as a metaphor or expression of the human condition. Rather, the realization of time in the early Heidegger is a necessary dimension of the human subject understood as a self-realizing, reflexive unity of form and content.

For all their differences, however, what clearly unites these positions is that time is analyzed in the context of human subjectivity. Yet, where self-realization is the universal principle of analysis, time cannot be defined merely in terms of human subjects -- or forms of language. Because the realization of time is a matter of the self-realizing natures of all things, the theme of radical novelty implies the abandonment of philosophical anthropocentrism in all of its guises.

This implication is already to some extent present both in Nietzsche’s posthumously published arguments for the eternal recurrence of the moment, and in Bergson’s concept of real duration.³ But Nietzsche’s position is notoriously problematic, while Bergson opposes duration to the object-world. Indeed, because Bergson treats the object-world, not as a matter of self-realizing unities of form and content, but as a pragmatic distortion of real duration, his thought is to that extent still fractured by a non-reflexive division between the underlying reality and its appearances. In Continental European philosophy it is only from the 1930s onwards, with the highly influential analyses of the event undertaken by the later Heidegger, that the theme of radical novelty receives its most uncompromising statement.

Clearly enough, Whitehead’s "one genus" theory of "actual occasions" -- variously characterized as "self-realizing," "self-forming," "self-creating," "self-producing" -- belongs squarely within the same thematic. Nevertheless, Whitehead is a philosopher who is sometimes quoted but rarely considered. In contemporary discussions he occupies at best a marginal place, despite the fact that his analysis of the concept of occasions had been fully elaborated in Process and Reality as early as 1929. Yet the reason for this neglect is obvious enough. Despite all their differences, what unites the other exponents of self-realization is their common critique of "metaphysics," understood as a narcissistic attempt by reason to transcend the limits of language, or to evacuate the plenitude of time and history, by the elaboration of an eternally complete principle of ground or order or totality. Heidegger is the strongest voice here: as is well-known, he regards his "event" as constituting a wholesale repudiation and destruction of the entire enterprise of philosophy.

Whitehead, however, presents himself as a metaphysician in the grand tradition, whose work has the character of "a recurrence to pre-Kantian modes of thought" (PR xi). The inevitable result is that his writings from Process and Reality onwards are generally regarded as naive anachronisms. It has gone unnoticed that his theory of occasions is part and parcel of a self-conscious and thoroughgoing redefinition of the nature of metaphysics in the context of the theme of radical novelty. Perhaps the best way of indicating what is at issue here is by means of a comparison between Whitehead and the later Heidegger.

I.

To both Whitehead and the later Heidegger one main significance of their event-concepts is that they represent particularly well the requirement laid upon thought by the theme of the self-realizing new. For if all things are to be described as self-realizing, then their natures as such can only be defined in terms of themselves. They cannot be understood as arising from certain fundamental "productive" structures, whether these be defined as the procession of forms, or the procession of divine being, or immaterial monadic reals, or principles of possible experience, or the all-containing whole. Rather, the self-realizing new requires a mode of discourse which stands in what can be called a content-reflexive relation to its subject-matter, i.e., which does not refer its subject-matter away from itself to something else as its "cause" or "ground" or "condition" or "productive" principle, however conceptually extended the sense of these terms may be. Hence the aptness of event-concepts. Not only do they carry the appropriate connotative links with history, physics and aesthetics, but they are also exhaustively translatable into their subject-matter without any aetiological remainder.

The point can perhaps be illustrated (and this is no more than an illustration [PLT 86]) by reference to the phrases "the event of. . . ." and "the occasion of.," where the "of" can be regarded as having the character both of a subjective and an objective genitive, i.e., the concepts of "occasion" and "what occurs," of the "event" and its "content," can be taken as coextensive elements with no status of any kind apart from each other, registering the unique and unrepeatable differences, or acts of self-differentiation, by which things make themselves what they are. So understood, the concepts of event and occasions are intended to indicate that the "cause" or "constitution" or "principle" of what occurs is nothing else than the difference of its own self-realizing occurrence. Thereby the concept of the subject is, so to speak, returned to the object -- where it used to be -- and, with that, the distinctions of knowing subject and object known, of real and ideal, of nature and spirit, lose their status as the fundamental polarities of philosophical analysis.

As with the German post-Kantian idealists, the specific target here is Kant’s threefold division of experience into cognition, morality and aesthetics, at least (in Whitehead’s case) so far as that is taken as the base-line of the analysis. Yet Whitehead and the later Heidegger attempt to fuse the realms of nature, history and art, not by any resort to monism, but by severally developing unitary modes of discourse where such historically laden notions as "subject," "synthesis," and constitution" are either completely transformed and redefined, as in Whitehead, or are completely repudiated, as by the later Heidegger.

What unites Whitehead and the later Heidegger here is their common recognition that the theme of the self-realizing new requires the abandonment of the metaphor of ground and all its works. What divides them is their views on the enterprise of philosophical analysis in that context.

Once granted that the traditional models of philosophical self-understanding -- represented by such notions as cause, ground, realized totality, etc. -- need to be laid aside in the context of the self-realizing new, the key question is: how is the status of event-concepts to be understood? At issue here are what might be called the paradoxes of the new. These arise from the fact that, under the rubric of the self-realizing new, the question of the nature of concepts or universals -- a question which has defined the domain of philosophy since Plato -- now rebounds upon philosophy itself, threatening to leave it with nothing to do but dismantle itself.

For consider: the concepts of event and occasions represent truth-claims of the largest kind. That is, these concepts are intended to indicate that the principle of what occurs is nothing else than the self-realizing occurrence itself. As such, they are truth-claims which define the status of truth-claims as historically situated happenings. But what then is their own status? Do they not represent strong, or unrestricted and nonrevisable, truth-claims of the kind that traditionally characterizes metaphysics? Do they not state "what truly is"? And yet have they not undercut their own claim to truth-as-validity by redefining truth as historical occurrence?

The first and most obvious paradox of the new is thus the familiar paradox of self-reference, now become, in the context of the theme of radical novelty, a question of the nature of philosophy itself.⁴ It can here be summarily stated as: what is the relation of the proposition "All is relative" to itself?

This paradox is, however, compounded by another, which represents a different way of specifying the difficulties inherent in the theme of radical novelty. The paradox of self-reference arises when the theme of radical novelty is looked at from the point of view of its implications with respect to the relation of philosophical analysis to its own propositions. The second paradox arises when the theme of radical novelty is looked at from the point of view of its implications with respect to the relation of philosophical analysis to its subject-matter, understood as a self-realizing or reflexive unity of form and content.

This second paradox is the paradox of content-reflexivity. It may be expressed by the question: how do the propositions "All is self-realizing" or "All is new" stand to their subject-matter?

On their own terms, the subject-matter of event-concepts is nothing else than the unique and unrepeatable difference of the self-realizing new. But the unique and unrepeatable is, as such, unintelligible or incomprehensible in its own nature. Is it therefore the case that event-concepts cannot claim any positive meaning or content, but are no more than strictly negative elaborations of that which cannot be philosophically analyzed? Are they concepts of an "other" from which reason has to recognize its complete exclusion? Do they have no other task than ironically to efface themselves before their object?

Another way of expressing the paradox of content-reflexivity would be in terms of the concept of "philosophical necessity," i.e., the kind of necessity attributed to the concepts of philosophical analysis. Now philosophical necessity -- the claim that things are and not otherwise than as laid out in the analysis -- is a necessity of its own kind, for it is the character belonging to those concepts that define the nature of the contrasts we ordinarily make between necessity and possibility or necessity and contingency. Nevertheless, philosophically necessary concepts represent what is held in some sense or other to be an invariant or permanent structure of things -- which is why they are called necessary and why they have often been understood on the models of logical or causal necessity. The question therefore is: how can event-analyses make any such claims for themselves if the only kind of "intrinsic nature" things have is the essential variability of the self-realizing new? How can event-analyses represent that which is in any sense invariant or permanent if their subject-matter is unique and unrepeatable difference? In the context of the theme of radical novelty, the price of theoretical abstraction would seem to be the essential vacuity of theory.

To be sure, it is a truism that analysis can proceed only by way of abstraction. But what is involved here is no illegitimate stipulation that meaning be what it intends, nor can the issue be negotiated merely by acknowledging the need for some kind of distinction between thought and existence. Rather, the difficulties hitherto presented by particular kinds of concepts, such as that of God in Aquinas or freedom in Kant -- difficulties that were rendered tractable precisely by their contrast with what were taken to be the conceptually determinable realms of "world" or of reliable cognition -- now present themselves with any subject-matter viewed as self-realizing. Indeed, event-concepts may be said to universalize and thereby to radicalize the paradoxicality of traditional analyses of the divine nature and creation. The question is now, not how the character of a self-realizing entity wholly different from the world could be a possible subject of analysis, but how the self-realizing differences of entities in the world could be. Were event-concepts to designate anything more than that which is theoretically indeterminable, they would apparently be, not concepts of the self-realizing new, but descriptions of a fixed, invariant pattern, whereby the perpetual novelty of self-realization is obliterated under a conceptually determinate order, with the event or occasions becoming mere passages suspended between origin and end. As Whitehead puts the difficulty to himself, in terms of his analysis of the structures of process:

Once the self-realizing new moves to the center of philosophical concern, the relation of thought and existence is so redefined as to render philosophy problematic from within.

In this situation, the later Heidegger does not hesitate to draw the conclusion that, as from its beginnings a matter of conceptual determination, the enterprise of philosophical analysis which began with Plato has to be repudiated tout court. In effect retrojecting Lukács’ analysis of reification back across the entire history of Western thought, he sees philosophy from Plato onwards as essentially anthropocentric in nature, implicitly intent from the start on reducing the world to a conceptually determinable, and therefore manipulable, object-for-use. While acknowledging that the event is the achievement of Western metaphysics -- which he submits to a massive, retrospective analysis in that light (see, for example, SG) -- he also sees the event as in the nature of the case the final outcome of that tradition, and thus announces the "completion" or "end (Vollendung) of philosophy," i.e., the closure of any attempt to determine what cannot be determined. As components of the apparatus of "representation," notions such as "category," "concept" and "method" are to be abandoned in favor of a mode of discourse or "poetry of thinking," the language and style of which consistently enacts the negation of its own propositional status, and by thus pointing away from itself, opens up that which cannot be "communicated" or "mediated cognitively" hut "must be experienced"(TB 25-26)⁵ -- namely, the event.

In the work of the later Heidegger the critique of philosophy, which has always gone hand-in-hand with modern versions of self-realization, receives its fullest elaboration. The intractable, self-negating character of his texts is the final completion of what is implied for philosophy in Kierkegaard’s preaching, in Nietzsche’s telegraphic calls to the artists of the future, and in Bergson’s appeal to intuition. The thought-project of the (significantly titled) Philosophical Fragments, the aphorisms of Zarathustra, and the "images" of Bergson’s prose, are all so many admissions that the self-realizing new cannot be the subject of philosophy. There is only literature now.

Perhaps the best way to characterize what is at issue here is in terms of a contrast between the theme of radical novelty and Hegel’s position. Hegel maintains the ultimate unity of concept and object in absolute reason, which is understood as a totality that includes or encompasses subjective reason and its other. The absolute thereby transcends the subject-predicate division of language; but as systematically representable, the unity of the whole can be rendered intelligible beyond the mere form of language in the speculative proposition. It may thus be said that Hegel sees the relation of concept and object, rational and real as a univocal relation in that these terms have an ultimately identical meaning. With that, however, the fate of the new is sealed.⁶

To be sure, Hegel does not treat the movement from identity to difference and back to identity in an Aristotelian fashion as a matter of the "return" of the "same" identity. Instead, the movement proceeds to an identity that is enriched through the progress of the thesis via the antithesis. Here, it would seem, there is the possibility of the arrival of the new; out of the immediate actuality there comes what Hegel calls "quite another shape of things" from which a "new" actuality emerges.

However, Hegel’s "new" is already contained in its beginning. "Immediate actuality" already has within itself, as the "inner," the possibility of the "new" reality as its "other." As such, immediate actuality is the "condition" and "germ of the other." In consequence, the "new" that emerges from this process is not a new in the sense of what has never been there before. As Hegel says: "Thus there comes into being quite another shape of things, and yet it is not another; for the first actuality is only put as what it in essence was." He can thus ultimately conceive the movement of the absolute, all-containing totality as a "return" to itself and regard it as the revolving of a circle after the fashion of Aristotle.

In this context it is not surprising that the later Heidegger insists on the rational inaccessibility of the other of reason conceived as the new. Reason is here regarded by Heidegger as purely subjective reason, intent on the subjugation of the world for use, over against which the task of thinking is to deconstruct the conceptualizing impulse from within so that the alterity of the other can properly manifest itself. In contrast to Hegel, it may be said that the later Heidegger sees the relation of concept and object, rational and real, as an equivocal relation in that these terms have different and even mutually exclusive meanings.

In this context, not a little of the significance of Whitehead’s position arises from the fact that, while addressing the issues involved in the fundamental conflicts of European thought, he writes out of a different philosophical tradition and consequently is not caught in the internal polarisations of an intellectual history otherwise too massive and entangling to be escaped. Hence Whitehead’s response to the paradoxes of the new is quite different from that of other thinkers of radical novelty.

As a glance at Process and Reality indicates, Whitehead is prepared to elaborate a complex "categoreal scheme" for the purpose of analyzing the self-realizing new as a process of occasions -- a scheme which as unhesitatingly helps itself to traditional concepts as it introduces new ones, and unashamedly involves an account of "Philosophic Method" (AI Chapter XV; cf. PR Chapter I). Programmatically announcing that "the task of philosophy is...to exhibit the fusion of analysis and actuality" (ESP 113), Whitehead would dissolve the paradoxes of the new in a mode of thought which has the capacity to be at once "the expression of necessity" (ESP 128) and the articulation of "the creative advance into novelty" (PR 349). As he puts it: "The crux of philosophy is to retain the balance between the individuality of existence and the relativity of existence" (ESP Ill). In addressing this crux, it will become evident that over against the univocity of Hegel and the equivocity of the later Heidegger, White-head develops what can be called an analogical analysis -- or, more precisely, an analogical algebra -- of the new.

II.

As might be expected from one of the authors of Principia Mathematica, Whitehead constantly reiterates that what he refers to as "the algebraic method" is the rubric under which he elaborates his position (cf. ESP 109ff., 127ff.). In his own words: "Logic prescribes the shapes of metaphysical thought";⁷ or again, "Poetry allies itself to metre, philosophy to mathematic pattern" (MT 174). Nevertheless, he takes a route out of Principia radically different from that of Russell, the early ‘Wittgenstein, or the logical positivists, for he transforms the algebraic method into a medium of "speculative philosophy," marrying mathematics with the characteristically anti-rationalist theme of the self-realizing new. What he calls the "generalized mathematics" which results (ESP 109), challenges the critique of reason mounted by the thinkers of radical novelty, well-represented in Bergson’s remark that "universal mathematics" is "the chimera of modern philosophy" (IMe 52). This critique assumes that rational analysis is indissolubly tied to the traditional concept of mathematical system -- modeled on Euclidean geometry (cf. PR 209) -- with the result that the contingency and particularity of the new is inevitably subsumed to structures of necessity understood as essentially complete and unchanging. In contrast, Whitehead would restore the platonic vision of a unity of "mathematics and the good" (cf. ESP 97ff.) by way of a transposed algebra rather than a transposed geometry, a position intended to allow the redefinition of that unity in terms of a connection between rationality and creativity. He thus sees himself as opening an epoch which will recover, in new form, "the logical attitude of the epoch of St. Thomas Aquinas" (ESP 131): he would once again attempt to articulate a theory of actus purus, albeit now pluralistic and cosmological rather than theocentric, in a rigorous methodological and conceptual framework.

The first clue to what Whitehead means by the "algebraic method" is provided by the organization of Process and Reality. As the Table of Contents indicates, the entire work is an extended exercise in the elaboration of hypotheses. Part I presents the "categoreal scheme" or set of "working hypotheses" (AI 220ff.); Part II, and indeed the rest of the book, is concerned with "Discussions and Applications." It would seem likely that it is in terms of his employment of this procedure as a metaphysical method that Whitehead’s treatment of the theme of radical novelty can best be understood.

The categoreal scheme is referred to as the "rational side" of the analysis (PR 3). It can be regarded, on the "algebraic model" of a modern mathematical or logical system (cf. ESP 109ff., 127ff.), as a series of postulates, having the form "Let the working hypothesis be..." (AI 235) and based on an initial conditional premise of the sort, "If the real be the new. . . ." The entire scheme thus represents a set of concepts intended to express the concept of the new -- where the word "express" is used advisedly, as neutral in respect of the paradoxes of self-reference and content-reflexivity.

The hypothetical categories of the scheme are oriented towards what Whitehead calls the "empirical side" of the analysis (PR 3) as the field over which they range. He variously defines the empirical side as "everything of which we are conscious as enjoyed, perceived, willed or thought" (PR 3), or, again, as "the ideas and problems which form the complex texture of civilized thought" (PR xi). So understood, the empirical in Whitehead is not to be conflated with the impressions or sense-data of the empiricists, nor with the indeterminate "immediate experience" of the idealists, nor with the life-world of the phenomenologists (i.e., it is not a complex of primitive meanings which is prior to reflective or scientific conceptualization), nor with any Quinean ocean of naturalistically conceived objectivity. Rather, Whitehead’s concept of the empirical includes (as he says) "every element of our experience" (PR 3) -- God and value, art and politics, science and technology, as well as the observable objects and events which more usually furnish our notions of the empirical.

In this light it is evident that what can for convenience sometimes be referred to as Whitehead’s "empirical world" is not a neutral "given" which the speculative scheme organizes or constructs, and to which it thereby gives us access. The scheme-world distinction, that is, is not in Whitehead based on any epistemological distinction between the "given" and the "interpreted" and hence is not involved in any suggestion that there are alternatives to the familiar world we actually inhabit.

We are not thereby restored, however, as Davidson would have it, "to unmediated touch with the familiar objects and antics which make our sentences and opinions true or false."⁸ For we do not need to leave or step outside the empirical world to find it confusing. The assurance that the world we are familiar with is actually opened up in the language we speak does not make that world any less puzzling than it is familiar. As Whitehead puts it: "Philosophy does not initiate interpretations. Its search for a rationalistic scheme is the search for more adequate criticism, and for more adequate justification, of the interpretations which we perforce employ" (PR 14-15).

Now, understood as including our "interpretations," Whitehead’s concept of the empirical world is clearly not that of an uninterpreted element which the scheme confronts as a theory-neutral quantity. Rather, it is an historical concept which designates both the "oceans of facts" and the "evaluative interests," "intrinsic within each historical period," in respect of which the individual philosopher seeks to discover whether there is a "thread of coordination" (MT 18). So, of course, does everyone else: artist, critic, social scientist, common man. But this fact cannot be used -- as Rorty uses it⁹ -- to provide an argument for the assimilation of philosophy to general literature. For it is simply an indication of the inescapably philosophical character of the special sciences, and therefore of the need for a science of "final" or "ultimate" "generalities" (PR 8); i.e., a science which will attempt "to coordinate the current expressions of human experience, in common speech, in social institutions, in actions, in the principles of the various special sciences, elucidating harmony and exposing discrepancies" (AI 222). Regarded in this way, philosophy is not a permanent, or neutral, or ahistorical discovery of some previously hidden dimension of experience -- as Rorty would have it (CP 74, 80, 87) -- but is an historically located attempt, critical and constructive, "to promote the most general systematization of civilized thought" (PR 17).

Yet is this anything more than a matter of philosophy understood as mediator or interpreter among the special sciences?¹⁰ Traditionally, the significance of the enterprise of "general systematization" may be grasped from the fact that, understood as metaphysics, it lays claim to be concerned with the concept of the "real" in its widest or ultimate sense. But what meaning, if any, such a claim might have with respect to the historically experienced empirical world is, as Whitehead is aware, itself a philosophical question which awaits examination -- an indication, at least, of the level of generalities with which the discipline is peculiarly concerned. His concept of the empirical is therefore best understood as a name for the entire ensemble of affairs in historical experience as that which constitutes the explanandum of philosophical analysis -- with the concept of the "real" left as an empty, undetermined and questionable logical space, lying, so to speak, between the two sides, categoreal and empirical (this is Whitehead’s solution to the Meno paradox). The formula under which Whitehead approaches the theme of radical novelty can thus be summarized as: how do the categoreal and empirical stand to each other?

III.

Whitehead’s basic position on the relation of scheme and world can be put like this: the categoreal and the empirical are related as an equation defining a function is related to the value of its variables. Within the categoreal scheme, as Whitehead says, all the elements of the empirical "are reduced to the ghost-like character of real [i.e., free or independent] variables" (ESP 128; cf. Al 242, MT 106-7). In contrast, the categories of the scheme can be said to have the status of polyadic propositional functions; they could be expressed as R (x...y...z...n), where x...y...z...n are the variables representing the empirical elements and R represents the categories of the scheme.¹¹

What is the significance of this analogy?

As Whitehead insists, the algebraic method undergoes considerable extension when used beyond its normal provenance as a model for philosophical analysis. Mathematics he defines as "the study of pattern in abstraction from the particulars which are patterned" (ESP 111; cf. IM Chapter 2). However, whereas mathematics is satisfied with the notion of "any" (ESP 110), philosophy, as noted earlier, is distinguished by its attempt to provide an analysis of the nature of individuality as well as of connection. In the context of the theme of radical novelty, it is clearly of central importance to specify the way in which, on Whitehead’s view, such a task can be fulfilled by a speculative scheme constructed on the algebraic model of variable and value.

In this connection, it is important to recognize at the outset that Whitehead sees the construction of a philosophical scheme of categories as an enterprise of "imaginative generalization" (PR 5). His point is that when we try philosophically to analyze and coordinate the main features of the empirical world, we do so by means of the analogical employment of some one or other features of that world. We talk of "mind," "matter," "reason," "will," "things," "events," and so on. In so doing, however, we are not referring to particular features of the empirical world; rather, we are employing particular features of the empirical world as analogues for the coordinating characterization of its main features. Here the historically located empirical world is related to the scheme, not just as the subject of analysis, but as the source of analogues for the definition of the "real," where these analogues have the status of heuristic aids in the establishment of theories. In this respect, the procedure of "schematization" (PR 16) runs, as it were, from the empirical to the rational side of the analysis and gives it the character of "descriptive generalization" (PR 10; cf. Al 234); i.e., it is "the utilization of specific notions, applying to a restricted group of facts, for the divinization of the generic notions which apply to all facts" (PR 5; cf. 13). The categoreal scheme thus represents a set or constellation of hypothetical analogues – "Let the working hypothesis be events in their process of origination" (AI 235-36) -- where each of these analogues expands or qualifies the partiality or excesses of the other. As Whitehead puts it: "to arrive at the philosophic generalization...an apparent redundancy of terms is required. The words correct each other." (AI 236)

It should be noted here that Whitehead’s appropriation and expansion of the algebraic method for the elaboration of a metaphysics of the new is clearly an instance of itself. That is, the employment of the algebraic method as an account of metaphysical method is itself an analogue with hypothetical status in respect of its subject-matter -- namely, philosophical analysis.

Understood in this fashion as a self-referential schematization or generalization, Whitehead’s method clearly does not involve him in any kind of metaphysical "dogmatism." The point of taking the inclusively defined empirical world as the unreconstructed subject-matter and analogue-source of the analysis (even with respect to methodology) is to distinguish it rigorously from the issue that is addressed by the analysis, i.e., to avoid the familiar problems consequent upon any conflation of the notions of the "world" and "reality." Redefined as the empirical, the Leibnizian notion of the world simpliciter disappears: the investigation is restricted to the realm of experience (PR 4), the world is always an interpreted world (PR 14-15), and there are no a priori or self-evident propositions on the basis of which the "real nature" of things can be determined (PR 8, 12). In Whitehead, there is no trace of any "real" to which we have direct access.

The rejection of dogmatism does not mean, however, that Whitehead’s analysis takes the form of a theory of knowledge. Among other things, he elaborates a theory of knowledge, and in particular a theory of philosophical knowledge that is the especial concern of this paper. Yet in this connection the distinction of categoreal and empirical is not to be conflated with any distinction between "mind" and "world," or knowing subject and object known, understood as constituting the final parameters of philosophical analysis. The notion of the schematization of the empirical dissolves the assumption that there are any such privileged starting-points in philosophy; polarities such as "mind" and "world" can now be recognized as particular features of the empirical which have been employed as coordinating analogues for the characterization of its contents. The status of cognition may thus be treated as an open question; experience need no longer be taken to be primarily a matter of the cognition of objects, nor recourse to the knowing subject the inevitable corollary of the abandonment of dogmatism. In this context it is hardly surprising that the problem of skepticism is not for Whitehead a major issue, for skepticism assumes that the mind-world contrast has fundamental metaphysical status,

Whitehead’s method of schematization further emancipates the investigation both from the assumption that there is a "complete" or "realized" real, understood as something given in itself, which awaits characterization, and equally from its twin; namely, that if there is nothing-in-itself, the "real" can be nothing other than a concatenation of historically changing perspectives which are solely attributable to, or relative to, their centers, and hence are not facts about an objectively independent world in any significant sense of those terms. With the notion of schematization, the otherwise compelling, mirror-like alternatives of a "substantial" or "perspectival" real can be seen for what they are: particular analogues in terms of which the evident givenness and reliability of the world, and the equally evident historical and perspectival character of knowledge, have found philosophical interpretation. As a result, such manifest empirical features can now be considered without conflation with the mesmerizing polarity of the thing-in-itself and its subjectivist counterpart; they become something that the categories of the scheme must register and appropriately characterize. The method of descriptive generalization opens the way for that transformation of philosophy in terms of algebraic method which Whitehead intends.

IV.

In defining the character of schematic analysis, Whitehead pushes the analogy between algebraic and categoreal scheme as hard as he can, appropriating the so-called method of "application," "interpretation," or "substitution" (PR 116) as a procedural model. He maintains that just as in algebra or symbolic logic we give the variables of the equation defining a function a value, which is known as the "substitution-instance," "application," or "interpretation," so we do also in philosophy with the categoreal scheme (cf. UA Chapter I, ESP 128). For understood as having the character of propositional functions, the categories of the scheme are as such incomplete or indeterminate. To be completed they must be given empirical application. It is the success with which the scheme can find empirical applications that determines its adequacy as a scheme, i.e., as having the level of generality or coordinating power appropriate to metaphysics.

On this basis it is possible to define the mode of discourse which Whitehead characteristically employs in Process and Reality and elsewhere. For schematic substitution cuts both ways: as propositional functions, the categories remain essentially incomplete or indeterminate without their empirical subject-matter, as does the empirical subject-matter without its coordinating categoreal definition (were it otherwise, there would be no such thing as philosophy). In consequence, the analysis can be said to seek both categoreal interpretations for empirical features, and empirical applications for its categories. Schematic substitution, that is, is essentially two-sided: "rational side" and "empirical side" are substitutionally related. And if that is the case, we would expect Whitehead’s texts to be a constant, mutually illuminating movement back and forth between the two. In other words, we would expect to find that the relation of the two sides of the analysis is essentially reciprocal -- that the demonstration of "the power of the scheme" (PR xi) in respect of its substitution-instances is also and at once an elaboration of its significance.

This is exactly what Whitehead tells us we will find. As he explicitly says of all parts of Process anti Reality at the outset of that work (and the same clearly holds for his later writings): "the unity of treatment is to be looked for in the gradual development of the scheme in meaning and relevance.... In each recurrence [to particular topics] these topics throw some new light on the scheme or receive some new elucidation" (PR xii; cf. xi, xiv, UA 12). To apply or to interpret the categoreal scheme is also to develop its "meaning," i.e., the expansion of the scheme’s relevance, or range of empirical interpretations, also expands the meaning-content of the categories. Throughout, the analysis follows the twofold path of categoreal and empirical determination. It is this double movement, Whitehead is reminding us, which goes on throughout his analysis. His every line has always to be read with bifocals, as a simultaneous elaboration of categoreal meaning and empirical relevance.

So understood, the interpretative procedure is clearly circular in nature: each of its "sides" requires and finds its "completion of meaning" (ESP 128) in the other. Yet this is of course a virtuous and not a vicious circle; it is an integral feature of schematic analysis insofar as that is nothing else than the mutual determination and elucidation of its two sides, categoreal and empirical.

V.

In contrast to what happens in mathematics or symbolic logic, not only construction but also application or interpretation is for Whitehead analogical in nature. That is, he does not regard analogy merely as a heuristic device in the elaboration of a scheme of categories. Rather, he sees analogy as an essential feature of metaphysics: understood as a descriptive generalization, the scheme posits a relation of analogy between its categories and the empirical world. ¹² In his own words: "The procedure of rationalism is the discussion of analogy" (MT 98).¹³

How is this relation of analogy to be understood?

There are two important points here. First what the categories of the scheme seek for in the empirical world is interpretation or application; that is, categoreal analysis is analogical analysis in the sense that it is a matter of the application of analogies to particular empirical subject-matters. This means, secondly, that just as (for example) the analogical term "good" is an indeterminate or incomplete expression -- akin to an algebraic or propositional function -- outside of its interpretation in specific contexts ("good film," "good meal," "good game," etc.), so an analogical category such as that of occasions is purely formal or lacking in explanatory power ("practically unintelligible" -- PR xi) outside of its applications.

The significance of the fact that the scheme-world relation is a matter of the application of analogies cannot be underestimated. For it is the character of the categories as determinable only by means of their analogical application to specific instances which itself represents their content-reflexivity in respect of the new.

What Whitehead does, in other words, is to employ the procedure of analogical application as an analogue for the content-reflexivity of the categories as analyzes of the new. Analogical application is that relation of concept and object which analogically articulates the fact that the self-realizing acts of something -- its occasions -- are as such wholly its own. To use Whitehead’s own preferred analogue for the significance of analogical application (which cannot be analyzed other than analogically): it is the algebraic status of the scheme, as an expression that can be rendered complete only by its interpretations, which expresses its content-reflexivity. As he puts it in one place, the algebraic model of application represents "the suffusion of the connective by the things connected," i.e., it enacts that kind of reflexive "concurrence of mathematical-formal principles and accidental factors" (ESP 128) which alone is adequate to the theme of the self-realizing new.

The reason for the significance which, in contrast to the other thinkers of radical novelty,¹⁴ Whitehead attaches to modem mathematics is now apparent: it provides a model for the analysis of radical novelty in that it can be analogically employed as an expression of the reflexive "fusion of analysis and actuality" (ESP 113), necessity and contingency (cf. ESP 123), demanded by the theme of the self-realizing new. It can therefore be said that in schematic analysis philosophical necessity is to be understood as substitutional necessity. That is, the categories of the scheme do not constitute an invariant structure. Rather, it is for Whitehead the analogical elaboration of categoreal "meaning" and empirical "relevance" which renders the analysis "necessary" (PR 4); by which he means that it displays or bears "within itself its own warrant of universality" (PR 4) solely in virtue of its power of analogical interpretation. Schematic necessity, that is, is nothing else than the content-reflexive fit of its two sides, categoreal and empirical -- anything else would contradictorily refer the self-realizing new away from itself for its principle.¹⁵

When, for example, Whitehead refers to the categories of the scheme throughout his writings as "generic notions," the whole point of his recourse to the Aristotelian notion of the generic concept is to redefine it in terms of the algebraic method. "Cosmology," that is, is no longer to be tied to a necessary return of the same. The categories of the scheme are not to be regarded as reproducing the procedure by which the real substance unfolds itself in its specific forms of being, nor as in any sense the creative or generative forces or origins from which particular things spring. Instead, like the new physics of his day (a key analogue of construction), "in the place of the Aristotelian notion of the procession of forms," Whitehead’s schematic analysis "has substituted the notion of the forms of process" (MT 140; cf. 82).

Here the notion of the "forms of process" is offered as a redefinition of the concept of "forms" such that it makes no sense to talk of the "recurrence" of the categories. Instead, it has to be said that the forms of process neither recur nor do not recur. They are neither the "same" nor "different." Rather, they are analyses of the realization of recurrence and non-recurrence, sameness and difference, in terms of a vectorial movement of unique and unrepeatable occasions understood as expressing the self-realizing natures of things in the only way they can be expressed: namely, analogically.

Perhaps the best way of describing what is at issue in Whitehead’s redefinition of the concept of "forms" as "forms of process" is to say that it is intended to overcome Aristotle’s objection to Plato that his forms do nothing. With its categories understood as structures of self-realization, schematic analysis does not invoke any principle of production. Yet the abandonment of the traditional mode of philosophical self-understanding does not mean for Whitehead that none but negative statements can be made about the self-realizing new, i.e., that the enterprise of explanation is also to be abandoned. In that "fusion of analysis and actuality" represented by the algebraic method of schematic analysis, form and content, necessity and accident, can be understood by way of analogical application as reflecting into each other without remainder in the occasion.¹⁶

Seen in the context of the algebraic method, Whitehead’s own response to the paradox of content-reflexivity should come as no surprise. When considering his own objection to the theme of the self-realizing new, quoted earlier, to the effect that "our doctrine seems to have destroyed the very basis of rationality," his reply is couched in terms of the two-sided, analogical procedure of algebraic interpretation. As he puts it, with characteristically deceptive simplicity and directness:

Whitehead’s claim here is nothing less than that the self-realizing new need be conflated neither with reason nor with the non-rational. By means of the analogical algebra, the Hegel-Heidegger disjunction may now be dissolved. The mutual inversions of univocity and equivocity which have fed off each other for so long can be transcended in the true speculative proposition, which is the analogical proposition of schematic analysis.

VI.

In order to make good this claim, schematic analysis must be considered in relation to the paradox of self-reference. As noted, the categoreal scheme has thoroughgoing hypothetical status. At no point in the analysis is there any claim to the achievement of absolute certainty. Indeed, Whitehead is unusual in laying great stress on the fact that his philosophy is what other philosophies have only retrospectively been recognized to be: namely, a coordination of historical (PR 17; MT 18) and contemporary experience (AI 222; MT171, 173-74), in terms of certain historically preferred analogues, which is essentially revisable in character (PR 7,8, 10-11; AI 223) and has the status of just one "deposition" among others (PR 10-11); i.e., not claiming any privileged kind of necessity for itself, it can contemplate even the abandonment of its main categories (PR 9).

Now there can be no doubt that, internally speaking, schematic analysis dissolves the problem which dogs philosophies that are self-conscious enough to recognize their own historical locatedness. Usually such theories are forced either finally to surrender to an absolute conception of the real, giving themselves a privileged position above change on the ground that they represent the culminating form of change; or, in reaction, to embrace an out-and-out historical relativism or perspectivism. But no such disjunction exists for Whitehead, as is indicated by two of his uses of the concept of the "real."

In schematic analysis any absolute conception of the realized real is rejected in that, defined as a vectoral process of occasions, the real is essentially incomplete. This does not mean, however, that there is no "given" reality in the sense of that which is distinct and independent of the subject qua self-unfolding occasion. In this latter sense, understood as a vectoral process, reality is a movement in which the contents of antecedent occasions are objectified ("prehended") in the becoming or "concrescence" of subsequent occasions (cf. Al 209ff.). The schematic concept of process thus succeeds in reconciling the fact that reality is not a complete thing-in-itself, and that knowledge is perspectival, with the fact that both knowledge and reality also require to be defined in terms of objects distinct from and independent of the subject or concrescent occasion.

The problem as to how we may "get out" of our "perspectives" to some counterpart "world" no longer arises here. Understood in terms of a vectoral process of occasions, our perspectives are not something which we are ever simply "in," nor does the world lie "outside" of them¹⁷- -- which is the reason why epistemological concerns are what schematic analysis addresses in the course of its elaboration, not what it sets out from. Admittedly, schematic analysis has itself the character of a hypothetico-deductive "intellectual construction" (cf. PR 5); i.e., it involves a contrast of mind and world. But the point is that this fact does not endow either the knowing subject or the knowledge-relation with any fundamental status or metaphysical finality. Instead, intellectual constructions are themselves specified and relativized by the analysis as elements in a process of occasions which, far from being defined in terms of a theory of knowledge, itself provides the parameters in terms of which a theory of knowledge is elaborated.

Of course, schematic analysis may be regarded as the best evidence of the knowing subject’s ability to define its place in the order of things. But this does not provide any opportunity for the knowing subject to give itself metaphysical airs. On the contrary, one main point of the scheme’s character as an intellectual construction is emphatically to register the knowing subject’s ability to recognize and define itself as only a single element in a complex movement of which it is neither more nor less than a particularly sophisticated instance. As Whitehead puts it: "Philosophy is the self-correction by consciousness of its own initial excess of subjectivity" (PR 15; cf. MT 107-8).

Yet the real question still remains: whether or not schematic analysis has the capacity to define or delimit itself in terms of its own analysis of the real, i.e., to negotiate the fact of the relativity and locatedness of its own categories. Here it may be objected that the relativising self-referentiality of Whitehead’s scheme comes too cheaply: a scheme can obviously be defined as historically relative in terms of the kind of hypotheticity elaborated within the scheme -- but there is nothing about that which qualifies the claim to truth made for hypotheticity! After all, as an account of metaphysical reflection, the hypothetical scheme treats all alternative positions as competitor hypotheses -- a claim which theories such as Plato’s or Hegel’s seem to deny. Thus the final limit of the hypothetical method is that method itself. Here, as always, relativism contradicts itself in presupposing one absolute -- its own validity. No philosophy has the capacity to carry its own memento mori about with it.

What this objection overlooks, however, is the hypothetical character of hypothesis. That is, it confuses the claim that there is no complete or final truth with that claim’s own elevation to affirmative rank, regardless of the different status of both.¹⁸ What Whitehead calls the "suspended judgment" of metaphysics is neither a negative nor an affirmative judgment, but a judgment of compatibility alone (cf. PR 274), i.e., it represents a claim to empirical or interpretative fit that as such does not exclude alternative accounts.

In what specific way does schematic analysis achieve this?

By analogy. That is, by the evident analogical character of the analysis. Analogical application is the categoreal register of hypotheticity. And it is so, first of all, in the sense that analogies overdetermine their subject-matter to the extent that they necessarily carry with them a suggestive surplus of connotative meaning. This surplus has a heuristic function in that it aids in the extension and recision of the theory.

But secondly -- and more significantly -- analogical application is always partial or approximate or incomplete, i.e., there is always an acknowledged looseness of fit or underdetermination between it and its subject-matter when it is used as a mode of analysis. Analogy is the form whereby reflection expresses the fact that the explanandum is always more than the explanans. It is therefore the analogical character of schematic analysis which allows it to say "what truly is, i.e., which holds together its strong compatibility-claims with its self-understanding as historically located and revisable. The hypothetical "is" of schematic analysis is the "is" of analogical predication; a claim, it should be remembered, which is an instance of itself in respect of its subject-matter -- namely, the nature of philosophy.

So understood, schematic analysis is fallibilist in respect of itself, including its own algebraic account of philosophy. Indeed, it is for this reason that schematic analysis has the power to insist upon its own evident historical locatedness: it can specify the hypotheticity of its categoreal analogues in terms of their derivation from and relevance to the historical context in which they are elaborated. Schematic analysis thereby sustains the universality which is characteristic of metaphysics without making any claim to the "pathetic" status of "final metaphysical truth" (ESP 125); i.e., it makes good its claim to universality precisely because it can take into account its own evident historical locatedness and revisability. And this claim, like all the truth-claims of the analysis, is a claim only to analogical fit. It may be said that the rationale of the algebraic method is that it preserves the difference between scheme and world -- a dividing -- line that can only be crossed (in either direction) by means of analogy. ¹⁹

VII.

It is now evident that Whitehead’s "recurrence to pre-Kantian modes of thought" (PR xi) is rendered possible by the analogical character of the categories. It is as analogies that they can represent the extra-linguistic reach and content of language, i.e., the capacity of concepts to think that which is other than concepts.

Nowhere is this clearer than in respect of the question of the relation of language and temporality. It is perhaps here, if anywhere, that the twentieth-century linguistic turn meets its limits: the one feature of experience that cannot be assimilated to language is temporality.

Consider, for example, Gadamer’s "temporal" account of language as a matter of the infinite possibilities of finite utterance (see TM 397ff.) ²⁰ Here it is not clear if the infinite possibilities of finite utterance are conditions of the temporal character of language as the event of dialogue, or if the temporal character of language as the event of dialogue is an instance of a temporality that is more fundamental than language. It may be said that Gadamer’s analysis of language appears to wobble between Hegel’s account of temporality in terms of finitude, and Heidegger’s account of finitude in terms of temporality.²¹ Given that language is for Gadamer the final horizon of hermeneutics, it seems that he must either absorb temporality into language, or tacitly admit that temporality lies beyond the capacity of hermeneutics. However, the first alternative imposes too much strain on the concept of language, while the second reveals a glaring shortfall in the proclaimed universality of hermeneutic theory.

If the self-realizing new is to be retained as a subject of rational analysis, it can be argued that the only possible approach here is Whitehead’s, where the movement of language, defined as that component of the vectoral process of occasions which is a matter of the experiences of interlocutors, is an instance of the realization or "temporalization" of time (cf. AI 181ff.). The movement of language here becomes a model or analogue for that which is also more than language.

Now there are definite hints of such a metaphysic in Gadamer (TM 97 [cf. 443], 387, 395, 432, 442ff.) -- but they remain just that. If he were to go further, he would have to follow Whitehead, who, in defining the "temporalization" or realization of time in terms of a vectoral process of "prehending" occasions, also understands the interpretative or hermeneutic phenomenon as universal or cosmological in scope; but it is universal as a feature or character of the temporalizing process, not simply as a feature or character of the infinite possibilities of language. In this context, Whitehead can be seen to have the best of reasons for refusing either to identify the hermeneutic phenomenon with language, or to take language as the final horizon of philosophy. Hence his recourse to analogy: analogical application is the mode whereby reflection breaks out of the abstract circle of language without leaving it. Indeed, to speak more accurately, there is no need for that: the analogical power of language is the means whereby it can exhibit or express itself as only one element in a movement of self-realization that is greater than itself. In this sense, there are for Whitehead no final horizons in philosophy; there is only the rigorous play of the analogical imagination.

The significance of this position can perhaps be expressed by noting that Whitehead’s analogical algebra renders redundant the disjunctive notion that the world or the "real" must be either theory-independent or (to use Putnam’s term) theory-internal. For the analogical algebra, theory and world, concept and object, are neither independent nor identical. Rather, they are analogically related, i.e., each is in its own way both more and less than the other, for analogies are at once over-determining in meaning and underdetermining in interpretative application. Hence schematic analysis has the power both to acknowledge that the unfolding world is more than itself, and to specify itself as an element in the unfolding of the world.

So regarded, there can be little doubt, despite its neglect, Whitehead’s schematic analysis has at least the right to do what all significant theories have done: its historicist self-understanding, whereby it locates itself in the horizontal movement of the new as hypothetico-analogical in character, allows it to place its confidence in the irreversibility of its philosophic insight. Like every universal theory, it calls to the future; but it calls to a future that it can understand as its own criticism and revision.

Hegel was the first to recognize that certain kinds of entities -- works of art, theories, historical events -- are essentially variable in character, i.e., that their nature or meaning only fully emerges in their subsequent historical existence. But Hegel did not extend this insight to his own philosophy. Only after and against Hegel does that shift take place, with the result, understandably, that in the German tradition it is generally seen as involving the destruction of metaphysics. In schematic analysis, however, metaphysics now has the capacity to define itself qua metaphysics as an essentially variable object, thereby retaining its ancient claim to universality. Schematic analysis transforms the Liar Paradox, which has threatened to undermine philosophy since Nietzsche, into the site of philosophy’s latest triumph and discovery: the categoreal scheme weaves about itself its own shroud even as it prepares for its posthumous life. Hence philosophy can now make the claim that previously could properly be made only by works of art: "l’oeuvre, c’est la posterité de l’oeuvre" (Proust).

VIII.

To underline the strength of Whitehead’s schematic analysis of the new, it is useful to look briefly at the later Heidegger’s position in its light. Like White-head, the later Heidegger is explicit about his use of analogues, or what he calls ‘ontic models,’ in the discourse of thinking; he here inherits Nietzsche’s rediscovery for German philosophy of the metaphoricity of concepts. As Heidegger puts it: "a model is that from which thinking must necessarily take off’ (TB 50). But just as Nietzsche’s "mobile army of metaphors" is no more than an instrument for the creation of the moment, so the later Heidegger’s ontic models are merely heuristic aids in the self-emptying of thought before the impenetrable otherness of the event. He himself draws attention "to the fact that, and the manner in which, ontic models given in language are used up and destroyed" in his writing; explicitly in the manner of "negative theology" (TB 47). Statements now become apophatic gestures.

The insistent intractability of the later Heidegger’s texts is thus much more than a pedagogical device to force the reader to reflect by shocking him out of the familiar rhythms and motifs of school philosophy. The negation of rational method cannot contradictorily set itself up as a method -- even a negative method -- in its own right. It can be sustained only in "Sayings" ("Sagen"), which are line-by-line enactments of the fact that, in the face of the paradoxes of the new, the only statements possible are ones so constructed as to evacuate their own propositional content before the event towards which they mutely point.

However, the price the later Heidegger pays for such a hasty and premature response to the paradoxes of the new is too high. Lacking any recourse to the notion of appropriate analogical application, he has no way of specifying or delimiting the descriptive scope of the models he employs. In consequence, far from being used up or destroyed in the movement of his discourse, his models expand, unchecked and unrestricted, far beyond the limits of careful or attentive application. The result is that the later Heidegger’s writings become a strange, inverted mirror-image of all that he would repudiate.

This inversion plays itself out in a variety of ways. Thus, for example, placed beyond the realm of reason as the impenetrable other of a secularized via negativa, the later Heidegger’s event turns into its opposite: it becomes a sacral dispensation that has to be passively received by the initiated "listener." This is not the simplistic claim that Heidegger’s "Being" can everywhere be translated as "God" -- it cannot -- but rather an explication of why one is tempted to do that:

because conceivable only as the negation of method, the self-unfolding event takes on the character of a fateful, unsayable, originating power (PDM, Chaps. 6 and 7).

To be sure, the later Heidegger cannot be put aside as a Schellingian; he would redefine "origin" as "event."²² Note, however, that he carefully avoids any general analysis of the connectedness of events, i.e., of the ways in which an event may be "prepared" in the past (see PLT 76). He might have felt the particular threat of Hegel here, precisely where he most needs to confront him. But the negation of method forbids that, with the result that he has to give the notion of self-creation so unrestricted an import that it is conflated with self-origination -- the very move that the vectoral structure of Whitehead’s process of occasions is designed to render unnecessary.

In this connection, one of the main reasons for the complexity of Process and Reality is that -- against the monism which goes hand in hand with F. H. Bradley’s theory of relations²³ -- that work represents a massive attempt to provide an account of the relatedness of things in the context of a theory of the self-realizing now understood as an analysis of the realization of relations.²⁴ The alternative, as the later Heidegger’s work indicates, is to turn the event into a temporalized, mystical origin which cannot be spoken about -- and therefore cannot be spoken against.

What is at stake here emerges in the later Heidegger’s treatment of speech or language, which is unrestrictedly given the character of a self-originating subject-event in its own right, and is represented as such in his oracular mode of "questioning" utterance. In this way, truth-as-validity is wholly assimilated to truth-as-occurrence -- a strategy by means of which Heidegger intends to avoid entanglement with the paradox of self-reference in that the truth-value of propositions is defined as nothing else than, or as wholly immanent within, the underived event of their utterance (see again PDM).

It here becomes clear why, as has often been remarked, it is difficult to determine the status of the later Heidegger’s own propositions: what kind of claim do they make for themselves? The answer is: none. Outside the event of their utterance, their status is radically indeterminate, for they must unfold themselves anew -- i.e., they can only derive or manifest their meaning -- within every such event. Now, in one sense, this is unobjectionable; less dramatically stated -- as, say, by Gadamer (see TM 442ff.) -- it can be taken as an account of what has here been called the essentially variable character of propositions, which in Heidegger is represented by the "questioning" or interrogative style of his prose.

The problem is, however, that the notion of questioning utterance is never sufficiently elaborated by Heidegger to avoid the consequences of its metamorphosis into self-originating subject-event. As the expression of nothing but itself, the questioning utterance becomes autistically immured, beyond interrogation, in the irreducible finality of its own autopoesis or self-manifestation; it thus takes on all the privileges of the philosophical subject it was originally intended to replace. What is here lacking in the later Heidegger is that strict and crucial distinction between propositions and occasions or events which Whitehead makes, defining propositions, not as subject-events, but as components of events, having that character in philosophy which has been analyzed in this paper. Thus, perhaps uniquely in recent philosophy, the possibility of critical discourse is preserved in the context of a theory of the new.

Nowhere is the importance of this more evident than in respect of the later Heidegger’s event-theory of politics, where the indefinite and uncontrolled character of his models brings with it disastrous consequences. In the first place, the tacit conflation of the models of the work of art and the event, always present in his writings, here becomes fully explicit, for the freedom of the self-unfolding event is in Heidegger the freedom only of aesthetic spontaneity; lacking the notion of analogical application, there is no place in the analysis for freedom as free will, i.e., for the appropriate distinctions between nature, art and history which are the achievements of critical Enlightenment. Secondly, because the aesthetic event is given unrestricted application to any entity or state of affairs, great cultural or political transformations can be treated as its paradigms; regarded as spontaneous acts, they can be seen, like great works of art, as having an originality such that they themselves create the principles in terms of which they can be assessed (see DLT 77-78).

In the political sphere, as is well-known, Heidegger drew the appropriate conclusions for the Germany of the nineteen-thirties. Moreover, in the cultural sphere, as has already been noted, Heidegger sees his own thinking of the event in a similar light, as a fundamental break with the history of Western philosophy.

On a Whiteheadian analysis, however, such an unrestricted application of event-analysis to the cultural sphere merely represents a mirror-like inversion of the monolithic continuities of nineteenth-century histories of philosophy. Cultural history is to be thought of, not in terms either of continuities or of ruptures, but as "adventures of ideas" in which there are no final completions or final closures but only the constant, shifting movement of the loss or reinterpretation or rediscovery of significances.²⁵

In the political sphere, similarly, Heidegger’s event-analysis still retains key features of the nineteenth-century concept of the social organism it purportedly repudiates, in that it treats supra-individual entities such as "nations," "peoples," or historical epochs as agent-subjects as well as causal influences (see PLT 42, 48, 74)²⁶ Here lies the rationale for Whitehead’s careful distinction between occasions and events: the notion of the self-unfolding new he locates wholly in the category of occasions, which alone possess agency as well as causal efficacy, while events are defined as what he calls ‘societies’ of occasions with causal efficacy alone. In other words, the application of the category of occasions -- and thus the employment of the notion of agency -- is strictly scaled or delimited by the analysis; summarily, it could be said that there are no higher or more complex instances of occasions than the occasions of experience of the human individual. Interpreted socio-historically, the categoreal scheme is so clearly intended as a corrective to collectivism in its various forms (cf. PR 91, 108) that it could be said to represent a metaphysics of radical or reformist liberalism.²⁷

It is thus only the "rational analysis" made possible by the analogical scheme that saves the concept of the self-realizing new from the promiscuity all too characteristic of the Heideggerian event. If Nietzsche’s critique of reason exposed the metaphoricity of concepts, Whitehead’s schematic analysis has rediscovered the conceptual power of metaphors.

On a Whiteheadian view, therefore, the later Heidegger is guilty of "the fallacy of discarding method." As Whitehead himself says -- explicitly naming one of the figures who intimately affected Heidegger’s later thought and still dominates the cult of post-philosophy -- the assumption is "that if there can be any intellectual analysis it must proceed according to some one discarded method, and thence to deduce that intellect is intrinsically tied to erroneous fictions. This type is illustrated by the anti-intellectualism of Nietzsche and Bergson, and tinges American pragmatism" (AI 223).

In the light of such a remark, it is not unfair to say that Whitehead is a thinker unique in this century. He may also be one of the greatest of its philosophers. Yet up till now the position he elaborates has hardly been noticed, least of all by those who most often invoke his name. As the metaphysician of the new, it is time he was given the consideration, and the criticism, which he deserves.

References

CP -- Richard Rorty. Consequences of Pragmatism. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1982.

UP -- Julian Roberts. German Philosophy: An Introduction. Englewood, NJ: Humanities Press International, 1988.

UT -- Werner Marx. Heidegger and the Tradition. Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press, 1971.

IM -- Alfred North Whitehead. An Introduction to Mathematics. London: Hutchinson, 1912.

IMe -- Henri Bergson. Introduction to Metaphysics. Trans. T. E. Hulme. Indianapolis: Hobbs Merrill: Library of Liberal Arts, 1955.

ND -- T. W. Adorno. Negative Dialectics. Trans. J. E. Ashton. New York: The Seabury Press, 1973.

PDM -- J. Habermas. The Philosophical Discourse of Modernity. Trans. E Lawrence. Cambridge, MA: The M.I.T. Press, 1987.

PLT -- Martin Heidegger. "The Origin of the Work of Art." Poetry, Language, Thought. Trans. A. Hofstadter. New York: Harper and Row, 1975.

SG -- Martin Heidegger. Der Satz vom Grund. Pfullingen: Neske, 1957.

TB -- Martin Heidegger. Time and Being. Trans. Joan Stambaugh. New York: Harper and Row, 1977.

TM -- H. G. Gadamer. Truth and Method. New York: Continuum Books, 1976.

UA -- Alfred North Whitehead. A Treatise on Universal Algebra. With Applications. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1898.

Notes

1On play, see TM 91ff., especially 93, 97, 101. On the connection of play and temporality, see 108ff. On language as "eventual," see 386-87. On hermeneutics as "eventual," see 442ff.

2The English word "event" is of course wholly inadequate in conveying the complex of meanings and associations of Heidegger’s term Ereignis; see here #8 HT xxxvi-xli, and Joan Stambaugh’s Introduction to her translation of M. Heidegger, TB vii-xi. The present essay makes no claim to offer an exhaustive analysis of Ereignis, but is concerned only with certain aspects of that term which it attempts to show are central to any final consideration of its nature and significance.

3See especially F. Nietzsche, The Will to Power (New York: Vintage Books, 1967), paras. 1053-67; and H. Bergson, IMe.

4For a discussion of the problem of self-reference in the framework of philosophy of language, see Hilary Lawson, Reflexivity (LaSalle, IL: Open Court, 1985).

5As the title Time and Being suggests, this is a key work for the understanding of the later Heidegger.

6 I am here following HT 59ff. For the quotations from Hegel given in the text, see his Encyclopedia: The Logic (trans. W. Wallace and A. V. Miller; Oxford: The Clarendon Press. 1976) para. 146 add.

7Whitehead’s Foreword to W. V. Quine, System of Logistic (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1934), pp. ix-x.

8D. Davidson, "On the Very Idea of a Conceptual Scheme," Inquiries into Truth and Interpretation (Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1984), p. 198.

9See Richard Rorty, "Philosophy as a Kind of Writing," CP 90ff. What follows in the text is an outline of what I take to be Whitehead’s answer to the question Rorty puts to philosophy in this book, asking "why we need a discipline at that level of generality" (77).

10For a contemporary version of such a position, see J. Habermas, "Philosophy as Stand-In and Interpreter" in After Philosophy (ed. K. Baynes et al.; Cambridge, MA: The M.LT. Press, 1987), pp. 296ff.

11The student of Whitehead is permanently indebted to Wolfe Mays, The Philosophy of Whitehead (London: Allen and Unwin, 1959), where the centrality of the algebraic method in Whitehead’s thought is brilliantly expounded; see especially Chapter V. Unfortunately, however, Mays treats the concept of occasions not as a connective or categoreal function, but as identical with accidents or empirical values. He also applies a very restricted concept of "necessity" to decide which of the categories are properly "metaphysical" and which are not. As will emerge, the centrality of the algebraic method in Whitehead requires a very different account of his work than that which Mays offers.

12Witness, for example, Whitehead’s treatment of physical energy, where he "substitutes" (PR 116) various concepts drawn from physics (e.g., "scalar localization") for the variables of certain categories of the scheme (e.g., "quantative satisfaction") in order to indicate the analogical "agreement" (PR 116) of the categories with the notions of modern physics. The "light" (PR 116) which Whitehead believes is offered by this particular application is not any kind of contribution to natural science, nor does it involve the discovery of some previously hidden aetiological feature of the world, but is nothing else than an elucidation of the fit of the two "sides" of the analysis. The point of the application is not to ascribe "quantitative satisfaction" to nature, nor to endow the claims of modem physics with some kind of metaphysical necessity, but to indicate the analogical "power of the scheme" in respect of empirical states of affairs presently understood in terms of scalar localization.

13Whitehead is perhaps best seen here as extrapolating and generalizing from the philosophy of science developed at Trinity by his contemporary, N. R. Campbell. See N. R. Campbell, Physics: The Elements, Cambridge University Press (1921); reprinted as The Foundations of Science (New York: Dover Books, 1957). On Campbell, see the entry by Gerd Buchdahl in The Encyclopedia of Philosophy (ed. P. Edwards; New York: Macmillan, 1967). On the role of analogy in philosophy, see especially Gerd Buchdahl, Metaphysics and the Philosophy of Science, 2nd. edition (New York: University Press of America, 1988); and, with particular reference to Whitehead, Dorothy Emmet, The Nature of Metaphysical Thinking (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1966). Apart of course from his concern with mathematics, the significant early influence on Whitehead (cf. UA, Preface) of F. H. Bradley, The Principles of Logic, 2 vols. (Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1883), cannot be discounted when considering his method: see Bradley’s treatment of the hypothetical judgment, "working hypothesis," and "ideal experiment."

141t is interesting to note, however, that at one point Kierkegaard describes himself as speaking "algebraically"--Philosophical Fragments (Princeton, NJ; Princeton University Press, 1962), p. 114.

15A lot more clearly needs to be said at this point about the nature and status of eternal objects. As is implied in what follows, Whitehead’s redefinition of the concepts of ‘universal’ and ‘particular’ is, I suspect, best apprehended in the context of analogical algebra. But there is no space for further remarks here.

16 I would suggest that it is only in this context that Whitehead’s important response to Dewey, "The Analysis of Meaning" (ESP 122ff.) can properly be understood. Whitehead there denies Dewey’s suggestion that his categories constitute an "aboriginal structure of the world," some "independent and ready-made realm of forms"; hence he denies that he needs to decide between what Dewey calls the "mathematical-formal" and "genetic-functional" approaches. On Whitehead’s view, the reflexive "fusion of the two" (ESP 123) is made possible in philosophy by the analogical algebra. What is happening in this exchange is of course quite momentous: it is the clash of the two great concepts of function -- the algebraic and the biological.

17See A. W. Murphy, "Relativism in Dewey and Whitehead," The Philosophical Review, vol. 36 (1927), p. 132.

18T. W. Adorno (ND 35-36), notices this. But, always the Marxist counterpart of Heidegger, he thinks that the discovery of history by philosophy requires the abandonment of "traditional philosophy."

191t should be noted that, by preserving the difference between scheme and world, the algebraic method also allows Whitehead to secure his pluralism, i.e. to preserve the differences in the world. For example, one purpose of the category of actual occasions is to overcome the traditional dichotomy between man and nature (cf. AI 184-85, 189). So in his elaboration of the scheme Whitehead attempts to give the notion of occasions sufficient scope to embrace both poles of the dichotomy and to provide "an analogy between the transference of energy from particular occasion to particular occasion in physical nature and the transference of affective tone, with its emotional energy, from one occasion to another in any human personality" (AI 188). The fact, however, that the analysis strictly confines itself to securing an analogy between nature and spirit means that their unity cannot be rendered as an identity -- whether materialistic, monistic, or panpsychist. The pluralistic character of analogical application resides in the fact that it allows for the differences between its interpretations while maintaining their unity as interpretations of the scheme.

20Readers of Richard Rorty, "The Subjectivist Principle and the Linguistic Turn," in A. N. Whitehead: Essays on His Philosophy (ed. George L. Kline; New Jersey: Prentice-Hall, 1963), pp. 134ff -- the best critique of Whitehead from the linguistic point of view -- will recognize that Whitehead would agree with Rorty that there is a difference between objects and facts about objects, and that the "about" relation is ultimate. However, Whitehead would not agree to take that relation as unanalyzable, as Rorty does. It is the "about" relation which Whitehead analyzes in terms of the vectoral process of occasions -- in order "to take time seriously"; an intent Rorty completely ignores.

21See G. W. F. Hegel, Encyclopedia: The Philosophy of Nature (trans. A. V. Miller; Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1970), paragraphs 247 add., 248 add.; and M. Heidegger, Being and Time (trans. J. Macquarrie and E. Robinson; Oxford: Blackwell, 1962), paragraph 65ff.; TB 48, 54.

22On the later Schelling’s notion of origin, see GP 144ff.

23For some comments on the theory of relations in F. H. Bradley and Whitehead, see my "‘The Critique of Pure Feeling’: Bradley, Whitehead and the Anglo-Saxon Metaphysical Tradition" (PS 14/4 [Winter, 1985]: 253-64). For a fuller analysis of Bradley’s position, see my "Relations, Noncontradiction and Intelligibility in F. H. Bradley’s Metaphysics of Feeling" (Archives de Philosophie, vol. 54 [1991], pp. 529; vol. 55 [1992), pp. 1-20).

241t should be noted here that Whitehead cannot be criticized on the grounds that, unlike Heidegger, he merely replaces a "static" concept of substance with an "active" one, i.e., that he is still tied to what Heidegger calls a metaphysics of "presence" (cf. Peter P. Manchester, "Time in Whitehead and Heidegger: A Response," PS 5: 106-13). The concept of actual occasions is the concept of "connectives," not of real substances. That is, occasions are nothing else than a movement towards and beyond themselves; they have no moment of plenitude in their own right. Because the concept of the process of actual occasions is a content-reflexive concept of the connective acts through which things make themselves what they are, actual occasions themselves never "are"; when in concrescence they do not "exist," and their completion is their "perishing." All that "exists" is what occurs understood as self-actualizing -- a situation which, as has been argued, can only be analyzed analogically. Whitehead’s anti-Bradleian title, Process and Reality, should be taken for what it is: a critique of the metaphysics of presence, of which Bradley was the last, self-consciously problematic exemplar in the British tradition. See my "Process and Historical Crisis in F H. Bradley’s Ethics of Feeling," in Ethics, Religion and Philosophy in the Thought of F H. Bradley (ed. P. MacEwan; Edwin Mellen Press. 1992). I develop the notion of "actualization" with respect to Whitehead in my "Transcendental or Schematic Analysis?" in Kant and Whitehead (ed. P. Mazzarella and E. Wolf-Gazo; forthcoming).

25See AI, passim, and R. Rorty’s telling comments in his Contingency, Irony, and Solidarity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), p. 119n. Collingwood’s claim in his The Idea of Nature (Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1945), p. 177, that "no-one can answer the question what nature is unless he knows what history is. This is a question which...Whitehead [has] not asked" simply ignores Adventures of Ideas, Modes of Thought, and The Function of Reason.

26For a telling analysis of Heidegger’s treatment of historical institutions and periods, see GP, Chapter 9. See also ND 128-31 and The Jargon of Authenticity (trans. K. Tardowski; New York: The Seabury Press, 1973).

27 In a verbal communication, Dorothy Emmet tells me that she heard Whitehead say, à propos of Process and Reality: "It’s a defense of liberalism."

Here is a common situation: a house catches fire and a six-month old baby is painfully burned to death. Could we possibly describe as "good" any person who had the power to save this child and yet refused to do so? God undoubtedly has this power yet in many cases of this sort he has refused to help. Can we call God "good"? (PCI 135)

For millennia theists have struggled with the question posed above: If God exists, why is there so much evil in the world? Currently, theistic responses fall into three basic categories. Theological determinists ultimately deny that there is any genuine evil -- any evil that is not necessary for bringing about some greater good or avoiding some greater evil -- and acknowledge instead that each instance of evil is a necessary component in God’s perfect creative plan. Free-will theists acknowledge that God could unilaterally have created a world with no genuine evil. But they hold that God has given humans significant freedom -- the freedom to bring about good or evil -- and that God cannot both grant such freedom and also ensure that it is never misused. Thus, they believe that they can maintain justifiably both that genuine evil exists and that God is perfectly good.

Finally, process theists, like free-will theists, affirm the reality of significant freedom and thus maintain that genuine evil exists but does not count against God’s goodness. However, they deny that such freedom has been voluntarily bestowed by God, maintaining instead that every actual entity (including each human) simply does possess some power of self-determination. Accordingly, since it is always possible for such freedom to be used in less than the most appropriate manner, process theists deny that God could unilaterally have produced a world with no evil.

Are any of these theodicies successful? David Griffin has recently reaffirmed his claim that only a process theodicy can offer an adequate response to evil (ER). The purpose of this paper is to assess one aspect of this claim: Griffin’s contention that free-will theists (FWTs) cannot offer an adequate response to the evil we encounter daily.

The general structure of Griffin’s argument can be stated quite simply. The most fundamental task of the philosophical theologian is to demonstrate how a theistic world-view can illuminate the totality of our experience better than a nontheistic perspective. Moreover, since no aspect of reality is more important than the evil we encounter, a theistic perspective can be considered worthy of serious consideration only if it can explain in a plausible manner how evil can be reconciled with the concept of God in question (ER 41-49). But FWTs cannot defend themselves "against the claim that [they] cannot provide a plausible theodicy," while process theists can (ER 95). Thus, in comparison to free-will theism, process theism alone can be viewed as a credible competitor to atheism.

Why exactly does Griffin consider the responses to evil offered by FWTs to be so indefensible? The problem for some FWTs, Griffin argues, is that they do not even realize that a theodicy is necessary. The most notable example of such a FWT, Griffin believes, is Alvin Plantinga, and thus he expends considerable effort explaining exactly why he feels Plantinga’s position is inadequate (ER 42-49).

Plantinga’s famous ‘Free-Will Defense’, Griffin points out, is by Plantinga’s own admission not a theodicy -- an attempt to explain the existence of evil -- but rather simply a defense against the charge that "A good God exists" and "Evil exists" are logically incompatible. Moreover, Griffin rightly notes, it is Plantinga’s contention that to defeat this charge, one need only identify a set of propositions that when conjoined with "A good God exists" entails that "Evil exists," and that to perform this function, these propositions "clearly... need be neither true, nor probable, nor plausible, nor believed by most theists, nor anything of that sort" (PS 11:26-27).

In response, Griffin does not deny that Plantinga has salvaged logical consistency in this manner. But Griffin finds this whole endeavor exceedingly misguided. "Some critics," he acknowledges, "have . . . presented the case against [traditional theism] as if a strictly logical inconsistency were the crux of the matter." But he believes they should not have done so. Not only has it given traditional theists such as Plantinga an "opportunity for an easy victory" but, more importantly, it has allowed such theists to avoid addressing the real question that evil poses: Given the incredible amount and pervasiveness of the pain and suffering that continues to be experienced by actual individuals, is there some plausible reason not to assume "that God is guilty of nonexistence" (ER 46)? Accordingly, Griffin concludes that Plantinga’s Free Will Defense must be viewed as basically irrelevant "to the problem of evil as humans actually grapple with it" and therefore as not "anything worth doing" (ER 45).

Is this a justifiable criticism? It certainly is true that Plantinga has in the past exerted a great deal of effort in attempting to preserve the logical consistency of simultaneous belief in the existence of a good God and evil. But for Griffin to imply that such efforts are (or were) excessive because the real problem of evil is not one of logical consistency is problematic on two counts. First, until quite recently, most of the influential analytic philosophers of religion challenging God’s existence in the face of evil had posed the problem as a strictly logical one, and thus Plantinga and other analytic philosophers of religion can hardly be criticized justly for having expended a great deal of effort in response. Second, many would argue, and I think correctly, that the reason why it now appears that traditional theists can score an easy victory at the level of logical consistency is precisely because of the efforts expended by Plantinga and other FWTs in the past. Accordingly, I believe Griffin is wrong to maintain that what Plantinga has done is not "anything worth doing."

Isn’t Griffin, though, at least justified in contending that FWTs such as Plantinga must do more than simply preserve logical consistency if they want their considerations to have "any relevance to the problem of evil as humans actually grapple with it"?

In one sense, I believe the answer is clearly yes. I agree that many individuals will find Plantinga’s logical defense to have little relevance to the types of evils they are actually experiencing. But even Plantinga doesn’t deny this. As Griffin himself finally acknowledges, Plantinga does maintain that without some plausible explanation "for the evil we find," a person may face a "spiritual crisis" (PS 11:28). In fact this is something that Plantinga has routinely acknowledged. He has stated elsewhere, for example, that the fact that evil presents no serious logical or probabilistic argument against God’s existence or goodness will be cold and abstract comfort to a person who is faced with "the shocking concreteness of a particularly appalling exemplification of evil" (AP 35-36).

But why then does Plantinga say at points that plausibility and even truth are irrelevant when responding to the problem of evil? He does so because, in the context in which such statements are made, he is explicitly nor talking about the effect evil has on people’s lives. When he states that the truth or plausibility of the statements used to defend theistic belief in the face of evil "are utterly beside the point," he is saying that the truth or plausibility of such statements is not necessary to preserve logical consistency, and this even Griffin does not deny is correct. Moreover, when he says that the believer need not despair if he or she cannot think of a plausible explanation for evil, he is again clearly not talking about the personal, emotional despair that evil might generate. He is explicitly talking about evil as "an intellectual or theoretical problem." He is saying that for the believer to preserve justified theistic belief in the face of evil, he or she need not be able to produce a plausible explanation (PS 11: 27-28).

This brings us finally to the substantive point of disagreement between Plantinga and Griffin: a disagreement over what is necessary for justified theistic belief, given the evil we encounter. Griffin believes that unless a theistic perspective can offer a plausible explanation for evil, a theist cannot justifiably maintain that this perspective is adequate, while Plantinga believes that it is possible for the believer to justifiably maintain that a given theistic perspective is adequate even if it does not offer, or even attempt to offer, a plausible explanation for evil.

What is the basis for this disagreement? Specifically, why does Plantinga contend that to retain justified theistic belief in the face of evil, a theist need only defend herself against external attack? It is not, as Griffin contends, because Plantinga views his traditional concept of God "as holding a privileged, virtually invulnerable position in the minds of believers," and thus has no interest in "asking what we might learn from . . . others" (ER 48-49). It is true that Plantinga has not entered the arena of positive apologetics’ to the extent that many besides Griffin believe is necessary (FP 8: 67-80). But I see absolutely no basis in anything that Plantinga has written for assuming that he is not involved in a common quest for truth or is not willing to consider criticisms of his position and learn from them. On the contrary, Plantinga has often stated explicitly that he sees other religious and nonreligious perspectives as being on totally equal epistemic footing with his own perspective -- as having the same epistemic rights and privileges he accords to himself (FP 4, FP 3). Moreover, as we shall see, Plantinga strongly believes that we must consider the criticisms of others seriously and modify our positions in light of such criticism if necessary. It is true, it must be acknowledged, that Plantinga has not significantly modified his basic position to the extent that his critics believe is required. But there is little basis for assuming that he has not made such modification because he believes his position is "privileged" and thus immune from attack. A much more plausible explanation is to assume that Plantinga has not significantly modified his position for the same reason that Griffin has not significantly modified his position: because he doesn’t believe that any of the criticisms leveled against his position thus far merit such modification.

Why then does Plantinga maintain that the theist need only defend herself from external attack? This is a complex question, but the basic thrust of Plantinga’s response can be summarized as follows. We as humans are naturally endowed with a considerable number of belief-forming faculties. As a result, many of us not only find ourselves believing we are ‘seeing’ a tree or believing that we had eggs yesterday or believing we have a headache but also that God exists or God is good. There is, of course, no way to prove conclusively that our faculties generally produce true beliefs. But the onus is not on us to furnish such proof. We all rely on these faculties daily and in general they serve us quite well. In fact the assumed reliability of such faculties serves as the basis for some of our most noncontroversial examples of knowledge. So our basic stance toward beliefs formed by such faculties -- including those beliefs formed by our religious faculties -- should be to assume that they axe innocent until proven guilty’ (EP 4: 405-6).

This does not mean, Plantinga points out, that theistic beliefs formed in this way are immune from criticism. We must seriously consider alleged defeaters of such beliefs. For instance, we must seriously consider the contention that the existence of God is incompatible with the amount of evil in the world. But since the burden of proof with respect to beliefs formed by our belief-forming faculties is on the critic, he quickly adds, the theist need not respond by engaging in positive apologetics -- by producing propositional evidence. Only "negative apologetics . . . is required to defeat . . . defeaters" (FP 3: 313, n. 11). And the problem of evil, he contends, can be defeated by identifying validity or soundness problems or even by appealing to the fact that "experts think it is unsound, or that the experts are evenly divided as to its soundness" (PP 3: 312).

Now, of course, Griffin has every right to maintain that Plantinga and others are simply wrong about all of this. But what is crucial for our present purpose is to see that Griffin has failed to identify the actual basis for Plantinga’s ‘defensive’ position. Plantinga does not play defense because he believes that his brand of theism holds some privileged position or because he is not interested in learning from others or because he is not involved in a common quest for truth with his critics. Plantinga plays ‘defense’ because he is an adherent of a popular epistemic perspective -- affirmed by many theists and nontheists alike -- that maintains that defense is all that is required with respect to beliefs formed the way Plantinga contends that belief in God is formed for most "intellectually sophisticated adult theists" (FP 3: 312). Accordingly, since the purpose of Griffin’s goal is not simply to defend his own approach to the problem of evil but to argue that "the [defensive] strategy proposed by Plantinga is inadequate" (ER 47), the fact that Griffin has misidentified the basis for Plantinga’s position is significant. It allows the proponent of Plantinga’s perspective to maintain that until Griffin (or someone else) successfully challenges the actual basis for Plantinga’s defensive strategy, Plantinga and his followers remain justified in approaching the problem of evil as they do.

As Griffin sees it, though, many FWTs do believe it is important to attempt to produce "a theodicy, not simply a defense" (ER 42). He believes, however, that FWTs of this type cannot produce a plausible theodicy and thus that their basic theistic perspective cannot, any more than Plantinga’s, be viewed as an adequate competitor to atheism or process theism. Specifically, he believes that he has identified ten challenges to God’s goodness to which FWTs cannot offer plausible responses.

I will admit that some of these challenges are significant. However, before turning to them, it is important to comment on those challenges that I see as misguided.

First, Griffin doubts that FWTs who believe God possesses foreknowledge can also claim consistently that this world actually contains genuine evil. After all, Griffin argues,

Such reasoning, however, is based on a misunderstanding of the standard free-will position. Many FWTs do believe that God had knowledge of all possible worlds before creation. In fact, many might even grant for the sake of argument that God had such worlds ranked from ‘best’ to ‘worst’ in some sense. But such FWTs deny emphatically the key assumption on which Griffin’s critique is based: that they must therefore also acknowledge that all of these possible worlds were creative options for God and thus that this world must in fact be considered the ‘best’. Rather, such FWTs uniformly contend that since God cannot control the free actions of humans in any given context, only some of the possible worlds containing human freedom (only some of the possible ways in which God saw humans might use their freedom) were actualizable and that God had absolutely no control over which possible worlds were in this category. Accordingly, such FWTs uniformly conclude that Leibniz was wrong to declare that this is necessarily the best of all possible worlds. They uniformly maintain instead that God may have had to settle for far less than the best and thus that this world may well contain a great deal of genuine evil (GFE 29-44).

Griffin, of course, is free to disagree with this line of reasoning. He could try to argue that a God with traditional omniscience would have the power to actualize any of the possible worlds of which he was aware and thus that those FWTs who affirm the existence of such a being really should deny that genuine evil exists. I personally don’t think he would be successful. This component of free-will thought has been challenged repeatedly and has proved to be one of the most invulnerable. But the key point for our present purposes is that Griffin has not to date offered any such argument, and, without such an argument, the challenge in question cannot be considered successful.

Second, a number of Griffin’s challenges are based on a questionable characterization of free-will theism. As Griffin rightly claims, FWTs believe that significant freedom -- the ability to determine how one will respond in a given situation -- is so inherently valuable that to bestow it on humans is justified, even if such freedom is at times misused or abused. But when attempting to outline exactly what this means, he then goes on to say that FWTs also believe that "pain and suffering are essential conditions to the realizations of many of the most important moral and spiritual qualities . . . [and often] are thus not counterproductive at all" (ER 15).

There is a sense in which this may be true for most FWTs. Most would probably agree that some moral and spiritual qualities -- for example, patience -- could not be realized in the life of someone who had never experienced any adversity. But I know of no FWT who has claimed that God causes or permits all (or even most) specific evils -- for example, the Holocaust -- because such evils have the capacity for producing spiritual and moral growth. In fact, although John Hick does appear to believe that some types of evil are allowed to develop moral and spiritual character, most FWTs have not even explicitly stated they agree with this more minimal claim.

Accordingly, when Griffin contends that it is implausible for FWTs to believe "that every basic structural aspect of the world can be justified as necessary to the promotion of creatures with moral and spiritual qualities" (ER 16), he is attacking a straw man. Even Hick has made it quite clear that to affirm his soul-making theodicy is not to say that every basic structural aspect of the world was designed by God because it was necessary to produce some desired human quality (PhR 40-46).

For the same reason, Griffin is misguided when he believes he has offered a serious challenge to free-will theism by pointing out that "much of the suffering in the world produces not virtue but its opposite" (ER 16). Again, not even Hick denies this fact.

Finally, once we realize that most FWTs do not claim that "God in fact deliberately creates conditions producing suffering in order to stimulate moral and spiritual qualities," we see that there is no basis for maintaining that the affirmation of a free-will theodicy "could promote callousness" in the sense that it could cause FWTs "to belittle the importance of liberating persons from conditions producing suffering" (ER 19). Since FWTs clearly believe that much of the evil we encounter is genuine, they have every reason to attempt to remove as much as possible.

Griffin, of course, might wish to argue that FWTs must, or at least should, believe not only that all structural aspects of the world are somehow sanctioned by God as a means to produce moral and spiritual growth but that this is also true for each specific occurrence. However, although I don’t see how this could be argued successfully, the key point again is that such an argument is necessary if the challenges in question are to have any force.

Moreover, there is one other type of challenge that I believe is based on a misunderstanding of the free-will position. Griffin rightly states that FWTs believe that "God could have created beings who would be like us in all ways, enjoying all the values we enjoy -- intellectual, aesthetic, interpersonal, creative -- except that they would not really be free to act contrary to God’s will, and thereby would not wreak havoc" (ER 83). However, as Griffin sees it, if God could have done so, then God should have created such beings "instead of ones who slaughter each other and now threaten most other forms of life as well" (ER 84).

He realizes, of course, that for God to act in this fashion would involve divine deception and thus that he must consider the question that my brother, Randall, and I have posed: "Could a wholly good God totally and continually deceive individuals with respect to the true nature of their supposed self-determination, even if it were for their own good" (PS 11: 18)? But, as Griffin sees it, the answer to this question is clearly yes. After declaring that the only one who really benefits from the presence of creaturely freedom vis-a-vis God is God, he asks us to consider which of the two following pictures of God is less morally reprehensible: "a God who created an earthly paradise but deceived its self-conscious inhabitants about their true status, or a God who freely and unilaterally made all of the forms of evil in our world possible solely for the value that would thereby accrue to God?" He concludes that when the question is posed in this fashion, "many . . . would find neither being worthy of worship and thereby worthy of the name ‘God’" (ER 18).

Griffin may well be right that if the question is posed in this manner, many would not find God worthy of worship. But there is certainly nothing inherent in the standard free-will perspective that requires the FWT to hold that God’s primary purpose for creating free creatures was to make it possible for God to "enjoy the value of knowing that those of us who developed moral character and spiritual virtue . . . did so freely" (ER 18). In fact I know of no FWT who has made such a claim. Most FWTs with which I am familiar argue, rather, that the primary reason why God has created us with freedom is because of the intrinsic value of a world containing freedom. Thus, as most FWTs see it, the relevant question is which of the following pictures of God is most appealing: (1) a God who creates individuals who only think they are free but are actually controlled by God and thus produce no evil or (2) a God who bestows actual freedom on individuals even though such freedom may produce (has produced) much evil along with much good. Griffin, of course, may still prefer a deceptive God. But it isn’t at all clear to me that he would still have widespread support or, more importantly, that he could mount a compelling argument to this end.

Griffin does, though, raise questions that can legitimately be asked of FWTs who think it is important to attempt to explain the evil we encounter. For instance, he legitimately asks whether the FWT can offer an adequate explanation for natural evil -- for those cancers, earthquakes, tidal waves, floods and the like that cause so much suffering to innocent people. In response, Griffin initially states that since the free-will defense or theodicy is "effectively limited to human beings," the FWT can provide "no explanation for all the ‘natural evils’ in the world . . . unless, of course, all such evils are said to be caused by a Satanic figure of cosmic proportions" (ER 21). But when discussing this issue in greater detail later, he acknowledges that FWTs have offered an explanation. In fact, he doesn’t even deny the intrinsic adequacy of the standard explanation offered: that nonmoral evils exist as unwanted, though unavoidable, by-products of an otherwise good natural order. What he does deny is that this explanation can legitimately be proposed by a theist who believes that God unilaterally created the universe. Specifically, Griffin denies that my brother, Randall, and I have established, as we claim, that the FWT can justifiably offer this explanation.

The part of our argument on which he focuses his criticism can be summarized as follows:

Griffin centers his critique on (2). Specifically, he denies our contention that certain natural evils are "unbeneficial by-products which logically follow from" the determinate natural order (PS 11: 20).

Unfortunately this critique fails to address the thrust of our argument. We were not arguing that an orderly world such as ours could not have possessed beings and/or substances with properties different from those the beings and substances in our world do in fact possess. We were arguing, rather, that, given the properties actually possessed by the beings and substances in our world, certain consequences do necessarily follow. With respect to our discussion of water and humans, accordingly, we were not arguing that "a thirst-quenching, nondrowning substance" is self-contradictory and thus could not have existed in a world such as ours. We were arguing that, given the relevant properties that water and humans do actually possess in our world, it does follow logically (in the sense of necessarily) that we cannot have the potentially beneficial effects of water without the potentially unbeneficial aspects also. Moreover, we still believe this to be true.

What, though, of the other aspect of Griffin’s critique? What of his implicit contention that since there is no necessary connection between the need for a uniform natural order and the specific type of natural order we experience. God should have created a uniform natural order more amenable to human life? For example, what of his contention that, given the unbeneficial properties of water, God should have created a thirst-quenching liquid with different properties or not created humans in such a way that water is needed at all? This is a perfectly reasonable question. But it is an issue my brother and I explicitly addressed in the essay under consideration. Specifically, we stated that

In response, we then went on to give the standard free-will response: that the prima facie plausibility of this contention is deceiving, that while it may seem easy to identify specific aspects of our present system that it appears could be profitably removed with impunity, what the critic must do in this case is identify another entire determinate natural order that would neither imply the present evils, nor imply any similar new evils, but still imply the goods that make human life possible. Until this is done, we concluded, the FWT is justified in affirming the explanation in question.

Unfortunately, Griffin doesn’t explicitly address this aspect of our argument. But when addressing a somewhat similar line of reasoning in another context, Griffin states that the "question is not whether one can prove beyond any doubt that every traditional free-will theodicy is false. The question at issue, as defined by the Basingers, is only whether a traditional free-will theodicy is necessarily less adequate than a process theodicy" (ER 88). Apparently, he would want to make a similar claim here. He would apparently want to argue that while it may not be possible to demonstrate that the free-will explanation for natural evil in question is false, such an explanation is surely less adequate than the process explanation -- less adequate than the process contention that God cannot be blamed for natural evil because God could not unilaterally have created a different sort of natural order.

In response, I am willing to grant that the free-will explanation in question is basically defensive. That is, it seems to me that while the standard free-will explanation for natural evil does allow the FWT to maintain logical consistency, it is not an explanation that flows in some obvious, natural sense from the basic tenets of free-will theism. On the other hand, it seems to me that the process explanation for the natural evil we encounter is not basically defensive in that this explanation does flow quite obviously and naturally from the basic tenets of the process system. However, for reasons I will soon share, I deny that any of this necessarily supports Griffin’s claim that the FWT cannot successfully counter the contention that her theodicy is implausible, or even less plausible than the process theodicy.

First, however, I want to address briefly what I personally believe to be the strongest challenge to a free-will theodicy: the question of why the God of free-will theism does not unilaterally intervene, or at least does not unilaterally intervene more frequently, in earthly affairs. Griffin’s clearest formulation of this challenge is the following:

The FWT can, of course, offer explanations. In fact, my brother and I have suggested three. It can be argued that God is already intervening to the extent consistent with significant human freedom. It can be argued that, although it may appear easy to identify given ‘free choices’ that it seems could have been vetoed without harming the moral integrity of our universe, what must really be demonstrated is something that is much more difficult to establish: that the different world system of which such violations would be a part would in fact contain a significant increase in the net amount of good in comparison to the actual world. Finally, it can be argued that God so respects the "humanity" of each particular individual that God will seldom, if ever, override those decisions that are significant in an individual’s own life history, even if the actualization of such decisions will negatively affect large numbers of people (PS 11:18-19).

Griffin, not surprisingly, does not find such responses adequate. He grants that they may enable the FWT to defend herself against the claim that free-will theism is false. But he denies that many will find such explanations convincing. It is his contention, rather, that "as long as persons believe that God could interrupt the freedom of human beings to violate the freedom of their fellows, a large number of them are going to believe that God should have done this in particular cases where it obviously was not done" (ER 88).

Again, I agree with Griffin in part. It may well be true that many people will continue to believe that if God could have done more, God should have done more. Or, at the very least, it may well be true that many individuals will not find the free-will explanations in question convincing. Moreover, I am again willing to grant that these explanations are basically defensive while the explanation available to process theism -- that God cannot unilaterally do more -- is not. That is, I am willing to grant that FWTs cannot in this context offer explanations that flow obviously and naturally from their basic world-view while process theists can. But I also again deny that this offers strong support for Griffin’s claim that FWTs cannot affirm a plausible theodicy. or at least one that is as plausible as that offered by the process theist.

If I really believe, though, that process theism can offer more natural, obvious responses to some of the key challenges posed by evil, then how can I justifiably maintain that FWTs can offer a plausible theodicy? Or, at the very least, how can I justifiably maintain that a free-will theodicy can be considered as plausible as its process counterpart?

The answer, Griffin implies, can be found in the origin of the idea of God that I and other FWTs affirm. Since traditional FWTs believe that God could "unilaterally determine events in the world," Griffin tells us, they quite often believe not only that God could have brought about an infallible self-revelation but that God "has in fact done so, with the Bible . . . usually being assumed to be the primary locus of this infallible self-revelation" (ER 50). Accordingly, FWTs have a rather relaxed attitude toward the problem of evil. They write profusely about it and try to give explanations. But since the concept of God they affirm is known to be true prior to, and independently of, any solution to the problem of evil, their

Furthermore, Griffin continues, there is a "disconcerting feature of discussions with those who believe their own doctrine of God to be externally certified by its revelatory origins." Such theists tend to approach issues from a privileged position in that they require of themselves only that they be able to defend their position from attack while requiring of their opponents that they furnish positive evidence for their perspectives. And this, he laments, makes discussions with traditional theologians (including, by clear textual implication, FWTs) difficult since in a "properly philosophical" discussion "one’s own positions are to be judged with the same rigor, and in terms of the same criteria, as the other positions are judged" (ER 53,54).

In response to this overall assessment of the FWT’s methodological motives and behavior, I first want to address Griffin’s contention that FWTs display the tendency to utilize a double standard when discussing evil -- that they don’t allow their "Own positions to be judged with the same rigor, and in terms of the same criteria, as the other positions." There may be some FWTs. just as there may be some process theists, who consider their positions privileged in this sense. But to imply that any of the FWTs Griffin explicitly discusses in this context -- or any other FWT of standing -- engages in such a practice is to my knowledge without any foundation in fact. It is certainly true -- as I will soon point out -- that many FWTs do utilize a set of criteria different from Griffin’s when determining justified theistic belief. But I can think of no context -- and Griffin offers us no examples of contexts -- in which FWTs don’t apply exactly the same criteria for determining justified belief to the positions of their opponents as they apply to their own. Accordingly, I take strong exception to Griffin’s clearly implied contention that "much of the discussion" of God undertaken by FWTs is not "properly philosophical."

Second, Griffin’s contention that most FWTs (to varying degrees) base their ideas of God on what they see as an infallible self-revelation in the Bible also seems to me to be unfounded. Griffin correctly notes that most traditional FWTs do believe that God could have produced an infallible self-revelation. But it doesn’t follow from the fact that FWTs believe that God could have acted in this manner that they must therefore also believe God actually did.

Moreover, I know of no FWT in the group mentioned by Griffin who has stated that his idea of God -- his understanding of what God is like -- is ultimately grounded in an infallible self-revelation. We are told that Bruce Reichenbach is an example of such a FWT in that he "says that he rests his belief in the omnipotence of God solely on the fact that this doctrine is implied by various biblical statements" (ER 50). But a careful analysis of the context from which Griffin derives his understanding of Reichenbach’s perspective sheds a different light on the matter. Reichenbach does state that to believe that the being about which the Bible is written is omnipotent "requires treating some writings as both authoritative and revelatory. But he clearly doesn’t mean by this that the concept of omnipotence he attributes to God is derived solely from biblical statements, for he immediately adds that "unfortunately, Scripture contains no explicit statement concerning God’s omnipotence, nor does it discuss the issue in any philosophical way." It is Reichenbach’s belief, rather, that to determine whether the God of the Bible is omnipotent, we must "see whether the conception of God espoused in its pages meets the criteria specified in (D)" -- a complex philosophical definition of omnipotence Reichenbach has earlier defended on extra-biblical grounds (EGG 190-91).

But why then is it that FWTs feel justified in affirming a relatively defensive theodicy? If the reason is not because they believe that their position is privileged in light of its revelatory origins, then what is the reason?

This brings us to what I see as the heart of the disagreement between most FWTs and Griffin: a disagreement over the conditions under which a person is justified in maintaining that her theodicy (or overall world-view) is plausible. Most FWTs will agree with Griffin that a person cannot justifiably consider a theodicy plausible if he or she does not believe it to be self-consistent. Most will also agree that a person cannot justifiably consider a theodicy plausible if it is not comprehensive (adequate) in the sense that it does not take into account all the relevant data of which she or he is aware.

However, do there exist additional neutral criteria that we can utilize to determine the plausibility of self-consistent, comprehensive theodicies in some objective fashion? That is, do there exist neutral criteria that will allow us to determine exactly which theodicies can justifiably be considered plausible? Griffin clearly believes that the concept of illumination will do the trick. Not only are we told repeatedly that the crucial test of the plausibility of a theodicy (or world-view) is its "self-consistency, adequacy and illuminating power" (ER 52), but we are told repeatedly that these are "nonprivileged" (neutral, objective) criteria (ER 53).

But what exactly does it mean to say that a theodicy is illuminating? Griffin defines this concept in various ways, but as applied to his critique of free-will theodicies, the illuminating power of a theodicy is closely tied to the degree to which individuals find it convincing.

In short, Griffin believes that to be considered plausible, a theodicy must not only be self-consistent and comprehensive but must also be illuminating in the sense that those thoughtful individuals who consider it will find the explanations offered therein to be persuasive.

But who exactly is to be included in this important category of individuals? How are we to identify those men and women who are thoughtful in the appropriate sense? Griffin seems to believe that they are those men and women who have attempted to consider the issues in question in a careful, objective manner. He states at one point, for example, that "whatever initial plausibility [the freewill theodicy] has, its unsatisfactoriness becomes more and more evident as it is probed" (ER 21).

However, this will hardly do. Even if we could agree on the identity of those individuals who have attempted to consider the plethora of theodicies in a careful, objective manner, and even if we could determine objectively exactly which specific self-consistent, comprehensive theodicies the majority in this group consider convincing, we would not thereby be in a position to declare which theodicies could justifiably be considered plausible in the objective sense Griffin envisions.

Nor would it be enough simply to identify the reasons why the majority respond to various theodicies as they do. To establish plausibility or implausibility in the objective sense in question, what would have to be demonstrated is that the reasons why the majority have found certain self-consistent, comprehensive theodicies to be illuminating or unilluminating are so logically compelling that other thoughtful men and women who considered these reasons objectively would not be justified in disagreeing.

But this is something that most FWTs deny has been (or could be) established. This is not to say, it must be emphasized, that FWTs believe that ‘psychological impact’ is irrelevant to the question of theodicy. Many FWTs will agree that a person is not justified in affirming a theodicy that he or she believes personally to be totally unconvincing. Moreover, most FWTs will agree with Griffin that it is perfectly justifiable to challenge individuals to compare carefully the psychological appeal of the various theodicies. Furthermore, FWTs don’t deny that such a comparison might convince a given individual to change theistic allegiance.

However, most FWTs do deny emphatically that ‘psychological impact’ (or any other factor, for that matter) can be viewed as a neutral criterion that will allow us in some objective sense to determine which self-consistent, comprehensive theodicies can justifiably be considered plausible. They consider ‘psychological impact’, rather, to be a highly subjective, personal factor, and a factor that is incapable of helping us adjudicate disputes between competing belief systems in a nonquestion-begging manner.¹

Now, of course, Griffin again has every right to disagree. But, as far as I can tell, he does not even attempt to demonstrate why those of us who do not share his ‘psychological response’ (or the response of the majority) to a given theodicy are not justified in disagreeing. Hence, while I believe that Griffin has every right to maintain that free-will theodicies are implausible and to encourage us to agree, I see no reason why I, or any other FWT, needs to admit (at least on the basis of anything that Griffin has argued) that FWTs cannot defend themselves successfully against the claim that free-will theism "cannot provide a plausible theodicy."

This still leaves, though, the question of whether I can justifiably contend that a free-will theodicy is, in principle, no less plausible than a process theodicy. After all, I have admitted that a free-will theodicy will be inherently more ‘defensive’ than the process theodicy -- that a free-will theodicy will be at points less able than the process theodicy to offer explanations for evil that flow in a natural, intuitive sense from the theistic tenets on which it is built -- and isn’t it reasonable to assume that the theodicy which is least defensive in this sense should be considered most plausible?

In one sense I agree. As Griffin himself admits, the plausibility of a theodicy is ultimately tied to the plausibility of the overall world-view out of which it comes. Thus, if I thought that the free-will and process world-views were equally plausible in every other relevant respect, then the fact that I admit that a free-will theodicy will be more defensive would, I believe, require that I consider such a theodicy less plausible also. But I, along with other FWTs, do not see the process world-view as equally plausible in all other relevant respects. Or, to state this very important point differently, I am now finally in a position to explain why I feel justified in maintaining that a free-will theodicy is, in principle, no less plausible than the process theodicy, even though I grant that a free-will theodicy will be more ‘defensive’ than its process counterpart. It is because I, in agreement with other FWTs, do not believe that the basic view of reality on which the process theodicy is based is as plausible as the basic view of reality affirmed by FWTs.

There are a number of relevant aspects of the process system that FWTs find problematic (DPPT, EGG 176-87). But the most fundamental point of difference, not surprisingly, centers around the differing conceptualizations of God’s power that underlie the two theodicies in question. The process theodicy is based on a metaphysical contention: that God does not possess the power to unilaterally determine any state of affairs; while free-will theodicies are based on a moral contention: that God does possess the power to intervene unilaterally in earthly affairs but has decided as a general rule not to do so.

But why exactly is it that FWTs disagree with the process contention that God cannot unilaterally bring about any state of affairs? I cannot at this point speak for all FWTs. Some may believe that the most reasonable response to some of what we as humans experience -- for example, changed lives or unusual events -- is to assume that God unilaterally intervenes at times in earthly affairs and thus conclude that any theistic perspective that does not allow for such intervention must be considered inadequate. Others may believe that the biblical stories portraying God as an interventive being are at least in some general sense accurate and for this reason reject the process contention that God is not capable of such activity.

I do not believe, however, that these are the primary reasons why most FWTs do not find the process characterization of God’s power vis-a-vis the rest of reality to be convincing. At least these are not my reasons. The primary reason why I, and I believe most other FWTs, do not accept the process characterization of God’s interventive capacities is because this characterization appears to be based on a very dubious experiential foundation.

As Griffin is very careful to point out, the main reason why process theists believe that God cannot act unilaterally is not "simply to solve the problem of evil" (ER 3). Rather, it is because they believe that all actual entities "necessarily have some power of self-determination" (ER 13) in the sense that all actual things "essentially have some power to determine themselves and to influence others" (ER 23).

Must FWTs, though, accept this metaphysical contention? Must they acknowledge that no actual entity can justifiably be thought to be devoid of all power of self-determination? Griffin appears to think so. To use terms in a meaningful sense, we are told, requires an experiential grounding for those terms. But we as humans, he declares, have never directly experienced a total absence of power, and thus "those who talk of actualities that are totally devoid of power do so without any experiential grounding for the meaning of the concept" (GPE 267, ER 142).

On the other hand, he continues, we do have direct experience of ourselves as possessing some power of self-determination -- that is, the concept of a ‘powerful actuality’ does for us have an experiential grounding. Thus, even though we cannot experience exactly what other entities experience, it is most reasonable to infer analogically that all other entities also possess some power of self-determination since we are then "at least thinking meaningfully about them" (ER 142).

Or, to state this in simpler terms, Griffin’s argument is that while our own experience demonstrates to us that it is possible for an actuality to have power, our own experience does not demonstrate to us that powerless entities are possible.

Most FWTs, however, have found (or at least would find) this line of reasoning unconvincing. Reichenbach argues that since this argument "is identical in form to that which argues by analogy from the existence of my mind to that of other minds, it is fraught with all the same problems which plague the latter" (EGG 194-95). In response, Griffin’s points out that his argument is not concerned with "indubitable knowledge, as is the question of other minds," but rather with "the meaningful use of language" (ER 142). But this is to miss the force of Reichenbach’s objection. The basic thrust of Reichenbach’s objection is not related specifically to the problem of other minds. His basic complaint is that analogical arguments from experience are in general considered suspect by many philosophers. Thus, since Griffin admits that his argument is analogical in this sense, it is perfectly justifiable to ask him to explain how his argument avoids these well-known concerns.

Moreover, in this context, an explanation that simply preserves the consistency or even the plausibility of his position will not suffice. The question at hand is not simply whether Griffin is justified in believing that his form of analogical argument avoids the difficulties that have plagued others. Since Griffin’s goal is to establish in an objective sense that no one can "provide a reason to doubt the truth" of his position -- that no one can justifiably contend that some actuality is devoid of all power -- the onus is on him to demonstrate that no one is justified in denying that his argument avoids the problems that analogical arguments of the type he proposes have traditionally faced. And this he does not do.

Others, as Griffin acknowledges, will reject his contention that a meaningful use of terms requires an experiential grounding "on the basis of the recognition that experience, understood in a sensationalist manner, cannot ground the meaning of many terms that are clearly meaningful." His response is that we should "broaden our understanding of experience" (ER 143). But again this simply won’t do in this context. Unless Griffin demonstrates that we are not justified in not broadening our "understanding of experience," he has not demonstrated what he needs to demonstrate: that others cannot justifiably reject his argument -- cannot justifiably reject his basis for maintaining that no actuality can be totally devoid of power of self-determination.

But I believe that even if we accept his criterion of meaning and grant that analogical reasoning of the type he envisions is valid in this context, Griffin still fails to establish what he needs to establish. To say that entities are self-determining is, by Griffin’s own admission, to say both that they "have some power to determine themselves and to influence other things" and that God’s purposes for these entities always "require the cooperation of [these entities] for their realization" (ER 26). Determinists, of course, deny that this is true for any entity in the sense in question. But I am an indeterminist. Therefore, I not only experience myself as possessing some power of self-determination, but I believe I actually do possess such power.

Why, though, do I believe this? I believe this because at times I find myself encountering options and experience myself making decisions that seem to me to determine at least in part which option is actualized. Accordingly, by analogy, when I see others functioning in contexts in which I experience myself acting in this self-determining fashion -- when, for instance I see my students looking at the different chairs available to them and then picking one to sit in -- I assume that they, too, are acting in a partially self-determining fashion. The same is true with respect to many animals. When I see my cat, Daisy, looking at her food and then either eating or walking away, I assume analogically that she is also acting in a partially self-determining fashion.

At other times, however, I find myself in situations in which I do not experience my actions as in any sense the product of self-determination. For example, when I once stepped onto a very thin piece of plywood and experienced myself falling six feet to the ground, I did not experience myself as having any power of self-determination with respect to the fall itself (although I did experience myself as having some power of self-determination over my response). I still believe that the fall itself was the product of natural forces over which I had no immediate control. From situations such as this, I infer that I do not in fact always possess some power of self-determination and thus, analogically, that this is also true of others.

More importantly, though, my extended experience, as formalized in scientific laws, tells me that in all those cases in which I personally experience, or believe lam observing, self-determining activity, such activity is the product of a central nervous system. I have never experienced an entity without a central nervous system "influencing others" or cooperating with others in the sense I experience myself doing so when I am acting in what I believe to be a self-determining manner. Thus, I conclude, and I think justly, that entities without central nervous systems do not possess any power of self-determination of the type Griffin envisions.

Or, to generalize the point, I deny that common human experience does not furnish us with a perfectly acceptable basis for understanding what it means to say that some entities are totally devoid of any power of self-determination and, thus, deny that we cannot justifiably categorize certain objects in this way.

I do not expect, of course, that Griffin will find this sort of ‘experiential analysis’ convincing. But again it is crucial to note exactly where the burden of proof lies in this context. I am not at present arguing that Griffin cannot justifiably contend that there are no powerless actualities. I am arguing only that our human experience does give us a meaningful basis for justifiably contending that there are powerless entities. Thus, since it is Griffin’s contention that this type of experiential grounding is not possible, the burden of proof is on him not simply to defend his position but to demonstrate that my analysis cannot justifiably be affirmed. And this I do not believe he has done or can do.

But if I and other FWTs can -- for whatever reason -- justifiably reject the process contention that no being can be totally void of the power of self-determination, then (in the absence of other arguments) we can justifiably reject the process contention that God cannot unilaterally bring about any state of affairs because all reality must be co-creative. And if we can justifiably reject this fundamental tenet in the process characterization of the God-world relationship, then we can justifiably deny, at the very least, that the theodicy to which this characterization of the God-world relationship gives rise is more plausible than the type of theodicy that free-will theism can offer.

In conclusion, it is important to emphasize explicitly what I have, and have not, argued. I have not argued that process theists cannot justifiably maintain that they affirm a plausible theodicy. Nor have I argued that Griffin, and others, cannot justifiably maintain that free-will theodicies are more ‘defensive’ than the process theodicy or are not justified in wanting to make this fact known. But I have argued that Griffin does not present us with a set of ‘unprivileged’ criteria by which the plausibility of a theodicy can be ascertained in an objective, non-question-begging sense and, thus, does not successfully demonstrate that a freewill theodicy cannot justifiably be considered plausible.

Moreover, I have argued that for FWTs to acknowledge that their theodicy is more ‘defensive’ than its process counterpart does not entail that they must also grant that the process theodicy is more plausible since it has not been demonstrated that FWTs can not justifiably maintain that the basic God-world relationship on which the process theodicy is based is less plausible than the God-world relationship in which their theodicy is grounded.

References

AP -- Alvin Plantinga. Alvin Plantinga. Eds. James Tomberlin and Peter van Inwagen. Dordrecht: D. Reidel Publishing Co., 1985.

DPPT -- David Basinger. Divine Power in Process Theism: A Philosophical Critique. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1988.

EGG -- Bruce Reichenbach. Evil and a Good God. New York: Fordham University Press, 1982.

ER -- David Ray Griffin. Evil Revisited: Responses and Reconsiderations. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1991.

FP 3 -- Alvin Plantinga. "The Foundations of Theism: A Reply." Faith and Philosophy 3(1986): 298-313.

FP 4 -- Alvin Plantinga. "Justification and Theism." Faith and Philosophy 4 (1987): 403-426.

FP 8 -- David Basinger. "Plantinga, Pluralism and Justified Religious Belief." Faith and Philosophy 8 (1991): 67-80.

GFE -- Alvin Plantinga. God, Freedom and Evil. Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1977.

GPE -- David Ray Griffin. God, Power and Evil: A Process Theodicy. Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1976.

PCI -- B. C. Johnson. "God and the Problem of Evil." Philosophy and Contemporary Issues. 5th ed. Eds. John Burr and Milton Goldinger. New York: Macmillan Publishing Company, 1988, pp. 135-140.

PhR -- John Hick. Philosophy of Religion. Englewood, NJ: Prentice-Hall Inc., 1963.

PS 11 -- For David and Randall Basinger, "Divine Omnipotence: Plantinga vs. Griffin," Process Studies 11 (Spring 1981), 11-24; and for Alvin Plantinga, "Reply to the Basingers on Divine Omnipotence," 25-29.

Notes

11t could be successfully argued, I believe, that even if ‘illuminating power’ were a neutral, objective criterion for the assessment of plausibility, free-will theism, in its entirety, is as plausible as process theism, in its entirety. In fact, much of what follows is a discussion of why FWTs personally believe that their perspective is more illuminating. However, since the purpose of this essay is not simply to counter Griffin’s challenge but also to clarify where FWTs stand on significant epistemological issues, it is important to emphasize that most FWTs do not view ‘illuminating power’ as a criterion that can be used in an objective, neutral fashion in any context.

David Wheeler presents us with an interesting, thought-provoking discussion on a topic of obvious importance to any Christian. His basic objective is to correlate the "revealed and experienced Christ of the evangelicals" with the process world view in such a fashion that the evangelical perspective "might illuminate" the process world view and the process world view "might provide an explanatory context" for the evangelical experience. More specifically, his goal is "to examine -- with a frank apologetic agenda near at hand -- the possibilities for envisioning the transformation of humanity through relationship with Christ, as per Biblical tradition and Christian experience, in a process-relational mode"

I find the manner in which Wheeler examines the soteriological positions of both evangelical and process thinkers quite intriguing. One seldom finds an equally sympathetic treatment of the views of proponents of these two, seemingly divergent, theological schools. Moreover, I believe he does a very fine job of making the rather abstract soteriological positions of various process thinkers accessible to even the previously uninitiated.

I must confess, though, that I am not certain exactly what Wheeler himself wants to say about the relationship between evangelical and process thought on the issue at hand. However, it seems to me that his discussion contains at least three distinct, although not mutually exclusive, theses.

1. It appears that Wheeler occasionally wants to demonstrate that the standard evangelical understanding of Christ’s transforming power can be fruitfully illuminated if considered in terms of process categories. For example, Wheeler grants that the "New Testament images and concepts of human transformation such as justification, reconciliation, redemption and sanctification" have a long, rich history of "evangelical" interpretation. But he believes that such images and concepts can acquire fresh meaning if considered in terms of the Whiteheadian understanding of Jesus as our model of what it means to overcome the common divergence that we as humans experience between that course of action which God presents to us and that course of action we find ourselves naturally wanting to follow (104).

This type of hermeneutical endeavor seems to me to be valid, although it is not new or overly controversial. In fact, process theists sometimes admit that their theological horizons are expanded by considering the traditional (classical) perspectives on various issues (PTE 95-110). But it may well be that many evangelicals need to be reminded of the value of occasionally viewing their beliefs through ‘different eyes’.

2. At other points, though, Wheeler seems to be making a stronger claim: that the basic soteriological beliefs of process thinkers and evangelicals are more similar than it might initially appear. This is not to say that Wheeler believes that such beliefs are similar, or even compatible, at every point. He points out, for example, that while strict Whiteheadian thought does not allow for any "true end (finis) or beginning the biblical witness, on the contrary, is pervaded throughout its length and breadth with the concept of a movement of God’s grace toward an end that is both teleos and finis" (111).

However, when discussing the uniqueness of Jesus Christ, Wheeler maintains that whether "Jesus Christ’s divine-human unity is the sole member of its class, as evangelical Christians would typically claim," or is "a paradigmatic member of a class with multiple members" as Whiteheadians contend, this crucial unity can be construed more fundamentally by those in both groups as an example of a systemic change of the God-world relationship happening once in the history of humanity globally (105).

When discussing Christ’s transforming effect upon humanity, Wheeler implies that, for both evangelicals and process theists, the essence of any such transformation "will not involve merely a perfecting of our intrinsic capabilities, but an overcoming of human hostility to God’s aims, a healing of human deformation consequent to that hostility, and a reuniting of humanity with the God from whom we are estranged." In other words, for those in both camps, as he sees it, "our fulfillment is always found . . . beyond our own personal resources" (105, 106). And at yet another point, we are told that, although evangelicals cannot accept all of what process theists mean when they say that the world is ‘God’s body’, there is a "striking parallel" between the process concept of "God’s self-embodiment in a redeemed world" and "the biblical image of the church as the ‘Body of Christ"’ (111).

In short, Wheeler does seem to want to convince us that the rather esoteric terminology used by both process theists and evangelicals at times masks basic soteriological agreement.

To some extent, this may be true. Both process theists and evangelicals do believe, for instance, that our fulfillment is found beyond our own personal resources and that Jesus brought about a systemic change in the God-world relationship. And perhaps terminological differences have kept some from realizing this fact. But I do not believe that terminological differences normally, or even frequently, mask basic agreement (as some might read Wheeler as saying). In fact, it seems to me that just the opposite is true. It seems to me that similar terminology often masks the actual extent to which process thinkers (especially of the Whiteheadian variety) and evangelicals differ on soteriological issues.

The evangelical world view is fundamentally supernaturalistic. That is, evangelicals do not believe only that God can unilaterally intervene in earthly affairs; they believe that God has often done so. The Whiteheadian world view, on the other hand, is radically antisupernaturalistic in this sense. For such process theists, it is not simply that God has chosen not to intervene unilaterally in earthly affairs (as even some classical theists maintain); God cannot do so. All reality is cocreative. Every person (and every other entity) is at every moment free to reject God’s aims.

Accordingly, although both Whiteheadians and evangelicals can talk with sincerity about the desire for humanity to be transformed and the important, unique role that Jesus Christ plays in this process, exactly what this means differs radically. For the Whiteheadian, it can be said that Jesus understood and acted in accordance with God’s aims to a higher degree than any other human. And it can be said that Jesus was (and continues to be) ‘the Christ’ in his role of opening others to creative transformation. But Jesus was fully human. He was not an exception to the metaphysical model. Specifically, Jesus was not God to any greater degree than any other human.

However, for most evangelicals, Jesus Christ not only is both fully God and fully human; he must be. This is a foundational metaphysical tenet in the evangelical understanding of soteriology. Thus, while process thinkers and evangelicals may both be able to claim with integrity that, through Jesus Christ, we can overcome our human "hostility to God’s aims" and be "reunited with God," for evangelicals this is true only because God became human, died and rose again -- that is, because God unilaterally intervened in the most direct manner possible in earthly affairs. In short, with respect to the divinity of Jesus, evangelicals must categorically affirm what Whiteheadians must categorically deny (PT 43-54).

Moreover, the manner in which a person comes to conform her aims to those of God differs substantively in these two schools of thought. For evangelicals, the empowering work of the Holy Spirit is essential. That is, the potential for human transformation that God, the ‘Father’, unilaterally made available through Jesus Christ, the ‘Son’, cannot become a reality without the continuous energizing activity of this distinct, equally divine, third person of the Trinity. However, leading Whiteheadians such as John B. Cobb and David Griffin consider the traditional evangelical understanding of the Trinity to be "a source of distortion" and "an artificial game (PTE 110). For such process theists, there is only one ‘divine entity’ and the key to transformation is our willingness to respond to the creative-response love of this entity -- to respond to the ideal options of which God continuously makes us aware.

Finally, the eschatological differences between Whiteheadian process thought and evangelical thought are much more profound and substantive than Wheeler indicates. It is not just that the Whiteheadian believes there is no unilaterally imposed beginning or end. More importantly, the Whiteheadian cannot be nearly as anthropocentric as is the evangelical. For evangelicals, humanity is believed to be the most significant aspect of creation. Hence, the work of Jesus Christ in reconciling humans with God is usually viewed as the ultimate act of divine love.

But for Whiteheadian process theists, God’s primary creative purpose has always been (and will always be) to bring about the "maximum attainment of intensity compatible with harmony that is possible under the circumstances of the actual situation" (PP 295). Accordingly, while it may be true that humanity is, to date, the supreme work of God on this earth," humanity cannot be viewed within this school of process thought as the fulfillment of God’s primary creative purpose. That is, humanity cannot be viewed as having any sort of privileged status in the ultimate scheme of things (GW 95). In fact, "it is quite possible," in the words of Lewis Ford, "that in time [the evolutionary process] might bypass man and the entire class of mammals to favor some very different species capable of greater complexity than man can achieve" (PP 290).

The fact that I am emphasizing such fundamental differences between Whiteheadian and evangelical thought does not mean that proponents of the two camps do not, for example, have much in common with respect to the social, political and economic challenges before us and, thus, cannot work together to bring about a more just world -- a world in which Jesus’ life becomes a model to be emulated. But I see little basis for claiming that these two schools of thought actually have much in common on the basic soteriological issues which Wheeler raises. On such issues, let me repeat again, I believe that the differences between Whiteheadian and evangelical thought are far more basic and profound than the differing terminology they employ might indicate.

But what of those non-Whiteheadian strands of process thought which do not necessarily deny that God can unilaterally intervene in earthly affairs? What, for instance, of the ‘classical’ process system envisioned by Pierre Teilhard de Chardin? Cannot it at least be said that the soteriological beliefs of process thinkers in this category are much closer to the beliefs held by evangelicals than many realize?

Wheeler seems to think so, and this may well be true. But if so, then it is also true that the soteriological beliefs of such process theists are much less similar to those of Whiteheadian process theists than most realize. And this points the way to my only substantive disagreement with Wheeler’s general project. As I implied before, I believe that those who differ on the question of whether God can unilaterally bring about any state of affairs have fundamentally different metaphysical foundations for their soteriological positions. Thus, the fact that those whom Wheeler considers process theists appear to differ on this question indicates to me that there does not exist one general process soteriological perspective with which the evangelical perspective can be compared. There are at least two strands of process soteriological thought to be considered, strands of thought which are much more divergent that Wheeler acknowledges.

3. Finally, it sometimes appears that Wheeler’s primary goal is not to demonstrate that Whiteheadian and evangelical thought are actually similar on soteriological issues but rather to demonstrate that it is possible to produce a coherent synthesis of the two, a synthesis which incorporates what is most illuminating in each. For example, after noting the obvious incompatibility between the Whiteheadian belief that the world is an endless process and the evangelical belief that this world has both a definite beginning and an end, Wheeler presents, with seeming approval, a position which claims to "mediate at this point between biblical eschatology and process-relational cosmology." This compromise, proposed by a "process thinker" in the Teilhardian mold, allows for the completion of God’s will for this cosmic epic (an evangelical tenet), but does not rule out the possibility that there is "life beyond" this cosmic epic (a Whiteheadian belief [112]).

Likewise, when Wheeler notes the apparent contradiction between "the preeminent emphasis on individual salvation so characteristic of . . . American evangelical Christianity, in particular," and the process emphasis on the transformation (salvation) of the world as a whole," he appears again to favor a compromise (110). God, we are told, does call for "individual decision," as evangelicals emphasize, but does so "in the context of the ultimate state of affairs that God [is] bringing about," as process theists stress (110).

This type of dialectic seems to me both valid and useful. As I have repeatedly emphasized, Whiteheadian process thinkers and evangelicals are at odds over the fundamental role that God plays in the soteriological process. Whiteheadians deny that God can unilaterally transform any person or thing while evangelicals believe that human transformation is possible only because some form of unilateral intervention has occurred, and continues to occur. But there may well be many Christians who are uneasy with the antisupernaturalistic Whiteheadian model of transformation, and yet are not committed to the strongly supernaturalistic and individualistic model of transformation found in evangelical thought. For such individuals, a coherent synthesis of the two -- perhaps in some quasi-Teilhardian form -- becomes an attractive option. Read in this light, I believe Wheeler’s discussion offers us some exciting possibilities.

References

GW -- John B. Cobb, Jr. God and the World. Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1969.

PP -- Lewis Ford. "Divine Persuasion and the Triumph of Good." In Process Philosophy and Christian Thought. D. Brown, R. James, and O. Reeves, eds. New York: Bobbs-Merrill Co., 1971.

PT -- Donald G. Bloesch. "Process Theology and Reformed Theology." In Process Theology, ed. Ronald N. Nash. Grand Rapids: Baker, 1987.

PTE -- David R. Griffin and John B. Cobb, Jr. Process Theology: An Introductory Exposition. Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1976.

‘Coercion’ is a somewhat ambiguous term within process theology. In their standard metaphysical discussions, process theists usually define coercive power as the power to bring it about that another entity is totally devoid of any degree of self-determination. But they uniformly agree that every entity always possesses some degree of self-determination (freedom). Thus, process theists uniformly deny that any entity, divine or human, can coerce in this sense.

But ‘coercion’ has a different, weaker meaning in normal human discourse. Take, for example, the common contention that Hitler acted coercively when he placed Jews in concentration camps or the claim that parents are acting coercively when they finally pick up their recalcitrant children and make them go to bed or the common contention that a government is acting coercively when it refuses to give its citizens any input into the formulation of the laws by which they are governed. In such cases, the claim is not that Hitler or parents or government leaders have totally divested anyone of all power of self-determination. The claim is weaker: that they have unilaterally restricted the ability of others to act in accordance with their desires.

Process theists do not deny that coercion in this weaker sense occurs, at least on the human level. Schubert Ogden, for example, acknowledges that there are those on the human level who "forcibly destroy the conditions of others’ freedom" (FF94). Hartshorne speaks of the human "power of brute force" which at times results in the unilateral removal of political freedom or even in death (DR 154). W. Widick Schroeder observes that if coercion is defined as "the capacity to act in ways violating others," then "persuasion and coercion interplay in any human community" (PPT 70). John Cobb tells us that if coercion is defined as the unilateral imposition of one’s desires on another, then "no society can exist without some measure of coercion" (PTT 106). Even David Griffin acknowledges that since there are degrees of self-determination, "some activity can be called coercive in a relative sense" (GPE 326).

In short, process theists, like the rest of us, admit that at least on the human level we need to consider more than just two types of power: coercive power which would (if it existed and were applied) completely divest individuals of all of their power of self-determination and persuasive power which never unilaterally forces individuals to act against their wishes. They acknowledge that there is an important nonpersuasive form of coercive power which can unilaterally restrict or destroy the ability of individuals to act in accordance with their wishes.

I am interested in discussing the normative status of this weaker form of coercion within process thought. More specifically, I want to discuss the following question: When, if ever, is it justifiable for a process theist to use, or condone the use of, coercion of this sort on the human level? Or, to phrase the question differently: When, if ever, can the process theist justifiably condone the unilateral restriction of someone’s self-determination? When, if ever, can the process theist condone the use of nonpersuasive power?

I shall argue that however the process theist attempts to respond, significant problems with the process system develop.

I

Most process theists are serious metaphysicians with a strong desire to maintain an internally consistent world view. Thus, it should not be surprising that although process theists are very concerned with praxis -- the practice of one’s faith in the actual world -- they strongly insist that all such activity must find its basis in one’s doctrine of God. Ogden, Cobb, and Griffin all at least implicitly criticize many of the "liberation theologians" for failing to do this (FF 34, PTT 95).

It seems best, accordingly, to begin our discussion of the process position on the use of coercive power (in the weaker sense acknowledged by process theists to exist) by attempting to discern the attitude of the God of process theism toward it. Let us begin this assessment by asking whether process theists believe God ever coerces in this sense. They have not to my knowledge addressed this question directly. Almost all of their explicit discussions of divine coercion center on the question of whether God can coerce in the strong sense -- i.e., whether God can totally divest another entity of all power of self-determination. But a rather unequivocal answer can be inferred from what process theists say about God’s relationship with other entities. God’s activity, it is often claimed, is purely persuasive in the sense that God never brings about (insures) that the divine ideal (what God sees as best) is actualized. Lewis Ford, for example, tells us that God’s interaction with other entities is always persuasive and that this persuasive lure "is effective only to the extent that the process appropriates and reaffirms for itself the aims envisioned in the persuasion" (PPCT 290). Cobb and Griffin reaffirm this point. In every case, they point out, "the subject may choose to actualize [God’s] internal aim; but it may also choose among other real possibilities open to it" (PTE 53).

In short, process theists appear not only to believe that God does not completely divest any entity of all power -- i.e., does not coerce in the strong sense. They seem to believe that God does not unilaterally restrict any individual’s power of self-determination in any context -- i.e., does not coerce even in the weaker sense. But why is this so? If coercion in the strong sense is a metaphysical impossibility, then of course even God cannot coerce. But coercion in the weaker sense is not only acknowledged by process theists to be a possibility but also an actuality on the human level. Humans do unilaterally keep other humans from choosing among real possibilities open to them. We do unilaterally impose our wills on others in ways which meaningfully restrict their freedom. So it is perfectly meaningful to ask why God does not coerce in this sense.

Two possibilities present themselves. It may be that such coercion is not possible for God although it is for humans. Or it maybe that God could, like humans, coerce in the weaker sense but has decided never to do so for some reason. In other words, the fact that God does not coerce in the sense in question can either be seen as the result of a metaphysical limitation or a moral decision.

A few process theists may believe that divine noncoercion is to some extent the result of a decision on God’s part, but the vast majority clearly agree with Griffin’s claim that divine noncoercion "is not due to a decision on God’s part which could be revoked from time to time" (GPE 271). God, they argue, must conform to certain necessary metaphysical principles which necessitate that he can only exert persuasive power (PTE 72).

I have argued elsewhere that this line of reasoning is questionable (JR 64:332-47). It seems to me that given the power process theists grant to God, divine coercion in the weaker sense is possible. But I will grant for the sake of this discussion that all divine power is necessarily persuasive. That is, I will grant that the God of process theism cannot in any sense ever unilaterally control any being’s condition in such a manner that this being is restricted from acting in accordance with its will.

Unfortunately, this fact alone gives us very little insight into the moral status of human coercion. For there is, of course, no necessary connection between what we think is proper behavior -- a moral belief -- and what we can actually do -- a descriptive fact. It cannot, for example, be justifiably inferred from the fact that I cannot personally feed all the starving people in the world that I would not approve of this being done by someone who had the requisite power. Likewise, it in no sense necessarily follows from the fact that God cannot coerce in any sense that God thinks that coercive power ought never be used by those who can exert it. To gain moral guidance concerning the use of human coercion from the process system, we must gain some understanding of the process God’s moral attitude toward such coercion. We can best begin to do this, I believe, by considering the following question: Would the God of process theism occasionally coerce in the weaker sense if this were an option?

At times the process answer would appear to be no. God, all process theists believe, is perfect in every way. But divine coercion, God tells us, "whether limited or unlimited, is incompatible with divine perfection." Only divine persuasion, we are told, is "inherently reasonable . . . and [consistent] with our best ethical and religious insights" (PPC 84, LG 27). Griffin and Cobb seem to agree. Persuasive power, they maintain, "with its infinite persistence is in fact the greatest of all powers" since "the [persuasive] power to open the future and give us freedom is a greater power than the supposed power of absolute control" (PTE 118f.). Cobb is even more explicit in other contexts. "The only power capable of worthwhile result," he argues, "is the power of persuasion" (GW 90). Griffin is also very explicit at points. Persuasive power, he informs us, is "the ultimate power of the universe . . . [it] is finally all-powerful" (PPT 190). A similar theme is echoed by Hartshorne: "the ultimate power is the [persuasive] power of sensitivity, the power of ideal passivity and relativity, exquisitely proportioned in its responsiveness to other beings as causes" (DR 154). Ogden affirms the same point in yet another way. The persuasive power of the God of process theism, he tells us, "is ‘omnibeneficient’ in the sense of being good for others to an extent than which no greater can be conceived" (FF 77).

In other words, many process theists seem clearly to be saying that persuasive power is superior to (more perfect than) any form of coercive power. Thus, since they believe that God is ultimate perfection, it might seem that they would uniformly deny that the process God would use any form of coercion, even if such coercion were possible.

But the issue is not this simple. A growing number of classical theists believe that although God could coerce in the weaker sense, God has chosen not to do so because a world in which there exists significant freedom and the potential for evil is superior to a world containing neither. That is, a significant number of classical theists believe divine noncoercion to be the result of a self-limitation on God’s part. Now, of course, since process theists believe that God cannot coerce, we must expect them to disagree with the metaphysics of this classical position. But should process theists not agree with the moral stance inherent in the classical free will theist’s position? If process theists believe that God would not coerce in any sense even if this were possible, should they not then be in moral agreement with those classical theists who claim that God does not coerce even though such coercion is possible?

One would think so. But this is clearly not the case. In discussing the classical free will theist’s position, Griffin, for example, asks why a God who can occasionally coerce does not "do so occasionally, in order to prevent particularly horrendous evils?" The fact that this would violate our freedom, he contends, is not a sufficient response, for "as precious as freedom is, is it so valuable that God should not override it every once in awhile, to prevent some unbearable suffering? After all, it would have taken only a split-second’s violation of the world’s freedom to convert Hitler, or induce a heart-attack in him. Surely, if God could reassert divine omnipotence from time to time, these kinds of things should be done" (PPT 193). Ford agrees: If "God has the power to actualize the good unambiguously, then his goodness requires that he do so, and that right early" (LG 23). Cobb and Ogden make equally strong claims (FF 78, GW 20-41). In fact, it seems fair to say that the most common criticism process theists level against the God of classical free will theism is the claim that if such a being really existed and were wholly good, we should expect to see displays of divine coercive power more often. But if process theists really do believe that some coercion would not only be preferable but required at the divine level if it were possible, then it appears that they must also acknowledge that the God of process theism would coerce if this were an option.

What we find, then, in the last analysis, is that there is no clear process response to the question at hand. When discussing the persuasive power of the God of process theism, many process theists explicitly argue that such power is morally superior to and more effective than coercive power and, thus, at least implicitly argue that the God of process theism would not use coercive power even if it were available. But when criticizing the concept of God affirmed by classical free will theism, process theists seem to reverse their position by arguing that a being who could coerce should at times do so.

Or to state this seeming dilemma more explicitly, to the extent to which process theists support their criticism of classical free will theism by arguing that a divine being who could at times coerce should do so, the ‘moral’ and ‘utilitarian’ status of persuasive power is diminished. But to the extent to which they support the ‘moral’ and ‘utilitarian’ superiority of persuasive power by claiming that the God of process theism would not coerce even if this were possible, their criticism of classical free will theism is damaged. Process theists cannot have it both ways.

But which way, then, do they want it? I am not sure. So we will consider the implications of both options for the use of coercion on the human level. Let us first assume that a perfect being would only use persuasive power and, thus, that since the God of process theism is perfect, coercive power would never be used even if it were available. If this is what process theists believe, then we might well expect them to criticize any use of coercive power on the human level. For if persuasive power is the greatest power in the world and is "the only power capable of worthwhile results," anything more than ‘pacifistic persuasion’ would appear to be unjustifiable in all cases. At times, process theists appear to be sympathetic to this line of reasoning. They explicitly criticize much of the use of coercive force in our world. Cobb at one point even goes so far as to say that "if we would be perfect as God is perfect, then we will undertake vigorously to affect the course of events creatively, and that means by persuasion" (PTT 107f.). But, in the last analysis, most major process figures do not condemn the use of all coercive power -- even all violent coercive power -- on the human level. Ogden, for example, argues that by far the most important way in which we can participate in God’s emancipating work of "helping people manage their opportunities for good... is to labor for fundamental social and cultural change." This means, he continues, that "we cannot avoid the conflicts of human interests or evade the demand always to take sides with the oppressed against all who oppress them." Accordingly, he concludes, we can never "rule out the eventuality that we can be obedient to this demand only by using force to oppose those who forcibly destroy the conditions of others’ freedom" (FF 90, 93f.). Hartshorne clearly agrees. We should, he argues, always use persuasion when possible. But

Cobb is equally clear in his opposition to much of the use of coercion we find on the human level. "Nevertheless," he tells us, "it is very clear that entrenched interests are normally extremely resistant to persuasion. They maintain their power by institutionalized and counter-insurgent violence which causes enormous suffering and numerous deaths. Against this, revolutionary coercion, including violent coercion, is sometimes justified." In fact, he goes on to argue, "a Whiteheadian cannot be an absolutist in opposition to violence. Just as there are possible justifications for inequality (and for the use of violence in its defense), so there are also possible justifications for resort to violence against existing structures of power" (PPT 27f.) Cobb even gives us one concrete example, claiming that "in Nicaragua the Christian conscience sided with the use of relatively limited violence to bring an end to massive structural violence by a corrupt dictatorship" and that "this is surely a gain worth the price paid" (PTT 107). Finally, Schroeder tells us that "in some instances, humans must use force to protect human persons and human societies from predators, both human and sub-human. Universal pacifism is not possible in the present cosmic epoch" (PTT 70).

But is not this stance inconsistent with the contention that God would never coerce even if this were an option? Such process theists are not just claiming that coercion does in fact produce good consequences. They are clearly making a normative claim: that such coercion is morally superior, justified and even demanded of the Christian in some contexts. But how can it be justifiable for us as humans to willfully use even violent coercion if God would never coerce at all? Or, to be more specific, if God would never use coercive power because persuasive power is morally superior and produces more worthwhile results, how can process theists justify the human use of coercive power in some cases? How can it become morally superior and more worthwhile for us?

I can conceive of two possible responses. Some might argue that God and humans have somewhat different agendas with respect to human activity. Cobb at one point tells us that God’s ultimate creative goal is to "introduce the possibility of a creative synthesis of the new with the old," and Ogden tells us that "God’s only aim or intention in exercising his power is the fullest possible self-creation of all his creatures" (PTT 107, FF 89). From such statements it might be inferred that God prizes ‘freedom’ more than ‘justice’. God is grieved by the unjust, oppressive uses of freedom by some humans. But God’s primary goal is for each of us to be as fully self-creative as possible, even if such creativity results in human oppression, and this is why God would not unilaterally keep self-creative individuals from abusing the freedom of others even if this could be done. But the divine agenda for humans, it might be argued, is slightly more utilitarian. While God prizes ‘freedom’ above ‘justice’, God wants us to prize ‘justice’ above ‘freedom’. That is, while God will tolerate injustice for the sake of maximizing each person’s creative options, God desires us to maximize the quality of freedom for the greatest number, even if this means we must at times unilaterally minimize the freedom of a few. This, it might be concluded, is why we are encouraged to coerce occasionally even though God would never do so.

This line of reasoning, however, generates serious difficulties. First, if ‘freedom’ is from God’s perspective a higher good than ‘justice’, then it is difficult to see why it should not also be so for us. Or stated differently, if God so prizes human autonomy that a Hitler would not be coerced even if this were possible, then it is hard to understand why God would want us to do so. It would seem, rather, that we, mirroring the divine ranking of values, should also refrain from all coercive uses of power. Moreover, it is not at all clear that most process theists really accept this ‘two agenda’ model. Ogden, for example, tells us that "God is not neutral or indifferent to creaturely conflict but always sides with what makes for the good of his creatures as against all that makes for evil" (FF 94). Cobb is even more explicit: "Process theologians are led, no less than others, to the view that the special concern of the Christian, as of God, is with the liberation of the oppressed" (PTT 149). Griffin agrees: "God not only wills the end of oppression, but is continually active in the world toward this end." Thus, when "we, inspired by God, work toward such a society," we do so "not only for the sake of ourselves and our descendants, but also for the sake of God" (PTT 195).

Such statements are admittedly somewhat ambiguous. But they can easily be interpreted as saying that God and humans do share a similar agenda. That is, they can easily be interpreted as supporting the contention that God also believes ‘justice’ (maximized freedom for the greatest number) to be more important in some contexts than the maximal preservation of freedom for each individual.

But if this is so, how can process theists still maintain that God would not use coercive power even if it were available? If God, no less than humans, wants to end oppression, and God desires us as humans to use coercion at times to accomplish this end, must not process theists grant that God would coerce if this were possible? Perhaps not. God and humans, it might be argued, do share the same agenda with respect to the oppressed. But it is only for God that persuasion always has more worthwhile results than coercion (DR 154). For only God has immediate, constant access to every human, and only God knows the true motives behind each human behavior and how such motives can best be affected. Thus, only God can insure that persuasion will be maximally effective, and only constant maximal persuasion is more effective than coercion. Where such persuasion is not possible, coercion is sometimes more effective than persuasion alone. This is why God sometimes approves of (lures us toward) coercion on the human level even though such coercive power would never be used by God even if it were available.

But this line of reasoning is also quite problematic. It may well be true that God can persuade more effectively then humans. But this fact alone tells us little about whether God would, or we should, coerce. If we assume, as we presently do, that the primary goal of both God and concerned humans is to maximize freedom (creativity) for the greatest number, it is the following query with which we must be concerned: Do continuous divine persuasion and occasional human coercion, in conjunction, better maximize freedom than would continuous divine persuasion alone? If the answer is no -- that is, if divine persuasion alone is as effective or more effective than the combination of such persuasion and some human coercion -- then why would God approve of any human coercion? Since human coercion has absolutely no intrinsic value within a process system (in fact, is an intrinsic evil), it would appear that if divine persuasion is maximally effective alone, process theists should be pacifists. On the other hand, if the answer is yes -- that is, if divine persuasion alone does not maximize human freedom to the extent that such persuasion and divinely approved human coercion does -- then it is difficult to see why the process God would not use coercive power if this were an option. If God believes that some coercion is a useful and morally acceptable means of achieving a desired end, then there appears to be no reason why such coercive power would not be used if it were available.

We must conclude, then, that whether we assume that the God of process theism has the same agenda (goals) as humans or not, there are no good reasons for assuming both that God approves of human coercion in some cases and that God would not coerce in this manner even if this were possible. One of these beliefs, it seems, must be dropped or modified.

But this may not be a serious problem for all process theists. We never meant to be read as saying that the God of process theism would never use coercive power if it were available, some might argue. We do believe the process God cannot coerce. But we have always believed that the God of process theism would on occasion exert coercive force if this were possible.

To make this move has some obvious benefits. For example, it allows process theists to continue to challenge the moral integrity of the God of classical free will theism. Moreover, it certainly does create a strong theological justification for the type of coercion many process theists believe is necessary on the human level.

But again problems develop. For instance, once process theists acknowledge that God would at times act coercively if this were possible, they must radically revise some of their claims about the nature of persuasive power. They can still maintain that persuasive power is more consistent with freedom than coercive power and that persuasive power, when effective, has the most worthwhile results. And they can still claim that we should attempt to persuade whenever possible. But if the God of process theism would coerce if this were an option, then process theists can no longer maintain with Ford that divine coercion, "whether limited or unlimited is incompatible with divine perfection." Moreover, process theists can no longer agree with a strong reading of Cobb and Griffin’s claim that "persuasive power, with its infinite persistence is in fact the greatest of all powers." Persuasive power my be the ideal. But if God would coerce at times if such power were available, then it must be acknowledged that, in principle, the use of both persuasive and coercive power would at times be the best and most useful course of action. Nor can process theists continue to accept Cobb’s claim that "the only power capable of worthwhile results is the power of persuasion." If God would use coercive power if it were available, then there are, in principle, times when divine persuasion plus divine coercion would bring about more worthwhile results. Finally, if God would coerce if this were possible, process theists must question Ogden’s contention that God is omnibeneficient in the sense that he is "good for others to an extent than which no greater can be conceived." A God who would coerce but cannot may rightly be said to be good for others to the greatest extent possible, given that being’s limitations. But such a God cannot be said to be good in the greatest conceivable sense, since, in principle, a God who could actually coerce would be capable of doing even more good.

In short, once process theists grant that God would coerce if this were an option, they can no longer imply, as some seem to do, that divine noncoercion has a moral basis -- i.e., no longer imply that a perfect being would for moral reasons never coerce. They must rather admit that divine noncoercion is an unfortunate metaphysical limitation, a limitation which God can attempt to overcome only by attempting to persuade us to coerce in those situations where this would accomplish the desired ends. But to portray the God of process theism in this fashion will in the minds of many simply reinforce the most common classical complaint about process theism: that the God of process theism is a ‘weak’ being who is struggling to shape and control a world containing entities -- e.g., some humans -- who in some respects have more power than God does. Process theists have most frequently attempted to counter this ‘negative’ divine characterization by arguing that since God’s primary aim is to maximize creative activity for each individual, God would never coerce even if possible. But this response is not available in the present context. The process theists we are now discussing grant that God would at times coerce if possible. Accordingly, it appears that the classical characterization in question is one with which such process theists must live.

II

It is important in closing that I clarify what has been argued. I have not argued that process theists cannot consistently allow for the justifiable use of coercion at the human level. My argument, rather, is that any attempt to demonstrate such consistency generates serious tensions within the process system. Ultimately, process theists must determine whether coercive force (in the sense in which they grant it is possible) would be used if it were available to God. If they decide it would not, they retain a strong basis for claiming that persuasion is morally (and possibly even practically) superior to coercion. But it is then very difficult to see why God would want us to use coercive power or how the classical God of free will theism can be criticized for not coercing. On the other hand, if process theists decide that God would coerce if this were possible, they establish a sound basis for the human use of coercion in some cases. But they must then give up the claim that coercion is morally "incompatible with divine perfection" and the claim that persuasion is always the "greatest of all powers and "the only power capable of worthwhile results." Furthermore, they must acknowledge that humans possess a ‘desirable’ form of power God simply does not possess. Process theists cannot have it both ways. Moreover, whichever way they go, it seems fair to ask of them that they clarify their claims about the moral status of both persuasion and coercion on both the divine and human levels accordingly.

REFERENCES

DR -- Charles Hartshorne. The Divine Relativity. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1948.

FF -- Schubert Ogden. Faith and Freedom. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1979.

GPE -- David Griffin. God, Power and Evil: A Process Theodicy. Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1976.

GW -- John B. Cobb, Jr. God and the World. Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1969.

JR -- David Basinger, "Divine Persuasion: Could the Process God Do More?" Journal of Religion 64 (1984), 332-47.

LG -- Lewis S. Ford. The Lure of God. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1978.

MVG -- Charles Hartshorne. Man’s Vision of God. Hamden, Connecticut: Archon Books, 1941.

PPCT -- D. Brown, R. James, and D. Reeves, editors. Process Philosophy and Christian Thought. New York: Bobbs-Merrill Co., 1971.

PPT -- John B. Cobb, Jr., and W. Widick Schroeder, editors. Process Philosophy and Social Thought. Center for the Scientific Study of Religion, 1981.

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

PTT -- John B. Cobb, Jr. Process Theology as Political Theology. Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1982.

Alfred North Whitehead indicates in the preface of Process and Reality that his whole metaphysical position is essentially a repudiation of the doctrine of "vacuous actuality" (PR xiii, viii). By "vacuous actuality’’ he means an actuality which is "void of subjective experience" (PR 167/ 253), or, as he say’s elsewhere, a "res vera devoid of subjective immediacy" (PR 29/ 43). The point here is of course of fundamental importance, for it would seem to constitute a direct challenge of the widespread tendency in modern Western philosophy to equate the "actual" with the "factual," that is, with "what is the case," the "merely given," what is "simply there."¹ It is the understanding of the actual as the factual in this sense which has generated and sustained the notorious dichotomy between "fact" and "value." If the actual is the factual in the sense of what is simply there, or, in Whitehead’s terms, in the sense of what is characterized by "bare activity" (MT 200f), then actuality lacks the requisite interiority or immanent activity which would seem to provide warrant for affirming actuality as valuable, as of intrinsic value.²

Given this understanding of actuality, then, it follows that value can be only arbitrarily inserted into the universe. Typically in modern Western philosophy this insertion has occurred at tile level of human being, where the requisite interiority has been taken to be present. But I need not detail here the problems with this way of securing value. Quite simply, it instantiates a dualism which removes the ontological warrant for speaking of value at all, and this in two ways. On the one hand, such a mode of understanding removes the ontological warrant for affirming the value of nonhuman entities (in themselves), since by definition such entities lack the required interior or immanent activity. On the other hand, and in a way which may seem more paradoxical, this mode of understanding removes the ontological warrant for affirming the value even of human beings, for it affirms that value only at the expense of a crucial equivocation: humans have value, but precisely root as actual (in the ordinary sense that is, as factual). In a word, then, if as in much of modern Western philosophy, the actual is equated with the factual in the sense of what is without subjective immediacy, and if value is coextensive with what has such subjective immediacy, it follows that there is no ontological warrant for affirming value at all. There is, quite simply, no warrant for speaking at all of actuality as value, and hence of the actuality of value.

In the context of these opening remarks, then, the title of this paper would seem paradoxical. For Whitehead, in ascribing subjective immediacy to actuality, thereby transforms the modern understanding of "fact" In making subjective experience or immediacy coextensive with actuality, he thereby provides a warrant for affirming actuality as value and thus for affirming the actuality of value. Dualism is rejected, and we would seem to have a universe of value. There is much truth in this claim, and I should not want to minimize its importance. Nonetheless I take Whitehead’s way of resolving the problem I have raised finally to be inadequate, in the following sense. In agreement with Whitehead, I take the ascription of subjective immediacy to actuality to be a necessary condition for affirming an actual universe of value. The question I should raise bears rather on what I take to be the necessary and sufficient condition for such an affirmation. In other words, if -- as Whitehead affirms and in which affirmation I concur -- value is rooted in subjective immediacy, that is, in subjectivity, what warrant do we have for affirming the value of what is given to us as other, that is, the value of what is given objectively? More precisely, if we are to have ontological warrant for affirming the value of the objective world, then, given the link of value with subjectivity, we must have an understanding of actuality which will permit us to affirm objects also, simultaneously, as subjects, that is, which will sustain a convertibility of object and subject.³ It will be the burden of this essay both to defend the sense of the issue as I have briefly formulated it, and to argue that Whitehead fails to meet its systematic requirements. I shall contend that Whitehead’s account of actuality precisely rules out the (ontological) possibility of affirming a convertibility of object and subject and that, for this reason, Whitehead is incapable of carrying through with consistency his fundamental intention of retrieving an actual universe of value. In the course of my argument, then, I shall be concerned to distill the elements of an ontology which I take to be required for such a retrieval.

I

Whitehead suggests in Modes of Thought that the fundamental question of modern times is that of how we can "add content to the notion of bare activity" (MT 200f.). The sense in which this is to be taken as the fundamental question is indicated in the following quotation:

Whitehead’s point is that the whole doctrine of nature has in the past several centuries suffered from a positivist view, according to which "there is the routine described in physical and chemical formulae, and that in the process of nature there is nothing else" (MT 204). What positivism leaves us with is "the notion of activity in which nothing is effected" (MT 202). What it gives us are mere formulae for succession. The activity of things is accounted for in terms of an external relation of succession which is commonly understood as efficient causation. In a word, the positivist sense of order is mechanical order: nature, which is to say natural activity, is to be understood mechanistically.

For Whitehead, then, a natural activity is "bare" if it is without internality, without an "inside," as it were. One important source of this exclusion of internality from nature is Descartes who, in his separation of mental and material substances, made it plausible to explain matter in terms of external spatial relations. In this context, then, Whitehead’s answer to the question of how to invest bare activity with content is to base life with nature (MT 220), and thereby integrate once again what Descartes tore asunder. As he puts it, the key notion from which a systematic metaphysical cosmology should start is "that the energetic activity considered in physics is the emotional intensity entertained in life" (MT 232). In short, nature or natural activity should be understood after the fashion of organism, not a machine. It is the internality proper to organic life which invests the notion of activity with content, and hence which provides the key for the rejection of any vacuous actuality.

Whitehead indicates that the characteristics of life are three -- self-enjoyment, creative activity, and aim -- and describes these characteristics as follows:

Or as he puts it elsewhere, the notion of life implies

Self-enjoyment, then, calls attention to the immanence or internality which characterizes life. Creative activity signifies the process of self-creation which constitutes this self-enjoyment. And aim signifies the immanent finality which unifies the process and thus constitutes that process as individual. In short, life for Whitehead is always an individual or determinate occasion of experience which is characterized as a process of creating itself as one, in terms of its immanent subjective aim, out of the data provided by the functioning of the antecedent universe.

But of course this indication by Whitehead of the characteristics of life was undertaken precisely as a way of beginning construction of a metaphysical cosmology. That is, the point is that these characteristics of life disclose to us something of the characteristics of nature, or of natural activity. Or, to put it another way, the characteristics of life disclose to us something of the meaning of activity (or actuality) generally. It follows, then, that actuality generally, that is, actuality in each of its instances, is to be understood as an immanent, self-directed, and unified or determinate activity.

From this brief outline, then, there should already be some indication of how the notion of value emerges for Whitehead. Value is simply one way of looking at actuality as jisst described. That is, what the notion of value does is simply call attention to the immanent enjoyment of its subjective aim which constitutes actuality.⁴ Or, in other words, value simply calls attention to actuality in its constitution as activity which is immanent and appetitive. If, then, we recall our opening remarks about Whitehead’s understanding of vacuous actuality as actuality void of subjective experience, we can now see that that means void of value. In other words, every actuality, precisely by virtue of its being constituted as subject, that is, as the active self-enjoyment which constitutes subjective experience, is a value. The following quotation from Whitehead will serve both to summarize this position, and to introduce the fundamental consideration I wish to take up in connection with it:

This quotation, then, gives expression to the view outlined above, namely that actuality is subjective experience which in turn is value experience. Existence is precisely existence for its own sake, and hence is its own justification. But what the quotation makes explicit is the universal character of that claim. That is, the affirmation of my actuality as a value experience carries with it an affirmation of the value experience of others and indeed finally of the totality. And this intention seems to be fundamental to Whitehead. But what is the ontological warrant for universalizing the fact of value experience, for claiming that actuality universally has intrinsic value? The question can be put simply: if the value of actuality lies in actuality’s character as subject in the sense of the immanent activity of self-enjoyment, what wan-ants my assigning value to others, the data, that is, the objects in relation to which I (or any actual entity) constitute myself as subject? If value is coextensive at any given instant with the immanent self-seeking which constitutes a subject, then how at any given instant can the object, that is, what is given to the subject as other than the subject, he affirmed as having value -- not simply for me, but in itself?

It is important that the sense in which this question is being raised be understood. For there is clearly a sense in which Whitehead’s entire philosophy stands as an answer to the question. Indeed, this would seem to be the fundamental import of his "reformed subjectivist principle" (PR 157/ 238). The reformed subjectivist principle is "that the whole universe consists of elements disclosed in the analysis of the experience of subjects (PP. 166/252). Though in a way this is simply a restatement of the subjectivist turn of modern philosophy, the difference in the way Whitehead uses this principle is crucial. For when Descartes, for example, turned to the subject, he nonetheless did so while continuing to hold the metaphysical view that relations were external. In contrast, Whitehead’s point is that this is precisely not how we are disclosed to ourselves as subjects. Our fundamental experience of ourselves is as internally (and hence already) affected by other actualities, that is, as actively enjoying data (what is given: hence, what is other than oneself).

In short, according to Whitehead, the subject is constituted as internally related to what is other, and hence as within a community of actualities. But to affirm oneself as already within community is by that very fact to affirm some similarity or oneness between oneself and that to which one is related. There can be no relation between things which are simply different. In short, Whitehead’s doctrine of internal relations would seem to affirm a principle of unity in our understanding of actuality. And this is to say, in the context of the question I have raised, that the doctrine of internal relations would seem to establish a universe of actualities as subject and hence of value. Given that in experiencing myself as subject I experience myself always as already internally related to others, hence as in community with them, it follows that something like subjective experience must also be characteristic of those others.

But if what would seem to be established in principle by the doctrine of internal relations is to be borne out, one would expect it to be confirmed by observation. That is, if actuality generally is to be affirmed as possessing subjectivity, as characterized by an active self-appropriation in relation to the environment, then there should be some evidence of this in our observation of things. Here a Whiteheadian would point to evidence in biology and physics. For example, how can one account adequately for evolution if there is not something like subjectivity running through all of nature? Does not contemporary physics, both relativity theory and quantum theory, albeit in very different ways, transform the old understanding of nature: that is, the elements of nature (e.g., "particles") are seen neither to be passive, nor to be constituted apart from relation to one another. In short, then, I take Whitehead’s doctrine of internal relations, together with the empirical-cosmological evidence of biology and physics, to be Whitehead’s way of supporting his claim on behalf of the subjectivity and hence value of all actualities, including those actualities which are present to me precisely as data, as objects.

Nonetheless I wish to press Whitehead’s warrant as outlined here. In so doing, I begin by granting the empirical-cosmological evidence of biology and physics which testifies to the active taking account of environment on the part of the entities it studies. Where I wish to direct my attention is rather to Whitehead’s doctrine of internal relations. As indicated at the outset, my concern is the ontological foundation of value. My question therefore in the present context is just this. How does Whitehead understand actuality, and what does this understanding permit in terms of how one is to understand actual relations between entities? More precisely, what is Whitehead’s ontological warrant -- as distinct from his cosmological warrant, which I grant -- for affirming the subjectivity and hence value of the objects to which I (as subject) am internally related, and in this sense for affirming a universe of value?

A preliminary answer to this question is suggested by the fact that the activity which constitutes actuality is one of self-creation. The activity is that by which an actual entity integrates or unifies the data -- the objects -- given to it, in terms of its own subjective aim or finality. Such a claim serves to introduce just the problem to which I wish to call attention: for if actuality is exhausted in the subjective process of unification, and if it is actuality in this sense which constitutes value, it follows that value at any given instant is precisely coextensive with this subjective process of unification. That is, what is given as other (objective), just so far as it is other, is without value. Or, inversely, the other acquires value just so far as it is ingredient in my self-creation, insofar as it is actualized in terms of, as, my subjectivity. In a word, given value as coextensive with actuality and actuality in turn as coextensive with self-seeking creative activity, things other than the self, that is, the world as given to me (any actual entity), can have value only as an object for my own self-realization. That world can have value always and only for me, never in itself.

II

Anyone familiar with the thought of Whitehead is aware that there Is more to be said about his understanding of actuality that I have made explicit thus far. For the creativity which makes something actual I have identified simply with individual self-creativity. In fact Whitehead explicitly refers to creativity as a

What this suggests of course is that creativity (actuality) in some sense transcends self-creativity.⁶ Or, to punt it another way, this suggests that there is creativity and hence actuality as distinct from, and thus as transcendent of, occasions understood as self-creations. The following quotations from Whitehead will prepare us to comment on what seems to be an expansion here in his understanding of actuality which is pertinent to the claim I have introduced.

Again:

And finally:

What I wish to suggest here is that there are two possible ways of interpreting these passages relative to the claim I introduced above, but that neither of these interpretations suffices finally to warrant a revision in that claim. The first interpretation emphasizes the identity of creativity with the self-creation called concrescence. According to this interpretation, which has been the dominant interpretation among Whiteheadians, creativity in its transitional phase is simply the principle which records the succession of the individual self-creations which alone are actual in the full sense. In short, creativity is actual only as the self-creation, the immanent appetitive activity, which constitutes subjectivity. Insofar as this interpretation holds, then, I take the claim which I have introduced above to stand without need of further argument.⁷ For insofar as actuality is identified with subjectivity there is just so far no ontological warrant for affirming the actuality (that is, the actual subjectivity), and a fortiori the actual value, of what at any given instant is given as other than one s own subjectivity.

There is, however, a second interpretation of creativity which has been introduced among some Whiteheadians -- for example, Jorge Nobo, whose formulation I shall address here (PS, IPQ). According to this interpretation, the transitive dimension of creativity is emphasized in its distinctness as transitive. That is, it is maintained that actuality is to be properly predicated, not only of creativity in its concrescent phase, but also in its distinctive superjective phase (PS 4:275). And this would seem to move the Whiteheadian account of actuality in the direction I have hinted that it must. I should stress the importance of Nobo’s effort to recover this dimension of actuality. Nonetheless, the following passages should situate us properly to determine whether his interpretation suffices finally to rescue Whitehead from the charge I have leveled.

In responding to Nobo’s interpretation as indicated here, then, I begin by recalling the focus of my charge against Whitehead. Whitehead’s rejection of the idea of vacuous actuality is synonymous with his rejection of Descartes understanding of actuality (nature) in terms of the external activity of succession. Whitehead s response is to recover internality. It is this which constitutes actuality as subject and hence value And, given the immediacy of our relation to others, hence our community with others, it follows that these others are to be co-affirmed as subjects and hence values.

With in this context, my question was whether Whitehead had given us sufficient ontological warrant for the latter move. My suggestion was that he had not, precisely to the extent that he subsumed the actuality of an entity into its subjective (concrescent) phase. For this would leave us exactly without warrant for affirming the actuality of an entity us subject in that entity’s distinctive superjective (hence in turn objective) phase. Whitehead just so far, then, was seen to leave us without warrant for speaking of the objective world at any given instant as anything more than actuality which by definition is vacuous because without the internality which constitutes subjectivity. And this in turn is but to say that the objective world is without intrinsic value. Within this context, then, Nobo wishes clearly not to make the meaning of actuality coextensive with an entity in its subjective (concrescent) phase, but rather to extend it also to include the entity in its superjective (transitive) phase. Does Nobo’s interpretation meet the thrust of my objection to Whitehead?

Several of Nobo’s descriptions as noted above seem to me preliminarily to suggest that it does not: "an actual entity . . . is not literally at once both subject and superject"; "an actual entity first exists as subject, and then as superject. Both modes of existence cannot belong to it at once"; [t]he two descriptions [of subject and satisfaction] . . . are two halves of an actual entity’s total description ; this is not to say that an occasion exists simultaneously as subject and superject"; "the subject has ceased to exist; what remains as . . . the superject" (emphasis mine).

What seems to me to be the common and central meaning of these statements is that there is no simultaneity ("all-at-onceness") which is to be literally affirmed of the relation between subject and object. Rather the superjective phase of an actual entity is precisely, always, that which follows upon that entity’s subjective phase: the superject takes up where the subject ends ("first". . . "then"). Such language suggests exactly an external relation of succession. But if this is the nature of the relation between subject and superject, then it would seem to follow that the criticism of Whitehead developed above holds also with respect to Nobo’s interpretation of Whitehead. For what such an external relation between subject and superject signifies is exactly that, at any given instant, the superject (and hence in turn the object) has always and already replaced the subject, which is to say, is always and already without the subjective immediacy and thus value proper to subjects.

But this preliminary suggestion demands further precision. For Nobo is in fact careful to note that his expansion of the meaning of actuality in Whitehead should not be understood to carry the implication that the superjective phase of existence is some kind of independent phase which is merely added or juxtaposed to the subjective phase -- which is exactly the sort of understanding indicated by calling the relation of subject and superject an external one of succession. Indeed the term which would seem to reflect more accurately the tightness of the relation between subject and superject is supersession rather than succession. Nobo brings out the tightness or unity of that relation as follows:

The point of this passage, then, is that the subject and superject are not to be understood as so distinct that one fails to grasp that they are after all the same actual occasion. Nobo goes on to suggest that the sameness or identity of an occasion is established in an important way by its position: "Since the occasion’s position remains unchanged throughout all the phases of the occasions existence, it serves as one ground for the identity of the occasion qua subject with the occasion qua superject (PS 4:284).

In sum, then, Nobo’s interpretation of Whitehead is that the superject is to be understood as actual as distinct from the subject, but that the superject is nonetheless the same entity as the subject. The pertinent question for our purposes is whether Nobo’s care to incorporate a sense of unity between subject and superject in the way just outlined suffices to warrant a rejection of my tentative earlier characterization of his understanding of that unity as an external one of succession. The import of my earlier criticism of Whitehead seems to me to compel a negative answer to this question. For what that earlier criticism requires is that the relation between subject and superject be one wherein the subject is immanent with the superject, in the precise sense that there be subjective immediacy carried within the superject.

The point bears stressing. What my earlier criticism cannot allow to stand is the claim that the subject gets into the superject, but only effectively, that is, only after subjective immediacy has perished. Indeed, this is just the sort of equivocation that that criticism is at pains to ferret out: to say that the subject is internal to the superject, but only effectively, is exactly to say that the subject does not really get into, is not really internal to, the superject after all. For, on such a reading, the subjects internality to the superject is always consequent upon the evacuation of the immediacy which precisely constitutes the subject as subject.

To put the matter in terms of the quotations from Nobo cited above, then, what my earlier criticism of Whitehead requires here is just the sort of literal ascription of an "all-at-once" character to the relation between subject and superject which Nobo expressly denies. There must be some literal sense in which we can affirm an actual entity to be simultaneously subjective and superjective. In a word, the unity of the subjective and superjective phases of an actual entity must be such that we can affirm that entity to be in some literal sense one, or whole, within its distinct phases.⁸ Nobo does indeed defend a sense of unity between subject and superject. But the point of my criticism is that, despite his concern to retrieve some sense of unity, he nonetheless expressly denies that this can be rightly understood as in any literal sense an "all-at-once" sort of unity.

My conclusion with respect to Nobo, then, is that he is just so far forced to conceive the subjective and superjective phases of an entity successively, and hence as external to one another: however much he wishes to affirm the internality of the subject to the superject, the point is that this internality can never be an internality of the subject as subject. But this is just to say that the subject is never actually within, unified with, the superject, which leads us in turn to exactly the claim I advanced earlier: namely, that in each instance of our (any subject’s) active relating to the world given to us, the subjectivity of that world has already and always been left behind, and we thus have ontological warrant for gaining access to that world only as object.⁹ Affirmation of the objective world as subject is ontologically forever closed to us: for the subjectivity of that world has always perished and been succeeded by what can then be only objective, hence precisely vacuous. The objective world thus can only and always be without inherent value.

My overarching claim then, in this discussion of Whitehead, is that his account of actuality does not permit him to carry through with consistency his doctrine of internal relations, and this in two ways. On the one hand, in accord with the dominant interpretation of Whitehead, actuality (creativity) is understood to be coextensive with the immanent self-creative activity which constitutes an entity as subject. But just so far as this interpretation obtains, we are left without ontological warrant for affirming at any given instant the actual subjectivity, and a fortiori the actual value, of what is given as distinctly other than one’s own (any given one actual entity’s) subjectivity. On the other hand, then, in accord with a second interpretation of Whitehead illustrated by Nobo, actuality is expanded to include an entity’s distinct superjective phase. Nonetheless, it is my contention that Nobo’s expansion can only be called, when considered in light of the precise sense of internality required by my earlier line of argument, an expansion by way of succession and hence externality. That is, actuality as superject is consequent upon the perishing of actuality as subject. But this means that the immanent activity which constitutes subjectivity has always been evacuated from the world which is objectively given to us. Even if this second interpretation obtains, then, we are nonetheless still left without ontological warrant for affirming, at any given instant, the actual value of that objective world. In the case of either interpretation of Whitehead, then, we are left without ontological warrant for affirming a subject’s internal relation to others as distinct subjects, and hence as distinct values. We are just so far unable to affirm a universe of actual value.

For these reasons, then, I submit that in Whitehead we have no ontological basis for generosity. (1) There can be no objectifying of myself in the very act of becoming a subject, which is to say no giving of the value of myself in appropriating the value of others. And (2) there can be no affirmation of others as subjects in, that is, as unified with, the affirmation of myself as subject, which is to say no affirmation of the value of others in the affirmation of my own value. On the one hand, the world has value for each subject only in terms of the unity of the self-enjoyment which constitutes its subjectivity. On the other hand, that subject in turn can offer itself as a value for the world only extrinsically, that is, as an unintended consequence of its having sought and realized its own unity (and hence having perished as a subject). Thus the universe of the value fundamentally intended by Whitehead, given his account of actuality, collapses into what can be called at best a multiverse of individuals actively seeking their own self-realization. Whitehead’s intended philosophy of generosity is undermined by an ontology of what can only be called selfish individualism. In a word, we have an ontology wherein value and valuing can be only erotic, never agapic.

III

But the intention of this paper is not merely negative. Indeed, at the outset I affirmed that Whitehead’s ascription of subjective immediacy or subjectivity to actuality was a necessary condition for overcoming the notorious fact-value dualism of modernity, and hence for retrieving a universe of value. The purpose of the paper within this context has been to examine Whitehead’s ontological warrant for ascribing subjectivity and hence value to those entities which, at any given instant, are given objectively, that is, as other than (one’s own) subjectivity. And my argument has been that Whitehead’s account of actuality does not provide this ontological warrant. In conclusion, then, I should like, in light of this argument, to suggest the elements of a constructive alternative account of actuality which I consequently take to provide warrant for a universe of subjectivity and hence value.

In accord with my criticism of the two possible interpretations of Whitehead’s understanding of actuality, I suggest that these elements are two. On the one hand, if my criticism of the dominant interpretation of Whitehead is accurate, it follows that actuality in its effective, transcendent dimension must be affirmed at any given instant as distinct from actuality in its self-seeking, immanent dimension. On the other hand, if my criticism of Nobo’s interpretation of Whitehead is accurate, it follows that actuality in its distinctly transcendent dimension must at the same time be internally related to, hence, unified with, actuality in its self-seeking, immanent dimension. In a word, if my criticism of Whitehead has been accurate, actuality must be affirmed to be a unity-within-distinctness or a distinctness-within-unity of effective and immanent activity. Actuality must be affirmed to be whole or "all-at-once," but precisely in a way which includes these effective and immanent modes of activity as irreducibly distinct. I hasten to distinguish two importantly different senses in which this claim is to be understood.

The first sense merely reiterates in positive terms the substance of the argument already advanced. Affirmation of a universe of actuality as value, and hence of a universe of actual value, requires an affirmation of each actual entity as a unified act -- unified, that is, not successively but all-at- once, hence as a whole -- within its distinctly subjective (immanent) and superjective (transitive) modes of activity.¹⁰ An identification (qua actual) of superjective activity with subjective activity, or a separation one from the other (a merely external relation between the two) leads in the end, albeit in different ways, to the same result: namely, an evacuation of subjectivity at any given instant from what is distinctly objective. From such an evacuation there just so far follows the impossibility of affirming, at any given instant, a universe understood as a community of subjects and hence values.

But there is a second sense of this claim which I wish to introduce here. That sense emerges when we attend to the internal relation between actual entities which has been a central feature of our argument. What does this internal relation of one actual entity to many other actual entities, each of them understood as a whole within its distinctly subjective and superjective modes, add to our first suggestion?

I take this internal relation to call for an affirmation of a distinct sense of actuality as such as itself a whole within distinctly subjective and superjective aspects. There are three relevant points to be noted in connection with such an affirmation. (1) This actuality as such must be an Actual Whole unto itself, that is, as distinct from and hence transcendent of the plurality of actual entities of our experience. (2) It must be Whole in a way which includes distinctly effective and immanent modes of activity. (3) And it must, as a distinct Whole unto itself, be at once immanent within the plurality of actual entities of our experience.

The warrants for these claims, in the context of the line of argument as developed earlier, I suggest are as follows: (1) The actuality of distinctness among the plurality of related actual entities requires the distinctness of actuality from any and all of those entities,, precisely as actual. To put it another way, the actual internal relation, hence unity or all-at-onceness or wholeness, among distinct entities requires the unity or all-at-onceness or wholeness of actuality as distinct from any of those entities. In a word, actuality must be whole as actuality, not simply as this or that instance of actuality. (2) This actuality as actuality, this Actual Whole, as disclosed in the plurality of entities, is hereby disclosed as possessing at once the effective and immanent activity proper to those entities. (3) This actuality as actuality, this Actual Whole, disclosed as immanent within the, plurality of entities, is thereby (while remaining distinctly whole unto itself) disclosed as at once internally distinguished by the plurality of entities. In a word, then, the second sense of actuality which I take to be required by the earlier argument is that of a distinct Whole which possesses distinctly effective and immanent modes of activity, and which is internally distinguished by the plurality of entities.

But with this brief suggestion I reach the limits of the present paper. The task which the paper leaves is that of developing and justifying this twofold sense of actuality which I take to be required finally to warrant affirmation of a universal community of subjects and hence values. Given the negative part of my argument above, it seems to me to follow, positively, that there must be (1) a wholeness proper to each instance of actuality, in a way which includes distinctly subjective (immanent) and superjective (transitive) modes of activity; and (2) a wholeness proper to actuality as such in a way which includes (a) distinctly effective and immanent modes of activity and (b) an internal distinguishing by the plurality of instances of actuality. In a word, if my argument as advanced in this paper is correct, affirmation of a universal community of subjects and hence values requires an understanding of actuality as a plurality of actual wholes within an Actual Whole, all of which are characterized at once by effective and immanent activity.¹¹ It is a lack of wholeness of actuality in just these two senses, the first considered explicitly in this paper and the second only by implication, that I take to constitute Whitehead’s inability finally to found a universe of value.

References

IPQ -- David Bohm. "Response to Schindler’s Critique of My Wholeness and the Implicate Order," International Philosophical Quarterly. 22 (December, 1982).

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

IPQ -- David L. Schindler. "David Bohm on Contemporary Physics and the Overcoming of Fragmentation," International Philosophical Quarterly, 22 (December, 1982).

PS -- Jorge Nobo. "Whitehead’s Principle of Process," Process Studies, 4 (Winter, 1974), 275-84.

WIO -- David Bohm. Wholeness and the Implicate Order. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul Ltd., 1980.

Notes

1Cf. in this connection Kenneth L. Schmitz, The Gift: Creation (The Aquinas Lecture, 1982) (Milwaukee: Marquette University Press. 1982), pp. 34ff. and passim.

2My assumption here, then, in agreement with Whitehead. is that whatever additional features one might ascribe to the nature of value, a necessary feature is the link with immanent appetitive activity. This understanding his roots as far back as Aristotle, who defined value as "that which all things seek." Of course the Aristotelian (Thomistic) tradition has ordinarily used the term "good" in preference to the term "value," and this usage has been linked with an emphasis on the perfection (per-facio), hence completeness or indeed wholeness, of actuality as the necessary condition for something’s being desirable. This in turn has signified a certain "objective" understanding of value (that is, the good) over against the more "subjective" understanding of Whitehead. I note this difference here by way of noting that the present paper is intended as an effort to show the sense in which wholeness and immanent appetitive activity must both be affirmed of actuality if one is to secure an adequate sense of value (good). In this way I take the paper to be an effort to effect a merging between the Aristotelian (Thomistic) and Whiteheadian traditions on the problem of value (good) which faithfully retrieves the intentions of both. For further discussion pertinent to the point, see my "The Fact of Value and the Value of Fact: Another Look at the Convertibility of Ens and Bonum" (World Union of Catholic Philosophical Societies, project on the Philosophic Mediation of Christian Values [forthcoming]); and Joseph De Finance Essai sur l’Agir Humain (Rome: Gregorian University Press, 1962), pp. 77-79, and idem, Ethica Generalis, 2nd Ed. (Rome: Gregorian University Press, 1963), pp.30-33.

3 I take this statement of the issue, then, to be a way of formulating in contemporary terms the classical issue of the convertibility of ens and bonum. On this, cf. n. 2.

4 Cf. in this connection Whitehead’s formulation as early as SMW: " ‘Value’ is the word I use for the intrinsic reality of an event" (SMW 136).

5 See for example the evidence adduced in the following: Mind in Nature, edited by John B. Cobb, Jr. and David Ray Griffin (Washington, D.C.: University Press of America, 1978), and David Bohm WIO.

6 On this see my "Creativity as Ultimate: Reflections on Actuality in Whitehead, Aristotle, and Aquinas" International Philosophical Quarterly, 13 (June, 1973), 161-71; and "Whitehead’s Challenge to Thomism on the Problem of God: The Metaphysical Issues," International Philosophical Quarterly 19 (September, 1979), 285-99.

7 I take Donald Sherburne’s interpretation of creativity not to constitute, relative to the claim being argued in my paper, a third interpretation distinct from the two I consider. Sherburne’s interpretation is that creativity is to be understood as the one process of self-realization, which can be viewed from two angles. Insofar as Sherburne thus understands creativity as actually identified with the process of self-realization, I take his view in terms of the thesis I am advancing, to be equivalent to the dominant understanding of creativity in Whitehead. On Sherburne’s interpretation, see his A Whiteheadian Aesthetic (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1961), pp. 21-23.

8 The direction of my argument here of course raises difficulties of its own, to wit: can one affirm a unity of the sort I am suggesting here between subject and superject without finally eliminating the distinctness between the two required for affirmation of the actuality of becoming, not to say the distinctness required to avoid a merging of subjectivities unto the simple identity of one subjectivity? Indeed, I have myself pressed a form of these difficulties in connection with David Bohm’s WIO (see IPQ -- Schindler and IPQ -- Bohm). Nonetheless I call attention to these important further issues which I take to be generated by the thesis of the present paper only to note that their treatment falls outside the scope of the paper. Though in conclusion I suggest what seems to me to be the line of argument required for their resolution, my direct concern in this paper is limited to showing the sense in which a denial of (a literal sense of) an ontological unity between subject and superject creates an inability to overcome the modern dualism of fact and value.

9 In connection with my argument here, I should note that Nobo distinguishes another phase in an entity’s existence, namely a dative phase which is precisely that entity in its initial other-caused phase. As other-caused, and not either self-causing (concrescent) or self-caused (transitive), an entity in this phase is not actual, but merely real. As Nobo says, "The process of transition is creative of the merely real occasion; whereas the process of concrescence is the means by which the merely real occasion becomes attained actuality" (IPQ 19:282). I call attention to this further distinction by Nobo only by way of noting the impertinence of the distinction in terms of the thesis I have advanced. For that distinction leaves intact, indeed it sharpens, the dichotomy between an entity in its subjective phase and that entity as it eventually gets objectified in later occasions. What finally gets objectified, even with this further distinction, is precisely the past which has been evacuated of its internality subjectivity and hence intrinsic value. And this is just the point of my criticism.

10 I leave aside in the present paper the important but distinct question of what is to be identified as an instance of actuality which is to be affirmed as whole in the sense noted. Specifically, I leave aside the question of whether and in what sense wholeness is properly to be predicated of particular modes of actuality from subatomic events to individual human beings.

11 Cf. in connection with the positive elements of my argument: Bohm’s WIO, and the view of Aquinas on the wholeness (perfection) of esse, and indeed the wholeness of Esse. (On the wholeness of Esse in each instance of esse, see, for example, Summa Contra Gentiles, Book III, Pt. 1, Ch. 68). For a discussion of Bohm and Aquinas on the issue of wholeness, see IPQ -- Schindler (and IPQ -- Bohm).

Professor Steve Odin’s "A Metaphysics of Cumulative Penetration: Process Theory and Hua-yen Buddhism" (PS 11:65-82), is a highly stimulating and challenging essay not only for Whiteheadian and Buddhist studies, but also for its comparative value.¹ He has presented a searching analysis of Whiteheadian metaphysics of cumulative penetration, but his treatment of Buddhism in general and Hua-yen in particular in terms of that metaphysics leaves much to be desired, thereby marring the comparative nature of the whole essay. It seems that he has deliberately set up Hua-yen as a straw man only to be burned mercilessly down to the ground with massive Whiteheadian metaphysical support. As a consequence, the reader is left with a partial view of Hua-yen thought, condensed to a closed, muffled, ineffective, and flat system, relatively speaking.

After translating and presenting the famous passage from Ûisang’s work, Ocean Seal, Odin culls from it the principal descriptive elements of ‘‘harmonization," "non-obstruction," "interpenetration," "mutual identification," "all is one and one is all," "interfusion," "mutual containedness, etc., to depict the nature of dharmadhatu (p. 66). He finally concludes that the dharmadhatu is the "all-merging field of suchness" (p. 67). For an instant I felt that there was a typographical error for "all-emerging field of suchness," but that was not the case, for in the synopsis he reiterates that Hua-yen establishes a "total nonobstruction, interpenetration, and mutual identification in all-merging dharmadhatu" (p. 68). Thus "Hua-yen must be understood as having posited a theory of cocausation or ‘simultaneous-mutual-establishment’ wherein each dharma is causally supported or causally conditioned by every other dharma in the universe, not only by its predecessors, but by its contemporaries and successors as well" (ibid.). And finally, its theory is framed in a "symmetrical structure of causal relations" (ibid.).

Having concluded that Hua-yen has a symmetrical structure as opposed to Whiteheadian asymmetrical nature, Odin systematically excludes Hua-yen from any function of cumulative penetration. Thus Hua-yen is categorically denied the Whiteheadian notions of creativity, novelty, freedom of decision, production of novel togetherness, creative advance, negative prehension, primal mode of causal feeling, sympathetic concernedness, aesthetic-value immediacy through di-polar contrast, transpersonal Peace, etc., etc., and instead it is reduced to an impotent metaphysics, characterized by or assigned to a "static Felt Totality" (pp. 77, 81), and "theory of total determinism or necessitarianism" (p. 71). For Hua-yen, therefore, there is no room for creative synthesis, the many cannot become one and are increased by one, for whatever is has achieved is "complete ontological cohesiveness and solidarity, but at the expense of creative advance, emergent newness and the production of novelty" (p. 71).

These are indeed strong indictments against Hua-yen metaphysics which cannot go unnoticed. The denial is unconvincing and questionable. There are several premises involved in his approach that have created this one-sided interpretation of Hua-yen thought. The basic or primary flaw, which is common among interpreters of Buddhist thought, is the categorical confusion of the terms dharma and Dharma. The latter, Dharma as capitalized, refers to the truth of existence captured and enunciated by the historical Buddha. It is the Norm, the Nirvanic content, the real freedom and peace that we all seek after. On the other hand, dharma, or more commonly used in the plural, dharmas, refer to the factors of experience. They delineate the manifold phenomena of the experiential process and are thus the basic ingredients in understanding the Buddhist metaphysics of experience. Several early Buddhist schools of thought, such as the Theravada, Sarvastivada and Vijnanavda, maintained different sets of dharmas, which numbered from 75 to 100 dharmas, and focussed on the physical and mental realms of experience. For example, all sense faculties with their sense data were classified as dharmas of the physical realm and all psychological traits, such as greed, hatred, and delusion, were dharmas of the mental realm.

In basic Buddhist metaphysics, the Dharma incorporates all dharmas but not the other way around, i.e., the dharmas singly or collectively cannot be identified with the Dharma. Epistemically, the Dharma belongs to the realm of the enlightened, and the dharmas, to the unenlightened. They are totally different with respect to the categories of being and cannot he identified with each other, except when one is speaking of the progress from the unenlightened to the enlightened realm of existence.

Now the famous verse from the Ocean Seal alluded to earlier refers to the Dharma, not dharmas. Thus the Dharma-nature us ‘round and penetrating," and "the true Dharma nature is profound, mysterious and sublime." The harmony of Samsara and Nirvana, the merging of the Universal and the Particular, even the particle of dust that contains the ten directions, etc. -- all these are seen or known from the standpoint of the enlightened realm, the Dharma nature of things. Such being the case, to introduce dharmas in place of the Dharma is certainly to place the cart before the horse. The dharmadhatu is a delineation of the ideality of existence as seen by the enlightened, and thus the conventional designation of past, present, and future factors or events are transcended in virtue of the enlightened nature of things.

But the dharmadhatu is much more than a mere "simultaneous-mutual-establishment of dharmas," for it is a moving phenomenon. What makes it move? Odin rightly introduces the concepts of relational (dependent) origination (pratitya-samutpada) and emptiness (sunyat), but he immediately confuses the issue by identifying them without any qualification. His fondness for Stcherbatsky’s translation of sunyata as "universal relativity" may be the problem here. The translation gives a lofty metaphysical status to sunyata, a sense of the relativity of’ all dharmas in tile universe, so Odin rather hastily identifies it with the dha rmadhatu. But sunyata as emptiness or voidness is not an all-containing receptacle of being, nor is it a strict supporter or upholder of any or all dharmas.

The famous verse (24:18) of Nagarjuna cited by Odin (p.67) shows the identity of relational origination and emptiness, but it goes further to assert that emptiness is also identified with the middle way in virtue of the conceptual nature of grasping at the relational structure of things (prajnaptir unpadaya). Although all the doctrines mentioned in the verse are important, the most basic phenomenon or concept is still relational origination, which depicts the way of all happenings or experiential processes. Being such, without admitting any dichotomies, such as subject and object, or any dharma for that matter, the experiential process is devoid or empty of any self-subsisting entities (nihsvabhava), thereby establishing emptiness as the fact of the epistemological nature, according to Madhyamika thought. Emptiness then is not a metaphysical concept as such, depicting a status of existence, but an experiential fact of epistemological non-assertion of any substantiality either internal or external to the process. This nature of experiential fact, emptiness, makes possible the all in one and one in all metaphysics. In consequence of this Hua-yen asserts the dynamic movement of the dharmadhatu within the context of relational origination (fa-chieh yüan-ch’i),² all of which is to be captured by the aspiring Buddhist in meditative discipline.

The dynamic movement depicted by relational origination is the key to understanding the life process. The nature of the dharmadhatu was illustrated graphically by, for example, The Treatise on the Golden Lion by Fa-tsang, the Third Patriarch of Hua-yen Buddhism but up to that point, it was mere descriptive metaphysics. Fa-tsang’s illustration must be carried to its ultimate conclusion, i.e., the lion in all its vitality must rise and move and scamper off; otherwise, there will be no lion to speak of, and every description will be limited to staticity and impotency.

In the dharmadhatu, then, there is no determinism or necessitarian elements. The historical Buddha very early in his discourses it should be recalled, admonished those who would uncritically entertain such notions as fatalism, chance, and divine fiat in understanding the experiential process. There is no reason or basis to believe that Hua-yen Buddhists deviated from this fundamental teaching. Yet, it cannot be denied that a kind of Buddhist determinism coupled with fatalism always persists because of the concept of karma. This concept is not indigenous to Buddhism, but in its popular usage it continued to carry a strong deterministic connotation that was current at the time. Buddhism, however, transformed it into a nondeterministic action concept. It became a vital part of the doctrine of relational origination, i.e., the active volitional force that propels the wheel of life to turn on and on.

In this respect, the early Buddhists spoke of existence in a twofold sense, i.e., the active component (kamma-bhava) and passive component (upapatti-bhava) both working in tandem, but the active component remains the motive force in the experiential process. It should be noted that this karma function has an asymmetrical tendency in that it avoids the symmetrical and deterministic flow of events. The famous sutra, Anguttara-Nikaya (pp. iii, 99), for example, asserts that we can in no way extinguish our suffering if we are to reap according to our past deeds (karma), but, on the other hand, we can extinguish it if what we reap accords with our present deed. It can readily be seen that the former is a deterministic statement which keeps tile deed and fruit symmetrically bound, while the latter is nondeterministic, functioning in the microscopic realm where the deed and its fruit, so-called, are not separate events but coterminously involved in the momentary existence, and where the making of the present is bound to the past content. In this way, the karmic nature is asymmetric and can be applied to the dynamics of the dharmadhatu, for, after all, it is the force in relational origination.

Relational origination is a holistic process in which there is neither absolutism covering the total metaphysical sphere of existence nor focus on any particular thing or object. It functions in the nature of the Buddhist middle way, attaching to nothing either substantial or non-substantial and involving in its train the dharmadhatu, which is at once the content of experiential fact in the microscopic as well as macroscopic processes. But the two processes are only two aspects of the self-same reality, where one is "internal" and the other "external." This is quite akin to the Whiteheadian analysis of two kinds of process or fluency, which Whitehead expands thus: "One kind is the concrescence which, in Locke’s language, is ‘the real internal constitution of a particular existent.’ The other kind is the transition from particular existent to particular existent. This transition, again in Locke’s language, is the ‘perpetually perishing’ which is one aspect of the notion of time" (PR 210/ 320). There is much to explore further on this similarity of basic metaphysics of process.

In sum, then, Hua-yen thought must be understood in two senses. In its descriptive sense, the dharmadhatu is seen as a merging" phenomenon where such characteristics as harmonization, mutual identity, and penetration, and interfusion are rightly applied. In the dynamic sense, the dharmadhatu is seen as an "emerging" phenomenon where the dynamics of relational origination is very much in evidence. In the final analysis, the former is Appearance and the latter Reality. On this point both Hua-yen and Whitehead agree.

Notes

1It has now been incorporated in a full-length study: Process Metaphysics and Hua-yen Buddhism: A Critical Study of Cumulative Penetration vs. Interpenetration, by Steve Odin (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1982, xxi, 242 pp., $33.50).

2The dharmadhatu in relational origination (fa-chieh yüan-ch’i) delineates the dynamics of the dharmadhatu with all its elements, i.e., as it is constantly evolving, and does not merely depict the fact of interpenetration, interfusion, or mutual identification of the elements themselves. Thus, it is interpenetration based on relational origination and also, mutual identification based on relational origination. Put another way, relational origination is that which gives substance to the mutually identifying and mutually penetrating phenomena, thereby completing the whole experiential process.

A response to David Kelsey s review of the two essay collections on Biblical interpretation from a process perspective must begin with a word of appreciation for this labor of love. Coming as it does from one who considers himself an outsider and an amateur in regard to process thought, his essay nevertheless, or precisely for that reason, provides those of us working on "process hermeneutics" with illuminating analysis and criticism. By responding to my colleague’s review of our work, I wish to clarify further what "process hermeneutics is or intends to be, a question arising from Kelsey’s review essay in part, at least, because of the "hermeneutical pluralism" represented in the collection of essays published under this banner.¹

I. Exegetical Inclusiveness

"Hermeneutics," as a field of study, concerns theories of interpretation, the process of understanding, and meaning. Occasionally, as in structuralism, distinctively new methods are developed from a particular hermeneutical perspective. As a rule, however, existing tools of exegesis are used from different hermeneutical perspectives. Unlike structuralism, "process hermeneutics" has not developed distinctively "process" exegetical tools; and I do not foresee its doing so.

What makes a hermeneutic distinctive are the combinations, emphases, and goals toward which publicly available exegetical methods are used and justified from a particular perspective. Most of the current hermeneutical options tend toward reduction or exclusion in the act of interpretation, as when they utilize either structuralist or "historical-critical" methods, focus on either sociological data or "ideas," and locate "meaning" in the internal "world" of the text, or in the external reality to which it refers, or in the author’s intention, or iii the reader’s response (see OTIPP 1). Further reduction or exclusion results when "authorial intention" and "reader response" are understood as acts either of cognition or of imagination alone (see RHPT). At one level every hermeneutic is exclusive in practice, as when "process hermeneutics" centers attention on the metaphysical claims of Biblical texts about the reality of God (e.g., see MEH).² But "process hermeneutics" refuses to be reductionist in its theory of interpretation, understanding, and meaning; hence, its inclusive hospitality to "any and all disciplined methods of interpretation," as Kelsey puts it (compare, e.g., RPIPS, especially 106-15). Its methodological inclusiveness is protected from the charges of being ad hoc because of its basis in a theory of perception-as-interpretation.

II. Whitehead’s Theory of Perception

"Process hermeneutics" has developed a distinctive theory of interpretation, understanding, and meaning from Whitehead’s general view of perception -- in particular his notions of "symbolic reference and of "propositions" (see WH and APPH). The former notion, which Whitehead provides in giving an account of the cognitive dimension of perception as it moves from experience to thought to language (see S and PR 168-83), enables "process hermeneutics" to make a contribution to the discussion of communication theory, linguistic analysis, and semiotics (see RRR, RHPT, and WM). Here the emphasis of "process hermeneutics would be on speech and understanding in relation to knowledge of the external reality to which they refer. It would be more correct to speak of texts as "straightforward descriptions" of an event or state of affairs, to use Kelsey’s phrase, if one has in mind this notion, "symbolic reference," in Whitehead’s theory of perception, rather than "propositions," as Kelsey does. But "straightforward description" is a loaded phrase, one "process hermeneutics" would avoid. While the process of "symbolic reference" identifies the percepta of experience with external reality, and thereby is firmly rooted in the objective world, there is room for error. Experience, thought, and language, therefore, always have a cognitive dimension, which is subject to judgments of truth and falsity. This complex process allows for error and cannot be presumed to lead to "straightforward description."

Both "symbolic reference" and "propositional feelings" have receptive and imaginative aspects; but, whereas Whitehead emphasized the former, cognitive aspect in his discussion of "symbolic reference," as a rebuttal to Hume and Kant, he emphasized the latter, creative aspect in his discussion of "propositions," an emphasis needed to counter "the interest in logic, dominating over-intellectualized philosophers," among whom "aesthetic delight" is eclipsed by "judgment" (cf. PR 184-86 and WH 33) In "symbolic reference" a dim, but indirect, mode of perception ("causal efficacy") is combined with a clear, but indirect, mode of perception ("presentational immediacy"), which produces a sense of the external world. This sense, at least initially, is impartial to its truth or falsity; but attention in any event is on the external world precisely in its pastness or actuality. In "propositional feelings," on the other hand (cf. PR 184-207), the same initial indifference to truth or falsity remains, but now attention focuses on a future or potential world as well as a past, actual one. A set of entities are envisioned as qualified by potentialities that may differ from those that actually qualified them; such envisionment is a potentiality for novelty. Transformation of "the way things are," for better or worse, depends on entertaining such proposals about "how things could be." These proposals are felt as dreadful or hopeful, entertaining or dull, attractive or repulsive. Propositional feelings, thus, have subjective forms; but these forms are only one aspect of propositional feelings. Perception is a complex process of interpretation of "data from the real world" as well as of "proposals" about the past, actual world germane to its possible future states. And among the "proposals" entertained in a given moment there are those whose logical subjects include the percipient subject; but these are not the only "proposals" there are. One can see a vacant lot, for example, and imagine a house on it; this "proposal" is clothed with a valuative feeling, but it is not itself a "form of subjectivity," as Kelsey suggests.

When his theory of perception is applied to literary interpretation, as one field of experience or perception, texts themselves, Biblical or otherwise, are conceived as "proposals," that is, donations of propositions as "lures for feeling." This view holds that in interpretation a cluster of propositions is entertained that includes some of those entertained by the text’s author but also some novel propositions entertained by the interpreter in the course of reading a text. The clusters entertained in the creation of a text and in its interpretation overlap but are inevitably different, in spite or precisely because of the interpreter’s effort at a disciplined reading of the text. This difference is due to differences of perspectives, differences that go beyond those between modern scientific perspectives and pre-scientific ones, although it includes these. For one thing, the text itself is a datum for the interpreter in a way it was not, and could not have been, for its author. That is one way the actual worlds of author and reader differ and is indicative of the many ways their worlds have changed, changes which create new propositions (cf. PR 188). For another, no text exhausts that which it seeks to express. The imprecision of language -- its inability to express exactly any cluster of propositions and the possibility of error in "symbolic reference" -- affects both authorial expression and interpretation. Moreover, the freight of expression, whether that of author or interpreter, includes more than a penumbra of bare propositions. For perception, or experience in general, always contains feelings of valuation;³ and these will vary from moment to moment, from author to interpreter, and from interpreter to interpreter. Janzen’s paraphrase of Whitehead applies as much to the interpreter as to the author of a text: "we experience more than we know; and we know more than we can think; and we think more than we can say; and language therefore lags behind the intuitions of immediate experience" (OTPP 492).

A "process hermeneutic," however, does not give in to "objectivist" hermeneutics, which claims that texts and interpretation are "true descriptions of reality," nor to "subjectivist" hermeneutics, which refuses to know anything but the interpreter’s own created "world." Objective data and imagination are components of both the author’s understanding and that of the interpreter. The author’s understanding is no less a proposal (the creative aspect) about something than the interpreter’s; but both, one no less than the other, also presume precisely to be proposals about some objective thing (the receptive aspect).

Part of the hermeneutical problem is what to do about the inevitable differences between the author’s and the interpreter’s proposals about the same thing (see, e.g., SCHTE, especially 40f.). Some hermeneutical perspectives would choose to eliminate the differences either by making the interpreter’s proposal conform to the author’s (that is the way of dogmatic or Biblicist orthodoxy) or by making the author’s proposal conform to the interpreter’s (that is the way of a modernizing exegesis). Others eliminate the force of the difference, but not the difference itself, by making various distinctions, for example, between the historical "accidents" and the eternal "essence" (as in Harnack), or between the familiar present worldview, which is normative, and the strange, alien past one, which is not (as in J. Weiss and Schweitzer), or between what a text "says" and what it "means" (as in Bultmann, whose approach attempts to resolve the tensions involved in the former two enterprises). The post-Bultmannian new hermeneutic" can be seen as a quite different approach to the problem of the differences between the proposals of authors and interpreters, but as one which nevertheless continues along similar lines; that is, it understands the text not as a descriptive proposal but as a constructive one, which bestows and creates a "world," participation into which the reader is invited by the text, wherein the reader’s own "world" undergoes transformation (as in Gadamer, followed by Funk and Crossan, for example; or as in Ricoeur).

A "process hermeneutic," informed by Whitehead’s theory of perception, is sympathetic to Bultmann’s existentialist interpretation and to the emphasis on imagination in the "new hermeneutic." But unlike either of these hermeneutical perspectives, a "process hermeneutic" does not reduce a text’s meaning to "forms of subjectivity," as Kelsey suggests. In interpretation, the reader entertains propositions whose logical subjects include entities in the reader’s (and author’s) past world; only as such do they become components of the interpreter’s "forms of subjectivity"; so there is always an element of objective reference.

A proposition becomes part of a "form of subjectivity" when the reader admits it as a datum within the process of self-creation by assigning to it a valuative feeling; but that does not mean it is an "injunction." Although the attachment of a feeling of promise, for good or ill, to a proposition in the context of an entity’s self-creation might suggest that the "logical force" of propositions is an ethical one, it could just as easily be thought of as an aesthetic one. However, I am also suspicious of the use of "logical force" here. Whitehead’s aversion to the dominance of logic in the interpretation of propositions is part of my suspicion. In asking about the "logical force" of propositions, however, Kelsey is not interested in the customary importance logicians place on the cognitive value of propositions, as his term "injunction" indicates. But is "logical force" the right category for the function of propositions in Whitehead’s theory of perception? If it is, it should be applied, not to "propositions," which have no "force," logical or otherwise, in themselves, but to "propositional feelings," in which some "force" has been added to the proposition by the percipient subject; but that "force," what Whitehead calls the "subjective form" of the propositional feeling, varies from one self-creating entity to another. No single term, such as "injunction," describes the "force" propositions may have, whether at the microscopic level of the process of concrescence or at the macroscopic level of Biblical interpretation.

A "process hermeneutic," like Bultmannian and post-Bultmannian hermeneutics, to continue the comparison, regards Biblical texts, precisely in their function as proposed ways of understanding (aspects of) objective reality, as important for the reader’s "forms of subjectivity." The truth of a text’s proposal, however, cannot be taken for granted; neither should a hermeneutic, process or otherwise, be expected to state in advance whether it holds the proposals of Biblical texts to be true (although some hermeneutical perspectives do just that); that can be done only as each text is discussed. The "interest" of a text’s proposal, however, is not exhausted by its truth or falsity. A proposition can be interesting, even if false, if the germaneness of its complex predicative pattern rises above triviality for the logical subjects in its locus (cf. PB 186 and 188). Of course, as Whitehead observes, truth adds to interest (cf. AI 244).⁴

Take as an example the presentation of Paul in the book of Acts as one who remains a faithful observer of the law of Moses from the Damascus road to Rome, even to the point of seeing to the circumcision of the half-gentile Timothy (16:1-3) and the observance of the Nazirite rites (21:17-26). These texts propose that the reader think of Paul, precisely in his capacity as the Christian evangelist to gentiles par excellence, as at the same time the exemplary Pharisaic Jew. The question whether the author’s proposed picture of Paul is true has resisted solution;⁵ but the interest of such a proposal by no means awaits this solution. The reflection it prompts about Christianity’s roots in Judaism has importance independent of the truth of the proposal. For the author’s proposed picture of Paul (although on the face of it a "straightforward description") serves to invite approval of the author’s conviction that continuity between Christianity and Israel’s Scriptural religion is germane to the church’s identity and self-creation. Even if this claimed, or hoped-for, continuity should prove historically to have been lacking in earliest Christianity, at least in the form proposed in Acts’ picture of Paul, the import of the proposal might be the increased influence it would give to Israel’s Scriptural religion in shaping future forms of’ Christianity, so that continuity between them might become more pronounced. Whether in fact this was the effect of the author’s proposal about Paul is a historical question; but at issue in this question is the success or failure of the proposal in early Christianity, as well as its truth or falsity, but not its interest for us. Of course, if it were to be the, whether it had been successful or not as a proposal, that would increase the interest of the proposal; and, as Whitehead goes on to observe following his well-known statement about the relationship between the interest and truth of a proposition (AI 244),

III. Theological Norms

The emphasis in "process hermeneutics" on texts as proposals led Kelsey to wonder whether the cluster of "propositions" (understood in the distinctively Whiteheadian sense) in a Biblical text are what in Scripture are normative for theology. Although it would be possible to defend such a view, which may be implied by some of the essays in these volumes on Biblical interpretation from a process perspective, I prefer not to do so for two reasons. First of all, the propositions in question are not simply properties of a text; text and interpretation participate in the creation of a given proposition, so that it is as much "in interpretation" as it is "in Scripture." One should say, as Kelsey sometimes does, that for "process hermeneutics" propositions "in Scripture-as-interpreted" function normatively in making theological proposals. Insofar, then, as one regards "propositions" to be normative for theology, what is normative is not just "in Scripture" but in Scripture-and-interpretation.

The second problem with this view is that the term "proposition" itself does not set material limits to what belongs to its general class. It therefore neither states nor implies the criterion/criteria by which a proposal can be judged appropriate to Christian theology. For appropriateness entails a judgment about a certain text-as-interpreted, within which "propositions reside; it is not a judgment made in the interpretation of a text.⁶ In other words, although "process hermeneutics" proposes that theology attend to "propositions" in Scripture-as-interpreted, this proposal is impartial, at least initially, to any proposition; that is, it is materially indeterminate.⁷

How, then, are the limits of what is materially appropriate for Christian theology to be determined from the perspective of "process hermeneutics"? To deal adequately with this question one should look beyond our focus on Whitehead’s notion of "propositions," or his theory of perception in general, to the emphasis on God’s work of "creative transformation" in Cobb’s christology (CPA) as well as in my pneumatology (SCTHE and SG). This material norm for the way Biblical texts play a role in theology can be stated either in process categories ("creative transformation") or in Biblical terms (creation, redemption, justification, emancipation, or sanctification).⁸ To elaborate this norm fully would be to spell out a systematic theology. The "epic" narratives of the Bible (to name the obvious ones: Creation, Abraham, Exodus, Jesus’ passion-resurrection) illustrate the thrust of what is meant in this process perspective by God’s work of "creative transformation."

This material norm for what is appropriate to Christian theology also provides guidance to how process theology, from this perspective, attends to Scripture. For in "process hermeneutics as much attention is given to the way Scripture contributes toward "creative transformation in belief and in existence as is given to what "creative transformation" is. This way of attending to Scripture in theology follows a process theory of texts as proposals of how events, or reality, might be viewed, alongside of which alternative proposals might be set. This diversity may be creatively transformed into a "contrast," which preserves the essential meaning of both author and interpreter in a novel whole. If so, the work of God’s Spirit will have been effective (cf. SCTHE).

This way of attending to Scripture can be said to be as much "Biblical" as process. "Process hermeneutics," at this point, is sympathetic to J. A. Sanders’ theory of "canonical criticism," according to which "canonical" texts are always "contemporized" traditions (see TC ix-xx and AL). Examples of how this process of adaptation works in the New Testament can be taken from the Gospels and from the Epistles.

At one stage in early Christian debates about the legitimacy of Christian missionary efforts among gentiles, an earlier tradition, which held that the Christian message was meant only for Jews, and which was attributed to Jesus himself as its founder and representative, was opposed to a later view, defending the offer of the Christian message to gentiles, which was voiced by a character who was both gentile and female (Matthew 15:21-28 par. Mark 7:24-30). The newly emerging perspective involves a contrast; priority, historically and normatively, was given to the form of Christianity among and shaped by sons and daughters of Israel ("Let the children first be fed . . ."; Mark 7:27) but in such a way that the mission of the Christian church was the discipling of "all the nations" (cf. Mark 13:10, 14:9, and Matthew 8:19-20).⁹ Here is an orientation to tradition¹⁰ as normative without the obligation of conformity and to elements in a new historical context as also normative without he rejection of tradition. The central message of Christianity, that Jesus bore witness to God’s redemptive work and to its sovereignty in the world, provides the basis for the new theological proposal, both materially and in regard to the way tradition is handled and handed on.

One can see a similar phenomenon of "contemporizing" tradition in the development from Paul’s letters to the Epistle of James (for what follows see CEJ). James knew of certain Christians who believed that "faith without works" is salutary (James 2:14), a view which conforms in outward expression to the traditional Pauline formulation (see, e.g., Romans 3:28 and Galatians 2:15-16; and compare the post-Pauline formulations in Acts 15:11 and Ephesians 2:8-9). Evidently they held to the Pauline tradition without "contemporizing" it, or so it might seem. In their historical context, however, the issues, in response to which the Pauline formula was forged, no longer existed: because Christianity was well on the way to becoming a gentile religion, separate from Judaism, the question of the salutary benefit of faith in Christ, which earlier had arisen among Christians who did not observe the cultic requirements of Jewish law, and in that sense were without "works of the law, arose now among Christians whose lives exhibited moral laxity, which could be understood in terms of popular moral philosophy. James, whose response to this form of Christian antinomianism is clothed in images from Judaism -- this "letter" is addressed to "the twelve tribes in the Dispersion" (1:1), commends to its readers obedience to "the perfect law, the law of liberty" (1:25; cf. 2:12), and appeals to the Abraham/Isaac and Rahab narratives (2:21-26) -- was not content with a hermeneutics of mere conformity to tradition, because it had produced "heresy." Here the "contemporized" tradition ("Show me your faith apart from your works, and I by my works will show you my faith"; 1:18) appears diametrically opposed to the earlier Pauline formulation unless one takes into account the changed historical context; then differences still remain but they can be viewed as compatible.

Jewish traditions remained normative in James’s gentile setting; but precisely because they were normative in that setting, they were transformed along lines similar to those Paul had developed earlier in another setting, with the emphasis on ethics excluding cultic practices peculiar to Judaism, and with an emphasis on ethical principles not bound to any special ethnic group and, therefore, lacking virtually all elements of Jewish ethnic particularly. Whether James understood his response as a "contemporizing" of Pauline tradition,¹¹it can be so understood by us. And if it is debatable whether his and Paul’s "contemporizing" of, say, the Abraham/Isaac narrative are creative transformations vis-à-vis non-Christian Jewish hermeneutics, few would dispute that James’s "contemporizing" of tradition, Jewish and Pauline, marked a creative advance in comparison with that of his antinomian Christian neighbors: the latter were faithful to the "letter" of the tradition, but in so doing were disobedient to its Spirit, whereas the former was obedient to the Spirit precisely in his unfaithfulness to the "letter" of the tradition. Here the criterion of "creative transformation" is both formal (the way of attending to tradition) and material (what is attended to in tradition).

Such examples as these from the New Testament demonstrate the appropriateness of "creative transformation" as a norm in "process hermeneutics" guiding the uses of Scripture in process theology. Other examples could be cited, for instance, in the uses of the LXX in the New Testament for christological purposes (especially in the book of Acts). At any rate it should by now be obvious that this norm is both formal and material, and that it is central to the Biblical witness to the reality of’ God as well as to the uses of tradition in the Bible. That it is stated in process categories rather than "Biblical" terms honestly reflects our philosophical orientation; but it also obscures its roots in Scripture.

IV. The Need for Scriptural Roots

The introduction to NTIPP says, "Any form of systematic theology is fundamentally truncated where its rootage in Scripture is not clear and strong" (IPTNTE 25). Kelsey asks of this statement: why so, from the perspective of "process hermeneutics"? If the essays in these two volumes are not as clear and strong" as they could be on this point (but see THR), it is more fully developed elsewhere (see AB and PT 30-40)¹²

The Christian theologian is one who, in "doing theology," is reflectively aware of being rooted in the Bible and the history of Christianity. How explicit this rootage is made in any given Christian theology varies from one theologian to another, and from one work to another by the same theologian. What matters is that there be the intention to maintain continuity with Biblical and Christian tradition. Being reflectively aware of one’s roots in the Bible and the history of Christianity strengthens this intention and, therefore, is important in "doing Christian theology."

Nevertheless, the importance of Biblical and Christian tradition for Christian theology is relativized from a process perspective for several reasons. The first is that Scripture is not necessary, however important it is, in and for Christian faith and life. Although Christian existence is "genetically" indebted "in the historical order" (to borrow Kelsey’s terms) to the events of its emergence, namely, those surrounding Jesus and his earliest followers, it is not dependent on knowledge of those events, nor on conscious beliefs about them.¹³ The indebtedness of a particular mode of existence to the past is largely on a preconscious level; thus, while knowledge and conscious beliefs about the Christian past are important, they are not all-controlling (cf. PT 30-34).

Reflective knowledge and beliefs, however, do increase the effectiveness of elements of the past in shaping the affective-volitional orientation characteristic of one’s existence. Christian theology is the effort to give full expression to that reflectivity which supports and furthers Christian existence, whose primal forms of expression are those of its founder and his first followers (cf. AB 200 and PT 38). Thus, while Scriptural roots in Christian theology are relativized, they are important.

Without the guidance of reflective knowledge and beliefs, never completely lacking, there is no assurance that one’s existence would continue to be Christian. A particular mode of existence is characterized by selection of and emphasis upon certain elements of common reality, which thereby gain increased effectiveness; the function of reflectivity is to support and further a particular selection and emphasis (cf. SCE). When, in theological reflection, attention is given to the primal expressions in Scripture of the vision of reality with which the emergence of Christian existence was intertwined, there is greater assurance that selection and emphasis of those elements of common reality that characterize Christian existence will occur.

The value of Scriptural roots in Christian theology, however, is also relativized by the cultural pluralism within which the church has always existed and which requires that its faith be both publicly credible and appropriately Christian (cf. WT, SRALP, TRS, and Tracy, who is cited in PHPP 107). Neither criterion can be met by appeal to "special Christian truth" alone: the former need not appeal to it at all; appeal to it for the latter, while important, is insufficient. A special mode of human existence, which a "faith" or "religion" fundamentally is, cannot be commended in the face of other, essentially different, ways of being human simply on the basis of private or special experience alone; rather, to be persuasive, such commendation must include reference to experience of common reality open to all (cf. AB 196). And the determination of what is appropriate for Christian theology involves more than interpretation of "scripture and tradition"; it also involves consideration of how and in what direction the Spirit that animated Christian existence in the past will move in the new situational context, in which consideration insights are also drawn from other sources, religious and secular.

What we seek from the perspective of "process hermeneutics," however, is not so much an enduring identity or essence as lines of continuity across the history of Christianity from its earliest stages into the present (cf. PT 194, 201, and THR 93). This continuity is marked by the selection and emphasis of certain elements of common reality, e.g., "divine grace," although not always in the same form. Encounter with other visions of reality, religious and secular, and their correlative modes of human existence, introduces attention to other elements of common reality and their increased effectiveness in one’s life and thought. Theological reflection is Christian to the extent that its openness to other perspectives does not curtail the influence of central elements in the primal expressions of the vision of reality, with which the emergence of Christian existence was intertwined. That influence can best be enhanced by seeing to it that the roots of Christian theology in Scripture are clear and strong.

References

AB -- John B. Cobb, Jr., "The Authority of the Bible," pp. 188-202 in Hermeneutics and the Worldliness of Faith: A Festschrift in Memory of Carl Michalson. C. Courtney, O. H. Ivey, and G. E. Michalson, eds. The Drew Gateway 45 (1974-75).

AHEC -- Martin Hengel, Acts and the History of Earliest Christianity. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1979.

AL -- James A. Sanders, "Adaptable for Life," MD 531-60.

APPH -- Barry A. Woodbridge, "An Assessment and Prospectus for a Process Hermeneutic," NTIPP 121-28.

AST -- Schubert M. Ogden, "The Authority of Scripture for Theology," Interpretation 30/3 (1976), 242-61.

AWPP -- Lyman T. Lundeen, "The Authority of the Word in a Process Perspective," Encounter 36/4 (1975), 281-300.

BCT -- David H. Kelsey, "The Bible and Christian Theology," JAAR 48/3 (1980), 385-402.

CEJ -- Martin Dibelius, James: A Commentary on the Epistle of James. Revised by Heinrich Greeven. Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1976.

CPA -- John B. Cobb, Jr., Christ in a Pluralistic Age. Philadelphia; Westminster Press, 1975.

CWM -- Schubert M. Ogden, Christ Without Myth: A Study Based on the Theology of Rudolf Bultmann. New York: Harper & Row, 1961.

HST – Rudolf Bultmann, The History of the Synoptic Tradition. Revised Edition. New York: Harper and Row Publishers, 1968.

IPTNTE -- John B. Cobb, Jr., David J. Lull, and Barry A. Woodbridge, "Introduction: Process Thought and New Testament Exegesis," NTIPP 21-30.

JAAR -- Journal of the American Academy of Religion

LG -- Lewis S. Ford, The Lure of God: A Biblical Background for Process Theism. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1978.

LHPP -- Delwin Brown, "Liberation Hermeneutics: A Process Perspective," an unpublished paper presented at the 1982 AAR/SBL meeting.

LPG -- Jacob Jervell, Luke and the People of God. Minneapolis: Augsburg Publishing House, 1972.

MD -- Magnalia Dei, the Mighty Acts of God: Essays On the Bible and Archaeology in Memory of C. Ernest Wright. F. M. Cross, W. W. Lemke, and P. D. Miller, Jr., eds. New York: Doubleday, 1976.

MRH -- J. Gerald Janzen, "Metaphor and Reality in Hosea 11," OTIPP 45-51.

NTIPP -- William A. Beardslee and David J. Lull, eds., "New Testament Interpretation from a Process Perspective," JAAR 47/1 (1979), 21-128.

OTIPP -- William A. Beardslee and David J. Lull, eds., "Old Testament Interpretation from a Process Perspective," Semeia 24 (1982).

OTPP -- J. Gerald Janzen, "The Old Testament in ‘Process’ Perspective: Proposal for a Way Forward in Biblical Theology," MD 480-509.

PA -- Philipp Vielhauer, "On the ‘Paulinism’ of Acts," pp. 33-50 in Studies in Luke-Acts. L. E. Keck and J. L. Martyn, eds. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1980.

PC -- Schubert M. Ogden, The Point of Christology. New York: Harper & Row, 1982.

PHCPR -- Clark M. Williamson, "Process Hermeneutics and Christianity’s Post-Holocaust Reinterpretation of Itself," PS 12/2 (1982), 77-93.

PHPP -- John J. Collins, "Process Hermeneutic: Promise and Problems," OTIPP 107-16.

PT -- John B. Cobb, Jr., and David R. Griffin, Process Theology: An Expository Introduction. Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1976.

RG -- Schubert M. Ogden, The Reality of God and Other Essays. New York: Harper & Row, 1963.

RHPT -- William A. Beardslee, "Recent Hermeneutic and Process Thought," PS 12/2 (1982), 65-76.

RPIPS -- Theodore J. Weeden, Sr., "Recovering the Parabolic Intent in the Parable of the Sower," NTIPP 91-120.

RPPT -- Herbert J. Nelson, "The Resting Place of Process Theology," Harvard Theological Review 72/1-2 (1979), 1-21.

RRR -- Lyman T. Lundeen, Risk and Rhetoric in Religion: Whitehead’s Theory of Language and the Discourse of Faith. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1972.

SCE -- John B. Cobb, Jr., The Structure of Christian Existence. Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1967.

SCTHE – David J. Lull, "The Spirit and the Creative Transformation of Human Existence," NTIPP 39-55.

SG -- David J. Lull, The Spirit in Galatia: Paul’s Interpretation of PNEUMA as Divine Power. Chico: Scholars Press, 1980.

SRALP -- Schubert M. Ogden, "Sources of Religious Authority in Liberal Protestantism," JAAR 4413 (1976), 403-22.

STD -- Delwin Brown, "Struggle Till Daybreak: On the Nature of Authority in Theology," Journal of Religion, forthcoming, January, 1985.

TC -- James A. Sanders, Torah and Canon. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1972.

THR -- John B. Cobb, Jr., "Trajectories and Historic Routes," OTIPP 89-98.

TM -- Hans-Georg Gadamer, Truth and Method. New York: Seabury Press, 1975.

TRS -- Schubert M. Ogden, "Theology and Religious Studies: Their Difference and the Difference It Makes," JAAR 46/1 (1978), 3-15.

USRT -- David H. Kelsey, The Uses of Scripture in Recent Theology. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1975.

VI -- Eric D. Hirsch, Jr., Validity in Interpretation. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1967.

WH -- William A. Beardslee, "Whitehead and Hermeneutic," NTIPP 31-37.

WM -- Russell Pregeant, "Where Is the Meaning? Metaphysical Criticism and the Problem of Indeterminacy," The Journal of Religion 63/2 (1983), 107-24.

WT -- Schubert M. Ogden, "What Is Theology?" The Journal of Religion 52/1 (1972), 22-40.

Notes

1Although "process hermeneutics" is used here principally in reference to NTIPP and OTIPP, these collections are products of conversations that began with a conference on Biblical theology and process philosophy, held at Christian Theological Seminary, Indianapolis, in 1974, whose papers were published in Encounter 36/4 (1975), PS 4/3 (1974) 159-86, and LG 29-44. Out of that conference evolved the SBL ‘Process Hermeneutic and Biblical Exegesis Group." And papers presented in the AAR have also contributed to the development of "process hermeneutics" (cf. LHPP and PHCPR). As one adds the individual bibliographies of William A. Beardslee, George W. Coats, J. Gerald Janzen, and Russell Pregeant, just to mention a few of the Biblical scholars involved, this list becomes impressive in its quantity and diversity.

2 An argument for "the validity of metaphysical reflection as a component in [the] interpretive process . . ." is made in WM.

3 For this reason one cannot make as sharp a separation of "interpretation" (= "meaning") and "application" (= "significance") as Hirsch (VI) does in criticism of Gadamer (TM); Ricoeur shares the latter’s view at this point. Compare WM 108-13.

4 Compare Whitehead’s similar remarks in PR about "symbolic reference" (168) as well as "propositions" (186-88).

5 The classic presentation of the problem is PA; for more recent discussions, see LPG and AHEC.

6 This general view is persuasively presented elsewhere by Kelsey (USRI); also see Nelson’s critique of Ogden in RPPT.

7 Compare Kelsey’s comments on Barth, Bultmann, and Tillich in BCT (397).

8 In this remark I am proposing a response to the Williamson-Ogden exchange in PS 12/2 (1982), 77-100.

9 Compare the views of Luke-Acts (cf. LPG) and of Paul (cf. Romans 11:25-32).

10 The disputable assumption that "traditions" -- one early, the other late -- have been placed on the lips of the Syro-Phoenician woman and Jesus to form an apophthegm ("controversy dialogue") needs to be defended, but space does not allow it here (cf. HST 38).

11 One could also compare James 1:22ff. with Matthew 7:21-27 and contrast it to the miracle stories’ theme of "your faith has saved you/made you well"

12 For a sample of the "hermeneutical pluralism" that characterizes "process theology," compare WT, AST, SRALP, AWPP, TRS, and STD with the view expressed here.

13 Compare Schubert M. Ogden’s position, which holds that, although Christian theology is "the interpretation of the Christian message, found in the earliest "Jesus traditions," Christian existence is a possibility open to human beings simply as such (cf. CWM, RG, WT, AST, SRALP, TRS, and PC).

"The experience starts as that smelly feeling…