My Psychologically Entrenched Beliefs

A ways back, while ruminating about moral relativism (my nemesis), I kind of developed/invented/discovered a notion that I call a “Psychologically Entrenched Belief,” or PEB for short. The name of this concept should be pretty much self-explanatory: a belief that is so deeply ingrained in an individual’s belief system it is almost impossible to remove. In other words, a belief that is “psychologically entrenched.” Examples of such beliefs abound: science produces knowledge, God created the universe, or what-have-you. Calling a belief a PEB doesn’t make any judgment on whether or not that particular belief is true or false. It only means that the belief is difficult to question for the individual who believes it. It is my contention that the improper understanding of PEB’s is one of the driving forces behind moral relativism.

Basically, I believe that since it is psychologically difficult to question a PEB, the relativist wants to presuppose that any particular PEB is true so that it need not be questioned. Hence, since everyone, or every culture, or whatever, has different moral PEB’s moral relativism is the way to go. My reply is that just because a belief is difficult to question doesn’t mean it is necessarily true. Once upon a time, “The world is flat” was a PEB, or better yet, “Human sacrifice will appease our god,” was once a PEB. Clearly, the fact that a particular belief is a PEB is not a guarantee that that PEB is true. Hence, moral relativism is inadequate and may not even be particularly healthy.

But enough about the general concept of PEB’s; hopefully, it has been sufficiently elucidated. Now for something a little more personal.

My PEB’s.

Growing up, I was raised Catholic. As a general rule, religion serves as a source of PEB’s. So, my youthful PEB’s covered the usual gamut of Catholic beliefs: sex outside of marriage is wrong, homosexual activity is wrong, abortion is wrong, etc…. Then, I went to college and studied philosophy. In philosophy you question everything. PEB’s are not sacrosanct. Still, I had one belief that was sacrosanct: the existence of truth. That lasted for a while, then I questioned that and had nothing. Having no PEB’s is a very uncomfortable place to be: I had my antichrist melt down (In defiance of God and everything else, I tried to annihilate my soul …. it didn’t work; it just drove me mad).

Nowadays, my PEB’s are probably smaller in number and, perhaps, worth pointing out and briefly discussing. My PEB’s include: abortion is wrong (or to be more precise: having an abortion is morally inferior to having a baby), I’m the antichrist, truth exists, and Jesus of Nazareth was the Messiah. There may be a few others that I just haven’t entered here. Anyway, of the beliefs listed, the ones I wish to discuss are my PEB that Jesus is the Messiah and the PEB that I am the antichrist, and how those two PEB’s interact.

My belief in Jesus is somewhat ambiguous. On one hand I am convinced He is, at the very least, a philosopher who figured out the truth about Satan. Alternatively, He may be the Word—you know the foundational principle of Reality. He’s not both these things, He’s one or the other. If Satan is the universe, Jesus figured that out and decked him. If not, then Jesus is the Word and the Grand Unifying Principle of Reality. Either description makes Him special and the Messiah. But they can’t both be true. Likewise, they significantly differ in this respect: if He figured the truth out about Satan (being the universe), I can be a good antichrist. If He is the Word, however, I’m in trouble: there is very little possibility, no matter my intentions, that anything but evil will result from my actions as the antichrist. And yet, my PEB is that He is special in one of these ways, but I’m not entirely sure which it is.

Furthermore, as I expound on my antichrist worldview, the PEB that Jesus is special impacts that worldview. I want to make sure that my worldview retains the tenet that Jesus is special and should have an important role to play in every person’s life; but is that because I want that to be so, because I was raised Christian (Catholic), or is it because that is actually the case? My PEB tells me to make Him special in my worldview, but I’m not sure that is His desire. And it is not like He is carrying on a steady conversation with me, although He has spoken to me, once or twice (at least, I think it was Him).

Basically, I’m stuck on the question of how much influence Jesus should have over an individual’s life. Would He embrace that Zen koan “If you meet the Buddha on the road, kill him,” or, as He would say, “I tell you you are free…” (although that last phrase I can’t track down again). Does Jesus want your personal philosophy to be Jesus-centric or individualistic? I’m not sure and I feel I have to answer this question and answer it correctly because if I am wrong, it will lead to disaster.

Anyway, I don’t think this post is anywhere as clear as I wanted it to be, but it’s starting to get kind of lengthy, so I’m going to end it here.

Substance versus Matter

In light of the fact that Church teaching makes a big deal of the notion of substance in its doctrine of Transubstantiation (how consecrating the Host changes its substance, but not its properties), I’m going to ramble on about the nature of substance for a little bit.

I remember once, some time after  I had graduated from college a physics friend of my father said something like “I always thought Aristotle was a materialist, but a philosopher I know said he wasn’t; he was a substantialogist. What’s the difference?” At the time, I was unable to elucidate the difference, so I demurred, saying “I’m really not sure,” although I should have been able to do so. Anyway, I am now going to try to answer that question.

Materialists believe everything is made of matter. Substantialogists believe everything is made of substances (note the s). So what is the difference between matter and substance—that is, when you are using them in their strictest philosophical senses?

Well, matter has properties. Substance does not. Matter has mass, density, volume, shape. Those are all properties. You can visualize a glop of matter. You can feel matter. You can punch matter. Surprisingly, none of those things apply to substance. I think the best definition of substance is: that in which properties adhere. So, if you have a substance (by the technical philosophical definition, not the common sense definition where it means basically a physical chunk of something) you can’t ascribe a mass to it in itself, because mass is a property. You can’t ascribe a volume to it for the same reason. It is basically impossible to visualize substance. And philosophers recognize this.

So, you might ask, if you can’t visualize it, why do you even think it’s there? Well, it started with Aristotle, I believe. He said that you can’t see it but you apprehend its necessity with your intellect. With respect to the Church, Church leaders argue that when the Host is consecrated the substance of the small piece of unleavened bread changes, but its properties do not. It still looks exactly the same, but an undetectable change has happened: the substance of unleavened bread has transformed into another substance: a piece of the spiritual body of Jesus Christ, the Messiah.

Anyway, I hope that clears things up. Please recognize that I haven’t studied philosophy in about twenty five years or so; so, my explanation may be a little lacking.

What is the Eucharist? Substance, Symbol, or Myth?

One of the central features of Catholicism is the ritual of Communion in which the participants of the Mass receive “the body and blood of Jesus Christ.” But what does this mean? In the ritual, Catholics ingest a small piece of unleavened bread—the body of Christ, also known as the Host—and (if they wish) drink a bit of sacramental wine—the blood. Let’s just focus on the Host. Is it the body of Christ?

Well, clearly it is not the physical body of Christ. Catholics do not engage in divine cannibalism every Sunday. The bread certainly doesn’t have the consistency, texture, or the taste of human flesh (not that I know what human flesh tastes like). Nor does it normally have actual blood—although I have heard of miracles in which the Host bled. Of course, it is not the doctrine of the Catholic Church that the Host is the physical body of Jesus. Rather, church theologians argue that, according to the tradition of transubstantiation (I think that’s the right word), the Host is the spiritual body of Christ. I believe it was St. Thomas Aquinas who developed that particular concept. Unfortunately, I’ve never studied St. Thomas Aquinas, but I heard once that his philosophy was similar to Aristotle with the addition of the Christian God (a gross oversimplification, I am sure), and I have studied Aristotle, although that was a number of years ago. Anyway, my understanding is this: according to Aristotle every object consists of substance and properties. Properties are, well, properties such as color, shape, weight, etc… Substance is that in which the properties adhere. It has no properties itself and is, therefore, only apprehendable through the intellect which is led to it through contemplation of an object and its properties … or something like that. Now, consider the Host. It has a number of properties: it is small, thin, circular, and usually white in color, to name a few. Its substance, however, is undetectable, yet according to the theory, when the Host is consecrated (kind of a fancy blessing) the substance changes. No longer is it the substratum of a normal object; it becomes the substance of Jesus’ being as the Son of God—a piece of His Substance, His Spirit. Or, that’s the theory, anyway. It’s worth pointing out that, since substance has no properties in itself, it can’t be empirically verified. There is no way to detect it, weigh it, or measure it.

Anyway, Protestants don’t believe in transubstantiation. It is, in fact, a point of contention between the Catholic Church and a variety of Protestant sects. Protestants believe it is merely a symbol of Jesus’ body. In other words, there is nothing spectacular or miraculous involved in the Host, it is still just a piece of unleavened bread. Aristotle’s/Aquinas’ metaphysics are not necessarily accepted, but if they were, Protestants don’t believe the substance of the Host changes. And, of course, neither Protestants nor Catholics believe the properties of the Host change.

Another option—I read about this in one of the growing number of Christian books I’ve read, but I don’t remember who to attribute this view to—is the notion that the Host is a remembrance. That is, Jesus was an important spiritual person, a great friend to His Apostles, and the Founder of the Catholic Church and all Christian religions. And so, He should be remembered for all those things. Indeed, in the Last Supper itself, Jesus gives the command, “Do this in memory of me.” So, the notion that the Host is a remembrance has some Scriptural support.

Finally, there is the position of the atheist: the Host is nothing; just a piece of unleavened bread. The consecration does nothing, changes nothing. It’s all a myth.

What is my position? I think I’m closest to the Catholic view, but I’m not confident enough to say I know that position is true. At the very least, I think the remembrance position passes the test of scrutiny. As for looking at the Host as merely a symbol; that seems to be lacking any meaningful punch. Basically, it is my view that if God wanted to make the Host special, He could. Does He? Philosophically, I don’t know and I know proving it either way would  probably be very difficult, if not impossible. Religiously? Yeah, I can believe that. Not sure that makes me a really devout Catholic, but it’s a start.

What is the Eucharist: Substance, Symbol, or Myth?

One of the central features of Catholicism is the ritual of Communion in which the participants of the Mass receive “the body and blood of Jesus Christ.” But what does this mean? In the ritual, Catholics ingest a small piece of unleavened bread—the body of Christ, also known as the Host—and (if they wish) drink a bit of sacramental wine—the blood. Let’s just focus on the Host. Is it the body of Christ?

Well, clearly it is not the physical body of Christ. Catholics do not engage in divine cannibalism every Sunday. The bread certainly doesn’t have the consistency, texture, or the taste of human flesh (not that I know what human flesh tastes like). Nor does it normally have actual blood—although I have heard of miracles in which the Host bled. Of course, it is not the doctrine of the Catholic Church that the Host is the physical body of Jesus. Rather, church theologians argue that, according to the tradition of transubstantiation (I think that’s the right word), the Host is the spiritual body of Christ. I believe it was St. Thomas Aquinas who developed that particular concept. Unfortunately, I’ve never studied St. Thomas Aquinas, but I heard once that his philosophy was similar to Aristotle with the addition of the Christian God (a gross oversimplification, I am sure), and I have studied Aristotle, although that was a number of years ago. Anyway, my understanding is this: according to Aristotle every object consists of substance and properties. Properties are, well, properties such as color, shape, weight, etc… Substance is that in which the properties adhere. It has no properties itself and is, therefore, only apprehendable through the intellect which is led to it through contemplation of an object and its properties … or something like that. Now, consider the Host. It has a number of properties: it is small, thin, circular, and usually white in color, to name a few. Its substance, however, is undetectable, yet according to the theory, when the Host is consecrated (kind of a fancy blessing) the substance changes. No longer is it the substratum of a normal object; it becomes the substance of Jesus’ being as the Son of God—a piece of His Substance, His Spirit. Or, that’s the theory, anyway. It’s worth pointing out that, since substance has no properties in itself, it can’t be empirically verified. There is no way to detect it, weigh it, or measure it.

Anyway, Protestants don’t believe in transubstantiation. It is, in fact, a point of contention between the Catholic Church and a variety of Protestant sects. Protestants believe it is merely a symbol of Jesus’ body. In other words, there is nothing spectacular or miraculous involved in the Host, it is still just a piece of unleavened bread. Aristotle’s/Aquinas’ metaphysics are not necessarily accepted, but if they were, Protestants don’t believe the substance of the Host changes. And, of course, neither Protestants nor Catholics believe the properties of the Host change.

Another option—I read about this in one of the growing number of Christian books I’ve read, but I don’t remember who to attribute this view to—is the notion that the Host is a remembrance. That is, Jesus was an important spiritual person, a great friend to His Apostles, and the Founder of the Catholic Church and all Christian religions. And so, He should be remembered for all those things. Indeed, in the Last Supper itself, Jesus gives the command, “Do this in memory of me.” So, the notion that the Host is a remembrance has some Scriptural support.

Finally, there is the position of the atheist: the Host is nothing; just a piece of unleavened bread. The consecration does nothing, changes nothing. It’s all a myth.

What is my position? I think I’m closest to the Catholic view, but I’m not confident enough to say I know that position is true. At the very least, I think the remembrance position passes the test of scrutiny. As for looking at the Host as merely a symbol; that seems to be lacking any meaningful punch. Basically, it is my view that if God wanted to make the Host special, He could. Does He? Philosophically, I don’t know and I know proving it either way would  probably be very difficult, if not impossible. Religiously? Yeah, I can believe that. Not sure that makes me a really devout Catholic, but it’s a start.