dialogue redux
Following up on my previous post, I want to say something more about interreligious dialogue. The way to healthier dialogue — and this is just as true in the political realm as in the religious — is not the path that Philip Jenkins recommends. Effectively, Jenkins is making two suggestions: first, that we cultivate vague uncertainty and call it humility; and second, that we try to convince ourselves and others that our disagreements are insignificant. Both of these counsels are problematic. I suggest that as an alternative to them we contemplate two statements.
The first comes from G. K. Chesterton:
At any street corner we may meet a man who utters the frantic and blasphemous statement that he may be wrong. Every day one comes across somebody who says that of course his view may not be the right one. Of course his view must be the right one, or it is not his view. We are on the road to producing a race of men too mentally modest to believe in the multiplication table. We are in danger of seeing philosophers who doubt the law of gravity as being a mere fancy of their own. Scoffers of old time were too proud to be convinced; but these are too humble to be convinced. The meek do inherit the earth; but the modern sceptics are too meek even to claim their inheritance.
The second comes from the philosopher Hilary Putnam, commenting on his attitude towards his longtime colleague at Harvard, Robert Nozick, an attitude which he calls “respectful contempt”:
I want to urge that there is all the difference in the world between an opponent who has the fundamental intellectual virtues of open-mindedness, respect for reason, and self-criticism, and one who does not; between an opponent who has an impressive and pertinent store of factual knowledge, and one who does not; between an opponent who merely gives vent to his feelings and fantasies (which is all people commonly do in what passes for political discussion), and one who reasons carefully. And the ambivalent attitude of respectful contempt is an honest one: respect for the intellectual virtues in the other; contempt for the intellectual or emotional weaknesses (according to one's own lights, of course, for one always starts with them). 'Respectful contempt' may sound almost nasty (especially if one confuses it with contemptuous respect, which is something quite different). And it would be nasty if the 'contempt' were for the other as a person, and not just for one complex of feelings and judgments in him. But it is a far more honest attitude than false relativism; that is, the pretense that there is no giving reasons, or such a thing as better or worse reasons on a subject, when one really does feel that one view is reasonable and the other is irrational.
It is possible to be bold and yet charitable; it is also possible for what we call “humility” to really be indifference or cowardice. That’s all I’m saying.
Effectively, Jenkins is making two suggestions: first, that we cultivate vague uncertainty and call it humility; and second, that we try to convince ourselves and others that our disagreements are insignificant.
Not insignificant, but rather fundamentally interminable. And since these interdoctrinal disagreements cause much of our worldly woe, the interminable nature of these feuds is something of a problem.
And I’m not sure you’re giving humility a fair shake. Every articulate, complex, competitive conception of God depends on human language, which means at least one human mind stands as a medium between you and your God. That medium is inherently fallible in a whole bunch of ways with which you would agree, and some with which you might not but for which much evidence exists. The only conclusion I see is some kind of informed, tragic humility.
And knowing this — striving with it — is the opposite of cowardice.
— JA · Dec 20, 05:10 PM · #
The linked piece is very nice. You’re going to way better cocktail parties than I am: “Imagine, Timothy said, that we are all in a dark house, and someone throws a precious pearl in the midst of a pile of ordinary stones. Everyone scrabbles for the pearl, and some think they’ve found it, but nobody can be sure until day breaks.”
You didn’t like that?
— beamish · Dec 20, 05:25 PM · #
JA, I say “it is also possible for what we call ‘humility’ to really be indifference or cowardice.” You disagree with that? You don’t think there is any such thing as false humility? If you do believe that humility can be false, then I think you’re dissenting from a statement I didn’t make.
— Alan Jacobs · Dec 20, 05:46 PM · #
Alan, you’re right and fair enough, so let me back up and ask: why isn’t humility mandatory when posing truth claims about the divine? What justifies boldness, not in communicating our experiences of the divine (of which we can be phenomemologically certain), but rather in our articulation of His existence, His way, and His complex nature?
Re: human truth claims about God, you hint that it might be reasonable to be humble. I’m making a stronger claim: I’m saying it is everywhere and always unreasonable to be bold (except with negative propositions, like Rosenzweig’s).
— JA · Dec 20, 06:50 PM · #
JA, great questions — the questions, when this topic comes up, I think. Very short version: I believe that both true humility and true boldness have to be earned with considerable intellectual labor, but also that both can be earned. Lesslie Newbigin’s little book Proper Confidence pretty much sums up my views on this matter, though I should probably write more about this someday.
— Alan Jacobs · Dec 20, 07:16 PM · #
Thanks for the link, Alan. I’d heard of Newbigin’s book but never opened it. Will do so now, as I wait for the Christmas Party People to arrive.
Thanks too for sticking around TAS. Your perspective and writing are a pleasure.
— JA · Dec 20, 07:26 PM · #
Thanks, JA — the Scene is my home away from home.
— Alan Jacobs · Dec 20, 09:24 PM · #
Well, Alan already replied to (and clarified somewhat) JA’s excellent comment. For what is worth, perhaps it was a misreading on my part but my reaction to Alan’s two posts was very similar to JA’s. Moreover, I didn’t like the Chesterton excerpt. Maybe it was appropriate in its original context, but here I found it too disdainful to be persuasive. Perhaps part of my reaction is that too many times I’ve seen people claim that expressions of humility are really instances of “false humility” or cowardice. Humility is humility and it’s VERY different from false humility. That’s why we should be very careful before we accuse someone of false humility. Yes, wishy-washiness and spinelessness can use it as a shield. In my own experience, however, I think there is not enough humility among people of faith.
JA wrote:
“Every articulate, complex, competitive conception of God depends on human language, which means at least one human mind stands as a medium between you and your God. That medium is inherently fallible in a whole bunch of ways with which you would agree, and some with which you might not but for which much evidence exists. The only conclusion I see is some kind of informed, tragic humility.
And knowing this — striving with it — is the opposite of cowardice.”
Excellent. Beautifully said.
— Kolya · Dec 20, 11:32 PM · #
“Of course his view must be the right one, or it is not his view.”
Perhaps Chesterton is overstating things for effect, but this is nonsense if taken literally. For the view to truly be his it need not be right, he must merely think it is right. There is a significant difference there, and it is wise to know that difference. To say “I may be wrong” is not to say “I think I am wrong” but rather to acknowledge imperfection.
There may be a category of truth such as multiplication tables which are self-evident enough to need no qualification. But religious truths are not so evident. True, there are those who think otherwise. But such “self-evident” truths are often in conflict with each other, which renders, at best, some of them suspect. (At worst, all.)
On the other hand I find little to disagree with in Prof. Putnam’s remarks. Perhaps it is because he includes among his criteria for intellectual virtue “open-mindedness…and self-criticism.” Surely a man who had these qualities would be willing to admit “he may be wrong.”
But I might not actually disagree with you. In the longer piece that you linked to, you seem to be objecting not to the idea that one party may be wrong and acknowledge this, but rather to the idea that all parties can be right. I would agree with this latter objection, and if this is your view, I agree with you. Chesterton seems to be making the former objection. (Presumably on behalf of his own beliefs.) Of course I may be wrong.
— Stephen · Dec 21, 04:29 AM · #
Kolya, Stephen: Chesterton is a joker. He means for us to laugh at his extremities. Of course, there’s a serious point beneath the humor, but you shouldn’t take him literally.
— Alan Jacobs · Dec 21, 04:55 AM · #
Thanks, Alan. I have not read much Chesterton. The Man Who Was Thursday years ago, which I enjoyed, and a couple of his essays or articles. I know he had fun pricking balloons. Of course, it all depends on the particular context. I think, though, that sarcasm often has a degrading effect on those who get turned on by it. (BTW, since I have not read much of him, I don’t know if Chesterton overused sarcasm.)
— Kolya · Dec 21, 11:35 PM · #
Kolya, I really don’t think it’s sarcasm. There is a sarcastic kind of irony, but also a playful kind of irony, and Chesterton practices the latter. Certainly he was universally known in his lifetime as an extraordinarily good-natured man, even by those who most strongly disagreed with him. He’s just trying to emphasize here the value of spirited debate, practiced by people who have the courage of their convictions. And I think that’s a good lesson for us. We can (as I said earlier) be bold in defense of what we believe without being uncharitable.
— Alan Jacobs · Dec 22, 01:39 AM · #
“He’s just trying to emphasize here the value of spirited debate, practiced by people who have the courage of their convictions. And I think that’s a good lesson for us. We can (as I said earlier) be bold in defense of what we believe without being uncharitable.”
Thanks again, Alan. I agree with what you wrote. As I said, I don’t really know Chesterton. This reminds that somewhere I read that sarcasm is irony’s lowly cousin. I also read (forgot where) that one of the problems of Solzhenitsyn’s polemical writings is that although he could be a master of sarcasm, he never mastered irony. That’s one reason that, despite his greatness, his essays at times seem so heavy-handed.
— Kolya · Dec 22, 03:14 AM · #
Kolya, that’s a nice point about Solzhenitsyn.
— Alan Jacobs · Dec 22, 03:30 PM · #
In English classes, I was told that it was redundant to say “I think that we should do such and such…” or “In my opinion…” because of course you’re saying what you think, so just say it.
I think Chesterton might say, “Of course you’re fallible and only telling us what you think to the best of your knowledge. We know that. That’s the starting point for all discussion. Now just get on with telling us what you believe and why, and I’ll do the same.”
The crucial bit, though, is that assumption of some kind of established relationship in which we already have some sort of foundation of mutual respect and acknowledgment of our own limits. The belief that, if I make a strong argument against your position, you’re going to listen to what I say and possibly even change your mind if what I say is convincing. There’s a big difference between barking “Jesus is risen” from a street corner and saying to your friend, “Jesus is risen.”
And frankly, I think many people in the “We should present our beliefs with humility” camp are being disingenuous. Their position is not “Maybe Jesus is the one true way to God, but I’m not sure.” Rather their position is “I don’t believe Jesus is the only way to God, and I think it’s possible to be a Christian, a follower of Jesus, without believing that. And I wish my fellow Christians would be ‘humble’ and agree with me.”
They’re not asking people to be tentative in their beliefs. They’re taking a particular, definite belief and labeling it “humility.” They’re actually pretty certain and confident in their belief that Christianity is not the only way to God, that followers of other religions are not automatically going to Hell. Their uncertainty is more in trying to figure out what their version of Christianity actually entails. What does it mean to be a follower of Christ without insisting that Christianity offers something uniquely essential to the world?
— Michael Straight · Dec 22, 07:10 PM · #
Having read the Jenkins piece, I think neither of these blog posts have been fair to it. Part of the problem, I grant you, may be title/subtitle which I agree are pretty cheesy and, I’d say, not really accurate, particularly to the point he builds to at the end.
[It’s important to note that Jenkins almost certainly didn’t write the headlines: editors typically write them; writers often have no say in these things, the assumption being that editors know their audiences and what will get them to actually read the pieces they print (even if their title is a bit misleading).]
Particularly by the end of the piece, it’s clear Jenkins is arguing that the version of Christianity that most people practice in the West has been strongly shaped by European social/political norms and cultural traditions; had the Asian branches of Christianity—which had been numerically dominant until the 10th century—not been wiped out by various forces not in their control, global Christianity would probably look very different.
(As a side note: how much are we shaped by that vaguely Protestant, but to me pretty heretical belief that God rewards materially and in popularity those who follow him?)
So I disagree that he’s primarily asking us to “cultivate vague uncertainty” and then “act as if our differences don’t matter.” He’s mostly asking us to think about how our cultural context may have shaped our root understandings of Christianity, some of the assumptions we make and the way we approach the world:
“To take one example, we are used to the idea of Christianity operating as the official religion of powerful states, which were only too willing to impose a particular orthodoxy upon their subjects. Yet when we look at the African and Asian experience, we find millions of Christians whose normal experience was as minorities or even majorities within nations dominated by some other religion. Struggling to win hearts and minds, leading churches had no option but to frame the Christian message in the context of non-European intellectual traditions.” [Note the starred passage]
Have you ever visited Rome/the Vatican? I was there in January, and it hit me so forcefully that the Roman Catholic Church, and less directly but no less effectively its Protestant children, became strangely built as imperial religions. Strangely, because of course these faith traditions are supposedly rooted in a single man living as an ethnic and religious minority on the absolute margins of empire. Not only did he preach that it is almost impossible for a wealthy man—& that means me with my (shrinking but still) 401K and my house—to get into the kingdom of heaven, but that the vital thing is to give up wealth, power, riches, live on faith, and let Caesar have the things of this world.
Those opulent palaces built “to him” in Rome are primarily hymns to the political and worldly might of a imperialized Church, a Church so intertwined with the goals of Caesar’s Empire that is nearly impossible to separate them.
That’s a syncretism that we live with still today, but it’s so familiar it’s all but invisible to most followers of Christ today—we have US flags in the front of most mainline churches, “In God We Trust” and evangelicals insisting on placing vaguely Judeo Christian religious symbolism in and around courthouses.
But in many ways that syncretism should be seen as a lot weirder, alot more jarring, non-compatible syncretism than the blendings of Christ’s message with the image of the lotus used within Buddhism, which Jenkins references.
This strange history of Christianity operating as handmaiden to the hegemonic powers in our world has shaped all of us who are its heirs today: that’s Jenkins’ point. It has affected the way we approach other people and other cultures—and “respectful contempt” is a good word for it, except that strangely, often, the people who experience notice the “contempt” without catching on to the “respectful” part. I don’t think that’s their fault, frankly.
So today in the US we have a nominally secular state, but one that is consistently led by men who have been placed under an unofficial Christian litmus test by the press and the public in their path to office, and which, in fact, itself sometimes invokes the name of a vaguely Christian God (on its currencies and in its public ceremonies).
When the US uses our State’s military power today, it does so primarily to maintain our material wealth and power in the world. And it goes in under the banner of Christ to some degree. Whether we like it or not. And, to my mind, we should not like that. And we should be very wary of politicians invoking Christ’s name, and plastering references to a vaguely Christian God all over the apparatuses of state.
Second, good teachers, like Christ himself, seek to translate the truths we have gained into language that others can understand. But we can only do so by first humbling ourselves and LEARNING their languages and traditions. And make no mistake: learning is always humbling, even humiliating process. When you’re in power, however, you can often fool yourself into thinking you are smarter than you are because you have the power to expect everyone to learn your language, your rules.
To what degree is the power of Christianity in the world today due to the wealth and power of “Christian” nations rather than the message of Christ? That’s not a wimpy, morally relativistic question, in my opinion.
— Lori Askeland · Dec 24, 04:50 PM · #
Sure, I’ll make fun of Chesterton’s extremities: “Heeheehee, Gilbert has funny feet! Gilbert has funny feet! Heeheehee!”
The quotation from Putnam reminded me of a quotation I like, from Paul Feyerabend’s shredding of Ernst Gellner’s review of Feyerabend’s “Against Method”:
Nor does one become illiberal when denying truth to a Puritan. Liberalism, as Gellner ought to know, is a doctrine about institutions and not about individual beliefs. It does not regulate individual beliefs, it says that nothing may be excluded from the debate. A liberal is not a mealymouthed wishy-washy nobody who understands nothing and forgives everything, he is a man or a woman with occasionally quite strong and dogmatic beliefs among them the belief that ideas must not be removed by institutional means. Thus, being a liberal, I do not have to admit that Puritans have a chance of finding truth. All I am required to do is to let them have their say and not to stop them by institutional means. But of course I may write pamphlets against them and ridicule them for their strange opinions.
(I quoted it in a blog post here: http://thisislikesogay.blogspot.com/2008/02/fortunately-in-america-at-any-rate.html
— Duncan · Dec 28, 04:49 AM · #