Chapter 10: Toward a New Theism by Schubert M. Ogden

Revised from "Love Unbounded: The Doctrine of God," The Perkins School of Theology Journal, XIX, 3 (Spring 1966), pp. 5-17; and printed in Theology In Crisis: A Colloquium on The Credibility of ‘God’, pp. 3-18, by Muskingum College. Used by permission of the publisher and Schubert M. Ogden. Schubert M. Ogden attended the University of Chicago. Formerly Professor of Theology at Perkins School of Theology, he now teaches at the University of Chicago Divinity School. He has written Christ Without Myth.

 

If anything is clear, it is that no religious tradition can long continue as a vital source of faith and life unless it is critically appropriated in each new historical situation. The importance of such tradition always lies in the precious freight of meaning it bears, not in the forms of expression through which that meaning is borne from the past to the present. All such forms are only more or less adequate to the actual occurrence of tradition, and they are to be retained, if at all, only because or insofar as they still make possible the "handing over" which the word "tradition" (tradition) originally signifies. Since whether any given forms of expression continue to serve this purpose is determined by our ever-changing historical situations, the more radical the changes from one situation to another, the more urgent and far-reaching the task of a critical interpretation of the tradition. There must be a winnowing and sifting of its essential meaning from its inessential forms — to the extent, indeed, implied by an Anglican bishop in the seventeenth century who remarked that "the most useful of all books on theology would be one with the title De Paucitate Credendorum, on the fewness of the things which a man must believe."1

Yet no less evident is that any such theological criticism has its bounds. What makes any religious tradition a tradition is that it has an essential meaning or motif which can be criticized as inessential only by abandoning rather than appropriating the tradition itself. Every tradition admits of critical interpretation for the simple reason that its forms of expression may always be appraised in the light of the basic motif they more or less adequately express. But no tradition may be fairly treated as a nose of wax, to be twisted and turned into whatever shape the exigencies of the present seem to demand. It will be appropriated by us only on its own terms; and we honor it more by rejecting it on those terms than by pretending to accept it on any other.

It is not the task of this lecture to attempt anything like a restatement of the Christian tradition. Yet one thing I am confident must be said, which does provide the starting-point for these reflections. The vital center of this whole tradition is its unambiguous witness to the reality of God as decisively re-presented to us in Jesus Christ. So evident is this, in fact, that it should be unnecessary even to point it out. But we live in strange times, when even the most obvious things are being called in question. I do not mean, of course, simply that ours is the so-called "age of atheism," for which the traditional Christian belief in God has become profoundly problematic for large numbers of thoughtful men. Nor am I thinking primarily of the various proposals of a "religion without God" with which all of us are familiar. Neither atheism as such nor the attempt to develop a religious outlook from the premise that "God is dead" is new to our present situation. As a matter of fact, a generation and more ago, experiments along this line were made by several prominent American philosophers of religion. In some cases — I think especially of George Santayana, John Dewey, and Henry Nelson Wieman the results of such experiments were exceedingly fruitful and, to my mind, are still deserving of the most serious consideration. But what is in a way novel in our situation today is that somewhat similar proposals are now being put forward by certain Christian theologians. We are confronted by the strange phenomenon of a self-styled "Christian atheism," which maintains that the witness to God’s reality has to be surrendered if there is to be anything like a tenable contemporary theology.

This position has been stated with the greatest clarity and consistency, in my judgment, by Paul M. van Buren in The Secular Meaning of the Gospel.2 Van Buren argues that the attitudes of contemporary men are in every respect "secular" and that no presentation of the Christian witness can hope to be understandable which fails to reckon with this fact. Actually, what van Buren means by the word "secular" is just the outlook I should wish to distinguish as "secularist" or "secularistic." In his terms, "secular" refers to an essentially positivistic understanding of the scope of knowledge, as well as to an understanding of moral action that is exclusively humanistic. On my view, both understandings involve certain arbitrary negations which make it impossible properly to refer to them by the essentially positive term "secular." It is one thing to affirm the validity of the scientific method and to insist on its complete autonomy within the field where it alone logically applies. But it is clearly something different to deny with the positivist that there is any other valid means to knowledge because the method of science circumscribes the limits of the whole cognitive sphere. Likewise, it is one thing to affirm that the sole standards of moral conduct are those implicit in human action itself, and quite another thing to deny with the humanist that our actions realize any will to good beyond the merely human and either require or admit of a transcendent justification. I hold that the positive affirmations here are entirely of a piece with the legitimate secularity of modern culture, and that no theology can fail to take them into account. Yet I equally hold that the denials in question do not follow from the affirmations and are, in that sense, arbitrary. They are the defining characteristics of that secularism, which seems to be becoming ever more widely prevalent among contemporary Western men, but which no theology can possibly countenance.

Terminology aside, however, van Buren is insistent that the outlook typical of men today makes any meaningful assertions about God impossible. "The empiricist in us finds the heart of the difficulty not in what is said about God, but in the very talking about God at all. We do not know ‘what’ God is, and we cannot understand how the word ‘God’ is being used."3 Consequently, the theologian’s only real option is simply to abandon any claim for God’s reality and give himself to interpreting the Gospel in completely secular — or, as I should insist, secularistic — terms.

Oddly enough, van Buren holds that this choice is not only made necessary by our situation, but is also permitted as possible by the Gospel itself. Indeed, he finally assures us that the reality of God can be completely denied without in any way doing violence to the real meaning of the Christian witness. But I fear that with this assurance, his proposal ceases to be convincing and begins to appear as a not altogether ingenuous tour de force. However absurd talking about God might be, it could never be quite so obviously absurd as talking of Christian faith without God. If theology is possible today only on secularistic terms, the more candid way to say this is that theology is not possible today at all.

Of course, similar judgments are constantly passed by theological reactionaries, and there are many who regard a theology even on secular terms (such as I should want to defend) as equally out of the question. But the two cases, I am convinced, are at the crucial point totally unlike. Faith in God is not merely an element in Christian faith along with several other elements; it simply is Christian faith, the heart of the matter itself. Therefore, the very thing about the expressions of faith in the Christian tradition which makes a properly secular interpretation of them possible and even necessary also makes a secularistic theology impossible. By my lights, at least, the issue here is indeed either/or. For good or for ill, the Christian tradition stands by its witness that God is not dead but alive; and to decline to bear this witness is not simply to criticize that tradition, but to abandon it.

II

But the problem one faces in bearing this witness to God’s reality is, as it were, compounded by yet another consideration. If we have regard for what may fairly be described as the "catholic" or "ecumenical" tradition in Christian theology, nothing is more striking than its repeated insistence that Christian belief in God is essentially reasonable. It is true that theologians have generally stressed the limitations of human reason, especially in things divine, and have left little question that the knowledge of God realized by Christian faith has both a scope and a certainty that reason as such is powerless to provide. Moreover, they have often invoked the distinction between a mere acknowledgment of God’s reality intellectually and an actual acquaintance with him existentially, holding that the latter is impossible save where man’s natural reason has been enlightened by the grace of God’s own self-revelation. But, while theologians have thus emphasized that reason cannot produce faith, they have never tired of insisting that faith is always consistent with reason; and this explains why the greatest among them have again and again leaped to the defense of their Christian belief with an obvious confidence in its power to carry conviction with reasonable men. Thus almost all of the church’s teachers have held that the existence of God is knowable, if not indeed demonstrable, even to reason, and that the dependence of all things on their primal cause is as definitely affirmed by the truest philosophy as by a theology whose source is the Christian revelation.

Yet it is just this confidence in the reasonableness of Christian theism that many of us today find it hard to share. In the back if not in the front of our minds, we are aware of the thoroughgoing criticism of classical theism which was so vigorously launched by Spinoza, only to be further confirmed and extended by virtually every major intellectual development since. We are forced to recognize that the form of theism which most Western men have taken for granted and have by and large made use of to explicate their understanding of faith in God is now widely held to be anything but reasonable. In fact, there are many today who make the more sweeping claim that theism as such has now been shown to be an unreasonable belief. But analysis discloses that this claim is what Kierkegaard might have called "an acoustic illusion": it is actually the negative echo of the prior claim of classical theists that theirs is the only form of Christian theism there is. Whether this claim is valid, or whether the question of theism is more complex than theists and atheists alike conventionally assume, we will presently want to ask. The important point just now is that recent announcements of the death of God are as widely received as they are largely because the God who is said to be dead is quite clearly the God conceived by a form of theism which has long since ceased to be reasonable to a vast number of contemporary minds.

How are we to account for this widespread rejection of classical theism? Without pretending to offer an exhaustive answer, I would suggest two main reasons why so many men today find the traditional form of belief in God unacceptable.

First, it seems to them that they can accept this traditional theism only by affirming statements to be scientifically or historically true without the requisite backing and warrants. Thus Christian faith in God as the Creator has usually been understood to require assent to a whole series of beliefs that are now widely regarded as false — e.g., that the creation of the world took place as recently as 4004 B.C. and that man and the various animals were all created as fixed species, in no way related to one another by any pattern of evolutionary development. Of course, it has gradually come to be agreed in the church that such beliefs are not essential to Christian faith in creation; and theologians today commonly maintain that the first two chapters of Genesis are properly interpreted as mythological. But, even from these theologians one encounters the claim that although "faith does not entail the correctness of any particular cosmological theory," some such theories "would lend the Judaic-Christian doctrine of creation a certain degree of external support."4

Likewise in matters of the so-called "last things," which have to do with God’s action as Redeemer, men have traditionally been asked to assent to assertions that any cultivated mind today is bound to find incredible. Nineteen hundred years of unfulfilled expectations, together with our present knowledge of nature and history, have utterly discredited any notion of a near end of the world such as Christians in the past have often entertained; and even in the church the eschatological passages in Scripture are now rather generally allowed to be as mythological as those portraying creation. Yet some of the very theologians who are most insistent about this still hold that eschatological myths include a reference to "the final state of history" or "the chronological moment of the end," with which, presumably, scientific theories about the future development of the universe are also somehow concerned.5

Then, there is the whole matter of miracles, belief in which has traditionally been considered an integral element in Christian faith in God. According to the principal teacher of my own denomination, John Wesley, "If it please God to continue the life of any of his servants, he will suspend [gravitation] or any other law of nature: The stone shall not fall; the fire shall not burn; the floods shall not flow. . . . Gravitation shall cease, that is, cease to operate, whenever the Author of it pleases."6 Today, of course, many churchmen and theologians no longer find it necessary to take so extreme a position. They know, as Wesley did not, that many of the supposed miracles reported in Scripture can be interpreted as perfectly natural occurrences and that yet others are clearly the products of faith, instead of extraordinary happenings that somehow produced faith. Nevertheless, most of these persons would probably agree with the recent statement of a contemporary Christian philosopher that "Christian belief means accepting the resurrection of Christ, and therefore it seems to involve believing in at least one miracle."7

As usually presented, then, even by its more sophisticated spokesmen, classical theism requires acceptance of statements about the world, about its origin or end or the happenings within it, which men today are willing to accept, if at all, only with the backing and warrants of science or history. In the case of some of these statements, the problem is simply that our best scientific or historical knowledge clearly tells against them. In the case of others, the evidence we have either is inconclusive or else hardly even seems relevant to the question of their truth or falsity. In all cases, however, to accept such statements as true is to challenge the full autonomy of science and history within their own proper spheres; and it is this challenge to a genuinely secular outlook, rather than any particular statement in itself, which makes classical theism so widely unacceptable to contemporary men.

The second main reason for the rejection of this form of theism is that one can accept it only by affirming the entire classical metaphysical outlook of which it is integrally a part. To explain just what this means in such a way as also to do justice to the complexity and subtlety of classical metaphysics would lead us too far afield. But, allowing for considerable oversimplification, I can at least try to make clear the essential point: the understanding of reality expressed in this kind of metaphysics is one for which all our distinctive experience and thought as modern secular men is negative evidence.

From its first great formulations by Plato and Aristotle, the chief defining characteristic of classical metaphysics has been its separation of what is given in our experience into two quite different kinds of reality. On the one hand, there is the present world of becoming, of time, change, and real relations, of which each of us is most immediately and obviously a part. Of this, Plato speaks in The Republic as "the twilight of becoming and perishing" (508). On the other hand, there is the wholly other world of timeless, changeless, and unrelated being, which is alone "real" in the full sense of the word and so alone worthy of the epithet "divine." Again, in Plato’s words, this is the world of "the absolute and eternal and immutable" (479). Just how these two worlds are to be conceived, especially in relation to one another, has always been a problem for classical metaphysicians, to which they have offered a number of different solutions. Yet on one point, there has been complete consensus: the relations between the two worlds are one-way relations only, since the other divine world of pure being can be in no sense really related to this ordinary world of mere becoming. Ordinary beings are indeed related to God, whether as the formal cause which they somehow exemplify or as the final cause toward which they move in their several processes of self-development. But the converse of this statement does not hold: God is in no way genuinely related to the ordinary beings beyond himself, because for him to be thus related would involve his dependence on others and thus his participation in the time and change which are the very antithesis of his own utterly timeless and immutable being.

It is this general metaphysical outlook, bequeathed to the Western world by Greek antiquity, which provided the first fundamental concepts for the full theological explication of the Christian witness. Beginning with the church Fathers, theologians undertook to conceive the God attested by Holy Scripture as the wholly absolute Being of the philosophers. That this was a difficult, if not indeed impossible, undertaking had already been made evident by the parallel efforts of the Jewish thinker, Philo of Alexandria, who has perhaps the best claim to be the founder of classical theism. His writings leave no question that the God of Israel, whose very being is his involvement in the creatures of his love, can in no wise be simply identified with the Absolute of classical metaphysics. Even so, the whole tradition of what is usually called "Christian philosophy," whose most admirable expression is, doubtless, the imposing system of Aquinas, is but a series of attempts to make the identification; and the profound influence of that tradition, even on those who now declare its God to be dead, is proof that these attempts have enjoyed some kind of success. So far as most Western men have conceived God at all, in distinction from believing in him or merely picturing him in the manner of mythology, they have done so in the concepts of the Greek metaphysics of being.

Just this, however, enables us to understand the major stumbling-block which classical theism places in the way of many of our contemporaries. Not only have such men long since become convinced of the essential incoherence of this theism in its efforts to combine the religious insights of Christianity with the philosophical wisdom of the Greeks, but they are also deeply repelled by the central claim of Greek wisdom, that this world of time and change is somehow inferior or not fully real. Thus one of the so-called "death of God" theologians, William Hamilton, states that "in this world . . . there is no need for religion and no need for God. This means that we refuse to consent to that traditional interpretation of the world as a shadow-screen of unreality, masking or concealing the eternal which is the only true reality.

The world of experience is real, and it is necessary and right to be actively engaged in changing its patterns and structures."8 I find this statement revealing in a number of ways. For one thing, it discloses how easy it is for many of us to move in our thought from the words "religion" or "God" to "that traditional interpretation of the world" in terms of which these words have usually been understood. For another, it suggests that the event the "death of God" theologians are so confusedly and confusingly summoning us to acknowledge is not the death of God but the demise of this traditional interpretation of reality. But, most important of all, this statement exposes the real nerve of modern man’s profound opposition to the traditional form of Christian faith in God. Man today finds this form of faith so objectionable because it directly contradicts his profound secularity, his deep conviction of the reality and significance of this world of time and change and of his own life within it. If God must be conceived as the Absolute of traditional metaphysics, and so as in the nature of the case totally unaffected by man and the world, this can only imply that the entire secular order is in the last analysis neither real nor of any consequence. What we do or fail to do can finally make no difference one way or the other, since God is in any case a statically complete perfection, utterly independent of anything beyond himself. But simply to exist as a contemporary man is implicitly to deny any such understanding of reality. The whole direction of modern culture, from the Renaissance onwards, has been away from this kind of metaphysical other-worldiness and from a Christianity which Nietzsche could plausibly dismiss as "Platonism for ‘the people.’"9 We now realize that whatever is real and important must somehow include the present world of becoming which we most certainly know and affirm; and this means that we find the classical form of Christian theism simply incredible.

It will have become apparent from this discussion that I myself recognize the force of these two main contemporary objections to traditional Christian belief. So far as I understand the matter, the conditions of reasonableness in our situation are secular, even if not secularistic, conditions, i.e., they demand the unqualified acceptance both of the method and world-picture of modern science and critical history and of the reality and significance of this world of time and change, which is the context of our lives as secular men. Consequently, I hold that if one is to continue to affirm with the Christian tradition that faith in God is both indispensable and reasonable, it is incumbent on him to show that such faith may be explicated in other terms than those of classical Christian theism. By the same token, to decline this obligation seems to me in effect to abandon the Christian heritage. For, in that case, one either countenances the charge that the Christian witness is as unreasonable as its modern critics allege or else abets the claim that it can dispense with faith in God altogether as some of its own theologians are now trying to persuade us it can.

III

The crucial question, then, is whether there can be any form of genuine theistic belief other than that represented by classical Christian theology. My own clear conviction is that there can and that important recent developments both in theology and in philosophy enable us to reckon quite legitimately with a neoclassical theism. By this I mean that we already have before us a way of conceiving the reality of God, in comparison with which the theism of the classical tradition can be seen to be but a first and rather rough approximation. Moreover, while I cannot fully support it here, my belief is that this new theism may fairly claim to be reasonable in a way that the older theism in principle may not. At any rate, the neoclassical view clearly seems capable of meeting the two main objections with which classical theists today are generally confronted — as I now hope to show by briefly considering the fundamental insights from which the new view has developed.

The first of these insights derives primarily (though not exclusively) from existentialist philosophy and from the use to which this philosophy has been put in certain forms of contemporary theology.

This is the discovery that the real meaning of all religious language, regardless of its terms and categories, is existential, or, if you will, metaphysical, rather than scientific or historical. Basic to this discovery is the recognition that human experience is not exhausted by the external sense perceptions of which science and history are in their different forms the critical analysis. Man also enjoys an internal awareness of his own existence and of the existence of his fellow creatures as finite-free parts of an infinite and encompassing whole. Hence the questions to which he naturally wants answers cannot be confined merely to those that seek a more reliable understanding of the variable details of reality disclosed by his senses. Beyond all such questions, he also inquires about the constant structure of reality, of himself and the world and of their ultimate ground, of which he is always more or less clearly aware insofar as he exists as a man at all.

The driving motive of this second kind of inquiry, as, indeed, indirectly of the whole of human existence, is what can only be described as an elemental confidence in the final worth of our life as men. We exist as the selves we are only because of an inalienable assurance that our lives are not merely indifferent, but are somehow both real and of ultimate significance. Thus one of the principal tasks set for human reflection right from the start is so to understand the constant structure of all our experience that this original assurance can be understood to make sense. But this is to say that the kind of meaning most fully expressed by the statements of science and history is not the only kind of meaning there is. There is also the existential or metaphysical kind of meaning which arises from this second kind of human questioning and whose most direct form of expression is the language that we ordinarily distinguish as "religious."

The importance of this discovery can be fully appreciated only if we recall a peculiarity of religious language in its primitive form as myth. It is the very nature of myth to obscure the basic human purpose it exists to serve. Although its real use is the existential or metaphysical use of clarifying our original confidence in the worth of life, the terms and categories in which it speaks are not derived from our inner awareness of our existence in relation to totality, but from our external perception of the world by means of our senses. Consequently, if mythical statements are considered in themselves, in abstraction from their actual function in human life, they can only too easily be taken as simply man’s first crude attempts at what we now know as science or history. The Christian myths of creation and of the last things can then be dismissed as primitive cosmology, while all talk of miracles can be treated as a misguided effort at scientific explanation. But as soon as we recognize that mythical language has another and logically quite different use from that which its terms and categories suggest, this whole familiar situation appears in a new light. We are then able to see that a mythical assertion may be put forward as both meaningful and in a sense true without in the least challenging the full autonomy of science and history within their own proper domains. Because the meaning of such an assertion is really existential or metaphysical, the conditions of its truth are the conditions implicit in that kind of meaning, not those with which either the scientist or the historian is quite rightly concerned.

I noted earlier that it is rather generally conceded today that traditional Christian talk about creation and the last things has the character of myth. But, often enough. as the statements previously cited make clear, theologians still assume that mythical language is in part, at least, on logically the same footing as that of science or history. Hence, even though they acknowledge myth’s existential import, they nevertheless look for support for the doctrine of creation from cosmological theorizing and suppose that eschatological myths somehow make reference to some remote "final state" of history or nature. I am convinced that this position, widespread as it is, must now be rejected as a compromise in view of our deeper insight into the real meaning of mythical language and of religious language generally. The use of such language is neither in whole nor in part a properly scientific or historical use. Rather, its entire meaning is existential or metaphysical, in the sense of expressing some understanding of our existence in its constant structure and in relation to its ultimate ground and end. This means that the reference of religious language is never to the past or to the future, but always and only to the present — to the present constituted by our own existence as selves in relation to our fellow creatures and to that circumambient reality from which we come and to which we go. Therefore, the real meaning of the Christian doctrines of creation and of the last things is to illumine each present moment of our actual existence as an existence within and under the all-embracing love of God. They teach us that the ultimate beginning and end of all our ways indeed, of the whole finite order of which we know ourselves to be parts — is the pure unbounded love which is decisively represented in Jesus Christ. And no less clear is that the irreducible core of meaning even of miracle is wholly existential or metaphysical. Thus, rightly to believe in the central Christian "miracle" of Christ’s resurrection is in no way to challenge the method of science or to suspend the warrants of responsible historical inquiry. It is to believe, rather, that the gift and demand which are re-presented to us in Jesus are none other than the very love of God himself, and so a love which is even now the encompassing mystery in which all our lives are set.

Important as this first insight is, however, it is not alone sufficient to justify speaking of a new and more adequate theism. So long as it is assumed that classical metaphysics in some form is the only metaphysics there is, the claim that the meaning of religious language is really existential or metaphysical in no way allows the theist to take up a tenable position. But it is just the assumption that metaphysics somehow has to be classical which other recent developments in philosophy give us every good reason to question. In fact, through the work of several philosophers both in America and in Europe, our century has witnessed the emergence of a distinctively modern metaphysical outlook which at last offers a real alternative to the philosophia perennis of our Western tradition. Part of the reason the new outlook presents such a choice is that in the very philosophies in which it has achieved its most complete and uninhibited expression, notably in the philosophies of Alfred North Whitehead and Charles Hartshorne, it has taken an explicitly theistic form. Hence the second insight which permits us to reckon with a neoclassical theism is that one can clearly arrive at a genuinely theistic conclusion without in any way presupposing the premises of classical metaphysics.

To see how this is possible, we may contrast these classical premises with the quite different ones of the new metaphysics. We saw earlier that the main assumption of all classical metaphysicians is that such fundamental features of our experience as time, change, and real relations to others cannot possibly be conceived to characterize the ultimate or divine reality. It follows, then, that, while ordinary beings are indeed related to God, he himself is in no way related to them and that the present world of nature and history is neither fully real nor ultimately significant. In the case of Christian thinkers, to be sure, these implications have usually been obscured by the presence in their thought of another quite different understanding of reality which derives from Holy Scripture. They have spoken of God not only as the metaphysical Absolute, whose only relation to the world is wholly external, but also as the loving heavenly Father revealed in Christ, who freely creates the world and guides it toward its fulfilment with tender care. But even then, the most that can be said of these theological positions is that they are essentially incoherent, since the fundamental premise of all their reasoning is still the main assumption of classical metaphysics. It is just this assumption, however, that the new metaphysicians most sharply call in question. They maintain that the very nature of reality is to be temporal and related to others and that even the ultimate reality denoted by the word "God" can be properly conceived only in these terms. That such a conception is possible, they argue, at once becomes clear as soon as we free ourselves from certain arbitrary prejudices.

Thus, for example, to be affected by all others is evidently as unique a property as to affect all others, since neither property could conceivably belong to any but a completely perfect or divine being. Hence there is at least as much reason to think of God as the ultimate effect of the world as to conceive him as its primal cause. And what is it, after all, that is truly admirable in one whom we consider good, even in our ordinary relations with one another? Is it a complete indifference to the being and needs of others, a stubborn independence in pursuing one’s own aims? Or is it, rather, that sensitivity to others, that taking account of their being and needs as one’s own which we call by the word "love"? The whole idea of moral goodness as we ordinarily make use of it clearly seems to depend for its meaning on such other basic ideas as real relation to others and capacity for change. Consequently, if we are to conceive of the truly perfect One, the One who is eminently good, it can hardly be otherwise than as the supreme exemplification of these very ideas, as himself the supremely social and temporal reality. So far from being the wholly absolute and immutable Being of the classical philosophers, God must really be conceived as the eminently relative One, whose openness to change contingently on the actions of others is literally boundless.

As such, of course, there is a sense in which God may be appropriately characterized by the classical attributes. Since his sociality or relativity to others is itself relative to nothing, it is quite properly spoken of as absolute. God, one may say, is absolutely relative. Likewise, the one thing about God which is never-changing, and so in the strictest sense immutable, is that he never ceases to change in his real relations of love with his whole creation. Precisely as eminently temporal, God is also of necessity strictly eternal or everlasting. But, important as it is to acknowledge this continuity with the older theism, there is no mistaking the radical difference. Although all the classical attributes contain an element of truth, they are neither the whole truth about God’s nature nor the surest clue to discerning it. That clue, rather, is to be found in the ancient religious insight that the very principle of all being is love, in the sense of the mutual giving and receiving whereby each of us becomes himself only in genuine interdependence with his fellows. If to be even the least of things is somehow to be related to others and dependent on them, then the One "than whom none greater can be conceived" can only be the supreme instance of such social relatedness, the One who as the unbounded love of others is the end no less than the beginning of all that either is or can ever be.

As conceived in terms of the new metaphysics, then, God is without quibble or qualification a genuinely personal, because a genuinely temporal and social, being. Indeed, it will have become clear from even this brief summary that there is a strict analogy between God’s existence as the eminent person and our own existence as men. Even as we are the selves we are only in relation to others and most directly to the others, the organs and cells, that constitute our own bodies, so God, too, exists as the supreme self only in relation to the cosmic body which is the world or the universe as a whole. For some, of course, this implication is sufficient to discredit the claim of the new view to be genuinely theistic and to provoke the charge of pantheism. But I do not think this charge need worry us very much. If we have any knowledge at all of the views that have usually (and properly) been called "pantheistic," then we should have no difficulty recognizing that the new theism is as different from them as from their traditional theistic counterparts. Both of the older types of view can be easily shown to rest on the same classical metaphysical premises, and it is just these premises which, as we have seen, a neoclassical theism is most concerned to question.

In any event, such a theism definitely seems to overcome the second main objection that reasonable men today make to the classical position. Not only does it appear free from the theoretical incoherence of the older theism, but it also removes what we saw to be the major stumbling-block to modern man’s ever really hearing any witness to the reality of God — namely, the implication that this world of time and change is ultimately unreal and lacking in significance. The clear implication of the new theism, on the contrary, is that this world could not conceivably be more real or significant. Because nature and history are nothing less than the body of God himself, everything that happens has both a reality and an importance which are in the strictest sense infinite. The ultimate end of all our actions is not simply ourselves or our fellow creatures, but the everlasting life of the One to whom no thing is merely indifferent because each thing is known and valued forever for exactly what it is. Thus the positive motive of the "death of God" theologian cited earlier is entirely legitimate: "the world of experience is real, and it is necessary and right to be actively engaged in changing its patterns and structures." This is so, however, because anything we do to advance the real good either of ourselves or of one another is done quite literally to "the glory of God," as an imperishable contribution to God’s ever-growing perfection, which is, indeed, "the true life of all."

I am well aware of the inconclusiveness of this argument. The most I can have accomplished by it is to have suggested a somewhat unconventional approach both to the problem that Christian faith in God raises today and to the way in which it might just possibly be solved. But I do hope you will have carefully noted the real nerve of this whole approach — namely, its rejection as superficial of the kind of "two-cornered thinking" which tries to reduce basic problems to the familiar dyadic formulations of philosophical and theological controversy. In my judgment, such conventional forced options as monism or pluralism, idealism or realism, determinism or indeterminism are all question-begging from start to finish, because they fail to exhaust all the relevant alternatives between which a reasoned choice may in fact be made. But the same is true, I have tried to suggest, of the usual discussion of the reality of God. If we are to have any hope of advancing this discussion, it is necessary to challenge all the answers to the theistic question, affirmative and negative alike. This is so not merely because the current formulation of this question, "Is God dead?" is as such meaningless, since it seems evident enough that the issue this formulation is intended to express is the clearly meaningful issue between theism and atheism. No, the more basic reason for the challenge is that this very issue of theism or atheism is too complex to admit of the simple either/or kinds of answers apparently called for by the question emblazoned on the cover of Time for Easter 1966.

Thus, in the argument I have set before you, I have been following what I take to be the only truly rational method of getting at the problem. This is the method of the "double rejection," of challenging both sides of the usual two-cornered dispute with the aim at descrying a genuinely new position in which the legitimate motives in each of the older ones are given their due. Specifically, I have ventured to challenge both of the simplifications whereby the problem before us is most commonly rendered incapable of solution — namely, the simplifications that one can be truly secular only by accepting modern secularism and that one can believe in God only by accepting the claims of classical theism. It is hardly surprising, therefore, that the conclusion for which I have argued unites as well as divides me from all those who represent the more conventional views. With those who contend that "God is dead" I am at one in attesting the demise of a particular form of theistic belief which not only is unreasonable to contemporary men, but has also proved incapable of doing justice to the historic witness of the Christian community. On the other hand, with those who witness that "God lives" I gladly join in what seems to me not only the central affirmation of Christian faith, but also the conclusion more or less clearly implied by all my experience and thought simply as a man.

  

NOTES:

1. Quoted by W. R. Inge, Things New and Old (London: Longman’s Green, 1933), 48.

2. New York: The Macmillan Company, 1963.

3. Ibid.

4. John Hick, Philosophy of Religion (Englewood Cliffs: Prentice-Hall, 1963), 9.

5. John A. T. Robinson, In the End God. . .: A Study of the Christian Doctrine of the Lost Things (London: James Clarke, 1950), 36, 50; cf. also p. 90: "Of course, something must actually happen to the individual, just as the world must end in one way and not another."

6. The Works of the Rev. John Wesley, A.M., ed by Thomas Jackson, (London: Wesleyan-Methodist Book-Room, 1829-1831), Vol. VI, p. 322.

7. Ninian Smart, Philosophers and Religious Truth, (London: SCM Press, 1964), 26.

8. "The Death of God Theology," Christian Scholar, XLVIII, I (Spring 1965), 45f.

9. Beyond Good and Evil, trans. by Marianne Cowan, (Chicago: Henry Regnery, 1955), xii.

Chapter 9: The Metaphysical Target and the Theological Victim by Malcolm L. Diamond

From The Journal of Religion, XLVII, 3 (July 1967). Used by permission of The University of Chicago Press and Malcolm L. Diamond. Malcolm L. Diamond was educated at Yale, Cambridge, and Columbia Universities. He is Associate Professor in the Department of Religion at Princeton University. Among his publications is Martin Buber: Jewish Existentialist.



The revival of serious work in philosophical theology that has been spearheaded by the work of Charles Hartshorne is most welcome.1 It represents a radical change in the theological atmosphere which, for many years after World War II, was dominated by existentialism. During this period, Hartshorne’s efforts to introduce logical consideration into theological discourse were constantly turned aside with variations on Kierkegaardian themes. He was accused of using an "objectifying" approach to God, that is, he was accused of excessive reliance on philosophical techniques and of excessive concern for metaphysical issues. Kierkegaard himself had scornfully dismissed the objectifying approach by saying that those who used it were bound to find themselves in the situation of the traveler who asked an Englishman if the road they were standing on led to London. The Englishman replied that it did indeed go to London. Despite this, the traveler never reached that city because the Englishman had neglected to tell him that he was proceeding in the wrong direction.2

We have learned a great deal from the religious existentialists, especially about the nature of faith. They contrasted the vitality and strenuousness of authentic faith with the sterility of prefabricated responses to arid dogmas. In elaborating the notion of authentic faith, religious existentialists relied heavily on categories drawn from relations between persons, for example, love, trust, and hope. In transferring these to man’s relations to God, there was the obvious problem of providing a conceptual system for coping with the fact that God, by contrast with human partners of such relations, is nonsensible. However, the religious existentialists turned this sort of theological problem aside by stressing the elements of trust and risk involved in authentic faith and by noting that a true lover does not seek "objective" validation of the worth of his beloved. As a result, for thinkers whose problem is: "How can a philosophically self-conscious individual — believer or not — understand what is meant by God?" the emphases of the religious existentialists are apt to seem very much beside the point. In light of the many contradictory and absurd things that have been said about God through the ages, a person worried about the intellectual problems has to confront the central problem of philosophical theology: the formulation of a conceptual scheme that is capable of discriminating between possible ideas of God and nonsense. No one in our time has made more significant contributions to this issue than Charles Hartshorne.

It is a tribute to Hartshorne’s work that some of the best religious thinkers are dealing with these metaphysical issues. Furthermore, many of them have absorbed the lessons of the religious existentialists, which should prevent a repetition of some of the errors of the past. One of his leading disciples among contemporary philosophical theologians, Schubert Ogden, in two essays which have appeared in this Journal, has tried to set up ground rules for work in philosophical theology, and he has commented on the possibilities for dialogue between philosophers and theologians.3 Much as I applaud his efforts — indeed, my own realization of some of the limitations inherent in the existentialistic approach to theology owes much to his influence — I must register a basic disagreement with one aspect of Ogden’s work: his reading of the contemporary philosophical scene.

Ogden thinks that the demise of logical positivism has initiated a pluralistic era in philosophy and that this provides good grounds for hoping that fruitful discussions between theologians and philosophers are again possible. On the surface, Ogden’s rather optimistic estimate of the possibilities for dialogue between theologians and philosophers is not unreasonable. Both the logical positivism which played a prominent role on the philosophical scene for a long time, and the religious existentialism that dominated the theological scene for such a long time, were vehemently anti-metaphysical. One would therefore expect their decline to enhance the prospects for the production of significant work in philosophical theology, work that would be taken seriously by post-positivistic analytic philosophers, and especially by those analysts who are again engaging in metaphysics. Therefore, Ogden chides Paul van Buren for stating (in The Secular Meaning of the Gospel) that a new analytic consensus has succeeded the positivistic one and that this new consensus rules out serious consideration of the concept of transcendence by those philosophers who adhere to it.4 Despite the surface plausibility of Ogden’s position, I think that his view is over-optimistic.

Positivism is dead; on that all are agreed. Furthermore, I would agree with Ogden, against van Buren, that no simple and all-embracing consensus has succeeded it. Adherents of the broad movement that might be called "philosophical analysis" displayed an intricate tangle of methodological tendencies, tentative hypotheses, and personal alliances. Nevertheless, I would side with van Buren against Ogden in maintaining that with regard to the issue of theological transcendence a consensus still prevails. Contemporary analysts are no more hospitable to this concept than were their positivistic forebears. Since analytic philosophy still dominates the scene, anyone interested in doing significant work in philosophical theology ought to have a clear picture of this analytic attitude and an understanding of the thinking that underlies it.

It was metaphysics and not theology that was the primary target of the logical positivists. They were concerned to purge philosophy of meaningless assertions and of the idle disputes that were engendered among philosophers who advanced them. Theological discourse came into the picture only by way of providing incidental illustrations of what positivists regarded as meaningless statements masquerading under the cloak of technical profundity. Contemporary analysts have turned away from the positivistic pattern by (among other things) once again engaging in an austere form of metaphysical discourse. However, this has not led them in the direction of renewed concern with transcendental concepts — theological or otherwise — but in the opposite direction. The drift of post-positivistic analysis is (as I shall try to show in Section IV) toward the ever more detailed analysis of phenomena whose character is familiar, whose reference is relatively clear, and whose operations can, at least in principle, be precisely charted.

I. The Metaphysical Target

The anti-metaphysical impetus of logical positivism was not an unprecedented chapter in the history of philosophy. It had its roots in the sense of futility engendered by the recurring cycles of speculative affirmation and skeptical criticism that have characterized the interaction of the traditional philosophical schools. The impatience felt by many thinkers who compared the performance of metaphysics with that of the natural sciences was well expressed by Kant: "If it (metaphysics) be a science, how comes it that it cannot, like other science, obtain universal and permanent recognition? . . . Everybody, however ignorant in other matters, may deliver a final verdict (on metaphysical issues) as in this domain there is as yet no standard weight and measure to distinguish sound knowledge from shallow talk."5 The logical positivists were concerned to provide this standard weight and measure. However, despairing of the prospects of advancing philosophy by making metaphysics scientific, they decided to achieve philosophical progress by eliminating it.

The positivists attempted to eliminate metaphysics by providing reliable criteria of cognitive assertions, that is, of statements which represent claims to knowledge on the part of those making them. They insisted that metaphysicians could not rival scientists in the matter of providing information about the world we live in. Metaphysicians of the past offered conceptualizations whereby they claimed to tell us some necessary truths about the world or about certain phenomena in it. The positivists initiated new departures of considerable force by means of which they tried to show that either the metaphysicians were not telling us anything about the world or they were not telling us the truth. "All men are rational" seems to be a necessary truth about a species that inhabits this earth. However, positivists claim that if it is a necessary truth, it is so only because it expresses our determination to use words in such a way that we will refuse to call anything a man unless it measures up to certain standards of rationality. Therefore, they hold that when it is understood in this way the statement does not tell us anything about what the world is like independently of our language, but only about our linguistic conventions. The other option they present is that the statement "All men are rational" is a generalization about men based on empirical inquiry. In this case, they insist that it is not necessarily true; in fact, it is not true at all, but patently false.

To gain a better understanding of what the positivists were up to in their effort to eliminate metaphysics, we must come to appreciate the way in which they assaulted metaphysics by means of two dichotomies: (1) analytic-synthetic and (2) meaningful-meaningless.

I shall introduce the first dichotomy by means of a consideration of analytic statements. They are known to be true independently of any observations, a good example being, "Either it is raining or it is not raining." Statements of this kind are necessarily true, but positivists maintained that this is the case because they are uninformative. They merely tell us about the logical relations of the terms we use and not about any actual state of affairs. The example just given is helpful; it does not say anything about the actual state of the weather, but demonstrates the way that the logical connective "or" (disjunction) operates in the assertive context. However, not all analytic statements are (to use a term of C. G. Hempel’s) so shatteringly trivial. Positivists claimed that mathematical statements are also analytic. It is obvious that the complexities of mathematical demonstration and of logical theory permit of a vast number of disclosures which are non-informative, but which are not at all trivial. They are even informative in the limited psychological sense of making us aware of things that we may not have realized such as the statement that 523 X 1,745 = 912,635. For this reason, analytic statements — far from being scorned by positivists — were highly valued as important sources of insight into formal aspects of thought. Statements were only dismissed by them as metaphysical nonsense if the positivists found that a smokescreen of obfuscating technical language was released by metaphysicians in the effort to suggest that some statements were informative (about some actual state of affairs in the world) as well as necessary. The "synthetic a priori" as used by Kant and subsequent philosophers is a good example of this particular target of positivistic analysis.

According to the positivistic dichotomy, if declarative statements are not analytic, then they are putatively synthetic, that is, they are intended to convey information about some actual state of affairs. However, the positivists claimed that some statements which seem to be synthetic are not really so. It is at this point that the second dichotomy — meaningful-meaningless — comes into play. Prior to the development of logical positivism, declarative statements for which synthetic status was claimed were pretty much accepted at face value, and, after investigation, they were regarded as being either true or false. The positivists regrouped these statements. If they were capable of being true or false, they were regarded as meaningful, and they were bracketed together on one side of the dichotomy. If not, they were classed as meaningless. In this context, oddly enough, the term "false" has a somewhat complimentary ring; it characterizes a meaningful assertion that really is synthetic and which, therefore, might be true. It merely happens to be false. By contrast, the term "meaningless" designates a statement which seems to be synthetic but which, on analysis, turns out to be masquerading. A statement of this kind cannot conceivably be true or false and is, therefore, unworthy of further serious investigation.

An obvious question arises at this point: "How does one determine whether a putatively synthetic statement is capable of being true or false?" In answering this question, the positivists sounded their most distinctive note by proposing the test of verifiability as the crucial test of synthetic meaningfulness. It is often called "the empiricist criterion of meaning." In deploying this test as an anti-metaphysical weapon, the positivists thought that they were able to determine — in advance, and without the consideration of specific metaphysical arguments — whether a metaphysical statement could be meaningful. This made the positivists’ assault on metaphysics the most threatening one that had been launched in the history of philosophy. The positivists were not attempting to defeat the metaphysicians in the philosophical arena; they were trying to deny them the status of legitimate combatants.

II. The Verifiability Principle

The story of the bold launching of "the verifiability principle" and of the sober second thoughts that succeeded it has been told many times over.6 It is worth repeating here, even in truncated form (which, for example, omits considering the issue of specially designed empiricist languages) because:

1. It was the main anti-metaphysical weapon in the positivist’s arsenal.

2. Ogden alluded to it without giving any details as to what was at issue.7

3. In general, the authors who have contributed essays on this subject to journals of religious thought have generally given the results of philosophical reflections on the verifiability principle while noting that they do not have the time to go into the details. This procedure underscores the weaknesses of positivism while shortchanging the self-critical candor and the methodological power of the analytic thinking that succeeded it.

4. Examination of some of the specific arguments involved will show us the kind of considerations that have led to the reformulations of the principle, and in many cases, to its abandonment.

5. Reflection on these arguments will enable us to see just how alien the spirit and method of post-positivistic analysts are to the spirit and concerns of the philosophical theologians who employ transcendental concepts.

The bete noire of positivistic analysis is the type of metaphysical statement whose form leads us to suppose that it is telling us something about a possible state of affairs when analysis shows that it is not, and, what is more could not, be doing anything of the kind. The point was driven home by means of their most famous illustration (now as dated as the movement which spawned it), the statement, "There are mountains on the far side of the moon." The point of the illustration was that this statement, which cannot be verified in fact because of technical limitations, is verifiable in principle. Anyone who understood it would be clear as to just the sorts of observable phenomena that would count for and against the truth of the statement and would, therefore, know how to proceed to check it out if he were in a position to do so. The statement, "There are angels on the far side of the moon," is grammatically similar to the one about the mountains; but positivists insist that the similarity is fatally misleading. The blanket invocation of non-sensible characteristics that are used in the definition of angels renders sensible experience irrelevant to establishing the truth or falsity of the assertion. The fact that sense experience is irrelevant to it in principle, shows that the statement, "There are angels on the far side of the moon," is not entitled to the relatively elevated status of falsity, but, rather, it is worse off than a false statement, it is meaningless. Therefore, a philosopher who spent time examining arguments for the existence of angels, or any of the other non-sensible entities ("forms," "essences," and so on) that philosophers contrive, would be in the idiotic position of Kant’s man who held a sieve underneath a male goat while another man milked it.

The sort of thing that the verifiability principle was designed to exclude was formulated succinctly by Walter Stace: "The word ‘metaphysical’ may, of course, be variously defined, but in this context what is meant by it is evidently any type of thought which depends upon the distinction between an outer appearance and an inner reality, and which asserts that there is a reality lying behind appearances, which never itself appears."8 The transcendent God of the Judeo-Christian tradition is certainly an instance of "a reality behind the appearances which never itself appears." Thus the application of this seemingly reliable and quick "litmus paper test" to metaphysical assertions seemed to eliminate this God in addition to "the absolute," "substance," "the thing-in-itself," and countless other traditional terms. Here was an unprecedented phenomenon: "Pandora’s box" in reverse. The havoc that had been unleashed by the metaphysical tradition could now be rectified. Positivistic literature abounded with examples of one sort of metaphysical "howler" after the other being exposed, folded up, and packed back into a bottomless bin labeled "meaningless"! The transcendent God of the Judeo-Christian tradition was another victim of this wholesale application of the verifiability principle, but he was not the major target.

The sketch of the verifiability principle that I have presented is ample enough to serve as the basis of an examination of some of the problems associated with it.9 They will be considered under three headings: (1) the status of the principle itself; (2) the excessive restrictiveness of the principle; and (3) the excessive permissiveness of the principle.

The problem of the status of the verifiability principle was avidly seized upon by non-positivists. They claimed that since the verifiability principle was itself neither analytic nor synthetic it should — according to the positivists’ own canons — be dismissed as a piece of nonsensical metaphysics. This, of course, would destroy it as an anti-metaphysical weapon. Positivists were not overly concerned about this criticism. They felt that it showed an absence of understanding of the central issues on the part of the non-positivists who invoked it. They handled it in a variety of ways. Their most frequent defense was to concede the point that the verifiability principle was not a statement (and that it was therefore neither analytic nor synthetic), but they claimed that is was a useful proposal for discriminating between meaningful and meaningless assertions. The justification for it would then be that its use eliminates the inadvertent nonsense put out under the name of metaphysics, while highlighting the characteristics that endow synthetic statements with meaning.

It was precisely the ineffectiveness of this pragmatic justification of verifiability that put the principle under fire even among philosophers who were sympathetically disposed toward its anti-metaphysical intent. The application of the principle seemed, on further analysis, to be excessively restrictive because it branded as meaningless all sorts of synthetic propositions whose meaningfulness the positivists themselves had no desire to call into question. In limiting the exposition of this point, I propose to focus on the way in which the "logical" side of logical positivism put its "positivistic," that is, anti-metaphysical, side under pressure. Consideration of universal synthetic statements will enable us to get at the issues. "All crows are black" is not the kind of statement whose meaningfulness (as opposed to its truth) anyone, positivist or not, wants to attack. However, when tested by the verifiability principle, it turns out to be meaningless because it can never — in principle — be verified. No matter how many instances of black crows have been tallied, there is always the possibility of a yellow one turning up. And, apart from casting unwonted aspersions on the meaningfulness of statements of the kind just cited, the rampant application of the verifiability principle had the even more regrettable consequence of catching scientific laws in this same net because they too had this universal form. Positivists, because of the excessive restrictiveness of the principle, found themselves in the embarrassing situation of throwing out scientific babies with the metaphysical bath.

Karl Popper’s discussion of "falsifiability" was initiated in response to this problem. He noted that although universal statements are not, in principle, verifiable, they are, in principle, falsifiable. One exception to a scientific law is enough to falsify it because it shows that the law does not hold universally (at least it shows this if the exception to the law is accepted as a genuine one; that is, as long as it is not regarded as the result of faulty experimental work or of other peculiar circumstances that rule it out as a genuine exception to the law).10 I should note that Popper’s relation to positivism and his particular purposes in pressing the issue of "falsifiability" is too complex a matter to discuss here, but the appeal to it did seem to offer positivists a chance to salvage their enterprise of formulating a clear and effective criterion for distinguishing scientific from metaphysical assertions. For some positivists insisted that, by contrast with scientific laws, such metaphysical assertions as, "The Absolute is Perfect" are not falsifiable even in principle11. However, the test of falsifiability suffered from a major defect with which Popper himself grappled, namely, that no existential statement, that is, no statement which asserts that something exists, is ever conclusively falsifiable. No matter how long one has gone on fruitlessly searching for the Abominable Snowman, there is always the possibility that one will turn up. In light of this discussion, the coup de grace to both conclusive verifiability and to conclusive falsifiability is administerable by means of a statement, such as the one offered by J. 0. Urmson that contains both a universal ("every") and an existential ("some") element: "Every person who walks under a ladder will meet with some misfortune."12

One way out of the difficulty that has been suggested is the abandonment of the demand for conclusive verification and falsification. A statement would then be synthetically meaningful if some specifiable observation statements would tend to confirm or to falsify it.13 The suggestion has much to recommend it, but it will not serve as a means of neatly separating scientific wheat from metaphysical or theological chaff. To appreciate this point, let us consider Basil Mitchell’s parable of the partisan and the stranger.14 In an occupied country, a partisan meets a stranger. In a night of intense communion between them, the stranger reveals himself as the leader of the resistance. The partisan, overwhelmed at this disclosure and impelled to trust the stranger, promises to keep on trusting him, whatever happens. His faith is soon put to the test because the stranger reappears as the head of the local unit of the Gestapo. The partisan keeps his trust and assures his comrades that the man is really one of them. After that, when members of the underground who have been taken into custody are unexpectedly released, the partisan’s faith in the stranger is confirmed; and when members of the underground are unexpectedly taken prisoner and are then executed, the evidence seems to go against his belief in the identity of the stranger. However, persevering in his faith, the partisan assures his doubting comrades that the stranger really is one of them but that he cannot intervene too openly on the side of the underground or his role as the leader of the resistance would be discovered by the Nazis. By means of this parable, Basil Mitchell claims that events in this world do count for and against transcendental theological assertions, for example, "God loves us"; but he also claims that we can, like the partisan, retain our faith even in the face of strong evidence that counts against it. Therefore, he insists that no amount of negative evidence can ever count conclusively against it. Thus theological statements are held to be partially verifiable and partially falsifiable, but not conclusively so. However, if conclusiveness is to be jettisoned from the empiricist criterion of meaning, then (if the line of thought illustrated by means of this parable is effective) theological statements ought to be included in the lists of meaningful assertions. From the standpoint of the positivists, the floodgates would then be open.15

Logical probing into the nature and operation of synthetic statements uncovered further difficulties. One of the basic distinctions between analytic and synthetic statements concerns their logical status. An analytic statement is necessarily true or necessarily false. If it is true, then, its negation, which is necessarily (that is, under any circumstances whatever) false, is self-contradictory. By contrast, a synthetic assertion and its negation are both possible, and both are meaningful; one is true, the other is false, and it is observation that determines the issue.

The next problem we shall consider unfolds in the following way: "There exists at least one black swan" is clearly, by any criterion, including the most stringent application of the verifiability principle, a synthetic assertion which is patently meaningful. Therefore, its negation ought to be equally meaningful. Yet, when we analyze its negation, namely, "There does not exist at least one black swan," we find that it is logically convertible to the universal proposition that "Nothing that is both a swan and black exists." However, we have noted that universal statements can never, in principle, be verified, and so this denial of an unquestionably meaningful synthetic proposition turns out to be meaningless an utterly paradoxical result.16

The positivistic reaction to these difficulties was predictable enough: they qualified or "weakened" the verifiability principle in the effort to make it permissive enough to allow for the validity of scientific assertions, while still retaining enough strength (restrictiveness) to exclude metaphysical assertions. This is the theme of Ayers Introduction to the second edition of his Language, Truth, and Logic (1948) which was published some twelve years after the original. With these difficulties in mind, he proposed the following, "weaker" version of the principle, "A statement is verifiable, and consequently meaningful, if some observation-statement can be deduced from it in conjunction with certain other premises, without being deducible from these premises alone."17 The sort of thing that Ayer wanted to allow for by means of this reformulation of the principle is clear enough. A statement about electrons is not verifiable by direct observation. Nonetheless, when tied to all sorts of observations of photographic plates, meter readings, and the like, statements about electrons functioning in the context of scientific theories — enable physicists to deduce further observation statements that could not be deduced from the exclusive consideration of the empirical data. The scientist then runs experiments to see whether the deduced observation statements are experimentally verified. Here then (if for the sake of argument, we refrain from raising further difficulties), we have an example of an effective application of the weaker, that is, the more permissive version of the principle, which permits the sobriquet "meaningful" to be attached to the sort of scientific statements from which the older and tougher versions withheld it.

We have already noted the point that the logical relation of negation raised problems for the restrictive tendencies of the verifiability principle. We must now note that the logical relation of the hypothetical, "If . . . then . . .," plays just as damaging a role with regard to the permissive tendencies of the weak version of the principle. Ayer himself (drawing on a critical essay by Isaiah Berlin) presents a reductio ad absurdum argument, which I shall somewhat modify.18 The first premise is: "If the Absolute is perfect then this is white." The second premise is: "The Absolute is perfect." Taken together, they yield (by means of Modus ponens) the conclusion: "This is white." This conclusion is clearly a meaningful synthetic statement; indeed, it could serve as a prime example of one. By contrast, "The Absolute is perfect" might serve as prime example of the kind of metaphysical or theological statement that positivists wanted to label meaningless. Yet by the application of the weak version of the verifiability principle, the statement that "The Absolute is perfect" emerges as a meaningful instance of a synthetic assertion. Why? Because one could not deduce the conclusion, "This is white," from the first premise when taken by itself, nor could one deduce it from the second premise taken by itself; but we have seen that we can deduce the observation statement "This is white" from the two premises together. And Ayer notes that the procedure can be generalized. If we accept the weak version of the verifiability principle, any metaphysical statement which is set in a straightforward indicative form can, by conversion into the "If . . . then . . ." form, be endowed with synthetic meaningfulness.

It is now clear that no consensus regarding the verifiability principle is to be found within the broad spectrum of philosophers whose thinking may be classed as analytic; rather, there are two basic approaches to it. The first of these is to keep on modifying the statements of the principle in the effort to attain an adequate version of it. Rudolf Carnap and C. C. Hempel are outstanding representatives of this tendency. The latter, at the end of his survey of the problem has written: "Indeed, it is to be hoped that before long some of the open problems encountered in the analysis of cognitive significance will be clarified and that then our last version of the empiricist meaning criterion will be replaced by another more adequate one."19 His openness to criticism and his constructive efforts to uncover the principle underlying meaningful synthetic assertions make Hempel’s hope a laudable one; but, insofar as it runs athwart an important emphasis of contemporary analytic thought, it is somewhat suspect. Analysts today are concerned with the formulation of ever more precise questions and with the detailed analysis of fine points that are relevant to answering them. They react strongly against large-scale generalizations that are expressed in terms of what Gilbert Ryle calls "smother words." "Reality," "truth," "experience," and the like, are words that can be misused to blanket hosts of disparate phenomena and important distinctions. Many analysts would now regard "verifiability" as a smother word because they suspect that undue rigidity is involved in the very effort to subsume the wide variety of synthetic assertions under the two categories "meaningful" and "meaningless." While no one who has read Hempel can accuse him of simplicism in his recent work on this issue, the very refinement displayed in these essays makes verifiability ineffective as the kind of instant metaphysical purgative it was originally intended to be.

The other, more common, approach to verifiability on the part of contemporary analysts is to regard it as an activity rather than a doctrine. They abandon the search for an adequate version of the principle that could be defended against all corners, and use it instead as an important move in philosophical argument. Analysts who take this tack concede the ineffectiveness of verifiability as a "litmus paper" device for eliminating metaphysics. Therefore, if a philosopher stakes out a traditional metaphysical position, such as the "substance view" of the self, analysts of this kind do not dismiss it out of hand as a species of metaphysical nonsense. Instead, they examine the arguments one by one and challenge the metaphysical to make his claim good. The nature of this challenge has been succinctly stated by Elmer Sprague, "philosophical debates are hottest between those philosophers who want to make certain entries in the list of what there is in the world and other philosophers who do not want to let them get away with it."20

One important feature of this story is the negative one. Positivists and their successors have not produced an adequate version of the verifiability principle. However, their ability to nail down the inadequacy of the various formulations of it provides impressive evidence of their rigor. This contrasts sharply with what goes on in theological circles where theologians cannot seem to agree as to what does not "go." Nevertheless, there is some good news for theologians in this story of the quest for the verifiability principle, because the failure to make any particular version of it stick does mean that theology cannot be ruled out of court without examination. However, a word of caution is in order: To stand for an examination is no guaranty of passing it.21

III. The Abandonment of Positivistic Dogma and the Analytic Turn to Metaphysics

An aspect of logical positivism that has carried over to the contemporary analytic scene is the orientation to the natural sciences; as manifested today, it probably owes as much to the pragmatists’ emphasis on the method of scientific inquiry as it does to any of the emphases of the positivists. Earlier many philosophers were inclined to take the positivists at face value and to regard their enterprise as a vigorous manifestation of the scientific spirit within the philosophical camp; later, they began to wonder whether the positivists were not merely partisan. There was, after all, something prejudicial and dogmatic about the tortuous efforts of the positivists to achieve a version of the verifiability principle with the right combination of permissiveness ("science-in") and restrictiveness ("metaphysics-out"). A scientific inquiry into meaningfulness should have been more open-ended. In a genuine inquiry, one might well begin with a sense of the meaningfulness of certain types of statements and of the meaninglessness of other types, but one would be open to the possibility that things might not turn out just that way. The positivists, on the other hand, held their favorite metaphysical whipping boys — Platonic, Heideggenian, and theological statements — constant. These were branded as meaningless, come what may! They then tried desperately to find the broadsword that would eliminate them at one blow without injuring any innocent "scientific" or "common-sense" bystanders.

Now that we have examined the kinds of arguments that analysts have used in attacking the dogma of verifiability, it will be useful to quote an anti-positivistic polemic written by Morton White, a contemporary analyst. It strikes at a number of other dogmas as well. This will help us to appreciate the extent to which the positivistic consensus (if there ever was one outside the confines of the Vienna circle) has broken down among contemporary analysts.

The early Platonism of Moore and Russell, the distinction between analytic and synthetic statements, the attempt to formulate a criterion of cognitive meaning, the emotive theory of ethics, the pragmatic philosophy of science all of them were at one time liberating forces in the philosophy of the twentieth century. They helped divert philosophical attention from a number of pseudo-problems; they increased respect for logic and exactness in philosophy; they encouraged a laudable degree of self-consciousness among philosophers which led to a healthy reexamination of philosophical methods and philosophical aims.

But . . . ideas that were once liberating and which helped puncture the inflationary schemes of traditional philosophy were soon collected and composed into a tradition. . . . The terms "analytic," "meaningless," "emotive," and ‘naturalistic fallacy" — to mention only some — became empty slogans instead of revolutionary tools; the quest for meaning replaced the quest for certainty; orthodoxy followed revolt. Logic, physics, and ethics were assigned special and unique methods of justification; ancient metaphysical generalizations about everything being fire or water were erased and replaced by equally indefensible universal theses, according to which all logical statements are like this, and all physical statements are like that, and all ethical statements very different from both. . . . Whereas their metaphysical predecessors, whom they regarded as benighted and befuddled, made startling generalizations about all of existence, analytically minded philosophers (and those who were pragmatically minded too] defended apparently sober but equally dubious claims about linguistic expressions or their meanings.22

This statement reflects the anti-dogmatic spirit that has been manifest among contemporary analysts at least since Quine published his assault on "Two Dogmas of Empiricism" in 1951.23 It may also be taken as an earnest of the willingness of contemporary analysts to address themselves to philosophical issues that the positivists thought they had buried; metaphysics is certainly one of these. One reason for this concern with traditional issues is that once the "litmus paper" view of the verifiability principle has been abandoned there is no simple way of distinguishing what analysts of today do from that which was done by metaphysicians of the past. Traditional problems of philosophy are then found lurking in the sophisticated formulations of the present. An instructive example of this is the question of "essences." Philosophers had traditionally operated with the assumption that the use of common nouns was regulated by the essential characteristics that underlay the maze of accidental features that a given phenomenon displayed. In the effort to rid philosophers of this obsession, Wittgenstein introduced the notion of "family resemblances." He urged philosophers to abandon their "essentialistic" preconceptions and to use this notion as an aid in paying the most careful attention to the nuances of words in their manifold relations to the phenomena they stand for.24 In his well-known illustration of "games," he noted that games (board games, card games, sports, and romping children) display a complex network of crisscrossing characteristics that resemble the way characteristics of parents get scrambled among their children. There is no one "essential" characteristic which is common to all. If one applied this approach to a complex phenomenon such as religion, one would resist the temptation to search for an "essence" of it; instead, one would study as many instances as possible and map out the resemblances. This is the point of Wittgenstein’s admonition: "Don’t think, but look!"

The effort to eliminate fatuous quests for non-existent essences is liberating in some contexts, but the problems that exercised the philosophers of the past cannot be lightly dismissed. For one thing, to apply the technique of family resemblances to all common nouns would run counter to the resistance to dogmatic generalizations exemplified by contemporary analysts and certainly by Wittgenstein himself. Some words are inextricably tied to certain fundamental characteristics, for example, as "brother" is to "male." In addition, the conceptual considerations that agitated the "essentialists" of the past re-emerge in the context of family resemblances when one has to cope — at the fringes — with the problems of determining the limits of consanguinity.

It would, however, be a mistake to suggest that the concern with metaphysics manifest among contemporary analysts is inadvertent or that it is evoked under duress. P. F. Strawson, Wilfrid Sellars, W. van O. Quine, Gustav Bergmann, and other contemporary analysts unblushingly engage in metaphysical discourse as they tackle such traditional problems of philosophy as the metaphysics of experience (the conceptual preconditions of significant experience), the philosophy of mind, and the basic ontological questions (what there is), as well as questions of ethics. To them they bring the resources of the recent developments in formal logic, the linguistic self-consciousness induced by recent work in semantics, and an impressive mastery of the achievements and problems of the sciences.25 Yet a qualification may be called for; in an important essay on the "Metaphilosophical Difficulties of Linguistic Philosophy," R. M. Rorty claims that these resources are employed in a way that makes it misleading to say that these analysts are doing metaphysics, if the term "metaphysics" retains its traditional associations.26 The issues they deal with may be traditional, but they construe their task in a radically different way. They follow the positivists in rejecting the claim — characteristic of traditional metaphysicians that philosophy can add to our knowledge of the world. In this domain they do not believe that philosophical conceptualization can supplement scientific inquiry. They regard their job as that of providing a "clean" conceptual framework for the knowledge we actually acquire through science and common sense, that is, a framework that will be expressed in precise and controllable forms and one that will be free of the confusions of purpose and the turgid jargons that scarred the metaphysical systems of the past. If Rorty is right, then from the standpoint of philosophers who are still oriented toward the traditional approaches to metaphysics, the post-positivistic era in analysis is not all that different from its predecessor, and the analysts’ turn to metaphysics is deceptive. The main difference would seem to be that contemporary analysts have been chastened by the abandonment of the dogmas that inaugurated the "revolution in philosophy," so that they ought to be less disposed to summary dismissals of metaphysical theses — regardless of the orientation of the thinkers who propose them.

In any event, whatever may be the case regarding their approach to such inescapable issues as the philosophy of mind or ontology, it is clear that contemporary analysts remain most inhospitable to transcendental metaphysics and theology. These analysts (metaphysical or not) are responsive to a point made many times over by C. F. Moore: There are all sorts of things which can be known to be obviously true but which are very difficult to analyze ("analysis" in this context means to offer a satisfactory theoretical account of how these obvious truths are known to be true). Included in the list of truisms which he regarded as certainly knowable, were such matters as the existence of his body and the contact it has with other bodies.27 When assertions of this kind prove hard to analyze, and when scientific assertions whose truth is relatively obvious also prove hard to analyze, the analysts of today are not disposed to excursions into transcendental realms in order to analyze statements about "the Absolute," "Being-Itself," or God." In these cases, it is hard to determine just what it is that one is supposed to be analyzing, much less how one would ever agree on procedures for resolving conflicts about these transcendental matters.

Again and again, religious thinkers invoke the Tu Quoque in dealing with analytic philosophers. Religious thinkers point to the difficulties involved in the efforts to formulate the empiricist criterion of meaning by means of the verifiability principle, or they point to the difficulties of determining the precise character of the analytic-synthetic distinction. They then say something like, ‘We philosophical theologians may have our difficulties, but you analysts have yours too, so that there’s little to choose between us on that score. Therefore, considering the ultimate importance of the issues we deal with, you ought to abandon your trivial epistemological pursuits and get to work on our field."

Analysts who are confronted with this sort of appeal might well respond with the argument that Reinhold Niebuhr directed against Lewis Mumford. In one of his books, Mumford was sharply critical of the United Nations and, because of the obvious limitations of this organization, he urged that it be abandoned and that the World Federalist Program be adopted in its place. In answer, Niebuhr said that this was like a man who was crawling along the narrow ridge high up on a cliff, holding to the rocky side for dear life, being told that since the progress he was making was so tortuous and since the danger of his making a false step and plunging into the abyss was so great, the only thing for him to do was to let go and fly.

IV. The Theological Victim

It should now be clear that philosophical theologians can take scant comfort from the revival of interest in metaphysics manifested by some philosophical analysts. To be sure, analysts are by no means the only contemporary philosophers, but they remain the dominant group among English-speaking philosophers of our day; and, if philosophical theologians are concerned to deal with the contemporary philosophical scene, they had better read them straight.

A qualification to the pessimism that I have expressed concerning the possibility of fruitful discussion between theologians and analysts is the point (already noted) that the anti-dogmatic tendencies of contemporary analysts ought to preclude the possibility of their reading any positions out of court. Yet there are special problems concerned with the theistic concept of the transcendent God that make the resurrection of this victim of philosophical analysis far less likely.28 The problem I have in mind may be explicated by reference to J. N. Findlay’s examination of the implications of worship and to Paul Tillich’s examination of idolatry.

In his essay, "Can God’s Existence Be Disproved?"29 Findlay attacked a dogma of the religious existentialists, namely, the dichotomy between the God of the philosophers and the God of the patriarchs. He did so by bypassing the usual philosophical point of departure, the quest for rational consistency, and by beginning instead with reflection upon the most distinctive act of religious men, the act of worship. He claimed that an implication of this act is that its object ought to be utterly unlike any being whatever that we normally encounter; a mere quantitative difference would not do because the utter adoration that characterizes the act of worship would be an inappropriate response to a being who merely differed from us quantitatively. Therefore, the God we worship must be conceived as one who does not merely happen to exist, to be good, to be knowing, or what have you. A God appropriate to the act of worship must exist necessarily and possess all attributes necessarily. This guarantees the absolute qualitative distinction between God and man, but the problem that this poses for philosophical theology is that we neither have experience of a Being of this "necessary order nor is our conceptual apparatus equipped to handle it. Therefore, a God who is religiously appropriate would seem, "necessarily," to be conceptually contradictory.

In no other domain known to me is there as great a non-philosophical stake in setting a subject beyond the range of our conceptual apparatus. Tillich — in updating the prophetic protest against idolatry and rendering it in philosophical terms insisted upon this point throughout his career. God cannot be treated in terms of our normal conceptual apparatus because any effort to do so results in setting God as one item alongside others, and this reduces God to the status of an idol.30 However, there is no road from unqualified uniqueness to the language of men. To grant to God that conceptual status that the act of worship and the protest against idolatry demand is to render the concept of God transcognitive as well as transcendent; and the method of systematic silence is not one to be commended to a philosophical discipline, not even to philosophical theology.

A further barrier to fruitful discussion between theologians and analysts is that, whereas the analysts focus on method, theologians are thinkers whose major purpose is to reflect on a specific body of traditional assertions. Philosophical theologians can hardly be expected to "sit loosely" to teachings concerning God and his nature, while letting their method carry them where it will. That is one of my reasons for maintaining that, although an austere form of metaphysics has already risen phoenix-like from the positivistic ashes to play a role in analytic discourse, theological discourse is still pretty much confined to the role of a horrible example of how not to proceed.

Yet we do not live by our accomplishments alone, no more in philosophy than in life. Our faith in the meaningfulness of the task at hand often derives its potency from hope. Nor are hardboiled empiricists immune to this; witness the following statement by Israel Scheffler which concludes his brilliant survey of the problem of verifiability: "It appears, in sum, that even a modest empiricism is presently a hope for clarification and a challenge to constructive investigation rather than a well-grounded doctrine, unless we construe it in a quite trivial way. Empiricists are perhaps best thought of as those who share the hope and accept the challenge — who refuse to take difficulty as a valid reason either for satisfaction with the obscure or for abandonment of effort."31

If analysts can take this sort of line without being branded as irrational and wishful thinkers, why cannot philosophical theologians take the same tack? After all, one thing that we should have learned from Kierkegaard’s use of the "Leap" is that rational considerations regarding matters of this kind do not play the sort of clearcut and decisive role that enables us to determine with precision just when clinging to hope becomes unreasonable. An element of arbitrariness enters into decisions to say, "It is no longer reasonable to work at the task of producing an adequate version of the verifiability principle," or "It is no longer reasonable to hope that additional effort will result in the production of a conceptual scheme adequate to the task of philosophical theology." The cut-off point will vary from one individual to the next, and it will depend upon all sorts of cultural factors. With this in mind, philosophical theologians might well think that they need not be cowed by the enormity of the problems. Indeed, this attitude of "work and hope" was commended to theologians by the philosopher Richard Brandt. At a conference of philosophers (mainly analysts) and theologians, he was discussing the question of the significance of theological statements and the possibility for meaningful disagreement between skeptics and believers. He noted that we would not expect them to have the same judgments regarding the meaningfulness of a set of religious concepts because there is no mechanical routine for grading the meaningfulness of concepts.

Furthermore, and very important, sceptics and theologians can differ on how well a system might score, if only it were improved in ways in which excellent minds and time might enable it to be improved. The believer will be more optimistic, the sceptic more pessimistic, on this [scoring]. . . . Even if the contemporary believer must in candor rate religious concepts lower . . . than they would have reasonably been rated six hundred years ago, he might claim that they do not score too badly considering the problems, and he may construe his job to make the system clearer so that it scores better.32

While nothing, in principle, prevents theologians from adopting the optimistic attitude that Brandt describes, it may be useful to underscore the difficulties involved by bringing out the sort of problem to which he alludes. Let us reflect on the following sequence of problematic issues:

1. The analysis of statements about material objects, for example, a stone.

2. The scientific analysis of the phenomenon of light that leads to the paradox of the "wave" and "particle" theories.

3. The analysis of the claim, I am now in conversation with another person.

4. The moral problems involved in analyzing statements about the justice of a given set of social arrangements.

5. The problems involved in evaluating the worth of two different recordings of Mozart’s "Clarinet Quintet."

6. The problem imbedded in Robert MacAfee Brown’s assertion that "Christian statements will always be vulnerable, because they are such a far cry from the real thing. But the real thing is never vulnerable because the real thing is not man in his stumbling statements, but the living God himself, whose reality is not dependent upon the adequacy or inadequacy of our statements about him."33

In the first five cases, a common pattern prevails: Analyze as much as you like, but the phenomenon being analyzed remains palpably (i.e., "invulnerably") present to you. Dr. Johnson’s crude answer to Bishop Berkeley certainly did not resolve the difficulties inherent in analyzing statements about material objects, but they could both, nevertheless, be certain that whatever the outcome of the analysis, the stone would still be there to be kicked, and the kicker would still be in danger of stubbing his toe. In similar fashion, whatever the outcome of the scientific analysis of light, the sun will still shine. Continuing down the list, we note that, regardless of the outcome of philosophical analysis, the reference to persons is inescapable. Analyses that attack the "ghost in the machine" may, if we accept them, alter our understanding of persons, but the reference for these analyses is relatively clear. Indeed it is to persons that such analyses are addressed. We may now continue to the next item and note that, regardless of the outcome of ethical analysis, people will continue to order their social arrangements in various ways and to seek moral standards for doing so. Finally, it is clear that, at the application of the stylus, records will emit their sounds and that this does not depend on the outcome of our aesthetic analysis.

The item dealing with the living God breaks the pattern. The wording suggests that here too we have a phenomenon unquestionably present over against us, a phenomenon that demands analysis in one form or another. And Brown’s remarks suggest that the main difficulty is that of hitting on the right analysis. However, this is deceptive. With regard to the "living God," we can reasonably raise the issue of whether there is anything there over and above the ‘stumbling statements" about him. When subjected to analysis (of many kinds, and not merely of the contemporary philosophical variety), it appears that the transcendent God is "vulnerable" in ways that the other phenomena are not, because the only sensible references for theological statements about "The God who acts" are the actions of men, the regularities of the natural order, or some other wholly immanent phenomena that are present. Furthermore, in the other cases listed we might, on analysis, discover that what we were actually up to was a very different affair from what we had thought it was, but our jumping-off point would still be there to be pointed out. In the case of the transcendent God, when analysis induces a changed perspective, we may find ourselves unable to try for a better analysis because we would no longer be able to locate the object of it.

A final note: In cases 1-5, a person who denied the reference — in practical terms and not merely by way of pointing up the inadequacy of a particular analysis — would be a likely candidate for confinement to a mental institution. This is clearly not the case with regard to a person who denies the existence of God.

The loss of a meaningful "reference" for talk about the transcendent God, can, nevertheless, leave theologians with an obvious object of analysis: Religion in its vast ramifications. This is the sad end product of the "Death of God" theology that received its initial impetus from the work of Dietrich Bonhoeffer. His bold claim was that God so much wants men to be free and mature that he wants them to dispense with the crutch of religion, even with the crutch of the "God of religion." Bonhoeffer regarded the "God of religion" as a crutch because this "God" is the all too knowable and all too available "God" of the kind of conventional piety that treats the Ultimate as an idol. The "Death of God" theologians — aware of the challenge of contemporary analysis to the notion of transcendence, and finding themselves incapable of meeting it — claim to be following Bonhoeffer’s lead when they jettison the transcendent God. Christianity is thus cut off from relation to the incomprehensible deity who is, as we have noted — whatever the difficulties of formulation involved — the only worthy object of worship. The "Death of God" theologians then try to convince themselves and their readers that what remains is authentic Christianity. They do this by driving an illusory wedge between Christianity and religion by means of "persuasive definitions" of both "Christianity" and "religion." These definitions are calculated to show that Christianity is not, and never really was, a "religion" and that it never essentially depended on belief in the transcendent God. Actually, what they present is that most pernicious form of idolatry: religion without God. The emergence of the "Death of God" theology, which is certainly not the best theology being done today, nevertheless well illustrates the considerations that lead me to say that the theological victim of contemporary analysis is in the worst shape of all. If you take the problem of transcendence seriously, while maintaining a Christian form of what Paul Tillich called "ultimate concern," you can be driven to this sort of thing.

V. A Disturbing Parallel

It may well be objected that what I have presented in this essay is not an accurate description of the contemporary philosophical scene but propaganda on behalf of one particularly active segment of it. Evidence could be cited to show that not only is there an absence of consensus among contemporary analysts but that there has also been some defection from their ranks to other and more traditional philosophical approaches. Findlay, whom I have cited on more than one point in this essay, is a good example of this. His recent Gifford Lectures document his shift from philosophical analysis to his own synthesis of Hegel and Husserl.34 In addition, many philosophers dedicated to the defense of traditional metaphysical positions are professors at important universities; they publish many books, and there are journals devoted to publishing their articles. Furthermore (to quote Findlay again), "there can be nothing really ‘clinching’ in philosophy: ‘proofs’ and ‘disproofs’ hold only for those who adopt certain premises, who are willing to follow certain rules of argument, and who use their terms in certain definite ways."35 Indeed, we have noted that even among the analysts, who do pretty much adopt the same premises and standards of arguments, the central doctrines of one generation have proved to be the scornfully rejected dogmas of the next. Therefore, a theologian who rejected my account of the contemporary scene could claim that I must be surveying the prospects for meaningful confrontation between theologians and philosophers with a jaundiced eye.

I would not know how to go about refuting this charge in a conclusive way. So much depends on the perspective with which we study the material that an evaluation of the state of something as complex and variegated as the current philosophical scene is bound to be affected by all sorts of subjective considerations. In light of this, the best I can do by way of replying to the charge that I have presented a "party line" on the current philosophical situation is to call attention to a parallel that I find more than a little disturbing.

Fundamentalists today reject descriptions of the contemporary theological scene that report the triumph of the critical approach to the Bible. They claim that this judgment, which treats all modes of the literal interpretation of the Bible as passe, represents the biased view of one party to a live dispute. In advocating this position, Fundamentalists can certainly marshal a good deal of evidence. Fundamentalism, they can insist, is far from dead as a social force. Furthermore, intellectually speaking, they can point to the many schools, seminaries, and journals which are dominated by the Fundamentalist outlook, and to the many articles and books published by Fundamentalist professors.

Apart from that, Fundamentalists can press the point that there has been no conclusive disproof of the "Dictation Theory" of the verbal inspiration of the Bible or of the "Supernatural Incursion" theory of miracle. All the arguments against these views have, after all, been advanced by thinkers who assume the very point at issue, namely, the intrinsic impossibility of certain types of occurrences and the utter implausibility of the evidence on behalf of possible, but highly unlikely, occurrences (the transcendent and infinite God talking directly and audibly to men being an instance of the first sort of thing, and the instant healing of a totally paralyzed man being an instance of the second).

Furthermore, when they move to the attack, Fundamentalists point to the great changes that have taken place in higher criticism over the decades. The "Documentary Theory" of the Pentateuch and the multiplication of sources of such prophetic books as Isaiah have been replaced by theories which manifest far more conservative tendencies. What is more, no responsible higher critic could assert that a consensus on important issues, such as "The Quest for the Historical Jesus" now prevails. In light of this, Fundamentalists vehemently protest the fact that in so many great centers of theological learning the validity of the critical perspective is simply assumed and not argued for.

Higher critics used to spend a good deal of their energy arguing with Fundamentalists. Now they just get on with their work and concentrate on developing better tools, such as carbon tests, for advancing the scope of their field.

It is clear that the situation in philosophy, insofar as it pertains to the openness of philosophers to the meaningfulness of theological discourse, is not that far along, but it is well on its way. As one who is concerned (in the Tillichian sense) with philosophical theology, I find it, as already noted, a disturbing parallel.

The abandonment of the Positivistic crudities and the fluid state of analysis today open two possibilities to philosophical theologians: (1) Retreat like the Fundamentalists and say that, since analysis itself has problems, "Who are they to write us off? We can now be quite certain that no philosophy has the answers and so we can go back to where we were before, to a pre-positivistic philosophical outlook in which freewheeling appeal to the synthetic a priori and all sorts of other devices is the fashion." (2) Work in and through the contemporary, analytically dominated, philosophical scene and struggle for conceptual adequacy.

The extent to which philosophical theologians can work in terms of the second option will determine the extent to which the parallel will prove misleading and irrelevant.

VI. A Question for Hartshornians

One of the leading contemporary analytic philosophers has written that "our practice is a very fluid affair. If we are to speak of linguistic rules at all, we ought to think of them as rules which everyone has a licence to violate if he can show a point in doing so."36 This might be taken as a slogan for theologians who follow through on the impetus that Charles Hartshorne has provided for philosophical theology. Hartshorne has called for, and executed, a radical revision of our conceptual apparatus in order to give to God, understood in terms of the concept of Perfection, the centrality that is his due. However, the points that Hartshorne has made in doing so have all been pretty much confined to his central theme: the adaptation of Whitehead’s metaphysics to the purposes of philosophical theology.

Hartshorne’s work in philosophical theology has been successful to a degree that more than justifies the interest shown in his work. He has shown that logical considerations, soberly expressed in the context of theological discourse, have a great deal to tell us about the religious impetus of theology. On logical grounds, Hartshorne maintains that the classical theistic treatment of the attributes of God is incoherent. He insists that the view that an omniscient God is nevertheless changeless in every respect whatever is a view that will not stand up under examination. In a world in which change is real, it is not conceivable that an omniscient being could know future events as actual in advance of their actual occurrence. Therefore, as events unfold in time, the state of knowledge of an omniscient God must change, and this is to say that God changes in respect of his knowledge.

However, Hartshorne also insists that the utterly changeless God of the classical theistic tradition is a religiously inadequate God. In evidence of this, he cites the fact that, within the framework of our experience of the contingent beings we encounter in everyday life, we find that the superior being is the being that changes in response to others, not the being that is unaffected. If a man sees a tree, the tree is not conscious of the man, whereas the man is aware of the tree and changes as a result; this is one of the things that makes the man superior to the tree. Hartshorne regards the classical view of an omnipotent and omniscient God who rules the world absolutely without being affected by the events that transpire in it as rooted in the concept — which he finds religiously unpalatable — of the Oriental view of the absolute potentate. Thus religious grounds supplement his logical ones for urging the purgation of the classical theistic view of the attributes of God.

Hartshorne’s criticisms of the doctrines of classical theism are the most thoroughgoing and potently expressed since Hegel’s. Furthermore, close attention to their religious content discloses the surprising phenomenon, to which Ogden has called our attention, that this theology is a startling complement to existentialistic anthropology.37 Hartshorne’s doctrine of God — expressed in logical symbols and, usually, without reference to the emotional overtones of religious language — captures the note of personal striving and creative freedom that is central to existentialistic concerns.

Yet at many points, his achievement is more a matter of pointing to the major tasks of philosophical theology than of executing them. The most important work that Hartshorne published in recent years was his lengthy essay on the ontological argument in which, placing heavy reliance on techniques of formal logic, he offered what seemed to be a "hard" proof of its validity, and so raised the hope that this statement of the proof might be the "real thing," that is, a cornerstone for the sort of conceptual revision that Hartshorne was calling for in his work. Hartshorne himself stated that this proof was not up to the job of dealing with the positivistic criticisms of religious language.38 This ambitious and important task is, presumably, bequeathed to his followers.

The work that Hartshorne has done in adapting Whitehead’s metaphysics to theological purposes and in criticizing and revising the doctrines of classical theology is an important contribution to philosophical theology but, in and of itself, this sort of thing will not evoke a new phase of the discussion between theologians and philosophers. Ogden has noted that "The ‘new vision’ (Hartshorne’s) . . .has not yet enjoyed anything like the response — either from philosophers or from theologians — to which it is entitled."39 As we have seen, despite the new openness of contemporary analytic philosophers, speculative metaphysics, in the traditional sense of the term, is still suspect, and rejected. Theological language regarding the transcendent God is even more emphatically written off. The buttressing of one questionable enterprise (theology) by means of an appeal to the insights of another questionable enterprise (Whiteheadian metaphysics) is not likely to compel attention from thinkers who are not already involved with one or the other of them. Since the analytic philosophers, who dominate the philosophical scene in the English-speaking world, are not involved with either, it would seem that prospects are not bright for discussion along the lines thus far pursued by Hartshorne and his followers.

To gain the attention of analytic philosophers, it would be necessary to come to grips with such current philosophical issues as Quine’s "nominalism" and to show the fruitfulness of Whiteheadian metaphysics for areas other than theology. It might be objected that this would be equally unpersuasive. Analysts, it will be said, are so biased against speculative metaphysics that they would not pay attention to applications of it to any field whatever. Against this I would urge the example of Reinhold Niebuhr. He launched his critique of contemporary culture from the perspective of original sin, a perspective to which the climate of opinion of the day was deeply hostile. Yet he gained the attention of the non-theological and non-believing world — including many philosophers — by means of the power of his insights into politics, labor relations, international affairs, and the rest. Theologians may have been interested in his arguments with Augustine et al., over the interpretation of Christian doctrine; but if he had confined himself to this sort of thing, he would not have gained the attention of the uncommitted.40

In a remarkable essay on "What We Can Say about God," Fred Summers provides a survey of the ontological options available to philosophical theologians. At the end of it, he makes a brief reference to the work of Whitehead and notes that its prospects for relevance are closely linked with work in the biophysical sciences.41 This is the sort of extrinsic reference that would give a cutting edge to the work of Hartshorne’s followers; and, if it were well done, analysts and others would listen whether they wanted to or not. In philosophy as in science, the fruitfulness of a theory is in direct proportion to the variety of kinds of circumstances to which it finds application. For this reason, I hope that the thinkers who are engaged in the revival of philosophical theology will not confine themselves to reflection on theological language. If they do so, they will wind up in a rut in which they talk to no one but themselves. This would be an irony of theological history because they would then be doing the very same things that the Barthians did; and surely one of the major factors underlying the renewed interest in philosophical theology is a reaction against the Barthian’s tendency to restrict intellectual confrontations within the cozy confines of religious in-groups.

 

NOTES:

1. Thirty authors contributed essays to W. L. Reese and E. Freeman, eds., The Hartshorne Festschrift, Process and Divinity (LaSalle, Ill., 1964).

2. Philosophical Fragments, 2d ed. (Princeton, N.J., 1962), n. 1, pp. 79ff.

3. "Theology and Objectivity," Journal of Religion, XLV (; "Theology and Philosophy: A New Phase of the Discussion," Journal of Religion, XLIV (1964].

4. "Theology and Objectivity," 187ff. For the "consensus" that Ogden rejects, see P. van Buren, The Secular Meaning of the Gospel (New York, 1963), Part I, chap. iv.

5. Prolegomeno to Any Future Metaphysics (Chicago, 1949), 2.

6. I begin my account of the verifiability principle with the statement found in the most publicized work on the subject, A. J. Ayer’s Language, Truth, and Logic (London, 1936), but it should be noted that in this work Ayer refined the cruder operationalistic versions of it that had been advanced by members of "the Vienna circle." The most wide-ranging historical survey of the issue is to be found in J. Passmore, Philosophical Reasoning (New York, 1961), chap. v. In Logical Positivism (Glencoe, Ill., 1959), Ayer, in the "Editor’s Introduction," and C. G. Hempel, in "The Empiricist Criterion of Meaning," present historical surveys of the issue that are contributions to its advancement. A detailed survey and contribution are also to be found in Parts I and II of I. Scheffler, "Prospects for a Modest Empiricism," Review of Metaphysics, Vol. X (1957). In chap. v. of Reason and Analysis (London, 1962), Brand Blanshard presents a survey of statements of the verifiability principle and criticizes them from the standpoint of his metaphysical idealism.

7. "Theology and Philosophy," 2.

8. "Metaphysics and Meaning," Mind, XLIV (1935), 417.

9. For an examination of the important issue of "translatability" into a specially designed empiricist language, an issue that I have ignored in this essay, see, Scheffler, op. cit.

10. Logic der Forschung (Vienna, 1935): revised English version, ‘The Logic of Scientific Discovery (London, 1959], see especially, 34-42, 64-72, 78-92.

11. A. Flew, "Theology and Falsification," in A. Flew and A. McIntyre, eds., New Essays in Philosophical Theology (London, 1955), 96ff.

12. Philosophical Analysis (Oxford, 1956), 113.

13. C. G. Hempel, "Studies in the Logic of Confirmation, I and II," Mind (1945), reprinted in, Hempel, Aspects of Scientific Explanation (New York, 1964); R. Carnap, "Truth and Confirmation," in H. Feigl and W. Sellars, eds., Readings in Philosophical Analysis (New York, 1949); W. P. Alston, Philosophy of Language (Englewood Cliffs, N.J., 1964).

14. "Theology and Falsification," in New Essays in Philosophical Theology (see n. 11 above), 103 ff. For comments on Mitchell’s position see, W. T. Blackstone, The Problem of Religious Knowledge (Englewood Cliffs, N.J., 1963), 108-112; and H. R. Burkle, "Counting Against and Counting Decisively Against," Journal of Religion, XLIV (1964).

15. Alston, 72.

16. Hempel, "The Empiricist Criterion of Meaning," 114.

17. "Introduction," Language, Truth, and Logic, 2d ed. (London, 1948), 11.

18. Ibid., 12; I. Berlin, "Verifiability in Principle," Proceedings Aristotelian Society (1938-39), 232ff.

19. "The Empiricist Criterion of Meaning," 126.

20. What Is Philosophy? (New York, 1961), 29.

21. For a sustained statement of the issue involved see, W. B. Hartley III, Retreat to Commitment (New York, 1962).

22. Toward Reunion in Philosophy (New York, 1963), 290ff.

23. Reprinted in W. van 0. Quine, From a Logical Point of View (New York, 1963).

24. Philosophical Investigations (New York, 1953), secs. 46ff. A discussion of the broader issue is found in G. Pitcher, "The Attack on Essentialism," The Philosophy of Wittgenstein (Englewood Cliffs, N.J., 1964).

25. For an important survey of American work in this field, see chap. iv of Manley Thompson’s essay, "Metaphysics," which appears in R. M. Chisholm et al., Philosophy (Englewood Cliffs, N.J.. 1964).

26. This essay is the "Editor’s Introduction" to an anthology, The Linguistic Turn (Chicago, 1967).

27. "In Defense of Common Sense," Philosophical Papers (London, 1959), 23ff.

28. See F. Ferre "The ‘Elimination’ of Theological Discourse," Language, Logic and God (New York, 1961), for an important survey of analytic criticisms of theology, including a good number, which are not discussed here.

29. New Essays In Philosophical Theology, 50ff. The fact that Findlay no longer holds the views he expressed in this essay (for his later view, see "Reflections on Necessary Existence," in Process and Divinity) does not detract from its usefulness in helping to define the task of philosophical theology in our day.

30. Systematic Theology (Chicago, 1951), I, 235-241, contain a good statement of his views on this issue.

31. 0p. cit., p. 625.

32. In J. Hick, ed., Faith and the Philosophers (New York, 1964), 152ff.

33. The Spirit of Protestantism (New York, 1961), 52.

34. The Discipline of the Cave (London, 1966).

35. "Can God’s Existence Be Disproved?" in New Essays in Philosophical Theology, 71.

36. P. F. Strawson, Introduction to Logical Theory (London, 1952), 230.

37. S. Ogden, "Bultmann’s Demythologizing and Hartshorne’s Dipolar Theism," Process and Divinity.

38. "What the Ontological Argument Does Not Do," Review of Metaphysics, Vol. XVII (1964).

39. "Theology and Philosophy," 3.

40. See W. K. Frankena, "Ethical Theory," in Philosophy, op. cit. for a statement of the way in which Reinhold Niebuhr and other Christian thinkers took over the cultural and intellectual role of James, Royce, Dewey, Santayana, and Whitehead.

41. "What We Can Say about God," Judaism, XV (1966), 72ff. For an example of the sort of thing that I have in mind (and Sommers too, I should think), see S. Wright, "Biology and the Philosophy of Science," Process and Divinity, 101-125; 114-124 deal explicitly with panpsychism.

Chapter 8: Psychological and Ontological Perspectives on Faith and Reason by Don S. Browning

Reprinted from The Journal of Religion, XLV (October 1965). Used by permission of the University of Chicago Press and Don S. Browning. Don S. Browning was educated at the University of Chicago where he is now Professor of Pastoral Theology in the Divinity School.



This essay will attempt to discuss the relation of faith and reason. At the outset, it recognizes as fundamental the Protestant idea that reason, starting from outside the circle of faith, cannot work its way to an affirmation of the central Christian truths. This is so, not because reason is without access to sufficient data that point to these truths, but because reason is never unencumbered by sin so that it can appropriately handle the data available to it. Our discussion will be guided by the following question: If Jesus Christ overcomes the distortions of sin, at least to the point that reason can acknowledge the grace and providence of God, is it then possible to move beyond the confines of the circle of faith for further witness to and verification of the faith?

It is the intent of this essay to bring together resources from psychology and ontology in an effort to clarify the relation of faith and reason. Although the ontological resource will be more the fundamentally clarifying tool, there are two psychological constructs that I intend to set into the context of my onto-epistemological position as supplemental. These constructs deal with the "self-concept" and the structure and dynamics of the "therapeutic relation."

The problem of the relation of faith and reason can be stated as follows: What is the relation between those certitudes man gains through his ability to specify, abstract, and manipulate reality through certain publicly verifiable symbolic forms and those certitudes man gains through commitment to truth claims, be they religious or otherwise, which do not readily submit to clear and distinct symbolic specification or easily attainable public verification? Truth claims that seem to be specifiable in that they lend themselves to public verification are often called matters of reason. Truth claims that do not readily submit to public verification are often called matters of faith.

In the context of Christian theology, the problem of faith and reason asks this question: What is the relation between the certitude that God enters into a saving relationship with man (most effectively and uniquely in the historical existence of Jesus of Nazareth) and those certitudes that seem to spring from man’s commonly held ability to abstract and verify the forms of events and processes in the world? In brief, we will be inquiring into the structure of faith and the structure of reason and their interrelation, if any.

Ontological and Epistemological Considerations

Two basic questions, one ontological and the other epistemological, must be dealt with before the relation of faith and reason can be properly addressed. The ontological question is: What is the relation of God to the world? The epistemological question is: What is the relation of symbols to reality? My position will assert that there is a participative relationship between symbols and reality and a participative relationship between God and the world. Hence, the ontological and epistemological questions converge in the concept of participation or what Dorothy Emmet calls "rapport."

Miss Emmet develops her epistemological position with a special interest in retaining the concept of "reality" or "real things" as a necessary dimension of our philosophy of science. She opposes idealist thinkers, such as Cassirer and Eddington, who suggest that the concepts of "things" and causality" are no longer important for scientific purposes. Emmet makes a distinction between the adverbial and the accusative modes of perception. The adverbial mode is an integral feeling, qualifying a state of experience."1 It is a physiological response to the energetic shocks from our physical environment. This physiological response sets up affective tones or bodily feelings which constitute the subjective forms of the energetic processes transmitted to us from our environment. The accusative mode of perception abstracts and differentiates certain simplified symbolic forms from the affective responses of the adverbial mode and, in turn, projects these forms onto the external environment.2

Basic to an understanding of these two modes of perception is her concept of rapport or preanimistic relatedness. Emmet’s concept of rapport points to a basic "continuity of our functions and activities with those of the environing world."3 She believes, with A. N. Whitehead, that the human organism "is part of a dynamic system of nature, a field of energetic processes of which the cerebroneural events are terminals."4 This vague sense of interpenetrating processes constitutes the raw material out of which adverbial perception arises and is the basis for our naive confidence that our perceptions refer to something "real" in the external world.

At the adverbial level of perception the continuity of functions between us and the world is felt as patterned qualities. The adverbial mode of perception must be understood as a response, a response that has some identity or correspondence with the patterned processes playing upon the organism but that, at the same time, is not unambiguously reproductive of these energetic activities.5 Even though some originative activity may occur at this primitive level of physiological responsiveness, it is holistic in nature. It is a response of the whole organism to events in their full qualitative richness. The major abstractive and originative processes tend to occur in the accusative mode of perception.

The accusative mode of perception should be understood as a mode of construction. It differentiates the affective responses of the adverbial mode and abstracts simplified, streamlined symbolic forms from the original affective response. These forms or constructs may appear as sense or sensation such as "green" abstracted from our experience of "becoming greened."6 In turn, the form "green" is projected on to the spatially extended world giving us the concept, perhaps, of a "green tree" instead of a "tree greening us," which, in the adverbial mode, is what we are really experiencing. It should be noted that although perceptions in the accusative mode are simplified and abstracted from the more qualified and holistic perceptions of the adverbial mode, they can still be said to have a participative relation with the organism’s response and the energetic processes to which this response, at least in part, conforms. Only at a later and more refined level in the symbolic process can it be said that symbols become arbitrary and have no inherent or participative relation to the processes they symbolize. At this level, they are called "signs."7

The Philosophy of Science

Before we can understand how Emmet’s onto-epistemological position feeds into her philosophy of science, we must investigate her concepts of experience, inference, and transcendence.

Emmet defines experience to include both adverbial perceptual experience and accusative perceptual experience, that is, both the process of feeling or experiencing data and the process of ordering this data.8 As was indicated earlier, experience at the accusative level is always a construct of experiencing or feeling at the adverbial level. Or to put it differently, experience at the conscious or accusative level is always an inference built up from experiencing on the preconscious or adverbial level. (Preconscious, as I am using it, means unsymbolized.) Hence, our conscious symbolizations of the external world do not capture what these events are in and of themselves. They only represent an inference about what they might be in and of themselves based on how they seem to affect us at the level of adverbial experiencing. The basis of our symbolic representation of the event is our own response to it. Since the event, at least in part, forms the response, the event can be said to be in our experience, while at the same time, transcending our experience. To "symbolize the event" means to symbolize what transcends our experiencing on the basis of what is in our experiencing. As Emmet states, "indirect inferences as to the transcendent character of these events are built up from our responses to them."9

She says that this inferential procedure is basically an analogical process. All attempts to know the transcendent aspect of events must be thought of as analogical in character. Emmet defends the analogical process against charges that it is primitive and crude by saying:

But if we say that we need to keep the concept of "things" as a recognition of processes transcending our conceptual forms, and if we also allow that we have no direct knowledge of the intrinsic nature of these processes, we shall have to ask whether we are forced to try to conceive of them in concepts drawn by analogy from interpretations of experience.10

The planetary theory of atoms, the mechanical model, field theory, and organic models are well-known examples of interexperiential models constructed to represent realities partially transcending experience. The method of analogy rests on the assumption that there is at least a partial identity of structure between the qualitative pattern of the event and our response to it. If there is distortion between event and responses, it is, at least, Emmet suggests, a systematic distortion.11 The very progress of science demonstrates that this systematic distortion does not completely destroy our veridical comprehension of the structure of external events. Since there is at least a partial identity between these structures and our response, there is also at least a partial objectification of the external event in the adverbial response of the percipient. Hence, the possibility of the analogical method rests on the principle that in the concepts of rapport and adverbial response, ontology and epistemology meet. The analogy participates in the reality it represents. Further implications for what this means in terms of God’s relatedness to the world will be mentioned later.

Distortions in the Symbolic Process and the Relevance of the "Self-Concept"

With this ontological and epistemological framework in mind, let us investigate the various ways in which man fails to grasp symbolically the realities to which he is related. Our study will suggest that there are three ways in which symbolization can become distorted — through processes of selection, abstraction, and protection.

Distortions of selection and abstraction have already been discussed. Selection is a process of ordering and valuating the data of experience according to some principle of relevance and operates at both levels of perception. In the organic responses of the adverbial level, selective processes operate according to what is relevant to the fulfilment of the organism as a whole.12 At the same time, although some selectivity may occur, adverbial responses tend to take the character of "total assertions" of the whole organism about the whole object it confronts.13 At the accusative level, or level of conscious symbolization, whole masses of irrelevant detail are excluded according to some principle of relevance operating in consciousness at the time. The construct of the "self-concept" will help us understand how the principle of relevance operates at this level.14

Processes of selection involve some abstraction because selection abstracts events out of their relational context. But more directly, abstraction refers to processes of simplification and differentiation. Simplification occurs when the full richness of the qualitative pattern is reduced to a symbolic form. Differentiation occurs when the molar richness of perceptions in the adverbial mode gain heightened discreetness in the accusative mode. Both differentiation and simplification largely occur in the transition between the adverbial and accusative mode. Definiteness, simplicity, order, and consciousness are gained; wholeness, richness, and vitality tend to be lost.15

To talk about distortions of protection, we must set the construct of the "self-concept" into the context of this theory of perception. But first, we must ask, what is the self-concept? Second, how does it arise? And third, how does it distort the symbolization of our perceptions? In brief, the self-concept distorts the symbolization process through mechanisms of protection. Let us now elucidate.

Carl Rogers makes a distinction between the total experiencing of the organism and the self-concept. The self or self-concept (they are actually interchangeable for him) is the center of the organism’s awareness of its functioning and symbolized as "me," "I," or "mine."16 The self is the most dominating factor in consciousness and has great control over what and how experiences attain symbolization in awareness. But to understand how the self influences symbolization, we must ask how it develops.

Although Rogers believes that the self arises out of what Andras Angyl calls the "gradient of autonomy" (the infant’s experience that certain things seem to be more under his control than other things),17 the elaboration of one’s self-evaluation generally reflects the "conditions of worth" introjected by the significant adults in one’s environment.18 The child tends to integrate the appraisals and conditions of worth of others into his own self-concept. In turn, the child may consider unacceptable any experiencing that contradicts the self’s conditions of worth and acceptability.

This inevitably leads to a distortion of symbolization. The self establishes defensive mechanisms designed to protect the validity of its conditions of worth. These protective devices operate by either (1) denying symbolization altogether or 12) distorting symbolization, that is, symbolizing the experience as something it is not.19 For example, what organismic valuational processes may feel as good or true may be symbolized as bad or false by the self. Or, of course, the reverse could be true. When disparity exists between organismic valuation twhat Emmet would call the "adverbial mode") and the self’s symbolization, incongruence with either neurotic or psychotic variations is said to exist.20 When severe incongruence exists between the self and organismic experiencing, symbolization does not participate in the realities to which they refer. This is typical for neurotic people. Their words seem to have a hollow sound. Their symbols do not participate in the depths of their adverbial experiencing.

If, as we will attempt to do later, some correlation can be drawn between the conditions of worth of the self and the Christian concept of sin, then a ground will be laid for demonstrating the relation of sin and symbolization (reason) in a more concrete way than is usually accomplished. In addition, if some correlation can be drawn between the valuational processes at the level of organismic or adverbial experiencing and what can appropriately be called faith, then the relation between faith, reason, and sin can be specified.

The Structure of Faith

I entered into the earlier long discussion on ontology and epistemology in preparation for submitting and testing the following assumption: Let us assume that the way we come to faith in God and come to develop symbolic expressions about relationship to Him is not fundamentally different from the way we come to have certitude about and develop symbolic specificity about our other relations. This assumption is simpler and more economical than the Kantian assumption which believes that our certitude and symbolizations about God are of a different order than those referring to other relationships.

Now that this assumption has been made, we must test it. To test it we must determine what sense can be made out of the idea of "faith in God’ when it is ordered by the onto-epistopsychological categories I have just set forth.

On the basis of this assumption it would follow that faith in God is grounded upon an experiencing of God in the adverbial mode of perception. Furthermore, it follows that all men experience or feel God at this level. Men are not divided between those who have this primordial faith and those who do not; they are divided between those who have symbolized their own self-concept around this primordial faith and those who have not. On the basis of our prior discussions, it can be said that coming to a knowledge about anything, be it God or other actualities, is a process of moving from depth (molar bodily valuation in the adverbial mode) to clarity (the abstracted definiteness of the accusative mode). Insofar as the more fundamental stage is characterized by total valuational responses about the good or bad, the better or worse, the trustworthy or untrustworthy, the operations of this stage are suggestive of what is commonly considered to be characteristic of faith. Faith, then, can be understood as a total valuational response to the qualitative structure of another actuality prior to any clear specification about what is in fact good or bad, trustworthy or untrustworthy about the other actuality. If this is faith, then all our cognitive operations involve a dimension of faith.21 Within this formula we can see how it is possible to assert that all men have faith (a molar adverbial response to God), although all men have not moved to sufficient or adequate accusative clarity about this faith.

What then is the structure of faith? Faith is (1) a total valuational response resulting from (2) a partial conformation of our feelings to the pattern of feelings or qualities of another actuality (3) with which we are in some way internally related or participatively connected.

First, faith is an unreserved or total assertion as opposed to a reserved, conditioned, or partial assertion based upon a balance of probabilities. It is a response of the whole organism to the qualitative essence of the whole object confronting us. For example, we might confront a man about whom we could make several positive partial assertions but feel on the whole that he was not a good or trustworthy man. Our total response to the man would not be a balance of probabilities between possible partial assertions about the man. Balancing probabilities takes us into a theoretical and analytic attitude foreign to the character of faith or adverbial responses that tend toward an unreserved "yes" or "no."22 Faith, understood as an unreserved "yes" as opposed to a balance of probabilities, is consistent with the Reformation view of faith. At the same time, a balancing of probable and partial assertions characteristic of accusative activity does have a place at later stages when articulation of the faith becomes the task at hand.

Second, faith is somehow self-transcending, or, as some theologians would put it, ecstatic. Although our adverbial perceptive activity is never completely without some selective influence, if our perceptive activity ever moves beyond our own self-structures, it is at the point of the adverbial mode of perception. The phenomenon of subception discussed by Rogers and selective inattention reported by H. S. Sullivan demonstrate that it is possible for the organism as a whole to conform to or experience events that the higher conscious processes will fail to detect.23 Hence, the inhibiting and habit-ridden structures of consciousness are transcended by perception in the adverbial mode. This leads us to assert the self-transcending or ecstatic character of the unreserved response of the faith-like adverbial valuations.

Third, faith is a total or unreserved response to or assertion about something with which we have a relationship. This response arises out of an interrelation of processes, a fundamental condition of rapport between ourselves and our environment. We cannot respond to that to which we are not related. I am suggesting that our understanding of faith in God be built on the same principle. There must be some kind of interrelation or internal relation between God and ourselves if we are to have a response to God. Assuming this interrelationship, it follows that our feelings about God are rooted in our participation in God or, to put it differently, God’s participation in us. It would also follow from this onto-epistemological stance that our feelings about God would have at least some continuity with the form of God’s feelings, that is, the form of the quality of His own life.

Faith, then, as was stated earlier, is a total valuational response to the qualitative structure of another actuality prior to any clear specification about the definite details of the other actuality. Insofar as this is true, all perceptive activity demonstrates something of the structure of faith.

The Structure of Reason

Let us now turn to the structure of reason. For the sake of simplicity it might be tempting to associate reason solely with the abstractive, discriminating, and simplifying function of the accusative mode of perception. But it seems more appropriate to also speak of "the depth" of reason by pointing to the fact that the valuational responses of the adverbial mode contain the forms that the accusative mode abstracts and gives distinctness. Reason in its entirety includes both depth and surface dimensions, although in modern times it has often been associated more closely with the accusative mode.24

Verification is often considered to be a matter closely associated with the processes of reason. Verification concerns whether a particular symbolic form abstracted in the accusative mode is adequately descriptive of the event to which it refers. Of course, this statement raises the question of the criterion used in the phrase "adequately descriptive." I will contend that a symbolic form or proposition is adequate to the events it is attempting to represent if it is internally coherent (the idealist position held by Eddington and Cassirer),25 externally coherent with other perspectives on the same events,26 and fruitful in such a way as to give rise to further observation.27 A satisfactory theory of verification must rely on all three. At the same time, it is my contention, as it would be Emmet’s, that the validity of the first two must be based on the assumption underlying the third, that is, that our symbolic forms must be thought to refer to real "things" or events to which we must respond and to which we are related according to the concept of rapport.

The idea of internal functional coherence (the idealist’s sole principle of verification) is based upon the assumption that there is no necessary connection between our symbolic forms and external reality. Hence, the concept of "things" and "causality" can be dispensed with.

The principle of external coherence asserts that the various scientific disciplines constitute different perspectives that center on the same data. Any one perspective is an abstraction and can never tell the whole truth about the event being studied. Hence, the validity of one perspective depends upon the extent to which its propositions cohere with the propositions of perspectives external to its own. Whitehead was aware of the importance of this principle for all scientific verification. It has been suggested for theological purposes by Daniel Day Williams.28

These two principles, when set within the context of the principle of fruitfulness as developed by Emmet, give a full and wholesome view of the process of verification. Symbolic forms are fruitful if they lead to further variations in our adverbial responses. Emmet writes, with regard to the use of analogical models, that their value "depends largely on how far they play back in suggesting further correlations and differentiations in our responses."29 We can say that by using this or that symbolic form or proposition "the processes beyond us are so differentiated as to produce these differences of response in us. We can only indirectly conjecture their intrinsic modes of interconnection from studying the minutiae of the distinctions of our own responsive sensations."30 Hence, verification is an endless circle of bringing the gross variations in our adverbial responses to clarity in the accusative mode and then using these more definite forms as guides for further experiencing and responsiveness in the adverbial mode.

If faith is closely related to the adverbial mode of perception, then faith may have an important role in keeping the higher symbolic processes in contact with reality, that is, the richer qualitative processes from which all experience arises. This suggests, once again, that faith is the depth of reason, and that verification involves reason in both its depth and surface dimensions. True, we have knowledge only when we have grasped a pattern of events with a high degree of symbolic definiteness. Some events do not yield to a high degree of symbolic specificity. But symbolic expressions referring to these events are not necessarily to be considered false. It only means that symbolic definiteness is more difficult to achieve with these events. It is my contention that matters of religious faith refer to events of just this character.

What does this position mean for religious discourse? Faith, when understood in its specifically religious context, refers to that total valuational response of trusting gratitude to our most fundamentally all-embracing relationship called God. From this response, then, we abstract forms with which we attempt to specify our experience of this relationship. When these symbolic forms remain at the level of dramatic imagery, faith is operating at the level of myth or confessional theology. When our symbolic forms begin to lose their dramatic quality and gain more precision, faith is operating at the level of scientific or philosophical theology. Simply because the datum "God" is more diffuse and complex than other more simple and finite structures, it does not mean that our experience of Him is unreal or that our attempt to symbolize this experience is meaningless.31 It only means that this datum does not submit to as high a degree of specification as other datum. Following Aristotle and Whitehead, it is unreasonable to expect a datum to submit to a more rigorous degree of specification than is appropriate to the complexity of the datum.32 At the same time, some religious discourse is more meaningful than other discourse, and it is precisely the task of theology to discover the most adequate symbolic forms using the three principles of verification outlined above.

Religious discourse also needs to concern itself with the other two principles, that is, it must be internally meaningful and externally coherent with other disciplines. The presupposition behind the principle of external coherence is that as there are surface and depth dimensions to reason, there are surface and depth dimensions to reality and that God objectifies himself in the depths of every finite structure as its ground. This means that an analysis of the structure and relations of any finite actuality should, at the same time, reveal intimations about the nature of its ground. Hence, the data of all disciplines are the same except for the difference that theology attends to both depth and surface dimensions of reality, whereas other disciplines tend to concentrate more on the surface aspects. But insofar as depth and surface dimensions of reality have some continuity with one another, specification of the structures of either should tend to cohere with the other. Hence, the principle of external coherence should be operative as a criterion of verification for religious discourse.

Sin and Distortions in the Symbolic Process

Earlier in the paper, three ways were mentioned in which the process of symbolization can be distorted. The first two processes, that is, distortions of selection and abstraction, seem to be inherent difficulties in the symbolic process. They seem to be the price we pay for clearness and distinctness. Distortions of selection and abstraction become demonic when they come under the domination of the third type of distortion in the symbolic process — distortions of protection. Selection and abstraction are demonic when they become involved in the protective maneuvers of the self’s conditions of worth. One of the conditions of worth of the modern mentality is the drive for clarity and specificity referred to above. The relevance of this discussion of the self in the context of the problem of faith and reason stems from the basic religious intuition that reason is not free to know God because of its corruption by sin and that the seat of sin is somehow in the self. It is the contention of this essay that this intuition is fundamentally correct.

Earlier it was indicated that the protective and defensive activities of the self resulted in distorted or denied symbolization for those felt experiences that seemed to contradict the conditions of worth around which the self is organized. From the perspective of Christian theology, any attempt to base one’s worth or justification on something external to one’s original justification in God has been understood as sin. A growing body of New Testament exegesis is interpreting sin as a matter of setting one’s mind on "flesh" (sarx). Setting one’s mind on sarx is attempting to use the created world as the source and justification of one’s life. This is sin and idolatry because God is the sole source of both the means of life and the justification (worth) of life.33

Although Christians have seen their ultimate worth as derivative of their relationship to God, it is precisely the character of this relationship that there are no conditions of worth attached to it. This is the meaning of agape. It means that the giving of God’s love is not conditioned by the prior worth of the recipient. Man’s sin is that he thinks there are conditions of worth and proceeds to organize his self around them, thereby estranging himself from all that seems to contradict these conditions of worth. From the perspective of the conditions of worth of man’s sin, God’s free relationship, in which there are no conditions of worth attached, must necessarily appear as a threatening contradiction to the validity of sin’s conditions of worth. The self can defend itself from its experience of God’s freely given relationship by denying it altogether or by distorting it into something it is not — possibly a conditioned relationship.

An example of this can be seen in psychotherapy when the client may experience (subceive) the therapist’s unconditioned acceptance at the level of organismic or adverbial feeling but, at the same time, perceive this unconditioned love as a threat to the self’s conditions of worth — a threat that must be denied or distorted. Taking our clue from this, it is possible for us to understand how one might have an adverbial feeling of God’s unconditioned love but distort or deny it at the level of conscious symbolization because it contradicted the self’s conditions of worth.

In view of these statements, the meaning of revelation can now be stated. Revelation is not the manifestation of God’s love to those who are unrelated to it. Revelation, at least in terms of its subjective pole, is the emergence of our response to this love into conscious and appropriate symbolization. We have already hinted as to how important symbolization is. It is only through adequate symbolization that the self becomes integrated into the deeper feelings of the adverbial mode. Anything short of some adequacy of symbolization will mean that the self will be estranged from these feelings and, hence, to some extent, be estranged from God. Revelation is always a matter of bringing depth and surface into congruence with one another. Thus, revelation is always a matter of salvation. In order for the self to become integrated with God’s unconditional love, it must relax or repudiate the conditions of worth that are threatened by this love. The extent to which the self begins to do this is the extent to which the estrangement between self and the organism’s deeper feelings about God is overcome. This is how revelation and salvation are equivalent.

But how must we understand revelation in terms of its objective pole? This is where the event of Jesus Christ must be considered. If sin is a matter of estrangement from our adverbial response to God because we have organized the self around certain conditions of worth taken over from the created world (sarx), it becomes clear that in order for the self to be redirected toward its own immediate adverbial response to God, it must be confronted by an unambiguous manifestation of God’s love in the realm of sarx toward which it is looking for its worth and justification. One’s own adverbial experience of God’s unconditioned love may not penetrate the self and its conditions of worth because it is the very nature of sin to look to the created world for its justification and worth. A contingent manifestation of God’s love in the figure of Jesus Christ is a divine strategy to address man at the very point his distortion has fixated him, that is, in the realm of sarx. This is what it means to say that in Jesus Christ, God became flesh (sarx).

But the objective pole of revelation in Jesus Christ does not bring us into relation with a reality to which we were earlier unrelated. Jesus Christ is the particular and unique manifestation of a general ontological reality that has objectified itself into the depths of all adverbial experiencing. Through Jesus Christ we come into conscious and appropriate symbolization of our adverbial response to God. Because of the overdetermined preoccupation of sin with sarx, God must manifest his love in the realm of sarx before he can become the occasion by which we can be reunited with our own more immediate relation to him.34

But simply because the special nature of sin demands a contingent act on the part of God to overcome it, we must not conclude that we are dependent upon this contingent act for all further verification of our faith. Because of God’s general ontological relation to the world, what one becomes free to discern in Jesus Christ has an empirical validity which can transcend the biblical witness. This does not exclude the biblical witness; rather it means that the biblical witness, in fact, makes sense with the rest of reality. On the basis of this position, it becomes possible to come into dialogue with other positions, not just to learn what these disciplines tell us about the inauthenticity of the world, but also to learn a word of "revelation," that is, a word of truth about God. Without setting the problem of faith and reason in the context of some general ontology of events as has been done here, our dialogue can only be one-sided and imperialistic.

 

NOTES:

1. Dorothy Emmet, The Nature of Metaphysical Thinking (London: Macmillan, 1957), 42.

2. Ibid., 43.

3. Ibid., 64.

4. Ibid., 60. As is well known, Emmet is a leading Whiteheadian interpreter. Her distinction between adverbial and accusative perception is a clarification of what Whitehead referred to as "causal efficacy and presentational immediacy." Cf. Process and Reality, An Essay in Cosmology 255-279. I have chosen to use Emmet’s formulation of these concepts primarily because her clarifications, and, I might add, simplifications, better lend themselves to the purpose of this article.

5. At this point it should be emphasized that I am following Emmet through this essay in her contention that the structural identity of correspondence between environmental processes and our feeling responses is not a one-to-one identity. According to her, novelty appears before as well as in conceptual transformation. Whitehead himself may have emphasized a more direct correspondence between the energetic shocks of the environment and our physiological response. Emmet, 61.

6. Ibid., 43.

7. Ibid., 58.

8. Ibid., 19.

9. Ibid., 86.

10. Ibid.

11. Ibid., 90.

12. Ibid., 42. In addition, a similar principle can be gleaned from the writings of Carl Rogers in his distinction between organismic experience and self-experience. When organismic experiencing is dominant, things tend to be valuated according to what is enhancing for the organism as a whole. Cf. Carl Rogers, Client-centered Therapy (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1951), 487.

13. Emmet, 141.

14. The reader should be cautioned that from here on I am not confining myself to an exposition of Emmet. Her thought will be used as a resource, but her concepts often will be woven into other sources as they take shape in my own constructive thinking.

15. Emmet, 43-46. Cf. Process and Reality, An Essay in Cosmology 255-279. Also see Bernard Meland, Faith and Culture (London: Allen & Unwin, 1955) 22-36.

l6. Rogers, 497.

17. Ibid., 498.

18. The construct of "conditions of worth" is a relatively new element in Roger’s theoretical apparatus. For a discussion of this concept see his most definitive theoretical statement, "A Theory of Therapy, Personality, Interpersonal Relationships, as Developed in the Client-centered Framework," Psychology: A Study of a Science, Sigmund Koch, ed. (New York: Basic Books, 1958), III, 224.

19. Rogers, Client-centered Therapy, 503.

20. Ibid., 515-531.

21. Scientific discourse has called these primitive judgments of importance and relevance "hunches," "intuitions," etc. But the close relationship between these phenomena and what religious discourse has called faith, has often been overlooked.

22. Emmet, 142.

23. For a discussion of the concept of subception, turn to Rogers, Client-centered Therapy, 507. For a discussion of selective inattention, refer to H. S. Sullivan, Interpersonal Theory of Psychiatry (New York: W. W. Norton, 1953), 233-234.

24. The "depth of reason" is a term introduced by Paul Tillich in his Systematic Theology, 3 vols. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1951), I, 32. Tillich contrasts this with "technical reason." We have used Tillich’s term in this essay in order to indicate what his categories, which must be understood within the context of a more classical metaphysics, might mean in the context of a so-called process onto-epistemological position such as Emmet represents. What I am calling the "surface" dimension of reason (the accusative mode) is roughly analogous to what Tillich means by "technical reason."

25. Emmet, 69.

26. Process and Reality, An Essay in Cosmology 15. In reality, Whitehead employs all three of these principles as would Emmet because of her general dependence on Whitehead. I have not found, though, a place where she explicitly mentions the principle of external coherence.

27. Emmet, 95.

28. Williams, "Truth in the Theological Perspective," Journal of Religion, XXVIII (October 1948), 242-254.

29. Emmet, op. cit.

30. Ibid., 95.

31. It has been the tendency of modern science to believe that that which does not submit to clear and distinct specification (by which is generally meant clear and distinct experimental results according to certain laws of probability) cannot be intelligently dealt with and, therefore, either does not exist or should not be taken seriously. But such an overemphasis upon the clear and distinct at the expense of the deep and complex should not be considered a fundamental challenge to the validity of religious experience or the meaningfulness of religious discourse. Cf. Meland, op. cit., p. 27.

32. Process and Reality, An Essay in Cosmology 11. Also see Aristotle, "Ethica Nicomachea" in Basic Works of Aristotle, Richard McKeon, ed. (New York: Random House, 1941), 936.

33. Rudolf Bultmann, Theology of the New Testament, trans. K. Grobel (New York: Charles Scribners Sons, 1959), 232-246.

34. Since Soren Kierkegaard’s emergence as a significant force in contemporary Protestant theology, there has been a spirit that has tended to minimize God’s real ontological relation to the world and to man. Kierkegaard repudiated the idea that Jesus Christ was the occasion through which we reclaimed an appropriate adjustment of our lives with God. He opposed the Socratic doctrine of recollection because it implied that man had a prior knowledge of God which the historic event of Jesus Christ only awakened. To his thinking, this reduced the crucial character of the historic Christ event. Cf. Philosophical Fragments, trans. David Swenson (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1958), 5-28. As long as Kierkegaard had no model with which to work but the Socratic doctrine of recollection, we can understand and appreciate his point. The metaphysic we are advocating is not susceptible to the same difficulties. With this metaphysic, man has no independent source of his knowledge of God that he "owns" and that must be awakened by some objective historic event. Instead, man is always dependent upon the ever constant inflow of God’s ontological relationship in the depths of his adverbial experiencing. The event of Jesus Christ then makes it possible for man to adjust his historic ego (his self) to this ever newly objectified datum deep in his adverbial experience. In this system the crucial character of the historic Christ event is preserved as well as God’s general ontological relation with the world.

Chapter 7: Analogy and Myth in Postliberal Theology by Bernard E. Meland

From the Perkins School of Theology Journal, XV, 2 (Winter 1962). Used by permission of the Perkins School of Theology Journal and Bernard E. Meland. Bernard E. Meland, educated at the University of Chicago, was Professor of Constructive Theology at the Divinity School for eighteen years prior to his retirement in 1964.

 

This is an occasion for which one can have only gratitude and praise; for it is a time for honoring the achievements of a colleague. But I sense an even more heartening cause for rejoicing as I hear some of the young theologians talk here in the Southwest who recognize a significant thrust toward a new focus of theological thinking in what their colleague, Schubert Ogden, has done. There are intimations of excitement, zeal, and dedication peering out from behind words they use in describing this event to others. There are signs that a movement of life is astir here, and that something of extraordinary importance to many who are present here is being observed and celebrated in this colloquy. This is what gives depth and intensity to this occasion; and we who have been brought in from other centers of learning to participate in this colloquy cannot fail to be caught up in the lure and zest of this creative ferment.

If I may speak personally for a moment, as one who shared in his earlier years of preparation and study, I must say that I enjoy a measure of pride and a great deal of satisfaction in the present attainments and promise of Schubert Ogden. I take this occasion to express my congratulations, and those of my university, his Alma Mater, to him as well as to his colleagues in Perkins School of Theology.

We are gathered here this afternoon, not simply to praise him, but to take seriously the words Schubert Ogden has spoken through this published work Christ Without Myth. There is, of course, no greater praise one can give one than to take his words seriously, to be moved by their stimulus, even to react and to resist their incitment, or to counter their claims upon us. It will become obvious to you that I have taken this work seriously, for it speaks to issues which have concerned me deeply in recent years. To illustrate to you how vitally I have responded to what Schubert Ogden has to say, I found myself, while reading the galley proof of this book, reading a paragraph and then writing a page, either in response or in reaction to what he had said. I had to give that up, for at that rate I could see that my paper would exceed the length of the book.

This book is more than a presentation and critique of another theologian’s method. It is a clarion call to reassert the claims of liberal theology within the range of insights now available to us, and in response to new demands and responsibilities which now make their claim upon us. The sharpness with which Dr. Ogden has focused the alternatives in contemporary theology gives to the present theological task a vividness of purpose and direction which must immediately win our response and gratitude. Even when we take issue with the way he describes some of these alternatives, or the judgment he makes concerning them, we find the clarity of perspective which he has brought to the consideration of these issues significant and helpful.

The patient and meticulous manner in which Ogden delineates the one alternative that is central to his concern, namely, the theological method of Rudolf Bultmann, bespeaks his scholarly temper of mind. There is, to be sure, a vivid display of passion and intensity of feeling as he fends off Bultmann’s critics. Like a hard running defensive back, Ogden blocks out one critic after another, enabling Bultmann to come within range of scoring. Then a peculiar thing happens. Just as you expect to see Bultmann crossing the goal line, Ogden turns and blocks him out. This would be strange behavior on the football field. In the theological field, however, this is not unusual. Somehow the critic in us always wins out, as he shall in the paper I am now presenting.

But Professor Ogden’s criticisms of Bultmann rest upon so substantial an agreement with the alternative he presents that one must view this final maneuver at the goal line, not as that of negating Bultmann, but of carrying his theological method to a surer victory in establishing a basis for a postliberal theology.

Since I am the first speaker in the colloquy, it is necessary for me to state briefly what is at issue in this book.

The problem centers around the phrase which Bultmann has made famous, "the demythologizing of the New Testament." This problem comes to the front in Bultmann’s theology because of his conviction, as Schubert Ogden has said, that "if theological work is properly pursued, it is neither speculative nor scientific in an ‘objective’ sense, but rather existentiell, that is, a type of thinking inseparable from one’s most immediate understanding of oneself as a person." Bultmann is concerned "to unfold . . . the existential self-understanding implicit in Christian faith." Such a self-understanding, says Ogden, has a specific object and content. "It is a self-understanding that is realized . . . in response to the word of God encountered in the proclamation of Jesus Christ. It is always faith in the Kerygma, in the revealed word expressed in the New Testament and made concretely present in the proclamation of the church."

If this understanding of the nature of theology is taken seriously, however, the contemporary theologian is faced with a fundamental problem. For him, just as for those to whom he speaks, the proclamation of the church in the conceptual form in which it encounters him in the New Testament and in the classical theological tradition, seems unintelligible, incredible, and irrelevant. According to Bultmann, any attempt at the present time to understand and express the Christian message must realize that the theological propositions of the New Testament are not understood by modern man because they reflect a mythological picture of the world that we today cannot share.1

We cannot share in this mythological picture, continues Bultmann, because we live and think within "the world-picture formed by modern natural science" and within "the understanding man has of himself in accordance with which he understands himself to be a closed inner unity that does not stand open to the incursion of supernatural powers."2

This sounds very much like the earlier liberal analysis of the situation, but it differs from the earlier liberalism in one fundamental respect. Earlier liberalism saw in the proclamation of the Kerygma itself a stumbling block to modern man, and thus sidled away from its eschatological message, preferring to center upon the ethical dimension of Christian faith as this was expressed in the life and teaching of Jesus. Bultmann, on the other hand, insists that this proclamation of the saving act in Jesus Christ must be retained and restated within existential terms. Thus demythologizing is not a relinquishment of the mystery of kingdom, but a translation of its meaning in terms consonant with man’s present self-understanding.

The issue intensifies as one explores the iniplications of this last assertion. How does one translate the meaning of the Kerygma in terms consonant with man’s present self-understanding? Does one allow the Christian message to coalesce with the philosophy of existence? Or does one hold to the centrality of the historical and saving act of God in Jesus Christ? Although the logic of Bultmann’s thought seems to move toward the former, his decision is to affirm the latter. And this gives rise to the claim that inconsistency plagues Bultmann’s exposition.

Now it is with a view to removing this inconsistency, and at the same time to support Bultmann’s concern with retaining the Biblical witness, that Schubert Ogden proposes his constructive alternative, based upon the procedure of speaking of God analogically rather than mythologically. In this context, the appeal to the Kerygma becomes an appeal to the act of faith as being a knowledge of the universal love of God, concerning which a process metaphysics may provide analogical knowledge obout. In this way faith and knowledge, Kerygma and the philosophy of existence, are correlated, and the seemingly irreconcilable tension between them is resolved.

II

Before addressing myself directly to questions which are raised in my mind by the analysis of this issue in Christ Without Myth, I should like to record certain points at which I find myself heartily in accord with Schubert Ogden. I do this, not simply to soften the barbed sting of the criticism which I shall offer later, but to say as decisively and as positively as I can at the outset that I am mainly sympathetic with the basic thrust and intention of this work. My deviations, I think, are more tactical than substantial; though of this there may be some question when my criticisms are fully stated. But now as to our points of agreement: One is Schubert Ogden’s assertion that theology must be postliberal; it cannot be preliberal. It must continue to pursue its task within the critical disciplines that were initiated by liberal scholarship at the beginning of the modern period. Yet it must have a listening ear for voices that speak across the centuries from within more distant perspectives of Christian thought and experience. There are both decisiveness and openness in this scholarly attitude.

A second directive is that theology must be alive to its responsibilities within the culture at large, and be prepared to speak to its contemporary mind as well as to its issues. It cannot be content to withdraw into the sheltered compound of churchanity and to speak a language available only to those initiated into the mysteries of its faith. There are problems here, about which I shall speak later; but the thrust of this concern is one in which I heartily concur.

It follows from this as a third directive that theology will concern itself with the problem of intelligibility in ways that are appropriate to rendering the witness of faith available to modern men and women. There are issues here, too, and I think differences between us in the way we conceive this task, and possibly in the way we understand the claims of intelligibility; but at this stage of my presentation, let me say that with the intention of Professor Ogden’s concern with intelligibility in faith, I heartily concur.

Consistent with this note of inclusiveness in matters of faith and culture, I find Dr. Ogden’s stress upon the primordial love of God, and what this means for a doctrine of revelation and Christology, singularly valid and refreshing. My own way of speaking of this matter is to insist that the doctrines of redemption and creation must be held together. Any tendency to isolate the doctrine of redemption will appear to set Jesus Christ above the God of creation, and to particularize the faith in Jesus Christ to such an extent that our primordial unity with all men through creation is disavowed. A great deal hinges upon this issue. And with the direction of Ogden’s thought on this matter, with certain reservations about which I shall speak later, I find myself in hearty accord.

What this means for our understanding of revelation needs further elaboration than Ogden has been able to give in this book. For various reasons, which I shall make clear, I find it necessary to make more of the spontaneities and depths of history than Ogden has acknowledged, and thus I am led to lift up the notion of the New Creation in Christ with more emphasis than I find Ogden doing in his analysis. That he has not stressed this point is of apiece with his tendency to assimilate the meaning of Christ to the more generalized interpretation of the love of God one finds in metaphysics, particularly that of Charles Hartshorne, wherein neither revelation nor Christ is finally necessary since what is conveyed through them is available through the metaphysical analysis of the meaning of love as it is understood in a fully explicated view of God. This is a point where things begin to pinch more seriously; but I still hold the basic understanding of revelation in Ogden’s analysis to be valid, even though his explication and defense of it leave something to be desired theologically.

And finally, I am impressed by the slyness and cogency with which Ogden insinuates the appeal to analogy as an alternative to myth in the constructive argument. I shall have some critical things to say about this proposal, but let it be known that I am impressed by the adversary even as I seek to slay him.

There are other aspects of Professor Ogden’s constructive emphasis which lead me to be encouraged by his contributions to what he and I together envisage as directives for a postliberal theology; but these may suffice to express my sense of kinship with what he proposes, and with what he cherishes as a vital concern of Christian faith in the present hour. And now we must turn to the critical phase of this paper wherein I shall designate the points at which I find myself in tension with the theological proposals of this highly significant work, Christ Without Myth.

III

It may appear strange to some of you, as you read my paper, that one can concur with another scholar’s intention and point of view as heartily as I claim to concur with that of Schubert Ogden, and yet be so decisive, possibly aggressive, in opposing him on specific issues. It has always been a conviction of mine that we disagree most intensively on particular issues with those with whom we agree fundamentally. Thus Barth and Brunner were hotly at one another; and Reinhold Niebuhr and Paul Tillich, so we are told, made theology interesting and vital at Union Seminary by the arguments between them, even as they supported and respected one another deeply. This is because a common vision opens up common problems upon which there are bound to be differences in judgment. Because the vision of thought is held in common, the issues involved in these differences that arise are felt with equal keenness and intensity. But where differences of this sort exist within a common vision, it is of the utmost importance that they be stated with candor and with forthrightness. For the strength and power of any community of thought lies in the integrity and openness with which basic differences are confronted and with which they are dealt.

I have three questions concerning this work by Schubert Ogden; they relate both to Ogden’s interpretation and defense of Bultmann’s method as an alternative for modern theology, and to Ogden’s own constructive effort. All three questions have to do with the adequacy of the conceptual imagery and presuppositions underlying the method of demythologizing, particularly as this method addresses itself to the present task of a postliberal theology.

My first question is, what is the image of the modern mind to which Bultmann and Ogden would have a postliberal theology address itself? Lurking behind this question is the further query, has Ogden really dealt adequately with the criticisms of those who have attacked Bultmann on the scientific imagery which he equates with the modern mind?

When one appeals to "the world-picture formed by modern natural science" as the common basis for understanding man and his world, do we not have to be more definitive and discriminating within scientific imagery itself than either Bultmann or Ogden appear to be? For the fact is, as modern men, we stand between two scientific visions of man and his world. As science is commonly understood, even among many sophisticated liberals today, the scientific picture of man and his world bears the image of a Newtonian form of orderliness in nature which readily lends itself to observation and description, and to the work of reason following from such direct apprehension of physical realities. It is, in fact, a world of orderliness based upon a conception of causality that allows no depth and freedom in nature, no discontinuities, no unforeseen variations, hence no inexactness or discrepancy in science. The ways of scientific method are sure and altogether trustworthy.

But the scientific vision of man that informs our most basic research is quite other than this. I refer to relativity physics and quantum theory, and to the revolutionary changes that have come into our scientific estimate of human thinking, and even into areas of experimentation, revising one’s understanding of scientific method. Bultmann seems to be making an oblique reference to these changes in saying that ‘the decisive thing is not the results of scientific thinking but its method." "Has the natural science renounced experimentation?" he asks. And Schubert Ogden adds, by way of amplifying Bultmann’s statements, "However much the results of scientific research change, the fundamental method of science and the picture of the world correlative with it remains constant."3

Now we may be looking at different problems here, or have different considerations in mind; but from where I view the matter, Bultmann’s own statements seem to evade the crucial aspect of change in scientific thinking affecting the vision of our world; and his position, as amplified by Ogden’s comments, seems to me simply not to square with the facts, as one may glean them from hearing scientists talk among themselves. With the change of scientific vision in the present century there has come about a very radical change in the method of science, its being less a description of phenomena and the formulation of universal laws, and more a statistical formulation of probabilities and a venture in determining which of the many probabilities might be taken to be true to fact in this situation. And "the picture of the world correlative with the method of science" which is now in progress is vastly different from that picture of the world which Newtonian science throughout the nineteenth century and well into our own presented. So different is it, in fact, that I would venture to say that the realities of faith which were obscured by human formulations, and thus nonexistent for the liberal mind of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, have become remarkably vivid and insistent in our time, thanks in large measure to the new vision of science. This vision has opened up to us the depths and complexities, the discontinuities and indeterminacies of the physical world of nature. I have argued in a forthcoming work, The Realities of Faith and The Revolution in Cultural Forms, that the dimension of depth which has appeared in contemporary theology under the discussion of eschatology, has affinities with this new vision of science, if in fact it is not of apiece with it. The mystery of the Kingdom as an intimation of ultimacy in the midst of our immediacies, speaks a language consonant with this new epoch of relational thinking issuing from field theory and the complexity of any description of events that begins with relatedness. A postliberal theology, we have said, must go beyond liberalism, not back of it. But it must go beyond it in scientific imagery as in every other aspect of its thought.

And now I come to my second question: How adequately have Bultmann and Ogden assessed the capacities of human thought in dealing with the realities of faith? Since a difference in estimating the shift in the vision of science affects one’s views concerning the capacity of human observation and its formulations in reporting the realities of experience, one can assume that our views here would diverge somewhat. I sense in Schubert Ogden, especially, a degree of confidence in the formulations of human reason comparable to that of Professor Hartshorne, which I am unable to share. I take my cue here, not only from the critique of reason which the Christian doctrine of man conveys, but from the judgments of relativity science which quite openly place a different estimate upon the powers of human observation and reason in dealing with realities in themselves, than was true of science prior to radiation experiments and subsequent physical theories. The disparity which relativity science finds between man’s measure of physical realities and realities in themselves has led to a notion of indeterminacy and depth in experience which would not have occurred to scientists of an earlier period. But it is not indeterminacy in measurement alone that has intruded this notion. The vivid awareness of relationships, arising from field theory, has alerted the modern scientist to the complexity of the phenomena in nature to a degree that has made him cautious about employing his findings for any generalized law beyond the status of a working proposition.

Now the point toward which my remarks are intended to argue is that the canons of reason and observation within a postliberal theology must assume a far humbler role than was observed or exercised by an earlier liberalism. Where depth and complexity are taken seriously, in speaking of history as in speaking of physical realities, something other than appeal to logic, or even to the claims of observation, is involved. The appeals to logic and observation are important to sustain. They represent our most disciplined forms of utterance in dealing with the realities of experience. But they stand under the judgment of the very realities to which they attend. They appeal to these realities as metaphors to recall Whitehead’s memorable statement, speaking of the words and phrases which philosophers use: "they remain metaphors mutely appealing for an imaginative leap." As such they are as words listening for a truth that is given, not as one defining or describing that truth.

It is interesting that Schubert Ogden should suggest, by way of finding a means of breaking through Bultmann’s dilemma, that we ponder the relation between analogy and myth. I think this has real possibilities: though the danger here, as I see it, is precisely the one that befell Hegel, who assumed that metaphysical thinking was simply mythical thinking grown mature and sure of itself. What happens when this assumption is made is that what was once known as metaphor and as an approximation to meanings apprehended, yet deeper than our recognition of them, become manageable concepts and categories within the human framework of thought. Thus rationality takes over, crowding out the subtle discontinuities hinted at by the word analogy, and the tension between man’s thoughts and what is other than man disappears.

This, to my mind, is the crucial problem confronting postliberal theology: How do you employ such a tool of intelligibility as analogy in a way that preserves the tension between what is manageable and unmanageable in the deeper experiences of creaturely existence? Whitehead begins quite boldly declaring his recognition of the limits of human thought in his Process and Reality, saying, "Philosophers can never hope finally to formulate these metaphysical first principles"; but by the time his formulation of precise categories has been completed, one feels that confidence in the adequacy of these categories has noticeably risen, almost to the point of taking these forms at face value as being descriptive of the realities to which they point. By the time Whiteheadians begin to distribute this new crop of fundamental notions, process thinking takes on the air of a new rationalism. Thus the demon dogmatism begins to plague us again. I have been a rebel among process theologians, protesting this very tendency to close the gap between manageable and unmanageable aspects of experience. My concern with myth has been motivated, in fact, by the realization that analogy as employed in metaphysics appears unable to hold back the floodwaters of rationalism, once the tenuous "appeal for an imaginative leap" gives way to a more definitive mood of logical analysis. This may be because analogy stresses the note of continuity between thought and being, and does not stress sufficiently the discontinuity that exists. Myth, on the other hand, at least registers the shock of disparity between my thoughts as a human formulation and the reality that is other than my thoughts. I admit it is a weasel word, as Schubert Ogden’s discussion in Christ Without Myth continually implies. Nevertheless, I would argue that we cannot dispose of it, any more than early man could dispose of it, in so far as we choose to be attentive to that dimension of existence which elicits our sense of creaturehood.

This brings me to my third and final question. Does the discussion in Christ Without Myth take adequate account of the nature and status of myth as a cultural form, and thus as an indispensable ingredient of history?

Let me say first that Schubert Ogden seems to me to be perfectly justified in insisting, against Bultmann’s critics, that if they are to understand his effort at demythologizing, or to try to interpret it, they must do so within his terms, else confusion follows. Bultmann, says Ogden, employs the terms myth and mythology in the sense of "a language objectifying the life of the gods," or, as we might say, of objectifying the powers of Spirit into a supernaturalism, a super-history transcending or supervening our human history, thus forming a "double history." Now I agree to stay within these bounds of meaning as long as we are simply trying to understand Bultmann, or to interpret him; but the moment we get beyond these tasks to the larger constructive task of a postliberal theology, I want to take issue with this way of dealing with myth. I think Bultmann has adequately defined mythology in its classical sense. But I resist equating myth with mythology.

It may be pertinent to say that Bultmann, when he is speaking of myth, appears to be speaking solely within the context of classical philology and of the historical study of religions that has rested upon its research. Here there is concern with the term only as a conceptual medium for conveying the dramatic logic underlying historic mythologies. What is completely lacking here is the dimension of understanding which cultural anthropology and recent studies in the history of religions has brought to light, namely, that myth is more than a cognitive notion. I would argue that myth provides a deeper orientation in any culture than this kind of analysis assumes.

Myth reaches to the level of the creaturely stance which a people will assume in speaking of their existence. It affects and shapes, not only language, the mode of thinking and speaking, but sensibilities of thought, psychical orientation, thus psychical expectations. One senses this as one moves from one orbit of cultural meaning to another. Different myths have insinuated into the very historical heritage of the respective cultures a continuing fabric of meaning which has immediate and intrinsic intelligibility within that cultural orbit. It directs the way human beings normally think and feel, as one might say; but one really means it is the way human beings normally think and feel within that historic orbit of existence.

Now of this aspect of myth, Bultmann seems oblivious. At least he is indifferent to it, as when he writes that what should disturb his critics is "that philosophy all by itself already sees what the New Testament says."4 Does this not overlook the fact that all thought occurs within a cultural matrix. Once the revelation of God in Jesus Christ became a concrete historical fact of Western experience, there was no concealing it, not even from philosophers. Or to state it differently, no thinking or feeling of man’s being within its orbit of meaning and experience was immune from its shaping. A philosopher may not say, "Jesus Christ is Lord." He may not even acknowledge the name, or think of it. He will still feed upon the sensibilities of thought that issue from its nurturing matrix. Thus to say that a philosopher, even when he is Heidegger, all by himself sees what the New Testament says, is to appear to have no sense of historical context; certainly not the kind of contextual sensitivity which the cultural anthropologist has come to understand and value.

Now it is possible to come to the Christian understanding of man’s existence within the framework of philosophical terms and at the same time to be speaking out of the mythical orientation. Thus when a philosopher like Heidegger or Kamlah "sets forth in purely philosophical grounds a ‘secularized’ Christian understanding of existence," one should not assume that they are doing so independently of the Christian myth. To be sure, one can say, "But the actualization of the attitude to which they point is not dependent on the event of Jesus Christ"; but it does not follow that "revelation is unnecessary."

The confusion arises here because one assumes that philosophizing occurs in Western culture without benefit of the Judaic-Christian mythos. This I would deny. The very way in which Greek philosophy is read and understood in Western thought is through the imagery and sensibilities of this primal mythos. How else does it happen that the problem of the One and the Many, or any philosophical analysis of the meaning of God, is plagued, or at least challenged by a concern with its implications for a personal deity? The indifference of philosophers to Christianity has nothing to do with their dependence upon a nexus of cultural meaning which, in subtle and unobtrusive ways, permeates every discourse that, of necessity, draws upon a given heritage of accumulative cultural meaning. The philosopher, George Herbert Mead, was acknowledging this when he wrote in Movements of Nineteenth Century Philosophy that the notion of Order which looms so importantly in modern science and philosophy was taken over from Christian theology. But in saying that he was not tracing the notion to its source; for back of Christian theology is the Judaic-Christian mythos, the primal source of all our fundamental notions in Western experience.

Now what I am leading up to say is that mythology is expendable. This is the superstructure of myth, the literal and imaginative elaborations of these metaphorical responses issuing in myth. Mythology is expendable; myth is not.

Thus when I observe a meticulous and highly sensitive scholar like Bultmann proceeding with his method of demythologizing to interpret Christian faith exhaustively and without remainder as man’s original possibility of authentic historical existence, and then making, as it were, a sharp turn from this procedure in his appeal to the saving event of Jesus Christ, by way of preserving the Kerygma, something demonic in me leaps up with glee, and I want to shout far joy. For it seems to me that, despite his equating of myth and mythology, in the final analysis, his own incurable and inalienable involvement in the Christian mythos impels him to make a distinction between the two. The metaphorical response to the saving act of God in history, that subtle and complex instance of attending to ultimacy in our immediacies, to the mystery of the Kingdom in the midst of historical circumstances, is thus seen to be a persisting and unexpendable witness to the very realities that inform and sustain our authentic existence.

Thus what others have noted and called a great scandal of inconsistency in Bultmann’s method strikes me as being singular evidence of his own remarkable sensitivity to the persisting truth of myth, as something existentiell, which somehow must stand over against the logic of demythologizing.

The corrective I would like to urge upon Schubert Ogden, then, is not that he abandon his method of process theology based upon analogical thinking, but that he consider some means by which he might avoid the inevitable drift of such thinking toward a closed rationalism, in which only man and his formulations speak forth.

The only concern I have here, really, is that we do not obscure the realities of faith or block them out of view by our human formulations — formulations which depend so exclusively upon resources drawn from present forms of experience for their intelligibility. Something that will continually register the shock of reality over reason is needed to keep reasonable men from becoming victims of their own mental enclosures, and thus open to the judgment and grace of the living God.

 

NOTES:

1. Christ Without Myth: A Study of The Theology of Rudolf Bultmann (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1961), 24.

2. Ibid 32.

3. Ibid 33f.

4. lbid., 69.

Chapter 6: A Christian Natural Theology? by Schubert M. Ogden

From "A Review of John H. Cobb’s New Book: A Christian Natural Theology, in the Christian Advocate, IX, 18 (September 23, 1965), 11f. Copyright © 1965 by The Methodist Publishing House. Used by permission of the publisher and Schubert M. Ogden. Schubert M. Ogden attended the University of Chicago. Formerly Professor of Theology at Perkins School of Theology, he now teaches at the University of Chicago Divinity School. He has written Christ Without Myth.

 

Nothing more characterized the new movement in Protestant theology of the last generation than its exaggerated reaction against so-called "natural theology." Indeed, Karl Barth, whose genius dominated the whole period, claimed that "even if we only lend our little finger to natural theology, there necessarily follows the denial of the revelation of God in Jesus Christ."1

Of course, part of the reason Barth’s judgment was so extreme was the role "natural theology" played in the church’s struggle against Nazism in the thirties. It is clear, for example, that the sharpness of his famous Nein! to Emil Brunner (by which writing, incidentally, Americans still know him best) reflected his sense for the possible effect of Brunner’s speaking of nature and grace" on the outcome of that struggle. Still it would be wrong to suppose that Barth’s opposition to all natural theology was due entirely or even primarily to the perverse efforts of "German Christians" to give theological sanction to their Nazi ideology. Its real basis was a new vision of Protestant Christianity, which saw, as Barth put it in 1933, that "many roads lead back to Rome" and that Protestantism will fulfill its calling only when it at last "bids farewell to each and every form of natural theology."2

In America, as in the English-speaking world generally, this vision never succeeded in fascinating very many Protestant theologians. Liberals (and that includes most "neo-orthodox" theologians as well) were too committed to a broadly empirical and critical approach to religious problems to accept a "theology of revelation" without demurrer. Conservatives, on the other hand, while showing an increasing interest in Barth, were not inclined to share his complete repudiation of natural theology. It was probably inevitable, then, that the eclipse of natural theology during the thirties and forties should prove temporary and that it should once again find its English-speaking champions.

Less certain was that the revival, when it came, would be more than an effort to return to business as usual. Its first signs, as they appeared in Britain in the fifties, were hardly encouraging. Although these "new essays in philosophical theology" displayed a certain refinement of analytical tools, the synthesis they were used to build (or to destroy) was by and large the same old natural theology that Barth had repudiated. Lately, however, there have been other signs that the cause of natural theology may have a future as well as a past. The latest of such signs — and the one which so far gives the greatest ground for hope — is the appearance of John Cobb’s book, A Christian Natural Theology3.

As was clear already from his earlier study, Living Options in Protestant Theology,4 Cobb holds that some form of natural theology is unavoidable and that this is evident even from the work of theologians who repudiate it, including Barth himself. No theological statement can be made without certain assumptions, and these assumptions are in most cases legitimately subject to examination from a philosophical standpoint outside the theological circle. Hence, as Cobb shows, the issue can never be whether natural theology, but only what natural theology — and how exactly we are to conceive its nature and set about deciding between its different forms. I think Cobb would agree that the only alternative to this position leads to a lack of self-consciousness about one’s philosophical assumptions and thus induces a false security as to the adequacy of one’s theological formulations.

Cobb’s deep conviction, which he defends at length in his new book, is that the fortunes of natural theology today depend on Christian theologians appropriating the philosophy of Alfred North Whitehead. Rightly recognizing that the great natural theologies of the past, whether Augustinian or Thomistic, were creative adaptations of independent philosophical systems, Cobb undertakes just such an adaptation of the system of Whitehead. This is not to say that he, any more than his great predecessors, seeks some "hybrid of philosophy and Christian convictions." His intention, at any rate, is to develop a comprehensive vision of man and God which is "philosophically responsible throughout." I do mean to say, however, that Cobb approaches Whitehead’s philosophy with his own questions as a Christian theologian and then reads it in such a way as to get answers to those questions. For this reason, the subtitle of his book is exactly right: he offers us a natural theology "based on the thought of Alfred North Whitehead."

Thus two of the best chapters in the book are those in which he develops, often in a highly original way, what amounts to a Whiteheadian existentialist analysis or doctrine of man. Whitehead himself had very little to offer by way of a formal anthropology or a philosophical ethic. And this may well account for much of the neglect of his philosophy by Protestant theologians. But, as Cobb beautifully demonstrates, this neglect has been unfortunate, since the insights into man’s nature and action that abound in all of Whitehead’s writings can be made to yield as promising a set of answers as one can find to the theologian’s anthropological and ethical questions. As a matter of fact, Cobb goes a long way toward justifying the claim of Cohn Wilson "that Whitehead has created his own kind of existentialism; and that it is fuller and more adequate than that of any Continental thinker."5

There are many other points as well, in the conception of God and in the general theory of religion, where Cobb creatively elaborates — and, on occasion, corrects — the contributions of Whitehead toward an adequate natural theology. Without commenting further on these points (which, as might be expected, are often involved — and that despite Cobb’s always lucid style), I would say simply that this defense of Whitehead’s theological significance is throughout impressive and deserves to be taken with the greatest seriousness. This is no doubt the easier for me to say because I so fully share Cobb’s conviction about the importance of Whitehead’s thought. But Cobb has his own way of being "Whiteheadian," and it is this way that I should hope his fellow theologians will recognize and take seriously.

To be sure, there are several places where other students of Whitehead will want to quarrel with Cobb’s judgments. His claim, for example, that Whitehead associates God’s aim "exclusively with the primordial nature" (p. 183) ignores Whitehead’s statement that "the process of finite history is essential for the ordering of the basic vision, otherwise mere confusion."6 Then, too, Cobb sometimes seems to fail in his intention to avoid falsely theologizing Whitehead’s thought. Thus, when he holds that it would be "arbitrary" to deny to God the freedom to "take very particular and decisive initiative" in revealing himself (p. 237], the standard defining this denial as "arbitrary" is not, I believe, a philosophical standard — at least in Whitehead’s philosophy. Given the unique relation by which Whitehead conceives God to be related to all’ other actual entities, such "initiative" would seem to be neither necessary nor possible, and Whitehead himself, so far as I am aware, nowhere suggests anything different.

Yet these points and others that might be mentioned are at most minor failings in a remarkable achievement. Without question, Cobb has succeeded in brilliantly confirming what has long been clearly indicated by the work of Charles Hartshorne and others: that Whitehead’s vision of human existence is of the utmost relevance for Christian theology; that it, at last, offers a really serious challenge to the so-called philosophia perennis; and that the natural theology it makes possible is excelled by none of the forms now available in the adequacy of its conclusions.

The one place where I have major reservations is Cobb’s conception of the nature of natural theology and of how we arrive at a decision between its different forms. I am as unconvinced by his argument in this book as by that in Living Options in Protestant Theology, that we can properly speak of "a Christian natural theology." I realize, of course, that such speaking often has a legitimate motivation. It lies in the very nature of Christian faith to claim for itself — or for its Lord — the whole truth about man’s existence before God. Hence, from the standpoint of the theologian, whatever truth can be found in any natural or philosophical theology must somehow be of a piece with what is decisively represented in Jesus Christ. But this does not, I believe, justify our speaking (with the tradition) of "Christian philosophy" or (with Cobb) of "Christian natural theology" — although we may say (with Karl Rahner) that any philosophy which is true is to that extent "anonymously" Christian.

One must insist on this because, as Cobb himself recognizes, no philosophy is to be taken seriously as philosophy unless its warrants are those of our common human experience, rather than of the uncommon experience of some special religious tradition. Nor is this requirement altered by the observation, which Cobb seems to me to make rather more of than he should, that the philosopher, too, always stands in a special tradition which shapes his vision. Even if there is no "unhistorical reason," it does not follow, as Cobb sometimes infers, that none of the findings of reason can claim universal validity; nor can one say, as he does, that "the quest for total consensus is an illusion" (p. 266). (Actually, Cobb could be quoted on the other side of both issues — which leaves little doubt that his whole discussion of relativism is unsatisfactory.) The most that follows is the need for the philosopher or natural theologian to remember with Whitehead that "the accurate expression of the final generalities is the goal of discussion and not its origin." But this kind of caution is perfectly compatible with Whitehead’s own confidence that "there is no first principle which is in itself unknowable, not to be captured by a flash of insight."7

So, too, I cannot share Cobb’s judgment that there must be some other standard than its intrinsic philosophical excellence which enables us to decide for a certain form of natural theology. I agree that, if we are to be Christian theologians at all, we must seek the "right" philosophy and that one of the marks of its rightness will indeed be its essential congruence with the claims of Christian faith. But whether there is any such philosophy — and thus whether theology itself is really possible — is a philosophical question which must be decided on philosophical terms. The venture of faith as the theologian makes it is that the ‘right" philosophy is sure to be found. Yet his confidence is a venture which only a natural theology, valid by its own standard, is able to confirm.



NOTES:

1. Church Dogmatics, IL/1, (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1957), 173.

2. "Das erste Gehot als theologisches Axiom," Zwischen den Zeiten, XI (1933), 312f.

3. Phi1adelphia: Westminster, 1965.

4. Philadelphia: Westminster, 1962.

5. Religion and the Rebel (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1957), 317.

6. Essays in Science and Philosophy 89f.

7. Process and Reality, An Essay in Cosmology 12, 6.

Chapter 5: Christian Natural Theology by John B. Cobb, Jr.

From A Christian Natural Theology, by John B. Cobb, Jr., The Westminster Press Copyright © 1965, W. L. Jenkins. Used by permission of The Westminster Press and John B. Cobb, Jr. John B. Cobb, Jr., attended Emory University and the University of Chicago. He is Ingraham Professor of Theology, the School of Theology at Claremont.

 

1. The Task of Natural Theology

In Living Options in Protestant Theology,1 I argued that there is need for a Christian natural theology and that the philosophy of Whitehead provides the best possibility for such a theology. Critics quite reasonably complained that I did not develop such a theology in that book or even provide adequate clues as to what shape it would have. This book is my attempt to fulfill the obligation I imposed on myself by making that proposal. It intends to be a Whiteheadian Christian natural theology. This expression needs clarification.

By theology in the broadest sense I mean any coherent statement about matters of ultimate concern that recognizes that the perspective by which it is governed is received from a community of faith.2 For example, a Christian may speak coherently of Jesus Christ and his meaning for human existence, recognizing that for his perception of ultimate importance in the Christ event he is indebted to the Christian church. In this case, his speech is theological. If, on the other hand, he speaks of the historic figure of Jesus without even implicit reference to Jesus’ decisive importance for mankind, his speech is not theological. Also, if he claims for statements about Jesus’ ultimate significance a self-evidence or demonstration in no way dependent upon participation in the community of faith, he would not intend his statements to be theological in the sense of my definition.

Most theological formulations take as their starting point statements that have been sanctioned by the community in which the theologian’s perspective has been nurtured, statements such as creeds, confessions, scriptures, or the fully articulated systems of past theologians. But according to my definition of theology, this starting point in earlier verbal formulations is not required. One’s work is theology even if one ignores all earlier statements and begins only with the way things appear to him from that perspective which he acknowledges as given to him in some community of shared life and conviction.

The definition of theology here employed is relatively neutral on the question of its virtue or evil. Those who believe that the only fruitful thinking is that which attempts strenuously to clear the slate of all received opinion and to attain to methods that can be approved and accepted by men of all cultures, will disapprove of the continuance of a mode of thought that recognizes its dependence upon the particularities of one community. On the other hand, those who believe that there are questions of greatest importance for human existence that are not amenable to the kind of inquiry we associate with the natural sciences, will be more sympathetic toward theology.

My own view is that theology as here defined has peculiar possibilities for combining importance and honesty. Practitioners of disciplines that pride themselves on their objectivity and neutrality sometimes make pronouncements on matters of ultimate human concern, but when they do so they invariably introduce assumptions not warranted by their purely empirical or purely rational methods. Usually there is a lack of reflective awareness of these assumptions and their sources. The theologian, on the other hand, confesses the special character of the perspective he shares and is therefore more likely to be critically reflective about his assumptions and about the kind of justification he can claim for them. If in the effort to avoid all unprovable assumptions one limits his sphere of reflection to narrower and narrower areas, one fails to deal relevantly with the issues of greatest importance for mankind, leaving them to be settled by appeals to the emotions. The theologian insists that critical reflection must be brought to bear in these areas as well as in the rigorously factual ones.

In the light of my definition of theology, we can now consider what natural theology may be. Some definitions of natural theology put it altogether outside the scope of theology as I have defined it. This would be highly confusing, since I intend my definition of theology to be inclusive. However, we should consider such a definition briefly. Natural theology is often identified with that of theological importance which can be known independently of all that is special to a particular community. In other words, natural theology, from this point of view, is all that can be known relative to matters of ultimate human concern by reason alone, conceiving reason in this case as a universal human power. This definition is, of course, possible, and it has substantial continuity with traditional usage. It is largely in this sense that Protestant theologians have rejected natural theology. A consideration of the reasons for this rejection will be instructive.

In principle, natural theology has been rejected on the ground that it is arrogant and self-deceptive. It is argued that reason alone is not able to arrive at any truth about such ultimate questions. When it pretends to do so it covertly introduces elements that are by no means a part of man’s universal rational equipment. Every conviction on matters of ultimate concern is determined by factors peculiar to an historically-formed community or to the private experience of some individual. Since no doctrine of theological importance can claim the sanction of universal, neutral, objective, impartial reason, what is called natural theology can only be the expression of one faith or another. If Christian thinkers accept the authority of a natural theology, they are accepting something alien and necessarily opposed to their own truth, which is given them in the Christian community.

The last point leads to a consideration of the substantive or material reason for the rejection of natural theology. The philosophical doctrines traditionally accepted by the church on the basis of the authority of philosophical reason have, in fact, been in serious tension with the ways of thinking about God that grew out of the Old and New Testaments and the liturgy of the church. The philosophers’ God was impassible and immutable whereas the Biblical God was deeply involved with his creation and even with its suffering. Brilliant attempts at synthesis have been made, but the tensions remain.

My view is that it is unfortunate that natural theology has been identified substantively with particular philosophic doctrines. There is no principle inherent in reason that demands that philosophy will always conclude that God is impassible and immutable and hence, unaffected by and uninvolved in the affairs of human history. Philosophers may reach quite different conclusions, some of which do not introduce these particular tensions into the relation between philosophy and Christian theology.3 The modern theological discussion of natural theology has been seriously clouded by the failure to distinguish the formal question from the substantive one.

On the formal question, however, I agree with the rejection of natural theology as defined above. The individual philosopher may certainly attempt to set aside the influence of his community and his own special experiences and to think with total objectivity in obedience to the evidence available to all men. This is a legitimate and worthy endeavor. But the student of the history of philosophy cannot regard it as a successful one. It is notorious that the ineradicable ideas left in Descartes’s mind after he had doubted everything were products of the philosophical and theological work, or more broadly of the cultural matrix, that had formed his mind. There is nothing shameful in this. Descartes’s work was exceedingly fruitful. Nevertheless, no one today can regard it as the product of a perfectly neutral and universal human rationality. If one should agree with him, he should recognize that he does so decisively because his fundamental experience corresponds to that of Descartes. He cannot reasonably hope that all equally reflective men will come to Descartes’s conclusions.

To put the matter in another way, it is generally recognized today that philosophy has a history. For many centuries each philosopher was able to suppose that his own work climaxed philosophy and reached final indubitable truth. But such an attitude today would appear naive if the great questions of traditional philosophy are being discussed. Insofar as philosophers now attempt to reach final conclusions, they characteristically abandon the traditional questions of philosophy and limit themselves to much more specialized ones. In phenomenology, symbolic logic, and the analysis of the meaning of language, attempts are still being made to reach determinate conclusions not subject to further revision. These attempts are highly problematic, and in any case questions of ultimate concern cannot be treated in this way. If natural theology means the product of an unhistorical reason, we must reply that there is no such thing.

However, responsible thinking about questions of ultimate human importance continues to go on outside the community of faith. Furthermore, many of the members of the community of faith who engage in such thinking consciously or unconsciously turn away from the convictions nurtured in them by the community while they pursue this thinking. It is extremely unfortunate that the partly legitimate rejection of natural theology has led much of Protestant theology to fail to come effectively to grips with this kind of responsible thinking. Some theologians have idealized a purity of theological work that would make it unaffected by this general human reflection on the human situation. They have attempted so to define theology that nothing that can be known outside the community is relevant to its truth or falsehood, adequacy or inadequacy. I am convinced that this approach has failed.4

In almost all cases, the theologian continues to make assumptions or affirmations that are legitimately subject to investigation from other points of view. For example, he assumes that history and nature can be clearly distinguished, or that man can meaningfully be spoken of as free. He may insist that he knows these things on the basis of revelation, but he must then recognize that he is claiming, on the basis of revelation, the right to make affirmations that can be disputed by responsibly reflective persons. If he denies that science can speak on these matters, he thereby involves himself in a particular understanding of science that, in its turn, is subject to discussion in contexts other than theology. He must either become more and more unreasonably dogmatic, affirming that on all these questions he has answers given him by his tradition that are not subject to further adjudication, or else he must finally acknowledge that his theological work does rest upon presuppositions that are subject to evaluation in the context of general reflection. In the latter case he must acknowledge the role of something like natural theology in his work. I believe that this is indispensable if integrity is to be maintained and esotericism is to be avoided.

The problem, then, is how the theologian should reach his conclusions on those broader questions of general reflection presupposed in his work. The hostility toward natural theology has led to a widespread refusal to take this question with full seriousness. Theologians are likely to accept rather uncritically some idea or principle that appears to them established in the secular world. For example, a theologian may assume that modern knowledge leads us to conceive the universe as a nexus of cause and effect such that total determinism prevails in nature. Conversely, he may seize the scientific principle of indeterminacy as justifying the doctrine of human freedom. Or he may point to the dominant mood of contemporary philosophy as justifying a complete disregard of traditional philosophy. My contention is that most of this is highly irresponsible. What the theologian thus chooses functions for him as a natural theology, but it is rarely subjected to the close scrutiny that such a theology should receive. It suffers from all the evils of the natural theologies of the past and lacks most of their virtues. It is just as much a product of a special point of view, but it is less thoroughly criticized. In many cases it is profoundly alien to the historical Christian faith, and yet it is accepted as unexceptionably authoritative.

If there were a consensus of responsible reflection, then the adoption of that consensus as the vehicle for expression of Christian faith might be necessary. But there is no such consensus that can be taken over and adopted by the Christian theologian. Hence, if natural theology is necessary, the theologian has two choices. He may create his own, or he may adopt and adapt some existing philosophy.

If the theologian undertakes to create a philosophy expressive of his fundamental Christian perspective, we may call his work Christian philosophy in the strict sense. There can be no objection in principle to this undertaking, but historically the greatest philosophical work of theologians has never been done in this way. Many philosophies have been Christian in the looser sense that their starting points have been deeply affected by the Christian vision of reality. But the conscious recognition of this dependence on a distinctively Christian perspective has been rare.

Practically and historically speaking, the great contributions to philosophy by theologians have been made in the modification of the philosophical material they have adopted. Augustine’s work with Neoplatonic philosophy and Thomas’s adaptation and development both of Aristotle and of Augustinian Neoplatonism are the great classical examples. Both Augustine and Thomas were superb philosophers, but neither undertook to produce a new Christian philosophy. They brought to the philosophies they adopted questions that had not occurred to the philosophers with comparable force. In the process of answering these questions, they rethought important aspects of the philosophies. In doing this they did strictly philosophical work, appealing for justification only to the norms of philosophy. But even in making their philosophical contributions they were conscious that the perspective that led them to press these questions arose from their Christian convictions. This source of the questions does not lessen the value of their work as philosophy, but it does mean that their philosophical work was a part of their work as theologians. Theology is not to be distinguished from philosophy by a lesser concern for rigor of thought!

If, then, we are today to follow in their footsteps, our task will be to adopt and adapt a philosophy as they did. I suggest that in implementing this program the theologian should accept two criteria for the evaluation of available philosophies.

First, he should consider the intrinsic excellence of the structure of thought he proposes to adopt and adapt. The judgment of such excellence may be partly subjective, but it is not wholly so. Despite all the irrationalism of the modern world there remains the fact that consistency and coherence where they are possible, are to be preferred over inconsistency and incoherence. A theory that proposes to explain many things must also be judged as to its success in doing so. If a few broad principles can unify a vast body of data, the employment of many ad hoc principles is to be rejected. Criteria of this sort have almost universal practical assent, so that it is always necessary to give special reasons for their rejection. If a particular position that claims philosophical authority is markedly inferior by these criteria, there can be no justification for adopting it to serve as a natural theology.

Second, there is no reason for accepting as a natural theology a position hostile to Christian faith, if another position more congenial to faith is equally qualified according to the norms suggested above. The study of the history of thought suggests that there is a plurality of philosophical doctrines, each of which can attain a high degree of excellence by all the norms on which they agree in common. This does not mean that any of them are wholly beyond criticism, but it does mean that the finally decisive criticisms stem from a perception of the data to be treated in philosophy that is different from the perception underlying the philosophy criticized. Diverse visions of reality lead to diverse philosophies and are, in turn, strengthened by the excellence of the philosophies to which they give birth.

For example, there are persons to whom it is wholly self-evident that sense data are the ultimate givens in terms of which all thought develops and who are equally convinced that the only acceptable explanation of the way things happen follows mechanical models. These convictions will lead to a particular philosophical position. Against this position it is useless to argue that there are data that this philosophy does not illumine, and that mechanical models capable of explaining the processes of thought have not been devised. The philosopher in question does not agree that there are other data and assumes that the lack of adequate models is a function of continuing human ignorance.

The particular position I have described would be a caricature of any major philosophical thinker, but it does point to a type of mentality that is not rare in our culture. When I realize that the particular conclusions generated by the serious reflection that arises from such assumptions have only the authority of those assumptions, then I feel free to turn to another philosophy that includes among its data human persons and their interactions; for my perception of reality is such that these seem to me at least as real and ultimate as sense data and mechanical relations. I cannot prove the truth of my vision any more than the sensationalist can prove the truth of his, but this does not shake me in my conviction. I may well recognize that my way of seeing reality has been nurtured in the community of faith, but this provides no reason for accepting as my natural theology the conclusions derived from the sensationalist-mechanist vision. On the contrary, it provides excellent reasons for choosing the conclusions of a personalistic philosophy, always providing that as a philosophy, measured by the appropriate criteria of that discipline, it is of at least equal merit. Every natural theology reflects some fundamental perspective on the world. None is the pure result of neutral, objective reason. Every argument begins with premises, and the final premises cannot themselves be proved. They must be intuited. Not all men intuit the same premises. The quest for total consensus is an illusion, and indeed there is no reason to accept majority rule in such a matter if the majority does not share one’s premises. Hence, a Christian theologian should select for his natural theology a philosophy that shares his fundamental premises, his fundamental vision of reality. That philosophy is his Christian natural theology, or rather that portion of that philosophy is his natural theology which deals most relevantly with the questions of theology. It would be confusing to include under the heading of natural theology all the technical aspects of philosophy, but, on the other hand, no sharp line can be drawn, and the coherence of the whole is of decisive importance for selection.

In the sense now explained, natural theology is the overlapping of two circles, the theological and the philosophical. Natural theology is a branch of theology because the theologian in appropriating it must recognize that his selection expresses his particular perspective formed in a community from which he speaks. On the other hand, it is also philosophy because it embodies thinking that has been done and judged in terms of philosophical norms.

There may seem to be some tension here. Philosophy is critical, imaginative, and comprehensive thinking that strives to free itself from the conditioning of particular traditions and communities, whereas a criterion for the selection of a philosophy by a theologian should be its sharing of a basic vision of reality. But there is no contradiction. The philosopher does not set out to show how the world appears from the perspective of a community of faith, and to some degree, he can free himself from such perspectives. Even if he is a Christian, for example, he can set aside all the particular beliefs about Jesus Christ, God, miracles, salvation, and eternal life that he recognizes as peculiar to that tradition. He can and should refuse to accept as relevant to his philosophical work, any data that do not appear to him to be generally accessible. He will begin with ordinary language, or the findings of science, or widespread experience of mankind, rather than with the special convictions of his community. This starting point will lead the philosopher to the consideration of many questions ordinarily not treated by Christian theology and to the omission of many questions usually treated by theology. It will also lead to the consideration of overlapping questions.

However, beyond this level of conviction, life in a community also produces a primary perspective, a basic way of understanding the nature of things, a fundamental vision of reality. It is at this level that the philosopher cannot escape his perspective.5 He can, of course, reject a perspective that he may have at one time accepted, but he can do so only in favor of some other perspective. And it should be said that changing perspectives in this sense is not simply a voluntary matter. Conscious decisions may affect the process but they do not in themselves constitute it. The decision on the part of the Christian theologian as to where he should turn for his natural theology should involve the judgment as to whether the vision of reality underlying the philosophical system is compatible with that essentially involved in the Christian faith. . . .

2. The Problem of Relativism

In the preface and elsewhere in (A Christian Natural Theology), I have indicated my conviction that a cosmology inspired by the natural sciences has played the dominant role in undermining Christian understanding of both God and man. I have developed at some length aspects of a Whiteheadian cosmology which, I believe, both does more justice to the natural sciences and creates a new possibility of Christian understanding of man, God, and religion. But there is another factor that has contributed to the decline of faith in modern times, which has not yet been seriously considered. This is the historical study of culture and thought. This study has led to the view that every kind of human activity and thought can only be understood as an expression of a particular situation, that all value and "truth" are culturally and historically conditioned, and that this means also that our attempts to find truth must be understood as nothing more than an expression of our conditioned situation.

In the foregoing discussion of Christian natural theology I expressed my own acquiescence in this relativistic understanding to a considerable degree. It is because no philosophy can be regarded as philosophically absolute that the Christian can and should choose among philosophies [so long as they are philosophically of equal merit) the one that shares his own vision of the fundamental nature of things. But if so, then are we not engaged in a fascinating and difficult game rather than in grounding our affirmations of faith? If we can pick and choose among philosophies according to our liking, what reason have we to suppose that the one we have chosen relates us to reality itself? Perhaps it only systematizes a dream that some of us share. The problem of relativism is fundamental to our spiritual situation and to our understanding of both theology and philosophy. Before bringing this discussion to a close I want to confront this problem directly, and, though I cannot solve it, perhaps shed some light upon it as Whitehead helps us to see it.

Few philosophers have recognized as clearly as Whitehead did the relativity of their own philosophies.6 Yet in Whitehead’s vision the relativity of philosophies need not have so debilitating an effect as some views of the relativity of thought suggest. He understands the relativity of philosophies as closely analogous to the relativity of scientific theories.7

In the field of science the fundamental principles now applied are remote from the fundamental principles of the Newtonian scheme. Nevertheless, the Newtonian scheme is recognized as having a large measure of applicability. As long as we focus attention upon bodies of some magnitude and upon motion of moderate velocity, the laws of science developed by the Newtonians hold true. They have, therefore, real validity, and those who accepted them were not deceived. These laws did not cease to be true when science passed beyond them to the investigation of elements in the universe to which they do not apply. What happened was that heretofore unrecognized limits of their truth came to light. Certainly the Newtonian apprehension of nature was conditioned by history and culture, but it was also substantiated in its partial truth by centuries of patient thought and experimentation. That thought and experimentation are not discredited.

Whitehead believed that the situation in philosophy is similar. No philosophical position is simply false. Every serious philosophy illumines some significant range of human experience. But every philosophy also has its limits. It illumines some portion of experience at the cost of failure to account adequately for others.8 Also, science and history keep providing new data of which philosophy must take account. The task of the philosopher in relation to the history of philosophy is not to refute his predecessors but to learn from them. What they have shown is there to be seen. A new philosophy must encompass it. Where there are apparent contradictions among philosophers, the goal must be to attain a wider vision within which the essential truth of each view can be displayed in its limited validity.9

There are, of course, sheer errors in the work of philosophers. These can and should be detected, but this has nothing to do with the problem of relativism. Indeed the possibility of showing errors presupposes a nonrelativistic principle at work. And no philosophical position is built upon sheer error. The more serious problem arises at the point at which philosophers draw inferences based on the assumption that their systematic positions are essentially complete. These inferences will prove erroneous, because in the nature of the case no system of thought is final. All must await enlargement at the hands of the future.

If Whitehead is right, and surely he is not entirely wrong here, then we should employ a philosopher’s work with proper caution. We should never regard it as some final, definitive expression of the human mind beyond which thought cannot progress. But we need not suppose that the entire validity of his work depends upon the chance correctness of some arbitrarily selected starting point. What the philosopher has seen is there to be seen or he would not have seen it. His description may be faulty, and what he has seen may have blinded him to other dimensions of reality. He may have drawn inferences from what he has seen that he would not have drawn if he had also seen other aspects of reality — perhaps those other aspects dominating the work of another philosophical school. But when all is said and done, we may trust philosophy to give us positive light on problems of importance.

Whitehead’s excellence is impressive when judged by his own principle. . . . But at the same time that I find Whitehead’s thought so deeply satisfying, I realize that there are others, more intelligent and sensitive than myself, who see all things in some quite different perspective. Can I believe that they are simply wrong? From my Whiteheadian perspective I can usually understand why they adopt the view they hold, what factors in the whole of reality have so impressed themselves upon them that they allow their vision to be dominated by those factors. But is there not an ultimate and unjustified arrogance in supposing that my perspective can include theirs in a way that theirs cannot include mine? Must I not reckon more radically with the possibility of sheer error in my own vision?

Here I think we must come to terms with an aspect of the modern sensibility that we cannot transcend. Just because we humans can transcend ourselves, we can and must recognize the extreme finitude of all our experiences, all our judgments, all our thoughts. Every criterion we establish to evaluate our claims to truth must be recognized as itself involved in the finitude it strives to transcend. From this situation there is no escape. We must learn to live, to think, and to love in the context of this ultimate insecurity of uncertainty.

This may suggest to some theologians that the whole enterprise of natural theology is, after all that has been said, misguided. It seeks support for theology in a philosophy that cannot transcend relativity and uncertainty. These theologians may hold that Christian theology should remain faithful only to the Word of God that breaks through from the absolute into the relative. But there is no escape here. I can be no more sure of the truth of the claim that the absolute has shown itself than of the truth of the philosophical analysis. However certain the absolute may be in itself, it is mediated to me through channels that do not share that absoluteness. If the appeal is to some unmediated act of the absolute in the believer, there must still be trust beyond certainty that the act has truly occurred and been rightly interpreted. Faith does not free us from involvement in relativities any more than does philosophy.

Yet, in another sense, faith is the answer to the human dilemma of being forced to live in terms of a truth that one knows may not be true. Perhaps even here Whitehead can help us or at least we can sense in him a companion in our struggles.

Whitehead’s discussion of peace has already been treated twice in this volume, but it has not been exhausted. One element in particular remains. Ingredient in peace, for Whitehead, is an assurance that ultimately the vision of the world given in sense experience is true.10 This is the assurance that reality does not ultimately deceive. It is an assurance that exceeds rational demonstration. It is faith.

In the context of the present discussion this faith must be that the necessity to live and act by a belief whose truth we cannot know is accompanied by an assurance that as we do so we are not wholly deceived. We will not pretend to a privileged apprehension of reality as a whole. We will not suppose that those who disagree with us are therefore wrong. We can only witness to the way that our best reflection leads us to perceive our world. But we can and must believe that in this witness also, somehow, the truth is served.

 

NOTES:

1. Philadelphia: Westminster, 1962.

2. In this section I am following Tillich in using "faith" and "ultimate concern" interchangeably.

3. That this is so is fully established by the work of Hartshorne. See especially The Divine Relativity (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1948, 1964).

4. In Living Opinions in Protestant Theology, I have tried to show in each case how, whether recognized or not, theological positions depend systematically on affirmations that are not private to theology. I acknowledge the brilliance of Barth’s near success in avoiding such dependence.

5. Whitehead saw the work of the creative philosopher in terms of the novelty of his perspective. The philosopher "has looked at the universe in a certain way, has seen phenomena under some fresh aspect; he is full of his vision and anxious to communicate it. His value to other men is in what he has seen" (Dialogues of Alfred North Whitehead 266). Whitehead also recognized that the philosopher’s vision is affected by the historic community in which he stands. "Modern European philosophy, which had its origins in Plato and Aristotle, after sixteen hundred years of Christianity reformulated its problems with increased attention to the importance of the individual subject of experience, conceived as an abiding entity with a transition of experiences." (Religion in the Making 140.)

6. Essays in Science and Philosophy 87.

7. Process and Reality, An Essay in Cosmology 20-21.

8. The Function of Reason 70-71.

9. Process and Reality, An Essay in Cosmology 11-16.

10. Adventures of Ideas 388 ff.

From A Christian Natural Theology, by John B. Cobb, Jr., The Westminster Press Copyright © 1965, W. L. Jenkins. Used by permission of The Westminster Press and John B. Cobb, Jr.

John B. Cobb, Jr., attended Emory University and the University of Chicago. He is Ingraham Professor of Theology, the School of Theology at Claremont.

Chapter 4: Christian Faith and Process Philosophy by Bernard M. Loomer

From The Journal of Religion, XXIX, 3 (July 1949). Used by permission of The University of Chicago Press and Bernard M. Loomer. Bernard M. Loomer was educated at the University of Chicago where he taught and was Dean for several years in the Divinity School. Now he teaches at Berkeley Baptist Divinity School.

 

One of the genuine alternatives in our time to the "dialectical" or "Continental" theology as a constructive advance upon liberalism is the mode of theological thinking which seeks to reinterpret the force and meaning of the Christian faith within the new intellectual framework that is being provided by modern metaphysics. The dominant motif of the new metaphysics is process, since the creative character of events is seen to be a fundamental notion; hence the point of view has come to be referred to as process philosophy.

Any effort to restate the insights of the Christian faith within a philosophical framework is bound to awaken protest among many Protestant thinkers for the reason that Protestant theologians have tended to dissociate faith from any consciously conceived rational structure. Such criticisms have been frequently made against efforts within process philosophy to relate faith and philosophy. These objections purport to invalidate from the outset the fitness of process philosophy to be a proper framework within which to interpret the Christian faith. By "process philosophy" I have reference in this case to the general Whiteheadian orientation, although the details of this system are not necessarily subscribed to nor are they of primary importance from the point of view of this discussion. My purpose in this paper is to state and discuss several criticisms of process philosophy that are raised or that can be raised from the standpoint of Christian faith.1

It should be noticed that these criticisms apply also to liberalism whether old or new in so far as liberalism attempts to arrive at some rational understanding of the world of our experience. Rationalism, in the widest sense, involves some kind of system; it emphasizes primarily continuity of explanation. This factor causes it to be suspect from the vantage point of faith. Furthermore, I am inclined to think that these objections constitute several variations of one recurrent theme.

I

The first general and less specific criticism would hold that a philosophical interpretation of Christian faith almost inevitably tends to be inadequate. The explanation for this inadequacy is inherent in the nature of the philosophic enterprise itself. A system of metaphysical categories is concerned with every type of experience at all levels of existence. Therefore, it cannot do full justice to any particular kind of experience or to any specialized inquiry or quest. Continuity takes precedence over discontinuity. Particularity and individuality are swallowed up in universality. The unique is reduced to the common and identical. This is especially true in the relationship between philosophy and a historical religion such as Christianity. Faith is in danger of being resolved, either prematurely or maturely, into reason. The tension that must necessarily exist between faith and reason is broken. System predominates over the adventurous and unsystematic outreaches of faith. The sovereign God of faith is reduced to a manageable idol trapped or caged within a system. The temptation of the philosopher is to treat his system as a constant and the faith as a variable. The result is that he discards all those aspects of the faith which do not fit nicely into the system which he has constructed primarily from sources and data outside the faith.

Whenever theology has become too philosophical in its interpretation, the criticism continues, a reformation has been necessary as well as forthcoming. Theology has had to declare its autonomy from philosophy, and faith has had to assert its independence of reason. These reformations have also been carried out in the interests of rational understanding itself. Furthermore, while the Christian faith has been associated (and even identified) with several philosophical systems, it has outlived them all because it has transcended them all. This association (and identification) has been too often detrimental to the vitality and purity of the faith.

Therefore, what would cause one to think that process philosophy is an exception to these considerations? There is evidence, indeed, that would lead one to the opposite conclusion. For example, the language of process thought is derived primarily from scientific disciplines, and this impersonal language is ill suited for religious purposes. "How can one pray to a process? One can pray only to a person, or a conscious personality, or a living and loving father." Furthermore, its use of a rational-empirical methodology for deriving and testing knowledge motivates it to adopt the procedure of standing outside the Christian faith and evaluating that faith in terms of a so-called "objective criterion." But by what marks are its method and criterion of truth to be established as true? The Christian faith is given, and process philosophy must come to terms with this givenness. This faith can be understood only from a standpoint within itself. This faith cannot be "validated" by means of criteria external to itself. There is no "faith in general." Therefore, to stand outside the Christian faith, and to attempt to ascertain its truth-value by measuring it with objective norms, is to judge the Christian faith in terms of another faith. The adequacy of process philosophy as a standpoint for interpreting the Christian faith will be determined, at least in part, by the willingness of process thought to accept the revelation of God in Jesus Christ as the central clue for its metaphysical outlook.

In reply to this criticism one must grant the point that a metaphysical account of experience, taken by itself, does not and cannot give a fully adequate description of the nature of man, especially of man in his religious dimension. This is so because metaphysical categories will only be illustrated in the several sciences and disciplines. Metaphysical categories, if true, are applicable to all individuals at all levels of existence. But they exhaust the total content and structure of no one individual or type of individual at any level. The several more specialized inquiries are needed to supply the more specific knowledge of various types of individuals. It follows, therefore, that the resources of metaphysics are not sufficient in themselves to exhaust the meaning and profundity of the Christian faith and the nature of man and God as interpreted in the light of that faith. This is true even if the metaphysical description should include the results of a philosophy of religion with its persistent concern for value as a category of all experience.

This being the case, what is the relevance of metaphysics for the task of interpreting the Christian faith, for our day or any day? Its relevance and significance, at least in part, are that of a world view in relation to a specialized inquiry. The fact is that all disciplines, intellectual or practical, scientific or religious, presuppose in one form or another some sort of world view, explicit or implicit, total or partial, systematically or incoherently perceived and formulated. This world view is our philosophy.2 We see with eyes and minds that are, in part at least, colored and shaped by this explicit or implicit philosophic background. Our very language testifies to this fact. The religious interpretations of man and God vary, among other reasons, because of changing world views. It is important, therefore, that we make this larger perspective explicit so that it may be criticized. These world views, criticized or uncriticized, guide our inquiries, be they intellectual or practical.

This critical function of a world view is important further because it enables us to evaluate more adequately the interpretation of man and his world that emerges from any specialized inquiry, such as theology or the Christian life itself. Thus, one function of metaphysics is to evaluate the possible pretensions of restricted modes of thinking and behavior. Stated differently, one function of a metaphysical system is to free us from bondage to systems or structures of thought of less generality than itself. In this regard, Whitehead has underscored the relevance of metaphysics for science. Faith and theology are no necessary exceptions to the evils that befell science.

These considerations are especially pertinent to the problem of interpreting the Christian faith in view of the fact that in some circles a purely kerygmatic theology is said to be possible. This type of theology attempts to state and interpret the fundamental Christian message in dissociation from any philosophical framework. But even if this goal were desirable, it could not be achieved. An approach to this ideal limit might be made, but some philosophic assumptions and implications would be inherent in the interpretation. They might be hidden and obscured, but they would be there. As hidden they may unduly restrict or even corrupt the meaning of the Christian message itself. As a matter of fact, one of the chief difficulties that confronts the Christian theological world today concerns interpretations of the Christian faith which contain hidden and uncriticized philosophical assumptions that operate under the guise of being essential ingredients of the faith. Part of the task of evaluating interpretations of Christian faith consists in the criticism of the philosophical predilections that inevitably accompany these theologies, either as substance or as shadow. This is as true of the biblical interpretation of faith as it is of all later portrayals.

Therefore, the implicit suggestion that the Christian community should distrust equally all philosophic systems of thought because they in turn are restrictive and even corrupting in their religious effects is basically idolatrous in character. To be sure, metaphysics is no guaranty against idolatry or even narrowness of outlook and practice. But a persistent and pervasive distrust of all systems is either only another system in itself or the effort is self-defeating. Incurably we are creatures of meanings, and meanings can be grasped fully only in the context of their relationships. An adequate religious life is impossible apart from some degree of interrelated reflective thought. Philosophy is simply the systematization of this kind of thinking and acting.

The necessity of system or coherence is grounded in the intellectual and religious demand for integrity, for unity, for an undivided self. We cannot worship our sovereign Lord if we are divided and compartmentalized selves. Integrity both presupposes and brings about self-consciousness, that is, the awareness of who one is, where one stands and why he stands there, and what God one commits himself to. But we cannot be sufficiently self-conscious without having probed the depths of our cultural and religious presuppositions. We cannot worship the true God unless we are conscious of the extent to which we define the meaning of life in terms of the cultural gods that surround us. We cannot realize the limitations of our cultural gods unless we know the true God. The circle is complete. But philosophic inquiry is one of the means for the achievement of self-consciousness, for the enlargement of the circle. It constitutes one resource for escaping the tyranny of idolatrous viewpoints.

The demand for integrity does not imply that a philosophical system is to be superimposed on studies of lesser scope and generality. Metaphysical generalizations may be derived from any specialized field of inquiry. For example, Whitehead generalized the quantum and relativity theories of physical science into universal propositions. Furthermore, the adequacy of metaphysical categories is ascertained by reference to other specialized disciplines, including the discipline of the Christian faith. The categorial system is derived from and tested by the various areas of specialized inquiry. Thus, the relations between metaphysics and these areas are mutual and interdependent. Consequently, each specialized discipline has a kind of autonomy in that each is free to contribute its basic concepts and insights to the over-all generalized description which is metaphysics. Both the categorical system and the structure of thought of each specialized inquiry are variables, although the former is usually more constant than the latter in the nature of the relationship. Each is modifiable by the other.

This general methodological principle is applicable to the problem of the relationship between philosophy and the interpretation of the Christian faith. Both are variables. It is true that philosophers have treated their own systems as constants and the Christian faith as the variable. It is also true that process thought has probably not been sufficiently informed and modified in terms of basic Christian insights. The difficulty here is that of philosophically generalizing these religious insights so as to make them relevant to other categorial concepts and applicable to other specialized disciplines, without devitalizing the content of these insights. Yet it must be granted that Whitehead’s general orientation has been considerably and consciously shaped in terms of Christian insights, even though much of his general thought has been constructed from the data of science.

Furthermore, this general principle implies that the "givenness" of the Christian faith must be qualified. However this faith is to be interpreted, neither the faith nor its interpretation is simply "given" in the sense that it is given as a constant. Nor is either given as an unalloyed datum. The faith comes to us structured with the matchless wisdom of many prophets and saints. But it also comes to us burdened down with the barnacles of superstition and error. If this faith is given to us as self-evidently true and if it contains its own creative criteria of warranty, it is so and does so only because it has been tested and not found wanting by countless generations of inquiring hearts and minds.

But from the point of view of Christian faith, another dimension must be added to the search for integrity and maturity. True integrity must be realized and lived under "tension." This added quality can be stated in terms of the difference between religious and intellectual integrity or in terms of the relation between faith and reason. Faith is trust, and a mature trust must adventure beyond reason and beyond evidence. An adequate faith must be rooted in evidence, but faith in a God who is wholly evidential is trust in one’s own self-sufficiency. Faith is prior to reason, logically, biologically, and religiously.

In stating this point, it is important to consider the fact that a true tension exists between two things only when they are internally and mutually related. A tension does not exist between two externally related elements. There is only dichotomy or compartmentalization. Too often faith and reason have been defined in terms of external relations, so that the tension between them has been broken and not merely resolved, But if a tension exists between faith and reason, then each must modify the other and be modified in turn. As one’s intellectual understanding develops, his faith must change accordingly. As one’s faith deepens and matures, his understanding must reflect this added penetration.

This means that Christian faith and process philosophy are codependents. They should be in close relationship. In fact, they must be. It also means that they must be held in tension if faith is to remain true to its own genius and insights. Faith and reason are not synonymous. Philosophy is the attempt to arrive at one intellectual world as defined by the systematic relationship of the categories of its system. Christian faith is a giving of one’s self to that reality which is held to be sovereign over even that one intellectual world. The mutual dependence is intimate, but the tension is abiding.

II

The second criticism is a more specific application of the first. It runs to the effect that process philosophy, being a type of naturalism and consequently predisposed in favor of continuity of explanation, neglects the discontinuous qualities of existence. More particularly, it does an injustice to that which is peculiarly human, especially to that which is fundamental from the standpoint of Christian faith: man’s capacity to sin. In attempting to avoid a metaphysical dualism by showing how a man is an integral child of nature, it vitiates man’s understanding of himself.

A frankly dualistic philosophy, the objection states, has certain advantages over a monistic outlook that tries to find analogous elements in man and the sub-human levels. If man is a child of nature, he is a very strange child who hardly can be recognized by his parents. Nature knows of a will to live, but only man knows of a will to power. Nature knows of sex and hunger drives, but in nature these compulsions operate within limits, and satiety has its appointed level. Only man is capable of defining the total meaning of existence in terms of one of these natural needs. Nature knows of a hierarchy of weaker and stronger, but only man is an imperialist who wants to subjugate all others to his own purposes. Nature knows of consciousness; but only man is self-conscious, with the capacity to make himself into his own object. Nature knows of security in terms of biological fulfilment and parental care and protection, but only man is anxious about his status in the universe. Nature knows of death, but only man knows that he is finite and fears death. Only man desires to be infinite; only man has moral, intellectual, and religious pride. Nature knows of animal intelligence, but only man speculates and constructs alternative mathematical and logical systems. Only man can transcend himself. Nature knows of an animal’s separation from its mate or children or parents, but only man is cosmically lonely. Nature knows of the order of the seasons, but only man worships. Nature knows of physical satisfaction, but only man knows peace in the midst of tragedy. Nature knows of sacrifice, but only man knows of justice, mercy, and forgiveness. Only man carries a cross. Nature knows of deception, but only man lies and is insincere. Only man tries to fool himself, and only man knows that he cannot really deceive himself. Nature, in other words, is governed by necessity, but only man is free — free to affirm, deny, obey, rebel, corrupt, tyrannize, worship, deify, laugh, suffer, pervert, repress, sublimate, wonder, to doubt and to transcend his doubts. Only man is made in the image of God, and only man can be demonic and love his own demonic usurpations. Nature knows of animal leaders, the strong who can lead a herd to safety. Only man can be a saint or a messiah.

This criticism is akin to another which contends that all philosophies, in the interests of simplicity and system, tend to deify one aspect of man, either his reason, or his will, or his emotions. This tendency to deify one aspect of man to the neglect of his other essential qualities is an instance of the fallacy of "misplaced concreteness." This inevitable procedure of systematic thought not only breaks down because of its own inadequacy and because of its failure in helping us to understand ourselves but in the long run results in idolatry. We conclude our system by constructing a God in our own image and of our own choosing. Is not this form of the criticism obviously applicable to process philosophy? Does it not subsume everything under "feelings" or "emotions"? How, then, can it give an honest reading of the facts of Christian experience? Does it not become subject to the same criticisms that Niebuhr, for example, has leveled against rationalism, romanticism, and early forms of naturalism?

In answer to this objection, it should be admitted at once that there are discontinuities between the human and the subhuman levels. There are discontinuities between all levels of existence, at least as seen by process philosophy. There are properties or qualities at any designated level of existence which apparently are characteristic of that level alone. A whole is more than the sum of its parts, and there are novel and emergent wholes. Furthermore, the parts of a whole at one level of existence are different from these analogous parts as they function at lower levels. When Whitehead attributes "feeling" and "mind" to the subhuman levels, he does not mean that they are the same as human feelings and human reason. Similarly, time and space cannot be completely the same for the subhuman as they are for us.

Therefore, the metaphysical attempt to find similarity of structures at different levels of existence does not deny the fact of discontinuity. It does not account for the higher in terms of the lower (in a reductionistic sense) It is concerned to see discontinuities in terms of continuous patterns of structure. These patterns of structure can be defined in terms of the categorial elements that constitute a metaphysical system. They are the factors which are present in all experiences of all individuals. Categories are concepts which refer to factors which cause us to exist, not to those things whereby we are peculiarly human. They refer to those things without which existence as we know it would be impossible. Within this total picture of those elements which all individuals share in common in order to exist at all, discontinuities are possible. But discontinuities are qualitative differences along a continuous dimension. For example, metaphysics as such is not concerned with sin. Yet a metaphysics does attempt to show how sin is possible in terms of organic functionings and mechanisms which are shared in common (in varying degrees, to be sure) by all levels of life. In other words, the fact of discontinuity does not necessarily imply a dualistic philosophic outlook.

Process philosophy does generalize metaphysically the concept of feeling (or prehension). But there is nothing particularly one-sided or psychological about the meaning that is intended. The term "feeling" is attributed to all levels of existence because of Whitehead’s insistence that there is no such thing as "vacuous actuality." All events are individuals which become something definite by means of integrating into one unit the several data which are received from other past events. This process of appropriation, which is the self-enjoyment involved in being an actual event, is called "feeling." But the term is devoid of any suggestion of consciousness or of representative perception. Thus "feeling" is an inclusive term that is indicative of the basic feature (i.e., "process") which all events share.

All processes (or processes of appropriation) exemplify two basic kinds of feelings: physical or bodily feelings and conceptual feelings (mentality). Emotions are primarily types of the "how" of feelings, especially of physical feelings. Existence is dipolar. This means that there are no substances which are purely mental or purely physical. Body and mind are inseparable components of each actual entity. Mentality is correlative with form or structure. Therefore, mentality is inherent in nature because there is no process apart from some form or structure illustrated in the process. One function of form or structure (and thus mentality) is to individualize or channelize the fluid and unbounded character of feelings. This function of form is to achieve definiteness and particularity on the part of events. One must be a specific and definite something in order to exist at all. This does not mean that inorganic processes can think (in the human sense), but it does mean that all events are selective. It means that order (in the general sense) is intrinsic to all events.

In saying that body and mind are inseparable in each actual entity, I mean to emphasize also the physical basis of all things. "Physical" means extension and causal efficacy. It connotes habit and compulsion, vitality and process. We are earth-bound, and we are subject to analogous drives, limitations, and necessities that characterize all organic life. We experience our world primarily by means of our bodies. All our ideas are primarily either reflections of or derivations from bodily behavior. It is true that ideas can be derived from other ideas, but in each process mentality originates by a conceptual reproduction of a bodily feeling. Man is a materialist, in the best sense. Our ideas and aspirations, our yearnings, joys and tragedies, are imbedded in and carry the marks of our earthly frames. We are never as free and uncoerced as we like to think we are; our ideas are never as general and unprejudiced as we innocently imagine; and our actions are never as pure and untainted as we pretend.

The basis of life is physical and emotional, blind desire or appetition if you will. But the blindness is not unrelieved, and life is not wholly compulsive in character. There is freedom, novelty. This quality of existence is possible because of another function of mentality whereby we have the power to produce abstractions. Forms and structures can be abstracted from their physical matrix. At the human level, ideas can be lifted out of their emotional rootage. Novel structures and ideas can be envisaged. In process philosophy the factor of form is necessary to account for the fact of abstraction wherein we have the ability to isolate one thing from another. There is freedom, novelty, and abstraction because there is mentality or conceptual feeling. The forms or the "bows" of conceptual feelings, as contrasted with the forms of physical feelings, possess an autonomy whereby novel conceptual reactions are possible. (This is the category of "conceptual reversion.") The "how" of a conceptual reaction is not completely determined by the "what" of its object. This is the continuous dimension along which the discontinuities of different levels appear.

The whole evolutionary process has been looked at in terms of a scale defined in terms of increasing complexity or specialization. From the standpoint of process thought, this evolutionary development can be interpreted along a dimensional scale of increasing conceptual autonomy or abstractiveness. The higher up we go on the evolutionary ladder, the greater the complexity of the physical organism, the more conceptual autonomy we find. Or, alternatively, the greater capacity do we find for abstracting forms from their physical or emotional base. At the inorganic level, the ability to seize upon forms of behavior very different from what has been is practically nonexistent. Causal efficacy is paramount. Thus the greater predictability in the physical sciences. There is tedious sameness and monotony. There is a minimum of freedom.

At the human level the degree of conceptual autonomy is such that it seems to be a difference in kind. The power to abstract forms from concrete processes is so great that mentality emerges into reason. We now have speculations and alternative geometrical systems. Sense perception, which we share with some of the subhuman species, is itself evidence of this increased capacity for abstraction. Consciousness, which we also share, is likewise an indication of greater conceptual autonomy. Conceptual feelings are abstracted from physical feelings, and consequently reintegrated, in such fashion that finer and more complex contrasts result. Consciousness develops in this kind of process of abstraction and reintegration.

This capacity for greater conceptual autonomy not only makes consciousness possible. It is the same factor which is the basis of our self-consciousness. It is the means whereby we can transcend ourselves and make ourselves our own object. Not only can we abstract a structure from its event-context, but we can abstract ourselves from ourselves.

It is important to note that the process of abstraction takes place in a context of internal relations wherein the presence of our fellow-men furnishes us the data for greater contrasts. The fact of a supporting community or environment makes possible a greater available contrast whereby a greater conceptual autonomy (and thus a more complete self-consciousness) may be realized. And this autonomy makes it possible for us to set ourselves over against our fellows. Here we find the grounds of tyranny, pride, imperialism, demonry, the corruption of natural vitalities and the disruption of natural harmonies. Here is our greater freedom for good or ill.

Conceptual autonomy in itself, however, does not constitute freedom or the misuse of freedom. Conceptual autonomy or increased abstractive capacity means, negatively, that the form of our conceptual feelings (the "how") is not completely deductible from what we physically feel by way of concrete events. Positively, it means that novel forms or structures can be integrated and reintegrated (at levels of increasing complexity) with physical feelings in such a way that the complexity, intensity, inclusiveness, and direction of these feelings can be altered. The realization of freedom is a bodily achievement in which conceptual thought is a necessary but not a sufficient ingredient. There must be the appropriate physical basis for the attainment of freedom. The same qualification applies to the fact of self-consciousness. Thus, freedom is correlative but not strictly synonymous with conceptual autonomy. Freedom is not wholly the product of reason.

In this account, autonomy is dependent upon community; our abstractive capacity is supported by internal relations. The fact of community forms the basis, the material, whereby greater compatible contrasts are possible which may issue in greater conceptual autonomy. One must have a rich background from which to abstract, else the abstraction is thin, unfertile, and impoverished. Conversely, the autonomy must feed back into the community from which it sprang in order to be meaningful and fruitful. The autonomous conceptual feelings must reintegrate themselves with relevant and supporting physical feelings, else the realized novelty and freedom will not endure. True freedom consists in a sensitive balance between autonomy and dependence. The misuse of freedom consists in autonomy’s denial of its dependence upon community. Thus sin, or idolatrous autonomy, is a denial of or a rebellion against community.

The organic relation between physical and conceptual feelings, together with the autonomy of the latter, makes possible the sin of sensuality as well as that of pride. Because of his greater autonomy, man is able to subordinate his whole being to an aspect of himself and to define the total meaning of life in terms of this corrupted vitality. The sin of sensuality is a denial of the community which is the individual’s whole being or self. The characteristic of man whereby he can transcend himself, and subordinate all others to his own desires, is the same fundamental quality whereby he can define his destiny in terms of his biological necessities. This quality is rooted in the fact of conceptual autonomy and the capacity for abstraction.

I suggest that this process of the reintegration (at levels of increasing complexity) of conceptual and physical feelings resulting in self-consciousness is equivalent to Niebuhr’s concept of "spirit," which he apparently conceives of as something more than body and mind. It is the recognition of this factor which he thinks was the contribution of biblical Christianity to the understanding of the nature of man. For Niebuhr, spirit is the ingredient in man whereby man transcends nature and himself, whereby man is free to corrupt nature as well as himself, and whereby man sets himself over against his fellow-men and the God who is the true author of his being. I suggest further that this analysis of man’s freedom, of his spirit, has one advantage over Niebuhr’s use of the term "spirit": it attempts to locate the "mechanism" of spirit and to relate spirit inherently to organic functioning. This description attempts to tie together body, mind, and spirit and tells of their interdependence.

Therefore, and in summary, process philosophy does try to take account of the discontinuities of existence, and it does not try to explain all of life in terms of one dimension or category of experience.

III

The two following criticisms are in reality two aspects of one basic objection. They should be treated as one unit. The division can be justified only on grounds of convenience of presentation.

The third criticism states that the God of Christian faith cannot be equated with any natural process or vitality, because every natural process is ethically and religiously ambiguous. There is no perfection or absolute to be found within nature or history as such. Christian faith is a trust in the perfect and unambiguous incarnation of God in Jesus Christ. Here the Christian finds the absolute ethical and religious norm in terms of which history is both judged and yet found meaningful. Apart from Christ, there is no adequate ethical and religious norm because history exemplifies only the inextricable intermingling of good and evil. The created world and the creatures who live within it are good because God created them. But man is also a sinner because in his freedom he rebels against his creator, and there is no pure goodness in nature itself. In terms of nature and history alone, there is no resolution of the tension between good and evil. Good and evil are so intertwined in experience that (except by a process of abstraction which does not result in our dealing with a concrete reality) we cannot single out one process and call it the source of human good. Therefore, no natural process can be fully trusted, and no human vitality is adequate to man’s ethical and religious needs and insights. The goodness and the perfect love of God revealed in Jesus Christ transcend the norms and ethical tensions of history. Faith in this God is not even justified with reference to historical consequences. The Christian God is a transcendent being who became immanent and took on human form, and no naturalistic account can do justice to this reality revealed in Christian experience.

Another version of this objection to process philosophy from the standpoint of Christian faith concludes that God cannot be identified with any natural process, because man can make any natural vitality subservient to his own ends. All mundane forces are ultimately manageable by man because of his freedom. This does not mean that man can control all natural phenomena or that man is not bound by natural necessities. It means, rather, that man can use any wholly immanental force or process in such a way that he constructs a god in his own image whose nature is subject to man’s own wilful and sinful self. In other words, man can create false idols from all kinds of earthy materials. But these idols are no better than their creators. Since man is not adequate for himself (else why the idols before whom he bows?), these created gods lead to man’s misunderstanding of himself. Naturalism, therefore, leads to frustration and despair because man in his freedom (whereby he transcends nature) must commit himself to something greater than himself. The God in Christ is not a "natural" God.

In reply to this criticism, it should be noted, first of all, that there seem to be two assumptions involved in this outlook, both of which are incompatible with process philosophy. (a) Nature is interpreted as being essentially uncreative, lifeless, and nonredemptive. At least history and nature are regarded as quite discontinuous. For process thought, "nature" includes the total experienced and experienceable world; it comprises the whole natural order with its power of creating, recreating, and redeeming the human person. (b) There is posited, either by inference, conjecture, or faith, a transcendent absolute which obviously cannot be identified with the natural world. There is this assumption, it seems to me, even though it is asserted that this God has been revealed in Jesus Christ. The fundamental nature of this transcendent God is that of absolute sacrificial love. Since man is made in the image of God, absolute love becomes obligatory for man. Process philosophy knows of no God who is fundamentally transcendent in the epistemological or metaphysical sense. From its point of view, the limits of knowledge are defined in terms of the limits of what is experienceable. The limits of the experienceable are defined in terms of the limits of relationship. This is its world of nature, describable in terms of the categorial system. "Beyond" this world is the unknowable, and "the unknowable is unknown."

A comment may be interjected at this point to the effect that the God revealed in Jesus Christ is transcendent but not primarily in the sense described in the assumption. The God revealed in Christ is religiously and ethically transcendent. Any transcendence of a metaphysical character that is to be ascribed to God is a derivation from this prior type of transcendence. Therefore, the basic meaning of transcendence is concerned with the problem of perfection.

Let us accept the point of this interjection for the moment. What is the understanding of perfection that is to be derived from process philosophy? In the first place, one basic principle of process thought is that all realization is finite. Actuality may be defined as a process of selection. Since not all possibilities can be realized at once, realization of concrete things therefore involves limitation. In this sense, "definition is the soul of actuality."

Second, the process of realization involves selection because of the fact of incompatibility. Selection, limitation, and exclusion are relevant notions for the understanding of perfection because not all things are compossible as contemporaries. Some possibilities are mutually contradictory. The principle of harmony must be exemplified in all actual processes to a greater or lesser degree if there are to be any definite and specific actualities at all. Order is intrinsic in events. Harmony means, in one respect, that contrasts may border on chaos but that they should not reach the stage of mutual destructiveness or incompatibility. Possibilities which may not be mutually realizable as contemporaries because of their incompatibility may be related as past and future events. Because of these considerations it can be seen that the process of realization has a "seasonal" character. ("Insistence on birth at the wrong season is the trick of evil.") This means that process is inherent in the very nature of God. Time is one of his necessary attributes. He is a temporal being with an eternal or changeless character.

Third, the primordial nature of God is the conceptual ordering of all eternal objects and possibilities such that a graded scale of relevance is established between each possibility and each actual entity. Because of this unchanging order in the world, each possibility has a different relevance or significance for each actuality. This ordering of all possibilities constitutes the abstract and not the concrete nature of God. This is Whitehead’s "principle of concretion." If the term "absolute" is applied to God, it can refer only to his abstract character.

But some possibilities are "abstract" possibilities, and some are "real" possibilities. That is, some possibilities are not sufficiently relevant to the actual course of history to be considered live options for us. In this sense, "perfection" means the "best possible," where "possible" has reference to live options. There is no abstract perfection in terms of abstract possibilities which have no real relevance to the concrete world of events. God may be conceived of as absolute or as abstractly perfect, but this is abstract and not concrete perfection. Concrete or actual perfection has reference to the actual state of affairs now going on. God does not operate in a vacuum. He works in terms of the conditions which define our temporal existence. Therefore, concrete perfection must be understood in relation to these conditions. "God does the best he can, given that impasse." Perfection is a concept the understanding of which involves such notions as limitation, relevance, and community.

This means that the "best possible" for any individual cannot be defined as though the individual were an isolated and self-sufficient unit. The individual exists only in a community or "society" of individuals. Existence is fundamentally social in character. The individual is sustained by some supporting community of his fellows, even though in certain respects he also transcends this community. Therefore, certain possibilities are relevant for any individual, relative to that community of which he is a part. All individuals and all communities have specific characters, and they have specific substantial histories. Relevant possibilities are possibilities which are relevant to the specific characters and histories of definite individuals and groups. Chaos and disintegration ensue if we attempt to actualize possibilities which we are not prepared to realize. What may be abstractly possible for any individual considered apart from his context is qualified when that context is taken into account. Possibilities have an order of relevance appropriate to each individual event considered in its context with its mixture of good and evil. The creative process can aim, at most, only at that realization which is best for that individual event, relative to those forces and conditions which have brought it into being.

The "common good" means that, relative to every particular individual in a specific community or other particular individuals, the creative process offers relevant and novel possibilities for that individual’s deepened and enriched fulfilment. The possibilities relevant for that individual are also relevant and relative to other novel possibilities which in turn are relevant to the other individuals in that community. This is the possible common good, relative to that context. The ideal or greatest possible good for any individual would consist of his realization of the greatest number of diverse and mutually enriching potentialities relevant to his character and history, relative to his community. The best possible communal good is obtained when the several individuals achieve their fullest development in the most mutually sustaining and enhancing community, when "development" and "community" are contextualistically defined. This ideal or perfect good that is offered to us at every moment of our existence is the structure of the creative process. This is at least part of the character of the goodness of God. In this sense God is perfect or absolute, because this pattern of relationships among possibilities relevant to actualities is unchangingly applicable to all events.

This perhaps overlong explanation has been thought necessary in order to emphasize that "perfection" is a relative and seasonal concept. We have no meaning to attach to the idea of absolute perfection in the concrete sense. Whatever perfection may mean, it cannot mean that the course of history is to be evaluated solely in terms of the realm of abstract ideal potentiality. Perfection must be viewed in the context of specific conditions, attitudes, and relevant possibilities. Time, relevance, and community are of the essence in this regard. And, granted the unlimited wealth of potentiality, "there is no perfection beyond which there is no greater perfection."

The "perfect will of God" is synonymous with the "best possible." It is a transcendent demand upon man because relevant perfection represents an enduring standard in terms of which man is continually judged. This basic structure, which is the foundational order of existence, is transcendent because it is autonomous. The fulfillment of man is dependent upon conformity to this autonomous and primordial order — an order descriptive of increased mutuality in due season, an order which is efficacious because it is the structure of the process of creative growth. It is an order of autonomous valuation which is binding on man. That is, Whitehead’s primordial nature of God expresses the divine lure, the divine persuasion of order, harmony, and enriched mutuality. But this structure is not merely an ideal or a pretty picture which we may disregard as irrelevant. It is a structure which is a stubborn and unyielding fact that must be taken into account because it is the character of a process of efficient causality.

This structure is autonomous in that man did not create it. Certainly man, if left to his own wilful desires, would not choose it. It is autonomous in the sense that apparently it is uncreated. No matter where or when we look, we find this order impressing itself upon us. God as primordial "is not before all creation but with all creation." This order partly accounts for our common world. It is the conceptual basis of mutuality and the conceptual criterion of ethics. This structure is also apparently fixed and unalterable. Thus the path of human fulfilment is a narrow one. God is transcendent also in the sense that his is the final autonomy which measures all other types of autonomy, and beyond which there is no appeal.

The unyieldingness of this order is needed to protect man from himself, from his demonic distortions and his defensive escapes and denials. It is needed to coerce man to face himself and to recognize himself for what he is. At the same time, the sometimes gentle working involved in the restructuring of our minds and hearts in faith is necessary to release those burdened down with oppressive pasts. Man in his freedom can attempt to disregard this inevitable presence. But we always encounter this structured process, either as companion or as tormentor, "either in fellowship or in wrath."

God is accessible, but he is not manageable. We cannot twist this order to suit our purposes. We cannot try, with impunity, to domesticate or emasculate this process. God is as much transcendent as man can endure. He is as much immanent as man can gaze upon and not be blinded,

This unmanageable structure is a transcendent and abiding demand. It is the criterion of the best possible. It is the relevant ideal standard. But this obviously is not the whole story of the human situation, for we refuse to be persuaded of the necessity and the rightness of a divine order. Or if some are persuaded at times, others rebel. In either case we realize much less than the best possible. We are sinners, even though we may not sin in every occasion of our experience. We will not realize ourselves sacrificially; that is, we will not allow ourselves to be fulfilled through yielding ourselves to that process which works for the mutual good of all. Or if we will at times, others will not. We try to fulfil ourselves, to find ourselves, by holding to ourselves, by centering attention on ourselves. We will not sacrifice our present selves and values for greater selves and values. We fear the losing of ourselves. Or if at times some do not so fear, others do. We refuse to believe that sacrificial love is that peculiar means necessary to the achievement of the richest mutuality wherein each individual receives his greatest possible maturity. Or if at times we do not, others do. In either case the inevitable result is tragic. It might have been otherwise.

The failure to realize the best possible is the measure of our sin. But the desire on the part of some to realize the perfect will of God in a great social situation may be politically unseasonal and ethically ineffective or even irresponsible; hence the ubiquitous presence of the fact of compromise. Many times ("at all times," some would say) our only relevant political or social choice is that between the lesser of two evils. This decision frequently involves the use of coercion. At best it is a tragic choice. We attempt oft-times to realize a greater good in one respect at the price of greater evil in another respect. The result, however, many times is better than no community at all.

I mention the fact of compromise in order to distinguish it from the "best possible." Compromise is a lower level of achievement than that involved in the transcendent criterion. Compromise represents the sacrifice of some values peculiar to the concerns of the several conflicting interests in order to realize some values which can be shared by all.

Let us assume, someone may interpose, that this autonomous order does constitute (in a sense) an unambiguous working. Even so, can this conception do justice to the revelation of God in Jesus Christ? Christian faith conceives of God as absolute love, as self-sacrificing, as merciful and forgiving as well as judge, as suffering Father, as providential redeemer. Where is the agape of God as seen in the context of process philosophy?

The answer, it seems to me, lies in the nature of experience itself. The fact appears to be that reality is fundamentally and intrinsically social in character. We cannot realize ourselves apart from the realization of others. Others cannot be fulfilled if we are not. Also, because we are sinners against both God and our fellow-men, we cannot realize ourselves unless others forgive our sins by restoring our relationship to them. Others cannot be re-created unless we forgive them. But we cannot forgive the sins of others unless we take the sins of others into ourselves. We must sympathetically identify ourselves with them and take into ourselves their burdens. We must suffer with them. We cannot be merciful if we hold ourselves apart from others as though we were self-sufficient and independent beings. Feeling the feelings of others, even their sins, is necessary for our fulfilment.

God, according to the categories of process philosophy, cannot realize himself apart from the fulfilment of his creatures. God and the world are mutually dependent. Therefore, if the finite creatures are to be fulfilled, and if God is to achieve his purpose through his self-realization and the realization of his creatures, God must forgive our sins. In forgiving us, he takes our sins unto himself and identifies himself with our sins. This is the suffering of God. This is also the mercy of God, even though mercy involves more than just the fact of suffering. Mercy indicates the restoration of a broken relationship.

The "sacrifice" of God means that God gives himself to us for his own, as well as our, realization. He fulfils himself through his creatures, even his sinful creatures. God forgives and re-creates us out of his mercy, but this re-creation of us out of God’s mercy is necessary for God’s own self-fulfilment. Therefore, forgiveness, love, mercy, and redemption are not accidental qualities of God. These are inherent in his very being. The fundamental character of existence is mercy. God’s forgiveness of us is different from our forgiveness of others in that God always forgives us, whereas we rarely forgive others. Furthermore, not only should we forgive others because God restores us, but we are motivated to forgive because God forgives. Finally, we should forgive because we ourselves need to be forgiven.

With this as a background for understanding, one might say that the "sacrifice" of God is somewhat metaphorical. It cannot mean that mercy is optional with God. Surely it cannot mean that the self-giving of God revealed in Jesus Christ consisted in God’s becoming "incarnate," as an act of condescension, as though God as he is in himself is a being who basically exists apart from the world of process (and thereby fundamentally transcends history), and who out of mercy became immanent and took on human form. As a matter of fact, the doctrine of the incarnation is likewise metaphorical in nature. Surely it cannot mean that God was not always "incarnate." From the perspective of process philosophy, the Word never "became" flesh; God never "became" incarnate or embodied. The world always embodies this divine ordering and this creative process. To speak of God’s becoming incarnate in a human person would mean that in Jesus Christ the basic and most intimate attributes of God and existence itself were revealed: the mercy and love of God. By faith in this love we are justified. The idea of historical or special revelation means, it seems to me, not only that God acts in history but also that there is a history of the acts of disclosure of God whereby the character of existence is progressively revealed to man. The disclosure of God in Jesus Christ revealed most fully that the qualities of mercy and sacrificial love are necessary if the living of life is to have its justification.

The revelation of God in Jesus Christ indicates that the path of sacrificial love is the "law of life." God offers himself to us according to the transcendent structure that we have previously discussed. But the cross of Christ also reveals our failure to respond to sacrificial love in like manner. If we had the gratitude, the love, and the courage to respond, the faith to endure, and the wisdom to understand the implications of this love, the fuller workings of this divine order could be realized among us. But we possess neither the love, the faith, nor the wisdom to a sufficient degree. To this extent and for this reason, the fulfilment of this law of life is impossible. However, this does not mean that this transcendent standard is irrelevant.

In the first place, the agape of man, deriving as it does from the agape of God, does not necessarily mean that "the best possible" is realizable only if an individual or a group literally and biologically gives up its existence. To be sure, this possibility is sometimes the only option or consequence. But the exemplification of sacrificial love should not be so conceived that the "sacrificing" individual does not count for one. The realization of the mutually enhancing community involved in the actualization of "the best possible" includes, normally, the greater good of the "sacrificing" individual. The fact that the individual realizes a greater good because of his "sacrifice" does not necessarily make his act less sacrificial. The cross of sacrificial love usually does not and cannot mean the cross of physical death. Existence is not synonymous with sin. Nor is existence equivalent to the will to power. The pervasiveness, the depth, the subtlety, and the power of sin and evil in human life are not denied. Rather I am insisting on the situational nature of the best possible~ the perfect will of God. Even though one finds his life by losing it, by letting go of his present self, and even though one cannot realize his greater fulfilment by attempting to control the process of creative mutuality for his own purposes or by concentrating his attention upon his forthcoming reward, surely the vision of perfect love of man cannot be conceived normatively in terms of extinction.

I do not mean to water down the meaning of the sacrificial love of the cross to the point where human compromise is equated with divine and creative mutuality. I am not consciously equating political and divine possibility. I am trying to recognize the place of sacrificial love and at the same time to avoid the dangers of an absolutely transcendent ethic. There is sin with its destructiveness. There is the cross of Christ which is the price of redemption over sin and spiritual death. There is the brokenness of the self in sin. There is the renewal of the new self in faith and forgiveness. In attempting to live the life of sacrificial love, we cannot set limits to the degree of the brokenness of the old self that may be required of us. We cannot say: only so far will we yield now. But the brokenness, the yielding, and the renewal, like perfection itself, are relative factors. Usually we are not broken completely, and certainly we are renewed (sanctified) only relatively and relevantly. The grace may be absolute in terms of justification, in terms of forgiveness, but our rebirth is always relative to a context. It cannot be otherwise.

These statements may appear to be too cautious, too calculated in tone and intent, too qualified, restricted, and prudential to do justice to the apparent unboundedness and selflessness of Christian love. But I trust that this appearance is due to an attempt to avoid what I think is an excessiveness in other presentations. One need not deny the value of martyrdom in certain instances, or the selflessness of sacrificial death that is sometimes involved in trying to live a life of love, or even at times of pacifism (as a strategy, without believing in it as an absolute principle). The point is that these concrete acts are not necessarily normative. The problem of how far we can realize "the best possible" in any given situation, and the problem of the means to be employed, are partly matters of judgment. In any case, either in the short or in the long run, our act is one of faith. The faithful shall live by his faithfulness.

Second, this divine criterion and self-giving is our inexorable judge. The order of creative mutual love is the law of life, and by that law we are condemned as sinners. We know that we are sinners. It is our measure, our "natural" norm. Without it we would become our own judges and find ourselves innocent, even though the marks of our anxiety, pride, and tyranny would belie our words. The divine order is relevant and needed, in other words, to protect us from ourselves, to prevent us from trying to escape from ourselves. The degree of its relevance as well as its transcendence is measured by the extent to which we rebel against it and flee from it and by the failure of our rebellion and our flight.

Third, this criterion is relevant because this creative process works in us in spite of our sin. It is the ground of our redemption and fulfilment. The work of God is not exhausted by the ethical striving of man. Over and above, and sometimes in spite of the efforts and sins of men, this process moves in its own determined way. Man is sometimes fulfilled in spite of himself. The working of this process is evidenced in the experience of grace and man’s re-creation, in the frustration of sin and its accompanying anxiety, and in the destructiveness visited to man if he attempts to stop the inexorableness of its march.

In summary, then, the reply to this third criticism has involved the thesis that there is an ethically and religiously unambiguous order within nature and that this structure is not corruptible by man. It should be noted that this thesis has involved reference not only to an order or structure but also to a creative process which embodies this structure. The more detailed characterization of this process has been omitted. A discussion of the possible difficulties involved in the "concreteness" of this process are here postponed for a future occasion.

It is quite conceivable that this thesis will not stand examination. It may well be that the ambiguity of the described structure within nature remains. Those who claim that all natural processes are ethically and religiously ambiguous presuppose that there is an unambiguous working of God in history and that this work is to be seen primarily in the revelation of God in Christ. But if there is this unambiguous working of God in history, the character of this working should be identifiable and, I would add, empirically identifiable. If this character or structure is not identifiable, then the solid basis of this view vanishes. If, on the other hand, this structure is identifiable, why is it not available for the general outlook of process thought?

If we start, as many insist we should, with the revelation of God in Jesus Christ as the basic datum, then the notion of an essentially transcendent God who became immanent in the incarnation is an interpretation that is not necessarily warranted by the datum itself (complex though it be). The theologian ends up with a transcendental, nonnatural or nonprocess God (with reference to the datum of Christ) only if he begins there. This is presupposition and not fact. This assertion does not in itself establish the validity or the adequacy of process philosophy as a framework within which to interpret Christian faith. But it purports to point up the idea that the nature of the transcendence of the God revealed in Christ is a matter for inquiry.

IV

The fourth objection to process philosophy makes explicit the other elements that were implicit in the third objection. This criticism states that the system of process thought is an inadequate framework within which to understand the Christian faith because history and nature are not self-redeemable. Admittedly "nature" (within which "history" is lived and made) constitutes the total resources available to process philosophy. The world of nature is not self-explanatory and self-sufficient. This is true, so the criticism asserts, because in the orientation of process thinking there is no final resolution of the conflict between good and evil. History and the processes of nature do not issue in victory, in the ultimate triumph of good over evil. The paradoxes and ambiguities of life are not finally resolved. In terms of this system history is ultimately meaningless.

The criticism, stated somewhat differently, contends that the God of Christian faith and history, as seen through the eyes of process philosophy, is not truly sovereign. He is trapped and domesticated by the system itself. Admittedly the ultimate of ultimates, in this outlook, is creativity and not God. God cannot transcend this frame of reference because he is at the mercy of the conditions inherent in the categorial system. In other words, the sovereignty of the God of Christian faith is given up because the freedom of God is too restricted. The freedom of God as exemplified in his mighty acts, as these are recorded in the Old and New Testaments, does not find a ready place in this system of thought.

Another version of this same fundamental objection states that process thought does not do justice to the eschatological elements of New Testament faith. The fact of the resurrection is central and determinative for our thinking about the meaning of Christian faith. In the resurrection the power of God triumphed over sin and death. (For some "death" means physical death, such that there is the hope of resurrection and not just an "intimation of immortality.") On the basis of the fact of the resurrection, there is ground for trust in the "second coming." The "second coming" is a somewhat "mythical" or metaphorical concept used to indicate the New Testament faith in the power of God (manifested in the resurrection) to conquer the conditions that now define our earthly existence, particularly the condition of man’s sinfulness. The "point beyond history" is also a "mythical" concept (to be taken not literally but nonetheless seriously) which connotes the Christian’s faith that the power and goodness of God can be made even more manifest in the hearts and minds of men. The "point beyond history" need not connote a nonhistorical and transcendental type of existence. It can refer to a form of historical life wherein the conditions of existence would be radically altered. In this state of affairs, the paradoxes and ambiguities of life would be resolved, man would not be a sinner, the meaning of life would be completely realized, and man would know even as now he is known.

This kind of criticism is an illustration of what some theologians mean when they insist that the revelation of God in Jesus Christ is the central fact that should furnish the basis for Christian theology. All else is a derivation from this fundamental datum. In biblical faith God is the creator of all that exists. He is sovereign over the whole physical universe. But there are no "arguments" in support of this notion. The idea of God as creator, God as philosophically sovereign, seems to be derived from the faith that he is religiously sovereign. The God who has done such wondrous things for the people of Israel, the God who is the rock of our salvation and a very present help in time of trouble, the God who has given his people such sure promises and who has fulfilled them, the God who is our judge and our redeemer, who spoke to prophets, who conquered sin and death in the figure of Christ — surely the power and goodness of this God are such that he is also creator of heaven and earth. Niebuhr, for example, argues that the centrality of the figure of Christ implies the logically absurd doctrine of creation ex nihilo. But this doctrine is not clearly biblical in content. The eleventh chapter of Hebrews is hardly adequate and certain support for Niebuhr’s contention.

It is clear, however, that the biblical God is creator. This would seem to mean that God is responsible for the conditions that define and limit our existence. All creatures and all conditions are subject to his control. God is also the origin and source of man’s freedom. Therefore, all of nature and history testify to God’s power and goodness. He transcends his created world and is therefore not to be identified with it, although the created world does reveal the nature of his work. God’s freedom is not exhausted by the laws that govern his creation. He reveals himself as he chooses and in his own time. God is not subject to alien forces and material which he did not create. Therefore God is creator, judge, and redeemer. What God has created he judges. What he judges he also redeems in mercy. The paradoxes and ambiguities which baffle us will be ultimately resolved because, in a sense, they are resolved now in the very being of God. He is Lord over even the contradictions and the evil which beset us. We do not see how all this is so, to be sure. We see as through a glass darkly. But for Christian faith the power and love of God manifested in Jesus Christ are the evidence of things not seen, the assurance of things hoped for.

Now in process philosophy, process itself or creativity is the ultimate category. That is, the fact of process cannot be explained in terms of anything more fundamental. It simply is. It is given. Yet process is not possible apart from the primordial structure which is part of God’s nature. In a sense this order or structure is the ground of being. Creativity is not possible apart from certain conditions, and the primordial order is the fundamental condition. Likewise this order does not exist apart from the world of creativity. There is a world because there is this order which is the principle of concretion. But the principle does not exist as disembodied. It "exists" only as exemplified in concrete events.

In terms of process philosophy, therefore, in one sense God is not responsible for the character of the conditions through which creativity works. The freedom of man, for example, is a gift of creativity. It is inherent in created things. The creativeness or the energy whereby there is creation is inherent in created events. They are self-creative, and they give rise to other events. The incompatibility of certain possibilities is inherent in the nature of possibility itself. Therefore, process itself is inherent in the being of God if incompatibility is to be surmounted. Furthermore, in process thought God is not (or should not be) an exception to the categorial system. The denial of this principle involves the price of erecting an unknowable God before whom all our honest strivings and seekings are as nothing. The world of our experience, which is what a categorial system defines, would then be a world of illusion, of mere appearance. In this sense God is responsible for at least some of the conditions that define our world. God’s primordial nature "at once exemplifies and establishes the categorial conditions."

There is also chance in the world of process thought. There is chance involved in the fact of selection or inclusion. There is adventure, and the outcome is not predetermined. In the realization of some values We exclude the realization of other possible values. Many times these excluded values appear to have been as potentially enriching as the values we actually chose. There are general possibilities, and there are possibilities relevant only to specific individuals at specific moments of history. If those possibilities are not realized by those individuals at those specific moments, they are gone forever. We are filled with the haunting sense of what might have been but never can be. We seemingly illustrate an arbitrariness and an element of chance within the very nature of things. We feel less sure of the justice or the wisdom of our election to our appointed tasks. We reflect an uneasiness within ourselves at being tossed up or down by accidental elements. We wonder. The tormenting sense of vast alternatives is abiding.

God is religiously sovereign. He is the source of good in the sense that the realization of the good is dependent on him. Creation is good because without God there could be no creation. Also we sin in our freedom. God is our judge and the source of our redemption. But beyond this what can we say in regard to the power of God to transcend the conditions of existence that now obtain? What are some of the difficulties?

In the first place, historical experience does not support the claim that evil is gradually being eliminated. On the contrary, there is much evidence that the increase of good increases the possibility for greater evil. The higher good results in a greater sensitivity which in turn offers greater opportunity for the evil of demonic powers. The more far-reaching the brotherhood, the greater the communicability of disease and prejudice. The more delicately balanced the organism, the closer attention it requires. The tension between good and evil seems to be abiding.

Second, creation (in process philosophy) occurs in terms of the emergence of the higher from the lower. This is not reductionistic evolution but emergent evolution. This is the long, arduous, and halting struggle upward. According to process philosophy, God works and labors in terms of this evolutionary development. One of the most remarkable features of much of so-called "neo-orthodox" theological thought is its explicit or implicit attitude that the fact (or the theory) of evolution is not relevant to religious reflection about the nature of God or the meaning of Christian faith. Apparently, evolution is accepted as a scientific fact. But equally apparently this fact has no implications for Christian faith. I find this attitude to be not only remarkable but somewhat fantastic. For Christian faith, God is the creator of the physical and biological world. Surely one implication of this doctrine is that Christian faith and science cannot be dichotomized into separate compartments.

Third, there is the theory of the second law of thermodynamics having to do with the running-down of the available energy of the universe to a dead level. What are the implications of the theory for Christian faith, especially for the doctrine of the sovereignty of God? If one holds to the idea of the complete sovereignty of God, does he say that this physical theory is not true, that it cannot be true, or that it will be found to be false when more evidence is accumulated? But suppose for the sake of the discussion that the theory comes to assume the proportions of a valid hypothesis? Would not this fact seriously qualify the power of God to alter radically the conditions of existence?

To be sure, the theory of entropy does not account for the fact of "upward" evolution. But where is the evidence that the upwardness of evolutionary development will necessarily continue? From the point of view of process philosophy, the actual realization of entropy would mean the end of creativity itself. There would still remain some kind of order, but the power of God would be reduced to practical negligibility. In process thought the universe is actually "in the making," and God is incomplete in his concrete nature. If there should come a time when there would be no more "making," then the adventure of God would be at an end. The only escape from this conclusion seems to be in terms of a basically transcendental God. This alternative is categorically denied by process philosophy.

One might reply to these questions by stating that for those whose faith is biblical in orientation the fact of the resurrection is supreme over even these difficulties. The weight to be assigned to this consideration depends upon what is meant by "the fact" of the resurrection. In this sphere particularly there is no such thing as a bare uninterpreted fact. The nature of the alleged fact presupposes a whole philosophic orientation. If "resurrection" means the physical resurrection of the human Jesus (even though one adds "the human-divine Christ"), then indeed this miracle might well outweigh the difficulties mentioned above. Then indeed God is Lord not only over sin but physical death as well. Physical entropy then becomes a possibly surmountable obstacle. But if this is what "resurrection" means, then philosophy (at least process philosophy) has nothing to say to faith. Actually in this case there is no "tension" between faith and reason; there is only the complete absence of any relationship. Nothing in the world of either science or philosophy need cause any uneasiness in the devout soul. But the implication of this meaning of "resurrection" is that with this interpretation one has chosen the (or "a") biblical world view in preference to a modern world view. Further, the grounds for this choice need not and may well not be primarily religious in nature.

But if by "the fact of the resurrection" one means not the physical resurrection of the man Jesus but the resurgence of the power of God in Jesus even when evil and death had seemingly triumphed, then this "fact" is not necessarily determinative in regard to the difficulties mentioned even though it is a "fact" of tremendous importance. It is evidence of the power of God and his love over spiritual death, but it is hardly evidence of God’s sovereignty over physical death. God would still seem to be subject to conditions that define our world.

Now it could be asserted that these difficulties may concern what I have called the "philosophical" sovereignty of God but not his "religious" sovereignty. One might hold that these conditions of the natural world need not be determinative in regard to God’s power is make his love more manifest in the hearts and minds of men. Let us assume, for the moment, that Christian faith in the revelation of God in Jesus Christ implies the trust that God will conquer sin to such a extent that the kingdom of God will be fully realized. Will this state affairs apply only to those generations then living? Or are all the pat generations to inherit the kingdom? If the latter, does not this involve the resurrection of the dead of ages past? If so, can one then divide the sovereignty of God into compartments? Are not then the condition of physical nature relevant considerations?

Why does the full meaningfulness of life and history necessarily demand that good will ultimately triumph over sin and evil so that sin will no longer be a condition of our being? Why must all the paradoxes and ambiguities of life be resolved? Why must every purpose have its completion in order to be a purpose at all? Why is tragedy meaningful and "really redeemed" only if there is a faith that there is a kingdom coming wherein there will be no more tragedy?

One answer is that this is the wrong kind of question. These are not just demands and cravings of our souls which must be satisfied We have faith in these eschatological eventualities because of the power and love of God revealed in Christ. His love for us is so all-encompassing and his power is so great that neither life, nor death, no; the principalities and powers of this world can separate us from him It is God in Christ who has brought meaning into history. It is God in Christ who will return to complete this meaning.

Possibly so. Yet we Christians hold that the revelation of God in Christ disclosed the "final" attribute of God: his mercy. In a sense our fulfilment is always broken and incomplete. We sin. We die. But is not the final fulfilment and the ultimate relationship to be found in the peace of forgiveness? Is a more intimate relationship possible? Would participation in a kingdom without the presence of sin make more manifest the love of God?

One might reply that the love and power of God are inseparable. One cannot limit too severely the freedom of God’s sovereignty over man. In the history of God’s free acts of self-disclosure, culminating in Christ, one finds evidence that God’s power over sin increased so that in Christ the power of sin over man was decisively broken. Also there is no reason to assume that God’s work is now finished. Wieman, for example, has stated that the revelation of God in Jesus Christ was such as to assure us of the victory of good over evil — much as the victory of Stalingrad assured the Russians of their eventual victory over the Germans. Not that Stalingrad made further fighting unnecessary but that Stalingrad decisively determined the final outcome of the war. I would agree. But this analogy does not rule out the possibility of other wars. The victory of Christ may mean that evil can never be completely victorious, but the victory of good over evil and of God over sin does not necessarily imply the total elimination of evil. In other words, in terms of process thought, there is no end. There are only more battles and more victories to be won. Tragedy is abiding, and forgiveness is a perennial necessity.

In such a world is the life of sacrificial love justified? If the meaning of "justified" in this connection has reference to the final elimination of evil, or the historical and metaphysical permanence of this kind of love, then the answer is "in the making." If "justified" has reference to the validity of sacrificial love, its intrinsic value and goodness, its beneficial consequences (both to the loved and to the lover), its meaningfulness, then the answer is in the affirmative. Socrates’ statements about suffering injustice rather than inflicting injustice, Jesus’ teachings and Paul’s elaborations, and Luther’s classic description of the power of the Christian life, to name but a few, are sufficient testimony for those who have the eyes and hearts to see. And the justification is now.

Yet it is true that, although we cannot answer the unanswerable questions, or even know whether they are proper questions, nonetheless we cannot down our wonder. The sense of life’s twisted ironies, its unexpected turnings and unlooked-for delights of mind and heart, its vengeful and sometimes unbearable cruelty, its moments of sheer beauty and joy, its hours of stark and soul-shriveling loneliness, its occasions of shared love and community when the heart has almost burst because it could hardly contain its exultation, its times of unappreciated sacrifice and undeserved blessings — these and many other kindred experiences cause us to lift our eyes beyond death. Whitehead has said that one of the deepest longings of the human heart is to experience the new and at the same time to maintain the old. He conceives of the past as preserved in "living immediacy" in the present. Further, all values are saved in their fulness. Possibly so. At least this is the cry of the soul.

But this yearning of the heart cannot be made into a qualification of our faith. We cannot demand its satisfaction as a condition of our self-giving or as a price for our services. The goodness of God is its own value. Its present fulfilment of its own promise is its own benediction.

The meaning of life, the justification of sacrificial love, the redemption of tragedy, the meaningfulness of history, and the resolution of whatever paradoxes there be, are "now." The meaning of life, for good or ill, for those enriched or impoverished, defeated or victorious, just or unjust, slave or free, is here and now. History builds on its past and points to its future. But only the present, which contains the past and envisages the future, is holy ground. Each life is its own reward. Its recompense is in terms of the things, people, and causes it has loved or hated, its feelings of countless qualitative meanings, its joys and sorrows, its defeats and victories, and the God it has known. It has seen God as empty nothingness, or as unbending judge, or as merciful redeemer. Respectively, the experience has contained its own hollow laughter, or its own cry of anguish and rebellion, or its own benediction of religious peace.

 

NOTES:

1. I have made no effort to identify the specific sources of the criticisms with which I shall deal, since they are general in character and have come from a variety of writings and discussions. In this article I have in mind particularly certain questions raised by Niebuhr in his writings and statements made by some of my colleagues in the Federated Theological Faculty with whom I have had frequent discussions on this problem. The formulation of the criticisms in each instance, however, is my own and represents a composite statement of specific objections which have seemed to me important and relevant.

2. In this discussion I am using the terms "philosophy" and "metaphysics" synonymously.

Chapter 3: Religion and Metaphysics by Alfred North Whitehead

Reprinted with permission of The Macmillan Company and Cambridge University Press from Religion in the Making, chap. III by Alfred North Whitehead. Copyright 1926 by The Macmillan Company; renewed 1954 by Evelyn Whitehead.



Religion requires a metaphysical backing: for its authority is endangered by the intensity of the emotions which it generates. Such emotions are evidence of some vivid experience: but they are a very poor guarantee for its correct interpretation.

Thus dispassionate criticism of religious belief is beyond all things necessary. The foundations of dogma must be laid in a rational metaphysics which criticises meanings, and endeavors to express the most general concepts adequate for the all-inclusive universe.

This position has never been seriously doubted, though in practice it is often evaded. One of the most serious periods of neglect occurred in the middle of the nineteenth century, through the dominance of the historical interest.

It is a curious delusion that the rock upon which our beliefs can be founded is a historical investigation. You can only interpret the past in terms of the present. The present is all that you have; and unless in this present you can find general principles which interpret the present as including a representation of the whole community of existents, you cannot move a step beyond your little patch of immediacy.

Thus history presupposes a metaphysic. It can be objected that we believe in the past and talk about it without settling our metaphysical principles. That is certainly the case. But you can only deduce metaphysical dogmas from your interpretation of the past or the basis of a prior metaphysical interpretation of the present.1

In so far as your metaphysical beliefs are implicit, you vaguely interpret the past on the lines of the present. But when it comes to the primary metaphysical data, the world of which you are immediately conscious is the whole datum.

This criticism applies equally to a science or to a religion which hopes to justify itself without any appeal to metaphysics. The difference is that religion is the longing of the spirit that the facts of existence should find their justification in the nature of existence. "My soul thirsteth for God," writes the Psalmist.

But science can leave its metaphysics implicit and retire behind our belief in the pragmatic value of its general descriptions. If religion does that, it admits that its dogmas are merely pleasing ideas for the purpose of stimulating its emotions. Science (at least as a temporary methodological device) can rest upon a naive faith; religion is the longing for justification. When religion ceases to seek for penetration, for clarity, it is sinking back into ifs lower forms. The ages of faith are the ages of rationalism.

In the previous lectures religious experience was considered as a fact. It consists of a certain widespread, direct apprehension of a character exemplified in the actual universe. Such a character includes in itself certain metaphysical presuppositions. In so far as we trust the objectivity of the religious intuitions, to that extent we must also hold that the metaphysical doctrines are well founded.

It is for this reason that in the previous lecture the broadest view of religious experience was insisted on. If, at this stage of thought, we include points of radical divergence between the main streams, the whole evidential force is indefinitely weakened. Thus religious experience cannot be taken as contributing to metaphysics any direct evidence for a personal God in any sense transcendent or creative.

The universe, thus disclosed, is through and through interdependent. The body pollutes the mind, the mind pollutes the body. Physical energy sublimates itself into zeal; conversely, zeal stimulates the body. The biological ends pass into ideals of standards, and the formation of standards affects the biological facts. The individual is formative of the society, the society is formative of the individual. Particular evils infect the whole world, particular goods point the way of escape.

The world is at once a passing shadow and a final fact. The shadow is passing into the fact, so as to be constitutive of it; and yet the fact Is prior to the shadow. There is a kingdom of heaven prior to the actual passage of actual things, and there is the same kingdom finding its completion through the accomplishment of this passage.

But just as the kingdom of heaven transcends the natural world, so does this world transcend the kingdom of heaven. For the world is evil, and the kingdom is good. The kingdom is in the world, and yet not of the world.

The actual world, the world of experiencing, and of thinking, and of physical activity, is a community of many diverse entities; and these entities contribute to, or derogate from, the common value of the total community At the same time, these actual entities are, for themselves, their own value, individual and separable. They add to the common stock and yet they suffer alone. The world is a scene of solitariness in community.

The individuality of entities is just as important as their community. The topic of religion is individuality in community.



NOTES:

1. By "metaphysics" I mean the science which seeks to discover the general ideas which are indispensably relevant to the analysis of everything that happens.

Chapter 2: The Development of Process Theology by Gene Reeves and Delwin Brown

Gene Reeves holds degrees from Boston and Emory Universities. He has taught at Tufts University and is now Professor of Philosophy at Wilberforce University.

Delwin Brown holds degrees from Union Theological Seminary, New York, and Claremont Graduate School. He is Associate Professor of Philosophy and Religion at Anderson College, and Lecturer in Philosophy of Religion at the School of Theology.

The story of the influence of Alfred North Whitehead’s process philosophy on British and American theology is much larger, and more complex, multiform, and intricate than can be told in a few pages. It includes the imprecise appropriation of Whitehead’s vision of reality and the application of his vision and ideas to a wide variety of cultural and theological problems. It involves the development of Whitehead’s major metaphysical ideas into a more complete philosophical theology, and the development and use of those ideas for an understanding of Christian faith. Also involved is the highly technical discipline of interpreting and revising Whitehead’s very sophisticated and rigorous metaphysics, an endeavor which was undertaken in a major way only after 1950 but since then has been carried on by an increasingly large number of both secular philosophers and Christian theologians. And this story must also take account of a variety of negative responses to process philosophy, some carefully critical, some emotionally reactionary.

In this paper we will attempt to present the highlights of this story. We hope that a sense of the sweep and variety and significance of what appears to be a growing theological movement will be evident. Some of the detailed argument involved, some of the richness of development, some of the complexities and problems of process theology are present in the chapters which follow this historical introduction.

It is important to realize that, while process theology has recently received considerable attention in both religious and popular journals, this development, though lacking the organization of a movement, has been under way for more than forty years. It has always had its fervid adherents, its warm sympathizers, and its vehement detractors. And, though it has never occupied the central place of popularity among theologians, process theology is a development which over these four decades has shown continued, and increasing vitality, scope, and creativity.

ONE: Developments to 1950

Alfred North Whitehead, after a highly successful career in mathematics at Cambridge and London, left England in 1924 at the age of sixty-three to settle at Harvard University and begin the most brilliant and productive part of a career which would make him one of the giants of modern philosophy. Response to his philosophy by Christian theologians followed soon upon the publication of his early philosophical works, Science and the Modern World in 1925 and Religion in the Making in 1926. Somewhat contrary to Miss Stebbing’s prediction that Religion in the Making would likely be widely quoted in pulpits and approved by theologians,1 much of the early reaction was severely critical and negative. Father Sheen, for example, vigorously attacked this philosophy which he saw as based exclusively on the new physics and encumbered with an esoteric vocabulary. In it he found a rejection of the "true conception of substance," a false view of evil, and a conception of God which does honor neither to God nor logic.2 And, like Sheen, Wyndam Lewis in England identified Whitehead’s conception of God with that of Samuel Alexander and found it wholly inadequate as a resource for Christian thought.3

Not all of the negative criticism came from the theological right. The well-known advocate of atheistic humanism, Corliss Lamont, was quick to argue that Whitehead’s use of "God" in "nonsupernaturalistic ways" was both deceptive and incomprehensible.4 And Max Otto raged at the audacity of Whitehead’s attempt to do metaphysics at a time when "the millions" are concerned about human suffering and need a restructuring of society.5

Some early theological response to Whitehead was complimentary. Reinhold Niebuhr, for example, wrote an exuberant review of Science and the Modern World in which he saw Whitehead’s philosophy as "exactly the emphasis which modern religion needs to rescue it from defeat on the one hand and from a too costly philosophical victory on the other."6 Indeed, during the decade following publication of Whitehead’s major philosophical works, a variety of theologians, both in the United States and in Great Britain, were responsive to the new views articulated by Whitehead and made considerable use of many general features of his philosophy in constructing their own theologies. Categories such as "process" [or "evolution"] and "organism," categories which were present in a number of dynamic philosophies similar in many respects to Whitehead’s,7 were seen as the philosophical basis for a new Christian theism consistent with modern science. Indeed, until the Barthian storm broke in America in the form of The Word of God and the Word of Man in 1927, this new theism based on evolutionary philosophies was becoming the most influential among British and American theologians and showed considerable promise of sweeping the theological field.

One of the most widely read theological works giving a rather large amount of attention to Whitehead was Nature, Man and God by William Temple.8 Throughout the book, Temple quotes Whitehead extensively in support of a process or organismic conception of the universe. But when it comes to Whitehead’s more distinctive notions, such as panpsychism or ultimate atomism, Temple expresses doubts. And, of Whitehead’s doctrine of God, he is almost entirely critical, finding that it does not give sufficient importance to "Mind" or "Personality."

The most thoroughgoing early use of Whitehead’s philosophy appeared in the context of an attempt to formulate a very supernaturalistic Christology. In The Incarnate Lord,9 British theologian Lionel Thornton made extensive use of Whitehead’s categories for framing a view of the world in which the Incarnation of Christ is the culmination of complex evolutionary process. As "the Eternal Object incarnate," Christ is the "source of all revelation," the "goal towards which the universe as a developing system of events had previously moved," and the "starting point from which all its subsequent history flows." For Thornton, the Incarnate Lord is a new order of being in which lower orders of nature are taken up by the incorporation of humanity in the Eternal Order. Writing prior to Process and Reality, Thornton made relatively little use of Whitehead’s concept of God, but his use of the notions of events and objects in cosmology, his defense of Whitehead’s Platonism, his attempt to summarize Whitehead’s philosophy, and his use of Religion in the Making to defend the melding of philosophy and the "special evidence" of Christianity, all showed him to be an energetic process theologian.

In the United States, Whitehead’s closest theological sympathizers were at nearly the opposite end of the theological spectrum from Thornton. Several "theological naturalists," centered mainly at the University of Chicago, were favorably inclined toward Whitehead during the thirties. The earliest of these American theologians to begin a dialogue with Whitehead’s philosophy was Henry Nelson Wieman. As early as 1927 Wieman had written a sympathetic presentation of Whitehead’s view of God as the principle of concretion.10 When Wieman was brought to the University of Chicago to interpret Whitehead11 there began a long, and in many respects misleading, identification of Whitehead’s philosophy and the empirical and pragmatic style of theology headed by Wieman. Three chapters of Wieman’s 1927 work, The Wrestle of Religion with Truth,12 are devoted to a non-critical interpretation of Whitehead for theological purposes. But very early in the book the pattern which would continue to govern Wieman’s appropriation of Whitehead’s views is evident: Whitehead’s philosophy, particularly his views published prior to Process and Reality, is transformed into American pragmatism. While conceptual knowledge of God is seen as valuable, Wieman was much more concerned with the method and values of seeking personal and social adjustment to "that character of events to which man must adjust himself in order to attain the greatest goods and avoid the greatest ills."13 Wholly out of keeping with Whitehead’s developed views, Wieman insisted that God is not concrete but only "the principle which constitutes the concreteness of things."14 Later, Wieman and Meland would argue that for Whitehead it is creativity rather than God that is the ultimate reality and that in proposing that God has a concrete, consequent nature, Whitehead had indulged in unempirical and therefore unwarranted speculation.15 In much later works Wieman increasingly rejected process metaphysics as idle speculation — "a waste we cannot afford."16

Thus, despite the fact that Wieman and others of similar persuasion found elements of Whitehead’s philosophy congenial, and despite the fact that many others saw Wieman as a Whiteheadian, in retrospect one must conclude that Whitehead’s influence on Wieman was very partial and that the influence of John Dewey, with a resultant emphasis on empirical observation and verification, was much more formative for Wieman’s distinctively empirical and pragmatic theology.

Despite the views, and perhaps hopes, of some that Whitehead’s metaphysics provided an opportunity for theology to rise above empirical naturalism and provide a via media between the rationalism of Thomistic theology and the subjectivism of Protestantism,17 Whitehead’s actual influence on American theology during the thirties was very limited. In 1939 some thirty-five participants in a "How My Mind Has Changed In This Decade" series in The Christian Century gave scant mention of Whitehead. Only James Luther Adams claimed to have been influenced by him, and he did not demonstrate or discuss this influence. In general, the contributors are preoccupied with a humanism which they see as dead, with the economic depression and war, and with Barthianism in theology. A constructive approach to theology through the use of Whiteheadian metaphysics is nowhere evident.

In the forties, while some were praising Whitehead for providing a basis for a theological defense against positivism, for attacking theological dogmatism, and for envisioning a deity more suitable for religious worship than the aloof Absolute of traditional metaphysics and theology,18 others were claiming that you cannot pray to a principle of concretion,19 and that the Whiteheadian conception of divinity, "probably as strange, bizarre and grotesque as can be found in the philosophic literature of modern times," has no connection with the God of historic theism.20

This issue — whether the God of the philosopher Whitehead can be the God of religious devotion and worship — has been a persistent one throughout the history of the relation between process philosophy and Christian theology. Interestingly, the charge that Whitehead’s conception of God is unsuitable for religion was first given prominent attention not by more conservative theologians but by the columnist, political theorist, and sometime theologian, Walter Lippman. In A Preface to Morals, an attempt at humanistic theology, Lippman charged Whitehead with having a conception of God "which is incomprehensible to all who are not highly trained logicians," a conception which "may satisfy a metaphysical need in the thinker," but "does not satisfy the passions of the believer," and for the purposes of religion "is no God at all."21

This issue reached a kind of culmination in the publication in 1942 of a little book entitled The Religious Availability of Whitehead’s God, by Stephen Lee Ely.22 Though it involved a technically careful and reasonably detailed exposition of Whitehead’s view of God, Ely’s fundamental thesis was quite simple. It assumed that a conception of God suitable for religious purposes would align the divine purpose with human good. But, Ely argued, in Whitehead’s view it is God himself who is the ultimate enjoyer of value, and thus we have no evidence that Whitehead’s God is truly good in the sense that he "wishes humanity well." Though all of our experiences may contribute to the divine experience and enjoyment, such objective immortality does not help or comfort the individual worshiper who, presumably, needs assurance that God is on his side. In short, according to Ely, not only is Whitehead’s conception of God inadequate, it is positively inimical to "religious availability."

Response to Ely’s book was swift and substantial as a number of philosophers and theologians rose to Whitehead’s defense. Victor Lowe argued that Ely had not dealt with Whitehead’s conception at all, but rather with one of straw built out of a misconception of important aspects of his philosophy. But Lowe admitted that there is an important sense in which God, for Whitehead, is not all good in Ely’s sense, i.e., good for us, and that there is a sense in which he is not available for our use.23

The most complete response to Ely’s book was made by Bernard M. Loomer.24 Loomer clarifies Whitehead’s view of the primordial nature of God as being with all creation rather than prior to it. Process and Reality, with its notion of the two natures of God, is not as clear as one might like on the relation between the two. Some seized upon the primordial nature either in support of their own views, as in the case of Wieman, or to attack as hopelessly abstract, as in the case of Ely. Loomer shows that according to Whitehead’s centrally important "ontological principle" actuality is prior to possibility, the abstract derivative from the concrete, and consequently that Whitehead’s mature metaphysics requires that God as the primordial and abstract principle of limitation is only an aspect of God as a consequent, concrete reality. Loomer’s article also shed considerable light on the problem of the relation of God and evil. Ely had claimed that God ultimately turns all events into elements of his own satisfaction thereby making evil into good and rendering our acts irrelevant to God. But Loomer shows how this is in important respects the very opposite of Whitehead’s views. For Whitehead, "there is tragedy in God even though it be a tragic peace." That is, God’s inclusive vision and experience does enable him to relate evil events to others in such a way that some positive value results. But this does not mean that past evils are simply obliterated or that they are no longer evil in any sense. Loomer’s article also carefully pointed out that in Whitehead’s view there is not the incompatibility of human and divine values seemingly presupposed by Ely’s argument. God’s standards of value are, in principle, compatible with our own. In fact, according to Whitehead all entities pursue the same abstract value — increase in diversity, contrast, and intensity of experience consonant with harmony. That is, God wills our highest good. But this means that his good may not be identical with what men at any particular time hold to be good. "Whatever God wills for man would be recognized by man as good if man . . . were to realize his greatest potentialities." Thus, what is "really" good for man cannot be evil for God.

Another attack on Ely’s work came from the philosopher-theologian and member of the University of Chicago faculty who was becoming the foremost advocate of process philosophy and theology, Charles Hartshorne.25 From the publication of his first book in 6 until the present, no thinker has matched Hartshorne in the detailed elaboration and adaptation of Whitehead’s philosophy. Though he claims to have been influenced as much by William Ernest Hocking and Charles S. Pierce as by Whitehead, for thirty-five years Hartshorne has sought to develop and explicate a consistent, Whiteheadian understanding of God.

In early articles and in Beyond Humanism27 Hartshorne expounded a view of God which provided a middle way between the absolutism of traditional theologies and the atheistic humanism of many of his contemporaries in the thirties. His first theological paper was published in the journal which a few years earlier had presented the "Humanist Manifesto" setting forth the major tenets of a new faith based upon atheism and science. In this article,28 Hartshorne introduced many of the key ideas which he would elaborate in future years. Hope for the future of theology, he argued, lies in seeing that the new metaphysics, most profoundly enunciated by Whitehead, provides a fresh basis for raising the old question of the existence or non-existence of God. The key idea is a new conception of absoluteness or perfection in which "whatever is present in some degree in every creature is maximally present in God" (excluding self-contradiction of course). That is, in contrast with traditional views, God is not to be regarded as the negation of positive qualities in creatures nor are creatures to be regarded as devoid of divine qualities. The difference between the creatures and God is one of degree, but of a qualitatively different degree represented by the difference between the logical quantifiers ‘some’ and ‘all.’ Thus, for example, while creatures have some knowledge, God knows all that can be known. The extreme quantitative difference between human knowledge and divine knowledge makes a qualitative difference, making it possible to conceive of divine omniscience as ‘all that can be known’ without resorting to some absolute difference. But, given the new metaphysics of becoming and creativity, our understanding of ‘all that can be known’ must also be revised. Consistent with the freedom of the creatures and the idea of the universe as genuinely creative process, the future must be regarded as a class without members or as completely nonactual." Thus, future events are in principle unknowable and therefore excluded from the idea of divine omniscience.

Both in this article and more extensively in Beyond Humanism, Hartshorne argued that in contrast with the new supernaturalism emerging in European theology the new "theistic naturalism" recognizes that in a certain sense nature is God. But this is not to be construed in Spinoza’s pantheistic sense that God and nature are to be simply identified; rather, nature is an individual with a quality that is divine. God is not wholly beyond the passing flux of events, but includes them, responds to them, and is himself influenced by them.

The relationship between God and the creatures which Hartshorne seeks to elucidate is in some important respects a function of what he calls "panpsychism."29 Though Whitehead did not use the term panpsychism," it is clear that the actual occasions of his metaphysics are significantly homogeneous and that this homogeneity includes an ability to feel the environment and respond creatively and purposively to it. All occasions are "psychic" in the negative sense that they are not, to use Whitehead’s term, "vacuous." Every actual entity, from God to the most insignificant physical occasion, is a responding, valuing, creative subject.

In order to avoid the discredited panpsychism of Fechner in which macroscopic objects such as rocks and plants and planets are said to have souls, Hartshorne, like Whitehead, defends a cell theory of "compound individuals" wherein macroscopic objects are construed as aggregates of sentient occasions of experience. In this view, while rocks and such are not sentient, the simplest physical entities of which they are composed are. Though their level of sentience is much lower than that of higher animals, this does not preclude their having some degree of feeling, willing, and mentality.

Panpsychism has theological implications which are both methodological and substantial. Methodologically panpsychism is related to Hartshorne’s apparent anthropomorphism. That is, every occasion of reality is to be regarded as a momentary experience or specious present. But only our own specious present is directly experienced with any vividness; and it is from this direct experience that philosophy must, according to process philosophy, seek to generalize its understanding of the non-human world. Thus, while we do not know empirically that lower orders of reality have life and subjectivity, there is no reason to draw some arbitrary line absolutely separating living and non-living, or subjects and pure objects. But the same is true in the opposite direction. Just as process philosophy’s understanding of sub-human levels of existence is dependent on analogy with the human, its understanding of God is based on a similar analogy. The universe, accordingly, is a vast hierarchy of organisms and non-organic societies of organisms from microscopic physical events to God, in which there is a high degree of continuity between levels because at every level existence is constituted by social relationships. This contrasts sharply, Hartshorne believes, with traditional views in which "mere" matter is regarded as too inferior to be social and God too superior to be truly social.

That reality is social at all levels means, Hartshorne believes, that God, who is the supreme exemplification of all positive universal qualities, is supremely social. He alone is directly related to all other creatures, both as an influence on them and as influenced by them. And, since to prehend others is to include them, God includes all others in a manner such that their freedom is preserved and his responsibility for their acts limited. Thus, in part at least, the doctrine of the relativity of God can be seen as a consequence of process philosophy’s panpsychism.

In much of his earliest work on the nature of God, Hartshorne wrote for and to contemporary humanists without giving much attention to Christian faith. But in Beyond Humanism and elsewhere he expresses the idea that the new conception of God is not only philosophically superior to that of classical philosophies and theologies, it is also theologically and religiously more adequate in that it is much more compatible with the Biblical idea of God as love. Thus, when Hartshorne criticized Ely’s book,30 he argued that in some important respects Whitehead’s view of God is a return to the Gospel conception after a long history of its disappearance in the absolutism of medieval theology. His chief claim in this connection is that only if genuine creaturely freedom is maintained, and with it the logically implied limitations of divine power and knowledge, can the notion of God as love be upheld. It is the idea of God as an unchanging absolute for whom no act of men could possibly make any difference that is inconsistent with religious relevance and availability. "Never before," he wrote, "has a really first-rate philosophical system so completely and directly as Whitehead’s supported the idea that there is a supreme love which is also the supreme being."31

Hartshorne’s most important theological work is perhaps Man’s Vision of God published in 1941.32 In it he develops with utmost rigor his new conception of perfection. The strategy here is to set forth a logically complete classification of all possible ideas of God. In this scheme the quantifiers ‘all,’ ‘some,’ and ‘none’ are combined with the ideas of ‘absolute perfection,’ ‘relative perfection,’ and ‘imperfection’ to produce seven different conceptions of deity which are conveniently grouped into three broad types of theism: classical theism, within which God is conceived as absolutely perfect in all respects and in no way surpassable; atheistic views, in which there is no being which is in any respect perfect or unsurpassable; and the "new theism," in which God is in some respects perfect and unsurpassable by others but is surpassable by himself. Thus Hartshorne sees his own version of theism as a much improved synthesis of the old alternatives of theism and atheism. Only an extreme intellectual shortsightedness, he holds, could make one believe that the theistic question has or can be settled by the old, pre-process philosophy alternatives. And most of Man’s Vision of God, The Divine Relativity,33 and the editorial contributions to Philosophers Speak of God34 is a careful and extensive argument for the philosophical superiority and rational elegance of the "dipolar" conception of God in which the abstract, absolute side of God is balanced by a concrete, relative side.

Hartshorne’s dipolar conception of God is compatible with Whitehead’s notions of the primordial and consequent natures of God. But it should be emphasized that, while Hartshorne has been a foremost interpreter and defender of Whitehead, he is an original and creative philosopher-theologian in his own right. It is not always easy to sort out the points at which the two men diverge, but, since much of the subsequent development of process theology depends on Hartshorne’s conceptions, it is important to at least attempt to set out some of the ways in which Hartshorne has modified and developed the views of God found in Whitehead’s works.

In the first place, Whitehead’s conception of God was not fully worked out or the various references to God, even within Process and Reality, well integrated. While the idea of the primordial nature of God as the principle of limitation is developed through several works, discussion of the consequent nature is almost wholly confined to the last chapter of Process and Reality. The relation between the two natures is nowhere discussed, and, in fact, some critics reasoned that for all practical purposes Whitehead might have been speaking of two (or more) different gods. Hartshorne’s treatment of this problem, like Loomer’s, makes it clear that there is only one God, a concrete individual who has abstract or primordial aspects. Thus, what Whitehead called the primordial nature of God is, in Hartshorne’s view, only a very important aspect of a concrete and dynamic reality who is the One God.

Further, it is not entirely clear in Whitehead’s writings whether God is to be conceived as a single, eternal actual entity, or whether, after the manner of other personal beings, he is to be regarded as a personally ordered, temporal series of actual entities. Debate over this issue remains prominent among process theologians to this day and will be discussed more fully in the second part of this paper, but it should be remarked here that Hartshorne has consistently attempted to envision God, in this and in some other respects, after the model of the human person. Much more than Whitehead, he emphasizes that God is conscious, that he has memory, that he is influenced in his own development by what finite creatures do. But, at the same time that Hartshorne attributes such anthropomorphic qualities to God, he insists that in God they are perfections qualitatively different from their incarnations in imperfect ways in human beings. Thus, while we are conscious, we are actually conscious of very little; God, in contrast, is fully conscious of all that happens. As Hartshorne has argued, the difference between himself and Whitehead on this matter is not very great, but the clarity with which he has pursued it constitutes a major development of Whitehead’s views.

In close relation to this, is Hartshorne’s "panentheism." Whereas classical theism had described God as wholly other than the world and classical pantheism had identified God and the world, in Hartshorne’s view God includes the world while transcending it. Again, he finds the human model instructive. God transcends the world in much the same manner as I transcend my own body; I am dependent upon it but not identical with it. Thus, according to panentheism, the universe is a compound individual, a society of occasions in relation to which God is both dominant and all inclusive. In the language of The Divine Relativity, God is supreme yet indebted to all, absolute yet related to all. While absolute and unchanging in some respects, God is the supremely relative ("surrelative"); he is the only individual who is positively related to every other individual.

Considering its extremely critical stance toward classical Christian theology and its neglect of most of the usual concerns of Christian theologians, response to Man’s Vision of God within the American theological community was surprisingly favorable. Edgar S. Brightman, who had himself been working for many years on the development of a nontraditional view of God, rejected Hartshorne’s panentheism but praised other aspects of his view of God.35 Reinhold Niebuhr wrote a brief but very sympathetic review,36 and John Bennett claimed that Hartshorne’s was perhaps the best hypothesis about God available to contemporary theology.37 D. C. Macintosh found the book "exceptionally penetrating, stimulating, and instructive," but by accusing Hartshorne of being too rationalistic he touched on what has been one of the major differences between Hartshorne and most other Whiteheadian theologians.38

Another one-time member of the Federated Theological Faculty of the University of Chicago, who has attempted to relate the insights of process philosophy to Christian faith, is Daniel Day Williams. In ‘Truth in the Theological Perspective"39 he uses the notion of "perspectives" to solve the dilemma of the relationship between the particularity of Christian faith and the universality of philosophy. The notion of perspectives involves the idea that whatever we see or believe, whether as Christians or philosophers, our own particular and limited perspective is involved. All our views are relative to our own, historically conditioned, perspective. But, by recognizing the relativity of our own perspective, we become aware of other perspectives and thereby create the possibility at least of enlarging our own. This view is called "objective relativism" because, while recognizing the relativity of perspectives, it encourages every limited perspective to point beyond itself to something which is not a perspective. Thus Christian theology not only ought to "walk on its own feet and not ride on the back of philosophy," it must call to the attention of philosophy the particular facts about man which its perspective always involves. But, since theological statements if true must be true for all human experience, no theological statement can be simply exempted from philosophical criticism. Philosophy and Christian theology are, therefore, only relatively independent; "in the long run each can be completed only by effecting a final settlement with the other." Such a view, Williams argues, does not mean that some criterion of truth is set above Christian faith, for all perspectives are relative. The test of their truth is their capacity "to become more inclusive, more coherent, more adequate through a continuing discussion, criticism, and reformulation in contact with other interpretations of . . . human experience."

Williams’s first major work is God’s Grace and Man’s Hope.40 In it he seeks a theological stance occupying a middle ground between the unrealistic optimism of traditional liberalism and the equally unrealistic pessimism of the neo-orthodox reaction to liberalism. Both, he claims, have no place for God’s redemptive work in history; liberalism because it sees no need for it, and neo-orthodoxy because it denies a place for it within the human enterprise. Throughout the book, the conception of God articulated by Whitehead and Hartshorne is utilized to make it possible "for the Living God, the God who acts, the caring, saving God of the Bible to be made intelligible."41 Further, though not labeled as such, Williams’s discussion of "the good earth" can be seen, at least in part, as a practical application of Whiteheadian panpsychism. Finally, by developing a doctrine of divine grace which does not destroy the genuine freedom and responsibility of men, Williams places himself squarely on the side of the new metaphysics of becoming.

The problem of the relation between philosophy and theology which has claimed Williams’s attention has also been approached in an essentially similar way by Loomer. Having defended in a previous article42 a "neo-naturalism" which is based on a naturalistic methodology and many of the principles and categories of Whitehead’s metaphysics as well as on the Christian tradition, in "Christian Faith and Process Philosophy"43 Loomer takes up the problem raised by the prevalent rejection of philosophy by neo-orthodox theologies. Like Williams, he argues that the relation between philosophy and Christian theology must be one of "co-dependents" in tension, for only through the generality of rational metaphysics can the idolatry of narrowness be avoided. Process philosophy offers definite advantages for Christian theology over earlier naturalistic and idealistic philosophies because it recognizes the qualitative discontinuities in human existence and refuses to identify God with any natural process. The assumption by theology of some philosophical perspective is simply unavoidable, regardless of what some theologians may deceive themselves into believing; therefore the most fruitful way for Christian theology to proceed is by recognizing its relative dependence and by adopting the philosophy which will be most fruitful in making Christian faith significant, meaningful and available to contemporary men.

Though it might not have been anticipated from his earlier writings, one of the most highly favorable reviews of Hartshorne’s Man’s Vision of God was penned by Bernard F. Meland.44 Meland was one of the much-discussed "Chicago school" of "empirical" theologians who in his early writing attempted to bring together many currents of contemporary thought along the lines of Gerald Binney Smith’s "mystical naturalism." In the thirties, however, Meland’s thought came to be very closely associated with that of Henry Nelson Wieman. In an almost steady stream of articles and books he attempted to work out aspects of a theological empiricism which was, in fact, based on Whitehead’s early book, The Concept of Nature, but which rejected the complexities of metaphysics found in Process and Reality. But the man who was frequently viewed as the chief disciple of Wieman began during the second world war to find difficulties in that position and moved considerably closer to the philosophy of Whitehead.45 Much more than Hartshorne, Meland has been concerned with the interpretation of contemporary culture, and more particularly with the interplay of thought and emotion.46 In Whitehead’s thought he increasingly found "the only structure of thought that offers adequate conceptions, both of feeling and knowing, to cope with the problem that confronts us. . . ."47 Whitehead’s metaphysics, he has said, could be as formative for the modern world, and for Christian theology in particular, as the thought of Aristotle, Plotinus and Thomas have been for previous centuries.48

While both Meland and Hartshorne can readily be called Whiteheadian process theologians, the thrust of both approach and concern is quite different. Whereas Hartshorne, the philosopher, has devoted himself largely to developing the logic of a theism based on process metaphysics, Meland has sought to balance this rationalistic approach with a heightened sensitivity to depth of feeling based on the aesthetic side of Whitehead’s philosophy. Thus Meland’s approach is generally not highly systematic but more nearly in the form of explorations into the felt meanings of cultural and religious phenomena. As one sympathetic critic has put it, "Meland’s thought is rich in suggestive power and frustrating in its conceptual-theological elusiveness."49 Meland is convinced that intellectual and emotional sensitivity to culture, to its depth significance, to its transcendent qualities and felt reality can bring one to the realities of faith, to the meaning of realities which cannot be contained within merely rational structures, to realities which have not so much to be defined as to be acknowledged.

TWO: Contemporary Philosophical Discussions

[Portions of Parts two and three of this essay are reprinted from Delwin Brown, "Recent Process Theology," Journal of the American Academy of Religion, XXV, 1 (March 1967), 28-41. Copyright 1967 by the American Academy of Religion. Used by permission of the publisher.]

Since 1950, philosophical discussions of Whitehead’s view of God have been influenced primarily by Charles Hartshorne and William Christian.50 Hartshorne has continued to develop and apply the doctrines of panpsychism and panentheism explained in Part One. Against the Barthians and Thomists in theology and the positivists and analysts in philosophy, Hartshorne has urged that neoclassical theism renders obsolete many of the contentions of traditional theology and antitheology.51 He believes that process thought now allows for a philosophically respectable and religiously adequate view of God.

Hartshorne’s most recent major effort relates the process view of God’s perfection to the question of God’s existence. The resultant reformulation of the ontological argument appears in Tue Logic of Perfection and Anselm’s Discovery.52 Hartshorne argues that the statement "perfection exists," unlike ordinary propositions, cannot be contingent; either it is necessarily true or necessarily false. To be the latter, however, the idea of perfection must be self-contradictory. The classical idea of God’s perfection is indeed problematic. But process philosophy can elaborate a neoclassical idea of perfection free from self-contradiction. Being consistent, it is not false of necessity. Hence the statement "perfection exists" is necessarily true.53

This "necessity" is not merely linguistic, Hartshorne argues in a reply to R. L. Purtill, since "the ontological modalities are what language, if properly designed, has to express or reflect."54 As evidence, Hartshorne reformulates the argument as follows: Whatever we can think of (a) necessarily exists, or (b) contingently exists, or (c) contingently does not exist, or (d) necessarily does not exist. The mere conceivability of a consistent process conception of God renders (d) inapplicable to God. But also, "the ontological conditions for contingency are excluded by the definition of God, as they are for no other individual definition or concept." Therefore, (a) alone is applicable to God. That is, "a most perfect being exists, and must exist necessarily."

Recent expositions of the process view of God are as often indebted to Hartshorne as to Whitehead. A. Boyce Gibson in "The Two Strands of Natural Theology,"55 for example, analyzes the "two compelling conceptions of divinity" in Western philosophy the "self-sufficient" and the "outgoing." Taken alone, he argues, each is inadequate. But, drawing on the Hartshornian abstract-concrete dichotomy and the related eternal-temporal distinction in Whitehead, Gibson shows how process theism consistently combines the two traditions, retaining from each what is essential to a "working religion." Paul G. Kuntz’s interesting study of the motifs of order and chaos in religion follows a similar pattern.56 Kuntz uncovers the power and the weakness of each image. He then claims, following Hartshorne, that "order and disorder are essentially correlative terms." Hence he concludes that the truths of the religions based on each must be (and, Kuntz implies, in process theology can be) "grasped coherently together in a synthesis." Others equally influenced by Hartshorne’s interpretation of Whitehead include Schubert M. Ogden, John B. Cobb, Jr., and Walter E. Stokes, S. J., whom we shall discuss below.

William Christian is the other major influence in current philosophical discussions of Whitehead. In "The Concept of God as a Derivative Notion" Christian seeks to clarify the logical status of the concept of God.57 Christian concludes, among other things, that Whitehead’s view of God is "categoreally contingent, systematically necessary and existentially contingent." The first two conclusions mean that Whitehead’s God is required, not by the metaphysically necessary categories as such, but by the contingent fact of the temporal character of the actual world; thus Whitehead’s approach rejects an ontological argument and employs a cosmological argument. Christian’s third conclusion means that Whitehead’s philosophical theology is in a sense a confessional theology, i.e., a rational "explanation of an interpretation" of human experience. Indeed Christian maintains that this uncommon modesty underlies Whitehead’s entire speculative endeavor: Whitehead "does not claim to have deduced his system from premises which are clear, certain and sufficient. He thinks that no such premises are available for speculative philosophy." Hence, he will never say that "all possible alternatives to his system are absurd."

Christian’s most influential work, An Interpretation of Whitehead’s Metaphysics, is a systematic study of impressive scope and originality.58 Its challenge to the Hartshornian understanding of Whitehead has won varying degrees of support from many, including Lewis S. Ford and Donald W. Sherburne. But more significantly, Christian’s Interpretation marvelously brings before all process thinkers legitimate philosophical questions about Whitehead’s theology. For these reasons it remains the interpretive study of Whitehead.

The contributions of Christian, Hartshorne and several others to the current philosophical development of process theology are probably best viewed in the context of certain important problems of process theism. We shall now explore four of these: the nature of God, the location of God, the problem of evil, and the coherence of process theism.

The first debate has to do with whether God ought to be considered a single actual entity or a personally ordered society of actual entities. In the succession from one entity or occasion of experience to the next in a society of actual entities, there is always a certain loss of content. The moment of my beginning this paragraph, for example, is considerably less real to me than the present moment. Something has been lost — if nothing more than the "first-handedness" of a moment now in the past. If God is a succession of occasions of experience, there seems to be no metaphysical guarantee that he preserves all values. It is at least possible that some values are lost to God.

It should not be surprising then that Whitehead thought of God as a single actual entity immune to the possibility of loss.59 At least William Christian sees this as the proper Whiteheadian view.60 Nevertheless, Christian’s position is challenged by Ivor Leclerc, who argues, in agreement with Hartshorne, that Christian’s conclusion is incompatible with the categoreal scheme elaborated in chapter two of Process and Reality.61 Here, according to Leclerc, Whitehead "makes clear" that the category of "subjective perishing" is "necessarily applicable to every actual entity whatever, including God."

The theologian John B. Cobb, Jr. sides with Leclerc and Hartshorne, partly however for reasons that are religious.62 It is essential both to Whitehead’s system and to the Christian faith, Cobb thinks, to hold that God influences and is influenced by the temporal world. In Whitehead’s writings an actual entity is affected only at the inception and is efficacious only at the completion of its momentary existence. Hence, if God interacts with the world, presumably he too must be a society of successive entities of temporal duration rather than a single actual entity always in concrescence. Cobb claims that although this conclusion fails to require the complete preservation of value in God, philosophically the continuance of value in God does remain a possibility. The religious intuition which affirms that preservation, therefore, need not be set aside.

Lewis S. Ford concedes that Cobb deals successfully with the question of loss in God. Nevertheless Ford maintains that the categoreal scheme requires not perishing, but merely "something determinate in God" in order for God to be objectified by the world.63 Hence God, to influence the world, need not be a society. But further, God cannot be a society. The subjective aim determines "when and how an actual entity will find its completion." Since God’s "aim seeks the physical realization of all potentiality insofar as this is compatible with maximum intensity," it follows that "God’s aim . . . requires an everlasting concrescence physically prehending the unending actualization of these possibilities."64 In "Boethius and Whitehead" Ford argues that the entire multiplicity of temporal land spatial) experiences can be included within the unity of a single, everlasting divine concrescence. For eternity is an everlasting moment that includes time; it is not, as Aquinas supposed, mere atemporality. Thus God’s particular experiences of the world are spatio-temporally localized with respect to their objective data, but they are trans-spatio-temporally unified within the eternity of the one divine concrescence.

The second area of controversy concerns the relation of God to space-time.65 Einstein’s special theory of relativity precludes absolute simultaneity. According to it, any particular meaning of simultaneity can only be specified relative to some particular space-time system. John T. Wilcox argues that this theory poses a problem for any theism which holds that "God’s knowledge grows as the universe grows in time, and the moments in his experience form a temporal sequence."66 For at any particular moment God’s experience of the universe would constitute a particular (divine) meaning of simultaneity, thereby relating God to one particular space-time system. Therefore, "to decide which space-time system God utilizes . . . would grant to that system. . .a unique relationship with deity, a relationship discriminatory against other events and their space-time systems." Moreover, says Wilcox, if God is prehended by temporal events, as Whitehead holds, we should be able to catch some trace of his space-time system.

Prior to Wilcox’s article, William Christian had proposed what Wilcox admitted was a possible solution.67 Whitehead’s God, according to Christian, is a single, eternally-concrescing actual entity. And since space-time is derivative from temporal succession, Christian concludes that God occupies no spatio-temporal region. God does prehend the world, to be sure. But his syntheses of feelings are only partial, not full satisfactions, each including only the data available to particular space-time locations. The occasions occupying these perspectives in turn prehend in God only the harmonization of the data ingredient in their own past worlds. Thus the particular interactions between God and actual occasions are spatio-temporally localized even though God occupies no spatio-temporal region. God would therefore treat each spatiotemporal region identically. Furthermore no prehensions of alternative divinely entertained space-time systems should be expected. Wilcox rejects this interpretation, however, arguing that its assumption of particularized interactions between God and the world is purely ad hoc.68

Charles Hartshorne concedes that the special theory of relativity conflicts with the theistic assertion of a "cosmic observer." Hartshorne’s rebuttal is twofold:69 "The assumption of a divine simultaneity need not mean that some actual perspective in the world is ‘right’ as against others. For the divine perspective might be ‘eclectic,’ agreeing (approximately) as to some items with one standpoint, as to others with another, and the incidence of agreement might be constantly shifting." Hence the cosmic discrimination Wilcox notes is of no importance. Moreover, Hartshorne observes, the relativity theory may after all be "a deep truth about the world" without being "the whole truth." In fact, the claim that it is not the whole truth cannot be empirically refuted, for the inevitably relative perspective of any scientific observer precludes his reception of empirical evidence for a non-relative spatio-temporal perspective.

In A Christian Natural Theology John Cobb seeks to understand God’s relation particularly to space in terms of a doctrine of regional inclusion. Cobb argues that the individuality of an actual entity resides in the unity of its subjective immediacy, not in the peculiarity of its spatio-temporal region. This means that the region of one actual entity may be included in the region of another without compromising the individuality of either.70 Hence it would be consistent with Whitehead’s principles to hold that God is omnispatial, for "his region includes all other contemporary regions" without his being related to these entities as a whole to a mere part.71

Cobb’s doctrine of regional inclusion has been sharply challenged by Donald Sherburne.72 Sherburne appeals first to the systematic evidence against regional inclusion complied by William Christian. Secondly, he argues point by point against Cobb’s interpretation of Whitehead’s statements to which Cobb appeals for implicit support. Finally Sherburne argues: For Whitehead space-time is not a container sitting there waiting to be filled. The region of each actual entity is derivative from the concrescence of the given mass of feelings which is that occasion; each becoming subject specifies and actualizes its own particular region. Hence for every subject there is a different region. Unless God violates the individuality of the entities supposedly included in his region so that he as subject becomes identical with them as subjects (which Cobb rejects), it follows that God’s spatio-temporal region cannot include the regions of other entities.

Lewis Ford criticizes Sherburne’s claim that each subject must have a different region. In "Divine Spatiality" Ford argues that the standpoint of a physical prehension is part of the objective datum of that prehension and not part of its subjective unity. Therefore two prehensions may have the same spatio-temporal standpoint but still differ if the subjects in question differ in the unity of their subjective immediacies.73 But though in this he sides with Cobb, Ford faults Cobb on the very point Wilcox raises.74 For while God, in Cobb’s view, is omnispatial, he is not omnitemporal. Each successive omnispatial moment in the divine life is a brief, particular slice of time. As such it specifies a particular, absolute meaning of simultaneity and this result contradicts the relativity theory. Nor does Ford find Hartshorne’s alternative much better: "Hartshorne’s theory may account for all the appearances, but at the price of simplicity and elegance."

Ford’s own answer to the question of God’s location in general and the relativity problem in particular rests upon his Boethian interpretation of Whitehead, discussed above. God experiences the world from every spatio-temporal standpoint, yet these experiences are unified in him eternally. This distinction can be maintained in Whiteheadian thought, Ford argues, because the spatio-temporal standpoints of subjects belong to the objective data of their prehensions, not to the subjects as such; moreover, prehensions are many in terms of their data, but one in terms of their subject. In Ford’s view the concept of regional inclusion is extended to embrace time as well as space. God is the single, ever-concrescing actual entity whose "spatio-temporal region is the entire, everlasting extensive continuum."75

The third issue is the problem of evil. Doubts about the religious adequacy of Whitehead’s treatment of evil were raised very early by critics of process thought. The challenge, however, has nowhere been worded more sharply than in a recent essay by E. H. Madden and P. H. Hare.76 They argue that process theology is "shipwrecked upon the rock of the problem of evil" because the process God is limited, unable to guarantee the triumph of good, and in pursuit of morally objectionable values.

In separate essays, Charles Hartshorne77 and Lewis Ford78 point out the serious misunderstandings of Whitehead at work in this critique, and Ford and others explain the Whiteheadian solution to the problem of evil as follows:79 God does not wholly determine the course of the temporal process. There is some degree of freedom for self-creation at all levels.80 But the temporal process is neither a matter of absolute freedom nor of chance. As a part of its data for synthesis, each emergent occasion prehends God’s ordered evaluation of its possibilities for becoming. Thus God seeks to "lure" the world toward more desirable forms of order.81 The power of the divine ideal, however, is not different in kind from the influence of other past actual entities. There always remains freedom — at one level to deviate from dominant patterns of energetic activity, at a higher level to refuse proffered moral ideals. Hence evil is due, not to God, but to finite occasions’ rejections of the divine aim.

God is pervasively involved in the emergence of good in this world — first, as he provides ideals for temporal becomings; second, as he in his consequent preservation of temporal values is objectified back into the world.82 But Whitehead does not claim that God guarantees the temporal "triumph of good." Even if cognitively meaningful,83 this notion, according to Ford, presupposes a morally and religiously objectionable understanding of God’s power as being coercive. But God’s power is persuasive: it "maximizes creaturely freedom, respecting the integrity of each creature . . . God creates by persuading the world to create itself."84 Moreover, only persuasive power is consistent with a religious faith that calls its adherents into real battle for the temporal achievement of good. Finally, being able to posit the maximizing and preserving of temporally accrued values in the everlasting divine experience, process theology allows hope for the eternal significance of those values won in our human freedom. God, in this view, is not omnipotent; but his power is unsurpassed, maximal, and sufficient to secure eternally whatever is of worth.

In discussing the fourth issue we shall consider three different attacks upon the coherence of process theology. In the first, "Temporality and Finitism in Hartshorne’s Theism," Merold Westphal grants, with process thought, that there must be contingency in God.85 For if God knows the contingent world, his awareness of that actuality which might not have been, itself might not have been, i.e., his awareness is contingent. But Hartshorne wishes to move from divine contingency to divine temporality. That some divine knowledge might not have been, Hartshorne insists, introduces possibilities into the divine life, some of which come to be actualized and others not. So there is successiveness or temporality in God.

Westphal rejects this move, claiming that God’s contingent knowledge is a property, not a state. Like other divine properties, such as goodness, this one may be possessed eternally, unless the identity of "eternal" and "necessary" is demonstrated. But in Hartshorne it is not. Therefore, unless we, with the positivists, equate the humanly inconceivable with the meaningless, there is no reason why God cannot be said to know as actual and determinate what is, to us, potential.

Hartshorne replies, first by observing that the brevity of life and human fallibility make it impossible to fix any "observational meaning" upon "eternal."86 If so, the only epistemic meaning eternity can have for us — thus for us its definition — is "necessary existence." Also Hartshorne asks what Westphal can mean when he says "what God wills (in terms of our discussion, God’s decision to know this contingent world rather than another) he wills eternally." Does this not mean that God first entertained two possible worlds, one of which he then actualized? In short, even the idea of eternal willing must attribute some form of real successiveness to the life of God.

Westphal also challenges the conclusion that God’s contingency involves some measure of divine finitude or dependence upon the world. Hartshorne holds that God’s concrete acts of knowing (though not God’s abstract essence of perfectly knowing whatever comes to be) depend upon their contingent objects; had they not existed his knowledge of them would not have existed.

In reply, Westphal agrees that "the world is so and so" entails "God knows the world as so and so" (and vice versa). But this, he says, only establishes the logical, asymmetrical dependence of propositions, not the ontological or causal interdependence of individuals. In fact, logical interdependence is wholly compatible with the classical position that God’s knowledge constitutes or creates its objects and thus is causally independent of them.

Hartshorne’s response is that what follows from logical interdependence is neither the ontological dependence of knower on known (Hartshorne) nor of known on knower (Westphal). "X (ontologically) depends on Y if and only if, without Y, X cannot be; and X is (ontologically) independent of Y if and only if it could be, although Y were not. Logical interdependence . . . (however) excludes this latter possibility a priori." Therefore, logical interdependence entails ontological interdependence — God as knower and the world as known depend, in some respects, on each other.87

In his essay Westphal argues only that God’s temporality and dependence do not follow necessarily from God’s contingency; he doubts the justification for holding the process view, not its possibility or adequacy. In view of this Hartshorne seeks support in two other arguments. One is that the religious notion of "serving God" is empty unless this means contributing something to God’s concrete states. The other is that values are mutually incompatible. Since all possible values cannot be realized simultaneously, the most exalted status would be that which combines the actual possession of realized values with the capacity fully to possess remaining values as they become actual. Thus though wholly unsurpassable by others, God, to be perfect, must be capable of surpassing himself in successive states.

The second and most recent challenge to process theology is Robert Neville’s claim that Whitehead’s metaphysical theology leaves unanswered the more fundamental questions of ontology, resulting in an inadequacy that is both philosophical and religious. The basic ontological problem is why there is anything at all and, since what does exist is a plurality, how the things that do exist are unified into a world.88 Neville understands Whitehead’s principle of "creativity" (together with "one" and "many," conjointly called the "Category of the Ultimate" by Whitehead) to be an attempted answer to the ontological question. But creativity is not a concrete thing; it is a principle — either a descriptive generalization, or a normative principle derivative from the primordial decision of God. If it is the former, Neville says, it is a mere description and not an explanation of the fact that there are creative actual entities and that they constitute a world. If creativity is the latter, a normative principle, it still leaves unexplained that primordial creative act by which it is itself constituted. In sum, we are not told why there is any creative actuality at all. Thus the question of being remains unanswered.

Process theology’s attempted solution to the problem of the one and the many depends, according to Neville, on the doctrine that "God unifies the plurality of particulars by including them in his knowledge, by prehending them together."89 But God does not know and hence cannot unify actual occasions as they are in the subjective immediacy of their own concrescent becoming. Thus, while God does give oneness to the world of actual entities as they are for others, the world of things as they are coming to exist in themselves remains without ontological unity. Whitehead’s system explains neither why there is a world (the problem of being) nor why there is a world (the problem of the one and the many).

The ontological failing of process philosophy results in serious religious inadequacy in two ways. First, the process God "is in no way the ground or source of the being of finite things."90 Second, God can know only things as they are objectified, not as they are in concrescence.91 In this way, God’s superiority and his presence, both essential to a religiously viable theology, are seriously undercut. Neville concludes that even if an adequate ontological account could be integrated with Whitehead’s metaphysical system, the question of the religious adequacy of the Whiteheadian God would remain.

One may expect varied Whiteheadian responses to Neville, at least two of which are already implicit in present discussions. For one thing, that Whitehead’s God is in no sense the ground of finite being, as Neville holds, is by no means undisputed. John Cobb, for example, has suggested that God "is the reason that each new occasion becomes" even if what it becomes is explained by that occasion, its past and God together."92 Cobb’s contention is that the initial aim of an occasion is the "originating element" of its becoming. Since God is the source of each initial aim, it follows that God is uniquely the ground or source of the origination of each becoming occasion. Gene Reeves, however, has contested Cobb’s conclusion.93 Reeves argues in detail that Cobb’s theory of the originative function of the initial aim cannot be sustained. Even if correct, however, God would not therefore be "the reason that" there is an occasion, nor would God’s creative role be more "decisive" than that of eternal objects, the past, or the becoming occasion itself. With respect to Neville’s kind of claim, nevertheless, Reeves holds with Cobb that the Whiteheadian God is uniquely creative in the sense that his influence alone is universally effective and infinitely more powerful than that of other actual entities.94

One may also expect to hear Whiteheadians challenge the philosophical legitimacy and the religious significance of Neville’s own ontology. Indeed, Whiteheadians generally have regarded the question, why is there something rather than nothing? to be logically impossible.95 If, however, Neville’s demand for an ontological analysis can be sustained, Whiteheadians may then be forced to deal with the problems of being and the one and the many (perhaps by wedding Neville’s Platonic-Augustinian ontology to process metaphysics, a possibility Neville himself entertains].96 Even so, two of Neville’s most crucial claims remain debatable: (1) that indeterminate Being-Itself — without definiteness and beyond description — is supremely deserving of religious devotion,97 and (2) that the process God — personal, the pervasive source of moral ideals, and the supreme agent in the achievement of these aims — is not.

A third attack upon the coherence of process theology comes from within the circle of leading process thinkers. In "Whitehead Without God"98 Donald Sherburne contends (a) that the concept "God" is incompatible with the basic principles of the system, and (b) that the roles God plays in the system may be filled in other ways; thus God should be eliminated and coherence restored. Sherburne begins by explaining the "problem of the past" encountered in Whitehead’s philosophy. He argues that the different solutions proposed by Christian, Hartshorne, and Cobb, each of whom appeals to the concept of God, in varying ways leave God’s relation to his past an exception to the system’s metaphysical requirements. He then claims that Whitehead’s doctrine of creativity solves the problem without recourse to God. Finally, Sherburne suggests how other aspects of process attributed to God can be consistently explained by the temporal process itself.

Two types of responses to Sherburne are likely. First, on several issues there is the involved problem of the proper interpretation of the categoreal scheme. But, secondly, even if the systematic necessity of God, e.g., in dealing with the past, can be eliminated, Sherburne has yet to demonstrate incoherence; for if creativity is indeed the solution to the problem of the past, it also consistently explains God’s relation to his past. It follows that God’s existence would remain possible, even if not required. In this case, Whitehead’s philosophy may have the virtue of picturing the theistic issue exactly as it seems to be — with the question of God’s existence an open one to be decided on grounds other than those of systematic necessity.99

THREE: Contemporary Theological Discussions

Among the theologians discussed in Part One are some who, though earlier greatly indebted to H. N. Wieman, have now moved to positions more closely dependent upon Whiteheadian categories. Those of this group who remain most prominent are Bernard E. Meland and Daniel Day Williams.

In his recent writings Meland has continued to utilize the aesthetic side of Whitehead’s thought in an analysis of faith and culture. In The Realities of Faith and The Secularization of Modern Cultures100 he attempts to comprehend the revolutionary character of the contemporary world and to discern the relevance of Christian faith to it, Meland frankly recognizes the widespread secularization of modern life in both Western and Eastern cultures. At the same time, he finds important elements within these cultures which tend to call men toward what is most elemental and real. But still needed, he argues, is a fuller acceptance of the vision of reality made possible by modern science and process philosophies. This vision of reality combined with openness toward revolutionary culture in general enables new vistas of understanding in which the realities conveyed in the heritage of Christian faith may once again be felt with power.

Crucially important to Meland’s enterprise is a recognition of myth as the felt expression of the depths of human culture, In his view, religious faith, and more particularly Christian faith, finds embodiment and expression not only in religious institutions and individual religious experience, but in the midst of secular cultures as well, The Judeo-Christian mythos underlies and is formative of the cultural sensibilities of Western men. This means "there are resources within the culture that lend a sense of reality to the gospel of grace and judgment to which the Church bears witness, but which the church as church, and Christians as Christians, may be but vaguely attuned. . . . What we read about in Scripture, celebrate in sacrament, and proclaim through the Word, is a truth of immediate experience, a truth that transpires within every epochal occasion to visit upon every nexus of relationships, its offering of grace and judgment."101

D. D. Williams reflects the Hartshornian interpretation of Whitehead more than does Meland. In "Deity, Monarchy and Metaphysics" Williams explains Whitehead’s moral and metaphysical objections to the coercive God of classical theology.102 In its place Whitehead proposes an idea of God consistent with the biblical insight that "the highest goods are realized only through persuasion." And yet, asks Williams, must God act only in universally present persuasion? Can he not also speak? That Whitehead’s philosophy can admit God’s special activity is shown by Williams in a later essay, "How Does God Act?"103 Williams writes: "The consequent nature acts by being concretely apprehended in feeling in such a way that God’s specific response to the world becomes a constituitive function in the world. Here there is specific divine causality . . . (But) verification here can hardly take the form of precise descriptions . Verification must take the form of observable results in cosmic history, in human history, and in personal experience."

In The Spirit and the Forms of Love Williams analyzes the meaning of love and indicates what this implies about the nature of God.104 The classical conviction that the immutable is the superior is shown to devalue human love and to conflict with the biblical conception of God’s love. In chapter six Williams examines the metaphysical structures revealed in the human experience of love. Loving requires "individuality in relation," mutual freedom and risk, action and suffering, a form of causality responsive to emerging values and possibilities, and "impartial judgment in loving concern for others." Williams then argues that, biblically and philosophically, these categories must also apply to God, even if in special ways. The result is a process doctrine of God’s two-fold nature. "The invulnerability of God is the integrity of his being, his creative vision and function which is his sovereign majesty. This is not acted upon, it is not moved or altered. But God in his creativity works in and through creatures who do suffer and who become occasions of his suffering."

Williams’s book, as one reviewer has said, is the first major process systematic theology.105 It deals successively with the doctrines of love, God, man, and Christology, and considers special problems in Christian ethics. The concluding chapter is on theological method.

Younger process theologians have been as significantly influenced by Hartshorne as by Whitehead. The two outstanding members of this third generation, in fact, were both Hartshorne’s students: Schubert M. Ogden and John B. Cobb, Jr.

The two major sources of Ogden’s thought come together in his essay, "Bultmann’s Demythologizing and Hartshorne’s Dipolar Theism."106 Ogden accepts Bultmann’s position that theology must speak of man’s existential self-understanding. But that is not all; theology, he insists, also must speak of God. While Bultmann in some sense agrees with this, Ogden says, his employment of Heidegger’s philosophical system makes the second kind of language virtually impossible. Yet the key to speaking of God without thereby reducing God to a mere object may be found in Bultmann’s own work. Following Heidegger, he has always known that while "existential analysis does ‘objectify’ man’s being, . . . it objectifies him precisely as subject and thus makes clear that his actual concrete existence transcends objectification." Likewise, Ogden maintains, theology can speak of God "without in the least calling into question that God as fully actual can be known only to faith alone." Or rather, it can thus speak of God if it can discover a conceptual perspective in which such speaking is possible. Hartshorne’s dipolar theism provides precisely this possibility.

Thus does Ogden argue that speaking about God is theologically necessary and, within the framework of a process metaphysics, philosophically possible. Further, he is convinced that process philosophy provides the best vehicle for the expression of Christian beliefs. In traditional philosophical theology, talk about God is either symbolic or self-contradictory; hence today’s widespread repudiation of religious belief.107 But in process theology, Christian statements about God are literally affirmed. For example, in "What Sense Does It Make to Say, ‘God Acts in History’?," Ogden shows how the Whiteheadian can speak literally of God’s general activity as Creator and Redeemer and of his special action in unique historical events."108 In "Beyond Supernaturalism," Ogden indicates how God’s personality can be maintained with strict philosophical rigor.109 And in an essay prepared for the Bultmann Festschrift, Ogden deals similarly with the biblical affirmation of the "temporality of God."110 But Ogden’s most attractive apologia for process theism is probably "Toward a New Theism."111 In it he observes that the basic claim of secular man is the refusal "to consent to that traditional interpretation of the world as a shadow-screen of unreality, masking or concealing the eternal which is the only true reality."112 The basic claim of Christianity is that God genuinely affects and is affected by this temporal world. Ogden then argues that, ironically, modern secularism cannot consistently maintain the secular claim, and classical theism cannot consistently express the Christian affirmation. But process theology, he contends, can coherently and completely express the essential claims of each.

Two other articles by Ogden suggest the relevance of process theology to the analysis of religious language. In "Myth and Truth" he maintains that the truth of mythical utterances can be shown only by restating them in nonmythical terms.113 Yet adequately to demythologize Christian myths will require not just any nonmythological language but one, such as process philosophy provides, which can do justice to the biblical view of God. In "Theology and Objectivity" Ogden holds that theological language, though different from that of science, is objectifying because it is both cognitive and subject to rational assessment and justification.114 Of course, this view assumes the possibility of metaphysics, a possibility now generally denied. But what is usually overlooked, says Ogden, is that the recent development of process philosophy radically alters the situation in current philosophical thinking. Moreover, this development is a tremendous boon to theology, for Hartshorne and Whitehead have revised metaphysical thinking at precisely the points where heretofore it was found seriously at odds with Christian faith.115 Indeed Ogden claims in his review of Hartshorne’s Logic of Perfection that process philosophy is "a generalization of basic principles whose decisive historical representation is undoubtedly the Hebrew-Christian Scripture."116 Nevertheless he believes that Hartshorne’s arguments for God’s existence are fully relevant to those outside these traditions because these arguments appeal to faith assumptions which are neutral, that is, aspects of general secular experience.

Ogden has himself formulated a ‘neutral" argument for theism in the title essay of The Reality of God.117 Here he defines God as "the objective ground in reality itself of our ineradicable confidence in the final worth of our existence." In the crucial portion of his argument Ogden seeks to demonstrate that a consistent denial of life’s ultimate significance is wholly impossible, and therefore that a denial of the objective ground of this significance is equally untenable.118 Thus Ogden concludes that "for the secular man of today . . . faith in God cannot but be real because it is in the last analysis unavoidable."

The idea that any philosophy can be based upon neutral grounds marks the point where John B. Cobb, Jr. differs from both Ogden and Hartshorne. More than they, Cobb is profoundly influenced by the problem of historical relativism and its contemporary derivation, the death-of-God theology. In Whitehead’s philosophical achievement Cobb sees a way to take relativism seriously and to transform it.

Cobb’s treatment of relativism is perhaps best epitomized in his essay, "From Crisis Theology to the Post-Modern World."119 Here he pictures man as having either to accept the modern world and "live the death of God" it implies, or to refuse modernity and isolate his faith to preserve it. For theology the former is impossible, but given the reality of relativism so is the latter. Perhaps the first step toward recovery is to recognize that our sense of what relativism implies, namely the death of God, is also historically conditioned. If other options than this one should be opened to us, arbitrarily to reject them would be to absolutize the very relative sense of God’s absence. And other alternatives are evolving, fully as modern as the one that so dominates us now. We can and indeed we must share in their development, even without certainty of where they will lead us. Obviously, to take this course is doubly insecure, for it involves wresting ourselves from the authority of both past forms of Christianity and present forms of modernity.

Whitehead’s philosophy is one of these developing, new alternatives. What is appealing in it is its full acknowledgment of its own relativity. All reality is experience from a finite perspective; hence, all reality is relative. Indeed, it is quite impossible to demonstrate the truth of any one apprehension of reality. But there is a reality, one "to which our opinions correspond more or less well." Relativism itself is therefore relative. Even more important for current theology, the very ontology that is modern in its openness to historical relativism requires also, on purely philosophical grounds, the existence of a God who is very much alive and who is fully as personal as the God of Christian faith.

In "Christianity and Myth" Cobb again considers the possibility of Christian theism for the modern mind.120 The profane spirit of contemporary man finds it impossible to talk about some "reality radically different from all other reality . . .," i.e., to speak mythically. But Whitehead’s metaphysics is in this sense also profane. In it there are no degrees of being: "all reality is on the same level, however diverse its forms may be." Nevertheless, even though it is expressive of this profane consciousness, process philosophy is able to speak of God — a God indeed who has surprisingly much "in common with the God of the New Testament."

Cobb believes that Whitehead’s philosophy is modern in its acceptance of relativism and post-modern in its avoidance of nihilism.121 In addition he is convinced of its internal coherence and its faithfulness to experience. These are high recommendations for any philosophy, but what have they to do with theology? In Living Options in Protestant Theology,122 Cobb attempts to show that every Christian theology makes assumptions about the nature of reality which are not given in faith itself.123 Must systematic theology therefore begin by justifying those assumptions through a philosophical consideration of neutral or generally accessible facts, as traditional natural theologies have claimed to do? The reality of historical relativism raises doubt that any strictly neutral starting point is possible. What is therefore necessary, according to Cobb, is a Christian natural theology: a coherent statement about the nature of reality that recognizes its interpretation of the facts to be decisively conditioned by the Christian tradition, yet remains content to rest its case upon purely philosophical criteria of truth.124 Cobb offers such a statement in his important book, A Christian Natural Theology.

A Christian Natural Theology explains and defends Whitehead’s thought philosophically, and it contributes to current scholarly debates on the interpretation of Whitehead, as we have already seen.125 Its main purpose though is to illustrate how Christian thinking is uniquely possible within the framework of process philosophy. Thus in chapters two and three Cobb develops a Whiteheadian anthropology expressive, he says, of the Christian view of man. In the interests of both philosophical rigor and his own Christian perceptions, Cobb expands and corrects the Whiteheadian doctrine of God in chapter five. In chapter six Cobb discusses the various modes of Christian religious experience conceivable in process thought. He concludes his effort with an analytical yet remarkably personal chapter on the theological method underlying the book.126

What William Christian’s Interpretation has been to the philosophical debate on Whitehead’s theology, John Cobb’s Natural Theology is becoming to Christian assessments of Whitehead. It is a creative achievement in its own right, and on many issues it has already established a consensus. But it also is proving to be a powerful impetus to further discussion and to additional development in Christian process theology.

The work of Williams, Ogden, and Cobb on the doctrine of God has been supplemented by that of other theologians. In four recent essays, for example, Walter E. Stokes, S.J., has maintained that Thomism would be enriched greatly by taking seriously Whitehead’s insistence upon God’s freedom and his real relatedness to the world.127 Stokes, contrary to most Whiteheadians, is convinced that classical theism contains within itself the resources for affirming these doctrines. Lie claims that reemphasizing Augustine’s notion of freedom would produce a Thomistic conception of God more consistent with St. Thomas’s own Christian intent and parallel to the view of Whitehead. Equally important is the work of an Anglican priest and mathematician, Peter Hamilton. His book The Living God and the Modern World is an engaging treatment of several Christian themes from the vantage point of process philosophy. It deals with Christology and the doctrine of God, as well as prayer, the resurrection, heaven, etc. and it provides a general introduction to Whitehead’s thought.128 The Task of Philosophical Theology by C. J. Curtis, a Lutheran theologian, is a process exposition of numerous "theological notions" important to the "conservative, traditional" Christian viewpoint.129 Two very fine semi-popular introductions to process philosophy as a context for Christian theology are The Creative Advance by E. H. Peters130 and Process Thought and Christian Faith by Norman Pittenger.131 The latter, reflecting the concerns of a theologian, provides a concise introduction to the process view of God together with briefer comments on man, Christ, and "eternal life." Peters’s book, more philosophically oriented, is a lucid, accurate and balanced account, and is enhanced by Hartshorne’s concluding comments. Finally, in Science, Secularization and God Kenneth Cauthen seeks to show how a version of process theology (drawn from Brightman, Tillich and Teilhard, as well as Whitehead) can positively relate the creative and redemptive God of Christianity to "currents springing from science and secularization."132

Two other books relate the process concept of God to evolutionary theory. Nature and God by L. Charles Birch, a biologist, is an attractive work for the sophisticated layman.133 Richard H. Overman’s Evolution and the Christian Doctrine of Creation is more extensive. It is a perceptive and original study which, in a key section, defends in Whiteheadian terms the neo-Lamarckian notion that "all new patterns of efficient causation in animal bodies can be traced to some reaction influenced by final causation."134 The book’s general aim is to show how a Whiteheadian perspective can unite the conclusions of science and the biblical concept of God as creator and sustainer.

Although the doctrine of God was their initial concern, process theologians have begun also to deal with other Christian beliefs. We shall examine two of these: Christology and the concept of man.

Using as his criterion the biblical doctrine of the Incarnation, Thomas Ogletree recently issued a positive evaluation of process thought. "Bipolar theism," he judged, is "relevant to the attempt to think about God Christologically" because it "seems to express the understanding of God that is implied in the distinctive logic of the Christian confession of Christ."135 Actually, process theology has been deemed adequate to express a variety of Christological formulations. Lionel Thornton’s early statement was highly supernaturalistic.136 Charles Hartshorne briefly suggested a more naturalistic Christology: "Jesus appears to be the supreme symbol furnished to us by history of the notion of a God genuinely and literally ‘sympathetic’ (incomparably more literally than any man ever is), receiving into his own experience the sufferings as well as the joys of the world."137

Yet another process Christology was developed by Norman Pittenger in The Word Incarnate. Pittenger shows how, using process categories, one may affirm Jesus’ divinity without thereby contradicting his full humanity. He writes, Jesus "is that One in whom God actualized in a living human personality the potential God-man relationship which is the divinely intended truth about every man. . . . Thus the Incarnation of God in Christ is the focal point of the divine action vis-a-vis humanity. . . ." Pittenger’s additional opinion, allowed but not required by process philosophy, is that "the difference between our Lord and all other instances of divine operation in manhood is of immeasurable degree, not of absolute kind."138

Pittenger’s understanding of the relation of God’s action in Jesus to other divine actions is basically shared by Schubert Ogden. According to Ogden, God’s general activity as Creator and redeemer is literally the ground and destiny of every historical event.139 But some particular events are properly viewed as special acts of God. They decisively represent God’s general activity through symbolic words and deeds. Since these special events must be received and understood as being revelatory, there is of course a subjective element in revelation. But there is an objective element too, for "an event is a decisive revelation of God only insofar as it truly represents God’s being and action as existential gift and demand."

While the special and revelatory character of God’s act in Jesus is clearly objective in Ogden’s view, the uniqueness of this event as compared to other special events is subjective and a matter of degree.140 The position of Peter Hamilton is somewhat similar in this regard, although Hamilton does introduce additional process categories into this Christological analysis. He explains the "christness" of Jesus in terms of the "unreserved" prehensive interrelationship of Jesus and God, and Jesus’ adherence to God’s initial aim for him: "as Jesus intensified his obedience to the call from God, so . . . God was supremely, yet objectively, immanent in Jesus."141 Despite these additional features, for "strong religious reasons" Hamilton declines to "affirm a difference in kind between Jesus and other men."142

The objective uniqueness of Jesus becomes clearly affirmed in an essay by David Griffin. Fundamental to Griffin’s analysis is Whitehead’s concept of the ideal aim — in the case of Jesus a peculiar ideal aim which (a) purposes the optimal expression of God’s being, and (b) is optimally actualized in Jesus.143 It is John Cobb, however, who most elaborately works out the concept of Jesus’ uniqueness. Cobb discusses the person, the presence, and the work of Christ. Analyzing the person of Christ, Cobb builds upon the Whiteheadian doctrine that one entity may be prehensively present in another without displacing its individuality.144 In this respect God is present in all actual occasions. But God’s presence in Jesus was unique in four ways. First, the content of God’s initial aim for Jesus was radically unique. Second, Jesus’ adherence to that aim was peculiarly complete. Third, the divine aim for Jesus intended that the source of that aim i.e., God as a concrete entity, be prehended in addition to its content. Finally, "and most uniquely," this prehension of God as God was not experienced as one prehension among others to be synthesized along with them; instead it "constituted in Jesus the center from which everything else in his psychic life was integrated."

Cobb marshals an elaborate argument to demonstrate the possibility of the presence of Christ in the lives of believers.145 He begins by contending for "the causal efficacy of past events for the present." Then he claims that, despite our Newtonian bias to the contrary, no a priori reason precludes the direct — and even consciously entertained — causal presence of the distant past in the present.146 Nor is there any greater philosophical difficulty in conceiving of the direct prehension of the experiences of other persons in the remote past. Our experiences of suddenly remembering events long forgotten, as well as alleged instances of mental telepathy between persons who are contemporaries, render such relationships a little less incredible. Hence, however, strange, it is entirely possible that "Jesus is immediately and effectively present" in the lives of some Christians.

Cobb’s analysis of the work of Christ is original, indeed astonishing.147 It includes a psycho-ontological comparison of the evolved structures of human existence — primitive, civilized and axial, and a differentiation of the basic forms of axial existence — Indian, Greek, Hebrew, and Christian. The structure of existence actualized in Jesus is defined as "spiritual existence that expresses itself in love."148 In spiritual existence the "I" accepts responsibility for what it does, but also for what it is, knowing that it "need not remain itself but can, instead, always transcend itself."9 Christian existence, in this view, surpasses other forms of existence, transforming the spiritual values they achieve into a still higher synthesis. A part of Christ’s finality, therefore, is the unique and unsurpassable structure of existence he accomplished.

A different approach to Christology appears in Don S. Browning’s Psychotherapy and Atonement.150 Browning seeks to justify and to practice the procedure of illuminating Christian doctrines of the atonement with findings from psychotherapy. The crucial role of acceptance in psychotherapy raises the question of the real or ontological acceptability of the client. Therapeutic acceptance, Browning contends, has its ground in the divine acceptance universally present to man at a prereflective level of experience and specially manifest in Jesus Christ. Dorothy Emmet’s Whiteheadian epistemology is employed for explicating the mode in which this divine acceptance is universally intuited, and Hartshorne’s doctrine of God is used to elaborate the ontological grounding of that acceptance. Thus all healing, whether atonement or psychotherapy, is fundamentally related, and Browning can use insights provided by each to evaluate and illuminate theories about the other.

What emerges in Browning’s book is a process analysis of man and sin, as well as a Christology. The image of God in man is the universal, prerational givenness of God’s "unconditioned empathic acceptance" in human experience. Sin, thus, is turning away from this inward reality to outward and conditional bases for one’s worth. The incarnation is necessary since no sinner can "witness unambiguously to the justitia originalis of another sinner." Jesus is the Christ because his own self-concept conformed completely to the primordial, divine acceptance, and his atoning work is his unambiguous mediation of that acceptance already present to us, but ignored or rejected, in the depth of our life.

John Cobb, too, has discussed aspects of the nature of man, such as freedom, responsibility, and sin, from a Whiteheadian point of view.151 Like existentialism, he writes, process thought makes subjective categories central to the analysis of man, and it understands subjectivity to be "in a very important sense causa sui," that is, self-determinative. Unlike existentialism, however, freedom is placed in the context of personal development and social relationships and is seen as being confronted by an objective oughtness derived from God. Sin consequently is "the self-determination of the actual occasion in such a way as to inhibit the actualization of God’s aim for that individual."152

George Allan has argued that God provides aims to human societies as well as to individuals.153 The elements of purposive activity which characterize men singly, according to Allan, also characterize institutions. Societies thus have ends and norms influenced by, but not reducible to, those of their members, and vice versa. The relationship of individuals to societies is one of interdependence. From a Whiteheadian viewpoint, the reality of collective purposes implies that God has aims for nations and institutions as well as for individuals, as the Hebrews insisted. Furthermore, the interdependence of parts and wholes suggests that conformity to the divine will at one level affects that at the other. The salvation of the individual therefore depends in part upon the salvation of society.

The question of man’s ultimate destiny is another aspect of the doctrine of man. The minimal claim of process thought is that "by reason of the relativity of all things" each actual entity is preserved everlastingly in the divine experience.154 "God is immortal," Hartshorne writes, "and whatever becomes an element in the life of God is therefore imperishable . . . I think the idea of omniscience implies that we have such an abiding presence in the mind of God."155 Peter Hamilton holds the same view, and from it he draws three implications:156 First, while human occasions possess greater significance due to their capacity for a conscious relationship with God, in some measure all entities contribute everlastingly to the divine life. Second, each moment of our lives makes its positive or negative contribution to God immediately upon its occurrence, as well as through the cumulative reality we call the "I." Third, since God’s consequent nature "passes back into the temporal world and qualifies this world,"157 our lives, being elements in God, also "reach back to influence the world" even apart from our direct social immortality.

Hamilton personally is dubious about subjective immortality, i.e., the continuation of the present stream of consciousness beyond death. But he does not deny it as a logical possibility.158 John Cobb has sought to defend at least the credibility of subjective immortality against criticisms from anthropology and cosmology.159 The anthropological objection is that the soul or mind cannot exist apart from the body. Process thought concedes that no entity can exist independently of all societal relationships. But this fact, Cobb notes, would not prevent the psyche from existing apart from the bodily society over which at present it presides. Moreover, the psyche "is the truly personal, the true subject." The continuation of the psyche, therefore, would be the continuation of the person even though in a radically different environment. The cosmological objection stems from the difficulty of conceiving a "place" for the soul’s continual existence. Cobb’s response is that this problem stems primarily from an outmoded Newtonianism which assumes that all space-time is similar to our own. For process philosophy however space-time is derivative from the relatedness of actual occasions. Diverse forms of relatedness would produce different spatio-temporal dimensions. Hence there may be forms of relatedness other than the four-dimensional system we know. We can but vaguely conceive of them, and from our perspective we are perhaps incapable of describing their relationship to our own space-time continuum. But at least they are possible.

The development of process theology from Whitehead’s cautious speculation on religion and theology to the current scene is impressive. Indeed the growing quantity of process literature is quite astounding.

Between 1960 and mid-1965, for example, about thirty-five articles and books appeared in English on the topic of process theology. Over four times that number appeared in the following five years. It is hardly less evident that the diversity and sophistication of this movement in theology has increased too. Studies continue to appear examining process theism vis-a-vis biology and physics, art and culture, analytic philosophy and existentialism. Christian proponents continue to deepen their treatments of the entire spectrum of doctrine, and the variation in their views, for example on Christology, reveals both the inherent openness of Whiteheadian categories to manifold Christian sensibilities and the diversity of the theological movement which utilizes these modes of thought. Indeed, except for neo-Thomism, process theology is the oldest, strongest and most sophisticated movement in contemporary theology.

While such considerations bear somewhat on the question of worth, the crucial issue is whether process theology is adequate — adequate to the requirement of logical coherence, and to the demands of modern religious perceptions, Christian and otherwise. On the question of coherence, some old problems remain and some new ones appear. What is important here is that process thinkers by and large see the difficulties, often functioning as their own best critics. The other question — whether process theology is able adequately to illumine religious perceptions that are at once faithfully modern and authentically Christian — is more difficult to answer. The meaning of modernity is unsettled and the criteria of theological adequacy vary. But judgment, however tentative, is surely possible. To facilitate such a judgment is in part the aim of this book.

 

NOTES:

1. Susan Stebbing, review of Religion in the Making, Journal of Philosophical Studies, 11(1927), 238.

2. F.J. Sheen, "Professor Whitehead and the Making of Religion," The New Scholasticism, 1, 2 (April 1927), 147-162.

3. Time and Western Man, (London: Ghatto and Windus, 1927).

4. "Equivocation on Religious Issues," The Journal of Religion, XIV, 4 (April 1934), 412-427.

5. "A.N. Whitehead and Science," The New Humanist, VII, 5 (Autumn 1934), 1-7.

6. The Christian Century, XLIII, 14 (April 8, 1926), 448-449.

7. Especially important were Henry Bergson, Creative Evolution (1907); Samuel Alexander, Space, Time and Deity (1920); C. Lloyd Morgan, Emergent Evolution (1923), Life, Mind and Spirit (1926]; Jan C. Smuts, Holism and Evolution (1926).

8. London: Macmillan, 1934.

9. London: Longmans, Green, 1928.

10. "Professor Whitehead’s Concept of God," The Hibbert Journal, XXV, 4 (1927), 623-630.

11. See Bernard E. Meland, "Evolution and the Imagery of Religious Thought: From Darwin to Whitehead," in this volume and originally published in The Journal of Religion, XL, 4 (October 1960), 229-245.

12. New York, 1927. In his first book, Religious Experience and Scientific Method (1926), Wieman had already begun to make use of Whitehead’s philosophy as expressed in The Concept of Nature.

13. The Wrestle of Religion with Truth, 15.

14. lbid.. 185.

15. H. N. Wieman and B. E. Meland, American Philosophies of Religion (New York: Willett, Clark, 1936), 229-241.

16. "A Waste We Cannot Afford," Unitarian Universalist Register-Leader, CXLIII, 9 (November 1962) 11-13.

17. Edwin E. Aubrey, Present Theological Tendencies, (New York: Harper and Brothers), 1936), 187; C. C. Morrison, "Thomism and the Re-birth of Protestant Theology," Christendom, II, 1 (Winter 1937), 110-125; Randolph Cramp Miller, "Theology In Transition," The Journal of Religion XX, 2 (April 1940), 160-168; Eugene W. Lyman, The Meaning and Truth of Religion (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1933), 269-283.

18. J. S. Bixler, "Whitehead’s Philosophy of Religion" and Charles Hartshorne, "Whitehead’s Idea of God," in The Philosophy of Alfred North Whitehead, Paul A. Schilpp, ed. (New York: Tudor Company, 1941).

19. George A. Buttrick, Prayer (New York: Abingdon-Cokesbury, 1942), 59.

20. John A. O’Brien, "‘God’ in Whitehead’s Philosophy: A Strange New ‘Deity’," The American Ecclesiastical Review, CX (June 1944), 444-450.

21. New York: Macmillan, 1929, pp. 25-27.

22. Madison: The University of Wisconsin Press, 1942.

23. The Review of Religion, VII, 4 (May 1943), 409-415.

24. "Ely on Whitehead’s God," The Journal of Religion, XXIV, 3 (July 1944), 162-179. Reprinted in this volume.

25. For a brief but accurate summary of Hartshorne’s philosophy, see Andrew I. Reck, "The Philosophy of Charles Hartshorne," Studies in Whitehead’s Philosophy, Tulane Studies in Philosophy, Vol. X (New Orleans: Tulane University, 1961). For a more recent and much more complete treatment, see Ralph E. James, The Concrete God (Indianapolis: Hobbs-Merrill, 1967).

26. The Philosophy and Psychology of Sensation (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1934).

27. Chicago: Willett, Clark, 1937. See also "Ethics and the New Theology," The International Journal of Ethics, XLV, 1 (October 1934), 90-101; and "The New Pantheism," The Christian Register, CXV, 6 (February 20, 1936), 119-120 and 9 (February 27, 1936), 141-143.

28. "Redefining God." The New Humanist, VII, 4 (July-August, 1934), 6-15.

29. "Hartshorne’s "Panpsychism" in A History of Philosophical Systems, V. Ferrn (ed.) (New York: Philosophical Library, 1950) traces the history of panpsychism and presents Hartshorne’s view of it. See also Chapter 11, "Mind and Matter," of Beyond Humanism.

30. "Is Whitehead’s God the God of Religion?" Ethics, LIII, 3 (April 1943), 219- 227; and "Whitehead’s Idea of God," The Journal of Religion, V. 1 (Summer 1943), 55.

31. "Is Whitehead’s God the God of Religion?" 219.

32. Man’s Vision of God and the Logic of Theism, (Chicago: Willett, Clark. 1941). An abridged version of Chapter 1 is reprinted in this volume.

33. The Divine Relativity: A Social Conception of God (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1948).

34. Charles Hartshorne and William L. Reese, Philosophers Speak of God (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1953).

35. The Journal of Religion, XXII, 1 (January 1942), 96-99.

36. Christianity and Society, VII, 2 (1942), 43-44.

37. "Three Levels at Persuasiveness," Christendom, VII, 1 (Winter 1942). 102-104.

38. The Review of Religion, VI, 4 (May 1942), 443-448.

39. The Journal of Religion, XXVIII, 4 (October 1948), 242-234.

40. New York: Harper & Brothers, 1949; revised edition, 1965. Chapter 5 is reprinted in this volume.

41. Page 42.

42. "Neo-Naturalism and Neo-Orthodoxy," The Journal of Religion, XXVIII, 2 (April 1948), 79-91.

43. The Journal of Religion, XXIX, 3 (July 1949), 181-203. Reprinted in this volume.

44. "God, the Unlimited Companion," The Christian Century, LIX, 42 (October 21, 1942), 1289-1290.

45. "The Religious Availability of a Philosopher’s God," Christendom, VIII, 4 (Autumn 1943), 495-502. "The Genius of Protestantism," The Journal of Religion, XXVII, 4 (October 1947), 273-292. Seeds of Redemption (New York: Macmillan, 1947). The Reawakening of Christian Faith (New York: Macmillan, 1949).

46. See especially Higher Education and the Human Spirit (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1953) and Faith and Culture (New York: Oxford University Press, 1953).

47. "The Genius of Protestantism," 290.

48. Ibid. and The Reawakening of Christian Faith, 91.

49. Gerhard Spiegler, "Ground-Task-End of Theology in the Thought of Bernard E. Meland," Criterion, III, 3 (Summer 1964), 34.

50. In addition to the works of Hartshorne and Christian, the following are major studies of Whitehead’s general philosophy published since 1950 which include extensive discussions of Whitehead’s idea of God: A. H. Johnson, Whitehead’s Theory of Reality (Boston: Beacon, 1952; New York: Dover, 1962). A. H. Johnson, Whitehead’s Philosophy of Civilization (Boston: Beacon, 1958; New York: Dover, 1962). Ivor Leclerc, Whitehead’s Metaphysics: An Introductory Exposition (New York: Macmillan, 1958). Wolfe Mays, The Philosophy of Whitehead (London: George Allen and Unwin, 1959; New York: Collier Books, 1962). Dorothy Emmett, Whitehead’s Philosophy of Organism (London: Macmillan, 1932; New York: St. Martin’s, 1966). Victor Lowe, Understanding Whitehead (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press, 1962); Edward Pots, Whitehead’s Metaphysics: A Critical Examination of Process and Reality (Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 1967). Martin Jordan, New Shapes of Reality: Aspects of A. N. Whitehead’s Philosophy (London: George Allen and Unwin, 1968). Alix Parmentier, La Philosophie de Whitehead et le Probleme de Dieu (Paris: Beauchesne, 1968).

Several relevant essays appear in the following symposia: Paul A. Schilpp, ed., The Philosophy of Alfred North Whitehead (New York: Tudor, 1951). Ivor Leclerc, ed., The Relevance of Whitehead (New York: Macmillan, 1961). Studies in Whitehead’s Philosophy, Tulane Studies in Philosophy, Vol. X (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1961). George L. Kline, ed., Alfred North Whitehead: Essays on His Philosophy (Englewood Cliffs: Prentice Hal], 1963). William L. Reese and Eugene Freeman, eds., Process and Divinity (LaSalle, Ill.: Open Court, 1964). The Christian Scholar, L, 3 (Fall 1967), The Southern Journal of Philosophy, 7, 4 (Winter 1969-1970).

See also Donald W. Sherburne, ed., A Key to Whitehead’s Process and Reality (New York: Macmillan, 1966), an invaluable systematic presentation of the most important sections at Whitehead’s magnum opus.

51. For statements since 1950, see passim, Reality As Social Process (Glencoe:

The Free Press, and Boston: Beacon Press, 1953); Philosophers Speak of God, edited with William L. Reese (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1953); The Logic of Perfection (LaSalle: Open Court, 1962); Anselm’s Discovery (LaSalle: Open Court, 19651; A Natural Theology for Our Time (LaSalle: Open Court, 1967).

52. See The Logic of Perfection, chap. two, and Anselm’s Discovery, part one; cf. also A Natural Theology, chaps. 2-4.

53. The literature relative to Hartshorne’s argument is sizable. See the critical reviews by John Cobb in Religion in Life, XXXII, 2 (Spring 1963), 294-304; Julian Hartt in The Review of Metaphysics, XVI, 4 (Jane 1963), 747-769; John Hick in Theology Today, XX, 2 (July 1963), 295-298; and H. W. Johnstone in The Journal of Philosophy, XL, 16 (August 1, 1963), 467-472. Cf. also articles by I. N. Findlay and F. B. Fitch in Reese and Freeman, Process and Divinity, 515-527 and 529-532, respectively; J. Hick in Hick and A. C. McGill, eds. The Many-faced Argument (New York: Macmillan 1967), 341-356; J. 0. Nelson in The Review of Metaphysics, XVII, 2 (December 1963), 235-242; David Platt in The Journal of Bible and Religion, XXXIV, 3 (July 1966), 244-252 J. E. Smith in The Chicago Theological Seminary Register, LIII, 5 (May 1963), 41-43; and R. J. Wood in The Journal of Religion, XLVI, 4 (October 1966), 477-490; and David A. Pailin, "Some Comments on Hartshorne’s Presentation of the Ontological Argument," Religious Studies, 4, 1 (October 1968), 103-122. Also important are Hartshorne’s responses to Hartt in The Review of Metaphysics, XVII, 2 [December 1963), 289-295; to Hick in Theology Today, XX, 2 (July 1963), 278-283; and to Nelson in The Review of Metaphysics, XVII, 4 (June 1964), 608f. (See also next footnote).

54. See R. L. Purtill’s critique, "Hartshorne’s Model Proof," The Journal of Philosophy, LXII, 4 (July 14, 1966), 397-409; and Hartshorne’s reply, "Necessity," The Review of Metaphysics, XXI, 2 (December 1967), 290-296, plus the rejoinder (297- 307) and surrejoinder (308f.).

55. In Process and Divinity, 471-492.

56. "Religion of Order or Religion of Chaos?", Religion in Life, XXXV, 3 (Summer 1966), 433-449.

57. In Process and Divinity, 181-203.

58. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1959, 1967.

59. Process and Reality, An Essay in Cosmology 47, 54, 137, 531.

60. An Interpretation of Whitehead’s Metaphysics, 393; cf. also pp. 13, 298, 409f., 411. A. H. Johnson, while conceding its difficulties, had held the same view (see Whitehead’s Theory of Reality, 69.).

61. The Journal of Philosophy, LVII, 4 (February 18, 1960), 138-143. For Hartshorne’s statement see "Whitehead’s Novel Intuition" in George L. Kline, ed. Alfred North Whitehead: Essays on His Philosophy (Englewood Cliffs: Prentice-Hall, 1963), 23. This view is also favored by D. Emmett, Whitehead’s Philosophy of Organism, p. xxxiii.

62. A Christian Natural Theology (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1965), 188- 192.

63. "Boethius and Whitehead on Time and Eternity," International Philosophical Quarterly, VIII, 1 (March 1968), 65 (cf. pp. 63-67). For a more extensive argument that objectification does not require perishing see Ford’s essay, "Whitehead’s Conception of Divine Spatiality," Southern Journal of Philosophy, VI, I (Spring 1968), 8, 9.

64. "Boethius and Whitehead," 65f.

65. We wish to acknowledge here our special debt to Lewis S. Ford for his contribution to our discussion of this issue, though responsibility for the final formulation must remain our own.

66. "A Question from Physics far Certain Theists," The Journal of Religion, XLI, 4 (October 1961), 293-300.

67. An Interpretation of Whitehead’s Metaphysics, 286-289, 294-300, 393-396. Cf. Wilcox, 299.

68. Wilcox, 299. More recently Lewis Ford challenged Christian at a different point, arguing that if God physically prehends the world, God must occupy spatio-temporal regions because "every physical prehension necessarily includes some extensive standpoint." See Ford, "Divine Spatiality," 7.

69. See Sidney and Beatrice Rome, eds. Philosophical Interrogations (New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1964), 324f; and Hartshorne, A Natural Theology for Our Time, 93-95.

70. 0p. cit., 86.

71. 192-196.

72. "Whitehead Without God," The Christian Scholar, L, 3 (FaIl 1967), 257-264; reprinted in this volume, pp. 311-320.

73. Op. cit., 4-6.

74. Ford, "Is Process Theism Compatible with Relativity Theory?" The Journal of Religion, 48, 2 (April 1968), 124-135 (esp. 127ff.).

75. "Divine Spatiality," loc. cit.

76. "Evil and Unlimited Power," The Review of Metaphysics, XX, 2 (December 1966), 278-289; reprinted in P. H. Hare and E. H. Madden. Evil and the Concept of God (Springfield: Chas. C. Thomas, 1967), chap 6.

77. ‘The Dipolar Conception of Deity," The Review of Metaphysics, XXI, 2 (December 1967), esp. 282-289.

78. "Divine Persuasion and the Triumph of Good," The Christian Scholar, L. 3 (Fall 1967), 235-260; reprinted in this volume.

79. "Ford, "Divine Persuasion," loc. cit.; Peter Hamilton, The Living God and the Modern World (London: Hodder arid Stoughton, 1967), 97-108; and John Cobb, A Christian Natural Theology, 218-220.

80. "Hence the observation of Colin Wilson: "Whitehead has created his own kind of existentialism." Wilson adds, ". . . and it is fuller and more adequate than that of any continental thinker." See Religion and the Rebel (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1957), 317.

81. That which God pursues, Whitehead calls "beauty" which includes "goodness and "truth." The unique, trans-aesthetic meaning Whitehead attaches to "beauty" has caused much misunderstanding of his value theory. Excellent explanations are provided by Ford, "Divine Persuasion," 240-248, and Cobb, A Christian Natural Theology, 98-113.

82. This is Whitehead’s doctrine of "the kingdom of heaven." See Ford, ibid., 250, and Cobb’s discussion of "peace," ibid., 131-134 and 220-223.

83. See Hartshorne’s "The Dipolar Conception at Deity," 285.

84. "Divine Persuasion," 237.

85. The Review of Metaphysics, XIX, 3 (March 1966), 550-564.

86. "The Dipolar Conception of Deity," 273-281.

87. Hartshorne views the interrelationship as follows: Our present moment of existence is dependent upon God’s abstract character of inevitably knowing whatever exists, but not vice versa. God’s concrete knowing of our present existence is dependent upon our present existence, but not vice versa. See ibid., 277f.

88. "Whitehead on the One and the Many," The Southern Journal of Philosophy, 7, 4 (Winter 1969-1970), 387-393; God the Creator (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1968), esp. chaps. 3, 5 and 7.

89. "Neoclassical Theology and Christianity: A Critical Study of Ogden’s Reality of God," International Philosophical Quarterly. IX, 4 (December 1969), 605-624.

90. God the Creator, op. cit., 78.

91. "Neoclassical Theology and Christianity," op. cit., 618.

92. A Christian Natural Theology, op. cit., 203-214; see this volume, pp. 235-343.

93. "God and Creativity," The Southern Journal of Philosophy, 7, 4, (Winter 1969-1970), 377-385.

94. Renewed discussions regarding the explanatory function of the principle of creativity have implications for understanding God’s creative role. Charles Hartshorne and William Christian take a minimal view of the explanatory power of creativity in Whitehead’s metaphysics. Hartshorne (in "Whitehead on Process," Philosophy and Phenomenological Research, XVIII, 2 [June 1958], 517) regards creativity as a concept" referring to "agency as such." Christian takes creativity to be the flame for a general fact, namely that the universe is made up of novel concrescences" (in Interpretation, op. cit., 403) and proposes to translate statements about creativity into statements about individual actual entities ("Some Uses of Reason" in I. Leclerc, ed., The Relevance of Whitehead, op. cit., and "The Concept of God as a Derivative Notion," op. cit.). With this view of creativity, the possibility of ascribing to God a uniquely creative role, as for example Cobb does, would seem to be increased.

A contrasting view, which maximizes the explanatory role of creativity and by implication diminishes the role of God, is that of Walter E. Stokes, S. J. and William Garland. Garland rejects Christian’s view and argues that creativity is a unique kind of explanation, the "ultimate explanation" of the world’s unity and ongoingness ("The Ultimacy of Creativity," The Southern Journal of Philosophy, 7, 4 [Winter 1969-1970], 361-376). Stokes moves exceedingly close to Neville’s description of Being-Itself when he characterizes creativity as "indeterminate [having] no character of its own," yet possessing a fundamental(reality not reducible to the characteristics of the actual entities ("Recent Interpretations of Whitehead’s Creativity," The Modern Schoolman, XXXIX, 2 [May 1962], 32sf. and 329).

95. See, e.g., Reeves, "God and Creativity," op. cit., 383f. and Garland, "The Ultimacy of Creativity," op. cit., 367f.

96. "Whitehead on the One and the Many," op. cit., 393. For an enlightening discussion of the problem of the one and the many as it is treated in Greek and medieval philosophy and in Whitehead, see Ivor Leclerc, "Whitehead and the Problem of God," The Southern Journal of Philosophy, 7, 4 (Winter 1969-1970), 447-455.

97. Precisely this point is raised by Lewis Ford in his recent review of Neville’s God the Creator in Journal of the American Academy of Religion, XXXVIII, 2 (June 1970), 217-219.

98. Op. cit., 251-272; enlarged and reprinted in this volume.

99. One description of these "other grounds" was recently provided by David Hall in "The Autonomy of Religion in Whitehead’s Philosophy," Philosophy Today, XIII, 4 (Winter 1969), 271-283. While not denying the systematic possibility of a "naturalized" Whiteheadian metaphysics, Hall argues that Whitehead grounds rational religion in distinctive aspects of experience which cannot be reduced to ethical modalities, as Sherburne suggests, without greatly impoverishing "the sources of thought, action and feeling to which civilized men refer for self-understanding."

100. The Realities of Faith (New York: Oxford University Press, 1962); The Secularization of Modern Cultures (New York: Oxford University Press, 1966). Much of Meland’s recent thought is briefly summarized in "Analogy and Myth in Postliberal Theology," The Perkins School of Theology Journal, XV, 2 (Winter 1962), 19-27, reprinted in this volume. See also "The Structure of Christian Faith," Religion in Life, XXXVII, 4 (Winter 1968), 551-562.

The aesthetic side of Whitehead’s thought is developed by others too. See, e.g., Ralph Norman, "Steam, Barbarism and Dialectic: Notations on Proof and Sensibility," The Christian Scholar, L, 3 (Fall 1967), 184-196; Stanley R. Hopper, "Whitehead: Redevivus? or Absconditus?" in W. A. Beardslee, ed. America and the Future of Theology (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1967), 112-126; and Colin Wilson, Religion and the Rebel, 303-318. In a nice comparison of process thought and the death-of-God movement, Richard E. Weingart calls for a similar development of process theology; see "Process or Deicide?" Encounter, XXIX, 2 (Spring 1968), 149-157.

101. "How Is Culture a Source for Theology?" Criterion, III, 3 (Summer 1964), 10.

102. In Leclerc, ed. The Relevance of Whitehead, 353-372.

103. In Reese and Freeman, eds. Process and Divinity, 161-180.

104. New York: Harper and Row, 1968.

105. John B. Cobb, Jr., "A Process Systematic Theology," The Journal of Religion, 50, 2 (April 1970), 199-206.

106. In Reese and Freeman, eds., 493-513.

107. See Ogden, The Reality of God and Other Essays (New York: Harper and Row, 1966), 16-20. This analysis of the roots of current disbelief is challenged by Langdon Gilkey, "A Theology in Process," Interpretation, XXI, 4 (October 1967), 448-450, and by Shirley C. Guthrie, Jr., "Theology and Metaphysics," in Wm. A. Beardslee, ed., America and the Future of Theology, 1281.

108. Journal of Religion, XLIII, 1 (January 1963), 1-19; reprinted in The Reality of God, 164-187.

109. Religion in Life, XXXIII, I (Winter 1963-1964), 7-18.

110. "The Temporality of God," in Eric Dinkier, ed. Zeit und Geschichte (Tubingen:) J. C. B. Mohr, 1964), 381-398: reprinted in The Reality of God, 144-163.

111. Published in this volume from Theology In Crisis: A Colloquium on the Credibility of ‘God’, 3-18, printed by Muskingum College. An earlier version appeared as "Love Unbounded: The Doctrine of God" in The Perkins School of Theology Journal, XIX, 3 (Spring 1966), 5-17.

112. Quoted from William Hamilton, "The Death of God Theology," The Christian Scholar, XLVIII, 1 (Spring 1965), 45.

113. McCormick Quarterly. XVIII, Special Supplement (January 1965), 57-75; reprinted in The Reality of God, 144-163.

114. The Journal of Religion, XLV 3 (July 1965), 175-195; reprinted in The Reality of God, 71-98.

The need to relate process theology to current linguistic philosophy is nicely posed by Malcolm Diamond in "Contemporary Analysis: The Metaphysical Target and the Theological Victim," The Journal of Religion, 47, 3 (July 1967), 210-232; reprinted in this volume.

Ogden has offered a critique of one linguistic philosopher, Antony Flew, in "God and Philosophy," The Journal of Religion, 48, 2 (April 1968), 161-181 (note Ogden’s response to Diamond in footnote 19). Three other essays relating process thought to the problem of religious language are: John B. Cobb, Jr., "Speaking About God," Religion In Life, XXXVI, I (Spring 1967), 28-39; Donald A. Crosby, "Language and Religious Language in Whitehead’s Philosophy"; and Herbert R. Reinelt, "Whitehead and Theistic Language," in The Christian Scholar, L, 3 (Fall 1967), 210-221 and 222-234, respectively The most extensive study in this area, however, is Language and Natural Theology by Bowman L. Clarke (The Hague: Mouton, 1966). Clarke defends and clarifies the rules for descriptive discourse about God in bath natural and revealed theology. Then he develops an informal and a formal "explicatum" for the neo-classical view of God, utilizing in the latter the linguistic framework of Nelson Goodman.

115. Ogden refers to Hartshorne’s discussion of "the two strands in historical theology" in the latter’s Man’s Vision of God, 85-141.

116. "Theology and Philosophy: A New Phase of the Discussion," Journal of Religion,, XLIV, I (January 1964), 1-16.

117. The Reality of God, chap. one, esp. 21-43. A brief version of the argument is presented in "How Does God Function in Human Life?" Christianity and Crisis, XXVII, 8 (May 15, 1967), 105-108, and, slightly expanded, in Theology in Crisis, op. cit., pp. 33-39. For a critique and proposed revision of Ogden’s view, see Delwin Brown, "God’s Reality and Life’s Meaning," Encounter, XXVIII, 3 (Summer 1967), 256-262.

For critical discussions of Ogden’s argument and the entire book, see Langdon B. Gilkey, "A Theology in Process," Interpretation, XXI, 4 (October 1967), 447-459; Ray L. Hart, "Schubert Ogden on the Reality of God," Religion In Life, XXXVI, 4 (Winter 1967), 506-515; Antony Flew, "Reflections on ‘The Reality of God’," The Journal of Religion, 48, 2 (April 1968), 150-161: and Robert C. Neville, "Neoclassical Metaphysics and Christianity: A Critical Study of Ogden’s Reality of God," International Philosophical Quarterly, IX, 4 (December 1969), 605-624.

118. Cf. also "The Strange Witness of Unbelief" in The Reality of God, 120-143.

119. The Centennial Review, VIII, 2 (Spring 1964), 174-188. See also Cobb’s A Christian Natural Theology, 270-277.

For another process analysis of the problem of relativism, see Clark M. Williamson, "God and the Relativities of History," Encounter, XXVIII, 3 (Summer 1967), 199-218.

120. The Journal of Bible and Religion, XXXIII, 4 (October 1965), 314-320.

121. Cobb indicates how Whitehead’s philosophy avoids nihilism in an essay "Nihilism, Existentialism, and Whitehead," Religion In Life, XXX, 4 (Autumn 1961), 521-533.

122. Philadelphia: Westminster, 1962.

123. See chap. one of ibid. and Cobb’s "Personal Conclusions."

124. Schubert Ogden’s critique of the idea of "a Christian natural theology" appeared in Christian Advocate, IX, 18 (September 23, 1965), lit., and is reprinted in this volume. See also the extensive critical reviews by Langdon Gilkey in Theology Today, XXII, 4 (January 1966), esp. 530-535 (Cobb’s reply is in Theology Today; XXIII, 1 [April 1966], 140-142) and by Fritz Guy in Andrews University Seminary Studies, IV, 4 (1966), 107-134.

125. For a less technical statement of Cobb’s theological views, see God and the World (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1969).

126. Cf. also the preface, and the first two sections of "Christian Natural Theology and Christian Existence," The Christian Century, XXXII, 9 (March 3, 1965), 265-267.

Because this survey does not include a separate section on theological method, other discussions of this topic must be noted here. A view of the relation of theology and metaphysics similar to Cobb’s is offered in William A. Christian, "The New Metaphysics and Theology," in Wm. A. Beardslee, ed. America and The Future of Theology, 94-111; reprinted in The Christian Scholar, L, 3 (Fall 1967), 304-315. Both volumes contain replies to Christian’s essay. The topic is also discussed in essays by J. Harry Cotton ("The Meaning of ‘God’ in Whitehead’s Philosophy") and Clark M. Williamson ("A Response to Professor Cotton") in Encounter, 29, 2 (Spring 1968), 125-140 and 141-148, respectively. An analysis of a different aspect of the problem of theological method may be found in Don S. Browning, "Psychological and Ontological Perspectives on Faith and Reason," The Journal of Religion, XLV, 4 (October 1965), 296-308, reprinted in this volume. D. D. Williams’s most recent discussion is "Love and the Intellect," chap. 13 of The Spirit and the Forms of Love, op. cit. (For additional material on theological method, see footnotes 100 and 114.)

127. Stokes’s essay "God for Today and Tomorrow" is published in this volume. Earlier related works include "Freedom As Perfection: Whitehead, Thomas and Augustine" Proceedings of the American Catholic Philosophical Association, XXXVI (1962), 134-142; "Whitehead’s Challenge to Theistic Realism," The New Scholasticism, XXXVIII, 1 (January 1964), 1-21; and "Is God Really Related to This World?" Proceedings XXXIX, (1965), 145-151. Whereas Stokes relates process thought to Augustinian Trinitarian theology, another Catholic theologian, Ewert Cousins, turns to the Greek model of the dynamic Trinity as, e.g., in St. Bonaventure (see "Truth in St. Bonaventure" Proceedings . . . XLVIII [1969], 204-210). Both Stokes and Cousins hold that the tradition of a dynamic deity is much stronger in classical theology than is generally supposed.

128. London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1967. Cf. Hamilton’s "The Theological Importance of A. N. Whitehead," Theology, LXVIII, 538 (April 1965), 187-195. A Whiteheadian interpretation of prayer may also be found in Robert M. Cooper, "God as Poet and Man as Praying," The Personalist, XLIX, 4 (Autumn 1968), 474-488.

129. New York: Philosophical Library, 1967.

130. St. Louis: Bethany, 1966.

131. New York: Macmillan, 1968. Though very brief, Pittenger’s more recent book, Alfred North Whitehead (Richmond, Va.: John Knox Press, 1969) is a wonderfully sensitive introduction to Whitehead’s influence in current theology.

132. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1969. Mention should also be made here of the particularly informative comparison of Teilhard and Whitehead by Ian G. Barbour, "Teilhard’s Process Metaphysics," The Journal of Religion, 49, 2 (April 1969), 136-159.

133. Philadelphia: Westminster, 1965.

134. Philadelphia: Westminster, 1967, 210.

135. "A Christological Assessment of Dipolar Theism," The Journal of Religion, 47, 2 (April 1967), 87-99; reprinted in this volume.

136. The Incarnate Lord. Cf. Pittenger’s criticisms of Thornton in The Word Incarnate, op. cit., 107.

137. Reality As Social Process, 24. See also pp. 145-154, and Hartshorne’s "A Philosopher’s Assessment of Christianity" in Walter Leibrecht, ed. Religion and Culture (New York: Harper & Bros., 1959), 175. Ralph E. James, Jr. develops a Christology along Hartshornian lines in The Concrete God, 127-148. See too James’s Christology in "A Theology of Acceptance," The Journal of Religion, 49, 4(October 1969), 376-387; and in "Process Cosmology and Theological Particularity," published in this volume. Also Ronald L. Williams, responding to Ogletree, proposes a rather novel christological methodology utilizing Hartshorne’s philosophical method and his dipolar theism. Williams’s Christology is similar to Hartshorne’s, though considerably more elaborate.

138. Op cit., 28Sf. In Christology Reconsidered (London, SCM Press, 1970) Pittenger restates and defends his christological position in response to criticisms of his earlier statements.

139. What Sense Does It Make to Say, ‘God Acts in History’?" and "What Does It Mean to Affirm, ‘Jesus Christ is Lord’?" in The Reality of God, 164-205.

140. See David Griffin’s essay, "Schubert Ogden’s Christology and the Passion Process Philosophy," The Christian Scholar, L, 3 (Fall 1967), 290-303; reprinted in this volume. Eugene H. Peters’s criticisms of Ogden’s Christology are found in The Creative Advance, 111-117.

141. "Some Proposals For a Modern Christology," in Norman Pittenger, ed. Christ for Us Today (London: SCM Press, 19681, 164. See esp. 161-165 of this essay, also published in the present volume (see pp. 367-372) Cf. The Living God and the Modern World, chaps. 6 and 7.

142. "Some Proposals For a Modern Christology," 166f.

143. "Schubert Ogden’s Christology," loc. cit.

144. "A Whiteheadian Christology," published in this volume. Also see Cobb’s essays, "The Finality of Christ in a Whiteheadian Perspective," in Dow Kirkpatrick, ed. The Finality of Christ (New York: Abingdon Press, 1966), 138-147; "Ontology, History and Christian Faith," Religion in Life, XXXIV, 2 (Spring 1965), 270-287; and "Some Thoughts on the Meaning of Christ’s Death," Religion In Life, XXVIII, 2 (Spring 1959), 212-222.

145. "The Finality of Christ," 147-154.

146. For a critique of direct physical prehensions of distantly past occasions see Donald Sherburne, "Whitehead Without God," 265-267; in the present volume, 320-322.

147. The Structure of Christian Existence (Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1967). There is a brief analysis in "The Finality of Christ," 122-138.

148. The Structure of Christian Existence, 125.

149. Ibid., 124.

150. Philadelphia: Westminster, 1966.

151 Cobb discusses the soul, immortality, freedom, and ethical obligation in A Christian Natural Theology, chaps. two and three. Immortality and man as a responsible sinner are topics developed in "Whitehead’s Philosophy and a Christian Doctrine of Man," The Journal of Bible and Religion, XXXII, 3 (July 1964), 209-220.

152. "Whitehead’s Philosophy and a Christian Doctrine of Man," 210-215.

153. "The Aims of Societies and the Aims of God," Journal of the American Academy of Religion, XXXV, 2 (June 1967), 149-158; reprinted in this volume.

154. Process and Reality, An Essay in Cosmology 523ff.

155. "The Significance of Man in the Life of God," in Theology In Crisis, 41. Ct. "Time, Death, and Everlasting Life," in The Logic of Perfection, 245-262.

156. The Living God, 108-141.

157. Process and Reality, An Essay in Cosmology, 532.

158. The Living God, 128, 137-141. Here he follows the judgment of Whitehead, (Religion in the Making 110f.) and Hartshorne ("Time, Death, and Everlasting Life," 253f. and Philosophers Speak of God, op. cit., 284f.)

159. A Christian Natural Theology, 63-70, and "Whitehead’s Philosophy and a Christian Doctrine of Man," 215-220.

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Chapter 1: Whitehead’s Metaphysical System by Victor Lowe

Victor Lowe was educated at Harvard University, where he studied with Whitehead. He is Professor of Philosophy at Johns Hopkins University.

I

. . . Whitehead’s amazing philosophical achievement is the construction of a system of the world according to which the basic fact of existence is everywhere some process of self-realization, growing out of previous processes and itself adding a new pulse of individuality and a new value to the world. So far as familiar classifications of metaphysical systems are concerned, then, I should first of all classify Whitehead’s as pluralistic; it denies that ultimately only one individual (God, or the Absolute) exists. But no one-sentence characterization, not even of the roughest kind, is possible for this system. Whitehead the pluralist saw the great monistic metaphysicians as endeavoring to exhibit the unity and solidarity which the universe undoubtedly has, while failing to do justice to the equally evident plurality of individual existents. He saw Spinoza the monist, equally with Leibniz the pluralist, as having made valuable depositions. It is not that their systems, however, should be reconciled (at some cost to each). It is that their insights, along with those of Plato and others, should be reconciled — or better, used — in a new system. It will have its own elements and its own structure. For reasons which will appear, Whitehead named it "the philosophy of organism."

Taken as a whole, this deposition of Whitehead’s can neither be subsumed under any movement of the twentieth century nor accurately represented as the joint influence of recent thinkers on its author. It must be understood in its own terms. But it is so complex and elaborate that all but the main concepts will be omitted in the one-chapter summary which follows. These concepts will be presented sympathetically, with some fullness and a little comment, as a bald statement of them would be unintelligible.

From Victor Lowe, Understanding Whitehead. Copyright 1962, The Johns Hopkins Press. Originally published in Classic American Philosophers, Max H. Fisch, ed., copyright 1951, Appleton-Century-Crafts, Inc. Used by permission of The Johns Hopkins Press, Appleton-Century-Crafts, Inc., and Victor Lowe.

II

By way of initial orientation, let us say that Whitehead’s universe is a connected pluralistic universe. No monist ever insisted more strongly than he that nothing in the world exists in independence of other things. In fact, he repeatedly criticizes traditional monisms for not carrying this principle far enough; they exempted eternal being from dependence on temporal beings. Independent existence is a myth, whether you ascribe it to God or to a particle of matter in Newtonian physics, to persons, to nations, to things, or to meanings. To understand is to see things together, and to see them as, in Whitehead’s favorite phrase, "requiring each other." A system which enables us to do this is "coherent."

Each pulse of existence — Whitehead calls them "actual entities" — requires the antecedent others as its constituents, yet achieves individuality as a unique, finite synthesis; and when its growth is completed, stays in the universe as one of the infinite number of settled facts from which the individuals of the future will arise. "The many become one, and are increased by one." The ultimate character pervading the universe is a drive toward the endless production of new syntheses. Whitehead calls this drive "creativity." It is "the eternal activity," "the underlying energy of realisation," Nothing escapes it; the universe consists entirely of its creatures, its individualized embodiments. Accordingly, Whitehead’s Categoreal Scheme begins with the three notions, "creativity," "many," and "one," which comprise the "Category of the Ultimate." This category is presupposed by all his other metaphysical categories.

Creativity is not to be thought of as a thing or an agency external to its actual embodiments, but as "that ultimate notion of the highest generality" which actuality exhibits. Apart from that exhibition it does not exist. Like Aristotle’s "matter," creativity has no character of its own, but is perfectly protean: "It cannot be characterized, because all characters are more special than itself." Nor can its universal presence be explained in terms of anything else; it must be seen by direct, intuitive experience.

The doctrine that all actualities alike are in the grip of creativity suggests a general principle which Whitehead thinks every metaphysical scheme, so far as it is coherent, must follow. The principle is that there is ultimately but one kind of actuality.

‘Actual entities’ — also termed ‘actual occasions’ — are the final real things of which the world is made up. There is no going behind actual entities to find anything more real. They differ among themselves: God is an actual entity, and so is the most trivial puff of existence in far-off empty space. But, though there are gradations of importance, and diversities of function, yet in the principles which actuality exemplifies all are on the same level. — Process and Reality, An Essay in Cosmology 27f.

This statement represents an ideal which Whitehead, so far as the concept of God is concerned, does not entirely achieve. But he is distinguished by his conscious adoption and pursuit of it, in place of the more traditional, dualistic doctrine of inferior and superior realities.

Our experience of the universe does not, at first glance, present any obvious prototype of actual entities. Selves, monads, material atoms, and Aristotelian substances have been tried out in the history of philosophy. Whitehead develops a theory of a different entity — an experience. The doctrine that experience comes in drops or pulses, each of which has a unique character and an indivisible unity, is to be found in the writings of William James; but James never outlined a metaphysics on this basis. In any case, Whitehead had motives of his own for adopting the working hypothesis that "all final individual actualities have the metaphysical character of occasions of experience."

There was the antidualistic motive: belief that some such actualities are without any experience of their own, when joined to the fact that the human existence with which philosophic thought must begin is just a series of experiences, makes it impossible to think of these extremes as contrasting but connected instances of one basic kind of actuality. But on Whitehead’s hypothesis, "the direct evidence as to the connectedness of one’s immediate present occasion of experience with one’s immediately past occasions, can be validly used to suggest categories applying to the connectedness of all occasions in nature" (Adventures of Ideas 284)

Secondly, we instinctively feel that we live in a world of "throbbing actualities"; and such "direct persuasions" are the ultimate touchstones of philosophic theory.

Thirdly, Whitehead does not wish to think that intrinsic value is an exclusive property of superior beings; rather it belongs to even "the most trivial puff of existence." In human life, he finds value not far off, but at hand as the living essence of present experience. If every puff of existence is a pulse of some kind of immediate experience, there can be no final dualism of value and fact in the universe.

A fourth reason why Whitehead chose occasions of experience for his "actual entities" emerges as a reader becomes familiar with his thought. It is his love of concrete immediacy. An immediate experience, in its living occurrence at this moment — that, to this rationalist’s way of thinking, is a full fact, in comparison with which all other things are pale abstractions. It is a mistake for philosophers to begin with substances which appear solid or obvious to them, like the material body or the soul, and then, almost as if it were an afterthought, bring in transient experiences to provide these with an adventitious historical filling. The transient experiences are the ultimate realities.

But experience is not restricted to consciousness. "We experience the universe, and we analyze in our consciousness a minute selection of its details." Like most psychologists today, Whitehead thinks of consciousness as a variable factor which heightens an organism’s discrimination of some part of its world. Consciousness is no basic category for him, because it is so far from being essential to every drop of experience in the cosmos, that it is not even present in every human experience. The same remark applies — the tradition of modern philosophy to the contrary notwithstanding — to thought and sense-perception.

The chief meaning intended by calling every actual entity a pulse of experience is that the entity is conceived as having an immediate existence in and for itself. "Experience" is "the self-enjoyment of being one among many, and of being one arising out of the composition of many." Each appropriation of an item of the many into the arising unity of enjoyment is a "feeling" or "prehension" (literally, a grasping) of that item, and the process of composition is a "concrescence" (growing together) of prehensions. The appropriated "many" are "objects," existing before the process begins; the "one" is the privately experiencing "subject." Thus "the subject-object relation is the fundamental structural pattern of experience."

A good way to continue our exposition now is to connect it with the challenge which William James, who had championed "psychology without a soul," issued to philosophers in his famous essay of 1904, "Does ‘Consciousness’ Exist?" He there attacked the notion, then current in various forms, that the existence of a conscious subject, if not of a soul, must be assumed in the discussion of experience. Is Whitehead trying to resuscitate the notion which James led many twentieth-century philosophers to reject? No. He does think it obvious that experience is a relation between private centers of experience and public objects experienced. But there are three big differences between his theory of this relation and the views which James attacked.

1. In the earlier views this was a cognitive relation of a conscious mind to objects known. Whitehead’s fundamental relation of prehension is something broader and more elemental, the generally unconscious emotional feeling by which one bit of life responds to other realities. An essential factor in every prehension is its "subjective form — the affective tone with which that subject now experiences that object. An example is the unconscious annoyance with which you experienced this page when you turned to it and saw another solid mass of print. Everything in your environment contributes something both to the tone of your experience and to its content.

2. A prehension is not so much a relation as a relating, or transition, which carries the object into the makeup of the subject.1 White-head’s "feelings" are not states, but " ‘vectors’; for they feel what is there and transform it into what is here" (Process and Reality 133).2 He was writing a theoretical transcript of the fact that you feel this moment of experience to be your very own, yet derived from a world without. By taking that elemental assurance at its face value, he was able to accept a primary rule of modern philosophy — that the evidence for an external world can be found only within occasions of experience — without being drawn into solipsism.

Prehensions, like vectors, should be symbolized by arrows. The arrows run from the past3 to the present — for the "there" is antecedent, however slightly, in time as well as external in space to the "here" — and from objects to a subject. The method is realistic, not idealistic: Whitehead remarks that instead of describing, in Kantian fashion, how subjective data pass into the appearance of an objective world, he describes how subjective experience emerges from an objective world.

3. For Whitehead the subject which enjoys an experience does not exist beforehand, neither is it created from the outside; it creates itself in that very process of experiencing. The process starts with the multitude of environmental objects awaiting unification in a fresh perspective, moves through stages of partial integration, and concludes as a fully determinate synthesis, effected by a concrescence of feelings. "The point to be noticed is that the actual entity, in a state of process during which it is not fully definite, determines its own ultimate definiteness. This is the whole point of moral responsibility" (Process and Reality 390). It is also the point of the descriptive term, "organism," which Whitehead applies to actual entities, and which supplies the very name of his philosophy. He means that an organism determines the eventual character and integration of its own parts. Its growth is motivated by a living — if generally unconscious — aim at that outcome. So the brief course of each pulse of experience is guided by an internal teleology.

Many philosophers consider Whitehead’s doctrine of a self-creating experiencer unintelligible. It certainly contradicts the mode of thought to which we are accustomed — first a permanent subject, then an experience for it. But how did the subject originally come into being? Whitehead looks upon process as not only the appearance of new patterns among things, but the becoming of new subjects, which are completely individual, self-contained units of feeling. "The ancient doctrine that ‘no one crosses the same river twice’ is extended. No thinker thinks twice; and, to put the matter more generally, no subject experiences twice." "The universe is thus a creative advance into novelty. The alternative to this doctrine is a static morphological universe" (Process and Reality, An Essay in Cosmology 43; 339f).

Whitehead pictures reality as cumulative. When, upon the completion of an actual occasion, the creativity of the universe moves on to the next birth, it carries that occasion with it as an "object" which all future occasions are obliged to prehend. They will feel it as an efficient cause — as the immanence of the past in their immediacies of becoming. The end of an occasion’s private life — its "perishing" — is the beginning of its public career. As Whitehead once explained:

If you get a general notion of what is meant by perishing, you will have accomplished an apprehension of what you mean by memory and causality, what you mean when you feel that what we are is of infinite importance, because as we perish we are immortal— Essays in Science and Philosophy 117.

Part of the appeal of Whitehead’s metaphysics lies in this, that through his conception of pulses of experience as the ultimate facts, he invests the passage of time with life and motion, with pathos, and with a majesty rivaled in no other philosophy of change, and in few eternalistic ones.

Our experience does not usually discriminate a single actual entity as its object, but rather a whole nexus of them united by their prehensions. That is how you experience your body or your past personal history. "The ultimate facts of immediate actual experience," then, "are actual entities, prehensions, and nexus.4 All else is, for our experience, derivative abstraction." In Whitehead’s cosmology, however, some types of derivative abstractions are constituents in every actual entity. Propositions are such; in every experience, conscious or unconscious, they function as "lures proposed for feeling." (Whitehead cites "There is beef for dinner today" as an example of a "quite ordinary proposition.") Because human beings think it important to consciously judge some propositions true or false, all propositions have traditionally been treated as units of thought or discourse, and supposed to be the concern of logicians alone. But we have no space for Whitehead’s highly original theory of propositions as factors in natural processes.

We shall confine attention in this chapter to the simplest type of abstract entity. The entertainment of propositions is but one of the ways in which "eternal objects" are ingredients in experience. These entities, uncreated and undated, are his version of Plato’s timeless ideal Forms. They are patterns and qualities like roundness or squareness, greenness or redness, courage or cowardice. The fact that every actual occasion in its process of becoming acquires a definite character to the exclusion of other possible characters is explained as its selection of these eternal objects for feeling and its rejection ("negative prehension") of those. (This is not as fantastic as it sounds; actualities inherit habits of selection, and these habits are so strong that scientists call them laws of nature.)

For Whitehead as for Aristotle, process is the realizing of selected antecedent potentialities, or it is unexplainable. "Pure potentials for the specific determination of fact" — that is what eternal objects are. And that is all they are. The ideal is nothing more than a possibility (good or bad) for the actual. Whitehead so emphatically repudiates the Platonic tendency to think of the realm of forms as constituting a superior, self-sufficient type of existence, that he interprets even the propositions of mathematics as statements about certain possible forms of process.

As an antidualist, Whitehead rejects the doctrine that mind and body are distinct, disparate entities. He generalizes the mind-body problem, and suggests that a certain contrast between two modes of activity exists within every actual occasion. An occasion is a throb of experience, so of course its "physical pole" cannot consist of matter, in the sense of a permanent unfeeling substance; and consciousness is too slight and occasional to define the "mental pole."5 The physical activity of each occasion is rather its absorption of the actual occasions of the past, its direct rapport with the environment from which it sprang; and its mental side is its own creativeness, its desire for and realization of ideal forms (including its own terminal pattern) by means of which it makes a novel, unified reaction to its inheritance. (So there are two species of prehensions in Whitehead’s system: "physical prehensions" of actual occasions or nexus, and "conceptual prehensions" of eternal objects.) Each occasion is a fusion of the already actual and the ideal.

The subjective forms of conceptual prehensions are "valuations," up or down; this or that possibility is felt to be important or trivial or irrelevant, or not wanted. We see again how, in trying to make theory correspond to the character of immediate experience, Whitehead insists that emotional feeling, not pure cognition of a neutral datum, is basic. Except for mathematical patterns, the data are not neutral either: red is a possibility of warmth, blue of coolness.

An eternal object as a form of definiteness, may be realized in one actual occasion after another, through each prehending that form in its predecessor. A nexus composed of one, or simultaneously of many, such strands, Whitehead aptly calls a "society of occasions," which has that eternal object for its "defining characteristic." Such a process of inheritance seems to be the essence of every human "society," in the usual meaning of the word. But the general principle has a much wider application; through it, a metaphysics of drops of experience can define personal identity, and a philosophy of process can account for things — for frogs and mountains, electrons and planets — which are certainly neither becomings nor forms. They are societies of becomings — of "atoms of process." . . . Thus personal minds (each with its history of experiences) and enduring bodies finally appear in the philosophy of organism, but as variable complexes rather than metaphysical absolutes.

Though Whitehead’s philosophy is very much a philosophy of change, we must notice that according to it the ultimate members of the universe do not, strictly speaking, change — i.e., alter some of their properties while retaining their identities. Because it is a process of self-realization, an actual occasion can only become itself, and then "perish." Whatever changes is a serial "society" of such occasions, and its persistence during the change is not due to any underlying substance — Whitehead eliminates that notion — but to retention of one form (the defining characteristic) while others vary.

The differences between the kinds of things in nature then go back to the different contrasts, repetitions, divisions, or modes of integration involved in the chains of prehensions by which actual occasions make up societies with different defining characteristics. Whitehead sketched the main principles involved.6 His universe exhibits societies arising and decaying, societies within other societies which sustain them (consider the animal body), societies on all scales of magnitude. The structure of Nature comes out well — in fact beautifully — in this philosophy of the flux.

The bare statement of Whitehead’s theory of actual entities, apart from its elaboration, takes the form in Process and Reality (I 2) of thirty-six principles — twenty-seven "Categories of Explanation" and nine "Categoreal Obligations." Many of his Categories of Explanation have appeared, unnamed, in our exposition. Before we go farther, we must draw attention to three others. The nature of the Categoreal Obligations will be explained in the next section.

The principle that "no two actual entities originate from an identical universe" is one that we should expect in a philosophy of process. An actual occasion’s "universe" — also called its "actual world" — is the nexus of all those occasions which have already become and are available for feeling.7 This nexus is its past, and is not quite the same as the past of any other occasion. The part that is the same for both, each will absorb into its unique perspective from its unique standpoint in the cosmos.

The "principle of relativity" applies the doctrine of the relativity of all things to the very definition of "being." The being of any kind of entity is its potentiality for being an element in a becoming. That means: for being felt in an occasion of experience. So, according to Whitehead’s cosmology, "There is nothing in the real world which is merely an inert fact. Every reality is there for feeling: it promotes feeling; and it is felt" (Process and Reality, An Essay in Cosmology 472). In this consists the reality even of spatio-temporal relations. But there is danger of reading too much into the term, "feeling." Its technical definition is "positive prehension"; thus to be "felt" means to be included as a prehended datum in an integrative, partly self-creative atom of process.

It should now be evident that Whitehead’s metaphysical concepts are intended to show the interpenetration of "being," "becoming," and "perishing." Becoming draws on being (or "process" on "reality"); and what becomes, perishes. Becoming is the central notion; for the universe, at every moment, consists solely of becomings. Only actual entities act. Hence the "ontological principle":

Every condition to which the process of becoming conforms in any particular instance, has its reason either in the character of some actual entity in the actual world of that concrescence, or in the character of the subject which is in process of concrescence. . . . This ontological principle means that actual entities are the only reasons; so that to search for a reason is to search for one or more actual entities. — Process and Reality, An Essay in Cosmology 38f., Category xviii.

The effect of this fundamental doctrine is to put all thought into an ontological context. In the last analysis, there is no such thing as a disembodied reason; no principles of order — in logic, science, epistemology, even in ethics or aesthetics — have any reality except what they derive from one or more actualities whose active characters they express.

Then what of the realm of eternal objects in Whitehead’s system? By the ontological principle, there must be an eternal actual entity whose active character that realm expresses. Whitehead naturally calls this entity "God"; more exactly, this consideration defines the "primordial" side of God’s nature, which is "the unconditioned actuality of conceptual feeling at the base of things." Thus "the universe has a side which is mental and permanent." Whitehead’s God is not a creator God, and is "not before all creation, but with all creation" — i.e., immanent in every concrescence at its very beginning. His envisagement of the infinite multiplicity of eternal objects — he does not create them either — bestows a certain character upon the creativity of the universe. Here is how Whitehead asks us to conceive this character:

Enlarge your view of the final fact which is permanent amid change. . . This ultimate fact includes in its appetitive vision all possibilities of order, possibilities at once incompatible and unlimited with a fecundity beyond imagination. Finite transience stages this welter of incompatibles in their ordered relevance to the flux of epochs. . . . The notion of the one perfection of order, which is (I believe) Plato’s doctrine, must go the way of the one possible geometry. The universe is more various, more Hegelian.— Essays in Science and Philosophy 118; The Interpretation of Science: Selected Essays 219.8

Whitehead seems never to have considered atheism as a serious alternative in metaphysics. An atheist would naturally suggest that all the potentialities for any occasion are derived from its historic environment. A "society," in Whitehead’s cosmology, is built on this sort of derivation. Why then need the occasion also draw upon a God? The answer is that if the past provided everything for the present, nothing new could appear. Novelty and adventure were too real to Whitehead to permit him to say, like the materialists, that the apparently new is a reconfiguration of the old. Yet his thoroughgoing rationalism did not permit him to say that novelty just happens. His religious humility told him whence it came.

Throughout his philosophy, Whitehead contrasts the compulsion of what is with the persuasive lure of what might be. God’s action on the world is primarily persuasive: he offers to each occasion its possibilities of value. The theory that each occasion creates itself by realizing an aim internal to it, however, requires that the germ of this aim be initially established at that spot in the temporal world by God; otherwise the occasion’s self-creation could never commence, since nothing can come from nowhere. Whitehead’s position is that the initial aim partially defines the goal which is best in the given situation, and that the temporal occasion itself does the rest. God thus functions as the "Principle of Concretion," in that he initiates the move toward a definite outcome from an indeterminate situation.

III

Whitehead calls actual occasions the "cells" of the universe. As in biology, the "cells" are organic wholes which can be analyzed both genetically and morphologically. These two analyses make up the detailed theory of actual occasions in Process and Reality.

The genetic analysis is the analysis of the self-creation of an experiencing "subject." In the first phase of its self-genesis an actual occasion merely receives the antecedent universe of occasions as data for integration. None of these can be absorbed in its entirety, but only so far as is consistent with present prehension of the others. In a continuing chain of occasions the past progressively fades, but, like energy radiated from afar, never disappears. Thus the datum for physical feeling by a new occasion consists of some of the constituent feelings of every occasion in its "actual world." The first phase of the new occasion’s life is an unconscious "sympathy"9 with its ancestors. The occasion then begins to put the stamp of its developing individuality on this material: the intermediate phase is "a ferment of qualitative valuation" effected by conceptual feelings, some of them automatically derived from the physical feelings of the first phase, others introduced because of their contribution toward a navel unification. All these are integrated and reintegrated with each other until at the end of the concrescence we have but one complex, integral feeling — "the ‘satisfaction’ of the creative urge." This final phase includes the occasion’s anticipatory feeling of the future as necessarily embodying this present existence.

The difference between the universe as felt in the first phase and as felt in the last is the difference, for that occasion, between the plural public "reality" which it found and the integral, privately experienced "appearance" into which it transformed that reality. Since the difference is the work of the "mental pole," we may say that Whitehead has generalized the modern doctrine that mentality is a unifying, transforming agency. He also makes it a simplifying agency. By an actual entity with a strong intensity of conceptual feeling, the qualities common to many individual occasions in its immediate environment can be "fused into one dominating impression" which masks the differences between those occasions. That is why a world which is really a multitude of atoms of process appears to us as composed of grosser qualitative objects.

In the language of physics, the simplest "physical feelings" are units of energy transference; or, rather, the physicist’s idea that energy is transmitted according to quantum conditions is an abstraction from the concrete facts of the universe, which are individual occasions of experience connected by their "physical feelings." Whitehead’s principles governing the integration of physical and conceptual feelings, and the way in which an actual occasion’s conceptual feelings are physically felt by that occasion’s successors in a "society" (so that appearance merges into reality), constitute an original treatment of the interaction of the physical and the mental, which has been such a problem for modern philosophy.

Taken as a whole, this theory of the internal course of process is remarkable in three respects. Efficient causation and teleology are nicely linked in Whitehead’s cosmology: the former expresses the transition from completed to nascent becomings, while the latter is the urge toward self-completion, and toward a future career, within each becoming. Nevertheless the system is first and foremost a new teleology, for it makes every activity, in its immediate occurrence, purposive. The main postulates of the genetic theory — the "Categoreal Obligations — are the conditions to which every concrescence must conform to achieve a fully determinate end as a unity of feeling. These conditions are very general10 and do not specify the content of this unity. Each occasion has its own aim, and that is what renders it an individual in a pluralistic universe.

In this concept of existences as teleological processes, Whitehead thought, we find the proper way for the philosopher to perform his task, now that the basic idea of physics has become the flux of energy rather than the particle of Newtonian matter. It is obvious that "physical science is an abstraction"; but to say this and nothing more would be "a confession of philosophic failure." Whitehead conceives physical energy as "an abstraction from the complex energy, emotional and purposeful, inherent in the subjective form of the final synthesis in which each occasion completes itself" (Adventures of Ideas 239).

Second, this teleology is evidently a universal quantum-theory of growth. Whitehead, though sympathetic with Bergson’s reaction against materialism, was teaching by example that it is possible for theoretical concepts to express the inner growth of things. His conception of growth has points of similarity with Hegel’s, but differs in having no use for "contradiction," and in presenting a hierarchy of categories of feeling rather than a hierarchy of categories of thought.

Third, the principles of this teleology are, broadly speaking, aesthetic principles. The culmination of each concrescence, being an integrated pattern of feeling, is an aesthetic achievement. "The ultimate creative purpose" is "that each unification shall achieve some maximum depth of intensity of feeling, subject to the conditions of its concrescence" (Process and Reality, An Essay in Cosmology 381). God’s immanence in the world provides novel possibilities of contrast to this end. The conditions of synthesis are not the dialectical antagonism of opposites, but aesthetic contrast among ideal forms, and between these forms and the occasion’s inheritance. The latter contrast is exhibited at its simplest in the wave-vibration which is so prominent in nature. The superiority of a living over an inanimate nexus of occasions is that it does not refuse so much of the novelty in its environment, but adapts it to itself by a massive imposition of new conceptual feeling, thus transforming threatened incompatibilities into contrasts. The very notion of "order" in an occasion’s environment is relative to the syntheses which that environment permits; adaptability to an end is what makes the difference between order and disorder. (Regularity is a secondary meaning of order, definable by reference to "societies.")

The distinctive character of occasions of human experience, to which we now turn, is the great difference between "appearance" and "reality." The genetic process is based on feelings of the causal efficacy of the antecedent environment, and more especially of the body; it generates the appearance called "sense-perception." Of sense-data Whitehead says:

Unfortunately the learned tradition of philosophy has missed their main characteristic, which is their enormous emotional significance. The vicious notion has been introduced of mere receptive entertainment, which for no obvious reason by reflection acquires an affective tone. The very opposite is the true explanation. The true doctrine of sense-perception is that the qualitative characters of affective tones inherent in the bodily functionings are transmuted into the characters of [external] regions.— Adventures of Ideas 276.

Our developed consciousness fastens on the sensum as datum: our basic animal experience entertains it as a type of subjective feeling. The experience starts as that smelly feeling, and is developed by mentality into the feeling of that smell .— Adventures of Ideas 315.

According to this fresh treatment of an ancient philosophic problem, the data of sense are indeed received from the external world, but only in the form of innumerable faint pulses of emotion. The actual occasions in the various organs of the animal body, acting as selective amplifiers, gather these pulses together and get from them sizeable feelings; and these — e.g., the eye’s enjoyment of a reddish feeling — are intensified and transmuted by the complex occasions of the brain into definite colors, smells, and other instances of qualitative eternal objects, definitely arranged in a space defined by prolongation of the spatial relations experienced inside the brain. In this process the original physical feelings of causal efficacy are submerged (not eliminated) by an inrush of conceptual feelings, so that the throbbing causal world of the immediate past now appears as a passive display of qualities "presented" to our senses. Whitehead calls this new kind of experience "perception in the mode of presentational immediacy."

The higher animals have learned to interpret these sense-qualities, thus perceived, as symbols of the actualities in the external world — actualities which are themselves perceived only by vague feelings of their causal agency. The epistemology of sense-perception is the theory of this "symbolic reference." The recognition of these two levels of perception distinguishes Whitehead’s epistemology from other realistic ones.

The practical advantage of sense-perception over causal feeling lies in its superior clarity and definiteness. And of course natural science would be impossible without it. For Whitehead scientific theory refers to causal processes, not, as the positivists think, to correlations of sense-data; but science is accurate for the same reason that it is no substitute for metaphysics — its observations are limited to experience in the mode of presentational immediacy; and science is important because it systematically interprets sense-data as indicators of causal processes.

Presentational immediacy, in addition to its practical value, has the aesthetic value of a vivid qualitative display. Although unconscious feeling is the stuff of nature for Whitehead, his theory of "appearance" is one of the things which brings home the splendor of his philosophy — and that even as this theory emphasizes the fusion of conceptual feeling with physical nature. We cannot go into his discussion of the aesthetics of appearance. This passage will suggest what is meant:

The lesson of the transmutation of causal efficacy into presentational immediacy is that great ends are reached by life in the present; life novel and immediate, but deriving its richness by its full inheritance from the rightly organized animal body. It is by reason of the body, with its miracle of order, that the treasures of the past environment are poured into the living occasion. The final percipient route of occasions is perhaps some thread of happenings wandering in "empty" space amid the interstices of the brain. It toils not, neither does it spin. It receives from the past; it lives in the present. It is shaken by its intensities of private feeling, adversion or aversion. In its turn, this culmination of bodily life transmits itself as an element of novelty throughout the avenues of the body. Its sole use to the body is its vivid originality: it is the organ of novelty — Process and Reality, An Essay in Cosmology 515f.

In his theory of appearance Whitehead also shows how truth-relations, types of judgment, and beauty are definable within the matrix provided by his general conception of prehensions and their integrations. And he advances a striking thesis about consciousness: it is that indefinable quality which emerges when a positive but unconscious feeling of a nexus as given fact is integrated with a propositional feeling about the nexus, originated by the mental pole. Consciousness is how we feel this contrast between "in fact" and "might be." It is well-developed so far as the contrast is well-defined and prominent; this is bound to be the case in negative perception, e.g., in perceiving a stone as not gray, whereas perception of a stone as gray can occur with very little conscious notice. The difference between these two cases supports Whitehead’s conjecture about consciousness, and leads him to say:

"Thus the negative perception is the triumph of consciousness. It finally rises to the peak of free imagination, in which the conceptual novelties search through a universe in which they are not datively exemplified." (Process and Reality, An Essay in Cosmology 245).

The morphological analysis of an actual occasion is the analysis of the occasion as completed, no longer having any process of its own; it is only an "object" — a complex, permanent potentiality for being an ingredient in future becomings. Each concrescence is an indivisible creative act; and so the temporal advance of the universe is not continuous, but discrete. But in retrospect and as a potentiality for the future, the physical side (though not the mental) of each atom of process is infinitely divisible. The theory of this divisibility is the theory of space-time a subject on which Whitehead was expert, original, and involved.

Space-time, he holds, is not a fact prior to process, but a feature of process, an abstract system of perspectives (feeling is always perspectival). It is no actuality, but a continuum of potentialities — of potential routes for the transmission of physical feeling. (The transmission of purely mental feeling is not bound by it.) "Actuality is incurably atomic"; but potentialities can form a continuum.

Each actual occasion prehends the space-time continuum in its infinite entirety; that, says Whitehead, is nothing but an example of the general principle (also illustrated by prehension of qualitative eternal objects) that "actual fact includes in its own constitution real potentiality which is referent beyond itself." There is a similarity to and a difference from Kant’s doctrine of space and time as forms of intuition; each occasion inherits this network of potential relatedness from its past, actualizes a portion of it as its own "region," and (if it has any substantial experience in the mode of presentational immediacy) redefines the network and projects it upon the contemporary world.

We often say that space and time are composed of points and instants; these should be defined as systematic abstractions from empirical facts instead of being accepted as volumeless or durationless entities. Well before he turned to metaphysics, Whitehead had devised a "method of extensive abstraction" for doing this. Process and Reality includes his final application of the method (IV 2 and 3), in which he begins with a general relation of "extensive connection" among regions.

There is one "extensive continuum" of potential regions; it is differentiable into space and time according to relativistic principles. When we consider the vastness of the universe, it would be rash to ascribe to the entire continuum anything more than very general properties of extensiveness and divisibility. The dimensional and metric relationships to which we are accustomed (laymen and physicists alike) are only local, characteristic of the particular "cosmic epoch" in which we live — i.e., of "that widest society of actual entities whose immediate relevance to ourselves is traceable" (Process and Reality, An Essay in Cosmology 139). Whitehead also suggests that the "laws of nature" in this epoch are not precisely and universally obeyed; he adopts a broad statistical view of natural law. The "running down" of the physical universe is interpreted as a general decay of the patterns of prehensions now dominant; new societies defined by new types of order, now perhaps sporadically foreshadowed, will arise in another cosmic epoch. — And so on, forever.11 "This is the only possible doctrine of a universe always driving on to novelty" (Essays in Science and Philosophy 119; The Interpretation of Science: Selected Essays 220).

Whitehead does not say what the time-span of an actual occasion is, even in the cosmic epoch in which we live. The theory of actual occasions is a general way of thinking about the pluralistic process of the universe; it suggests basic concepts, but does not automatically apply them. The "specious present" of human experience and the quantum events of physics are perhaps the best samples of actual occasions now discernible.

IV

The philosophy of organism culminates in a new metaphysical theology.12 In Whitehead’s view, "The most general formulation of the religious problem is the question whether the process of the temporal world passes into the formation of other actualities, bound together in an order in which novelty does not mean loss" (Process and Reality, An Essay in Cosmology 517) — as it does in the temporal world. Whitehead thought anything like proof was impossible here; with great diffidence he sketched the sort of other "order" which his metaphysics suggests.

Evidently the question is one of permanence; but it is not merely that, for permanence without freshness is deadening. And to oppose a permanent Reality to transient realities is to brand the latter as inexplicable illusions. The problem is the double one of conceiving "actuality with permanence, requiring fluency as its completion; and actuality with fluency, requiring permanence as its completion." Whitehead’s solution is his doctrine of "the consequent nature of God." God’s primordial nature is but one half of his being — the permanent side, which embraces the infinity of eternal forms and seeks fluency. The temporal world is a pluralistic world of activities, creatively arising, then fading away. But "by reason of the relativity of all things," every new actual occasion in that world reacts on God — is felt by him. The content of a temporal occasion is its antecedent world synthesized and somewhat transformed by a new mode of feeling; the consequent nature of God consists of the temporal occasions transformed by an inclusive mode of feeling derived from his all-embracing primordial nature, so as to be united in a conscious, infinitely wide harmony of feeling which grows without any fading of its members. It is a creative advance devoid of "perishing."

The theme of Cosmology, which is the basis of all religions, is the story of the dynamic effort of the World passing into everlasting unity, and of the static majesty of God’s vision, accomplishing its purpose of completion by absorption of the World’s multiplicity of effort — Process and Reality, An Essay in Cosmology 529f.13

It is essential to note the interdependence of God and the world, and the final emphasis on creativity:

Neither God, nor the World, reaches static completion. Both are in the grip of the ultimate metaphysical ground, the creative advance into novelty. Either of them, God and the World, is the instrument of novelty for the other.

The story requires a final chapter:

. . .the principle of universal relativity [or interdependence] is not to be stopped at the consequent nature of God. . . . For the perfected actuality passes back into the temporal world ["according to its gradation of relevance to the various concresecent occasions"], and qualifies this world so that each temporal actuality includes it as an immediate fact of relevant experience. — Process and Reality, An Essay in Cosmology 532.

Whitehead has evidently been concerned to embody the finer intuitions of religion in his cosmology. From these he emphatically excludes the notion of omnipotence. God in his primordial nature is rather "the divine persuasion, by reason of which ideals are effective in the world and forms of order evolve" (Adventures of Ideas 214). His consequent nature perfects and saves the world. And its passing into the world is God’s love, whereby "the kingdom of heaven is with us today."

Any doctrine of an omnipotent God, Whitehead held, would also undermine the assertion of freedom and novelty in the temporal world. And it would be contrary to his basic metaphysical orientation, which is directed toward showing how God and the World, and the poles of every other perennial antithesis, can be reconceived so as to require each other.

 

NOTES:

1. Thus there is some analogy between "prehension" and the "felt transition"of which James wrote.

2. Vectors, in physical theory, are quantities which have direction as well as magnitude: e.g., forces or velocities. Although it is evident from Whitehead’s language, here and in the several other passages where he refers to prehensions as "vectors," that this is the analogy he intends, the meaning of "vector" in biology [the carrier of a microorganism) also provides an appropriate analogy. I owe this observation to Prof. Nathaniel Lawrence.

3. Except in the case of "conceptual prehension," which will be explained shortly.

4. Plural of "nexus." The quotation is from Process and Reality, An Essay in Cosmology 30.

5. These terms are prominent in Process and Reality. Whitehead privately regretted that he had used them; too many readers thought they referred to substantially separate parts of each actual occasion.

6. It is not only readers interested in natural science who should find the chapters in Process and Reality on "The Order of Nature" and "Organisms and Environment" fascinating.

7. Contemporary occasions are precisely those, neither of which can feel the other as a cause.

8. 0n the meaning of "flux of epochs," see the end of Section III below.

9. As we would say "in the language appropriate to the higher stages of experience" (Process and Reality, An Essay in Cosmology 246). But the word fits Whitehead’s technical meaning, namely, feeling another’s feeling with a similar "subjective form." This is prominently illustrated in the relation between your present drop of experience and that which you enjoyed a second earlier. The concept of sympathy is emphasized in Prof. Charles Hartshorne’s reading of Whitehead, and in his own metaphysical work. It is more severely treated in Prof. William A. Christian’s interpretation of Whitehead. Among books in print, attention should also be called to Prof. Ivor Leclerc’s and Prof. A. H. Johnson’s accurate expositions of Whiteheads philosophy.

10. "E.g., that the feelings which arise in various phases of a concrescence be compatible for integration; that no element in a concrescence can finally (in the "satisfaction") have two disjoined roles; that no two elements can finally have the same role; that every physical feeling gives rise to a corresponding conceptual feeling: that there is secondary origination of variant conceptual feeling; and that the subjective forms (valuations) of the conceptual feelings are mutually determined by their aptness for being joint elements in the satisfaction aimed at. For the sake of brevity, no attempt at accuracy is made in this list, and three principles are omitted because their gist has been already given.

11. If we are tempted to call this view impossible in the light of scientific cosmology, we should notice that "the expanding universe" gets older in every fresh estimate of its age, and that enigmas seem to be multiplied by recent galactic studies. Dr. Jon H. Oort, president of the International Astronomical Union, has been quoted as saying at its 1961 meeting that some galaxies apparently were created "in past and quite different phases of the universe." My point is not that this suggests the possibility of positive support for Whitehead’s notion of a variety of cosmic epochs (on his own theory of perception, it must be impossible for us to make observations of another epoch); my point is the negative one that generalizations from available astronomical data to uniformity throughout the universe may be precarious.

12. Process and Reality, An Essay in Cosmology V. This short Part, though often technical, is a fine expression of wisdom and of religious feeling. (The quotation which follows is from 1 iv.) The interaction of God and the World was also the subject of the last philosophical paper Whitehead wrote "Immortality."

13. Whitehead thought his conception of the consequent nature of God was close to F. H. Bradley’s conception of Reality (PR Preface). Referring to God’s primordial nature as "the lure for feeling, the eternal urge of desire" (Process and Reality, An Essay in Cosmology 522), Whitehead noticed a similarity there to Aristotle’s conception of the Prime Mover.