On Behalf of the Unhappy Reader: A Response to Lee F. Werth

Werth’s attack on the tenability of Whitehead’s theory of extensive connection (PS 8:37-44) constitutes a serious challenge to the coherence of the philosophy of organism and therefore demands serious consideration. At the same time, both the attack and the doctrine attacked are so arcane and abstruse as to render them inaccessible and/or uninteresting to all but a few specialists in the philosophical community, with the end result that both are, in practice, passed over. This article attempts an enterprise as risk-laden as it is necessary: to present a more intuitive version of the relevant issues in PR IV, 2 and, on that basis to evaluate Werth’s arguments. The risk is obvious. No intuitive translation of a purely formal demonstration can capture the rigor central to such an argument, and hence is always romantic. All it can hope to do is to render the major ideas and general contours of the demonstration "interesting" and thereby provoke a more widespread investigation of its content.

I

If PR IV, 2, the locus of the derivation under attack, is to become intelligible, the reader must be aware of the sort of undertaking in which Whitehead is engaged. That the subject matter is geometry is immediately obvious. Not so obvious, however, is the type of geometry within the parameters of which the undertaking is conducted. Throughout his extended discussion of the properties of regions, it is not metric properties which are the focus of Whitehead’s concern: not their dimensionality, not their "shapiness" (e.g., straightness or flatness) as grasped in sense perception, not their size, not, in fact, any property which is visualizable. Hence not only has he moved beyond Euclidean geometry, but beyond the non-Euclidean varieties as well, into the sphere of the more general, nonmetric geometries which have arisen since the Renaissance.

There are three species of metric geometry, species distinguished from each other and ranged in a hierarchy of generality on the basis of their intent: to discover the properties of regions which persist through more and more drastic sorts of transformations.

The least general species, affine geometry, isolates those properties which remain constant when a figure is uniformly stretched or shrunk, For example, parallel lines remain parallel when viewed through a telescope or microscope, yet lose their parallelism in the distortion produced by a fish-eye lens. They are affine invariants.

Projective geometry, the geometry of perspective, allows more dramatic transformations and hence reveals more general invariants. It was this sort of geometry which da Vinci intuitively grasped and illustrated in his sketches of the "bird’s-eye view" (angolo inferiore) and the "worm’s eye view" (angolo superiore) in the Codex Huygens. Anyone who has ever observed the apparent convergence of railroad tracks has had first hand experience that at least one affine invariant -- parallelism -- does not survive a shift of perspective, whereas straightness does. What additional properties (projective invariants) remain constant through perspectival transformations is the question at issue in projective geometry. It is to be noted that it is this type of geometry which dominates PR IV, 3, with its concern for the formal definitions of straightness and flatness. It should also be noted that affine transformations are special cases of projective transformations, ones retaining the same line of sight" but increasing or decreasing the distance separating viewer and object viewed.

When formalized by Arthur Cayley at the turn of the century, projective geometry was taken to be the most general variety of geometry. However, at the same time topology was growing from its embryonic condition and was soon seen to be dealing with even more general invariants: those properties conserved no matter how a figure is distorted provided (a) it is not cut (i.e., points added) and (b) points are not made to coincide (points subtracted). "Anything goes" in a topological transformation, so long as points remain points, lines remain lines, connections remain connections. All other transformations and invariants are simply special cases of topological transformations and invariants. It is precisely this species of geometry which forms the backdrop of PR IV, 2. In seeking the formal definitions of point, segment, surface, and volume, Whitehead seeks those properties of the building blocks of geometry which remain the same no matter how those geometric elements are stretched, shrunk, twisted, warped, crumpled, or otherwise brutalized provided the topological rubrics are not violated.1 What constitutes the pointness of a point if it can be stretched to galactic size? What counts as the segmentness of a segment, the surfaceness of a surface, the voluminousness of a volume when each can undergo uncountable distortions? These are Whitehead’s questions, and PR IV, 2 his attempt to derive answers by means of a formal deductive process.

Like any formal deduction, the process begins with the establishment of a set of primitive notions from which all further definitions and assumptions are derived. These primitives -- in this case, "region" and "connection" -- must be viewed as purely topological notions. Thus, "region" includes no note of dimensionality nor any suggestion of precise boundary, since both entail notions (e.g., point, line, surface, volume) yet to be defined. "Region" is to be taken only in the sense of a finite extensity with a vaguely differentiated "inside" and "outside." "Connection" has to do with the relation of regions thus vaguely bounded: how they can be "inside" or "outside" each other in such ways that no topological transformation can alter that insideness or outsideness.

From these primitives, Whitehead aims to deduce the most general types of connection among regions -- mediate connection, inclusion, overlap, external connection, tangential, and nontangential inclusion -- so that in terms of these topologically invariant relations, he can formulate purely formal definitions of sets of topologically equivalent regions (abstractive sets [Each member region in an abstractive set can be deformed into any other member.]) and sets of topologically equivalent sets (geometric elements [For example, an abstractive set of squares can be deformed into an abstractive set of circles, as also can an abstractive set of triangles, hexagons, or pentagons. They are all topologically equivalent sets and hence belong to the same geometric element.]). From this base, he can move to a formal definition of the projective properties of straightness and flatness in the derivations of PR IV, 3, apply those notions to the doctrine of strains (PR IV, 4), demonstrating that the shrinking of a set of linear relations into the microcosm of a strain seat does not distort those relations, and hence that the measurement of a strain locus in the presentational immediacy of the measurer says something objective about the contemporaneous world (PR IV, 5).

The derived relations among regions which Werth singles out as implicated in Whitehead’s derivation of the definitions of point and segment as geometric elements are four in number: inclusion, its two variants, and the relation of incidence. Inclusion refers to a relationship among regions such that one (A) is "inside" another (B). This is seen to be the case whenever any region "outside" of but connected to A is likewise connected to B. The inclusion is tangential when a third region, C, is "outside" and yet connected to both A and B. (In Whitehead’s terminology, C is externally connected to A and B.) In more intuitive language, A and B share an "outside" in common. If no such shared "outside" is present, i.e., if B is "inside" A in such a way that every region (C, for instance) which is "outside" B yet externally connected with it is in whole or part "inside" A as well, then B is said to be nontangentially included in A.

On the assumption that all regions include other regions, if a region is such that given any two of its member regions one includes the other nontangentially and there is no "smallest" region included in all member regions, no ultimate real region to which all regions can be shrunk, towards which they converge, the region meets the criteria specifying it as an abstractive set of regions: a nest of regions including regions including regions . . . , all approaching an ideal limit which defines the set by being the ideally simplified instance of its properties. To paraphrase Whitehead, "this ideal is in fact the ideal of a nonentity. What the set is in fact doing is to guide thought to the consideration of the progressive simplicity of [extensive] relations as we progressively diminish the [extensity] of the [region] considered" (cf. CN 61). For an intuitive example, consider line segment AB in FIGURE 1. It is constituted of its end points, A and B, which define it as this segment, together with an extensive region "between" A and B. Allow AB to be shrunk continuously, and for the sake of illustration, isolate any two stages in the shrinkage: A1B1 and A2B2. Both are nontangentially in-chided in AB. Furthermore, A2B2 is similarly included in A1B1. If the shrinking is allowed to continue, each smaller segment, e.g., A4B4, will be nontangentially included in the larger segments, and all will consist of two defining end points and a "between," In other words, all real members of the abstractive set of segments will be segments: i.e., they will have a "between" separating the end points. However, the ideal limit toward which the set converges and from which the set derives its defining characteristic is a pair of ideal end points -- a segment in ideal simplicity, a segment viewed only from the standpoint of what constitutes its segmental character: its possession of a pair of end points.

The relation Whitehead calls "covering" (PR 454f) has to do with a relation among superimposed abstractive sets. In FIGURE 2, triangular surface ABC has been superimposed on segment AB and both continuously shrunk. A simple inspection will show that every member of the abstractive set of surfaces, A2B2C2 for instance, contains some members of the abstractive set of segments, in this case those members further down the "converging tail" of AB: A3B3, A4B4 . . . . In this example, the converse is not true. Although ABC covers AB, no member of AB includes any member of ABC. AB does not cover ABC. Why? An examination of the ideal limits of both sets reveals the answer: AB converges toward two points, ABC toward three. A triad cannot be deformed into a dyad without causing points to coincide, thereby violating one of the already established topological rubrics. In other words, a triangular surface (or any surface for that matter) and a segment are not topologically equivalent. Their topological difference derives from the nonidentity of their respective ideal limits.

However, in some instances, symmetrical coverage is possible, its possibility a function of the identity of the ideal limits of the sets in question. Consider a set of triangular surfaces and a set of circular surfaces, Each, as a surface, is defined by three points. The differences which constitute one surface triangular and the other circular are further specifications of the primary condition defining them as surfaces: the presence of three points not in the same segment. The fact that both varieties of surfaces have the same primary defining conditions makes each deformable into the other: they are topologically equivalent. Their equivalence becomes intuitively obvious when one set is superimposed on the other, as in FIGURE 3, and their symmetrical coverage noted.

Any member of the set of circular surfaces, C1 for instance, contains some members of the set of triangular surfaces (T1 ,T2, T3, . . .) and every member of the set of triangular surfaces, T1 for instance, contains some members of the set of circular surfaces (C2, C3, . . .). As mutually covering and hence sharing the same ideal limit, which ideal limit makes the mutual coverage possible, the sets are topologically equivalent. A geometric element is, quite simply, the set of all topologically equivalent sets, of all sets "prime" to the same formative conditions. Note therefore that, strictly speaking, equivalence is a relationship among sets, whereas identity is a relation among the ideal limits of those sets, and hence among geometric elements.(MY underline. You erase it.)(quite simply)

The final relevant definition has to do with a relation between geometric elements, which relation Whitehead terms "incidence" and defines in this fashion: ‘The geometric element a is said to be ‘incident’ in the geometric element b when every member of b covers [i.e., includes some member regions of all sets of] a, but a and b are not identical [i.e., have non-identical ideal limits]" (Definition 15, PR 456). Returning to an earlier illustration, consider the set of triangular surfaces of FIGURE 2 as the set of all sets defined by points not in the same segment (the set of all topologically equivalent surfaces), and the set of segments as the set of all sets defined by two points (the set of all topologically equivalent segments). What Whitehead is affirming is quite simple: any given class of surfaces contains some members of any given class of segments; segments are one of the building blocks of surfaces (the other being the noncollinear point); segments are incident in surfaces. That surfaces are not topologically equivalent to segments is a function of their respective ideal limits: two points for a segment, as opposed to three for a surface. Although two is a part of three, two does not equal three; although a segment defined by its end points is a constitutive element in a surface, it is not the only element; a segment and a noncollinear point cannot be shrunk to a segment. The two geometric elements are topologically nonidentical despite the incidence of one in the other.

In terms of these and other conceptual tools, Whitehead demonstrates that the foundational geometric element -- the point -- is topologically definable as having "no geometric element incident in it" (Definition 16, PR 456); as having the "sharpest" convergence, as an "absolute prime" (PR 457) incident in various ways in the more complex geometric elements, i.e., those defined by pairs, triads, and tetrads of points (segments, surfaces, and volumes).

II

Werth’s attack on Whitehead questions not Whitehead’s conclusions but the validity of his demonstration. Werth suggests that the "covering" relation central to Whitehead’s definition of incidence must always be symmetrical. If it can be shown to be the case the only conclusion validly deducible from Whitehead’s premises (i.e., from his primitives, definitions, and assumptions) is that "to cover" equals "to be covered," then incidence is impossible, all geometric elements are points (with no incident elements), and Whitehead has made a logical mistake of sufficient gravity to topple the edifice of Process and Reality.

Werth’s argument is most impressive at first glance. In fact, if the only relevant steps in Whitehead’s derivation of the definition of a point are those to which Werth refers the reader,2 then Werth may be correct in his criticism. Only a careful logical analysis of Werth’s argument can settle this particular issue, and such is not the intent of this paper, I will argue that because Werth omits several key steps in Whitehead’s derivation, Werth begins his proofs in the context of an assumption not to be found in Whitehead’s argument. That Werth introduces an extraneous assumption is apparent the moment he derives his beta set from his alpha set (in terms of my earlier illustration, when he derives his set of triangular surfaces from his set of circular surfaces), To derive one abstractive set from a topologically equivalent abstractive set is always to produce mutually covering sets. Thus Werth’s example itself bespeaks the background assumption of his argument -- that all abstractive sets are equivalent -- which assumption is precisely what he wishes to demonstrate via his argument. For him to have selected his beta set from a nonequivalent alpha set would have required him (a) to explore what constituted that nonequivalence, and (b) to have conceded in advance that geometric elements can be nonidentical, thereby assuming the possibility of the very incidence relation whose impossibility he wishes to demonstrate.

My criticism of Werth centers around the fact that every step in Whitehead’s deduction is critical, that no definition or assumption can be ignored, for each contributes to the argument and its conclusion. For example, Werth makes good use of the initial portion of assumption 9 ("Every region includes other regions") but totally disregards its terminal portion: "a pair of regions thus included in one region are not necessarily connected with each other. Such pairs can always be found included in any given region" (PR 452). What is Whitehead asserting? That any region includes not merely simple, monadic regions, but more complex classes of regions as well -- paired regions, dyadic regions; that among the abstractive sets in a region there are complex sets as well as simple sets. By means of this assumption he lays the foundation for later assertions that regions are pervaded by lines as well as by points, that point pairs are as much a part of the constitution of a region as are points. Given the point and the point pair, the monadic and dyadic relations, surfaces (point triads) and volumes (point tetrads) can be constructed by simple combination.

Let us examine the implications of assumption 9 further by isolating a pair of regions in a given region, a pair "not necessarily connected with each other" (ibid) and hence constituting a region "between."3 In FIGURE 4, the regions paired (B and C) include other regions. Each of the paired regions is itself an abstractive set which is an element in the original dyad BC. The set of pairs -- the dyad and its "between" (D) -- is likewise an abstractive set: i.e., any two pairs and their respective "betweens" are such that one includes the other nontangentially. There is no ultimate pair with its "between" included in all pairs, although the limit of convergence is an ideal pair. (Note, only in ideality does the "between" vanish.) It is easily seen that the abstractive set of pairs is more complex than the abstractive sets paired. Whitehead has immediately grounded the possibility of assymmetrical coverage by allowing in advance for the possibility of nonequivalent sets, sets with nonidentical ideal limits. Thus he can maintain in assumption 15, "There are many dissections of any given region" (PR 452), each dissection revealing one of the several classes of regions constituting the region -- punctual regions and segmental regions -- according to the provisions of definition 4. (PR 452)

Put in simple language, what Whitehead asserts in assumptions 9 and 15 and in definition 4 is precisely the critical step whose absence renders Werth’s proof of symmetrical coverage valid and whose presence invalidates that proof. These "many dissections of a given region" (PR 452), these dissections of a region into segments or surfaces or volumes as well as into points, reveal "the only relations which are interesting, . . . those which if they commence anywhere, continue throughout the remainder of the infinite series" (PB 455): monadic relations, dyadic relations, triadic relations, tetradic relations.

Thus, Werth’s argument is flawed before begins. By failing to realize the difference between "equivalent" and "identical" in Whitehead’s argument, by failing to see that Whitehead has already established the fact that the regions contained in other regions are not always topologically equivalent regions, he summarily lumps all abstractive sets into one set. Inasmuch as this constitutes a denial of any "interesting" relations in his resultant set, it seems to be defined solely by its "abstractiveness" -- its infinite contractability. By implicitly denying that abstractive sets have defining characteristics, he has constructed a pseudo-set which literally contracts to nothing: nothing ideal as well as nothing actual. It is no wonder that he can prove with equal facility that all geometric elements are points and that no geometric elements are points! So long as regions are not constituted solely of simple, monadic regions, so long as regions always contain pairs of regions as well as simple regions, and hence always contain nonequivalent as well as equivalent abstractive sets of regions, it is entirely illegitimate to assume that statements made concerning relations among some of the abstractive sets contained in any region -- i.e., those which are equivalent -- can be generalized into statements concerning relations among all the abstractive sets in the region, thereby collapsing them into a single geometric element.

It follows, therefore, that Whitehead’s definition of incidence does not involve an inconsistency or a surreptitiously introduced premise. In adding to his definition the proviso "but a and b are not identical," he is referring the reader to already established assumptions and definitions which have provided the condition for the possibility of nonidentity and nonequivalence and have indicated what the differentiating "interesting" relations might be. Werth, on the other hand, by beginning with an overly restrictive notion of the types of regions included in other regions, has been trapped in his own self-fulfilling prophesy. His conclusions can be read only as a critique of his own unwarranted assumption.

 

Notes

1 Note that these rubrics have been laid down already in two of the Categoreal Obligations (PR 39). when the Category of Objective Identity is emptied of all save purely formal content, it asserts that no element in a region can he duplicated. If the same procedure is performed on the Category of Objective Diversity, what remains is the statement "no elements in a region can be coalesced."

2 Definitions 2, 7, 9-13, 15-17, and assumptions 6-9, 23-26

3 Whitehead already developed the axioms regarding " between" in CN 64 and in PNK 114f.

Subjective Immortality Revisited

In "A Whiteheadian Reflection on Subjective Immortality" (PS 7:1-13) Lewis S. Ford and Marjorie Suchocki lose sight of the meaning of "subject." My subjectivity is mine alone; my feelings may become part of your real internal constitution, but they are objectified in the process. You cannot literally be the subject of my experience. You may appropriate my feelings, but, by definition, these are data (and therefore objects) for your own experience. If not, then I simply do not know what being a subject can mean.

The authors hold that "the subjective form of my experience is not objectified as part of the content of God’s experience, but becomes the subjective means whereby God has that experience" (PS 7:9). What does this do to the subject-object structure of experience, or to the knower-known relation? How can God know anything if the latter is not objectified in God’s experience?

Ford and Suchocki claim that "God experiencing through me is the same as my experiencing in God" (PS 7:9). Yet here the subjects are different, and two subjects cannot have the same experience. The matter/form distinction they employ does not deal adequately with this. They argue that the formal component "can survive the perishing of creative becoming if reenacted in its entirety in a new subject" (PS 7:8). But is this not a violation of the principle that feelings cannot be abstracted from their subject? If they are reenacted by another subject, then they are not, by definition, the same feelings. Also, if the subject is different, in what meaningful sense can we affirm that the "original" subject either is immortal or retains its own immediacy?

Would it not make more sense to say that if I am sorrowful, God experiences me-as-sorrowful? God’s own experience of sorrow follows, because of appropriateness of response, but this is in addition to experiencing me-as-sorrowful. Otherwise, God would be confused as to the source of God’s own feelings. God does not enact or reenact the experiences of other subjects; "our misdeeds are in God; but not as his misdeeds, or his deeds at all -- rather as his misfortunes" (PSG 511).

The argument breaks down further when Ford and Suchocki speculate about the nature of the retention of subjective immediacy. They say that "in God we no longer act but contemplate" (PS 7:10). As if contemplation were something other than act! As if we are unchanged by our reflections! The very language is hardly compatible with the notion of an entity that cannot change; unchangeable entities do not contemplate or experience. What sense does it make to say that a fully determinate actuality experiences anything?

With regard to the idea of experiencing an "enlarged and enlarging world," Ford and Suchocki argue that subsequent occasions can be included provided they do not threaten the subjective form (PS 7:10). How can an occasion experience different and new data in the same manner? If the subjective form is (as Whitehead says) at least partially determined by the data, and if the data are ever-increasing, how can the subjective form remain the same? Ford and Suchocki speak of the occasion reaping the consequences of its choices (PS 7:10), but Whitehead says an actual entity cannot be conscious of its own satisfaction (PR 130).

The concept of time loses all significance in this argument, as the distinctions among past, present, and future are obscured. Ford and Suchocki state that "if my past self was conscious, then it is now conscious in God" (PS 7:9; italics added). And "in the temporal world that past act of consciousness has perished" (PS 7:9). Then is God in no sense temporal? Is there no past and present in God’s consequent nature? It is one thing to speak of the vividness of divine memory, but we must be careful not to speak of past occasions as actually living in the present (in any but an objective sense). After I die, if you remember me as living, that fact does not mean that in any strict sense I am still alive.

Again, "if we look at God’s consequent experience as a whole, . . . all these levels of experiencing exist simultaneously" (PS 7:11). But if God has experienced things before (i.e., if God has a past), then these experiences do not exist simultaneously, but rather they are remembered simultaneously. And each act of remembering is a new act . . . . time present of things past.

Ford and Suchocki speak also of an occasion’s experiencing the occasions "lying in its own relevant future as these come into being" (PS 7:10). How can an occasion be internally related in God to that to which it was externally related in the temporal world? This makes it impossible to distinguish between past and future for that occasion. If past is not settled fact, what is it? If future is not beyond the grasp of our experience, in what sense is it ahead of us? Does this not collapse the distinction between actuality and possibility, between determination and indetermination?

In sum, the price that must be paid for making the authors’ argument is too high. Too many of the crucial insights of process philosophy seem to be relinquished in the interest of justifying the yearning for something more than objective immortality. Are there not better ways open to process thinkers for handling this issue?

God’s Nescience of Future Contingents: A Nineteenth-Century Theory

"All theology and commentaries and exegesis," remarked Lorenzo Dow McCabe, must be "completely revolutionized in their basal facts and principles." The "philosophical necessities of the age," including the testimony of universal religious experience, and "the varied and vast signification of divine revelation" demand it (DN 263). Yet the progress of theological reflection seemed to McCabe to have stalled, and the culprit in the case was the "Augustinian conception of God," which "has fastened itself upon nearly all modern theology." The Augustinian perspective so far elevated the conception of God to "a universal infinite" that it "logically annihilates him in his concrete personality" (DN 17f). If theological reconstruction is to meet the needs of philosophy, scriptural exegesis, and religious experience, thought McCabe, then theology must reassess its traditional theistic assumptions in such a way that it can speak of a God who is capable of relating fully to the contingencies of personal life and historical change.

What made Lorenzo Dow McCabe (1817-1897) unique was the boldness with which he undertook such rethinking. The major part of his career was spent at Ohio Wesleyan University, where he taught metaphysics as professor of mathematics and mechanical philosophy. A minor figure in the history of American philosophy and theology, although somewhat more prominent in Methodist circles, McCabe’s importance rested as much in what he attempted to do in the area of philosophical theology as in what he accomplished. He attempted to challenge the metaphysical foundations of traditional Christian theology by arguing in favor of the reality of change and development, of temporality and contingency, within the divine essence. In this endeavor he felt a sense of kinship with a distinguished group of contemporary philosophers of religion: Richard Rothe, Hans Martensen, Isaak Dorner, and Rudolf Hermann Lotze in Germany; and Borden Parker Bowne, Henry Churchill King, and George Trumbull Ladd in America. He agreed with these men that the prime metaphysical issue of the day was the problem of being and doing in God’s relationship to a changing and contingent universe. Yet he was not in any sense dependent on these men, for he did not approach the problem from the standpoint of postHegelian idealism, as they did; McCabe attacked from his own unique set of preoccupations.

The battlefield that he chose was in part determined by his Methodist heritage. Methodists had prided themselves throughout the nineteenth century on their Arminian defense of the freedom of the human will against their Calvinist detractors. But Methodist dogmatics had been plagued by the predicament of reconciling contingency in human affairs with the traditional doctrine of God’s absolute foreknowledge -- a reconciliation that Calvinist necessitarians gleefully declared impossible. Although a few Methodists had toyed with the idea of abandoning absolute foreknowledge,1 most would have echoed the opinions of Daniel D. Whedon, theologian and editor of the Methodist Review, who said that "God knows or foreknows all contingencies, possibilities, and real events in the future" (ERD 115). As far as "how the Deity came in possession of that power," he thought, "we are, indeed, neither able nor bound to say" (ERD 119).

McCabe directed his attention to this question of God’s foreknowledge because it was a lively concern to his predominantly Methodist audience and also because he believed that the defense of foreknowledge accounted for theology’s commitment to divine immutability. "Foreknowledge," he claimed, "necessitates that God’s consciousness should be eternally unchangeable. Every thought, feeling, purpose, and act of God is [consequently] immovably fixed in a single position and a changeless relation" (FG 210). McCabe was convinced that the longstanding attempt to reconcile absolute prescience with freedom and contingency had prevented Christian theology from developing an adequate doctrine of God, one rooted in the facts of religious experience and scriptural testimony. He insisted that Christian theology must instead conceive of God as experiencing historical subjectivity; novelty would be as real for God as for the world. Although many of McCabe’s arguments and conclusions appear idiosyncratic today, for he was committed to a literalistic, moralistic, and perfectionistic evangelical theology,2 his analysis of foreknowledge and contingency still raises valid issues. Especially noteworthy is the way he drew attention to the implications of prescience for religious belief and practice.

Since he was writing for a predominantly Methodist audience, McCabe did not feel the need to elaborate a defense of the freedom of the will. He merely asserted that such freedom was essential to religious experience and belief in moral accountability. What he said about the operations of the human will, therefore, largely reiterated the traditional Arminian position. This position rested on a differentiation of three elements in human action: a motive, an act of the will proper, and a volition. The function of the will, as McCabe defined it, is to deliberate and choose from among competing motives and to initiate actions in accordance with the choice made. "In this deliberation, the will sovereignly elects between two objects [motives], and then executively volitionates obedience or disobedience" (DN 1 65). He denied the Calvinist charge that this description of the will rendered human actions utterly arbitrary and discontinuous; indeed, he conceded to them that the human will must be objectively motivated before it can act. The immediate environment presents the will with "occasions" calling for a human response (DN 36), and "without these conditions the will could not act at all" (FC 333). Nor is the will utterly indifferent toward these motives, for its past volitions have generated a habit and propensity of choice, which McCabe labeled "character" (DN 123f).

What McCabe wished to deny was that motives and character always coerced the will in terms of causal necessity.3 Sometimes overwhelming motives and ingrained habits do in fact coerce the will. At other times the will finds itself confronted by a genuine "plurality of possibilities" and thus "vacillates to and fro between conscience and desire," leaving sufficient room for spontaneous and creative decisions by the will (DN 165). In the latter case, the volition cannot be attributed to any other cause than "the incipiency of an act in the pure will itself" (DN 35). Such power of deliberate choice McCabe termed "personic" (DN 37). Personic action, he thought, is essential in defining personhood since acts of will are the only vehicles through which the "purposes and designs" of the human spirit can be established. (FG 293).

It should be evident that for McCabe freedom of will depends on a delicate balance between competing motives, what he termed "the equilibrium indispensable for personic action" (DN 223). Freedom of will is not, therefore, a purely natural state of affairs, an indubitable psychological fact. The equilibrium may easily be upset, in which case one motive necessarily predominates and "constrains" the will (FG 39f). God is the one ultimately responsible for the existence and maintenance of the delicate equilibrium of motives; hence the "power to put forth a volition is every moment the gift of God" (FG 207). Freedom of will is a religious, rather than a natural, fact of life. McCabe specifically identified the atonement of Jesus as the force that made freedom possible. The atonement alone has been able to "lift up the human will" and "restore to it its pristine freedom" (FG 33). This effect is objective and universal, leaving no one without the means of salvation through moral freedom -- although how the atonement accomplished this result McCabe did not say.

Behind McCabe’s interpretation of the atonement and universal moral freedom loomed the semi-Pelagian tendencies of his doctrine of grace. The restoration of freedom has taken place only in order that God may place us on "probation" and "test" our loyalty. God is in fact "the infinite Tester" (DN 223), who is prepared to accept us and aid us if only we exercise our powers of choice correctly. So far as any person is concerned, "so perfectly free is the power of moral causation which is bestowed upon him through the redemption wrought by Christ, that notwithstanding all this prevenient and assisting grace he is himself emphatically a causal agent in his own salvation" (FG 60f). The only reason that free will is necessary at all is to enable us to perform "on the great moral battle-fields for eternity" (DN 59). Without any seeming inconsistency, therefore, McCabe could assert that only some of our volitions are free: those by which we are being tested by God. On other occasions God may allow constraints on our will by overpowering motivations. Such constraint is necessary if God is to realize his own purposes and designs. Sometimes God treats us as "persons" and sometimes as "instruments" (FG 59-64). To be sure, McCabe wanted to minimize the element of constraint as much as possible, but he felt obliged by his commitment to a literalistic exegesis of biblical prophecy and by a desire to preserve as much of the divine omnipotence as possible to admit that some choices are forced upon persons.

McCabe’s position regarding the freedom of the will was obviously vitiated by the untenable duality he introduced within the human and divine wills. He was forced to take the position that men are not always morally accountable for their actions, as he explicitly stated in the case of Peter’s denial of Jesus. Peter cannot be held morally accountable for the denial since God allowed Satan undue control over Peter’s will (EC 88-92). In general, McCabe’s conception of the God-man relationship was one that forced God to alternate between gracious love and judgmental detachment. Furthermore, since God required Satan to tempt men for the balancing of good and bad motives, an entirely new problem of theodicy was introduced (DN 223-29). McCabe fell prey to these dualisms because of his biblical literalism and theological perfectionism, neither of which necessarily undermines his arguments respecting human freedom and divine foreknowledge.

Justifying divine foreknowledge has always perplexed believers in genuine human freedom. Calvinist necessitarians had no such problem since they could appeal to God’s knowledge of causal sequences. But if human choices are free, uncaused, then a particular choice may or may not occur; the event and its consequent effects would be purely contingent. How could contingent events be known before they occur? McCabe was convinced that the preservation of human freedom demanded a vigorous defense of contingency. Whereas, however, his fellow Arminians thought it possible and necessary to affirm contingency and foreknowledge, McCabe believed that undesirable theological results would spring from this uneasy alliance.

Assuming the truth of contingency in human affairs, McCabe marshaled two primary arguments against divine foreknowledge. First he attempted to apply a logical argument, whose history extends back at least as far as Cicero’s On Divination.4 According to this view, contingency (chance) and foreknowledge (fate) are contradictory assertions because a contingent event, being unnecessitated, cannot be known until it occurs. Were it known in advance of its occurrence, it must have been necessary and not contingent. Arminians often met this objection to foreknowledge by appealing to a logical distinction between necessity and certainty.5 The fact that God foreknows that choice X is going to be made (freely) means only that X is certain to occur; it does not mean that God’s foreknowledge, or any other cause, necessitated X. The result is indubitably foreknown by God irrespective of how the event came into existence. McCabe, in referring to the difference between "causal necessity" and "effectal (not effectual, but effectal) or facto necessity" (FG 315f), acknowledged his familiarity with this argument.

McCabe claimed, however, that such a distinction does little to preserve belief in contingency. Whether one is speaking of a causal necessity or only of a foreknown certainty, he argued, "has not the slightest pertinence" to the issue: whether choice X could not happen (the definition of contingency) (FG 304). "Absolute divine foreknowledge makes every event of the future just as absolutely certain as does the doctrine of unconditional predestination which declares there is a causal necessity" (FG 341). In fact, he asserted, if one believes in absolute foreknowledge, then believing in causal necessity is superfluous. Under the assumption of foreknowledge the entire scheme of history is immutably fixed anyway. Regardless of how choices may originate, "there is now no contingency as to their happening [as fore known]" (FG 304).

If foreknowledge were true, there could then be "no contingency in the mind of God" (FG 304). A Myriad of future events would have been prearranged by God on the basis of his prescience of contingent choices -- what McCabe called "subsequent ordination" (DN 81). Admit that choice X might not happen, and not only would God’s knowledge be proven fallible but also the subsequently ordained arrangement would crumble. "Admit prescience of future contingencies, and you necessitate an immobile fixity for the whole history of the human race, past and future, so certain in every iota as to obliviate [sic.] all contingencies and make illusory the endowment of human freedom" (DN 259). Foreknowledge empties contingency of its practical meaningfulness. The human belief in contingency, thought McCabe, could hardly be sustained if contingency in the divine mind is denied. Surely "fair and candid dealing demands that, if God proposes to deal with us on the principle of contingency, our future choices ought to be as truly contingent in his mind as they are contingent in ours" (FC 306). McCabe concluded that, quite apart from the issue of causality, foreknowledge and contingency are contradictory assertions.

The value of McCabe’s analysis of the logical argument is that he demonstrated what it means to hold the doctrine of foreknowledge. It can only mean that the future is as fixed as is the past. How that fixity arose is a separate matter. Yet McCabe did not actually prove the charge of incoherence, as he supposed. It is not a logical contradiction to assert that choice X is contingent in origination but not contingent in regard to the fact of its occurrence. One’s knowledge of past contingent events is precisely of this kind. The fact that a contingent event is future introduces an intellectual complication -- namely, how, in the absence of causal sequence, certainty can be present in the divine mind -- but that does not affect the logical status of the proposition. Most Arminians were simply content to leave the question of the modality of divine certainty in abeyance. McCabe was simply begging the question. Nonetheless, he was justified in raising the question of meaningfulness, and his real contribution to the discussion lay in his probing the question of meaning, particularly against the background of religious experience and biblical presuppositions.

McCabe thus opened up a second, more fruitful and interesting, line of attack against foreknowledge. The heart of the dispute, as he showed, is not about logic. The vital issue in the debate is the implication of such belief for the doctrine of God. McCabe pursued this course by asking how it is possible that God can foresee future contingencies. It is not enough to hold the question of the modality of God’s foreknowledge in abeyance, he felt, if the assertion of prescience is to have any rational meaning.

The classical Christian explanation of the foreknowledge of contingencies depended on the conceptualization of God as a being transcending all temporality. "Hence, all things that are in time are present to God from eternity," asserted Thomas Aquinas, "because His glance is carried from eternity over all things as they are in their presentiality" (ST 1.14.13). God experiences past, present, and future in one "eternal now." John Wesley and the Methodist tradition had accepted the notion of God’s timelessness and used it to explain how the foreknowledge of events not causally predetermined was possible. Of course, such an argument cannot technically be an explication of foreknowledge, since in speaking of God one is then no longer operating within a temporal framework. Yet from the human standpoint, God’s timeless omniscience would appear to be foreknowledge and no absurdity would attach to his knowledge of future contingents.

McCabe disputed the value of such a conceptualization. The assertion of God’s timelessness, he argued, is a terribly high price to pay in order to retain absolute prescience. If God were timeless, he could scarcely have an experience of contingency. How could the divine mind, asked McCabe, bereft of any experience of contingency, sustain an intimate relationship with the contingent world? To speak of God as an "eternal now" is to reduce him to a bare abstraction, to "one infinitesimal point" (FG 281). The Godhead would be "immovably fixed" (FG 210), congealed "into the iceberg of indifference" (DN 289). One could hardly construe his nature as personal, or "personic" (DN 67; FG 211). Such a conclusion was unthinkable to McCabe; it looked like a form of deism. God, McCabe insisted, must in some meaningful sense be personal and capable of personic response. Furthermore, "the acts of a person must necessarily be successive, and hence separable and distinguishable in duration" (FG 276). To be a person is to deliberate and execute a choice in accordance with personal ends and designs, to exercise free will. Such attributes require a sense of one’s own subjectivity, manifesting itself in temporal awareness. Consequently, to speak of God as a person, related meaningfully to a contingent world, demands that temporality itself be a primary, not secondary, experience of God (FG 259f). McCabe did not hesitate to draw the conclusion, therefore, that contingency must exist within God himself. "God’s objective life -- that is, his life, experience, interest, and enjoyment, as they are projected into or are modified by his created universe -- must necessarily be contingent" (DN 284).

McCabe did not wish to deny God’s transcendence. He carefully distinguished what he called God’s "subjective life" from God’s "objective life" (FG 259f). The former is indeed eternal and "may not be a process of becoming and of passing away" (DN 283). The latter, however, refers to all of God’s relationships to "the vast world of contingencies. And in that life there may be in his consciousness a becoming and a passing away" (DN 283). To claim that God in his transcendent being foreknows all future contingencies has the inevitable effect of rendering his objective relationships with the world meaningless. Either of two results would follow. In the one case, God’s objective life would be necessarily bounded by his eternal foreknowledge and timelessness. God could not be truly free or personal; his relationship to historical processes would be a mere façade, a docetically staged performance devoid of personal engagement (DN 286). The alternative might be that God is able to keep his eternal foreknowledge hidden from his objective, personal life; but this alternative would posit an absurd duality in God.

The conclusion McCabe reached was that the whole defense of foreknowledge, dependent as it was on the doctrine of divine immutability and timelessness, had to be jettisoned in favor of a view of the transcendent God who undergoes actual development in his relationships to contingent reality. Only such a God could be accurately described as having free will and as a center of personal consciousness. Quoting from Borden Parker Bowne’s Metaphysics, McCabe affirmed that such a God enters " ‘into a new relation to time. This process is a changing process, and hence it is in time. The activity of God, therefore, in the process is essentially a temporal one, and God himself is in time so far as the process is concerned.’ " Not only would foreknowledge "take from [God] all personal life," but it would also deny him "all availing interest in a repenting race and an ever unfolding universe" (FG 387).

In addition to Bowne, McCabe looked to Richard Rothe6 and Isaak Dorner7 for philosophical support of his conclusion regarding God’s experience of temporality and contingency. Just as important, however, were his appeals to scriptural descriptions of God acting in history, to the Christian doctrine of the imago Dei, and to religious experience, especially the experience of prayer. The Bible, he pointed out, speaks of God primarily in personal terms: as one who originates new volitions. Relying on prophetic passages, particularly from Jeremiah, McCabe demonstrated the frequency with which God is shown to speak in the conditional form of address with reference to future events.8 These conditional prophecies, McCabe argued, imply that God did not absolutely foreknow free human decisions. They show instead that "the conduct of men perpetually changes God’s feelings and modifies his treatment of them" (FG 64).

Of course, McCabe’s biblical literalism made such examples seem weightier than they really were. He never clearly indicated how such anthropomorphic language about God should be interpreted. Instead he fell back upon an insistence that rational discourse about God (theology) required some sort of genuine correspondence between God’s experiences and human experiences.9 The principle of the image of God in man, he believed, justified such a correspondence. "Between man and God there must be some resemblance, or man could not have been created in his image" (FG 275). What was at stake was not anthropopathic descriptions of God but whether God had freedom of will in roughly the same sense that man may be said to have freedom of will. Scripture affirms this to be the case, thought McCabe; hence it ascribes temporality to God’s nature and precludes absolute prescience (FG 276).

A final argument advanced by McCabe raised the question of prayer. If God is timeless, does prayer make sense, he asked, since "it cannot affect the cognition of which God is now perfectly conscious?" (DN 97). If God is beyond the experience of contingency, "how can prayer exert the slightest influence in changing the thoughts, feelings, purposes and volitions of Deity?" (DN 99). Religious experience, concluded McCabe, by insisting on the utility of prayer, requires the affirmation of divine nescience (DN 100).

Such arguments were less a refutation of foreknowledge than an aesthetic appeal to a more personalized -- and possibly more anthropomorphized -- conception of God. According to McCabe, foreknowledge robs God of the "delight" and "enjoyment" that should rightfully characterize personal subjectivity. It leaves him destitute "of curiosity and love, of novelty, destitute of the susceptibilities of surprise and wonder," unable to put forth new volitions to further his eternal plans and purposes (FG 244). Above all, foreknowledge prevents God from sharing and suffering in the moral struggles of humanity (FG 245f).

McCabe recognized that the doctrine of divine nescience necessitated a redefinition of omniscience and omnipotence. Just as God’s omnipotence is circumscribed by the possible, he argued, so God’s omniscience must be limited to the knowable. But future contingencies, he insisted, are not knowable if God is truly personal. "As to pure contingencies prior to their creation [God] may have theories, ideals, fancies, possibilities or probabilities, but cannot have certain knowledge" (DN 24). God’s plans and designs must necessarily be flexible as he adjusts to human decisions. Yet however much the nescience of future contingencies may circumscribe God’s omniscience, it does not affect his wisdom, nor does it vitiate his ability to superintend the created order. In fact, claimed McCabe, precisely because God has infinite wisdom and infinite "resources," he can "accomplish his designs without predetermining the details of his operations" (FG 188). His ability to adapt and manage is obviously boundless.

In any case, McCabe was absolutely vehement in insisting that nescience is not the result of some defect in God’s knowledge or power; it is a voluntary self-limitation (FG 205). Surely God can impose limitations on himself for the sake of ends he wishes to pursue, McCabe explained. If one asks why God imposed such limitations on his omnipotence, the first reply would be: for the sake of humanity (FG 206). The ultimate mystery is that God desired to create a being like himself, capable of exercising choice and moral responsibility. For the attainment of such an end it was necessary that such a being "can in the exercise of its freedom resist and withstand Omnipotence" (DN 20).

An equally important reason for the divine self-limitation would be that God’s own subjectivity and desire for personic freedom required that he create a world in which contingency existed (DN 67). Only by relating to what is contingent could God experience full subjectivity, experience the thrill of "new thoughts, new desires, purposes and plans" (DN 20). If he is to maintain vital relationships with the created world, God’s own experiences "must necessarily be contingent" (DN 284).

McCabe’s doctrine of a self-limiting God could not fail to have important repercussions on his views of history and human personality. From his new perspective, history reveals itself as an open-ended engagement. Creation itself, he thought, was a "pure venture" on God’s part, a great and fair experiment. And while the purposes of God must ultimately prevail, the means by which the future will hasten or retard the realization of these ends is "unfixed, undetermined, and, therefore, uncertain" (DN 28). Nor can God achieve his ends without human cooperation. God pursues man as much as man pursues God. God ordains to realize his purposes in this slow, halting fashion because his goal is a kingdom of "co-creators, co-causes, co-originators, and co-eternal with himself in the realm of the contingent" (DN 22). Coercion could never achieve an end such as this, and so God must rely upon compassion and persuasion, "by way of illumination, entreaty, warning, or command, but never by way of causative determination" (FG 207).

The same powers of spontaneity and change, which history reflects, characterize the human personality. Departing from the view of human character as a given "nature," McCabe argued that character is never so fixed and certain as to be unsusceptible of new and different determinations from the inexhaustible source and depth of free will" (FG 420). Character remains undetermined so long as the will remains free. The stability of character emerges only gradually and tenuously as the will engages in the process of choosing. Being and doing are inseparable in the full development of human identity. Human life too seemed an adventure to McCabe. It is to be lived out with the resources of divine grace, but nevertheless with a sense of urgency regarding the need for social and moral reform (DN 302f). Only through human vigilance can the tenuous equilibrium of freedom be maintained, and only in this way can the future willed by God be established in an indeterminate universe.

McCabe’s attack on the Western doctrine of the immutability, simplicity, and nontemporality of God was the most intriguing and satisfactory facet of his critique of absolute foreknowledge. What McCabe failed to do was to integrate his alternative vision with the distinctive Christian concepts of grace and justification. His own view of the process of salvation was notably legalistic. This one-sided perspective led him to ignore how intimately interrelated were the traditional concepts of foreknowledge, sovereignty of God, and salvation by grace alone. This oversight produced a certain theological incoherence in McCabe’s position. Despite his depiction of God as creatively involved in the historical struggle, his limitation of freedom to strictly moral decisions, where each person was on trial to prove his worthiness, raises serious questions about the God-man relationship. Was McCabe’s God a loving participant in the historical process, or was he restricted primarily to the roles of spectator, referee, and cosmic manager, who must repair the damage left by men failing their probations? McCabe seemed unaware of that dilemma. "One of God’s great delights in beholding his universe is, as we may well suppose, to witness the unknown choices and moral developments of free agents, to witness their displays of faith and heroism and spiritual valor, and to watch the unfoldings of vast and various enterprises" (FG 245). Unwittingly, in trying to combat what he thought was a temporal deism, McCabe may have ended up with a sort of moral deism. He was thus unable to modify his evangelical perfectionism sufficiently to develop an adequate soteriological counterpart to his metaphysical innovations.

The irony in McCabe’s life is that the revolution in religious thought that he called for came to fruition, but not as a result of his efforts. His views were framed in too idiosyncratic a fashion to satisfy anyone completely. His evangelical constituency felt alienated by his advocacy of divine mutability,’10 while the newer liberal forces were appalled by his moralism and literalism. Thus, despite his expressed wish to reconcile opposing theological parties and to develop new- theological foundations that would accord with the modern American spirit, his arguments went largely unnoticed. Yet this result was unfortunate because in several important respects McCabe anticipated the problems with the traditional theistic arguments that would perplex modern philosophy and theology. With the limited theological and exegetical resources at his disposal, he was still able to articulate a doctrine of God that was somewhat ahead of its time.

 

References

DN -- Lorenzo Dow McCabe. Divine Nescience of Future Contingencies A Necessity. New York: Phillips and Hunt, 1882.

FG -- Lorenzo Dow McCabe. The Foreknowledge of God and Cognate Themes in Theology and Philosophy. Cincinnati: Cranston and Stow, 1878.

ERD -- Daniel D. Whedon, Essays, Reviews, and Discourses. New York, 1887; reprint edition, Freeport, New York: Books for Libraries Press, 1972.

ST -- Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologica, in Introduction to St. Thomas Aquinas, edited by Anton C. Pegis. New York: The Modern Library, 1945.

 

Notes

1 Earlier in the nineteenth century, the English Wesleyan theologian Adam Clarke had flirted with a denial of absolute prescience in his commentary on Acts. See Adam Clarke, The New Testament . . . with a Commentary and Critical Notes, vol. 1 (New York: G. Lane & C. B. Tippett, 1848), p. 702f. A contemporary of McCabe, Joel Hayes, also argued for limitations on divine foreknowledge in The Foreknowledge of God (Nashville: The Publishing House of the M. E. Church, South, 1890). Unfortunately, Hayes’s definition of "free volition" was so contrary to common usage that it precludes interest in his argumentation: "The period of childhood and youth, then, is the period in which perhaps a majority of a man’s free volitions are made. . . . As the child grows into youth, and the youth into manhood, opportunities for new free volitions become less and less frequent" (p. 225f).

2 McCabe’s defense of the doctrine of "entire sanctification" through "the all-cleansing efficacy of that atoning blood [of Jesus]" may be found in his Light on the Pathway of Holiness (New York: Carlton & Lanahan, 1872).

3 The Calvinist tradition in America generally followed Jonathan Edwards in distinguishing natural necessity from moral necessity. The latter referred to the absolute control that a person’s own moral nature was said to exert over his volitions. By "causal necessity" McCabe meant both kinds of causality. See Edwards, A Careful and Strict Enquiry into the Modern Prevailing Notions of that Freedom of the Will . . . (1754), edited by Paul Ramsey (New Haven: Yale University Press 1957)

4 Augustine replied to Cicero in City of God, 5,9-10.

5 Thomas Aquinas developed this distinction by arguing that there is a crucial difference between absolute necessity (necessitas consequentis) and conditional necessity (necessitas consequentiae) (ST 1. 19. 8).

6 McCabe quoted Rothe as saying: "The very religious interest itself drives us imperatively to the view of nonprescience on the part of God of the free actions of imperfect moral beings" (FG 221). Source not stated.

7 "We cannot be satisfied with the assertion that for God there can be nothing past and nothing future as such, but that everything exists before him as in an eternal self-identical present. . . . God knows what is present as the p resent, and thus the divine knowledge of actuality advances as appropriate thereto. What was yet future and known as such, moves into the present and from there into the past; but the divine knowledge accompanies it in its course, it assumes a changing shape in the divine knowledge itself, and that presupposes a movement, a change even in the knowing activity of God himself." Isaak August Dorner, "On the Proper Version of the Dogmatic Concept of the Immutability of God," in God and Incarnation in Mid-Nineteenth Century German Theology, edited and translated by Claude Welce (New York: Oxford University Press, 1965). p. 135f. Cf. DN 29, 285 ff.

8 Among the scriptural passages that McCabe cited are: 2 Kings 20:1, 5-6; 1 Chronicles 12:17; 2 Chronicles 28:9-10; Jeremiah 18:6-8; 26:2-3, 36:3; 38:17.

9 "When God says ‘Come, let us reason together,’ things must be in his mind as they lie in ours, and he and we must reason from the same premises and according to the necessary laws of thought. . . . If you deny this your reasoning with the Deity is unreliable, and therefore useless. ‘Prescience of Future Contingencies Impossible," Methodist Review, 74 (September, 1892), 763.

10 Daniel Whedon commented that McCabe "will yet regret the publication" of his views because "the universal sense of man will never deny [absolute] omniscience. Review of The Foreknowledge of God in Methodist Renew 61 (January, 1879): 165.

Russell, Poincaré, and Whitehead’s ‘Relational Theory of Space’

On April 8, 1914, A. N. Whitehead read a paper entitled "The Relational Theory of Space" to the First Congress of Mathematical Philosophy in Paris.1 A French translation of this paper was subsequently published in the Revue de Métaphysique et de Morale [23 (1916) 423-54], but the English original never appeared in print. It may have amounted to little more than a rough manuscript and may have been destroyed, at Whitehead’s request, together with other unpublished materials, after his death (UW 11 9).2 In either event, an English translation of the French version has recently been produced and is currently available in monograph form, together with the French version and a running commentary (RTS).

"The Relational Theory of Space" is of interest to Whitehead scholars for a number of reasons. It contains the first published statement of the logical technique which Whitehead later named the method of extensive abstraction, and it is used here in a most curious way, distinctly different from the way in which it is applied in An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Natural Knowledge and The Concept of Nature. Secondly, the analysis of action at a distance provides the logical underpinnings of the epochal theory of becoming later developed in Process and Reality, and certain statements relating to the priority of the concrete over the abstract foreshadow, respectively, the Fallacy of Misplaced Concreteness (SMW) and the Ontological Principle (PR). Finally, on a biographical note, the circumstances surrounding the writing of the treatise point up an interesting episode in Whitehead’s relationship with Russell and, although this is somewhat conjectural, the content of the treatise may indicate some influence on Whitehead by neo-Kantian thinkers, particularly the French mathematician Henri Poincaré. In the pages that follow each of these topics is discussed briefly.

1. The method of extensive abstraction is a logical device, heavily dependent on the theory of convergent series developed in Principia Mathematica, which is used for the purpose of joining together otherwise disparate groups of phenomena. In "The Relational Theory of Space" the employment of the method of extensive abstraction results in the production of a single logical model which in turn is given a dual application. In its first mode of application, it is used as a bridge between what Whitehead calls "apparent objects" (e.g., green trees, sounds, odors) and the points, lines, and planes of perceptual geometry; in the second mode, as a bridge between what he calls "physical objects" (e.g., atoms, molecules, electrons) and the points, lines, and planes of physical geometry. This dual application of a single logical model is accomplished by having the concepts of the model serve as variables. When, in one mode of application, apparent objects and the points, lines, and planes of perceptual geometry are interpreted as instances of these concepts, they become linked together in virtue of the formal coherence of the model. In the other mode of application physical objects and the points, lines,, and planes of physical geometry become linked together in the same way.

Although the logical details of the method of extensive abstraction are rather sophisticated, the overall strategy is quite simple. For example, as concerns apparent space, Whitehead begins with the set of relationships existing between any perceiver and any perceived object; then he identifies the group of apparent objects as the set containing the converse domains of these relationships. (The converse domain of the relation "father of," for example, is the set of fathers.) Thereupon he arranges these apparent objects in converging series wherein each contains a yet smaller one. For example, the apparent object which is "the house" contains the apparent object which is "the room," "the room" contains "the cabinet," "the cabinet" contains "the bottle," and so on. In the end this series is perceived (or conceived) to terminate in a point, or in some other basic element of perceptual geometry.

In An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Natural Knowledge and in The Concept of Nature the method of extensive abstraction is used for a purpose distinctly different from the one here. In these later works Whitehead is concerned with the bifurcation of nature, and he uses the method of extensive abstraction to close the gap between the data of perception and the world disclosed by science. Hut in "The Relational Theory of Space," after addressing the question of the parallelism between the perceptual world and the world of physics, Whitehead writes: "The exact analysis of the essential logical procedure which is involved in this parallelism . . . fall[s] outside the scope of this treatise. We only mention it as a fundamental scientific problem which is hereafter put aside" (RTS 35).

In addition, the application of the method of extensive abstraction in this treatise has nothing to do with the points, lines, and planes of pure geometry. The theory of these "ideal" elements is explicitly deferred to another treatise which, Whitehead says, "I hope to publish soon" (RTS 63). This different treatise was the anticipated fourth volume of Principia Mathematica.3

In comparison with the later applications of the method of extensive abstraction, the application which it receives in "The Relational Theory of Space" is highly unusual and prompts the question why Whitehead even bothered with the somewhat quaint topic of apparent objects and their relationship to perceptual points and lines, when he could have immediately addressed the far more interesting question of the relationship of perception to the world of physics. Closely associated with the solution to this puzzle is Whitehead’s personal involvement with Bertrand Russell.

2. In March and April, 1914, Russell was scheduled to deliver the Lowell Lectures in Boston. During the preceding months he apparently experienced some difficulty in identifying an appropriate topic for his lectures, and he asked Whitehead for some suggestions. Whitehead, in turn, gave him certain "notes" which provided the stimulus both for the lectures and the subsequently published book Our Knowledge of the External World. These notes probably amounted to a rough draft of the yet to be delivered lecture "The Relational Theory of Space" together with certain other suggestions extending the method of extensive abstraction to time.4 Recalling this event many years later, Russell wrote,

As regards points, instants, and particles, I was awakened from my ‘dogmatic slumbers’ by Whitehead. Whitehead invented a method of constructing points, instants and particles as sets of events, each of finite extent. . . . I was delighted with this fresh application of the methods of mathematical logic. . . . Having been invited to deliver the Lowell Lectures in the spring of 1914 I chose as my subject ‘Our Knowledge of the External World’ and, in conjunction with this problem, I set to work to utilize Whitehead’s novel apparatus. (MPD 103)

The chapter of the book which expressly utilizes Whitehead’s insights is entitled "The World of Physics and the World of Sense." As the title indicates, Russell attempts to use Whitehead’s method of extensive abstraction for the purpose of "bridging the gulf between the world of physics and the world of sense" (KEW 106). This, of course, was the very project which, in "The Relational Theory of Space," Whitehead had deferred to a later treatise. After acknowledging that his work on the subject falls short of a complete solution, Russell commences to show, first, how the concept of physical "thing," and, second, how the concepts of "point" and "instant" can all be constructed from classes of sense data. Russell’s work on the concept of "thing," involving as it does his so-called actual and ideal perceivers, amounts to little more than an implementation of Whitehead’s notion of complete apparent space5 (RTS 34f) combined with an application of the basic principles of the method of extensive abstraction, and his work on points and instants is, by his own admission, simply a reiteration of Whitehead’s work on this subject (KEW 119). The only aspect of the chapter which might be considered at all original is the use of the method of extensive abstraction specifically for the purpose of drawing a bridge between the concepts of physics and the data of sense.

It was probably this novel use of the method of extensive abstraction that so vexed Whitehead and caused him, some two and one-half years later, to send a letter to Russell expressing his distinct displeasure over the matter:

Dear Hertie:

I am awfully sorry, but you do not seem to appreciate my point. I don’t want my ideas propagated at present either under my name or anybody else’s -- that is to say, as far as they are at present on paper. The result will be an incomplete misleading exposition which will inevitably queer the pitch for the final exposition when I want to put it out.

My ideas and methods grow in a different way to yours and the period of incubation is long and the result attains its intelligible form in the final stage, -- I do not want you to have my notes which in chapters are lucid, to precipitate them into what I should consider as a series of half truths. . . . (ABR II 78)6

Of course the question remains as to why Whitehead did not himself proceed immediately to use the method of extensive abstraction in order to bridge the gulf between the concepts of physics and the data of sense. If he had done this in the Paris lecture, then Russell’s reiteration of Whitehead’s theories in Boston would have served simply to credit Whitehead with having done the pioneering work in an important area of the philosophy of science. Although Whitehead probably eventually intended to use the method of extensive abstraction for this purpose, he did not yet (in 1914) fully appreciate its importance. I further conjecture that the reason why he did not fully appreciate its importance was because at that time he was preoccupied with an altogether different kind of problem. This brings us to the question of the possible influence of Poincaré.

3. The development of non-Euclidean geometries by Lobatschewski and Riemann, among others, during the middle decades of the nineteenth century caused major problems for exponents of the traditional Kantian view of the relationship between geometry and perception. Kant, of course, held that the axioms of Euclidean geometry were synthetic a priori judgments and that these axioms, expressing the essential character of pure spatial intuition, transcendentally condition the entire field of sense representation. When the non-Euclidean geometries were proved to be equally consistent with Euclidean geometry, it became immediately obvious that there was nothing necessary about the adoption of Euclidean axioms and, furthermore, that there was no more reason to think that the realm of sense appearance is somehow conditioned by Euclidean space than it is by non-Euclidean space. In the wake of this realization, neo-Kantian philosophers with mathematical instincts began to disengage altogether questions of geometry from those of perception. Geometry and perception came to be seen as each having their own peculiar space. Geometrical space was the space of ideal points, lines, and surfaces, and perceptual space was the space in which sense appearances were presented to the experiencing subject and correlated with one another in terms of perceived points, lines, and surfaces. Of course the problem then arose as to how the two kinds of space were related to one another, and how the points, lines, and surfaces of perceptual space were related to appearances in perceptual space.

In his widely read and highly respected work Science and Hypothesis Henri Poincaré, a mathematician with Kantian inclinations, clearly distinguished what he called "representative space" from geometrical space. Geometrical space is continuous, infinite, three-dimensional, homogeneous, and isotropic, whereas representative space, strictly speaking, has none of these properties. Representative space, in turn, Poincaré viewed as comprised of visual space, tactile space, and motor space. Thus, in contrast to Kant’s single form of space, Poincaré has five! Through a process of association of ideas, Poincaré thought, visual, tactile, and motor space were psychologically adjusted to one another to yield a single representative space. He then argued that the appearances of representative space are correlated with one another, in terms of muscular sensations, to produce a kind of perceptual geometry. This perceptual geometry is basically Euclidean in structure and lies at the foundation of our habitual belief that the physical world is Euclidean. Finally, as concerns the relation between representative space and geometrical space, Poincaré identified the former as the "image" of the latter. "Thus we do not represent to ourselves external bodies in geometrical space, but we reason about these bodies as if they were situated in geometrical space" (SH 57).

In "The Relational Theory of Space" Whitehead, like Poincar6, begins by identifying a number of different kinds of space: immediate apparent space, complete apparent space, physical space, and abstract space. The treatise is concerned exclusively with complete apparent space and physical space. Whitehead’s complete apparent space appears to be nearly identical to Poincaré’s representative space and results from the mutual adjustment of the various immediate apparent spaces of both actual and hypothetical perceivers. Like Poincaré, Whitehead attempts to establish a connection between the appearances of complete apparent space and the points, lines, and planes of perceptual geometry; but where Poincaré’s account is couched in terms of muscular sensations, Whitehead’s derives from the class logic of Principia Mathematica.

In his treatment of apparent space Whitehead is concerned with establishing a link between levels of experience -- not a link between the content of experience and some extramental realm. This same subjectivist orientation extends to his treatment of physical space. Whitehead characterizes the physical world as a "hypothetical logical construction" (RTS 35), and physical space, far from being a receptacle for "things in themselves," is a space populated by theoretical constructs. Whitehead’s objective is to create a link between these constructs and the concepts representing the points, lines, and planes of physical science.

Commenting on the character of Whitehead’s philosophy, Russell wrote, "He had always had a leaning toward Kant" (PFM 100, also ABR I 188). When "The Relational Theory of Space" is read in the light of this statement, the unusual application given therein to the method of extensive abstraction, namely, the fact that it aims at interconnecting different levels of experience, as opposed to connecting the content of experience to some extramental world, may suggest that Whitehead, at this time, was working and writing in a neo-Kantian frame of reference.7 If this be so, three facts further suggest that the writings of Poincaré may have constituted part of this neo-Kantian influence: the close resemblance between Whitehead’s and Poincaré’s work in the philosophy of geometry, the commonly made distinction between geometrical space and perceptual space, and the shared concern with establishing a link between the appearances of perceptual space and the elements of perceptual geometry.8

4. Apart from the question of a new-Kantian temper to "The Relational Theory of Space," the treatise is of interest to scholars for at least two additional reasons: it provides a very early, if not the first, instance of a train of thought which eventually led to the elaboration of the Fallacy of Misplaced Concreteness and the Ontological Principle, and it suggests, too, the basic logic underlying the extensive relationships of the epochal theory of becoming presented in the philosophy of organism. The idea that relatively abstract entities should be grounded in the concrete order of things is entailed by the concept of a relational, as opposed to an absolute, theory of space. In an absolute theory, planes are reducible to lines, and lines to points; but the point is both irreducible and indefinable. In the relational theory Whitehead attempts to mitigate this almost ineffable character of points by establishing a connection between points and objects. At the same time, the more abstract geometrical elements become grounded in the more concrete realm of objects. This comes in response to what Whitehead terms "The fundamental order of ideas:"

The fundamental order of ideas is first a world of things in relation; then the space whose fundamental entities are defined by means of those relations and whose properties are deduced from the nature of those relations. (RTS 40)

Of course, in "The Relational Theory of Space," the link established between the abstract and the concrete is only a logical one, accomplished through a series of logical constructions, and it in no way explains how abstract entities actually emerge from the concrete. This latter task Whitehead accomplishes only many years later, through the introduction of the Category of Conceptual Valuation as part of the philosophy of organism.

Section II of the treatise is devoted to an analysis of the causal relations between physical objects. Whitehead identifies three axioms which govern the traditional thought on this subject: (1) one object cannot be in two places at the same time; (2) two objects cannot be in the same place at the same time; and (3) two objects at a distance cannot act on one another. Taken together, these three axioms render impossible any direct causal action between bodies. This conclusion follows with the greatest simplicity: if two objects are in different places, they are at a distance from one another, and hence neither can act on one another, but if two objects are at the same place, they are the same body, and hence, once again, no action is possible. The counterargument, that action is possible between two bodies which touch one another is easily dismissed: the notion of two contiguous physical objects is as meaningless as that of two contiguous points on a line segment.

As a solution to this problem Whitehead suggests a structure for the physical universe according to which causal action occurs between atomic units. These units are supposed to be such that some have determinate surfaces while others do not, and those with surfaces are uniformly intermingled with those without. Given such a structure for the physical universe, the problem of contiguous physical objects does not arise, in the same way that it does not arise in mathematics for open and closed intervals uniformly interspersed on a line segment. When White-head adds to this the suggestion that causal action occurs, not in the spatial dimension, but only in the temporal (RTS 37), the basic theory allowing causal transmission to take place between physical bodies is complete. In "The Relational Theory of Space," however, this structure for the physical universe is suggested as a mere speculative possibility, and it plays no essential role in subsequent sections of the treatise.

In the philosophy of organism, causal transmission in the form of simple physical feeling occurs exclusively in the temporal dimension. Furthermore, it occurs between one atomic entity in its phase of satisfaction and another in its initial phase of becoming. The entity in its phase of satisfaction is an entity with a determinate surface, while the one in its initial phase of becoming has no surface. Thus the problem that would otherwise have arisen with contiguous entities is avoided, and it is avoided in terms of the very same suggestions about extensive relations between physical objects that Whitehead first expressed in "The Relational Theory of Space."

[Editor’s note: Quite independently of Professor Hurley’s work (RTS), Janet A. Fitzgerald has also translated the "Relational Theory of Space" as part of her study, Alfred North Whitehead’s Early Philosophy of Space and Time (Washington: University Press of America, April 1979, 216 pages, $9.00.)]

 

References

ABR -- Russell, Bertrand. The Autobiography of Bertrand Russell. 3 Vols. Volume I: 1872-1914. Boston: Little Brown and Co., 1951. Volume II: 1914-1944. London: George Allen and Unwin, Ltd., 1968. Volume III: 1944-1969. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1969.

KEW -- Russell, Bertrand. Our Knowledge of the External World. London: George Allen and Unwin, Ltd., 1926. (First Ed., 1914.)

MPD -- Russell, Bertrand. My Philosophical Development. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1959.

PFM -- Russell, Bertrand. Portraits From Memory. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1951.

RTS -- Whitehead, Alfred North. "The Relational Theory of Space," in Whitehead’s Relational Theory of Space: Text, Translation, and Commentary. Translation and Commentary by Patrick J. Hurley. Philosophy Research Archives 4, No. 1259 (1978). This monograph runs 102 pp. and is available in the form of a Xerox copy ($10.20 plus shipping and handling) or in microfiche ($3.00) from Philosophy Documentation Center, Bowling Green State University, Bowling Green, Ohio 43403.

SH -- Poincaré, Henri. Science and Hypothesis. Trans. by W. J. Green-street. New York: Dover Publications, Inc., 1952. (First English Ed., 1905.)

SM -- Poincaré, Henri. Science and Method. Trans. by Francis Maitland. New York: Dover Publications, Inc., (no date). (First English Ed., 1914.)

UW -- Lowe, Victor. Understanding Whitehead. Baltimore: John Hopkins Press, 1966.

 

Notes

1I do not know whether Whitehead delivered the paper in French or in English. See the notices in L’Enseignement Mathematique 16 (1914), 54-57, 370-79.

2 My efforts to locate the original English version of this paper, both in Paris and Cambridge, were unsuccessful.

3 See the Preface to the First Edition of KEW. The fourth volume of PM never appeared, and instead Whitehead published this material in PNK. CN. and PR, part IV.

4 The material that Whitehead passed on to Russell included an account of how the method of extensive abstraction could be applied to time, thus yielding the concept of an instant. This subject is not even mentioned in RTS, but it is completely developed in PNK and CN. See ABR II, 78.

5 Complete apparent space results from the mutual adjustment of the various immediate apparent spaces of both actual and hypothetical perceivers. This space is public, uniform, and provides the context for ordinary human communication. Immediate apparent space, on the other hand, is the incomplete, fragmentary, private space in which phenomena appear immediately to individual perceivers.

6 In his brief comment about this event, Russell wrote, in reference to Whitehead, "it put an end to our collaboration" (ABR II 78). Of course Russell’s pacifist stance during World War I must also have had something to do with ending the collaboration, and it may have contributed to the tone of Whitehead’s letter. The letter was written January 8,1917.

7 I have examined the question of a Kantian influence on Whitehead in greater detail in my Methodology in the Writings of A. N. Whitehead, unpublished doctoral dissertation, Saint Louis University, 1973.

8 Additional areas in which Poincaré may have influenced Whitehead include Poincaré’s predisposition in favor of Euclidean geometry (SH 50) and his emphasis on the method of construction (SH 15). There is a resemblance between Poincaré’s telegraph wire analogy (SM 102-04) and Whitehead’s theory of strains in PR, and Poincaré’s stress on the importance of selection (SM 15-24) reminds one of Whitehead’s Categories of Negative Prehension and Transmutation.

How Is Process Theology Theological?

In the past twenty years, several books and articles have been written which are critical of process theology. This literature contains some stimulating intellectual responses as well as several ad hominem pieces which are more concerned with rhetorical flourish and pietisms than critical reflection.1 There are some who want to rid the church of process theology because it is too philosophical, hence unappreciative of things which are distinctively religious. We are all familiar with the Athens and Jerusalem problem. This raises an important issue for all to whom the term "process theologian" either strictly or loosely applies: how is process theology theological? Must its scope of reflection be restricted to the concerns of natural, philosophical, or fundamental theology, or is it capable of recovering and interpreting aspects of Christian tradition and experience which are uniquely and specifically Christian? In other words, can there be or is there any meaning to the phrase "process systematics"?

It has been the habit of process thinkers to construct philosophical or natural theology, whether it is developed via Whitehead, Hartshorne, Wieman, Meland, Loomer, Cobb, or Ogden. The work of Whiteheadian philosophical theology according to Lewis Ford, "has hardly been begun" (A 340). Nonetheless, it has certainly occupied the center of attention in this school of thought. If systematic theology, however, has a different sense of its experience and public than philosophical theology, and if process thought is to be useful here, it may need to proceed differently than it has thus far. It will attend more exactly to data which are uniquely and specifically Christian.

According to David Tracy, the public which the systematic theologian interiorizes is primarily the Christian Church. The major concern of systematics is "the representation, the reinterpretation of what is assumed to be the ever-present disclosive and transformative power of the particular religious tradition to which the theologian belongs." It has an ethical stance of "loyalty or creative and critical fidelity" to its tradition; it assumes "personal involvement and commitment to a particular religion" which in this case is Christianity. It is also "principally hermeneutics in character. . . ." (Anim 57-58).2

By way of contrast, fundamental, or philosophical, theology’s public is the secular academy. It "will be concerned principally to provide arguments that all reasonable persons, whether religiously involved or not, can recognize as reasonable" Its ethical stance is that of "honest, critical inquiry proper to Its academic setting." Unlike systematics, it abstracts itself from faith commitment, and is "principally concerned to show the adequacy or inadequacy of the truth-claims, usually the cognitive claims, of a particular religious tradition" (AnIm 57-58). Systematics is primarily concerned with meaning.

I believe that most, if not all, process theologians are basically philosophical theologians. Although there are various articles and books showing what I have called systematic theological concerns, philosophical criteria are used, usually exclusively, when dealing with questions of meaning and truth, criteria which are respectable in the academy.3 Process Christology, for example, usually follows Schleiermacher, and tends as a result to be embarrassed by strong exclusivist claims. When traditional particularistic claims are interpreted they are usually weakened.4

Although some attempts have been made to interpret the Christian doctrines of Trinity, Church and sacraments, sin, grace, redemption, atonement, and eschatology, these ideas are far less developed in process thought than the philosophical aspects of theism.5 I do not believe that this underdevelopment of process systematics is caused by poor philosophical resources. Even though specific Christian beliefs were unknown in Athens, Christian thinkers used resources which were far less internally consistent than process thought to express religious meanings, defend practices, doctrines, and so forth. By continually striving to be faithful to its message, and to mediate it adequately, systematic theology evolved as the philosophical appropriation of that message, especially in the Middle Ages.

Several special features of Christian belief should be stated, such as the coming of God’s kingdom in the life, preaching, miracles, death, and resurrection of God’s Son, and the redemption from sin which is part of that coming. Christianity includes a sense of sin and grace, of Trinity, of sacrament, of hope, of piety, and of the ascent to God. The unique Christian participation in God’s kingdom is grasped in theology by creative and critical understanding of Christian tradition, and by creative and critical growth in the Christian ways of life. I would argue that good systematics originates in prayer and in the praxis from which knowledge comes, and not in second order philosophical argumentation.6

This is not to deny that systematics must be responsible and responsive to the criteria of meaning and truth available in philosophical discussion. It must be responsible and open to discussions about praxis as well, and process thinkers have recently shown themselves to be very open to these questions as they have been raised in liberation theology. Methodologically speaking, however, systematics is a dialogue with a different public than those of philosophical and practical theology, theirs being the academy on the one hand, and society at large on the other. Systematics is not more or less true or meaningful than the two other types of theology. It has a properly confessional and hermeneutical stance before its ecclesial public, and it would be helpful if process theologians saw it more clearly as a distinctive endeavor, which is neither philosophical nor practical theology. Two good examples of the confusion of philosophical and systematic concerns occur in a recent issue of Process Studies in articles by John B. Cobb, Jr. and David Lull. The first article suggests that the Eucharist is nonessential (PPE 218-231) the latter that Scripture is not normative (WPH 189-201). A third example I will use is the process understanding of resurrection.

The Eucharist as Nonessential

Cobb’s Whiteheadian theorizing about the possibility of past events, such as the death of Jesus and the Last Supper, becoming present in the Eucharist, is clear and appropriately hermeneutical in character. By means of his theological understanding he is able to reject doctrines of the Eucharist which are guilty of "psychologizing" it as merely a memory of a past event on the one hand, and "magical tendencies of some traditional doctrines" on the other (PPE 229). At the last, however, Cobb does not state the essential importance of the Eucharist in Christian life, because some Christians reject the necessity of sacraments.

Although the sacrament has been central to most of Christianity, the main agency of mediating Jesus’ causal presence and making it real, it is not essential to Christian existence. This is both because Jesus’ presence can be realized in other ways, and because Christian existence can occur where Jesus’ presence is not realized. (PPE 230)7

Even if one does grant the validity of both reasons for thinking that the Eucharist is nonessential to Christian existence, one need not grant the conclusion. The three presences of Christ to which Cobb refers seem to be of equal moment, since they are all presences. But such is not tradition’s judgment. Various elements of tradition seem nonessential, such as male celibate priesthood and biblical cosmology. Other elements are deeply suspect, such as racism, sexism, and authoritarianism. The Eucharist, however, is scarcely among any of these. If Cobb is arguing as a philosophical theologian about the possibility of Eucharistic presence of Jesus’ death and the Last Supper, he need make no commitment as to the reality of such a presence, or whether such a presence is essential. If he is arguing as a systematic theologian, with a sense of both Scripture and tradition, he should have no doubt that the reality and the essential importance of Eucharistic presence is central to Christianity even though each and every Christian might not agree. Some sense of Eucharist is deeply embedded in the grammar of Christianity.

I do not wish to make a case against Cobb’s theology, which is clearly an original contribution both to the contemporary church and academy, based on my reading of one article. I do think, however, that he provides a recent example of the lack of clear distinction between philosophical and systematic theology in process thought. The ability to make such a distinction could be of real advantage to process theology, making its case more clear to friends and foes alike.

Three objections could be made to my criticism: first, that theologians tend to move from philosophical to systematic theology at will and without apology, and that such movement is legitimate; second, that Tracy’s distinctions between the two types of theology are artificial; third, that one’s view of the importance of the Eucharist depends upon how one views tradition itself as authoritative, and how one develops a hierarchy of Christian truths and practices. A close study of the development of theology would probably remove the second and third objection.8 As to the first, I believe my criticism at least raises an important question of method, and how two different types of theological conclusions ought to be drawn.

Scripture as Non-Normative

In the same issue of Process Studies, David Kelsey raises the question as to whether and how the Scriptures are normative for Christian theology, as seen in process hermeneutics (187). David Lull responds initially by arguing from Cobb that the idea of creative transformation is a material norm for theology, and that the word "transformation" is a rational statement of the more symbolic terms "creation, redemption, justification, emancipation, or sanctification" (WPH 194). The role of Scripture in theology, however, becomes relativized. He writes: "Scripture is not necessary, however important it is, in and for Christian faith and life" (WPH 197). Although Christian theology ought to have roots in Scripture which are "clear and strong" (WPH 198), such roots are not necessary. Lull proposes this judgment from a philosophical analysis in which an unconscious sense of identity with the events of the emergence of Christianity is enough for Christian theology to be Christian.

This is a dubious conclusion if Lull reaches it in the context of systematic theology. It seems that he begins with the judgment that Scripture is not necessary, a judgment which is either philosophical or sociological, then gives justification for it. I believe one could begin with the opposite judgment, and give philosophical justification or explanation for it from the same Whiteheadian categories.9

It is difficult to see why a normative sense of either Scripture or the Eucharist cannot be expressed in process categories. Christian process theologians should be able to view Scripture and tradition as in some way normative without violating their philosophical consciences, and to use process categories to mediate Christian symbols faithfully, yet in a philosophically respectable manner. In this mediation, important particularistic or concrete elements of Christian tradition must be preserved.

I am not arguing for the normative authority of Scripture and tradition as deposits of faith in a static external sense, but for a more commonsense view that they are the major vehicles of Christian meaning through the centuries, and their importance cannot be ignored in systematic theology.

Resurrection as Optional

In his preface to A Process Christology, David Griffin states:

Christian faith . . . is possible apart from belief in Jesus’ resurrection in particular and life beyond bodily death in general, and because of the widespread skepticism regarding these traditional beliefs, they should be presented as optional. (PC 12)10

The judgment of Charles Hartshorne and Schubert Ogden is also negative on the question of any subjective immortality, and although some are more positive, resurrection of the body is seldom taken seriously by process theologians. They usually are content to demythologize it.11 Here again, if one makes the opposite judgment as a systematic theologian, based in Scripture and tradition, that belief in the resurrection of Jesus is not only necessary to Christian faith, but one of its most distinctive and important elements, one may find it possible to express that belief in Whitehead’s understanding of the person. A systematic theology which is schooled in Scripture and tradition presumes that Jesus is risen and celebrates that victory as one of its central affirmations. Whiteheadian categories may provide a uniquely suitable vehicle for expressing this belief rather than a foundation for a demythologizing rejection of its truth; at least there is that possibility (LG chs. 4-5).

The Principle of Positivity

One recent solution to the problem of particularism in theology is offered by Edward Farley. Tracy suggests, as we have seen above, that we distinguish between philosophical theology, with its universal concerns, and systematics, which is hermeneutical and particular. Farley’s answer is itself philosophical: one begins reflection with the particular, trying to capture the unique features of that to which one attends. This "principle of positivity" was formulated in various ways by Pascal, Schleiermacher, Husserl, and Duméry. Briefly stated, a position is developed which preserves both the provincial and the "generic," or general, features of religion. In provincial hermeneutics

the essential features and "truth" of the historical faith are identified with one of its specific historical expressions. They are not related, except by way of opposition, to other historical forms of that faith, or to other religious faiths, or to universal features of man and his world. (EM 58)

Generic hermeneutics "attends to universal structures such as the fundamental ontology of the human being or a general metaphysical scheme, and sees a specific historical faith as the exemplification of these generic (genus-related) structures and as translatable into them" (EM 58). Lindbeck’s recent book shows the same concern in proposing a cultural-linguistic model for understanding religious truth claims (see ND).

The key to the importance of the principle of positivity lies in the relation which Farley sees between the provincial and the general levels. The general levels are always transformed when they are incorporated into specific actualities. Hence knowing the general is knowing only that which is static and similar in religions. The actual concrete transformations of the general features of religions must be grasped in order to participate in a given religion in more than an abstract way. To know many religions is to know none, if such knowledge is independent of a single tradition with its own dynamic transformations of that which is common to others. There is a vast difference between knowing in a general way that religions have a sense of God or the Holy, and knowing the saving life, death, and resurrection of Jesus in the life of the Christian community.

When applied to theology, the principle of positivity highlights those features of Christian faith and existence which are determinate transformations of generic characteristics, rather than to those which are shared with humanism or other religions. Farley describes existence which is specifically Christian as a special form of co-intending called ecclesia, a redemptive co-intending which leads us away from idolatry and flight, to freedom from self-securing and to obligation and to obligation toward one other. Although his philosophical resource is primarily Husserl, Farley’s understanding of the principle of positivity can easily be seen as Whiteheadian. In his reversal of Plato’s theory of forms, Whitehead insisted on the superiority of the concretely temporal over the eternal potentialities. The reason for all thought, including theology, is to shed light on actual experience.

In spite of the problem I have described, I believe that process systematics can be fruitfully developed and that to some extent this is occurring now. Systematics must seek rationality in the classical sense and process conceptuality is uniquely suited to this task. While systematics attends primarily to the Christian story, and recognizes its centrality, it also asks about the truth of its own propositions, and answers to the demand for logic, clarity, and inner coherence. Philosophical theology only demonstrates the possible meaning and truth of what systematics affirms, or demonstrates its impossibility. Systematics, on the other hand, must affirm its own meanings and truths and explain them by way of philosophical categories which become theological. In this process, hermeneutics, which initially pays attention to the provincially specific and the concrete, lastly feeds its craving for philosophical generality which is uniquely its own. Both philosophical and systematic theology need the best categories available for thought in the contemporary world. For many theologians today, process philosophy provides those categories. In order to move forward in both tasks, a clear distinction needs to be made between them, a distinction which process theologians seldom recognize.

 

References:

A -- Lewis S. Ford. "Afterword." Explorations in Whitehead’s Philosophy. New York: Fordham, 1983.

AnIm -- David Tracy. The Analogical Imagination. New York: Crossroad, 1981.

EM -- Edward Farley. Ecclesial Man: A Social Phenomenology of Faith and Reality. Philadelphia: Fortress, 1975.

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

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

ND -- George Lindbeck. The Nature of Doctrine. Philadelphia: Fortress, 1984.

PC -- David R. Griffin. A Process Christology. Philadelphia: Westminster, 1973.

PPE -- John B. Cobb, Jr. "The Presence of the Past and the Eucharist." Process Studies 13:3 (Fall 1983): 218-231.

WPH -- David J. Lull. "What is ‘Process Hermeneutics’?" Process Studies 13:3 (Fall 1983): 189-201.

 

Notes:

1The best criticism of process thought, especially Whiteheadian, have come from Robert Neville. See especially his Creativity and God (New York: Crossroad, 1980) and "Whitehead on the One and the Many," in Explorations in Whitehead’s Philosophy, ed. Lewis S. Ford and George L. Kline (New York Fordham, 1983), Chapters 257-271.

2Chapters 1 and 2 are especially relevant to this discussion.

3A good example of systematic theology in the Whiteheadian mode is Lewis S. Ford, LG.

4 This claim cannot be adequately defended here. For a brief description of process Christology which demonstrates this, see, Gene Reeves and Delwin Brown, "The Development of Process Theology," in Process Philosophy and Christian Thought (Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, l971) 58-61; John B. Cobb, Jr., Christ in a Pluralistic Age (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1975); David R. Griffin, A Process Christology (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1973). Process thought points Christology in another direction entirely, I believe, because of its novel understanding of the person. Christology should begin with the Christian sense of the presence of the risen Christ in the church. See Lewis S. Ford, LO chs. 4-5; Joseph M. Hallman, "The Resurrection of the Human Jesus," Process Studies 8:4 (Winter 1978): 253-258.

5For examples of Trinitarian speculation, see Joseph A. Bracken, "Subsistent Relations: Mediating Concept for a New Synthesis?" Journal of Religion 64:2 (April 1984): 188204; Process Philosophy and Trinitarian Theology," Process Studies 8:4 (winter 1978): 217-230; and Process Philosophy and Trinitarian Theology -- II," Process Studies 11:2 (Summer 1981): 83-96. For church and sacraments see Bernard Lee, The Becoming of the Church (New York: Paulist, 1974).

6A recent formulation of the historical problem of the loss of this notion is Edward Farley’s Theologia: The Fragmentation and Unity of Theological Education (Philadelphia: Fortress. 1983).

7One should compare the particularism of his early work The Structure of Christian Existence with his later Christ in a Pluralistic Age.

8 The overwhelming number of Christians through time have testified to the centrality of the Eucharist in Christian life; and some distinction between philosophical and systematic theology is recognized by most theologians today. To cite only two major examples besides Tracy, see Bernard Lonergan, Method in Theology (New York: Herder, 1972) and Paul Tillich, Systematic Theology (Chicago: University Press. 1951), vol. 1.

9 One might argue that a conscious sense of identity is necessary to construct linguistic symbols which have a direct bearing on the Christian tradition. I do not believe that Christian theology can be unconsciously Christian in any important way, on Whiteheadian or any other grounds.

10Griffin repeats this opinion at the end of GPE, 312,

11 See Charles Hartshorne, The Logic of Perfection (La Salle: Open Court, 1962): 245-246, 253, 262; Philosophers Speak of God (Chicago: University Press, 1953): 479; A Natural Theology for Our Time (La Salle: Open Court, 1967): 107, 112; Schubert Ogden, "The Meaning of Christian Hope,’ Union Seminary Quarterly Review, 30 (l975): l61; "The Promise of Faith," in The Reality of God and Other Essays (New York: Harper, 1963): 224f; John B. Cobb, Jr., A Christian Natural Theology (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1965): 63-70. For criticisms similar to mine see Leo J. O’Donovan, "The Pasch of Christ: Our Courage in Time," Theological Studies 42:3 (September 1981): 367-71.

The Resurrection of the Human Jesus

It is the purpose of this paper to show how Jesus as a man was capable of becoming alive after death in himself and for his followers. The primary reason for my attempt to relate the resurrection to Jesus simply as a man is soteriological: if it is only Jesus’ divinity which explains and guarantees his resurrection, the condition of resurrection need not be a possibility for Christian individuals, because they are not similarly divine.

I

From the standpoint of the earliest Christian reflection, it is evidently not necessary to hold that the corpse of Jesus revivified in order to believe in Jesus’ resurrection. Apparition and ascension stories aside, it is clear in Paul’s theorizing that some sort of new bodies will come into being for us after the physical disintegration of our first ones (I Cor. 15:35f). In order to show that this Pauline conception is indeed a rational one, it will be necessary to show (1) how the human person is able to be immortal apart from the first body, (2) how the human person is able to develop a relationship to another physical or bodily reality which is at least analogous to the first relationship between person and body, and (3) how Jesus can be said to have risen in a manner consistent with the foregoing and the sense in which his resurrection may be said to accomplish our own resurrection as Christians.

Our first task is to theorize about the possibility of life after death, or subjective immortality. There are three important Whiteheadian texts which deal with the question of the immortality of the soul after the death of the body. In his final discussion Whitehead sees the question as irrelevant, given the "true destiny" which we have as a cocreator in the universe" participating with God in this work (Dialogues 297). His earlier discussions, however, treat life after death as an open question and thus, presumably, a relevant one. In RM he is "entirely neutral" on the question, thinking that it can be decided "on more special evidence, religious or otherwise, provided that it is trustworthy" (RM 110). Whitehead’s most important comment on the matter is the following:

The everlasting nature of God, which in a sense is non-temporal and in another sense is temporal, may establish with the soul a peculiarly intense relationship of mutual immanence. Thus in some important sense the existence of the soul may be freed from its complete dependence upon the bodily organization. (AI 267)

The views of Whiteheadians are more specific and more diverse. Charles Hartshorne’s view of immortality is little more than an extension of his theory of the divine memory. His judgment is similar to that of Whitehead’s comment in Dialogues. Hartshorne states that one contribution of Whitehead to his own thinking was to show him that "what is usually meant by ‘personal immortality’ is probably beside the point, since the divine immortality, and our oneness (in some sense) with God, is the proper solution to the problem of the transitoriness of life."1 Death means that life is terminated but not destroyed, since the past is forever remembered by God. Hartshorne is critical of the idea of personal survival, maintaining that this sort of everlastingness belongs only to God. Creatures are defined by spatial and temporal limitations, one of which is death (LP 245-46, 253, 262; PSG 479). There can only be "one Eminent Life or Mind" which "is deathless and unborn" (NTT 107). "Finitude, limited scope, birth and death constitute the definiteness or concreteness of our lives as contrasted with God’s. He who rebels against death wishes to be God. But only God can be God, infinitely able to adapt to changing circumstances." (NTT 112)

Hartshorne suggests, however, that resurrection can be interpreted as a "synthesis of one’s life in God, the divine act of envisagement that keeps adding up the story of one’s terrestrial existence, producing a total reality that is invisible to us on earth" (LP 261-62). Presumably it is only God’s remembrance which constitutes resurrection, and Hartshorne denies the possibility of the ongoing reality of the person after death. "To live everlastingly, as God does, can scarcely be our privilege; but we may earn everlasting places as lives well lived within the one life" (LP 262).

The judgment of Schubert Ogden regarding subjective immortality is also negative. Belief in immortality is philosophically suspicious because it represents no solution to the "fundamental problem of life’s transience, of which death, as we usually think of it, is merely the most extreme instance."2 In two objections which Ogden describes as "strictly theological," subjective immortality implies human self-assertion and idolatry. To wish to be an immortal subject is to wish to be like God, making the hope for immortality an instance of man’s primal sin.

One need not view immortality in this manner, especially if one sees it in the light of Christian resurrection of which Jesus is the first fruits. Livingness beyond the grave is the natural outcome of the Christian life lived "in the love of God decisively re-presented in Jesus Christ" in which Ogden grounds Christian hope.3 And the philosophic problem is easily resolved if the immortality of the subject can be shown to be compatible with Whitehead’s understanding of objective immortality.

John Cobb, on the other hand, has been more positive about the possibility of life after death. He appeals primarily and rightly, I believe, to Whitehead’s doctrine of the soul as "truly personal, the true subject" (CNT 66) which is ordinarily identified as the person itself. And even though we have no ordinary experience of the soul separated from its body, it is at least possible that the soul could prehend itself or other souls more directly without bodily mediation.

In the final part of this discussion, Cobb makes the intriguing suggestion that the separated soul might exist in two-dimensional space-time rather than in our four dimensional continuum. This coexisting continuum for souls would have the dimension of successiveness (time) as well as telepathic experience of other souls (one-dimensional space) (CNT 69f).

Lewis Ford and Marjorie Suchocki question whether immortality ought to be discussed in terms of the so-called "disembodied soul." They propose to interpret resurrection as the reenactment of the subjective immediacy of the separate occasions of experience.4 I take this to be an important direction for the discussion of immortality. For resurrection, however, we need an immortal soul which is identifiable as a person, and we require some new relationship of this immortal soul to a bodily environment if we are to represent the Biblical understanding. The doctrine of resurrection presupposes a reembodied soul, not a disembodied one.5

II

There are some problems in Whiteheadian thought in conceiving of the living person or soul as continuing to exist beyond the death of the body. The members of the living nonsocial nexus which is at the base of personality must inherit some of their data from bodily structures.6 We must either discover a new body to support this nonsocial nexus, or we must dispense with it as the basis of person. I suspect that Whitehead dispenses with it, at least unconsciously, in the passage from AI quoted above. In this case, however, it is difficult to see how we would have living persons. A past sequence of historical personal events, perfectly remembered by God, alive for God’s prehension, would nevertheless be dead in itself. No novel occasions could be added to its history. A person wholly independent of bodily structures would, in and of itself, be deceased.

In order for the living person or soul to be preserved, i.e., to continue in its personal existence beyond the grave, the living nonsocial nexus must be preserved. But is not the nonsocial nexus precisely what disappears when bodily organization disintegrates? To answer this question we need to consult the descriptions of nonsocial nexus which Whitehead gives: "The characteristic of a living society is that a complex structure of inorganic societies is woven together for the production of a non-social nexus characterized by the intense physical feelings of its members" (PR 161). Further on Whitehead states that this experience is derived from the complex order that is produced by the animal body. But let us ask ourselves whether a nonsocial nexus could be produced in some other way. What if we thought analogously about society as an organism and postulated a society of human individuals characterized by being woven closely together in the manner of a social body? Would not this ‘body’ have a nonsocial nexus of its own, that is intense living occasions which might support "a thread of personal order along some historical route of its members" (PR 163)?

Although Whitehead did not visualize the possibility that a living person might be supported by a human society which has a nonsocial nexus supporting the personality or character, such a theory is plausible even if it is denied by Whitehead. He states that "it is obvious that we must not demand another mentality presiding over these other actualities (a kind of Uncle Sam over and above all the U.S. citizens)." Whitehead’s basis for this judgment is the fact that "life in the body is the life of the individual cells," which, presumably, cannot give life to a unifying agency that is higher than their own mentalities (PR 165).

The problem with the example of Uncle Sam is that this particular person had no historical existence in the first place. Would Whitehead necessarily hold the same view about Thomas Jefferson? In any case my suggestion does not appear to contradict Whitehead’s theory of actual occasions, living person, or of societies. Admittedly a human social group such as the United States is not literally an organism. Therefore Thomas Jefferson cannot exist in exactly the same way as he existed historically. Nevertheless because of intense common feelings for him on the part of Americans, he may be said to have some sort of existence.

The only step which remains to be taken is to show how Jesus rose in a manner which is consistent with the theory suggested above. The historical person of Jesus lost one body in death and created and was received into a new body, the church, in which he lived again. Is this not exactly what the New Testament teaches? The theological advantage here is obvious: it fills out in a rational way the Pauline view of the church as the body of Christ. God’s raising of Jesus from the dead is, in Whiteheadian terms, based upon the divine provision of initial aims by which the Apostles perceived Jesus’ livingness. This means that as a group they felt a new type of existence was possible for them, and in prehending this novel possibility they formed nonsocial occasions which the person of Jesus organized and unified.

The ecclesiological implications of this theory are far reaching. In order for Jesus to be intensely alive, the church must be organically united, having a unity which is analogous to that of the body. In traditional terms, we must love one another. And yet Jesus does have an ongoing real, personal, and effective existence. He is able to affect me analogously to the way my mind affects my body, though, of course, social organization needs to be more democratic than in strictly organic society. Most importantly, we are able to say that Jesus is truly alive in us in a real sense without appealing to his personal divinity as such. Word and sacrament present him to us and we to him as mind to body and body to mind. Our moments of bodily and mental ‘togetherness’ are analogous to the experience we have of Jesus in the church. His personal character and thread of personal order is dependent upon our capacity to provide the environment for the occasions of the living nonsocial nexus out of which he constructs his personal life. He gives us life, as we, in a real sense, give him life.

The resurrection of Christian believers may be seen in the same way as the resurrection of Jesus. We also may be said to live after death as church members related to the person of Jesus and dependent upon the church’s unity and prayers for our continued existence. The traditional doctrine of the communion of saints had heavenly members in the church which had an influence upon it. Here again resurrection is dependent upon the church, and with church unity and prayer the various personal threads of order which were originally embodied individually continue to live on socially. Outside the church there is no risen Christian existence, no Christian resurrection.7

To apply the same argument to believers that I have applied to the risenness of Jesus, we need a living nonsocial nexus for each deceased person. Various smaller groups such as families and friends may be held to provide the environment for these special nonsocial nexus, by praying, remembering, and creating an especially intense group unity among themselves. This would enable the personal thread of order to construct itself as long as the church exists.

III

Two important questions remain regarding my thesis. First of all, is the thread of personal order in the church the exact same thread as the historical Jesus of Nazareth? The answer is yes and no. Jesus died in the sense that his individual bodily organization disintegrated. But he came to life again after the decisions made by his followers, in cooperation with God, restored him in a new way by giving him a new body, the body of ourselves as a group. The church prehends both past and present occasions of Jesus as living person.

Jesus is the same insofar as many of the historical person’s characteristics have carried over into the church. The church confesses the Jesus of history and not a Redeemer myth. He is not the same, however, because he is risen. He is transformed to become someone that he was not before. This accords very well with the New Testament as well as with Christian tradition. Jesus really did die as all orthodox theological views of resurrection hold. Therefore, he simply cannot be exactly the same now as he was before. On the other hand, he cannot be entirely dead or merely a memory, according to the Christian claim.

A corollary of distinct importance emerges at this point. The occasions of the entirely living nexus always emphasize conceptually reverted objects. This means that they are alive to the extent that they are novel, since everything else is explicable by tradition. What these occasions explain is "originality of response to stimulus. This amounts to the doctrine that an organism is ‘alive’ when in some measure its reactions are inexplicable by any tradition of pure physical inheritance" (PR 159).

If we apply this aspect of the theory to the presence of the risen Jesus in the church, it clearly entails a christology of call and response. As the thread of personal order among these novel entities, the living Jesus represents not tradition, but intense challenge, call, and originality of response. Obviously one must also argue for tradition as that which gives the necessary support to life. The existence of the body is necessary as is the tradition of the church. But the point to be emphatically made is that the living Jesus represents conceptual originality and not the repetition of pure physical inheritance. Tradition supports and sustains his life, but does not explain it or create it,

The second question about my thesis is whether it is consistent with the traditional understanding of Jesus’ divinity. The question of the personal divinity of Jesus is an important question which must be and is being faced in current theological writing, process and otherwise. My own inclination is to emphasize the transcendence of the man Jesus and to resolve the Chalcedonian question in the manner of P. Schoonenberg.8 This paper, I believe, fits Schoonenberg’s christology quite well. That the second person of the trinity rises from the dead is not surprising, because he cannot die. It is the resurrection of the human Jesus which is remarkable, and it is this resurrection which is constitutive of Christian faith.

 

References

CNT -- John B. Cobb, Jr. A Christian Natural Theology. Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1965.

LP -- Charles Hartshorne. The Logic of Perfection. LaSalle: Open Court Publishing Co., 1962.

NTT -- Charles Hartshorne, A Natural Theology for Our Time. LaSalle: Open Court Publishing Co.. 1967.

PSG -- Charles Hartshorne and William L. Reese, eds. Philosophers Speak of God. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1953.

 

Notes

1 Charles Hartshorne, "Whitehead and Contemporary Philosophy" in The Relevance of Whitehead, ed. Ivor Leclerc (London, 1961), p. 21f.

2 Schubert Ogden, "The Meaning of Christian Hope,.’ Union Seminary Quarterly Review 30 (1975), 161. See also "The Promise of Faith" in The Reality of God and Other Essays New York, 1963), p. 224f.

3 Schubert Ogden, "The Meaning of Christian Hope," p. 159.

4 "A Whiteheadian Reflection on Subjective Immortality" PS 7/1 (Spring, 1977), 3. Also Marjorie Suchocki, "The Question of Immortality" The Journal of Religion 57/3

5 The direction I will take in this paper was suggested in a student paper submitted to me by Ms. Paula Pasden.

6 This development is dependent upon Donald W. Sherburne, "Whitehead’s Psychological Physiology" The Southern Journal of Philosophy 7/4 Winter, 1969-70), 401-07.

7 This is in no way meant to argue against immortality and/or resurrection for everyone. I state only that Christian resurrection is dependent upon the church. The question of the general possibility should be approached in two steps: first, one should ask whether immortality of the soul is simply a natural condition, as some maintain; secondly, one could connect a general theory of immortality or, if possible, resurrection to the theological construct of this paper.

8 His excellent discussion of Chalcedonian christology is in The Christ (New York, 1971), p. 51f; on the human transcendence of Jesus, see p.91f.

The Empirical Dimension of Religious Experience

One way of viewing the religious crisis of our time is to see it not in the first instance as a challenge to the intellectual cogency of Christianity, Buddhism, Islam, or other traditions, but as the gradual erosion, in an ever more complex and technological society, of the feeling of reciprocity with nature, organic interrelatedness with the human community, and sensitive attention to the processes of lived experience where the realities designated by religious symbols and assertions are actually to be found, if they are found at all. Given such a diagnosis, the field of natural (or "foundational") theology assumes an inescapable importance, especially when approached from the perspective of process modes of thought. In this context, the major task is not primarily one of translating faith into language which is more readily intelligible in a secular age, nor even of demonstrating the logical and conceptual coherence of discourse employing the term "God." The problem is the much more complex one of relating religious language to empirical categories, to bodily feelings, and to concrete social energies and relations.

It is my thesis here that the empirical dimension of religious experience is founded on a sensitivity to what Whitehead has discerned as the value matrix of existence, whose religious meaning is grasped in the moment of consciousness which fuses the value of the individual for itself, the value of the diverse individuals for each other, and the value of the world-totality (RM 59). I believe that one of the best routes to the center of Whitehead’s perspective is to view his metaphysics as an elaboration of a basic value assumption in which the primacy of process and the ultimacy of constitutive relations reflect a drive in the universe toward the evocation of greater complexity, deeper intensity, and wider range of contrasts within the organic unity of an individual or society. This creative drive is constituted by the interdependent polar interplay between the individual and the community.

According to this thesis, religious perception begins with self-valuation and broadens into the experience of the character of the creative advance as a matrix of interrelated values, and, finally, of ever-enlarging value. In a philosophy of process, religious experience is thus a testimony to the communal aspect of our lives. The individual is not simply one among many; the many are literally creative of the internal life of the individual who is an emergent from these relations.

The development of this thesis in the direction of an understanding of the empirical dimension of religious experience will proceed under three aspects. I shall offer in the first place a statement of the generic nature of religious experience; secondly, a discussion of the morphological structure of the physical feelings which enter into religious experience; and thirdly, a description of the role of generic contrasts in the emergence of religious experience.

I. The Generic Nature of Religious Experience

Religious experience can be defined in the broadest sense as an emergent from the fusion of physical and conceptual feelings wherein both poles of the individual’s feelings are embedded in a wide generality of relationships and reflect the primacy of the physical.

The meaning of religious experience as defined in this statement carries no mystical connotations. It is not meant to suggest a special religious power, faculty, or sense possessed by some few individuals as a means whereby they attain special knowledge or truth unavailable by ordinary avenues. On the contrary, religious experience is to be understood in the light of Whitehead’s insistence that "in human nature there is no separate function as a special religious sense (RM 123).

Nor is religious experience to be identified exclusively with either pure thought or simple perception alone. It is to be distinguished, on the one hand, from a novel idea, or a hypothesis, and, on the other hand, from a strictly physical perception or sensitivity toward some object or individual. Both of these elements enter into the emergence of all experience, but taken by themselves neither one yields the exact meaning of religious experience developed here. The generic nature of the relationships between the elements that enter into the emergence of religious experience may be specified in terms of (a) their fusion, (b) their generality, and (c) the primacy of the physical.

The Fusion of Physical and Conceptual Feelings. In keeping with Whitehead’s principle of dipolarity, religious experience can be defined as a fusion of both physical and conceptual activity in a pervasive type of value experience. I believe that the polar combination of particular and universal factors which, on the organic theory, characterizes all reality, can also be used to illuminate the generic features of religious experience.

Two of Whitehead’s brief statements concerning religion seem to suggest the synthesis of the elements which I am interpreting as essential polarities of religious experience. He writes that "religion is an ultimate craving to infuse into the insistent particularity of emotion that non-temporal generality which primarily belongs to conceptual thought alone," and that "religion is the translation of general ideas into particular thoughts, particular emotions, and particular purposes (PR 23). However, in these passages Whitehead leans onesidedly toward an attribution of generality to conceptual thought alone. He does not emphasize sufficiently the generality which also pertains to physical feelings. Instead, he implies that it is conceptual thought which carries the sensitivity to formal relationships in experience, while physical feelings, on the other hand, contribute a sensitivity to the particularities of process. This same imbalance is also evident in Religion in the Making, where Whitehead speaks of "force of belief cleansing the inward parts" (RM 58), without also calling attention to the reciprocal influence that the "inward parts" can play in cleansing the individual’s "force of belief," While it is certainly the case that physical experience can be enlarged and purified of narrow emotions by virtue of its fusion with conceptual operations, this is but one aspect of the dipolarity.

Attention to both sides of the dipolarity makes it necessary to balance Whitehead’s observations with the recognition that religious experience involves a physical sensitivity to the relations and connections given in experience, not simply a conceptual outreach. In fact, without this physical perception of relations, there is no basis for the conceptual reproduction of structures. The actualities and relationships which constitute human experience are felt in a context of relativity which is ultimately rooted in physical relationships. Only when these physical relationships are attended to does it become possible to appreciate the way in which religious experience rests on something other than a mere conceptual unification of disparate data.

From this perspective, religious experience includes more than a moral or philosophical or even an aesthetic vision of the universe. It is an integral fusion, a response of the whole appetitive, emotional, and conceptual life of the individual to a sense of the value of the universe in its totality and in its diverse parts. It is a sensitive reaction to these values as physically felt, not only as conceptually grasped. In religious experience, interpreted within process thought, the physical emotions, purposes, desires, and volitions of individuals are fused with conceptual insights into the nature of things for the purpose of transforming the individual, of enlarging his or her experience, and of advancing the creative process whereby new values emerge. Religion is thus one of the primary avenues by which values are carried forward in life. It is religious experience which promotes a grasp of those values which are essential ingredients in and conditions for the creative advance. Concern with the deepest reaches of relational physical feelings combined with the widest range of conceptual generality in the unity of an act of experience is characteristic of Whitehead’s value theory as a whole. In human life such breadth and intensity are the root dimensions of value experiences. They also serve as the condition for the emergence of religious experience. The greater the breadth and intensity, the greater the possibility of more complex emergence.

In this way, the emergence of religious experience can be seen to derive from the fusion of physical and conceptual feelings. The fusion concerns the relational extensionality of the physical feelings. Physical feelings, however inclusive their data may be, are feelings of particulars. The concrete relationships involved in particular physical feelings need to be generalized so as to include a possible applicability to all particulars. Conceptual feelings, whose abstract generality is so inclusive that they are not limited to any particular instance, need to be particularized so as to acquire an embodied generality. In each case, the result of the fusion of the particularity of generalized physical feeling with the generality of particularized conceptual feeling is an enlargement of the power of both.

Until physical feelings are generalized beyond their particular, concrete, individual context, they are truncated with respect to their power. For example, the individual who is merely concerned with a few human beings here and there, now and then, but who lacks the broad generality of fellow-feeling associated with "agape" or "karuna," is an individual who does not generalize the power implicit in his intimate relationships in a way that allows him to grasp and extend that power to a more inclusive applicability. Similarly, a general concern for "social justice," abstractly entertained as an ideal, but falling short of an embodied concern for particular persons, is a truncated idealism. Splendid ideals are common enough, but until the ideals are fused with a concrete embodiment their power is not causally efficacious.

The Generality of Feeling. The fusion of physical and conceptual feelings in religious experience both presupposes a range and depth of relationships in the data of the feelings and also effects a greater intensity or relational extensionality in the physical feelings of the individual. It is the generality of both the physical and the conceptual feelings involved in religious experience which establishes the common basis for the kind of integration in which emotional experience illustrates a conceptual justification, and conceptual experience finds an emotional justification. The generality of the physical pole of experience is to be understood in terms of the relational breadth encompassed in the particular prehensive data. The generality of conceptual feeling, on the other hand, concerns the universal applicability of the patterns of relationships abstracted from the physical feelings and projected forward as structures potentially exemplified elsewhere.

The generality or width of inclusion of an individual’s physical feelings is largely a function of the actual world from which it emerges. The actual world, which supplies the initial datum of physical feeling, is composed of a nexus of relationships, some of which are more relevant to the subject than others. Broadly differentiated initial data are capable of yielding connections, discriminations, and contrasts which provide an extensive relatedness for physical feeling at the causal level and for subsequent integration in the higher phases of experience.

The generality of the physical feelings comprises a depth of concrete relational data present to the individual. It connotes both a complexity and an extensiveness of the individual’s sensitivities. Due to the complexity of relational data, the individual lives in a larger world physically. This relates to the telos which is inherent within physical feelings of complex value and which moves toward a generality usually associated with conceptual thought alone. Due to the extensiveness of relational data, there is a depth of concrete connectedness in the individual’s experience. This roots in a perception of structures which go deeper into the nature of the value process.

However, the mere spread of contrasts and numerical extensiveness is not in itself sufficient to enlarge the generality of an individual’s physical feelings. In addition, there is required the physical registration of deep connections and relationships among values. It is these valuational structures of the extensively contrasting relational data that constitute the generality of physical experience. This involves the interplay between the one and the many at its deepest level of relationality where the depth for one individual is the depth for any individual. The depth dimension of religious experience grows out of a perception of the generality of concrete relationships given in physical feelings. One man looks at these relationships and says: love your neighbor and hate your enemy. Another individual, with a deeper physical grasp of the relations in the value matrix, answers: but I say to you, love your enemy as well as your neighbor. The difference here is not primarily a matter of conceptual insight. It is, more radically, a sensitivity to concrete particulars as related physically.

In conceptual feelings, there is also a generality of relationships. But because the data of conceptual feelings are eternal objects or abstract forms of definiteness, the relationality is one of abstract pattern rather than of concrete particulars. Conceptual feelings have to do with a grasp of possibilities which may be seized or dismissed. These possibilities are capable of abstraction from any particular instance of actuality with its emotional freight and can be felt in a variety of ways, depending upon the freedom of the individual. Once abstracted from their physical roots, conceptual feelings may be generalized beyond the range of the physical experience of the individual to include possible extensions to which the physical feelings may apply.

All religious experience includes, on this interpretation, an aim toward the universal extension of its component feelings. The fusion of physical and conceptual feelings may lead to a conceptual generality which outruns what one is able to experience physically. But the definite shape and power of religious experience is based on its involvement in the concrete occasion with all its particular relationships. It can be traced to these physical origins in causal feelings, or it can be subjected to continued abstraction until the maximum level of generality is reached. In the latter case, one passes beyond the realm of direct experience and moves into the domain of metaphysics or descriptive generalization.

The distinguishing mark of religious experience as opposed to descriptive generalization or conceptual insight is the inclusive generality of relationships embedded in the particular physical feelings associated with religious experience. Descriptive generalization proceeds on the basis of important physical relations discerned in a limited area of experience and conceptually extended as a hypothetical illumination of other areas of life. Religious experience, on the other hand, has to do with physical feelings of such extensiveness and depth as to convey sense of what is involved in any particular. The abstract generality of conceptual feeling always outruns, to some extent, the depth and range of particulars physically felt, but in religious experience the concrete generality of physical feeling is more equal to the conceptual generality.

The Primacy of the Physical. The distinction I am pursuing between physical and conceptual feelings cannot, of course, be pressed into a bogus dichotomy which conceals the interlacing and connected-ness of that which is distinguished within experience. The physical and the conceptual are not two kinds of entities existing side by side as sharply separated. Rather, they are two distinguishable dimensions of and emphases within a single organic response. Together they comprise contrasting aspects of one unity of feeling. They interact and influence each other. Their relation inheres in their shared character as modes of achieving depth of experience. The essential character of their relationship is defined in terms of what I will call the "primacy of the physical."

By this, however, I do not mean to indicate that physical feelings have either a temporal or a logical priority. On the contrary, Whitehead points out that "the mental pole originates as the conceptual counterpart of operations in the physical pole. The two poles are inseparable in their origination. The mental pole starts with the conceptual registration of the physical (PR 379). In the most concrete sense, the primacy is one of inclusiveness and value. This primacy can be understood in several ways.

First of all, it is physical experience which contributes the basis of our essential relation with the world without and of our own individual existence now. Physical feelings carry the sense of qualitative experience derived from antecedent relations and conditioning future relations. They convey a sense of immediate enjoyment within and a sense of transmission beyond. Our immediate experience of relationships, derivative, actual, and effective, is founded on physical feelings.

Secondly, the primacy of the physical over the conceptual means that the physical and conceptual feelings are both together in the ultimacy and inclusiveness of process. This togetherness, which is itself a processive unification, can only be felt physically and not conceptually. The conceptual is to be understood as living within and derived from the concrete, physical, and processive occasions of experience. The physical is the carrier of the conceptual. In this sense, physical feelings are more inclusive than conceptual feelings. Conceptual feelings, which occur in the context of physical process, can be imaginatively abstracted from process, but they have no independent life apart from physical rootage. Because of their inclusiveness, physical feelings form the basis by which all other feelings are integrated.

Finally, the primacy of the physical means that conceptual feelings exist for the sake of the enhancement and intensification of physical feelings. The integration of the physical and the conceptual is a physical experience. The complexity introduced by the integration of physical and conceptual feelings is for the sake of the enlarged value of the physical, wherein the complexity is concretely felt. This enlargement means that the depth and range of the physical have been enhanced because it is now carrying the conceptual as an integral part of itself. In addition, conceptual feelings would lose their own special generality if they were not carried by physical feelings. Moreover, without such possible enlargement of the physical by its fusion with the conceptual, there would be no basis for speaking of any relation at all between the physical and the conceptual dimensions of experience.

It is the fusion of physical and conceptual feelings which is the empirical basis for the emergence of religious experience in the more complex integrations of feelings in high level occasions of experience. The emergence involves an intricate fusion of physical and conceptual feelings, a fusion which is carried by the physical pole of the individual’s integrity. Because this fusion of the two poles is so deep in religious experience, and each pole is so shaped and created by the other, the element of interpretation may seem to be minimal. In the life of the individual, self-evidence has been achieved experientially.

II. The Morphological Structure of Religious Experience

Religious experience has an organic structure which can be analyzed in terms of the physical and conceptual feelings correlative to the generality of values perceived, and the subjective forms appropriate to each feeling element.

This thesis specifies the way in which religious experience is an expression, at the human level, of the basic deliverances of primary experience at all levels of reality. As a fusion of physical and conceptual feelings, religious experience represents an emergent factor in human life. It is the function of a particular kind of complex integration of physical and conceptual feelings which yields the higher intellectual feelings with the subjective form of consciousness. But like sense perception and consciousness itself, religious experience is an emergent from basic physical relations that exist on more primitive levels throughout nature.

I have indicated that Whitehead’s general theory of experience emphasizes the fact that experiencing derives from physical, emotional data which are processive-relational. This stress on the primacy of process and the ultimacy of constitutive relations means that, in considering the morphological structure of religious experience, attention must be directed to its origin in the physical feelings which comprise the primary mode of human experience.

The physical feelings with which religious experience is primarily concerned are: (a) the simple causal feelings of the conformal phase of concrescence, (b) the transmuted physical feelings, and (c) what I will call the "feelings of subjectivity" or processive immediacy. In its empirical dimension, religious experience is rooted in the sensitivity of these physical feelings with their appropriate subjective forms. These feelings define the most elemental condition of our existence. Their interrelations establish the basis of the value drive revolving around the self, the others, and the totality. Their subjective forms indicate the qualitative ways in which the subject experiences the energy of physical feelings.

A complete analysis of the physical pole of religious experience should take into account both the "how" and the "what" of feeling. In physical prehensions, the "how," properly understood, is the principal key to unlocking the "what" of feeling. In fact, the most concrete description one can give of the process of becoming concerns the "how" of feeling. Whitehead’s unfortunate choice of the term "subjective form" to refer to the "how" of prehension may seem to suggest either a purely subjectivistic interpretation or an abstract formal character. Subjective forms, however, refer to the concrete mode or mood or quality of response. These felt qualities derive from objective data. They are pervaded with valuations that are given, not imposed by the subject. Under Category of Explanation XIII, Whitehead notes that "there are many species of subjective forms, such as emotions, valuations, purposes, adversions, consciousness, etc." (PR 35). These are obviously generic classifications of subjective forms. In their definite particularities, however, the felt qualities, or subjective forms, are innumerable. Particular emotions, such as joy or sorrow, or particular purposes, such as appetition toward growth, decay, or fatigue, are relative to the individuality of each unrepeatable occasion and to the specific qualitative elements objectified in its prehended data.

The generic characterization of the subjective forms which I describe in the next section as active in the formation of religious experience should be understood as depending upon, and leaving room for, a wide variety of historical embodiments, each with its own individual qualitative response. I am concerned here only with the general structural character of the subjective forms of the physical feelings in which religious experience is grounded. (I will not in this context elaborate the abstracting and generalizing contribution of the mental pole in the emergence of religious experience, although it is presupposed throughout that an occasion of experience is indissoluably dipolar.)

Causal Feelings. At the level of simple causal feelings, three felt qualities may be distinguished: (a) vectorial, (b) conformal, and (c) adumbrative. Each of these qualities is extremely important in forming the physical pole of the subject and laying the basis for the complex unity of subjective form which emerges in religious experience.

The significance of the vectorial quality of physical feeling is that it gives the objective sense of others as entering into our experience. The vectorial quality of physical feeling contributes the feeling of the data as given. The givenness of these data means that the vectorial quality is a feeling of causation, of being created by and continuous with the environment which is constitutive of the self. By virtue of this felt quality, we know ourselves as actualities within a world of other actualities. This is the physical basis for Whitehead’s principle of relativity and for the religious sense of the "value of the diverse individuals of the world" (RM 59).

Because physical feelings are efficient causes, it is their nature to reproduce themselves. They therefore have a conformal quality. The prehending subject reenacts the qualitative element in the objective content of its physical prehensions. In the process of synthesis of the many basic prehensions, modifications enter. But the subjective forms of the initial simple causal feelings of the subject are continuous with those of the data felt. If, for example, the subjective form of the objectified data is one of "joy," then the subjective form of the feeling of that data by the prehending subject will also be that of "joy." And due to the vectorial quality, the conformal element of "joy" will be felt as derived from elsewhere. In this way, we inherit our lived world along routes of physical prehension which convey the energy of former valuations to us as vectorial power demanding our conformity with it.

However, the conformal and vectorial qualities of causal feeling convey our inherited experience under a perspective. This fact introduces the adumbrative quality of physical feeling, a quality which Whitehead does not distinguish but which is implied in his doctrine of abstractive objectification and negative prehension. The full meaning of the datum is not given in physical prehension. What is given in any act of experience occurs in a context of relationships which are not themselves completely objectified. Even in the case of the objectification of a single actual entity, that subject is objectified as object, and not as subject. The initial datum, which is that actual entity prehended, is already an abstraction from the full, living, subjective immediacy of that occasion’s process of becoming. The objective datum is a further perspective under which that entity is objectified through one of its feelings (PR 353-56; 361-63).

Therefore, the past relational data which are felt vectorially and conformably exist in contexts which are always "more" than the energies which we are able to include in our own present subjective immediacy. But even though negative prehensions screen out much of the quantitative past, the qualitative contributions are nevertheless received in the subjective form of the prehending subject. This adumbrative quality of causal feelings adds to present process a massive undertone of emotional complexity. Contained within the living immediacy of the act of synthesizing past objectifications is the qualitative sense of the "more," the context, the background, the totality of the past which transcends the conditions of limitation involved in concrescence.

Transmuted Physical Feelings. Causal feelings, with their vectorial, conformal, and adumbrative qualities, are also present in, but do not completely account for, the transmuted physical feelings. Transmuted feelings carry the sense of solidarity in relationship. I will term this common structural characteristic the "communal" subjective form of transmuted feelings.

Whitehead’s own treatment of transmuted feelings is largely in terms of their abstractive and simplifying function in experience. His category of transmutation describes the perceptual device which permits us to prehend the many actual entities of a nexus as one datum, so that trees or tables, for example, are grasped as trees or tables, rather than as myriad individual atomic actualities. Because Whitehead himself usually explains this operation by way of a common eternal object which is illustrated in all the actual entities of the nexus, the significance of a transmuted feeling as a feeling of physical community in the actual world is often overlooked.

Transmuted feelings arise by reason of the analogies between the various members of the prehended nexus. These analogies may be explained, as Whitehead typically does, in terms of a single eternal object which is felt to qualify the diverse actual entities of the nexus. But this is an abstract explanation of community. The eternal object is a common defining characteristic only because the actual entities of the nexus are concretely related by their prehension and objectification of one another. The defining characteristic is conformally inherited in the physical objectifications of one member of the nexus to another. Concretely, then, the integration of simple physical feelings into a complex transmuted feeling provides for the various actual entities of the nexus being felt as separate entities requiring each other. In its most important function, a transmuted feeling is a complex physical feeling of a nexus whose separate members are felt as requiring each other (PR 384).

Order is thus physically experienced as communality and dependence. As Whitehead says, "transmutation is the way in which the actual world is felt as a community, and is so felt in virtue of its prevalent order" (PR 384). The "prevalent order" may be understood both in terms of conceptual characterization and physical prehension. But the conceptual characterization of community is an extension of the concrete experience of physical community, just as the common eternal object used to characterize the nexus is derived from the physical feeling of entities-requiring-each-other. The order, or communal dependence, is both conceptual in its abstractive outreach and physical in its realization.

The adumbrative quality of transmuted feelings is an enlargement of the adumbrative subjective form of simple causal feelings. Causal feelings are received without any indication as to whether the dimly given quality of the "more" refers to an aggregate of unconnected data stretching beyond the extensive region perceived or whether that "more" is itself a unity of some kind. But as a subjective form of transmuted feelings, the adumbrative quality of "more" acquires an enlarged reference to a community in the totality of past fact.

It is this adumbrative quality of transmuted feelings which contributes the basis for the religious sense of "totality" which Whitehead describes in Modes of Thought as implicated in every value experience. The sense of the world as a unified whole is not constituted by a separate physical feeling in addition to the causal and transmuted feelings whose data are either single actual entities or a nexus of individuals. Both causal and transmuted feelings are prehensions of "parts" and not prehensions of "the whole." As long as abstractive objectification is a basic condition of the temporal world, there can be no such objective datum of physical experience as "the totality." The basic data of physical prehension are "self" and "others." However, both are accompanied by the adumbrative quality of a "more" which at the rudimentary physical level derives from the past actual world of the subject, and, at the level of religious experience, derives from the conceptual extension of this quality of physical experience.

The combination of communal and adumbrative subjective forms in transmuted physical feelings provides the foundation of the religious feeling of "the value of the objective world which is a community derivative from the interrelations of its component individuals, and also necessary for the existence of each of these individuals" (JIM 59). Less obviously, transmuted feelings are the physical and perceptual basis for the descriptive generalization by which Whitehead arrives at the conception of the consequent nature of God.

Feelings of Subjectivity. The vectorial, conformal, adumbrative, and communal qualities of causal and transmuted feelings are absorbed into the unified physical feeling of subjectivity, with its distinctive subjective form of self-worth. This is a feeling of individuality or self-creative freedom which pertains to the total concrescence. The individual is not simply what it has received from the past; it is a unique synthesis of many data into a novel unity. To be a percipient subject, therefore, means ultimately to be causa sui, to preside over one’s own process of concrescence.

The feeling of subjectivity, with its quality of self-worth, is not a static form of enjoyment. Due to the dynamic restiveness and vectorial flow of any process of becoming, the subject-superject feels itself as in-the-making. Its individuality or freedom is felt not only as intrinsic worth but also as a value-for-others in the anticipated future. This is a physical feeling of process as going-on-now and as on-going beyond oneself. It corresponds to Whitehead’s category of subjective intensity which states that the subject’s "anticipatory feeling respecting provision for its grade of intensity" is an element "affecting the immediate complex of feeling" (PR 41). For purposes of analysis, this element of the feeling of subjectivity may be distinguished as the "quality of anticipated relevance," although it is in fact inseparable from the quality of self-worth.

The quality of self-worth catches up and includes the subjective forms of the other two physical feelings. The vectorial and conformal qualities give to the feeling of self-worth its sense of being derived, for good or for ill, from the energies of a causal past. The adumbrative quality in conjunction with the feeling of subjectivity contributes a sense of self-transcendence, of possibilities extending into the future, awaiting realization. The communal quality adds a feeling of membership in a wider community which serves to ground not only the feeling of self-worth, but also the underlying worth of life itself.

These qualities exhibit a certain amount of tension among themselves, such that they are not always easily synthesized in the unified feeling of subjectivity. The vectorial quality, for example, is in tension with the quality of conformality. The subjective forms of all three physical feelings participate in the dynamism and the organic freedom of the objectified physical data. The dynamism of the feeling of subjective immediacy is a vectorial tending forward, an appetition toward a "more," which urges the organism beyond domination by the conformal quality of physical feeling. But within the novelty and freedom of the feeling of subjectivity, there is also an urge for the maintenance of a grounding in the past experiences of the subject’s world.

Both of these tendencies, the inertial as well as the appetitive, account for the presence of ambiguity and disorder within the process of concrescence itself. Indeed, this dual character is precisely the nature of life in its basic organic sense as well as in its religious dimension: an appetitive urge toward what might be, and an inertial contentment with what is: freedom paired with conformity, novelty with repetition. Their concurrent, or even interdependent, increase is a seeming paradox, since conformity means repetition of the past, thus prolongation of what has been, contrary to the self-creative freedom which appetition for novel realization would imply. Yet increase in passive conformal power together with increase in active appetitive power is the mark of greater value of an organism and more intense feelings of subjectivity. Its conformity to an inherited past is, at the same time, correlative openness toward the world; its very capacity to repeat past values entails the ability to be influenced; its relationality within the whole is the condition of its freedom from the whole. The affectivity of the individual complements its emergent subjectivity; and while it seems to indicate primarily the passive aspect of organic existence, it yet provides, in a subtly achieved balance of freedom and necessity, the very means by which the individual forges its solitude in the midst of its community. Only by being conformal can life be appetitive, only by being determined can it be free. There is, in fact, a direct ratio: the more individuality is focused in the feeling of self-worth, the wider is its periphery of conformal inheritance from others; the more free, the more related the organism is.

It is the feeling of subjectivity, with its subjective form of self-worth, which is the physical basis for the religious sense of "the value of the individual for its own sake" (RM 59). This also appears to be the empirical ground for Whitehead’s ontological principle and reformed subjectivist principle. Moreover, the concept of "everlastingness" may be understood as a metaphysical generalization of this element of physical feeling.

Existentially, it should be evident that the ontological structure of physical feelings described here is considerably more blurred and fraught with antagonistic qualities in the actual life of any one individual than the Whiteheadian model indicates. Once it is recognized that antagonistic qualities, too, are categoreal, then perhaps certain ambiguities which do not appear in the surprisingly tidy picture of the process of concrescence presented in Process and Reality can become more apparent. Therefore, to the qualities already mentioned, I would add the following generic qualities: (a) an expansive quality associated with the feelings of subjectivity; (b) a retrogressive or inertial quality inherent in the conformal feature of simple causal feelings; and (c) a discordant quality present within the communal character of transmuted physical feelings.

These qualities, while not necessarily categoreal, are indisputable factors in human feelings, either accounting for or contributing to the ambiguous impulses which both individual solitude and social solidarity manifest. The expansive quality pertains to the restiveness and appetition of physical feelings at the point where no satiety is reached and no limitations are acknowledged. In one of its aspects, this quality is the root of what the theological tradition has pointed to as hubris. The retrogressive or inertial quality is that aspect of the process of the conformation of energy which is sheerly repetitive, conditioned by its antecedents, and, if not given a valuation up, is inclined to sink downward into decay. At the level of the human predicament, it corresponds to one meaning of original sin. The discordant quality is entwined with the community of organic life in which the variety of individual intensities thwart, frustrate, or destroy each other by a refusal or an inability to transmute the details of their individuality into the massiveness of order needed for social harmony. This is the generic quality known more particularly in various ways as actual sin, moral evil, hardness of heart, bondage of the will.

III. The Role of Generic Contrasts in Religious Experience

From the perspective of process modes of thought, there is but one fundamental datum on which religious experience is based: the generic contrast between the individual and the community, or, more metaphysically, the one and the many.

The interplay of the various qualities I have been considering yields, at a more complex comparative level of feeling, the generic contrasts which serve as the data of religious experience. Here the ambiguity within which life is cast is intensified in the feelings of the subject. In considering particular examples of experienced contrasts present in religious experience, it is useful to recall Whitehead’s summation of several fundamental contrasts, which characterize what he calls our cosmological construction." These contrasts are: joy and sorrow, good and evil, disjunction and conjunction (or the many in one), flux and permanence, greatness and triviality, freedom and necessity (PR 518). It is not clear whether Whitehead understands these pairs as categoreal contrasts, analogous to the categoreal character of physical feelings, or not. But on the basis of the interpretation I am advancing here, any of these generic contrasts may be the datum of religious experience, provided it is felt with reference to the maximum interplay between the individual and the community.

The generic contrasts given in experience are the opportunity for increasing complexity and intensity of feeling in the life of the individual who sustains the contrasting qualities concomitantly. The joy and the sorrow, the good and the evil, the greatness and the triviality, the actual and the possible are, at root, requisites one to the other. They are not opposites so much as they are polar qualities which call forth each other. As the individual’s scope of sensitivity becomes enlarged, bringing a wider range of responsiveness, so also does the pain and suffering deepen. The baffling ambiguity of life inheres in the impossibility of disjoining these contrasts without serious loss in complexity and intensity of value. For once permanence is abstracted from flux and lifted to dominance in awareness, the complexity of the present moment is simplified and its intensity diluted just as surely as by elevating the flux of passing values to dominant emphasis, disjoined from that which abides. Likewise, the notion of freedom unbounded by necessity of some sort, or of necessity which forecloses any exercise of even a modicum of freedom, confronts life with unlivable antinomies.

If the basic situation of human life is set originally in complexity, any realization of harmony will be a precarious venture along the razor’s edge between inclusion of discordant data as effective contrasts and their dismissal as incompatible values. The world is just given, after all, and the religious task becomes one of harmonizing the contrasts into a unity of feeling which contributes to the growth of value. The quality of the religious dimension of experience, like that of art, is therefore a matter of maximizing complexity and intensity in harmony. The more contrast in the harmony, the richer the life. But whereas art is a movement from complexity to simplicity within the limits of a canvas, a musical score, a poem, a novel, or a play, the religious impulse seeks an unrestricted field of value whose harmony involves an ever-enlarging processive synthesis of complexity and intensity.

The emergence of the religious adjustment to life, and the growth of greater value, requires an ability to live with the creative tension between joy and sorrow, good and evil, disjunction and conjunction, greatness and triviality, freedom and necessity, permanence and flux, the ideal and the actual, without insisting that the ambiguities borne of these contrasts be resolved. This is, of course, always a matter of degree, of more or less emphasis, of uneasy alliance in any individual or culture. But those whose physical feelings have been deepened and broadened by living long and sensitively with these creative tensions may come to find in their responses to the ambiguities of existence a sense of "permanent rightness" which does not expect that good will finally cast out all evil or require that joy will eliminate all sorrow or envision that all flux will be caught up at last in permanence in order for any sense of meaning to obtain in life. The meaningfulness of life may gradually shape itself around the sheer givenness of these opposites, without the pressure to resolve one in favor of the other. The classical tendency to opt for a resolution in terms of permanence and the modern temper, which is decidedly more hospitable to flux, may both find coexistence in a religious sensibility which cherishes the on-going adventure of holding both qualities together in their dipolar unity.

All forms of religious experience can, on this theory, be understood as functions or dimensions of the relational life of the individual in community. In the section on the "Ideal Opposites" in Process and Reality, Whitehead lists the one and the many among the other contrasts of joy and sorrow, good and evil, flux and permanence, greatness and triviality, freedom and necessity. But the one and the many, or, more religiously, the individual in community, is actually the most inclusive contrast not only of the entire Whiteheadian vision of reality but also of any religious experience based on that vision of reality. This is the contrast which is illustrated by the principle of relativity and is experienced in the causal efficacy of life. It is categoreal, in the sense that any experience always exemplifies the contrasting processive interrelatedness of the one and the many. Insofar as the tension is maintained between the two poles, incompatibilities are avoided. But the tension generated by the contrast between the one and the many cannot itself be dissolved. Generic contrasts occur inevitably within the relational life of any individual in community.

Solitariness and Community. I am contending that religious qualities of experience are acquired, if at all, only by an individual who has borne within solitariness the relational matrix of existence, achieving a creative tension between the contrasts of life without permitting fixation on either pole to turn the contrast into an irreconcilable opposite. This entails an evolution within solitariness sufficiently deep to yield such complex qualitative forms as, for example, karuna or agape or jen. The evolution is toward a more profound understanding of the meaning of relationality, involving the self, the others, and the totality. It is a movement from externality toward an ever deeper internality.

Into this evolution enter all the expansive, retrogressive, and discordant qualities which account for the perennial struggle present in the religious response to life. Although this sense of disorder and struggle is largely absent from Whitehead’s own writings, there is one passage, nevertheless, where Whitehead suggests the kind of evolution within solitariness which is involved in what I am identifying as religious experience. In the frequently noted passage from Religion in the Making he writes: "Religion is what the individual does with his own solitariness. It runs through three stages, if it evolves to its final satisfaction. It is the transition from God the void to God the enemy, and from God the enemy to God the companion." (RM 16f) The "It" in this context may refer equally to religion and to solitariness. For the aim of solitariness is the satisfaction of a religious striving, a completion found in such complex, unified, subjective forms as karuna, agape, and jen. These qualities are the outcome, rather than the presupposition, of a spiritual journey, sometimes prolonged and always painful, though a void, past an enemy, and into the presence of a companion. In the process, the individual’s solitariness is deepened in relationship to the community. But the tension between solitariness and community means that relationships involve clash and destruction. We are different but together. We are opposed yet united. Our community is fragile. Its inherent opposition threatens its unity, and its unity threatens its diversity. This felt contrast between solitariness and community is the empirical datum which underlies the multitude of religious symbols, such as creation, incarnation, resurrection, nirvana, samsara, moksha, tao, wu-wei, t’ien, each of them, in their wide variety of forms and connotations, pointing to some aspect of organic life together.

The enlarging of solitariness through the inclusion of deeper and wider felt contrasts effects a corresponding deepening of the meaning of that community in which human life is set. As a result of the process of concrete relationality, qualities emerge as bridges linking this event to that; relating individuals to each other by way of sympathetic social feeling; binding the values of the past to the exigencies of the present; connecting through action what is ideal to what is immediate and actual.

Using Whitehead’s formulation of the three stages through which solitariness in its religious dimension passes, one could describe each stage as a possible way in which the totality, or the community of indefinite extensiveness, may be prehended. At various times, it may be adumbrated negatively as a void in which demonic or meaningless qualities rise to dominance in solitariness. Despair, anomie, or fanaticism may seem the appropriate responses to the sheer vastness and impersonality of the totality felt as void. Or, in relation to the mind’s grasp of reality, the sense of futility may color the self’s realization of the partiality, or even emptiness, of all statements, concepts, and ideas concerning the totality. Pressed to universal applicability, this perception carries the adumbration of God the void whose "death" or "silence" may shatter the self’s previously structured world of values. Under the impact of such perceptions, solitariness loses its sensitivity to the relational matrix of existence from which religious experience emerges.

However, once the self has begun to become aware of the depth dimension of existence through an experience of it as a void, it is possible that the creative qualities of that totality may also become evident. But the creativity may be received less with cooperation than with resistance. The transition in solitariness from God the void to God the enemy implies a movement from a sense of facing the ultimate context of life as a blank and forbidding emptiness, to an awareness of it as an inimical power which, however negatively, exerts a force upon the self. This may occur when the structure of relationality is resisted or evaded through efforts to anesthetize oneself against its pressures or its apparent threat to one’s preferred aims. It may also happen when the totality is adumbrated only as providing the qualities of security and comfort in the known and settled past, against the uncertainty and risks attached to novel future possibilities. The good then becomes the enemy of the better. Or it may happen that the self not only refuses the possibilities present to it, but even more violently frustrates the eros toward value and actively distorts the harmony of process. Rather than contributing to the creative advance, the individual may, in the ambiguity that is its freedom, objectify additional surds and evils into the environment. Perception of the inequalities of life and rejection of suffering as the cost of relationships may also contribute to the awareness of God as enemy. The individual who assumes that only he know best what is for his own good easily comes to feel that what is demanded of him by God and others is not for his good. In all these ways the totality comes to be prehended as God the enemy, whose judgment none can escape and against whose will one is tensed. At this level of solitariness, the structure of relationality appears oppressive and its price, self-sacrifice, too high. Against the obduracy of this order the individual is compelled to strive, and in striving realize either the limit or the reach of one’s own aims.

But, unless solitariness utterly fails to become communal, God the enemy is not the last word. In theological terms, the divine judgment is always accompanied by grace. The totality at any moment may be prehended as a bearer of grace, and the enemy which has formerly signaled dissolution may be disclosed as the companion of one’s growth. The key to this evolution from solitariness to solidarity consists in how the individual experiences the concrete totality of processive interrelatedness which is the settled pattern of created fact. For those who rebel against this relational matrix, either embracing or acquiescing to a lifestyle of isolation, separation, destructiveness, and exploitation, the totality will have the character of enemy or void. But for those who accept and transform it, this matrix, even when it is the occasion for suffering, has an entirely different value and adumbrated quality. It is experienced as a creativity by which a good not of one’s own making enters one’s existence as a grace. As so experienced, the totality has the character of "God the companion." In Whitehead’s more technical terminology, it is an experience of the consequent nature of God or the Unity of Adventure which forms the basis for the intuition of peace.

The transitions from God the void to God the enemy and from God the enemy to God the companion are neither smooth nor irreversible. The individual may constantly descend into the void and time and again be tempted to rebel against the enemy, discovering perhaps only intermittently the companion whose presence is all the more intensely felt by virtue of the other phases. In all three of these faces, it is the same God who is encountered, on the assumption that creativity, though one, is a complex, not a simple, unity.

Whether God is experienced as void or as enemy or as companion depends not only on how the dimly adumbrated totality is prehended but also on how solitariness is experienced. Here the ambiguities involved in the feelings of subjectivity, so essential to perception of the value matrix, color the ways in which various qualitative forms of religious experience may be processively present in an individual’s life. If one’s self-worth, or the value of individuality, is not accepted, solitariness is blocked from becoming communal. This may take various forms. Lack of self-acceptance may have the retrogressive appearance of alienation from others, in which solitariness is felt as an intolerable burden and the totality is perceived as a void. Or it may take on the expansive qualities of insatiable demands, frantic intensity, and encroaching suffocation of others, in which case solitariness is resisted and the inevitable restraints imposed by the totality are felt with the inimical and threatening qualities of an enemy. The expansive quality as well as the retrogressive quality of subjectivity are transmuted by the felt presence of God as companion. When this occurs, the inherently self-surpassing quality of the feelings of subjectivity, which may either overreach themselves in an expansive quality that knows no bounds or else become blocked by retrogressive and discordant tendencies, instead forms the basis for the religious mode of experience "at the width where the ‘self’ has been lost, and interest has been transferred to coordinations wider than personality" (AI 368). For the solitariness of individual life exists to be transcended and absorbed into the ongoing life of the community. But that community is neither a superorganism that swallows up the individual members, nor an externally related actuality different in kind from its constituents. In theological terms, this community is the concrete content of the "kingdom of God," conceived as the totality of settled fact with an eros toward the future.

The concrete totality of relations of causal efficacy at one and the same time makes for the possibility of enlarging and deepening the life of the individual in community and for suffering and ambiguity as the price of that advance. But the suffering, the ambiguity, and therefore the totality, may have the character either of a void or of an enemy or of a companion, depending upon how the totality is prehended. Rarely is any one stage a pure, unalloyed resting place, for there are implicit resources within the void, as witnessed by the fact that the self persists, and there is a sense in which the enemy can come to be trusted and the companion turns out to be elusive. Throughout the multi-faceted texture of the religious experience of humankind, there is but the one concrete totality, with its settled patterns of asymmetrical relations, its conformal demands, and its dynamic appetition toward novel realizations. This concrete community is God as actual at any given stage of the creative advance.

That the nature of religious experience, as interpreted in this version of an empirical theology, points to the primacy of the category of process should come as no surprise. For in a metaphysical system in which process is creative of the relational depths of our lives, the nature of religious experience, if it is metaphysically grounded, will illustrate the same root metaphor found in the system. Furthermore, the particular experiences interpreted as religious on the basis of the categoreal feelings and subjective forms considered in this essay will differ accordingly from those expounded on the basis of an alternative value judgment. Epistemologically, these experiences will be marked by the qualities of openness, tentativity, and relativity, rather than closedness, certainty, or absoluteness. Existentially, they will imply a sensitivity to advance, creativity, and novelty, as well as to the inertial and retrogressive features of experience. In their cosmological reach they will point to the factor of emergence, as well as to the remorselessness of things, presupposing an unfinished universe whose full dimensions are yet in the making. And religiously they will reflect a spirit which is at home in a dynamic world with a struggling God, where adventure rather than safety is the rule.

The Power of the Past

As process thought continues to be preoccupied with the category of the future, even to the point of identifying "God" with "the activity of the future" (PS 11:169-79), it seems important to recall Whitehead’s own texts which give an equal analytic balance to the power of the past. A focus on the future which ignores the active causal influx of the past upon the becoming of the future runs the risk of the meddling intellect which "murders to dissect." In this essay I mean to call attention to the way in which Whitehead’s account of the nature of experience places great emphasis on the power of the past, the primacy of physical feelings, and the literal transmission of energy as creative causal influx. In a forthcoming essay (PS 13/3), I will argue that there are religious reasons for utilizing this account in connection with a neo-Whiteheadian theory of the mode of God’s causally efficacious presence to a subject. Although the theological use I will later make of Whitehead’s doctrine of causal efficacy may be a matter of some controversy, its philosophical foundation, as presented here, is clearly Whitehead’s own.

It comes as a surprise, therefore, to see how frequently Whitehead’s theory of causal objectification is misinterpreted. One recent critic has sized up Whitehead’s principles to mean that

there is no active causal influx of one actual entity on another in the present and not even strictly from past to present, since, as is well known, the traditional properties of efficient cause and effect are reversed in Whitehead. It is the effect that actively lays hold of the cause, which offers itself passively, as it were, to be assimilated, more in the manner of an Aristotelian material cause. (PAG 78)

This extreme interpretation of Whitehead’s doctrine is upheld even by several process philosophers. Lewis Ford, for instance, formulates the following impasse between Thomistic and Whiteheadian concepts of efficient causality:

For Thomas efficient causes actively produce passive results. Activity is on the side of the cause, not the effect. Whitehead’s whole theory of prehension reverses this. Each occasion is the present active reception of objective causal factors. Instead of being produced by its causes, each occasion produces itself out of its causes . . . Rather than the past donating the creativity to the present, the present creativity incorporates the past multiplicity within its own receptive activity of unification. (SSC 4Sf.)

Such a picture of antecedent occasions as entirely passive states of affairs out of which an emerging occasion constitutes itself is seriously at odds with Whitehead’s own doctrine of objectification. And yet, despite the reiterated stress Whitehead gives throughout his writings to the idea of causal objectification as literal transmission of active influence, this feature of his thought continues to elude many of his commentators.2 A detailed examination of the textual evidence therefore seems in order for the sake of making clear precisely what is involved, on Whitehead’s analysis, in a subject’s experience of an object. Only when this is clear can we begin to assess the possibilities for a neo-Whiteheadian account of the nature of religious experience, in which it is God who is the object of a subject’s experience.

II

Whitehead himself was at pains to guard against any underestimation of the seriousness with which he maintained that actual entities, though they perish in their subjective immediacy, not only influence but are immanent in other, later actual entities. In one of his rare letters, written to Dorothy Emmet, whose book, Whitehead’s Philosophy of Organism, he had read, Whitehead commented:

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

To see just how fundamental Whitehead’s doctrine of immanence is to his overall philosophy, one must turn to the technical vocabulary developed in Part III of Process and Reality. However, it is first possible to find a more synthetic, but precise, account of "the power of the past" in the chapter on "Objects and Subjects" in Adventures of Ideas. The language Whitehead uses there makes it clear that the creativity of the past is far from being passive or static as though only inertly ‘given’ to the present. Rather, Whitehead speaks of "the throbbing emotion of the past hurling itself into a new transcendent fact," "a flying dart hurled at the future," "provoking some special activity of the occasion in question," "energizing in the present," "imposing" on the novel particular in process of creation" (AI 227, 227, 226, 241, 242). In discussing "objects," which he also terms "data" for an occasion, Whitehead describes the process of experiencing as "constituted by the reception of objects into the unity of that complex occasion which is the process itself" (AI 229f.). But lest it appear that all the activity is on the side of the subject, he immediately suggests that there is something defective about this choice of terms: "Both words [‘objects’ and ‘data’] suffer from the defect of suggesting that an occasion of experiencing arises out of a passive situation which is a mere welter of many data. The exact contrary is the case. The initial situation includes a factor of activity which is the reason for the origin of that occasion of experience. This factor of activity is what I have called ‘creativity’" (AI 230). He concludes: "Thus viewed in abstraction objects are passive, but viewed in conjunction they carry the creativity which drives the world" (AI 230f.).

The unmistakable meaning which Whitehead gives in these passages to the creativity of objects is characteristic of his insistence that "the present moment is constituted by the influx of the other into that self-identity which is the continued life of the immediate past within the immediacy of the present" (AI 233). There can be no doubt either that "the influx of the other" entails efficient causality or the literal transmission of energy from past to present. Whitehead explicitly intends 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 the human person: "The object-to-subject structure of human experience is reproduced in physical nature by this vector relation of particular to particular" (AI 242). Furthermore, he claims that "it was the defect of the Greek analysis of generation that it conceived it in terms of the bare incoming of novel abstract form" (AI 242). Having criticized the Greek analysis for failing to grasp the real operation of the antecedent particulars, Whitehead can hardly be expected to claim for his doctrine of immanence no more than the mere repetition of formal structures as reenacted in the present. On the contrary, he asserts flatly: "Energy passes from particular occasion to particular occasion. At each point there is a flux, with a quantitative flow and a definite direction . . . The physical flux corresponds to the conformal inheritance at the base of each occasion of experience" (AI 238f.). The qualitative differences among occasions in the present can therefore be understood as "entirely constituted by the flux of energy, that is to say, by the way in which the occasions have inherited their energy from the past of nature, and in which they are about to transmit their energy to the future" (AI 238). Thus, the very constitution of an immediate subject, according to Whitehead, "involves that its own activity in self-formation passes into its activity of other-formation" (AI 248). More generally, it would also be correct to describe an actual occasion as being "other-caused, self-caused, and other-causing." 2

But how, one might ask, is it possible to view the self-same subject as simultaneously other-caused, self-caused, and other-causing? The passages already cited are sufficient to demonstrate that Whitehead plainly asserted the power of the past as an active causal influx on the present, but what explanatory mechanism is provided for explicating this contention? How is it possible for objective powers to provoke or energize subjective experiencing without becoming completely determinative of it? Given such an emphasis on the causal efficacy of the past, how is freedom or genuine novelty in the present at all meaningful? Or, conversely, given an emphasis on the intrinsic self-creativity of the nascent subject, what role does causal inheritance play? Whitehead’s answer to this problem is elaborated with a wealth of technical detail in Part III of Process and Reality. There the uniquely Whiteheadian "doctrine of immanence" is explicated chiefly in terms of the notion of objectification and the role of physical prehensions.

The role of physical prehensions in the philosophy of organism is absolutely basic to an understanding of the nature of causal experience. In the first place, physical prehensions are the fundamental avenues through which individuals meet and absorb the elemental forces of their existence. They are the principal mode for experiencing the processive and relational as well as the qualitative affective and evaluative dimensions of life. In human life the transformative energies of creativity are known first of all through these bodily feelings. Secondly, physical feelings are the category by means of which Whitehead attempts to convey how nature is a system of interrelated organisms, how the past is effectively immanent in the present, and how the various actualities of the world enter into the very constitution of one another. Without a proper appreciation of the power of the past as immanent in the initial conformal phase of concrescence, the causa sui character of the concrescence is apt to be exaggerated, and the notion of emergence will seem to be ex nihilo.

But the subject does not emerge out of nothing. Rather, the creativity which is internal to epochal occasions is partially inherited from the antecedent determining conditions, and partially spontaneous. The self-creativity of the nascent occasion, its spontaneous features, consist in "how" it responds to "what" it receives through physical prehensions from its past actual world. Whitehead’s genetic analysis of prehensions in terms of the various phases of concrescence highlights what he calls the "initial" conformal or responsive phase and a "later" supplemental phase. But his description of the particular configuration appropriate to each phase is not a portrayal of a series of separate prehensions, e.g., a transmutation, a conceptual valuation or reversion, a simple comparative feeling, etc., as though the only unifying thread running throughout the whole concrescence is the subjective aim. A prehension, it should be recalled, is technically defined as a transition effecting a concrescence" (PR 221/ 337). Although Whitehead does not specifically state that this definition refers only to physical feelings, it is clear that this is its meaning. In no instance does he suggest that simple conceptual feelings or their complex forms of integration function as "a transition effecting a concrescence." The physical feelings which originate in the initial phase contribute their objective data to the final satisfaction. They thus endure throughout concrescence as the basis for conceptual origination and as the physical roots with which all the higher, complex feelings are integrated. Transmutation, physical purposes, propositional feelings, and the intellectual feelings must all initially be supplied with the content of the conformal physical feelings of the initial phase of concrescence. As Whitehead explains, "in synthesis there must always be aground of identity and an aim at contrast" (PR 249/ 381). This ground of identity is furnished by the physical pole of the actual entity, which serves as a limiting factor to the intensities of contrasts which can be entertained. But by providing the limitations of a ground of identity, the physical pole at the same time makes possible the aim at contrast.

One could thus argue for a certain primacy of physical feelings in Whitehead’s conception both of the process of transition and of the process of concrescence. Within the process of concrescence, the primacy of the physical is due to two facts. In the first place, the complex process of synthetic unification is always a physical process. The integration of physical and conceptual feelings that occurs within the concrescence is itself a physical integration. Although fused, physical and conceptual feelings are somewhat asymmetrical, in the sense that the physical can originate the conceptual, but the conceptual cannot originate the physical. Likewise, physical feelings can "contain" or "carry" the conceptual feelings with which they are integrated, but conceptual feelings do not "carry" or "contain" physical feelings. Secondly, mentality derives, in the first instance, from physical experience. The conceptual reproduction which occurs in the primary phase of concrescence is derived from the conceptual form already carried in and by the objectified physical feelings. As Whitehead writes, Mental and physical operations are incurably intertwined; and both issue into publicity, and are derived from publicity. The vector character of prehension is fundamental" (PR 317/ 483). Although Whitehead does not specify here whether the prehension in question is physical or conceptual (his point is that they are, in fact, intertwined) it seems reasonable to interpret this passage to mean that objectification of past feelings is in terms of physical prehensions which have been fused with conceptual feelings in the satisfaction of the objectified occasion.

With respect to the process of transition, the primacy of physical feelings is due to two important subjective forms of physical prehensions, neither of which characterizes conceptual feelings. As efficient causes, physical prehensions are "vectorial," designating transmission of energy with direction (from then-there to here-now) as well as magnitude. By contrast, conceptual feelings, which are nontemporal and nonspatial, lack the basis for the physical transfer of energy. As efficient causes, physical feelings are also characterized by a conformal" quality. When the datum occasion is felt conformally, the subjective form of the physical feeling of the prehending subject conforms to that of the datum feeling. Whitehead’s discussion of "conformation" or "reproduction" or "reenaction" stresses the basic fact that a subject not only derives from but also conforms to objects which are given for it, which themselves become constitutive (tinder a perspective) of present subjective experience. By contrast, the subjective forms of conceptual feelings are autonomous, i.e., not determined by the character of the datum.

In general, it is in his discussion of the difficult notion of objectification that Whitehead elaborates the most detailed understanding of the vectorial and conformal transmission of feelings. The doctrine of causal objectification is the fulcrum of Whitehead’s philosophy. Broader than "causal interaction" and more complex than "stimulus-response," objectification is a genuine reenactment of the feelings of one actual entity in another. It is the experienced reality of transition of feeling. Among the factors expressing that transition, Whitehead introduces several technical details which serve to illuminate more specifically the doctrine of immanence. These chiefly concern the perspectival nature of objectification; the interpretation of the perishing of the past; the role of the subject-superject; the analysis of subjective form; and the mediation of eternal objects.

According to my interpretation of these features of causal objectification, a consistent analysis must hold that "perishing" refers to the fact that, in the transition of the present to the future, the individual subject-superject, having achieved its fully determinate satisfaction, loses its subjectivity or immediacy of becoming. Since its process of becoming has terminated, once it has become something determinate, it "perishes" as a subject. It is now an object of the past. However, the energy of this process has been transformed into the energy of a fully formed object that will play its causal role in the creating of later occasions of experience. Satisfaction spells the death of the process of unification but not the end of the creative energy involved.

Still, the fully determinate subject-superject (the initial datum to be felt) cannot be, or at least is not, thrust forward or objectified in its fullness. Past actual occasions superject themselves by means of their projected perspectival feelings (the objective datum). These perspectives, possible because of the divisible character of the satisfaction, are abstractions from the full unity of the subject. They constitute the objective immortality of the past actual entities as they enter into the formation of present processes of becoming.

It is most important to note that the perspective is nothing separate from the past occasion which is objectified. The perspective ~s that past occasion’s objectification of itself. When a past occasion is felt through one of its perspectival feelings, that feeling reflects the totality of the satisfaction which enjoys a certain "temporal thickness" or duration sufficient to explain its superjective role. Another way of viewing the satisfaction is as a complex, unified "subjective form." Despite the possibly misleading connotations of the terminology of "subjective form," this Whiteheadian category provides the key for expressing the unique emergent configuration of any actual entity. Subjective forms refer to the particular energized synthesis of qualitative attainment. They are processive, qualitative "hows" of feeling. Divested of energy, subjective forms of feeling are nothing but a species of the category of eternal objects. Much of the difficulty surrounding Whitehead’s doctrine of eternal objects might be eliminated once it is clear that every reference to the subjective species of eternal objects in Process and Reality can in principle be translated into statements about "felt qualities of experience." Process and Reality is an abstract, analytic version of concrete process, in accordance with Whitehead’s view that philosophy’s job is to find the forms in the facts. But as found in fact in lived experience, these forms are processive, qualitative "hows" of feeling. The whole of Process and Reality is one long discussion of the forms of process. It is a necessarily abstract statement and is therefore enunciated in terms of the category of eternal objects.

Nevertheless, the role of eternal objects in the complex process of causal objectification is frequently misunderstood. There are several ambiguous passages where Whitehead almost seems to assert that the eternal object common to both the initial datum and the concrescent subject is the sole bond between successive actual entities. For instance, Whitehead states that "an eternal object when it has ingression through its function of objectifying the actual world, so as to present the datum for prehension, is functioning ‘datively’. . . . The eternal objects function by introducing the multiplicity of actual entities as constitutive of the actual entity in question" (PB 164/ 249). This has led some commentators to assume that the core of Whitehead’s doctrine of objectification is the notion of conformity of subjective form as effected by eternal objects, as though all that is objectified is the form of definiteness.3 Such an interpretation seriously undermines Whitehead’s assertion of the literal immanence of antecedent actual occasions in new occasions.

The ambiguous passages in which Whitehead discusses objectification in terms of eternal objects need to be considered in light of the thematic distinction between the concrete and the abstract. Concretely, the discussion of objectification concerns the literal transfer of feelings. Abstractly, this is explained in terms of forms of definiteness which function relationally. But conformation should not be understood simply in terms of the repetition of eternal objects. Physical prehension refers to a genuine transfer of concrete content: Eternal objects are not the only element objectified in the new occasion. It is the quantitative as well as the qualitative dimension of the datum which is carried over into the concrescence by the objectification, as Whitehead makes plain in the following passage:

An actual occasion P, belonging to M’s causal past, is objectified for M by a perspective representation of its own (i.e., P’s) qualities of feeling and intensities of feeling, There is a quantitative and qualitative vector flow of feeling from P to M; and in this way, what P is subjectively belongs to M objectively. (PR 319/ 486)

In a physical prehension, it is a particular actuality (or a nexus of actual entities) which is the datum of the prehension, not universals. The physical prehension is mediated by eternal objects which have entered into this prehension as forms of definiteness of the data, but it cannot be analyzed exhaustively in those terms. Again, the distinction between the concrete and the abstract, and the primacy of process over form, must be kept in mind in dealing with passages such as the following:

The organic philosophy does not hold that the ‘particular existents’ are prehended apart from universals; on the contrary, it holds that they are prehended by the mediation of universals. In other words, each actuality is prehended by means of some element of its own definiteness. This is the doctrine of the ‘objectification’ of actual entities. (PR 152/ 230)

The point here is simply that the forms mediate objectivity, but what is being objectified is the concrete actuality of past feelings, not just the forms. For Whitehead the only intelligible doctrine of causation is thus founded on a doctrine of immanence whereby each occasion presupposes the antecedent world as active in its own nature" (MT 226). This is the reason, Whitehead says, "why the qualitative energies of the past are combined into a pattern of qualitative energies in each present occasion (MT 226f.).

Whitehead clearly asserts a literal meaning to the "felt flow of feeling." This is the core of his theory of causation and perception, and without it he has not really offered a reply to Hume or provided anything more than another variation on the theme of representative ideas. If conformation is explicable simply in terms of the repetition of abstract forms, and if the character of the datum is represented in the percipient subject merely by an identical eternal object, then Whitehead has, in effect, reintroduced the ‘subjectivist principle’ which he claims to have rejected, namely, the principle "that the datum in the act of experience can be adequately analyzed purely in terms of universals." And he has also fallen into the same defect which he attributes to the Greeks when he observes that "It was the defect of the Greek analysis of generation that it conceived it [the object-to-subject structure of experience] in terms of the bare incoming of novel abstract form" (AI 242).

On the contrary, Whitehead means to assert that "the object-to-subject structure of human experience is reproduced in physical nature by this vector relation of particular to particular" (AI 242). Analysis of this process in terms of eternal objects is possible and also important, but it is by no means sufficient, for unless there is also a literal flow of causal feeling from past object to present subject, and unless this real influence is an essential element in the analysis of objectification, Whitehead’s position amounts to no more than those he has criticized and rejected. For the compelling fact of causality is not the fact that present experience has certain formal characteristics in common with past experience, but that present experience is felt as the prolongation of intensities of responsive emotion and as the vectorial energizing of the immediate past. Whitehead’s doctrine of objectification recognizes that while we feel in terms of particulars, we can only conceive in terms of universals. The explanatory mechanism of eternal objects refers to the abstract structure of the process. It cannot, however, serve as an explanation of theconcrete flow of feeling. For process as process cannot be rationalized or reduced to its abstract structure.

III

This analysis directly challenges the contention of those Whiteheadian interpreters who hold that only concrescing subjects are active and that a new subject simply presents its object to itself in terms of forms the object exemplified. To be sure, subjects are active in self-creation, but objects are active in other-creation. The activity of subjects is teleological self-determination, while that of objects is efficient causation. Both activities are conjointly constitutive of the subject. Without the past creative energies, no new present self-creativity could come about; without the private creativity, no new public energy could come about. Each is for the sake of the other and neither has any meaning apart from their dialectical unity.

If this analysis is accurate, recognition of the pivotal importance of the power of the past should lead to a greater overall appreciation of the role of transitional creativity in Whitehead’s system. Not surprisingly, the misinterpretation of the doctrine of causal objectification has gone hand in hand with the mistaken assumption that creativity is confined to the process of concrescence and defined exclusively by Whitehead as self-creativity 4 But the process of transition itself is defined by Whitehead as "the creativity in virtue of which any relative complete world is, by the nature of things, the datum for a new concrescence" (PR 211/ 322). In that case, any discussion of concrescent creativity apart from transitional creativity results in an abstraction from the two-fold functioning of the subject-superject. For although the process of concrescence terminates with the attainment of a fully determinate satisfaction, "the creativity thereby passes over into the ‘given’ primary phase for the concrescence of other actual entities" (PR 85/ 130). Whitehead’s emphasis on transitional or macroscopic creativity is therefore significant for its use in accounting broadly for the origination or evocation of concrescent creativity.5 Far from being completely indeterminate, blind, and formless, creativity can even be credited with an ultimate explanatory role in the system (cf. UC). Whitehead notes, for example, that "the creative advance is the application of this ultimate principle of creativity to each novel situation which it originates (PR 21), and he also explains that "the initial situation includes a factor of activity which is the reason for the origin of that occasion of experience. This factor of activity is what I have called ‘Creativity’" (AI 230). Transitional creativity, as the power of the past, also provides an ultimate explanation of the relational tissues which bind past objects to present subjects in the creative advance.

IV

For Whitehead an important part of the question "Whence comes becoming?" is answered quite intelligibly in terms of the vectorial structure of prehension as from-object-to-subject. By emphasizing this dative "from" and "to," as a both-at-once quality of experience, we can better understand the way in which transitional creativity gives rise to concrescent creativity, and how the immanence of the past "in" the present is a transitive relation. The past as given to is active or else there would be no concrescence, but the past as so given is also given with the present concrescence in the transitive unity of vectorial from-object-to-subject. To sunder this indissoluable unity of feeling is to be left, as Hume was, with presentational immediacy, an inert, contemporary acausal present and its inactive past.

Once creativity is understood as both internal and external to epochal occasions, that is, as partially spontaneous and emergent as well as partially fomented or evoked through the organization of massive inheritance, does rational explication still demand a more complete answer to the question "whence comes becoming?" I think not. As posed in recent discussions by Lewis Ford and Father Clarke, the question "whence comes becoming?" presupposes a sharp distinction between "prehending" and "the power of prehending." The problem of accounting for the source of creativity is then solved either by appealing (with Ford) to the creativity of the future as the immediate source of prehension, or by affirming (with Clarke) a single unitary divine source from whom all creativity flows. But both solutions seem to rely upon an extremely abstracted intellectual analysis whereby causal efficacy is artificially dismembered into "cause" and "effect," with the resulting puzzle as to how cause exerts an effect or how prehension is able to prehend.

William James, exasperated with those who reify the concept of causal power, advised that "the healthy thing for philosophy is to leave off grubbing underground for what effects effectuation, or what makes action act, and try to solve the concrete questions of where effectuation in this world is located, of which things are the true causal agents there, and of what the more remote effects consist (ERE 185f.). Whitehead himself, I suggest, heeded this advice.

 

References

ERE -- William James. Essays in Radical Empiricism and a Pluralistic Universe, edited by Ralph B. Perry. New York: Longsman, Green and Co., 1947.

PAG -- W. Norris Clarke, S.J. The Philosophical Approach to God: A Neo-Thomist Perspective. Winston-Salem: Wake Forest University, 1979.

SSC -- Lewis S. Ford. "The Search for the Source of Creativity." Logos 1 (1980), 45-52.

UC -- William J. Garland. "The Ultimacy of Creativity." The Southern Journal of Philosophy 7/4 (1969-70), 361-76.

WPO -- Dorothy Emmet. Whitehead’s Philosophy of Organism. Second edition. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1966.

 

Notes

1The most notable examples occur in the following: William A. Christian, An 1nterpretation of Whitehead’s Metaphysics (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1959), especially chapters 6-9, 11; Ivor Leclerc, Whitehead’s Metaphysics (London: George Allen and Unwin, 1958), especially Chapters VII, VIII, XII, XIII; Donald W. Sherburne, A Whiteheadian Aesthetic (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1961), pp. 9, 27f., 47f.; and George L. Kline, "Form, Concrescence and Concretum: A Neo-Whiteheadian Analysis," The Southern Journal of Philosophy, 7/4 (1969-70). 351-60.

2Jorge Luis Nobo presents a systematic argument in favor of this formula in "Transition in Whitehead: A Creative Process Distinct from Concrescence," International Philosophical Quarterly, 19 (1979), p. 273.

3 See William A. Christian, An Interpretation of Whitehead’s Metaphysics, pp. 131f., 141f.; Paul F. Schmidt, Perception and Cosmology in Whitehead’s Philosophy (New Brunswick, N Rutgers University Press, 1967). pp. 1241.; A. H. Johnson, Whitehead’s Theory of Reality (New York: Dover Publications, Inc., 1962), pp. 30f.; Ivor Leclerc, Whitehead’s Metaphysics, pp. 158f.

4The fact that Whitehead devotes the bulk of his attention to this aspect may he due to his adopting, in the systematic analysis of Part III of PR, the point of view of the genetic analysis of concrescence. Since there is no surveying the universe except from an actual entity which unifies it (PB 232/ 354), the genetic analysis of concrescent creativity focuses on the creativity which, is internal to epochal occasions. But this aspect is already understood ‘as partially inherited from the antecedent world of the concrescing occasion, the perspective which Whitehead emphasizes in Chapter XI of AI.

5 Marjorie Suchocki has used the fine term "evocation" in calling attention to this feature of Whitehead’s thought. I am in essential agreement with her clams that "the completion of concrescent creativity is at the same time the transmission of creativity -- each, completed occasion acts as an impulse of energy forcing a new concrescence into being" (quoted in PAG 77).

The Emergent Paradigm and Divine Causation

The question of the nature of religious experience and its critical interpretation has been an underlying issue in the ongoing effort to assess the religious adequacy of Whitehead’s conception of God. Relatively neglected in these discussions has been the question of the adequacy of the Whiteheadian conception of God to the more general methods and inquiry of religious naturalism itself, especially that form of empirical naturalism which contends that the fundamental data of religious experience are found in the qualitative aspects of our efficaciously causal bodily prehensions. On the assumption of the need for legitimate revisions in the Whiteheadian conception of God, this essay proposes two critical emendations in the metaphysical description of God provided in Process and Reality, both designed to explore a more emphatically naturalistic religious stance. The first revision calls for an identification of "God" with the "totality" and endeavors to clarify the meaning of the concreteness of that datum by assimilating it to the emergent paradigm in science. The second emendation attempts to articulate the physical roots of religion’s experience, and is intended to rectify the preoccupation among process philosophers with final causes to the neglect of efficient causes. Both revisions should be regarded as tentative hypotheses to be tested in the course of further analysis.

I. The Totality and the Logic of Emergence

The claim that God is experienced as an efficient cause rests upon an interpretive reading of Whitehead’s philosophy which will be broadly sketched in this section, and more systematically argued in the subsequent sections of the essay. The first step in elaborating such a claim involves the identification of the full actuality of God with what Whitehead speaks of as the "totality," and which he considers to be directly, though indistinctly, given in immediate experience. The development of the conception of the totality in a theistic direction entails exploiting what I regard as the single guiding presupposition of Whitehead’s entire writing from the period of his philosophy of science to his metaphysical interests. That presupposition is the general theory of physical relativity which offers a conception of the universe as a network of interconnected events which constitute an inexhaustible totality whose unity is implicated in any single selective abstraction from it. In The Principle of Relativity, published in 1922, Whitehead defines this totality as "the concreteness (or, embeddedness) of factors, and the concreteness of an inexhaustible relatedness among inexhaustible relata" (R 15). He concludes. "Thus an entity is an abstraction from the concrete which in its fullest sense means totality" (R 17). In Modes of Thought, his last publication this same axiom is at work as Whitehead assigns himself the task of examining "some of those general characterizations of our experience which are presupposed in the directed activities of mankind" (MT 1-2). The primary mode of experience, in Whitehead’s examination, is not only comprised of the two relata of the self and others (where "others" may refer simply to our own bodily events and their immediate environment), but also of a third relatum, "the totality of historic fact in respect to its essential unity" (MT 164). This totality is described as directly implicated in every experience of value as the basis of the discrimination into self and others. It is a "coordination of achievement," a "unified composition," a "unity in the universe, enjoying value and (by its immanence) sharing value" (MT 128, 128, 164). More metaphorically expressed, there are Whitehead’s references in Adventures of Ideas to a Unity of Adventure," a "Harmony of Harmonies, and "the Final Fact" (AI 381, 367, 381).

I take these passages to be susceptible to analysis in terms of the general theory of emergent evolution. The proposal to identify God with the totality, conceived as a complex, interrelated, emergent whole may be regarded as a metaphysical generalization of the logic of emergence whereby, as more complex systems are built up as organic structures in nature, new properties appear that are not foreshadowed in the parts. New wholes do not, of course, contain any mysterious entities in addition to their parts, but they do have distinctive principles of organization as systems. They therefore exhibit properties or activities or distinctive characters which the separate factors in isolation or in haphazard juxtaposition do not presage. If the story of life is really to be told as an account of increasingly complex organic structures, which form social patterns of greater or less unity, with each level of organization -- atom, molecule, cell, organ, organism, human being, ecosystem -- receiving from and in turn influencing the pattern of activity at other levels, can the logic of emergence also be extended metaphysically to apply to the totality? If so, it is possible to envision at the cosmic level the self-creative issue of a novel emergent unity which is formed from the diverse but interrelated multiplicity of the world and which comprises a "concreteness."

In support of such a contention, one can consult numerous sources since Whitehead’s time which suggest that the contemporary replacement of mechanical models by organic or holistic paradigms in physics and biology has signaled an epochal transformation in Western thinking about the nature of reality. David Bohm, for instance, asserts that "the inseparable quantum interconnectedness of the whole universe is the fundamental reality and . . . the relatively independently behaving parts are merely particular and contingent forms within this whole."1 As another theoretical physicist has described it, "the universe is thus experienced as a dynamic, inseparable whole" where "the traditional concepts of space and time, of isolated objects, and of cause and effect, lose their meaning."2 With the development of systems theory, biological ecology, and field analysis, it is becoming apparent that nothing is explained apart from the whole, and no whole is explained as a mere sum of its parts. In the new paradigm, emergent behavior means that togetherness in nature signifies a creative synthesis in which dynamic components enter into internal relations such that a genuinely novel unity emerges with characteristic capacities and properties. There is thus "more" in the effect than in the cause (s).

To the general logic of emergence the Whiteheadian model adds two crucial principles: the asymmetrical nature of internal relations and the dynamic processive character of these constitutive relations. The significance of the doctrine of asymmetrical relatedness is its demonstration of the way in which real internal relations among the "parts" within the "whole" do not compromise freedom. It is thus a doctrine which offers holism without determinism. The significance of the dynamic quality of the constitutive relations is its contribution of fluent energy actively transmitted in the emergent process. Emergence therefore denotes a novel surplusage of energy, a qualitative "more" which attends the processive interplay among the relational data comprising the field of interconnected events in nature. The dynamic quality of processive-relational events also obviates the need for the metaphysical notion of the universe as possessing a substantial foundation or conceptual "ground" by which the totality of phenomena can be explicated.

But the shift from substance modes of thought to organismic ones is not accomplished easily in our thought or language. One of the greatest problems in grasping the logic of emergent theory centers on the misleading metaphysical assumptions enshrined in the Indo-European subject-predicate form of grammar. When we use a verb, for instance, we automatically tend to assume that it must have a subject in front of it as the doer of the doing or the agent of the act. Nouns such as "creator" and "creation" function as though their referents were distinct and separable "things." This static quality of the noun dominates grammar so much so that Bergson complained that "our concepts have been formed on the logic of solids; . . . our logic is, preeminently, the logic of solids."3 Even Whitehead, having warned repeatedly of the inadequacy of the subject-predicate form of expression, falls into its trap when he writes of the consequent nature of God as "the reception into God’s nature" of "each actuality in the temporal world," or as "the realization of the actual world in the unity of his nature" (PR 350, 345). These expressions unintentionally suggest that there is a ready-made unity which receives the actualities of the world, as though the consequent nature is that which performs a prehensive activity, rather than that which emerges from the prehensive activity of relational occasions. But strictly speaking, there is no agent apart from the act-ing, no subject of change without the chang-ing, no unity apart from the process of unify-ing. The agent, the subject, and the unity are all to be conceived as emergent from the dynamic interrelatedness of antecedent physical events. It is the very relationality of the dynamic elements which creates a new subject of experience. An important implication of this analysis is that such nouns as power, freedom, and creativity should not be reified. According to the logic of emergence, there is no independent or self-existing power beyond that of individuals and societies existing in a relational matrix.

It is evident that for those who embrace it the emergent paradigm entails a fundamental shift in the former religio-metaphysical valuation of the real and reconstitutes in radical fashion the theological issue of the relation between God and the world. Whitehead’s conception of the consequent nature of God in Process and Reality, underdeveloped as it is, is a suggestive application of certain theological resources ingredient in the use of the emergent paradigm. But Whitehead’s own account of the consequent nature underplays the emergent power in God’s life. As described in Process and Reality, the consequent nature of God apparently consists only in the preservation and unification of the actual occasions of the world. God receives the objectified data of the world and evaluates and unifies that data in terms of the divine primordial envisagement, but in Whitehead’s doctrine there is no suggestion that God’s own subjectivity contains emergent determinate qualities arising out of free response to the creatures and thereby becoming available as new forms of efficient causality in the creative advance. It is true that creatures help create the concrete actuality of God in their role of being the relational data that God unifies. But the outcome of that process of divine creative unification whereby God’s physical and conceptual feelings are woven together seems to be only the production of novel possibilities, with their relevance graded now to the next region of the extensive continuum. Thus, on the usual account, what is temporally emergent from the ongoing synthesis of divine physical and conceptual feelings are specific forms of relevance, not new qualities of energy.

Despite these restrictions, a way may be open for extending Whitehead’s discussion of the consequent nature to embrace even greater emergent freedom and power in God’s life. The problem of the consequent nature as it relates to the emergent paradigm raises two basic questions. The first concerns the sense in which the divine physical experience of worldly events is unified as an organic whole which is more than the sum of its parts. The second concerns the sense in which God’s subjective experience becomes a datum for the world’s experience. The one thing that can be said with certainty is that Whitehead clearly holds that God conditions temporal actuality as a result of the divine prehension and synthesis of the world (PR 32, 38, 351). In this discussion, the concreteness of God is not to be identified simply with the consequent nature as constituted by God’s physical prehensions of the world. Whitehead ambiguously understands the consequent nature as both the totality of divine physical feeling and as its integration with divine conceptual feelings. He twice speaks of the consequent nature as "God as hilly actual" (PR 524, 530) and once refers to "the objective immortality of [God’s] consequent nature" (PR 47). But all references to the consequent nature or to any functions assigned to it need to be viewed as integrated with the primordial nature, and vice versa.4 Recognizing this indissoluable unity, the question then concerns the way in which God as a whole conditions the world. Is it simply as a "principle of limitation" and "organ of novelty"? Or is it also as an emergent source of creative energy? Does Whitehead’s insight that "the many become one, and are increased by one" apply to God’s own concrescent experience in such a way that the integration of the consequent nature and the primordial nature can be said to achieve successive determinate satisfactions?

The emergent paradigm offers a way of supporting the speculative notion that the interrelatedness of dynamic entities in the world, in their moment-to-moment togetherness, produces a series of temporally emergent concrete qualities in the divine life, each of which becomes objectively past for any present creature here and now in the making. The speculative extension of the emergent paradigm to this level of generality entails a more resolutely temporalistic interpretation of the divine life than Whitehead himself makes explicit. It also encourages an emphasis compatible with Charles Hartshorne’s rejection of any nontemporal actuality and his preference for the societal, rather than entitative, view of God’s nature. Philosophical theologians who have followed Hartshorne conceive of God as eminently temporal and as having physical prehensions of the world, leading to a series of divine temporal unifications. The salient feature of the emergent paradigm in this context is its provision for a processive and organismic way of speaking about freedom, of which self-creativity is one qualitative expression. But there is no self-creativity, no freedom, no transcendence of any sort apart from the relational energy-events whose integration Issues in a new emergent unity. The more complex the process of integration, the greater the freedom, and the greater the possibility of qualitatively higher forms of emergent activity. In an infinitely complex process of integration such as God’s, new emergent qualities may be expected to appear, where emergence signifies that something has been added beyond the content of the objective data. On the basis of such an account, then, God’s qualitative life, the divine "how" of feeling, will be seen to include more than has been received from the world, which comprises the "what" of the consequent nature. As a result, God cannot be identified with all actuality simpliciter. Each concrete state of the ongoing divine life will be seen to emerge as partially spontaneous and transcendent of what it has inherited, and as partially determined by the prior states and contributions of the world. Just as the wetness of water and the smell of ammonia cannot be deduced from the individual properties of the atoms of hydrogen, oxygen, or nitrogen, nor by their mere addition, so the particular qualitative emergent state of God cannot be completely deduced from the constituent prehensions of the consequent nature.

If the possibility of such emergent freedom is granted, a way is opened also for articulating a version of process theology which affirms the felt presence of God by way of the direct objectification of the divine temporal experience in one of its determinate totalizations. This would mean that the most concrete way in which God is experienced is as the emergent quality of the unifying synthesis of the world as actual now, a quality that is objectified to subsequent occasions in the creative advance. Those diverse occasions will themselves become objectified data for another unifying synthesis, and this synthesis in turn will be the momentary "whole," summing up the antecedent "parts." Such rhythmic interplay of pluralized unity and unified plurality forms the ontological matrix, the very web of life, which comprises in Whitehead’s words "the concreteness (Or, embedded-ness) of factors, and the concreteness of an inexhaustible relatedness among inexhaustible relata" (B 15).

Although ordinary language indeed limps here, the emergent paradigm may enable us to see that in the creative advance of nature, whose fleeting now is ever swallowed by the past, the totality is, in Whitehead’s phrase, a "unity of adventure," its concrete shape emerging as it is transfigured or disfigured with the qualitative experiences of temporal agents which contribute their acts to the whole. Not the agents, which are perishable, but their determinate acts enter into the emergent whole and form its never-finished image. At stake in this process is nothing less than the totality’s own destiny, which in turn has its resonance in ours. Qualities of frustration or of fulfillment, of alienation or communion, feelings of oppressive containment or liberating enlargement, are signs in their own way of the shared sympathy by way of which the totality communicates its emergent state in the lives of individuals, or in the pervading cultural and historical mood of whole generations. In the course of the transformation undergone in the synthesis of the world’s data into a new whole, the brooding face of the totality may appear as judge, redeemer, or, perhaps, even goddess of mischief (PR 351).

II. The Causal Efficacy of God

Pressing the implications of this interpretation further, I will apply in this section the central features of Whitehead’s doctrine of perception in the mode of causal efficacy to specify the way in which the concrete actuality of God is a physical datum of religious experience. My argument is that (1) the densely textured totality of vital energies and emergent values comprises the actual process which is God; and (2) Whitehead’s own habit of conceiving the exercise of divine causation as restricted to but one mode, that of final causality, can be shown to permit an equal and balancing emphasis on the mode of God’s efficient causality, in order to do justice to those "somewhat exceptional elements in our conscious experience . . . which may roughly be classed together as religious and moral intuitions" (PR 343). The identification of God with the power of the past, operative as transitional creativity, will thus serve to minimize, but not entirely to collapse, Whitehead’s ontological distinction between God and creativity.5

1. Utilizing the emergent paradigm sketched earlier, the first point to note is that it is the causal efficacy of God, inclusive of all actualized finite entities, which is the sole efficient power given to each concrescing occasion at its inception. This is the "totality," or "the whole," or the sense of "Externality" as "one," which Whitehead distinguishes from the externality which forms the immediate historic environment for each new creation in the temporal process. This totality of relational data constitutes the stream of experience, the creative flux in which and out of which events have their becoming and perishing. It provides an elemental base in human experience for designating the most deeply creative transformations associated with religion. As an emergent structure, the totality is not reducible to "self" and "others," but neither is it given apart from them. At base, the primary mode of experiencing is a perspective squeezed out, as it were, from an infinite field of relational "others" in whose creative and sustaining powers it is embedded. Discrimination of the environing others as distinct from the totality is a product of the more complex supplemental stages of concrescence. Whitehead can be interpreted as giving support to this contention when he says that "an entity is an abstraction from the concrete which in its fullest sense means totality" (R 17) and "the details are a reaction of the totality . . . what is original is the vague totality" (MT 148f.). Moreover, the totality as a datum for feeling can be equated with what Whitehead distinguishes as the "superjective nature of God" defined as "the character of the pragmatic value of his specific satisfaction qualifying the transcendent creativity in the various temporal instances" (PR 88). Assuming that the superjective nature of God is founded on strict analogy with the superjective character of other actual entities, it refers to the efficient causality whereby God enjoys objective immortality of influence in future occasions. Therefore, on the interpretation which I am advancing, the mode of causal influence by which the "kingdom of heaven with us today," "the particular providence for particular occasions," and the "love of God" are felt to "flood back again into the world" is through efficient, as well as final, causality (cf. PR 351).

2. According to this analysis, God is prehended directly in terms of pure physical feelings in the primary, or dative, phase of concrescence. In a pure physical feeling, the actual entity which is the datum (in this case God) is objectified by one of its own physical feelings. On the part of the percipient, this would permit a causal feeling of the emergent satisfaction of the totality, in one of its moment-to-moment determinate totalizations. As an instance of the transmission of energy pertinent to pure physical feeling, this would posit divine power as the primal activity constituting the initial phase of an entity’s becoming. Such an analysis is neo-Whiteheadian in that it (1) ascribes religious importance to the processive reality of transitive relationships, those strands, trajectories, and thrusts of vital energy, whose novel increments of emergent quality are absorbed by pure physical feelings, and (2) attributes to God this mode of efficient causality. The effect of this interpretation is to dissolve the rather artificial dichotomy which appears in some process theology between "coercive and "persuasive models of divine power, and to deny that all instances of efficient causality are necessarily coercive in the pernicious sense. There are further meanings of efficient causality which pertain to productive, enabling, sustaining, and supportive power. But in order to account for those dynamic aspects of religious experience which directly discern the productive, enabling, sustaining, or supportive presence of God, something more is required than Whitehead’s characteristic doctrine of the divine presence as felt by way of a persuasive initial aim, acquired through "hybrid" physical prehension. Technically defined, in a hybrid physical prehension the actual entity which is the datum is objectified by one of its own conceptual feelings. So, whereas a hybrid feeling may be recognized as a physical feeling, it is not a feeling of a physical feeling. That is to say, how it is felt may be characterized in terms of the vectorial and conformal subjective forms of all other physical feelings in general. But what is felt as the objective datum in a hybrid prehension is the conceptual feeling of that entity rather than, as in pure physical prehension, one of the datum’s own physical feelings. Among process theologians, Whitehead’s account of hybrid prehension of God has been creatively modified according to the proposal that God is objectified by one of the divine propositional feelings rather than by a pure conceptual feeling.6 Since the logical subjects of these divine propositional feelings are all the indicated actual occasions that constitute the past actual world of the nascent occasion, this emphasis roots the initial aim in a concrete past. But even allowing for this systematic extension of Whitehead’s doctrine, it means that God’s "particular providence for particular occasions" is simply final causality particularized, not efficient causality.7 This marks an important but religiously deficient feature of the process conception of God’s freedom and power in nature. It means that the distinctive influence exerted by God is on the "aim" of the subject, the end toward which it determines itself, but not on the active power by which it determines itself and on which it feels itself to depend. The image of God as the divine Eros urging the world toward new forms of enjoyment offers an impetus for creative becoming, to be sure. However, it is an impetus of a particular sort, felt as relevant lure, appetitional ideal, specific possibility. This is transmitted as final causality, in contrast to the sort of impetus which can be said to impart efficient causality. Consequently, the initial aim of a concrescence does not so much supply an additional source of energy inherited along relational routes of pure physical feeling as it diverts, up or down, the flow of energy becoming newly unified. Experientially, the initial aim is felt more as an aspiration toward actualization than as an actualizing act, more by way of felt anticipation than by insistent power. Furthermore, there is only a diluted sense in which the hybrid physical feeling is felt as a direct experience of God qua concrete actuality. For the most part, the affirmation of God as the source of initial aim is an inference derived from the ontological principle. The limitations of this Whiteheadian emphasis should be evident, particularly with respect to the system’s adequacy to religious data scattered widely throughout human history. By contrast, a neo-Whiteheadian account which affirms God’s living presence through pure physical feelings is able to account for God’s felt presence as relational transforming power, as well as relevant possibility. Here the accent falls on the experience of God as the (partial) source of the act of existence, not simply the source of the definiteness of existence.

3. Pure physical feelings of God introduce vectorial and conformal qualities. The vectorial quality of God’s efficient causality means that the prehending subject feels its own creativity as derived, initially, from God. The conformal quality of the pure physical prehension of God means that how the subject physically feels is determined, at its inception, by the quality of God’s own objectifications. From this follow two important theological conclusions. The first is that the sense of objectivity and empowering presence which is found in religious experience is contributed by the vector quality which carries the energy beyond the immediacy of the moment. But on this account, the objectivity is that of a felt physical presence, not only of ideal aims, and the empowerment consists of productive efficient causality, not only of particularized final causality. Secondly, there is a vague distinction between experiencing subject and datum of experience. This distinctness is a felt quality of the subject whose physical feelings inherit the evidence of their origin. The divine physical feeling which is conformally reproduced by the creature is a reenaction of God’s own feeling, under a perspective. That feeling is inseparable from its subject, for there is no feeling without a subject. Therefore, the divine cause is objectively present in the creaturely effect. When the datum occasion is felt conformally, the subjective form of the physical feeling of the prehending subject conforms to the subjective form (the how of feeling) of the datum’s feeling and thus guarantees the effective transfer of energy from God to the creature. It is an act of creation in process, as happening and not as completed. Recalling Whitehead’s definition of prehension as "a transition effecting a concrescence should help to obviate the standard criticisms of psychologism charged against other interpretations of religious experience. If God’s concreteness is a quality of energy in relational entities, then this creativity, whether under the guise of void or enemy or companion, operates in, through, and with the objectified past data and the self-creating impulse of the subject in its processive immediacy. This bodily feeling of the energy of a cocreator is one way of construing the Pauline-Augustinian perception of the "I but not I" character of God’s presence. The particular qualitative forms which this energy assumes, religiously expressed in terms of symbols of judgment, mercy, forgiveness, and so forth, are further perspectives under which the totality is objectified.

4. This implies no mysticism of identity between God and the self, although it does entail a doctrine of internal relatedness. On the process view of selfhood, in which the internal relation between God and the self is asymmetrical, the prehending entity (the emerging subject) is never identical with the datum of prehension (God), but that datum does become part of the real internal constitution of the subject. No greater intimacy than this between creator and creature is either possible or desirable if a metaphysical pluralism is to be upheld and combined consistently with a thesis of universal relativity and a principle of novelty. Some measure of metaphysical solitude is irreducible. It is the price of freedom.8

5. Neither is there any abrogation of creaturely freedom as a result of God’s efficient causality. For the very heart of the process of subjective immediacy is the act of deciding how the causally efficacious data of the conformal stage of concrescence are to be ordered. This is the function of the causa sui power of the subject itself, conditioned but not altogether determined by God. More specifically, the self-creative character of the concrescence is to be understood to consist in how it responds to what it receives, where the what is the divine creative energy together with that of the past actual world. Finite acts channel and determine the flow of creative power from the past, but always in a way which produces a genuinely new emergent. The freedom of the concrescing subject cannot be characterized by reducing it to those ingredients constituting it because the subject, as such, constitutes itself. Nor can the fully determinate satisfaction be analyzed exhaustively by looking to its antecedent determinants because, finally, it is its own reason for what it becomes. Emergent freedom is thus a quality of the total organismic individual, and is not simply a function of the autonomous character of the subjective forms of the individual’s conceptual feelings or abstractive activity. Creaturely freedom is just as much a physical urge as it is a conceptual appetition, once it is seen as rooted in the freedom of God as physically felt.

6. Divine and creaturely freedom are therefore polar elements, presupposing each other ontologically, existentially, and conceptually. Viewed independently, they are abstractions from any single act of becoming. In the full reality of the becoming of experience there is no divine power that is not creatively appropriated, however marginal the degree of creativity. Likewise, there is no self-creativity which escapes the profound weight of the power of the past, as the source and lure of its present becoming. The same act of experience is thus felt as simultaneously divinely determined and as self-determined. No coherent articulation of this aspect of religious experience can be offered on the basis of a substantialistic conception of selfhood. But the use of Whitehead’s genetic analysis of the process of concrescence, with its "initial" conformal, responsive phase and its ‘later" supplemental phases, culminating in the satisfaction, allows for a nonparadoxical account of the polar balance between efficient and final causality, physical and conceptual feelings, public and private, determinism and autonomy.9

7. Finally, it should be noted that the actual world is different for each subject. This-actual-world-now includes different objectifications of God for different individuals. In some cases, God’s objectified conceptual feelings may be prehended with greater emphasis than the objectified physical feelings with which they are given, leading that subject to an apprehension of God’s presence chiefly in terms of novel possibilities which draw one forward. In other cases, it may be God’s objectified pure physical feelings which are felt more effectively than any of their interwoven conceptual counterparts. In all cases, the inextricable interweaving of physical and conceptual prehensions, both as objectified and as concrescing, blurs the perceptual field in incalculable ways.

To these points several important qualifications need to be entered. First, abstractive objectification is always involved in any physical prehension. No subject can be physically sensitive to the totality qua totality. Secondly, the individuality of the emerging occasion would be destroyed if its feeling were completely conformal to its data. The physically given data need to be harmonized by the prehending occasion with its own emerging subjectivity, for otherwise the subject’s creativity could not function. This harmonizing requires the subject negatively to prehend or ignore those aspects of the object which are incompatible with its own aim, thus preserving the unity of the subject. That is why Whitehead distinguishes between the initial data, the totality as it exists independently of the subject, and the objective data, or the perspective under which the initial data are objectified.

The problems of perception in discerning the physical presence of God in religious experience are enormous. As there is only, at best, a marginal degree of consciousness in the mode of causal efficacy, discrimination of the multiple vectors given in experience is always an ambiguous undertaking. This ambiguity arises from the fact that, as Whitehead says, "what we want to know about, from the point of view of curiosity or of technology, chiefly resides in those aspects of the world disclosed in causal efficacy: but . . . what we can distinctly register is chiefly to be found among the percepta in the mode of presentational immediacy" (PR 169). Perception in the mode of presentational immediacy, or sense perception, is a way of abstracting from initial complexity and the basic, only semi-conscious, awareness of real forces encountered and impinging. In ordinary perception, the sensa function by reference to the things or complex situations from which they have been abstracted. "When human experience is in question," Whitehead says, "‘perception’ almost means ‘perception in the mixed mode of symbolic reference’" (PR 168). But in symbolic functioning, the possibility of error is admitted. The information gained in complex causal experience, when it involves phases of symbolic reference, may be mistaken. There is no guarantee of correct referring. What was basically felt does not, and cannot, rise into consciousness as a total complex. For what is wholly concrete is not as such recognizable, since recognition involves discrimination and presupposes at least some abstraction.

While it may be the case that the relationship between perception in the mode of causal efficacy and presentational immediacy may be varied so as to effect in some subjects a more vivid apprehension of the causal relationships carried in the flux of process, and a corresponding deemphasis of the immediate domination by the show of sensa, complete ideal purity of perceptive experience, devoid of any symbolic reference, is in practice unobtainable for either perceptive mode (S 54)10 Therefore, conscious claims to have discerned particular vectors of God’s efficient causality involve a degree of abstraction which, in the nature of the case, may be erroneous. Forms of inauthenticity bad faith, self-delusion, and repression may also accompany the interpretative device of symbolic reference.

Further difficulties of distinguishing, perceptually, the creative power of God from that of one’s environing past actual world are due to the fact that God is no less present in all the data of one’s objectified world as in any one element. If each occasion at its inception inherits the massive concrete structure of efficient power which is the life of God, and from which it squeezes out its own individuality, then each occasion as it perishes bears traces, however faint, of its own experience of God. Any newly emerging occasion will therefore have given to it the complex interrelated field of relationships which defines the concrete nature of God, inclusive of past data which have themselves inherited the causal efficacy of God. The limits of human perception preclude anything more than a highly tentative and marginal discrimination of the elements within this complex field.

This is not simply due to the limitations of human conscious awareness. The ambiguity roots even more radically in the fact that concrete existence is cast in a vast energetic field of physical inter-relatedness. If at a fundamental level of analysis it is extremely difficult to discern, as Whitehead points out, where one’s body ends and the external environment begins, it is even more difficult to distinguish empirically the creative power of God from that of past actual occasions, or the freedom of God from that of the self. It is precisely this perception of the depth and range of physical relationships which contributes to religious experience, even as it impedes its articulation.

III. Remaining Issues

The speculative hypothesis sketched in this article is one which is open to the gravest objections on three fronts. From the point of view of relativity physics, of orthodox Whiteheadian interpretation, and of religious adequacy, the notion of an emergent whole taken to this level of metaphysical generality is notoriously full of difficulties.

Of these, I believe the scientific objections to be the most daunting. The need to correlate metaphysics and physics in our time is a formidable and neglected task. The full metaphysical development of the hypothesis presented here should be carried out in concert with relativity physics and quantum theory. But in talking about the totality as an organic whole which feels, and which, moreover, concresces its feelings into a complex unity which becomes objectified as a datum for physical feeling in future temporal occasions, one implies a kind of absolute simultaneity which clashes with the theory of relativity. The difficulties that a temporalistic concept of God have in coping with the theory of relativity have been pointed out by John T. Wilcox, systematically explored by Paul Fitzgerald, and ingeniously addressed by Lewis Ford.11 For the time being, it may be that the model which comes closest to preserving the principle of the causal independence of contemporaries while at the same time being compatible with a spatiotemporal mode of divine unification is best described in Paul Fitzgerald’s version of the "God of Infinitely Interlaced Personalities."12 The "faint odor of polytheism" he detects in this model need not deter process theists from exploring its advantages.

A second and related issue, underlying the problem of divine spatiotemporal unification, engages the whole controversy between those who agree with Whitehead in describing God as a single nontemporal actual entity and those who favor a more resolutely temporalistic or societal view of the divine actuality. From the former perspective, the objection which is certain to be made to the thesis of this essay is that it ignores Whitehead’s own stipulation that there is a "reversal of poles" between God and the world, such that God’s own physical feelings are simply not available as a datum for feeling. In that case, the whole notion that religious experience includes the reception of God’s physical feelings by way of vector feeling tones from then-there to here-now can be dismissed in the manner of Gertrude Stein’s remark about Oakland: "There’s no there there." Lewis Ford, for example, argues that God’s primordial nature may be objectifiable, but not temporally relevant, and that the ongoing temporal consequent experience is never completely unified, and thus is never directly prehensible by creatures.13

However, the success of Ford’s entitative view of God’s actuality rests heavily on making good the chum that a "nontemporal activity" or an atemporal unity"14 is an intelligible concept -- a defense which, as far as I know, has yet to appear. At last until this notion can be shown to be something other than a mere verbal formula, I submit that the societal view, modeled after the emergent paradigm, is to be preferred, on the grounds that it is better able (1) to show that God is not an exception to metaphysical first principles, and (2) to account, with the modifications proposed here, for the dynamic aspect of religious experience which directly discerns a causally efficacious objectification of God’s temporally emergent experience. The larger question at stake is whether we are to be governed by the formal requirements and possibilities defined by process metaphysics, or whether that very system itself is to be judged in part for its adequacy to forms of religious experience in which a concrete, causally efficacious presence is disclosed. But this latter claim requires independent documentation not attempted here.

The third issue concerns the religious adequacy of the thesis proposed in this essay, particularly with respect to the moral character of the totality. The philosophical problems involved in this question are many and complex, but they may be traced to even more fundamental religious value judgments. As John Cobb has noted:

Religiously there are those for whom it is essential that God be understood as the cause of everything that happens as it happens. There are others for whom it is essential that worship be directed to One who is good and loving and whose character is manifest in the efforts to overcome injustice rather than in injustice.15

Among those for whom Biblical faith is primary, two reasons are usually advanced against the religious adequacy of identifying God with the totality. In the first place, it is assumed, the totality is devoid of form, beyond good and evil, and thus not religiously ultimate. The totality as such is regarded as an abstraction, neither a creator nor an actuality. In the second place, it is argued by Whiteheadians, God (the religious ultimate), is, like all actualities, an instance of creativity (the metaphysical ultimate), but the two are categorically distinct. The historic identification of the ultimate of metaphysics with the ultimate principle of rightness is thus to be dissolved, and worship, so it is claimed, is to be directed only to the principle of rightness.

Both of these objections, it seems to me, are less than decisive against the model of the totality conceived in terms of the emergent paradigm. If what worship requires is an ultimate which is unified, determinate, and actual, then the totality understood as a dynamic, ever-new, emergent whole meets the requirements. But it is not evident that this One to whom worship is directed is also experienced as "One who is good and loving and whose character is manifest in the efforts to overcome injustice rather than in injustice." 16 Here the existence of fundamentally different religious perceptions must be acknowledged. As there is no known way to resolve disagreements over the character of authentic religious experience, the task of justifying the religious adequacy of any particular conception of ultimacy remains a relative one. The criterion for assessing religious adequacy is precisely what in each case is assumed to be religiously adequate. Although this essay has not attempted to furnish criteria for adjudicating questions of religious adequacy, the issues raised may yet serve as a preliminary scale for weighing the religious availability of a neo-Whiteheadian conception of God.

 

Notes

1David Bohm and B. Hiley, "On the Intuitive Understanding of Nonlocality as Implied by Quantum Theory," Foundations of Physics, vol.5 (1975), p. 102.

2 Fritjof Capra, The Tao of Physics (Boulder, Co1orado: Shambhala Pub. Co., 1975), p. 81.

3 Henri Bergson, Creative Evolution, tr. by Arthur Mitchell (Modern Library, Inc., 1944), p. xix.

4For a careful development of this claim, see John Lansing, "The ‘Natures’ of Whitehead’s God," PS 3/3 (Fall, 1973), 143-52.

5 I am assuming in this discussion the argument I developed in a previous essay, "The Power of the Past," PS 13/2 (Summer, 1983).

6 See John B. Cobb, Jr. A Christian Natural Theology (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1965), pp. 155ff., 179-83, 189; and Lewis S. Ford, "The Non-Temporality of Whitehead’s God," International Philosophical Quarterly 13/3 (September, 1973), 351f. For Ford, this propositional feeling is the only divine feeling that the nascent occasion can prehend. Cobb, however, speculates that the prehensive objectification of God need not be restricted to the initial aim, for "there might be more physical feelings of God as well as hybrid feelings, or hybrid feelings other than the initial aim" ("A Whiteheadian Christology," in Process Philosophy and Christian Thought, ed. by D. Brown, R. James, G. Reeves [Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill Co., 1971], p. 388). It is the first of Cobb’s options, in favor of pure physical feelings of God, which I am exploring here. My conclusion is close to Cobb’s contention that God is the reason that each new occasion becomes, even if what it becomes is explained by that occasion, its past, and God together (CNT 203-14).

7This is the outcome of Lewis Ford’s analysis in The Lure of God (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1978), esp. pp.83-86, 104f., 110n.8.

8 The elaboration of this point would, I believe, serve to answer Robert Neville’s criticism of Whitehead for representing the relation of God to actual occasions as external to their subjectivity, thereby failing to do justice to the religious need for intimacy. See his Creativity and God: A Challenge to Process Theology (Seabury Press, 1980).

9There is a more general problem with the intelligibility of the notion of "genetic successiveness," but surely as an attempt to rescue Bergson’s la durée from the charge of anti-intellectualism (PR xii), Whitehead’s intellectual analysis of phases of concrescence, which are not in physical time, goes a long way toward showing how self-causation can be made intelligible as a doctrine of emergent freedom. Furthermore, the genetic analysis of the process of concrescence, coupled with the epochal theory of time, is able to do justice to certain claims about the nature of religious experience which otherwise sound paradoxical on the assumption of a substance conception of selfhood.

10 It can be argued that certain meditational techniques, as developed, for instance, in forms of Zen Buddhism, aim at precisely this adjustment of the perceptual modes so as to loosen the hold of presentational immediacy (or maya) and to allow the awareness of causal efficacy to become more dominant. Surely both the claims and the actual practice of Eastern religious experience need to be taken into account in assessing the capabilities and the limits of human perception. A significant illustration of what may well be the overwhelming fixation of Western life on the level of presentational immediacy occurs in Whitehead’s mention of William Pitt, the Prime Minister of England, who was heard on his death bed to murmur: "What shades we are, what shades we pursue." Whitehead points out that the exhausted Pitt had lost perception in the mode of causal efficacy, and was grasping the world only as the meaningless repetition of barren sensa (S 48f).

11 Cf. John T. Wilcox, "A Question from Physics for Certain Theists," The Journal of Religion 40/4 (October, 1961), 239-300; Paul Fitzgerald, "Relativity Physics and the God of Process Philosophy," PS 2/4 (Winter, 1972), 251-76; Lewis S. Ford, "Is Process Theism Compatible with Relativity Physics?" The Journal of Religion 48/2 (April, 1968), 131-34. More recently, Charles Hartshorne has called attention to the work of Henry Pierce Stapp, whose generalized version of J. S. Bell’s theorem holds some promise for process theism. See H. P. Stapp, "Quantum Mechanics, Local Causality, and Process Philosophy," edited by William B. Jones, PS 7/3 (Fall, 1977), 173-82; Charles Hartshorne, "Bell’s Theorem and Stapp’s Revised View of Space Time," PS 7/3 (Fall, 1977), 183-91; and William B. Jones, "Bell’s Theorem, H. P. Stapp, and Process Theism," PS 7/4 (Winter, 1977), 250-61.

12 Fitzgerald, p. 273.

13 See Ford’s "The Non-Temporality of Whitehead’s God," esp. pp. 350-53. Bowman L. Clarke also supports the conception of God as a single nontemporal everlasting actual entity; cf. his "God and Time in Whitehead," Journal of the American Academy of Religion 48/4 (December, 1980), 563-79.

14 See especially The Lure of God, p. 105, where Ford employs these puzzling expressions in making the claim that "the nontemporal activity must result in some sort of definite atemporal unity, while the primordial nature most be the outcome of some sort of nontemporal activity."

15 John B. Cobb, Jr., "Three Responses to Neville," PS 10/3-4 (Fall-Winter, 1980), 100. Cf. also Cobb’s "Buddhist Emptiness and the Christian God," Journal of the American Academy of Religion 45/1 (1977), 11-25.

16 Ibid.

The Process Paradigm, Rites of Passage, and Spiritual Quests

Like Voltaire, who was ready to vouch for the sincerity of his professed belief in God, but who added "as for Monsieur the Son and Madame His Mother, that’s a different story," more and more Americans are giving lip service to belief in God, while adopting the discourse of "spirituality," and treating conventional religious doctrine as a very different story. This is a fascinating and bewildering development because only a generation ago the term "spirituality" was associated with spiritualism, seances, and the occult. In bookstores, "metaphysics" was found in the occult section, alongside paranormal phenomena. Historian of religions Diana Eck traces the growing popularity of the term "spirituality" to the l99Os when the word "religion" came to seem too static and institutional in its connotations, and a gradual shift occurred to the more non-sectarian term "spirituality" Eck herself uses the latter term to designate "the disciplined nurturing of inner spiritual life" (150-51). As a concept, however, "spirituality" remains cloudy.

Equally opaque philosophically is the definition adopted by the widely promoted June 1998 conference in Berkeley, California called "Science and the Spiritual Quest." The conference opened with an invocation to "the" spiritual quest (singular and not plural), which was defined as "our thirst for the infinite, for the transcendent, for meaning and purpose." Judging from press reports and web page announcements, the "spirituality" on display at this event was one that logical positivism’s long legacy has helped to promote. John Polkinghorne, Cambridge University particle physicist and Anglican priest, proclaimed: "Theology is not some airy-fairy form of metaphysical speculation." Like science, he said, religion is rooted in encounters with reality -- though in the latter case the encounters include spiritual revelations whose truths "lie in the unreachable realm of the subjective"( qtd in Johnson). Philosophically, such a picture represents a return to the division of labor that marked the heyday of logical positivism, according to which science deals with matters of fact and religion deals with meaning and values. Sixty years ago, A. J. Aver already agreed with Polkinghorne’s partition, emphatically relegating religion to the unreachable realm of the subjective where its "meaning" is strictly emotive and its "values" are non-cognitive. From a Whiteheadian perspective, this is not the embrace that revives but the kiss of death for religion in an age of science. To the extent that many inquiring minds still operate within the implicit confines of logical positivism, or without any conceptual illumination at all, Whitehead’s philosophy has much to offer those who seek clarity on these matters even while mistrusting it.

Ginger Rogers, it has been said, did everything Fred Astaire did, except backwards and on high heels. The overarching theme of the Third International Whitehead Conference in 1999 concerned the question, What can Process Thought contribute to the common good? Let me reverse that question and dance with it a bit on the high heels of generality, asking, What is there by way of a common structure that is good in process thought? Beyond the technical interpretations and the absorbing debates that make up the field of Process Thought today, is there a way of expressing Whitehead’s basic vision in terms that clarify some element common to all spiritual quests (pluralized)? Whether we work in the universities, in the churches, or in the trenches, whether we are physicists, anthropologists, philosophers, theologians, gurus, or spiritual questers of various sorts, and regardless of our gender, race, or sexual, national or ethnic identity, is there an invariable or common pattern to the processes at work in spiritual quests? Given the extreme generality involved, it is evident that such a question can only be approached wearing very high heels.

* * *

My answer takes the form of proposing that the process paradigm, as I will call it here, presents the best conceptual model I know for expressing the central insight that divides positivists and platonists from process-relationalists on the matter of spirit. In this paradigm the passage of nature is something more than simply the production of novelty, of things happening that have not happened before. Rather, it is "the creative advance into novelty," of which Whitehead says in The Concept of Nature "the passage of nature is only another name for the creative force of existence" (73). The creative force of existence is not sheer on-rushing energy It has a character, a shape, a moment-to-moment vectorial direction of each pulse of becoming, even if it lacks overall direction as a whole: "The many become one, and are increased by one" (Whitehead, Process 21). In this perpetual sequence is contained the basic rhythm of process. The rhythm, Whitehead says, "swings from the publicity of many things to the individual privacy; and it swings back from the private individual to the publicity of the objectified individual" (Process 151).

Pointing not vertically to infinite, absolute Being, but horizontally to a process of temporal movement toward an open-ended future, spirit can be defined as the capacity for self-creation and self-transcendence. Dynamic process occurs as, and is structured by, a tripartite pattern: every new event is a present self-causation, responding to past causes, vectorially felt, In terms of future potentialities grasped. This distinctive process of self-constitution, inclusive of myriad relations, and forged in light of an open future, is the very key to the movement of transcendence and, I am suggesting, to the structure of spiritual quests. In the same way that process thought dissolves what Bergson complained of as "the logic of solids," spiritual quests, interpreted this way, dissolve the western mind’s long philosophical addiction to substance abuse. Supplanting substance philosophy’s idea that it takes an agent to act, a doer to perform the deed, the process thought proposes that agents are the results of acts, and subjects are constituted out of relations. Every event comes into being by grasping or "prehending" antecedently actualized events to integrate them into a new actualized event, its own momentary self in a provisional state. Destined to perish, it no sooner becomes than a fresh process of processive-relational integration supercedes it. Quantum units of becoming achieve momentary unity out of a given multiplicity in a never-ending rhythm of creative process whereby "the many become one, and are increased by one." Creativity within each occasion is spontaneous, the mark of actuality, and free, within the limits determined by its antecedent causes. Creativity unifies any many and is creative of a new unifying perspective, which then becomes a new one among another many. In process ontology, creativity is ultimate reality not in the sense of something more ultimate behind, above, or beyond reality, but in the sense of something ultimately descriptive of all reality, coinciding with what Charles Birch and John Cobb have called "the Life Process." As a category in Whitehead’s philosophy, creativity (along with "one" and "many") may be designated the "ultimate of ultimates" (Process 21), but as such it is only an abstraction, the formal character of any actual occasion. Creativity as concrete, however, signifies the dynamism that is the very actuality of things, their act of being there at all. Everything exists in virtue of creativity, but creativity is not any substantial thing.

* * *

On a level of less generality, one can ask whether the process paradigm serves not only to describe the Passage of Nature but also to mark certain cultural passages. More specifically, does the constant cosmological dialectic between past and future, stasis and change, the power of the past and the pull of the future comprise the very pattern of different worldwide spiritual quests? My proposal is to read the Whiteheadian account of processive-relational activity that is the dynamic thrust of the life process as identical with the general abstract structure described in the work of Arnold Van Gennep and Victor Turner on rites of passage. Alternatively stated, this cultural anthropology is susceptible to descriptive generalization in terms of the process paradigm and can be studied in terms of its applicability to the structure of spiritual quests cross-culturally. Rites of passage analysis renders at least some claims about spiritual quests more empirically tractable, and reveals several ways in which process thought offers a corrective model for further work in anthropology of religion and ritual studies.

In his 1909 classic work, The Rites of Passage, Van Gennep correlated spatial or geographical progression with the ritual marking of cultural "passages." Arguing that rites of passage are actions that are pervasive throughout all human cultures, he submitted their structures to description in terms of preliminal, liminal, and postliminal rites, according to the three stages of separation, transition, and reincorporation. Each of these marks a stage in the change from one type of socially defined status to another. According to Van Gennep:

Transitions from group to group and from one social situation to the next are looked on as implicit in the very fact of existence, so that a man’s life comes to he made up of a succession of stages with similar ends and beginnings: birth, social puberty, marriage, fatherhood, advancement to a higher class, occupational specialization, and death. For every one of these events there are ceremonies whose essential purpose is to enable the individual to pass from one defined position to another which is equally well defined. (3)

Van Gennep further argued that all rituals are rites of passage with the same three-stage process. First, a person leaves behind one social group and its social identity; second, she passes through a stage of no identity or affiliation, before, third, becoming admitted into a new social group that confers a new identity. A series of ritual passages define (1) the "before," (2) the period of training that is "betwixt and between," and (3) the "after" in which the transformation of the person is complete. The liminal period in between orchestrates a physical removal from the rest of the world, with changes of appearance (shaved heads; identical, egalitarian clothing), and basic changes in one’s sense of self (through wilderness wanderings, trials and temptations, lessons learned, new achievements).

On the basis of the well-defined structure of the ritual positions in the rites, Van Gennep concluded that the formality of rites of passage, exemplified in their highly patterned sequences of action, permits us to organize and understand a large body of ethnographic data and to make significant cross-cultural generalizations. If this is so, we should be able to demonstrate that spiritual quests, on the analogy of rites of passage, do not occur, unfold, or follow each other randomly but have an order that can be systematically described, even if only at a very high level of generality.

Adopting Van Gennep’s categories and applying them in his own work in anthropology; Victor Turner did more than any other scholar to place the notions of liminality and "communitas" center-stage in ritual studies. Ritual, according to Turner, is the "realm of pure possibility whence novel configurations of ideas and relations may arise" (Turner 97).1 Reference to a realm of pure possibility ought not to suggest to students of Whitehead an analogue to his notion of the primordial nature of God; liminality is not quite that flexible. A better comparison with process thought is in terms of the concrescent process of becoming itself in which possibilities are becoming realized and, as Turner writes, "novel configurations of ideas and relations" are arising. Central to his analysis is a dynamic drama of "processual units" and the subsequent swing from privacy to public performance.

Giving special prominence to the liminal period, Turner described the creation of "communitas" as a time of effervescence, of uncertainty and indeterminateness, of being betwixt and between. In the process account, the creation of "communitas" occurs as concrescence, a time out of time, a duration that has extension but not divisibility, a betwixt and between for that which is becoming -- but is not-yet. In his early work, Turner thought of religion as the affirmation of communal unity in contrast to the frictions, constraints, and competitiveness of social life and more rigid organizations. Religion and its rituals afforded a creative "anti-structure," a great "time out that was distinguished from the rigid maintenance of social orders and hierarchies. Later on, Turner portrayed religion as embodying aspects of both structure and anti-structure, and rituals as those special activities that mediate the opposing demands of both "communitas" and the formalized social order. I need not elaborate the detailed description Turner developed of the way in which rites of passages afford the formal structuring that, he claimed, maintains the ordered value system of a group and provides a cathartic experience of "communitas." Nor will I demonstrate here the ease with which one can map the details of his analysis of rites of passage onto the stories about the founders of the major religious traditions, finding in the myths and legends of Krishna, Buddha, Moses, Mohammed, and Jesus a common abstract structure, following a familiar tripartite pattern.

A harder test of the generalizability of this analytic model is posed in terms of cosmological theory If Krishna, Buddha, Moses, Mohammed, and Jesus all undergo rites of passage, does "inorganic" matter as well? Here is where anthropology’s batteries run down, but the process paradigm keeps on ticking. Both at the macroscopic and microscopic levels, the natural sciences depict matter as displaying a similar tripartite structure for the emergence of "order Out of chaos." In Prigogene and Stengers’s 1984 book by that title, irreversibility and indeterminism are the cardinal postulates for understanding dissipative structures studied by thermodynamics in far-from-equilibrium conditions. Recent work in cosmology suggests that space-time relations move not only toward increasing entropy or disorder, but toward those critical moments of disequilibrium when the spontaneously adaptive self-organization of the open system -- above all the living system -- comes into play and future structure is generated from the flux of a liminal present. The process of separation, transition, and reintegration occurs in terms of the disruption of a steady state at or near equilibrium, which brings matter increasingly far from equilibrium to a point at which a "decision" is made between alternative possibilities randomly presented by its environment, resulting in its reorganization in novel emergent form. The cosmological story, too, can be told in terms of (1) disruption of a prior equilibrium, (2) transition toward an unknown outcome, and (3) reintegration into a renewed and transformed equilibrium -- a process made possible by a directional but indeterminate universe continually engendering new order from chaos.

Not only in cosmology but also in evolutionary biology, a new paradigm, associated with the work of Stuart S. Kauffman and the Santa Fe Institute, focuses on the concept of self-organization, the spontaneous emergence of order widely observed throughout nature. What the process paradigm generalizes as the principle that "the many become one, and are increased by one," Kauffman conceptualizes as spontaneous exhibitions of new degrees of order that may play as fundamental a role in shaping evolution as does the Darwinian process of natural selection. Finding examples of what Whitehead called "order bordering on chaos" in the fields of biology, physics, chemistry, and mathematics, Kauffman shows how this order is essential for understanding the emergence and development of life on earth.2

Returning to the anthropological level, another recent scholar who finds impressive evidence of the spiritual quest as a fundamental human activity is Robert M. Torrance. Running the gamut of tribal societies Torrance studies is a tripartite structure of separation, transition, and incorporation, found in spirit possession and the medium’s trance, in the shaman’s vision quest, and in Black Elk’s search for spiritual power at a time of crisis. Complex manifestations of the quest, according to Torrance, characterize tribal peoples of Central Asia, West Africa, and the Amazon, extending also both East and West in our own time, appearing in the shamanistic processions of Japan, in the search for the Taoist islands of immortality or for Eldorado or the Holy Grail, "for the philosopher’s stone or the elixir of life; in pilgrimages to Benares, Jerusalem, Mecca, or Rome; or in the mystical aspirations of Muslim Sufi, Jewish kabbalist, Catholic saint, or Protestant Pentecostalist"(xii).

Apparently unaware of Whiteheadian process philosophy, Torrance affirms the tripartite structure of spiritual quests, which he calls "ternary process." In an illuminating passage he explains why the process must be three, not two, and not one. The number three is by no means arbitrary, for it is the root of an endless plurality. The One gives us only a static Parmenidean absolute unity Two gives us only a system of binary oppositions, again precluding beginning or end. For movement, relation, and change, we need Whiteheadian prehensile activity or Torrance’s "ternary relations," where "the emphasis is not on fixed antitheses but on the process that connects (and transforms them); not on the raw and the cooked, but on the cooking, on the present active participle that converts one structure to another, the given to the made, and thereby creates a future transcending the past"(259). Wherever one studies the production of novel togetherness -- whether in the physical, the biological, or the cultural dimensions of the universe -- one finds the becoming of patterned process. To understand the Raw and the Cooked, one must theorize the Cooking as well.

* * *

Summarizing what the process model contributes to the analysis of spiritual quests, I will mention five related features. The first, suggested by the passage quoted above, is the dissolving of the logic of binary oppositions in favor of ternary relations. Even in Turner’s work, despite the overall tripartite scheme, "communitas" is theorized in terms of the binary opposition between structure and anti-structure. It would be fair to say that one of Turner’s chief contributions to the anthropology of religion is to have traced the asymmetrical oppositions that create dominance, hierarchy, and integration among a system of associations. But one would also need to acknowledge the troubling aspect of binary oppositions -- they almost always involve asymmetrical hierarchically organized relations of dominance and subordination, and these, in turn, generate hegemonic and oppressive cultural structures. The process paradigm, by contrast, generates asymmetrical relations, to be sure, but here the "subordination" of the (past) many to the unity of a novel (later) "one" occurs as temporal supercession, not as social domination. The process of achieving unity is (ideally) democratic and the ordering is (roughly) aesthetic. Theories that posit the logic of binary oppositions, on the other hand, fail to accommodate the Whiteheadian "principle of relativity" according to which a subject constitutes itself Out of its prehensions of its past world, and then in turn functions objectively as a datum in the past world of all subsequent occasions (Whitehead, Process 214; 43). Only the logic of ternary relations affords conceptual space for the Cooking as much as for the Raw and the Cooked.

Second, the outcome or goal of spiritual quests is not and cannot be known in advance, because no determinate state of emergent unity can be prescribed or fixed prior to its achievement. Process is not continuous even if, overall, it is unceasing. It (be)comes in buds of prehensile unification -- which perish. Its outcome is never fully predictable even if it is inevitable that it become determinate in some fashion. The burden of futurity, the hope of open-endedness is also the promise of provisionality, which makes every closure less than final, every fresh determinateness but an epochal "now" preceding the birth of another indeterminateness. Cumulatively, then, every present moment of becoming, every temporary stage of a spiritual quest is weighted with the past as well as the future. This dialectic between entropy and organization is precisely the movement that spiritual quests consist in, structurally. The vectors of spiritual quests flow from indeterminacy to determinacy, and in-between is the crucial determining, decided by every creature. In fact, the radicality of the process paradigm is its affirmation that a creature is its decisions, given its inheritance. And these are all the more lovely for being fleeting and contingent.

Third, Van Gennep’s and Turner’s analysis needs a richer dose of relationality -- specifically, asymmetrical internal relations aesthetically unified. In the process paradigm, self-integration and growth is an achievement of considerable simplification, dependent upon a capacity for harmonizing contrasts that may even border on chaos. Too much elimination procures narrowness without simplicity Too little yields width without depth. Along the razor’s edge between inclusion of discordant elements as effective contrasts and their dismissal as incompatible ingredients, each organic form of life seeks a particular equilibrium. No individual is simply one among many; the many are deeply creative of the internal life of each individual that is an emergent from its relations. "Communitas," therefore, is not simply a community of independent equals, but a "one" in which the disjunctive "many" have become interdependently related.

Fourth, the abstract patterns identified by Turner as common to all initiations have been taken as something universally human by many previous scholars. There is reason to doubt the universality, however, in light of the complexities that gender studies have introduced into anthropology. One will not fail to notice -- although I have suppressed many of the details here -- that rites of passage take the male as paradigmatic, that the founders of the major world religions have all been male, and that spiritual quests as recorded throughout history add up to a kind of Million Man March. We may wonder why so many peoples around the world have regarded the state of being a "real man" or becoming "true man" as uncertain and precarious, a prize to be won or wrestled through struggle, heroic conquest, crossing of hazardous straits, or performance of warrior feats. To date, only the research of Bruce Lincoln and Carolyn Walker Bynum offers notable contestation of these unproven assertions from the standpoint of gender analysis. Testing Turner’s ideas against the religious texts that are the major source for historians of the Middle Ages, Carolyn Bynum finds that his formulation of liminality is applicable only to men, not to women, and useful for understanding only some male stories, namely, those of elites. Historian of religions Bruce Lincoln has also made a study of female initiation rites that begins to correct the partiality of rites of passage scholarship. He suggests a more useful vocabulary for the pattern of female transformation: enclosure, metamorphosis, and emergence. I find this compatible with the emphases and vocabulary of feminist process theology currently being written by Marjorie Suchocki, Mary Elizabeth Moore, Catherine Keller, and Nancy Howell, to name but a few.

Fifth, underlying the dominant anthropological theory of the modern period is an unproven hypothesis of a fundamental internal conflict between nature and culture that seeks its resolution in myth and ritual. From this have arisen various functionalist theories of myth and rituals that define religion as a mechanism for resolving or disguising conflicts fundamental to socio-cultural life. I am arguing that from the standpoint of the process paradigm, the oppositional hypothesis appears contrived, and the theory of functionalism flawed. Not only does process thought theorize no such fundamental conflict or contradiction, but also it promotes a different model of understanding the nature-culture relation as one of continuity, or discontinuity-within-continuity. Lacking any fundamental conflict to overcome, the process paradigm is less likely to spawn theories of religion that commit the functionalist fallacy so frequently found in religious studies.3

None of my reflections in this essay seek to offer an explanation of anything, least of all of religion in general or of ritual in particular. What I have offered is a description of structures -- part of the syntax of spiritual quests -- and a few comparative snapshots. Using these as an explanation would only risk doing what John Dewey urged us to renounce -- the kind of pseudo-explanation that "only abstracts some aspect of the existing course of events in order to reduplicate it as a petrified eternal principle by which to explain the very changes of which it is the formalization"(4:11). This is both a warning against any reification of Whitehead’s category of the ultimate and a reminder that descriptive generalizations give us, at best, principles, which are actual only in their instantiations or concretizations. Whitehead wisely refrained from converting creativity into an entity or enduring substantial reality or attempting to explain why it is the way it is. "It lies in the nature of things," he said, "that the many enter into complex unity" (Process 21).

In conclusion, I have tried to suggest a new use for the process model as a way of reanalyzing the types of activities and processes usually understood as spiritual. By providing a unifying concept that articulates a common structure of a great number of spiritual quests, the process paradigm I have adumbrated should illuminate and give coherence to the varieties of women’s and men’s experiences at three levels: the interpersonal; social systems, and institutional structures; and the all-encompassing natural world. It is possible that further investigation along these lines will yield sufficient detail to generalize more effectively about contemporary secular cases among groups and populations, such as AA or alternative health movements, not typically studied this way. Finally, I am recommending a wholesale shift away from the noun "spirituality" and toward the more active notion of dynamic movement implied in "spiritual quests." In this way, conventionally religious and secular persons alike may learn to think less in terms of static states of interior, privatized subjectivity, and more in terms of processive-relational modes of doing. If Whitehead’s definition of religion from Religion in the Making is destined to be constantly quoted, let it at least emphasize that he said "Religion is what one does with one’s solitude" (28, emphasis added).

As a force for the common good, spiritual quests are one way of preserving the human capacity for disruption, transition, and reintegration. Understood as a transcultural language of the human spirit, they are certainly a more likely candidate for promoting cross-cultural understanding and cooperation than the view that only one religion has the right path and other people’s paths should be torched, or barely tolerated. Greater attention to the syntax and semantics of spiritual quests may even guard us against our desire to find something to worship. Honoring the quest itself without benefit of gods or goddesses and without succumbing to what Keats called "the irritable reaching after fact and dogma," could confer on our lives -- our Western, post-modern, post-religious, post-positivist lives -- a very common good, indeed.

 

Notes

1. Greater critical attention needs to be given to Turner’s little-noted Thomist tendencies, apparent in passages where he posits, for example, a condition in which "the pure act-of-being is directly apprehended." See his Revelation and Divination in Ndembu Ritual 185.

2. See Stuart A. Kauffman’s The Origins of Order as well as his more philosophical reflections in At Home in the Universe: The Search for Laws of Self-Organization and Complexity. I call this a "new paradigm" in a loose, non-Kuhnian sense.

3. For a critique of functionalism in the social sciences, see Carl Hempel, "The Logic of Functional Analysis." For a critique of functionalism in religious studies, see Hans H. Penner, Chapter Four.

 

Works Cited

Birch, Charles and John B. Cobb, Jr. The Liberation of Life: From the Cell to the Community. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1981.

Bynum, Carolyn. "Women’s Stories, Women’s Symbols: A Critique of Victor Turner’s Theory of Liminality." Anthropology and the Study of Religion. Ed. Robert L. Moore and Frank B. Reynolds. Chicago: Center for the Scientific Study of Religion, 1984.

Dewey, John. "The Influence of Darwin on Philosophy." The Middle Works of John Dewey. Carbondale: Southern Illinois UP, 1977.

Eck, Diana L. Encountering God: A Spiritual Journey from Bozeman to Benares. Boston: Beacon, 1993.

Hempel, Carl. "The Logic of Functional Analysis." Aspects of Scientific Explanation. New York: Free Press, 1965.

Johnson, George. "Essay: Science and Religion -- Bridging the Great Divide." The New York Times. June 30, 1998.

Kauffman, Stuart A. At Home in the Universe: The Search for Laws of Self Organization and Complexity. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1995.

____The Origins of Order: Self Organization and Selection in Evolution. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1993.

Lincoln, Bruce. Emerging from the Chrysalis: Rituals of Women’s Initiations. Rev. ed. New York: Oxford UP, 1991.

Penner, Hans H. Impasse and Resolution: A Critique of the Study of Religion. New York: Peter Lang, 1988.

Prigogene, Ilya and Isabelle Stengers. Order Out of Chaos. Man’s New Dialogue with Nature. New York: Bantam, 1984.

Torrance, Robert M. The Spiritual Quest: Transcendence in Myth, Religion, and Science. Berkeley: U of California P, 1994.

Turner, Victor. Dramas, Fields, and Metaphors: Symbolic Action in Human Society. Ithaca: Cornell UP, 1974.

____Revelation and Divination in Ndembu Ritual. Ithaca: Cornell UP, 1975.

Van Gennep, Arnold. The Rites of Passage. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1960. Whitehead, Alfred North. The Concept of Nature. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1920.

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

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