you can’t photograph the not yet…

I definitely consider myself a far more “artistic” guy than a “logical” kind of guy – which is appropriate, I think, considering the odd looks and puzzled cocks of the head to the side I recieve from people who have known me for a long time when I tell them that I’m going to school to pursue a degree in philosophy. As a philosopher – actually, more so as a theologian – I spend a considerable amount of thought on the nature of the artistic impulse. What, for instance, does it mean to “create?” What is the significance of creativity?

When I reflect upon my own experience, the artistic impulse is almost always (most generally) characterized by a yearning for what is not (yet). Actually, if I’m to be completely honest, my own artistic endeavors, be they visual art, music, or poetry, are probably characterized more by a discontentment with what is. That is to say, my artistic energies are almost always critical. In fact, I’d probably have to say the same thing for most of my artistically inclined friends.  Yet despite the obvious differences in focus between art characterized by yearning for what is not on the one hand, and art characterized by a discontentment with what is, on the other; there are certain, at least effective, similarities. An essentially malcontent artistic drive, is still, in effect, every bit as much a yearning after what is not (yet), as is an artistic drive that is explicitly focused on the potential of what can be. The two artists might define their respective artistic tasks in starkly contrasting terms, nevertheless the positive work of each will be focused on the generating of an “alternative” (or perhaps more definitively, a “new”) something. This is, I think, the positive essence of the artistic impulse: the generating of a new/alternative something. And both types of artist are equally exploitive of the contingency of what is.

I’ve never been much of a photographer, but I’ve got some friends and acquaintances who do amazing work with a camera. I think photography, when done well, can be some of the most beautifully breathtaking art. Yet, perhaps only in the back of my mind, I’ve tended to categorize photography as a kind of sub-art, not on par with painting, or drawing, or things like that. I know there’s a lot that goes into photography, especially if you’re developing your own film. There is a difference, after all, between a poorly taken photograph and a perfectly captured moment. But photography is limited in certain obvious ways that drawing and painting are not. You can’t photograph what isn’t there. If the artistic impulse really is to be defined in the way I tend to privately think about it, as the generating of a new/alternative something, then how does something like photography fit in as an art?

I was reflecting on Christ the other day, and on the incarnation, and on the eschatological dynamic definitive of soteriology, about how it’s defined as both “already,” AND “not yet”. The more and more I reflected upon the beauty of the incarnation in all it’s soteriological significance, the more and more I began to realize the beauty of photography. The more it seemed to define it’s own unique artistic impulse (although, yes, there is such thing as realist painting which is also exemplary of the same artistic drive). Eschatology has a strange resonance within human creativity. Photography, along with all realist style art, is the art of the “already.” It is the desire to capture the beauty of what Christ has, in the incarnation, united within his being. It captures what Christ has made sacred.

hmmm, I wish I had a camera…

 

Quotes that I’ve been mulling over…

“living in love is more important than life itself.” – Gregory Boyd

“I think what is most destructive for living truthful and good lives is not what we do , but the justifications we give for what we do to hide from ourselves what we have done. Too often the result is a life lived in which we cannot acknowledge or recognize who we are.” – Stanley Hauerwas

 

Wesfest!

So, my favorite coffee shop in town (where I now, just incidentally, happen to be working as a barista) is going to have an evening of live music, coffee, food and movies….oh and COSTUMES in honor of Wes Anderson’s fine cinema. I have not idea what character I want to dress up as (It’d be great to find a good Eli Cash costume!). If there are any fans of Bottle Rocket, Royal Tenenbaums, or the Life Aquatic living in the Vancouver/Portland area who happen to follow my blog, take your cue!

 

Of Bread and Stone

The bread on which we lived alone
was only turning into stone
within my mouth – so I
spit it out.

The devil
took me up and said,
“If you were His son, then
you would jump…
y’know, He will catch you.”

and as I fell
I dashed my heel
upon a rock
that I tried to build my house upon:

the one we’ll never share.
Now that you’ve thrown away that stone
so your axe would never grind.

But of course it just grows dull,
and the force required
multiplies.

-Allen Anderson

 

Early Modern Philosophy and Humean Skepticism

When understood even as scantly as I understand it, the early modern period of philosophy (which is just as much a predicament as it is a historical period) must be seen as having its origination in Descartes. All of the works of the major philosophers of that era – Spinoza, Leibniz, Locke, Berkeley, Hume – are, to a certain extent, just so many varied engagements with Descartes’ philosophy: They are either attempts at working out it’s implications, or else are posed as answers to (or, more often, refutations of) his work. The predicament of the early modern age is, at least as far as I can conceive it, a largely Cartesian legacy. Certainly the problem of subjectivism, which in some ways reaches an apogeic note in Hume (or perhaps more so in Locke, and Berkeley), is the progeny of the cogito. Thus, along with the metaphysical dualism of “mind” and “matter,” Descartes, with his methodological doubt, ushers in the epistemological dualism of “object” and “subject” – a dualism, which despite his own efforts to overcome, is nevertheless alive and well in the works of the empiricists. I suspect, moreover, that it was the methodological doubt of Descartes that would later inspire the empiricists in the deployment of their so-called “wrecking ball” – a realization that makes their criticisms of Descartes somewhat like the denials of the schoolboy who refuses to admit to his taunting friends that yes, he does in fact have a crush on the little girl in class.

Of course the difference, it might be stated, between a philosopher like Descartes on the one hand and, say, David Hume on the other is substantiated by the claim that, while the latter was a thoroughgoing critic and genuine in his skepticism, for the former the role of the skeptic was donned only lightly and only in order to serve his ultimate purpose, namely the triumphal vindication of the powers of human knowledge. In other words, Descartes’ skepticism was only superficial and a means to an end – his presuppositions guided him to his desired conclusion, and so, despite all pretense of doubt, in reality he was never all that open to the discovery of “truth.” Hume, on the other hand is generally painted in a very different light: he is seen as the genuine skeptic, and as such, is often viewed as the champion of free-thought, and of pure disinterested rational inquiry. It seems to me, however, that Hume is just as much a man of the modern era as Descartes, and is no less driven (by his own determination to construct a “science” of human understanding) to accepting certain (desired) beliefs that are nevertheless inconsistent with his own claims about knowledge.

After reading Hume’s Treatise of Human Nature, and his Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding it seems obvious to me that the popular portrayal of Hume as the defender of philosophy against belief is one that overlooks the ultimate outcome of his argument. The more accurate picture is, I think, quite the reverse: Hume’s attack is upon philosophy, upon reason itself – “knowledge,” at least in the sense that this was understood in the modern era (and indeed as Hume himself understood it), is ultimately an abstraction of human experience. For Hume then, it is not philosophy, but rather a kind of faith which directs our lives. And though Hume, it seems, would admonish us to seek out a rational path to truth, it is not without irony that belief, after his work is done, is all that we are left.

This is, if I understand, more or less the theme that the obscure German philosopher Johan Georg Hamann picks up from Hume in his later theological critique of philosophy (which was aimed at Kant – and which inspired Kiekegaard in his severe criticism of Hegel).

 

Philosophers On Philosophy #1: Thomas Hobbes

“The subject of philosophy, or the matter it treats of,  is every body of which we can concieve any generation, and which we may, by any consideration thereof, compare with other bodies, or which is capable of composition and resolution; that is to say, every body of whose generation or properties we can have any knowledge….Therefore it excludes Theology, I mean the doctrine of God, eternal, ingenerable, incomprehensible, and in whom there is nothing neither to divide nor compound, nor any generation to be concieved.

It excludes the doctrine of angels, and all such things as are thought to be neither bodies nor properties of bodies; there being in them no place for composition or division, nor any capacity of more and less, that is to say, no place for ratiocination…

It excludes all such knowledge as is acquired by divine inspiration, or revelation, as not derived to us by reason, but by divine grace an an instant, and, as it were, by some sense supernatural….

The principal parts of philosophy are two. For two chief kinds of bodies, and very different from one another, offer themselves to such as search after their generation and properties; one whereof being the work of nature, is called natural body, the other is called a commonwealth, and is made by the wills and agreement of men. And from these spring the two parts of philosophy, called natural and civil. But seeing that, for the knowledge of the properties of a commonwealth, it is necessary first to know the dispositions, affections, and manners of men, civil philosophy is again commonly divided into two parts, whereof one, which treats of men’s dispositions and manners, is called ethics; and the other, which takes cognizance of thier civil duties, is called politics, or simply civil philosophy. In the first place, therefore (after I have set down such premises as appertain to the nature of philosophy in general), I will discourse of bodies natural; in the second, of the dispositions andmanners of men; and in the third, of the civil duties of subjects.”

Thomas Hobbes. Quoted in Jones, W.T. Hobbes to Hume, vol. 3 of A History of Western Philosophy 4 vols. New York Harcourt, Brace & World, Inc., 1952.

 

William of Ockham and Natural Theology

Within any given period of history, the particular inquiries of men and women are, in large part, determined by the dominant values that pervade the age. For the medieval thinker nothing could have been of greater value than the knowledge of God. Theology was esteemed by most as “queen of the sciences.” – a title not merely indicative of the high value placed upon theology in the middle ages, but also, and more importantly, one which is illustrative of the epistemic status enjoyed by the discipline at that time. Theology was seen as consisting in a kind of knowledge. One which was of no less epistemic value than that of philosophy. And it was undoubtedly the project of natural theology – that is, the branch of philosophy which seeks to demonstrate the existence and attributes of God through reason alone – which was, at least to a large extent, responsible for cultivating such an attitude.

Enter William of Ockham (ca. 1285-1349). Though, Ockham himself was a man enamored of both philosophy and (sacred, or revealed) theology, part of his work it seems can clearly be read as an earnest, and for the most part, effective effort to keep the two spheres distinct (Kaye par. 93). Philosophy for Ockham is utterly incapable of offering any conclusive support to theological principles (including the existence of God), which, as Ockham maintained, could only be known by faith (Baird and Kaufmann 357). From even a cursory glance at the secondary literature it becomes clear that, insofar as objections to the conclusiveness of the various proofs of God’s existence are concerned, Ockham should be seen as specifically taking issue with the philosophy of John Duns Scotus (Leff 382). Indeed, in his Quaestiones, the entire section devoted to the issue of whether or not God’s existence can be demonstrated philosophically centers around a kind of dialogue with Scotus’ arguments (Boehner 115-22). Nevertheless, it is my view that in arguing against the efficacy of philosophy to arrive at a knowledge of God, he was arguing for a dissolution of the “great medieval synthesis,” and as such was involved in an indictment against all of those philosopher-theologians who had come before him, and who had sought to demonstrate the reasonableness of a natural theology by means of so-called proofs of God’s existence (hereafter: Proofs). This means that Ockham raises opposition, not merely to Scotus’s arguments alone, but to the Proofs in general. And it is this relationship – specifically that of Ockham’s refutation of the possibility of a Proof from causality to the cosmological argument(s) extant at that time – with which I will be concerned.

In this essay I’d like to focus on one of the more philosophically interesting arguments that Ockham levels against the pursuits of the natural theology of his day. First, I will briefly illustrate the cosmological argument from causality, paraphrasing a form of the argument contemporary with Ockham. Then I will consider the objection that Ockham himself raises against such a line of reasoning. Elucidating his argument’s implications, and revealing what I take to be a major flaw in it’s crucial premise, I hope to demonstrate why Ockham’s objection is ultimately unsound. Thus the reader will be left to draw his or her own judgments concerning the conclusiveness of the cosmological argument in light of the present considerations.

The cosmological argument is really a category of related arguments, all of which seek to demonstrate the existence of a first cause (i.e. an uncaused/necessarily existent cause), which in turn is identified as God. Thus a cosmological argument takes the shape of an argument from universal causality (Cosmological par. 1). By the time of William of Ockham, many different versions of the argument had been developed by a range of philosophers including Plato, Aristotle, Ibn Sina, al-Ghazali, Maimonides, Anselm, and, yes, Aquinas and Scotus (Moreland and Craig 465). However, “the” cosmological argument may roughly be rendered as follows:

Everything which begins to exist has an (efficient) cause
nothing which begins to exist can be it’s own efficient cause.
A causal chain cannot be infinite in length.
Therefore, there must exist a first (or uncaused) cause (Cosmological par. 9).
According to Sharon Kaye, Ockham maintained that the most plausible versions of either the ontological or cosmological Proofs could be reduced to an infinite regress argument taking the form: (1) “If God does not exist, then there is an infinite regress” (2) “Infinite regresses are impossible” (3) “Therefore, God must exist” (par. 81). As Kaye mentions however, though Ockham accepts the impossibility of the kind of infinite regress implied in the second premise of this argument, he nevertheless rejects the premise as inconclusive. If we are to understand Ockham at this point, says Kaye, it is important to understand the distinction that Aristotle made between an extensive and an intensive infinity (par. 83). An extensive infinity is “an uncountable quantity of actually existing things” (par. 83). Ockham recognizes this concept as logically contradictory, because if the objects actually exist, they would in fact constitute an actual number, which, no matter how astronomical, would in principle be countable (i.e. the quantity would really be finite) (Kaye par. 83). An intensive infinity, on the other hand, is something which is “infinite” by virtue of the fact that it has no limitation. The set of whole numbers, for instance, would constitute an intensive infinity, because there is no limit to how far “up” one may count. However, as Kaye points out, “This does not mean that the set of whole numbers is an uncountable quantity of actually existing things” (par. 83).

Kaye goes on to consider the implications of this for the cosmological argument in particular. First, “According to Ockham,” she says, “advocates of the cosmological argument reason as follows: There would be an infinite regress among causes if there were not a first cause; therefore there must be a first cause…” (par. 88) The conclusion clearly hinges upon the second premise of the infinite regress argument mentioned above – namely the impossibility of an (extensive) infinite regress – again, a premise with which Ockham fully agrees. In the Quaestiones Ockham considers “whether a first efficient cause can be sufficiently proved by production as opposed to conservation.” (Boehner 118). By “production” and “conservation,” Ockham means efficient causality, and conserving causality respectively. An efficient cause in this sense would be a cause that brings something about, or which produces an effect “successively over time” (e.g. my grandparents are the efficient cause of my parents, who are the efficient cause of me etc.) (Kaye par. 89). A conserving cause is a cause which maintains the existence of an effect; or put differently it is a cause who’s own continued existence is the necessary condition for the continued existence of it’s effect (e.g. oxygen in the room is the conserving cause of the candle’s flame) (Kaye par. 89). Ockham denies that the First Cause can be conclusively demonstrated on the basis of efficient causation (Boehner 120). Furthermore, though he believes that the inference to a First Cause could be made on the basis of conserving causation, he apparently rejects this, too, on the grounds that this type of causation cannot be demonstrated. Again, to quote Kaye:

In Ockham’s view, the cosmological argument fails using either type of causality. Consider efficient causality first. If the chain of efficient causes that have produced the world as we know it today had no beginning, then it would form, not an extensive infinity, but an intensive infinity, which is harmless. Since the links in the chain would not all exist at the same time, they would not constitute an uncountable quantity of actually existing things. Rather, they would simply imply that the universe is an eternal cycle of unlimited or perpetual motion. Ockham explicitly affirms that it is possible that the world had no beginning, as Aristotle maintained.

Next, consider conserving causality…if the world has to be “held up” by conserving causes, then there must be a first among them because otherwise the set of conserving causes would constitute an uncountable quantity of actually existing things (this is because a conserving cause must continue in existence, simultaneously with it’s effect, in order for it’s effect to continue in existence -AGA)… [Ockham] points out, however, that, just as the cosmos need not have a beginning; it need not be “held up” in this way at all. Each existing thing may be its own conserving cause. Hence the cosmological argument is entirely inconclusive. (par 90-92)

In other words, of the two distinct types of causation, it is only efficient causation which is necessary and demonstrable. Unfortunately for the cosmological argument, a chain of efficient causes does not necessarily imply an extensive (i.e. contradictory) infinity. Ockham maintains, albeit hypothetically, that this causal regress could very well constitute a mere intensive infinity. Thus one would be able to continue back through the causal chain without limit. Like the set of whole numbers there would be no end point. As Ockham puts it, “We can go on with causes of the same kind ad infinitum” (Boehner 119). Notice that the crucial premise upon which the conclusion rests is that it is possible for an infinite regress of efficient causes to constitute an intensive infinity. If it could be shown that it is not possible that an infinite regress of efficient causes could constitute an intensive infinity, then Ockham’s objection that the cosmological argument is inconclusive would fail. And for this reason, I think it does.

Consider first what is meant by an infinite regress. This would be a succession of backward movements ad infinitum. Now recall that by intensive infinity we mean a kind of potential infinite, i.e. much like the set of whole numbers, an intensive infinity is a collection, whose infinity is constituted by successive addition without limit (like counting from zero up the number line). In order for an infinite regress to be intensive, it would clearly have to constitute a backwards-moving succession, whose backwards movements could be “added to” without limit (like counting from zero back through the whole set of negative numbers). But does this make any sense when we apply it to an actual sequence of past events? It would appear not.

First, it should be made clear that the past, because it constitutes a collection of events/entities which have actually already taken place, is by it’s nature definite and determined. By definite and determined I mean something which is of necessity fixed or static. Anything which has the potential to be altered in actuality is ipso facto not definite or determined. It follows from this (by modus tollens) that since the past sequence of events is determined, then the past does not have the potential to be altered in any way. Such alterations would include of course addition to, or subtraction from, or any change in the order of past events. In short, the past cannot be changed.

Now at this point one might object on the grounds that we are, in fact with every passing moment, adding to the past. This however would not be an addition in the same sense as what is meant above. When we consider the forward motion of time, yes, there is a sense in which we are “adding” to the past; but this isn’t addition in the sense of altering what was already there. The type of addition which is precluded by the past’s fixity is the addition of an event which would somehow actually alter the past. The “addition” of new events into the past through the natural passing of time does not alter past states of affairs, and therefore does not contradict the past’s determinacy. In fact, once a present state of affairs becomes part of the past it too becomes fixed and unalterable.

So what type of addition to the past do I mean, which is precluded by the fixity of the past? This would be any addition – of an event or an entity – which would somehow entail an alteration to the past state of affairs. This could be, for instance, “adding” an event prior to some other event which had already occurred, for this would certainly entail an alteration to the past state of affairs, and would therefore be impossible. Nevertheless, this type of addition to the past of prior events is precisely what is necessarily entailed in the concept of an intensive infinite regress of past causes. Given what we have seen of the concept of an intensive infinity, it follows that an intensive infinite regress of causes would constitute a collection of temporally sequenced causes extending into the past, to which prior causes could be added without limit. An intensive infinite regress of causes requires the past to have the potential to be altered in actuality. In fact, the regress of past causes in an intensive infinity can only be infinite in the sense that one can continue on adding prior causes ad infinitum. But this is impossible. For it involves the logical contradiction of not only somehow altering a fixed state of affairs, but also of some event/entity existing prior to the time at which it began to exist.

It could be objected that this is a mere misunderstanding of our concepts or terminology. One could say that it is only a certain sense in which an intensive infinite regress of causes “adds” prior events to the past. The key to avoiding the absurdity is in understanding that they are prior events, and as such were already there the whole time, prior to the moment which we thought we were “addinig” them. I don’t object to this. Unfortunately this would mean that the chain of past temporal causes would not in fact constitute an intensive infinity, but rather an extensive infinity. “If there has been a sequence composed of an infinite number of events stretching back into the past, then an actually infinite number of events have occurred” (Moreland and Craig 473). Thus Ockham, would have been wrong in claiming that the regress of causes could possibly constitute an intensive infinity. This is because as we have seen, there can be no potential causes in the past, only actual causes. But if there can be no potential past causes, then the regress of past causes cannot in principle constitute an intensive infinity; If there can only be actual past causes then this would entail that, if infinite, then the sequence of past causes must be an extensive infinity. But this too leads to logical contradictions which Ockham, no less than his predecessors, understood. This of course means that there is no sense in which a past chain of actual causes (whether efficient or conserving) could be infinite without necessarily running into a contradiction. It would seem then, that the crucial premise of the cosmological argument from causality escapes the razor unscathed.

Works Cited:

Baird, E. Forrest, and Walter Kaufmann. Philosophic Classics: From Plato to Derrida. Upper Saddle River, New Jersey: Pearson Education, Inc., 2008.

Boehner, Philotheus. Ockham – Philosophical Writings: A Selection. Indianapolis Indiana: Hackett Publishing Company, 1990.

“Cosmological Argument.” Wikipedia. January 21, 2010: 12 secs. January 26, 2010.

Kaye, Sharon. “William of Ockham (Occam, c.1280-c.1349).” Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy. January 3, 2007: 10 secs. January 25, 2010.

Leff, Gordon. William of Ockham: The Metamorphosis of Scholastic Discourse. Oxford Road, Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1975.

Moreland, James Porter, and William Lane Craig. Philosophical Foundations for a Christian Worldview. Downer’s Grove, Illinois: InterVarsity Press, 2003.

 

Journal Entry 08-19-09

When I say out loud, whether to myself, to a friend, or whether to God, that  ”I believe in God” it’s a fairly simple thing:  it isn’t by any will to believe, neither is it from any felt force of duty – I don’t say it because it says something that I feel ought to be so, that I, for whatever reason (whether moral or logical), should believe – It is, rather the disclosure of something personal, something irrefutably embedded within my heart, and quite apart from whether I wish it was so or not. And I know I am capable of shutting the presence of this reality out, I know I can deny it – I never have to say it out loud (I could keep it as a secret foolishness, a mistake that perhaps I can erase by paying it no heed.), but there’s a sort of violence in that, a dishonesty that favors the will over the purity and the  peacefulness of accepting what is. That I do in fact confess this is the result of, perhaps wrestling with it’s implications and entanglements, but ultimately of contenting myself with the pure acceptance of the fact that I do believe.

 

Romans 8:19-23 (NIV)

¹⁹The creation waits in eager expectation for the sons of God to be revealed. ²⁰For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope ²¹that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the glorious freedom of the children of God.

²²We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. ²³Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies.

 

Can Anyone Help Me Make a Tough Decision?

…So I will have a bit of extra spending cash coming up this next month and I need to decide whether I should buy a) John Calvin’s Complete commentaries on the bible, along with his Institutes (all in a matching hardbound set), or b) Karl Barth’s complete Church Dogmatics set (in paperback)? This is a tough decision for me, and if you sympathize please give me your input. No one should have to make a decision like this unaided. Thankyou.