Der Bingle,

I’ll do you one better, and suggest that there is a sort of impossibility to definitions themselves. The “real” problem with Jordan Peterson’s waffling agnostic catchphrase is that its meaning depends on what he means by “depends on what you mean by.” After all, the chances that what he means by “depends” and what I mean by it being the same are essentially zero, right? at least insofar as there is always an insurmountable gulf between consciousnesses, such that one cannot empirically know even that other consciousnesses exist. One might well get by, if that means anything, with a psychopathic pragmatism in which the input of behavior into the environment of society yields somewhat predictable outputs of responses from others, but this is hardly practicable for those of us still fettered by human feeling.

Concretely, it seems easy to let ontology do the heavy lifting in bridging this gulf. Functionally, assuming both conversants in a hypothetical scenario – bearing in mind the need to assume very little – exhibit behaviors at minimum consistent with the ability to see, and therefore can behave as if the other does indeed see in something approximating the same manner as himself, the same two linguistically null neanderthals could quite possibly rely upon physical gestures to communicate. If these two creatures had their own irreconcilably distinct grunts by which to refer to, say, a tree, certainly a simple extension of the index finger, a maneuver universal and exclusive to humankind, could direct both their gazes – or at least the gaze of one and whatever external behavior counts for a gaze in the other – toward the common object, the assemblage of wood and leaves whose proper existence transcends the isolation of either mind caged in its respective limitations. But even here, communication is prone to break down quickly. Imagine, if you will, Dr. Peterson here intoning nigh-tearfully, as he surely would, that the probability that what the first fellow points to and calls “ugh” and what the second fellow sees and understands as “oohg” are exactly the same is, an astute observer will have already predicted, probably zero.

Ontology plays a rather nasty trick, slipping away into the same domain of the implicit that the two cavemen had hoped to escape. The boundaries, indeed the definition, of the tree are still hopelessly ambiguous. Perhaps the first fellow perceives the trunk as the whole of the tree, leaves and branches and such excluded. Perhaps the second perceives what we English-speakers mean by “tree” not as a discreet object, but merely as a formation in the singular continuum of the ground in which it grows, and thus what the first fellow sees as two, namely ground and tree, are to the second fellow one entity. They might nod and grunt affirmatively, thinking themselves very clever for having bridged the gulf, but no doubt their triumph would sour as their further interactions revealed that the rift between concepts was far deeper than initially imagined.

Peterson himself, as a matter of fact, attempts his escape from this conundrum in Maps of Meaning via an appeal to teleology, at least in a very utilitarian sense. He suggests that the valence, that is, the relationship between the mind and the matter that yields the mind’s desired outcome, will determine the outline, the boundaries, the definition of a thing. That is to say, if viewing the tree as one thing gets the caveman what he wants, he will continue to view it as one thing. This of course is vastly complicated by the fact of context, as Peterson would no doubt acknowledge that these ontological constructions in the mind must be nested within a layered array that permits more behavioral flexibility. Viewing the tree as distinct and complete might make harvesting lumber more approachable, but viewing it as integral with the earth might be more abstractly useful in formulating the mind/matter distinction in the first place. All that trouble, and the cavemen we’ve trapped in our hypothesis are no better off, since neither can intuit from where in his mental array the other draws his definition. If telos can be contextually fluid, then so can definitions.

Consider, in practice, all the present confusion around whether or not America is a “Christian nation.” It is hard enough to define “Christian” on an individual level. Is one a Christian based on certain principles? behaviors? simply self-identifying as such? Contextually, even this answer may vary. But the problem is compounded as the definition of “Christian” shifts to the context of “nation.” Is a nation Christian based on its founding? its demographics? its leadership? its history? Translating such a term between parties depends on dialing in on not only the same target, but the same angle as well.

I would be remiss not to acknowledge the debt of gratitude I owe Peterson and Maps of Meaning for introducing me to a wider thought world, but it is only natural that that world extends far beyond the limitations and shortcomings of Peterson’s own work. His characteristic descent into confused circumlocution at the purportedly simple question of belief in God embodies this fact, as it succeeds in uncovering the depth and complexity belied by the question, but fails on the more obvious metric of producing an intelligible answer. The way you naturally integrated this problem of definitions with questions of the Divine reminded me of Homer Simpson’s classic quandary, “What if we’ve picked the wrong religion? Every week we’re just making God madder and madder.”

Homer, naturally, uses this dilemma as an excuse to engage in the classic American pastime of religious nominalism, preferring to while away his Sunday morning in a panoply of worthless, profoundly trivial modes of lazing about the house, all under the seemingly impenetrable aegis of total intellectual resignation. This certainly seems like the easy way out. Who knows what anything means, anyway, so why not just cozy up and do whatever? or do nothing? If meaning is so inaccessible, then the danger of misunderstanding, misinterpreting, choosing the wrong meaning, seems inescapable.

Indeed, Homer has a point: the consequences of faith, of choosing, are dire. Quite literally everything is at stake. And yet, to refuse to play the game, as Paschal wisely formulated, is the only way to guarantee one loses. Neither Jordan Peterson nor Homer Simpson can deliver us from the conundrum. To choose not to commit to a belief – that God exists or that other consciousnesses exist beyond oneself or that words have meaning – is still a choice, and a bad one at that. Though there is little we can know empirically, luckily for us the most important things to know are not known empirically. Faith is the instrument that grabs hold of the ledge and pulls us out of the pit. To err is to be human, and to be human is to choose. The risk of refusing to define, to commit to a particular understanding, to do something on faith, is far greater than the risk of choosing wrongly. To refuse to act in the world for fear that assumptions may give way is truly the worst assumption under which to live. As Luther said regarding such paralysis, “God does not save those who are only imaginary sinners. Be a sinner, and let your sins be strong, but let your trust in Christ be stronger, and rejoice in Christ who is the victor over sin, death, and the world.” Alas, what Peterson misses is that faith only comes to our rescue if we take the plunge.

Zechariah 10:2 stood out to me last Sunday: “For the teraphim utter nonsense, and the diviners see lies; the dreamers tell false dreams, and give empty consolation. Therefore the people wander like sheep; they are afflicted for want of a shepherd.” What the RSV renders as teraphim is elsewhere translated as “idols” or “household gods.” I yet remain unpersuaded that my working mental model of AI as a kind of idol, if not morally at least metaphysically, is defective beyond usefulness, and via that connection, this verse immediately caused me to think of the epistemic chaos the current generation inhabits. It is always comforting to find commiseration with the past, to know that one’s problems are perennial rather than novel. Even more comforting is to know that the solution is eternal.

Though we may in fact have differing definitions of post-modernity, perhaps we can agree that one of its defining characteristics is a surrender to aforementioned gulf. It posits broadly that there is no solution, that no two consciousnesses can possibly touch, that truth cannot be conducted between them, and that therefore each man is an island, a brain in a jar whose only “truth” is the one he cobbles together within the lonely confines of himself. Technology, perhaps epitomized in AI, has followed this trajectory, as we fashion household gods for ourselves, turned inward to dream in solitude, each “in a world all his own” in the words of Heraclitus. But just as the “empty consolation” on which the children of Israel vainly hoped was remedied only by the Good Shepherd, so it is with the false dreams to which we turn to soothe the atomization that individualism has ultimately created.

The odds are very slim that what the prophet meant and what I understood by “teraphim” are the same. But then again, “We have the mind of Christ.” Epistemic chaos is ultimately vitiated by faith, or rather by its object. As Anselm put it, “credo ut intelligam,” “I believe in order to understand.” Knowledge, and therefore any ability to share it, follows from faith, not the other way around. Our disparate worlds of subjective consciousness must participate in the gravity of objectivity, sharing their orbits around the Son, before they can have any contact with one another. Faith lays hold of that which knowledge can’t quite reach, and so comes full circle to become the foundation as well, “from faith to faith.” The epistemic follows from the ontological, so to speak, in that real participation in God is a necessary precondition for knowing anything, first in the universal sense in which all mankind must “live and move and have our being” in God, and second in the deeper sense of restoration and reconciliation of God and Man in Christ.

What does all this have to do with everyday conversation? In practice, it allows us to be comfortable admitting that axioms cannot be other than assumed. Everyone has faith in something, everyone plays for some prize, even if the prize is not playing the game. Axioms are therefore not likely to undergo a shift in the mind by means of reason, rationality, or argument, but simply by the course of life itself. Faith is not in word only, but in deed. Compassion, kindness, and charity are overwhelmingly more persuasive on the most important issues than any rhetoric or reasoning. Love is the best argument for truth, not least because the Truth is Love. Meaning is, in this sense, not an inert, passive, inanimate thing, but better understood as spirit – moving, dynamic, relational and participatory. If, as Lewis noted, Truth is a Person and not a thing, then it is not something we can simply possess or lack, but Someone with whom we have a relationship, whether amicable or not.

I have experienced this fact profoundly as it pertains to the other topic you mentioned: aesthetic. You cannot reason anyone into finding beautiful what you find beautiful, you cannot argue them into sharing your perception of loveliness. Likewise, we cannot easily rationalize our way out of beauty when it holds our attention captive. Beauty does not exist “in the eye of the beholder” only, it lives beyond us. If you have been moved by a postmodern work of art, it is unlikely that your “better” angels of strict reason will, no matter what their merits, be able to persuade you that it is not beautiful. You might reason that it is untrue, or explain objectively why its assumptions are flimsy or erroneous, but your sense of beauty rightly informs you that there are spirits at play far too powerful for intellect to wave away like so much smoke. Beauty doesn’t come to us on terms of strict logic, and so it will not leave us that way, either. This makes beauty powerful, but it also makes it dangerous.

What remains is to discern these spirits presenting themselves in beauty, whether they be angels or devils in disguise. That is another matter.

Die Wahrheit ist untödlich.

Ton frère,

Garrett L. White