Ontological arguments and Handel's Messiah

One of the great criticisms of ontological arguments is that they generally fail to demonstrate the de re (in reality/of the thing) existence of God as the Greatest Conceivable Being (or “that than which nothing greater can be thought”) from its conception de dicto (of the word).Yet it is almost impossible to speak of anything de re because we cannot apprehend things as they are in themselves, only how they are pro me (for me) and this is largely, what I call imaginal. 

For example, if I ask you to picture Canterbury Cathedral, you will, doubtless have some idea of it – either derived from experience of seeing the cathedral first hand, or of pictures of it, or (if you’ve never visited it or seen a picture of it) by drawing on your experience of other cathedrals. If you have no sight at all, the word ‘cathedral’ may still conjure up certain images (whether visual or purely conceptual). Yet none of you is able to fully hold, in your mind, the actuality of Canterbury Cathedral de re: you might have given it more or less windows than it has, miscalculated the length of the Quire, remembered (or imagined) the colour of the stone incorrectly. This does not matter. We are able to speak of Canterbury Cathedral because we understand what the words signify (a certain building in Canterbury) but, in truth, you are only speaking de dicto because you can only know it pro me.

Yesterday I played violin for a choral society’s performance of Messiah by Handel. The concert was billed as Handel’s Messiah, and there was a sizeable audience. The work is, of course, extremely well known, and many members of the audience were probably going because they had, in their minds, a notion of what the work is (for them) de re. However, when we consider that the conductor interpreted Handel’s tempo markings (somewhat unusually!) and that I, certainly, was not perfect in my rendition of the second violin part, we cannot say that the audience really heard ‘Handel’s Messiah.’ 

Furthermore, the pitch would have been quite different. When I read the note A on my score, I move my fingers to play what I think is an A. Now the A above what on a piano is commonly referred to as “middle C” has a ‘concert pitch’ of 440 Hertz. This is the frequency to which most British orchestras will tune to. However, it is almost impossible to expect a group of more than a dozen musicians to tune acoustic instruments to this precise frequency. When we consider that Baroque pitch was often significantly lower – something nearer to A 415Hz (although sometimes vastly higher or lower depending on the region) – we begin to realise that last night’s performance of “Handel’s Messiah” could only have been an interpretation. Once again, this does not mean we cannot speak of the oratorio de re, but that when we do, we are speaking of it, pro me.

During the popular Hallelujah Chorus, http://youtu.be/C3TUWU_yg4s the audience stood up as is the tradition, following the (perhaps apocryphal) story that King George II stood up on first hearing it in London (thus forcing the entire audience to follow suit). Whether or not the story is true does not affect our understanding that there is something about the Chorus that has moved people beyond words. Handel himself famously declared, upon completing its composition, "I did think I did see all Heaven before me, and the great God Himself.” The words and music tell us certain things philosophically about God in the line “for the Lord God omnipotent reigneth.” The analogy of Kingship and Lordship tell us that we ought to regard God in a manner similar to that of a king. The tradition of George II standing is often interpreted as his recognition of himself as a subject of the King of Kings. Yet even this epithet can only be an analogy and the question arises, what is the kingness of a king? Perhaps one predicate of kingness is power; yet kings only have power over their kingdom and their subjects, and only to the extent which power is afforded them (as Varys in Game of Thrones reminds us: “power resides where men believe it resides.” http://youtu.be/FpL6Fwu0wkw) To read more click below…..

Now power is surely the ability to wield one’s will arbitrarily:

I, as a teacher, having limited power, might one day ask my students to change the desks around, or to write an essay or imagine a pink elephant, simply because I wish it. I could not expect them to obey me if I asked them to do something illegal and dangerous. My Manager might, arbitrarily, require me to teach Maths for a morning – and if he does not potentially have that authority, his power is diminished. Yet, all mortal powers are diminished. To claim, then, that God is omnipotent, must encompass the notion of His Absolute Freedom to act arbitrarily.

Is this what we think of when we listen to, or perform the Hallelujah Chorus? I expect not. Rather, what stirs us is what the words and music point to – a Feeling beyond words, music and philosophy – an encounter with something so ineffable we cannot speak of it except, to borrow Schleiermacher, as the Feeling of Absolute Dependence. As an immediate experience, its sense is lost as soon as we attempt to articulate it in thought and word but those who have Felt it understand better what is meant by the description of God as that than which nothing greater than can be conceived. The only qualification that is missing, when we move from speaking of such a Being de dicto to de re is that, as with all things, in heaven and earth, we only experience and know reality pro me.

Tristan Stone 1/12/13

Image: Wells Cathedral in the snow by Peter Baron