It’s a challenge to write about dialectic without engaging in it, that is, without evaluating examples of dialectic from one’s position. It’s a challenge because dialectic presupposes experiences or documents that one has interpreted and historically contextualized, and the ability to engage in such activities varies from person to person.
In every dialectical exchange, the opponents have achieved a certain level of personal development, a level they cannot improve “on the spot.” That is, awareness of truth-inhibiting biases, like the ability to evaluate experiences or documents, is person-variable. One goal in a dialectical exchange is to bring those biases to light, to expose not only the gnat in the interlocutor’s eye, but also the camels clogging one’s own esophagus. (Matthew 23:24) Not everyone welcomes such exposure. Continue reading “Christian Individualism and Dialectic, Part 4: Bias, the Infirmity We Cannot Help But Bring to Dialectic”
I was not always dispensationally conscious, or even worldview-conscious. Becoming so required me to reorient and regiment my thinking, to trade in (or up) the pretension of human autonomy in philosophy for “heteronomy,” the “hetero” ( “other”) being God as He is revealed in Scripture.
Dialectic (from διαλέγειν, dialegein; “to speak across”) is a situation before it is an approach to it.
If positions are both topically related and opposed to each other, then they imply a dialectic. The position-holders need not be aware of this. Each side is presumed to be oriented toward truth, however imperfectly, even if they sinfully suppress and distort the truth (which, of course, depends on some grasp of the truth).
[Also on Substack.] The daunting task arises out of my return to philosophy as the launch of my Christian Individualism: The Maverick Biblical Workmanship of Otis Q. Sellers approaches. The book’s not out yet, but I must begin to consider what I will focus on once it is.
I’m returning to philosophy, not to try to solve its problems, but rather to identify the problem that all writers, trained in philosophy or not, face as soon as they affirm or deny anything of substance, namely, the problem of diversity in philosophy.
I call this the problem, or rather “metaproblem,” of dialectic. A writer can evade it, of course, but not integrally. To address the metaproblem, I’ll need a metaphilosophy, which seeks to solve not traditional philosophical problems, but rather the problem of philosophy (or theology) itself, the problem that attaches to the maddening array of choices these fields present to the inquirer.
The foundation for this daunting task is, as I hope you might expect, Christ as He’s revealed in His Word as His Spirit has illuminated it for me with the help of those in whom He’s similarly worked.
You cannot, however, predict from generic information about me how I will approach the problem of dialectic. There will be nothing cookie-cutter or off-the-shelf about it. I promise not to make your eyes glaze over by intoning “thesis, antithesis, synthesis.” Do not overlook the material, some written by me, referenced in the notes. They will prove useful for future installments of this series. Continue reading “Christian Individualism and Dialectic, Part 1: A Daunting Task Beckons”
During my freshman year at New York University in 1971, I had as my first professor of philosophy Bob Gurland (b. 1933), voted many times Teacher of the Year (by many of his 25 thousand students). One fascinating thing I had learned about him was that he played trumpet in several big bands in the Fifties. (Charlie Barnet’s was one, as I recall.) One day after class, I chatted with him on Waverly Place, half a block east of Washington Square North, about jazz music, which we both love, and I remember interjecting, “That’s not something I want to theorize about.” Neither did he. He added a few words that underscored his head-nodding agreement.[1] I went about my philosophical education knowing both that there was such a thing as aesthetics and that I wasn’t much interested in it.
But as that lack of interest didn’t sit well with me, I was delighted when my reading led me to Susanne K. Langer, who lifted the veil a bit for me. On this site five years ago, I shared my discovery of her writings, which came into my world by way of my long and deep interest in Bernard Lonergan (1904-1984).
Lonergan [I wrote] was impressed with Susanne K. Langer’s Feeling and Formenough to cite it a couple of times in Insight. That’s how I learned of her work, and around 2008 I finally got around to marking up her Philosophy in a New Key: a Study in the Symbolism of Reason Rite and Art. For the first time, the arts were for me not just enjoyable, but also intelligible. First published in 1942, a mass market paperback edition hit the stands in 1949.
What could Langer, a materialist (or naturalist) in all but name, offer Lonergan a Transcendental Thomist? Monsignor Richard M. Liddy, who wrote his dissertation on Langer after studying under Lonergan in Rome, supplied an answer in “What Bernard Lonergan Learned from Susanne K. Langer.”[2]
Now, just how did she make intelligible to my prosaic mind the arts that express, enrich, and delight us as souls, that is, as beings capable of enjoyment and suffering?[3] Well, she had an insight into the different “primary illusions” that inform the “great orders of art.” These illusions are “semblances of experienced events,” with music (where she, a trained cellist, started) creating the illusion of time; painting, space; ballet, forces; literature, a virtual past; drama, a virtual present. The primary illusion of film, I reread the other day, is the dream.
“Not enough for what?” To philosophize aright. I swiped this post’s title from a collection of essays by critics of the philosophical school of linguistic analysis that dominated 20th-century academic philosophy.[1] Standard encyclopedia definitions, however, have a different emphasis. Wikipedia’s article on “philosophy,” for example, reads in part:
Philosophy is a systematic study of general and fundamental questions concerning topics like existence, reason, knowledge, value, mind, and language. It is a rational and critical inquiry that reflects on its methods and assumptions.
But is philosophy simply a systematic study? Etymologically, philosophy is the love (philia) of wisdom (sophia). How far may a self-identifying philosopher responsibly stray from that root? As Brand Blanshard, a contributor to the above-referenced anthology, wrote in his entry for the 1967 The Encyclopedia of Philosophy, wisdom
may be accompanied by a broad range of knowledge, by intellectual acuteness, and by speculative depth, but it is not to be identified with any of these and may appear in their absence. It involves intellectual grasp or insight, but it is concerned not so much with the ascertainment of fact or the elaboration of theories as with the means and ends of practical life.[2]
In one of Bill Vallicella’s recent posts on his journey through philosophical theology, he engaged the effort of Reformed apologist R. C. Sproul (1939-2017). Sproul preferred “classical apologetics” to the “presuppositional” approach of Cornelius Van Til against which he co-authored a book.[1] Questioning Sproul’s putative theistic proof and reviewing four possibilities, Bill the theist writes (as an atheist might):
Sproul needs to explain why the cosmos, physical world, nature cannot just exist. Why must it have an efficient cause or a reason/purpose (final cause)? Why can’t its existence be a brute fact? That is a (fifth) epistemic possibility he does not, as far as I can see, consider.[2]
What follows is essentially the comment I posted on his blog in answer to his question, except I’ve converted my address to Bill in the second person to the third.
As Bill may know, I first encountered the notion of “brute fact” in Bernard Lonergan’s 1957 Insight. There couldn’t be a brute fact, he held, because being is completely intelligible . . . and therefore, God exists! (Okay, there are about two dozen steps in between.[3])
I’ve argued elsewhere (here and here) that Lonergan had it backwards: there are no brute facts (for God or anyone else) because God exists. “There are no brute facts” is another way of saying “Being is completely intelligible.”
Last week I posted a grad school paper I wrote in 1978 about the problem (scandal?) of diversity in philosophy. Bill Vallicella commented on it in his site’s combox. I mostly agree with his criticisms of how I formulated things then, but in the end he mentioned a persistent issue between us, namely, my worldview approach to philosophy in general (“presuppositionalism”) and Christian apologetics in particular.
As Bill’s passing (hand-waving?) comment was not a paper for academic peer review, I won’t hold it to those standards. I caught in it, however, a dismissive attitude, shared by many, that casts aspersions on what I’m up to. It occasioned and merits a response. I give one with no insinuation of “So there!” but rather in Bill’s irenic spirit.
He wrote:
. . . I think you and I have much common ground. The difference is that you have opted for a presuppositionalism that to me makes no sense and is a privileging of an arbitrarily adopted position. I have shown to my satisfaction that TAG [the Transcendental Argument for the existence of God] is a non-starter. You of course disagree. This is yet another philosophical disagreement. You may think you are beyond philosophy and that philosophy is, as you term it ‘misosophy,’ but you are still stuck at the philosophical level.[1]
Greg L. Bahnsen would often charge his debate opponent with being arbitrary. Don’t be!, he’d advise, before showing how his opponent offended in that respect.
The Christian worldview’s grounding of intelligible predication extends to one norm informing the giving of reasons, that is, of not being arbitrary. If you’re not thinking in harmony with that worldview—if the Word of God is not behind your admonishments—why not be arbitrary? Continue reading “Why not be arbitrary? A worldview-based answer.”
People who find Bernard Lonergan’s writing forbidding might benefit from this review of his magisterial Insight: A Study of Human Understanding, the subject of yesterday’s post, by Husserl and Hegel scholar Quentin Lauer, SJ (1917-1997).
It’s a short answer to the question: what was Lonergan up to in Insight as one of his scholarly contemporaries (and fellow Jesuit) interpreted that enterprise?
Bernard J. F. Lonergan, SJ (1904-1984). Late 1940s, early 1950s.
Last month, I published an old (1978) paper of mine on the problem (scandal?) of philosophical diversity, “Philosophic Diversity and Skeptical Possibility: A Confrontation with Hegel”[1]—why is it that brilliant minds committed to discovering truth cannot agree?—but I forgot to mention that when I wrote it, my discovery of Bernard Lonergan and his proposed outline of a solution to the problem was still a few months in the future.
The first step in cornering it, he said, lies in grasping “the polymorphism of human consciousness.” Consciousness operates differently in different contexts, for example, commonsense understanding, theoretical reasoning, artistic expression, or moral deliberation, and so forth.
In his magnum opus, Insight: A Study in Human Understanding, Lonergan makes this bold pronouncement:
. . . the polymorphism of human consciousness is the one and only key to philosophy.[2]
I learned only today of the publication, in 2008, of a (prohibitively expensive) book that elaborates upon this proposition.[3]
Yesterday I referred to my dispensational eschatology, but then realized a note about it might be helpful. The following modifies a post from 2020.
I was not always dispensationally conscious, or even worldview-conscious. Becoming so required me to reorient and regiment my thinking, to trade in (or up) the pretension of human autonomy in philosophy for “heteronomy,” the “hetero” ( “other”) being God as He is revealed in Scripture.
Dispensationalism helps me situate myself not only historically between divine administrations (i.e., between the charismatic dispensation of which the Book of Acts is the history and God’s future manifest Kingdom on earth), but also dialectically among fellow believers who sees things very differently. We must stake out our positions knowing that others will contradict them, ever asking ourselves, “What could be said against what I believe?”
According my interpretation of Scripture, which I summarize tendentiously hereunder (but have defended in many other posts), Christian believers who have lived since the time marked by Acts 28:28 occupy the “parenthesis” between the “ear” stage of the Kingdom and its “full grain in the ear” stage (Mark 4:26-29), a regnum interruptum, if you will.
Bernard Lonergan thought that when we’re linked to each other by shared meaning, but opposed in our interpretations, our societies (families, churches, civil societies, parties) develop, not genetically, but dialectically. The goal of the dialectician, Lonergan writes, is neither to prove nor refute but rather
. . . to exhibit diversity and to point to the evidence for its roots. In this manner he will be attractive to those that appreciate full human authenticity and he will convince those that attain it. Indeed, the basic idea of the method we are trying to develop takes its stand on discovering what human authenticity is and showing how to appeal to it. It is not an infallible method, for men easily are unauthentic, but it is a powerful method, for man’s deepest need and most prized achievement is authenticity.[1]