Solly
November 28th 2003, 05:03 PM
The essay I promised you.
Basil Mitchell, Keble College, Oxford, contribution to Theology and Falsification: a symposium in University, 1950-51, reprinted in New Essays in Philosophical Theology, ed. Antony Flew and Alistair MacIntyre, SCM Press, 1955. pp103-105 [abridged for this post]
Mitchell is responding to the opening essay by Antony Flew.
The theologian surely would not deny that the fact of pain counts against the assertion that God loves men. This very incompatibility generates the most intractable of theological problems - the problem of evil. So the theologian does recognise the fact of pain counting against Christian doctrine. But it is true that he will not allow it - or anything - to count decisively against it; for he is committed by his faith to trust in God. His attitude is not that of the detached observer, but of the believer.
Perhaps this can be brought out by yet another parable {Flew had used one in his essay, as had R M Hare in the preceding one]. In time of war in an occupied country, a member of the resistance meets one night a stranger who deeply impresses him. They spend that night together in conversation. The Stranger tells the partisan that he himself is on the side of the resistance - indeed that he is in comand of it, and urges the partisan to have faith in him no matter what happens. The partisan is utterly convinced at that meeting of the Stranger's sincerity and constancy and undertakes to trust him.
They never meet in conditions of intimacy again. But sometimes the Stranger is seen helping members of the resistance, and the partisan is grateful and says to his friends, "He is on our side."
Sometimes he is seen in the uniform of the police handing over patriots to the occupying power. on these occasions his friends murmur against him: but the partisan still says, "He is on our side". He still believes that, in spite of appearances, the Stranger did not deceive him. Sometimes he asks the Stranger for help and receives it. He is then thankful. Sometimes he asks and does not receive it. Then he says, "The Stranger knows best." Sometimes his friends, in exasperation, say "Well, what would he have to do for you to admit that you were wrong and that he is not on our side?" But the partisan refuses to answer. He will not consent to put the Stranger to the test. And sometimes his friends complain, "Well, if that's what you mean by being on our side, the sooner he goes over to the other side the better."
The partisan of the parable does not allow anything to count derisively against the proposition "The Stranger is on our side." This is because he has committed himself to trust the Stranger. But he of course recognises that the Stranger's ambiguous behaviour does count against what he believes about him. It is precisely this situation which constitutes the trial of his faith.
When the partisan asks for help and doesn't get it, what can he do? he can,
[a]conclude that the Stranger is not on our side, or,
[b]maintain that he is on our side, but that he has reasons for withholding help.
The first he will refuse to do. How long can he uphold the second position without its becoming just silly?
I don't think one can say in advance. it will depend on the nature of the impression created by the Stranger in the first place. it will depend, too, on the manner in which he takes the Stranger's behaviour. If he blandly dismisses it as of no consequence, as having no bearing upon his belief, it will be assumed that he is thoughtless or insane. And it quite obviously won't do for him to say easily, "Oh, when used of the Stranger the phrase 'is one our side' means ambiguous behaviour of this sort." In that case he would be like the religious man who says blandly of a terrible disaster "It is God's will." No, he will only be regarded as sane and reasonable in his belief, if he experiences in himself the full force of the conflict.
The partisan admits that many things may and do count against his belief [... reference to another contributor's parable...]. Also the partisan has a reason for having in the first instance committed himself, viz. the character of the Stranger [...more comment...].
Do I want to say that the partisan's belief about the Stranger is, in any sense, an explanation? I think I do. It explains and makes sense of the Stranger's behaviour: it helps to explain also the resistance movement in the context of which he appears. In each case it differs from the interpretation which the others put upon the same facts.
"God loves men" resembles "the Stranger is on our side" (and many other significant statements, e.g. historical ones) in not being conclusively falsifiable. They can both be treated in at least three different ways:
[1]As provisional hypotheses to be discarded if experience tells against them
[2]As significant articles of faith
[3]As vacuous formulæ (expressing, perhaps, a desire for reassurance) to which experience makes no difference, and which makes no difference to life.
The Christian, once he has committed himself, is precluded by his faith from taking up the first attitude: "Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God." He is in constant danger of slipping into the third. But he need not; and, if he does, it is a failure of faith as well as in logic.
Basil Mitchell, Keble College, Oxford, contribution to Theology and Falsification: a symposium in University, 1950-51, reprinted in New Essays in Philosophical Theology, ed. Antony Flew and Alistair MacIntyre, SCM Press, 1955. pp103-105 [abridged for this post]
Mitchell is responding to the opening essay by Antony Flew.
The theologian surely would not deny that the fact of pain counts against the assertion that God loves men. This very incompatibility generates the most intractable of theological problems - the problem of evil. So the theologian does recognise the fact of pain counting against Christian doctrine. But it is true that he will not allow it - or anything - to count decisively against it; for he is committed by his faith to trust in God. His attitude is not that of the detached observer, but of the believer.
Perhaps this can be brought out by yet another parable {Flew had used one in his essay, as had R M Hare in the preceding one]. In time of war in an occupied country, a member of the resistance meets one night a stranger who deeply impresses him. They spend that night together in conversation. The Stranger tells the partisan that he himself is on the side of the resistance - indeed that he is in comand of it, and urges the partisan to have faith in him no matter what happens. The partisan is utterly convinced at that meeting of the Stranger's sincerity and constancy and undertakes to trust him.
They never meet in conditions of intimacy again. But sometimes the Stranger is seen helping members of the resistance, and the partisan is grateful and says to his friends, "He is on our side."
Sometimes he is seen in the uniform of the police handing over patriots to the occupying power. on these occasions his friends murmur against him: but the partisan still says, "He is on our side". He still believes that, in spite of appearances, the Stranger did not deceive him. Sometimes he asks the Stranger for help and receives it. He is then thankful. Sometimes he asks and does not receive it. Then he says, "The Stranger knows best." Sometimes his friends, in exasperation, say "Well, what would he have to do for you to admit that you were wrong and that he is not on our side?" But the partisan refuses to answer. He will not consent to put the Stranger to the test. And sometimes his friends complain, "Well, if that's what you mean by being on our side, the sooner he goes over to the other side the better."
The partisan of the parable does not allow anything to count derisively against the proposition "The Stranger is on our side." This is because he has committed himself to trust the Stranger. But he of course recognises that the Stranger's ambiguous behaviour does count against what he believes about him. It is precisely this situation which constitutes the trial of his faith.
When the partisan asks for help and doesn't get it, what can he do? he can,
[a]conclude that the Stranger is not on our side, or,
[b]maintain that he is on our side, but that he has reasons for withholding help.
The first he will refuse to do. How long can he uphold the second position without its becoming just silly?
I don't think one can say in advance. it will depend on the nature of the impression created by the Stranger in the first place. it will depend, too, on the manner in which he takes the Stranger's behaviour. If he blandly dismisses it as of no consequence, as having no bearing upon his belief, it will be assumed that he is thoughtless or insane. And it quite obviously won't do for him to say easily, "Oh, when used of the Stranger the phrase 'is one our side' means ambiguous behaviour of this sort." In that case he would be like the religious man who says blandly of a terrible disaster "It is God's will." No, he will only be regarded as sane and reasonable in his belief, if he experiences in himself the full force of the conflict.
The partisan admits that many things may and do count against his belief [... reference to another contributor's parable...]. Also the partisan has a reason for having in the first instance committed himself, viz. the character of the Stranger [...more comment...].
Do I want to say that the partisan's belief about the Stranger is, in any sense, an explanation? I think I do. It explains and makes sense of the Stranger's behaviour: it helps to explain also the resistance movement in the context of which he appears. In each case it differs from the interpretation which the others put upon the same facts.
"God loves men" resembles "the Stranger is on our side" (and many other significant statements, e.g. historical ones) in not being conclusively falsifiable. They can both be treated in at least three different ways:
[1]As provisional hypotheses to be discarded if experience tells against them
[2]As significant articles of faith
[3]As vacuous formulæ (expressing, perhaps, a desire for reassurance) to which experience makes no difference, and which makes no difference to life.
The Christian, once he has committed himself, is precluded by his faith from taking up the first attitude: "Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God." He is in constant danger of slipping into the third. But he need not; and, if he does, it is a failure of faith as well as in logic.