Much work on mystical experience has taken for granted a certain view about the relation between experience and its interpretation. This ‘traditional view’ has received perhaps its most explicit statement in Stace's Mysticism and Philosophy. It is a view which is attractive to proponents of the doctrine of unanimity, the doctrine (roughly put) that at the phenomenological level all mystical experiences are basically similar. Recently, however, in a growing body of literature, the traditional view has come under heavy fire. Its critics adopt a Kantian, indeed a hyper–Kantian, picture of experience. And they see the traditional view, accordingly, as ‘naïve’ and ‘simplistic’. In addition, hyper–Kantians typically reject the doctrine of unanimity.

The Tao Tê Ching is probably the world's second most translated and annotated book (after the Bible), yet it remains among the most enigmatic. Of its eighty-one chapters, no one denies that the most important is the first, and many scholars (e.g. Wing-tsit Chan, Chang Chung-yuan) go further to claim that it is the key to the whole work: if it is understood fully, all the rest may be seen to be implied. Unfortunately, the first chapter also happens to be the most ambiguous. But even so, after so much attention can there be anything left to say? It seems to me that an important point has been missed or at least obscured, and that the popularity of certain translations has made this obscuration more prevalent recently. To correct this, I shall offer below a line-by-line explication of this crucial passage. The following interpretation first demonstrates the parallel structure of the first eight lines as signifying two different ways of experiencing: lines one, three, five and seven refer to the experience of Tao, and lines two, four, six and eight to our more usual way of experiencing the world. I shall suggest that the difference between these ways is the difference between our familiar dualistic experience (or understanding of experience) and a much less common nondualistic way of experiencing in which there is no bifurcation between subject and object. Second, we shall see that the parallel structure unfolds dialectically: each succeeding pair of lines elaborates upon the issues that naturally arise in response to the preceding pair. In the process of showing this, I shall take sides on the two main controversies over this chapter: first, whether it should be interpreted cosmologically or ontologically/epistemologically (I have already revealed my preference for the latter), and second, whether lines, five and six should be punctuated to translate yü as ‘desire/intention’. My main thesis is that the traditional understanding of yü as ‘desire’ or ‘intention’ is an essential part of the meaning of the chapter. This is by no means an original claim, but why it is so important does not seem to have been noticed before and provides the reason for this paper. Wing-tsit Chan's criticism of such translations, that ‘intention interrupts the thought of the chapter’, 1 is thus a serious misreading of the text.

It is well known that in the latter half of the 1870s Tolstoy suffered an arrest of life. He relates in A Confession that the attempt to find a meaning in life that would be immune to death had almost led to his own suicide. He asks: ‘Is there any meaning in my life that the inevitable death awaiting me does not destroy?’

For some moral philosophers the question ‘Why be moral?’ is fundamentally inappropriate, since it seems to ask for non–moral reasons or motivations for moral action and thus to threaten the integrity and autonomy of morality. Yet the question ‘Why be moral?’ need not be oriented towards discovering non–moral reasons for moral action, but rather towards elucidating what general description of the human condition is most compatible with the fundamental character of morality. Rather than leaving the moral sense as an isolated category of human response, it is relevant to ask what other features of reality it may be associated with and in what general context it can most coherently be situated. The purpose of this paper is to examine the sense of moral obligation as an objective or categorical claim on individual action and to present the thesis that this moral sense is most intelligible within a theological context.

Van Harvey's The Historian and the Believer appeared nearly a century after W. K. Clifford's ‘The ethics of belief’. Harvey is critical of the epistemological supports of religious belief in a way strikingly similar to Clifford's criticisms. But Clifford's view did not go uncriticized in the intervening period. William James for instance used Clifford's essay as a foil for his argument in ‘The will to believe’. Now here is Clifford's argument again offered in twentieth century garb in Harvey's book. That a view so similar to Clifford's can arise again a century later, and after strong criticism, suggests that there is some important integrity to that view, and that that view strikes a responsive chord in the ear of many contemporary human beings. This paper intends therefore to examine Clifford's and Harvey's works in order to uncover what makes their shared view attractive.

‘Revelation’ has not appeared at all frequently in the titles of contributions to this journal (nor, from memory, has it at all often been their unannounced subject matter). On the other hand, neither does it seem to have been formally banished. The term is occasionally used, still, without any obvious sign of unease. Perhaps the majority of contributors have tacitly abandoned it, as incompatible with a broadly phenomenological approach to religions. It is possible to describe expressions of religion (including claims to ‘revelation’) and analyse their doctrinal statements (including assertions that they contain a given knowledge of deity); but to use the term in description or analysis might seem to concede too much. If there is a revealed religion, the others might hardly seem worth describing or dissecting.

In my paper, ‘Agnosticism’, I asked the reader to consider the following three propositions. (1) There is more evidence for theism than for atheism. (2) There is more evidence for atheism than for theism. (3) There is roughly the same amount of evidence for both. And I claimed that if it is not known which of (1) to (3) is true, then theism, atheism and agnosticism (suspension of judgement without the claim that this is the epistemically superior position) are all equally rational positions. As against that claim, Professor Brinton cites the following epistemic principle: When the state of the evidence on some question ‘p?’ is uncertain, suspension of belief is the most appropriate doxastic attitude. However, my paper contained the seeds of a refutation of this principle. I wrote there that the agnostic

Recent articles in Religious Studies have underscored the questions of whether Buddhism presents any empirical doctrines, and whether, if it does, such doctrines are false or vacuous. In what follows I want to sketch an interpretation of Buddhism according to which it does not offer doctrines which are empirically false, on the one hand, or trivially true on the other. In doing so I take my cue from an earlier, and by now classic, paper by H. H. Price. For the exposition of Buddhism I take the Pali Nikāyas, the single most significant collection of texts in the Buddhist tradition. The particular doctrine which is the focus of discussion here is the kammavāda (Pali) or ‘karma view’ of early Indian Buddhism, for it is the focus of much of the recent literature cited above and a doctrine which some have thought amenable to statement in empirical terms.

The ethical theories often called divine command theories have a long philosphical history. As early as Plato's dialogue Euthyphro, persons – in this case, Euthyphro – were advocating theories that claim such things as whatever is morally obligatory is obligatory because and only because God commands it. There is a range of such theories, however, and offering one description that adequately characterizes them all is very difficult. Some theorists focus on the moral obligatoriness of actions, others on the moral virtue of traits of character, and still others on the moral goodness of states of affairs. Some theorists take God's commanding as creating the obligation (or whatever), others think God's willing an action creates the obligation. Theories concentrating on God's loving, his preferring, and perhaps other states, too, could be advanced. Paul Helm in the introduction to his anthology Divine Commands and Morality regards this sort of theory as holding’…that God does issue commands and that these commands are to form the basis of a believer's morality.…’ And Janine Marie Idziak in the introduction to her Divine Command Morality: Historical and Contemporary Readings writes, ‘Generally speaking, a ‘divine command moralist’ is one who maintains that the content of morality (i.e. what is right and wrong, good and evil, just and unjust, and the like) is directly and solely dependent upon the commands and prohibitions of God.’ Rather than spend much time attempting to develop necessary and sufficient conditions characterizing all such theories, however, let us label them all ‘divine normative theories’ and hope that the basic nature of divine normative theories is relatively clear.

Symbolism has found spontaneous expression in several religious and secular practices among many different peoples of Africa. These expressions can be seen in religious emblems, ideograms, rituals, songs, prayers, myths, incantations, vows, customary behaviour and personifications. The under-standing of these religious symbols lends itself to rapid comprehensive and compact use; not only that, it also helps understanding and concentration. In fact, Mary Douglas expresses the view that such symbols, especially rituals, aid us in selecting experiences for concentrated attention, creative at the level of performance, and can mysteriously help the co-ordination of brain and body (1966, p. 63). Conversely, religious symbols have their ambiguities, and these could shroud their true meaning to the unwary. A religious symbol could also represent a complex set of ideas at different levels which gives room to diverse theological, philosophical and psychological interpretations. While we may agree with Raymond Firth (1973, p. 32) that an anthropologist is concerned primarily with the public use of the symbolic, and his aim is to separate symbols from referent so that he may describe the relations between them, we are of the view that those who are in the field of psychology of religion will be most concerned with how symbols influence the mind of the believer and thus understand the faith of the devotee better. In fact, it was the non-understanding of traditional African religious symbols and ideas that partly contributed to the way in which some of the early Western and Arab scholars, investigating African thought forms, looked at the African indigenous beliefs in a derogatory manner. As a method of scholarly research, a careful and meaningful study of the religious significance of certain ritualistic elements and behaviour enables us to understand and appreciate the more why certain things are treated in some special way by the believers, and thus helps to deepen our knowledge of that very faith. It helps us to grasp the essence of the religion rather than its incidentals. In order, therefore, to help comprehend some of the practices in African traditional religion attempts will be made in this paper to discuss the central significance of blood in African belief. Although I consulted the works of some anthropologists and theologians on African religions and philosophy of life, the bulk of the ethnographic materials used in this paper are mainly drawn from my fieldwork (1975–82) among some groups of Nigerians; and a great deal of my interpretations are surrounded by the theories propounded by Mary Douglas and Raymond Firth.

As the title suggests, the thesis of this essay is that any view which would affirm the orthodox concept of a theistic God and yet deny the existence of a devil is inherently untenable; or, alternatively put, that ‘fundamentalism’ (if it may be so called), which affirms the existence of both God and a devil, and atheism, which denies the existence of both, are the only viable options with respect to the question of the theistic God. The support for this conclusion comes from the problem of evil, together with considerations drawn from common sense.

Charles Hartshorne is usually regarded as the developer of the theological approach initiated by Alfred North Whitehead. Justification for this view is to be found not only in the central focus of Hartshorne's voluminous writings, but also in his own references to Whitehead's accomplishments. He notes that Whitehead did not regard himself as a theologian, but rather saw his task as that of attempting to reconcile the professedly neutral burgeoning fields of science and the wider ideals necessary to civilized human life. It is in the context of this pursuit that Whitehead makes his extremely suggestive, but tantalizingly vague, comments which provide a foundation for theological reconstruction. According to this approach, two dimensions, or natures, must be distinguished in God, a conceptual primordial nature which structures the possibilities for life and a concrete consequential nature which receives the actualities which result from the possibilities that are realized.

He who has seen everything empty itself is close to knowing what everything is filled with. (Antonio Porchia)

Emptiness (Śūnyatā) is probably the most important philosophical and religious concept of Mahayana Buddhism. Its precise meaning has been explained differently by different schools and in different Buddhist cultures, but almost all Mahāyāna Buddhists would agree with the following characterization: Philosophically, emptiness is the term that describes the ultimate mode of existence of all phenomena, namely, as naturally ‘empty’ of enduring substance, or self-existence (svabhāva): rather than being independently self-originated, phenomena are dependently originated (ptatītya samutpāda) from causes and conditions. Emptiness, thus, explains how it is that phenomena change and interact as they do, how it is that the world goes on as it does. Religiously, emptiness is the single principle whose direct comprehension is the basis of liberation from samsāra, and ignorance of which, embodied in self-gasping (ātmagraha) is the basis of continued rebirth – hence suffering – in samsāra.