Efficient Causation Within Concrescence

Whitehead’s account of final causation is a masterful recovery of a seminal idea which had fallen on hard times primarily because of the exaggerated claims of its proponents. Efficient causation, on which this investigation shall concentrate, has in contrast presented serious problems.

More than most, Jorge Nobo has sought to restore a more vigorous sense of efficient causation to the way we interpret Process and Reality. He writes: "The [misrepresentations] requiring the most attention are enshrined in the commonplace, but erroneous, contention that an occasion’s entire process of becoming is to be equated with its teleological process of concrescence. For this contention deprives the efficient process of transition of its genuine metaphysical function. Transition . . . begets each novel occasion. . . . But if the becoming of an occasion is one and the same with its concrescence, then transition can have no constitutive function, and efficient causation must pass out of the picture" (WMES 94).

To restore efficient causation Nobo has gone back to the theory animating most of part II, which conceives of transition as producing the occasion, which then concrescences to satisfaction. This is an impressive and rigorous systematic reconstruction based on a solid textual base in Process and Reality. That it contradicts the received interpretation on many points primarily indicates that the received interpretation grows out of a different textual base (mainly, PR part III). If so, there are at least two different fully systematic theories to be found in the same book. To my mind this means that Whitehead evidently changed his mind in writing the book while at the same time allowing evidence of his earlier position to remain.1

Nobo can find a vigorous account of efficient causation in the earlier position, more than appears in the usual interpretation, but there are strong reasons why Whitehead abandoned the part II approach. According to this earlier approach, there would have to be two successive acts of unification for every actuality, the first act of transition producing the occasion, which then acts to achieve its own concrescent unity. The complexity of such a theory, when fully spelled out, is exhibited in the baroque character of Nobo’s argument.2 More importantly, such a theory violates Whitehead’s understanding of temporal atomicity, for his analysis of Zeno’s paradoxes concludes that "the act itself is not extensive, in the sense that it is divisible into earlier and later acts of becoming" (PR 69)3

Moreover, successive acts of transition and concrescence are contrary to the reformed subjectivist principle. That principle can be variously formulated, but perhaps this version will do for our purposes: "all togetherness must either be togetherness in experience (i.e., concrescence), or must be the product of such experient togetherness."4 Transition is a togetherness as the unification of past multiplicity, but it is outside of subjective experience, which can only be initiated by its completion.

Yet if we cannot accept Nobo’s solution, how do we meet his objections? Theories of efficient causality typically vest all the causation, the causal activity, in the cause. For two events, the cause as necessitating the effect is prior to it. But the theory of prehension, as it was worked out, increasingly placed the activity in the second event. Moreover as the ontological difference between the present as subjective becoming and the past as objective being was spelled out, there was less room for real causal activity in past being.

Besides this problem, there is one pertaining to temporal room. On substance presuppositions, the cause originates in the past but its effective acting is in the present. Event theories seem to require us to vest the activity of the cause either in the past or the present event, not in both. If in the past event, then it is no longer active when the present event emerges. Furthermore, since the initial phase of physical prehension immediately follows the past cause, there is no temporal space within which to be active between occasions.

Dorothy Emmet makes this last point very persuasively in The Effectiveness of Causes (EC). Transeunt causation, in which the cause is external to the effect, runs into difficulties when analyzed in terms of events. If causation is thus the relation between events, there is no place for it to happen, for there is nothing between the events. This is what she calls "causation in a Zeno universe," referring to the paradox of the moving arrow which is simply an infinite series of motionless instants. Moreover, there can be no motion between the instants, since there is nothing between them. For like reasons there can be no transeunt causation between occasions. Although causation could be described in Humean terms as the difference between successive events, there could be nothing dynamically effecting the causation in the void between events.

For an event ontology, Emmet advocates that we reconceive efficient causation in immanent terms, seeing both cause and effect as within the same event. Her own sympathies, at least with respect to causation, focus upon Whitehead’s early philosophy of nature: "I now find myself distanced from his later writings, but increasingly sympathetic to the middle ones [e.g. SMW], especially as he was working towards a generalized notion of ‘organism,’ and when his ‘passage of nature’ could be seen not as one datum after another, but as a pattern-forming and pattern-sustaining process which could support a dynamic view of a causation underlying more restricted kinds" (CE vii). Nevertheless, it may be possible to apply her account of immanent causation to Process and Reality.

If we understand efficient causation not merely as the transfer of some past factor to the present occasion, but as the dynamic way in which that factor partially constitutes the final satisfaction, then efficient causation can be found within a single concrescence rather than between occasions. Emmet’s "immanent causation" may provide the means for isolating the factor of efficient causation within the complex theory of concrescence. For in that theory Whitehead was concerned with several other factors as well: how to analyze the way in which what is not (yet) a unity attains the unity of a being (as an occasion); and how to do justice to final causation, freedom, and intentionality as to be found within a very generalized theory of subjectivity. Emmet does "not want to use this psycho-physical language of feelings’; [she finds] its subjectivity unhelpful" (CE 98). By abstracting from all these other complicating factors, most of which involve subjectivity in one way or another, Emmet may enable us to appreciate a strand of real causal effectiveness within concrescence. If this isolation is successful, it may enable us to overcome both sets of objections, both those which expect efficient causation to lie outside concrescence, and those which find no temporal room for causation, if past events are devoid of activity.

Yet why didn’t Whitehead himself make this strand more explicit? I suspect that he was moving in this direction with his early theory of ‘efficacity,’ which we shall examine in our first section (I). Unfortunately his later theory was distorted by the decision to designate all activity between occasions as efficient, and all activity within occasions as final (II). However, there are important indicators that he was working towards a theory of efficient causation as happening both between and within occasions (IV), one of those indicators being the new use of ‘efficacity’ toward the end of the composition of his primary work (PR). In order to justify the argument for immanent efficient causation, however, it will be necessary to examine the basis for any elimination within concrescence (III).

I.

Readers of the corrected edition of Process and Reality will search in vain for the term ‘efficacity,’ although it occurs some fifteen times in the original 1929 edition. Why the text should use this archaic variant for ‘efficacy’ has long remained a puzzle. The editors of the corrected edition elected to treat it as an unimportant idiosyncrasy of Whitehead’s, thus changing every instance of ‘efficacity’ to ‘efficacy.’5

If Whitehead did have a distinction in mind by using these two different terms, he neglected to tell his readers what that distinction was. I suspect that he abandoned the distinction before he got around to making any formal introduction by way of definitions, because of an ambiguity which arises concerning perception in the mode of causal efficacy. There does seem to be some distinction at work, since the two terms are used at times in the same paragraph, even in the same sentence. It may be possible to reconstruct a rough general distinction, applicable with special variations in particular contexts. I propose the following: (1) ‘Efficacy’ means the capacity to produce an effect. It is primarily a feature of the datum to be prehended, a potentiality. (2) ‘Efficacity’ is the activity by the prehending occasion effecting the efficient causation introduced by the prehension of that datum. It is the actualization of the efficacy.6 As such it pertains to the activity of efficient causation within concrescence.

There are three distinction contexts in which Whitehead uses ‘efficacity’: (a) A passage on Bodily Efficacity which occurs in a very late chapter on "Strains" (PR IV.4K), but which seems to pertain to a much earlier stratum (A?). It makes most sense as an early version of perception in the mode of causal efficacy. (b) The discussion of the two perceptive modes (B). (c) The discussion surrounding the introduction of the ninth categoreal obligation (L). We shall consider the early use of ‘efficacity’ here, reserving its late use for section III.

The Passage on Bodily Efficacity is embedded in one section of "Strains" (IV.4.2K), which insists upon the "withness of the body" as "an ever-present, though elusive, element in our perceptions of presentational immediacy" (PR 312/474). A brief excerpt will show how this is an early version of perception in the mode of causal efficacy: "It is more primitive than the feeling of presentational immediacy which issues from it. Both in common sense and in physiological theory, this bodily efficacity is a component presupposed by the presentational immediacy and leading up to it. Thus, in the immediate subject, the presentational immediacy is to be conceived as originated in a late phase, by the synthesis of the feeling of bodily efficacity with other feelings" (PR 312/475).

Presentational immediacy is here conceived to be derived from bodily efficacity, as some additional factor in the process. This notion of bodily efficacity has as its ancestor bodily events (see EWM 37-45). If ‘the body is the organism whose states regulate our cognizance of the world" (SMW 91f) then cognition is "the self-knowledge of our bodily event." "I mean the total event, and not the inspection of the details of the body. This self-knowledge discloses a prehensive unification of modal presences of entities beyond itself" (SMW 73).

Since Whitehead is here accustomed to placing cognition -- and by extension, perception -- within the wider bodily context, it is not surprising that he should suspect a wider ambiance within which our ordinary understanding of perception takes place, a wider ambiance which deserves analysis in our theory. Note that as yet this efficacity is not discerned to be causal, nor associated with that which is outside the body. Whitehead is content to stress "the withness of the body."

What was not yet realized in Bodily Efficacity is that this ambiance surrounding presentational immediacy has its own perceptual component, and that what was is so perceived concerns what gives rise to perception. This results in a basic contrast between the two modes of perception, whose interrelationship can then be explored. Bodily efficacity is thus transformed into the perception of causal efficacity.

As an example of the use of ‘efficacity’ with respect to the modes of perception, consider Whitehead’s discussion of seeing "by the eyes" (II.8.2B), surely a specialization of perceiving by the body. "The region of eye-efficacy" (PR 170/258) contrasts with "the efficacity of eye-region" (PR 170/259) or "efficacity of the eyes" (PR 171/259). With respect to ‘efficacy’ Whitehead is analyzing one ground for symbolic reference, namely, the identity of the extensive region both with reference to the body of the percipient and the location of the percepta. "The region of eye-efficacy" is the region where the eye of the percipient is effective. it is the locus of the eye’s efficacy, that is, where it can be causally active. With respect to ‘efficacity,’ on the other hand, Whitehead is talking about "the visual sensa given by the efficacity of the eye-region," the data transmitted by causal perception brought about by the exercise of that activity located in the eye region. ‘Eye-efficacy’ refers to its potential capacity, ‘eye-efficacity’ to its actual exercise.

Efficacity is placed within concrescence: "the mode of efficacy belongs to the responsive phase" (PR 180/273). But there is an important ambiguity in the notion of the experience of causal efficacy, that makes both formulations appropriate. Perception in the mode of causal efficacy means that the datum so perceived is capable of acting upon the percipient, but as contrasted with ‘causal efficacity’ it merely singles out that potentiality, not its actualization. If, however, something having efficacy is experienced, that very experience is the exercise of that capacity; the causation is effectively active within the percipient as an instance of efficacity. So a perception of causal efficacy can equally well be considered a perception undergoing causal efficacity. Because of this double meaning, Whitehead may have chosen to stick with "perception in the mode of causal efficacy" as meaning both the potentiality and its actualization in perception. If the distinction could not work in this instance, Whitehead may have abandoned the distinction before he got around to properly introducing it.7

II.

Those familiar with Whitehead’s mature theory of efficient causation in terms of (physical) prehensions may find it strange that prehensions were probably initially devised to supplant causation as our primary theory for the connectedness of events. Originally he had challenged the bifurcation of nature into apparent and causal nature, questioning the state of causal nature in our account of what is perceived (CN 31, 39). Then he had criticized scientific materialism, and designed events and objects to replace its triumvirate of space, time, and matter. Why not also prehension to replace causation? Initially his program tried to express the connectedness of events in terms of extension, but this could not express process (PNK 202). It could not express the ontological significance of the new, and for this prehension was introduced.

Whitehead thus set out to devise a radically different account of the connectedness of events by conceiving of each event as constituted out of its internal relations to all other events. "The prehensive unity of [events] A is the prehension into unity of the aspects of all other volumes from the standpoint of A . . . . [In Leibniz’ language] every volume mirrors in itself every other volume in space" (SMW 95). Thus an event equally well prehends all other events, large and small, past, present, and future.

If ‘prehension’ is not merely another term for causation, he might want to postpone analyzing situations ordinarily expressed in causal terms until he had worked out the implications of his new conceptuality for causality. ‘Prehension in the mode of presentational immediacy’ may have been introduced as early as it was (in the 1926 essay on "Time": EWM 307) precisely because it was not a causal relation, but only applied to contemporaries.

"Time" anticipates causal efficacy in terms of physical imagination and memory (EWM 306), but perception in the mode of causal efficacy does not make its appearance until 1927.8 When it does, the emphasis is upon a phenomenological description of our primitive experience of causation, not upon its theoretical analysis in systematic terms. Not only may the concept of ‘prehension’ be not yet ready to explain causality, but Whitehead was not ready to explain perception in any rigorous detail. Although "perception is simply. . .the [conscious] cognition of prehension" (SMW 104), "this question of consciousness must be reserved for treatment on another occasion" (SMW 218). A fully satisfactory theory of consciousness is not worked out until the chapter on "The Higher Phases of Experience" (PR III.5H).

Efficient causation does play a role in the next stage of Whitehead’s explanation, but not in terms of prehension. In the earlier theory of Process and Reality, the one which Nobo champions,9 Whitehead had two contrasting species of process, transition and concrescence. In one systematic passage in which the four stages of datum, process, satisfaction, and decision are described, this contrast is made in terms of two types of causation: "According to this account, efficient causation expresses the transition from actual entity to actual entity; and final causation expresses the internal process whereby the actual entity becomes itself’ (PR 150/228). The internal process is private, so the swing to privacy "is dominated by the final cause, which is the idea; and the latter swing [to publicity] is dominated by the efficient cause, which is actual" (PR 151/229).

At this stage in Whitehead’s development, ‘transition’ represented a very robust view of efficient causation. It inherited the role of the old physical occasion which sought to give a basis for the new concrescence by actively unifying all past causes. By transition, in this earlier theory, the datum from whence the subjective process of appropriation begins (cf. PR 150/2270 is formed. Such transition must be both active and effective.

The essential feature of this Giffords draft theory of transition is that a two-step sequence is necessary for the constitution of an actual entity. This differs from most interpretations of transition (except Nobo’s), which seek to harmonize transition with a comprehensive understanding of concrescence as unifying the many physical prehensions of the past actual world.

In the final chapter on "Process" (II.10), Whitehead contrasts the two kinds of fluency in terms of the ‘macroscopic’ and ‘microscopic process.’ The ‘macroscopic’ could perhaps be more properly termed a macrocosmic’ process.10 It is described as "the transition from attained actuality to actuality in attainment" (PR 214/326); it is efficient, whereas the process of concrescence (the microcosmic process) is described as teleological.11

The theory of Process and Reality in part m abandons this twofold sequence of transition and concrescence as involving a sequence of two unifications or acts of becoming for each actuality. As we have seen, it is contrary to the conclusion of the analysis of Zeno’s paradox: "the act [of becoming] is not extensive, in the sense that it is divisible into earlier and later acts of becoming" (PR 69/107). Also, since transition as an instance of unification is an instance of togetherness which does not involve consciousness. This Whitehead determines to exclude by the reformed subjectivist principle (PR 167/254).

Yet the earlier contrast between efficient and final causality persists such that efficient causality is assigned to the relationship between occasions. Thus categoreal obligation 18 comments on the ontological principle: "It could also be termed the ‘principle of efficient, and final, causation’" (PR 24/360. Insofar as reasons are sought in the present process of concrescence, final causation is reckoned with; insofar as those reasons are sought in past actual occasions, efficient causation is involved. Likewise we are told that an actuality in perishing "loses the final causation which is its internal principle of unrest, and., acquires efficient causation whereby it is a ground of obligation characterizing the creativity" (PR 29/44). Here, however, Whitehead recognizes that past occasions functioning as transeunt causes do not themselves act, but merely lay down conditions upon the creativity that transcends them.

The new contrast between efficient and final causation is specified in these terms: "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 87/134]). 12

Instead of an active transition, as in the Giffords draft, past occasions, which have perished in terms of their immediacy to be mere objectifications, are here identified as the efficient causes. Concrescence is now vested with whatever activity there is, while ‘transition’ (if the term is used at all) is reconceived as simply marking whatever endurance or change might occur by means of successive acts of becoming. Nevertheless Whitehead persists in specifying the relationship between occasions, transition’s old domain, in terms of efficient causes.

This perfected theory seems to exclude any element of efficacity or active efficient causation within concrescence comparable to what Emmet designates as "immanent causation." Yet there are some anticipations even in the earlier theory. Whitehead once speaks of a "subjective efficiency" involved in the concrescent process (PR 87/133). Later he speaks of efficient causation as initially transeunt, but then as immanent as it is appropriated within the emergent concrescence: "The deterministic efficient causation is the inflow of the actual world . . . , felt and reenacted by the novel concrescent subject" (PR 245/374). In section IV we will see further indications in the later theory.

III.

Before proceeding to the final stages of Whitehead’s theory, however, there is one matter pertaining to datum and data, or to perspectival and ‘concrescent’ elimination that needs to be cleared up. It does not concern the nature of the encompassing thesis of this paper, but it does pertain to its justification, and so should be included here.

Some have challenged my claim that we can best distinguish the earlier theory from the later theory in terms of whether datum or data initiate concrescence. On the one hand, the result of transition has been described as data, so it is not invariably datum. But these instances can be shown to come from transitional contexts in which Whitehead was shifting over to the later theory (EWM 201-203). On the other hand, from the perspective of the later theory, the initial phase of concrescence has been discerned to have the unity of a datum, so the datum/data distinction fails to have the significance attached to it.

This latter criticism is all the more important, for it shows that I telescoped Whitehead’s development, arguing that the shift (D) produced more than it probably did, not reckoning with the fact that Whitehead probably made fewer revisions on the basis of his identification of feeling and prehension than would be apparent to those familiar with the final theory he attained. Basically I think now that the argument (EWM 211-19) needs to be developed in terms of two stages, the first concerning the reorientation brought about by conceiving an initial phase of simple physical feelings in concrescence, and then a second stage introduced by the idea of ‘subjective aim.’

(a) First Stage

Can the initial phase of concrescence be said to have the unity of a datum? Now Whitehead does conceive of many data as having the propositional unity of a datum, just as "A multiplicity of simple physical feelings entering into . . . propositional unity. . .constitutes the first phase" of concrescence (PR 236/362E). But then every phase has the unity of a proposition. "Each new phase in the concrescence means the retreat of mere propositional unity before the growing grasp of real unity of feeling. Each successive phase is a lure to the creation of feelings which promote its realization" (PR 224/343D). This would apply to a multiplicity of incompatible feelings, as well as to a virtual unity as required by the first categoreal obligation.

In the later theory, ‘datum’ simply means what the prehension in question prehends. A simple physical feeling prehends one datum; the whole phase of physical feelings prehends many data. These many data, however, can be conceived as the single datum of some supervening propositional feeling. Yet that does not settle the issue, since to be a datum comparable to the datum from which concrescence flows, according to the earlier theory, its propositional unity must have what I call "virtual unity" as well, a "unity" whose elements are all compatible for synthesis.

In place of the original datum from which concrescence flows (in the earlier theory), Whitehead fashioned a "virtual unity" of physical objective data in conformity with the first categoreal obligation, whereby the many feelings are "compatible for synthesis by reason of the unity of the subject" (PR 223/341). Since there are now many feelings, there are many objective data, but as compatible, they form a "virtual unity" which can perform the same role as the original datum in providing the ontological basis for the concrescence. It is the being from which the self can arise. How these many feelings can be compatible for synthesis, however, is not said, particularly in ways conformable to the ontological principle. But it is clear that Whitehead’s requirements for subjective unity (as then perceived) dictated that it must be so.

This requirement for compatibility for synthesis means that all elimination effected by negative prehensions be perspectival, in terms of simple physical feelings (111.2.1). All elimination takes place at the very outset of concrescence, before it has a say in the matter. These eliminations are to insure consistency of perspective. Thus the "inconsistencies [between occasions A, B, and C’s prehensions] lead to eliminations in A’s total prehension of [past occasion] D" (PR 226/346D).

That Whitehead sometimes thought of the initial data as having the virtual unity of a unified datum is indicated in this discussion of the fourth categoreal obligation: "The mental pole is the subject determining its own ideal of itself by reference to eternal principles of valuation autonomously modified in their application to its own physical objective datum" (PR 248/380F). Or we may consider his description of "the actual world of any actual entity as a nexus whose objectification constitutes the complete unity of objective datum for the physical feeling of that actual entity" (PR 230/351E).

This is backed up by the contention that there is no elimination in subsequent phases: "Thus the supervention of the later phases does not involve elimination by negative prehensions;13 such eliminations of positive prehensions in the concrescent subject would divide that subject into many subjects, and would divide those many subjects from the superject" (PR 240/368).

Such elimination of positive prehensions would divide the virtual unity of objective data in the initial phase, and therefore divide the being from whence the subject springs, dividing it into many subjects. By basing subjective unity upon the virtual unity of objective data Whitehead has imposed on his philosophy this additional requirement that there be no elimination in later phases.

(b) Second Stage

In line with Whitehead’s mature position, we are used to thinking of subjective aim as operative throughout concrescence, starting with the earliest phases. But Whitehead did not originally envision a role for subjective aim. He thought the unity of concrescence could be insured by the eight categoreal obligations, somewhat as Kant used the categories to establish the unity of the object (EWM 219-221F). When this turned out to be insufficient, he turned to the notion of ‘the subjective aim,’ fashioning it from earlier notions such as ‘the ideal of itself’ and the ‘objective lure’ (EWM 221-224G).

What is important for our analysis is the realization that all the texts we have analyzed in the first stage antedate the introduction of subjective aim, which radically reorients Whitehead’s thinking about the nature of the subject. The subject is no longer thought of as a being which is first fully actualized in the satisfaction, but as something present throughout the concrescence in the form of a feeling aiming at an ideal goal peculiar to that occasion. Subjective unity is vested in the aim and is not based on any kind of objective unity.

This colors Whitehead’s final description of genetic growth in concrescence: "At length a complex unity of objective datum is obtained, in the guise of a contrast of actual entities, eternal objects, and propositions, felt with corresponding complex unity of subjective form" (PR 283/433M). (Subjective forms are adjusted in terms of subjective aims. While not explicitly referring to elimination within higher phases, this position is compatible with it.)

After introducing subjective unity in terms of subjective aim, Whitehead does not go back and revise his theory of the initial phase in ways that make full use of this innovation. Had he done so, perhaps he would have modified the first categoreal obligation into something like: "The many feelings which belong to an incomplete phase in the process of an actual entity, though unintegrated by reason of their incompatibility, are progressively rendered compatible by the decisions of the concrescing subject."

Perspectival elimination, where all elimination occurs at the outset, is difficult to justify in terms of the ontological principle. Who or what does the eliminating? It cannot be the prior occasion, for it is over and done with its satisfaction, from which the elimination is made. Nor can it be the concrescent occasion, which cannot yet make any decisions.

Compatibility for integration, if placed in the initial phase, entails integration sooner or later, for the way the data are compatible dictates the outcome, it is in no wise dependent upon free subjective decision of the occasion. But if there is no initial requirement for compatibility, then the occasion can determine its own adjustments by eliminating incompatibilities within concrescence. These adjustments, to be sure, are themselves a function of efficient causes, since only incompatibilities arising from their joint activity can be adjudicated.

A virtual unity of objective data would entail a unified standpoint, given at the outset, which was Whitehead’s original doctrine (PR 67/104). Much later reflection favors the determination of standpoint through the concrescence itself: "it is to be noticed that ‘decided’ conditions are never such as to banish freedom. They only qualify it. There is always a contingency left open for immediate decision. This consideration is exemplified by an indetermination respecting ‘the actual world’ which is to decide the conditions for an immediately novel concrescence. . . . [Thus there is an] indecision as to the particular quantum of extension to be chosen for the basis of the novel concrescence" (PR 284/436fM).

IV.

Elimination within concrescence means that there can now be greater interaction between physical prehensions, as they jostle each other, rubbing off their incompatibilities with one another. It now becomes possible to discern efficacity as active efficient causation within concrescence.

First, however, it is necessary to recognize the artificiality of Whitehead’s stipulated definitions of efficient and final causation. Because of the exigencies of his earlier theory, he identified efficient causation with the transeunt activity between occasions, and final causation as the immanent activity within an occasion. Given his later theory of self-creation, such a division leaves very little to efficient causation. Taken to its extreme it only means the bare registration of past actuality in physical feeling, excluding the way physical feeling begins to be active within concrescence. But if we recognize concrescence to be a complex activity interweaving both the physical feeling expressing efficient causation and the conceptual feeling effecting final causation, then there can be an increased scope for efficacity.

This way of posing the problem suggests there are only two alternatives for efficient causation: either it occurs between occasions or within an occasion. Certainly Whitehead sought to exclude the view that there was only causal efficacy between occasions; his emphatic insistence on the reformed subjectivist principle points to that. Also he devoted most of his systematic energies in Process and Reality, part m, to accounting for the activity within an occasion. Yet there are signs that he was working toward a more comprehensive theory in which efficient causation could be understood as happening both between and within occasions.

One such text is the account of the category of the ultimate (PR 21f/31 f). Creativity is described as "that ultimate principle by which the many, which are the universe disjunctively, become the one actual occasion, which is the universe conjunctively." This can be interpreted as the way the many past occasions conspire to constitute the basis of the novel occasion, as in the theory of prehensive unification (SMW) or in terms of the theory of transition (of PR II). This is efficient causation understood as occurring between occasions. Yet the ‘many’ may refer instead to the many physical prehensions acquiring unity within concrescence.

While the former interpretation in terms of occasions may make better sense with respect to a larger context, there are three reasons for preferring the latter interpretation in terms of the physical feelings to be found within the occasion:

(1) In the next paragraph ‘creativity’ is introduced as the principle of novelty. Perhaps the accent is not so much on creativity being a sufficient condition for novelty, such that every instance of creativity must be novel, as that it is a necessary condition for novelty: There cannot be any novelty without the actualization of initial aim in free responsiveness which requires subjectivity as the present instantiation of creativity. In any case, novelty occurs within, and not between occasions.

(2) In the paragraph after that, ‘togetherness’ does not mean simply unity, but the many becoming one. "Thus ‘together’ presupposes the notions ‘creativity,’ ‘many,’ ‘one,’ identity’ and ‘diversity."’ While "the many becoming one" may abstractly apply either to the many occasions becoming one, or to the many prehensions becoming one, "all real togetherness is togetherness in the formal constitution of an actuality" (PR 32/48). By the reformed subjectivist principle all real togetherness lies within experience.

(3) In a passage which is a prototype for the account of the category of the ultimate, Whitehead describes "the process in which the universe of many things acquires an individual unity in a determinate relegation of each item of the ‘many’ to its subordination in the constitution of the one" (PR 211/321C). He designates this process concrescence,’ in explicit contrast to ‘transition’: "The creativity in virtue of which any relative complete actual world is, by the nature of things, the datum for a new concrescence is termed ‘transition’" (ibid). The ‘many’ need not simply mean ‘actual occasions,’ just because the balancing ‘one’ refers to one occasion. The ‘many’/’one’ contrast can be used more flexibly, and here we have a definite instance of its restriction to concrescence.

A wider context, however, enables us to draw upon Adventures of Ideas, particularly its reconceptualization of creativity, which allows us unambiguously to see efficient causation as taking place both between and within occasions, because the initial situation is conceived two different ways: "The initial situation with its creativity can be termed the initial phase of the new occasion. It can equally well be termed the actual world’ relative to that occasion" (AI 230). If it is the initial phase of concrescence, efficient causation becomes the activity of integrating physical feelings within all phases of concrescence; but if it is the initial situation in the ‘actual world,’ then efficient causation is the way the occasions of this actual world act together in establishing the basis of the novel occasion.14

Neither of these modes of analysis is fully adequate on its own. If past actual occasions seek to achieve the unity of the new occasion, the freedom of self-creation is ignored and the reformed subjective principle is ignored. Exclusive attention to the integration of physical feeling, on the other hand, can ignore the way these are originally rooted in a multiplicity of past actuality. This double-sidedness is reflected in the two poles of prehension, its datum and subject. "No prehension can be considered in abstraction from its subject, although it originates in the process creative of its subject" (PR 27/41). Causation can be understood to transpire between two beings, the termini of the causal relation between them. Or the prehension can be understood to partially constitute the subject, which in turn may be understood in terms of the whole activity of concrescence. While betweenness is perhaps more appropriate to the origination of causation, and withinness to its completion, Whitehead intends to treat them as both instances of physical prehension.

This appears to be the final position Whitehead achieved, as well as the most satisfactory one we can find. It does not make itself more apparent because of the wider context in which it is embedded. Whitehead’s ultimate concern is to safeguard its novel theory of self-creation, which can best be understood in terms of unification. The concrescing occasion actively unifies its component feelings, and the objective data for that unification constitute the passive material of that unification. Since the final unity is one, there is ultimately one process of unification, its own. This is the heart of his doctrine of self-creation. It is not both self-creation and other-creation (by the past and/or by God), because for the purpose of creation all other factors are reduced to components of the many to be unified by that concrescence. God, past occasions, creativity all "share in" the creative process, but they supply either material to be unified (past occasions), the form of the unification (derived from the subjective aim), or the means of unifying (creativity as so instanced), not the self-unification itself (cf. EWM 240f).

This concern for self-creation may well undercut legitimate concerns for efficient causation, which Whitehead had well recognized in terms of his theory of efficacity as expressed in terms of the perception of causal efficacy. One reason for this neglect, as we have seen, may be found in Whitehead’s uncritical acceptance of the dominant philosophical opinion that efficient causation must mean transeunt causation. If efficient causation means the causation between occasions, then all causation within the concrescence can only be final causation.

I have argued that we should reconceive concrescence itself as the active interweaving of efficient and final causation, understanding by efficient causation the entire career of physical feeling, not simply concentrating exclusively on its initial phase. Just as an actuality is both concrescence and outcome, the occasion actively causes itself, both efficiently and finally. Efficient causation is a felt activity, as perception in the mode of causal efficacy testifies, because it is internal to the occasion it serves.

V.

Some indication that Whitehead appreciated the role of physical feeling (efficient causation) within concrescence may be found in the renewed use of the term ‘efficacity.’ That term has a most peculiar pattern of occurrence in terms of the thirteen layers of composition into which I have analyzed the book (PR). It is found only in the first and the last strata, and nowhere in between. 15

After the difficulty with the first perceptive mode, in which perception with respect to causal efficacy could not be experientially distinguished from perception in the mode of causal efficacity (because experiencing effected the causation within the percipient), Whitehead seems resolved not to use the distinction any more. What led him to change his mind?

The proximate cause may have been his recognition that some old notes or an essay on Bodily Efficacity could be utilized in the argument for "Strains" (PR IV.4.2K). This may have reminded him of the distinction, but more importantly he now felt comfortable with the idea of ‘efficacity.’ He had abandoned it for experiential considerations, because at the time he had not yet worked out the relationship between prehension and causation in any detail. Now that the theory of prehension had been developed, perhaps the old distinction could be revived. Efficacity has two intertwined meanings: (a) efficient causation, and (b) interaction within experience or concrescence. While in his early theorizing in Process and Reality, where efficient and final causation were exclusive, with efficient causation assigned to transition and not to concrescence, he would find the notion of ‘efficacity’ inappropriate. Towards the end of his endeavor, however, this was no longer the case.

This is not the only instance in which a term was abandoned, only to reappear later. Consider the term ‘prehension.’ Because it was used extensively earlier (in SMW) and was also used in the later stages of Process and Reality, the gap in its use is not immediately apparent. Yet ‘prehension’ appears rarely if at all in the intervening books and in the early theory (of PR), a gap of perhaps three years. It was only reintroduced when Whitehead saw that ‘feeling’ should be identified with (positive) prehension (EWM 213f).

The last two mentions of ‘efficacity’ occur in the context of what might be the final discussion of the ontological principle. Everything must be somewhere, i.e., in some actual entity; it is contradictory to "assume that some explanatory fact can float into the actual world out of nonentity. Nonentity is nothingness. Every explanatory fact refers to the decision and to the efficacity of an actual thing" (PR 46/73).

The stress here needs to be placed on ‘explanatory fact.’ By ‘fact’ I take him to mean ‘past occasion,’ which by its own decision serves as a (partial) reason for the constitution of the current occasion. Since that decision, as the capacity of the past occasion to causally influence the present concrescence, already has efficacy, "decision and efficacy" would be quite redundant. For this, only efficacity would do -- the felt effectiveness of causal activity within concrescence as contributing to the production of the final satisfaction.

Whitehead then discusses this doctrine in terms of the ninth categoreal obligation, which is here introduced for the first time, that "The concrescence of each individual actual entity is internally determined and is externally free" (PR 46/74).I6 His concern here is to limit the activity of efficacity in order to permit for freedom. Each actuality is externally free in the sense that it is not determined in any final sense by any external factors -- even though those factors come to constitute its very being in part. "However far the sphere of efficient causation be pushed [within concrescence in terms of efficacity] in the determination of the components of a concrescence -- its data, its emotions, its appreciations, its purposes, its phases of subjective aim -- beyond the determination of these components there always remains the final reaction of the self-creative unity of the universe" (PR 47/75). Beyond the determination by each part there is the determination of the whole concrescence, the self-determination which is the way it is "internally determined." But there is the determination, the activity of the part, which is efficacity at work.

‘Efficacity’ thus could indicate the interaction of past elements as active within concrescence, an interaction which is derived from past occasions in its actual world, thus showing efficient causation as a complex activity transforming the present by working both between and within occasions. The simple sequence, first efficient, then final causation, will not do.

 

References

EC -- Dorothy Emmet. The Effectiveness of Causes. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1985.

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

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

 

Notes

1This idiosyncrasy of changing his mind yet leaving evidence of earlier positions has enabled me to work out a compositional analysis of PR. The preliminary results have been published in The Emergence of Whitehead’s Metaphysics (EWM), where I discern 13 different layers of composition (A-M).

I have examined Nobo’s project (WMES) in detail, and sought to place it in the context of the received interpretation in "Recent Interpretations of Whitehead’s Writings," The Modern Schoolman45/1 (November 1987), 47-59.

2The complexity of WMES is increased by Nobo’s daring and imaginative attempt to reconcile in one general system two basically incompatible theories. The received interpretation works out the systematic implications of PR, part III, ignoring contrary texts; Nobo works out the implications of PR, part II, also ignoring contrary texts, but to a lesser extent, except with respect to the first two phases of concrescence. On this issue Nobo is experimenting with the systematic implications of the theory of transition, pushing it as far as it will go.

3PR 68.18-69.26 may be a later insertion into PR II.2.2, although this is difficult to determine (cf. EWM 153, 233). (The remainder of the section is later: see its use of ‘subjective aim.’) But it makes sense for Whitehead to shift from a theory of epochal time to one of epochal becoming in order to formulate a rule by which his earlier theory might be excluded.

4See my essay on "The Reformed Subjectivist Principle Revisited" in Process Studies 19/1.

5Although the editors of the corrected edition of PR list all individual corrigenda in their notes, divergencies of a type are noted only at their first instance, 46.15 in the case of ‘efficacity.’ This procedure is eminently justified in the case of the other types of divergencies, for these are most trivial. ‘Efficacity’ is known to have been replaced in the following passages in the corrected edition: 46.15,46.31, 120.42, 170.43, 171.13, 172.42, 175.40, 180.3, 180.22, 316.34, 316.39, 316.42, 316.44 (twice), 317.15. In the original 1929 Macmillan edition these instances occur at 73.16, 73.37, 184.20, 259.16, 259.33, 262.16, 266.35, 273.8, 273.33, 482.9, 482.15, 482.20. 482.22, 482.23, and 483.6.

6This distinction was suggested to me by Harry K. Jones.

7Later Whitehead chose to avoid the elaborate distinction between the two perceptive modes, although not the issue involved, which is considered in terms of ‘non-sensuous perception’ (AI 231).

8I take PR II.4.5-9 ("Organisms and Environment") and II.8 ("Symbolic Reference") to constitute together Whitehead’s original treatise on the two modes of perception, and the first two chapters of Symbolism (S) to be a rewriting of this material suitable for delivery as lectures.

9By the "earlier theory" of PR, I mean what I have called the ‘Giffords draft,’ that is, the 9 1/2 chapters (roughly PR, part II) that Whitehead wrote in the summer of 1927 as the initial draft of his Gifford Lectures, but which were largely superseded by his later theories of 1928. (They were not the Gifford Lectures as given in June 1928.) See my The Emergence of Whitehead’s Metaphysics (Albany: State University of New York, 1984) (EWM), chapter 8, and appendix 6. Since Nobo takes this theory as all-comprehensive, WMES extends it much further than just these restricted texts.

10This may be inferred from the last section of "Organisms and Environments" (PR 128f/196f).

11 In what appears to be a later insertion, Whitehead reflects on this contrast: "Concrescence moves towards its final cause, which is its subjective aim; transition is the vehicle of efficient cause, which is the immortal past" (PR 210/321). (By my reckoning the term ‘subjective aim’ was not introduced until stratum G, whereas this chapter (II.10) basically belongs to stratum C. See EWM 221-24.)

12This passage is part of the insertion discussed in note 3.

13Yet how can this be reconciled with the statement that in a valuation downward, the physical feelings may be eliminated (PR 254/388F; cf. also 277/422F)?

141n opposition to Christian, Leclerc, Sherburne, Kline, and others, who imply that creativity simply wells up with each occasion, Nancy Frankenberry in "The Power of the Past," PS 13/2 (Summer 1983), 132-42, derives it from the power of the past. Her interpretation is quite convincing with respect to Adventures of Ideas, but then again the more standard interpretation is equally convincing with respect to Process and Reality. This conflict can be resolved by assuming that Whitehead changed his position between the two books.

15We have already examined those occurring in A and B (see EWM) in the first section of this essay. ‘Efficacity’ is absent from C-I, but reappears in K and L. It occurs twice in connection with the ninth categoreal obligation (PR 46/73L) and six times in one section of "Strains" (PR IV.4.2).

See note 5 for a detailed listing of its occurrences.

16Whitehead’s principle may have been formulated in direct opposition to Kant’s theory, where we are externally (i.e., phenomenally) determined and internally (noumenally) free.

Kirkpatrick on Subjective Becoming

Frank Kirkpatrick’s "Subjective Becoming: An Unwarranted Abstraction?" (Ps. 3:15-26) portrays the Whiteheadian problematic with an impressive accuracy; hence his critique deserves thoughtful response. Some Whiteheadians, I am afraid, may be tempted to evade the issue by this sort of reflection: Kirkpatrick charges, "The fundamental difficulty which the process model faces is trying to retain language appropriate only to a subject (decision, purpose, intention, action) for a process which is not yet a subject but which is becoming a subject" (Ps. 3:23). This presupposes that it can be meaningful to analyze the becoming apart from (because prior to) the being it becomes. Of course, this is a vain search for subjectivity apart from its subject. But in epochal becoming the process is not temporally prior to the outcome; it happens all at once. What becomes and its becoming are one and the same, and can be distinguished only by a distinction of reason. Insofar as we seek the subject of the process, it must be located in the being which is the outcome; the two are necessarily inseparable.

Now it is true that a process of unification cannot exist apart from the unity it achieves; otherwise what would it have unified? Nonetheless, the process and the outcome are formally distinct in the sense that the distinction is not simply one of our own making, but reflects the intrinsic character of unification. Also, it is true that the act of unification constitutes a single present moment which must include the unity achieved. Here the process cannot lie in the past of the product, for then the unifying moment would be superseded by another moment before it had a chance to complete itself. This does not mean, however, that we cannot formally distinguish between incomplete stages of unification taking place before the final unity within that single present moment, unless we maize the assumption that whatever takes place before another necessarily lies in its past. If the epochal theory is correct, however, this assumption must be false because it implies an instantaneous present. For any temporal stretch can be subdivided into parts coming one before the other, down to breadthless instants. Then if every instant down to a given instant lies in its past, and it in turn lies in the past of every succeeding instant, that instant must comprise the whole of the present. Since for Whitehead the present is momentary rather than instantaneous, possessing a temporal thickness, that moment is capable of formal subdivision in terms of what comes before another, so that it makes perfect sense to argue that incomplete phases of unification take place before the final unity. I have discussed these points in detail in "Genetic and Coordinate Division Correlated" (Ps. 1:199-209).

The more serious difficulty with this counterargument, at least for our present purposes, is its identification of the subject with the being which is the outcome of the process, i.e., with the superject. Now subject and superject are continuous with one another, since the superject is what the subject becomes. The question is rather whether the subject is nothing but the superject. Their complete identification is most tempting when questions concerning the being and unity of the subject are pressed home, as Kirkpatrick does, for if the subject does not find its being and unity in the superject, then where does it find it? Unfortunately, however, we cannot ground subjective unity in the superject, for two reasons: (1) The superject is completely determinate, and hence devoid of activity; it cannot do any of the things subjects are supposed to do. Other theories may treat subjects as beings because they conceive beings to be incomplete and indeterminate in important ways, but as Kirkpatrick correctly notes (Ps. 3:17), on the process view beings are completely determinate. (2) We run into difficulties with perishing. One might argue that while the subject cannot do anything as superject, at least it can sit back and enjoy its satisfaction. In fact, one must argue this if the subject is unified only in the final Outcome. There must be a unified subject to experience the feelings; if the subject first arises in the satisfaction, then that must be where the feelings are experienced. Moreover, since that must be where we enjoy subjective immediacy, it must be durational in order to account for our direct intuition of enduring subjective immediacy. Thus Christian can conclude: "Indeed the satisfaction contains, one might say, the whole of the temporal duration of the occasion" (IWM 30). In contrast, I agree with Robison B. James that the satisfaction is the breadthless instant of transition from concrescence to superject (Ps. 2:113f), for it is precisely in the attainment of being that the subjective immediacy of becoming perishes, as the achieved unity completes all striving for unification. Here subjectivity is wholly identified with becoming and perishes in being. If, on the other hand, we permit subjective immediacy to persist in the satisfaction after all becoming has ceased, then we must interpret perishing in different terms. If the perishing of subjective immediacy cannot be the perishing of becoming in being, it must be the perishing of being. But then nothing is left for subsequent occasions to prehend. It is this line of reasoning, I submit, which occasions the claim that God must be the ground for the givenness of the past (IWM 319-30), the claim which Sherburne and others have so vigorously contested. The whole issue would never have arisen, however, were we not tempted to ground the unity of the subject solely in the superject.

At one point Kirkpatrick writes that the process view asks us "to imagine a process of unification as having, in effect, subjective unity prior to the achievement of subjective unity" (PS 3:20). That would, of course, be impossible, but if the foregoing is correct, we are instead asked to conceive of a subjective unity for the process of unification prior to the attainment of superjective unity. This is the force of his critique: if the subject of the process cannot have the unity of a being, what sort of unity does it have? It is largely a matter of how we choose to define being whether such a subject is a being, but the subject, "conceived as coterminous with and underlying the process" (Ps. 3:19), must have sufficient unity to act as a subject without being completely determinate. What can this be?

Ivor Leclerc’s theory of the unity of compound substances in The Nature of Physical Existence may furnish us with an important clue, if we liken the many feelings of an incomplete phase with the many component elements of a compound substance. Leclerc’s premise is that "the acting of substances is a mutual acting on, whereby they are in relation, and the relation is intrinsic to their actualization" (NPE 309f).

The entities in relation act on each other reciprocally, and are thus each modified, in some respect, by the relationship, that is, by their acting. This reciprocal acting constitutes a tie or bond between them, this bond being the relation -- which exists only in the acting, and not as some tertium quid. The word ‘relation’. . . connotes both the act, the relating, and what the act achieves. The ‘whatness’ is the form or character of the relation. This means that by virtue of the mutual activity of relating, there exists a form or character common to the entities acting. (NPE 309f)

Now form must be grounded in substance, but since this is "the form or character of a relational unity, . . . it cannot be grounded in the many substances individually, but in them in relation. . . . Now when the acting of the substances on each other is fully reciprocal, . . . these actings combine into one single total act, with one single form," this relational form (NPE 311). Thus the combined activity forms a substantial unity, an actualized unity having this relational form as its "substantial form" (cf. Ps. 3:107-09).

In this theory Leclerc is challenging the common assumption "that the ultimate physical existent or substance in the strict sense of the term is to be identified with the final constituents of compounds, and that consequently no compound entity can be a substance" (NPE 284). With respect to the actual unity of the compound, "the many constituents are potential, although in themselves they are each actual substances" (NPE 311). Thus for Leclerc both the compounds and their constituent elements are both equally actual, each in its own way. At this point there is an important disanalogy with Whitehead’s theory, since the many feelings of any phase of concrescence cannot be independently actual. They are the many feelings of one subject, yet it is still the case that they can act upon one another, since they reciprocally modify one another. The concrescence proceeds by the mutual interplay of the physical feelings with the conceptual feelings derived in accordance with the subjective aim, whereby all are modified and shaped into a final synthesis. The key idea of Leclerc’s analysis which carries over is this reciprocity of acting, which does not depend upon the independent actuality of that which acts. Individual prehensions in their acting upon one another are thereby also being modified by these others. Each can act, but not independently of the other, so that their activity does not belong to the one or to the other, but takes place between them both, and thus constitutes the unity of their acting. The unity of this common acting of the many prehensions is the subject of that concrescence.

Kirkpatrick takes issue with my perspectival analysis of concrescence in terms of the interaction of its physical prehensions, asking: "If one and the same process can be viewed both determinately and freely, one is tempted to ask, which is the way it really is?" (Ps. 3:23). We may subjectively feel we are free, he adds, but if obectively all is determined, then that feeling is illusory. But I am not persuaded that my objective description entails determinism or a lack of creativity. It would entail this only if the actual entities physically prehended severally produced the outcome by their accidental union, for then the actuality is exhaustively explicable in terms of these antecedent actualities functioning as its efficient causes. But I described concrescence, objectively viewed, "as the interplay among the transcendent decisions of all actual entities prehended, progressively modifying one another" (1:220, italics added; cf. Ps. 3:22). This mutual modification is the occasion’s freedom, the work of its creativity, seen in terms of the manyness constituting the incomplete phases. What I did not see, apart from Leclerc’s analysis, is that this activity does not belong to the various feelings severally. Taking place between them, it forms a unity transcending them all as the subjective unity of the occasion.

There are problems, however, with Leclerc’s theory. How do we restrict substantial unity to natural compounds? According to his account, all substances interact (NPE 308). If Leclerc, Kirkpatrick, and I mutually interact such that each of us has his opinions modified in the interchange, does that mean we constitute together some overarching compound substance? At one point Leclerc suggests that compounds only come about when the acting is fully reciprocal (NPE 311), but there may well be more reciprocity among persons in an intensive communal experience than between the components of some compound, e.g., between some neutron in the interior of the nucleus of an atom and one of its electrons. Another problem, particularly acute from a Whiteheadian perspective, is that reciprocal interaction requires that the interacting components be contemporaries, but by the special theory of relativity contemporaries cannot causally influence one another.

As John W. Lango has noticed, "a single phase of prehensions is analogous to a locus of contemporaneous actual entities" (WO 42), so the problem of reciprocal interaction among contemporaries persists even here. If "contemporaneous" prehensions cannot directly interact, their reciprocal acting must be accomplished by indirect means. First, we note that the reason these prehensions are not simply independent contemporaneous actual entities must be found in their subjective forms as determined by a common subjective aim (PR 28f). In each phase of concrescence the subjective aim undergoes successive modification, and each such modification is termed a "subjective end." The subjective forms in the initial phase are conformal to the subjective forms of the antecedent actualities prehended, but their subsequent modifications in supplementary phases are dependent upon the subjective aim (PR 359). "The many feelings, in any incomplete phase, are necessarily compatible with each other by reason of their individual conformity to the subjective end evolved for that phase" (PR 342). Insofar as the subjective forms of prehensions in the same phase are determined with reference to this same common subjective end, they are mutually sensitive. This mutual sensitivity of subjective forms thus makes possible, indirectly, a reciprocal activity among the "contemporaneous" prehensions. By directly modifying the subjective aim, which as the subjective end for the next phase modifies them, they indirectly modify each other.

Thus reciprocal acting is possible in the presence of a common ideal. This common ideal, influencing each of the components, also insures the unity of the compound substance. The two problems posed by Leclerc’s theory are resolved by the same means.

It should be noted, moreover, that this common ideal cannot simply be identified with Leclerc’s "substantial form" for the compound substance, since that is the shape of the total reciprocal activity as a unity. This common ideal or aim must rather be conceived as a necessary addition to Leclerc’s account, shattering the independent actuality he assigns to the constituent elements. In virtue of this common aim these elements participate in an overarching subjective unity directed toward that goal. It is this total reciprocal activity so directed which constitutes the subjective unity of the concrescence. It will not do to think of the subjective aim alone as forming some sort of embryonic subject, for then all the other feelings must lie outside the subject like the unused yolk and white of a fertilized egg. Nor is the subject simply the mutual sensitivity of the subjective forms influenced by this aim. It is the total reciprocal activity of all the prehensions, but this reciprocal activity is only possible by means of the subjective aim.

This means that its unity is inherently unstable, and for that reason it is properly a subjective unity. If reciprocal acting is possible only because of the presence of a common ideal, this acting must be a progressive realization of that common ideal aimed at. The subject, since it is the unified whole of all this acting, can only exist as this process of realization. There can be reciprocal acting between components only because that acting takes place within a single process of concrescence (cf. NPE 272f, 290f, 308f). In the end the reciprocal activity of subjective unity must give way to the full, determinate realization of superjective unity. In that instant subjective immediacy perishes as that actuality becomes objectively immortal.

References

 

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

NPE -- Ivor Leclerc. The Nature of Physical Existence. New York: Humanities Press, 1972.

WO -- John W. Lango. Whitehead’s Ontology. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1972.

1. Lewis S. Ford, "Can Whitehead Provide for Real Subjective Agency? A Reply to Edward Pols’s Critique." The Modern Schoolman 47/2 (January, 1970), 209-25.

Genetic and Coordinate Division Correlated

Sensing many of the same difficulties Neville has raised against my temporalistic interpretation of genetic successiveness, John Cobb has proposed this constructive alternative:

In addition to temporal successiveness, Whitehead conceives of another order of successiveness, which he calls genetic or microcosmic. This is a successiveness that becomes real only when the succession is completed. But when completed it can be reconstructed analytically in terms of the dependence of the completed occasion on inclusions and exclusions of the past and of unrealized possibilities. The including and excluding jointly constitute a complex act of decision which is momentary but not instantaneous. An act of decision has a beginning in the settled past given for the occasion and an end in the satisfaction of the new occasion. Since beginning and end are both temporally separated and qualitatively different, and since it is possible to analyze what must take place for the qualitative difference to come into being, it is appropriate to speak of the act of decision as a process in spite of its indivisible unity. Its origin is temporally earlier than its outcome. The analysis of the unified act can discriminate what is closest to that origin in the order of dependence (i.e., what depends only on that origin and the new aim at actuality) and what depends on aspects of the decision itself. The terms prior and subsequent offer themselves as appropriate characterizations of this order of real dependence. But it must be repeatedly recalled that neither the term dependence nor the terms prior and subsequent are used identically with their use in describing the relations between successive occasions.

On the other hand, the meaning of these terms is not equivocal. To show this I will focus only on "dependence." In all cases, if A depends on B, then A would not be A apart from B. In this sense: (1) occasion A depends on earlier occasion B; (2) occasion A depends on every phase of its own becoming; (3) subsequent phases depend on prior ones; and (4) all phases depend on the completed occasion.

Ford has charged that my argument in the Southern Journal of Philosophy Whitehead issue (1:409-13) "invokes a symmetrical internal relatedness between part and whole, between prior and subsequent, which it had been Whitehead’s genius to avoid" (1:425). Yet as here explained, I do not think my position makes (a) the relation of part and whole and (b) the relation of prior to subsequent phases symmetrical. (a) All parts depend on the whole occasion for any actuality whatsoever. The whole depends on its parts to constitute it as it is. The whole includes the parts. The parts do not include the whole. (b) Subsequent phases depend on the earlier for their content. This relation is not reciprocal. But no phase comes into being except as part of the whole occasion.

With this added explanation, I agree I must retract that charge. The accent of my remark was on symmetrical internal relatedness such as we find in F. H. Bradley in contrast with Whitehead’s asymmetrical relations which are internal to (as constitutive of) the prehending subject only, being external to the prehended datum. Now it becomes clear that Cobb maintains this asymmetry with respect to relations of constitution: the prior is constitutive of the subsequent, the part of the whole, and never vice versa. Phases depend upon the completed occasion in the sense that they cannot come into being apart from the whole, but this does not mean that the phases are constituted as to their nature by their relationship to the satisfaction. It rather signifies the generic necessary interconnection of "many," "one," and "creativity" (PR 31f). The many cannot become one in the absence of a terminating unity.

Cobb’s recognition that the origin of the act of decision is temporally earlier than its outcome is most significant for it stands in contrast with the implicit tendency to treat concrescence as if it were temporally instantaneous. Since the occasion happens "all at once" and its becoming is not in physical time, it is possible to assume that all temporal designations refer exclusively to coordinate division of the satisfaction. Since there is a becoming of continuity, the spatiotemporal region occupied by one occasion’s satisfaction is immediately followed by the region of its successor. If it be denied that the outset of concrescence is temporally earlier than its outcome, it would seem that the whole of concrescence must be inserted into that instant between two successive occasions, since the being of the second occasion first depends upon its becoming. Concrescence would then be an instantaneous becoming.

This seems to be William A. Christian’s position:

Indeed the satisfaction contains, one might say, the whole of the temporal duration of the occasion. For the genetic process that produces the satisfaction is not itself in physical time. If we think of "taking time" as a matter of filling up the gaps between the earlier and later physical boundaries of occasions, then it is the satisfaction that "takes time." It is by producing their satisfactions that actual occasions produce the temporally extended world. (IWM 30)

The satisfaction as objectified "takes time" in the sense outlined here, but I question whether it "represents a pause in the midst of the flux" (IWM 29) if this is taken to mean that the occasion subjectively enjoys its satisfaction for the duration of the present moment. I understand all subjectivity to inhere in becoming, while the satisfaction is the attainment of being. Only as the completion of becoming can the satisfaction be subjectively enjoyed, but this is a fleeting instant. If on the other hand, the satisfaction subjectively occupies the entire duration of the present, then the concrescence must take no time at all, from which I can only infer that it must be instantaneous.

Instantaneous becoming is not an inherently implausible notion. Traditionally it has been a favorite way of conceiving divine creation. But I think it plays havoc with any theory of epochal becoming that claims temporal occasions to be irreducibly atomic in some sense. If an instantaneous becoming produces a duration of, say, one millisecond, why could not that same millisecond duration be produced by two instantaneous acts spaced half a millisecond apart, or by four acts spaced a fourth of a millisecond apart, etc.? In fact, if the acts are instantaneous, it would seem more plausible to assume that the durations they produce are, if not instantaneous, at least infinitesimal. There need be no fixed, finite duration for any event, no matter how small, if its being can equally well be accounted for in terms of a series of several acts of becoming. The arguments derived from Zeno’s paradoxes deny that any "act of becoming is divisible into earlier and later sections which are themselves acts of becoming" (PR 106). but this does not affect the divisibility of the being of events. Obviously, instantaneous becoming cannot be divided, but it can be multiplied. Its very instantaneousness permits any finite duration to be populated with an infinitely dense series of them. In his discussion of ‘Achilles and the Tortoise,’ Whitehead recognizes the logical possibility of an infinite series of acts of becoming within a single second (PR 107). Thus the atomic, finite duration of an occasion’s being, it would seem, can only be safeguarded by assigning its becoming an equally finite duration.

Cobb also recognizes that "the analysis of the unified act can discriminate what is closest to that origin in the order of dependence" and that this can be appropriately described in terms of prior and subsequent. Does this mean that initial phases of concrescence are literally earlier than subsequent phases? Apparently not, for Cobb emphasizes only the difference between the use of dependence and the terms prior and subsequent here and in the description of successive occasions. My position is that genetic phases are earlier and later than one another in exactly the same sense that successive occasions are earlier and later, but that whereas all occasions earlier than a given one lie in its past, and all occasions later than it lie in its future, this is not true of the genetic phases of a single occasion. Here earlier and later phases are all equally Co. present as constituting that occasion’s present becoming. The assumption that "earlier/later than" and "past, present, future" have the same denotative range for a given temporal locus designated as present must be given up if we are to penetrate Whitehead’s meaning. I think it is the chief source of confusion concerning the epochal theory of becoming. Cobb’s statement could be interpreted as affirming that prior phases are earlier than subsequent ones but do not lie in their past, but the impression he leaves is that this is not so.

Now it is clear that the subsequent depends on the prior in "this order of real dependence," but is it equally true that the order of dependence always runs from the subsequent to the prior? In that case the outcome of an occasion would be prior to its origin, even though the origin is temporally earlier, since like all other phases the initial phase depends upon the completed occasion But if this is not so, what is the additional meaning assigned to prior and subsequent which is not discoverable in the concept of an order of dependence? Could it be: earlier and later?

Now we can make the claim that some genetic phases are earlier than others more precise by correlating genetic and coordinate division as illustrated in the following matrix:

Coordinate Division



Matrix Correlating Genetic And Coordinate Division

On this matrix both genetic and coordinate divisions are made in terms of 2/10ths of a unit occasion, forming a scale of identical temporal loci. The ratings within the matrix measure the determinateness of an occasion from complete indeterminateness (0.0) to complete determinateness (1.0). Thus at the instant 1.0 occasion A is completely determinate while occasion B at the outset of concrescence is half indeterminate. The assignment of 0.5 determinateness to the initial phase of these three occasions is arbitrary, for this can vary widely. A predominantly physical occasion merely reiterating its past may be .99999 determinate at the outset of its concrescence, while particular human occasions may be highly indeterminate at this juncture. The diagram also standardizes the temporal length of an occasion, which may be presumed to vary considerably, perhaps between 20 milliseconds (2 x 10-2 secs.) for a human occasion and 10-24 secs for subatomic occasions.1 Nor is any attempt made to allow for any possible "unevenness" in the genetic phases.

The past, being fully determinate, has the value of 1.0. The future is partially determined by the outcome of the present, and thus has been assigned for purposes of illustration the values 0.3, 0.4. Since the present becomes epochally, it will also shape the future epochally, with each successive occasion rendering it more determinate.

Those who reject temporal passage would assign the value of 1.0 to every position in this matrix, while recognizing that a mind-dependent awareness of the present (moving down the y-axis) would only perceive such determinateness as that which is registered to the left of the corresponding unit indicated on the x-axis. Those who hold the future to be completely indeterminate would assign the value of 0.0 to all the upper right-hand squares, perhaps also collapsing the boundary between past and future into a single diagonal line.

Coordinate division measures the being or the occurring of events. Since only that which is fully determinate has being, coordinate division can only measure that which has the value of 1.0. Thus at 1.8 only that which has come into being up to the instant 1.0 can be coordinately divided, while at 2.0 this jumps forward to 2.0. The coordinate division 1.8 indicates what is occurring at 1.8 as this is objectively available for prehending occasions at 2.0 and later. Moreover, for either 1.8 or 2.0 later instants such as 3.0 or 14.8 are perfectly meaningful abstract temporal loci, though nothing as yet has being at those loci (save on the "full future" theory) to be measured.

Traditional theory recognizes that substances come into being, but it may be questioned whether the coming into being of events has been adequately understood. Substances have being insofar as they endure, while events have being insofar as they occur. A substance comes into being by means of that event which establishes its essence, i.e., an enduring object comes into being by means of the initial member occasion of that society which first constitutes its defining characteristic. Thus the becoming of a substance is the being of an event. Confusion at this point tempts non-process thinkers to identify the coming into being and the occurring of an event on the grounds that both must mean its "becoming present,"2 and tempts process thinkers to suppose that the satisfaction of an occasion must have the static being of a substance.

Genetic division measures the becoming of occasions, the process whereby they become determinately actual. This involves not only the "earlier/later than" distinctions of McTaggart’s B-series, but also the passage from the future through the present to the past. Insofar as epochal becoming is ignored. it is possible to assume that everything earlier than the present instant (say, 1.6) lies in its past and everything later lies in its future. Precisely that is what is denied with respect to genetic phases. Thus 1.2 and 1.4 are genetically earlier than 1.6, but do not lie in its past (as do 0.2 or 1.0). nor do the later 1.8 and 2.0 lie in its future, for all these successive phases are equally co-present with one another. This is the celebrated "thickness" of the present which permits being sliced into successively later layers.

We may illustrate the distinction between becoming and occurring by regarding occasions A through C as the motion of a particle traversing 3 unit-lengths. According to coordinate division, analyzing the continuity of that which has become, at 1.6 (along the x-axis) the particle is situated at 1.6 unit-lengths from the origin. This is what is occurring at the instant 1.6. But 1.0 to 2.0 is a single occasion which comes into being as a whole, such that it is only at and after 2.0 that whatever is occurring at 1.6 becomes fully determinate. During 1.0 to 2.0, the character of the instant 1.6 is still indeterminate. Moreover, the indeterminacy of 0.8 at 1.6 during the process of concrescence applies to whatever is occurring between 1.0 and 2.0, not just to what is occurring at 1.6, since the occasion comes into being as a whole. Thus the becoming and the being (or occurring) of an occasion occupy exactly the same temporal extent, but differently. This is most strikingly apparent in the satisfaction. The completion of becoming is being, so the satisfaction is both the final termination of becoming and the being of the whole occasion. In terms of the subjectivity enjoyed by the concrescing occasion 1.0-2.0 the satisfaction is felt only at the instant 2.0. As objectified as a potential for later occasions, however, the satisfaction occupies the entire duration from 1.0 to 2.0, for it is during that span that the event has being or is occurring.

Theories that see no need to account for the coming into being of events may dispense with the genetic dimension of this matrix, limiting themselves to coordinate division. But if whatever has being (including events) must first have come into being, that coming into being must fit in somewhere. A theory of instantaneous becoming is ultimately indistinguishable from a theory of being without becoming, for at no time can there be any process of determination whereby becoming is possible. Assigning the becoming of an event to its earliest subevent simply invites the vicious regress indicated in Zeno’s paradoxes (PR 106f), while locating it in some prior event entails complete causal determinism. Confronted with these alternatives, Whitehead proposes that each occasion be an act of self-creation. Each occasion occupies a certain spatiotemporal region within which it occurs, and it utilizes this region for its own coming into being. This is possible because that which an occasion creates during its concrescence is itself, its own occurring. Epochal becoming thus presupposes for its own possibility self-creation, which is precisely what we should expect for Whitehead’s theories of epochal becoming and creativity to cohere with one another.

Our matrix is overly schematic with respect to genetic successiveness, suggesting that there are exactly five phases of concrescence, each lasting 1/5th the duration. We might be further tempted to suppose that the first fifth is devoted to the initial phase, the second fifth to conceptual valuation, etc. lt is extremely difficult to determine whether any phases of conceptual origination should be assigned temporal duration. Conceptual valuation is the derivation of a possibility (how that prehended occasion might fit into the coming satisfaction) from a prehended actuality, and I see no grounds for postulating any temporal distance between an actuality and its inherent possibilities. Thus while conceptual valuation depends upon physical feeling (in actual occasions.) according to the order of dependence, I question the propriety of assuming that the initial physical phase is earlier than supplemented phases of a purely conceptual nature. The concrescence, however, uses these conceptual phases for the sake of a gradual process of integration and re-integration until a determinate satisfaction is reached wherein all the simple physical feelings are fully integrated in terms of their objective data by means of one patterned contrast. It is these phases of integration and re-integration that are earlier or later than one another, and there can be any number of them. With each phase of integration some indeterminacy has been eliminated yielding greater determinateness, designated rather arbitrarily in our matrix as .6, .7, etc. It should be noted that this degree of determinateness applies to the occasion as a whole. It is conceivable that at, e.g., 0.2 during concrescence that what is occurring at 0.2 is .85 determinate while what is occurring at 0.3 is only .65 determinate or vice versa, while the occasion as a whole is only .6 determinate.

Each phase of integration endures until superseded by the next later one. Within each phase there is mutual sensitivity of feeling directed by the subjective end evolved for that phase (PR 342). In each instance there is a corresponding modification in subjective aim (1:422).

Now in terms of this extended explanation perhaps we can clarify some misunderstandings occasioned by my original article (1:421-25). For example, I am not proposing subdividing the occasion into a series of sub-events called genetic phases, each of which comes into being all at once with a particular temporal thickness. This would merely transpose the problem of analyzing epochal becoming to another level, not resolve it. This would mean, for instance, that at 2.6 in the concrescence of 2.0-3.0 that which is occurring at 2.0 to 2.6 is fully determinate, having come into being, while the indeterminacy of the genetic phase at 2.6 refers only to the indeterminacy of what is occurring from 2.6 to 3.0. But that which has being is no longer becoming, and therefore 2.0 to 2.6 could not belong to a process of concrescence extending to 3.0.

I think the problem occasioning this possible misinterpretation concerns the being to be assigned a genetic phase. Every entity must have some sort of being which we implicitly assume by talking about it, insofar as we intend its concept to have reference beyond itself. Now I reject the interpretation that genetic division is merely hypothetical reconstruction after the fact. It is that, to be sure, because we have no direct experiential evidence for the successive phases of concrescence, and cannot expect that they will suddenly emerge under the powerful gaze of some yet-to-be-invented scientific instrument. As Whitehead notes, "the selection of a subordinate prehension [in genetic division] from the satisfaction . . . involves a hypothetical, propositional point of view. The fact is the satisfaction as one" (PR 360). This does not mean, however, that what we have hypothetically reconstructed, the genetic phases, have only a hypothetical status. But to have more they must have some sort of being. The theory that each genetic phase comes into being on its own does have its way of providing each phase with its own being, but at an unacceptable cost.

A genetic phase in process of becoming cannot derive its being from the occasion of which it is a part, for that occasion has not yet come into being. Thus the genetic phase 2.6 has no being in terms of what is occurring at 2.6, for as yet 2.6 has no concrete being. Yet while being is the completion of becoming such that what is can no longer become, being can be ingredient in becoming. The being of an incomplete phase is dependent upon the being ingredient in becoming, namely, the past actual occasions physically prehended. To be sure, this being pertains not to a unity but to a multiplicity. But then an incomplete phase is not one thing, one feeling; it is many feelings seeking unity.

"An incomplete phase . . . has the unity of a proposition" (PR 342). As Cobb helpfully pointed out to me, I erroneously implied in my original discussion of this passage (1:424) that each phase was a propositional feeling, not a proposition. "In abstraction from the creative urge . . . this phase is merely a proposition about its component feelings and their ultimate superject" (PR 342). Cobb interprets this to mean that the logical subject of this proposition is the concrescing occasion itself, while the ideal entertained in thc subjective aim provides the predicative pattern (CNT 156). But this ignores Whitehead’s insistence that propositions must have actualities as their logical subjects, not possibilities, even though these possibilities may be on the way to becoming actualities; otherwise they could not be categorically distinguished from eternal objects (PR 391-93). I take the component feelings to provide the logical subjects, with the subjective ideal as the ultimate superject aimed at. This is "a proposition seeking truth" (PR 342) in the final satisfaction, where the subjective ideal no longer expresses a possibility sought but a goal attained in the specific nature of this concrete unity. Here "the mere potentiality of the proposition . . . is converted into the fully determinate actuality" (PR 342f).3 In abstraction from creativity, an incomplete phase is merely many feelings, but this likewise abstracts from the subject they aim at (PR 339). More concretely it is many feelings becoming one in the unity of their common subject.

As Neville correctly points out, an analysis in terms of genetic phases is more abstract than a division of the satisfaction into prehensions. Even genetic division is a division of the satisfaction (PR 359) "to be assigned, for its origination, to an earlier phase of the concrescence" (PR 337). Any division into prehensions abstracts from the unity of the subject, while an analysis of prehensions in phases also abstracts from the total career of a prehension, considering its activity in separate stages. I question, however, whether every prehension obtained by genetic division has all the features of an actual entity" except its own completed subjective form. This would not be applicable to conceptual prehensions. The passage Neville appeals to (PR 29) must have reference to prehensions obtained by coordinate division.

Incomplete phases, we have seen, have been hypothetically reconstructed for our understanding by this double abstraction. This is not to say, contra Neville, that that to which these phases refer is merely an abstraction from satisfaction. Again the problem turns on the being to be assigned that which is in becoming. These phases, Neville insists, "have no existence in themselves so as to be able to exist earlier than the satisfaction phase" and this is true insofar as becoming cannot yet possess the being it is seeking to bring about. But these phases do have the being of the past actual occasions prehended.

Neville’s interpretation of my position makes cogent reading on the assumption that I regard the being of an occasion to consist in its becoming. On such a view, which I do not hold, the occurrence of events would appear to be given not along the x-axis but along the y-axis of genetic division: "A series of phases punctuated by demarcations of discontinuity." some indeterminate, others determinate. This obviously has its difficulties, for it supposes that something indeterminate can occur, and it treats the satisfaction as if it were only one occurrence in the series of happenings constituting the occasion. Neville correctly argues that the satisfaction cannot be only one aspect of the occasion’s being, but embraces "the occasion as a whole." But the being of an occasion is not its becoming in concrescence. In discussing how the one decision effected by the concrescence as a whole is analyzable as a series of successive decisions (1:422f), I was not considering the occasion’s being, much less assuming that this was constituted by the set of genetic phases. Decision as causa sui is a function of becoming, not being.

While we thus agree that becoming does not share in the being which it terminates in, since this belongs wholly to the satisfaction, I claim that becoming nevertheless possesses some measure of being in terms of which there can be the growing together of feeling in earlier and later integrations and reintegrations before the final satisfaction. In this sense, a genetic phase exists before" the satisfaction, but this is not the existence of actuality, but of a multiplicity in propositional unity seeking concretion. Nor is this to say that the genetic phase either "occurs" or "comes into being" prior to satisfaction, since the former entails that genetic phases can be isolated by coordinate division, and the latter that we regard each genetic phase as an instance of epochal becoming. With these qualifications we can answer the question: What has being during concrescence? Feelings growing together. Neville denies this: nothing has being during concrescence, for there is only becoming. This is the issue that divides us.

Neville argues that the only reality ingredient in incomplete phases is that of past actualities, the rest is appearance. This is true with respect to all conceptual supplementation, and it is also true that whatever being appearance may have it is a dependent, derivative being (at least for actual occasions) and hence cannot ground the being of feelings in concrescence. But what about these past actualities present as prehensive data? The question finally turns on whether these have being for the concrescence or being in the concrescence. Neville stresses the former by maintaining the objective immortality of the datum as a potential for objectification. "In no sense does elimination cause the datum to perish as a potential." It remains as a datum for the occasion, even though in the end it is not objectifiable. The being of past actualities remains merely potential with respect to the concrescing occasion until it is converted into actuality in the satisfaction. In contrast I argue that as prehended the past provides being to concrescence.

Fortunately we can bypass the difficult question whether there can be any being apart from becoming. Whitehead clearly affirms the perishing of becoming in being; is there likewise any perishing of being in becoming? Is that which is objectively immortal exempt from perishing, as Neville claims, freed from the perils of undergoing a second death, or does the past perish insofar as it is not included within present prehending (cf. PR 517)? This is central to the question of the prehension of the distant past which Sherburne raises (PPCT 320-22). If the past is objectively immortal forevermore, then it is always prehendable, and direct prehension of the distant past is always a possibility, however slight. If, on the other hand, the past persists only insofar as it is taken up into intermediate occasions, then only that much of the past present in immediately contiguous occasions is prehendable. The texts appear to assign the imperishable being to past actualities that Neville champions, but if so, one may question the adequacy of such a position. Our problem here, however, is not to determine whether there is any being apart from becoming, but whether there is any being in becoming.

If the past as prehended has no being in concrescence but only being for concrescence as a potential for actualization, then actualization belongs solely to the satisfaction and not to the concrescence. This could mean that becoming is instantaneous, bringing about a satisfaction with a finite duration, subject to the problems noted above, or it could mean that the present concrescence still has temporal thickness. In that case, however, there would seem to be no essential difference between the present and the future. As a potential for objectification the past is being for the present and the future indifferently. It is only as the past is taken up into concrescence that the present emerges as different from the future.

At this point Neville may wish to argue that the present is not found in concrescence but in the newly achieved satisfaction. In that case I find no essential difference between the present and the past, for both are equally determinate. The strength of Whitehead’s position is that it allows us to distinguish between the indeterminateness of the future (partially determined by past actualities insofar as they are potentials for it), the process of determination which is the present, and the determinateness of the past. The process of actualization must have some being to rescue from the indeterminacy of the future, but it cannot yet have the complete being of the satisfaction without already being actual.

As prehended the past provides the being for present prehending. The newly emergent being in satisfaction is constituted out of the old beings prehended, but this is equally true for its becoming. In becoming this past is felt as a multiplicity gradually fusing itself into unity in the birth of a new being. Neville has many past actualities; he has a becoming; and he has a final unity in satisfaction; but he has no many becoming one. Before concrescence, there is only the many of past actualities which have exhausted their becoming. During concrescence there is becoming, but no being, hence no being for the entities which severally could make up a many becoming one. In satisfaction, there is the being of unity, but no more becoming. Only in incomplete phases of concrescence which are later than the settled past and earlier than the coming satisfaction can the many feelings seek the unity of their common subject.



References

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

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

PPCT -- Delwin Brown, Ralph E. James, Jr., and Gene Reeves, eds., Process Philosophy and Christian Thought. Indianapolis: Hobbs-Merrill, 1971.

1. The special Whitehead issue of the Southern Journal of Philosophy 7, 4 (Winter, 1969-70) for my article "On Genetic Successiveness," 421-25.



Notes

1 See Milic Capek, "Bergson’s Theory of Matter and Modern Physics," p. 302 in P. A. Y. Gunter, ed., Bergson and the Evolution of Physics (Knoxville: University of Tennessee Press, 1969).

2 So Richard M. Gale. "Has the Present Any Duration?" Nous 5, 1 (February, 1971), 44f.

3 As emended in the "Corrigenda for Process and Reality," p. 203 in George L. Kline, ed., Alfred North Whitehead: Essays on His Philosophy (Englewood Cliffs: Prentice-Hall, 1963).

Information Technology in Seminaries

A few years ago a technology consultant told a group of seminary deans and presidents that computer-based information technology is like a fast-moving train. "It doesn’t matter whether you are in first class or third class, but it is essential that you get on the train." One of the deans commented, "Now I know what it feels like to be a ticketless hobo riding the rods."

Theological schools, most of them somewhat strapped for resources, are struggling with the challenges and potentials of the new technologies. Like Moses, they are peering into a land that promises to provide milk and honey but also may hold some dangerous giants. The new technologies have great potential for enhancing the education of pastors, transmitting the gospel and creating Christian wisdom in the new information age. But significant challenges and dangers lie ahead.

An astounding mass of material is already available on computer screens. Scholars are busily creating and digitizing resources for schools and churches. Here are a few examples from the expanding "library" of theological resources:

• The American Theological Library Association is digitizing 50 years of 50 journals in theology and religion, and will soon link them to the ATLA database. They will be fully accessible and searchable on CD-ROM and on the Internet (rosetta.atlacertr.org).

• Harold Attridge digitizes slides for teaching about the New Testament and makes them available through the Eikon Project (eikon.divinity.yale.edu).

• Harry Plantinga and his volunteers have digitized 500 books that are in the public domain. They are available free on the Internet in the Christian Classics Ethereal Library. Some 15,000 people visit the Web site each day and retrieve over a million "books" per year. Plantinga provides a CD-ROM version of 300 books free to missionaries, pastors and teachers in developing areas (4,000 copies to date), and Calvin College sells them to others at a modest cost (ccel.org).

• Charles Bellinger created and maintains the Wabash Center Guide to Internet Resources for Teaching and Learning in Theology and Religion organized by subjects (wabashcenter.wabash.edu/Internet,’fronthtm)

• Rohr Productions markets The Holy Land Satellite Atlas with a CD-ROM containing satellite maps of the Middle East and software permitting students to "fly over the terrain from Dan to Beersheba and hover over Mt. Hermon, the Sea of Galilee, the King’s Highway, Masada, Qumran and other biblical sites.

Advances in hardware and software are improving the production, digitizing, transmission and use of these resources, and increasing both demand and supply. When I asked a leader at the cutting edge of computer technology to predict ten years ahead, he looked at me as if I had taken leave of my senses. He is willing to look only two or three years ahead.

Disintermediation is the current term for the explosion of information. To understand the disintermediation quandary, search for "religion" or "Christianity" on an Internet browser. You will uncover a jumbled mess of thousands of sites with no order and no sense.

Until now, editors/publishers, librarians and teachers have been the gatekeepers and mediators of scholarly religious material. They have determined what is worth publishing, what should be preserved and what is used. We would not be able to use information as effectively without them.

But today all three professional groups risk extinction, at least in their current guise, unless they adapt quickly to the new context. Who needs an editor or publisher when anyone can digitize anything and make it available to everyone who has access to a computer? With the proliferation of Internet e-books and c-journals, publishers are developing e-strategies to preserve their role in authenticating scholarly work. Teachers too must develop new pedagogical and technical skills for research and teaching.

Most of us learned in school by reading books from cover to cover. Our son still reads books to our granddaughter, which she repeats from cover to cover even though she can’t yet read. But then she runs to the computer and clicks through a hypertext-based learning program -- singing songs, taking actions, answering questions, being corrected, and learning as fast as she can. She is five years old. First grade students are already familiar with these modes of learning -- and expect to use them.

To meet these students’ learning styles teachers are using PowerPoint and other software in presentations. Media and hypertext links are available to students of all ages 24 hours a day. At United Theological Seminary in Dayton, a CD-ROM program explains the use of "Lord" in the translation of Hebrew words. Scott Cormode maintains a site about a fictional congregation named Almond Springs, which engages students and pastors in the lively challenges of pastoral ministry (see the article on page 16). Luther Seminary provides an interactive tutorial for entering students so they can arrive on campus with the knowledge of the Bible presupposed in graduate courses (www.bibletutor.com).

Teachers and students communicate instantly on area networks and over the Internet. Classes engage in online discussions and review sessions. Teachers respond to queries regarding interpretations and applications of course materials. Students collaborate between class sessions on listservs and Internet conferences, and engage theologians and pastors in discussion via interactive video conferencing. Software packages like WebCT (http://www.webct.com/) and Blackboard 5 Course Management (http://wwwblackboard.com/) enable teachers to integrate diverse resources and teaching strategies into their courses.

Add to these examples the amount of information available at the student’s desk and in the classroom, and one begins to understand the changes in the teacher’s role. The teacher is no longer the primary repository of information -- computers can store, sort, retrieve and display information more quickly and efficiently. Some observers predict that as a result of these new resources, teaching in the U.S. will soon resemble Oxbridge-style tutorials, long used in Britain, more than German university lectures.

As teachers struggle to adjust, so do institutions. New technologies create the possibility of virtual schools without walls, without boundaries. William Bennett is founding a company to provide a virtual curriculum for K-12. The University of Phoenix offers undergraduate degrees online. Duke University has an international online MBA program. Theological schools are right behind -- the Association of Theological Schools is busy developing procedures and standards for accrediting distance education programs.

The pressure to create "virtual seminaries" is enormous:

• Many theological students already reside "at a distance." Residential, full-time students without a job or parish assignment are increasingly rare. Seminaries offer evening classes, weekend modular courses and occasional meetings in smaller cohorts in church basements. Many teachers are already traveling to provide off-campus seminars; enabling teachers to contact students without wasteful travel time seems attractive.

• Schools see the possibility of increasing revenue without having to provide new classrooms, dormitories, faculty positions and other resources.

• Distance education attracts new candidates to the ministry by making it possible for those with jobs and families to complete courses anytime, anywhere.

• Many seminaries are urged by their denominations to provide continuing education and lifelong learning opportunities for clergy. The new technologies and resources provide additional opportunities for this kind of service to alumni and other clergy.

• Theological schools are increasingly "schools for the laity." Roman Catholic schools that previously educated only candidates for the priesthood are now educating laypeople to be pastoral associates and other parish leaders. Protestant seminaries have master’s degree programs for laypeople seeking more sophisticated and rigorous theological education. The new technologies provide new ways for theological faculties to become "doctors of the church."

• New information technologies mark a new stage of democratization. We can replace the powerful image of

Abraham Lincoln reading a book by fireplace light with the picture of a single, working mother sitting at a computer in the local public library. She’s studying at one of our best theological schools via Internet.

• Theological schools can help make theological resources and education available to churches. The release of materials into the public domain marks the beginning of a new and wonderful ecumenicity.

Despite these reasonable inducements, schools entering this uncharted territory face some pitfalls. New technology is very expensive, so financially strapped schools must measure the risk of investing. In a climate of rapid change, it is difficult to project costs. As one consultant advised: "The church’s schools cannot afford to keep up with the latest technology like that used by MTV, so it will always appear a bit stodgy." Efficient use of second-tier, tested technology seems prudent. A constant danger is that schools will train faculty and excite students regarding a certain kind of technology, only to discover that the school cannot afford the resources to sustain the work.

The greatest costs in education come from bringing people face-to-face and paying faculty salaries. Some schools are attempting to cut this cost by replacing full-time faculty with adjunct professors. But a combination of canned or wired programs and dispersed part-time adjuncts can weaken or even decimate the ranks of theological faculties.

To use the new technologies for teaching and learning, faculty members must have the basic knowledge -- which adds another task to their busy schedules. Schools must realize that some other priority or time commitment will have to give way for this new learning to take place. What will it be?

The search for new markets at a distance, while enticing, may be misguided. One dean was enthusiastic because his midwestern school could suddenly reach a market stretching from the Mississippi River to the West Coast. He saw the area as an untapped market, since the denomination had no school in the region. But his "discovered" market can now be reached by any theological school in the world as well as his. Also, in paying attention to a new market a school can become alienated from its traditional constituency.

Distance education changes the character of interpersonal relations between students and with faculty in ways that may be troubling. Theological schools are relatively homogeneous, but dispersed smaller cohorts tend to be even more homogeneous, thereby reducing the operative diversity in theological education. Of course, the personal isolation of a student in front of his or her computer represents homogeneity in the extreme. Meanwhile, many schools want to emphasize close interpersonal relationships with faculty mentors and student peers as part of formation for ministry. It is difficult enough to find time for these relationships on a full-time, residential campus. How will students do this from a distance?

Some theological schools are making significant investments in new information technology. Lilly Endowment Inc. recently awarded 72 theological schools a total of $25 million for information technology. Faculty and students need adequate computers and software. Schools also need "local area networks (LANs) to link classrooms, offices, dormitories, libraries, media centers and, in some cases, faculty homes. Schools must provide connections to the Internet through T-1 connections (fast and expensive) or telephone modems (less expensive but frustratingly slow). Schools are retrofitting classrooms with computers, computer jacks, digital projectors for computer generated images, white boards and scanners that digitize images and notes, and interactive teleconferencing facilities that permit individuals and groups to engage in discussion from distant locations.

To make it all work, schools need technicians and computer instructors -- people who are in demand and highly paid in the secular world. The Minnesota Consortium of Theological Schools pooled its resources to hire one instructional technologist who works like a circuit rider, visiting each school one day a week.

Effective use of new technologies demands a steep learning curve in both pedagogy and technology. Schools create "white elephants" if they don’t teach faculty and students effective use of the new technologies and resources. Wise deans spend as much on training as they do on hardware, and they don’t let the hardware get "out in front of" the training.

A theological school must first tend to the pedagogical and theological challenges and potentials. Once it is certain of its mission and confident of the commitments and abilities of its faculty and students, it can shape the technology to its purposes, rather than being distracted or even derailed by the technology.

Worship For The Next Generation

Paul Wilkes led the Parish/Congregation Study, which compiled a list of 300 excellent Protestant congregations and profiled nine of them in Excellent Protestant Congregations: The Guide to the Best Places and Practices. © 2001 by Paul Wilkes. The book, from which this article is excerpted, is being published this month by Westminster John Knox. Among the criteria used for selecting parishes: evidence of a joyful congregational spirit; innovative, thoughtful worship; scripture-based teaching and preaching; emphasis on a deep relationship with God; and attempts to boldly confront problems within the membership and the community. A complete list is available at www. pastoral summit.org.



It’s Friday night in Charlotte, North Carolina, and at the Grady Cole Center the band is already up to speed, with plenty of decibels, perfectly balanced acoustics and a throbbing beat. A crowd streams through the doors, mostly Gen Xers dressed in shorts and tank tops, button-down shirts, Talbot’s dresses and many variations in between. The scent of amaretto- or hazelnut-flavored coffee wafts through the air. Free designer traveling mugs are being handed out in the lobby. At each seat is another coffee "artifact" -- a paper coffee filter. What’s going on?

The pounding music blasting out from a rock band makes Pastor Todd Hahn, 31, think of a soaring cathedral. "Each week, we work hard to have something people can take home with them. No white noise. My people just won’t put up with it."

This is weekly worship at Warehouse 242. Hahn will eventually explain the coffee filters, telling his congregation that they are "grounds" through which God pours his graces. Grace can provide a refreshing drink for the outstretched cups of a generation thirsty for something beyond a latte. It is a new variation on Paul’s musings in I Corinthians, but Hahn knows how to connect with the Starbucks generation.

Warehouse 242 grew out of a Sunday school class at Charlotte’s Forest Hill Evangelical Presbyterian Church "that just seemed to take on a life of its own," Hahn tells me. "People were exchanging phone numbers, talking before and after class, getting together outside of class. It wasn’t a church, but people thought of it as their church. Forest Hill was more for baby boomers, but these people were younger and weren’t completely at home there. It was obvious something was happening, the Spirit was leading us, we just had to follow." That Sunday school class grew into a Saturday night service called satpm.com, and quickly drew hundreds of Gen Xers. Then Hahn, with the blessing and financial support of Forest Hill Church, started his own congregation.

Warehouse 242 is a strange name for a church, but as I page through the thin three-ring binder that contains the history of the year-old church, its genesis is clear. Names like "New Hope Community" or "Southend" were simply not going to work for a Gen X church in Charlotte’s Center City. At a marathon session someone suggested "Warehouse 242," and the name stuck. "A warehouse is a temporary place where you hold things. Stuff comes in and out. . . . Like churches should be, bringing people in, equipping them for life and sending them back into the world," says Hahn. Acts 2:42 ("they devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship") provided the rest of the name.

When Hahn was a college student at the University of North Carolina in the mid-1980s, he met Jimmy Long, who later wrote a book about ministering to Generation X. Long predicted that Hahn would be part of a new generational ministry. "There’s something different about your generation," Long said.

Today, in the house that serves as the church’s temporary administration building, this pastor -- with penetrating blue eyes, red hair, faded jeans, earring and nervous energy -- talks about the generation that churches are eager to gather in, yet find elusive. "Everyone says Gen X people are uncommitted; it’s just that they need something real to be committed to." Hahn goes on:

These are children of divorce, many of whom have no church background. They are wary, mistrustful of institutions that have disappointed us all. They are fragmented. Skeptical of certainty. Life is terribly fragile and unpredictable. They long for deep relationships. They relate to individuals, to people, not some idea or ideal or institutional line. They want to see continuity, where they fit in in this confusing time. They want to give themselves to something beyond a sort of "white bread" world that they live in, but need to see that that "something" is tangible, that it will work. They process truth relationally, so if they see that a community . . . really does stand for something and will be there for them when things are going great and when they suck, then they’ll commit to it.

"These people are not antichurch," Hahn adds. "For many of them, the church isn’t on the screen, not part of their equation. We really do think of ourselves as missionaries to North American culture."

By 2003, Charlotte will be home to 317,000 Gen Xers. "And there is a real hunger in the postmodern culture to be rooted in something more than the contemporary. If you want Sunday school, Sunday night and midweek worship, Warehouse 242 won’t suit you. If you want a church that will go into every corner of your life, every day, here we are. People spend too much time in church; they need to take what church means into the world."

Warehouse 242 is a strange combination of orthodox and contemporary. There are no fancy bulletins for the service, no standing committees (only ministries). The music is usually not Handel. Yet Hahn uses terms like "the priesthood of believers." He may process with a Celtic cross and sing a rock version of the Agnus Dei. Phone calls are more rare than e-mails. Non-Christians are called the "normal" people, and lectio divina, the ancient monastic practice of praying the scriptures, is encouraged.

As an Evangelical Presbyterian Church, Warehouse 242 is by doctrine and practice somewhere between the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.), which is considered theologically liberal, and the Presbyterian Church in America, which broke off in the early 1970s to maintain a more traditionalist approach. EPC requires all churches to hold to "essential" tenets of the Christian faith, but allows each congregation freedom in forming opinions on "nonessential" matters, such as whether women can be elected as deacons and elders.

As a new model of church fashioned entirely for postmodern generations, Warehouse 242 has other differences. It does not have separate services for Christians and non-Christians because conversion is considered a continuing process, not something settled with an emotional altar call. "God brings people to him in different ways, at different paces," says Hahn.

"Warehouse 242 has been a wild trip, but I wouldn’t change it for anything in the world," says Chris Bradle, 26. "I never, ever, pictured church as this good." Bradle had wandered in and out of Christianity his whole life. He moved to Charlotte from upstate New York and went to satpm.com to meet people. A church member talked him into joining a mission trip to Nicaragua to construct a medical clinic.

The experience changed him forever. He made friends, and his interest was piqued as they talked about their ministry "teams." When he got back, he called Todd and asked to be involved in the core group. "I was welcomed with open arms. At the first core group meeting, I had no intention of doing marketing -- I do it all day long. But a lot of stuff happened quickly."

To launch this new church, the core group talked about a 20,000-piece mailing campaign, a typical move for starter churches. But after studying Acts 2, Bradle threw out conventional advertising strategies. "We changed from mass mailing to personal invitation," he says.

Members of the core community were given business cards imprinted with a map to the community center, the church address, phone number and Web site. They then invited their friends to the first Warehouse 242 meeting and handed them a card. No one knew how many would respond to this word-of-mouth advertising. The only other "advertising" is "prayer triplets," where members commit to praying for non-Christians they know.

To avoid unrealistic expectations, Hahn told the core community to expect no more than 150 people at the inaugural service. There was standing room only. Since then, attendance has been between 300 and 500 weekly. While many quickly growing churches deal with growth by starting new ministries to handle the influx of new members, Warehouse 242 leaders decided to focus on doing three things well: small groups, the Sunday worship service and community outreach.

Small groups, or C.Pax, are the core of Ware-house’s ministry. "Relationships are everything to postmodern people," says Stacy Pickerell, pastor of community. "That makes complete sense in Christian context. God himself exists in community. As people who follow him, we too need to exist in community. It’s not just reading the Bible together. It’s about living life together.

That "living life together" approach is readily apparent at Warehouse. The division between Christian and non-Christian that is obvious and encouraged elsewhere is de-emphasized at Warehouse. Instead of shying away from worldly culture, Warehouse encourages members to live Christian lives within the culture.

The goal is to funnel all members into a C.Pak, but often newcomers are not immediately interested in joining a small group. These people are asked to do something, even if it’s standing at the door and greeting people. The church also created "Hands on Warehouse," a group that meets an hour and half before the Sunday service to set up the chairs and sound equipment -- an easy way for people to get involved.

That was the way 20-something "Ned" found his way into Warehouse. Today Ned has a good job in sales, but before he found Warehouse 242, cocaine and crack were his sources of community and satisfaction. "I had run wild long enough, was seeing so many lives go to hell, didn’t want mine to go there, but couldn’t figure a way out," he tells me as we stand outside the Grady Cole Center. "This girl at work told me she’d visited this great place and I ought to try it. People were friendly, welcoming, none of this hand-you-a-program and give-you-a-smile stuff. They really wanted to know me. I never read the Bible before, now I’m working my way through John. I have friends; I help out here. This is the anchor for my life."

C.Pax are designed for maximum interaction between Christians and non-Christians. Warehouse will even disband a group that doesn’t have non-Christians -- "normal" people -- attending. The purpose of the groups is not to build a Christian stronghold against the world, but to open discussions to non-Christians, who often provide new perspectives, and to build relationships between Christians and non-Christians.

Warehouse also discourages small groups made of similar people, such as an all-singles group or a group based on similar interests. "I think the more similar people in churches and small groups are, the more safe and hunkered-down they become," Pickerell says. "I think one of the strengths of C.Pax is they’re diverse. This keeps them on the edge."

The mission of a C.Pak is to "live life" with non-Christians and grow and multiply, thus bringing more people, hopefully non-Christians, into the community. "Every C.Pak should multiply within six months," Pickerell says, "and we won’t let a C.Pak just go on and on. . . . People get really close and it’s terrible to break them up, but look at the new people we’re bringing in."

As non-Christians find acceptance at Warehouse, they begin asking questions. They tell their often sin-filled life stories to the small group, and are moved when members still want to be their friends. "Post-moderns want to know what they’re getting into," Pickerell says. "There’s an environment where honest questioning is really the norm and is really OK."

After two months of invitations from a Warehouse 242 member, a man went bowling with Pickerell’s C.Pak. He was divorced, depressed and not much interested in the Christian faith. "He had anticipated ‘bowling for Jesus,"’ Pickerell says. "But it was OK to smoke, and people were drinking beer. Two months later he gave his life to Christ."

Deb and Dennis Hopkins sold their suburban condo and moved to a primarily black neighborhood to put their beliefs on the line. Several other Warehouse couples are contemplating moving to the same neighborhood. At their C.Pak meeting, half the members were from a recently divided C.Pak. But this didn’t slow the discussion. Members talked about the Sunday sermon, but also about funny animal stories, the sex of the Hopkins’s baby and what to do when you want to invite homosexual friends to church.

When it came time to pray, a woman who knew only one other person in the group talked openly about her boyfriend, who wouldn’t commit to a serious relationship. Others followed up with questions, asking her about the situation. Deb and Dennis Hopkins talked about getting used to hearing gunshots in their neighborhood, and asked for people to continue praying for their new life there.

Many Warehouse members don’t live near family, and often move to Charlotte not knowing anyone. Jennifer Hibbard, 26, graduated from Davidson College in 1998 and moved to Charlotte hoping to get a job in social work. Instead, she found the satpm.com service and, on a whim, called Hahn about a job opening for a ministry assistant.

"What he was describing was nothing like I’d ever planned on pursuing. He asked for a two-year commitment." Yet Hibbard took the job and enrolled in a master’s program in social work. Her commitment with Warehouse is over, but she says she is not moving anywhere. "I have roots here because of Warehouse."

One of the tenets of postmodern theology is that postmodern people sense that the world is random. To counteract that perspective, Hahn teaches that the gospel is a narrative that connects all of history together, and that people’s lives have a place in that story. "There’s such a longing for sense of place," he says. "We want them to see themselves as something bigger than they feel."

"Older generations wanted content and Bible knowledge, preferring to be left to themselves to apply the teachings of the Bible to their lives," Hahn wrote in Gen Xers After God (coauthored with psychologist David Verhagen). "Boomers demanded practical application: ‘Does it work for me?’ Generation Xers are asking a fundamentally different question: ‘Does it matter?"’ In a recent sermon series on idols, Hahn focused on the idols of sex, work and appearance, and suggested they be put aside. "Idols mess up and distort our thinking. They distort our emotions. We long for things more than we should." He taught about finding delight in God rather than the things of the world. The sermon continued in out-of-church discussions, as members struggled to figure out their own idols. "People were making changes in their lives once they found out what their idols were."

Change is not an unusual outcome of life in the Warehouse community. Warehouse urges people to rearrange their priorities. After the sermon series on idols, for example, Bradle quit his job as a senior graphic designer in a prestigious advertising agency. "My job was too consuming," he says. He took over as head of Warehouse’s marketing team, trading a secure job for unemployment and uncertainty. Now he brings professional excellence to a higher priority: presenting the Warehouse 242 ideal to Charlotte.

Warehouse 242 has a ministry staff of five. The rest of the church’s work is done by volunteer ministry teams. The church’s publicity and Web site are handled by Bradle’s marketing team and is slick and professional-looking. This excellence is not left to the randomness of volunteerism: leadership at Warehouse is serious business. "We want to build a leadership culture," Hahn says. "To be the best-led church in North America, because if you’re well led, that results in the accomplishment of vision and ministry."

The pastoral team looks at where a member’s ministry gifts lie, then approaches him or her with a job. "People doubt their abilities, but that’s where we play a huge role," says Pickerell. People are often shocked when they are asked to lead some Warehouse 242 effort because "no one has ever told them that God has given them gifts."

Jenny Lewis, 25, moved to Charlotte to take a banking job. She was soon making enough money to buy a house. Then Pickerell asked Lewis to coffee and presented her with a preposterous job proposition: be their office assistant for less pay, less prestige -- and maybe, no house. "But I couldn’t stop thinking about it," Lewis said. "I really struggled with what that change was going to mean for me." She took the job even though she’s had to find a third roommate to help with the house mortgage.

New leaders are born weekly at Warehouse 242, and involved in service projects ranging from work with unwed mothers to work with men at a city shelter, or disabled kids or flood relief. The lives of hundreds of Gen Xers are filled with the charisma and the demands of a church they never anticipated finding.

In the Grady Cole Center, the Friday service has ended. The burlap backdrop, the stark metal pipe ("Metallica Cross") that is the stage’s focusing point, the screen that projected Power Point scriptural quotations and highlights from Hahn’s talk -- these will soon come down. Most of the coffee filters have been left on the seats. But in the week ahead, when those who were here tonight see a coffee filter in a favorite coffee shop or in the kitchen or at work, they will be reminded: What are the graces of God pouring through their lives? What drink are they offering to the world?

Churches’ Witness on the Family

Despite a mounting body of research showing that high rates of divorce and out-of-wedlock births pose serious threats to the well-being of children, mainline Protestantism has had remarkably little to say in recent years about the nature, health and prospects of the family. We now know that, in all socioeconomic groups, children raised outside of intact two-parent families are significantly more likely than their peers to drop out of high school, end up in prison and experience serious psychological distress. This research has sparked a growing movement on behalf of marriage supported by religious and secular organizations committed to helping families.

Mainline Protestant leaders appeared to take an important step toward joining this movement in November when Robert Edgar, general secretary of the Nation Council of Churches, signed a statement calling on churches to do a better job of articulating God’s purposes for marriage, supporting married couples, and proclaiming the good news about marriage to the wider society. But Edgar quickly withdrew his name from the statement after some interpreted the document as an attack on same-sex unions.

This imbroglio is emblematic of the mainline’s difficulty with articulating a substantive vision of family life and family ministry in recent decades. Since the 1960s, mainline Protestants have drawn on prophetic strands in Christianity and the political left to focus churches’ attention on an evolving series of social-justice issues -- from racism to poverty. To the extent that they have addressed family-related matters, mainline churches have aligned themselves with a therapeutic ethic of care and self-fulfillment that affirms a range of family configurations and sexual practices.

The power of therapeutic liberalism to crowd out substantive discussions of family matters at elite levels is evident in mainline periodicals and in the denominational meetings of three representative churches -- the Episcopal Church, the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) and the United Methodist Church. Between 1980 and 1995, 32 percent of the articles in the CHRISTIAN CENTURY dealt with social-justice issues, only 5 percent with family- and sex-related topics. The subjects considered at national church meetings in the ‘80s and ‘90s exhibit a similar, though less extreme, pattern. Approximately 17 percent of the pages in the journals recording these meetings mentioned social-justice issues, while only about 10 percent mentioned family- or sex-related topics. Moreover, more than 40 percent of family-focused articles in these journals and in the CENTURY dealt with social-justice-related issues like child poverty. Specific discussions of marriage, divorce and parenting were rare.

The mainline has focused on the plight of children. The millions of American children who grow up in desperately poor and dangerous neighborhoods are striking symbols of the "least among us" championed by Jesus. They also are popular beneficiaries of public-welfare measures even at a time when Americans are suspicious of government. Consequently, the mainline has increasingly framed its political advocacy of economic and social equality around the needs of "children and their families."

In the past decade all three of the aforementioned denominations issued major statements on children-such as the Episcopal Church’s "A Children’s Charter for the Church" (1997) and the United Methodist Church’s "Putting Children and Their Families First" (1996). These statements underline a host of hazards confronting children -- from gun violence to poverty-and call for generous welfare policies. Also stressed is the churches’ responsibility to take up the cause of children at the federal, state and local levels. Simultaneously, denominational offices and social-justice groups have worked to raise churches’ awareness of children’s issues.

The mainline’s primary partner in this political advocacy is the Children’s Defense Fund (CDF). The two most prominent examples of this partnership are the 1996 CDF-sponsored rally Stand for Children and the annual Children’s Sabbaths that are designed to focus congregational attention on the plight of disadvantaged children. On June 1, 1996, more than 200,000 people gathered at the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, D.C., to demonstrate their commitment to "protecting and improving the quality of life for all children," in the words of Marion Edelman, head of the CDF. Although the extensive media coverage did not highlight the event’s religious dimension, Stand for Children was the mainline equivalent of the Promise Keeper rally, Stand in the Gap, held on the Mall a year later. Mainline congregations, social-justice networks and national organizations like United Methodist Women sponsored approximately 50,000 attendees.

Edelman’s keynote address conjured up images of Martin Luther King’s "I Have a Dream" speech. It was laced with religious allusions, such as "God’s sacred covenant with every child." Edelman also touched on the importance of parental responsibility, national spiritual revival and cultural renewal. Nevertheless, the bulk of her speech was dedicated to underlining the social forces putting millions of children at risk, and the imperative of relying on public policies, from publicly financed child care to gun-control laws, to help them. She did not mention the impact of the dramatic rises in divorce and out-of-wedlock births on children.

Similar themes emerge in the Children’s Sabbaths program started by the CDF in 1992. The program, scheduled for the third weekend of each October, is designed to promote child-centered worship, advocacy and educational initiatives around particular themes, such as health care or early childhood education. The CDF puts out a book containing a model worship service for Protestant, Catholic and Jewish congregations, as well as a series of activity modules for children and adults. It reaches more than 35,000 congregations across America, most of them mainline. A Protestant sermon in the 1999 volume suggests that "works of faith" should result in "programs, laws and policies that support children and their families," that "labors of love" ought to be focused on activities like mentoring teenagers and working for universal child care, and that Christians are called to "hope" that God will supply adequate food, shelter, health care and education to all children.

All this is in keeping with the liberal tenor of mainline discourse on the plight of "children and their families." While the mainline has a great deal to say about the social-structural evils that afflict children, it sidesteps the impact of family breakdown on child well-being and has very little to say about the responsibilities that parents have to their children. For the most part, the ethic of responsibility is pushed upwards into the civic and political arenas.

But what about congregational discourse? Of course, sermons often refer to family life. Many mainline churches foster what sociologist Nancy Ammerman calls "Golden Rule Christianity," stressing an ethic of care for one’s self and others, especially one’s children. But even here the influence of therapeutic liberalism makes itself felt. Many churches base their acceptance of family pluralism on an ethic of tolerance and a desire to validate people’s sense of self. A recent survey of Presbyterian pastors found that 73 percent of them think that the church should be "tolerant of family changes (divorce, remarriage, same-sex couples) now taking place."

The mainline faith in tolerance leaves many clergy unable or unwilling to articulate theological and moral concerns about divorce, even when children are involved. For instance, one survey of pastoral care counselors -- 62 percent of whom are mainline clergy -- found that only 50 percent are more cautious about divorce when children are involved, in contrast to 74 percent of secularly trained family psychiatrists. Pastoral care’s commitment to humanistic psychology -- particularly its insistence that relationships must promote personal fulfillment -- appears to trump concerns about children’s need for stable families.

This ethic of tolerant acceptance can also contribute to an inability to articulate a broader, normative vision of family life. Coupled with a distaste for the Religious Right’s approach to "family values," it has kept many churches from presenting a clear vision of what families should aspire to be. One prominent Presbyterian church in Chicago offers a theologically grounded discourse that critiques the Religious Right’s "family values" by talking about Jesus Christ’s ministry of inclusion. Such churches, says Christian ethicist Lois Livezey, favor "conversation" rather than "definitive guidance."

Sociologist Penny Edgell Becker’s survey of mainline pastors in upstate New York found that more than 85 percent believe that "God approves of all families" and almost half reject the term "family ministry" as exclusionary. By contrast, no conservative Protestant pastors thought God approved of all families, and only 13 percent thought that family ministry was an exclusive term.

Ironically, despite an emphasis on inclusiveness, mainline churches actually offer fewer formal programs for nontraditional families than do conservative Protestant churches. As Don Browning, director of the Religion, Culture and Family Project at the University of Chicago Divinity School, has argued, churches that have articulated a normative theology of the family, tempered by a strong emphasis on human fallibility, are often better equipped to speak frankly about departures from their ideals and to offer services to members who have fallen short of those ideals. For example, the National Congregation Survey (NCS) reveals that conservative Protestant churches are more than twice as likely as mainline churches to offer nontraditional family ministries like support groups for divorced and single adults. Becker’s survey of 125 upstate New York churches reports similar findings: "Liberal and moderate Protestants report virtually no programming, formal or informal, directed to meeting the needs of single mothers or divorced mothers."

Even more ironic is that mainline congregations actually have slightly more formal programs for conventional families than do conservative Protestant churches. While 22 percent of mainline Protestants attend churches that offer formal marriage or parenting programs, only 20 percent of conservative Protestants do (though many evangelicals and fundamentalists get family support from parachurch ministries like Focus on the Family). Thus, mainline churches continue to offer what Becker calls the "standard package" of family ministries that were institutionalized earlier in the century for married couples with children.

The mainline mix of conventional practice and discursive liberalism is apparently attractive to many young and middle-aged married couples with children, who made up 34 percent of the active adult attendees of mainline churches in the ‘90s, a clear majority of the active attendees age 60 and under. This paralleled the larger population, in which 34 percent of adults age 60 and under were also married with children. But compared to the population at large, members of mainline churches were significantly less likely to be single parents age 40 and under, young single adults or married couples without children. Surprisingly, mainline churches were also less likely than conservative churches to attract members from nontraditional households.

Given the mainline’s stress on inclusion, why do fewer young adults in nontraditional households end up in mainline congregations? Apparently, the inclusive family ethic articulated in mainline congregations functions more as an identity marker than as a guide to congregational practice. Talking about acceptance and diversity allows mainline churches to signal their adherence to the canons of liberalism and to erect symbolic boundaries against fundamentalism. At the same time, pastoral practice maintains the longstanding ties between mainline Protestantism and the two-parent family. The mainline family paradox is that the church talks about the value of diversity, but practices conventional familism.

This paradox makes sense in light of the patterns of middle- and upper-class American life. Many middle- and upper-class adults raised in the mainline, or disillusioned with their upbringing in Catholic or conservative Protestant churches, come back to church only when they are married and have children. They want to give their children the religious and moral formation they themselves received, they want to meet other young families, and they tend to connect their new social status as parents and community members with churchgoing. At the same time, they are looking for a form of Christianity that does not violate middle- and upper-class cultural conventions of tolerance, gender equality and a therapeutic ethic of self-realization.

This leaves mainline churches in a difficult predicament. On the one hand, if they want to thrive and remain true to their deepest theological commitments, they must reach out to America’s growing ranks of unconventional families. They must develop programs for divorced men and women, single parents and cohabiting couples. On the other hand, if they are serious about improving the welfare of children, mainline churches must do more to articulate a substantive vision of the family that confronts the mounting evidence that divorce and out-of-wedlock childbearing pose serious threats to children. This means adding their distinctive perspective to the budding marriage movement, as well as addressing public policy issues related to marriage, divorce and unwed parenting.

Articulating a vision of the family centered on marriage but sensitive to the growing ranks of adults and children who do not live in conventional families is, of course, a challenging assignment. Still, the difficulty is not insurmountable. The success that conservative Protestant churches have achieved in combining a clear vision of family life with innovative family programs for nontraditional families suggests that the mainline could do something similar. A successful mainline approach to family ministry would be distinguished by its emphasis on egalitarian gender roles and -- given the egalitarian trajectory of mainline churches -- its eventual incorporation of gay marriage. The destiny of the mainline and the well-being of countless "children and families" will depend on the success of such an approach.

Kids These Days: The Changing State of Childhood

Book Review

Huck’s Raft: A History of American childhood By Steven Mintz. Belknap, 464 pp.

 

The path from innocence to experience is inevitably complicated: we are tempted to think that the world has become treacherous, not that we ourselves were once blazingly naïve. If we fail to recognize our own glorious grandiosity, then as the years go by we are liable to fall victim to a peculiarly hazardous nostalgia: yearning for a past that never existed.

Such quirky nostalgia surrounds our cultural past as well as our personal histories, especially in considerations of the family. Historians and sociologists have been warning about this for years: there is no lost Golden Age in which families had fewer problems than families have now. The problems change, but that’s about all. They insist that we must not dream that we can solve contemporary problems by reverting to a past that never was.

The childhood we remember, like the childhoods our parents and grandparents recount, is inevitably colored by the limitations of our youthful perceptions. People were not more trustworthy and responsible once upon a time, for instance; rather, we trusted more easily then than we do now. Growing up is always, to some extent, a loss.

With Huck’s Raft, Steven Mintz, who holds an endowed chair in history at the University of Houston, makes possible an exponential advance in the clarity with which we understand the history of families in this country. A substantial tome at 384 pages of text plus almost 800 footnotes, Huck’s Raft is more a compendium of information than a sustained argument, but it’s a reasonably lively read because Mintz knows how to tell a story. He adeptly leavens his accounts with anecdotes about individual children and their households, bringing his data to life with portraits of Native American, slave and immigrant children; children fighting in the Civil War and working in factories; orphaned children, refugee children, and children hawking flowers on street corners; children of the poor, the wealthy and the religiously obsessed. He documents repeatedly that children have always shared in the fortunes of their families, for better or -- often -- for worse.

It’s a sobering message. Children have always suffered right alongside their parents when public health measures have been inadequate, when the economy has not supplied a living wage, when violence has erupted. The vagaries of history and the harshness of the American economy have always wreaked havoc on the lives of a remarkable percentage of American children -- and Mintz has collected a stunning array of evidence to explain who, how, where and to what extent. He offers particularly compelling documentation for his central contention that childhood is a social construct whose meaning changes to accord with changes in the larger cultural definitions of human nature.

Two of Mintz’s 17 chapters concern the last quarter of the 20th century, and these are inevitably the most interesting for general readers. In the first of the two he laments what he calls a "grossly inflated and misplaced sense of crisis" regarding children’s well-being. I agree that polemicists in the culture wars are often as careless with historical facts and epidemiological data about children as they are with facts generally. It’s a long American tradition: we have always argued about child-rearing because the "American experiment" depends upon it.

Nonetheless, I think Mintz glosses over a body of very serious evidence that would refute his sanguine claim that "by most measures, the well-being of youth improved markedly between the early 1970s and the late 1990s."

For instance, in Life Without Father, David Popenoe offers stunning evidence of negative outcomes for the growing number of children whose fathers are absent, whether because of divorce or because their parents did not marry. The negative impact of divorce itself is addressed in The Divorce Culture, by Barbara Dafoe Whitehead, and in The Unexpected Legacy of Divorce, by Judith Wallerstein and her colleagues. Mintz does cite one study showing that "serious social, emotional or psychological problems" are 2.5 times more frequent in the long term among children of divorced parents, but the citation is buried in a footnote. In the text itself, he says -- correctly -- that the majority of children do not demonstrate problems.

In parallel fashion, Mintz does observe that most child care is poor to mediocre, but this is the best possible formulation of the case. Though quality care is most crucial in the first two years, major studies rate only 8 percent of infant child care as good or excellent. Mintz does not refer at all to research by developmental psychologists such as Jay Belsky of London’s Birkbeck College and Alan Sroufe of the University of Minnesota; nor does he cite the huge, multicenter National Institute of Child Health studies, all of which suggest that more than 20 hours per week of child care beginning before the age of one correlates with a higher incidence of interpersonal difficulties by early grade school.

For those who do use child care, the costs are astronomical: in 1998, annual in-state tuition at the University of Illinois cost only half of what a young parent would spend for a year of licensed, accredited child care for a child under three years old. Given the rise in the number of single-parent households, stagnant-to-falling median income and increasing instability of employment in the global economy, the prohibitive cost of decent child care is a matter of long-term national well-being. And consider this: child care workers themselves are paid poverty-level wages, which leads to remarkably high levels of turnover. We pay parking lot attendants and kennel workers more than we pay the people who care for our children.

Yet many parents have no choice. As it was for generations of American parents before them, it is beyond their reach economically to provide for their children as well as they would wish. As Arlie Hochschild asserts in The Commercialization of Intimate Life, massive economic forces are now arrayed against family life. The money just isn’t there. Sylvia Ann Hewlett and Cornel West contend in The War Against Parents that current policy requires parents to be stunningly irrational actors -- and thank heavens so many are. But that necessity is a shaky basis for national policy.

Even though many children cope successfully, the dysfunction of a rapidly growing minority of children takes a dangerous toll upon child well-being generally. Mintz gets to this in his final chapter, which begins with a long description of the Columbine shootings and continues with a sober account of the severely unhealthy social dynamics permeating many schools. During the 1990s, he points out, the average number of school shootings with multiple victims increased from two to five per year.

Mintz attributes this pattern to the fact that children and youth now have very few ties to adults other than parents and teachers, and even fewer opportunities within the broader culture to demonstrate and exercise their developing maturity. Meanwhile, a semiautonomous "youth culture" -- backed up, I would add, by massive marketing to children -- endlessly demands a sexualized precocity that mimics adulthood without meeting genuine developmental needs. Mintz concludes that the psychological cost to children has steadily grown more apparent, and he makes the familiar array of policy recommendations: more widely available health care, education reform, subsidized high-quality child care, family-friendly employment policies, a living wage, a limited work week and economic support to the impoverished.

This call for change would be more persuasive if Mintz had not just spent an entire chapter insisting that recent accounts of a crisis in child well-being are nothing but a matter of moral panic and polemical distortion. A darker assessment of current child well-being would accord more consistently with what Mintz’s entire history reveals: that economic and social trends afflicting adults’ lives have an even more negative impact upon the lives of children. Declining social capital, broadly defined, has a disproportionate impact upon children because their needs are social-capital intensive. Furthermore, today children are more likely than people of any other age group to live in poverty, and, as Mintz explains in such excellent detail, it has always been true that when children live in poverty both their physical and social needs are apt to go unmet.

Those of us whose early needs were adequately satisfied must always remember that we are exceptions in the history of childhood. Children are extremely vulnerable to the fates of their parents. When real wages are falling, when the gap between rich and poor grows wider every quarter, when parents across the board are working ever-longer hours at jobs that are increasingly insecure, we need to remember that the resulting problems are inevitably amplified in the lives of the young. To borrow the name of the famous 1983 study, we are indeed a nation at risk.

Harry Potter and the Bullies

When the Harry Potter movie is released this fall, long lines at theaters are sure to provoke yet more speculation about the popularity of J. K. Rowling’s novels (Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire). Part of it, I suppose, is the plain dumb luck of setting off a fad: kids are reading her books because other kids are reading her books. Most such fads are shabby stuff, but Rowling’s commercial success is honestly earned. She patiently develops all the traditional elements of narrative -- setting, character, style, theme, plot -- so as to explore the reasons why kids taunt other kids, and the reasons why one might refuse or resist such behavior. There is no denying the comic verve and unpredictable adventure of these four novels, but we need also to recognize that J. K. Rowling is both a master storyteller and a narrative moralist with something important to say.

Most of the action in these novels takes place at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, which Harry Potter attends. In the traditional manner of mythic-heroic narrative, this setting is a lively, well-detailed physical place that nonetheless reverberates repeatedly to the moral and psychological dimensions of the hero’s development. For instance, the school grounds include a Forbidden Forest and a deep, mysterious lake across which arriving students must sail in the dead of night. Lake and forest are replete with magical creatures both dangerous and helpful; near them dwells a kindly half-giant wild man named Hagrid, who guides the first-year students in their nocturnal trip. At times Hagrid offers comic relief, but he also serves as the headmaster’s right-hand man and as an empathic counterpoint to the more cerebral and emotionally distant characters on the Hogwarts faculty. Hagrid is also something of a drunk, and he keeps adopting dangerous magical creatures as pets. Both habits move the plots forward at key points.

Hagrid is typical of how astutely Rowling fills every available archetypal niche, conjuring up characters, creatures and magical spells with effervescent delight. My favorite minor instance of this comic plenitude is the infamously boring history professor, who died in his armchair in the faculty lounge, failed to notice that he had died and got up as a ghost to continue his lectures "in a flat drone like an old vacuum cleaner" (The Chamber of Secrets). And yet, there is ample evidence that history holds the key to many of the mysteries surrounding Harry and his antagonist, the evil Lord Voldemort.

Although Rowling’s characters are convincing and engaging, none of them is fully three-dimensional. These characters are progressively revealed, but they don’t grow or change -- not even Harry himself. As each school year passes, Harry becomes more and ever more clearly who he is. But that’s all. His development is essentially linear. Nonetheless, Rowling’s characters are such fully realized types, deployed with such insight, that few readers will be inclined to complain.

Rowling’s control of character is matched by control of style. Hers is transparent, melodic and honest. Word-play abounds, especially in names. Harry’s principal enemy among his classmates is a chronic bully named Draco Malfoy, whose henchmen are named Grabbe and Goyle. Draco’s father, Lucius Malfoy, is one of the principal supporters of Lord Voldemort -- whose name, translated and uncurled, means "loved death."

By far the most intriguing name is that of the headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. In that name I hear albus, stumble, door. I don’t know where Bowling is going with this one, but there is abundant evidence that she would know what a liturgical alb is, just as she would know the etymological links between albus and "white" or "elf." Dumbledore is certainly a proponent of white magic, but he is also an outspoken advocate of what the Gospel of Luke calls the "narrow door" -- an archetypal image for the transforming power of major choices or recognitions (Luke 13:22-30). Finally, despite his powers and his wisdom, Dumbledore’s judgment stumbles now and then. Some such error is apt to prove decisive for Harry.

Despite recent media hype, Bowling first became popular through word-of-mouth among young readers. The key to her appeal, I would argue, is how seriously she engages bullying as a theme, dramatizing an issue that shapes the daily lives of all too many youngsters. Both at home and at school, Harry endures the taunting of bullies. As he moves from the ordinary suburban world of his abusive foster parents into the enchanted realm of the Hogwarts School, the bullying intensifies from nasty to mortally dangerous (a progression that U.S. schoolchildren have witnessed in real life).

One of Rowling’s most adept approaches to the topic is through the figure of Professor Snape, who teaches the making of magic potions. Like several other adults -- including Voldemort himself -- Snape still carries the wounds and the rage of schoolyard encounters. Like Draco, Snape is inexplicably, relentlessly cruel. He maliciously abuses his authority in his efforts to shame Harry and his friends, to favor his own "house" in the school competition, and to get Harry expelled. Is Snape "just" a grown-up bully, "merely" a meanspirited teacher of the kind that every kid must contend with at some point? Are his threats "just teasing"? Or is he actually in cahoots with Voldemort? Dumbledore trusts that Snape has repented of his former affiliation with Voldemort and reformed his ways, but an attentive reader will notice that the early evidence for that claim is later undermined. As novel follows novel in the series, as Harry and his pals edge ever closer to adulthood, the dangers represented by all this taunting become ever more deadly.

Rowling handles bullying as a theme very delicately, formulating it mostly through plot developments, simply inviting us to notice parallels and draw our own conclusions. Here Rowling’s narrative craftsmanship and her psychological insight combine most effectively. Consider, for instance, how she solves the problem that a novel in a series must sustain two different levels of plot. The plot of the series as such is the ongoing efforts of Voldemort to reorganize his scattered followers and return to power as he recovers from near-death. He is in such straits because his magic curse, intended to kill the infant Harry Potter, rebounded off the baby and nearly killed him instead. (That explains the scar on Harry’s forehead.)

Each individual novel recounts some specific comeback attempt by Voldemort, an attempt that somehow involves Hogwarts, its leaders or its environs. Harry and his friends thwart Voldemort time and again, but each time more narrowly. Because the tensions in the larger world permeate the school in this way, the malicious taunting by Professor Snape and Draco Malfoy finds parallel in the murderous, inexplicable malice of Lord Voldemort. As one of Voldemort’s accomplices explains, "There is no good and evil, there is only power, and those too weak to seek it" (Sorcerer’s Stone).

Albus Dumbledore articulates another perspective on the same question. "It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities" (Chamber of Secrets). When Voldemort kills a student in the school, Dumbledore warns the assembled students to remember the boy’s fate whenever they must "make a choice between what is right and what is easy" (Goblet of Fire). What we are opposing when we choose wisely is the power of ruthless violence and exploitation; what we are opting for, Dumbledore continues, is the contrary power of friendship and trust. In such ways, Rowling argues that a 14-year-old’s choices about bullying form one legitimate aspect of a deeply resonant moral issue.

The moral seriousness of Rowling’s stories is most evident in the schemes of the murderous Lord Voldemort and in how these schemes test Harry’s character. We are not told why Voldemort wants Harry dead. Harry himself asks Dumble- dore, who refuses to tell him. Shadowy hints abound that Voldemort is somehow related to Harry, apparently through Harry’s father James. (Voldemort killed both of Harry’s parents in his unsuccessful effort to kill Harry himself.)

In the classic manner of the coming-of-age novel, Harry struggles mightily to figure out his own identity and to discover and claim his rightful place in society -- a society that more or less resists that claim, both innocently (in the effort to protect him) and maliciously. Usually such novels portray the hero’s loss of innocence as he encounters this resistance. But that’s not the trajectory of Harry’s development. Instead, Rowling’s abused young hero must learn how to trust and whom to trust. Although Harry obviously has what moralists call "a fundamental option for the good," he needs to learn that exercising this option fully requires cooperation with others. The virtuous life is necessarily social; evil has only accomplices, not community -- which it reliably destroys.

Literally, Harry must survive, discover and then manage his connection to Voldemort. In doing so, he must also determine or discover where he stands in the timeless conflict between good and evil, particularly in light of his precocious ability as a wizard and his enigmatic role in the culturewide conflict into which he was born. When Harry deceives Dumbledore, whom he is reluctant to trust, Rowling plainly and repeatedly says, "he lied." The deception is understood sympathetically but nonetheless depicted as both a moral and a practical mistake. Harry’s survival depends upon his developing the courage and the wisdom to trust appropriately and thereby to ally himself with other proponents of the good. Each novel develops this theme by presenting Harry and his two best friends, Ron and Hermione, with a series of challenges to their skills, their honor, their integrity, and their loyalty to one another.

In the most archetypal of these tests, Harry has to use his magic skills to swim all the way across the bottom of the mysterious lake as part of a contest with other schools of wizardry. Once there he has to rescue Ron, who has been enchanted and tied to an underwater statue. Instead of continuing the race, Harry lingers to be certain that none of the hostages awaken and drown because a contestant failed to free them within the allotted time. At the depths of the deep lake, Harry discovers what success means to him in comparison to the lives of innocent victims -- in this case, Hermione and the little sister of another contestant. The psychological resonances are dramatic, but Rowling portrays the scene with classical restraint.

Harry remains under water because he does not trust that the school will ensure the safety of these "hostages." It does not occur to him that the exercise at the lake is merely a game, because at Hogwarts, nothing is "just a game." The contestants were told that hostages will drown if they fail, and he takes that threat at face value; we are left to wonder how the good Dumbledore came to consent to such an emotionally abusive contest. Rowling’s plots repeatedly acknowledge the importance of what many adults too casually dismiss as "just a game" or passively tolerate because "kids will be kids." The young bully Draco Malfoy is surely developing into the same sort of murderous conspirator as his father, Lucius Malfoy: at Hogwarts, as in the real world, children powerfully mirror the adults who are their role models.

Older children and younger adolescents -- roughly those from eight to 15 -- are awash in the discovery of their own critical judgment and spectacularly eager to put it to use. Rowling taps into that eagerness and sets her readers loose on questions that are as good as questions get: Who or what is evil? Who or what is good? How can we be sure we have decided correctly? Whom should we trust? Like Harry, every adolescent -- and every adult -- faces defining choices in responding to good and to evil, choices that count for much more than SAT scores, grade-point averages or adjusted gross income.

Rowling’s moral vision of our common humanity, like her narrative style, is in some distinctive ways premodern: she has an honest, confident optimism that human beings are equipped to recognize, to desire and to choose the good. Although she portrays evil in unflinching detail, she also dramatizes the appeal of the good. Her success in this difficult endeavor reflects the sophistication of her comedy: her sense of humor keeps her from falling into either irony or sentimentality.

In the ordinary mythic-heroic narratives upon which Rowling relies, the hero rescues an innocent victim. But Rowling adeptly combines the two roles of hero and victim: Harry Potter is not only a very talented young wizard but also a scarred orphan with abusive foster-parents, mortal enemies, mean teachers and malicious classmates. He triumphs -- he rescues himself from the problems he faces -- by developing virtues equal and opposite to the anger, insecurity and pathetic yet ruthless egotism that characterize his enemies. In learning to trust and to cooperate with others, he reestablishes in a mature way the naïve innocence he had as an infant attacked by Voldemort and then handed over to foster-parents who despise him. Harry’s triumph is moral, not simply political nor merely physical. Even his nascent skills as a wizard come to fruition at key moments only through some new and immediately prior leap in his moral and emotional development.

Rowling’s fine craftsmanship as a narrative moralist comes to a single clear point: the first-fruits of suffering and exclusion can be compassion and resilience, not rage and revenge. In her narrative world, the bullies are chumps. Maybe they are powerful at times, but ultimately they are losers. Maybe they hurt us, but we are not doomed to be their victims, because if we remain loyal, kind and honest we will emerge victorious in the end. Perhaps we will remain scarred; but we can remain morally whole, which is the greatest victory.

That’s a wise and consoling lesson for kids who are feeling besieged or tormented by their peers, or uncertain what to do when the bullies descend upon the class scapegoat. No wonder so many kids -- and so many adults as well -- are reading these novels with such pleasure. Long after the movies close and the media hype dies down, the enduring appeal of these books will rest secure upon the solid foundation of Rowling’s skill and her vision: life is hard, but there is hope; above all we must care for one another -- and carry a small, flexible wand forged of feistiness and ingenuity.

Nonviolent Voices

It is not a propitious time to be a pacifist in the United States. Polls indicate that over 90 percent of Americans continue to support the military campaign in Afghanistan. Indications of such support are everywhere, as are the warnings -- like the ubiquitous and vaguely threatening "Americans Unite" bumper stickers -- that this time of national crisis is not the time for dissent. Not only are there very few voices in the mainstream media expressing doubts about the wisdom of the current military operation, but a number of commentators have waxed apoplectic over any possibility that there may be those in the land who oppose the war effort.

In a pair of particularly venomous columns National Journal editor and Washington Post columnist Michael Kelly not only derided antiwar protesters as those "unhappy people who like to yell about the awfulness of ‘Amerika’ or international corporations or rich people or people who drive large cars," but he also attacked pacifists as "liars," "frauds" and "hypocrites," whose views are "objectively pro-terrorist" and "evil."

The leaders of some mainline denominations have been rather restrained in their support of a military response to the terrorist attacks. In early November the United Methodist Council of Bishops issued a statement observing that "violence in all its forms and expressions is contrary to God’s purpose for the world." Still, it appears that American churchgoers have been as supportive of the U.S. military campaign as the rest of the citizenry. From the beginning some Christians have been particularly enthused about countering violence with violence.

In the midst of all this stand the historic peace churches -- Mennonites, Quakers and Brethren. From their beginnings in the Reformation these groups have refused to countenance warfare, committed as they are to the proposition that nonviolence is at the heart of the Gospels and at the heart of what it means to be a Christian -- that is, to follow Jesus is to reject the sword.

Despite the strong public sentiment against such convictions after the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Towers and the Pentagon, a perusal of public statements made by the leadership of the historic peace churches clearly indicates that, while they have repeatedly called for the perpetrators to be held accountable, they have not backed away from their commitment to nonviolence.

On September 13 Judy Mills Reimer, general secretary of the General Board of the Church of the Brethren, called on members of her denomination to "remember who we are and whose we are." She went on: "This is a time to stand by our belief as Christians that all war is wrong. . . Let us, out of our Church of the Brethren convictions, continue to witness to Jesus’ gospel of peace."

The next day James Schrag, executive director of the Mennonite Church USA, sent a public letter to President Bush, calling on him to forsake the sort of eye-for-an-eye retaliation that "escalates violence for everyone and does not work," and urging him instead "to seek Jesus’ new way of security rooted in our trust in God and our concern for all." In response to growing cries "for retribution, retaliation and revenge," a number of Quaker organizations issued a Call for Peace on September 29, "challenging those whose hearts and minds seem closed to the possibility of peaceful resolution," and pleading for "people of goodwill the world over [to] commit to the building of a culture of peace."

Eight days after this statement the U.S. bombing campaign began. The Friends General Conference, the American Friends Service Committee and other Quaker organizations responded with a joint statement in which they observed that the only way to succeed in the struggle against terrorism would be to engage in "prolonged, nonviolent efforts for reconciliation, justice and long-term economic development"; in this conviction "we continue to be guided by our historic testimony concerning God’s call to renounce war . . . we commit ourselves to work and pray for the time . . . promised by God when ‘peoples shall beat their swords into plowshares."’

Echoing these sentiments, the Peace and Justice Committee of the Mennonite Church USA proclaimed that, instead of bombing and other forms of violence, "God calls us to give bread to our enemies," to do the "unexpected [in order] to stop the cycle of revenge." And on October 22 the Church of the Brethren’s General Board adopted a resolution that called "for the immediate cessation of military action against the nation of Afghanistan," and that called on all Brethren "to creatively and nonviolently challenge the prevailing belief that the application of force is the path to enduring peace.

These are powerful statements at odds with the American mainstream, including the religious mainstream. Anyone who studies religion in the United States, however, knows that denominational proclamations can be unreliable barometers of what is going on among the membership. But there is a good deal of evidence that many Mennonites, Quakers and Brethren remain ardently committed to pacifism. One only has to follow the conversations on MennoLink, a collection of online Mennonite discussion groups, to be struck by the number of Mennonites who are resolutely and articulately nonviolent, and who are critical of America’s past and present foreign policy.

In regard to local Mennonite congregations, there is the example of Assembly Mennonite Church (Goshen, Indiana), which has proposed a "season of solidarity" with Muslims during Ramadan, in which church members fast, pray for peace and collect blankets to be sent to those suffering in Afghanistan. And there is a group of Delaware Quakers who, at Newark’s Community Day celebration (held on September 16), organized a booth which, as reported by a member of the Newark Meeting, "featured a circle of chairs surrounding a huge floral arrangement and under a canopy bearing a big sign, ‘Pray for Peace Here."’

A perusal of the Church of the Brethren Web pages provides clear evidence that a commitment to pacifism is not limited to denominational headquarters: the 48 churches of the Northern Indiana District Conference have joined to urge "the use of nonviolent approaches and interventions" in response to the terror; the Elizabethtown, Pennsylvania, Church of the Brethren has adopted a statement in which they "remain committed to walk in the Jesus way of nonviolent love, in which evil can only be overcome with redemptive acts of love"; a group of Brethren Volunteer Service Workers have issued a statement in which they "advocate the use of nonviolent means to settle disputes" and "stand opposed to the increased drive toward militarization"; on October 7 members of local Brethren churches (along with Mennonites and others) organized a peace rally at the state capitol in Harrisburg, "Sowing Seeds of Peace: Prayers and Petitions for Nonviolent Action," which attracted over 300 people.

Of course, such sentiments are not unanimously held by members of the historic peace churches. For example, in the October 12 issue of Newsline, a Church of the Brethren weekly newsletter, there were reports of "tension and dissension" in "Brethren congregations at various points across the country . . . in regards to issues of pacifism and patriotism." Newsline reported that in some churches members were "questioning the Brethren peace position in light of current events, sometimes putting pastors in difficult positions"; a "few churches postponed love feast services. . . amid congregational quarreling." Congregational disagreements in response to the denominational stance on the military campaign have also been reported in some Mennonite churches (although there have also been reports of newcomers who have begun attending precisely because of the peace position).

One can also find dissenters on MennoLink and in the letters section of Mennonite periodicals, including the individual who, in the October 16 issue of the Mennonite, criticized a recent editorial and asserted that governments "have served and will continue to serve as a means by which God secures his brand of . . . often violent justice."

The most publicized statement of disagreement with the pacifist position from within the historic peace churches has been that of National Public Radio’s Scott Simon, who is a Quaker. In remarks at a September 25 United Church of Christ gathering Simon acknowledged that, while his support of military force in the Balkans and elsewhere meant that he was "a Quaker of not particularly good standing," he was "still willing to give first consideration to peaceful alternatives." However, he forcefully asserted, in confronting the forces that attacked the World Trade Center and the Pentagon, the U.S. has no sane alternative but to wage war, and wage it with unflinching resolution.

Fellow Quaker David Johns may be more ambivalent about this prospect than Simon, but he has arrived at a similar conclusion. An assistant professor of theology at the Earlham School of Religion (in Richmond, Indiana) and a recorded minister in the Religious Society of Friends, Johns was embarrassed at how fast some in his own denomination and college responded to the September 11 attacks with official statements asserting that the U.S. should not go to war. As Johns sees it, such statements were not only unseemly in their haste -- memos and family pictures from the World Trade Center towers were still drifting over Manhattan and we were ready to announce to the world what we would and would not do -- but they grew out of an unattractive combination of national self-loathing and utopian pacifism. While he "was once an absolute pacifist," Johns now believes that "the state may have to use force in this broken world."

In saying this, Johns admits that he is torn: he is "trying to follow the Way of the Cross" in his life, and he seeks "to live a life of peaceableness" in all his relationships, but he cannot understand "what unilateral nonviolence would look like as American foreign policy." So he supports "the current military campaign," which he grants "may not be perfect," but which is something "we need to do" as one component of response to the threat of future terrorist attacks.

But most peace church academics and leaders speaking out on the current crisis would demur. As Judith McDaniel, director of peacebuilding for the American Friends Service Committee, has observed in a brief article on her organization’s Web page, "Is It Punishment or Prevention," there is little evidence that "bombs/war/violence are going to put an end to bombs/war/violence"; in fact, McDaniel pointedly asserts, "the bombing of Afghanistan . . . harms more innocent people without achieving its alleged goal of stopping further attacks."

To respond to terrorism with violence will actually have the perverse effect of creating more violence in the future, according to John Paul Lederach, professor of international peacebuilding at Notre Dame and distinguished scholar at the Conflict Transformation Program at Eastern Mennonite

University. As Lederach argues in "The Challenge of Terror," an essay that has gotten a good deal of attention within the peace community (and that was published in the October 2 issue of the Mennonite), massive bombing and other acts of violence simply "sustain.., the myth of why we [in the West] are evil," thus giving terrorists "gratuitous fuel for self-regeneration, fulfilling their prophecies by providing them with martyrs and justifications."

Of course, religious pacifists recognize that it is not enough to point out that the massive military campaign currently under way will not work, and in fact will do more harm than good. That is to say, they know that those supporting the war effort will demand an answer to the question: In light of the possibility of further terrorist acts, what would you have us do? But for pacifists such as James Juhnke, professor of history at Bethel College (a Mennonite college in Kansas), there is something "breathtaking" about folks who have "applied principles of violence and force that have not worked" now demanding solutions from the pacifists: "Asking us to provide a short-term solution to a problem that long-term militarism has created is a little like asking a medical doctor for a short-term solution for a cancer-ridden patient who has been smoking tobacco all his life."

J. Denny Weaver, professor of religion at Bluffton College (a Mennonite college in Ohio), puts it this way in his article "Pacifist Response to 9-11": "It is unfair to assume that pacifists, who did not create the situation in the first place . . . can now be parachuted into the middle of [the crisis] with a ready-made solution."

More than this, peace church representatives can legitimately claim that the U.S. government has already disregarded what would have been the best short-term response to the crisis. Juhnke and some (but certainly not all) others in the peace church tradition have argued that the best immediate response would have been to establish a genuinely international police force which would have sought -- with the least force necessary -- to arrest those accused of terrorist acts, and which would have brought them to an international court for trial. But with the massive and U.S.-dominated military response, and with the talk of American military tribunals, this option is no longer a possibility.

Still, for peace church academics and leaders, the real solutions to terror and war are to be found in responses that go beyond Osama bin Laden and the current crisis. In keeping with many of his Mennonite, Brethren and Quaker colleagues, Lederach has argued that instead of "seeking accountability through revenge," the powers-that-be should "pursue a sustainable peace process" in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, invest "financially in development, education and a broad social agenda" in countries where terrorism is nurtured, and give "diplomatic but dynamic support" to the Arab League. Weaver and others add to this by proposing that the U.S. end sanctions on Iraq, pull its troops out of Saudi Arabia, and move toward a more equitable distribution of foreign aid in the Middle East (in particular, less to Israel and more to the Palestinians).

Dale Brown, Church of the Brethren peace theologian, goes beyond specific policy proposals in his essay "Repent, for the Kingdom of Heaven is at Hand." For Brown, if the United States could commit itself to refusing to imitate the "evil deeds" of the terrorists, if the U.S. would eschew the violence that has marked its post-World War II foreign policy, if the U.S. could abandon its "faith in redemptive violence," if the U.S. could spend as much money on a peace academy as it does on the service academies . . . well, there would be some hope for a peaceful future. Brown acknowledges that many folks, including some in the peace church tradition, are skeptical that the "Jesus’ way can realistically be applied to national policies." Nevertheless, Brown says, in a world in which we are all vulnerable to terrorist acts, "it increasingly seems believable that the responses of Jesus, Gandhi and Martin Luther King are relevant to the present confusing crisis."

A number of people outside of the peace church tradition seem to be quite interested in what these pacifists are saying and doing. Not only did a recent edition of the Religion and Ethics Newsweekly devote a segment to religious pacifism, but a number of local newspapers throughout the country have run stories on this topic. One example involves the Toledo Blade and Richard Kauffman, pastor of the Toledo Mennonite Church. Shortly after the attacks on New York and Washington, Kauffman received a call from a Blade columnist who wanted to know what someone who "is a pacifist as a matter of faith thinks about the events." Kauffman explained that he and his congregation "take Jesus very literally, and very seriously." Kauffman pointed out that "Jesus talks about loving our enemies and praying for our enemies and doing good to those who do evil to us"; more than this, on the cross "Jesus allowed himself to die, and absorbed in his own being the violence around him, rather than countering that violence." This is how we Christians should live our lives: even though nonviolence is not necessarily the "most efficient or effective" response to violence, the fact is that "Jesus [is] calling us . . . not to return violence" with violence. For Kauffman, nonviolence "is the core value" of his life; that is to say, living nonviolently is his "faith statement."

While these are far from mainstream sentiments, especially after September 11, the Blade columnist reported in a subsequent article that she received "a flood of e-mail" in support of Kauffman’s comments. A month later Kauffman reported that he also had received a number of phone calls of appreciation for his remarks, as well as some inquiries about conscientious objection; he also received positive feedback at the next meeting of the local ecumenical organization, as well as an invitation to speak to a United Church of Christ Men’s Bible study group.

As Kauffman sees it, there are a good number of mainline and other Christians who have grave doubts about the war on terrorism, and who are open to the message of nonviolence. It is thus the responsibility of those who are members of historic peace churches to serve as witnesses to the conviction that the commitment to peace grows out of "an understanding of who God is and what God is calling us to."

For Mennonites, in particular, such engagement with the wider church and wider culture marks a shift from the separatism of the past. According to James Juhnke, this engagement is good for both sides: Mennonites are forced to consider how nonviolence relates to issues of justice and how it can be applied in terms of public policy, while the broader church must take seriously "our claims that peace is central to the gospel."

But Juhnke also points out that even though Mennonites are becoming increasingly engaged with the broader church, they remain connected in a very real sense with the Amish and other conservative cousins. For Juhnke, this connection with those who are separate "reminds us that we are in this world but not of it." That is to say, "we can remember how to draw lines" between the state and the church. As he puts it, Mennonites, Brethren and Quakers know how to resist the impulse, too often acceded to by mainstream Protestants and Catholics, to "sprinkle holy water on whatever the state does." According to Juhnke, "we know who we are."

It is hard to see how a commitment to pacifism will ever be held by more than a small minority of Christians in the U.S., especially after the September 11 attacks. In his first sermon after the onset of the American bombing campaign, a local Mennonite minister exhorted his congregation to "be not ashamed" of "your commitment to nonviolence." Generally, members of the peace churches don’t seem to be.

The Corruption of Capital Punishment

Book Review:

A Dream of the Tattered Man: Stories from Georgia’s Death Row

By Randolph Loney. Eerdmans, 235 pp.

When the State Kills: Capital Punishment and the American Condition.

By Austin Sarat. Princeton University Press, 324 pp.

The Executed God: The Way of the Cross in Lockdown America By Mark Lewis Taylor. Fortress, 208 pp.





I finish this review in the shadow of Timothy McVeigh’s execution. But while America’s most notorious mass murderer is dead, and while the pundits continue to argue the merits and meaning of his execution, news about capital punishment just keeps coming. Next after McVeigh on the federal death list is Juan Raul Garza, but because of the dramatic racial and geographic disparities in federal death sentences, religious and civil rights leaders are using Garza’s case -- he is a Mexican-American convicted in Texas -- to press for a moratorium on federal executions. Recently the Supreme Court overturned the death sentences of Texans Mark Robertson and Johnny Paul Penry, the latter on the grounds that his jury should have received better instructions on how it should take into account his mental retardation and frightful childhood. And here in Ohio, the state prepares to execute Jay D. Scott, even as his attorneys continue to argue in various courts that to kill a schizophrenic is "cruel and unusual punishment"; Scott’s execution has been delayed twice, the last time five minutes before the poison was to be administered -- the shunts were already in his veins.

Welcome to America in 2001. It is now 25 years after Gregg v. Georgia, the Supreme Court decision that reinstated capital punishment in the United States. More than 3,700 men and women now reside on America’s 39 -- one federal and 38 state -- death rows; 717 individuals have been executed by lethal injection, electrocution, poison gas, hanging and firing squad since Gary Gilmore’s death in 1977, and the 85 individuals put to death last year ranked the United States third in the world, behind China and Saudi Arabia. While over half of the world’s nations have abolished capital punishment, and while international criticism of the U.S. has been intense, America continues to condemn the poor and racial minorities (particularly those who kill whites) in disproportionate numbers, as well as the mentally ill, the mentally retarded, juveniles (here the U.S. leads the world) and sometimes the innocent -- and all this to no apparent deterrent effect.

A large majority of Americans continue to support capital punishment. But recent polls show that, Timothy McVeigh notwithstanding, the level of support for capital punishment is declining. That trend will continue if Randolph Loney, Austin Sarat and Mark Lewis Taylor have anything to say about it. Their three books could not have been written 25 years ago, as they are rooted in the realities of the capital punishment "system" as it has operated in the U.S. This empirical grounding makes it difficult to disregard what Loney, Sarat and Taylor have to say. Their three books together make a powerful and eloquent case for the abolition of the death penalty.

Sarat’s approach is to change the terms of the argument. Sarat, who is William Nelson Cromwell Professor of Jurisprudence and Political Science at Amherst College, asserts that abolitionists need to move beyond the focus on "the immorality or injustice of the death penalty as a response to killing," because such an approach forces them into the untenable position of defending "despised and notorious criminals" such as Timothy McVeigh. Instead, opponents of the death penalty must concentrate on how it has corrupted "our politics, law and culture." When the State Kills is the model for such an approach, with fascinating and accessible chapters on such topics as the never-ending quest for "painless" executions, the role of and pressures on the jury in capital cases, the portrayal of executions in contemporary films, and the increasingly desperate efforts of death-penalty lawyers to ensure that those who are condemned to die have received something approximating fair treatment under the law.

Regarding the latter, these attorneys are fighting an increasingly difficult and unpopular battle. Beginning with Furman v. Georgia (1972), which held that the death penalty as currently applied in the U.S. was unconstitutional, the Supreme Court sought to maintain "a system of ‘super due process’ through which capital defendants could be assured an extra measure of protection from arbitrariness, caprice or emotionalism." But in the past decade these legal protections have been systematically dismantled in response to pressures to speed up the execution process -- "we just need to kill more quickly" is the primary rejoinder to the argument that the death penalty is not a deterrent -- and to address the increasingly insistent demand for "victims’ rights."

Sarat focuses on the latter in his troubling but persuasive chapter, "The Return of Revenge." Much of his discussion deals with the use of victim-impact statements in the penalty phase of capital cases, a use made possible by the Supreme Court’s decision in Payne v. Tennessee (1991). It has proven very difficult for judges and politicians to resist this trend, especially when it comes to horrific crimes such as the Oklahoma City bombing: at McVeigh’s trial 38 witnesses described in heartbreaking detail how this event destroyed their lives. On the other hand, Sarat argues, this "demand for victims’ rights and the insistence that we hear the voices of the victims" is simply a new way "in which vengeance has disguised itself." The trend poses a grave threat to American democracy: as Sarat quotes from Thurgood Marshall in his dissenting opinion in Payne, this return of revenge signals "one major step toward the demise of a conception of law as a ‘source of impersonal and reasoned judgments."’

But there is irony here. While capital punishment becomes more and more a weapon of revenge, the state continues to shield the public from seeing the vengeance that it wreaks. Sarat deftly describes how in the late 19th century the United States shifted from public executions to bureaucratic and nearly invisible killings, not for reasons of humanity, but to allow the state to control what had always been -- when public -- a dangerously uncontrollable occasion. In keeping with Thomas Lynch, who made a similar argument a few weeks ago in the pages of this magazine, Sarat wants to televise state killing, arguing that "the public is always present at an execution" -- the only question that remains is whether we are willing to see what is being done in our name. Sarat asserts that to televise executions would not only "reveal and invite the ‘bad taste"’ of some viewers -- if Timothy McVeigh’s death had been televised, it is easy to imagine a plethora of raucous "execution parties," à la Super Bowl bashes -- but it would also "reveal the sadism that is at the heart of the state’s tenacious attachment to capital punishment."

In response to the calls for televising McVeigh’s execution, Ken Udiobok writes in the Minneapolis Star Tribune that "those who seek public executions . . . would reconsider their positions if they were to witness any execution firsthand." Well, on September 24, 1997, I watched the state of Missouri execute Samuel McDonald. Yes, it was horrific; yes, it would have been even more horrific knowing that there were folks throughout the state watching and celebrating as the state killed my friend. But I have to say that Sarat and Lynch have convinced me. If we are a democracy, then we have to see what we are doing, even if bringing the sadism of state-sanctioned killing into the open would not -- and here I think am less sanguine than Sarat -- accelerate the demise of the death penalty.

At the heart of When the State Kills is the notion that there is no way to square capital punishment with democratic values. Mark Lewis Taylor makes a similar point in his provocatively compelling book, The Executed God. Professor of theology and culture at Princeton Seminary, and coordinator of Academics for Mumia Abu-Jamal, Taylor acknowledges that there is a certain logic in the argument that some individuals "deserve to die for their crimes." But the reality is that "there are just too many negatives" when the state is given the power to kill, including, as we have seen in the United States, the growth of a "bureaucracy of death" that targets the poor and people of color. Most important, Taylor argues, "the practice of execution is a terrorizing tactic that over time creates illegitimate state power"; the eventual result is a corrupt and undemocratic political system -- in fact, what else can you expect when you give the government absolute power over life and death? Sounding very much like Sarat, Taylor asserts that it is the desire "for a just political order" and not just forgiveness and "love for the criminal" that should push Americans to rid themselves of the death penalty.

One of the great strengths of Taylor’s book is that he places capital punishment within the context of "Lockdown America." As Taylor documents, over 2 million people are incarcerated in the U.S., which works out to a per capita rate up to ten times higher than most other countries on the planet, including China and Russia. In a chilling chapter titled "The Theater of Terror," Taylor describes a prison system that locks up economic and racial minorities -- 70 percent of those in prison are people of color. While the vast majority of these individuals have been locked up for nonviolent (primarily drug) offenses, they are kept in place via various methods of terror, including a widespread and institutionally tolerated culture of rape. As documented by Taylor, somewhere between 200,000 and 290,000 male inmates are raped each year -- and some of these individuals are raped daily. Theater of terror indeed.

Taylor laments the fact that so many Christians have been silent in response to the horrors of Lockdown America, particularly since this silence does not jive with the story of Jesus and his followers. Taylor points out -- and I cannot do full justice to his argument here -- that not only was Jesus a threat to Rome and the religious elites who were allied with it, but he ended up being crucified -- executed-by the imperial authorities. As Taylor sees it, this is not insignificant: "Jesus’ life, as bound up with God’s life, receives its distinctive stamp because of the way in which he suffered state-sanctioned killing." And the story does not end here. John the Baptist, Paul, Peter -- all were executed by repressive state powers. In fact, given the degree to which the "early followers of Jesus . . . suffered Rome’s punitive regime, living at the edge of prison, . . . risking torture and execution," Taylor finds it exceedingly peculiar that "Christians today are so accepting" of Lockdown America.

But The Executed God is more than a lament or indictment. It is also a call to action. Taylor devotes the final two chapters of his book to a discussion of how Christians can engage in a "way of the cross" -- in movement-building and a "theatrics of counterterror" -- as a way to "take on the death penalty, . . . working for a time when it is no more."

If we can stretch "theatrics" to include "witness," Randolph Loney’s remarkable Dream of the Tattered Man fits the category. His account has its beginning in the Glad River Congregation, a tiny band of believers drawn from the Mercer University community in Macon, Georgia. United by an "Anabaptist conception of church" and the "scandalous conviction" that "where two or three are gathered together in the name of a redeeming Love that defies the powers of shame and death, the meaning and destiny of all creation are revealed," this little group ordained Loney as a pastor to the men on Georgia’s death row in January of 1985.

So this former college professor began making weekly trips from his small farm in Harris County to the (horrifyingly named) Georgia Diagnostic and Classification Prison. Not bound by "clerical or therapeutic" roles, Loney sought to be "a friend to the men under the sentence of death." Tattered Man records the story of Loney’s visits and the friendships that developed, a primary purpose being to lead the reader "to a deeper understanding of those we have consigned to death" -- the vast majority of whom do not fit the Timothy McVeigh profile. For one thing, Loney’s book is a forceful reminder that many of those on death row are African-American males who endured childhoods of dire poverty, oppressive racism, and dreadful neglect and abuse. Regarding the latter, the stories are depressingly redundant: parents and other relatives who were alcoholics and/or drug addicts, who left the boys to fend for themselves or locked them for hours at a time in a bathroom or the basement, and who took out their own frustrations by beating the boys with belts and boards. Some of the stories make Charles Dickens look positively cheerful: there is Henry Willis, who at six months was discovered "in a hole in a bed, where he had been for four days, his skin peeling from his body because no one had turned him over"; Tom Stevens, whose fundamentalist caregiver rubbed feces in his face and gave him "nightly baths of garlic and vinegar, followed by an enema"; William Hance, who at ten watched as his seven-year-old sister was raped in the bed they shared.

Of course, there are individuals who endure hellish childhoods but who do not go on to commit violent acts. Loney suggests that it may be that these folks were fortunate enough to have "rescuers" -- individuals who reached out in sacrificial love and kept them from falling. But Loney’s friends on death row were not rescued; instead, they committed or were an accomplice to terrible crimes. As a result, they ended up in America’s nightmarish legal system. Poor black men were assigned white attorneys who often did not adequately prepare or introduce mitigating evidence (including evidence of mental retardation), and who on occasion even suggested that "a death sentence was appropriate." Then there were the (white) prosecutors zealously pushing (usually white-dominated) juries to bring back a death sentence; in William Hance’s case, this resulted in 11 white jurors-one of whom asserted that the "nigger admitted he did it, [so] he should fry" -- mercilessly harassing the sole black juror until she retreated into silent acquiescence.

All of this is powerful corroboration of what Sarat and Taylor argue are the ways in which capital punishment inevitably corrupts the American legal system. But despite these corruptions, the majority of Americans continue to support the death penalty, in good part because of the deep-seated conviction that the thousands of individuals on America’s death rows are freakish, sadistic, irredeemable monsters. In the view of the Barnesville (Georgia) Herald-Gazette, for example, those who have been condemned to die are "human waste," and thus "executing them should come as easily to a civilized society as flushing the toilet."

But in reading Randolph Loney’s stories of his friends on Georgia’s death row we are forced to acknowledge a simple truth: those whom we have condemned to die are not "aliens," but individuals who, in their essential humanity, are connected to all of us. Loney brings this home with innumerable examples of moral growth and development on the part of the condemned, examples that underscore a point made by a character in the recent film The Widow of St. Pierre: "The man we execute is not the man we condemned." Loney’s friends worked -- with his tender assistance -- to come to terms with their painful pasts, a task which often involved asking for forgiveness from their victim’s families. The men on death row also reached out in love to their own families, in the process struggling heroically to deal with their overwhelming sense of shame. They also cared for their comrades on death row: in one instance a prisoner "so much . . . love[d] the man who was about to die" that he "scaled the fence that enclosed the death-row exercise yard and reached the roof of a nearby building before he was stopped on his way to the death house," where he "had intended to disable the [electric] chair’s generator." Finally, despite their own pain, despite -- in the case of the African-American prisoners -- the racism they had endured outside and inside prison, the men on death row reached out in love to Randolph Loney. As Loney said about Bill Tucker, "his time was running out" and yet "he seemed more concerned about me than himself. . . . I was in his care."

Loney gradually became aware that when he "was with death-row prisoners and their families," he was "witnessing nothing less than the image of God within each of them." Such sentiments are not bound to be popular: Loney worries that his "frail witness" will be ignored in a country where the people demand revenge and seem to get an "obscene joy" from executions. Still, he puts his book out there in the hopes that those who read these words will "reject capital punishment," will "choose life instead of death and thereby begin to experience a spring tide of the spirit for which we all long."