Monday, April 26, 2010

Phenomenological Reflection

Some things are appearing bright to me. Whatever bright it is; I guess I know it directly. I have an intuition that this thing is different from that thing. But the difference doesn't seem to come from any analysis of the thing itself, but rather a direct knowledge that the qualia are different. I see a cross. I wonder if this person is Catholic. There's a sense of kinship that seems to naturally grow when you become part of a new group, regardless of whether the members of that group are members de facto or de jure. I probably have more in common with the average Buddhist than the average Catholic. Then again, I'm not that much of a de facto member of the Church as well. There's no life in me. There are certain inpenetrable anxieties that afflict me over things I already know. I guess I should be in class right now, but I don't think I could be missing anything significant; or maybe I am; I'm not quite sure; I'm sick unto death. I feel this violent madness directed at the world. This is probably a most frequent intensional state. It's the anxiety, the Angst, of the world imposing itself on me in ways I can't understand; in ways I can't control. The violent urge seems to be justified. How do we expect ourselves to live in a world that so violently imposes itself on us. It's like existential rape. We try and try to impose ourselves back on all this sound and fury, but our voices don't and can't rise above it. Everyone whom I've loved seems to be a feature of this violent imposition. It's a quale I recognize as distinctly unique, but one which the world impresses, then yanks away at the first sign that I am seeking to impose myself on it. How can I begin to account for all this? We're so machine-dependent. It's technological gluttony. That's all too abstract. I want to be here, now, with her. Without her. With the thought of her in herself. But there is no one in themself. Being is not itself if not being-in-the-world. I just wish I could leave it. I wish there were a noumena, but there's not. Just an endless series of impressions, features, dreads, stillness, and abrupt silence.

Friday, April 23, 2010

Is Causation a Purely Philosophical Question?

Here's an argument in favor of such a view (using largely Humean premises):

1. All beliefs are justified either a priori or a posteriori.
2. We have a justified belief in causation.
3. No beliefs about causation are justified a posteriori.
4. Therefore, all beliefs about causation are justified a priori.
5. Whatever is justified only a priori can never be confirmed by experimental evidence.
6. Therefore, beliefs about causation can never be confirmed by experimental evidence.
7. Whatever cannot be confirmed by experimental evidence is not an empirical hypothesis.
8. Therefore, hypotheses about causation are not empirical hypotheses.
9. All justified hypotheses are either empirical, logical, or metaphysical.
10. Causation is a justified hypothesis.
11. Causation is not justified empirically or logically.
12. Therefore, causation is justified metaphysically.

Saturday, April 17, 2010

Platonism and the Early Church

It is often claimed by various historians of philosophy that early Christianity was influenced by Platonism in the following way: That it turned it's focus away from earthly things, devalued the place of the senses for attaining knowledge, and all-around looked down upon the natural world as something at least pseudo-evil (I'm careful not to say pure evil, for that would be blatant Gnosticism). I've recently run across claims similar to this in Bertrand Russell's History of Western Philosophy.

This seems to me, though, false. Although it's true that Christians have a hope for a future world, the relationship between that hope and the present world is a subtle one. On my reading, the early Church, though incorperating much of Plato (e.g. St. John, Origen, and St. Augustine), still retained it's essential belief in the importance, dignity, and central place of the created order, and in particular the human body. Augustine, one of the most paradigmatic examples of a Platonist we have in the early Church, says the following in Book I, chapter 13 of The City of God:

"Nevertheless the bodies of the dead are not on this account to be despised and left unburied; least of all the bodies of the righteous and faithful, which have been used by the Holy Spirit as His organs and instruments for all good works...For the body is not an extraneous ornament or aid, but a part of man's very nature."

This seems far from the sort of natural-world-escapism implied by many philosophers and historians examing the early Church period. The true relationship between the present natural world, and the future world, in Christian theology was, and is, this: God created the present world, and it was good. Through the fall, the goodness which the creation initially possessed became marred with sin and corruption. Much of it's goodness, if not most, was however retained, and God promised that He would redeem and restore it at the culmination of history. This picture, ironically, is the exact opposite of the escapist accusation brought against Christian theology. The world we are awaiting is a physical world, just a new and transformed one. This has been pointed out well in recent years by such New Testament scholars as N.T. Wright, who point out that the early Christian's conception of the future world was always grounded in Christ's resurrection body. It was a glorious body, a body exuding the Spirit, yet it was physical. Jesus ate fish and bread with his disciples on the shores of Galilee. This key point about the transformation and renewal of the created order, as opposed to it's destruction, is made poignantly by St. Paul in his epistle to the romans:

"For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now. And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience." -Romans 8:19-25 (NSV)

The anticipation for new creation can be clearly seen in this passage; and why wouldn't it? St. paul was an orthodox Jew, familiar with prophecies in the Old Testament that implied such renewel, a day when the trees would "clap their hands" and the whole earth would be full of the glory of God as the "water fills the seas". Platonism was definitely an influential philosophy in shaping the Church's theology from it's inception, but it by no means ever overthrew or skewed this essential Judeo-Christian assumption.