A student asked me for my personal definition of Eudaimonia, or human flourishing. Here is my answer. What's yours?
1. I believe that fulfilling work is necessary for Eudaimonia. Each human being needs to have tasks, whether manual, intellectual, or creative, that require training, skill, and attention. Much of each day and of each person's energy should be dedicated to this work for individual flourishing. This could be a job, an avocation, the raising of children, or any other kind of task, but it must be followed with energy and enthusiasm for the person to feel fulfilled. To this I add that I do think pursuits of the mind are more fulfilling than physical or social pursuits, but I have no research to prove that.
2. I believe that mutually loving and serving relationships are necessary for human flourishing, and that these relationships are not meaningful unless they can weather terrible trials and survive. This does not apply, then, to transient, ephemeral romances or brief, passing friendships. It is necessary to put even more work into love than into work in order to develop these kinds of lasting relationships. Without them, a human withers.
3. I believe that some kind of service -- I would call it ministry -- is also necessary. How can one human flourish when even one other person on the planet does not? We are all connected. I prefer the word "coinherence" for the kind of acknowledgement of mutual exchange that occurs in the most profound kinds of service: the bearing of one another's burdens. This could be in friendships, in family, in volunteer work, in large charitable organizations, etc. But unless we are working to make the world a better place and to relieve others' sufferings, I don't see how our flourishing can be anything other than selfish and inward.
4. I am a Christian, so I also believe that human flourishing is impossible without the kinds of difficult moral commitments that the Church and our traditional call us to pursue. I believe that holiness is more important than happiness. While living a moral, spiritually healthy life is much more difficult than living an immoral, spiritually unhealthy life, and may indeed involve significant suffering, I believe that any other way of life leads to temporary flourishing at best and actual destruction of the soul and of personhood at worst. These morals involve chastity, charity, humility, mutual submission, and all those other traditional words that are so unpopular -- maybe even "radical" -- in 21st-century America.
5. I also have one other belief that I'm not sure can be universally applied, but I will share it anyway. I think that human flourishing also involves intellectual development, wide reading, travel, awareness of current events, open-mindedness about cultural differences, and a general sense of planetary cosmopolitanism. I am concerned by people who do not know what goes on outside their family, small subculture, or ethnocentric regional group.
Showing posts with label Philosophy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Philosophy. Show all posts
03 February 2013
19 May 2010
quick post with suggested links
Here is a little bit of suggested reading for you. First, here is an article in Comment that discusses the role of the Arts and the Church in revitalizing small, dying town. It's an excellent article, well written, with apt references and good research. It's extremely relevant to Iambic Admonit in the context of the interview series I've been running.
Next, do you remember those two little articles I wrote about Posthumanism for Curator? Well, here they are again just in case:
What is Posthumanism
a Christian response
Well, several sites have been providing linkbacks: responses, discussion, critique, and so on. Perhaps you would like to join the conversation? Here are the ones I could find. Please feel free to add more in the comments if you find any.
"Religion in Society"
Monographias.com
"Three Quarks Daily"
"A Fool Repeats His Folly"
"Rave, rant, rate"
Next, do you remember those two little articles I wrote about Posthumanism for Curator? Well, here they are again just in case:
What is Posthumanism
a Christian response
Well, several sites have been providing linkbacks: responses, discussion, critique, and so on. Perhaps you would like to join the conversation? Here are the ones I could find. Please feel free to add more in the comments if you find any.
"Religion in Society"
Monographias.com
"Three Quarks Daily"
"A Fool Repeats His Folly"
"Rave, rant, rate"
16 April 2010
What is Posthumanism? part 2
The Curator, an online magazine, has just published my second article reviewing Cary Wolfe's new book, What is Posthumanism?
The first article is an "objective" book review.
The second article is a Christian analysis.
I would be grateful for your comments. Please go over to The Curator and read the articles, then come back and leave your thoughts here. Thank you very much.
The first article is an "objective" book review.
The second article is a Christian analysis.
I would be grateful for your comments. Please go over to The Curator and read the articles, then come back and leave your thoughts here. Thank you very much.
02 April 2010
What is Posthumanism?
I recently wrote a book review of "What Is Posthumanism?" by Cary Wolfe. You can read my review in "Curator" magazine. I'm working on part two of my review now: a Christian response. I'll let you know when that's available. But please do take a read and let me know what you think of this profound, and profoundly disturbing, new cultural theory.
24 November 2009
Ekphrasis report #1
As the natural real-life extension of both my teaching and the kind of ruminative writing I do here, just about once a month I host an artsy workshop. It is a gathering of Christians who do art—any kind of art. We have writers (poetry and prose), painters, musicians, composers, and at least one actor[ess]. Many of them are students and former students; several are teachers. We come together to share our original work and/or performances, and to critique what is shared. These meetings are always very lively, full of fantastic conversation and good, solid advice for revision and improvement. I have a high standard of quality, and attempt to impart that to the participants. If you live in Eastern PA and would like to participate, you may request an invitation. Meanwhile, I thought it would be a good idea to post a kind of report about the meetings here, especially about any cultural conversations that come up, as an extension of its influence. I’ll keep the participants anonymous unless they request otherwise. Enjoy, and please write your thoughts to me as a comment.
This past meeting was rather small, but inversely intense. It was more heavily focused on the visual arts than on the written word, which is unusual—and nice! I had a couple of poems, which the group kindly took to bits so that I may put them back together. They were both “Persona” poems, in which I take on the first person perspective of some character, usually mythological, and explore what that personality has to say as metaphor about myself or someone I know—or even, though more rarely, just a universal human characteristic. I find this to be a rich vein, and I intend to keep on mining it. It connects up, of course, to the true myth idea that I frequently reference.
Then S. shared an original painting. She had created it for an art class, and the assignment was to copy a famous masterpiece, attempting to imitate the technique as closely as possible, but with the liberty to adapt it. She chose Van Gogh’s “Starry Night,” replacing the Cyprus tree in the foreground with a cross and painting a verse from Psalm 8 over the wind-curls in the sky. She also modified a bit of the landscape to present an open tomb. In addition to talking about technique, we also discussed various ways to integrate a message into a work of art so that it is intelligible and persuasive while also being subtle. In literature, I said, one of the reasons I write “complicated” stuff with big words and mythological or natural topoi is to try to season the truth to make it palatable. That, by the way, is one reason that cheesy gift-shop Christianity is not art—in addition, of course, to its lack of technical prowess.
Next, D., a high school art teacher, shared two portraits he painted of students. They were what I might call, in my non-technical visual art vocabulary, fantastical-realist, perhaps with a touch of the surrealist. In other words, they were perfectly recognizable as representations of their subjects (I knew one of the boys, but not the other), but not in a photo-realist way. In fact, the luminous, extra-natural colors they use (vibrant yellows and violets highlighting the African-American’s face, greens and greys the image of a philosopher) go further in expressing personality and character than pedantically “realistic” colors could. He had also given a texture to the canvas before painting, bringing out certain areas in touchable 3-D, adding to the surrealistic lifelike impression these works conveyed.
L. was also there, providing excellent comments and critiques, especially of my poetry. She is a good writer (as well as an actress and visual artist), and has a good eye for the tones, connotations, and interactions of words, pointing out tiny details and large movements that need alteration.
Now, I don’t remember how we got into it, but somehow the five works we considered (two poems and three paintings) and the discussions surrounding them catapulted us into a discussion about just exactly what the current philosophy is. Oh, I remember. We asked S., who attends a community college, how her classmates and professor received her overtly religious painting. While she said they received it with equanimity, which is encouraging, that somehow led us on to this final topic.
I am taking Literary Theory this semester at a local university that is part of the Penn. State system. I love it; I’m learning just for fun, without any grade or career pressure at this particular point (although, of course, I intend for it to further my career at some stage). Our professor is very, very good. She has many strengths, which I could gladly praise with gusto, one of which is that she’s totally up-to-date. She’s very young (not too many years older than myself, which is actually pretty depressing) and chic in an academic way and totally current. She chooses to stand in the longest line at the supermarket so she can read Vogue; she knows all the latest popular films as well as indie and other marginal movies. She’s fluent in contemporary pop novels and high-brow poetry and theory. Amazing. Inspired by her and several other influences in my life, I’m reading a lot more poetry written by living people. Maybe more on that in another post, we’ll see.
Anyway, one day we were talking about generations, and how each generation in America for the last half century anyway has had a name and a collective personality, if you will. My parents are the Baby Boomers; their parents were the Leave it to Beaver and Father Knows Best generation. I am Generation X; current high school students are Generation Y. Those born after 9-11 (when the world changed forever) are—get this--Homelanders. They were born into a world of Homeland Security, of increased surveillance, of (some would say) a growing Socialism and/or collective consciousness of insecurity and need for group conformity. Sounds like dystopic novel to me.
Along with everything changing at 9-11, apparently, postmodernism ended that day. Seriously. That’s what she said. There have been ripples for years, discussions of how we’re no longer a post-Christian society, we’re a post-post-Christian society, and how we’re not in post-modernism anymore, we’re in whatever come after it. And what comes after it?
THE POST HUMAN ERA. That’s where we are now, so “they” say. So, I brought this up at the Ekphrasis meeting, and we talked about what it might mean. We came up with some possibilities in the social and ethical realms, although we didn’t know what it meant in the metaphysical and epistemological realms. In the social, it means radical environmentalism. It means that human beings are—of course—not only not the center of the universe (we ceased to be that in 1555 or so with the discoveries of Copernicus, Kepler, and Galileo), but are now viewed as invaders, even infestations, on this planet. We not only aren’t essential to the planet earth, we are bad for it. Earth will be better off when we are gone. In the ethical realms, it is the natural extension of the worst forms of atheistic Evolution (there are other brands, that I will not discuss here) , which postulates the worthlessness of human life and/or the equality, or even subordination, of human life with/to animal life. One of the worst results is the acceptance of bestiality, which is already prevalent in some circles. Watch, one day soon, somebody is going to have a court case because he wants to marry his dog.
But before you despair: as with all world movements of the mind, no matter how apparently bleak, this attitude (1) will pass and (2) meanwhile has a positive side on which we ought to capitalize. Here are some of the positives and/or opportunities that I see. First, it can cultivate humility. We are not the center of the universe; God is! Humanity, while fantastically creative and amazing, is fallen and needs redemption. Maybe this will encourage some to get out of their own faces and see their needs. Also, while the radical environmentalism describe above is an extreme, the Church as a whole should get on board with an awful lot of stewardship of the earth that is being proposed. We need to take care of this gorgeous, verdant planet! We need to consider the condition of the other species that are under our care—not to mention of our own descendants, too. So, keep your eyes open for posthuman sentiments, and look for the opportunities to turn it to good.
This past meeting was rather small, but inversely intense. It was more heavily focused on the visual arts than on the written word, which is unusual—and nice! I had a couple of poems, which the group kindly took to bits so that I may put them back together. They were both “Persona” poems, in which I take on the first person perspective of some character, usually mythological, and explore what that personality has to say as metaphor about myself or someone I know—or even, though more rarely, just a universal human characteristic. I find this to be a rich vein, and I intend to keep on mining it. It connects up, of course, to the true myth idea that I frequently reference.
Then S. shared an original painting. She had created it for an art class, and the assignment was to copy a famous masterpiece, attempting to imitate the technique as closely as possible, but with the liberty to adapt it. She chose Van Gogh’s “Starry Night,” replacing the Cyprus tree in the foreground with a cross and painting a verse from Psalm 8 over the wind-curls in the sky. She also modified a bit of the landscape to present an open tomb. In addition to talking about technique, we also discussed various ways to integrate a message into a work of art so that it is intelligible and persuasive while also being subtle. In literature, I said, one of the reasons I write “complicated” stuff with big words and mythological or natural topoi is to try to season the truth to make it palatable. That, by the way, is one reason that cheesy gift-shop Christianity is not art—in addition, of course, to its lack of technical prowess.
Next, D., a high school art teacher, shared two portraits he painted of students. They were what I might call, in my non-technical visual art vocabulary, fantastical-realist, perhaps with a touch of the surrealist. In other words, they were perfectly recognizable as representations of their subjects (I knew one of the boys, but not the other), but not in a photo-realist way. In fact, the luminous, extra-natural colors they use (vibrant yellows and violets highlighting the African-American’s face, greens and greys the image of a philosopher) go further in expressing personality and character than pedantically “realistic” colors could. He had also given a texture to the canvas before painting, bringing out certain areas in touchable 3-D, adding to the surrealistic lifelike impression these works conveyed.
L. was also there, providing excellent comments and critiques, especially of my poetry. She is a good writer (as well as an actress and visual artist), and has a good eye for the tones, connotations, and interactions of words, pointing out tiny details and large movements that need alteration.
Now, I don’t remember how we got into it, but somehow the five works we considered (two poems and three paintings) and the discussions surrounding them catapulted us into a discussion about just exactly what the current philosophy is. Oh, I remember. We asked S., who attends a community college, how her classmates and professor received her overtly religious painting. While she said they received it with equanimity, which is encouraging, that somehow led us on to this final topic.
I am taking Literary Theory this semester at a local university that is part of the Penn. State system. I love it; I’m learning just for fun, without any grade or career pressure at this particular point (although, of course, I intend for it to further my career at some stage). Our professor is very, very good. She has many strengths, which I could gladly praise with gusto, one of which is that she’s totally up-to-date. She’s very young (not too many years older than myself, which is actually pretty depressing) and chic in an academic way and totally current. She chooses to stand in the longest line at the supermarket so she can read Vogue; she knows all the latest popular films as well as indie and other marginal movies. She’s fluent in contemporary pop novels and high-brow poetry and theory. Amazing. Inspired by her and several other influences in my life, I’m reading a lot more poetry written by living people. Maybe more on that in another post, we’ll see.
Anyway, one day we were talking about generations, and how each generation in America for the last half century anyway has had a name and a collective personality, if you will. My parents are the Baby Boomers; their parents were the Leave it to Beaver and Father Knows Best generation. I am Generation X; current high school students are Generation Y. Those born after 9-11 (when the world changed forever) are—get this--Homelanders. They were born into a world of Homeland Security, of increased surveillance, of (some would say) a growing Socialism and/or collective consciousness of insecurity and need for group conformity. Sounds like dystopic novel to me.
Along with everything changing at 9-11, apparently, postmodernism ended that day. Seriously. That’s what she said. There have been ripples for years, discussions of how we’re no longer a post-Christian society, we’re a post-post-Christian society, and how we’re not in post-modernism anymore, we’re in whatever come after it. And what comes after it?
THE POST HUMAN ERA. That’s where we are now, so “they” say. So, I brought this up at the Ekphrasis meeting, and we talked about what it might mean. We came up with some possibilities in the social and ethical realms, although we didn’t know what it meant in the metaphysical and epistemological realms. In the social, it means radical environmentalism. It means that human beings are—of course—not only not the center of the universe (we ceased to be that in 1555 or so with the discoveries of Copernicus, Kepler, and Galileo), but are now viewed as invaders, even infestations, on this planet. We not only aren’t essential to the planet earth, we are bad for it. Earth will be better off when we are gone. In the ethical realms, it is the natural extension of the worst forms of atheistic Evolution (there are other brands, that I will not discuss here) , which postulates the worthlessness of human life and/or the equality, or even subordination, of human life with/to animal life. One of the worst results is the acceptance of bestiality, which is already prevalent in some circles. Watch, one day soon, somebody is going to have a court case because he wants to marry his dog.
But before you despair: as with all world movements of the mind, no matter how apparently bleak, this attitude (1) will pass and (2) meanwhile has a positive side on which we ought to capitalize. Here are some of the positives and/or opportunities that I see. First, it can cultivate humility. We are not the center of the universe; God is! Humanity, while fantastically creative and amazing, is fallen and needs redemption. Maybe this will encourage some to get out of their own faces and see their needs. Also, while the radical environmentalism describe above is an extreme, the Church as a whole should get on board with an awful lot of stewardship of the earth that is being proposed. We need to take care of this gorgeous, verdant planet! We need to consider the condition of the other species that are under our care—not to mention of our own descendants, too. So, keep your eyes open for posthuman sentiments, and look for the opportunities to turn it to good.
22 September 2009
a little more on Plato
I know there's been a lot on this blog in the past about Plato's metaphysics and their implications for the arts. But I'm taking a class now in which we read snippets of Plato and Aristotle and wrote a tiny response. So, here's my response, to remind us of the ongoing struggle between the earthly and the divine -- and th pressure both put on the poet.
Response to selections from Plato & Aristotle
Plato and Aristotle, two foundational philosophers in the history of “Western” thought, are a bit of an odd couple. Their minds work similarly, by means of investigation and logical progression, but their assumptions, conclusions, and practical applications are extremely dissimilar. I find this comparison/contrast fascinating, because I am (in theory) a Neoplatonist, but resonate more sympathetically with Aristotle’s literary conclusions.
The introduction to our reading selection from Aristotle’s Poetics gives a convenient comparison between this writer and his teacher, which I paraphrase here.
Plato
To this list I add some observations of my own.
Plato
Aristotle
It might not be an exaggeration to summarize these differences thus: Aristotle is actually interested in poetry (he loves the gritty metrical details of it, the rhythm and swing and sway of it); Plato is not (he looks beyond it, with a vague look of distraction in his eyes, to the shapeless invisible Forms in the eternal world). Plato, of course, banishes almost all art from his Republic. But then, he does feel great regret over this action, and gives poetry a chance to defend herself. And Aristotle does rather analyze poor poetry to death, dissecting it, sorting the severed limbs into neat little piles and labeling with a Sharpie in clear, stubby capitals. So this dichotomy is not, perhaps, as neat as I might like it to be.
Which makes sense, given my own artistic and theological struggles. I’ve written a lot about the pleasures and pains of my own Platonism. I’ve rejoiced in how it provides artistic motivation—always striving to express the true Form, knowing that all failure here is only a weak copy of some success in the other world, longing for the multi-dimensional reality that will be that much more beautiful than even this achingly lovely terrestrial existence. I’ve been relieved to find how it helps make theological sense of suffering and imperfection by the promise of the Ideal, Incarnate, finally ruling in a complete kingdom without spatial or temporal boundaries. Indeed, that’s how I’ve reworked Platonism to fill in some of the holes in the Allegory of the Cave etc.: by reinterpreting the Realm of Pure Forms into (now) the Mind of God and (future) the final Kingdom of God (heaven/new earth). This is all very C. S. Lewisian, of course, and Charles Williamsian. No wonder: I was raised on the Inklings as well as Augustine, Luther, and Calvin. They were my baby food, my childhood meats, my mature sweet wine of the soul.
But then there’s the other side: the terrible body-soul dichotomy that arose throughout Christendom as a result of widespread misapplication of Hellenization. If the body is only a copy of an Ideal one, and a poor sickly shadowy copy at that, and (furthermore) if the “flesh” is the residence of sin, then the body must be the house of evil. Hence all kinds of abuses in the historical Church, both of oneself and of others.
And this has artistic consequences, too. The simplest to relate came up in a workshop just a month ago. My fellow poets chided me thus: “Nothing ever actually happens in your poems. It’s always going to happen, or speculation about what might happen, or what could or should, but it’s never actually happening in the poem. You never feel or experience anything in the poem itself.” Indeed. That is the problem. But I suffer from an overdose of Plato, which Yoda expressed so well: “Never his [/her]mind on where [s]he is, what [s]he is doing.” Precisely. This is the result of Plato’s moratorium on creation, his denial of true invention.
So Aristotle is kind of a breath of fresh air, for all my love of the Ideal. Even though he is dry enough to put anybody to sleep at any time of day (hurrah! a cure for insomnia!), he’s kind of bracing compared to Plato. There’s something there to chew on. Lots of nice earthy, solid, papery examples to analyze. I tried last night to write a poem in which something actually happened and in which the narrative persona actually felt something. It ended up being mostly a list of anatomical terms for the physical sensations of climbing a mountain. But maybe that’s a start. At least my narrator made it to the top of the mountain. If the mountain was really there!
Response to selections from Plato & Aristotle
Plato and Aristotle, two foundational philosophers in the history of “Western” thought, are a bit of an odd couple. Their minds work similarly, by means of investigation and logical progression, but their assumptions, conclusions, and practical applications are extremely dissimilar. I find this comparison/contrast fascinating, because I am (in theory) a Neoplatonist, but resonate more sympathetically with Aristotle’s literary conclusions.
The introduction to our reading selection from Aristotle’s Poetics gives a convenient comparison between this writer and his teacher, which I paraphrase here.
Plato
considers poetry in comparison to forms/idealsAristotle
thinks art is propaganda
says that poets are skillful LIARS
thinks analogically
considers poetry as a general category
stresses the similarities among all arts
focuses on content/subject matter
all art is COPYING
writes poetically, eloquently, dramatically
considers poetry itself
thinks art is…art
says poets are SKILLFUL liars
thinks analytically
considers generic categories
stresses the differences between works of art
focuses on artistic form
all art is CREATING
writes dryly, technically
To this list I add some observations of my own.
Plato
likes, but condemns, Homer
wants to dry up emotions
considers art in the ideal world
poets have no access to the Good
relevant only for philosophers and great men
Aristotle
praises Homer as a great example
wants to evoke fear and pity
considers art in the real world
poets communicate Universal Goodness
relevant for everybody
It might not be an exaggeration to summarize these differences thus: Aristotle is actually interested in poetry (he loves the gritty metrical details of it, the rhythm and swing and sway of it); Plato is not (he looks beyond it, with a vague look of distraction in his eyes, to the shapeless invisible Forms in the eternal world). Plato, of course, banishes almost all art from his Republic. But then, he does feel great regret over this action, and gives poetry a chance to defend herself. And Aristotle does rather analyze poor poetry to death, dissecting it, sorting the severed limbs into neat little piles and labeling with a Sharpie in clear, stubby capitals. So this dichotomy is not, perhaps, as neat as I might like it to be.
Which makes sense, given my own artistic and theological struggles. I’ve written a lot about the pleasures and pains of my own Platonism. I’ve rejoiced in how it provides artistic motivation—always striving to express the true Form, knowing that all failure here is only a weak copy of some success in the other world, longing for the multi-dimensional reality that will be that much more beautiful than even this achingly lovely terrestrial existence. I’ve been relieved to find how it helps make theological sense of suffering and imperfection by the promise of the Ideal, Incarnate, finally ruling in a complete kingdom without spatial or temporal boundaries. Indeed, that’s how I’ve reworked Platonism to fill in some of the holes in the Allegory of the Cave etc.: by reinterpreting the Realm of Pure Forms into (now) the Mind of God and (future) the final Kingdom of God (heaven/new earth). This is all very C. S. Lewisian, of course, and Charles Williamsian. No wonder: I was raised on the Inklings as well as Augustine, Luther, and Calvin. They were my baby food, my childhood meats, my mature sweet wine of the soul.
But then there’s the other side: the terrible body-soul dichotomy that arose throughout Christendom as a result of widespread misapplication of Hellenization. If the body is only a copy of an Ideal one, and a poor sickly shadowy copy at that, and (furthermore) if the “flesh” is the residence of sin, then the body must be the house of evil. Hence all kinds of abuses in the historical Church, both of oneself and of others.
And this has artistic consequences, too. The simplest to relate came up in a workshop just a month ago. My fellow poets chided me thus: “Nothing ever actually happens in your poems. It’s always going to happen, or speculation about what might happen, or what could or should, but it’s never actually happening in the poem. You never feel or experience anything in the poem itself.” Indeed. That is the problem. But I suffer from an overdose of Plato, which Yoda expressed so well: “Never his [/her]mind on where [s]he is, what [s]he is doing.” Precisely. This is the result of Plato’s moratorium on creation, his denial of true invention.
So Aristotle is kind of a breath of fresh air, for all my love of the Ideal. Even though he is dry enough to put anybody to sleep at any time of day (hurrah! a cure for insomnia!), he’s kind of bracing compared to Plato. There’s something there to chew on. Lots of nice earthy, solid, papery examples to analyze. I tried last night to write a poem in which something actually happened and in which the narrative persona actually felt something. It ended up being mostly a list of anatomical terms for the physical sensations of climbing a mountain. But maybe that’s a start. At least my narrator made it to the top of the mountain. If the mountain was really there!
10 May 2008
Art, Beauty & God: Recurrent Themes in Theological Aesthetics
Comment Magazine (in which I have published an article and a photo) recommends the following:
Comment author Adrienne Dengerink Chaplin will teach a course called "Art, Beauty & God: Recurrent Themes in Theological Aesthetics" this summer at the Institute for Christian Studies in Toronto.
"Since the early church Christian thinkers have been ambivalent about art and beauty. Some reviled them for their supposedly seductive or idolatrous nature, others revered them for their apparent capacity to serve as steppingstones to a higher, spiritual reality. Although since modern times art, beauty and religion stood in a troubled relationship to each other, both beauty and religion have made dramatic comebacks in recent discussions about art, as have art and beauty in theological debate. Co-taught by a theologian and a philosopher, the course will explore the relationships between: art and beauty; beauty and God; icons and idols; art and worldview; theological and philosophical aesthetics.
"The course will examine recent developments in theological aesthetics with a view to identifying which theories hold most promise for a holistic contemporary Christian aesthetics."
"Art, Beauty & God: Recurrent Themes in Theological Aesthetics" runs June 30 - July 11, 2008 at the ICS Campus. Registration deadline is June 21, 2008, online (icscanada.edu) or by phone (Robbin Burry, Registrar, (416)979-2331 x234).
Comment author Adrienne Dengerink Chaplin will teach a course called "Art, Beauty & God: Recurrent Themes in Theological Aesthetics" this summer at the Institute for Christian Studies in Toronto.
"Since the early church Christian thinkers have been ambivalent about art and beauty. Some reviled them for their supposedly seductive or idolatrous nature, others revered them for their apparent capacity to serve as steppingstones to a higher, spiritual reality. Although since modern times art, beauty and religion stood in a troubled relationship to each other, both beauty and religion have made dramatic comebacks in recent discussions about art, as have art and beauty in theological debate. Co-taught by a theologian and a philosopher, the course will explore the relationships between: art and beauty; beauty and God; icons and idols; art and worldview; theological and philosophical aesthetics.
"The course will examine recent developments in theological aesthetics with a view to identifying which theories hold most promise for a holistic contemporary Christian aesthetics."
"Art, Beauty & God: Recurrent Themes in Theological Aesthetics" runs June 30 - July 11, 2008 at the ICS Campus. Registration deadline is June 21, 2008, online (icscanada.edu) or by phone (Robbin Burry, Registrar, (416)979-2331 x234).
03 April 2008
April Poem of the Month
Ode on My? Image [Not] in the Mirror
Praise for the mirror’s angular edges
or oval of trim, or frame of gilt;
its multiplicity of shapes and sizes.
Praise to the bathroom mirror, useless in fog;
and the tiny handbag circle, to the rescue
of eye-smudged sorrows and lipstick blues;
and the hand-carved full-length an uncle made,
I in awkward haste shattered, and no one saved
from a fragmented, dangerous fate.
On every wall, these works of art,
these frames of magic nothingness:
for who has ever seen a mirror? You have not,
not once. No one can ever see what sort of thing
it is in itself: it has no color, no topography
or texture. Meaningless, like a macaw’s chatter;
empty, like a poet reading someone else’s words.
Yet a landscape in a mirror, or a face,
becomes a mysterious wonderland
with hues and depths that, outside its glass,
would be fantastic, would have to be imaginary.
In the glass, who knows?
How do I know how I really look—
whether I have hazel eyes, or bleached blond hair,
sorrow or contentment in my expression unreflected—
since I only ever see myself at a distance, in external glass?
I have never seen my face, neither with my own eyes,
nor by a long hard gaze at me with anybody else’s.
How do I know the mirror doubles truth?
How do I know I have seen anything?
In the mirror or without, a solitary sensation?
Try to see, try to know you feel:
concentrate the energy of consciousness
to register the messages your senses send.
I once stood in the midst of snow-covered trees,
forcing myself to listen to the silence flakes of gray made
against the same-gray sky, to see that paper-colored air
while I was there. And could not.
Noises, colors, cold, and dark:
none of these are in me, none of them are mine.
The flavor is not in the wine, nor on my tongue,
nor any bodied place. The act of sensing
slips a gap between body and mind.
I cannot feel at any moment, in any now—
for when is now? It is the same as never.
All I can do is memorize.
The harder I try to see, the less I can.
--Admonit
Praise for the mirror’s angular edges
or oval of trim, or frame of gilt;
its multiplicity of shapes and sizes.
Praise to the bathroom mirror, useless in fog;
and the tiny handbag circle, to the rescue
of eye-smudged sorrows and lipstick blues;
and the hand-carved full-length an uncle made,
I in awkward haste shattered, and no one saved
from a fragmented, dangerous fate.
On every wall, these works of art,
these frames of magic nothingness:
for who has ever seen a mirror? You have not,
not once. No one can ever see what sort of thing
it is in itself: it has no color, no topography
or texture. Meaningless, like a macaw’s chatter;
empty, like a poet reading someone else’s words.
Yet a landscape in a mirror, or a face,
becomes a mysterious wonderland
with hues and depths that, outside its glass,
would be fantastic, would have to be imaginary.
In the glass, who knows?
How do I know how I really look—
whether I have hazel eyes, or bleached blond hair,
sorrow or contentment in my expression unreflected—
since I only ever see myself at a distance, in external glass?
I have never seen my face, neither with my own eyes,
nor by a long hard gaze at me with anybody else’s.
How do I know the mirror doubles truth?
How do I know I have seen anything?
In the mirror or without, a solitary sensation?
Try to see, try to know you feel:
concentrate the energy of consciousness
to register the messages your senses send.
I once stood in the midst of snow-covered trees,
forcing myself to listen to the silence flakes of gray made
against the same-gray sky, to see that paper-colored air
while I was there. And could not.
Noises, colors, cold, and dark:
none of these are in me, none of them are mine.
The flavor is not in the wine, nor on my tongue,
nor any bodied place. The act of sensing
slips a gap between body and mind.
I cannot feel at any moment, in any now—
for when is now? It is the same as never.
All I can do is memorize.
The harder I try to see, the less I can.
--Admonit
10 March 2008
Alternatives to the Allegory of the Cave
Reading: Great Expectations by Charles Dickens; Possession by A. S. Byatt
watching: Harry Potter 5
listening to: Sense & Sensibility on tape; Loreena McKennitt's An Ancient Muse
Well, the second Platonic post didn’t elicit many responses at all! Let’s try this final topic.
Can you suggest alternatives to the Allegory of the Cave? These could be new allegories or modes of explaining the Platonic conception. They could be other understandings of the universe and meta-universe. In other words, if you are not a Platonist, what are you and how do you explain physical and extra-physical realities and their relationships? Can you devise an allegory for an Aristotelian understanding, or for a Berkleyian idealism, or for any other conception? Or, you could suggest works of art, literature, or other media that present either a new way of visualizing Plato’s controlling concept or an alternative worldview?
So I shall begin.
There are many works of art that present new ways of understanding Plato’s worldview. I have endeavored to present most of them in classes. These are, I believe, the best:
The Matrix
The Great Divorce by C. S. Lewis
The Last Battle by C. S. Lewis
The Place of the Lion by Charles Williams
I read Dante’s Divine Comedy in a Christian neo-Platonic light (allusive pun intended), as the narrator travels through projected images reflective of the real condition of saints in the Heavenly Rose.
Oh, and another you’ve never heard of, “Danaher: The Musical.” This musical, based on the life of a professor of philosophy at Nyack College, was written by a professor of English (and an Inklings specialist), Dr. Charles Franklin Beach, and the music was composed by a classmate of my sister’s, James Gardener. My sister, Nadine, played Prof. Danaher’s wife. It’s a hilarious and uneven work with more potential than polish, written mostly for the amusement and accolades of its own community, Nyack College. The young Danaher, an avid reader of Plato, tripping on LSD, experiences a psychedelic vision of Christ accompanied by a multi-layered distortion of “Bridge over Troubled Waters” and disco-style strobe lights. The result is his conversion to Christianity and a song entitled “Out of the Cave and Into the Light.” Very sophomoric, but entertaining and not without truth.
Other than that, I think I’ve already done my share of developing a Christian reverse neo-Platonism that sees its ultimate reality in Heaven, rather than in a pre-existent world of forms.
Here’s a poem of my own that works off of the shadow and copy concept, plus a little sehnsucht thrown in to connect the Forms with Desire.
The Myth of Memory
I finally learned to dive,
and found joy hovered there:
a sphere of longing sublimed with the lake.
Below me, an indeterminate color hung
like shadows cast on grass;
above, desire quivering in a sunlit circle.
Well-mouth, cave-mouth, it shone:
compelling, fixing my imagination
on its unknown and unlabeled hues.
That strange, inviting light held me;
I crystallized, became the prism,
casting scattered shafts
from each toe and finger, every hair.
Is it that light I long for in my dreams?
In an underwater limbo
suspense and longing intermingled.
Delicious, like a taste;
refreshing, as if I drank and it were pure;
wet and pulsing like the act of love.
That unity in isolation seemed
the archetype of other, severed, pleasures:
I swam submerged and drowning in desire.
What did I want? Not that muddy lake,
that real dive split in fragments by my five
unpracticed senses, spluttering in fact.
Not to catch the fascinating disc of sunlight
on the surface. Not to stay and drown;
no, not to stay and contemplate.
Fish do not live suspended in a state
of constant wonder—or perhaps they do.
Maybe that explains the lack of eyelids,
always awake, always in sudden shock.
Everything that happens goes too fast.
I never felt desire while I dove.
And yet, I read my recollections
as if feelings will be real,
as if every ecstasy will be itself
and every moment, lingering.
I live like longing will be unified and re-embodied
in the consummation and consecration of desire.
~ Admonit
watching: Harry Potter 5
listening to: Sense & Sensibility on tape; Loreena McKennitt's An Ancient Muse
Well, the second Platonic post didn’t elicit many responses at all! Let’s try this final topic.
Can you suggest alternatives to the Allegory of the Cave? These could be new allegories or modes of explaining the Platonic conception. They could be other understandings of the universe and meta-universe. In other words, if you are not a Platonist, what are you and how do you explain physical and extra-physical realities and their relationships? Can you devise an allegory for an Aristotelian understanding, or for a Berkleyian idealism, or for any other conception? Or, you could suggest works of art, literature, or other media that present either a new way of visualizing Plato’s controlling concept or an alternative worldview?
So I shall begin.
There are many works of art that present new ways of understanding Plato’s worldview. I have endeavored to present most of them in classes. These are, I believe, the best:
The Matrix
The Great Divorce by C. S. Lewis
The Last Battle by C. S. Lewis
The Place of the Lion by Charles Williams
I read Dante’s Divine Comedy in a Christian neo-Platonic light (allusive pun intended), as the narrator travels through projected images reflective of the real condition of saints in the Heavenly Rose.
Oh, and another you’ve never heard of, “Danaher: The Musical.” This musical, based on the life of a professor of philosophy at Nyack College, was written by a professor of English (and an Inklings specialist), Dr. Charles Franklin Beach, and the music was composed by a classmate of my sister’s, James Gardener. My sister, Nadine, played Prof. Danaher’s wife. It’s a hilarious and uneven work with more potential than polish, written mostly for the amusement and accolades of its own community, Nyack College. The young Danaher, an avid reader of Plato, tripping on LSD, experiences a psychedelic vision of Christ accompanied by a multi-layered distortion of “Bridge over Troubled Waters” and disco-style strobe lights. The result is his conversion to Christianity and a song entitled “Out of the Cave and Into the Light.” Very sophomoric, but entertaining and not without truth.
Other than that, I think I’ve already done my share of developing a Christian reverse neo-Platonism that sees its ultimate reality in Heaven, rather than in a pre-existent world of forms.
Here’s a poem of my own that works off of the shadow and copy concept, plus a little sehnsucht thrown in to connect the Forms with Desire.
The Myth of Memory
I finally learned to dive,
and found joy hovered there:
a sphere of longing sublimed with the lake.
Below me, an indeterminate color hung
like shadows cast on grass;
above, desire quivering in a sunlit circle.
Well-mouth, cave-mouth, it shone:
compelling, fixing my imagination
on its unknown and unlabeled hues.
That strange, inviting light held me;
I crystallized, became the prism,
casting scattered shafts
from each toe and finger, every hair.
Is it that light I long for in my dreams?
In an underwater limbo
suspense and longing intermingled.
Delicious, like a taste;
refreshing, as if I drank and it were pure;
wet and pulsing like the act of love.
That unity in isolation seemed
the archetype of other, severed, pleasures:
I swam submerged and drowning in desire.
What did I want? Not that muddy lake,
that real dive split in fragments by my five
unpracticed senses, spluttering in fact.
Not to catch the fascinating disc of sunlight
on the surface. Not to stay and drown;
no, not to stay and contemplate.
Fish do not live suspended in a state
of constant wonder—or perhaps they do.
Maybe that explains the lack of eyelids,
always awake, always in sudden shock.
Everything that happens goes too fast.
I never felt desire while I dove.
And yet, I read my recollections
as if feelings will be real,
as if every ecstasy will be itself
and every moment, lingering.
I live like longing will be unified and re-embodied
in the consummation and consecration of desire.
~ Admonit
25 February 2008
A Defense of Plato's Metaphysics
I keep forgetting about the old tradition on this blog of announcing what the current author is reading, listening to, and watching. I’ll reinstate it now, and readers are encouraged to do the same and to remind me to keep it up!
Reading: The Discarded Image by C.S. Lewis; Great Expectations by Charles Dickens; The Bridge of San Luis Ray by Thornton Wilder; and The Book that Nobody Read: Chasing the Revolutions of Nicholas Copernicus by Owen Gingerich
Listening to: “Slavonic Dances” by Antonin Dvorâk
Watching(over the course of several days, not all at once!): “Sense & Sensibility”; one of Ioan Gruffudd’s “Horatio Hornblower” episodes; Olivier’s Hamlet, and selections from “La Vita E Bella/Life is Beautiful.”
Now, the second installment in the discussion of Plato’s metaphysics and its attendant problems.
First, a digression. I’m rereading C.S. Lewis’s The Discarded Image, which is the posthumously published volume he developed from his lectures introducing Medieval and Renaissance Literature. I finally have enough background information and a well-developed mechanism of appreciation to be able to read and love this book. It is full of many thrills for me now that it did not have on a first reading years ago. I have been learning much from this book, and look forward to learning more—and to being pointed down many other, related, paths of knowledge. One interesting mental development The Discarded Image has set in motion has to do with Platonism. I always knew that my Christian Platonism came via Lewis; what I didn’t fully realize was how thoroughly his own came from the Medievals, not from Plato—though of course CSL was well read in Plato. But that’s part of the point: the Medievals were not well read in Plato, but only in brief little bits in translation and in the even longer [misinterpreting] commentaries on those bits. Thus the Christian neo-Platonism I hold so dear is really just that: Christian, neo-Platonism—not Platonism proper. By the time it reached me (classes in Classical philosophy notwithstanding; those came after my impressionable immersion in The Silver Chair, The Last Battle, and The Great Divorce), it was Lewis’s re-interpretation of the Medievals’ reinterpretation of Chalcidius’s (and others’) mis-interpretation of the ancient neo-Platonists explication of Plato’s recorded interpretation of Socrates’ doctrine of the Forms—which is only a small part of his totalizing system, by the way!!! —many removes from anything like an original. And I’ve done my fair share of reinterpreting it along the way, too. See this earlier discussion, and this, on a couple of ancient posts. So, I’ll end this long digression by saying that the Christian neo-Platonism I love is really some lovely perversion of pure Platonism, so perhaps my defense will tend more towards my own version, not Plato’s.
Let us now turn to that defense. Here is the assignment for my students, and my request to all other readers. Please read over the problems we raised in the previous metaphysical posting, and try to “solve” at least one. You may be able to do this by suggesting ways that Platonism has been misunderstood or reinterpreted—or by offering your own reinterpretations that better stand up to the sorts of criticism offered last time. Let us stand up and shout in favour of the World of Pure Forms!
1. Problem one: Whose Ideas are these? And if they are God’s Ideas, and if God is Pure Intellectual Immaterial Form, how is it possible for human beings to enjoy any union with Him?
My Christian answer is simply that the Ideas are God’s ideas, and that the Incarnation is an historical and spiritual reality that bridged the gap between immaterial and material, spiritual and mortal. However, there are some other aspects that are perhaps more philosophically pure that I would like to offer. First of all, most thinkers would admit that a human being must consist of something more than the sum of his/her physical parts. Reason/rationality is awfully close to something “spiritual” or at least extra-material. Thought cannot be completed explained by its constituent chemical processes. The truly materialist view that human beings have no soul, no non-material components, is at least as logically unsatisfactory as the view that they do have souls! So even without considering the Christian doctrine of the Incarnation, there is a logical basis for postulating some connection between human beings and any existing immaterial beings, since we ourselves have some extra-material part. Then, if an extra-natural or supernatural being is postulated to exist, and to exist in potential connection to His creatures, then why wouldn’t He have created those material beings and realities according to Ideas in His mind? Indeed, how else does a creator (or subcreator) create?
2. Problem two I think is really one of semantics: Why aren’t shadows “real”? They are real shadows, aren’t they?
Well, sure, shadows are real shadows. But readers must remember that the “Allegory of the Cave” is an allegory. Plato (or Socrates, depending on how exact the account is) had to think of experiences his audience had had, and use those as symbols in his story. It seemed natural for him to use a bonfire to symbolize the physical sun, since a bonfire gives out light and heat, as does the sun, and yet is chilly and dim compared to the “real” sun—which introduces a confusion that I an probably countless other teachers have tried to iron out for our students—which symbolizes the Form of the Good in the “world outside the cave,” the Intellectual World. So Plato clearly couldn’t think of something in our material world that is less than real (since every reality meets its own conditions for real existence as the thing it is), so he chose something that easily lends itself to use as a symbol of unreality. A shadow seems less real than the object that casts it. A man’s shadow seems far less real than the man himself. So it made a good literary symbol. I don’t think we need to get hung up on this problem as much as the next.
3. Problem three was sort of a problem of semantics, but I believe is something more. I’ll just restate part of it here. “In the allegory, the firelight (symbolizing the physical sun) is falling on objects, which cast shadows (symbolizing all physical objects you have ever seen) on the wall of the cave. What do the objects symbolize? If they symbolize manifestations of the forms, that messes up the allegory. If the symbolize some kind of secondary form of the form, that doesn’t work.”
This is a fundamental enough problem that I will let other readers chime in before I offer any thoughts of my own. So, please, tackle this one!
4. Historically, Platonism has tended to denigrate physicality: a mixture of Platonism and Christianity may have contributed to negative attitudes towards the body.
Yes, that’s true. This has happened. However, we must not toss out a theory or doctrine just because it has been abused. Every theory or doctrine has been abused! So the more important question is whether it’s really an abuse, or a natural outcome of the theory—or whether we can “baptize” the theory to avoid that abuse. I do believe that Plato’s full teaching does include denigration of the body; however I also believe that Christians can baptize it [have baptized it, through the chain I outlined in the digression above]. That is to say, Christians and really anybody can be neo-Platonists who affirm the worth of the body here and now, and look forward to a multi-dimensionsal, embodied, unimaginably physical and metaphysical and spiritual existence in the future. If food tastes good now, just wait for heaven! If a refreshing breeze and a bubble bath and a backrub and a kiss and a long workout feel good now, just imagine what they’ll feel like in our perfect Heavenly bodies! Wow. As Rosie pointed out: Jesus’ resurrection body ate food, but also walked through walls! I think that’s a pretty good hint of what our “pure form” bodies will be able to do, don’t you? So again: this is not pure Platonism, but I personally believe it’s better than the original: better, and more biblical.
5. The other side of problem #4 is the simple postponement of full existence into some afterlife. Christians are accused of this, too: we’re just waiting for Heaven so we don’t live fully now.
So take the above answer and flip it upside-down. Just because heaven will be better doesn’t mean we’re not living here now and can’t/won’t/shouldn’t live to the fullest. Just because I might be having a feast at a friend’s house on the weekend doesn’t mean I won’t eat all week! Just because my husband and I might go on a date on the weekend doesn’t mean I won’t hug him when he comes home every evening. Besides, it’s unclear to me just how much of this current physical existence will carry over into the afterlife, and/or just how they will be related. I remember a sermon I read in a literature textbook as a kid, called “What are they now doing in Heaven?” It was beautiful, and it speculated , in inspiring terms, that the people in heaven were doing just whatever they loved to do on earth, only so much more! Explorers were thrilled to find endless expanses and limitless labyrinths they could never exhaust, but could eternally explore. Musicians were singing, painters were painting with perfect materials and unsullied imaginations, and so on. It was beautiful! And I remember a conversation with my Dad, in which we speculated that in Heaven we would all “suffer” from a kind of exalted synesthesia, in which we would all see music and smell colors and taste textures and so on, and see the entire range of light beyond the currently visual spectrum, and maybe have X-ray vision, and on and on and on. So in that case, this life is just the first chapter of that life, but not a separate one.
6. In the broader context of The Republic and Plato’s other writings, the Allegory of the Cave had a classist, sexist, and racist application. It seems that only highly educated, privileged, and presumably Greek men are granted the leisure to live a life of contemplation and thus to rise to the highest level of existence.
Well, surely, this is the first element of Plato’s thought that we moderns just chuck out the window. But I’d like to hear your thoughts on it before I begin ranting.
And here are some other problems readers submitted.
Rosie wrote:
1. I think [Platonism] undercuts the freedom and dignity God gives us in actually creating new things out of our own imaginations if we say that the "idea" for these things existed in some other realm (God's mind) prior to our thinking them up, and we are simply taking a stab at it in a poor attempt at copying the original.
2. It denies the uniqueness and individuality of species and instances of things….There is goodness in the particularity of things that exist in the created world. To idealize the "forms" of these things takes away from their realness and substantiality.
Darlin:
1. would we not be accusing God of making less than perfect creations, considering that only one model is a perfect form?
2. if in Gods mind is the perfect image of any form…. and he knows that no man is perfect and cannot reach perfection alone… then by giving us the knowledge of such a form, would he not be setting us up as failures, never being able to reach the perfect/complete destination of the product?
[Oh, and by the way, Darlin, Plato’s theory applies to concepts as well as concrete objects, but abstract concepts, in his thought, can come closer to the “real” forms, because the forms are Ideas (capital I), so ideas (small i) are less flawed, because they do not take a shape through matter.]
AVA:
1. How did the guy get free? It said he “was set free”, but by who[m]? Or what? Knowledge? But wouldn’t that knowledge be flawed to[o], because we derive knowledge from observations, and those observations will be flawed because the things we observe are nothing more than imperfect forges of the original?
2. What make the “real” objects any more “real” than the shadows? They both exist, don’t they? Why do we assume that because we knew the shadow first and then saw the flower that the flower is more real? Who’s to say that maybe there isn’t some sort of double mirror effect going on, or something else that would make the shadows real, and the object just a copy?
3. What if there’s a more “real” world than the outside world? I mean, if we have lamps and the sun in this imperfect world, couldn’t there be levels similar to this in the “real world”?
[N.B. C.S. Lewis uses this concept in The Great Divorce, in which the entire action takes place only on the “Plain of Heaven,” not in Deep Heaven—suggesting that all of his amazingly real, hard, solid, colored objects would themselves be weak, fragile, and pale when compared to the things in “Real” Heaven, just as the things on earth are weak, etc., compared to those on the plain.]
4. Why would we believe in the “real world”? …finding out something is false will make some people believe that now they are truly seeing, and will make others believe that nothing can ever be known for sure, that everything is a lie. Some people once duped believe the very next version of the truth presented, while others disbelieve all truth once duped.
5. I think that besides the physical bodies we possess, we have minds that can think and process information, and a soul that can feel things. What if each of those things that make us a self (physical bodies, soul, and mind) is just an imperfect copy of each part of the trinity of God? By that, I mean, what if God is THE SELF, and each of us is an imperfect copy of Him, would our body, mind, and soul correlate to a different part of the trinity? …That would explain however why God says we are made in His image.
LittleSarah:
1. Who can be "enlightened"?
2. How did Plato know that he was fully enlightened? Doesn’t that defeat the logic; I mean the people inside the cave didn’t know they were missing anything, when the one man came out how did he know that he wasn’t missing anything?
3. [If Plato thought he was enlightened, why?] Was it because he was a male and a Greek philosopher? If it was then isn't "enlightenment" somewhat superficial and available for only a select few.
4. If I found out that everything I ever believed to be realities were, in fact, just shadows of realities I would certainly question these new and “real” realities. How would I know that there was not something even more “real” out there? How would I know if the realities I was seeing now weren’t just more detailed “shadows”?
5. Why was just one man “enlightened”?
6. It Plato's cave allegory, the man who broke free from the chains, did anyone help him? Or was it fate? If it was fate, then there is no need for knowledge…If no one helped him up from the bottom of the cave, if no one broke his chains for him then no one taught him. So in a way, Plato seems to be taking teaching out of knowledge.
7. If I showed you a shadow and said plate when the shadow came up on the back of the wall would you know what it was or what it was for? With only a dark outline and a mixture of sounds to create the word would you know what it was? If you had no former knowledge? Is Plato portraying some form of instinct that is above and beyond animal instinct?
So, I throw the field open to your discussions. Enjoy!
Reading: The Discarded Image by C.S. Lewis; Great Expectations by Charles Dickens; The Bridge of San Luis Ray by Thornton Wilder; and The Book that Nobody Read: Chasing the Revolutions of Nicholas Copernicus by Owen Gingerich
Listening to: “Slavonic Dances” by Antonin Dvorâk
Watching(over the course of several days, not all at once!): “Sense & Sensibility”; one of Ioan Gruffudd’s “Horatio Hornblower” episodes; Olivier’s Hamlet, and selections from “La Vita E Bella/Life is Beautiful.”
Now, the second installment in the discussion of Plato’s metaphysics and its attendant problems.
First, a digression. I’m rereading C.S. Lewis’s The Discarded Image, which is the posthumously published volume he developed from his lectures introducing Medieval and Renaissance Literature. I finally have enough background information and a well-developed mechanism of appreciation to be able to read and love this book. It is full of many thrills for me now that it did not have on a first reading years ago. I have been learning much from this book, and look forward to learning more—and to being pointed down many other, related, paths of knowledge. One interesting mental development The Discarded Image has set in motion has to do with Platonism. I always knew that my Christian Platonism came via Lewis; what I didn’t fully realize was how thoroughly his own came from the Medievals, not from Plato—though of course CSL was well read in Plato. But that’s part of the point: the Medievals were not well read in Plato, but only in brief little bits in translation and in the even longer [misinterpreting] commentaries on those bits. Thus the Christian neo-Platonism I hold so dear is really just that: Christian, neo-Platonism—not Platonism proper. By the time it reached me (classes in Classical philosophy notwithstanding; those came after my impressionable immersion in The Silver Chair, The Last Battle, and The Great Divorce), it was Lewis’s re-interpretation of the Medievals’ reinterpretation of Chalcidius’s (and others’) mis-interpretation of the ancient neo-Platonists explication of Plato’s recorded interpretation of Socrates’ doctrine of the Forms—which is only a small part of his totalizing system, by the way!!! —many removes from anything like an original. And I’ve done my fair share of reinterpreting it along the way, too. See this earlier discussion, and this, on a couple of ancient posts. So, I’ll end this long digression by saying that the Christian neo-Platonism I love is really some lovely perversion of pure Platonism, so perhaps my defense will tend more towards my own version, not Plato’s.
Let us now turn to that defense. Here is the assignment for my students, and my request to all other readers. Please read over the problems we raised in the previous metaphysical posting, and try to “solve” at least one. You may be able to do this by suggesting ways that Platonism has been misunderstood or reinterpreted—or by offering your own reinterpretations that better stand up to the sorts of criticism offered last time. Let us stand up and shout in favour of the World of Pure Forms!
1. Problem one: Whose Ideas are these? And if they are God’s Ideas, and if God is Pure Intellectual Immaterial Form, how is it possible for human beings to enjoy any union with Him?
My Christian answer is simply that the Ideas are God’s ideas, and that the Incarnation is an historical and spiritual reality that bridged the gap between immaterial and material, spiritual and mortal. However, there are some other aspects that are perhaps more philosophically pure that I would like to offer. First of all, most thinkers would admit that a human being must consist of something more than the sum of his/her physical parts. Reason/rationality is awfully close to something “spiritual” or at least extra-material. Thought cannot be completed explained by its constituent chemical processes. The truly materialist view that human beings have no soul, no non-material components, is at least as logically unsatisfactory as the view that they do have souls! So even without considering the Christian doctrine of the Incarnation, there is a logical basis for postulating some connection between human beings and any existing immaterial beings, since we ourselves have some extra-material part. Then, if an extra-natural or supernatural being is postulated to exist, and to exist in potential connection to His creatures, then why wouldn’t He have created those material beings and realities according to Ideas in His mind? Indeed, how else does a creator (or subcreator) create?
2. Problem two I think is really one of semantics: Why aren’t shadows “real”? They are real shadows, aren’t they?
Well, sure, shadows are real shadows. But readers must remember that the “Allegory of the Cave” is an allegory. Plato (or Socrates, depending on how exact the account is) had to think of experiences his audience had had, and use those as symbols in his story. It seemed natural for him to use a bonfire to symbolize the physical sun, since a bonfire gives out light and heat, as does the sun, and yet is chilly and dim compared to the “real” sun—which introduces a confusion that I an probably countless other teachers have tried to iron out for our students—which symbolizes the Form of the Good in the “world outside the cave,” the Intellectual World. So Plato clearly couldn’t think of something in our material world that is less than real (since every reality meets its own conditions for real existence as the thing it is), so he chose something that easily lends itself to use as a symbol of unreality. A shadow seems less real than the object that casts it. A man’s shadow seems far less real than the man himself. So it made a good literary symbol. I don’t think we need to get hung up on this problem as much as the next.
3. Problem three was sort of a problem of semantics, but I believe is something more. I’ll just restate part of it here. “In the allegory, the firelight (symbolizing the physical sun) is falling on objects, which cast shadows (symbolizing all physical objects you have ever seen) on the wall of the cave. What do the objects symbolize? If they symbolize manifestations of the forms, that messes up the allegory. If the symbolize some kind of secondary form of the form, that doesn’t work.”
This is a fundamental enough problem that I will let other readers chime in before I offer any thoughts of my own. So, please, tackle this one!
4. Historically, Platonism has tended to denigrate physicality: a mixture of Platonism and Christianity may have contributed to negative attitudes towards the body.
Yes, that’s true. This has happened. However, we must not toss out a theory or doctrine just because it has been abused. Every theory or doctrine has been abused! So the more important question is whether it’s really an abuse, or a natural outcome of the theory—or whether we can “baptize” the theory to avoid that abuse. I do believe that Plato’s full teaching does include denigration of the body; however I also believe that Christians can baptize it [have baptized it, through the chain I outlined in the digression above]. That is to say, Christians and really anybody can be neo-Platonists who affirm the worth of the body here and now, and look forward to a multi-dimensionsal, embodied, unimaginably physical and metaphysical and spiritual existence in the future. If food tastes good now, just wait for heaven! If a refreshing breeze and a bubble bath and a backrub and a kiss and a long workout feel good now, just imagine what they’ll feel like in our perfect Heavenly bodies! Wow. As Rosie pointed out: Jesus’ resurrection body ate food, but also walked through walls! I think that’s a pretty good hint of what our “pure form” bodies will be able to do, don’t you? So again: this is not pure Platonism, but I personally believe it’s better than the original: better, and more biblical.
5. The other side of problem #4 is the simple postponement of full existence into some afterlife. Christians are accused of this, too: we’re just waiting for Heaven so we don’t live fully now.
So take the above answer and flip it upside-down. Just because heaven will be better doesn’t mean we’re not living here now and can’t/won’t/shouldn’t live to the fullest. Just because I might be having a feast at a friend’s house on the weekend doesn’t mean I won’t eat all week! Just because my husband and I might go on a date on the weekend doesn’t mean I won’t hug him when he comes home every evening. Besides, it’s unclear to me just how much of this current physical existence will carry over into the afterlife, and/or just how they will be related. I remember a sermon I read in a literature textbook as a kid, called “What are they now doing in Heaven?” It was beautiful, and it speculated , in inspiring terms, that the people in heaven were doing just whatever they loved to do on earth, only so much more! Explorers were thrilled to find endless expanses and limitless labyrinths they could never exhaust, but could eternally explore. Musicians were singing, painters were painting with perfect materials and unsullied imaginations, and so on. It was beautiful! And I remember a conversation with my Dad, in which we speculated that in Heaven we would all “suffer” from a kind of exalted synesthesia, in which we would all see music and smell colors and taste textures and so on, and see the entire range of light beyond the currently visual spectrum, and maybe have X-ray vision, and on and on and on. So in that case, this life is just the first chapter of that life, but not a separate one.
6. In the broader context of The Republic and Plato’s other writings, the Allegory of the Cave had a classist, sexist, and racist application. It seems that only highly educated, privileged, and presumably Greek men are granted the leisure to live a life of contemplation and thus to rise to the highest level of existence.
Well, surely, this is the first element of Plato’s thought that we moderns just chuck out the window. But I’d like to hear your thoughts on it before I begin ranting.
And here are some other problems readers submitted.
Rosie wrote:
1. I think [Platonism] undercuts the freedom and dignity God gives us in actually creating new things out of our own imaginations if we say that the "idea" for these things existed in some other realm (God's mind) prior to our thinking them up, and we are simply taking a stab at it in a poor attempt at copying the original.
2. It denies the uniqueness and individuality of species and instances of things….There is goodness in the particularity of things that exist in the created world. To idealize the "forms" of these things takes away from their realness and substantiality.
Darlin:
1. would we not be accusing God of making less than perfect creations, considering that only one model is a perfect form?
2. if in Gods mind is the perfect image of any form…. and he knows that no man is perfect and cannot reach perfection alone… then by giving us the knowledge of such a form, would he not be setting us up as failures, never being able to reach the perfect/complete destination of the product?
[Oh, and by the way, Darlin, Plato’s theory applies to concepts as well as concrete objects, but abstract concepts, in his thought, can come closer to the “real” forms, because the forms are Ideas (capital I), so ideas (small i) are less flawed, because they do not take a shape through matter.]
AVA:
1. How did the guy get free? It said he “was set free”, but by who[m]? Or what? Knowledge? But wouldn’t that knowledge be flawed to[o], because we derive knowledge from observations, and those observations will be flawed because the things we observe are nothing more than imperfect forges of the original?
2. What make the “real” objects any more “real” than the shadows? They both exist, don’t they? Why do we assume that because we knew the shadow first and then saw the flower that the flower is more real? Who’s to say that maybe there isn’t some sort of double mirror effect going on, or something else that would make the shadows real, and the object just a copy?
3. What if there’s a more “real” world than the outside world? I mean, if we have lamps and the sun in this imperfect world, couldn’t there be levels similar to this in the “real world”?
[N.B. C.S. Lewis uses this concept in The Great Divorce, in which the entire action takes place only on the “Plain of Heaven,” not in Deep Heaven—suggesting that all of his amazingly real, hard, solid, colored objects would themselves be weak, fragile, and pale when compared to the things in “Real” Heaven, just as the things on earth are weak, etc., compared to those on the plain.]
4. Why would we believe in the “real world”? …finding out something is false will make some people believe that now they are truly seeing, and will make others believe that nothing can ever be known for sure, that everything is a lie. Some people once duped believe the very next version of the truth presented, while others disbelieve all truth once duped.
5. I think that besides the physical bodies we possess, we have minds that can think and process information, and a soul that can feel things. What if each of those things that make us a self (physical bodies, soul, and mind) is just an imperfect copy of each part of the trinity of God? By that, I mean, what if God is THE SELF, and each of us is an imperfect copy of Him, would our body, mind, and soul correlate to a different part of the trinity? …That would explain however why God says we are made in His image.
LittleSarah:
1. Who can be "enlightened"?
2. How did Plato know that he was fully enlightened? Doesn’t that defeat the logic; I mean the people inside the cave didn’t know they were missing anything, when the one man came out how did he know that he wasn’t missing anything?
3. [If Plato thought he was enlightened, why?] Was it because he was a male and a Greek philosopher? If it was then isn't "enlightenment" somewhat superficial and available for only a select few.
4. If I found out that everything I ever believed to be realities were, in fact, just shadows of realities I would certainly question these new and “real” realities. How would I know that there was not something even more “real” out there? How would I know if the realities I was seeing now weren’t just more detailed “shadows”?
5. Why was just one man “enlightened”?
6. It Plato's cave allegory, the man who broke free from the chains, did anyone help him? Or was it fate? If it was fate, then there is no need for knowledge…If no one helped him up from the bottom of the cave, if no one broke his chains for him then no one taught him. So in a way, Plato seems to be taking teaching out of knowledge.
7. If I showed you a shadow and said plate when the shadow came up on the back of the wall would you know what it was or what it was for? With only a dark outline and a mixture of sounds to create the word would you know what it was? If you had no former knowledge? Is Plato portraying some form of instinct that is above and beyond animal instinct?
So, I throw the field open to your discussions. Enjoy!
30 January 2008
Plato's Metaphysics
The writings of Plato, particularly the account of the “Allegory of the Cave” in The Republic, are arguably the most influential early philosophy texts in the so-called Western canon. The primary idea of this allegory, that sensory realities are only shadows or copies of Ideal Forms existing in the Intellectual World, has been revered, relived, pilloried, parodied, paraded, imitated, and excoriated by philosophers, poets, and artists ever since. You can read a translation of the Allegory here.
The basic idea is that everything you have ever seen with your eyes, touched with your hands, tasted with your tongue, heard with your ears, and smelled with your nose (or, to be more correct, sensed via those organs by the brain)—everything you have ever experienced via your physical body doesn’t really exist. Or at least not as you think it does. Everything is just a vague, dim, shoddy, cheap copy or shadow of its “real” original out there somewhere. The original itself, counter intuitively, isn’t more physical—i.e., doesn’t strictly compare to 3-dimensions objects the way 3-dimensional objects compare to 2-dimenstional ones—the way you might imagine. Nope. These Forms or Ideas are just that—Ideas. Whose ideas? Good question. But hang on to that question for a bit. So “reality” turns out to be far more like what we typically think of as unreality (you tend to think of an apple as being “more real” than an idea of, say, “I have an idea for a new story”). Things without physical existence are more real than those with physical existence. Hum.
So I’m going to have three assignments for my students in this post and subsequent posts on this topic, and I beg all other readers to join in and contribute their thoughts as well!
Assignment One: Identify or explain a problem with the allegory of the cave. Here are some problems I have pondered, or others have pointed out to me. You may use these problems to fulfill this assignment if you rephrase the problem or develop it further than I do.
1. Whose ideas are these? It is easy for a Christian, or any Monotheist, to say that these Ideas are God’s ideas; that the World of Pure Forms exists in the mind of God. But for an atheist, or polytheist, or agnostic, such an explanation might not serve—and it might not be philosophically satisfactory, even if it is religiously satisfying. At the very least, it creates an apparently impossible problem of transcendence: if God is Pure Form, Pure Intellect, completely separate from the physical, is it possible for human beings to enjoy any union with Him? Total and complete Platonism seems to rule out the Incarnation.
2. Why aren’t shadows “real”? hmm and I have been having an ontological debate about the necessary characteristics of being: about whether or not a unicorn is “real.” Is a picture of a unicorn real? Well, the picture has physical existence on the page; real ink/paints/pixels were used to convey that image to our eyes. The imaginary idea of “unicorn” exists; does that prove that there must be a Pure Form of Unicorn in Plato’s World of Forms, otherwise human minds could not conceive of it? A unicorn is a legendary animal; is it therefore a “real” legend, because it fulfills all the qualifications for being legendary? So then, why aren’t shadows “real”? They are real shadows, aren’t they? They have all the attributes required to make a real shadow: darkness, a discernable shape, two dimensions, motion relative to the object casting the shadow, size proportional to the object and to the source of light, etc. So why don’t they count as “real”? Maybe a shadow isn’t as good, or valuable, or useful, as the object which casts it, but isn’t a judgment of utility in an entirely different category from judgments of existence or being?
3. In the allegory, the firelight (symbolizing the physical sun) is falling on objects, which cast shadows (symbolizing all physical objects you have ever seen) on the wall of the cave. What do the objects symbolize? If they symbolize manifestations of the forms, that messes up the allegory. If the symbolize some kind of secondary form of the form, that doesn’t work. And the problem appears to me to be more fundamental than a mere semantic or literary glitch. It goes back to problem one. How can there be any commerce between the World of Forms and this material, sublunary realm? There needs to be some mediator through which the forms are translated from immutable immateriality into mutable materiality.
4. Historically, Platonism has been condemned because it tends to denigrate physicality. “Platonic love” in common parlance means love that is never physically consummated: a mixture of Platonism and Christianity (or at least Catholicism) may have contributed to negative attitudes towards sex specifically or physical pleasures more generally, leading from asceticism into full-blown mortification of the flesh.
5. The other side of problem #4 is the simple postponement of full existence into some afterlife. Christians are accused of this, too: we’re just waiting for Heaven so we don’t live fully now.
6. In the broader context of The Republic and Plato’s other writings, the Allegory of the Cave had a classist, sexist, and racist application. In the story, one prisoner gets free and eventually gets out of the cave, where he stares at light and more light until he is able to stare up directly into the sun itself, contemplating the highest truth, the Form of the Good. Yes, he. He is the philosopher-king, the guardian of the utopia in which women will be common property and only highly educated, privileged, and presumably Greek men are granted the leisure to live a life of contemplation and thus to rise to the highest level of existence. One wonders if they will be the only inhabitants of the “heavenly” world of Pure Forms?
In my next metaphysical posting, there will be an “assignment” related to solving these problems, or suggesting ways that Platonism has been either misunderstood or reinterpreted to answer those, and other objections. So stay tuned and put your thinking caps on for a defense of the World of Pure Forms.
Then in the final Platonic post, I plan to ask you for alternatives to the allegory of the cave: for other understandings of the universe and meta-universe, if any; for other models of conceptualizing supernatural realities; for works of art or literature or other media that present an alternative worldview or a new way of visualizing Plato’s controlling concept. That’s the plan!
The basic idea is that everything you have ever seen with your eyes, touched with your hands, tasted with your tongue, heard with your ears, and smelled with your nose (or, to be more correct, sensed via those organs by the brain)—everything you have ever experienced via your physical body doesn’t really exist. Or at least not as you think it does. Everything is just a vague, dim, shoddy, cheap copy or shadow of its “real” original out there somewhere. The original itself, counter intuitively, isn’t more physical—i.e., doesn’t strictly compare to 3-dimensions objects the way 3-dimensional objects compare to 2-dimenstional ones—the way you might imagine. Nope. These Forms or Ideas are just that—Ideas. Whose ideas? Good question. But hang on to that question for a bit. So “reality” turns out to be far more like what we typically think of as unreality (you tend to think of an apple as being “more real” than an idea of, say, “I have an idea for a new story”). Things without physical existence are more real than those with physical existence. Hum.
So I’m going to have three assignments for my students in this post and subsequent posts on this topic, and I beg all other readers to join in and contribute their thoughts as well!
Assignment One: Identify or explain a problem with the allegory of the cave. Here are some problems I have pondered, or others have pointed out to me. You may use these problems to fulfill this assignment if you rephrase the problem or develop it further than I do.
1. Whose ideas are these? It is easy for a Christian, or any Monotheist, to say that these Ideas are God’s ideas; that the World of Pure Forms exists in the mind of God. But for an atheist, or polytheist, or agnostic, such an explanation might not serve—and it might not be philosophically satisfactory, even if it is religiously satisfying. At the very least, it creates an apparently impossible problem of transcendence: if God is Pure Form, Pure Intellect, completely separate from the physical, is it possible for human beings to enjoy any union with Him? Total and complete Platonism seems to rule out the Incarnation.
2. Why aren’t shadows “real”? hmm and I have been having an ontological debate about the necessary characteristics of being: about whether or not a unicorn is “real.” Is a picture of a unicorn real? Well, the picture has physical existence on the page; real ink/paints/pixels were used to convey that image to our eyes. The imaginary idea of “unicorn” exists; does that prove that there must be a Pure Form of Unicorn in Plato’s World of Forms, otherwise human minds could not conceive of it? A unicorn is a legendary animal; is it therefore a “real” legend, because it fulfills all the qualifications for being legendary? So then, why aren’t shadows “real”? They are real shadows, aren’t they? They have all the attributes required to make a real shadow: darkness, a discernable shape, two dimensions, motion relative to the object casting the shadow, size proportional to the object and to the source of light, etc. So why don’t they count as “real”? Maybe a shadow isn’t as good, or valuable, or useful, as the object which casts it, but isn’t a judgment of utility in an entirely different category from judgments of existence or being?
3. In the allegory, the firelight (symbolizing the physical sun) is falling on objects, which cast shadows (symbolizing all physical objects you have ever seen) on the wall of the cave. What do the objects symbolize? If they symbolize manifestations of the forms, that messes up the allegory. If the symbolize some kind of secondary form of the form, that doesn’t work. And the problem appears to me to be more fundamental than a mere semantic or literary glitch. It goes back to problem one. How can there be any commerce between the World of Forms and this material, sublunary realm? There needs to be some mediator through which the forms are translated from immutable immateriality into mutable materiality.
4. Historically, Platonism has been condemned because it tends to denigrate physicality. “Platonic love” in common parlance means love that is never physically consummated: a mixture of Platonism and Christianity (or at least Catholicism) may have contributed to negative attitudes towards sex specifically or physical pleasures more generally, leading from asceticism into full-blown mortification of the flesh.
5. The other side of problem #4 is the simple postponement of full existence into some afterlife. Christians are accused of this, too: we’re just waiting for Heaven so we don’t live fully now.
6. In the broader context of The Republic and Plato’s other writings, the Allegory of the Cave had a classist, sexist, and racist application. In the story, one prisoner gets free and eventually gets out of the cave, where he stares at light and more light until he is able to stare up directly into the sun itself, contemplating the highest truth, the Form of the Good. Yes, he. He is the philosopher-king, the guardian of the utopia in which women will be common property and only highly educated, privileged, and presumably Greek men are granted the leisure to live a life of contemplation and thus to rise to the highest level of existence. One wonders if they will be the only inhabitants of the “heavenly” world of Pure Forms?
In my next metaphysical posting, there will be an “assignment” related to solving these problems, or suggesting ways that Platonism has been either misunderstood or reinterpreted to answer those, and other objections. So stay tuned and put your thinking caps on for a defense of the World of Pure Forms.
Then in the final Platonic post, I plan to ask you for alternatives to the allegory of the cave: for other understandings of the universe and meta-universe, if any; for other models of conceptualizing supernatural realities; for works of art or literature or other media that present an alternative worldview or a new way of visualizing Plato’s controlling concept. That’s the plan!
15 January 2008
Hierarchy of sins?
A question arose in philosophy class last week that has two aspects, a theological and a philosophical; i.e., one aspect that more clearly relates to Biblical teaching, and one that could be considered as a pragmatic or socially moral question by secular thinkers. Here it is.
I’ll present the theological side of the question first.
Are there degrees of sin? Is one sin worse than another? In what ways? In what ways is lust equal to adultery, as Jesus says it is in Mathew five:
27"You have heard that it was said, 'Do not commit adultery.' 28But I tell you that anyone who looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery with her in his heart. 29If your right eye causes you to sin, gouge it out and throw it away. It is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to be thrown into hell. 30And if your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away. It is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to go into hell.
In what ways is hate as bad as murder, as Jesus says, also in Matthew five:
22But I tell you that anyone who is angry with his brother will be subject to judgment. Again, anyone who says to his brother, 'Raca,' is answerable to the Sanhedrin. But anyone who says, 'You fool!' will be in danger of the fire of hell.
In what ways is murder worse than hatred? It seems clear to me that the Scripture teaches that any sin, no matter how small, alienates the sinner from God. This is the reason for the universal separation of human beings from their creator, because “All have sinned.” A very kind, compassionate, even self-sacrificial person cannot go to heaven on her own merit any more because she has certainly had moments of pride, hatred, anger, and so on in her own mind—even if she has never externally manifest these wicked feelings. Therefore, what difference does more sin make? Is it better to sin less? If any sin at all is enough to damn me, then what difference does it make if I sin more or less? And why is a “big” sin any worse than another, in God’s eyes?
I believe that a big sin is, from one point of view, no worse for the non-Christian to commit; that is, it does no more harm to his soul, because his soul is already dead and condemned. However, “where there is life there is hope,” and each action (from another, more Lewisian or Schaefferean, perspective) does led the doer one step closer to Heaven or Hell. Perhaps a given soul is condemned already; perhaps that soul is even [pre]destined not to be saved. However, I do not know, and that person does not know, the final result of his life. Therefore, whether he speaks kindly and gives up some little pleasure for another’s sake, or speaks harshly and grabs all for himself does push him one way or another.
I am not advocating a works doctrine. There are choices that led us closer to or further away from God. I do not know the eternal path laid invisibly under someone else’s feet; I do not (with incontrovertible certainty) know my own. All I know is the direction in which I am heading now, and the external evidence that suggests which way my friend is heading. If she consistently chooses self over others, nihilism over meaning, autonomy over Sovereignty, and skepticism over relationship, then the evidence is strong that she is not walking towards God. It is then in my interest to help to guard her against any sins that might push her further and faster along that path. Will a one-night stand damn her more than taking the Lord’s name in vain? No. But it is likely to create more complex entanglements with intimate sins and sinners, with passions and pride and amorality, with apathy and moral callousness. I would rather she not profane God’s name. But if she comes to me using the Lord’s name in vain and saying she’s going to sleep with so-and-so tonight, even though she cares little for him and will never see him again, just for a bit of fun and a last fling, which will provoke my comment and advice?
So perhaps there are no degrees of sin when it comes to the bottom line of damnation or salvation, but there certainly are sins that have more grievous social consequences, and perhaps sins that more completely seal the direction one’s soul is taking.
Now let’s consider the same question from a philosophical point of view:
Do numbers matter? Is it ethical to make a decision based upon the numbers of people affected? What difference does a number make? In other words, if a given decision will save five hundred people at the cost of five, is it therefore ethical? Is it moral to, say, drop a bomb that will kill 150,000 people (including civilians) in order to prevent the deaths of maybe twice as many members of the armed forces? Does the inclusion of civilians change the balance? Why? Is it better to try, as the Resistance group of which Bonhoeffer was a member did, to assassinate Hitler than to allow him to continue killing millions?
In other words, is a deed more evil if it affects more people?
In essence, this is at issue in discussions of public and private morality. Some say (one of you readers said to me!) that what politicians do in their private lives should not matter when election time comes. The sub-text is “as long as that evil act does not affect anyone else, it should not influence our decision.”
Digression: that’s not what you said to me; you said something along the lines of “everyone is evil in one way or another and has made many mistakes. If one politician’s mistakes are not in areas that will clearly influence his policy-making, then we should not let those areas change or determine our minds.” Am I right?
End of digression. OK. If it’s true that “as long as that evil act does not affect anyone else, it should not influence our decision,” then it must be true that an action that negatively affect two people (at least) is worse than an action that negatively affects only one. Applying some kind of mathematical test to persons. But I don’t really see how. I don’t see how the same action, hurting two people, is a worse action than that which hurts only one. It still hurts. Or that an action which hurts two people is better than the action which hurts two. Let’s say a leader of a country has an affair. Nobody finds out. So only two people are hurt: himself and his lover. I am assuming here that an evil action hurts those who do it even if nobody finds out simply because it does harm to their souls. It compromises their integrity as persons. It damages their own convictions and their identities as keepers of promises, as strong-willed rational beings who can control their passions, as honest and transparent communicators with no lies to hide. But if nobody finds out, is that better than if somebody does (his wife, say, or her husband, or the other governing bodies), or than if everybody does? If this deed goes public, everyone is hurt. Is that worse?
I don’t really see how. Perhaps it’s the inverse of love. Love does not decrease when it is distributed. So if I love my mother and my father, I don’t give each of them half of my love; I can give each of them the whole. And I can still give the whole to both of my sisters and to my husband, and so on. Love doesn’t work mathematically. So perhaps with the pain caused by sin. Perhaps the whole of the evil can hurt the soul of the doer, but then the whole of the evil can hurt his wife, his constituents, and so on. Back to the bomb illustration. If the government goes in and shoots down a tyrannical oppressor, there’s a certain quantity of pain caused and/or guilt incurred, simply because the deed was a murder. But if they do not shoot him down, and the next day he orders the genocide of 100,000 people, then isn’t that totally quantity of pain and guilt distributed 100,000 times?
Therefore causing suffering to one person is more to be desired than causing suffering to 100,000 people.
But better to cause suffering to none. Never do evil that good may result. Do the good deed, and leave the unforeseen future consequences to the Great Disposer of future events.
You Star Trek fans: you remember that in the second movie, Spock gave his life to save the ship (and maybe the whole world, I don’t remember). His last line was: “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few or the one.” Very heroic! But then in the next movie it turns out there’s a way to reunite is spirit to his body (convenient; and does that lessen his sacrifice, since he knew he could be resuscitated?), so Kirk et al go through great hazards, including the death of Kirk’s son, to resurrect Spock. When they have succeed, he asks why they did this for him. Kirk answers, “Because the needs of the one outweigh the needs of the many.”
OK, my examples are becoming cheesier and cheesier as this post goes on. I’m sure you’ve heard the starfish story: a guy is walking along a beach after a storm. Thousands of starfish have been washed up on the shore and are slowly baking in the sun. he’s tossing them back in, one by one. Somebody mocks him, saying, “There’s thousands of them! You’re never going to make a difference.” He tosses one back into the ocean, and says, “It made a difference to that one.”
How have great teachers of the past chosen to live? For numbers? For individuals? For making a difference one little change at a time? For rallying thousands to their cause to make huge change? Have they served the many, or the few? Does it really matter, in the end? Consider this question from both side, the theological and the philosophical. If you do more good deeds, are you therefore a better person than someone who does one huge good deed? Or are neither good in the eyes of God? If you save one person at the expense of many, have you sinned against the majority? Or served the one?
Looking forward to your thoughts!
I’ll present the theological side of the question first.
Are there degrees of sin? Is one sin worse than another? In what ways? In what ways is lust equal to adultery, as Jesus says it is in Mathew five:
27"You have heard that it was said, 'Do not commit adultery.' 28But I tell you that anyone who looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery with her in his heart. 29If your right eye causes you to sin, gouge it out and throw it away. It is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to be thrown into hell. 30And if your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away. It is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to go into hell.
In what ways is hate as bad as murder, as Jesus says, also in Matthew five:
22But I tell you that anyone who is angry with his brother will be subject to judgment. Again, anyone who says to his brother, 'Raca,' is answerable to the Sanhedrin. But anyone who says, 'You fool!' will be in danger of the fire of hell.
In what ways is murder worse than hatred? It seems clear to me that the Scripture teaches that any sin, no matter how small, alienates the sinner from God. This is the reason for the universal separation of human beings from their creator, because “All have sinned.” A very kind, compassionate, even self-sacrificial person cannot go to heaven on her own merit any more because she has certainly had moments of pride, hatred, anger, and so on in her own mind—even if she has never externally manifest these wicked feelings. Therefore, what difference does more sin make? Is it better to sin less? If any sin at all is enough to damn me, then what difference does it make if I sin more or less? And why is a “big” sin any worse than another, in God’s eyes?
I believe that a big sin is, from one point of view, no worse for the non-Christian to commit; that is, it does no more harm to his soul, because his soul is already dead and condemned. However, “where there is life there is hope,” and each action (from another, more Lewisian or Schaefferean, perspective) does led the doer one step closer to Heaven or Hell. Perhaps a given soul is condemned already; perhaps that soul is even [pre]destined not to be saved. However, I do not know, and that person does not know, the final result of his life. Therefore, whether he speaks kindly and gives up some little pleasure for another’s sake, or speaks harshly and grabs all for himself does push him one way or another.
I am not advocating a works doctrine. There are choices that led us closer to or further away from God. I do not know the eternal path laid invisibly under someone else’s feet; I do not (with incontrovertible certainty) know my own. All I know is the direction in which I am heading now, and the external evidence that suggests which way my friend is heading. If she consistently chooses self over others, nihilism over meaning, autonomy over Sovereignty, and skepticism over relationship, then the evidence is strong that she is not walking towards God. It is then in my interest to help to guard her against any sins that might push her further and faster along that path. Will a one-night stand damn her more than taking the Lord’s name in vain? No. But it is likely to create more complex entanglements with intimate sins and sinners, with passions and pride and amorality, with apathy and moral callousness. I would rather she not profane God’s name. But if she comes to me using the Lord’s name in vain and saying she’s going to sleep with so-and-so tonight, even though she cares little for him and will never see him again, just for a bit of fun and a last fling, which will provoke my comment and advice?
So perhaps there are no degrees of sin when it comes to the bottom line of damnation or salvation, but there certainly are sins that have more grievous social consequences, and perhaps sins that more completely seal the direction one’s soul is taking.
Now let’s consider the same question from a philosophical point of view:
Do numbers matter? Is it ethical to make a decision based upon the numbers of people affected? What difference does a number make? In other words, if a given decision will save five hundred people at the cost of five, is it therefore ethical? Is it moral to, say, drop a bomb that will kill 150,000 people (including civilians) in order to prevent the deaths of maybe twice as many members of the armed forces? Does the inclusion of civilians change the balance? Why? Is it better to try, as the Resistance group of which Bonhoeffer was a member did, to assassinate Hitler than to allow him to continue killing millions?
In other words, is a deed more evil if it affects more people?
In essence, this is at issue in discussions of public and private morality. Some say (one of you readers said to me!) that what politicians do in their private lives should not matter when election time comes. The sub-text is “as long as that evil act does not affect anyone else, it should not influence our decision.”
Digression: that’s not what you said to me; you said something along the lines of “everyone is evil in one way or another and has made many mistakes. If one politician’s mistakes are not in areas that will clearly influence his policy-making, then we should not let those areas change or determine our minds.” Am I right?
End of digression. OK. If it’s true that “as long as that evil act does not affect anyone else, it should not influence our decision,” then it must be true that an action that negatively affect two people (at least) is worse than an action that negatively affects only one. Applying some kind of mathematical test to persons. But I don’t really see how. I don’t see how the same action, hurting two people, is a worse action than that which hurts only one. It still hurts. Or that an action which hurts two people is better than the action which hurts two. Let’s say a leader of a country has an affair. Nobody finds out. So only two people are hurt: himself and his lover. I am assuming here that an evil action hurts those who do it even if nobody finds out simply because it does harm to their souls. It compromises their integrity as persons. It damages their own convictions and their identities as keepers of promises, as strong-willed rational beings who can control their passions, as honest and transparent communicators with no lies to hide. But if nobody finds out, is that better than if somebody does (his wife, say, or her husband, or the other governing bodies), or than if everybody does? If this deed goes public, everyone is hurt. Is that worse?
I don’t really see how. Perhaps it’s the inverse of love. Love does not decrease when it is distributed. So if I love my mother and my father, I don’t give each of them half of my love; I can give each of them the whole. And I can still give the whole to both of my sisters and to my husband, and so on. Love doesn’t work mathematically. So perhaps with the pain caused by sin. Perhaps the whole of the evil can hurt the soul of the doer, but then the whole of the evil can hurt his wife, his constituents, and so on. Back to the bomb illustration. If the government goes in and shoots down a tyrannical oppressor, there’s a certain quantity of pain caused and/or guilt incurred, simply because the deed was a murder. But if they do not shoot him down, and the next day he orders the genocide of 100,000 people, then isn’t that totally quantity of pain and guilt distributed 100,000 times?
Therefore causing suffering to one person is more to be desired than causing suffering to 100,000 people.
But better to cause suffering to none. Never do evil that good may result. Do the good deed, and leave the unforeseen future consequences to the Great Disposer of future events.
You Star Trek fans: you remember that in the second movie, Spock gave his life to save the ship (and maybe the whole world, I don’t remember). His last line was: “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few or the one.” Very heroic! But then in the next movie it turns out there’s a way to reunite is spirit to his body (convenient; and does that lessen his sacrifice, since he knew he could be resuscitated?), so Kirk et al go through great hazards, including the death of Kirk’s son, to resurrect Spock. When they have succeed, he asks why they did this for him. Kirk answers, “Because the needs of the one outweigh the needs of the many.”
OK, my examples are becoming cheesier and cheesier as this post goes on. I’m sure you’ve heard the starfish story: a guy is walking along a beach after a storm. Thousands of starfish have been washed up on the shore and are slowly baking in the sun. he’s tossing them back in, one by one. Somebody mocks him, saying, “There’s thousands of them! You’re never going to make a difference.” He tosses one back into the ocean, and says, “It made a difference to that one.”
How have great teachers of the past chosen to live? For numbers? For individuals? For making a difference one little change at a time? For rallying thousands to their cause to make huge change? Have they served the many, or the few? Does it really matter, in the end? Consider this question from both side, the theological and the philosophical. If you do more good deeds, are you therefore a better person than someone who does one huge good deed? Or are neither good in the eyes of God? If you save one person at the expense of many, have you sinned against the majority? Or served the one?
Looking forward to your thoughts!
17 December 2007
Connect-Disconnect
Today in philosophy class we discussed the telos, or ultimate purpose, of various activities or objects, including technology. We got into an interesting discussion of art and technology's potential to either connect people together into surprising communities (such as the virtual community of strangers created by a blog) or to disconnect them from one another (such as the sad fact that I may never meet some of you commenters face-to-face, or the isolationism invoked by single-user music devices). I think this conversation deserves further exploration--and is perhaps seasonally relevant as you may anticipate giving or receiving technological gifts at Christmas. Before commenting, please take a look at some of Rosie's thoughts: Rosie has a couple of posts here and here and an excellent article here about the relationship of technology to the arts and spirituality and community.
Then I'd like to you write a comment inspired by the following questions.
1. Have you ever experienced artistic or technological community? Little Sarah mentioned in class that she has made some friends based on their interests in similar music, even though she may have nothing else in common with them. Does anyone else have a story about how technology or art brought you into community or created some kind of society?
2. Have you ever experienced artistic or technological isolation? (Are you experiencing it right now, as you answer these questions alone in your room with only the screen for company???) In what specific ways do work of art and new inventions isolate, divide, or even polarize individuals?
3. Do you think that the invention of any particular technologies can be inherently dangerous, or is the value of any given technology only in its uses or abuses? What limitations, if any, do you think should be put on the creation and usage of arts and technologies? Or do you think that responses should be made solely by consumers, and not legislated by any authority?
I'll start by narrating some anecdotes of my own. First of all, I've created some kind of a virtual community by means of technology that I would never have been able to create in the "real world," because I simply would not have met people. I've been able to communicate via email and blogs with many noted C. S. Lewis scholars, and the beauty of these contacts is that I've been able to, or am planning to, meet many of those people in "real life." This is a huge blessing to me, since I mostly do my scholarly work in isolation and am not currently a member of an academic community.
But in contrast, I've had many instances when virtual communication has been a hindrance to human relationships. The most common occurrence is a misunderstanding of tone when a message is communicated via email. Now, as a writer, I ought to be able to communicate as well by email as by any other form of written communication. Yet there's something about the speed and facility of email that encourages brevity and haste, to which even I succumb. So there have been occasions on which someone has misunderstood my attitude, or I hers, over email. I'm sure there are other examples in my own life of the disconnections engendered by careless or thoughtless use of technology.
But here's a more serious disconnect: What about the stark severing that can be caused by, or at least a by-product of, sharp differences in artistic taste? I have had very intense, difficult conversations (almost arguments) over the value or quality of works of music or literature. Yes, I know, "No war about tastes" -- but sometimes we [read: "I"] feel so passionately about a book or poem or movie or song that we simple must defend it, or our love of it. I know I've come close to raising my voice (OK, maybe I did raise by voice) over my disgust about the misrepresentation of Faramir in the LOTR movies, or about the poor choice of the weak-faced, scratchy-voice Viggo Mortensen for the kingly Aragorn, or over the consummate artistry of Wagner, or over the moral and theological value of the essays of C. S. Lewis. Yes, obviously, I need to work on my attitude! But there have been, I am happy to report, more times in which the sudden discovery of a conjunction in taste has created or fused an instant connection, which sometimes has led to a lifelong friendship.
I'd like to here some specific examples of times that art has divided or united you from/with others. Thank you!
04 December 2007
What is the "self"?
At the end of philosophy class yesterday, "Don" brought up the question of the self, and expressed interest in Hume's theories of the self. The following questions were composed by Don for us to answer/ponder this week.
What is 'self' composed of? Your answer might mentioned whether you think the self is composed of a mind, body, soul, spirit, combination, etc.
You might find yourself (if there is such an entity) asking the second question:
Is there such a thing as 'self-perception?' or the related: Can we really comprehend the individual?
This will obviously raise the point that if the self can observe itself, it must then have at least two parts (the observer and the observed) or be split into halves, or be able to perform the amazing, impossible operation of reflexive observation. I'll add something later on about C. S. Lewis's views of enjoyment and contemplation, a logical outgrowth of discussions of the self. But for now: Who are you; What are you?
You could also post on what the positions of various famous philosophers have been on the physicality or intellectual realities of the Self.
What is 'self' composed of? Your answer might mentioned whether you think the self is composed of a mind, body, soul, spirit, combination, etc.
You might find yourself (if there is such an entity) asking the second question:
Is there such a thing as 'self-perception?' or the related: Can we really comprehend the individual?
This will obviously raise the point that if the self can observe itself, it must then have at least two parts (the observer and the observed) or be split into halves, or be able to perform the amazing, impossible operation of reflexive observation. I'll add something later on about C. S. Lewis's views of enjoyment and contemplation, a logical outgrowth of discussions of the self. But for now: Who are you; What are you?
You could also post on what the positions of various famous philosophers have been on the physicality or intellectual realities of the Self.
27 November 2007
When is an anti-religion actually a religion?
Someone, in order to satirize the idea of Intelligent Design, created a spoof religion which says the universe was created by a being known as the Flying Spaghetti Monster. That tongue-in-cheek "religion" soon gained followers who rallied around their common opposition to Intelligent Design. But at least one of them actually began to believe this invented deity was someone out there she could pray to. The American Academy of Religion took up this phenomenon in a session on "the Subversive Function of Religious Parody" at their annual meeting earlier this month. With our recent discussions of presuppositions regarding the existence of God, I thought people here might be interested in reading the article (Pasta monster gets academic attention) and perhaps commenting on it.
23 November 2007
Unbiased or intolerant -- the only options?
Is it possible to teach without bias?
Is it even desirable to do so?
For several weeks last year I was posting a series on “What’s your worldview?” and “How do you express and present your worldview through your teaching and your art?” We discussed a few points of my worldview here and here and here. I’ve been meaning to revive that series, so maybe I’ll do so soon. But there’s a basic assumption underlying that second question (“How do you express and present your worldview through your teaching and your art?”), which is that it’s good to express and present your worldview to your students or audience. Even more: that it is good and desirable to convince your students/audience of the truth of your worldview.
Now, there’s a tricky line to walk here. There’s been something of a consensus in discussions on this blog that an artist should not push her beliefs on her audience, because then the art is degraded to propaganda. There’s been agreement that if you want to present your beliefs to someone else, you have to do so in a gentle, non-threatening manner and leave your listener to decide for himself the truth of your claims. And in class this past week, several people proposed that education should proceed without bias; that all sides of a question should be presented with equal weight to a student who will then decide for himself which position, if any, is true or correct. The example we discussed was the Evolution vs. Intelligent design. AVA suggested that parents and/or school supervisors should hire two science teachers or practicing scientists for lectures on origins: one who believes firmly in and works from the premise of macroevolution, and one who believes firmly in and works from the premise of young-earth creationism. Then students should be allowed to determine for themselves which position is correct.
Well, that sounds like a good proposal. But there are at least two problems with it from a covenantal Christian point of view. First, we Reformed Christians believe that human beings are totally depraved, and therefore incapable of accepting or even recognizing the good without the work of the Holy Spirit and the teaching of more experienced Christians. Second, most Christian parents take a vow (at the time of their babies’ baptism or dedication) to raise their children in the Word of God, to train them up in the way that they should go. Therefore, if the parents strongly believe that one position or another is the Biblical position, they have made a promise to try to train their children to understand and commit to that position.
Maybe Evolution/Creationism is a touchy example, because there are plenty of Christians who think that Evolution and the Bible are perfectly compatible. But think of other “issues” for a moment. Think about other debatable doctrines, such as Predestination and Free Will, or Infant vs. Adult Baptism, or interpretations of the Lord’s Supper—Transubstantiation vs. Consubstantiation vs. “Real Spiritual Presence” vs. Memorial. Or consider moral/social/political issues rather than doctrines, such as abortion, euthanasia, same-sex marriage, illegal immigrant status, gun control, health care, education, global warming, the War in Iraq.
In these doctrinal and social debates, wouldn’t the ideal parents present both sides to their children and then also present all the arguments in favor of the side in which the parents believe? Wouldn’t ideal teachers lecture from both points of view but then announce which side they support and why? Because the perfect parents and teachers care about their children/students from a holistic point of view: as a teacher, I want you students to become well-rounded, godly people, and I’m as concerned for your salvation as I am for your grades.
I know that sounds intolerant. How dare I believe that I know what’s good for your soul? But I do believe that God has revealed what’s good for human souls, and I want my students to follow God’s way instead of the world’s way. I want to teach that, as well as teaching facts about when and where Shakespeare lived and how many lines make a sonnet and how to pronounce “epistemology” and what are the major characteristics of Romanticism.
Here’s the bottom line: Is communication with a view to persuasion always propaganda? Is certainty bigotry? Is commitment intolerance?
What do you think?
Is it even desirable to do so?
For several weeks last year I was posting a series on “What’s your worldview?” and “How do you express and present your worldview through your teaching and your art?” We discussed a few points of my worldview here and here and here. I’ve been meaning to revive that series, so maybe I’ll do so soon. But there’s a basic assumption underlying that second question (“How do you express and present your worldview through your teaching and your art?”), which is that it’s good to express and present your worldview to your students or audience. Even more: that it is good and desirable to convince your students/audience of the truth of your worldview.
Now, there’s a tricky line to walk here. There’s been something of a consensus in discussions on this blog that an artist should not push her beliefs on her audience, because then the art is degraded to propaganda. There’s been agreement that if you want to present your beliefs to someone else, you have to do so in a gentle, non-threatening manner and leave your listener to decide for himself the truth of your claims. And in class this past week, several people proposed that education should proceed without bias; that all sides of a question should be presented with equal weight to a student who will then decide for himself which position, if any, is true or correct. The example we discussed was the Evolution vs. Intelligent design. AVA suggested that parents and/or school supervisors should hire two science teachers or practicing scientists for lectures on origins: one who believes firmly in and works from the premise of macroevolution, and one who believes firmly in and works from the premise of young-earth creationism. Then students should be allowed to determine for themselves which position is correct.
Well, that sounds like a good proposal. But there are at least two problems with it from a covenantal Christian point of view. First, we Reformed Christians believe that human beings are totally depraved, and therefore incapable of accepting or even recognizing the good without the work of the Holy Spirit and the teaching of more experienced Christians. Second, most Christian parents take a vow (at the time of their babies’ baptism or dedication) to raise their children in the Word of God, to train them up in the way that they should go. Therefore, if the parents strongly believe that one position or another is the Biblical position, they have made a promise to try to train their children to understand and commit to that position.
Maybe Evolution/Creationism is a touchy example, because there are plenty of Christians who think that Evolution and the Bible are perfectly compatible. But think of other “issues” for a moment. Think about other debatable doctrines, such as Predestination and Free Will, or Infant vs. Adult Baptism, or interpretations of the Lord’s Supper—Transubstantiation vs. Consubstantiation vs. “Real Spiritual Presence” vs. Memorial. Or consider moral/social/political issues rather than doctrines, such as abortion, euthanasia, same-sex marriage, illegal immigrant status, gun control, health care, education, global warming, the War in Iraq.
In these doctrinal and social debates, wouldn’t the ideal parents present both sides to their children and then also present all the arguments in favor of the side in which the parents believe? Wouldn’t ideal teachers lecture from both points of view but then announce which side they support and why? Because the perfect parents and teachers care about their children/students from a holistic point of view: as a teacher, I want you students to become well-rounded, godly people, and I’m as concerned for your salvation as I am for your grades.
I know that sounds intolerant. How dare I believe that I know what’s good for your soul? But I do believe that God has revealed what’s good for human souls, and I want my students to follow God’s way instead of the world’s way. I want to teach that, as well as teaching facts about when and where Shakespeare lived and how many lines make a sonnet and how to pronounce “epistemology” and what are the major characteristics of Romanticism.
Here’s the bottom line: Is communication with a view to persuasion always propaganda? Is certainty bigotry? Is commitment intolerance?
What do you think?
12 November 2007
How do I know I'm not lonely?
This morning in philosophy class, we listened to “Eleanor Rigby” by the Beatles and discussed the worldview that is presented in that song -- one of existential loneliness that posits the impossibility of meaningful interpersonal relationships. Now, it is possible to argue (and some members of the class did suggest) that the Beatles were actually teaching that there is a solution to loneliness, or that the song insists that no one needs to be lonely, or that people are created as social beings and only live meaningless lives when they are all alone -- that “love is all you need” and so on.
But a tangential conversation developed. We discussed the proposition that each person is totally and completely isolated in his or her consciousness, inaccessible to anyone else. I referred to the following passage from Charles Dickens’ Tale of Two Cities:
How do we know that someone’s subjective experience is a true reflection of reality? and By what means can we verify truth-claims that are based on personal experience or emotional states?
You may object that we do not need to test such claims. But consider the following situations:
1. How do you know whether or not you are really in love? Isn’t that just a subjective emotional state?
2. Someone claims to have seen an angel. How do you know he or she is right or wrong?
3. Someone claims to have personal knowledge that God cannot exist, due to occurrences in his own life that prove there cannot be a loving God. He knows for a fact that if there were a good God, He would not have allowed such suffering as this person has experienced.
4. Someone claims to have been emotionally abused by a spouse or a parent. What constitutes emotional abuse, and who determines that someone has been a victim of such abuse?
Perhaps you can think of other examples. Please respond to the questions in bold above and to the situations here if you like. I’ll add one more question, for the artists in the group:
How do you know when a work of art (painting, sculpture, poem, novel, play, song, movie) is good? Is artistic value based simply on how you feel about the work?
Thanks! Enjoy!
But a tangential conversation developed. We discussed the proposition that each person is totally and completely isolated in his or her consciousness, inaccessible to anyone else. I referred to the following passage from Charles Dickens’ Tale of Two Cities:
A Wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other. A solemn consideration, when I enter a great city by night, that every one of those darkly clustered houses encloses its own secret; that every room in every one of them encloses its own secret; that every beating heart in the hundreds of thousands of breasts there, is, in some of its imaginings, a secret to the heart nearest it! Something of the awfulness, even of Death itself, is referable to this. No more can I turn the leaves of this dear book that I loved, and vainly hope in time to read it all. No more can I look into the depths of this unfathomable water, wherein, as momentary lights glanced into it, I have had glimpses of buried treasure and other things submerged. It was appointed that the book should shut with a spring, for ever and for ever, when I had read but a page. It was appointed that the water should be locked in an eternal frost, when the light was playing on its surface, and I stood in ignorance on the shore. My friend is dead, my neighbour is dead, my love, the darling of my soul, is dead; it is the inexorable consolidation and perpetuation of the secret that was always in that individuality, and which I shall carry in mine to my life's end. In any of the burial-places of this city through which I pass, is there a sleeper more inscrutable than its busy inhabitants are, in their innermost personality, to me, or than I am to them?Some ladies in the class insisted that they know for a fact that not everyone needs to be lonely, and not everyone is isolated. To prove this fact, they cited personal experience, in which they had enjoyed personal connection with one another in which “the masks came off” and they were able to be perfectly honest with their friends, sharing everything and feeling totally connected. So then we had to ask what proof they had that such experiences were real and not subjective, deceptive, emotional realities. “Z” suggested that we could apply sensors to the subject’s head and measure her responses to various human interactions, thus proving a real physiological response to the honesty of friendship. But then, how do we know that the biochemical counterparts to emotional realities are any more “real” in an objective sense? Then “hmmm” asked the very good question: Why should emotional or experiential claims be subject to “objective” scientific [evidentialist] tests to prove their validity? So I am converting that question in this week’s post questions:
How do we know that someone’s subjective experience is a true reflection of reality? and By what means can we verify truth-claims that are based on personal experience or emotional states?
You may object that we do not need to test such claims. But consider the following situations:
1. How do you know whether or not you are really in love? Isn’t that just a subjective emotional state?
2. Someone claims to have seen an angel. How do you know he or she is right or wrong?
3. Someone claims to have personal knowledge that God cannot exist, due to occurrences in his own life that prove there cannot be a loving God. He knows for a fact that if there were a good God, He would not have allowed such suffering as this person has experienced.
4. Someone claims to have been emotionally abused by a spouse or a parent. What constitutes emotional abuse, and who determines that someone has been a victim of such abuse?
Perhaps you can think of other examples. Please respond to the questions in bold above and to the situations here if you like. I’ll add one more question, for the artists in the group:
How do you know when a work of art (painting, sculpture, poem, novel, play, song, movie) is good? Is artistic value based simply on how you feel about the work?
Thanks! Enjoy!
08 November 2007
What are your presuppositions?
I've begun teaching another philosophy class, an extended version at a different school. This is a fine arts center with a Christian foundation, so I'm hoping to really gear the class towards Aesthetics and the application of philosophical questions/ideas to both the making of art and the development of a Christian worldview.
Yesterday, in our first class, we discussed presuppositions and van Till's idea that we cannot set God aside in order to hypothesize. However, that is exactly what we need to do to some extent when studying philosophy. We need to pretend we know nothing in order to learn something--in order to learn anything at all.
To that end, I have two questions for my readers and my philosophy students.
First: What are your fundamental presuppositions? In other words, what are the basic assumptions on which you base everything you believe and how you live your life?
Second: What knowledge or worldview do you hope to impart to the audience of your works of art? If you create paintings, poems, songs, pieces of music, sculptures, dances, plays, novels, or any other works of art, what spiritual or philosophical ideas do you present through those works--whether intentionally or not?
Yesterday, in our first class, we discussed presuppositions and van Till's idea that we cannot set God aside in order to hypothesize. However, that is exactly what we need to do to some extent when studying philosophy. We need to pretend we know nothing in order to learn something--in order to learn anything at all.
To that end, I have two questions for my readers and my philosophy students.
First: What are your fundamental presuppositions? In other words, what are the basic assumptions on which you base everything you believe and how you live your life?
Second: What knowledge or worldview do you hope to impart to the audience of your works of art? If you create paintings, poems, songs, pieces of music, sculptures, dances, plays, novels, or any other works of art, what spiritual or philosophical ideas do you present through those works--whether intentionally or not?
04 August 2007
Freud & Lewis as Mythopoeists
Here's the working introduction for a paper I'm working on. What do you think? Any ideas?
C. S. Lewis and Sigmund Freud (1856-1939), though born a generation apart, are often seen as ideological virtual opponents, representatives of antithetical worldviews. Lewis even fictionalized Freud as a monster in The Pilgrim’s Regress (45-65) and put a parody of his theories in the mouth of a villain in “The Queen of Drum” (157). Yet Freud and Lewis, as authors, are in some ways surprisingly similar. Both possessed talents for translating complex, technical terms and concepts from psychology, theology, or philosophy into clear, lucid prose. Both privileged reason and employed incremental logic to substantiate their claims. Both debated with imaginary interlocutors in their writings, sometimes talking themselves into rhetorical corners. And both were brilliant mythopoeists.
Freud and Lewis created mythologies as vehicles for the communication of their particular ideas of “truth.” Sometimes the myth-making urge is repressed, as it were, in their texts: masquerading as historical or scientific fact. Sometimes their texts enact myth-making by inverting that binary and disguising truth/fact as fiction. In both cases, these two writers are at their literary best when making up stories. Mythology, precisely because of its generic position, allows space for the engaging, compelling, persuasive play of imaginative forces such as allegory, metaphor, and ambiguity—powerful forces ostensibly banned from cold prose. Yet these very devices often counter-intuitively invade Freud’s and Lewis’s “non-fiction” works as moments of beautiful indeterminacy that temporarily enrich but ultimately undermine the text’s official program.
In the end, however, it is the trajectory of their respective mythopoetic projects that alienates Freud and Lewis. Freud creates an imaginative brief history of the human race, supported by putative scholarship, to convince his reader that religion is an illusion on a par with obsessive neuroses, driven by a life-long desire to fulfill deep-seated wishes for mother-love or father-protection. Lewis creates narratives tied to fantastical, extraterrestrial, and pre-Christian settings in order to surprise his reader, through spatial displacement and narrative freshness, with the vitality of God’s existence and humankind’s relationship to Him. That relationship is predicated upon and perhaps even constituted by the very longing Freud dismisses as wishful thinking and Lewis inverts it into “thoughtful wishing” (Narrative Poems 4).
C. S. Lewis and Sigmund Freud (1856-1939), though born a generation apart, are often seen as ideological virtual opponents, representatives of antithetical worldviews. Lewis even fictionalized Freud as a monster in The Pilgrim’s Regress (45-65) and put a parody of his theories in the mouth of a villain in “The Queen of Drum” (157). Yet Freud and Lewis, as authors, are in some ways surprisingly similar. Both possessed talents for translating complex, technical terms and concepts from psychology, theology, or philosophy into clear, lucid prose. Both privileged reason and employed incremental logic to substantiate their claims. Both debated with imaginary interlocutors in their writings, sometimes talking themselves into rhetorical corners. And both were brilliant mythopoeists.
Freud and Lewis created mythologies as vehicles for the communication of their particular ideas of “truth.” Sometimes the myth-making urge is repressed, as it were, in their texts: masquerading as historical or scientific fact. Sometimes their texts enact myth-making by inverting that binary and disguising truth/fact as fiction. In both cases, these two writers are at their literary best when making up stories. Mythology, precisely because of its generic position, allows space for the engaging, compelling, persuasive play of imaginative forces such as allegory, metaphor, and ambiguity—powerful forces ostensibly banned from cold prose. Yet these very devices often counter-intuitively invade Freud’s and Lewis’s “non-fiction” works as moments of beautiful indeterminacy that temporarily enrich but ultimately undermine the text’s official program.
In the end, however, it is the trajectory of their respective mythopoetic projects that alienates Freud and Lewis. Freud creates an imaginative brief history of the human race, supported by putative scholarship, to convince his reader that religion is an illusion on a par with obsessive neuroses, driven by a life-long desire to fulfill deep-seated wishes for mother-love or father-protection. Lewis creates narratives tied to fantastical, extraterrestrial, and pre-Christian settings in order to surprise his reader, through spatial displacement and narrative freshness, with the vitality of God’s existence and humankind’s relationship to Him. That relationship is predicated upon and perhaps even constituted by the very longing Freud dismisses as wishful thinking and Lewis inverts it into “thoughtful wishing” (Narrative Poems 4).
23 July 2007
Charles Williams: Principle Themes
This is the fifth installment in a series:
Biography
The Order of the Golden Dawn
Personality & Influence
Writing Style
Themes
Bibliography
CW's PRINCIPLE THEMES
We'll begin with a quote from the Charles Williams Society:
1. Throughout his life, Williams worked on developing a Theology of Romantic Love. This is most clearly expressed in a posthumously published work, Outlines of Romantic Theology. He wondered what was the nature of the relationship between loving a person and loving the Creator of that person. He believed that “falling in love” could be related to the Incarnation of the Kingdom and that the lifelong interactions of a Christian married couple was an allegory of or corresponded to the events of Christ’s earthly life. Each individual romance tends to follow more or less the same pattern: ecstasy, rejection, agony, despair, a kind of death, and a kind of resurrection. To him, romance was more than an analogy for Christ’s Passion; it was an embodying of that Passion. The events of Christ’s life are lived over in the lives of human beings.
Marital sex, Williams believed, re-creates a sense of order and meaning. Two separate individuals come together and unite their potentialities, restoring the single image of God that was disjunct in their separation. He was obsessed (almost to the point of perversion) with the union of word and flesh (poem and person, creativity and sex). Sex is an act of co-inherence in which the lovers renew their mutual vigour through the most extreme intimacy of physical relationships. Sex is an enactment of affirmation and rejection; sexual union unites human potentiality and restore the single image of God and is an image of the mystical body of Christ.
Part of the divine beauty of falling in love is that it makes the beloved appear as he or she really is (as God sees him/her) and all things are made new. The man finds the vision in the real woman and grows to love her nature more as that vision is clarified. The lovers dedicate themselves to love, which is almost just another name for God, and follow it as their vocation and as their salvation. This leads to a glorious, sacrificial, heavenly renunciation of self. Love is the cause of all action, the union with all life in earth and in heaven.
Because of this Theology of Romance, Dante was CW’s favorite author. He thought that Dante, better than any other writer, understood The Way of Romantic Love and personified it in Beatirice’s role in The Divine Comedy. He analyzed Dante in light of this theme in The Figure of Beatrice. In his own life, CW took “Celia” (Phyllis Jones) as his Beatrice. His affair with “Celia,” he claimed, expressed the words of Christ: “I am come that ye may have life, and that ye may have it more abundantly.”
2. The Arthurian and Grail legends & Human Body. The mystical body of Christ and its physical analogue—actual human bodies—fascinated Williams. He used both the Arthur/Grail legend and the human body as indexes to all his thought, and related all his experiences and inspirations to both. He studied the body as if it were geology: a microcosm of the earth. He believed that morals are incarnate in the joints of the body—although I have very little idea what that could possibly mean!
Love is embodied in the flesh of the lover and realized in the flesh of the lover; thus, each part of the body is significant to lovers. Only lovers see each other’s bodies in the perfection they ought to have, or perhaps have in a spiritual sense; only lovers see that perfect in the bodies. Therefore, each part of the body, to them, shows forth the qualities of love as it ought. This was operative in his affair with Phyllis: “Williams saw in Celia’s wrists and arms indexed entries to an understanding which he searched and found in verse” (Hadfield 205) [huh?]. Each part has meaning and each part relates to all the others; the same is true of the parts of the empire in the Arthurian cycle poems, and the same is true of every believer in the Christian vision of reality.
His Arthurian poetry was accompanied by a map of Europe superimposed with a drawing of a female body, showing how different regions corresponded to parts of her anatomy. He also related the astrological associations of each body part to his “unified field theory” of poetry, legend, and spiritual reality. The body is “an index to other creations.” In “Taliessin in the Rose-Garden,” Williams works out the centrality of this concept. Merlin’s sister, Brisen, stood and her shadow fells across Logres; presumably its outlines correspond to the true kingdom’s borders. Merlin drew the enchanted borders of Logres, and:
Taliessin’s verse was not mature because he had yet to learn the Way of Exchange. What is “The Way of Exchange?” It is related to the next two themes.
3. Co-Inherence—In the vision described above, Taliessin came to understand Divine Exchange through seeing/perceiving/understanding “the thrice co-inherent Trinity” as a single point. Co-inherence, CW’s central idea, teaches that Christ’s risen life is in each person who accepts Him; therefore, we can share in the divine interrelationship of the Trinity and live as members of one another. This is based on “I no longer live, but Christ lives in me” (Gal. 2:20). This idea has been called, in theology, “Perichoresis,” or the mutual indwelling and relating of the Trinity. The Eucharist is one of the best moments of experiencing co-inherence; CW thought the Lord’s Supper was more than images, that the elements enter into the body of the worshiper “at the moment of the flesh-death-resurrection”—the worshipper co-inheres at that moment with Christ; the moment of the Anglican sacrament is simultaneous with the moment of Christ’s passion. This is an inherently Inclusive-Exclusive principle, which CW liked to articulate by an esoteric chiasmus: “This also is Thou; neither is this Thou” (this phrase originated in a play entitled The Rite of the Passion in 1929-30).
In 1939, CW (hesitantly) founded an “order” called the Companions of Co-inherence and laid down seven sort of by-laws for them to follow. These statements included: no constitution, formal unity, practicing co-inherence as both natural and supernatural, Christian, contemplation of the Trinity/Madonna/Eucharist/Catholic church, Christ’s sacrifice as the model, and observing church festivals.
4. The Doctrine of Substitution & the Way of Exchange—This is one of the ways that co-inherence can be actively practiced. Everyone participates in physical exchange (I am dependant on the farmers who produce my food; those who go to war die in the place of those who stay home and for whom peace is purchased, etc); we can choose to see these personal/social/political contacts as blessings and practice co-inherence in the strength of Christ’s resurrections. We can make compacts to bear one another’s burdens. These principles can work among the living in any space and time, and also with the dead and the unborn. The clearest explication of “The Doctrine of Substituted Love” comes in the chapter of that title in Descent into Hell, in which Stanhope carries Pauline’s fear for her, so she is no longer afraid to meet her doppleganger. Also, in chapter V of He Came Down from Heaven, Williams gives a non-fiction account of this principle. Williams claims that the mockery hurled at Christ on the cross, “He saved others, but he cannot save himself” was actually the rudimentary expression of a universal principle: nobody can save himself, but we can voluntarily substitute ourselves for others and “carry their burdens” quite literally, even though those burdens may be spiritual, emotional, or medical. Martyrs and the Eucharist are examples of Christ in us and us in Him. Evil was consumed by good when Christ suffered on the Cross, and now our lives can be united to good in Christ’s earthly life.
In the Arthurian poems, this is also called the “doctrine of largesse.” Mordred enacts the opposite: he refused to depend on anyone and turned away from co-inherence to make sure everything worked for himself. The beginnings of substitution are expounded in “The Advent of Galahad.” In the “Founding of the Company” poem in The Region of the Summer Stars, Taliessin and his friends practice the way of exchange.
5. Tranquility, serenity. 7. This is my personal favorite, my homing locus in all his fiction: the sheer serenity of his saintly heroes. In each of CW’s novels, there is at least one character who lives in a great serenity, whose soul has a center of calm. See my previous entry on writing style for a further explanation of these still, peaceful saints. I have not worked out how they achieve this state of imperturbable tranquility and self-forgetfulness. I don't know if this indeed the condition recommended by Christ in the Gospels and by the writers of the NT Epistles. I wonder how it compares to the detachment expressed by mystics and saints of the past? In Descent into Hell, this calm is manifested as the silence out of which poetry grows (Descent p. 180).
Those are CW’s main themes, the theological or philosophical or poetic ideas that, I believe, make him himself and set him apart from all other writers. One other feature of his writing (not sure if it’s really a theme is his Mysticism/Ecumenicism/Universalism… I’m not sure what to call it. Sometimes I agree with Charles Wrenn, who, at one Inklings meeting, “almost seriously expressed a strong wish to burn Williams, or at least maintained that conversation with Williams enabled him to understand how inquisitors had felt it right to burn people…. Williams is eminently combustible” (letter of C. S. Lewis to his brother, 5 Nov. 1939). If not combustible, Williams is at any rate sometimes hovering at or over the edge of orthodoxy—or perhaps he merely sees more clearly than the rest of us, and so sees beyond the dogmas? But an interesting study would be to go further into specific comparisons of his language with that of mystics of all ages and creeds.
There are other, smaller, threads that I ought just to mention in a list here.
· The close interactions of the supernatural and the natural (or the noumenal and the phenomenal) to the point that the two are inextricable from one another.
· The Platonic Forms
· Damnation in the details (Descent p. 145)
· Delight, universal joy; Pauline’s doppelganger = manifested joy.
· The City—a web of exchange-offers; John’s Revelation; Augustine’s City of God. According to CSL, The City = right internal/spiritual arrangement.
· The Ways of Affirmation & of Negation/rejection/negativa—of images, of descriptions of God. God as Love. Practiced the way of affirmation. He eventually sided with the Way of Affirmation; believed that “man could find God in human activities, emotions, and thoughts” (Hadfield 136). He also understood & appreciated the way that said God could not be found in images, because He is behind or above them.
· Good has its own, independent, positive existence, not just as contrasted with evil. But good can be “terrible”; God and Love and Virtue are dangerous. “Christ is not attractive.”
· Oppositions—loved the clash of dogma; tried to be the voice of skepticism; loved those who questioned & debated. “Our experience of good need not, must not, be separated from our experience of evil” However, remember, good has its own, independent, positive existence, not just as contrasted with evil. Inherence of opposites (developed early, in The Silver Stair). Poets need to feel a conflict of sensations, some revolution or subversion, in order to be geniuses.
· Time—simultaneity (Descent p. 132); God & love involved in the events of human lives; Past selves congruent with present experience.
· Magic—From Grevel Lindop’s site: “Charles Williams (1886-1945), a devout Anglican as well as a former member of the Fellowship of the Rosy Cross and a specialist in Tarot and Kabbala.” Uses it in his books; rejects it in All Hallow’s Eve. Shows that magic leads to the dissolution of the self.
· Choice—”One way or the other we all go.”
· Christianity as true myth; Lilith (Descent p. 197, 207).
· The “feeling intellect” draws from the Forms to create the phenomenal world and connect us to the Neumenal (?)
· Naming and ordering of the virtues: Clarity, Speed, Humility, and Courage in Descent; strength, subtlety, speed, innocence, balance, and beauty in Lion. Orders of angelic powers.
Am I missing any essential themes? Let me know if I am!
Biography
The Order of the Golden Dawn
Personality & Influence
Writing Style
Themes
Bibliography
CW's PRINCIPLE THEMES
We'll begin with a quote from the Charles Williams Society:
Williams was an unswerving and devoted member of the Church of England, with a refreshing tolerance of the scepticism of others, and a firm belief in the necessity of a ‘doubting Thomas’ in any apostolic body. More and more in his writings he devoted himself to the propagation and elaboration of two main doctrines—romantic love, and the coinherence of all human creatures. These themes formed the substance of all his later volumes, and found their fullest expression in the novels (which he described as ‘psychological thrillers’), in his Arthurian poems, and in many books of literary and theological exegesis. His early verse was written in traditional form, but this he later abandoned in favour of a stressed prosody built upon a framework of loosely organized internal rhymes.From my reading, I believe that CW’s theology and imagination centered on five interrelated points: The Way of Romantic Love, the Arthurian and Grail legends, Co-Inherence, the Doctrine of Substitution, and Self-Surrender/Tranquility.
1. Throughout his life, Williams worked on developing a Theology of Romantic Love. This is most clearly expressed in a posthumously published work, Outlines of Romantic Theology. He wondered what was the nature of the relationship between loving a person and loving the Creator of that person. He believed that “falling in love” could be related to the Incarnation of the Kingdom and that the lifelong interactions of a Christian married couple was an allegory of or corresponded to the events of Christ’s earthly life. Each individual romance tends to follow more or less the same pattern: ecstasy, rejection, agony, despair, a kind of death, and a kind of resurrection. To him, romance was more than an analogy for Christ’s Passion; it was an embodying of that Passion. The events of Christ’s life are lived over in the lives of human beings.
Marital sex, Williams believed, re-creates a sense of order and meaning. Two separate individuals come together and unite their potentialities, restoring the single image of God that was disjunct in their separation. He was obsessed (almost to the point of perversion) with the union of word and flesh (poem and person, creativity and sex). Sex is an act of co-inherence in which the lovers renew their mutual vigour through the most extreme intimacy of physical relationships. Sex is an enactment of affirmation and rejection; sexual union unites human potentiality and restore the single image of God and is an image of the mystical body of Christ.
Part of the divine beauty of falling in love is that it makes the beloved appear as he or she really is (as God sees him/her) and all things are made new. The man finds the vision in the real woman and grows to love her nature more as that vision is clarified. The lovers dedicate themselves to love, which is almost just another name for God, and follow it as their vocation and as their salvation. This leads to a glorious, sacrificial, heavenly renunciation of self. Love is the cause of all action, the union with all life in earth and in heaven.
Because of this Theology of Romance, Dante was CW’s favorite author. He thought that Dante, better than any other writer, understood The Way of Romantic Love and personified it in Beatirice’s role in The Divine Comedy. He analyzed Dante in light of this theme in The Figure of Beatrice. In his own life, CW took “Celia” (Phyllis Jones) as his Beatrice. His affair with “Celia,” he claimed, expressed the words of Christ: “I am come that ye may have life, and that ye may have it more abundantly.”
2. The Arthurian and Grail legends & Human Body. The mystical body of Christ and its physical analogue—actual human bodies—fascinated Williams. He used both the Arthur/Grail legend and the human body as indexes to all his thought, and related all his experiences and inspirations to both. He studied the body as if it were geology: a microcosm of the earth. He believed that morals are incarnate in the joints of the body—although I have very little idea what that could possibly mean!
Love is embodied in the flesh of the lover and realized in the flesh of the lover; thus, each part of the body is significant to lovers. Only lovers see each other’s bodies in the perfection they ought to have, or perhaps have in a spiritual sense; only lovers see that perfect in the bodies. Therefore, each part of the body, to them, shows forth the qualities of love as it ought. This was operative in his affair with Phyllis: “Williams saw in Celia’s wrists and arms indexed entries to an understanding which he searched and found in verse” (Hadfield 205) [huh?]. Each part has meaning and each part relates to all the others; the same is true of the parts of the empire in the Arthurian cycle poems, and the same is true of every believer in the Christian vision of reality.
His Arthurian poetry was accompanied by a map of Europe superimposed with a drawing of a female body, showing how different regions corresponded to parts of her anatomy. He also related the astrological associations of each body part to his “unified field theory” of poetry, legend, and spiritual reality. The body is “an index to other creations.” In “Taliessin in the Rose-Garden,” Williams works out the centrality of this concept. Merlin’s sister, Brisen, stood and her shadow fells across Logres; presumably its outlines correspond to the true kingdom’s borders. Merlin drew the enchanted borders of Logres, and:
The weight of poetry could not then sink
Into the full depth of the weight of glory.
For all the codes his young tongue bore
Taliessin could not think in Merlin’s style,
Nor his verse grow mature with pure fact.
Taliessin’s verse was not mature because he had yet to learn the Way of Exchange. What is “The Way of Exchange?” It is related to the next two themes.
3. Co-Inherence—In the vision described above, Taliessin came to understand Divine Exchange through seeing/perceiving/understanding “the thrice co-inherent Trinity” as a single point. Co-inherence, CW’s central idea, teaches that Christ’s risen life is in each person who accepts Him; therefore, we can share in the divine interrelationship of the Trinity and live as members of one another. This is based on “I no longer live, but Christ lives in me” (Gal. 2:20). This idea has been called, in theology, “Perichoresis,” or the mutual indwelling and relating of the Trinity. The Eucharist is one of the best moments of experiencing co-inherence; CW thought the Lord’s Supper was more than images, that the elements enter into the body of the worshiper “at the moment of the flesh-death-resurrection”—the worshipper co-inheres at that moment with Christ; the moment of the Anglican sacrament is simultaneous with the moment of Christ’s passion. This is an inherently Inclusive-Exclusive principle, which CW liked to articulate by an esoteric chiasmus: “This also is Thou; neither is this Thou” (this phrase originated in a play entitled The Rite of the Passion in 1929-30).
In 1939, CW (hesitantly) founded an “order” called the Companions of Co-inherence and laid down seven sort of by-laws for them to follow. These statements included: no constitution, formal unity, practicing co-inherence as both natural and supernatural, Christian, contemplation of the Trinity/Madonna/Eucharist/Catholic church, Christ’s sacrifice as the model, and observing church festivals.
4. The Doctrine of Substitution & the Way of Exchange—This is one of the ways that co-inherence can be actively practiced. Everyone participates in physical exchange (I am dependant on the farmers who produce my food; those who go to war die in the place of those who stay home and for whom peace is purchased, etc); we can choose to see these personal/social/political contacts as blessings and practice co-inherence in the strength of Christ’s resurrections. We can make compacts to bear one another’s burdens. These principles can work among the living in any space and time, and also with the dead and the unborn. The clearest explication of “The Doctrine of Substituted Love” comes in the chapter of that title in Descent into Hell, in which Stanhope carries Pauline’s fear for her, so she is no longer afraid to meet her doppleganger. Also, in chapter V of He Came Down from Heaven, Williams gives a non-fiction account of this principle. Williams claims that the mockery hurled at Christ on the cross, “He saved others, but he cannot save himself” was actually the rudimentary expression of a universal principle: nobody can save himself, but we can voluntarily substitute ourselves for others and “carry their burdens” quite literally, even though those burdens may be spiritual, emotional, or medical. Martyrs and the Eucharist are examples of Christ in us and us in Him. Evil was consumed by good when Christ suffered on the Cross, and now our lives can be united to good in Christ’s earthly life.
In the Arthurian poems, this is also called the “doctrine of largesse.” Mordred enacts the opposite: he refused to depend on anyone and turned away from co-inherence to make sure everything worked for himself. The beginnings of substitution are expounded in “The Advent of Galahad.” In the “Founding of the Company” poem in The Region of the Summer Stars, Taliessin and his friends practice the way of exchange.
5. Tranquility, serenity. 7. This is my personal favorite, my homing locus in all his fiction: the sheer serenity of his saintly heroes. In each of CW’s novels, there is at least one character who lives in a great serenity, whose soul has a center of calm. See my previous entry on writing style for a further explanation of these still, peaceful saints. I have not worked out how they achieve this state of imperturbable tranquility and self-forgetfulness. I don't know if this indeed the condition recommended by Christ in the Gospels and by the writers of the NT Epistles. I wonder how it compares to the detachment expressed by mystics and saints of the past? In Descent into Hell, this calm is manifested as the silence out of which poetry grows (Descent p. 180).
Those are CW’s main themes, the theological or philosophical or poetic ideas that, I believe, make him himself and set him apart from all other writers. One other feature of his writing (not sure if it’s really a theme is his Mysticism/Ecumenicism/Universalism… I’m not sure what to call it. Sometimes I agree with Charles Wrenn, who, at one Inklings meeting, “almost seriously expressed a strong wish to burn Williams, or at least maintained that conversation with Williams enabled him to understand how inquisitors had felt it right to burn people…. Williams is eminently combustible” (letter of C. S. Lewis to his brother, 5 Nov. 1939). If not combustible, Williams is at any rate sometimes hovering at or over the edge of orthodoxy—or perhaps he merely sees more clearly than the rest of us, and so sees beyond the dogmas? But an interesting study would be to go further into specific comparisons of his language with that of mystics of all ages and creeds.
There are other, smaller, threads that I ought just to mention in a list here.
· The close interactions of the supernatural and the natural (or the noumenal and the phenomenal) to the point that the two are inextricable from one another.
· The Platonic Forms
· Damnation in the details (Descent p. 145)
· Delight, universal joy; Pauline’s doppelganger = manifested joy.
· The City—a web of exchange-offers; John’s Revelation; Augustine’s City of God. According to CSL, The City = right internal/spiritual arrangement.
· The Ways of Affirmation & of Negation/rejection/negativa—of images, of descriptions of God. God as Love. Practiced the way of affirmation. He eventually sided with the Way of Affirmation; believed that “man could find God in human activities, emotions, and thoughts” (Hadfield 136). He also understood & appreciated the way that said God could not be found in images, because He is behind or above them.
· Good has its own, independent, positive existence, not just as contrasted with evil. But good can be “terrible”; God and Love and Virtue are dangerous. “Christ is not attractive.”
· Oppositions—loved the clash of dogma; tried to be the voice of skepticism; loved those who questioned & debated. “Our experience of good need not, must not, be separated from our experience of evil” However, remember, good has its own, independent, positive existence, not just as contrasted with evil. Inherence of opposites (developed early, in The Silver Stair). Poets need to feel a conflict of sensations, some revolution or subversion, in order to be geniuses.
· Time—simultaneity (Descent p. 132); God & love involved in the events of human lives; Past selves congruent with present experience.
· Magic—From Grevel Lindop’s site: “Charles Williams (1886-1945), a devout Anglican as well as a former member of the Fellowship of the Rosy Cross and a specialist in Tarot and Kabbala.” Uses it in his books; rejects it in All Hallow’s Eve. Shows that magic leads to the dissolution of the self.
· Choice—”One way or the other we all go.”
· Christianity as true myth; Lilith (Descent p. 197, 207).
· The “feeling intellect” draws from the Forms to create the phenomenal world and connect us to the Neumenal (?)
· Naming and ordering of the virtues: Clarity, Speed, Humility, and Courage in Descent; strength, subtlety, speed, innocence, balance, and beauty in Lion. Orders of angelic powers.
Am I missing any essential themes? Let me know if I am!
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