Interpoints: A Model for Divine Spacetime

Where is God? Process theologians debating God’s relation to space-time have focused on the theories of relativity and regional inclusion, grounding their speculation in Whitehead’s escape from traditional theism to Process and Reality.1 That extended essay on organic cosmology with its interpretation of "God and the World" is an obvious quarry for ideas. Yet Whitehead’s philosophical treatise crowns an estimable career as a theoretical mathematician and physicist. At the threshold of that career in 1905 he delivered to the Royal Society in London a speculative memoir "On Mathematical Concepts of the Material World." In that revolutionary address he unified geometry and physics into a single set of axioms by symbolic logic.2 While the memoir does not comment theologically, it does propose a theory of intersection points, or interpoints, which in its mathematical abstraction suggests a lucid and stimulating model for projecting Whitehead’s understanding of God’s relation to space.

The theory of interpoints common to Concepts IV and V demonstrates how points may be constructed from linear entities by means of the notion of "similarity of position" in a pentadic essential relation. Whitehead erases the circularity of defining a point as the class of objective reals concurrent at a point by assuming that all points are complex. The descriptive or ordinary point is thus a derivative of the linear reals which Whitehead considers more basic than geometric points and lines. The theory of interpoints defines a point in terms of a class of linear entities having among their properties a similarity of position. The essential pentadic relation is R; (abcdt), i.e., linear real a intersects linear reals b, c, d in that order at time t (MC 34).3 Intersection satisfies four axioms, the first of which is related to our theological speculation: a is not a member of R; (a???t), i.e., a is not a member of the class b, c, d, since it intersects them all (MC 37: _l.51; cf. RW 254).

The allied notion of similarity of position in a relation is crucial to Whitehead’s definition. Symbolically this is expressed as R; (a???t/x), which denotes the class of lines x, y, z, with positions similar to that of x and t in R (MC 35). Or to rephrase this, provided the linear order is retained, x, y, z are interchangeable. A spatial position then is a class of entities with the possibility of occupying the same position. An interpoint is the total class formed by the linear real a and the class of linear reals x, y, z having a similarity of position which a intersects. Geometrical punctual lines and planes are a series of interpoints having a temporal reference (MC 35-44).

Does Whitehead’s quest for alternative possible worlds allow space-time for God?

The conceptual model which Whitehead prefers in MC is linear, but radically so. Suppose, therefore, we relinquish all theological correlatives of cosmologies which necessitate that divine location be punctual, either in serial relation to other existents (. . . . . . . . .) or in absolute identification with them (.). Imagine a linear model for God-and-the-world that is spatiotemporal. Let God occupy the same spacetime as the world without his being locatable in any single part or aggregate of parts, without being locatable as the whole. This is only impossible if the whole is conceived as equal to the sum of its parts, as according to the Euclidean geometry which Whitehead rejects. One can avoid a philosophy of simple coordination and a romantic conception of the absolute identity of nature by postulating God-and-the-world as a gestalt, that configuration which is irreducible to the sum of its parts.

Originating in opposition to atomistic behavioral psychology, Wolfgang Koehler’s theory introduced the category of form (Gestalt) to enlighten the understanding of the transverse functions in the nervous system. He defined such forms, particularly physical systems, as total processes whose properties are not the sum of those which the isolated parts would possess (GP). Cobb has already alluded to the applicability of this theory to exegeting Whitehead’s organic cosmology, arguing that just as the human soul located in the brain may occupy both the empty space in the interstices and the regions occupied by many cells, analogously the region of God includes the regions comprising the standpoints of all contemporary occasions in the world. The relationship of God and the world is not reduced to whole and part (CNT 192-96, 82-87).

If, as Whitehead theorizes in his 1905 address, a spatial position is a class of entities with the possibility of occupying the same position, then we may hypothesize the model for God-and-the-world as an interpoint: the total class formed by the linear real a (God) and the class of linear reals x, y, z (world) having a similarity of position which a intersects. According to Whitehead’s first axiom of intersection points, neither God’s primordial nor consequent natures are compromised for "a is not a member of R; (a???t), i.e. a is not a member of the class b, c, d since it intersects them all" (RW 254). The model of the relation of God and the world in spacetime is a complex point, derived from linear objective reals of a vector character. A vector is but the physical model for a metaphysical prehension, a directed magnitude describing transmission. Projecting from Whitehead’s concept of interpoints, God and the world occupy a "similarity of position," but God is not a member of the world since he intersects all of its realities simultaneously.

The "God" of God-and-the-world is neither part nor sum of the parts, but only locatable in reference to the whole God-and-the-world which is more than the sum of the parts (gestalt). Nor is God locatable by subtracting what is empirically identifiable as "world" from this whole, disclosing God as the universal surplus. The event of God acting in cosmic process and human history, which initiates religions affirmations, occurs then precisely at the intersection of the locations of actual entities. The participants, however, are not discretely locatable. Because their locations overlap, there can be neither punctual correspondence between God and the world nor precise detection in spacetime of the locations of the participants in such an event. Therefore, it is impossible to answer the query ‘Where is God?" with the assurance "here," "there," or "everywhere." It is impossible, that is, according to logic allied with Euclidean concepts of the atomistic location (identity) of things in space.

This process model of divine spacetime, projected from Whitehead’s theory of interpoints and his critique of the Newtonian fallacy of "simple location," slips into the logical difficulty with which process theology has accused traditional theism: It is always possible to ask whether any proposed empirical signs are signs of God, and it is never possible to provide empirical evidence with which to answer the question (1:42). Asking "Can There Be Talk about God-and-the-World?" James McClendon argues that God’s activity is "empirically identifiable with" some part of cosmic or earthly events and that therefore such events provide "brute facts" with respect to the appraisal "God has done this" (1:42). The interpoint model of God-and-the-world reveals in its mathematical abstraction, however, that it is not possible to identify the "some part" of cosmic or earthly events which represents God’s place and action. God’s location in spacetime is his intersection of all realities without his identification as a member of the world.

Rather than conclude skeptically, however, that process theism is an equally nonsensical alternative to traditional theism, this analysis of the interpoint theory discloses that the logical criteria for verifying God’s location in spacetime have collapsed with the advent of relativity physics. What is required for understanding divine spacetime in process perspective is a logic which does not situate judgment restrictively in front of things and in sequence, as if the universal stuff were solids extended seriatim in rigid, empty space, but rather allows access to plenitude and simultaneity. Theologians search vainly for God’s exact location for he appears in a field which is not observable in itself but only as it coappears with the world.

 

References

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

GP -- Koehler, Wolfgang. Gestalt Psychology. New York: H. Liveright, 1929.

MC -- Whitehead, Alfred North. "On Mathematical Concepts of the Material World." Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society of London, Series A, 205 (1906), 465-525. Cited as reprinted in F. S. C. Northrop and Mason W. Gross, eds. Alfred North White-head: An Anthology.

RW -- Leclerc, Ivor, ed. The Relevance of Whitehead. New York: Macmillan, 1961.

1. James Win. McClendon, Jr. "Can There Be Talk about God-and-the-World?" Harvard Theological Review, 62 (1969), 33-49.

 

Notes:

1 Interlocutors in the debate about God’s spatiality are: John T. Wilcox, "A Question from Physics for Certain Theists," Journal of Religion, 41 (1961), 293-300; CNT 192-96; Donald W. Sherburne, "Whitehead without God," in Delwin Brown, et al, (eds.), Process Philosophy and Christian Thought (Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill. 1971), pp. 305-28; Lewis S. Ford, "Whitehead’s Conception of Divine Spatiality," Southern Journal of Philosophy, 6 (1968), 1-23, and "Is Process Theism Compatible with Relativity Theory?" Journal of Religion. 48 (1968), 124-35; Paul Fitzgerald, "Relativity Physics and the God of Process Philosophy," PS 2 (1972), 251-76.

2 Readers may consult the expositions of MC in: Victor Lowe, "The Development of Whitehead’s Philosophy" in Paul A. Schilpp (ed.), The Philosophy of Alfred North Whitehead (Evanston, Ill.: Northwestern University Press, 1941), pp. 33-46, revised as chapter seven of his Understanding Whitehead (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1963); Wolfe Mays, "The Relevance of ‘On Mathematical Concepts of the Material World’ to Whitehead’s Philosophy" in RW; and Paul F. Schmidt, Perception and Cosmology in Whitehead’s Philosophy (New Brunswick, N. J.: Rutgers University Press, 1967). Since the writing of my article a study by Robert Andrew Ariel has appeared, "A Mathematical Root of Whitehead’s Cosmological Thought," PS 4 (1974), 107-13. It suggests some ideas in the 1905 address which presage Whitehead’s later cosmology, but it does not develop the theory of interpoints, which is the subject of my inquiry.

3 Symbols of the type R; ( ) concern relations. For example, R; (xyz) forms an instance in which the triadic relation R holds the special positions of x, y, z in this instance of that relationship being indicated by their order of appearance in the symbol R; (xyz) (MC 22).

4 Cf. Ian Ramsey’s attempt to confess God as the "more" of the universe, the observable-plus. Ramsey argues that because the universe of which God is the "more" is spatially all-inclusive it is possible to refer to God, as to refer to the universe, but not to locate him. Models and Mystery London: Oxford University Press, 1954), pp. 59-60, 67 and an unpublished essay by Donald D. Evans of the University of Toronto, "Ian Ramsey on Talk about God," which I appreciate having shared. Ramsey fails to settle how the "more" of the cosmos is God and yet the shared spacetime of God and man. Does the "more" bridge the linguistic expression and the ontological referent? Is the "more" superimposed on perception yielding discernment, or is it the very organization of the perceptual experience?

Evolutionary Futurism in Stapledon’s ‘Star Maker’

W. Olaf Stapledon, Ph.D. (1886-1950), a British philosopher and writer of science fiction, combines his interests in philosophy and fiction with an humanitarian concern for the future of mankind in his major science fiction novel, Star Maker (1937). In the preface Stapledon states that he is writing out of a feeling of impending crisis. Seeing civilization polarized against barbarism as the world is poised for war, he calls for a synthesis of man in community and of communal man to "the dread but vital whole of things" (SM 250) in worship of the spirit. Man’s lack of community and lack of a metaphysic are the problems which he believes have created such a sense of impending crisis. He hopes that the Star Maker may in some way be relevant to the cultivation of these two essentials for man’s peaceful and meaningful survival. His philosophical interests and preferences, both social and metaphysical, become his basis for establishing a mythic community and metaphysics in Star Maker. These preferences are essentially Marxist in social thought and Whiteheadian in metaphysics.

Stapledon’s philosophical presumptions are clearly expressed in his two volume work, Philosophy and Living (1939).1 In social philosophy he rejects both the supreme individuality in democratic systems and the herd mentality in socialistic thought. Stapledon believes both must be present on an equal basis and calls for a system of personality-in-community, an ambiguous system of unity in diversity -- an organic view of society. He rejects metaphysical idealism which denies the validity of the material aspects of reality, just as he rejects dialectical materialism in its totally mechanistic form, as it denies the spiritual aspects of reality. Stapledon lends most credence to the Marxists in social philosophy, if they recognize the spirituality which Stapledon sees as an essential aspect of their thought.

In Philosophy and Living Stapledon calls Whitehead’s thought "the most brilliant, most comprehensive, most significant, though also most difficult, metaphysical system of our time" (PL 395). He emphasizes both the difficulty and reward of Whiteheadian thought:

My own experience in reading Whitehead has been rather like that of an explorer groping his way through dense jungle. Now and then he emerges upon some bare mountaintop, to be rewarded by a panorama that embraces seemingly a whole virgin continent, the home perhaps, of a future civilization. (PL 389)

Stapledon’s analogy between the thought of Whitehead and the explorer’s panoramic view of possible future civilizations echoes the basic motif of Star Maker. Here Stapledon’s narrator perceives the panorama of not only a continent or a future civilization, but of all the cosmos, from its inception to its utopian culmination, and finally to its demise.

In the opening pages of Star Maker the narrator, a quiet, introspective, suburban Londoner, stands on a hill overlooking his city at night, oppressed by the "tumultuous and bitter currents of the world" (SM 255). Gazing upon his own home, he perceives goodness in the midst of such bitterness and discord. The positive relationship of the narrator and his wife, which he describes as an "intricate symbiosis" (SM 255), is tested in the mind of the narrator against the larger construct of the world and the universe. Stapledon thus brings together his basic concerns for a viable community and a metaphysic as his narrator questions the ultimate meaning of the only good he is able to perceive -- the symbiotic love of two human beings.

Alone on the hill, with the dark sky and the stars above and the discordant world below, the narrator sinks more deeply into a contemplative state and, much like Stapledon’s description of the Whiteheadian explorer, proceeds on a panoramic exploration, leaving his mountain top in a flight of imagination while staring at the stars. During this flight of imagination he finds himself in the grips of an inexplicable religious experience, praising and worshipping the maker of the stars above. This description closely parallels Whitehead’s account of the power and nature of religious experience:

The power of God is the worship he inspires. That religion is strong which in its ritual modes of thought evokes an apprehension of the commanding vision. The worship of God is not a rule of safety -- it is an adventure of the spirit, a flight after the unattainable. (SMW 276)

The narrator’s exploration of the depths of his imagination transforms him into a disembodied consciousness which soars away from the earth. His explorations are indeed a flight after the unattainable, for he visits a multiplicity of worlds, galaxies, and universes, experiences the entire temporal span of the cosmos, and apprehends the divine principle that underlies the cosmos -- the Star Maker. He is able to comprehend worlds or universes that vary greatly from his own only when able to establish a mental communion with an hospitable inhabitant of the area he is exploring. As he continues in his exploration these hospitable aliens remain in mental communion with the narrator and eventually compose a communal "I" which becomes the persona of the novel, until the initial narrator’s eventual return to earth. As beings of higher complexity are integrated into the communal "I," it is better able to comprehend galaxies and universes widely divergent in kind and complexity from those more similar to the earth (SM 298-300, 310f, 342-45).

All of the worlds visited by the communal "I" early in the novel are in the throes of a social crisis caused by a lack of communal spirit. However, as the lucidity of the communal "I" deepens, it is able to apprehend universes in which this crisis is avoided, at least for a time. These universes are all based on a social system of symbiotic unity which parallels the relationship of the initial narrator and his wife. Although these worlds also eventually perish, they do so with a sense of joy and peace as they realize that they have reached the highest level of spiritual and social development of which they are capable and perish with a sense of purposefulness. Thus Stapledon is able to provide a tentative solution for the lack of community which he sees as a threat to man’s survival. His symbiotic communities are the metaphoric concretion of his philosophical conception of personality-in-community -- his spiritualized Marxism. Thus, he has metaphorically established his social philosophy in Star Maker.

However, Stapledon has not yet made concrete those aspects of Whitehead’s metaphysics that he so admired in Philosophy And Living. By establishing a metaphoric adaptation of certain aspects of Whitehead’s thought, he is able to integrate into his novel the second great need of modern man -- a viable metaphysics.

Stapledon concretizes his criticism of the classical dualism in most philosophies by employing a cosmology strikingly Whiteheadian in nature. Whitehead’s organic theory of nature is used metaphorically by Stapledon as he breaks down our traditional conceptions of mind and matter. For example, both the stars and planets in Star Maker embody consciousness, emotions, and spirituality. They are, in fact, more highly developed spiritually and mentally than man himself. A symbiotic civilization of fish and crab-like creatures has also reached a higher level of inner awareness than man. Even lower forms, such as the primitive nebulae from which the more advanced stars evolved, are vested with a very primitive form of consciousness (SM 402).

The evolutionary aspects of Whiteheadian thought permeate the entire scope of Stapledon’s Star Maker. The cosmic "I" itself evolves as more fully developed perspectives are integrated into this disembodied viewpoint. The civilizations, galaxies, and universes the cosmic "I" perceives are in different stages of evolution. The process of life in general is described as an evolutionary waxing and waning. Thus Stapledon’s cosmic "I" can say:

Each individual spirit, in nearly all these worlds, attained at some point in life some lowly climax of awareness and of spiritual integrity, only to sink slowly or catastrophically back into nothingness. Or so it seemed. As in my own world, so in all others, lives were spent in pursuit of shadowy ends that remained ever lust around the corner. There were vast tracts of boredom and frustration, with here and there some rare bright joy. (SM 301).

The negative aspects of this description of life closely parallel that of Whitehead’s in Science and the Modern World. However, Whitehead sees mans religious experience as providing a stabilizing unity and teleology to an otherwise largely banal existence.

The immediate reaction of human nature to the religious vision is worship. Religion has emerged into human experience mixed with the crudest fancies of barbaric imagination. Gradually, slowly, steadily the vision recurs in history under nobler form and with clearer expression. It is the one element in human experience which persistently shows an upward trend. It fades and then recurs. But when it renews its force, it recurs with an added richness and purity of content. The fact of religious vision, and its history of persistent expansion, is our one ground of optimism. Apart from it, human life is a flash of occasional enjoyments lighting up a mass of pain and misery, a bagatelle of transient experience. (SMW 276)

Stapledon also sees that the development of a religious sense is necessary in Star Maker. Throughout the early portions of Star Maker the cosmic mind is unable to accept the perpetual perishing of civilizations, this waxing and waning nature of reality. Star Maker, the divine principle of the novel, is hence viewed as evil. However, when Star Maker is fully conceived in the novel -- the universe ceases to seem meaningless, but is seen as in the grips of an evolutionary creativity in which change is necessary for growth.

Whitehead’s earliest description of God as the limiting factor in the universe which channels the flux of creativity to achieve beauty or harmony (SMW 255-57) is evident in this account of the Star Maker:

The spirit brooded. Though infinite and eternal, it had limited itself with finite and temporal being and it brooded on a past that pleased it not. It was dissatisfied also with its own passing nature. Discontent goaded the spirit into fresh creation. (SM 407)

This single brief description of the creative limitation of Star Maker embodies two other attributes Whitehead eventually incorporates more fully into his concept of God: the divine dipolarity and the creative evolutionism of the creator as well as the creature.

Stapledon explicitly describes Star Maker as dipolar -- both primordial and consequent. The infinite and eternal aspects of Star Maker correspond to Whitehead’s primordial nature of God (PR 521-23), and his finitude and temporality parallel Whitehead’s consequent nature of God (PR 523). Stapledon refers to Star Maker as "twiminded" (SM 419) and speaks of his "twimindedness" (SM 420). "In my dream, the Star Maker himself, as eternal and absolute spirit, timelessly contemplated all his works; but also as the finite mode of the absolute spirit, he bodied forth his creations one after the other" (SM 413). Stapledon again emphasizes the dual nature of Star Maker as both eternal and temporal, when his cosmic "I" describes its meeting with Star Maker:

I was indeed confronted by the Star Maker, but the Star Maker was now revealed as more than the creative and therefore finite spirit. He now appeared as the eternal and perfect spirit which comprises all things and all times, and contemplates timelessly the infinitely diverse host which it comprises. (SM 429)

Star Maker, like Whitehead’s God, is himself in the grips of evolutionary creativity (PR 527). "According to the strange dream or myth which took possession of my mind, the Star Maker in his finite and creative mode was actually a developing, an awakening spirit" (SM 413). "Again and again, according to my myth, the Star Maker learned from his creature and thereby outgrew his creature, and craved to work upon an ampler plan" (SM 414).

Because both Whitehead’s and Stapledon’s Gods are affected by their own creations, learning from their creations, nothing of value in the universe is lost. It is prehended by succeeding creations, incorporated into them, and therefore achieves what Whitehead refers to as "objective immortality" (PR 327). The cosmic "I" no longer sees the perpetual perishing of worlds or universes, or even itself, as ultimate evil, but instead cries out in adoration to its creator: "It is enough to have been created, to have embodied for a moment the infinite and tumultuously creative spirit. It is infinitely more than enough to have been used, to have been the rough sketch for some perfected creation. And so there came upon me a strange peace and a strange joy" (SM 410). This same attitude is held by those worlds who have developed a high degree of lucidity as they recognize their own perishing (SM 317, 268, 385).

The cosmic "I" thus perceives that love is not the aspiration of the ultimate, as a loving creator could not allow the destruction of that which he loves. Stapledon’s persona reflects about the moment of ultimate confrontation with Star Maker: "For I have been confronted not by a welcoming and kindly love, but by a very different spirit. And at once I knew that the Star Maker had made me not to be his bride, nor yet his treasured child, but for some other end. . . . The Star Maker neither loved nor had need of love" (SM 409). This "other end" is that of evolutionary process and creativity aimed toward a perfected future. Whitehead also believes that love is not the ultimate value. He, in fact, criticizes Christianity for its emphasis on love:

It dwells upon the tender elements in the world, which slowly and in quietness operate by love; and it finds purpose in the present immediacy of a kingdom not of this world. Love neither rules, nor is it unmoved; also it is a little oblivious as to morals. It does not look to the future; for it finds its own reward in the immediate present. (PR 520)

Not love, but harmony and peace are the ultimate goals or values in both Stapledon’s and Whitehead’s evolutionary cosmology (AI 367). In Stapledon’s Star Maker all universes that have achieved an appropriate level of lucidity achieve such a feeling of harmony, peace, and even joy despite their own impending dissolution.

Such as it is, the spirit that we have achieved is fair; and it is indestructibly woven into the tissue of the cosmos. We die praising the universe in which at least such an achievement as ours can be. We die knowing that the promise of further glory outlives us in other galaxies. We die praising the Star Maker, the Star Destroyer. (SM 363)

As the initial narrator disengages himself from the cosmic "I" and returns to the hillside outside London his earlier disillusion is replaced by a similar peace, "I singled out my window. A surge of joy, of wild joy swept me like a wave. Then peace" (SM 430). They have all played their part in contributing to the ultimate goal of the Star Maker and have therefore achieved purposefulness

The goal which the Star Maker sought to realize was richness, delicacy, depth, and harmoniousness of being. . . . It seemed to me that in some cases, as in our own cosmos, he pursued this end by means of an evolutionary process crowned by an awakened cosmic mind, which strove to gather into its own awareness the whole wealth of the cosmic existence, and by creative action to increase it. (SM 425)

This realization that destruction can ultimately lead to a greater lucidity yields peace. It does not lead to "anesthesia" (AI 368) as it does not curtail experience, but creates a drive for higher experience. Stapledon closes his book with the suburban Londoner disengaging himself from the cosmic "I," returning to earth, again poised between the light of the stars and the light glowing from the window of his home:

Two lights for guidance. The first, our little glowing atom of community, with all that it signifies. The second, the cold light of the stars, symbol of hypercosmical reality, with its crystal ecstasy. Strange that in this light, in which even the dearest love is frostily assessed, and even possible defeat of our half-waking world is contemplated without remission of praise, the human crisis does not lose but gains significance. Strange, that it seems more, not less, urgent to play some part in this struggle, this brief effort of animalcules striving to win for their race some increase of lucidity before the ultimate darkness. (SM 434)

Therefore, the evolutionary urge moves inexorably toward the future, despite destruction and perpetual perishing. Stapledon, though his use of personality-in-community and Whiteheadian metaphysics, has succeeded in creating the mythic community he strove for. Stapledon’s hope at the close of the novel is futuristic, and he hopes that his panoramic, mountain top vision for that future be "not wholly irrelevant" (SM 250).

 

References

PL -- Olaf Stapledon. Philosophy And Living. Harmondsworth, Middlesex, England: Penguin Books Limited, 1939.

SM -- Olaf Stapledon. Star Maker in Last and First Men and Star Maker: Two Science-Fiction Novels By Olaf Stapledon. New York: Dover Publications, 1968.

 

Notes

1He has also written a specific technical study of Whitehead’s earlier philosophy of nature: "The Location of the Physical Objects," Philosophy, 4 (1929), 64-75.

Anti-Judaism in Process Christologies?

Anti-Judaism has long played an important, and sometimes formative, role in the shaping of the Christian witness. It has also been a significant factor in Christian theological reflection upon that witness. Literature which analyzes its impact on the canonical writings of the early church and on the history of theology abounds (see CAS, JCP, JP, MJCT, MTJL, EYB, YPMP, AJ, NDNTS, HASRC, TC, JCSC, JCA, CCS, HAS, FF, PPJ, JECM, AJu). This witness and theology also played a significant part in the social, legal, cultural, and economic incorporation of the negative image of Jews and Judaism into the fabric of Christian culture from the time of the first anti-Jewish legislation at the Council of Elvira (306) until the time of the French Revolution (in the West) (see many of the above, especially FF). In Eastern Europe anti-Jewish pogroms continued until the fall of czarist Russia. The social significance of Christian anti-Judaism in the United States has been well established by contemporary social scientists (see CBAS and WS).

The purpose of this paper is to raise the question of whether anti-Judaism also is present in the christological reflection of the process theologians. Before asking this question, we shall have to attend to the matter of defining anti-Judaism. With the definition in hand we shall then look at a number of process theologians, from only one of whom shall we find it completely missing. Then we shall formulate an hypothesis with relation to the role played by this anti-Judaism in contemporary society.

I

There are two forms of anti-Judaism in Christian theology. One is the classical form, and the other, more recent, is the modern historical-critical form. A. Lukyn Williams, in his classical study Adversus Judaeos (AJu) carefully analyzed the works of almost one hundred early and medieval theologians in which he found anti-Judaism to be a strong theme. To the best of my knowledge, it was George Foot Moore who first exposed its presence in modern, historical-critical biblical study (JFC and 4).

For a clear view of classical anti-Judaism we shall rely upon an exhaustive analysis of Tertullian’s theology (TAJ). Anti-Judaism plays a significant role in twenty-seven of Tertullian’s thirty-two extant works. Several of the major doctrines of his theology can be said to have been shaped by it. God, for Tertullian, is one, but not as exclusively one as Jews believe, being also three; father, but unacknowledged by Jews; merciful, forgiving even Jews; just, punishing especially Jews; wise, even in dealing with sinful Jews; consistent, despite the Jews; humble enough to accept death from Jews; patient, despite impatient Jews; revealed, but Jews fail to understand; lord of history, and proves it against Jews; limitless, except that God cannot now ask anything Jewish.

With regard to the Law (what Jews call Torah, way, path, instruction), Tertullian’s most frequent assertion is that the "old" law or covenant has been transformed or renewed. This transformation is for the better, and the point has its variations: less is expected of Christians, or more is expected, but always better is expected. The theme of transformation for the better makes constant reference to the un-renewed, old Jewish Law as unthinkable for Christians. Also, the "spiritual meaning" of the old law is by way of trying to salvage something of value from what is deemed old, Jewish, and therefore valueless.

Tertullian’s conception of the Church and the heavily anti-Jewish ideas and emphases which characterize much of it needs to be noticed. As was the case with law and covenant, the church is that with which God has replaced Israel and that whose newness and superiority is expressed in and through Christ. Tertullian’s church seems to be the "payoff" symbol, the point at which the "cash value" of the anti-Judaism of the other symbols is redeemed. With his conception of his church, his people, we are faced with his understanding of himself and his community. The church is here fundamentally a community, a new people which in God’s design has replaced the old. It is further a gentile people, universal, and therefore superior to the old, ethnocentric Jews. The emphasis throughout is on differentiation from and superiority to Judaism.

Tertullian’s work is not simply academic theology. It is preaching, pastoral care, and community organizing for the Christian community at Carthage. More than an attitude, his anti-Judaism is a kind of model:

both a model of and a model for. It is a model of Judaism: of a system, of a people rejected by Cod, unfaithful to God, rejecting Christ, opposed to Christianity, and caught up in a trail of crimes which culminates in deicide. It is a mode I of sterility, disobedience, and the past. On the contrary, Christianity, on the same model, becomes a people of newness, of fidelity, of spirituality, of moral vigor, and of universality.

But Tertullian’s anti-Judaism is also a model for: a model for how Christians are to read the Bible (exegesis), for how they are to pray and worship spiritually (as opposed to carnally), and for how they are to act morally -- all in clear opposition to Jewish ways of reading the Bible, of praying, and of acting.

The hinge on which Tertullian’s anti-Judaism turns, however, is his view of Christ. Jesus is the focal point of Tertullian’s anti-Judaism and a means for giving it striking expression. There are several patterns of discourse on this theme in Tertullian, and in each either the image or the function of Tertullian’s Christ has a fundamental anti-Jewish resonance. There is first a kind of christological scheme, in which Jesus is a divine or more-than-human object of faith. What is typically Jewish in this series of assertions is the rejection of the more-than-human. Then there is an emphasis on Jesus’ life and death, most often described as spent or having happened in conflict with the Jews. Third, Tertullian writes of the teaching of Jesus as a teaching against Jews and Judaism. Tertullian uses Jews and Judaism as a foil against which his conception of who Jesus is and what he says and does is expressed. The conflict between Judaism and Tertullian’s Christ is strong, bitter, and profound. Christ is the "dividing line" between Christianity and Judaism, but he is also clearly on "our" side of the line. He is the sign of the displacement of the other side of the line and the means by which our side is enabled to transform for the better what was on the old side of the line. In classical anti-Judaism, Christ is used to establish the superiority of Christianity to Judaism.

Anti-Judaism in modern, historical-critical scholarship has been well documented by such scholars as Moore, E. P. Sanders (PPJ 33-59), and Charlotte Klein (AJCT). Many scholars and theologians persist, on allegedly historical-critical grounds, in the effort to understand Jesus over-and-against the Judaism (s) of his time. Essentially their work revolves around four areas of concern: the so-called "late Judaism," law and legalistic piety, the Pharisees, and Jewish responsibility for the crucifixion.

"Late Judaism," the Judaism from the period of the Babylonian exile to the revolt of bar Kokhba, is characterized as inauthentic Judaism, a Judaism that turned its back on genuine faith in the Lord, the God of Israel, and the message of the prophets. Henceforth, Judaism is on the wrong track and has abandoned its true faith. This Judaism is said by Georg Fohrer to have failed in its "divine task by constantly falling away from the way of life imposed on [it] . . . and wanting to use God merely as metaphysical security for their own life" (cited in AJCT). Late Judaism is an absurd result of a decadent, "blind" rabbinic scholarship that is exaggeratedly preoccupied with the letter of the law. As such it is preparatory for and inferior to Christianity. Jesus rejects this "old" Judaism and, with his words and work, no longer forms a part of the history of Israel. In him the history of Israel has come, rather, to its end. What belongs to the history of Israel is the process of his rejection and condemnation by the Jerusalem religious community. Late Judaism was in a state of decadence, of orthodoxy and legalism. Its faith was externalized and rigid; God had become a distant God and the prophetic message was forgotten. Jesus is understood as the decisive rejection of this old, dead Judaism.

Law and legalistic piety, characteristic of "late" Judaism, are condemned. That Torah is hardly rendered with adequacy as "law" is not acknowledged. Legalistic piety, says Joachim Jeremias, is the "cancer" of Judaism (NTT 227). It is "the piety that separates us from God." Consequently, legalistic exegesis of the "Old’ Testament is "blind." Only the Church can read the scriptures. Legalistic Jews were "deaf to the gospel" (Jeremias).

The Pharisees continue to be represented in theology and biblical scholarship as the enemies of Jesus’ teaching. When Jon Sobrino discusses Jesus’ approach to prayer, he does so under the rubric of "Jesus Criticism of Contemporary Prayer" (CC 146). He starts with the Lukan version of the parable of the Pharisee and the publican, in which, he says, "Jesus condemns the prayer of the Pharisees [note the plural] because it is the self-assertion of an egotistical ‘I’ and hence vitiated at its very core" (CC 147). The Pharisee’s "pole of reference" is not to God but to himself. Also, the Pharisee is "even less oriented toward other human beings. He holds them in contempt . . . and he thanks God that he is not like them" (CC 147). The prayer of the Pharisees is a mechanical ceremony in self-deception. Although Sobrino is willing to grant the fact of Jesus’ participation in the prayer life of Judaism, this "does not show what is most typical of Jesus own prayer (CC 152). The way we know this, of course, is by applying the criterion of dissimilarity" to the figure of the historical Jesus. Throughout his discussion of Jesus’ views of prayer, Sobrino basically follows Jeremias’ New Testament Theology.

Jewish guilt in the death of Jesus is widely affirmed in historical-critical scholarship. Karl Rahner, in his "Meditations on St. Ignatius’ Exercises," states: "The crucified Lord is betrayed and abandoned by his friends, rejected by his people, repudiated by the Church of the Old Testament" (cited in AJCT). Jeremias, in Jerusalem in the Time of Jesus, claims: "It was an act of unparalleled risk which Jesus performed when, from the full power of his consciousness of sovereignty, he openly and fearlessly called these men [the Pharisees] to repentance, and this act brought him to the cross" (cited in AJCT).

Relying on Rahner and Jeremias, Sobrino describes an historical Jesus in total discontinuity with his Jewish context. Jesus’ opposition to the religious oppression imposed on the people by the Pharisees spells his doom. His liberalism and nonconformism really did bring him to the cross" (CC 75n4). Though Jesus was not a prophet, he "was a prophet among other things, and he was crucified for that reason (CC 202). His seventh thesis on the death of Jesus states: "Jesus is condemned to death for blasphemy" (CC 204). Mark’s history is explained by the comment that "it was his [Jesus’] particular conception of God that underlay his ongoing conflict with the Jewish religious authorities" (CC 205). Opposed to the "blind leaders of the blind," Jesus "was a liberal on religious matters and that led him to the cross" (CC 206). "Here, I think, we come to the crux of the matter. In the last analysis Jesus is hostile to the religious leaders of his day and is eventually condemned because of his conception of God" (CC 206). The radical difference between the viewpoints of Jesus and the Pharisees explains Jesus’ tragic end (CC 208).

Before concluding this sketch of modern, historical-critical anti-Judaism, I wish to cite or make some comments on each of these four points. (1) First-century Judaism "kept grace and works in the right perspective," says E. P. Sanders, "did not trivialize the commandments of God and was not especially marked by hypocrisy" (PPJ 247). Judaism not only held the gift and demand of God in a sound relation to each other, but provided that the God who elected Israel would also redeem Israel. Markus Barth, who knows something about grace, stresses the passages in first-century Jewish writings "that magnify grace alone" (1:85). The rabbinic midrash on Exodus 15:13 was: "You have been gracious to us, for we had no good works to show" (cited in AJCT 40).

(2) The standard view of law and legalistic piety can no longer honestly be held. It presents Judaism with a no-win situation. If Jews keep the Torah, this only proves that they are self-righteous. If they do not, they are disobedient. This view has been seriously challenged, and I think fatally so, by several scholars (see HR, 3, and 6). The recognition is growing that none of Jesus’ teachings falls outside the range of the Judaisms of his time.

(3) Increasingly, scholars are aware of the close similarity between the teachings of Jesus and those teachings found in the Mishnah and Talmud and attributed to the Pharisees. This is so much the case, says J. Coert Rylaarsdam, that "insofar as they still hazard making specific statements about the historical Jesus, responsible scholars today tend to associate him with the Pharisees" (7:8).

(4) The suggestion that Jews or Jewish religious authorities or "the Jews" were responsible for the death of Jesus stems, ultimately, from viewing Jesus as in radical discontinuity with his whole context. This view is supported by the application of the "criterion of dissimilarity" to the sayings of Jesus in order to establish which ones are the more distinctive and supposedly, therefore, authentic. Not only is the price to be paid for the use of the criterion of dissimilarity extraordinarily high (Norman Perrin admits that "by definition it will exclude all teaching in which Jesus may have been at one with Judaism") (RTJ 43), it also presumes a view of the sociohistorical process directly contradicted by Whitehead’s metaphysics. Presumably Jesus was largely constituted by his past actual world. Accordingly, a so-called "process hermeneutic" of the historical Jesus, i.e., an attempt at a critical-historical reconstruction of the figure of the historical Jesus informed by the categories of process thought, would be guided by the attempt to find the "representative Jesus" rather than the "unique Jesus."

Each form of anti-Judaism, classical or modern, serves to establish a theological point: that Christianity has superseded Judaism. I take "supersede" here in the simple sense of its dictionary definition:

1. to replace in power, authority, effectiveness, acceptance, use, etc., as by another person or thing. 2. to set aside or cause to be set aside as void, useless, or obsolete. . . . 3. to succeed to the position, function, office, etc., of; supplant. Synonyms: replace, void, overrule, annul, revoke, rescind. (RH1 1428)

The standard definition strictly reflects the origin of the word in Latin: sedere, to sit + super, on or upon. One thing sits on or upon the place of another, displacing it. In Christian anti-Judaism the theme of transformation for the better is prominent. Through Christ, who provides the base for the something better, Christianity supersedes Judaism by transforming it into something superior to it.

II

Our question, then, is: Is anti-Judaism present in the Christological reflection of the process theologians? We shall find our answer by means of a quick survey.

In the light of considerations adduced above, it would seem that process thinkers would not fall prey to the view of Jesus found in the Adversus Judaeos tradition. This view, according to which Jesus is an absolutely novel historical event owing nothing to his past actual world, stresses that in his "kingly character" Jesus is "complete in Himself." "He lives out of Himself and takes nothing from His environment but only gives" (SHJ 77). Jesus is so completely novel, at least in any or all theologically important ways, that he becomes the chief human (?) exception to the principle of relativity. This, however, is not the case. Only rarely, and then weakly, are process theologians guided by their own categories in interpreting the figure of Jesus.

Peter Hamilton, for instance, while preferring to avoid the word "unique" in reference to the historical Jesus, nonetheless says that

if it is to be used I wish to affirm the uniqueness of the whole event Jesus Christ, the whole Judaeo-Christian "salvation-history," as the supreme revelation and enactment of God’s redeeming love: a unique event with a unique effect. . . . Within this whole unique event the life, death and resurrection of Jesus occupy a uniquely central, indeed pivotal, position. In his historical context Jesus is thus doubly "unique." (PPCT 373)

As a result, Hamilton makes extensive use of the "criterion of dissimilarity" to "pick out aspects of the gospel accounts of Jesus’ conduct and teaching which are in sharp contrast to the current practice and teaching of his day" (PPCT 365). Such a disparity between Jesus and his entire context leads Hamilton to "agree with Fuchs and others that it was Jesus conduct, thus closely reinforced by his proclamation, that led the Jewish leaders to destroy him" (PPCT 366). He constructs his view of the historical Jesus on the confident assumption, which he shares with form criticism, that greatest reliability can be attributed to those elements in Jesus’ teaching that contrast with the outlook of Judaism. He can thus cite approvingly R. H. Fuller’s statement that the death of Jesus is interpreted as Israel’s No to the proclamation of Jesus and the resurrection as God’s Yes, his validation of Jesus’ message (PPCT 374). The implication would seem to be that God’s Yes is God’s No to Israel, the negation of Israel’s negation.

Whereas in the essay of Hamilton that is under discussion, Jesus appears clearly as the "dividing line" between Christianity and Judaism, Hamilton earlier struck a somewhat different chord. Here he stresses that

Jesus emerges at the start of his ministry not as someone remote from his fellows who propounds utterly new teaching and largely ignores what has gone before him, but on the contrary as one who stands in line with the great Jewish prophets, who enriches, deepens, and purges the teaching of the Jewish church [sic!], and in so doing builds upon it, not apart from it. (LGMW 193)

Underscoring the fact that "the element of absolute novelty in Jesus’ teaching is smaller than is often supposed," Hamilton affirms that Jesus’ distinctiveness lies in how he selected from his tradition certain themes and gave them a completely new emphasis" (LGMW 194). While this approach is less harsh, it still enables Hamilton to get what he needs out of the figure of Jesus: enough absolute novelty and completely new emphases to criticize, fulfill, and transcend Judaism. Jesus is, in either approach, the means whereby Christianity’s supersession of Judaism is effected. (Hamilton’s view of the historical Jesus remains a matter of uncertainty in these writings.)

Norman Pittenger’s forthright interrelation of Jesus by means of the categories of process thought leads him to state that "Jesus was a Jew in his own time and place" (CR 35). His teachings and ideas were all "set in the context of the Judaism of his age" (CR 35). "He thought like a Jew, he understood as a Jew understood; and surely deep in his psychology were those factors, inherited and social, which determined the limits in which his thinking and understanding were carried on" (CR 36).

Jesus is obviously no intrusion from outside into the history of the Jewish people; the slightest acquaintance with the story of his life coupled with an awareness of Jewish history demonstrates beyond a shadow of doubt that he was of the Jews in the most profound sense. (CR 72)

Pittenger also discriminates among the various kinds of response to Jesus: rejection "by the authorities of Church and State," "puzzlement on the part of local religious leaders," "the acceptance of the common people who heard him gladly," and "the utter loyalty and devotion found in the circle of his disciples" (CR 76f).

There is a clear universalism, also, in Pittenger’s christology. Jesus is the chief exemplification of, not the chief exception to, what it means to be a human being. Also, in Jesus we see how God acts upon or relates universally to all people. Jesus is the classical instance of a human being. His uniqueness is one of inclusion, not exclusion, and his importance is analogous to that of other important moments in history.

Yet there remains, in my judgment, an ambiguity in Pittenger as to whether this importance is confessional-historical or empirical-historical. The old language, shaped by the adversus Judaeos tradition, finds its way into his reflections. In spite of his admirable rejection of an exclusivistic christology, it was the "older Israel" into which Jesus was born and of which he was a part, and it is the "Church of the new dispensation" which is brought into being by faith in him (CR 95). Although Jesus was a genuine Jew of the first century, he is important not only for casting "enormous light upon that which preceded... and so prepared for" him, but also for "opening up for the future new and remarkable possibilities both of understanding and of action" (PT 211). Finally, Pittenger leaves room for doubt as to whether he affirms a gentle kind of supersessionism according to which the historical Jesus selects and omits from his heritage and fulfills it by understanding it more profoundly, thus allowing into history the release of a new affection which transcends his heritage.

Among process theologians God is not happily thought of as the "cosmic moralist," and the "divine lawgiver and judge" often fails to find a warm welcome in our midst. The reasons for this stance are plentiful and the emphasis is understandable. Yet our bias against the cosmic moralist" blinds us to the fact that in Judaism law or, preferably, Torah, is a theologoumenon for God. When we use the words "law" and "legalism," which latter we often take as a synonym for the former, in any way which is incompatible with the 119th Psalm ("Thy word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path" -- verse 105), we misunderstand Judaism and inevitably set Jesus falsely in opposition to Judaism.

Grace becomes, in Bernard E. Meland’s words, "a transformative working in human nature and in human events, rising above the automatic mechanisms of evil as well as the rigidities of law" (FC 42). Myth, claims Meland, "transcends the law, in the sense that it holds before the culture the total range of higher sensibilities, while law means to keep it committed to an essential minimum of sensibility" (FC 50). Consequently, "Christ stands to the moral culture of the Jews as love transcends the law" (FC 86). The moral consciousness of the Jews, refined through a long process of devotion to the Law, "became as a seed bed for a more sensitive and appreciative consciousness in response to the working of God" (FC 86). The relation of love to law is not dialectical, but of such a nature that that which transcends the law still needs that which it transcends: "Faith stands to reason as love transcends the law. But faith can be made to betray all truth in unreason Just as love can be made sordid and sentimental without the restraint of observing law" (FC 122).

Accordingly, Meland’s view of Jesus (or, at least, of the teachings attributed to Jesus) is of one whose teachings call into judgment "the legal good [which] was externally conceived, leaving the inner problem of motive or intention uncalculated" (FC 162). Commenting on the good that is discerned in Christ, he says: "For the structures of moral and rational good, the virtues of law and the logic of cause and effect, though not wholly canceled, are subsumed and transcended, and thereupon transmuted by the spontaneity, the freedom, and grace of forgiving love" (FC 220).

In discussing the topic of "the new creation," Meland clearly sets forth a view in which a new "structure of consciousness" is initiated into history by the person of Jesus (RE 259). In the Christ event, "human structures, already impregnated with the seeds of Redemption through antecedent events, became articulate and responsive with a sensitivity and receptiveness that literally thrust upon the social community a new level of consciousness, a new center of consciousness and concern" (RE 258). This new emergence "took place within the conflict of two social orders in which the tenuous but creative forces of the new Israel, working through the Christ, engaged in deadly battle with the vested interests of a receding Jewish order" (HF 259). Correspondingly, Jesus played the central role in a "revolution within the culture of Israel" (HF 260).

If I do not read him incorrectly, Meland comes close to identifying Judaism, or at least Pharisaism, with the principle of inauthentic existence, i.e., sin.

Now it must be recognized that, indispensable as the concerns for the moral and reasonable life are in themselves, their bent of interest when exclusively pursued, tends to magnify the will to security at the expense of the life of the spirit. This is no easy problem, and we should not deal lightly with it. But there were ample grounds for Jesus’ impatience with the Pharisees; and they are the same grounds that make it imperative that we do not allow Christian faith to lapse into an ethical legalism or a rigid moralism. (RF 264)

It is difficult to avoid the conclusion that, for Meland, Jesus Christ is the vehicle for the emergence into history of a new sensitivity that supersedes that found in Judaism. This supersession includes the church, since the definition of the Christ event includes the transformed lives of those who respond to Christ. We cannot get behind the witness of the earliest church to the historical Jesus (HF 260).

When we turn to Daniel Day Williams’ analysis of those "archetypal forms which love takes in history [and] which can be distinguished and analysed" (SFL 4), we find a thinker who is sensitive to the questions raised by Christian claims of superiority to Judaism. He says of his chapter on "Love in the New Testament" that it "is not written with the view that Christianity answers every question raised in Judaism, or to prove that the Christian way of understanding God’s redemptive work is superior to that of Judaism. The two faiths belong together while each has its distinctive outlook and its characteristic problems" (SFL 34).

In his description of love in the Hebrew faith he comments that

it is not uncommon to find those who stand outside the Hebrew faith characterizing the God of the Old Testament as one whose nature is essentially that of the righteous law-giver who demands conformity to his law. The possibility of mercy is therefore a problem for God. Judgment is fundamental, mercy only a new and disturbing possibility. But this surely is a wrongheaded view of the Hebrew faith. God’s love and mercy, his care and compassion, are the very foundation of his covenant with Israel. (SFL 22)

Accordingly, he correctly points out that the language of intimacy in love as applied to God, the love between father and son, between husband and wife, are basic in Hebraic speech about the love of God for Israel (SFL 19f). Not only are God’s steadfastness and tenderness emphasized, but Williams points out that "the theological sense of the meaning of married love ran ahead of the social practice" (SFL 23). Also, this love was not narrowly restricted to Israel (see Leviticus 19:17-18).

Nonetheless, there seems to be a form of supersessionism in Williams’ analysis of the history of the forms of love. The Hebrew scripture bequeath to us "two major perplexities about the love of God" (SFL 25). One has to do with what the doctrine of election implies for the idea of God as the loving father of all human beings, and the other with the meaning of God’s suffering in redemption. Commenting on Amos 3:2a ("You only have I known of all the nations of the earth), Williams asks: "Where, then does it [the Old Testament] leave us with God’s relation to everyman? Does God love some and not others?" (SFL 25). An "ultimate tension" is created in the Hebrew faith by this question, says Williams.

However, Williams fails to note that when such a word is spoken to Israel it is always in the context of Israel’s obligations, not that of its privileges. What the text says is:

Hear this word that the Lord has spoken against you, 0 people of Israel, against the whole family which I brought up out of the land of Egypt:

"You only have I known

of all the families of the earth;

therefore I will punish you

for all your iniquities.

(Amos 3:1-2; emphasis mine)

Although Williams goes on to qualify significantly the claim that Israel’s understanding of God’s love is ethnocentric, he cites with approval H. Richard Niebuhr’s statement "that the history of Israel is marked by an almost continuous struggle between social henotheism and radical monotheism" (SFL 26). Although universalistic passages are found in the Hebrew Bible and reflected in the Talmud, this issue remains a perplexity for ancient Israel, to be taken up and seen in a new perspective in the New Testament (SFL 34). So it is also with the question of "whether and how the suffering of God becomes the decisive action through which he meets the need, not only of Israel, but of the whole creation" (SFL 33). This remains a "final obscurity, unresolved by the Old Testament (SFL 33). With these perplexities and this obscurity, the New Testament begins.

Although the New Testament has answers for these difficulties, its own answers do not completely resolve the issues, which are then taken up in the subsequent history of the forms of love in the Christian tradition (SFL 39). In spite of his acute sensitivity to Christian claims of superiority, then, Williams does affirm that the rise of Christian faith answers questions left to us by Judaism and which Judaism itself does not answer. Partly this is confirmed by the procedure or the outline of his book. The question is not raised whether Judaism itself, in the more recent two thousand years of its history, might have carried further its own reflections upon the forms of love. All the carrying further is done in the Christian tradition or in certain secular stances derivative from it. Judaism as a living faith is not considered.

David Griffin’s christological reflections are devoted to the task of finding a way to affirm, meaningfully, that Jesus was a "special act of God," in order to be able to say that to respond in faith to Jesus or to accept Jesus as genuinely revelatory is appropriate. He is primarily concerned to argue, not with Judaism, but with views of revelation which he sees as subjectivist and therefore arbitrary.

Nevertheless, in order to establish Jesus as "God’s supreme act of self-expression, he has recourse to the tradition of setting Jesus apart from the Judaisms of his time. The following quotation is an example. "The Christian vision of reality, as based on Jesus’ vision of reality, is also different from those views which see God as having acted in the past but as being absent in the present, or at least as not doing anything new. Such a view was prevalent in the orthodox Judaism of Jesus’ time (PC 200f.). Griffin does not clarify for us which Judaism of Jesus’ time he regards as orthodox. But it is to be doubted that the Judaisms of Jesus’ time utterly rejected the notion of the Shekhinah, the presence of God.

As we have seen above in Pittenger. Griffin affirms that Jesus’ vision of reality was not "totally new" (PC 217). It presumed the general vision of reality which had developed in Israel, and its "newness consisted in the way the various elements were weighted" (PC 217). The love of God now takes priority over God’s justice, and what God demands is what we experience as most fulfilling. "These shifts altered the whole tenor of the Hebrew vision of reality" (PC 217; emphasis mine). The nature of Jesus’ prehension of and response to God’s initial aims for him, together with the congruence of those initial aims with God’s general aims for the universe allows us to say that Jesus was "God’s supreme act of self-expression" (PC 221). Such a light as was never before seen on sea or land has now found dative exemplification.

The saving effects of the self-revelation of God in Jesus Christ allow Griffin to attribute an element of truth to the two views that (1) God can now provide for us possibilities which God could not previously provide and that (2) God’s attitude is different toward Christians and non-Christians (PC 236-44).

Before revelation, God could only present those aims which were the best real possibilities for the man who had an inadequate, even idolatrous, view of the sacred. But after the Christian revelation, after the man begins to see God, the world, and himself in terms of the Christian vision of reality, he is open to receiving different aims. After the revelation in Christ man is capable of receiving aims which more directly express God’s character and purpose, the divine Logos. (PC 241f)

Now God can begin to be in human beings as Logos, and not only as Holy Spirit (PC 242). This seems capable, without misrepresentation, of being taken as supersessionist; we will not comment on the Trinitarian doctrine involved. More and better is or can be offered to Christians than God could have offered to Jews.

Lewis S. Ford employs an emergent-evolutionary model to support his argument "that the body of Christ with the risen Lord as its head constitutes the next evolutionary emergence beyond man" (LG 45). Here, everything seems to have been superseded. Ford seems to share Whitehead’s lack of affinity with the Old Testament. Whitehead had commented that the "worship of glory arising from rower" found in Psalm 24 was based on "a barbaric conception of God (cited in LG 15). Ford sympathizes, noting that the Old Testament’s "dominant experience of divine power seems to emphasize coercive elements, with the symbols for power drawn heavily from the military and political spheres" (LG 15).

Into this situation steps Jesus, whose "proclamation of the kingdom of God introduces a radically new way of experiencing God’s sovereignty as the power of the future. As the power of the future, God’s activity is not only purely persuasive but does not need coercive measures to achieve its purposes" (LG 31). Each characterization can be challenged. Some of us would find love dominant over coercive power in the Hebrew Bible’s statements about God and Jesus’ preaching of the coming Kingdom not wholly free of coercive power on God’s part. The Kingdom of God will come "with power" (Mark 9:1). Ford also relies upon the claim that Jesus acted out of an intimacy with his heavenly Father that startled contemporary Jewish piety" (LG 82).

All this makes possible, when combined with the resurrection of Christ, the emergence of a "transformed human community" which is "the next stage in the emergent evolution of the world, and the incarnation of the divine Word" (LG 74). This occurs in a process in which there is "an unfolding spiral development whereby later phases recapitulate earlier ones on a higher level’ (LG 76). What was earlier was lower. And now the church, through its new life in the Spirit, "sets us free from the necessity of the law.’ (LG 77). (Were not the Gentiles to whom Paul wrote now freed to keep all the Torah by loving their neighbors as themselves?) The church, the body of Christ, transcends man as such and also Judaism as one of "man’s" ways of being human. That this "higher’ emergent is better than its lower Jewish predecessor seems an inevitable conclusion from Ford’s presentation.

When John Cobb opens his discussion in The Structure of Christian Existence, he states that to "claim that Christianity embodies a distinctive structure of existence does not involve the claim that this structure of existence is better or worse than other structures" (SCE 16). It becomes clear, however, that in saying this he has primarily in mind the structure of Buddhist existence and that the structure of existence to which Christianity gives voice is better than the structure of prophetic existence.

Prophetic existence achieves its decisive breakthrough in the great prophets, particularly in Jeremiah (SCE 95). While Cobb eschews, admirably, what he regards as the unjustified and pejorative understanding of Pharisaism, he contends that "Jesus’ message is presented over against Pharisaic Judaism rather than directly in relation to the prophets themselves. In part, it should be understood as a renewal of the distinctively prophetic element within the Pharisaic synthesis" (SCE 109). Nonetheless, Christian existence transcends both Pharisaism and the prophets (SCE 109).

Whereas for postexilic Judaism and Pharisaism, "God was silent and remote," the "central and decisive fact in the appearance of Jesus was the renewal of the sense of the present immediacy of God" (SCE 110f). Consequently, Jesus overcomes the confines of the "old law" through his "renewal of the prophetic consciousness of God in the context of fully responsible personhood" (SCE 113). Hence the unequivocal separation between ethical principles and ancient taboos was made. (That Jesus declared all foods clean -- Mark 7:19 -- is not so clear, particularly when one considers that the Jerusalem church apparently never understood this to be the case and that Peter only got the point much later. It is at least possible that Mark’s gospel attributes to Jesus’ authority the practices of a later Gentile church.) Jesus radicalized Pharisaic understandings of the law in other respects also, and thus "crossed a threshold and … transformed the meaning of the materials that he took with him across the threshold" (SCE 114). Hence, spiritual existence "is a further development of personal existence" (SCE 119). In it, "a new level of transcendence appeared" (SCE 123).

Cobb wants then to argue in support of the Christian claim for the finality of Jesus Christ by making the case "that in spiritual existence personal existence was fulfilled and transformed" (SCE 140). Clearly he judges "that the essential reality which the church always recognized as its norm offered to the Jew a possibility unrealized in his mode of axial existence" (SCE 141). Cobb is keenly sensitive to the many unconscionable offenses which Christians and the church have presented to and committed against Jews and Judaism (SCE 141f). Nonetheless, he continues to hope not for a "mass conversion of Jews to Christian churches, but rather an inner transformation of Judaism itself’ (SCE 142). However, to date this hoped-for transformation of Judaism "has been seriously inhibited by the rejection of Jesus" (SCE 142).

In his christology proper, Cobb claims that "today Christians can no longer view the other great Ways of mankind in . . . [a] negative or condescending fashion" (CPA 18). In spite of his concern that Christianity develop a genuine inner openness to pluralism, however, he continues to argue the same point he debated previously, that the Christian structure of existence transcends prophetic existence and, by implication, Judaism (CPA 88f). And he relies on that kind of biblical scholarship which caricatures Judaism to make Jesus look good. "In Judaism," he quotes Bultmann, "God overlooks the sins of the religious, and this is God’s grace; God condemns the completely sinful and godless, and therefore the religious man feels himself fundamentally good" (CPA 104). (The maker of such a comment is simply unfamiliar with the Pharisaic self-criticism found in the Talmud.) Jesus creatively transforms the Judaism of his day (CPA 107).

Yet the fundamental concern of Cobb in Christ in a Pluralistic Age is to articulate the hope that "Christianity may be saved through its interior acceptance of pluralism and its creative transformation through openness to other traditions" (CPA 181). This openness is no mere tolerance but a readiness for the creative transformation of one’s own tradition (CPA 204).

Here there clearly seems to be a structural flaw in Cobb’s argument. Judaism itself is a living faith, one of the other great Ways of being human. It is one among the many constituting that pluralism toward which a genuine openness is advocated. But it would not seem possible that we can be genuinely open to that which our structure of existence has transcended and whose greatest hope for its own creative transformation is found in that which we confess as normative. This, I think, is not possible.

Cobb’s theology makes us face squarely the central issue. Precisely because of the intimate, if negative, relation of Christianity to Judaism and the history of legal, economic, cultural, and political anti-Judaism which we witness in Christendom, not to mention fifteen hundred years of pogroms culminating in the Endlösung, it is necessary that Christianity develop a genuine openness to Judaism in order to uncover and expose the wrong turns we took in the development of our own Way. Such an openness cannot be developed, however, as long as we regard Judaism as the continuation, however pure, of a Way which has been transcended and transformed by the Way which we attempt to follow, however ambiguously.

Schubert Ogden’s christological reflections provide the one clear exception to the general pattern here described. The point of the decisive re-presentation of the divine Word in Jesus Christ "is not that the Christ is manifest only in Jesus and nowhere else, but that the word addressed to men everywhere, in all the events of their lives, is none other than the word spoken in Jesus and in the preaching and sacraments of the church" (CWM 156). A direct implication of this position is that "we will have to reject all the traditional attempts to distinguish sharply between "Old Testament and New Testament," "law and gospel," . . . "Prophecy and fulfillment" (CWM 156). What is re-presented to us in Jesus in the shape of a single human life is "man’s original possibility of existence coram deo" (CWM 160). In this theocentric orientation we are reminded that Paul called Abraham "the father of us all" and invoked Christians to "share the faith of Abraham," "not because Abraham believed in Jesus, but because he ‘believed God, and it was reckoned to him as righteousness’" (CWM 154f).

The God whom we know through Jesus is the only God whom there is to know, the one found anywhere and everywhere. Hence it is not only possible but necessary that we affirm "that authentic existence can be realized apart from faith in Jesus Christ or in the Christian proclamation" (CWM 144). Ogden sees the decisive flaw in most Protestant christologies in their failure to grasp the thoroughgoing consequences of the principles sola gratia -- sola fide. It has seldom been observed that we are saved by grace alone "in complete freedom from any saving ‘work’ of the kind traditionally portrayed in the doctrines of the person and work of Jesus Christ" (CWM 145). When we misstate the conviction that God’s "saving action has been decisively disclosed in the event Jesus of Nazareth" in such a way that this event "becomes a condition apart from which God is not free to be a gracious God, the heretical doctrine of works-righteousness achieves its final and most dangerous triumph" (CWM 145). The alternative is to make crystal clear not only that " ‘we are Christ’s,’ but that ‘Christ is God’s’" and to affirm the theocentric basis of Christian faith (CWM 143).

In his essay "What Does It Mean To Affirm ‘Jesus Christ is Lord’?" Ogden says of Paul that whenever he talks of God "he unquestionably means the covenant God of Israel, whose significance for man is the promise and demand of pure unbounded love. And when he says that, or us as Christians, there is no God but ‘God the Father,’ it is precisely this God to whom he refers" (RG 202). He obviously agrees with Paul when he says of Paul that

the underlying intention of all his christological formulations is to affirm that the history of Jesus of Nazareth is the decisive representation to all mankind of the same promise and demand re-presented by the Old Testament revelation (cf. Rom. 3:21) -- and, beyond that, also attested by the whole of creation and man’s conscience as well. (RG 202).

In Ogden’s christological reflections one does not find the self-justifying theology of supersession.

III

That supersessionist theology plays a significant social role in our society is indubitable. A recent example, which would make any process theologian choke, is to the point. Dr. Bailey Smith, recently elected president of the Southern Baptist Convention, said at a gathering in Dallas in August, "It is interesting at great political rallies how you have a Protestant to pray, a Catholic to pray, and then you have a Jew to pray. With all due respect to those dear people, my friends, God Almighty does not hear the prayer of a Jew" (5). Later, Dr. Smith denied that his remarks were antisemitic. "I am pro-Jew. I believe they are God’s special people, but without Jesus Christ they are lost. No prayer gets through that is not prayed through Jesus Christ" (5). Smith went on to suggest that the real argument Jews have is not with him but with the New Testament. In an interview with Harry Cook, the religion writer for the Detroit Free Press, Smith articulated the theology of supersession as warrant for his views:

the prayers of the Jews were heard by God, that is, up until God sent Jesus. Before Him the Jews had the complete revelation and lived by it. But things are different after Jesus, and the reason I said God doesn’t hear Jewish prayers is because my Bible says that Jesus is the only way a man can get to God. I can’t help what it says in the New Testament. (2:1)

Again, this is just an example. The supremely relative God of process theism hears all prayers. The example helps to point up the fact that vulgar anti-Judaism is socially important.

Charles Y. Glock and Rodney Stark, in their careful study Christian Beliefs and Anti-Semitism (CBAS), tried with considerable success to show that there is a causal link between certain Christian beliefs about Jews of the biblical period and negative attitudes toward contemporary Jews, attitudes that would condone or ignore antisemitic actions. The links connecting the chain between beliefs and attitudes are: the amount of orthodoxy, particularism, and participation in the life of the church. They note measurable differences among denominations. Yet, on average, 33 per cent of the Protestants interviewed said it was true that "the Jews can never be forgiven for what they did to Jesus until they accept Him as the True Saviour" (CBAS 62-64). For about half of all Christians interviewed, the authors concluded that Judaism was not a legitimate faith (CBAS 78f). And while 42 per cent of the Protestants questioned affirmed the civil rights of Jews, another 42 per cent did not (CBAS 150). This study of the attitudes of 3,000 carefully selected lay people is not very heartening.

When the same social scientists, with the help of some colleagues, turned their attention to the clergy, of whom they interviewed 1,580, largely younger and so-called "new breed," they found that the patterns of their responses were "so tediously similar that they suggest it is precisely in church and Sunday School that the [laity’s] learning takes place" (WS 50). They suggest that hostility toward Jews today cannot be blamed entirely on lay people, on the "sheep," when the sheep are following the lead of their shepherds. They found that only slightly more than a third of the clergy harbored no antisemitic prejudice.

These social scientists have not yet, to my knowledge, turned their attention to the role (s) played by theologians in helping to form the attitudes of clergy and laity. Here, then, we are forced to hypothesize. The situation seems to be something like the following: students come to seminaries or divinity schools bringing with them some anti-Judaic theological baggage which they have acquired as part of their formation in the churches. I do not mean that they have strong anti-Judaic feelings, but simply that their ingrained ways of thinking and speaking about Jesus, in particular, are most likely to be structured by an inherited anti-Judaism of which they are not even conscious. Judaism, Pharisaism, law, works-righteousness as opposed to grace, etc., are all "bad," and Jesus delivers us from them.

The central hypothesis is this: students are affected by the process of acquiring a theological education. How are they affected with regard to anti-Judaism? Answer: If and to the extent that they are persuaded by a christology or christologies that seek to establish the empirical uniqueness of the historical Jesus by setting him over and against Judaism, their inherited anti-Judaism will be reinforced. While the rough-edges may be taken off it, and while they may learn a somewhat more sympathetic attitude toward Judaism, their inherited anti-Judaism will nonetheless be given sanction and warrant; they will learn that what is normative for their faith supersedes what was previously available in Judaism. And so the anti-Judaism of the church is passed on from generation to generation, in spite of all its attendant horrors, even after the attempted Endlösung of Hitler.

This is precisely the opposite of what ought to happen. The argument for Christian supersession of Judaism is an ideology of the Christian will-to-power left over from the days of persecution at the hands of the Roman Empire. (This does not imply that the process theologians who repeat, to a greater or lesser degree, supersessionist arguments are ideologues. Their response to criticism, e.g., is always fair and open-minded, traits not found in ideologues. It implies, rather, that they repeat what has become ingrained, almost second-nature, as a pattern of thought and language. Process theologians break with the classical doctrine of God. Should we not also break the grip which the adversus Judaeos tradition has upon us?)

However understandable supersessionism may be as a response to the pressures brought to bear on the church from the late first through the early fourth century, it should be dropped. It has been responsible, directly or indirectly, for too many unconscionable assaults upon Jews. History’s slaughter-bench is drenched with the blood of those slain because they "obstinately" refused in their "blindness" to see that the Christian alternative was better. This is reason enough to drop it. Further, it is an ideology of self-justification. However much we may protest that that which supersedes Judaism also stands in judgment of us, it remains the case that it is we who confess this superior development, we who remember it, we who keep its witness alive, we to whom its higher possibilities are granted, and we who reap its benefits. In the final analysis, then, it is a theology of self-justification. As such it is inappropriate to the gospel’s promise of the love of God for each and all and to the gospel’s demand for justice to each and all. It also puts constraints upon the freedom of God, in God’s own way and at God’s good pleasure, to love as fully and as fruitfully as God pleases, whomever God pleases, with no by-your-leave from us.

 

References

AJ -- Edward H. Flannery. The Anguish of the Jews. New York: Macmillan, 1965.

AJCT -- Charlotte Klein. Anti-Judaism in Christian Theology. Trans. Edward Quinn. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1978.

AJu -- A. L. Williams. Adversus Judaeos. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1935.

CAS -- Nicholas Berdyaev. Christianity and Anti-Semitism. New York: Philosophical Library, 1954.

CBAS -- Charles Y. Glock and Rodney Stark. Christian Beliefs and Anti-Semitism. New York: Harper & Row, 1966.

CC -- Jon Sobrino. Christology at the Crossroads. Trans. John Drury. Maryknoll, N.Y.: Orbis Books, 1978.

CCS -- James Parkes. The Conflict of the Church and the Synagogue. New York: Meridian Books, 1961.

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

CR -- Norman Pittenger. Christology Reconsidered. London: SCM Press, 1970.

CWM -- Schubert M. Ogden. Christ Without Myth. New York: Harper & Brothers, 1961.

EYB -- A. Roy Eckardt. Elder and Younger Brothers. New York: Schocken Books, 1967.

FC -- Bernard F. Meland. Faith and Culture. New York: Oxford University Press, 1953.

FF -- Rosemary Ruether. Faith and Fratricide. New York: Seabury, 1974.

HAS -- Leon Poliakov. The History of Anti-Semitism. New York: Schocken Books, 1974.

HASRC -- Jules Isaac. Has Anti-Semitism Roots in Christianity? New York: National Council of Christians and Jews, 1961.

HR -- Ellis Rivkin. A Hidden Revolution. Nashville: Abingdon, 1978.

JCA -- Wayne A. Meeks and Robert L. Wilken. Jews and Christians in Antioch. Missoula, Montana: Scholars Press, 1978.

JCP -- Ben Zion Bokser. Judaism and the Christian Predicament. New York: Knopf, 1967.

JCSC -- J. Bruce Long, ed. Judaism and the Christian Seminary Curriculum. Chicago: Loyola University Press, 1966.

JECM -- Robert L. Wilken. Judaism and the Early Christian Mind. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1971.

JFC -- George Foot Moore. Judaism in the First Centuries of the Christian Era, the Age of the Tannaim. 3 volumes. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1927-30.

JP -- John Bowker. Jesus and the Pharisees. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1973.

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

LGMW -- Peter Hamilton. The Living God and the Modern World Philadelphia: The United Church Press, 1967.

MJCT -- Arthur A. Cohen. The Myth of the Judeo-Christian Tradition. New York: Schocken Books, 1957.

MTJL -- Michael J. Cook. Mark’s Treatment of the Jewish Leaders Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1978.

NDNTS -- Patrick Henry. New Directions in New Testament Study Philadelphia: Westminster, 1979.

NTT -- Joachim Jeremias. New Testament Theology: The Proclamation of Jesus. Trans. John Bowden. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1971.

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

PPCT -- Peter Hamilton. "Some Proposals for a Modern Christology," in Delwin Brown, Ralph E. James, Jr., and Gene Reeves, eds., Process Philosophy and Christian Thought. Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, 1971.

PPJ -- E. P. Sanders. Paul and Palestinian Judaism. London: SCM Press, 1977.

PT -- Norman Pittenger. "Bernard E. Meland, Process Thought and the Significance of Christ," in Ewert H. Cousins, ed., Process Theology. New York: Newman Press, 1971.

RF -- Bernard E. Meland. The Realities of Faith. New York: Oxford University Press, 1962.

RC -- Schubert M. Ogden. The Reality of God. New York: Harper & Row, 1963.

RHD -- The Random House Dictionary of the English Language. New York: Random House, 1969.

RTJ -- Norman Perrin. Rediscovering the Teaching of Jesus. New York: Harper & Row, 1976.

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

SFL -- Daniel Day Williams. The Spirit and the Forms of Love. New York: Harper & Row, 1968.

SHJ -- Martin Kähler. Der sogenannte historische Jesus und der geschichtliche biblische Christus. Ed. E. Wolf. Second enlarged edition. München: Chr. Kaiser Verlag, 1956.

TAJ -- David Patrick Efroymson. Tertullian’s Anti-Judaism and its Role in His Theology. Ph.D. Dissertation, Temple University, 1976.

TC -- Jules Isaac. The Teaching of Contempt. New York: Holt, Rinehart & Winston, 1964.

WS -- Rodney Stark, Bruce D. Foster, Charles Y. Glock, and Harold E. Quinley. Wayward Shepherds. New York: Harper & Row, 1971.

YPMP -- A. Roy Eckardt. Your People, My People. New York: Quadrangle, 1974.

1. Markus Barth. "Was Paul an Anti-Semite?" Journal of Ecumenical Studies 5/1.

2. Detroit Free Press. Sunday, September 20, 1980.

3. David Flusser. A New Sensitivity in Judaism and the Christian Message," Encounter Today 4/4, 123-31, and 5/1, 3-12.

4. George Foot Moore. "Christian Writers on Judaism," Harvard Theological Review 14/3 (July, 1921), 197-254.

5. The New York Times. Thursday, September 18, 1980.

6. John Pawlikowski. "Martin Luther and Judaism," Journal of the American Academy of Religion 43, 681-93.

7. J. Coert Rylaarsdam, "Biblical (Ancient) Israel and the Jewish People (Today)." Unpublished paper.

Whitehead as Counterrevolutionary? Toward Christian-Marxist Dialogue

Introduction

In the previous essay, Justice and the Class Struggle. A Challenge for Process Theology," George Pixley has put decisively before all process thinkers a host of issues arising from the struggle for justice and humanization which are at the heart of the conflict within the world today. He raises three issues, mainly involving justice, as a challenge for process theology. In doing so, he has done process thought a favor, by raising in a new way the question of the adequacy and applicability of Whitehead’s philosophy. According to Whitehead, adequacy "means that the texture of observed experience, as illustrating the philosophic scheme, is such that all related experience must exhibit the same texture" (PR 5). And since Whitehead also states that "The use of philosophy is to maintain an active novelty of fundamental ideas illuminating the social system" (MT 237), it is obvious that the challenge which Pixley poses is eminently fair and cannot be evaded.

William A. Christian designates those concepts which constitute Whitehead’s categoreal scheme as his "systematic language." He refers to the use of those concepts "to interpret sense experience, the order of nature, art, morality, or religion" as Whitehead’s "post-systematic language" (IWM 3). By way of response to Pixley’s challenge, I will utilize for the most part this "post-systematic language," with only occasional lapses into metaphysical language.

As Whitehead describes it,

The true method of discovery is like the flight of an aeroplane. It starts from the ground of particular observation; it makes a flight in the thin air of imaginative generalization; and it again lands for renewed observation rendered acute by rational interpretation. (PR 7)

When the plane lands on the field of the analysis of the social system, we may find that both the Marxist analysis of history and Whitehead’s metaphysics require modification in light of each other. Indeed, Pixley suggests by implication that the latter does.

Pixley charges Whitehead’s thought with three things: (1) that it is "at the very least . . . open to appropriation for counterrevolutionary purposes;" (2) that "Justice shines by its absence" from Whitehead’s list of five cultural aims as the measure of civilized life; and (3) that Whitehead’s philosophy contains within it latent counterrevolutionary tendencies." Nevertheless, he thinks that a revolutionary process theology is possible, although we must conclude that this is so in spite of Whitehead. His basic challenge is to the adequacy and applicability of Whitehead’s philosophy.

In this paper our first task will be to try to indicate both the adequacy and applicability of Whitehead’s philosophy to Marx’s social analysis. This will be done by noting six important points of convergence between the two. After that four points will be raised in response to this challenge.

II. Correspondences

1. Both Marxism and process thought view metaphysics as a "social requirement." Roger Garaudy points out that Marxist thought makes a radical break with positivism. Positivism limits human thought to the arena of the given and hence is essentially conservative or reactionary. It gives us "not only a world without God but also a world without man" (1:64). Metaphysics, which is by definition a critique of the given, makes sense of, and thereby enables, the "passion for the possible" which allows us to see that this world, as given, can be "a different world, a changed world . . . (1:66). The Czech philosopher, Vitezslav Gardavsky, comes even closer to Whitehead’s view of the matter in his account of metaphysics:

Metaphysics represents in objective terms a social requirement. Mankind evolves by transcending itself, and by transforming the limits set for it by nature into historical limits, thanks to man’s many-sided practical activity. This means that metaphysics represents the reflective aspect, or alternatively the theoretical aspect, of practical behaviour.... It deliberates on the problem of the type of subjective identity which transcends itself, and yet at the same time is constantly threatened with being swallowed up once again by insatiable nature, and thus losing its meaning for mankind. (GINYD 204)

Steve Weissman severely criticizes the death-of-God theologians (with the possible exception of Altizer) for the absence from their thought of "some secular standard by which this particular intellectually normative and ethically good world might be judged" (NT 5:26). Their anti-metaphysical stance leaves them with "little evidence of any systematic standard of criticism and self-criticism" (NT 5:26). He points out that without "generalized critical thinking," which transcends the given, criticism of the specific might well become affirmation of the whole" (NT 5:31). He issues a "plea that we come to grips with the structure rather than the superficialities of the world as it is" (NT 5:31).

For Whitehead the speculative reason, which functions to promote the art of life (FR 4), "directs and criticizes the urge towards the attainment of an end realized in imagination but not in fact" (FR 8). Hence, "the secret of progress is the speculative interest in abstract schemes of morphology" (FR 73). He invites us to

suppose that a hundred thousand years ago our ancestors had been wise positivists. They sought for no reasons. What they had observed was sheer matter of fact. It was the development of no necessity. They would have searched for no reasons underlying facts immediately observed. Civilization would never have developed. (MT 203)

The "gadfly driving civilization from its ancient safeties . . . is this desire to state the principles in their abstraction" (AI 141); "metaphysical understanding guides imagination and justifies purpose. Apart from metaphysical presupposition there can be no civilization" (AI 128). The bounty of philosophy includes

insight and foresight, and a sense of the worth of life, in short, that sense of importance which nerves all civilized effort. Mankind can flourish in the lower stages of life with merely barbaric flashes of thought. But when civilization culminates, the absence of a coordinating philosophy of life, spread throughout the community, spells decadence, boredom, and the slackening of effort (AI 98).

In each age of the world distinguished by high activity there will be found at its culmination, and among the agencies leading to that culmination, some profound cosmological outlook, implicitly accepted, impressing its own type upon the current springs of action (AI 12; cf. AI 83).

2. Both Marxism and process thought represent a materialist philosophy of history. The meaning of Marxist materialism is badly misconstrued when interpreted in a precritical, i.e., a pre-Kantian way. In his Theses on Feuerbach, Marx insisted that what distinguished his own materialism from all previous ones was that they had articulated only the passive and not the active aspect of materialism. As Garaudy puts it, "Marx showed that man goes out and reaches out to things with his projects, with his plans, his hypotheses and his models. Before being a pure reflection of things, knowledge is a construction of things" (IH 3). What Marxist materialism conies down to, then, is that it is man who creates his own history, albeit always in a context in which the situation deriving from the past must be taken into account. Lenin’s remark, "We must dream," follows strictly from Marx’s post-Kantian understanding of subjective creativity. For Marx, we make our own history, but not exactly as we please, under circumstances which we are free to choose (Marx, Selected Works, II, 315; cf. Garaudy, AD 70-75).

In every period of historical change, Whitehead discerns two forces at work: senseless agencies and persuasive agencies.

The well-marked transition from one age into another can always be traced to some analogues to Steam and Democracy, or -- if you prefer it -- to some analogues to Barbarians and Christians. Senseless agencies and formulated aspirations cooperate in the work of driving mankind from its old anchorage. (AI 6; italics mine)

Again: "The great transitions are due to a coincidence of forces derived from both sides of the world, its physical and its spiritual natures" (AI 18; cf. 18f, 26f, 44f, 46f, 67-69, 70, and 76). Perhaps his most Marxist-sounding statement is: "The great convulsions happen when the economic urge on the masses has dove-tailed with some simplified ideal end. Intellect and instinct then combine, and some ancient social order passes away" (AI 67). In his discussion of how both senseless and persuasive agencies cooperate in history, Whitehead explicitly takes account of the role of the development of technology (AI 27), the class structure (AI 44f), commerce, science, geography, and population pressure (AI 76).

In sum: for Marx, consciousness, subjectivity, ideal aims (e.g., the classless society) are fully as important as are the persuasive agencies for Whitehead and, vice versa, for Whitehead the senseless agencies are fully as important as are the economic conditions for Marx. Although Whitehead did not know much about Marx and accepted the opinion of his theory that was stated by the "learned economists," much of Marx’s outlook can be reconstructed from Whitehead’s own writings. Even the Marxist understanding of ideology finds its close parallel in Whitehead:

More often changes in the social pattern of intellectual emphasis arise from a shift of power from one class or group of classes, to another class or group of classes. . . .

With the shift of dominant classes, points of view which in one epoch are submerged, only to be detected by an occasional ripple, later emerge into the foreground of action and literary expression. (AI 44)

Although Whitehead seems to reject the Marxist idea of the class war (AI 35), he knew that society built on iniquity resulted either in its self-destruction or a correction built on the insertion of some new theory into the social structure (AI 14). Furthermore, he knew that "Strife is at least as real a fact in the world as Harmony" (AI 32), and that "the mere doctrines of freedom, individualism, and competition, had produced a resurgence of something very like industrial slavery at the base of society" in the 19th century (AI 34). And, I think, his understanding of process by no means excludes the important role which Marx gives to contradiction: "process is the way by which the universe escapes from the exclusions of inconsistency" (MT 75).

3. Both Marxism and Whitehead accept the premise of relativism, the prophetic premise, with regard to all established social order. This premise, that all historical achievements are relative, postulates the possibility of a radical break with all forms of social alienation. It can also be referred to as the prophetic premise, since it was the biblical prophets who first taught that "no work of man’s hand or brain should ever be regarded as absolute, as permanent, as definitive" (Garaudy, 1:68). Marxism has a negative anthropology (of which, more later) from which it derives by implication a negative ethics and politics "which prevent us from saying this or that is the good or perfect order and thus enclosing them too in a definition" (1:68). Man as a project must have the freedom of projecting his own prophetic nature. Of Christianity, the Marxist philosopher Garaudy says that it "stimulates historical creativity by revealing the transitory character of every historical present" (AD 59).

Whitehead also relativizes the historical present: "Nor can we accept the present age as our final standard. We can live, and we can live well. But we feel the urge of the trend upwards; we still look toward the better life" (FR 81). Of Hebrew and Greek thought he avers that they effectively express "this critical discontent, which is the gadfly of civilization" (AI 11).

[A] general idea is always a danger to the existing order. The whole bundle of its conceivable special embodiments in various usages of society constitutes a program of reform. At any moment the smoldering unhappiness of mankind may seize on some such program and initiate a period of rapid change guided by the light of its doctrines. (AI 15)

The spirit and vitality of adventure are such that "sooner or later the leap of imagination reaches beyond the safe limits of the epoch, and beyond the safe limits of learned rules of taste. It then produces the dislocations and confusions marking the advent of new ideals for civilized effort" (AI 279).

There is this marvelous paragraph in Modes of Thought:

The essence of life is to be found in the frustrations of established order. The Universe refuses the deadening influence of complete conformity. And yet in its refusal, it passes towards novel order as a primary requisite for important experience. (119)

As is well known, Whitehead differentiates between "order as the condition for excellence, and order as stifling the freshness of living" (PR 514). "The art of progress," he says, "is to preserve order amid change, and to preserve change amid order. Life refuses to be embalmed alive. The more prolonged the halt in some unrelieved system of order, the greater the crash of the dead society" (PR 515; cf. 516).

4. Both Marxism and Whitehead have a doctrine of man which can properly be termed a "negative anthropology." For Marxist thought, man is surely not simply a marionette put on the stage of history by social and political structures. Such an anti-humanistic, mechanical understanding of man is the contrary of that of Marx, who defined man in terms of his project. What is specifically human in man is that he is not the simple product of the past and its structures, but a being who ceaselessly creates possible futures. "Marxism is not a closed humanism" (RE 137). Rather, man’s reality is always being invented. Marxist humanism strongly maintains that the distinctive nature of human activity is its capacity of creating projects, positing ends. Such activity is not regarded as the simple upshot of the conditions which attend its birth. It was in this sense that Engels insisted on "the relative independence of superstructures" (AD 74), which have a "movement of their own." And it was in this sense that Marx, advocating a dialectical rather than a simplistic materialism, stressed that "ideas become a material force once they have laid hold of the masses" (AD 74). For Marxism, to exist is to create; existence precedes essence. There is no such thing as the nature of man.

For Whitehead, "Mankind is that factor in Nature which exhibits in its most intense form the plasticity of nature" (AI 78). The doctrine of the uniformity of nature is only a partial truth.

When we examine the specializations of societies which determine values with some particularity, such specializations as societies of men, forests, deserts, prairies, icefields, we find, within limits, plasticity. The story of Plato’s idea is the story of its energizing within a local plastic environment. It has a creative power, making possible its own approach to realization. (AI 42)

In an actual occasion the process of transition from prehended data to issue is "the process of self-determination." The essence of actuality is the aim at "self-formation" (MT, 131).

Thus the characteristics of life are absolute self-enjoyment, creative activity, aim. Here ‘aim’ evidently involves the entertainment of the purely ideal so as to be directive of the creative process. (MT 208)

Looked at from the point of view of its prehension of past occasions, an actual entity (say, in the personally ordered society of actual entities which constitute the "self" of a human being) can be viewed as conditioned by, caused by, the other entities which it objectifies. Looked at from the point of view of its immediate pattern of self-enjoyment, an actual entity can be regarded as self-creative. Looked at from the point of view of its conceptual anticipation of the future, an actual entity can be considered as the teleological aim at a novel ideal. Within limits, as also for Marx, it is creative and plastic, having no nature to the realization of which it must aspire. The entity is never just a subject, but a subject-superject (PR 43), having an "emergent unity" (PR 71), guided by a subjective aim "determining its own self-creation" (PR 108).

5. Both Marxism and Whitehead affirm transcendence as a fundamental dimension of reality. Transcendence posits that it is possible for us to free ourselves from a given natural or social-historical order and to mold our own future. Such a Marxist as Garaudy would insist that if we include man in what is meant by reality then reality is made up not simply of what already is but, in addition, of all which is not yet actual. For him, transcendence rejects the dualism of body and soul, of time and eternity, etc., and is not a picture story of how everything is going to end up but means keeping ourselves aware that "[t]omorrow can be different. Tomorrow cannot be reduced to factors operative today" (1:67). He is even able to say that transcendence allows for the resuscitation of the concept of the supernatural "in its most beautiful and authentic sense: that of the surpassing of nature" (AD 121). Transcendence is the basic assumption of all revolutionary activity and such activity requires transcendence more than realism.

For Whitehead,

every actual entity, including God, is something individual for its own sake; and thereby transcends the rest of actuality. . . . To be causa sui means that the process of concrescence is its own reason for the decision in respect to the qualitative clothing of feelings. It is finally responsible for the decision by which any lure for feeling is admitted to efficiency. The freedom inherent in the universe is constituted by this element of self-causation. (PR 135)

"Every actual entity, in virtue of its novelty, transcends its universe" (PR 143); "every actual entity also shares with God the characteristic of transcending all other actual entities, including God" (PR 339). Whitehead relates this understanding to the social problem in declaring that "Transcendence of mere . . . order is necessary for dealing with the unforeseen, for progress, for excitement. . . . A power of incorporating vague and disorderly elements of experience is essential for the advance into novelty" (MT 109). More specifically, he reminds us that life is an attack against the machinelike monotony which life can assume. The attempt to seek asylum from this attack, in "a policy of sociological defense, is doomed to failure" (AI 80).

6. Both Marxism and Whitehead take a dialectical approach to religion with regard to its relation to society. Too often, Marx is regarded as having an understanding of religion that can be reduced to a simple formula, the uncomplicated remark that religion "is the opium of the people." Marx may well have developed this famous definition from Honoré de Balzac’s remark that lotteries are the "opium of misery." Marx’s attitude toward religion is more complicated than that:

Religious suffering is at the same time an expression of real suffering and a protest against real suffering. Religion is the sigh of the oppressed creature, the heart of a heartless world, and the soul of soulless conditions. It is the opium of the people. The abolition of religion as the illusory happiness of men, is a demand for their real happiness. The call to abandon their illusions is a call to abandon a condition which requires illusions. (CBW 153)

And Engels compared early Christianity with the modem working-class movement, contrasting it with the later, dogmatically fixed ideology of the Roman state (CBW 155). For Garaudy, religion is an opiate only (1) when it devalues the problems of this life as relatively unimportant, (2) when it conceives God as jealous of the autonomy of man, and (3) when it has recourse to a God of the gaps who supernaturally intervenes to solve human problems (RE 115-17). Hence, Christianity is viewed as characterized by an internal dialectic between the Constantinian tradition, with its practice of justifying the state and the ruling classes, and the apocalyptic tradition, associated with the awareness of the masses of their power and their occasional effort to translate the apocalypse into history (AD 56). The obvious basis of this view is that for a Marxist religion is a human project (what else could it be?) and as such is a breaking away from and a transcending of the given, which can take the form either of justifying the existing order or protesting it (AD 76).

For Whitehead, Christianity has sometimes "abandoned this world to the evil prince thereof, and concentrated thought upon another world and a better life" (AI 32). However, the greatness of Christianity was first manifest when its founders, utterly convinced of the imminent end of the world, "gave free reign to their absolute ethical intuitions respecting ideal possibilities without a thought of the preservation of society" (AI 16). "So long as the Galilean images are but the dreams of an unrealized world, so long they must spread the infection of an uneasy spirit" (AI 17).

III. Conclusion

Finally, in response to Pixley’s paper, I want to articulate two questions which are pertinent to raise in the consideration of Marxism today, then to deal with the explicit question of justice, and lastly to make a proposal for the consideration of process thinkers.

1. The first question has to do with Marxist humanism or with Marxism as a humanism: how, at the very core of an estranged humanity, are we able to rely on the hope calling us to a fully human future, when this project itself is nothing but the visualization of alienated people? Is not the project itself, in any concrete sense, always infected with the very alienation it seeks to overcome?

As yet, I have found no adequate answer to this question in my studies of Marxist thought. Process thought has an answer in its understanding of the world’s effect upon God and God’s subsequent effect upon the world. God receives into his consequent aspect all the actualities of the world, harmonizes its conflicts (thus providing the orderliness of the world), relegates what is merely destructive evil to triviality, and in his role as leading the world into novel adventures, offers to each concrescing occasion an initial aim which has been redeemed from the alienations of the past. Thus process thought can articulate a philosophy or theology of promise (not just "hope") as what John B. Cobb has named the "call forward" (GW 45). There is reason to think that such a conceptuality can make more adequate sense of the possibility of new beginnings and new creations in history than a pure humanism can.

2. Although Marxism is a "methodology of historical initiative," it does not address the problem of fatigue, of loss of nerve, when human beings are finally frustrated in taking history into their own hands and are no longer motivated to accept their own freedom but instead seek, in Erich Fromm’s words, an escape from freedom. We can see this problem rather clearly in the ennui which became characteristic of American life after a series of failures in the effort to extricate ourselves from the Vietnam war.

Is not the Christian understanding of man and God as coworkers both more realistic and more promising, and is not the emphasis on the "special providence of God for each occasion" more adequate, to deal with this difficulty? It is useful to point out that in Whitehead’s vision of reality it is God and the worship of God which are the sources of this "refreshment" (PR 533) so necessary to the maintenance of human initiative.

Religion is the vision of something which stands beyond, behind, and within, the passing flux of immediate things; something which is real, and yet waiting to be realized; something which is a remote possibility, and yet the greatest of present facts; something that gives meaning to all that passes, and yet eludes apprehension; something whose possession is the final good, and yet is beyond all reach; something which is the ultimate ideal, and the hopeless quest.

It is the one element in human experience which persistently shows an upward trend. It fades and then recurs. But when it renews its force, it recurs with an added richness and purity of content. The fact of the religious vision, and its history of persistent expansion, is our one ground for optimism. (SMW 171)

The Marxist understanding of transcendence with its quest for a Just and fully human future seems to require this kind of completion.

3. With regard to the question of justice, the claim that Whitehead’s philosophy contains "latent counterrevolutionary tendencies," and the call for a revolutionary process theology, there seem to remain only a few necessary remarks. By the attempt (doubtless brief and not altogether convincing) to show the adequacy of Whitehead to Marxist analysis, I hope to have laid to rest the notion that his thought contains counterrevolutionary tendencies. I remain to be convinced otherwise. The absence of justice from Whitehead’s list of cultural aims is verbal, not conceptual. There is abundant evidence for this point of view in the earlier parts of Pixley’s own paper. Nevertheless, Whitehead’s own writings on the history of society show that "peace" is unstable apart from justice and that the union of zest with peace accounts for the adventurous aim toward transcending the relative justice and injustice of any given social order. Even a good social order requires transcending to avoid becoming deadening, which implies that the concept of justice, too, for Whitehead is relative. And God’s own aim, which is at strength of beauty for the creatures and for himself, certainly subsumes justice under itself. The more justice, the more just that justice is, the greater the strength of beauty, both in an occasion and as shared by occasions. Morality for Whitehead is associated with breadth of outlook and breadth of outlook with strength of character and beauty (see "The Category of Subjective Intensity" PR 41).

It would seem, furthermore, that the concept of justice as an absolute comes both to absolute theists and Marxist atheists from the Greek understanding of being as self-identical. And justice as an absolute easily produces a quest for justice which can often, in the hands of either Christians or Marxists, end in inhumanism. Both the prophetic tradition as renewed in Protestantism and process thought remind us that justice is always to be transcended, that it is always to be gone "beyond." If we remember the contingency and relativity of justice, we will be aware that it always contains elements of injustice, however great or small; we will deny its absolute character and subject it to the critique of love and adventure. For Christians this would mean substituting the Greek dike by the Christian caritas and the unmoved mover by the God who is the poet of the world.

4 Is a revolutionary process theology possible? This is Pixley’s most intriguing question and one which I hope will be given serious consideration by process thinkers. Put differently, it is the question of Marx to us, whether we shall be content merely to interpret the world or whether we shall seek to contribute to its change. I do not suppose that doing theology and philosophy implies that one is only interpreting the world. But Altizer may well be right in his comment that process theologians are "clearly related to the social world of modern American liberal Protestantism" (TA 199). Hence, the challenge is not to process thought, but to process thinkers.

We might be more helpful in changing the world by giving consideration to topics which, to my knowledge, are not much treated by process thinkers. For example, by way of a modest proposal, process thought seems singularly well equipped to develop a theology of work, in the full Marxist sweep of the term: man’s self-creativity in society. On this score, we might have recourse to the wider scope of resources found in process thought outside of Whitehead, but by no means incompatible with the latter. Two notions in William James suggest themselves as helpful places, perhaps, to start thinking about such a theology and philosophy of work. One is his notion of truth itself as a process:

The truth of an idea is not the stagnant property inherent in it. Truth happens to an idea. It becomes true, is made true by events. Its verity is in fact an event, a process; the process namely of its verifying itself, its veri-fication. Its validity is the process of its validation. (P 133)

The other is James’s notion of participation with God in bringing to completion this unfinished world, but I wish to cite a paragraph just prior to that discussion:

Our acts, our turning-places, where we seem to ourselves to make ourselves and grow, are the parts of the world to which we are closest, the parts of which our knowledge is the most intimate and complete. Why should we not take them at their face-value? Why may they not be the actual turning-places and growing-places which they seem to be, of the world -- why not the workshop of being, where we catch fact in the making, so that nowhere may the world grow in any other kind of way than this? (P 186; italics mine)

If we fully grasp the implications of this we will see that faith is not merely a matter of a certain understanding of the world, which is important, but a certain way of standing up before the world, of living in it. And we shall see that the transformation of the earth, its new creation, is not solely a reorganization of its social and technical aspects nor just the institution of new political and economic relationships among people; it is also a profound spiritual metamorphosis of mankind, a revolution.

 

References

AD -- Roger Garaudy. From Anathema to Dialogue. New York: Vintage Books, 1966.

CBW -- Anne Freemantle, ed. Communism: Basic Writings. New York:Mentor Books, 1970.

GINYD -- Vitezslav Gardavsky. God is Not Yet Dead. Penguin Books, 1973.

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

IH -- O. Blanchette, S. J., ed. Initiative in History. Christian-Marxist discussions with Garaudy. Published by the Church Society for College Work. An Occasional Paper.

IWM -- William A. Christian. An Interpretation of Whiteheads Metaphysics. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1959.

NT -- Martin E. Marty and Dean G. Peerman, eds. New Theology no. 5. New York: Macmillan, 1968.

P -- William James. Pragmatism. Cleveland: World Publishing Co., 1963.

RE -- Roger Garaudy. Reconquête de l’Espoir. Paris: Editions Bernard Grasset, 1971.

TA -- John B. Cobb, Jr., ed. The Theology of Altizer. Philadelphia: Westminster, 1970.

I. Roger Garaudy. "Faith and Revolution." The Ecumenical Review, 25/1 (January, 1973), 59-79.

Time and Timelessness in the Philosophy of A. N. Whitehead

 This essay "Zeit und Zeitlosigkeit in der Philosophie A. N. Whiteheads," in Natur und Geschichte: Karl Löwith zum 70. Geburtstag (Kohlhammer: Stuttgart, 1967), 373-405, was translated By James W. Felt, S.J

Translator’s note: All unbracketed italics occur also in the original text. I wish gratefully to acknowledge the assistance afforded me in this translation by Professor Walter Kern, S.J., of the Jesuitenkolleg, Innsbruck, and by Lewis S. Ford. I also wish to thank the author for his careful review of the first draft. In two or three instances he endorsed slight improvements in content over the original text.

 

I. Introduction: Explaining Time and Experiencing Time

The philosophical question "What is Time?" is in the first instance a question about essence. This is not to say that time is an entity in its own right or that it has an independent nature of its own, as if it differed in this way from the nature of movement1 or of some very particular and specific type of movement. Neither is it to say that the philosophical inquiry into time has to depict it though a given determinate notion in terms of which time could be described, defined, and explained. It may be that an inquiry into time’s essence would be obliged to fall short of its goal not just provisionally, as usually happens in inquiries which probe into rather remote matters, but that it would from start to finish remain so remote from its goal that it could never directly put into words what it seeks. Rather it can speak of it only indirectly and in a language foreign and unsuited to it, the language of the timeless, of the universal and the conceptual, the language appropriate to inquiring into essences. Assertions about time would then in a very definite sense be metaphorical. This set of metaphors would require a continuity of analogical conclusions which would in some fashion translate one logic, that of the timeless, into another, that of time. The question whether the language of essence or concepts is appropriate to the nature of time is actually as old as that concerning time and motion themselves.2

Furthermore, it may be that the essence of time is subject to conditions which can never be associated with it a priori but rather remain extrinsic and even contradictory to it, even though they lend themselves to conceptualization and reveal time (in one of its essential aspects) as an object of practical interest. For to be such an object does in fact belong to the essential characteristics of time.3 It may also be the case that the essence of time does not simply permit of definitive categoreal analysis in terms of definitions and concepts. Perhaps time cannot be exhausted in terms of definite categoreal relations between itself and the nontemporal: either in terms of the categoreal relations of beings, or of the relations of something and other, of things and properties, or of functions of one kind or another. Quite possibly an examination of time will always lead to open questions and aporias. These would not be meaningless just because they prove ultimately unsolvable; rather, they would have to be ranked, in their very unsolvable, among the essential determinations of time and so be set into a relationship with them. Thus, for instance, the unity of time may not only belong essentially to its distinct and necessary features, but may also belong among time’s perplexing [aporetischen] properties. Perhaps time, at least in general if not in every single characteristic, presents us with a completely perplexing object whose comprehension would require a logic of the perplexing or a suitable metaphorical translation of the logic of the categoreal and definite. In such a case not only knowing assumed definitions and presuppositions, but also knowing where the claims of knowledge necessarily end, would play an important methodological role and would have to be linked with one’s insight into the presupposed assumption. To the extent that a connection exists between perplexing objects and objects of practical interest, a definite connection of this sort would have to be claimed for time as well. Thus, for instance, the very unity of time could be of practical interest. Finally, precisely with respect to time the question could be raised, to what extent the whole concept of essence is meaningful at all. The meaning, in fact, and truth-function of thinking in terms of essence only arises in the course of an inquiry into the essence of this or that thing. Therefore, it is always first in terms of the essence of some very particular thing that a particular significance can be given to the concept of essence. It may be that time belongs among those objects which are very specially suited to call into question the whole idea of essences. Conversely, it may be that the concept of essence bears a particularly negative affinity to the idea of time, since it seems always to make time look as if it were a bare nothing that has no essence.4 But whatever the affinity may be between time and the concept of essence, the two confront one another in one or other of the above-mentioned ways, and this confrontation must be included in the determination of time’s essence.

Admittedly the whole notion of essence, when used to examine the essence of time, apparently can have no other meaning than to lump together provisionally whatever can be held to belong generally to any knowledge of an essence with what belongs to the knowledge of this essence in particular. The concept of essence, therefore, taken with respect to some definite thing, includes within itself the possibility of the distinction between universality and particularity, between form and content, between concept and the object of knowledge. Actually not every thing is equally related to the concept of knowledge and to know-ability, even though ii is also true that precisely as something and as an object of knowledge it must somehow enjoy equal status with everything else with respect to conceptual comprehension.5 The differing internal relations of the objects of knowledge to the concept of knowledge establishes the relevance of these as philosophical objects. Thus the fundamental category of ontology, that of something, is a philosophical category insofar as it brings into play a relationship both of sameness and of difference with respect to knowledge of what it denotes. (The concept of freedom in knowing is founded on this unity in the relationship between sameness and difference.) In view of such a variable epistemic relationship to each particular thing that is to be known, the appropriate way of describing this knowledge cannot be arbitrary but must be tailored to the character of the thing in question. And so we can say of time that it is of all things the best known, and yet also the least known and the hardest to comprehend. In this extreme contrast of being both known and unknown there is expressed a definite relation of time to the concept of knowledge, even though only abstractly in terms of quantity.

The representation of time has something in common with that of color perception, so that both the one and the other can be considered as representations of sense.6 For in a certain sense the experience of time and color cannot be meaningfully communicated, and for that very reason there can be scarcely any meaningful explanation of them. If explaining a state of affairs consists in substituting for a lesser known object ones which are more accessible and familiar, and in then explaining them, the objects of knowledge can be discriminated by the extent to which they lend themselves to this rule of explanation.7 That is, they can be discriminated by the extent to which explaining them can be meaningfully replaced by explaining something else without thereby explaining away just what was to be explained. Just as with color perceptions, time also seems to belong to those objects which constitute a kind of limiting case in the domain of possible explanations. For insofar as it is true that the representations of color and time are the best known, the rule of explanation obviously applies to them only in that they must be explained in and through themselves alone. Either that, or the concept of explanation, if it is not to become meaningless, takes on a different sense which includes the possibility of explaining that which is most known by means of what is equally well or even less known, whenever it happens that an explanation of the one is the only possible explanation of the other. The perception of time remains subject indeed to the first-mentioned, most obvious kind of explanation to the extent either that one is dealing with limited, unknown aspects of it, or that one loses one’s feel for time, so that its perception can no longer rank as what is best known.

To continue our comparison with the perception of a particular color: a being which temporarily or permanently has no color-sense would require some other access towards any possible explanation of the color ‘red’ than would a purely spiritual being (whose concept is not altogether impossible). It would need some other access than would a being which, for the moment or permanently, has no sensibility for this particular red. But its access to a possible way of explaining red would also differ from that of a being which had developed a particular sensibility for good or for ill with respect to a particular shade of red, so that the perception in question would give rise to pleasant or unpleasant feelings. Then in comparison with this color, other colors or other sense qualities in general would fade into the background or simply become "everything else." Beings which are thus sensitive to very particular nuances of color may be further differentiated by the richness and depth of this sensibility, hence by its quality and intensity with its resulting responsiveness. In whatever way these various beings may be related to the possibility of explaining the perception in question -- whether for one reason or another (not to be determined more exactly here) they develop a need for explaining the given perception, or whether such an explanation must be suggested from without -- in any case they are distinguished from one another by their differing possibilities of access to such an explanation. One could also say that for every one of these there are more proximate and more remote possibilities of explanation (even if there be none absolutely proximate or remote). Thus in one case the explanation will have to abandon the domain of color; in an-other, the domain of sensibility altogether. In yet another case the explanation could still refer to colors and attempt to achieve a meaningful explanation by exact reference to this or that other color. As for the being which has an extreme sensibility for that color perception, it is questionable whether it would be open to any explanation at all, but rather, by reason of the poverty of its inclinations or out of fear of being disturbed in its pleasant feelings, it would have nothing to do with anything else. (It is another matter when the sensibility is such as to find the perception in question an unpleasant experience.) But if we grant that such a being is receptive to an explanation, the explanation available to it would have to agree with the explanations suited to other beings: for example, with the explanation suited to a color-blind being, or with that for a being which is altogether incapable of sense experience. But a being which is only sensitive to a single thing would have an extreme relationship to any possible way of explaining it. Either it would be closed off from any explanation whatever, or else it would be equally open to every possible form of explanation from the start, since it would expect that any explanation would account for that perception. (Herein lies the logical significance of the category of uniqueness.) Insofar as a universal form of explanation can be found, accessible to all the different beings mentioned above, it would take on a different sense for each single one of them. Each would understand the given explanation in its own particular way, depending on the kind of explanation lying closest to it. The universal form of the various explanations of the perception in question forms the category system valid for this representation. A category system is therefore first referred to a definite given perception, and only with respect to it does there first arise the question of a universal conceptual system referring to any perception whatsoever.

A consideration analogous to that of color perception can also be undertaken with regard to the perception of time. Here too there are momentary or enduring and fundamental failures [stereseis] of sensibility; there are cases of blindness, temporary or lasting, just as there are also the corresponding excesses of sensitivity. We leave unresolved how beings could be so constituted as to possess no sense whatever for time, for change, or for the transitoriness of things -- perhaps as purely spiritual, absolute beings, far removed from space and time. A momentary and passing loss of sensitivity to time is a universally known phenomenon. (It is associated with intense activity and intense experiences, though these of course already include an essential relation to time.) Similarly, a momentary and passing sensitivity to time, or even a lasting one, are well known phenomena: when a decision has to be made in a fairly short span of time; when a job to be done is so urgent that its accomplishment amounts to a struggle against time itself; or when in waiting for pleasant or unpleasant events one’s gaze becomes increasingly fixed on the hands of the clock. This contrast between a deficient and an exaggerated sensitivity to time ean be reduced to the form of a simple contrast between full and empty time, in which time is normally experienced as more or less dense. (This simple contrast, however, tends also to explain time away.) Similarly, there are also relative and qualified cases of under- and over-sensitivity to the past, the present, and the future in general, and a corresponding number of different possibilities for explaining time, as well as various interests in explaining, or even explaining away, any one of these temporal modes by means of one or both of the others. Explanations of time by reference to space belong to this domain (and such explanations may be regarded as analogous to explaining a perception of color in terms of the joint action of other [non-visual] sense perceptions). Spatial perceptions serve to explain time when past, present, or future are reduced to one another. Space then has a corresponding temporal character depending on the manner and intensity of this reduction. (It is scarcely possible to imagine space without any relation to time at all). Finally, analogously to the lack of sensitivity to a particular shade of color, there is a corresponding stance toward this or that isolated moment, to this or that event, whether it belongs to past, present, or future. Thus an event is explained, or explained away, in terms of other events belonging to its past, present, or future, supposing that it stands in need of any explanation at all. (Repressions amount to explaining away unpleasant events, and thus, as explicable, represent a special case in the range of possible explanations.)

As in the case of the different possible ways of explaining a particular color perception, or of different possible ways of gaining access to a universally valid explanation of it, there is also a uniform method of explanation for the different relationships to the perception of time. This explanation constitutes the category system appropriate to the perception of time. If this system exhibits essentially common or analogical features with the one regarding color perceptions, we have a clear indication that color perceptions as well as temporal or spatial perceptions are explicable in terms of one another, so that a common category system can be constructed which includes both kinds of perception.

II. Whitehead’s Theory of Becoming

Whitehead’s speculative philosophy 8 undertakes to express the universal and fundamental human experience of an essential truth, that of time and the temporal, in appropriate universal concepts and categories.

That ‘all things flow’ is the first vague generalization which the unsystematized, barely analyzed, intuition of men has produced. . . . Without doubt, if we are to go back to that ultimate, integral experience whose elucidation is the final aim of philosophy, the flux of things is one ultimate generalization around which we must weave our philosophical system. (PR 317)

This philosophical system is a categoreal system primarily related to the perception and experience of time, and its aim is to explain a specific character of time, namely, the flux of all things. This universal experience of the flux of all things does not get explained away by this system but rather put into the most absolute and unrestricted conceivable form. Accordingly, the concept of universal movement [All-Bewegung] does not simply form a methodological-dialectical starting point, a beginning, whose truth-function solely consists in ultimately insuring, through a reductio ad absurdum, its own impossibility. Nor does Whitehead intend to limit the boundlessly absolute character of the flux of time. Be does not intend to channel universal movement by means of universal concepts and categories (quantity, quality) into the form of various kinds of movement (local motion, change) or various patterns of movement (for instance, circular motion), with the ultimate aim of utilizing the constant diversity of these kinds and patterns of movement, and hence the essence of identity, to make a case for the truth of a timeless and imperishable being belonging to things.( Translator’s note: I have been unable to preserve in decent English the verbal parallel expressed by the author, both here and in later passages, between Gleichheit [‘identity’] and a gleichbleibend [‘identical-remaining’] difference, and have regretfully settled for translating this latter term as ‘constant’.) It is true that this latter procedure, in contrast to reductio ad absurdum, does not render the initial concept of a universal-movement altogether impossible, even though the concept would remain indefinite and ambivalent in its truth-functionality. For then it would be open to question whether one is dealing with a concept which is possible but which can correspond to no possible reality, or rather with the concept of something truly real.9 In contrast to these different possible dialectical ways in which the initial concept of a universal becoming can be used, Whitehead’s categoreal system aims to describe it unmistakably as the fundamental truth: "The ancient doctrine that ‘no one crosses the same river twice,’ is extended. No thinker thinks twice; and to put the matter more generally, no subject experiences twice" (PR 43). In other words, nothing truly and primordially real repeats itself. And conversely, whatever repeats itself is not truly and primordially real. What is real necessarily happens only once, and this character of happening only once [Einmaligkeit] (Translator’s note: I can find no English equivalent for Einmaligkeit. ‘Uniqueness’ lacks the essential reference to time; ‘unrepeatability’ bears a negative rather than a positive weight; ‘onceness’ is strange, whereas Einmaligkeit is both a familiar word in German philosophy and also carries a connotation of positive worth. At the author’s suggestion I have resorted to various circumlocutions.) belongs to the fundamental structure of every actuality. Whatever does not share this structure must have only a derivative and secondary way of existing. The primary structure of uniqueness is the character of happening only once.

We can now inquire more closely into this character of happening only once, just as we can inquire into the grounds of the truth and certainty of the fundamental experience of this flux of all things. Both questions lead in the same direction, toward the possibility of a provisional and qualified answer: if the character of happening only once is held to belong to the truth and measure of all things in their very reality, then there is indeed an essence which more than any other satisfies this truth-criterion, and this is the pure essence of time: time taken in itself, or pure movement -- movement irrespective of any possible differentiation into the different kinds of movement. For the relation between these kinds of movement is available for thought and extrinsic to time just as long as these different movements do not continuously fade into one another, such that in this movement of constant fusion with one another as definite kinds, they partly lose their identity to one another and partly result from one another. But to the extent that identical kinds of movement repeat themselves, one is not then dealing with the unrepeatable time into whose primordial essence we are here inquiring. If we are to conceive of repeated movement and repeatability, yes, if we are even to conceive of lasting identity or of a constant difference, we must also conceive of a time which does not recur. The same holds with respect to conceiving of an identity which repeats itself, for this is just another way of describing a constant difference. Thus without conceiving of a non-recurring time neither the endurance of the identical nor the constancy of the different can be conceived. Thus arises the question as to what this pure time is like which we are investigating. It must be truly real if endurance and repetition, the identical and the different, are to be truly real. Thus the pure essence of time cannot form a conceptual representation which, though possible, is yet empty and corresponds to no reality. The emptiness of the pure essence of time cannot therefore be only the emptiness of a conceptual representation. On the contrary, if pure time forms the ground in reality of lasting identity as well as of constant difference -- and as such a ground is a ‘substantiale’ -- then time must not be the Empty (to kenon) itself. That is, it cannot be the Empty taken either as a quite determinate kind of enduring identity, as constant emptiness, or as a quite determinate kind of constant difference, as a kind of utterly undetermined hence empty fluctuation of the one into the other. Rather, precisely in and though time must the distinction first be made between the Empty and the Real.

From this point of view it makes good sense that in Whitehead’s categoreal system pure temporality, taken as pure becoming or process of becoming, is given the status of the fundamental category, and the reality of this becoming is presumed to be the true and primary existence. Thereby becoming expressly takes the place of the category of substance and thus takes the place of the fundamental category of rational metaphysics. Whitehead’s cosmological system is expressly set up as a critique of the great systems of rational metaphysics (those of Descartes, Spinoza, and Leibniz). "The notion of ‘substance is transformed into that of ‘actual entity"’ (PR 28). This transformation is absolute in the place of a plurality of enduring, timeless, and inaccessible (hence independent) substances (Leibniz’s monads)10 we find instead a plurality of momentary instances of becoming [Au genblicksund Werde-Wesen] which happen only once and hence are unrepeatable. They do not endure in time but rather form the ultimate ground of endurance, identity, and difference; in themselves they are through and through unrest, becoming, and mobility. Whitehead calls these instances of becoming [Werde-Wesen] ‘actual entities’ or ‘actual occasions. The term ‘actual’ characterizes these entities primarily in the negative sense, in that we are not dealing with empty, abstract entities but with concrete beings and with their interiorly rich and full becoming, as well as with their self-realizing time. By the term ‘entity’ the fundamental, individual character of these entities is more strongly emphasized; by the term ‘occasion’, their momentary character.11 In view of this momentary character, these instances of becoming can also be spoken of as events [Ereignisse], yet not as events which take place in time, but rather as self-happening events [Ereignisse die sich ereignen] which, as substances in an improper sense, or better, as nonsubstances, possess a structure of reflexivity [Ref lexionsstruktur] by which they relate themselves to themselves.(*Translator’s note: The author’s word Reflexion in its various uses defies translation by a single English word. I have, according to the context, rendered it by such words as ‘reflexivity’, ‘reflexive relation’, and ‘reflection’. So also the adjective reflexiv is sometimes translated as ‘reflexive’, sometimes as ‘reciprocal’.)

This reflexive structure must not be mistaken for the reflexive structure of substances in the sense of enduring or imperishable things, nor with the reciprocal relation between a thing and its properties. It is precisely characteristic of this latter sort of reflexivity that it suspends temporality and pure becoming. Even if a thing does not endure in an absolute sense (any more than any of its attributes), still it apparently endures as long as its essential attributes remain its own. Conversely, attributes obviously endure as such at least as long as they remain the attributes of one thing or another. Thus in a qualified sense this reciprocity between a thing and its attributes transfers the thing and its attributes from time and from pure becoming into a universal timelessness, a qualified eternity. The change of properties does not affect this qualified eternity, or does so only when the thing little by little loses its essential attributes, hence when the change of attributes, whether they be essential or unessential, brings about an essential change in the thing and thus amounts to an essential change of its character. The mere change of properties in the sense of a simple modification [Verdnderung] without such consequences has no effect whatever on that suspension of becoming. The same is all the more true of the reciprocal relations of substances with one another, regardless of whether they are treated as perishable things (and their interactivity as that of perishable things), or whether they, as well as their interactivity, are treated as simply timeless and imperishable.

In every case these latter kinds of reflexive relationships make for systems in which things and substances endure through their relationship to their own attributes and through their interactions, just as, conversely, the enduring existence of things and substances supports the change of attributes and the interactions of substances. For all reflexive relationships of this sort, then, the following holds true: Insofar as such a reflexivity is truly real with respect to its structural factors -- insofar then as it is the actuality of things and substances which it reflects -- to that extent becoming and pure time have to all appearances vanished from it. Insofar as this reflexivity itself does not represent the mere abstraction of a cognitive concept, with which the object of reflection would contrast as true reality even though reflexivity stands in a timeless relationship to it, both coming-to-be [das Entstehen] and perishing [das Vergehen] would alike vanish from the object of reflexivity. It would be as if coming-to-be and perishing had never existed in things and substances. Whatever pure becoming would be, it would be that only as a suspended becoming that never really was. Insofar as these kinds of reflexivity are actual, they give the appearance of a certain real eternity. This appearance does not just extend to their structural elements, to things and their attributes, to substances and their interactions. This appearance extends itself much farther: it oversteps the limited range of such a closed reflexive system; it propagates itself in every direction, so as in the end to attach itself to the whole of the world.

Our question, then, is whether reflexive relations of this sort possess true actuality or only the appearance of reality. If the latter, then the appearance of a certain real eternity which emanates from them is fraudulent, and the truth is that things along with their attributes, the different systems of substances interacting with one another, and finally the world as a whole are absolutely subject both to coming-to-be and to perishing. We ask, then, about the coming-to-be and the perishing of reflexive relations, and therefore about the truth foundation and actual character of reflexivity itself. Whitehead’s discussion with Bradley moves within the ambit of this question, even though only tacitly.12

Our present question does not mainly concern the difference between the reflexive relationships named above: the relations of things and attributes on the one hand, those of substances and their interactions on the other. It is also not a question about the above-mentioned extension of reflexive relationships beyond the limited range of their actuality to the point where finally, as a possible, absolute reflexive relationship, they embrace the world as a whole.13 Our question concerns rather the reflexivity of a self-happening event, an ‘actual occasion’. Such a reflexivity differs essentially from the reflexive modes of things and properties by its very concept. This includes the requirement of an absolute transformation from enduring, constant substantiality into a pure becoming (see above). Yet such a self-happening event (actual occasion) or instance of becoming (actual entity) is reflexive. For on the one hand it is something which is becoming something, and in this becoming always also something that was. It must be and have been something if it is to be able to become something, and hence if in its being it was something, it must at the same time in its having-been [Gewesen-Sein] be always a something-in-becoming, if it is to be able to become something. Such an event is consequently a reflection and mirroring of its having been [Gewesenseins], of its immediate presence and its being-becoming [Sein-Werdens], a reflection of its past, present, and future in the unity of its becoming.

Whitehead refers to this reflexivity of the actual entity as a subject-superject structure (PR 43), and he means by this that the actual entity is both the real ground and "the outcome of the process" of its own becoming: "An entity is actual, when it has significance for itself. By this it is meant that an actual entity functions in respect to its own determination. Thus an actual entity combines self-identity with self-diversity"; and: "An actual entity by functioning in respect to itself plays diverse roles in self-formation without losing its self-identity. It is self-creative; and in its process of creation transforms its diversity of roles into one coherent role."14

Therefore the question is; if the various phases of the becoming of an actual entity are reflected into a unity, how does it happen that this reflection of different phases does not so mirror them into another that they are in the end finally reflected into the unity of a being, an immediate something, from which pure becoming seems to have vanished as if it had never been? How does it happen that the reflexivity of the actual entity does not immediately operate against its becoming, precisely as, in the relation of things to their properties or of substances and their interactions, it seems to cause every sort of coming-to-be and perishing to evaporate into the indeterminate eternity of timeless relationships between phases? When Whitehead characterizes the reflexivity of the pure actual entity by means of the reflexive determinations of self-identity and self-diversity, does this not involve a guarantee that the becoming must from the start have disappeared from the simple actual entity, and that this entity must always have been a simple, self-identical something? And if such an entity is a something which was always just what it is, is it not just a specially simple and elementary sort of thing or substance, something which gives rise to thinking in terms of the relationships between things and properties, of substances and their interactions?" Is not such a something, then, like a thing, on the one hand identical with itself, and on the other different from itself insofar as it changes? And though on the one hand it is, to the same extent as substances, exempted from coming-to-be and perishing, is it not, like them, also subject to modification in the form of a perpetual change of determinations? Or is there some other possible way in which such an actual entity can be equally a becoming and a something that has become, if reflexivity is a condition of its becoming?

Whitehead saw this difficulty very well. Indeed, one can say that overcoming it constitutes the main theme of his theory of becoming. "No one has ever touched Zeno without refuting him," he writes in a short essay commenting on the fundamental line of thought in his chief philosophical work, Process and Reality.16 In the same essay he explicitly distinguishes his theory from two other opposed positions: on the one hand from the view that interprets the character of becoming as illusory and becoming itself as simply empty and nonexistent in comparison with beings and their being. (He considers that this view is embodied in the systems of Hegel and Bradley.) On the other hand he contrasts his theory of becoming with Bergson’s on the grounds that the latter denies to the human intellect the power to grasp pure becoming as such and by means of spatialized images to achieve an insight into its true being. Admittedly, Whitehead regards the fundamental form embodied in the subject-predicate sentence structure as an unsuitable instrument for describing pure becoming. But in his eyes human speech does not exclude the possibility of extending its philosophical use beyond its initially limited range of employment and of becoming capable of describing actualities it was not originally cut out for "Every science must devise its own instruments. The tool required for philosophy is language. Thus philosophy redesigns language in the same way that in physical science preexisting appliances are redesigned" (PR 16). In this view it must also be possible to bring language and the logic of philosophical statements into an intimate relationship with the character of pure becoming.

So Whitehead devised a very abstract and general scheme, a scheme of the logic of becoming, by means of which linguistic logic has to give the general description of pure becoming. This abstract scheme does not lack a paradoxical structure: an actual occasion, considered under the formal aspect of a mere something, belongs just as much to the multiplicity of somethings, as it is yet something apart from the same multiplicity.

The ultimate metaphysical principle is the advance from disjunction to conjunction, creating a novel entity other than the entities given in disjunction. The novel entity is at once the togetherness of the ‘many’ which it finds, and also it is one among the disjunctive ‘many’ which it leaves; it is a novel entity, disjunctively among the many entities which it synthesizes. The many become one, and are increased by one. (PR 32)

An actual entity considered from the formal viewpoint of its being-something [Etwas-Seins] is therefore (1) a something within a unity of many, hence one among many. But (2) the same something is the many somethings of which it is one and is at the same time the unity of these many. Thus this something is a multiplicity, and the unity of this multiplicity, and equally well an element of this unity and multiplicity, hence also one among many. But the self-same something is finally (3), or even (4), a something apart from the many among which it is one and whose unity and multiplicity it is." The paradoxical logical form of an actual entity considered under the aspect of its being-something is thus not exhausted by the actual entity’s being in itself both one and many. The significance of these three or four ways in which it is other than itself [Andersssein] refers rather to the three or four different functions which it exercises in the process of its becoming with respect to itself and to the others related to it. For their complete explanation these various different functions require a variety of categories. Indeed, it will become evident that in Whitehead’s theory of becoming a diversity of categories originates first and foremost from the above description of the diverse functions of an actual entity.

The other factor indispensable for describing an actual entity is an exact account of perishing. Whitehead is of the opinion that the significance of this factor has been overlooked in the traditional theories of becoming and that this is why in these theories pure becoming is always turning into being and being-something:

Philosophers have taken too easily the notion of perishing. There is a trinity of three notions: being, becoming, and perishing. . . . The world is always becoming, and as it becomes, it passes away and perishes.. Almost all of Process and Reality can be read as an attempt to analyze perishing on the same level as Aristotle’s analysis of becoming.18

Now how are these three factors of pure becoming mutually interrelated, that is, with respect to the above-mentioned three- or fourfold structure of the actual entity? In particular, how are we to define the relationship of perishing to the two other factors, being and coming-to-be? With regard to this last question, Whitehead’s theory of becoming seems at first to end up in overemphasizing the other extreme, that of the novel. Novelty and creativity form the fundamental principle in Whitehead’s theory of becoming (the Category of the Ultimate).19 But this theory is interesting not because it emphasizes this fundamental principle, nor because it is an attempt, in contrast to Bergson’s theory, to make becoming and novelty intellectually explicable. The theory gains its own peculiar interest only in that it makes the two fundamental concepts (becoming and novelty) into the principle of rationality itself. Reason is defined m terms of a superior sensitivity to the essence of the novel and to its becoming. Thus we find the following sentences in The Function of Reason: "Reason is a factor in experience which directs and criticizes the urge towards the attainment of an end realized in imagination, but not in fact And: "In the stabilized life there is no room for Reason. The methodology has sunk from a method of novelty into a method of repetition. Reason is the organ of emphasis upon novelty." That the process of becoming is a coming-to-be of the novel means more in Whitehead’s theory than merely the expression of a general observation about the nature of things. It means more than simply a descriptive formulation of.a view that runs something like this: Nothing can remain enduring unless it bears within itself the germ of an inner self-renewal; thus, anything that simply and solely endures and remains identical with itself, anything that no longer develops, has already started to perish and carries within itself the germ of death. The function of the concept of novelty extends far beyond all that and lays claim here to include within itself the principle of all rational explanation whatsoever. First, as far as endurance and persistence of identity [Sich-gleich-Bleiben] are concerned, no constant existence [Dasein] is any more conceivable without the concept of a novel becoming than is constant change. Thus Whitehead is able to speak of the concepts of the novel and of the creation of the novel in terms of the concept of all concepts, the universal of all universals:

Creativity is the universal of universals characterizing ultimate matter of fact. It is that ultimate principle by which the many, which are the universe disjunctively, become the one actual occasion, which is the universe conjunctively. It lies in the nature of things that the many enter into complex unity. Creativity is the principle of novelty. . . . Thus the ‘production of novel togetherness’ is the ultimate notion embodied in the term ‘concrescence’. These ultimate notions of ‘production of novelty’ and of ‘concrete togetherness’ are inexplicable either in terms of higher universals or in terms of the components participating in the concrescence. (PR 31f)

The novel and novelty are therefore not here explicable by means of more universal abstractions. Rather just the reverse: all other definitions and all other determinations through categories are to be interpreted and explained first of all in terms of the concept of a momentary, novel synthesis (togetherness, concrescence). The question is, under what conditions can such an explanation be possible?

Under this aspect of the novel and of the becoming of the novel, how are the three fundamental concepts of being, becoming, and perishing related to one another? There obviously seems to be more contained in this concept of the becoming of the novel than in the relatively simple concept of the becoming of something. That the coming-to-be is a coming-to-be or becoming of something seems necessarily presupposed if one is to talk about the coming-to-be of something novel. Whitehead’s theory of becoming is in fact noteworthy in the way it takes for granted that the coming-to-be is not only a coming-to-be of something, but beyond that, is a coming-to-be of something absolutely determinate. An actual entity insofar as it has become and is the result of its becoming is completely determinate. Indeed, this complete determinateness achieved by an actual entity is of equal importance both with respect to its own story of coming-to-be and with respect to its function as an objective datum for other stories of becoming which are no longer its own but into which it enters as a necessary element. For that reason an actual entity is finally, as the result of its becoming and as what-has-become, completely determinate in a third sense, namely, with respect to its relationship to its ‘actual world’, a world which it transforms and hands on as so transformed. (Cf. PR 38: the 25th Category of Explanation; also PR 68, 130, 136, 227, 234, 323.) That something’s becoming is in this threefold sense a becoming of something completely determinate seems at first glance anything but self-evident. We are instead inclined to suppose that actuality, understood under the category of becoming, is not only the momentary becoming of what is completely determinate, but that it is, moreover, shot through with a multiplicity of indeterminate possibilities. These possibilities, of which our wishes and our hopes are the subjective counterpart, never finally reach actuality, and in the all-inclusive realm of the actual, a place must be found for them distinct from that of actualized possibilities. But against this view one could argue: if actuality understood under the category of becoming is to furnish for absolutely all being the ultimate principle of explanation, ‘the universal of universals’, then it must be presumed to be something completely determinate. This is quite independent of whether or not unactualized possibilities continue to hold their place alongside actualized possibilities, forming together with them the unity of a determinate actuality. Moreover, unactualized possibilities can exist and be known only by virtue of their contrasting relation to a determinate actuality. so that these possibilities are either factors of the becoming and not of what has become, or factors of what has become which are internally or externally transcendent to it.

Under the aspect of complete determinateness, becoming manifests itself as a coming-to-be of this determinateness, and perishing as a perishing of indeterminateness, so that coming-to-be even stands in need of this perishing. (It is not necessary that indeterminacy perish altogether but only insofar as a determinate actual entity requires it.) Precisely for this reason the indeterminate out of which the determinate arises need not be absolutely indeterminate. (On the contrary, the becoming of something determinate seems to be quite inconceivable unless it is a becoming arising out of what is determinate.) Whitehead defined more precisely the character of determinateness in its becoming and of indeterminateness in its perishing as a relationship between coherence and incoherence: "An actual entity . . . is self-creative; and in its process of creation transforms its diversity of rôles into one coherent rôle. Thus ‘becoming’ is the transformation of incoherence into coherence, and in each particular instance ceases with this attainment" (PR 38; 22nd Category of Explanation).

Incoherence and coherence are here clearly distinguished in concept from the contradictoriness or freedom from it which belong to logical inconsistency and consistency, even though an essential relationship of mutual conditionality governs both senses. On the one hand the principle of coherence, by Whitehead’s account, seems broader and more profound than that of logical consistency.21 Coherence can be distinguished from its opposite, incoherence, in the following way. Incoherence means a lack of relation, an isolation of elements or factors, in such a way that unrelated things, in this relationship of being unrelated, are meaningless. In contrast to this, coherence is a relation in which connectedness takes the place of a lack of relation, and it is in this connectedness that the interrelated factors first and foremost have significance. Coherence is therefore nothing less than the negatively formulated property of a relation, that it be significant in each of its elements and thus as a whole. Logical consistency (and even logical inconsistency) seem rather to be always grounded in a field of meanings and of meaning-relationships,

On the other hand logical consistency is nonetheless an essential condition for forming coherent connective relations. Whitehead formulates this role of logical consistency as two ‘categoreal obligations’: the requirement of objective identity and of objective diversity. ‘Objective identity’ means that every element of an actual entity must exercise a self-consistent function in the process of this becoming; that is, it cannot play a double role in this process. ("Logic is the general analysis of self-consistency.") ‘Objective diversity’ means that the diverse elements of an actual entity cannot exercise one and the same function in its process of becoming (PR 39; Categoreal Obligations 2 and 3). The two conditions are in a sense the presuppositions which render possible the rational analysis of an actual entity, hence are themselves the rational conditions of the actual entity and of its becoming.

In Whitehead’s categoreal system coherence is the principle of rationality as such. In employing it he goes so far as to demand that in the end, "no entity can be conceived in complete abstraction from the system of the universe, and that it is the business of speculative philosophy to exhibit this truth" (PR 5). ‘Coherence’ is understood more precisely to mean not only that every single being must be involved in some kind of connection -- and in view of the diversity of possible relations and even of the possible relationship of unrelatedness this would not be saying very much. Rather, the concept of a coherent relation involves the essential relevance of the factors of the relation to the whole universe: "It will be presupposed that all entities or factors in the universe are essentially relevant to each other’s existence."22 From this presupposition, then, there necessarily follows the more precise definition of the complete determinateness of an actual entity mentioned above. That is, each of its factors must have a determinate relation to each element in the universe. Likewise every assertion, every sentence has, as an entity, significance and truth primarily against the background of the whole universe, quite apart from whether or not this "universal horizon" providing meaning and unity is analyzable in terms of conceptual definitions and relationships. Whitehead expressly denies the possibility of any such absolute analysis.23 On the other hand no such absolute analysis is a necessary condition for the functioning of coherence in the sense of a rational principle.

An actual entity can now be described under the aspect of emerging [werdenden] coherence: insofar as such an entity is an emergence of a unified connectedness of coherent factors from incoherent elements, it is the emergence of a totality of meaning whose inner factors have significance only within this whole: "An entity is actual, when it has significance for itself" (PR 38: 21st Category of Explanation). The unity of each individual occasion’s becoming can be grasped only as the unity of a totality of meaning which has significance for itself. And that an actual occasion is a becoming of the novel means that the coherent unity which originates in the becoming of an actual entity represents an unrepeatable, novel connection among the given factors, a connection which can happen only once. These factors may well be quite novel and hence represent actual occasions as coherent unities. Yet in this case, as always, we require categories capable of describing the incoherent situation of the given factors. In the most general way, the Category of Multiplicities, or Pure Disjunctions of Diverse Entities, fulfils this function. A multiplicity is thus a given unity of incoherent factors which may belong to the same or to different category-types (cf. the 16th Category of Explanation: PR 36).24

As we remarked above, in Whitehead’s theory of becoming uniqueness is primarily subsumed under the primacy of the property of happening only once. Every case of uniqueness is a case of an occasion’s happening-only-once. Every sort of uniqueness is ultimately grounded in this characteristic of an occasion, or of several in their real connectedness. Whitehead designates this fundamental state of affairs as an ontological principle: "This ontological principle means that actual entities are the only reasons; so that to search for a reason is to search for one or more actual entities" (PR 36f; 18th Category of Explanation). This principle forms the fundamental presupposition of Whitehead’s ‘onto-cosmology’,25 and he himself sees in it the essential difference between his metaphysics and the ontologies and cosmologies of the philosophical tradition (cf. PR 27). Every sort of explanation, definition, or constitution of an actuality must in the end be referred back to this universal background of actual occasions and to their categoreal form. Actual occasions or entities form the ontological foundation and locus for every sort of constitution (cf. 20th Category of Explanation, PR 38). More precisely, this means that such occasions exhibit in the concretion of their becoming, in their concrescence into coherent unities, what is most concrete. Consequently everything else, lacking this structure of an occasion, must be regarded as abstract, and must be explained as such, or as the result of the analysis of an occasion. From this viewpoint the categories of the Whiteheadian system can be distinguished: some according to their degree and form of abstraction (Categories of Existence); some are the conditions requisite for analyzing real occasions (Categories of Explanation); some are principles for testing and critically comparing diverse analyses (Categoreal Obligations). From the viewpoint of the ontological principle the task of philosophy is not that of explaining and constituting the concrete, but rather: "Its business is to explain the emergence of the more abstract things from the more concrete things. . . Philosophy is explanatory of abstraction, and not of concreteness." Whitehead holds that the attempt to explain the concrete by constructing it step by step out of the abstract misunderstands the explanatory possibilities of philosophy: "Each fact is more than its forms" (PR 30). Consequently there is not just one but indefinitely many possible ways of analyzing an occasion: "Each actual entity is analyzable in an indefinite number of ways. In some modes of analysis the component elements are more abstract than in other modes of analysis" (PR 28).

There is in fact nothing more to be said about the novelty of these uniquely occurring occasions than that each occasion is novel, that it happens only once and is unrepeatable in relation to all other occasions to which, as such, it can stand in a real relation of connectedness. Only in view of this does the more precisely defined concept of the becoming of a coherent unity out of incoherent data emerge. It lends to the concept of the novel a more definite sense, namely that of the novelty and uniqueness of a connectedness of given factors. In this sense Whitehead speaks of an occasion’s subjective form, in which the uniqueness of this singular occasion has to be sought ("The subjective form is the immediate novelty"; cf. PR 350 ff.). Every analysis and every detail resulting from determinate analysis has to be referred to this subjective form as the inner, unrepeatable peculiarity of the occasion in question. Apart from this form, the analysis of an occasion would be left with only universal characteristics. These would apply not only to the analyzed occasion under discussion, but would also serve to define any number of occasions, hence would not allow us to recognize to what extent these characteristics are intrinsically peculiar to the given occasion. In abstraction from the subjective form of a given occasion, every detail resulting from the analysis of this occasion is only an extrinsic and abstract determination.

It must seem obvious that the concept of what is absolutely concrete (the actual) requires, in some sense or other, the counter-concept of abstraction and of the abstract, particularly the concept of what is absolutely abstract. In the same way, the concept of what can happen only once as absolutely unrepeatable necessitates the counter-concept of what always is and always was [eines Immer-Seienden, eines Immer-Gewesen], even though one might be able to make conceptual sense out of something (even everything) in terms of the former concepts. That the concept of the concrete calls for that of the abstract becomes clear in the concept of the subjective form of an occasion as the concrete, unique, and unrepeatable relation to what was already given. For that out of which something becomes, even though it is itself coming to be, cannot become in the same sense as that which comes to be precisely out of it. Thus, just as in Whitehead’s categoreal system the two first-mentioned elements, absolute concreteness and unique occurrence, are united in the concept of a determinate, fundamental, categoreal existence (the concept of an occasion or actual entity), so the corresponding counter-elements, absolute abstractness and the character of abiding existence [lmmer-Gewesen-Sein], are joined together in another concept of an opposite categoreal type, that of an utterly abstract entity, which always was and always is, which Whitehead calls an eternal object. Eternal objects contrast with concrete actual entities not only in that they are abstract and have always been, but also because they are essentially objects. Actual entities, however, are primarily subjects, subjects of their own becoming, and though even as subjects they can become objects, they cannot have existence exclusively as objects. Despite these contrary characteristics, what an eternal object has in common with an actual entity is its determination through the category of the one and the many. Without prejudice to its absolutely abstract essence, an eternal object possesses an individual nature exclusively its own. It is -- in relationship to and in distinction from other eternal objects -- a definite quality, hence possesses a certain qualitative definiteness. (In Process and Reality the favorite examples for eternal objects are simple sense data.) The concept of eternal objects belongs likewise under the category of indefinite multiplicity. Just as there are countless occasions, so there are indefinitely many eternal objects. In this way we allow for the idea that the novel, the unrepeatable which happens only once, cannot be squeezed into any definite mold, whether one or several, anymore than can that which constantly perdures and recurs. In particular, the concept of a plurality of that which always is [des Immerseienden] is of the greatest significance in that it stresses that even what has always been [dieses Immer-Gewesene] cannot be comprehended by the concept of a single, ever-recurring pattern.

Formally viewed, the plurality of eternal objects has a double aspect like that of occasions. As it makes no sense to compare two individual occasions with a view to asking which is the more concrete, so there is no sense in submitting eternal objects, taken individually, to an analogous comparison with a view to asking which is the more abstract. As the former are absolutely concrete and, as such, equiprimordial, the latter are absolutely abstract and correspondingly equiprimordial. On the other hand eternal objects, viewed in their individual multiplicity, are by definition bound to be connected with other eternal objects,26 just as, analogously, an occasion has to be viewed as a concrete relation to other occasions and nexuses of occasions. An eternal object, taken in isolation by itself, is just as meaningless as an absolutely isolated occasion, withdrawn from every nexus with other occasions. In both cases isolation would violate the rational principle of coherence which furnishes meaning. So an eternal object must be viewed both as something existing for its own sake and also as a necessary union of eternal objects. Thus an eternal object considered in itself is necessarily ambiguous and undetermined. In itself it is altogether abstract. On the other hand, as a union of eternal objects it is more concrete than any of those eternal objects which form the components of this union. In its relationship to the multiplicity of eternal objects, therefore, an eternal object is more abstract or more concrete both by reason of itself and by reason of the other eternal objects and all the possible ways it can enter into union with them.27

An analogous relationship holds, though in the opposite direction, for concrete occasions. On the one hand an occasion, as that which is most concrete, is more concrete than any concrete relation in which it stands with respect to the occasions which form its actual world and with which it has entered into a nexus. On the other hand an occasion, as long as it is not defined simply through qualities or eternal objects, is not to be defined except through its concrete relationships to other occasions with which it forms a nexus in reality. From the viewpoint of its determination by means of concrete relations to other occasions, it makes no sense to define the difference between an occasion and its relation to other occasions as a difference between the concrete and the abstract. Quite the contrary. If the descriptive definition of occasions is not to lead to abstract and unessential characters, and if, besides, its appropriate description is not to be rendered antecedently impossible, then there must be a concept in which the essential features of an occasion are exhibited as concrete. This holds even though the occasion in question does not permit confining it to one or more relations to occasions but rather asserts its absolute character in contrast to any such relation. Whitehead describes an occasion’s concrete relation to the occasions of the world, the world to which it belongs just as much as they do, as its prehension of those occasions. Prehensions therefore are comparatively concrete as are occasions, and they contain their essential features, especially the fundamental feature of being related to a world of occasions (PR 28f). In other words, an occasion and its concrete relation to the world stand -- logically -- in the essential relation of substance and attribute, not in the accidental relation of thing and property. No union of eternal objects is of itself determinate and concrete enough to define a concrete occasion and its concrete relation to the world. Every union of eternal objects, however complex and hence comparatively concrete, remains abstract compared to an occasion or nexus. Conversely, no occasion’s concrete prehension of other occasions is abstract enough to be confined to the pattern of a more or less complex qualitative definiteness. Quality (being) and becoming in the multiplicity of their manifestations -- eternal objects and actual occasions -- are so constituted that they necessarily refer to one another. Yet their categoreal structure is so diverse that their relationship necessarily remains an extrinsic one, hence they are not of themselves in a position to mediate with one another nor fully to harmonize their contrarieties, their being and their becoming, their abstractness and their concreteness: "The fundamental types of enti~es... only express how all entities of the two fundamental types are in community with each other, in the actual world" (PR 37: 19th Category of Explanation). The world, viewed from the standpoint of such an elementary contrast between what has always been and what is ever new, affords the peculiar phenomenon of a dual aspect, one side the mirror-image and imitation of the other, so that every feature of the one world has its counterpart in the other ("Temporal personality in one world involves immortal personality in the other.")28

With reference to the world of eternal objects, the world appears to be a repetition and perpetual recurrence of the same: what changes is only a fluctuation of intensity, the rhythmic articulation of being. With reference to the world of pure actual occasions, the world is an incessant fashioning of the novel and unrepeatable. But how are both worlds more closely connected when we go beyond this simple world-model of elementary contrasts? Can the concept of novel becoming be grasped from the simple contrast with what always is and always was? As the coming-to-be of something novel, becoming is more than the coming-to-be of something other. Such a becoming of something other is change. In a change one thing becomes an other. What thereby becomes an other is something other by relation to something else. This does not exclude the possibility that what has become an other already once was what it has now become, in such a way that a former quality has repeated itself, an earlier determination has returned. A change contains no grounds for a decision as to the possibility or impossibility of a repetition of what has been. Such a decision exceeds its conceptual limits, for change is indifferent to this decision even though it may not exclude it. Thus a change denotes something limited and absolutely conditioned. In Whitehead’s theory it is the eternal objects, the qualities, which undergo changes, not the unsubstantial substances, the actual occasions. The possibility for such change lies in eternal objects insofar as they contain within themselves the essential difference between a more abstract and a more concrete nature. But the actuality of their change lies in the actuality of actual entities. Change is not a shift in qualitative determination but "the difference between actual occasions comprised in some determinate event" (PR 114). Change is therefore a difference between occasions in a society which is definable through the relational function of an eternal object. On the other hand a concrete occasion, viewed in itself, does not change. Since it is a simple coming-to-be out of something and is itself coming to be something, its very concept excludes the possibility of repetition. A novel occasion is in this sense an other which indeed can and must become something-that-was, but cannot be the repetition of something-that-was, the recurrence of the same. From this standpoint an occasion is absolutely other even though conditioned by the ground of its own being and becoming which is at the same time the ground for the impossibility of its repetition. This ground lies in the sources of the occasion: in the other occasions which comprise its actual world, and in itself. No two occasions arise out of one and the same world, "though the difference between the two universes only consists in some actual entities, included in one and not in the other, and in the subordinate entities which each actual entity introduces into the world" (PR 34: 5th Category of Explanation). The occasions out of which an occasion comes to be cannot be altogether the same as those which come to be out of it.

An occasion does not change, it perishes. It disappears. And that which perishes is just the being of the becoming of something. But what is the connection between coming-to-be and perishing, and in particular, what is being, in which coming-to-be and perishing are united and which holds both together in the unity of an entity? What distinguishes the being of this entity from the being of a quality or determination? What distinguishes its union of coming-to-be and perishing from the corresponding union which is displayed by something that changes inasmuch as it is subject to coming-to-be and perishing? To what extent is the being of occasions a real and concrete being in contrast to the abstract being of eternal objects whose abstract essence can be defined solely as the possibility of a concrete actualization in an occasion? (PR 34: 7th Category of Explanation.) Coming-to-be and perishing cannot be simply the same activity [Bewegung] in an actual entity. For if this activity is [simply] that of coming-to-be, then there is perpetual coming-to-be but never the coming-to-be of something [in particular]. In some sense or other a perishing is required for the becoming of something. On the other hand that activity cannot be exclusively an activity of perishing. For in this case what perishes would already be something which has been and never something becoming. Insofar as something comes to be Out of something and perishes into something, these logical loci of whence and whither cannot be simply the same. For that reason a becoming is unintelligible if it is understood as a coming-to-be out of nothing and a perishing into nothing. For there is no ground for discriminating between one nothing and another. (This does not rule out the possibility that a theoretical or practical need for this unintelligible idea can arise.) On the other hand, neither can the coming-to-be and perishing of an actual entity be diverse activities separated from one another in such a way that perishing would only commence with the end of coming-to-be, with being, as it were, filling in the interval between coming-to-be and perishing. Nor could they be separated in such a way that being extends uniformly throughout coming-to-be and perishing, reaching from the beginning of the former activity to the end of the latter, so as finally to encompass them both. For from this latter standpoint the entity in question would have a nature which, by our premises, it ought not to possess. Either it would be an utterly timeless something in whose being coming-to-be and perishing would be swallowed up in their mutual interaction, or it would be a substance, a thing, composed of two fundamental characteristics. These would shift or change into one another, and in their mutual transition release other properties which in turn would shift and change into one another. Their mutual transitions would furnish the foreground activity of change for the background event of coming-to-be and perishing. Insofar as coming-to-be and perishing cannot be diverse movements separated from one another, the difference between being and nothing cannot furnish an adequate principle for determining the relationship between the two movements so long as being and nothing are themselves taken as absolutely diverse principles separated from one another.

Coming-to-be and perishing are somehow the same activity and yet not the same activity (and thus, as their principles, being and nothing would be the same and not the same). This relationship of identity [Selbigkeit] and difference is more precisely defined by the analogous relationship of the identity and difference between the beginning of these activities and the activities themselves. The beginning of the coming-to-be of an actual entity is not identical with the beginning of its perishing, even though perishing is at the same time given with the coming-to-be and has already commenced with it. On the other hand, insofar as there is no available distinction between the beginning of an activity and this activity itself--and circular motion demonstrates how an activity can cause this distinction to vanish within itself -- then it must be said that an actual entity has a twofold beginning, that is, a double ground of its coming-to-be. (Grounds of being and becoming arise first of all in the sublation [Aufhebung] by means of the activity itself of the difference between an activity and its beginning.)" An event [ein Werdendes] (Translator’s note: In order to stress that an actual entity is an instance of becoming, the author continues in the ensuing discussion to call it das Werdende (‘that which is becoming’, or ‘what-is-becoming’) rather than use his former expressions Werde-Wesen or Ereignis. In order to avoid chronic hyphenitis I have resorted to translating das Werdende henceforth as ‘event’, understood in Whitehead’s narrower sense.) is at first not distinct from others but there emerges such a distinction between itself and others in its becoming first of all itself. But how does an event, insofar as it becomes anything at all, become something which is distinct from others? On the one hand, that out of which the event becomes is other. This other is its world composed of a multiplicity of concrete entities of the same sort as the event itself. The event has its source in the world of becoming, in a world of occasions to which it belongs by the fact that it is itself one of them. The event is first of all absorbed in this its world. Viewed in itself it is this world, inasmuch as it forms a wholly direct but also suitably undetermined relationship to it. Whitehead calls this immediate, undifferentiated relationship of an occasion to its world, a ‘physical prehension’. The event feels its world. Thus these most concrete relations characterize the primary, original relations of an actual entity to the world of becoming, to its own origins in becoming. But precisely insofar as the event is here wholly absorbed in the given world of occasions to which it itself belongs, it is not distinct from them. It itself, in its relation to the world, is not distinct from them. From a negative point of view the event must have yet another origin: besides its primitive relationship to the world of becoming it must have a further primitive relationship to something. This other origin can therefore only derive from the timeless, and this second primitive relationship can only relate it to the world of the timeless, the world of eternal objects. Now by this second primitive relationship the event is not related to its given world immediately or randomly but mediately,30 to a qualitative determination provided for it, to a given eternal object. But this relationship cannot refer to an eternal object which is purely isolated and hence unrelated within the world of eternal objects. For as was said before, a determination thus isolated within itself is meaningless. It violates the principle of coherence. Neither can this relationship of the event to timeless qualities be a question of an undifferentiated relationship to the whole world of eternal objects. For as undifferentiated, the eternal objects are equally related to all occasions generally, actual and nonactual,31 inasmuch as the eternal objects determine an internal order of connection among events. If an actual entity can be related to a particular eternal object, there must be a previously given determination among the world of eternal objects with respect to the given event. Under this aspect, the eternal objects have their own internal movement of relevance with respect to each novel event. The order of the world is subject to this sort of constant flux. An actual entity prehends such eternal objects as have been thus given to it and determined for it. Whitehead speaks of this second, timeless origin for an event, of its primitive relationship to the timeless, in terms of the ‘conceptual prehension’ of an eternal object by an event. Through a twofold activity, therefore, the timeless has ingression into the world of becoming: through its own internal activity which destines a particular object for prehension by the event, and through the activity of prehension by the event itself. Correspondingly, the event comes to be in virtue of a twofold activity: through its becoming out of a given world and its becoming out of a timeless origin.

Thus these two primitive relations, the one to the world of becoming and the other to its timeless origin, form the two mutually related factors of an actual entity in its becoming. Insofar as its differentiation from its own actual world first arises in the course of its becoming, its coming to be "itself" as distinct from the other is obviously later than its being and becoming in the other and out of the other. As differentiated it is thus subsequent to its immediate being in its actual world and to its emergence out of it. To that extent the immediate physical prehension of the given world of occasions is antecedent to the conceptual prehension of a qualitative determination, with regard to which the becoming entity first comes to be "itself" and so to differ from the data. As a factor of the becoming of an event, the prehended eternal object thereby necessarily plays a different role than it does with regard to a concrescing or objectified actual occasion [ein Seiendes und Gewordenes], whose qualitative constitution it is capable of characterizing. As a factor in the becoming of an event it takes on primarily the role of a determination.32 By prehending a given, predetermined eternal object, the event in its becoming acquires an internal subjective aim proper to it alone which provides direction to its becoming. This subjective aim determines the tendency of the becoming and blocks out for the event an ideal of its own possible self-existence as differentiated from others. This ideal of self-differentiation is an ideal of intense subjective existence. (Cf. PR 41:Categoreal Obligation 8: The Category of Subjective Intensity.) With the attainment of this aim the becoming of the event is fulfilled, and the process of becoming of that particular actual entity has attained its satisfaction.

As a factor of an actual entity an eternal object is a real possibility for the determinate actualization of some datum. Through the reality of this possibility the status of an eternal object in the event differs from its abstract status in the realm of eternal objects in general. This real possibility therefore cannot exist except in relation to the actual world. The actual world must include such a possibility for its own novel realization through a novel occasion. Insofar as the timeless origin of the event bears on its origin in the world of becoming, and these two origins are not equiprimordial, this timeless origin is not only an origin in the timeless but also a timeless origin in becoming and thus subsequent to the origin of the event in becoming. That is why Whitehead can say that the prehension of an eternal object (conceptual prehension) occurs in a later phase of the becoming of an event than the immediate and unqualified physical prehension of the whole given world of becoming. The possibility that a particular actual entity should emerge from a given world and be distinct from it, is grounded not solely in the realm of possibility in general, which is always abstract taken in itself, but in the ambit which the actual world of becoming leaves open for the possibility of the becoming of something novel. Hence Whitehead can say that in the course of its becoming an actual entity develops or ‘derives’ its determination from its immediate physical relation to the actual world of occasions (PR 39: Categoreal Obligation 4: The Category of Conceptual Valuation).

An event lays hold of one of the possibilities which the ambit of the actual world leaves open. With respect to such a possibility the event is an immediate physical orientation to the world. To that extent the two original orientations of the event to the world of becoming, physical and conceptual, are equiprimordial. In a sense the orientation of the event to its determination is in fact the primary one. While the concrescing actual entity is immediately feeling its actual world, its coming into being with regard to its determination and the realization of its subjective aim has already begun. Hence with regard to this determination the becoming of the actual entity is distinct from the becoming of its actual world precisely insofar as it first absorbs itself in this given world so as to become itself out of it. To be sure, that the world of becoming forms a given world for a novel actual entity does not mean it has thereby ceased to be a world of becoming.33 But as the becoming of a novel event, the world’s becoming is no longer solely its own. It has rather come to be a becoming that sets itself apart. As the becoming of a novel event, the world’s becoming is the becoming of its past being. The becoming of the past being of a given actual world is at the same time the initial becoming of a novel actual entity. In itself the actual world becomes past insofar as it gains a present for a novel actual entity. And this perishing in present becoming is at the same time the initial becoming of a novel event. While the present actual world is perishing and in this perishing still holds a present for itself, it simultaneously holds a present for the novel event which, in this present, gains for itself its own past, present, and future. From this viewpoint it makes good sense that Whitehead describes the actual entity in categories of subjectivity and thus makes methodic use of the analogy of human subjectivity.34 For actual entities are not to be treated simply from the outside, as objects to which other objects stand as past, simultaneous, or future. In that way becoming would be reduced to the coexistence of a successiveness and to the successiveness of a coexistence, and thus be rendered wholly extrinsic. In truth, becoming is so constituted that every single event as object is indeed also related to events and actualities which are objectively related to it as past or present. But an event first has its own becoming, since in this relationship to objects its own internal past, present, and future emerge which constitute its own internal world in contradistinction to the outer world.

The eternal object, the timeless qualitative determination prehended by the event as an internal specification of its becoming, has then divergent functions with respect to the self-differentiation which the event has gained for itself in its relation to its actual world. As subjective aim the eternal object specifies the future of an event. But to the degree that the becoming of the event approaches the actualization of its aim, that specification becomes a realized qualitative determination which objectively qualifies the present past of the event and thereby qualifies the past actual world as held in the present. The realization of the subjective determination is therefore nothing other than its transformation into the objective state of what has been made present. It is the event itself, then, that through its becoming ‘transforms’ its determination into a state (cf. PR 40: Categoreal Obligation 6: The Category of Transmutation). The possibility that the event can differentiate itself from its data and from its. own becoming a subject [Subjekt-Werdung] lies in this transformation of its subjective determination into an objective state. For either the event holds on to the determination it originally prehended, in spite of the latter’s transition into an [objective] state, and so pre-produces in itself only the objectified data; or else it develops a novel determination in contrast to its original one. In the latter case the event derives its own novel determination out of the original determination that has become an objectified state -- that is, it derives another eternal object from the one originally prehended. (Cf. PR 40: Categoreal Obligation 5: The Category of Conceptual Reversion.) Such an event does not rest content with the immediate, primary synthesis of its situation within the given world but develops a subjective situation transcending it. By that very fact it is more highly developed and has a more complex structure than the former kind of events. Higher and more complex forms of subjectivity can emerge, but they cannot be described here in detail.

The becoming of an event is the becoming of an individual interiority in contradistinction to the external world. To that extent the self-differentiation of the event from its data [Vorhandenen] does not have the character of a relationship of one thing to another. Rather it is a relationship of the interior to the exterior. This becoming of what is interior is not the coming-to-be of empty cavities in the external flux of time, but the becoming of a fulfilled interiority, the becoming of a private, interior present and past in relation to what is externally past and present. In this being and becoming of the interior present and past, the future is always involved as a determination of the event, as that which is disappearing in the event’s coming-to-be. With regard to the coming-to-be of an interior past (memory), the future must have another sort of genesis. This difference in the genesis of future and past is grounded in the difference latent in the twofold origin of an actual entity: its origin in the timeless and in the world of becoming. The coming-to-be and perishing of an event are distinct and non-distinct activities depending on how one views the unity and diversity of past, present, and future. The becoming of what is interior in contradistinction to the exterior world is the becoming of a subject. So far as the coming-to-be of the past and the perishing of the future are correlated, and so far as the past grows in the same measure as the future diminishes, the end of the one is the end of the other. The perishing of an event is the perishing of the coming-to-be of a past and the perishing of the perishing of the future. What perishes in an event is its interiority and subjectivity which have been coming into being. What comes to be in this perishing [Untergang] is its objectivity, its reentry into an exterior, objective, actual world which the event had stepped out of in order to enter into the interiority and intensity of self-existence without thereby losing its relationship to the exterior actual world. With respect to this perishing of the event, Whitehead speaks of its ‘objective immortality’. By this he means that in the perishing of its interiority the event has become an element of an exterior actual world whose novel becoming has already begun in this perishing. The short moment of interior fulfillment is extinguished only to flash out anew, in endless succession, in the exterior world of becoming. From this becoming and perishing of an event it follows that it cannot be described solely through its role as a subject in becoming, but that its appropriate representation requires a description of its function as a possible object for other subjects: "Two descriptions are required for an actual entity: (a) one which is analytical of its potentiality for ‘objectification’ in the becoming of other actual entities, and (b) another which is analytical of the process which constitutes its own be-coming." (PR 34: 8th Category of Explanation.)

 

Notes

1 Cf. Aristotle, Physics, 218a ff, 251b10.

2 Plato’s dialogue Cratylus is an eloquent proof of this. But one should also compare the critical remarks of Theodoros in the Theaetetus, 179e f, about the attempts of the followers of Heraclitus to reflect the essence of the flux of all things by means of peculiar and mysterious expressions.

3 Cf. Kant, Critique of Pure Reason, Transcendental Dialectic, "The Interest of Reason in These Conflicts," A 462 ff.

4 Cf. Plato, Theaetetus, 152d, 157a ff.

5 Cf. Plato, Sophist, 227a-d.

6 On time as representation of inner sense, cf. Kant, Critique of Pure Reason, A 33 ff.

7 Cf. the dialectical description of the "Law of Explanation" in Hegel’s Phenomenology of Mind (tr. J. B. Baillie; London, 1966), pp. 200-07.

8 Whitehead’s chief philosophical work, Process end Reality (New York, 1929), will hereafter be cited by the abbreviation ‘PR’.

9 This ambivalence is characteristic of every dialectical confrontation between the beginning of a movement and the movement.

10 Leibniz, Monadology, §§3-7, §11.

11 More precisely, Whitehead specifies the two different terms as follows: the phrase ‘actual entity’ includes both the infinite entity which is God and also finite entities, while the phrase ‘actual occasion’ is only used when statements about God are excluded. (Cf. PR 135; also pp. 28, 46f.) For the sale of simplicity I must largely disregard this difference.

12 Cf. Whitehead’s own stand with respect to Bradley’s philosophy, PR 304f et passim; also his short essay bearing the same title as his chief work, Process and Reality, and first printed in Symposium in Honor of the Seventieth Birthday of A. N. Whitehead, 1932. This latter is here cited as it appears in Essays in Science and Philosophy (New York, 1948). pp. 87-90.

13 In the section on force and understanding in his Phenomenology of Mind Hegel gives an unsurpassed description of the expansion of real reflexivity from a bounded, thing-like relation to the whole of the world.

14 PR 38. The two statements formulate two ‘Categories of Explanation’ (21, 22). I cannot here examine the difficult relation between these ‘Categories of Explanation’ and the ‘Categoreal Obligations’.

15 One of the most difficult problems of Leibniz’s Monadology, namely that of the relationship between simple and complex substances, recurs in fact in Whitehead’s categoreal system, though in different terms. Here the question arises as to the grounds for distinguishing between simple occasions and complex groups of occasions (nexuses, societies, events, etc.), particularly insofar as these form the data for a novel occasion. Whitehead obviously viewed the applicability of the concept of a simple occasion as conditioned by a complex process of ‘extensive division’. In my opinion W. A. Christian did not give this fact sufficient attention in his excellent interpretation of Whitehead. See his An Interpretation of Whitehead’s Metaphysics (New Haven: 1959), pp. 67 ff.

16 ESP 87.

17 Compare the passage in Plato’s Sophist, 253d, notorious for its obscurity. Our present viewpoint may be able to shed some light on it. Perhaps it furnishes a reason why Plato deliberately keeps undetermined the difference between the relationships he described between the one and the many. In my dissertation, The Concept in the Intuitive Forms of Mediateness and Immediateness (typescript), I attempted to develop categories from the viewpoint of this paradoxical structure. For his theory of becoming Whitehead appealed to Plato, particularly to Taylor’s interpretation of Plato: cf. PR 67-70; also his essay, "Immortality," first appearing in The Library of Living Philosophers III (ed. P. Schilpp): The Philosophy of A. N. Whitehead (1941). I here cite this essay as it appears in ESP 60-74.

18 ESP 89.

19 PR 31f.

20 FR 5, 15.

21 FR 53 contains extraordinarily significant statements of Whitehead’s about philosophical method which substantially supplement the corresponding first chapter of Process and Reality on "Speculative Philosophy." In FR Whitehead asserts that the categoreal system which speculative philosophy seeks to develop would be superfluous if our knowledge were always in principle able to realize the following conditions of rationality: 1. Conformity of our concepts and representations to the evidence of immediate experience. 2. Clarity of propositional content. 3. Internal and 4. External logical consistency, in the sense of logical non-contradictoriness. Categoreal systems are therefore only significant to the extent that these conditions are not and cannot be fulfilled. These conditions do not themselves unequivocally fulfill their own requirements. But they must at least be applicable, adequate, and coherent.

22 Immortality," in ESP 60.

23 The notion of the complete self-sufficiency of any item of finite knowledge is the fundamental error of dogmatism. Every such item derives its truth, and its very meaning, from its unanalyzed relevance to the background which is the unbounded Universe. Not even the simplest notion of arithmetic escapes this inescapable condition for existence. . . Even in arithmetic you cannot get rid of a subconscious reference to the unbounded universe"; in" Mathematics and the Good," ESP 78f. There one also finds Whitehead’s comments on Principia Mathematica, which should be compared with the no less interesting remarks by Bertrand Russell on Whitehead’s labors in the philosophy of nature ("Logical Atoniism," in Logical Positivism [ed. Ayerl, pp. 33f).

24 Insofar as the initial datum of an occasion is itself only a single occasion, the incoherence of the initial situation lies in the relationship of this datum occasion to the infinite entity and to one of the eternal objects provided by it. For particulars on this theory of "primary feelings," see PR 361-90.

25 Indeed, Whitehead’s metaphysics can just as well be described as onto-psychology or onto-theology. He himself always characterizes it as cosmology and does so from the point of view that the latter deals with a single genus of elementary entities which form the building-blocks of the world: "The presumption that there is only one genus of actual entities constitutes an ideal of cosmological theory to which the philosophy of organism endeavors to conform" (PR 168).

26 The tenth chapter of Science and the Modern World (New York: 1925), entitled "Abstraction, contains the detailed exposition of the relation of eternal objects to one another with respect to their possible ingression into the world of becoming. This exposition was not carried further in Process in Reality.

27 In his Parmenides Plato presents a variety of inherently possible ways in which a Form [Eidos] can be distinct from itself.

28 "Immortality," ESP 69. For a critique of the categories of quality, something, etc., as categories of subjectivity, cf. K. Lowith, Des Individuum in der Rolle des Mitmenschen II, 2, §§ 12-14.

29 This activity of the ground cannot be described here. For these correlations I refer the reader to Hegel s Science of Logic, especially to the relationship laid down there between the logic of being and that of essence.

30I find Whitehead’s ascription of this mediation to a twofold nature of God an unconvincing solution. This is to theologize the concept of the timeless for no good reason.

31 "The eternal objects are the same for all actual entities" (PR 34, Category of Explanation 5); and: "there nrc no novel eternal objects" (PR 33: Category of Explanation 3).

32 In order to express the different functions of the eternal object as a unity of the event I am here employing the categories ‘constitution’ [Beschaffenheit] and ‘determination’ [Bestimmung] in reliance on Hegel’s clear description of them in his Science of Logic.

33 The chief difficulty which the reading of Process and Reality occasions is that the initial data of an event are represented as themselves in constant movement and as always performing different functions in the process of becoming. Hence it is not just a matter of the event’s performing ever different functions with respect to the given world out of which it comes to be.

34 John Dewey defended Whitehead against criticism for his analogizing use of subjective categories by which they are carried over from the domain of human subjectivity to the domain of all beings. At the same time he called attention to the danger which lies in such an analogy, namely, that of confusing correspondence of functions with identity of content. (In "The Philosophy of Whitehead," The Philosophy of A. N. Whitehead [ed. Schilpp], pp. 653, 660.) It seems to me that the relations which J. Wahl has set up between Whitehead’s cosmology and Heidegger’s fundamental ontology run this risk. (In Vers le Concret [De Vrin; 1932].)

Justice and Class Struggle: A Challenge for Process Theology

True religion, according to the Biblical literature, is elusive. No sacred institution can assure its presence. A persistent problem is the tendency of the Word of God to harden into a parody of itself; the prohibition of images in the decalogue is, according to the Deuteronomic commentator (Dt. 4), laid down lest Israel be lulled into a false security and fail to respond to the Living God who was revealed at Sinai only in the commanding voice. The great prophets attacked the practice of a revealed religion which had become a hollow worship distasteful to Yahweh. Jesus carried out a continuous struggle against the rigid piety of the Pharisees. Paul fought a religion which substituted security based on revealed law for trust in the Living God.

This is the same insight which, at a more abstract level, Whitehead identified under the name of Adventure: even the good when merely repeated becomes relative evil to be surpassed. God cannot be identified with any achievement, no matter how worthy -- the Law, Mount Zion, the Temple, the Church. All become relativized by his surpassing creativity. In posing the issue in this manner, we have made a general principle out of something which confronts us rather as a concrete demand of God within the situations in which we must live out our humanity. For the living of the hour such abstractions are helpful clarifications, but hardly sufficient guidance for realizing our richest human potential. This, which theology treats as the Word of the Living God, is experienced by us in a vague but compelling form as religious insight. To know God in the most important sense is to respond affirmatively to this call. Conceptual clarification is secondary to the lived experience.

It has been my experience in the past three or four years to have become persuaded that God is calling his people to a revolutionary effort, at least in Latin America. In attempting to be faithful to that call, I have also learned from bitter experience that the weight of religion stood for working within a capitalist system which stands under the judgment of God. These are bold affirmations, I know. I do not pretend that the call of God for our lives as persons and groups of persons can be proved beyond risk. I expect Whiteheadians, however, to understand the concreteness of the divine lure and the place of adventure in life. The divine call must be felt and heard in the inward parts. And yet it is not a merely private matter. The task of the preacher is to fill it out and make it plausible. In the carrying out of the function of preaching, Biblical interpretation, sociological analysis, and metaphysical thinking all play their part. It is a matter of personal confession that Whitehead’s metaphysics, via process theology, the Marxist analysis of capitalism, via Latin American social analysis, and Biblical study, via the theology of liberation, have jointly served to flesh out a vision of reality in which the divine call to socialist revolution has been confirmed and rendered fully compelling. Thus, in the task of theological reflection and in that of preaching, scientific analysis and religious insight confirm each other.

If I am not mistaken in my conviction that God is today urging his people to a class struggle against capitalists and their institutions for the sake of a new man in a new society, then Christian theology is faced with the challenge of showing how it accounts for this revolutionary thrust in God. In what follows I propose to examine the challenge as it is posed to process theology and to suggest the direction of a response. In a first section of this paper I shall point to a persistent strain in Biblical thought which identifies Yahweh as God in the fact that he hears the cry of the oppressed for salvation, whereas the gods of the nations are deaf. Conversely, to know Yahweh is to identify with him in responding to the cry of the oppressed. In a second section I shall briefly examine the dynamics of monopoly capitalism in Latin America which account for much of the oppression there today and which determine the shape of our response to the cry of the oppressed today. These two steps will serve to flesh out the religious insight and to pose the questions for process theology which will be the subject of the third and final section of the paper.

I. Yahweh, He Who Hears the Oppressed1

At all periods of Biblical history and in diverse strata of the Biblical materials we find the affirmation that what characterizes Yahweh in disfunction from the objects of men’s worship which are mere vanity is his ability to hear the cry of the oppressed and to save him from his oppressor. The issue is dramatized in an ancient psalm which is heavy with mythological imagery:

God presides in the divine council,

in the midst of the gods adjudicates.

"How long will you defend the unjust,

and show partiality to the wicked?

Defend the weak and the fatherless,

vindicate the afflicted and the poor.

Rescue the weak and the poor,

from the grip of the wicked rescue them."

Without knowledge and without understanding

they wander about in darkness

All the foundations of the earth are shaken.

I had thought, "You are gods,

all of you sons of the Most High;

Yet you shall die as men do,

and fall like any prince.

Arise, 0 God, govern the earth,

rule over all the nations yourself!

Ps. 822

The gods of the nations (cf. Dt. 32: 8-9, LXX) are here exposed by Yahweh as unworthy of their divine position because they have neglected the duties characteristic of God, to save the poor from the hands of the wicked. The implication is clear, that he alone is truly God who frees the poor man from his oppressor.

In a statement which comes as close as any in the Bible to being a doctrine of the nature of God, the Deuteronomists make much the same point:

For Yahweh your God is God of Gods and Lord of Lords, a great god, mighty and awesome, who is not partial, nor does He take bribes. He gives judgment for the orphan and the widow, and loves the sojourner, giving him food and clothing. (Dt. 10:17-18)

It is this conviction that Yahweh is recognized by his intervention on behalf of the poor that explains the denunciations in the Jeremiah traditions of the falsehood of Judaite faith.3 For prophets to speak words of peace in the name of Yahweh to a people who practice injustice is to speak a lie, for it is not Yahweh who has sent them (Jer. 6:14; 23:16-17; 28:7-9). For the people to ignore justice and oppress the alien, and then to turn to the temple of Yahweh for salvation is to trust in a lie rather than in the true God of Israel (Jer. 7:1-15). True religion, according to the Jeremiah tradition, is quite simply to know Yahweh: "Therefore, let him who boasts boast of this, to understand and know me, that I am Yahweh who executes mercy, judgment and justice on earth, for in these things I take pleasure, says Yahweh" (Jer. 9:23).

If Yahweh is truly God in that he executes justice and commands justice, then conversely, to know God is to practice mercy and judgment, an equivalence which is established in the book of Hosea (Hos. 4:1-2; 6:4; 12:6; 2:21-22). Jeremiah makes the same point in contrasting Jehoiachim with Josiah:

Did not your father eat and drink,

and do justice and righteousness?

Then it was well with him.

He judged the cause of the poor and needy;

then it was well.

Is not this to know me? says the Lord.

Jer. 22:15-16 (RSV)

The same equivalence between exercising justice and mercy and the knowledge of God is manifest in Jesus’ vision of the judgment of the nations by the Son of Man (Matt. 25:31-46). And, faithful to the same Biblical understanding of the knowledge of God, we read in I John, "no one has ever seen God; if we love one another, God abides in us and his love is perfected in us" (4:12), and "If any one says, ‘I love God,’ and hates his brother, he is a liar" (4:20).

In the Gospel of John we again find the matter of the recognition of the true God, which we have observed in Jeremiah. Jesus and the Father, according to this evangelist, are one, and this identity will be recognized by means of the works which Jesus performs, powerful works of mercy and justice (Jn. 10:37-38; 14:8-11). For Jews who know from the scriptures who God is, therefore, there can be no excuse for failing to recognize his presence in the deeds and person of Jesus.

The apostolic age also faced the problem of believers who knew the language of religion, but whose faith was exposed as a lie by the unrighteousness of their conduct:

Not every one who says to me, "Lord, Lord," will enter the Kingdom of Heaven, but he who does the will of my Father who is in heaven. Many will say to me on that day, "Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name, and cast out demons in your name, and perform many wonders in your name?" Then I shall declare to them, "Get away from me, you workers of lawlessness." (Matt. 7:21-23)4

Conversely, the apostle Paul recognized that there were Gentiles who, even without the religious instruction of the Bible, showed their knowledge of God by their justice (Rom. 1:21; 2:6-8). They acknowledge the God of Israel, even though they do not know his name, just as truly as other Christians deny him when, according to the Q tradition, they perform wonders in the name of Jesus while practicing lawlessness. True religion is known by its deeds of justice; false religion, exposed by injustice.

What is the origin of this strain within the Bible which identifies Yahweh as the God who does justice and who is known only in obedience to his call to do justice? The answer lies at hand. The exodus story provides the paradigm for the knowledge of Yahweh in the Bible. At the origin of the Biblical faith lies the experience of the merciful judgment of Yahweh which freed the slaves who were to become the people of Israel. According to the foundation story of Israelite existence, the Hebrew slaves cried out in their oppression in Egypt, Yahweh heard their cries on account of their exactors, and he saved them by casting Pharaoh and his army into the sea. By this story, Yahweh was known in Israel from very ancient times as the true God in that he saves the poor who cry to him against their enemies. The antiquity and centrality of this paradigm explains the persistence of the strain in Biblical theology which we have observed, in spite of the obvious pressures on the part of all the establishments to quiet it or subvert it.5

The religious insight of the exodus story works itself into the Biblical tradition in many ways. In the Covenant Code, we see its presence in the following law:

You shall not wrong or oppress an alien, for you were aliens in the land of Egypt. You shall not oppress any widow or fatherless child. If you should oppress him, when he cries out to me, I will most certainly hear his cry, and will be angered and I will kill you by the sword, so that your wives will become widows and your children fatherless. (Ex. 22:20-23)

This law generalizes the exodus paradigm and points to the real possibility that the judgment of Yahweh might be turned against Israel. The J-writer in the Pentateuch seems aware of the potential trouble of affirming that Yahweh is God because he saves the poor from his oppressor while also affirming that Yahweh is God of Israel. His answer is shown most clearly in his introduction to the saga about the destruction of the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah. As Yahweh goes down to investigate the cries which arise from these cities, Abraham intervenes to question him on the mercy of his judgment (Gen. 18:16-33). Abraham’s intervention is in keeping with Israel’s vocation to "keep the way of Yahweh, to execute justice and judgment" (Gen. 18:19). Amos is dealing with the same tension -- between a national god and the God who executes judgment for the oppressed -- when he speaks to Israel of the saving acts of mercy which Yahweh performed for the Philistines and the Syrians (Amos 9:7). At a later time, within a different intellectual tradition, the author of Job poses in a dramatic fashion the difficulty of believing in a god like the Yahweh of the exodus. What is at issue in Job’s suffering is the truth of God. Is God to answer the cries of his miserable creature or is he to be his tormentor?

In different ways, both the Psalms and the prophets show a vision of God based on the exodus paradigm. To our Western understanding it has always been an obstacle how mercy 6 and justice are so often quoted as poetic parallels, but if we had taken seriously the insight of the exodus this would be no paradox. Salvation is brought to Israel through the judgment of Yahweh. That judgment upon the Egyptians is a saving judgment because by means of it the slaves were enabled to escape into the desert. The exodus was a merciful judgment. If one accepts, as do both the prophets and the psalmists, that there are fundamental conflicts of interests at the roots of the poor man’s suffering, it becomes clear that the appeal for peace is an ideological cover unless it is the result of judgment. Both prophets and psalmists expect the love of God to be manifested through his just judgments, which will restore peace to his people.

In the hymns of the Psalter, Yahweh is praised because he comes to judge the world (Ps. 96:10-13; 98:8-9). Concretely, this judgment means the exaltation of the poor who cry out to God and the casting to the ground of their oppressors:

Blessed is he whose help is the God of Jacob,

whose hope is Yahweh his God,

Maker of heaven and earth,

the sea and all that is in them,

Who keeps truth forever,

and does justice to the downtrodden,

Who gives bread to the starving,

Yahweh frees the prisoners.

Yahweh protects the aliens,

the fatherless and the widow he upholds,

but the way of evildoers he makes crooked.

Ps. 140:5-7, 9.

In the psalms of the individual in disgrace, it is this faith that Yahweh hears the pleas of the needy which establishes the confidence of the supplicant in his victory over his tormentors (Ps. 6:8-11; 9:9-11, 16-17; 17:8-15; 37:9-15; etc.). Considering that the temple was an official place of religion, it is surprising how much of this recognition of the true character of Yahweh has been preserved in these prayers for humble persons who need salvation from the wicked. Officially, of course, the king himself was supposed to be the protector of the weak against the powerful (Ps. 72).

The motif of the judgment of Yahweh which casts down the powerful from their thrones in order to save the poor is well known from the Song of Hannah (I Sam. 2:1-10). This is the model for the psalm of thanksgiving which Luke has preserved among the birth traditions:

He has shown strength with his arm,

he has scattered the proud in the imagination

of their hearts,

He has put down the mighty from their thrones,

and exalted those of low degree;

He has filled the hungry with good things,

and the rich he has sent empty away.

Lk. 1:51-53.

Throughout Luke’s version of the gospel we find a great stress on this understanding of God’s judgment as an inversion of stations, with the joyful exaltation of the poor. The beggar Lazarus is given a place of honor, while his rich "benefactor" is cast into Hades (Lk. 16:19-31). Luke’s version of the beatitudes is startlingly clear on this point: "Blessed are you poor, for yours is the Kingdom of God . . . . But woe to you that are rich, for you have received your consolation" (Lk. 6:20, 24). In order to gain the kingdom the rich must give away their goods (Lk. 12:33; 14:33), for "it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God" (Lk. 18:25). Luke alone tells the story of the rich Zacchaeus who followed this hard counsel of Jesus (Lk. 19:1-10).7 This inversion of fortunes is not as arbitrary as it appears at first sight. If, as the prophets assumed, the rich became rich by stealing from the poor and cheating them in business and if Yahweh is truly God because he hears the cries of the oppressed, then the judgment which will usher in the kingdom of God must surely mean at least this: that the poor will be saved from the exactions of their tormentors.

The centrality of Yahweh’s judgment in the prophetic texts of the Bible is well known and need not be fully documented here. The day of Yahweh’s judgment, a joyous day in the exodus texts and in the Psalms, has been turned into a day of lamentation and distress by a people of Israel who have turned into the oppressors of the poor in their midst (Amos 2:6-8; 5:18-20, 21-24; Isa. 2:12-22; 3:13-15; Zeph. 2:1-3). Religion is no protection from the wrath of a just God, who demands mercy and not sacrifice (Hos. 6:6; Isa. 1:10-17). When, with Isaiah and his successors, a messianic king is announced as the coming savior, his first task must be to execute justice and mercy, that is, to save the poor from the oppression of the rich and the powerful (Isa. 9:1-6; 11:1-9; 32:1-8; Mic. 5:1-7; Jer. 23:5-6). In the apocalyptic developments reflected in the books of Ezekiel, Joel, and Daniel, the judgment takes shape as a great battle in which Yahweh will rescue his people from the hands of the powerful empires which have held them in bondage. When the New Testament confesses that Jesus is the Christ, this means, among other things, that he is to be the instrument of the saving judgment of God (Acts 10:42). In the synoptic tradition Jesus is identified with the Son of Man who will execute the judgment of God in order to bring to fruition the kingdom of God for those who confess him and wait for justice in hope (Matt. 10:32-33; Lk. 12:8-9; Matt. 25:31-46; Mk. 8:34-9:1). The God who is Judge in the New Testament, the God who appoints his Christ to carry out his judgment, is the same Yahweh who showed himself as God by hearing the cries of the Hebrew slaves in Egypt.

But, the knowledge of God is unfortunately viciated in Old Testament apocalyptic and in much of the New Testament by the removal of God’s judgment from historical process. This is just another way of subverting the religious insight of the Bible, reducing judgment to a sort of transcendent verdict of conscience with no material consequence and making incomprehensible the mercy and love of God’s judgment. Whitehead’s clarification of the nature of reality as process can help us solve this problem. Once this simple fact is recognized, there can be no truly final judgment. The finality of any event is its passing into the continuing process. Events perish in order to provide the ground for new events. The end of a living subject is relevant to it only as an anticipation of the objective role it will play after it has had its day. In such a world it does indeed make sense to speak of saving judgments. The disfunction of evil forces which block the way to human fulfillment is a means of salvation. It is logical confusion rooted in rebellion against the Living God to place the judgment outside of history, somehow "after" all process.

If Yahweh is indeed distinguished from the false gods by his intervention at the cries of the oppressed, we can and must believe in a kingdom of Justice. And, believing even against the power of injustice built into our legal, economic, and political structures, we are called to act justly and mercifully in hope. But good motives are not enough. Our actions must respond to the need of the oppressed, in an objectively relevant manner. For that purpose, religious insight must be supplemented by social analysis.

II. The Call to Revolution

If God is not much concerned about religion as a separate sphere of private or public life and if he is present where the needy cry out for help, then as Christians we cannot fail to take most seriously the analysis of the concrete social situation in which we find ourselves. The Living God calls us to obedience in the particular ways relevant to saving justice for the poor of our particular situation. Latin America is the context within which I have heard the call to revolution. God being one, and the monopoly capitalism of our time also being one, I have no doubt that a similar call is relevant to the United States scene, but I am not able to address myself to that subject. My concern is briefly to spell out the relevant aspects of the Latin American scene in order to pose the implications for a Christian process theology.8

During the 1950s and the early 1960s progress and development were the key words of hope in Latin America. The bankruptcy of the traditional economies built on the supply of agricultural staples was apparent. Behind protective tariffs, industries were being built to supply consumers with substitutes for imported goods. The eagerness of the United States to share in this development though a series of aid programs, from Truman’s Point Four to Kennedy’s Alliance for Progress, seemed promising. However, by the late sixties it was transparently clear that progress and development were false gods. The progress and development of the national bourgeoisie was being bought at the cost of a lost independence, the increasing misery of the masses whose traditional means of survival were destroyed by cheap, factory-made goods, and a tightening of military repression against the consequent popular unrest.

Until the Second World War Latin America was integrated into the world capitalist economy largely as a producer of agricultural goods. This agricultural base was brought into being and sustained by a capitalist market system, but the production itself had not yet been shaped by capitalism and resembled rather the feudal order of medieval Europe.9 The peasants lived in villages on the haciendas under the protective paternalism of the landed families. The value of their labor was absorbed by capitalist centers in faraway lands, but they were hardly touched by the modem way of life. Artisans made a living by supplying these villages with shoes, saddles, clothes, hoes, and similar goods. But the modernization of agriculture and the introduction of cheap, factory-made articles converted both peasant and artisan into economically marginal elements. They were forced to migrate to the large cities where their function in the emerging capitalist relations of production was to keep salaries depressed in the factories (Marx’s industrial reserve army) and to supply domestic labor to the bourgeoisie. State-administered welfare kept them alive and, most importantly, integrated them into the political system.

National industry, in spite of its inflationary consequences, seemed for a time to offer the bourgeoisie a viable path to development. It proved a false hope. Modern capitalism is monopoly capitalism. It requires immense concentrations of capital. These enormous concentrations can control prices largely at will and can also sustain a technological development which drives out smaller capital. Tariff barriers are an insufficient protection. The aid programs tendered by the rich countries had to be accepted in order to maintain the welfare programs required for political survival, but their cost was a backbreaking indebtedness. Often aid was channeled by the donor into the infrastructure for foreign investment and conditioned on the purchase of goods produced by the metropolis so that a rational development policy based on local needs became impossible." Inflation was a requirement merely for survival. But it also drove local capital Out of the country and brought in large-scale foreign investment to the "rescue." Local industries were bought up and became subsidiaries of multinational corporations.

The investment which is being made by the worldwide capitalist concerns in Latin America is in dependent industries. The dominant modern industries which set the tone for the world system are retained in the U.S., where the large investments required are safest and where the high cost of skilled labor is not a problem because of the limited proportion of labor required by these advanced industries. The dependence is accentuated by immigration laws in the metropolis designed to attract scientists, doctors, and engineers from the fringes of the system. It is highly profitable to great capital to establish marginal industries which are labor-intensive and technologically obsolete in Latin America. Here they produce with tariff protection goods for an unsophisticated market and provide in turn a market in machinery and modem consumer goods for the home industry.

It has been made profitable for local industrialists to accept this dependence. They have effectively displaced the old landed families in power. The urban working class is no threat to their privilege in this arrangement. The laborers find themselves with no options. The presence of large masses of unemployed persons in the cities makes aggressive labor demands impossible and keeps their wages depressed. Yet they are relatively better off than their unemployed parents and cousins and normally contribute a share of their income to assisting poor relations, a system of family welfare which is a basic component of Latin American economies.

Nevertheless, the marginal population produced and needed by the system builds up political pressures. The attempts by the metropolitan centers and their local representatives to induce population control and the growing importance of military "aid" to suppress the large marginal elements point to the instability of the present system and its lack of satisfactory options for the Latin American societies. It is only the increased power of the military forces which is holding back a revolutionary resolution of the dilemma. The dynamic at work is that first thoroughly exposed by Marx. The private ownership of the means of production leads to a growing accumulation of surplus value in the hands of the few. Capitalism lives from and reproduces a class society in which the few live off the labor of the many. Capital requires growth. And it can only grow by creating and maintaining a large population who can only survive by selling the only salable item allowed them, their labor force. The instability of the system caused by its voracious appetite for growth is easier to observe today on the periphery of the system than in the metropolis. So is its class structure. It is easier in the wealthier metropolis to conceal the exploitation of one class by another behind the smokescreen of the seemingly objective demands of the economy. At the periphery the pressures are greater and the violence of the exploitation more patent, as we have recently been able to witness in Chile.

Capitalism has developed significantly since Marx’s discoveries. Today the role of the colonies has shifted from that of supplying raw materials to that of absorbing surplus investment. The concentration of capital has produced an unexpectedly durable system of monopoly capitalism, which is no longer subject to the pressures of price competition that at earlier stages led to ever declining rates of profit. Most importantly, there is today one worldwide capitalist system. The appearance of many states with conflicts among their national bourgeoisie serves only to paper over the reality of a worldwide class struggle. At the center of the system the class structure is difficult to perceive because of the vast accumulation of wealth being constantly increased by the labor on the fringes of the system. Here also the workers in the dominant industrial sectors are well organized and do not feel exploited. To have the only organized portion of the labor force heavily committed to the system is a great asset to the giant corporations, well worth the inconveniences of collective bargaining. The capitalist system has proved quite resourceful as well at dividing and pacifying the more oppressed sectors of the working class in its midst. Racism, among other devices, has proved an effective divisive tool. And, increasingly, the burden of exploitation is passed to the colonial periphery of the system.

In Latin America it is now clear that development within the capitalist system is a dead-end street. Only by opting out of the system and appropriating the means of production for the common good can there be any hope in a Latin American society of accumulating the necessary wealth to permit rational development. The national bourgeoisie have been exposed as an illusory hope for development. They have too much stake in the system to share its benefits and, further, lack effective control of an accumulation which is mostly sucked out toward the metropolis. The exposure of the "enlightened" bourgeoisie of Chile’s Christian Democratic Party as a counterrevolutionary force should leave no doubts. There is only one viable route for us, and that is out!

In such a situation characterized by the exploitation of the many by the few, one of the fundamental tools of oppression is, today as in the days of Amos, religion. The appeal to Christian love and reconciliation is in this context as false as the appeal of the prophets of Jeremiah’s time to peace. Such a religion falls under the strictures of James 2:14-17 or I John 3:17. "But if any one has the world’s goods and sees his brother in need, yet closes his heart against him, how does God’s love abide in him?" For a rich man who lives from the labor of his poor brother, love will only become possible as a result of justice. As in the Bible, mercy and justice collapse into one. In our capitalist society justice can only mean consciously assuming the class struggle, the reality of which establishment social science would deny and capitalist advertising would undercut. For a Christian of integrity living in a class society, socialism is the only viable option. Only by overcoming the class structure of society will love and reconciliation become just, And there is no way to overcome the class structure produced by capitalist production except to assume the class struggle of those exploited by the system. The logic of this situation has been thoroughly explored by the Brazilian educator Paulo Freire:11 no one liberates himself. No one liberates anybody else. Men liberate themselves in community. Not only will those who profit from the system not give freedom and dignity voluntarily to those whom they oppress -- they cannot do so. Freedom cannot be given. Freedom is achieved by exercising it. Freedom and justice will only become possible when the poor join forces with revolutionary courage against the forces of oppression within their countries and without.

In this context God comes to man as a call to give up his dreams of personal salvation and join the people in their struggle for a common salvation. The Biblical paradigm is the Christ, who though he was rich, for our sakes became poor that through his poverty we might be made rich (II Cor. 8:9). This Christ paradigm is more fully elaborated in Philippians 2:5-11.12 It rests in part on the life of Jesus. He left his home and his position in order to join the despised among his people and asked the same of those who would follow him. There is a basic sociological and religious insight here. Poverty is no blessing in itself, but it is the way to salvation because only the poor and oppressed are in a position to lead us all out of a predatory form of being rich to a genuinely human kind of wealth. The Christ who emptied himself in order that he might rule jointly with the little ones is a religious paradigm worthy of the Yahweh of the Bible. As illustrated by the story of the rich man who came to Jesus seeking eternal life (Mk. 10:17-27 par.), the rich must find their salvation and escape from the judgment to come by giving up their wealth (which they or their parents acquired by robbing the poor) and joining the struggle for liberation. Paradoxically, the paradigm is also true for the oppressed masses. They are indeed the only revolutionary potential in our society. And yet, in actual fact, workers and peasants are often a reactionary weight. This happens because individual ambition leads men and women to seek escape from their misery and improve their lot the quick way. The rags to riches tales are kept before the people by the mass media to kindle their ambition. The poor man, too, must by a deliberate act of the will affirm his class identity and consciously assume the class struggle before he will be able to realize his revolutionary potential. Thus for all, rich and poor, there is but one route to full humanity, the way of the Christ.

In the light of such support from Biblical study and the analysis of the dynamics of capitalism, the call of the Living God to revolutionary commitment cannot be silenced.

At the end of this section on social analysis, a comment on the contribution of process philosophy to our reading of social reality seems pertinent. Marxists sometimes speak of socialism as if it were the culmination and end of history. But historical process cannot reach its fulfillment by ceasing to be history. Becoming, satisfied and ended, becomes the object for new becoming. Social ideals succeed one another, and the immanent creativity excludes a permanent resting in any social achievement regardless of its worth. Does this not mean that socialism is then reduced to one ideal alongside others? For two reasons socialism is not so relativized. (1) Marx showed that the dynamics of capitalism were self-destructive. It is true that he underestimated the role of imperialism and even more that he did not foresee the resourcefulness of monopoly capitalism in handling the problems of (a) the progressive reduction of profit margins (which has, in effect, been eliminated), (b) instability and insufficiency of the realization of capital (in the 1860s who could have foreseen the mushrooming of military consumption in the twentieth century?), and (c) the excess of labor. Yet, in somewhat new forms, the so-called contradictions of capitalism subsist. Capitalism carries in its womb the seeds of industrial socialism. (2) The other reason why socialism is not relativized is that the one true God is a God who hears the cries of the oppressed and will not put off forever his judgment of their cause. He cannot wink at a situation in which the few accumulate at an accelerating rate the fruit of the labors of the many. And socialism is simply the just alternative to a class society.

Socialism has, of course, shown its possibilities of perversion, its particular weakness being the cancer of bureaucracy. However, at our stage of material development, there is no retreating to an agrarian society, and socialism is the only just route out of a class society. The alternatives available within socialism are only hinted at by the various forms it has taken in the Soviet Union, Cuba, Yugoslavia, Czechoslovakia of the spring of 1968, and China. Thus, adventure is surely richly possible within a socialist framework. And a process philosopher has no excuse for clinging to a reactionary defense of capitalism. Of course, revolution will not cure all our ills. Death, disease, envy, and even the oppression of man by man will continue to plague us. New ideals will still call for new projects. All of these considerations forbid any romanticizing of revolution. And yet, a just God will execute judgment on a society built on the exploitation of the labor of the poor, and he calls us now to join him in today’s revolutionary task.

III. The Challenge to Process Theology

Can a process theology account for the just God of the Bible who is, if I am not mistaken in my exposition up to this point, now calling his people in Latin America to revolution? That is the most basic question a Christian revolutionary can put to a theologian who aspires to do process theology.

The question can be narrowed down. Can Whitehead’s metaphysical scheme allow for such a God? It is in this narrower form that I wish to pose the question here.

According to Whitehead, metaphysics or speculative philosophy is the elaboration of a system of ideas capable of interpreting any element of experience whatsoever (PR 4). Metaphysics can deal, therefore, with God’s participation in any event whatsoever. Whiteheadian metaphysics holds that God provides the organizing initial aim for any occasion of becoming. Metaphysical statements are, however, highly abstract, and they do not tell us what ideal for creativity God proposes to any particular instance of becoming. Such concrete knowledge of God is for any such occasion, even a human occasion of experience, largely unconscious, because it is the organizing center of the concrescing activity. It is felt rather than known. In the Whiteheadian interpretation of reality, these initial aims proposed by God are not capricious nor due to inscrutable divine purposes for his creatures, but are relevant aims toward maximizing the intensity of experience which is possible from the particular perspective of each concrescing occasion. With this general understanding of God’s participation in becoming, it should be possible to make some statements of less than metaphysical generality which have to do with God’s aims for particular sorts of occasions. The topic of the justice of God would be relevant exclusively or primarily to his aims for human occasions of becoming. For this reason, the justice of God need not be posed at the level of metaphysical discourse, even when we believe that it is decisive for all human experience of God.

But, does Whitehead’s metaphysics allow for the centrality of justice in God’s dealings with men? According to Whitehead, all reality is ultimately explicable in terms of those drops of experience which he calls actual entities. The enduring objects which populate our common sense world -- trees, dogs, children, and books -- are interpreted as societies or nexuses of occasions. God’s aims are always and only aims for actual occasions. "His tenderness is directed towards each actual occasion, as it arises. Thus God’s purpose in the creative advance is the evocation of intensities. The evocation of societies is purely subsidiary to this absolute end" (PR 161). Human persons are in this metaphysical system understood as highly complex structured societies. That the whole society should maintain itself has the sole purpose of providing an environment which will make possible the extraordinary intensities of experience of its regnant occasions. However, there is tension between the aims of the subordinate occasions and the occasions of the regnant society. Eventually, the outcome of this tension is the death of the person and the freeing of the subordinate societies to seek new routes towards intensity.

In our ordinary language, justice is applicable to the relations among persons and the societies made up of persons. Both persons and societies have a derivative value in this metaphysical scheme, for it is only actual occasions of experience which have value in themselves. The fact that a society -- using the terms in its common sense meaning -- has no value for itself does not mean that it can have no life of its own. The society has value as it contributes to the intensities of the persons who make it up. Its status is thus analogous to that of a plant, which has no regnant occasion and yet does have a structure which is the necessary environment for the intensities achieved by its member occasions. If the trunk were cut, the leaves would dry up. It is this mode of existence of a society which justifies the disciplines of sociology and economics. On Whitehead’s terms it is thus possible to deal with the dynamics of capitalism without personifying the society or recognizing in it any value in itself.

We have said that capitalist society produces a structure of antagonistic classes. And we have said that God calls us to assume that class struggle consciously and voluntarily in order to overcome class society. Capitalism is a contingent historical reality, and no amount of metaphysical thought can of itself clarify its nature. God’s aims for occasions of experience determined by that capitalist environment must, obviously, also be of less than metaphysical generality. It is by sociological and religious insight that we deal with these areas of our experience. In understanding these areas of experience, what we ask of metaphysics is illumination concerning general principles. Pertinent to our present topic is the discussion of conflicting aims.

At the common sense level we are all aware of the reality of conflicting aims. Sometimes one man’s gain appears to be another’s loss, as when two suitors seek the same girl. The case is even more dramatic in the use which living societies make of each other for food. In the case of microbes which feed on humans, a society with limited potential for intensity of experience may achieve a measure of endurance by destroying societies of occasions which form the necessary environment for dominant human occasions of greater potential intensity of experience. On Whitehead’s view it seems that we must suppose God to offer aims to different occasions which are mutually inhibitory. For God provides for each occasion the aim at the greatest intensity of experience for that occasion. Each bacterial occasion of experience concresces around the aim at satisfaction provided by God for it. By achieving its aim it may reduce the total intensity available in the human body.

In a first approximation one would expect that in a human society built on class antagonism various aims at intensity would often be in conflict. At this gross level one would expect the level of divine frustration to be high in proportion to the ratio of those who are able to achieve more or less satisfactory goals to those who are not. In this rough quantitative way we could see God taking the side of the oppressed masses against their exploiters in order to enhance his richness of experience. But this is a very un-Whiteheadian kind of calculus. For value is not measured by the repetition of sameness, but by the adventure of novelty, even apart from its capacity for endurance.

Are we left then with the doctrine that the low level of intensity achieved by the thousands of Athenian slaves was compensated by the brilliance of a Plato, whose leisure they made possible? I think not. Whitehead’s scheme has other resources. Part of the enjoyment of an occasion is its contribution to future occasions of experience -- more exactly, its anticipation of that contribution. In conscious human experience this becomes a very significant factor, so much so that we hold a human person accountable for the consequences of his acts and do not do the same for microbes. At this level the consciousness of the global system of societal relations enters into the value of some of its constituent occasions. At this point God proposes aims at intensities of experience which take into account the aims of societies. In this indirect fashion God proposes aims for societies.13

In point of fact one of the greatest obstacles to revolution is the lack of a class consciousness on the part of the exploited sectors of a society. Each person has a limited vision of the impact of his actions, seeing himself as an individual who could on his own overcome his misery. This competitive spirit then exposes the working class collectively to exploitation. Insofar as God can evoke in the poor man an intelligent love for his class brothers, he will achieve an intensity of experience otherwise not possible, as he enjoys by anticipation his role in the creation of a new, non-exploitative wealth.

If the emergence of a revolutionary class consciousness is such a miracle among the oppressed of society, the position of the oppressors is even more difficult. The paradigm of the Christ is more obviously relevant, but so is the pull of the achievement of satisfaction on the basis of class privilege and at the expense of the oppressed. From the viewpoint of Whitehead’s metaphysics God will not propose to any occasion an aim at less than its own greatest potential intensity. The initial aim is for the richest unification of the world possible from the particular perspective of that emerging occasion. If the Christ paradigm offers salvation to the rich via his identification with the oppressed masses in their struggle for justice, this route must really mean a greater enrichment of experience for that rich man than, let us say, the enjoyment of good books and music which the continued leisure of the upper class could have afforded him. If the Christian story is true, it is indeed by losing our lives that we gain them (Luke 17:33). For the rich man, his choice of a direction in life is a choice between the good life of the enjoyment of privilege and the better life, for him, of the enjoyment of the class struggle for the destruction of class privileges and the creation of a society in which wealth will not mean privilege. Truly, the just man must live by faith, confident in the coming of the kingdom of liberty. In that assurance, and as part of the class struggle toward its realization, he will achieve a richness of enjoyment otherwise unavailable to him.

In this fashion, accepting the framework of Whitehead’s metaphysics, it is possible to account for the justice of God which is basic to Biblical religion. God does not have aims for societies. His aim for concrescing occasions is always intensity of experience from that particular perspective. And yet, with the emergence of consciousness at the level of regnant human occasions, the struggle for justice becomes ingredient in the achievement of the richest harmony of experience attainable.

The Biblical theme of the judgment of a just God who hears the cries of the oppressed poses another problem for Whiteheadian philosophy. The revolutionary struggle against the capitalist system of exploitation will not be able to achieve its goals without the elimination of those exploiters who resist the revolution with tooth and claw. For the Bible this is not a problem. After lesser measures had failed to persuade the Pharaoh to let the Hebrews go, God slaughtered the first-born and destroyed the army of the king. The New Testament also announces the wrath of God against the doers of wickedness. But in the Whiteheadian scheme, God does not intervene in the emergence of novelty in the world by physical necessity but by means of the creative lure of the initial aim (cf. Ford, PPCT 287-304). God persuades, he does not coerce. If we use this interpretive scheme, we would have to conclude that God did not slay the first-born of the Egyptians. Nothing would stand in the way of the suggestion, however, that it was he who incited the Hebrews to that project. This is not an attempt to solve the historical problem. It is only a way of saying that even if God does not literally free the oppressed from their tormentors, he very well may within the Whiteheadian frame of reference still free them by inciting them to set aside narrower immediate satisfactions for the richer satisfactions of the struggle for a new society. In this sense, Yahweh does indeed cast the mighty from their thrones.

I think that these observations will suffice to show that it is possible within the framework of the metaphysical system of Whitehead to take account of the only true God of Biblical religion, Yahweh who listens to the cries of the oppressed. A revolutionary process theology is possible.

It must be admitted, at the very least, that Whitehead’s own philosophical investigations of culture and civilization, if not counterrevolutionary, are open to appropriation for counterrevolutionary purposes. Whitehead proposed five cultural aims as the measure of civilized life: Truth, Beauty, Art, Adventure, and Peace.14 As we would say in Spanish, Justice shines by its absence. I believe that a careful investigation of the class structure of our capitalist society would persuade us that Peace is not attainable at the human level of experience without Justice. I also believe that, in spite of Whitehead’s reluctance to concede privileged status to human occasions of experience, the introduction of the wide range of conscious anticipation of the future which humanity represents in comparison to lesser types of existence also introduces justice as a characteristic of the specially human aim at harmonious beauty. In order to undercut the latent counterrevolutionary tendencies of Whitehead’s philosophy, any Christian process theology must include Justice among the fundamental cultural aims. In the Biblical tradition, justice is the identifying characteristic of Yahweh and the first prerequisite for a peaceable society.15 A philosophy which does any less is inadequate to our religious insight and will prove counterrevolutionary in its consequences. There is, so far as I can see, no reason why Whitehead’s philosophy would not be enriched by adding Justice to its cultural aims.

In conclusion, metaphysics cannot tell us the most important things we need to know about God in order to be saved. For these, we must be sensitive to his voice in the cry of our downtrodden brothers. Once having heard the particular call of God for our situation, our task is to be obedient. This obedient response may be rendered more intelligent if we understand the call within the framework of a good metaphysical system. This clarification is the task of the process theology we seek.

 

References

PPCT -- Process Philosophy and Christian Thought. Eds. Delwin Brown, Ralph F. James, Jr., and Gene Reeves. Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, 1971.

 

Notes

1 In identifying this strain in the Biblical literature, I gladly acknowledge my profound debt to José Porfirio Miranda. Marx and the Bible: A Critique of the Philosophy of Oppression (Maryknoll, N.Y.: Orbis Books, 1974).

2 This translation is that of Mitchell Dahood. Psalms II (The Anchor Bible; Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1968), p. 268. On the basis of its archaic language, Dahood considers it a very ancient psalm, probably pre-monarchial.

3. The Jeremianic theme of idolatry as falsehood has been recently explored by Thomas W. Overholt, The Falsehood of Idolatry: A Study In the Theology of the Book of Jeremiah (Studies In Biblical Theology; Naperville: Allenson, 1970).

4 This saying is part of the Q tradition. Luke’s most interesting variant is the word "injustice" for Matthew’s "lawlessness" Lk. 13:27). This clearly lies closer to the Biblical strain we are pursuing than Matthew’s version of the saying. It is probable, however, that Matthew reflects the Q tradition more faithfully on this point. We shall have occasion to comment further on Luke’s point of view respecting the justice of God.

5 The most dangerous, because the most subtle, subversion of this strain was the covenant theology, first made prominent by the reform of Josiah. According to the covenant theology, Yahweh intervenes to save (or to judge) Israel because of a special commitment to this people and not because it is in his character to hear the cries of the oppressed against their exactors. We still have to do with covenant theology in our day.

6 The LXX translates hesed regularly by eleos, "mercy." The accuracy of this translation was called into question lately by scholars impressed with the central role of the covenant in the religion of Israel. Now, it seems again on its way toward vindication. See H. J. Stoebe, article on hesed, Theologisches Handwörterbuch zum Alten Testament, ed. E. Jenni and C. Westermann (München: Chr. Kaiser Verlag, 1971).

7 This theme in the Gospel of Luke is explored by Guillermo Hirata V., Pobres y ricos. Estudio exegética sobre el Evangelio de Lucas (México: Secretadiado Social Mexicano, 1972), to which I am indebted.

8 I am aware of my limitations in economic thinking. Nevertheless, the essential contours of the economics of capitalism seem well established, and the specifics of Latin American capitalism are in the process of clarification, even for non-economists. The foundation for all understanding of capitalism is, of course, Karl Man’s three-volume study Das Capital. For the analysis of capitalism in Latin America, among the abundant recent literature, I am especially indebted to two books by Theotonio dos Santos, Dependencia económica y camblo revolucionario en América Latina (Caracas: Editorial Nueva Izquierda, 1970), and La crisis norteamericana y América Latina (Buenos Aires: Ediciones Periferia, 1972), and the study by Anibal Quijano, Redefinición de la dependencia y proceso de marginalización en América Latina (mimeographed monograph of the Instituto de Investigaciones Sociales of the Universidad Nacional Autonoma de México, n.d.). For understanding the complementary dynamics within the United States, I have found especially useful the joint work of Paul A. Baran and Paul M. Sweezy, Monopoly Capital: An Essay on the American Economic and Social Order (New York: Monthly Review Press, 1966).

9 On this question, see the lively debate among A. C. Frank, R. Puiggros, and E. Laclau, América Latina: Feudalismo o capitalismo? (Medellin: Editorial La Oveja Negra, 1972).

10 The role of "aid" from the metropolitan centers of capitalism in assisting capitalist investment in its penetration of the poor societies of the world is explored by Denis Goulet and Michael Hudson, The Myth of Aid: The Hidden Agenda of the Development Reports (New York: IDOC, 1971).

11 Paulo Freire, Pedagogy of the Oppressed, tr. Myra B. Ramos (New York: Herder and Herder, 1971).

12 I have discussed the Christ paradigm extensively in connection with the Philippians text in "El mito de Jesus el Cristo: Un ejercicio de hermenéutica biblica," Cuadernos de Teologia (Buenos Aires), 1/2-3 (December, 1971), 20-52.

13 The question of the aims of societies has occupied George Allan (PPCT 464-74). He proposes a rather direct analogy between the aims of occasions and those of societies. This proposal undercuts some basic process insights. His treatment of "Croce and Whitehead on Concrescence," (PS 2:95-111) is more valuable, for there he sees that dialectical thought applies to concrescence but not to change. More work needs to be done to clarify this area of process philosophy.

14 AI, part IV. The whole subject has received careful treatment by David L. Hall, The Civilization of Experience: A Whiteheadian Theory of Culture (New York: Fordham University Press, 1973).

15 I have explored the Biblical relation between peace and justice in "La paz: Aporte bíblico a Un tema de actualidad," Revista Biblica (Buenos Aires), 35 (1973), 297-313.

Neville’s Critique of Hartshorne

In his review article of Hartshorne’s Creative Synthesis and Philosophic Method (PS 2:49-67), Robert Neville remarks that "one of Hartshorne’s most important contributions" has been his concern to deal "with problems as formulated by public discussion, usually that of analytical philosophers." The general effect of Neville’s review, however is to cast doubt on the justifiability of Hartshorne’s confidence that "his ideas solve their problems better than their own" (p. 51). While, as I shall occasionally indicate, I also find problems with certain parts of Hartshorne’s position, I want in this article briefly to indicate some of the reasons why, unlike Neville, I consider that Hartshorne may provide us with (or perhaps put us on the road toward) "genuine philosophic wisdom" as well as "mere metaphysical clarity" (p. 66).

Hartshorne’s metaphysics challenges the widespread prejudices in favor of empiricism by asserting the possibility, extent, and importance of a priori knowledge. Neville, however, is critical of this aspect of Hartshorne’s work. The somewhat rhetorical style of Neville’s comments at times makes it difficult to be sure what precisely he wishes to maintain, but it appears that he considers that Hartshorne’s metaphysics impoverishes experience" by flattening our experience and solving our problems "with metaphysical necessities" (p. 66). He also refuses to take up Hartshorne’s defense of the ontological argument (on the rather unsatisfactory ground that "when denying the ontological argument, I always feel like a fool") although he recognizes that it "lies at the heart" of Hartshorne’s understanding of these matters (p. 64). There are three basic issues here: the significance of Hartshorne’s work on the ontological argument, the justifiability of rejecting metaphysical claims in principle because they "impoverish" experience, and the correctness of holding that Hartshorne’s position does so impoverish experience.

Hartshorne notoriously has spent much time and energy in advancing what he regards as valid forms of the ontological argument. Although, as I have shown elsewhere,1 I am among those who are not convinced that he has managed to prove thereby the existence of God, I do not consider that Hartshorne’s work on the argument can consequently be ignored. In spite of failing to fulfil its primary intention, it provides certain fundamental insights into the nature of his understandings of reality and into what may well be the conditions of metaphysical thought.

One insight provided by Hartshorne’s work on the ontological argument is that the concept of the existence of God is something akin to a regulative idea for the rational thought about reality which is attempted in Hartshorne’s metaphysics. It shows, that is, that certain (and perhaps all) attempts to attain metaphysical understanding of reality presuppose a final unity and meaningfulness of reality and that this presupposition may only make sense in terms of God as an ontologically, valuatively, and rationally ultimate and unifying reality. One function of the ontological argument is thus to suggest the inescapability of the idea of God for our metaphysical understanding by arguing that the denial of God’s existence involves such understanding in self-contradiction. Such self-contradiction does not show that God exists but that such thought presupposes the reality of the greatest conceivable. To affirm on this basis that God does exist involves the further and controversial step of maintaining that there is sufficient correspondence between what is the case in itself and our understanding of it so that what satisfies our metaphysical understanding of reality reflects its actual structure.

It is the problematic character of this step which makes the ontological argument unsatisfactory as a proof of God’s existence although in the case of Hartshorne himself it was perhaps taken, implicitly if not explicitly, when, as he tells us, "about the age of seventeen, after reading Emerson’s Essays, I made up my mind (doubtless with a somewhat hazy notion of what I was doing) to trust reason to the end" (LP viii). On the other hand, the ontological argument as elucidated by Hartshorne does indicate the need for the concept of a greatest conceivable reality if we are to attain finally satisfying understanding. This is the concept of that beyond which thought cannot go, in which it completes its search for understanding, at which it really affirms only itself, and through which it relates all else.2 Leaving aside his views on its historical character, this is what R. G. Collingwood seems to be suggesting when he says that Anselm’s argument does not prove "that because our idea of God is an ideal of id quo maius cogitari nequit therefore God exists, but that because our idea of God is an idea of id quo maius cogitari nequit we stand committed to belief in God’s existence."3

Metaphysical thought, that is, can only seek satisfying understanding by assuming the reality of that in which it will find such finality. In this way the ontological argument, by drawing out the presupposition of metaphysical understanding, indicates that the choice before us is between holding that there is a God and that "reality" makes sense in some metaphysical manner, whether or not we can ever grasp what that sense is, and holding that there is no God and that any apparent metaphysical understanding of reality can only be an illusion which does not significantly correspond to the ultimate nature of things -- unless this "nihilism" be regarded as a kind of metaphysical understanding instead of its blank negation. Hartshorne has not only clarified these alternatives. Through his work on the concept of God he has also shown that the choice between them may be a genuine one since it is possible to meet those objections to the theistic alternative which claim that it is not a genuine option because of internal incoherence in the concept of the reality of that than which a greater cannot be conceived.

Another important insight provided by Hartshorne’s work on the ontological argument is into the logical status of claims about God. It does this by highlighting the peculiar nature of God’s mode of existence. Although the proper attribution of necessary existence to God does not show that God exists (unless we are prepared to allow that reality must have some significant correspondence to what is presupposed in our attempt to find ultimate meaning in reality -- an assumption which, as I have suggested, may not be easy to justify but is probably impossible to avoid in such metaphysical thought), it does show that God is either the ground of and compatible with all that is and all that is actually possible or is totally alien to all reality. From this it follows that there can be no straightforward empirical tests for God’s existence. Indeed, Hartshorne himself states that "the main function of the ontological argument" is not "to furnish a sufficient proof of theism" but "to show that the alternative to theism is positivism or a priori atheism" (CSPM 257; cf. AD 98, LP 31f). This insight is not unimportant in view of the claim that one condition of factually significant propositions is that they be conceivably falsifiable. Hartshorne’s work on the ontological argument shows that while empirical falsifiability is a condition of empirical claims, it may not be a condition of all factual claims and, in particular, it may not be a proper condition of certain fundamental claims about God.

In view of these two insights, then, I suggest that Hartshorne’s work on the ontological argument ought not to be summarily dismissed. At the same time, like Neville, I have some problems with Hartshorne’s understanding of a priori truths. I suspect, for instance, that Hartshorne’s distinction between necessary, a priori truths and contingent, a posteriori truths may commit the error of trusting in dichotomies (cf. AD xi, 134) when it is applied to our understanding of God’s activity. It seems to me, that is, that we need to distinguish at least between truths which are (1) a priori for God and for us, (2) a posteriori for God but a priori for us, and (3) a posteriori for God and for us. The third class of truths is largely composed of contingent, empirical facts.4 It constitutes the vast bulk of the truths which we can know. The first class of truths refer to the principles of reality which apply not only to the actual world but also to any actually possible world. They include the ultimate and inescapable metaphysical principles of being as such, and I do not find it satisfactory to describe their relation to God either in voluntarist terms (for they are not dependent upon God’s establishment of them) or in intellectualist terms (when these suggest that they are principles which are imposed upon God from beyond him). As in the case of God and good -- compare the conundrum "Is it good because God wills it or does God will it because it is good?" -- so here too the apparent question of the relationship must be shown to be in fact illusory since the concept of God necessarily implies that he embodies (indeed is the instantiation of) such ultimate principles. They may, therefore, be described as analytic a priori truths for us but in God. To determine them is to determine what in part God is in himself.

The second class of truths refers to the principles of reality which are established by God as Creator. If, that is, God is in a significant sense a free agent, some at least of his actions will not be necessary expressions of his intrinsic nature. Nevertheless, while contingent for him, establish what are for us necessary truths of reality since anthropological limitations of all our understanding may prevent conceiving of other universes which are actually possible for God as Creator. This distinction between the two kinds of a priori truths is probably crucial if God is to be understood as a personal agent. It a way to reconciling Hartshorne’s view of metaphysical principles as absolutely given (which would be true of the first class of truths) with Whitehead’s view that they are established by God (which would correctly describe the second class of truths -- if, that is, Whitehead’s "God" is to be understood as acting as a free agent when it is said that he "establishes" them) by suggesting that Hartshorne and Whitehead are here concerned with the nature of different types of a priori truth.

A basic problem with any proposed a priori truths (of either class) concerns their reference. Do they tell us, that is, about the actual structure of reality (as Hartshorne apparently presupposes that they must) or only about the ultimate structure of our understanding of reality? This is not an easy question to answer because it is not clear (in spite of Neville’s contrary assertion) that we really can conceive of alternative sets of a priori truths and because it is not clear how any evidence could be adduced to show that any such truths report what is the case and not just what our nature determines must seem to be the case for us. In his attitude to the external cognitive significance of the conclusions of our metaphysical reasoning, Hartshorne expresses a basic commitment to the principle of rationality as our rationality. Can this commitment be justified? Neville criticizes Hartshorne for not paying "more attention to the sense in which experience is the final arbiter" (p. 65; cf. p. 62 also). Although Hartshorne can legitimately respond that experience cannot decide about the structures which govern all our possible experience, Neville is probably correct when he suggests that Hartshorne’s a priori truths should be regarded as "hypotheses about the universal conditions of existence" (p. 64). It is not so obvious, though, how far these hypotheses may be regarded as significantly justified by being able to offer "the best interpretation of all experiences" (p. 65) since the criterion for "best interpretation" may be a product of the structure of our understanding.

Though there is not time to develop the point here, my own suspicion is that our final conclusions about necessary truths will be through interactions of considerations of experience and rational speculations.5 Even though it may conceivably be a reflection of our structures of understanding which in no significant way correspond to the structure of reality itself, it seems justifiable to accept as objectively true an understanding which is both essentially reasonable and offers more than any other hypothesis available a comprehensive, coherent, and consistent understanding of what we experience. To hold that such acceptance is not justifiable would be an expression of a skepticism which rejects in principle the possibility of any claim to objective knowledge. In spite, then of the unavoidable circularity of the reciprocal reasoning involved, Hartshorne’s stress on the a priori justification as well as the a priori status of truths at this level needs to be complemented and balanced by considerations of experience. This, however, is what in many respects Hartshorne is doing when he applies his understanding to our knowledge of reality. This passionate lover of bird song is no purely speculative and abstract thinker! Part of the confirmation of his views lies for me in the way in which they make more sense of experience than any rival theory of which I am aware.

Neville, however, holds that Hartshorne’s a priori metaphysics impoverishes our experience and should be rejected on the principle that no "metaphysical scheme" should be "called true if it leaves our experience less rich than it found it" (p. 66). This principle is not self-evident to me since it implies that richness, attractiveness, depth are always marks of truth. In contrast, I submit that one structure of understanding is to be preferred to another not simply on the grounds that it provides a less impoverished awareness and account than the other but primarily on the grounds that it provides a more correct awareness and account. The question of richness is only relevant when it can be shown that a certain structure of understanding brings to light actual characteristics which a different structure of understanding cannot perceive. In such cases, though, it is not the "richness" but the proper comprehensiveness that is the deciding factor. Valid a priori arguments, indeed, may be held only to "impoverish" experience in the sense that they show the intrinsic unsatisfactoriness of certain ways of understanding reality and bring to light the structures involved in any understanding of it which presupposes and is consistent with the principle of rationality.

Neville’s charge that Hartshorne’s views fail to enlighten experience and actually impoverish it also seems to me to be falsified in practice. In my experience at least Hartshorne’s a priori claims, far from impoverishing experience, actually enhance it by leading to a structure of understanding which gives due weight to both the abstract and the concrete, both the necessary and the contingent, both the unchanging and the changing aspects of reality. His metaphysics provides a structure for understanding both the unity and the variety, the independence and the interrelatedness of things; it allows us to accept the fleetingness of an experience of value and yet to grasp its eternal significance; its understanding of process recognizes the reality of both being and becoming. My "experience," then, is that the "inarticulate" experience which judges our understanding of experience (cf. p. 65) makes it impossible for me to conceive how Hartshorne’s a priori position can be judged to impoverish experience -- especially when it is compared with the inability of classical metaphysical systems to reconcile satisfactorily the significance of the contingent with the reality of the eternal. (I also find it hard to reconcile this claim about impoverishment with my regrettably slight personal acquaintance with Hartshorne. There is no schizophrenic break between this man and his beliefs, and it seems to me typical of both that the only "payment" he wanted for giving a lecture in my department at Manchester was to be taken into the countryside to hear and enjoy bird song -- not, as it happened, an easy payment to meet on a damp and misty autumn afternoon!)

Neville also criticizes Hartshorne’s a priori metaphysics for attempting to solve "our problems with metaphysical necessities" and relieve "our cares with confidence in principle instead of with felt concrete redemption" (p 66). Here the principle behind Neville’s criticism has some validity. When I face arguments which confidently tell me that all must (metaphysically must) be for the best and then look at the incidence of evil in the world, my sympathies are with Voltaire in caricaturing the Leibnizian Dr. Pangloss. British empirical prejudice makes me suspect that when a priori views and experience completely contradict each other the a priori is the more likely to be mistaken. On the other hand, when I consider Hartshorne’s work, it does not appear to me that he is as blithely confident about having solved our problems as Neville’s comments seem to imply. In A Natural Theology for Our Time, for example, he uses the Book of Job to claim that while "apart from God nothing could make sense," in the end we need to recognize "the mystery of cosmic power" (NTT 117ff). Futhermore, where experience is mixed, as with our experience of the world’s good and evil, a priori reasoning can be of considerable importance in supporting our confidence that some supposed "felt concrete redemption is no illusion but an authentic experience of what really is (and perhaps even must be) the case. On their own, without correlative experiences, Hartshorne’s "metaphysical necessities" may properly seem more like bright ideas or comforting illusions than actual truths. When they are accompanied by such experiences, however, they support our apprehension and understanding of those experiences and our commitment to their permanent validity. While, therefore, Hartshorne’s concern with the a priori aspects of our understanding may lead to criticisms that he overlooks the experiential aspect, his resulting insights in practice do not impoverish but confirm and enrich the believer’s experience of a saving God by setting that experience within a coherent, consistent, and comprehensive understanding of reality. In terms of Newman’s distinction between "real" and "notional" apprehensions and assents, Hartshorne’s a priori arguments justify the notional assents which provide the intellectual and theoretical grounding for the experientially informed real assents of living faith.

Hartshorne is able to unite thought and experience for the believer because he has largely succeeded in developing a concept of God that is internally coherent and externally adequate to religious faith in God as the proper object of worship. Neville, though, has several criticisms of this part of Hartshorne’s work, and to these we must now pay attention.

Neville is not happy with Hartshorne’s dipolar conceptuality and his distinction between abstract and concrete which lies at the heart of the dipolar conceptuality and of the crucial distinction between existence and actuality. Neville’s discussion of these issues is largely taken up with considerations of Platonic and Aristotelian views of universals in relation to Hartshorne’s commitment to "the old principle that the concrete contains the abstract" (CSPM 236f). In this connection Neville shows his preference for Platonic understanding to what he regards as Hartshorne’s more Aristotelian position. He admits, however, that he has "no complaints to make about the positive things Hartshorne says about universals, since he is giving a good account of the Aristotelian problem" although he finds Hartshorne’s negative points "ill-taken" (p. 59). I am not greatly disturbed, though, by Neville’s criticism that Hartshorne takes "the ontological structure of the world . . . for granted" rather than makes it intelligible." According to Neville, Peirce is correct in holding that "the only thing that does not need an explanation is pure chaos"; consequently order and first principles are not self-explanatory but need explanation (p. 59f). This criticism seems to me to be metaphysically questionable both in practice and in principle. In practice it is questionable because Neville seems to be asking for a kind of ultimate metaphysical explanation which may well be beyond the competence of human understanding. The anthropological limitations of our thought cast doubt on our ability to explain why reality has the structure that it does have. Here the answer to Job, as well as Philo’s response to Cleanthes’ arguments, reminds us that the "believer," religious or metaphysical, is not God:

Then the Lord answered Job out of the tempest:

Who is this whose ignorant words cloud my design in darkness?

Brace yourself and stand up like a man;

I will ask questions, and you shall answer.

Where were you when I laid the earth’s foundations?

Tell me, if you know and understand.

Who settled its dimensions? Surely you should know. (Job 38:1-5a)

Frustrating as it may be to some, "That’s the way the cookie crumbles," i.e., that’s the way it is, must be the end of the explanatory road for us.

In principle Neville’s criticism seems to me questionable because it really seems to be asking for explanations of the basic principles of explanation. The nature of explanation, however, must presuppose such principles; otherwise explanation can never begin. Furthermore, in spite of Peirce, it is not chaos but the principle of rationality that does not need explanation. Indeed, it cannot be explained because it is presupposed in all thought seeking intelligibility. Pure chaos is the failure of rational thought to recognize any intelligible patterns or explanations, but such recognition or failure of recognition is itself dependent upon the principle of rationality. To hold that the metaphysical structures of the world are the result of a primordial divine decision rather than given as necessary is to prefer an ultimately voluntarist to Hartshorne’s intellectualist understanding, but it is not clear why the former can be judged as the more explanatory. The decision must either be in response to principles -- and so itself need explanation -- or be arbitrary and so be as inexplicable as the basic principles in the intellectualist position. In the end I suspect that the voluntarist view may attempt to explain the inexplicable -- the ultimate nature of God’s essential being -- whereas the intellectualist in the end is content to attempt to describe it. Both positions, furthermore, are probably somewhat hopeful in assuming that such matters are within our competence. What perhaps we may conclude is that the intrinsic status of God may well require us to regard both the voluntarist and the intellectualist positions (and both Hartshorne’s and Neville’s view of God’s primal creativity -- cf. p. 51) as illegitimate because they fail to recognize adequately the implications of God’s ontological, valuative, and rational ultimacy.

Be this as it may be, Neville describes Hartshorne’s use of the word "abstract" in connection with the problems of universals as "unfortunate" because it may beg the question by connoting "that something abstract has been taken out of something large and more concrete." I suspect, however, that the seat of the trouble is Hartshorne’s use of the word "contain" since it tends to lead to a reflection of the two poles as if the abstract existence and concrete actuality of an event refer to two separate components which together comprise that particular event (cf. the container and what it contains) whereas they properly indicate a formal distinction needed for our understanding of both the self-identity of that event and its identity with other events to compose a temporally persistent object. Furthermore, while Hartshorne himself relates the abstract/ concrete distinction to the question of universals (cf. CSPM 58ff), I suspect that this confuses the issue so far as the distinction is applied to the concept of God, for the relation of God’s abstract existence to his concrete actuality is not the same as (although in some respects it is analogous to) that of a universal to an individual instance of it. It is perhaps more like the relation of a principle to its sole, specific, and appropriate application in each particular situation, the crucial difference being that in the case of God we are not dealing with an intellectual idea but with that which necessarily must exist in some appropriate determinate form.

The recognition that the abstract/concrete distinction is formal suggests that the problem of the necessity of the divine reality does not lie in the fact that it implies that "an abstract part of the antecedent divine event" must necessitate and so be normative over" all subsequent divine events and therefore cannot be "‘contained’ in any concrete divine event" (p. 60). Such an understanding would raise the probably unacceptable paradox of the abstract’s having power over the concrete. Hartshorne’s view of the necessary existence of God does not raise this problem because the "abstract nature of God" is not properly a part contained in the divine reality (how, indeed, could what is abstract be part of the concrete?) but a way of distinguishing certain characteristics of that reality. The problem that is raised by Hartshorne’s understanding of God’s mode of existence, granting his view that God is not (as with Whitehead) a single occasion but a series of occasions, seems to be rather the question of what makes this series necessary and so unending. As God ensures the continuation of the series of occasions constituting the contingent world, does the continuation of the series of occasions of his own reality necessitate, as Neville puts it, "another kind of super-divine ontological being" (p. 61) -- whose continuation would, presumably, require the postulation of a super-super being and so on ad infinitum? Leaving aside the problem of the appropriateness of the apparently quantal model of successiveness which Whitehead and Hartshorne use to understand the process of becoming, the solution to this question does not, however, require the abandonment of the Aristotelian view of universals in favor of a Platonic one -- as Neville suggests -- but a recognition that the initial question is improper because it treats God, that which ensures all continuation, as a contingent object whose continuation needs to be ensured by another.

To ask how or why God is necessary and how or why we can know that he (and consequently created, contingent reality) will not fail to continue in the future is probably to ask an impossible because meaningless question. It is like asking what is the cause of the first cause or what happens after the end. God as the necessary being is the reality which acts as the regulative idea of our understanding of the successiveness of contingent reality, but as such he is the point at which such explanation and understanding stop. It seems reasonable to hold that if there is a God, "necessity" is a quality of his mode of being. It does not seem reasonable, though, for us to try to determine what structures make this "necessity" necessary for the future. It may be a nice question whether and how God can know that his reality is intrinsically necessary and so unending, but nice questions of this order unfortunately seem to require speculations that are highly unlikely to be within our competence. Those who engage in them -- or imply that the underlying questions are proper ones -- must face the heavy burden of proving that what they offer is more than ingenious connections of ideas. While Hartshorne allows that God is a series of occasions, it must not be forgotten that he also recognizes the unique status of God. In God’s case the series is not explicable by reference to another: the claim that God is necessary may, in this sense, be treated as a claim that while the future of all other entities is explicable in terms of another (i.e., God), God’s continuation is not so explicable, for with him all explanations are completed. God is the actuality whose existence is in fact necessary. He is not subject to "normative metaphysical principles" beyond himself which make it "necessary that he instance them" (as Neville puts it -- p. 61) for these principles are part of the structure of his being as God, the ontologically, valuatively, and rationally ultimate.

It is, incidentally, the failure to understand that the dipolar distinction of abstract existence and concrete actuality is a formal distinction by which the different attributes of God are to be understood that leads Colin Gunton into his seriously erroneous view of Hartshorne’s concept of God in his so-called "outline and assessment" of "Process Theology’s Concept of God" (1:294f). Gunton considers the logic of the dipolar concept "actually precludes the taking of initiative by God," since if God is "passive to what happens in the universe" in "one pole of his being," therefore he must be active in the other pole -- for, Gunton apparently assumes, since activity and passivity are polar opposites, so they must correspond to the abstract/concrete poles of the divine reality when applied to God. As Gunton makes clear, God’s concrete actuality is passive; therefore, he argues, activity must belong to God’s abstract pole. But, Gunton asks, "in what sense can an abstraction be conceived to act?" The answer is to point out that both activity and passivity, like God’s love, knowledge, and reality, are attributes of God and so to be understood in terms of the formal dipolar distinction. God’s passivity in terms of his abstract existence is absolute and necessary, for nothing occurs which does not occur in his experience also; in terms of his concrete actuality his passivity is contingent and relative for it depends on what actually occurs to be experienced. Similarly, in terms of God’s abstract existence, his activity is universal and unlimited, for nothing can ever be beyond the effects of his loving care; but in terms of his contingent actuality his activity is contingent upon what has in fact been created and is there to be influenced and upon what are the appropriate expressions of pure love in each particular situation. Both God’s activity and his passivity. that is, are to be understood according to the dipolar structure: they do not belong to opposite sides of the formal dipolar structure of understanding. While, however, process theology, as developed in principle by Hartshorne (Whitehead’s use of the distinction of the primordial and consequent natures of God seems to me to leave the meaning of the notion of God’s activity, at least in a personal sense, as more unsettled), makes it possible to talk significantly of divine activity, the actuality of divine existence badly needs further elucidation in process -- as in all other -- theology. When faced by demands that they ‘cash’ their claims about God as active, theologians too easily fall into vagaries and generalities. If talk about God is to express more than intellectually satisfying constructions, abstract ideals, and hopes, theologians will have to show in fact that Hartshorne is wrong when he says that "our knowledge of the concrete divine reality is negligibly small" (NTT 77).

Neville’s preference for Platonic metaphysical understanding comes out most clearly when he criticizes Hartshorne’s concept of God. As Neville recognizes, his own view that God is "beyond the metaphysical categories illustrated in the temporal process" means that he "cannot except by devious analogy be called individual, actual, knowledgeable, or a variety of other things Hartshorne attributes to God" (p. 61). Unless we are in effect to abandon all attempts to talk about God as such (a form of apophatic theology which Neville’s position seems to favor), the "devious analogy" to which he refers is so devious that it is hard to distinguish it from equivocation or even fraudulent misrepresentation. Theistic faith is unlikely to survive if it thoroughly maintains that its object is unknown and so is not parasitic upon unexpressed positive statements about God -- for, as Hume puts it, there is no significant difference between holding that God is totally unknown and holding that there is no God at all. If, then, theistic faith is to survive, it must find a way to talk about God which makes sense. It cannot accept the apparent nonsense of traditional theological claims that God is both impassible and loving, both timeless and active, both unchanging and creative. The recognition of these problems is not new although Hartshorne’s work on the concept of God has made important contributions to our understanding of them, not least by suggesting ways in which they can be avoided without detriment to the true deity of God. What Neville does not seem to recognize sufficiently is that theistic faith demands an understanding of God who is the object of its faith and worship (for the believer cannot relate himself to what is unknown to him) and, furthermore, that it generally demands a coherent concept of God who is not only the ontologically, valuatively, and rationally other but also an individual reality who instantiates these qualities in a personal mode of being. For Neville, therefore, to dismiss apparently out-of-hand the view that God is significantly to be described as individual, actual, and knowledgeable is for him to show that when he is talking about "God" he is not talking about the object of theistic faith and worship.

Although there are other points in Neville’s provocative article which perhaps ought to be taken up, I do not feel that this response should become another book! Much needs to be done to sort out the problems and develop the implications of Hartshorne’s process philosophy and dipolar panentheism. I hope, nevertheless, that my comments may indicate why one person at least on this side of the Atlantic (and hence somewhat isolated from the technical expertise, vocabulary, and sometimes apparently frenetic debates of the community of process thinkers) finds in Hartshorne’s work "genuine philosophic wisdom," especially as it develops insights into the logical status and conceptual structure of a theistic understanding of the concept of God. The major importance of Hartshorne’s work in my view’ is the way in which his dipolar panentheism indicates the possibility of a concept of God which allows believers to speak of him as an individual, personal reality and significantly to use active verbs of him -- like love, create, know, respond -- without denying anything that properly belongs to his ultimacy and worshipfulness and without falling into self-contradiction. It may be that theistic believers are wrong in holding that there is such a being as their faith implies; what Hartshorne has shown is that they probably cannot be shown a priori to be wrong through a demonstration of the internal incoherence of the concept of such a being.

 

References

AD -- Charles Hartshorne. Anselm’s Discovery. La Salle: Open Court, 1965.

CSPM -- Charles Hartshorne. Creative Synthesis and Philosophic Method. La Salle: Open Court, 1970.

LP -- Charles Hartshorne. The Logic of Perfection and Other Essays in Neoclassical Metaphysics. La Salle: Open Court, 1962.

NTT -- Charles Hartshorne. A Natural Theology for Our Time. La Salle: Open Court, 1967.

1. Colin Gunton. "Process Theology’s Concept of God." Expository Times, 84/10 (July, 1973), 294f.

 

Notes

1. "Some Comments on Hartshorne’s Presentation of the Ontological Argument" in Religious Studies (October, 1968), 103ff; "An Introductory Survey of Charles Hartshorne’s Work on the Ontological Argument" in Analecta Anselmiana (Band 1, 1969), pp. 216ff.

2. This interpretation of the ontological argument indicates a basic agreement in the significance of the arguments in Anselm’s Monologion and in Aquinas’ five ways with that of Anselm’s Proslogion, for all of them can be interpreted as defining characteristics of the ground of ultimately satisfying metaphysical understanding. It also suggests that while ICant rejected the ontological argument as a proof of God’s existence, he affirmed this view of its significance when be established the concept of the ens realissimum as one of the ideas of pure reason.

3. R. G. Collingwood, Essay on Metaphysics, (Oxford, 1940), p. 190. It is a pity that Hartshorne does not refer to this discussion but to the earlier and somewhat different discussion of the ontological argument in his Essay on Philosophical Method when he discusses Collingwood’s views in Anselm’s Discovery. A. Donergan’s criticism of Collingwood’s statement (The Later Philosophy of R.G. Collingwood. [Oxford, 1962]. p. 265f) seems to me to arise from a failure to appreciate Collingwood’s point -- viz., that the ontological argument makes explicit a presupposition of thought which understands in terms, inter alia, of the concept of the greatest conceivable.

4. I say only "largely" because it will include facts of God’s acts, if any, which are a posteriori for him and for us such as a non-necessary decision to act in a certain way.

5. Cf. "Theistic Verification" in The Living God, edited by D. Kirkpatrick, (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1971), pp. 48ff; "Can the Theologian Legitimately Try to Answer the Question: Is the Christian Faith True?" in The Expository Times. 84/11. (August, 1973), 325ff; "‘Credo ut intelligam’ as the Method of Theology" in forthcoming Analecta Anselmiana, Band 3.

6. Cf. "Process Theology -- Why and What? in Faith and Thought, 100 (1972), 45ff.

Whitehead’s Principle of Relativity

Fifty years after the publication of Process and Reality, process scholars have yet to recognize that the principle of relativity -- the principle on which Whitehead founded his metaphysical system (PR 76) -- asserts, in effect, the repeatability of all entities of all sorts: the repeatability, that is, of particulars as well as of universals. Process scholars have recognized, to be sure, that Whitehead intended the relativity principle, together with the ontological principle, to "blur the sharp distinction between what is universal and what is particular" (PR 76). They have recognized also that actual entities and eternal objects are the closest analogues, in Whitehead’s metaphysics, to particulars and universals, respectively (PR 76). But the idea of particulars having multiple instances is so paradoxical and revolutionary that even Whitehead’s most sympathetic interpreters have been unable to take him literally when he says, and he says it frequently, that earlier actual entities are repeated in later ones (e.g., PR 208, 224, 347, 364)1 In one way or another, the interpreters have avoided the conclusion that Whitehead blurred the traditional distinction between universals and particulars with his doctrine that actual entities, as well as eternal objects, are repeatable. They have, to that extent, missed the full import of the relativity principle.

Missing the full import of the doctrine of relativity is a matter of no small consequence; for Whitehead, it must be remembered, strove, with considerable success, to have his metaphysical principles presuppose each the others (PR 5, 9). Accordingly, any error or misapprehension in the interpretation of the relativity principle can be expected to visit itself on, and thus vitiate, the interpretation of other important organic principles. The ontological principle, the causal objectification of earlier occasions in later ones, the mutual immanence of discrete occasions, and even the Category of the Ultimate, are all, I maintain, organic doctrines presupposing the repetition of completed actual occasions. Hence, insofar as the major interpreters of Whitehead do not acknowledge the repetition of particulars, their accounts of these four doctrines severely distort, or truncate, the meaning Whitehead intended them to have. Moreover, to the degree they are accepted as being completely accurate, those accounts stand in the way of many genuine applications of Whitehead’s conceptuality -- applications as basic and important as the elucidation of memory and perception. Suffice it to note, in this last regard, that the reformed subjectivist principle, on which Whitehead based his metaphysical theory of memory, perception, and knowledge, was for him "merely an alternative statement of the principle of relativity . . ." (PR 252). At issue in the interpretation of the relativity principle, therefore, is the applicability, as well as the coherence, of the metaphysics of organic process.

In these times of resurgent interest in the coherence and use of Whitehead’s conceptuality, a sustained effort to improve upon, or go beyond, the received understanding of the relativity principle seems very much in order, even necessary. This essay is intended as an initial step in that direction -- an initial step because it will not be possible for me in this, or in any single, article to explicate the principle’s full meaning and import. Indeed, to examine the principle thoroughly and exhaustively is tantamount to elucidating the whole of Whitehead’s metaphysics. My efforts here, then, have a limited but basic objective: to argue that the doctrine of relativity implies the repeatability of all entities, including actual entities, and to begin to exhibit the extent to which Whitehead’s philosophy of organism is built on the tenet that even particulars are repeatable.

To achieve the essay’s two-fold objective, I shall first argue, through a series of textual considerations, that the relativity principle must be understood as asserting that to be an entity is both to have a potentiality for being repeated and to have that potentiality realized in every actual occasion whose becoming finds that entity already existing as a fully determinate being. Thus understood, I shall argue also, the principle implies that every completed occasion in the universe of a novel occasion is reproduced in and for that occasion. This reproduction of earlier occasions in later ones, I shall show, is what Whitehead meant by the objectification of the former in the latter. I shall further argue for the correctness of my interpretation by bringing it to bear on the mutual immanence of actual occasions, the ontological principle, and the Category of the Ultimate. It will then be seen that actual occasions must be repeatable if these three doctrines are each to be prevented from issuing in either a conceptual incoherence or an outright logical contradiction.

II. Textual Evidence

In the categoreal scheme of Process and Reality, the relativity principle is listed as the fourth Category of Explanation, and reads as follows:

(iv) That the potentiality for being an element in a real concrescence of many entities into one actuality, is the one general metaphysical character attaching to all entities, actual and non-actual; and that every item in its universe is involved in each concrescence. In other words, it belongs to the nature of a ‘being’ that it is a potential for every ‘becoming.’ This is the ‘principle of relativity.’ (PR 33)

As given in this formulation, the ultimate meaning of the principle is far from clear. Certainly, the formulation contains no explicit assertion of the repeatability of all entities. Indeed, no meaning is apparent in it other than this: every entity in the universe of a concrescing actuality must be involved in the actuality, so that to be an entity in that universe is to be involved in that concrescence. But the nature of the involvement, or the meaning of ‘being a potential for every becoming’, is not at all obvious.

Fortunately, throughout Process and Reality, Whitehead makes frequent and illuminating references to the principle of relativity. Through a careful interpretation of those references, the true meaning and import of the principle can be gradually ascertained. For example, many of those references make clear that Whitehead construed ‘thing’, ‘entity’, ‘being’, and ‘object’ as synonymous, or nearly synonymous, with one another (PR 68, 336, 366, 371; see also 31). They are but nearly synonymous because, for Whitehead, an actuality in process of attainment is an entity or thing, but is not yet a being or object. To be a being or object, the actuality must be complete or already become, i.e., it must be an attained actuality -- the superject or satisfaction, rather than the subject or genetic process. This is why Whitehead says of the completed actuality or superject: "It has become a ‘being’; and it belongs to the nature of every ‘being’ that it is a potential for every ‘becoming’" (PR 71). Given that the superject is the fully determinate occasion, this statement also suggests that an entity is a being if, and only if, it is completely determinate; entities that are still in the process of becoming fully determinate are not yet beings. Hence, an occasion qua subject is an entity, but it is not a being. Nonetheless, though ‘entity’ and ‘being’ do not have exactly the same connotation or intention, they do have the same denotation or extension; for the actuality as in process of attainment, and the actuality as attained, are one and the same entity (PR 326f). "It is subject-superject, and neither half of this description can for a moment be lost sight of" (PR 43). My point is that, for Whitehead, all entities are, or are destined to be, beings or objects. Hence, all entities fall, or are destined to fall, under the scope of the relativity principle.2

From other passages where Whitehead discusses the principle of relativity, we can safely infer that what all entities have in common -- and thus what ‘entity’, ‘being’, ‘object’, and ‘thing’ connote in common -- is their capacity to contribute determination to every actuality whose becoming finds those entities already existing (PR 366, 371, 392). In this manner, it becomes evident that ‘being a potential for every becoming’ means the same as ‘being a capacity for being a realized determinant of every becoming’ (PR 366, 371). To have the capacity is to be an object and to exercise it is to function as an object. But the capacity must be exercised in one way or another; for "every item in its universe is involved in each concrescence." Therefore, "according to the fourth Category of Explanation it is the one general metaphysical character of all entities of all sorts, that they function as objects" (PR 336).

The objective functioning of entities turns out to be one of two species of functioning distinguished by Whitehead. The generic meaning common to both species is set out in the twentieth Category of Explanation, where we are told that "to ‘function’ means to contribute determination to the actual entities in the nexus of some actual world" (PR 38). The next four Categories of Explanation jointly establish a distinction between the functioning of one entity in respect to another and the functioning of one entity in respect to itself. All entities of all sorts function in respect to other entities. But only actual entities function each in respect to itself. For that reason, self-function or self-realization constitutes a sufficient criterion of actuality (PR 38). To be an actual entity is to be, or to have been, self-realizing. "An actuality is self-realizing, and whatever is self-realizing is an actuality. An actual entity is at once the subject of self-realization, and the superject which is self-realized" (PR 340). The self-realization of the actuality is what Whitehead terms its formal functioning (PR 81, 336). But the self-realized superject is the actuality as completed or already become; it is a being and, as with all other beings, it must function objectively in the becoming of actualities later than itself. "The peculiarity of an actual entity is that it can be considered both ‘objectively’ and ‘formally’" (PR 336).

According to the twenty-fourth Category of Explanation, the "functioning of one actual entity in the self-creation of another actual entity is the ‘objectification’ of the former for the latter actual entity" and the "functioning of an eternal object in the self-creation of an actual entity is the ‘ingression’ of the eternal object in the actual entity" (PR 38). But in the eighth Category of Explanation we are told that the objectification of one actuality in another is the particular mode in which the potentiality (or capacity) of the former is realized (or exercised) in the latter, and in the seventh Category of Explanation we are told that the ingression of an eternal object into an actuality is the particular mode in which the potentiality (or capacity) of the eternal object is realized (or exercised) in the actuality (PR 34). This latter way of characterizing the objectification and ingression of actual entities and eternal objects, respectively, has the advantage, for our purposes, of emphasizing the distinction Whitehead makes between an entity or object qua capacity for being a realized determinant and that same entity or object qua realized determinant. This distinction provides an important clue to the meaning of the principle of relativity.

Whitehead explicitly contrasts the object as capacity and the object as realized determinant in terms of the object’s transcendence and immanence relative to the actuality in which it functions: "Immanence and transcendence are the characteristics of an object: as a realized determinant it is immanent; as a capacity for determination it is transcendent; in both roles it is relevant to something not itself" (PR 366f). What sense is to be made of this contrast? How can the same object be at once immanent and transcendent relative to the same actuality?

In the case of eternal objects, a possible answer immediately suggests itself. As ingressed in a particular actuality, a particular eternal object is just another instance of itself. It contributes its unique individual essence to the determination of the actuality. No other eternal object can make that contribution. But that same eternal object must make exactly that same contribution to any actuality or occasion in which it is ingressed. Thus, the individual essence

of an eternal object is merely the eternal object considered as adding its own unique contribution to each actual occasion. This unique contribution is identical for all such occasions in respect to the fact that the object in all modes of ingression is just its identical self. But it varies from one occasion to another in respect to the differences of its mode of ingression. (SMW 229)

These different modes of ingression are a function of the eternal object’s relational essence, that is, of its patience for being jointly ingressed with other eternal objects having the requisite relational essence (SMW 229f). But the point to emphasize now is that any eternal object is just itself in whatever mode of ingression it is involved (SMW 247). Hence, as ingressed in a particular occasion, a particular eternal object is an exact replica of every other instance of itself. It becomes a realized determinant of the particular occasion by being reproduced within the occasion. Moreover, as eternally ingressed in God’s primordial nature, each eternal object is, relative to the temporal actualities, a transcendent capacity for their determination. In this manner, the same eternal object can be both immanent and transcendent relative to the same occasion.

Can this explanation be extended to include the functioning of one actuality in another? Does an earlier actuality function in a later one by being reproduced in it? Is the earlier actuality in itself the transcendent capacity? Is its reproduction within the later actuality the realized determinant?

To pave the way for affirmative answers to these questions, I now turn to one of Whitehead’s most illuminating characterizations of the fourth Category of Explanation:

The principle of universal relativity directly traverses Aristotle’s dictum, ‘ (A substance) is not present in a subject.’ On the contrary, according to this principle an actual entity is present in other actual entities. In fact if we allow for degrees of relevance, and for negligible relevance, we must say that every actual entity is present in every other actual entity. The philosophy of organism is mainly devoted to the task of making clear the notion of ‘being present in another entity.’ This phrase is here borrowed from Aristotle: it. is not a fortunate phrase, and in subsequent discussion it will be replaced by the term ‘objectification.’ (PR 79f)

‘Being present in another entity’, when the entities in question are both actual entities, means the same as ‘being objectified in another entity’ -- that much is evident. But elsewhere Whitehead equates ‘being objectified’ with ‘being repeated’: "In the organic philosophy the notion of repetition is fundamental. The doctrine of objectification is an endeavor to express how what is settled in actuality is repeated under limitations, so as to be ‘given’ for immediacy" (PR 208). Accordingly, ‘being present in another entity’ means ‘being repeated in another entity’. In other words, it is as repeated -- i.e., as another instance of itself -- that the one entity is present in the other.

In this regard, it must be emphasized that whatever is given for the immediate experience of an actuality must be immanent in, and a constituent of, the actuality; for, in the organic philosophy, "experience is not a relation of an experient to something external to it, but is itself the ‘inclusive whole’ which is the required connectedness of ‘many in one’" (AI 299). This is why, for Whitehead, "every item of the universe, including all the other actual entities, are constituents in the constitution of any one actual entity" (PR 224). But each item in the universe of an actual entity becomes a constituent of that entity by being repeated in it. It is only as thus repeated that the items are given for the experience of the actuality. "Tear ‘repetition’ out of ‘experience’ and there is nothing left" (PR 206).

By the repetition, or causal objectification, of an earlier occasion in a later one, let me hasten to add, Whitehead did not mean, as so many of his interpreters have erroneously taken him to mean, merely that some eternal object ingressed in the earlier occasion is also ingressed in the later occasion. Causal objectification is the repetition of an earlier particular in a later one, and no mere repetition of universals can ever count as the repetition of a particular. An actual occasion embodies other actual occasions (qua reproduced), and, hence, its make-up cannot be reduced to its embodiment of ingressed eternal objects. Thus, an actual entity cannot be described, even inadequately, by universals; because other actual entities do enter into the description of any one actual entity" (PR 76). To reduce causal objectification, and thereby the immanence of the earlier in the later, to a mere repetition of eternal objects, is to make the repetition of occasions a sham repetition. It is simply to refuse to take Whitehead at his word, and what Whitehead says, in effect, is that each superject is repeated in every occasion whose origination is subsequent to the existence of that superject (PR 208, 211, 364).

But can Whitehead really mean that actual occasions, as well as eternal objects, are repeatable entities? If the following passage from Process and Reality is at all significant, the answer must be that that is precisely what Whitehead means: "The oneness of the universe, and the oneness of each element in the universe, repeat themselves to the crack of doom in the creative advance from creature to creature, each creature including in itself the whole of history and exemplifying the self-identity of things and their mutual diversities" (347f). Surely, whatever else Whitehead is saying here, he is saying that actual occasions are repeated (qua superjects only, never qua subjects), for among the ‘elements’ in the universe relative to the origination of a novel creature are all those occasions which have already completed their becoming, i.e., those which are already superjects; hence, every superject accumulated in the wake of the universe’s creative advance is repeated in each novel creature at the utmost verge of that advance.

Whitehead is also saying, in the passage just quoted, that all elements in the universe are repeated in each novel occasion. The property of being repeatable belongs to all organic entities and not just to eternal objects and actual entities. This, after all, is what we should expect, given that eternal objects and actual entities are the fundamental types of entities in Whitehead’s ontology and that "the other types of entities only express how all entities of the two fundamental types are in community with each other, in the actual world" (PR 37). My point is that the repetition of entities of the fundamental types necessarily carries with it the repetition of entities of the derivative types. For example, a nexus is repeated if, and only if, its constituent actualities are repeated; also, if an actuality is repeated, then at least some element of its subjective form is also repeated.

Accordingly, all entities, actual and nonactual, achieve objective functioning in a given occasion by virtue of their reproduction within the occasion. But what needs to be emphasized now is that actual entities, when they are completely attained, share with eternal objects the property of being repeatable. It is in virtue of this property that actual entities and eternal objects alike have the capacity for being realized determinants of processes of becoming. Both types of entities contribute to the becoming of actual entities, and what the entities of either type contribute is themselves as repeated, i.e., as objectified or as ingressed, respectively. To that extent, actual entities and eternal objects behave in an identical manner. This is one reason (it is not the only one) why Whitehead refuses to identify ‘universal’ with ‘eternal object’: "The term ‘universal’ is unfortunate in its application to eternal objects; for it seems to deny, and in fact it was meant to deny, that actual entities also fall within the scope of the principle of relativity. If the term ‘eternal objects’ is disliked, the term ‘potentials’ would be suitable" (PR 226). In this respect, the point I have been trying to make is that the realization of potentials involves repetition -- repetition either in the guise of ingression or in the guise of objectification. But if my interpretation is correct, and if being repeatable is made the criterion for being a universal, then it follows that eternal objects and actual entities are alike universals, or, in Whitehead’s terms, are alike potentials.

Moreover, since potentials are repeated within actualities, it follows that if being present in a subject, or actuality, is made the criterion for being a universal, then again actual entities and eternal objects are alike universals. This explains how the principle of relativity was meant to "blur the sharp distinction between what is universal and what is particular" (PR 76). As Whitehead put it:

The notion of a universal is of that which can enter into the description of many particulars; whereas the notion of a particular is that it is described by universals, and does not itself enter into the description of any other particular. According to the doctrine of relativity which is the basis of the metaphysical system of the present lectures, both these notions involve a misconception. An actual entity cannot be described, even inadequately, by universals; because other actual entities do enter into the description of any one actual entity. Thus every so-called ‘universal’ is particular in the sense of being just what it is, diverse from everything else; and every so-called ‘particular’ is universal in the sense of entering into the constitution of other actual entities. (PR 76)

To understand correctly the meaning of Whitehead’s statement, we need only keep in mind that every so-called particular enters into the constitution of other particulars by being reproduced in them. But the same is true of every so-called universal. Thus, every entity contributes its own particularity to the determination of each novel actuality; thus, too, every entity contributes itself as repeated; and thus, finally, every entity in its objective functioning transcends itself -- it is repeated beyond itself so as to be immanent in, and given for the immediacy of, each novel actuality (PR 324, 327, 336, 366).

My contention that the principle of relativity implicitly asserts the repeatability of all entities, including actual entities, has now received its initial substantiation. To further substantiate it, I shall next examine how the principle of relativity bears on the solidarity of occasions, the ontological principle and the Category of the Ultimate. This examination will illustrate the extent to which the relativity principle is the bedrock on which a sound interpretation of Whitehead’s metaphysical scheme can, and must, be built. To those cognizant of the received interpretations, the examination will illustrate also, though only implicitly, the degree to which, in those interpretations, the misapprehension of the relativity principle is interwoven with the misapprehension of other crucial organic doctrines.

III. The Thesis of Solidarity

The fundamental thesis of Whitehead’s philosophy of organism is that the final actualities of the universe cannot be abstracted from one another because each actuality, though individual and discrete, is internally related to all other actualities. This mutual involvement of discrete actualities is what Whitehead meant whenever he spoke of the solidarity or connectedness of the universe.3 The problem with Whitehead’s thesis of solidarity is its apparent logical inconsistency, for it posits final actualities that are at once mutually transcendent, as entailed by their discreteness and individuality, and mutually immanent, as required by their reciprocal internal relations (PR 470f; AI 254). Showing that the thesis is not really a logical contradiction requires, among other things, the very interpretation of the principle of relativity advanced in this essay.

If we keep in mind Whitehead’s conception of actual entities as discrete individuals, each separate and distinct from the others (PR 470f), the problem posed by the thesis of solidarity may be rephrased as follows: how can the world, or universe, be composed of discrete actual entities and yet be itself contained in each of its component actualities? This problem is one of which Whitehead is fully aware; indeed, he makes it explicit in more than a few passages of his works, sometimes referring to it simply as "the problem of solidarity" and other times as "the paradox of the connectedness of things" (PR 88; AI 293). To cite but one example, in Modes of Thought Whitehead says, in respect to occasions of human experience, that "there is a dual aspect to the relationship of an occasion of experience as one relatum and the experienced world as another relatum. The world is included within the occasion in one sense, and the occasion is included in the world in another sense" (MT 224). This bond between world and occasion, Whitehead immediately admits, is a "baffling antithetical relation"; but for him, when we examine our everyday experience of the world, or when we inquire into the presuppositions of common practice, or into the presuppositions of the natural sciences, or into the presuppositions of basic epistemic claims, we run again and again into this paradoxical relation of mutual immanence (MT 218f).

This compelling character of human experience -- that it is a constituent of the universe and that the universe is a constituent of it -- suggests to Whitehead that the togetherness of all final actualities somehow involves their mutual immanence: "In some sense or other, this community of the actualities of the world means that each happening is a factor in the nature of every other happening" (MT 225). By thus generalizing what is manifest in our experience of the world into a necessary feature of every final actuality, Whitehead arrives at what I have termed the thesis of solidarity (MT 227). The thesis maintains that any set of actual occasions are united by the mutual immanence of occasions, each in the other" (AI 254). It asserts, in effect, that any two actual entities, regardless of their temporal relationship (AI 254), are at once mutually transcendent and mutually immanent. The problem is to find a sense of ‘mutual immanence’ wholly consistent with the discrete individuality of actual entities.4

The importance of the solidarity thesis is evident in Whitehead’s many statements to the effect that his categoreal scheme is meant to elucidate the solidarity or connectedness of actual entities. Three such statements should suffice to make my point:

(1) The scheme should . . . [develop] all those generic notions adequate for the expression of any possible interconnection of things. (PR vii)

(2) The coherence which the system seeks to preserve, is the discovery that the process, or concrescence, of any one actual entity involves the other actual entities among its components. In this way the obvious solidarity of the world receives its explanation. (PR 10)

(3) The world within experience is identical with the world beyond experience, the occasion of experience is within the world and the world is within the occasion. The categories have to elucidate this paradox of the connectedness of things: -- the many things, the one world without and within. (AI 293)

Clearly, the solidarity or connectedness of the world is the thesis whose truth the organic categoreal scheme is designed to convey and demonstrate.

It was with a view toward the elucidation of the world’s connectedness, Whitehead himself informs us, that he chose the basic working hypothesis of his philosophy -- namely, that the final actualities of the world have the necessary features of acts, or occasions, of experience (AI 283f; see also PR 65, 114, 217). This assertion is to be found right after a passage criticizing Humean and Cartesian philosophies because their respective working hypotheses are alike in precluding outright any possibility of doing justice to the connectedness of the world. In marked contrast, the advantage of the organic working hypothesis, that which makes it attractive to Whitehead, is precisely its capacity to suggest categories applicable to the connectedness of things. Thus, immediately after his criticism of Descartes, Whitehead writes:

But if we hold, as for example in Process and Reality, that all final individual actualities have the metaphysical character of occasions of experience, then on that hypothesis the direct evidence as to the connectedness of one’s immediately present occasion of experience with one’s immediately past occasions, can be validly used to suggest categories applying to the connectedness of all occasions in nature. (AI 284)

Such a pre-categoreal analysis of memory -- i.e., of the connection between the present remembering occasion and the past remembered occasions -- must make use, according to Whitehead, of two interrelated, but distinct, notions: ‘repetition’ and ‘immediacy’ (PR 206f). For memory "is a particular example of this character of experience, that in some sense there is entwined in its fundamental nature the fact that it is repeating something" (PR 206). In other words, some of the contents of the remembering occasion constitute reproductions of the remembered occasions. There is, however, more to the remembering occasion than its reproductive contents; for "‘immediacy,’ or ‘first-handedness,’ is another element in experience. Feeling overwhelms repetition; and there remains the immediate, first-handed fact, which is the actual world in an immediate complex unity of feeling" (PR 206).

The notion of repetition, we have seen already, gives rise to, and is incorporated in, Whitehead’s theory of (causal) objectification. The theory generalizes the repetition of the past that is evident in conscious, mnemonic occasions of human experience into a feature of all actual occasions, human or nonhuman. According to the theory of objectification, therefore, every novel actual entity "is the reproduction of the many actual entities of the past" (PR 364). In this manner, the notion of repetition, as incorporated in the doctrine of the causal objectification of past actualities, begins to throw some much needed light on the "paradox of the connectedness of things: -- the many things, the one world without and within." For the actual world relative to a novel occasion, or, equivalently, the occasion’s universe insofar as it is made up of completed occasions, lies, as reproduced, entirely within the occasion; yet that same actual world or universe lies, in itself, entirely beyond the occasion.

As reproduced, the past occasions function objectively in and for the novel occasion. But the reproduction of past occasions, as noted earlier, carries with it the reproduction of all other organic entities, i.e., nexuses, prehensions, subjective forms, etc. Accordingly, the theory of objectification entails the reproducibility and objective functioning of all past entities, actual and nonactual -- entails, in short, the relativity principle. This is why, according to that principle, "it is the one general metaphysical character of all entities of all sorts, that they function as objects. It is this metaphysical character which constitutes the solidarity of the universe" (PR 336). Without the relativity principle, therefore, there can be no intelligible theory of causal objectification and no logically consistent thesis of solidarity.5

Nonetheless, not just the relativity principle, but the entire organic categoreal scheme, is involved in the elucidation of solidarity. Needless to say, I cannot deal here with each and every organic category; but I will examine two -- the ontological principle and the Category of the Ultimate -- which, because they imply the repeatability of actual entities, are immediately relevant to my interpretation of the relativity principle. The first to be examined will be the ontological principle or eighteenth Category of Explanation. This principle is doubly relevant to the task at hand because it is characterized by Whitehead both as blurring the sharp distinction between universals and particulars and as constituting "the first step in the description of the universe as a solidarity of many actual entities" (PR 65).

IV. The Ontological Principle

In the categoreal scheme of Process and Reality, the ontological principle reads as follows:

(xviii) That every condition to which the process of becoming conforms in any particular instance, has its reason either in the character of some actual entity in the actual world of that concrescence, or in the character of the subject which is in process of concrescence. This category of explanation is termed the ‘ontological principle.’ It could also be termed the ‘principle of efficient, and final, causation.’ This ontological principle means that actual entities are the only reasons; so that to search for a reason is to search for one or more actual entities. It follows that any condition to be satisfied by one actual entity in its process expresses a fact either about the ‘real internal constitutions’ of some other actual entities, or about the ‘subjective aim’ conditioning that process. (PR 36f)

Of immediate interest is the fact that the eighteenth Category of Explanation can also be termed the "principle of efficient, and final, causation;" for elsewhere Whitehead tells us that the "‘objectifications’ of the actual entities in the actual world, relative to a definite actual entity, constitute the efficient causes out of which that actual entity arises; the ‘subjective aim’ at ‘satisfaction’ constitutes the final cause, or lure, whereby there is determinate concrescence" (PR 134). Clearly, then, the ontological principle is meant to establish the kinds of particular causes -- or, equivalently, of particular reasons or conditions -- that can be given as explanatory of how and why a particular actual entity came to have the determinate characters it has. All such causes -- or reasons, or conditions -- are to be sought either in the determinate characters of past actual entities, to the extent they had objective functioning within the actual entity in question, or in the particular actual entity itself, to the extent it was a self-functioning entity. Thus, actual entities are the only reasons, the only causes.

In what sense are the past occasions efficient causes of the new, particular occasion? The answer to this question, even without the considerations already advanced in this essay, requires that the past occasions be, in some sense, immanent in the novel occasion. For, no matter what is meant by an objectified actual occasion, it is almost universally agreed that the objectified past occasions are data for the feelings originated by the new concrescence or subject. But, for Whitehead, these data are not external to the subject: "they constitute that display of the universe which is inherent in the entity. Thus the data . . . are themselves components conditioning the character of the . . . subject" (PR 309). Surely, this immanence of the data is precisely what we should expect given Whitehead’s commitment to the doctrine that a subject’s experience is the inclusive whole required by the connectedness, or solidarity, of the many in one. And surely, too, the requisite immanence of the data in the subject is one reason why Whitehead says that the ontological principle amounts to the assumption that each actual entity has to house, or be the locus for, its actual world or universe (PR 123f).

Efficient causation "is nothing else than one outcome of the principle that every actual entity has to house its actual world" (PR 124). To be sure, there is a second sense in which the data from the past are efficient causes of the new subject. For each individual datum has to be felt conformably by the subject (AI 326; PR 374f) 6 Hence, the subjective concrescence is conditioned, though not determined, by its data. In this sense, the past occasions are efficient causes of the new occasion because they condition its concrescence. However, since they condition it through their immanence in it, this second sense of efficient causation presupposes the first -- namely, that the past occasions are efficient causes of the new occasion because, as data, they are included in, and hence are constituents of, it. Efficient causation, then, is merely the outcome of the principle that every actual occasion has to house its universe and conform to it (MT 226f). Accordingly, the first half of the ontological principle asserts the immanence of the universe in each of its component actualities, and, to that extent, constitutes a first step in the description of the universe as a solidarity of the whole in each of its actual parts.

Now, in what sense is an occasion’s universe -- understood as a community of settled, or completed, actualities -- immanent in the occasion itself? My answer is that the universe is immanent only as reproduced or causally objectified; the universe in itself remains external to the occasion. My position, however, is at odds with all variants of the received interpretation. In this regard, differences of detail aside, the major interpreters of Whitehead are divided into two groups: one group, which includes Hartshorne and Lowe, asserts the literal immanence of the universe (as such) in each occasion;7 the other group, which includes Christian, Johnson, Leclerc, Schmidt, and Sherburne, apparently denies the immanence of earlier occasions in later ones, holding instead that there is immanence only in the sense that an eternal object characterizing the subjective form of an earlier occasion is repeated in a later occasion so as to characterize the latter’s subjective form also.8 Nevertheless, the difference between the interpretations propounded by the two groups is, in respect to my purposes here, merely verbal. For those who construe immanence in terms of the reproduction of eternal objects, or of subjective forms, also hold that the earlier occasions are data, in one way or another, for the conformal experience of later occasions. But to the extent that such data are experienced or prehended by later occasions, they are already immanent in them, and they are so even before there is any conformal reproduction of subjective forms. If this fact has escaped the interpreters in the second group, it is because they have forgotten that experience is not a relation of an occasion to something external to it, but is itself the ‘inclusive whole’ required for the connectedness of ‘many in one.’

Only two alternatives, then, are left: either the immanent datum for a subject’s experience is the universe in itself, or it is the universe as repeated. But if we choose the former alternative, the avowed pluralism of the organic philosophy collapses into an extreme monism. The experiencing subject would be the universe -- literally! And this conclusion cannot be avoided by claiming that the experiencing subject would not include other subjects contemporary with it; for Whitehead explicitly asserts that any two mutually contemporary occasions are also (in a sense not involving causal objectification) mutually immanent (AI 278, 254; PR 91; SMW 106f). Moreover, even if the mutual immanence of contemporary occasions were denied, it would still be the case that the literal immanence in occasions of their respective actual worlds would abolish their discreteness; even mutually contemporary occasions would overlap because they have a common past, i.e., because their respective actual worlds also overlap.

Accordingly, either the first half of the ontological principle turns the organic philosophy into a monistic system, through and through, or one occasion is included within another only as repeated. Which of these alternatives we ought to opt for, and what bearing the principle of relativity (and with it the notion of ‘repetition’) has on the ontological principle, Whitehead himself tells us in the following passage:

It follows from the ontological principle, . . . that the notion of a common world’ must find its exemplification in the constitution of each actual entity, taken by itself for analysis. For an actual entity cannot be a member of a ‘common world,’ except in the sense that the ‘common world’ is a constituent of its own constitution. It follows that every item of the universe, including all the other actual entities, are constituents in the constitution of any one actual entity. This conclusion has already been employed under the title of the ‘principle of relativity.’ This principle of relativity is the axiom by which the ontological principle is rescued from issuing in an extreme monism. Hume adumbrates this principle in his notion of ‘repetition.’

Some principle is now required to rescue actual entities from being undifferentiated repetitions, each of the other, with mere numerical diversity. (PR 224)

What Whitehead is saying, in other words, is that each actual entity exemplifies the ‘common world’ because the world as a whole is repeated in every actual entity. Thus, for any occasion there are two ‘worlds’: the ‘world’ including the occasion, and the ‘world’ included in the occasion. But the latter ‘world’ is a repetition of the former. Accordingly, the principle of relativity, as I construe it, not only saves the ontological principle from issuing in an extreme monism, but also explains how there can be "one world without and within." For the world within, it is now evident, is the repetition of, and hence is numerically different from, the world without. To that extent, the problem posed by the thesis of solidarity has been alleviated.

To that extent, too, the alleviation of the problem has required the blurring, by the ontological and relativity principles, of the sharp distinction between universals and particulars. The former principle blurs the distinction because its doctrine of efficient causation requires that earlier occasions be present in, and hence characterize, later occasions. The latter principle blurs the distinction because it holds that one occasion is present in another, not simpliciter, not in itself, but only as reproduced, only as objectified. In these ways, the two principles ascribe to actual entities functions traditionally restricted to universals.

V. The Category of the Ultimate

Without the two-fold reality which the relativity principle attaches to all completed occasions (and, more generally, to every entity of every type), the Category of the Ultimate, or principle of creativity -- the most general principle presupposed by all the other categories of Whitehead’s metaphysics (PR 31) -- would be an outright contradiction. The contradiction is not immediately obvious in Whitehead’s characterization of creativity as "that ultimate principle by which the many, which are the universe disjunctively, become the one actual occasion, which is the universe conjunctively" (PR 31). But as Whitehead elaborates on this principle, what he says, if taken literally, is hopelessly self-contradictory. For the novel occasion created by the advance from disjunction to conjunction, Whitehead tells us, "is at once the togetherness of the ‘many’ which it finds, and also it is one among the disjunctive ‘many’ which it leaves; it is a novel entity, disjunctively among the many entities which it synthesizes. The many become one, and are increased by one" (PR 32). This means, in effect, that each novel occasion "is one among others, and including the others which it is among" (AI 231). But how can the new occasion be one among the many other occasions and also contain within itself those same other occasions?

The problem raised by any literal reading of the Category of the Ultimate may be put this way: how can an actual occasion be at once the creative synthesis of and a novel addition to the many occasions of its correlative universe? The new occasion, through its subjective reactions, does add novelty to what it finds. But this is not the sense in which the novel entity is an addition to the disjunctive many which it finds, for the new occasion synthesizes within itself both what it finds and what it adds. Moreover, if the many entities which the novel occasion finds are united within that novel occasion, if they are together in it, then that novel occasion cannot be also alongside, as it were, the entities it found. The new occasion exists as their synthesis; it includes them; it cannot exist also side by side with them; for that would require that the many entities be both inside and outside the new occasion -- a logical impossibility. Accordingly, the novel occasion cannot both synthesize and add itself to the many completed occasions it finds as already existing in its universe. It cannot both reduce a multiplicity to one and increase it by one. Hence, the Category of the Ultimate, or principle of creativity, is self-contradictory -- unless, of course, it be interpreted in light of the two-fold reality of completed occasions that is implied by the principle of relativity. In that light, what first appeared as a logical impossibility now becomes the familiar paradox of the solidarity of occasions.

If the two-fold reality of entities is accepted, if each entity is real as a transcendent potential and real as an immanent determinant, then the paradox associated with the Category of the Ultimate is alleviated; but it is not eradicated, since there emerges a new paradox: in what sense are the numerically distinct transcendent potential and immanent determinant the same entity? Indeed, the acceptance of the systematic ambiguity attaching to the notion of an entity merely replaces one paradox with another, but, for our present purposes, we may assume the eventual resolution of this second paradox and proceed to examine how the first paradox is eliminated.9

The original paradox is dispelled as soon as we distinguish between the ‘many’ of the ‘disjunctive many’ and the ‘many’ of the ‘conjunctive many’. The actual occasions forming the disjunctive many are the self-same actual occasions forming the conjunctive many, but there is a numerical difference between each actual occasion in the disjunctive many and its counterpart (or objectification) in the conjunctive many. We have to distinguish, therefore, between the growing accumulation of completed actualities qua their original selves, or superjects, and those same actualities qua their reproduced selves, or objectifications.10

In light of this distinction, the principle of creativity can be understood as asserting that the actual universe is continually expanding by the addition of new actualities, each actuality transcending all others, yet also uniting within itself the reproduced selves of all the other actualities. In other words, the universe’s creative advance leaves in its wake, as it were, an ever-growing multiplicity of attained actualities. This is the cumulative character of actuality. But the universe is not only a multiplicity of discrete actualities; it is also the solidarity of actualities: each in all, and all in each (PR 254, 529). There is a solidarity of actualities because all the attained actualities that have accumulated in the wake of the universe’s creative advance are reproduced within each new actuality in attainment at the utmost verge of that advance. This, I maintain, is what Whitehead means when, using ‘time’ figuratively in place of the more systematic notion of ‘actuality’s creative advance’, he says that "time is cumulative as well as reproductive, and the cumulation of the many is not their reproduction as many" (PR 365).11

In respect to the creative advance of the universe, then, or in respect to time in its metaphysical sense, superjects constitute the cumulative or disjunctive ‘many’, whereas the causal objectifications of those superjects in later occasions constitute the reproduced or conjunctive ‘many’. The many entities, in either case, constitute the universe correlative to a new occasion. Hence, the universe as including the new occasion is a disjunctive diversity which yet functions as a conjunctive diversity within that new occasion. For the disjunctive universe has a capacity for functioning as a determinant of the new occasion, but it exercises that capacity by being reproduced within the new occasion. In this manner, the correlative universe of an actual occasion is both beyond and within that occasion, and the immanent universe has as many actual components as the transcendent universe. But it is the components of the immanent universe that are integrated by the occasion qua concrescent subject into subordinate elements of its final unity (PR 233). In the final satisfaction, therefore, the many (as their reproduced selves) have become one within the novel addition to the many (as their original selves). We thus arrive at the only logically consistent sense in which a novel occasion can be "disjunctively among the many entities which it synthesizes." For what Whitehead means is that the novel occasion is disjunctively among the many entities whose reproductions it includes and synthesizes.

The Category of the Ultimate, then, construes the universe as an evergrowing community of actual occasions. Every new settlement of that community, every new disjunctive multiplicity of attained actualities, gives rise, through the transcendent process of transition, to a new occasion in which that particular settlement is reproduced and in which the settlement as reproduced is then synthesized into a final unity of experience by the immanent process of concrescence. But the original settlement is thereby added to; there is now a new settlement which includes the new occasion and all the occasions of the old settlement (PR 364f). There is thus a new disjunctive multiplicity from which yet another new occasion takes rise. In other words, each new attained actuality defines a new actual world, a new creative situation, from which an even newer actuality emerges. The universe’s creative advance is the application of . . . [the] ultimate principle of creativity to each novel situation which it originates" (PR 32). But the creative advance involves both the accumulation and the reproduction of actualities. The universe, then, "expands through recurrent unification of itself, each, by the addition of itself, automatically recreating the multiplicity anew" (PR 438; see also PR 89).

Obviously, the paradox of the Category of the Ultimate is of a piece with the paradox of the thesis of solidarity. Indeed, the Category of the Ultimate is really the thesis of solidarity in disguise. It is that thesis cryptically reformulated to emphasize the dynamic character of the universe; for the universe as a solidarity of actualities is not a static fact, given once and for all; rather, it is an ongoing achievement. Accordingly, the Category of the Ultimate gives expression to this ultimate fact about the universe: that it is creative and that by virtue of its creativeness its many entities are ever becoming one and are thus being increased by one. There is no explaining this fact. "Each creative act is the universe incarnating itself as one, and there is nothing above it by way of final condition" (PR 375).

However, though the fact of creative advance cannot be explained by reference to anything more ultimate than itself, it can and must be elucidated. To elucidate it is to ascertain what the basic units of creative advance are, how they relate to one another, what generic features they have, and what other metaphysical principles they presuppose. Equivalently, to elucidate it is to come up with categories capable of clarifying the paradox of the connectedness of entities -- the many entities, the one universe without and within. Thus, the sorts of entities involved in the creative advance, the what and how of each process of synthesis, and the other metaphysical constraints governing each such process, are respectively rendered explicit in the Categories of Existence, of Explanation, and of Obligation. In this regard, therefore, the other categories of the organic philosophy represent an attempt to make explicit what is implicitly asserted in the Category of the Ultimate.

By way of illustration, let us examine how the principle of process, the principle of relativity, and the ontological principle make clear or explicit much of what is vague or implicit in the principle of creativity. The Category of the Ultimate asserts that the creative advance "is the universe always becoming one in a particular unity of self-experience, and thereby adding to the multiplicity which is the universe as many (PR 89). In that regard, the principle of process formulates the relationship between a unit of creative advance considered as a synthesizing process and that same unit considered as added product (PR 34, 360). It emphasizes that the unit-process and the unit-product are the same entity in two successive modes of existence: first, as a self-realizing subject and, next, as a self-realized superject.12 The principle of relativity, in turn, establishes the metaphysical character which each unit-product shares with all entities of all types -- namely, that they are, each and all, capacities for the determination of unit-processes and that they exercise their respective capacities by being reproduced within each unit-process that finds them already in existence. Finally, the ontological principle establishes the sorts of particular reasons, or of particular causes, that can be given as explanatory of how and why a particular unit-product of the creative advance came to have the determinate characters that it has. All such reasons, or causes, this principle asserts, are to be sought either in that unit itself, to the extent that it was a self-functioning (or self-realizing) entity, or in the character of other unit-products, to the extent that they had objective functioning within (or were reproduced in) the unit in question (PR 36, 134).

Notice that, in the elucidation of the Category of the Ultimate, the ontological principle is more fundamental than the principle of process. For the former principle establishes that each unit-product is the outcome of two different species of creative process: one of efficient, the other of final, causation (PB 228, 320); whereas the latter principle merely emphasizes that the teleological process is immanent to the entity, i.e., that it is the partly determinate entity as in the process of becoming completely determinate through the realization of its subjective aim (PR 135, 423, 130, 373, 390, 524). The ontological principle, however, is less fundamental (because more specialized) than the principle of relativity. For the efficient process of transition involves the objectification of past actualities, and the teleological process of concrescence involves the ingression of eternal objects. Hence, both processes involve the repetition of entities, and thus both presuppose the repeatability of all entities -- presuppose, that is, the principle of relativity. Accordingly, when Whitehead says that the relativity principle is the basic doctrine on which his metaphysical system is founded, I take him to mean that it is the most basic principle for the elucidation of the Category of the Ultimate, or, equivalently, of the thesis of solidarity.

But, as is the case with all the other (nonultimate) categories, the relativity principle not only elucidates, but also presupposes, the Category of the Ultimate. It presupposes it because the repeatability of entities presupposes the creativity whereby there is repetition. Thus, the principle of creativity is ultimate in one sense, and the principle of relativity is basic in another; thus, too, what is indefinable in one notion is presupposed by, or is relevant to, what is indefinable in the other. This mutual relevance, or coherence, of the two principles is particularly evident when Whitehead says: "The oneness of the universe, and the oneness of each element in the universe, repeat themselves to the crack of doom in the creative advance from creature to creature, each creature including in itself the whole of history and exemplifying the self-identity of things and of their mutual diversities" (PR 347f). Unless this statement be taken seriously -- and it is not so taken, I submit, in the received interpretations -- much of the coherence and logical consistency of Whitehead’s metaphysical system will be either lost or distorted, and worse yet, many of the system’s intended applications will be overlooked.

 

References

CSPM -- Hartshorne, Charles. Creative Synthesis and Philosophic Method. The Open Court Publishing Co. La Salle, III., 1970.

IWM -- Christian, William A. An Interpretation of Whitehead’s Metaphysics. Yale University Press. New Haven, 1967.

PCWP -- Schmidt, Paul F. Perception and Cosmology in Whitehead’s Philosophy. Rutgers University Press. New Brunswick, N.J., 1967.

UW -- Lowe, Victor. Understanding Whitehead. The Johns Hopkins Press. Baltimore, 1966.

WA -- Sherburne, Donald W. A Whiteheadian Aesthetic. Yale University Press. New Haven, 1961.

WM -- Leclerc, Ivor. Whitehead’s Metaphysics. George Allen and Unwin Ltd. and the Macmillan Co. London and New York, 1958.

WTR -- Johnson, A.H. Whitehead’s Theory of Reality. Dover Publications, Inc. New York, 1962.

 

Notes

1 Richard M. Rorty is a notable exception. He takes Whitehead literally, or almost so, in two excellent articles discussing, among other things, the possible link between a concrete entity’s being knowable and its being repeatable (‘Matter and Event," in The concept of Matter, ed. E. McMullin, Notre Dame University Press, 1963; and "The Subjectivist Principle and the Linguistic Turn," in Alfred North Whitehead; Essays on His Philosophies, ed. George L. Kline, Prentice Hall, 1963). Unfortunately, Rorty’s insight into Whitehead’s intended use of the doctrine of repeatable particulars is clouded by his misunderstanding of other relevant Whiteheadian principles. He is thus led to reject Whitehead’s doctrine as both untenable and unnecessary. Since I am not concerned here with issues of adequacy or tenability, but only with showing that Whitehead did indeed hold that completed actualities are repeatable, I have no reason to discuss Rorty’s views at this time. But I believe that no complete account of this aspect of Whitehead’s philosophy can afford to ignore what Rorty has had to say about it in the above-mentioned articles.

2 Whitehead’s conception of God as the one actual entity that is always becoming, and hence never complete raises an interesting problem. For if God is never completely determinate, he is never a being; yet God does fall under the principle of relativity, does function as an object for all other actualities. I hope to deal with this problem in a short essay on God’s superjective nature. For the moment, I can only suggest that God is an object for other actualities only in respect to those aspects of himself that are completely determinate.

3 Whitehead borrowed the term ‘solidarity’ from H. Wildon Carr’s Presidential Address ("The Interaction of Body and Mind") to the Aristotelian Society, Session 1917-18 (PR 65, fn. 3). For Carr: "The term solidarity means that diverse, even divergent, activities together bring to pass a single common result to which all the activities contribute without sacrificing their individual integrity" (Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society, 1917-18, p. 32). In his Harvard lectures of 1926-27, Whitehead listed the principle of solidarity as one of the six main principles of his metaphysics; he formulated it as follows: that "every actual entity requires all other entities in order to exist" (Victor Lowe, tr., "Whitehead’s Gifford Lectures," The Southern Journal of Philosophy 7/4 [1969-70], 332). In Process and Reality, this principle received expression in three different, but closely related, categories: the Category of the Ultimate the principle of relativity and the ontological principle (see section V. below). Of these three categories, the first embodies the thesis of solidarity in its most fundamental, but also in its least explicit, form, whereas the third embodies the thesis in its least fundamental, but also in its most explicit, form; the principle of relativity is, in this regard, a half-way house between the other two.

I should add here that ‘connectedness’ (or ‘connexity’) seems to be, for Whitehead, a wider notion than that of ‘solidarity’. For, though often the two terms are used interchangeably, ‘solidarity’ is normally predicated only of actual entities, while ‘connexity’ is predicate d of all entities of whatever type (MT 13, 91f). Eternal objects, for example, are connected inter se: they are all mutually transcendent in respect to their individual essences; but many are mutually immanent in respect to their relational essences (SMW, chapter X).

4 Explaining what Whitehead meant by the mutual immanence of any two occasions, regardless of their temporal relationship, is a complex problem, well beyond the scope of this essay. The doctrine of repeatable particulars is relevant to the explanation of how earlier occasions can be at once transcendent to, and immanent in, later occasions, but the doctrine is not relevant to the explanation of how, or in what sense, later occasions can be at once transcendent to, and immanent in, earlier occasions; it is only indirectly relevant to the explanation of how, or in what sense, mutually contemporary occasions are at once mutually transcendent and mutually immanent. I intend to deal with this problem in a subsequent essay. But I have already dealt with it at length in my doctoral dissertation (Extension and Solidarity: A Study of the Fundamental Thesis of Whitehead’s Philosophy of Organism. University of Texas at Austin, 1973).

5 The relativity principle is necessary but not sufficient, for the complete intelligibility of the thesis of solidarity. It cannot by itself explain the sense in which occasions contemporary with, or later than, a given occasion are at once without and within that occasion.

6 In a conformal feeling, an eternal object already ingressed as characterizing the subjective form of an individual objectification given for a nascent occasion is reingressed as a character of the subjective form of the nascent subject’s prehension of that objectification (PR 476, 364, 78). By virtue of those two ingressions, the one eternal object is functioning both datively and conformably in the one, self-same occasion (PR 249). In its subjective immediacy the occasion is thus conforming to a past occasion as given, or objectified, for it. Most interpreters of Whitehead, I should add, confuse the repetition involved in conformation with the repetition involved in causal objectification (see, for example, IWM 131f, 141f, and PCWP 124f). But the repetition of conformation is merely of universals, whereas the repetition of objectification is of particulars.

7See CSPM 117f and UW 359f.

8 See IWM 141f, 134f; WTR 30f; WM 158f; PCWP 124f; and WA 27f, 47f. Sherburne’s views on this matter are not very explicit in WA; but the illustrations in that book suggest that he would deny that earlier occasions are literally included in later ones. See also figure 1 on page 10 of his Key to Process and Reality, Macmillan Company and Collier-Macmillan Limited, New York and London, 1966.

9 I intend to examine the second paradox in a subsequent essay.

10 Although the reproduction of a superject abstracts from the superject’s constitution, it does not abstract from the constitutional elements on which the self-identity of the occasion depends. If this were not so, a superject and its objectification would not be two and the same entity.

11 The cumulated many and the reproduced many are numerically distinct. However, since the many as accumulated and the many as reproduced are, in some non-numerical sense, the ‘same’ entities, it is just as correct to say that the accumulated actualities lie inside a novel occasion as it is to say that they lie outside it. Thus, there are two different, but intimately related, senses of ‘cumulative character’. In the second sense, the causal objectification within an occasion of its antecedent world may be construed as the cumulative character of time, or, in more systematic terms, of the creative advance of actuality. ‘The irreversibility of time depends on this character" (PR 363).

12 I have argued for this interpretation m my "Whitehead’s Principle of Process" (PS 4:275-84).

Whitehead’s Principle of Process

According to Whitehead, the positive doctrine of his philosophy "is concerned with the becoming, the being and the relatedness of ‘actual entities’" (PR viii). Because it succinctly characterizes what is most basic in his philosophy, I would normally assume that this statement had been very carefully worded by Whitehead. I certainly would find the statement misleading if I were later to find out that Whitehead understood ‘becoming’ and ‘being’, when referring to actual entities, to be strictly synonymous. Far from being carefully worded, the characterization in question would then be obviously, and needlessly, redundant.

That the terms in question are synonymous when applied to actual entities is precisely what the received interpretation of Whitehead’s principle of process would lead us to believe. For this principle has been traditionally taken to mean that the being, or the existence, of an actual entity is its becoming.’ In other words, the principle is held to assert that the becoming and the being of an actual entity are one and the same. It would seem, therefore, that Whitehead should have characterized more carefully the positive doctrine of his philosophy as "being concerned with the becoming (or, what is the same, with the being) and the relatedness of ‘actual entities’."

But Whitehead, I maintain, was not at all careless in making that statement. Without being redundant, he said exactly what he meant to say. What is hopelessly at fault, despite its widespread acceptance, is the interpretation which his followers and critics alike have fastened on the principle of process. I shall argue that this principle, far from identifying the becoming and the being of an actual occasion, assumes their difference -- assumes that they are two modes of existence exhibited by every actual occasion and establishes that the former mode is creative, or productive, of the latter. In so arguing I shall also be led to attack the erroneous belief that, in Whitehead’s philosophy, ‘actuality’ can be properly predicated only of processes of concrescence, and not of the static products of such processes. The interpretive thesis which will thus emerge is that an occasion is a becoming when it is a subject, and a being when it is a superject. In the former mode of existence, the occasion is a process of concrescence; in the latter mode, it is a concrete product; in both modes, it is actual. The main thrust of this essay, then, is to establish that the principle of process asserts that an occasion qua actual subject creates, or produces, that same occasion qua actual superject.

According to Whitehead, the principle of process, or ninth Category of Explanation, "states that the being of a res vera is constituted by its ‘becoming"’ (PR 252), Or to quote from the principle itself, this category asserts ‘that how an actual entity becomes constitutes what that actual entity is" (PR 34). Now, as it is usually interpreted, this principle is held to equate actual existence with becoming. In other words, Whitehead is supposed to be contending that the being of an actual entity is its becoming (WM 71). But notice that to arrive at this understanding of the principle, we must assume that in it the verb ‘to constitute’ is functioning as a copula -- that it merely links the grammatical subject to a predicate nominative, thus establishing the identity of ‘being’ and ‘becoming’. Only if we so construe the verb in question, can we read the principle of process to mean that the existence of an actuality is its process of becoming.

I must admit that Whitehead frequently uses the verb in question as a copula; but I must also point out that, just as frequently, he uses it, either transitively or reflexively, in the sense of ‘to create’ or ‘to form’. Consider, in this connection, the following passages from his writings:

An actual entity appropriates . . . , for the foundation of its own existence, the various elements of the universe out of which it arises. . . . The ultimate elements of the universe, thus appropriated, are the already-constituted actual entities, and the eternal objects. (PR 335; emphasis mine)

The various particular occasions of the past are in existence, and are severally functioning as objects for prehension. . . . But there are no actual occasions in the future, already constituted. (AI 250f; emphasis mine)

The regulative principle is derived from the novel unity which is imposed on . . . the subjective forms by the novel creature in process of constitution. (AI 328; emphasis mine)

It is only by reason of the categories of subjective unity, and of subjective harmony, that the process constitutes the character of the product, and that conversely the analysis of the product discloses the process. (PR 390; emphasis mine)

In each of these passages, Whitehead is obviously using ‘to constitute’ in the sense of ‘to create’. For example, in the first two passages. he is telling us that past occasions exist as already-created, but that there are no occasions in the future, already-created. Even more important, in the last passage quoted, Whitehead is clearly saying that the process creates the character of the product, and that the analysis of the product somehow reveals the process by which it was created.

My contention, of course, is that Whitehead, in the principle of process, is using ‘to constitute’ in the sense of ‘to create’. If I am right, it follows that what he is saying there is that the being of an actual entity is created by its becoming. This, in turn, must mean that the being and the becoming of an actual entity are two different modes of its existence. The occasion exists first as a becoming and then as a being; but its existence as a being is the outcome, or result, of its existence as a becoming.

So far I have shown that Whitehead frequently uses ‘to constitute’ in the sense of ‘to create’ and that he could be using it that way in the principle of process. But, though the passages just quoted give good reasons for thinking he is indeed using the said verb in that manner, the possibility remains he may be using it as a mere copula. To someone skeptical of my interpretation, then, all I have shown is that the principle of process is ambiguously stated, I have not conclusively shown which of two possible readings is the correct one.

In order to support my reading of the principle of process, I now must argue that Whitehead incorporates the distinction between the becoming and the being of an actuality in the doctrine that every actuality is to be construed as a ‘subject-superject’, where in each case ‘subject’ refers to the actuality considered as a becoming, and ‘superject’ to the actuality considered as a being. To be sure, the claim that the subject is a becoming will raise no objections among Whiteheadian scholars. But the claim that the subject is not a being is an entirely different matter. To make my point, I must show that, for Whitehead, an actual entity may be said to be a ‘being’ only when it is a superject.

That this is the way Whitehead used ‘being’ when referring to actual occasions is, I believe, clearly stated in section III of chapter one, in part II of Process and Reality. Before examining the passage I have in mind, it is instructive to read the abstract of that section:

III. Platonic Form, Idea, Essence, Eternal Object; Potentiality and Givenness; Exclusiveness of the Given; Subject-Superject, Becoming and Being; Evaporation of Indetermination in Concrescence, Satisfaction Determinate and Exclusive; Concrescence Dipolar. . . . (PR 57; emphasis mine)

The abstract for each part of Process and Reality, it should be noted, merely lists sets of key terms and phrases in the order in which they first appear in the corresponding section of the text. With this in mind, we can easily correlate the abstract of the section in question with the text of the section itself. We then find that the section’s first three paragraphs deal with the notions of Platonic Form, Idea, Essence and Eternal Object. The next paragraph discusses the related notions of Potentiality and Giveness. In turn, the fifth paragraph expounds the Exclusiveness of the Given. Now, since the seventh paragraph deals with the Evaporation of Indetermination in Concrescence and with the Determinateness and Exclusiveness of the Satisfaction, it follows that the sixth paragraph must contain the relevant discussion of the notions of Subject-Superject, Becoming and Being.

The paragraph in question is the passage which, I maintain, establishes that an occasion is a being only when it is a superject. It begins with a reference to the doctrine, briefly discussed by Whitehead in the preceding (fifth) paragraph, that the becoming of an actual occasion terminates in the satisfaction; here is the sixth paragraph in its entirety:

This is the doctrine of the emergent unity of the superject. An actual entity is to be conceived both as a subject presiding over its own immediacy of becoming, and a superject which is the atomic creature exercising its function of objective immortality. It has become a ‘being’; and it belongs to the nature of every ‘being’ that it is a potential for every ‘becoming’. (PR 71; emphasis mine)

But saying that the occasion "has become a ‘being"’ must be the same as saying that it has become a ‘superject’ or ‘satisfaction’. For it can be shown that an actual occasion can be a potential for other processes of becoming only when it is a superject.

To that end, let me first indicate that Whitehead is quoting from his principle of relativity when he says that "it belongs to the nature of every ‘being’ that it is a potential for every ‘becoming’." This principle (the fourth Category of Explanation) holds:

(iv) That the potentiality for being an element in a real concrescence of many entities into one actuality, is the one general metaphysical character attaching to all entities, actual and non-actual; and that every item in its universe is involved in each concrescence. In other words, it belongs to the nature of a ‘being’ that it is a potential for every ‘becoming’. This is the ‘principle of relativity’. (PR 33; emphasis mine)

Next, let me indicate also that Whitehead makes it abundantly clear that an actual entity falls under the principle of relativity only when it is a satisfaction or superject. Of the completed occasion, he says:

Its own process, which is its own internal existence, has evaporated, worn out and satisfied; but its effects are all to be described in terms of its ‘satisfaction’. The ‘effects’ of an actual entity are its intervention in concrescent processes other than its own. Any entity, thus intervening in processes transcending itself, is said to be functioning as an ‘object’. According to the Fourth Category of Explanation it is the one general metaphysical character of all entities of all sorts, that they function as objects. (PR 336)

Finally, to complete the task immediately at hand, let me point out that Whitehead has also made abundantly clear the synonymity of the terms ‘being’, ‘entity’ and ‘thing’ ". . . ‘potentiality for process’ is the meaning of the more general term ‘entity’ or ‘thing’" (PR 68). "The fourth category . . . asserts that the notion of an entity means ‘an element contributory to the process of becoming’" (PR 43). Accordingly, if every being or entity is a potentiality for process and if an occasion is a potentiality for process only when it is a superject, we can then conclude that when Whitehead says that an actual occasion has become a being and is, for that reason, a potentiality for processes of becoming, he means that the occasion has become a superject. An actual entity is a being, therefore, when and only when it is a superject.2

Since, as I have just shown, the superject is the occasion qua being and since the subject is the occasion qua becoming, saying that the satisfaction or superject is created by the genetic process or subject (PR. 71, 360, 390) must be the same as saying that an occasion’s being is created by its becoming. This creation of an occasion’s being by its becoming is precisely what the principle of process asserts. For if in this principle, as I contend, Whitehead is using ‘to constitute’ in the sense of ‘to create’, then he is there saying what we should indeed expect him to be saying, namely, that the subject is the genetic process whereby the superjective product, or satisfaction, comes to be. That this is what is being asserted in the principle of process, or ninth Category of Explanation, Whitehead himself makes explicit when, in the context of explaining how the genetic process can be reconstructed from the analysis of the satisfaction, he says:

"This relation between the satisfaction and the genetic process is expressed in the eighth and ninth categories of explanation. . ." (PR 360).

In light of this last statement, it is evident that the principle of process should always be interpreted in conjunction with the eighth Category of Explanation. These two categories are formulated as follows:

(viii) That two descriptions are required for an actual entity: (a) one which is analytical of its potentiality for ‘objectification’ in the becoming of other actual entities, and (b) another which is analytical of the process which constitutes its own becoming . . .

(ix) That how an actual entity becomes constitutes what that actual entity is; so that the two descriptions of an actual entity are not independent. Its ‘being’ is constituted by its ‘becoming’. This is the ‘principle of process’. (PR 34f)

These two categories, I hold, jointly give systematic expression to the doctrine that every actual entity is to be construed neither merely as subject nor merely as superject, but as subject-superject. Some additional light must now be thrown on this doctrine.

The relation of subject to superject is that of creative process to created product. That much is clear. What must be emphasized now is that we do not have two different entities, the one creating the other. On the contrary, we have but one entity, first existing as in the process of realizing itself, and then existing as the static outcome of that process of self-realization. The one entity is both the process of self-realization and the self-realized product. "An actual entity is at once the subject of self-realization, and the superject which is self-realized" (PR 340). An actual entity, however, is not literally at once both subject and superject, both creative process and created product. The product is the final outcome of the creative process; hence, the existence of the product marks the end of, and is subsequent to, the existence of the process. In other words, an actual entity first exists as subject, and then as superject. Both modes of existence cannot belong to it at once.

Nevertheless, in regard to its complete history, an actual entity is both process and product, both becoming and being, both subject and superject. This is one reason why an actual entity is not to be construed merely as subject or merely as superject, but is to be construed always as subject-superject. "An actual entity is at once the subject experiencing and the superject of its experiences. It is subject-superject, and neither half of this description can for a moment be lost sight of" (PR 43). But achieving a complete description of an actual occasion is not a matter of juxtaposing two otherwise independent descriptions; the One of the occasion’s subjective existence, the other of its superjective existence. On the contrary, the two partial descriptions are not independent of one another, since they convey the analyses of two modes of existence that presuppose each other for their ultimate intelligibility.

Thus, on the one band, the analysis of what an occasion is qua subject requires a reference to what the same occasion will be qua superject; for the subject is not an aimless, creative process, but is guided instead by its ideal of what the superject or outcome of that process is to be (PR 130). "The enjoyment of this ideal," writes Whitehead, "is the subjective aim, by reason of which the actual entity is a determinate process (PR 130). The subjective aim, then, is the final cause of the occasion entertaining it. But what the occasion qua subject is aiming at is the realization of itself qua superject. The ideal superject is the final determinateness at which the subject aims. Accordingly, what happens during the occasions process of becoming is, in part at least, "merely the outcome of the subjective aim of the subject, determining what it is integrally to be, in its own character of the superject of its own process" (PR 369). In this respect, therefore, the superject is already present (ideally or conceptually) as a condition determining how the process conducts itself (PR 341). For this reason, any explanation of the character of the subjective process involves a reference to the character of the superjective product either as aimed at, or as achieved by, that process.

On the other hand, any explanation of the character of the superjective product requires a reference to the character of the subjective process; for the superject is what it is by reason of the genetic process that produced it. Indeed, to understand the structure of the superject, it is necessary to reconstruct the process of which it is the outcome. How this is done need not concern us at this time. What should be emphasized now is that, for Whitehead, the analysis of the superject can be deemed successful only if it allows for the reconstruction of the genetic process. If the reconstruction is not possible, then the analysis of the superject has been faulty (PR 359f).

An occasion’s existence as subject and its existence as superject, we must conclude, cannot be intelligibly divorced from one another; but this is not to say that an occasion exists simultaneously as subject and superject. The attainment of the subjective aim halts the creative process; but since the process is the subject, the subject has ceased to exist; what remains is the completed occasion -- the superject. The actuality in attainment has given way to the attained actuality (PR 326f, 71, 369, 390).

The superject, I hasten to add, is as much the actual occasion as is the subject. I need to emphasize the actuality of the superject (or, what is the same, the superjective existence of the actuality) because the misinterpretation of the principle of process has often gone hand in hand with the mistaken belief that ‘actuality’ can be properly predicated of an occasion only while it is in the process of becoming.3 This widespread and deeply rooted mistake deserves more attention than I can give it here without digressing extensively from my main thesis. For my limited purpose, only the following remarks seem both pertinent and necessary.

Despite many interpretive arguments to the contrary, it seems undeniable that Whitehead intended ‘actuality’ (or ‘actual’) to be a proper predication of superjects. Reference to the actuality of completed occasions, in PR and in other major works, is surely the rule rather than the exception. Time and again, we find Whitehead speaking of "entities already actual," of "entities already become," of "already constituted actual entities," of "settled actualities" and, more generally, of "the world already actual" (PR 101, 208, 335, 362; RM 109). Moreover, the distinction Whitehead makes between an actuality in attainment and an attained actuality clearly indicates that ‘actuality’ is predicable of superjects as well as of subjects, though perhaps with slightly different, if interrelated, senses (PR 326f). Whitehead, I believe, is giving systematic expression to these interrelated meanings of ‘actuality’, or of ‘actual’, when he says:

An actual entity is self-realizing, and whatever is self-realizing is an actuality. An actual entity is at once the subject of self-realization, and the superject which is self-realized. (PR 340)

One thing Whitehead is telling us here is that an incomplete occasion, a subject, is actual in the sense that it is still involved in the process of self-realization. But Whitehead is also telling us here that a completed occasion, a superject, is actual in the sense that it is a self-realized entity, even though it is no longer a self-realizing entity. Hence, in the general sense in which the notion of actuality is tied to the notion of self-realization, the superjective existence of an occasion is as actual as its subjective existence.

It should be noticed, furthermore, that if actual entities were actual only while they were subjects, then the superjects, whatever else they might be, would not be actual entities. Consequently, actual entities as such would not fall under the principle of relativity. But actual entities do fall under the principle of relativity; therefore, the view in question must be false. The correct view, it seems to me, is that, for Whitehead, an entity is not actual unless it is, or has been, self-realizing. This view, at any rate, is the only one compatible with saying, as Whitehead does say, that an entity which is actual, is actual regardless of whether its present existence is that of a subject enjoying the universe from which it arises or that of a superject functioning objectively in subsequent processes. In Whitehead’s own words:

To be actual must mean that all actual things are alike objects, enjoying objective immortality in fashioning creative actions; and that all actual things are subjects, each prehending the universe from which it arises. (PR 89)

Clearly, then, Whitehead intended ‘actuality’ to be predicable of the occasion qua superject, as well as of the occasion qua subject; and this is what we would expect only if ‘actuality’ is to be predicated of whatever either is, or has been, self-realizing. Only occasions of experience, it should be remembered in this regard, are self-realized.4 All other proper entities recognized by Whitehead are either in all respects eternal (e.g., eternal objects) or are in all respects other-realized, that is, their realization is parasitic on the becoming of actual entities (e.g.. subjective forms, contrasts, propositions, prehensions and nexuses) - Self-realization, then, is a sufficient criterion for distinguishing actual entities from nonactual ones.

If these points are kept in mind, it need hardly be argued that the two descriptions referred to in the eighth Category of Explanation are those of the satisfaction and subject, respectively. The subject is the genetic process; and the satisfaction, as Whitehead tells us elsewhere, is the completed actual entity "considered as a creative determination, by which the objectifications of the entity beyond itself are settled" (PR 130). These two descriptions, then, are the two halves of an actual entity s total description.

As for the ninth Category of Explanation, it simply asserts that the two partial descriptions of an actual entity are interdependent because the actuality qua being, the superject or satisfaction, is created by the actuality qua becoming, the subject or genetic process. Indeed, to read straightforwardly the principle of process in this manner we have only to substitute ‘creates’ for ‘constitutes’, and ‘created’ for ‘constituted’, in its categoreal formulation. The relevant text would then read as follows:

That how an actual entity becomes creates what that actual entity is; so that the two descriptions of an actual entity are not independent. Its ‘being’ is created by its ‘becoming’.

In other words, each attained actuality is what it is because its process of becoming was what it was. Had the process been different, the product would have been different.5 To truly understand the nature of a particular superject, therefore, it is necessary to reconstruct the particular process which was its becoming. This is one reason (we have seen another) why the two descriptions of an actual entity are not independent.

Apart from its establishment of the interdependence of the two partial descriptions of an actual entity, however, the true significance of the principle is this: that the final definiteness of an actual entity is determined, or created, by how the subject conducts its process. This is why, elsewhere, Whitehead speaks of the subject as "determining what it is integrally to be, in its own character of the superject of its own process (PR 369). This is also why Whitehead says, in another place, that the "actual entity, in becoming itself, also solves the question as to what it is to be" (PR 227). Finally, the principle of process is again the reason why Whitehead, in still another place, says: "The point to be noticed is that the actual entity, in a state of process during which it is not fully definite, determines its own ultimate definiteness" (PR 390).

In retrospect, the arguments I have been advancing in favor of my interpretation of the principle of process seem straightforwardly simple and, I hope, convincing. I have shown that Whitehead frequently uses to constitute’ to mean ‘to create’. I have also shown that if we substitute the latter verb for the former, in Whitehead’s categoreal formulation of this principle, we obtain the very reading we would expect, given Whitehead’s assertion that the eighth and ninth Categories of Explanation are intended to elucidate the relation between the genetic process and the satisfaction. Indeed, by substituting ‘creates’ for ‘constitutes’, we obtain a reading which fits in perfectly with the main points of the doctrine that every actual entity is to be construed as a subject-superject. On that reading, for example, when Whitehead says that the ‘being’ of an occasion is created by its ‘becoming’, he is simply telling us that the occasion qua actual superject is created by the same occasion qua actual subject; and that is, of course, one of the main points of the said doctrine. Since the received interpretation of the principle of process has no comparable reasons to recommend it, I believe it should be abandoned in favor of the interpretation I have presented here.

 

References

IWM -- William A. Christian. An Interpretation of Whitehead’s Metaphysics. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1967.

WM -- Ivor Leclerc. Whitehead’s Metaphysics. London: George Allen and Unwin, 1958.

 

Notes

1 Some of the more explicit examples of the received interpretation are found in the following: WM 69f, 79, 93; Donald W. Sherburne, A Whiteheadian Aesthetic (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1961), p.. 9; J. N. Mohanty, Nicolai Hartmann and Alfred North Whitehead: A Study in Recent Platonism (Calcutta: Modern India Press, 1957), p. 78; and Charles Hartshorne, "Whitehead’s Novel Intuition" in Alfred North Whitehead: Essays on his Philosophy, ed. George L. Kline (New Jersey: Prentice-Hall, 1963), p. 22.

2 Given the synonymity of ‘entity’ and ‘being’ it would seem that an occasion qua subject could not be properly called an entity. The difficulties raised by this aspect of Whitehead’s terminology have been aptly presented by Robison B. James in "Is Whitehead’s ‘Actual Entity’ a Contradiction in Terms?" (Process Studies 2/2 [Summer, 1972], 112-25). "Actual entity" is almost a contradiction in terms, James argues, because the occasion is actual only qua subject, and an entity only qua superject. For reasons too numerous to list here, however, I reject James’s proposed solution to this terminological problem. In any case, I do not think the problem is very serious. For, without doing violence to a single organic doctrine, we could avoid the embarrassment of saying that an occasion qua subject is not an entity by the simple expedient of redefining ‘entity’ to signify whatever functions, or is destined to function, as a potential for processes of becoming. Thus, since every occasion is destined to be a superject, every occasion could be properly termed an entity at any stage of its existence, though it would not function objectively until it had achieved the superjective stage. In addition, the terminological problem in question is lessened if, as I believe, Whitehead intended ‘actuality’ to be predicable of the superject as well as of the subject. That this is the case, I shall argue later in this essay.

3 See, for example, IWM 37, WM 68-79, and Robison James, PS 2:112-25, particularly 125n14.

4 An actual occasion, however, is not completely self-realized; for part of its determinate character is given to it by the objectification of earlier occasions (PR 489). In other words, an actual occasion is in part other-realized and in part self-realized and is also, in virtue of its causal objectification in later occasions, other-realizing (PR 134).

5 The freedom of an actual occasion it should be noted, entails that its process could have been different. If the process had been different, the occasion would have had a different final definiteness, but it would have been the same occasion. The sense in which it would have been the same occasion is relevant to the doctrine that every actual occasion is a subject-superject; for, if the genetic fallacy is to be avoided, this doctrine requires that in some specifiable sense the subject be the same entity as the superject. The identity is specifiable in virtue of the unique position of each actual occasion. I have dealt extensively with this aspect of Whitehead’s philosophy in my doctoral dissertation (Extension and Solidarity: A Study of the Fundamental Thesis of Whitehead’s Philosophy of Organism, University of Texas at Austin. 1973, pp. 249-272). I can only note here that, for Whitehead, the determinateness of an actual occasion is analyzable into its definiteness and position, "where ‘definiteness’ is the illustration of select eternal objects and ‘position’ is relative status in a nexus of actual entities" (PR 38). Now the final definiteness of the occasion is the cumulative result of the subjective process. Thus the occasion fashions its own ultimate definiteness. This is the sense in which it is self-realized. But its position is a function of the objectification of the completed occasions in its correlative universe (PR 93f, 352, 296, 350). The position, in short, is a function of the dative, or earliest, phase of the occasion. Hence, for the occasion to exist at all, it must exist with its given position. And since each occasion defines its own correlative universe, each occasion has a unique position (PR 33f, 42). Thus, in virtue of its unique position, even an incomplete occasion is specifiable as a distinct and unique particular. Finally, since the occasion’s position remains unchanged throughout all the phases of the occasion’s existence, it serves as one ground for the identity of the occasion qua subject with the occasion qua superject.

The Approach to Whitehead: Traditional? Genetic? or Systematic?

I am concerned here not with particular interpretations of Whitehead’s metaphysics, but with certain contrasting assumptions guiding how different interpreters, or different groups of interpreters, have approached, or are currently approaching, that interpretative task. These assumptions are such that, to a lesser or greater degree, they constrain or dictate the overall interpretative strategy used by those whom they guide. In consequence, the assumptions characterizing a particular approach to Whitehead can and do affect the accuracy and coherence of the interpretations yielded by that approach. If the assumptions are unfounded or misguided, they can unnecessarily restrict the texts to which an interpretation appeals, or they can force it to slight or misinterpret important texts. Well-founded assumptions, on the other hand, can greatly assist the interpretative task and thus enhance the likelihood of its success. Clearly, then, a study of the various assumptions underlying the different approaches from which the interpretations of Whitehead proceed is of fundamental importance and very much in order.

To date, interpretations of Whitehead have proceeded from three different approaches, each of which is defined by a different set of guiding assumptions. The oldest and most widespread approach may be termed traditional. It operates under the general guidance of three basic assumptions: first and most distinctive, that the whole of Whitehead’s metaphysical system finds complete expression between the covers of Process and Reality; second, that only one self-same metaphysical system is to be found between those covers; and third, that this self-same metaphysical system, at least in its general outline and perhaps in a less mature form, finds partial expression in Science and the Modern World, Religion in the Making, and Symbolism. From this approach have proceeded the interpretations authored by A.H. Johnson, Ivor Leclerc, William Christian, Donald Sherburne, and Edward Pals. Jointly, these interpretations, which we may justly label traditional, define an important epoch in Whiteheadian scholarship.

More recently, the traditional approach has been challenged, in different ways and in different respects, by the novel approaches to Whitehead undertaken by Lewis Ford and myself. In doing so we have put into question also, though again in different ways and respects, the adequacy of traditional interpretations.

Our efforts thus signal the substantive difference that different approaches can make, as well as the importance of taking the best approach possible, by which I mean the one with the most warranted and illuminating assumptions.

In keeping with the terms used by Ford to characterize our contrasting interpretative strategies, his approach may be termed genetic, and mine, systematic (EWM 178). Each approach makes a distinctive or defining assumption, but both are partly defined in relation to their respective takes on the assumptions made by the traditional approach. For this last reason, it must be noted that Ford implicitly agrees with my characterization of the traditional approach, but attributes to it an additional or fourth assumption: that the third part of Process and Reality constitutes the canonical text on which the interpretation of Whitehead must be primarily based (RIWW 47; ECTC 1). I am not entirely sure that this assumption is made by all traditional interpreters, but can waive the issue for the limited purposes of this essay. What is important is that Ford’s own interpretation of Whitehead assumes the canonical status of the said third part, and that he believes that all traditional interpretations make the same assumption.

The systematic approach denies any privileged or canonical status to Part m of Process and Reality. More importantly, its defining assumption is that Whitehead’s whole metaphysical system is nor found entirely in any one of his books. Granted, the greater part of it is found in his magnum opus, but much that is essential to its coherence and applicability, and thus to its accurate interpretation, is found only in earlier and later works. This approach, however, does agree with the traditional one in holding that only one self-same metaphysical system is conveyed in Process and Reality, and that this one self-same system animates all Whitehead’s works from Science and the Modern World onwards.

In contrast, Ford’s genetic approach shares with the traditional one the assumption that the whole of Whitehead’s metaphysical system can be found completely in Process and Reality. But it rejects the second and third assumptions by which the traditional approach is defined. For Ford claims, first, that Whitehead’s magnum opus contains numerous passages expressing various metaphysical positions that Whitehead once held but gave up in favor of a final metaphysical position expressed primarily in the supposedly canonical Part III; and second, that this final position is not to be found in any of the books or articles Whitehead wrote before composing his Gifford Lectures. These two claims are based on the defining assumption of Ford’s genetic approach: that Whitehead’s metaphysical thought changed almost constantly from the time he came to Harvard in 1924 until it finally crystallized, in late 1928, during the last stages of preparing for publication his Gifford Lectures. This defining assumption, we shall see shortly, requires Ford to make a host of problematic assumptions about how Whitehead gave expression to his rapidly changing metaphysical positions.

We now have to determine which of these competing approaches rests on the most warranted set of assumptions and is thus most likely to lead to an accurate interpretation of Whitehead’s metaphysics, one adequate to the whole range of relevant texts. My main contention, of course, will be that the honor belongs to the systematic approach; but I will also strongly suggest that some assumptions made by the other two approaches are not only unwarranted, but dangerous to the adequacy and integrity of the shared interpretative task. In pursuit of these goals, I will examine the three approaches in respect to what direct, or external, evidence there may be to justify adopting any one of them in preference to the other two. In the end, I will argue that the external evidence overwhelmingly supports the systematic approach.

I. Ford on Whitehead

Ford’s strategy of genetic analysis rests on a number of claims -- often boldly stated as if they reported obvious or well-documented facts -- concerning the development of Whitehead’s metaphysical thought and the manner in which Whitehead composed his books. In this regard, the most basic of Ford’s claims is that, after coming to Harvard, Whitehead developed new metaphysical ideas and positions at such breakneck speed that his writings and lectures could not keep pace with his thought: the writings or lectures of one week were partially or completely superseded by those of a few weeks later (PEHP 15; COP 73; RIWW 50; FPP 41). This distinctive claim underlies the genetic approach and is presupposed by all the habits of composition that Ford attributes to Whitehead. In the remainder of this section, I summarize what Ford has to say on these matters.

As Whitehead’s metaphysical thought advanced to newly gained positions, Ford holds, it left in its wake a rapidly expanding accumulation of writings expressing views once held but now abandoned or significantly modified. But, Ford claims, Whitehead both disliked engaging in any extensive revision of his writings and could not bear to leave them unpublished -- even if they conveyed doctrines he had already abandoned or substantially modified (EWM 178, 190; RIWW 50; FPP 42). For these reasons, he claims, Whitehead decided to publish the writings conveying modified or abandoned views right alongside the newer writings presenting his latest or final views.

Whitehead, however, was reluctant to acknowledge in print the rapid changes his thought had undergone (COP 75, fn. 2; FPP 42). Accordingly, rather than giving any explicit indication of how or why his views had changed, Whitehead devised a method of getting his readers to emphasize superseding doctrines over superseded ones, to interpret expressions of earlier positions in terms of expressions of later ones, and to disregard all passages conveying already abandoned ideas (EWM xi-xii). The method in question consisted in carefully juxtaposing old and new writings in ways that would persuade readers to interpret the former in terms of the latter (EWM 178, 212,231; RPWW 50). In consequence of this method, and of the reasoning leading to it, practically the whole of Science and the Modern World was written from a point of view that Whitehead abandoned when he discovered, or so Ford alleges, the need for temporal atomicity. But by the insertion of a few appropriately placed passages, Ford assures us, Whitehead successfully disguised this fact from his readers and induced them to interpret the bulk of the book in terms of his most recent discovery (EWM xi, 177; RIWW 50).

After the completion of Science and the Modern World Whitehead’s thought went through a long period (1925-1929) of even more rapid development and generated a series of metaphysical positions that were all abandoned or modified almost as quickly as they were written down -- all, that is, except the final metaphysical position. Early writings from this period were published in Religion in the Making and in Symbolism, books that, according to Ford, themselves conceal significant changes in Whitehead’s metaphysical position. Later writings, including those conveying Whitehead’s final metaphysical position, were brought together in Process and Reality. The greater portion of this last book, however, gives expression to views, doctrines, and theories associated with metaphysical positions only temporarily held by Whitehead on the road to his final metaphysical position. These were views, doctrines, and theories, therefore, which Whitehead already had either rejected or significantly altered (EWM 190). Yet by a more extensive use of the method he had already used successfully in Science and the Modern World, Whitehead intended them to be either disregarded altogether or correctly reinterpreted in terms of his final metaphysical position (EWM xi, 177; RIWW 51). The passages conveying this final position, Whitehead gathered primarily in the book’s third part.

Although the method used to guide the readers of Process and Reality resulted in many textual anomalies -- discontinuities, ghost references, terminological inconsistencies, and so forth -- it nonetheless succeeded in getting readers to interpret all passages written from abandoned points of view (most of the book) in terms of the final metaphysical position conveyed in the book’s third part (ECTC 1; RIWW 47). Thus, interpreters using the traditional approach, were able to focus, albeit unconsciously, on the passages conveying the final position, while disregarding anything incompatible with or superseded by the final position. This result is the reason why practitioners of the traditional approach erroneously believe that all the ideas, doctrines, and theories expressed in Process and Reality are compatible with the final metaphysical position expressed in its third part.

This fortunate result of the compositional habits Ford attributes to Whitehead strikes me as nothing short of miraculous. I would find it difficult to accept even if the other attributions on which it rests could be substantiated. But, interestingly, Ford has never provided any direct or external evidence for the compositional habits he attributes to Whitehead, though his bold assertions on the matter leave most readers with the impression that such evidence exists and would be forthcoming if only someone requested it. With one qualified exception, 1 there is, in fact, no direct evidence for any of the habits of composition that Ford attributes to Whitehead. Indeed, the direct evidence that in fact exists, and it is not slight, contradicts, almost point for point, each of Ford’s attributions.

The direct evidence consists of what Whitehead himself tells us, first, about how his books are meant to be read and understood, about the genesis of his ideas, and about modifications in his views; and second, about the nature of his thinking, about his difficulties in translating his thoughts into words, about the sources of his philosophical terminology, and about the peculiar manner in which he composed his books. I shall deal here with the first, but not the second, set of these Whiteheadian pronouncements.2 The guidance all these pronouncements provide is, in my estimation, indispensable for any approach to the interpretation of his writings. More to the point, these pronouncements jointly constitute the foundation and justification of the systematic approach.

Accordingly, I next examine three important Whiteheadian pronouncements concerning his thought and his writings. Each is an indispensable guidepost to achieving a coherent and adequate interpretation of Whitehead’s philosophic thought and its written expression. And each is directly relevant to the issue at hand which of the three approaches to Whitehead is best justified by external evidence?

II Whitehead on Whitehead

The most fundamental guidepost provided by Whitehead is also the most explicitly and frequently stated: (1) that his books can be read independently of one another, but are meant to complement and supplement each other in giving expression to his philosophical system. This is what Whitehead invariably tells us in the prefaces to many of his philosophical works:

[The Concept of Nature] forms a companion book to my previous work An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Natural Knowledge. Either book can be read independently but they supplement each other. In part the present book supplies points of view which were omitted from its predecessor; in part it traverses the same ground with an alternative exposition. (CN vi)

Since the publication of the first edition of this book [i.e., An Enquiry Concerning The Principles of Natural Knowledge] in 1919, the various topics considered in it have been also considered by me in The Concept of Nature ... and in The Principle of Relativity .... I hope in the immediate future to embody the standpoint of these volumes in a more complete metaphysical study. (PNX, 2nd edition, xi)

The train of thought which was applied to science in ... Science and the Modern World is here [in Religion in the Making] applied to religion. The two books are independent, but it is inevitable that to some extent they elucidate each other by showing the same way of thought in different applications. (RM 7)

The three books -- Science and the Modern World, Process and Reality, Adventures of Ideas -- are an endeavor to express a way 0f understanding the nature of things, and to point out how that way of understanding is illustrated by a survey of the mutations of human experience. Each book can be read separately; but they supplement each other’s omissions or compressions. (AI vii)

[Modes of Thought condenses] for publication those features of my Harvard lectures which are incompletely presented in my [previously] published works. (MT vii)

Note, first, that all of Whitehead’s philosophical books are intended to express one and the same system of thought, one and the same way of understanding the nature of things. Note, second, that the books supplement and elucidate one another by remedying each other’s omissions or compressions. Points of view omitted from, or only implicit in, one book are included or made explicit in another. Note, third, that the limited standpoint of the earlier works on the philosophy of nature -- The Principles of Natural Knowledge, The Concept of Nature, and The Principle of Relativity -- is to be embodied in the more comprehensive standpoint of the later works on metaphysics. Finally, note that Whitehead’s three major metaphysical books -- Science and the Modern World, Process and Reality, and Adventures of Ideas -- do not, even when taken together, succeed in communicating everything that Whitehead was trying to convey in his Harvard lectures. These prefatorial comments, then, make it abundantly clear that Whitehead’s system of thought, and not just its various applications, must be gleaned from the totality of his published works. No one book by itself -- not even Process and Reality -- is sufficient for that task. Clearly, the distinctive assumption of the traditional approach has been refuted.

That Process and Reality omits or compresses doctrines or theories essential to the coherence and applicability of Whitehead’s system of thought is a fact generally ignored by the traditional and genetic approaches. It is, on the other hand, the cornerstone of the systematic approach; for this last approach holds that any in-depth interpretation of Process and Reality must be conducted under the illumination provided, at the very least, by correlative in-depth interpretations of Science and the Modern World, Adventures of Ideas, and Modes of Thought. I say at the very least because the full text of Process and Reality cannot be interpreted coherently and consistently except in the context provided by each of Whitehead’s philosophical writings, including the earlier works on nature. Moreover, the same is true for the interpretation of any other philosophical work by Whitehead. Earlier and later works illuminate each other because they give expression, under various deliberate limitations of scope or of point of view, to the same basic scheme of thought.

That the works on nature should prove to illuminate and be illuminated by the works on metaphysics is not at all surprising if we take seriously Whitehead’s announcement, in the preface to the second edition of The Principles of Natural Knowledge, of his intention "to embody the standpoint of these volumes [on the philosophy of nature] in a more complete metaphysical study" (PNK ix). For it can be shown, by a close comparison of the two sets of texts, that the basic metaphysical ideas to be conveyed by that study were already very much in Whitehead’s mind when he was writing on the philosophy of nature? They constituted a metaphysical theory of experience from which could be abstracted, for the limited purposes of natural science, a theory of nature -- but of nature understood abstractly as the terminus of sense-perception. Thus what was being announced by Whitehead (in August of 1924, just before leaving for Harvard), was an account of the implicit metaphysical theory grounding his pronouncements on nature as a datum for scientific knowledge.

The intimate link between the works on nature and the works on metaphysics is precisely what we should expect given that (2) Whitehead’s basic scheme of metaphysical ideas had been in his mind for quite a long time before he moved to Harvard in 1924. Whitehead made no secret of this fact. "My writings on [speculative4] philosophy," he tells Lucien Price, "were all after I came to this country, but the ideas had been germinating in me for the better part of a lifetime. Some of them I had when I was at school before ever I went up to the university" (DOW 263). Similarly, in the preface to Process and Reality, he tells us that he is there endeavoring "to compress the material derived from years of meditation" (PR xiv/x). Also, in a letter to Mark Barr concerning the possibility of being offered a post at Harvard, Whitehead says the post would be very attractive because it would provide him the opportunity of developing in systematic form his "ideas on Logic, the Philosophy of Science, Metaphysics, and some more general questions, half philosophical and half practical, such as Education" (ANW-2 134). He adds: "I should greatly value the opportunity of expressing in lectures and in less formal manner the philosophical ideas which have accumulated in my mind."

That Whitehead’s system of metaphysical ideas -- his speculative system -- was well developed before he crossed the Atlantic was the impression independently gained by William Ernest Hocking, the Harvard colleague who knew him best. As someone who attended Whitehead’s earliest lectures, and who later team-taught a number of courses with Whitehead, Hocking speaks from first-hand experience when he tell us that Whitehead’s "speculative structure, which came to fruition during his American years, was already well advanced in its main outlines. Had this not been the case, he would have lacked the compelling motive to cross the ocean. Any impression that he began his mature philosophical work in America is far from the fact" (WKH 8). Victor Lowe, a very careful student of Whitehead’s life and works, and the first to employ the systematic approach, is of the same opinion: "From what Whitehead said in his first lectures, it appears that most of the key ideas of his mature philosophy where in his mind when he arrived from England; they needed precise verbalization, review, and further development into a system" (ANW-2 145).

Clearly, then, the system of thought to which Whitehead’s Harvard lectures gave expression was the result of lifelong reflection and was -- for the most part -- already in Whitehead’s mind when he came to this country. We have every reason to expect, therefore, that the fundamental metaphysical ideas of his philosophy were already quite settled by the time his tenure at Harvard gave Whitehead the opportunity to commit them to writing. This is not to deny that important details had yet to be worked out and that major areas of application awaited systematic exploration. Nor is it to deny that Whitehead could find his way to new ideas while developing or giving expression to old Ones.5 But there is no reason to expect the dramatic shifts in metaphysical outlook or doctrine so often posited by Ford’s genetic studies.6

In this last regard, it is important to remember that (3) Whitehead took every opportunity to report to his readers major shifts or alterations in his thought. Consider that, to the second edition of The Principles of Natural Knowledge, Whitehead appended a series of notes in which he explicitly modified or repudiated some of the major concepts or theories he had advanced in that book. He candidly admits, for example, that "the attempt in *33 to define duration merely by means of its unlimitedness is a failure" (PNX 204). Consider also that, in a note appended to The Concept of Nature, Whitehead just as candidly asserts that in reading the book’s proofs he has come to the conclusion that his "limitation of infinite events to durations is untenable" (CN 197-198). He then goes on to provide a fairly detailed repudiation of views he has presented in the book’s fourth chapter. As a final example, consider the equal candor with which, in Process and Reality, Whitehead admits that his method of extensive abstraction "was unable to define a ‘point’ without the intervention of the theory of ‘duration’" (PR 287/440).

There is no reason, then, to believe that Whitehead would have hesitated to state in print the abandonment or modification of any metaphysical doctrine or position he had previously held. Nor is there any reason to believe that he would have been reluctant to excise from a manuscript any passage formulating a view to which he no longer adhered. Yet these are precisely the beliefs that Ford views on the compositional histories of Science and the Modern World and Process and Reality require us to adopt.

III. Nobo on Ford

Of the guideposts we are here considering, the first two clearly undermine the basic assumption of Ford’s genetic approach -- that Whitehead’s metaphysical thinking evolved primarily in this country and changed so rapidly that it crystallized into the final mature position only in the supposedly late writings constituting the third part of Process and Reality. The third guidepost, in turn, makes evident that there is no credible warrant for Ford’s attribution to Whitehead of a reluctance to acknowledge in print changes in his metaphysical position; for this attribution is clearly at odds with Whitehead’s well-established habit of explicitly acknowledging in later works (or second editions) mistakes made in earlier ones (or first editions).

Nor is there any credible warrant for Ford’s parallel attribution to Whitehead of a need to publish everything he had written, even materials conveying metaphysical positions or doctrines he had already abandoned or modified. What could account for such a need? Surely not intellectual vanity; for Whitehead is the same man who, in his deathbed as it were, asked Paul Weiss to commit to the flames all his unpublished writings. Whitehead is simply not the sort of man who, as Ford claims, would decide not to "alert his readers to inadequacies in the texts still retained" (FPP 42).

All the other habits of composition that Ford attributes to Whitehead rest on the two attributions we have just put into question; for we are told that the insertions of later writings into earlier ones, and the overall arrangements of writings in a given book, are meant to induce readers to disregard passages conveying abandoned doctrines or positions or, if the doctrines and positions are kept in modified form, to reinterpret them in terms of their final or mature formulations. Had Whitehead not allegedly insisted in publishing writings no longer expressive of his then current metaphysical positions or doctrines, no such roundabout method of communicating his mature views would have been necessary.

The upshot of the three Whiteheadian guideposts above considered should now be clear. Ford’s claim that Whitehead’s philosophic thought underwent, from 1924 to 1929, rapid and drastic shifts in respect to basic metaphysical doctrines is not the report of a fact. Nor is Ford reporting a fact when he claims that White-head decided to publish large amounts of writings conveying abandoned or superseded positions side by side with newer writings conveying his later or more mature views. Of course, when pressed in conversation, Ford readily admits that the statements in question are not factual but constitute, instead, a highly imaginative hypothesis primarily intended to explain the ever-shifting terminology with which Whitehead expressed his thought and the many textual anomalies -- topical discontinuities, clumsy insertions, ghost references, etc -- that plague his philosophical books, particularly Science and the Modern World and Process and Reality. Indeed, Ford says as much in more guarded, written characterizations of his genetic approach (RIWW 50). However, Ford has never acknowledged that the basic hypothesis supporting the genetic approach is not only devoid of any external validation (i.e., validation other than its alleged explanatory value), but is m fact inconsistent with Whitehead’s explicit pronouncements on the development of his thought, on mistakes and modifications of that thought, and on the mutual illumination of his books.

The brute fact of this inconsistency pinpoints how extremely dangerous Ford’s hypothesis really is; for it leads to a basic interpretative strategy that is diametrically opposed to the one required by Whitehead’s many statements to the effect that his books are intended to supplement one another’s omissions and compressions and that, consequently, his system of thought, including his basic metaphysical system, must be carefully gleaned from all his philosophical works. In his own words, Ford’s basic interpretative strategy is "to interpret each [chronological] unit [of writing] in terms of its own concepts and those of previous units, excluding any ideas found only in writings still to come" (EWM xi). The units in question, it should be noted, are not ultimately books, but rather layers of writings within one book-layers, often quite brief, whose actual compositional order is not the same as their order of appearance in the book they compose, but rather corresponds, supposedly, to the order of major shifts in Whitehead’s metaphysical thinking. Accordingly, what Ford is recommending is not only that we interpret each of Whitehead’s books in forced isolation from later ones, but also that, within any one book, we interpret each alleged chronological unit in forced isolation from any unit allegedly later than itself. It is by this method that Ford claims to discover in Whitehead a succession of metaphysical positions incompatible with one another, and particularly incompatible with, but also gradually leading to, what he takes to be the mature metaphysical position expressed in the supposedly canonical Part III of Process and Reality.

To adopt, in the absence of any external reason to do so, a strategy so contrary to how Whitehead understood the development and expression of his thought is, I think, to court interpretative disaster. It is to reject outright Whitehead’s helpful guidance, a guidance much needed given the many flaws of exposition to which Whitehead candidly admitted (LFWH 199). It is, in effect, to wrestle with Whitehead’s genius with both interpretative arms tied behind our backs. It is to blind ourselves to meanings and allusions that stare us in the face.

Some of the disturbing effects of this dangerous strategy have been noticed already in the ongoing debate regarding when it was that panpsychism became a feature of Whitehead’s metaphysics -- a debate that Cobb joins in his contribution to this Special Focus (supra). For in the earliest round of the debate, Griffin remarked on how forced, unnecessarily cautious, or simply unnatural are Ford’s readings of relevant passages in Science and the Modern World and Religion in the Making -- readings claiming that panpsychism is not truly found in either book, and that the appearance to the contrary is due to our reading into them ideas derived from the canonical portions of Process and Reality (REWM 194-201). How much more unnatural would Griffin find Ford’s second round claim (FPP 41-44) that not even pansubjectivism is to be found in the former book? In a still later round, McHenry tries to show that the concept of prehension makes sense only in the context of panpsychism and that, consequently, the latter doctrine must be present already in Science and the Modern World (WPSP 1-11). Moreover, he contends that reading this early book as Ford does makes the text "less rather than more intelligible" (WPSP 11).

McHenry’s conclusions, as well as Griffin’s, are more or less what one would expect if Science and the Modern World and Process and Reality (and, for that matter, Adventures of Ideas) give expression to one self-same scheme of thought and are intended to illuminate one another and to remedy each other’s omissions and compressions. However, neither Griffin nor McHenry ever question the basic assumptions underlying Ford’s interpretative strategy. That is, they do not repudiate the genetic approach. They merely disagree with some of Ford’s conclusions regarding in what book (or book’s layer) Whitehead first adopted a particular canonical idea or doctrine. They thereby leave themselves open to refutation by arguments of the sort admirably exemplified in Cobb’s article. Those arguments, however, have force only if Ford’s interpretative strategy is justified. But Ford’s strategy is justified only if his hypothesis concerning the development and expression of Whitehead’s thought is justified. Yet Griffin, McHenry, and Cobb alike ignore the fact that Ford’s hypothesis is backed by no external evidence -- indeed, is contradicted by all such evidence. Accordingly, it bears asking why they are so quick to accept Ford’s hypothesis.

One reason, I think, is that the debate over the emergence of panpsychism in Whitehead’s thought is no more than a squabble among members of the same interpretative family. They all understand Whitehead’s metaphysics in very similar ways. More importantly, each, including Ford, arrived at his interpretation of Whitehead’s thought by means of the traditional approach -- the approach that expects to find, within the confines of Process and Reality, the whole of Whitehead’s mature metaphysical system. To be sure, Griffin, McHenry, and Cobb originally differed from Ford in believing that in that book they would find only Whitehead’s mature metaphysical system, and in believing that much of that system was already to be found, at least implicitly, in Science and the Modern World. And it is precisely these two beliefs that are compromised by Ford’s genetic approach; but they are compromised without ever bringing into question the justification of the traditional interpretations. Thus, Griffin, McHenry, and Cobb can debate the panpsychism issue with Ford, and among themselves, without having to fear that their respective interpretations of Whitehead’s metaphysics -- interpretations on which ride much of their respective philosophies or theologies -- will be found wanting in any important respect.

I am suggesting that Ford’s views on the genesis and expression of Whitehead’s metaphysics has had the unfortunate and very dangerous effect of lulling adherents of the traditional approach into a false sense of security regarding the adequacy of the interpretations they have arrived at by means of that approach. This complacency, which Cobb acknowledges with his typical candor (supra), was being encouraged by Ford, albeit unconsciously, even before my use of the systematic approach had produced a significantly new interpretation of Whitehead’s metaphysics -- one gleaned from all of Whitehead’s books from The Principles of Natural Knowledge to Modes of Thought, and one which, whatever its merits are finally judged to be, constitutes a strong, thoroughly argued, and well-documented challenge to the whole range of traditional interpretations.

Ford had all but discounted the possibility of such an interpretation, and thereby of such a challenge, two years in advance of the 1986 publication of my Whitehead’s Metaphysics of Extension and Solidarity. In a remark apparently aimed at the interpretative efforts of Victor Lowe, Ford wrote in 1984: "Endeavors to piece together Whitehead’s later writings so as to form one coherent whole frequently end up harmonizing disparate ideas and interpreting suggestive and incomplete ideas from the earlier writings in terms of a rather narrow canon of Whiteheadian insights, usually drawn from the later stages of PR" (EWM xi). Moreover, a few sentences later, Ford made it evident that the traditional interpretations are not placed in jeopardy by the genetic approach: "This study will probably disturb prevailing interpretations of Whitehead’s philosophy less than might be imagined, for the interpretations have largely been based on what I call ... ‘the final revisions’ of PR" (EWM xi). These final revisions not only supposedly convey Whitehead’s final metaphysical position, but the passages in which they are found are also precisely those on which the traditional interpretations are presumably grounded. Thus, traditional interpretations are deficient only in ignoring passages absolutely incompatible with the final position, and in not recognizing how much they are using the final position to reinterpret passages expressing Whitehead’s earlier metaphysical views (EWM xi-xii). But these are not genuine deficiencies since they are the intended effects of Whitehead’s compositional magic.

Clearly, from Ford’s point of view, traditional interpretations need fear neither the systematic approach nor the genetic approach. Not the former, as Ford went on to maintain after the publication of my book, because it succeeds only in ferreting out metaphysical doctrines once held by Whitehead, but ultimately rejected by him in favor of his final metaphysical position (RIWW 50). Not the latter because genetic analysis is ultimately concerned not with producing a new interpretation of Whitehead, not with challenging received interpretations, but with explaining how Whitehead arrived at what traditional interpretations take to be his only metaphysical position, and with explaining, by the same token, why traditional interpretations are not undermined by the many Whiteheadian passages with which they are completely or partially inconsistent.

A third danger created by Ford’s hypothesis is now in evidence. Ford never questions the traditional interpretation of Whitehead he brings to his genetic investigations. Every decision Ford makes as to which passages are early or late, which views superseded or superseding, which doctrines abandoned or retained, assumes the adequacy of that interpretation and thus is intended to preserve it unchanged and unchallenged. But if all external evidence militates against Ford’s genetic method, and if the results of that method are not comparatively evaluated with, or tested against, those obtained by the systematic approach, what guarantee can Ford give that he is not just explaining away all Whiteheadian passages that are incompatible with his very traditional interpretation? Ford comes close to admitting this point when he writes:

Those championing the standard interpretation are apt to dismiss Nobo’s book out of hand, but it cannot be easily ignored. They may well consider theirs a superior metaphysics, but the immediate question is, which offers a more comprehensive and convincing interpretation of the texts? If our task is to find a single interpretation of the texts, then Nobo’s effort is probably superior to the standard interpretation. It can explain a greater diversity and variety of texts than the other view is likely to be able to. Its scholarship and fidelity to the texts cannot be easily faulted; it rivals Christian in scope and detail. (RIWW 48, emphasis added)

My question is: why should it not be our task to find a single interpretation of the texts if that is exactly what Whitehead explicitly encourages us to do? Ford, disregarding all external evidence, assumes otherwise, assumes the texts cannot be subsumed under a single interpretation. More to the point, he does so while being fully cognizant of the vast number of texts either incompatible with, or not readily subsumable under, the traditional interpretation to which he subscribes. It is thus obvious that the true goal of the genetic approach is to preserve the traditional interpretation by providing an explanation for all the Whiteheadian texts it ignores, contradicts, or slights. This much is implicit in Ford’s concession that, if the genetic approach is not taken -- particularly if Process and Reality is believed to present a single unified position -- then "Nobo’s position should be adopted" (RIWW 57).

The issue in this essay is not whether my interpretation of Whitehead’s metaphysics should be adopted. The issue, instead, is whether the systematic approach that yielded it has more external evidence in its favor than the other two approaches under consideration. In this section, I have been concerned to show that the genetic approach is not only contradicted by all relevant external evidence, but also employs an extremely dangerous interpretative strategy: dangerous to the piecemeal investigation of Whiteheadian doctrines; dangerous to the mind-set with which new interpretations of Whitehead’s philosophy should be received and evaluated and dangerous because of the inherent circularity of its reasoning, to the integrity and validity of any compositional analysis conducted under the umbrella of its assumptions.

IV. Some Conclusions

Ford’s genetic approach to the interpretation of Whitehead’s metaphysics is not a genuine alternative to the traditional or systematic approaches. It is only a handmaiden to the traditional approach because at every turn it presupposes the general adequacy and completeness of traditional interpretations. Its ultimate goal is to explain how and why Whitehead arrived at what it considers to be his final metaphysical position. If there truly is a final position superseding many intervening ones, then the genetic approach can enhance how that position is understood and argued for. But the supposed history of intermediate positions the genetic approach claims to uncover rests on a view of the development and expression of Whitehead’s thought that is clearly contradicted by Whitehead’s own word and practice. Thus, so far as we can judge from the external evidence here consulted, the genetic approach is parasitic on, and not an alternative to, the traditional approach. Is the latter approach tenableP

The external evidence here adduced has shown, conclusively I think, that Whitehead intended his metaphysical books to be read each under the various lights provided by the others. To be sure, much can be learned from any one book read in isolation from the others. But because each book omits or compresses important metaphysical doctrines, any in-depth interpretation of Whitehead’s complete metaphysical theory must be garnered from all his metaphysical books, even from all his philosophical works. Not to do so is, at best, to render an incomplete picture of the theory; and at worst to severely distort some of its more important and useful features.

The traditional approach is wrong or misguided in its belief that Wliitehead’s entire metaphysical system is to be found within the covers of Process and Realzty. More misguided even is the belief -- perhaps not truly traditional -- that the entire system can be found in the book’s now fabled third part. On the other hand, the external evidence examined in this essay gives no reason to abandon the traditional belief than only one self-same metaphysical position is being expressed in the various parts and sections of Whitehead’s magnum opus. Moreover, such evidence explicitly supports the belief, also traditional, that one self-same scheme of thought animates and finds at least implicit expression in Whitehead’s writings beginning with Science and the Modern World. Indeed, the evidence supports the non-traditional view that the scheme already was animating and finding implicit expression in Whitehead’s books on nature.

The traditional approach, though not all its characteristic beliefs, must be given up in favor of the systematic approach, the only one fully warranted by the external evidence here considered. This does not mean that all interpretations spawned by the former approach must be rejected wholesale. It does mean that they must be revisited and their findings compared with those of interpretations based on the systematic approach. As a result, a better, more accurate and, I think, more applicable interpretation of Whitehead’s metaphysics is bound to emerge.

 

References

ANW-1 Victor Lowe, Alfred North Whitehead: The Man and His Work, Vol. I. Baltimore, MD: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1985.

ANW-2 Victor Lowe, Alfred North Whitehead The Man and His Work, Vol. II. Edited by J.B. Schneewind. Baltimore, MD: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1990.

COP Lewis S. Ford, "The Concept of ‘Process’: From ‘Transition’ to ‘Concrescence’," Whitehead and the Idea of Process, Edited by Harald Holz and Ernest Wolf-Gazo. Feiburg/München: Verlag Karl Alber, 1984, 73-101.

DOW Dialogues of Alfred North Whitehead, as recorded by Lucien Price (1954). New York: Mentor Book, 1956.

ECTC Lewis S. Ford, "Efficient Causation: Transition or Concrescence?" Paper presented at the meeting of the Society for the Study of Process Philosophies, held in Philadelphia, PA, March 12, 1987.

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

FPP Lewis S. Ford, "From Pre-Panpsychism to Pansubjectivity," Faith and Creativity: Essays in Honor of Eugene Peters, Edited by George Nordgulen and George Shields. St. Louis, MO: GPB Press, 1987, 41-61.

LFWH Unpublished Letter from Whitehead to Hartshorne (January 2,1936), Alfred North Whitehead: Essays on His Philosophy, Edited and Introduction by George L. Kline. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1963, 198-199.

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

REWM David R. Mason (Exposition) and David Ray Griffin (Critique), "Review of Lewis S. Ford’s The Emergence of Whitehead’s Metaphysics," Process Studies 15 (1986), 192-207.

RIWW Lewis S. Ford, "Recent Interpretations of Whitehead’s Writings," The Modern Schoolman 65 (1987), 47-59.

WKH William Ernest Hocking, "Whitehead as I Knew Him." Alfred North Whitehead Essays on His Philosophy. Edited and Introduction by George L. Kline. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1963, 7-17.

WMES Jorge Luis Nobo, Whitehead’s Metaphysics of Extension and Solidarity. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1986.

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

 

Notes

‘Whitehead’s method of composing books did involve the interweaving of previously written materials; and some of those materials were written from points of view differing in their limitations of scope or in their explicitness; but all reflected one and the same system of thought, only adapted to different purposes. I leave for another essay an in-depth consideration 0f the external evidence supporting this claim.

2The second set, once taken into account, provides an explanation of the terminological inconsistencies and thematic discontinuities of Whitehead’s philosophical works -- an explanation that I think is more tenable than Eord’s.

3This conclusion was also reached by CI. Lewis in "The Categories of Natural Knowledge," The Philosophy ofAlfred North Whitehea4, 2nd ed., Edited by Paul Arthur Schilpp. La Salle: Open Court, 1951 (1941), 742 -- 744.

~I have inserted "speculative" because Whitehead’s earlier works on the philosophy of nature are also philosophical writings. He explicitly refers to them as such in his "Autobiographical Notes": "My philosophic writings started in London, at the latter end of the war" (ESP 20).

5lndeed, I believe Whitehead had his own case in mind when he told Lucien Price that a man does not exhaust his creativity by continual expression but rather he "brings vague ideas into precision by putting them into speech or writing; and by expression he develops his ideas and finds his way to new ones" (DOW 264). But there is no reason to believe that, in Whitehead’s case, these new ideas were incompatible with the old ones.

~‘To develop a view is not the same as to alter it. Whitehead says as much when, in the preface to The Concept of Nature, he links the views expressed in that book with those he had expressed in The Principles of Natural Knowledge~ "I am not conscious that I have in any way altered my views. Some developments have been made" (CN vii). In the preface to Science and the Modern World, he expresses the same sentiment regarding the additions or expansions to the Lowell Lectures 0f 1925 -- additions or expansions that were meant "to complete the thought 0f the book on a scale which could not be included within that lecture course" (SMW viii). He then adds that the book represents "one train 0f thought." Also, in a letter to the book’s publisher, he writes~ "I have completed the book so as to carry out the full scheme 0f thought which was curtailed for these [Lowell] lectures

The whole makes a continuous train of thought, and the previous history of the material does not mean that the scheme lacks unity -- at least in my mind" (ANW-2 165).