As to survival after death, I have no definite opinion regarding it. In principle, there is no a priori reason why after my bodily death memories of my life may not remain in the universe and even eventuate in a reembodiment, and in principle it could be possible that I could then be rewarded or punished for my present behavior. But this is wholly speculative.
There is one aspect of religion—at least Western religion—that the theologian did not mention and that might be a bit more of a problem to incorporate into a purely materialistic framework. That is the notion that God created the universe. For this, I would need to retract my earlier statement that perhaps the mind of God is the same as the body of God. If I am allowed to distinguish the concrete universe from its abstract pattern or form, then I can certainly say that the pattern of the universe existed as a logical possibility before the universe, or better still, exists outside of time altogether. The creation of the universe by God can then simply mean the concrete embodiment of this pattern. This view may not be too far from the meaning of, “In the beginning was the Word.”
CHRISTIAN THEOLOGIAN: Are you seriously advocating recasting all religion into a purely materialistic framework?
REALISTIC MYSTIC: Not at all! It is all the same to me whether religion is cast into a purely materialistic or a purely idealistic or a dualistic framework. I do not advocate any one more than any other. Personally, I happen to think in materialistic terms, though I am not a nominalist since my ontology does indeed include abstract entities like forms and patterns. My main point now is not that religion should be cast in materialist terms but only that it can be. My whole claim is that the kernel of religion—that part of religion that is of chief ethical and psychological significance—is totally neutral with respect to any metaphysical foundations.
FIRST EPISTEMOLOGIST: Enough theology! Let us come to a practical question. How does Simplicus know that he is enjoying the tree?
SECOND EPISTEMOLOGIST: Simplicus never said that he knew that he was enjoying the tree but only that he was enjoying the tree.
FIRST EPISTEMOLOGIST: But does Simplicus know that he is enjoying the tree?
SECOND EPISTEMOLOGIST: I don’t know.
FIRST EPISTEMOLOGIST: How do you know you don’t know?
SECOND EPISTEMOLOGIST: I don’t.
FIRST EPISTEMOLOGIST: Then how do I know that Simplicus does know that he is enjoying the tree? For all I know, maybe he doesn’t know that he is enjoying the tree.
RABBI: All right, so maybe he doesn’t know he is enjoying the tree!
FIRST MEANY:2 I don’t believe in fact that Simplicus is enjoying the tree!
SECOND MEANY: Exactly! The very fact that he says he is only proves that he isn’t.
THIRD MEANY: Yeah, if he were really enjoying it, he would not have to say he was. When someone really enjoys something, he does not have to broadcast it to the world. When Simplicus says, “I am enjoying this tree,” methinks the gentleman doth protest too much.
MORALIST: No, no, Simplicus obviously is enjoying the tree—just look at his face! What I question is whether he has the right to enjoy the tree!
SECOND MORALIST: Exactly! With all the starvation, misery, and social injustice in the world, what the hell is Simplicus doing there sitting under the tree when he should be out in the world helping matters?
ZEN MASTER: All this metaphysics, theology, epistemology, and ethics is certainly of interest, but do any of you here really think you have cast the faintest ray of light on the meaning of Simplicus’s original statement? When Simplicus says, “I am enjoying the tree,” it means nothing more or less than that Simplicus is enjoying the tree.3 All of you have made the tacit but wholly unwarranted assumption that this statement expresses a relation between some subject and some object. Everyone has been discussing who has done what to whom, that is, what it was that was enjoyed and who it really was that was doing the enjoying. Can’t you simply accept Simplicus’s enjoyment of the tree as an event that is nonanalyzable? Every sentence when translated loses its essential meaning. The sentence, “Simplicus is enjoying the tree,” simply means that Simplicus is enjoying the tree.
ZEN STUDENT: My master is right! The simple truth is that there is no Simplicus to enjoy and no tree to be enjoyed. In reality, there is just this one unanalyzable event of Simplicus enjoying the tree. This event is not a relation but just an occurrence in the great void!
ZEN MASTER (slugging the novice): Oh, you great little snit! You the “enlightened one” know all about simple truth, reality, and the great void, don’t you? And it is up to you to enlighten all these “poor ignorant” people with your great newfound wisdom, eh?
ZEN STUDENT: But master, how else can I get these people to understand the essence of Simplicus’s statement?
ZEN MASTER (giving him another blow). By holding your tongue! Damn it all, how many times must I tell you that there is no essence to be understood! If these people can’t understand the perfectly plain statement, “I am enjoying this tree,” then perhaps a few blows with my stick might enlighten them!
SECOND ZEN MASTER: I think everyone here should be given a blow with the stick regardless of whether he understands Simplicus’s statement or not.
THIRD ZEN MASTER: Better still, I think everyone should be given a nonblow with a nonstick.
MORALIST (in great alarm): This psychotic conversation has gone far enough! Unless this stops immediately, and I mean immediately, I will get very angry, and when I get angry, I can become very unpleasant!
SIMPLICUS: But the tree is so beautiful, why shouldn’t I enjoy it?
Notes
1
I do not know if there is a school of thought called realistic mysticism, if not, let this be the beginning of one.
2
I obtained the term meany from the Beatles’s movie Yellow Submarine, in which the villains were called blue meanies.
3
Shades of Alfred Tarski!
6
An Epistemological Nightmare
Scene 1. Frank is in the office of an eye doctor. The doctor holds up a book and asks, “What color is it?” Frank answers, “Red.” The doctor says, “Aha, just as I thought! Your whole color mechanism has gone out of kilter. But fortunately your condition is curable, and I will have you in perfect shape in a couple of weeks.”
Scene 2 (a few weeks later). Frank is in the laboratory of an experimental epistemologist. (You will soon find out what that means!) The epistemologist holds up a book and also asks, “What color is it?” Now, Frank has been earlier dismissed by the eye doctor as “cured,” but he is now of a very analytical and cautious temperament and will not make any statement that can possibly be refuted. So Frank answers, “It seems red to me.”
EPISTEMOLOGIST: Wrong!
FRANK: I don’t think you heard what I said. I merely said that it seems red to me.
EPISTEMOLOGIST: I heard you, and you were wrong.
FRANK: Let me get this clear; do you mean that I was wrong that this book is red or that I was wrong that it seems red to me?
EPISTEMOLOGIST: I obviously couldn’t have meant that you were wrong that it is red since you did not say that it is red. All you said was that it seems red to you, and it is this statement that is wrong.
FRANK: But you can’t say that the statement, “It seems red to me,” is wrong.
EPISTEMOLOGIST: If I can’t say it, how come I did?
FRANK: I mean you can’t mean it.
EPISTEMOLOGIST: Why not?
FRANK: But surely I know what color the book seems to me!
EPISTEMOLOGIST: Again you are wrong.
FRANK: But nobody knows better than I how things seem to me.
EPISTEMOLOGIST: I am sorry, but again you are wrong.
FRANK: But who knows better than I?
EPISTEMOLOGIST: I do.
FRANK: But how could you have access to my private mental states?
EPISTEMOLOCIST: Private mental states! Metaphysical hogwash! Look, I am a practical e
pistemologist. Metaphysical problems about mind versus matter arise only from epistemological confusions. Epistemology is the true foundation of philosophy, but the trouble with all past epistemologists is that they have been using wholly theoretical methods, and much of their discussion degenerates into mere word games. While other epistemologists have been solemnly arguing such questions as whether a man can be wrong when he asserts that he believes such and such, I have discovered how to settle such questions experimentally.
FRANK: How could you possibly decide such things empirically?
EPISTEMOLOGIST: By reading a person’s thoughts directly.
FRANK: You mean you are telepathic?
EPISTEMOLOGIST: Of course not. I simply did the one obvious thing that should be done: I have constructed a brain-reading machine—known technically as a cerebrescope—that is operative right now in this room and is scanning every nerve cell in your brain. I thus can read your every sensation and thought, and it is a simple objective truth that this book does not seem red to you.
FRANK (thoroughly subdued): Goodness gracious, I really could have sworn that the book seemed red to me; it sure seems that it seems red to me!
EPISTEMOLOCIST: I’m sorry, but you are wrong again.
FRANK: Really? It doesn’t even seem that it seems red to me? It sure seems that it seems that it seems red to me!
EPISTEMOLOGIST: Wrong again! And no matter how many times you reiterate the phrase it seems that and follow it by the book is red, you will be wrong.
FRANK: This is fantastic! Suppose instead of the phrase it seems that, I said I believe that. So let us start again at ground level. I retract the statement, “It seems red to me,” and instead I assert, “I believe that this book is red.” Is this statement true or false?
EPISTEMOLOCIST: Just a moment while I scan the dials of the brain-reading machine—no, your statement is false.
FRANK: What about, “I believe that I believe that the book is red”?
EPISTEMOLOGIST (consulting his dials): Also false. And again, no matter how many times you reiterate I believe, all these belief sentences are false.
FRANK: Well, this has been a most enlightening experience. You must admit, however, that it is a little hard on me to realize that I am entertaining infinitely many erroneous beliefs!
EPISTEMOLOGIST: Why do you say that your beliefs are erroneous ?
FRANK: But you have been telling me this all the while!
EPISTEMOLOGIST: I most certainly have not!
FRANK: Good God, I was prepared to admit all my errors and now you tell me that my beliefs are not errors; what are you trying to do, drive me crazy?
EPISTEMOLOGIST: Hey, take it easy! Please try to recall: When did I say or imply that any of your beliefs are erroneous?
FRANK: Just simply recall the infinite sequence of sentences: (1) I believe that this book is red; (2) I believe that I believe that this book is red; and so forth. You told me that every one of those statements is false.
EPISTEMOLOGIST: True.
FRANK: Then how can you consistently maintain that my beliefs in all these false statements are not erroneous?
EPISTEMOLOGIST: Because, as I told you, you don’t believe any of them.
FRANK: I think I see, yet I am not absolutely sure.
EPISTEMOLOGIST: Look, let me put it another way. Don’t you see that the very falsity of each of the statements that you assert saves you from an erroneous belief in the preceding one? The first statement is, as I told you, false. Very well! Now the second statement simply says that you believe the first statement. If the second statement were true, then you would believe the first statement, and hence your belief about the first statement would indeed be in error. But fortunately the second statement is false, so you don’t really believe the first statement ; your belief in the first statement is therefore not in error. Thus, the falsity of the second statement implies that you do not have an erroneous belief about the first; the falsity of the third likewise saves you from an erroneous belief about the second; and so forth.
FRANK: Now I see perfectly! So none of my beliefs was erroneous, only the statements were erroneous.
EPISTEMOLOGIST: Exactly.
FRANK: Most remarkable! Incidentally, what color is the book really?
EPISTEMOLOGIST: It is red.
FRANK: What!
EPISTEMOLOGIST: Exactly! Of course the book is red. What’s the matter with you, don’t you have eyes?
FRANK: But didn’t I in effect keep saying that the book is red all along?
EPISTEMOLOGIST: Of course not! You kept saying it seems red to you, it seems that it seems red to you, you believe it is red, you believe that you believe it is red, and so forth. Not once did you say that it is red. When I asked you originally, “What color is the book?” if you had simply answered, “Red,” this whole painful discussion would have been avoided.
Scene 3. Frank comes back several months later to the laboratory of the epistemologist.
EPISTEMOLOGIST: How delightful to see you! Please sit down.
FRANK (seated): I have been thinking much of our last discussion, and there is much I wish to clear up. To begin with, I discovered an inconsistency in some of the things you said.
EPISTEMOLOGIST: Delightful! I love inconsistencies. Pray tell!
FRANK: Well, you claimed that although my belief sentences were false, I did not have any actual beliefs that are false. If you had not admitted that the book actually is red, you would have been consistent. But your very admission that the book is red leads to an inconsistency.
EPISTEMOLOGIST: How so?
FRANK: Look, as you correctly pointed out, in each of my belief sentences, “I believe that it is red,” “I believe that I believe that it is red,” and so forth, the falsity of each one other than the first saves me from an erroneous belief in the preceding one. You neglected, however, to take into consideration the first sentence itself! The falsity of the first sentence, “I believe that it is red,” in conjunction with the fact that it is red, does imply that I have a false belief.
EPISTEMOLOGIST: I don’t see why.
FRANK: It is obvious! Since the sentence, “I believe it is red,” is false, then I in fact believe it is not red, and since it really is red, then I do have a false belief. So there!
EPISTEMOLOGIST (disappointed): I am sorry, but your proof obviously fails. Of course the falsity of the fact that you believe it is red implies that you don’t believe it is red. But this does not mean that you believe it is not red!
FRANK: But obviously I know that either it is red or it isn’t, so if I don’t believe that it is, then I must believe that it isn’t.
EPISTEMOLOGIST: Not at all. I believe that either Jupiter has life or it doesn’t. But I neither believe that it does nor do I believe that it doesn’t. I have no evidence one way or the other.
FRANK: I guess you are right. But let us come to more important matters. I honestly find it impossible that I can be in error concerning my own beliefs.
EPISTEMOLOGIST: Must we go through this again? I have already patiently explained to you that you (in the sense of your beliefs, not your statements) are not in error.
FRANK: Oh, all right then, I simply do not believe that even the statements are in error. Yes, according to the machine, they are in error, but why should I trust the machine?
EPISTEMOLOGIST: Whoever said that you should trust the machine ?
FRANK: Well, should I trust the machine?
EPISTEMOLOGIST: That question involving the word should is out of my domain. However, if you like, I can refer you to a colleague who is an excellent moralist—he may be able to answer this for you.
FRANK: Oh, come on now, I obviously didn’t mean should in a moralistic sense. I simply meant, “Do I have any evidence that this machine is reliable?”
EPISTEMOLOGIST: Well, do you?
FRANK: Don’t ask me! What I mean is, Should you trust the machine?
EPISTEMOLOGIST: Should I trust it? I have no idea, an
d I couldn’t care less what I should do.
FRANK: Oh, your moralistic hang-up again. I mean, Do you have evidence that the machine is reliable?
EPISTEMOLOGIST: Well of course!
FRANK: Then let us get down to brass tacks. What is your evidence?
EPISTEMOLOGIST: You hardly can expect that I can answer this question for you in an hour, a day, or even a week. If you wish to study this machine with me, we can do so, but I assure you that this is a matter of several years. At the end of that time, however, you would certainly not have the slightest doubts about the reliability of the machine.
FRANK: Well, possibly I could believe that it is reliable in the sense that its measurements are accurate, but then I would doubt that what it actually measures is very significant. It seems that all it measures is one’s physiological states and activities.
EPISTEMOLOGIST: But of course, what else would you expect it to measure?
FRANK: I doubt that it measures my psychological states, my actual beliefs.
EPISTEMOLOGIST: Are we back to that again? The machine does measure those physiological states and processes, which you call psychological states, beliefs, sensations, and so forth.
FRANK: At this point, I am becoming convinced that our entire difference is purely semantical. All right, I will grant that your machine does correctly measure beliefs in your sense of the word belief, but I don’t believe that it can possibly measure beliefs in my sense of the word. In other words, I claim that our entire deadlock is simply the result of our meaning different things by the word belief.
Five Thousand B.C. and Other Philosophical Fantasies Page 6
