On Plato, the Early Church, and Modern Science: An Eclectic Meditation

On Plato, the Early Church, and Modern Science: An Eclectic Meditation
By Jean F. Drew

God, purposing to make the universe most nearly like the every way perfect and fairest of intelligible beings, created one visible living being, containing within itself all living beings of the same natural order.

Thus does Plato (d. 347 B.C.) succinctly describe how all that exists is ultimately a single, living organism. At Timaeus20, he goes on to say:

“There exists: first, the unchanging form, uncreated and indestructible, admitting no modification and entering no combination … second, that which bears the same name as the form and resembles it … and third, space which is eternal and indestructible, which provides a position for everything that comes to be.”

And thus we find a description of the universe in which Being and Existence (Becoming) — the one God and the multiplicity of things — are bound together as a single living reality whose extension is mediated by Space (which for us moderns implies Time).

Our aim in this essay is to define these ideas and their relationships, and trace their historical development from the ancient world to the present. Taking a page from the late Eric Voegelin (1901–1985, philosopher of history specializing in the evolution of symbolization), we will follow a history-of-ideas approach to these issues. Along the way we will find that not only philosophy and cosmology, but also theology and even modern science can illuminate these seminal conceptions of Platonic thought. We must begin at the beginning, that is, with God — who is absolute Being in Plato’s speculation, of whom the cosmos itself is but the image (eikon) or reflection.

When Plato speaks of God (or when Aristotle does for that matter, as in e.g., Nicomachean Ethics), he is not referring to the Olympian gods, to Zeus, Hera, Athena, Poseidon, and the rest of the gang of “immortals.” For the Olympians are like man in that they are creatures of a creating God. Not only that, but they are a second generation of gods, the first having reigned in the antediluvian Age of Chronos; which is to say that the Olympians’ rule or law is not everlasting, but contingent. Thus they are not self-subsistent, but dependent (contingent) on a principle outside of themselves. We might say that the central difference between Plato’s God and the Olympians consists in the fact that the latter are “intracosmic” gods, and the former is “extracosmic,” that is, transcending all categories and conditions of space-time reality. In contrast, the intracosmic gods are subject to change, to contingency; and so, though they may truly be said to exist in some fashion, cannot be said to possess true Being. (More on these distinctions in a minute.)

It is clear that for Plato, God is the “Beyond” of the universe, or in other words, utterly transcendent, perfectly self-subsistent Being, the “uncaused cause” of all the multiplicity of existents in the universe. In yet other words we can say that, for Plato, the cosmos is a theophany, a manifestation or “presence” of the divine Idea — in Christian parlance, the Logos if I might draw that association — in the natural world.

As Wolfgang Smith notes, “Christian teaching is based upon the doctrine of the Logos, the Word of God, a term which in itself clearly suggests the idea of theophany. Moreover, what is implicit in the famous Prologue of St. John [“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God. All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made. In him was life; and the life was the light of men. And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.” (John 1:1–5)] is openly affirmed by St. Paul when he declares that “the invisible things of Him from the creation of the world have been clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even His power and Godhead” (Rom. 1:20) … The indisputable fact is that at its deepest level Christianity perceives the cosmos as a self-revelation of God.” [Wolfgang Smith, Cosmos and Transcendence, 1984]

Being and Existence (Becoming)
Being is a concept so difficult that it comes close to eluding our grasp altogether. It is utterly beyond space and time; imperishable; entirely self-subsistent, needing nothing from outside itself in order to be complete; essential; immutable; and eternally perduring. Contrast this with the concept of existence, regarding which Plato asks “how can that which is never in the same state be anything?” And this is the clue to the profound difference between being and existence: The existing things of this world are mutable and transient.

We must in my opinion begin by distinguishing between that which always is and never becomes from that which is always becoming but never is. The one is apprehensible by intelligence with the aid of reasoning, being eternally the same, the other is the object of opinion and irrational sensation, coming to be and ceasing to be, but never fully real. In addition, everything that becomes or changes must do so owing to some cause; for nothing can come to be without a cause. [Timaeus, 3:28]

“… they come upon the scene, we know not from whence; they grow, change, and decay; and at last they disappear, to be seen no more. The physical cosmos itself, we are told, is a case in point: it, too, has made its appearance, perhaps some twenty billion years ago, and will eventually cease to exist [i.e., finally succumbing, we are told, to thermodynamic entropy or “heat death”]. What is more, even now, at this very moment, all things are passing away. ‘Dead is the man of yesterday,’ wrote Plutarch, ‘for he dies into the man of today: and the man of today is dying into the man of tomorrow.’ Indeed, ‘to be in time’ is a sure symptom of mortality. It is indicative, not of being, but of becoming, of ceaseless flux.”

All the multiplicity of existents in the universe are in a state of becoming and passing away. But Plato’s great insight is that all things in the state of becoming — that is, all existing things — are whatever they are because they are participations in Being. That is to say, “we perceive the trace of being in all that exists,” writes Smith, “and that is why we say, with reference to any particular thing, that it is.” Existence, in other words, is contingent on Being.

But we wonder: In what way is this possible? And if existents participate in being, what is that Being in which they participate?

In Exodus 3:14 Moses has experienced a theophany: While tending his flock on Mount Horeb, suddenly he hears the voice of God issuing from a burning bush: God is speaking to him! Reverentially, Moses inquires of God what is His name (meaning: what is His nature or character).

And God said unto Moses, I AM WHO AM: and He said, Thus shalt thou say unto the children of Israel, I AM hath sent me unto you.

God has told Moses: that He is Being (“I AM”). And the strong implication is that there is no “other” being: “I alone AM.” For “I” is plainly singular in form.

Smith draws the crucial point, “God alone IS. But how are we to understand this? ‘It seems to me,’ writes St. Gregory of Nyssa, ‘that at the time the great Moses was instructed in the theophany he came to know that none of those things which are apprehended by sense perception and contemplated by the understanding really subsist, but that the transcendent essence and cause of the universe, on which everything depends, alone subsists.’ But why? Does not the world exist? Are there not myriads of stars and galaxies and particles of dust, each existing in its own right? And yet we are told that the transcendent essence alone subsists. ‘For even if the understanding looks upon any other existing things,’ the great theologian goes on to say, ‘reason observes in absolutely none of them the self-sufficiency by which they could exist without participating in true Being. On the other hand, that which is always the same, neither increasing nor diminishing, immutable to all change whether to better or to worse (for it is far removed from the inferior and has no superior), standing in need of nothing else, alone desirable, participated in by all but not lessened by their participation — this is truly real Being.’”

Smith continues: “In the words of St. Gregory, ‘that which is always the same, neither increasing nor diminishing, immutable to all change … is truly real being.’ As concerns ‘existing things,’ on the other hand, the teaching implies that these entities are always changing, always in a state of flux, so that their very existence is in a way a process of becoming, in which however nothing is actually produced. This has been said time and again, beginning with Heraclitus and the Buddhist philosophers. And there can be little doubt that it is true: even modern physics, as we can see, points to the same conclusion. Only there is another side to the coin which is not always recognized. Existent things — the very flux itself — presuppose what Gregory and the Platonists have termed ‘a participation in Being.’ The point is that relative or contingent existences cannot stand alone. They have not an independent existence, a being of their own. ‘In Him we live, and move, and have our being,’ says St. Paul….”

I beheld these others beneath Thee, and saw that they neither altogether are, nor altogether are not. An existence they have, because they are from Thee; and yet no existence, because they are not what Thou art. For only that really is, that remains unchangeably.

Space
Space is the third essential term of the Platonic cosmology: It is the matrix in which living things and all other existents participate in Being. Plato’s creation myth — the Myth of the Demiurge in Timaeus — elucidates the Platonic conception of Space.

For Plato, the God of the Beyond is so “beyond” that, when it came time for creating the Cosmos, he didn’t even do it himself. He sent an agent: the Demiurge, a mythical being endued by God to be in divine likeness of God’s own perfect love, truth, beauty, justice, and goodness. The embodiment of divine perfections, the Demiurge wishes to create creatures just as good and beautiful as himself, according to the standard of the divine Idea — a direct analog, it seems to me, of the Logos theory of the ancient Church. Indeed, Eric Voegelin sees in the Demiurge the symbol of Incarnation [Order and History Vol. 3: Plato and Aristotle, 1957]:

“The Demiurge is the symbol of Incarnation, understood not as the result of the process but as the process itself, as the permanent tension in reality between the taxis of form or idea and the ataxia of formlessness.”

Similarly to the Christian account, the Demiurge in a certain way creates ex nihilo — that is, out of Nothing. At first glance, Plato is seen specifying, not a pre-existing “material” but a universal field of pure possibility called Chora, “Space.” Perhaps we may find in this concept a strong analogy to Isaac Newton’s concept of Absolute Space (see below).

Chora seems to indicate the idea of an eternal, universal field of pure stochastic potentiality that needs to become “activated” in order to bring actual beings into existence. In itself, it is No-thing, i.e., “nothing.” This “activation” the Demiurge may not effect by fiat: He does not, for instance, “command” to “Let there be Light!” The main tool at his disposal is Peitho, “persuasion.”

And if Chora is not so persuaded, it will remain in a state of “nothingness.” It will remain unformed, in the condition of ataxia. Of itself it is “Nothing”; by itself, it can do nothing. It cannot generate anything out of itself, not even matter in primaeval form.

And thus Plato introduces the figure of the Demiurge into his creation myth, symbolizing form or idea — the principle of (formative) taxia that draws (formless) ataxia into existence. We moderns might be tempted to describe the Demiurge as constituting an “information set” together with an “energy source,” who “persuades” the pure stochastic potentiality of formless, absolute, empty space into actualized form, and thus existence. From the cosmic standpoint, he makes unity out of multiplicity, in harmony and geometrical proportion:

“The best bond is the one that effects the closest unity between itself and the terms it is combining; and this is best done by a continued geometrical proportion.” [Timaeus, 4]

Thus the Demiurge is a kind of “divine geometer,” producing the forms (or mathematical ideas) that Chora can be persuaded to conform to, and thus come into existence.

But the Demiurge does more than just get things started: As bearer of the divine Idea — as pure love and beauty and goodness and truth — he continues always persuading Chora to generate creatures as like himself as possible (i.e., reflecting his own divine qualities at whatever generic stage), throughout all eternity. Thus creation is a continuous process in space-time. Moreover, it is the source and driver of evolution as a universal natural process.

Through the ongoing activity of the Demiurge, men and the world are constantly being informed and renewed by the divine Idea; and thus a unified cosmic whole, a “One Cosmos,” a universal order comes into being at the intersection of time and timelessness, of immanent and transcendent reality, in the medium of Space (and Time).

Compare the Platonic creation myth with the philosophy of Dionysius the [Pseudo-]Areopagite, said to be the Greek converted by St. Paul in Acts, 17:34. For Dionyius, the “names of God” — the divine qualities — are goodness, being, life, wisdom, power, and justice. Joseph Stiglmayr writes [Cath. Encycl. at the entry for Dionysius the Pseudo-Areopagite], that for Dionysius, God is

“… the One Being (to hen), transcending all quality and predication, all affirmation and negation, and all intellectual conception, [Who] by the very force of His love and goodness gives to beings outside Himself their countless gradations, unites them in the closest bonds (proodos), keeps each by His care and direction in its appointed sphere, and draws them again in an ascending order to Himself (epistrophe) … all created things [proceed] from God by the exuberance of being in the Godhead (to hyperpleres), its outpouring and overflowing … and as a flashing forth from the sun of the Deity. Exactly according to their physical nature created things absorb more or less the radiated light, which, however, grows weaker the farther it descends. As the mighty root sends forth a multitude of plants which it sustains and controls, so created things owe their origin and conservation to the All-Ruling Deity…. Patterned upon the original of Divine love, righteousness, and peace, is the harmony that pervades the universe…. All things tend to God, and in Him are merged and completed, just as the circle returns into itself, as the radii are joined at the centre, or as the numbers are contained in unity.”

The Platonic resonances seem unmistakeable in these lines. It appears that both Platonic speculation and the Logos doctrine of the ancient Church as articulated by Dionysius are in agreement that Creator must be “beyond” Creation in order to resonate with it — which resonance is what makes the universe to be alive — i.e., a living universe.

C. A. Dubrey points out [Cath. Encycl. at the entry “Teleology”], that the theology of St. Thomas Aquinas makes it clear that, “Intrinsic finality [we are to think of this as a blend or merger of efficient and final causes in the Aristotelian sense] consists in the fact that every being has within itself a natural tendency whereby its activity is directed towards the perfection of its own nature…. St. Thomas does not hesitate to speak of ‘natural appetite,’ ‘natural inclination,’ and even ‘intention of nature,’ [we moderns might be tempted to add ‘instinct’ to this list] to mean that every being has within itself a directive principle of activity. Accordingly, God does not direct creatures to their ends from outside, but through their own nature…. The Divine plan of creation is carried out by the various beings themselves acting in conformity with their nature.

When, however, this finality is called immanent, this expression must not be understood in a pantheistic sense, as if the intelligence which the world manifests were to be identified with the world itself, but in the sense that the immediate principle of finality is immanent in every being…. Thus the unconscious finality in the world leads to the conclusion that there must be an intelligent cause of the world.” [Emphasis added.]

Aquinas’ insight, and also Plato’s, evokes a reconsideration of Isaac Newton’s concept of Absolute Space. Possibly this may be understood in the following terms. First, Absolute Space is “empty” space. Second, it is not a property of God, but an effect of His Presence; i.e., we advert to theophany again. The question then arises, in what “where” or “when” does this theophany take place? Perhaps Newton’s answer would be: In the beginning, and continuously thereafter. Second, it has been suggested that Newton intends us to understand Absolute Space as the sensorium Dei: “God constitutes space and time through his eternity and omnipresence” [ existendo semper et ubique, durationem et spatium consitutit: Philosophiae Naturalis Principia Mathematica, 3d ed., 1726]. Wolfhart Pannenberg writes,

“Now there are a number of good reasons — suggested by both philosophical and scientific thought — to consider time and space as inseparable. Einstein’s field concept comprises space, time, and energy. It takes the form of a geometrical description, and this seems to amount to a spatialization of time. The totality of space, time, and energy or force are all properties of a cosmic field.

“Long before our own age a theological interpretation of this subject matter had been proposed, and it was Isaac Newton who offered this proposal. It too referred everything to space or, more precisely, to the correlation of force as in the case of a force like gravitation acting at a distance. Newton’s well-known conception of space as sensory of God (sensorium Dei) did not intend to ascribe to God an organ of sense perception, the like of which God does not need, according to Newton, because of divine omnipresence. Rather, Newton took space as the medium of God’s creative presence at the finite place of his creatures in creating them.” [Wolfhart Pannenberg, Toward a Theology of Nature, 1993]

Thus the infinite takes priority over every finite experience, including intellectual experience — a position decisively argued by Descartes, as Pannenberg avers, “in his thesis that the idea of God is a prior condition in the human mind for the possibility of any other idea, even that of the ego itself.”

The Influence of Platonic Speculation on the Early History of the Church
D. Edmund Joaquin, an insightful and gracious Christian friend, writes, “We understand that the universe is created and sustained by the Word [the Logos], and not only that, but by the Word sounding. God sustains the universe consciously and actively. He has not gone away and left us. In fact, He reveals Himself to us, and His final revelation is in the person of Christ [the Logos]. Christ is not an abstract aspect of God, like wisdom. He is God. He is God incarnating in the world that He himself has made.”

Joaquin further observes that “[the Gospel of] John is written to the Greeks and put into words that they could understand.” It seems there’s a mystery buried in here somewhere. Consider: Socrates was the teacher of Plato, who was the teacher of Aristotle, who was the teacher of Alexander — and Alexander spread Greek culture throughout Eurasia, the Middle East, and the Indian subcontinent. Add to this the fact that the great evangelist, St. Paul, had some difficulty converting the Jews to the Christian faith; but he converted the Greeks in droves. Not only St. John, but also St. Paul speaks in terms the Greek mind could readily grasp, as when he says God is He “in Whom we live and move and have our being.” These historical connections do not appear to be accidental, coincidental, nor incidental to the spread of the early Christian Church.

According to The Catholic Encyclopedia, the Greeks strongly responded to Christianity for its moral beauty as well as its truth. A case in point is St. Justin Martyr. He was a man of Greek culture, born in Palestinian Syria about the year 100 A.D, who converted to the faith around 130 A.D. Justin became one of Christianity’s earliest and most powerful apologists, and ended up condemned by the Roman authority for refusing to sacrifice to the pagan gods, for which offense he was summarily executed by the Imperium, along with several other of his “refusnik” co-religionists. The official record of their martyrdom is extant:

“The Prefect Rusticus says: Approach and sacrifice, all of you, to the gods. Justin says: No one in his right mind gives up piety for impiety. The Prefect Rusticus says: If you do not obey, you will be tortured without mercy. Justin replies: That is our desire, to be tortured for Our Lord Jesus, and so to be saved, for that will give us salvation and firm confidence at the more terrible universal tribunal of Our Lord and Saviour. And all the martyrs said: Do as you wish; for we are Christians, and we do not sacrifice to idols. The Prefect Rusticus read the sentence: Those who do not wish to sacrifice to the gods and to obey the emperor will be scourged and beheaded according to the laws. The holy martyrs glorifying God betook themselves to the customary place, where they were beheaded and consummated their martyrdom confessing their Saviour.”

Jules Lebreton writes (at the entry for St. Justin Martyr in Cath. Encycl.) “Justin tries to trace a real bond between philosophy and Christianity: according to him, both one and the other have a part in the Logos, partially disseminated among men and wholly manifest in Jesus Christ.”

Yet for all their apparent similarities and resemblances in many respects, there is a profound difference between Platonic insight and the Christian one: and this pertains to the relations between God and man.

Both Plato and Justin proclaim the transcendent God. Yet for Plato, God is so “beyond” as to be almost impossible of human grasp. Yet Plato felt the “divine pulls” in his own nature. These Plato thought could be accounted for and articulated by an act of pure unaided intellect, that is by nous, in a state of intense contemplation.

Contrast this position with Justin Martyr’s, who insisted that human wisdom was impossible without the testimony of the Prophets (whom God himself had informed and instructed) and the action of the Holy Spirit. For Plato, man’s relations with God consist of operations of the mind. For Justin, they are operations of the heart, of the Spirit. For Justin, God is not a mental abstraction: He is real Personality with whom one can have direct personal relations, in the Spirit.

A later writer, John Scotus Eriugina (ninth century) elaborates the Justinian position, in the process noting that there is a “downward tendency” of the soul towards the conditions of animal existence, and that this has only one remedy: Divine grace, the free gift of the Holy Spirit. “By means of this heavenly gift,” writes William Turner [at the entry for Scotus in the Catholic Encyclopedia], “man is enabled to rise superior to the needs of the sensuous body, to place the demands of reason above those of bodily appetite, and from reason to ascend through contemplation to ideas, and thence by intuition to God Himself.”

The pull of animal nature is an idea we also find in Plato, and also the countervailing pull from the divine Beyond. Man lives in the metaxy, in the “in-between reality” constituted by the two. Man’s task is to resolve this tension, and establish the proper balance that expresses the highest and best development of his human nature. But man must do this entirely by himself by means of nous or reason. There is no spiritual help “extra” to the human psyche available to facilitate this process.

“…admits that the soul can naturally comprehend what God is, just as it understands that virtue is beautiful … but he denies that the soul without the assistance of the Holy Ghost [Spirit] can see God or contemplate him directly through ecstasy, as the Platonic philosophers contended. And yet this knowledge of God is necessary for us: ‘We cannot know God as we know music, arithmetic, or astronomy’; it is necessary for us to know God not with an abstract knowledge but as we know any person with whom we have relations. The problem which it seems impossible to solve is settled by revelation; God has spoken directly to the Prophets, who in their turn have made Him known to us…. It is the first time in Christian theology that we find so concise an explanation of the difference that separates Christian revelation from human speculation.” [Emphasis added]

Natural Law, Contingency, and the Scientific Method
The Platonic model encourages us to recognize that the universe is zoon empsychon ennoun, a living creature endowed with soul and intelligence. The myth of the Demiurge describes the world process as a type of incarnation, a dynamic relation of absolute being and contingent becoming evolving in space and time in a manner expressing a perduring taxia–ataxia relation. The Cosmos itself — the totality of all existing things — like its constituents, for example man and even the stars, is an eikon of being-in-becoming, a reflection or image of the divine Idea. Time itself is but a “moving image of eternity.” The life of the cosmos is wholly dependent, contingent on the Idea from which it manifests.

It is a lawful, orderly universe, yet one in which new occurrences are always arising. These new events are coming from, as it were, a “sea of contingency” analogous to Plato’s conception of Space, that is Chora — the infinite field of unformed, pure potentiality.

The immediately foregoing ideas, of course, are not scientific ones strictly speaking. Still, there are elements here that perhaps science would do well to consider, in order to maintain the integrity of its own method. For one thing, it seems science itself, in its disclosure of the regularities of nature, seems to have an in-built tendency to overlook contingency. We may define an event as contingent if a description of it is neither self-evident nor necessary, “if it could have happened differently,” as Ted Peters puts it in his Preface to Pannenberg’s Towards a Theology of Nature.

C. A. Dubray writes [“Teleology,” Cath. Encycl.], “The fact that the world is governed by laws, far from giving any support to the mechanistic conception, is rather opposed to it. A law is not a cause, but the expression of the constant manner in which causes produce their effects.” In other words, natural laws are expressions of observable regularities that occur in the world of existent phenomena in ordinary space-time reality. Thus, the laws themselves have no force as “causes”: they are descriptions.

Yet the focus on regularity inevitably masks the particularity and contingency of unique events. As Ted Peters notes, it is here that “we run into a problem of focus in the scientific community, because virtually all the theoretical attention is given to the regularity of nature’s laws, while the contingency of natural events slips into the nearly invisible background.” Peters continues:

“What researchers concentrate on are the uniformities that can be expressed in timeless equations. A dictionary of equations describing these uniformities allegedly constitutes scientific knowledge…. A closer examination, however, reveals that the applicability of these equations to concrete cases of natural processes requires certain initial and marginal conditions, conditions that in every case are contingent. Only when contingent conditions permit can we expect a natural law to operate as expected.”

To the extent that the scientific method of inquiry is premised on an “If/Then” logical construction — which seems ever to be the case — the method itself is an exercise in contingency, yet nonetheless one in which “Determinacy gets thematized, whereas contingency gets ignored.” Arguably this is a serious bias having epistemological implications; for e.g., “if the laws of classical dynamics are in principle temporally reversible, the actual course of natural events from which those laws have been abstracted is not. The reality of nature is first and foremost a historical reality.”

Pannenberg suggests a corrective for this “bias,” acknowledging: “That modern science so easily lends itself to abuse cannot be prevented in principle. It is one of the risks involved in the abstract study of regularities that either are inherent in nature itself or can be imposed on natural processes [e.g., as in ideological, technical, or engineering solutions]. This risk cannot be met on the level of scientific description itself but must be met first on the level of philosophical reflection on the work of science. It is on this level that the abstract form of scientific description must be considered with special attention to what it is “abstracted from” and what is methodically disregarded in the abstract formulas of science.”

And so contingent conditions — i.e, initial and boundary conditions — must be restored to their proper place in our deliberations, for they “are required for any formula of natural law to be applied. They are contingent at least in that they cannot be derived from the particular formula of law under consideration.… The mathematical formula of a natural law may be valid without regard to time. The physical regularity that is described by such a formula is not independent of time and temporal sequence. But it is only that physical regularity which makes the mathematical formula a law of nature. This suggests that the laws of nature are not eternal or atemporal because the fields of their application, the regularities of natural processes, originate in the course of time. Thus it also becomes understandable that new patterns of regularity emerging in the sequence of time constitute a field of application for a new set of natural laws….”

We may recognize that the total process of natural events presents itself to observation as a mesh of contingency and regularities. It is the task of science to pursue thematically the aspect of regularity. But, asks Pannenberg, can science “ever succeed in bringing into view the entirety of nature as determined in all details by a number of laws that are in any case not infinitely complex? This would mean at the same time that a stage of research is conceivable from which nothing more could be discovered. Many natural scientists have had this nightmare because of the successes of their own research. Fortunately it probably is not a truthful dream.”

For, says Pannenberg, “laws always uncover what is necessary superimposed on what is contingent. Given the undeniable contingency of occurrences in natural events, can we recognize in their special character as occurrences … [that] regularity as their own element in such a way that the presence of regularity can be thought together with the contingency of occurrences, not only under abstraction from the contingency of occurrences?” [Emphasis added]

Which is why Pannenberg advocates an opening up of new viewpoints in scientific research, “not because physical hypotheses or insights can be derived from them but because they open up and enlarge the intellectual space on which the formation of physical hypotheses depends…. In physics also, horizons of questioning have to be opened up first of all in order that hypotheses that arise in them can be examined by experiment and classified theoretically.”

Perhaps we need a greater appreciation of the “fitness” of the scientific method to engage the truly great questions of life, which ever seem to involve the relations of law and contingency. Leibniz propounds two great questions of perennial interest to the human mind: (1) Why are things the way they are and not some other way? (2) Why does anything exist at all?

Such questions, scientists will readily tell you, are beyond the purview of the scientific method. But does that mean such questions have no force or meaning such that they should not be asked at all?

Perhaps the incapability of the scientific method to answer such questions owes to the fact that all the great physical laws are acknowledged to be time-reversible; but we know that existence in space and time is not a time-reversible process. As Pannenberg states, it is a historical process. We might even say it is an evolutionary process.

Which suggests an analogy that might enlighten these questions, sharpen their meanings, and suggest additional questions: an analogy to direct human experience. Pannenberg writes of human beings, who do seem to live in a “time-irreversible,” that is “historical” process:

“Human beings never live only in the now. Rather, they experience their present as heirs of the past and as its active change. They anticipate the future in fear, hope, and planning; and in the light of such anticipation of the future they return to their present and the heritage of their past. The fact that we know of historical continuity is at least also conditioned by this peculiarity of human experience with time. If there is a new event, then it modifies the context of our consciousness of time which is already found present. It throws light back on earlier occurrences which have become a part of our experience already. In the same way, ideas that occur to us throw light on our previous expectations and plans in justifying, fulfilling, modifying, or disappointing and thwarting them. Thus the contingent event always enters already into a context of experience or tradition…. The future, beginning in the present happenings, is thus the origin of the perspective in which the past occurrences are put by every new experience.”

Worldviews and Paradigm Shifts
It is perhaps a truism that we tend to find what we’re looking for by screening out any and all potential elements which do not fit the pattern of our expectation. Arguably, the scientific method may be said inherently to suffer exposure to potential danger from this side, as suggested in the above remarks. Indeed, Schröedinger’s theory of wavefunction seems to predict this. Consider these remarks from Stephen M. Barr [Modern Physics and Ancient Faith, 2003]:

“In quantum theory, as traditionally formulated, there are ‘systems’ and ‘observers.’ Or rather, in any particular case, there is the system and the observer. The observer makes measurements of the system. As long as the system is undisturbed by external influences (that is, as long as it is ‘isolated’), its wavefunction — which is to say its probability amplitudes — will evolve in time by the Schröedinger equation…. However, when a measurement is made of the system the observer must obtain a definite outcome. Suddenly, the probability for the outcome that is actually obtained is no longer what the mathematics said it was just before the measurement, but jumps to 100 percent. And the probabilities for all the alternative outcomes, the ones that did not occur, fall to 0 percent.”

Thus we might say that the “reality” we humans experience ever involves “a moving goal-post.” And as the mover of this goal-post, the human agent is most indispensably involved in this process.

Faced with such “indeterminacy” regarding the foundations of experience, it is not surprising that people usually have recourse to mediating worldviews, or organized frames of ideational reality that constitute the conceptual space in which active experience is engaged and accordingly analyzed and interpreted. Certainly Plato has offered such a model. And so has Nobel laureate Jacques Monod [in Chance and Necessity, 1971]:

“Chance alone is the source of every innovation, of all creation in the biosphere. Pure chance, absolutely free but blind, is at the very root of the stupendous edifice of evolution. The central concept of biology … is today the sole conceivable hypothesis, the only one compatible with observed and tested fact. All forms of life are the product of chance….”

Needless to say, these two models are polar opposite conceptualizations. Yet having received each on “good authority,” which do we choose?

Such are not idle considerations; for as James Hannam points out [“The Development of Scientific and Religious Ideas,” 2003], “grand theories … often suffer death by detail where it is found that up close the situation is too complicated for the theory to handle…. [Yet] in the end, after it has changed the course of the river of enquiry, the theory can end up as a mortlake cut off from the general flow….”

Hannam cites historian Thomas Kuhn, who documents an historical process he terms “paradigm shift,” describing a situation in which the findings of authoritative science move “out of science and into practically every other field of human endeavor.” Once a given, albeit partial or even defective theory becomes “dominant,” writes Hannam, “far from being thrown out, a falsified theory is enhanced to deal with new information until such time as it finally collapses under the weight of anomalous results. Then, after a chaotic period, a new theory emerges that can deal with the anomalies and normal service resumes…. A paradigm refers to but one field, say classical mechanics or health policy whereas the ideology/worldview is the general background that underpins all the paradigms.”

The worldview (or ideology, if you prefer), for better or worse, implicitly shapes the background knowledge of thinking agents to which new experiences constantly are being conformed. Hannam says that worldview “is often so deeply embedded in the psyche that it is very rarely considered explicitly except by specialists,” but that nonetheless, “the worldview is seen as [a] self-confirming fact of life and hence it is not strictly rational…. The existence of a dominant worldview does not mean that a particular individual is unable to think outside the box but rather that his ideas are unlikely to fall on fertile ground. Unless new ideas can be stated in a language that makes them comprehensible to his peers, his intention in writing will not be met.”

Which is the not-too-subtle way to put the fact that every man has a worldview, without exception, whether articulate or inarticulate; and that somehow, for the “intention of writing to be met” — that is, for accurate and meaningful (i.e., successful) communication of ideas to take place — some deeper, common ground of shared truth must first be accessed, for the purpose of providing a more capacious intellectual space in which the human pursuit of knowledge and wisdom might unfold or evolve from its present point of attainment.

But where today in our modern world is such a common ground or field to be found? Hannam proposes the examination of the history of ideas as a possibly useful method in the search for common ground. He writes,

“To examine the history of ideas the only fair way to proceed would seem to place before ourselves the evidence and authority that the historical agents had before them and assume they acted rationally on that basis. Otherwise, there is no hope of ever tracing intellectual development because ‘cause and effect’ assumes some sort of logical causality that is impossible with non-rational agents. The best that could be hoped for would be a catalog of mental positions, with no way to say how one led to another except by being pushed by blind exterior forces. This might be precisely what determinists are advocating but they would have to give up any hope of finding causes and restrict themselves to explanations.”

Perhaps we moderns would do well to reconsider the common assumption that people living before our own time were somehow inferior in knowledge, experience, and observational powers as compared with our own status as enlightened individuals. Arguably, the ancient world produced some of the most powerful thinkers in the history of mankind, formulating ideas that were, in the words of Hannam, “the fruits of unfettered metaphysical speculation that inevitably hits on the right answer occasionally.”

Democritus, for example, proposed a theory predicting the atom as the ultimate constituent of matter, more than two-thousand years before the technical means existed to isolate atoms experimentally or, as Hannam notes, any “useful applications for them” could be found. Then it was discovered that the atom itself is an ordered constellation of even finer parts. There seems to be an historical progression of ideas here, the new building up on a framework originally laid up in the past, modifying it, improving on it in light of new insights and technical capabilities.

Hannam gives another example of more recent vintage: “Copernicus needed Nicole Oresme’s solution as to why we do not feel the movement of the Earth even though in Oresme’s time it was just a curiosity as no one thought the Earth actually was moving … each new idea, once accepted, shifts the boundaries of the worldview and makes it possible for further new ideas to be accepted into the pale.”

We can extend the examples even further. Reimann constructed a geometry, apparently because his mind could grasp the logic and beauty it revealed for its own sake. But at the time, it had no apparent “external referent” in the field of nature. It was a beautiful and glorious abstraction — until Einstein came along, and picked it up “off the shelf” as it were, to become the very language of relativity theory.

Thus it might be said that the evolution or “progress” of science depends on successive enlargements of the conceptual space it requires to do its work. In other words, science inherently is a participation in the historicity of the world.

Whatever our personal worldview, perhaps it would be well to recall that science is an historical process. Perhaps this understanding could open up additional, needed conceptual space that science itself requires in order to advance.

Those familiar with Aristotle’s writings will remember that Aristotle wanted to part ways on this aspect of separable forms.

To a Platonist, “separable form” is an inherently self-contradictory term: For if one were actually able to separate an existent from its “form,” it would no longer be what it is: It would be some other thing, or nothing at all. From the point of view of a Platonist, Aristotle’s study of creature thus involves an untenable reduction in the first place. (The human race is still quibbling over such distinctions, after all this time -- +2,500 years and counting.)

Aristotle, however, argued that the idea of separable form, living as it were in a transcendent realm, was perfectly redundant, superfluous; for what is ultimate in nature is not form, but substance. And since Aristotle thought of individual substances as hylomorphic compounds – that is, constituted of matter and form, the latter generated by means of movements of material bodies subject to the laws of causation -- form is a product of immanent, not transcendent reality.

Yet a Platonist might object: But nothing in this tells us what “form” is, as it is “in itself”; that is, in its principal nature. For matter to “form” – either itself or more complex bodies -- it needs a principle to follow; and matter – ubiquitous and uniform – does not itself generate such a principle. And neither do the laws of causation; for the causal laws generally are contingent on the presence of suitable arrangements or dispositions of matter for their application. Therefore, “form” cannot explain itself as a product of immanent reality; it must have a transcendent source.

The consistent failure of science to demonstrate abiogenesis – the theory that holds that inorganic matter can “boot-strap itself” into living matter – suggests the possibility that Plato was right about the need of a transcendent input for the creation of life. But I digress.

As Eric Voegelin points out (in Order and History, Vol 3: Plato and Aristotle), Aristotle, in his shift of attention from creation to creature, “paid the great price of eliminating the problem of transcendental form….

“Aristotle rejected the ideas as separate existences, but [he did not] repudiate the experiences in which the notion of a realm of ideas originated nor did he abandon the order of being that had become visible through the experiences of the philosophers since Heraclitus, Parmenides, and Xenophanes. The consequence is a curious transformation of the experience of transcendence which can perhaps be described as an intellectual thinning out. The fullness of experience which Plato expressed in the richness of his myth is in Aristotle reduced to the conception of God as the prime mover, as the noesis noeseos, the “thinking on thinking.” The Eros toward the Agathon [Plato’s main motivation] correspondingly is reduced to the agapesis, the delight in cognitive action for its own sake. Moreover, no longer is the soul as a whole immortal but only that part in it which Aristotle calls active intellect; the passive intellect, including memory, perishes. And finally, the mystical via negativa by which the soul ascends to the vision of the Idea in the Symposium is thinned out to the rise toward the dianoetic virtues and the bios theoretikos [i.e., the “life of the mind”].

Aristotle’s “reduction” or “derailment” effectively cancels out Plato’s great “leap in being,” which enabled him “to differentiate world-transcendent Being as the source of all being,” which recognition “correspondingly attaches to the ‘world’ the character of immanence.” Later on, Voegelin notes that Aristotle focused his attention “so thoroughly on a particular problem that the wider range of being is lost from sight.”

Sorry for this long ramble! But it’s the “set-up” of my answer to your question: “do the concepts of a ‘beyond’ and ‘transcendence’ suggest some sort of dualism or can we somehow speak of both?”

It seems to me dualism does not principally consist in the relation between the ‘beyond’ or ‘transcendence’ on the one hand (I think both terms refer to a single, albeit “non-existent” reality); and ‘immanence’ on the other (i.e., existent reality). It seems to me that dualism refers to an intrinsic property of the immanent or created world, and we see it everywhere. For instance, there is the particle-wave dualism of the constituents of physical matter, of the matter-spirit split of Cartesian dualism, of the space-time dualism of relativity theory, etc. Yet in each case, we must understand these “dualisms” to be the two different faces of a single unity which cannot simultaneously be seen “together” in their ultimate nature as a single unity from the standpoint of immanent, or space-time reality as we experience it. Yet to understand such things as “Lorenz-transformable items” already tells us we are viewing them from the standpoint of transcendence; or as we might say, under the aspect of Spirit. And that transcendence or Spirit is not a datum of ordinary immanent experience, but belongs to the “Beyond” of the universe. That is: to God, Who created the universe.

One might say dualism is the way the unity of the Beyond expresses in immanent space-time reality; but that under the aspect of transcendence the "faces" or "parts" of the dualism are inseparably one. If I might put it crudely, when spirit is incarnated in matter, dualisms start cropping up all over the place….

I very much like the observation of Hermes Trismagistus (who may or not have been a fictional being) on this subject. I’m paraphrasing from memory here:

Every living being is made up of a part that a man can see, and a part that a man cannot see.

This suggests to my mind the ultimate dualism expressing in living beings. Yet each “part” is necessary to express the total aliveness and oneness of existing things, which taken collectively point in turn to the Oneness of the living universe that can only be envisioned spiritually, from the aspect of a transcendent “Beyond” of the universe -- which is the Source that comprises, orders, and sustains it.

Finally the word “universe” itself speaks to this issue. It translates as “one turn,” which some have interpreted as meaning that everything that exists “turns to (or into) the One.” Which is to speak of that Unity which is constituted by the diversity of all existents.

This signifies to my mind that the "single living being" is to be grasped as the unity of the multiplicity of "all that exists." Transcendence (spirit) and immanence (the condition of all that exists) together comprise "the single, living organism."

Well, I don’t know how well I’ve articulated these views. It’s a most difficult subject, to be sure. In any case, this is where I’m “at” right now; and so my view is subject to change, contingent on future experience and new evidence. Certainly I’m not proposing any kind of "doctrine" here. I just want to follow in the footsteps of the masters: Neither Plato nor Aristotle left us with “doctrines”: They were not system builders. They were both much more interested in propounding the seminal questions, and were quite content to leave the answers to posterity. And sure enough, posterity is still arguing about these very questions!

Both Plato and Aristotle believed that one must follow the evidence, wherever it leads, without regard to any pre-existing notions; that truth is never the final possession of any man, but a quest. And Plato believed (I’m not completely sure about Aristotle on this) that the terminus of the quest for Truth can only be found in the Beyond which transcends the immanent world; for the Beyond is its Source.

Indeed, cornelis -- this post has been a very rich banquet! I’m so grateful to everyone who is participating in this wide-ranging discussion. I hope I’ll have the time to digest it all sooner rather than later. It’s been an education so far. Thank you so much for writing cornelis!

We give science something akin to a monopoly on "fact" and "cause" here in the material world, because, empirically speaking, it works - it's been earned, not simply given. Scientific investigations of the material causes of disease have been rather more successful at curing disease than investigations which rely on the immaterial as an integral part of the explanation. Extending that monopoly to other sorts of truths, such as statements on the immaterial, would be a mistake, however.

True.

Einstein said something similar:

I believe, indeed, that overemphasis on the purely intellectual attitude, often directed sorely to the practical and factual, in our education, has led directly to the impairment of ethical values. I am not thinking so much of the dangers with which technical progress has directly confronted mankind, as of the stifling of mutual human considerations by a "matter of fact" habit of thought which has come to lie like a killing frost upon human relations.

Fulfillment on the moral and esthetic side is a goal which lies closer to the preoccupations of art than it does to those of science. Of course, understanding of our fellow-beings is important. But this understanding becomes fruitful only when it sustained by sympathetic feelings of joy and in sorrow. The cultivation of this most important spring of moral action is that which is left of religion when it has been purified of the elements of superstition. In this sense, religion forms an important part of education, where it receives far too little consideration, and that little not sufficiently systematic.

The frightful dilemma of the political world situation has much to do with this sin of omission on the part of our civilization. Without "ethical culture" there is no salvation for humanity.--Albert Einstein, Published in Mein Weltbild, Zurich: Europa Verlag 1953

Since the discovery that RNA has the ability to act as a catalyst in addition to its ability to store genetic information is quite recent, I think scientists are well on their way. This is far from a "consistent failure," since the effort only began very recently. I am convinced they will get it done in our lifetimes.

This remains to be seen, StJacques. I eagerly await future developments.

You write: "The real argument for a transcendent reality interacting with nature is in the creation of the universe."

Does this mean that you think/believe God only acted once -- in the Beginning -- and then withdrew?

As to the question how the universe was created before there was a universe: This seems to be a senseless question, for there was no "before" "before" time "started." And time (and space and matter) are all thought to have "begun" with the Big Bang, or at least by one Planck-time unit thereafter. (We don't know what happened before then -- i.e., between T₀ and T₁ (where T is Time, T₀ the Big Bang, and T₁ the completion of the first unit of Plank time.) And the physical laws are no help here.

Once again, our "immanent position" in the universe prohibits our seeing such things. We humans tend to see only those things that are "in time."; Yet it is only from a transcendent perspective that the timeless things -- such as the creation event -- can be grasped.

Wolfhart Pannenberg, professor of systematic theology at the University of Munich, sheds some light on such questions (in Toward a Theology of Nature):

“Through the modern insight that time and matter belong together, the old problem, already discussed profoundly by Augustine, has become more transparent: the problem of how the temporal beginning of the world is related to time itself. Because of the connection of time and matter, the conclusion becomes invalid that the beginning of the world in time would have been preceded already by a time. Then it becomes meaningless to speak of a world before the origin of the world. However, this means that the act of creation itself also must not be conceived as a temporal act. This suggests to theology a new formulation of the idea of creation: the divine act of creation does not occur in time – rather, it constitutes an eternal act, contemporaneous with all time; that is, with the entire world process. Yet this process itself has a temporal beginning, because it takes place in time.

“In this sentence I assert that eternity is contemporaneous with all time. With that, the concept of eternity itself is described by statements of time. With a musical parable one might speak of eternity as the sounding together of all time in a sole present. Elsewhere I have developed this concept of eternity from the human experience of time, from the relativity of the distinction of past, present, and future corresponding to the relativity of the directions in space. In view of the relativity of the modes of time to the aspect of the human being experiencing time, this resulted in the assumption that all time, if it could be, so to speak, surveyed from a ‘place’ outside the course of time, would have to appear as contemporaneous.”

To borrow Alamo-Girl’s perceptive description here, in other words, from this perspective, the 4D block would appear, not as a progression of discrete events moving from past, present, to future, but as a “plane” or “brane” in which all events are contemporaneous. Pannenberg continues:

“This assumption is confirmed by a unique phenomenonon of the human experience of time through the experience of an ‘expanded present’ in which not only the punctiliar now but everything on which a position may be taken still or already is considered as present…. Understood in the sense of the suggestions above, the concept of eternity comprehends all time and everything temporal in itself _ a conception of the relationship of time and eternity that goes back to Augustine and is connected to the Israelite understanding of eternity as unlimited duration throughout time.

“The worldview of the theory of relativity also can be understood in the sense of a last contemporaneousness of all events that for us are partitioned into temporal sequence.”

Of course, as Pannenberg himself notes, the perspective from which one could view such things “would not coincide with any position in the world process.”

In Pannenberg’s model, “creation can be conceived, on the ground of the theory of relativity, as an eternal act that comprises the total process of finite reality, while that which is created, whose existence happens in time, originates and passes away temporally.”

Thus, the way I figure it, eternity is not itself “duration;” rather it is the “matrix” in which ‘durations’ — temporal events (seemingly exhibiting the idea of, not only ‘duration,’ but also of ‘passing away’) — take place. Including scientific measurements and observations which are often based on “abstractions” such as Planck time – the teensiest piece of “punctiliar time” that the human mind can measure or grasp.)

Thus, eternity is the “Eternal Now” – which is not a datum of human sensory experience, for sure; rather it is a concept to which the human mind (and heart) can aspire and understand.

I in no way claim to be a biblical scholar, the very name should send chills down ones spine. But after over two decades of bible study, I have had to come to some immutable conclusions.

One, we are not living in the same world that Adam and Eve lived in, nor is our climate the same. It is made very clear in Genesis that there had never been rain on the face of the earth, that the earth was watered by a mist rising from the ground. St. Peter said, "For this they are willingly ignorant, the world that was then, being overflowed with water perished, the world we live in now is reserved for fire and the judgment of the ungodly men".

There was a war in heaven and a third of the angels went with Satan, when Adam and Eve fell from grace it was an event that effected the entire fabric of the universe. When Genesis six speaks of the sons of God marrying women that was Satan's attempt to destroy and contaminate the blood line that Christ would come through.

I can only imagine how insane the general public, who had never seen rain, must have thought Noah was for building a huge boat on dry land. Evidently Noah and his families bloodline was one of the few left uncontaminated.

There is a passage that says all of creation groans together awaiting the sons of God. During the tribulation the earth will reel on it's axis like a drunkard, the stars will appear to fall, and the heat conditions are so bad on earth to the point that the sun, which becomes super heated, is only seen through some type of pollution or cloud cover for a third of the day, and the moon doesn't give her light at all. Which begs the question of what the speed of the earth's rotation will be at the time.

God is still in control, still creating those that will be with Him eternally, still using good and evil to work His will. Adam lost his dominion over the earth to Satan, and Satan will have his day. Once when Daniel was praying for an answer he had to wait three weeks, eating only bread and water.

When the Angel of the Lord came with the answer, he said to Daniel that the moment Daniel had prayed God had sent him with the answer, but the demon prince of Persia and Greece had captured him and it took Michael the Arch Angel to free him to continue to Daniel with the answer to his prayer.

Given that, and Peter's trip to the third level of Heaven, a scientist would say we are talking here of multiple dimensions and realities. The very Temple that was destroyed in Jerusalem was a replica of the one in Heaven.

At the end of things we are told that God reconciles all to Himself again, in laymans terms, joins dimensions together and He will reside in Jerusalem, or rather the Holy City will hover over Jerusalem. Therefore it would matter little if the sun burned out, or if the earth took a trip through other universes because God will be our light.

So in conclusion I would say that we are merely one form of reality in a sea of realities that will eventually merge into perfection.

". . . Does this mean that you think/believe God only acted once -- in the Beginning -- and then withdrew? . . ."

There can be no "once" nor "Beginning" nor "then withdrew" because, as you yourself have stated, applying time and the language that quantifies time -- "once," "Beginning," "then," e.g. -- are "senseless."

But I do believe God created the universe, and forgive my use of the past tense of the infinitve -- a grammatical term that is appropriate here -- "to create."

I'll go with Spinoza and Einstein, that God is the "persistent timelessness" that reveals his wonder in the harmony of creation itself. Or, as I see now from the quote you posted, as Pannenberg cites and concurs with Augustine that creation is "an eternal act," though Pannenberg does well to give it a more thorough definition.

I think the "all events are contemporaneous" suggestion belies the conception of the word "events." I see what is attempted in the idea however, and I will think about an alternative proposition. The problem is that "events" are "within time" and we are reaching for something either beyond or outside of time. I tend to think that "persistent timelessness" is as good as it will get.

And on the whole matter of abiogenesis consider that for decades opponents of evolutionary theory used the argument that even if evolution explained the origins of species it could never explain the origins of life, since "the organic cannot be created from the inorganic." Then in 1953 Stanley L. Miller created the pre-biotic building blocks of amino acids from inorganic material. Soon after that the discovery of DNA made clear that the steps necessary to move from amino acids to functioning life forms would be complicated, since the "encoding" of DNA was recognized, if not yet effectively understood. So the argument then became "since life will require genetic encoding you cannot theorize that it can be created out of basic organic building blocks, because the complexity of the structure of DNA is of such a nature that it will be impossible to define a process within which that will or can occur." Then followed three new developments; the discovery of RNA, a demonstration that RNA not only had the ability to store genetic information but could function as a catalyst in organic reactions, and James Ferris's demonstration that pre-biotic RNA aqueous solutions can be catalyzed in mineral clays [see link in post #253]. So now the argument against abiogenesis must be reformulated into a third version. In this third version the word "complexity" in the earlier formulation is now capitalized and, largely through the use of mathematical reasoning, it is deemed either highly improbable or nearly impossible that, even though the chemical foundations for the creation of life may be demonstrated, the genesis of life will be of such a complex nature that it can never be proven. And I expect that eventually scientists will get beyond this objection as well, though I think they will have to get a much better handle on discerning what the constraints of the atmosphere of the early earth were before they are able to move to the next step. But they are working to do just that, so the process and progress continues.

But they are working to do just that, so the process and progress continues.

StJacques said in 253:
"The real argument for a transcendent reality interacting with nature is in the creation of the universe."

That was in response to BB's statement in 252:
"The consistent failure of science to demonstrate abiogenesis – the theory that holds that inorganic matter can “boot-strap itself” into living matter – suggests the possibility that Plato was right about the need of a transcendent input for the creation of life."

I think StJacques has the better point. That is, he is taking the mystery (or in his phrase: the "argument for a transcendent reality") back to the ultimate origin, where the philosopher's Prime Mover has always lurked. Any subsequent "mystery" is subordinate to it, and thus far less significant, and constitutes a question that science may one day resolve. Scientifically explained phenomena are destined to take their places in the Retirement Home for Obsolete Miracles, that dismal residence where such fading idols as disease, lightning, the day-night cycle, and other natural aspects of the world now reside in their dotage, reminiscing about the glory days when they were regarded as evidence of gods.

You may take that last as a frivolous, or even irreligious remark, but that's not my intent. I've often pointed out that I think it's a terrible error to pin one's religious convictions on any one scientific issue, because when the issue is resolved, the results are psychologically catastrophic. Unnecessarily so. Want to see this unfolding in the real world? Visit one of the evolution threads and dispassionately observe the conduct of those whose erroneous worldview is needlessly collapsing around them. It's not a pretty sight.

It's unseemly for transcendence to operate like a poorly-led, untrained militia. "We'll fight it out here, but if it doesn't go right then we'll drop back a bit, and if necessary we'll retreat again to that line of trees over there, but if they get that far then we'll gather what we can salvage and redeploy over yonder ..." That's no way to run things. Take the highest ground there is and you're in the best possible position.

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