Any list of important changes in Western religion in the last hundred years would mention the rise ofliberal Protestantism (and the associated ecumenical movement), and the decline in size and influence of the Protestant churches. What has been less obvious is the partial operation of secularization; in Britain and America liberal Protestant churches have declined more than their conservative rivals. In summary one could speak of the late nineteenth and the twentieth centuries as an era in which liberal Protestantism rose and then declined. This essay will attempt to synthesize, from a variety of sociological ideas, a suggested outline for a comprehensive explanation of that rise and fall. Such an ambitious and necessarily speculative project will require the argument to be conducted at a high level of abstraction but at various junctures details from the biographies of individuals and the careers of organizations will be introduced to illustrate and exemplify the points being made.

Ramana Maharsi is one of the lesser lights of modern Indian thought but a major figure in the context of modern Advaitic thought in Hinduism. Modern Indian thought in general is distinguished by a robust confidence in the efficacy of effort as an expression of free will, a confidence it shares with the temper of the West in general and which it may have imbibed by coming in contact with it. Modern Advaitic thought, as represented by its popular modern exponents such as S. Radhakrishnan and T. M. P. Mahadevan, shares this confidence. Ramana Maharsi, however, strikes, at least at first glance, a somewhat discordant note. The purpose of this paper is to present his view on the time–honoured debate between predeterminism and free will and to analyze its philosophical implications.

Professor Lewis and I have some important differences of opinion regarding the identity and distinctness of conscious persons, which it will be well to try to clarify on the present occasion, first of all by enumerating a number of points on which we are, I think, in agreement. Both of us believe in the existence of individual persons, each of whom can be said to live in a ‘world’ of his own intentional objectivity, a world ‘as it is for him’, which differs in a considerable extent, both in content and emphasis, from the world as it is for anyone else. Both of us further believe that all these intentionally objective worlds for a large part coincide in content, and are in fact excerpted from a more comprehensive real world which is common to us all, and which, in addition to in some sense including all such intentionally objective worlds, also includes many real material objects which exist regardless of our intentionality, and which further includes our own material bodies, which appear in so central a manner in each of our intentionally objective worlds. Both of us believe in matter as a transcendent reality, as well as an intentional object, and are content to accept the dicta of science as to the most probable view of its structure. We are in fact quite Cartesian and Lockean in our belief in the primary and secondary qualities of matter. We believe further that our intentional subjectivity is geared causally into our material objectivity, and that the gearing takes place, in some inscrutable manner, in our nervous systems. We both also believe that our intentional subjectivity transcends bodily mechanisms and instrumentalities, and can be liberated from the latter, but that, when thus liberated, our subjectivity may still affect some sort of an intentionally objective material body such as we wear in dreams, a body in which it will manifest itself to itself and to others much as we do in our dreams and fantasies.

Having clarified certain conceptual matters with regard to God's relation to sin and evil, Professor Brümmer considers the two propositions that God could be the author of any state of affairs that he does not approve of, and that God could approve of any state of affairs which is evil. Brü mmer argues that both these are logically impossible, the first because it would be a sign of weakness in God, and the second because God's will is the ultimate standard of goodness.

Are mystical states essentially ‘everywhere the same’? Though this question is notoriously obscure and difficult to answer, many contemporary writers on mysticism seem to favour an affirmative response to it, for a variety of reasons. First of all, some are impressed by the undeniable similarity in the testimony of mystics from widely divergent backgrounds and cultures; like most readers of mystical literature, they are deeply struck by the degree of apparent consensus between Christian, Hindu, and Buddhist contemplatives, for example. Secondly, there is a commendable desire in recent times to adopt a more positive and open-minded approach to other religions, and to acknowledge the value of their spiritual traditions; consequently, Christian authors today tend to focus on the common elements in Christian and non-Christian spiritualities, downplaying any differences. In the third place, those who wish to defend the cognitive value of mystical experiences on the basis of the ‘universal agreement’ of mystics will naturally maintain that there is a fundamental unanimity behind their different reports.

I'm very grateful for the opportunity to reply to Paul Helm's perceptive remarks on my paper about divine impeccability, for, in dealing with his criticism, I can further clarify some points in my paper, and in discussing his alternative solution to the problems I raised, I can as yet deal with some important aspects I had ignored. Helm's paper is divided into three sections. The first two contain his criticism of my position, and the third his alternative solution. I will deal with these in turn.

There is a long tradition in Western philosophical theology of conceiving God as ‘a being’. It dates back to the Hellenistic period, more particularly to the conjunction of Greek philosophy and the Hebrew religion in Alexandria with Philo, and it became orthodox in the Christian tradition through Augustine. In our time most aspects of this religious tradition have been subjected to a salutary re-examination, but in this the concept of God as ‘a being’ has been relatively neglected. After such a long acceptance of so fundamental a doctrine, it is liable largely to have sunk to the status of a presupposition, entailing a loss of intellectual awareness of what precisely it implies. Even where the Augustinian philosophical argument upon which this concept is based is recognized, as it has been in the long Neoplatonic tradition, it has come to appear as essentially self-evident and thus has not been subjected to fundamental critical examination. Significant of this is that even where the personalistic conception of God has been abandoned, e.g. by the idealist philosophy of the Absolute, the conception nevertheless persists of God as ‘a being’.

Agnostics often hold that, since there is not a clear preponderance of evidence either in favour of theistic belief or against it, their position of suspended belief is more rational than either theism or atheism. I would like to examine an objection raised recently by Clement Dore against the agnostic's reasoning on this matter.

The publication in 1957 of the Wolfenden Report occasioned a celebrated controversy in which profound theoretical issues concerning the relation between law and morality, and the legal enforcement of morality were discussed. The principal disputants were Lord Justice Devlin (Sir Patrick Devlin as he then was) and Professor H. L. A. Hart. It is by now well known that the main recommendation of the Wolfenden Report was the reform of the criminal law so that homosexual behaviour in private between consenting male adults should no longer be a criminal offence. As homosexual behaviour in Christendom was at the outset punishable in the ecclesiastical courts, and subsequently, with the demise of the ecclesiastical courts, in the secular courts, the Wolfenden recommendation on homosexuality marked a major departure from the prevailing state of affairs in which the precepts of Christian morality, especially relating to sexual morals, were at first enforced by the ecclesiastical courts, and then by the secular courts.

To many Western students of India, svarāj and mokṣa have often seemed to represent two very different ideals of freedom, the former social, political, and modern; the latter individual, spiritual, and traditional. It is not surprising that the Hindu ideal of spiritual freedom is most commonly known by the term mokṣa (liberation), for it is this word that is usually listed as the fourth and supreme goal in the famous four ends of man (puruṣārtha). The first three ends, desire (kāma), success (artha), and morality (dharma), find their fulfillment within society, while mokṣa, it is generally said, takes one beyond society. It is pertinent to note, as Ingalls and others have pointed out, that mokṣa is a relatively late term, which came to be added to the older, first three goals of man. As a noun, mokṣa does not appear until the latest of the Upanisads, and then only three times, in Śvetāśvatara 6.16 and Maitrī 6.20 and 30. In addition, some orthodox schools did not accept the ideal of mokṣa for several more centuries, the Mīmāṁsā denying it until the eighth century A.D.

Once upon a time, at an examination for Fellowships at All Souls, there was a three-hour essay paper. When the eager candidates turned over their question-papers, on the reverse they found a blank expanse of whiteness with one little word in the centre for them to write about: the word was ‘SIN’.

It is a widely held view in the study of religion that the description of a religion must be acceptable to a believer. Belief in a thing, personal commitment to it, confers a kind of understanding of it which cannot be had by other means. Only the religious person knows truly what religion is. Similarly, only the Hindu knows what Hinduism is, only the Buddhist knows the true reality of Buddhism, only the Muslim has genuine insight into the nature of Islam, and only the Christian understands Christianity. Personal commitment or agreement gives a special access to the truth.

In what follows I shall reflect on some of the things Professor Lewis has said in various contexts on the theme of inter-religious understanding, but taking a cue mainly from remarks made in his recent book Jesus in the Faith of Christians. Our sights will be set on the extent to which understanding is possible and, going on from there, the extent to which a sharing of insights is possible. The theme suggests a certain progression within experience. There is by now a considerable literature on the subject. Some of it gives the impression of what, with due respect to one of the greatest poets of all time, might be called a kind of Rabbie Burns Prinzip in reverse. Would that we could understand the ‘other’ as we understand ourselves. This Prinzip runs into a problem right away, for how far does our self-understanding reach? Those familiar with the psycho-analyst's couch or even those unfamiliar with this particular discipline, for discipline it is, find it to be an endless process. How far, moreover, does our ‘understanding’ of our own faith and tradition extend? Is ‘understanding’ the right word anyway? To speak of entering more deeply into the Divine mystery, as the man of faith well may, is, ipso facto, to witness to the inadequacy and even irrelevancy of all categorial nets. The prayer to ‘Lighten our darkness’ is less a philosopher's plea for intelligibility than a cry for succour, that the clouds of doubt and unbelief may be, through Divine grace, in some way which we cannot understand, penetrated and dispelled.

Recently, Anthony Kenny wrote the challenging words: ‘I know of no successful treatment of the philosophical problems involved in conceiving a non-embodied mind active throughout the universe: it is indeed rare to find among theistic philosophers even an attempt to solve the problems’.

The utopian community of Auroville (‘City of Dawn’) is nestled along the Coromandel Coast of India approximately five miles north of Pondicherry. Though conceived as a harmonious society and city modelled after the integrative philosophy of the twentieth-century philosopher-mystic, Aurobindo, Auroville has been from its inception a collection of disparate settlements embodying social fragmentation not unity. The question this essay attempts to answer is how the ‘unitary vision’ which the founder and the charter of Auroville expounded is related to the social and physical disorder that has characterized Auroville from its beginning. Put differently, if it is true that an intentional community's physical space will reflect its philosophical (or theological) model, what are the underlying concepts or images which have produced the current situation in Auroville? In answering such a question, much can be learned about the relationship between religious ideas and symbols and the intentional communities to which they intend to give rise.

Recent defences of the Divine Command Theory have ranged from those which attempt to meet objections half-way, and in the process transform the theory, to restatements and defences of the theory in its full rigour. Philip Quinn's Divine Commands and Moral Requirements is one of the latter. Quinn's purpose is to show that the theory, in its several variants, can be stated precisely within several current systems of deontic logic, and that contrary to a common belief, there are no logically decisive objections to the theory. In accordance with this limited aim, there is little positive argument for the theory, little attempt to exhibit it as a plausible or attractive position, and this gives the book a rather narrow formalist aspect.

In this paper I shall examine a variety of situations in which human agents make use of force. Section I will be concerned with the use of force in medical contexts, Section Ii with the use of force in defence of property, and Section in with the use of force in resolving international disputes. I shall argue that the boundary between what is and is not morally permissible needs to be, drawn more stringently than is commonly supposed. While agreeing that in some medical contexts and in some situations where defence of property is involved the use of force may be necessary and even morally required, I shall suggest that in the absence of any suitably constituted world court the use of force in attempting to resolve international disputes creates a morally different situation.

Buddhism, and especially early Buddhism, is known for the anātman (no self) teaching. By any account, this teaching is central to both doctrine and practice from the beginning. Zen Buddhism (Chinese Ch'an), in contrast, is known for its teaching that the single most important thing in life is to discover the ‘true self’. Is there a real, or only an apparent, conflict between these two versions of Buddhism? Certainly there is at the least a radical change in the linguistic formulation of the teaching. Examining the two teachings on the linguistic level, we note that the use of the term ‘true’ in the phrase ‘true self’ may indicate that we have here a conscious reformation of the place of the term ‘self’ in the tradition, or perhaps that the use of this phrase in Zen is the product of such a conscious formulation. Thus we may expect, upon investigation, to find an evolution from one teaching to the other, rather than a true doctrinal disparity. The apparent, or linguistic, conflict between the two, however, remains; hence we must also expect to find a doctrinal formulation at some point in this evolution in which the apparent conflict is consciously apprehended and resolved.

‘That a corporeal substance, which hath absolute existence without the minds of spirits, should be produced out of nothing by the mere will of a spirit hath been looked upon as a thing so contrary to all reason, so impossible and absurd, that not only the most celebrated amongst the ancients, but even divers modern and Christian philosophers have thought matter co-eternal with the Deity.’

It is commonplace to observe that the history of thought reveals certain recurring patterns whose mode of expression changes according to context. It is equally apparent that to chart the salient characteristics of an influential way of thinking – to give concrete, clearly defined shape to the usually tangled fundamental impulses informing a cast of mind – is a complex, difficult task which calls for attention from (at least) the historian, the psychologist, the philosopher and, in the case of religious figures and movements, the theologian alike. With regard to the manner of thinking embodied in the theological doctrines of Martin Luther such a task is fraught with more than the usual number of pitfalls. In the first place, following recent Luther scholarship, we must be wary of assuming that the great Reformer held fast to a single set of theological opinions throughout his long career. We shall not, therefore, attempt to reach conclusions applicable to Luther's thought as a whole, but rather shall focus exclusively on a number of key early expositions of the Theologia Crucis. Here, between about 1514 and 1520, we find, according to our argument, enough thematic unity to warrant the search for underlying principles. A second, less easily disposed of difficulty is the lack of a working consensus as to how and with what aims in mind one should even begin an historical analysis of Luther's texts. For example, to the believer who regards Luther's basic tenets as in a straightforward sense divinely inspired, the attempt to extract from his writings the ingredients of a certain thoroughly human way of thinking will seem doomed to inadequacy from the start. Likewise, for different reasons, many of today's.