Rāmacaritamānasa is a truly remarkable work, and the celebration of the fourth centenary of its composition calls for some recognition. Consider the artless guile of its author: at the start he protests that he is no poet, without skill in letters, lacking in all arts and sciences, lacking in all literary skills; and yet he has presented us with a creation of extraordinary skill and beauty, revealing, within the Indian context, a broad grasp of learning and a zeal to reconcile divergent doctrines. On the one hand Tulsīdās protests that he has done the work simply for his own personal satisfaction (svāntaḥ sukhāya), and on the other he proclaims that its virtue is the infiniteness of its theme. This is why Rāmacaritamānasa deserves attention, and why its study can be so rewarding.

Mysticism and the mystical experience seemingly play little or no part in our Western tradition. Certainly there is no mystical tradition in the West such as Zen Buddhism, nor is there any great understanding of or influence from the writings of Heraclitus, Spinoza, or the mystical passages in the early work of Wittgenstein. Mysticism has been generally misunderstood in the West, and it has even evoked the attacks of philosophers and theologians.1 Mysticism to many conjures up images of monks meditating in caves; it is generally pictured as esoteric, otherworldly, irrational, and at best irrelevant to the daily lives of human beings. If what we say below is correct, it will be seen that mysticism is none of these but is rather a singular human experience that lies at the foundations of civilization.

If Christian theology is that enterprise whose essential purpose is to understand the faith of the Christian Church, then it must approach that faith from the perspective not only of its transcendent source, but also as a human achievement, a creative interpretation of those events in which transcendent reality discloses itself for appropriation. Few theologians would deny that theology has to do primarily with the ways in which ultimate reality becomes manifest in human beings' faithful responses, in belief and trust, to its self-disclosures, preparatory and decisive. But the implications of such a view are not always confronted straightforwardly, especially for the suitable normative principles by which theology must assess the adequacy of the church's expressions of its faith. This essay seeks to probe how an account of the Christian faith could proceed whose norm (that is: whose principle for determining whether any claim about transcendent reality is both Christian and true) derives not from the revelatory source of faith but from the dynamic of human creativity within which alone faith's source, in being interpreted, becomes clear, cogent, and decisive for conscious existence.

In this paper I will investigate Nāgārjuna's approach to the problem of the existence of God. Nāgārjuna lived in the second century A.D. and founded Mādhyamika Buddhism.1 He is considered to be one of the greatest thinkers of India2 and his philosophy, ‘the central philosophy of Buddhism’.3 Although there have been some systematic studies and presentations of Nāgārjuna's writings among Eastern and Western scholars during the past six or seven decades,4 many aspects of his teachings have not been adequately treated. One of these aspects is his examination of the concept of God or deity.

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

In an article in Philosophy (1968, pp. 199–211) R. G. Swinburne set out to argue that none of Hume's formal objections to the design argument ‘have any validity against a carefully articulated version of the argument’ (p. 199). This, he maintained, is largely because Hume's criticisms ‘are bad criticisms of the argument in any form’ (p. 206). The ensuing controversy between Swinburne and Olding1 has focused upon the acceptable/unacceptable aspects of the dualism presupposed in Swinburne's defence of the design argument; upon whether any simplification is achieved by reducing scientific explanation to agent explanation; and upon the problems which arise from taking a man's acting upon his body (or the material universe within his reach) as the analogy for understanding a disembodied agent acting upon matter. In this article I shall refer to the Swinburne-Olding controversy when appropriate but my main concern is to return to Swinburne's original article and argue, seriatim, that Hume's individual criticisms of the design argument are for the most part a great deal more powerful than Swinburne allowed. I shall contend that cumulatively they destroy the design argument as any sort of rational foundation for theistic belief. But first I shall indicate briefly the character of the argument together with one or two of the distinctions and refinements in terms of which it has been found helpful to carry on the discussion in recent years.

The debate continues concerning the nature of religious truth-claims and their role in dialogue: a seemingly vexatious topic not only in discussions between religious persons and those who question the value of accredited religion, but also within the camp of differently aligned believers themselves. Indeed the present interest in inter-religious understanding has tended to make this problem even more acute. In Part I of this paper I wish to discuss the issue of truth-claims in religion within the context of two apparently conflicting views: the one represented in the writings of Professor John Hick, and the other that advanced by D. Z. Phillips. In the second part I propose to indicate how this issue bears on the further question of inter-faith dialogue.

In recent years the writings of Ludwig Wittgenstein have received much attention from philosophers in general and especially from philosophers interested in religion; and there is no doubt that Wittgenstein's legacy of thought is both highly suggestive and highly problematical. It seems likely, however, that the vogue which Wittgenstein now enjoys owes not a little to his peculiar place in the development of modern philosophy and, in particular, of that empiricist tradition in philosophy which stems from what has been called the revolution in philosophy in the early decades of the present century.

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.

Man has the urge to thrust against the limits of language. Think for instance about one's astonishment that anything exists. This astonishment cannot be expressed in the form of a question and there is no answer to it. Anything we can say must, a priori, be nonsense. (Wittgenstein)

In his powerful anti-Christian polemic, The Misery of Christianity, J. Kahl charges Christianity with suffering from a rock-bottom lack of identity. ‘Theologians…have been looking for a continuous thread which will lead them out of the maze of contradictory forms of Christianity…into the open. They would like to be able to say with binding force what Christianity really is.’1 But, he urges, they cannot. P. van Buren agrees, but sees in this no cause for concern. ‘Christianity has been changing since its beginning, the religion of the past constantly being adapted to the conditions of each new present. Once we see this character of Christianity, we are released from the misconceived task of trying to identify its unchanging essence.’2 Again more recently J. Hick has urged, in effect half agreeing with van Buren, that although there is an unchanging element in Christianity, it is restricted to ‘the originating events from which the moving stream of christian history has flowed’. ‘Christianity is an ongoing movement of life and thought, defined by its origin in the Christ-event and by its consciousness of that origin. It cannot be defined in terms of adherence to any doctrinal standard, for its doctrines are historically and culturally conditioned and have changed as the church has entered new historical and cultural situations.’3

In this essay I will try to show that there are what would appear to be some unnoticed consequences of the doctrine of divine foreknowledge. For the purposes of this discussion I will simply assume that future events (while future) are possible objects of knowledge and, hence, that foreknowledge is possible. Accordingly, I will not be concerned with discussing such questions as the status of truth-values for future contingent propositions or whether knowledge is justified true belief. Furthermore, I will not be concerned with the issues involved in the claim that the doctrine of divine foreknowledge conflicts with doctrines concerning the properties of created beings, e.g., the doctrine of voluntary human action.

This essay seeks to clarify Gandhi's logic of self-suffering. Its inner accents have not received the attention they deserve. So I propose to emphasize them, though the context of such suffering and its impact on men too must be given due regard.

The problem of evil may be characterized as the problem of how precisely to specify a property, P, about which it is possible for a morally sensitive man to believe that (I) a person who possesses it would be morally justified on that account in not preventing instances of intense innocent suffering and (2) it is neither impossible nor unlikely that if there is an omnipotent and omniscient being, he possesses it. Atheists have typically claimed that P cannot be precisely specified. Moreover, they have maintained that in view of our inability to give a precise specification of P, it is irrational to believe that there is an omnipotent and omniscient being who is perfectly good and, hence, irrational to believe that God exists. In the remainder of this paper, I want to discuss the question whether there is any good reason for believing that this latter thesis is true.1 If there is no such reason, then no matter how much he may busy himself with an attempt at formulating a precise specification of P, the theist can be justifiably contented with the thought that it doesn't much matter whether he succeeds.