One Monist's Philosophy

Our age is retrospective. It builds the sepulchres of the fathers. It writes biographies, histories, and criticism. The foregoing generations beheld God and nature face to face; we through their eyes. Why should not we also enjoy an original relation to the universe? Why should not we have a poetry and philosophy of insight and not of tradition, and a religion by relation to us, and not the history of theirs? - Ralph Waldo Emerson, Nature (Introduction).

Why are we here? What are our origins? What is our purpose? What is our fate? These are fundamental questions that probably every person in the world in every time has asked themselves. Aristotle began his Metaphysics with the line, "All men by nature desire to know." Philosophers, historians, theologians, anthropologists, psychologists, astronomers, and so many others devote most of their lives to aspects of these questions, yet none seem to come with any comprehensive, mutually-agreed upon answers. In writing this essay, I do not presume to be able to answer these questions. However, I would like to share my reasons for believing that many of the answers provided by the paradigms of Western society are inadequate, and to allude to some ideas that I feel provide more adequate models of the nature of existence and reality.

Religion

A strict interpretation of the Bible is impossible, though, because of the anachronisms, inconsistencies and contradictions it contains. First, a definition of the Bible must be established. Which "Bible" are we talking about, both the Old Testament and New Testament, only the Old Testament, or only the New Testament? The general Christian outlook is that both the Old and New Testaments reflect the word of God, but when one conflicts with the other, the New Testament takes precedence. Fully one-tenth of Jesus' quotes are lines of Scripture from the Old Testament, and the Old Testament is cited as proof that Jesus was the Messiah, so the Old Testament cannot be dismissed out-of-hand. 2 Timothy 3:16 is often quoted in this regard; it reads: "All Scripture is God-breathed."

How does one deal with such passages as Exodus 21-23, Leviticus 1-9, and Deuteronomy 12-13, for example, that contain detailed legal instructions that are clearly anachronistic, and have been ignored for millennia? Exodus 21:17 admonishes us to put to death a child who so much as curses his parents; Deuteronomy 13 instructs that siblings, false prophets, even entire towns full of people be murdered for preaching out against the Bible. None of these laws was ever explicitly rescinded in the New Testament. If we are to believe that the "New Covenant" replaces Old Testament law, it is difficult to discern which portions of the Old Testament remain valid and which don't. Is the Old Testament the word of God or not?

Once we've decided which texts to include in our canon, we have to decide whether or not they're really to be taken literally. To do so is difficult indeed, and those who claim to be able to do so often circumvent literal renderings when expediency requires. When anachronisms, contradictions or inconsistencies appear, the tendency is to ignore them or to explain them away via contorted rationalization. A classic example is that of transubstantiation. A literal interpretation of the Bible forces one to concede that the communion wafer and wine are genuinely transformed into the body and blood of Christ; this is in fact what some denominations conclude. However, other Christians maintain that Jesus was speaking figuratively when he discussed the transubstantiation. We must bear in mind that Jesus frequently spoke in "parables", or stories not intended to be taken literally.

The better part of the book of Revelation consists of images that are clearly symbolic (though symbolism is certainly not limited to this book). Few Christians take all of these images literally. So, can portions of the Bible be taken metaphorically or not? One can not have it both ways.

These are minor problems compared to the overall issue of interpretation. Ignoring problems inherent in accurate linguistic translation, we should realize that languages change drastically over hundreds (never mind thousands) of years, and we will be stymied in any attempt to render Biblical passages literally because of our imperfect understanding of the subtle nuances of ancient versions of languages. This is compounded by the fact that no natural language is unambiguous, so Biblical passages will always be interpreted differently by different readers. Who is to say whose reading is `correct'? For this reason there are hundreds of different denominations, all with their own (often mutually incompatible) interpretations of the Bible, each of which claims a monopoly on truth.

Finally, we come to the question, "Why the Bible?" The divine supremacy of the Bible argued for by Christians is not unique; Muslims claim the same status for the Q'uran, and Mormons make like claims for The Book of Mormon. Hindus claim the Vedas to be divine, while some Buddhists insist the same of their Sutras (likewise the Japanese and their Shinto texts). "Our book is the genuine word of God," we hear these people proclaim. The claims of each of these groups is no more or less fantastic then the others. In such an environment, we are asked to submit to faith, and faith alone, to distinguish the truth. If you grew up in Syria, your faith would have you convinced of the inerrant nature of the Q'uran just as profoundly as that of the most faithful Christian in their belief that the Bible is the sole source of divine knowledge.

Science

To begin with, we must realize that science is not a coherent set of explanatory principles; rather, it is a method of investigation, and a method with a particular purpose. The method of science is to prove or disprove a hypothesis by systematic experimentation and observation, with verification based on reproducability of results; the purpose is for predictive capability. For its purposes, the scientific method has served admirably – the vast technological accomplishments that surround us are testimony to this fact. The scientific method has indeed furnished us with incredible predictive abilities. We can predict that a certain shape of airfoil will allow an airplane to soar through the skies; that certain geological features will always be found in fixed sequences; that a spacecraft instructed with the proper signals will reach another planet.

Science provides an excellent model for discerning better theories from worse theories in the use of "Occam's Razor." This is a series of principles which maintains that: 1) An explanation that is verifiable through observation holds more weight than one that cannot be observationally verified; 2) If two theories are presented to explain a situation, the one that explains a greater number of that situation's components is the more valid; and 3) All other things being equal, the simpler explanation is the more likely. Thus, for example, we believe that germs, and not spirits, cause illness, because germs are observable whereas spirits are not, and scientists can replicate disease with the introduction of germs.

Another advantage of science is that it incorporates a means of self-correction; when a circumstance arises that fails to fit the predominant theoretical explanation, new theories are proposed. In the late 19th century, scientists `proved' (through thermodynamic equations) that heavier-than-air vehicles could never fly, a view that obviously required revising in the face of contradictory evidence. Religious beliefs have no such self-correcting capability, and no method of distinguishing between better and worse interpretations of belief. Since faith alone sustains them, nothing tangible can ever serve to alter such views . . . and there are too many (incompatible) competing religious explanations for all of them to be correct! In the face of inexplicable circumstances, the religious faithful abide in intangible explanations: "That is God's will; we can never hope to know his purposes."

The scientific method is not without its faults, however. Contrary to the claims of most of its adherents, the scientific method is not objective. Subjective bias enters the picture when a choice is made to study one phenomenon over another, in the formulation of particular hypotheses, and in the approaches selected to test hypotheses. Numerous instances are documented whereby subjectivity entered into the analysis of data as well, albeit more often than not subconsciously. The scientific method is a human construct, and as such is subject to human imperfection.

Nowhere is this more evident than in the scientific treatment of the world around us. Scientists investigate natural phenomena by analyzing subsets of those phenomena, and piecing together a larger picture based on what is learned of the components. Such an approach is a systems approach; it assumes that the world can be interpreted as a system or series of systems, containing discrete components; and that when the workings of each component and their interactions is understood, an entire system can thus be comprehended.

There are two significant problems with this approach. The first is that known counter-examples exist. One is the phenomenon known as synergy. In a synergistic relationship, the sum of the parts exceeds that of the whole. For example, two metals whose strengths are known can be fused into an alloy whose strength exceeds the sum of the strengths of each component by a magnitude of hundreds of times! Synergistic reactions are common among substance interactions in the human body: if half of a tolerable dose of alcohol is combined with half of a tolerable dose of barbiturates, one does not get one tolerable dose of medication as the sum; on the contrary, grave symptoms are likely.

Another counter-example to systems theory modeling is chaos theory. Chaos theory maintains that a system with "sensitive initial conditions" will prove to be unpredictable in the long run, even in a simple system. Lorenz demonstrated in the 1960's that weather predictions can never extend beyond one week, because extremely subtle effects on weather patterns are grossly magnified into chaotic, unpredictable patterns within a short period of time.

The second significant problem with a systems approach is that it reifies discrete components as existing independently, when in fact these components are often so interdependent that it is difficult to distinguish boundaries between them. In this regard, science is most likely mirroring a natural human tendency to categorize that which we perceive.

Human Convention

Humans have a habit of taking continuums and subdividing them into discrete categories in order to comprehend them. There are very practical reasons for doing so. Color is perhaps the quintessential example. Although we speak of individual colors such as red, yellow, and blue, we are nonetheless aware that there is a `spectrum' of color, whereby red fades into purple, which fades into blue. We also probably recognize that there is no objective point that separates, for example, orange from red on this continuum. This is not to deny the indispensability of color terms, but rather to point out that our system of classification is only an interpretation of reality, and does not perfectly reflect the reality of color itself.

A monist recognizes that all of reality is a continuum, and that perceived distinctions between objects are illusory attempts by our consciences to avoid the confusion that accompanies the undifferentiated perception of the entirety of experience.

The conventional notion of the human body is that it is an organic, self-contained unit. It can be demonstrated that this is not the case, though. What would happen if you removed the skin of a human? Death would quickly ensue, naturally. Without it, a human ceases to exist, because the skin is an integral part of a human being. Now, what would happen if you remove a person's air? Again, death would quickly ensue – without it, a human ceases to exist, because the air is an integral part of a human being! As with color, it is useful, indeed necessary for most purposes, to distinguish between the two. But that distinction is not reality per se, but rather our perception of reality. If the distinction is genuine, where is the dividing line between the points where, on the one hand, the air is a gas separate from the human body, and on the other hand it is integrated into the body itself? When we exhale, we do not breathe out the air we just inhaled; breathing is a process by which air is transformed, and that transformational process involves both the air and our bodies. Not only is the air changed by our body (the oxygen and carbon dioxide ratios are altered), but our bodies are changed by the air as well (old cells are replenished; new cells are assisted in their genesis). Bertrand Russell (in his essay, The Philosophy of Bertrand Russell) went so far as to give (undoubtedly progressive) scientists credit in recognizing this when he wrote:

We all start from "naive realism," i.e., the doctrine that things are what they seem. We think that grass is green, that stones are hard, and that snow is cold. But physics assures us that the greenness of the grass, the hardness of stones, and the coldness of snow are not the greenness, hardness, and coldness that we know in our own experience, but something very different. The observer, when he seems to himself to be observing a stone, is really, if physics is to be believed, observing the effects of the stone upon himself.

Existence

          I know that I am not a category.
          I am not a thing – a noun.
          I seem to be a verb,
               an evolutionary process –
               an integral function of the universe.

This approach is encountered more frequently in Eastern philosophy, especially Taoism. The "Tao" in "Taoism" refers to the unity of all existence, and is difficult to translate as a single word into English, which is generally lacking in such concepts. In Chinese, however, such philosophical concepts are easier to fathom, as Alan Watts points out in his "The Philosophy of the Tao" (in The Way of Zen):

The child is taught to accept "tree" and not "boojum" as the agreed sign for that (pointing to the object). We have no difficulty in understanding that the word "tree" and not "boojum" is a matter of convention. What is much less obvious is that convention also governs the delineation of the thing to which the word is assigned. For the child has to be taught not only what words are to stand for what things, but also the way in which culture has tacitly agreed to divide things from each other, to mark out the boundaries within our daily experience. Thus scientific convention decides whether an eel shall be a fish or a snake, and grammatical convention determines what experiences shall be called objects and what shall be called events or actions. How arbitrary such conventions may be can be seen from the question, "What happens to my fist [noun-object] when I open my hand?" The object miraculously vanishes because an action was disguised by a part of speech usually assigned to a thing! In English the differences between things and actions are clearly, if not always logically, distinguished, but a great number of Chinese words do duty for both nouns and verbs – so that one who thinks in Chinese has little difficulty in seeing that objects are also events, that our world is collection of processes rather than entities.

So where is the proof for this theory of reality? Well, proofs and theories belong to the scientific method, which we have already dismissed as inadequate for philosophical explanations of reality. Many people claim to have experienced God; has anyone ever claimed to experience a unified reality? Yes, numerous people throughout the ages have caught a glimpse of or come to fully understand the singular nature of existence, and I would argue that most of those who have had profound religious experiences were in actuality experiencing their union with the cosmos, but their need to fit this experience into a particular cultural background or language constrained them to interpret that experience according to the classificatory schemes of their times, their religion, and/or their language.

The Tao Te Ching opens with the line, "The Tao that is the word is not the true Tao." This phrase points to the inadequacy of language, which is a human convention composed of arbitrary, discrete components, in conveying the nature of a continuous, all-encompassing reality. Reality can not be described, but it is possible to allude to it; for this reason the word "Tao" is often translated as "The Way." Taoists recognize that there are two kinds of thought – "conventional" thought, which is to say 'everyday thought'; and "non-conventional" thought. Conventional thought is recognized to be indispensable to everyday living, as is non-conventional thought. In fact, we use the latter all the time without realizing it; intuition, for example, is the mind at work apart from conventional thought.

What I have begun to relate is a philosophical explanation, but philosophy is certainly not the only path to reality.

Since we tend to put the most faith in that which we experience directly, perhaps the best way to come to recognize the arbitrariness of our conventional reality is to experience an alternative reality. In this way, we are given an alternate point of reference to juxtapose with conventional reality. A simple way to do this is to journey to a foreign country; the more exotic the better. Provided you are not isolated in a tourist zone, a few weeks in a foreign place can be extremely eye-opening. The more time that is spent there, the more likely you are to experience a reality-shift. This is especially true if you stay long enough to begin learning the language of that place. Very few people come away from such an experience without some sense that some of what they've taken for granted as absolute all their lives is relative and subject to more than one interpretation.

We need not journey to foreign lands to induce a reality shift. Indeed, a desire to experience alternate realities may even be innate. Dr. Andrew Weil, in his book The Natural Mind, points out that it is universal for young children to self-induce altered states of consciousness by spinning themselves until they are dizzy, or hold their breath to experience the altered state that accompanies imminent unconsciousness. Mind-altering substances such as alcohol and marijuana also induce alternate states of consciousness, and hallucinogens such as those used recreationally or by the shamans of many aboriginal peoples do so most profoundly.

This latter observation brings us back to religious pursuits into the nature of reality. The followers of many religions exhibit "ecstatic" and "trance" states that correspond to altered senses of reality. These are induced not only through hallucinogenic drugs, but also through asceticism, meditation, physical exertion to the point of fatigue, even self-induced physical punishment. Such states may also occur spontaneously.

If reality is subjective and mutable, what then is `real'? A monist maintains that reality is the sum total of all experience, all being, all existence. Neither conventional thought nor alternative ways of viewing the world are "right" or "wrong," they are simply different ways of thinking. What is truly real is the unity of all experience.

It is the goal of many Eastern philosophies (notably Taoism and Zen Buddhism) to experience this unity, and to come to know the nature of reality through such an experience. In Buddhism it is referred to as "enlightenment." Enlightenment certainly is not limited to Buddhists, however – the Christian concept of "epiphany" refers to the same experience. In experiencing the unity of the universe, however, the customary response of one who is unfamiliar with Eastern philosophical tradition is to interpret such an experience within a context of a familiar paradigm. The Christian paradigm of truth, of "the way," of the basest level of reality itself, is God. Thus one who experiences epiphany comes face to face with a phenomenon which can only be referred to as God.

And why not? Seen in this light, the word "God" serves as an appropriate correlate for the term "Tao" when we consider that Western philosophy is otherwise lacking in such a term. The concept of God as that which embodies all of reality, through all of time, seems quite natural; indeed, I believe that this was the original connotation of the word before metaphorical views of God as a "person" who "created" reality came to be supplanted by mistaken notions that such conveyances were meant literally. In a similar vein, many cultures have taken aspects of experience and referred to them as "gods;" but instead of recognizing their error in mistaking metaphor for reality, we tend to dismiss their "odd" or "antiquated" views out-of-hand.

Understood thus, the meaning of the most ancient and most holy Jewish prayer becomes entirely comprehensible: "Hear Oh Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is one." The true significance of Abraham's seminal idea was one of singularity, of a recognition of the unity of existence.

The concept of reincarnation also derives from monist modes of thought. Although the particular configuration of process and form which we call our "body" is ephemeral, it is continuous with processes that are eternal. Thus, "we" live on in other forms after our death. Regrettably, this concept has become reified (like the anthropomorphic depiction of a God with humanistic qualities such as compassion, anger, etc.) to the point that people take "rebirth" literally, mistakenly thinking that reincarnation refers to a direct transfer of one's being to another form.

The Practical Application of Monism

Alan Watts noted, "To be free from convention is not to spurn it but not to be deceived by it." We must undeniably spend the bulk of our time in the conventional world. It is inherent in the social nature of humankind that humans must establish conventions by which to live peaceably together ("No man is an island, unto himselfe" wrote John Donne). Since monists recognize only a single world (rather than this life and an afterlife, or a past and future of which we are not a part), we recognize the need to improve this world to the best of our abilities. Improving this world means, in large part, helping out those who experience hunger, homelessness, disease, and other sufferings. This is central to a Jewish tenet that dictates that one purpose of life is to perform mitzvot, translated as both "good deeds" and "sacred obligations".

The other purpose to which we can devote ourselves is celebration. What is there to celebrate in this world? Existence and life itself! Absolute reality in its totality is awesome; it is wondrous; it is miraculous. Though too many unfortunate souls lose sight of the wonder of life, it is there to be experienced for all who take the time to do so. The appreciation of the mysteriousness and wonder of life are qualities we tend to impute to children, but these qualities also underlie enlightened wisdom. As human beings, we may be unique in our ability to experience appreciation. Hindu philosophy suggests that we exist precisely for that purpose; that we are that aspect of reality which has the capability of reflecting back on itself.

I refuse to take a scientific stance and be fooled by assertions of objectivity and truth, denying that spirituality has a place in this world. But neither will I take a religious stance, living for some "other" life and attributing existence to unseen forces clearly molded in the image of man. Mine is the life of a monist: A recognition that life is a celebration of existence; that just as birth was not the beginning, so death is not the end; that spirituality, although often misdirected, is a legitimate recognition of the connectedness of being; that life need not be meaningless to those who renounce conventional Western paradigms; that in addition to our own fulfillment, we may serve as "bodhisattvas" who forego ultimate enlightenment in the hopes of bringing to others a bit of enlightenment and appreciation for the world around us.