There are three main ways of critiquing a culture. The most obvious way is to critique the actual institutions which operate in the culture. The next way of critiquing a culture is to critique how people talk about and argue for positions in the culture. Finally, one may critique how the way people talk about and argue for positions impacts how and what institutions are formed and operate.
If we critique a culture solely by critiquing the institutions which operate in it, we run into the problem that we must presuppose that some institutions are good and others bad. Perhaps democracy is good or private property is bad, but in either case the critique is performed in terms alien to the culture under critique. This is the form of critique at work when we object to institutions in terms of their results. It is a valid form of critique, but only where the presupposed good is a generally shared good.
The next way of critiquing culture is to focus on what are called discourses of legitimation, that is, the language in which claims are accepted as valid or invalid. This is the way of talking about and arguing for claims which is dominant and which all arguments must fit in order to be taken seriously. In this manner of critique, it is possible to uncover tensions in the discourse itself, ways in which its terms presuppose conflicting claims. This will not always be the case, however. A form of discourse can be bad without being inconsistent. Incidentally, this is a claim not taken seriously enough by presuppositionalist apologists.
The problem with this second mode of discourse is that it does not engage social reality. It stops at the level of terms, and fails to make the case for why the terms we use matter. It is, after all, at least possible that two different discourses might lead one to the same results, and so long as nothing too bad happens, it seems, no harm no foul.
The final mode of cultural critique manages to connect the previous two. In this mode, we articulate how the discourse gives rise to the institutions, and then how the institutions and their results fail to measure up by the lights of the language of legitimation used. We can also do a reverse form of this mode of critique, often referred to as genealogy, where we articulate how the discourse of legitimation arose from concrete institutions, in order to come to terms with the inadequacies of a previous language of legitimation and the institutions it gave rise to. Each discourse of legitimation, then, gives rise to a new set of insufficient institutions which then sets it to change into a new discourse of legitimation designed to rectify its old failings. This is one way of appropriating the Hegelian dialectic in our day.
Critique in this final mode attempts to expose people to how the way they are talking about their problems is giving rise to new problems or failing to rectify their situation. To be successful, it cannot simply show how policies give rise to the problem, but must show how our way of talking gives rise to policies which it either cannot accept or which can be clearly seen to give rise to problems which the discourse of legitimation is designed to solve. The critique needs to do this in such a way that the answer cannot simply be to claim that the discourse would work with better knowledge or better understanding, that is, the critique must show that these failures are not contingent but part of how the discourse works.
Showing posts with label Method. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Method. Show all posts
Monday, May 7, 2018
Friday, April 6, 2018
Method in Theology
Theology is in the unenviable position (to me, at any rate) of trying to deal in a precise manner with language which is not trying to be precise. The Bible is written with a large helping of metaphor, language designed to make sense to just about any reading level, and talk whose emphasis is more on its affective than its propositional content. Theology is not a task for literalists.
This suggests that doctrine abstracts from the Bible, and thus requires us to notice what doctrine necessarily leaves out--the affective component, in particular, but also, to some extent, other ways in which the Bible is designed so that it changes us. Even perfect doctrine would not be able to do all that the Bible does.
Yet doctrine has a place: doctrine articulates what we believe. Often, the work of articulating doctrine has a salutary effect on those who do that work. We are required to think more carefully about what God is doing in and by his Word. We are able--and required--to spell out more clearly differences of interpretation. We must search for language which will do justice to the majesty of God, and in our inability to fully comprehend what the Bible has for us, we appreciate the depths of God's wisdom.
Having argued that doctrine has a place, I turn to the question of method. If we are trying to deal with this kind of language precisely, we need to keep in mind the kind of language being used. We cannot jump from the text to a literal interpretation of it, but must examine the context and the manner in which the language is being used. To get to a level where we can work precisely, there is a kind of translation which has to take place.
To give an example, there is some debate about whether Christ was abandoned at the cross. That is, when Christ says "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" is there any break between God the Son and God the Father? The debate here tends to have two sides: those who say that being forsaken is a relational break and those who say that there can be no break in the trinity because the trinity is essentially a unity. To answer this question, we would need to know what the unity of the trinity consists in, and what the break in question would consist in. We cannot simply say that break is incompatible with unity, nor that being forsaken is a break, without clarifying what is meant by those terms. The break in question may be a kind of break which is compatible with tri-unity. Indeed, when we use the language of break, we may ourselves be using metaphorical and predominantly affective language to try to articulate what is happening at the cross.
When we ask what these various terms mean, our first step is to ask how the language is actually used in the Bible. What possibilities are being excluded by the use of these terms? When dealing with the Trinity, we ask what the unity we see present in Scripture, which we call the Trinity, consists in. What are we justified in saying about the unity of the Godhead from the language of the Bible? All three persons are God, and God is one--and what does "one" mean here? Of course, it should be noticed that there are few technical terms in the Bible--again, the language in use is vernacular, metaphorical language designed primarily to reach the whole person as a willing, loving, thinking being, not merely the rational side of some individuals.
The next step is to bring the terms together to see what entails what, what is incompatible with what, and what is indifferent to what. At this stage we can argue for a position regarding the break between Father and Son at the cross. The first stage simply gets the material for this second stage, and articulates what is being said. At this stage, we locate the implications of what is said with reference to a particular question.
The final step is to bring several of these kinds of examinations together to form a high-level account of God's nature and our nature in relation to God. There will often be circles, however. We may find ourselves with different arguments for opposed positions, such that we are forced to re-examine our account of how words are being used in the Bible. Our high-level accounts will feed back into lower level accounts and into our interpretations, even when we do not notice or are trying not to permit it.
Theology is not a tidy business, but it is necessary to engage carefully in the task, recognizing the difficulty which the Bible's way of using language presents for the precise work of articulating doctrine. Too often, we read off the text too literally, not recognizing that our assumptions about the way the language is being used may be valid only for articulating one side of how things are, albeit the side God is most concerned to emphasize at that point.
This suggests that doctrine abstracts from the Bible, and thus requires us to notice what doctrine necessarily leaves out--the affective component, in particular, but also, to some extent, other ways in which the Bible is designed so that it changes us. Even perfect doctrine would not be able to do all that the Bible does.
Yet doctrine has a place: doctrine articulates what we believe. Often, the work of articulating doctrine has a salutary effect on those who do that work. We are required to think more carefully about what God is doing in and by his Word. We are able--and required--to spell out more clearly differences of interpretation. We must search for language which will do justice to the majesty of God, and in our inability to fully comprehend what the Bible has for us, we appreciate the depths of God's wisdom.
Having argued that doctrine has a place, I turn to the question of method. If we are trying to deal with this kind of language precisely, we need to keep in mind the kind of language being used. We cannot jump from the text to a literal interpretation of it, but must examine the context and the manner in which the language is being used. To get to a level where we can work precisely, there is a kind of translation which has to take place.
To give an example, there is some debate about whether Christ was abandoned at the cross. That is, when Christ says "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" is there any break between God the Son and God the Father? The debate here tends to have two sides: those who say that being forsaken is a relational break and those who say that there can be no break in the trinity because the trinity is essentially a unity. To answer this question, we would need to know what the unity of the trinity consists in, and what the break in question would consist in. We cannot simply say that break is incompatible with unity, nor that being forsaken is a break, without clarifying what is meant by those terms. The break in question may be a kind of break which is compatible with tri-unity. Indeed, when we use the language of break, we may ourselves be using metaphorical and predominantly affective language to try to articulate what is happening at the cross.
When we ask what these various terms mean, our first step is to ask how the language is actually used in the Bible. What possibilities are being excluded by the use of these terms? When dealing with the Trinity, we ask what the unity we see present in Scripture, which we call the Trinity, consists in. What are we justified in saying about the unity of the Godhead from the language of the Bible? All three persons are God, and God is one--and what does "one" mean here? Of course, it should be noticed that there are few technical terms in the Bible--again, the language in use is vernacular, metaphorical language designed primarily to reach the whole person as a willing, loving, thinking being, not merely the rational side of some individuals.
The next step is to bring the terms together to see what entails what, what is incompatible with what, and what is indifferent to what. At this stage we can argue for a position regarding the break between Father and Son at the cross. The first stage simply gets the material for this second stage, and articulates what is being said. At this stage, we locate the implications of what is said with reference to a particular question.
The final step is to bring several of these kinds of examinations together to form a high-level account of God's nature and our nature in relation to God. There will often be circles, however. We may find ourselves with different arguments for opposed positions, such that we are forced to re-examine our account of how words are being used in the Bible. Our high-level accounts will feed back into lower level accounts and into our interpretations, even when we do not notice or are trying not to permit it.
Theology is not a tidy business, but it is necessary to engage carefully in the task, recognizing the difficulty which the Bible's way of using language presents for the precise work of articulating doctrine. Too often, we read off the text too literally, not recognizing that our assumptions about the way the language is being used may be valid only for articulating one side of how things are, albeit the side God is most concerned to emphasize at that point.
Monday, April 2, 2018
Language and Metaphysics
I ended the last post by endorsing an account of abilities as more precise than the language we articulate them in, and by giving an account of how our language refers to specific abilities. This raises the question of how we should regard our ordinary use of terms when theorizing about the nature of what those terms are about.
There are two extremes here. On the one hand, one may follow Ordinary Language Philosophy and claim that, at least by and large, how we use terms is the best clue as to the nature of those terms. One would therefore claim that if a theory does not neatly fit with how we usually use language, then so much teh worse for the theory. On the other hand, one might take the opposite point of view and think that how we generally talk about things has no necessary connection to how things actually are. The fact that we talk about chairs existing would then have no bearing at all on whether or not chairs should be thought of as actually existing.
The first point I want to make is that both views have to take language as at least capable of articulating how things actually are, however. If one denies this claim completely, then one cannot write anything about metaphysics. I can imagine someone claiming that it holds in a particular domain, but such a claim would deserve argument, and would leave metaphysics generally articulable in language. Indeed, one must hold that metaphysics is articulable at the most general level, since any domain one argued was not articulable would be one where one was making a metaphysical claim about the domain as a whole.
My second point is that we begin theorizing from a linguistic position. When we start discussing the nature of some object, we start with what seems obvious to us, but what seems obvious to us is quite different from what seemed obvious to the ancient Greeks. Reading metaphysics from, say, before Darwin or before Einstein's relativity theories reveals how much of what we take as obvious is actually just scientific and metaphysical views which have percolated down to the general public. Some of what strikes us as obvious is actually early modern philosophy, some is particular interpretations of scientific theories, and some is oddly altered theology. All of it is simply "in the air," spoken about by everyone, often without any felt need to check or cite. This point is a somewhat Heideggerian claim.
Thirdly, how things are constrains our talk about them. Wittgenstein, among others, holds that if we understand how a word is used, that is usually sufficient to understand the meaning. How we use terms is constrained by what the terms are about (or, inversely, how we use terms constrains what someone may take the terms to be about). There are facts about our nature and that of other phenomena in the world which restrict what we can meaningfully say. Linguistic behavior thus reveals something about how we relate to phenomena, and thus provides hints about the phenomena and about ourselves. Linguistic behavior need not always get things exactly right, partly because it is vague about both ourselves and the world in virtue of revealing something about both. Common linguistic behavior is also imprecise: it only needs to be as precise as necessary for how we live.
Thus far, my points have been highly sympathetic to Ordinary Language Philosophy: I have claimed that language is a suitable medium for metaphysics, that metaphysics begins from language, and that language gives clues as to how things are metaphysically. However, my fourth point is that language prioritizes the immediately practical over the theoretical or only long-term practical. Language is therefore most prone to mislead when we use it to provide hints about phenomena which are distant from everyday life, or which only matter in the very long term. Unfortunately, a great deal of metaphysics falls into these categories. It is only when we are dealing with relatively practical metaphysics, such as freedom and ability, rather than less practical metaphysics, such as the disambiguation of natural kinds or the nature of time, that language is a helpful guide.
Fifthly, even in domains which are distant from immediately practical concerns, however, language is a helpful starting point and check on wild theorizing. Our theories ought to make sense of our language, either by showing what we were getting at, or showing the phenomena which led us astray. All language, even that which is metaphysically inaccurate, is motivated by how the world is, and thus a theory which leaves linguistic phenomena without motivation is suspect.
There are two extremes here. On the one hand, one may follow Ordinary Language Philosophy and claim that, at least by and large, how we use terms is the best clue as to the nature of those terms. One would therefore claim that if a theory does not neatly fit with how we usually use language, then so much teh worse for the theory. On the other hand, one might take the opposite point of view and think that how we generally talk about things has no necessary connection to how things actually are. The fact that we talk about chairs existing would then have no bearing at all on whether or not chairs should be thought of as actually existing.
The first point I want to make is that both views have to take language as at least capable of articulating how things actually are, however. If one denies this claim completely, then one cannot write anything about metaphysics. I can imagine someone claiming that it holds in a particular domain, but such a claim would deserve argument, and would leave metaphysics generally articulable in language. Indeed, one must hold that metaphysics is articulable at the most general level, since any domain one argued was not articulable would be one where one was making a metaphysical claim about the domain as a whole.
My second point is that we begin theorizing from a linguistic position. When we start discussing the nature of some object, we start with what seems obvious to us, but what seems obvious to us is quite different from what seemed obvious to the ancient Greeks. Reading metaphysics from, say, before Darwin or before Einstein's relativity theories reveals how much of what we take as obvious is actually just scientific and metaphysical views which have percolated down to the general public. Some of what strikes us as obvious is actually early modern philosophy, some is particular interpretations of scientific theories, and some is oddly altered theology. All of it is simply "in the air," spoken about by everyone, often without any felt need to check or cite. This point is a somewhat Heideggerian claim.
Thirdly, how things are constrains our talk about them. Wittgenstein, among others, holds that if we understand how a word is used, that is usually sufficient to understand the meaning. How we use terms is constrained by what the terms are about (or, inversely, how we use terms constrains what someone may take the terms to be about). There are facts about our nature and that of other phenomena in the world which restrict what we can meaningfully say. Linguistic behavior thus reveals something about how we relate to phenomena, and thus provides hints about the phenomena and about ourselves. Linguistic behavior need not always get things exactly right, partly because it is vague about both ourselves and the world in virtue of revealing something about both. Common linguistic behavior is also imprecise: it only needs to be as precise as necessary for how we live.
Thus far, my points have been highly sympathetic to Ordinary Language Philosophy: I have claimed that language is a suitable medium for metaphysics, that metaphysics begins from language, and that language gives clues as to how things are metaphysically. However, my fourth point is that language prioritizes the immediately practical over the theoretical or only long-term practical. Language is therefore most prone to mislead when we use it to provide hints about phenomena which are distant from everyday life, or which only matter in the very long term. Unfortunately, a great deal of metaphysics falls into these categories. It is only when we are dealing with relatively practical metaphysics, such as freedom and ability, rather than less practical metaphysics, such as the disambiguation of natural kinds or the nature of time, that language is a helpful guide.
Fifthly, even in domains which are distant from immediately practical concerns, however, language is a helpful starting point and check on wild theorizing. Our theories ought to make sense of our language, either by showing what we were getting at, or showing the phenomena which led us astray. All language, even that which is metaphysically inaccurate, is motivated by how the world is, and thus a theory which leaves linguistic phenomena without motivation is suspect.
Wednesday, March 21, 2018
Genesis, Justification, and Conservatism
Yesterday, I discussed interpretive charity as it relates to arguments. Today, I want to discuss an expansion of that thought which underlies--at least elements of--conservatism.
We interpret social structures, institutions, and human biology as well as arguments. Each of these have some degree of justification in their genesis. However one thinks human beings came to be, every theory presumes some degree of adaption to our environment, in terms of which we may speak of our biological constitution as justified. Likewise, social structures and institutions are justified by their role in a society, and are instituted because they serve a purpose.
When interpreting any of these things, then, interpretive charity calls on us to recognize that there was some degree of justification for how things are at some time. The justification which was accepted might not be a good one, but it was there. Conservatism is thus the instinct to understand the justification well enough to see how someone might once have thought it a good justification, before dismantling it. This is called Chesterton's Fence (HT: Mere Orthodoxy). If you do not know why it was justified, or at least considered justified, then you do not know that it is no longer justified--although it may be, and it may never have truly been justified.
Perhaps it is best to distinguish between justification in the sense that we give justifications, and justification in the sense that things are justified. Call the first "proposed justification" and the second "vindicating justification." The kind of justification which social structures, institutions, and biology must have is proposed justification, which need not mean that anyone has ever articulated the proposed justification, simply that there is a justification in virtue of which the phenomenon has been brought forth and preserved. The kind of justification which may or may not ever have existed is vindicating justification.
We may recognize bad proposed justifications in our past, but we must in these cases as much as with our contemporaries seek to find what the good and true thing is which led them down the wrong road. If we can find no good or truth, then we cannot be confident that we have understood the institution well enough to change it.
I hope it is clear that I do not think we should do things simply because we have always done them that way. I am, after all, articulating conditions under which one may be justified in altering social structures and institutions. We have made mistakes in our constitution of society, and we have made improvements. Just as the liberal does not see all change as good, the conservative does not see all change as bad. Change is bad when it removes a good, but good when it sustains a good. The principle of interpretive charity with respect to the past, Chesterton's Fence, simply urges us to change things with care and understanding, recognizing why the past was, and giving reason for it to be in the past. We should adapt to new situations when the justification proposed no longer vindicates and is not replaced by a new vindicating justification.
Hegel, in Elements of The Philosophy of Right §3 may be taken to be minimizing the need to understand the justification of a social structure or institution in its origin when he says:
We interpret social structures, institutions, and human biology as well as arguments. Each of these have some degree of justification in their genesis. However one thinks human beings came to be, every theory presumes some degree of adaption to our environment, in terms of which we may speak of our biological constitution as justified. Likewise, social structures and institutions are justified by their role in a society, and are instituted because they serve a purpose.
When interpreting any of these things, then, interpretive charity calls on us to recognize that there was some degree of justification for how things are at some time. The justification which was accepted might not be a good one, but it was there. Conservatism is thus the instinct to understand the justification well enough to see how someone might once have thought it a good justification, before dismantling it. This is called Chesterton's Fence (HT: Mere Orthodoxy). If you do not know why it was justified, or at least considered justified, then you do not know that it is no longer justified--although it may be, and it may never have truly been justified.
Perhaps it is best to distinguish between justification in the sense that we give justifications, and justification in the sense that things are justified. Call the first "proposed justification" and the second "vindicating justification." The kind of justification which social structures, institutions, and biology must have is proposed justification, which need not mean that anyone has ever articulated the proposed justification, simply that there is a justification in virtue of which the phenomenon has been brought forth and preserved. The kind of justification which may or may not ever have existed is vindicating justification.
We may recognize bad proposed justifications in our past, but we must in these cases as much as with our contemporaries seek to find what the good and true thing is which led them down the wrong road. If we can find no good or truth, then we cannot be confident that we have understood the institution well enough to change it.
I hope it is clear that I do not think we should do things simply because we have always done them that way. I am, after all, articulating conditions under which one may be justified in altering social structures and institutions. We have made mistakes in our constitution of society, and we have made improvements. Just as the liberal does not see all change as good, the conservative does not see all change as bad. Change is bad when it removes a good, but good when it sustains a good. The principle of interpretive charity with respect to the past, Chesterton's Fence, simply urges us to change things with care and understanding, recognizing why the past was, and giving reason for it to be in the past. We should adapt to new situations when the justification proposed no longer vindicates and is not replaced by a new vindicating justification.
Hegel, in Elements of The Philosophy of Right §3 may be taken to be minimizing the need to understand the justification of a social structure or institution in its origin when he says:
If it can be shown that the origin of an institution was entirely expedient and necessary under the specific circumstances of the time, the requirements of the historical viewpoint are fulfilled. But if this is supposed to amount to a general justification of the thing itself, the result is precisely the opposite; for since the original circumstances are no longer present, the institution has thereby lost its meaning and its right [to exist]. (Wood, ed Nisbet, trans. Cambridge University Press p.30, brackets in original)But he is rather making a point which I agree with: that institutions play a role and are justified in the context of a whole society, so that as the society changes the institutions must, as well. This does not mean that we can be blind to the historical justifications of our institutions when altering them, and that is not Hegel's point. Hegel wants to make clear that the particular contingent institutions are contingent and not an essential part of what Right is, so that, while the institutions should fit the culture and environment, they need not be the same in all cultures and environments. There is a great deal more in Hegel's Elements of The Philosophy of Right about the relation of genesis and justification, which I suspect I will discuss later, but currently I have only read so far in the book, and it is not all on topic. Tomorrow, however, I will discuss the need for social structures and institutions to fit with the culture and environment.
Tuesday, March 20, 2018
Interpretive Charity
One of the striking things about reading both liberal philosophers and conservative Christian thinkers, is that one finds them arguing past each other. Each presents arguments against the other's positions, rebuttals of the other's arguments, which are not actually engaging the views and arguments which the other would present. Perhaps this is due to reading people who are more academic--perhaps each is responding to what the masses on the other side would argue. Nevertheless, it seems to lack interpretive charity.
Interpretive charity is evidenced where one seeks to understand a position, particularly a position one disagrees with, well enough to see how someone might find it compelling. If one cannot see why someone might believe P, then it is hard to see how one could have any confidence arguing against P.
In an era with greater evidence than ever before of how human beings reason fallaciously, we can be tempted to simply locate one of these fallacies which fits the case. This removes the hard work of understanding a position from the inside. The individuals who hold such views do not, themselves, think they are reasoning fallaciously, and at least some of them have examined their views carefully. They are as sure that you are reasoning fallaciously as you are that they are reasoning fallaciously.
Besides, if we seek to convince someone--if we seek to actually discuss things and increase consensus regarding what true and good--we cannot simply claim that they are reasoning fallaciously. Pointing out a fallacy may be part of the story, but it must be done in such a way that they can recognize the reasoning as fallacious. Instead of focusing on fallacies and psychological biases, we must focus on unearthing the logic of each others' views, understanding the paradigms within which the views we find so wrong may seem so right. We must find what is right in the opposing view such that it is attractive to others. We will then be in a position to articulate our own views in a way that makes sense to these others, and we will be in a position to show how our views draw on some of the same values and truths as theirs. The goal will be, on the one hand, to learn from those with whom we disagree what kinds of passions must be provided for in our own position. We must, that is, include in our own account an understanding of where the false turns are and what makes them at once attractive and wrong. This may require us to change our views, since we must account for a rational attraction to the wrong turn. Having learned from the other view, we must then articulate our own view so as to show how it encompasses and moves beyond the truths and values of the false views, and how it makes clear both the basis of that view and how it goes wrong.
This model of interpretive charity does not permit us to oppose arguments with psychoanalysis of our opponents. Such a tack may have a role elsewhere, but not when trying to argue for a position against another position. If we are arguing, we are not pathologizing our opponents. If we do pathologize our opponents, we can no longer make sense of arguing with them.
Interpretive charity is evidenced where one seeks to understand a position, particularly a position one disagrees with, well enough to see how someone might find it compelling. If one cannot see why someone might believe P, then it is hard to see how one could have any confidence arguing against P.
In an era with greater evidence than ever before of how human beings reason fallaciously, we can be tempted to simply locate one of these fallacies which fits the case. This removes the hard work of understanding a position from the inside. The individuals who hold such views do not, themselves, think they are reasoning fallaciously, and at least some of them have examined their views carefully. They are as sure that you are reasoning fallaciously as you are that they are reasoning fallaciously.
Besides, if we seek to convince someone--if we seek to actually discuss things and increase consensus regarding what true and good--we cannot simply claim that they are reasoning fallaciously. Pointing out a fallacy may be part of the story, but it must be done in such a way that they can recognize the reasoning as fallacious. Instead of focusing on fallacies and psychological biases, we must focus on unearthing the logic of each others' views, understanding the paradigms within which the views we find so wrong may seem so right. We must find what is right in the opposing view such that it is attractive to others. We will then be in a position to articulate our own views in a way that makes sense to these others, and we will be in a position to show how our views draw on some of the same values and truths as theirs. The goal will be, on the one hand, to learn from those with whom we disagree what kinds of passions must be provided for in our own position. We must, that is, include in our own account an understanding of where the false turns are and what makes them at once attractive and wrong. This may require us to change our views, since we must account for a rational attraction to the wrong turn. Having learned from the other view, we must then articulate our own view so as to show how it encompasses and moves beyond the truths and values of the false views, and how it makes clear both the basis of that view and how it goes wrong.
This model of interpretive charity does not permit us to oppose arguments with psychoanalysis of our opponents. Such a tack may have a role elsewhere, but not when trying to argue for a position against another position. If we are arguing, we are not pathologizing our opponents. If we do pathologize our opponents, we can no longer make sense of arguing with them.
Tuesday, March 6, 2018
The Value of Life
It is somewhat depressing to try to argue for the irrationality of suicide, but it is the only way I know of to achieve lift off in thinking about what we should value. If we must value our own lives, then we must, to be rational, value what is conducive to that life.
We will start with a thought experiment. To compare the value of one's own life to one's own lack of life, we need two states of affairs. One, where one is alive, and another, where one is not. We are considering the value to oneself of one's own life, however, so both cases must be from one's own point of view. Let us, for the purpose of this thought experiment, suppose a view I think is false: that when you die, you no longer exist. So when we are considering these two cases, one exists versus one does not exist, how do we compare the value of the two cases to oneself? Well, we might try to imagine both from one's own point of view. What happens when one does that, however, is that one has nowhere to look out from in the case where one does not exist.
There are two ways to try to solve this problem. One is a solipsistic method, the other is a value-expansionist approach. In order, then:
If we approach the case solipsistically, then one is a case where there is a world, and the other is a case where there is no world. So, is the world better than the cessation of the world? To put it another way, is the value of the world, for oneself, greater than zero? To show the irrationality of suicide from this point of view, one merely needs to show that the value of the world can never be less than or equal to none at all. Having argued for the presumption of goodness already, we can say that we should always presume that the world is at least somewhat good.
If one approaches from the value-expansionist approach, then, instead of losing the world standing in for one's loss of existence, one utilizes the perspectives of others who remain. Thus, the question is whether the value of one's existence to those around one is greater than the value of the loss of one's existence. I want to make two points about this. First, to prove that suicide must be irrational on this approach, one must show that everyone is valued more than disvalued. Second, people who are actually thinking about suicide generally either do not have this option because they have ceased caring much about what others think or they are not in an epistemic position to be able to tell what others think about their value because they project their own feelings onto others. So this approach is useful only for the use I am trying to put it to, that is, establishing the value of life for the sake of grounding value.
Now, in order for someone to disvalue another, they must have some basis for such disvaluing, which will have to be some further value. If there is no ultimate basis for value, then the value of things will be relative to the observer. In that case, the value of one's own life will be modifiable, in principle, by altering what one cares about and thus whose values one takes into consideration. In fact, if one ceases to value anything, then one will no longer have any basis on which to select others' perspectives from which to evaluate the world, but if one does not exist, then one does not value anything. If, on the other hand, there is some ultimate basis, then we can work from whatever one's present valuations are, as well as derive what others valuation of one should be, and further, if we permit a Kantian move, then to disvalue another person completely, as a human person, requires the disvaluation of oneself as such also. If one has to regard oneself as valuable qua human (or qua rational being, etc.,) then one has to regard oneself as valuable at a basic level, however disvaluable one may be under less basic descriptions.
These are arguments against the cessation of any conscious being's existence being more valuable than the continuation of such a being's existence. From thence, one can provide arguments for and against the value of other things. Thus, I can now support the claims I made last time about three fundamental ways in which we must value ourselves. They are all based on the value of one's continued existence, although each also allows an argument for one's continued existence as well.
Embodiment: one cannot be aware of a world without a body.
Rational Agency: one cannot act without regard to reasons so long as one lives.
Sociality: one cannot begin apart from a society which brings one forth.
More on each of these three to follow.
We will start with a thought experiment. To compare the value of one's own life to one's own lack of life, we need two states of affairs. One, where one is alive, and another, where one is not. We are considering the value to oneself of one's own life, however, so both cases must be from one's own point of view. Let us, for the purpose of this thought experiment, suppose a view I think is false: that when you die, you no longer exist. So when we are considering these two cases, one exists versus one does not exist, how do we compare the value of the two cases to oneself? Well, we might try to imagine both from one's own point of view. What happens when one does that, however, is that one has nowhere to look out from in the case where one does not exist.
There are two ways to try to solve this problem. One is a solipsistic method, the other is a value-expansionist approach. In order, then:
If we approach the case solipsistically, then one is a case where there is a world, and the other is a case where there is no world. So, is the world better than the cessation of the world? To put it another way, is the value of the world, for oneself, greater than zero? To show the irrationality of suicide from this point of view, one merely needs to show that the value of the world can never be less than or equal to none at all. Having argued for the presumption of goodness already, we can say that we should always presume that the world is at least somewhat good.
If one approaches from the value-expansionist approach, then, instead of losing the world standing in for one's loss of existence, one utilizes the perspectives of others who remain. Thus, the question is whether the value of one's existence to those around one is greater than the value of the loss of one's existence. I want to make two points about this. First, to prove that suicide must be irrational on this approach, one must show that everyone is valued more than disvalued. Second, people who are actually thinking about suicide generally either do not have this option because they have ceased caring much about what others think or they are not in an epistemic position to be able to tell what others think about their value because they project their own feelings onto others. So this approach is useful only for the use I am trying to put it to, that is, establishing the value of life for the sake of grounding value.
Now, in order for someone to disvalue another, they must have some basis for such disvaluing, which will have to be some further value. If there is no ultimate basis for value, then the value of things will be relative to the observer. In that case, the value of one's own life will be modifiable, in principle, by altering what one cares about and thus whose values one takes into consideration. In fact, if one ceases to value anything, then one will no longer have any basis on which to select others' perspectives from which to evaluate the world, but if one does not exist, then one does not value anything. If, on the other hand, there is some ultimate basis, then we can work from whatever one's present valuations are, as well as derive what others valuation of one should be, and further, if we permit a Kantian move, then to disvalue another person completely, as a human person, requires the disvaluation of oneself as such also. If one has to regard oneself as valuable qua human (or qua rational being, etc.,) then one has to regard oneself as valuable at a basic level, however disvaluable one may be under less basic descriptions.
These are arguments against the cessation of any conscious being's existence being more valuable than the continuation of such a being's existence. From thence, one can provide arguments for and against the value of other things. Thus, I can now support the claims I made last time about three fundamental ways in which we must value ourselves. They are all based on the value of one's continued existence, although each also allows an argument for one's continued existence as well.
Embodiment: one cannot be aware of a world without a body.
Rational Agency: one cannot act without regard to reasons so long as one lives.
Sociality: one cannot begin apart from a society which brings one forth.
More on each of these three to follow.
Monday, March 5, 2018
Teleological Ethics
In this post, I take up the task of arguing for a teleological ethics, that is, an ethics in terms of ends. I will be stealing an immense amount from Korsgaard, but I am not exactly sure which works, and some of it is likely second-hand.
A teleological ethics need not presume that things have ends given them by some external agent. It must, however, assume that ends of things can be posited in some manner. It is generally connected to a view of good in general that holds that "being good" is a predicate with application relative to the ends of the bearer.
Let us begin by elaborating this notion of good with a case where the end is provided by an agent: chairs. A chair has a purpose: to hold someone up who sits in it. Most chairs are supposed to do so in a manner comfortable for--and even better, good for--the individual sitting in the chair. Thus, a sturdy, ergonomic chair is a better chair, as a chair, than one which can only hold 100lbs, and is uncomfortable. These goods are all relative to the purpose the chair is to be put to, however. A children's chair makes a bad chair for a grownup. A good chair may make a bad prop. Furniture is often intended to be aesthetically pleasing, that is, they should look nice. So a futuristic-looking chair would be a bad chair for a cozy log-cabin-style den.
A teleological ethics claims that human beings have an end, and that to be a good human being is to fulfill that end. Some teleological ethics utilize revelation to determine what this end is. Others examine how humans operate in social life to try to figure it out. Both, however, assume that pursuing this end will result in a life we will be glad to have lived.
We all have a view about what our ends are. We all have views about what kind of life we will be able to look back on with pride versus shame. Further, I would claim, we all live in an effort to fulfill the ends we take to be ours. Insofar as we identify as being certain ways, we try to be those ways well. We try to be good versions of what we take ourselves to be. When we do not, it is because we do not value being those things. If you want to be x, then you will try to be a good x, whatever you take that to be, just as, if you want a chair, you will want a good chair, whatever that means in the given context.
If I understand her right, Korsgaard holds that we should base our ethics on those descriptions under which we cannot help but value ourselves. There is something to this, and it results in ethics being inherently motivated (albeit other motives can keep us from being ethical). However, as usual with Kantian moves of this sort, it is hard to see how we can get much of an ethical system out of this. What I think is right here is that whatever ethical system is right should hook up to how we are motivated in just this way: the truth-maker for a moral ought claim "one should phi" should, if we know and accept and value it, motivate us to phi.
Instead of relying on what we cannot help but value in this manner, I would suggest we examine the kinds of beings we find ourselves to be and what traits we find we cannot do without. We should then value those traits. We may avoid valuing ourselves as embodied, rational, social beings. Nevertheless, these are characteristics which human beings ought to possess. Things go poorly for us and others around us when they are lacking. Whatever one's values, one should value being embodied, rationally agential, and social, because we cannot do without them.
In closing, I want to distinguish between three ways in which one might be said to value something one is. First, one might explicitly value it, that is, one may claim and believe that one values it. Second, one may actually value it, that is, treat it as valuable. Third, one may find one's behaviors which exhibit disvaluing it to have results which one disvalues. The third is that in virtue of which we should do the second, ceteris paribus. The first has little to do with the above. Up to this paragraph, all my uses of the term "value" are meant in the second sense. The other two are derivative meanings which I include here to disambiguate what I mean by the verb "to value."
A teleological ethics need not presume that things have ends given them by some external agent. It must, however, assume that ends of things can be posited in some manner. It is generally connected to a view of good in general that holds that "being good" is a predicate with application relative to the ends of the bearer.
Let us begin by elaborating this notion of good with a case where the end is provided by an agent: chairs. A chair has a purpose: to hold someone up who sits in it. Most chairs are supposed to do so in a manner comfortable for--and even better, good for--the individual sitting in the chair. Thus, a sturdy, ergonomic chair is a better chair, as a chair, than one which can only hold 100lbs, and is uncomfortable. These goods are all relative to the purpose the chair is to be put to, however. A children's chair makes a bad chair for a grownup. A good chair may make a bad prop. Furniture is often intended to be aesthetically pleasing, that is, they should look nice. So a futuristic-looking chair would be a bad chair for a cozy log-cabin-style den.
A teleological ethics claims that human beings have an end, and that to be a good human being is to fulfill that end. Some teleological ethics utilize revelation to determine what this end is. Others examine how humans operate in social life to try to figure it out. Both, however, assume that pursuing this end will result in a life we will be glad to have lived.
We all have a view about what our ends are. We all have views about what kind of life we will be able to look back on with pride versus shame. Further, I would claim, we all live in an effort to fulfill the ends we take to be ours. Insofar as we identify as being certain ways, we try to be those ways well. We try to be good versions of what we take ourselves to be. When we do not, it is because we do not value being those things. If you want to be x, then you will try to be a good x, whatever you take that to be, just as, if you want a chair, you will want a good chair, whatever that means in the given context.
If I understand her right, Korsgaard holds that we should base our ethics on those descriptions under which we cannot help but value ourselves. There is something to this, and it results in ethics being inherently motivated (albeit other motives can keep us from being ethical). However, as usual with Kantian moves of this sort, it is hard to see how we can get much of an ethical system out of this. What I think is right here is that whatever ethical system is right should hook up to how we are motivated in just this way: the truth-maker for a moral ought claim "one should phi" should, if we know and accept and value it, motivate us to phi.
Instead of relying on what we cannot help but value in this manner, I would suggest we examine the kinds of beings we find ourselves to be and what traits we find we cannot do without. We should then value those traits. We may avoid valuing ourselves as embodied, rational, social beings. Nevertheless, these are characteristics which human beings ought to possess. Things go poorly for us and others around us when they are lacking. Whatever one's values, one should value being embodied, rationally agential, and social, because we cannot do without them.
In closing, I want to distinguish between three ways in which one might be said to value something one is. First, one might explicitly value it, that is, one may claim and believe that one values it. Second, one may actually value it, that is, treat it as valuable. Third, one may find one's behaviors which exhibit disvaluing it to have results which one disvalues. The third is that in virtue of which we should do the second, ceteris paribus. The first has little to do with the above. Up to this paragraph, all my uses of the term "value" are meant in the second sense. The other two are derivative meanings which I include here to disambiguate what I mean by the verb "to value."
Thursday, February 7, 2013
Why the Via Negativa Irritates Me
The Via Negativa or "Negative Way" is a way of speaking about God which limits itself to negative statements. The assumption is that we cannot say who God is, only what he is not. Thus, anything we can say about God is more wrong than right. Whatever similarity there may be between something we say and how God is, there is a much greater dissimilarity.
To show why I really hate much of any emphasis on this method of theology, let me point to a test case: God is love. The Bible has a huge number of positive statements about who God is, and only negatively in order to correct misunderstandings. The negative statements are often there to emphasize the positive ones. To follow the Via Negativa I would have to say that, when I say "God is love" I am speaking by analogy, that I mean that the closest I can come to expressing this emotion of God's is to call it love. What then? Are we not to love as he loved? Do not the Scriptures themselves define what we are to understand by this word "love"? I do say that God's love is greater than any mere human love can be, but I most definitely assert that it is of the same sort, but purer, greater, stronger, unflinching. So great that, even while we were yet sinners, he died for us.
This is a God we can know, not merely by the shadows he casts on the world, but by his entrance into the world. Yes he is greater than we are, but we are made in his image. We have, by the Spirit of God, the mind of God, to know God. Is God too weak to be able to communicate himself accurately in human language? Is he unable to lift us up by his Spirit to know him? Indeed, we will know him fully one day, just as we are fully known, but that is not to say that we do not know him now, we are in Christ, we see with his eyes. Whoever has seen the Son has seen the Father, and we who are saved by Christ have been made able to see Christ, the Son.
It may be appropriate to say that what we say may not communicate fully what we mean. We may find ourselves unable to quite articulate what we mean by what we say, but to infer from this that we ought to settle for this in any degree is to give up at some point. Rather, though we admit that we do not always succeed in saying fully who God is, yet we have tools given by God which we ought to therefore use to speak about God as much as possible. It may take a book to articulate to some degree of accuracy one point of one doctrine of some aspect of God, but the length does not mean it is impossible. If saying that God is such-and-such is so inaccurate, then write more, tell me in what ways it is inaccurate, or you have told me nothing useful. How can I worship a God for what I know he is not? That would be only to worship a lack of evil, not a fullness of God.
To show why I really hate much of any emphasis on this method of theology, let me point to a test case: God is love. The Bible has a huge number of positive statements about who God is, and only negatively in order to correct misunderstandings. The negative statements are often there to emphasize the positive ones. To follow the Via Negativa I would have to say that, when I say "God is love" I am speaking by analogy, that I mean that the closest I can come to expressing this emotion of God's is to call it love. What then? Are we not to love as he loved? Do not the Scriptures themselves define what we are to understand by this word "love"? I do say that God's love is greater than any mere human love can be, but I most definitely assert that it is of the same sort, but purer, greater, stronger, unflinching. So great that, even while we were yet sinners, he died for us.
This is a God we can know, not merely by the shadows he casts on the world, but by his entrance into the world. Yes he is greater than we are, but we are made in his image. We have, by the Spirit of God, the mind of God, to know God. Is God too weak to be able to communicate himself accurately in human language? Is he unable to lift us up by his Spirit to know him? Indeed, we will know him fully one day, just as we are fully known, but that is not to say that we do not know him now, we are in Christ, we see with his eyes. Whoever has seen the Son has seen the Father, and we who are saved by Christ have been made able to see Christ, the Son.
It may be appropriate to say that what we say may not communicate fully what we mean. We may find ourselves unable to quite articulate what we mean by what we say, but to infer from this that we ought to settle for this in any degree is to give up at some point. Rather, though we admit that we do not always succeed in saying fully who God is, yet we have tools given by God which we ought to therefore use to speak about God as much as possible. It may take a book to articulate to some degree of accuracy one point of one doctrine of some aspect of God, but the length does not mean it is impossible. If saying that God is such-and-such is so inaccurate, then write more, tell me in what ways it is inaccurate, or you have told me nothing useful. How can I worship a God for what I know he is not? That would be only to worship a lack of evil, not a fullness of God.
Saturday, December 22, 2012
Pastoral Theology
"I got a physical car" makes about as much sense as "I am studying pastoral theology." What other kind of car is there? An immaterial car? Maybe you just sit in your immaterial... oh, wait, you can't sit in an immaterial anything, you'll just fall right through. Anyway, you sit there, and, well, you drive along, there's immaterial fuel in the immaterial gas tank... moving you, in the immaterial car, immaterially.
So, what is this theology which is not pastoral? Is it anything different from, maybe, what a blueprint of a car is to an actual car? Sure, we can do theology without getting to the pastoral part, but it is like designing a car without ever building it. So what? Sure, nice design, but if you can't drive it, then what good does it do you? So it is with theology, if you cannot pastor with it, then you are missing something. Either it is not biblical, since "All Scripture is breathed out by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness," 2 Timothy 3:16, or it is not finished and will become able to be used pastorally when it is complete.
What do you believe about anything? Can you take that belief and use it in preaching to teach, reprove, correct, and train those around you in righteousness? Do your beliefs come out in Gospel-like ways? Is the reproof filled with reminders that Christ has payed for their sins? Is the correction surrounded by the the reminder that we have the Spirit of God, by whom we are able to do what is right? Or do you preach law? That is not pastoral, that is Pharisaical. That is preaching an incomplete theology, since it is not filled with both truth and grace. If what you have causes mere despair, then what you have is not the truth of the Gospel. If what you have causes mere despair, then it is not the truth of the God who saves, and it is not the truth about the God who became incarnate in order to save us from the despair of sin leading to death.
Pastoral Theology: a tautology.
Ivory Tower Theology: an oxymoron.
Perhaps this is only the case in Christian Theology, but even then, the point is, pastoral theology does not distinguish the sort of theology one is doing from other sorts when it is being done in a Christian context.
So, what is this theology which is not pastoral? Is it anything different from, maybe, what a blueprint of a car is to an actual car? Sure, we can do theology without getting to the pastoral part, but it is like designing a car without ever building it. So what? Sure, nice design, but if you can't drive it, then what good does it do you? So it is with theology, if you cannot pastor with it, then you are missing something. Either it is not biblical, since "All Scripture is breathed out by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness," 2 Timothy 3:16, or it is not finished and will become able to be used pastorally when it is complete.
What do you believe about anything? Can you take that belief and use it in preaching to teach, reprove, correct, and train those around you in righteousness? Do your beliefs come out in Gospel-like ways? Is the reproof filled with reminders that Christ has payed for their sins? Is the correction surrounded by the the reminder that we have the Spirit of God, by whom we are able to do what is right? Or do you preach law? That is not pastoral, that is Pharisaical. That is preaching an incomplete theology, since it is not filled with both truth and grace. If what you have causes mere despair, then what you have is not the truth of the Gospel. If what you have causes mere despair, then it is not the truth of the God who saves, and it is not the truth about the God who became incarnate in order to save us from the despair of sin leading to death.
Pastoral Theology: a tautology.
Ivory Tower Theology: an oxymoron.
Perhaps this is only the case in Christian Theology, but even then, the point is, pastoral theology does not distinguish the sort of theology one is doing from other sorts when it is being done in a Christian context.
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Think-skinned
There is, in a recent post by Thabiti Anyabwile, what I assume is a typo, but which is a rather fitting one.
Something is not right. I know the world is so relentlessly and consistently twisted and touched by evil that men and women can become too think-skinned in the face of tragedy. I know that’s possible, but I don’t want to settle for that in my own heart. I don’t want to be so tough, calloused, jaded, or whatever that I can easily “move on” from the wicked shooting of twenty children–children!–and their teachers–teachers! (emphasis added)There is a struggle to live in this world without adjusting too it in some way. Too be in the world, but not of it. It is easy to start looking at the world as if we are supposed to fit in it, but we are told that we don't, nor are we supposed to, fit in this world, but to be in it and stick out as sore thumbs, or, more appropriately, lighthouses. We are not fit to it, we are of heaven, but we belong in this world in that we are supposed to make it fit us. The way I am most tempted to adjust to this world is by trying to rationalize away the pain and sorrow and evil, to try to explain why it is unavoidable or not really that bad. There are three traditional theodicies which each appear to try to do this: the soul-making defense, the free will defense, and the ultimate harmony defense.
Soul-Making
This argument is that, in order for us to grow in godliness, we need suffering. That is, in order for us to be sanctified, we need there to be evil to act as the hammer which fashions us into Christ-likeness. All well and good, but this gives no answer. Isn't this just to say that there must be evil for us to grow away from our evil nature? Why not be rid of the evil nature in the first place? There is some truth to this, we may grow in our suffering, but it does not really offer comfort to us at the root where we need it. We need to know that we are right when we say that the evils of this world are evils, not that they are good because they build us into Christ-likeness.Free Will
I've argued against this before. I have also argued against it much more vigorously than against the soul-making defense, mostly because I hear it more and find it more seductive. The problem with it is that it provides no comfort. Whether right or not, I would rather be a puppet than have people made in God's own image die. If you say I should accept that there is evil in the world because it is necessary for us to truly love God, then why are we not praising God for this huge display of the free will of man that shows how free we are and thus how real our love for him is? What will we do in heaven? If these things were to continue to happen there, then I doubt I would be alone in being tempted by the consistency of hell. Even Pascal complains about how Creation does not seem to give a clear answer, and asks it to give him a straight yes or no, so that he would at least know what to think. Or if we remain loving by free will in heaven, then why is it not possible that the same force that keeps us from sin there should keep us from sin here? Even if all of these are resolved, however, does the evil remain? Then the sorrow will too, and the evil, the affront to the glory of God, will too, and the defense fails to offer any comfort, and it fails to defend the holiness of God. How can the evil remain as an affront to God? It must be dealt with, this is the point of the cross, on which is payed the penalty of sin for those who believe. But then our sins must be removed. Well, what if the evil goes away? Then this is not by virtue of the free will defense, but something beyond it, and this is not truly the defense.Ultimate Harmony
Everything must be as it turns out, all is foreordained. This is the one I come closest to agreeing with, but it is not a defense. If it is all foreordained as good, then how can we call anything evil? If it is foreordained evil, then how is God good? If all is necessary, then, like the free will defense, like the atheists' response, "Evil just happens" and that is no defense. How can God create an affront to himself? He must not; or he is not himself, since it would throw himself into contradiction. Any defense must allow us to call evil evil. How can this one do that? Only by the truth that what is evil now will one day cease and be made good in Christ.The Cross
There is one theodicy which maintains evil as evil, and God as good, and proclaims the death of death. It does not depend upon any of these theodicies. It is that, on the cross, Christ bore the pain and suffering of the world, as he bore the sin of the world which gave birth to death. That we are in Christ and thus share in his suffering as a privilege. That we are raised to newness of life with him and are thus free from the power of sin and death. In him our sins are removed. He is glorified even by our sins because they show how merciful and gracious he is, and how mighty he is that he works through even us. Soon Christ will return, and in that day the evil that fills the world will be made glorifying to God in the same way as our sins have already been made glorifying to him on the cross. In his suffering for our sins, he glorified himself by showing his ability to overcome sin, in that day he will glorify himself by overcoming all the sins that have been committed in the world. In our day, these things are as evil as our sins are in our committing of them, but in that day, they will give greater glory to God just as our sins, since we have been saved from them, give greater glory to God for his mercy and grace in saving us, and in who knows how many other ways. Sin is sin, God is good, and Christ is coming again to cast out sin and death in all ways. There shall be no more evil on the face of the earth. This is a theodicy that does not ask that we stop crying, but is sought through tears. The others suffice only when the tears run out, only when the philosopher ceases to be a man. We stop because we start to slip back into the thinking of this world, that this is the world we have, and we must find a way to cope with it. Instead, says this answer, this is not just the world we have, but that this is a shadow of how the world will be, that this world is the world we have, but not just, for it will be changed, renewed by fire, when the world is judged, when Christ returns, then this world will be one we will fit in, but now we are being fit for that one, and so will find ourselves dissonant with this one. This is not all there is, but the suffering in it is real, and will not cease until that day when Christ makes all things so fully new. Weep with those who weep, be homesick.Be A Passionate Philosopher
The logic may work, but if it does not answer the question, then we must keep looking. There is always the possibility that we are overlooking premises, that we are presuming that things must be a certain way, when in fact they are another way. Not that we should reject answers that we cannot bear, necessarily, but that, if we cannot bear the answer, then we do not have the whole answer. It may be that we have all the facts of the matter, but if we cannot see them in the right light, then we will reject them. Look carefully, and all the more because you are crying. Look with the eyes of the ones who are hurt. Look with the eyes of a cynic. But in all things, look with the eyes of a worshiper of the God who is full of Grace and Truth, the God who is Love. Look, as well as you can, with the eyes you are given in Christ, and see how wrong this world is, see how much different this is from what we want to see, and know that you are not home yet, that you are a stranger in a foreign land, and call others to come with you. Be homesick, you aren't there yet, but it is coming soon. Do not be satisfied, do not settle down, as good as things are, they are wretched compared with how they will be when Christ returns. As bad as things are, Christ will be glorified in them and through them.Friday, October 12, 2012
Orthodoxy, Orthopraxy, and Sanctification
If one comes to a conclusion and finds that it is in no way pleasing, either one is viewing it wrong or it is false. All truths are in God, who is the standard of beauty and goodness, and his word is Truth, which changes us. So there is no such thing as good ivory tower intellectualism. If it is good intellectualism, then it will change lives for the better.
Orthodoxy is what is right to believe. Orthopraxy is what is the right way to live. Orthodoxy leads necessarily to orthopraxy, in the same way, orthopraxy only comes from orthodoxy. Thus, Orthopraxy if and only if orthodoxy. If one is told to live a certain way, then one may ask "why?" the only way to consistently be able to answer all why's to all points of orthopraxy is to answer with orthodoxy. The aim, then, of philosophers and theologians, is to find as much as they may of the reasons behind why a thing is right, in order to have a deeper knowledge of how we ought to live and in order meditate on the rightness of it.
God, or the divine, has often been conceived as similar to a magnet, which, as we meditate upon, we are drawn in to be more like. Finding what is true, which is in God, is meditating on God in a sense, and ought to be more than "in a sense" for those of us who believe in a personal God who we are in relationship with. When a Christian believes that a thing is true, they are therefore believing that it in some way reflects or is a part of the character of God. For instance, if I claim that a certain view of ethics is fully true, then my claim must be not only that humans ought to abide by it, but also that in some way it is the way God views ethics. Thus, in meditating on a true ethical theory one ought to consider oneself at one and the same time meditating on God's righteousness, and by so doing we are transformed by the Spirit of God at work in us to be more like God--righteous as he is righteousness.
At the same time, as we are transformed by the Spirit, we will see more accurately what is true, since the transformation into the likeness of God and our being in Christ--the Word, in whom we see God in whom is all truth--are, while temporally differentiated, atemporally identical and therefore both done by the same power, that is, the power of the Holy Spirit.
Orthodoxy is what is right to believe. Orthopraxy is what is the right way to live. Orthodoxy leads necessarily to orthopraxy, in the same way, orthopraxy only comes from orthodoxy. Thus, Orthopraxy if and only if orthodoxy. If one is told to live a certain way, then one may ask "why?" the only way to consistently be able to answer all why's to all points of orthopraxy is to answer with orthodoxy. The aim, then, of philosophers and theologians, is to find as much as they may of the reasons behind why a thing is right, in order to have a deeper knowledge of how we ought to live and in order meditate on the rightness of it.
God, or the divine, has often been conceived as similar to a magnet, which, as we meditate upon, we are drawn in to be more like. Finding what is true, which is in God, is meditating on God in a sense, and ought to be more than "in a sense" for those of us who believe in a personal God who we are in relationship with. When a Christian believes that a thing is true, they are therefore believing that it in some way reflects or is a part of the character of God. For instance, if I claim that a certain view of ethics is fully true, then my claim must be not only that humans ought to abide by it, but also that in some way it is the way God views ethics. Thus, in meditating on a true ethical theory one ought to consider oneself at one and the same time meditating on God's righteousness, and by so doing we are transformed by the Spirit of God at work in us to be more like God--righteous as he is righteousness.
At the same time, as we are transformed by the Spirit, we will see more accurately what is true, since the transformation into the likeness of God and our being in Christ--the Word, in whom we see God in whom is all truth--are, while temporally differentiated, atemporally identical and therefore both done by the same power, that is, the power of the Holy Spirit.
Sunday, October 7, 2012
Apologetics
"Order.—Men despise religion; they hate it, and fear it is true. To remedy this, we must begin by showing that religion is not contrary to reason; that it is venerable, to inspire respect for it; then we must make it lovable, to make good men hope it is true; finally, we must prove it is true.There are three parts to what is called "apologetics," which have a certain order which they ought to follow. The first is a defense of Christianity, which is what Christian apologetics has traditionally been. The second may be called aesthetic apologetics, showing that it would be a good thing if it were found that Christianity were true. The third is what I find comes to mind most quickly for me when I hear the word "apologetics," that is, proofs of Christianity.
Venerable, because it has perfect knowledge of man; lovable, because it promises the true good." --Pascal, Pensees 187
Defenses
Defenses of the Christian faith must come first. This is the attempts to bring down the barriers that a person may bring to listening to arguments for the truth of Christianity. The problem of evil is a common barrier that is often addressed by those who offer defenses, while others argue against arguments against the historicity of Christ, or people's issues with the possibility of miracles, or problems with a God who commands worship.Defenses do not need to prove anything but that it is possible that the arguments brought against Christianity are not strong enough to invalidate belief. All I need to be able to do to have succeeded in a defense of Christianity is to show that there is no contradiction between what is seen in the world that we must believe and the truth of the Christian faith taken as a whole.
Aesthetics
Aesthetic apologetics, as I have termed them, are those arguments that show that one ought to at least be disappointed if Christianity is false. Pascal's wager falls into this category. An aesthetic apologetic may raise eyebrows, and should when alone, because it looks a lot like a fallacy of the form- It would be nice if A were true.
- Therefore, A is true.
- I wish that A
- Therefore A
It is therefore important to note that aesthetic apologetics are between the defenses and the proofs. The defenses are intended to help the person become less forcefully biased against Christianity, and the aesthetic apologetics are intended to show the person why we believe ourselves blessed in holding our Faith.
As an example from within Christianity, I have believed in a form of determinism for about as long as I have thought about such questions, but in this semester I have pushed myself to try, first to find out how it is possible to hold a view of totally free will, and second to try to discover why people love this idea so much. I have done this, not because I want to believe in such totally free will, but because I do not think I can hold a view strongly without having attempted to delve into the other side and find their reasons for believing the opposite of what I believe.
Once a person has reached the point that they can see why others are not only not stupid, but are reasonable in being pleased to hold a view, then they can be curious in such a way that is open to being persuaded.
Proofs
It is only in the last part of apologetics that we ought to expect people to find themselves with sufficient reason to become Christians. Not that we can convince people of the truth of the Christian faith, but at this point we can show them what we see that gives us reasons to believe, and expect them to hear them without assuming them to be preposterous. If we were to offer proofs right off the bat, then we could only expect people, having already reached the conclusion that we are wrong, to come up with all sorts of problems with our proofs. A biased person cannot helpfully find errors on proofs, because they cannot hear the proofs from a point of view that says either "Yes" or "No," and then finds the reasons for these judgements.Consider the cosmological argument: The world exists. Everything that exists must have been caused by something else. We cannot go back ad infinitum, therefore there is a first mover, i.e., God.
The nonbeliever may respond in various ways: "How do you know everything that exists must have been caused?" "Why can't you go back ad infinitum?" "What makes you so sure this god is the god you believe in?" But if the nonbeliever has been shown that there is no contradiction in holding the Christian faith, and once they have come to feel that it would really be nice if Christianity were true, then they can hold those questions, but not necessarily so strongly. Then they can look at the many proofs that have been offered by many people over the ages and weigh them. Then the evidence can be allowed to build up, rather than being shoved off once it starts getting uncomfortable, since the biased nonbeliever will be uncomfortable with anything that makes him think that he might be wrong, but the nonbeliever whose bias has been removed is not troubled by the evidence pushing him one way or the other.
Together
I would like to emphasize that, if one wishes a work to be convincing to nonbelievers, one ought to include all three of these in this order. If I have not shown that Christianity is not contrary to reason, then any nonbeliever will hold me to be a fool who clings to his faith in order to make himself feel good, and to explain gaps in my understanding of the world. If I leave out the aesthetic arguments, then many may look and feel that I hold a faith that, even if true, is not of any good to the world, and then I must defend against the accusation that God has made his worshipers dull, and that he must not love them, since he leaves them working in fear. In a sense, aesthetic apologetics is a branch of defense, though it is largely concerned with the outworking of the grace of God in the lives of sinners. What of proofs? If I leave them out, then I have brought the person to the brink of the river, but denied them any assurance that the river will not destroy their soul. There is a leap to be made, and the river is dangerous, but it need not be of this sort. God has given us enough evidence to assure ourselves that he exists, and we must seek him. The proofs are not to remove the leap, but to show that leaping is the best choice.If all I give is a defense, all well and good, perhaps they will find the rest elsewhere. If all I give is an aesthetic apologetic, and not identified it as such, hoping that it may save souls alone, woe is me, for I have asked rational beings to behave contrary to their nature as made in the image of God. Yet God may still use it, for a person may have before found other parts of the puzzle, and this book may allow them to see those pieces in a new light that allows them to accept the truth of Christianity. If all I give are proofs, very well, they are good for those who are saved to meditate on the nature of God, and perhaps some who are not Christians, having found the other pieces elsewhere, may be convinced by these proofs of the truth of Christianity.
Some will not be convinced even by a thorough, three part apologetic such as I have here advocated. Their hearts may be hardened too far, and thus their bias may never be overcome. Or they may not see what is desirable about the truth of Christianity, if their desires have become so far twisted, or they may not follow the lines of reasoning given in the proofs. We have all stood in these places, but God is able to overcome all of these, and so we ought to pray to him, that he would open hearts to his good news, and lead many from darkness into light.
Sunday, September 2, 2012
Theocentrism
I mentioned in the last post that I wanted "to offer a Christian philosophy that attempts to be as centered in the glory of God as possible," but did not explain where I was going or what I mean by that. Some of it may be gleaned from my explanation of how Christian philosophy is a branch of theology, but this post will draw out more of the why for it.
From this it follows that in seeking, or being centered in, that which is not God, we are not seeking even to know what our own good is, let alone to get it. In fact, it would seem that philosophy that is not centered on God and his glory is not Christian philosophy.
It seems that some philosophers, seeing that they cannot understand how something could be true, assume it to be false. The place this stands out most to me is open theism's assuming that God cannot be both personal and beyond time, and therefore denying what has usually been understood by his eternality, removing one of (in my opinion) the best explanations for divine foreknowledge and his unchanging nature, and offering little solace to believers in the midst of trials. This is certainly not a new charge to the ideas of open theism. My fear is that philosophers may save God's goodness and personal-ness at the expense of any meaningful sort of sovereignty. I believe it is better to suppose we merely do not yet know how God's person-ness and goodness interact with his sovereignty and eternality than to deny or lessen the import of any of his attributes, especially those most easily drawn from scripture, similar to how many affirm Christ's nature as the God-man, entirely God and entirely man at once, or God's nature as three persons in one, without necessarily being able to explain how these things are so. My frustration with modern philosophy was born from trying to find an answer to the problem of evil, and finding it difficult to find an answer to it that began with the nature of God, rather than merely explaining how the argument did not go against the orthodox understanding of his nature or suggesting that the orthodox view was wrong in some point, by virtue of its not being able to hold up at some point because it contradicts, say, his goodness or other attribute that people like (I fear a similar reaction is going on in response to the existence of hell--an overemphasis of God's lovingness to the detriment of his justness).
I reject many of these ideas for more reasons than merely that I fear they are born from a philosophy that is not centered on God, but those reasons can wait for a post specifically on those topics. For now, it is enough to note that christian philosophy seems to be ready to veer away from the nature of God as the nature of God, and toward the nature of God as would least offend modern sensibilities. A sort of Moralistic Therapeutic Deist philosophy of God, is what I fear we will end up with in the long run. This whittling down of God will quickly lead to an ineffective gospel, as the cross loses its reason for being and God loses his power to save the more we remake God in our own image. We must be careful to submit ourselves to the Spirit, humble ourselves before the Word, and listen first to God, as only by his grace may we come to the truth.
God is centered on His Own Glory
A short argument adapted, with small changes, from Edwards. God created everything. Therefore, whatever is valuable was made by God. The ability to create a thing is more valuable than the thing itself. Therefore, God is the most valuable "thing" of all. God is just, therefore he does what it is right to do to that which is most valuable, i.e., seek with all his being to obtain it in its fulness. To seek with all one's being to obtain a thing is to center one's life, i.e., one's self, on that thing. Therefore, God is centered on himself.The Glory of God is the Nature of God and Our Good
Jonathan Edwards argues, in The End for Which God Created the World (The link goes to John Piper's God's Passion for His Glory, the second half of which is Edwards' The End for Which God Created the World. Piper chunks it into sections and explains what some of the more archaic language means, which makes it somewhat easier to read), that,"The whole of God’s internal good or glory, is in these three things, viz. his infinite knowledge, his infinite virtue or holiness, and his infinite joy and happiness. Indeed there are a great many attributes in God, according to our way of conceiving them: but all may be reduced to these; or to their degree, circumstances, and relations." (paragraph 268, p. 244, emphasis in original)So, to be centered on God's glory is to be centered on his nature which is identical to being centered on him. Extending the short argument above to its climax, then, God is centered on his own glory. God created all things, therefore, there was nothing to force him to act in any manner except his own nature. Thus, God did exactly what he willed, making what it was in his nature to make. From the short argument above, then, it follows that all things were made to glorify God. But the world is now fallen, in sin, yet it is still true that a thing is good (on its own, only,) in respect to how well it fulfills what it was made for. We shall still only find true, lasting happiness in doing that which we were created to do: glorifying God, that is, being centered on him, his glory.How this is to be found is likewise glorifying to God, for it is by Christ that we come to glorify him, though in our sin we wanted nothing to do him, indeed, we wished he did not exist. So, by the grace of God, by the work of the Spirit within, we come, through Christ, to see God's glory and therefore glorify God.
From this it follows that in seeking, or being centered in, that which is not God, we are not seeking even to know what our own good is, let alone to get it. In fact, it would seem that philosophy that is not centered on God and his glory is not Christian philosophy.
Where "Christian" Philosophy Might Not Be Christian
It seems best to focus here, not on where I disagree with prominent christian philosophers, though I use some as an example, but instead on the main attitude I fear they may have left behind in getting to those places: humility in understanding. Some who agreed with the entirety of this post up to this point may disagree with what is in this portion, hopefully any such disagreement will be by virtue of a different reading of scripture.It seems that some philosophers, seeing that they cannot understand how something could be true, assume it to be false. The place this stands out most to me is open theism's assuming that God cannot be both personal and beyond time, and therefore denying what has usually been understood by his eternality, removing one of (in my opinion) the best explanations for divine foreknowledge and his unchanging nature, and offering little solace to believers in the midst of trials. This is certainly not a new charge to the ideas of open theism. My fear is that philosophers may save God's goodness and personal-ness at the expense of any meaningful sort of sovereignty. I believe it is better to suppose we merely do not yet know how God's person-ness and goodness interact with his sovereignty and eternality than to deny or lessen the import of any of his attributes, especially those most easily drawn from scripture, similar to how many affirm Christ's nature as the God-man, entirely God and entirely man at once, or God's nature as three persons in one, without necessarily being able to explain how these things are so. My frustration with modern philosophy was born from trying to find an answer to the problem of evil, and finding it difficult to find an answer to it that began with the nature of God, rather than merely explaining how the argument did not go against the orthodox understanding of his nature or suggesting that the orthodox view was wrong in some point, by virtue of its not being able to hold up at some point because it contradicts, say, his goodness or other attribute that people like (I fear a similar reaction is going on in response to the existence of hell--an overemphasis of God's lovingness to the detriment of his justness).
I reject many of these ideas for more reasons than merely that I fear they are born from a philosophy that is not centered on God, but those reasons can wait for a post specifically on those topics. For now, it is enough to note that christian philosophy seems to be ready to veer away from the nature of God as the nature of God, and toward the nature of God as would least offend modern sensibilities. A sort of Moralistic Therapeutic Deist philosophy of God, is what I fear we will end up with in the long run. This whittling down of God will quickly lead to an ineffective gospel, as the cross loses its reason for being and God loses his power to save the more we remake God in our own image. We must be careful to submit ourselves to the Spirit, humble ourselves before the Word, and listen first to God, as only by his grace may we come to the truth.
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