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A Materialist Model of Christian Resurrection: What Happens When We Die

Lynne Rudder Baker (with Response by Dean Zimmerman)


A Christian materialist account of what happens when human persons die.

Distinguished Professor Emeritus of Philosophy at University of Massachusetts
April 29, 2017

Click here for Dean Zimmerman’s essay, “How Could Anyone be a Dualist?,” and Lynne Rudder Baker’s critical response.

Part 1: A Materialist Model of Christian Resurrection: Lynne Rudder Baker’s Opening Statement

To the title question, my honest answer is “I don’t know; I don’t believe that anyone does.” Maybe the screen just goes blank—full stop. But I hope and trust that things go otherwise.

Here I shall propose a materialist model of Christian resurrection; it is materialist in that it does not countenance any immaterial entities, like souls. This model does not involve a thoroughgoing materialism, because it regards God as a wholly immaterial and transcendent being. With the presupposition that any event of resurrection requires a miracle by God, the proposed model makes three claims: (i) A resurrected entity is the same person who lived on earth; (ii) Resurrection is bodily, but a resurrection body (a “spiritual” body) is not the same body that was on earth; (iii) No finite person has an immaterial soul. I’ll summarize these three claims like this: “same person, different body, no soul.”

This model is based on applying to persons the comprehensive account of the material world that I call ‘the constitution view’ (Baker 2000, 2007, 2013a). By ‘person,’ I mean ‘finite person’ unless I specify otherwise. The conclusion that I’ll argue for is this: If the constitution view of persons is correct, then the model provides a relatively plausible way to understand how God can resurrect material people.1 I’ll consider the three elements of the model sequentially.

Sameness of Person

I take it to be a central feature of the Christian doctrine of resurrection that, at least for the saved, the very same person who starts out in the natural world ends up in an afterlife as a resurrected person. More precisely, if x is a resurrected person, then there is a y and a time t such that y is an earthly person at t, and x = y. (Since heaven may be an eternal realm with no time, I’ll not attribute temporal location to a resurrected person.) I take ‘sameness of person’ to be part of the Christian doctrine of resurrection. But what is a person?

Two of a person’s essential properties are important, and importantly different: embodiment and a first-person perspective. A person is essentially embodied in that she cannot exist disembodied. Essential embodiment does not imply that a person must always be constituted by the same body that she is born with, or even that she is constituted by a body that is continuous with the body that she was constituted by when she was born. Embodiment implies only that she must always be constituted by some body or other that supports her first-person perspective. So, it is not part of a person’s essence to have the body that she has. Essential embodiment only implies that whenever the person exists, she is constituted by some body or other that can furnish whatever mechanisms needed to underwrite a first-person perspective.

Indeed, we have empirical evidence, in the here and now, that organs in a human body can be modified (and made to function properly) with all manner of artificial parts—cochlear implants, mind-brain interfaces, artificial hearts and other organs (soon an artificial eye), prosthetic limbs, neural implants and on and on. Even now, paralyzed people who have mind-brain interfaces are not simply constituted by a human organism, but by a human organism and nonorganic prosthetic devices. At some point, there could be enough nonorganic devices that support a person’s mental and behavioral functioning that we should say that her body is no longer organic. Yet, she would still exist. I take these considerations to show that the same person can be constituted by different bodies at different times.2 So, according to the constitution view, the persistence condition of persons does not require “same person → same body.”

The other essential property that I am calling attention to is the person’s essence, which furnishes her persistence condition: exemplifying a first-person perspective. The essence of a person—what I call her ‘primary-kind property’—has two stages. The first stage, the rudimentary stage, is an in-hand3 capacity for consciousness and intentionality. The second stage, the robust stage, is acquired as a person learns a natural language. The robust stage is an in-hand capacity to conceive of oneself as oneself in the first person. A person who asserts or thinks to herself, “I wonder how I’ll die” exercises a robust first-person perspective. The second occurrence of ‘I’ in such a complex linguistic or psychological sentence is conclusive evidence that the person has a robust first-person perspective.4 So, a person has a first-person perspective, rudimentary or robust, at every moment that she exists. In that case, she must come into existence with consciousness and intentionality. How can this be?

A person does not come into existence until a human organism (perhaps a fetus near birth), develops the ability to support consciousness and intentionality.5 The person constituted by the organism then has a second-order remote capacity to develop a capacity to be able to conceive of herself as herself in the first person.

Many animals (essentially organisms) also have rudimentary first-person perspectives, but they are not persons.6 Why not? There are at least three reasons, which distinguish human infants with a rudimentary first-person perspective (persons) from animals also with a rudimentary first-person perspective (not persons): (i) An animal has only a rudimentary first-person perspective, and that only contingently, but a person has a first-person perspective, rudimentary or robust, essentially; (ii) An animal never goes on to develop a robust first-person perspective, but a person typically does; and (iii) An animal (including an organism that constitutes a person) has biological persistence conditions, but a person has first-personal persistence conditions determined by her first-person perspective. (An entity’s persistence conditions set boundaries on the circumstances that the entity can survive.)

Metaphysically speaking, the essence of a person is a first-person perspective—a dispositional property in both rudimentary and robust stages. A mark of a dispositional property—having consciousness, having intentionality, having an (in-hand) ability to conceive of oneself as oneself in the first person—is that it is exemplified even when it is not being manifested. A person exemplifies a first-person perspective essentially, and manifests it in different ways on different occasions. The first-person perspective is manifested throughout one’s life in characteristically human activities—from making contracts to celebrating one’s anniversaries to pursuing fame by entering beauty contests to seeking forgiveness.

On the constitution view, the persistence condition for persons over time is sameness of exemplification of first-person perspective. I do not believe that there are any nontrivial sufficient conditions for sameness of exemplification of first-person perspective.7 The conditions for transtemporal personal identity are trivial, because sameness of exemplification of first-person perspective presupposes the sameness of person. This is not surprising, inasmuch as an exemplification of any property requires an object (or objects), a property (or properties), and a time (or times)—schematically, a’s exemplifying F at t. So, sameness of exemplification presupposes sameness of exemplifier—i.e., sameness of exemplification of first-person perspective presupposes sameness of person.

In order to be informative, conditions for transtemporal personal identity would have to formulate persistence in nonpersonal terms, or in terms of distinct shorter-lived objects.8 If we had such informative sufficient conditions, persons would reduce to them and hence would not be basic entities.

However, on my view, persons are basic entities: that is, being a person does not consist in satisfying nonpersonal or subpersonal conditions, such as psychological or physical continuity. (Support for this view comes from the fact that all of the various proposed informative conditions are in one way or another defective, and we have no reason to believe that the future will be different.) If I am right that being a person does not consist in satisfying some nonpersonal or subpersonal conditions, then any correct account of personal identity over time must be uninformative; otherwise it would be reductive.9

We do have persistence conditions for persons, even if they are uninformative. Person x is identical with person y, either on earth or in the resurrection, if and only if x and y are the same exemplifier of a first-person perspective (rudimentary or robust or both) throughout their existence.

Van Inwagen wonders how God “can cause the future person and me to have the same first-person perspective without there being any physical continuity between us.”10 That worry has a straightforward answer. God does not “cause the future person and me to have the same first-person perspective” at all. The connection between any person at any time and her first-person perspective is necessary; so if there is a person, there is already an exemplification of the first-person perspective, and some body or other.

In the resurrection, God makes two contributions: He freely decrees a particular person to exist (and hence that her first-person perspective be exemplified), and he freely decrees a certain body to constitute that person. I conclude that, by a miracle, the same person who died can be resurrected.11

Distinctness of Bodies

Not only does biotechnology provide empirical data to believe that the same person can be constituted by different bodies, but there are also Biblical reasons to think that, in fact, resurrection bodies are not identical to earthly bodies.12 So, let’s turn to Scripture.

Much of what Scripture says about resurrection bodies is metaphorical, but the metaphors support the idea that a resurrection body is distinct from an earthly body. Consider the following passages. First, I Cor. 15: What you sow is a seed or a bare kernel, but the seed is not the body that is to be; “I tell you this, brethren, flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God, nor does the perishable inherit the imperishable.”13 Then: “we shall all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet.”14 Our bodies are said to be sown in corruption, and raised in incorruption; sown in dishonor, raised in glory; sown in weakness, raised in power; sown a physical body, raised a “spiritual” body. But what is a ‘spiritual body’?15 Consider now II Corinthians 5:1: “For we know that if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.”

These metaphors suggest that resurrection bodies are distinct from earthly bodies.A house made by hands logically cannot be identical to a house not made by hands. Nor can (a body of) flesh and blood that is corruptible inherit the kingdom of God. And perishability/imperishability (or corruptibility/incorruptibility) are persistence conditions, essential to the bodies that have them. So, if earthly bodies are perishable, but resurrection bodies are not, the two bodies cannot be identical.

Someone may object that the same body could be perishable until time t, say at death, and then, by a miracle, become imperishable for eternity. No doubt, by a miracle, this could happen, but it does not follow that there is just one body—a body that changes from perishable to imperishable. Such a change would be a substantial change, rather like the change of Lot’s wife into a pillar of salt. Neither Lot’s wife nor her body could have been identical to a pillar of salt: a pillar of salt is essentially different from a human person and a human body. So, if the earthly body is perishable, and the resurrection body is not, these are two, fundamentally different kinds of bodies.

Many Christians take it that Jesus’s resurrection on the third day after he died is the model for all resurrection. What about the empty tomb, they ask? God could have raised Jesus and at the same time made a substantial change in his body, so that his resurrection body was distinct from his earthly body. In that case, the tomb would have been empty, and his resurrection body would have been a different body from his earthly body. In the stories of his resurrection appearances, Jesus still had his wounds, and he ate meals. But he also walked through walls and was initially unrecognized by his close associates. These latter events could not have occurred if he still was constituted by his mortal body. And as we have seen, biotechnology gives us reason to think that a person may come to be constituted by an inorganic body, which would be a substantially different body from our ordinary organic bodies. If the stories of the empty tomb and the resurrection appearances are evidence, they are evidence that, after death, Jesus had a body, not that he had the same body that constituted him at birth, or even that he had a body that was spatially and temporally continuous with his infant body.

Consideration of the Biblical descriptions of the differences between earthly bodies and “glorified” or “spiritual” bodies, with their incompatible persistence conditions, leads to denial of the identity of earthly and resurrection bodies.

No Souls

Finally, no person has a substantial immaterial soul. I have argued both for sameness of person on earth and in the resurrection, and, for difference of body on earth and in the resurrection. And this without any appeal to, or presupposition of, a substantial immaterial soul.14 With the idea of the rudimentary and robust first-person perspectives on hand, we have an entity with consciousness, self-consciousness, and language. The idea of an immaterial soul is just gratuitous—and, to me, incomprehensible. The constitution view has in its account all that is needed for persons—the first-person perspective (rudimentary and robust) as primary-kind property, and, essential embodiment for whatever mechanisms (or analogues of mechanisms) are required for the first-person perspective. These properties account for personal identity both at a time and across time. There is no work left for a soul to do.

In conclusion, I offer my constitution view of persons as backing for a Christian view of resurrection as sameness of person, difference of body, no soul.

Conclusion

God can bring about resurrection on this materialist model simply by willing it. On a traditional view, God knows all contingent truths by willing them. Whether or not a particular person exists is contingent, as is what body constitutes her. So, there are no metaphysical constraints on God’s willing a person to be resurrected. What is not contingent is that the person have a first-person perspective. God knows by his natural knowledge that anyone He resurrects has a first-person perspective. So if God wills Smith, say, to be resurrected, He thereby wills that the first-person perspective continue to be exemplified by Smith. Finally, the negative element of the model—no souls—requires nothing from God, because souls are just otiose. In the resurrection, as on earth, what we care about are whole embodied persons.

Part 2: Dean Zimmerman’s Critical Response to Lynne Rudder Baker on Material Composition

Lynne’s theory of personal identity allows for a person’s surviving death by leaving this body behind and acquiring a new one, without the need for an immaterial soul that inhabits both bodies. The details of her theory are a bit complicated, turning upon some technical philosophical notions: (1) a “first-person perspective”; and, (2) the “exemplification” of a property.

A “first-person perspective” is, Lynne says, a “dispositional property” — an ability to think of oneself in a “first-personal” way; and it is, she thinks, essential to persons. A dispositional property is what philosopher’s call a universal, something that can be exemplified by many different persons. If Lynne is right, the mental ability of being able to think of oneself in this first-personal way is common to all persons, exemplified by all of them, and so “universal” within the group of persons. But, metaphysician that she is, Lynne is prepared to posit more things than just the individual persons and the common property they exemplify; there is also each person’s exemplification of that one property. Exemplifications of a property by a number of persons are rather like events; each exemplification is like an event happening to just one of the persons. For example, all the members of a dance troupe might kick the same type of kick, one after the other. Kicking in that way is a common property, a universal, something that each of them exemplifies. But it is natural to say that, in addition to each dancer and the universal property of kicking in that way, there are the individual kicks that happen one after another — a series of events consisting of each individual’s exemplification of the property. Lynne is supposing that something similar is true even for dispositional properties; when many persons exemplify the same dispositional property, there is a different exemplification of that property for each person — and it is to these exemplifications that she appeals in her theory about personal identity.

So I have a dispositional property, an ability, which she calls a “first-person perspective.” And in addition to me and the property, there is a further event-like thing: my particular exemplification of this property — which is different from your exemplification of it, even if we are exactly similar in our psychological abilities. What is the point of introducing this further thing, this exemplification of the first-personal disposition? Lynne makes use of exemplifications in stating persistence conditions for persons: “the persistence condition for persons over time is sameness of exemplification of first-person perspective.” In other words, for some future creature to be the same person as me is for its exemplification of this disposition to be the same as the one associated with me now. On her view, the matter in my body could cease to exemplify a first-person perspective (say, when this body dies), so that I cease to be constituted by it; and then, elsewhere in time and space, some future creature could be made of entirely different stuff, exemplifying the ability to think of itself in a “first-personal” way; and, so long as that creature’s exemplification of this power or ability is the same as my current exemplification of it, that creature would be me.

What does it mean to say that “sameness of exemplification of first-person perspective” is the criterion of personal identity, and that it is compatible with all-at-once changes of constituting matter? It is comparable to taking some essential power or disposition of a planet — say, the attractive powers it has in virtue of being an essentially massive body — and then saying that the identity of a planet’s exemplification of this power provides its conditions of persistence, and that identity of exemplification is consistent with being made out of completely different matter. The minerals constituting a planet could be blown apart, and somewhere else similar matter could come together to form a planet, and that planet would be the very same planet so long as its exemplification of gravitational attractive power is the very same exemplification as the one associated with the earlier planet. Lynne does not think that exemplification of this particular disposition — gravitational attraction — can be used to give persistence conditions for anything that could jump from one batch of minerals to another in this way. But the proposed theory of planetary identity has the same structure as her theory of personal identity.

Can anything positive be said about the conditions in which an exemplification of a first-person perspective by something at one time is the same as the exemplification of a first-person perspective by something at some other time? Lynne says that “being a person does not consist in satisfying nonpersonal or subpersonal conditions, such as psychological or physical continuity.” In particular, a future person, created by God out of whole cloth, could exemplify my first-person perspective — and so be identical with me — without displaying any psychological or physical continuity with me. The only thing that can be said about sameness of exemplification of first-person perspective is that it is the same if and only if it belongs to the same person. The notion of an exemplification of a property is introduced to provide persistence conditions, but the conditions turn out to be trivial ones. At bottom, sameness of person is a brute fact on her view, one that can float free from facts about what happens to the bodies that constitute persons and the mental states that are associated with these bodies.

For my part, I cannot make much out of such brute facts for complex material objects. If one group of things, like organisms, consists entirely of atoms in various configurations, then the whole history of the universe told in terms of what the atoms do will tell the whole history of what the organisms do. Given that they are made entirely out of atoms, the organisms cannot jump around independently. Fix the locations in space and time of all the atoms, and one has determined all the facts about where the organisms are, and which are identical with which.

Lynne finds the idea of a soul — an immaterial thinking substance — “incomprehensible” (but presumably only in the finite case; she believes in at least one immaterial thinking substance, namely, God). I find incomprehensible the idea that an entirely material object, with the size and shape and constitution of an organism, could be unconstrained in its trajectory by the histories of all the bits of matter in the universe. Her persons are able to pass like shadows over the physical stuff of our world, jumping from one place to another without constraint — without the transfer of any physical stuff, or even the transfer of energy or information. I am prepared to grant that there may be highly derivative entities capable of such feats — things like restaurants, which can “move” from one side of town to the other in virtue of the signing of a contract, without any movement of bricks or wood. But highly derivative things do not have a significant causal impact on the rest of the world — at least, not in their own right. It’s not the restaurant as such that takes up space, reflects light, and so on. A particular assemblage of brick and wood does these things — whichever one happens to constitute the restaurant at a given time. All the mundane powers of the restaurant are, in the first instance, powers exercised by more fundamental physical substances.

So, though I certainly want to allow that there exist things like restaurants, which can jump from one place to another without the transfer of matter or information, changing all their parts at once, I take them to be highly derivative entities: they may coincide with real physical objects, with real physical powers and propensities, but they do not themselves have causal powers in any full-blooded sense.

When some physical stuff comes together to compose an object, the arrangement and nature of the bits of stuff confers upon the object certain powers and propensities, including tendencies to continue to exist under some circumstances and cease to exist under others. Some of the properties of the whole will be predictable in boring ways from those of the parts — for example, the mass of the whole from the mass of the parts, the location of the whole from the location of the parts. Others might be more surprising, perhaps even deserving of the label “emergent” properties. However, I do not see room for two physical objects made out of the same stuff arranged in the same way but differing in their causal powers and propensities, including differences in their ability to continue to exist. So I have problems with Lynne’s coincident physical objects — objects that are exactly similar in their constitution, but they differ markedly in some of their powers. The organism that coincides with me is exactly like me, but it cannot survive squashing, while I can — by “jumping into” some other organism elsewhere.

There is an example of something like complete coincidence at a time that I can make sense of, but it involves entities of very different kinds. In formal logic, mathematics, and allied subjects, it is important to have a clear notion of a setclass, or collection of things. A set of things is not a whole with those things as its parts; it is those things “taken as many,” and it will exist even if they do not compose a whole (assuming not every group of things automatically composes something larger). The notion of a set of things implies the existence of a special kind of set: namely, the singleton, a set containing just one thing as a member.

Let’s dig further into the relationship between a thing and its singleton. If I can make sense of the notion of a set with just one member, I can make sense of this distinction; and it is an example of something like coincidence of two objects at a time. For example, since I am the only member of my singleton — the set that contains just me — it is not crazy to say that my singleton is located where I am (where else would it be?). It sounds slightly stranger to assign it the same weight as me. It sounds odder still to say that, when I kick something, the set that contains only me kicks it too; but it is hard to say exactly what’s wrong with saying this. Still, the way in which a set can have a location, a mass, and physical effects is entirely derivative — it is the member, in the first instance, that has these properties; the set does nothing by itself.

Sets — and the more elaborate sets known as “functions”, which can be thought of as sets of ordered pairs — can be used to generate all kinds of derivative entities to play the roles of restaurants and other things that borrow their causal powers from more fundamental physical objects. The function that pairs each time with the hunk of wood and brick that makes up a certain restaurant at that time can be simply identified with the restaurant. Then there’s little mystery about how it can be in the same place at the same time as a hunk of wood and brick. After all, the sense in which the function is located in space at a time is rather different, more indirect; it is entirely in virtue of the fact that the hunks of matter paired with the times have location in a more fundamental fashion. There is also no mystery about how the restaurant can jump across town without the movement of any physical stuff. A function “jumps” only in the sense that the function pairs neighboring times with non-overlapping physical objects. Since functions are not physical objects subject to physical laws, no laws are violated by such behavior.

All the best ways to make room for coincident objects — at least all the ones I know of and can understand — are similar to this one; they allow for things that can jump around without transfer of matter or information, but they do so by treating them as derivative entities — more abstract than the hunks of matter that are doing the real pushing and pulling in the physical world. Since I take myself to be a genuine cause, something that does some real pushing and pulling, I can’t bring myself to believe that I am a function or anything like a function. So, I cannot believe that I am a derivative entity, as the only promising form of coincidence would require.

Part 3: Lynne Rudder Baker’s Reply to Dean Zimmerman’s Critical Response

First, I’d like to thank Dean Zimmerman for his thoughtful and thought-provoking essays.

My basic difference with Dean, I believe, is a deep metaphysical difference: I do not think that what a particular thing is made up of—organic matter, silicone, spiritual “stuff” or something else—determines what the thing is. Not even structure is a reliable guide (think of sculptures). What a thing is is determined by its primary kind.17

Dean is right that my view depends on the idea of constitution, but unlike Dean, I believe that constitution is more than spatial coincidence. Moreover, I do not believe that the constituting thing is more fundamental than the constituted thing: on my view, a person is more fundamental—has greater ontological significance—than the body that constitutes her. (I would like to turn mainstream metaphysics on its head.)

Dean’s remarks on functions and how their values are derivative entities that can “jump” are quite interesting, but there is no reason to think that I am stuck with any such view. I don’t think that “all the best ways to make room for coincident objects” treat ordinary things as derivative entities. Mine doesn’t. On my view, (1) constituted objects, though spatially coincident, do not “jump,” and (2) they are not derivative entities.

(1) Consider my driver’s license, constituted now by a particular piece of plastic. Suppose that it melts in a fire and is replaced. What gets replaced? The piece of plastic. I would have the same license, with the same driving record. Was there any “jumping”? I don’t think so. There would be “jumping” only if you thought that the license just was identical to the piece of plastic that constituted it. But what makes something a license is not the same as what makes it a piece of plastic. So, the license is not identical to the piece of plastic, and my particular license, issued on 12/31/2013, can continue to exist constituted by an entirely different piece of plastic.

In the natural world, human persons are subject to the same natural laws as every other kind of concrete object; we do not “jump from one place to another without constraint.” And my view of constitution does not imply otherwise.

(2) A driver’s license is not a derivative entity. A driver’s license has different and greater causal powers than its constituting piece of plastic would have had if it had constituted nothing. Again, what is constituted (e.g. a driver’s license, a person) has greater ontological significance than what constitutes it (e.g., a piece of plastic, a human body).

In The Metaphysics of Everyday Life and elsewhere, you can see that my view of constitution does not imply that persons are derivative entities.18 Like Dean, I take myself to be a genuine cause that “does some real pushing and pulling.” I exercise these powers by moving my constituting body.

Let’s turn back from constitution in general to persons. Each person, unlike other objects in the material world, is unique; persons, unlike atoms, are not interchangeable. Hence, I need to appeal to something more fine-grained than the property of being a person, or of having a first-person perspective essentially—something more fine-grained than a property that all persons share. That’s why I turned to the idea of exemplification of a first-person perspective essentially. It is my exemplification of the property of having a first-person perspective essentially that makes me me, and your exemplification of the property of having a first-person perspective essentially that makes you you.

If you find the idea of exemplification of a property too obscure, you can suppose instead that there is a different property for each person, such that one person, and only one person, can have it essentially. You can say: LB has the property of having a first-person perspective(LB)essentially, and Dean has the property of having a first-person perspective(DZ) essentially, and so on. In that way, you can avoid reference to exemplifications and still retain the constitution view. For my part, I prefer to appeal to different exemplifications of the same property, rather than to different individualized properties.

By the way, I do not think that there are any logically sufficient criteria for personal identity over time. So, I take the identity of persons over time to be primitive—a “brute fact,” as Dean calls it—and hence I must deny that having a first-person perspective is a criterion of personal identity, on pain of circularity.

In every case, resurrection is a miracle performed by God. On my model—same person, different body, no soul—there is not a new person in the resurrection; there is only a new body, a spiritual body. Admittedly, I don’t know what a spiritual body would be like, but I am confident that no immaterial soul is required.

Bibliography

Baker, Lynne Rudder. 2000. Persons and Bodies: A Constitution View. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

———. 2005. “Death and the Afterlife.” In The Oxford Handbook of Philosophy of Mind, edited by William J. Wainwright, 366–91. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

———. 2007. The Metaphysics of Everyday Life: An Essay in Practical Realism. Cambridge University Press.

———. 2011. “Christian Materialism in an Age of Science.” In International Journal for the Philosophy of Religion 70: 47–59.

———. 2012. “Personal Identity: A Not-So-Simple Simple View.” In Personal Identity: Complex or Simple?, edited by Matthias Stephan and Georg Gasser. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

———. 2013a. Naturalism and the First-Person Perspective. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

———. 2013b. “Three-Dimensionalism Rescued: A Brief Reply to Michael Della Rocca.” In Journal of Philosophy 110 (3): 166–70.

Cooper, John W. 1989. Body, Soul, and Life Everlasting. Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Co.

Della Rocca, Michael. 2011. “Primitive Persistence and the Impasse Between Three-Dimensionalism and Four-Dimensionalism.” In Journal of Philosophy 108 (11): 591–616.

Van Inwagen, Peter. 2006. “I Look for the Resurrection of the Dead and the Life of the World to Come.” unpublished–Online pdf. http://philosophy.nd.edu/people/all/profiles/van-inwagen-peter/documents/Resurrection.doc

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