Readings: Coo-Coo-Ca-Choo, Prof. Goldstein

Is it just me, or has existence been kinda flat for the past couple of days? Even the blogosphere hasn't been putting out those energizing vibes that keep me posting. I had an excerpt on my desktop, all ready to go. Then I got involved in some issues over at Civis' blog. And here at Rodak Riffs, and never got around to it. Well, my heart's not fully into it, but here goes nuthin':

The excerpt is from the last work of Rebecca Goldstein's fiction that I hadn't read. The anything-but-snappy title is The Late Summer Passion of a Woman of Mind. Rather than providing a full synopsis, I ask you to check out this short review from the New York Times.

Briefly, the protagonist is a woman philosophy professor at a university which reminds me of Cornell. Now entering early middle-age, she has lived a life of the mind, focusing on the philosophies of Plato and Spinoza, basically celebate since a traumatic youthful love relationship. She develops a passion for one of her students. Here's to you, Mrs. Robinson. I know, it sounds boring. But it's not. Anyway...here's the long-dormant excerpt:

"How exquisitely small and simple truth is. Not something loud and large and showy, but quiet and self-contained. Here it is. The relation of logical entailment. Concepts entail concepts, propositions follow from propositions. And from this emerges the truth entire, indestructibly forged of logic locked into the necessary facts of existence. It was this structure that Spinoza called Deus sive Natura. And it rises up beyond the corrosive tides of time that wash over all that is conditioned and contingent, including us, our own poor bodily selves. It rises beyond, and yet – the gift of it! – within our reach. Our minds, in grasping the logical entailments, can take possession of it, can apprehend it and claim it for our own. And in this way we too can partake of eternity."

This is an example of the kind of thing middle-aged, female philosophy profs think about while they do the dishes, I guess. What I would like to consider is the embedded Spinoza aphorism: Deus sive Natura. I searched for a translation, but found nothing that didn't sound clunky compared to the Latin. So forget the translation. The idea expressed by the phrase, as I understand it, is that we experience God (only) as Nature.

At first glance this looks to be atheistic, or perhaps, pantheistic. But, on the other hand, if we consider this concept in the light of, for instance, Simone Weil's utterly transcendent God, traces of whom are seen reflected in the beauty of the material world, it seems to be quite compatible with religious faith; perhaps even with Christianity.

Note to self: Read some Spinoza.

Readings: Weil-ing Away the Time

One of my main motives in putting up this blog was to have a place to present to people who might not be familiar with them some of the ideas of the French philosopher, Simone Weil.

Several of my recent posts have featured excerpts from essays contained in the anthology of Simone Weil's writings, On Science, Necessity, and the Love of God. The final essay, "The Love of God and Affliction" is a presentation of some of the ideas most central to her vision of Christianity and the relationship of God to Man.

Due to the importance of the ideas in this essay, particularly those dealing with her concept of affliction, the notes I took as I read it snowballed into too many words for a decently sized blog post. Therefore, I encourage any person who finds himself reading these words to view the mind-expanding words of Simone Weil here.

Readings: Evil Raises Its Ugly Head. Again.

There has been an on-going discussion, on a couple of consecutive threads, over in the Religion Department at Politics, Sex and Religion--(I’ve put in for a transfer to Sex, but so far nothing has opened up for me, no pun intended)—concerning the nature of God, with particular reference to the Problem of Evil.

I got home from work this afternoon, eager to watch the end of the Rockies-Phillies game prior to settling into the Yankees-Indians contest, only to find that the cable is out -- proving that THERE IS NO GOD!!! DAMN IT ALL!!!

Nothing to be done, then, but to take a deep breath, pick up On Science, Necessity, and the Love of God and begin reading the next Simone Weil piece therein. The piece is entitled “Some Reflections on the Love of God” and the opening paragraph, which follows, is very relevant to the above mentioned discussions:

“The love that God bears us is, at any moment, the material and substance of our very being. God’s creative love which maintains us in existence is not merely a superabundance of generosity, it is also renunciation and sacrifice. Not only the Passion but the Creation itself is a renunciation and sacrifice on the part of God. The Passion is simply its consummation. God already voids himself of his divinity by the Creation. He takes the form of a slave, submits to necessity, abases himself. His love maintains in existence, in a free and autonomous existence, beings other than himself, beings other than the good, mediocre beings. Through love, he abandons them to affliction and sin. For if he did not abandon them they would not exist. His presence would annul their existence as a flame kills a butterfly.”

You gotta admit—that’s different. And it leads us straight to Today’s Word, kenosis. Kenosis. Just point and click.

Reflections: Dualism - In the beginning

Dualism

1: a theory that considers reality to consist of two irreducible elements or modes
2: the quality or state of being dual or of having a dual nature
3 a: a doctrine that the universe is under the dominion of two opposing principles one of which is good and the other evil b: a view of human beings as constituted of two irreducible elements (as matter and spirit)

Of the four dictionary definitions of “dualism” above, I am most interested here in parts "a" and "b" of number 3. Orthodox Christianity, at least as expressed in Catholicism (as I understand it, which is admittedly not that well) would deny the truth of each of these definitions. In the biblical book of Genesis, it is stated that when God had finished with the Creation, he saw that it was good. As God the Father is the sole Creator of everything, and since God is omnibenevolent, it follows that everything in Creation must be good. Logic tells us that a Creator who is all-good could not create a bad thing. Neither, in a non-dualistic, monotheistic universe, could there be a second creative principle, entity, or being that is responsible for the existence of evil things. Therefore, evil can have no objective existence. So “3 a” above cannot be applied to a valid description of the creation, as perceived by orthodoxy.

When considering human beings, orthodoxy teaches that spirit and body together form one unit and are not viable as separate entities. According to Catholicism, for instance, both the body and the soul are created by God at the instant of conception. The general resurrection at the end of time will be a resurrection of actual physical bodies—the same bodies possessed by each individual before his death. So “3 b” above describes an erroneous way to look at humanity. But I have problems with this interpretation of the book of Genesis. I find the mythical imagery and symbolism of the first two chapters of Genesis -- those which deal specifically with the Creation -- to contain elements suggestive of dualism.

To begin with, the first two chapters of the book of Genesis are clearly comprised of two distinct versions of the creation myth. This fact, in itself, suggests a sort of structural dualism. This structural dualism can be shown to be necessitated by (at least) two different authorial conclusions concerning the processes of the Creation. Without going into the various scholarly disputes concerning the number and religious biases of the hypothetical author(s) of the book as a whole, we can here propose that the juxtaposition of the two differing versions of the same creation myth demonstrates a need felt by the ancient editors to acknowledge the competing, or composite, truths of a dualism of the type suggested by dictionary definition "2" above.

The creation myth as presented in the first chapter of the book of Genesis actually ends with the third verse of the second chapter: "And God blessed the seventh day, and sanctified it; because that in it he had rested from all his work which God created and made." [All quotes will be from the King James version, unless otherwise noted.] In chapter one, the Creation goes without a hitch, from "Let there be light," to resting on the seventh day and instituting the sabbath. In Chapter One, there is no creation of Eve from Adam's rib; rather: "...God created man in his own image...male and female created he them." There is no afterthought here; no reaction to the problematic perception of Adam's lack of a mate. By contrast, in the 18th verse of the second chapter, we have: "It is not good that the man should be alone..." Not good? Mistakes were made?

In chapter one, after God has separated the waters into seas, thus creating dry land, we have, beginning at verse 11: "And God said, 'Let the earth bring forth grass, the herb yielding seed, and the fruit tree yielding fruit...' and it was so... and God saw that it was good." But in the fifth verse of the second version, "in the day the Lord God made the earth and the heavens, and every plant of the field before it grew; for the Lord God had not caused it to rain upon the earth, and there was not a man to till the ground." There seems to be a strange lack of foresight on the part of the Creator here. It also seems that Adam, once he is created, is destined to be a field hand, tilling the ground (after God gets around to moistening it) in order that God can plant that vegetation, the ideal forms of which he has previously created in heaven. Finally, in verse 6 "...there went up a mist from the earth, and watered the whole face of the ground. And the Lord God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul." It is not clear from this account whether God caused the necessary mist to rise from the earth, or merely took advantage of it when it happened spontaneously. There is no mention of the man being made in God's image.

So it is clear that the two versions of the creation myth, as presented in the first two verses of the book of Genesis, tell similar stories which differ in subtly important ways. The second version presents a Creator who does not seem to have thought of everything in advance, who backtracks and improvises as various contingencies arise. In the first chapter, all goes smoothly; every plan and act of God is really is wholly good in the beginning.

At Chapter 3, however, things begin to go very badly indeed, and it is in these circumstances that the implicit dualism of the book of Genesis becomes even more readily apparent. We shall next consider the two trees God had planted in the midst of the Garden, and the nature of the talking serpent who is so instrumental to the Fall of Man and to the doctrine of Original Sin.