Reasonable atheism (8): the fundamental theological rule

“The way you use the word ‘God’ does not show whom you mean but rather what you mean.” (Wittgenstein)

The most important element of monotheistic religions is the prohibition on idolatry. Idolatry is the raising up of some created facet of the world (so either an object, an ideology or a value) and giving it the importance that should be reserved for the creator alone. It is about getting our priorities wrong. Terrible consequences always follow from idolatry.

There are a number of ways in which to discern if idolatry is taking place. The most straightforward comes when actually using the language of God. For the rule is: the living God cannot be the member of any set. If you are attributing something to God which can also be attributed to another object or value, and you are not prepared to entertain any negations or qualifications to that attribution, then you are engaged in idolatry.

So, for example, we can take the claim that ‘God exists’. This makes God a member of the set of ‘existent things’. Thus it is a theological mistake. God is not a member of the set of ‘existent things’. It would therefore be strictly accurate to say that God does not exist.

Or take the set of ‘good things’. God is not a member of the set of ‘good things’. It would therefore be strictly accurate to say that God is not good.

And so on.

This undoubtedly will sound like ‘cobblers’ to the humourless atheist – but that is, I argue, because they have a restricted understanding of what it means for language to ‘make sense’. Theologians do different things with language. But I’ll say more about that, particularly the nature of analogical language, in due course. For now I just want to emphasise this basic rule of theological grammar: all idolatries are prohibited. God can never be the member of a set.

One defining feature of humourless atheism is that it depends upon the violation of this rule.

Reasonable atheism (7): a brief comment about structure

I thought it would be worthwhile to say a little something about ‘where am I going with this?’ as it may not be clear. Just as my Virgin Birth tirade evolved from what I thought was going to be two posts into a great long series of over a dozen, so too this sequence I now expect to stretch over at least twenty posts. This is how I see the structure of it panning out:
– first some conceptual ground clearing, especially on the difference between atheisms (mostly now done);
– then I’m going to talk about how wisdom is taught, and how ‘wisdom language’ and traditions function, not least in neurological terms;
– then I’m going to talk about the nature of theological language, when it’ll become clearer (I hope) why I’m talking about wisdom so much – I see theological language as a means of forming wise people;
– then I’m going to talk in more specific terms about what it means to be a Christian, not least in terms of the claim that Jesus is wisdom incarnate, and, therefore, what a Christian is actually committed to claiming over against the humourless atheist critique. This is where the ‘meat’ of positive assertion will come; I’m holding it off until the end because I don’t believe it can be properly understood without the prior clarifications.

Along the way I want to disinter some ‘theological mistakes’ made by humourless atheists (and many Christians). This is my list at the moment:
1. Why God does not ‘exist’ (this will explain the basic principle of idolatry).
2. The fallacy of ‘I only don’t believe in one more God than you’.
3. Christians don’t believe in ‘the supernatural’
4. The fallacy of “You’re just a liberal and you don’t believe anything, you’re not really a Christian”.
5. The nature of magic and superstition.
If there are any others that people can think of I’d be happy to add them in.

The collapse of complex societies (Joseph Tainter)


I had been meaning to read this work for quite some time, as it has quite a high reputation in peak oil circles. In particular, it has been cited directly to me in contexts where I have disputed the inevitability of the collapse of our civilisation. Now that I have read it, I can see that the high reputation is definitely deserved, although I have drawn somewhat optimistic conclusions from it. Click ‘full post’ for text.

Summary of Tainter’s argument
Tainter’s work was originally published in 1988 and has the feel of a work which is establishing a new field of study. Tainter is concerned to explore what ‘collapse’ means, when applied to a society; how collapse happens; and, in the conclusion, to draw some possible lessons for our present situation. The first chapter is a swift survey of eighteen historical examples of collapsed societies around the world, from the Harappans to the Hohokams. This serves to introduce the field that Tainter wishes to study, and also indicates the absence of rigorous empirical investigation. This is the cue for Tainter to begin his systematic analysis. He outlines what is meant by ‘collapse’, describing it as “a matter of rapid substantial decline in an established level of complexity. A society that has collapsed is suddenly smaller, less differentiated and heterogeneous, and characterised by fewer specialised parts…” Then in chapter three, Tainter surveys the explanations commonly given for why a particular society collapses, finding them all more or less deficient, and saving an especial scorn for ‘mystical explanations’ (eg Spengler or Toynbee), about which he writes: “Mystical explanations fail totally to account scientifically for collapse. They are crippled by reliance on a biological growth analogy, by value judgements, and by explanation by reference to intangibles.” In the course of this chapter he also gives a resounding declaration of the benefit of excluding value-judgements: “A scholar trained in anthropology learns early on that such valuations are scientifically inadmissible, detrimental to the cause of understanding, intellectually indefensible, and simply unfair”. This reads rather quaintly today, not least if the arguments that Robert Pirsig advances about anthropology in Lila are anywhere near being correct. However, this doesn’t really impact upon Tainter’s project.

Tainter then takes the best existing explanation for collapse (economic) and proceeds to develop a hypothesis to explain why complex societies might suddenly shift from a more complex to a less complex state. His thesis can be concisely stated: increasing complexity gives rise to diminishing marginal returns on investment; when those returns become negative, the society has a progressively diminishing capacity to withstand stress, and is vulnerable to collapse.
Essentially at point C3 there is no benefit from the increase of complexity (C3-C1) – hence the collapse from C3 to C1.

This thesis is built upon four working assumptions:
– human societies are problem-solving organisations;
– sociopolitical systems require energy for their maintenance;
– increased complexity carries with it increased costs per capita; and
– investment in sociopolitical complexity as a problem-solving response often reaches a point of declining marginal returns.

What happens is that, as a complex society initially develops, there is a very high return on investment in complexity – the resources made available through that adoption of complexity are far higher than are used up through the complex organisation itself. However, over time, the ‘low hanging fruit’ are used up, and for every increase in complexity there is a lower and lower resource return until there comes a point where simply maintaining the existing complexity has a negative impact upon available resources – in other words, the resources are more efficiently deployed through a less complex system.

Tainter gives a number of different specific and small-scale examples where this decline in marginal returns applies, for example in terms of the return on research and development investment, or medical research, but his next chapter applies the theory to understanding three different examples of collapse. The most telling example, to my mind, was that of the farmers in the latter stages of the Western Roman Empire, who were taxed more and more heavily in order to maintain the apparatus of the Roman state, and who eventually welcomed the barbarian invasions as a release from what had become Roman oppression. A Roman structure of high complexity had been viable for as long as there were increasing resources made available – and this was accomplished through conquest. However, once the limits of conquest were reached (either with the German tribes, whose relative poverty made their conquest uneconomic, or through coming up against another Empire strong enough to resist Rome, eg the Parthian) then the model of development became untenable. The accumulated resources available to Rome were drawn down, its capacity to absorb shocks to the system was eroded, and thus the collapse of that form of complexity became a matter of time. As Tainter writes, “Once a complex society enters the stage of declining marginal returns, collapse becomes a mathematical likelihood, requiring little more than sufficient passage of time to make probable an insurmountable calamity”. As a complex society enters into this terminal phase, the advantages to retreating to a previously existing level of complexity become more and more obvious, and local communities start to shift their allegiance: “…a society reaches a state where the benefits available for a level of investment are no higher than those available for some lower level…Complexity at such a point is decidedly advantageous, and the society is in danger of collapse from decomposition or external threat”. The only way to avoid a collapse is for the society to access a new resource which increases the return on investment once more.

One intriguing aspect that Tainter draws out in his closing remarks is that collapse is only possible where there is a power vacuum. That is, in a situation of conflict between states collapse does not occur, there is simply a transfer of control from one polity to another, without any diminishment in levels of complexity. However, this does mean that when collapse happens it happens systemically across several different polities simultaneously.

Comments and questions
To this lay reader Tainter’s principal conclusions seem both sound and helpful. The idea that societies collapse into lower levels of complexity as a direct result of decreasing marginal returns on investment seems plausible, robust and open to various forms of empirical investigation. How far Tainter is correct in this thesis is something that professionals in his field can take forward. My interest is with the implications for our present crisis, for it seems unarguable that our existing society has entered the realm of diminishing returns on investment (seen most clearly through peak oil) and so I end with these various comments and questions.

– There seems to be a trade off between efficiency and resilience; that is, the most efficient forms of complexity are the most susceptible to a sudden collapse. In contrast, those that are less efficient have deeper levels of resilience. (This seems a good way to describe Dmitry Orlov’s comparison of the US and USSR.);

– the theme of diminishing returns on complexity appears to explain much of contemporary politics. In the UK for example we have seen a significant increase in the resources made available from the centre for the purposes of health care. This has had either no or negative benefits upon the health of the population. It would seem that the NHS has gone past the point of optimum complexity and is now ripe for a collapse into more local arrangements. One more piece of evidence confirming that Gordon Brown’s pathological centralising tendencies are a disaster;

– more broadly Tainter’s analysis is very encouraging for all those wishing to see a relocalisation of economies, especially with regard to food supply.

– in global terms, Tainter writes that “Collapse, if and when it comes again, will be global. No longer can any individual nation collapse. World civilisation will disintegrate as a whole.” It seems unarguable that our present form of industrial civilisation will collapse; what is not clear to me is whether it makes sense to equate ‘industrial civilisation’ with ‘technically advanced and humane civilisation’. In particular there seems no reason why it should not be possible to shift to a ‘steady-state’ type of economy;

– in this context I found Stuart Staniford’s 2050 scenario fascinating. What Staniford was outlining was one way in which a new energy subsidy (solar power) might be tapped in order to maintain the existing levels of complexity. I do not see the existing levels of complexity as desirable; just as the late-Roman farmers found it in their interest to let the central structures collapse, so too might the majority of the industrialised nations find it in their interest to let the gigantic state structures, built up through the twentieth century, collapse in turn. (The Shield of Achilles is relevant to this argument.);

– I would be very interested to read an analysis of Tainter that was also informed about the nature of contemporary capitalism, especially the nature of financial instruments. Much of the discourse about economics in peak oil circles seems at best incomplete, if not ignorant (especially talk about ‘fiat’ currencies). It seems to me that capitalism is a new development of the last few centuries, and that the financial resources made available, whilst not overcoming the problems Tainter outlines, do make the outcomes very different. This could apply in two ways: the present financial crisis may be more severe as a result of financial creativity, but it also may be possible to pull up an economy by its own bootstraps in ways that were not possible before. (See here for a related book review.)

So why have I come away from Tainter with an optimistic outlook? The answer is that Tainter makes plain that the collapse of complexity is not necessarily a universal bane. On the contrary, whilst those most closely invested in the centralised structures do badly in a collapse, it is quite possible that the majority of a community will benefit, not least because for a long time leading up to a collapse the maintenance of the status quo had exacted an increasing burden upon ordinary citizens. The removal of a particular level of human complexity does not, of itself, lead to depopulation. It seems quite possible that the twenty-first century future will be local, resilient and humane, and without an over-bearing state recklessly absorbing and wasting scarce resources that prospect seems very attractive. Of course, getting to that point will likely be very scary…

TBTM20080209


Do you know where I was at your age?
Any idea where I was at your age?
I was working downtown for the minimum wage
And I’m not gonna let you just throw it all away!
I’m through being cute, I’m through being nice
O tell me, Lord, am I the Antichrist?!

Reasonable atheism (6): what is acceptable to the humourless atheist?

“People nowadays think that scientists exist to instruct them, poets, musicians, etc. to give them pleasure. The idea that these have something to teach them – that does not occur to them.” (Wittgenstein, 1939)

I want to explore the comment I ended my last post on the topic with, that atheism of the humourless variety not only is aspect blind to something crucial, but that, in a very real and concrete sense, the salvation of our society rests upon our being able to shift away, as a culture, from the tenets of humourless atheism. Clearly this requires some further explanation.

Let’s begin by taking an example of atheist criticism of religious language, Stephen Law’s criticisms (eg here). Stephen finds the resort to mystical language ‘cobblers’ and comments: “The appeal to mystery and the mystical has of course been a bog-standard technique of cultists and other purveyors of snake oil down through the centuries whenever they are accused of talking cobblers.” I want to ask: what would count as not being ‘cobblers’? In other words, what sort of language meets the standard that is being applied? I take Stephen to be a representative of the Humean tradition (if I’m wrong I’ll amend this post!) so as a guess I would have thought that at least two forms of language would meet Stephen’s criteria for not being cobblers: language of mathematical and symbolic logic, and language that was supported by empirical science. Do other forms of language have anything other than emotionally-expressive value (that is, it makes us feel good but has no other cognitive weight)?

If we take poetry for example, it may well be that poetic language and verse has a useful function to play within a human society, as something which gives pleasure to people, but which is of no wider interest to those concerned with ‘truth’. Poetry can function in the way that football functions – it is entertainment, and might end up being economically significant, but as a discipline with the capacity to teach us truths about human nature and our place in the world it is without merit, and must give way to more scientific investigation.

My problem with this Humean perspective, however, is that it is impossible to teach wisdom with language that is acceptable. In other words, it is impossible to teach wisdom with language that is only a) logical, b) empirical or (at a stretch for the Humean) c) emotionally expressive. In order to teach wisdom – and for our civilisation to survive this crisis – we need something more.