In Theosemiotic, Michael Raposa uses Charles Peirce’s semiotic theory to rethink certain issues in contemporary philosophical theology and the philosophy of religion. He first sketches a history that links Peirce’s thought to that of earlier figures (both within the tradition of American religious thought and beyond), as well as to other classical pragmatists and to later thinkers and developments. Drawing on Peirce’s ideas, Raposa develops a semiotic conception of persons/selves emphasizing the role that acts of attention play in shaping human inferences and perception. His central Peircean presuppositions are that all human experience takes the form of semiosis and that the universe is “perfused” with signs. Religious meaning emerges out of a process of continually reading and re-reading certain signs. Theology is explored here in its manifestations as inquiry, therapy, and praxis. By drawing on both Peirce’s logic of vagueness and his logic of relations, Raposa makes sense out of how we talk about God as personal, and also how we understand the character of genuine communities. An investigation of what Peirce meant by “musement” illuminates the nature and purpose of prayer. Theosemiotic is portrayed as a form of religious naturalism, broadly conceived. At the same time, the potential links between any philosophical theology conceived as theosemiotic and liberation theology are exposed.
The relationship between meditation and the martial arts is a multifaceted one: meditation is one of the practices in which martial artists engage in order to prepare for combat, while the physical exercises constituting much of the discipline of the martial arts might well be considered meditative practices. Michael Raposa, himself a martial arts practitioner, suggests there is a sense in which meditation may in turn be considered a form of combat, citing a variety of spiritual disciplines that are not strictly classified as "martial arts" yet that employ the heavy use of martial images and categories as part of their self-description. Raposa, in this extraordinary alloy of meditation manual, historical synthesis, and spiritual guide, provides a fascinating approach to understanding the connection between martial arts and spirituality in such diverse disciplines as Japanese aikido, Chinese tai chi chuan, Hindu yoga, Christian asceticism, Zen Buddhism, and Islamic jihad. What happens when spiritual discipline is appropriated for exercises meant for health or recreation? How might prayer, meditation, and ritual be understood as martial activities? What is the nature of conflict, and who is the enemy? These are some of the questions Raposa raises and responds to in Meditation and the Martial Arts, his rumination on the martial arts as meditative practice and meditation as a martial discipline.
In Theosemiotic, Michael Raposa uses Charles Peirce’s semiotic theory to rethink certain issues in contemporary philosophical theology and the philosophy of religion. He first sketches a history that links Peirce’s thought to that of earlier figures (both within the tradition of American religious thought and beyond), as well as to other classical pragmatists and to later thinkers and developments. Drawing on Peirce’s ideas, Raposa develops a semiotic conception of persons/selves emphasizing the role that acts of attention play in shaping human inferences and perception. His central Peircean presuppositions are that all human experience takes the form of semiosis and that the universe is “perfused” with signs. Religious meaning emerges out of a process of continually reading and re-reading certain signs. Theology is explored here in its manifestations as inquiry, therapy, and praxis. By drawing on both Peirce’s logic of vagueness and his logic of relations, Raposa makes sense out of how we talk about God as personal, and also how we understand the character of genuine communities. An investigation of what Peirce meant by “musement” illuminates the nature and purpose of prayer. Theosemiotic is portrayed as a form of religious naturalism, broadly conceived. At the same time, the potential links between any philosophical theology conceived as theosemiotic and liberation theology are exposed.
The relationship between meditation and the martial arts is a multifaceted one: meditation is one of the practices in which martial artists engage in order to prepare for combat, while the physical exercises constituting much of the discipline of the martial arts might well be considered meditative practices. Michael Raposa, himself a martial arts practitioner, suggests there is a sense in which meditation may in turn be considered a form of combat, citing a variety of spiritual disciplines that are not strictly classified as "martial arts" yet that employ the heavy use of martial images and categories as part of their self-description. Raposa, in this extraordinary alloy of meditation manual, historical synthesis, and spiritual guide, provides a fascinating approach to understanding the connection between martial arts and spirituality in such diverse disciplines as Japanese aikido, Chinese tai chi chuan, Hindu yoga, Christian asceticism, Zen Buddhism, and Islamic jihad. What happens when spiritual discipline is appropriated for exercises meant for health or recreation? How might prayer, meditation, and ritual be understood as martial activities? What is the nature of conflict, and who is the enemy? These are some of the questions Raposa raises and responds to in Meditation and the Martial Arts, his rumination on the martial arts as meditative practice and meditation as a martial discipline.
In this alloy of philosophical reflection, historical synthesis, and spiritual guide, Michael Raposa, himself a martial arts practitioner, provides an approach to understanding the connection between martial arts and meditation in such diverse disciplines as Japanese aikido, Chinese tai chi chuan, Hindu yoga, Christian asceticism, Zen Buddhism, and Islamic jihad. The relationship between meditation and the martial arts is a multifaceted one: meditation is one of the practices in which martial artists engage in order to prepare for combat, while the physical exercises constituting much of the discipline of the martial arts might well be considered meditative practices. Raposa suggests there is a sense in which meditation may in turn be considered a form of combat, citing a variety of spiritual disciplines that are not strictly classified as "martial arts" yet that make heavy use of martial images and categories as part of their self-description. What happens when spiritual discipline is appropriated as exercise for health or recreation? How might prayer, meditation, and ritual be understood as martial activities? What is the nature of conflict, and who is the enemy? These are some of the questions Raposa raises and responds to in Meditation and the Martial Arts, his rumination on the martial arts as meditative practice and meditation as a martial discipline.
Boredom matters, writes Michael Raposa, because it represents a threat to spiritual life. Boredom can undermine prayer and meditation and signal the failure of religious imagination. If you engage it seriously, however, it can also be the starting point for philosophical reflection and spiritual insight. It can serve as a prelude to the discovery or rebirth of religious meaning. Boredom, then, is a paradox, surprisingly complex and ambiguous. Being bored with someone or something can represent a trivial matter--being bored with one's clothes or a magazine article--or a matter of significant consequence--being bored with one's marriage or the music one loves to play. Boredom can signify a moral failure or the presence of virtue. Appreciating the value of boredom does not require that one welcome, much less celebrate, its occurrence. Raposa simply invites us to pay attention to boredom's many possible lessons. The principal methods Raposa employs are philosophical. Drawing on Peirce's idea that all experience is interpreted experience, Raposa sees boredom as a failure of interpretation, an inability to read signs in life as religiously meaningful. The Gospel of Mark depicts a prayerful and passionate Jesus juxtaposed with his drowsy disciples in Gethsemane. Their failure to discern what is happening in their midst, Raposa suggests, is a powerful example of what medieval Christian theologians called acedia, their term for boredom with the rituals of spiritual devotion. But these descriptions of acedia bear a striking resemblance to mystical accounts of the "dark night," a terrifying but necessary stage in the mystic's spiritual journey. Drawing on this notion and others from eastern and western religious traditions, Raposa asks us to see boredom playing an ambivalent role in spiritual life, often serving as a metaphorical midwife for the birth of religious knowledge. His subject, he admits, seems tongue-in-cheek at first, but a stunning depth is quickly revealed. His lucid, witty, and intelligent discussion offers a path to the kind of meaning that is a fundamental desideratum in human experience.
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