The noted twentieth-century American Quaker David E. Trueblood rightly observed that religious experience is cognitive and personal in character. And that those who are expected to report on it become equivocal and awkward in rendering into words what they have experienced. He points out that âit is not easy for men to tell others what they know, since language here becomes more inadequate than it ordinarily is, and poetry becomes inevitable, but this is not the important point.â Trueblood then proceeds to say that religious experience âcharacteristically recorded is of the kind which we normally associate with persons,â it âhas about it, as aesthetic experience has, the augustness which we cannot expect contact with a mere âthingâ to inspire [â¦], and most strikingly in the experience of Jesus, the relationship is consciously personal.â1 Such words are particularly appropriate for Newmanâs description of our experience of conscience. Trueblood must have read Newman, for he is quoting the Apologia in his paper.
There was much misunderstanding of Newmanâs intentions. Especially when he said that âEngland should be more superstitious.â Obviously, he did not mean superstition to be a positive attitude as such. Rather, superstition was suggested as a riposte to the spirit of disbelief in anything that could not be proven in a learned manner. By way of analogy, we might say that when orthodox believers with their views, for instance, on the sacred character of life and indissolubility of marriage are accused of being backward, one might retort: âI wish we could have more such backwardness now.â Of course, by saying this no-one is claiming that backwardness is a desirable attitude. Demanding âmore superstition,â in fact, is a rhetorical figure, when we on purpose exaggerate, using certain subversive declarations in order to obtain the opposite feeling. Having published his History of the Arians, Newman was accused of wishing to re-establish the Inquisition, but he simply sought to elicit the valuable elements of the past.
Newman used this language of strong expressions, bordering on insults, especially when he sought to effect indignation that might lead to a fundamental re-thinking. When writing about the critical situation of the Church of England in one of his Anglican sermons, he wrote: âI had rather the church
In this respect, Newmanâs attitude resembles Biblical radicalism. The following passages from the Old and New Testament alike come to our mind when we ponder these matters: âBecause zeal for your house consumes me,â and: âZeal for your house will consume me.â3 Newman also uses blunt passages in his critical texts.
Certitude [â¦] is the perception of a truth with the perception that it is a truth, or the consciousness of knowing, as expressed in the phrase, âI know that I know,â or âI know that I know that I know,ââor simply âI know;â for one reflex assertion of the mind about self sums up the series of self-consciousnesses without the need of any actual evolution of them.4
Let us note that the phrase âI knowâ is co-equal with âthe consciousness of knowing,â therefore, it is not only a linguistic expression, but, at the same time, a testimony: I say something and I feel what I am saying. The verb âto know,â as has been pointed out, has two referents, the subject and the object, or, in other words, the agent and the contents. Thus, we have âI know what,â âI know how,â âI know why,â and âI know that.â Modernity focused on âI know what,â on the contents of the mind, or on âI know howââthe technical competencies. Therefore, for empiricists, we are masters of our minds; they are composed of the ideas that come from experience or result from the making of the mind
Newmanâs âI know thatâ reports on the state of the person. When I say âI know that I know,â I testify to the exceptional unity of my person, of which I may not even be aware, let alone explicitly enumerate all the elements of this unity. The statement âI know that I knowâ is an existential declaration: I experience the whole of my being at one place and time, I speak from the innermost centre of my person as one integrated being. I have subordinated my emotions, or I am at one with my emotions. I am at one with myself and experience no dissociation of my identity. Obviously, we could say âI know that he is an excellent specialist,â but in this case the sentence can just as well be reduced to âI know what,â therefore it does not fall under the category of âI know thatâ from Newmanâs example.
It follows from the above considerations that the discrepancy under discussion consists in the following fact: I know what to do (I have the respective theoretical knowledge), I know how to do it (I have the respective technical instruction), but it has not dawned on me yet that I should do it, a mere theoretical knowledge is insufficient to inspire obligation. And this is the point Newman noted as the heritage of modern (enlightened) culture. He does not posit it like the Humean dilemma, although there are apparent similarities, i.e. he does not say that there is no transition from âisâ to âought,â but simply shows the discrepancy, pointing at some ways out, namely, the examples of other persons (personation) and the impact of images. He posits that one may lack a complete knowledge of âwhatâ and of âhow,â but the person knows âthatâ he should do it. Newman would, therefore, say that there is a transition from âisâ to âought,â but it does not reside entirely in the theoretical knowledge of âwhatâ or the technical management of âhow.â If theoretical knowledge and technical instruction on the part of âwhatâ and âhowâ are found wanting, then faith and love on the part of âthatâ will remedy the deficiency and suggest the right decision. And even if theory and instruction are not wanting, they are not powerful enough to make us act. Such is Newmanâs reasoning in this practical matter, i.e. in the area of belief and morality. He rightly claims that a mere multiplication or enhancement of theoretical knowledge and technical instruction does not necessarily bring about the duty of âthat.â
The phrase âI know that I knowâ goes counter to the empiricist view. I know more than I can comprehend and, contrary to Lockeâs claim, there is nothing irrational in it. âTo knowâ is greater in scope than âto comprehend.â Anyone who hears this declaration tends to ask: what do you know? We ask this
There are two fundamental moments in the rational (and moral) life of a human person: decision and action. Because of the intentional moment of each decision and the associated sense of responsibility, there is usually a temporal gap between decision and action. What comes in between is reflection. While reflection is natural and important, it can also distract a person from his or her actual action or even invalidate it. The best safeguard against such an outcome, especially when the action is right and expected, as Newman seems to suggest, is to keep decision and action as close as possible to one another. A right conscience, or a clear view of reality, makes this possible. Action is right and expected when one has learned the truth and is called upon to respond to it.
Certitude, the conscious report of which is âI know that I know,â closes this gap between decision and action. Reflection increases the distance between our decision to act and action itself; the wider the distance, the longer the hesitation, and the greater incertitude. Newmanâs âI know that I knowâ does not allow any distance between the truth and my duty to realize it. Let us note in passing, that it is indeed fascinating that a nineteenth-century thinker who grew out of the Newtonian deterministic world, with its emphasis on the immutable rules governing the natural world, was to presage the space of probability so typical of our contemporary world, that is, of the world of quantum physics and of mystery. And in this world of probability, man is able to achieve certitude.
âI know that I knowâ symbolises the culmination of a long and arduous personal process, with its explicit and implicit moments, through which the person has passed and reached an endpoint, but cannot expose to objective analysis. Let us also note that the phrase âI know that I knowâ has a normative value, which is of utmost importance for personalists (such as Karol WojtyÅa); in like manner, the recognition of truth (I know) has a normative character. This is not surprising, since we find things that require emulation rather than a detached view of reality. It is I who know; it is I who have recognized the truth. Moved, on the one hand, not by the theoretical reflections of others, but above all by their testimonies, their lived experience, and on the other by the solid dogmatic foundation of the Church, Newman arrives at his destination.
â¦
Whether his mind will ever grow straight, whether I can do anything towards its becoming straight, whether he is not responsible, responsible to his Maker, for being mentally crooked, is another matter; still the fact remains, that, in any inquiry about things in the concrete, men differ from each other, not so much in the soundness of their reasoning as in the principles which govern its exercise, that those principles are of a personal character, that where there is no common measure of minds, there is no common measure of arguments, and that the validity of proof is determined, not by any scientific test, but by the illative sense.5
Then he refers to memory which is âa vast magazine of such dormant, but present and excitable ideas,â yet we constantly seek to bring them to the conscious level, even though we should rather be âguided by an unconscious idea.â6 I understand by this that we always try to define the truth and render it in its explicit form. Meanwhile reason, for Newman, let us stress this point, is placed within the framework of the first principles, otherwise it is lost in a thicket of ratiocinations. Religion is more than our knowledge about the religious tenets, which is explicit, which is âI know what.â
Moreover, it is a question whether that strange and painful feeling of unreality, which religious men experience from time to time, when nothing seems true, or good, or right, or profitable, when Faith seems a name, and duty a mockery, and all endeavours to do right, absurd and hopeless, and all things forlorn and dreary, as if religion were wiped out from the world, may not be the direct effect of the temporary obscuration of some
master vision, which unconsciously supplies the mind with spiritual life and peace.7
Let us note that this âmaster visionâ is not the mindâs product, so it goes against the logic of empiricism. Nevertheless, it âsupplies the mind with spiritual life and peace.â Newman sought it, therefore it can be understood as coterminous or congenial to certitude. Certitude brings peace and serenity, i.e. spiritual life and peace. The conclusion seems obvious: it follows that we should rely on what is implicit, not invented by the mind.
what is remarkable at first sight is this, that there is good reason for saying that the impression made upon the mind need not even be recognized by the parties possessing it. It is not proof that persons are not possessed, because they are not conscious, of an idea. Nothing is of more frequent occurrence, whether in things sensible or intellectual, than the existence of such unperceived impressions.8
They imperceptibly penetrate the interior of our minds, gradually turning us into believers, inasmuch as we ponder over, and respond to, them.
In this text we have the same elements we have already mentioned; the fact of being possessed by the truth rather than possessing it. Christianity is under development by inspiring people. Unlike in empiricism, consciousness of being in possession of an idea is not necessary. Additionally, the idea is never in its entirety in one mind as a well-defined concept; it is not a logical formula, but a living influence that takes concrete shape through various persons. They become witnesses to its vitality. During his sojourn in Sicily, as has already been said, Newman visited Catholic churches. The idea of a lost unity, of the Apostolical succession, of the Catholic rites being reflections of the primitive Church, might have crossed his mind. It did not effectuate an abrupt change in him, but stimulated him to embark on a thorough study of the origins of Christianity. Indeed, it was like an unperceived impression, a minute ruffle on the surface of a lake, which then, in time, penetrated the depths. We find here again the basic difference between the implicit aspects as set against the explicit. The British academic Derek Attridge rightly notes that âto experience something is to encounter or undergo it, to be exposed to and transformed by
It must be noted that, by referring to unperceived impressions, Newman objected to the empiricistsâ claim that whatever there is in the human mind is always at the level of consciousness. The rational person is such that is aware of what this person has in his mind. In any case, according to Newman, this is the way that God manifests Himself to us. We receive various impressions, but often do not reflect upon them or do not realize them, do not apprehend what they are supposed to mean for us and how they should change our conduct.11
D. E. Trueblood, The Evidential Value of Religious Experience, 438, 439.
pps, 612.
Ps 69: 10; J 2: 17.
ga, 163.
Ibid., 321.
Ibid., 300, 301.
Ibid., 301.
Ibid., 300.
Ibid., 1240.
D. Attridge, The Singularity of Literature, London and New York: Routledge Classics, 2017, 26.
Cf. pps, 1246.