The Mind of Jake Hawken

Worthy of Worship - A Critique of Kierkegaard's Morally Capricious God

jacobdhawken@gmail.com (Jake) — Tue, 13 Oct 2009 21:38:00 +0000

What is faith, exactly? Is it a departure from reason? Or is it a supplement to reason? Does it supplant reason or does it function independently of it? Can or should faith lead one to contradict reason? Furthermore, can God command someone to do something wrong?

In “Fear and Trembling” Søren Kierkegaard’s pseudonym, Johannes de Silentio,[1] sheds an interesting perspective on these relevant questions of Christian devotion. For Silentio, one develops faith after they have first become ethical. Faith is a step beyond the ethical, he explains, in which “the single individual . . . is higher than the universal” (p. 55), which is to say that that an individual, who is obviously contained within the universal law, can somehow become greater than that same law. Silentio admits that this is paradoxical. In fact, he describes faith itself as a paradox. This is the point at which most philosophers arguing for Christianity would put the proverbial car in reverse and try to find another route to their point. Silentio, however, decides that this is exactly where he wants to go. While unabashedly declaring that “this paradox cannot be mediated,” he even goes as far as to say that one acting on faith “acts by virtue of the absurd” (p. 56).

The focal point of Silentio’s argument is the story of Abraham and Isaac, in which God commands Abraham to kill his innocent son. Abraham goes through with it, but at the last moment, the Lord stays his hand and he does not have to kill Isaac. Abraham then goes on to be one of the most – if not the most – venerated figures in the entire Old Testament. Silentio argues that this story represents the paradox of faith, and what he calls “a teleological suspension of the ethical” (p. 54). It was in obeying the seemingly morally contradictory commandment to kill an innocent when the moral law commanded otherwise that Abraham moved from a resignation to the ethical, into true, pure faith.

I intend to demonstrate that his premises are misguided and assume much that need not be assumed. I believe that rather than what he intended to demonstrate, Silentio’s arguments do not create a God worthy of worship, but rather a despotic deity, for whom there is no foundation upon which to build faith. Ironically, Silentio’s assumptions weaken the ability to love and worship God by ascribing to him too much greatness and grandeur. That is to say that God being able to violate his own law and to capriciously determine good and evil makes him difficult, if not impossible, to truly worship.

Knights of Resignation and Faith

To understand the problems with his characterization of the “paradox of faith,” it is important to understand how Silentio has arrived at it. He talks at length about two kinds of people. There is first the bastion of the ethical life, the Knight of Infinite Resignation. Secondly, the more austere and difficult to attain – as Silentio mentions never having met one in his life (p. 38) – is the exemplar of the spiritual life, the Knight of Faith. Both, Silentio admits, are worthy of praise and have the hope of salvation, but the Knight of Faith is higher (p. 18). He demonstrates it in the example of Abraham, saying that “it is great to lay hold of the eternal, but it is greater to hold fast to the temporal after having given it up” (p. 18). The main distinction that he makes between the two knights is reason. The Knight of Infinite Resignation is devoted to a rational and consistent set of virtues. The Knight of faith, however, while still devoted to those same principles, is devoted to the contradiction of those same principles if so directed by faith.

Silentio uses the example of Abraham’s trial. He explains that by virtue of the absurd,

“he had faith that God would not demand Isaac of him, and yet he was willing to sacrifice him if it was demanded. He had faith . . . that God, who required it of him, should in the next moment rescind the requirement” (pp. 35-36).

Infinite resignation is then the last stage that Abraham passes through before coming to faith (p. 37). Faith comes, in this sense, by virtue of the fact that Abraham is infinitely resigned to his devotion to the love and care of his beloved son, and then relegates that resignation for the sake of his faith.

It is quite apparent that Silentio, while making no claim to be one, values the Knight of Faith as the ultimate ideal. Insofar as he has described the distinction between the two, I find the Knight of Faith to be dangerous and untrustworthy, and find the Knight of Infinite Resignation to be far more praiseworthy of an individual.

My problems with the Knight of Faith rest on the fact that spirituality – as Kierkegaard admits both as Johannes de Silentio and as Johannes Climacus – is inherently subjective. If what this person understands personally to be the will of God comes to him and it involves murdering me, should I praise him and tear open my shirt to accommodate his knife’s blade that much more easily? While I agree with Kierkegaard that subjectivity is paramount in spirituality, I add the caveat that one’s subjective experience ought not ever be imposed on another. If Abraham’s trial with the sacrifice of Isaac was as Silentio puts it forth, then what of Isaac? What about his will? What about his subjective spiritual experience? Are we to praise a man who subjugates another to satisfy his own personal spirituality? If we are now to invoke the categorical imperative and will that this maxim – that one ought to circumvent the ethical, even in regard to their fellow man, in order to serve subjective spirituality (faith) – then the result is a world full of barbaric, spiritual opportunists. In fact, it sounds a lot like the Crusades.

It might be argued that God wouldn’t command all of us to do contradictory, opposing things. However, Silentio’s position holds that spiritual trials are inherently paradoxical and even “absurd.” These commands from God are, by Silentio’s definition, beyond the ethical and thus have no ethics to bind them from creating things like wars, violence or strife. Furthermore, if one is to perform one’s perceived duty without consulting one’s own mind or ethical experience, unbeholden to ethics at all for that matter, who is to say that commands of this variety wouldn’t contradict one another? Is that not the meta-virtuous “absurd” of which Silentio seems so incredibly fond? If I were to find out that one of Silentio’s Knights of Faith lived next door to me, I would move to another neighborhood, for who knows when something would suddenly prompt him to violate the ethical and murder me in my sleep?

While paying lip service to Knight of Infinite Resignation being of admirable character, Silentio also slights him and all but directly calls him a coward. His argument for the Knight of Faith, and consequently against the Knight of Infinite Resignation is that resignation is a substitute for faith (p. 35). I wholeheartedly disagree with this. Abraham did not resign himself to principles that he concocted out of thin air, but rather to principles given to him by God. God did not walk along beside him every day shouting his revealed commands through a megaphone, but rather Abraham walked by faith, keeping the commandments of God. Thus, resignation to the ethical was not a substitute for faith, but rather an act of faith in and of itself.

Now, I am certainly not saying that what Abraham did was not an act of faith. Neither am I saying that he ought not to have obeyed the Lord. I agree with Silentio that this terrible trial culminated in an act of immense faith, but where we part ways is in categorizing the method and nature of his faith. We agree that the ultimate object of Abraham’s faith is God. Silentio however sees Abraham as having faith by virtue of the absurd, I see him as having faith despite his lack of complete understanding. My disagreement lies in that I do not believe there is a paradox.

Paradoxes of Perception

A paradox arises when one espouses premises which inevitably lead to a contradiction. In order for us to declare something a paradox, however, we must have all of the facts of a given situation. If you wake up early in the morning and it is dark, you do not declare it a paradox concerning the definition of morning, but instead you look to your bedside clock to discover that it’s 4:00am and the sun is not yet up. If you do not have the perspective to see and know all of the information about a given situation, you are not in a position to detect contradictions. This is the reason why most paradoxes are abstract and made up of truisms, because in the actual world, they can’t exist. In fact, a paradox is something which, by definition, can’t exist. If the supposed “paradox of faith,” was truly a paradox, it would define itself out of existence.

Silentio’s paradox of faith is what I call a “paradox of perception.” It is something that appears to be a contradiction, but only appears this way because one does not have all of the facts. The problem is then exacerbated by the fact that the missing facts are dismissed as not existing at all, and the argument is patched up with assumptions. As is common, the problem lies in the assumptions.

In the case of the supposed paradox of faith, there are two assumptions being made. Silentio assumes that God is a) not ethical, and B) above the ethical. Silentio makes the following claim,

“Faith is namely this paradox that the single individual is higher than the universal – yet, please note, in such a way that the movement repeats itself, so that after having been in the universal he as the single individual isolates himself as higher than the universal. If this is not faith, then Abraham is lost . . . . Faith is precisely the paradox that the single individual as the single individual is higher than the universal, is justified before it, not as inferior to it but as superior” (pg. 55, emphasis added).

In Silentio’s system, the ethical is universal, in that it applies to all agents in the universe, however, in some way God is above this universal, and it is his subordinate. The ethical in this worldview however, stems from God’s laws and decrees. God is their author and creator, and apparently also their eraser and re-writer. As such, in Silentio’s view, God is not ethical, because He is not within the ethical, because it is his creation. And by the same token, God is above the ethical because it is subordinate to his will.

The problem with such a view of faith is the view of God that it creates. Such a belief about God lends itself to ethical supernaturalism, which is to say that “X is right” is defined by “God commands X.” This sounds good until one realizes the implication that these things are not and cannot be good intrinsically, and by corollary, that things that are bad are only bad by the same token. I personally find the idea that genocide is only evil because God says so to be morally reprehensible, and the average person feels the same way. We respond, even at our most base level, to atrocities in a visceral way. Whether or not we claim to do so, we all function as if these things were intrinsically wrong. So all of us, deep down, reject this idea of God.

What is the alternative then? If we are to retain God, while remaining constantly committed to the ethical, then, Silentio might argue, we must bring God down in our esteem. This however is not the only option. If God is not outside of or above the ethical, then the only option left is that God is ethical. This immediately brings to mind Silentio’s argument that in such a scenario “God comes to be an invisible vanishing point, an impotent thought; his power is only in the ethical, which fills all of existence” (p. 68). It is easy to dismiss this, and I do not wish to. It is a good point. If the ethical is all-encompassing, then what function or use does God serve for man? What is He to us? If He is unable to circumvent or suspend the ethical, is He not impotent? The answer lies with how we understand the ethical.

Hierarchical Ethics

It goes without saying that God’s perspective extends far beyond man’s. Most Christians are content to say that God is all-knowing. An overwhelming majority of Christians agree that man is not only imperfect, but while in our mortal state, inherently flawed and limited. Silentio, however, makes another sweeping assumption, and supposes that man knows every last element of the ethical. He excoriates the Hegelians for writing off faith as something which can be achieved and then passed by, but does the same to the ethical. He does it so completely that his writing off of the ethical is merely an implication of something he says rather that something to which he even devotes a sentence.

Many of the flaws in Kierkegaard’s theology stem from the traditional theology he was trying to steer away from, namely the idea of a literally infinite being. While the rest of his theology sees God as an interested, loving parent, his metaphysics sets God up to be this infinite, inscrutable, immutable with whom mankind hasn’t a single inch of common ground. The ethical is “universal” but somehow does not contain God. We don’t even have virtue as a possible common ground with God, because to say that Silentio’s God is good isn’t telling you anything, because it’s a tautology. It’s like saying “white is blanco.” It doesn’t give us a very informative predicate. It simply gives us a synonym or definition. If there isn’t a truly universal good to which we can hold our God, then saying that God is good doesn’t really mean much more than saying “God is.”

Silentio’s conclusions about faith based on the story of Abraham do not necessarily follow from it. In fact, there are many reasonable assumptions that can be made to circumvent his admittedly unethical (p. 59) conclusions. As previously stated, I will assume the common ground of God having a not only broader but all-inclusive perspective, and posit that it is reasonable to assume that man does not and possibly even can not know all of the ethical. That there are some elements of the universal that only God has a broad enough perspective to fully grasp. This idea frees us up from making Silentio’s terrible conclusions about the moral nature of God.

As the first “Problema” he sets forth in the book after hashing out the form of the subject matter, Silentio asks “Is there a teleological suspension of the ethical?” (p. 54). This question becomes the crux of his view of faith. His answer is a resounding “yes!” Mine is a resigned “no.” The puzzle of Abraham can be represented as an inconsistent triad, a set of three premises, the affirmation of any two of which necessarily implies the contradiction of the third. The triad is as follows:

God commands me to kill my innocent son.
Necessarily, if God commands me to do x, then I ought to do x.
I ought not kill my innocent son.

Silentio argues that this situation clearly demonstrates a suspension of the ethical, thus subordinating the third premise to the first premise. “The story of Abraham,” he explains,

“contains just such a teleological suspension of the ethical. . . . Therefore, Abraham is at no time a tragic hero but is something entirely different, either a murderer or a man of faith” (p. 57).

Indeed, Abraham is one or the other, and indeed it is the first premise which is taking the precedence over the third, but if one is to garner any kind of trust in God’s character, the implications must be different, or else Christianity is a game for the insane and the devious.

Abraham, as a man of faith, is contrasted with the “tragic hero.” The tragic hero is one who is resigned to the ethical, or universal good, and who, upon finding himself in spiritual trial, overcomes and stays true to his virtue despite the loss incurred upon him. He is different from the man of faith. “Abraham’s situation is different,” Silentio says, “By his act he transgressed the ethical altogether and had a higher [telos] outside it, in relation to which he suspended it” (p. 59). The difference between the two is that the tragic hero sacrifices one good for a higher good. For Silentio, Abraham is sacrificing his highest good for something higher yet (p. 59). His gradation beyond the superlative is cryptic at best and incoherent at worst. It is akin to invoking the proverbial “unstoppable force meets the unmovable object” paradox. Instead of throwing his hands in the air at its absurdity, Silentio instead declares the unstoppable force the champion and ignores the fact that this is complete nonsense. There can not be two superlatives within the same category. God’s whim and self-existent ethics can not both be our highest good. Silentio explains that “while the tragic hero is great because of his moral virtue, Abraham is great because of a purely personal virtue” (.p 59). This explains nothing though, because use of the word “virtue” implies an external standard. Once again, if Christianity is not to be the methodology of scoundrels and mad men, how can something which is without an external standard be judged for good or evil?

How then do we satisfy ethics and duty to God in the context of faith?

Hypothetical Imperatives

Immanuel Kant made the distinction between “hypothetical” and “categorical” imperatives. A hypothetical imperative is a commandment that is relative. That is to say that it is in effect only in regard to something else. For example, the imperative to not kill is not in effect if you are fighting for your survival, are an executioner or are a soldier in wartime. Categorical imperatives are imperatives that are not qualified. They stand alone and are not conditional. For Kant, there are only two of them, or rather one, formulated two different ways.

In order that that we might be ethical while providing for obedience to additional commandments from God a they come, and do all of the above within a context of faith, I propose that we must abandon some of our assumptions about the commandments. I’m suggesting that the vast majority of God’s heretofore revealed commandments are hypothetical imperatives. Id est, that not all of God’s commandments are eternal, irrevocable laws, but instead that most of them are adapted to the changes in dangers, opportunities, knowledge and general states of affairs over the course of world history, and – I’m treading on thin ice now, I know – even the individual lives of His children. This would explain how certain commandments of God have changed over time, e.g. the replacement of the Law of Moses with the higher law of the Gospel, and the preaching of the Gospel to the gentiles.

This liberates us from fearing the whim of a capricious God. Furthermore, rather than engendering less faith in Him, it causes us to exercise more faith in the fact that his commandments ultimately serve a purpose and are not there simply because “he said so.” That is not to say that He doesn’t test us, but that his commandments are purposive and, more importantly, righteous, in the sense that they are in conformity to an externally existent morality.

The idea of God’s power being circumscribed by eternal law is what gives LDS theology such strength to withstand the winds of such philosophical onslaughts as the Problem of Evil. If God’s power is bound by law, then He cannot exercise it in violation of it. LDS scripture even has the audacity to claim that were God to be so unjust, He “would cease to be God”![2]

Silentio’s God has no such strength. If God has the power to violate any law in existence, then He could violate natural law and moral law, as well as man’s agency itself. The state of affairs in the world, however, demonstrates no such being, which both possesses those powers and loves his children. Silentio won’t give that up either though, claiming love as a foundational principle of faith (p. 16), so the Problem of Evil crushes Silentio’s God without the slightest difficulty.

Externalities

I am sure that the argument that Silentio would make to any of this would be to accept it all and to remind us that faith works by virtue of the absurd, to which I invoke the all-powerful pragmatist mantra: “So what?” What does believing this do for you? If it’s valuable and is illogical, then its value must lie in the value derived from the practical aspects of believing it. However, I can see no benefits in such a form of faith. Every practical externality I can think of from such a belief system is a negative one. The only positive I can come to is that you won’t disappoint God. I can not speak for anyone else, but the idea of my highest good being to placate an omnipotent child and my highest motivator being some kind of cosmic hybrid of guilt and fear to be abhorrent. If anything, the main externality to come to anyone from believing that faith and God have to be the way that Silentio describes them is a sense of resentment for God and a complete lack of desire to worship him.

However, if you are to accept that God is at least equal with if not beholden to law, faith becomes a coherent concept. To say “God is good” is no longer a tautology but is instead an actual sentence with an informative predicate. Believing that God is moral and ethical provides a motivation to believe in him. God’s confusing commandments aren’t absurd just because I can’t understand them. A cave man would think a television was magic, because he didn’t understand it, but that doesn’t mean that it is magic. The key difference is that Silentio obeys for the sake of the absurd, and I am advocating the belief that faith is not absurd, but rather that God simply knows what is right far better than I can hope to. I am advocating faith. Johannes de Silentio is advocating the worship of a mentally deranged deity.

Ultimately, the inconsistent triad is resolved by filling in the information that is missing from it, and removing one word:

God commands me personally and directly to kill my innocent son.
~~Necessarily,~~ If God commands me to do x, then I ought to do x.
I ought not kill my innocent son, unless I’m absolutely sure that that God personally commands me to do otherwise.

Conclusions

To conclude and compile, allow me to piece together the central points I’ve made, in premise/conclusion format:

God has an all-encompassing perspective that obviously surpasses man’s.
The ethical admits of degrees.
It is possible that there are some higher levels of the ethical that we don’t fully comprehend as mortals.
Thus, it is reasonable to assume that there are elements of the ethical that God knows that we do not.
Thus, it is reasonable to assume that seeming paradoxes such as Abraham’s are not contradictions but rather commandments based on greater knowledge than that possessed by man.

The one part of my argument with which I think Silentio would agree is that faith is not easy. He called it “a task for a whole lifetime” (p. 7), and I do not disagree. Where we disagree is what we believe faith’s foundation is. Faith is necessarily based on the uncertain but not on the absurd. I can almost certainly say that I would not have had the faith that Abraham had. But what I can say is that I trust God to be good, and that that means what it sounds like.

[1] From here on out, I will direct my arguments and critique at Johannes Silentio, rather than Kierkegaard, because the ideas don’t fully represent Kierkegaard, and are intended by him to be stimuli for thought rather than authoritative declarations. Any references to Kierkegaard specifically in the following pages will be to common threads throughout his philosophy.

[2] Alma 42:13-25

With a Little Help from my Friends - Re: "Oh, My Father"

jacobdhawken@gmail.com (Jake) — Wed, 05 Aug 2009 18:40:00 +0000

I can not begin to express my gratitude for my the concern and kindness of my friends. While this is obviously an issue that takes a lifetime of work, and won't be fully resolved until I stand before God in the flesh and the veil over my understanding and memories is finally lifted, I am pleased to say that I have found some peace on the matter in the meantime.

The help all of you gave on this subject was monumental. While I was worrying about this these past few weeks, I recalled a talk that Jeffrey R. Holland (who, for my non-LDS readers is one of my church's 12 apostles), had given at General Conference while I was a missionary, entitled "The Grandeur of God." I remembered being touched by it, and that it related to this very topic. But, being the sulky guy that I am known to be from time to time, I didn't read it right away. I guess I wanted to fully explore the depth of the matter, and show myself just how much the topic meant to me. As I've said before (see the previous link), I have a hard time understanding joy or reaching any kind of catharsis without first understanding the pain against which it is juxtapositioned.

So in the meantime, as I worried about this issue, at least three friends of mine - Rachel Hunt, Daniel Judd, and Alanna Allen - recommended that I re-read Elder Holland's talk. Still, I dilly-dallied. Then came the flood of comments and emails, sharing common feelings on the issue. Allow me to share a few excerpts from ones that I have permanent records of, which made some points that were particularly helpful:

My friend Stephen Thayer commented, regarding revelation, that

"Perhaps you feel moved emotionally at times, while at others you feel as if "pure intelligence" is flowing into your mind. Either way, you have to know (or have faith, I suppose) that what you are experiencing is from the Father in order to really experience closeness to him."

My good friend of many years, Tyler Nickl, said in an email:

"These facts lead me to believe that knowing God the Father is a mystery. However, LDS theology does not preclude Saints' search for mysteries; you simply have to change venues to get more information. "Mystery" is derived from the Greek "musterion" meaning "rites, initiation, ceremony". . . . The results for me have not been conclusive but instead have opened my eyes to a number of possibilities about who God the Father might be."

I'm not sure if this was my friend Chris Black, or an internet passerby, but he commented:

"I've always felt that the best approach is to talk to him like I talk to my dad. I'd like to think that if he is my father in heaven, then I probably had a very similar or identical relationship with him as I now do with my earthly father. I might not use the same kinds of words, but the way I present my ideas is basically the same."

Elizabeth Boyd, a friend from my mission made the point that:

"I think by acting quickly, I can better attune my life to God's purpose and further understand His will and the way I can become like him, and, therefore, know him."

I think, though, that what struck home the hardest, was an email from my friend Rachel (which I then asked her to break into parts and post as comments, which are available to read now). Rachel's email hit me like a ton of bricks for two reasons.

She has recently been struggling with the same issue, and
Because of the quote she shares from that talk by Elder Holland.

Much of what she said bears repeating:

"[W]hile I don't know if I believe in very many things anymore, there are things that I hope for, and that I want to be true. Like you, I have had prayers answered in the past, and like you I should pray more in the present, and do more to bring about a real relationship with God.
I like what you said about emulating Christ in concrete ways, in an effort to try to know God more personally. I think that there is something there, in your suggestion that one doing this will come to know God similarly to how Christ came to know Him, and that is by action. . . .

I found it both interesting and sobering, that, as you pointed out, despite the gospel claim that everything Christ did is exactly what the Father would do, it still wasn't the Father. So I ask right alongside you, how do we come to know, and I would add, love, someone who hasn't suffered with us in that same way? Even though I said it can be hard earlier, to have faith in Christ, it can also be very easy to love Him. It can be easy to want to have faith in him, because he has toiled with us in the daily sweat of our mortal existence. He is human, and so we can get that. We can somewhat wrap our minds around that, though not fully. But theFather, He is a pure God. And so I guess we have to believe a few things, and take that "leap of faith." . . .
We also have to believe Christ when he said that the works he did were works his Father did. That they really were His works first.

And of your reading of Moses 7, it does seem in many instances, and often for the reasons you cited that it is not actually the Father, but the Son who weeps. Here I can only say that Elder Holland and Elder Maxwell both declared it to be referring to Heavenly Father, and that I have to believe them, because I need it to be true. If it was not Him, then I have no faith--then any small comprehension that I have attained of God as merciful and God as loving is destroyed. So again, I need it to be Him."

Immediately, my ears perked up, and I sat forward. She then quotes Elder Holland's talk:

"How grateful we are for all the scriptures, especially the scriptures of the Restoration, that teach us the majesty of each member of the Godhead. How we would thrill, for example, if all the world would receive and embrace the view of the Father so movingly described in the Pearl of Great Price.
There, in the midst of a grand vision of humankind which heaven opened to his view, Enoch, observing both the blessings and challenges of mortality, turns his gaze toward the Father and is stunned to see Him weeping. He says in wonder and amazement to this most powerful Being in the universe: "How is it that thou canst weep? . . . Thou art just [and] merciful and kind forever; . . . Peace . . . is the habitation of thy throne; and mercy shall go before thy face and have no end; how is it thou canst weep?"
Looking out on the events of almost any day, God replies: "Behold these thy brethren; they are the workmanship of mine own hands. . . . I gave unto them . . . [a] commandment, that they should love one another, and that they should choose me, their Father; but behold, they are without affection, and they hate their own blood. . . . Wherefore should not the heavens weep, seeing these shall suffer?"
That single, riveting scene does more to teach the true nature of God than any theological treatise could ever convey. It also helps us understand much more emphatically that vivid moment in the Book of Mormon allegory of the olive tree, when after digging and dunging, watering and weeding, trimming, pruning, transplanting, and grafting, the great Lord of the vineyard throws down his spade and his pruning shears and weeps, crying out to any who would listen, "What could I have done more for my vineyard?"
What an indelible image of God's engagement in our lives! What anguish in a parent when His children do not choose Him nor "the gospel of God" He sent! How easy to love someone who so singularly loves us!"

The email continues, but it was early into the above quotation that I began to weep. And as I read through it I felt the most amazingly clear, poignant impression. It was nuanced and full of so many smaller feelings, but the overarching feeling was pure, unadulterated love. I could feel God's love for me so strongly, that the floodgates broke and I wept with joy. Like my good friend Rachel, I needed that passage from Moses 7 to be about my Father in Heaven. I cannot thank Elder Holland enough for letting me know that it was.

I feel now, that though my communication with Him has been sparse as of late, I feel like I have at least something around which for a relationship to coalesce. And to that I have the knowledge - or at least the sufficient grounds for belief - that my Father in Heaven loves me in a personal way.

And one of the ways that he has shown that love is through the sincerely, genuinely kind and interested friends he has put in my life. Thank you to every last one of you that left a comment or sent me an email. If I did not quote you in this post, please understand that your words of advice were still genuinely appreciated. I hungrily devoured every last bit of wisdom that all of you generously gave me. Thank you all.

Oh, My Father

jacobdhawken@gmail.com (Jake) — Mon, 03 Aug 2009 05:03:00 +0000

[What I am about to say is very personal. And, while I understand the inherent dilemma of posting something personal to a public website, I simply ask that any response or judgment be tempered by common decency and a sympathetic heart. What I am asking for is input as to how I can strengthen this part of my faith. Fides quaerens intellectum.]

Let me be clear when I say that I am not without my doubts or struggles. Nor do I think that I necessarily. "Faith" itself implies a certain amount of assumed doubt. You can't actively apply faith unless you are lacking knowledge in some degree. Søren Kierkegaard, a mid-19th century Danish philosopher, made this fact the center of most of his theological writings, coining the phrase "leap of faith." So, do not be concerned for my spiritual welfare when I say that there are certain aspects of my faith with which I struggle. This post is therefore a series of questions and not as an argument, as most of my posts are. Your input is requested and welcomed.

A difficulty that many people have with Christianity is that most of us Christians believe that we can develop a personal relationship with God, with whom we have never - in the normal sense of the term - become acquainted. We do this in three main ways:

Study of the words and works of God in scripture
Communion through prayer
Through the archetype we are given in the example of earthly Fathers

Through Scripture

The scriptures are replete with depictions of the acts, words and will of God. The burning bush, the parting of the Red Sea, the loaves and the fishes, the parables; and in LDS-specific scripture, the conversion of Enos, the hand of God bringing light to the Jaredites, and - my personal favorite - God himself weeping, in front of Enoch, over the hatred and strife that his children choose to enact upon one another.

In each of these cases however, we run into the same problem. While in a nominative sense, all of these are the acts of "God," they are not the acts of God the Father, but rather of God the Son, Jehovah. (Keep in mind, that I am speaking from the perspective of LDS theology, which rejects the traditional, credal, Latin Trinity, instead viewing Father, Son and Holy Ghost as three separate individuals.)

Tonight, with my wife, I read through chapter 7 in the book of Moses (an LDS-specific book of scriptures) in which Enoch speaks with God and God weeps for the sins and cruelty of his children. This has been a favorite passage of mine for quite some time, as it demonstrates that God is not austere, impassible or disinterested. Says He,

"The Lord said unto Enoch: Behold these thy brethren; they are the workmanship of mine own hands ... And unto thy brethren have I said, and also given commandment, that they should love one another, and that they should choose me, their Father; but behold, they are without affection, and they hate their own blood."

Upon reading it tonight, I began to take hope that perhaps it was the Father speaking, but it became increasingly evident that it was the Son, especially with the repeated use of the term "The Lord" which implies Jehovah. So, I'm back to square one.

Now, I am quite well aware that we have Divine Investiture, which allows Christ to speak for and as the Father, and that Christ does the works of the Father (John 5:19) and that by knowing what Christ does, we know what the Father would do, but both of these fail to satisfy my yearning. I understand that the Son can act as the Father, but they are distinctly, ontologically separate beings. I believe that Christ's actions are the will of the Father, but the fact stands that the Father didn't do them. With the exception of announcing the Son's presence, the scriptures are pretty much void of any information concerning the direct actions of the Father. How can I come to know or find a basis for revelation concerning a being for whom I am starved for information?

Through Prayer

I admit that I can make lots of improvement in this particular category, but at the same time, it's kind of a self-licking ice cream cone. I lack knowledge concerning the Father because I don't pray to Him enough, but I don't pray as often because I feel ashamed that I don't know Him very well. I am aware that this is a bit like Scholasticus, who wouldn't venture into the water until he had learned to swim. So, to be clear, I am not denying that you can come to know God through prayer, nor am I saying that personal revelation does not come. I have personally had many interactions with God, but they don't come in the form of words or voices, but as impressions, and I've never received any sort of impression from God that stated specifically that it was the Father speaking. Perhaps, that is because that has never been the source of my inquiry, or perhaps that is because - as the established doctrine states - God speaks to us through the Holy Ghost, which is, existentially speaking, yet another separate individual.

The traditional model for Christian prayer is that you pray to the Father in the name of the Son. I will be honest and state that I'm not perfectly sure of all of what "in the name of Christ" means with regard to prayer. I do know that it means that we are made worthy of the blessings we ask for by virtue of asking for them on Christ's tab, so to speak (I apologize if that is a crass metaphor), but I get the impression that there is more to it than that.

Furthermore, while I know that this is no excuse, I will admit that that communing with God is really hard. As one ages, the simple, unquestioning faith of a child becomes increasingly difficult. Add onto that the cacophony of thoughts and concerns that fill our minds from day to day and the difficulty of quieting our minds enough to hear God's answers. I believe that God is willing to answer, but what I have to do to hear it is spiritually and emotionally exhausting. This by no means suggests that I ought to give up, but I think that it's fair to at least acknowledge this element in my struggle. I know from my own experience that there is an immense payoff when it is successful, but that there is a lot of struggling that goes on in the interim.

Also, as I've mentioned before, God expects us to do as much information gathering and contemplation as we can before bringing something before him. That is we should use our brains and not expect Him to do all of our thinking for us. In this case, however, I know very little and, outside of pure conjecture, his nature, words and actions are either veiled or channeled through an intermediary. Does that mean that I need to find more information first? If so, where? Does it mean that my knowledge of God has to be 100% through prayer and revelation? If so, does that mean that I'm entitled now to revelation on the matter? And if that is so, why haven't I?

Through my Earthly Father

Something that I'm absolutely convinced of, and which I've argued before, is that our understanding of God is colored by our understanding of both the principles we know him to embody, and of our experience with Fathers in general, our own fathers being the most influential in this process. Many people struggle with God because their relationship with their earthly father was unpleasant or difficult, and the idea of an omnipotent version of the same is disquieting. I'm lucky that this is not the case with me. My father is kind, principled and cares about his fellow man. But making the leap from my earthly father, with whom I am very well acquainted to my Father in Heaven with whom I am not well acquainted is difficult. In fact, I don't really know how to do that.

An Active Approach

In the end, I think that taking a more involved approach is required to solve this. As I've already admitted, I need to pray more, irrespective of my lack of current knowledge. Furthermore, while I find that simply knowing that what Christ did was what the Father would have done isn't a satisfactory foundation for a relationship, it is probably the key to figuring it out. I supposed that if I want to get to know my Father in Heaven, I need to emulate his Son's actions. Perhaps, if I do what he himself would do, acting in his place, I will get to know Him better.

I really want to know Him personally. I will continue to try. Perhaps it will not happen during this lifetime, though the thought of that fills me with sadness. I will do my best.

Any thoughts, suggestions, advice or personal stories? Have you had this problem too? Were you able to get any better at it? Your advice and input is welcomed and appreciated.

Re: Healthy Love

jacobdhawken@gmail.com (Jake) — Wed, 17 Dec 2008 21:32:00 +0000

I ran across this article today, which goes right along with my last post.

A Healthier and More Sustainable Love

jacobdhawken@gmail.com (Jake) — Sun, 09 Nov 2008 06:26:00 +0000

I was born a hopeless romantic. My earliest memories consist of me thinking of ways to woo the fairer sex. My mother even has a picture of me, as an infant, making bedroom eyes at a doll. As an infant! My first favorite song I ever had was "Happy Together" by the Turtles, and unlike other boys in the 11-and-under age range, I not only liked the kissing scenes in movies, but they were actually my favorite. It seemed that an enormous sigh was always being heaved from my tiny frame over some unrequited love or another. This has been a pattern for my whole life. I've always been a hopeless romantic and have always wanted things to be grandiose and electric. Like a junkie seeking greater and more intense fixes, I was always chasing the rush of the crush.

It would seem odd then, that I would say that I have benefited greatly and enjoyed an increased portion of happiness in my life by de-romanticizing, to a certain degree, my views on and expectations of love. Now, if five years ago I had been told what I am saying now by somebody else, I would have thought the person jaded, callous and prematurely aged, so if you think this of me, I don't blame you. However, before you cast that final ballot, let me explain myself.

Movies, more often than not, give us oversimplified perspectives, unclear ideals and unrealistic expectations. After watching the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles movie in first grade, I fully expected that it would be easy to both identify and beat up bad guys. But in practice, I kept having a hard time spying out the baddies and and even harder time beating up those who I'd decided to vilify (usually my older brother Ben). Being convinced by an action movie that you're a hero is something that most well-adjusted people grow out of, but strangely enough, our society feels bound to the unhealthily unrealistic expectations of silver screen romance.

Love, as it is portrayed in film and television (and many books), is problematic. It is set up for the audience in a form that is both an unattainable standard and an unhealthy set of values. It's also been my experience that whether it's life imitating art or vice versa, the way love is portrayed in film is usually reflected in the hopes and expectations of the public at large. Thus, if a problematic view exists in film, it probably exists in a significant amount in the general population.

From my perspective, the fundamental problems with PRL are fourfold. In general, PRL represents the sacrifice of greater, more noble values for lesser, more exciting ones. As follows, Problematic Romantic Love simultaneously

Values passion over commitment.
Esteems mutual attraction over mutual values.
Demands constant titillation.
Glorifies a lack of self-control.

If you were to ask a marriage therapist what the most important element of a successful marriage was, you'd get some version of the answer, "commitment." While the first and most emphatic answer that would come to the lips of the average layman would most likely be "love," modern art and literature has mystified and romanticized this word beyond recognition. In its healthiest iteration, however, "love" is synonymous with "commitment." The key to a successful and joyful marriage is not the romantic ideal popularized by Hollywood, but the constancy of commitment. Now what I am not saying is that romance is unimportant or irrelevant. What I am saying however, is that our society has placed it far too high on the totem pole of importance. It is by no means the most important element in a happy, healthy, long-term relationship.

What makes this over-glorification of romance is that there is absolutely no inherent stability, as it values passion higher than commitment. How many films have been made in which infidelity is somehow justified because the unfaithful and the homewrecker are "in love?" If a marriage is only valid and binding until one party becomes more "in love" with someone new, there is neither security nor commitment in any way, shape or form.

While initial attraction is a product of the physical and the romantic, long-term commitment is decided upon by values. While I disagree with many of her ideas, Ayn Rand made a good point about sex. She said that who you are willing to make love to is a direct reflection of your self-image. Sex and marriage, if they are to be meaningful and in any way sacred, ought to be a reflection of shared values. That's the second main problem with PRL. It esteems mutual attraction over mutual values. Once again, how many movies have you seen where two people with completely incompatible sets of beliefs and values falls in love and gets married (or indefinitely shacks up)? With as much stress and strain as there is today on the institution of marriage, how completely irresponsible (not to mention disrespectful to the institution itself) is it to glorify those who get married knowing full well that their spouse has a completely different value set? But after all, your spouse's rear end is much more important, right?

In this same vein, our fast-paced society has created a generation of people incapable of surviving without being constantly entertained, distracted and titillated. Our media-centered culture has taught us to demand a show. This carries over into our relationships. We want to be on pins and needles all the time. We expect to always feel like we're "in love." Well, if your marriage is contingent upon "feeling in love" all the time, you'll get an annulment after your first whiff of your spouse's morning breath, or after the terrible realization that contrary to what you'd like to believe, the fairer sex also does the things that the toilet was designed for. It's also a fidelity issue. If you need to be entertained constantly, there is absolutely no case for monogamy.

On a related note, I find it disgusting that in our society, it is not only acceptable but commonplace for a woman to badmouth her husband to her friends. It's perfectly fine for her to tell her friends how stupid her husband is and all about the stupid things he does. I'm revolted by how often I see this. I hear it in my classes and as I sit at tables in the campus food court. They aren't even whispered secrets. I can't believe how comfortable they all are betraying their husbands, and how perfectly acceptable it is.

Finally, the idol of Romance, which our culture worships, glorifies loss of self control. When love is the issue, it's actually seen as "robotic" or "heartless" to act on principle rather than on emotion. How many times is the pinnacle, cathartic moment in a film the moment when the lovers lose control and break their previous commitments all in the name of their "love" for one another? A better question yet is, How is that love? How is having so little respect for the other person that you'd aid them in violating their honor an act of love? How, in any kind of stable, healthy relationship is impulsiveness a virtue? When is it ever a virtue? Yet still, that's the "good-guy" moment in a romantic movie. That's where they glory is.

My love for my wife has been strengthened like steel, tempered by a concerted effort at self-control and held strong by mutual commitment. My marriage has been blessed by seeing my wife as my equal partner, and not as a human television set. When things are difficult, what keeps me grounded are the values my wife and I share, and the decision we've made ahead of time to stand by one another. While it's a heartwarming and a nice, fairytale way to see the world, we could all benefit from de-romanticizing love a little. Take it from a romantic-at-heart: It's time we all wised up a little and learned to love not with our emotions alone, but with our lives.

The 'Battleground God' Quiz

jacobdhawken@gmail.com (Jake) — Tue, 29 Jul 2008 01:02:00 +0000

I was listening to the 'Pop Philosophy!' podcast on my iPod earlier today and two philosophy professors were discussing a true/false quiz called the "Battleground God," which they administer in their Philosophy of Religion courses. The quiz is designed to show a person - whether theist or atheist - if their beliefs are consistent. Not whether they were true or false, mind you, merely if they were consistent or inconsistent. I immediately ran to my computer and Googled it, feeling sure that some philosophy wonk like myself had digitized it and put it online, even if only in text form. I was pleased to find that it was available online as a "game" which automatically keeps track of your answers and then tells you when you've made an apparent contradiction.

I found the idea fascinating but the execution to be clumsy. While attempting, at least ostensibly, to be unbiased, the wording of the questions was indirectly condescending to the theists who might be taking it. Furthermore, no matter how well-intentioned the quiz is, the very nature of its goal makes it difficult to administer without hiccups. Those administering the quiz, the British philosophy magazine TPM, even admit that

"because you only have choices between pre-selected and carefully worded statements, you might find that . . . statement[s] closest to your own conviction leads into a contradiction. However, had you phrased the statement yourself, you may have been able to avoid the contradiction while expressing a very similar belief."

As always though, the LDS notion of God proffered completely different results than the catastrophe that polemic atheists hope would hope to result in a theist taking the quiz. The questions, and my respective answers, are below. (You may want to go to take the quiz yourself first so my answers don't skew yours.)

God Exists.

My answer: True.

If God does not exist then there is no basis for morality.

My answer: False.
Explanation: LDS theology doesn't assert, as does most of the rest of Christianity, that God created everything from nothing. Thus, not all of God's commandments were invented by him. His commandments aren't capricious whims so much as they are guides given from a much broader vantage point to guide those with a much narrower one. Furthermore, we understand the raw existential fact that whether or not one espouses a conscious belief in God, there is an ethical instinct in every mentally healthy human being. Latter-day Saints just happen to call this instinct the "Light of Christ."

Any being which it is right to call God must be free to do anything.

My answer: False.
Explanation: Yes, God is all-powerful, but another unique LDS belief is that God's power is circumscribed by law. In relevant LDS discourse, "law" is stratified. Different commandments are given with different levels of responsibility. The further a person is up the chain, the more laws there are that one has to abide by, not less. Thus, it stands to reason that the razor's edge God must walk in order to be God is extremely thin. As a result, He is not "a kid with an ant farm" as Keanu Reeves's character so cynically says in the movie Constantine, but rather a shepherd who has made a strict discipline out of tending his flock.
Also, the LDS view that God is an embodied, physically-existing being immediately dispenses with condescending riddles like "Can God make a rock so big that he can't lift it?" or "Can God make a round square?" Mormons feel perfectly comfortable - well, at least I certainly do - rejecting the traditional idea of omnipotence (opting to use scripture instead of Anselm to define it) and answer the question of whether God can do anything imaginable with a un-flabbergasted "no."
[See my essay Of One Heart and One Mind for a more detailed exploration of my views on the omnipotence of God, and my essay Metaphysical Monsters for a pragmatic critique of the traditional, Anselmian understanding of the attributes of God.]

Any being which it is right to call God must want there to be as little suffering in the word as is possible.

My answer: True.
Explanation: This is probably the only tenet of the traditional Problem of Evil that LDS theology accepts. God is indeed omnibenevolent.

Any being which it is right to call God must have the power to do anything.

My answer: False.
Explanation: For Latter-day Saints this question is, in practice, the same question as question #3. God's power comes from his virtue and his adherence to eternal law. Thus, his ability to do things and his freedom to do them are rooted in the same fact and are both self-imposed.

Evolutionary theory may be false in some matters of detail, but it is essentially true.

My answer: True.
Explanation: This is one of those areas where their wording forced me into a choice that didn't really represent my specific position. Yes, natural selection happens. Yes, adaptations occur. But like produces like, and monkeys don't give birth to cave men, given any infinite stretch. If a monkey hopped on a typewriter for eternity, it would still always type gibberish. It would never produce a Shakespearean sonnet. So yes, I accept many general tenets of evolutionary theory, but I don't accept it to the level that most adherents of the Religion of Science do.
Response from the Game: "No injuries so far, but watch out! Danger ahead!"

It is justifiable to base one's beliefs about the external world on a firm, inner conviction, regardless of the external evidence, or lack of it, for the truth or falsity of these convictions.

My answer: False.
Explanation: Where I would probably disagree with the makers of the quiz would be in what constitutes "external evidence." If I receive a personal witness from God, the event would be classified by a person of atheist bias as "internal," labeling it a function of my brain chemistry or emotional state, ignoring the fact that the correlation of physiological or psychological states does not imply their causation of the situation.
For more on this idea, see my essay The Subconscious Mind and the Intuitive Perception of God, and also Malcolm Gladwell's ingenious book, Blink.

Any being that it is right to call God must know everything that there is to know.

My answer: True.
Explanation: I accept this with a critical caveat. If I were to put this sentence into my own words, it would end with the phrase "everything that is possible to know." Though not all Mormons would agree with me on this, though I know quite a few, I don't buy the idea that God has absolute, specific foreknowledge. I can't see, logically, how absolute knowledge of the future and free will are compatible, and I don't see how, in any stretch of the imagination, it could be possible to see the exact future that will in fact occur.

Torturing innocent people is morally wrong.

My answer: True.
Explanation: Self-explanatory.

If, despite years of trying, no strong evidence or argument has been presented to show that there is a Loch Ness monster, it is rational to believe that such a monster does not exist.

My answer: False.
Explanation: It would be rational to not believe in it, but it would not necessarily be rational to believe that it does not exist. One is an admission of insufficient data. The second is a belief based on insufficient data.

People who die of horrible, painful diseases need to die in such a way for some higher purpose.

My answer: False.
Explanation: I find the idea morally reprehensible that all suffering serves a higher good. That almost seems like an encouragement to go out and cause more of it. In that view, the Nazis were extremely virtuous, because they maximized suffering. I don't deny that there are instances where a person benefits greatly in a spiritual or intellectual way from their suffering, or where many others learn from their trials, but I don't believe that this is always the case.

If God exists she could make it so that everything now considered sinful becomes morally acceptable and everything that is now considered morally good becomes sinful.

My answer: False.
Explanation: With the exception of situation-specific commandments (e.g. the Law of Moses, and Samson's commandment to not cut his hair), God's commandments are based on eternal, unchangeable principles.

Response from the Game: "You're doing brilliantly! Only five more questions to go and not so much as a scratch so far! Well done!"

It is foolish to believe in God without certain, irrevocable proof that God exists.

My answer: False.
Explanation: If a scientific bias would say anything, it would be that there is no such thing as certain, irrevocable proof. Their is no certainty in science. The whole scientific method is based on uncertainty. Even as a theist, I don't think that while in this life, absolute certainty of anything is possible. In fact, I hesitate to apply the label "absolute" to anything. We're not 100% certain of anything before we act, but that doesn't stop us from acting. Like Kierkegaard said, there comes a point where a "leap of faith" is needed.

As long as there are no compelling arguments or evidence that show that God does not exist, atheism is a matter of faith, not rationality.

My answer: True.
Explanation: As a matter of consistency atheists should be held to the same standard of critique as are theists. [See William James's, The Will to Believe.]
Response from the game: "You've just bitten a bullet! You say that if there are no compelling arguments or evidence that show that God does not exist, then atheism is a matter of faith, not rationality. Therefore, it seems that you do not think that the mere absence of evidence for the existence of God is enough to justify believing that she does not exist. This view is also suggested by your earlier claim that it is not rational to believe that the Loch Ness monster does not exist even if, despite years of trying, no evidence has been presented to suggest that it does exist.
There is no logical inconsistency in your answers. But by denying that the absence of evidence, even where it has been sought, is enough to justify belief in the non-existence of things, you are required to countenance possibilities that most people would find bizarre. For example, do you really want to claim that it is not rationally justified to believe that intelligent aliens do not live on Mars?"
My response to that: Yes, I want to claim that. It's rationally justified to not believe there are, but not rationally justified to believe that there are not.

The serial rapist Peter Sutcliffe had a firm, inner conviction that God wanted him to rape and murder prostitutes. He was, therefore, justified in believing that he was carrying out God's will in undertaking these actions.

My answer: False.
Explanation: This is inconsistent with everything that the majority of those who have had religious experiences will tell you. It is inconsistent with my personal experience. The point that the question seems to be trying to make though is not whether or not God told him to do it, but whether his conviction alone was justification for his actions. I answer a resounding

If God exists she would have the freedom and power to create square circles and make 1 + 1 = 72.

My answer: False.
Explanation: As stated above, the LDS understanding of God places him in the physical universe, and in the realm of logic. I dismiss this condescending tripe without another word.

It is justifiable to believe in God if one has a firm, inner conviction that God exists, regardless of the external evidence, or lack of it, for the truth or falsity of the conviction that God exists.

My answer: False.
Explanation: Once again I insert the caveat that what the authors of the quiz might consider "external evidence" might be different from my definition. I will add also that actual physical evidence will be viewed differently with an atheistic bias, which would obviously lack what scripture calls an "eye of faith." Furthermore, a serious dedication to and relationship with God doesn't sprout out of a nebulous "inner conviction" but rather out of spiritual experiences. "Belief" in God, as C.S. Lewis said in his essay "The Obstinacy of Belief," is not the existential belief like that of science but a personal belief, like the belief that the scientist has in his wife or family.
Response from the Game: "You have reached the end! Congratulations! You have made it to the end of this activity. You took zero direct hits and you bit 1 bullets. The average player of this activity to date takes 1.39 hits and bites 1.10 bullet. 433173 people have so far undertaken this activity."

More details of my results:

"Battleground Analysis
Congratulations!
You have been awarded the TPM medal of distinction! This is our second highest award for outstanding service on the intellectual battleground.
The fact that you progressed through this activity without being hit and biting only one bullet suggests that your beliefs about God are internally consistent and well thought out.
A direct hit would have occurred had you answered in a way that implied a logical contradiction. The bitten bullet occurred because you responded in a way that required that you held a view that most people would have found strange, incredible or unpalatable. However, because you bit only one bullet and avoided direct hits completely you still qualify for our second highest award. A good achievement!
Click here if you want to review the criteria by which hits and bullets are determined.
How did you do compared to other people?
433173 people have completed this activity to date.
You suffered zero direct hits and bit 1 bullet.
This compares with the average player of this activity to date who takes 1.39 hits and bites 1.10 bullets.
45.78% of the people who have completed this activity, like you, took very little damage and were awarded the TPM Medal of Distinction.
7.75% of the people who have completed this activity emerged unscathed with the TPM Medal of Honour."

All in all an interesting, but highly biased quiz. Sorry TPM, talk my ear off, but I'm not convinced of your even-handedness. But thanks anyway for the fun game!

The Tyranny of 'Feelings'

jacobdhawken@gmail.com (Jake) — Fri, 06 Jun 2008 19:56:00 +0000

I hold as a personal code of conduct (which has arisen in me as a result of personal experience and observation of the world) that when someone repeatedly uses the word "feel" or "feelings" more than normal conversation would require, I grow suspicious. It has been my experience that when somebody focuses the majority of their communication on "feelings," it is to mask and/or justify improper or unjust behavior. I grow wary of somebody who is slow to action but quick to "feel." There is a certain amount of semantic rape going on in using "feelings" as a shield to defend irresponsible behavior. I despise the growing trend of teaching kids, "Well, if you feel like it's right, it's right." There are few more irresponsible things we could possibly teach children. In fact, that's the exact moral code of child molesters and rapists. It is by the acceptance - in some degree - of the belief that there is some kind of universal code of ethics that allows civilized society (and one's right to say such ridiculous things) to exist.

Furthermore, I grow furious at the constant interchanging of the words "think" and "feel" as if they were somehow synonymous. I find this notion to be just as much an affront to truth as to say that 1+1=17. You "feel" emotions. You "think" assertions. Once again, this is a matter of semantic manipulation. When someone regularly uses one of these words in what is the correct place of the other, it almost always is in an effort to emotionally manipulate the person. It is an effort to bypass reason. This is a horrendous act of rhetorical injustice. If what you have to say to me cannot be communicated on any common ground of reason, then what you have to say is not worth being heard. If you can't convince me of your point of view by any rational means, then I am under no kind of obligation to accept what you have to say. But that is the whole mindset of this tactic: You aren't doing what I want when I treat you as an equal, so I will now emotionally subjugate you.

When one is switching the roles of the words "think" and "feel" it is never done in honesty. Whether the person is lying to him- or herself, or to the person they are talking, it is an act of lying to rearrange them. Let's look at an example:

"I feel like you're lying to me."

First off, this phrase takes an assertion, "You are lying to me," and putting it in the rightful place of an emotion. You don't feel that someone is lying, you think someone is lying. This phrase, in itself, is a form of lying.

The main reason one uses a phrase like this is cowardice toward confronting a problem head-on. Because of our society's drift toward subjectivity, feelings have become a protective shield which one can hide from doing anything that is direct or specific. When one uses the phrase, "I feel like you're lying to me," it's because they want to simultaneously accuse someone of something and be exempt from the consequences of having made an accusation.

The other main reason one uses a phrase like this, which goes hand in hand with the first, is that one wants to make an accusation while incapacitating the accused's ability and right to defend themselves against the accusation. It's the mindset of "I'm going to accuse you, but I don't have to hear your response." The disgusting thing is that this has become very, very common.

It is a code of conduct which I refuse to live by, and refuse to accept from those who do live by it. I will not play your game. Go play with somebody else.

Emergence, Chaos and the Meaning of it All - Finding Significance in the Natural World, Part 1

jacobdhawken@gmail.com (Jake) — Mon, 21 Apr 2008 05:21:00 +0000

There are many things which are simply difficult not just to understand but to know at all.

Though I tried my best and still did horribly in my biology class in community college, there was one concept that I gleaned which I've found myself thinking about as of late. The concept is "emergence" or "emergent properties." In general, emergence has to do with a system giving rise to properties which are not directly traceable to the component parts of said system. On the physiological level, emergence refers to secondary traits emerging unpredictably from the combination of various primary traits. In genetics, the primary traits are those which can be deduced from genes, and the secondary, emergent traits are those which come about from the combination of several of the primary traits.

Emergent properties are difficult to predict, as they themselves are not "written into the script," so to speak, and come about as a result of the things that actually are. For example, one would not gather by inspecting Oxygen and Nitrogen molecules that in large quantities they would transmit the complex waves that make up audible sound.

As emergence usually manifests itself in complex systems, it seems natural that it occurs in social systems as well. Single celled organisms are physiologically and genetically simple on an individual level, yet in large groups, they form organized colonies with specific structures and cause illnesses with specific symptoms. Larger and more complex still, an ant by itself is a relatively simple organism, but in a colony of ants, complex hierarchies, behaviors and architecture emerge.

Given the simplicity of a single celled organism and the comparatively enormous complexity of a colony of the same, we see an enormous gap between the complexity of the component and the complexity of the system. The same is evident in the ant colony. As the components - or members - of a system are more complex, the emergent properties evident in the system - or society - are exponentially more so.

Chaos Theory's main assertion is that even in a completely, unarguably deterministic system (that is to say that the outcome of the system is completely determined by its initial conditions), random properties and results emerge. For decades, Chaos Theory has turned the scientific world on its head because it flies in the face of the scientific method, the living breath of which is the belief that anything can be verified by the replication of its same initial conditions and application of the same processes. Chaos Theory instead says that in a complex, "chaotic" system, given the same process and initial conditions, different results may - and often do - occur.

This is due to the complexity of the system, and as always, hindsight is 20/20. After the fact, Chaos Theorists can plot out the information, and, given enough information and enough of a bird's eye view, they are able to see a pattern. This pattern, however, was impossible to predict beforehand. Results within the system can only be predicted

In an infinitesimally small amount of time, or
Given an infinite amount of information.

Sadly, the first is worthless and the second is impossible. The amount of information needed to predict anything over any significant amount of time resembles a limit in calculus. One trying to predict results in a chaotic system can increase their information, but never acquire quite enough to make all of the predictions. The limit can never actually be reached. As infinity is a concept and not an actual amount, working with it remains in the realm of idea and never truly connects with the real world. An infinite amount of information is required, but a finite amount of information is available. As a result, though the patterns in complex systems are decipherable ex post facto, they are unpredictable beforehand, and given the same conditions will provide different ex post facto results. This is why in a chaotic system such as weather, we have one generation of scientists preaching the doom of global cooling and another generation predicting global warming. In complex, chaotic systems, there is always less known than unknown.

An enormous difficulty in dealing with complex systems such as weather, human society, the mind and the universe in general, is that there is always a disconnect between the Micro and the Macro. Reasonably intelligent people can generalize and abstract, in order to understand general concepts. Likewise, the same people are able to understand the particulars of a given experience or piece of information. Where the difficulty always comes in is when one tries to plug one into the other. There always seems to be a lurking variable when trying to connect the two.

Nowhere is this more evident than in physics. Brilliant physicists such as Michael Faraday and Max Planck pioneered the science of Quantum Mechanics, which deals with the most tiny, elemental building blocks of the universe. In like manner, Albert Einstein developed the theory of General Relativity, which deals with the largest and most overarching principles of the universe, showing the relationship of space, time and gravity. Both of these are legitimate sciences, verified by testing and understood to the point of practicability. Scientists, however, have yet to be able to put either one in the context of the other in any intelligible way. Scientists constantly hammer away at the "Theory of Everything," "Unified Field" theories, and the ideas of "Quantum Gravity," but have yet to make the connection in any solid way.

This brick wall is apparently struck in every general science or philosophy. Quantum Mechanics clashes with General Relativity. The general laws of pressure, heat and physical change seem to get thrown out the window in the presence of weather systems. Psychology and sociology follow different patterns. Aristotle's bottom up approach to metaphysics, doesn't seem to fit with Plato's top down approach. Given history, this disconnect isn't likely to be patched up any time soon.

So what, then? What is the point of me bringing this up in the first place? Why, if our understanding of anything seems to reside at the extreme margins, and if the general, all-encompassing understanding of it eludes us, do we seek to understand anything? After all, the limit is only infinitely approachable, never attainable.

There seems to be in all of us an inborn belief that there is a rhyme and reason to it all. That there is a method to the madness. Though we are unable to deduce the connections, we seem to think that there is a connection. That indeed the very thing which which eludes us is worth knowing. That something is "worth knowing" at all is a distinct qualitative statement. A statement of meaning and significance. Aside from our religious upbringing - be it theist, atheist or some other view of the cosmos - we all seem to seek for that meaning.

True, some have sought to say that the universe is what it is on the surface and nothing more. That existence is without meaning. The universe is merely a mass of objects and events, and that's it. In my mind, this provokes a question. When, in any complex system, are the components ever equal to the end results? Emergent properties and situations arise seemingly at random. Infinitely unpredictable patterns arise, giving form to what was formless. Why, if something as complex as a termite "cathedral" can emerge from such simple components as termites and dirt, can we not expect from so complex a system as the universe, at least something as basic to us as meaning?

I believe that meaning in the universe is an emergent property, and that there is a pattern to things. This is a declaration of naturalism (as opposed to "supernaturalism" - see sidebar glossary). I contend that though the universe is natural and physical and is governed by laws and functions of the same nature, there is meaning and purpose to be found in it. Meaning is, in this sense, an emergent property of existence. Thus, the question now becomes that of what this declaration entails. What does this mean in our personal and spiritual lives? What does this mean in our conception of God? Can one be a naturalist and still be a theist? What meaning is there to be found in the natural world?

COMING SOON: Finding Significance in the Natural World - Part Two.

Of One Heart and One Mind - An LDS Model of the Social Trinity

jacobdhawken@gmail.com (Jake) — Sun, 16 Dec 2007 21:44:00 +0000

It would be an understatement to say that Latter-day Saints (Mormons) and Evangelical Christians disagree concerning the nature of God. If we were to trace back all of the theological misgivings between these two camps, it could easily be argued that this is the central bone of contention. Indeed, arguments concerning Christology, salvation, eschatology and the nature of man all come back to our comparative theistic world-views. Theological arguments on this wise always come down to disagreement concerning the trinity.

Both Biblical language and language in the Book of Mormon are monotheistic, and arguably Trinitarian, agreeing that Father, Son and Holy Ghost comprise a single Godhead. Both agree that there is one God the Father (Eph. 4: 6, 1 Cor. 8:6). The Book of Mormon goes as far as to say explicitly that Father, Son and Holy Ghost “is one God” (2 Nephi 31:21). What this “oneness” means is where the two camps disagree.

Both Latter-day Saints and evangelical Christians agree that there is a three and a one – with reference to the Godhead – but there is considerable disagreement among pundits as to what these numbers mean. Even within the Trinitarian camp, there is disagreement as to the nature of the three and the one, and the relationship of the three to the one. What I seek to demonstrate is that, in their fundamental formulations, the LDS model of the Godhead and the general Trinitarian model are not necessarily incompatible. Further, I posit that the LDS model of the Godhead can be seen as a type of Social Trinitarianism.

Some Analytical Methodology

A major mistake that both sides make is in believing that the other side is a giant, monolithic block. This happens largely because neither side wants to admit that there is any disagreement within their own ranks. The truth is that both sides, though agreeing generally about their basic tenets, are made up of various schools of thought, which in turn are constantly changing. When analyzing the relative religious and epistemic implications of one another’s beliefs, it seems that members of both camps tend to set up their personal views within their religion as normative for the whole of their religion. In order to make any kind of substantial or practical comparisons, we must look at the foundational beliefs of either group, as independently from conjecture and extrapolation as is possible. I will attempt to do this as best I can throughout this paper.

The Fundamentals of Traditional Trinitarianism

As heretofore stated, the ambiguity begins as a question of numbers. Christian theologian Cornelius Plantinga stated that “the main problem or puzzlement is that of a threeness or a oneness. . . What are the referents of these numbers? Three what? One what? And, especially, how are these three and this one related” (Social Trinity and Tritheism, p. 21)? I have never, in my own experience, come across an answer to this question that was anything short of mind-boggling. If a Trinitarian is truly a monotheist, what need is there for the three? And why must there be a one and a three? How is that even possible?

Evangelical Christians obviously do not accept Jewish or Muslim monotheism, because it is an undifferentiated monotheism. A god with a single nature but not a three-part nature as well is apparently unacceptable. This basic Trinitarian doctrine, or at least the segment of which that is the basis for rejecting LDS theism, comes from the Athanasian Creed. The language used is “neither confounding the persons nor dividing the substance.” That is to say that there are three persons in one substance.

Most English texts of the Athanasian Creed make it a point to mention that the word translated as “substance” also means “essence.” This provides a slightly different view of the meaning of this phrase. The phrase “neither confounding the persons nor dividing the essence” would lead us to believe that there are three persons in the Godhead and one divine nature; to which Latter-day Saints would have no disagreement.

Between the oneness and threeness of God, it seems to be the oneness around which the confusion is centered. Both Latter-day Saints and Evangelicals understand the threefold nature of God fairly well, understanding the three to be made up of Father, Son and Holy Ghost (or “Paraclete”), but what the “one” is remains to be disambiguated. In fact, many attempts to do so have served as the fleshing out of the traditional Christian definitions of what constitutes a theistic heresy. “Not surprisingly,” states Plantinga, “particular understandings of the three and the one, and of their relation, serve to classify traditional Trinitarian theories between orthodoxy and heresy, and also, within them” (STAT, p.22). The two theistic extremes, as set out by the Catholic church – and subsequently espoused by the rest of Christendom – are Tritheism at what I will call the “Three Only” extreme, and Modalism at what I will call the “One Only” extreme. Modalism “confounds the persons” and Tritheism “divides the substance [essence].”

It should be noted that the dilemma of Trinitarianism is the ease with which one’s theology can slide into either heresy. It comes down to such delicate semantics that pundits such as Stephen T. Davis have gone as far as to making heresy be the difference between calling the three “three distinct persons or three separate beings” (“The Mormon Trinity and other Thrinities,” Element, Vol.2, Issue 1, p. 7). Trinitarianism is on such a knife’s edge between these two so-called heresies that there is little to no room for a coherent enumeration of what it is as opposed to what it is not.

Since there is equivocation on matters of the Trinity, let us look at the seven propositions of traditional Trinitarianism:

The Father is God.
The Son is God.
The Holy Spirit is God.
The Father is not the Son.
The Son is not the Holy Spirit.
The Holy Spirit is not the Father.
There is only one God.

Based on these tenets alone, Latter-day Saints fall under the Trinitarian umbrella, as it were. Though few members of either camp – that is to say Latter-day Saints and Evangelicals – would be inclined to call the LDS conception a Trinitarian one, but in the fundamental formulations of both there is little to no conflict.

In Social Trinitarianism, the Godhead is seen to be – either metaphorically or literally – a loving community of three divine persons. The degree of literality aside, Latter-day Saints and Trinitarians can agree on this point. The Trinitarian can interpret this to mean that the “three distinct persons” make a divine community; a “one.” The Latter-day Saint can interpret it to mean that the three members of the Godhead are perfectly united, setting the example for their constituents to be “of one heart and one mind” (Moses 7:18). For just a moment, let us set aside the semantics and observe that both Trinitarians and Latter-day Saints can accept this social model on some level. “In such social monotheism,” says Plantinga, “it will be appropriate to use the designator ‘God’ to refer to the whole Trinity” (STAT, p. 22, punctuation added). I find this to be a proper explanation of the “one,” upon which both camps can agree.

The Metaphysical Framework of Latter-day Saint Theism

Now, where an LDS or a Trinitarian reader is at this point chomping at the bit, is in the metaphysical setting in which either accept the assertion of a “divine community.” Since the time of Christ, there have been numerous formulations of what, ontologically, it means for there to be both a three-part Godhead, and One true God. As previously mentioned, attempts to reconcile these two have usually ended up in a declaration of heresy or anathema. What should be noted is that it is not the Trinity or Godhead itself where the argument rests, but instead the metaphysical framework into which such a conception is placed. An accounting of Latter-day Saint metaphysics then deserves to be treated.

Joseph Smith enumerates a distinct and unique metaphysical pluralism in his famous “King Follet Discourse.” In this funeral homily, the prophet argues for a universe full of co-eternal realities. “We say that God himself is a self-existent being,” Joseph states,

Who told you so? It is correct enough; but how did it get into your heads? Who told you that man does not exist on the same principles? Man does exist on the same principles. . . The intelligence of spirits had no beginning, neither will it have an end. There never was a time when there were not spirits for they are… [co-eternal] with our Father in Heaven (Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith, p. 352-353).

Joseph goes beyond merely stating a basic quantitative pluralism, but goes as far as to say that man, in his most primordial form, has always existed, and always will exist.

In addition to the necessary existence of the minds of all men, Latter-day Saint thought professes a distinct ontological materialism. Joseph Smith himself stated that “There is no such thing as immaterial matter. All spirit is matter, but is more fine or pure” (D&C 131:7). This not only eliminates the ever-present “mind-body problem,” but also places God in a very physical environment, in which he and everything else is, on some level, made of matter.

In addition to intelligence and matter being realities that are co-eternal with God, the datum discourse of the Latter-day Saint points to the co-eternality of Law. God, as such, is apparently obedient to law, the violation of which would cause Him to “cease to be God” (Alma 42:13, 22, 25).

We can therefore derive from the LDS canon that three things are self-existent, namely:

Mind (both God’s and man’s)
Matter
Eternal Law

If matter is self-existent and co-eternal with God, then it is goes without saying that Latter-day Saints reject the traditional understanding of Creatio Ex Nihilo. God, in the LDS formulation, is not the originator of the matter out of which our bodies and the cosmos are made, but the architect, craftsman and ultimate organizer thereof. The Hebrew word in the creation account in Genesis, Joseph Smith explains, implies organization, not instantaneous creation from nothing (TPJS, p. 350).

Social Trinitarianism in the Latter-day Saint Framework

Cornelius Plantinga sets out three main tenets requisite for a model to be called a Social Trinitarian one. They are as follows:

The Father, Son, and Holy Ghost must be distinct centers of consciousness.
Theories of simplicity must be modest enough to allow for (1).
Father, Son, and Holy Ghost must be closely enough related as to consider them to constitute a particular social unit.

Within the LDS framework, this model fits quite nicely. Latter-day Saints obviously accept (1) without equivocation, affirming three individuals to make up the Godhead (as we are regularly denounced as Tritheists). Once again, since Latter-day Saints do not believe in divine simplicity there is no conflict with (2). Though affirming that the Godhead is made up of three ontologically separate beings, Latter-day Saints can wholeheartedly accept (3) on the grounds that we believe the members of the Godhead to have a perfectly united will and purpose.

Plantinga calls to attention that wording in the New Testament denotes a subordination of Christ to the Father and of the Holy Ghost to both the Father and the Son. “This very superordination and subordination of wills that distinguish the three persons also unite them,” states Plantinga, “For in fact only one will is expressed – that of the Father who sends the Son and who, with the Son, sends the Paraclete” (STAT, 26). This very clearly demonstrates the Latter-day Saint belief that though the Godhead is made up of three distinct free-agents, they are perfectly conformed to one divine will, that of the fount of all divinity, even God the Father.

Also, this bolsters the Latter-day Saint doctrine of divine investiture of authority. Since the Son and the Paraclete are both perfectly united and in conformity with the will of the Father, they are invested fully as a representative of the Father, to do all that He can and would do, and say all the He can and would say; to act, in all respects, as if they were the Father Himself.

Coming full circle then, Latter-day Saint theology fully asserts both the threeness and the oneness of God in a very Social Trinitarian way. The three is asserted in the three individual members of the divine community, and the one asserted as the community itself, manifesting the single will (the Father’s) with which all three are in perfect harmony. The relation of the three to the one is manifested in that all three are necessary in order to accomplish the divine will – the Son to redeem, the Holy Ghost to sanctify, and the Father to beget and to lead – thus representing how the three constitute the one.

A likely argument to this position is that it is not Trinitarianism, but Tritheism in Trinitarian clothing. This is a fair argument, because we do indeed assert that the three members of the divine community are ontologically separate, and thus made up of separate metaphysical substance. If that bars Latter-day Saints from Trinitarianism it does so on the grounds of a specific school of thought within Trinitarianism. The seven propositions of traditional Trinitarianism and the three propositions of Social Trinitarianism are all met within the LDS model. Though it is very easily argued that the Trinity in general is conjecture and extrapolation on the Bible, I will not do so. Accepting it, at least for the moment, it is noteworthy that their rejection of the LDS model of the Social Trinity is based not on the model itself, but upon the LDS metaphysical framework. The rejection of that is an entirely different issue.

Another likely argument against the Latter-day Saint model is that it is un-Biblical. Aside from the fact that using this to remove validity is a genetic fallacy, this argument is ambiguous. “Un-Biblical” could mean one of two things. It could mean that it is anti¬-Biblical or that it is extra-Biblical. The former would mean that it explicitly violates the doctrines of the Bible, which even Evangelical pundits such as Craig Blomberg are willing to admit that it does not.

The latter would mean that it contains elements that are not found in the Bible. This does not mean that they are necessarily false; it just means that they are not found in the Old or New Testaments. Latter-day Saints do not disagree with this. Even as I set forth the LDS metaphysical framework, I drew from the words of Joseph Smith and the significantly larger LDS Canon. As with every matter of course in this paper, this comes down to the truthfulness of the metaphysical framework itself, which, due to its extra-Biblical nature, Latter-day Saints admit cannot be resolved by an appeal to the Bible alone. This does nothing to discredit the LDS model of the Social Trinity, but moves the issue to the truthfulness of the extra-Biblical LDS canon, which, as I have repeated above is another matter entirely.

Conclusions

Though what I am arguing is not something that many constituents of either camp would subjectively accept, an objective analysis of the fundamental principles of either camp shows that though they are not rooted fully in the same texts, the Trinity and the Latter-day Saint model of the Godhead are not necessarily incompatible. Specific formulations from both sides of the aisle do indeed contradict one another, but as I have demonstrated, these are matters of ontology, not of the formulations themselves.

Taking the seven propositions of traditional Trinitarianism, the three of Social Trinitarianism and the text of the Bible, an LDS model of the Social Trinity cannot be dismissed out of hand. Attempts to do so end up being elaborately-worded clusters of ad hominem arguments, genetic fallacies and theological invective.

I believe that there are bridges that can be built that do not require the denunciation of either camp’s faith, and that the failure to build these bridges represents a rejection of the Savior’s commands that we are to love our neighbors and invite all to come unto Him. I must make it clear that I do not believe that Evangelicals and Latter-day Saints are the same religion. I do not delude myself to this point, but what I do assert is that Latter-day Saints should not be rejected as Christians on grounds of being anti-Trinitarian, both because we arguably are, and because Trinitarianism also is an extra-Biblical doctrine.

In the end, the focus of any argument concerning Latter-day Saint theology should come down first to the truthfulness of the open LDS canon, and the priesthood authority of Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. All other points of doctrine are the branches, but latter-day revelations, and the truthfulness thereof, are the roots.

Metaphysical Monsters – William James versus the God of the Theologians

jacobdhawken@gmail.com (Jake) — Sat, 01 Dec 2007 23:45:00 +0000

It would be an understatement to say that William James was open-minded with regard to metaphysics and religion. It would be an even bigger understatement to say that William James was an opponent of absolutism. In light of the former, the latter is quite significant. In treating the concept of the Divine, James rejects on principle the God of scholastic theism. He even goes as far as to call the theological God a “metaphysical monster” and “an absolutely worthless invention of the scholarly mind” (The Varieties of Religious Experience, p.401). These are strong words coming from the author of such an open-minded work as “The Varieties of Religious Experience.” The fact that the above quotations are from that very same work is even more shocking. Why – for someone who took the time to examine multitudes of religious and philosophical mindsets on their own terms – would a particular metaphysical world view be so repugnant? The answer lies in his method.

James rejects the theological God on pragmatic grounds. Pragmatism, James explains, holds that “every difference must make a difference, every theoretical difference somewhere [must] issue in a practical difference” (Varieties, p. 398). That is to say that for a belief to be worthwhile, its espousal must be of practical value to the holder of said belief. The theological God, James argues, has no practical significance to man. Independent of these descriptions of God being actual or not, James argues that believing in them is worthless.

Scriptural history demonstrates that it was not the defining of deity that brought about greater understanding among mortals, but instead direct, human interaction with the Divine. The information communicated in these experiences has always been applicable to the thought and action of man. William James clearly elucidates this fact throughout the Varieties. From his writings, we can conclude that

a) the conception of God set forth by Traditional Christianity is indeed lacking in pragmatic value, and

b) the practical beliefs that are held by proponents of scholastic theism are wholly other from their conceptions of God.

The Ontological Attributes of God

To preface his judgments on the divine, James enumerates some of the attributes commonly ascribed to deity. Namely, he covers God’s simplicity, immutability, omniscience and felicity.

James asserts that God’s Aseity – that is, the idea that He was not created and depends on nobody else for his existence – is the principle from which traditional theologians deduce the rest of God’s attributes (Varieties, p. 394-395). For example, if God is self-existent, and is the only being of that order, then it stands to reason that God must be metaphysically simple, without parts or characteristics, because if one is composite then one is posterior to their parts. Since God is the “First Cause” then He could not be composite, because that would imply a previous cause. God’s singularity leads us, as a matter of logic, to deduce that His existence and His nature are one and the same. Thus, we eliminate any sort of potentiality or progress in the divine (Varieties, p. 395).

God’s immutability also follows in this line of reasoning. God, being absolutely simple and without potentiality, obviously cannot change. “Were there anything potential about Him,” James explains, “He would either lose or gain by its actualization, and either… would contradict his perfection” (Varieties, p. 395).

Likewise, given that God is present to all time, being without process or change, it logically follows that He is omniscient, being temporally and spatially ever-present (Varieties, p. 396). This also follows from God’s absolute actuality. If God can neither gain nor lose from the realization of a potentiality, then God must know all things, for learning something new would be just such a realization.

If God is immutable, omniscient and self-loving, we can deduce first that He is impassable. Secondly, we can infer that His impassibility, together with His self-love, lead to his absolute felicity.

James admits that these attributes – though a mouthful to explain and just as difficult to comprehend – are faultlessly deduced (Varieties, p. 400). The problem that James has with them is their significance.

Religious Pragmatism

The key concept behind pragmatic thought is that “man’s thinking is organically connected with his conduct” (Varieties, p. 398). That is to say that whether or not one realizes it, their thoughts – in one way or another – influence their actions. If any belief is to be espoused, the questions we must ask about them have to do with how they impact us. What is the particular truth in question? What would be its result? How would it apply to real experience? “Beliefs, in short, are rules for action,” James summarizes, “and the whole function of thinking is but one step in the production of active habits” (Varieties, p. 399).

It is from this real-life approach to belief that James feels simultaneously open to religious variety and intolerant of absolutism. The assertions of scholastic theism are not only closed books, in James’s eyes, but more importantly, he sees no connection to real life in them. “For what seriousness can possibly remain,” asks James, “in debating philosophic propositions that will never make an appreciable difference to us in action” (Varieties, p. 399)?

James’s methodology for seeking God is to search for ways in which man can adapt himself to God; how man can change his life and actions to bring them into harmony with the Divine. Pragmatism “will take a God who lives in the dirt of private fact – if that should seem a likely place to find him,” systematically widening the field of our search (Pragmatism, p. 522).

Even if we had no logical choice but to admit the actuality of the theological assertions, James contends that “we still should have to confess them to be destitute of all intelligible significance” (Varieties, p. 400). The ideas are meaningless to a man because they deal in a realm in which he can have no experience. In addition to being intelligibly insignificant, James argues that the scholastic attributes of Deity are religiously inconsequential.

“Pray, what specific act can I perform in order to adapt myself better to God’s simplicity? Or how does it assist me to plan my behavior, to know that his happiness is anyhow absolutely complete” (Varieties, p. 400)? God, in light of this conception is not only wholly other from His creations, but wholly indifferent. It seems that man is no better or worse for believing or not believing in such a being, or at least that God is indifferent to man’s belief.

Throughout the Varieties, James asserts that most vital, life-giving elements of a religion are direct communications with the divine. These revelations, like Moses on the mount or Joseph Smith in the grove, are what provides the foundation and life blood for a religion. When faith is centered on experiences, there is a living, applicable aspect to it. James’s problem with deriving the attributes of God through reason alone is that the results “are after-effects, secondary accretions upon those phenomena of vital conversation with the unseen divine” (Varieties, p. 401).

Furthermore, James argues that these beliefs are especially worthless, as they stand independent of an individual’s over-beliefs. What a man believes, independent of having it drilled into him by means of logic, is what determines his character. “Over-beliefs… are absolutely indispensable and… we should treat them with tenderness and tolerance,” James explains, going on to say that “the most interesting and valuable things about a man are usually his over-beliefs” (Varieties, p. 460).

An Analysis of James’s Argument

The biggest problem with scholastic theism is that the absolutes which it asserts are inapplicable to any particulars in our life. They deal exclusively in absolutes; a realm in which man has no dealings. As James so eloquently states,

“You cannot redescend into the world of particulars by the Abolute’s aid, or deduce any necessary consequences or detail important for your life from your idea of his nature. He gives you indeed the assurance that all is well with Him, and for his eternal way of thinking; but thereupon he leaves you to be finitely saved by your own temporal devices” (Pragmatism, p. 518).

Of what worth is such a God? Our lives, our troubles, our dealings are all in the realm of the finite. An absolute God does not condescend to dirty Himself with the particulars of finitude. Were He to be directly involved with the particulars of existence, He would be demonstrating potentiality and thus no longer absolutely actual. If this Being which the theologians have defined cannot descend into our sneered upon realm of particulars out of fear of contradicting His absolute nature, then of what worth is He to us? The absolute attribute that has been forgotten is that He is absolutely worthless.

Absolutism, when truly believed, leads one toward hopelessness. James demonstrates that “the moment the Greeks grew systematically pensive and thought of ultimates, they became unmitigated pessimists” (Varieties, p. 133-134). If one sees oneself as being wholly finite and God as wholly infinite, this divide reminds them that they are a temporary speck obscuring the beauty of the absolute. This demarcation between man and God also tacitly puts in the mouth of God the word, “Your lot is yours. I need you not. You are nothing to me.”

The decision to deal only with definitions in speaking deity and never treating particulars is the decision to throw any value God might have out the window. Ideological finality is an abhorrent retardation on one’s capacities. The keystone issues of religion are matters of experience. Free Will, the nature of God, teleological order; these are all robbed of their significance when taken out of the context of experience. What difference does “free will” make to us out of the context of what we do with it? Of what important is the nature of God if we cannot adapt ourselves to it by the knowledge of it? “Yet dark tho they be in themselves,” James contends,

“when we bear them into life’s thicket with us the darkness there grows light about us. If you stop, in dealing with such words, with their definition, thinking that to be an intellectual finality where are you? Stupidly staring at a pretentious sham! . . . It means less than nothing, in its pompous robe of adjectives” (Pragmatism, p. 539).

Indeed! To believe something which means nothing to your actual life is a waste of mental energy that could be applied to more fortuitous pursuits.

At this point, one might argue that there are many who espouse these ideas, who live pragmatically virtuous lives. For example, Mother Theresa, as a devout Catholic, would obviously have believed in the traditional theological absolutes, and yet her beliefs led her to live a life of service and undeniable virtue. The problem is that one is assuming causation from correlation. Christians who live virtuous lives do so as conforming to examples in scripture. The Bible itself is at odds with the Christian absolutes, giving countless examples of God’s compassion, emotion, corporality and personal dealings with man. Proponents of the theological God may very well live religiously virtuous lives, but they do so despite their belief in absolutism.

When Christians are, for example, helping the poor or demonstrating love for their fellow man, they are conforming to particulars, not to absolutes. Mother Theresa’s life of service and love was in obedience to the particulars of Christ’s ministry, not to some sort of abstract absolute. What does living virtuously have to do with God’s absolute simplicity or Aseity? The two have no correlation. You cannot re-descend into particulars from absolutes.

If this useless God truly did exist, James argues that knowing of Him or believing in Him would still be irrelevant to us. Worshipping Him would, in fact, be detrimental. One might argue however, that truth is always beneficial; that to know what is actual and believe it will always be of worth. The difference here is in definition. The traditional taxonomy is that “truth” is all things actual, and “good” is a subset of actual things. Following the thread of pragmatism, James sets forth a theory of truth in which truth is a subset of good, instead of the opposite. To James “good” is defined as whatever is profitable for human flourishing, and “truth” is defined as whatever is profitable for human flourishing by way of belief (Pragmatism, p. 520). This system is such because it helps the definition of “truth” to be more solid in changing states of affairs. “Surely you must admit this,” explains James, “that if there were no good for life in true ideas, or if the knowledge of them were positively disadvantageous and false ideas the only useful ones. . . our duty would be to shun truth, rather” (Pragmatism, p. 520).

Extending this farther than a mere abstract concept, we might well demonstrate the idea of child-rearing. In the process of raising and teaching a child, which truth is advantageous is relative. One who has in mind the social and mental health of a child, does not teach a toddler or young child about genocide, murder or rape. Though these may be actualities, the assimilation of such horrors at such an early stage of development would not contribute to the child’s flourishing. They would thus not be “true” in so far forth as they did not contribute to the betterment of the child. It is this kind of standard by which we can judge the relative pragmatic worth of a proposition. The question is not whether the thing is actual, because the sequence in which one assimilates an idea and the idea’s applicability are significant factors. The question rather should be, “Does it contribute to my pursuit of what is right?”

This pursuit extends beyond mere observable, physical results. How an idea affects the current body of knowledge or the current ways of thinking is also relevant. James asserts throughout the Varieties that an idea must have both predictive import and practical consequences. The practical consequences could even be as specific as changing the way we think about and interpret the world around us. In like manner, the predictive import could be as far-reaching as contributing to our eschatology.

I redirect this back to the original topic. Does the concept of the absolute God contribute any worthwhile, applicable information to man? Does it contribute to my pursuit of what is right? If anything, it leads to a lack of action. For if God’s attributes are of no relation to man’s in any way, there is nothing man can do in relation to them. “There can be no difference anywhere,” James explains, “that doesn’t make a difference” (Pragmatism, p. 508). Does the understanding of an absolute Being, whose subsistence and attributes in no way overlap our plane of existence, contribute in any way to our flourishing? In this sense, it is not “true” in so far forth, because it contributes nothing to one’s progress as an individual.

On pragmatic grounds firstly, and on ethical grounds secondly, I reject the God of “mystery.” Scholastic theism has firmly entrenched the occidental world in an endless pursuit of the transcendental absolute. What this has done for the Western world is to engender a spirit of self-loathing and moral impotence. If Deity is incomprehensible, incorporeal and perfect in such a way to which man could never attain, what is man’s motivation to try? Furthermore, given that the incorporeal God represents all perfection, where does that leave man? If there have been secondary “fruits for life” derived from the concept of the absolute, those fruits are helplessness and hopelessness.

Moreover, these scholastic accretions are self-defeating. They are set forth by Christian theologians, but their ultimate conclusion is the rejection of Christianity’s central figure, even Jesus Christ. In response to Philip’s inquiry as to the character of God the Father, Christ reprimanded him with a question. “Have I been so long time with you, and yet hast thou not known me, Philip?” asked the Lord “[H]e that hath seen me hath seen the Father; and how sayest thou then, Shew us the Father?” (John 14:9). Christ’s life served two main purposes: to perform the atonement and to demonstrate the nature of Deity. Christ did not say, “He that hath understood the abstract absolutes of my nature,” but rather, He said, “He that hath seen me hath seen the Father.” He made clear that He was in his Father’s express image. He did not equivocate on this issue or amend His statement. All that Christ was explicitly demonstrated the nature of the Most High God. His love, His emotions, His corporeality, and His involvement in the lives of individual human beings were all done to demonstrate the very same attributes existing in the Father. If you ascribe an absolute nature to God, you make a liar of Jesus Christ, and deny the faith. Either God is metaphysically transcendent, without body, passions or parts, or Jesus of Nazareth is the Son of God. The affirmation of either of these necessarily negates the other.

Ultimately, since absolutes are attained by means of their definitions alone and can be addressed no more particularly than in this way, then they can be dismissed on the same grounds. By definition, the Absolute is wholly other than man. If God is wholly other, His dealing with man is limited to having called the universe into existence by divine fiat. This elevates man no higher than the rocks that lay in the dirt, for they were brought into existence by the same means. Consequently, this fact is of just as much significance to us as it is to them.

The absolute attributes of God can only be understood in the abstract. Thus, for all intents and purposes they can not be understood. Being incomprehensible in practice, they have no application in practice. James was therefore quite correct to say that “the metaphysical monster which they offer to our worship is an absolutely worthless invention of the scholarly mind” (Varieties, p. 401). Their definitions of deity may well be true, but it is of absolutely no consequence to mankind.

In the Image of God - An LDS Rejoinder to the Anthropomorphism Argument

jacobdhawken@gmail.com (Jake) — Sun, 18 Nov 2007 01:58:00 +0000

A common criticism of the Latter-day Saint religion is our notion of a corporeal God. The notion is taken as morally reprehensible to the traditional Christian’s sensibilities. No sooner have the words left the mouth of a Latter-day Saint than he is denounced as an anthropomorphite.

Aside from being epithetical invective, the term is a declaration of anathema to a specific concept. The issue that traditional Christian theists take with what they denounce as “anthropomorphism” is that it violates the concept of an absolutely infinite God. Embodiment is a limitation, thus God must not be embodied. The LDS conception of a corporeal deity is most certainly at odds with this belief.

This state of affairs invites then to ask two questions. Firstly, what is wrong with anthropomorphism? Secondly, and more importantly, what is right about the alternative? One cannot rightly denounce one choice unless they provide an alternative. I will attempt to set forth what critics find repugnant about “Mormon anthropomorphism,” and provide a defense of such coupled with a critique of the alternative position, addressing common objections as they arise.

The Theistic Absolutes

To demonstrate exactly what it is, concerning LDS theism, that traditional theists criticize so heavily, one must understand the context of their belief system, in order to properly see the theological habitat of their conclusions. It would be fair then to enumerate the basics of their viewpoint on Deity.

The attributes ascribed to Deity within traditional Christianity are absolute in nature, and were arrived at, theologically, by sound logic stemming from a single premise. That premise is that God is the sole possessor of a se existence. That is to say that God’s existence and composition are not contingent upon any other pre-existing state of affairs, and that He is the only being in existence for whom this is the case. [As a note, I use the term "composition" in the loosest metaphysical sense, seeing as most Christian theologians would say that it contradicts – in its most literal sense – God’s infinite simplicity.] It is from this concept of Aseity that the traditional theological absolutes are derived. I will demonstrate a few, but by no means is this to be considered a complete list.

Divine Simplicity: If God is self-existent, and is the only being of that order, then it stands to reason that God must be metaphysically simple, without parts or characteristics, because if one is composite then one is posterior to their parts, and a pre-existing state of affairs had to have produced them. Since God is the “First Cause” then He could not be composite, because that would imply a previous cause.

Divine Completeness: God’s singularity leads us, as a matter of logic, to deduce that His existence and His nature are one and the same. Thus, we eliminate any sort of potentiality or progress in the divine.

Divine Immutability: God, being absolutely simple and without potentiality, obviously cannot change. As explained by William James, any kind of potentiality within Deity would either contribute to His loss or gain from the actualization thereof (The Varieties of Religious Experience, p. 395).

Divine Timelessness: Since God does not change, is without process and is infinitely simple, his existence is wholly other from that of time. Thus, God exists independent of time.

Divine Omniscience and Foreknowledge: If God is timeless and without process or change, it logically follows that He is omniscient, being temporally and spatially ever-present. If God can neither gain nor lose from the realization of a potentiality, then God must know all things, for learning something new would be just such a realization. Likewise, if God exists outside of time, then He has knowledge of everything that will happen, because past, present and future are all the same to Him.

Divine Impassibility: It stands to reason that if God is immutable, and timeless, then he cannot be changed by any state of affairs. Nothing can affect such a God.

This list, as heretofore stated, is not comprehensive. It is demonstrative, however, of the logically intertwined nature of the traditional Christian concept of deity. I personally admit that they are logically undeniable, but only given their first premise. The issue of God’s corporeality is subsequent to his simplicity which in turn is subsequent to his Aseity. The validity of this absolute, infinite God is therefore called into question.

The dilemma of the traditional theology is that it paints itself into an intellectual corner. Dean Mansel clearly demonstrates this quandary:

“The conception of the absolute and the infinite, from whatever side we view, it, appears encompassed with contradictions. . . There is a contradiction in conceiving it as one; and there is a contradiction in conceiving it as many. . . It cannot, without contradiction, be represented as active, nor, without equal contradiction, be represented as inactive. . . It cannot be conceived as the sum of all existence; nor yet can it be conceived as a part only of that sum” (The Mormon Doctrine of Deity, p. 105).

The predicament, at this point, is that idea of an infinite being carries with it a self-contained set of contradictions and incongruent limitations the second we step out of the abstract and talk about the existential particulars with which religion is concerned. While subscribing to this conception of the Divine however, they declare one set of ideas to be false, but also denounce the opposites of those same ideas to be anathema.

The love and involvement of God, as set forth in the Bible, seem also to be at odds with this conception. In all their vocal praise and worship, they have formulated a structured enmity between themselves and the Being they worship. This idea of a God that is no more involved in the particulars of existence than to be their initial creator, strips “Infinite Being” theology of the Theistic tile, making it nothing more than Deism.

The “First Cause” Dilemma

Though clearly and logically deduced, the attributes arrived at from the premise of an Infinite God do not stand on their own. In fact, it is the fact that they are directly logically derived one from another, and that they all connect back to one founding principle, that causes this. If one of these attributes can be demonstrated to be false or incoherent, the rest fall like dominoes.

Dean Mansel sneers at the theologians, describing their mindset as one of “morbid terror of what they are pleased to call anthropomorphism, which poisons the speculation of so many modern philosophers, when they attempt to be wise above what is written, and seek for a metaphysical exposition of God's nature and attributes” (MDOD, p. 86, footnote).

However, the strongest argument, I think, that Reverend Van Der Donckt presents to the LDS church against the embodiment of God is his argument from Divine Eternality. Indeed, given God’s Aseity, we derive, as a matter of logic, His simplicity. Van Der Donckt’s argument (MDOD, pp. 51-52) goes as follows:

God has always existed.
Whatever is embodied is composite.
Whatever is composite is posterior to its component parts.
Whatever is posterior to its component parts, has not always existed.
Hence, God cannot be posterior to his component parts.
Hence, God cannot be composite.
Hence, God cannot be embodied.

Though, I disagree with the third premise, this argument is strong, and is logically sound. The problem is that the conclusion causes a new problem for Mr. V’s position. Herbert Spencer indicates that the idea of God as the First Cause of the rest of existence is logically incongruent with the God they have set forth.

“Not only, however, must the First Cause be a form of being which has no necessary relation to any other form of being, but it can have no necessary relation within itself. There can be nothing in it which determines change, and yet nothing which prevents change” (MDOD, p. 106).

Who has ever heard of a cause without relation? The notion is incoherent at best. How can one be the cause of an event or action if one has no relation to the things involved? Causation presupposes a relationship between the cause and the caused.

Furthermore, there is an inherent contradiction in an infinite God being a First Cause. Causality, exists in the realms of relations from which God is wholly other. It is by means of God being the First Cause of the universe that we can demonstrate that he is not infinite. The First Cause Dilemma, as I call it, is as follows:

God is the First Cause of existence.
God is absolutely timeless.
A cause, by definition, precedes that which is caused.
Hence, God preceded the rest of existence (1) (3).
To “precede” denotes temporal sequence.
Hence, God is not timeless (5), and/or
God is not the First Cause (2) (5).

From this point outward, the infinite God unravels. Since the Bible is quite clear on the fact that God created the universe, we can reject (7). The only other conclusion that can be drawn from this argument is that (6) God is not timeless. If God is not timeless, he is not necessarily immutable, impassable or without potentiality. Since all of these would necessarily follow from God’s infinity, then it logically follows that God is necessarily not infinite.

I must stress that this does not prove that God is embodied, but only that He is not infinite in the traditional sense, and that embodiment is at very least a logical possibility.

God’s Attributes and the Human Conception

Arguments between Christian religions usually come down to disagreement as to what is literal and what is figurative. For example, traditional Christian theists say that Stephen’s vision of Christ standing at the right hand of God is figurative; Latter-day Saints say it is literal (Acts 7:55-56). Likewise, Latter-day Saints say that the Oneness of the Godhead as described in Christ’s intercessory prayer is figurative; traditional theology holds that it is literal. No common ground between the two seems to be mutually satisfactory.

Theological anthropomorphism, however, was not invented by the Latter-day Saints. In truth, its original source is in the Bible itself. Before it is broken down into the semantics of literal versus figurative, the fact remains that anthropomorphic language is used in the Bible. Independent of the relative ethics of the Lord using misguiding language (or inspiring it to be written), one must acknowledge that anthropomorphism is, at least superficially, present. Van Der Donckt is even inclined to admit that “the inspired Writings, make frequent use of the figure called anthropomorphism, attributing to the Deity a human body, human members, human passions, etc” (MDOD, p. 47).

Given that it fits within the ethos of the Lord to reveal such a notion of Himself to man, whether true or not, to what end does He do so? What purpose does such language accomplish? Maintaining the assumption that the Lord uses this language figuratively – though doing so begs the question of how an immutable being can use language at all – one is left to wonder why neither God himself, nor the prophets, ever speak of the Divine essence in terms of the absolutes, but instead always speak anthropomorphically.

Whether literal or figurative, anthropomorphic language is the only useful way of thinking of God. William James argued that the absolutist conception of God is pragmatically worthless. “Pray, what specific act can I perform in order to adapt myself better to God’s simplicity? Or how does it assist me to plan my behavior, to know that his happiness is anyhow absolutely complete” (The Varieties of Religious Experience, p. 400)? God, in light of this conception is not only wholly other from His creations, but wholly indifferent. It seems that man is no better or worse for believing or not believing in such a being, or at least that God is indifferent to man’s belief. Even if we had no logical choice but to admit the actuality of the theological assertions, James contends that “we still should have to confess them to be destitute of all intelligible significance” (Varieties, p. 400). The ideas are meaningless to a man because they deal in a realm in which he can have no experience. In addition to being intelligibly insignificant, James argues that the scholastic attributes of Deity are religiously inconsequential.

Indeed, believing the anthropomorphic concepts to literally be the case may yet be even better for us pragmatically than just using those concepts as metaphors. To cite William James again, “all our attitudes, moral, practical, or emotional, as well as religious, are due to the ‘objects’ of our consciousness, the things which we believe to exist, whether really or ideally, along with ourselves” (Varieties, p. 55). More powerful for our actions than what we experience or what is ultimately the case, are the things that we truly believe at our core. These over-beliefs are what determine our actions.

It is therefore of much more value to man, to understand and believe in God anthropomorphically, as an embodied, man-like being, than to believe in God as an ineffable absolute. Thus, we can see the wisdom God in teaching and revealing himself in that manner.

To think of God as a sentient being is incompatible, at least to the human mind, with the conception of the absolute. To be sentient implies being conscious. This ever-conscious God is expressly demonstrated in the Bible. “But consciousness,” explains Mansel, “again is only conceivable as a relation. There must be a conscious subject and an object of which he is conscious. The subject is a subject to the object; the object is an object to the subject; and neither can exist by itself as the absolute” (MDOD, p. 107). God can not be unrelated and also be conscious.

Ultimately, it appears that anthropomorphism is unavoidable. This has at least been the history of philosophy. Traditional theology holds that god is incorporeal, and does so out of a sense of duty to keeping the concept of God unpolluted by man. In the process though, they’ve given him the worst of both worlds. Though they spend all their efforts on disproving the existence of human attributes in man, B.H. Roberts points out that they

“are, nevertheless, under the necessity of representing God as conscious, as knowing, as determining; all of which… are, after all, qualities of the human mind as well as attributes of Deity; and hence the philosophers, after all their labor, have not escaped from anthropomorphism, but have merely represented Deity to our consciousness, shorn of some of the higher qualities of the human mind, which God is represented in the scriptures as possessing in their perfection—such as love, mercy, justice” (MDOD, p. 86, footnote).

Mormon Anthropomorphism

The end result of this line of reasoning is that anthropomorphism, while taken to mean “using the attributes of man to understand those of Deity,” is Biblical, logical and of pragmatic worth. To this definition, the Latter-day Saint position takes no offense. The problem is that this definition of anthropomorphism, with which traditional theology takes no issue, is not the same definition they use when they use it as an epithet. That definition is more akin to, “fashioning God in man’s image.” This definition simply demonstrates a gross misunderstanding of what the doctrines of the Latter-day Saint religion. If we are to define anthropomorphism in this way, the implication is that we are setting the limits of what God is in terms of what man is. If one fully understands the nature of LDS theology concerning the natures of God and man, one would see that quite the opposite is the case. LDS doctrine isn’t anthropomorphic to God, but rather theomorphic to man.

Indeed the scripture holds that “God said, Let us make man in our image, after our likeness. . . So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he him; male and female created he them” (Genesis 1:26-27). It was God’s image in which man was created, and not the opposite. This is the view that the Latter-day Saints hold. If epithets are the medium in which we are to address one another, and Mormons simply must be denounced, then they must be denounced as Theomorphites. Ultimately, though Latter-day Saints do believe God to be literally embodied, the common ground held with traditional theism is the Bible, and the Bible makes prolific use of anthropomorphic language. If God feels it appropriate to condescend to describe himself to us in terms of who we are, and felt equally fit to create us in his image, I feel confident in rising to meet Him.

The Subconscious Mind and the Intuitive Perception of God – An LDS Analysis of William James’s Incubation Theory of Conversion

jacobdhawken@gmail.com (Jake) — Sun, 21 Oct 2007 03:59:00 +0000

Many a polemic atheist has tried to discount the validity of religious belief by dismissing it as a psychological aberration. Some pundits, such as Bill Maher, have gone as far as to say that it is a “neurological disorder.” Religious experience, in the mind of many atheists, is explainable by psychology, and is thus invalid. It is true that many – if not all – spiritual experiences have directly related physical and psychological mechanisms. A general rule of the sciences however, is that “correlation does not imply causation.” Because a spiritual experience has a physical parallel, does that necessarily dismiss the spirituality of it? Associations are not underpinnings. The design is not the designer. In philosophical terms, we would call this a “genetic fallacy.” It is illogical to conclude falsity on the grounds of something’s origin.

If God is the designer of all, then could He not create man’s body in such a way as to make it accessible to things of the spirit? Indeed, many have argued from a teleological standpoint that those physical processes are only further proof of an intelligent designer. The scientific mindset admits of an observable order in the universe. The religious mindset affirms the same and adds that there is also an unseen order. William James argues that the two orders are not necessarily divisible from one another (The Varieties of Religious Experience, Lecture III). Conversion, he argues, has many traceable, related, psychological processes, but that these processes do not dismiss the possibility of Divine involvement.

James’s Subliminal Theory of Conversion

Speaking in general terms, James described conversion as “the process, gradual or sudden, by which a self hitherto divided, and consciously wrong, inferior and unhappy, becomes unified and consciously right, superior and happy, in consequence of its firmer hold upon religious realities” (Varieties, p. 177). To James, conversion represents the unification of a divided nature. The traditional understanding of the duality of man – that of spirit and flesh – take a back seat, in his appraisal, to the more pragmatic duality of what I call the Intentional Man and the Actual Man. A “heterogeneous” personality, as James calls it, represents a divide in the mind of man between his espoused ideals and his actual deeds (Varieties, p. 156-158). Conversion, in this sense, is the resolution of man’s duplicitous nature.

Case studies to which James refers represent the seeming contradiction of such a unification. As James quotes from the testimony of Stephen H. Bradley, we see conflicting language in the description of his conversion. He simultaneously “began to feel exceedingly happy and humble, and such a sense of unworthiness as… never felt before” (Varieties, p. 179).

Complaints of this recognition, like those of Saint Augustine, demonstrate that the Actual Man has become something other than – or even opposite from – his intentions. The “oughts” and “ought nots” of his value system do not square with what he actually does. James argues that what this means, at its root, is that the ideals of the Intentional Man are only at the margins of his psyche, and something else has supplanted them at the center of his mind.

“To say,” James posits, “that a man is ‘converted’ means, in these terms, that religious ideas, previously peripheral in his consciousness, now take a central place, and that religious aims form the habitual centre of his energy” (Varieties, p. 183). It is a shift of consciousness that characterizes religious conversion; a change of habitual focus.

This kind of shift is generally occurring all the time in the human mind. James notes that there is constant, ongoing shift in what occupies the bulk of our thoughts and what only scrapes by on the fringes (Varieties, p. 182). It is admittedly capricious, and dynamic, but what men hold most dear tend to be what form that “habitual centre.”

For this type of shift to occur, however, poses a difficult challenge to the mind of man. In light of sense experience and prolonged thought, “the sense of our present wrongness is a far more distinct piece of our consciousness than is the imagination of any positive ideal we can aim at” (Varieties, p. 194). As a result, the force of our own volition seems inadequate to shift our ideals into the center of our “habitual energy.”

Yet the overwhelming preponderance of explicit testimony demonstrates that conversion does, in fact, occur. James states that this is where psychology and traditional Christian theology part company. While they both agree that there is something other than man’s conscious mind at work, they disagree as to what that is. To the psychologist, the change is self-contained within the man. To traditional Christianity, it is the operation of Deity (Varieties, p. 196).

James however, synthesizes a clear-cut middle-ground between the two. In a sense, he puts the psychological concept into the religious context. The concept he utilizes is that of “subliminal incubation.” That is to say that the subconscious mind, which – intentionally or not – is always assimilating information, often builds up an idea with mounting tension, until that idea breaks through into the conscious mind (Varieties, p. 218). While not necessarily the initial cause of the conversion, James posits that this may be the psychological mechanism related to the spiritual process of conversion; the intellectual fruits of the spiritual roots, as it were. Where subliminal incubation was once seen as materialistic dismissal of conversion, James sets it forth as a possible tool of the Divine in the conversion process. He further notes that a temperamental origin does nothing to devalue the implications of conversion, as what ultimately measures religious significance is not how a thing happens, but what is attained (Varieties, p. 222).

The difference then between those who are instantaneously converted and those who are converted gradually, is characterized first by the breadth of their subconscious (Varieties, p. 219), and secondly by their disposition toward the reception to new ideas (Varieties, p. 223). As James sees these subconscious processes to be instrumental in conversion, it follows as a matter of course that “if there be higher spiritual agencies that can directly touch us, the psychological condition of their doing so might be our possession of a subconscious region which alone should yield access to them” (Varieties, p. 223). The subconscious then, isn’t merely the staging area for radical shifts of consciousness, but rather a “doorway” by which the spiritual opens into the psychological.

A Theistic Approach to James’s Theory

The subconscious mind is indeed an extremely powerful entity, and James is right to say that much of what we do is the result of some process thereof. One of the things that makes it so powerful is its ability to both put together the finer details of a situation and access our preexisting knowledge more quickly than does our conscious mind. In this sense, it is able to make seemingly instantaneous calculations and conclusions that would take longer in the conscious mind. (For a complete treatise on this concept, I refer the reader to the book “Blink” by Malcolm Gladwell.)

William James stated that “all our attitudes, moral, practical, or emotional, as well as religious, are due to the ‘objects’ of our consciousness, the things which we believe to exist, whether really or ideally, along with ourselves” (Varieties, p. 55). In essence, then, James is saying that what governs the way we think, and act and classify the world around us is our understanding of general, abstract principles. It is in terms of the abstracts that we define the particulars.

For example, if I were to hold up a red, rubber ball and asked you to describe it to somebody who was not looking at it. You would most likely describe it, firstly, as “red” and “round.” Such terms are abstract principles, not existing to your perceptions in their totality. Perfect redness, so to speak, is not something your eye has ever seen, due to factors of hue, coloration due to atmosphere and the imperfections of the human eye. Pure roundness is an even less attainable attribute. Is every last point in the infinity of points on the surface of that ball exactly equidistant from the center? Not by a long shot. Even if it were brand new, without any deformity, the nature of rubber – i.e. having a porous surface – denies this possibility. Being made of any matter at all would prohibit perfect roundness, because at some level, it is made up of individual atoms, and thus is not homogenous.

“Roundness” and “redness” are thus concepts that we understand only in the abstract. We have no direct sense experience of these “objects” as James calls them. Our perceptions of particulars are, at best, dilutions of purer ideals. We use these dilutions though, to synthesize our concept of the abstract ideals.

“Such objects,” James continues, “may be present to our senses, or they may be present only to our thought. In either case they elicit from us a reaction; and the reaction due to things of thought is notoriously in many cases as strong as that due to sensible presences” (Varieties, p. 55).

Such also is the case for concepts which govern our lives, such as “justice” and “virtue.” What ought to be, as we understand it, is a function of ideals. Ideals, by definition are tools of the abstract only. The distinction to make, though, is that abstract as they may be, these universal “objects” influence us more than any individual particulars, with which we do have sensory experience. This is the case with our physical and emotional realities, and is particularly true of our spiritual perceptions and beliefs.

None of us have seen God face to face. Our concept of God is based entirely on our understanding of his attributes. Most people would agree that God is benevolent, almighty and all-knowing. These are abstract principles which we understand almost completely in the abstract, having little to no experience with any type of particular. Christianity asserts that God is our Eternal Father, and LDS theology goes as far as to say that this is a literal statement of spiritual physiology. Our understanding of “fatherhood,” another abstract principle, contributes to our understanding of God. We use ideals which we believe to be embodied in God (abstract), to understand God Himself (particular). In the end, our understanding of God is a matter of our understanding of the abstract principles that He represents.

We see particulars that demonstrate elements of the pure ideals, and through experience, we continually develop our understanding of the ideals themselves. We learn how to identify “redness” by seeing lots of things that exhibit elements of the color red. We learn to identify “roundness” by seeing things that are, to some degree, round, and also by understanding the geometrical definition of what “round” means. So, though we will never see a perfect circle, we can understand the concept of what one is, by all that we learn from the elements of circularity found in the particulars.

Religious notions however, pose a more daunting challenge than other abstracts. Ideas such as “omniscience” are seemingly ineffable. What is a particular that can represent some element of “omniscience?” Can someone be partially omniscient? We can understand, to a fair degree, abstracts such as “vision” and “knowledge.” In like manner, we can understand ideals such as “unlimitedness” and “infinity.” From this collection of abstracts, we can then synthesize a concept of having unlimited knowledge and vision of the infinite universe; i.e. omniscience. Spiritual concepts, it would appear, tend to be abstracts that we derive from our understanding of other abstracts.

Since our subconscious is able to make more rapid conclusions, these unrealized conclusions often come to us in the form of intuition. We often feel the answer to a question before logically solving it, because on a level just below awareness, we have gathered all of the facts we already have, analyzed the new information, and processed a result. This ability to “feel facts,” as it were, helps us to synthesize concepts that we are not able to hold in conscious mind all at once. This is why sometimes we know the answer to a certain kind of problem without having done the equations, so to speak, to solve it.

Often, we intuit things that we never consciously understand but which turn out to be true. Many of us feel that we intuitively know that God exists. James’s challenge to the psychological dismissal of conversion, asserts that perhaps the nature of things spiritual is such that certain physiological states are more accommodating than others. Latter-day Saint theology, being as ontologically materialistic as it is, asserts that all things are matter, including the soul of man (Doctrine and Covenants 131:7). I see no reason then why our subconscious, with its ability to understand more than does our conscious, could not be a part of our mind where our soul speaks a little louder.

The Mind-Body Problem

Largely in part to the metaphysics of René Descartes, traditional Christian theology holds to a strict, qualitative dualism regarding the nature of man. Man is essentially made of two different kinds of reality; a body of physical matter, and a soul, or mind, of immaterial substance. This poses a large hurtle for a spiritual model of subliminal incubation because the conundrum of dualism is to explain how a supposedly immaterial “mind” can affect a material body and vise versa.

Latter-day Saint theology dismisses this puzzle out of hand. At its core, LDS theology holds unequivocally to a qualitative metaphysical monism. That is to say that though LDS doctrine declares the independent existence of matter and spirit (a quantitative pluralism), that they are of the same order of existence. At their most basic level, both are matter. With this as a premise, matter itself becomes the fundamental metaphysical substance of reality. Joseph Smith stated that “when our bodies are purified, we shall see that it is all matter” (D&C 131:8).

The dichotomy between mind and body is much more ambiguous in this light. Since they are both matter, it does not follow that they can have no interaction. Since they are both on the same plane of existence, in terms of substance, the interactions of the “soul” and body of man could very well be considered in a psychological context.

Admittedly, James’s argument holds little water within the context of dualism. If man’s soul, and for that matter the Divine itself, is immaterial, how could they influence the body of man? Furthermore, why would there be any discernable physical or psychological evidences of conversion if it was merely a spiritual process? I leave this problem in the lap of those whose belief system requires that they address it.

Does Religion Necessarily Follow?

The same argument that agnostics use against Pascal’s wager could very well apply here. In a sense, that response is, “So what?” Explicitly, “Does it follow then, that religion should be the result of such a conversion?” If conversion is just the unification of an individual’s mind, then why must a religion follow? Why not a mere spiritual transcendentalism?

To this, I think James would reply, “No. It does not follow.” As his book is called “The Varieties of Religious Experience,” no single religion or school of spiritual thought is held in any higher regard, but what one must note is that each example that James references is in a highly specified context. Each individual conversion is in the context of a specific religion, or to a specific school of thought. Even as a mere unification of man’s ideals to his pragmatic identity, those ideals are still based in something. In the most general sense then, conversion is still always specific to a particular set of religious ideals, no matter what those may be. This is part of the argument is where James and I part ways.

In the Latter-day Saint context, one receives a testimony and eventually is converted, all by means of their dealings with and reactions to the Holy Spirit of God. With that guiding link to Deity, man’s path to salvation is paved by the amount to which he gives place to such a spirit, and his obedience thereto when he has received its promptings. Conversion, in this sense, is universally specific, as it is one Spirit that calls to and entices men, however gradually in some cases, to forfeit their dispositions and allow a change to be wrought in them.

Something that I believe James and I, and the vast majority of the religious-minded would agree upon, is that conversion is a wholly personal experience. The particulars thereof will be interpreted and construed in different ways by different temperaments. The fact that psychological and physiological processes exist parallel to the workings of my soul do not deny the divinity of their origin. In the end, everything we know is subjective, and conversion is a wholly personal experience, the reality thereof made manifest only to the individual.

“You Took No Thought Save it Was to Ask” – An LDS Defense of the Value of Theology

jacobdhawken@gmail.com (Jake) — Sun, 21 Oct 2007 00:06:00 +0000

As a culture, Mormons are very protective of their spiritual well-being, and try to distance themselves from even the most distant cognates of those things they are taught to eschew. For example, Mormons tend to avoid debate in order to avoid contention, because “contention… is of the devil” (3 Nephi 11:29). As is the case with “debate,” many terms and concepts which are not intrinsically negative are nonetheless avoided by a wide berth. One such term is “theology.”

Many Mormons grow suspicious of sophistry, false doctrine and pseudo-intellectualism when theology is presented as a viable means of understanding God. A significant percentage would go so far as to say that in a church led by direct revelation through prophets and apostles, there’s no place for such a study. The problem with this mindset, however, is twofold. Firstly, it is fueled mainly by fear, and an irrational approach to faith in God. Secondly, in-depth analysis of doctrines and their implications is not merely un-sinful, but it is the methodology that the Lord Himself prescribes.

In the spring of 1829, while acting as amanuensis for Joseph Smith as the prophet translated the Book of Mormon, Oliver Cowdery requested the opportunity to try his hand at translation. He was given permission, but his attempt was unsuccessful. Subsequent to his resultant frustration, the Lord admonished Oliver, “Behold, you have not understood; you have supposed that I would give it unto you, when you took no thought save it was to ask me” (D&C 9:7).

It was a lack of study, forethought and extended pondering that prevented Oliver from achieving his potential. Consequently, he was put back in his place as scribe, and promised further opportunity later on when he had better learned the revelatory method. What he didn’t have at that point which he would have later, was a prepared mind. He had not searched and pondered the given topic, exhausted his own faculties, or come to a conclusion on his own. He had not studied any other ancient languages, nor had he asked the prophet to tutor him. He had merely asked to be told what to write.

Our history as a people is abounding in examples of deep, complex struggles with the fundamental elements of our religion. It was not the avoidance of these difficult issues that brought us the light of the restored gospel, but the direct, head-on confrontation and scrutiny thereof. The LDS people would therefore benefit greatly from a systematic study of our own theological underpinnings, guided by prayer and inspiration.

Safety vs. the Status Quo

The need to beware of the deceptions of the world is prolifically declared throughout the standard works of the church. Many Mormons take these admonitions to the extreme, cloistering themselves from anything that is not explicitly stated in the scriptures in boldface letters and blinking lights. As a result, the attitude that all that we need to know is written clearly on the page and spoken unequivocally over the pulpit at General Conference, has gained increasing prevalence as a “conventional wisdom” in Mormon culture. This approach however, has several fatal flaws.

First of all, this attitude leads us to believe we have a “safe zone” where we can let our spiritual guard down. When it was revealed to Joseph Smith that wine was no longer to be used in the sacrament, a cautionary message was given to all who would seek truth in this ever-changing world. “Stand, therefore,” warned the Lord, “having your loins girt about with truth, having on the breastplate of righteousness, and your feet shod with the preparation of the gospel of peace” (D&C 27:17). The imagery of having one’s “loins girt” is a reference to keeping one’s guard up in times of war. It is to invoke in the reader the firm fact that an enemy gives no thought to why one’s guard is down before attacking; only that the enemy will invariably attack all weaknesses. The Lord uses this precise image throughout the scriptures with reference to the disciples’ focus upon the truths they had been given. It was said first to the children of Israel in Egypt as the Lord instituted the Passover, a tool by which they were to remember him. It follows then, that Latter-Day Saints are to constantly be aware of the information they are assimilating, no matter the source. The tone of the Lord’s warning also reminds us that there is no such thing as spiritual stagnancy. If the Lord saw fit to say the same thing in Moses’ time as in Joseph’s, we can reasonably assume that we must always keep our “loins girt about with truth . . . and [our] feet shod with the preparation of the gospel.”

Secondly, the doctrines of the LDS religion are clear in reminding us that at no point in mortality will we ever have ‘arrived,’ as “this life [is] a probationary state; a time to prepare to meet God” (Alma 12:24). This was the flaw of the Pharisees and Sadducees. They felt that their wisdom and genealogy guaranteed them a spot in heaven. In response to this stagnant disposition, Christ warned them of the impartial, eternal laws of justice, warning that “the axe is laid unto the root of the trees: therefore every tree which bringeth not forth good fruit is hewn down” (Matt. 3:9, italics added). Thus, in light of LDS scripture, the disciple is to always be seeking knowledge, and to be a free agent in determining the truth thereof.

Thirdly, this mindset denies the importance of the truths that are not taught explicitly. “Men are in the habit,” taught Joseph Smith, “when the truth is exhibited by the servants of God, of saying, All is mystery; they have spoken in parables, and, therefore, are not to be understood” (TPJS, p. 96). The attitude of avoiding every doctrine that is not spoon-fed, is the antithesis of the teachings of the prophet Joseph Smith. In response to questions regarding the Mormons’ untraditional beliefs, Joseph taught that, “One of the grand fundamental principles of ‘Mormonism’ is to receive truth, let it come from whence it may” (TPJS, pg. 313, italics added).

Fourthly, this point of view demonstrates a greater portion of fear and a lesser portion of faith in its proponents. In his seminal essay “The Will to Believe,” William James taught that the main difference between the scientific mindset and the religious mindset is what they value more in their parallel pursuits of truth. James asserts that the two main directives of truth-seeking – that “We must know truth; and we must avoid error” – are not the same thing said two different ways, but indeed “they are two separable laws” (TWTB, p.15). We can believe everything, and as a result we will believe many lies. We can deny everything, and as a result we will espouse no truth. Every person’s belief system has a balance of these two assertions, the individual deciding which of them is more important. In general, the scientific mindset values the avoidance of error most, while the religious mindset values higher knowledge of truth. Thus, we can say that the religious mindset is marked by a hope for truth, while the scientific mindset is marked by a fear of error. It would appear then, that this disposition to fearing lies is fundamentally atheistic and irreligious.

Simple faith, as B.H. Roberts once stated, is different from informed faith. One begins with simple faith, which is based on some sort of interaction with the Holy Spirit, or with a representative of the Gospel. What then happens is that one learns the doctrine and the particulars of that truth in which their faith is rooted (The Mormon Doctrine of Deity, Foreword). This is the knowledgeable faith that Joseph Smith deemed necessary for salvation. Said he, “It is impossible for a man to be saved in ignorance” (D&C 131:6)

Slothful Servitude vs. Active Agency

In response to Saints in Missouri asking for instructions specific to them, the prophet Joseph Smith received a revelation in which the Lord stated that “it is not meet that I should command in all things; for he that is compelled in all things, the same is a slothful and not a wise servant; wherefore he receiveth no reward” (D&C 58:26). This statement speaks of the importance of thinking for one’s self. One can be an “active” member of the church and still not follow this commandment. This commandment is broken in expecting the commandments and doctrines of the Lord to be spoon-fed to us in the most simplistic, introductory language. Paul would say that this is a sin of desiring only milk and never meat (1 Cor. 3:2).

It is slothful then, to put no personal thought into one’s beliefs. The gospel is centered on the agency of individuals, and that agency is thrown to the wind with the expectation of a spoon-fed religion. It makes one’s religion into a spectator sport. I bat not an eyelash and skip not a beat in saying that this mindless approach to religion is tantamount to idolatry.

As Jesus Christ, Joseph Smith, and even William James pointed out, the true measure of a religion is its fruits. I would take it a step farther to say that the true measure of any belief is its fruits, and that if there are no fruits, the belief is not actually a held belief. What I mean by this, is that in Mormon culture, there seems to be a growing duplicity in belief, between what I call Intellectual Beliefs and Pragmatic Beliefs. Intellectual Beliefs are those things taught in the LDS canon which a member accepts on principle, as they are taught in their prescribed texts. Their Pragmatic Beliefs are the beliefs upon which they function on a day-to-day basis. If one were to truly believe their religion, we would suppose that these two belief systems would be identical. Sadly there seems to be a growing divide between the two in Mormon culture.

Mormon theologian Sterling M. McMurrin stated that Mormons tend to move “somewhat ambiguously between the emotionally satisfying… traditional theism and… the pragmatic character of their daily faith” (TFMR, p. 29). Many Mormons tend to intellectually reject the absolutistic God of classical theism who created the world ex nihilo, but embrace that same God pragmatically as their words and works demonstrate the assumption that God can do anything logically possible. Mormon scriptures vigorously and energetically affirm the doctrine of justification by faith, but the fruits of the actions of many Mormons bespeak a belief in salvation by works alone. Mormons profess a belief in the Doctrine and Covenants, which states that “there is no such thing as immaterial matter . . . it is all matter” (D&C 131:7-8), yet often the mind of man is still discussed as an immaterial entity, and a Hellenistic repugnance of all things physical is made manifest.

The reason that this duplicitous belief system exists is because many are content to know the “Sunday School” answer to every religious question and seek no further. Having a superficial knowledge of these principles allows the dichotomy of one’s faith to occur. If more Mormons sought to systematically study their religion’s theological underpinnings, these unintentionally two-faced belief systems would never exist. As McMurrin repeatedly asserts, Mormons “have often railed to recognize the strength of their own position and have, therefore, neglected to grasp and appreciate the full meaning of its implications” (The Theological Foundations of the Mormon Religion, p. 29). This is a clear explanation of the problem.

What proponents of the anti-theology point of view fail to realize is that it is in the pondering of the finer points of doctrine that those doctrines become real to us. Personal testimony is forged and conversion occurs when a gospel principle goes from being something you accept and believe intellectually, to something you understand and adhere to practically.

Many Mormons casually dismiss the concerns of the rest of the Christian world, since LDS doctrines resolve their concerns. But dismissing concerns is not the same as resolving concerns. There is no such thing as an invalid concern, only a resolvable one. It is a common Mormon argument at this point to state that since the conundrums of classical theology do not apply to their belief system, they need not be acquainted with them. The problem with this attitude is that in practice, it flies directly in the face of the campaign of the prophet Spencer W. Kimball –which Mormons at least intellectually accept – that “every member [be] a missionary.” How are the Saints to address the concerns of their Catholic and Protestant neighbors if they do not know the general problems of classical theology and the solidity of their own? The Protestants’ concerns are very real to them, and Mormons portray an air of haughtiness and arrogance in their casual disregard. No Mormon can be a true advocate and ambassador of the restored gospel if they take no time to understand the intricate, interlocking doctrines of their own faith and those of their neighbors.

A word that is used all too prolifically by Mormons is “deep doctrine.” Whenever something beyond what is explicitly written on the page is discussed, it is inevitable that somebody will dismiss the topic, saying, “Well, that is just deep doctrine.” Apparently it is wrong to seek knowledge that isn’t “shallow.” Frighteningly, the term is typically used concerning topics such as the nature of God, the identity of Man and the eternal laws of existence. These are the fundamental doctrines of the LDS religion! Dismissing them and avoiding them will deny us of our salvation, because we cannot be saved in ignorance of them.

Taking this a step further, I would say that it is not only proper to seek out these doctrines and understand their doctrinal contexts, but that it is essential. Indeed, it is the order of heaven.

The Order of Heaven

When Oliver tried to translate, his mistake was in skipping the first and largest step crucial to receiving revelation of the Lord. What he did not understand is that information precedes inspiration. “But, behold, I say unto you,” declared the Lord to Oliver, “that you must study it out in your mind; then you must ask me if it be right” (D&C 9:8, italics added). This is to be the longest step in the process. The study and pondering and forging of conclusions is to be labored over to the greatest capacities with which our minds have been endowed. Only after we have forged our own conclusions are we to bring it before the Lord. It is a slothful servant who goes to the Lord expecting a handout, before first having done any work of their own. The word “ponder” implies that we are filling in the gaps in our faith as best we can, taking the least liberties. Before one is ever to receive revelation, they are to first come to their own conclusion, and then “ask [The Lord] if it be right.”

If accepting doctrine at face value and asking no questions about the particulars is the correct way, then Joseph Smith disobeyed this convention in challenging the authority of the religious pastors in Palmyra. Of course, the instant Mormon response is that those men did not have the authority of God, but how was Joseph to know that? What I’m saying is that the prophet Joseph Smith would never have become the prophet Joseph Smith had he not read between the lines and sought for the doctrines of the gospel to make sense in his mind. It is further worthy of note that he labored with his theology for an enormous amount of time before eventually praying to know the truth.

Nephi did not passively accept superficial beliefs either. He also was a true theologian. It is worthy to note that when the Spirit of the Lord revealed the understanding of his father’s vision to him, Nephi had “sat pondering in [his] heart” the things his father had spoken (1 Nephi 11:1). He was exerting strenuous mental and spiritual effort before the truth was revealed.

Spencer W. Kimball followed this same method. It was not until “after extended meditation” that President Kimball’s prayers concerning those from whom the priesthood was withheld, that it was revealed to him that the priesthood was to be extended to all worthy male members of the church (Official Declaration 2). He did not casually or even fervently approach God in prayer until he had first struggled heavily with the topic in his own mind.

The scriptures and the history of the church are replete with examples of this principle, yet many have disconnected their minds from their faith. The scriptures are clear that neither our hearts nor our minds alone bear the burden of supporting our faith. I repeat again the words of the prophet Joseph Smith that “it is impossible for a man to be saved in ignorance.” Knowledge, and the systematic assimilation thereof, is absolutely indispensable to our salvation.

Finally, many Mormons argue that the “open canon” makes theology invalid. They argue that since there is not a closed cannon of scripture, inference is worthless, because tomorrow something may be revealed that will prove that inference wrong. To this argument, I first pose a question. Is this what causes so many to eschew theology? Fear of looking silly?

The main problem with this mindset is that Latter-Day Saints are expected to do the best with that light they have been given. Sterling McMurrin stated that “[t]he primary task of theology is to reconcile the revelation to the culture, to make what is taken on faith as the word of God meaningful in the light of accepted science and philosophy” (TFMR, p. 47). By this definition, everyone who truly believes in God and is alive is already involved in some sort of theology no matter what they do, constantly squaring what they believe with what they experience. Then oughtn’t we to be consciously directing that pursuit, that we be not deceived?

Furthermore, this once again reeks of the duplicity of intellectual versus pragmatic beliefs. Intellectually, the Mormon people declare that they have an open cannon and that the Lord makes new truth know to them, but confronted with a methodical study of their beliefs, the attitude of far too many screams, “A Bible! A Bible! We have got a Bible, and there cannot be any more Bible” (2 Nephi 29:3). If this was wrong in Joseph Smith’s day, why is right today?

In the end, all can benefit from the study of our own theology; in pondering deeply, and studying systematically, the doctrines of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. This active study protects us from spiritual stagnancy and false doctrine. It is required of us to be a true disciple. It is the founding principle of revelation. Would to God that all men would know their religion, actively believe their religion, and declare it to the world with confidence and authority.

Dissolution vs. Resolution: An Examination of Abraham Heschel's Religious Typologies

jacobdhawken@gmail.com (Jake) — Sun, 09 Sep 2007 17:16:00 +0000

It would be easy, at first cursory glance, to group monastic Eastern mysticism, fashionable, modern, Western mysticism (e.g. Kabballah), and the orgiastic cults of past centuries with the prophets of the Bible. To do so, however, would demonstrate a gross ignorance of even the most basic tenets of at least one – if not both – of the two groups. Sadly, this amalgamation happens quite often. In an essay entitled “An Examination of the Theory of Ecstasy,” Abraham Heschel set forth a list of typologies comparing and contrasting the prophets with their mystic counterparts (Abraham J. Heschel, The Prophets, 351-364). Heschel’s stance is far from the purported claims of many scholars, which tacitly assume “that the experiences of the prophets are of the same kind as those of the orgiastic cults in many primitive societies” (Heschel, p. 351). It is clear, examining his observations, that the events purported by the two categories could not possibly be experiences of the same divine reality.

Heschel's Typologies

The twofold taxonomy presented by Heschel is divided into subcategories, typifying, by tenet, the basic standpoints of the two groups. His typologies can be divided into eight categories: frenzy, oneness, dissolution of identity, self-induction, noetic properties, ineffability, privacy, and purpose.

Historically, mystics have demonstrated a penchant for frenzy and feverish tantrums in their ceremonies. This immediately sets them apart from the prophets. Heschel cites the example of Elijah’s confrontation with the priests of Baal (1 Kings 18). The priests of Baal wail and mutilate their bodies, and Elijah calmly approaches the God of Abraham in reverent prayer (1 Kings 18:26-29, 36). This is a classic example of the frenetic differences between the two. Likewise, Heschel also notes that in most ecstatic cults contemporary to the Biblical prophets, intoxication is glorified as a religious rite, whereas the prophets denounce drunkenness and the like.

With experience, rather than doctrines, as their principal reference point, mystics generally desire most of all to become one with God, or some sort of divine consciousness (Heschel, p. 355). Though quite common among orgiastic cults and polytheistic traditions of their time, “such a thirst to become one with a God . . . is alien to the biblical man” (Heschel, p. 356). An eternal duality is present in the writings of the prophets in their relationship to God, and any “oneness” implied by their writings is that of a united purpose, not a singular consciousness.

Directly resulting from their desire to amalgamate themselves with God comes a deprecation of identity, and a desire to dissolve. The mystic sees self-extinction as a prerequisite for supernatural receptivity (Heschel, p. 357). This dissolution of identity is not found among the prophets. A resolution of one’s motives and actions is almost always a direct result of prophetic contact with the divine, but the “prophetic personality, far from being dissolved, is intensely present and fervently involved in what he perceives” (Heschel, p. 357). In the end, the two are exact opposites with regard to consciousness and identity. Heschel notes that while “the ecstatic disregards consciousness in order to enrich the self, the prophet disregards the self and enriches his consciousness” (Heschel, p. 360).

Prophetic and mystical experiences come about in considerably different circumstances. As previously mentioned, ecstatic rites are often performed in a state of frenzy. Mystical experiences are always self-induced. Communication from the Divine comes as it chooses, however, with regard to the biblical prophets. Heschel even goes as far as to say that it comes against the will of the prophet (Heschel, p. 358).

Perhaps the largest and most significant difference between the mystical and the prophetic is the noetic character of the encounter. A mystical experience is simply an experience. Heschel states that “The noetic character of prophecy is reflected in most of its aspects. Its message had to be relevant to the contemporary situation and capable of changing the minds of those who held the power to change the situation” (Heschel, p. 360). There is a distinct understanding of a teacher-student relationship as opposed to the proverbial raindrop falling into the boundless ocean.

Directly related to this is the ineffability of ecstasy. It cannot be explained because it “is a stirring of the soul rather than an engagement of the mind” (Heschel, p. 360). Prophecy though, is worthless without being expressed thereafter (Heschel, p. 361). It becomes worthy of note that mystics contribute but little to man’s body of knowledge. “The habit of the mystic,” notes Heschel, “is to conceal; the mission of the prophet is to reveal” (Heschel, p. 361).

Mystical experience, as a rule, is an intensely private matter. Eastern religions are a perfect example of this with meditation, self-denial and their tendency toward the cloister mentality of spirituality. “The prophet [however] is nothing without his people” (Heschel, p. 362). Prophecy is not intended to be for the sole benefit of the prophet, and is often a very public occurrence.

Their distinct natures lead us then to their purposes. The two seek to achieve significantly different goals. For the mystic, ecstasy is an end in and of itself, but “the prophetic act is a means to an end” (Heschel, p. 362, italics added). The point of the prophet’s experience with the Divine is to convey information to the people. The mystic, however seeks ecstasy and nothing further. He does not seek to gain applicable information from the experience, as the conscious state is seen as reprehensible in comparison, and thus obtains nothing further than the experience itself. There is information conveyed in the prophetic act, whereas “ecstasy leaves behind a memory of a moment that cannot be put into words” (Heschel, p. 362). Ultimately, the mystics seek experiences for their personal enlightenment, while the prophets seek information for public dissemination. “Mystical illumination,” explains Heschel, “is its own fulfillment; prophecy points beyond itself” (Heschel, p. 361).

Mutually Exclusive Realities

Heschel’s typologies go to great lengths to illustrate the definite separation between the means, practices and understanding of the two groups. The ramifications of this discrepancy are that they could not possibly be experiences of the same divine reality. One need not even assume that either of the two is a true communion with the divine to determine that the two are mutually exclusive descriptions.

Heschel treats this in detail:

If we felt obliged to accept the hypothesis of an ecstatic consciousness in the prophet, we should have to imagine in him an improbable double life, yielding both the articulated, comprehensible contents of his discourses as well as unconscious, mystical, ecstatic experiences. This dualism would be so much more difficult to understand since the prophetic discourses, utterly dissimilar as they are to the experiences, would have to spring from ecstasy. (Heschel, p. 361)

The claims of the two groups regarding the nature of God are radically incompatible. The mystic defines God as a vast consciousness within which he can be dissolved or incorporated; a point of view but not a presence. The prophet defines God as a distinct, individual being, who wishes to communicate information to mankind in an austere, straightforward manner. Their descriptions of the very nature of the Divine are so immensely incongruent that one could never hope to reconcile them. There is no way to square any biblical account of a prophetic theophany with the idea that the Divine is not a singular being. “In all forms of prophetic experience,” explains Heschel, “the content, the word, proceeds from a personal Inspirer rather than from the mysterious Unknown” (Heschel, p. 365).

It would seem reasonable for a proponent of the mystic view of the Divine to assume that there would be a uniform understanding communicated from all mystical experiences. After all, ecstasy is, by definition, dissolution of singular identity, and incorporation, however temporary, into the divine consciousness. The heretofore mentioned noetic character of the experiences differs considerably between the two groups. There is a seeming adoration for the inexplicable and incomprehensible among mystics. As a result, the information conveyed is vague, whereas the prophets receive plain, straightforward understanding of spiritual principles. It becomes apparent that mystics view truth as something arbitrary and regard it somewhat ambivalently. Not so with the prophets. The biblical man sees truth as concrete and immutable, as it has proceeded forth from the mouth of God. How would it be possible, if the two groups are the same, that the prophetic view remained constant during centuries of dogmatic shift among their mystic contemporaries? It would be unreasonable to assume that God would reveal conflicting truths regarding his character simultaneously to two different groups.

Objections

A proponent of the theory of ecstasy would be out of character however, if he were not to argue that these are all hallucinatory or autosuggestive experiences, interpreted in the context of their cultural backgrounds. This exposes a naturalistic bias, however, tacitly assuming from the beginning that neither group is describing a true experience with the Divine. This would be a dead end road, in the context of Heschel’s typologies. By definition, it is a moot point, because this is “an issue the truth of which lies beyond the grasp of scientific inquiry” (Heschel, p. 352).

One might further argue then, assuming the existence of the Divine, that God is revealing himself differently to different cultures and societies. This, however, assumes that God has a will and decides how to reveal himself, instead of incorporating all experients into his omniscient consciousness. Thus, it would support the prophetic view of God’s nature as a singular being with a distinct will. Moreover, it would be unlikely, as previously stated, that God would reveal stark contradictions of reality to his constituents.

It is apparent, in light of the contradictory nature of mystic and prophetic experiences, that they are mutually exclusive. God, generally described by both groups to be perfect and omniscient would, by definition, be loath to contradict Himself. We can conclude therefore, that true or false as either of them may be, they are not experiences of the same divine reality.

One Eternal Round: A Possible LDS Perspective on Divine Timelessness

jacobdhawken@gmail.com (Jake) — Thu, 30 Aug 2007 01:15:00 +0000

Being human, and therefore mortal, renders certain aspects of the nature of God somewhat ambiguous, if not completely ineffable. Among the more perplexing qualities of God is his relationship, or lack thereof, to time. Did God create time? Is time self-existent? Does time apply to God? Does God exist within or outside of time?

"I am God, and there is none else;" the Lord says, "I am God, and there is none like me, Declaring the end from the beginning, and from ancient times the things that are not yet done, saying, My counsel shall stand, and I will do all my pleasure" (Isaiah 46:9-10).

Interpretation of passages such as this varies between theologians. Some, such as the Calvinists, say that God simply knows beforehand everything that will happen, taking a deterministic view of mortal life and its eventual result. Others say that God doesn't know the future, because words like "future" are only applicable from the perspective of one who lives within time, which, they purport, God does not.

Latter-day Saint theology sheds an interesting light on the subject. In a revelation given to Joseph Smith, the Lord declares himself to be "Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end, whose course is one eternal round, the same today as yesterday, and forever" (Doctrine and Covenants 35:1). The general language of this verse bespeaks a certain amount of subjectivity with regard to time. Most interesting though, is the phrase "one eternal round," which seems to imply something other than our traditional, linear understanding of time.

Sempiternity vs. Timelessness

Traditionally, there have been two basic philosophical schools of thought on the subject of God’s relation to time. There are those who favor the view of a temporally eternal, or "sempiternal," God. That is, a God who has always existed and will always exist, but does so within the realm of linear time. The other school of thought is that of a timelessly eternal God. This view states that God exists outside of time and is completely independent thereof.

Sempiternity, as explained by Hugh McCann, states that God “is located within time, and subject to the restrictions of tense and temporal passage. So like us, he has a history and a future. . . He always was, is now, and always will be.” A sempiternalist would argue that God has temporal duration, temporal location, and can be described using temporal terminology (i.e. “before,” “shall” and “during”). Sempiternity also states that God’s temporal duration is endless, and that his temporal location, though within the context of linear time, encompasses the whole scope and scale thereof. Thus, a sempiternalist would interpret the aforementioned passage from Isaiah as a description of God’s divine foreknowledge and future intentions.

Divine timelessness, however states that God has no temporal duration or location, and temporal relations do not apply to him. He is self-existent, independent of the restrictions of temporal passage. His declarations concerning what we would call “future” events are not a forward-looking description, but a description of what He sees just as “presently” as he sees everything else. McCann states that God sees everything “in a single, timeless act of awareness that encompasses all of heaven and earth, in its complete history.”

These two understandings of God’s relationship to time, though pragmatically similar with regard to most other religious topics, have very different implications when examined closely. A God who is sempiternal, for example, either has divine foreknowledge, knowing the future before it happens, or only knows possibilities, like a chess player. The former would imply a deterministic view of free will and mortal life. The latter denies complete omniscience on the part of God, and seems to contradict scriptural passages such as the one previously mentioned. A God who is timeless, on the other hand, implies that God’s knowledge of future events is not “foreknowledge.” He sees what we refer to as “past,” “present,” and “future” all at once, distinctions between the three being not only irrelevant but nonexistent. These two different conceptions, though superficially similar, proffer vastly different conclusions.

Divine timelessness seems, in the context of science, scripture and ontology, to be the stronger of the two views. As in the previous example, the view of a timeless God seems to explain more of God’s nature, and resolve more putative contradictions than that of a sempiternal God.

Relative or Irrelevant?

At the turn of the century, Albert Einstein introduced a concept known as the theory of relativity. The theory of relativity states that for a body approaching the speed of light, time slows down and space contracts. This implies that if, theoretically, one achieved the speed of light, everywhere would be “here” and all time would be “now”. Scripture consistently refers to God as a being of light and glory. The theological ramifications of the theory of relativity seem to be that it is not only logically possible put physically probable for time to be not merely relative but completely irrelevant for a theoretical “being of light”. That is to say that for such a being, all time would be “present.”

The apostle Peter states “that one day is with the Lord as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day” (2 Peter 3:8). Now, it is easy to regard this verse as a mere mathematical statement equating a thousand years for men with one day for God. Upon closer analysis though, it becomes apparent that this is a more complex analogy. “One day is with the Lord as a thousand years”, implies that one of our days is as a thousand years to the Lord; “and a thousand years as one day”, implies that a thousand of our years is as one day to the Lord. Now, these are apparently contradictory statements implying two completely different extremes of relation between the two perspectives. When looked at it in the context of a temporally omnipresent God, it would seem that this is symbolism for such a being’s unbounded relativity of perspective.

Latter-day Saint doctrine further substantiates this conception of God. In the Book of Mormon, the prophet Alma explains to his son Corianton that “all is as one day with God, and time is only measured unto men” (Alma 40:8). Time, it would seem is not an actually existent mechanism, but a mortal perception. In items of instruction the prophet Joseph Smith gave in Ramus, Illinois, he taught that “past, present, and future . . . are continually before the Lord” (Doctrine and Covenants 130:7). This perfectly compliments McCann’s statement of God seeing everything in “a single, timeless act of awareness that encompasses all . . . history.”

The apparent agreement between LDS theology and the theory of relativity is supported also by the doctrines of omniscience and omnipresence. Throughout the scriptures, we have read statements such as “He comprehendeth all things, and all things are before him, and all things are round about him; and he is above all things, and in all things, and is through all things, and is round about all things” (Doctrine and Covenants 88:41, italics added). This may be more literal than most people interpret it. Our spiritual theory of relativity implies that a theoretical being of light would not only be everywhere at once temporally, but also spatially. This temporal and spatial omnipresence would give infinite perspective on everything in existence. Everything could be seen from any angle and any point of time, in any duration.

Objections to Timelessness

A common argument against the perspective of divine timelessness is the preponderance of temporal terminology throughout the scriptures. McCann even admits when advocating divine timelessness that scripture “it is fair to say, leans heavily in the opposite direction.” Ostensibly, phrases like “in the beginning” and “times that are not yet done” seem to denote a sempiternal God. However, we must understand what scriptural books like the Holy Bible are, in order to confront this issue.Mortal as we are, we do not have the omniscient capacities that God has. Thus, scripture is written in the language of men, for the understanding of men. Mortal men are not capable of fully understanding the concept of timeless eternity, thus God speaks to men on their terms. He speaks to us on the terms of what we are able to perceive. To do any more than that would be a pointless endeavor on the part of the divine.

Another objection is an ontological one. Anthony Kenny posits that “the whole concept of a timeless eternity . . . seems to be radically incoherent.” Indeed, when understood from a temporal point of view, it appears to be so. Kenny states, “If A happens at the same time as B, and B happens at the same time as C, then A happens at the same time as C. . . Therefore, while I type these very words, Nero fiddles heartlessly on.” The mistake of this understanding of the concept of timelessness is that it insists on understanding it from a linear perspective. If God sees the whole of your life from your birth, till the moment you read this, till the day you die in once glance, it is not because they are all on top of each other temporally, it’s because there is no time whatsoever. We perceive things sequentially, whereas God does not have to. He can see it all in one glance as we see a painting all in one glance. We do not have to look at each molecule of the painting one at a time. We glance, and we see it all.One final argument that confronts timelessness is that of the creation. Stephen Davis argues that “a being that performs some action at a certain point in time is temporal. . . If God creates a given temporal thing, then God’s act of creation is itself temporal.” Once again, this is trying to disprove timelessness using temporal understanding, thus functioning under the assumption that timelessness is false. Manipulating things within his creations then is not a temporal act. Just as one who makes a quilt can pull a string at this end or that, God can touch any point in time within His creation and set natural events in motion. If God is infinitely relative with regard to time and space, then time is no different to him than space is, thus he can freely move within it.

Furthermore, I would postulate that time is not something that God manipulates. If, as I have heretofore posited, time does not even exist as anything but a manner of perception, then this is a moot point. God’s creation of something at point A would not mean that he did it before point B, but merely that he did it at point A. Imagine life as a large mesh of overlapping threads making a tapestry. When the one pulls a thread at one end, it affects the rest of the pattern on the loom, and likewise at the opposite end. If we are pulling a string at its far right end, does it mean we can no longer pull at its left? No, one is manipulating the whole tapestry from a position outside of it.I do not claim then, that it is necessarily true that time does not exist, but that it timelessness is a logical possibility. It is not logically incoherent to say that God is thus. In fact, given the assumption that God does indeed exist, if we are to believe in His omniscience and omnipresence, it seems logical to function under the assumption of at least a temporally irrelevant God. I do not discount the possibility even of God having his own realm of time independent of ours. What seems to be irrefutable given scripture and ontology alone, is that God does not perceive and function within time in the same manner as we understand it as mortal beings.

On False Premises: An LDS Critique of the Problem of Evil

jacobdhawken@gmail.com (Jake) — Wed, 29 Aug 2007 16:25:00 +0000

Few questions have furrowed the brows of Christian theologians more than that which was first set forth by the ancient Greek philosopher Epicurus. Of God, regarding state of the world in which we live, Epicurus asked, "Is he willing to prevent evil, but not able? Then he is impotent. Is he able, but not willing? Then he is malevolent. Is he both able and willing? Whence then is evil?" As set forth by Epicurus, the argument is fairly weak in the Christian realm, because it is based on his dogma that the standard by which the good or evil of a given thing is measured is the relative amount of pleasure or pain one derives from it. This however, does not fully discredit his question. Though there is a discrepancy here in what constitutes "evil," few Christians would argue that there is none of it in the world. Epicurus still stands to be answered. Whence is evil? Why, in the face of an all-powerful, all-loving God, does evil exist?

The logical problem of evil becomes even more challenging to Christian theologians as set forth by David Hume (in his book, Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion). Hume puts this argument in the context of traditional Christian tenets relating to the nature of God, namely His omnipotence, perfect embodiment of any and all virtue, and His creation of the universe ex nihilo. To summarize, his argument is such:

God exists, is omnipotent, perfectly good (that is to say that God possesses in the exemplary form, every virtue), and created all things ex nihilo.
Evils occur.
A perfectly good being prevents all the evil it can.
An omnipotent being can bring about any state of affairs.
Hence, evils are prevented (1)(3)(4).
Thus, evils occur and all evils are prevented.

The understood implication of Hume's sixth premise is the logical impossibility of God's existence. Given the traditional Christian definition of God, regarding his omnipotence and perfect virtuosity, the existence of evil seems to logically disprove the existence of God.

Indeed, Hume's demonstration of the problem of evil is logically sound. The theological tenets of traditional Christianity seem to serve to their own logical nullification. In addition to this problem's affront to God's omnipotence and divine virtue, it also calls into question God's role in the existence of evil itself. If God created all things ex nihilo, it follows that He created the individual wills of the beings he created. It stands to reason then that He is an accessory before the fact to all evil perpetrated by his creations, He being the initial cause.

The argument is valid, so if we assume that God truly does exist, the problem must be in the premises. The god that this argument disproves is the god that Christian theologians have ontologically set forth over the centuries. This god, however, is the god of Hellenized Christianity and the god of philosophers, not the God of the Bible. Only in Hellenistic thought do we see the origins of this idea of God. William James goes as far as to call it, "a metaphysical monster which they offer to our worship . . . an absolutely worthless invention of the scholarly mind" (from The Varieties of Religious Experience, by William James).

If God truly exists then, His nature cannot be what is described in the first premise of Hume's argument, seeing as that god is a logically impossible being. This necessitates a revitalizing of the premises. The Prophet Joseph Smith revealed many doctrines which counter the first premises of the problem of evil. Indeed, in the face of Latter-Day Saint doctrines, the problem of evil dissolves completely.

Redefining "Omnipotence"

Traditionally, Christian philosophers and subsequently the rest of the Christian world have defined omnipotence as being able to do anything that is logically possible. Some have argued that He is not even bound by logical possibility.

LDS doctrine gives us a completely different understanding of omnipotence. The Book of Mormon is the only scriptural book in Christianity which claims that God's omnipotence is law-bound. In fact, Alma is audacious enough to claim that if God were to violate law, "the works of justice would be destroyed, and God would cease to be God" (Alma 42:22). By this we can infer that if a law has the power to dethrone God, that that law exists independent of God.

Though this alone does not serve to completely disarm the problem of evil, it does demonstrate that there may be processes and laws at work beyond our knowledge or comprehension, and shows that the problem of evil is not necessarily true. Why certain evils are allowed to occur may be a function of the laws God must obey.

Creation Ex Nihilo vs. Divine Organization

The LDS doctrine which threatens the problem of evil the most is the rejection of creation ex nihilo. This was not originally a Christian belief, but instead was introduced as such around 200 A.D. by Theophilus of Antioch and later added to by Bishop Irenaeus of Lyons. Traditional dogma states that God himself is the only uncreated thing in existence. Everything else was created out of nothing, and is completely contingent on God for its existence in any form it might hold.

This is yet another aspect of deity in which LDS doctrines completely disagree with orthodox Christianity. In Joseph Smith's famous "King Follet Discourse," a sermon he gave at the funeral of a man name King follet, he provides a completely different description of the creation process. Refuting ex nihilo, Joseph informs us that "God had materials to organize the world out of chaos chaotic matter. . . Element had an existence from the time he had. . . [Matter] had no beginning, and can have no end" (from Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith, complied by Joseph Fielding Smith). Not only does he claim that God did not create all matter out of nothing, but that it also exists co-eternally with God.

In the same sermon, Joseph Smith teaches a similar principle concerning the immortal spirit of man. Says he,
"We say that God himself is a self-existent being. . . Who told you that man did not exist in like manner upon the same principles? Man does exist upon the same principles. . .The mind or the intelligence which man possesses is co-equal with God himself. . . The intelligence of spirits had no beginning, neither will it have an end."

In addition to the matter from which God's creations are made, the wills which govern the souls of men are also coeternal with God. What effect does this have then, on the problem of evil?

The conundrum of God being an accessory before the fact to the world's evils is effectively dissolved with the removal of ex nihilo creation and the substitution of co-eternal matter and intelligence. If the intelligence that governs the soul of man was not created by God and indeed has always existed then God is not responsible for its moral makeup.

One might argue, however that the mere fact of him not being an accessory before the fact to the evil in the world, does not explain why a perfectly benevolent God does not intercede to stop the evil when it does happen. True, the removal of ex nihilo creation does not solve this problem, but it can be explained by the nature of God's purposes in putting us here.

Opposition and the Soul-Making Theodicy

English philosopher John Hick explains that part of becoming who God would have us become involves our free will and the unhindered exercise thereof. What he calls the "second stage" of God's creative process is a procedure which
"cannot be performed by omnipotent power as such. For personal life is essentially free and self-directing. It cannot be perfected by divine fiat, but only through the uncompelled reponses and willing co-operation of human individuals in their actions and reactions in the world in which God has placed them" (from Evil and the God of Love, by John Hick, 1966).

God's plan for us, which is ultimately for our greatest good, involves us making choices, of our own volition, to turn toward him. For this to be accomplished, God must be, at least to some degree, laissez-faire in his dealings with men. In order for men to become what he wants, he has to interfere as little as possible; and in order for men to be able to freely choose him, they have to be deprived of the memory of their pre-mortal existence.

In the Book of Mormon, the prophet Lehi teaches his son Jacob that
"It must needs be, that there is an opposition in all things. If not so, my first-born in the wilderness, righteousness could not be brought to pass, neither wickedness, neither holiness nor misery, neither good nor bad. Wherefore, all things must needs be a compound in one; . . . Wherefore, it must needs have been created for a thing of naught; wherefore there would have been no purpose in the end of its creation" (2 Nephi 2:11-12).

There must be moral agency in order for the greatest good of man to be made possible. Lehi states the existence of righteousness is impossible without opposition. Considering a prophet of God is stating this impossibility, it stands to reason that this is one of the laws independent of God which he is bound to obey.

One might argue that this does not dismantle Epicurus' argument. In fact, it would be easy to say that this only creates an impotent, malevolent God. True, this does not protect the orthodox Christian god, but that is because this is a logically impossible god created by men. Instead, this dismisses the problem of evil, because it does not apply when one correctly defines omnipotence and creation. Indeed, given the existence of evil, the LDS definition of Deity is the only logically possible conception of God in the whole of Christendom. The God of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob and Joseph Smith is a God that is omnipotent endowed with the power to organize our universe; and perfectly benevolent providing us with every opportunity for us to become our greatest possible selves.

Truth In Design: An Examination of the Teleological Argument

jacobdhawken@gmail.com (Jake) — Wed, 29 Aug 2007 15:59:00 +0000

The first thing one confronts when examining philosophical arguments for the existence of God is confrontation itself. For every argument supporting God's existence, there are numerous proponents and detractors, from theists and atheists alike. For the casual observer or passionate pundit, the arguments become as anything else in life a personal judgment call. There are convincing arguments on both sides of every point of contention. One must determine for one's self which arguments are cogent, and which hold no sway.

On principle, arguments for the existence of God are a matter of apologetics. The theologian arguing for God's existence is doing so to either prove at least the possibility of the Divine to unbelievers, or to validate his own beliefs. I am inclined to agree with Immanuel Kant in respect of his belief that knowledge of God cannot be ascertained solely through reason. I do however believe that philosophy can if approached honestly and ambivalently by one with the capacity to understand help the mind and heart to be more fertile ground in which to sow the seeds of faith. Ultimately, deciding which of the arguments is the most convincing is a matter of determining which argument sets the table best for a theological meal one is expected to be able to swallow; that is, which one builds the best foundation for further theological belief. For me, that argument is the teleological argument.

The Teleological Argument for the Existence of God
Many Christian apologists have gained national and international attention in recent years for their insistence that "Intelligent Design" be taught in public schools alongside the theory of evolution. This is not a new idea. The Muslim philosopher Averroes discussed it in the 12th century, St. Thomas Aquinas argued it in the 13th, David Hume's character Cleanthes argued for it in the 18th century, and Richard Swinburne, among many others, has revitalized it in the 20th century. The reason, I believe, that this is a continually popular argument is because it speaks simultaneously to the reason and to individual experience. It sets at least a fair stage upon which belief in God can be presented.

As set forth by Hume's character Cleanthes an empirical theologian the teleological argument is an argument from analogy. He infers that since in instances where men make something for the purpose of achieving a certain end, we can see teleological order and evidence of design, then the universe itself which he argues has undeniable evidence of such must also have a creator. He concludes his analogy thusly:"The curious adapting of means to ends, throughout all nature, resembles exactly, though it much exceeds, the productions of human contrivance; of human designs, thought, wisdom, and intelligence. Since, therefore, the effects resemble each other, we are led to infer, by all the rules of analogy, that the causes also resemble; and that the Author of Nature is somewhat similar to the mind of man, though possessed of much larger faculties, proportioned to the grandeur of the work which he has executed" (from Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion, by David Hume).

Of Cleanthes' opponents, Demea, the orthodox believer, and Philo, the skeptic, it is Philo who points out that the argument is weakened by the fact that it relies on analogy; that being the weakest of inductive arguments. I am inclined to agree with Philo in this regard (and many others, surprisingly). In analogy, I find that one can reasonably predict downward, but can only assume upward. That is to say that when one truly understands the bigger picture of a given thing, they can reasonably make, through analogy, certain inferences about subsets of the bigger picture. But working with a tiny part of a bigger concept allows us only to make guesses and assumptions.

The Most Defensible Version of the Teleological Argument
Since arguments for the existence of God are apologetic in nature, they must be logical and at the same time veridical; speaking both to the a priori understanding, and the subject's genuine apprehension of the world. Richard Swinburne's teleological argument accomplishes this best.
The beauty of his argument is that it claims to prove less than it actually proves, providing no room for disagreement, yet what it claims to prove opens many doors. Its ultimate conclusion is that the causal ordered-ness of nature significantly adds to the probability of God's existence. Orderliness, Swinburne explains, is the product of intelligent beings (from The Existence of God, by Richard Swinburne, 1979). The fact that there are laws which govern nature bespeak a lawmaker.

Confronted with the argument that science can explain everything, Swinburne profoundly explains that while science explains what the laws are, "science cannot explain why all bodies do possess the very general powers and liabilities" (italics added). Science sets forth an explanation of an event, then the explanation of the explanation, and so forth ad infinitum. This becomes an infinite regress of causes and raises the question: What causes this series of causes to exist? Why is there an orderly series instead of chaos? Philo himself even concedes that "matter may contain the source or spring of order originally within itself." Ockham's razor tells us that, all things being equal, the simplest solution tends to be the best one.

Reasonable Grounds for Belief in God?
The search for truth is an individual process. Each person must discover for his or herself what the truth is, or at least what one can best understand the truth to be. Epistemology is a difficult discipline and certainly not (despite Rene Descartes' best efforts to make it one) an exact science.

Does the teleological argument provide the grounds for my personal belief in the existence of God? No. It does bolster my already existing belief in God, and were I without religious belief, it would lead me to at least respect the rationality of a believer. It does not, however, force me to proclaim "This is all the proof I need that God exists." I claim no more than Swinburne himself claims about his argument. It is a good C-inductive argument, adding to the probability of the claim that God exists, but it is not my reason for believing.

Truth, especially in this context of God's existence, is something of great importance for one to obtain. If a perfect knowledge is not possible, than at least a functioning understanding should be sought after. Richard Swinburne states that though "human inquiry into divine reasons is a highly speculative matter . . . it is nevertheless one in which men are justified in reaching tentative conclusions." My belief originated not in philosophical argument or even spiritual revelation in its earliest beginnings. What started my belief was, I discovered later, similar to Pascal's Wager. In his Penses, Pascal set forth that faith in God is a cost-free choice carrying a potential reward. There is nothing to lose but everything to gain in believing is what I first realized and that set the stage for further belief.

The term "Good Rational Grounds" as used in philosophy is a separate term from "knowledge." The difference is that knowledge either is or is not in one's possession. "Good rational grounds" for belief, however, is a matter of degree. It indicates a sliding-scale of evidence, experience and hypothesis. The individual must determine at which point the "good rational grounds" are good enough for them. Swinburne's argument, using the three above-mentioned variables, sets up a framework within which one can determine for one's self the rationality of God's existence. Though I do not rely on his argument to believe in God, it does provide good rational grounds to do so.

The Strongest Objections to the Teleological Argument
In David Hume's critique of the design argument, Philo and Demea gang up on Cleanthes seeking to disprove him. Demea's argument is merely one of dogma instead of logic. Philo, on the other hand, makes a reasonable objection to the analogy of man-made objects to those of nature. In laughing scorn of the analogy he states, "But surely you will not affirm that the universe bears such a resemblance to a house that we can with the same certainty infer a similar cause, or that the analogy is here entire and perfect."

As heretofore stated, one cannot conclude upward using analogy. Philo agrees, asking Cleanthes the question, "Can a conclusion, with any propriety, be transferred from parts to the whole?" This does weaken Cleanthes' position somewhat, but strength of the teleological argument is relatively unharmed by it. Though a perfect analogy cannot be made, it still does not disprove the fact that matter follows "very general powers and liabilities."

A more threatening opposition to the design argument would be the argument from poor
design, otherwise know as the dysteleological argument. It states that an omnipotent, omniscient, omnibenevolent creator God would create organisms that have optimal design. Since there are suboptimal features in organisms, the argument concludes that there must not have been a creator of such a description. This argument ties directly in with the longstanding philosophical Problem of Evil. Such suboptimal traits that lead to pain or death are argued to be "evils" that a benevolent, omnipotent God would not and could not allow.

In the face of this I would ask "What is evil?" I do not believe that evil is merely anything that I don't enjoy or which makes me sad. I do admit, however, that there is evil in the world. The existence and recognition of evil suggests that there is a moral law upon which good and evil are being defined, which subsequently implies a law-maker. The problem of evil tacitly implies a God because if there were no God, then evil would have arbitrary definitions for each individual agent. Suggesting universal good and evil suggests a universal law.

In the end, the problem of evil is a moot point because it deals with finite beings with finite minds trying to assign value to designs and motives they neither understand nor seek to understand, and treat the origin of said designs and motives with the same regard.
Ultimately, I tend to agree with Kant in that God cannot be ascertained solely through reason. I also agree with Kierkegaard that there is a "leap of faith" required to become a theist. Pascal described this dilemma best:
"Who then will blame Christians for not being able to give reasons for their beliefs, since they profess belief in a religion which they cannot explain? They declare, when they expound it to the world, that it is foolishness, stultitiam; and then you complain because they do not prove it! If they proved it, they would not keep their word; it is through their lack of proofs that they show they are not lacking in sense" (from his Pensees, no. 233).It is upon each of us individually that rests the responsibility of finding the truth for ourselves.

[Jacob Hawken (2007)]