Paltry fruits, you shall know them

I suppose that all of us, whatever our overall passion for a subject, have certain areas which we 'leave for last' in our studies because we find them confusing. I'm blushing to admit this, but, despite my having had previous study of philosophy (and somehow having done well back in those days when I had youthful quickness), I've done just that with Philosophy of Religion. I have no illusions that any of the brilliant scholars who provided 'proofs' for divine existence really thought that this ever could be proven - though the best of them were great men of prayer who knew that God was so beyond us that no description could scratch the surface. (Today, it is worse yet, because we are so Enlightened that we know better to think that it's generally assumed there is a God in the first place. In fact, being agnostic is more a mark of intelligence today than otherwise, in certain circles.)

Those who read this blog must have caught on some time ago that I most definitely am a believer... who fell down an apophatic 'rabbit hole' and is able to set forth doctrine ad infinitum, with an odd identity crisis of 'I cannot describe anything about God - sometimes I'm in doubt of whether there is a God, but I'm sure I received his Body and Blood today.' I'm trying to make myself enjoy the particular subject - I'm mad about theology, in case that was not obvious, but philosophy of religion leaves me even more confused than usual. So, let me have a little reflection here and there. (Ideas are a good thing, indeed... Anselm's work always left me wondering both why what one could imagine meant that it could be proven to be real. I sometimes imagine what it would be like were a genie to give me three wishes.)

I always laughed a bit (inwardly, not on exam papers) about the design argument. Not that it is funny in itself, but because of the excessive enthusiasm with which it was embraced. (William Paley made it sound like a biology text.) At most, all the design argument proves is that it is logically probable that an intelligent source created the universe. I doubt Darwin's work would have been so upsetting had anyone stopped to consider that creation does not require some assembly line production of creatures, each model custom designed, with the environment carefully set to foster their best features.

At the moment, I am reviewing the 'argument from religious experience.' (I began with that one because I grew sick of the cosmological argument about a quarter century ago - just wrote a paper a few months ago about the design argument, albeit to 'prove' that half the evangelicals who lost their faith in the 1800s had little faith to lose - and I'm saving 'divine simplicity' for those dreary winter days when I'm more or less grounded.) I'm very cautious about 'religious experience,' even if I do come from a tradition based entirely on the witness of those who saw the Risen Christ, some centuries after Yahweh appeared in a burning bush, all the more so because I am of a generation where the friend who 'met Jesus' last week or laid hands on someone who was healed yesterday was also likely to be the one to interrupt a party with 'quiet! the ladders are sleeping in the attic!'

I have never had any strange religious experiences - which is fortunate, because I not only doubt I'd survive them but would never dream of revealing the messages I received. (I never awakened the ladders in the attic, either, goody two shoes that I was.) Yet I truly believe that I have had many striking religious experiences - which I know I could never use to prove anything. I can be stricken with awe at how I believe God worked in my life (with a little luck, not ending the prayer of thanksgiving with "and where in hell were You when that happened?") I know this does not prove existence of a God - an unbeliever would probably think I was 'conditioned' to think it was God's work, or that I'd abandon everything with a few good bonks.

Today, I was reading some selections from William James' "The Varieties of Religious Experience." (An interesting work, I must admit.) I am reflecting - not enough to draw a conclusion, which I'll save for later - on how James reacted to two of my favourite mystics, both Carmelites.

William James saw Teresa of Avila as a woman of huge intellect and other gifts, who placed all at the service of her religious ideals. His problem with her ideals was that they were "paltry according to our present way of thinking." He wrote that, "in the main, (Teresa's) idea of religion seems ... an endless amatory flirtation between the devotee and deity." James equally sees John of the Cross as going to absurd extremes - and such fanaticism (in these and other saints) as stemming from a narrow intellectual outlook. He concedes that Teresa would have insisted that 'by their fruits you shall know them' - but finds the fruits to be rather a disappointing crop.

When he gets to Francis of Assisi, I'm leaving the room.

I'm just wondering (and I'm no expert on James, and also loathe psychology, which was his field) if my totally unscientific mind may disagree. James' approach was that all varied and conflicting creeds have elements of uneasiness of some sort in the individual's situation, and a 'solution' where one is saved from wrongness by connection with higher powers. I believe that Teresa (who indeed was flirtatious, even with God) and John (who could be exceedingly extreme.. and I normally would not qualify that adjective) were past being concerned with their own inadequacy, wrongness, and so forth. The mystics who had the most intense relationships with God reached a point of indifference about the relationship - because they no longer were focussing on themselves or what they felt.

I will say this for Teresa and John (though their experiences were at opposite ends of the spectrum, one filled with 'consolations,' the other in a dark night.) I doubt they would have seen experience as proof of divine existence. The first reservation about their own experiences would have been 'is this God or the devil?' (Or is it just myself?)

I must close with a delicious reflection by J. L. Mackie. He mentiones how Soren Kierkegaard sees those in pagan territories as praying to the true God when they pray to the idols in good faith. Though I am sure S. K. has a point, Mackie mentions how this is not an argument for the Christian God, since one could argue that Osiris, Vishnu, et al, are equally tolerant when Christians go through their false rituals.

Now, I'm off to see if I have the energy to participate on a theology forum, where someone has raised the wonderful question of whether C. S. Lewis' "Jesus was either mad, bad, or God" is logical. I already noticed, to my delight, that someone commented that the 'mad or bad' exclusions are also applied to Lucy when she fell into Narnia.