What kinds of writing appear in this section?
This writing section contains a diverse collection of my work. Some of it is academic, some of it is fiction, and some of it is poetry. I do not suppose one could be good at all three. At least I will not pretend to be that gifted. Still, writing is for reading. Thus, I am posting this sampling. There is much more work on my other websites.
Visitation
Oft occurred,
Thrice too many times.
Were it not my troubled soul,
Death would make it mine.
Dreamed a dream, but
Not a dream,
Some poor soul's release
Stole the hope within my heart,
Gave it some god's peace.
Wished upon a
Falling star,
Saw it ebb the light.
Turned to hail the rising sun,
Saw it flee the night.
Oft pursued by
Thoughts of loss,
Specters born of strife,
Thoughts that take the shape
Of me,
Shadows of my life.
- Flint McGlaughlin
(November 27, 1983)
October 29, 2003
Undivided yet the same,
My heart is more than two.
How can I fix the past a whole
When all I am I do?
I need to make the pieces one.
But this defeats my will.
If grace be grace, I need its taste,
Or else I flounder still.
The Psalmist asked for what I ask
He won it too, I'm sure.
The Danish Saint wrote of the same;
His heart, I think, was pure.
But I am left to scribble verse,
And ponder what I miss.
One part of who I am is true,
So I will write with this.
- Flint McGlaughlin
Among the multiplicity of differing opinions about ultimate truth, there should be at least general agreement that there is a multiplicity of differing opinions. Everyone does not agree. Furthermore, most would agree with this proposition: that at least in some ways the contrary positions cannot all be true. And while there may be those who disagree with this proposition, their argument is negated by the fact that there are others that disagree with their insistence to the contrary - and surely these last two positions are contradictory. Such conundrums multiply uncertainty.
When I was a child, in a moment of personal crisis, I etched out these words: "Everything is uncertain." Then I crossed out the word "is". Then I crossed out the word "everything". Then I set down my pen and wept. In time, it occurred to me that the notion of "everything" and of "is" represented some form of being and of doing (subject/predicate). From there, I concluded that I am "being" and that my effort to ascertain is "doing". Eventually, I restored all three words of my simple sentence, and in a way, I have never moved past them. It is true I have embraced a life of faith, but not from the victory over uncertainty, but rather because of it.
Indeed, I have taken my uncertainty as the basis for the only notion that I could fully embrace: There seems to be many things I cannot do/know, thus I perceive that I am limited - that is I am incipient. This perception leads me to contemplate the most remarkable possibility that has ever passed through my mind: the possibility of the unlimited - that is the ultimate. These thoughts can be expressed in two terse propositions:
My response to these propositions is both emotional and intellectual. On an emotional level I experience a kind of terrified awe. What if there is <U> and what if <U> is against me? I am just >i<. Thus I am ultimately vulnerable. On an intellectual level I experience a kind of profound wonder. What does it mean to be incipient and what does it mean to be ultimate? Thus, the conjunction and the differential of EP1 and EP2 form the foundation of my entire theological inquiry. Moreover, the fear of and the attraction to the possibility of <U> form the motivation of my inquiry...
- Flint McGlaughlin
In death and age there are secrets hid,
A shroud yet veiled by time.
And the fleeting years hide a prophet's word
Learned late by the youthful mind.
For the elder eyes but scarce reveal
The hope, the pain, the truth.
What manner of Fein hath ravaged their prime,
And stole the wine of their youth?
Can we divine your future?
Oh yes...
For in part we have been there too.
Can you escape our grieving?
Not so...
In our heart we are young as you.
In the palace of age the regals gather,
Their throne enshrined on wheels.
Their sumptuous feast a bland confection,
Their play a tepid thrill.
The mighty days have all but vanished.
Forgotten? No, but dim.
Still a certain truth grows ever certain,
And clear, if also grim.
Can we divine your future?
Oh yes...
For in part we have been there too.
Can you escape our grieving?
Not so...
In our heart we are young as you.
The void of the grave is quick to consume
A truth learned late by its prey...
What's here will pass.
What's past will be.
Till all shall pass away.
- Flint McGlaughlin
Anger, tears, a boiling cauldron,
Seething with steam from a waterless pot.
Anguish, pain, a reckless defending,
Festering wound from a weaponless shot.
Someone please send for the surgeon; someone please send for the knife.
If only a piercing incision, could carve out this cancer of strife.
Weeping, Shame, a tangled regret,
Choked on the lips, just an unspoken thought.
Sorrow, fear, itself a reprisal,
The furnace is cold but the coals are still hot.
No surgeon can vent this word poison; no knife can stay this grim fate.
The serum must come from the venom, and soon... for it's almost too late.
- Flint McGlaughlin
INTRODUCTION
Werner Heisenberg, quantum physicist and Nobel laureate observes, "A consistent pursuit of classical physics forces a transformation in the very heart of that physics."1 Heisenberg might have substituted the word "mission" for the word "physics". His statement would then reflect an apt observation on what must happen in our effort to participate in the Church's commission.
We need to question the very heart of our efforts.
While one may argue that the Church is continuing to transform lives, one may also observe that no matter what we have achieved, it is not enough. Indeed, our progress is insufficient. This short essay must assume that this deficiency is at least somewhat evident. Thus, with its limited length, it will not invest copious amount of words expounding on the same. It will, instead, go straight to "the very heart" of the issue proposing a new construct for our missiological thinking.
Moreover, the discussion, itself, is meant to address a particular category of leader: structural leaders within the Church. For this reason, certain presuppositions about the intended reader should be established at the outset.
In sum, this essay has a strictly limited aim: to briefly introduce a new missiological model3 that could accelerate our progress in achieving the Church's transformational mission.
METHOD
The concept of "method" is closely related to the concept of "how". One might reasonably ask at the outset of this project, "How can we improve our efforts to build the Church?" or "How can we improve our efforts to achieve the 'Great Commission' or "How can we improve our efforts to make disciples?" But these questions are not precise enough. First, one must consider two foundational queries:
The import of these two queries can hardly be overstated.4 In any undertaking, both Q1 and Q2 must be confronted. Yet a lack of clarity is characteristic for much of the Church's efforts to accomplish its mission.
So often, we charge ahead with only the scantest forethought. We determine a general (often vague) idea of the objective, and then we settle on what might be an adequate (but not best) way to accomplish that objective. The results are often disappointing – at worst, we suffer total failure; at best, we settle for underperformance.
But why do leaders fail to consider Q1 and Q2?
In any case, the point is not to develop an exhaustive answer. The point is only this: as earnest followers of Christ we must relentlessly challenge each missiological task with the rigorous criterion of Q1 and Q2.5
The word "continually" in this context is vital. It denotes process. Asking Q1 and Q2 is not a one-time event. It is an iterative pattern. It must be done over and over again. Moreover, an honest engagement with this process will inevitably confront us with the need to surrender our assumptions. The process is disruptive.
It is dangerous.
Objective
What, then, is the best/right objective? The question, as it applies to Christian mission, can generate complex (often odious) theological debate. Nevertheless, as established in the introduction, the strictures of this paper necessarily restrain such debate. We shall attempt to answer Q1 with a new term: Pervasive Spiritual Transformation (PST).
Clearly, the term "Pervasive Spiritual Transformation" requires definition. Again, this definition can become controversial, but even among disputants the word "pervasive" might be particularly useful. It deserves clarification. Consequently, we shall make two provisional but rapid thought-moves:
First let us assume that spiritual transformation involves traditional/orthodox conditions of "μαθητής" (disciple-discipleship) and "theosis" (God-imaging). Furthermore, let us assume that this transformation should be holistic, involving both the physical and the spiritual dimensions.6
These two provisional moves free us to reflect on the modifier "pervasive". The most common synonyms may be listed as follows: all-encompassing, enveloping, invasive, and persistent. These synonyms are instructive, but not precise enough. For the purposes of this paper "pervasive" must be understood on two levels: as it relates to depth, and as it relates to breadth.
As it relates to depth, "pervasive" denotes internal intensity. As it relates to breadth, "pervasive" denotes external influence. One might theorize that the greater the intensity, the greater the influence. For example, if people experience some form of intense (deep, pervasive) spiritual transformation, they may be more likely to have (wide, pervasive) influence on others.
Thus, even those who disagree on the precise definition of "Spiritual Transformation" might agree in their hope for pervasive effect. The modifier "pervasive," then, will help shape the answer to the next question.
Way
What is the best way to accomplish PST? To develop the criteria for a satisfactory answer the question, itself, must undergo brief exegesis. One might especially focus on two modifier-concepts7: "pervasive" and "best".
With this criterion in mind, we might turn to the daunting if stimulating challenge of answering Q2.
ELEMENTS
In the interest of "relentlessly challenging each missiological task," this paper posits a new theoretical model. This model8 is contingent upon the warrant that spiritual transformation is preceded by some form of communication (indeed, incarnation may be viewed as communication). From there, the model identifies three core elements. The importance of these three elements may be notated in a conditional expression:
The point is simple: If we have sufficient content, distribution, and energy there is the potential to experience Pervasive Spiritual Transformation. It follows, then, that if we do not have sufficient content, distribution, and energy, we might fail to experience/achieve PST.
On the most basic level, this point may be illustrated using a simple example. Suppose one is trying to convey a seminal thought10. One will begin with the thought itself (content). One will need a medium (distribution), be it audible, written, or some other form, and one will need the physical strength to avail the medium (energy).11
Even in nature certain phenomena require the proper combination of these three elements. Suppose one is trying to "transform" a parched garden by soaking it with water, one will need H2O (content). One will need a pipe/hose (distribution) and one will need electricity/gravity (energy).
Parallels
The process of relating these elements to our missiology involves semantic approximation. There is much theological work to do before we can offer more concrete claims. At the present, this project is attempting only the development of a working model. Thus, we will tentatively propose the following (incomplete) general explanations12 (as one way to relate these elements on a macro level):
This framework is useful not only in prognosis but in diagnosis. From the PST expression we might suggest that a lack of results could be correlated to a deficiency in one or more of the three elements.
Most importantly, this suggestion points to the extreme significance of the sole modifier on the left side of the if/then statement (if sufficient content/distribution/energy, then potential Pervasive Spiritual Transformation). The sole modifier is the term, "sufficient". And this term must be understood on two levels: "Sufficient" means that (a) all three of the primary elements are active, and that (b) each element is somehow contributing enough. While (a) is simple enough to grasp, (b) requires explanation:
Even when a particular effort/ministry excels in one of these areas, it rarely excels in all three. Yet a deficiency in either of the three mitigates results. Sufficient energy without sufficient content yields a weak PST factor. Conversely, sufficient content without sufficient energy (for example, financial support, or spiritual power) yields a weak PST factor.14 But is the sufficiency of CDE a guarantee of PST?
Potentiality
CDE is a necessary condition to PST, but CDE does not necessarily lead to PST. CDE fosters only the potentiality of PST. This is an important distinction. One must consider that this potential is converted into spiritual transformation by the addition of a fourth element. We might discover this element by considering a particular Pauline text.15
This text is not offered as a proof but rather as a lens. It can be used to reveal a common missiological pattern: Faith, the "believing,"18 is dependent upon the "hearing". The "hearing" is dependent upon the "preaching". And the "preaching" is dependent upon the "message". We may also imply that the "message" is dependent upon the Spirit, as the point is stressed throughout the New Testament19.
So we have content – the message. We have distribution – the preaching. And we have energy – the Spirit. But we also have a fourth element – the reception20. This fourth element is necessary for one to experience PST. Without it, we have only potentiality.
Further, upon closer examination of the text, we may note that this particular kind of reception requires a sufficiency of understanding and of acceptance (faith) – which leads to a restatement of the sub-elements related to the concept, sufficiency:
We may now reconsider the conditional expression stated earlier (note the additions in the blue font):
Thus, the fourth element, R, is essential.22 And, one might be tempted to add it to the others in this fashion: "We need content, plus distribution, plus energy, plus reception." Nevertheless, while such thinking is a move in the right direction, it falls far short of the mark. The mere addition of these four elements fosters a classification of distinct categories which in itself is a hindrance to achieving PST.
CONVERGENCE
Having introduced the three primary elements of PST, certain questions naturally emerge. For instance, does one element precede the others? Is one element more important than the other? Does PST result from adding equal portions of all three? All such questions belie the need for a deeper understanding of two key concepts: Density and Influence.
Density
PST is not a matter of addition or even of multiplication. It is a matter of density. Extreme transformation is stimulated by the absolute convergence of all four elements, and the greater the convergence, the greater the impact.
The point is well illustrated on a macro level, by studying the history of renewal/revival23. It is illustrated on a micro level, by studying the biography of key spiritual leaders. A most intriguing example, however, may be discovered by considering another textual lens from the Gospel of John.
According to John 1, "In the beginning was the Word" (Content). Then, "The Word became flesh and lived among us" (Distribution)24. And then, "I have beheld the Spirit . . . and it abode upon him" (Energy)25.
The Christ26 represented an absolute convergence of absolute content (full of grace and truth27), absolute distribution (No has ever seen God. . . . the one being in the center of the Father has made Him known28), and absolute energy (spirit without limit29). His incarnation created absolute potentiality for Pervasive Spiritual Transformation. But it remains just potentiality until the person understands30 and accepts (Rabbi, you are the Son of God; you are the King).31
The pervasive effect of this convergence dynamic was intensified in the resurrection of the Christ (notable as the "Anointed One"). This phenomenon generated the "Good News" (Content). It stimulated the Commission (Distribution).32 And it released the Spirit of Pentecost (Energy). Indeed Christ said, "It is better that I go…"
Thus, to achieve PST, one must transcend "calculus thinking" with "convergence thinking". It is a unity of elements which leads to authentic transformation33 – and the more intense the unity, the more intense the external impact. Such intensity leads to influence.
Influence
Pervasive Spiritual Transformation is a matter of depth and of breadth – the deeper the transformation in one field, the wider the influence on other fields. This influence can translate into increased potentiality for PST. But to understand the nature of this phenomenon, one must reflect on a single observation and then on three points of praxis.
Observation:
Praxis:
Thus, to maximize PST, one must focus with sustained intensity on high opportunity fields, allowing for a nexus between depth and breadth of impact. It is the concentration of resources that allows for highest spiritual yield.35
CONCLUSION
As stipulated earlier, this essay has endeavored only to introduce a new missiological model that could accelerate our progress in achieving the Church's transformational mission. The model may be summarized with 131 words:
The principles of convergence suggest a new way to focus our future efforts (prognosis). But they also indicate certain problems with our current efforts (diagnosis). Indeed, from the earlier discussion, one may extract three observations:
First, there is a lack of convergence in the Church's understanding and thus in its practice. Segregated thinking leads to segregated living. Our divergent approach has separated content from distribution, and from energy. And our narrow ecclesiology has limited the number of acceptable models for "doing church"36. We have created distinct worlds with separate rules for each.37 And thus, we have relegated our Christianity to the "churchplace" rather than the "lifeplace"38.
Next, this lack of understanding has produced a practical lack within each of the three essential elements: content, distribution, and energy. In some cases, our content is deficient; we offer an accommodating message without the necessary disruptor inherent in the Gospel. In other cases, our distribution is deficient; we deploy a biological medium with a weak encoding. Our "converts" fail to image the message itself, and thus they fail to convey it. In still other cases, our energy is (woefully) deficient; we scarcely have enough quantity of the right type of energy. Our mission languishes in the absence of power, a lack of spiritual anointing, and a lack of financial "capacity".
Finally, we tend to strive for breadth (numbers) instead of depth (intensity). We aspire to a vision of ecclesiastical success defined by the size of our congregations. This can lead to a dangerous nominalism on the part of the church, and a dangerous disillusionment on the part of the pastor. We fail to grasp three essentials of field influence: (a) that the "molecular" unit of PST is the individual, (b) that PST is more than event; it is process, and (c) that certain fields are more conducive to PST than others. And so we tend to focus on "all" rather than "each"; we emphasize decision rather than discipleship, and we prioritize around initiatives rather than opportunity.
The point of these observations is simple. An understanding of convergence could help accelerate our progress in achieving the Church's transformational mission. In any event we must relentlessly challenge each missiological task with the rigorous criteria of Q1 (What is the right objective?) and Q2 (What is the best way to accomplish the objective?). To reprise and rephrase Heisenberg, "A consistent pursuit of the Church's mission could force a transformation in the very heart of that mission".
'We live mainly by forms and patterns,' the renowned storyteller Wallace Stegner warns, 'and if the forms are bad, we live badly.'1 In a prescriptive commentary on today's leadership styles, one might substitute the word 'live for the word 'lead.' Certainly, we are inundated with forms and 'models.' And if this is the case in the general field of leadership, it is also the case in the particular field of ecclesiastical leadership. One may note two research 'currents' that are rarely analyzed together.
The first 'current' entails an increasing corpus of church leadership advice distinctly influenced by Western management philosophy. The Association of American Publishers reports annual growth of 37% in the religious publishing sector, calling it a 'growth business.' Sales are projected in excess of five billion dollars per year. And similar ratios are reflected in the growing body of literature on church leadership.2 Popular works include, Jesus CEO, The Management Methods of Jesus, and The Purpose-Driven Church.3
The second 'current' entails a growing corpus of scholarly research on the present work of the Holy Spirit characterized by a revitalized pneumatology. Indeed, cessationism seems to be fighting a losing battle. And as Philip Jenkins notes, Christianity is spreading fastest among the 'empowered evangelicals.' Jenkins observed that while this movement emerged only at the start of this century, by 2040 it will likely reach one billion followers – far outnumbering the world's Buddhists and roughly equaling the world's Hindus.4 This increase in 'believers' is matched by a substantial increase in books and literature on the leadership of the Spirit.
So then, we may note two currents: one that emphasizes Western management philosophy and one that emphasizes the leadership of the Spirit. Even a cursory review of these two streams indicates a radical difference in language. The former is a language of control while the latter is a language of dependency.5 And while church leaders seem to use both languages, in practice they most often reflect the Western management approach.
As an indication, one needs only to look at the leading title6 on church leadership, Rick Warren's The Purpose-Driven Church. With more than one million copies sold and more than 300,000 pastors using its ancillary materials in twenty-two languages, the book is a prime example. It liberally employs such terms as 'assimilation,' 'programming,' 'psychographics,' 'target markets,' 'composite profiles,' and 'pastoral management.'7
Beneath these terms is a philosophy of 'successful ministry' as defined by the twin Western ideals of celebrity and scale. If the size of the ministry and the popularity of the pastor/priest are the defining metric, then the ambitious leader must master the primary elements of Western management science: vision, strategy, objectives, and goals – all programmed into an infrastructure simulating a contemporary corporate or political organization.8
But is this emphasis on 'the Pastor/Priest as Executive' really helping?9 In the past fifteen years, the Western church has spent more than five-hundred billion dollars on ministry. Yet the combined membership of all protestant denominations has decreased 9.5%, while the national population has increased 11.4%.
Since 1987, attendance at Anglican churches by youth between the ages of 14 and 17 has decreased by 34.9%. And 'If the same rate continues to apply, there may be no young people at all in the church in twenty years' time.'12]
And even more telling is chronic, pervasive deformation professionnelle among the leaders of the church, where there is an epidemic of 'burnout' and disillusionment. According to a recent survey:13
Clearly, we are at crosscurrents.15 Eugene Peterson argues that church Leaders have 'adopted the language of the market and of the entrepreneur (depersonalizing "souls" into consumers or causes),' allowing their 'pastoral vocation to serve the criteria of success as defined by the American culture.'16 One is reminded of Max Weber's warning that his sophisticated theories of management could result in 'mechanized petrifaction,' to 'specialists without spirit,' and to 'voluptuaries without heart.'17 To reprise Stegner: '[I]f the forms are bad, we live [lead] badly.' It seems an appropriate time to question the 'forms' that are shaping our ecclesiastical leadership philosophy.
Introduction
Separated by more than 8500 kilometers but only 52 years, two seminal thinkers have shaped the moral philosophy of their respective cultures. While Western ethical theory has been deeply influenced by Plato's Republic, Eastern ethical theory has been deeply influenced by Confucius's Analects. David Haberman describes the Republic as 'one of the most influential books of all time' (86). And Bryan Van Norden compares (with considerable fervor) the Analects to 'the combined influence of Jesus and Socrates' (3).
On the surface, there are many similarities between Confucius and Plato. Both taught through means of dialogue, and both expressed reticence to provide direct definitions. Both advocated contemplation and education as the means for moral attainment, and both sought to balance contemplation with service. Both sought to apply their moral theory to public office (though both failed). And while Plato espoused the 'heavenly' forms, Confucius espoused the 'Decree of Heaven.' Moreover, Plato advocated the life of the philosopher, even as Confucius advocated the life of the chun-tzu.
More importantly to this paper, Confucius and Plato both advocated an ultimate ethical ideal. Confucius's1 ethical ideal, ren,2 is central to the Analects (60 of the 499 chapters are devoted its discussion, and the word appears 109 times3). The term is tenuously translated as 'humanness.'4 And Plato's ideal, dikaiosune, is central to the Republic (it appears 248 times throughout his writings, and 131 times in The Republic5). The term is tenuously translated as 'justice.'
Because of differences in translation, these Greek and Chinese concepts have rarely, if ever, been compared. This is unfortunate, as a careful study of each may yield insight into the age-old question: Why should I be moral?
Confucius and Plato were teachers, and as such, both vigorously advocated their ethical ideals. Yet both seemed ambiguous in their teachings as to why one should pursue this ideal. The 'why' issue is vital for the teacher who, having either an Eastern or a Western cultural orientation, is concerned about application as well as theory. Indeed, while avoiding an argument from authority, it must be noted that if two of history's most important ethical thinkers, representing two distinct cultures, advocate similar moral pedagogies, then contemporary teachers should consider the implications.
The modest aim of this paper is to compare Plato's term dikaiosune with Confucius's term ren, and more particularly, to determine if there is a similarity between Plato's and Confucius's means of justifying these ideals. I will argue that there is a clear similarity (a) between the ideals themselves (concept), and (b) between the ways in which these teachers justify them (pedagogy).
Concept
Before one can argue for a similar pedagogy, one must establish a commonality of concept. Otherwise, one's case is built upon a conflation of categories. Thus, this paper must first demonstrate that there is a certain similitude between dikaiosune and ren.
dikaiosune
Plato's concept dikaiosune is central to the Republic. It is tenuously translated as 'justice.' This may be considered an ambiguous rendering, as the term seems to have a more expansive meaning. Some have argued that it is better translated as 'morality' or as 'righteousness,'6 but these terms were foreign to Plato's culture. Aristotle claims that the meaning of the original word itself 'seems to be ambiguous.' He states, 'It is clear, then, that there is more than one kind of justice, and that there is one which is distinct from virtue entirely...' (427).
While Plato's definition of dikaiosune is not explicitly stated, it is intimated:
In sum, it may be observed that dikaiosune has to do with the right relation of parts. In the case of the individual, this has to do with the three parts of the soul: the appetitive, the spirited, and the rational.8 Plato states that a person is just when he 'regulates well what is really his own,' 'puts himself in order,' and 'harmonizes the three parts of himself'9 (443d). In the case of the state (polis), this has to do with the three classes of its citizens: guardians, auxiliaries, and producers. A society that epitomizes dikaiosune helps to produce an individual that epitomizes dikaiosune, and an individual that epitomizes dikaiosune helps to produce a society that epitomizes dikaiosune.
ren
Confucius's concept ren (or jen) is central to the Analects. It is tenuously translated as 'humanness.' This may be considered an ambiguous rendering. The term seems to have a more ethical meaning. Some have argued that it is better translated as 'goodness'10 or 'love,'11 but these terms fail to capture the 'completeness' of Confucius's meaning.12
Kwon-Loi Shun claims the meaning of the original word itself is clouded by 'competing views.' He states that 'in the Analects ren is used both more narrowly to refer to one desirable quality among others, and more broadly to refer to an all-encompassing ethical ideal' (53).
While Confucius's definition of ren is not explicitly stated, it is intimated, and its parallels with dikaiosune are notable:
In sum, it may be observed that ren has to do with the right relation of parts – that is the right relation of the individual to his family, to others, and to the state. Confucius said, 'By being a good son and friendly to his brothers a man can exert an influence upon government' (L2.21). And so, "the transformation of society begins with the cultivation of self within the environment of the family; it then spreads out like ripples caused from throwing a pebble in a still pond" (Haberman: 17).
Comparisons
It must be conceded that there are differences in these two teachers' concepts of their moral ideals – namely that dikaiosune draws parallels between the harmony of the state and the harmony of the soul, while ren draws parallels between the harmony of the state and the harmony of the family. Yet one must observe that both dikaiosune15 and ren entail a wide scope of ethical significance; neither term represents virtue in total. Both terms involve the regulation of relationship with others, both terms emphasize a right relation of parts, both terms describe a condition of harmony, and both terms embody an agent-centered ideal.
Therefore, a careful study of the terms dikaiosune and ren reveals a striking if (perhaps) imprecise similitude of concept.
Pedagogy
Having established a certain parallel between the two concepts, one may consider a question of method. A careful study of these Greek and Chinese approaches reveals a striking, if (perhaps) imprecise similitude of pedagogy. But this similitude is first noted when comparing the apparent ambiguity of both teachers.
Ambiguity
Plato and Confucius seem to contradict themselves in their claims about why one should pursue dikaiosune/ren. Should one pursue these ethical ideals for their own sake or for the sake of their benefits? Their apparent contradiction seems to belie their justification of the moral life.
In Book VI of the Analects, Confucius says, 'The wise are happy, but the ren, secure' (W6.21). He teaches that the man with a heart of the chun-tzu (hero/scholar) 'will never seek life at the expense of ren; and it may be that he has to give his life in order to achieve ren' (W15.8). He teaches that the chun-tzu focuses on virtue and responsibilities, while a common man focuses on 'gaining advantage' (L4.11). And he adds, 'Indulging in activities aimed at yielding personal gain yields complaints' (L4.12).
But in Book IX of the Analects, Confucius also says, 'He that is really ren can never be unhappy' (W9.28). In Book VI, he allows that the man with ren will 'seek reward' (W6.22). In Book IX, he says, 'A man with ren [has] no worries' (L9.30). And in book XV, a wise man needs ren 'to secure power' (W15.32). So on the one hand, Confucius seems to justify ren by extolling its intrinsic value. While on the other hand, he seems to encourage ren for the sake of its instrumental value.
In Book I of the Republic, Thrasymachus 'roars into the midst' of the dialogue with Glaucon and Adeimantus to demand that Socrates16 justify dikaiosune. Thrasymachus warns, 'And don't tell me that it is the right, the beneficial, the profitable...' (336d). He insists that 'dikaiosune is what is advantageous to the stronger, while pleonexia (the antithesis of dikaiosune) is to one's own profit and advantage' (344c). In Book II, Glaucon and Adeimantus take up Thrasymachus' challenge, with Glaucon demanding 'I want to hear it [dikaiosune] praised by itself' (365d), and with Adeimantus demanding that Socrates show 'how – because of its very self – it benefits its possessors' (367d).
Socrates' response to this formidable challenge is complex, if not inconsistent. He has been widely accused of committing a fallacy of equivocation – that is, of proving something different from what he was asked to prove (what does having a rightly ordered soul have to do with keeping one from stealing?). Moreover, commentators struggle with determining whether Socrates advocated an intrinsic or an instrumental ethic. Throughout the end of the Book IV, he seems to argue that dikaiosune is worth having for its own merit. More particularly, he sets out a theory of human nature and its harmony as a state of dikaiosune. Then in Book VIII and IX, he returns to Glaucon's challenge, this time arguing that dikaiosune is worth having for the sake of its consequences.
Justification of ren
One must admit at the outset that this investigation has certain limitations. The first is its necessary brevity. This limitation is further complicated by the difference in communication styles between Plato and Confucius. Whereas the former presents a detailed argument, the latter, with typical eastern crypticism, presents a series of descriptive statements. And while one may construct an argument from these statements, it takes time to build a case.
A particular danger (ignored by many commentators), and quite tempting due to this paper's word limitations, arises from relying upon isolated proof texts. But the only responsible way to make a claim is to appraise the entire corpus. With this in mind, the Chinese text, the Waley translation, and the Li translation have all been carefully surveyed, with each reference to ren classified and indexed, then summarized in chart form to provide as concise an overview as possible.
It seems appropriate to admit the following weaknesses with this overview. Some of the sayings placed in the 'ambiguous' category could well be placed in the 'intrinsic' category, as Confucius often extols ren in a way that emphasizes its value, while just falling short of endorsing its absolute intrinsic value. Also, the translator's own bias can so easily influence his interpretation. Moreover, one cannot be sure that Confucius actually formed these stark categories in his own mind.
Still, it must be conceded that Confucius taught both the intrinsic and the instrumental value of ren. A summary textual analysis (excluding ambiguous references) indicates that he emphasized the intrinsic value of ren 53% percent of the time, and the instrumental value 47% percent of the time.17 Even if one allows that this paper erred in its classification of the sayings by a factor of 20%, an uncomfortable conundrum remains: Confucius justified ren on both intrinsic and instrumental grounds. The principal question, then, is this: how (or why) did Confucius take this approach?
The answer may be found by an exegesis of the key texts on which his approach pivots. Because of space limitations, only two may be examined, but they are truly representative. In Book IV, Confucius states that 'the ren man rests content with ren, but he that is merely wise pursues ren in the belief that it pays to do so' (4.2). And in Book VI, he says that 'a person with ren works hard first and seeks reward later – that is ren' (6.22). Three textual observations are in order.
While this paper has not engaged in extensive critique of current commentary (there does not seem to be any available scholarship comparing ren and dikaiosune), it may be helpful to demonstrate, briefly, how these observation are complimented by the contemporary debate over Confucius's moral justification.
David Haberman argues that 'Confucius proposed "doing for nothing." Specifically, this involves doing what is right simply because it is morally right, and not for any other reason' (16). But Haberman's case is based upon just three (dubious) proof texts. Philip Ivanhoe helps to balance Haberman's position when he writes, 'Confucians insists that one follows the Way because it is the Way and not for the benefits to be derived there from. At the same time, they insist with equal conviction that only the Way can lead to a harmonious and flourishing society' (9).
Ivanhoe's corrective is useful, but it does not go far enough. Essentially, he argues that one may know that ren is beneficial while pursuing it for entirely different reasons. But Confucius was too practical for such distinctions. He continually reminded his disciples that ren is beneficial, while at the same time insisting that it was right.
Yen-Hui, a disciple of Confucius, states in the Analects: 'I see it in the front; but suddenly it is behind. Step-by-step the Master skillfully lures one on' (9.10). Steven Wilson's exegesis of 6.22 recognizes the balance in stating that the person of ren 'does not merely pursue virtue for instrumental reasons but because it is inherently desirable' (112).
In sum, Confucius knew that the disciple could not separate his knowledge of the benefits of ren from his motivation for pursuing it. Instead, he extolled the deontological value of ren, while emphasizing the teleological benefits. He taught that ren is beneficial. It is not ren because it is beneficial; it is beneficial because it is ren. By becoming a chen-tzu, the individual may embody the intrinsic value of ren while experiencing its instrumental value.
Justification of Dikaiosune
Once again, the limitations of this paper prevent a detailed analysis of the Republic. Instead, we will focus on one vital passage, using it as a lens with which to see into Plato's attempt to justify dikaiosune.
In Book II, as part of the argument mentioned earlier, Glaucon distinguishes three classes of good things: (C1) a good we 'welcome for its own sake,' (C2) a good 'we like for its own sake and also for the sake of what comes from it,' and (C3) a good we would choose 'for the sake of the rewards' (357b-d). He then asks Socrates the pointed question, 'Where do you put dikaiosune?' His choices may be illustrated as follows:
The precise wording of Socrates' answer reveals the fundamental assumption beneath the construct of the entire Republic. Socrates replies that dikaiosune is 'to be valued by anyone who is going to be blessed with happiness, both because of itself and because of what comes from it' (358a).
With the words 'because of itself and because of what comes from it,' it may appear that Socrates is placing dikaiosune squarely in C2, but this assumption is incorrect. Instead, Socrates deftly reframes the context of his answer (a typical Socratic move) by adding a new category to Glaucon's construct:
The key to this passage18 is the phrase: to be blessed with [ultimate] happiness. Glaucon uses the terms 'harmless pleasures,' 'rewards,' and 'other things,' but Socrates replaces these words with the overarching (root) term eudaimonia. Essentially, he subordinates pleasure to the larger category of ultimate happiness. His answer may be illustrated as follows:
Essentially Socrates is saying, 'Yes, Glaucon, dikaiosune may be valued both for itself and because of what comes of it – but in a higher way than you understand.' He then proceeds to argue for both the intrinsic and the instrumental value of dikaiosune. The primary argument may be summarized as follows:
In sum, becoming dikaiosune is identical with achieving a part of eudaimonia. When one 'becomes dikaiosune,' one may also experience certain benefits. Dikaiosune, then, has both intrinsic and instrumental value.
This understanding helps to explain why Socrates argued for two (seemingly) opposing positions in Books II-IV and Books VIII-IX. It also helps to explain the strategy underlying Socrates' answer to Thrasymachus. Rather than arguing that dikaiosune is good for the weak and the strong, Socrates demonstrates the way in which dikaiosune enables the weak to become strong (through their harmony with the whole).
Socrates may not present a satisfactory argument,19 but he does not commit a fallacy of equivocation. Thrasymachus insists that 'dikaiosune is what is advantageous to the stronger' (344c). But Socrates demonstrates that those who become dikaiosune (philosophers) become strong (or healthy).
Comparisons
It must be conceded that there are differences in these two teachers' use of their moral pedagogies – namely that Plato advocated dikaiosune as good, whereas Confucius advocated ren as right.
Yet one must observe that both teachers, despite their vast cultural differences, developed an agent-centered ethical ideal; Plato advocated becoming a philosopher, while Confucius advocated becoming a chen-tzu. Both teachers sought to justify their moral ideal while motivating their students to pursue that ideal. And so, both argued for the intrinsic and the instrumental value of their ideals. Therefore, a careful study of Plato's and Confucius's uses of the terms dikaiosune and ren reveals a striking, if (perhaps) imprecise, similitude of pedagogy.
Conclusion
The goal of this paper has been to answer the question: Does a comparison of Plato's and Confucius's uses of the terms dikaiosune and ren reveal similar approaches to justifying the moral life?
With regard to concept, it may be concluded that both terms have to do with the right relation of parts, both terms entail a wide scope of meaning, both terms involve the regulation of our relationship with others, and both terms foster a condition of harmony. With regard to pedagogy, both teachers developed an agent-centered ethical ideal that encompassed reason and motivation. Both sought to justify their moral ideals while motivating their students to pursue those ideals. And so, both argued for the intrinsic and the instrumental value of their ideals. Therefore, a careful study of Plato's and Confucius's uses of the terms dikaiosune and ren reveal similar approaches to justifying the ethical life.
The parallel approaches of these East-West thinkers deserve note. Plato and Confucius seemed concerned about the application as well as the theory of ethics. The ethicist today might observe that if one abstracts instrumental value from ethical theory, one loses the appeal so necessary for ethical action. And if one abstracts intrinsic appeal from ethical theory, one loses the certitude so necessary for ethical resolve.
Bibliography
Introduction
Luc Bovens and Stephen Hartmann, both professors at the London School of Economics, co-presented a lecture at the 'Third International and Interdisciplinary Conference on Modeling and Using Context' in Dundee, Scotland (2001). Their subsequent paper, entitled 'Belief Expansion, Contextual Fit and the Reliability of Information Sources,' attempts to develop a 'probabilistic criterion for belief expansion that is sensitive to the degree of contextual fit of the new information as well as the reliability of our information source' (1).
Boven and Hartmann argue that 'when a scientific community is presented with new data, this does not occur within a vacuum' these new data are being assessed on the background of a context of beliefs.' Most importantly, they claim that 'whether these new data will be accepted or not is a question of the reliability of the sources... as well as of their contextual fit' (2).
While the focus of their paper is on the philosophy of science, its implications for the philosophy of ethics, particularly divine command ethics, are significant. In recent years, there has been a resurgence of interest in divine command theory. Robert Merrihew Adams's essay, 'A Modified Theory of Divine Command Wrongness,'1 has sparked considerable debate. Others,2 including Philip Quinn3 and Richard Mouw,4 have contributed to the growing dialog.
Adams has addressed that particular and well-known problem for the divine command ethicist posed by Plato's Euthyphro Dilemma.5 Other proponents have argued along similar lines, correcting, embracing or extending Adams's position. But few of the recent papers have addressed the seminal issue underscoring all divine command theory – that is, even if the notion of a divine command ethics is viable, how does one know that a distinct command is of divine origin? More particularly, how does one judge the truth of two contrary claims, when both purport to be of divine origin? The issue is, in essence, a question of epistemology.6 And until it is answered, these other arguments have limited utility.
The aim of this essay is to argue in favor of modesty in relation to alleged claims of divine revelation, without denying that the revelation could have supreme authority, and more particularly to demonstrate how Hartmann's and Boven's observations regarding belief revision in science suggests a very specific problem for the divine command ethicist. I will argue that this problem embodies something of an 'epistemological trap,' in that one's prior acceptance of a divine ethical standard limits one's capacity to evaluate a competing divine ethical standard. If one is wrong in his earlier conclusion, he is almost unable to evaluate and accept the new standard.
Background
Boven and Hartmann begin their paper with what they call the 'parable about belief expansion.' The parable attempts to illustrate a scenario wherein a new item of information is being presented by a new source of information. The question arises, 'Are we justified to add this new information to what we already know?'
I go to a lecture about wildlife in Greenland which was supposed to be delivered by an expert in the field. When I arrive, I notice that the expert has excused himself and that the biology department has sent a newcomer to fill in for him. I have no beliefs about wildlife in Greenland, but I do have some about Greenland's climate and about the kinds of climate conditions that various types of wildlife favor. (2)
Having established the background, they posit a scenario where the newcomer proclaims three different propositions:
Boven and Hartmann suggest that they would be willing to accept Proposition 1 based on their existing belief set. They would not be willing to accept Proposition 2 from either the 'newcomer' or the absent 'expert.' They might be willing to accept Proposition 3, but only if it were espoused by the absent expert. The authors explain, 'when it comes to wild boars the difference between the newcomer's and the expert's credentials simply make for the difference.' They conclude,7 'the more reliable the information source is, the less contextual fit is required for me to be justified to add the belief...' (2).
Next, they construct a mathematical model of the same concept. And while one does not need to be a mathematician to appreciate the conclusions of this model, to fully grasp their approach, one must refer to their paper directly. For the limited purposes of this investigation, however, their equations will only be summarized.
They begin by seeking to establish the following:
Then, they attempt to quantify the following:
Lastly, they calculate the following:
Now, it is possible to postulate two scenarios wherein one has a set of ethical beliefs, and wherein one is challenged with a new ethical idea. In the first scenario, this new item has a high degree of contextual fit. In the second, this new item has a low degree of contextual fit.
If t =.80 (see point 6), one may justify expanding their belief set based on the reliability of the sources in Scenario 1, but not in Scenario 2 (note the number .99 in Scenario 1, and the number .76 in Scenario 2). The point is relatively simple. To create a condition where the new ethical idea is accepted, one must either lower the standard (below .80) or increase the reliability of the idea's source (above .76).
Implications
Boven and Hartmann's primary contribution in their paper is the recognition of this ratio between contextual fit and source reliability.11 They rightly argue that for a new idea to be accepted, it must fit well with an existing set of beliefs or it must have extremely reliable source.
This has significant implications for the ethicist. One might suppose that Abraham's compliance with God's command to murder Isaac was a very specific type of ethical situation wherein there was an extremely low contextual fit. That is, (we might assume)12 Abraham believed murdering innocent children was wrong, but that Abraham had extreme confidence in his information source, that is (he believed) God himself commanded the deed.
By its very nature, a divine command represents the claim of ultimate authority. It is either divine/ultimate or not. There is no room for middle ground. One may be semi-sure that a given command is divine, but this does not mitigate the fact that the command itself cannot be semi-divine. This is an important distinction. The purpose of this paper does not entail establishing a criterion for determining if a given command is divine, but rather it attempts to show certain implications that arise from the fact that a given command is potentially absolutely divine.
To move forward, one must 'stretch' Boven's and Hartmann's equation to the extreme. Of particular interest is the special case where the contextual fit is almost nil but the source of the new idea is potentially infinitely reliable. Consider a scenario wherein a particular divine command ethicist is committed to a particular set of ethical beliefs based on a particular set of divine commands. Then, for the purpose of this investigation, assume that this ethicist is in error, and that the truth lies with a competing set of divine commands.
How does this ethicist realize her error? Can she use the tool of logic to correct her thinking?
Argument
This paper contends that one's prior acceptance of a divine ethical standard limits one's capacity to evaluate a competing divine ethical standard. The form of its argument is as follows:
Point 7 is reasonably evident. Clearly, this argument (especially points 1-5, 6, and 8) rests on the propositions P and Q. Moreover, since P is more a matter of explanation than attestation, it will briefly be examined, while Q will receive the most attention.
The Case for Proposition P
Boven and Hartman recognized that a problem with contextual fit may be remedied by an increase in the reliability of the source, though the two authors did not envision a scenario wherein the reliability of the source is absolute. But this challenging possibility is synonymous with the essence of a UAC.
A UAC is self-attesting. It occupies a distinct philosophical category precisely because it could be issued by an ultimate authority. If and only if a UAC was actually issued by an ultimate authority, then it would be supported by ultimate attributes (for instance, power and knowledge). If and only if a UAC were supported by ultimate attributes, then its highest endorsement can only come from itself.
So then, the position of an ultimate authority is not endangered by the objection of a limited authority. And one cannot subject an ultimate authority to a limited authority without implying that the limited authority is actually higher than the ultimate authority (there can be only one ultimate13), so that to persist with an evaluation of a UAC by a limited authority is, in effect, to elevate the limited authority to the status of ultimate authority.
This has significant implications for the divine command ethicist. A divine command is essentially a UAC, and as such, it is self-attesting, so that one cannot reasonably evaluate a divine command by a competing divine command. This leads us to a discussion of Q.
The Case for Proposition Q
One cannot reasonably evaluate a UAC by a competing UAC, because to employ an ultimate authority to validate/invalidate another ultimate authority is to start with a proposition that assumes the conclusion. But one cannot argue with a proposition that assumes the conclusion. Such an argument might be stated as follows:
In keeping with the special nature of a UAC, x and y are mutually exclusive (there can be only one ultimate), so to begin an argument with x is to summarily invalidate y. This approach results in the fallacy of petito principii. Therefore, one cannot rationally evaluate a UAC by a competing UAC.
Still, it might be objected that while the divine command ethicist may not substitute x with a competing agent, she may substitute x with a decisive standard, such as reason. So that, in favor of that standard, she might reject the previous UAC in favor of the new UAC. Indeed, the divine command ethicist might simply claim that, based on new facts, the competing UAC is the most reasonable choice.
But the standard by which one evaluates a UAC must come from the UAC itself. As demonstrated earlier, a UAC is potentially supported by ultimate attributes, so that its highest endorsement can only come from itself. One cannot subject a UAC to the standard derived from a lesser authority claim without implying (with circular reasoning) that the lesser authority is actually higher than the ultimate authority. Moreover, for one to assert that a UAC is subject to a particular external standard, one must make an ultimate authority claim oneself. The whole attempt is ludicrous.
Nevertheless, it may be further objected (with considerable force) that one may derive some standard of reason from the UAC itself, as some form of reason is necessarily involved in any claim. Mind is an expression of reason. Indeed, even to communicate a particular claim, one must employ a proposition.14 Without reason in its most basic form, one could hardly communicate at all. Accordingly, the divine command ethicist might draw a standard of reason from the original UAC with which to evaluate the new, competing UAC.
But to evaluate a UAC with reason implies both an agent and a standard. One cannot separate the two. The divine command ethicist, by virtue of her acceptance of the possiblity of the divine, finds herself in the very precarious position of a severely limited agent evaluating a potentially unlimited agent (ultimate authority). Three observations are in order:
Herein lies her challenge: reason may be necessary to corroborate truth, but it is not (always) sufficient. Reason is a process that is dependent upon information (principles, meanings, premises). If one starts with incomplete or incorrect information, one may correctly employ reason and yet arrive at a wrong (though valid) conclusion.
Reason, then, is necessarily limited. This limitation comes not because of its deficiency, but because of its insufficiency. To some extent, the force of reason is limited by its agent's (a) capacity and (b) knowledge. The problem may be illustrated with a minor formula:
The left side of the equation represents an ultimate authority with infinite capacity and knowledge, while the right represents a limited authority with an arbitrary quantity of capacity and knowledge. The differential15 between the limited agent and the unlimited (ultimate) authority leads to a principle difficulty for the divine command ethicist seeking to evaluate a UAC.
There are potential cases wherein a claim may only appear irrational to an agent with lesser knowledge or capacity. For example:
Theoretically, the little girl may structure a valid argument (things that hurt me are bad, the needle is hurting me, therefore, the needle is bad), but its conclusion is/could be wrong. This is analogous to the divine command ethicist who is but a limited agent, with limited knowledge and limited capability, attempting to evaluate a potentially infinite agent, with unlimited knowledge and unlimited capacity.
The attempt hardly seems promising.
In sum, the divine command ethicist is faced with a peculiar problem not envisioned by Boven's and Hartman's idealizations – that special situation wherein the reliability factor of the source is potentially infinite. By virtue of her own acceptance of a divine command, she must accept the special category of ultimate authority claims – with all of its implications. Accordingly, she will find it particularly difficult to evaluate the claim of a new (and contrary) divine command, as the following chart illustrates:
Comparisons
To demonstrate the peculiar situation of one who accepts the possiblity of a UAC, it may be helpful to contrast the position of the divine command ethicist with the 'reason-centric ethicist.'16 This may best be accomplished by setting the two against each other in a brief argument:
Now, the reason-centric ethicist may begin his criticism of the divine command ethicist by arguing that unencumbered by an allegiance to the divine command of an ultimate authority, he is free to evaluate a new ethical claim with the tool of reason. Whereas the divine command ethicist is trapped by her obligation to the ultimate authority of the prior divine command and that for reasons already outlined, she cannot readily evaluate the new claim.
But the divine command ethicist is not without a defense. She may respond that for a reason-centric ethicist, (his limited level of) reason itself serves as the ipso de facto ultimate authority, so that in actuality, his position mirrors her own. After all, if reason is the ultimate authority for the reason-centric ethicist, how can he use reason to evaluate a new, competing (perhaps divine-command-style) UAC that claims to transcend reason?
And the divine command ethicist may press her case further, by pointing out that she may reject outright a new competing divine command ethic on the basis of her allegiance to the prior divine command ethic (while candidly admitting she cannot do so with pure reason). But the reason-centric ethicist cannot make this move without engaging in an absurd, double-layered contradiction.
For if reason is his ultimate authority, and all he has is reason, then he must use reason to reject the UAC, but this itself engages a logical fallacy. In effect, he can neither use reason as the standard to evaluate the UAC, nor use his commitment to the ultimate authority of reason to reject the UAC. He is left with nothing, while she at least has her (perhaps blind) faith in the prior divine command.
But the reason-centric ethicist may counter with a telling blow: On what basis did the divine command ethicist accept the prior divine command ethic? Was reason involved in the decision (and how could it not be)? If so, then her decision to accept the ultimate authority of the divine command ethic was based on an external standard (reason) which contradicts the decision itself.
For if reason were the original 'decider,' then reason is really her ultimate authority, at which point her entire ethical system is based upon contradiction. If she responds that she derived her standard of reason from the UAC itself, he may point out that she is now in no better position than she left him in her last counter. Moreover, she is moving to a position that is indefensible, denying the supremacy of reason while employing it in an ultimate argument for her case.
At this point, the divine command ethicist is running out of rejoinders. Her best tactic may be to argue that her acceptance of the prior divine command ethic signifies her belief in the probability/actuality of ultimate authority, whereas the reason-centric ethicist cannot rule out the possibility of ultimate authority, and so there is a very real sense in which he is facing a dilemma that is similar to hers.
Yet in the end, the matter cannot be resolved with the arguments. For it is certainly possible to be right (in a realist sense) without being able to prove it, and in the special case where one is supporting a trans-rational claim, it is quite likely that one cannot prove it.17 Indeed, if one can successfully reason for a trans-rational claim, then the claim is hardly trans-rational.
Nevertheless, the divine command ethicist must concede that she is in a very dangerous position. For by embracing the special category of the UAC, she expresses a willingness to commit to a standard of which (a) she cannot independently justify, and of which (b) she cannot be certain. This might well evoke a degree of modesty. After all, even if the reason-centric ethicist is wrong, it is unlikely that every divine command ethicist, from every differing religious position, can be right at the same time.
Conclusion
Boven and Hartman's emphasis on the reliability of the source in belief expansion/revision points to a specific problem for the divine command ethicist. The divine command ethicist has necessarily accepted the possibility of an ultimate authority claim (UAC). The nature of a UAC suggests a condition wherein an extremely low contextual fit may be compensated by an infinitely reliable source.
A UAC is self-attesting. It occupies a distinct philosophical category precisely because it could be issued by an ultimate authority. If and only if a UAC was actually issued by an ultimate authority, then it would be supported by ultimate attributes (for instance, power and knowledge). If and only if a UAC were supported by ultimate attributes, then its highest endorsement can only come from itself.
One cannot reasonably evaluate an ultimate authority claim by a competing UAC, because the two (ultimate) claims are mutually exclusive, so that to validate/invalidate one by the other is to start with a proposition that assumes the conclusion.
One cannot reasonably evaluate the new claim with a special (external) standard because the new competing claim may actually be issued by an ultimate authority, and so it may be inclusive of ultimate attributes. And if it is inclusive of ultimate attributes, then its highest endorsement can only come from itself.
Moreover, if one tries to extract a standard of reason from the new claim itself, one must enforce the standard as a limited agent, with limited knowledge and limited capability, attempting to evaluate a potentially infinite agent. with unlimited knowledge and unlimited capability.
Therefore, one's prior acceptance of a UAC limits one's capacity to evaluate a competing UAC, and therefore, one's prior acceptance of a divine ethical standard limits one's capacity to evaluate a competing divine ethical standard.
Bibliography
OK, marketing pro, let's take a quick test. The following sales copy is excerpted from the Altoona Tribune. Just how effective do you think it could be? Is it persuasive? What is your instant reaction to the tone of the message?
Brash, isn't it? Would you rush out and buy a bottle of this miracle cure? Would anyone? In 1885 the demand was so strong that the Oregon Indian Medicine Company had to build a new plant encompassing an entire city block of Corry, Pennsylvania. As late as 1912, the Company was still in full production with a popular price point of fifty cents per bottle.2
What about today? How would such blatant copy be received in our cynical marketplace?
Researchers at MarketingExperiments.Com recently endeavored to place the very same ad in the Altoona Mirror (The Tribune is no longer published). But the Mirror wouldn't accept the copy, and neither would any other major metropolitan newspaper.
A fairly predictable result -- but it demonstrates a vital point. This original ad worked only because people trusted and believed its message. Not anymore.
With each passing nanosecond, consumers are growing more and more jaded. It is difficult to fathom just how skeptical this generation has become... skeptical and wary.
The average person is assaulted with a barrage of 577 new marketing messages per week.
If we could somehow wire the mind of the consumer as they sift through the conundrum of emails, snail mails, banners and commercials... we would probably hear a resounding response:
"I don't have time to listen, and I don't believe you anyway."
Indeed, experts tell us that people sort their mail in order to find an excuse to trash it. And even if by chance, a message somehow escapes this ruthless purge... it probably won't be remembered.
Statistics indicate that we retain less than 1% of the marketing messages we encounter.3
That means that this very week, your company's pitch is just one of another 577 being hurled at the prospect. You may be #11, or you may be #450, but whatever number you are, it is imperative to win a place among the fortunate 1% that are actually "heard" and remembered.
And this is only half the battle... somehow you must be believed.
In the first quarter of 2000, our colleagues and competitors burned nearly two billion dollars in online advertising. This is 182% more than the first quarter of 1999. And this is despite the fact that only a fraction of these monies will ever purchase a trusted first position.4
Here's the bad news:
The Post Modern Consumer just doesn't believe us anymore. They have endured too many empty promises, too many exaggerated benefits, and too many artful disclaimers.
The word "sales" has become synonymous with the word "hype."
What are we as marketing experts to do? How can we continue to invest against these diminishing returns? How can we be heard? And most importantly, how can we be believed?
While these questions are challenging, they also afford a major opportunity.
Most companies are churning out traditional sales jargon laced with vague adjectives and "me too" claims. A visionary (even if small) firm who learns how to communicate in a new way could achieve instant credibility.
Credibility translates into trust; trust translates into relationship, and relationship can translate into sustained sales.
But what is this "new way to communicate" and how can we learn it? Here's one place to begin.
This article contains 2591 words. You have already read 747 of them. It will NOT answer all of your questions. It is very limited by it's length and by it's medium, but it will disclose five key principles that could truly help you penetrate the venerable defenses of your target market. It utilizes two research studies, it contains eight quotations, and it references seven sources. It is tightly focused on a single question:
How can we get this skeptical generation to accept and respond to our marketing message?
The answer can be found within a simple set of principles that embody the core philosophy of Transparent Marketing™.
As we race into the new millennium, the rules are changing; people are changing. The "old school" methods of selling products are growing stagnant. Social Scientists call this new era The Age of Post Modernity.
And the Post Modern Consumer will not tolerate multiple "closes," self-promotion, or invasive mail. He doesn't even like "suits and ties."
Technology has empowered this new generation with far more options than in times past. Marketers are often held hostage by a single click. And whether the weapon of choice is a mouse or remote, we have but seconds to initiate a relationship.
There has to be a more effective way to communicate.
Transparent Marketing™ offers a discreet new philosophy based on a collection of historic values.
The British poet, W.H. Auden once said:5
"The image of myself which I try to create in my own mind in order that I may love myself is very different from the image which I try to create in the minds of others in order that they may love me."
In Transparent Marketing™, both images are one and the same.
To understand the application of this new philosophy we must fast forward from 1885, to some 115 years later.
Here is a modern (if subtle) version of "snake oil copy." It is actual sales text extracted from the high traffic web site of a major company (the name has been changed).
What is wrong with this piece? Is it too long, too short, or too direct? If you were the expert hired to revise it, what changes would you make?
Transparent Marketing™ suggests a different way to analyze this sample copy. Here are five key principles:
1. Tell (only) the (verifiable) Truth
"Write the truest line you know." When Earnest Hemingway6 penned this famous advice, he could not have known that it would have such lasting impact. His words still resonate today. If the new marketer is to succeed in persuading the Post Modern Consumer, he must embrace this maxim just as eagerly as the aspiring author.
The task is challenging. First, we must strip our ad copy of every last info fragment that is not absolutely accurate. Then we must go back and strip it again, this time of every fragment that is not absolutely verifiable.
Here is a direct quote from the mission statement of HealthWidgets.Com:
Fine sounding words, but despite the noble tone, their message will likely be discarded. If the Post Modern Consumer can't instantly verify a claim he will assume that it is false.
2. Purge all vague modifiers.
Let's take a pair of surgical scissors to the MediWidgets pitch. Let's cut away the subjective adjectives, adverbs, and prepositional phrases.
Question: What do we have left? Answer: Not much.
What is this copy saying? How will it impact a prospect?
Here is a paraphrase of the remaining paragraph, along with the likely responses of a weary decision maker as he scans for meaning.
If theses responses seem harsh, they are probably not harsh enough. While this writer has no desire to demean the work of another professional, the Post Modern Consumer couldn't care less. He actually despises hype and anything else that insults his intelligence.
He is armed and dangerous. With a single click, he can terminate a company's opportunity.
3. Let someone else do your bragging
To the Post Modern Consumer, nothing is more nauseous than the sound of someone singing their own virtues. If you must convey subjective information about your product, then do so through the voice of your customers, peers, or reviewers.
In our sample copy we deleted the following modifiers: finest, consistently, keen, strong, superior, smoothly, less invasive, cost-effective. Anyone of these colorful words could be acceptable, bracketed within the quotes of an unbiased third party, but they will not work when we declare them for ourselves.
As King Solomon, advised his son, some 3500 years ago, "Let another man praise thee, and not thine own mouth."7
4. Substitute general descriptions with specific facts
The Post Modern Consumer demands to be respected as a capable decision maker. They despise thinly veiled sales pressure, but they appreciate simple, direct communication. Give them the resources they need to make an intelligent comparison; then politely "step back" and allow them to make their own evaluation.
Let's see how this second principle applies to the first two key points of the sample copy.
This fragment does not offer any substantial meaning. If the goal is to persuade the reader to trust the company, then we need to provide specific facts that clearly imply the effectiveness of the Team.
This goal can be accomplished with a hyperlink to more information, and/or with a single inclusive statement of "ipso de facto" qualification.
In the limited space of the above copy, it is probably best to focus your prospect on the qualification of one team member. Here is an example:
MODIFIED INFO-FRAGMENT 1: Jan Vincent, the CEO of MediWidgets.Com, was formerly the Technology Director of the Mayo Clinic. She holds dual doctorates in Computer Science and in Nuclear Medicine.
This fragment makes a bold proclamation, but does not offer a shred of evidence. It is not difficult to imagine how sarcastically this nebulous claim will be received by the reader as he slashes through the dross.
MODIFIED INFO-FRAGMENT 2: In the past seven years, the R&D staff of MediWidgets.Com has developed six new software applications and eleven new patented, patient care procedures. According to "Medicine Today", 62% of all U.S. Hospitals utilize at least one software solution created by the MediWidgets Research Team.
5. Admit your Weaknesses
The Post Modern Consumer is not looking for perfection. He is looking for honesty. He wants to build a relationship with someone or with some company that he can trust. Best selling authors Jack Trout and Al Ries espouse this vital principle.
When a company is humble enough to admit a weakness, they immediately distinguish themselves from the competition. It opens the door for a trust relationship.
The consumer is all too aware of the fact that we are not perfect. To pretend otherwise, only serves to raise their suspicion. Tell them what you can't do, and they'll believe you when you tell then what you can do.
As Emily Dickinson9 has said, "The truth must dazzle gradually".
Let's see how the principles of Transparent Marketing™ work together in the sample copy
For the sake of clarity, we have divided it into two paragraphs.
These paragraphs reflects a new approach to the MediWidgets marketing message, but they could be improved still further... In fact, they would be more web compatible, if they were organized in an easy-to-scan list format. The message, itself, could be strengthened, if it were complimented by a simple set of decision tools. These include:
In the final analysis, it's not the prose; it's the principles. Transparent Marketing™ is about values not sentence alchemy. It asks that we treat the customer with the same integrity that we would expect to be treated.
Its simple approach to a complex problem can best be captured in the words of an anonymous rhyme:10
1 "Modoc Oil - The Greatest Pain Medicine On Earth (Adv.)," Altoona Tribune (Altoona, PA), January 29, 1884.
2 "The Oregon Indian Medicine Company," English, http://www.bottlebooks.com/oregon.htm: Digger Odell Publications.
3 Kam Wai Yu and Derek Lee Armstrong, book, The Persona Principle (New York, NY: Simon & Schuster, 1996).
4 Web Release, "Internet Advertising Revenues Pass $2 Billion in Second Quarter 2000," English, http://www.iab.net/news/content/adrevenue100200.html: Pricewaterhouse Coopers Internet Ad Revenue Report.
5 Auden, Wystan, Hugh 1907-1973. British-born American writer and critic whose poems, published in collections such as The Dance of Death (1933) and The Double Man (1941), established his importance in 20th-century literature.
6 Hemingway, Ernest, Miller 1899-1961. American writer. A World War I ambulance driver, journalist, adventurer, and expatriate in Paris during the 1920's, he wrote short stories and novels, such as The Sun Also Rises (1926), For Whom the Bell Tolls (1940), and The Old Man and the Sea (1952), that concern courageous, lonely characters and are marked by his terse literary style. He won the 1954 Nobel Prize for literature.
7 The Holy Bible - Authorized King James Version.
8 Al Ries & Jack Trout, book, The 22 Immutable Laws Of Marketing (New York, NY: HarperCollins Publishers Inc., 1994).
9 Dickinson, Emily Elizabeth 1830-1886. American poet who was virtually a recluse at her home in Amherst, Massachusetts, where she wrote more than a thousand verses infused with emotional depth and subtlety. The first volume of her poetry was not published until 1890
10 Dan Kennedy, book, The Ultimate Marketing Plan (Holbrook, MA: Bob Adams, Inc., 1991).
October 28, 2003
It's eventide; the sun is grim.
It sets upon the wake.
The shadows mourn for fallen Kings,
As phantoms of the rake.
The cloven hoof hath trampled here
And left but tears of dust.
The years it claimed were fleeting gifts,
A grant to hold in trust.
And now the Piper bleeds his tune.
It courses o'er the stone,
The final note a haunted sigh,
The wraith of flesh and bone.
And he who crushed the Gaelic Foe
Is vanquished by black earth.
The worm consumes what's left of loss
As death devours a birth.
And I am left beside the grave
To feign my "now" will last.
But Time will march with fierce resolve
To make my "now" a "past."
- Flint McGlaughlin
If God favors the humble, he surely favored this place. It was small; it was remote; it was impoverished. I was in India – not the romantic, tropical jungles of Kipling, but the poverty-stricken slums of Rajasthan, and my knees throbbed with the dull ache of kneeling too long on stone-cold slab.
Beside me knelt a giant.
Mulla Na Kuzhiyil Abraham Thomas did not seem the "giant." He was a simple Indian pastor who began his ministry under a solitary Neem tree in North India. He had no delusions of grandeur. He could not fathom a family life center or a television special. His vision was occupied with just two activities: survival and evangelism.
Even this was difficult. Thomas and his team of nine native missionaries struggled with a total budget of just $25 per month (a personal pledge from Bill Bright). And their preaching was not well received. The team was brutally assaulted by militant Hindus who fractured Thomas's skull and killed two of his co-workers.
Still, this humble missionary persevered, preaching daily under his beloved Neem tree, until eventually a church was established, then a school, and finally a small Bible Institute.
I was now visiting him, in Kota, India, and we were praying that, someday, one hundred students would graduate from the new Bible Institute. It seemed a lofty, unobtainable number. Already, Thomas's simple ministry had exceeded his expectations.
It seemed a lofty number to Thomas, but it seemed rather small to me. I was twenty years old, and I was in a hurry. I was in a hurry to get "big," to build a major ministry.
Somehow, I drew an immediate connection between size and significance. And everything I did just seemed like something I was doing on the way to doing something more important – something bigger.
The Geometry of Gargantuan
I wish I could speak of this vanity as a problem of my distant past, as the folly of youth, but a recent entry from my personal journal reveals the true extent of the struggle.
Thomas was always different. I recall a time when his ministry faced (yet another) grave crisis: Money was in short supply and a disgruntled faction threatened to take over the work. His leaders were frightened and desperate. But not Thomas; he was concerned, but quiet. His soul seemed restful.
I remember, as we left a tense, difficult meeting how he placed a calloused, sun-withered hand on my right shoulder and smiled. I will never forget what he said: "My Dear Brother, I began this ministry eighteen years ago under that old Neem tree. God did provide; God CAN provide – but if he does not, I will go back to my tree and begin again."
His words smote me. Thomas was not threatened by the loss of the ministry. The scale of his worth was not attached to the scale of his work. It was not his ministry; it was God's. And while someone might threaten the work, on one could not threaten his calling.
Mulla Na Kuzhiyil Abraham Thomas was a free man.
The Dark Liquor of "More"
Men like Thomas are rare. Most of us are infected by the distorted values of our culture. And the lust for scale can intoxicate us – the more we subscribe, the more we imbibe the dark liquor of "more." It can cloud our vision.
Soren Kierkegaard, the Danish Philospher, warned that the "the absolute ethical distinction between good and evil tends to be blurred by the categories of the great and the significant."1
It is all too easy, in our pursuit of significance to compromise character for the sake of effectiveness. We use our people to build our ministry, instead of using our ministry to build our people.
The ministry becomes a career and even if we achieve an external win we battle with an internal loss. Eugene Peterson offers a poet's perspective on the problem in his book, Under the Unpredictable Plant:2
Peterson's words have made me question myself. Is my ministry congruent with my calling? Am I called to build churches or to build the people of the Church. Has my lust for scale distorted my vision?
It is all too easy to equate "health" directly with "size." But as Epicurus said, "Nothing is enough for the man to whom enough is too little."3
And while "size" can certainly be a measure of health (there are twenty-one growth reports in the book of Acts), it is not the only measure of health.
Nearly every organism has an inherent limit, a peak, in its growth cycle. An increase in size artificially stimulated beyond that point can be detrimental. The steroid effect may create visual appeal for a bodybuilder, but it may just as well cause impotence.
Sometimes, less is more.
Of Small Ministries and Small Men
Mulla Na Kuzhiyil Abraham Thomas, that is Dr. M.A Thomas, has remained faithful to his call. And today, eighteen years after that first prayer meeting, in the back alleys of Kota, we have a graduating class of more than 2,000 pastors. The ministry has grown beyond anyone's expectation – with 7,000 churches, 200 schools, 78 orphanages, 15 medical clinics, and a hospital.
But while the ministry has changed, Thomas has not. And though he has been awarded his nation's highest civilian honor, he remains the same simple missionary pastor.
Thomas is a Moses. Now he mixes with the likes of Billy Graham, John Maxwell, and Adrian Rogers. But he did not plan such a role and he would be equally content to labor in obscurity, serving God in the slums of Kota, underneath a spreading Neem Tree.
But what are we to think of the 7,000 pastors birthed through his extraordinary ministry? It is doubtful that they will ever achieve the scale of Thomas's work. It is unlikely that they will ever be lavished with the honors of their nation. And while ten of their number have been martyred, most will die alone, unknown, unappreciated. They are anonymous.
Yet they continue, year after year, with the cycle of poverty and persecution only occasionally and briefly interrupted by a pastor's conference or a personal note from Thomas.
Thomas gives them hope. Just as Rick Warren or Bill Hybels provides hope and help for thousands of struggling pastors in the U.S., pastors who will make a genuine Kingdom contribution, but who are consigned for the rest of their lives to lead small, seemingly insignificant works.
This disparity is inherent with danger. Most of the ministry models we aspire to, are on such a large scale that we may unwittingly fall prey to an unhealthy craving for size.
But this craving does not always lead to compromise. More often than not, it leads to an altogether different state: disillusionment. How many pastors begin their career already victimized by the life-draining leech of insecurity only to discover that their dreams for major ministries are misplaced?
Now, plagued with self-doubt, we are forced to reconcile the measure of our hopes with the measure of our results. And it is only natural that we confuse the scope of our work with the scope of our capabilities. Too often we equate small ministries with small men.
A Quiet Call
I know a man, who at the age of seventy, looks back upon fifty years of ministry with a troubled yearning. He wishes he could have accomplished more.
His name is not bandied about on the lips of eager young preachers. And the church growth experts, Elmer Townes or George Otis Junior, have not written about this quiet, missionary pastor. He is virtually anonymous on the national scene.
Yet this man has rescued five troubled churches – churches that were shattered by pastoral abuse, board fights, and tragic splits. With his faithful, steady hand, he has guided them back to health and renewed their spiritual vigor.
And this man, approaching fifty years of age, has left all security, and led his family to the far North of British Columbia. In bone-chilling temperatures of -60 degrees, in a primitive log cabin with no electricity, and with virtually no financial support, he has built a ministry that changed lives.
And this man has served the King for five decades without even the hint of scandal or impropriety. And he has forged a family so close that all four of his children are faithfully serving God in ministries that stretch from Florida to Turkey.
And yet I know that late at night, when this man sits in his study, surrounded by Bibles, and notebooks, and memories, his ministry seems so insignificant, so small. He wonders if he could have done more, if his life has truly measured up.
I know this to be true because this man is my father. And I have watched him for thirty-eight years, sometimes in awe, while he quietly shouldered yet another impossible burden and carried out The Call.
I know, also, that my dad, like Thomas, is a giant.
The success of his ministry cannot be measured by its size. Long ago, he swore off the lust for scale and instead quietly obeyed The Call.
His Bible, though worn and tattered, is filled cover-to-cover with handwritten notes from fifty years of prayer and study. And one day I found a telling poem scratched down next to the words of another aging missionary pastor, the Apostle Paul.
Paul, having established just a few small (troubled) churches wrote: "I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith." My dad, having followed the same course, copied these anonymous lines next to Paul's:
Unquenchable Pain,
A searing desire,
Eyes of the Lion,
Twin daggers of fire,
The shadows of night,
The keepers of sin,
The Lion without,
The Lamb within.
But stand fast my soul
For the Lion comes,
Malicious intent,
Low ravenous one.
Fangs of poison pride,
Heart, thy heart hath lied.
Chains of hate inside,
Death, thy death hath died.
(Genesis 3:24)
- Flint McGlaughlin
Transmission – 4:41pm
Recovered
Dear Gracie:
I am floating at 10,000 ft. on the wings of that cotton-candy dragon we spied just yesterday.
And, sweetheart, they are here again.
I see the dolphin trio dodging flecks of light as they surf the cirrus wave, and I see the ballerina, a wisp of gold trailing, as she pirouettes on silken toe.
But where are those silver-tinged angels. . . those lonely, silver-tinged angels?
Somehow, they seemed to have slipped away.
We saw them just yesterday, you and I, in the park, while we played. We spun around in lazy circles staring into this forever gray.
You lay so still while their crystal tears fell softly on your cheek. Then Mommy called, and we tumbled down and raced the whole way home.
Do you remember what you asked, "Daddy, why do angels live in such high places?" You crinkled up your freckled nose and declared, "If I had wings, I'd fly way up to the clouds and play with those poor, sad angels."
I promised to take you, someday, in Daddy's plane.
My God, how could I have known? How could anyone have known that you would leave us so suddenly?
Dear Gracie, you did fly away. . . In less than a heartbeat.
Your daddy never even saw that driver. Since then I have searched the whole horizon.
And your mommy just keeps calling.
But I can't go home – This merry-go-round I am on is spinning much too fast.
I don't think I can jump off this time.
If I could see, just once more, those silver-tinged angels . . . but it is too late. Those lonely, silver-tinged angels have quietly slipped away.
And I think I shall take their place.
Seattle, Washington – 6:34 am, rescue workers recovered the wreckage of a Twin Cessna. FAA officials have attributed the crash to pilot error. According to eyewitnesses, the plane went into a sudden freefall just two miles east of the Pacific Coast.
I
There's a darkness, a suffocating void. I feel its endless, merciless sinking, from deep into deep.
There's a striving, a pathetic flailing. And I sense its hopeless, meaningless knowing. . . . I sow what I reap.
I thought I could swim; I heard your crying. I thought I could save you with powerful strokes but strength is a lie.
This water is cunning; I feel its mocking. This water is lordless; it slips through my fingers . . . and dares me to try.
How can I help you? I can't even reach you. My God, you are drowning, and I can do nothing but gasp for more air.
How can I leave you? I barely can see you but the wake of your thrashing keeps me desperately clinging . . . to a hope we can share.
II
I am no Titan – to ride on the waves and wrest you from savage, watery death.
I am a David – slingless and stoneless, and this final psalm plays on my final breath.
- Flint McGlaughlin
My Brother's Confession – June 6, 2002
I am here, in this water, with four candles and the tools and the books. The water, I hope, will relax my body, if not my conscience.
The books are my friends – my only friends.
The tools? I have but two: this pen and this razor blade. I am not really sure which to use. Either way you bleed.
But writing is harder than living.
I know. I have tried both, and here I am, trying yet again. Though I think, tonight, I am struggling with my last chapter.
"Write the truest words you know." Hemmingway taught me that.
"I am a cripple. I have been a cripple for all of my 17 years. Polio is a blight, but there are worse diseases. My stepfather had a worse disease... or a worse disease had him. Either way, he thought he could keep me here forever. He thought I was too helpless or too afraid. He was wrong."
I can only find 58 (really) true words. They bleed naturally enough from the point of my pen. But what is to come next? It is at this very place my technique always suffers.
Jon Franklin says that I have to present a problem. He says the reader will "never be on your side so solidly as immediately following an exciting, tension producing complication."
I would really like to get some readers on my side. I would really like to get anyone on my side, and I do have lots of complications, but this whole complication/resolution formula seems so artificial.
I think my life is more like: complication/more complications/partial resolution/greater complications and then despair.
I cannot sell that story.
Still, here's a complication for you. Yesterday my Mother was arrested; they charged her with murder.
More complications: the victim was my stepfather.
Partial resolution: my Mother is innocent.
Greater complication: I am the killer.
Despair: I think that's what I'm feeling right now.
My stepfather deserved it; my Mother did not. My stepfather hurt us. I mean he really hurt us, though I think he hurt me most of all.
For 11 years he raped me.
I think it was partially my fault, but I am not sure. I did try to leave, when I was nine, but he found me and he locked me away.
It was just a bleak little room beneath the house, but it could have been worse. Shakespeare lives here, and Faulkner, and Wolfe, and others.
They live in water-stained, cardboard boxes, heaped carelessly at the foot of my cot.
I share them with the cockroaches.
The cockroaches favor the red and blue colored ink on the outside. I favor the black and white meat on the inside. It is an unholy compromise.
But my nights have been an endless dialog with the Lords of Writ. They are my friends, my counselors, my teachers.
And when HE would come, when that MAN would come into my room, I would hold tightly, I would hold so tightly onto their every word.
And in the morning, when that MAN would leave, I would take my pen, and etch out the remains of my soul on long yellow pads.
And in the afternoon, when William would come, I would push it all away, push away the memory of those HANDS.
We would talk, but never about that MAN. We would talk like regular boys and pretend that I was normal.
William was my stepbrother. He was a regular boy.
I thought he was safe. Surely that MAN could not hurt his own flesh, the way he hurt me.
I think I might have endured more, lasted longer, if things had stayed the same. But on May 8th, exactly 42 days ago, everything changed.
John Gardner taught me that every story has three acts. I think this is true of mine, but really ACT 3 is all that matters now. So let me move quickly through the others.In the bottom of ACT 1, my (real) Dad dies. It is ugly. It is AIDS.
ACT 2 begins exactly 487 days later, when my Mother remarries.
I think he makes her feel better. I do not think she loves him; I think she needs him. I do not think he loves her; I think he needs me.
He came to me just three days after the wedding. He told me I was a good kid. He told me he loved me. He told me to bend over the bed.
He was not the multi-layered, part-good, part-evil conflicted character of quality literature. He was an archetype. Flat. One-dimensional. Carnivorous.
Henry James would not write about such a man. I cannot describe such a man – only his hands. They were tender, groping, sweet smelling.
I hated his HANDS.
After he left, I vomited – first on my pillow, and then on my long yellow pad.
The next morning he repented.
"I am sorry. I am so, so sorry." The words dribbled down his face like salty tears as he folded those HANDS and begged God to "deliver thy servant from this wickedness."
I wish God had listened – even to HIM. God has not listened to me, especially to me.
I have often thought that God is like my Mother. Where has she been when I needed her most?
I know better, now.
Still, I rarely pray, since my Dad died. And even then, I do not mention my sickness or my Stepfather. Somehow, I know that God is not to blame for either disease.
I do ask about my writing.
Crippled or not, Byron was a Lord, but it was not the title that made him so; it was the writing. Unknown and broke, Thoreau died a failure, but someone discovered his journals, and today he is immortal.
I want to be known; I want to be read. I have asked God to help me sell a story.
ACT 3 began forty-two days ago. That is when William wrote his first story, "My Winter Came In Spring."
William visited most afternoons. He brought me the only medicine that mattered: Pads and pens. He took my stories to the mailbox, and he brought me back the woeful rejection letters – twenty-seven of them.
William had read each of my stories, but he had never written one himself. He did not need to write; he could live.
But forty-two days ago, William came to me and he was different. He handed me a crumpled yellow sheet. It was a story, just a simple piece, but it was much too artful for a regular boy.
William left suddenly. His eyes shuffled away before I could ask. But I knew...
And I could not bear the knowing.
I thank God for my real Dad. He was a Writer and an English Professor, a nearly famous Rhodes Scholar, and he left me in the care of Aristotle.
Aristotle taught me about plot. He said it was an arrangement of incidents, which led to a conclusion that was both "inevitable and unexpected."
Inspired by such counsel I devised a plot. It was unexpected, if not inevitable.
It was unexpected, because no one thought I could drag my pathetic 97-pound frame up thirteen formidable stairs.
They were mostly right. Over the years, my legs have twisted into a mangled knot.
But I was determined.
Oliver Lafarge says "that man after man gives it up and turns aside; the ones who stay with it have the guts."
Thirty-seven days ago, when the rest of the family, had left for work or school, I began to train.
By the end of week one, I made it up to the 6th stair.
By the end of week two, I was tottering on the 9th.
By the end of week three, I conquered the top step.
I was, I think, for the first time, proud.
That very night HE came... It was the same as always, the HANDS, the nauseous confession, the prayer.
It was the same for him, but it was not the same for me. When he left, I did not take up my pen.
Instead, I lay quietly, plotting.
I knew when he would visit William, and I knew what I would do.
On Friday, Mother would be gone to work – that MAN would come home and visit me, but if not me, then William.
This is what I did.
8:00 – He has not visited me. And so I begin my long ascent up to the regular world.
8:35 – I am on the 6th step - trembling. My arms are throbbing. l am afraid.
8:45 – The seventh step assaults me. I lose my grip and crash.
9:05 – I am awake. I am exhausted. But I drag myself upward toward the bottom step.
9:40 – The seventh step yields way. With my right hand I scoop up my withered legs and rest them on the eighth.
10:10 – I am at the top, and I am hoisting myself up by the porcelain doorknob. The door, itself, is unlocked.
10:20 – I am now on the kitchen floor, scratching my way across the cold linoleum towards the den.
Chekhov had a shotgun, and so did my Dad; I know where he kept it.
10:41 – The cabinet is locked, but the door has a glass pane. I smash through it. This weapon feels so heavy.
? – Time is running out. I try to move more quickly, but my arms are filled with molten lead. The room is fading.
10:55 – I am awake now; my vision is blurred and it is hard to breath, but I am on the move again.
11:05 – I am in the hall. I cannot carry the gun. Instead, I inch it ahead, then plant my elbows and drag myself forward.
11:15 – I am at the door to William's room; it is ajar. I hear them before I see them.
William is sobbing "Dear God, oh God, please, no more..." My stepfather is repenting. "Dear Lord, I ask thee, only this once more, to forgive thy..."
11:50 – I am finally able to will myself into the room. The horror before me is too much.
William is stretched half naked across the bed. Bloodstained rivulets of semen weep down the back of his smooth, hairless thighs.
That MAN is on his knees. His head is bowed. His eyes are swollen. His lips are bloated.
And his HANDS... his hands are folded, clenched, sticky with sin and tears.
The pit of my stomach twists into a sickened knot. I feel a sudden urge to write.
But I cannot.
I must KILL THE HANDS.
Footsteps? I hear footsteps in the hallway. Who could be coming?
I cannot wait.
I must KILL THE HANDS.
The gun seems suddenly lighter. I brace the stock against the door jam, and angle the barrel forward.
The trigger soothes my finger, eases the agony in my soul. This is not difficult.
But the steps are growing closer.
I fire.
In a single instant, two desperate prayers are answered: William is free and my stepfather is cured.
I fire again.
I do not hear the sound of the blast, but I see the shredded flesh; I see the splintered stubs. He writhes there heaving and choking, until at last his eyes find mine.
I cannot answer their question. I feel no revenge. I feel no relief. I feel no remorse.
My death came long before his.
I am tired, I am so tired. I feel the gun slipping, I glimpse a familiar face, and then the room just drifts into darkness.
How could I have known?
How could I have known that my Mother would return so soon?
How could I have known that she would carry me down the stairs and hide me? How could I have known that she would wipe away my prints and replace them with her own? How could I have known that she would take it upon herself to rewrite MY final scene?
Somehow, my plot got away from me. It always does – but my Mother is not a killer.
I am.
It was me.
And if I have failed to write a good story, at least I have lived within one. And I have learned something.
I think I know, now, why my work has been rejected.
You cannot plot a story; a story must plot itself.
And I think mine is at its end.
I am done with the pen. It is time for the blade.
– Stephen Collins
A Note To The Editor: My Name is William Terrell Maxwell. I found this note, four years ago, along with the body of my stepbrother. I submitted it, to the Superior Court Of Massachusetts, and upon further investigation, all charges against my Mother were dropped. I am submitting it, now, to you. Please consider publishing it as a work of short fiction, but please do not change the names.
I WAS PUSHED BACK AND ABOUT TO FALL
I was "pushed back and about to fall."1 – Though these words were penned centuries ago by a desperate Warrior-Poet, they still resonate today. It is not difficult to relate the author's position to our own. All of us have been, will be, or are now in the very same peril. One translator calls it the "cliff-edge."2 What is perhaps different between the Warrior-Poet, and us, is the nature of the precipice. Our precipice may be marital collapse, career disaster, or addiction. But whatever the cliff-edge, we cannot bear to fall.
I was "pushed back and about to fall, but Yahweh helped me." The addition of these five words offers an ending, a "happy" ending, but an incomplete story. Each phrase serves as a bookend. What we need is what comes in the middle. We are missing the second act. To reprise the other translation, "I was right on the cliff-edge, ready to fall, when God grabbed and held me." One can only conclude that between the "falling" and the "holding" was an anguished prayer – and it is precisely the nature of that prayer which concerns this brief essay.
What did this Warrior-Poet say or do that attracted the hand of the Divine? Many have been on the "cliff-edge"; not all have been rescued. What happened in the middle act? How did he pray?
The answer is to be found as we contemplate the fuller story surrounding the text. This story is drawn from an ancient Hebrew hymnal, the 118th chapter of the Sepher Tehillum, the Psalms. The 118th chapter comprises the last refrain of the Hallel, a series of songs for Passover. It was Martin Luther's favorite, his beauteous confitemini.3 It "helped him out of troubles which neither emperor nor king, nor any other man on earth could have helped him."4
If you are pushed back, and about to fall, if it seems that no man on earth can (or will) help, perhaps you can find hope in the story of a desperate Warrior-Poet who moved the hand of God. His story unfolds in three "heart-moves."
THEY SWARMED AROUND ME LIKE BEES
Before we can reflect on the prayer of the Warrior-Poet, we must experience a deeper understanding of his plight. He was utterly desperate; he was surrounded "on every side."5 In verse twelve, he laments, that the enemy "swarmed around me like bees." This same metaphor was used by a later poet, Homer,6 whose eloquence may help us to envisage the true danger:
Homer's choice of the phrase "swarms succeeding swarms" captures the essence of the most horrific kind of desperation. For the author of Psalms 118, and for many of us, distress may come in succeeding "swarms." Before we can recover from the last onslaught, we are assaulted by the next. This succession of failures can deplete the last reserves of even the strongest. Hope can give way to anguish.
I have tasted such anguish. In 1997, I found myself facing the bitter end of a long, painful journey. Four years earlier, I had promised a group of shareholders that I would do everything possible to produce a new television series. I was too green to recognize the near-impossibility of my promise. Each year forty-thousand new series are proposed, but only about forty are actually produced. How could I ever expect to win a place among the select forty? I had never even produced a single show.
I was determined, but with each passing day, the stark realities of my challenge grew clearer. After the usual bout with agencies (ICM, CAA, William Morris), with network executives, and talent, I found myself personally and financially exhausted. I needed THE call, not the call from God (I thought that God had spoken). I needed the phone call from Rysher Entertainment. I needed to hear "yes."
My four year tour of duty had been brutal. Like the person in the assault described by Homer, I had endured "swarms succeeding swarms." It was one disappointment after another: a deal with A&E had dissolved, as had another with CBS, and then with FOX. A co-series with Don Johnson fell apart when our show-runner left to produce the new hit JAG. Time was running out, and Rysher was my last hope.
I "knew" the call would come. It had to come. I had faith. I expected a miracle. And as none had yet materialized, the whole problem seemed to simplify itself. There was no more time. No more partners. Thus, by process of elimination, it grew apparent that Rysher would be the ordained agent of God's rescue.
I had been on the cliff-edge; now it seemed I was falling. I had spent four gut-wrenching years and a small fortune all for naught. How would I face my shareholders? How could I face myself? I knew I needed to trust God more than I trusted my understanding of God. But how could I live and lead, if my fundamental world-view was flawed? I thought God had led me into this venture. Clearly, He had not – unless, His primary purpose was to crush me.
IN MY ANGUISH I CRIED TO YAHWEH
If there is a relationship between the story of the Warrior-Poet, the story of my television series, and the story in which you are living, it is likely this: that each of us eventually finds ourselves at a point of absolute despair, and that such despair can force an anguished cry for help. The "anguished cry for help," the prayer of the panic-stricken, is the "stuff of spiritual breakthrough."
For anguish can be the catalyst of breakthrough – it can transform the language of prayer. Under "normal" conditions, our prayer is experienced as a three-voice conversation: 1) the voice with which we address God, 2) the voice with which He responds (if we are able to hear Him), and 3) the voice with which we evaluate the other two voices. This third voice is an obstacle to earnestness.
We pray, "Dear God, please forgive me," but while we are forming words with our tongue, we are filtering them with our mind. We think, "I've already asked for this a hundred times – will God still listen?" or "Was that really sincere enough?" or "How can He answer me with all of the sin in my life?" We proceed as though the only voice God can hear is the one with which we are addressing Him. The whole illusion is ludicrous. We fool only ourselves.
Honest prayer does not begin until we integrate the third voice: "Father, I have asked you to forgive me so many times, I am afraid to ask again. . . . I don't even know how to convey my heart; the words seem stilted, artificial. . . . The Enemy keeps reminding me of my faults. Somehow, I am asking again, but I am afraid you are angry with me."
As we integrate the third voice, we experience a deeper intimacy. The heart-impact of the Psalms, and even of the best contemporary worship art, is wrought through such integration. Hemingway said, "Write the truest sentence you know."7 We might substitute the word "write" with the word "pray."
While for most people, this transparency is difficult, in one situation the first and third voices are compressed if not entirely integrated. This is the very circumstance in which the Warrior-Poet found himself. The "prayer of the anguished" is a prayer of extreme intensity – an intensity that demands a ruthless, inward honesty. Such honesty can move us from what one writer calls, "wishing upwards"8 to searching inward. And "searching inward" is the beginning of honest, effectual prayer.9
This, then, was the first heart-move in the life transforming prayer of the Warrior-Poet. In his bitter, inward honesty, he discovered that a reversal of conditions must sometimes begin with a reversal of focus. His fixation on the outward problem ("they surrounded me on every side"10) was eventually turned to the realization of an inward problem. He confesses, "The LORD has chastened me severely."11 In doing so, he repents. And in doing so, he acknowledges that God is not just using the man to influence the circumstances; he is using the circumstances to influence the man. The lesson is well articulated in a 20th century psalm penned by yet another desperate Warrior-Poet:
YAHWEH IS WITH ME
Fyodor Dostoevsky, in The Brothers Karamazov, observed, "If your prayer is sincere there will be new feeling and new meaning in it, which will give you fresh courage, and you will understand that prayer is an education."13 Dostoevsky's observation captures the essence of the heart-movements in Psalms 118. Three of the novelist's words serve us as truth markers: "sincere," "meaning," and "courage." We may connect "sincere" to the concept of integrating the third voice, and we may connect "meaning" to the concept of reversing our focus, but we have yet to discuss the connection with "courage."
For the person who is "on the cliff-edge about to fall," who in anguish is crying out to Yahweh, inward focus is not enough. One needs hope – hope that the inward change will be followed by an outward change. One needs Dostoevsky's "fresh courage." The Warrior-Poet of Psalms 118 found such courage. We may do the same by examining a pattern of truth woven into his poetry. His declaration, "Yahweh is with me" encapsulates the second heart-move of his life-transforming prayer, and it is rich with philosophic insight. The meaning must be examined in two parts.
Of more import is the actual essence of the concept "Yahweh is." The Hebrew poets were not the first to pen psalms for their God. The pagan poets of ancient time penned moving passages similar, at least in form, to those of the Hebrews. An Akkadian psalm from the Ugaritica14 reads similar to the Hebrew psalms of thanksgiving.15 However, there is a distinctive difference. In keeping with the Akkadian view of God, their psalmists implore him with magic, with rituals, and with self-mutilation. Their God is dangerous, temperamental, impossible to predict.
The Hebrew psalmists write of a different God. Psalms 118 is replete with an essential declaration: "That God is good; that His love endures forever." The warrior poet begins and ends his psalm emphasizing two vital elements of Yahweh's essence: 1) He is good, and 2) His love endures forever. This confession is vital. It answers and anticipates the answer to four thousand years of philosophic and theological query, establishing the conviction that God is good and that this supreme condition will not change.16
Yet this essential answer is not enough. If the Warrior-Poet is to find courage, he must answer one more question: Will this good, unchanging God rescue him? In his heart of hearts, he is confronted by his own unworthiness. What right does he have to expect help from a holy deity? Yahweh is able, but is He willing?
The answer is addressed in just two words, "with me." They may be interpreted in dual connotation: First, that Yahweh is near me. Second, that Yahweh is for me. The Warrior-Poet is surrounded on every side, but he is not alone. God is near him – and thus he experiences intimacy. The Warrior-Poet is unworthy of divine rescue, but God is for him – and thus he experiences grace.
"Yahweh is with me." Out of such intimacy and grace comes fresh courage. It is a special courage commensurate with an absolute shift in dependency. I am not able, but Yahweh is both able and willing. I will trust. With this shift, the Warrior-Poet transcends the danger expressed by a modern psalmist who warns that the "moral sweat" pouring off our brows can "blind our eyes to the action of God in and around us."17 And with this shift, the Warrior-Poet experiences the third heart-move, crying out in defiance against his calamity:
The significance of these words is found in their tense and their tone. The tone is defiant; the tense is present. Before the rescue, comes the present tense, defiant declaration of absolute trust. Only after this declaration of holy defiance, comes the rescue work of Yahweh. Defiance is the anti-venom for despair. One does not overcome despair with a halting effort to be "hopeful." It takes the "stronger stuff" of present tense holy defiance. It is expressed in the counter challenge of one who dares to trust in spite of the risks. It is David hurling faith at Goliath. It is Ruth refusing to abandon Naomi. It is Elijah taunting the priests of Baal.
The tireless missionary, C.T. Studd, who at age fifty-three risked everything18 to establish a mission church in the Congo, expresses the heart-move of one who has overcome despair with a present tense, defiant declaration of absolute trust: "The God of Heaven, He will fight for us.... We will a thousand times sooner die trusting only our God, than live trusting in man. And when we come to this position the battle is already won, and the end of the glorious campaign in sight. We will have the real Holiness of God, not the sickly stuff of talk and dainty words and pretty thought. . . . one of daring faith."19
THE LORD HELPED ME
God rescued the Warrior-Poet of Psalms 118 – and God rescued me. Nearly, six months after my disappointment with Rysher Entertainment, I received an unexpected call. It was FOX Family Television: Would I consider producing a new series for their network? They were willing to contract in advance – not for the industry standard of six episodes – but rather for twenty-two (this was more than I had dared hope), and actor Danny Glover would serve as the series host.20
It was, to me, a miracle.
Like the Psalmist, I had been "right on the cliff-edge, ready to fall, when God grabbed and held me," and like the psalmist, between the "falling" and the "holding" was an anguished but life-transforming prayer. To examine such prayer – the prayer of the anguished – has been the point of this essay. Perhaps it will help to review, once again, the heart-moves in Psalms 118.
ONE: the Warrior-Poet, in absolute desperation, experiences integration in the voices of prayer – the voice of "address" becomes one with the voice of "evaluation." In this way, he discovers a reversal of focus – learning that God is not just using the man to influence the circumstances; he is using the circumstances to influence the man.
TWO: This reversal prepares the Warrior-Poet for a shift in ultimate dependency. Such dependency is predicated upon the conscious decision to trust, and this trust is predicated upon two essential faith propositions: that A) God is unchanging good, that B) God is both near him and for him. The fruit of this trust is a pervasive combination of intimacy and grace.
THREE: Drawing from this intimacy and this grace, the Warrior-Poet challenges despair itself, issuing a present tense, defiant declaration of absolute trust. He does not attempt to medicate despair. He assaults it with the anti-venom of holy defiance, declaring ultimate victory, now, even before it is evidenced.
The person who experiences such life-transforming prayer, discovers that God is more than strength; God is song. God is more than power; God is art. He becomes more than the God we need. He becomes the God we crave. It is natural, then, for spontaneous praise to demand elegant expression. It is natural then for the Warrior-Poet of Psalms 118 to sing, "I will proclaim what the Lord has done":
Introduction
The Aqedah1 (the binding of Isaac in Genesis 22), as it is referred to in the Jewish tradition, has occupied a major place in ethical debate.2 Indeed, one may currently choose to purchase from at least 10,517 related books. The primary focus of this corpus is on Abraham's conduct: 'Was the patriarch justified in attempting to sacrifice his innocent son?'3 But this almost exclusive focus is unfortunate, because while Abraham's position is of considerable interest, Isaac's may be the more fascinating (and more relevant). It is unlikely that the average individual will find himself challenged by an alleged divine command to kill an innocent child. Yet, there is a sense in which the average individual may likely be challenged by a third party attempting to impose an alleged divine command upon his4 life.
This second challenge takes many forms. It may come as an evangelical fundamentalist demanding that one must surrender his life to a particular religious ideal; it may come as a radical Islamic cleric demanding that one must surrender his life for the sake of Jihad. But the issue was especially critical for the 59 innocent Muslims who died on September 11, 2001.5 Given the choice to resist, were they morally obligated to surrender? Consider the dilemma faced by Rahma Salie, a twenty-eight-year-old devout Muslim, and a passenger on American Airlines Flight #11.6 Rahma was seven months pregnant.
If, in the interest of philosophical discovery, one grants Isaac a certain degree of autonomy, then the Aqedah offers a stimulating set of new problems. Moreover, this grant may be justified for other reasons. While many have assumed that the Isaac of the Aqedah was a young child, the biblical account does not reveal his age. The Jewish scholar Jon Levenson argues that Isaac 'must have been thirty-seven at the time of his being bound on the altar for sacrifice' (Levenson: 133). Certain rabbis propose an alternate Midrashic calculation of twenty-six.7 And there is a pre-rabbinic account that places Isaac at fifteen.8 Furthermore, the Midrash, which eloquently describes a tension between Isaac's fear and his obedience, claims definitively that he voluntarily participated in the ordeal:
In the same way that philosophers have challenged Abraham to justify his attempt to sacrifice Isaac, this paper will challenge Isaac to justify his submission to Abraham's claim. The project requires us to address an autonomous 'Isaac', not unlike the 'Isaac' of the Aqedah, as defined in the Midrash.9 Accordingly, we might note two other characteristics:
(1) that he considers Abraham's claim credible enough to deserve consideration, and (2) that he embraces the model of 'God as Good' (YHWH), in keeping with the Jewish tradition and the text itself.
Of this Isaac, one must ask, 'Is there a reasonable condition wherein Isaac might surrender his life to an alleged divine command?' I will argue in the affirmative, but that such a condition is just possible, and that it involves extreme risks. The argument will examine the respective positions of two thinkers: Immanuel Kant and Soren Kierkegaard. Then, it will attempt to resolve certain difficulties with each thinker's position by arguing for an epistemological reversal of responsibility.
Reasonable
At the outset of this investigation, it will be helpful to clarify the task before us. The aim of this paper is strictly limited to answering the question, 'Is there a reasonable condition wherein Isaac might surrender his life to an alleged divine command (ADC)10?' It is not to answer the question, 'Is there a reasonable condition wherein Isaac might refuse to surrender his life to an ADC?' Moreover, the aim of this paper is not to answer the question, 'Is there a reasonable condition wherein Isaac might obey an ADC that demands the life of another innocent person (Abraham's case)?' Indeed, this paper's task may be succinctly expressed by resorting to one of the simplest conditional expressions:
So then, the task is to solve for proposition P. But before one can attempt to solve for P, one must recognize the implied standard in proposition Q. If this standard is not clarified, one cannot determine P. The standard in Q is reflected by the modifier 'reasonable'. Isaac is being asked to justify his decision with a condition that is reasonable, but this task requires clarity as to the precise meaning of this modifier. And to date there is no completely formal theory of inductive inference that defines the concept 'reasonable'. C.S. Evans contends that 'most sociologists argue, with a good degree of plausibility, that by and large what counts as "reasonable" is what is accepted as reasonable in a society by those with power and authority to shape the process of socialization'11 (94).
J.R. Lucas discusses the problem in his essay, 'The Philosophy of the Reasonable Man', raising the question, 'What are the cannons of being reasonable?' (97). Lucas emphasizes the difficulties with formalizing a standard. He points to the work of others, including Rudolf Carnap, Carl Gustav Hempel and David Pole, but concludes that 'the program of the formalizers loses its spell' upon closer examination (99). He then offers a compromise in the form of a sociological standard,12 but concedes that it is a 'partial and inadequate attempt' (100).13 Notwithstanding these difficulties, this paper's thesis addresses extreme ethical issues and, as such, its use of the word 'reasonable' must communicate with a measure of perspicuity. Somehow, a working definition must be developed. Hence, it may be helpful now to consider a particular essay by Immanuel Kant from which a definition might be adopted.
Kant
In his Concerning the Guiding Thread of Conscience in Matters of Faith, Kant specifically addresses the Aqedah, as he examines the hypothetical consequences of a grand inquisitor who condemns a heretic to death. Kant claims that condemning a man to death for the sake of one's faith is morally indefensible. Kant's claim deserves analysis, but the following strictures must be noted:
(1) While much of this discussion will involve Abraham's dilemma, it is still directly relevant to Isaac's dilemma. (2) Moreover, this analysis of Kant is narrowly focused on a single essay, The Guiding Thread. (3) And this analysis is most definitely not an attempt to represent the full Kantian (particularly post-1770) position. (4) The Guiding Thread is chosen because it expressly refers to Abraham, and because it suggests a way forward for this paper's discussion. (5) Kant's most forceful argument from The Guiding Thread is expressed in the following passage:
Essentially, Kant15 is arguing that Abraham cannot be certain that a particular command is from God, while he can be certain that killing an innocent child is wrong. A detailed textual analysis of The Guiding Thread allows for a deductive construction of the Kantian position. This construction is necessary so that Kant's propositions regarding Abraham may be (at least roughly) translated to Isaac.
KNQ (MODUS PONENS)Kant's position will be contrasted later in this paper with Kierkegaard's, but it may be useful to examine a more recent critic of Kant in the hopes of drawing out particular nuances useful to this discussion. Phillip Quinn, in his Religious Obedience and Moral Autonomy, argues that while Kant's claim is 'bound to be attractive to many contemporary philosophers', it is a claim that 'Abraham, and other theists, need not accept' (59). Three inductive propositions summarize his counter:
(P1) 'Abraham can reasonably judge that, in cases of conflict of duties, his actual duty is to obey God's commands'. (P2) 'Abraham might have very good reasons, at least, it seems, in terms of the evidential canons of his theistic conceptual framework for believing that God has given him a command'. (P3) 'Hence, he might be certain that God has said to kill Isaac, and dubious about the claim that one ought not to kill an innocent child' (59-61).
Quinn concludes, 'it is fairly clear that this Abraham is no knight of faith; he is a moral rationalist who disagrees with Kant about the probative force of various sorts of evidence' (59). He claims that Abraham is at least 'logically consistent', and that there is no argument that shows it is impossible for God to command someone to kill an innocent child.
The weakness of Quinn's position is not readily apparent. Formally, one might construct a valid argument from his various statements. Clearly, if Abraham has a sufficient reason to trust a DC,17 then Abraham has sufficient reason to obey the DC. But such careful structuring of deductive propositions hardly yields a philosophic gain. Two observations are in order:
Quinn might have achieved more had he argued against two other more vulnerable points in Kant's position: namely, that (1) the warrant for Kant's claim is a dubious assertion, and that (2) the application of Kant's claim implies a semantic contradiction. Both problems should be briefly examined – not to refute Kant, but rather to suggest a solution for proposition P.
Assertion
Kant warrants his argument with the following assertion: 'It is a moral principle, requiring no proof, that we ought to venture nothing where there is a danger that it might be wrong (quod dubitas, nec feceris! Pliny)' (6:186). This declaration is bold, but fraught with difficulty.
First, Kant's quotation of Pliny is taken out of context. The quote is from Epistles 1:18, where Pliny is answering a client who has asked to postpone a court hearing. The client is frightened because of a foreboding dream. Pliny encourages the client to give the dream a positive interpretation and relates a similar event from his own life:
See then if you can follow my example, and give a happy interpretation to your dream; but if you still think there is more safety in the warning given by all cautious folk, 'When in doubt, do nothing,' you can write and tell me.19
As Allen Wood and George di Giovani note, Pliny was not referencing a moral issue.20 And the concepts of 'right and wrong' as used by Kant in this instance do not directly correlate with the meaning of 'When in doubt, do nothing'. And while a moral dilemma could be defined as a choice between 'action a' or 'no action', it is often defined as a choice between 'action a' or 'action b'.
Second, and this point is more significant, Kant's warrant is an idealization that collapses under moral pressure. One may posit a scenario wherein a choice must be made between two alternatives, neither of which is clearly right.
In this case, by applying Kant's maxim, one might determine it is better to do nothing at all. But this does not prepare one for the moral dilemma wherein doing nothing seems clearly wrong, while doing something forces one to choose from dubious moral alternatives (either 'action a' or 'action b').21
action) v (action a) v (action b)22(action) – because one is certain this is wrong(action a) – because one is not certain that this is rightaction b) – because one is not certain that this is right fallacyThe net result is a fallacy. Had Quinn drawn out this weakness, he might have been able to challenge Kant on another more dangerous front. For despite the problems just described, Kant continues to assert, 'With respect to the action that I want to undertake, however, I must not only judge, and be of the opinion, that it is right, I must also be certain that it is' (6:186).
Contradiction
Even if one grants Kant his warrant, more problems ensue. Kant says that it is certainly wrong to kill Isaac. Yet he concedes that he could be in error, 'that to take a human being's life because of his religious faith is wrong is certain, unless (to allow the most extreme possibility) a divine will made known to the inquisitor in some extraordinary way, has decreed otherwise' (6:187). This ambiguity underscores the following problem.
Kant cannot be certain that a particular action is wrong, while at the same time qualifying his certainty with an exception clause ('unless a divine will made it known...'). In effect, he claims the following:
One might counter, on Kant's behalf, that 'action a' is certainly wrong and that even if God commanded 'action a', it (and God) would still be wrong. On the other hand, with even more nuance, one might allow for different categories of 'wrongness' (as Robert Merrihew Adams has done in his A Divine Command Metaethics as Necessary A Posteriori). But Kant does not argue for either proviso; he clearly says that 'action a' is wrong unless a divine will 'has decreed otherwise'.
Nuance
It must be remembered that this critique of Kant and Quinn is narrowly focused in an effort to solve for proposition P, and thus address this paper's thesis. To this end, Quinn must be acknowledged for at least identifying the central issue: 'What does seem to threaten the position of the Kantian theist is not a matter of the logic of the concepts of moral agency... but rather of certain possible questions of facts and evidence' (57). Herein, Quinn correctly surmises that a response to Kant must be of an epistemological nature.
Furthermore, Kant cannot be so easily dismissed, for the problems with his warrant might be resolved with a more nuanced conception of certainty. Indeed, by carefully restructuring Kant's claim, one may develop a more forceful argument.
KNQ (MODUS PONENS)The change in this argument occurs with KNP. In a meta-ethical sense, the term 'certainty' is being employed as less than an absolute quantity. This allows Kant to claim an epistemological differential between degrees of certainty – at which point the argument grows in force.
Equation
This differential implies measurement, this measurement implies an equation, this equation implies a condition – and this condition will be important in the attempt to solve for proposition P. Kant suggests what this paper shall hereafter term as a 'quantified certainty equation' (QCE). This QCE is essentially a formula for risk analysis.
KNQEssentially, if the quantity of certainty in 'it is wrong to sacrifice Isaac' is greater than the quantity of certainty in 'God said to sacrifice Isaac', then Abraham should not sacrifice Isaac. The QCE allows one to base a moral decision upon risk management principles, with the primary risk being of an epistemological nature, and it has significant implications for this paper's investigation of Isaac.
SHOULD ISAAC SURRENDER HIS LIFE?
From this line of reasoning, one must allow for the opposite formulation24 – and this is the primary value of Kant's QCE.
Implications
Immanuel Kant's Concerning the Guiding Thread of Conscience in Matters of Faith implies a way to solve for proposition P. In sum, Kant argues that Abraham cannot be certain that a particular command is from God, while he can be certain that killing an innocent child is wrong. This argument is based on a dubious warrant, namely, 'that we ought to venture nothing where there is a danger that it might be wrong.' And this warrant is an idealization that collapses under moral pressure. For one may posit a scenario where a choice must be made between two alternatives, neither of which is clearly right. Moreover, Kant engages a semantic contradiction: on the one hand claiming that a certain action is wrong, while on the other conceding it is possible that the same action is right. But these problems may be resolved with a more nuanced conception of certainty. A careful restructuring of Kant's claim yields a forceful argument. This restructuring allows one to claim an epistemological differential between degrees of certainty. This differential may be expressed as a QCE. Based on this equation, one must allow for the following condition: 'If Isaac can be more certain in the proposition, "God said to surrender my life" than he is in the proposition, "I should protect my life", then Isaac should surrender his life'. This allows for certain observations:
This need for a criterion leads to a brief discussion of Kierkegaard – for while Kierkegaard has stressed the serious dangers of applying such a criterion, he has attempted to do so in The Book on Adler.
Kierkegaard
In Kierkegaard's The Book on Adler,27 the Danish philosopher attempts to evaluate an ADC as purported by his contemporary, A. P. Adler (see Appendix A).28 This evaluation affords us an opportunity to consider Kierkegaard's criterion for evaluating an ADC. But because of this paper's severely limited scope, the following discussion must be constrained by four strictures:
(1) The point of this brief review is not to pit Kant against Kierkegaard, although the two most definitely represented contrary positions.29 (2) Instead of resorting to lengthy quotations and explanations, this paper will provide a succinct overview of the Kierkegaardian position, while supporting that overview with extensive appendices.30 (3) In order to simplify analysis, one must cut through Kierkegaard's notoriously convoluted writing style (his use of indirect communication, pseudonyms, and parables), and structure a clean deductive argument.
Background
In 1843, Danish theologian and pastor A. P. Adler published the controversial book Nogle Praedikener (Some Sermons), in which he claimed, 'The Savior commanded me to get up and go in and write down' a special revelation regarding spirit and the origin of evil (Adler, 1843: 3,4). Adler's claim was challenged by the Royal Danish Chancellery, and on January 19, 1844, he was dismissed from his pastorate of the Hasle and Ruthsker parishes.31 But before his dismissal, Adler sent a copy of his Some Sermons to his contemporary (and fellow alumni), Soren Kierkegaard, who not only read Sermons but also purchased Adler's next three books on their (simultaneous) day of publication.32
On April 29, 1845, Dean Steenberg of the Royal Danish Chancellery wrote a letter challenging A. P. Adler's revelation claim. Adler's reply to Steenberg consisted of four main points (See Appendix A). Kierkegaard33 carefully analyzed Adler's replies, comparing them against Adler's earlier claims, and finding them wholly unsatisfactory. His critique, as presented in 'Adler's Own Shifting Point of View' has been described as the epitome of qualitative dialectic34 (Hohlenberg: 196).
Criterion
A careful review of the Kierkegaard's argument in The Book on Adler yields a distinct observation: Kierkegaard completely ignores the content of Adler's claim, focusing only on two points: (a) what is said about the claim and (b) what this implies about Adler. In the beginning of his critique, Kierkegaard declares he will argue 'only e concessis',35 and that his argument 'neither flatly affirms nor denies' the content of the claim, itself (VIIB.235/93). Further, he announces that he will employ a criterion of sibi constans36 – that his inquiry 'pays close attention to whether it can hear from Adler's own utterances that he does not understand himself, is not in agreement with himself (sibi constans) and with his statements about himself' (VIIB.235/93). Thereafter Kierkegaard employs a nuanced version of this criterion:
Kierkegaard carefully studies Adler's initial claims and his subsequent defenses, searching for any inconsistency that might signal a lack of authenticity. With this method, he eventually rules that Adler's 'explanation is not an extended predicate' but a new position37 (VIIB.235/104), and that Adler's claims and his defenses may be 'identified as his own productions' (VIIB.235/114).
At first, Kierkegaard's criterion seems promising. After all, one might expect a certain internal consistency for an ADC. Indeed, this might be the one standard by which an ADC could be evaluated.38 Nevertheless, Kierkegaard is not demanding consistency within the content, but rather consistency between the ADC and its bearer. This is problematic. For at best, Kierkegaard's method can only yield a tepid evaluation. This is because he proposes a necessary but not a sufficient condition. And so his method emphatically cannot be used to determine if a particular ADC is true. To illustrate this point, one might attempt to apply the criterion to a contemporary claim. Consider the following parallels:39
This parallel example offers a test case for Kierkegaard's criterion. One need only construct a comparison argument to illustrate the danger of applying Kierkegaard's method as a necessary condition.
Clearly, Kierkegaard never intended his modest reflections on Adler to result in such a gross application. Still, for the purposes of this discussion, it must be asked: If Kierkegaard's criterion cannot be used as a sufficient condition, what can be determined by utilizing it as a necessary condition?
The point is only this: Kierkegaard's method of sibi constans offers little to no assistance in evaluating an ADC from the likes of Daniel Lafferty. And it offers even less assistance for one in Isaac's position. Indeed, any religious lunatic who remains consistent in his radical claims might satisfy Kierkegaard's criterion.
Implications
Kierkegaard's The Book on Adler, represents an attempt to discover a reasonable way to determine if a given ADC is authentic. Kierkegaard attempts to evaluate the bearer of an ADC (A. P. Adler), noting that if the bearer of an ADC represents limited authority (and thus limited attributes), then there is a possibility of error on the bearer. And, if there is a possibility of an error on the bearer of an ADC, then the bearer can be externally evaluated. Hence, Kierkegaard determines that if a bearer of an ADC is inconsistent between his initial claim and his subsequent claims, the bearer of an ADC may be doubted. And if the bearer of an ADC may be doubted, then the authenticity of his initial claim may be doubted. Kierkegaard's method, while initially promising, proves to be a disappointment. At best, it provides only a tepid conclusion, offering a necessary but not a sufficient condition. Moreover, it could hardly help one in Isaac's position to evaluate an ADC that demands his life. Nevertheless, further reflection on the argument does yield certain helpful observations:
KGP (MODUS PONENS)The point of this argument is simple: If ultimate authority (God) potentially issues a claim (divine command), then the content of that claim (ADC) cannot be used to invalidate the source. Because to do so is to elevate the one evaluating the content (Isaac) to the level of the one who issued the content (God) or, at the very least, to elevate the standard by which the content is being evaluated to the level of the content itself. This is a dangerous move. And it has significant implications for one in Isaac's position. It means that Isaac cannot dismiss an ADC just because he finds the content morally challenging.41
Accountability
This new understanding of ultimate authority brings further nuance to this paper's concept of a 'reasonable condition', for it balances the Kantian position, suggesting a logical basis for Isaac to obey a DC that overrides his ethical understanding. However, it also introduces extreme risks. And these risks must now be especially considered as they relate to the notion of a 'reasonable condition'.
It was earlier decided that a 'reasonable condition' is considered a condition wherein Isaac's certainty that God said to surrender his life is greater than Isaac's certainty that he should protect his life. Upon further reflection, one may note that this condition depends upon risk management principles. One is attempting to minimize the risk of choosing an unethical action. Hence, one is attempting to measure the differential between the certainty of the command and the certainty of its ethic. But, underlying this measurement is another: Isaac must weigh the risk of disobeying the present ADC (surrender your life) against the risk of disobeying his understanding of an earlier ADC (human sacrifice is wrong).42 This is a precarious position. Clearly, there is a truth at stake (the Isaac of this discussion is a philosophic realist), and clearly, there is a life at stake (his own).
However, Isaac might hold that there is more than his life at stake. Right or wrong, he has embraced a particular Faith, and so he is operating from a certain predisposition. The Isaac of this paper deems that he is personally accountable to obey any command that he actually knows is from God. Isaac does not separate the concept of command from the concept of accountability. Drawing upon his model of 'God as Good', Isaac may consider that the notion of 'good' implies ultimate virtues, especially ultimate justice. The notion of 'God' implies ultimate attributes including ultimate knowledge (omniscience) and ultimate power (omnipotence). Isaac may then infer three inductive propositions: A just God may hold an individual accountable to the consequences of disobeying his DC. (2) An omniscient God would know that the individual is 'certain enough' to comply with his DC.(3) An omnipotent God is powerful enough to punish the individual for disobedience to his DC. In view of these propositions, Isaac must balance the risks of epistemological error with the risk of willful disobedience.
This simple reasoning underscores Isaac's need to know. Indeed, for Isaac's decision to be reasonable, Isaac must be certain enough that God has commanded him. But how is Isaac to obtain such certainty? In the absence of a satisfactory answer to this question, a decision by Isaac to obey any ADC (but especially one that demands his life) seems unreasonable. This dilemma leads to a discussion of epistemological reversal. For drawing from this same understanding of accountability, and moving in the opposite direction, one might reason that the concept entails certain obligations on the part of God.
Reversal
The primary epistemological emphasis in the historic discussions of the Aqedah is upon Abraham's capacity to know. Thus far, this paper has reversed the existential emphasis from Abraham to Isaac. Now, it will reverse the epistemological emphasis from Isaac to God. Indeed, in the same way that Robert Merrihew Adams has attempted to resolve certain divine command theory issues with his argument from the nature of a loving God, one might attempt to resolve the more fundamental divine command theory issue (determining the authenticity of an ADC) with an argument from the nature of a good God. With this change in mind, one might return to this paper's primary deductive expression, moving backwards to establish K through M.
Clearly, the most novel and perhaps most interesting aspect of this approach is its shift from the responsibility of Isaac to the responsibility of God. In order to analyze the force of the argument behind this shift, a new inferential tool has been developed.43 It assigns a metric to the inferential leap from one proposition to the next, using a scale of 1 to 5 displayed in superscript as 'i1' through 'i5', with 'i5' representing the greatest differential. This tool yields the following analysis: proposition 1 [M → N]i1, proposition 2 [N → O]i2, proposition 3 [O → P]i3, proposition 4 [(P → Q]i1. Hence, the balance of this paper will especially focus on propositions 2 and 3. These propositions may best be examined through Isaac's (first-person) perspective. Moreover, one may begin by describing the 'type' of Isaac who would adopt them.
Predisposition
The Isaac of propositions M through Q is a rational thinker who has embraced a particular faith. Because of this faith, he cannot rule out the possibility of obeying a DC. But because of his rational orientation, he is predisposed not to obey an ADC. (1) He reasons that there are severe risks associated with obeying an ADC. (2) He reasons that he will not obey an ADC unless he is certain enough that the ADC is authentic. (3) Most importantly, he reasons that the God whom he is willing to trust would somehow help him to know that a DC to surrender his life is authentic. (4) He reasons that it is safer to put the locus of his faith on the proposition, 'God is good', than the proposition, 'I can discern (unaided) God's command'. (5) Furthermore, he reasons that he cannot be sure of points (3) and (4), and so with considerable trepidation, he generally gives more weight to points (1) and (2).
Isaac recognizes that he may be criticized for this pre-disposition – that the strictures of propositions M though Q could result in his failing to recognize a DC. Yet he reasons that his position reflects the most personal integrity, and he offers two observations in his defense: (1) If God commands him and he honestly fails to perceive it, and thus to obey it, then his primary error is one of benign misunderstanding, not of open rebellion. (2) But if God never commands him, then Isaac's predisposition against an ADC could help to protect him from being deceived by a fraudulent claim. Isaac infers that the emphasis in a relationship with a good God is predicated upon one's obedience to the command, not upon one's ability to decipher an ambiguous message. Furthermore, he reasons that this position protects him against a mistake with his foundational premise (M – God is Good). For if God is not good, then the truth of Isaac's position hardly matters; everyone is at the mercy of a tyrant. And if God is not (does not exist), Isaac will never receive an authentic DC. Thus if he is mistaken in his theology, then he is at least protected by his philosophy.
Challenge
It is this hypothetical Isaac who is now challenged with the existential dilemma of an ADC that demands his life. He has one primary question: 'Will I obey the ADC?' He has left only one primary sub-question: 'Is this command from God?'44 He holds (at least) one primary fact: that he knows or does not know (to a greater or lesser degree) that the ADC is from God.
Isaac believes that God is good, and so he reasons that God is just. From this simple faith model, he embraces proposition 2 (If God is just, then God will help me to know a DC for which I am accountable). This proposition is inferred from two of its primary concepts: 'divine' and 'command'. Isaac holds that a command is a form of communication; it is of the imperative category, and it necessarily requires a transmitter and a receiver. He further reasons that the burden of the communication originates with the transmitter in that the transmission precedes the reception.45 Indeed, the transmitter has at least two responsibilities: (1) to initiate the communication and (2) to encode the communication in such a way as to enable the receiver to receive. Hence, in a DC, God as communicator might well be expected to bear the same responsibilities. Furthermore, Isaac holds that the divine is good,46 and in chain of reason that parallels the earlier discussion of accountability, he reasons that the notion of 'good' implies ultimate virtues, especially ultimate justice. The notion of 'divine' implies ultimate attributes including ultimate knowledge (omniscience) and ultimate power (omnipotence). If God is just, then God would not hold one accountable to a command that one does not know.47 If God possesses ultimate knowledge, then God will know if a particular individual does not know his command. If God possesses ultimate power, then God is capable of communicating his command in such a way that a particular individual knows it is from him. Thus, the nature of the divine implies that the transmitter (God) has the intent and the capacity to communicate in a form that enables the receiver (Isaac) to know the command.48 Therefore, unless God somehow helps Isaac to become certain enough that a particular ADC is authentic, Isaac will not obey it. But if to the contrary, God does somehow help Isaac to become certain enough that a particular ADC is authentic, Isaac will obey it – even if he questions the ethical content. Hence, Isaac adopts the following propositions:
Isaac may obey, but not without considerably trepidation. For Isaac does not believe that he can ever be absolutely certain that God has commanded him to surrender his life. Isaac is a finite being attempting to evaluate the infinite. Even if 'God' appeared to Isaac and commanded him, there remains the danger that Isaac is mistaken. Isaac could be hallucinating. Isaac could be deceived. Isaac knows that history is replete with dangerous fanatics who claimed to 'know' that they had a special revelation.49 Moreover, Isaac is particularly susceptible to error, for Isaac is a 'second-generation' receiver; he did not receive a direct command. Hence, he is forced to evaluate the word of a third party. How can he be certain (enough) that Abraham is telling the truth? This is a serious challenge to Isaac's position, but Isaac does not believe that there is a distinct categorical difference between a first-generation and a second-generation receiver. He reasons that there are two related kinds of knowing: (1) knowing the source of the command and (2) knowing the content of the command. To be accountable for a command, Isaac must have both the source and the content made known. If a command is disassociated from the authority that issued it, then the command loses its authority. If Isaac knows the content but not the source, he is missing the reason to obey. If Isaac knows the source, but not the content, he is missing the instructions to obey. Hence, God must communicate in such a way as to enable Isaac to know, regardless of the command's medium, both the source and the content.
In this way, Isaac may consider that Abraham is only the medium through which God is speaking to him. For Isaac, this is more than an 'historic event' belonging to Abraham and being 'passed on' to Isaac. It is the present-tense experience of God communicating in such a way as to enable Isaac to know both the source and the content of the command. 'God has spoken' is more difficult to determine than 'God is speaking.' Isaac reasons that he can never determine (on his own) that 'God has spoken;' he can only know (with God's help) that 'God is speaking.' Abraham may relate the content of the command, but God must confirm the (divine) source of the command.50 Thus, Abraham's experience is not that different from Isaac's. Even as God has spoken to Abraham, he must speak to Isaac. For while Isaac trust his father, he cannot be sure that the patriarch is not honestly mistaken. And Isaac deems that he has a higher obligation to obey God, than he does to obey Abraham – So whether or not the theology is right or wrong, this 'rational' Isaac is predisposed not obey Abraham's ADC unless God somehow helps him (Isaac) to be certain enough that its source is authentic. Hence, Isaac adopts the following propositions:
Dangers
The preceding argument seems sufficient to establish an answer to this paper's primary question: 'Is there a reasonable condition wherein Isaac might surrender his life to an ADC?' Such a condition seems at least possible. It is possible that God is good. It is possible that a God who is good would somehow assist Isaac in knowing both the source and content of a command for which Isaac is accountable. Thus, it is possible that Isaac might have good reason to obey such a command. Moreover, if God is not good, Isaac's philosophy could at least help to protect (but not guarantee) Isaac against a fraudulent DC, for unless God truly assists Isaac in knowing that a particular ADC is authentic, Isaac will most definitely not obey it. While one may object that this approach could result in Isaac failing to recognize a DC, Isaac deems the approach prudent. It represents his honest effort to balance all of the corresponding risks. Moreover, in this paper Isaac is only being asked to justify that very specific condition wherein he chooses to obey, rather than refuses to obey.
Nevertheless, in view of Isaac's dependence upon God's assistance, one must consider what it might mean for God to help Isaac. And this leads one to consider two aspects: (1) the nature of the help, and (2) the quantity of the help:
The danger is this: even if God assisted Isaac in knowing the content and the source of a DC, he might not do so in a way that was commensurate with this paper's standard for a reasonable condition. To meet this standard, there would need to be enough certainty of a particular type. Thus, while it is possible for Isaac to have a reasonable condition wherein he might obey an ADC that demanded his life, it may not be probable. Moreover, even if Isaac has this reasonable condition, he still faces severe risks. Indeed, being reasonable is not a guarantee of being right. Isaac must hope for the 'extreme possibility' allowed for by Kant, 'that to take a human being's life because of his religious faith is wrong is certain, unless (to allow the most extreme possibility) a divine will made known to the inquisitor in some extraordinary way, has decreed otherwise' (6:187).56 But Isaac must prepare for the extreme risks emphasized by Kierkegaard, 'it is not by evaluating the content of the doctrine aesthetically or philosophically that I will or can arrive at the conclusion...the one called by a revelation... must be prepared to willingly sacrifice life and everything' (XI 98).
Conclusion
The purpose of this paper is to answer the question, 'Is there a reasonable condition wherein Isaac might surrender his life to an ADC?' At the outset, it was determined that a definition must be developed for the term, 'reasonable condition'. This led to a brief analysis of Kant's essay, Concerning the Guiding Thread of Conscience in Matters of Faith. From this analysis, it was determined that a reasonable condition would be considered a condition wherein Isaac's certainty that God said to surrender his life is greater than Isaac's certainty that he should protect his life. This definition led to a brief analysis of Kierkegaard's, The Book on Adler. From this analysis, it was determined that if ultimate authority (God) potentially issues a claim (DC), then the content of that claim cannot be used to invalidate the source.
After further reflection on Kant and Kierkegaard's positions, it was determined that Isaac's attempt to meet this reasonable condition would involve considering the differential between the risk of disobeying the present ADC against the risk of disobeying his understanding of an earlier ADC. This determination only underscored Isaac's need for a way to 'know'. Indeed, for Isaac's decision to be reasonable, Isaac must be certain enough that God commanded him. But how could Isaac obtain such certainty? In the absence of a satisfactory answer, a decision by Isaac to obey any ADC (but especially one that demands his life) seemed unreasonable. This led to a discussion of epistemological reversal.
Isaac was defined as a rational thinker who has embraced a particular faith. Because of his faith, he cannot rule out the possibility of a DC, but because of his rational orientation, he is predisposed not to obey an ADC. He reasons that there are severe risks associated with obeying an ADC. And he reasons that he will not obey an ADC unless he is certain enough that the ADC is authentic. Most importantly, he reasons that the God whom he is willing to trust would somehow help him to know that a DC to surrender his life is authentic. Thus, he reasons that it is safer to put his locus of faith on the proposition, 'God is good', than on the proposition, 'I can discern (unaided) God's command'.
Isaac builds his philosophy from the very notion of a divine command. From the notion of 'command', Isaac reasons that the burden of the communication originates with the transmitter and that the transmitter has at least two responsibilities: (1) to initiate the communication and (2) to encode the communication in such a way as to enable the receiver (Isaac) to receive. From the notion of 'divine', Isaac reasons that a good God must have certain attributes (ultimate knowledge and ultimate power) and a good God must have certain virtues (especially justice). Thus, Isaac concludes, if God is just, then God would not hold one accountable to a DC that one does not know. If God possesses ultimate knowledge, then God will know if a particular individual does not know his DC. If God possesses ultimate power, then God is capable of communicating his command in such a way that a particular individual knows it is authentic.
Furthermore, Isaac reasons that there are two related kinds of knowing: (1) knowing the source of the command, and (2) knowing the content of the command. To be accountable for a DC, Isaac must have both the source and the content made known. If Isaac knows the content but not the source, he is missing the reason to obey. If Isaac knows the source, but not the content, he is missing the instructions to obey. Hence, God must communicate in such a way as to enable Isaac to know, regardless of the command's medium, both the source and the content. In this way, Isaac may consider that Abraham is only the medium through which God is speaking to him. He reasons that he can never determine (on his own) that 'God has spoken'; he can only know (with God's help) that 'God is speaking'. Thus, while Abraham may relate the content of the command, God must confirm the (divine) source of the command.
In sum, Isaac determines that unless God somehow helps him (Isaac) to be certain enough that the ADC to surrender his life is authentic, Isaac will most definitely not obey. He reasons as follows: if God is good, then God is just. And if God is just, God will help Isaac to know a DC for which he is accountable. If God will help Isaac to know a DC for which he is accountable, then Isaac could be certain enough that God has commanded him. If Isaac could be certain enough that God has commanded him, then Isaac could reasonably obey an ADC to surrender his life. Nevertheless, Isaac engages this reasoning while cognizant of the extreme risks. He recognizes that God may not be good. He recognizes that even if God were good, and even if God assisted him in knowing the content and the source of a DC, God may not do so in a way that is commensurate with Isaac's understanding of a reasonable condition. Moreover, even if God is good, and even if God assisted him in knowing the content and the source of the DC, and even if God did so in a way that is commensurate with Isaac's understanding of a reasonable condition, Isaac might still make a tragic mistake – for Isaac knows that being reasonable is not a guarantee of being right.
Therefore, the answer to this discussion's question is in the affirmative: There is a reasonable condition wherein Isaac might surrender his life to an ADC. However, this condition is just possible, and it involves extreme risks.
Appendix A
[BACKGROUND ON THE ADLER DEBATE]
In 1843, Danish theologian and pastor A. P. Adler published the controversial book Nogle Praedikener (Some Sermons), in which he claimed, 'The Savior commanded me to get up and go in and write down' a special revelation regarding spirit and the origin of evil (Adler, 1843: 3,4).
Adler's claim was challenged by the Royal Danish Chancellery, and on January 19, 1844, he was dismissed from his pastorate of the Hasle and Ruthsker parishes.57 But before his dismissal, Adler sent a copy of his Some Sermons to his contemporary (and fellow alumni), Soren Kierkegaard, who not only read Sermons but also purchased Adler's next three books on their (simultaneous) day of publication.58
On April 29, 1845, Dean Steenberg of the Royal Danish Chancellery wrote a letter challenging A. P. Adler's revelation claim. Adler's reply to Steenberg consisted of four main points. Of the four points, the latter two referred to the content of Adler's claim,59 while the former two referred to the nature of the claim. This paper will focus only on the former two, as they occupy the whole of Kierkegaard's examination. They may be summarized as follows:60
Kierkegaard61 found Adler's replies wholly unsatisfactory. His critique, as presented in 'Adler's Own Shifting Point of View' has been described as the epitome of qualitative dialectic62 (Hohlenberg: 196), but the entire work may be summarized with three essential points:
Kierkegaard concludes: Adler's 'explanation is not an extended predicate' but a new position (VIIB.235/104), and that 'it is inconceivable that Adler has been able to write the first and second replies... unless he first must somehow have forgotten what was in the preface to the Sermons' (VIIB.235/115). He declares that both Adler's claims and his defenses may be 'identified as his own productions' (VIIB.235/114).
Appendix B
[KIERKEGAARD'S METHOD]
A careful review of the Kierkegaard's argument in The Book on Adler yields a distinct observation: Kierkegaard completely ignores the content of Adler's claim, focusing only on two points: (a) what is said about the claim and (b) what this implies about Adler.
Kierkegaard might have attempted to evaluate Adler's claim against the one standard that Adler himself offered. Magister Adler clearly said that Jesus instructed him to 'keep to the Bible,' and that he was relying on 'the words of Scripture as proof-texts' (Adler, 1845:18,19). With this claim, Adler subjugated his revelation claim to an earlier claim (the scripture). Therefore, Kierkegaard could have (theoretically) used the Scripture63 itself to evaluate Adler's claim.
But Kierkegaard ignored this opportunity. And the most significant point of The Book on Adler is that it challenges Adler's authority, not his revelation. Philosophers and theologians tend to judge a revelation claim by its content (i.e. 'The Bible claims that God created the earth in seven days, but this claim violates the findings of science, therefore the Biblical account cannot be accurate'). But Kierkegaard attempts to judge the content of a claim by its authority.
This represents a radical departure from the methodology used by the Danish Church.64 And it raises two significant questions: (a) Why does Kierkegaard ignore the content of Adler's claim, and (b) how does he attempt to evaluate Adler's authority?
Question One: Why?
The answer to the first question may be deduced from Kierkegaard's distinctive philosophy of authority. A careful study of The Book on Adler yields two foundational propositions:65
Proposition 2, is entirely dependent upon Proposition 1. Accordingly, it may be useful to examine the reasoning for Proposition 1. Its implications are challenging, and while Kierkegaard does not offer a detailed argument for his position, one may develop a forceful argument to support it.
A revelation claim, by its very nature, is self-attesting because it could be issued by ultimate (divine) authority. Accordingly, to subject a revelation claim to a truth standard is necessarily to imply a higher authority claim, because that which is being subjected is inferior to that which is subjecting. This is demonstrated by the following chart:
This attempt results in a fallacy, because to evaluate an ultimate authority by another authority is to begin with a proposition that assumes the conclusion (petito principii). The argument is this:
The nature of x undermines the nature of y. And anything you substitute for x, whether it be the laws of science, a divine revelation, or the rules of logic, supplants y. So the argument is circular as (1) substantiates (3), which substantiates (1), ad nauseum.
This concept of authority severely constrains Kierkegaard in his attempt to evaluate Adler's claim. Adler said that Jesus commanded him to 'go in and write down' a special revelation. This claim, in theory, places Adler on a par with the 'apostles'.68 Kierkegaard, with penetrating logic, recognizes that the content of Adler's revelation claim cannot be judged by an external standard (VIIIB.13/63-69;VIIB.235/94-97).
So then, Kierkegaard is forced to utilize a different way to evaluate Adler's claim. He focuses his investigation on the authority of Adler's claim rather than its content. Kierkegaard reasons as follows:
Thus, Kierkegaard does not challenge the claim itself. He challenges what Adler says about the claim. Kierkegaard declares that Adler claims to have 'a revelation-fact' and that 'everything revolves around that – or he must be held firmly to that' (VIIB.241/261).
So the answer to 'why' may be summarized as follows: Kierkegaard's concept of divine authority does not allow him to evaluate the content of Adler's claim by an external standard without impugning his own argument. So instead, he evaluates Adler's authority to make the claim.
Question Two: How?
The answer to the second question69 (how does Kierkegaard attempt to evaluate Adler's authority?) may be understood by carefully considering the structure of Kierkegaard's argument. He argues for three primary points:
As we have seen, these points may be challenged, but it is more important to note their form. The first half of each sentence refers specifically to the claim made in Adler's preface to the Sermons. The second half refers to statements made in Adler's replies to Dean Steenberg. Not once does Kierkegaard challenge the content of the claim; he only challenges the latter statements made about the claim. This observation is elucidated by the two Latin terms Kierkegaard uses in the introduction to his argument:
Kierkegaard insists that 'the issue is about Adler's self-identity', and the 'self-contradictions' and 'intrinsic irregularities' in Adler's statements indicate that Adler is not an 'apostle', but a 'confused lyrical genius' (VIIIB.7:7/23, VIIIB.7:7/24). And he argues that Adler's intrinsic irregularities belie his apostolic authority so that both Adler's claims and his defenses may be 'identified as his own productions' (VIIB.235/114).
So the answer to 'how' may be summarized as follows: Kierkegaard challenges Adler's authority with a criterion that demands sibi constans between Adler's revelation claim and the subsequent statements made about the claim.
Appendix C
[SUMMARY OVERVIEW OF LITERATURE ADDRESSING THE AQEDAH]
Each search was conducted, and the data collected, on July 20, 2006. The data for The British Library represents the combined total from two advanced searches of the Integrated Catalogue (by 'any word' and 'subject') for each key word term. The data for the Library of Congress represents the combined total from two guided searches (by 'keyword' and by 'subject') for each key word term. Utilizing the www.scholar.google.com database, all Social Sciences, Arts & Humanities books, journals, articles were searched with the exact phrase, 'Abraham and Isaac,' 'Genesis 22,' etc., or with all the words of 'DC' and 'Abraham,' etc. For the www.questia.com analysis, the 'contents' of all books, articles, essays, etc. were searched for the exact phrases of the key words or, where applicable, all the words (i.e. 'DC' and 'Abraham'). Finally, an advanced 'Book' search was employed through www.amazon.com, limited to the category of 'Religion & Spirituality,' for each key word term. It is also important to note that www.scholar.google.com claims only to provide approximate results, qualifying each statistic as 'about' x results.
Bibliography
Copyright © 2009 Flint McGlaughlin. All rights reserved.
