Author Archives: jbernal

More Mad Men and Philosophers – Illusions and Delusions of Freedom

ILLUSION IN ORDINARY LIFE:

Alberto and Ben are walking the Mojave Desert. They’re thirsty and eager to find water. In the distance they see what appears to be an oasis and body of water. Alberto thinks it is real and soon their thirst will be satisfied. Ben wonders if the vision is just an illusion. Only when they get closer will they discover who is right.

ILLUSION ONLY FOR MAD MEN AND PHILOSOPHERS

Alberto and Ben finally reach the oasis and the pool of fresh, cool water. As they slake their thirst, Alberto wonders whether this water which he drinks is really water, or just the appearance (sense datum, sensation in the mind) of water, which might not exist as water-in-itself. He wonders if the oasis that shades him and the water that he drinks are not just elaborate illusions synthesized by his mind.

A VIABLE CASE OF THE “ILLUSION OF FREEDOM”

Truman has lived his entire life in a gigantic bowl (with transparent walls) made to look like an ordinary environment of hills, forests, meadows, rivers, and mountains. Truman has always believed that there are no barriers to his world, and that, if he chooses, he can travel beyond his familiar surroundings and explore the world beyond. In reality, his world is enclosed and he cannot travel beyond its periphery. However, he never tries to pass beyond; and so lives his entire life with the illusion of freedom to wander.

ILLUSION OF FREEDOM ONLY FOR MAD MEN AND PHILOSOPHERS

Alberto and Ben have the freedom and resources to travel the world. So they take advantage of their privileged circumstances and travel to far and exotic places. Alberto revels in his freedom and fully enjoys his travels. Ben worries that it is all just one elaborate illusion. He’s afraid that they really haven’t freely traveled, since, as a metaphysically inclined student, he believes that everything (including their decision and actions) is determined.

A CLEAR CASE OF PEOPLE LACKING AND DESIRING FREEDOM

People who are enslaved (or imprisoned) yearn for a freedom they do not possess; when they see the opportunity, they risk life and limb in an attempt at gaining that freedom.

A CASE IN WHICH ONLY MAD MEN AND PHILOSOPHERS YEARN FOR FREEDOM

Pangloss, who has never been enslaved or imprisoned and who is free to do as he likes, nevertheless yearns for a metaphysical freedom. He yearns to be a spirit who acts in isolation from all material factors that condition his actions.

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Commentary

Shawley asked: When we talk about free will we are talking about the mind? Is it is free to think?

Me: I share your perplexity, Shawley, which is why I issued these semi-comical, semi-jocular suggestions that philosophers’ worries often resemble the delusions of madmen. In reply to your question, I would say that the freedom “worth worrying about and worth talking about” (Dennett) is primarily freedom of choice and freedom of action. Even when stated in the old fashioned language of “freedom of will,” the problem concerns real choices and actions, not merely the freedom to think or imagine possible action. Of course, there is a real-world problem of ‘freedom of thought.’ But essentially it refers to freedom to express your ideas and beliefs without fear of persecution, not the mere ability to entertain thought

Shawley: Juan, then you seem to be saying that the average person in the U.S. has more free will than the average in, say, Dafur? Perhaps one has more of the exercise of free will here than there. To me ” w.o. fear of persecution” becomes merely a question in politics. .

Me: Yes, this is why our friend’s reply (Paul’s reply) to one of my examples is puzzling. Referring to my example of Truman, who thought he could move beyond his enclosed world when he really could not, he writes:

You end by saying he lives his entire life with the illusion of freedom to wander. Well, yes and no. Yes in the sense that he can’t wander outside of the bowl for he is permanently enclosed (as is the man in the locked room). However, he can deliberate as to whether he should leave the bowl and wander about as the man in the locked room can deliberate about whether or not to get up and walk out of the room. In this sense the man DOES have free will; for all the factors involved in free will are in order. He has the ability to deliberate albeit he does not know that the option to leave is really not open to him.

Me: So, according to Paul, one has freedom of will when (a) one can deliberate about going to Shangri-La, (b) one mistakenly thinks he can get to Shangri-La, and (c) in fact cannot ever go to that fabled place. Accordingly, one type of ‘Freedom-of-will,’ is simply the freedom to think about doing something which one cannot do but about which one is uninformed.
On these points, I’m with Shawley, namely, very confused. Paul claims a freedom-of-will when the subject has NO REAL CHOICE and lacks the freedom to act. In other words, if I have the delusion that I can run a marathon in one hour, can entertain the thought of of doing this (although it is physically impossible for me ever to do this), I surely don’t have the ‘free-will’ to run such a marathon! Could I correctly say that I am free to run such a marathon? As my boys would say, THAT DOESN’T COMPUTE, DAD!
This does not strike me as any kind of ‘freedom’ worth worrying about or worth having.

Shawley: Juan, I understand what you’re saying; but to me ‘free will’ argues that, despite genetics and environmental factors, humans have a measure of choices which they can freely consider. Freedom of action is a different beastie than freedom of thought. I realize this verges on existentialism, but that is not my point. If a god knows the future, or if I am genetically programmed in many ways, or I live in a constrained environment – I still have free will. You argue that a Roman Emperor had free will; but an uneducated Gaulish, or Jewish, peasant who was “tied” to the land – was essentially devoid of free will. No, I say his freedom of action was quite limited. It seems that you would see most people in history as mere puppets, manipulated by kings & genetics (etc.), with their minds devoid of choices. If I win the lottery do I suddenly have “more” free will in my mind? My answer is no.
Freedom of action does not equal free will.
For me, free will is a function of the mind (perhaps the brain) – not a measure of degrees of freedom of action.

Me: Shawley, I prefer to avoid the term “free will” because it suggests some mysterious faculty of mind which operates independently of genetic and environmental factors. I don’t think there is such a thing; and it seems to be a mistaken turn in discussions of problems of freedom and determinism.
I prefer to talk about freedom in relation to choice and actions that humans do. I don’t know what it means to talk about a ‘free will’ which does not result in some degree of freedom in deciding between alternative actions, and in sometimes being able to do what we desire to do, or what we judge to be in our best interest. This is the ‘freedom’ that interests me. (Maybe “autonomy” is a better term.) By a person having “free will” I understand a person with some ability to make choices and act according, i.e., a person having some autonomy.
As to the notion of ‘free will’ which is an aspect of mind or thought, I simply don’t know what that would be. I suspect there’s some confusion here. I have never thought of the ability to engage in free thought, free association and creative imagination as expressions of free will. Traditionally “will” referred to volition to act, and could be understood only in reference to overt action and choice (it seems to me).
I don’t know whether this answers the questions you raise, but it is a quick attempt to sort through some of these confusing concepts.

P.S. In reply to one of your questions: if you win the lottery you don’t thereby gain more “free will”; but you do gain more options, thus more freedom to do things you might not have previously been able to do. (I haven’t the least idea what “gaining more free will” means.)

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Postscript: If having freedom of will is like having a soul, then scientific materialists would deny that human beings have freedom of will. For there is no faculty in the brain (mind) which can be identified as ‘will’ and which is free of all the conditions to which the brain and nervous system are subject. Just as the search for a soul occupying some part of the human constitution will not turn up any such ‘thing,’ so the search for that elusive faculty, the ‘free will,’ will not disclose anything. There is no such thing. Humans are physical, biological beings subject to all physical, chemical, genetic conditions to which all biological creatures are subject. Despite our aspirations, imaginings, and fondest wishes, we cannot float above our physical and biological limits. We are not free in this sense, as we are not spiritual beings in the sense that an eternal soul defining our spirituality could be identified and located somewhere intimately tied to our earthly being.

But if we deny free will in this sense, what have we denied about human existence? Have we denied that humans lack all freedom of action and choice? Have we denied the reality of ‘freedom’ in any significant sense of the word? Many of us argue that we have not denied real freedom. Any freedom worth having is still something we can achieve. Talk of being free to choose to ‘compete in a 10K run’ or merely go as a spectator still makes sense and represents real freedom of choice.

Question to the determinist: What am I unable to do (what capability have I lost?) if your position is correct, that I have no free will?

Knowledge and Consciousness, and other philosophical errors

I once argued that knowledge is not a state of consciousness before a group of philosophical acquaintances; but I must admit that my argument did not persuade many of my philosophical friends.

But it is fairly easy to show that there isn’t any significant relationship between consciousness and knowledge, in the sense that knowledge does not require any specific conscious state and any specific conscious state and that these mental states alone are not sufficient for knowledge.

Undoubtedly when we affirm the proposition that any person [e.g., Roberto] knows P (e.g. Roberto knows that Obama is the US President) we’re presupposing an intelligent individual who is minimally aware of his environment, e.g., we presuppose that Roberto is a conscious, mindful agent. But this does not imply that knowledge equals some state of consciousness or some mental act.

Here is my version of such an argument for the contrary thesis that
Knowledge does not imply and is not implied by any state of consciousness or any mental act.

Let ‘Roberto’ represent any person capable of knowledge:
The fact that Roberto experiences any specific state of consciousness [“C”] or performs any specific mental act [“M”] is neither a sufficient nor a necessary condition for correctly ascribing some knowledge to Roberto [e.g., Roberto knows that Alaska is the biggest state in the union or Roberto knows how to ride a bicycle].

Affirm that
Specific state of consciousness not sufficient for knowledge:

Neither C nor M is sufficient for the truth of ‘Roberto knows P’ (alternatively, the truth of ‘Roberto knows how to S’);
because whenever we correctly ascribe knowledge to Roberto we implicitly affirm that an objective state of affairs holds or that an objective event has taken place.

(E.G. Robert knows that GWB is US president in 2007 requires that in fact GWB is US president in 2007.)

[Examples relating to ‘know how’ are easy. Knowing how to ride a bicycle requires that in fact one can do that, namely, ride a bike.]

In short, being in a particular state of mind is not sufficient for knowing something. This is true regardless of how extra-ordinary or spectacular that state of consciousness might be.

Affirm that
Specific state of consciousness not necessary for knowledge:

• ‘Roberto knows P’ can be true when Roberto does not experience any state of consciousness or perform a mental act (specific to his knowing P). [E.G., Two minutes ago Roberto knew that María is his great-grandmother, but he was not thinking about that (two minutes ago) and had not thought about it for years.]

• ‘Roberto knows how to S’ when Roberto can demonstrate the ability to do S. [This will be an overt, public act, not a state of consciousness or mental act. In our example above, riding a bike.]

• Many (most?) cases of ‘knowing that’ can be reduced to cases of ‘knowing how’.

• It is at least arguable that most cases of ‘knowing that’ are verifiable only in terms of the subject’s disposition or ability to perform some overt act.

Caveat: There may be a sub-class [a residue] of cases in which knowledge intimately involves a special state of consciousness or special experience. Examples could be cases in which we talk of knowledge by acquaintance, i. e., only someone who has done such & such can know what it is like to do such & such. For example, only someone who has loved and lost, knows what a painful experience that is!
[Other examples are easy to find. E.g., Only someone who has climbed Everest knows what that experience really is like. Only soldiers who have been in combat know what they’re talking about when combat experience is the subject.]

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More examples to buttress my case:
First, knowledge that ordinarily we know but do not hold in active consciousness:
Raul (just about anyone) knows that he has maternal grandparents; ..the earth existed 200 years ago; that he has a brain inside his skull;
..that if Henry’s head is cut off, Henry will die; that if Jenny’s arm is cut off, it won’t grow again;
..that automobiles don’t grow out of the earth (like plants);
.. that cats don’t grow on trees.

I know (but likely you don’t) that Ojo Feliz, NM has an abandoned morada.
I know what a morada is (related to the Penitente cult).

We knew in 1950 that nobody (from earth) had been on the moon. In 1970 we knew the contrary. We knew in August of 2001 that WTC twin towers were the tallest buildings in NYC. But in 2002 we knew that the Empire State bldg was the tallest building in NYC.
[What I know relates to what the facts are, relates to how the world is; and can be contingent on changing events.]

You might think that the following examples involve specific mental content or state of consciousness:
I know what ‘A <--> B’ signifies. He knows what R=MC2 signifies.
He knows that sub-atomic particles behave like waves and like individual particles!
[However, it can certainly be true that I know that those propositions are true, but had not thought about them for years. I had not thought about them recently; but if asked, I could reply with a statement (or demonstration) of the relevant knowledge.]

Second, a few examples of ‘know how’ which surely support my case.

He knows how to perform a successful retinal surgery.

He knows the way to Kansas City. He knows how to pitch to Mickey Mantle. He knows how to run a marathon. He knows the best route to the summit of Mt. Everest, meaning he knows how to take the best route.

He knows how the theory of structured programming works in program coding.
He knows how to code, test, and implement a batch program.

[He knows theory, but lacks the practical knowledge (experience)]
He has completed the required courses and attained the degrees and certification, but he lacks the experience of applying all that theory in the real world of data processing.

Third, other ‘knowing’ situations that might lead you to think that knowledge is equivalent to some mental state or state of consciousness:

Secret: I know where the scrolls are, but I don’t tell anyone.
I know who killed OJ’s wife and Eric Goldman, but I keep it to myself.
I know how to solve the puzzle, but I never show anyone.

But even in these cases it is not clear that the knowledge at issue is identical to a state of consciousness. For in each case, there is a crucial connection to the something (an object, an act) in world apart from the subject’s mental state.
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Related Reflections and observations:

Admittedly these are affirmed by someone impressed by a Rylean, Wittgensteinian approach to problems of mind and knowledge.

Knowing other person’s mind: We learn about other ‘minds’ by observing other person’s behavior, expression, capabilities, etc. In short, what other people say (orally, in writing) and do (relevant intelligent behavior) tell us much about their ‘minds.’ Just like the sciences, philosophies, literature, art, engineering feats, architecture, political and economic institutions of a society reveal an advanced culture, so the behavior and creativity of a person reveals that person’s mind, both the intellectual and creative ‘mind.’

We learn what a person knows by observing that person’s behavior and disposition to behave in specific ways. When that person displays particular ‘know-how’, skills, dispositions, and capabilities, we have reason for ascribing knowledge to him. We don’t have to inquire as to any specific state of consciousness or any specific mental act taking place ‘behind the scenes.” [See argument above.]

Although people can say things in sotto voce and keep secrets they never reveal to others, we do not have to become mystified over what happens in other peoples’ heads, or in some mysterious, ghostly place called “the mind.”

Despite the brilliant work of Rene Descartes, Immanuel Kant, and Edmund Husserl and arguments to the contrary, the fact remains that we do not learn much (anything?) about other persons’ minds by meditating on our subjective consciousness and attempting to describe the ‘structures’ of consciousness. We must turn our attention to the world, and to social and natural phenomena.

We commit the ‘Category Mistake’ when we speak of ‘the mind’ as an entity in the same category as our body and other material things, but distinct from our body and hidden to all but the immediate subjective consciousness. The mind is not an entity hidden behind the scenes, so to speak. When we refer to a person’s mind we are simply referring to the mindful behavior of that individual, one who is capable of intelligent behavior and aware of his environment.

None of this should be understood as denying that people often keep what they’re thinking and what they know to themselves. We cannot always learn what another person thinks or knows. People are capable of keeping secrets from the rest of us. People are capable of pretense, deception, and great acting, dissimulating what they really don’t feel or think.
Actors, salesmen, and politicians (among many others) often deceive us concerning what they really think and feel. We could say that we cannot always decipher their ‘minds.’ But this is the exception. Much of our culture and way-of-life rests on the ability to ‘read’ each other’s minds quite well.

Recommended reading for someone interested in this approach to problems of knowledge and philosophy of mind:

The Concept of Mind, by Gilbert Ryle

Philosophical Investigations, Ludwig Wittgenstein

Philosophy and The Mirror of Nature, by Richard Rorty

The Mind’s I, collection of essays edited by Daniel Dennett and Douglas Hofstadter

Discovering The Mind, by Walter Kaufmann

The Theory of Knowledge, by D.W. Hamlyn

Consciousness Explained, by Daniel Dennett

On Certainty, by Ludwig Wittgenstein.

Remarks About Psychology and Philosophy (Uneasy Siblings)

Historically in Western Philosophy, Psychology was part of philosophy until the 19th century when it became a separate science.

Is Psychology a sibling of Philosophy? Surely in the past they were close siblings, members of the same family. After the 19th century the relationship becomes more problematic.

In the 17th and 18th centuries, many Western philosophers did pioneering work in areas that later came to be known as “psychology.” Eventually psychological inquiry and research became separate sciences, the study and research into the mind. In short, psychology became identified as the science of mind insofar as its function is to analyze and explain mental processes: our thoughts, experiences, sensations, feelings, perceptions, imaginations, creativity, dreams and so on. It is mostly an empirical and experimental science; although the field of psychology does include the more theoretical Freudian psychology and the more speculative Jungian psychology.

But philosophical work was not always distinct, and even today is not wholly distinct, from psychological considerations. It may be that some forms of philosophy can never break away completely from psychological issues.

Baruch Spinoza’s great work, Ethics, includes many observations and insights about our reasoning processes and emotions. The early emphasis on epistemological questions by such thinkers as Rene Descartes, John Locke, David Hume, and Immanuel Kant includes much observations and statements about mental processes connected with knowing and belief; but in these writings there tends to be a mixing of psychological statements (process of knowing) with conceptual philosophy.

In our critiques of these works in epistemology we try to separate the philosophical theme (logic, conceptual and propositional evaluation) from the psychological aspect (causes of belief, mental process underlying perception). But in large part the problem remains, especially in such areas of philosophy of mind, of keeping philosophical work free of psychology altogether.

However, we should not assume that in all cases these must be kept separate, as some work in philosophy surely requires consideration of the psychological sciences.

As the sciences of physics, biology, astronomy and neurology broke with philosophy at earlier stages, empirical, descriptive psychology eventually broke away from philosophy. Scientific work that seeks to understand and explain the workings of the brain and the neurological processes which underlie thought and experience (viz., psychology) is different from philosophical inquiry into mind, consciousness, knowledge and experiences.

Edmund Husserl, the founder of phenomenology, takes great pains to keep his philosophy separate from empirical psychology. But it is not clear that his analysis (or other analyses) of the phenomenology of different experiences remains something clearly distinct from psychology.

Even today the student will likely be surprised by the number of psychological insights that Spinoza offers in this great work, Ethics, back in the 17th century and similar psychological observations by Friedrich Nietzsche in the 19th century.

William James, the great American pragmatist, includes much psychology in his philosophy. He has much to say about the stream of consciousness and special experiences, such as religious experiences.
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Philosophy of mind: There’s a sense in which the mind is a psychological construct; there’s another sense in which it is not. “My mind is such and such” can be restated as “my thinking is such and such.” Sometimes it is the psychology behind my thinking that is the issue; but other times we’re interested in what could be called the conceptual-propositional issues; and still other times we might be more interested in the literary-artistic expression of ideas, values, and perspectives. (In this latter connection, see Walter Kaufmann’s book, Discovering The Mind.)

In Epistemology we’re concerned with the concept of knowledge; but our primary interest is not one of describing the psychology of knowing. Our interest is not in the process by which we come to know something, but in the clarification of concepts associated with knowledge and belief; and in the logic of propositions related to knowledge. Included among the philosophers who engage in the philosophy of knowledge are Bertrand Russell, D.W. Hamlyn, and Richard Rorty.

In the area of academic philosophy, besides the large field of epistemology, we have philosophy of mind, theory of consciousness, philosophy of language, Cartesian Idealism, and the free will issue. Ordinarily these are not seen as forms of psychological inquiry. They are more directed to conceptual and propositional issues. Included among the philosophers who engage in work on knowledge, language, and mind in this vein are Ludwig Wittgenstein, Gilbert Ryle, D.W. Hamlyn, John Austin, and Daniel Dennett

But psychology is very much a part of those philosophical studies of special experience, such as the religious experience, the mystical experience, and even moral experience. A good representative of this approach is the great American pragmatist, William James. Much of his work in philosophy does not stray too far from his psychological interests.

Some aspects of philosophy are concerned with the nature of human thought. This interest is distinct from psychological study, description and theory. But to be adequate and credible it needs to take into account the work of psychologists and the cognitive scientists.

The subject of human thought is a big topic which can be approached from different directions. One of these is philosophy; another is psychology and the cognitive sciences. Still others are literary art, the fine arts, and history.

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How much of philosophy is concerned with the psychological well-being of the individual?

Another way of considering the interaction of psychology and philosophy is at the personal level when the person considers his philosophical reflections and meditation to bring about (or bring closer) some degree of psychic harmony. The idea here is that in some sense philosophy can be therapeutic.

To the extent that philosophical work and thought contribute to a person’s sense of well-being and even bring about some degree of fulfillment, one could argue that philosophy is a form of therapy. (?)

If the unexamined life is not worth living (Socrates), then it may follow that the examined life (the “philosophical life”) is worth living. This could be seen as suggesting that philosophical thought results in a form of personal fulfillment and good psychological health.

Contrary to this we have the view (mostly the prevailing view) that philosophy is an intellectual discipline which has little or nothing to do with anyone’s striving to achieve some form of personal, psychic fulfillment. Add to this the fact that most people who work in philosophy (e.g. academic philosophers or professors of philosophy) are not especially noteworthy for lives of psychic well-being. In this regard, think of people like Blaise Pascal, S. Kierkegaard, F. Nietzsche and Ludwig Wittgenstein. How psychologically healthy and well balanced were they? They were emotionally and mentally tormented, and won’t be mentioned much as models of psychic calm and well-being.

Some philosophers are driven to engage in philosophy, much like artists, poets, and composers are driven to do their creative work. Here we have a form of psychological compulsion that does not seem to be a form of therapy.
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Suppose I ask about Spinoza’s thought with regard to moral obligation; how does he defend the thesis that morality and rationality are closely intertwined? As a student of philosophy, my interests could be strictly philosophical interests. I want to know how he develops and defends his philosophical thesis. On the other hand, I could be curious about the causes of Spinoza’s thinking; or maybe interested in possible motives that he might have had for adopting his particular philosophy. What events in his childhood or family life led him to embrace the values of rationality and the ideals of the geometric method? In this latter case, I would be proceeding as an amateur, folk psychologist.

There are different ways of trying to understand the thought of a person, e.g. a writer or a philosopher. We take one way when we ask about the causes and motivations behind the person’s ideas; i.e., we ask about the psychological ‘workings.’ Another way is to do philosophical criticism and evaluation of the person’s ideas. But the two (psychology and philosophy) can be combined in a single study.

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The student as a psychologist: Here we have a person’s attempt to get clear about his/her thoughts and values; add to this a person’s attempt to be honest about one’s motivations. People used to say back in the 1960s era: I’m just trying to get my “head straight.”

Suppose that a psychologist can tell me about the causes, the mental processes, and hidden motives that underlie my thinking and behavior. He might say that in order to truly understand what I am about I must have some understanding of these “psychological” things; i.e., I must acknowledge and expose them. If I were to accept his advice and try to do those things, would I be acting in accordance with the Socratic maxim to “know thyself”?

The professional is concerned with empirical, descriptive psychology and with research into neurological and psychological processes. But we, the amateurs, are primarily indulging a form of folk psychology: Trying to say what I think about my own thinking. Or trying to deal better with my psychic life.

Sometimes I apply this ‘folk psychology’ to myself (I try to figure out what I’m about) or to others (I try to understand their motives for saying such and such or doing so and so.)

On a more practical level, we can imagine someone asking: “What do I really want in life? How do I get there?” Can philosophy help us here? Maybe not, but then again think of two of our great figures in Western Philosophy, Socrates and Spinoza, who are often cited as models of psychological harmony and wisdom.

Aren’t we all psychologists to some degree? Yes, to some degree we are insofar as we are awake, alert, conscientious, and honestly engage in self-examination. This does not need to be separated from our work in philosophy.

Remarks on Philosophy and Spirituality

What is the challenge of Critical Philosophy?

Among other things, critical philosophy challenges us to become radical in our thinking, i.e., try to get to the “roots” of things; that we work to examine things, the world and yourself. Recall Socrates’ dictum: “The unexamined life is not worth living.” The challenge of critical philosophy is that we be prepared to challenge our ideas, beliefs, and values in a Socratic way.

Critical philosophy requests that we scrutinize the standard, conventional answers (alleged answers) that are given to important questions regarding human existence, values and reality.

Critical philosophy asks that we become skeptical about society’s “sacred cows”; and even become iconoclastic regarding many of society’s false assumptions and hollow values.

Critical philosophy asks that we make use of creative imagination, tempered by critical reason, to develop a better “story” of human reality than the ones generally given.

What does religion ask?

Religion asks that you have faith. that you accept God “in your heart,” that you recognize the significance of certain moving (transforming) experiences.

A religion of salvation, such as Christianity, asks that you do what is necessary to gain eternal salvation.

Some religions ask that you forsake things of this world (wealth, pleasure, glory, power) for a higher spiritual order. Religions offer ways of thinking and acting which purportedly will improve your status in the spiritual realm. Accordingly, religions advance certain doctrines regarding the nature of human reality and the higher spiritual realm, doctrines which must be accepted by all members of the group. (With some salvation type religions, adherents must accept the official doctrine on pain of eternal suffering should their actions and beliefs not be satisfactory.)

A large part of the message of the New Testament is that you must have the right faith in order to achieve salvation. Everything else is secondary.
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At times I’m inclined to speak in terms of neat categories like the preceding one between philosophy and religion. How much of it holds true? How much does it mislead?
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Tavio Tellez and kindred spirits (romantics, for the most part) have seen philosophy an intellectual, moral and spiritual enterprise (as a life-long project). Can we really make much sense of this? Let’s try.

First, we have the familiar idea (expressed above) that philosophy is an intellectual, rational project. Philosophers (and associates in the field) work at thinking things through to their logical ends; they sort things out, work to clarify problems and issues, and, in some cases, reconstruct things.

Some of this is the work of criticism and analysis, and resembles clean-up or maintenance work. Philosophers sort things out in order to identify and expose falsehoods. In a romantic vein we could say that they sweep away nonsense and folly in order to give us an uncluttered road to understanding and truth.

Typically the work of philosophy is a social enterprise. The worker in the field must take into account the work that other philosophers have done and are doing. Generally philosophers build on what others have done and are doing; even the errors that occur can be instructive, even illuminating, and should not be ignored.

Analysis, rational argument and creative imagination play leading roles. The working philosopher strives to clarify and define the parameters of our knowledge and well-grounded beliefs, and to construct disciplined, imaginative theories where these may be helpful.

In short, the philosopher works to clarify matters and to get at the rationally, grounded truth about things.

Alternatively, a practicing philosopher can also be actively involved in what we can loosely call the moral-spiritual area. This is the area in which people aim to live the good life and achieve wisdom. Here the advocacy of particular values, normative judgment and value-guided action play primary roles. The philosopher attempts to inculcate certain attitudes, habits of thought and action in others. Some of the questions that are posed: What can we do to help bring about a good society (good government)? What can I do to realize a good character, and help others do the same? Given that we desire to realize a just, harmonious, and beneficent world, what actions, programs and policies will enable us to attain that end? How do I find meaning and significance in my existence?

Some philosophers work to construct a picture of human reality in relation to the rest of nature and the cosmos; according to this picture human existence takes on special meaning and significance.
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Observations on “spirituality”

In some cases, when we find significance and value in things other than material wealth, power, pleasure and social prestige, we see this as expressing our spirituality. Often people associate spirituality with conventional religious faith; but some forms of spirituality are not religious in the conventional sense of the term “religious.”

[Recall the question from the Gospel: How do you profit, if you win the world, but lose your soul?]

Spirituality is also often associated with moral and ethical values, with an abiding concern for other people’s rights and needs; some might state this as having a certain type of moral consciousness. Others might state things in terms of a life dedicated to realizing the morally good life; and a few will talk about a life of high mindedness.

Spirituality can also associate with a creativity, aesthetic values and artistic expression.

[It may be that spirituality is something you experience and express, not something you talk about and analyze.]

Suppose that you perceive the world spiritually without being a churchman or without submitting to the will of religious authority. You will look at the world, at our life and your fellow human beings in particular ways. Your attitude will be one that places certain values on things.

Do we state it this way: The world has a spiritual dimension?

A spiritual person might say, “My interactions with people are tempered by certain moral, philosophical aspects. The common, temporal, material concerns that drive most people are not my primary motives.”

Such a person is attuned to something else, something higher. Human existence is no longer a mere material, animal existence, but now seen to have essential features beyond physical, biological properties.

Others might say: “We’re not satisfied with merely playing the game well: having many friends, earning great wealth, attaining power and honor. We see life as having certain moral value and significance; we take our existence to be a process of soul development and evolution of the spirit.”

[Sounds good, but what does it really mean?]

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More Questions to ponder:

The worldly skeptic: In real terms, how important is it that you see things this way (spiritually)? For surely we know the nature of human existence; surely when we are honest with ourselves and with each other, we must admit that there is no spiritual, moral dimension to human existence. Like all higher animals in the evolutionary scheme, humans are in a constant state of competition and struggle for power. All this talk about “the spiritual, moral dimension of human reality” is simply a way of coloring human existence, a way of looking at our reality that we have forgotten is merely a way of looking at our reality.

(It is just a way of talking about things that interests us!)
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Do we really deceive ourselves when we speak of morality and spirituality? Sometimes we’re sure that an existence devoid of the spiritual dimension is an empty, meaningless existence; it would be as if human beings were mere things, objects. We have aspirations, needs and ideals which cannot be accounted for in animal, materialistic terms.

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The skeptic continues: “Perhaps it’s simply that you’re not aware of the naturalistic explanation for such things. Certainly high aspirations, oceanic feelings, and moral sensibilities can be explained in natural, material terms.”

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But you’re not completely convinced, are you? You cannot ignore the feeling or suggestion that human reality connects with a transcendent reality and has much higher value than anything that arises from mere, subjective feelings and aspirations.

Could it be simply a matter of conditioning? It may be simply that we have learned look at human existence only in this way. We think that we have gotten hold of a deep truth concerning human existence; but most likely we simply hold a particular perception of human reality, one which is ingrained in our psyche by cultural and religious conditioning.

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Some of Wittgenstein’s style might help here: We have a particular picture of human beings; or shall we say, “We have a particular picture of the world inhabited by human beings.” Working with this picture, we say such things as: “There is a spiritual dimension to human existence. Most wise and morally sensible people recognize this spiritual realm.”

Religions stake their claim to this spiritual dimension and provide doctrines that purport to explain our existence and moral beliefs in terms of this realm.

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Unfortunately, many advocates of such religions have been too anxious to impose their particular versions of the moral-spiritual “realm” on the rest of us (who may not wish to embrace such a view). Too often they have insisted on dogmas that conflict with science and logic, giving the impression that the spiritual view demands irrationality and ignorance.

Without doubt, organized religions have too frequently been oppressive and clumsy in their handling of the spiritual-moral phenomenon. There is a long, bloody history of the religious persecution of nonbelievers and outsiders: Jews, heretics, skeptics, free-thinkers, mystics, “witches”, rationalists, and so on. Organized religions have all too often given a bad name to the spiritual-moral phenomenon.

In fairness we should note that religions sometimes work well and provide many persons with the means for full expression of the spiritual-moral experience.
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Who are the Agents in History?

Does it make sense to ask whether the actions of religion in history have resulted in more benefit than injury?

Much of what has occurred in the history of organized religions has been more about power (the need to achieve and consolidate power) than about spirituality and higher moral values. We can venture that as many evil things have been done in the name of God as good things (the skeptic would say “more evil than good in the name of God”).

Does religion act in the world? Or do only people, religious or otherwise, act in the world?

We often speak as if abstractions, e.g. religion, philosophy, science, act in the world and bring about consequences. But this is just a way of talking, a very misleading way.
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More on this “spirituality” issue:

Let’s get back to the earlier notion of a spiritual dimension to human existence.

Are we really dealing with anything besides delusions and self-deception? Some of us might suspect that there is nothing “out there” but reflections of our own fears, ideals and aspirations. In a truly objective, measurable sense, there probably is nothing there.

Must we then concede that all this talk of the “spiritual dimension” of human reality is empty, meaningless talk?

We are mere products of natural evolution on a small planet reaching for an elusive spiritual significance. Maybe this is all we have.

The evidence that we possess indicates that our human reality is bounded by our natural powers, which we exercise in a natural and social environment. The betting odds are that God and the supernatural realm are nothing but imaginative phenomena projected by the human psyche (call it the “collective and historical human psyche” if you like).

*************

People seek consolation and significance wherever they can. With the great amount of suffering and the apparent lack of meaning in that suffering, who can blame them for turning to religion? Certainly we know that people can do much worse than practicing some form of religious faith and worship.

But the religious spirit need not align us with the forces of stupidity, ignorance and superstition.

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“The word of God?” Surely this is not some body of writings designated as the “Holy Word” by some particular tribe or culture. Instead, let’s propose as the “word of God” the evolution of life, consciousness, and intelligence on this small planet, earth. Earth, a small planet in the solar system, itself a mere speck in the Milky Way Galaxy, one of billions of galaxies in the known universe.

Is there any clear evidence or signs that a supernatural intelligence or Being plays a part in the reality we experience? If so, what might the evidence be?

Surely not the existence of a narrow, stultifying religious and theological tradition with its “holy scriptures,” but more likely such reality as the evolution and development of intelligent life, the development of culture, arts and the sciences, moral sensibility, beauty (both natural and created), music, poetry. The human mind in its capacity for mathematics, logic, and science, along with its highly developed, disciplined, creative imagination science shows a spark of divinity.

*************

Surely a divine being would personify the best and highest in humanity. Yes, such a Being would be light years beyond the highest being humanity can imagine. For this reason, the gods of earlier, less developed cultures must be rejected.

It would be a primitive, unworthy ‘god’, not the universal Being, who would say: “I shall save only those among you (my creatures) who avow certain beliefs, bow to certain officials, embrace certain doctrines and perform certain rituals. All others are condemned to eternal suffering.”

The ideas of hell, Satan, demons and the damnation of souls to eternal agony in hell are such primitive, unenlightened notions. How can intelligent, sensitive people associate such low ideas with that which is godly?

The higher beings in the cosmos would not demean themselves by associating with such lowly, primitive-human ideas.

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But isn’t all this too speculative and general?

“No! No!” the man said, “None of this rings true.”

So, then, why do we say it?

At the time it seemed to be the right thing to say. Later I honestly couldn’t say what I could have been thinking. Surely I couldn’t have thought carefully as I wrote; for what I wrote was romantic nonsense at best.

Puzzling about the LANGUAGE thing

It seems correct to say that language is a way of acting in the world or a form of intelligent behavior.

“….in the beginning was the WORD, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” (from the Gospel of John ).

But can we accept this as an accurate statement of our linguistic genesis?

Countless eons of evolution of life — and later the evolution of the mammalian brain – came long before anything resembling a word.

As the members of the human species evolved to the next phase of their development, they became language-users. At some point in their development, humans found it useful (maybe necessary for survival) to communicate. Certain grunts, yelps, signals, etc. came to signify something: a warning, a request, a threat, etc.

By some remarkable accident this occurred: an individual made certain marks on a stone or a tree, marks which had some significance for others of the group — maybe the reminder of a transaction or the indicator of a remarkable event.

***

How do we state this ‘language’ business?

1. Humans are beings who happen to use language. Language, thus, happens to be the means by which humans communicate with one another, express themselves, and perform certain actions. It is a way of acting-in-the-world, but not the only way or inevitably the way humans had to go. They could have evolved using another tool or another way.

Or

2. humans are language-using entities. The use of language is an essential part of being human, i.e., essential to human reality. Without language there wouldn’t be any human reality (as we understand the term “human reality”).

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Language evolves within a context of language users;
i.e., beings who use language in a variety of ways. At first, the way they communicate among themselves, and express emotion; later with the development of human culture, language-using beings express ideas and develop complex theories, eventually invent mathematics and science.

According to some anthropological accounts, human language probably evolved from oral-visual signals (within a group) to verbal-spoken language, and eventually to written language. At any phase of this development, what we understand by the term “language” only makes sense within a context of language users.

Another way of stating this: Language is possible only because of the existence of a group {tribe (?)} of potential language users. A piece of language (e.g., an utterance, a phrase) has meaning only because a community of language users has given it meaning.

Borrowing from Wittgenstein, we could say that only within a “form of life” is language possible. In general, that “form of life” includes a community of language users, a group of beings (in our world, human beings) who use certain sounds, tokens, marks, signals, etc. to communicate with each other and to express certain feelings and experiences.

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….la mentalidad y la cultura…

Writing is a form of behavior, similar to talking but different in that writing registers a record that remains, at least for a short time. (Of course, modern electronic and computer technology allow our talk, messages, and records to be digitally recorded.)

What you see here is writing only because a cultural convention has been adopted by a group of persons who share the language. Without a cultural convention, this would be gibberish, mere scribbled marks signifying nothing. Something analogous may be said with regard to the sounds (noise) we make when we talk.

All of this sits on a cultural, genetic structure. Genetic evolution and cultural development have resulted in linguistic reality of language users.

….la mentalidad, the lengua y la mano…

The wonder of language: someone makes a series of scribbles on a piece of paper, and somewhere down the line others make a big fuzz over it.

What one thinks can be recorded on some kind of medium accessible by others.

Today we can see what Plato and Aristotle recorded for us 2500 years ago, and read what the writers of the Old and New Testaments recorded for others to read and puzzle over.

Sometimes I am amazed by language, that we can issue certain mutterings and thereby communicate our thoughts, and that we can make certain scribblings (marks) on paper, and thereby express out thoughts. From a biological perspective these things appear close to miraculous. Maybe John of the Fourth Gospel was not entirely wrong.

‘Mutterings and scribblings’, thereby the world is transformed.
(To what degree were we capable of thought before we became language-using creatures?)

Some one or some group must have invented signals and noises that signified something. Such primitive conventions allowed people to learn (determine) what other persons intended or desired. This required identification with a social group, the recognition that one belonged to that group and that members of the group shared much in common, that in a rough way, each member of the group was doing the pretty much the same thing, had similar needs and means of satisfying those needs and that by cooperating and combining work each could better achieve our goals.
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It is not likely that we could communicate effectively with a totally alien creature. We would need at least a few things in common, that like ourselves the creature has a consciousness or awareness of things, a perspective on the environment; and the less likely assumption: that we both share an interest in communication.
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A word or words do not exist in isolation. The very concept of ‘word’ presupposes the existence of certain types of beings and a certain type of culture, call it a “linguistic culture.”

A word is a piece of language; neither the word nor language can have any reality outside of a culture of language-using beings.

Language exists only as the tool of a language-using culture (cf. L.Wittgenstein’s “form of life.”)

At some point in their evolution humans became language-using creatures, and then these creatures invented gods and other mythical beings. (“the animal creature was the creator”)

With language comes the expression of thought.
Those early ‘mutterings and scribblings’ had more fateful consequences than anyone could have ever imagined.

Other animals have gotten along quite well without language. Why did human beings evolve differently?

“In the beginning was the word . . . ” — John’s Gospel tells us, but surely this is not completely accurate.

Much had to happen and develop before words could appear, i.e., before language was invented. Yet John is not completely erroneous here. Words marked a crucial development, if not a beginning.

“Without words life would have no meaning,” the poet exclaims.
Without words we are mute and dumb!

Moral Progress & Moral Truth?

The claim that there has been moral progress in history, stated as a movement toward a transcendent moral truth, raises a number of critical questions: First, we can ask what is meant by “moral progress” and “moral truth.” Secondly, we might ask what philosophy (theory) of history is presupposed by such a grand theme as moral progress in history, and is that philosophy of history a rationally compelling one.

In his recent book, The Evolution of God (Little, Brown & Co., 2009), Robert Wright claims that history displays moral progress, a movement toward moral truth.

“Certainly there has been a kind of net moral progress in history, if only in the sense that moral imagination today routinely expands farther than the circumference of a hunger-gather village. And certainly religion has played a role in this progress.”

(page 427)

He then adds that it is certainly a fact that

“.. history has driven us closer and closer to moral truth, and now our moving still closer to moral truth is the only path to salvation — “salvation” in the original Abrahamic sense of the term: salvation of the social structure.”

(page 429) .
As these quotes from his latest book make clear, and as he argued in his earlier book, Nonzero – The Logic of Human Destiny, Wright claims to find moral progress in history.

For the purpose of this essay, let us set aside Wright’s general themes — a higher purpose in nature, an objective moral order in the universe, and an evolution of God in religious phenomena —-, all of which call for critical attention. Here I shall direct attention to his use of the ideas of ‘moral progress’ and ‘moral truth,’ both of which present a number of philosophical issues.

Wright claims to find a general direction in history of moral progress. The thesis of a general pattern of moral progress implies a progressive philosophy of history. There have been a variety of philosophies of history advanced; some examples are the 19th century theories by the German Idealist, G. Hegel, the founder of Marxism, Karl Marx, and the cyclical theories of Oswald Spengler, none of which give a clear picture of moral progress. Wright offers his theory of history. Does he make a compelling case for his philosophy of history, which is mostly an adaptation of the ancient doctrine of the Logos operating in history, developed by early Greek Stoics and the Jewish theologian, Philo? It is surely a questionable view of history. It is not clear how one could defend it philosophically; and Wright really does not offer an effective case in favor of his theory.

Has there been moral progress in history? While a number of people would agree with Wright that the general trend in history is one of moral progress, others have reasons for questioning that claim. The most that Wright has shown is that some aspects of historical change over the centuries can be seen as progressive changes in some respect. Increasing complexity and economic relations between societies can be seen as improvements over small tribes mostly antagonistic to each other. But progressive change is not necessarily moral progress. However, we can surely agree that there has been some moral progress in specific areas of historical, sociological development; e.g., progress in general attitudes regarding justice and human rights for people who used to be subject to enslavement; and progress in our notions of economic justice and human rights for women and ethnic, racial minorities. In other words, depending on which aspect of history we look at, we can argue meaningfully either for some kind of moral progress or argue for its absence, as long as there is agreement on the relevant value judgments, e.g., we agree that a situation in which people have a say in their government is an improvement in which they are subject to the arbitrary rule of the dictator; or we agree that conditions of religious freedom are better than conditions of religious totalitarianism. However, our recognition of ‘moral progress’ in this limited sense is not enough to not support Wright’s claim of general historical movement of moral progress.

As noted above, Wright assumes that talk of moral progress implies a progress toward moral truth: “..history has driven us closer and closer to moral truth.” This calls for at least two points of criticism:

1) There isn’t any reason for concluding that moral progress logically implies a movement toward moral truth. Talk about moral progress or moral improvement does presuppose a value judgment to the effect that the later stage is better than the earlier one; but this does not have to involve reference to ‘moral truth’; it can be stated in terms of the realization of certain values or satisfaction of a specific set of rules, with no commitment to any ‘moral truth.’

2) Wright is vague on what exactly is that ‘moral truth’ that historical moral progress approximates. The best I can get from his books is the statement of certain purported truths (“people everywhere are the same”; or the ‘truth’ that regional warfare has diminished and there is greater inclusion of people cooperating). While these propositions are relevant to morality in some way, they are not obviously moral truths. Wight’s ‘moral truths’ are more in the line of purported truths of historical patterns and sociological-anthropological truths, and they’re surely not ‘truths’ separate from the historical development that he purports to trace; they’re not separate truth toward which history is driving closer and closer. They are merely developments in history itself. .

So we have a definite problem is with Wright’s idea of moral truth, sitting out there somewhere waiting to be discovered. As anyone who has studied the subject of ethics beyond the introductory level, claims of moral truth are problematic.

For starters, the language of ethics seems to be prescriptive (e.g., statements of what one ought to do) and evaluative (e.g., value judgments concerning some action or choice). In neither case is propositional truth our primary concern, and probably does not even apply. When we turn attention to cases of moral conflict, such as issues of abortion, euthanasia, morality of war, distribution of benefits when there’s not enough for everyone, and other such issues, the claim that moral truth can be discerned is questionable to say the least. A genuine moral conflict means that we don’t have a ‘truth’ to which we can appeal; we lack any knowledge of moral truth which would settle the conflict. We simply have to make a choice based on our best judgment as to what is the right thing to do.

In his classical book, Ethics (Penguin books, 1954), P.H. Nowell-Smith tells us that “..moral philosophy is a practical science; its aim is to answer questions in the form ‘What shall I do?’. But no general answer can be given to this type of question.” (p. 320 ) He also rejects the notion that knowledge and truth can be applied to morality: He writes that sometimes philosophical theories rest on sheer logical confusions, and gives as a prime example the transferring concepts from mathematics and the sciences to moral discourse. This leads people to think that knowing how to lead one’s life is knowledge of theoretical truths, either about human nature or about a special realm of ‘values’. (See pages 317-318)

Many twentieth century analytical philosophers emphasized the difference between descriptive sciences and disciplines, where notions of truth and knowledge apply, and normative philosophies such as ethics, which deal with value judgments and prescriptions as to what one ought and ought not do. Here the notions of truth and knowledge have doubtful application.

However, as Alan R.White points out in his book Truth (Anchor Books, 1970), at least with respect to what he calls “moral pronouncements,” there is no obvious reason for denying that talk of moral truths is correct. Examples of moral pronouncements: Murder is wrong. Torture of babies is wrong. Giving help to the needy is good when one has the resources to do so. Genocide is evil, When these are stated in propositional form, there is no reason for denying that ‘truth’ can apply to them. White adds that “…moral pronouncements, unlike prescriptions, commands, or advice are expressed in the indicative mood, which is commonly a sigh that what is expressed can be true or false.” These are propositions about which we can agree or disagree with, but also argue about, or contradict; in some cases, he tells us they are also such that they “can be discovered, assumed or proved, believed, doubted or known; all of which characterize what can be true or false.” (pp. 60-61)

We can add that people are inclined to allow talk of truth with respect to universal principles, such as the Golden Rule, where there tends to be general agreement on the general truth that we should not do to others what we don’t want done to us. Utilitarians will argue that the principle of utility (Act so that greatest benefit for the greatest number results) is a moral truth. Kantians argue the same for the Categorical Imperative stated as “Always treat humans as ends-in-themselves, and never as a means only.” Few would argue that the unnecessary killing and torture of children is justifiable.

The issue of moral truth or ‘truth’ applied to moral discourse is a complicated one. It surely oversimplifies matters to assume without argument that there is such a thing as moral truth and that moral progress in history discloses this moral truth, as Robert Wright does. The sense in which ‘truth’ can apply to moral pronouncements and universal principles could be part of a general thesis that historically human societies are making progress in realizing such moral ideals, for example, the moral ideal embodied in the Golden Rule. But this is not how Wright has developed his thesis of moral progress in history.

Pushing and Pulling at the concept of Knowledge

Epistemology is that discipline in philosophy that deals with the concept of knowledge, the various problems relating to the concept such as: our attempts to define knowledge, and to identify the sources and limits of knowledge, to state the distinction between knowledge and opinion, and analyze the concept of truth.

Traditionally the philosophical question of knowledge primarily concerns propositional knowledge, i.e., knowing that such and such is so (that a proposition is true, e.g., knowing that Santa Ana is in Orange County, California), as contrasted with possessing a skill, talent or ability, as in knowing how to fix a Volkswagon engine or knowing how to play the piano. But some modern philosophers pay more attention the latter types of knowledge.

Knowledge involves the concept of truth insofar as the proposition (belief) known must be true. There is no such thing as knowledge of a false proposition. In addition, claiming that some proposition is true generally requires that I be able to show how I gained knowledge of this true proposition. Someone can justifiably challenge me to show how I gained knowledge of this truth.

(Of course, much of what we “know” to be true is knowledge we have acquired from others: scientists, investigators, historians, scholars, etc. – We could call this “culturally based knowledge”; but in some cases, we should have some idea how our claims to knowledge can be justified, although only the expert or the specialist would actually be able to carry out the tests or procedures that justify the claim to knowledge.)

Sometimes we speak of knowing someone or something instead of knowing that someone is such and such, as when I tell you that I know Sam, or that I knew Susan before she became Suzanne. Some people are inclined to call this knowledge by acquaintance. “I know that man” and “I know what desperate love is, having experienced it” are other examples. This ‘knowledge’ may seem different from propositional knowledge, but probably is not. Certainly, “knowing the man” and “knowing desperate love” can be restated propositionally if we possess the required writing skill.

Sometimes we see cases of “knowing how” as knowledge by acquaintance: I know the way to Kansas City. But ‘knowing the way to K.C.” is more clearly understood as knowing how to get to K.C.

But some people argue that ‘knowledge by acquaintance’ differs from propositional knowledge. “I know that song” means I am very familiar with it, know the melody and lyrics, can sing it if I choose. It doesn’t mean that I know some true proposition about it. Another example of knowledge by acquaintance: I know how it feels to lose a loved one to cancer. I have gone through the experience, and thus know what it is like. Could we call this ‘experiential knowledge’?
(Notice that even this kind of knowledge requires application of the correct concepts and some propositional description.)

It seems true that when we know that such and such, or when we know some individual, we have gotten something right, we have hit the target, so to speak. But the analogy is limited; for sometimes we can hit the target accidentally; but possessing knowledge is more akin to hitting the target because of our skill as marksmen. If we can make good our claim to knowing something, we’re expected to do more than simply claim we made a good guess, and by chance hit upon the truth. Yet one can gain genuine knowledge by a fortunate accident: e.g., the boy who fell into a cave and found the ancient scrolls. By accident he has come to know where the scrolls are hidden. Contrast this with the adult who guesses correctly, yet has not been able to verify the fact that the scrolls are hidden in that cave. By inductive inference and good luck, he has made a good conjecture, but cannot be said to know; whereas the boy knows.
(Someone might want to challenge this.)

“He speaks the truth” does not logically imply “He knows the truth.” For he might have hit upon the truth accidentally, i.e., what he says is true, but he cannot rationally justify his belief that it is true. (In our previous example, the boy could justify his claim, whereas the adult with the lucky guess could not.) (Another example: I believed that Simpson was guilty; it turned out he was in fact guilty; but I could not have proven that he was guilty; I could not have come up with compelling evidence for his guilt.)

The case differs for knowing how to do such and such. The fact that Bill rides a bicycle logically implies that he knows how to ride a bicycle. “Knowledge how” is demonstrated by the relevant behavior, knowing the way to Kansas City by actually taking you there, for example. Are there counter-examples to this?

Reflection and self-awareness: When I know that X, must I also know that I know? Is it possible to know something but not be aware that you know?
(I might have forgotten that I knew the solution to the puzzle.) Doesn’t the statement
“I know X” imply my awareness that I know X? (Ordinarily yes, but there can be exceptions.) (Does this apply only to propositional knowledge?)

Sometimes in retrospect we might say, “I knew all along that he was the perpetrator” meaning that I believed correctly that he was the guilty one although I couldn’t prove it to others. Here the “I knew” seems to just be a way of saying that I had a true belief (or made a lucky guess) at the time. It would be incorrect to interpret this to mean, ‘I knew such and such, but did not know that I knew it at the time.’

More likely, “I knew it along” is just a way of talking. I had it right all along, but couldn’t prove it. (Sometimes it might mean “I had a hunch.”)

Holding a true belief, by itself, is not sufficient for claiming knowledge in the case. For sometimes we hold true beliefs by accident or simply because we got this true belief from someone else, and never had any idea as to how the belief would be verified: the atomic weight of hydrogen, for example..

Yet most of the knowledge (viz. scientific knowledge) that most of us hold has been gotten from someone else. We certainly did not carry out the tests and verification to rationally justify the propositions at issue. For example, we claim to know the distance between the earth and the sun; but this ‘knowledge’ is something that we received from others. It is a justified, true belief, but the rational justification has been done by others. By a study of the relevant science, we can arrive at some idea as to the means of rational justification.

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The American pragmatist, Richard Rorty, likely would argue that the concept of knowledge is a cultural concept. ‘Knowledge’ is culturally and historically determined. What we accept as knowledge is determined by our culture and historical period. (This opposes the positivistic, “scientific” viewpoint that scientific knowledge has universal application.) Specific beliefs that we accept as common knowledge may be culturally conditioned, and may differ from the way those beliefs are evaluated by another culture.

Can we say the same thing about the general concept of ‘knowledge’ itself? What about specific empirical or scientific propositions, such as that ‘at sea level water freezes at 32 degrees Fahrenheit’?
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A good attempt to define knowledge is to see it as realized when
a. one holds a true believe, and
b. is rationally justified in holding that belief.

In short, this purports to define knowledge as justified, true belief. But, as Edmund L. Gettier argued successfully, there are counter-examples which appear to refute this as an entirely adequate definition of ‘knowledge.’

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How do we acquire knowledge?

Here is a start at an answer: we gain knowledge through experience; we acquire some of our knowledge ourselves; but much of what we “know” we get from others; for example, we become familiar with the work of scientists and with the accepted “findings” of the various sciences.

Education is a key to acquiring knowledge. The experience of living itself will also provide a person with much knowledge. We learn from experience by careful observation and correct inference from our observations.

Another stab at an answer: experience of the world (of living and doing things), rational inquiry and scientific investigation (use of the scientific method) are means by which we acquire knowledge;

(Maybe we should say: these are the means by which we justify our claims to knowledge. Acquisition and justification have to be distinguished.)
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One problem is that many people mean by “knowledge” a conviction that they will not easily let go. We call this “subjective certainty.” For example, I may say that I “know” such and such in the sense that this is my belief and I cannot be easily dislodged. The “subject” here could be an individual, a group or organization, or even an entire culture. (We often find this type of thing in politics and religion. E.G., “I know that Christ is my savior.”)

However, epistemology is not a branch of psychology; and ‘knowing that such and such’ should not be defined as a mental state; for being in a particular mental state is not a sufficient condition for having knowledge. (It may also not be a necessary condition.) Hence, strong conviction or strong subjective certainty will not show that the subject has knowledge. (Knowledge requires the satisfaction of an objective condition.) To determine the presence or absence of knowledge, we must look to the world. There must be publicly verifiable evidence or valid inference, one that is rationally compelling.

Likewise, epistemology is not a branch of sociology or anthropology. As students of philosophy, our primary goal is not to describe what society or a particular culture regards as knowledge. (However, such knowledge may play an important role in our philosophical thesis. In addition, culture plays an important role: the concepts and language used to analyze knowledge are culturally based.)

(As students of epistemological philosophy, we focus on the conceptual problems related to knowledge and belief.)

There’s a sense in which a knowledge claim is similar to a claim of some ability. (Gilbert Ryle used this approach. ‘Knowledge that’ is explained in terms of ‘knowing how.’) If I claim to be able to run a marathon, but when the marathon run occurs I am barely able to finish one tenth of the marathon distance and cannot continue, most people would question, even deny, my claim to be able to run the marathon. Similarly, if I claim to know the way to Kansas City, and when I try to take you there I get us hopelessly lost, most people would deny that I really know how to get to Kansas City. Public evidence has shown that I really don’t possess the “know-how” that I claimed. Likewise, if I claim to know that the world will end in two weeks and the two-week period passes and nothing happens, most people would deny that I possessed this claimed ability to foretell a future event. I did not possess knowledge of the end of the world.

We could say, then, that possessing knowledge is a public matter and not a private thing. Certainly it is not merely a matter of being in a particular state of mind or having a specific, subjective experience. To prove my claim to knowledge I have to show something; e.g., show that my knowledge claim really is based on fact, or at least show good evidence or reasons in support of my knowledge claim. “I have to bring others into the game.”
(This is why we tend to dismiss claims to absolutely private knowledge as having any significance other than giving insight into the psyche of the person claiming the “special knowledge.”)

Often we are limited to knowledge by elimination of false candidates to knowledge. We may not have positive knowledge of AAA, but we know that BBB, CCC, DDD, etc. cannot be AAA, and we know that other candidates: EEE, FFF, GGG, and such are most probably not AAA. By such process of elimination we may come closer to knowing what AAA might be.

This applies to much of the method of the natural sciences. By eliminating false hypotheses and theories, we move closer to the neighborhood of scientific knowledge.

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In the history of philosophy, the distinction between knowledge and mere opinion (belief) has occupied many philosophers, e.g. Plato, who required a special metaphysics to explain his distinction between knowledge and opinion.

Other famous figures in philosophy have defined ‘knowledge’ with logical certainty, of the sort found in mathematical proofs, e.g. Rene Descartes. [This is most likely another wrong turn in effort to define ‘knowledge,’ but instructive nevertheless.]

As the story is told, Descartes became weary of all the opinions and groundless ‘doctrine’ that masqueraded as knowledge; he proposed to identify genuine knowledge by doubting everything that could possibly be doubted; if at the end of this process of ‘hyperbolic doubt’ anything remained that could not be doubted, then he would be able to say that he had found genuine knowledge, that which was absolutely certain in the sense that it could not be doubted. He came down to the irreducible fact that he was doubting. Since even by doubting that he doubted he affirmed that he doubted, which in turn affirmed that he existed as a doubter, he affirmed that he existed as a thinking being, Thus, he came to his famous Cogito, Ergo Sum. That the subject exists as a thinking being is then supposed to be the foundation for genuine knowledge, affirmations that follow from the ‘cogito’ proposition; these supposedly have the same unassailable certainty as the Cogito.

Spinoza tried to establish genuine knowledge on a model of geometry. He proposed to start with a few axioms and theorems and, by logical deduction, build a system of metaphysics and ethics that would qualify as mathematically certain knowledge.
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(See what Ruben Hersh, in his book What is Mathematics, Really? has to say about the assumption that this procedure correctly characterizes mathematics.)

A good part of the history of western philosophy has dealt with the subject of epistemology. We find this in the efforts of western philosophers to explain and understand the concept of ‘knowledge’, and the related concepts ‘belief’, ‘truth’, ‘perception’, ‘memory’ and such.

Some philosophers approach the problem of ‘knowledge’ by way of skepticism. They explore the concept of ‘knowledge’ as they attempt to respond to the skeptic’s challenge. The general skeptic claims that we cannot justifiably claim to know anything. Limited skeptics contend that we cannot justify many of our ordinary claims to knowledge. In responding to the skeptic, we have to deal with the question: What really counts as knowing something? Or what are the criteria for justifiable knowledge claims?

I have many beliefs and opinions as to how the world works and the role that humans play. Some of these are true; some likely false. Some would be classified as knowledge, some as mere “hunches” or “guesses” as to what is playing. Some of these beliefs represent my convictions and emotional commitment; some are mere opinions that I’m inclined to “try out” without any strong commitment. Most are beliefs and opinions borrowed from others.

D.W. Hamlyn reminds us that

“..many kinds of knowledge … presuppose that the person who knows has certain relevant kinds of understanding, certain ideas or concepts, which form the basis of knowledge and in terms of which the knowledge is to be formulated. Knowledge that something or other is the case can normally be formulated in propositions.”

(53)
And

“..knowledge presupposes..that the person who knows has the relevant concepts or ideas, concepts that might conceivably be formulated in verbal terms so that the knowledge could be expressed in a proposition or propositions. . . one who knows that P is F must have at his disposal all the materials for knowledge that p, in that he must have the relevant concepts. To have a concept of F is to know what it is for something to be F. Thus, knowledge of facts presupposes other forms of knowledge, those involved in having concepts; and whether or not a person has these prior forms of knowledge may itself emerge in what things of a factual kind he can be said to know, perhaps, to which propositions he will assent.

(54)
(From Hamlyn’s The Theory of Knowledge)
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If I claim to know that our government is a republican form of democracy, I must believe this, and if I believe it, I must have some understanding of the relevant concepts, e.g. ‘government’ and ‘republican democracy.’ We have to presuppose a minimal understanding of the meaning and a basic ability to correctly apply the relevant concepts.

We also need some understanding of what it means to say that certain concepts apply and to say that the relevant propositions are true. For example, that the concept of ‘republican democracy’ applies to the U.S. government; and that the proposition ‘the U.S. government is a republican form of government’ is true.

It is fair to say that any claim to knowledge presupposes a complex network of concepts and ideas, social conventions and agreements, etc. Can we then say that knowledge is a social, linguistic phenomenon?

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Must we allow for this possibility: I have knowledge that only I know and which cannot be communicated to anyone else? Is there such a thing as absolutely private knowledge which is not expressible by any public language, thus not expressible in propositions that can be understood and evaluated by other persons? Mystics sometimes claim to have such knowledge. But we don’t have to cite mysticism; a simple secret that I don’t share with anyone would seem to answer the first questions above.

But philosophers like L. Wittgenstein and Gilbert Ryle give us reasons for doubting, if not outright denying, that private knowledge is possible.
(This will be left for a sequel to these remarks and observations.)

Robert Wright’s “Evolution of God”: An Exercise in Ambiguity

Although Robert Wright’s work in his latest book, The Evolution of God, offers much to stimulate and challenge students of history, ethics, and religious philosophy, there is much here that is extremely confusing, even bewildering. Case in point is his tendency to equivocate and flip-flop intellectually on such key questions as those concerning the type of historical account that his book develops and that concerning the nature of the “God,” whose evolution he claims to describe.

In the Introduction to his book, Robert Wright writes that the account of religion’s origins, history, and future developed in his book is a materialistic account. Then he adds that he will show that there is an objective moral order, which Philo called the “Logos,” which is real and indicates a divine force working in history. “… the story of this evolution itself points to the existence of something you can meaningfully call divinity;..” (The Evolution of God, page 4)

These propositions, if not mutually inconsistent, at least present a great intellectual conflict; but Wright seems oblivious to this. He uses the concepts of “materialism” and the Logos doctrine as if they could be combined harmoniously. But they cannot. Typically scholars interpret the “Logos” in Philo’s philosophy, in a variety of ways: the utterance of God, the Divine Mind, God’s Transcendent Power, the first-born Son of God (John’s Gospel), the Universal Bond in the physical world and the human soul, immanent Reason, and the Immanent Mediator of the Physical Universe. These are spiritual and metaphysical notions which are not at all compatible with a materialistic philosophy, which typically reduces all reality to matter, physical(including such phenomena as energy, electricity, magnetism, X-rays, and such), chemical, biological, and such. Materialism typically is contrasted with dualistic philosophies, which emphasize the reality of spiritual and mental realms in addition to the material-physical reality.

If Wright uses concepts like the “Logos,” an objective moral order, and a divinity-of-sorts working in history and nature, he should expect that the reader will seriously doubt whether he is really presenting a materialistic view of history. Obviously, the former concepts (Logos, divinity) are very much incongruous with a materialistic account of history and nature.

Is Robert Wright really a materialist, as he claims, or is he a follower of the Logos, as much of the account in his book indicates? In raising this question, I pick out only one of the various aspects of what seems to be “Wright’s specialty”: A marked tendency to equivocate, intellectually flip-flop, and perform sleights-of-hand worthy of the best magicians.

Consider another indicator of this: the theme of his book, namely the ‘God,’ whose putative ‘growth’ and ‘evolution’ he purports to describe in his book. Wright cannot seem to make up his mind whether this is a real ‘God’ that is affirmed by people of religious faith or whether it is just the concept or idea that people have of this “god,” something all (believers and non-believers alike) can accept as fact.

On page 213, Wright titles a section of chapter 8 with the question, “But is it God?” in which he qualifies significantly his talk about “God.” He states,

“The god I‘ve been describing is a god in quotation marks, a god that exists in people’s heads. When I said in chapter 5, for example, that Yahweh was strong yet compassionate, I just meant that his adherents thought of him as strong yet compassionate. There was no reason to believe that there was a god “out there” that matched this internal conception. Similarly when I say God shows moral progress, what I’m really saying is that people’s conception of God moves in a morally progressive direction.

(213)

He even says, in reference to the god believed in by Christians, Jews, and Muslims:

“…The god you thought was born perfect was in fact born imperfect. The good news is that this imperfect god isn’t really a god anyway, just a figment of the human imagination.”

(213)

It should be emphasized that at this point in his book Wright admits that all this talk about “god” is just talk about people’s conception of god, without committing himself to a God that really exists “out there” to match the conception that people have of him. Even the oft-repeated statements of the “moral growth” of god are really only references to a perceived moral growth in peoples’ ideas of god.

However, when we arrive at the following chapter, “Logos: The Divine Algorithm,” Mr. Wright is singing a different tune. Here he agrees with Philo that by “god” we mean a transcendent, yet immanent, real God, not just a concept that people have of god.

“….the Logos reconciles the transcendence of God with a divine presence in the world. God himself is beyond the material universe, somewhat the way a video game designer is outside of the video game. . . God may be outside the physical universe, but, as Goodenough puts it, there is “an immanent presence and cooperation of divinity in the created world.” Wright then adds that “the job of human beings … is to in turn cooperate with the divinity, a task they’ll do best if they sense this presence and the purpose it imparts.”

(221).

Wright does not qualify these statements as an account of what others (e.g. Philo) believed, but gives them as his own (Wright’s own) assertions. We can only read this as saying that Wright himself believes that there is a real, immanent God, a divinity who imparts a purpose on the universe. A real, immanent God who imparts a higher purpose to the created world is more than just the concept of God in people’s heads or just a figment of human imagination. Moreover, what Wright wrote at page 221 becomes an incredible piece of nonsense if he still held to his earlier statement that ‘god’ is just a figment of the human imagination. It is much like the nonsense I would engage in if I told you that, Henry the friendly dragon, is just a figment of my imagination, but he does a lot of the clean-up work in my backyard. Doesn’t Wright owe it to his readers at least to give the appearance of some logical consistency?

Obviously, this is another instance of Wright’s equivocation and flip-flopping. We get more in a single paragraph near the end of the book:

“…when I talked about the “growth” of the Abrahamic god, it wasn’t because I feel confident that this god, or any god, exists (a questioned I’m unqualified to answer). It was because the god of Abrahamic scriptures — real or not — does have a tendency to grow morally. This growth, though at times cryptic and superficially haphazard, is the “revelation” of the moral order underlying history; as the scope of social organization grows, God tends to eventually catch up, drawing a larger expanse of humanity under his protection, or at least a larger expanse of humanity under his toleration.”

(435)

Notice carefully what Wright is saying here. The Abrahamic god may not exist; he might not be real. We don’t know and are not qualified to say. But this putative god (“god”) who may just be a figment of human imagination has a tendency to grow morally (which means nothing more than we can interpret selected parts of history so that the moral values held by cultures are seen as changing in a progressive way). Furthermore, this putative god (who is really nothing but the concepts —– and they are numerous — which people have of god) reveals a moral order (presumably an objective order) underlying history. Moreover, this putative god (not really a God, you understand) brings a larger expanse of humanity under his protection and his toleration. He may not exist and may not even be real, but he does all these things.

I submit that you DON’T have to be very competent in critical thought and logic to see this as a piece of bewildering gibberish. After reading over 400 pages of the Wright treatment, we cannot even be sure whether he believes or does not believe in God, or whether he is a materialist or a follower of Philo’s Logos doctrine; because states these opposing views repeatedly. He really seems to be in some state of conflict himself. As a “materialist” he really cannot come out and declare clearly that there is a God who is the ground for an objective moral order, as the monotheistic religions claim. Nevertheless, Wright wants to promote his over-stated theory of nonzero-sumness working in history; and he has been impressed by Philo’s doctrine of the Logos. Going from these notions, he then makes the rather the vague inference that these are indicative of a-kind-of-divinity at work in the universe, although he is too embarrassed to state this honestly and forthrightly. Apparently, then, he cannot seem to avoid the types of equivocation and ambiguity which would result in a low ‘C’ grade for an essay submitted in Freshman Philosophy.

Questions and Remarks about the ‘God’ Issue

Were Moses and Mohammad referring to the same deity?

Was Jesus of the synoptic gospels referring to the same deity as Jesus of the Gospel by John? Were either one referring to the same God as Paul’s God?

What can we say about the deity of the Trinitarian Christianity? Do we have the same deity as that of Abraham?

Assuming that these questions present real issues, how could we ever resolve the issues?
Are there any criteria of identity? Aren’t we limited to the properties and relationships that theists assign to their specific deity? (i.e., Do we ever have any more than the putative properties and relationships which theists ascribe to their specific concepts of deity?)

[In actuality each group refers only to its own projection (of deity), to that which they imagine as having objective (transcendental) reality.]

God-talk: The assumption is that the name/description refers to a separate, independent entity.
[Surely this is a very questionable assumption.]

A second assumption is that different sets of name/description can refer to the same (one) entity.
[Here we have another very questionable proposition.]

In what sense do we have any grounds for claiming the term “God” refers to an objective entity? Show me how we canunderstand the assertion that two individuals refer to the same entity when they use the term “God”. Show me how we could ever evaluate such an assertion.

All understand the same thing by the use of the term “God”? Within a specific circle all may understand more or less the same thing. But nothing follows regarding the objective status of the referent. It is nothing more than a cultural concept that members of the culture apply in much-the-same-way. (The ‘culture’ may be a circle of theologians and philosophers.)

Outside our specific circle people understand very different things by the term “god.” When we take this into consideration the likelihood of reference to an objective entity is even less. Here the signs are undeniable that we’re dealing with a variety of cultural concepts.

The theist claims: “When I say “God” I refer to a real, objective entity. I’m not simply referring to a fiction of my imagination.” But without the appropriate faith, we only have his words that this is so.

Compare to this: When I say “Vu” I refer to a real, live person. I can take her by the hand and introduce her to you. You can see her, take her hand, and converse with her. You do not have to rely on my claim that Vu really exists.

Compare this to Don Quijote: “When I say “Dulcinea” I mean the purest, most virtuous, most beautiful woman in Spain.” But when Sancho Panza points to the object of Quijote’s affection, we know that Quijote suffers from delusions. Aldonza is no Dulcinea! “Dulcinea” existed only in his fevered imagination.

Try the same with the “G” term. When I say “G” I refer to a real, objective entity. But I cannot bring this entity before you and have you shake hands. I cannot fix it so that you can reach out and touch this entity. Even if I could arrange things so that you have a special experience of something (some entity?), there’s no way of verifying contact with the same entity. For the neutral observer who asks for evidence there’s nothing beyond the believer’s claim (faith, belief, arguments?) that ‘G’ exists. In other words, there’s no unambiguous way of establishing an objective referent for the term “G”.

We’re both reaching out in the thick fog and imagining that we touch the same object.

[With ‘G’ you have a special experience, a dream or vision and a concept, but no grounds for claiming an objective referent. Yet Sister Michelle prays to Him and claims that her prayers are answered, and that if you pray to Him you too will benefit.]

We could say that talk about “G” is just talk about a cultural concept. A prophet or holy person had a dream or a vision, and wrote certain things down. A group of people use the term “G” in such and such a way.

[We can work an analogy with numbers. Numbers do not exist as objective entities, although in mathematics we use them as if they were objective. Numbers are cultural concepts of a special kind. They cut across cultures and function much like objective entities. But unless one is a Platonist, one does not postulate numbers as objective entities existing in some mysterious realm.]

Those who do not play the theological game cannot make much sense of the assertion that ‘G’ does have an objective referent, that ‘G’ exists but in a spiritual realm outside the range of scientific investigation. “He does exist independently of our visions, dreams, doctrines and concepts, but in a land-far-far-away,” the believer seems to say.

Ambiguity Of The Term “GOD”

Part I: Varieties in Conceptualizations of God:

A look at the relevant literature reveals that theologians and philosophers hold a variety of concepts of deity. A number of writers on the subject have pointed out that, even when we limit ourselves to Western-style monotheism, the meaning “God” is equivocal and ambiguous.

Here I offer examples of variety in god concepts.

John Hick, a well-known and respected philosopher of religion, states (in his book, Philosophy of Religion) that the Judaic-Christian concept of God is “conceived as an infinite, eternal, uncreated, personal reality who has created all that exists other than himself, and who has revealed himself to his human creatures as holy and loving.” (page 14)

Compare that to what my ‘Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Collier-Macmillan, 1967, ed. Paul Edwards)’ states as the concept of God:
It lists the attributes of God as a being who possesses: infinity, unity, simplicity, incorporeality immutability, eternity, perfect goodness, omniscience, and omnipotence.

In other words, God is an eternal, unlimited, spiritual being who is omnipotent, omniscient, and perfectly good. A variety of opinion remains as to whether God is transcendent or immanent, as to the nature of his relationship to the world, and his status as a personal being.

One could argue that despite a variety of views regarding God’s relationship to the world, Hick and the writer of the encyclopedia article agree on the core attributes of deity.

But when we look at other writers and theologians, it is variety and differences that jump out at us. Consider the overview of Hartshorne and Reese in their book, Philosophers Speak of God, in which they offer the following classification of theistic doctrines: The Supreme Being can be conceived as

• Eternal-Temporal Consciousness, Knowing and including the world (Panentheism, Plato Sri Jiva, Whitehead, Radhadrishnan.)
• Eternal Consciousness, not knowing or including the world: Aristotelian theism.
• Eternal Consciousness, knowing but not including the world: Classical, Philo, Augustine, Anselm, al-Ghazzali, Aquinas, Leibniz.
• Eternal beyond consciousness and knowledge: Emanationism, Plotinus.
• Eternal Consciousness, Knowing and Including the world: Classical Pantheism, Sankara, Spinoza, Royce
• Eternal-Temporal Consciousness, knowing but not including the world: Temporalistic theism, Socinus, Lequier.
• Eternal-Temporal Consciousness, partly exclusive of the world: Limited panentheism, James, Ehrenfels. Brightman.
• Temporal and nonconscious: Wieman

One could say that eternity, at least, marks the deity, except that the last concept makes God a temporal being.

Next consider the categories given by Donald A. Wells, in his book: God, Man, and the Thinker (Philosophies of Religion): Limiting himself to monotheism, Wells lists the following general categories of god-concepts:

• Pantheism: Everything is God
• Deistic supernaturalism: The far-off God (a remote, absolutely unknowable deity whose sole contact with the universe was to create it)
• Naturalism: The Process God (“God” as the tendency toward greater order in the universe)
• Neo-Orthodoxy: The Ground of Being (found in the theology of Bonaventura and Tillich)
• Orthodox Personalism: An all-knowing, perfectly good personal Being who is all-powerful (deity portrayed as a person-like being (Father, Lord, King) with unlimited power)
• Limited Personalism: An all-knowing, perfectly good personal Being whose powers are limited

(Which one shall we select as the correct concept?)

Following his look at theological doctrines that characterize God as the ground-of-being or being-in-itself, Walter Kaufmann, in his impressive book, Critique of Religion and Philosophy, summarizes the reasons for holding that the term “God” is bound to be ambiguous.

“God” is not a univocal term. The deeds and words of God, the visions phrases, and relations into which God enters; and the thoughts and feeling about Him which are recorded in the Hebrew Scriptures add up to a conception overcharged with meaning. The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob is not simply “being-in-itself.” And now there have been added to this overrich conception of the Hebrew Scriptures the sayings of Jesus and stories of the Gospels, the theologies of the fourth evangelist and Paul, the ideas of the other authors of New Testament Epistles, the visions of the Revelation of St. John the Divine, and the vast lore, if not of the Talmud, Midrash, and the Jewish mystics, of the church fathers and Christian mystics, the scholastics, and innumerable theologians and philosophers.
Seeing that “God” is so far from being a univocal term and that the terms applied to him by theologians are admittedly not intended to mean what they generally mean, it is no exaggeration if we conclude that most statements about God are essentially ambiguous. They cannot be called true or false. Interpretations of them which are true are usually ingenious or trivial or heretical —- often all three. The propositions themselves defy translation.”

(Critique of Religion and Philosophy, Doubleday, 1961 pp. 180-181)

Can we say that at the very least we have some reason for doubting the view that all philosophers, theologians, and reputable religious writers agree on the basic meaning of the concept of “God”? But maybe the three major monotheistic religions can at least agree on the core attributes of God. This is the issue of Part II.
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Part II Monotheism and claims of the “same God”

Proposition A: The God of Christians, Jews, and Muslims is the same God.

Propositions A is likely false, and certainly cannot be verified., although most people assume that it is true and (from all appearances) do not spend any time worrying about how anyone could show that it is true.

But could one ever demonstrate that the three major monotheistic religions all point to the same supernatural entity (Proposition A), referred to by the term “God”? What would be the criteria by which all observers, including neutral parties, would agree that, indeed, the same entity was referenced by the term “God”? We cannot say that they all attribute the same properties to this one God. Someone might assert that, although each religious tradition knows him by way of different properties, they still refer to the same being. But how would one ever show that proposition to be true or even rationally well-grounded?

Corollary A1: Christians, Jews, and Muslims believe in a God to whom they assign the same set of core properties.

The corollary proposition is that all adherents of these monotheistic faiths identify their deity by the same essential (“core”) properties. This is an empirical claim which can easily be tested by empirical means, namely, checking various representatives to see whether they all conceive of their deity in the same way. The evidence, easily available, indicates the A1 also is false. A friend with special interest in Judaism, has shown me numerous sources and reasons for concluding that from a Judaic perspective A1 is false: the ‘G-D’ of Judaism does not share core properties with the deity of Christians. It would be an easy task to show similar reasons for denying that Allah, the God of Muslims, shares core properties with either the God of Jews or that of Christians.

In Part I above, I offered various sources and examples of people, mostly a variety of Christians, who held notions of deity that refute A1. Below, I offer one more. This is a selection from an essay, “Eschatological Verification,” (Theology Today, April 1960) by John Hick, a respected Christian philosopher/theologian. He writes:

“There are many different concepts of God, and it may be that statements employing some of them are open to verification or falsification while statements employing others .. are not.”

In addition, he states:

“The strength of the notion of eschatological verification is that it is not an ad hoc invention but is based upon an actually operative religious concept of God. In the language of Christian faith, the word “God” stands at the center of a system of terms, such as Spirit, grace, Logos, incarnation, Kingdom of God, and many more; and the distinctly Christian conception of God can only be grasped in its connection with these related terms. . .”

(my emphasis)

So, according to Hick, this concept of God is surely not one which could be affirmed by either Jews or Muslims. He lists what he, as a Christian thinker, regards as core properties of this ‘God’: including the distinctly Christian notions of grace, Logos, incarnation and such.

I find that that each of these religious cultures has its distinctive concept of deity, and that within each one there is more variety in the ways that people actually conceive of their deity. Furthermore, I do not see how any theology or theistic philosophy can make good the claim that, despite the variety of descriptions, all people of monotheistic faith point to the same God.