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The Mind of Whitehead
Roland Faber's Invitation to Adventure
and Compassionate Thinking
Compassionate Thinking
"Truth flares in the tenderness with all life. Compassionate thinking breathes, tirelessly avoiding closure. It is Ideas, transcending the divisions of our concepts...that is the adventure of ideas. Propositions are statements about that which is, was, and may be; ideas are mystical: always birthing the not yet. Theories are undecidable; ideas are creative, sympathies that guide us."
Faber, Roland. The Mind of Whitehead: Adventure in Ideas
Faber, Roland. The Mind of Whitehead: Adventure in Ideas
The Mind of Whitehead
"Whitehead's text confronts us with the feeling of existing in a world that cannot be defined by any creed or method, but offers us unexpected friends: ideas--ideas that unleash and alleviate, play and mitigate despair, swim in the rough waters, but without effort let go of us if we cannot fathom them. For adventurers who risk the encounter with Whitehead's text, its treasures feel like balm on the overheated, burning sensation of wounds of division. A way out. A new way. A revolution--not of violent overturning, but of gentle reorientation in which compassionate thinking breathes. It is not about systems, but permeated with musical rhythms and harmonics, composing significance with impermanence. It does not arrive at a promised land, but perhaps is a harbinger of things to come, sensing a universe that will surprise our descendants. It does not reveal a mind in which we can live, but one that challenges all rest."
Beyond Creeds and Systems
"The Mind of Whitehead" as Nighttime Reading
We all need our sacraments—our windows to the mystery of life. These sacraments can be found in other people and our relationships with them, in the more-than-human world of hills and rivers, trees and stars, in mathematics, science, poetry, music, philosophy, and religion. And in "big ideas"—wherever and however we find them. By big ideas, I mean those that stretch our minds beyond what we have previously thought and imagined, illuminating something of the nature of the universe, ourselves, the mystery of life, and perhaps the divine itself. One of Roland Faber's gifts, as a philosopher, theologian, and poet, is his ability to present such expansive ideas with incredible depth and range—ideas about the togetherness of all things as revealed through experience, symbolism, and the becoming of life itself, or the faces of depth itself: multiplicity, creativity, reason, and mystery. In book after book, he introduces and explores these ideas with a deeply expansive mind, informed by the wisdom traditions of the world and integrating them into his reflections. His The Mind of Whitehead: Adventure in Ideas (Pickwick Publications, 2023) is one of many works that challenge us in essential ways—this time, through the ideas, or rather the mind, of his philosophical mentor and companion, Alfred North Whitehead, whose own thinking has catalyzed Faber’s explorations.
I want to recommend this book not necessarily as something to be read cover to cover, although it certainly can be, but as a companion to keep on your bedside table—a book to turn to at night, reading different chapters as the spirit moves you. This is because the book is not merely an exploration of big ideas but, perhaps more importantly, a guide to a way of being in the world—a way of thinking and living that moves beyond the need to cling to any ideas, including big ones, in ways that foreclose novelty and openness to the future. Why is this important?
*
Imagine that you grew up in a religious tradition that placed a heavy emphasis on believing the right things. It offered, in its own way, a "system" of beliefs that you were expected to adhere to. Perhaps the system was rooted in sacred texts like the Bible, the Quran, or the Vedas. Or perhaps, at the other end of the spectrum, it was a dogmatic atheism, By following it, you felt assured that you were on the correct path. There was a sense of vindication, even superiority. You tried to persuade others to embrace this system because you truly believed it held the ultimate truth.
Now, imagine that at some point in your life, that system began to unravel. Cracks formed where once there was certainty. The beliefs that once provided security and direction no longer worked. In fact, you may have even found this system to be oppressive, its rigidity stifling your spirit.
It’s easy to imagine that after this disillusionment, you went searching for another system—something to fill the void left by the collapse of the old one. And it's even easy to imagine that you found it, perhaps in the philosophy of Alfred North Whitehead. Whitehead's ideas, with their emphasis on process and interconnectedness, provided a fresh way of looking at the world. For a time, it felt like this new system was the answer. You embraced it wholeheartedly, replacing the old structure with this new framework of thought, now calling it process philosophy or process theology.
In your enthusiasm, you became an evangelist for this new system. Just as you had once tried to convince others of the old beliefs, you now tried to persuade them of the virtues of process thought. But slowly, something began to shift. Despite the wisdom you found in Whitehead’s philosophy, you realized that your own adherence to it as a system was becoming suffocating. You grew weary of the evangelistic impulse that had once felt so empowering. You still loved Whitehead’s ideas, but your interest in philosophy as a rigid structure began to fade.
Instead, you found yourself drawn to something deeper, something subtler: Whitehead's way of thinking, his outlook on life. It wasn’t the system that captivated you anymore, but the “Mind of Whitehead” itself—a mind not bound by fixed conclusions but always exploring, always venturing into the unknown, albeit with some remarkable ideas to prompt the adventure.
You picked up Roland Faber's book The Mind of Whitehead: An Adventure of Ideas, a dense, 650-page text, with each sentence offering layers of meaning. A paragraph in the epilogue reveals its purpose:
"What I attempt in this book is not to find the Whitehead of system but the Whitehead of musical rhythms and harmonics, composing significance with impermanence. In this sense, Whitehead’s Mind does—like that of Leibnitz—not arrive at a promised land before which we, in awe, must shrink to pupils, venerating a master, but rather is of an ancestor who has trodden a way into the uncharted, or, perhaps, of a harbinger of things to come, sensing a universe that will surprise our descendants. This is not a mind in which we can live, but one that—like a receding horizon—challenges all rest."
It wasn’t about fitting life into a system anymore. It was about embracing the rhythm and fluidity of life itself, learning to be at peace with uncertainty and impermanence. Whitehead’s mind, as Faber suggests, is not a destination but an ongoing adventure—one that challenges you to stay curious and open to the unfolding surprises of the universe.
*
You then begin to read The Mind of Whitehead. Initially, you approach it in a linear fashion, attempting to read it cover to cover, almost as if Faber were offering a new kind of system. But it doesn't take long for you to realize that this method isn't working. It feels rigid, and the book itself seems to resist such a straightforward approach. So, you try a different strategy.
You turn to the table of contents and decide to treat the book as a source of "spiritual reading," or, if you prefer, "wisdom-seeking reading." Instead of reading it in order, you select a chapter each night and read it before bed, letting the ideas unfold in a way that felt more intuitive and contemplative. This becomes your new bedtime ritual—a way to engage deeply with Whitehead’s mind in a manner that isn't forced but flows naturally. The book is divided into six parts. So, at night, you turn to the table of contents and choose a section that strikes your interest relative to mood and need.
Part I: The Togetherness of Everything
Each chapter has its own subheadings. For example, the subheadings for Chapter 26 on Cosmos are:
And those of the final chapter, Chapter 27, are:
Each of these subheadings is itself, to use Whitehead's phrase, a "lure for feeling." You read Faber in this spirit. He is a poet, a lure-giver. Make no mistake. He is very much at home in abstractions. They are, for him, windows into mystery and adventure, expansive and expanding. And he helps make them that for you, too.
You remember a time in your life when life was all about having the right answers. Now, with his help, and that of his mentor and guide, Whitehead, it is more about what he calls compassionate thinking: a way of thinking that is open to the beauty of life, to be sure, and also open to adventure. All of this seems to partake of what he calls the Mind of Whitehead. You no longer want to fit everything into a Whiteheadian box. But you don't mind be ignited, again and again, by a Whiteheadian fire. There's a very practical side to this. A gentle and loving side. Who cannot but want to be baptized in this fire.
Meaning appears like magic. It is like a baptism of fire, of spirit, of the flame of thought, enkindling not only our mind, but something closer to the visceral knowledge of hope, rekindling the remembrance of desires we might have felt, but seem to have lost: suppressed motivations not to succumb to apocalyptic helplessness in view of the current impasses of life on this planet. Filtering Whitehead through our layers of bad habits and disoriented learning, we may unlearn, untie caricatures of reality, and may even feel compelled to do something about that: to bring change to the exhausted planet and our cultural divides. Whitehead feels like balm in the overheated, burning sensation of wounds of misunderstanding and division. A way out. A new way. A revolution—not of violent overturning, but of gentle, profound reorientation of our deepest modes of thinking and moods of living.
Faber, Roland. The Mind of Whitehead: Adventure in Ideas (p. 16). Pickwick Publications, an imprint of Wipf and Stock Publishers. Kindle Edition.
I want to recommend this book not necessarily as something to be read cover to cover, although it certainly can be, but as a companion to keep on your bedside table—a book to turn to at night, reading different chapters as the spirit moves you. This is because the book is not merely an exploration of big ideas but, perhaps more importantly, a guide to a way of being in the world—a way of thinking and living that moves beyond the need to cling to any ideas, including big ones, in ways that foreclose novelty and openness to the future. Why is this important?
*
Imagine that you grew up in a religious tradition that placed a heavy emphasis on believing the right things. It offered, in its own way, a "system" of beliefs that you were expected to adhere to. Perhaps the system was rooted in sacred texts like the Bible, the Quran, or the Vedas. Or perhaps, at the other end of the spectrum, it was a dogmatic atheism, By following it, you felt assured that you were on the correct path. There was a sense of vindication, even superiority. You tried to persuade others to embrace this system because you truly believed it held the ultimate truth.
Now, imagine that at some point in your life, that system began to unravel. Cracks formed where once there was certainty. The beliefs that once provided security and direction no longer worked. In fact, you may have even found this system to be oppressive, its rigidity stifling your spirit.
It’s easy to imagine that after this disillusionment, you went searching for another system—something to fill the void left by the collapse of the old one. And it's even easy to imagine that you found it, perhaps in the philosophy of Alfred North Whitehead. Whitehead's ideas, with their emphasis on process and interconnectedness, provided a fresh way of looking at the world. For a time, it felt like this new system was the answer. You embraced it wholeheartedly, replacing the old structure with this new framework of thought, now calling it process philosophy or process theology.
In your enthusiasm, you became an evangelist for this new system. Just as you had once tried to convince others of the old beliefs, you now tried to persuade them of the virtues of process thought. But slowly, something began to shift. Despite the wisdom you found in Whitehead’s philosophy, you realized that your own adherence to it as a system was becoming suffocating. You grew weary of the evangelistic impulse that had once felt so empowering. You still loved Whitehead’s ideas, but your interest in philosophy as a rigid structure began to fade.
Instead, you found yourself drawn to something deeper, something subtler: Whitehead's way of thinking, his outlook on life. It wasn’t the system that captivated you anymore, but the “Mind of Whitehead” itself—a mind not bound by fixed conclusions but always exploring, always venturing into the unknown, albeit with some remarkable ideas to prompt the adventure.
You picked up Roland Faber's book The Mind of Whitehead: An Adventure of Ideas, a dense, 650-page text, with each sentence offering layers of meaning. A paragraph in the epilogue reveals its purpose:
"What I attempt in this book is not to find the Whitehead of system but the Whitehead of musical rhythms and harmonics, composing significance with impermanence. In this sense, Whitehead’s Mind does—like that of Leibnitz—not arrive at a promised land before which we, in awe, must shrink to pupils, venerating a master, but rather is of an ancestor who has trodden a way into the uncharted, or, perhaps, of a harbinger of things to come, sensing a universe that will surprise our descendants. This is not a mind in which we can live, but one that—like a receding horizon—challenges all rest."
It wasn’t about fitting life into a system anymore. It was about embracing the rhythm and fluidity of life itself, learning to be at peace with uncertainty and impermanence. Whitehead’s mind, as Faber suggests, is not a destination but an ongoing adventure—one that challenges you to stay curious and open to the unfolding surprises of the universe.
*
You then begin to read The Mind of Whitehead. Initially, you approach it in a linear fashion, attempting to read it cover to cover, almost as if Faber were offering a new kind of system. But it doesn't take long for you to realize that this method isn't working. It feels rigid, and the book itself seems to resist such a straightforward approach. So, you try a different strategy.
You turn to the table of contents and decide to treat the book as a source of "spiritual reading," or, if you prefer, "wisdom-seeking reading." Instead of reading it in order, you select a chapter each night and read it before bed, letting the ideas unfold in a way that felt more intuitive and contemplative. This becomes your new bedtime ritual—a way to engage deeply with Whitehead’s mind in a manner that isn't forced but flows naturally. The book is divided into six parts. So, at night, you turn to the table of contents and choose a section that strikes your interest relative to mood and need.
Part I: The Togetherness of Everything
- Chapter 1: Experience
- Chapter 2: Becoming
- Chapter 3: Symbolization
- Chapter 4: Cognition
- Chapter 5: Mathematics
- Chapter 6: Science
- Chapter 7: Poetics
- Chapter 8: Philosophy
- Chapter 9: Religion
- Chapter 10: Multiplicity
- Chapter 11: Creativity
- Chapter 12: Reason
- Chapter 13: Mystery
- Chapter 14: Soul
- Chapter 15: Mind
- Chapter 16: Body
- Chapter 17: God
- Chapter 18: Mutuality
- Chapter 19: Nature
- Chapter 20: Society
- Chapter 21: Culture
- Chapter 22: Civilization
- Chapter 23: Life
- Chapter 24: Environment
- Chapter 25: Evolution
- Chapter 26; Cosmos
- Chapter 27: Continuum
Each chapter has its own subheadings. For example, the subheadings for Chapter 26 on Cosmos are:
- An organized system of vibrating streaming of energy
- Seven Platonic generalities
- Accidents of a Cosmic Epoch
- Morals Vanish and Beauty Remains
And those of the final chapter, Chapter 27, are:
- The Ultimate Character of the Universe
- Nothing, nothing, nothing, bare Nothingness
- A Primordial Superject of Creativity
- A Peculiarly Intense Relationship of Mutual Immanence.
Each of these subheadings is itself, to use Whitehead's phrase, a "lure for feeling." You read Faber in this spirit. He is a poet, a lure-giver. Make no mistake. He is very much at home in abstractions. They are, for him, windows into mystery and adventure, expansive and expanding. And he helps make them that for you, too.
You remember a time in your life when life was all about having the right answers. Now, with his help, and that of his mentor and guide, Whitehead, it is more about what he calls compassionate thinking: a way of thinking that is open to the beauty of life, to be sure, and also open to adventure. All of this seems to partake of what he calls the Mind of Whitehead. You no longer want to fit everything into a Whiteheadian box. But you don't mind be ignited, again and again, by a Whiteheadian fire. There's a very practical side to this. A gentle and loving side. Who cannot but want to be baptized in this fire.
Meaning appears like magic. It is like a baptism of fire, of spirit, of the flame of thought, enkindling not only our mind, but something closer to the visceral knowledge of hope, rekindling the remembrance of desires we might have felt, but seem to have lost: suppressed motivations not to succumb to apocalyptic helplessness in view of the current impasses of life on this planet. Filtering Whitehead through our layers of bad habits and disoriented learning, we may unlearn, untie caricatures of reality, and may even feel compelled to do something about that: to bring change to the exhausted planet and our cultural divides. Whitehead feels like balm in the overheated, burning sensation of wounds of misunderstanding and division. A way out. A new way. A revolution—not of violent overturning, but of gentle, profound reorientation of our deepest modes of thinking and moods of living.
Faber, Roland. The Mind of Whitehead: Adventure in Ideas (p. 16). Pickwick Publications, an imprint of Wipf and Stock Publishers. Kindle Edition.