Posts Tagged ‘Humility’

Finding Our Father and Loving Our Mother: How Humility Can Contribute to an Understanding of Ecological Theology (pt. 5)

February 12, 2018

The experience of perfect love is relevant even though it is rare, because it is the truth. In addition to being an epistemological and ontological claim, this has ethical implications, which are relevant “in this time of ecological crisis.”[1]  The first is the need for attentiveness.[2] We should strive to consider each thing in its own particularity, for whatever exists is special and has value just by virtue of existing. In particular, we should consider that living things are not only of value, but also vulnerable; and being vulnerable, they call out for care. Everything that exists is its own center of activity, doing its own thing, and thus has potential to cause and to suffer harm to other things; living things are particularly susceptible to harm since they can so easily be turned into nonliving things. Most suffer some sort of fear and pain, but even the least can lose its most essential quality, life. To a large degree, this is inevitable; living things need to eat, and often do this at the expense of other living things, either by eating them or competing for resources. But we can start our moral lives by learning to pay attention. Since our fellow humans are so vulnerable and so unique, we can start by paying attention to the needs of our neighbors. This includes attending to our relationships with them as well as any needs they have as particular individuals. But even beyond attending to people, and to living things in general, we can attend to whatever is, and learn to see the beauty in all things and in nature as a whole. Beauty, as Plato said, has the power to turn our attention (however briefly) away from our selves, and towards the goodness around us; and it is when we cease to be so self-occupied and full of ourselves that God can find a way into our lives. Allen writes:

If we then seize the opportunity created by the recognition of beauty, we can steadily train ourselves to move away from a de facto stance in relation to all things, even when we are not at that moment aware of their beauty. In this time of ecological crisis, such attentiveness is exceedingly relevant; for we have been so mesmerized by the glory and grandeur of wealth that we have been unable to regard the earth as a reality which has, merely as a reality, some independence of our wants and desires and hence is worthy of respect. Our self-centered, solipsistic relation to nature now promises to reap what it has sown.[3]

 

 

Allen says that even the scientific study of nature, when done to understand what is simply because it is rather than for some ulterior goal, can be a religious act even if the researcher is unaware of this.  Just by really attending to particulars, without any attempt to draw them into your orbit but simply to appreciate them for themselves, is to practice the perfect love God has for creation, in our own limited way. And in attending to the world and to particulars, we learn to appreciate not only their beauty, but also their vulnerability and need for our care.

Allen discusses four other ethical imperatives which he believes flow from the experience of perfect love.[4] He believes we ought to realize that we ourselves are objects of God’s perfect love. This awareness entails that we ought to be humble, recognizing that this love is undeserved and indiscriminate; God loves us as God loves all that is, because “God looked at all God had created, and behold, it was very good.” But to say we are no better than anything else God has made, just one among countless billions, is also to say that each of us is of inestimable worth, valued and loved in our particularity by God. We ought also to not seek to live in glory before our time. To live in this world, as flesh-and-blood people, is to be de facto persons primarily concerned with ourselves, only partially and fleetingly able to adopt the moral standpoint. To become a moral person is our task in this life, but it will not be a reality until the next, when our awareness will be so filled with God that we finally cease to be self-centered. In one of the few really explicitly Christian imperatives, Allen says we should pay attention to Jesus, not from our de facto perspective of what he can do for us personally but as the incarnation of the God who humbled himself in willing that other things should exist, rather than remaining the only reality. For God, the de facto position of being the center of everything was the true one; God chose to allow other existences to take place and to follow their own nature as independent centers of existence. And just as Jesus is said to suffer for the sins of the world, the Jesus of Scripture suffers when others suffer due to the greed of the powerful and the environmental depletion this causes. For Christians, Jesus both makes visible the nature of God and lives the perfect human life, both telos and role-model; and in both roles we see a figure that embraces poverty to enrich others, showing care for the humblest person and even for the birds of the air and lilies of the field. And lastly, Allen says we ought to forsake the world, not in the sense of ceasing to care about it but in the sense of ceasing to control it or expect it to satisfy our deepest longings. The world is what it is, a lot of particulars that are beautiful in themselves, but finite, independent, and thus incapable of giving us what we really need: to be perfectly loved. That can only come from God, and will only be fully experienced after death frees us from our de facto existence to exist as moral persons.

[1] Allen, p. 72

[2] Allen, pp. 69-73

[3] Allen, pp. 72-3

[4] Allen, pp. 73-80

Finding Our Father and Loving Our Mother: How Humility Can Contribute to an Understanding of Ecological Theology (pt. 4)

January 31, 2018

In the 20th Century thinkers such as Simone Weil and Iris Murdoch developed philosophies influenced by Platonism and a non-theistic religiousness, again emphasizing the distorting effects of pride and the need for humility to receive truth. I came to know their writings through the teaching of Diogenes Allen, former professor at Princeton Theological Seminary, and it is his development of this line of thought that I find particularly helpful regarding development of a Christian response to the anti-environmentalist theology of the Christian Reconstructionists. In the book Finding Our Father, Allen sets out to distinguish the religious perspective versus the more immediate, default standpoint, or the “moral self” versus the “de facto self.”[1] The de facto self is the place we all start. From infancy, we are aware of our needs and strive to meet them, at first instinctively and later with more deliberation. The world as we perceive it centers on ourselves, quite literally as far as perception goes, as well as psychologically; the world is made up of objects of desire, of obstacles and tools. Later we may rationally conclude that there are other persons beside ourselves, but we still tend to think of them as they relate to our own needs: friends or foes, lovers and beloved, strangers or acquaintances, foreigners versus neighbors. We may rationally know that this is not an accurate picture of the universe, that in fact we are but momentary atoms in a very large cosmos, but that is not what we experience most of the time. Normally, and naturally, we experience ourselves and our own needs most strongly.

Despite the rarity of an experience of the independence of reality, Allen does believe it is possible. He describes it first as it is depicted in Iris Murdoch’s novel The Unicorn, where an extremely self-centered young man, facing inevitable death, finally lets go of his egoism and senses the beauty of all things. This, Allen says, is “perfect love” of the world. The young man realizes that his whole life, people and things have been around him that were wonderful in themselves, regardless of how or whether they affected him at all. Allen writes:

 

This experience of love is something that happened to him; he did not seek it, prepare for it, or apparently even know that such an experience was possible. The novelist stresses that it occurred “quite automatically.”… This nearnesss of death enabled him to become full of the presence of other sthings and to lack self-consciousness because by its nearness he became aware that he had no power or control over them. He will die and cease to have power over anything, and yet other things will continue to be. They thus become recognized as realities because they are independent, utterly independent of himself. This is the death of the self as the one reality, the only reality one recognizes, with all else subordinate, orbiting about oneself, having significance and value assigned unrealistically because assigned primarily in terms of its relation to oneself.

It is the withdrawal of power or control, then, which is fundamental to a recognition of the independence of things, and with their independence, they can confront him with a compelling, beauteous radiance.[2]

 

Allen then goes on to discuss whether such an experience is possible in reality, outside of the confines and improbable conditions of a novel. He cites the writings of Simone Weil, the French philosopher writing in Vichy France, and Laurens van der Post, a World War II POW expecting summary execution as the war was ending, as two real-life examples of this same experience. In both cases, people who had given up or lost control of the world found themselves moved spontaneously to experience and to love that which was entirely independent of themselves, to love what is simply because it is, and to forgive even what was crushing them.

So this experience of what Allen calls “perfect love” exists. Why do we not experience it more widely? And since it seems so rare, what is its relevance to the rest of us? The first question points towards the second. The reason we don’t generally experience perfect love is that we are all experiential solipsists. Each person, indeed each existing entity, is a unique center of activity. Each self has ontological priority for itself; I know myself first and immediately, experience my own needs and the effects of the world on me. Allen calls this the life of the de facto person. The de facto person lacks ontological humility. Each of us can see the world as orbiting around us, and we do so quite naturally. Elsewhere, Allen identifies this as the source of the original sin, not sin itself but temptation and possibility. As long as anything exists as an independent thing, it has its own inner activity. Since we are each aware of our own inner activity (and not of any other), we can experience reality as it orbits around us. But this is a distortion of reality. I am not the only center of activity; there are other minds and other objects. I know this, but even knowing it does not mean I experience it. Therefore, if I am to experience the truth, I need to seek to move beyond my standpoint as a de facto person and to strive to become a “moral person… one who is aware that he is but one reality among many realities.”[3] This is a position that none of us is able to occupy more than fleetingly, if only because the pressure of being an existing reality which knows its existence is threatened is so strong; it seems that the only way one could sustain the awareness of the moral person would be to be able, as God is able, to be aware of other things without being dependent on them or threatened by them. Such an experience would only be sustainable for someone who has moved from the de facto perspective to the place of one who knows he or she is perfectly loved by God, and has ceased to think about his or her own existence because the experience of God’s love has become central. (In a somewhat complicated way, this becomes an argument for the belief in the coming Kingdom of God.[4]) It is self-centeredness, or pride, which distorts the person’s experience of God and existence; and it is ontological humility that makes perfect love and a true experience of reality possible.

[1] Diogenes Allen, Finding Our Father (Atlanta, GA: John Knox Press, 1974) pp. 21-48

[2] Allen, pp. 23-24

[3] Allen, p. 31

[4] In Kant, the moral demand together with the impossibility of perfectly realizing the moral task in this life made it reasonable to believe in an afterlife, where one could forever strive to more fully fulfill the requirements of morality. For Allen, the awareness of perfect love, plus the knowledge of the truth of the moral perspective, together with the impossibility of sustaining moral personhood in this life suggests that there must be another sort of existence after this one, in which the de facto person indeed dies but the moral person lives on, perfectly loved by God and perfectly loving all things and God, so that the awareness of reality actually matches the nature of reality.

Finding Our Father and Loving Our Mother: How Humility Can Contribute to an Understanding of Ecological Theology (pt 3)

January 23, 2018

This is what puts Hamann in the Augustinian moral tradition, despite the great differences between them in other areas. For Hamann as for Augustine, humility is the cardinal virtue, and pride the original sin. Humans turn away from God out of pride, a prideful desire to be the center of their world rather than created beings glorifying their creator. This in turn also turns them against one another, as each individual becomes a competing center of value striving to put the others in orbit around it. But humility is also necessary for knowledge. Humans must receive truth; they cannot create it. Their pride tends to lead them astray as they see things as orbiting around themselves rather than seeing each thing as it is in its own right. Furthermore, even without the distorting effects of pride, we are limited beings and our senses are imperfect, as is our judgment. We will make mistakes. All our knowledge is therefore only an approximation. It takes humility to admit that one is not the center of the universe, that things and people have value regardless of how they affect you, and that you must be content sometimes with uncertainty and probability; but if one has the humility to do this, one can also have the knowledge that is there, offering itself. Humility is thus not only a moral virtue, but the essential epistemological virtue.

Hamann’s writings had a profound influence on Kierkegaard, as is clearly seen in his repeated references in Philosophical Fragments. Kierkegaard’s focus was very different, largely because he and Hamann had different philosophical opponents. Hamann’s two targets were skepticism, championed by Hume, and the idealism of his friend Immanuel Kant. Of the two, his preference was for Hume. His major move against skepticism was to emphasize the role of the will in belief—-again, a notion with roots in Augustine. Against Kant, and against the rationalism with which Kant claimed to be breaking, Hamann argued that human pride leads us to create our own truths that can exceed the truth given to us by God through our senses, but which have no actual basis in reality. Hamann believed that it is pride that keeps us from accepting the truth, and that pride expresses itself both when it asserts claims that are not true but are satisfying, and when it rejects truths that don’t measure up to its standards of proof. Kierkegaard’s target was Hegel and his historical idealism. Kierkegaard did not read Hume or English at all, and seems to have not been fully aware of what Hamann’s points were in his critique of Hume; but he did famously take up Hamann’s argument that knowledge of all questions of existing reality involves a movement of the will, to accept the evidence of the senses despite their inherent incompleteness. In his “Philosophical Interlude” in the Fragments, Kierkegaard’s pseudonym Johannes Climacus argues that even to accept the truth that one is seeing a star includes an act of will. The individual must choose, at some point, to stop questioning the evidence and to accept the evidence as it stands, to close the books and reckon the account as paid in full or not. Doubt will never end until the individual chooses to let it. In his attack on doubt, Kierkegaard (again, using his pseudonym Johannes Climacus) focuses first on Descartes, and then on the modern heirs of Descartes, particularly Hegel, who said that doubt will inevitably run its course and absolute knowledge will, eventually, emerge. Climacus says there is nothing inevitable about knowledge; there is always an element of freedom, even when it is not noticed. This becomes most obvious when the object of knowledge is God’s presence in Jesus Christ, a notion that combines the inherent uncertainty of all knowledge of existence with the added obstacle of defying our norms of human reason. Again, it is pride that is said to motivate this unwillingness to accept God’s self-revelation. As Climacus describes it in his discussion of offense, Reason chooses to set itself up as the judge and standard to which God must conform; a revelation that does not fit reason’s standards is judged to be inferior. By contrast, if God is the standard, then it is Reason that is being judged. Again, it is pride that holds us back from accepting the truth, and humility, specifically the humility to accept reason’s shortcomings and to let God be God, that allows us to accept the truth that gives itself.

Through this 1400 year evolution of the Augustinian tradition, while we have not said much specifically about environmentalism, we have laid a foundation for considering it as a religious and moral issue.   Humility tells us that we are not the center of the universe, either individually or collectively; God is the center, and it is God who decides what is valuable by choosing to bring it into existence. The individual’s task is to accept this. It is pride that leads us to think that people or other beings have value only insofar as we choose to value them. This pride is not only a moral vice leading to other injustices and sins, but also an epistemological vice that distorts our view of reality, and of ourselves.

 

Finding Our Father and Loving Our Mother: How Humility Can Contribute to an Understanding of Ecological Theology

January 18, 2018

This is the working draft of a paper I am preparing for a local Earth Day conference, but see no reason to wait until then to start a conversation.

 

 

Finding Our Father and Loving Our Mother: How Humility Can Contribute to an Understanding of Ecological Theology

 

 

Abstract:    In this paper I shall discuss the concept of humility, as discussed by Augustine of Hippo, Søren Kierkegaard and Diogenes Allen. In the Augustinian tradition, pride is the original and deadly sin, from which all others derive; humility is the cardinal virtue of not thinking more of oneself than is the truth. Through Kierkegaard and Allen, this theological virtue becomes an epistemological virtue as well, providing a basis for ways to think about the environment beyond the man/property/wilderness framework often found in fundamentalist theologies and libertarian economic ethics. Finally, I shall use the concept of humility to analyze and critique the environmental pronouncements and policies of my own religious tradition, the Presbyterian Church (USA).

 

 

The 18th century philosopher Johann Georg Hamann (1730-1788) once said that the fundamental mistake of modern theologies was their tendency to take over the dominant philosophies of their day, and try to talk about God based on those constraints. The problem in Hamman’s eyes was that these philosophies began from a more or less atheist starting point; building on this flawed foundation, any theological edifice was bound to be unstable. At the risk of anachronism, I would claim that much of 20th century Protestant American Fundamentalism falls into this trap. The philosophical foundation for writers such as Rousas Rushdoony and Jerry Falwell is a libertarian political philosophy rooted originally in John Locke. Locke’s philosophy, particularly as laid out in his Second Treatise on Civil Government, profoundly shaped the thinking and the direction of the American independence movement, and it would not be an exaggeration to say that he was the grandfather of the American Revolution. His thinking influences our culture still in ways most of us scarcely realize, and I am grateful for most of it. But when it comes to environmental thinking, his thought is unhelpful and, in its current incarnations, downright dangerous. I want here to briefly survey how Locke’s views on property and nature affect much American thought, including Fundamentalist theology. Next, I want to go back to the Augustinian tradition, and look at how the Augustinian concepts of pride and humility can give us a new starting point for discussing our relationship with nature. In particular, I will be discussing the book Finding Our Father, written by one of my favorite professors in seminary, Diogenes Allen. I will be writing this primarily as an exercise in or examination of Christian theology, but I hope the treatment will be interesting and helpful for others as well.

In his Second Treatise on Civil Government, John Locke lays out some very radical political theories. Having argued in the first treatise against the divine right of kings, in the second he argues that political power is in fact the expression of the will of the majority of the people. A nation, he says, is a group of people who have agreed to live together and work together to solve their disagreements peacefully and to protect each others’ life, liberty and property. They achieve this by creating a government which therefore ought to include representatives chosen by the people to make decisions on behalf of the rest, and who are subject to replacement by popular vote. In an era where the people were often treated as property of the monarch as much as the land they farmed was, the idea that the king, courts and Parliament existed to serve the people and carry out their will was quite literally revolutionary: it was born in response to the English Civil War and the Glorious Revolution, and it led to the American Revolution a generation later. Instead of considering individuals first as subjects ruled by others, Locke said each was essentially the ruler of himself or herself. No rational being owned another; rather, each owns his or her own body. Nature, by contrast, is not consciously rational, so natural resources such as water, fruit trees in the forest and so on are unowned, or common property. But if some person adds his or her own effort to the natural object, say by gathering the apples from the tree into a basket, then that formerly unowned resource is not a mixture of the natural and the efforts of some person’s body, and thus becomes by extension that person’s private property. Whenever a human shapes or changes nature, that human adds a little of his or her own body to it, and it becomes private property.

Locke does have some constraints on this natural acquisition. Importantly, he said that no one has a right to more of anything than he or she can use before it spoils. It would be irrational, a violation of the law of Reason which rules even in nature, for one person to gather all the food and hoard it until it spoils while others starve. But essentially, Locke treats the natural world as having worth only as it affects humans. People turn nature into property, and have an inalienable right to do so. Locke’s Second Treatise had a powerful influence on America’s Founding Fathers, and his philosophy both explicitly and covertly influenced our culture and still does. Explicitly, it shaped the Declaration of Independence, and Locke’s idea for a tripartite government is the foundation of our Constitution’s division into executive, legislative and judicial branches. Less explicitly, his views of property were very congenial to colonial and frontier farmers/plantation owners, justifying their wholesale conversion of wilderness to private farmland. Locke basically assumed that Nature was inexhaustible, an idea that was questionable on the British island but which seemed obviously true to the Englishmen and later Americans looking west towards apparently limitless horizons. And even today, this view of Nature is powerful, particularly in the business community: nature is raw material, and essentially limitless, unless pesky regulations get in the way.

Locke often used religious language in his political writing, referring to the law of Nature, Reason and the will of God more or less interchangeably. This made it easy for later American religious conservatives to take over his philosophy and incorporate it more or less unaltered into such theologies as Christian Reconstructionism. This represents a major and important misunderstanding of Locke’s thought, one that in turn delegitimizes this entire theological project. In his primary theological work, The Reasonableness of Christianity, Locke argues that the true heart of Christianity is a moral monotheism. He has no real use for miracle stories, or the idea that one guy could die for the sins of others; his religion and thus his God is philosophical, ethical, and like the title says, reasonable. But at least since Rousas Rushdoony and continuing through Falwell and others, as well as countless Evangelical Protestant preachers, this idea that humans have a “divine” right to treat nature as an inexhaustible source of human wealth has been treated as an Eleventh Commandment: Thou shalt not hinder private property. For Locke, saying this was divine law was the same as saying it is reason’s law; thus, we can use reason to interpret it. For some conservative Christians, the “law of God” is more like the absolute eternal pronouncement of the Divine Lawgiver, so far beyond all human reason that even to hint that we might be harming the Earth is literally said to be rebellion against the LORD. Not only is Nature treated as an unlimited resource with value only as human property, but to say otherwise is, in some theological circles, literally a sin. And while this attitude is not the majority opinion of religious people, it has an outsized influence on American politics through the influence of well-financed lobbyists and media organizations supporting and supported by religious celebrities and mega-congregations.   Returning to Hamann’s observation, rather than start with a religious standpoint, derive their ecological theology from that and then dialog with American culture, a large swath of American fundamentalism adopted a humanistic attitude towards nature derived from Locke’s views on property as these were expressed through American culture and particularly American business culture; then, tacking on a fundamentalist Divine Commander to the rationalist foundation, they derived a theological approach to Nature that severely limits what religion can say to humans that they are not already happy to say to themselves. There can be no prophetic voice when the theology is merely an echo of the interests of economic and political powers.

Why Epistemology Matters

November 6, 2017

These days, it seems everyone should study philosophy.  Consider this article.  It discusses the social and political implications of the victory of relativism.  Humans run this planet because we are better able to organize ourselves than can any other species; and we are losing that ability.  Our ability to lie so effectively that even the liars are suckered is outrunning not only our ability to sift out the truth, but even our interest in doing so.

Sixteen years ago, I began to reevaluate my own appraisal of my chosen profession.  I have a Ph.D. in Philosophical Theology, which was an interdisciplinary program combining Philosophy and Religious Studies.  Before that I earned a M.Div. with a concentration in Philosophy, and before that a B.A. in Philosophy with enough Religion courses to qualify for a double major if I’d wanted to.  I’ve been working the seam between Philosophy and Religion for longer than many of my students have been alive.  Arguably, I’ve been doing it since I read Walden when I was fourteen years old.  I always thought it was important for someone to do it.  I could see that most of the people around me were unhappy with the lives they were living, or were living lives that others had lived already and found unsatisfying, so the rest maybe just weren’t unhappy yet.  But I also thought, as almost everyone around me said, that philosophy was too hard and strange for most people, so it would be up to the few of us to sort this out and then teach it to others.  Just as hardly anyone really understands calculus, but our modern world couldn’t exist without it, I thought some small subgroup of academics were all that were necessary to philosophize for the rest.  And furthermore, I figured that if most people ignored us, that would be okay too; they’d muddle along, we’d try to influence things around the edges by teaching a few future politicians and legal scholars a little morality before they set out shaping the world.

In 2001, I realized how dangerous that had become.  Everyone thought the “important” things to study in school were the things that could make you rich:  business, accounting, engineering, law and medicine, maybe sports and a few others.  Philosophy, religion, humanities, history—- who needs them?  But no one is flying planes into buildings because of a disagreement over the Pythagorean Theorem or the relative merits of whole-life vs. term-life insurance or even over how to fight cancer.  They are committing acts of mass murder because they have given up on the possibility of rationally defending their own world-view.  They have given up on logic and observation leading us to a shared sense of reality, within which we could solve problems that affect us all.  They have given up on trying to understand people who disagree with them or who have different values, who love and fear different things.  The religious fundamentalist isn’t dangerous because he is religious, any more than the atheist is dangerous because she isn’t.  What is dangerous is the person who resorts to force to impose his or her standards on another, or on a group, without understanding their views.  Such a person generally hasn’t even understood his or her own views.   “Those who know only one religion know none,”  said Max Müller, and it is true:  to understand anything, you have to have some sort of comparison.  To understand your own beliefs, you have to briefly step outside them and look at them from another angle; that’s what analysis and reflection are.  So the fundamentalist usually, probably always has a truncated view of his or her own faith, whether it’s the religious fanatic or the Communist fanatic or the racist or some other ideology.  They don’t understand others or even themselves, but they’ll fight and maybe kill to defend their mistakes from any real and imagined threats.

Through 2015, I mostly believed that greater understanding could lead, if not to consensus, at least to mutual tolerance and agreement on rules of engagement.  That was the motivation behind this book.  In 2002, the economy of the nation was sliding towards recession, and there was a debate how to respond.  One side said that the best way to stimulate and repair the economy after the 2008 crash was to increase aid to the poor, such as food stamps.  That would undoubtedly have worked, since poor people spend what they get right away—they have to, they’re poor, they have debts and bills and mouths to feed.  Rich people don’t need more money, by definition, so when they get more money they are less likely to immediately stimulate the economy by spending it.  They might invest it in new businesses, but more likely they’ll squirrel it away in tax havens—-they already have thriving businesses, remember: they’re rich.  Middle-class people will save a little, pay down debts, maybe finally open that small business they’ve always wanted to.  So, practically speaking, according to the vast majority of economists, Bush should have pushed for a one-time bonus to the food stamp program, together with a modest but noticeable rebate in taxes for the poor and middle classes, leaving the rich alone.  But this suggestion was met with seeming moral outrage.  How could you punish the hard-working middle class by rewarding poor people?  (The implication was that if they’re poor, they don’t work hard enough; anyone who thinks that has never done real manual labor.)  How could you punish the rich for working hard and being smart?  (The implication here is that everyone who is rich must have worked hard and be really smart; I’ve met too many rich people to believe that.)  So I set out, in this book, to examine how we came to have such different moral judgements about how we share the profits of our joint economic activities as a nation.  My hope was that if people could see that the other side was not evil or lazy, but just had different moral and practical assumptions, maybe some sort of conversation would be possible.

What I’ve seen since that book was published is nothing short of epistemological genocide, a wholesale annihilation of truth.  Cardinal Ratzinger once complained about a “dictatorship of relativism,” but today we have something perhaps even worse:  sheer anarchy.  We live in the epistemological version of a Hobbesian state of nature, with war of each truth against all others, and the life of every truth is nasty, brutish and short.  Perhaps once there was a dictatorship, imposing mutual tolerance and a cease-fire at the expense of rejecting the possibility that any truth could be real; but in these days there is no king and everyone does what is right in his or her own eyes (Judges 21:25).  And like that Biblical story of anarchy, rape and murder, the epistemological breakdown leads to political chaos and moral collapse that starts to make a Hobbesian totalitarianism seem almost preferable, or at least acceptable.  Hence, in 2016, the yearning for a “strong man” who would impose his view of reality on everyone else and give us order.(1)    But historically, dictatorships never end well for the dictated to.  Hobbesian monarchism gave way to Lockean representative democracy, because politically speaking a participatory government that depends on mutual discussion and mutual agreement to at least fight according to non-lethal political means rather than guns is more stable than a totalitarianism that leaves dissenters no option but violence.

Democracy dies when the majority choose to opt out; the society becomes an oligarchy, a ruling elite of actual voters and those who serve them dominating the nonparticipants.  Something similar happens in the realm of epistemology.  When the majority decide it is too hard to figure out what is true or false, they allow others to dictate reality.  Once you’ve handed your eyes over to someone else who tells you where to look and what to see, and handed your brain over to others who tell you what to think and your heart over to others who tell you what to feel, you are a slave, no matter how badass you feel because your masters tell you you’re tough and strong and better than those others.  And that is why epistemology matters, for everyone, and why every single individual citizen needs to learn some philosophy.  We need to learn enough to not just accept, but understand this:

  1.  Truth exists.  Some things are real
  2. Truth matters.
  3. Truth is hard to find but it’s worth the effort.
  4. You will never have all the truth; it’s too big for one person to see all at once.  But you can at least see the side that’s facing you.
  5. Everyone can, with effort and discussion, figure out more truth, by hearing from people who have other perspectives.
  6. When you don’t know, sometimes it’s okay to withhold judgement.
  7. When you can’t wait for certainty, you may have to choose without being certain.  If you’ve headed out on the wrong direction, though, you can still realize this and turn around.
  8. It takes humility to admit when you might be wrong.  It takes courage to stand your ground when you might be right.  Therefore, you need to be both brave and humble to find any truth in this life.

I think everything else—-Aristotle vs. Plato, Locke vs. Descartes, and all the other epistemological and ethical debates of philosophers through the ages—-are less important than these few, simple principles.  And maybe this list is not complete (I’d be breaking my own list if I insisted it was).  If you have some others, or think any of these is wrong, let’s discuss it like reasonable people.  But the important point, which I will not yield, is this:  You may not know much about Plato or Aristotle or Kant, and get by just fine; but you need to know something like these principles here to function as a citizen, or even as a rational being.  Otherwise, you’re liable to end up cowering in your basement waiting for the mythical hordes of antifa marauders or Mexican rapists or zombies or whatever that someone has invented to keep you terrified—-and submissive. (more…)

When the Chef Thinks Like a Customer

March 4, 2017

Just when people are saying that Trump is being “presidential” at last (about the fifth time they’ve said that[1]), he unleashes another seemingly unhinged tweetstorm. Less than 48 hours since his most recent “pivot,” Trump has begun accusing former President Obama of wiretapping him.[2] Most news sources politely note that he makes this accusation “without evidence,” since “pulls another insane rant out of his ass” sounds a little too blunt. As one spokesperson was quoted saying, “This is Trump being Trump.” Jesus of Nazareth said, “Out of the abundance of the heart, the mouth speaks.”[3] Some say he is a bully; others say he is mentally unhinged, paranoid and a malignant narcissist. What is clear is that there was not, nor will there be, a “pivot.” As Obama said before leaving office, being President doesn’t change who you are; if anything, it makes you more of what you are. Or, as CNN reports:

 

California Rep. Adam Schiff, the ranking member of the House Intelligence Committee, which is also probing the scope of Russia’s influence on the US election, said in a statement Saturday afternoon in reference to one of Trump’s tweets: “If there is something bad or sick going on, it is the willingness of the nation’s chief executive to make the most outlandish and destructive claims without providing a scintilla of evidence to support them.

“No matter how much we hope and pray that this President will grow into one who respects and understands the Constitution, separation of powers, role of a free press, responsibilities as the leader of the free world, or demonstrates even the most basic regard for the truth, we must now accept that President Trump will never become that man,” Schiff said.[4]

 

 

Sen. Lindsey Graham has largely echoed this same notion, saying that if the wiretaps did happen it is one of the greatest political crimes in our history, and if it didn’t and the charges are baseless, then this itself would be the greatest crime in political history; so either way, it demands a full and complete investigation. This certainly seems to be still another random, emotion-driven and logic-deprived outburst from a man who has made a career on baseless charges against others, false claims about himself and the products he’s peddling, and so many frivolous lawsuits that he’s been termed a “libel bully.”

But perhaps there’s another explanation, besides either insanity or criminality.[5] Perhaps Trump simply reacts to whatever he hears on the news; and more specifically, the far-right blogs and talk radio that endlessly praise him, since anything less than uninterrupted groveling strikes him as “fake news.” When Trump heard a biased and misleading report on FOX News about a supposed link between immigration and crime in Sweden, Trump famously tweeted out about “what happened in Sweden last night” and asked why no one was reporting about that. The problem was, no one was reporting because there was nothing to report. Again, today, Trump heard an unsubstantiated rant from a talk-radio host hypothesizing that Obama “must” have wiretapped Trump, and Trump took this claim (which had no evidence) as itself “proof” that Obama was “sick.”

As Trevor Noah pointed out, Trump avidly consumes cable news, particularly FOX News, which gives the most favorable reports about him.[6] This is crazy, as Noah says, because the only reason we watch TV news is because we DON’T have access to all the information the President has: daily intelligence briefings, classified reports and so on. He is supposed to be making the news; instead, he is merely another consumer, no better than the rest of us and, in many cases, far worse, because he lacks the context, the background knowledge, the humility, or the impulse control to avoid publicly overreacting to reports that are obviously unsubstantiated at best, and Sasquatch-level fakes at worst.

Donald Trump is like a chef at a five-star restaurant, who got hired despite a lack of cooking experience or training because he had family connections and friends who vouched for him. Now he is supposed to be producing the best food anyone has ever tasted, to maintain the restaurant’s hard-earned reputation as a prime provider of quality taste and nutrition. Sadly, he has no idea how to do that. He could ask someone to bring him up to speed, so that he can produce at least passable dishes on his own; but instead, he orders out, gets other people’s food which someone else has prepared, and presents it as his own. And unfortunately, his head is stuffed up and thus he can’t smell or taste anything, so he really doesn’t know good food from bad; he only knows that McDonald’s is quick and easy, and he likes things that are quick, easy and predictable. So he goes to whatever information fast-food franchise he finds, including sources that claim fictitious terrorist attacks or that the Sandy Hoot massacre was a hoax, and retweets and blows up as if these things were the voice of God Himself, like a bad chef who buys day-old fishwiches from McD’s and serves them as trout almandine at his five-star restaurant.

Now, if you prefer McD’s to the Four Seasons, that’s fine. And if you prefer talk radio to news that has been vetted and fact-checked and will actually retract a mistake, it’s a free country. But when you’re President of the United States, you don’t consume the news: you make it. You make it from the raw materials of real-life events, presented for your eyes only by some of the best intelligence agencies, scientists, doctors and other experts on the planet. You have a responsibility not to blindly believe or impulsively react to what you read in the press, because you make the news and you know more than whatever the guy on the TV or radio is saying.

This is a pattern, and it reveals something important about Donald Trump’s character. Repeatedly, he has said or tweeted something that was unfounded, obviously false or at least ill-advised, in a knee-jerk reaction to something he heard. And when he is called on it, one of his more usual responses is “Someone gave me that information,” or “Many people are saying it.” In other words, he naively trusts anyone who flatters him, and then dodges responsibility because someone else said it to him, and how could he possibly be expected to know better?

It wouldn’t be hard, for an adult, a mature and intelligent person, to simply stay off Twitter, not give public speeches that haven’t been fact-checked, and in general to stop acting like a buffoon. But that would require being a chef at the information restaurant, and not a customer. And in this case, the new chef was hired because the restaurant apparently wanted to go in a “new direction;” consistently high-quality food was boring, so they brought in the winner of the Great American Bake-Off to take over rather than hire someone who trained at an actual culinary school or had worked in a kitchen before. This was supposed to “shake things up,” to “disrupt the usual model,” or to “change things.” The new head chef needs to rely on the sous chefs about what generally works, and on the wait-staff to tell him how the new dishes are being received, and so on. Eventually, he would learn both what the “usual rules” are and when to break them productively and strategically. However, that would require humility, a willingness to ask questions and take advice even from people whom he beat for the job of chef. So, instead, he orders out, buying what he is supposed to make himself: policies, and the original information on which policies are based.

And to finish this metaphor: No doubt, there will be many new customers who think that it is just great that the once-fancy five-star restaurant now serves well-done steaks with catsup, rather than the flavorful chateaubriand that make it famous. Some will be glad to eat at a restaurant that doesn’t make them feel like bad cooks because they could never do what the restaurant does; now, the food is no different than what they cook themselves, maybe even a little worse. Perhaps only the real foodies will realize immediately that the once-great restaurant is dying under its new chef, and that the only reason it has lasted this long is because of its reputation and the money it has in the bank. But sooner or later, something will happen that requires a confident, competent chef in the kitchen, and then everyone will know.

[1]   Domenico Montanaro, “Stop Using the Word ‘Pivot:’ Trump is Trump and Always Will Be Trump;”NPR March 4, 2017 (http://www.npr.org/2017/03/04/518326280/stop-using-the-word-pivot-trump-is-trump-and-will-always-be-trump)

[2] Colin Dwyer, “President Trump Accuses Obama of ‘Wire Tapping, Provides No Evidence.” NPR March 4, 2017 (http://www.npr.org/sections/thetwo-way/2017/03/04/518478158/president-trump-accuses-obama-of-wire-tapping-provides-no-evidence)

[3] Luke 6:45

[4] Jeremy DiamondJeff Zeleny and Shimon Prokupecz, “Trump’s Baseless Wiretap Claim,” CNN March 4, 2017 (http://www.cnn.com/2017/03/04/politics/trump-obama-wiretap-tweet/index.html)

 

[5] Brian Stetler, “Stelter: Far-right Media May Fuel Trump Claims;” ;” CNN March 4, 2017 (http://www.cnn.com/videos/politics/2017/03/04/stelter-trump-wiretapping-right-wing-media-sot-nr.cnn)

[6] “The Daily Show,” Comedy Central, January 26, 2017 (http://www.cc.com/video-clips/ujnxnv/the-daily-show-with-trevor-noah-welcome-to-president-trump-s-reality)

Boredom, Anxiety and Envy: a Kierkegaardian Attempt to Understand The Trump Question (pt.4)

July 6, 2016

CONCLUSIONS

In Two Ages, Kierkegaard compares the present age to a Roman emperor, fat, bored, wandering through his palace and through life looking for something to amuse himself. He isn’t evil, exactly, so much as simply sullen, lethargic and self-centered, and desperate for something new to stimulate his senses. He torments others simply out of boredom. Likewise, Kierkegaard says, the present age delights in having a tabloid press to torment and humiliate the best and brightest, anyone who stands out from the crowd, simply so the rest of us can watch and be entertained for awhile. Kierkegaard started his authorship with a discussion of boredom, and here when he is beginning a new phase in his career he is returning to it. Boredom and envy are connected, in a way neither is to anxiety, leading Kierkegaard to mention them both in the same breath.

The connection is passion. This seems to be an easy concept to misunderstand; in The Logic of Subjectivity Louis Pojman, who is normally a pretty sharp cookie, compares Kierkegaard’s discussion of passion to Hume’s notion that “reason is a slave to the passions.” This is clearly off target, since Hume’s point is that we have no real freedom to act against our desires while Kierkegaard is saying we should strive to free ourselves from just that sort of bondage to our whims and appetites. Taking what Kierkegaard says about passion in various references and bringing it together, it is clear that the essential quality of the life of passion is that the individual feels that what he or she does matters. Don Juan, lost in the moment of pure pleasure, feels absolutely alive.[1] He is totally immersed; no part of him stands outside what he is engaged with; he is passionate. However, that sort of passion cannot survive reflection or even self-awareness; it starts to collapse as soon as it is put into words. The pre-moral, esthetic life described in Either/Or is a life lived for arbitrary goals, and thus is essentially meaningless; the more one becomes self-aware and reflective, the more one finds oneself standing outside oneself, unable to fully immerse in whatever arbitrary project one has chosen. It is simply too small. And being essentially meaningless, it is essentially boring. Don Juan can pull it off mostly because he is a fictional character in an opera, and exists only in imagination and music; a real person is never safe from the threat of self-reflection. Kierkegaard thus depicts the egoistic, pre-moral life of the esthete as something of a willful self-deceit, where the esthetic person either invests his or her life in some petty project or rotates between petty projects, and avoids boredom mostly by luck if at all.

In the age of revolution, people are swept up in a shared passion. That may not be a good thing; the same passion that led to the overthrow of tyranny also led to The Terror and to the destruction of the Napoleonic wars. Passion, in and of itself, may not be moral; but it is at least alive. People feel that things matter. Without reflection to go along with that passion, you can have wildness, irrationality, and a loss of sense of individuality; but at least you have the vital force. With both reflection and passion, you have liveliness together with self-awareness, and you have a community of moral individuals. With reflection and no passion, as in the present age, you have triviality. Nothing matters, and what’s more, we feel clever because our reflection has shown us that nothing matters so we are not being fooled. We don’t fight for the good or against the evil, because we don’t feel that either matters; we simply don’t think those words apply to us. We might temporarily flare up in some passing enthusiasm, but it soon fades because it is as arbitrary as anything else, and we lapse into bored triviality. I think of how outraged we all were when Cecil the lion was killed, for awhile, but how little most of us think about the extermination of the world’s most majestic species. No one really cares about the moral principle; they just wanted to be part of the moment and part of the crowd gathered to mourn Cecil. If anyone had actually acted on all that outrage, either to avenge Cecil or to dedicate his or her life entirely to saving Earth’s endangered animals, we would have considered it madness. It is acceptable to get angry and to tweet death threats even, to sign a petition and to talk about it endlessly on Facebook for two weeks; but then, really, you have to get on with your life, right?

In an early journal entry, written when Kierkegaard was merely a perpetual student, he wrote that he was seeking “the cause for which I can live and die.” That is what it is to live a life of passion! And that is what is lacking in the present age, according to Kierkegaard. No one has a cause. In the age of revolution, everyone has a cause, whether you are a revolutionary or a reactionary; either way, you are part of the same passion, and the revolution matters. People in a revolutionary age don’t all agree, but they all care about the same thing; even if some love it and some hate it, “it” is the same. In the age of reflection without passion, we have no cause, and those who do seem strange, even fanatical.

In this boredom, when nothing matters, our attention has no common focus and no higher focus than one another. That reflection that tells us that nothing matters turns on our neighbors, as we determine to prove that any claim to “matter” is arrogance. Therefore, we level. Leveling is the prime social expression for passionlessness, which is the literal meaning of “apathy.” The leveling society is the apathetic society, knocking down the highest out of sheer boredom.

The escape from boredom, which Kierkegaard traces through Either/Or to the Concluding Unscientific Postscript, is to choose to live a life where things do matter. As his pseudonym The Judge says, it is not to choose the good, but first to choose to allow the concepts of “good” and “evil” into one’s life. As Ron Green points out in Kierkegaard and Kant: the Hidden Debt, Kierkegaard starts with a very Kantian notion of what “ethics” means: that one lives according to the moral law that one discovers with one’s own moral reason. Just as logic is a purely mental law that dictates what is rational or irrational thinking, so the moral law is a purely rational principle that dictates what is moral or immoral action. To reject either logic or morality is certainly possible; in fact, few of us live totally logical or moral lives. But insofar as a person is not a slave to whims and appetites and irrational impulses, one lives according to these laws of rationality and morality that one finds within one’s own reason. The only way one can escape being determined by the essentially meaningless pursuits of the egoist is to choose the ethical life. When one does this, one has something far more important to deal with than whether one’s neighbor is getting too uppity; so the moral passion of the ethical life can be the antidote to envy.

Thus, the escape from boredom and from envy is the same: reject apathy and embrace the life lived for what matters. However, at this point anxiety rears its head. As Kierkegaard says, to live with the knowledge of good and evil is to live in anxiety. One first becomes aware of the distinction by becoming aware that one has done the evil, and cannot undo it, and might even do it again. The more one tries to escape from anxiety through one’s own power, the more anxious one becomes. Eventually, since anxiety is “the dizziness of freedom,” the only escape from anxiety is to try to escape from one’s own freedom. For this reason, says The Concept of Anxiety, the person may be tempted to try to immerse himself or herself in the trivial and philistine life of social conformity. I find myself to be desperately bored; I realize my life and my concerns are meaningless, and seek to find what really matters, that is, what is good; when I find it, I realize that I have in fact done what is worthless and evil, and that it still remains a tempting possibility; the more I try to live a meaningful life the more stressful and anxious I find this constant threat of falling again into what I now know to be the evil; and finally I choose to simply embrace the soulless conformity of the passionless, reflective society. Thus boredom and envy are not just the problems of those who know nothing more in life; they are much more the characteristics of those many who are actively choosing to live lives without a relationship to what is truly good.

The only true escape from anxiety and envy, according to Kierkegaard, is to choose the religious life. Again, this is a claim that is likely to be misunderstood by postmodern Americans. Most of what we typically call “religious”— social conformity and judgmentalism, blindly following a charismatic leader, allowing others to tell us the moral rules and convincing ourselves that using our own minds is somehow wicked and rebellious—- this is actually what Kierkegaard would consider more of that anxious, envious, self-immolating life that Kierkegaard labels “objectivity,” “idolatry” or “demonic.” True religiousness starts with the attempt to find the good: that is, with the ethical. For Kierkegaard, the attempt to live an ethical life by following one’s moral reason serves much the same function as the Law in Paul’s epistles and Luther’s theology.[2] One must first try to live according to the ethical, and fail, and in failing realize one’s need for grace. At the same time, grace is not there to free one from trying to live a good life; it is there to free one from the burden of one’s past failures, so that one can try again. Grace allows one to finally be free from the overwhelming burden of anxiety, which otherwise leads one to flee the whole attempt to live a life as a morally directed individual.[3] Particularly in Concept of Anxiety, but consistently throughout Kierkegaard’s authorship, “the good” is individuating; to pursue the good is to be an individual, and to try to evade the personal effort of being an individual moral agent before God is to choose the evil.

The irony of envy is that from the religious perspective, it is right. Envy says, “You are no better than me;” the religious person says, “Indeed, I am no better than you; we are both individuals before God, dependent entirely on grace.” Accepting this is what allows the truly religious person to escape the bondage of envy. The faithful person has the complete security of being worthwhile and even loved by God, despite knowing himself or herself to be morally unworthy of that love. The faithful one thus has no need to enviously tear down others, and can rejoice in their value before God as much as in his or her own. Therefore, if you see someone whose sense of self-worth is dependent on asserting superiority over others or tearing them down, you can be sure that this is not “religious” zeal but is in fact faithlessness.

The desire to tear down scientists and scholars and “the elites,” while adulating some self-promoting huckster whose only claims to superiority are the purely mathematical ones of wealth and popularity, is an expression of faithlessness and the bondage of sin, as Kierkegaard understands it. This is true whether the would-be idol is a political demagogue or a religious charlatan, or some combination of the two. It is a sign of an age that has, in Kierkegaard’s words, “annulled the principle of contradiction.” It is an age that fears to let Yes be Yes and No remain No, and wants to eliminate all ultimate distinctions between true and false, good and evil, logical and irrational, so it can avoid having to make a decisive choice. The present age says that all truths are partial and relative and based on perspective, so there is no need to rationally discuss or to question one’s own views; the reflective and passionate view is humbled by reflection but inspired to seek truth nevertheless, admitting that the quest for truth is never-ending while remaining devoted to the quest regardless.

When “the principle of contradiction has been abrogated,” as Kierkegaard said using the language of Hegelian philosophy, there is no absolute truth. Every concept is simply one side of a larger reality. Hegel still had an historical optimism underlying his annihilation of the distinction between truth and falsehood, good and evil; he believed history is progressing towards a state of greater human consciousness, and eventually the race will attain an apprehension of reality that encompasses all of the various perspectives. But for Hegel, that day is not yet; in the meantime, your moral values are simply expressions of your culture’s values and your own class interests. As the 19th century gave way to the 20th and the French Revolution was succeeded by the Munich Putsch, that optimism was harder to sustain. Today we have even more thoroughly abrogated the distinction between true and false, epistemologically and ethically, in what Cardinal Ratzinger called “the dictatorship of relativism.” There is no truth, so anyone who claims to know truth is simply an oppressor trying to impose his (maybe her) will on others; thus the only morally proper and epistemologically correct option is to admit all views are equally valid, even contradictory ones. The problem with that is that the “tolerance” and “honesty” that supposedly demand this admission are themselves moral and epistemological virtues, and thus themselves become victims of reflection. What we end up with is moral nihilism and a contest of irrational wills. As Harry Frankfurt discusses in On Bullshit, today we have a whole category of verbal behavior that is neither truth nor lying, because the speaker is simply unconcerned with either sharing or avoiding the truth. And this may explain Trump’s method and success. Donald Trump does not lie; he bullshits. He says whatever will serve his purpose, and is not concerned with whether what he says is true. Much of the time he does not even know. And to the morally and intellectually vacuous public today, this seems entirely appropriate. In a world where no one can “dictate” truth, and where truth itself cannot dictate, every single person can believe whatever he or she wants to believe. If I want to believe that slavery never happened, or that solar energy sucks heat out of the air and will freeze us all to death unless we burn more coal, or that most American Muslims are terrorists or terrorist sympathizers even though I don’t actually even know how many Muslims there are in America, then I have a right to my opinion. Truth and goodness are replaced by the language of “rights,” and the stupidest and most selfish has as much right as the wisest, for we are all equal. The ability to get others to agree with you is seen not as a triumph for fact over fantasy, but just as a victory of one will over the others. From the point of view of the postmodern person, there is no truth and the best leader is merely the best bullshitter; and the bullshitter who has persuaded the most people to give him or her the most money is clearly the best. From the point of view of the one who is religious in Kierkegaard’s sense of the word, the wisest is the one who recognizes that there is truth, who loves the truth (particularly moral truth) and who attempts to live according to the truth so that his or her life might have some real meaning, but who knows that human existence is always to strive for truth, never to possess it completely. That person will know that anyone might have a piece of truth, and thus anyone is worth listening to, just as Socrates listened to politicians and slaves alike as he went around Athens asking questions. And just as Socrates seemed more than a little odd in a society dominated by demagogues and Sophists, so today any real truth-seeker seems goofy at least, if not absolutely insane. The popular teachers in the days of Socrates were the ones who said “man is the measure of all things, what is that it is, and what is not that it is not;” and the popular leaders were the ones who did not try to make their citizens better morally or better informed, but took them where they were and pandered to their appetites. And in the days of Socrates, that sort of relativism led to moral and epistemological nihilism, leaving nothing to guide the society but the naked ambition of its politicians; and themselves being unguided either by moral principles or factual truth, they led the nation into defeat and destruction. The age without faith is the age without truth, without a love for truth, and thus without guidance how to live or what to choose, a mindless herd following the loudest voice without knowledge of whether it is being led to the sheepfold, or to be sheared, or to the slaughterhouse.

[1] Søren Kierkegaard, “The Immediate Erotic Stages or the Musical Erotic,” in Either/Or, v. I, edited and translated, with introduction and notes by Howard V. Hong and Edna H. Hong (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1987) pp. 45ff

[2] see W. Glenn Kirkconnell, Kierkegaard on Ethics and Religion, (New York: Continuum International Publishing Group, 2008) pp. 76-107

[3] see W. Glenn Kirkconnell, Kierkegaard on Sin and Salvation, (New York: Continuum International Publishing Group, 2010) pp. 40-57

 

Notes on Augustine’s Of Faith and the Creed

March 3, 2016

Notes on Augustine’s Of Faith and the Creed

http://www.newadvent.org/fathers/1304.htm

 

This is an exposition on the Nicene Creed, delivered by Augustine to the bishops assembled for the Council of Hippo-Regius in 393, when he himself was only a presbyter. For my purposes, the most important section is Chapter 4, discussing the Incarnation. Christ “emptied himself,” taking the form of a servant, a lowly human being, with no visible signs or powers of the godhead. In Section 6 he discusses how Christ’s humility gives us the pattern we should imitate, and how through humility we return to God and overcome the separation originally caused by Adam’s pride. In Section 8 Augustine discusses how God showed such humility that God came down to our level, becoming as one of us, in order that we might be returned to fellowship with God.   He was born male, but had a female mother, so Christ “honored both sexes” and showed that both are saved. Chapter 5, section 11 goes further to discuss how Christ humbled himself not just in the Incarnation but also by submitting to suffering and death, even the shameful death of crucifixion.  From Chapter 4, section 6:

For the beginning of His ways is the Head of the Church, which is Christ endued with human nature (homine indutus), by whom it was purposed that there should be given to us a pattern of living, that is, a sure way by which we might reach God. For by no other path was it possible for us to return but by humility, who fell by pride, according as it was said to our first creation, Taste, and you shall be as gods. Of this humility, therefore, that is to say, of the way by which it was needful for us to return, our Restorer Himself has deemed it meet to exhibit an example in His own person, who thought it not robbery to be equal with God, but emptied Himself, taking the form of a servant; in order that He might be created Man in the beginning of His ways, the Word by whom all things were made.

 

 

 

Notes on “Jesus and the Cardinal Virtues”

March 3, 2016

Cochran, Elizabeth Andrew.  “Jesus and the Cardinal Virtues:  a Response to Monika Hellwig.”  Theology Today Volume 65 (2008), pp.  81-94

  1. Looks at the idea that Christians should explore how a consideration of the cardinal virtues can help the church to understand and articulate its public witness.”
  2. If the virtues are, as Aristotle says, rooted in an understanding of human nature independent of faith, this would give the church a natural common ground with moral thinkers outside the Christian faith.
  3. By contrast, Augustine is committed to the idea that we only understand the virtues by seeing them expressed in Christ.
  4. God is the Good, so any goodness must approximate God
  5. The virtues are those character traits that help us to lead a more faithful life, since a life spent in imitation of God is a “good life.”
  6. We know what God is like by looking at Christ, so a life lived in imitation of Christ is a life spent in pursuit of the good. We have no knowledge of what God is like, and thus no idea of how to live, apart from this revelation.
  7. So to fulfill our human nature, we cannot simply look at human nature from various angles and conclude that the virtues are those habits that fulfill our human needs; our knowledge gathered in this Aristotelian manner would be only an examination of fallen human nature by corrupted human reason. Instead, we must look to Christ; living the virtues as revealed in his life will fulfill our own lives.
  8. Aristotle is committed to the idea that the virtues are interconnected, but not simply one. Augustine believes the virtues are ultimately one thing, and thus vice is ultimately one thing.
  9. Humility is seen in God’s Incarnation; God humbled Himself in becoming a human being for our sakes.
  10. Humility is seen in the life of Jesus as a humble person who submits entirely to God

Notes on “Naming the Mystery: An Augustinian Ideal.”

January 31, 2016

Fitzgerald, Allan. “Naming the Mystery: An Augustinian Ideal.” Religions 2015, v. 6; pp. 204-210.

 

The author says this article grew out of his experiences teaching Augustine. Generally, the classes tend to center around “issues” such as whether unbaptized infants go to Hell or Augustine’s theory of predestination. Dr. Fitzgerald asserts that this is the wrong approach, because it misses understanding Augustine himself or his approach. When challenged about infants, his response was to rely on apostolic authority and to say, in effect, “I don’t understand this, but I am a mere human and no apostle. It is not my place to argue with God or to claim to understand everything; the riches of God exceed all human understanding. Even if it seems absurd to us, if Scripture says that salvation comes to those who are baptized in the name of Jesus and only to those, we cannot argue. If God so wills it, it makes sense to God even if it is beyond our comprehension.”

Similarly, his sermons contain claims like “I did not study this today, so that now I could be aided by your prayers and together God will reveal the truth to us.” In both cases, Augustine asserts his own limitations and denies any personal authority to pronounce dogma; it is all to the left to God to teach. He as the preacher is just as reliant on the Holy Spirit as are the laypeople listening to his sermon.

Critics have claimed that

  1. These examples, particularly relying on apostolic authority rather than trying to argue and prove his views, shows a lack of intellectual rigor.
  2. Some of this, particularly the sermons, may be just rhetorical ploys to draw the audience in and make them co-opt the message.

Fitzgerald argues that Augustine’s protestations of ignorance are neither feigned modesty nor intellectual laziness. Rather, Augustine is asserting that there is truth, seeking truth is necessary and beneficial, but there are limits to human understanding and that some important things are simply beyond us. In those cases, Augustine names the mystery, points out what it is and the general borders where the truth must lie, but by claiming it is a mystery asserts both that there is something there and that it is not within our grasp.

In Fitzgerald’s view, truth is something of a horizon for Augustine. We strive towards it, but we can never reach it. But that does not mean we abandon the quest, either. Augustine could not help but ask these questions, and he thought it was a human need to want and to strive for these answers. Doing so is a spiritual exercise as well as intellectual growth. And it is an exercise in humility. Humility recognizes one’s limits and dependence on other powers than oneself.

Relativism says there is no truth. This was intended to promote humility; the “dictatorship of relativism” came about as intellectuals told others that any truth claim was innately oppressive and that everyone has a right to his or her own “truth.” But in fact, relativism promotes arrogance. The rise of climate deniers, voodoo economics, anti-vaxxers and so on reflects a general trend in postmodern America, and indeed in postmodern society in general: the assertion of unfounded beliefs as “truth” even when those beliefs are contradicted by overwhelming evidence and ironclad logic. If indeed there is no “truth,” then my belief that the Freemasons manipulate the weather with chemtrails is just as valid as your belief that there is a general trend of climate warming beginning with the Industrial Revolution due to the burning of fossil fuels. I am free to believe and act on my beliefs, even if it means burning tires to stave off the Ice Age the Freemasons are trying to trigger.

By contrast, humility says there is a truth, and that we must accept responsibility for seeking it, and that we must submit to it. It also says that I admit I might be wrong, and you (if you have a realistic humility) admit the same. Therefore I have to listen to you and agree to test our views by every available means. We argue and debate.

Religiously, we see this humility in Augustine’s motto “I believe in order that I may understand.” God reveals truth; we can try to understand it as best we are able, but we don’t create it.

I see a parallel between this and Kant’s view of the transcendental ideas. It is useful, for example, to assume the existence of God as a way to tie all our experience together; such a belief can further investigation into phenomenal reality. If we assume that reality is simply absurd, we will give up sooner; having faith that there is a first cause or ultimate unity will cause us to push the boundaries of knowledge further and to discover connections we never would have otherwise. Still, Kant says, ultimately we cannot prove the transcendental ideas to be either true or false. Pushing for these truths may lead us somewhere and help us to grow, but ultimately these ideas are beyond our grasp.

Methodologically, Augustine invites his readers or hearers to join in the search for truth, rather than to simply passively receive. Humility denies authority. Augustine may feel his study and prayers have revealed some part of the truth and that he needs to share that, but he also places himself in the same place as the hearer of the sermon, relying on prayer to reveal the truth.

As Fitzgerald presents it, there are parallels to Socratic method here; the teacher does not claim to be the “wise one” but only to love the Truth, to be a fellow traveler, a co-disciple (condiscipuli). I am struck by how similar this is to Kierkegaard as well. In his discourses he renounces authority, and asks his hearer “does it not seem so to you as well?” His pseudonyms are entirely aimed at placing the reader at a point where he or she makes the discovery and the decision. But all of this humility does not mean Kierkegaard denies there is truth, or that it does not matter what truth one accepts. Just the opposite: it is the truth that humbles, and the esthete (who does not accept the existence of good/evil or true/false, but leaves everything to will) who is the willful relativist tending ultimately towards solipsism and derangement.