What does it mean to reason about religions? What are we reasoning about when we try to reason about religion? What are the central claims made by any given religion that need to be reasoned about, in order to differentiate claims resting on a solid rational foundation from those that do not? We need some concept of the central questions that religions are trying to answer, determining the task of reason in differentiating good answers from bad answers.
The most common approach today focuses on apparent claims made by religions about the existence of “otherworldly” entities, entities that are not part of the material world we see around us, visible to everyone alike. The Christian “God” and Hindu “Brahman” appear to be objectively existing entities, but have an existence different from the existence of trees, rocks, and rivers, of houses, cars and highways.
Taking these kinds of assumptions as a starting point, the question for reasoning becomes: What kind of evidence and argumentation is relevant when it comes to reasoning about the objective existence/non-existence of such entities? Various options have sometimes been suggested, but probably the most common view is that reasoning is really not possible when it comes to these matters. Many people have a strong feeling that such entities really exist, but can offer no further rational evidence and argument supporting this feeling. This is a matter of “faith.” Some believers facing the problem of diversity in religions have reached for the idea that God and Brahman do really exist, but they are basically different names for a single objectively existing entity. (“God has many names”).
I advocate approaching this question from a different angle. We should not begin by assuming that it is the existence/non-existence of particular otherworldly entities that should be the focus of critical reasoning about religions. We should begin by asking about the kind of question religions are trying to answer. What kind of human concern are they trying to address? I have tried to formulate a single concept that would answer this latter question in the most general way, constituting a relatively unified concept of what we are about when we try to “reason about religion,” and the kind of reasoning appropriate to this endeavor. This description of a kind of concern should be general enough to cover what I think are very different answers given by different religions. And yet it should not be so vague as provide no specific basis for critical reasoning. One such concept, for example, might be that, at their best, religions are answering people’s desire to “raise their lives to a higher level.” The claim to be doing so should be the object of critical reasoning.
But what does “higher” mean in this context? In dealing with this issue I have found most useful some parts of a 1929 “Lecture on Ethics” given by philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein (born in Austria, but who spent most of his professional career at Cambridge University in England).
Wittgenstein begins this essay by dealing with the problem that English offers us no single word general enough to cover the subject he wants to talk about. Although the title of his lecture names it as “ethics,” he immediately begins suggesting a considerable broadening of the ordinary meaning of the word “ethics.” For example, he suggests right away that it covers “the most important part of aesthetics.” Then he lists a number of English words and phrases which suggest the single subject-matter which he wants to include under ‘ethics” or “the good.”
He begins by referring to another Cambridge philosopher, G. E. Moore, who began his career as a specialist in Greek and Roman classics. This of course includes the writings of Plato, so when he is quoted as saying “ethics is…enquiry into what is good,” the word “good” here has Platonist resonances.
My subject... is Ethics and I will adopt the explanation of that term which Professor Moore has given... He says: "Ethics is the general enquiry into what is good." Now I am going to use the term Ethics in a slightly wider sense, in a sense in fact which includes what I believe to be the most essential part of what is generally called Aesthetics.
And to make you see as clearly as possible what I take to be the subject matter of Ethics I will put before you a number of more or less synonymous expressions each of which could be substituted for the above definition....Now instead of saying "Ethics is the enquiry into what is good" I could have said Ethics is the enquiry into what is valuable, or, into what is really important, or I could have said Ethics is the enquiry into the meaning of life, or into what makes life worth living, or into the right way of living. I believe if you look at all these phrases you will get a rough idea as to what it is that Ethics is concerned with.I suggest a few more terms, broadening this topic even further
– what we ought to do with our lives
– What is really deserving of respect and admiration (“ought” and “deserving” are “ethical” concepts).
– what is valid grounds for self-esteem, a valid grounds for a sense of self-worth
– what is fulfilling
– what really matters
– when you come to die, what will have made your life a life well-lived, something you can be proud of?
I said earlier that the concern that religions aim to address is the desire some people have to raise their lives to a “higher” level. I think the above list of words and phrases, taken together, give more specific meaning to the word “higher” in this context. Issues described by these words are what we ought to be reasoning about when we reason about religion.
The next question, of course, is the question about how we know what is ethically “good” in this broad sense. My answer is that this is ultimately a matter of perception. The ultimate “evidence” on which we ought to rely when answering questions about what is ethically good, meaningful, important, how we ought to lead our lives, etc. consists in perceptions of ethical goodness, meaningfulness, importance, and so on.
To give one example, when it comes to meaning in life, I advocate an approach similar to that of Viktor Frankl. One of the main points here is that it is a mistake to try to figure out “the meaning of life.” There is no single answer to the question as to what constitutes a meaningful life, to be arrived at by a single reasoning process.
Rather, we have to start with the fact that some given person living a life of a certain kind, will experience this life along a continuum of meaningful/meaningless. When this life is experienced as meaningful, the person may give no conscious thought to this, but merely take it for granted. People become aware of this issue when their life as they experience it feels meaningless, or when something that has given their life meaning disappears, as for example the death of a loved one, or failure in a career. They might also become aware of this when some change happens which has greatly heightened the sense they have of leading a highly meaningful life, as for example falling in love, finding intensely meaningful work, or religious conversion.
An important point here is that this is a matter of personal experience which might differ from person to person. No one can tell another person what will make their life meaningful. What will make my life meaningful is something I must discover for myself, by consulting my perceptions and personal experience.
“Perceptions” here are generally not single perceptions, but more a diffuse sense of things over time.
Consider for example, waking in the morning, if my I wake up energized and looking forward to the day’s tasks, activities, and involvements, this can be a sign that the life I am leading is a meaningful one. If I have a hard time getting out of bed, having no energy or desire to get going in the morning, this can be a sign that my life as I experience it is lacking in meaning.
Or “finding one’s calling.” Finding one’s calling involves (1) finding some purpose in life that can be perceived as an important purpose, but also (2) finding work that is highly energizing, awakening spontaneous impulses and drives, and calling on the exercise of one’s unique talents.
My main point here is that discovering what any given person will perceive as a meaningful life is something that person has to try to discover for themselves, often by trial and error. What will fulfill a person’s quest for meaning might differ from person to person. But this does not mean it is arbitrary. I cannot just declare by fiat that such and such a task or relationship will make my life a meaningful life. What will or will not is a matter of discovery, not arbitrary decision. Neither can this be arrived at by a reasoning process which will tell me the one right answer to the question of life’s meaning, universally valid for everyone everywhere.
For many people today, close personal relationships–intimate love-relationships, or parent-child relationships–seem to be a major source of meaning. Socratic reasoning about this could reflect on one’s personal experience of a particular relationship to try first to articulate what it is that makes this relationship meaningful, testing this theory by means of counterexamples, ending in some ideal concept that could be a guide to making this relationship more meaningful.
Besides the question of meaning, there is virtue. Virtue is a set of attitudes, responses, and impulses that have become habitual, which make a person deserving of admiration. Being virtuous is one way of making my life a more meaningful life. One advantage of virtue is that being virtuous is not dependent on any specific situation. It is possible to be virtuous in any circumstance whatsoever.
My account of how to think and reason about virtue, based on Plato’s writings, is ultimately based on perceptions of what is ethically admirable and not admirable in concrete cases. Socratic questioning uses negative examples to find flaws in any given definition of a particular virtue. (As in the perception that it is “not right” to return his weapons to a man gone insane, a counterexample showing a flaw in the definition of rightness as “returning to each what belongs to him”). The aim of Socratic reasoning is to formulate a concept of any given virtue known to be a flawless representation of something perfect in its goodness, by its ability to withstand all Socratic questioning-by-counterexample.
The life of an ideal Platonist is made highly meaningful by formulating in her mind ideal virtue-concepts known to be perfect in their goodness, and then participating as much as possible in these ideal concepts, making it her main mission in life trying to be a representative of perfect goodness in a world that is not very good.
Several passages in Plato make it clear that grasping the perfect Form of any given virtue would be not only a purely intellectual affair, but would be experientially moving and inspiring (in the Symposium, he speaks of a “wondrous vision” of the perfect Form of Beauty). “Participating in” the Platonic Form of any given virtue would give a person the sense of living their life in the light of a source of meaning transcending anything possible in the ordinary world.
Plato’s idea of analogy and participation is also useful in trying to understand world-transcending ideals presented to us in several axial age religious classics. The basic idea here involves a particular kind of contrast:
(1) Virtue or goodness of any kind is easiest to grasp when it is presented to us in concrete examples, but concrete examples are never perfect in their goodness. (E.g. the goodness of kindness is most easily grasped when we perceive concrete person acting kindly; but no concrete person is perfect, possessing perfect kindness)
(2) Perfect virtue or goodness can only be grasped in concepts separated from anything concrete, but for this reason what any kind of goodness would be at its most perfect is also most difficult to grasp.
This Platonist idea was developed in Medieval theology in the form of the doctrine of analogy. Medieval theologians thought that finite human beings are incapable of grasping the infinite goodness of God. But perceptions we have of imperfect human examples of goodness are “analogous to” perfect divine goodness, and give us starting points for understanding this perfect goodness.
To illustrate, here are some examples, applied to the problem of how to understand Buddhist Nibbana, which Buddhist writings themselves picture as beyond normal human abilities to understand.
First, I think this cannot be completely true. If no one who has not already achieved Nibbana had no grasp at all of what it is, what would ever have inspired “beginner Buddhists” to leave everything and put in the great effort required to achieve it?
Still, there is something to this. I would explain it in Platonist terms by saying that Nibbana “transcends the world” in the perfection of its goodness. The principle of analogy suggests that we have access to starting points for Nibbana by thinking of kinds of goodness that are not Nibbana but are specific analogies to Nibbana.
When thinking of familiar admirable human qualities that might be analogous to Nirvana, one of the most basic such qualities can be described as The ability to find satisfaction in solitude, alone with one’s own being. This is what the Suttas call “true seclusion.” A person can be physically “secluded” from human society and still lack the psychological ability to find satisfaction in the absence of social stimulation and interaction. One way of explaining why this is an admirable quality is to contrast it with some of its extreme opposites: A person with a compulsive need for constant stimulation or conversation, a person unable to put up with silence, or who becomes extremely uneasy and anxious if she has to be alone for any length of time. Conversely, achieving a very high degree of the virtue of “true seclusion” would give a person increased ability to endure solitary confinement, because they would be able to find satisfaction in their own being without any interactions.
True seclusion is one of the results of meditation. Reducing interaction with the world, acquiring a taste for being alone with one’s own being and the deeply satisfying peace that can come with this. A person able to find this kind of inner satisfaction feels less need to reach out to the world to satisfy a desire for meaning in life.
A second more familiar quality analogous to Nirvana is self-confidence, the opposite of feeling insecure. Nirvana can be described as a more self-contained self-confidence. Normal self-confidence is based on some conditions that might change beyond one’s control – as for example bodily beauty or strength, some particular skills or achievements, admiration from other people, and so on. Progress toward Nirvana should provide a person with self-confidence that is more independent of such changeable conditions, more “self-contained” in this sense. If Kisa Gotami had had more self-contained self-confidence, she would not have been so extremely distraught at the loss of status among her in-laws accompanying the death of her son.
A third analogous virtue can be described negatively as being less self-referential, less prone to “taking things personally.” This too is well-illustrated in the Gotami story. In the story, Gotami’s grief was less grief for her son, and more grief for herself. She experienced the death of her son not so much as happening-to-him, but more happening-to-her. An insecure person, lacking internal security and self-confidence, needs more confirmation from the world, and this gives her a more self-referential perspective on things happening in the world, more sensitive to personal slights, more likely to “take things personally.” Witnessing the good fortune of others brings comparative thoughts, “Why her and not me?” Seeing an overweight person brings up thoughts of “At least I’m not that fat.” Progress toward Nirvana should make a person less self-centered and more other-centered, more able to celebrate the good fortune of others and experience the misfortunes of others empathically from the perspective of the others suffering these misfortunes.
A fourth analogy to Nirvana is flexible adaptability, resilience, composure. This is the ability to accept and creatively “rise to the occasion” in unexpected life-circumstances that make this difficult. For example, if Kisa Gotami had had more self-contained self-confidence, she would not have been so dependent on the regard of her in-laws, and more able to accept and flexibly adapt to new circumstances thrust upon her by the death of her son. We could describe her state as a kind of emotional paralysis. The death of her son was such a shock to her system that it completely consumed her attention, making her unable to begin the process of healing and drawing on her resources and beginning to imagine a different life for herself.
These are not Nibbana, but are analogous to Nibbana, giving us starting points, more easily understood, for beginning to grasp Nibbana, which transcends the world in the perfection of its goodness, and also transcends our normal mental abilities to grasp. This is one way of giving a more rationally understandable account of what it is that inspired so many individuals in ancient India to give up everything and devote their lives to the pursuit of Nibbana.
These ideas can be applied to the “transcendent” ideals presented in many axial-age religious classics. But I think they also point to a very fundamental diversity (against those who think that all religions teach the same thing). Thinking of analogies to Nibbana will be different from thinking of analogies to Brahman in the Bhagavad Gita, analogies to the Dao of the Daodejing, and analogies to Paul’s savior God.
