Personal Identity and Resurrection: How Do We Survive Our Death? 9781409404934, 2010014642

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PERSONAL IDENTITY AND RESURRECTION

To the memory of my father, whose abrupt death in February 2007 particularly aroused my interest in personal identity and life after death.

Personal Identity and Resurrection How Do We Survive Our Death?

Edited by GEORG GASSER University of Innsbruck, Austria

First published 2010 by Ashgate Publishing Published 2016 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017, USA Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business Copyright © Georg Gasser and the contributors 2010 Georg Gasser has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the editor of this work. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe.

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data Personal identity and resurrection : how do we survive our death?. 1. Future life. 2. Immortality. 3. Identity (Psychology) – Religious aspects – Christianity. I. Gasser, Georg. 129–dc22 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Personal identity and resurrection : how do we survive our death? / [edited by] Georg Gasser. p. cm. Papers originally presented at a conference. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-1-4094-0493-4 (hardcover : alk. paper) 1. Resurrection. 2. Identity (Psychology)—Religious aspects—Christianity. I. Gasser, Georg. BT873.P47 2010 236’.8—dc22 2010014642 ISBN 9781409404934 (hbk)

Contents

List of Figures Abbreviations List of Contributors Foreword by Ted Peters Acknowledgments Introduction

vii ix xi xiii xv 1

1

Resurrection, Personal Identity, and the Will of God Stephen T. Davis

19

2

Bodily Resurrection: The Falling Elevator Model Revisited Dean Zimmerman

33

3

Immanent Causation and Life after Death Eric T. Olson

51

4

3.5-Dimensionalism and Survival: A Process Ontological Approach Godehard Brüntrup S.J.

67

5

Multiple Location and Single Location Resurrection Hud Hudson

87

6

Bodily Resurrection: When Metaphysics Needs Phenomenology Thomas Schärtl

7

Personhood, Bodily Self-Ascription, and Resurrection: A Kantian Approach Johannes Haag

127

The Same Body Again? Thomas Aquinas on the Numerical Identity of the Resurrected Body Bruno Niederbacher S.J.

145

8

9

Persons and the Metaphysics of Resurrection Lynne Rudder Baker

103

161

Personal Identity and Resurrection

vi

10

Hylomorphism and the Constitution View Josef Quitterer

177

11

Constitution, Resurrection, and Relationality Kevin Corcoran

191

12

Joseph Ratzinger on Resurrection Identity Christian Tapp

207

13

The Rationale behind Purgatory Nikolaus Wandinger

225

14

Scientific Insights into the Problem of Personal Identity in the Context of a Christian Theology of Resurrection and Eschatology Robert John Russell

Bibliography Index

241 259 273

List of Figures

6.1 6.2 6.3 6.4 6.5 6.6 6.7

Hershenov’s Model Identity Conditions of Artifacts Fission Fission and “gappy existence” Products of Fission Track-Switch Model I Track-Switch Model II

109 111 114 115 116 119 120

14.1a 14.1b 14.2a 14.2b

Resurrection-based transformation of the universe Continuity and discontinuity in the characteristics of the universe Resurrection as Prolepsis and the Continuity of Personal Identity Multi-Prolepses and the Continuity of Personal Identity

255 255 257 257

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Abbreviations

Aquinas De Ente De mixt. element. Ex. Boeth. Q. de an. Q. de spir. creat. S.c.G. Sent. S.Th. Super I. ad Cor. Super De An.

De Ente et Essentia De mixtione elementorum Expositio super librum Boethii Quaestio disputata de anima Quaestio disputata de spritualibus creaturis Summa contra Gentiles Sctriptum super libros Sententiarum Summa Theologiae Commentarium super epistulam I ad Corinthios Sententia libri de anima

Aristotle De an.

De Anima

Augustine

De civ. D.

De Civitate Dei

Kant CpR

Critique of Pure Reason

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List of Contributors

Lynne Rudder Baker: Distinguished Professor of Philosophy, University of Massachusetts. Godehard Brüntrup S.J.: Professor of Philosophy, Munich School of Philosophy. Kevin Corcoran: Associate Professor of Metaphysics and Philosophy of Religion, Calvin College. Stephen T. Davis: Russell K. Pitzer Professor of Philosophy, Claremont McKenna College. Johannes Haag: Professor of Theoretical Philosophy, University of Potsdam. Hud Hudson: Professor of Philosophy, Western Washington University. Bruno Niederbacher S.J.: Assistant Professor of Philosophy, University of Innsbruck. Eric T. Olson: Professor of Philosophy, University of Sheffield. Ted Peters: Professor of Systematic Theology, Pacific Lutheran Theological Seminary and the Graduate Theological Union, Berkeley. Josef Quitterer: Associate Professor of Philosophy, University of Innsbruck. Robert John Russell: Founder and director of the Center for Theology and the Natural Sciences, Berkeley and Ian G. Barbour Professor of Theology and Science, the Graduate Theological Union, Berkeley. Thomas Schärtl: Professor of Philosophy, University of Augsburg. Christian Tapp: Professor of Philosophical Theology, University of Bochum. Nikolaus Wandinger: Assistant Professor of Systematic Theology, University of Innsbruck. Dean Zimmerman: Professor of Philosophy, Rutgers University.

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Foreword by Ted Peters

Perhaps the most profound and terrifying of existential questions is this one: what will happen to me when I die? Oblivion? Non-being? The forgetting of all that has been and the loss of all expectation of what will come? Or, might there be some truth to one or another religious claim? Immortal soul? Astral body? Reincarnation? Resurrection into God’s new creation? How can we be sure? We cannot. What we can do is speculate. As we speculate we will try to draw mental pictures or construct conceptual models of what life beyond death might look like. As these mental pictures or conceptual models take shape, we can evaluate them. Do they make sense? Are they coherent? Are some better than others? Is it rational to believe that beyond death lies a hope that can enlist our devotion and inspire confidence in us? Demonstrating the rationality of belief in life beyond death is the task of the philosopher. Plato thought he could persuade us that the endurance of an immortal soul is something reasonable to believe in. Plato’s dualism of body and soul is no longer persuasive, however. In our post-Enlightenment era we emphasize that human personhood is embodied personhood. Where might this lead us? The non-dualist alternative explored in the pages that follow is resurrection of the body. Is it rational for us to hope for a future resurrection in bodily form? If so, what will it look like? If death means the destruction of the body, what will be raised? A reassembling of the elements of our pre-mortem body? A brand new and perfected post-mortem body? Will it be “me” who is raised or will it be a duplicate of me? To think rationally here does not mean we can prove that resurrection will occur; but it does require that our mental picture or conceptual model demonstrate coherence. For us Christians who by faith rely upon God’s promise that our future will include resurrection from the dead and life everlasting in God’s kingdom, we need to understand it. We need to ask the theologians to help us understand just what resurrection of the body could mean. Are there grounds in divine revelation for reliance upon a divine promise? If so, how can we critically evaluate such a promise? Is it reasonable to speculate on the nature of our transfigured body as St. Paul describes it in 1 Corinthians 15:42–44: “So it is with the resurrection of the dead. What is sown is perishable, what is raised is imperishable. It is sown in dishonor, it is raised in glory. It is sown in weakness, it is raised in power. It is sown a physical body, it is raised a spiritual body.” It appears that we can expect qualitative identity in the resurrection—that is, we can expect our existing bodies to undergo perfecting while we remain who we are. Yet, the metaphor of the seed

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being sown and later rising as something different raises the question of numerical identity: will the person in the resurrected body be “me” or a perfected duplicate? Just how can we imagine continuity of identity will be maintained? Such questions puzzle philosophers and theologians as they strive to construct rational models depicting what resurrection into an incorruptible spiritual body might look like. This task is a difficult one. Yet, the philosophers and theologians writing in the pages that follow take this task on with courage and creativity.

Acknowledgments

The origin of the present volume dates to a conference on personal identity and resurrection held at Innsbruck and Obergurgl, Austria, from July 28 to August 1 2008. Only Lynne Rudder Baker’s contribution was not presented at the conference, being instead reprinted from Religious Studies 43 (2007), pp. 333–48. I wish to thank the following individuals for their role in the production of this volume: first I owe a debt of thanks to Matthias Stefan and Daniel Wehinger for their help in organizing the conference and for their support in the completion of the volume. My warmest thank to Katherine Munn for her efforts to eliminate grammatical errors and her priceless suggestions for improving the readability of the contributions. Many thanks, too, to Waltraud Totschnig for her extraordinary help in preparing this volume for publication. Josef Quitterer, Stephen T. Davis and Kevin Corcoran were kind enough to offer valuable advice on proceeding with this project after the conference. I must also thank Sarah Lloyd of Ashgate Publishing for all her help in bringing this book to print. Finally, I should also like to thank all the contributors for their great patience during the gestation and completion of the volume. Of course, academic activities require financial resources; and so I wish to express my deepest gratitude to the Metanexus Institute, Bryn Mawr, PA, for a special grant which covered many expenses. Furthermore, I am much obliged to the Austrian Federal Ministry of Science and Research, the University of Innsbruck, the Propter Homines Foundation and the Austrian Science Fund (FWF), grant P20186–G14, whose generous support made it possible to organize the conference and to edit this volume. Georg Gasser January 2010

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Introduction

If there is no resurrection of the dead, then not even Christ has been raised And if Christ has not been raised, our preaching is useless and so is your faith. (1 Cor 15:13–14)

The Intellectual Background The last four decades or so testify to a remarkable development in the academic climate of analytic philosophy. Stephen T. Davis witnessed this development from his college time in the late sixties and seventies onward. He writes: “in those days, we students were scarcely allowed even to mention words like ‘God’ or ‘theology’, and claims like ‘God raised Jesus from the dead’ were dismissed with disdain, scorn and knowing looks.”1 Nowadays, instead, many philosophers, believers and non-believers alike, explicitly dedicate their work to religious topics. Philosophy of religion has become a respectable discipline within analytic philosophy. Conjecture abounds for the reasons for this development. In a recent article2, Nicholas Wolterstorff identifies three major ones: first, logical positivism, once dominant among analytic philosophers, was unable to articulate in a satisfactory way its key concept of empirical verifiability. This inability proved to be positivism’s downfall. The regressing influence of positivism paved the way for a rising interest in metaphysics in general and an open attitude to philosophical research of religious topics in particular. Second, this shift in analytic philosophy went hand in hand with a waning interest in the theme preoccupying classical modern philosophy: the limits of the thinkable and the assertible. Whereas philosophers in the tradition of Enlightment are concerned that our epistemological limitations might make it impossible to investigate certain kinds of topics in a meaningful way, analytic philosophers today no longer share this concern. They are thus more open to all sorts of inquiry, including metaphysics and philosophical reflection on theological doctrines. Finally, according to Wolterstorff, the third 1

Stephen T. Davis, “The Counterattack of the Resurrection Sceptics. A Review Article”, Philosophia Christi, 8 (2005): pp. 39–63, p. 40. 2 Nicholas Woltersdorff, “How Philosophical Theology Became Possible with the Analytic Tradition of Philosophy”, in Oliver D. Crisp and Michael C. Rea (eds), Analytic Theology. New Essays in the Philosophy of Theology (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), pp. 155–68.

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2

important development within analytic philosophy was the flourishing of metaepistemology, that is, explicit investigation of alternative models of knowledge. Classical foundationalism—the view, roughly, that a belief is justified only if it rests ultimately on a foundation of non-inferential knowledge—was seen no longer as the only respectable epistemological theory. This made room for epistemological positions that were friendly towards the view that one might rationally hold religious beliefs. These three developments eliminated important obstacles to a more intense analysis of religious beliefs. Analytic philosophy became less uniform and led to a multitude of examinations concerning a vast array of themes. No wonder, then, that Wolterstorff describes current philosophical discourse as pluralistic: For want of a better term, call the picture of the philosophical enterprise that I have just sketched, dialogic pluralism. Philosophy is now widely assumed, by analytic philosophers, to be a dialogical pluralist enterprise.3

Such a pluralistic enterprise is reminiscent of the situation in late antiquity when Stoics, Christians, Sceptics, Neoplatonists, and Aristotelians all contributed to shaping intellectual discourse. There was no body of principles or insights that all agreed on. Instead, proponents of the various schools met publicly, discussed and argued with each other, and when an argument was proven to be poor, the school which put it forward tried to improve and to articulate it in more detail. Analytic philosophy nowadays is like that: philosophers being reductive naturalists, nonreductive naturalists, non-naturalists, theists, and so on form a pluralistic mix, each philosophical strand representing a legitimate and important participant in dialogue. Such a situation offers an intellectual openness which encourages experimentation. This volume testifies to this courage to experiment: though all authors are sympathetic toward the possibility of resurrection, their starting points and intellectual resources for justifying it range from materialist to dualist conceptions of the human person and involve classical theological approaches, recent analytic metaphysics, and various ideas from continental philosophy. Specifying the Problem: Mind the Gap Belief in some form of post-mortem survival is not extravagant. Take, for instance, Platonic Dualism: According to this view, bodies die and decay whereas an immaterial soul continues to live. The idea is that the soul naturally survives biological death for it is the nature of a soul to be incorruptible. Furthermore, this view claims that the soul is the essence of a human person: you are your soul, not your body. Though such a belief might be at odds with a materialist understanding 3

Ibid., p. 167.

Introduction

3

of reality, it does not appear incomprehensible from a metaphysical point of view. Once you have accepted that incorruptible souls exist which are the essences of human persons, it is not presumptuous to claim that human persons live forever due to soul’s incorruptible nature, whereas human bodies disintegrate. Belief in bodily resurrection, on the contrary, seems to be another matter altogether. It seems at the very least an odd belief indeed. Even its proponents are aware of this. Tertullian, one of the first Christian theologians in the West, wrote famously that “the resurrection of Jesus Christ is certain—because it is impossible”.4 Of course, Tertullian wants to provoke his pagan contemporaries. Nevertheless, he expresses a view which most of his contemporaries (and probably the majority today) deemed to be true: the bodily resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth seems to be impossible, if taken literally. The problem of the resurrection of the body multiplies, for it concerns not only the unique person with human and divine nature, Jesus Christ. Christian faith claims also that all human persons who have ever lived at earth will be resurrected. Jesus Christ’s resurrection is the anticipation of all people’s resurrection. The early church affirmed this belief explicitly in the Nicene and the Apostle’s Creeds. As documents summarizing the most important beliefs of Christian faith, the creeds make clear that the doctrine of bodily resurrection is not an addendum to Christian faith but belongs at its very core. Karl Barth, one of the most influential theologians of the previous century, for instance, underlines that the doctrine of bodily resurrection is the basic axiom of Christian faith: It is the key to the whole.5 And Adolph Harnack, the eminent church historian from the turn of the twentieth century, says that “the resurrection of Jesus became the sure pledge of the resurrection of all believers, that is of their real personal resurrection. No one at the beginning thought of a mere immortality of the spirit.”6 Why, then, is it apparently so more difficult to believe in the resurrection of the body than in the survival of a disembodied soul or spirit? People are inclined to think that the body I have this afternoon is the same body that I had a week ago and that I will have at the end of the week. The view that I have one single body during my entire lifetime does not imply, however, that my body cannot change. The body I have now is very different from the body I had even a few days ago. At a very small scale it changed in size, weight and physiological composition. The body is continuously changing but nevertheless 4 5

See Tertullian, De Carne Christi (London: SPCK, 1956), 5, 4. See Robert Dale Dawson, The Resurrection in Karl Barth (Aldershot: Asghate,

2007). 6 Adolph Harnack, History of Dogma, trans. Neil Buchanan (7 vols, New York: Dover 1961), vol. 1, p. 85. The German original, 41909, says: “Die Auferstehung Jesu wurde somit zum sicheren Unterpfand der Auferstehung aller Gläubigen, und zwar ihrer realen, persönlichen Auferstehung. An eine blosse Unsterblichkeit des Geistes hat im Anfang Niemand gedacht, selbst die nicht, welche die Vergänglichkeit der sinnlichen Menschennatur annahmen.”

4

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remains the same body. A good reason supporting such a view is the distinction between numerical identity and qualitative identity: when a thing changes, it remains numerically the same but becomes different in its qualities. In the process of change new acquired bodily qualities connect to already existing ones. So the same body has different qualities at different times, but these changes do not result in the old body’s ceasing to exist and a new one’s being generated. Is the resurrection of the body an instance of qualitative change? In light of the aforementioned distinction it would not be particularly bold to claim that our earthly body metamorphoses into a new one by acquiring heavenly “incorruptible” properties and losing the earthly “corruptible” ones. There would just be one more—admittedly miraculous—process of change in the long chain of natural bodily changes. The reason, however, why this traditional metaphysical solution to the problem of change cannot be applied to the Christian doctrine of resurrection is that death is the definite end of a human being’s existence on earth. If human persons are bodily beings which die and thereby cease to exist, then their bodies decay, are eaten by animals or destroyed in the fire of a crematory. Thanks to common sense and science, it is safe to say that nothing remains of human bodies after a certain period of time. There is simply no physical entity left which could acquire new qualities. Nevertheless, the creeds hold that the very same human persons who lived on earth will rise and exist again in bodily form. That is, the doctrine of bodily resurrection seems to admit that there is a gap between the earthly bodily existence of human persons and their resurrection. This gap is the reason why it is so much more difficult to believe in bodily resurrection than in the survival of the soul: many see no possibility to bridge the gap which death rips open between pre- and post-mortem human existence. There is simply nothing left of our human bodily existence which could cross the gap so as to preserve numerical identity. God certainly has the power to create a new body which is a duplicate of the earthly one. Such a duplicate, however, would not be the same body which existed at a determinate time in the history of the cosmos. The earthly body and its heavenly duplicate would have different histories: the latter was never on earth, the former never in heaven. There is thus not one and the same entity with different qualities but two numerically different entities with different qualities. Even for an allpowerful being it seems impossible to bring back into existence an entity which utterly ceased to exist. Nor could God suspend the metaphysical principle that the same entity cannot come into existence twice. If these thoughts are correct, then Tertullian’s statement is not just provocative rhetoric but makes a crucial point: The Christian doctrine of bodily resurrection seems to require a metaphysical impossibility in order to be true. If there is no identity between the pre-mortem and the post-mortem body in the sense that this very same body exists on earth and in heaven and in between, then the claim that the body will be raised again seems to be impossible. To believe a doctrine which apparently presupposes something metaphysically impossible is tantamount to having an irrational belief. If a central element of Christian faith is irrational, then Christian

Introduction

5

faith will be at the very least severely impoverished in terms of its ability to be rationally justified. So Christians face the challenge of showing that their doctrine of bodily resurrection is not irrational. It is incumbent upon them to provide arguments which show convincingly that the gap between the annihilation of the human person in this world and her bodily resurrection in the next world can be bridged. Bridging the Gap It was very early that Christian theologians offered a way to meet this challenge: after death the body decays but the last material particles constituting our body continue to exist. On the Last Day, God gathers up these very last material particles which once constituted our body and reassembles them into a new heavenly body which he then rejoins with the surviving soul. So body and soul once more constitute the same single human person who once existed on earth. Brian E. Daley calls this view “anthropology of composition”: in order to be raised there must be both material and spiritual identity between the earthly and heavenly person.7 One problem with this view is that particles constituting one body at t1 might constitute another body at t2. Take, for instance, the often discussed example of cannibalism: if a cannibal eats a fellow human person, so he incorporates particles into his body which formerly belonged to another body. On the resurrection day both the cannibal and his victim shall be raised again. But there are certain particles belonging to both bodies: how shall God proceed? God has to decide first who owns which particles. There are a few possible criteria: the first body has priority over all successive bodies to which a given particle belonged. Or the last body has priority over the previous ones. Or female bodies over male bodies or saints over sinners or believers over non-believers. The apparent problem is that there are no obviously objective criteria for deciding, leaving God to solve this puzzle arbitrarily. In a second step, then, the missing particles have to be replaced with newly created ones. Then, however, no resurrected body with new particles is identical to the earthly body, strictly speaking. Athenagoras, a Christian apologist from the second century, was well aware of this problem. He invokes medical reasons for solving it. According to him each animal has a food suited to its nature. Only appropriate parts of the food can be absorbed so as to remain permanently in an animal’s body. Human beings cannot absorb human flesh, for it is not suitable to them. So the particles constituting a human body could never end up as particles constituting another fellow human person’s body as well.8 In a similar vein, early 7

Brian E. Daley, “A Hope for Worms”, in Ted Peters, Robert J. Russell and Michael Welker (eds), Resurrection. Theological and Scientific Assessments (Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans, 2002), pp. 136–64, p. 148. 8 See Athenagoras, De Resurrectione Mortuorum, ed. Miroslav Marcovich, Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae, Volume 53 (Leiden, Boston and Köln: Brill, 2000), Ch. 4–8.

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rabbis taught that an indestructible part of the spinal cord will be the toehold for the reconstruction of the resurrection body.9 There are good reasons to look for other models of bodily resurrection. As far as we know, neither Athenagoras’ nor the rabbi’s accounts work: there are no incorruptible parts of the human body and is it possible that certain particles belong to more than one human body. In the light of the length of human history it is even very probable to assume that some particles making up human bodies now belonged to other bodies previously. Peter van Inwagen came up with a different approach for avoiding these problems.10 On their deaths men apparently cease to exist and human bodies apparently decompose. At the moment of each human person’s death God clandestinely removes the dying person, whom He replaces with a simulacrum which falls prey to the natural destiny of material things: it rots and decays. The person, however, continues to live or is revivified in eternity. The problem of the gap does not arise, giving way instead to just the sort of miraculous intervention which an almighty God could enact. Such an intervention, however, would at any rate be necessary to guarantee the resurrection of an entity which is not immortal by nature. According to van Inwagen, nothing in the creeds contradicts his story. The downside of this model is that it requires God systematically to deceive human beings. Van Inwagen speculates that one reason for so much divine trickery might be God’s will to leave enough freedom for voluntary faith. Imagine that a world in which the body-snatching scenario were apparent to all: in such a world all would believe in the existence of God for the simple reason that God’s existence would amount to the best explanation for the observed phenomenon of body-snatching. Van Inwagen’s solution for the problems plaguing the reassembly theory is ingenious. Nevertheless, serious troubles remain: the body-snatching model seems to imply either that no person ever dies, strictly speaking, or that resurrection amounts to a process similar to reanimation. If we interpret van Inwagen’s model in the former sense, then the dying person is brought to heaven where she continues to live in a transformed and glorified way. Such a story, however, apparently contradicts the Christian doctrine that human persons truly die. The creeds confess that Jesus suffered death and was buried. There is no hint in these documents that these statements should not be taken at face value. In the latter sense, instead, the corpse is brought to heaven and brought back to life again. This gives the event of resurrection a very “biological touch”. Human persons seem to be bound indissolubly to the body they had at the moment of death and the continuance of the biological functioning of the body seems to be all that truly matters for resurrection. Resurrection comes close to the reanimation of the 9

Caroline Walker Bynum, The Resurrection of the Body in Western Christianity, 200–1336 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1995), p. 55. 10 Peter van Inwagen, “The Possibility of Resurrection”, International Journal for Philosophy of Religion, 9 (1978): pp. 114–21, reprinted in Paul Edwards (ed.), Immortality (Amherst, NY: Prometheus Books 1997), 242–6.

Introduction

7

deceased, along the lines of the resurrections reported in the gospels of Lazarus and of Jaïrus’ daughter. In order to avoid some of the problems beleaguering van Inwagen’s approach, Dean Zimmerman came up with the so called “falling elevator model”.11 Zimmerman’s idea was to use van Inwagen’s materialist metaphysics of human persons while developing a model by which God is able to raise human persons again without secretly replacing their dying body with a simulacrum. According to this metaphysics it is essential for human persons that they are organisms; the matter constituting an organism is caught up in a special event—a Life—which continues as long as the organism exists. Life is self-maintaining, that is, earlier stages in a Life tend to cause their successive stages. This process of continuous causation is direct and immanent; the immanent causal relations cannot pass through anything external to the organism, such as a teleportation machine. It is imaginable that one’s psyche can pass through such a device and reappear elsewhere in a new organism. But it is hard to see how a material organism could survive such a procedure; all that could be accomplished is the generation of a duplicate organism formed, from the original pattern, either out of old or new particles. Given this framework, Zimmerman proposes the following solution: God could endow the particles constituting a human organism with a miraculous “budding” power. In the moment of death the particles continue to immanently-cause later stages in the existence of these particles on the one hand. The dying body becomes a corpse in a process we are familiar with. But, on the other hand, thanks to the budding power, in the next world the organism reappears. So the living organism goes one way, ending up in the next world, and at the same time the particles of the very same organism immanently cause a corpse in this world. The particles undergo a kind of fission process while the organism’s Life remains one and the same. Zimmerman’s approach avoids positing massive deception on God’s part. The matter of the human body stays in this world. Nevertheless, nagging doubts remain about this approach. David B. Hershenov pointed out that in normal life-processes new particles gradually get integrated in the organism’s body.12 Zimmerman’s budding event does not allow for a slow replacement of old particles over a certain period of time but is more reminiscent of a very unusual birth scenario. He concludes: The entity in heaven is a clone of the deceased, and thus Zimmerman’s account provides us with no more immortality than that which comes from an identical twin surviving our death. And whatever consolation that may give us as we are dying, it is not a case of true immortality.13 11 Dean Zimmerman, “The Compatibility of Materialism and Survival: The “Falling Elevator” Model”, Faith and Philosophy, 16 (1999): pp. 194–212. 12 David Hershenov, “Van Inwagen, Zimmerman, and the Materialist Conception of Resurrection”, Religious Studies, 38 (2002): pp. 451–69, pp. 460–3. 13 Ibid., p. 463.

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If I understand him correctly, Hershenov objects that Zimmerman’s account is unable to guarantee personal identity strictly speaking. All we are left with is a kind of a closest continuer theory. The organism showing up in the next world is the closest continuer of the organism that died in this world. The corpse cannot be said to be the closest continuer of the organism that died, for it is essential to an organism to be alive and the only organism alive in this story is the one in the next world. To do justice to Zimmerman’s model it must be noted that Zimmerman is well aware of the problem of a closest continuer. However, he accepts it willingly. For Zimmerman this is simply the metaphysical price which attends a metaphysical framework such as van Inwagenian’s.14 Those unwilling to pay the price of a closest continuer theory might embrace a four-dimensionalist materialist conception of the human person. According to this approach a human person is composed of various temporal parts. Different entities are able to share the same temporal parts. If a fission scenario occurs, then according to four-dimensionalism, it becomes apparent that there have been two entities all along sharing the same temporal parts till the fission event and then dividing up by occupying different temporal parts from this moment on. Imagine, for instance, the human person JohnP, composed of temporal parts resulting from a lifetime of eighty years. According to four-dimensionalism, there is not one entity, JohnP, but rather at least two different entities, namely the human person JohnP, and the human organism of JohnP, alias Johnorg. The difficulty in distinguishing between these two entities stems from the fact that, during his earthly lifetime, the temporal parts making up JohnP are all shared by Johnorg. When JohnP dies, the linked lives of both entities, JohnP and Johnorg, come to an end. A fission event occurs: saying that JohnP is raised from the dead means JohnP is succeeded by another part, John living in eternity, alias John∞. So, it can be said that JohnP continues to live in heaven because of his successive part John∞. The organism Johnorg, instead, remains on earth and is followed by temporal parts resulting in Johnorg’s corpse, alias John†. John∞ does not stage-share any of his temporal parts with a living human organism such as Johnorg; rather he has features of what the gospels report from the body of the risen Christ. How four-dimensionalist approaches account for the causal linkage between different temporal parts such as JohnP and John∞, allowing these parts to form one persisting entity, is a matter of dispute which can be neglected at this point. It could be imagined that God commands there to be the right causal linkage. A four-dimensionalist approach in this vein can easily address the difficulties raised about the relation between the different pre- and post-resurrection bodies. Hud Hudson, defender of such an approach, writes: owing to this very liberal account of composition, our Four-Dimensionalist Universalist is in a unique position to claim that no matter how profound are the differences between two temporally-non overlapping items, we will always 14

See Zimmerman’s article in this volume (Chapter 2).

Introduction

9

be correct in our supposition that there is some persisting object that has them each as temporal parts, for even when those items are wholly unlike one another and separated by a significant temporal gap, some continuant or other is trivially guaranteed by the Universalist consequence that any two temporally discontinuous things have a mereological sum.15

According to such an approach the problem of personal identity mutates into a problem of different temporal parts overlapping in such a way that the mereological sum of these parts forms one single entity. Unquestionably the four-dimensionalist approach offers a very elegant solution to many metaphysical problems besetting the doctrine of bodily resurrection, especially the problem of gappy existence. But like every metaphysical theory, four-dimensionalism comes with a price many are unwilling to pay. Apart from peculiar metaphysical worries16, the main motivation for rejecting a four-dimensionalist solution comes probably from common sense: in everyday life we do not conceive of ourselves as sums of temporal parts. We experience ourselves not as four-dimensional space-time-worms but rather as three-dimensional beings. E.J. Lowe voices this assumption: And even if we accept that temporal-parts theories provide a unitary explanatory framework in which problems of qualitative change, fission, and vagueness can conveniently be dealt with, we have to wonder whether this is enough to justify our acceptance of an idea so apparently obscure and contrary to common sense as that of temporal parts.17

In light of this criticism of four-dimensionalism the impression arises that each account of bodily resurrection comes with a high cost. Either people do not die literally, or the resurrected person is the closest continuer of the deceased person, or identity claims mutate into technical reflections about mereology. No solution is able to preserve identity in the strict sense. Maybe, someone might argue, bodily resurrection simply takes a miracle and no informative metaphysical conditions for explaining identity between the pre- and post-mortem body can be given. There are no metaphysical conditions justifying our belief about identity between earthly and heavenly human existence which do not already presuppose this very same identity for which they are claimed to be conditions. Thus, a modest agnosticism about the problem of personal identity and resurrections is appropriate. 15

Hud Hudson, A Materialist Metaphysics of the Human Person (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2001), p. 190. 16 See, for instance, Michael Rea, “Temporal Parts Unmotivated”, The Philosophical Review, 107 (1998): pp. 225–60. 17 Ernest Jonathan Lowe, A Survey of Metaphysics (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), p. 57.

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Trenton Merricks is the proponent of such an “agnostic approach”. According to him we may have intuitions that the way in which laws of nature structure this-worldly occurrences necessarily excludes the possibility of personal identity over gaps. Do such intuitions, however, justify us in holding that there are no metaphysically necessary conditions for identity over time which can possibly span temporal gaps? This question does not refer to nomological but to modal intuitions. Unluckily, our capacities for discerning what is principally possible and impossible do not lead to clear judgements concerning personal identity—not even in this world, as the many well known thought experiments about fissionand fusion-cases show. Therefore, according to Merricks, a modest agnosticism is the most reasonable position regarding criteria of identity in general and the possibility of bodily resurrection in particular. Admittedly, it cannot be shown that a resurrected person satisfies a bodily criterion for identity with some deceased person. But this negative result is less alarming than is generally thought. Since we seem to lack clear criteria even in this world, Christian faith is no worse off than our ordinary assumptions about personal identity.18 This philosophical conclusion is meager but it should not dishearten us. Belief in resurrection does not derive primarily from philosophical reflections about personal identity and temporal gaps but is the direct consequence of divine revelation. Merricks underlines: to the extent that revelation justifies belief in the resurrection, I think it also justifies belief in bodily identity across a temporal gap. So it likewise justifies the conclusion that there are no necessary conditions for bodily identity that cannot possibly be satisfied across a temporal gap.19

At the end, all hope for bodily resurrection resides in God’s promise to raise all human beings again as Jesus Christ was raised from the dead with a glorified body. This hope is not a desperate one, for it is reasonable to believe that God, an almighty and perfectly good being, would not make a promise that is beyond his power to keep. So we are justified in holding that bodily resurrection is possible even though it takes a miraculous divine intervention for accomplishing it. At this point the same question can be asked which concludes Mavrodes’s article: “But who knows whether that is philosophy?”20

18

A very similar point was made by George Mavrodes, “The Life Everlasting and the Bodily Criterion of Identity”, Noûs, 11 (1977): pp. 27–39. 19 Trenton Merricks, “The Resurrection of the Body”, in Thomas P. Flint and Michael C. Rea (eds), The Oxford Handbook of Philosophical Theology (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), pp. 476–90, p. 481. 20 Mavrodes, “Life Everlasting”, p. 39.

Introduction

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Theological Reservations Merricks’s and Mavrodes’s accounts might sound far too theological for many philosophers. Nevertheless, most theologians are purportedly rather dissatisfied with the accounts put forward by analytic philosophers. From a theologian’s perspective, the accounts may be apt for solving certain metaphysical problems but they are inappropriate for genuine theological purposes. Here are some reasons why this might be so: as indicated already, a strong materialist conception of the human body levels the difference between this life and the next. If the same particles get reassembled, then the laws of nature, which are presupposed by the existence of particles in this world, probably ought to obtain in the afterlife as well. If human persons are necessarily biological organisms, then resurrection seems to be a divine form of re-animation and eternal life a kind of divine fountain of youth. To most theological ears this sounds too materialist, biological, and this-worldly. The British physicist and theologian John Polkinghorne makes this point very clear: It is not necessary, however, that the ‘matter’ of these bodies should be the same matter as makes up the flesh of this present world. In fact, it is essential that is should not be. That is because the material bodies of this world are intrinsically subject to mortality and decay. If the resurrected life is to be a true fulfillment, and not just a repeat of an ultimate futile history, the bodies of that world-to-come must be different, for they will be everlastingly redeemed from mortality.21

Many theologians would thus be pleased to see whether an alternative, less materialist, conception of bodily resurrection could be developed without converging into a version of Platonic or Cartesian soul-body-dualism. The theologian’s desideratum conceives “of the person as ‘more than’ the body, and as a ‘centred self’ distinct in some ways from it and its experiences, without ever being separable from it.”22 Furthermore, such an alternative account ought to be essentially relational. So far, approaches in the analytic tradition appear to theologians to be individualistic and self-engaged. After an analysis of anthropological approaches ranging from substance dualism to non-reductive physicalism, theologian Stuart Palmer comes to the conclusion that they all need further development in terms of “a holistic and relational understanding of personal identity.”23 21 John Polkinghorne, Science and Theology: An Introduction (London and Minneapolis: SPCK and Fortress, 1998), pp. 115–16. 22 Paul S. Fiddes, The Promised End. Eschatology in Theology and Literature (Oxford: Blackwell, 2000), p. 91. 23 Stuart Palmer, “Christian Life and Theories of Human Nature”, in Joel B. Green and Stuart L. Palmer (eds), In Search of the Soul. Four Views of the Mind-Body-Problem (Downers Grove: InterVarsity Press, 2005), pp. 189–215, p. 214. On the importance of relationships for an appropriate theological anthropology see also Alistair I. McFayden,

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To sum up: the philosophical discussion explicates the problems concerning the nature of human persons, diachronic identity, and God’s role in resurrection. Philosophers are aware that an omnipotent God could accomplish the resurrection of the body in other ways than those which their models propose. As philosophers, however, it is hard to come up with “more godlike” solutions, since this would transcend the field of philosophy. So theologians should take seriously the metaphysical problems which philosophers try to overcome with their models. They should aim at incorporating valuable philosophical insights in their own accounts and see whether more theologically appropriate models can be spelled out thereafter. An Exceedingly Brief Suggestion How to Proceed In light of theology’s wish list, the phenomenological tradition might help to avert the suspicion that the philosophical discussion of the metaphysics of resurrection is too materialist and self-centered.24 The phenomenological tradition distinguishes between the concept of the human body conceived as something a subject experiences directly because it is her body, and as a material entity describable from a scientific point of view. In the former sense the human body is something you know about subjectively. In the latter sense, instead, you perceive the human body as something objective. Now, the former approach to the human body is necessary for an adequate understanding of specific capacities of the human person such as first-person-perspective, self-representation, and subjectivity. The latter approach, according to phenomenology, is instead the consequence of a certain practice, such as that of seeing something that is by nature essentially subjective as an object in order to study it scientifically. This twofold approach avoids strong materialist conceptions of the human person. Phenomenology teaches us that the concept of bodily resurrection is the notion of an embodied human person not that of a physical body as accounted for in scientific theory. In other words: it does not contradict the creeds to claim that bodily resurrection requires embodiment but not the physical realization of one’s body as we are familiar with it from this world. We do not need an “anthropology of composition” as the Church Fathers believed in order to account for bodily resurrection. Accordingly, to rise again with a transfigured body means that ascriptions of physical or biological qualities cease definitively. Embodiment suffices for conceiving of the human person as an individual who was fundamentally embedded in relationships on earth and still is so in the afterlife. The doctrine of the resurrection of the body underlines that the human The Call to Personhood. A Christian Theory of the Individual in Social Relationships (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990). 24 See Thomas Schärtl, “Was heißt ‘Auferstehung des Leibes’?”, in Franz Gruber et. al. (eds), Homo animal materiale. Die materielle Bestimmtheit des Menschen (Wien: Wagner, 2008), pp. 105–49, and his contribution in this volume (Chapter 6).

Introduction

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person does not “pull off” her history and earthly existence in the afterlife. Rather, these become integral parts of the communal inter-personal reality which serves as the interpretation of the eschatological fulfillment of the cosmos. The basis for human personhood is not physical reality but embodied existence which is able to participate in a communal reality created and maintained by God. Following the theologian Karl Rahner, the notion of the body refers to the symbolic reality of man, that is, what a human person becomes because of a specific history and life.25 Embodiment indicates, so to speak, that human persons are not isolated “pure” souls but subjects whose nature is to forge experiences by entering into relationships and taking up a determinate perspective toward the world they occupy. The concept of embodied human person embraces both the notion of a human subject capable of experiences and that of experiences made by this very human subject, through which that subject becomes the kind of human subject she is. One might ask at this point how to conceive of embodiment if not in terms of physical realization. In all humility we can admit that we do not yet know. It seems reasonable to concede that we presently lack the conceptual resources for answering this question in detail: We live in a physical world and cannot clearly conceive either of an eschatologically transformed world in partial discontinuity with the actual one nor of ourselves as being bodily but non-physical. We can aim, however, to specify the conditions that must obtain in order for bodily resurrection to be metaphysically and theologically feasible. This task leaves room for creativity to develop different sorts of models which meet these conditions. Such models indicate that an informative defense of the doctrine of resurrection is available even though we are not in a position to specify which mechanisms God actually uses for raising us from the dead.26 The contributions in this volume follow this line of reasoning. They dispute the claim that bodily resurrection from the dead is a metaphysical impossibility by offering possible scenarios in which it occurs. These scenarios are a lively expression of the old dictum fides quaerens intellectum. They neither prevent nor impugn the faith of those believers who trust that a God who created the cosmos ex nihilo can also sustain human persons in existence when the physical world as it is known comes to an end. On the contrary, such scenarios can aid believers in considering more precisely which prospects for accomplishing this feat are the most promising. At the same time, non–believers are not exempt from considering these possible scenarios: Even if they do not see it as a matter of existential importance, reflecting on the scenarios put forward presents a provocative intellectual journey. It stretches the imaginative powers in thinking about what might happen to us after our earthly existence comes to an end.

25 See Karl Rahner, “The Theology of the Symbol”, Theological Investigations 4: More Recent Writings (23 vols, Baltimore, MD: Helicon Press, 1966), pp. 245–52. 26 Christian Tapp highlights this point in his contribution in this volume (Chapter 12).

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Summaries of Contributions Stephen T. DAVIS, ‘Resurrection, Personal Identity and the Will of God’: Davis places God in the centre of his paper: he argues that God is not only the creator but also the sustainer and preserver of all contingently existing things. In other words, personal identity through time is based not just on the person’s immanent causal powers to persist but also on the fact that God sustains and upholds the person by recognizing and calling her. The will of God is, so to say, the “further fact” needed to resolve the troubling cases of personal identity-indeterminacy. Davis elaborates his approach by ruling out various possible misunderstandings of the notion of God as sustainer and preserver of all contingently existing things. Dean ZIMMERMAN, ‘Bodily Resurrection: The Falling Elevator Model Revisited’: Zimmerman’s falling elevator model is widely discussed within the metaphysics of resurrection. In this paper Zimmerman explains in detail his attitude towards the model, including his thought about human organisms. Then he responds to objections raised against the model by William Hasker, David Hershenov, and Eric Olson. He argues that the model is still one way in which God could accomplish that the resurrected body represents a continued life of the earthly body despite the criticisms raised. Eric T. OLSON, ‘Immanent Causation and Life After Death’: the paper concerns the metaphysical possibility of life after death. It argues that the existence of a psychological duplicate is insufficient for resurrection, even if psychological continuity suffices for personal identity. That is because our persistence requires immanent causation. There are at most three ways of having life after death: If we are immaterial souls; if we are snatched bodily from our deathbeds; or if there is immanent causation “at a distance” as Zimmerman proposes—but this requires an ontology of temporal parts. Godehard BRÜNTRUP, ‘3.5 Dimensionalism and Survival: A Process Ontological Approach’. Brüntrup develops a metaphysical framework which combines aspects of a four-dimensionalist space-time-ontology with a presentism. The key intuition is that the ontological base level of reality is thoroughly fourdimensional in the sense of a stage theory. This base level is a level of concrete event-like particulars. If ordered in a causal relation which establishes genidentity, this base level presents the constitution base for abstract time-invariant patterns. These patterns configure endurants, such as the human person. This metaphysical picture allows for a rather robust common-sense view of personal identity through time. It also is capable of accounting for post-mortem existence without having to make use of the notion of a Cartesian soul or the notion of a resurrected body identical to the earthly physical body. Hud HUDSON, ‘Multiple Location and Single Location Resurrection’: Hudson’s approach depends on recent metaphysical considerations about the relation between space-time regions and the objects occupying them. The basic insight says that a resurrected human person might be conceived as an entity located either in two different space-time regions or in one scattered region with

Introduction

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two (salient) temporally connected parts. On this view, the whole human being consists of a terrestrial part on the one hand and of a celestial part on the other hand with different spatio-temporal properties accordingly. Though this approach comes packaged with costs of its own, the resulting metaphysical framework may turn out to be of considerable interest to theologians for being able to account for personal identity though partial discontinuity. Thomas SCHÄRTL, ‘Bodily Resurrection: When Metaphysics Needs Phenomenology’: this paper combines the analytic debates on the metaphysics of resurrection with insights from phenomenology. Schärtl argues that phenomenology helps to develop a clearer notion of the raised “spiritual body” following the notion of “natural body”: A natural body is not understood primarily as an object describable entirely by science but as the object of our direct perception and our primary experience. The point is that the human person has to be “embodied” in order to exist but it is not necessary for it to be physically embodied. Finally, Schärtl indicates how his combination of analytic metaphysics and phenomenology might contribute to an amended version of the “resurrection in death” theology as well. Johannes HAAG, ‘Personhood, Bodily Self-Ascription, and Resurrection. A Kantian Approach’: Haag defends the claim that ascribing states of consciousness to ourselves is only possible if we are able to apply to ourselves predicates signifying bodily states as well. Understood as a transcendental thesis, this means that bodily self-ascription is an enabling condition for self-ascribing states of consciousness. This transcendental thesis unfolds by way of reference to the philosophical work of I. Kant, G. Evans, and P.F. Strawson. In light of these results, Haag asks which concepts of embodiment and self-reference underlie the eschatological transformation of the human person. Bruno NIEDERBACHER, ‘The Same Body Again? Thomas Aquinas on the Numerical Identity of the Resurrected Body’: Niederbacher discusses Thomas Aquinas’s influential teaching about bodily resurrection. Apparently there are two rival views in Aquinas’s teaching, one more materialist, the other more dualist. The materialist says: what makes for the numerical identity of the body is that some elemental parts of which the body is composed during the earthly life will be part of the resurrected body. The dualist says: what makes for the numerical identity of the body is nothing other than the substantial form. Whenever the substantial form is embodied, this body will be of its flesh. Niederbacher argues that Aquinas should opt for the “dualist” view, in order to maintain the consistency of his overall account and to meet systematic objections. Lynne RUDDER BAKER, ‘Persons and the Metaphysics of Resurrection’: theories of the human person differ greatly in their ability to underwrite a metaphysics of resurrection. Baker’s paper compares and contrasts a number of such views in light of the Christian doctrine of resurrection. In a Christian framework, resurrection requires that the same person who exists on earth also exists in an afterlife, that a postmortem person be embodied, and that the existence of a postmortem person is brought about by a miracle. Baker advocates the Constitution View of a human person as a metaphysical basis for resurrection.

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Josef QUITTERER, ‘Hylomorphism and the Constitution View’: by analyzing the problems which bodily resurrection poses for the Constitution View of persons, Quitterer concludes that Hylomorphism encounters similar problems. He proposes reformulating the Scholastic concept of the soul as the basic capacity for everything that goes into a human being’s life, including the capacity to have a first-person perspective. He argues that the advantage of this approach over the Constitution View lies in the fact that the explanation proffered by the soul embraces both mental and bodily functions. Thus, within a Hylomorphic framework, it belongs to the inner logic of the concept of the soul to guarantee not only the survival of a first-person perspective but the resurrection of the body as well. Kevin CORCORAN, ‘Constitution, Resurrection and Relationality’: Corcoran’s paper points out that the Constitution View of the human person ought to be congenial to those stressing the relational character of personhood— a feature more salient in the continental tradition than in analytic philosophy. Corcoran addresses the issue of relationality head-on: first, he argues that relations figure crucially in the causal story of the emergence of a first-person perspective, because a social context seems required for the development of such a perspective. Second, he underlines that relationality is essential to a Christian understanding of eschatological transformation since we are created in the image of God, a God who exists in three persons engaged in mutually reciprocated, intimate, perichoretic relations of love. Christian TAPP, ‘Joseph Ratzinger on Resurrection Identity’: Tapp elaborates cornerstones for a Christian understanding of eschatology. He does so by analyzing the scholarly work on eschatology of the current pope of the Roman Catholic Church, Benedict XVI. He emphasizes the following points: (i) the resurrected body is transformed but is somehow identical to our natural body; resurrection thus means fulfillment and perfection for the material aspects of the world; (ii) the traditional scholastic concept of the “human soul” is valuable for systematic theological discourse if “purified” from strong dualist commitments; (iii) the ultimate fulfilment of man is dialogical and relational both to other human beings and to God. Thus, Christian eschatology essentially has a communitarian aspect. Nikolaus WANDINGER, ‘The Rationale behind Purgatory’: according to Wandinger’s approach, on the “day of wrath” the prosecution’s part is played by the victims of evil actions themselves. Extrapolating from human interaction as we know it, it seems very likely that the encounter of victims and culprits will result in mutual accusations. If heaven is the harmonious community between God and all the humans saved, then only those who have ended their mutual accusation can enter into it. Wandinger asks which features of the human person are essential to such an interpretation of purgatory and the salvific actions of God. He points at the importance of being embodied, enjoying a first-person-perspective, having certain standards of rationality, and the ability of human and divine persons to enter into relationships. Robert John RUSSELL, ‘Scientific insights into the Problem of Personal Identity in the Context of a Christian Theology of Resurrection and Eschatology’:

Introduction

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Russell asks how the belief in individual eschatology affects our understanding of the eschatological transformation of all reality. If bodily resurrection means transformation (and not resuscitation or spiritual flight), and if transformation includes elements of continuity against a deeper background of discontinuity at the matter side of creation, then there must be some elements of continuity and discontinuity in reality as we now know it. Russell presents possible models of continuity and eschatological transformation of the cosmos by taking into consideration cosmological conceptions of space-time on the one hand and theological models on the other hand.

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Chapter 1

Resurrection, Personal Identity, and the Will of God Stephen T. Davis

“And how could a thing remain, unless you willed it; or be preserved, had it not been called forth by you?… O Lord and lover of life.” (Wisdom 11:25) “He himself is before all things, and in him all things consist.” (Col. 1:17) “…he sustains all things by his powerful word.” (Hebrews 1:3)

Introduction In the present paper, I will follow a line of argument that some people will doubtless consider strange. I want to think about the traditional Christian notion that God is not just the creator but the sustainer of life. I will ask whether that idea might have relevance to some of the deep and puzzling problems about personal identity that philosophers wrestle with in resurrection cases. Indeed, I will argue that the notion of God as preserving and conserving things in existence is helpful in such cases. At the end I will briefly address the question whether such a methodology— using a theological point to solve a philosophical problem—can be considered legitimate.1

1

I should briefly note that while I myself am a mind–body dualist, and have defended that theory in print, I intend to remain neutral on dualism versus materialism in the present paper. The views that I want to propose apply equally well to dualist theories of personal identity and, say, the bodily constitution view.

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God, Creation, and Conservation To begin, let us suppose that the God of the Christian tradition exists. So at a bare minimum, we can say that God is the unique, all-powerful, all-knowing, and loving creator of the heavens and the earth (Genesis 1:1–2; Nehemiah 9:6; Psalm 33:6–9; 148:1–6). We are supposing, then, that God is the creator of all contingent things (things that can either exist or not exist, things that come into existence and pass out of existence). But suppose there are also necessary beings, that is, things that cannot not exist, that exist in all possible worlds, and thus depend for their existence on nothing else. If there are any necessary beings beside God (for example, the number six) they were not created by God but are, let’s say, aspects or reflections of God’s nature (in this case, of God’s mathematical nature) rather than things that exist separately from God. So creation means that God brought all the contingent things into existence. That is what I will mean by saying that God created them. But in Christian theology, God not only created the contingent things but sustains or upholds them in being as long as they exist (Acts 17:28; Colossians 1:17; Hebrews 1:3). Created things do not, so to speak, automatically or naturally endure in being. Aquinas stressed that both creation and conservation are free acts on the part of God: God created things of His own free will … Therefore that God gives existence to a creature depends on His will; nor does He preserve things in existence otherwise than by continually pouring out existence into them … so after they have been made, He is free not to continue their existence; and thus they would cease to exist.2

The point is that God is not merely an Aristotelian prime mover or the absent creator envisioned by the eighteenth-century Deists. Apart from the constant preserving activity on God’s part, the claim is that contingent beings, which have no inherent power to preserve their existence, would lapse back into nonexistence. God’s act of creation, then, was a one-time occurrence; God’s act of preservation is ongoing. In other words, contingent things continue to exist, and continue to exist as the things that they are (with all their attributes and powers) only so long as God wills that they continue to exist. Everything is what it is because God wills it to be what it is.3 The world would be radically Heraclitean apart from the divine intention that it be stable and enduring. The will of God holds the world together, makes of it a cosmos rather than a churning chaos or even nothingness. This radical claim may be put in a metaphorical way: the will of God is the glue of the world. 2

Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae [S.Th.], I, 104, 3. This does not necessarily imply divine determinism of all events, i.e., the idea that everything that happens occurs because God wills that it occur. That is a separate question. 3

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The Problem of Personal Identity But how is all of this related to what philosophers call the problem of personal identity? What exactly is the problem of personal identity? The problem is understood by some philosophers as an epistemological one, namely, how we could know that, say, a given person before us is the same person as, or is numerically identical with, someone whom we once knew? But I think the real problem is an ontological one, namely, establishing the criteria that can sensibly be used for identifying and re-identifying persons or explaining what numerical identity between some X and some Y involves or consists in. As it applies to resurrection or indeed to any other life after death scenario (for example, immortality of the soul or reincarnation), the question is this: what conditions must be satisfied for it to be true that a person who exists in the afterlife is numerically identical with someone who once lived on earth? The real question has to do with what is in fact the case rather than how we know that it is the case. Looked at in either way, the problem of personal identity is difficult and can be frustrating. For good or ill, much of the discussion of the problem in the history of philosophy has revolved around “test cases”. These are imagined stories that often read like science fiction. John Locke began the trend when he told his story of the soul of a prince entering the body of a cobbler.4 Contemporary test cases often involve imagined cases of body exchange, brain fusion, brain fission, teletransportation, and the like. Simplifying greatly, there appear to be three main approaches to this problem: 1. Some emphasize what is called the “memory criterion” (which includes not just memory but other mental states and characteristics such as personality, opinions, dispositions, and so on.). They argue that a given person X is identical to (is the same person as) a later person Y if and only if X and Y have the same mind (and thus the same memories, personality traits, and so on.). And of course we do sometimes identify people on the basis of the memory criterion alone. For example, when we receive an e-mail message, we believe that the message was indeed written by the person it purports to be from if the message seems to show that its author has the memories, personality traits, concerns, and interests that we associate with the person by whom the letter claims to have been written. 2. Others emphasize what is called the “bodily criterion”. They claim that X is identical to Y if and only if they have the same body (at different times). And of course we do frequently identify people on this basis too—I might well recognize someone walking down the hall as the chair of my department by his physiognomy, attire, voice, and so on. So the deepest issues here concern such questions as: is either criterion a necessary or 4 John Locke, An Essay Concerning Human Understanding, ed. Alexander C. Fraser (2 vols, New York: Dover Publications, 1959), vol. 1, II, 27, 15.

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sufficient condition (or both) of personal identity? And: does one criterion take precedence over the other? 3. But a third position has emerged in recent years. Some philosophers who discuss the problem have given up on the task of trying to establish necessary and sufficient conditions of personal identity. There seem to be two main reasons for this stance: first, some philosophers hold that there are certain objections that cannot be answered on any account of personal identity, for example, the so-called “duplication objection” (to which we will return below). Second, some philosophers argue that in certain imagined but logically possible test cases, personal identity seems either undecidable (there may be an answer but we cannot know it) or indeterminate (there simply is no answer) apart from arbitrary stipulation. Derek Parfit discusses several such cases,5 of which I will mention two (and which I will change slightly): 1. Teletransportation: suppose that future science is able to move a person (whom we will call Jones) from, say, the earth to the moon by recording the exact state of all the cells or molecules or atoms of Jones’s body on earth, destroying Jones’s earthly body, sending the recorded information at the speed of light to the moon, and recreating Jones’s body on the moon out of new material. Of course it can be asked initially whether the Joneslike person on the moon really is Jones, but suppose we grant as much. But then suppose something on earth goes wrong; the Jones-like person on the moon appears all right, but Jones on earth exits the machine still alive but badly wounded. He lives for a few minutes and then dies. But then would we want to ask: Which person (if anybody) is Jones? Has Jones survived the teletransportation? 2. Brain transfer. Timmy and Tommy, two friends, are in a car crash. Timmy’s body is destroyed but his brain is fine. Tommy’s brain (or much of it) is destroyed but his body is fine. Surgeons are able to transplant brains. Suppose that Timmy’s brain is successfully transplanted into Tommy’s body. Is the resulting person Timmy, Tommy, or some new person? Or suppose that only 52 percent of Timmy’s brain is implanted into Tommy skull. Or 48 percent. At what point will the resulting person be Timmy or Tommy or someone else? How do we decide?6 5

Derek Parfit, Reasons and Persons (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1986), Part

III. 6

I myself am attracted to Swinburne’s reply to Parfit’s test cases, viz., that they don’t prove that personal identity is indeterminate but only that in such cases we do not know which present person (if any) has the original person’s soul. See Richard Swinburne, The Evolution of the Soul, revised edn (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997), pp. 328–32. But since such an argument is only available to dualists, I do not deploy it here.

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The point is that there seems to be no principled way to decide such cases. And so the philosophers like Parfit who defend this third position no longer talk about personal identity in cases of survival of death. Instead of asking whether some Y who will live in the afterlife will be identical to some X who lives now, they instead ask whether Y will be X’s “closest continuer” or has “psychological continuity” with X. But Christians cannot go this third route. They must argue that the objections to robust notions of personal identity can be answered. This is for the obvious reason that Christian afterlife claims are based on the biblical promise that we, that is, the very persons whom we are, will live again. Moreover, it is also part of the Christian picture that people will be rewarded or punished in the next life. And it hardly seems just if God will, for example, send Jones to hell because of things that some other person did on earth, even if there is psychological continuity between this other person and Jones. Resurrection Resurrection can be defined as the doctrine that after death, my body disintegrates, but at some future time God will miraculously raise it from the ground and reconstitute me as a person. Accordingly, there are at least five basic assumptions or, perhaps, requirements of the Christian notion of resurrection. The first is the existence of a God who has the ability and the intention to raise the dead. The second, as just noted, is that we will live again after bodily death. The person who will claim to be me in the afterlife will be me, that is, his life will be a continuation of my life. He will not be a duplicate of me or a mere “closest continuer” of me, but rather me. The third is that our lives after death will be physical lives, embodied lives. It will not be an immaterial existence in a world of pure mind or spirit.7 Fourth, there will be both bodily continuity and bodily change (a point to which we will return below). Fifth, our surviving death will be due to an act of God, a miracle. It is not the case that human persons or human bodies naturally, so to speak, live after death. Apart from God’s intervention, death would mean annihilation for persons. In Christian thought, resurrection and the doctrine known as the immortality of the soul have a complicated relationship. Most theologians from the second century onward combined the two in a view that can be called temporary disembodiment. Based on mind-body dualism, the basic idea is this: when I die, my body disintegrates, but I continue to exist; for an interim time I exist in the presence of God as only a disembodied soul; then on one future day God will raise my body, reunite it with my soul, and reconstitute me as a whole and complete person. Temporary disembodiment was seen by many Christians as a way of 7 As is pictured in Henry H. Price’s classic essay “Survival and the Idea of ‘Another World’”, Proceedings of the Society for Psychical Research, 50 (1953): pp. 1–15.

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reconciling Jesus’ statement to the good thief on the cross, “Today you will be with me in paradise” (Luke 23:43), with the Pauline notion that the general resurrection occurs only in the last days (1Cor 15:20–26).8 The idea, of course, is that the good thief would exist with Christ that very day as a disembodied soul, only to be reunited with his body much later in the eschaton. Despite this point, resurrection and immortality are different notions. (1) Resurrection does not have to be based on dualism, although as we have just seen it often is; resurrection based on a physicalist notion of human beings is quite possible.9 (2) Immortality holds that survival of death is a natural property of souls, while resurrection (at least in its Christian version) entails as noted that death would mean permanent annihilation for human persons but for a miraculous intervention of God that allows life after bodily death for them. Let me return briefly to the third condition of resurrection. The limits of acceptable views on the question of continuity and change can be said to be set by Paul’s words in 1 Cor. 15:51: “We shall all be changed.” The phrase, “shall be changed” implies that resurrected persons will change qualitatively. This reflects the traditional Christian insistence—based in part on the strange new properties of the resurrected Jesus in the Gospel stories—that resurrection is not resuscitation. No resurrected person will have precisely the same bodily properties as before.10 But since Paul says that it is “we” who will be changed, this implies that it will still be us after the transformation. The person who has changed will be the same person as before. Resurrected persons will be both the same (numerically) and different (qualitatively) as the premortem persons who are resurrected. But since it seems impossible for X and Y to be numerically identical without some significant degree of qualitative similarity, resurrected persons must surely share some significant properties with the premortem persons with whom they are identical. Moreover, Christians hold that God preserves us in resurrection for the purpose of fellowship with him. God loves us and accepts us, the very persons whom we are, and wants that relationship to continue in the next life. Accordingly, despite our bodies being transformed in the general resurrection to make us fit for the kingdom of God, God is motivated to keep us qualitatively similar to how we were before. God values each of us in our uniqueness. There is a venerable objection to resurrection that was raised at the time of the church fathers and is still raised today: What if a Christian dies at sea and his body is then eaten by various sea creatures that eventually scatter to the seven seas? 8 A classic statement of temporary disembodiment can be found in Thomas Aquinas, Summa Contra Gentiles [S.c.G.], 4.79.11. 9 See the essays in Part III of Kevin Corcoran (ed.), Soul, Body, and Survival: Essays on the Metaphysics of Human Persons (Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 2001). 10 So we can’t just say that Y is no more different from X than is a person’s body at a certain time in ordinary life and that person’s body at a later time in ordinary life. That seems to be resuscitation.

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How can God possibly resurrect that Christian? In response to this objection, the fathers typically appealed to divine omnipotence. No human being would be able to locate and reconstitute the relevant particles (atoms, let’s say) of the Christian’s body, but an all-knowing and all-powerful God could do so. And as long as the basic building blocks of matter endure through time (as of course atoms normally do), so that God’s only problem is to locate, collect, and reassemble them, then the church fathers appear to have been correct. God could do that. It should be noticed that this objection is based on an important assumption, but it is one that most early defenders of resurrection were quite willing to make. It is that in resurrecting a person, God must use the very same matter, the same atoms or “stuff” of which the premortem body consisted. That is, if God wants to resurrect a given once-living-but-now-dead person, God must find and reassemble the very same material of which this person’s premortem body consisted (presumably at death). Otherwise—so it is assumed—it will not be the same person. But many contemporary defenders of resurrection are unwilling to make this assumption. They hold that God could use entirely new matter; just as long as this matter is structured or configured in the old way, personal identity will be retained. And so far as personal identity is concerned, such folk appear to me to be correct. What is raised could well be not just a replica of the original person but the original person. (Of course that does not rule out the possibility of God resurrecting persons via the patristic way, if that is what God chooses to do.) But there is an equally venerable and more serious objection based on the patristic model: What if another Christian is eaten by cannibals, so that the material of her body becomes material in their bodies? And suppose that later God wants to resurrect all of them, cannibals and Christian alike. Who gets which bodily particles? On what basis does God decide? But replies to this objection are available. It seems that God must have some sort of criterion or policy for deciding such questions. Augustine made the interesting suggestion that atoms will be raised in that human body in which they first appeared.11 Or perhaps some constituent parts of human bodies are essential pats of those bodies and others are not. So in raising Jones from the dead, God need only locate those particles that are or were essential to Jones, having already ensured that they have never appeared (or have never appeared as essential parts) in someone else’s body. Perhaps, then, God will use them as building blocks around which to construct the rest of Jones’s body out of new particles.

11 Augustine, The Enchiridion on Faith, Hope, and Love (Chicago: Henry Regnery, 1961), LXXXVIII. See also Augustine, The City of God (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1958), 22.20.

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Modern Objections to Resurrection But even if I am right that these ancient objections to resurrection can be answered, there are the two previously mentioned modern objections that must be dealt with. First, some philosophers have argued that certain personal identity test cases admit of no definite answer (apart from arbitrary stipulation) to the question, “Is the Y who is before us now the same person as the X who existed previously?” Accordingly, such philosophers, as noted, give up on robust notions of personal identity, at least in cases of survival. Second, how do we rule out the possibility that an X-like person in the afterlife is not actually X but is rather a mere duplicate of X? (A duplicate of X, let’s say, is a person who is indistinguishable from X but does not have X’s history and so is not X.) Let’s now take up these two points in turn: 1. Personal identity indeterminacy. Parfit12 and others are certainly correct that it has proved to be extraordinarily difficult for philosophers to provide necessary and sufficient conditions that suffice in all possible cases involving the identity of human persons. They are also correct that we can imagine test cases in which our concepts would seem to be so strained beyond usefulness that we would be at a loss what to say. As noted, we can even imagine test cases in which personal identity seems to be indeterminate, in which there seems to be no principled answer the question whether Y is the same person as X. 2. The duplication objection. Suppose there was a person X who died some time ago and suppose further that there is a Y in the afterlife who seems clearly to be X raised from the dead. Now if it is possible for God to bring about a state of affairs in which X has survived death and is numerically identical to Y, then, obviously, it is equally possible for God to bring about a state of affairs in which it seems that X is identical to two—or even two hundred—different Y-like people in the afterlife. That is, an omnipotent being could easily bring about the existence of two or two hundred virtually qualitatively indistinguishable candidates for X-hood in the resurrection world. But notice that identity is a transitive and symmetric relation—if A is identical to B, and B is identical to C, then A is identical to C. So if X is identical to Y21 (one of the two hundred virtually qualitatively identical Y’s in the resurrection world13), and if X is also identical to Y96 (another of them), then Y21 are Y96 (who exist simultaneously) are identical to each other, which is absurd. Since the survival thesis in such a case would be absurd, it would be equally absurd in the first case, where there is only one candidate for X-hood. 12

Parfit, pp. 199ff. I say virtually qualitatively identical because their initial physical locations in the afterlife must surely be different. And from that moment on, of course, they would have different experiences and thus different histories. 13

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Of course the defender can insist that God will allow no such scenario—if God wants to resurrect X, then, necessarily, God will allow there to exist only one plausible candidate for X-hood in the resurrection world. And that candidate will be X. That point seems fair enough, and does put to rest part of the problem. But the deeper issue concerns this claim (made originally by Bernard Williams and later by others14): the very logical possibility of the second sort of scenario renders incoherent any resurrection (or indeed, any sort of survival) hypothesis. The mere possibility of duplication (as opposed to its actuality) renders belief in resurrection untenable. Now I do not want to be taken as ruling out the possibility that these two objections can be answered without bringing in the will of God. Indeed, I think it is possible that that can be done.15 But I want to argue that the will of God can help us make our way through the maze. My claim is that Y is not X raised from the dead unless it is God’s will that it be so.16 As noted, this is a radical claim; abstruse theological concepts are rarely invoked these days (that is, since roughly the medieval or early modern periods) to help solve apparently purely philosophical problems. As noted, Christians hold that God is both the creator and sustainer of all contingent things. They exist because God created them, and they continue to exist as the things that they are because God sustains them. If God were, so to speak, to withdraw ontological support from any contingent thing, it would cease to exist. Everything in the world depends here and now on God; no contingent thing has the inherent ability to continue existing or to continue existing as the thing that it is. Again, the will of God is the glue of the world. My continuing integrity through time as the person that I am, then, is based not just on my own properties but also on the fact that God sustains and upholds me as that person by recognizing and calling me.17 Both are necessary for my existence; neither is sufficient.18

14 Bernard Williams, “Personal Identity and Individuation”, Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society, 76 (1956–1957): p. 332. 15 At least to a certain extent, I tried to do so in my Risen Indeed: Making Sense of the Resurrection (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1993), pp. 85–146. 16 See Robert T. Herbert, Paradox and Identity in Theology (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1979), pp. 150–5. 17 See Helmut Thielicke, Being Human…Becoming Human (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1984), pp. 89–91, pp. 134–6, p. 169. 18 Although the present argument was not inspired by Jonathan Edwards, I was delighted to discover that much of it is found in his thought. I do not wish to be saddled with the entirety of Edwards’s metaphysics; still, I have enormous sympathy with much of what he says about the “arbitrary constitution” by God of the temporal stages of persons, the divine will thus making them stages of one continuing person. See The Great Christian Doctrine of Original Sin Defended (1758), in The Works of Jonathan Edwards (Edinburgh: Banner of Truth, 1992), vol. 1, p. 224.

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So on this notion, the will of God is the “further fact” or “boundary line” that Parfit says he needs to resolve difficult cases of personal identity but is unable to find.19 The will of God makes human beings (contrary to Parfit’s view) “separately existing entities”,20 and hence renders personal identity (pace Parfit) a deep “further fact” that genuinely matters. It is quite true that there are conceivable test cases in which personal identity seems indeterminate, in which the question, “Is Y the same person as X?” seems to have no principled answer. But it cannot be the case that personal identity does not matter and that (as Parfit argues) what really matters is “psychological connectedness and/or continuity with the right kind of cause,” where “the right kind of cause could be any cause”.21 What if there turns out to be psychological connectedness between me today and, some time after my death, a bar of soap? That is, suppose that the future bar of soap will have my memories, will believe itself to be me, and will think and feel and opine the way I do. (Don’t ask me how this scenario could possibly occur: Parfit is the one who says that any sort of causation will do.) Would the future existence of this bar of soap be “nearly as good” to me as my survival? I hardly think so. If I were to be convinced that this scenario will occur, I would be more puzzled than comforted. Let me be clear on what I am claiming by ruling out three possible misunderstandings. First, I am not saying that in difficult personal identity case, God investigates matters thoroughly, sees what the truth is (say, that Y is indeed a continuation of the life of X), and then “wills” accordingly. I am claiming rather that the will of God is a constitutive factor (although not the only one, as I will explain below) in determining what the truth is. To put the point baldly, what makes an apparent replica of X to be X is God’s will that the apparent replica be X. Second, this thesis about the will of God does not entail any sort of pantheism or divine idealism. It is important to note that the doctrine of divine preservation of all contingent things does not deny the real existence of those things. They do exist—and exist as separate things from God. Stones, trees, galaxies, human beings, and the like are real objects existing as things separate from God. They are not illusions (as in the maya of Advaita Vedanta Hinduism) or parts of God (as in pantheism) or ideas in the mind of God (as in the philosophy of Berkeley). They have a reality of their own for as long as they exist. Third, this thesis does not imply that God is the cause of everything that happens in the sense that whatever occurs—including the Holocaust or the last sin that I committed—occurs because God causes it to occur. I believe that God has chosen to create human beings with libertarian freedom and follows the policy of sustaining or preserving us even in our evil deeds, despite the fact that they are contrary to God’s will. That is, God has given us the ability to act contrary to his

19 20 21

Parfit, p. 210, p. 239, p. 242, pp. 277–9. Ibid., p. 240. Ibid., p. 215.

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will. Consequently, we are not talking abut anything like occasionalism here; I am not denying ordinary causation. Replies to Objections Let me conclude by replying to five objections that might be raised against my thesis: 1. Can only intrinsic properties be essential? I accept that there are essences; my essence is simply the sum total of my essential properties, where an essential property of mine is a property that I have in every possible world in which I exist; that is, I cannot lose one of my essential properties and remain who I am. And let’s say that an intrinsic property of mine is a property that can be accurately described without mentioning any other property-bearer beside me (for example, my property of being a philosophy professor). Accordingly, an extrinsic property of mine is one whose true description requires mentioning other property bearers beside me (for example, my property of being the father of Adam C. Davis). But now some people hold that only intrinsic properties of mine can be essential properties of mine. And if that is so, my thesis in this paper must be false, since I am in effect claiming that at all points in my existence, one essential property of mine is the property of being willed by God to be Stephen T. Davis. But the doctrine invoked here is false. Quite apart from God and God’s will, it seems obvious (to me, at least) that an essential property of mine is being the son of A.T. Davis of Hyannis, Nebraska. And that is clearly an extrinsic property of mine. 2. The will of God is a redundant and unnecessary third wheel in discussions of personal identity. It is of course true that in ordinary cases, and even in some test cases, we can make secure identity claims without bringing the will of God into the picture. We can quite often decide whether Y is X on the basis of the non-theological criteria that we ordinarily use—bodily similarity, mental similarity, uniqueness, the right sort of causal history, and so on. But I still hold that the personal identity and indeed the integrity of all things through time is in part a function of the divine intention. 3. But we do not know God’s will. No advocate of Judaism or Christianity will allow the claim that we never know the will of God: it is essential to both religions (and many others, of course) that God reveals the divine will, or part of it, to us. But it is quite true that we rarely have access to the will of God on our own initiative, so to speak, and especially not in questions of personal identity. Accordingly, so far as the epistemological issue is concerned—how we can come to know whether Y is X—the will of God is unhelpful. (It is at least conceivable that the divine will might be revealed to us in such cases, but this seems highly improbable.) But on the

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ontological issue—what personal identity consists in—the will of God, I argue, is crucial. 4. What if God wills impossible things in personal identity? There are two main views of divine omnipotence in the history of the philosophy of religion. Very roughly, let’s call “Cartesian omnipotence” the theory which holds that an omnipotent being can do anything at all, even logically impossible things. Since God created the laws of logic, God can freely decide to violate them; God can create a square circle or cause a married bachelor to enter the room or cause it to be simultaneously both true and false that the day after Monday is Tuesday.22 And let’s call “Thomistic omnipotence” the theory which holds roughly that an omnipotent being can do everything that is logically possible.23 God can part the waters of a sea or cause water to be made into wine because those accomplishments only violate natural laws, not logical ones. God cannot do logically impossible things. But it is no threat to an omnipotent being’s power to point out that it cannot make 2+2=17 or make modus ponens invalid. So on the Thomistic view, there are logically impossible things that an omnipotent thing cannot do, and many of them will surely involve personal identity. An omnipotent being cannot, even by willing it, make me be the same person as George W. Bush. It cannot, merely by willing it, make the left shoe that I am now wearing be Julius Caesar raised from the dead. To repeat: personal identity partially consists in and is not present without the will of God. But other criteria are also necessary; there is no identity apart from their satisfaction too. 5. Van Inwagen’s objection. In an important essay, Peter van Inwagen argues (along with other acute points that I will not discuss) as follows: If God collects the atoms that he used to constitute that man and ‘reassembles’ them, they will occupy the positions relative to one another they occupy because of God’s miracle and not because of the operation of the natural processes that, taken collectively, were the life of that man.24

22 The Cartesian view is, by a very wide margin, the minority opinion among philosophers of religion. Indeed, Descartes is the only important figure in philosophy or theology to espouse it. See his Letters to Mersenne of April 15, 1630, May 27, 1630, and May 2, 1644, as well as his letter to Arnauld, of July 29, 1648. They are quoted in Harry Frankfurt, “The Logic of Omnipotence”, Philosophical Review, 73/2 (1964): pp. 262–3. 23 The vast majority of philosophers of religion and theologians accept Aquinas’s view of omnipotence. See Aquinas, S.Th., I, 25, 3. 24 See Peter van Inwagen, “The Possibility of Resurrection”, International Journal for Philosophy of Religion, 9 (1978): pp. 114–21, reprinted in Paul Edwards (ed.), Immortality (Amherst, NY: Prometheus Books, 1997), 242–6; see also see also Dean Zimmerman, “The Compatibility of Materialism and Survival: The “Falling Elevator” Model”, Faith and Philosophy, 16 (1999): pp. 194–212. .

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The problem is that van Inwagen holds that preserving personal identity requires causal dependencies of the later person on the earlier person “of the appropriate sort”; that is, they must be, as van Inwagen says, “immanent” with respect to processes that occur entirely within a living body. But in resurrection cases, as understood in the reconstitution model, the causation is not immanent because the causal chain passes through the mind of God. It should be noted that this doctrine rules out miraculous resuscitations as well as resurrections. The Lazarus-like person who was accepted by his sisters as their once-dead brother was not really Lazarus at all; the causal processes leading to his being with them were not immanent. More importantly, I hold that all causal processes, and not just miraculous ones, pass through the mind of God. There is no such thing as the “self-maintenance” of a living thing. It is quite true, as Dean Zimmerman says, that “for an object that persists throughout a given period of time, the way the object is at any moment in that interval must be partially determined by the way it was during the interval leading up to that moment.”25 I can entirely agree with Zimmerman’s point because of the word “partially”. The other and unmentioned part, I say, is the will of God. Conclusion Finally, let me consider briefly the question whether it is appropriate to use theological doctrines to solve philosophical problems. As noted, until roughly the modern period, this would have been considered perfectly acceptable, but that is no longer the case. And to the extent that a believer in certain theological doctrines is trying to convince, via an argument that makes use of them, people who do not share those doctrines, that enterprise will surely fail. Still, people can hardly be forbidden to use all their beliefs, whatever their origin or nature, to solve various intellectual or conceptual problems. I happen to believe in God as the creator or preserver of all contingent things, so I can hardly be begrudged the right to try to use that belief elsewhere. Indeed, I would argue that I have no choice but to do so. The deepest questions in the neighborhood, in my opinion, are these: why is there anything at all as opposed to nothing? And: given that there are real things in existence, why do they continue in existence? That is, why is reality not Heraclitean? There are, I suppose, just two answers to such questions. Perhaps it is simply a given, a brute fact, that things exist and continue in being. Or perhaps things exist and continue to exist because God wills it. I opt for the second.26

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Zimmerman, “Falling Elevator”, p. 203. I would like to thank Dale Tuggy for his helpful comments and suggestions. I also benefited greatly from discussion of an earlier version of this paper at a July, 2008 conference called “How Do We Survive Our Death? An International Conference on Personal Identity and Resurrection”, sponsored by the University of Innsbruck. 26

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Chapter 2

Bodily Resurrection: The Falling Elevator Model Revisited Dean Zimmerman

Introduction The resurrection of the dead would doubtless be a miraculous event. But some have claimed that not even a miracle would suffice. Given certain conceptions of the body that is to be resurrected, it can seem flat out contradictory to claim that human bodies have a destiny beyond the accidents and diseases that at least appear to end our earthly lives. More than thirty years ago, Peter van Inwagen wrote a paper that became the focus for much subsequent discussion of the doctrine of resurrection.1 Van Inwagen did two things: he made a particularly clear case for the impossibility of resurrection; and then he told a story intended to show a way in which God could, after all, succeed in resurrecting every human body that has ever died. The story involved a kind of secret policy of “body-snatching” on God’s part: God surreptitiously takes (at least a large part of) each body just as it dies. Elsewhere, out of sight, these bodies are kept alive, healed, and in other ways improved, to prepare them for the New Creation. However useful the story might be as a way to show that the appearance of complete biological death is compatible with the resurrection of these very bodies, there is a downside to supposing the story is true. Large chunks of matter do not seem to disappear whenever a human being dies. If God actually used this method, He would be in the business of replacing our living bodies with dead simulacra, made of entirely new (or at least different, imported) material, at the last possible moment; and that would involve God in a sort of massive, systematic deception—roughly on the same scale as creating a “young earth” but hiding fake dinosaur bones in the ground to make it look as though our planet has an ancient and interesting history. Just how unseemly would it be for God to follow this policy of deception? I can imagine that God has reason to conceal, to some extent, the facts about our ultimate destinies—including whether bodily resurrection occurs. Perhaps our 1 See Peter van Inwagen, “The Possibility of Resurrection”, International Journal for Philosophy of Religion, 9 (1978): pp. 114–21, reprinted in Paul Edwards (ed.), Immortality (Amherst, NY: Prometheus Books, 1997), pp. 242–6.

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freedom to choose among morally weighty alternatives depends upon a failure to see, with complete clarity, all the ramifications of our choices.2 A failure to know, with certainty, what happens at death might be a crucial part of the strategy God uses to shield us from some of the relevant facts. One way to hide the facts about the afterlife would be to deliberately deceive us about something—for example, by surreptitiously stealing our bodies at death.3 Still, it would be nice to be able to see a way in which the resurrection could happen that did not involve quite so much trickery. It was in this context that I developed what I called “the Falling Elevator Model” of survival for living organisms, and offered it to van Inwagen as an alternative to his original model.4 The Falling Elevator Model is so-called because it involves a last-second jump that saves us from what looks like certain death—a strategy sometimes used by cartoon characters when an elevator cable breaks and they are hurtling toward the subbasement. Reaction to the proposal was mixed. Hud Hudson and Kevin Corcoran said: “That’s so crazy, it just might work!”, making good use of it in their very different versions of Christian materialism.5 Others thought it was merely crazy, and have criticized it from various perspectives. I begin by describing what the model was originally intended to do, and also what I hope the model can do. The bulk of the paper consists of responses to a series of important criticisms leveled against Falling-Elevator-style resurrection by William Hasker, David Hershenov, and Eric Olson. The Original Setting: van Inwagen’s Materialist Metaphysics I shall assume, throughout this paper, that the body to be resurrected is a living organism belonging to the species homo sapiens. For van Inwagen, there is a special urgency to the question whether such things survive the (apparent) deaths to which organisms are prone; for he believes that human persons simply are 2 Michael Murray, “Coercion and the Hiddenness of God”, American Philosophical Quarterly, 30 (1993): pp. 27–38. 3 This possibility is mentioned by van Inwagen; see his The Possibility of Resurrection and Other Essays in Christian Apologetics (Boulder, CO: Westview Press., 1998), p. 49. 4 Dean Zimmerman, “The Compatibility of Materialism and Survival: The “Falling Elevator” Model”, Faith and Philosophy, 16 (1999): pp. 194–212. A shortened version appeared as Dean Zimmerman, “Materialism and Survival”, in Eleonore Stump and Michael Murray (eds), Philosophy of Religion: The Big Questions (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1998), pp. 379–86. 5 See Hud Hudson, A Materialist Metaphysics of the Human Person (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2001), ch. 7, and Kevin Corcoran, “Physical Persons and Postmortem Survival without Temporal Gaps”, in Corcoran (ed.), Soul, Body, and Survival: Essays on the Metaphysics of Human Persons (Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 2001), pp. 201–17.

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organisms, and can survive nothing that an organism cannot survive.6 So the bodysnatching model of how my body could escape its apparent demise is, from van Inwagen’s point of view, a model of how I could survive apparent death. When he wrote “The Possibility of Resurrection”, van Inwagen thought that there is no other way in which God could ensure that a dying human body be resurrected. But that was many years ago, when he was still just exploring the possibility of various Christian doctrines, and had not yet been convinced of their truth. For his purposes then, it was interesting to note that the body-snatching model established at least the possibility of the rejuvenation of these very bodies. But, for some time now, he has been open to the idea that there may be other ways to “accomplish the Resurrection of the Dead … ways I am unable even to form an idea of because I lack the conceptual resources to do so.”7 Before sketching the proposal, I echo van Inwagen’s remark: I believe that there are ways besides the Falling Elevator Model by means of which God could accomplish the resurrection of these very bodies, short of outright body-snatching. I have no confidence whatsoever that the way I suggest is anything close to what actually happens. As in St. Paul’s day, skeptics ask: “How are the dead raised up? and with what body do they come?” (1Cor 15:35). What I offer is a “just-so” story intended to undermine the claim that the resurrection is simply impossible without massive deception on God’s part. To the extent that the story works, it does so by stretching the imaginations of those who think there is no way it could be done. The fine details do not represent my own speculations about the mechanism God actually employs; so I can afford to be flippant, at various points. Anyone who takes me too seriously will deserve the response St. Paul gave to the resurrectionskeptics of his era: “Thou fool! … ”. A Sketch of the Model Here are the bare bones of the Falling Elevator Model. I adopt van Inwagen’s useful terminology, and take on board as many of his metaphysical assumptions as possible: whenever some matter constitutes an organism, there is a special kind of event, a Life, that occurs to the matter and that continues for as long as that organism exists. As bits of the matter are replaced by new material, the things participating in this Life change; but so long as the Life goes on, the organism continues to exist, no matter how much material change there has been. An essential feature of the Life of an organism is that it displays a kind of “self-maintenance”, earlier stages in a Life tending naturally to cause later stages that closely resemble the earlier ones in crucial ways. Because of the self-perpetuating nature of its Life, an organism displays a distinctive sort of “immanent causation”, its later stages 6 For the details of van Inwagen’s materialism, see Peter van Inwagen, Material Beings (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University, 1990), esp. ch. 14. 7 van Inwagen, Christian Apologetics, p. 50.

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causally dependent upon earlier stages. For an organism, the immanent causal dependencies must be direct—they cannot, for instance, pass through the computer banks of a teleportation device or a blueprint in God’s mind. Some philosophers (though not van Inwagen) believe there are kinds of objects that can survive such episodes; according to many psychological continuity accounts of personal identity, for example, a person could be teletransported. Still, it sounds odd, at least, to say that the very same organism could be torn to bits by the teletransporter, only to reappear elsewhere when the device assembles a living body using new materials based on the same pattern. Van Inwagen thinks each of us just is an organism; whether or not that is so, I do not doubt that my body is just an organism; so, if this very body is to show up subsequent to (what appears to be) my death, its resurrection cannot be achieved simply by God’s performing the function of a teletransporter—that is, using what He knows about the state of my body at death as a blueprint for assembling one that exactly resembles it. Such a body would not continue the Life of this one; it would be a new organism, a mere duplicate. The Falling Elevator Model is a way to allow the Life of a dying organism to go one way, while the dead matter goes another way. The trick is to posit immanentcausal connections that “jump” from the matter as it is dying, connecting the Life to some other location where the crucial organic structure of the organism is preserved. Immanent causation is not peculiar to organisms; all ordinary physical objects in which we take an interest are the kinds of things that exhibit causal dependencies of later stages upon earlier stages. This includes boring objects, like hunks of dead matter. If a pile of matter persists throughout a period of time, the existence and properties of the later stages of the matter must be partly causally dependent upon the existence and nature of the earlier stages. Since each bit of matter in my body is supposed to stay behind when I die, to be buried (or devoured or …), there must also be immanent causal connections between the matter in the dying body and the dead material left behind—on pain of body-snatching. So every portion of the matter in my body undergoes something like fission at the time of my death. Consider just the atoms in my body; and pretend that my body consists entirely of atoms (and the parts of atoms). The Falling Elevator Model affirms that, at the moment of my death, God allows each atom to continue to immanently cause later stages in the “life” or history of an atom, right where it is then located, as it normally would do; but that God also gives each atom the miraculous power to produce an exact duplicate at a certain distance in space or time (or both), at an unspecified location I shall call “the next world”. The local, normal, immanentcausal process linking each atom to an atom within the corpse is sufficient to secure their identities; no atom ceases to exist merely because it exercised this miraculous “budding” power to produce new matter in a distant location. Still, the arrangement of atoms that appears at a distance is directly immanent-causally connected to my body at the time of my death; and there are no other arrangements of living matter produced by my dying body that are candidates for continuing my Life. The atoms do something that resembles fissioning—though what they really do is more like “budding”, producing exactly similar offspring in the next

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world—while the organism does not fission. My body’s Life does not divide, but goes in one direction only, carrying my body with it to a new location. My Stake in the Falling Elevator Model The Falling Elevator Model was originally developed as a sort of “five-finger exercise”, an attempt to see whether I could come up with a way to make sense of the resurrection within constraints that made it extremely (and, by my lights, needlessly) difficult. I do not share van Inwagen’s conviction that we are mere organisms. I do not claim to know what kind of thing we actually are, but I suspect that we may well be immaterial thinking things, generated by brains (and, in turn, able to think by means of complex interactions with brains).8 There are philosophical arguments I accept that make such a position a live option; in fact, I believe they show it to have many advantages over the most popular versions of materialism.9 And I find a dualist conception of human persons strongly favored by central theological traditions within Christianity—traditions to which I try to be as faithful as I can.10 Given such a dualism, it is much easier to see how God could insure our survival. Even if souls are generated and sustained by neural activity, and so are not naturally immortal, they might nevertheless be preserved by God in an unnatural state, awaiting reunion with the (or a) body. Given the strong dualistic inclinations human beings largely share (inclinations that seem to go further back than the origins of today’s major religions), one could hardly accuse God of massive deception if our survival of death were managed in this way. It is just the sort of thing that we, left to ourselves, tend to believe anyway! Still, I regard the Falling Elevator Model as more than an abstract exercise in van Inwagian metaphysics. Christian dualists must insist that disembodiment is at best a truncated, incomplete form of existence for human persons; we await the resurrection of the body and a renewal of the entire cosmos. And we are typically instructed to believe in the resurrection of this very body, a body that, to all appearances, shall one day decay in the grave (or be devoured by sharks or cannibals, or blown to smithereens at the center of a nuclear explosion, or subjected to one of the many other interesting fates frequently encountered in the literature

8 William Hasker has done much to develop and defend such a view; see William Hasker, The Emergent Self (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1999) and earlier writings. 9 See Dean Zimmerman, “Material People”, in Michael Loux and Dean Zimmerman (eds), Oxford Handbook of Metaphysics (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), pp. 491– 526, and Dean Zimmerman, “From Property Dualism to Substance Dualism”, Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society, Supplementary Volume 85: (2010), pp. 119–50. 10 See Dean Zimmerman, “Should a Christian Be a Mind–Body Dualist?”, in M. Peterson and R. Van Arragon (eds), Contemporary Debates in Philosophy of Religion (Malden, MA: Basil Blackwell, 2004), pp. 315–27.

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on resurrection). So even a Christian dualist can have some motivation to believe in the resurrection of bodies that, to all appearances, are utterly destroyed. Not all philosophers have been as receptive as Corcoran and Hudson to the possibility of resurrection by a perfectly timed leap out of the various Falling Elevators awaiting us at the ends of our earthly lives.11 In particular, Hasker, Hershenov, and Olson have raised important objections, to which I now turn. Hasker and the Necessity of Identity Hasker’s arguments against the Falling Elevator Model are complicated. But the general strategy is this: he points out that the Falling Elevator Model must include a “closest continuer” account of the persistence conditions of organisms. But any closest continuer theory will, he argues, do one of two things: either require the denial of the necessity of identity; or else lead to “other assumptions that are at least equally problematic”. For details about these “other assumptions,” he directs the reader’s attention to Harold Noonan’s book, Personal Identity.12 My original paper had included an argument to the effect that, however much one might dislike the closest continuer theory, a materialist of van Inwagen’s stripe must accept it in order to deal with cases of fissioning organisms. But Hasker disputes this claim as well; he offers van Inwagen a way to deny that the purported stories about fissioning (human) organisms represent cases in which the presence of a competitor makes a difference. My reply to Hasker has three parts: (i) I explain why the Falling Elevator Model requires a closest continuer theory, and explicate the “only x and y” principle that is violated by such a theory; (ii) I rebut Hasker’s argument that a van Inwagenstyle materialism can hold onto the “only x and y” principle; and (iii) I argue that rejection of an “only x and y” principle is not nearly so problematic for materialists as Hasker makes it seem. Hasker describes the commitments of the closest continuer theorist in this way: “The question to be asked is whether it is consistent with the actual history of the surviving individual that there should be an ‘equal claimant’ to identity with the person in the past.”13 Hasker’s terminology is informal, but the intent is pretty clear. He is considering merely possible cases, so talk of “the actual history of 11 In Zimmerman, “Falling Elevator”, pp. 207–9, I anticipated objections from philosophers who doubt that ordinary matter could be given extraordinary causal powers allowing it to jump spatiotemporal gaps; for such philosophers, I proposed an alternative form of direct causal dependency that does not go by way of powers given to the bits of matter themselves, but depends upon a certain kind of divine decree. 12 See Hasker, pp. 230–1, esp. p. 230, fn. 64, where he refers the reader to Harold Noonan, Personal Identity (London and New York: Routledge, 1989). See also Hasker, p. 220, fn. 40. 13 Hasker, p. 230.

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the surviving individual” is shorthand for “the history of the individual in a world where it survives” from one time to another. According to Hasker, it could not be the case that that very same history occurs in some other possible world in which the presence of another individual makes a difference to the survival of the original individual. This thesis about persistence conditions is sometimes called “the only x and y principle”, and can be tidied up a bit in this way: (OXY) There are no possible individuals x and y such that: (i) x persists from t to t* in some world w, (ii) y does not exist in w, (iii) the event which is the history of x between t and t* in w (“the actual history of x”) could have occurred in a world w* in which y also existed, and (iv) because of y’s presence in w*, x does not persist from t to t* in w*, but stops existing at some time between the two.

As Harold Noonan has pointed out, if a principle like (OXY) is meant to rule out closest continuer theories, “the event which is the history of x between t and t*” must be carefully parsed. Closest continuer theorists want to say that events just like those that happen within the region occupied by a human organism throughout some period could have occurred, but have failed to constitute the life of a single individual simply because of things that happen elsewhere. If the event which is a particular organism’s life essentially involves that organism, or essentially involves the absence of certain events elsewhere, then (OXY) can happily be accepted by the closest continuer theorist. (OXY) is only equivalent to the denial of a closest continuer theory if “history of x between t and t* in w” is understood in such a way that (1) it is not an event that could only happen to x, and (2) it does not imply anything about events outside of the region occupied by x between t and t*. Noonan respects (1) by stating his version of the principle in terms of the “hunks of matter” that constitute x throughout the period; and he respects (2) by appealing to the notion of “mere Cambridge changes”. Some events happening to the hunks of matter constituting x will be extrinsic events (“mere Cambridge changes”, like coming within five feet of a burning barn); but other events will be intrinsic to the matter—consisting only in what is going on within the region occupied by the matter. The same history that happens to x from t to t* in w will occur in w*, so long as the series of hunks of matter that constitute x during that period occupy the same regions from t to t* and undergo events intrinsically just like their counterparts in w.14 There is good reason to think the Falling Elevator Model will require denial of (OXY). Imagine a world w1, just like the actual world except that, many years ago, God secretly caused my atoms to “bud”, generating duplicates in the next world in just the way the Falling Elevator Model recommends that God do at my death—but in w1, I am not about to die, and the atoms in my body carry on with their terrestrial biological activities in the same way they did in the actual world. Since this budding happened during the middle of my childhood, in w1 a child 14

Noonan, pp. 153–4.

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appeared in the afterlife who remembers—or seems to remember—my childhood. On the face of it, the mere occurrence of this budding event should not have killed me as a child; I should have been able to survive having my atoms cause duplicates to appear far away in this manner, so long as the atoms in my body did not themselves do anything unusual, then and there. If I would not have survived this unnoticed childhood budding of my atoms, it could only have been because my survival is incompatible with one stage in my Life producing competing stages (even when one of the competitors is far away in space-time). But, in that case, (OXY) would be violated straightaway: for in w1 there is a history involving hunks of matter undergoing events that are intrinsically just like the events in my actual history; but in w1 I would be replaced by a duplicate at the undetectable point of budding merely because of something that happens outside the region in which that history occurs. Suppose, then, that in w1 I survive this childhood budding of my atoms. Now imagine a world w2 in which the budding occurs simultaneously with the destruction of my earthly atoms. The Falling Elevator Model implies that Zimmerman himself would thereby have leapt to the next world. But the same history that, in w2, constitutes a single person—childhood me and then the resurrected me—occurs in w1 and fails to constitute a single person. So, on this supposition, too, (OXY) is violated. Whatever one says about what happens in a childhood “budding”, the Falling Elevator defender winds up affirming a closest continuer account of my persistence conditions: whether certain intrinsically similar events constitute the Life of a single person can depend upon events that happen outside of the places where the events in that Life actually occur. The argument is not airtight; some materialists can embrace the Falling Elevator Model without commitment to a closest continuer theory. Hud Hudson, in his ingenious use of the Falling Elevator story, shows how to avoid the closest continuer account of personal identity by tearing a page from David Lewis’s book: cases of fission can be regarded as cases in which there were two things all along, sharing temporal parts prior to, but not after, the fission event. In the case of the childhood budding followed by my normal life and eventual resurrection, the child and I shared our childhood temporal parts; then, in the next world, we ceased to overlap. Whether or not a person had been allowed to continue in the time and place at which budding occurred, pre-budding stages plus child-like stages that appear in the next world would have constituted a single person; and (OXY) is not violated. Van Inwagen (like many other Christian materialists, including Peter Geach, Trenton Merricks, Kevin Corcoran, Lynn Rudder Baker, and Michael Rea) rejects the metaphysics of temporal parts that allows Hudson to sidestep the threat to (OXY) posed by childhood budding. I had argued that, whether or not van Inwagen accepts the Falling Elevator Model, the fact that organisms can undergo fission will force him to reject (OXY) and accept a closest continuer account of personal identity; so, for him, my Falling Elevator Model comes at no cost. Hasker,

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however, denies that my argument goes through; van Inwagen can, he says, affirm (OXY) in the face of the fission of a human-like creature. Here is why I thought van Inwagen would be forced to deny (OXY). The principle is hard to credit when applied to many actual organisms, such as bushes and certain worms, in which there can be symmetrical duplication of major organs, or diffuse, divisible, life-sustaining systems. When half of a bush (including half the roots) is pruned away, what is left is also a bush. One is tempted to say it is the original bush. But had the two halves simply been separated to make two different bushes, at most one can be identical with the original. Given their equal claims to be the original bush, and the implausibility of supposing there are “brute facts” about bush identity, the thing to say is that division in half, for a symmetrical organism, destroys it. The materialist who accepts (OXY), however, cannot say: if half the bush is kept alive, the original bush is destroyed; but if the same half had been removed and simultaneously killed, the original bush would have survived. For roughly symmetrical organisms that can live through large-scale loss of parts, the only principled way to draw the line would be: removing half the matter kills the organism, but less than half does not. Human beings are not perfectly symmetrical, of course. The cerebrum shows a surprising amount of symmetry, and we do seem able to survive with either hemisphere. Unlike the cerebrum, the brain stem is not divisible into two potentially independently functioning halves, nor is the heart. Nevertheless, our failures of symmetry would seem to be biological accidents, given duplication in so many other organs. If humans can have symmetrical brain hemispheres, human-like creatures could have symmetrical and divisible organs and systems along an entire plane of symmetry. What should the proponent of (OXY) say about creatures like us, but with divisible brain stems, hearts, and so on? Could such a creature lose half its matter, yet survive? Van Inwagen says it could not.15 I argued that it is implausible for the materialist to take this line.16 I will not repeat my objections here, because Hasker agrees: van Inwagen should have said that such a creature could survive the destruction of half its parts at once.17 He offers van Inwagen a different response. Hasker’s discussion involves Mark, a human-like creature whose cerebrum, brain stem, and so on are neatly divisible. Hasker thinks he has found a way for van Inwagen to maintain that: (a) Mark could survive the destruction of half of his matter, (b) fission along the same plane would result in Mark’s death, and (c) (OXY) is true. In the case in which half of Mark’s cells are destroyed, Hasker claims that it is not “consistent with the actual history” of Mark that an “equal claimant” should have existed. The destruction of half of Mark’s cells—the

15

van Inwagen, Material Beings, pp. 202–12. Zimmerman, “Falling Elevator”, pp. 199–200. 17 Hasker, p. 229, proposes that “we accept as data” that fission would end Mark’s life, but destruction of half Mark’s parts could result in his survival. 16

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ones which, had they been carefully removed, would have constituted an equal claimant—is “an event in Mark’s own life”.18 If this is to represent a way to save (OXY), the claim must be that the events undergone by the series of hunks of matter constituting Mark, in the world that includes destruction of half of his matter, cannot be paired up with intrinsically similar events undergone by a similar series of hunks of matter in a world where Mark undergoes fission. But I do not see why this must be so. Compare two surgeries: in one, an organ is cut away from a living body and simultaneously destroyed; in another, the organ is cut away in the same fashion but preserved for transplantation into another body. There need be no difference between the two surgeries, from the point of view of the hunks of matter constituting the patient’s body before, during, and after the surgery; intrinsically, the events within the body of the patient will “look” exactly the same. Similarly, when considering just the region occupied by Mark’s body, and the events that go on within it when half of its matter is cut away and simultaneously killed, I cannot see why a region just like that could not contain exactly similar matter undergoing exactly similar events, when the departing organs are cut away and preserved alive. It sounds as though Hasker is saying that the otherwise similar events occurring in the world where fission occurs would differ simply because, in that world, they would not happen to Mark. But allowing happening to Mark to count as something that is required for the same history to occur in the two worlds would trivialize (OXY), turning it into something a closest continuer theorist could easily accept. So Hasker has not provided a way for a van Inwagian materialist to avoid the closest continuer theory. But is Hasker right to think that a materialism committed to the closest continuer theory is utterly untenable? At some points Hasker seems to argue in this way: if a closest continuer theory of identity over time is accepted, one should have to admit that identity is contingent. But that is unacceptable. An “identity relation” that is merely contingent is not identity, and to accept a closest continuer theory for the persistence of persons is in effect to admit that no person is identical with a person that existed at an earlier period of her own life. And this is a price none of us should be willing to pay.19

However, in a footnote to this sentence, Hasker grants that “there can be a version of the closest continuer theory that avoids making identity a contingent relation,” but one that leads to “assumptions that are at least equally problematic.” I agree that, if the closest continuer account leads to denial of the necessity of identity, it should be rejected. There is a familiar, plausible argument against contingent identities. Actual identity requires sharing all properties. And it is hard to deny that, for every x, necessarily, x is identical to x. But then Jones will have 18 19

Ibid., p. 230. Hasker, p. 230.

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the property of being necessarily identical to Jones, Smith the property of being necessarily identical to Smith, and so on. Smith, then, could not be Jones without being necessarily identical to Jones; and so contingent identity is ruled out. There are ways to escape this line of reasoning, but Hasker and I accept it. Why think the closest continuer theory leads to denial of the necessity of identity? Consider the incidence of childhood budding described above—the example in which I survive and grow old, to meet my childhood offshoot in the next world who is not identical with me. It would be tempting, were I a materialist advocate of the Falling Elevator story, to imagine meeting the child and saying: “Had things gone differently—for example, had my matter been destroyed at the point of fission—I would have been identical with you. But, as it turns out, I am not identical with you.” Most of Hasker’s discussion of the Falling Elevator Model presumes that its advocate will have to accept the truth of some contingent identity statement along these lines.20 But there is a simple way out for the materialist (a way out that Hasker recognizes, but only in footnotes21). Instead of saying that I could have been identical to the child, I should have said: Had my matter been destroyed at the point of budding, the matter which was caused to appear in the next world by the budding of the particles would have constituted me, and not this child. In those circumstances, this child would not have existed.22

Though the child would not have existed, events would have occurred that are exactly like those that constituted the child’s Life; a consequence some might find odd, but the closest continuer theorist is stuck with it. Hasker does not worry about this alternative to contingent identity, because he believes Noonan has shown it to be “at least equally problematic.”23 Noonan’s problems for the view, however, do not seem to me to be nearly as bad as denying the necessity of identity. His discussion is subtle and extensive, but the main sort of troubling consequence is just this: the next-worldly child could rightly say to me, “Had your matter been destroyed at the time my matter was generated, I would never have existed, and you would now be composed of the matter that is, instead, constituting me.” But how bad is this? Not nearly so dire as rejecting the necessity of identity. Yes, it is a violation of (OXY). But that alone should hardly shock the materialist. Those who reject (OXY) can point out that there is plenty of reason to doubt whether the presence of a single organism in a region throughout a period is ever an entirely intrinsic matter. Whether some matter constitutes a thing of a certain kind depends upon whether there is more matter attached to it. Let “Baldy” 20

Ibid., p. 221 and pp. 230–1. Ibid., p. 221, fn. 40, and p. 230, fn. 64. 22 Noonan describes a couple of ways to maintain a closest continuer theory while holding onto the necessity of identity, including this one. See Noonan, pp. 157–8. 23 Hasker directs us to consult Noonan, ch. 7. 21

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be the part of my body that does not include my hair. Baldy is not the whole organism; the whole organism includes at least the living parts of my hair. But if all my hair could die, and the rest of my body remain the same for any period of time, then something intrinsically just like Baldy could be an entire organism. Such examples are enough to overthrow (OXY) already; so, if Noonan’s principle really isolates the most problematic commitment of closest continuer theories, it is a commitment that arises in very simple situations of the gain and loss of parts. It still seems to me, then, that the best option for the materialist who opposes temporal parts is: Learn to live with the closest continuer theory. Once one has done that, there should be no problems making use of the Falling Elevator Model—at least, none coming from violation of (OXY) and recognition of the relevance of “equal claimants” in the next world. Hershenov and the Assimilation Principle The Falling Elevator Model implies that an organism can lose all of its tiniest parts at once, replacing them with entirely new matter. David Hershenov argues that this is not possible.24 In the normal course of things, new matter is assimilated by a body gradually. “There is an overlap of the new and the old, and this enables the new particles to be assimilated into the individual’s body.” Hershenov claims that this is essential to assimilation; new parts can only be taken on board in the presence of many old parts. And so, “when every part of the body fissions, as Zimmerman postulates, there is no assimilation of new particles and cells to earlier ones.”25 Thus the resurrected body is a duplicate, constituted by brand new matter that never had a chance to become part of my body. The exact formulation of Hershenov’s assimilation principle is important. I might be able to accept an assimilation principle that merely rules out the possibility of an organism’s losing all of its proper parts at the same time. Suppose that, as a matter of necessity, whenever a living thing dies, there are some proper parts that also cease to exist (for example, cells or organs that perish along with the organism). I am not at all sure whether this is true. But if it were, then, so long as the resurrection jump works for the organism as a whole, it ought to succeed in bringing these proper parts into the next world as well. And therefore, whenever a living thing survives death by means of the falling elevator method, some proper 24 Hershenov raises another problem: “[s]ince the corpse is the same size as the being that was dying, if it is a result of fission, then half of its matter is new” (David Hershenov, ‘Van Inwagen, Zimmerman, and the Materialist Conception of Resurrection’, Religious Studies, 38 (2002): pp. 451–69, p. 462). But that is not true on the official, final version of my Model: all of the new matter is in the resurrected body, none of it in the corpse (Zimmerman, ‘“Falling Elevator”, p. 206). Hershenov’s main objection has this version as its target. 25 Ibid., p. 462.

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parts of it will also survive. Hershenov’s assimilation principle is clearly meant to require much more than just some continuity of proper parts whenever new parts are acquired. In the normal case, he says: new particles … get caught up in life processes with some old particles while other particles that were already part of the organism are exhaled, excreted, and perspired. There is an overlap of the new and the old [particles], and this enables the new particles to be assimilated into the individual’s body. … [But] when every part of the body fissions, as Zimmerman postulates, there is no assimilation of new particles and cells to earlier ones.26

A crucial advantage of the Falling Elevator story is that, at some level of scale, the matter in my body stays in this world. Whatever is involved when any hunk of matter “stays put” in the ordinary way, that same sort of (boring) process happens in the space-time region occupied by my body at death and my corpse afterwards. Now, it is a vexed question how (and, indeed, whether) ordinary matter persists through time, especially at the subatomic level. Hershenov’s talk of “particles” suggests that he is accepting a presupposition of my original account: ultimately, every physical object is completely decomposable into a set of partless particles. I, in turn, made this assumption because it is part of van Inwagen’s metaphysics of composite objects. Personally, I should rather leave it an open question whether we are made of persisting simples—a question to be settled, if it can be settled at all, by physics. The assumption of ultimate simple parts is problematic because the most fundamental description of physical systems may well be hard to interpret in terms of spatially restricted, minimal parts. I know of no compelling argument for the impossibility of infinitely divisible homogeneous matter, for example; so I suppose the metaphysician has no business ruling it out as impossible. This should not stop us talking about parts and wholes, but it might undermine the idea that there is some bottom level of simplest parts. So I shall try to develop an assimilation principle that does not presuppose that every physical object is decomposable without remainder into simple particles. The notion “decomposition without remainder” is useful in articulating assimilation principles: (D) x is decomposable without remainder into the objects in S =df every member of S is a part of x, and every part of x has at least one part in common with some member of S.

Here is a first stab at an assimilation principle that would undermine the Falling Elevator Model.

26

Ibid., pp. 462–3.

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Personal Identity and Resurrection (AP1) If x persists through some finite period leading up to, but not including, t, then, if x exists at t, it is not then completely decomposable without remainder into a set of things none of which was part of x before t.

This first stab is not so good, because it does not say enough about the scale of the parts in the complete decomposition. Some metaphysicians believe there are such things as mere hunks of matter—for example, the matter now making up the top half of my body and the matter now making up the bottom half. If there are such things, they are the kind of thing that cannot gain or lose any bits of matter; it is a truism that, if some of the matter in my body is taken away or some new matter added, I am no longer constituted by exactly the same matter—but rather by just some of the matter, or by some new portion of matter that includes the old matter as a part. So take two hunks of matter a and b that together make up all of my body prior to some time t; and add some atoms to a to produce a* and to b to yield b*. At t there is a set of things, namely the set containing just a* and b*, which is a complete decomposition of my body at t. Yet neither of the two was part of my body prior to t. So (AP1) implies that I cannot survive this; but there really should be no problem with assimilating the two atoms that were added to a and b—there are plenty of other parts that were parts of my body before t and that remain parts of it at t. Here is a better proposal: (AP2) If x persists through some finite period leading up to, but not including, t, then, if x exists at t, every set S into which x is decomposable without remainder at t has members with parts that were parts of x before t.

This second assimilation principle seems to me what Hershenov wants and needs. But it is not obviously true; and there is reason to suspect that it is actually violated by objects in our world. At sufficiently small scales, the particles composing the atoms in our bodies behave oddly. Electrons, protons, and neutrons are all fermions, obeying surprising statistical laws that ought to undermine our confidence in their persistence through time. Indistinguishable fermions caught up in the same quantum-mechanical system—for example, all the protons in my body—do not seem “trackable” over time. When plotting the probability of such a system evolving in various ways, one must ignore potential differences in its future states that involve nothing more than the permutation of indistinguishable particles—for example, permutations in which two protons switch places. Why do nature’s laws fail to distinguish between circumstance A, in which this proton shows up there and that proton shows up here, and circumstance B, in which

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that proton shows up there and this proton shows up here? Some say: the best explanation is that the imagined difference between A and B does not exist—these are not two distinct states of the system. If the two protons really persisted over time, A and B would be distinct states; and so the protons do not really persist.27 Since our bodies are interacting with other systems consisting of additional indistinguishable electrons, protons, and neutrons, one cannot accept this conclusion and straightforwardly affirm that most of the neutrons, protons, and electrons in my body right now were also present in my body moments ago— at least, not if that means they were definitely not present in the other physical objects surrounding me moments ago. At this subatomic level, there seems to be a set S that qualifies as a complete decomposition, without remainder, of my body at t; despite the fact that no members of it are identical with parts of my body prior to t—at least, no members of it are determinately identical with indistinguishable particles constituting my body at earlier times. On this explanation of the puzzling quantum statistics, (AP2) is at least not determinately true. There are alternative explanations of the strange statistics of subatomic particles. Bohm’s version of quantum theory, for example, renders identity of particles through time unproblematic but unknowable. Even without Bohmianism, the statistics may not rule out the possibility of undetectable identity-facts.28 Still, why gamble on an assimilation principle that requires the falsehood of an attractive explanation of this strange feature of quantum statistics? My resurrection model is in the clear if the true assimilation principle (whatever it might be) allows for a thing to persist throughout a time leading up to t, despite the fact that, at t, it is completely decomposable into tiny parts, none of which existed prior to t nor had parts that existed prior to t.29 To sum up my response to Hershenov: the Falling Elevator Model may be consistent with a weak assimilation principle for living things, according to which they cannot lose all their proper parts at once —so long as death, for such things, always involves the simultaneous loss of proper parts that could, themselves, survive by the same mechanism. The model will not work if (AP2) is true; but that principle is arguably too strong, probably inconsistent with the persistence of actual living things. What Hershenov needs is an intermediate assimilation principle, one that is weaker than (AP2), but still inconsistent with the resurrection 27

For discussion, see Michael Redhead and Paul Teller, “Particle Labels & the Theory of Indistinguishable Particles in Quantum Mechanics”, British Journal of the Philosophy of Science, 43 (1992): pp. 201–18, and Nick Huggett, “Identity, Quantum Mechanics and Common Sense”, The Monist, 80 (1997): pp. 118–30. 28 See Simon Saunders, “Are Quantum Particles Objects?”, Analysis, 66 (2006): pp. 52–63. 29 Note that, so long as there are facts of the matter about atom and molecule identity, the Falling Elevator Model still has a job to do: a mode of resurrection that does not leave the very atoms and molecules in my body behind, to compose a corpse, would still constitute body-snatching.

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jump. If there is a true principle of this sort, then I expect Hershenov will find it, if anyone can. However, it is not clearly articulated in Hershenov’s criticisms so far, which suggest something more like (AP2). Eric Olson and Discontinuous “Momentum” In this volume, Eric Olson raises an objection to the idea that tiny particles in my body could carry information about my body’s structure into the next world across a spatiotemporal gap. His worry is “not an objection to remote causation in general, or to immanent causation across a spatiotemporal gap, or even to the idea that an atom might cause itself to reappear at a distant time and place without traversing any of the intervening locations.”30 It is rather that no such miraculous powers could work together to insure that the atoms appearing in the next world are properly arranged so as to constitute a body just like mine at death. Olson simplifies matters by considering the case of particles that cause themselves to appear at a location not continuous with their current position; but his worries would apply with at least as much force to the “budding” powers needed to implement the Falling Elevator Model: How could an object that perishes have the power to reappear at some particular distant location? How could it “find” that place? For an object to cause itself to reappear at a nonrandom location, it would need to have a property analogous to momentum. But the momentum an object has at a given time can only tell it where to be next. It can tell it what direction to move in and how fast. It can’t tell it where to be at a time after the object has ceased to have that momentum. … [E]ven if your atoms could reliably find the next world, they could not possibly know where and when to reappear so that the result was a living human being, and not simply a cloud, widely dispersed across space and time. It might happen, perhaps, but it would be fantastically unlikely. It would be like some of the atoms released in an exploding star arranging themselves spontaneously into a living human being. And even if such an event were to get your atoms to the next world arranged as they are now, it wouldn’t get you there, as the atoms’ organic arrangement would not have been immanently caused by their thisworldly arrangement, but would be an artifact of chance.31

Olson grants the possibility of “immanent causation across a spatiotemporal gap”; but then why not grant the possibility of “a property analogous to momentum” that determines where the effect occurs? He seems to think that causation over a gap must be imprecise with respect to the location of the effect, because, during the gap, nothing has the momentum-like property. But I do not see why the 30 31

Eric Olson’s article in this volume (Chapter 3). Ibid.

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momentum-like property needs to continue to be exemplified in order for it to succeed in “pointing to” a specific future location. I shall construct a number of momentum-like properties that could serve to explain why the new particles end up precisely where they do, retaining all of their spatial relations and relative states of motion. Were we inhabiting a Newtonian substantival space, the trick could easily be managed in any number of ways. Olson is willing to grant that “mnemic causation” is possible—causal relations that hold between temporally distant events, and not in virtue of intervening processes. A temporally gappy causal relationship resembles a ticking time bomb; the cause occurs, and, after a certain interval has passed— long or short, precise or imprecise—the effect occurs. In Newtonian space-time, there are non-relative, precise facts about temporal distances between events; so there is no reason why the ticking time bomb of a mnemic causal relationship could not be perfectly precise. The atoms in my body could, for instance, cause the appearance of duplicate atoms precisely six billion years from the instant at which they are given this power. Again, assuming Newton’s absolute space, the atoms could cause more than just the existence of duplicates somewhere in space at that precise time. Let every atom in my body, at my death, be given the power to cause a duplicate to appear at a precise temporal interval in exactly the same part of absolute space it then occupies, and in exactly the same state of motion relative to space. Of course God would have to insure that, in the next world, the parts of space we occupy at our deaths remain habitable, or else be prepared to whisk us out of harm’s way as soon as we reappear. A speculative geography of the next world could no doubt be concocted so as to allow for our reappearance by this means, in suitable surroundings. Momentum-like properties can also be constructed in the Minkowskian spacetime of Special Relativity, which includes universe-wide inertial frames that could be used to play the same role as substantival space in the Newtonian context. The Minkowskian manifold lacks Newton’s frame-independent facts about the number of years or miles between spatiotemporally separated locations. But for every pair of locations, there are frame-relative facts about such distances; and one frame might be particularly relevant to the powers of atoms in a dying body, so that they duplicate themselves at a precise temporal distance (relative to that frame) in the same state of motion (relative to that frame). One version of this approach would make the same inertial frame relevant to all dying bodies. Perhaps God has already chosen a frame to be the “rest frame of the New Jerusalem”, and our bodies are given the power to appear after a certain number of years, as years are measured by clocks in the New Jerusalem; and in the same state of motion they were in at death, relative to the rest frame to be occupied by the Holy City. Another possibility would be that the relevant frame for each body is determined by its own state of motion at death—for example, by its center of mass. In General Relativity, however, it becomes trickier to cook up spatial and temporal components of a momentum-like property that will do the job—a property that will send the duplicate particles to a particular place in the future,

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arranged so as to form a resuscitable body then, and arranged thus because of their current arrangement. The space-time of a General Relativistic universe not only lacks privileged sameness of place over time, it also lacks the sort of global inertial frames that I appealed to in the Minkowskian setting (at least, it has no such frames so long as it has any material contents at all). One possibility worth considering is that there is one “timer” that sets the same deadline for all instances of effects produced by mnemic causation. The power to generate duplicate atoms could, for example, be a power to cause them to appear somewhere within a single future space-like slice—say, a slice in which a dramatic universe-wide event occurs, such as a massive overhaul of the created world. But how could the place and time of my death be matched up with a particular location within such a slice, in such a way that each of the atoms in my body is pointed toward an appropriate subregion of the new location, resulting in a duplication of my body’s dying structure? One might be tempted to posit extra dimensions—beyond the four dimensions of a standard space-time manifold—in which paths link the locations of my particles at death to locations later on; these higher-dimensional paths could be constructed so as to insure that the later locations stand in the same geometrical relations as the locations of particles in my dying body. But one might instead rethink the idea that individual atoms (or smaller particles) are given independent replicating powers. If each atom produces a duplicate atom based on an independent power, their powers need to be precisely coordinated, lest the atoms generate nothing more than a nextworldly cloud, just as Olson says. But suppose the miraculous powers to generate new matter are given, not directly to atoms or to the states of individual atoms, but to the quantum state of all the fermions and bosons in my body, say. In that case, their arrangement here and now causes two subsequent arrangements: a similar (but dead) arrangement of subatomic particles in a contiguous space-time region, and a similar (but rapidly reviving) arrangement triggered by the world-wide event which marks the beginning of the next world. The location at which the resurrected body appears could be an indeterministic matter; each human-shaped quantum system might stand an equal chance of showing up in a given region at the magic moment. Conclusion I do not wish to rely upon the Falling Elevator Model as a mechanism for my survival.Like the Apostle Paul, I trust that one can be absent from the body yet present with the Lord, even before a general resurrection returns us all to a more natural, embodied state. But I should also like to say that, in the resurrection, God secures the continued life of this very body. The Falling Elevator Model may not be the only way God could do so, short of body-snatching; but I still believe it to be one way, despite my critics.32 32 I am grateful to David Hershenov for saving me from a serious mistake in my discussion of assimilation principles.

Chapter 3

Immanent Causation and Life after Death Eric T. Olson

Life after Death Is life after death metaphysically possible? What would have to be the case for us to have it? What are the necessary conditions for any possible afterlife? Let us suppose for the sake of argument that there is a being with all the tools of omnipotence at its disposal—God for short. What would he have to do to give us life after death? Or is there anything he could do? By life after death I mean a state satisfying three conditions. First, you yourself must exist after your death. Not your soul, unless your soul is you or its existence somehow entails your own. Not a mere replica or “counterpart” of you. Whether the existence of something else after your death might be just as good as your own survival in some practical sense is a nice question, but it isn’t mine. Second, you must be in some sense alive after your death: mere postmortem existence—as a corpse, say—won’t do. Biological life may be unnecessary, but you need some sort of mental life. And you ought to retain some of the mental contents and capacities you had in this life: there must be some sort of psychological continuity. I’m not saying that you need psychological continuity or a mental life in order to exist after your death, but an afterlife without it would be of little interest. The third condition is more delicate. Suppose that immediately after your death your remains are frozen, then later thawed, repaired, and revived. It seems possible for the resulting person to be conscious and psychologically continuous with you as you were before your death. And perhaps he or she would be you. If so, this would be a sort of life after death—but not the sort that figures in the great religious traditions. I want to discuss what the Nicene Creed calls “the life of the world to come”. I cannot define the phrase “world to come”, but I presume that it must refer to a place or time in some way removed from those we inhabit before we die. My question, then, is whether it is metaphysically possible for us to exist in the next world after we die, conscious and psychologically continuous with ourselves as we were in this life. The Irreversibility Principle On the face of it the answer appears to be “No”. At any rate, life after death looks incompatible with the facts we observe: that death is followed by decay and

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dissolution.1 This process of decay can be faster or slower, but it is thorough, and in the end nothing of your characteristic physical or psychological states will survive—not even bones or fossil remains. There will be only dust: atoms scattered at random across the void. Nothing about their nature and arrangement would enable anyone to discover that they once composed a human being. None of your remains will retain any characteristically human or personal features. Let us abbreviate this depressing description by saying that you will be totally destroyed.2 What happens to a thing when it is totally destroyed? Consider a real example: the Colossus of Rhodes. After its collapse during an earthquake in the third century BC, its broken remains lay on the ground until the iron rusted away and the bronze was melted down to make weapons. It was totally destroyed. So where is it now? Well, it’s gone. It no longer exists. It has not merely been radically transformed, from a monumental statue to a mass of randomly scattered atoms. Even if there is a widely dispersed object now made up of just the atoms that once composed the Colossus, it could only be a joke to point to it and say, “That thing used to be one of the seven wonders of the ancient world”. It is likely that the Colossus ceased to exist long before it was totally destroyed, at some earlier stage of dissolution. But its total destruction certainly sufficed for it to cease to be. Now given that the Colossus has not only ceased to exist but was totally destroyed, is it possible for it to come back into being? Could it be restored? Suppose the owners of a Las Vegas hotel claimed to have rebuilt the Colossus on the basis of newly discovered drawings. If the result of their effort were similar enough to the original, would it actually be the long-lost statue? Would they have brought into being a genuine historic artifact—an object cast thousands of years ago in the foundries of ancient Rhodes? Would the modern-day Greeks be right to say that it was their property and demand it back? Clearly not. The hoteliers may have created a Colossus, as it were—an exemplar of the original design, like a particular copy of a novel—but it would not be the Colossus, no matter how close the resemblance may be. It would be a thing built by twenty-first-century craftsmen, not a thing built by ancient Greeks. It would be a marvellously authentic replica. It may be “just as good as” the original for all practical purposes, but it would be a replica all the same. Given that the original statue was totally destroyed, no amount of reconstruction, no matter how accurate, can restore it to being. If many of its original fragments still existed, so that a good deal of the structure that made it what it was remained intact, there might be room for debate about whether the result of reassembling them would be the original or a replica. But as things are, the case is closed.

1 Peter van Inwagen, “The Possibility of Resurrection”, International Journal for Philosophy of Religion, 9 (1978): pp. 114–21, reprinted in Paul Edwards (ed.), Immortality (Amherst, NY: Prometheus Books, 1997), pp. 242–6. 2 The phrase is van Inwagen’s.

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Could God do what the hoteliers cannot? He could certainly cause an object to appear today that was exactly as the Colossus was at any point during its existence. He could even gather up the very atoms that once composed it and arrange them just as they were then. He could recreate the original ratio of isotopes, so that radiometric dating gave the appearance that the object was thousands of years old. In other words, he could do everything the hoteliers could, only better. But this would no more restore the original object than the best efforts of the hoteliers could. The result of God’s act would be nothing but an even more authentic reconstruction. And it is hard to see how anything else he might do could bring back the Colossus, given what happened to it. What holds for the Colossus holds in general. The reason why it is now impossible for that object to exist has nothing to do with the fact that it was a statue, or that it was inanimate, or even that it was a material thing: an ancient pine, or the fire in which the pine was burnt, can no more be restored to being today than the Colossus can. It is the simple fact that it was totally destroyed. Let us call the claim that what has been totally destroyed has ceased to exist and cannot exist again the irreversibility principle. (Or perhaps the claim should be restricted to ordinary things, such as statues or human beings.) It implies that we too cease to exist when we are totally destroyed, if not sooner. And once that has happened, nothing can bring us back, in this world or the next. God could no doubt cause someone to appear in the next world who was intrinsically identical to you as you were at any moment during your life. But if you have died and only dust remains, it is impossible for such a being to be you. It could only be a thing that stands to you as the Las Vegas replica would stand to the original Colossus. Souls and Body-Snatching The irreversibility principle implies that life after death is impossible given the apparent fact that death is followed, sooner or later, by total destruction. The only hope of resurrection is therefore the hope that this fact is only apparent: that we shall not decay to the point of total destruction. The hope is that, despite every appearance to the contrary, what happens to us when we die is radically unlike what happened to the Colossus of Rhodes, or what happens to a tree burnt to ashes or a sandcastle washed away by the tide. Of course, something decays when you die. Your death leaves some remains. But perhaps they are not strictly your remains, or at least not your total remains. If they are not all that is left of you, their decay will not entirely destroy your characteristic states or structure, and their total destruction will not be your total destruction. The best-known account of how this might be says that each of us is an immaterial substance. (Or each of us has an immaterial substance as a part, and its survival somehow suffices for our own survival. I will ignore this variant.) This immaterial substance or soul is the subject of thought and consciousness, and it is

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radically independent of the body—the biological organism that it is able to move just by intending to move. That is, your soul can continue to exist and remain psychologically continuous with you as you are now, no matter what happens to your body. It is unaffected by the destruction of your material remains. So death destroys only your body, not you. You, the soul, merely become “separated from” your body, in the sense that you lose the connections to it that made it your body. You can then make your way to the next world in wholly immaterial form. Call this the Platonic model of life after death. Now the Platonic model requires us to be immaterial souls, a claim with grave difficulties that I needn’t rehearse. If this were the only means by which we could escape total destruction, the prospects for life after death would be dim. Here is an alternative to the Platonic model: when you die, or at any rate before the decay of your remains progresses far, God might simply fetch you away to the next world in bodily form.3 That we never see people physically rising from their deathbeds and shooting skywards (if that is the right direction) would be due to the fact that God prevents us from observing this. What about your corpse— the thing that does decay to the point of total destruction? It would have to be a counterfeit, created out of other materials and put in your place. In that case its decay would not destroy your mental or physical states. And God could prevent us from observing this act of replacement too. That is, he could bring about the appearance of the total destruction of a living being, while what really happens is that a living (or freshly dead) being is carried off and immediately replaced by a simulacrum, which decays in its stead. Call this the body-snatching model of life after death. (A variant would have God remove only some vital part of you such as your brain, and replace it with a simulacrum.) It seems perfectly possible. Think of the Colossus again: God could have fetched it away before it was completely destroyed and replaced it with a decaying replica. In that case the Colossus might exist today. But there are difficulties here too. For one thing, God would have to heal you as he fetched you away, so that you don’t arrive in the next world dead. This will be troublesome if you have had severe brain damage—senile dementia or the like. “Healing” your mind would then amount to wholesale reconstruction, depriving you of psychological continuity.4 This is a problem for all accounts of life after death, however, including the Platonic model. More seriously, the body-snatching model requires there to be a continuous path through space from this world to the next one. That place would have to lie at a certain spatial distance from here, in a certain direction—even if for some reason it is impossible for us to get there by rocket or other non-miraculous means. This might be theologically awkward. (Platonists can avoid the worry by denying souls any spatial location.)

3 4

van Inwagen, “Possibility”. See the section “Immanent Causation” below.

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Then there is the fact that the body-snatching story sounds more like bad science fiction than good theology. Why this is so is a nice question—after all, it is not so different from traditional ascension stories. But it does differ from them in requiring God to engage in systematic deception—deception of the sort that professional magicians achieve by sleight of hand. Of course, any account of life after death is going to conflict with appearances—the Platonic model is radically at odds with the sort of thing a human being appears to be, as well as implying that our decay in the grave is a sort of illusion. But body-snatching would be particularly egregious. The Psychological-Duplication Model I have argued that life after death is incompatible with the apparent fact that after we die all our remains become dust, and possible only if we are somehow not totally destroyed. You may suspect the argument of having assumed a contentious view of personal identity, namely that a future being could be you only if it then relates to you as you are now in some brute physical way—if its matter is arranged as it is then in large part because of the workings of your biological life, say. This would imply that our survival requires some sort of material continuity: you couldn’t survive the instantaneous replacement of all your matter, or without being made of any matter at all. It follows that if you are to get to the next world, at least some of your matter must go with you, in which case life after death requires some sort of body-snatching. But most philosophers reject the brute-physical view. Far more popular is the view that we persist by virtue of some sort of psychological continuity: you are that future being that in some appropriate way inherits its mental features from you, and that past being whose mental features you have thus inherited. According to the psychological-continuity view, all God would have to do to get you to the next world is cause someone to appear there whose mental states relate in the right way to yours: someone who can remember your thisworldly experiences, who has your beliefs and goals, and the like. (More precisely, he would need to ensure that just one such person appears there.5) This may seem to require only the creation of a nextworldly being psychologically just like you are at the last moment of your existence in this world. Call this the psychologicalduplication model of life after death. It implies that you could get to the next world even if you have been totally destroyed: the fact that all your atoms have been scattered to the four winds presents no insuperable obstacle to the creation of a nextworldly being with psychological features like yours. The irreversibility principle would be false. Showing the possibility of life after death may seem to require only the right account of our identity over time.

5

See the section “Worries” below.

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Immanent Causation I claim that even if we did persist by virtue of psychological continuity, and God were to create a being in the next world with mental states intrinsically identical to those you are in when you die—a being that was in no way physically or causally continuous with you—he would not restore you to being. For one thing, there would be no real psychological continuity here. The resulting being would not have got her mental states from you. Her memories would not have been laid down by your experiences, but created out of nothing by God. Because of their cause, they would not really be memories at all, or even “quasi-memories”.6 Her beliefs would not be about cows or trees or other people, as they would not be the result of anyone’s perception of those things, or of any process of second-hand learning. It is doubtful whether they would even be beliefs. What could give them any content? More generally, for you to exist in the future there needs to be some sort of causal connection between your states then and your states now. No matter how much a future being may resemble you, it won’t be you if the resemblance is a complete accident. Nor is it enough, for a person to persist, that his earlier states merely be somehow causally relevant to his later ones. You have to cause yourself to continue existing. It isn’t something that other beings or outside forces can do for you. They can help, of course: that’s what doctors and drugs and life-support machinery are for. But they can’t do the whole job. Likewise, you have to cause yourself to be the way you are at later times; your future state cannot be entirely the result of outside forces. No being existing tomorrow could be you unless it were caused to exist and to be the way it is then at least in part by your existing and being the way you are now. A person is a self-sustaining being. When a thing causes itself to continue existing, or to have a certain property, in a way that doesn’t go entirely outside that thing, we call it “immanent” causation— as opposed to the “transeunt” causation of a thing’s affecting something else. If I continue to believe that 5 is odd, my believing it earlier immanently causes me to believe it later. If I convince you that 5 is odd, my believing it transeuntly causes you to do so. If I convince you that 5 is odd, then forget that fact completely and you teach me it afresh, then my earlier belief might be a cause of my later one; but because the causal chain passes outside me, it is not immanent causation. For a thing that exists now to exist in the future, then, it must cause itself to exist then, and the way it is now must to some extent cause it to be the way it is then. Or at least the existence and state of a thing in the future has to relate to its existence and state now by a chain of causal connections. And these connections must be immanent. This immanent-causation requirement constrains our persistence.

6 Sydney Shoemaker, “Personal identity: A materialist’s account”, in Sydney Shoemaker and Richard Swinburne, Personal Identity (Oxford: Blackwell, 1984), pp. 81–6.

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I cannot state the constraint precisely.7 But it is plain enough that if God were simply to create a psychological duplicate of you out of nothing in the next world, that being would be caused to exist, and to be the way she is then, entirely by God’s creative act. The act would suffice to bring that being into existence even if you had never existed. All causal links from you to her would run outside you and anything to do with you. (They would not, for instance, run through your partially disassembled parts.) So although your thisworldly existence and state may have some causal bearing on that of the nextworldly being (if God deliberately models her on you), there would be no immanent causal connection. For this reason, if for no other, she cannot be you. This point has nothing to do with people in particular, but applies to all ordinary objects. If something tomorrow were exactly like your cat or your toothbrush is today, it wouldn’t be your cat or your toothbrush unless there were a significant immanent causal connection. From the psychological-continuity view together with the immanent-causation requirement, it appears to follow that a being in the next world can be you only if the mental states it is in then are immanently caused by your thisworldly mental states (or relate to your thisworldly states by a chain of immanent causal links). This is part of the nature of psychological continuity: your mental life has a tendency to sustain itself in being, and a future person can be psychologically continuous with you only if the mental life she has then is the result of this process of selfsustenance. This rules out the psychological-duplication model. God cannot get you to the next world simply by creating a psychological duplicate of you there. What would it take, then, for the mental states of a being in the next world to be immanently caused by yours? It would seem to require the continuous functioning of your brain—or of some organ derived from your brain by gradual replacement of parts, so that at each time during the process there was a being capable of thinking and of consciousness. There must always be something that retains some of the physical structure that underlies your mental properties. If your mental life comes to an end and none of the structure underlying it is preserved—if it is totally destroyed—then on the psychological-continuity view that is the end of you, and not even God can bring you back. For God to give you life after death, then, he would have to move you, or some remnant of you that preserves your psychological states, along a continuous path from this world to the next one. Unless you are immaterial, some of your matter would have to accompany you on your journey to the next world. We must once again choose between bodysnatching and Platonism. So I have not presupposed a brute-physical view of personal identity. The operative principle is the immanent-causation requirement.

7 A helpful though demanding discussion of this topic is Dean Zimmerman, “Immanent Causation”, Nôus 31, Supplement: Philosophical Perspectives 11: Mind, Causation, and World (1997): pp. 433–71, is a helpful though demanding discussion.

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Some Consequences Every credible account of personal identity over time that I know of requires immanent causation. I have already argued that the brute-physical and psychological-continuity accounts require it. The only alternative to these two views that I know of is anticriterialism, that our identity through time does not consist in anything: no sort of continuity, whether physical or psychological, is both necessary and sufficient for us to persist.8 But even anticriterialists accept that you need immanent-causal connections to persist. No one denies that any condition is necessary for us to persist, apart from our persistence itself. Anticriterialists merely deny that any nontrivial set of conditions is both necessary and jointly sufficient. No anticriterialist thinks you could become a poached egg. Note that the immanent-causation requirement as I have stated it does not require one to have a spatiotemporally continuous career. It allows that a watch dismantled and reassembled on the jeweler’s bench might cease to exist and then come back into being, as there is a good deal of immanent causation here: the gears and springs preserve much of the watch’s characteristic structure. To a considerable extent, the watch causes itself to exist, and to be the way it is, when the work is done. The jeweler isn’t doing everything herself. For all I have said, things might be similar with you and me. Of course, we cannot be dismantled like watches without doing serious damage to our own gears and springs. But the immanent-causation requirement does not rule out the possibility that a human being might temporarily cease to exist by being cut into bits, and exist once more when they are reconnected. What if a watch or a person were reduced to atoms or elementary particles and thus totally destroyed, and God were later to arrange the atoms as they were before? In this case too there would be an immanent causal link from the original being to the one that appears upon reassembly, via the continuously existing atoms (which themselves require immanent causation to persist). God would not be doing all the work in bringing about the later existence of the watch or the person, as he would if he created one out of nothing. In fact there would be immanent causation if the new being incorporated even one of the original atoms—though far less than in those cases where it is reasonable to say that the original object returns to being upon reassembly. And those states of the resulting being that made it a watch or a person would be entirely the result of God’s act. I don’t know exactly what kind or degree of immanent causation is required for a person to persist. But if any is required, it is likely to be a high degree. At any rate, no one is going to say that you could survive total destruction as long as at least one of your original particles is preserved. If God could restore you to being

8 See e.g. Trenton Merricks, “How to live forever without saving your soul: Physicalism and immortality”, in Corcoran (ed.), Soul, Body, and Survival (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2001).

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after your atoms were scattered randomly, he could surely restore you after they were annihilated. In Defense of Immanent Causation The immanent-causation requirement ought to be uncontroversial. But as there are reputable philosophers who reject it, even in the weak form I have proposed, I ought to say something in its defense. The trouble is, arguing that you can’t survive without an appropriate causal connection to your past is like arguing that contradictions can’t be true (which reputable philosophers have also denied). No reasoning for these claims is going to be of much use, as it is bound to have a premise that is less obvious than the conclusion. At most one can try to articulate what would follow from rejecting the principle and hope that someone might find the result even more repugnant than the falsity of the principle by itself. Denying the requirement would seem to imply that the Las Vegas hoteliers really could rebuild the Colossus. If that’s not absurd enough already, it ought to lead us to wonder what they would have to do to create a mere replica of it. Surely there is a difference between a real historic artifact and a replica. If I wanted to make a replica and you wanted to rebuild the original, what should we have to do differently? If your task does not require you to incorporate any of the original object’s remains, I cannot see any answer to this question. Someone might say that what is missing in the case of the Colossus is God’s decree: an object that comes into existence is identical to some object that has been totally destroyed if and only if he decrees it to be. So the Las Vegas hoteliers could rebuild the Colossus, with God’s help. But God’s decreeing that something be the case is not normally sufficient for it to happen. There may be other necessary conditions. God’s command that a tree exist will be effective only if it causes some matter to be arranged in an arboreal manner. Just so, for him to bring it about that I exist in the next world, he would have to bring about any necessary conditions for this—including, it seems, an appropriate causal connection to my existence in this world. You might propose that there are no necessary conditions for personal identity over time, apart from God’s decree. But that would imply that I could be a poached egg tomorrow and a silly song the next, if only God decreed it. We might as well say that there are no necessary conditions for a tree to exist, apart from God’s decree: no matter needs to be arranged arboreally. If there are necessary conditions for identity over time other than God’s decree, however, then his decree will be effective only if they are satisfied. So this proposal does nothing to explain how we could get to the next world without any immanent causal link. Or someone might say that only ordinary objects such as the Colossus require immanent causation to persist—we human beings do not. How could this be? Well, there may be non-self-perpetuating objects. If a shadow persists, or moves, or grows, its existence and states at later times are in no way caused by its existence

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and states at earlier times. And someone might take us to be metaphysically like shadows. But that looks hopeless. The only way of rejecting the immanent-causation requirement that makes any sense to me presupposes the doctrine of spacetime plenitude (plenitude for short): that every matter-filled region of spacetime, “however disconnected and gerrymandered”,9 exactly contains a material thing. (Most philosophers combine this with “four-dimensionalism”, the doctrine that all persisting things are composed of temporal parts.) Plenitude implies that if a psychological duplicate of me appears in the next world, there is a perfectly good material thing occupying the sum of my thisworldly spacetime region and my duplicate’s nextworldly one, even if its later existence is in no way immanently caused by its earlier existence. Opponents of the immanent-causation requirement could say that this object, and not one confined to this world, would be me, the referent of the name “Olson”. (What would be the difference, then, between rebuilding the original Colossus and building a replica? Well, the hoteliers would have brought two objects into being, one that existed in ancient Greece and one that never existed before, the second being a temporal part of the first. Whether they have rebuilt the original statue would be simply a matter of whether the term “the Colossus” referred to that first object.) But even if we accept plenitude, the “Quinean model” of life after death is unattractive and has no adherents that I know of. The reason is that plenitude gives us plenty of candidates for being you and me that are self-perpetuating. To say that I am none of those beings, but rather one of the non-self-perpetuating ones, would be like saying that my desk is not a spatially self-contained object but includes several inches of floor. Just as any reasonable account of the meaning of the word “desk” will take it to apply to self-contained, movable objects if there are such things, any reasonable account of the meaning of the word “person” (and associated expressions) will take them to apply to self-perpetuating beings if there are any. What if someone denied the immanent-causation requirement but saw no need to give any account of how it could be false? To my mind, this would be like insisting that contradictions can be true yet seeing no need to say anything to account for the appearance that two’s being even rules out its not being even. Bafflement would be the appropriate response. The Ontic-Leap Model In discussing what it would take for us to have life after death, I appealed to two claims about identity over time: the irreversibility principle, that what is entirely destroyed cannot return to being, and the immanent-causation requirement, that we must be self-sustaining beings. I have said what I can about immanent causation. What about irreversibility?

9

W.V.O. Quine, Word and Object (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1960), p. 171.

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It may seem to follow from the immanent-causation requirement: once you have been totally destroyed, you can no longer cause a human person to exist; so anyone who comes into being later would have to owe her existence entirely to outside forces, which on the immanent-causation requirement would prevent her from being you. But this is not so: as we saw earlier, anyone later composed of atoms that composed you when you died would be to some degree immanently caused by you, even if you had been totally destroyed in the meantime. Here is a reason to doubt the irreversibility principle. Suppose there could be “action at a distance” or remote causation, so that a thing could have effects far away in space or time without affecting anything in intermediate locations. Remote causation has long had a bad reputation (physicists posit the existence of fields to avoid it). But it is hard to argue that it could never happen. If it could, then a thing that perished now might, at the last moment of its existence, cause something to happen a year from now without causing anything to occur between now and then. And in that case it might be able to cause itself to exist a year later, thus “jumping” discontinuously from one time or place to another without anything special occurring in between—even if in the meantime it is totally destroyed and its matter is annihilated. That would violate the irreversibility principle, but not the immanent-causation requirement. It might make life after death possible without either body-snatching or immaterial souls. Zimmerman has proposed such a view.10 Here is one version of it: when you die, God miraculously gives each of your atoms the power to leap to the next world, where they arrive in the same arrangement as they had in this one. God does not create atoms out of nothing in the next world. Rather, he causes each of your thisworldly atoms to cause itself to exist there. Nothing that goes on in the spatiotemporal interval between your destruction in this world and your atoms’ appearance in the next suffices for the atoms to appear at that place. So there appears to be immanent causation. And it looks like the right sort of immanent causation to enable you to survive: the atoms’ thisworldly arrangement causes their arrangement in the next world, just as your atoms’ current arrangement causes the arrangement they have a moment from now. How would the atoms cause themselves to appear at a distant location? How could they? Here there is nothing to say, or at least nothing beyond what we can say about how an atom causes itself to continue existing in the same place in normal circumstances. Causation is no a priori science. If your atoms vanish when you die, they do not compose your lifeless remains. Yet death normally produces a corpse. Where would it come from? God could of course produce a counterfeit, as in the body-snatching model. To avoid this, Zimmerman introduces a complication: rather than simply leaping to the next world, your atoms “divide”, and each causes itself to exist both in this world and in the next. Or rather, each causes one atom to exist in this world, just as it would 10 Dean Zimmerman, “The Compatibility of Materialism and Survival: The “Falling Elevator” Model”, Faith and Philosophy, 16 (1999): pp. 194–212.

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ordinarily, and another to exist in the next. Of course, it can’t be that both resulting atoms are the original: two things can’t be numerically identical to one. Zimmerman says the thisworldly atom is the original (owing to its spatiotemporal continuity with it) and the nextworldly atom is new, but that the immanent causation linking the new atoms to the old ones would still enable the original person to exist in the next world. So your corpse really is your remains, and consists of your original atoms, just as it appears: no sleight of hand is necessary. Yet it isn’t you, and its total destruction does not affect you.11 The Divine-Command Model Zimmerman calls this the “falling-elevator” model of life after death. I will call it the ontic-leap model. It promises the possibility of life after death without bodysnatching or immaterial souls. As described, though, it looks impossible. Suppose an object, when it ceased to exist, really did cause itself to reappear at a time and place not contiguous with the location where it vanished. What would determine where and when it reappeared? There are infinitely many places where it could appear. Some spacetime locations might be more likely than others: perhaps those nearer the object’s disappearance would be more likely than distant ones. But where exactly it turned up, it seems, could only be a matter of chance. How could an object that perishes have the power to reappear at some particular distant location? How could it “find” that place? For an object to cause itself to reappear at a non-random location, it would need to have a property analogous to momentum. But the momentum an object has at a given time can only tell it where to be next. It can tell it what direction to move in and how fast, but not where to be at a time after the object has ceased to have that momentum. This is not an objection to remote causation in general, or to immanent causation across a spatiotemporal gap, or even to the idea that an atom might cause itself to reappear at a distant time and place without traversing any of the intervening locations. The problem lies in the claim that there could be a distant spatiotemporal location such that an object had the power to cause itself to come into being there. Yet the ontic-leap model requires each of your atoms to vanish and then reappear not just anywhere, but in the next world. (For simplicity, let us ignore the division element of the story.) What’s more, they must all reappear at the same time, and in the same spatial arrangement as they had when they vanished. But even if your atoms could reliably find the next world, they could not possibly know where 11

As Hershenov notes, this would mean that you can survive without material continuity: you could come to be composed, all at once, of entirely new matter, matter that was never assimilated by your life-processes. See David Hershenov, “Van Inwagen, Zimmerman, and the materialist conception of resurrection”, Religious Studies, 38 (2002): pp. 451–69.

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and when to reappear so that the result was a living human being and not simply a cloud, widely dispersed across space and time. It might happen, perhaps, but it would be fantastically unlikely. It would be like some of the atoms released in an exploding star arranging themselves spontaneously into a living human being. And even if such an event were to get your atoms to the next world arranged as they are now, it wouldn’t get you there, as the atoms’ organic arrangement would not have been immanently caused by their thisworldly arrangement, but would be an artifact of chance. In any case, the model is of theological interest only if it offers a means by which people could reliably reach the next world. Zimmerman proposes a variant of the ontic-leap model that may avoid this problem. Suppose Bloggs is totally destroyed. Later God gives the command: let someone appear in the next world who is intrinsically just like Bloggs was when she ceased to exist. And such a person duly appears. Zimmerman thinks her existence and her state are immanently caused by the way Bloggs was when she perished, because the command itself does not suffice to bring them about. As before, it works only in conjunction with Bloggs’s actual past state. (God might not even know what Bloggs was like when she died.) If Bloggs had never existed, the command would be ineffective. God isn’t doing it alone. Because there is immanent causation between Bloggs and the nextworldly person, Zimmerman says, there is no objection to saying that that person is Bloggs. Although Zimmerman proposes this variant for other purposes, it may answer my objection to the onticleap model. What could determine where and when a thing that has been totally destroyed should reappear later? The answer would be: wherever God commands. It doesn’t have to find that place. It merely has to obey the command. Call this the divine-command model of life after death. (It is not supposed to require backwards causation. God’s command—given after your death, perhaps—does not cause your atoms to do anything in this world, any more than they have to do anything to continue existing in normal circumstances. Rather, God’s command combines with your atoms’ existence and arrangement in this world to cause them to appear in that arrangement in the next.) Worries I have space for only a few brief remarks on the divine-command model. (They apply to the ontic-leap and psychological-duplication models as well.) 1. The model implies that the total destruction of an object is never more than a hindrance to its existing later. What happened to the Colossus of Rhodes might make that thing very difficult to restore, but it would be wrong to lose all hope. If only a being with the right powers were to give the command, the ancient statue itself would reappear, and no mere replica. Anything whatever that existed in the past could exist today, no matter what may have happened in the meantime. The meteorite that caused the Cretaceous

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extinction, though it was vaporised on impact, could strike the earth again tomorrow. The Trojan War could break out once more at any moment. If I had to believe in life after death, I would rather accept body-snatching, or even immaterial souls. Whatever their difficulties, neither conflicts with anything as compelling as the irreversibility principle. 2. It requires a “best-candidate theory” of identity over time. Suppose God commanded that someone appear in the next world just as you are right now, well before your demise. The result would be two beings, one in this world and one in the next, each just like you are now and each immanently caused to exist and to be as it is in a way that would normally suffice for it to be you. They couldn’t both be you, because there are two of them. Yet one would be you—the one in this world. Otherwise the mere appearance of someone in the next world would bring your existence to an end, which is absurd. The thisworldly being would be you because it would be the better candidate of the two, being spatiotemporally continuous with you as well as immanently caused by you. In general, a future being is you just if it is the best candidate for being you, and a good enough candidate. So for God to resurrect you, he must command someone just as you are at the moment of death to appear in the next world. (He would be a better candidate, Zimmerman says, than your corpse.) Though there may be no knock-down objection to best-candidate theories of identity, they make most of us uncomfortable. Here is one way of trying to articulate the discomfort. Imagine that owing to a blunder on the part of an over-eager assistant, two divine commands are issued, causing two beings just as you are at the moment of death to appear in the next world simultaneously. This time neither would be you, as neither would be the best candidate. For God to resurrect you, he needs to get just one appropriate candidate to appear. That consequence is well known. But it gets worse. Suppose a further command does produce just one such candidate. Would it be you because it was the only one to appear then? Or would it not be you because it was not the only appropriate candidate existing then? Would God have to wait for the first two people to perish before he could resurrect you? Or would their existence make it impossible for you ever to exist again? It is easy to doubt whether there are real answers to these questions laid up in heaven. Yet according to the divine-command model there have to be. 3. It requires there to be a last moment when a person exists (or definitely exists) in this world. To get you to the next world, God must command the appearance of someone who is like you are at the last moment of your existence in this one; otherwise, as we just saw, you stay where you are and the nextworldly being is someone new. But no one knows whether there is a last moment when one of us exists in this world, rather than a first moment when we no longer do. (The body-snatching model is more flexible in this regard: God could fetch you just before you would have ceased to exist.)

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4. It requires that in the natural course of events, where there is no divine intervention, we cease to exist at death rather than becoming corpses. Otherwise you would be badly decomposed at the last moment of your existence, and even if God got you to the next world and restored you to some more favorable condition, there would be no psychological continuity, ruling out life after death as I characterized it. This means that there is no such thing as a dead person. A corpse is not even something that ever was a person. That may be troubling.12 The Four-Dimensional Divine-Command Model These are serious worries, and they don’t arise on the Platonic or body-snatching models. Matters brighten a bit, though, if we combine the divine-command model with the principle of space-time plenitude mentioned earlier—which I take to imply that we are composed of temporal parts. This converts some the model’s troubling metaphysical consequences into relatively harmless semantic ones.13 This variant replaces the wild best-candidate theory of identity with a more sensible best-candidate theory of reference. If God created two nextwordly beings each appropriately causally connected to you, there would be two beings that share their thisworldly temporal parts but not their nextworldly ones. And both would be you in the sense that the pronoun “you”, uttered in this world, refers ambiguously to both.14 If the future holds two worthy candidates for being you but one is better, then we use your name to refer to that one. In no case do seemingly irrelevant facts about other beings determine identity facts. Is there a last moment of one’s thisworldly existence? Plenitude makes this too a semantic question. It implies that there are a vast number of candidates for being you—the referent of your name and of your first-person pronouns—that are as good as any other, differing among themselves only by having a slightly shorter or longer temporal extent. For each temporal interval that is a candidate for being the one that you occupy, there is a different candidate for being you. Some of these beings, presumably, will have a last moment of their thisworldly existence and others won’t. The divine-command model merely requires our personal pronouns to refer to beings that do, which ought to be possible.

12 See e.g. Fred Feldman, “The termination thesis”, in Peter A. French and Howard K. Wettstein (eds), Life and Death: Metaphysics and Ethics, Midwest Studies in Philosophy 24 (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2000), pp. 98–115. 13 Hudson defends a view of this sort. See Hud Hudson, A Materialist Metaphysics of the Human Person (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2001. 14 David Lewis, “Survival and Identity”, in Amelie Rorty (ed.), The Identities of Persons (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1976), reprinted in David Lewis, Philosophical Papers (2 vols, New York: Oxford University Press, 1983), vol. 1, pp. 55–72.

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As for the person and the corpse: plenitude implies that there are candidates for being you and me that cease to exist at death, and candidates that persist as corpses. The divine-command model requires merely that the beings we use the personal pronouns to refer to be of the first sort. And the irreversibility principle? Well, if every filled spacetime region contains an object, then plenty of things do come back into being after they are totally destroyed. So if there is any truth in the irreversibility principle, it can only be that our ordinary terms and the associated thoughts never refer to any such entities: such beings are not in the extension of the word “person” or the reference of the personal pronouns, for instance. But even if that’s true, it is a contingent matter, and it could change. If there actually is a next world containing beings like ourselves that are immanently causally connected to us, it may be that believers in life after death already do refer to beings that leap to the next world when they say “I” and “we”. What they take the principle to mean would then be false. Plenitude is a high price to pay for these advantages. But we have seen the alternatives: the original divine-command model, and the Platonic and bodysnatching models. I can see no other way in which life after death could be possible.15

15 I am grateful to Stephen Cave, David Hershenov, and Hud Hudson for comments on earlier versions.

Chapter 4

3.5-Dimensionalism and Survival: A Process Ontological Approach Godehard Brüntrup S.J.

Abide with me; fast falls the eventide; The darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide; Swift to its close ebbs out life’s little day; Earth’s joys grow dim, its glories pass away; Change and decay in all around I see – O Thou who changest not, abide with me. I need Thy presence every passing hour; Where is death’s sting? Where, grave, thy victory? I triumph still, if Thou abide with me. (H.F. Lyte 1793–1847)

Process Ontology In this paper I will ask whether the religious hope of surviving one’s natural death can be expressed and at least partially explicated within the framework of a process ontology. The central idea of process ontology is the critique of the notion of “substance”. This notion seems, however, indispensable if it is to be really me, the identical person, which has survived death. It is the very definition of a substance to be that which endures through time. But how can the subject survive death if it is not a substance? The relationship between process ontology and the notion of immortality has mostly been debated within the framework of Whiteheadian process theology. Whitehead’s notion of God played a key role in this debate. Because God does— in his “consequent nature”—preserve all contingent events of creation, several options were available to think even of subjective phenomenal experience as forever maintained in God.1 In what follows, however, the relationship of process ontology and the hope for resurrection will be analyzed independently 1 For a detailed survey of these theories see Tobias Müller, Gott, Welt, Kreativität. Eine Analyse der Philosophie A.N. Whiteheads (Paderborn: Schöningh, 2009), pp. 269–94.

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of the problematic Whiteheadian notion of God. No simple “re-enactment” of Whitehead’s philosophy is intended, rather a transformation with some “creative novelty”. The main focus will be on establishing connections between themes of current analytic metaphysics and traditional Whiteheadian process ontology, ranging from the identity of particulars through time, the mind-body problem, and the metaphysics of time, to the reality of abstract objects. The theory sketched here uses Whiteheadian ideas in some crucial aspects, but places them within the debate of contemporary metaphysics. Most process philosophers are realists about processes and idealists about substances.2 Process ontology assumes processes with a mind-independent unity and identity. Some of these are directly given in experience. Substances, however, are theoretical constructs which are not directly given in experience, but are rather the result of an abstraction. It is this central thought of process philosophy that will be exploited here in order to find middle ground in the metaphysical debate between endurantists and perdurantists. The Problem of Becoming: Metaphysics between Heraclitus and Parmenides In his magnum opus “Process and Reality” Whitehead criticizes modern metaphysics for not adequately representing the riches of human experience.3 This charge is often made against analytic philosophy, arguably the liveliest field in contemporary metaphysics. In “utterances of religious aspiration”4 Whitehead saw a particularly fruitful source of human experience that ought to be discussed in metaphysics. Can analytic metaphysics adequately conceptualize these “utterances of religious aspiration”? This is the question that will be pursued here by focusing on an aspiration most central to Christianity, the hope for survival. Whitehead presents a surprising interpretation for the biblical verse “Abide with me; fast falls the eventide” (Luke 24:29) that has found a “wealth of expression” in the first two lines of a famous hymn.5 Here the first line expresses the permanence, “abide”, “me”, and the “Being” addressed; and the second line sets these permanences amid the inescapable flux. Here at length we find formulated the complete problem of metaphysics. Those philosophers who start with the first line have given us the metaphysics of

2

See Nicholas Rescher, Process Metaphysics. An Introduction to Process Philosophy (New York: Suny Press, 1996), pp. 58f. 3 Alfred N. Whitehead, Process and Reality, corr. edn (New York: The Free Press, 1978). 4 Whitehead, Process, p. 208. 5 He refers to the hymn by Henry Lyte. There is some evidence that Lyte wrote it in 1820 after visiting a dying friend, who, on his deathbed, kept murmuring the passage from Luke: “Abide with me; fast falls the eventide”.

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“substance”; and those who start with the second line have developed a metaphysics of “flux”. But, in truth, the two lines cannot be torn apart in this way.6 The remark “in truth, the two lines cannot be torn apart in this way” expresses in a nutshell the theoretical framework of this paper. The technical expression “3.5-dimensionalism” refers to the attempt to keep these two lines together. The goal will be to find a middle ground between the extremes of absolute flux and changeless invariance through time. In analytic metaphysics these opposing positions are labeled “perdurantism” (the “4D-view”) and “endurantism” (the “3D-view”). According to the 3D-account, concrete enduring particulars like animals have spatial but no temporal parts. They are extended in space but not in time. If, say, you meet a human being you meet this entire person, not a temporal part of her at that specific point in time. This is the view of classic substance metaphysics. A substance that endures through time undergoes only accidental change. It endures as a numerically identical entity through time. In contrast, perdurance is a continuity of temporal parts in which certain structural similarities are preserved. By adding time as the fourth dimension, the perdurantist claims that concrete particulars have temporal parts. One never encounters an object in its entirety; rather one is in contact with one of its time-slices. The concrete particular is thus not an enduring substance but a four-dimensional space-time worm which comprises all temporal stages of this individual (the “worm-view”). Or it is claimed that the concrete particular is not even this thing extended in space and time, but collapses ultimately into a mere sequence of causally connected stages without assuming any genuine unity (the “stage-view”). In both cases the traditional substance view has been abandoned. The idea of substances has been challenged by many contemporary philosophers. The worldview advocated by the sciences, especially relativistic physics, was clearly in favor of a four-dimensional account (the “block universe”). Given these developments, the relevance of the recent debate on resurrection in analytic metaphysics becomes obvious. One important contribution of this debate was the development of models of survival that are compatible with a 4D-view of human persons. This is true in particular for those positions which, due to their physicalist assumptions, have to focus on bodily resurrection.7 The Internal Coherence of a Process It is widely assumed that the human body is a sequence of non-identical physical stages. For something to count as one human body through time, all there has to be is the right kind of relation between those stages: immanent causation. This 6

Whitehead, Process, p. 209. I have analyzed this development in Godehard Brüntrup, “Soul, Body and Survival. The Renaissance of Christian Materialism”, Revista Portugesa de Filosofia, 65 (2009): Suppl., pp. 317–35. 7

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notion was already in use by the Christian process metaphysician Borden Brown. He was influenced by Hermann Lotze and his critique of the notion of a substance was tightly integrated with his concept of immanent causation.8 The general idea is that a stage S1 of a given concrete entity E causes a later stage S2 of E. The question that arises immediately is how E can be construed as a persisting entity without assuming a non-changing 3D-substance. Without assuming such a 3D-substance there is no numerical identity through time for concrete entities like human persons. The mere repetition of the relevant properties (stable pattern) together with the right kind of causal connection establishes, however, a weaker form of identity which is often called “genidentity”.9 On this view, what we commonly regard as a single entity is strictly speaking a temporal series of different entities. Because these entities produce their successor causally while maintaining key properties, they can be considered “identical” in the weaker sense of genidentity. This accords with Whitehead’s view. For him a concrete entity, even a person, consists ultimately of a sequence of (psycho-physical) events which produce each other causally while maintaining certain key properties. What we commonly see as an enduring 3D-substance is really a “society” of events ordered serially in time and thus a process. For Whitehead, an entity which endures through time is characterized by two features: a common element of form and a genetic relatedness that orders the events serially.10 There is a causal inheritance of the defining characteristics in the causal series. These enduring patterns, the form, is not sufficient for the individuation of the entity. If this were the case, all events that instantiated the same abstract form would be identical.11 There remains the possibility of special forms whose instantiation generates individuals, a theory along the lines of Aristotelian natural kinds.12 The idea of fixed, clearly and non-vaguely delineated natural kinds is according to most process philosophers incompatible with the theory of evolution. Within the context of survival of one’s 8

Borden Bowne, Metaphysics: A Study in First Principles (New York: Harper, 1882): “A change between things must depend on a change in things. Now when we remember that the only reason for positing things is to provide some ground for activity and change, it is plain that the changeless core is of no use and must be dropped as both useless and unprovable” (p. 51). “Interaction cannot be conceived as a transitive causality playing between things; it is rather an immanent causality in a fundamental unitary being” (ibid., p. 83). For the most recent developments see Zimmerman, “Immanent Causation”, Nous 31, Supplement: Philosophical Perspectives 11: Mind, Causation, and World (1997): pp. 433–71. 9 The concept “genidentity” was originally developed in Kurt Levin, Der Begriff der Genese in Physik, Biologie und Entwicklungsgeschichte. Eine Untersuchung zur vergleichenden Wissenschaftslehre (Berlin: Springer, 1922). 10 Whitehead, Process, p. 34. 11 I am not pursuing the interesting idea of individual essences here. It seems hard to square with the basic intuitions of process philosophy, where the individual event is not fully determined by any pre-existing essence. 12 I am thinking of something like Michael Loux, Metaphysics. A Contemporary Introduction, 3rd edn (New York: Routledge, 2006).

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natural death, the question arises whether or not a surviving human being can remain a member of the biological species homo sapiens. The basic entities in (Whiteheadian) process ontology are individuated by their own unique perspective on the world as a whole, not by instantiating a particular form. Can 3D-Objects Emerge from 4D-Structures? It could be argued that an individual as a 3D-object somehow emerges from the repetition of similar events. But even if a stable pattern somehow emerges in this way, it is by no means implied that this pattern is a new 3D-entity without temporal parts. In process metaphysics, objects enduring in time are, to use a term of Rescher’s, “stability waves in a sea of process”13, patterns of activity that emerge from a base that is in constant flux. It is much more natural to view these stability patterns as higher-level processes than to construe them as entities without temporal parts. The thesis that genuine 3D-entities could somehow emerge from a 4D-base is not the thesis of 3.5-dimensionalism at issue here, but rather the thesis that both the 3D- and 4D-views are true on different ontological levels. But does this idea really make sense? If an entity that were truly numerically identical through time (that is, without having temporal parts) could emerge from a constant flux of non-identical entities, we would have a mysterious and unintelligible emergence. We might as well imagine the emergence of a concrete entity like a tree from a configuration of abstract entities like prime numbers. Such a claim is not really intelligible. A true process ontology can introduce enduring 3D-entities only at the price of incoherence. The same argument can be made against the idea that the higher-level 3D-substances are somehow constituted by the underlying series of non-identical events. Constitution theory has recently been made popular by Baker and others.14 It builds on the old Aristotelian notion that a bronze statue coincides with a lump of bronze by being at the same location in space and time, while not being identical to that lump. Can process ontology make use of this idea? Could an enduring 3D-entity without temporal parts coincide with individual events in a series without being identical to them? That sounds initially promising. But constitution theory is not substance dualism. The enduring 3D-entity cannot be ontologically independent and then miraculously interact with the underlying events. If that cannot be the case, then we get back to the idea that enduring 3Dentities somehow “emerge” from an underlying process that is just a series of nonidentical events. The intelligibility of this idea has already been questioned. The most basic individuals in process metaphysics are then only the momentary events. If each of these events is causally connected to the following event in the 13

Rescher, p. 53. Lynne Rudder Baker, The Metaphysics of Everyday Life: An Essay in Practical Realism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007). 14

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sequence, then the talk of a temporally enduring object can be justified, but only in the sense of genidentity, not that of strict numerical identity. In this context Whitehead often uses “vibration” and “rhythm” as metaphor. An enduring object15 gains its inner determinations by the rhythmic process of inheriting properties from its predecessors and by its own creative novelty. This stable rhythmic pattern of its history constitutes the enduring object, which is not a 3D-object but a higher-level process. Whitehead knew that this account was in full accordance with contemporary science. A stable resonance or vibration in a quantum field may constitute what we call a particle. This particle does not exist as a 3D-substance without temporal parts. It is, however, the appropriate connection, the “thread of persistence”,16 and thus the stability of the pattern, and thus the genidentity of the underlying events, that justify the talk of a particle enduring in time. In what follows, a process ontology of the kind just outlined will be assumed without much further argument. It is the backdrop for the main argument of this paper. What will be shown, however, is why the account developed here differs from traditional worm or stage 4D-views. The aim of the 3.5D-view is to locate a middle ground between the “abide with me” and the “fast falls the eventide”. Before we can get to this, a few more topics need to be covered at least very briefly because they are central to understanding a process ontology in a broadly Whiteheadian tradition: the metaphysics of time, the mind-body problem, and the metaphysics of abstract objects. All of this will be done only insofar as it serves to answer the question whether the idea of surviving one’s natural death can be made intelligible within an ontological framework that wants to manage without the notion of enduring 3D-substances. This seems to make survival impossible, not only in the world to come but already in this world. If I am a series of momentary psycho-physical events then I do, in a certain sense at least, die even now at each passing moment. That is a very provocative thought. It makes death lose its unique status. This idea of radical becoming only makes sense in a presentist conception of time. Presentism Presentism is the common-sense and intuitive view of time. Only the present exists; the future does not yet exist, and the past no longer exists. The past seems to exist in a certain way, because statements about the past are commonly regarded as semantically bivalent (either and only true or false). What makes them true or false if the past no longer exists? In the current debate the presentist view has been on the defensive due to a criticism which David Lewis has formulated in an

15

Whitehead, Process, p. 279. Peter Simons, “The Thread of Persistence”, in Christian Kanzian (ed.), Persistence (Heusenstamm: Ontos, 2008), pp. 165–84. 16

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exemplary fashion.17 Lewis denies that the only intrinsic properties of an object are those it has at the present moment. By intrinsic properties I mean those that a thing has independently of its relations to other objects. Assume that Peter is now blind but could still see ten years earlier. The same person cannot be blind and sighted. The natural solution to this problem is to relate those properties to a point in time. A person can be “seeing-at-t1” and “blind-at-t2”. But then we are no longer dealing with intrinsic properties, because we have defined them in relation to a point in time. Thus, for Lewis the only sensible solution is to construe persons as 4D-objects. The metaphysics of time that is most consistent with this view is the eternalist picture. In the same way as no spatial point has a special status, no point in time (here, the present) has a special status. The common-sense triad of past, present, and future (the A-series) is replaced by the duality of earlier and later (the B-series). A central problem of this picture is that it does not leave room for contingent facts. An entity has its properties necessarily, because there is no open future with alternative possibilities. This view is certainly at odds with both our common-sense view and Christian tradition as it is usually understood. Thus, even though the account proposed here is at the most fundamental level a 4D-view, it nevertheless supports a presentist conception of time which is usually associated with a 3D-view. This requires a version of the stage-view, as opposed to the wormview, where the stages are very brief. This move, though somewhat surprising in the contemporary debate, is nonetheless characteristic of a process ontology of radical becoming.18 The philosophical motivation for this lies in the attempt to take our temporal existence seriously, to be a “serious tenser”. Not only do we regard the future as non-existent, but we experience the past as something which no longer exists. But what about the critical questions concerning presentism? The first is: what makes sentences about the past true or false? This question can easily lead to erroneous ontological claims. If we claim, say, that there once were people that do not exist today, does this imply that the people of the past still somehow exist? No, it only implies that some people, who do not exist today, were existing in the past. To have existed in the past is not the same as never having existed, but it does not imply actual present existence. A second and more difficult question seems to be the one raised by Lewis. Can the only intrinsic properties of a person be the ones the person has here and now? Lewis answered in the negative, but in what follows I will, in a certain sense, offer a positive answer. But before we can get to this, our sketch of a process metaphysics will have to be fleshed out further by some remarks on the mind-body problem.

17

David Lewis, On the Plurality of Worlds (Oxford: Blackwell, 1986), pp. 202f. In the current debate, Galen Strawson has advocated a similar view and claimed that the “Persistence Belief is not experientially natural.” See Galen Strawson, Selves: An Essay in Revisionary Metaphysics (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), p. 221. 18

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Pan(-proto-)psychism Process ontology as such is neutral with regard to different positions in the mindbody debate. A dualism of mental and physical processes could be assumed just as easily as a monism of merely physical processes. A broadly Whiteheadian process ontology needs mental properties to secure the connection of events that happen sequentially in time. For Whitehead, causation is a “simple physical feeling”.19 Each event is informed by a fundamental act of prehension of its immediate past and is to a certain extent determined by that act. The temporal relations are constituted in this way. Similar to the monadology of Leibniz, the spatial relations are also constituted by being “prehended” from the point of view of a particular actual entity. In addition, proto-mental properties are needed to explain the receptivity by which simpler events are enabled to bind into a higher-level more complex events. I cannot give an elaborated account of this ontology here.20 One key intuition, however, needs mentioning: a process ontology that works with physicalistically conceived fundamental events collapses ultimately into a kind of atomism of those events. Higher-level events are mere conglomerates of these. This criticism of process ontology was prominently raised in theology by Pannenberg, who saw process ontology as a strictly atomistic philosophy of nature.21 But this account is inadequate. How can the relations that enable the combination and unification of several fundamental events be grounded in the intrinsic nature of these events? Unity in space and time at a level higher than the most basic events becomes possible only if somehow the intrinsic properties of the basic events ground those relations. In Leibniz’s metaphysics, all external-relational properties (“denominations”) are grounded in intrinsic properties (or denominations). The best candidates for such absolutely intrinsic properties are those which somehow make possible a mental or proto-mental representation of the environment. Leibniz’s account thus results in a kind of pan-experientialism, in which each monad is a “living mirror” which represents the universe from a perspective. This representation is not merely a passive mirroring but is actively involved in the constitution of the universe. It is not surprising that event ontologies, from Whitehead’s classic account to Rosenberg’s more recent one, emphasize the mental as fundamental rather than as high-level structure emerging from an entirely non-experiential “Cartesian” matter.22 The Cartesian “bifurcation” of completely mindless matter 19

Whitehead, Process, p. 236. For a more detailed account see ch. 8 of my Das Leib–Seele–Problem (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2008) and in English my “Natural Individuals and Intrinsic Properties”, in Ludger Honnefelder, Edmund Runggaldier, and Benedikt Schick (eds), Unity and Time as Problem in Metaphysics (Berlin and New York: Walter de Gruyter, 2009), pp. 237–52. 21 Wolfhart Pannenberg, Theologie und Philosophie (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck, 1996), p. 353. 22 Gregg Rosenberg, A Place for Consciousness. Probing the Deep Structure of the Natural World (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004). See also William Seager, 20

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and a purely mental soul is but a conceptual abstraction. Contemporary debates on the possibility of resurrection are occurring within this Cartesian framework. Classical Christian philosophy, at least in its Aristotelian version, emphasized the unity of different substances, one of which is material and the other nonmaterial. The ontology developed in this paper is in many respects close to this “compound dualism”. It denies, however, the Aristotelian/Thomistic thesis that it is only substantial forms, enduring and somehow untouched by change, that secure the identity through time of the material beings that are configured by these forms. This account fails to capture the materiality and the temporality of natural existence. The entire metaphysical “work” of identifying a substance is being done by an Aristotelian “form”, something which, in virtue of its abstract nature, is not really a temporal entity.23 We are, as Brian Leftow has put it eloquently, “souls dipped in dust”.24 Hylomorphism is thus not really a compound dualism, since the counterpart of forms is mere prime matter. The view advocated here regards us not as souls dipped in dust but as processes made from material with proto-mental properties, “made from mind-dust”, in William James’s words. The thought that mental or proto-mental properties can be found at a level less complex than the level of animals strikes one initially as strange. It is, however, an idea with a venerable history in philosophy.25 The prima facie strangeness is caused by the intuition that, if this idea is correct, then even very simple entities would have mental states that are relevantly similar to human mentality. But this is a misunderstanding. Similarity is not a transitive relation. Between the lowest, least complex and the highest, most complex levels there are many intermediate levels. With regard to its mental or proto-mental properties each level is similar to its neighboring levels but not necessarily similar to levels that are more distant. Because similarity is not transitive, it is possible that ontological levels that are far removed from each other are no longer similar with regard to their mental properties.26 This critique of the Cartesian bifurcation is aimed at the very notion of mere Cartesian matter, and in consequence allows for a metaphysical picture of the human person as a genuine psycho-physical unity. Only as such can a human person survive. Instead of a dualism we have here a bipolarism such that each concrete individual has both physical and mental properties. The notion of a clear“Rosenberg, Reducibility, and Consciousness”, Psyche, 12 (2006): pp. 1–15. 23 For a critical evaluation of compound dualism see Brüntrup, “Soul, Body and Survival”, pp. 317–35. 24 “Because what there is to the body if it is abstracted from the soul—prime matter— hasn’t the stature to be a partner in any sort of dualism. It cannot even exist on its own.” See Brian Leftow, “Souls Dipped in Dust”, in Kevin Corcoran (ed.), Soul, Body and Survival: Essays on the Metaphysics of Human Persons (Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 2001), pp. 120–38, 137f. 25 David Skrbina, Panpsychism in the West (Cambridge: MIT Press, 2005). 26 See also Brüntrup, “Is Psycho–physical Emergentism Committed to Dualism? The Causal Efficacy of Emergent Mental Properties”, Erkenntnis, 6 (1998): pp. 1–19.

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cut duality of the mental and the physical is the product of an abstraction. If one takes that abstraction to be ultimately real, one commits what Whitehead terms a “fallacy of misplaced concreteness”. It was Russell, among others, who argued that physics captures only those relational and formal properties of matter which can be expressed mathematically. Everything we know of the intrinsic properties of matter is derived from our experience of mental properties.27 Without delving deeply into this metaphysical issue, a point must be emphasized which is salient in the context of this paper. It does not suffice, according to this metaphysics, for a concrete particular to be a temporally stable configurational pattern in space. A mere aggregate like a cloud formation or a wave is such a stable configuration. A true individual represents the world from a perspective. It has its unity not only by the stability of its spatial configuration but primarily by the uniqueness of its perspective on reality as a whole. This is a highly relevant feature of a theory of survival in a process-ontological context. Survival means primarily the persistence of a certain perspective on the world. The question is, however, whether a broadly Whiteheadian process ontology has the conceptual resources to explicate the possibility of survival as the persistence of a perspective. Survival in Process Ontology What constitutes a human person on this process-ontological account? A person is a being that can relate to itself as itself, which has a reflective self-relation. Human persons are distinguished from other higher-level animals by the fact that they are endowed with a first-person perspective, the ability to distinguish between themselves as seen from the third person perspective and as seen reflectively from their own perspective. Linguistically this capability is displayed by the use of pronouns like “I” which the person uses to refer to herself. Persons are able to attribute thoughts to themselves as their own thoughts and to reflect on them as such. They thus have self-consciousness, not simply phenomenal consciousness. In process-ontological terms the human person is not a 3D-substance but, diachronically, a series of momentary events featuring both mental and physical properties. Synchronically, this is a hierarchical ordering of higher-level events constituted by lower-level events, where a person’s stream of consciousness is located at the highest level. At lower levels are entities ranging from biological cells all the way down to elementary particles. Only present events exist actually; these are partly determined by their immediate past, which leaves, before ceasing to exist, a mark on the next event. The structural similarity (common form) and the causal connection (genetic relatedness) of the events enable us to speak of a process that endures through time. There is, of course, no numerical identity between the events so connected, only genidentity in the sense given above. The 27

Bertrand Russell, The Analysis of Matter (London: Routledge, 1992), pp. 270, 402.

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classical notion of a 3D-substance has thus been completely abolished. Within the presentist metaphysics of time the 3D-view cannot simply be replaced by a 4Dview on which a four-dimensional wormlike entity is extended through space-time. Each personal event which grows organically from the past is thus a re-enactment of its predecessor, without being fully determined by it and thus allowing for the possibility of creative novelty. In spite of this close genetic relatedness of the events, the person seems to become something transient that exists for a moment only to cease to exist in the next moment, a process of mere becoming. The concept of a person identical through time, which has dominated Western metaphysics, seems to have been given up entirely. A victory for Heraclitus? In our biblical quote “Abide with me; fast falls the eventide”, the second half of radical becoming would be eliminating the first of permanence. In this case nothing would have been gained in comparison to a stage version of the 4D-view. The stages, however, would be momentary and thus very short. In any case, my prior stages would actually be temporal counterparts of me. A true unity of the person could only be conceived by adopting a worm-view instead of the stage-view. But this requires abandoning presentism, since the worm exists in a way that attributes no special ontological status to the present.28 The situation seems hopeless. The abandonment of the classical notion of a substance seems to imply that everything dissolves in a constant flux. Is there middle ground between these alternatives? Abstraction and Permanence Whitehead famously remarked that “to be an abstraction does not mean that an entity is nothing. It merely means that its existence is only a factor of a more concrete element of nature.”29 With that in mind, let us return briefly to Whitehead’s idea that it is a common form of serially ordered events that allows for the recognition of an enduring object. Whitehead writes that the form is a complex eternal object.30 Eternal objects in Whitehead’s terminology are abstract entities. If eternal objects have structuring “impact” in the world by some kind of formal causation, then we have arrived again at a Hylomorphic Aristotelian view. There would be something like a timeless forma substantialis which constitutes an enduring 3D-object. If this substantial form were doing all or most of the metaphysical work in the individuation of a concrete particular, a substance ontology would be re-established. This is, of course, incompatible with process metaphysics. In what follows the ontological status of those abstract objects or forms will thus be “downgraded” to a non-primary or derivative status. The ontological primacy remains with the 28 See Theodore Sider, Four-Dimensionalism. An Ontology of Persistence and Time (Oxford: Clarendon, 2003). 29 Alfred N. Whitehead, The Concept of Nature (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1920), p. 171. 30 Whitehead, Process, p. 34.

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actual events. For this purpose it is essential to clarify what is meant by “abstract”. Typically, abstract entities can be realized at different places and at different times. Concrete particulars, which we might call “continuants” to avoid the loaded notion “substance”, can also exist at different points in time but not simultaneously at different points in space. One and the same person can exist in 2005 and 2010 but not simultaneously at two locations in space. Continuants are thus similar to universals with respect to multiple temporal and non-simultaneous spatial realizability.31 Following a tradition that reaches from the neo-Platonists to Leibniz, Whitehead assumes that all basic entities are concrete entities. Abstract entities are not self-grounded; their existence depends on the activity of thinking performed by concrete entities. This position that is located between realism and nominalism is often called conceptualism. But if, in the tradition of Neoplatonism, it is the divine mind that secures the existence of abstract objects, one might as well speak of a realist position. As noted earlier, continuants are indeed similar to universals in that they are able to be instantiated at different times. If abstract entities are conceived as entia rationis, entities that are dependent on thinking concrete entities, then a middle ground between a pure 4D– and a pure 3D-view is indeed possible. At this point one can refer to the abovementioned thesis by Nicholas Rescher: process philosophers are realists with regard to processes and idealists with regard to substances.32 In the following we will build on this basic intuition. In the process-ontological account presented here, we saw that momentary events are related by genidentity if they are connected in the right way. Two conditions must be met: causal dependence and common form. We could speak of “immanent causation”. What is relevant here is the common form as a multiply realizable abstract entity. Entities connected by the relation of genidentity share this common form. The abstract entities remain unchanged through the unfolding process. They are invariants of the genidentity relations. Abstract entities are assumed to be ontologically mind-dependent. The analysis of the process of abstraction will then tell us more about the exact nature of these entities. For the time being it suffices to analyze abstraction in the human mind, thus sidelining the difficult issue of abstract entities dependent on the mind of God. The classic view of abstraction as a filtering of common characteristics in a multitude of similar cases was replaced in more recent philosophy by a conception that can be traced back to Frege. In his Grundlagen der Arithmetik Frege noted that many of the singular terms referring to abstract entities derive from functional expressions. We speak of the “number of objects”, and the “direction of objects”. “Number of .” and “direction of .” are incomplete (“ungesättigte”), functional expressions.33 31

See Peter Simons and Joseph Melia, “Continuants and Occurents”, Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society, Supplementary Volumes 74 (2000): pp. 59–92. 32 See Rescher, pp. 58f. 33 Gottlob Frege, Die Grundlagen der Arithmetik. Eine logisch mathematische Untersuchung über den Begriff der Zahl (Breslau: Wilhelm Koebner, 1884), here in particular §62ff.

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The genuine discovery by Frege was that, typically for functional expressions that single out abstract objects, there are equations of the following structure: f(a) = f(b), iff a R b,

where R is an equivalence relation. To use Frege’s example: The direction of a = the direction of b, iff a is parallel to b. The number of Fs = the number of Gs, iff there are just as many Fs as Gs.34

The meaning of “number” is determined by the equivalence relation “just as many” or “equinumerous”. Frege merely hinted at this theory of abstraction, and only recently has it been more fully developed by Crispin Wright and Bob Hale.35 Because equivalence relations are reflexive, symmetrical, and transitive, they can be used to introduce continuants that preserve their identity through time. But we are dealing with a theory of abstraction. Continuants become abstracta in a very specific sense. Peter Simons makes use of this Fregean intuition when he introduces continuants in his ontology, which is basically a 4D-account that does not recognize 3D-substances.36 It might be useful to clarify the basic idea a little more. Take a number of objects over which an equivalence relation has been defined, say, an equivalence relation with regard to their mass. It may be called “equi-massive”. Then reformulate using Frege’s analysis. But this time we begin with the equivalence relation: “a is equi-massive to b”

can be conceptually transformed into “the mass of a = the mass of b”.

Thus, the abstract idea of mass has been introduced, and the term “mass” refers to it. Now let’s apply this procedure in the context of this paper. Let’s call entities that are endowed with a mental or proto-mental perspective on the world “perspectival”. We define an equivalence relation over the set of entities that are perspectival: “a is equi-perspectival to b” 34

See the excellent presentation of this topic in: http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/ abstract-objects/. 35 See, for instance, Bob Hale and Crispin Wright, “The Meta–Ontology of Abstraction”, in David Chalmers et al. (eds), Metametaphysics. New Essays on the Foundations of Ontology (Oxford: Clarendon 2009), pp. 178–212. 36 See Simons, “Persistence”.

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can be conceptually transformed into: “the perspective of a = the perspective of b”.

This can be done for first-person perspectives as well: “a is first-person-equi-perspectival to b”

can be conceptually transformed into: “the first-person perspective of a = the first-person perspective of b”.

So far we have been working within the framework of the theory of abstraction developed by Frege, Hale, and Wright. In the context of personal identity through time this account needs to be expanded because a and b exist at different points in time: “the first-person perspective of a at t1 = the first-person perspective of b at t2”

can be conceptually transformed into: “the first-person perspective of a at t1 = the first-person perspective of b at t2”.

The first-person perspective is the identity criterion for persons. Two persons are identical if they have identical first person perspectives on the world (such that they are able to use the personal pronoun “I” to refer to themselves). One thus arrives finally at: “the person at t1 = the person at t2”.

Personal Identity What has been developed above is—in a nutshell—a theory of personal identity. The most striking feature is that, according to this account, the concept “person” refers to an abstract object that was introduced by an equivalence relation. The question that immediately comes to mind is this: how can two events featuring a perspective considered to be equi-perspectival? Identity of perspective must not be used to ascribe the relation of being equi-perspectival, because that would entail a vicious circle. The abstract notion of a perspective ought to be derived. The equivalence relations must thus be introduced independently of the abstract entities that will be derived by these equivalence relations. This is where process ontology developed above helps fill the gaps. A suitable equivalence relation stands in need of certain stable patterns and the appropriate causal connection.

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Because these two elements are sufficient for establishing genidentity, they are also sufficient to establish equivalence relations. The “thread of persistence” between the events in a temporal sequence is genidentity. Genidentity, as Whitehead points out,37 rests on the appropriate causal connection and a common element of form. The thread of immanent causation thus established allows for a multitude of momentary events to be joined into an enduring, stable process. But the process is not yet a 3D-object; it is a stable and rhythmic repetition of similar events. The 3D-object, according to the key claim, does not exist independently of the mental abstraction that works with equivalence relations. It is an ens rationis. A thinking mind can make use of the equivalence relations that are based on causal relations and common forms, this is a mental process that results via abstraction in a 3D-continuant. Continuants are abstract objects which can be realized at several points in time and non-simultaneously at several spatial locations. They are well-founded in the reality of the appropriately related events. It is thus by our mental activity that we introduce into the world the stability that withstands the eroding power of the Heraclitean flux. This account does indeed imply a sort of Berkeleyan idealism with regard to 3D-substances. Their being is partially a “being conceived” as continuant. To the question that was raised against Berkeley as to what happens with them if nobody is thinking of them, the theists among the process metaphysicians might well answer just like Berkeley: God secures their existence with his omnipresent mind. One could, however, bite the bullet and grant that there are no 3D-substances in the world that exist independently of the human mind. The introduction of substances might then be conceived as the “original sin” of Western metaphysics.38 Taking stock: Rescher’s claim that process philosophers tend to be idealists with regard to substances was spelled out by drawing on a theory of abstraction originally introduced by Frege. The result was an abstractionist view of 3Dcontinuants. Continuants without temporal parts are thus abstractions that we introduce in order to structure our physical environment and possibly even more so our social environment. Their introduction is not arbitrary but is founded in the causal relations among events that generate stable patterns through uniform repetition. This relatedness is strong enough that we may speak of genidentity and immanent causation. Sentences about 3D-substances that are thus ontologically committed to the existence of continuants are not strictly speaking false. In the same way, talk about centers of gravity is not false in physics, even though centers of gravity are abstractions that do not exist strictly speaking. The continuant is not, however, simply identical to a sequence of momentary events which constitutes its life. That would amount to a pure 4D-view. It seems that the 3.5D-view suggested here can prove more fruitful than a 4D-view for understanding our social practices. The 4D-view entirely drops the notoriously difficult notion of a substance and 37

Whitehead, Process, p. 34. This view has been advanced recently by Lorenz B. Puntel, Structure and Being (University Park, PA: Penn State University Press, 2008). 38

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settles instead for a sequence of time slices or stages that are connected in the appropriate way. The account suggested here can introduce ontologically wellfounded 3D-continuants over and above the 4D-base introduced by abstraction. They are thus ontologically dependent on minds and as such differ from classically construed 3D-substances. It is this position between the two well-established camps of 3-dimensionalism and 4-dimensionalism that justifies the talk of the 3.5dimensionalism featuring as the somewhat provocative title of this paper. One advantage of this view is that it does not require dropping, and in fact provides good reason to maintain, our common-sense 3D-metaphysics. It is a practical necessity to introduce time-invariant fixed points in our common-sense world view. The classical notion of a substance serves this purpose. A revisionist metaphysics implying that there are no entire persons as such but only time-slices of persons or person stages is hardly sustainable in a life lived according to customary social standards. On the abstractionist view advocated here, however, the continuants are fully present at each passing moment. They are a special kind of abstract entity and can thus be present at different times and different places (non-simultaneously). In the case of personal identity this is of the utmost importance. A single firstperson perspective cannot be shared by two events which exist at different spatial locations. The most difficult issue arises, however, when one contemplates the possibility of fission. What happens if two or more spatially separated personal events are connected in the right way to a sequence of earlier personal events? This is a deep puzzle that cannot easily be solved within a metaphysical account that assumes a 4D-view at the most basic level. Seen from point of view of the persons existing after the fission, several continuants overlap in the past. This is admittedly problematic. In this respect the 3.5D-view does better than the traditional 4Dview, because the continuants are entia rationis and thus mind-dependent. From each point of view, there is thus indeed only one person in the past, and there is no deeper mind-independent level of overlap. Surviving Natural Death The question that prompted this paper was whether abandoning the classical notion of a substance would render the religious notion of possibly surviving one’s natural death unintelligible. With the metaphysical framework of process ontology now in place, it will now be shown that this religious hope can indeed be explicated without the reference to the notion of 3D-substances. In an ontology of radical becoming, death loses something of its uniqueness. As demonstrated above, dying is happening constantly in the transition from one momentary event to the next. The fact that we are not worried by this fact is grounded in the experience that in natural life each experienced moment seems to have an immediate successor which is connected to the earlier one in a way appropriate for establishing genidentity. The concept of genidentity is associated with the concept of immanent causation. The general idea is that a stage S1 of a concrete particular E

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generates or brings about a later stage S2 of E itself. In the case of persons: a human person P which exists at a time t3 is genidentical to a human person which exists at t1 if the temporal stages that lead to t3 are immanently causally connected with the temporal stage of P at t1. This is the case in our daily experience. The events do have the causal power to bring about their immediate successors. The stream of consciousness which makes our first-person perspective a phenomenal experience, is just this sort of chain of serially ordered events. This is a process which, under normal circumstances, self-perpetuates during the span of a human natural life.39 In the moment of death this causal chain ends abruptly. A subsequent moment of phenomenal experience from the first-person perspective cannot be brought about by the earlier events. Natural life comes to an end. In these circumstances, it seems impossible to survive one’s natural death. The dying organism lacks the causal powers to generate a subsequent state that would be able to secure the survival of the first-person perspective. From a Christian point of view this metaphysical analysis hardly comes as a surprise, because human beings are not naturally equipped to survive their natural death. A divine action is needed. The earthly human existence, according to the metaphysical account presented here, is a series of momentary psycho-physical events which are complex enough to sustain a first-person perspective. If God wanted to secure my survival, it would suffice that He created a successor event such that it was connected with the last momentary stage of my earthly existence in the appropriate way. In light of what was developed above this means, first, stability of structure, that is, the endurance of a common form. God would have to create an event that was in relevant aspects sufficiently similar to my earthly existence. The successor must be a human person and not some kind of wildly different being. Most importantly then, the successor must be endowed with a first-person perspective. But one can only reasonably assume that this perspective endures if there is an immanent causal connection bridging the gap, that is, if there is such a connection between my final earthly event and the first event of my afterlife. Only when genidentity is established can numerical identity through time be established, and the latter is established by an act of abstraction using the appropriate equivalence relations. But this is precisely what seems to be impossible. My last earthly event lacks the causal power to bring about all by itself the first event in the afterlife. Here divine concurrence is required. But if the causal chain runs “through” God, then we can no longer speak of immanent causation; we would rather have to admit that an external force is doing the work. Genidentity is thus not preserved. At this point the relevance of recent debates on the compatibility of materialism and survival becomes obvious. Dean Zimmerman has pursued the question whether, in the case of a newly created body in the afterlife, immanent causation could

39 I am neglecting the question whether there are other causal determinants. There might be an external metaphysical force sustaining this process like Whitehead’s creativity or a divine concurrence like a creatio continua.

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be preserved, even though the causal chain is mediated by God.40 This depends, obviously, on the notion of immanent causation that is being applied, especially which kind of determinants are admissible. If God’s intervention is causally necessary but not causally sufficient to bring about the person in the afterlife, then immanent causation might be preserved. Assume God wills and realizes by divine decree: let there be a person whose first-person perspective on the world is exactly like the one of the person who has just died. In this case God would be necessary for bringing about the successor, but He would not be causally sufficient. The reason is that God does not directly determine how the first-person perspective on the world of the deceased person looks; it is instead determined by the life of the person who has died. The “thread of persistence” really runs “through” God in this case. The obvious and pressing question is now: is the newly created person in the afterlife identical to the deceased earthly person? In the line of the argument given above, the answer is affirmative. Owing to the immanent causal connection secured by divine concurrence there is genidentity between the two personal events. And since from the first-person perspective of the surviving person a 3D-continuant can be abstracted with the relevant equivalence relation (equi-perspectival), the surviving person can be conceived as a continuant without temporal parts. In order to do this in the most efficient way, it would be helpful if the surviving person had a mental representation of his/her entire life experience. In a near-death experience people often have a vivid experience of their temporal existence in a kind of simultaneity that defies description. That is probably the closest analogy we can get for the experience to integrate the fullness of one’s earthly life into the life to come. Complete and radical psychological discontinuity (of memory and character) is hard to reconcile with the idea of survival. Survival means that the fullness of experience is somehow integrated in and preserved by the life to come. But the continuant is not identical to its life. In that respect the view advocated here is different from a 4D-account. By the very process of abstraction one disassociates oneself from the mere sequence of events which elapse like a movie made from individual frames, and thus integrates them as experiences of one and the same person (a continuant). The unity of the person is again established by a mental act, an act of abstraction. Subjectivity replaces the old notion of substance. Again, the Berkeleyan problem of what then remains of the person independently of the human mind might be resolved by taking into account mental acts of recognition and individuation by God. What happens to bodily resurrection in this process-ontological account? It seems that we end up in a position that is relevantly similar to Lynne Rudder Baker’s constitution theory, in which the identity of the first-person perspective

40 Dean Zimmerman, “The Compatibility of Materialism and Survival: The “Falling Elevator” Model”, Faith and Philosophy, 16 (1999): pp. 194–212.

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is what exclusively ensures survival. The body does no metaphysical work.41 In our account, the “thread of persistence” was woven by causal relations and by a common element of form. The analysis of the mind-body problem within the framework of process ontology repudiated the Cartesian “bifurcation” of mind and body, defending instead a psycho-physical bipolarism. Does this psycho-physical bipolarity belong to the indispensable characteristics of a human person that must somehow be preserved as a common element of form in order to ensure that the “thread of persistence” is not severed? This seems to be the case. Human persons are endowed with senses and thus experiences that are sensual in character. Could a human being survive as a spirit without any sensual experience at all? Humans have a clear conception of “inside” and “outside”, notions that would not make sense to a pure spirit without sense experience or something similar. If humans cannot become angelic spirits in the afterlife without ceasing to be human persons, then some kind of bodily existence needs to be preserved. It is not necessary, however, that the resurrected body be numerically identical with the biological body we now possess. It might well be a body of a radically different kind. Finally, and in closing, a few remarks on time and eternity. On a presentist metaphysics of time, the claim that human persons exist temporally implies that only the present is fully real and given in its fullness. The richness of my past exists only inasmuch it is preserved in my present; as such it is no longer existent. No human being experiences my pain of 20 years ago, I may only re-enact its experience now. My future experiences are not yet real. It is only the abstract idea of an enduring person (without temporal parts) which integrates this process of radical becoming into a true unity. A unity which is not simply the agglomeration of all my experiences, but the integral unity that makes it possible to speak of each of those experiences as mine, the experiences of an enduring subject of experience. As a tribute to our temporal existence, we need the idea of a 3D-substance in order to prevent our life from disintegrating into a series of episodes. It is hard to imagine the life to come is simply an endless repetitive addition of more and more moments in time. This is a thought that many may find hard to bear. Personally, I picture eternal life more like a “filled moment”, an eternal “now”. That is just a metaphor, of course, for our imagination is incapable of picturing an existence outside of the time known to us. But if this is so, then we will not in the afterlife need the abstract idea of an enduring substance without temporal parts which integrates the temporal flux of our existence. We need it in this life, so as not to be drowned in the flux of ever new events. If in the life to come there is no time that flows in this way, then we can lay the question of substances and 3D-objects to rest. It is a question that makes sense only in the natural world. It has thus been shown that the religious hope of surviving one’s natural death is not necessarily tied to the idea of substances as conceived in classical metaphysics. The idea of resurrection can be formulated independently of substance metaphysics. 41 Lynne Rudder Baker, “Persons and the Metaphysics of Resurrection”, Religious Studies, 43 (2007), pp. 333–48.

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Chapter 5

Multiple Location and Single Location Resurrection Hud Hudson

The General Resurrection Thesis and Two Characterizations of a Human Person “We look for the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come.” So ends the Nicene Creed with a reference to one of the most central teachings of Christianity. Similarly, the Apostles’s and Athanasian Creeds explicitly and prominently call attention to the resurrection of the body. In the discussion to follow I will take this position to imply (at the very least) what I will call The General Resurrection Thesis—the view that every human person who has ever died will rise again from the dead. William Shakespeare died in 1616. Despite disagreements over precise criteria for personhood, we may all safely acknowledge Shakespeare to have enjoyed the status of being a person. Or, if that’s too permissive, at least Shakespeare manifested the property of personhood at the time of his death. Moreover, he was not a divine, or angelic, or extraterrestrial, or chimpanzee person. Instead, Shakespeare was a human person. But what of the adjective “human” in that context? What, exactly, does it signal? Presumably it indicates that Shakespeare (the person) bore a special relation to a certain physical object: more specifically, that he bore a special relation to a certain human biological organism (hereby named “Stratford”). Agreement usually ends there, followed by discord arising in the attempt to answer the followup question: “And just which relation is that?” Two rather prominent options have had their share both of recent and traditional champions. Option I: The relation in question is Identity. Shakespeare (the person) is identical either to Stratford (the human body) or to one of Stratford’s material parts, such as his brain. What justifies the description “human” of Shakespeare’s personhood is simply such an identity with a human organism or a human organism part. Let’s call this a materialist option. Option II: The relation in question is Causality. Shakespeare (the person) is identical to a non-material substance and has no material parts. Accordingly, Shakespeare is not identical to and is wholly mereologically distinct from Stratford. Nevertheless, Shakespeare (the person) enjoys a privileged two-way

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causal connection with Stratford (the human body). What justifies the description “human” of Shakespeare’s personhood is the two-fold condition that he is uniquely able to cause directly a variety of changes in a certain human organism and that various effects of which he is the sole subject trace their immediate causal history to events in that very same human organism. Let’s call this a dualist option. Of course, these alternatives do not deserve the titles “the materialist option” and “the dualist option”, since both characterizations are too restrictive to represent adequately the range of sophisticated twists and turns that mark out one kind of materialism or dualism about human persons from another. Still, they are serviceable enough, and we can begin our investigation as they stand. Three Questions, Two Arguments, and a Game Plan Here are three questions worth considering about The General Resurrection Thesis: Q1: Is The General Resurrection Thesis true? Q2: What are the best arguments for and against The General Resurrection Thesis? Q3: What are the implications of The General Resurrection Thesis for other controversial and disputed issues? A very natural way to attempt to answer Q1 is first to answer Q2, and similarly, one route to providing a promising answer to Q2 comes from obtaining at least a partial answer to Q3. Depending on one’s commitments concerning the other controversial and disputed issues at stake, this procedure can quickly yield a verdict on The General Resurrection Thesis. Consider one increasingly popular argument against The General Resurrection Thesis which can be generated in just this fashion: The Materialist Argument (1) The General Resurrection Thesis is true only if human persons are nonmaterial beings. (2) Human persons are material beings (as Option I rather than Option II would have it). (3) Hence, The General Resurrection Thesis is not true. Premise (1) in this argument serves as an alleged partial answer to Q3. In the hands of one also prepared to back Premise (2), the argument itself may be presented as a promising answer to Q2. And, finally, its conclusion provides an alleged answer to Q1.

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Defenses of Premise (2) in The Materialist Argument are tremendously popular nowadays. Physics, astronomy, chemistry, biology, and geology all point to a picture of the origin of life and the emergence of consciousness (and personhood) that is utterly grounded in the material. Differences of abilities between space fillers that are persons and space fillers that are nonpersons need not be explained by any mysterious reference to an immaterial mind or soul but rather are to be cashed out in terms of microphysical parts, their types and arrangements, their environments, and laws of nature. Shakespeare (the person), like the rest of the furniture of the world, was simply a material object through and through. Moreover, this is not simply the verdict of a modern age that has turned away from religious insights that would teach us otherwise. On the contrary, some of the most philosophically sophisticated discussions and spirited defenses of materialism for human persons have come from philosophers who thoroughly identify with Christianity and who claim to find grounds for such a materialism in that tradition, philosophers including Lynne Rudder Baker, Kevin Corcoran, Trenton Merricks, Peter van Inwagen, and (when he is suited up in his materialist uniform) Dean Zimmerman.1 Elsewhere, I also have contributed what I can to the defense of Premise (2), and I will not consider that premise a target in the present discussion.2 Today I am wholly focused on the prospects for Premise (1). Impressive and powerful defenses of Premise (1) of the Materialist Argument are also readily available. Here is an example of one such plausible defense inspired by the excellent work of Eric Olson.3

1

Lynne Rudder Baker, Persons and Bodies: A Constitution View (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000); Lynne Rudder Baker, “Need a Christian Be a Mind/Body Dualist?”, Faith and Philosophy, 12 (1995): pp. 489–504; Kevin Corcoran, Rethinking Human Nature: A Christian Materialist Alternative to the Soul (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2006); Kevin Corcoran, “Persons and Bodies”, Faith and Philosophy, 15 (1998): pp. 324–40; Trenton Merricks, “The Resurrection of the Body and the Life Everlasting”, in Michael Murray (ed.), Reason for the Hope Within (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans 1999), pp. 261–86; Merricks, “Resurrection of the Body”, in Thomas P. Flint and Michael C. Rea (eds), The Oxford Handbook of Philosophical Theology (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), 476–90; Peter van Inwagen, “A Materialist Ontology of the Human Person”, in Peter van Inwagen and Dean Zimmerman (eds), Persons: Human and Divine (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), pp. 199–215; Peter van Inwagen, “Dualism and Materialism: Athens and Jerusalem”, Faith and Philosophy, 12 (1995): pp. 475–88; van Inwagen, Material Beings (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1990); Dean Zimmerman, “The Compatibility of Materialism and Survival: The ‘Falling Elevator’ Model”, Faith and Philosophy, 16 (1999): 194–212. 2 Hud Hudson, A Materialist Metaphysics of the Human Person (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2001). 3 Eric Olson, The Human Animal (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997).

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The Animalist Argument (1) If human persons are material beings, then Animalism is true of human persons. (2) If Animalism is true of human persons, then human persons satisfy a biological criterion of persistence. (3) If human persons satisfy a biological criterion of persistence, then it is not the case that Shakespeare will be present at some point in the future relative to now. (4) If it is not the case that Shakespeare will be present at some point in the future relative to now, then The General Resurrection Thesis is not true. (5) Hence, if human persons are material beings, then The General Resurrection Thesis is not true. I reject Premise (1) of The Materialist Argument, and thus I am committed to rejecting the defense of that premise contained in The Animalist Argument. I will not make a general case against the Materialist Argument here, however. Instead, I have a modest two-fold aim in this paper, both aspects of which are narrowly focused on rejecting The Animalist Argument alone—that is, narrowly focused on responding to only one defense of one premise in one argument aimed against The General Resurrection Thesis. Accordingly, for all I say here, The Materialist Argument against The General Resurrection Thesis may well be sound. I would simply like to investigate ways to undercut the support it may appear to receive from The Animalist Argument. In what follows I will briefly characterize and comment on five strategies for opposing The Animalist Argument, each of which can be offered by a theorist who accepts the second premise of The Materialist Argument—namely, that human persons are material beings. I would then like to motivate and to present a new and related pair of ways to oppose The Animalist Argument, which not only are available to the materialist about human persons, but which also can avoid the schedule of costs and complaints frequently associated with the previous five strategies. Of course, the new solutions come packaged with costs of their own, and I aim to indicate as fairly as I can where they are to be found. In the end, my own opinion is that the costs are prohibitive and that the new strategies are ultimately failures. However, since so many theorists are sympathetic with the general philosophical moves underlying these final strategies, I think they ought to have their rightful place at the table in serious discussions of the metaphysics of the general resurrection.

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Five Responses to the Animalist Argument Currently Available The first of our five strategies for response attempts to show that human persons are material beings while denying that they are human animals, and thus takes aim at the first premise of The Animalist Argument. Baker and Corcoran’s Constitutionalist View:4 Shakespeare—that is, the very same person who died in 1616—will rise again on the appointed day. But how can Shakespeare rise, if Shakespeare (the person) is a material object and thus identical to Stratford (the human body) whose parts have long been subject to decay and dispersal? The mistake lies in the Animalist move from “is a material object” to “is identical to Stratford (the human body)”. Shakespeare was a human person, but the relation between that human person and the human body that was buried at Holy Trinity Church in Stratford-upon-Avon was constitution, not identity. Shakespeare is credited with being a material object in virtue of being constituted by the material animal that is Stratford. So let the corpse of Shakespeare decay; he has need of it no more, for when he is resurrected he will be constituted by a new and imperishable body. That is, one and the same person will be constituted by two very different bodies at two very different times, and there is no threat from the transitivity of identity, for constitution is not identity. (At least Baker may say as much; as I read him, Corcoran will insist on the same body arising, as well.) An exceedingly brief critical response: A constitutionalist metaphysics has its share of opponents who find the view’s method of double-counting insufficiently motivated, its commitment to co-location an impossibility, and its constitution relation a mystery. Also, it’s not clear on this proposal why we should concede that Shakespeare will someday be constituted by a new body rather than believe that some new person (albeit one with Shakespeare’s mental contents and capacities and character) will be created on that day. What makes the person later constituted by a new and imperishable body Shakespeare himself rather than a replica or stand-in for Shakespeare in the world to come?5 The second of our five strategies for response grants the Animalist thesis while denying the subsequent inference to a biological criterion of persistence for human persons, and thus takes aim at the second premise of The Animalist Argument.

4 Baker’s version of constitutionalism can be found in Baker, “Metaphysics of Resurrection”; Baker, Persons and Bodies; Lynne Rudder Baker, “Material Persons and the Doctrine of Resurrection”, Faith and Philosophy, 18 (2001): pp. 151–67; while Corcoran’s version is available in Corcoran, Rethinking Human Nature, and Corcoran, “Persons and Bodies”. 5 For further critique of the constitutionalist view see Theodore Sider, “Review of Lynne Rudder Baker, Persons and Bodies”, The Journal of Philosophy, 99 (2001): pp. 4548, and Hudson, Materialist Metaphysics, ch. 7.

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Merricks’s Anti-Criterialist View:6 Shakespeare—the same man and the same body—will rise again on the appointed day, and as a result he will be among the fortunate, the temporally gappy. Despite the fact that Shakespeare (the person) is identical to Stratford (the human body), we need not fear that some biological criterion of personal identity may be brought in to show that temporal gaps are impossible (they surely are not), or that this very person and this very body might not be found on either side of that temporal gap; the surprising reason for this is that there are no criteria of personal identity, biological or otherwise. Shakespeare will be raised, and (perhaps surprisingly) there need be no explanation of this. An exceedingly brief critical response: To be fair, this proposal has genuine advantages. If there really are no criteria of personal identity, then they are hardly a threat to anyone’s thesis about gappiness, and no one can be properly faulted for not providing an explanation that appeals to them. Moreover, the anti-criterialist can claim to know that Shakespeare will be resurrected (on the basis of revelation) while conceding that there is no hope for (and no need of) an explanation regarding how this miracle will occur. Again, though, an anti-criterialist metaphysics has its share of opponents—with Dean Zimmerman’s insightful critical discussion of such identity-mystics, Eric Olson’s tempting case for a biological criterion, and my own attempts to make a compelling case for a psychological criterion. Whether one is moved by Zimmerman’s critique or opts for Olson’s or for my own brand of criterialism may well depend on one’s background metaphysics of persistence, but any resurrection-account which boasts advantages by being anti-criterialist is one I believe we have good reasons to reject.7 The third and fourth of our five strategies for response allow both the Animalist thesis and the biological criterion for persistence but deny that this endangers our man Shakespeare’s resurrection (even with the substantial temporal gap between his early seventeenth-century death and the last day) and thus take aim at the third premise of The Animalist Argument. Van Inwagen’s Simulacra View:8 Shakespeare, that brilliant human animal that penned Hamlet, will rise again on the appointed day. But there will be no need to track down and call together all those parts of Stratford that have gone their separate ways throughout the biosphere after the body that was buried at Holy Trinity Church decayed and was partially reabsorbed into the environment, for despite the headstone and viewing fees, Shakespeare’s body was not in fact buried there. Instead God saw to it that a simulacrum was smuggled in to be buried and to decompose in place of Shakespeare’s corpse. Shakespeare’s genuine body was 6

Trenton Merricks, “There Are No Criteria of Identity Over Time”, Noûs, 32 (1998): pp. 106–24. 7 For his discussion of the “identity mystics” see Dean Zimmerman, “Criteria of Identity and the ‘Identity Mystics’”, Erkenntnis, 48 (1998): pp. 281–301; for a defense of a biological criterion see Olson, Human Animal; for a defense of a psychological criterion see Hudson, Materialist Metaphysics, ch. 4. 8 van Inwagen, “Possibility”.

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spirited away for safekeeping, to sleep—parts intact—until it shall be reawakened and reanimated (but not reassembled) on the resurrection day. An exceedingly brief critical response: This story has the advantage of avoiding the well-known pitfalls of resurrection by reassembly; no decomposing, no recomposing (cannibal-style) stands in the way of resurrecting Shakespeare. Moreover, this view guarantees that it is the very same animal body that rises again. However, a significant disadvantage looms large. On this view God is engaged in deception on a monumental scale. Also there are practical problems about just where to hide all those sleeping animals in the meanwhile. To many materialist proponents of The General Resurrection Thesis it seems clear that if we can discover a materialist account with the same advantages and without the deception of the simulacra, that account is to be preferred.9 Zimmerman’s Jumping-Animals View:10 Shakespeare will rise again on the appointed day embarking on his new life with a body-stage that bears immanentcausal relations to his body-stages at some moments immediately prior to his death. Moreover, those very pre-resurrection body-stages were likewise immanentcausally related to a corpse that suffered decay and decomposition at Holy Trinity Church. That is, Shakespeare underwent a kind of fission, made possible by God’s endowing a particular animal body with certain causal powers. Admittedly, Shakespeare will have suffered a sizeable temporal gap. Fortunately, however, the immanent-causal relations between the relevant stages of the body found on either side of the gap were sufficient to preserve Shakespeare’s identity. Nor need we worry that the corpse which also followed—and followed immediately—upon the fission competes with or is in any way an impediment to Shakespeare’s jump to heaven, for a corpse isn’t a thing at all; despite appearances, “corpse” is a plural referring expression which picks out suitably arranged particles at a time at which they do not compose anything at all, but which are nevertheless immanentcausally connected to a collection of particles which do compose (at an earlier time) an organism at its death. So, everything is as it should be: Shakespeare’s so-called corpse was buried and reassimilated into the environment (in the same way anyone’s remains remain, whether the individual whose remains they are is resurrected or not); Shakespeare survives across a temporal gap on account of the fission which guarantees him a body in the world to come immanent-causally related to the body in the world left behind; and Shakespeare’s post-resurrection body is numerically identical to his pre-resurrection body—its stages related causally just as were the stages immediately before and immediately after the moment he turned ten years old. An exceedingly brief critical response: This explanation (offered as a friendly gesture to the materialist by the dualist Dean Zimmerman) strikes me as the best of the lot thus far, and this despite Zimmerman’s working under a self-imposed 9

For further critique of the simulacra view, see Hudson, Materialist Metaphysics,

ch. 7. 10

Zimmerman, “Falling Elevator”.

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handicap of invoking no thesis in his explanation that would be objectionable to a proponent of the rather restrictive claims endorsed by van Inwagen on materialism and composition.11 These divinely-grounded fissions by which human persons can jump with numerically the same animal-bodies across temporal gaps into Paradise (while leaving their remains behind!) seem to provide a better story for the materialist to tell than any story which is marred by replicas at the end, or simulacra at the beginning, or co-location throughout, or no criterion of identity at all. Still, this dazzling story is subject to its own share of grave defects, as well. In particular, Zimmerman acknowledges the most troublesome feature of his account is that his proposal requires a “closest continuer” theory of personal identity. Whether or not the man who appears in the world to come is Shakespeare depends on what happens in the other half of the 1616-fission. In other words, whether Shakespeare is indeed the man who rises on that last day depends entirely on the features manifested by individuals occupying regions where he is not to be found at all. Closest continuer theories of persistence aren’t new, but they aren’t popular either.12 Like our first, the fifth and final strategy attempts to show that human persons are material beings while denying that they are human animals, and thus takes aim at the first premise of The Animalist Argument, but it does so by parting company with the three-dimensionalist/endurantist metaphysics of persistence shared by the previous four proposals and invokes instead the four-dimensionalist/perdurantist or temporal-parts metaphysics of persistence. Hudson’s Perdurantist View:13 Shakespeare and Stratford are both material beings, but they are related by mereological overlap rather than by identity. On this proposal we may identify two temporally extended material objects that together diachronically compose Shakespeare (the human person). The first such material object was present between 1564 and 1616 and was a mere proper part of Stratford, for Stratford (the human animal) continued to exist after its death and spent the last stages of its career as a corpse decomposing in the grave. The second such material object will come into existence on the last day and will continue everafter in the world to come. Neither of these objects is identical to Shakespeare any more than I am identical to my right or left half. Rather, they together compose Shakespeare, a temporally gappy material being who overlaps a particular biological organism and thereby earns rights to the adjective in his description as a human person. With this proposal’s recognition of temporally extended composites, the relation of parthood is no longer temporally indexed, and the operative criterion of persistence becomes a psychological gen-identity relation uniting a collection of 11

As detailed in van Inwagen’s ground-breaking Material Beings. For further critique of the jumping–animals view, see Zimmerman’s frank critical evaluation of his own proposal on behalf of the materialists in his “Falling Elevator”, and Hudson, Materialist Metaphysics, ch. 7. 13 Hud Hudson, “I am Not an Animal!”, in Peter van Inwagen and Dean Zimmerman (eds), Persons: Human and Divine, pp. 216–34 and Hudson, Materialist Metaphysics, ch. 7. 12

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person-stages into our man Shakespeare. Happily, then, it is one and the same man and one and the same body that rises again—just not one and the same animal, for Stratford (the human animal) does not rise again. Moreover, it is precisely this combination of diachronic fusions and psychological relations between personstages that permits the view to enjoy the best feature of Zimmerman’s metaphysics of jumping animals without being at all subject to its associated cost. That is, it can endorse a story of fissioning material objects and human persons who jump temporal gaps while preserving appropriate immanent-causal relations between their temporal parts, without thereby inheriting a commitment to the closestcontinuer theory of personal identity. An exceedingly brief critical response: True—by taking the route through the extra temporal dimension the perdurantist view successfully dodges the closestcontinuer criticism that worries its endurantist rival. Of course it does so at the price of temporal parts and claims of immanent-causal connectedness spanning temporal gaps, and whereas such perdurantism and causal hypotheses are popular and well defended, they are also a controversial metaphysics. In particular, the perdurantist view has been the subject of charges of incoherence, of insufficient motivation, and of being unable to do the full range of work it was designed to do without the help of further and even less plausible metaphysical commitments (such as a counterpart theory of de re modal predication),14 while the relevant claims of immanent-causal connectedness have been accused of metaphysical impossibility (in more than one way) and of insufficient immanence.15 For the record—although it is admittedly less promising as an aid to the materialist who looks for the resurrection of the body and the life of the world to come—even if temporal-parts theory is forfeited, the first premise of The Animalist Argument remains threatened by other very plausible background metaphysical views on composition and decomposition, including the principle of unrestricted summation, the doctrine of arbitrary undetached parts, and even any modest ontology that admits the existence of brains in addition to the existence of the human organisms that have them.16

14 For an extended defense of different versions of a perdurantist view, see Theodore Sider, Four-Dimensionalism, and Hudson, Materialist Metaphysics. For influential critiques of that metaphysics, see Peter van Inwagen, “Four–Dimensional Objects”, Noûs, 24 (1990a): pp. 245–55, and Michael C. Rea, “Temporal Parts Unmotivated”, The Philosophical Review, 107 (1998): pp. 225-60.. 15 Zimmerman, “Falling Elevator”, and Zimmerman, “Immanent Causation”, Nôus 31, Supplement: Philosophical Perspectives 11: Mind, Causation, and World (1997): pp. 433–71. 16 For a discussion of just how complicated and philosophically expensive it turns out to be to maintain the apparently intuitive Animalist thesis see Hudson, “I am Not an Animal!” In my view, Olson (and perhaps Merricks and van Inwagen) are the only Animalists who have the right constellation of metaphysical views to pay the costs.

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Despite the wealth of materialist tools on offer, then, it is not surprising that there are still many who will continue to be moved by The Animalist Argument and whose materialist commitments will then force them to reject The General Resurrection Thesis by way of The Materialist Argument, as well. Unsurprisingly, I favor Hudson’s solution and so am not to be counted among these many. But for those who remain unconvinced by any of these five materialist rejoinders, let me turn to a new and related pair of strategies that may have more appeal. Multiple Location Resurrection and Single Location Resurrection As with our second strategy above, these new responses to The Animalist Argument target its second premise in granting the Animalist thesis while denying the subsequent inference to a biological criterion of persistence for human persons. (Or at least they’ll start out that way. Whether we will have to switch horses will depend on an objection to be considered below.) But unlike Merricks’s version of this strategy, there is no commitment to anti-criterialism here. Moreover, unlike the third and fourth strategies discussed above that also accept the Animalist thesis, this response does not depend on a deceptive, body-snatching God or on last-minute, divine fissions. The positions I hereby name Multiple Location Resurrection and Single Location Resurrection depend on certain views about how the occupation relation behaves. Although much of the current work on occupation has been inspired by the desire to make metaphysical room for extended mereological simples, the resulting metaphysical framework may turn out to be of considerable interest to those who look for the life of the world to come in the form of a new and composite body. A substantivalist dualist (that is, one who acknowledges regions as entities in their own right but who does not identify material objects with those regions) recognizes at least one relation between regions and material objects apart from distinctness—namely, occupation or location. Moreover, many substantivalists take occupation or location to be a fundamental relation such that facts about location form part of the fundamental supervenience base of the world. Depending on their views about conceptual and metaphysical possibilities, a fair number of such substantivalists have debated about the features of this fundamental occupation relation and have taken sides on whether regions and material objects are monogamous (always matching up one-to-one), on whether a

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single region can host many co-located objects, and on whether a single object can be the guest of many distinct regions.17 One promising hypothesis advanced in these debates regarding the fundamental occupation relation maintains that it can indeed be one—many in the singleobject-to-multiple-regions direction. Moreover, not merely is such a hypothesis alleged to be conceptually open, but a rather formidable argument has been put forth to establish its metaphysical possibility, as well. Briefly—if “located at” is a perfectly natural and fundamental relation, and if familiar, popular, and plausible recombination principles regarding modality are true, then objects, regions, and location can manifest absolutely any pattern you like. A single object, for example, could bear this relation to exactly 43 different regions, each region displaying a new variety of geometrical, topological, and metrical features. For those who take the relevant recombination principles seriously that line of reasoning should have genuine force.18 Let us say, then, that when an object bears this fundamental location relation to more than one region, it enjoys at least one kind of multiple location.19 Now as they should be, discussions of the resurrection are quite naturally constrained and guided by our views about persistence, and the standard debate over how things persist is carried out between the endurantist and the perdurantist. Both parties agree that to persist is to be in some sense present at more than one time, and then promptly disagree about just how an object manages to pull this trick off. Historically, the primary difference between these two main competitors for the prize has revolved around whether or not an object has temporal parts— that is, around whether a thing is present at more than one time in virtue of having different temporal parts at different times or in virtue of being wholly present at each time. And with the competing “temporal parts” and “wholly present” slogans, the focus on mereology has been absolutely central to this literature. 17 See Hud Hudson, “Précis of The Metaphysics of Hyperspace”, Philosophy and Phenomenological Research, 76/2 (2008): pp. 422–6, and Hud Hudson, “Reply to Parsons, Reply to Heller, and Reply to Rea”, Philosophy and Phenomenological Research, 76/2 (2008): pp. 452–70, and Hud Hudson, The Metaphysics of Hyperspace (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006) for more on these debates between more and less metaphysically liberal substantivalists. 18 See Theodore Sider, “Parthood”, Philosophical Review, 116 (2007): pp. 51–91, who argues in this fashion not only for the possibility of a single object occupying more than one region but also for the possibility of a single region hosting more than one object. See also Kris McDaniel, “Extended Simples”, Philosophical Studies, 133 (2007): pp. 131–41, and Raul Saucedo’s excellent “Parthood and Location”, in Dean Zimmerman (ed.), Oxford Studies in Metaphysics 4 [forthcoming]. 19 As it turns out, there are several kinds. For a map of the territory and extended critical discussion of two of the most prominent see Hud Hudson, “Omnipresence”, in Thomas P. Flint and Michael C. Rea (eds), The Oxford Handbook of Philosophical Theology (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009); Hudson, “Précis”, Hudson, “Reply”, and Hudson, Hyperspace.

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Still, I think we can see how the focus might easily have shifted elsewhere, how it might have centered instead on differences in the location relations things manifest rather than on differences in the distribution of their parts. That is, we can envision a debate regarding how things persist which is characterized solely by differences in the number and types of regions occupied rather than by any appeal to mereological facts. Thus, whereas an object enjoying exactly one location relation (but to an extended four-dimensional spacetime region) would persist in one manner, an object enjoying exactly two location relations (to a pair of three-dimensional regions separated by a century) would persist in another. And what’s more, one could then remain absolutely neutral on whether the former, singly located thing had any proper temporal parts at all, and thus show how questions about the existence of temporal parts can come apart from questions about the persistence of four-dimensional beings (and more generally, show how questions about the mereological structure of a hosting region can come apart from questions about the mereological structure of its occupant).20 As a first and general pass, then, let us say that one way for an object to persist is by occupying a single region with more than one temporal index and that a distinct way for an object to persist is by occupying two or more regions with different temporal indices (this last clause being necessary to separate those cases that entail persistence from those cases that furnish examples of simultaneous multi-location only). Multiple Location Resurrection, then, is just the view that human persons are among the material objects that bear the fundamental location relation to two or more regions with appropriately different temporal indices. More specifically and in the case of our playwright, Shakespeare is located in at least two regions, one intersecting the 1616 time and another intersecting the time of the final day. Just two? Perhaps not: perhaps Shakespeare is located at some three-dimensional region for every moment of time at which we are inclined to say that he is present at all. But if we say that wouldn’t we simply have found our way back to the endurantist or three-dimensionalist view of persistence? Not so. The traditional endurantist view with its “wholly present” slogan has really put the emphasis on “wholly”—on mereology, whereas this view puts the emphasis on “present”— on location. (In fact, the presumption of a mereological reading largely explains why so much ink has been spilt discussing whether the endurantist position is doomed to triviality, damned by its association with mereological essentialism, or else parasitic upon the notion of a temporal part.21) Once again, though, one alleged advantage purchased with multi-location is the independence of claims about parthood and location. On this view, a thing persists by being in at least two 20 For further discussion of this revision in the debate on persistence see Hudson, “Reply” and Hudson, Hyperspace, 108n. 21 See Sider, “Review” for an interesting discussion of these challenges to the endurantist.

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regions with different temporal indices regardless of its parthood-structure, and that’s difference enough. To put pressure on the second premise of The Animalist Argument, however, this view must permit its adherents both to endorse the Animalist thesis and to reject the biological criterion of identity. Initially, the endorsement would seem to be easy enough to put in their mouths: “Shakespeare—a material being located in some two-to-continuum-many different regions—is a human animal.” Given this concession, relinquishing the biological criterion would appear to be the hard part. Perhaps the most plausible move available to such a theorist involves taking a lesson from the Animalist and adapting one of his strategies to a new end. Just as the Animalist often resists a psychological criterion of personal identity on the grounds that “being a person” is a temporary property or phase sortal of a human animal, the Multiple Location Resurrection theorist might resist a biological criterion of personal identity on the grounds that “being an animal” is a spatio-temporal property or region sortal of our man Shakespeare. (I say “region sortal” rather than “phase sortal”, since multiple location can be simultaneous as well as diachronic, and thus it is unnecessarily restrictive to relativize property instantiations to times alone.) If so, then “Shakespeare is a human animal” becomes “Shakespeare is a human animal at region R, or at regions R1–Rn”, leaving room for “and Shakespeare is a resurrected man at region R*”. Biological considerations will still have some work to do, however. Just as what it takes to be a person will determine for what interval an object remains in the personhood phase, so too, biological considerations will determine which regions contain a human animal. But—provided that the individual who is a human animal at R is multiply located and also occupies a region R* at which he is not a human animal—biological criteria will not determine his persistence conditions simpliciter; instead they will be determined by location relations and something (who knows what) other than biology. This should feel a bit like a cheat—where’s the commitment to Animalism? The natural response is to say “Well, then he isn’t really identical to a human animal, after all.” But it may be easier to appreciate the move by first thinking of the synchronic case. Calling upon the liberal views on location noted above, consider an instantaneous object which is bi-located, appearing in a spherical region to your left and in a cubical region to your right. Significantly, that’s not a way of saying we have a round thing with corners, for that way of putting it would be incomplete. Rather, our bi-located object is a sphere at R and a cube at R*. Unused as we are to the region indexing, we would naturally say (when looking just to the left) that the object we see is a sphere. It is only after embracing the multiple location metaphysic that we will be careful to add the index. Similarly, we would naturally say (when looking just to the past) that our playwright who died almost four centuries ago is a human animal. But if we are inclined toward the multiple location metaphysic, we will regard that phrasing as incomplete and may then suggest interpreting the standard formulation of the Animalist thesis as an abbreviation of “we are identical to human animals at R

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(for some salient R)”. Since that condition is satisfied, we have our claim both to Animalism and to the rejection of a biological criterion, after all. Perhaps, though, the committed Animalist will be inclined to respond that the proper reformulation of her thesis on that metaphysic is not that “we are identical to human animals at R (for some salient R)” but rather that “we are human animals at any region in which we are located at all.” If so, the new condition is, of course, not satisfied and the Multiple Location Resurrection theorist will have to join with those who merely take aim at the first premise of The Animalist Argument after all. Single Location Resurrection: Perhaps all this talk of multiple location seems too much to bear. There is another and perhaps more promising view in the wings, however. Even if you were convinced that every material object enjoys exactly one location relation to the one and only region it ever inhabits, the Single Location Resurrection theorist may claim that the region to be paired with our man Shakespeare is a single, temporally extended, scattered region with two (salient) temporally connected parts—one spanning 1564 through 1616 and the other beginning on the last day and suffering no end. This theorist tells us that Shakespeare is there—at that scattered region—and only there. And what is the relevant criterion of personal identity on this proposal? Our answer can be much more simple and straightforward than before. Insofar as the Single Location Resurrection theorist sees occupation as a one-one relation, she is just as likely to endorse a ban on the co-location of distinct entities as she is to endorse a ban on bi-location in distinct regions. Accordingly, she may say at the time of Shakespeare’s death: “An object on the resurrection day is identical with Shakespeare—is the resurrected Shakespeare—if and only if that object is located at exactly one and the same scattered, four-dimensional region where this dying man is located.” Clearly, it is crucial on this proposal that no two material substances coincide. But armed with independent arguments for that substantive metaphysical thesis, the proponent of this criterion cannot justly be accused of merely assuming the identity relation. Thus, says our Single Location Resurrection theorist, such location properties are necessary, sufficient, and illuminating with respect to identity. Moreover, such a theorist may still (and without qualification) endorse the claim that a human person is a human animal; it’s just that a human animal can survive the acquisition of whichever properties properly characterize a resurrected body and that a human animal (like everything else) has its persistence conditions fixed by location and not biology.22

22 I should note that this is just one version of what could be called Single Location Resurrection, for the view I in fact favor—an unorthodox perdurantism that layers on a psychological criterion of personal identity together with certain liberal principles of composition and decomposition—could also march under that banner. See Hudson, Materialist Metaphysics, chs 2–4. What’s distinctive about the version of Single Location Resurrection on display in the text above is the wedding of criteria of identity to location rather than psychology.

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Closing Remarks Location-based views of persistence seem to have their advantages—especially from the point of view of those who would like to separate questions of mereological structure from questions of location (and this band of theorists is recruiting heavily and on the rise). As we have just seen, location-based views of the resurrection have their advantages, too, for unlike the five views on offer in the literature discussed above, they are neither anti-criterialist, nor do they depend on a non-identity constitution relation, a deceptive body-snatching God, eleventhhour divine fissions, or suspicious causal claims. Of course, our two new proposals will strike differently minded theorists as philosophically expensive in their own distinctive ways. For example, a proper defense of Multiple Location Resurrection may ultimately depend on defending both the fundamentality of the location relation and controversial principles of recombination governing modality. Difficulties for Single Location Resurrection include providing independent and compelling reasons both for endorsing the semi-unpopular ban on the co-location of distinct material substances and for regarding facts about psychology as irrelevant to the analysis of persistence for human persons. Still there is a lot of work to be done on weighing up costs and gains on these matters, and the location-based views of the resurrection deserve their turn on the scales.23

23 For comments and criticism on earlier versions of this paper I thank Dean Zimmerman and the participants at the International Conference on Personal Identity and Resurrection at the University of Innsbruck.

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Chapter 6

Bodily Resurrection: When Metaphysics Needs Phenomenology Thomas Schärtl

Preliminary Sidestep The point of this article is neither a refutation of so-called animalism1 or of any form of materialistic concept of personhood, nor is it a defense of dualism.2 It, instead, seeks a way in between. This way “in between” materialism and dualism is motivated, first, by the burden of tradition and the voice of biblical writings. Second, it is inspired by some of the crucial downsides of either purely dualistic or purely materialistic approaches to the concept of resurrection. And, third, it relates to a theological discussion from the 1970s and 80s pertaining to the idea of “resurrection in death”. It is precisely this discussion that has two benefits: the theory of “resurrection in death” sticks to the rather classic philosophical dogma that there is no diachronic identity without (some sort of) continuity. And it has the theological benefit of regarding death as an initial moment of our ultimate salvation and destiny. Resurrection in Death—Reloaded The price tag on the resurrection-in-death-theory takes the form of two problems: (1) If it is true that at the moment of death human persons arrive, so to speak, at the end of history, then the time between individual death and universal judgment day is absolutely irrelevant for the deceased. It is neither a stage in between nor a stage of patient expectation. (2) If we are raised to immortality at the moment of death then the corpse seems to be some kind of “metaphysical leftover” which is ultimately excluded from the resurrection and eschatological glorification. Defenders of the theory of immediate resurrection responded to these challenges as follows: (1) It 1

The most intriguing defense of animalism was presented by Eric T. Olson, What are We? A Study in Personal Ontology (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007). 2 For a powerful defense of dualism see Richard Swinburne, The Evolution of the Soul, revised edn (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997), pp. 145–99; Stephen T. Davis, Risen Indeed: Making Sense of the Resurrection (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1993), pp. 85–109.

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might be possible to conceive of the eschaton as something which is beyond earthly time but which has some kind of temporal fabric or, at least, which allows some kind of time-look-alike experience. We may thus be able to conceive of the afterlife as a process of resurrection which starts at the moment of individual death but is not complete until human history comes to an ultimate end. (2) The corpse in the tomb is not identical to my bodily existence or what I would call “my body”; therefore, it is not the actual subject of resurrection. Among the defenders of “immediate resurrection”, Gisbert Greshake was the most outspoken theologian in claiming that “matter in itself” cannot inherit the glory of the Kingdom to come.3 Of course, Greshake was accused—even after modifying4 his original theory—of supporting a rather spiritualized notion of human embodiment. If one truly wants to avoid this consequence we would have to stick to the original version of resurrection-in-deaththeory which holds that we literally die and immediately arrive at the and of history, which is also the cosmological end of the universe, and instantaneously “awake”, so to speak, together with every other human being who died at a different point in human history. It might be conceivable that, at the moment of our re-awakening and after the cosmological end of the universe, glorified matter awaits to embody us immediately; we will experience this as our moment of transformation, when we “move” instantaneously from death to re-awakening. Although this might be a speculative solution to the problem, it has the above-mentioned price tag attached to it: time-wise we are forced to work with two different books and “budgets”. One book keeps the records only from God’s point of view. And according to this record there is no gap between the last stage of my earthly life and the first “stage” of my heavenly glorification. The second book, however, keeps the records of earthly time, as experienced by all the beloved ones I left behind and by millions of other people who might be born after my death. According to the second book there is a gap between my death and the end of the universe which lasts as long as human and cosmic history continues. While I have a continuous existence in the first book, I seem to have a “gappy”, metaphysically interrupted form of existence in the other book. For the keepers of the second book I am, after my death, truly gone, beyond reach, experientially “out of sight”.5 At this point the opponents of the resurrectionin-death-theory might raise their voices again: If the story of the second book is true for me and for every deceased person, would it make sense to pray for the deceased 3

See Gisbert Greshake, “Die Leib–Seele–Problematik und die Vollendung der Welt”, in Gisbert Greshake and Gerhard Lohfink (eds), Naherwartung–Auferstehung– Unsterblichkeit: Untersuchungen zur christlichen Eschatologie, 4th edn (Freiburg i.B.: Herder, 1982), pp. 156–84, p. 175. 4 See Gisbert Greshake and Jacob Kremer, Resurrectio mortuorum: zum theologischen Verständnis der leiblichen Auferstehung (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1986), pp. 255–76. 5 A defense of what I called the “two–books–approach of existence in time” can be seen in Ulrich Lüke, “Auferstehung am Jüngsten Tag als Auferstehung im Tod”, Stimmen der Zeit, 216 (1998): pp. 45–54.

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(in order to grant them some kind of “alleviation” in purgatory) or, if we regard some of them as saints, to ask prayerfully for their support? To say the least, none of the books allow for a process of purification or some sort of “stage in between”:6 for the first book there is no intermediary stage and for the second there is, apparently, no entity that could be a placeholder for this stage in between. Furthermore, it is completely unclear if combining the “two books” will result in a consistent theory. So if we sit down at the end of the day and calculate the theological and metaphysical costs of the resurrection-death-theory, why should we maintain it or even regard it as theologically (and spiritually) appealing?7 One could argue— and this is, of course, open for further discussion—that the prices of alternative concepts are higher. For any other concept of resurrection would reintroduce the idea of a so-called “stage in between” reserved either for a disembodied soul or, if you prefer materialism—for a temporarily non-existent human person. While the former alternative has to struggle with the conceptual burdens of dualism, the latter violates a basic rule according to which no entity can begin existing twice. Admittedly, one can deny this metaphysical dogma. But, historically speaking, it played a crucial role for the most part of the theological tradition that tried to come up with a concept of resurrection. Metaphysical and Theological “Construction Work Ahead” In the previous section I emphasized that the resurrection-in-death-theory has the great benefit of avoiding the assumption of “gappy” existence and the metaphysically intimidating as well as somewhat terrifying concept of substance dualism. Let me restate three dogmas which I regard as basic for the considerations to follow: 1. “Gappy” existence is a metaphysical riddle and atrocity.8 2. Identity claims without an account of criteria of identity are unjustified.9 6 See David B. Hershenov and Rose J. Koch–Hershenov, “Personal Identity and Purgatory”, Religious Studies, 42 (2006): pp. 439–51. Hershenov and Koch–Hershenov vote for a rigid “hylemorphic” theory and assume therefore that purification in purgatory should take place after resurrection. 7 An assessment of the metaphysical costs can also be found in Stephen T. Davis, “Physicalism and Resurrection”, in Kevin Corcoran (ed.), Soul, Body and Survival: Essays on the Metaphysics of Human Persons (Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 2001), pp. 229–48, p. 231. 8 A possible defense of “gappy existence” was offered by Bruce Reichenbach, Is Man the Phoenix? A Study of Immortality (Washington, D.C.: University Press of America, 1983), pp. 85–91. 9 If there are no criteria and if in the philosopher’s court we are not allowed to appeal to revelation, why shouldn’t we turn to Parfit’s major thesis that there are no criteria of

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3. No concept of resurrection should rely on notions that are metaphysically and logically impossible. In addition to these dogmas, a primary distinction has to be mentioned before we even approach a concept of resurrection: What is the focus and range of these dogmas? Do they refer to human persons? Or do they refer to human bodies? From a purely materialistic point of view these questions are identical. But, interestingly enough, even a non-materialistic account should not treat these questions separately. This will become clear when we try to explain why the different versions of the Creed from a plain profession of belief in the “resurrection of the dead” to a “resurrection of the flesh” and “resurrection of the very same body I have now”. But we might concede that formulas such as these are somewhat imprecise. For one still can ask whether “bodily resurrection” is the same as the “resurrection of the body” and why the identity of the person is intimately linked to the identity of the body. All of the three dogmas still leave us with a variety of options for developing a consistent concept of resurrection. The spectrum is relatively wide: it ranges over Peter van Inwagen’s “Body-Snatch-Theory”10 and Kevin Corcoran’s idea of bodily “fission”11 on the one side to Stephen Davis’s dualistically stabilized re-assemblyconcept on the other side. So why shouldn’t we sign off on one or the other theory of the introduced spectrum, instead of looking for an additional alternative? Why are van Inwagen’s, Corcoran’s or Davis’s answers not sufficient already? Let me start with a short comment on Davis’s proposal. Not only does it share the problems of substance dualism, but it also has to shoulder the burden of reassembly. Reassembly cannot account for identity and is, presumably, a task which might be impossible even for an almighty being. But even if we regard dualism as a good and price worthy metaphysical option, we are still left with Peter van Inwagen’s critique of dualism within the context of resurrection-beliefs: When one dies, one’s body decays, and what one is, what one has been all along, an immaterial soul or mind or self, continues to exist. … Christians … will know that they are supposed to believe in something that doesn’t fit this picture too well, something called the Resurrection of the Dead; if pressed, they will perhaps say that the burden of the doctrine of the Resurrection of the Dead is that eventually God will give everyone a body again—one of those mysterious and

personal identity over time because there is no identity? For a discussion of Merrick’s approach see also Davis, “Physicalism and Resurrection”, pp. 232–5. 10 See Peter van Inwagen, “The Possibility of Resurrection”, in Peter van Inwagen (ed.), The Possibility of Resurrection and Other Essays in Christian Apologetics (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1998), pp. 45–51. 11 Kevin Corcoran, Rethinking Human Nature: A Christian Materialist Alternative to the Soul (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker, 2006), pp. 119–33.

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apparently pointless procedures for which God no doubt has some good reason that He has mercifully chosen not to bother us with.12

Why, after all, do we need a body if we can exist (as rational and sentient beings) without it? Stephen Davis tries to escape this problem by emphasizing that a disembodied soul is in a deficient mode of being and deprived of some crucial modes of perception which are accessible only while the soul has a body.13 But one should be rather careful with such a claim; for if the soul (in contrast to the body) is the bearer of personal identity it cannot be a deficient entity tout court. If the soul is an identity-providing entity it must have a self-sufficient metaphysical quality in virtue of which it is a stable entity that has the stamina to bear the weight of identity requirements.14 Furthermore, if having a body enables persons to have experiences which they could not have without it, one must ask which experiences or modes of perception are the ones referred to. Per se, to say that the body makes possible certain experiences which the soul wouldn’t have without a body is just to make a claim. Even within the Christian tradition one can find the idea more than once that the body also gets in the way of the soul and burdens, seduces, or blindfolds it.15 And, from a purely philosophical point of view, it is not at all clear whether disembodied or embodied life is the deficient mode of being (although, I have to admit, theology is pretty clear at that point: embodied existence is the nondeficient form of being, for humans). A major problem is the question whether reassembly guarantees identity. The thought experiments behind the so-called “chain-of-consumption-problem” are centuries old. Even if we don’t want to repeat the cannibalism thought experiment any longer16 we cannot deny that the matter which my body now possesses once belonged to another body. If we regard this as a special case of ownership and, for the time being, imagine that each owner leaves some sort of stamp on the ultimate simple parts that constitute the whole body, then we will find that many simple parts have a rather impressive collection of ownership-stamps. If some part is owned by one individual body it cannot simultaneously be owned by another individual body. This is unproblematic as long as people succeed each other in existence and embodiment. But in the case of resurrection which implies the simultaneous 12 Peter van Inwagen, “Dualism and Materialism: Athens and Jerusalem”, Faith and Philosophy, 12 (1995): p. 475. 13 See Davis, Risen Indeed, p. 97 and p. 108. 14 See Marilyn McCord Adams, “The Resurrection of the Body according to Three Medieval Aristotelians: Thomas Aquinas, John Duns Scotus, William Ockham”, Philosophical Topics, 20 (1993): pp. 1–33. 15 See De civ. D. XXII, 21 and 22. 16 See De civ. D. XXII, 12; see also Trenton Merricks, “How to Live Forever without Saving Your Soul: Physicalism and immortality”, in Corcoran (ed.), Soul, Body, and Survival, pp. 186–8, and Kevin Corcoran, “Physical Persons and Postmortem Survival without Temporal Gaps”, in Corcoran (ed.), Soul, Body and Survival, pp. 203–6.

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re-appearance of every deceased person (in their body), the ownership relation becomes a huge problem. In the light of this problem it is not at all satisfying that Davis wants us to rest assured because: All that is required is that God consistently follows some sort of identitypreserving policy for what to do with the shared atoms. Augustine, for example, suggested that God awards the shared atoms on the basis of who first possessed them (and will presumably use new atoms to fill in the empty spaces in the body of the one who later possessed the shared atoms). Lots of other possibilities seem possible. I see nothing here that constitutes a serious threat to identity or to physicalist resurrection.17

Frankly, I cordially disagree. Given what we know about the real dimension of the chain of consumption that takes place in this universe it is more than likely that there might be persons who leave the resurrection scene literally empty-handed because each and every single atom (= simple part) of their body once belonged to another human body which would have, in St. Augustine’s view, the more original right of ownership. But if God has to create completely new atoms for these “empty handed” late-comers, why does he care about reassembly in the first place? If the creation of new atoms out of nothingness can account for bodily identity (or whatever it is St. Augustine and Davis are talking about), what is the point of chasing old atoms through the non-transparent pathways of “rightful ownership”? If the empty-handed late-comers have to live eternally with “atom-implants” why should the early-comers be privileged with neat re-integration of original parts? Let us just assume that the late-comer is a saint while the early comer is a blatant sinner; wouldn’t this metaphysical privilege spit in the face of divine justice? But it is not only the chain-of-consumption situation that transforms the concept of reassembly into some sort of wild caricature. It is, moreover, a metaphysical problem, which I am inclined to call the “All-or-Nothing”–problem. It strikes pretty much everyone who wants to get his/her head around the problem of parts and wholes:18 a strict interpretation of reassembly must interpret reassembly as a precise re-integration, which implies that all the former parts that “made” the whole once are reassembled again. Let one simple part be missing and, according to the strict interpretation, the reassembly fails. Everyone can see that this is far too rigid and would lead to most unwelcome consequences for resurrection day. But when we turn our heads toward the other side of the spectrum, we find comparable problems. In a drastically liberal interpretation reassembly might be successful on a pretty minimal basis. But how minimal can the standard be? At that point I would like to learn more about the “lots of possibilities” God has, according to Davis, to bring about the reassembly of my body. Frankly, I don’t see them and I think 17

Davis, “Physicalism and Resurrection”, pp. 235f. A perfect exposition of the problem can be found in Trenton Merricks, Objects and Persons (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2003), pp. 32–8. 18

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that the reassembly theory is a dead-end street since any answer to the minimumquestion is painfully arbitrary. If God has, however, good reasons to declare a certain percentage the standard, then we would like to know what they are. In an interesting critique of van Inwagen’s materialistic concept of resurrection, David Hershenov tries to modify the reassembly theory with the help of two additional concepts that add some perspectives to Davis’s approach. Hershenov defends the idea of reassembly with the help of a concept of intermediary existence.19 And he tries to get out of the chain-of-consumption-problem by appeal to the idea of a delayed and procedural resurrection. The notion of intermediary existence means that an entity x can survive a period of disintegration after disassembly until its parts are reassembled to form a new whole. Hershenov invites us to consider the analogy of a gun which can be disassembled in parts and can be reassembled by the owner after a period of time. He thinks that our common sense would insist that the recently reassembled gun is the same gun as the gun before the procedure of disassembly.20 Thus, neither discontinuity nor the scattered-ness of the entity in question can put a threat on identity claims. But is this truly the case? Let us set aside the fact that Hershenov draws his analogies predominantly, if not exclusively, from cases involving artificial objects.21 A closer look will show that Hershenov operates with hidden presuppositions which have to be made explicit in order to tell the full truth of the metaphysical story that interests us. Let us, therefore, illustrate his basic idea with the help of a chart (Figure 6.1).

Figure 6.1 Hershenov’s Model 19

See David B. Hershenov, “The Metaphysical Problem of Intermittent Existence and the Possibility of Resurrection”, Faith and Philosophy, 20 (2003): pp. 24–36. 20 See ibid., pp. 26f. 21 For the difference between artificial and living beings see Georg Gasser, “Lebewesen und Artefakte. Ontologische Unterscheidungen”, Philosophisches Jahrbuch, 115 (2008): pp. 125–47.

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The chart reflects the story of the gun and expresses how Hershenov thinks that God might bring about the resurrection of the body: as long as the atoms which were part of entity x at t0 are still available at t1 and t2 it is, as Hershenov wants to say, not a problem for God to reassemble the body at t2. This would imply that God needs to preserve or to re-identify the atoms that constituted my body precisely during the time of my death.22 But Hershenov’s theory silently presupposes that human bodies are entities that can survive their disassembly and can exist in a scattered state. In the case of the gun it is more than obvious that Hershenov’s scenario is silently based on additional factors that “guarantee” the identity of the gun: it is the gun-owner who disassembles and reassembles the gun and who takes care of the scattered entity, protects the parts, looks after their functions and so forth. A gun can survive the procedure of disassembly because a gun—as any artificial object—is not just a material being but also an institutional entity whose metaphysical story depends crucially on certain relations, that is, on relations to more robust entities (like human persons who have the privilege of “owning something”—a privilege a gun can never have). That Hershenov is silently dealing with the complex ontology of institutional entities becomes obvious when we examine the other examples he introduces to appeal to our common sense: the possibility of an interrupted courttrial or an interrupted class meeting which can start to re-exist as the very same trial or meeting after an interruption and a pause.23 Class meetings and trials are institutional entities par excellence; the stabilizing and guaranteeing entities are, among others, human persons who attend the class meetings and the trials. The case Hershenov is presenting is pictured in Fig 6.2. But are human bodies related to some such stabilizing entity behind their backs that provides a bridge for the intermittent stage? At that point Hershenov should seek rescue in the Aristotelian and Thomisitic tradition which holds that the souls as the “form of the body” even after death somehow stay connected with the parts that once constituted the body.24 But the problem in this modification is, nevertheless, that the soul’s ontological features must be robust in order to fulfill the required task. Wouldn’t this be a point in favor of listening more carefully to the dualistic tradition? But what happens if the parts that belonged to entity x become parts of another entity y during the intermediary stage? What happens if the gun-owner in Hershenov’s example uses some crucial parts of his gun to build another weapon? It seems to be obvious that, in such a scenario, the reassembly of one entity entails the non-existence of the other entity. And isn’t this exactly the problem of the chain-of-consumption story in general? Hershenov’s way out is, admittedly, interesting. 22

See Hershenov, “Intermittent Existence”, p. 32. See Hershenov, “Intermittent Existence”, p. 31. 24 See Eleonore Stump, “Resurrection, Reassembly, and Reconstitution: Aquinas on the Soul”, in Edmund Runggaldier and Bruno Niederbacher (eds.), Die menschliche Seele: Brauchen wir den Dualismus? (Heusenstamm: Ontos, 2006) pp. 151–71. 23

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Figure 6.2 Identity Conditions of Artifacts Basically he says that entity x and entity y can be reassembled—but not at the same time.25 Of course, this would put a threat on belief in the resurrection insofar as, at a minimum level, the interpretation of the Creed includes the resurrection of everybody. How could this be done? To answer this questions Hershenov appeals to very basic biological insights. Thanks to biology human bodies exchange their parts continuously. So, God would have to resurrect the very last human beings first. He would have to wait until they have egested and exchanged their simple parts completely in order to raise the next generation of human beings from the dead. The process of reassembly would be like a never-ending solitaire game in which God would have to wait periodically until certain cards (the simple parts in our considerations) are available for new rows (the human bodies of other generations). Contrary to Davis Hershenov’s concept privileges the very last generation of human beings and forces God to produce continuously new matter that can be assimilated by each generation of recently resurrected human bodies. But what would happen if the parts that once constituted human bodies were gone? We might think of the victims of Hiroshima and Nagasaki whose bodies were literally dematerialized in this most cruel outburst of energy. Anybody who wants 25

See Hershenov, “Intermittent Existence”, p. 34.

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to stick to the reassembly theory would have to postulate that simple parts cannot be destroyed and that they keep a certain memory or echo of the owners they once belonged to. Apparently the simple parts are purely speculative entities (which are beyond the range of any natural scientist); and to postulate their Parmenidean character (indestructible features, certain marks of ownership, everlastingness with regard to the future) is as good and bad as postulating some kind of “invisible” stuff or spiritual matter for the continuous existence of a spiritual soul. In Davis’s approach the whole problem of reassembly is smoothed out thanks to the claim that at the end of the day the soul is the custodian of personal identity. In this scenario an identity-guaranteeing soul should be able to live with a “bodyimplant” instead of the original body. But for a materialist notion of human persons the situation brought about by the reassembly theory is rather disastrous. It is interesting to notice that van Inwagen and Corcoran, for example, tried to safeguard their theories with the help of strategies immunizing them against the all-ornothing-problem. But the question will be whether these means won’t cause other, equally severe problems. Van Inwagen, for example, proposed the idea that at the time of death my body is miraculously and invisibly removed by God and replaced by a corpse that resembles my body.26 Although it is philosophically somewhat hazardous to claim events that fall through the cracks of evidentialist requirements and although there are some serious theological questions about this view,27 the bigger problem in van Inwagen’s approach is that humans are somehow stuck with the bodies they have had at the time of death. Ironically, Billy Joel’s Only the Good Die Young seems to be a justified expression of preferences here because no one I know desires to spend eternity in the shape of, let’s say, a 90-years old. And what should we do with St. Augustine’s christologically motivated idea that we will be raised with bodies that have the age of the risen Lord28 in order to honor the glory of our savior (including a stage of transformation which prevents us from suffering, starving, pain, and deterioration in the eschaton29)? Van Inwagen can deal with the chain-of-consumption question insofar as the replica-bodies are the material substrata for the disintegrating corpses and thereby deliver the simple parts for new bodies, but he might not have room for the necessary transformation and glorification of earthly bodies unless he thinks that God is some kind of advanced St. Barbara surgeon whose skills in rejuvenating people surpass human technologies by far. But it is hard to believe that these bodies could ever have qualities that are ascribed to the body of the risen Lord with the help of a powerful imagery: the risen Lord is no longer subject to the conditions and laws of time and space.

26

See van Inwagen, “Possibility”, pp. 120f. See Dean Zimmerman, “The Compatibility of Materialism and Survival: The “Falling Elevator” Model”, Faith and Philosophy, 16 (1999), p. 196. 28 See De civ. D. XXII, 16. 29 See Uwe Meixner, The Two Sides of Being: A Reassessment of Psycho–Physical Dualism (Paderborn: Mentis, 2004); pp. 62f. 27

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Kevin Corcoran’s fission theory, which goes back to a model proposed by Dean Zimmerman, allows some liberty for a good deal of transformation taking place in the afterlife. Zimmerman uses the idea of fission to shed some light on a concept of resurrection: God may resurrect this very body: He does so by, just before it completely loses its living form, enabling each particle to divide—or at least to be immanentcausally responsible for two resulting particle-stages. One of the resulting particle-stages is right here, where the old one was; another is either in heaven now (for immediate resurrectionists), or somewhere in the far future. But in any case, since the set of particle-stages on earth that are immanent-causally connected with my dying body do not participate in a Life, there is no danger of my ‘fissioning out of existence’ due to competition with my corpse. My corpse is not even a candidate for being me, since it does not participate in a Life.30

Thus we have a story that includes everything we want: the heap of dead matter I leave behind is made of stuff which really was a part of my body (it is not a simulacrum; God is not a body-snatcher), and the resurrected body is really identical to the present one—it is causally continuous, except that in this case there is a spatial or spatiotemporal gap which my poor body was given the power to cross by means of God’s intervention.31 In Corcoran’s adaptation of this idea there is a mereological undertone that destroys the smoothness of the story. First, let’s listen to his leitmotif: It seems possible that the causal paths traced by the simples caught up in the life of my body just before death can be made by God to fission such that the simples composing my body then are causally related to two different, spatially segregated sets of simples. One of the two sets of simples would immediately cease to constitute a life and come instead to compose a corpse, while the other would either continue to constitute a body in some intermediate state. In other words, the set of simples along one of the branching paths at the instant after fission fails to perpetuate a life while the other set of simples along the other branch does continue to perpetuate life.32

There are several questions that have to be raised here (in addition to more general questions that have to be addressed to the concept of fission and the underlying “closest continuer theory”33): to clarify the path of debate let us call the 30

Zimmerman, “Falling Elevator”, p. 206. Ibid., p. 207. 32 Corcoran, “Physical Persons”, p. 210. 33 See Joseph A. Baltimore, “Got to Have Soul”, Religious Studies, 42 (2005): pp. 417–30; compare Corcoran’s response “I’m not a Soul, Man: A Response to Baltimore”, Religious Studies, 42 (2005): pp. 431–7. 31

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products of the fission entity a and entity b and their metaphysical predecessor a∗. According to Corcoran entity b is the corpse left behind at the moment of death. This is illustrated from a four-dimensionalist perspective in Figure 6.3.

Figure 6.3 Fission But where did entity a go? The above presented chart insinuates that a exists simultaneously to b. But, in reality, at least quoad nos, this is not the case. The only answer one could come up with is Zimmerman’s idea that a was miraculously transported or transferred to heaven or to the future, which would explain why a is not longer co-present with b, and so forth. To make sense of this theory and its accordance to dogma (1) we would have to do what the plain resurrection-in-deaththeorist is required to do: we would have to work with two budgets and books for the existence in time. Or we would have to deal, as Zimmerman suggests, with the possibility of gappy existence.34 From the perspective of anybody who is subject to time the situation appears as in Figure 6.4. And it is another question whether a closest continuer theory, which is required35 to keep the so-called “fission–” and “fallen-elevator”–models going and to stick to dogma (2), could tolerate and handle the use of two different “books” and “budgets”. But another problem is even more mind-boggling: if at the time t1 of an individual x’s death the simples, which are parts that form a whole (let’s express this in a rather vague interpretation of “forming a whole”), have spatiotemporally instantiated attributes, it is quite likely that the products of the fission (entities a and b) at t2 have spatio-temporally instantiated attributes as well. Well, this conclusion is still unproblematic and Corcoran as well as Zimmerman’s model might be able to show their arguments for it to be valid. But there is another 34 35

See Zimmerman, “Falling Elevator”, p. 203. Corcoran, “Physical Persons”, p. 214.

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Figure 6.4 Fission and “Gappy Existence” problem if we assume that (a) being the product of a fission is a spatio-temporally instantiated attribute and that (b) whatever has spatio-temporally instantiated attributes is (broadly speaking) subject to sense experience. Let’s just assume for a moment that claims (a) and (b) are intuitively plausible. Thus, especially (a) will put some pressure on the theory of fission because, in one way or another, it should be apparent that entity a (unless a was transported to the future) and entity b (the corpse) are the products of fission. This problem is illustrated in Figure 6.5, this time employing a three-dimensionalist framework (ignoring for a moment the possibility that entity a is transported or shipped to the future and thus not copresent with b): If it is a materialistically interpreted fission we might expect that the corpse shows, let’s say, some significant weight-loss or heavy signs of disintegration at t2 if compared to a∗ at t1. But this is not the case. Anyone who looks at a corpse immediately after death will say—figuratively—that somehow the “spirit” and the personality, the mind and the soul are gone while physically a significant similarity remains between the pre-mortem stage at t1 and the post-mortem stage at t2. If we compare b to a∗we can say: Certain processes stopped and cannot be found in b, processes that were once crucial for the life of a∗; a structure falls apart which once provided the metaphysical integrity of a∗. But there are no material chunks missing from b. To get out of this problem one would have to assume that the simples we are talking about when we describe the fission aren’t material atoms but events which might have a very unique nature—a nature that cuts off the questions revolving around assumptions (a) and (b). But even with this modification we still have the problem that some simples are meant to be part of a while others are “condemned” to be part of b. What exactly privileges one set of simples over the

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Figure 6.5 Products of Fission other? And is there any hint in the existence of a∗ that might tell us that a certain number of simples will constitute a while another number will have to constitute the corpse?36 From assumption (b) it follows that somebody should be able to identify a (the rightfully closest continuer of a∗) as the ens successivum that inherits the ontological privilege of personhood from a∗. To say that at t2 it suffices that God knows what a looks like and where a is seems to overstretch the philosophical credit we can give to the fission-model. But even if we say that these questions don’t really threaten the consistency of the proposed model there is still the left-over-problem coming from the reassembly36 For comparable critique see also David Hershenov, “Van Inwagen, Zimmerman, and the materialist conception of resurrection”, Religious Studies, 38 (2002): pp. 451– 69. Hershenov points to two problems of the Zimmerman–Corcoran–model: (1) there is not much (if any) evidence in the corpse which shows it to be the result of a fission which is spelled out in purely materialistic terms; (2) the heavenly body is the result of a pretty unnatural composition of simples (since it happens against the rules for biological assimilation of simple parts).

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theory: How many simples are necessary to make a the rightfully closest continuer of a*? Corcoran’s charts seem to play with a 50 percent standard.37 But this seems to be a rather arbitrary number since nothing in our metaphysical rulebook recommends this percentage over and above any other number. Is the number again left for God’s mysterious and hidden decision and declaration? Of course, beyond the charts Corcoran has another criterion to offer which, as a matter of fact, is much more important than specifying any such percentage; it is van Inwagen’s criterion of “wholeness”: whichever simples may form a as a whole, it is clear that a can be the rightfully closest continuer of a∗ if and only if a is a living being and is an instance of life (as was a∗ an instance of life and a living being).38 Being an instance of life is exactly what makes the difference between a and b at the end of the day: b is just a corpse; it does not have the life a∗ used to have. Therefore, b cannot be regarded as the rightfully closest continuer of a∗. But if this is the way it goes, why should we be bothered with the problems of “simple-parts”–transmission and fission at all? Why shouldn’t we build our case on what Corcoran and van Inwagen called “life” and “instance of life” in the first place? Per se, the notion of “life” is—if not taken as an exclusively biological concept—open to a psychological criterion of personal identity and does not need the idea of “material continuity” seen as the continuity of certain simples that were once part of a∗. The need for a richer concept of life than a purely biological one becomes clear when we examine a rather unappetizing thought experiment: imagine an unethical scientist who wants to preserve the identity of a dying patient beyond moral limitations. To do so, he clones a human body from the liver of the dying patient and uses an electronic medium to transfer the memories of the dying patient into the brain of the cloned body. At the moment of the patient’s death the memories are transferred to the new body’s brain and the new body is simultaneously detached from the old body. In a very unusual way the dying patient gave birth to the new person. The new person is causally connected to the dying patient (and we might think that this connection fulfills the requirements of “immanent causation”) and, thanks to the memory transfer, we see the preservation of the personality, too. Can we say that the dying patient was resurrected in his clone? Although this is a weird kind of fission we are inclined to say “no” because of the different first person perspectives and different lives involved in the story. The life of the clone is an offspring and not a continuation of the life of the dying patient. But does Zimmerman’s and Corcoran’s model truly help us to get the records straight and to see the difference between “continuation” on the one side and “having an offspring” on the other side? Frankly, I don’t think so. The miraculously caused fission of simples looks like an unusual birth scenario and not like a very special or complex case of continuation by jump.

37 38

Corcoran, “Physical Persons”, pp. 211f. Corcoran, “Physical Persons”, pp. 208f.; van Inwagen, Material Beings, pp. 81–97.

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The discussion of the fission model of resurrection as well as the atrocities of the reassembly-theory add two more dogmas to the list of guiding rules for what I want to present in the following, final section: 4. Don’t rely on reassembly when it comes to identity questions. 5. Don’t put all your eggs in the basket of a purely mereological explanation of successive existence and continuity. Where Metaphysics Meets Phenomenology The tools I need for overcoming some of the problems raised are already available in van Inwagen’s study on Material Beings as well as in Corcoran’s system of coordinates for his model of fission. I will offer a slight modification of the fission model, and I will have to address a problem which is an implication of any kind of fission-story the metaphysician might come up with: why should we tell the story of entities a∗, a, and b as a fission story? Why couldn’t we tell it as a story of coinciding objects that share a certain spatio-temporal path for a while before parting ways? Why shouldn’t we use the category of “multiple occupancy” to express what happened to a∗, a, and b? I will have to address the underlying problem later in this section. But for the moment the strategy I will employ will look like this: before fission there are no discrete, full-blooded entities a and b in addition to a∗. The existence of a and b is the result of the fission. Therefore, it doesn’t make sense to apply a “multiple occupancy theory” of any kind to the theological story of the resurrection of the dead. However, the pill I will force the gentle reader to swallow is the idea that there is no identity relation between what I call my body during my life on the one side and the corpse in the tomb on the other side. But to get to this point let me explain the slight modification of the fission-theory. It seems apparent that the simples in Corcoran’s model are not meant to carry the burden of identity and sameness over time. There are numerous reasons why they simply can’t carry the burden of identity-claims; however, the most important reason, duly noted by philosophers and theologians, is that a reassembly model is inconsistent. Thomas Aquinas notes in his Summa Contra Gentiles that parts come and go during the earthly life of a human body.39 It is fair to say that quite a number of simples get “dumped” while other simples are continuously integrated in the body. Peter van Inwagen illustrated this fact with the help of a neat analogy—the analogy of “shanghaiing robot gangs” that form a club by pressing new members to join every once in a while.40 It is apparent that the subject of identity-statements in van Inwagen’s case is the club. In the analogy, what gives “life” and what is the “instance of life” in an aggregate of simples 39 40

See Aquinas, S.c.G., lib. IV, cap. LXXXI. See van Inwagen, Material Beings, pp. 81–97.

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which is the true bearer of identity.41 Thomas Aquinas reflected a comparable thought saying that for the identity which is required the simples cannot be held responsible. What gives identity is the “species”, which is a structuring factor.42 If it is the structure which accounts for identity over time then the sameness of the structure is what counts for the fission-case and the determination of identity in a closest continuer situation. Of course, this raises a set of additional questions: what do we mean by the sameness of a structure, especially if we take into account that human beings are developing and individually evolving structures? Perhaps a more intuitive account is enough: if the structure carries the life of a living whole, the continuity of life can be seen as an outcome of the continuity of the structure we are looking for. The resulting chart that can help us illustrate the presumed fission-situation might look like Figure 6.6.

Figure 6.6 Track-Switch Model I

41 42

Ibid., p. 7. See S.c.G., lib. IV, cap. LXXXI.

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Entity a is the legitimately closest continuer of a∗ because there is a sameness of structure as well as a structural continuity that allows the application of the identity-relation between a∗ and a.43 If we allow structures to be ontologically thicker but still comparable to some sort of “individualized” universals which can be, nevertheless, instantiated in different ways or through different periods of time we might arrive at another model of resurrection which looks like a case of fission only at first glance. We can call this model the “track-switch model” of resurrection (to imagine it just recall the countless movies in which the catastrophe of a train crash was avoided by a sudden track-switch; and add to your imagination that one or another of the cars bumps into the barricade of a dead-end-track while most of the train is saved thanks to the “track-switch”). Entity a is a slightly different direction for the “train” called “my life” whereas entity b is a dead-end-track for a decaying corpse which is a metaphysical “result” of my life as a human being. There is no evidence and no danger that my life could ever follow the dead-endtrack. Phenomenologically, my life as a human person and the dead-end-track are too different to be brought together as competitors in a closest continuer situation. A closer look should reveal that a is the ens successivum of a* because it is and has the same life (although the continuation of this life might look a little bit like a detour given the transformation that happened, a transformation that left us with b on another track). Again, what seems to be some kind of fission is, as soon as we look at it more carefully, a detour-continuation (Figure 6.7).

Figure 6.7 Track-Switch Model II

43 See Lynne Rudder Baker, Persons and Bodies: A Constitution View (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), pp. 141–6.

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But what, exactly, is the required structure we are talking about? What makes it a structure and what holds its elements together? And where is the place of the physical body in this picture? It might be insufficient eventually to work with the terms “form” and “whole” again. But this is exactly what structures do: they form a whole and integrate parts into a whole. It is for this reason that wholes are not just sums of parts. They are the result of structuring “powers” and forming forces. If we take a closer look at human beings we will find that there are several layers of structures which themselves are tied together to form a structure we call an “embodied” person. We can isolate certain aspects of these connected structures and talk about the human body or about the first person perspective which is the center of gravity for psychological continuity. The structures that make certain entities human persons include properties and events and allow for connections between macrophysical and microphysical properties and events. However, we must, in order to find the place of the physical body in this picture, ask what the primary properties and events are which make the structure of human persons. Now, this is the moment when the abovementioned dose of phenomenology should kick in. What we can learn from Maurice Merleau-Ponty, for example, is that “human embodiment” is—strictly phenomenologically speaking—a primary property which does not per se include the physicalist or materialist aspect (of course, it does not necessarily exclude it either): what we have as the object of our perception and our primary experiences is the body as a whole which is the person in her relations to other persons—relations that can be expressed and so be made visible in actions and different forms of communication.44 Human embodiment is so basic that the true phenomenology of perception has to take it into account right from the start. When we talk about the focus or the horizon of our perception of experience we do so based on embodiment. But it is noteworthy that such a way of talking is different from the usage of a purely physicalistic vocabulary. MerleauPonty offers an interesting example to make his point here: Bodily space can be distinguished from external space and envelop its parts instead of spreading them out, because it is the darkness needed in the theatre to show up the performance, the background of somnolence or reserve of vague power against which the gesture and its aim stand out, the zone of not being in front of which precise beings, figures and points can come to light. In the last analysis, if my body can be a ‘form’ and if there can be, in front of it, important figures against indifferent backgrounds, this occurs in virtue of its being polarized by its tasks, of its existence towards them, of its collecting together of itself in its pursuit of its aims; the body schema is finally a way of stating that my body is in-the-world. As far as spatiality is concerned, and this alone interests us at the moment, one’s own body in the third term, always tacitly understood, in the figure-background structure, and every figure stands out against the double 44 See Maurice Merleau-Ponty, Phenomenology of Perception (London and New York: Routledge, 1962), pp. 77–232.

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horizon of external and bodily space. One must therefore reject as an abstraction any analysis of bodily space which takes account only of figures and points, since these can neither be conceived nor be without horizons.45

Although this quote is just a teaser which shows how phenomenology tries to describe embodiment in connection with as well as in contrast to physical embodiment, the gentle reader might be able to conclude where the story goes: The resulting structure of primary properties and events is not the physical body but the experienced body (the German language offers a specific term for this distinction: Leib, the experienced body, as opposed to Körper, physical body).46 In the line of Merleau-Ponty we might be able to say that the physical body is just the result of an “abstraction”—the product of a certain practice of looking at things. In Edmund Husserl’s phenomenological philosophy this specific way of looking at things is the way of natural science.47 But this way is, as Husserl points out, neither primary nor absolutely necessary. It is the way of a certain human practice which became indispensable because humans became bothered by certain problems (for example medical problems which enforce the need to look at humans in a scientific way). But to say that this practice became indispensable does not entail that the theories which are the results of those practices can tell us the “truth” about reality. Scientific ways of looking at things don’t tell us more truth about reality than primary experiences which are related to primary properties. Embodiment is ultimately what shapes our perception and directs intentionality in various ways. From a phenomenological point of view the following theorem is unproblematic: The primary properties and qualities we detect at the primary basis of sensing and perceiving something are relative to the primary properties we have as embodied persons. But—on the basis of phenomenological analysis—we can take a step further: the notion of a “disembodied self” is (phenomenologically speaking) selfcontradictory. Because to be a self includes being in relation to others (at least opened to the relation with others). And this, as Paul Ricœur pointed out, is the place of the body: to be precise, of the experienced body and of embodiment.48 Ricœur tries to illustrate this by analyzing the phenomenon of passivity (and vulnerability). Passivity as the first, most basic reciprocal relation to otherness is the presupposition of any further, real and “full-blooded” relation to others. And so passivity is the primary property of embodiment.49 In light of Ricœur’s 45

Ibid., pp. 115f. See Edmund Husserl, Cartesianische Meditationen: Eine Einleitung in die Phänomenologie, 3rd edn (Hamburg: Meiner, 1995), §44 and §50; see also Paul Ricœur, Oneself as Another (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992), pp. 322f. 47 See Edmund Husserl, Die Krisis der europäischen Wissenschaften und die transzendentale Phänomenologie, Part II (Hamburg: Meiner, 1992), pp. 113, 128, 134. 48 See Ricœur, pp. 318–20. 49 Ibid., pp. 321f. 46

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considerations it makes sense to speak of embodiment as something which is necessarily enveloped in any (human) first person perspective. As soon as I am aware of my self I will be aware of my embodiment in its basic phenomenological meaning: directedness towards otherness, exteriority, and passivity, which allow resistance and tangibility, sensing and impression, effort and action. What the experienced body is in contrast to a rather physical description of the body becomes clear once we compare the primary experience of embodied-ness with the primary experience of a corpse from a third-person-perspective: the living being in front of us is significantly different from the lifeless being we see. The one is the subject and addressee of significant actions and interactions, whereas the other is not, not any more, and so on. It is therefore phenomenologically sound to say that the embodied person is not identical with the physical body and that embodied persons on the one hand and physical bodies on the other are different entities and represent different kinds of entities. This is the reason why we cannot really claim that—to use the abbreviations of the previously introduced charts—entity b is the ontological successor (the rightfully closest continuer) of a∗. The weakness of any closest continuer theory is the threat coming from possible rivals who compete to be the rightfully closest continuer. But in our case, phenomenology can help us see that the corpse is no serious competitor in candidacy. The “sortal” difference between embodied person and corpse excludes any possibility of applying an identity—and sameness-relation. According to the proposed concept of fission we can claim that there is resurrection even though there is a corpse decomposing in a grave. It is conceivable that the person exists post mortem as a, which is an embodied person, because the passive first-person perspective remains intact and continues to open the self to tangibility, receptivity, relationality, expressivity, and so on. In several discussions the question was raised whether my phenomenologically sketched concept of “embodied self” was nothing but a “feeling and sensing soul”. The answer is clearly “no” if one bears in mind that the self is not identical with what some of the philosophical and theological tradition called “soul” (and to identify this is a Cartesian mistake which was significantly corrected by Kant and overturned by German Idealism); I am not suggesting that the embodied self is somehow immaterial. My point is instead that, although the embodied self has to be “realized” in order to exist, it is not necessary (in the broadest sense of necessity) that it has to be biologically realized. The proposed fission model presupposes some sort of realization: a cannot be the rightfully closest continuer of a∗ if it is not realized. But since embodiment (in its phenomenological sense) does not analytically include biological realization,50 I am not obligated to propose the rather poor existence of an “anima separata”. I can instead simply state that it is possible that a is the rightful closest continuer because of the continuance of 50 The argument for this statement would have to be borrowed from dualism. See Stewart Goetz, “Modal Dualism: A Critique”, in Corcoran (ed.), Soul, Body and Survival, pp. 89–104.

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a structure that can be “inwardly” experienced as well as realized51 in—whatever God might have in store for us. And this point leads me to the final question revolving around the place of the physical body in the whole calculation. Well, I am inclined to regard the expression “physical body” as a phase-sortal we use under certain conditions in order to talk about compounds of material substances that are arranged “physical-body-wise”.52 The use of this kind of Merricksian53 circumscription allows the suggestion that I don’t think that physical bodies are real things (thick entities in the common use of the phrase “thickness” in metaphysics). The Merricksian formulation suggests also that what we call the physical body has no clear identity—which is, in my opinion, also correct. But, in light of Husserl’s comments on the practice-relativity of metaphysical kind-membership, the core argument which supports the idea that “physical bodies” are not real entities is based on the observation that what we describe as an instance of the “physical body” is just an abstraction (which is correct in a certain language-game). Of course, I don’t deny that human persons have physical bodies. But I would insist that the truth of this statement depends crucially on the givenness of the context and the underlying practice. And I would befriend dualists by stressing that “having a physical body” is not necessary in order to be a human person. From a phenomenologically supported perspective it is sound to say that being embodied is a necessary prerequisite of being human while having a physical body is not. Based on this it might be clear why I am not at all bothered by and worried about the physical body, since the physical body as “thin” entity or phase-sortal cannot be what carries identity through time into the eschaton. The story of the physical body ends with death while the story of the embodied person54 continues if there is a possibility of realization in the afterlife. And—from the perspective of theology and metaphysics—there is no basis to exclude the possibility of such a realization. Since it is admittedly odd to think that the story of the new realization of the embodied person begins when it becomes incorrect to ascribe to that person a certain phase-sortal (namely, “having a physical/biological body”) and when another entity (the corpse) originates that looks like an ontological shadow of the previously (biologically realized) person I will leave it to further theological speculation why our lives include such oddness; but oddness per se does not count against the consistency of a belief in resurrection. 51 For a subtle and precise analysis of the phrase realization to which I appeal, see Sydney Shoemaker, Physical Realization (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), pp. 10–31, pp. 88–114. 52 Let us be merciful with this expression and let’s treat it as a somewhat vague abbreviation for a “package” of properties we use to describe a certain collection of matter in certain contexts relative to a certain practice. 53 See Merricks, Objects and Persons, pp. 118–37. 54 Please note that I am using the phrase “embodied person” in a manner that is strictly bound to the phenomenological explications I have outlined in previous paragraphs.

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I am fully aware that some theologians will insist that the corpse must be included in any form of resurrection. But how could this work if reassembly does not guarantee what we wanted to have: identity? If the history of our solar system continues for another five billion years, pretty much nothing will be left in the tombs of our ancestors or in our own graves. And if God creates new simples to assemble body implants instead of rounding up atoms through the history of the cosmos and re-gathering some of them to reassemble the body of deceased, we should not worry about the corpse in the tomb at all. The preservation of the corpse and of the simples which are present in it does not guarantee resurrection; and the total annihilation of the corpse does not hinder or rule out resurrection. According to the view I have proposed these questions and problems are no longer relevant: whatever relation the corpse (entity b in my charts) might have to a∗ and a is not a relation of identity and sameness.

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Chapter 7

Personhood, Bodily Self-Ascription, and Resurrection: A Kantian Approach Johannes Haag

Introduction In what follows I will be concerned with the concept of person or, to be more exact, with what I take to be one of the most important aspects of this many-layered concept. As Peter Strawson in his Individuals famously pointed out, persons are, among other things, subjects which ascribe to themselves mental and physical predicates: we are not only feeling pain, we often conceive of ourselves at the same time as having, for instance, an injury, which is what causes our pain. And we not only perceive a tree in front of us, but conceive of ourselves as standing in front of this tree. The question I will pursue in what follows is this: is it merely a matter of coincidence that we ascribe to ourselves mental and physical predicates? That is, is it a purely contingent fact about our constitution as human beings which enables us to find our way around a largely hostile world? Or is there a reason for this that is accessible to a priori philosophical reflection? In the third chapter of Individuals, Strawson both asks this question and relates it to another one which is in his view closely connected to it1. These questions are: (1) Why are one’s states of consciousness ascribed to anything at all? (2) Why are one’s states of consciousness ascribed to the very same thing as certain corporeal characteristics, a certain physical situation, and so on? I will call (1) the question of the subject, and (2) the question of psycho-physical predication. As already indicated, the problem of psycho-physical predication will take centre stage in what follows. However, as will become apparent, the problems are inseparable. Strawson was absolutely right when he wrote: “It is not to be supposed that the answers to these questions will be independent of one another.”2 1 See Peter F. Strawson, Individuals. An Essay in Descriptive Metaphysics (Oxford: Routledge Strawson, 1959), p. 90. 2 Ibid., p. 90.

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We must therefore concern ourselves at least briefly with the question of the subject before we can hope to find a suitable solution for the problem of psychophysical predication. The thesis I will defend in this paper is this: (T) We can only be conscious of ourselves if we conceive of ourselves as part of an objectively existing physical and corporeal world. The same thesis in a semantically ascended version would be: (Ts) We can only ascribe mental predicates to ourselves if we can also ascribe to ourselves physical or bodily predicates. If this thesis proves defensible, it could serve as an answer to Strawson’s question of psycho-physical predication: we have to ascribe bodily predicates to ourselves because otherwise we would not be able to ascribe states of consciousness to ourselves. We would not be conscious of ourselves unless we were conscious of our body as well. A further question related to this thesis, which deserves special attention against the background provided by the essays in this collection, is that of bodily resurrection: if a version of T should prove not too far from the truth, this in itself would seem, at least at first glance, to offer comfort for defenders of the doctrine that resurrection—if there is any such thing—has to be bodily resurrection after all. For otherwise, it could be argued, how could we ascribe to ourselves physical or corporeal—and hence mental predicates? We will see, however, that things are more complicated. The two philosophers taking centre stage in what follows will be Immanuel Kant and Gareth Evans.3 Just a few words on the structure of the following considerations: I will start by (1) giving an analysis of the methodological status of Strawson’s two questions. I will then (2) try to make transparent the connection between those two questions. This will rather naturally lead to (3) an answer to the question of the subject—an answer that will be needed later to solve the problem of psycho-physical predication. An answer to the second question was given by Gareth Evans. Although I do not believe that his solution succeeds, I will (4) take a quick glance at it in the fourth part of my paper. My reason for doing that is that I think we can learn from Evans which class of bodily predicates is the important 3 Strawson himself proposes an answer to this question in Individuals, ch. 3.4. I do not think that his argument, which relies heavily on the necessity of ascribing mental predicate to other persons, is successful. The reason is that I do not believe the central premise to be correct, that one has to share the class of predicates by which one identifies persons different from oneself (i.e., bodily predicates) with the persons to whom one ascribes the predicates that one indeed shares with them (i.e., mental predicates). If one rejects this premise, my own account is compatible with the necessary ascribability demanded by Strawson.

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one for a successful solution. I will then turn to (5) my own answer in which I try to utilize certain central features of Kant’s critical and post-critical work. In closing I will (6) touch upon the question of the relation between T and the doctrine of bodily resurrection. Methodological Issues Before turning to the defence of T I will begin with some remarks on the methodological status of the subject under discussion. The reader might have noticed that I have given a particular modal interpretation to Strawson’s questions: I did not interpret them as questions about why it is in fact the case that we ascribe physical as well as mental predicates or why it is in fact the case that we ascribe our mental states to a subject at all. What I took Strawson to be concerned with is the question why that has to be the case. (Strawson’s own phrasing is neutral to this distinction.) This interpretation is not trivial and I would therefore like to go into some detail concerning its motivation. Let us make the difference in question transparent in the context of the question of psycho-physical predication. One answer to the question, “Why is it the case that we do in fact ascribe to ourselves as conscious subjects bodily as well as mental predicates?” could be for instance the following: “We do so because as corporeal beings we have to survive in a world that is full of extended things.” These questions concerning the factual state of things often admit of interesting philosophical answers as well, answers that certainly can shed light on the issues in question. Those answers, however, will be restricted to the—albeit highly abstract—description of the facts in question or rather the description of their factual causes. But this kind of description is not what Strawson is aiming at in asking his two questions, the rhetoric of “descriptive metaphysics” notwithstanding.4 To make clear what I take Strawson’s aim to be, it will prove useful to rephrase his questions: (1*) Why must one’s states of consciousness be ascribed to anything at all? (2*) Why must one’s states of consciousness be ascribed to the very same thing as certain corporeal characteristics, a certain physical situation, and so on? This way of putting our two questions indicates a lack of alternatives that is characteristic of the philosophical level of abstraction at which these questions, in my view, are properly located. A satisfying answer to questions of that kind has to explain, why something has to be the case—and cannot be otherwise. The 4

See Strawson, Individuals, Introduction.

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proper methodological framework for questions of this kind must therefore be the framework of Transcendental Philosophy. Let me explain: I must first specify what I mean by claiming that there are no alternatives to the answer. It certainly cannot mean that the answer is somehow logically necessary. That this is not the case is shown by the fact that we can ordinarily think of alternative answers without committing ourselves to any inconsistencies. However, those merely logical alternatives are no alternatives for us, that is, they aren’t alternatives to which we can give a determinate content. This determination of content must always be a determination of thought with respect to its object: as soon as the possibility of this kind of determination is missing, the theory in question only gives us a purely formal analysis of thought. But this is not the kind of answer we expect where we are concerned with the properties of our self-reference about which Strawson is asking. For these questions are concerned with an essential aspect of the overarching question: How is the intentional reference to a world of which we conceive ourselves to be a part possible, that is, the intentional reference to a certain reality and ourselves as a part of this very reality?5 The analysis of this reference necessarily has to be neglected by a purely formal analysis of the sort envisaged. Which alternatives can be thought about with a determinate content is dependent on the constraints and the scope of our intentional reference to the world. This in turn implies that, although it is not and cannot be the ultimate purpose of this kind of theorizing to describe what those actual constraints and scope are, we cannot neglect to clarify what we actually believe those limits and possibilities to be. However, unlike the analysis of our actual employment of concepts, analysis of the enabling conditions implies the impossibility of alternatives to those conditions under presuppositions specified by our description. The starting point of the thinking about intentional reference therefore has to be the reflexive reference to our own intentionality: There simply is no alternative starting point for the investigation of the enabling conditions of intentional reference. In this sense our actual presuppositions with respect to this reference are a necessary element of the analysis of its enabling conditions. This perspective can be broadened systematically to provide a generally valid analysis of intentionality by gradually abstracting from the results of this reflexive investigation of our intentionality as well as from the traits that are specific to our particular way of intentionally referring. In this way the scope of description is systematically broadened so as to become more and more general. Every single step of abstraction in this process will inevitably be connected with a loss of determinate content—a loss which in the limiting case will make the result so general as to make it coextensive with the merely logical possible. In that way we would have transgressed the limits of possible abstraction in the analysis of

5 See Wilfrid Sellars, “Some Remarks on Kant’s Theory of Experience”, Journal of Philosophy, 64 (1967): pp. 633–47, p. 635.

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intentionality: the purely formal analysis would be empty in that it affords no determinate content anymore. Strawson’s questions on this view therefore are concerned with necessities that result from the analysis of concepts we have to use, if we can use concepts at all—that is, if we can intentionally refer to anything at all. Accordingly, answering these questions should be conceived of as providing an analysis of the enabling conditions of our means of ascription in the transcendental-philosophic sense: it is concerned with the most general conditions of the intentional relation to a world of which we conceive ourselves to be a part. The results of such a transcendental analysis are only justified if—under the preconditions thus specified—they lack an alternative that can be thought of with a determinate content.6 The following re-phrasing of our (semantically ascended) thesis should make clear at which level of philosophical abstraction this thesis is properly located: (Ts*) That we can ascribe physical or bodily predicates to ourselves is an enabling condition of ascribing mental predicates to ourselves. How the Two Questions Connect What is the reason for holding that the self-ascription of bodily predicates is an enabling condition of the self-ascription of mental states? Prima facie this connection is not at all obvious. For a very long time it seemed clear to many philosophers that we are immediately aware only of our own mental states and therefore are only unproblematically justified in self-ascribing mental predicates—the phenomenology of self-ascription notwithstanding. Let us glance briefly at this conception and the philosophical development it initiated. For by recalling this development the connection between the problem of psycho-physical predication and the question of the subject will become apparent in an interesting way. At the very end of this development we will find an answer to the question of the subject that will serve as a foundation for my own answer to the question of psycho-physical predication. The starting point of this development, however, will be Cartesian philosophy. For it is of essential importance for the success of Descartes’s aim in his Meditations in First Philosophy that the subject of the Cogito ascribes to itself only mental predicates. This subject essentially is only a res cogitans, a thinking subject, and nothing else. That we in fact ascribe bodily predicates to ourselves as well and, as Descartes’s argument goes on to show, that we do so with a certain sort of justification, does not change this fundamental fact.

6 For a more detailed assessment of the methodology sketched here see Johannes Haag, Erfahrung und Gegenstand. Das Verhältnis von Sinnlichkeit und Verstand (Frankfurt a.M.: Klostermann, 2007), ch.1.

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This aspect of the Cartesian image greatly influenced the early modern discussion about conscious states and their subjects: subjects of experience have been treated as being essentially subjects of mental predication and as only accidentally subjects of bodily predication. Yet even in Descartes’s writings this move generates skeptical problems concerning the existence of an external world that is supposed to exist objectively, that is, independently of an agent’s perceiving it: the existence of one’s own body, on this view, is as much a matter of inference as is the existence of an external world in general. But how can this inference be justified? Descartes’s own solution in the Sixth Meditation is closely tied to his ontology of substances and is hardly convincing, as the reaction even of his contemporaries shows.7 Later on this skeptical move would be applied to our knowledge of the subject of thinking as well, famously so by David Hume: just as we have to infer from the content of our mental states the existence of something existing objectively outside our thoughts, we have to infer, from the occurrence of mental states, the existence of something that has those mental states—a subject modified by those mental states.8 (Note that this move was justified in Descartes. But with the rejection of a positive conception of substance it appears unwarranted.) The situation, so the argument goes, is symmetrical and the required inference equally problematic in both cases: Just as we can doubt the existence of an external world, we therefore can, or so the skeptic argues, cast doubt upon the existence of a subject of those mental states. It may already be apparent that what is discussed here is exactly the first of Strawson’s questions, the question of the subject. The skeptic, however, does not try to give an answer to this question; he is instead arguing against its presupposition: if we can (with good reason) cast doubt upon the existence of a subject of mental states, we apparently do not have to ascribe those mental states to a subject in the first place. But this was exactly what the question of the subject presupposes. With the Cartesian denial of a necessary connection between mental and bodily self-ascription, there a development began which ultimately led to an ostensible disintegration of the subject of this ascription. The Question of the Subject This, as we know, was not the end of the story. It did not prove that easy to eliminate the concept of a thinking subject—not even for Hume.9 And shortly afterwards 7

See e.g. Thomas Hobbes’s critique in the Objections & Replies to the “Meditationes”, in Oeuvres de Descartes, ed. Charles Adam and Paul Tannery (12 vols, Paris: J. Vrin, 1897– 1913), vol. 7, p. 194f. 8 See David Hume, A Treatise of Human Nature, ed. P.H. Nidditch (Oxford: Clarendon, 1978), I, iv, 6. 9 See Hume, Treatise, Appendix.

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Immanuel Kant argued that the self-ascription of mental states is an enabling condition of having conscious mental states: he tried to show that self-consciousness and consciousness of objects are mutually dependent. Let me give you a very short outline of this central argument of the Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason.10 For Kant the paradigmatic conscious mental states are conscious representations of some object broadly conceived. The phenomenon he is concerned with in first instance therefore is the conscious reference to objects that exist independently of our representing them. How, Kant asks, can we justifiably claim that our representations do in fact refer to independently existing objects?11 We can do so because we can show that the presupposition of a generally successful reference to independently existing objects is an enabling condition of conscious thinking in general: we would not even have conscious representations, Kant argues, if we would not presuppose the principal success of the reference of our representations—their objectivity, as he puts it. Objectivity on his account implies lawful necessity. Yet this necessity cannot be found in our representations themselves. In this respect Kant was a perfect Humean: a mere regularity of representations can only give us associations which are subjectively necessary; in this sort of merely subjective succession we search in vain for objectively necessary connections.12 But Kant decisively sets himself apart from Hume in claiming that it is not up to us to accept a skeptical solution and satisfy ourselves with a merely subjectively necessary association of representations. We cannot, on his view, choose to refrain from thinking a lawful, objective necessity in the objects of our thoughts. Otherwise, so he argues, our representations would not be representations of objects anymore, because representations of objects imply lawfulness: we conceive of objects as that which, by being the objects of their reference, gives our representations their objectivity! If this were not the case, there would only be a “blind play of representations”13 instead of consciousness of objects—a play that would be “less than a dream”14—and therefore would be “nothing to us”.15 Since we cannot find this necessary, lawful and therefore objective connection in our representations themselves, we have to infer that we ourselves are responsible for the objectivity of our representations, that is, that we put it into them by referring our representations to an object.16 10

Immanuel Kant, Critique of Pure Reason [CpR]. An elaborate defense of the following sketchy remarks may be found in Haag, ch. 6. 11 Kant originally asked this question in the letter to Marcus Herz from February 1772. See Kant, Briefe, AA. 10:130. It later on became one of the central topics discussed in the CpR. 12 CpR, A 112/3. 13 CpR, A 112. 14 Ibid. 15 CpR, A 120. 16 CpR, A 124.125.

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In doing this, we always apply to those representations the same most general structuring principles. These structuring principles are nothing other than the Kantian categories of the understanding.17 This application of the categories in the structuring of a sensually given manifold, the empirically Given, thus guarantees the objectivity that makes our representations of objects in the first place. The categories, in turn, are applied by a thinking, that is, representing, subject— a subject that consciously refers to objects by means of this application. It is therefore the subject itself which, by means of this structuring of the empirically Given, makes the reference to objects lawful and thereby gives it its objectivity. On the other hand, this structuring of representations is possible only if our representations can be treated as representations of one and the same consciousness. We can unite the unconnected mental states into representations of objects by means of the categories only if we can conceive of them as mental states of a unitary subject, that is, if we are able to ascribe them to one and the same subject.18 In that way the conscious subject as a point of reference for the self-ascription of representations furnishes the empirically Given with the unity necessary for the consciousness of objects: the conscious reference to a unitary subject that is possible in every moment of our conscious life is as it were the constant element in the steady flow of the empirically Given. And that is the sense in which consciousness of objects is not possible without self-consciousness. On the other hand—and this is very important—we can become conscious of ourselves only in this spontaneous activity of structuring: in bringing the empirically Given to a unity that we can consciously experience, we simultaneously experience ourselves as subjects of those conscious experiences of unity.19 We experience ourselves as that which applies the same structuring principles over and over again in connecting its representations. Without consciousness of objects, therefore, there could not be self-consciousness. If it is possible to fill in the details of this outline of an argument—a very difficult, though not hopeless, task—then consciousness of objects and selfconsciousness are mutually dependent. But at the same time this would provide us with an answer to the question of the subject of our mental states: we must ascribe states of consciousness to a subject because we would not be conscious of objects if we could not! However, the self-consciousness of Kant’s transcendental deduction, one might be tempted to say, is not at all the consciousness of a subject to which we could possibly ascribe bodily predicates. This transcendental apperception, as Kant calls it, is a very formal and by definition empty consciousness: it is nothing more than the consciousness that we apply over and over again to the very same structuring principles—in Kant’s words, the consciousness of the identity of a function.20 17 18 19 20

CpR, B 143. CpR, A 123.124 and similar: B 137. CpR, A 108 and similar: B 135/6. CpR, A 108.

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This consciousness is the self-consciousness of a merely transcendental subject, a rather formal concept, far removed from the empirical self-consciousness we are after in the question of psycho-physical predication. Even a quick glance at my thesis T will confirm some of those considerations and make it clear that my defense of this thesis may not stop at this formal concept of subject. T necessitates much more robust concepts of self and consciousness. But at the same time those considerations tend to make us overlook that this argument itself already provides a key to a successful defense of T—and thereby to a convincing answer to the question of psycho-physical predication: I hope to show in due course, and with some more help from Kantian principles, that, if we indeed must ascribe our mental states to a subject, we must necessarily ascribe bodily predicates to the very same subject. Evans on Bodily Self-Ascription Before I can continue with the Kantian thread, however, I have to explain why I think it is needed in the first place. After all, one might object, solutions of that kind are laden with transcendental-philosophic ballast. Is this really necessary? My answer is: Yes, because it provides us with a systematically embedded and comprehensive answer to Strawson’s questions that is not given by contemporary treatments of this topic. Let me illustrate this with the example of Gareth Evans’s proposed answer to them. What makes Evans especially interesting in this context is that I take him to subscribe to my thesis T. Evans’s analysis furthermore makes clear what a successful answer to the question of psycho-physical predication must be like. Finally, Evans’s answer is helpful for understanding why a successful argument for T is best provided by going back to Kant. In the relevant passage of his book Varieties of Reference Evans analyzes the ways in which we can gain knowledge about our corporeal properties.21 This is crucial to his own agenda, since it is part of his project to make clear how even thoughts about ourselves are subject to a generality constraint22 that is supposed to guarantee that we can apply different thoughts to one and the same object, in this case to ourselves. Knowledge about our corporeal properties, on his account, is one form of immediate identification and can thus ensure that the generality constraint is fulfilled in the case of self-ascription. Embedded in this investigation we find, as it were en passant, Evans’s own attempt to answer Strawson’s questions. On the one hand we have, on his view, the “general capacity to perceive our own bodies”.23 In this way we can, for 21 Gareth Evans, The Varieties of Reference (New York: Oxford University Press, 1982), pp. 220–4. 22 Ibid., pp. 100–5. 23 Ibid., p. 220.

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instance, perceive that we are hot or cold, that our legs are crossed, that we are leaning against a tree, and so on. This knowledge, in other words, encompasses our proprio-ceptive abilities and our sensitivity to touch. The interesting and, I believe, exceptionally important point that Evans makes is the following: This kind of knowledge is not, on Evans’s view, the kind that is relevant for answering Strawson’s question of psycho-physical predication. What comes into play in the context of such an answer is another way to gain knowledge about our corporeal properties: “I have in mind the way in which we are able to know our position, orientation, and relation to other objects in the world upon the basis of our perceptions of the world.”24 This ability, Evans explains, consists in the ability to perform a certain kind of material inference. As an example one can think of the following inference: I see a tree to my right. Therefore I stand to the left of that tree.

Or alternatively: I see a tree to my right. I am currently at place U. Therefore there is a tree at U.

Characteristic of these—and of all of Evans’s other examples of inferences— is the interaction of an ascription of conscious perception on the one hand—in the examples of the perception of a tree—and the positioning or orienting of the perceiving subject in space—I am standing to the left of the tree, am currently at place U, and so forth. The importance of this ability for our thought about ourselves, Evans points out, can hardly be overrated: we would not have a conscious representation of an “objective spatial world” unless we were able to relate our conscious perception of the world to a state of the world and to our position in the world at the very same time. “The idea that there is an objective world and the idea that the subject is somewhere cannot be separated, and where he is is given by what he can perceive.”25 This conceptual dependence gives the self-ascription of a positioning or orientation an importance that surpasses every other ability of the self-ascription of corporeal properties. Unfortunately it remains unclear why those observations, true and important as they may be, should provide us with an answer to Strawson’s two questions. Evans claims, however, that this is precisely what they do, when in this very context he

24 25

Ibid., p. 222. Ibid., pp. 222.

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asks the rhetorical question: “Do we really have to go any further than this in order to answer Strawson’s questions?”26 So, does Evans really provide us with an answer to Strawson’s questions? What Evans claims is that we have to position ourselves in an objective world to have a representation of an objective world at all. This claim in itself, assuming it can be supported, is an interesting and important point. Yet even if it can be argued for—which Evans does not do—it should be clear that this would not entail an answer to the two questions: Strawson wants to know how bodily self-ascription, as it is expressed for instance in our positioning in space, is an enabling condition of the self-ascription of mental states. It will hardly do to answer this question by showing that this sort of bodily self-ascription is an enabling condition of representing an external world, even if this argument should prove to be an essential part of a successful answer—as it will. This claim would still have to be connected in a systematic way to the ability of the self-ascription of mental states—and Evans does not indicate how this is supposed to be done. To Evans’s merely rhetorical question whether more is to be done by way of answering Strawson’s questions we therefore should react with an emphatic “Yes”; more than this must indeed be done. A Kantian Answer to the Question of Psycho-Physical Predication I will now turn to an exposition of how a successful argument, on my view, for this sort of thesis should look. I will do this by highlighting a very interesting development in Kant’s thought, the systematic relevance of which often goes unnoticed. I have already sketched Kant’s answer to the question of the subject: why do we ascribe our mental states to a subject at all? His answer, on my reconstruction, was this: without a subject as something that gives unity to our thought there would be neither consciousness of external objects nor consciousness of a subject. That Kant tried to answer the question of the subject is, I think it is safe to say, more or less unanimously accepted, even if it is widely debated whether his attempt succeeded. What I would like to show now is that in the further development of his critical philosophy Kant gave an interesting and challenging argument for the necessity of psycho-physical predication—an argument which is at the same time intimately related to his answer to the first of Strawson’s questions. In that way, I suggest, we can substantiate Strawson’s claim that the two questions are by no means independent of each other. I will proceed in two steps: First I will concern myself with the general necessity of ascribing corporeal and spatial properties to anything at all; second,

26

Ibid., p. 223.

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I will provide an argument in Kantian spirit for the necessity of applying this sort of predicate to ourselves. The Necessity of Spatial Predication: No Consciousness of Objects without Determination of Space In the first edition of his Critique of Pure Reason from 1781, the corporeal predication which Evans (rightly) considers so important does not play a significant role. The question of positioning ourselves in space is not a transcendental-philosophically relevant question for Kant at that time. The reason is probably that Kant, at this stage in his philosophical development, is still very much confined to the Cartesian constraints of the dominance of the self-ascription of mental states. These states, however, are ordered only in time, not in space. Although time and space for Kant are forms of intuition, that is, basic characteristics of intuitive representation, time, in the first edition of the Critique, is given a somewhat more fundamental function. Kant’s reason is the following: all conscious representations, that is, the representations of something different from us and the representation of our own mental states, are subjected to the structuring through time as a form of intuition. But only the representations of something different from us are in addition subjected in this way to space. The spatial form of intuition thus becomes relevant only if the temporally structured states of consciousness are referred to something different from us. For something different from us must, so Kant argues, be thought of as something external to us. And what we must think of as external to us must be positioned in space.27 And yet this spatial determination or positioning cannot be carried out without the temporal determination of the things external to us as successively or simultaneously in space. What is external to us, for that reason, is in space and time: determination of space is not possible without determination of time. In 1781 Kant still believes that the other direction does not hold: our stream of consciousness appears to him purely temporally determined, a steady succession of representations. What is internal to us is only in time. Determination of time therefore seemed possible without determination of space. That this dominance of mental states and of temporality could not be the last word on these matters became clear to Kant when, shortly after the publication of the first Critique, he was confronted with the allegation that his philosophy would come to the same thing as Berkeley’s idealism.28 Kant rightly felt himself misunderstood, as a result of which he attended to a deficit in his own theory: It 27

This reconstruction of the Kantian argument is originally due to D.P. Dryer, Kant’s Solution for Verification in Metaphysics (Toronto: Toronto University Press, 1966), pp. 173f. 28 As for instance in the review by Christian Garve 1782 in the Göttingische Anzeigen von gelehrten Sachen (shortened by the editor).

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became clear to him that determination of time is not possible without determination of space as well—and therefore that there can be no reference to our own mental states without reference to objects in space apart from us.29 Without determination of space we would only have our representations as temporally structured states of consciousness: “They arise successively, in continuous flux, one after the other.”30 Could this temporal structure provide us with the temporal determination needed, as mentioned above, for determining something in space? To this end we would already have to be capable of representing something persistent in time. For this continuity in time is an essential characteristic of an object that is supposed to exist independently of our perceiving it as being external to ourselves. What is continuous is defined by Kant as “that which is simultaneous with succession” (mit dem Nacheinander zugleich).31 Being simultaneous is not a determination of space, but of time: “Two things are ‘simultaneous’, as Kant explains in the third analogy, when the perception of the one (A) can both follow and be followed by the perception of the other (B), that is, when apprehension (and not only thought) can proceed both from A to B as well as from B back to A.”32 So far, the reasoning seems exactly in line with the above claim that the determination of time is necessary for the determination of space: we have good reason, again, to think that no determination of space is possible without a corresponding determination of time. At this stage in the argument, however, it is clear that this kind of determination of time is not possible in a purely temporal consciousness: in temporal consciousness everything is successive and therefore every new perception is later than its predecessor and thus not simultaneous. In a purely temporal consciousness one only can proceed either from A to B or from B to A. Although that which is internal to us therefore is only in time, the purely internal determination of time is not possible: for given that something is purely temporally structured, it is not possible to conceive of it as simultaneous. But external determination, as we already have seen, has to be determination of space. Therefore determination of time, contrary to Kant’s original assumption, is not possible without determination of space. It thus becomes obvious that I can acquire the representation of something different from me in space only if the representation of space can be presupposed together with the representation of time, that is, only if both representations are, to speak with Kant, a priori intuitions. In other words, the distinction between

29 The following consideration owes much to a similar argument in Eckart Förster’s forthcoming The Twenty-Five Years of Philosophy (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2010). 30 Ibid., ch. 3. 31 CpR, B 67. 32 Förster, Twenty-Five Years.

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representation and external object cannot be drawn on the basis of temporally structured representations alone. But what does it mean to presuppose space as an a priori form of intuition? Among other things it means that we cannot directly perceive space but only objects in space. In determining objects as spatial objects, we determine something continuous in space. We must therefore refer to corporeal objects in space if we must refer to objects at all. The Necessity of Bodily Self-Ascription: No Determination of Space without Positioning of Ourselves in Space as Corporeal Beings If Kant restricted his own analysis to the dependence of mental predicates on determination of space, this would present a difficulty for my own project: we would lack a way to argue from the necessity of spatial predication as predication of bodies in space, which we just have shown to be a part of his theory, to the necessity of ascribing corporeal predicates to ourselves as subjects of experience. In this context it is helpful to notice an element in the Kantian system which is systematically important and which is implicit in his published writings yet which is recognizable only in a few places: the fact that Kant conceives of space as an a priori form of intuition which structures our representations of objects different from us has the important consequence that we always perceive external objects from a certain perspective. We perceive objects to our right or our left, in front of us or behind us, see their front or their back, from a wide or narrow angle, and so on. If these objects were only front or back—if they had the objective properties of being on our left or our right—then the world would not be objective or exist independently in the required sense. It would instead be essentially related to the perspective of the perceiving subject—and therefore subjective! But this is not possible, as Kant’s answer to the question of the subject has already shown. The perspectival nature of our perceptual representation stands in sharp contrast to the essential non-perspectival nature of the objects so perceived, that is, objects which we must conceive as existing independently. To bridge this contrast we must reflect on what it means to regard an object from a certain perspective. It means relating oneself as oneself to this object by positioning both oneself and the perceived object in one and the same framework of reference.33 In relating our own position in space to the position of the perceived object we conceive the perception of perspective as a result of a relation between objects that are part of the same spatial world. The mediation between subjective perception and objectively existing objects of this perception, therefore, is only possible if we as perceiving subjects position ourselves in the spatial framework of the objective world.

33 Similar considerations may be found in Wilfrid Sellars, “Kant’s Transcendental Idealism”, Collections of Philosophy, 6 (1976): pp. 165–81, §§ 44ff.

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It has probably become clear that this taking into account of the perspectival nature of our perception is essentially connected with what we already have encountered in Gareth Evans’s talk about positioning and orientation in space: without positioning à la Evans, there would be no differentiating between subjective perspective and objective being. From this observation we can therefore return to Evans’s discussion of Strawson’s questions. But I hope that we now understand better what Evans did not provide, namely, an explanation for why we must transcend the temporal, purely internal determination of our states of consciousness at all and must orient and thereby position ourselves in space. In Conclusion: Eternal Life and Bodily Self-Ascription Let me begin this closing section with a short recollection of my Kantian considerations: (1) For the self-ascription of mental states we need the reference to objectively existing objects. (That was the result of Kant’s answer to the question of the subject.) (2) This reference is not possible as a purely temporal reference. Spatial reference is needed as well. (3) What we need for spatial reference, however, is a reference to objects in space. (4) This reference to objectively existing objects in space is possible only if the perceiving subject is able to differentiate between its own perspective on the objects and the objects existing independently from its perspective. (5) To this end it is necessary for the subject to position itself bodily in space as one object among others. Without positioning there is no differentiation between subjective perspective and objective being; without this differentiation there is no reference to independently existing objects; and without that reference we cannot ascribe mental states to ourselves. The self-ascription of bodily predicates as predicates of our position in space seems indeed to be an enabling condition of the selfascription of mental states. And yet this thesis might still seem rather weak: the bodily self-ascription in question, one might argue, is still not the ascription of a material body interacting with other material bodies in space. And indeed, if we stick to the critical Kant in the manner outlined, we are left with the result that all that is needed is the ascription of a position in space to a thinking subject. The consideration up to this point must remain silent about what predicates, beyond those mostly relational

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predicates constituting the perspective, are characteristic of the subject in question, at least as far as transcendental-philosophy is concerned. For a genuinely Kantian, if not properly critical, attempt to argue that it is transcendental-philosophically necessary to conceive of ourselves as material bodies, one could appeal to the development of Kant’s thought in his last and unfinished work, the Opus postumum. In this bold attempt to account for gaps in the critical philosophy, Kant comes nearer than ever to a full-blown defence of the self-ascription of material bodily predicates. This task, however, is not only systematically but also exegetically complicated, and will thus have to be left for another occasion.34 Instead I will close by linking the weaker result of the above considerations to the topic of this collection: the question of (bodily) resurrection. When all we need for being conscious subjects is a perspective, it at least seems that subjects could account for this perspective in a spatial environment without themselves having a material body. Kant himself indicates as much in discussing whether a religion within the boundaries of mere reason leaves room for the concept of bodily resurrection. He says that what he calls the “psychological materialism”—the idea of the resurrection of a material body—is not only unnecessary for the belief in an eternal life but is even detrimental to the proper understanding of these matters.35 We seem to be left with the idea of a thinned-out, somehow spatial yet not material subject which could perhaps survive its own death. But Kant does not leave it at that and his further remarks seem to pose a serious problem for the above defence of a thinking subject necessarily relating itself to independently existing spatial objects. For not only is psychological materialism untenable in transcendental philosophy backing; the same goes for what Kant calls cosmological materialism, the doctrine that the thinking subject has to be part of a spatial world at all.36 How is this possible, given the above argument? The explanation for this is both simple and consistent with Kant’s critical doctrine: space and time, as we have seen, are only the forms of intuition that are specific to human cognition, a cognition characterized by the mutual dependence of mind and body in the way outlined above. As survivors of our own death we would not—or at least not necessarily—be tied to those very same forms of intuitions. We would survive, so to speak, as transcendental subjects.37 True, we would still be 34 For a very helpful outline of this line of thought see Eckart Förster, Kant’s Final Synthesis. An Essay on Kant’s Opus Postumum (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2000), pp. 24–8. 35 Kant, Religion innerhalb der Grenzen der bloßen Vernunft, 6, 128 fn. 36 Ibid. 37 This probably distinguishes a Kantian model of resurrection from the Cartesian model as outlined in Eric Olson’s essay in this collection (Chapter 3). The criterion of imminent causation, however, would be fulfilled—though the schematization of the category of cause would be different from its current spatio-temporal one. This would therefore be a further alternative to the ones discussed by Olson (Chapter 3).

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finite rational beings (as opposed to the infinite rational being that is god), but this only means that we are in need of some intuition—sensible intuition in general38— that need not be specified by the very same forms as our current intuition. But we cannot say what this intuition would be like, since we are tied to our spatial and temporal framework of reference. We certainly cannot determinately imagine such an alternative, non-spatial system of reference, but Kant took himself, as early as the first Critique, to have proven that we must postulate the possibility of such alternative systems of intuitive reference.39 What we can know right now is that there has to be an alternative system of reference. For, as the above discussion has shown, without a system of reference that allows for the difference of perspectival and non-perspectival properties of objects conceived of as existing independently of us, we could not ascribe mental predicates to ourselves. In conclusion, we can say that in a Kantian framework we need some form of intuition that allows for a conception of an objective reality of which we can conceive ourselves to be a part.40 This conception presupposes a difference between perspectival and non-perspectival properties of the objects constituting this objective reality. And an enabling condition of making that difference is the (not necessarily spatial!) “location” of those objects in a system of reference of which we conceive ourselves likewise to be a part—a location which, given the system of reference we as human beings are endowed with, can only be location in space. Resurrection, therefore, against the Kantian background advocated in this discussion, can be neither the resurrection of a material body nor that of a body thinned out from all but its purely spatial properties: Eternal life in no way presupposes bodily resurrection, even if we could not conceive of ourselves as thinking subjects without ascribing to ourselves spatial predicates in this world.41

38

E.g. CpR, B, p. 148.150. E.g. CpR, A 42. A further interesting example is B 155. 40 This may sound rather like the final version of “bodily” (yet non-material and nonextended!) resurrection proposed by Nikolaus Wandinger in his contribution to this volume. There is, however, at least one significant difference: the underlying conception of cosmos is deeply realistic, whereas Kant’s conception is, at least in this respect, idealistic. 41 I would like to thank Georg Gasser, Stefanie Grüne, Hud Hudson, Matthias Stefan, and Markus Wild for helpful comments on previous versions of this paper. My special thanks go to Eckart Förster for inspiring discussions of these and related topics in Kantian philosophy. 39

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Chapter 8

The Same Body Again? Thomas Aquinas on the Numerical Identity of the Resurrected Body Bruno Niederbacher S.J.

Introduction In his Summa contra Gentiles Thomas Aquinas writes: In order that numerically the same human being resurrects, it is necessary that his essential parts be numerically the same. If the body of the resurrected human being were not of his flesh and his bones out of which he is composed now, the resurrecting human being would not be numerically the same.1

Thus it seems that, according to Aquinas, in the life of the world to come I have not only a body that is identical in kind to the body I have now, but a body that is numerically identical to the body I have now. Of course, this body will be transformed and will possess qualities or dispositions it currently lacks, such as incorruptibility and, if I am to be among the blessed, brightness (claritas), agility (agilitas), and subtlety (subtilitas).2 But it will nevertheless be the same body. Otherwise, Aquinas says, one could not speak of “resurrection” but ought rather to speak of “the assumption of a new body.”3 This view fits also with what Aquinas says about the definition of a human being. He defines human beings in part as 1 This translation and all the following translations are my own. Aquinas, S.c.G., IV, 84: “Ad hoc quod homo idem numero resurgat, necessarium est quod partes eius essentiales sint eaedem numero. Si igitur corpus hominis resurgentis non erit ex his carnibus et his ossibus ex quibus nunc componitur, non erit homo resurgens idem numero.” The same is said about Christ’s resurrection; see Aquinas, S.Th., III, 54, 1. 2 See Aquinas, Scriptum super libros Sententiarum [Sent.], IV, 44, 2, 1–4; Aquinas, Commentarium super epistolam I ad Corinthios [Super I. ad. Cor.], 15, 6; S.c.G., IV, 85–86. 3 Sent., IV, 44, 1, 1, 1 (see also S.Th., III, Supp. 79, 1): “Non enim resurrectio dici potest, nisi anima ad idem corpus redeat: quia resurrectio est iterata surrectio; ejusdem autem est surgere et cadere; unde resurrectio magis respicit corpus quod post mortem cadit, quam animam quae post mortem vivit; et ita si non est idem corpus quod anima resumit, non dicetur resurrectio, sed magis novi corporis assumptio.”

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having a certain kind of matter, that is, bones and flesh considered generally, if not these bones and this flesh in particular. However, if there were a definition of a particular human being, for example of Socrates, then it would have to include his particular bones and flesh.4 According to Aquinas it belongs to the concept of a particular soul that it has an affinity to a particular body.5 “For this soul is adapted to this and not to that body.”6 This view of the numerical identity of the resurrection body with the earthly body might be plausible in some cases, for example in the case of Jesus or of people whose corpses do not decay. But isn’t such a requirement entirely implausible in the case of corpses that were cremated or that decomposed in their graves? Can it possibly be that my thigh bones, my ribs, and my flesh be brought back once they have been eaten by worms or have turned to dust? Peter van Inwagen asks us to imagine the following case: a manuscript written in Augustine’s own hand is burned.7 Is it possible for this same manuscript which has turned to ashes to exist again? Van Inwagen thinks that such a thing is impossible as it is also impossible to bring back the snow of yesteryears or the light of earlier days.8 Even omnipotent God cannot accomplish impossible tasks.

4 See for example Aquinas, De ente et essentia [De Ente], I: “Et dico materiam signatam, quae sub determinatis dimensionibus consideratur. Haec autem materia in definitione hominis, in quantum est homo, non ponitur, sed poneretur in definitione Socratis, si Socrates definitionem haberet. In definitione autem hominis ponitur materia non signata; non enim in definitione hominis ponitur hoc os et haec caro, sed os et caro absolute, quae sunt materia hominis non signata. Sic ergo patet quod essentia hominis et essentia Socratis non differunt nisi secundum signatum et non signatum.” 5 See Aquinas, Quaestio disputata de spritualibus creaturis [Q. de spir. creat.], 9 ad 4: “Ad quartum dicendum quod licet corpus non sit de essentia animae, tamen anima secundum suam essentiam habet habitudinem ad corpus, in quantum hoc est ei essentiale quod sit corporis forma; et ideo in definitione animae ponitur corpus. Sicut igitur de ratione animae est quod sit forma corporis, ita de ratione huius animae, in quantum est haec anima, est quod habeat habitudinem ad hoc corpus.” 6 S.c.G., II, 81: “… haec enim anima est commensurata huic corpori et non illi, illa autem alii, et sic de omnibus. Huiusmodi autem commensurationes remanent in animabus etiam pereuntibus corporibus: sicut et ipsae earum substantiae manent, quasi a corporibus secundum esse non dependentes. Sunt enim animae secundum substantias suas formae corporum: alias accidentaliter corpori unirentur, et sic ex anima et corpore non fieret unum per se, sed unum per accidens. Inquantum autem formae sunt, oportet eas esse corporibus commensuratas. Unde patet quod ipsae diversae commensurationes manent in animabus separatis: et per consequens pluralitas.” 7 Peter van Inwagen, “The Possibility of Resurrection”, International Journal for Philosophy of Religion, 9 (1978): pp. 114–21, reprinted in Paul Edwards (ed.), Immortality (Amherst, NY: Prometheus Books, 1997), pp. 242–6. 8 Peter van Inwagen, “Resurrection”, in Edward Craig (ed.), Routledge Encyclopedia of Philosophy (10 vols, London: Routledge, 1998), vol. 8, pp. 294-6.

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Did Aquinas hold such an obviously implausible view? What does he mean in saying that my resurrected body has to be composed of my flesh and my bones? What is his view on the numerical identity of the body? I will answer these questions by analyzing some objections and Aquinas’s answers to them in the Summa contra Gentiles, book IV, chapters 80 and 81. I will conclude by showing that two accounts can be found in Aquinas’s text and by opting for one of them as the systematically more plausible option. The Destruction of Essential Principles Aquinas is familiar with the problem van Inwagen raises. Here is the objection in Aquinas’s words: Again, it is impossible for something to be numerically the same if one of its essential principles cannot be numerically the same; for, if an essential principle is varied, the essence of the thing is varied by which the thing is how it is and by which it is one. But what is returned altogether to nothingness cannot be taken up again with numerical identity; this will be the creation of a new thing rather than the reparation of the same. Now, it seems that several of the essential principles of the human being return to nothingness by his death. And first his very corporeity and the form of mixture: for the body is manifestly dissolved. Then the part of the sensitive and nutritive soul, which cannot be without bodily organs. Finally, there seems to return to nothingness the humanity itself which is said to be the form of the whole, once the soul is separated from the body. It seems, then, impossible that numerically the same human being be raised.9

Aquinas’s answer to this objection has two parts, a general part, and a detailed part where he deals with the four principles that are mentioned in the objection. The General Part of Aquinas’s Answer Aquinas accepts the argument’s premise: if an essential principle were entirely destroyed, it would be impossible that the same human being exist again. But he 9

S.c.G., IV, 80: “Item. Impossibile est esse idem numero cuius aliquod essentialium principiorum idem numero esse non potest: nam essentiali principio variato, variatur essentia rei, per quam res, sicut est, ita et una est. Quod autem omnino redit in nihilum, idem numero resumi non potest: potius enim erit novae rei creatio quam eiusdem reparatio. Videntur autem plura principiorum essentialium hominis per eius mortem in nihilum redire. Et primo quidem ipsa corporeitas, et forma mixtionis: cum corpus manifeste dissolvatur. Deinde pars animae sensitivae et nutritiva, quae sine corporeis organis esse non possunt. Ulterius autem in nihilum videtur redire ipsa humanitas, quae dicitur esse forma totius, anima a corpore separata. Impossibile igitur videtur quod homo idem numero resurgat.”

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denies that something of this kind happens when a human being dies. When a human being dies, the substantial form is separated from the matter.10 However, neither of these metaphysical components is entirely destroyed. The rational soul, which is the individual substantial form of the human being, is incorruptible and continues to exist after death. Aquinas can afford here be brief on this point because he establishes the claim of the incorruptibility of the rational soul earlier on, in S.c.G. II, 75. Of course, questions connected with this claim abound, for example: Can it be made consistent with Aquinas’s hylemorphic view of the bodysoul relationship? If it is true that according to Aquinas matter is the principle of individuation of material substances, how can disembodied souls be individuals? What is the disembodied soul? What is its nature? I will not deal with these questions here. I will assume—for the sake of argument—that plausible answers can be found to these questions.11 What is at stake here is the question of the identity of the material component. Concerning this Aquinas writes: The matter, also, which was subject to such a form, remains under the same dimensions which made it able to be the individual matter. Therefore, by conjunction of numerically the same soul with numerically the same matter the human being will be restored.12

This is a puzzling passage. Aquinas seems to suggest that the identity-maker for the material component of a human being is “matter under the same dimensions that enabled it to be the individual matter.” But what does this mean? Aquinas gives a similar answer in his Commentary on the Sentences. There he refers to Averroes and his notion of indeterminate dimensions. The text reads as follows: What is understood in matter before [receiving] form, remains in matter after corruption. For when the posterior is removed, still can remain what was prior to it. Now, the Commentator says that in the matter of things subject to generation and corruption before their substantial form one must think of indeterminate dimensions, according to which matter is divided so as to be able to receive different forms in different parts. Therefore after the separation of a substantial form from matter, these dimensions still remain the same. Hence, whatever form 10

S.Th., III, 50, 4: “Pertinet autem ad veritatem mortis hominis vel animalis quod per mortem desinat esse homo vel animal, mors enim hominis vel animalis provenit ex separatione animae, quae complet rationem animalis vel hominis.” 11 Some answers to these questions can be found in Elenore Stump, “Resurrection, Reassembly, and Reconstitution: Aquinas on the Soul”, in Bruno Niederbacher and Edmund Runggaldier (eds), Die menschliche Seele: Brauchen wir den Dualismus? (Heusenstamm: Ontos, 2006), pp. 153–74. 12 S.c.G., IV, 81: “Materia etiam manet, quae tali formae fuit subiecta, sub dimensionibus eisdem ex quibus habebat ut esset individualis materia. Ex coniunctione igitur eiusdem animae numero ad eandem materiam numero, homo reparabitur.”

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matter may receive, when matter exists under these dimensions, it will have a closer identity with something that was generated from it than it has with some other part of matter existing under any other form. And thus the same matter will be used to restore the human body which was his matter before.13

This text, again, is dark. The background here is the doctrine of matter as the principle of individuation. What I can understand is the speech of determinate dimensions. By dimensions Aquinas means the three dimensions, the extension, and the figure of a thing. These dimensions are determined in an actually existing body at a given time. They are subject to constant change, as when somebody grows, drinks a beer, develops a beer-gut, moves in space, and so forth. What is more difficult to understand is the claim that matter under indeterminate dimensions remains the same, even after separation from the substantial form. Aquinas draws here on Averroes. What can he possibly mean by this phrase? He cannot mean prime matter. For prime matter exists only in potentiality. Eleonore Stump interprets the phrase as the “space-occupying feature of matter,” “the materiality of matter.”14 This way of understanding matter under indeterminate dimensions might be right in some contexts.15 But it does not seem to fit in the context of our quotation. For what sense would it make to say that the space-occupying feature or the materiality of matter remains numerically the same before and after the reception of the substantial form?16 Another way of understanding the notion of matter under indeterminate dimensions remaining the same after its separation from the substantial form could be the following: the same amount of the same material remains. This amount of 13

Sent., IV, 44, 1, 1, 1, ad 3: “Ad tertium dicendum, quod illud quod intelligitur in materia ante formam, remanet in materia post corruptionem: quia remoto posteriori, remanere adhuc potest prius. Oportet autem, ut Commentator dicit in 1 Physic., et in Lib. de substantia orbis, in materia generabilium et corruptibilium ante formam substantialem intelligere dimensiones non terminatas, secundum quas attendatur divisio materiae, ut diversas formas in diversis partibus recipere possit; unde et post separationem formae substantialis a materia adhuc dimensiones illae manent eadem; et sic materia sub illis dimensionibus existens, quamcumque formam accipiat, habet majorem identitatem ad illud quod ex ea generatum fuerat, quam aliqua pars alia materiae sub quacumque forma existens; et sic eadem materia ad corpus humanum reparandum reducetur quae prius ejus materia fuit.” 14 Eleonore Stump, Aquinas (London: Routledge, 2003), p. 48. 15 Stump draws on Aquinas’s Commentary on Boethius’s De Trinitate. Aquinas says there that the dimensions can be considered without determination, only insofar as they are dimensions, although they cannot exist without a particular determination, that is, without a particular measure and shape. Aquinas makes a comparison: It is like considering the nature of color without considering a particular color. See Aquinas, Expositio super librum Boethii [Ex. Boeth.], 2, 4, 2. 16 See Sent., IV, 12, 1, 2, 4: “Quidquid autem intelligitur in materia ante adventum formae substantialis, hoc manet idem numero in generato et in eo ex quo generat.”

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the same material is such that it is able to receive such and such a form. When the form is lost, this amount of this material will be left. And now the thesis comes: A later body has a closer identity to a former body, if it contains the same amount of numerically the same material. The expression “closer identity” arouses suspicion. Identity, one might say, does not come in degrees. Either x is identical to y or it is not. If a relation is not one of identity it is only one of similarity. And similarity would not be enough. That Aquinas, in his Commentary on the Sentences, speaks so loosely could be a sign that he himself was not entirely satisfied with this answer. The Detailed Part of the Answer After offering this general answer Aquinas moves on to deal with the principles which according to the objection return to nothingness when a human being dies. He deals with the objection by making distinctions in the meanings of the relevant terms. Let us have a closer look at how he does so. Corporeity According to Aquinas, the term “corporeity” can be understood in two ways. First, it can be understood in the sense of the substantial form of a body and thus falls under the genus of substance. The corporeity of every body, then, is nothing but its substantial form. Aquinas draws here on his doctrine of the unity of the substantial form.17 Every thing has but one substantial form. It would be a mistake to think that something has several substantial forms: a form by which it falls under the supreme genus, for example substance, a second form by which it falls under the proximate genus, for example under the genus of body or animal, and a third, by which it falls under the species, for example that of human being or horse. If that were so, the first form would be the substantial form, and the other forms would come in addition to some already actually existing particular. There would already exist a subject of some nature and the other forms would be accidental forms in that subject. Corporeity, then, is nothing but the substantial form of a human being, that is, the soul insofar as it requires matter to have three dimensions. For the human soul is the act of a body. Second, “corporeity” can also be understood in the sense of an accidental form belonging to the category of quantity. Corporeity in this sense is the same as having three dimensions, which belongs to the concept of a body. The particular quantity of something is accidental to it. Corporeity in this sense could go to 17 See for example S.Th., I, 76, 4: “Unde dicendum est quod nulla alia forma substantialis est in homine, nisi sola anima intellectiva; et quod ipsa, sicut virtute continet animam sensitivam et nutritivam, ita virtute continet omnes inferiores formas, et facit ipsa sola quidquid imperfectiores formae in aliis faciunt. Et similiter est dicendum de anima sensitiva in brutis, et de nutritiva in plantis, et universaliter de omnibus formis perfectioribus respectu imperfectiorum.”

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nothingness once a human being dies. This would not, however, be an obstacle for the resurrection of numerically the same human being because what is referred to by “corporeity” in the first sense would remain numerically the same. The Form of Mixture In the same vein Aquinas deals with the next principle, which the objection calls the “forma mixtionis”, the form of mixture. The Middle Ages witnessed a large debate about whether the four elements (earth, air, fire, water), out of which corporeal things are composed, keep their substantial form in a given body. Against Avicebron, Avicenna, and Averroes,18 but also against such theologians as Alexander von Hales, Bonaventura and Albert the Great, Thomas Aquinas insists on the unity of the substantial form. He distinguishes between composed objects that are collections of parts which are actually present in the thing, and composed objects that are compounds. A human body is a compound. The forms of the elements do not remain in a mixed body actually (actu) but only virtually (virtute); that is, they are present in their powers (proper accidents) although not present as substances.19 This is the background of the question and the key to the answer. If one means by “form of mixture” the substantial form of a mixed body, then this form will

18

See S.Th., I, 76, 4 ad 4: “Ad quartum dicendum quod Avicenna posuit formas substantiales elementorum integras remanere in mixto, mixtionem autem fieri secundum quod contrariae qualitates elementorum reducuntur ad medium. Sed hoc est impossibile. Quia diversae formae elementorum non possunt esse nisi in diversis partibus materiae; ad quarum diversitatem oportet intelligi dimensiones, sine quibus materia divisibilis esse non potest. Materia autem dimensioni subiecta non invenitur nisi in corpore. Diversa autem corpora non possunt esse in eodem loco. Unde sequitur quod elementa sint in mixto distincta secundum situm. Et ita non erit vera mixtio, quae est secundum totum, sed mixtio ad sensum, quae est secundum minima iuxta se posita. Averroes autem posuit, in III de caelo, quod formae elementorum, propter sui imperfectionem, sunt mediae inter formas accidentales et substantiales; et ideo recipiunt magis et minus; et ideo remittuntur in mixtione et ad medium reducuntur, et conflatur ex eis una forma. Sed hoc est etiam magis impossibile. Nam esse substantiale cuiuslibet rei in indivisibili consistit; et omnis additio et subtractio variat speciem, sicut in numeris, ut dicitur in VIII Metaphys. Unde impossibile est quod forma substantialis quaecumque recipiat magis et minus. Nec minus est impossibile aliquid esse medium inter substantiam et accidens. Et ideo dicendum est, secundum philosophum in I de Generat., quod formae elementorum manent in mixto non actu, sed virtute. Manent enim qualitates propriae elementorum, licet remissae, in quibus est virtus formarum elementarium. Et huiusmodi qualitas mixtionis est propria dispositio ad formam substantialem corporis mixti, puta formam lapidis, vel animae cuiuscumque.” See also S.c.G., II, 56, and Aquinas, De mixtione elementorum [De mixt. element.]. 19 See Hans Meyer, Thomas von Aquin (Bonn: Peter Hanstein Verlagsbuchhandlung, 1938), pp. 67–72; Stump, Aquinas, pp. 39–40; Christopher M. Brown, Aquinas and the Ship of Theseus. Solving Puzzles about Material Objects (London and New York: Continuum, 2005), pp. 68–70 and pp. 94–8.

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not be destroyed. If, however, one means by “form of mixture” a quality which is composed by the mixture of simple qualities and which is the disposition for receiving a substantial form, then its destruction would not make it impossible that numerically the same body be resurrected. The Sensitive and Nutritive Part of the Soul In a similar way Aquinas deals with the objection that the sensitive and nutritive parts, which require bodily organs, cannot be brought back as numerically the same. Again Aquinas asks: what do you mean by “nutritive and sensitive parts”? If you mean by that expression the potencies that are natural properties of a composite, then they will be corrupted along with the body. But if you mean the substance of the sensitive and nutritive soul, then these are identical with the rational soul, for there are not three souls in a human being but only one. Humanity According to the objection, humanity (humanitas), which is called the form of the whole, returns to nothingness when a human being dies. This way of speaking, however, is hard to understand. Abstract terms do not refer to particulars. What sense does it make to say that humanity perishes when a particular human being, say Abraham, dies? What sense does it make to speak of numerically the same humanity? I cannot delve here into the complicated semantic and ontological presuppositions of Aquinas’s answer.20 His essential claim is, again, that the terms “humanity” (“humanitas”) or “human being” (“homo”) do not refer to something

20 It is illuminating to compare the passage of the S.c.G. with the following passage of De Ente, I: “Et ideo humanitas significatur ut forma quaedam, et dicitur quod est forma totius, non quidem quasi superaddita partibus essentialibus, scilicet formae et materiae, sicut forma domus superadditur partibus integralibus eius, sed magis est forma, quae est totum scilicet formam complectens et materiam, tamen cum praecisione eorum, per quae nata est materia designari. Sic igitur patet quod essentiam hominis significat hoc nomen homo et hoc nomen humanitas, sed diversimode, ut dictum est, quia hoc nomen homo significat eam ut totum, in quantum scilicet non praecidit designationem materiae, sed implicite, continet eam et indistincte, sicut dictum est quod genus continet differentiam; et ideo praedicatur hoc nomen homo de individuis. Sed hoc nomen humanitas significat eam ut partem, quia non continet in significatione sua nisi id, quod est hominis in quantum est homo, et praecidit omnem designationem. Unde de individuis hominis non praedicatur. Et propter hoc etiam nomen essentiae quandoque invenitur praedicatum in re, dicimus enim Socratem esse essentiam quandam; et quandoque negatur, sicut dicimus quod essentia Socratis non est Socrates.” See also Sent., I, 23, 1, 1. For an analysis of these texts see Jean Jolivet, “Eléments pour une étude des rapports entre la grammaire et l’ontologie au moyen âge”, in Jan Beckmann and Ludger Honnefelder (eds), Sprache und Erkenntnis im Mittelalter, Miscellanea Mediaevalia 13/1 (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1981), pp. 135–64, pp. 143–4.

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that is different from the rational soul. And since the rational soul does not perish, numerically the same human being will be raised. Of course, the rational soul is not the whole human being; it is one essential metaphysical part of it. “Abraham’s soul is not, strictly speaking, Abraham himself but a part of him.”21 And when we say “Saint Peter, pray for us!”, we use “Peter” in a synecdochic way.22 Before the bodily resurrection, what we refer to by calling “Peter” is not the whole human being but a part of it: the rational soul of Peter. Without the body, the separated soul is not complete in its species.23 But nevertheless, it is the rational soul that guarantees the numerical identity of the human being. Aquinas concludes: Therefore it is clear that in the resurrection both the numerically identical human being and the numerical identical humanity return, because of the permanence of the rational soul and the unity of matter.24

To summarize: Aquinas can maintain his position that no essential principle is entirely destroyed when a human being dies, and thus the position that it is metaphysically possible for the same human being to be resurrected. The key to the solution is the doctrine of the unity of substantial form in a substance. Each substance has only one substantial form. Since there is not a plurality of forms present in one human being, but only one form, and since this form is not corrupted by death, numerically the same human being can be resurrected.

21 Sent., IV, 43, 1, 1, 1 ad 2: “Ad secundum dicendum, quod anima Abrahae non est, proprie loquendo, ipse Abraham, sed est pars ejus.” 22 See Sent., III, 22, 1, arg 6: “Praeterea, Petrus est nomen cujusdam singularis in natura humana. Sed post mortem Petri invocamus eum dicentes: sancte Petre, ora pro nobis. Ergo post mortem potest dici homo; et sic videtur quod eadem ratione Christus.” Aquinas’s answer: “Ad sextum dicendum, quod illae locutiones sunt synecdochicae, quia ponitur totum pro parte.” See also S.Th., III, 50, 4 ad 2. 23 See Aquinas, Quaestio disputata de anima [Q. de an.], 1, ad 2: “… licet anima habeat esse completum non tamen sequitur quod corpus ei accidentaliter uniatur; tum quia illud idem esse quod est animae communicat corpori, ut sit unum esse totius compositi; tum etiam quia etsi possit per se subsistere, non tamen habet speciem completam, sed corpus advenit ei ad completionem speciei.” See also Super I. ad Cor., 15, 2: “Alio modo quia constat quod homo naturaliter desiderat salutem sui ipsius, anima autem cum sit pars corporis hominis, non est totus homo, et anima mea non est ego; unde licet anima consequatur salutem in alia vita, non tamen ego vel quilibet homo. Et praeterea cum homo naturaliter desideret salutem, etiam corporis, frustraretur naturale desiderium.” 24 S.c.G., IV, 81: “Unde patet quod et homo redit idem numero in resurrectione, et humanitas eadem numero, propter animae rationalis permanentiam et materiae unitatem.”

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The Continuous-Link Requirement The next objection formulates the requirement of the continuous link. Most philosophers today think that this requirement has to be fulfilled in order that the resurrected human being be numerically identical with the earthly one.25 “What is not continuous seems not to be numerically identical.”26 According to Aquinas, this is true for processes, but also for qualities and forms. Aquinas uses the example of health: if somebody is healthy, becomes ill, and is restored to health again, the person does not gain the numerically identical health she enjoyed before. It is a different health. If something ceases to be it cannot reappear as numerically the same. Dying is a change from being to nonbeing. It follows: It is, then, impossible that the being of a human being be repeated with numerical identity. And therefore the human being will not be the same in number, for things which are the same in number are the same in being.27

This objection, says Aquinas, proceeds from a false presupposition. This presupposition, however, is not the continuous-link requirement. It is rather the view that matter has actual existence on its own and that form has actual existence on its own. Of course, if we have this view, we are faced with the problem of the missing continuity on the matter-side. But Aquinas, being a hylemorphist, has a different view. Form and matter are one single act of being: For it is manifest that the being of matter and form is one; matter has no actual being except by form.28 Now this form has a special status. In contrast to other forms the rational soul can have existence without being enmattered. Aquinas has shown this already when dealing with the incorruptibility of the soul. The rational soul has an operation that does not depend on a bodily organ. This is the operation of grasping universals. Therefore the rational soul has a being that goes beyond the concrete union with matter.

25 Uwe Meixner, “The Indispensability of the Soul”, in Bruno Niederbacher and Edmund Runggaldier (eds), Die menschliche Seele: Brauchen wir den Dualismus? (Heusenstamm: Ontos Verlag, 2006), pp. 19–40. Meixner concludes, ibid. p. 34: “Thus, no philosophically satisfactory account of resurrection can do without the continuous link.” 26 S.c.G., IV, 80: “Quod non est continuum, idem numero esse non videtur.” 27 S.c.G.: “Impossibile est igitur quod esse hominis idem numero reiteretur. Neque igitur erit idem homo numero: quae enim sunt eadem numero, secundum esse sunt idem.” 28 S.c.G., 81: “Manifestum est enim quod materiae et formae unum est esse: non enim materia habet esse in actu nisi per formam.”

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Its being, therefore, which was that of a composite, remains in the soul even when the body is dissolved; when the body is restored in the resurrection, it returns to the same being which persisted in the soul.29 Thus, according to this passage, the soul is the sole bearer of the continuous link. However, the answers to the next objections suggest a different view. The Too-Much-Body Objection The next objection Aquinas deals with is a reductio ad absurdum. The argument proceeds from the following premise: if the very same body is brought back to life, for the same reason everything has to be brought back whatever was part of that body. But then, the resurrection bodies would not be very attractive ones. Consider the nails, hair, beard, and other things that grow constantly. Moreover, imagine I liked to eat steak during my earthly life. Would then the flesh of all the beef I ate and incorporated resurrect in me?30 Aquinas’s answer corresponds to our modern view. He writes: For what does not prevent the numerical unity of a human being while [the human being is] continuously alive, manifestly cannot prevent the unity of the resurrecting human being. Now, the human body, over the course of one’s lifetime, does not always contain the same parts materially, but only specifically. Materially, the parts are in flux, but this does not prevent a human being from being numerically one from the beginning of life until the end.31

The old Socrates is numerically identical with the young Socrates, although a lot of material change has taken place. In order that the resurrected Socrates be numerically identical with the one who lived on earth and died 399 BC, it is not

29 S.c.G., IV, 81: “Esse igitur eius, quod erat compositi, manet in ipsa corpore dissoluto: et reparato corpore in resurrectione, in idem esse reducitur quod remansit in anima.” See also S.Th., I II, 4, 4 ad 2. 30 Aquinas presents this objection also in Sent., IV, 44, 1, 2, 4 arg. 1: “Videtur quod non totum quod fuit in corpore de veritate naturae humanae, resurgat in ipso. Quia cibus convertitur in veritatem humanae naturae. Sed aliquando caro bovis sumitur in cibum. Si ergo resurget quidquid fuit de veritate humanae naturae, resurget etiam caro bovis; quod videtur inconveniens.” 31 S.c.G., IV, 81: “Quod enim non impedit unitatem secundum numerum in homine dum continue vivit, manifestum est quod non potest impedire unitatem resurgentis. In corpore autem hominis, quandiu vivit, non semper sunt eaedem partes secundum materiam, sed solum secundum speciem; secundum vero materiam partes fluunt et refluunt: nec propter hoc impeditur quin homo sit unus numero a principio vitae usque in finem.”

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necessary for everything that was materially in him during his whole life to be taken up again. Rather, just enough to amass the requisite quantity.32 However, Aquinas seems also to think that the material of the resurrected Socrates ought to be material that was once in Socrates’ body and not different material. Although Aquinas is very generous in allowing God to supply missing parts of cripples, children, and so forth, he seems to have taken it for necessary that some of the material must have been from the earthly body. He seems to have thought that there must also be some material continuity. This can be seen in Aquinas’s answer to the next objection. The Cannibalism Objection This well-known objection proceeds from the premise that some people might eat the flesh of other people. The same flesh would then be in more then one human being. Worse, if cannibals ate nothing but human flesh and had children, these would consist entirely of the flesh of other people: Who is resurrected then? And can there be a general resurrection, that is: resurrection of all human beings who ever lived?33 This objection can be posed less dramatically with the same effect. It is highly probable that I am composed now of atoms that have been part of other people at some time in the past. Aquinas wants to maintain the view that some parts of the body have to be numerically identical. But again, as to which parts and how many, he speaks rather loosely: “the flesh consumed will be raised in the one in whom it was first perfected by the rational soul.”34 What about a radical cannibal who, over the course of his whole live, has only ever eaten other people’s flesh? In him, Aquinas says, what would resurrect would be whatever he got from his parents. And what would happen, if his parents were radical cannibals themselves such that the semen which made him would stem from other people’s flesh? According to Aquinas, the semen would resurrect in the one who developed from this semen. The rest God will supply. Aquinas gives the following general rule: If something was materially present in many human beings, it will be raised in the one to whose perfection it belonged more intimately.35 32

S.c.G., ibid.: “Sic igitur non requiritur ad hoc quod resurgat homo numero idem, quod quicquid fuit materialiter in eo secundum totum tempus vitae suae resumatur: sed tantum ex eo quantum sufficit ad complementum debitae quantitatis.” 33 The same objections appear in Sent., IV, 44, 1, 2, 4, arg. 3 and 4 and 5. 34 S.c.G., IV, 81: “Caro igitur comesta resurget in eo in quo primo fuit anima rationali perfecta.” 35 S.c.G., ibid.: “Hoc enim in resurrectione servabitur: quod si aliquid materialiter fuit in pluribus hominibus, resurget in eo ad cuius perfectionem magis pertinebat.”

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Conclusion By reflecting on these objections and answers one could conclude that Aquinas held the following view about the numerical identity of the resurrection body: (i) What makes for the numerical identity of my body is that some elemental parts of which my body is composed during my earthly life will be part of the resurrected body.

Several passages hint in the direction of this view: the mysterious passage about matter remaining under the same dimensions, the answer to the too-muchbody objection and the answer to the cannibalism objection. However, this view is internally inconsistent. For it presupposes that some parts of the human body can exist as numerically the same even when not formed by the substantial form. This seems to go against Aquinas’s tenet that one human being has only one substantial form and that all bodily parts are what they are only in virtue of being formed by it. It seems also to go against Aquinas’s view that a corpse is of a different species from a living human organism. When the soul is separated from the body, what remains will be formed by a different substantial form that gives a different kind of being.36 What is of a different species cannot be numerically the same. In order to avoid charging Aquinas with inconsistency, many scholars assume that he takes a different view:37 (ii) What makes for the numerical identity of my body is nothing other than my substantial form. Whenever my substantial form is embodied, this body will be of my bones and of my flesh.

The identity-maker for the whole human being is the rational soul alone. Since this soul is not destroyed in death, the human being can resurrect as numerically the same. The body in the sense of quantity or extension does not have a real existence on its own. The body is related to the soul as matter is to form. Matter without form exists only potentially. Thus, if the same individual substantial form comes to form matter, there will also be numerically the same body. This interpretation is favored by Eleonore Stump. She writes:

36 See Aquinas, Sententia libri de anima [Super De An.], II, c. 1: “Et inde est quod recedente anima non remanet idem corpus specie; nam oculus et caro in mortuo non dicuntur nisi equivoce, ut patet per Philosophum in VII Metaphysicae; recedente enim anima, succedit alia forma substantialis quae dat aliud esse specificum, cum corruptio unius non sit nisi generatione alterius.” 37 See for example Stump, “Resurrection”; Robert Pasnau, Thomas Aquinas on Human Nature (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002); see also Brown.

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On Aquinas’s account, resurrection is not so much reassembly of integral parts as it is reconstitution of metaphysical parts. The constituents of Socrates in his resurrected state are the same as those of Socrates during his earthly life: this substantial form, the soul, and the prime matter which is configured by the soul into a body.

Robert Pasnau’s interpretation is along the same lines: The question of whether the resurrected body is the same body or merely a replica does not arise, because sameness of body is accounted for in terms of sameness of form.39

Let us return to our quotation from the beginning: In order that numerically the same human being resurrects, it is necessary that his essential parts be numerically the same. If the body of the resurrected human being were not of his flesh and his bones out of which he is composed now, the resurrecting human being would not be numerically the same.40

When is the body of the resurrected me, Bruno, made of my flesh and my bones? The answer according to the view (ii) is: when at the day of resurrection my substantial form becomes embodied, then the body I get will be my body, my bones, my flesh. This is an attractive interpretation. For this view does not fall prey to the objections posed by Peter van Inwagen and other philosophers. However, if this is Aquinas’s view, I wonder why he makes so much fuss about the reassembly of elements. Aquinas believes that corpses will be dissolved into dust, ashes, elements or whatever will be left—at the latest in the final consumption of the world in fire. This, he says, does not bring about annihilation but “resolution to ashes.”41 Then angels will collect the ashes that remain and prepare them for the restoration of the human body. Finally, God himself will reunite the same body with its incorruptible human soul.42 If Aquinas held view (ii), why does he discuss the question of whether 38

Stump, “Resurrection”, pp. 173–4. Pasnau, p. 393. 40 S.c.G., IV, 84. 41 Sent., IV, 47, 2, 3, 2 ad 1: “Ad primum ergo dicendum, quod consumptio ibi accipitur non pro annihilatione, sed pro resolutione in cineres.” 42 Sent., IV, 43, 1, 2, 3: “In resurrectione autem est aliquid ad transmutationem corporum pertinens, scilicet collectio cinerum, et eorum praeparatio ad reparationem humani corporis; unde quantum ad hoc in resurrectione utetur Deus ministerio Angelorum. Sed anima sicut immediate a Deo creata est, ita immediate a Deo corpori iterato unietur sine aliqua operatione Angelorum.” Sent., IV, 43, 1, 4, 3: “Et ideo aliter dicendum est, quod in cineribus illis nulla est naturalis inclinatio ad resurrectionem, sed solum ex ordine divinae 39

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it is necessary that the same flesh and bones occupy the same place as they do now or whether there could be some local changes inside the body?43 I can think of two reasons for this: first, resurrection is no creation out of nothing, no creatio ex nihilo. In resurrecting human beings, God works with the available material. Second, this material is not understood in the sense of prime matter. For prime matter exists only potentially. Material is understood here in the sense of existing elemental material. Thus, my explanation of the differing positions one can find in the texts is that Aquinas uses two concepts of matter: matter in the sense of prime matter that is mere potentiality, and matter in the sense of the last substratum of substantial change, a positive existing entity.44

providentiae, quae statuit illos cineres iterum animae conjungi; et ex hoc convenit quod illae partes elementorum iterato conjungantur, et non aliae.” See also Super I. ad Cor., 15, 5. 43 Sent., IV, 44, 1, 3. The question is posed as follows: “Videtur quod oporteat pulveres humani corporis ad eamdem partem corporis quae in eis dissoluta est, per resurrectionem redire.” 44 See S.Th., III, 50, 5, ad 1: “Et ideo corpus mortuum cuiuscumque alterius hominis non est idem simpliciter, sed secundum quid, quia est idem secundum materiam, non autem idem secundum formam.” For a more detailed account of the two senses of matter in the thomistic tradition see Edmund Runggaldier, “The Aristotelian Alternative to Functionalism and Dualism”, in Bruno Niederbacher and Edmund Runggaldier (eds), Die menschliche Seele: Brauchen wir den Dualismus? (Heusenstamm: Ontos, 2006) pp. 221–48, pp. 237–42.

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Chapter 9

Persons and the Metaphysics of Resurrection* Lynne Rudder Baker

Introduction Theories of the human person differ greatly in their ability to underwrite a metaphysics of resurrection. This paper compares and contrasts a number of such views in light of the Christian doctrine of resurrection. In a Christian framework, resurrection requires that the same person who exists on earth also exists in an afterlife, that a postmortem person be embodied, and that the existence of a postmortem person is brought about by a miracle. According to my view of persons (the Constitution View), a human person is constituted by—but not identical to—a human organism. A person has a first-person perspective essentially, and an organism has interrelated biological functions essentially. I shall argue for the superiority the Constitution View as a metaphysical basis for resurrection. “But what, then, am I?” Descartes famously asked. Although many of us today reject Descartes’s equally famous answer—I am an immaterial mind—Descartes was right, I believe, to identify himself with a thinking thing, a thing who “doubts, understands, affirms, denies, wills, refuses, and which also imagines and senses.”1 But neither an immaterial mind nor a material brain is the thing that thinks. The thing that thinks is the person. Just as your legs and feet are the limbs by means of which you walk, you the person—not your legs and feet—are the walker; so too the brain is the organ by means of which you think, but you the person—not your brain—are the thinker. Where Cartesians see a relation between minds and bodies, I see a relation between persons and bodies. Understanding “person” to refer to entities like you and me, it is obvious that persons exist. And just as clearly there are bodies. So, the important philosophical question—whose answer cannot be read off

* This Chapter is reprinted by permission of Cambridge University Press from Religious Studies, 43 (2007): pp. 333–48. 1 René Descartes, Meditations on First Philosophy, trans. Donald A. Cress (Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Co., 1979), p. 19. 1

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neurophysiology or scientific psychology—is this: What is a person? What is the relation between a person and her body?2 On the answer that I shall propose—I call it “the Constitution View”—persons are not identical to their bodies, nor to parts of their bodies (for example, brains), nor to their bodies plus something else (for example, immaterial souls). In “logical space”, there is room for another possibility, which I shall develop and defend. I shall explore the idea that a person is constituted by a body, where constitution is not identity. On such a constitutional account of persons and bodies, it is necessary that human persons are embodied; but it is not necessary that they have the bodies that they in fact have. Thus, the view that I shall develop shares with the Cartesian dualist the claim that persons are not identical to their bodies (I could have a different body from the one that I do have), and it shares with the classical materialist the claim that, necessarily, human persons are embodied. After setting out this Constitution View, I shall turn to the metaphysics of resurrection. First, let me comment on the term “human being”. Some philosophers use “human being” to denote a biological kind.3 Others use it to denote a partly psychological kind.4 I use “human being” in the latter way, to name a partly psychological kind, a human person. All human persons are human beings, and vice versa. The Constitution View of Human Persons What makes a human person a person is having what I’ll call a “first-person perspective”. What makes a human person a human is being constituted by a human body. A first-person perspective is the defining characteristic of all persons, human or not.5 From a (robust) first-person point of view, one can think about oneself 2

Peter van Inwagen has argued that many philosophical uses of “her body” are nonsensical. Peter van Inwagen, “Philosophers and the words ‘human body’”, in Peter van Inwagen (ed.), Time and Cause (Dordrecht: D. Reidel Publishing Company, 1980), pp. 283–99. Michael Tye offers a rebuttal in “In defense of the words ‘human body’”, Philosophical Studies, 38 (1980): pp. 177–82. I take a human organism to be a kind of body. Wherever I use the term “human body”, the reader may substitute the term “human organism”. My concern is with the relation between human persons and human organisms (i.e., human bodies). 3 E.g., John Perry says that “human being” “is a purely biological notion”. John Perry, “The importance of being identical”, in Amelie Oksenberg Rorty (ed.), The Identities of Persons (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1976), p. 70. 4 E.g., Mark Johnston says: “‘[H]uman being’ names a partly psychological kind, whereas ‘human organism’ … names a purely biological kind.” See Mark Johnston, “Human beings”, Journal of Philosophy, 84 (1987): p. 64. 5 I give an account of the conditions under which something has a first-person perspective in Lynne Rudder Baker, Persons and Bodies.

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as oneself and think about one’s thoughts as one’s own. In English, we not only use first-person pronouns to refer to ourselves “from the inside” so to speak (for example, “I’m happy”) but also to attribute to ourselves first-person reference (for example, “I wonder whether I’ll be happy in 10 years”). The second occurrence of “I” in “I wonder whether I’ll be happy in 10 years” directs attention to the person per se, without recourse to any name, description or other third-person referential device to identify who is being thought about. The first-person perspective opens up a distinction between thinking of oneself in the first-person and thinking of oneself in the third-person. Once someone can make this distinction, she can think of herself as a subject in a world of things different from herself. And since human persons are necessarily embodied, a person can think of her body, as well as her thoughts, from her first-person perspective. A being may be conscious without having a first-person perspective. Nonhuman primates and other higher animals are conscious, and they have psychological states like believing, fearing and desiring. They have points of view (for example, “danger in that direction”), but they cannot conceive of themselves as the subjects of such thoughts. They can not conceive of themselves from the first-person. (We have every reason to think that they do not wonder how they will die.) So, being conscious, having psychological states like beliefs and desires, and having a point of view are not sufficient conditions for being a person. To be a person—whether God, an angel, a human person, or a Martian person—one must have a first-person perspective. Person is a nonbiological genus, of which there may be several species: human, divine, bionic, Martian, and so on. It is in virtue of having a first-person perspective that an entity is a person. So, what makes something a person is not the “stuff” it is made of. It does not matter whether something is made of organic material or silicon or, in the case of God, no material “stuff” at all. In short, Person is an ontological kind whose defining characteristic is a first-person perspective. Babies are not born with the kind of robust first-person perspective that I have been describing, but they are born with what I call “rudimentary first-person perspectives”: they are sentient; they imitate; they behave in ways which require attribution of beliefs and desires to explain. An organism comes to constitute a person when it develops a rudimentary first-person perspective, provided that the organism is of a kind that normally develops a robust first-person perspective. Human babies are persons in virtue of having rudimentary first-person perspectives and of being members of the human species. Members of the human species—unlike nonhuman animals who may also have rudimentary first-person perspectives—normally develop robust first-person perspectives as they mature and learn a language. A human organism that has a rudimentary or a robust firstperson perspective at time t constitutes a person at time t.6 6 For details on the idea of a rudimentary first-person perspective, as well as a defense of the idea based on evidence from developmental psychology, see Lynne Rudder Baker, “When does a person begin?”, Social Philosophy and Policy, 22 (2005): pp. 25–48.

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At the other end of human life, a person who becomes demented still has a firstperson perspective. Patients who are severely mentally handicapped (for example, with late Alzheimer’s) still can conceive of themselves as “I”. If you think that you don’t exist (Cotard’s syndrome), you have a first-person perspective. Your existence on earth comes to an end with the permanent and irretrievable loss of the ability to think of yourself from the first person. As long as it is physically possible for a patient (even in a coma) to regain the ability to think of herself in the first-person way, there is a person. When the physical possibility of that ability is forever lost (as in the case of Terry Schiavo), but the brain stem is still functioning, then there is no person there, but only an organism. A first-person perspective is the basis of all self-consciousness. It makes possible an inner life, a life of thoughts that one realizes are her own. The appearance of first-person perspectives in a world makes an ontological difference in that world: A world populated with beings with inner lives is ontologically richer than a world populated with no beings with inner lives. But what is ontologically distinctive about being a person—namely, a first-person perspective—does not have to be secured by an immaterial substance like a soul. Human persons differ from nonbodily or immaterial persons (if there are any) in that human persons are not just pure subjects; they do not exist unembodied. So, myself includes my body. And persons’ bodies are the objects of first-person reference. If Smith wonders whether she has cancer, she is wondering about her body from a first-person perspective. She is not wondering whether there is a malignant tumor in some particular body identified by a third-person demonstrative pronoun or description; she is wondering whether there is a malignant tumor in her own body, considered as herself. This is different from wondering about a material possession, say. If Smith wonders whether her car will run, she wonders about a particular car, which she identifies by a description or a third-person demonstrative reference. Without a third-person way to think about the car, she could not wonder about its battery. But if Smith is wondering how she will die, she can think of her body as her own without recourse to any name or description or second—or thirdperson demonstrative pronoun. And reference without recourse to the familiar third-person devices is the mark of first-person reference. Human persons—who, like all persons, have first-person perspectives—are distinguished from other kinds of persons in that human persons are constituted by human bodies that are the objects of their first-person thoughts. A human person is a person who is constituted by a human body during some part of her existence. (I say “is constituted by a human body during some part of her existence” to avoid issues raised by the Incarnation. The orthodox Christian view is that the eternal Second Person of the Trinity is identical with Jesus Christ, who is both fully human and fully divine. How this could be so is ultimately a mystery that requires special treatment far beyond the scope of this paper.) Putting that issue aside, a human person is constituted by a biological entity— an organism, a member of the species Homo sapiens—that is physically able to

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support first-person intentional states.7 (It is up to neuroscientists, not philosophers, to determine the biological conditions under which a human being is able to support first-person intentional states.) A human person—Smith, say—must have a biological body that she can think about in a first-person way. Smith can think of a biological body in the firstperson way if she can entertain thoughts about that body without aid of a name or description or third-person pronoun. Even if she is totally paralyzed, Smith has a first-person relation to her body if she can entertain the thought, “I wonder if I’ll ever be able to move my legs again.” To put it differently, Smith can think of a biological body in the first-person way if she can conceive of its properties as her own. For example, Smith’s thoughts about how photogenic she (herself) is, or her worries about her (own) state of health—thoughts that she would express with first-person pronouns—make first-person reference to her body as her own. Since a body constitutes a person, a first-person reference to one’s body is ipso facto a first-person reference to oneself. So, what makes a particular body Smith’s, rather than someone else’s, is that it is the body that Smith can think of and refer to in a first-person way, “from the inside”. The body to which Smith has a first-person relation is the body some of whose parts she (normally) can move without moving anything else, the body that she tends when she is in pain, and the body that expresses her intentional states. States like pain, longing, sadness, hope, fear, frustration, worry, effort, and joy as well as states like believing, desiring, and intending are expressed through posture, facial expression, sounds and other bodily motions. The body that expresses Smith’s intentional states is the body to which Smith has a first-person relation. Smith’s first-person relation to her body at t does not imply that Smith is actually thinking of her body at t; indeed, Smith may believe at t that she is disembodied. The body to which Smith has a first-person relation is the body whose sweaty hands manifest the fact that Smith is nervous, and the body whose stomach’s being tied in knots expresses the fact that Smith is frightened, or the body that would move if Smith carried out her decision to leave the room. Smith’s body at time t distinguishes Smith from all other persons at t. What distinguishes me now from all other coexisting persons—even physical and psychological replicas of me, if there are any—is that at this time, I have a first7 Unlike David Wiggins who says: “I do not distinguish between an animal and an animal body,” he says: “[M]y claim is that by person we mean a certain sort of animal.” See David Wiggins, Sameness and Substance (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1980), p. 187. Then, he distinguishes the animal (that I supposedly am) from the body (that supposedly constitutes it). On the other hand, I think that an animal is (identical to) a body of a special self-sustaining and self-organizing sort, and I distinguish the animal/body from the person. Also, I take an animal to be a member of its species whether it is alive or dead. How could an animal lose species-membership on dying? It simply becomes a dead member of its species. See Fred Feldman, Confrontations with the Reaper (New York: Oxford University Press, 1992).

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person relation to this body and to no other; and any replica of me at this time has a first-person relation to some other body, but not to this one. The body to which I have a first-person relation constitutes me. But what is constitution? Elsewhere,8 I have a more rigorous account of the relation of constitution, but the general idea of constitution is this: when various things are in various circumstances, new things—new kinds of things, with new causal powers—come into existence. Every concrete object is of (what I call) a primary kind. A thing has its primary-kind property essentially. So, kind membership (or species membership) is not contingent. The relation of constitution unites things of different primary kinds, and hence things with different essential properties. For example, a human organism is essentially a member of the human species; a person essentially has a first-person perspective.9 A human person is a person constituted by a human organism. Constitution is everywhere: pieces of paper constitute dollar bills; strands of DNA constitute genes; pieces of cloth constitute flags; pieces of bronze constitute statues. Constitution is never identity: the piece of cloth that constituted the first Union Jack could exist in a world without nations; hence that piece of cloth could exist without constituting a flag, and the first Union Jack is not identical to the piece of cloth that constituted it. Similarly, the piece of bronze that constituted Myron’s statue Discobolus could have existed in a world without art; hence that piece of bronze could have existed without constituting a statue.10 The non-identity of persons and their bodies may be seen in another way—in a way that has no parallel for statues. Despite the similarities between persons and statues, there is a major difference between them: persons have bodies that change drastically over the course of a person’s life, but pieces of marble that constitute statues change very little. To put it the other way around: if the piece of marble that constitutes David were to change significantly, the statue David would no longer exist; but Smith’s body alters radically while Smith endures. Leaving aside the analogy between persons and statues, consider another argument against the person/body identity theory, based on criteria for individuating bodies and persons. Criteria of individuation may be vague, but they are not totally elastic. Smith’s body is a human body in virtue of being a member of the species Homo sapiens. What makes something a human body is its biological properties; 8

Lynne Rudder Baker, “Unity without identity: a new look at material constitution”, in Peter A. French and Howard K. Wettstein (eds), New Directions in Philosophy, Midwest Studies in Philosophy 23 (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 1999), pp. 144–65. For a related view, see Wiggins. 9 Here I am not talking about entities that are human organisms or persons derivatively. An entity x has F derivatively only if x has F in virtue of its constitution-relations. See Baker, Persons and Bodies, ch. 2. 10 For detailed arguments against the view that Discobolus and that piece of bronze that constituted it are identical (contingently or necessarily), see Lynne Rudder Baker, “Why constitution is not identity”, The Journal of Philosophy, 94 (1997): pp. 599–622.

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its career may be followed from beginning to end without respect to whether or not it is any person’s body. Similarly, its persistence conditions are independent of whether or not it is any person’s body. The identity of a human body is independent of whether it is Smith’s or any other person’s body.11 In the natural course of things, our organic bodies undergo full atomic replacement over some years, and we persons survive this total replacement without interruption in mental functioning. It seems possible that we could equally survive gradual replacement of organic cells by bionic cells—until finally the body that sustains us is no longer an organic body. Exactly how much replacement of parts a human body may undergo and still remain a human body is somewhat vague, but if a body is mostly made up of inorganic material and is not sustained by organic processes, it is not a member of the species Homo Sapiens. The nonorganic body that ends up constituting Smith now is a different body from the organic body that was a member of the species Homo Sapiens. Consider the organic body that Smith was born with. Call it “OB”. Suppose that the organs of OB were totally replaced over a period of time by bionic parts, until what remained was a fully bionic, nonbiological body that resembled OB in appearance, that moved in ways indistinguishable from OB, that emitted sounds that we took to be English sentences that reported memories of things that had happened to Smith, and indeed that we took to be professions that this person was Smith. Is the bionic body the same body as Smith’s biological body OB? No. OB was a carbon-based body that was a member of the species Homo Sapiens. The bionic body is not a member of any biological species. Would Smith still exist? Of course. Otherwise Smith’s possessions and property should be taken from the bionic-body-Smith and distributed to Smith’s heirs. After the organ replacement, Smith would still exist but would no longer be constituted by OB; rather, Smith would be constituted by a bionic body. (I really do not like bizarre thought experiments, but I think that we are actually close to bringing this thought experiment to fruition. There are now devices implanted in brains that allow paralyzed people to operate computers by their thoughts; cochlear implants allow deaf people to “hear”, and so on. Moreover, it’s easy to imagine billionaires seeking “whole-body” replacements to prevent aging.) The point is that this is a realistic example that shows that a single person may be constituted by different bodies at different times: Smith had a first-person relation to a biological body at one time, and to a bionic body at a later time, and a biological body is essentially organic, and is not numerically identical to any bionic body. Note that spatiotemporal continuity in general does not signal sameness of entity: Very slowly atoms could be added or taken away from Smith’s biological body until it was indistinguishable from a turnip or a bookcase. In that 11

Moreover, since organisms do not lose their membership in their species at death, a human body remains a human body whether alive or dead. In an ordinary, nonviolent death, one and the same human body persists through the change: it is first alive, and then it is dead.

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case, it would no longer be the same body, and presumably Smith would no longer be with us. Indeed, there may be a period of time during which it is indeterminate whether there is a human body or not. I have argued elsewhere that everything that we encounter in the natural world comes into existence gradually; hence, everything that we interact with has vague temporal boundaries. To sum up: on the Constitution View, a human person is constituted by a particular biological body, but the person is not identical to the body. What distinguishes persons from all other beings is that they have first-person perspectives essentially. The persistence conditions of a human person are determined by the property in virtue of which she is a person—namely, the property of having a first-person perspective: a human person could cease to have an organic body without ceasing to exist. But she could not cease to be a person without ceasing to exist. On the Constitution View, then, a human person and the organic body that constitutes her differ in persistence conditions without there being any actual physical intrinsic difference between them. The persistence conditions of animals—all animals, human or not—are biological; and the persistence conditions of persons—all persons, human or not—are not biological. On the Metaphysics of Resurrection All the great monotheistic religions—Judaism, Christianity, and Islam—have doctrines of an afterlife. These are religious doctrines, whose grounding in Scripture and tradition leaves open how they should be understood metaphysically. I want to focus on the Christian doctrine of resurrection, and to find the best metaphysics to support it. To begin, consider three features that characterize the Christian view of resurrection First, identity: the very same person who exists on earth is to exist in an afterlife. Individuals exist after death, not in some undifferentiated state merged with the universe, or with an Eternal Mind, or anything else. Not only is there to be individual existence in the resurrection, but the very same individuals are to exist both now and after death. “Survival” in some weaker sense of, say, psychological similarity is not enough. The relation between a person here and now and a person in an afterlife must be identity. Second, embodiment: resurrection requires some kind of bodily life after death. Postmortem bodies are different from premortem bodies in that they are said to be “spiritual”, “incorruptible”, or “glorified”. Even if there is an “intermediate state” between death and a general resurrection, in which the soul exists disembodied, those who live after death will ultimately be embodied, according to Christian doctrine. Third, miracle: life after death, according to Christian doctrine, is a gift from God. Christian doctrine thus contrasts with the Greek idea of immortality as a natural property of the soul. The idea of miracle is built into the Christian

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doctrine of life after death from the beginning. Since resurrection, if it occurs, is miraculous, we cannot expect a full philosophical account or explanation of it. There will always be some mystery left. The best that we can hope for is a metaphysics consistent with and congenial to the doctrine. The task for a metaphysics of resurrection is to present a view of human persons whose persistence conditions allow, by means of a miracle, for postmortem as well as premortem life. The best that metaphysics can do is to show how resurrection is metaphysically possible. That is, any candidate for a metaphysics of resurrection must conceive of human persons in such a way that it is metaphysically possible (even if physically impossible) that one and the same person whose earthly body is corruptible may also exist with a postmortem body that is incorruptible. That is the task. I shall argue that the Constitution View fares better than its competitors in fulfilling that task. There are a number of candidates for a metaphysics of resurrection: (1) Immaterialism: sameness of person is sameness of soul both before and after death; (2) Animalism: sameness of person is sameness of living organism before and after death; (3) Thomism: sameness of person is sameness of body/soul composite before and after death; (4) The Memory Criterion, according to which pre- and postmortem persons are the same person if and only if they are psychologically continuous; (5) The Soul-as-Software View, according to which sameness of person is analogous to sameness of software; (6) The Soul-as-InformationBearing-Pattern View, according to which sameness of person is sameness of pattern of information; (7) The Constitution View, which I explained earlier. Let’s consider each of these. Immaterialism: Although souls in this world are linked to brains, there is no contradiction, according to Richard Swinburne, in the soul’s continuing to exist without a body. Indeed, the soul is the necessary core of a person which must continue if a person is to continue.12 Since, in Swinburne’s view, no natural laws govern what happens to souls after death, there would be no violation of natural law if God were to give to souls life after death, with or without a new body. Swinburne solves the problem of personal identity for this world and the next by appeal to immaterial souls. A metaphysical problem with immaterialism is to say in virtue of what is a soul the same soul both before and after death? Perhaps the best answer is that souls are individuated by having a “thisness” or haecceity. This is an intriguing suggestion that I cannot pursue here. A haecceity view, if otherwise satisfactory, may well be suitable as a metaphysics of resurrection—if it did not leave dangling the question of why resurrection should be bodily. However, I believe that immaterialism should be rejected. My reason for rejecting immaterialism has less to do with resurrection than with the natural world. Immaterial souls just do not fit with what we know about the natural world. 12 Richard Swinburne, The Evolution of the Soul, revised edn (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997), p. 146.

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We human persons evolved by natural selection (even if God actualized this world on the basis of His foreknowledge of the outcome). Immaterial souls would simply stand out as surds in the natural world. Someone may object: “If you dismiss immaterial souls on the grounds that they would be surds, then you should dismiss resurrection too. Resurrected persons would surely be surds if immaterial souls are.” This objection can be met: my opposition to souls concerns their putative existence in the natural world. Resurrected persons, by contrast to immaterial souls, would not be surds in the natural world, because resurrection is not part of the natural order in the first place. Resurrection involves miracles, and miracles require God’s specific intervention. We human persons—who, as I mentioned, evolved by natural selection—are part of the natural order, but immaterial souls are not. At least, I do not see how immaterial entities (unlike first-person perspectives, whose evolutionary roots can be seen in chimpanzees) could have evolved by natural selection. Animalism: According to Animalism, a human person is identical to a human animal. Therefore, Animalists hold, a human person has the same persistence conditions as a human animal. If Animalism is correct, then the story about Smith’s having a biological body at one time and a distinct bionic body at another time is incoherent: on the Animalist conception, no human person can have numerically distinct bodies at different times. I believe that this disqualifies Animalism as part of a metaphysics of resurrection. Here’s why. If any sort of Animalism is true, then a human person has her human body essentially. Her body changes cells, size and shape, but the human person is nothing but that (changing) body. If her body went permanently out of existence, then that person would go permanently out of existence. Here is a simple argument to show that a biological body is not identical to a resurrection body. Let h be your human biological body, the one that you have now. Let b be your spiritual body, the one that you have in the resurrection. Then: 1. h is corruptible. 2. b is incorruptible. 3. Whatever is corruptible is essentially corruptible. So, 4. h ≠ b. Both the second and third premises may seem open to challenge. Consider the second premise. Someone may hold that resurrection bodies are not really incorruptible; they remain corruptible, but God just prevents them from actual decay.13 I have a couple of responses: first, the suggestion that your resurrection body is the same body as your corruptible Earthly body raises the well-known problems of reassembly of Earthly bodies that, prior to resurrection, have burned 13 This is a suggestion of David Hershenov’s. Hershenov defends a reassembly conception of resurrection.

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to ashes or decayed or been eaten by animals.14 I have been convinced by Peter van Inwagen that God could not restore a particular body by reassembling the particles formerly in the body.15 And the other suggestions about how an Earthly body could survive to be a resurrection body without reassembly (Dean Zimmerman’s and van Inwagen’s)16 seem to me much less plausible than the Constitution View. The next response to the claim that resurrection bodies are not incorruptible comes from Paul, who in I Corinthians 15, calls resurrection bodies “incorruptible” or “imperishable” or “spiritual”, depending on the translation. In The New English Bible, Paul says: “What I mean, my brothers, is this: flesh and blood can never possess the kingdom of God, and the perishable cannot possess immortality.” (1 Cor. 15:50) Although I am leery of proof-texts, Paul’s words clearly suggest that resurrection bodies are not identical to Earthly bodies—despite the tradition to the contrary. So, I stand by the second premise: resurrection bodies are incorruptible. Now consider the third premise. You may think that God, in his omnipotence, could transform a corruptible body into an incorruptible body. I agree. But the transformation would be what Aristotle and Aquinas call a substantial change. The incorruptible body would not be identical to the corruptible body from whence it came. Why not? A corruptible body has different persistence conditions from an incorruptible body. A corruptible body would go completely out of existence under different circumstances from an incorruptible body. Since things have their persistence conditions essentially, a single body cannot change its persistence conditions; so, a single body cannot be corruptible at one time and incorruptible at another time.17 To put it another way: Earthly bodies are organisms, and organisms are essentially carbon-based. Anything that is carbon-based is corruptible. So, 14

But see David Hershenov, “The Metaphysical Problem of Intermittent Existence and the Possibility of Resurrection”, Faith and Philosophy, 20 (2003), 24–36, and “Van Inwagen, Zimmerman, and the materialist conception of resurrection”, Religious Studies, 38 (2002): pp. 451–69. 15 van Inwagen, “The possibility of resurrection”, International Journal for Philosophy of Religion, 9 (1978): pp. 114–21, reprinted in Paul Edwards (ed.), Immortality (Amherst, NY: Prometheus Books, 1997), pp. 242–6. 16 Dean Zimmerman, “The Compatibility of Materialism and Survival: The ‘Falling Elevator’ Model”, Faith and Philosophy, 16 (1999): 194–212, and van Inwagen, “The possibility of resurrection”. 17 Although I am not considering four-dimensionalism here, a four-dimensionalist may hold that a single person could have corruptible temporal parts during part of her existence and incorruptible temporal parts during another part of her existence. Although so far, your temporal parts are all corruptible, after your death, God could make an incorruptible body and freely decree it to be a temporal part of your body. Then, in the sense that a fourdimensionalist construes “same body”—i.e., as being a sequence of temporal parts—you would have (or rather, be) the same body in the resurrection that you have now. Perhaps so, but there are other reasons beyond the scope of this paper for Christians to reject fourdimensionalism.

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anything that is incorruptible is not carbon-based, and is not an organism, not a human biological body. Since resurrection bodies are incorruptible, they are not carbon-based and hence not identical to organisms, human biological bodies. God could transform your human body into a resurrection body in the same way that he transformed Lot’s wife into a pillar of salt. The pillar of salt, which is not organic, is not identical to Lot’s wife’s body, which is essentially organic. (Nor, of course, is the pillar of salt identical to Lot’s wife.) Nothing that is a pillar of salt is identical to Lot’s wife’s body. Similarly, if God changed your human biological body into a resurrection body, the resurrection body would not be identical to your human biological body. So, if Animalism (or Thomism, for that matter) is true, you would not exist in the resurrection. If my argument here is correct, then no view of human persons (like Animalism or Thomism) that construes a person’s corruptible body to be essential to her is consistent with the doctrine of bodily resurrection. Thomism takes over Aristotle’s notion of a human being as a substance for which the body supplies the matter and the soul supplies the form. According to Thomas, then, a human being is a composite of a rational soul (form) and a body (matter). The human being is a substance: the rational soul is not—it is a substantial form that nonetheless can “subsist” on its own. Before the general resurrection, people who have died are in an “intermediate state”, during which the human being (the substance) does not exist. What continues through the intermediate state is the rational soul that subsists (disembodied) until reunited with the body, at which time the human being is recovered. I think that there are two difficulties with Thomism, considered as a metaphysics of resurrection. The first is the same as with Animalism: Thomas requires that a person’s resurrection body be numerically identical to his or her earthly body. But (as we just reflected) resurrection bodies and earthly biological bodies have different persistence conditions, and are thus not numerically identical. The second difficulty is how to individuate disembodied souls. In the case of Immaterialism, we could appeal to haecceities, because according to Immaterialism, the soul itself is a substance. But according to Thomas, the soul is not a substance. Disembodied souls are individuated by the bodies that they long for and desire to be reunited with. Smith’s soul is the one that longs for and desires reunion with a certain body. But what makes a body (mere potency, the matter of which the soul is the form) the body that Smith’s soul longs for? It can only be that Smith’s soul longs for “it”. But since the body is mere potency, there is no “it” for Smith’s soul to long for. Hence, what makes a soul Smith’s soul cannot be the body that it longs for. As Caroline Bynum said in The Resurrection of the Body in Western Christianity, 200–1336, “God can make the body of Peter out of the dust that was once the body of Paul.”18 If this is the case, then disembodied souls cannot be individuated at a time by their yearning for certain bodies—because the identity of 18 Caroline Walker Bynum, The Resurrection of the Body in Western Christianity, 200–1336 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1995), p. 260.

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the body (Smith’s, say) will depend upon the identity of the soul. It is difficult to see how Aquinas can combine the Aristotelian view that matter individuates with his view that the soul is a substantial form that can “subsist”—and experience God—apart from a body. Let me pause here and say that I realize that there is Scriptural basis for the view that resurrection bodies will be identical to human biological bodies. There are puzzling metaphors in 1 Cor. 15 and in 2 Cor. 5, as well as the postresurrection appearances of Jesus, in which he still seems to have his wounds. On the other hand, the fact that he can walk through locked doors and disappear into thin air may lead us to suppose that resurrection bodies are not identical to human biological bodies. But I don’t think that such passages wear their meanings on the sleeve. The Memory Criterion, The Soul-as-Software View, and The Soul-asInformation-Bearing Pattern View: these may be considered together. The Memory Criterion is familiar from Locke (and his Scottish opponents). What I am calling the Soul-as-Software view takes seriously a computer metaphor: the soul is software to the hardware of the brain; if persons are identified with souls (software), they can be “re-embodied, perhaps in a quite different medium,” as D.M. Mackay put it.19 Another materialistic view of the soul (this one from Polkinghorne) conceives of the soul as an “information-bearing pattern, carried at any instant by the matter of my animated body.”20 At death, God will remember the patterns and “its instantiation will be recreated by him” when at the resurrection.21 These views share a widely recognized defect: the Duplication Problem. The problem is that two people (B and C, say) may both be psychologically continuous with (or run the same software, or exhibit the same information-bearing pattern) as a single earlier person, A. If B and C bear exactly the same relationship to A, and if B and C are distinct, then the relation that they both bear to A cannot be identity. A cannot be identical with two distinct objects, and it would be arbitrary to suppose that A is identical to one but not the other. Identity is a one-one relation, but person A’s (quasi-)memories, software, information-bearing pattern, and so on, could be transferred to more than one person. So, sameness of (quasi-)memories, software, or information-bearing pattern cannot suffice for sameness of person. To avoid this problem, defenders of the Memory Criterion and the like usually add the (ad hoc) requirement that there be no duplication. However, there is a theological argument, suggested in conversation by my colleague Gareth B. Matthews, that supporters of the Memory Criterion, and so on, need not worry about duplication and need not appeal to ad hoc stipulations. I’ll call the argument “The Matthews Argument”. The premises of this argument 19 Donald M. MacKay, “Brain science and the soul”, in Richard L. Gregory (ed.), The Oxford Companion to the Mind (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1987), pp. 724–5. 20 John Polkinghorne, The Faith of a Physicist: Reflections of a Bottom-Up Thinker (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1996), p. 163. 21 Ibid., p. 163.

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are explicitly religious. They appeal to God’s necessary attributes—namely, that God is essentially just—and to the notion of a judgment after death. If God is essentially just and God judges everyone, then it is metaphysically impossible for God to let a person A branch into persons B and C. The reason that it would be metaphysically impossible for A to branch into B and C is this: assume that everyone except Christ deserves punishment. God is essentially just and judges everyone. Suppose that person A branched and persons B and C: both B and C had A’s (quasi-)memories (caused in the right way, and so on). Whom does God punish? If God punished B but not C, or C but not B, then God would not be essentially just: B and C are related to A in exactly the same way; it is impossible to be just and to judge B and C differently. On the other hand, if God punished both B and C, then there would be twice the punishment that A deserved, and again God would not be essentially just. Either way, supposing that B and C both had A’s (quasi-)memories (caused in the right way), violates God’s essential justice in judgment. Since God is essentially just, if A deserves punishment, it is metaphysically impossible for B and C both to have A’s (quasi)memories. So, God’s essential justice rules out the metaphysical possibility that A could have a duplicate in the afterlife. The Matthews Argument relies on weighty theological assumptions; but it does rescue the Memory Criterion from the Duplication Problem. And it works equally well to save the Soul-as-Software View and the Soul-as-InformationBearing-Pattern View. So, if the Memory Criterion (or the Soul-as-Software View, or the Soul-as-Information-Bearing View) could be developed in ways that avoid other problems (besides the Duplication Problem), any of them would be suitable candidates for a metaphysics of resurrection. Now let me turn to The Constitution View, according to which sameness of pre- and postmortem person is sameness of first-person perspective. In the first place, the Constitution View avoids some of the pitfalls of the other candidates for a metaphysics of resurrection. Since human persons are essentially embodied, the Constitution View avoids the problem of individuating disembodied souls—a problem that afflicts Thomism. Since a person’s identity depends on her firstperson perspective, the Constitution View avoids the problem of the numerical identity of corruptible and incorruptible bodies—a problem that afflicts both Animalism and Thomism. Still, the Constitution View is not home free. What is needed is a criterion for sameness of first-person perspective over time. In virtue of what does a resurrected person have the same first-person perspective as a certain earthly person who was born in, say, 1800? In my opinion, there is no informative noncircular answer to the question: in virtue of what do person P1 at t1 and person P2 at t2 have the same first-person perspective over time? It is just a primitive, unanalyzable fact that some future person is I; but there is a fact of the matter nonetheless. We can see this by means of an Argument from Providence. Now, according to the traditional doctrine of Providence, God has two kinds of knowledge— free knowledge and natural knowledge. God’s free knowledge is knowledge

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of contingent truths, and his natural knowledge is knowledge of logical and metaphysical necessities. (I’m disregarding the possibility of middle knowledge here.) Again, according to the traditional doctrine of Providence, the obtaining of any contingent state of affairs depends on God’s free decree. Whether the person with resurrected body 1, or body 2, or some other body is Smith is a contingent state of affairs. Therefore, which if any of these states of affairs obtains depends on God’s free decree. No immaterial soul is needed for there to be a fact of the matter as to whether Smith is the person with resurrected body 1. All that is needed is God’s free decree that brings about one contingent state of affairs rather than another. If God decrees that the person with body 1 have Smith’s first-person perspective, then Smith is the person with body 1.22 So, there is a fact of the matter as to which, if any, of the persons in the resurrection is Smith, even if we creatures cannot know it. On the Christian idea of Providence, it is well within God’s power to bring it about that a certain resurrected person is identical to Smith.23 Notice that the Argument from Providence provides for the metaphysical impossibility of Smith’s being identical to both the person with body 1 and the person with body 2 in the resurrection. For it is part of God’s natural knowledge that it is metaphysically impossible for one person to be identical to two persons. And according to the notion of God’s natural knowledge, what is metaphysically impossible is not within God’s power to bring about. Hence, there is no threat from the Duplication Problem. Indeed, this argument from Providence may be used to support, not only the Constitution View, but also Immaterialism, the Soul-asSoftware View, the Soul-as-Information-Bearing-Pattern View and the Memory Criterion, to guarantee a fact of the matter about which person is you in the resurrection. The only views of persons that receive no aid from the argument from Providence are those (like Animalism and Thomism) that require that incorruptible resurrection bodies be identical to corruptible biological bodies. The Relative Merits of the Constitution View The Constitution View can deliver the benefits of Immaterialism and Thomism without having to postulate immaterial souls, which would be surds in the natural world. In light of The Matthews Argument, the Memory Criterion, the Soul-asSoftware View, and the Information-Bearing-Pattern View may be saved from the Duplication Problem, but none of these is really a fully developed metaphysical theory. The Constitution View of persons is superior in that it is integrated into a comprehensive unified view of the natural world.

22 Stephen T. Davis, Risen Indeed: Making Sense of the Resurrection (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1993), pp. 119–21. 23 The idea of haecceity we find in Duns Scotus seems to offer another possibility. God knows our haecceities in this life, but we do not.

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But the real advantage of the Constitution View, at least for Christians, is over Animalism. In contrast to Animalism, the Constitution View does not take being a person to be just a contingent and temporary property of beings that are fundamentally nonpersonal (organisms). On Animalism, being a person has no ontological significance at all. Indeed, on the Animalist view, our having first-person perspectives (or any mental states at all) is irrelevant to the kind of being that we are. But the Christian story cannot get off the ground without presuppositions about firstperson perspectives. On the human side, without first-person perspectives, there would be no sinners and no penitents. Since a person’s repentance requires that she realize that she herself has offended, nothing lacking a first-person perspective could possibly repent. On the divine side, Christ’s atonement required that Christ suffer, and an important aspect of his suffering was his anticipation of his death (for example, the agony in the Garden of Gethsemane); and his anticipation of his death would have been impossible without a first-person perspective. This part of Christ’s mission specifically required a first-person perspective. What is important about us (and Christ) according to the Christian story is that we have first-person perspectives. Also, of course, there is Gen 2:26, according to which God said: “Let us make man in our image, after our likeness.” A natural reading of this verse is that we were made to be persons, to be capable of reflective thought about ourselves—in short, to have first-person perspectives. On the Animalist view, our first-person perspectives are just contingent features of us. On the Constitution view, they are essential to us. Given how important the first-person perspective is to the Christian story, Christians have good reason to take our having first-person perspectives to be central to the kind of being that we are. Hence, Christians have good reason to endorse the Constitution View.24

24

This paper was presented as a plenary address at the Society of Christian Philosophers meeting at San Diego University in February, 2006. I am very grateful to the SCP and to Gareth B. Matthews and David Hershenov for reading drafts of this paper and for making helpful comments.

Chapter 10

Hylomorphism and the Constitution View* Josef Quitterer

Introduction In the search for a non-dualistic theory of post-mortem survival, Hylomorphism seems the natural point of departure. Adopting the Aristotelian notion of the soul as substantial form of the body, Thomas Aquinas explicitly rejects the dualistic identification of the person with the immaterial soul.1 The human person is seen as an embodied entity, and as such she can survive her own death only with her body.2 Surprisingly, the majority of contemporary non-dualistic proponents of post-mortem survival have a negative attitude towards the Thomistic conception of immortality and resurrection. They deny that the concept of the soul is needed for a coherent non-dualistic account of post-mortem survival. According to them, the soul carries the entire ontological burden in the transition from death to resurrection. The main problem is located in the state of the soul between death and resurrection: What happens to the soul in the period immediately after death when it is no longer the form of the living organism and not yet the form of the resurrected body? Eric Olson puts this problem in the following way: your hylomorphic soul can continue to exist after your death, when it no longer configures any matter. Not that it comes to configure some sort of immaterial stuff: it exists in a disembodied state as pure form.3

That Thomas Aquinas posits the disembodied existence of the soul in the period between death and resurrection is regarded as clear evidence for a residual substance dualism in his conception of the mind-body relationship. The hylomorphic account of the soul is labeled “compound dualism”4 or is characterized as a “hybrid of

This article was made possible by a research grant of the Austrian Science Fund, no. P20186-G14. 1 Aquinas, S.Th., I, 75, 4. 2 Aquinas, S.c.G., IV, 79. 3 Eric T. Olson, What are we? A Study in Personal Ontology (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), p. 174. 4 Kevin Corcoran, Rethinking Human Nature: A Christian Materialist Alternative to the Soul (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker, 2006), p. 39. *

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Immaterialism and Animalism.”5 Lynne Rudder Baker explicitly presents her own view—the Constitutionalist approach—as an alternative to “Thomas Aquinas’ hybrid Immaterialism.”6 In my paper I concentrate on this alleged opposition between the Constitution View and Hylomorphism. The following analysis will show that these views not only encounter the same difficulty in the problematic gap between death and resurrection, but also propose similar solutions to it. Constitution View and the Heritage of John Locke The main reason for Constitutionalists to reject Hylomorphism is the Thomistic thesis that the soul is a substantial form. This thesis is regarded as inconsistent: on the one hand, Aquinas denies that the soul is a substance in the first sense; on the other hand, he claims that it is not only substantial but even an incomplete substance.7 In their rejection of a substantial soul Constitutionalists follow John Locke, who identifies the old notion of soul with an immaterial spiritual substance and deems the concept of self to be sufficient for guaranteeing personal identity through time. Locke distinguishes the concept of “self” from the concept of “man”: self is a psychological term denoting human persons. “Man” is a biological term denoting the human organism and his bodily existence. There is another correspondence between Locke and the Constitution View regarding the definition of persons. According to Locke, a person “is a thinking intelligent being, that has reason and reflection, and can consider itself as itself, the same thinking being in different times and places … ”.8 Lynne Rudder Baker, the main proponent of the Constitution View, explicitly agrees with Locke in this respect.9 According to Baker, that what “makes a human person a person is the capacity to have a first-person perspective.”10 She defines having a first-person perspective as having the “ability to conceive of oneself as oneself”11 or as having Lynne Rudder Baker, “Material Persons and the Doctrine of Resurrection”, Faith and Philosophy, 18 (2001), p. 152. 6 Ibid., p. 153; a similar view is presented in Corcoran, Rethinking Human Nature, pp. 39ff. 7 According to Corcoran, the soul is a form but at the same time it is a substance that can survive the death of the body. See Kevin Corcoran, “The Constitution View of Persons”, in J.B. Green and S.L. Palmer (eds), In Search of the Soul. Four Views of the Mind–Body Problem (Downers Grove: InterVarsity Press, 2005), pp. 153–76, p. 162. 8 John Locke, An Essay Concerning Human Understanding, ed. Alexander C. Fraser (2 vols, New York: Dover, 1959), vol. 1, Book II, ch. 27, §9. 9 Lynne Rudder Baker, Persons and Bodies: A Constitution View (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), p. 9. 10 Ibid., p. 91. 11 Ibid., p. 66. 5

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“a perspective from which one thinks of oneself as an individual facing a world, as a subject distinct from everything else.”12 From this conception of personhood a third correspondence follows between the Constitution View and Locke; it concerns the persistence conditions of human persons: according to Locke, the diachronic identity of persons is constituted by the cognitive function of self-reflection or self-consciousness: in this alone consists personal identity, that is, the sameness of a rational being: and as far as this consciousness can be extended backwards to any past action or thought, so far reaches the identity of that person; it is the same self now it was then13

For Locke, the diachronic identity of a person depends on the sameness of (reflexive) consciousness: P1 at t1 is the same person as P2 at t2 if and only if P1 possesses the same consciousness as P2. Possessing the same consciousness includes the ability to remember previous conscious experiences. On the Constitution View, it is the sameness of the first-person perspective which is essentially connected to the diachronic identity of persons: “person P1 at t1 is the same person as person P2 at t2 if and only if P1 and P2 have the same first-person perspective.”14 This persistence condition has to be presupposed as a truthmaker in the religious belief that I will survive my death. The answer to the question of immortality and resurrection depends on what the correct conception is of the diachronic identity of persons. According to the Constitution View, I am essentially a human person. Therefore my survival depends exclusively on the fact that I have, after my death, the same first-person perspective that I had before: “The Constitution View is compatible with the doctrine of resurrection only if it allows that x and y can have the same first-person perspective.”15 There is, however, a decisive difference between Locke’s position and the Constitution View. Whereas the former denies that persons are substances, the latter defines persons as “basic substances.”16 This different attitude towards persons and substances has consequences for the persistence conditions of persons: according to Locke, there is no intrinsic link between the diachronic identity of substances and that of persons. Continuous non-interrupted existence is a condition for the diachronic identity of substances but not of persons. A substance “is the same, and so must continue as long as its existence is continued.”17 The diachronic identity of a substance S not only presupposes the constant non-interrupted existence of S but also the ongoing presence of the same properties (or ideas) which we attribute to S. The complex 12 13 14 15 16 17

Ibid., p. 60. Locke, ch. 27, §9; see also §10. Baker, Persons and Bodies, p. 133. Baker, “Material Persons”, p. 159. Baker, Persons and Bodies, p. 9. Locke, ch. 27, §3.

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idea of a substance presupposes “that a certain number of these simple ideas go constantly together” and are “presumed to belong to one thing.”18 Continuous non-interrupted existence is not only a condition for the diachronic identity of substances but also for that of organisms. In the case of persons, though, continuous non-interrupted existence does not seem to be a necessary condition for their diachronic identity. The reason for this special ontological status of persons lies in Locke’s assumption that diachronic personal identity is preserved exclusively by the same consciousness, by the same reflexive access a person has towards her own mental states. Continuous non-interrupted existence cannot be a requirement for the diachronic existence of persons because there are periods in the life of a human person in which she is not conscious at all. We can assume such nonconscious stages during anesthesia, sleepless dreaming, comas, and, last but not least, in the state between death and resurrection. If we depart from a Lockean conception of diachronic personal identity, such non-conscious stages cannot be integrated into the existence of human persons. Strictly speaking, we do not have personal existence during these stages of human existence. Although the possibility of interrupted personhood might be extremely counterintuitive, it does not contradict Locke’s own ontological framework. The strict separation between the diachronic identity of substances and that of persons allows temporal gaps within personal existence. Remote person-stages are bound together through memory. The same consciousness can unite very remote existences into the same person;19 according to Locke, consciousness can bridge enormous temporal periods: “if Socrates and the present mayor of Queenborough agree, they are the same person.”20 Such quotations underline that for Locke continuous non interrupted existence—which is necessary for substances and organisms to exist as numerically the same—is obviously not a necessary requirement for the diachronic existence of persons. The case is different for the Constitution View. Corcoran states that the Constitution View “shares with both dualism and animalism a basic allegiance to so-called Aristotelian or substance ontology.”21 Therefore, persons have to meet the identity conditions of substances, which include their continuous and noninterrupted existence. If a person x is a basic substance and ceases to exist at t1, she cannot come into existence again as numerically the same substance at t2.

18

Ibid., ch. 23, §1. Locke, ch. 27, §23 and esp. §16: “… it is plain, consciousness, as far as ever it can be extended, should it be to ages past, unites existences and actions, very remote in time, into the same person, as well as it does the existences and actions of the immediately preceding moment: so whatever has the consciousness of present and past actions, is the same person to whom I belong.” 20 Ibid., ch. 27, §19. 21 Corcoran’s article in this volume (Chapter 11), p. 197. 19

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The Problem of “Gappy Existence” Surprisingly, neither Baker nor Corcoran seems to be much concerned about the possibility of gappy personal existence. Baker assumes that her view “is compatible with there being a temporal gap in the person’s existence.”22 Corcoran is aware of the problem of gappy existence, but appeals to God’s miraculous power as a solution: Some philosophers, and probably some theologians as well, hold that it is impossible for a bodily thing to have two beginnings; that is, that a bodily being like an organism cannot begin to exist, cease, and then begin again to exist. I am not among those philosophers and theologians. I see no a priori reason to reject the possibility of gappy existence, even for physical objects. I admit, however, that absent a miracle, the prospects for gappy existence look pretty bleak. But I am a Christian theist, and I believe in miracles.23

In his solution to the problem of gappy existence Corcoran seems to accept a divine violation of basic principles of substance ontology. The question arises whether this solution of the incompatibility between substance ontology and the belief in the resurrection is philosophically consistent. From his justification of belief in the resurrection it is apparent that Thomas Aquinas was aware of these ontological implications. In the Summa Contra Gentiles he mentions three arguments against the possibility of resurrection, each of which refers in some way to the impossibility that entities with interrupted existence be numerically identical.24 The reference to divine power is used against only one of the three arguments; and even in this single case he does not assert that God re-creates numerically identical individuals after they cease to exist. Divine power merely somehow repairs a heavily damaged entity.25 Hence, according to Thomas Aquinas, resurrection does not require a violation of basic metaphysical principles—for example a violation of the requirement of continuous existence. In his miracle argument, though, Corcoran justifies the possibility of a conception of resurrection extending beyond the limits of metaphysical possibilities within substance ontology. Instead of accepting a divine violation of basic ontological principles, the problem could be resolved by using a different ontological framework: the incompatibility between substance ontology and the belief in resurrection could be interpreted as evidence that substance

22

Baker, “Material Persons”, p. 162. Corcoran’s article in this volume (Chapter 11), p. 202. 24 S.c.G., IV, 80. 25 S.c.G., IV, 81: “… cum virtus divina maneat eadem etiam rebus corruptis, potest corrupta in integrum reparare.” 23

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ontology is not an adequate ontological tool for the reconstruction of an essential element of the Christian belief system.26 Apart from his miracle account, Corcoran proposes a view of persistence in the afterlife which allows for the possibility of intermittent existence without violating basic metaphysical principles of substance ontology. In this account he refers to Dean Zimmerman’s conception of “immanent causal relations”: “A human body B that exists at t2 is the same as a human body A that exists at t1 just in case the temporal stages leading up to B at t2 are immanent-causally connected to the temporal stages of A at t1.”27 According to Corcoran, “nothing in the condition for the persistence of bodies just suggested rules out the possibility of intermittent existence.”28 Does immanent causation really permit a metaphysically sound solution to the problem of gappy existence? Zimmerman’s conception of immanent causality is originally designed to “spell out the conditions under which temporal parts constitute a persisting thing.”29 Basic substances, though, do not have temporal parts. Corcoran uses a modified version of the conception of immanent causation which Zimmerman designed specifically for an endurantist framework—for “those who reject temporal parts.”30 In this modified version Zimmerman reformulates immanent causation as a relation between the “temporal event-stages” of “the intrinsic history” of the object in question.31 There is, though, one decisive difference between the original and the modified version of the conception of immanent causation, and this difference matters for the question of gappy existence: in opposition to the temporal-parts version, in the endurantist version immanent causal relations cannot bridge gaps between intermittent existent entities. As Zimmerman himself notes, temporal stages “are not literal parts of the persisting object.”32 Therefore, causal relations between them cannot be used to connect entities which are really (literally) temporally disconnected. Such a connection would presuppose the existence of temporal parts. The diachronic identity of an enduring entity cannot be based upon specific causal relations between successive temporal stages, because the enduring object itself is basic and determines which relations are intrinsic and which are extrinsic. The assumption of immanent causal relations between temporal stages 26 Perhaps this is the main reason why Christian Materialists are attracted to four– dimensional ontologies. See Hud Hudson, A Materialist Metaphysics of the Human Person (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2001). 27 Kevin Corcoran “Physical Persons and Postmortem Survival without Temporal Gaps”, in Kevin Corcoran (ed.), Soul, Body and Survival: Essays on the Metaphysics of Human Persons (Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 2001), pp. 201–17. 28 Ibid. 29 Dean Zimmerman, “Immanent Causation”, Nôus 31, Supplement: Philosophical Perspectives 11: Mind, Causation, and World (1997): pp. 433–71. 30 Ibid., p. 456; Corcoran, “Physical Persons”, p. 209, fn. 19. 31 Zimmerman, “Immanent Causation”, p. 457. 32 Ibid., p. 458.

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of the intrinsic history of a substance already presupposes the numerical identity of that substance.33 It can be concluded that appeal to immanent causal relations is not a metaphysically sound way to resolve the problem of the intermittent or gappy existence of persons which are substances. Does that mean that there is no adequate “view of persistence into an afterlife” within purely constitutionalist terms? Does the Constitution View have to rely upon the identity conditions of Animalism in justifying the diachronic existence of persons? As a matter of fact, on the Animalist approach there is no interrupted personhood. Throughout the existence of an organism, ongoing life processes guarantee the continuity of a given animal. However, what seems to be an advantage for diachronic identity during life becomes a disadvantage for a philosophical justification of resurrection or immortality: the animal which I am must persist in some way. According to van Inwagen, not even an almighty God can recreate the same human being after a total destruction. Spatiotemporal physical continuity is necessary for the persistence of human organisms.34 If my resurrection is successful, the life of my body has to continue in some way even when I die. Animalism cannot appeal merely to some form of physical continuity between the earthly and the resurrected body. Since a human being x is identical with a human being y if and only if x and y share the same continued life, the life of the animal which resurrects must continue beyond death without interruption. As a consequence a human being never dies, strictly speaking.35 Is there any way of resolving the problem of interrupted personal existence within the framework of the Constitution View? As we have seen above, the diachronic identity of human persons is preserved through the same first-person perspective: “person P1 at t1 is the same person as person P2 at t2 if and only if P1 and P2 have the same first-person perspective.”36 A narrow reading of this definition of diachronic personal identity would imply that any unconscious moment in a person’s life, in which that person is not engaged in any first-person referential activities, would be a gap in her existence. If this person is a basic substance, this gap would be equivalent to the end of her existence. As we have seen above, a human person who ceases to exist cannot begin again to exist as numerically the same person. A more comprehensive reading of the Constitution View, though, does not suggest that a limited interpretation of diachronic personal identity. On such a reading, personhood is not limited to self-referential activities which actually occur. 33

My argument is built upon E.J. Lowe’s discussion on the circularity of criteria for the identity of simple substances. See Ernest Jonathan Lowe, The Possibility of Metaphysics. Substance, Identity, and Time (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1998), p. 170ff. 34 Corcoran, “Physical Persons”, p. 214: “… human persons are essentially physical objects and … physical objects cannot enjoy spatiotemporally discontinuous existence.” 35 Ibid., p. 214. 36 Baker, Persons and Bodies, p. 133.

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According to Baker, “what makes a human person a person is the capacity to have a first-person perspective.”37 Periods of non-consciousness do not affect the existence of a person as long as she has the capacity to engage in self-referential activities.38 It is the capacity for a first-person perspective which guarantees personal existence in the absence of occurring manifestations of first-person activities. If we combine this result with the definition of diachronic personal identity from above, we get the following modified version of the definition of diachronic personal identity: A person P1 at t1 is the same person as person P2 at t2 if and only if P1 and P2 have the same capacity for a first-person perspective. Employing Gilbert Ryle’s distinction between episodic and dispositional terms,39 “first-person perspective” should not be understood as an episodic term referring exclusively to the single manifestations of occurrent first-person activities; it is rather a dispositional term which expresses a certain capacity or power to perform specific activities. Sameness of first-person perspective as the basic condition for diachronic personal identity is shifted from an episode which actually occurs—being actually involved in self-referential activities—toward a disposition—having the capacity for self-referential activities. The capacity to have a first-person perspective guarantees personal identity through time in those periods of our existence in which there is no self-referential activity—in dreamless sleep, coma and other non-conscious periods. The following solution suggests itself to the problem of interrupted personal existence between death and resurrection: Baker’s statement that “personal identity over time is unanalyzable in any more basic terms than sameness of first-person perspective”40 should be reformulated in the following way: personal identity over time is unanalyzable in any more basic terms than sameness of the capacity to have a first-person perspective. It is the capacity to have a first-person perspective which guarantees the diachronic identity of persons in those periods in which there is no self-referential activity. The capacity to have a first-person perspective is more basic than the (manifest) first-person perspective itself. On the basis of these assumptions the self-referential capacity is the best candidate to guarantee diachronic personal identity also in that period of transition which is assumed by those who believe in immortality and resurrection. Baker’s statement that “the Constitution View is compatible with the doctrine of resurrection only if it allows that x and y can have the same first-person perspective”41 could be completed in the following way: x and y can have the same first-person perspective before and after death, if and only if x and y have the same capacity for the first-person perspective before and after death.

37 38 39 40 41

Ibid., p. 91 [my emphasis]. Ibid., p. 92. Gilbert Ryle, The Concept of Mind (London: Hutchinson, 1949). Baker, Persons and Bodies, p. 138 [my emphasis]. Baker, “Material Persons”, p. 159.

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Hylomorphism and the Constitution View Now that we have on hand the Constitution View’s account of personal existence beyond death, we can revaluate whether it is inconsistent with the Hylomorphic account. As we saw above, it is the role of the substantial soul in the transition from death to resurrection which is the main target of the Constitutionalist critique of Hylomorphism. It is obviously true that for Thomas Aquinas the soul plays a key role in a philosophical justification of immortality and resurrection. A closer analysis of the concept “soul” shows, however, a closer vicinity to the Constitution View than proponents of the latter would probably admit. In his arguments for human resurrection, Thomas Aquinas employs the concept of the soul presented in Aristotle’s De Anima. The notion of the soul as a substance, which is heavily criticized by Constitutionalists, is not the residue of Platonic dualism, but has its roots in Aristotle’s ontological classifications: in the introduction of De Anima Aristotle invokes the least common denominator of different conceptions of the notion “soul”: “soul” is the principle of living beings.42 If “soul” refers to the essential constituent of a living being, the only possible category for it is the category of substance, for the essential principle of a living being cannot be an accidens. The soul is substance in the sense of a formal principle—it is the substantial principle in virtue of which a body is a living body. The human soul is the form of the human organism and makes it the kind of living substance it is.43 The decisive point is that the reality of the soul is classified by Aristotle as a dispositional and not a categorical form of reality. In De Anima, 412a 24f., Aristotle makes it clear that the soul is actuality “in the first sense, viz. that of knowledge as possessed … but not employed …”. If the soul is the principle of the identity of an organism, it guarantees identity as a dispositional and not as a manifest reality. The soul as the basic capacity of all cognitive and non-cognitive activities guarantees personal identity even through the most dramatic changes of living beings. This is for Thomas Aquinas a sufficient reason to attribute to the soul a key role in his philosophical justification of personal endurance beyond biological death.44 This notion of the soul as a basic capacity yields one major compatibility between the Hylomorphic understanding of diachronic personal identity and that of the Constitution View. Our analysis has shown that, on a coherent interpretation of the Constitution View, it is not the manifestation of self-referential activities which guarantees the diachronic identity of persons; it is rather the capacity to have a first-person perspective which does so—especially in those periods of their 42

Aristotle, “De Anima” [De an.], in W.D. Ross (ed.), The Works of Aristotle (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1952), vol. 3, 402a 6f. 43 De an., 412a 7ff. 44 S.c.G., IV, 81: “… impedire non potest quin homo idem numero resurgere possit. Nullum enim principiorum essentialium hominis per mortem omnino cedit in nihilum: nam anima rationalis, quae est hominis forma, manet post mortem … .”

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existence in which they are not conscious at all. For this reason, the capacity to have a first-person perspective is the best candidate to guarantee personal identity between pre- and post-mortem existence. In a similar way it could be assumed that the soul as the basic capacity of all living activities guarantees personal identity, even if people’s mental activities are temporarily out of function. Taking on board the assumption that both the Constitution View and Hylomorphism employ a basic capacity or a basic disposition as a principle for diachronic personal identity, we can now compare the two approaches: which gives the most comprehensive philosophical justification of post-mortem survival conceived as bodily resurrection? Without doubt, the biggest merit of the Constitution View consists in its emphasis on the first-person perspective. A metaphysical justification of postmortem survival which presupposes the sameness of the first-person perspective avoids the branching problem: there might be cases of vagueness or uncertainty concerning the diachronic identity of a person x with one of two successors—a person y or another person z. In such cases neither physical nor psychological criteria provide sufficient grounds for a decision concerning the numerical identity between x and one of its successors y or z. It is the basic (not further analyzable) fact of the first-perspective access we have towards ourselves by which we can resolve such cases of vagueness or indeterminacy of diachronic personal identity.45 At first glance it seems impossible to locate the first-person perspective within the Hylomorphic account of the soul. One reason lies in the historic fact that the concepts of consciousness and self-consciousness have been designed mainly by post-Cartesian philosophers.46 But the non-existence of these terms does not imply that the content of these concepts is totally alien to the Hylomorphic approach. Whether the first-person perspective can be integrated in the Aristotelian concept of the soul depends also on the way “first-person perspective” is defined. First, it has to be noted that all perceptual and cognitive activities which Aristotle mentions in De Anima are self-referential in themselves. In De Anima III, 2 Aristotle argues that it is one and the same perceptual act by which we see the object and perceive that we see the object. Otherwise we would have an infinite regress: “it is through sense that we are aware that we are seeing or hearing it …”.47 Caston describes this conception of consciousness in the following way: Animate things are not only aware of objects in their environment through perception; they are also aware of undergoing this alteration itself.48

45

Baker, Persons and Bodies, pp. 132–141. See Kathleen V. Wilkes, Real People: Personal Identity without Thought Experiments (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1993), p. 171. 47 De an., 425b 11. 48 Victor Caston, “Aristotle on Consciousness”, Mind, 111 (2002): pp. 751–815, p. 757. 46

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Shivola is even more explicit concerning Aristotle’s theory of reflexive consciousness: We perceive that we see through the very same act of seeing through which we see ordinary visible objects so that this act includes two aspects: (a) the seeing of a visible object, and (b) the reflexive consciousness of the act itself. This consciousness is both intrinsic, that is, included in the original perceptual act and higher-order, that is, intentional and relational by being reflexively directed to the very same perceptual act itself.49

A similar argument is developed by Aristotle when it comes to the intellect. He states that the intellect recognizes itself when it recognizes an object.50 Therefore, reflexive awareness could be integrated in Aristotle’s concept of the soul even if the notion of “consciousness” is not yet available. There is, however, a qualitative difference between Aristotle’s theory of self-reflection and modern conceptions based on Descartes’s or Locke’s views of self-consciousness. In Aristotle, selfreference is primarily the relation a perception or cognition has towards itself. This does not imply some form of special inner access the mind has towards its own mental states. Introspective access would presuppose a second mental or perceptual act, which has the first one as an object of its own representation. This is rejected by Aristotle because it would lead to an infinite regress: the inner perception as a representation of the perception itself would require again another inner perception of the (first) inner perception and so on.51 For this reason, there are no meta-representations for Aristotle which could bind together (into one consciousness) the different perceptual and intellectual states. Self-referential activities cannot—contrary to Locke’s proposal—generate personal identity. According to Simpson it is not even required that there be a unity or continuity between them: the principle of personal identity is not identical with acts of self-consciousness, or even with what is immediately known in acts of self-consciousness. Acts of self-consciousness are intermittent, but the actuality of the soul is not. … Selfconsciousness might, then, be Humean: a mere bundle of otherwise independent states. From outside a given individual’s consciousness, however, there will be no doubt that all the acts belong to one soul52

49

Juha Shivola, “The Problem of Consciousness in Aristotle’s Philosophy”, in S. Heinämaa, V. Lähteenmäki and P. Remes (eds), Consciousness: From Perception to Reflection in the History of Philosophy (Dordrecht: Springer, 2007), pp. 49–66, p. 56. 50 De an., 430a, 2f. 51 De an., 425b, 16. 52 Peter Simpson, 2001, “Aristotle’s Idea of the Self”, The Journal of Value Inquiry, 35 (2001): pp. 309–24, p. 315.

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Intellectual and perceptual activities are not unified through self-representation but through the same principle of all biological and cognitive activities from which they derive. It is the unity of the soul which guarantees that specific perceptual and cognitive activities are the activities of one and the same subject. The thinking and perceiving subject is not constituted by such mental activities. Since self-referential activities are not totally alien to the Aristotelian notion of the soul, the emphasis on the first-person perspective alone cannot be considered a clear advantage of the Constitution View. The first-person perspective could be integrated without difficulty into the classical concept of the soul. Some aspects of Hylomorphism, however, are more attractive for a comprehensive understanding of the Christian conception of post-mortem-survival as bodily resurrection: having the same first-person perspective does not per se imply bodily resurrection. Sameness of the first-person perspective alone would be totally compatible with a purely dualistic account of post-mortem survival. Bodily resurrection follows from a second premise which is logically independent of the concept of firstperson perspective; it follows from the premise that human persons are essentially constituted by bodies; only for this second reason does the immortality of persons require a bodily aspect as well. The Hylomorphic account of the soul does not need another—logically independent—premise to justify bodily survival. It accounts not only for the connection between different mental activities but also for the interrelation between biological and cognitive functions or processes. Cognitive capacities are to be understood against the background of the entire organization underlying the organism. Aristotle argues against a strict separation of the mental from the biological. The tripartite distinction of the soul into the vegetative, sensible, and rational soul shows clearly that the basic capacities of nutrition, growth, and sense perception are necessary for the rational part to function. For Aristotle there is just one subject—the animate organism—that in virtue of its nature is able to do all the things that a living being of a specific kind typically does. Frede stresses this point in regard to the human intellect: On Aristotle’s considered view human intellectual intuitions importantly differ from the other so-called affections of the soul, but they do not differ from them in such a way as to justify our postulation of an intellect or a soul as the proper subject of these intuitions or thoughts.53

In the Aristotelian-Thomistic tradition the soul plays an essential role in explaining mental phenomena. But its explanatory scope does not end here. Biological phenomena belong to the explanandum of the soul as well. The assumption that the soul is the form of the human organism shapes the philosophical 53 Michael Frede, “Aristotle’s Notion of Potentiality in Metaphysics Θ”, in Theodore Scaltas, David Charles, and Mary L. Gill (eds), Unity, Identity and Explanation in Aristotle’s Metaphysics (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994), pp. 173–93, p. 106.

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account of post-mortem survival. The role of the soul is not to be the immaterial person. According to Thomas Aquinas, the soul guarantees diachronic personal identity beyond death, but at the same time Thomas acknowledges a profound change to the detriment of the personal integrity of the deceased person, as long as the soul has no attendant body. Even if the human soul can endure when its body is destroyed, Thomas stresses that the soul is not the human person but only an incomplete remnant which lacks most of the capabilities human persons normally have. Therefore, the soul as the substantial form of the organic body cannot guarantee the existence of the person without this body. For Thomas Aquinas it is exactly at this point where Christian belief in the resurrection of the body acquires its philosophical plausibility. The inner logic of the concept of the immortal soul implies the resurrection of the body; or, as Thomas Aquinas puts it, as the substantial form of the body the soul is naturally united to the body and cannot survive death perpetually, that is, without being reunited to the body. “Therefore, the immortality of souls seems to demand a future resurrection of bodies.”54 Thus Christian belief in the resurrection of the body is a logical consequence of the belief in the immortality of the (Aristotelian) soul. As the basic capacity of our living activities the soul requires bodily resurrection. Baker rejects the idea that the resurrected body is numerically the same as the pre-death body. In her arguments for the non-identity of the two bodies she refers to their essential properties: the pre-death body is corruptible, the postdeath (resurrected) body is incorruptible, and therefore the two bodies cannot be numerically the same.55 The concept of the soul, however, does not only imply some form of bodily survival, it guarantees also the numerical identity of the resurrected body with the pre-death body. Radical transformation of the earthly into a heavenly body does not exclude the numerical identity of the post-death with the pre-death body. In his argument, Aquinas refers to the common-sense intuition that in everyday life we assume that our body remains numerically the same body even if it undergoes dramatic changes.56

54

S.c.G., IV, 79. Baker, “Material Persons”, p. 165. 56 S.c.G., lib. 4 cap. 81: “Quod enim non impedit unitatem secundum numerum in homine dum continue vivit, manifestum est quod non potest impedire unitatem resurgentis. In corpore autem hominis, quandiu vivit, non semper sunt eaedem partes secundum materiam, sed solum secundum speciem; secundum vero materiam partes fluunt et refluunt: nec propter hoc impeditur quin homo sit unus numero a principio vitae usque in finem. Cuius exemplum accipi potest ex igne, qui, dum continue ardet, unus numero dicitur, propter hoc quod species eius manet, licet ligna consumantur et de novo apponantur. Sic etiam est in humano corpore.” 55

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Concluding remarks I come to a conclusive evaluation of the comparison between the Constitutionalist and the Hylomorphic reconstruction of the belief in resurrection: the Constitution View is skeptical of the Hylomorphic account of the soul as a principle for justifying the diachronic identity of human persons beyond death; instead of this, it relies upon the sameness of the first-person perspective. Its rejection of the concept of the soul is based upon a more general suspicion that the Hylomorphic notion of the soul as forma substantialis presupposes a dualistic version of the mind-body relationship. There are two reasons why this suspicion is unjustified: first, the notion of the soul guarantees identity not as a manifest but as a dispositional reality.57 Being a capacity or a disposition cannot be the kind of substance which is presupposed in substance-dualism. The human soul as the basic capacity of all living activities not only guarantees diachronic personal identity in non-conscious stages of our existence or after dramatic personality changes; it is also used by Thomas Aquinas for a metaphysical justification of diachronic personal identity beyond death. Second, a closer look at the Constitution View reveals that the first-person perspective alone cannot guarantee diachronic identity, especially in periods of loss of consciousness and dramatic personality changes. The capacity to have a firstperson perspective is more basic than the self-referential activities themselves. The capacity to have a first-person perspective can be subsumed under the same category as the Aristotelian soul—it is a basic disposition which guarantees the diachronic identity of human beings. Moreover, the Hylomorphic notion of the soul offers a non-dualistic understanding of what it means to have a capacity of a mental life or a capacity for a first-person perspective: the fact that the rational activities of the soul make us what we most fundamentally are—persons or rational beings—does not imply that our identity over time is guaranteed exclusively by means of our intellectual or self-referential activities. Mental activities like reflection are a necessary precondition for referring to ourselves as entities enduring in time, but this does not mean that our endurance in time is constituted by that reflection. Being identical through time is prior to our reflection on this identity. It is not, pace Locke, by referring to ourselves that we constitute ourselves as enduring entities. The most basic principle of consciousness and of our identity through time is established, previously to our self-referential activities, in the organizational structure of our organism. For this reason bodily resurrection is for Thomas Aquinas not only a matter of religious belief and a consequence of God’s intervention; it is also the only way personal existence beyond death can be brought into a philosophically coherent framework.

57

De an., 412a 24f.

Chapter 11

Constitution, Resurrection, and Relationality Kevin Corcoran

Introduction Many theologians, and many philosophers in the Continental tradition of philosophy, stress the fundamentally relational character of personhood.1 Some go farther than simply stressing the relational character of personhood; they seem to suggest jettisoning a “substance ontology” (an ontology of individuals) in favor of a “relational ontology” tout court. For the most part, philosophical accounts of personhood in the analytic tradition of philosophy, like my own, have had little if anything to say about relationality as an essential feature of human personhood. Here are a few reasons, however, for believing that the feature of relationality ought to occupy a prominent place in any complete account of the nature of human persons. First, consider the Christian claim that God himself exists in three persons in intimate Trinitarian relation. Consider too the Christian claim that we human persons are created in the image of God. Furthermore, consider the account of the creation of human beings in Genesis 2; it is especially suggestive. Following many divine pronouncements of “it is good” after various acts of creation, we read, “it is not good”. What is not good, of course, is that “man” should be alone in the earth. And so God creates an-other human being to whom the first is to stand in relation. Even before the creation of another human being, the first human appears in the Christian story already embedded in relations—relations to God (a community of persons—Father, Son and Holy Spirit), to non-human animals, and to the rest of the biosphere. Moreover, we human beings are also eschatologically, relationally oriented. Our ultimate end in the New Jerusalem is a communal reality. So according to the biblical narrative in Genesis, human beings first appear already within the context of others, both human and non-human, and according the whole Christian narrative we are also pointed toward a future

1 See for example Catherine LaCugna, God For Us: The Trinity and Christian Life (San Francisco: Harper Collins, 1991); Tom Flores, “The Perichoretic Negation of Sacred Violence: Foundational Possibilities for Reinventing Culture”, http://www.religion.emory. edu/affiliate/COVR/FloresWord.html; see also, Stuart L. Palmer, “Christian Life and Theories of Human Nature”, in Joel B. Green and Stuart L. Palmer (eds), In Search of the Soul. Four Views of the Mind–Body–Problem (Downers Grove: Intervarsity Press, 2005), pp. 189–215.

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in community. Human persons are always—from the beginning of the Christian narrative to its very end—persons-in-relation. In the pages that follow, I first elaborate the Constitution View of human persons and contrast it with Substance Dualist and Animalist Views of persons. Next, I address head-on the issue of relationality. I point out that what I offer as a necessary and sufficient condition for something’s being a person—possessing a first-person perspective—is plausibly regarded as a social or relational emergent feature of human personhood. Moreover, according to the Constitution View (CV), this emergent feature is ontologically significant. That is to say, according to CV it is not just that some thing (a human animal) gains a new property with the emergence of a first-person perspective; rather, according to CV, an entirely new thing comes into being with the emergence of a first-person perspective, that is, a person. CV stresses that this person is not immaterial, but material, sharing with its constituting human organism all of its matter. I conclude the paper by clarifying the implications of CV concerning such things as community and isolation. I also make a few observations about constitution, embodiment, and the Christian doctrine of the resurrection. What I hope to show is that, despite claims to the contrary, CV ought to be found especially congenial to those stressing the relational character of personhood. A Metaphysics of Constitution According to CV, we human persons are constituted by our bodies without being identical with the bodies that constitute us. This is not an ad hoc claim. I believe that lots of medium-sized physical objects stand in constitution relations. For example, statues are often constituted by pieces of marble, copper, or bronze. But statues are not identical with the pieces of marble, copper, or bronze that constitute them. Likewise, dollar bills, diplomas, and dust-jackets are often constituted by pieces of paper. But none of those things is identical with the piece of paper that constitutes it. Why do I say this? Well, because there is a very good test for determining whether some thing, x, is identical with a thing, y. Ask yourself: are there any properties that the one has but the other lacks? If so, then x and y are not identical. Are there any changes that x could undergo without ceasing to exist but which y could not undergo without ceasing to exist, or vice versa? If so, then x and y are numerically distinct things. Even if x and y possibly differ, then x and y are not identical. Outside philosophical contexts we use the term “identical” or the phrase “the same as” in a loose and non-technical sense. We might say, for example, that your car is “the same as” mine or that we have “identical” shirts. What we mean is that our cars or shirts look exactly alike. When philosophers use the term “identical” or the phrase “the same as” they think in terms of number, the number one. And with respect to number, of course, you and I do not have the same car or shirt; you have one and I have one, and one plus one makes two. So philosophers, at least when

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speaking with philosophical seriousness, would not say that we have identical shirts or that your car is the same as mine. Now consider the case of a particular copper statue. Is the piece of copper numerically the same as the statue? I think not. For it’s possible that the piece of copper survive changes that would bring about the destruction of the statue. For example, extreme heat or repeated blows with a sledgehammer might destroy the statue but not the copper. Why not the copper? Because we can imagine the piece of copper surviving being hammered flat, say, but not the statue. Well, a single thing cannot both survive and fail to survive through the same changes. So, if the piece of copper can survive through changes that would destroy the statue, the piece of copper is not identical with the statue. Similar distinctions apply to dollar bills, tables, physical organisms of various kinds, and the things that constitute them. So according to a metaphysics of constitution, two material objects will be said to stand in constitution relations one to the other just in case those objects are (a) spatially coincident (that is, wholly occupy the same space) and (b) belong to different kinds. To say that two material objects are “spatially coincident” is just to say that the objects share the same matter. In other words, every atom that composes the one composes the other. The statue and the piece of copper share the same matter and so are “spatially coincident”. (Defenders of constitution like to say that constitution is as close as you can get to identity without identity, for precisely this reason: since two objects that stand in constitution relations share all the same matter, you can’t pull them apart.) But pieces of copper and statues are, pretty obviously, objects of different kinds. Indeed, as we have seen, an object of the one kind can survive through changes that would terminate the existence of an object of the other kind.2 That’s the general shape of the constitution relation. Although I do not want to claim that Aristotle himself held a CV of medium-sized physical objects, I do want to suggest that CV bears certain similarities to Aristotle’s metaphysics of material substance. I say this to highlight the fact that CV has historical antecedents. Elements of the view are there, I believe, in Aristotle, as well as in John Locke, for example. A Constitution View of Persons On a constitution account, human persons are constituted by bodies but are not identical with the bodies that constitute them. Why say so? First consider what it is in virtue of which some object is a person and what it is in virtue of which some object is a body. Though it is difficult to state conditions that all and only 2

For those who prefer bells and whistles, here’s a characterization of the relation using logical notation: x constitutes y only if: (i) x and y wholly occupy the same space, and (ii) there are different sortal properties F and G, and an environment E such that (a) (Fx and x is in E) and (Gy and y is in E) and (b) (∀z) [(Fz and z is in E) ⊃ (∃w) (Gw and w is in E) and (w ≠ z)].

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persons satisfy, I think we can say with some confidence that persons (human or otherwise) are, minimally, beings with a capacity for what philosophers call “intentional states”, that is, mental states like believing, desiring, intending, and so on. Intentional states are about things or are directed at things. For example, you have beliefs about the weather or math or your spouse. Your desires are directed toward the new car, the promotion, or growing in your devotion to Jesus. By contrast, water flowing through your radiator or the electrical currents flowing through a circuit are not about anything, they are not directed at anything.3 Now, I say persons are “minimally” beings with the capacity for intentional states because, of course, there are things that satisfy the condition that can plausibly be regarded as non-persons; for example, dogs. Dogs too have desires and even, I would suggest, very simple beliefs like, “there’s food over there”. My point about intentionality is this: if something (a rock or a transistor radio, for example) does not so much as have a capacity for intentional states it seems equally obvious that that thing is not a candidate for personhood. So, if a being lacks a capacity for intentional states, then that being, whatever it is, is not a person. Moreover, persons are also the only sort of thing that has what Lynne Rudder Baker calls a first-person perspective.4 A first-person perspective is more than just a perspective on the world or a locus of consciousness, as lots of non-personal creatures have that (like dogs). A first-person perspective is the capacity to think of oneself as oneself, without the need of a description or third person pronoun. For example, I can think of myself as myself without thinking of myself as Kevin Corcoran, without thinking of myself as the author of “Constitution, Resurrection and Relationality” and without thinking of myself as the lone Irishman in the Calvin philosophy department. When I wonder, for example, whether I will live long enough to see my children marry, I am thinking of myself from the firstperson perspective. It is the capacity for a first-person perspective that distinguishes persons from non-persons. And it is this feature of personhood that all non-human animals seem to lack and which disqualifies them from personhood. Constitutionalism, Dualism, and Animalism According to Substance Dualism there are two fundamental kinds of finite substance in the natural world: bodies and souls. Human bodies are unthinking, 3 I would argue also that the neural firings occurring within the human brain are likewise not about anything. They are like the electrical currents flowing through a circuit. Thus, I would plump for a non-reductive theory of mind and the mental. But this nonreductionism about the mental is not logically entailed by my metaphysics of human nature. One could embrace a constitution account of human persons and reject non-reductionism concerning the mind. 4 See Lynne Rudder Baker, Persons and Bodies: A Constitution View (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), especially ch. 3.

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spatially extended things (that is, they are spread out in space). They are quite ordinary physical objects composed of ordinary matter in complex configurations. Since they are unthinking, they have no mental or psychological properties. Human persons or souls, on the other hand, are spatially unextended, thinking things. They are non-physical and as such have no mass or physical location. It is souls that think, experience pleasure and pain, set goals and act to accomplish them. When body and soul are functioning properly together, one soul will interact with a single body and that body will provide that soul with sensory input which the soul will utilize in various mental tasks. Souls but not bodies are specially created by God. Bodies, being ordinary biological animals, reproduce in the ordinary way. That’s the Cartesian version of Substance Dualism. One of Descartes’s arguments for the non-identity of soul and body was based on the putative possibility of Descartes’s existing (as a mental thing or soul) without his body existing. On the plausible assumption that one thing cannot exist without existing, it follows that souls and bodies are numerically different things. Since Descartes took himself to be an essentially thinking thing, Descartes concluded that he (that is, the soul that is Descartes) was not identical with his body and could exist without it. Another argument Descartes offered was based on the putative impossibility of dividing a mind (or soul) into parts. Coupling the claim that bodies are, where souls (or minds) aren’t, divisible into parts led Descartes to conclude, again, that soul and body are two different things. According to the most plausible version of Cartesian Dualism, in other words, we are identical with immaterial souls and are not identical with human bodies. That’s the Cartesian version of Substance Dualism. William Hasker has introduced a new version of Substance Dualism, which he terms Emergent Dualism. According to Emergent Dualism, immaterial souls emerge naturally during the course of biological evolution. Souls are, therefore, a part of nature and are generated by natural biological processes. They are said to stand in relation to human bodies in roughly the way an electromagnetic field stands in relation to its generating source. This version of Dualism contrasts with Descartes’s in interesting and important respects. Even so, Emergent Dualism agrees with Cartesian Dualism in claiming that human persons are immaterial souls that can exist (with divine assistance) apart from the bodies that generate them. Animalism, in contrast to Dualism, denies that there are immaterial souls populating the natural world. Absent an immaterial soul with which to identify a human person, the most obvious candidate for the object that is me is a physical organism, that is, the human animal that is my body. Indeed, according to Animalism, we are essentially and most fundamentally animals and only contingently persons. In other words, according to Animalism, the property we have of being a person is like the property of being a student. “Student” is, in philosophical parlance, a phase sortal. That is to say, being a student is a phase most of us go through, and some longer than others. You are a student during some phase or phases of your existence and not a student during others. You can gain or lose the property of

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being a student without ceasing to exist. You are not, in other words, a student essentially. Again, according to Animalism, so too with personhood. You are a person during certain phases of your existence, but not at others (for example, as an early term fetus you lacked the property of personhood). On the other hand, you are an animal essentially, according to Animalism. You cannot cease to be an animal without ceasing to exist altogether. As I see it, CV captures the insights of both Animalism and Dualism without giving in to the excesses of either. Along with Dualism CV asserts that we are not identical with our bodies. Yet CV denies that we are immaterial souls. Along with Animalism CV asserts that we are wholly physical objects and that our coming to be and persisting require the coming to be and persisting of a biological organism. In these ways CV also agrees with the non-reductive physicalism described by such folks as Warren Brown and Nancey Murphy. But CV also takes a stand on a substantive philosophical issue not addressed, so far as I can tell, by Brown’s and Murphy’s non-reductive physicalism. CV, for example, denies that we are numerically identical with organisms, and also denies the claim that we can persist through the loss of a first-person perspective. In other words, CV denies that we have the persistence conditions of an organism and denies too that the emergence of a first-person perspective is ontologically insignificant, adding no new kind of thing to the world. Before moving on I want to say something more about the soul. I want to avoid presenting my view as an alternative understanding of the soul. I do this because I believe that what most people understand by soul is pretty much what Descartes understood by mind, that is, an immaterial thing or substance. Most people do not mean to refer to a cluster of properties that contribute to who and what we are as persons by use of the term soul. When I say that I am not an immaterial soul I do not of course mean to deny that I am a thinking, feeling, relational, moral being; that I possess those sorts of properties. I am indeed that sort of being insofar as I am a person. I simply mean that the thinking, feeling, relational, moral being that is me is not immaterial, nor does it have any immaterial parts. In order to avoid misleading readers, I prefer to say that CV offers an alternative view of human nature; one not requiring an immaterial soul.5

5 Not only does my version of CV not countenance immaterial souls, it also fails to qualify as a “minimal dualism”, as described by Stephen Evans. Evans claims that insofar as CV allows for the separability of person and body, it is insofar forth a version of Dualism. On my view, it is not possible for a human person to exist without his or her body existing. So, on my view, and contrary to Evans, there is not even the possibility of separability of a person from his or body. See Stephan Evans, “Separable Souls: Dualism, Selfhood, and the Possibility of Life after Death”, Christian Scholars Review, 34/3 (2005): pp. 327–40.

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Constitution and Relationality The Constitution View of human persons, as I have elaborated it, differs from both Dualism and Animalism in important respects. Even so CV shares with both Dualism and Animalism a basic allegiance to so-called Aristotelian or substance ontology. In seeking answers to the questions “What is a human person?” and “How is a human person related to his or her body?” CV assumes that the natural world is populated by mind-independent “individuals”,6 “substances”, or “concrete particulars”, and that those individuals or substances have properties (some essentially and others non-essentially or accidentally) and enter into relations with other individuals. On such a view, therefore, there is a distinction between substances or concrete particulars, on the one hand, and properties and relations, on the other. With respect to interpersonal relations, it is particulars that make up the relata of the relation. Relations are not themselves concrete particulars.7 The Constitution View of human persons offers answers to the following two questions. First, what are the necessary and sufficient conditions for something’s falling under the concept person? And second, how is a human person related to the human body she calls her own? To the first, CV says that something is a person if, and only if, that thing possesses a first-person perspective. To the second question, CV says that we human persons are related to our bodies by constitution, which is not identity. In answering this way, CV makes no explicit mention of the relations in which a particular person stands to other such persons. The same is true of dualist views and animalist views of personhood. They too make no mention of relations in their accounts of personhood. On all these views—CV, Dualism, and Animalism—as LeRon Shults says in a related context, “[w]hat we might call a thing’s towardness does not really get at its whatness …”.8 Or, as he says elsewhere, “the relations of a thing to other things are not essential to … what [that thing] is.”9 To the extent that CV, as I have articulated it, makes no mention of relational elements in its

6 The Constitution View does not assume that all things are mind-independent. Insofar as the view countenances artifacts, and artifacts require intentional and relational properties for their existence (i.e., they require a community of intentional beings like ourselves with certain interests), it follows that some things or concrete particulars are not, in fact, mindindependent but mind-dependent. 7 I think of things as the most general category and its two main sub-categories as substance and non-substance. So there are substantial things and non-substantial things. Among the substantial things are you, your pet dog or cat and your liver. These are concrete particulars. Among the non-substantial things are stuffs (like butter and water), properties and relations. These are not concrete particulars. 8 See LeRon Shults, Reforming Theological Anthropology. After the Philosophical Turn to Relationality (Grand Rapids, MI: 2002), p. 14. 9 Ibid., p. 15.

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account of personhood, some critics of CV charge that it is in some important sense inconsistent or at odds with relationalist views of personhood. Responding to my articulation of CV, for example, Stuart Palmer has gone so far as to claim that my view “puts us far down the road of the myth of the autonomous individual and supports alienation from social context.”10 Palmer believes that a preferred alternative to CV would call attention to “the construction of the self as ineluctably nested in social relationships” and urges “the importance of relational interdependence for human life and identity.”11 Moreover, based on the privileged place the first-person perspective holds in my account of personhood, Palmer says the following: An analytic method is inclined primarily toward an introspective, inward focus that results in a proclivity toward defining the person in autonomous and selfreferential terms. Accordingly, Corcoran’s theory retains little place for the relational dimension’s role in constructing human identity12

This emphasis on the relational is taken up by LeRon Shults. He points to Kant as initiating a philosophical turn toward relationality and away from the Aristotelian privileging of substance and essence. Shults traces the recovery of relationality as constitutive of things through the philosophy of Hegel, Kierkegaard, Heidegger, Peirce, Whitehead, and Levinas.13 The notion that relations are crucial to the development of a self is highlighted in the work of contemporary psychologists as well. Says Shults, In contemporary psychology, and in the anthropological sciences generally, human persons and communities are described in ways that recognize that their relations are constitutive. A person is no longer defined as an individual substance of a rational nature (Boethius) or as a punctual self (Locke) … [R]elations are not accidental or irrelevant but in some sense constitutive of the person.14

And in a footnote, Shults contends that “Aristotle was right that we say things about things, but we should also say that the relations of things are essential to their being thingy [sic].”15 With respect to relations, accounts of personhood like my own have tended to follow Aristotle in this respect and not Kant and his descendents. For this reason, 10

Palmer, p. 204. Ibid., p.190. 12 Ibid., p. 211. 13 See LeRon Shults, “The Philosophical Turn to Relationality”, in Dana Wright (ed.), Redemptive Transformation in Practical Theology, (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2002), p. 32. 14 Shults, Reforming, p. 31. 15 Ibid., p. 32. 11

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views like my own have come under attack from those whose intellectual pedigree runs through Kant, Hegel, Heidegger, and Levinas. A Constitutional Amendment I said in the introduction that the feature of relationality ought to hold a prominent place in any complete account of the nature of human personhood. It does not or at least has not held a prominent place in analytic accounts of human nature, like my own. The conclusion to draw here is simply that analytic accounts of personhood are not complete accounts. But I would urge you to keep in mind that they do not pretend to be. Perhaps this will help. There are at least three claims that need to be disentangled in the debate concerning personhood. First is the claim that relations are somehow constitutive of personhood, part of what it is in virtue of which something is a person. Second is the suggestion that, if relations are somehow constitutive of what a thing is, then this entails that persons are not individual substances. Finally, there is the claim that CV is, and analytic views generally are, incompatible with the claim that human persons are essentially persons-inrelation and that such views entail “individualism” and contribute to “alienation from social contexts”. To the first claim—that relations are constitutive of personhood—I want to respond in no uncertain terms. I agree; point granted. While it is strictly speaking true, on CV, that the having or not having a first-person perspective is what determines personhood, it is, of course, neither the whole truth nor perhaps even the most interesting or meaningful part of the story about personhood. A complete account of personhood from a Christian perspective must be sensitive to Christian theology, especially to a theology of God, who, though one is yet three persons in intimate, perichoretic, Trinitarian relation. Here is why I quite agree with Palmer and others that relations are, in an important sense, “constitutive” of personhood. First, it seems to me quite likely that the capacity to think of oneself as oneself without the need of a description or third-person pronoun (characteristic of a first-person perspective), requires a social environment of some sort. Indeed this is what social psychologists and the early pragmatist philosophers tell us. They tell us that this capacity is socially emergent, requiring social interaction, a linguistic community, and human intersubjectivity for its emergence.16 In other words, what I offer as a necessary and sufficient condition for something’s being a person—a first-person perspective—is itself a social or relational emergent feature. What CV adds to this insight is the claim that this emergent feature adds to the world’s contents. It is not just that some already existing thing gains a new property with the emergence of a first-person perspective; rather, CV claims that an entirely new individual comes into being 16 See for example George Herbert Mead, Mind, Self and Society (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1934).

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with its emergence, a person. So relations are, in a very important sense, essential to what we are insofar as they appear to be part of the causal story of the emergence of a first-person perspective. While I agree that Palmer and other critics of CV are correct in this regard, they are nevertheless mistaken when they claim that CV is inconsistent with claims about the significance of relations, and especially human relations and community. Perhaps it will also be helpful to point out here that it is often the case that in stating conditions that are metaphysically or conceptually necessary for something’s being a so-and-so, one generally does not include causally necessary conditions. For example, if one were to offer an account of the necessary conditions for something’s being a bicycle, one would include such things as that the object must have two wheels and be manually powered, by pedaling, for example. One would not include such conditions as that the wheels be the result of some sort and degree of human manufacture even though part of the causal story of there being such things as bicycles no doubt includes the human manufacture of wheels. Likewise, with respect to human persons, interpersonal relations are part of the causal story of personhood. Insofar as personhood would not emerge independent of a sociallinguistic community, relationality is causally necessary. But it is not unusual, as we have just seen, for what is causally necessary not to show up in an account of the metaphysically necessary conditions for something’s being a person. Moreover, this distinction between metaphysically necessary conditions and causal requirements helps us to see that while it is true, according to CV, that “[w]hat we might call a thing’s towardness does not really get at its whatness,” it is false that “the relations of a thing to other things are not essential to … what [that thing] is.” It is false if by “essential” we mean to include not just what is conceptually necessary, but also what is a causal requirement. With respect to causality, the relation of human animals to human persons is essential to something’s being a person. Second, on CV human persons are essentially bodily beings and, as I see it, essentially constituted by the bodies that do in fact constitute them. What distinguishes me from every other possible person is that only I can think of my body in a first-person way and that I think of my body in a first-person way when, for example, I do not need a name, description, or third person pronoun in order to identify the person whose left shin or nose is itching when my left shin or nose is itching. Not all first-person intentional states involve a body, of course. For example, when I think “I feel sad and alone” or “I don’t know that I’ll ever understand you”, I do not make reference to a body. But, if my view of the relation between human persons and bodies is correct, there simply would be no “I” to think those thoughts if there were no body that is mine. So, in order for something to be a person it must possess a first-person perspective. In order for something to be a human person it must have a body that it, and it alone, can think of in a first-person way. Now a particular human person is who she is not just in virtue of having a first-person perspective or having a body that she, and she alone, can think of in a first-person way. Rather there are many sorts of properties that make someone who he or she is. Some

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such properties are broadly psychological, like one’s particular likes and dislikes, loves and hates, particular memories, particular hopes, and so on, while others are dispositional. The peculiar way Mother Teresa reached out with compassion to the unloved and unwanted of Calcutta, the humble confidence with which she spoke to the powerful of the earth, and the arresting simplicity with which she carried out her mission—these made Mother Teresa who she was. And these properties are irreducibly relational in nature; that is, they require a linguistic, social environment in order to be manifested; they could not have been made manifest in introspective isolation nor could they have been made manifest by a disembodied soul. Not only the persons we become, therefore, but our very coming to be, requires more than a biological organism with a network of neural circuitry of the requisite configurational complexity (though it requires that); it requires a rich social and linguistic environment of others in response to whom, or in relation to whom, the first-person perspective emerges. This is why it is important that we distinguish the question “What am I?” from the question “Who am I?” To the first, I answer that I am a person, where personhood is understood in terms of a first-person perspective. To the latter I would appeal to such properties as those under discussion. An awful lot of confusion could be avoided, I believe, if we keep these questions separate. CV is offered as a metaphysical account of what we are. It was never intended to provide an account of the sorts of properties that make us who we are. In short, relationality is clearly central to who we are and who we become. And indeed it is in this neighborhood (and not the metaphysician’s!) that perhaps the most interesting and most meaningful aspects of human existence are to be found. But I want to stress that relationships are also constitutive of what we are. For without a web of relationships among human animals it is unlikely that a firstperson perspective ever would have evolved. Notice that nothing I have said by way of underwriting the importance of relations to personhood requires replacing an ontology of individuals or substances with a relational ontology, although some seem to speak as though it does. It is, after all, concrete particulars that make up the relata of a relation. It is not, in other words, relations all the way down, so to speak, with no particulars standing in those relations. The constituents of the Holy Trinity are themselves individual persons who stand in intimate, perichoretic relations. And historically, the elaboration of the Trinity in the Western church occurred within a milieu the members of whose ontology were manifestly individuals and not relations. Heeding the advice of the theologians and philosophical heirs of Kant requires a project of recovery for sure; but it does not require replacement. What needs to be recovered is the importance of relations to the coming to be of persons and to the persons we become.

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Constitution and Resurrection One of the most important issues, if not the most important issue, in discussing the resurrection is that of guaranteeing the numerical identity of the human persons who put in an appearance in the New Jerusalem with those whose physical or organismic lives come to an earthly end. This problem is especially acute for the growing number of us who believe that there are no such things as immaterial souls to do the work of securing identity. The different accounts of postmortem survival that I have explored in various places have been meant to satisfy a particular account of the persistence conditions for organisms. According to this condition—the immanent causal condition—a human body (or organism) B that exists at some later time is the same as a human body A that exists at some earlier time, in virtue of persisting from the earlier to the later time, just in case the temporal stages leading up to B at the late time are immanent-causally connected to the temporal stage of A at the earlier time. The main idea here is that if a body B that exists at a later time is going to be numerically the same as a body A that existed at some earlier time, then A and B must be immanent-causally related. On such a view as this material continuity is not necessary for the persistence of bodies. What matters is that there be a special kind of causal continuity between A and B, that there be a life-preserving causal relation connecting A and B. It should be pointed out that the immanent causal condition on the persistence of human organisms is a condition that applies only during the temporal stretches in which an organism exists. If our existence can have gaps in it, that is, if we can exist, cease to exist, and then begin again to exist, then, quite obviously, the account does not apply during the gap, that is, during the temporal stretch during which we do not exist. The condition is a condition for our persistence or continued existence. Some philosophers, and probably some theologians as well, hold that it is impossible for a bodily thing to have two beginnings; that is, that a bodily being like an organism cannot begin, cease, and then begin again to exist. I am not among those philosophers and theologians. I see no a priori reason to reject the possibility of gappy existence, even for physical objects. I admit, however, that absent a miracle, the prospects for gappy existence look pretty bleak. But I am a Christian theist, and I believe in miracles. Elsewhere I have offered reasons for believing that immanent causal relations can cross a temporal gap. But let’s suppose, for the sake of argument, that it’s not possible for immanent casual relations to cross gaps. Does it follow that resurrection life is impossible? Absolutely not. For one could argue that the immanent-causal condition is a diachronic condition and applies across an interval of time during which the organism exists. But take the first instant of my body’s pre-gap existence. At that instant there are no stages to be immanent-causally connected. But it is this body which God caused to exist. Well, if God causes this very body to exist once why couldn’t God cause it to exist a second time? Perhaps like the first time, once

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it is brought into existence what will make it the case that some later stage is a stage of the same body is that immanent causal relations link those stages. But what makes the first stage of the post-gap body a different stage of the same body that perished is just that God makes it so. Alternatively, one might argue that the “must” in there must be an immanent causal link between two stages if those are stages of the same body needn’t be a metaphysical “must”, that is, a “must” that applies in every possible situation. It could be a nomological “must”, that is, it could be what must occur given the laws of nature that obtain in the world we inhabit. In other words, one could argue that the immanent-causal condition is not a metaphysically necessary condition on the persistence of bodies, but a nomologically necessary one. And since it is reasonable to believe that the “natural” laws that govern the postmortem world of the New Jerusalem might be quite different than those governing this world, it may not be the case that immanent causal connections unite the last stage of the pre-gap body and the first and succeeding stages of the post-gap body. Even so, all of those stages could be stages of the same body. Resurrection and Relationality Let me offer in closing some preliminary thoughts on the doctrine of the resurrection in light of our reflections on the essential, relational character of human beings. In thinking about the resurrection—our resurrection—we must begin with God, of course. We human beings are created in the image of God, a God who exists in three persons in mutually reciprocated, intimate, perichoretic relations of love. Although we among all things in the natural world are said to bear the image of God, all of natural reality reflects the inner and dynamic reality of a God who exists in three intimately related persons. Consider the dance of electron and proton, for example. The electron orbits the proton to which it is attracted while repelling other electrons. At the level of quanta, the natural world certainly cannot accurately be described in terms of isolated, atomistic particles. Indeed, when once two quanta have interacted they are said to retain a mutual causal influence on each other regardless of how far they might travel one from the other. Those quanta, in other words, continue to function as a kind of unified system even when spatially segregated. Turning our attention to humans, eschatological passages in both the Hebrew and Christian scriptures make it clear that our end—like our beginning—is to be found in a community of others. The prophet Isaiah, chapters 24–27, for example, speaks of both the judgment of earth and heaven as well as the universal flourishing, redemption, and re-gathering of the children of Israel and all the lost in Assyria. Judgment and redemption. The particular/exclusive (Israel) and the universal/inclusive (all people) are mentioned in connection with the judgment and redemption, the banquet laid out “on that day” when Jerusalem has become the “the heavenly city”. The Christian scriptures do not abandon the communal

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vision of the end that is guaranteed by God’s covenant with the earth, and with us. From St. Matthew’s parable of the wedding feast, to which “many are called”, from Paul’s letters and his ubiquitous use of the plural pronouns “we” and “us” when speaking of the resurrection and the life of the world to come, to John’s revelation where “all the peoples” gather before the Lord—the image of the eschaton as a cosmic, social and communal reality is carried forward in continuity with the Jewish imagery of the Hebrew scriptures. Setting the Record Straight on Entailment I said earlier that there were three claims that needed to be disentangled. First was the claim that relations are somehow constitutive of personhood, part of what it is in virtue of which something is a person. It was this claim that I happily granted insofar as relations seem to figure crucially in the causal story of the emergence of a first-person perspective. The second was that a recognition of relations as essential requires giving up an ontology of particulars and replacing it with an ontology of relations. That, I have argued, is false. Recognizing relations as essential to personhood requires recovering relations in our account of persons. It does not require replacing an ontology of particulars with one of relations as fundamental. Finally, allow me to say a word about what analytic views like CV (and even Cartesian Dualism) do and do not entail. Remember that according to Palmer, analytic views of personhood like CV entail alienation from social contexts and social isolation. That, however, is false. In fact, even if it were the case that we are immaterial souls, as Dualism claims, that would not by itself entail individualism or social isolation. After all, those who gave birth to our Christian accounts of community, forgiveness, and the Holy Trinity itself, were immaterialists and dualists about persons. And the three persons of the Trinity are conceived to be immaterial persons (even by materialists like me!). So it simply cannot be that an immaterial nature is by itself sufficient for self-absorption or social alienation, which is sometimes charged to the dualist account. The persons of the Trinity are neither socially isolated nor self-absorbed. Granted, there are historical links between Dualism or immaterialism about human persons and all sorts of social ills. But there is no logical link. We would do well, I think, to remember also the historical links between materialist views of nature (and human nature) and social atrocities. One need look no farther than the Soviet pogrom, the rape of Nanking, and the Revolution in China in order to see that a metaphysics of materialism is just as prone to social atrocities. With respect to CV and the charge of leading to alienation from social contexts and individualism, I hope that what I have already said about the ineluctably relational nature of human persons is sufficient to refute this claim.

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Conclusion On CV human persons are constituted by their bodies without being identical with the bodies that constitute them. We human persons are material beings, I have tried to argue; and relations, I have tried to stress, are essential to something’s being a person insofar as a first-person perspective seems to require a social-relational context for its emergence. The claim that relations are essential to something’s being a person does not require giving up an Aristotelian ontology of substances or particulars in favor of a fundamental ontology of relations. Nor is it the case that analytic views of personhood, including Cartesian Dualism, entail selfabsorbed individualism and social isolationism. Maybe if there is anything to be learned from this study it is this: Christian philosophers in the analytic tradition of philosophy could benefit from listening to the theologians and psychologists if we wish to offer a fuller account of human nature. And if I may be so bold as to suggest it, the theologians might also benefit from what we analytic philosophers have to contribute to discussions of human nature.

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Chapter 12

Joseph Ratzinger on Resurrection Identity Christian Tapp

Introduction A central object of Christian hope is that God will resurrect you on the Last Day. If it is really you who is subject to resurrection, then there must be quite a strong relation between you and somebody in heaven (I use “heaven” as shorthand for the realm of the resurrected without any further connotations), a relation so strong that the existence of that heavenly person makes the statement “you were/have been resurrected” true. Let me call this relation “resurrection identity”. Resurrection identity resembles ordinary personal identity. We are essentially human persons, and so must our heavenly counterparts be. But perhaps they need not share all the characteristics associated with the ordinary personal identity of human persons. For example, we usually assume that personal identity presupposes some sort of space-time continuity (or the weaker principle “different places at the same time means different persons”). But space-time continuity seems too strong a principle for resurrection identity because it is hard to believe that the world to come is material like our actual world is. Whichever way, the criteria for ordinary personal identity are subject to lively philosophical debate. I want to leave open the exact nature of the relation between resurrection identity and ordinary personal identity. Perhaps they are the same relation, perhaps not. Resurrection identity itself already furnishes the most crucial question: if it is we who are resurrected and/or eternally relegated to condemnation or heaven, then the traditional doctrines of Christian individual eschatology are supremely relevant for us. What do they teach about how we survive our death? Eschatology was a key focus in Joseph Ratzinger’s work as a theological scholar, featuring in several articles and finally a book entitled “Eschatology” (1977), which is also available in English translation.1 Eschatology remained central to his thought even in his papacy, which is confirmed, for example, by his second papal encyclical, “Spe salvi” (2007).2 We thus have not only a famous 1

Joseph Ratzinger (Pope Benedict XVI.), Eschatologie: Tod und ewiges Leben, Kleine Katholische Dogmatik 9, 2nd edn (Regensburg: Pustet, 1978), English trans.: Eschatology: Death and Eternal Life (Washington, D.C.: CUA Press, 2007). In the following, this work is cited in the form English translation/German original. 2 Pope Benedict XVI., “Litterae Encyclicae Spe salvi”, Acta Apostolicae Sedis, 99 (2007): pp. 985–1027.

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academic theologian dedicating himself to eschatology but the Pope himself whose thinking still focuses on it. So whom, if not him, shall we ask about how we survive death?3 Ratzinger belongs to a small group of traditional theologians whose thinking is both well rooted in Christian tradition and sensible to philosophical problems connected with it. He explicitly recognizes the problem of identity through death. For example, when discussing views like “total death theories” and Luther’s “death sleep”, he says: If there is no soul, and so no proper subject of such a ‘sleep’, who is this person that is going to be really raised? How can there be an identity between the human being who existed at some point in the past and the counterpart that has to be recreated from nothing? The irritated refusal of such questions as ‘philosophical’ does not contribute to [making sense of the matter].4

This can be read as an invitation to address the philosophical problems attending the Christian hope for the resurrection of the dead. What is this hope about? What is its object? The creeds are scarce on the topic. The Nicene-Constantinopolitan Creed includes only belief in “the resurrection of the dead”. The Apostles’s creed is somewhat more specific in confessing “the resurrection of the body”. In an early encyclopedia article, Ratzinger concentrated on the binding doctrine of the Catholic Church with respect to resurrection in two dogmatic propositions: (Dog1) Resurrection is universal: each and every person will be resurrected. (Dog2) Resurrection includes the body: transformed, but somehow identical with our current body.5 But how can bodies that decay be resurrected? And what insures that the resurrected body is mine? What makes it me who is resurrected? Is (Dog2) tacitly supposing a soul as guarantor of resurrection identity? Finding answers requires deeper examination both of Ratzinger’s writings and their historical context. 3 For an overview over Ratzinger’s eschatology see Thomas Marschler, “Perspektiven der Eschatologie bei Joseph Ratzinger”, in Peter Hofmann (ed.), Joseph Ratzinger: Ein theologisches Profil (Paderborn: Schöningh, 2008), pp. 161–91; for more details consult Gerhard Nachtwei, Dialogische Unsterblichkeit. Eine Untersuchung zu Joseph Ratzingers Eschatologie und Theologie, Erfurter Theologische Studien 54 (Leipzig: St. Benno, 1986). 4 Ratzinger, Eschatology, p. 106/p. 94. The ending of the above quotation has been modified, for the German original: “Die unwillige Abweisung solcher Fragen als ‘philosophisch’ trägt nichts dazu bei, die Sache sinnvoller zu machen,” is much stronger than the original English translation. 5 Joseph Ratzinger, “Auferstehung des Fleisches”: “I. Lehre der Kirche” and “VI. Dogmengeschichte”, Lexikon für Theologie und Kirche, 2nd edn (2 vols, Freiburg, Basel, and Wien: Herder, 1957), vol. 1, cols 1042 and 1048–52, col. 1042.

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The following discussion of Ratzinger’s thoughts on these questions relies on several of his papers and on the Eschatology book. It must however be noted that this book is neither a handbook on eschatology nor what may be called a systematic tractatus, maintaining instead its original tone as a lecture course. It was not intended to present a uniform theology with every sophisticated element worked out in detail. Its aim was instead to familiarize beginners with the core ingredients of Christian eschatology. The Traditional View Challenged Ratzinger’s eschatological views developed in the context of turbulent discussions in the 1950s concerning individual resurrection and the notion of soul. Key words included “resurrection-in-death”, “complete death theories”, “intermediate state problem”, and “the Assumption Dogma”. Before the Second Vatican Council summaries, like the following, of the Catholic Church’s teaching about the future of an individual after death were common: the soul will separate from the body, the body will more or less decompose in the grave while the soul is put on individual trial; then, if necessary, the soul will undergo purgatory before waiting in Christ for the Last Judgment when all flesh will be resurrected, that is, all of the deceased will receive bodies and be judged, gaining admittance to glory or condemnation. Although this rough picture is inadequate to the elaborated theology of earlier times, it is probably a fair description of what most ordinary Christians believed. What makes this picture interesting is that it presupposes a soul-body-duality, as a matter of course and as almost self-evident. For some people the Christian doctrine may have looked like a simple addition: an element from the Greek platonic tradition, namely the immortality of the soul, plus an element from the Hebrew tradition, namely the resurrection of the flesh.6 To shorten a complex history: around the turn of the twentieth century, theologians became more and more aware of the fact that traditional theology contains traces of both true biblical faith and Greek philosophical thought. The suspicion arose that the original biblical faith had been intermingled with alien elements. So there began a strong movement among theologians to find the original true biblical faith behind its alleged philosophical or metaphysical disguises.7

6 In Ratzinger, “Auferstehung des Fleisches”, Sacramentum Mundi 1 (1967): cols 397–402, Ratzinger describes that view with reservation, formulating his two-total-answers theory, see below. 7 Ratzinger himself claims that the church has dogmatized not the body-souldistinction but only the contents of Christian faith formulated by such philosophical means. He, too, presupposes that dogma has a content that can to some extent be distinguished from its philosophy-impregnated formulation.

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Early twentieth century Protestant theology developed a radical view concerning the soul, proclaiming an opposition between Christian faith and philosophical thought, or faith and reason. Resurrection was said to be pure grace and was opposed to the Greek doctrine of the immortality of the soul. For these Protestant theologians, the notion of soul itself became suspect. Death was seen as the complete destruction of the human person, not only of his or her body, and resurrection was conceived as complete re-creation. Some positions admitted no intermediate state but rather a dying-into-God’s-timelessness (Stange, Brunner), while others contained some sort of intermediate state like a Lutheran death-sleep (Cullmann) or a being kept in God’s will (Althaus). It was exactly these positions that Ratzinger criticized in the above citation. What secures the identity of the recreated person with the completely (!) destroyed earlier one? In Catholic theology the discussion grew lively in the 1950s and 1960s in connection with the new dogma, binding from 1950, of the assumption of Mary with body and soul into the glory of heaven. Catholic theologians joined their Protestant colleagues in emphasizing the need to distinguish biblical hope for resurrection from philosophical belief in the soul’s immortality. But in general their position posited not so much an antagonism as an important but not necessarily exclusive distinction.8 Karl Rahner was among the first to remind theologians of the problem of a bodiless soul. In my words: either you emphasize that human beings are a unity, in which case a soul without a body cannot be in a state of real perfection and fulfillment, or you emphasize that souls are what matters, so they can be subject to perfection and fulfillment, which requires either devaluing the body to a mere accidental thing (or even a “prison” of the soul) or abandoning the unity of human beings. Ratzinger’s Opposition to the Resurrection-in-Death Theory These problems led some theologians, including Gisbert Greshake and Gerhard Lohfink, to question the theological usefulness of the notions of soul and intermediate state. They developed the view of a “resurrection in death”, which claims that resurrection occurs at the moment of death.9 Ratzinger criticized several aspects of the resurrection-in-death theory. The following touches on three points of critique from which we can distill elements of Ratzinger’s own position. I then turn to greater detail on a fourth point. (1) According to Ratzinger, Greshake and Lohfink’s dropping of the future moment of resurrection yields the result that resurrection is a non-historical event. On their view it is equally remote from every point in time, in the sense that it can equally be said to have already occurred or to occur at any time. But, in Ratzinger’s 8 See Theodor Schneider, Handbuch der Dogmatik (2 vols, Düsseldorf: Patmos, 1992), vol. 2, p. 448. 9 See Thomas Schärtl’s article in this volume (Chapter 6).

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eyes, history would be devalued if resurrection and judgment were generally already in effect and not only anticipated in the community with Jesus Christ. So the positive claim Ratzinger takes to speak against resurrection-in-death is: (Fut) Resurrection has a strong future moment. Even if there is some anticipation of it like the faithful’s being in Christ, resurrection in principle is yet to come. (2) Ratzinger’s second criticism is that claiming resurrection of the person who had just died yields the consequence that resurrection does not include matter, at least not the matter we know from our everyday lives, for we see that the corpse is obviously not living anymore. Ratzinger criticizes especially Greshake’s conception for positing a dichotomy which does not lend itself to English translation: “Leiblichkeit” versus “reine Körperlichkeit”. An approximative translation may be “living body” versus “mere physical body”, or “experienced body” versus “sheer body”.10 According to Greshake’s theory, the body can be subject to perfection, but only as an “ecstatic moment of the act of human freedom” (“ekstatisches Moment des menschlichen Freiheitsaktes”). For Ratzinger such a position implies a dematerialization of resurrection: real matter as we know it and experience it is not part of the eschatological fulfillment of the world.11 So a resurrection in death would, according to Ratzinger, have as a consequence the very thing it was posited to combat, namely salvational dualism which splits the former person into two parts, one of which is salvaged and the other is excluded from perfection. Ratzinger pleads, instead, for: (Mat) Resurrection includes fulfillment and perfection also for the material aspects of the world. If this means more than that the resurrected person will have a material component, namely that the concrete matter of our earthly lives must be included in eschatological fulfillment (perhaps after some inscrutable transformation), then (Mat) ushers in problems of material identity: to whom will molecules previously comprised in somebody else’s body, now part of mine, belong on the Last Day? Is such a position committed to ontological splitting theories or to claims of multiple existence? Will there be a newly created kind of matter, replacing the old one? That, however, appears to contradict (Mat). (3) Ratzinger criticizes the view that identifies individual death and resurrection. According to him this view repeats a mistake made already by Greek-influenced 10

“Leiblichkeit” means that a body is essentially alive, capable of experiences, whereas “reine Körperlichkeit” refers to the physical aspect of a human being which remains what it is when the being dies. 11 See Matthias Remenyi, “Mit Stimme, Antlitz und Gestalt: Überlegungen zur personalen Eschatologie”, Theologie und Glaube, 96/1 (2006): pp. 73–86, p. 80.

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medieval thought: it restrains resurrection to a question of individual destiny only and fails to account for the fact that the Christian message emphasizes the communion and togetherness of God’s people.12 It is not by chance that the Letter to the Hebrews portrays salvation by means of a heavenly town, the New Jerusalem.13 Ratzinger observes that salvation cannot be a matter of isolated individuals but must be one of community, of existential relations (such as love or compassion) to other human beings, for to be in Christ means to love one’s brethren. Thus Ratzinger holds that (IC) Christian Eschatology has an individual and a communitarian aspect; both are indissolubly tied (→ “no individualism”). To summarize, I see three theological convictions which precluded Ratzinger from advocating the resurrection-in-death theory: (1) the future aspect of resurrection, also demanded by the respect for history; (2) the alleged dualism excluding the material component of creation from salvation; and (3) the community aspect of Christian salvation. Whereas these three aspects of Ratzinger’s thought remained constant, his views on the relation between Greek philosophy and the Bible in general, and the body-soul duality in particular, have undergone quite a development: from his early view which sees them in stark contrast to each other to his later view which sees them as complementary. This holds in part as well for the fourth criticism Ratzinger advances against resurrection in death, which relies on the concept of eternity as non-time. If eternity is simply some sort of non-time, and if bodily life on earth is tied to time, then to die bodily means to leave the biological world, to leave the dimension of time, and to enter the dimension of non-time. According to Ratzinger, it was this move by which resurrection-in-death theorists were able to avoid the aporias of the intermediate state. But if one holds (Fut) with Ratzinger— the thesis that resurrection has a future aspect—and that people who have died are dead, then there is a temporal gap: a state between death and resurrection, that is, an intermediate state. It seems that the tri-partition (before death, after death but before resurrection, after resurrection) requires a temporal dimension. But that would be inconsistent with a conception of eternity as non-time. The questions of what “eternity” means and how eternity relates to time are too complex to discuss here in detail.14 But since this topic is central to eschatology, I will highlight at least some problems with this fourth criticism. Note that not every ordering relation invoked by the terms “before” and “after” must be conceived 12

Ratzinger made this point independently of the resurrection-in-death debate in “Auferstehung des Fleisches” (1957). 13 Hebrews 11:10; 11:16; 12:22; 13:14. See also Pope Benedict XVI., Spe Salvi, paragraph 14. 14 Christian Tapp and Edmund Runggaldier (eds.): God, Eternity, and Time (Aldershot: Ashgate, to appear 2011).

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of as a temporal relation. What is needed here is a binary ordering relation with some two or three states—a state “before”, a state “after”, and an “intermediate” state. Such an ordering relation may well be conceived of as a discrete ordering relation, while time is usually taken to be continuous. At least in an Aristotelian perspective, where time is “the measure of motion”, time is bound to change and most changing processes are regarded as continuous. So a presupposition of time is much stronger than a presupposition of a discrete ordering relation. And, hence, the inference from the usage of words like “before” and “after” to a dimension of time is not always valid. Sometimes it is simply convenient to express such simple and discrete ordering relations with the help of words that are usually used to denote a continuous ordering relation like time. The fact that an intermediate state theory presupposes some ordering relation that is expressed by temporal vocabulary does therefore not necessarily mean that it presupposes some extramundane sort of time. (Even so, other elements of Christian eschatology, like purgatory when conceived of as a process of personal purification, may presuppose such an extramundane time.) On the other hand, however, it is not one single person who dies, but several million people every year. Hence there are in fact billions of points connecting their intermediate states with our earthly timeline. And all of these points are different: every point is the instant of death of some person p, and the beginning of p’s intermediate state’. In this way, at least with respect to us as observers, our earthly temporal ordering induces sort-of a temporal ordering of the “events” after death. Such a consequence is probably incompatible with an overly simple conception of eternity as non-time. Ratzinger is therefore right in advocating the need to rethink the concept of eternity. Note that this applies as well to the resurrection-in-death theorist: resurrection “in death” insinuates a timely conception in that it is at this specific moment of the world’s history that somebody dies and, in consequence, that his resurrection takes place. Rethinking the concept of eternity would have to solve the problem—among others—that for an individual person p eternity as his ersatz mode for the usual temporal mode of existence has a beginning in time. Discussing Ratzinger’s critique of the resurrection-in-death theory has revealed several aspects of his own view of our individual destinies after death. The heart of Ratzinger’s individual eschatology, however, is “dialogical immortality”. This comprises two elements: first, conceiving of resurrection as immortality (including a certain commitment to a notion of soul); second, a dialogical conception that conceives of human beings as essentially oriented toward relationship in general and relationship to God in particular.15 It claims a general primacy of the mental, the logos, over the material, the physical. The following two sections discuss these two elements, as they pertain first to the notion of soul and second to the dialogical conception of reality.

15

See Kevin Corcoran’s article in this volume (Chapter 11).

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A Platonic and a Christian Concept of Soul The resurrection-in-death theory was motivated by the problems related to the traditional concept of soul. Greshake, Lohfink, and others wanted to avoid the aporias of an anima separata called the form of a body but said to exist, during socalled intermediate state, without a body. Their theory was intended to do without a concept like soul. Ratzinger not only criticized them for not succeeding at avoiding the dualism they eschewed, as we saw; he also took the opposite position and defended the conception of an immortal soul. Why such a Hazardous Enterprise? “Defending the conception of an immortal soul” sounds like Platonism. Ratzinger, however, set out to establish what he takes to be a non-platonic, or non-dualist, concept of soul. Why such a hazardous enterprise? (A) Why not a platonic concept of soul?, and (B) Why, if not a platonic soul, a concept of soul at all? As to (A), it is surely remarkable for a by-and-large platonic-neoplatonically influenced thinker like Ratzinger to dismiss a platonic concept of soul. He has, I believe, several theological reasons. 1. A platonic soul is incapable of change. It can neither come into existence nor pass away. Therefore the assumption of a platonic soul conflicts with the Christian belief in creation. Platonic souls are uncreated. This is also the main reason why most church fathers before St. Augustine rejected platonic notions of soul.16 2. That everlasting life is no mere consequence of the soul’s nature but a result of God’s grace accords better with the teachings of the church. Ratzinger aimed at proving, in general, that “immortality is never a purely philosophical doctrine. It could be asserted only where a religious tradition with its own due authority entered onto the scene.”17 One may raise some doubts about this claim taken as a factual assertion. But the guiding theological intuition is good traditional theology. It may be summed up by the following theological axiom of Ratzinger’s: (Grace) The ultimate fulfillment of man does not result from man’s own natural powers but from the power of God the creator as he revealed himself in Jesus Christ.18 16

See Hermann Josef Eckl, “Seele”, in Albert Franz, Wolfgang Baum, and Karsten Kreutzer (eds), Lexikon philosophischer Grundbegriffe der Theologie (Darmstadt: WBG, 2003), pp. 364–7, p. 365. 17 Ratzinger, Eschatology, p. 143/p. 121–2. 18 See, for example Ratzinger, “Auferstehung des Fleisches” (1957), vol. 1, col. 1051.

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3. A third reason for rejecting a platonic notion of soul is the dualism it appears to imply.19 The soul is only a substantial part of human beings. But if this part were the proper subject of resurrection, then the Christian promise would extend not to the whole human being put only to part of her. This point is related to the abovementioned axiom (Mat): if the proper subject of resurrection is the soul and the soul is conceived of in opposition to the body, then the body in the material sense will not be subject to fulfillment. Why does Ratzinger maintain the notion of soul despite the problems with the platonic notion (question (B))? Here too several theological reasons are involved. The first might easily be overlooked for its obviousness. 1. The physical bodies of the deceased are decomposing in their graves. So, if there is something like resurrection identity, it cannot rely primarily on the identity of material objects like the body. 2. Ratzinger wants to keep close to the tradition of the church fathers, especially to St Augustine, renowned for re-establishing a stoic variant of the philosophical notion of soul in theology. 3. An important reason stems from a pastoral concern. The term “soul” was deeply rooted in what might be called the “everyday language of Christian faith”. In the 1960s and 1970s, when theologians critically debated the concept of soul, many believers found that they needed this concept to express their faith. Here, Ratzinger anticipated the position of a 1979 letter of the Congregation of Faith requesting to retain the concept of soul for the sake of ordinary believers.20 Hence, there is a need for a non-bodily identity principle (1), this need was traditionally met by the concept of soul (2), and things should remain this way for the sake of ordinary religious life (3). Ratzinger’s vision was, I think, to maintain the role played by the traditional concept of soul in ordinary religious speech while 19 With respect to Plato’s dualism I might have to touch a very strange point in Ratzinger’s Eschatology, p. 106/p. 94: There he claims to have shown “that the frequently encountered notion of a Hellenic–Platonic dualism of soul and body, with its corollary in the idea of the soul’s immortality, is something of a theologian’s fantasy.” To claim that there is no body-soul-dualism in Plato and no proof of the immortality of the soul is really strange as we read about platonic dualism in each and every handbook on antique philosophy. Some authors even hold that the dualism of the mental and the physical was the proper fundament of Plato’s thought. See, for example, Walter Kranz, Die griechische Philosophie, reprint of the 5th edn (München: dtv, 1971), p. 122 and his whole chapter on the human soul, pp. 122–40. 20 Congregation of Faith/Sacra Congregatio pro Doctrina Fidei, “Epistula ad Venerabiles Praesules Conferentiarum Episcopalium de quibusdam quaestionibus ad Eschatologiam spectantibus”, Acta Apostolicae Sedis, 71 (1979): pp. 939–43.

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avoiding the problems connected with a platonic conception. This may sound like having one’s cake and eating it. The only way out seems to be a sharp distinction between a platonic and a Christian notion of soul, that is, something like claiming that there are two cakes. And that is what Ratzinger did. He distinguished between two concepts of soul and assigned the soul-related problems to the philosophical side alone. The intentions are clear: (a) keeping the alleged Christian concept free of stronger challenges by localizing the problems in the philosophical concept and (b) establishing a genuine Christian notion of an “immortal soul” for which immortality is not something which the soul has by its own power (following from its indivisibility), but a matter of grace according to (Grace). But this localization comes at a price. What is a soul in the alleged Christian sense? Is there an entity to which this concept refers? If a theological sense of “soul” is completely detached from a philosophical one, then theology must shoulder the burden of proof for showing there is such a thing. Before dealing with this question, it will be helpful to shed light on where this “Christian soul project” is located within Ratzinger’s general attitude towards philosophy. The Christian-Soul-Project in Light of Ratzinger’s General Attitude towards Philosophy Ratzinger’s project of (re-)establishing a genuinely Christian notion of soul fits well with one of his more general attitudes with respect to the relation of philosophy and theology. He strove clearly to distinguish the teaching of the church from philosophical interpretation or expression of that teaching. This maxim embodies the fundamental hermeneutical insights that, in the doctrine of faith, philosophical and theological elements are intertwined, and that claims of faith extend only to the theological part (as far as it is separable from the philosophical part). As it stands, this distinction allows for a limited but definite freedom in understanding and interpreting the tradition of faith. However, drawing a clear boundary between a philosophical and a theological concept of soul goes far beyond a legitimate hermeneutical insight. Ratzinger’s approach appears to harbor remnants of the view that Greek philosophy and biblical faith are opposed. The identification of such an antagonism is a little surprising for it is generally conceded that there was a development in Ratzinger’s thinking from such an antagonism to quite the opposite position.21 In his early writings like the encyclopedia article Resurrection of the Flesh (“Auferstehung des Fleisches”) in 1967, Ratzinger took Christian faith and Greek philosophy to be at odds. Against exaggerated hellenization suspicions he argued that biblical and Greek-platonic thought cannot be consistently paired, for both present complete answers to the question of the future of man. On the 21 Ratzinger states in the foreword of his Eschatology: “I tried to construct a ‘dePlatonized’ eschatology. However, the more I dealt with the questions and immersed myself in the sources, the more the antitheses I had set up fell to pieces in my hands.”

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Greek-platonic view, human beings comprise two heterogeneous substances, one of which, the body, decomposes, while the other, the soul, is immortal. So, for Platonic philosophy, there is no future for the human being as a unity composed of body and soul. The human being will disintegrate and its parts will have different futures. On the Christian view, by contrast, the complete human being continues to exist even though it undergoes a radical transformation. According to Ratzinger’s earlier writings, Greek philosophy and biblical faith each have different bipolarities as their systematic bases: the bipolarity of body and soul (or of spirit and matter) in Greek philosophy, and that of creator and creation in biblical faith. Later Ratzinger saw that this oversimplifies matters. In his 1968 Einführung in das Christentum, Ratzinger watered down this strong incompatibility claim, saying that both views are necessary and complement each other. Talking about the soul, he says, is not wrong, but requires much additional explanation. A 1972 paper argues that Greek philosophy and biblical faith differ only in formulation and direction of thought. In his 1977 Eschatology, Ratzinger “re-establishes” Greek philosophy for Christian thinking, culminating in the claim that there is no dualism in Plato (see fn. 19). Finally, in 1980, in a commentary on the 1979 Congregation of Faith document, he explicitly embraces the Congregation’s demand to adhere to the notion of soul for the good of the ordinary and “simple” believer who just needs simple words to express his faith. I think this is quite a development, even if charitable interpreters consider it not a break but a gradual unfolding of one and the same position.22 As we have already seen in the axiom (IC), according to Ratzinger a Christian eschatology must emphasize two elements: community and wholeness—community as opposed to isolated individuals and wholeness as opposed to souls-as-substantialparts. If this is true, a Christian concept of soul cannot be that of a substantial part of a human individual. The whole human being has been promised salvation and eternal fulfillment—of course not without changes with respect to our terrestrial lives, but not with leaving out a substantial part of it. The Alleged Christian Concept of “Soul” What, then, is the notion of soul Ratzinger wants to (re-)establish as a truly Christian notion? My impression is that, for Ratzinger, the notion of soul is a mixture of several ingredients, and it is not always clear how their different aspects relate. Ratzinger often claims often that Thomas Aquinas’s concept of the anima unica forma corporis is the basic ingredient of his conception of soul. And it is exactly the modifications of Aristotle’s view that attracts Ratzinger to Aquinas’s position. According to Aristotle, the individual soul as the form of the body perishes with the perishing body, and what remains after death is only the universal and impersonal nous in which the individual human being had participated. When 22 For an overview over this development see Nachtwei, pp. 7–11; the “no-break interpretation” on pp. 7–8.

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Aquinas modified this position to enable a future for the individual human soul, this proved the most attractive way of thinking for Ratzinger. An individual future is possible, but it is not built into the nature of human beings. Instead, it depends upon God’s special will. In the early encyclopedia articles, Ratzinger talks about “body” and “soul” without reservation. He discusses decomposition and relics, using the term “body” in the usual sense. This may fit well with the teaching that the soul is the form of the single individual. But it becomes philosophically problematic when Ratzinger later uses “soul” to denote the whole, undivided human being. If “soul” is used in this way, it is no longer a co-principle to the body but denotes instead the concrete individual. This deviates from Aquinas, who holds that “my soul is not me,” meaning that one cannot identify the soul with a concrete human individual.23 Furthermore, such usage would lead to paradoxical consequences, for example, that the body would be part of the soul, making the soul divisible. But Ratzinger uses “soul” not only in this sense, but also in the sense of a placeholder for certain pieces of Christian belief, which themselves differ from time to time. In a 1966 lecture in Salzburg, Ratzinger said that the Christian, in using the word “soul”, wants to express that God knows and loves human beings in a way different from all other creatures.24 Is immortality, then, an anthropological datum for Ratzinger? The answer is yes and no. Yes, because for every human being it is possible to obtain immortality. But no, for it will not be actualized automatically: it remains subject to the individual freedom of the single human being and to an act of God: one can enter into community with Christ, which provides everlasting life, or one can refuse this community, thereby abandoning the prospect of eternal life. Immortality is not a prospect for believers alone, but for each and every human being, depending on his or her willingness to be open to God. “Love is the foundation of immortality, and immortality proceeds from love alone.”25 Ratzinger’s point of view is clearly not philosophical: he does not start from the realm of universal reason, but from that of a special reason, namely the reason of Christian faith. His theology habitually tries to keep Christian faith free of special philosophical doctrines, which only succeeds to a certain extent, since many theological data cannot even be expressed without philosophical means. But Ratzinger holds that resurrection is a theological term which is not bound to any certain anthropology. Therefore, he says, we may reasonably expect it to have the capacity to make a variety of anthropologies its own and find appropriate expression by means of them. But 23

Super I. ad Cor. 15: l–2. See Joseph Ratzinger, Die Sakramentale Begründung christlicher Existenz (Meitingen: Kyrios, 1966), p. 16. 25 Joseph Ratzinger, Introduction to Christianity (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 2004), p. 304. 24

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at the same time, and equally, we must expect that this theology will confront all anthropologies with its own critical measuring rod. From its thought of God it draws forth a number of affirmations about man.26

Hence it is just consequent that Ratzinger disputes the claim that a convincing and complete anthropology is possible without God. If it were, faith would be nothing but an optional add-on to a self-sufficient human life. It would neither be important, let alone existentially crucial for human beings. If faith is important for our lives, then a pure philosophical anthropology without reference to God is necessarily incomplete. (This, of course, is a theological statement about philosophical theories.) Faith must then be deeply connected with basic anthropological options.27 In Ratzinger’s view, true anthropology is possible only from a Christian standpoint, and a Christian standpoint, in turn, is directed towards the humane and requires anthropological concretization. Theology needs an anthropological Ansatz that makes visible the reason of faith and provides a way of proceeding step-by-step in the dialogue among all people on earth. Let me summarize the above points on Ratzinger’s notion of soul. I observed that the word “soul” for Ratzinger must be maintained for the sake of ordinary Christians’ ability to express their beliefs. Ratzinger uses this word to denote something that secures personal identity in resurrection, something that others might call the “kernel of the individual”, the “individual spirit” (Otto H. Pesch), or, maybe, the “person”. But there remains a decisive dilemma: either the term “soul” carries with it an arsenal of problems known from philosophy (for example, mind-body-interaction) or theology (for example, intermediate state), or one establishes of it a “pure” theological meaning, taking on the burden of proof that something of this kind exists at all. Whatever may be a solution to this dilemma, the concept “soul” will remain theologically problematic, at least in that it invites (alleged) misunderstandings, such as a dualism which excluding our bodies from salvation—and that, as Ratzinger himself says, is unacceptable. Dialogical Immortality: Being in Christ Ratzinger’s eschatological position is often characterized as “dialogical immortality”. I have already discussed the “soul side” of immortality, and must now add some remarks concerning the “dialogue side”. For Ratzinger, the central message of Christian faith with respect to the fortune of human beings after death is that they are in Christ. He finds that in the Old Testament, belief in resurrection was not generally accepted, but developed only gradually. For the early Christians it became much more central because of 26

Ratzinger, Eschatology, pp. 118–9/p. 104. See Ratzinger’s commentary to “Gaudium et Spes”, Lexikon für Theologie und Kirche (2 vols, Freiburg, Basel, and Wien: Herder, 1957), add. vol. 3, pp. 316–18. 27

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Jesus Christ’s resurrection. And it was Jesus himself who made it possible for his disciples to interpret their post-Easter experiences in terms of resurrection. In argument with the Sadduccees, Jesus pointed to God’s self-presentation in the burning bush: “I am the God of Abraham, and the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob,” and, Jesus adds, He is a God of the living, not of the dead, and so they must be alive (Mark 12:26–27). Ratzinger draws an interesting systematic conclusion which, taken literally, is a little hard to grasp: “Those who have been called by God are themselves part of the concept of God.”28 I think what he means is that Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob have become part of the Judeo-Christian framework for referring to God. For they belong to the history of God with his people and are included in the Christian belief system. Hence, they help to identify the God whom Christian faith refers to, and their names are part of definite descriptions of this God. In this sense one may reasonably say that their names have become part of one of God’s names. Ratzinger expands this line of thought. In the theology of the Letter to the Romans, the “communion with God, which is the native place of life indestructible, finds its concrete form in [participating] in the body of Christ.”29 This christological expression of resurrection hope is brought to the highest degree of density of speech in Johannine theology, for example in the story of Lazarus, which culminates in Jesus’ words: “I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live.” (John 11:25) Ratzinger comments: “Whenever someone enters into the ‘I’ of Christ, he has entered straight away into the space of unconditional life.”30 This theological reason also yields the explanation for the fact that the author of John’s gospel does not raise the question of an intermediate state: it is “precisely because Jesus is himself the resurrection,” Ratzinger says.31 If Ratzinger is right that “being in Christ” is the central category for eschatology, then Christian eschatology is deeply rooted in Christology. And so the dialogical character of immortality is rooted in a dialogical conception of reality in general (of God, human beings, creation, church, and so on).32 The whole world has a dialogical structure, for believing in the createdness of the world includes for Ratzinger that the world is pervaded by the divine logos. Jesus Christ, the son of God, stands in the intimate relation of hypostatic union with the divine logos. He is “the way, the truth, and the life” (John 14:6). He personifies God’s loving attitude towards all creation. An anthropological approach to theology may provide a first step toward making sense of these deep theological thoughts. For example, man seeks a kind of immortality: in others, in his children, his pupils, his fellows, and so forth. 28

Ratzinger, Eschatology, p. 113/p. 100. Instead of “participating” the translation quoted has “sharing”, see Ratzinger, Eschatology, p. 115. 30 Ratzinger, Eschatology, p. 117/pp. 102–3. 31 Ibid., p. 117/p. 103. 32 See Nachtwei, p. 8. 29

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This quest cannot be fulfilled as such, since it is not real immortality which we are trying to find in others. But this anthropological datum shows a human desire God promised to fulfill truly. All love is a desire for eternity, while God’s love, Ratzinger says, has the power not only to desire, but to fulfillment. The praying man knows through faith that God will bring about justice (Job 19:25; Psalm 73:23f.).33 So being in Christ is no simple add-on, remaining external to man, but rather fulfills the infinite demand of true love that can and will be fulfilled by the all-powerful God who revealed himself by suffering, with Christ, the full consequences of his love. The goal of an anthropological approach like Ratzinger’s is to motivate a theological theory (or, say, a certain cluster of theological convictions) without making theology derivable from anthropology. It helps to understand the anthropological relevance of Christian faith. But this is only the first step toward grasping what Christian faith is about. The second step is to spell out its contents as they extend beyond the anthropological domain. In the context of the questions discussed in this paper, it is the central concept of “being in Christ” that remains unexplained in Ratzinger’s eschatology. As mentioned above, it displays Ratzinger’s systematic conviction that eschatology is rooted in Christology. But what does this mean? Can “being in Christ” answer the question of our fate after death? Does it really solve the problems attending resurrection identity and the intermediate state? What does it mean to be “in Christ” or to be “in communion with Christ” such that entering this communion is entering “into the space of unconditional love”?34 Wouldn’t that be a sort of spiritualism which Ratzinger explicitly criticizes? Or a form of theological supernaturalism, claiming a second reality besides the “worldly” one, accessible only through faith? The short formula “being in Christ” must not be the end point of theological explication, for then theological speech would be disconnected from other kinds of speech. It would jeopardize its own meaning.35 The Resurrection Body The last point this paper addresses concerns to imagine the resurrection body. According to Ratzinger, it is the firm and binding teaching of the Church that:

33

See Ratzinger, “Auferstehung des Fleisches” (1967): cols 397–402. Ratzinger, Eschatology, p. 117/pp. 102–3. 35 I consider it to be of utmost importance for theology to try to spell out the sense of such a central expression. It would be rewarding if theology succeeded in it—not only with respect to theology and its foundations, but also with respect to the believer’s and the critic’s common aim to understand Christian faith. 34

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1. When the world comes to its end, all dead people will be resurrected, the just and the unjust. So resurrection is universal without exception, it is not limited to a circle of elected or otherwise qualified people (see (Dog1)). 2. The resurrection body is the same as the body which is connected with the soul during one’s mundane life (see (Dog2)). Ratzinger considers both propositions to be dogmas.36 In the context of the second one, however, he explicitly differentiates between what is dogmatically fixed—namely, the identity claim as such—and the philosophical background theory which is, of course, not fixed.37 He does not explicitly say so, but what he means by “philosophical background theory” is the body/soul-conception presupposed by talk of the sameness of the body. Nevertheless, Catholic dogma requires the presupposition of some sort of bodily existence in heaven. How should this be conceived? Ratzinger is reluctant to describe the resurrection body in detail. But there are hints of such description in his early writings. For example, in a 1957 article on the resurrection body, Ratzinger claims that the unity of the body-forming soul is decisive for resurrection identity, since it guarantees also the “unity” of the body. (And it was the identity of the body that was dogmatized along the lines of (Dog2).) However, the tradition requires one limitation of this soul-focusedness, namely, that resurrection cannot neglect the relics of the old earthly body as far as they still are available as such.38 This is not to say that the relics’ molecules become part of the resurrection body as they are. They may be transformed in a way that eclipses our understanding. But Ratzinger’s position is a realist one: he explicitly says that “existential” or “mystical” interpretations of eschatology are reductions of faith. If they lack a factual basis, they would teach a faith in vain (see 1 Cor. 15:17). The outermost limit of Ratzinger’s realism is his early assertion that the resurrected body is a normal if transformed human body, maintaining even its sexual characteristics. Never has he dared to portray resurrection more concretely. Immediately after the citation above, he adds that further inquiry into the possible forms of resurrection bodies is useless and should be eschewed. And the sexual characteristics, in my view, are mentioned only as an example of bodily elements that are deeply interwoven into our psychological identity. The purpose of mentioning this discussion is to locate an interesting methodological maxim. Reluctant though Ratzinger is to speculate, he sometimes considers it useful to extrapolate from our worldly life. Such extrapolation can, of course, be highly tentative. But it helps to fill faith with content and to understand it at least incipiently. In case of eschatology, Ratzinger claims, such extrapolation does not reach beyond the point of death. Everything later he considers to be pure speculation or subject to revelation. The methodological maxim seems to be: the 36 37 38

Ratzinger, “Auferstehung des Fleisches” (1957), vol. 1, col. 1042. Ibid., col. 1052. Ibid., col. 1053.

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subject of revelation is not knowledge of things completely inaccessible to natural knowledge, for such knowledge would be without connections to our real lives. But revelation transcends what we can naturally know only as it pertains to truths which are relevant for meaningfully conducting our earthly lives. This maxim partially resembles Occam’s razor in ontology: cutting off what is not necessary for the purpose of what really matters. The tendency to avoid conceiving of a resurrection body grew over the course of Ratzinger’s eschatological development. We get only scarce hints of such speculation in his later works. He increasingly tended toward an askesis with respect to concrete answers and concrete models. He is surely right to withstand the tendency to ask for too many details and even for things that cannot be known. But it takes things too far to dismiss all questions about conceiving of resurrection as pure speculation falling short of its subject and therefore being senseless.39 It may be pointless to press Christian theologians to make assertions like: “the heavenly body will be twice as powerful as the earthly body.” But it is surely legitimate to ask for modelsof thought for the Christian promises. If we can imagine resurrection in a certain way, then this need not be taken as a claim that it will be so. But if it can be imagined in one way or the other, this shows that Christian faith is reasonable, since what it believes in is possible. Conclusion Once again: how can we survive our death? Ratzinger’s remarks are scarce. He presents us not with a concrete model but with a theological emphasis of the being in Christ that has already begun for the faithful on earth. It is the result of God’s loving initiative faithfully answered by man and is therefore dialogical in nature. All of creation, in virtue according to Ratzinger of being pervaded by the divine logos, has this dialogical structure. And so to be in Christ is no simple add-on remaining external to man, but is to fulfill the infinite demand of true love that can and will be fulfilled by the all-powerful God. Ratzinger opts for a genuine Christian notion of soul for securing resurrection identity. He wants to keep this distinct from the platonic concept of soul with its inherent devaluation of the body, its claim of immortality as a “built-in feature” of the very notion of the soul, and its tendency to reduce the future to a question for the single, isolated being. Perhaps a notion like “soul” really is indispensable to keep faith as simple and understandable as possible for ordinary believers. But it invites misunderstanding and so must be filled out with a meaning independent of, or in contrast to, the philosophical tradition. I end up with an apparently negative result: no clear model, no intuitively plausible or easily understandable conception. But there is also a positive side, 39

See Ratzinger, “Auferstehung des Fleisches” (1967): col. 402.

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namely the clarification of what, for Christian theology, belief in resurrection really involves and what it does not. And there is something even more positive, if partly hidden: that the teaching of the Church, including theologians like Joseph Ratzinger, contains no concrete models means that there is room for creativity to form one’s own perspective on these matters. As Ratzinger said, the Church claims truth for the dogmatized contents, not for their forms of expression as such. Hence, several models of the axioms for resurrection are possible and each may contribute to proving Christian faith both meaningful and reasonable. This volume, in my eyes, is a good step forward in a direction which, according to the Catholic position, is not only allowed by faith but strongly sought after. Anselm’s famous “fides quaerens intellectum” meets with the statement in Ratzinger’s Introduction to Christianity that it is not the religiously neutral, but the believer who has the stronger objections to face and the harder work to do. He who is bound to a religious tradition that is not his own construction, but a gift from his fellow believers and, in the end, from God, has to make sense also of the less convenient elements of Christian faith. According to the inner structure of faith, the believer must withstand the temptation to select pieces of it and must instead accept it as a whole. If philosophical activities contribute to that goal, they are of utmost theological importance. Summary: Ratzinger’s “Axiom System” Ratzinger’s axioms on resurrection that have been discussed in this paper: (Dog1)

Resurrection is universal: each and every person will be resurrected. (Dog2) Resurrection includes the body: transformed, but somehow identical with our current body. (RI) [Resurrection Identity] The resurrection of an individual requires a certain kind of identity between the deceased and the resurrected, or his counterpart, respectively. (Fut) Resurrection has a strong future moment. Even if there is some anticipation of it like the faithful’s being in Christ, resurrection in principle is yet to come. (Mat) Resurrection includes fulfillment and perfection for the material aspects of the world too. (IC) [Individual & Communitarian] Christian Eschatology has an individual and a communitarian aspect; both are indissolubly tied (no individualism). (Grace) The ultimate fulfillment of man does not result from man’s own natural powers but from the power of God the creator as he revealed himself in Jesus Christ.

Chapter 13

The Rationale behind Purgatory Nikolaus Wandinger

Introduction: Speaking as a Theologian Before I endeavor to formulate some thoughts on the rationale behind purgatory, I want to remark on the approach I will take. I deliberately speak as a theologian, albeit with an eye to philosophical implications. That means that I will try to introduce you to a theological model and then explore its philosophical implications. That said, let me now develop some aspects of the theology of purgatory. Purgatory—A Catholic Idea Heaven and Hell or the Logic of the Excluded Middle First it has to be said that the idea of purgatory is a Catholic one in the denominational sense. The denominations stemming from the reformation rejected this idea for two important reasons: (1) there is no mention of purgatory in the Bible; (2) purgatory seemed to place too much emphasis on the human person, thus detracting form the all-important power of God’s grace. Let us, for the time being, skip the first argument and advert to the second. The reformers could, of course, refer back to Saint Augustine and his view that it was above all grace, and moreover an efficacious pre-determining grace, that saved those who would be saved. As for the rest, God did not do anything but leave them to their well-deserved fate: as heirs of original sin all humans rightly deserved damnation in Augustine’s view; God did not owe them their salvation. It was his purely gratuitous act of forgiveness that saved a chosen few; it was his objective and unbiased justice that delivered the rest to hell. When looking at the sorry state of the world around him, Augustine had to conclude that the large majority of humans were hell-bound and that only a select few would see heaven. Thus he coined the infamous phrase massa damnata. Some reformers, especially John Calvin, emphasized the aspect of divine predestination even more by teaching not only that God predestined the saved for heaven but that he also predestined the condemned for hell. Either way, the logic of heaven and hell excluded the middle, which is known as purgatory in Catholic theology. And indeed, how can one be half-saved? Even so the medieval scholastics, who otherwise shared Augustine’s pessimistic

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soteriology, nonetheless developed the idea of purgatory. I would argue, however, that the notion of purgatory was a first step away from Augustine’s soteriological pessimism, as well as from his idea of predestination, both of which were never dogmatically accepted in the Catholic Church, although the former became the de facto standard of soteriological thinking. Purgatory as Salvation for the Lukewarm Catholic theology insisted that, although it is through God’s grace that humans are saved, they are not saved without accepting or cooperating with that grace. Traditionally this was expressed in the term sufficient grace. Catholic theology, furthermore, saw a biblical grounding for purgatory in the image St. Paul invokes, when he talks about the possibility that someone builds badly on the foundation laid by the announcement of the good news, and as a consequence all they have built will be destroyed by fire but the person him- or herself will be saved “but only as through fire” (1Cor. 3:15). Thus, a way was opened for the salvation of the lukewarm: those who somehow have—enabled by God’s grace—decided to accept God and love him, but decided so half-heartedly that they were still not fully prepared for the bliss of heaven, could be purified to enter it “later”. Systematically this is connected to the Catholic distinction between mortal and venial sins. This thinking allows for the distinction between a clear-cut decision against God and his salvific will, and a half-hearted decision, which can more easily be reversed. In effect, purgatory constitutes an emphasis of God’s salvific will, since it grants the possibility of salvation even to those who were only lukewarm in their love for God. It does so by offering them a chance after death, so to speak, by cleansing them of the imperfection of their love. What conception of the human person does this entail? Repercussions for a Conception of the Human Person I think this idea contains two important presuppositions: (1) that human freedom is quite complex because it allows for more than clear-cut decisions; (2) that the completion of the human person, although in outcome decided during one’s lifetime, may well extend beyond death. Twentieth-century theologians influenced by existential philosophy have argued that human decisions can be more or less fundamental, that they can engage the whole person deeply or only superficially, and that depending on that distinction they determine the very self of the person and with it the person’s state of salvation.1 If divine grace is not construed as a counterweight to human freedom 1 See Karl Rahner, “The Theological Concept of Concupiscentia”, Theological Investigations 1: God, Christ, Mary, and Grace (23 vols, Baltimore, MD: Helicon, 1961), pp. 347–82; Karl Rahner, “Theology of Freedom”, Theological Investigations, 6:

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but rather as a catalyst for human freedom, then the decision about the salvific state of a human person need not be understood as a mysterious, maybe arbitrary, divine decision but as the divinely brought about manifestation of the state of the human person that the latter has brought about during his or her life. It needs to be revealed by God because human freedom cannot completely reflect on itself— each reflection being an act of that same person employing his/her freedom—and is more complicated than an either/or question that excludes any middle ground. If that is so, it is possible—or even likely—that during their lifetime human persons will not exercise their freedom so decisively that their final destiny becomes already manifest. From its earliest days the church has taught otherwise for martyrs: by giving up their lives for their faith they have proved their total commitment. For the rest, there is need for further clarification of what their own decisions amounted to—and there is the possibility of a further development of some kind, although that development cannot be a complete reversal of what has been done in life. The final destiny of the people in purgatory is already certain: it is heaven; they just need some more preparation for it. The traditional models which saw death as the separation of body and soul and placed purgatory in an intermediate phase between individual death and the general resurrection of the flesh and the last judgment, of course, do not seem very plausible anymore. Dramatic Theology’s New Model for Purgatory Twentieth Century Problems with Ontology These problems are fundamental. Important theologians have argued that the bodysoul model in itself was alien to Hebrew and thus biblical culture; they considered it an infringement of Greek thought on the Bible that should be discarded in an attempt to return to the roots of Christianity. Giesbert Greshake was one of those theologians, and he argued that it would be much more in tune with the biblical culture and with modern-day world views to think of the whole person as resurrecting instantaneously in death and as acceding to a sphere where only divine influences occur.2 As a consequence, however, purgatory loses its importance, and the corpse, which remains in the grave, has no further significance. The body of a resurrected person is not material in the physical sense of the term. Joseph

Concerning Vatican Council II (23 vols, Baltimore, MD: Helicon, 1969), pp. 178–96; Karl Rahner, The Priesthood, trans. E. Quinn (New York: 1973), pp. 30–63. 2 See Gisbert Greshake, Auferstehung der Toten (Essen: Ludgerus, 1969); Greshake and Kremer, Resurrectio mortuorum; Gisbert Greshake and Gerhard Lohfink (eds), Naherwartung, Auferstehung, Unsterblichkeit: Untersuchungen zur christlichen Eschatologie, 5 edn, Quaestiones Disputatae 71 (Freiburg: Herder, 1986).

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Ratzinger3 engaged Greshake in discussion, arguing that Greek thinking was not alien to the Bible at all but part of the biblical tradition, and that severing the perfection of the departed from those still living out their lives on earth would decouple human beings from one another, while the biblical message was actually binding them together. Moreover, he argued, people mourning the death of a loved one do not see the corpse as insignificant at all, as burial rites and other forms of conduct attest. So for Ratzinger the idea of the separation of body and soul and of returning the body to the soul before the final completion of the human person is an expression of the insight that humans are not saved as autonomous monads but as social beings, as persons in a theological sense of the word. I shall now introduce a new model of purgatory, espoused by a group of theologians here in Innsbruck, who call themselves “Dramatic Theologians”.4 This model incorporates some of Greshake’s as well as Ratzinger’s concerns but at a first glance completely refrains from making ontological statements and does not use the language of body and soul. Of course, it does make ontological presuppositions, and after presenting it I want to attend to them. Purgatory as a Process of Judgment This model5 takes its inception from the dramatic nature of human interaction and thus takes very seriously Ratzinger’s claim that human perfection is not attained through an interaction between God and the soul—or even the single individual— alone but only in interaction between God, the person concerned and his or her human relationships, so to speak the whole fabric of human-divine interaction. Since it is an interaction that involves humans, it has to be process-like and involve time in some sense. On the other hand it can take up Greshake’s idea that this process begins right with the person’s physical death; there need be no intermediate state, nor two judgments, an individual and a collective one, as in the traditional conception; rather the process of interaction is the intermediate state between this person’s death and the completion of all creation, and it comprises the personal and the communal aspects of the person’s perfection. 3

See Joseph Ratzinger, Eschatology: Death and Eternal Life (Washington, D.C.: CUA Press, 2007). 4 See “Dramatic Theology as a Research Program”, http://www.uibk.ac.at/rgkw/ xtext/research.html. 5 See Józef Niewiadomski, “Denial of the Apocalypse versus Fascination with the Final Days: Current Theological Discussion of Apocalyptic Thinking in the Perspective of Mimetic Theory”, in Robert G. Hamerton-Kelly (ed.), Politics & Apocalypse, Studies in Violence, Mimesis, and Culture (East Lansing, MI: Michigan State University Press, 2007), pp. 51—67, esp. pp. 64–6; Nikolaus Wandinger, Die Sündenlehre als Schlüssel zum Menschen. Impulse K. Rahners und R. Schwagers zu einer Heuristik theologischer Anthropologie (Münster: LIT, 2003), pp. 374–86.

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What does that process consist in? According to the creed the final destiny of a human person is preceded by a judgment with Christ as judge. The traditional model envisioned the last judgment as a day of divine wrath directed toward grave sinners, who as a consequence would be damned, and of divine love showered on those who would be saved. Dramatic theology, however, has to construe this differently because it interprets the biblical judgment parables, on which this model is based, quite differently. The Cross and the Judgment The parable of the evil tenants (Mark 12:1–12) is pivotal for the paradigm shift that dramatic theology wants to propose.6 The parable is clearly designed to reflect Jesus’ fate on the cross and to interpret it as another instance of a fate typical for the prophets: the owner of a vineyard sends his servants to collect his dues from his tenants but they refuse and even attack his servants. Finally the owner sends his son in the mistaken hope that the tenants will respect the latter. They, however, see the son as a potential rival, and kill him in order to procure free reign over the vineyard. Up to this point the parable is easily decoded as talking about the religious establishment of Jesus’ day (the tenants), the Hebrew prophets (the servants), and finally Jesus himself (the son), who is brought to death on the cross through a strange conspiracy between the religious establishment and the Roman occupation forces. The parable ends with the owner’s retaliatory reaction to the murder of his son. Jesus says of him: “He will come and destroy the tenants and give the vineyard to others.” (Mark 12:9) Since the parable so far mirrors Jesus’ fate, the idea easily comes to mind that it also projects the divine reaction to Jesus’ execution. And indeed, anti-Jewish Christian exegesis has taken the parable to mean that the destruction of Jerusalem in the first century was God’s punishment for the Jews who had killed Jesus of Nazareth and that the church had succeeded Israel as the chosen people. This interpretation, however, cannot stand. And the main reason for this is not the negative consequences it engaged in a Christian anti-Judaism, as horrible as they were, but the main theological reason is simply that it does not hold up to the way the New Testament itself continues the story. To summarize, the New Testament portrays Jesus as rejecting violent defense against his arrest and execution and as praying for his persecutors, so that they may be forgiven. So, the attitude that Jesus displays when he suffers the fate of the son in the parable is quite contrary to that of the father in the parable. (Interestingly the son in the parable—in contrast to Jesus—does not get to say a word.) The New Testament gives us no account of a retaliatory divine action as a response to Jesus’ crucifixion. It only speaks of Jesus’ resurrection and his return 6 See Raymund Schwager, Jesus in the Drama of Salvation: Toward a Biblical Doctrine of Redemption, trans. James G. Williams and Paul Haddon (New York: The Crossroad, 1999), pp. 53–81, pp. 119–41, esp. 135–7.

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to his disciples, who had failed him in the moment of utmost danger, with a message of peace. Some weeks later these disciples carried this message out into the world and even to those whom they addressed as the killers of Jesus (see Acts 2:22–24, 32, 37–39; Eph 2:14–17). So the New Testament does not portray divine wrath as a consequence of Jesus’ crucifixion but instead a renewed offer of peace and forgiveness, in contrast to the parable. As a consequence, the idea that the destruction of Jerusalem was somehow God’s punishment of Jews or that the Christian Church has succeeded Israel as the chosen people, is quite alien to the New Testament and should be so for Christian theology as well.7 Dramatic theology thinks that this provides a hermeneutic key to other biblical judgment parables, which are not so closely linked to Jesus’ fate but are all—like this one—told prior to his death. One of them is the parable of the last judgment, which has been of paramount importance for the development of eschatological ideas (see Matthew 25:31–46). In a somewhat generalized form this hermeneutical key demands that all judgment parables be interpreted by applying the same twist to them that the events of Jesus’ crucifixion and resurrection and his attitude toward them enabled us to apply to the parable of the evil tenants. This is not to suggest, however, that theologians want to twist around the biblical word of God. The idea is rather that the biblical revelation itself reinterprets the judgment parables though the death and resurrection of Jesus, thus showing that they were not intended in the first place as threats of divine punishment but rather as warnings against human self-judgment.8 By applying this reinterpretation to the standard model of the last judgment, we obtain a new idea of purgatory as well. The Last Judgment in a New Paradigm A first result yielded by this hermeneutics is that the judge, Jesus, pronounces a verdict of forgiveness. Otherwise his behavior as judge would contradict his own prayer on the cross and the further unfolding of events after the crucifixion, and would render his role as the ultimate bearer of divine revelation futile. This, however, poses a new problem: does it not result in a universal salvation that abolishes hell and makes purgatory superfluous? Does it not result in the apokatastasis that church teaching has consistently rejected? It would, if the final destination of human beings depended on that alone. However, if salvation is not imposed on humans but gained only with the human person’s cooperation, this can be avoided. It means, however, that the uncertainty about one’s final state does not originate from God’s unpredictability but from human decisions that are 7 Thanks to the Second Vatican Council the Catholic Church has made that very clear when it says: “God holds the Jews most dear for the sake of their Fathers; He does not repent of the gifts He makes or of the calls He issues.” See Second Vatican Council, Nostra Aetate, “Declaration on the Relation of the Church to Non–Christian Religions”, http:// www.cin.org/v2non.html. Therefore it is of great importance that this council is completely accepted by all groups who want to be within the Catholic Church. 8 For that term see Schwager, Jesus, pp. 67–72 and pp. 116–18.

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either still pending or at least so unclear that they have not yet become manifest even to the deciding person him- or herself. Again, if human perfection does not come upon autonomous monads but to interdependent persons, these decisions will not be made in solitary contemplation but in human-divine and human-human interaction. What might such interaction in the judgment after death look like? Suppose there is a referent for the term “day of wrath”. Suppose the wrathful part in this judgment is played by the plaintiffs themselves—or phrased differently: by the victims of evil actions. Extrapolating from human interaction as we know it, it seems very likely that an encounter between human persons who have interacted in the past results in mutual accusation, in which they accuse each other of all the real and purported pain they inflicted on each other. If heaven is the harmoniously unified community between God and the saved human beings, then only those who have ceased their mutual accusations can enter it. Then all those who die, before they have come to a full reconciliation with those whom they have wronged and those who wronged them, need a post-mortem chance to do so, or they are excluded from heaven. So they enter into an ongoing judgment process that occurs between those who have already died but can also be linked to those still living, who can influence the process by their contribution of prayer and Mass intentions. Again extrapolating from human interactions as we know them, it seems very likely that a final and universal encounter among all human beings (thus also of all humans who have wronged each other and now voice their accusations) will gain momentum through mutual mimetic reinforcement9 and degenerate into an orgy of accusation that will not lead to universal reconciliation but to condemnation, and will thus result in damnation—Augustine’s massa damnata reloaded. This, however, would be a human self-condemnation; it would not originate from God, who could and—according to what we distilled from the New Testament—would still forgive; but the effect would be just the same as if God had condemned them: hell. It is here that Jesus plays a pivotal role in this model. He is the divine judge who pronounces divine forgiveness. He is also, however, a human victim who has been wronged by other humans, albeit one who, contrary to what can usually be expected, pronounces forgiveness instead of accusation. Moreover, according to the Christian faith, he is the only human victim of wrongs who has not victimized others; he is the only one who could rightly claim to have been made a victim without having been a culprit. When he pronounces forgiveness, this might constitute an almost irresistible model for emulation and thus invert the dynamism of the whole process, so that it will not deteriorate into a universal orgy of accusation and condemnation but an—arduous and painful—process of accusation, healing, and forgiveness which can ultimately result in universal reconciliation. Regarded in this light, this process fulfills several theological criteria for the final judgment and for purgatory: Jesus is the judge who pronounces God’s verdict 9 Dramatic Theology places great emphasis on mimesis, as the term was put forward by René Girard in his mimetic theory. For an introduction see Michael Kirwan, Discovering Girard (London: Darton, Longman & Todd, 2004).

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in a way consistent with the New Testament and the creed; Jesus’ way of dealing with his own death constitutes the means for the salvation of other humans, enabling them to forgive each other (thus representing the aspect of divine mercy); God’s permission for humans to voice their grievances and accuse their perpetrators ascertains that salvation is not doled out lightly and that human actions during one’s lifetime are accorded their due weight; no wrong is forgotten or hushed up but everything is brought to light (thus representing the aspect of divine justice). Still, because of the pivotal role of Jesus, there is a high probability that this process can end in a universal reconciliation, but it is not a certainty. (Catholic theology has it that the Community of Saints has already followed Jesus’ example and now constitutes a model for forgiveness, while prayer for the dead and Mass intentions for them express the willingness of the living to forgive the departed for the evil they have done to them during their lifetime.) That way both the gratuity and uncertainty of salvation for the individual sinner and the universal hope for salvation that the church has been teaching after Vatican II can be sustained. This whole judgment process could be identified with both the individual and the collective judgment of the standard model, making the divide a gradual transition. Since this process also enables those who have advanced to a love of God without attaining the full love of enemy by the end of their lives (that is, most humans) to acquire the latter, it is also isomorphic to purgatory: it enables those who have only decided half-heartedly for God to purify that decision. It also allows for those who eventually and irrevocably refuse to be reconciled with their enemies to be condemned to hell, although it does not pronounce any prediction of whether anyone will suffer that fate or not. It might also be ecumenically acceptable, for it does not postulate purgatory as a third, intermediate, state between heaven and hell; it introduces purgatory as an aspect of the last judgment. The last judgment is a clear article of the Christian faith and poses no ecumenical problems. The model proposed would argue that, what Catholic theology has been calling purgatory is a closer analysis of an aspect the last judgment has for some of its participants. There appears, however, to be a serious obstacle: the standard model of purgatory stated that the final destiny of those in purgatory was already certain: heaven. The final destiny of those entering the judgment process, as I described it, is still open. Here, a distinction might help: the standard model did not stipulate that those entering purgatory already know that their final destination will be heaven. God knows, but not necessarily the humans undergoing purification. This can be upheld for this model as well: god knows for each participant how the process will end for him/her, although they do not yet.

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Repercussions for Philosophical Anthropology A New Kind of Corporeality What then does this model presuppose philosophically, and why might it be interesting in this regard as well? As I said, it refrains from using the language of body and soul and just talks about human persons. From the way it describes human persons, however, we can infer which aspects of human beings it requires. And we can ask whether any of those features sufficiently describe what we mean in employing the concepts of human body or soul. When the New Testament portrays the risen Jesus, it resorts to imagery that, taken literally, would yield contradictions, describing him as still bearing the wounds of the crucifixion and eating and drinking, while at the same time depicting him as entering houses despite locked doors and appearing to more than five hundred people simultaneously (see 1Cor. 15:6).10 I take these tensions to imply that the new kind of existence of the risen Christ is on the one hand continuous with his existence before he died, yet on the other hand also fundamentally different. The problem for us is determining which properties represent continuity and which discontinuity. I concede that this is highly speculative. However, it is not pure fantasy: philosophically it can draw on our knowledge of human persons, as we have known them so far, and theologically it has to draw on the texts that purport to record divine revelation, which—of course—are always read according to a certain interpretation. It is to be expected that our knowledge of human persons will not remain unaltered through the process, exactly because there is an aspect of discontinuity. Our understanding or interpretation of revelation might, of course, also be altered in the process. Yet if there is too much discontinuity, we might conclude that we are not talking of human persons anymore, and thus the resurrection of human persons might appear to be impossible. So what features are preserved in our idea of the last judgment and purgatory? Human beings in purgatory obviously have a first-person-perspective because this is a necessary condition for such complex actions as accusing someone of, or forgiving them for, a wrong they have done to one. The question is: do they have the same first-person-perspective they had before dying? To ensure that there must be a substratum that remains the same when an interruption of the actual exertion of the capability of a first-person-perspective occurs. This substratum could be the bodily organism that shares the same space with the person. Since I do not think that the category of space, as we know it, is applicable to life after death, as I will elaborate on later, and the corporeality does change significantly, I prefer the other

10 Since the early church only gathered in small groups in private houses, this seems to suggest that he appeared in different places at the same time rather than in one place before a group of 500.

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possible solution, namely that the continuous substratum is a principle of life in a way that the Thomistic rational soul is.11 The model, moreover, presupposes mental capability. The persons involved have memories about their past sufferings, deeds, and misdeeds. And the model supposes that they are really their memories; they are not mistaken to consider these past experiences their experiences. (Actually it supposes that the memory capacity is enhanced on the one hand by others reminding me of what I did to them, and by God bringing to light memories of everything that was forgotten or suppressed.) Then the model supposes interaction between those entities: accusation, healing, forgiveness, reconciliation—or condemnation. These interactions have two further implications: they again imply personality and, I would also claim, they imply corporeality in a certain sense. I want to concentrate now on this kind of corporeality because I think it is quite different from the corporeality of our current physical bodies. Many of the papers in this volume take the determining factor of corporeality to be the identity of physical matter arranged in the same structure of the same smallest parts (be they modern atoms or Thomas’s elements). In our account of purgatory there was no mention of this. So, does it not really imply corporeality? Or does it imply a different way of viewing corporeality which does not depend on the criteria mentioned? This is what I would suggest. The linchpin of the model of purgatory was human relationships of guilt or hurt on the one side and apology and forgiveness on the other side—including Christ’s relationships of the kind mentioned, which— for the Christian believer—are both human and divine. And the latter relational behavior is supposed to effect real healing and reconciliation that furthermore result in a new quality of the relationship of these humans with each other and with God. I would argue that from our knowledge of humans we can stipulate that these processes cannot occur in human persons without their existing as bodily creatures. To accuse, forgive, and reconcile with a person I need to interact with that person in a way that presupposes corporeality. Some Aspects from Karl Rahner’s Theology of Death I want to argue for this briefly by taking up some elements of Karl Rahner’s theology of death.12 Rahner on the one hand espouses a traditional conception of death as the separation of body and soul, but then relativizes it by explaining that it is an apt description of human death and some of its essential properties, but not an adequate essential definition of it.13 He then goes on to emphasize that, contrary to the usual expectation in that tradition, by this separation the soul does not lose its 11

See Bruno Niederbacher’s article in this volume (Chapter 8). See Karl Rahner, Theologie des Todes, Quaestiones Disputatae 2 (Freiburg: Herder, 1958). 13 Ibid., p. 19. 12

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connection to the material world, which was until this point provided by its body. Rahner argues that a certain neo-Platonic reading would have the soul become “a-cosmic” through its separation from the body.14 In contrast Rahner emphasizes that a human soul must retain its relation to the material world and might therefore become “all-cosmic” by the separation from its body, being related to the whole material universe as such without mediation by a body of its own, until its relationship to the cosmos is again embodied through the resurrection body, which would, however, then retain the universal element of being “all-cosmic”.15 In the course of his argument Rahner makes some interesting claims that will be important for us. He maintains that during the human person’s biological life, the human soul is in principle open to the whole of the material universe but mediated through its own body and that this openness ascertains that the soul is not a “windowless monad”.16 So Rahner seems to imply that without a relation to the material universe the soul would be a windowless monad. Rahner also refers to the theology of purgatory, arguing that the idea of purgatory presupposes that on the one hand the person in purgatory has made a final decision for God (because he/she is already destined for heaven) but on the other hand this decision was not clear enough but imperfect during his/her life—something that presupposes bodily existence, according to Rahner. Therefore the idea that purgatory is the process of a final maturing of the decision that has already been made in life implies that the soul in purgatory also must have a clear relatedness to the material word. Rahner argues: If venial sin is only possible because of bodily existence, is it not reasonable to assume that suffering the consequences of venial sin also presupposes as its necessary condition some kind of ‘bodily’ existence, even if that has to be thought of as quite different?17

Of course, we are going a step further than Rahner in our suggestion. If Rahner is right and the idea of purgatory presupposes some kind of bodily existence, though a different one than that which existed before death, why should we not stipulate that the whole person—body and soul, if we want to use these terms— takes part in it? We can utilize Rahner’s argument that some relatedness of the soul to the material world is a prerequisite for purgatory by making the case against a separation of body and soul in the first place. We do not require this idea. We do require, however, a different notion of corporeality, if we are to sustain our claim that the person continues to exist in a bodily way after death. Rahner’s analysis of body and soul emphasizes that, without bodies, as mere souls, humans could not 14 Ibid., p. 20. “A–cosmic” meaning unrelated to the cosmos, without a link to the material universe. 15 See Rahner, Theologie des Todes, pp. 20–6. 16 Ibid., p. 22. 17 Ibid., p. 25.

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interact with one another.18 The proposed model of purgatory, however, suggests that the final judgment is not enacted by God alone but by God in conjunction with humans, thus it involves human interaction. This would be impossible among “windowless monads” and therefore also has to involve bodily interaction. Interactive Human Relationship as Embodiment But how are we to construe this kind of bodily existence? I would suggest that our model provides some hints for that. Is it not exactly the inter-human relations and interactions that make for continuity between our pre- and post-mortem bodies? It is the hurts I sustained in this life that have not yet healed and not yet been forgiven that the aspect of the judgment-process which we called purgatory addresses. I would hold then that the proposed model of purgatory does presuppose a postmortem body and takes the relational interactions between human beings as its defining characteristic.19 What other properties does this view imply? I do think that seeing judgment and purgatory as a process requires some kind of temporality. The model can—on the one hand—argue that humans somehow enter God’s eternity when they die. On the other hand it assumes a development that seems to require time. How can we solve this riddle? My suggestion would be that human participation in divine eternity needs to be construed differently from divine eternity itself. Divine eternity, as the fullness of life at once, has no beginning and no end,20 but human participation in it does have a beginning; and since the human mind remains a receptive mind, we might suppose a kind of psychological time that is needed to appropriate the experiences of eternal life. Similarly, a psychological time could be accepted for the healing and judgment process. Still there are two reasons why it would not be a mere continuation of physical time: with regard to human relationships, it leaves only the possibility of coming to terms with past injuries, not of causing new ones; with regard to encountering God immediately, it probably defies human imagination, being a completely new kind of experience, for which

18 This idea is strongly enhanced by Rahner’s thoughts on how the body functions as the real-symbol of the soul without which a human person could actually not realize him/herself. See Karl Rahner, “Symbol”, esp. pp. 245–52. 19 To be evenhanded one would have to suppose that the good that I experienced from other people and for which I am grateful to them and to God—understanding these human kindnesses as enabled by divine grace—also constitutes part of my ongoing relations (see Rahner, “Concupiscentia”, p. 370, fn. 23). Here a window opens for a theology of merits that does not deteriorate in a theology of works. Yet, maybe a theology of the judgment should not only concentrate on sins alone but also on grace–enabled meritorious deeds. 20 See Aquinas, S.Th., Ia q. 10, a. 1, a 4; q. 14, a. 13 et al. For my discussion of Aquinas’s view on eternity, see Nikolaus Wandinger, “Der Begriff der “Aeternitas” bei Thomas von Aquin”, Zeitschrift für katholische Theologie, 116 (1994): pp. 301–20.

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there are only pale analogues within human earthly life: the moments of greatest joy and happiness, albeit only after the judgment process is finished.21 I do not think that the model supposes spatial extension or the physical materiality, bound up with solidity, that we normally take as a given for bodies. And I do not think we need to demand it. To me the idea that our resurrection bodies would have these features seems quite strange, since theology has come to talk of heaven, hell and purgatory not as places but as conditions based on one’s relationship to God and humanity. If for humans interactive relationship is the defining characteristic of corporeality, extension does not seem to be a necessary element, although, of course, it is beyond our imagination to conceive of bodies without extension. But do we have to accept Descartes’s definition? The biblical account of the risen Jesus appearing before five hundred people at once seems incompatible with it; however, this alone does not suffice as an argument. Nevertheless, I think it can be a supportive argument, once interactive relationship is established as the defining characteristic of human corporeality instead of extension. Yet what ascertains the numerical identity of the post-mortem body with one’s pre-death body? I am convinced that numerical sameness of the body cannot be determined by any criteria of having the same atoms or elements, simply because that is not a necessary condition for having the same body even now. I think I do have the same body as I had 30 years ago, although 30 years ago I was still a teenager and thus looked very different, and the cells and atoms in my body were different. In fact I am not sure whether numerical bodily identity is necessary. The Christian faith stipulates that if I am resurrected from death, the person after the resurrection is identical with me, and that it needs to have a body. Yet, I am not sure whether it demands that I need to have numerically the same body then as I have now. One could object, of course, that there is a Christian tradition of the veneration of relics, and that the accounts of the risen Jesus demand otherwise. The risen Jesus still bore the wounds of his crucifixion. Since the resurrection accounts are not consistent, as I said, we are certainly allowed to interpret them in wider sense. One possibility that would fit the proposed model of judgment and purgatory very well would be to stipulate that Christ bearing his wounds after resurrection clearly shows that the relationships he had with human beings, who brought him to death, is something that he maintains even after the resurrection. Death does not separate us from the history of benefits and hurts received through human bodily relationships during our physical lives. They linger on until a full reconciliation has occurred, and the biblical description of the risen Jesus bearing his wounds 21

It is noteworthy that Karl Rahner emphasized that even the immediate relationship to God enjoyed by humans in heaven is mediated by Christ’s humanity and is therefore also body-related. See Karl Rahner, “The Eternal Significance of the Humanity of Jesus for Our Relationship with God”, Theological Investigations 3: The Theology of Spiritual Life (23 vols, Baltimore, MD: Helicon Press, 1967), pp. 35–46, esp. p. 44.

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emphasizes just that: the continued impact of previous relationships. What the Bible does not say but tradition added is that these wounds were “transfigured”, meaning that they no longer hurt and did not diminish Jesus’ perfection. This would correspond to the judgment model’s notion that Jesus had already forgiven his tormentors and thus any inhibition to reconciliation originated not from him but from his opponents. It also stipulates that Jesus was not defined by being a victim of human violence but by his existing out of divine love. If we accept this interpretation, we can say: it is exactly the web of interactive personal relationships—which shaped my very existence when I grew up and developed as a human being—that now forms the vital link between who I was before I died and who I will be in life after death. The identity of the person before death and after resurrection is manifest in their continuing their previous personal relationships. It is not some atoms that ensure that the latter is identical with the former; it is the impacts of human interaction that still linger in it and that seek forgiveness or gratitude. Seen in this way, bodily resurrection de-privatizes life after death. It cannot be only God and my soul, as Augustine overstated in his Soliloquies, because I am linked through my body to other human persons, and by their mediation to all of humanity and of creation as well. Of course, this way of looking at things is prone to arouse such objections as: what if someone else had my memories transferred and thought they had my relationships and no one could tell the difference; or: what if a person did not have any relationships prior to their death because of serious brain damage? While I acknowledge that these would make serious objections for using the continuation of interactive relationships as an observable criterion for bodily identity, I deny that they would invalidate them as conditions for it. Since we are talking of the last judgment, all ideas of deceit, error or inhibition of full human capability are eo ipso excluded, the last judgment being the event in which God frees us from all (self-)deception and inhibition of the proper functions of our capabilities. Still, what about the corpse? If human bodily existence continues immediately after death, why is there still a corpse which seems to have been the dead person’s body until very recently? Has a fission occurred, as some of our participants suggested?22 I think Thomas Schärtl’s contribution to this volume is helpful here. The “experienced body” he takes from phenomenology and Ricœur seems very much in tune with how we tried to construe human bodiliness. He also suggests that “physical body” should be treated as a phase-sortal and its referent should be seen as an abstraction rather than a real entity. The corpse could then be viewed as the remnant of a certain phase of human development. Its resemblance to the body experienced by the person during their biological life is quite superficial and over time diminishes more and more. Even so, the veneration of relics and the emotional importance of burial places make psychological sense. They are important as places of remembrance for persons who are still living their 22

See Schärtl’s and Corcoran’s contributions in this volume (Chapter 6 and 11).

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biological lives, because they function as symbols of the deceased persons. They are not, however, real-symbols in the strict sense of the word23 because the corpse is not the body of that person but merely a remnant of an earlier phase of his/her existence. I think it is an element of the Christian faith that we do even now have a relationship to our departed, to them as embodied persons, not to mere souls (for example, the community of saints; the assumption of Mary with body and soul). And even our knowledge that the corpse might still be decomposing does not disturb that conviction at all. However, the relationship we have to the departed is not immediate, as with living people, but only through mediation by Christ and His Spirit. For that reason its experiential quality is very different from the interaction with persons during their biological lives. A special question could be raised about Jesus’ corpse because—according to all gospels—his tomb was empty after his resurrection. Many modern theologians have doubted the historical accuracy of this account. Others have emphasized that the historicity of the empty tomb is very important because the corpse of a victim of unjust execution is the strongest sign that this victimization has not yet been overcome, while God’s opening of the victim’s tomb is a clear sign of the divine victory over an individual’s death and moreover over a whole culture built on violent death and on tombs that conceal this fact.24 Without entering into this discussion here, I just want to note that our position has no direct implications for it: the empty tomb, even if taken historically, is itself only a sign of the resurrection, signifying exactly the healing of Christ’s victimization and God’s ending of a culture of violence. Therefore one could argue that Christ was a special case because in him bodily resurrection and its cultural significance had to be revealed, and therefore the mode of revelation had to be adequate for the addressees, thus necessitating the empty tomb. The empty tomb by itself, however, would be sufficient neither to testify to the resurrection nor to represent it symbolically. It is noteworthy, therefore, that in many accounts of the appearances of the risen Christ, the persons who encountered him did not recognize him because of a resemblance to his physical body but only when he personally interacted with them25—just as we have introduced in our discussion of the new corporeality.

23

See Rahner, “Symbol”, esp. pp. 245–52. See Raymund Schwager, “Die heutige Theologie und das leere Grab Jesu”, Zeitschrift für katholische Theologie, 115 (1993): pp. 435–50. 25 See Mark 16:12; Luke 24:13–35; 24:36–42; John 20:14–16; 21:1–14. John 20:24–28 (the risen Jesus’ encounter with the apostle Thomas) at first glance seems to say otherwise, that Thomas recognizes Jesus because of the physicality of his wounds. However, the text does not say that Thomas actually inspected Jesus’ wounds. It records Jesus’ permission for him to do so and then immediately Thomas’s subsequent profession of faith. It seems that the interaction of the risen Jesus, conceding Thomas’s demands, impressed Thomas much more than the physical-bodily criteria he had himself set up earlier. 24

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We have tried to bridge Greshake’s and Ratzinger’s opposing views by taking up what could be considered their respective fundamental concerns but avoiding those consequences that conflict with the other’s central concerns. Greshake’s central concern could be described as that of avoiding the notion of a disembodied soul that exists in an intermediary state; Ratzinger emphasizes that human completion is not something that can occur independently of the world and of other humans, and therefore that there must be an intermediate state between individual death and the completion of the whole creation in the end. The model proposed here fulfills both desiderata: it stipulates that the whole person is sustained through his/her biological death, whereby his/her materiality is transformed and therefore loses certain characteristics (and certainly gains others). Still, it is an embodied person that survives because its inter-human relationships ascertain this. The model also provides for an intermediate state between individual death and universal resurrection. The intermediacy, however, is not brought about by first having a disembodied soul and eventually a soul reunited with the same physical body. The intermediacy occurs because of the difference between a partial finalization of my relationship with humanity and God, which gradually—as more and more people join the ongoing judgment—universalizes, and the completion of that process when my relationships towards all of humanity and thus to God are finalized for good and have become all-cosmic in that sense.

Chapter 14

Scientific Insights into the Problem of Personal Identity in the Context of a Christian Theology of Resurrection and Eschatology Robert John Russell

Introduction The topic of the conference from which this volume arises was: “How do we survive our death? Personal identity and resurrection.” The phrasing of the topic in this way reflects what I understand to be a sharp divide between analytic philosophers and Christian theologians as to the hermeneutical context within which this topic should best be located. From one viewpoint the context of the topic is an analysis of the meaning of “personal identity” within the ordinary world of human experience. Here the topic leads to questions such as these: am “I” the same person today as I was yesterday, or waking after sleeping, or coming out of a coma after a profound illness, or even moment by moment? Indeed is there an “enduring self” or merely a fragmentary series of events each of which somehow remembers events in its past? Questions like these fall naturally within the context of analytic philosophy. From another viewpoint the context of the topic should be an analysis of the meaning of “resurrection” within the relation between ordinary human experience and eternal life in God’s New Creation. Here, along with the previous sorts of questions, additional, much wider issues relating generally to Christian eschatology must be attended to, such as the following one: what is the theological relation between the resurrection of Jesus some 2,000 years ago and the general resurrection in the eschatological future in which our own resurrection will take place (see, for example, 1Cor. 15)? In this case the context is Christian theology. I will view the context of the topic in this second way and suggest we reshape its phrasing be “the quest for personal identity between our death and our resurrection”. While grateful for the philosophical analysis of personal identity offered by others in this volume, my essay will focus specifically on the theological concepts of resurrection and eschatology, and the challenge raised for them by scientific cosmology. In essence, what possible meaning can the general resurrection have in a universe destined to expand and cool forever until life of any kind is totally extinguished and all traces of its ever having existed are wiped clean, leaving in its

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wake a featureless and endless expanse of elementary particles? And if it can have no meaning in such a scientific view of the future, how can Jesus have been raised from the dead, and what is the basis of our hope?1 Setting aside the challenge from science for the moment, some scholars would argue that insights into the question of the continuity of personal identity between our death and our resurrection might be gained if we assume that the resurrection of Jesus is analogous to Jesus’ miraculous raising of Lazarus (John 11:38–43) or of Jaïrus’ daughter (Mark 5:21–42; Luke 5:40–56). If the analogy holds then the concept of “miracle” (in its many forms) is an essential part of the hermeneutical context for considering the continuity of our personal identity between death and resurrection. But I would follow those biblical scholars and theologians2 who argue that the resurrection of Jesus is of a vastly more profound nature than that of Lazarus. Clearly, to unpack this claim carefully would require an extended engagement with the results of higher criticism. Still for simplicity here, I would point out that the resurrection of Lazarus is “miraculous” because (at least in a Humean sense) it violates the ordinary processes of nature, whereas the resurrection of Jesus involves the radical transformation of these very processes (at least in a Humean sense) as God begins to make our world into what will one day be completed as the eschatological New Creation. Again, whereas Lazarus returned to the ordinary world of disease and suffering, and eventually died, Jesus’ post-Easter appearances were characterized by an extraordinary world of his walking through walls and his disappearing from sight at the breaking of bread, and by the fact that he now lives forever, never again to die. This in turn means that the resurrection of Jesus as the breaking in of the New Creation is both continuous with the present one in which we live and die and yet immensely discontinuous with the present one, for it is a world in which death will one day be banished and we will live eternally in the presence of the Triune God. To point out this difference I often refer to the resurrection of Jesus as “more than a miracle” while to that of Lazarus as “resuscitation”. In essence the resurrection of Jesus involves God’s transformation of this world into the New Creation, and with it many (perhaps all) of the laws of nature which science now studies. It is in this context of “eschatology as transformation” that I wish to locate the question of this volume: what is the meaning of, and the basis for, personal identity between this life and the eternal life to come? Before proceeding, I wish to address two concerns raised by those who believe that theological resources should not be admitted into a strictly philosophical 1 The relation between the resurrection of Christ and the general resurrection of the dead at the end of the age is brilliantly clear in Paul’s writings to the church at Corinth, see 1Cor. 15:12–20. In essence, for Paul the general resurrection makes possible and intelligible the resurrection of Jesus. 2 Clearly I mean by this to reject the trajectory pointing paradigmatically from Rudolf Bultmann to the Jesus Seminar and to follow instead of the path leading from Karl Barth to N.T. Wright.

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discussion of personal identity. This may be appropriate for discussions of personal identity during life, although even here a strictly secular anthropology begs the question of why it should be the default position in the academy and why the inclusion of a theological one needs justification. But the topic here is personal identity between death and resurrection, and it seems curious, to put it mildly, that one would assume it feasible to discuss resurrection without engaging its proper theological context.3 Second, if it is objected that secularists need not take a theologically formed discussion seriously, my response is that there might well be something of relevance coming from these ponderings which would be of interest to the research of secular philosophers based precisely on the theological dimensions of this discussion.4 This chapter begins with a brief discussion of various types of eschatology. Here I will choose the one which seems most required by the New Testament texts and which, clearly, is most challenged by contemporary science. It then relocates the question of personal identity through death in this eschatological context. Finally it suggests that the theology of resurrection as the transformation of the world points to a deeper understanding of the structure of physical time than is ordinarily assumed in contemporary physics: one in which the eschatological future is in fact proleptically present both in the Easter event and in all events in history. Types of Eschatology5 As I have written recently, there is a variety of scholarly surveys of historical and contemporary approaches to Christian eschatology whose material is germane to our treatment here. Nevertheless, few treat the relation between eschatology and scientific cosmology.6 It is the purpose of this section of my essay to do so. We begin 3

For a particularly egregious example of what happens when theology is left out of the discussion see Peter Forrest, “The Tree of Life: Agency and Immortality in a Metaphysics Inspired by Quantum Theory”, in Peter van Inwagen and Dean Zimmerman (eds), Persons: Human and Divine (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007). 4 I hope to have offered something of this sort in Robert John Russell, Cosmology from Alpha to Omega: The Creative Mutual Interaction of Theology and Science (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 2008), ch. 10. 5 A useful typology for sorting out general relations between science and religion is Ian G. Barbour’s fourfold structure: conflict, independence, dialogue, and integration. I’ll use these terms in what follows in a way that is largely informed by Barbour’s typology. See Ian G. Barbour, Religion in an Age of Science (Gifford Lectures; 1989–1990) (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1990), ch. 1. 6 Much of this material is taken from Robert John Russell, “Cosmology and Eschatology”, in Jerry Walls (ed.), Oxford Handbook of Eschatology (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008). Helpful resources include Hans Schwarz, Eschatology (Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans, 2000); Ulrich H.J. Körtner, The End of the World:

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with a brief summary of the importance of eschatology to contemporary Christian theology. Next an overview is given of scientific cosmology whose predictions of “freeze or fry” severely challenge those versions of Christian eschatology which are based on the bodily resurrection of Jesus and the transformation of the universe into the new creation. Several recent approaches to this challenge are outlined and some suggestions are made for future research in both theology and science. The Centrality of Eschatology to Christian Theology and the Challenge of Cosmology For brevity I will merely cite three contemporary sources to indicate the centrality of eschatology to Christian theology. In his commentary on Romans, Karl Barth claimed that “Christianity that is not entirely and altogether eschatology has entirely and altogether nothing to do with Christ.”7 The Vatican II document Lumen Gentium points to both the immediacy and the futurity of the Kingdom of God.8 And eschatology determines the entire content of Wolfhart Pannenberg’s systematic theology, in which God as Trinity acts from the future through the proleptic event of the resurrection of Jesus to transform history into its eschatological goal.9 Eschatologies such as these view the new creation not as a “replacement” of the present creation—that is, not as a second creation ex nihilo—nor as the mere working out of the natural processes of the world—that is, not as a “physical eschatology” as defined below. Instead eschatology involves the complete transformation of the world by a radically new act of God which began at the first Easter and continues into the future. For scholars such as Raymond Brown, Gerald O’Collins, William Lane Craig, Phem Perkins, Ted Peters, Janet Martin Soskice, Sandra Schneiders, Richard Swinburne, and N.T. Wright, eschatology as transformation is derived in large measure from a view of the resurrection which emphasizes elements of continuity and discontinuity between Jesus of Nazareth and the risen Jesus. In A Theological Interpretation, trans. Douglas W. Stott (Louisville: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1995); Richard Bauckham and Trevor Hart, Hope Against Hope: Christian Eschatology at the Turn of the Millennium (Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans, 1999); Ted Peters, “Where Are We Going? Eschatology”, in William C. Placher (ed.), Essentials of Christian Theology (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2003), pp. 347–65. 7 Karl Barth, The Epistle to the Romans, trans. Edwyn C. Hoskyns, 6th edn (London: Oxford University Press, 1933), p. 314. 8 Walter M. Abbott S.J. (ed.), The Documents of Vatican II (Louisville, KY: America Press, 1966), #48, pp. 78–9. 9 Pannenberg argues that the very deity of God depends, in one sense, on the eschatological consummation of the world. See Wolfhart Pannenberg, Systematic Theology, trans. Geoffrey W. Bromiley (3 vols, Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans, 1998), vol. 3, ch. 5, especially Part III; see also Wolfhart Pannenberg, Theology and the Kingdom of God, ed. Richard John Neuhaus (Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1969).

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this view, the empty tomb plays a key role, not as the basis of faith in the bodily resurrection but as contributing to the meaning of bodily resurrection. Against all gnostic or spiritualized interpretations, the empty tomb makes it essential that we take materiality, and thus the physical/material continuity of the person of Jesus, as an irreducible component of our concept of resurrection as transformation. At the same time, while continuity of this and all other aspects of the person of Jesus is crucially important, such aspects of continuity must be embraced within a wider perspective on the overarching discontinuity between Jesus of Nazareth and the risen Jesus. It is on all this that the question of the continuity of personal identity between death and eternal life, so important for the chapters in this volume, rests. It should be self-evident now that it is these transformation eschatologies which face the severest challenge from contemporary science, particularly cosmology, where we expand the domain of eschatology from an anthropological and even a terrestrial context to a cosmological horizon. First, then, we encounter the grim reality of a universe in which, in another few thousand billion years, all life must inevitably and remorselessly be extinguished. Following life’s inevitable extinction, cosmology depicts the far cosmic future as either endlessly cold or unimaginably hot, depending on whether the universe is open or closed. Scientists now believe that the universe is most likely flat/open, meaning that it will continue to cool and expand forever with a rate of expansion that is accelerating because of dark energy. This means that all of its early structure, spanning the first 20–30 billion years from the birth of galaxies to the origin of living organisms on earth, will inevitably vanish forever without a trace of its ever having existed: the cosmic future is an infinite, cold, dark, silent, endlessly expanding universe. Eschatology and Cosmology: A Variety of Minimalist Responses What responses have been given to Big Bang cosmology in relation to Christian eschatology? We first turn to a variety of minimalist responses before moving to more robust approaches. Eschatology as Irreconcilable with Cosmology A number of distinguished scientists have given pessimistic, “dysteleological” readings of scientific cosmology. In 1903 Bertrand Russell wrote darkly: All the labors of the ages, all the devotion, all the inspiration, all the noon-day brightness of human genius are destined to extinction in the vast death of the solar system and the whole temple of man’s achievement must inevitably be buried beneath the debris of the universe in ruins.10

Over seventy years Steven Weinberg came to a strikingly similar conclusion: 10 Bertrand Russell, “Free Man’s Worship”, Mysticism and Logic, and Other Essays (London: Allen & Unwin, 1963), p. 41.

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Similar positions can be found among those few theologians who have seriously considered the meaning of eschatology in light of cosmology. In 1966 John Macquarrie wrote: [I]f it were shown that the universe is indeed headed for an all-enveloping death, then this might … falsify Christian faith and abolish Christian hope.12

Three decades later, Kathryn Tanner echoed this view: If the scientists are right … hope for an everlasting and consummate fulfillment of this world is futile.13

Ted Peters also wrote unequivocally about the threat posed by science: Should the final future as forecasted by the combination of big bang cosmology and the second law of thermodynamics come to pass … we would have proof that our faith has been in vain. It would turn out to be that there is no God, at least not the God in whom followers of Jesus have put their faith.14

Pannenberg has listed the conflict between eschatology and cosmology as one of five key questions in the theology/science dialogue and offered wise advice: living with the conflict may well be better than seeking an “easy solution”.15

11 Steven Weinberg, The First Three Minutes: A Modern View of the Origin of the Universe (New York: Basic Books, Inc., 1977), pp. 154–5. 12 John Macquarrie, Principles of Christian Theology, 2nd edn (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1977), ch. 15, esp. pp. 351–62. 13 Kathryn Tanner, “Eschatology Without a Future?”, in John Polkinghorne and Michael Welker (eds), The End of the World and the Ends of God (Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 2000), p. 222. Tanner’s unique approach, beginning on p. 224, is neither dysteleological nor two worlds although it fully accepts the scientific scenarios for the cosmic future. 14 Ted Peters, God as Trinity: Relationality and Temporality in the Divine Life (Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1993), pp. 175–6. 15 Wolfhart Pannenberg, “Theological Questions to Scientists”, in Arthur R. Peacocke (ed.), The Sciences and Theology in the Twentieth Century (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1981), p. 12, pp. 14–15.

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Eschatology as Reduced to Cosmology: “Physical Eschatology” Suppose we base eschatology entirely on, by reducing it to, scientific cosmology. Could this help us avoid a dysteleological reading of cosmology? In 1979 physicist Freeman Dyson published a groundbreaking paper on what he called “physical eschatology.”16 Working with an open universe that expands and cools forever, Dyson advanced an unprecedented argument: if life can be reduced to the physics of information processing, then life can continue into the infinite future, processing new experiences, storing them through new forms of non-biologically based memory, and ultimately remolding the universe to its own purposes. An open universe need not evolve into a state of permanent quiescence … So far as we can imagine into the future, things continue to happen. In the open cosmology, history has no end.17

To his immense credit, Dyson did undermine Weinberg’s dysteleological reading of cosmology. Still on balance I believe that “physical eschatology” does not hold out genuine promise for an eschatology of “new creation” based on God’s radically new act beginning with the first Easter and ending in the eschatological future. Such an eschatology infinitely transcends what “physical eschatology” can offer us, even though there are elements of the latter which can prove fruitful to the former. It is to these latter that I will turn shortly. Eschatology as Irrelevant to Cosmology We must also address a beguiling “pseudo-solution” to the challenge: perhaps cosmology is simply irrelevant to eschatology; if so, the conflict would be over. This view takes several forms. Some claim that eschatology and cosmology are “two separate worlds”. Arguments supporting an independent approach to science and religion have been available for centuries; one only needs to think of the philosophy of Immanuel Kant. One of the most recent arguments for irrelevance is Stephen Jay Gould’s “two worlds” model of “non-overlapping magisterium”.18 Of course this position 16

Freeman Dyson, “Time Without End: Physics and Biology in an Open Universe”, Reviews of Modern Physics, 51 (1979): pp. 447–60. For a nontechnical discussion, see Freeman Dyson, Infinite in All Directions (New York: Harper & Row, 1988), esp. ch. 6. 17 A decade later, physicists Frank Tipler and John Barrow took up Dyson’s arguments but focused instead on the closed universe with its “fry” scenario for the far future. Their crucial insight was that if the rate of processing could exponentially increase, an infinite amount of information could be processed even in the finite time remaining before the closed universe recollapses and heats endlessly. See John D. Barrow and Frank J. Tipler, The Anthropic Cosmological Principle (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1986). 18 Stephen Jay Gould, Rocks of Ages: Science and Religion in the Fullness of Life (New York: Ballantine Books, 2002), p. 256.

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leaves us stuck in a “dead end to progress”, the very problem which the new approaches to theology and science were designed to avoid. Others stress the fact that all scientific theories are provisional, eventually replaced by, or incorporated into, new theories. In light of this perhaps we need not be too concerned about the present conflict between eschatology and cosmology; instead we should “wait and see”. But there is reason to be cautious about relying too heavily on the provisionality argument since it could easily devolve into a “heads I win, tails you lose” strategy for engaging science, one that effectively immunizes Christian theology by forcing it into an independent “two worlds” model. Eschatology as Beatific Vision Finally, there may be theological reasons for presupposing that cosmology is irrelevant to Christian eschatology even while maintaining that other scientific theories may be highly relevant to theology. This form of irrelevance is doctrinespecific and avoids a unilateral “two worlds” model. Arthur Peacocke, for example, does not connect the Resurrection with the eschatological transformation of the universe. Instead, eschatology refers to “our movement towards and into God beginning in the present … it transcends any literal sense of ‘the future’.” It is “beyond space and time within the very being of God.” Our ultimate destiny is Dante’s “beatific vision”,19 while resurrection in the “bodily” sense and, in turn, the redemption of nature through its transformation into the new creation, are set aside.20 In taking this position Peacocke avoids a conflict with cosmology, but the cost seems to be that the universe and all non-human life within it—God’s wondrous creation—has no eschatological destiny; only the human spirit does. Eschatology as Spiritual Immortality in Process Theology In process theology the consequent nature of God is continually enriched as God prehends every actual occasion in the world. Moreover, through God’s prehension of us we obtain what Whitehead called “objective immortality”, God’s memory of us.21 In attempting to bring Whitehead’s views closer to Christian eschatology and its insistence on the importance of personal eternal life, some process scholars, 19

See Arthur Peacocke, Theology for a Scientific Age: Being and Becoming—Natural, Divine and Human, enlarged edn (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1993), pp. 344–5. 20 Peacocke, Scientific Age, pp. 126–28, esp. endnote #72; Arthur Peacocke, “The Cost of New Life”, in John Polkinghorne (ed.), The Work of Love: Creation as Kenosis (Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans, 2001). For a critique see Robert John Russell, “Bodily Resurrection, Eschatology and Scientific Cosmology: The Mutual Interaction of Christian Theology and Science”, in Ted Peters, Robert John Russell, and Michael Welker (eds), Resurrection: Theological and Scientific Assessments (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2002), pp. 13–14. 21 John B. Cobb Jr. and David Ray Griffin, Process Theology: An Introductory Exposition (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1976), esp. pp. 118–24.

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such as Ian Barbour and Marjorie Suchocki, add to this “subjective immortality”; here a person continues after death to be “a center of experience” within God.22 In my opinion these views can neither deal adequately with the bodily resurrection of Jesus in relation to the empty tomb traditions (pace Suchocki) nor respond to the challenge science poses about the far future. Here again, as with Peacocke, the scientific predictions seems irrelevant, but now for a philosophical, rather than a theological, reason: the underlying Whiteheadian metaphysics provides process theology a way to speak of eschatology without regard to scientific cosmology even though, ironically, Whiteheadian metaphysics is celebrated as based on twentieth-century physics (particularly special relativity and quantum mechanics). Eschatology in an Ambiguous Relation to Cosmology John Haught draws on process theology and Roman Catholic theology to offer three theologically distinct and seemingly contradictory perspectives on eschatology. (1) In the first perspective Haught interprets redemption through the lens of process theology; our hope is objective immortality.23 This allows Haught to view the far future cosmic scenarios as “not inconsistent with” process eschatology. Unfortunately it inherits many of the same problems discussed above including “irrelevant” as a fitting interpretation for process eschatology. (2) The second perspective points to the power of nature itself. In this perspective, the fifteen billion years of cosmic evolution now appear, in the perspective of faith, to have always been seeded with promise … (and) bursting with potential for surprising future outcomes.24

But is it nature, or God acting through nature, which will bring about the New Creation? (3) The third perspective is grounded in the Catholic doctrine of bodily resurrection such that “the whole physical universe … shares in our destiny.” Here, though, where the scientific scenarios about the future of the universe would seem 22 Barbour, p. 241. See note 37, p. 288, for references to this by other process thinkers. For further discussion of subjective immortality see Marjorie Hewitt Suchocki, The End of Evil: Process Eschatology in Historical Context (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1988). For a more recent assessment see David Wheeler, “Toward a ProcessRelational Christian Eschatology”, Process Studies, 22/4 (1993): pp. 227–37. 23 John F. Haught, The Promise of Nature: Ecology and Cosmic Purpose (New York: Paulist Press, 1993), pp. 128–35 refers to objective immortality. Whether Haught includes subjective immortality or is merely rejecting a body/soul dichotomy in the remaining portion of ch. 5 is unclear to me. 24 The second perspective is also found on p. 115, John F. Haught, God After Darwin: A Theology of Evolution (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 2000), intermingled with the first. It seems to be a variation on the theme of physical eschatology (see above), and if so it is radically different from an eschatology based on the bodily resurrection of Jesus.

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highly relevant—and apparently contradictory—to his position Haught leaves the challenge unacknowledged.25 Eschatology and the Transformation of the Universe: Initial Proposals In this section and the next we shall briefly survey some of the most promising directions for dealing with an eschatology of God’s transformation of the universe into the new creation in light of science.26 Jürgen Moltmann offers a threefold concept of creation: “creatio originalis, creatio continua, creatio nova;” the last leads to eschatology.27 Moltmann delineates several crucial reasons for requiring that eschatology be cosmic in scope. One is to avoid a gnostic reading of redemption that would be a redemption from, and not of, both body and world. An even stronger reason is given in his doctrine of the Trinity in which the Redeemer is the Creator. Thus without redeeming all that God creates, God would contradict Godself. Finally, cosmic eschatology is essential because of Moltmann’s theological anthropology: Because there is no such thing as a soul separate from the body, and no humanity detached from nature … there is no redemption for human beings either without the redemption of nature … Consequently it is impossible to conceive of any salvation for men and women without ‘a new heaven and a new earth.’ There can be no eternal life for human beings without the change in the cosmic conditions of life.28

Drawing on the writings of Teilhard de Chardin, Karl Rahner, and Moltmann, Denis Edwards views salvation as God’s transforming the universe as a whole and all that is within it, from clusters of galaxies to subatomic particles.29 Edwards then raises a crucial question: will “every sparrow that falls” be redeemed (Matthew

25

Haught, God After Darwin, pp. 160–4. Owing to strict limits on length, I have not included many others deserving discussion in a longer treatment, notably Teilhard de Chardin and Karl Heim. 27 Jürgen Moltmann, “God in Creation: A New Theology of Creation and the Spirit of God” (The Gifford Lectures 1984–1985) (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1985), p. 208. 28 Jürgen Moltmann, The Coming of God: Christian Eschatology, trans. Margaret Kohl (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1996), pp. 259–61. See also Moltmann, The Way of Jesus Christ: Christology in Messianic Dimensions, trans. Margaret Kohl (London: SCM, 1990), pp. 274–312; Moltmann, In the End—The Beginning, trans. Margaret Kohl (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2004), p. 151. 29 Denis Edwards, Jesus the Wisdom of God: An Ecological Theology (Homebush, Australia: St Pauls, 1995), pp. 145–52. 26

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10:29, Luke 12:6)? While Moltmann claims that every creature will find individual fulfillment in God, Edwards leaves this question open.30 Ted Peters develops an eschatology characterized by “temporal holism”.31 For Peters the cosmos is both created and redeemed proleptically from the future by the Trinitarian God.32 Prolepsis ties together futurum, the ordinary sense of future resulting from present causes, and adventus, the appearance of something absolutely new, namely the kingdom of God and the renewal of creation. The creation, from alpha to omega, will be consummated and transformed into the eschatological future which lies beyond, but which will include, this creation as a whole. Having said this, Peters is entirely frank about the challenge from science: if the cosmic future is truly “freeze or fry”, our faith in the Christian God is in vain.33 Eschatology and the Transformation of the Universe: Advanced Proposals Among all those writing on eschatology today, John Polkinghorne offers the most promising insights for responding to the challenge of cosmology.34 He too bases his eschatology of the transformation of the universe into the new creation on analogy with the bodily resurrection of Jesus Christ. To distinguish creation by transformation from the initial creation of the universe Polkinghorne proposes a pivotal new term, creation ex vetere: The new is not a second creation ex nihilo, but it is a resurrected world created ex vetere. Involved in its coming to be must be both continuity and discontinuity, just as the Lord’s risen body bears the scars of the passion but is also transmuted and glorified.35

30 Edwards returns to this issue in later writings. See for example Denis Edwards, The God of Evolution: A Trinitarian Theology (New York: Paulist Press, 1999); Denis Edwards, “Every Sparrow That Falls to the Ground: The Cost of Evolution and the Christ–Event”, Ecotheology, 11/1 (2006): pp. 103–23. 31 Peters, God as Trinity, pp. 168–73. 32 Ted Peters, God—the World’s Future: Systematic Theology for a Postmodern Era (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1992), pp. 134–9, 308–9. 33 For his most recent writings see Ted Peters, Anticipating Omega: Science, Faith, and Our Ultimate Future (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2006). 34 See John Polkinghorne, The God of Hope and the End of the World (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2002); John Polkinghorne, The Faith of a Physicist: Reflections of a Bottom-up Thinker (New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1996), ch. 9. 35 Polkinghorne, “Eschatology”, pp. 29–30; see also John Polkinghorne, Reason and Reality: The Relationship Between Science and Theology (Valley Forge, PA: Trinity Press International, 1991), pp. 102–3, and Polkinghorne, Faith of a Physicist, ch. 9. Moltmann also uses the term; see Moltmann, Coming of God, p. 265.

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Still, if the nature of the new creation, based on a radically new act of God, cannot be based on current science, why is science relevant to our discussion of it?36 In response, Polkinghorne focuses on the element of continuity which will characterize the transformation of the universe into the new creation. It is here that science can offer a constructive perspective. He starts with such theories as special relativity, quantum mechanics, chaos theory, and thermodynamics and “distills” out of them some general features of the universe which might be a clue to the new creation: relationality and holism, energy and pattern (form), mathematics. Regarding the preservation of the individual identities of persons through the transformation, Polkinghorne discusses two options: either one is remembered by God and re-embodied in the new creation or each person’s death “maps” to the same “time” of the general resurrection. Is it possible to move the dialogue further? In previous writings I have proposed that we should expand the usual methodology in theology and science to allow for their genuine interaction: I call it the methodology of creative mutual interaction.37 Not only should theology critically incorporate the discoveries of science in theological reconstruction; in addition such reconstructed theology might offer either insights for future research programs in science or criteria by which to select between competing research programs. Research scientists are regularly but usually implicitly influenced by philosophical and theological views. My hope is that a more explicit, self-critical process could prove valuable in science. (Of course all such scientific research programs would have to be tested strictly by the scientific community and would presuppose methodological naturalism.) I have also added to Polkinghorne’s suggestion about elements of continuity the idea of elements of discontinuity in order to give a more complex representation of the idea of eschatology as transformation. Still, in contrast to Polkinghorne, I use the concept of “prolepsis” as developed by Pannenberg and Peters to point towards a more complex topology for the connections that support the possibility of continuous personal identity between death and the general resurrection. I will discuss this below. Before proceeding, however, we must first deal explicitly with the impasse between a cosmic future of “freeze or fry” and an eschatological future of new creation. How are we to resolve this fundamental challenge? My response is to recognize that the challenge is not from science but from the philosophical assumptions we routinely bring to science, namely that the events science predicts must come to pass. Although science must be based on this assumption if it is 36 Bauckham and Hart, pp. 130–31 and Tanner, pp. 222–3a can be read this way, for example, but note Tanner, p. 223b! 37 Russell, Alpha to Omega, in particular, the Introduction and ch. 10. See also Robert John Russell, “The Relevance of Tillich for the Theology and Science Dialogue”, Zygon, 36 (2001): pp. 269–308; Robert John Russell, “Did God Create Our Universe? Theological Reflections on the Big Bang, Inflation and Quantum Cosmologies”, Annals of the New York Academy of Sciences 950: Cosmic Questions (2001): pp. 108–27.

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to be falsifiable, it is quite possible theologically to accept both a very different assumption about the future predictions of science and at the same time all that science explains about the past history of the universe. The first step in deciding on this philosophical assumption is to consider whether the laws of nature are descriptive or prescriptive. I believe that a strong case can then be made that they are descriptive. The next step is to claim on theological grounds that the processes of nature which science describes are the result of God’s ongoing action as Creator, and that their regularity is the result of God’s faithfulness. Finally, God is free to act in radically new ways, not only in human history, but also in the ongoing history of the universe. Because of this, we can claim that the scientific predictions are correct but inapplicable since God did act in a radically new way at Easter and will continue to act to bring about the new creation. In doing so, we are not in conflict with science but with a philosophical interpretation brought to science. In short, the future of the universe would have been what science predicts (that is, “freeze or fry”) had God not acted at Easter and not continued to act in the future. With this in place we can return the general problem of continuity of personal identity between death and the general resurrection within the context of an eschatology of universal transformation. Eschatology as Transformation: Elements of Continuity and Discontinuity38 Our starting point for an eschatology of universal transformation is God’s act at the particular event of Easter, an event which began the process of transforming the universe into the new creation. A clear presupposition to the inherent meaning of eschatology as transformation is that God must have created the universe such that it is transformable by God’s action at Easter. Specifically, God must have created it with precisely those conditions and characteristics which it needs as preconditions in order to be transformable by God’s new act. Here science can be of immense help to the theological task of understanding something about that transformation if we can find a way to identify, with at least some probability, these needed “elements of continuity” in that transformation. I would add to this that science might also shed light on which conditions and characteristics of the present creation we do not expect to be continued into the new creation, or what I call “elements of discontinuity” between creation and new creation. This would include those physical and biological processes which underlie disease, suffering 38 For more details see Robert John Russell, “Eschatology and Physical Cosmology: A Preliminary Reflection”, in George F.R. Ellis (ed.), The Far Future: Eschatology from a Cosmic Perspective (Philadelphia: Templeton Foundation Press, 2002), pp. 266–315; Russell, “Bodily Resurrection”; Robert John Russell, “Sin, Salvation, and Scientific Cosmology: Is Christian Eschatology Credible Today?”, in Duncan Reid and Mark Worthing (eds), Sin and Salvation (Hindmarsh: ATF Press, 2002), pp. 130–54.

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and death, temporality marred by the loss of the past and the unavailability of the future, and ontological determinism which undercuts genuine personhood and relationality. This would also include those new features of the New Creation which are not yet present in the universe as we know it. I leave it for future writings to explore in more detail the specific insights we can glean from science about these elements of continuity and discontinuity. My present concern reflects the focus of the conference out of which this essay arises: the problem of personal identity between death and the general resurrection, and how an eschatology of transformation provides a key factor in addressing this concern. Somehow we must find a starting point for understanding the incredibly complex temporal relation between creation and New Creation that balances the element of simple futurity, what Peters calls futurum (the ordinary sense of future resulting from present causes) and adventus, the appearance of something absolutely new, namely the kingdom of God and the renewal of creation. Figure 14.1 is a modest first step to address this question in a schematic way. Figure 14.1a represents the history of the universe, including the first Easter (with the symbol of the cross) up through the present and into the future with a continuous line, and then the realm of the New Creation emerging out of it with a dashed line. Note that the dashed line takes up where the continuous line ends to indicate that I am rejecting all those eschatologies which portray the New Creation as entirely continuous with and a mere development of the present creation. Also note that everything in the diagram falls within the doctrine of creation ex nihilo, indicating that I am rejecting all those eschatologies which portray the New Creation as a second “full-blown” creation completely disjunctive from the present creation. However, to say that “the dashed line takes up where the continuous line ends” is somewhat misleading. The idea of transformation is not entirely reducible to that of a transition from a “first this then immediately that.” Instead it is a dialectical synthesis of two concepts: the transformation as a pervasive characteristic of the entire process of the ex vetere creation of the New Creation out of the present creation, and the transformation as a radical transition from the present creation into the New Creation. This dialectic underlies the common assertion that the reign of God or the kingdom of heaven is “both here and now, and yet future and not yet.” How might we more adequately represent these two concepts diagrammatically? Figure 14.1b is a “first order” attempt to represent the dialectic by noting that the theme of continuity is consistent with the pervasive characteristic of the eschatological transformation while the theme of discontinuity relies on the transition-like character of the eschatological transformation. To represent the element of continuity I use continuous lines to represent those elements which exist in the present world and which will continue to exist in the New Creation: mathematics; aesthetics; the ethics of agape love; embodiment; temporality in a limited form; and so on. When it comes to the elements of discontinuity, however, there are at least two types: (i) I use continuous lines which terminate at the transition for those aspects of the present world which will not continue into the New Creation: moral evil (sin in all its explicit forms ranging from hubris and concupiscence to racism, homophobia, economic

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injustice, political injustice, terrorism, violence to other species and the ecosystem, and so on.), natural evil (suffering, disease, death, extinction, and so on.), and so on. (ii) I also use wiggly lines which begin at the moment of transition to represent the birth of radically new elements characterizing the New Creation: God’s complete forgiveness and healing of individuals and societies, eternal life as fully temporal, endless experience of God and each other, and so on.

Figure 14.1a Resurrection-based transformation of the universe

Figure 14.1b Continuity and discontinuity in the characteristics of the universe A “second order” adumbration would “spread out” the “transition time” from a moment to all time either starting at the cross or even starting at the original creation of the universe. The choice here obviously depends on one’s particular interpretation of Christian eschatology. My point here is simply to suggest that there is a great deal of flexibility in an attempt like this to explore the incredibly complex conceptual landscape that is unavoidably encountered in this theological locus. Eschatology as Prolepsis: A Topological Representation The next step is to introduce Pannenberg’s fundamental claim: Easter is a proleptic event in which the radically new eschatological future appears in time and is disclosed in the Resurrection of Jesus. How might we represent this idea diagrammatically? My initial suggestion is to start with what we have developed in the preceding section, and use it as a basis for making the temporal topology much more complex than that of the continuous, one-dimensional line as it was above. In Figure 14.2a, I have copied the diagram from Figure 14.1a but I have added a line

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which starts from the eschatological realm of the New Creation and traces back to the Easter event. This line is meant to suggest the concept of prolepsis: the eschatological reality of the Risen Lord and the full complement of eschatological phenomena—for example, general resurrection of the dead, judgment, second death, and life eternal—are somehow “present” in the historical events of the cross and resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth. Conversely, the resurrection of Jesus is the normative manifestation of the universal eschatological future for the universe. What I want to suggest now is an extension of this idea beyond what Pannenberg’s writings give us, namely that the prolepsis accomplished in the Easter events create the basis for an ongoing prolepsis of multiple manifestations throughout the entire future history of the universe until its final transition and full transfiguration into the New Creation. In Figure 14.2b I very schematically represent two of these ongoing “multiple-prolepses” with the addition of new lines from the eschatological realm back to individual moments in historical, postEaster time. The proleptic event of Easter is not only unique in itself but it is the prototype of proleptic events for all times in the world. This leads us, finally, to the question of this essay: how are we to understand the continuity of personal identity between our death and the general resurrection? Let me list two topics within this question briefly pending detailed consideration: a. Are these multiple-prolepses to be understood as paths lying on a background “space” that includes them and the timeline of the universe (that is, are they “drawn” on the “paper” as with the printing of this figure), or are they paths representing a topological “folding” of the timeline of the universe back onto itself (that is, the lines on the paper are the spaces of prolepsis; there is no background “space” that includes them)? My preference is for the latter. b. Is the “length” of the paths finite or zero?39 A finite path could represent the possibility of something like Purgatory through which, while saved and destined for paradise, we are given a chance to be purged of our sins. A path of zero length could represent the possibility that at the moment of our death we are immediately present in the New Creation. Again my preference is for the latter.

39

It is not hard to provide a metric for the path-length whose value could be null between the events of the grounding in the eschaton and the appearance in history even though these events are not conflated. A trivial example is the proper time for a photon path in special relativity; it is null even though spacetime distinct events lie along it.

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Figure 14.2a Resurrection as Prolepsis and the Continuity of Personal Identity

Figure 14.2b Multi-Prolepses and the Continuity of Personal Identity

Conclusions and Future Research I hope to have shown, in a preliminary way, how the question of the continuity of personal identity between death and the general resurrection lies within, and is shaped by, a fully developed Christian theology of eschatology, in particular an eschatology as transformation based on the bodily resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth. Such an eschatology includes elements of continuity and discontinuity which together lead to insights from science and insights for science, following

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my methodology of creative mutual interaction, although the latter must be developed elsewhere.40 Pannenberg’s concept of prolepsis, deployed through an admittedly very modest graphical model, allows us then to think about the continuity of personal identity in a new and creative way that leads to a topological complexification of the relation between the creation and the New Creation. I hope to explore these ideas further in future work,41 and I am grateful for the many fruitful interactions with the colleagues whose essays appear in this volume.

40

Russell, Alpha to Omega, see in particular the Introduction and ch. 10. See for example Robert John Russell, Time in Eternity: Pannenberg, Physics and Eschatology in Creative Mutual Interaction (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2011). 41

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Index

animalism 90–91, 99–100, 170–73, 178, 180, 183, 194–6 Aquinas, Thomas 20, 118–19, 145–59, 171, 177–8, 181, 185–6, 189–90, 217–18 Aristotle 171–2, 193, 198, 217 and the intellect 186–7 and the soul 185–8, 217 atonement 176 Augustine 25, 108, 112, 213–15, 225–6, 238 Baker, Lynne Rudder 40, 71, 84, 89, 91, 120, 162–3, 166, 177–9, 181, 183–4, 186, 189, 194 Barbour, Ian G. 243, 249 Barth, Karl 3, 242, 244 beatific vision 248 bipolarism 75, 85; see also pan(proto)psychism body dying 7, 36, 47, 49–50, 113 experienced 122–3, 211, 238 physical 12, 121–4, 211, 238–40 spiritual/glorified/heavenly 5, 6, 10, 104, 116, 168, 170, 189, 223, 251 exchange of 21 resurrection of see resurrection bodily body-snatching account of the resurrection 6, 33, 35–6, 47–8, 50, 53–5, 57, 61, 64–5, 96, 101 Bruntrüp, Godehard 69, 75 Bynum, Carline 6, 172 causal chain 31, 56, 83–4 causation backward 63 immanent 7, 31, 35–6, 48, 56–60, 61–2, 69–70, 78, 81–4, 117, 182 remote 48, 61–2

chain of consumption 107–12 consciousness of objects 134, 137–8 phenomenal 76 ascription of states of 127, 129, 134 emergence of 89 stream of 76, 83, 138 temporally structured 139 and John Locke 179–180 constitution-relation 91, 101, 166, 192–3 constitution view of persons 71, 84, 91, 161–5, 168, 174, 184, 192–3, 197–200 and animalism 161–2, 175–6, 183, 195–6 and dualism/immaterialism 71, 161–2, 175, 178, 194–6 and gappy existence 181–3 and hylomorphism 185–6, 188, 190 and John Locke 178–9, 193 and Resurrection 174–6, 188, 202–3 continuity 44, 58, 62, 69, 103, 139, 154, 167, 187, 207, 236 bodily/ material 23, 55, 117, 156, 183, 202, 233, 245 psychological 23, 28, 36, 51, 54–7, 65, 84, 121 of life 119, 183, 202 and eschatological transformation 244, 251–8 Corcoran, Kevin 24, 34, 38, 40, 89, 91, 106–7, 112–14, 117–18, 177–8, 180–82, 194 counterpart 39, 51, 75, 77, 207–8, 224 creation 20, 55, 67, 108, 159, 191, 212, 214, 217, 220, 223, 228, 238, 240, 250–51, 253 new 33, 241–2, 244, 247–9, 250–53 relation between creation and new creation 253–8

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crucifixion of Jesus 229–30, 233, 237 damnation 225, 231 Davis, Stephen T. 1, 103, 105–9, 111–12 Descartes, René 30, 131–2, 161, 187, 195–6, 237 disembodied see disembodiment disembodiment 3, 23–4, 37, 105, 107, 122, 148, 165, 168, 172, 174, 177, 201, 240 dualism Cartesian 195, 204, 205 Platonic 2, 185, 215 substance 11, 71, 105–6, 177, 190, 194–195 mind-body 23–4, 37, 88, 103, 123, 180, 195–7, 212, 214–15, 217, 219 compound 75, 177 emergent 37, 75, 195 substantivalist 96 duplicate 4, 7, 23, 26, 36, 40, 44, 49, 50, 57, 60, 174 embodied see embodiment embodiment 12–13, 50, 104, 107, 121–4, 157–8, 161–3, 168, 173–4, 177, 192, 235–6, 239–40, 252, 254 endurantism 64, 94, 98, 115 eschaton 24, 104, 112, 124, 204, 256 eschatology and christology 219–21 and cosmology 244–50 as transformation 242, 250–58 and Ratzinger 207–10 eternity and time 85, 212–13, 236, 255 eternal life 11, 85, 141–3, 218, 241–2, 245, 248, 250 Evans, Gareth 128, 135, 141 evil action 28, 229–31 natural 255 moral 254 first–person perspective 12, 80, 83–4, 123, 170, 174–6, 179, 183–6, 188, 190, 196, 200, 233 emergence of 200–201, 204–5

and personhood 76, 161–6, 168, 178, 192, 194, 197–8, 199 fission 7, 8, 10, 21, 36–8, 40–45, 82, 93–6, 101, 106, 113–20, 123, 238 forgiveness 204, 225, 230–32, 234, 238, 255 form substantial 77, 148, 149, 150, 151, 152, 153, 157, 158, 172, 173, 177, 178, 189 of the body see soul four–dimensionalism 8–9, 65, 69; see also perdurantism fulfillment 11, 13, 210–11, 214–15, 217, 221, 224, 246, 251 fusion 10, 21, 95 gap see temporal gap gappy existence 9, 104–5, 114–15, 181–3, 202 genidentity 70, 72, 76, 78, 81–4 glorification 103–4, 112 gospel according to John 220, 239, 242 according to Luke 24, 68, 239, 242, 251 according to Mark 220, 229, 239, 242 according to Matthew 204, 230, 251 grace 210, 214, 216, 224–6, 236 Greshake, Gisbert 104, 210–11, 214, 227–8, 240 Hasker, William 34, 37–44, 195 heaven 4, 6, 7–8, 20, 64, 93, 113–14, 203, 207, 210, 222, 225–7, 231–232, 235, 237, 250 hell 23, 225, 230–32, 237 Hershenov, David B. 7–8, 34, 38, 44–7, 62, 105, 109–11, 116, 170–71 Hudson, Hud 8–9, 34, 38, 40, 65, 89, 91–8, 100, 182 Hume, David 132–3, 242 Husserl, Edmund 122, 124 hylomorphism 75, 77, 177–8, 185–9, 190 idealism 28 Berkeley’s 81, 138 identity

Index and artifacts 52, 59, 63, 111 and closest continuer theories 8–9, 23, 38–44, 94, 113–14, 116–17, 119–20, 123 criteria of over time 10, 21, 29–30, 58, 92, 96, 99–101, 105, 183, 186, 207, 237, 239 indeterminacy of 22, 26, 28, 48, 186 numerical 4, 21, 24, 26, 62, 69–72, 76, 83, 85, 93–4, 145–6, 148–58, 167, 170, 172, 174, 180–81, 183, 186, 189, 192–3, 195, 196, 202, 237 psychological criterion of 92, 99–100, 117 transitivity of 91 image of God 191, 203 immaterialism 169, 172, 175, 178, 204 immortality 67, 103, 171, 177, 179, 183, 185, 188, 214, 218 dialogical 213, 219–221 spiritual 248–9 of the soul 21, 23, 168, 189, 209–10, 216, 223 incarnation 164 incorruptible body 168–72, 174, 175, 189 parts 4, 6, 171 soul 2, 3, 148, 154, 158 individuation 70, 77, 84 principle of 148–9 criteria of 166 intermediate state 113, 168, 172, 209–10, 212–14, 219–220, 221, 227–8, 232, 240 intrinsic properties 29, 73–4, 76 Kant, Immanuel 123, 128, 133–5, 137, 138–43, 198, 199, 201, 247 laws of nature 10–11, 30, 46, 89, 112, 169, 203, 242, 253 Leftow, Brian 75 Lewis, David 40, 65, 72–3 living being 7, 34, 54, 109, 117, 123, 169, 188 form/principle of 147, 177, 185, 190, 234

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living organism see living being location 36–7, 48–50, 54, 61–2, 71, 78, 81, 91, 94, 97 multiple 96, 98–101 single 100 Locke, John 21, 173, 178–80, 187, 190, 193, 198 Lohfink, Gerhard 104, 210, 214, 227 love human 212, 221, 223, 226, 232 divine 24, 203, 218, 229, 238 mass 49, 52, 79, 195 materialism 37–38, 42, 83, 89, 94, 204 christian 34, 69 psychological 142 cosmological 142 and dualism 88, 103 and survival 83 memory 112, 117, 180, 247–8 criterion 21, 169, 173–5, 180 mereology 9, 97–8 Merleau-Ponty, Maurice 121–2 Merricks, Trenton 10, 40, 58, 89, 92, 95, 107–8, 124 miracles 9, 15, 23, 30, 33, 92, 161, 168–9, 181–2, 202, 242 modality 97, 101 Moltmann, Jürgen 250–51 necessity 82, 123, 128, 137–8, 140 of identity 38–44 and laws 133 Noonan, Harold 38–9, 43 occupation see location Olson, Eric T. 34, 38, 48–50, 92, 95, 103, 142, 177 omnipotence 25, 30, 171 organism see living being human 7–8, 39, 87–8, 157, 161–3, 166, 178, 185, 189, 192 Pannenberg, Wolfhart 74, 244, 246, 252 pan(proto)psychism 74–6 Parfit, Derek 2–3, 26, 28 parts 13, 25, 28, 36, 41, 43, 44–7, 49, 57, 92–3, 95, 108–11, 114, 118, 121,

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Personal Identity and Resurrection

148, 151–2, 156, 165, 167, 195, 217, 234 essential 145, 158, 217 immaterial 196 material 87, 89, 91, 155–6, 162 metaphysical 158 simple 45, 107, 111–12, 117 temporal 8–9, 40, 44, 60, 65, 69, 71–2, 77, 81, 84–5, 94–5, 97–8, 100, 171, 182 perdurantism 69, 95 perfection 156, 210–11, 224, 228, 231 personal identity biological criterion of 90–92, 96, 98–99 closest continuer theory of 8–9, 23, 38–40, 42–4, 94, 113–14, 116–17, 119–20, 123 psychological criterion of 92, 99–100, 117 personality 21, 115, 117, 234 change 190 personhood 13, 87–9, 99, 103, 116, 179– 80, 183, 191–2, 194, 196, 197–201, 204–5, 254 Peters, Ted 244–6, 251–2, 254 phase sortal 99, 124, 195, 238 phenomenology 12, 121–3, 131, 238 Platonic model of afterlife 54–5, 57, 65–6 Platonism 209, 214–17, 223 plenitude doctrine of spacetime 60, 65–6 Polkinghorne, John 11, 173, 251–2 power of God 214, 224–5 predication mental 132 physical 127–8 psycho-physical 129, 131, 135–41 presentism 72–3, 77 principle of life see living being, form/ principle of process ontology 67–8, 71–4, 82, 85 and survival 76–7 process theology 67, 248–9 prolepsis 251–2, 255–8 punishment 174, 229–30 purgatory 105, 209, 213, 225–37, 256

Rahner, Karl 13, 210, 234–7, 250 Reassembly 6, 58, 93, 106–12, 116, 118, 125, 158, 170–71 relations causal 7, 49, 81, 85, 93, 95, 182–3, 202–3 equivalence 79, 80–81, 83 of ownership 107–8 of parthood 94 perichoretic 199, 201, 203 spatial 49, 74 temporal 74, 212, 254 relationality 123, 191, 198–200, 252, 254 and resurrection 203–4 replica account of the resurrection 25, 28, 50–54, 59–60, 63, 91, 94, 112, 158, 165–166 resuscitation 24, 31, 242 resurrection in–death–theory 103–5, 210–13 of Jesus 3, 230, 241–2, 244, 249, 251, 255–7 revelation 10, 92, 105, 222–3, 230, 233, 239 St Paul 24, 35, 50, 171, 204, 226, 242 salvation 103, 211–12, 217, 219, 225–6, 230, 232, 250 science and religion 243, 247 scripture cristian 168, 203 hebrew 204 Shults, LeRon 197–8 similarity 29, 75–6, 115, 150, 168 simples 45, 96, 113–9, 125 simulacra account of the resurrection 33, 92–4 soul hylomorphic understanding of see hylomorphism as form of the body 110, 117, 189, 217 space 49, 54, 69, 76, 78, 89, 136–41, 143, 149, 193, 233, 256 bodily 121–2 and time 63, 69, 71, 74, 112, 138, 142, 248 -time 9, 40, 45, 49–50, 65, 69, 77, 207

Index Stages 7, 35–6, 40, 69, 73, 77, 82–3, 93–5, 113, 180, 182, 190, 202–3 States 46, 49–50, 53, 56, 58–9, 175 mental/intentional 21, 52, 54–7, 75, 127–9, 131–5, 137–9, 141, 163, 165, 176, 180, 187, 194 physical 52, 54 Strawson, Peter F. 127–30 Stump, Eleonore 149, 157 substance dualism see dualism substantial form see form Swinburne, Richard 22, 103, 169, 244 temporal parts see parts temporal gap 9, 10, 92–3, 181, 202, 212 three–dimensionalism see endurantism transcendental philosophy 130, 142

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transformation 24, 68, 112, 120, 171, 189, 211, 217, 242–5, 248 cosmological 250–3 eschatological 253–5 vagueness of personal identity 186 Van Inwagen, Peter 6, 30–31, 33–6, 40–41, 89, 94, 117–18, 146–7, 158, 171, 183 Whitehead, Alfred N. 68, 70, 72, 74, 76–8, 81, 198, 248 wrath of God 229–30 Zimmerman, Dean 7, 8, 31, 40, 44–5, 61–4, 83, 89, 93–4, 113–14, 116, 182