Do we ever have an obligation to choose to hold beliefs, religious or otherwise? The relations between belief, volition and moral responsibility are the subject of William James' widely discussed essay ‘The Will to Believe’. James first takes up the relationship between volition and belief: Does it make sense to speak of choosing to believe a proposition? His answer is that it does, in the sense that we can choose to act in ways which encourage the production of a believing attitude in ourself. For example, we can be selective in attending to evidence, and we can incline ourselves toward belief by acting as though we already believe. By avoiding certain influences and subjecting ourself to others, we can encourage the development of belief. In so doing, we in effect treat ourself as a third person, and our behaviour is analogous to what we might engage in when encouraging others toward favourable evidence. The question of moral responsibility then becomes appropriate in our own case in a way analogous to that in which it does with respect to our belief-producing actions toward others. Just as the deception of others raises moral questions, so does the deception of ourselves.

One of the most extensive yet least conclusive methodological debates within religious studies revolves around the question of what, precisely, the phenomenology of religion is and what contribution it can make to the study of religion. I do not intend to answer this important question here. To do so satisfactorily would require a range of historical, philosophical and methodological inquiry which would go quite beyond the bounds of a single article. My intention in this paper is, by comparison, unambitious. It is to take one view of what phenomenology of religion is and to consider an area outside that usually explored by students of religion which can, nonetheless, shed some light on how religions might be studied in a way which is in accordance with the phenomenology of religion so understood. What follows will offer an answer to the question of what contribution one particular understanding of phenomenology might make to the study of religion, but no attempt will be made to establish whether or not this particular understanding ought to be regarded as normative.

Self-righteousness and censoriousness are strong emotions. They exist in the claims of ‘orthodoxy’ as much as in the protests of ‘heterodoxy’. They lie behind claims of tolerance as often as behind displays of intolerance. These emotions should be disentangled in the motives of the men who make history, of those who write history, and of those who read history. The very designation ‘heterodox’ is both etymologically and conceptually structured in antithesis to ‘orthodox’. It is a word not only of doctrinal description, but also of inherent condemnation. The structure and the intention of words such as Shī‘a, comprising the whole sweep from bid‘a to ghulūww, direct the attention back to an opposite concept which originates, defines and prejudges these words. One corollary of this is that the movements and doctrines defined as ‘heterodox’ are fundamentally related to the ‘orthodox’ and cannot be understood in isolation. Another is that this relationship, by its very definition in terms of vindication and repudiation, is one of tension.

Recently there has been considerable debate about the relationship between the religions of the world; in particular Christians have been anxious to formulate a theology of other religions which transcends the traditional Christian belief that God's revelation and salvation are offered exclusively in Jesus Christ. In this context a number of theologians have questioned the finality of Christ and Christianity. Professor John Hick for example - the leading proponent of this view - speaks of a Copernican revolution in theology which involves a radical transformation of the concept of the universe of faiths. It demands, he writes, ‘a paradigm shift from a Christianity–centred or Jesus–centred to a God–centred model of the universe of faiths. One then sees the great world religions as different human responses to the one divine Reality, embodying different perceptions which have been formed in different historical and cultural circumstances. Similarly, the Roman Catholic priest, Raimundo Panikaar, endorses a new map of world religions. Advocating a revised form of ecumenism which strives for unity without harming religious diversity, Panikaar argues that the fundamental religious fact of the world's religions is the mystery known in every authentic religious experience. For Panikaar, this mystery within all religions is both more than and yet has its being within the diverse experiences and beliefs of the religions: ‘It is not simply that there are different ways of leading to the peak, but that the summit itself would collapse if all the paths disappeared. The peak is in a certain sense the result of the slopes leading to it.… It is not that this reality has many names as if there were a reality outside the name. This reality is the many names and each name is a new aspect.’ Such a vision of the universe of faiths implies that no religion can claim final or absolute authority.

The Free Will Defence, as we shall understand it here, is an attempt to show that

(1) God exists and he is omnipotent, omniscient, and wholly good is logically consistent with

(2) There is moral evil in the actual world.

In the following there are two principal objectives. Firstly, I hope to show that what seems to be the usual view of Bradley prevalent amongst theologians and philosophers is inaccurate. Secondly, I shall attempt to set Bradley's thought, albeit briefly, in the wider context of our contemporary interests. I have been more concerned to consider the aspects of Bradley's work that are interesting and, I think, quite exciting for theologians than to give a more general account of his philosophy. Bradley's reactions to specific doctrines of Christianity were coloured a good deal by his reaction to an evangelical upbringing (he was the son of an evangelical clergyman), but on a more abstract level he has an interesting and striking philosophical approach to the notion of religious faith. It is with this latter that I am concerned here.

The history of doctrine is an important field of study. So also is the study of doctrine itself. Like the two natures of Christ they ought neither to be confused nor separated. ‘The unassumed is the unhealed’ is a phrase justly famed in doctrinal history. It is a question worth asking whether it merits a position of similar importance in the study of doctrine itself.

It has often been charged that the doctrine of papal infallibility is either false or incoherent. These charges stem, I believe, from a misunderstanding of the logical character of infallible papal utterances, a misunderstanding shared alike by friends and foes of the doctrine. In this paper, I shall argue that the doctrine is both coherent and correct. I devote section I to uncovering some of the sources of this misunderstanding and thereby defending what might be called my negative thesis, namely, that infallible papal utterances are not statements. In section II, I continue defending my negative thesis, not now as an end in itself, but rather as a means of advancing my positive thesis that infallible papal utterances are declarations and have the same logic as other declarations. The latter thesis requires a discussion of the difference between statements and declarations. Section III contains a formal speech act analysis of successful and non-defective statements and declarations with some additional explanatory notes. In section IV, I speak rather generally about the task of philosophical theology in the light of the results and procedures of sections I–III.

In a detailed and spirited critique, Professor James M. Humber has found my defence of the ontological argument unconvincing. Humber's case rests upon his claim that my ‘error’ is due to my ‘having accepted an incorrect definition of “physically necessary being” … ’. Now I do indeed claim that God must be conceived as a factuall necessary being, i.e. as eternally independent. I take the notion of God's aseity or eternal independence to be relatively straightforward and uncontroversial; it is accepted as an essential component of the concept God by many philosophers who also insist that there is no acceptable form of demonstrative theism. Thus, it is widely held that ‘God is a factually necessary being’ does not imply ‘God is a logically necessary being’; that God is eternally independent does not imply that he exists in all possible worlds. But it is precisely this view that I have argued is incorrect. While I concur that there is an intelligible concept of God as factually necessary, I deny that the existence of such a being is logically contingent, a mere matter of empirical fact. Indeed, a rigorous inspection of the concept of an eternally independent being reveals that whether that concept is instantiated, i.e. whether there exists a being exemplifying that concept, is knowable a priori. My claim is in fact stronger than this. I argue that the existence of an eternal, independent, omniscient and omnipotent being (God) is demonstrable by conceptual analysis. It is Humber's contention that my alleged demonstration of God's existence crumbles upon the discovery of the unacceptability of my definition of ‘factually necessary being’. Let us see.

The historian of Indian religion is confronted with a baffling array of textual materials spanning three or more millennia and written in a perplexing number of languages. It is scarcely surprising that when the attentions of European scholars first focused on this material they should have singled out three main languages and their literatures for study. The three were Vedic, the language of the Vedas, Sanskrit with its vast and wellnigh universal coverage of every aspect of ancient and medieval India, and Pāli, the language of the early Buddhist canon. The lead these three gained has since been maintained, while other languages and literatures have remained comparatively less known to the outside world. One may cite the comparative neglect of the Apabhramśa language and massive Jaina literature. In particular the Dravidian languages have been neglected and their literatures have remained almost unknown even in north India, accessible only to a tiny handful of students.

I can illustrate what seems to me your fallacy. Every man who exists has a mother, and it seems to me your argument is that therefore the human race must have a mother, but obviously the human race has not a mother. B. Russell

My attention in this paper will be focused almost exclusively on the interpretation of Part III of Hume's Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion suggested by Professor Nelson Pike at the very close of his excellent recent commentary on that enduring classic.1 As I will show briefly in Section II below, Pike's interpretation of Part III emerges from the wider context of his quarrel with Kemp Smith in regard to the final outcome of these Dialogues. I find much in Pike's commentary to applaud and to agree with, especially in its earlier sections, but on this whole question of Hume's final position in the Dialogues, I find his views less than convincing. But in this paper I will confine myself to showing what I think is wrong with his reading of Part III, and no more.2 In particular, I will make no effort to challenge Pike's disagreement with Kemp Smith in regard to the final dialogue. Though Pike himself regards Part III as crucial, I am well aware that to make anything like a successful case against the kind of interpretation he favours of the upshot of the Dialogues much more would have to be done than I attempt in this paper. I submit this attempt, then, in partial fulfillment of a larger task to be completed at some future time.

No fruitful discussion of the logic of religious belief can afford to ignore George Mavrodes' classification of propositional concepts, i.e. concepts predicable of propositions singly (p) or in sets (S), as an analytical tool for pinning down the ‘person-oriented’ and ‘content-oriented’ factors in such ‘epistemic activities’ as religious proving, experiencing, and verifying. Mavrodes shows in particular that the formal model of logical soundness, i.e. valid form and true premises, has but limited application to proving, experiencing, and verifying as ways of giving good reasons for religious belief. In this essay, I will show how Mavrodes' analysis of the logic of religious belief can be extended by substituting a procedural model of logical soundness for the truth-functionally formal model that he adopts. I will show further why it is desirable and, in certain instances, vital to extend his analysis in this manner. Along the way, I will explain why the extension that I am advocating augments Mavrodes' original analysis without substantially altering it or sacrificing any of its original analytical virtues.

Martin E. Marty, in his foreword to a volume on the thought of the late H. Richard Niebuhr, offered the comment, ‘I wonder whether since Jonathan Edwards there has been a systematic theologian of such organizing brilliance as H. Richard Niebuhr.’1 Marty's judgement that Niebuhr shares with Edwards a significant position in the American theological tradition is particularly suggestive when one is aware of Niebuhr's indebtedness to Edwards in his own constructive theological programme. One of the most precarious exercises in the writing of intellectual history is that of demonstrating the ‘influence’ of one thinker upon another. Unless there is an explicit citation or a confession of dependence upon the thought of a mentor in the writings of a theologian, the lines of influence are elusive and difficult to establish. It is therefore more prudent and manageable to speak of ‘similarities’ of thought or the ‘possibility’ of influence. Nevertheless the author of this study is convinced of the importance of Edwardsean influence on Niebuhr.

David Basinger, in ‘Middle Knowledge and Classical Christian Thought’, has claimed that whether the concept of God's middle knowledgeis coherent ‘cannot be dismissed lightly or ignored by those interested in classical Christian thought. For what is at stake is the very coherence of Christian theism itself’ (p. 422).

In the course of supporting his larger thesis about mysticism, Steven Katz argues that, ‘Every religious community and every mystical movement within each community has a “model” or “models” of the ideal practitioner of the religious life.' Among thirteen functions of such models he mentions three that partially overlap. He says that (i) these model lives set standards of perfection to measure believers' actions, (ii) they are perfect examples of what it is to be a human being, and (iii) they are moral paradigms. Katz mentions various saints, sages, and other exemplary figures, and sums up with the claim that in the Christian tradition the function of ‘ models’ is expressed in Thomas à Kempis' The Imitation of Christ. Taking all of this together, one could conclude that he intends to say that every religious tradition contains accounts of morally perfect persons who are examples to be imitated.

The Christian mysteries, which consist of such doctrines as the Incarnation and the Trinity, pose a problem for anyone who seeks to reconcile the tenets of Christianity with reason. As Leibniz puts it, the mysteries are incomprehensible, improbable, and against appearances. Why should a reasonable individual believe in such mysteries? By answering this question, one responds to the objection that Christianity requires individuals to embrace patent nonsense. Leibniz maintains that the mysteries, although incomprehensible, can be explained sufficiently to justify belief in them. But how can the mysteries be both incomprehensible and explicable? In this paper, I will develop a Leibnizian account of why belief in the mysteries is justified.

Ever since the time of Pascal men have feared that the ‘God’ worshipped by believers and the ‘God’ contemplated by philosophers were somehow different. The former was personal, historically active, slow to anger and plentiful in mercy: the latter was dubiously able to be described in personal terms at all, and infinite in such a way as to baffle the imagination. The ‘God’ of the former at least had the advantage of complying with what was alleged to be religious experience: and so it was not surprising that religious men feared that the ‘God’ of philosophy threatened that experience itself; whereas at times philosophers have fed such suspicions by denying to God various properties not on logical grounds but because close involvement with man seemed to them not to comport with the divine dignity.

The affective view of faith, as opposed to the doxastic or cognitive view, giving more importance to goodwill than to belief content, has received much support in recent philosophy of religion, including from Richard Swinburne. Swinburne's concept of faith is no less rational than his concept of religious belief, but its rationality is that of an action or of a practically oriented attitude, aiming at the goals of religion, compatible with religious disbelief (belief that the religious content one has faith in is probably false) and even with atheism. I argue that this paradoxical stance, which hardly squares with the Christian tradition, can be avoided, while keeping to an affective view of faith, if we give more weight to the idea that faith is first an answer given to a telling, on the basis of personal trust of the hearer in the authority of the teller – a personal account as opposed to a propositional account of faith.