The thought of God as transcendent is central to theism. Although the expression ‘divine transcendence’ does not appear to have been used by theologians (as distinct from philosophers) before the nineteenth century,1 the idea itself is very deep-rooted. If we ask where it is ultimately grounded, I think the answer may well be: in the idea of the holy.

In a recent book on the historical development of Buddhist thought, the author, David J. Kalupahana, has presented the thesis that early Buddhist philosophy, as found in the Pali Nikāyas and Chinese Āgamas, is radically different from that of later Buddhism, and supports his claim by tracing the historical divergence of the later schools from original Buddhism as he reconstructs it. He then goes on to assert that not only does early Buddhism differ philosophically from the later schools, but also that even the spiritual goal of nirvāna was fundamentally different, i.e., that the experience or condition denoted by the term ‘nirvāna’ in early Buddhism is quite different from that state which the same term came to denote later – a theory which is perhaps the most controversial feature ofhis overall interpretation of Buddhism.

The Bhagavad-Gītā is the most important text in the smrti (what is remembered) literature of India, as distinct from the śruti (what is heard) literature which is traditionally regarded as ultimately authoritative. The Bhagavad-Gītā has been assigned a date ranging from the fifth century B.C. to the second century B.C. The Indian religious tradition places the Gītā at the end of the third age of the present cycle of the universe and the beginning of the fourth, namely the Kali Yuga to which we belong.

Although a personal god of mixed moral character is logically possible, no personal god that has been represented as less than wholly good has gained more than a strictly local appeal. The Judaeo-Christian god is no exception. The god is represented as merciful, kind, longsuffering, forgiving, loving - in a word, wholly good. Of course, representing a god as wholly good is one thing; providing a convincing defence of his goodness is quite another. Indeed, many would contend that of all the defences provided within the Judaeo-Christian system, the defence of the goodness of God is the least convincing.

Someone may ask what the reasons are for putting religious experience and transcendence together. My answer is the following. My general philosophical position is empirical by nature. I am of the opinion that everything that is said about reality must in some way or other, in order to be true or probable, be related to or grounded in reality. If God is thought to be real in some sense of the word and if he is said to have the quality of being transcendent, there must be some sort of empirical reasons for it. Experience is generally - at least in its objective variant - a usual way of motivating propositions about reality. There is therefore reason to ask: Is there anything in religious experience that motivates giving God the predicate of transcendence? And on the other hand: What conditions would there have to be in our world of experience to justify a consideration of a theory of Transcendence?

Zen Buddhism often appears to be ‘anti-intellectual’, ‘illogical’ and ‘trivial’. These apparent aspects of Zen have puzzled many students of Buddhism. Why is Zen so ‘irrational’? By what Buddhist doctrines, tenets or philosophies did Zen masters develop their unconventional and dramatic teachings and practices? The aim of this paper is to show that main San-lun Mādhyamika doctrines, such as Emptiness, the Middle Way, the Twofold Truth and the refutation of erroneous views as the illumination of right views, have been assimilated into Zen teachings and practices Mādhyamika philosophy seems to provide a major ‘theoretical’ foundation for as a ‘practical’; ‘anti-intellectual’, ‘irrational’, ‘unconventional’ and ‘dramatic’ religious movement.

The issue of free will versus fate can be analysed in three ways in relation to the Bhagavadgīā,: (1) by focusing on those verses of the Gita which address themselves to this question; (2) by focusing on the figure of Arjuna himself who, as will be shown, crystallizes around his person the issue of free will and fate; and (3) by focusing on the Kauravas who are similarly involved in the issue.

Accounts of religion, like almost all influential academic and intellectual exercises, as indeed much else, in the last two or three centuries, have generally been the work of Western scholars and intellectuals, often less familiar with, but sometimes simply disinclined to take seriously, non-Western religious traditions. Consequently most of these accounts have tended to be parochial, failing to apply to, say, Eastern religions, not to mention so-called ‘primitive’ religions; and have often given to what should only have been ‘local squabbles’ the appearance of universal religious concern. As a result, even philosophers of religion have largely explicated what might be called the ‘prescriptive grammar’ of religion. With a view to rectifying the situation, I intend to outline what I hope will be a ‘descriptive’ account, i.e. one which will be true of at least the major living religions of the world, e.g. Hinduism, Buddhism, Judaism, Christianity, Islam and their main schools or sects. Inevitably, such a general account will fail to incorporate the unique features of any one religion; but it should have the advantage of restoring the proper perspective in debates concerning religion and religious issues, including those relating to the semantic and/or logical features of religious belief and so-called ‘religious language’.

‘For the inference involved in our knowledge of other minds is not, after all, an inference to them as bodily existences…’ (H. D. Lewis)

In his recent and typically thought-provoking paper, ‘On the Rationality of Radical Theological Non-Naturalism’, Kai Nielsen attacks those who, like Terence Penelhum, believe that ‘there is no good reason to think that we could not, with a little ingenuity, think up some non-theistic statements which would serve, if true, to put some theistic conclusions beyond reason-able doubt’.

Among all the different religious movements in contemporary Japan one must acknowledge that from the point of view of the number of members, financial assets, physical facilities and activities, the most dominant are those that arose in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, and are referred to collectively as ‘newly arisen religions’ (Shinkō Shūkyō). Various observers have offered their explanations for the success and popularity of these groups in religious, sociological, psychological and historical terms.1 Several of these groups fall into the category of millenarian and messianic movements and have been discussed by Professor Carmen Blacker in her essay, ‘Millenarian Aspects of the New Religions in Japan’.2 Why and how do millenarian and messianic movements remain popular and maintain their vitality even when the circumstances surrounding their founding change? How do they continue their dynamic growth after the messiah dies or when the millennium is delayed? What are the similarities and differences between these groups in Japan and those in other cultural areas?

Sri Aurobindo Ghose (1872–1950), the Indian Nationalist and yogi, developed in the period of his life at Pondicherry in Southeast India a system of thought, practice and experience which he called ‘Integral Yoga’. The title indicated, he said, that ‘it takes up the essence and many processes of the old Yogas — its newness is in its aim, standpoint and the totality of its method’. In the development of Integral Yoga Aurobindo believed he was speaking and acting as a ‘realized yogi’ or, better still, a yogi who was in the process of realization. He had not attained a final experience of jñāna, but he believed he had experienced levels of supra-mental consciousness which would lead to the higher level of Supermind itself.

In his paper Hampus Lyttkens tries to explore the relation between religious experience and the concept of transcendence. Lyttkens limits his enquiry to religious experience in the sense of ‘specific and extraordinary psychic experiences’ (such as visions, numinous experiences, etc.) which are interpreted as experiences of a transcendent God. By ‘transcendence’ Lyttkens means more than ‘objective reference’. The object of religious experiences in the above sense is not only claimed to transcend the experience itself, in the sense in which the external world is claimed to transcend our perception of it. It is also claimed to be transcendent with respect to the spatio-temporal world as such, by existing ‘beyond space and time’ in some sense or other, or in the sense put forward by Karl Heim, as existing in an extra dimension beside the four dimensions of space and time.

For some time it seemed as if Christianity itself required us to say that ‘God is in history’. Of course, even to speak of ‘history’ is to reveal a bias for eighteenth- and nineteenth-century forms of thought. But the justification for talking about the Christian God in this way is the doctrine of the incarnation. The centre of the Christian claim is that Jesus is God's representation in history, although we need not go all the way to a full trinitarian interpretation of the relationship between God and Jesus. Thus, the issue is not so much whether God can appear or has appeared within, or entered into, human life as it is a question of what categories we use to represent this. To what degree is God related to the sphere of human events? Whatever our answer, we need periodically to re-examine the way we speak about God to be sure the forms we use have not become misleading.

In what follows three theses are submitted for discussion.

(I) The coupling up of creation and annihilation in human existence as in nature and the universe give rise to the metaphysical and religious triad: Being, annihilation and power.

In God and Other Minds, Alvin Plantinga formulated an ingenious defence of the teleological argument for the belief in God, based on alleged similarities to the analogical argument for other minds. I shall state what I take to be Plantinga's central argument and then I shall criticize it on two counts: 1. Even if Plantinga's claims about the similarities between these two famous arguments were sound, they would at most provide rational support for pantheism, but not for the traditional Judaeo-Christian theism that Plantinga attempts to defend; and 2. The similarities alleged by Plantinga do not in fact hold. The analogical inference to other minds is grounded on resemblance between one's own behaviour and the behaviour of others, while the teleological argument for God is grounded on resemblance between human contrivances and the world. If the teleological argument really worked, it would count against rather than being supported by the analogical argument, for it would reduce the world to a soulless machine created and programmed by God, and, by inverse inference, would strongly suggest that God himself is exactly so much of a Mind as J. C. Smart and Hilary Putnam take human minds to be, i.e. a computer program.

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.

I find myself in serious difficulties over Professor Løgstrup's paper. There are many points on which I am far from confident that I have understood him, and on the points where I am confident I have understood him that confidence may well prove to be misplaced. What I shall try to do in these comments is to provide in my own words an account of what I think is the argument of Professor Løgstrup's paper; then I shall try to say why I think that that argument is unconvincing. Finally I shall try to say something about the kind of programme that Professor Løgstrup sets himself, and the sort of programme that is in my view incumbent on a Christian philosopher of religion.

In God, Freedom, and Evil, Alvin Plantinga presents a new form of the ontological argument for the existence of God. Though he has reservations concerning its evangelical efficacy, Plantinga considers the proof both valid and sound, and presents it as a defence of the rational acceptability of theism.