Beyond Fideism : Negotiable Religious Identities 9781409406792, 2010014644, 9781315569185

Table of contents :
Cover
Contents
List Figures and Tables
List of Abbreviations
Acknowledgements
Introduction: Fideism and Recent Developments in Modern Theology
1 Fideism and Christian Tradition
2 Interlude: The Postliberal Turn in Theology
3 The Predicament of Fideism and Postmodern Theological Method
4 On Theological Rationality and Religious Identity
Appendix
Bibliography
Index

Citation preview

BEYOND FIDEISM Olli-Pekka Vainio presents a superb treatment of the theological and philosophical issues swirling around “fideism.” He not only treats his various sources with care and skillfully brings readers into the conversation, he also charts new territory in helping us think through the relation of theological rationality and core Christian doctrines. Anyone interested in postliberal theology, Reformed or Catholic epistemology and the relation between faith and reason will need to read and consider this work carefully. It represents the best presentation of these matters to date. D. Stephen Long, Professor of Systematic Theology, Marquette University, USA After the postmodern turn, every tradition seeks the right to have their own rules of rational discourse. The crucial question is: are there ways to communicate between the traditions so that the traditions do not need to give up their identities in order to take part in conversation? Vainio examines the basic assumptions behind well known types of Christian theology and seeks ways in which they might interact with one other and with other non-Christian traditions without capitulation of their identities. Vainio claims that there are religious identities that can be negotiated and communicated, and that there are ecclesiastical doctrines which can be meaningfully discussed among churches. This book explores three key areas: analysis of the uses of “fideism” within classical Christian theology; clarification of different types of theological method that seek to express the task of theology in contemporary setting; an explanation of the contours of religious identity and rationality which takes seriously both classical Christian identity and pluralistic contexts where most of the Christian communities dwell nowadays. The proposal for “negotiability” of Christian identity draws together ideas from, among others, virtue epistemology, Reformed epistemology, communitarianism, and feminist sensibilities.

Transcending Boundaries in Philosophy and Theology Series editors: Martin Warner, University of Warwick Kevin Vanhoozer, Wheaton College and Graduate School Transcending Boundaries in Philosophy and Theology is an interdisciplinary series exploring new opportunities in the dialogue between philosophy and theology that go beyond more traditional ‘faith and reason’ debates and take account of the contemporary reshaping of intellectual boundaries. For much of the modern era, the relation of philosophy and theology has been conceived in terms of antagonism or subordination, but recent intellectual developments hold out considerable potential for a renewed dialogue in which philosophy and theology have common cause for revisioning their respective identities, reconceiving their relationship, and combining their resources. This series explores constructively for the 21st century the resources available for engaging with those forms of enquiry, experience and sensibility that theology has historically sought to address. Drawing together new writing and research from leading international scholars in the field, this high profile research series offers an important contribution to contemporary research across the interdisciplinary perspectives relating theology and philosophy. Also in this series Talking about God The Concept of Analogy and the Problem of Religious Language Roger M. White Kierkegaard and Levinas The Subjunctive Mood Patrick Sheil Kant and Theology at the Boundaries of Reason Chris L. Firestone God in Postliberal Perspective Between Realism and Non-Realism Robert Andrew Cathey

Beyond Fideism

Negotiable Religious Identities

OllI-PEkka VaINIO University of Helsinki, Finland

First published 2010 by Ashgate Publishing Published 2016 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017, USA Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business Copyright © Olli-Pekka Vainio 2010 Olli-Pekka Vainio has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data Vainio, Olli-Pekka. Beyond fideism: negotiable religious identities. – (Transcending boundaries in philosophy and theology) 1. Faith and reason. 2. Theology – History – 20th century. 3. Identification (Religion) 4. Knowledge, Theory of (Religion) I. Title II. Series 230’.01–dc22 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Vainio, Olli-Pekka. Beyond fideism: negotiable religious identities / Olli-Pekka Vainio. p. cm. – (Transcending boundaries in philosophy and theology) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-1-4094-0679-2 (hardcover: alk. paper) 1. Theology – Methodology. 2. Faith and reason – Christianity. 3. Religious pluralism – Christianity. I. Title. BR118.V25 2010 231’.042–dc22 2010014644 ISBN 9781409406792 (hbk) ISBN 9781315569185 (ebk)

Contents List Figures and Tables   List of Abbreviations   Acknowledgements   Introduction: Fideism and Recent Developments in Modern Theology   1

Fideism and Christian Tradition  

2 Interlude: The Postliberal Turn in Theology   3

vii ix xi 1 9 65

The Predicament of Fideism and Postmodern Theological Method  77

4 On Theological Rationality and Religious Identity  

129

Appendix   Bibliography   Index  

161 163 177

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List Figures and Tables Figures 1.1 World and meaning from Plato to postmodernism 1.2 Typology of belief policies 3.1 Hans Frei’s academy-church typology 3.2 The flow of interpretation 3.3 Robert Greer’s realism–anti-realism typology 3.4 A dynamic model of theological methods 4.1 Mediation of Christian identity 4.2 Negotiable theological identity

22 63 77 79 80 82 132 142

Tables 3.1 3.2 3.3 3.4

The basic tenets of Traditionalism The basic tenets of Descriptionism The basic tenets of Revisionism The basic tenets of Correlationism

85 99 107 115

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List of Abbreviations anim. ap. carn. CD cor. JP KW marc. paen. prae. SCG ST test. WA

Tertullian, De anima Tertullian, Apologeticum Tertullian, De carne Christi Karl, Barth, Christian Dogmatics Tertullian, De corona Søren Kierkegaard’s Journals and Papers Kierkegaard’s Writings Tertullian, Adversus Marcionem Tertullian, De paenitentia Tertullian, De praescriptione haereticorum Thomas Aquinas, Summa Contra Gentiles Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae Tertullian, De testimonia animae Luther, Weimarer Ausgabe

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Acknowledgements The story of this book goes roughly as follows. After writing my dissertation on Reformation history, I yearned to do something completely different. At that time, I had fulfilled my dream of doing some close reading of Kierkegaard, which had initially led me into this field of questions. A short time later professor Risto Saarinen initiated a project at the University of Helsinki, which bore the same name as this book, and kindly invited me to participate in the team. The first parts of the book were written in Helsinki, and I am greatly indebted to Saarinen for his generous support and encouragement. The latter parts were written during the research period enabled by the Center of Theological Inquiry, Princeton, NJ. CTI offered a scholarly environment that enabled unique possibilities of networking, research, and wine and cheese tasting. I would like to express my gratitude to the director William Storrar, the CTI staff, and the other resident members at the CTI for this invaluable and life-changing time. Over the years, the following people have read portions of the manuscript, critiqued and commented on my more shaky ideas, encouraged me to push forward, shared their own material, or helped me in other ways: AKMA and Margaret Adam, Clifton Black, David Ford, Jan Gertz, Thomas Guarino, Topi Heikkerö, George Hunsinger, Wentzel van Huyssteen, Robert W. Jenson, Veli-Matti Kärkkäinen, Heikki Kirjavainen, Nico Koopman, Simo Knuuttila, David Leech, D. Stephen Long, Tuomo Mannermaa, Alister McGrath, Andrew Moore, Antti Mustakallio, Timo Nisula, Chad Pecknold, Marcus Plested, Risto Saarinen, Mikko Sammalkivi, F. LeRon Shults, Christiane Tietz, Graham Tomlin, Adonis Vidu, Aku Visala, Mats Wahlberg, Bernd Wannenwetsch, and Nicholas Wolterstorff. I am thankful to you all. A special kind of thanks is due to those exceptionally “untalented” group of colleagues who through their “lack of gifts,” offered “some” consolation, “mediocre” intellectual discussion, and “shoddy” advice. You know who you are. Represent. Robert MacSwain most kindly corrected my English and worked as a discussion partner along the way. The series editors Kevin Vanhoozer—and especially Martin Warner—offered extremely valuable last minute comments and corrections that improved the manuscript a great deal. And, of course, all remaining mistakes and absurdities are my sole responsibility. I would like to thank also the Faculty of Theology at the University of Helsinki, the European Society of the Philosophy of Religion, the Faculty of Theology at Stellenbosch University, South Africa, and the Institute for Orthodox Christian Studies and the Centre for the Study of Jewish-Christian Relations, Cambridge, UK for the possibility to present and discuss my ideas.

xii

Beyond Fideism

Table 6.2 from “Pluralism” by Rescher Nicholas (1993/2000) is printed by permission of Oxford University Press (www.oup.com). The Academy of Finland, the Church Research Institute, the University of Helsinki Research Funds, and the Center of Theological Inquiry also generously supported this work.

Introduction:

Fideism and Recent Developments in Modern Theology Statistical and sociological changes in the religious landscape yield the result that traditional religious convictions have in recent years gained momentum and the project of religious liberalism did not triumph as expected. In the USA, the “liberal” mainstream Protestant churches have since 1965 lost an average of 4.6 per cent of their membership every five years, whereas conservative or classical Christian communities have seen an increase of 8 per cent during the same intervals. In Catholicism, a parallel shift from liberalism to traditionalism can be seen within the church. Thus a shift from liberalism to traditionalism is not only an Asian, African, or Middle Eastern phenomenon, but is taking place in late modern Western culture. Although the change may not surface in all societies in a similar way, the new traditionalism is shaping the religious communities around the globe. What is of particular interest in this change is its intellectual grounding. Postliberal theologians, for example, have argued in favor of a relatively autonomous religious community that is not very strongly linked to the secular public sphere but practices its own religious truth. In this relative autonomy religion may avoid the temptations of both liberal accommodation and countercultural extremism. For example, George Lindbeck proposes a “sectarian” form of ecclesiology as a survival strategy for churches and religious communities living in late modern societies.   Gerhard Besier, Nationaler Protestantismus und ökumenische Bewegung: Kirchliches Handeln im Kalten Krieg 1945-1990 (Berlin: Duncker & Humblot, 1999), pp. 582–588. See also Joseph B. Tamney, The Resilience of Conservative Religion: The Case of Popular, Conservative Protestant Congregations (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000). I use concepts “liberal” and “conservative” to indicate the stability of core Christian beliefs and practices. Whereas liberals tend to stress more cultural accommodation of the content of belief (not just forms of believing and practicing faith), conservatives are in favor of holding on to classical content and in some cases to the forms of practice, that is, worship.    Jeffrey Stout regards Alasdair MacIntyre, John Milbank, and Stanley Hauerwas as the intellectual leaders of new traditionalism. See Stout, Democracy and Tradition (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2004), pp. 118–161.    See, for example, George Lindbeck, “Ecumenism and the future of belief,” Una Sancta (1968): pp. 3–17; “The Sectarian Future of the Church,” in Joseph P. Whelen (ed.), The God Experience (New York: Newman Press 1971), pp. 226–243. On the problem of the concepts “sect” and “sectarian” in modern theology, see Arne Rasmusson, Church as 



Beyond Fideism

While the social theories of this postliberal theological wave are predominantly communitarian, their philosophical theories of religion have been claimed to be “fideistic.” What does this concept mean? Usually it is used to express distaste of particular beliefs, which appear unassailable because they are sheltered from outside influence by the means of a belief-policy that downplays the role of public reason. If we follow the general philosophical definition of the concept (which will be updated later), we could say that according to fideism, either knowledge in general or within a particular area of inquiry, is not acquired through reason or the senses (or through some combination of these two), but by trust, that is, faith (lat. fides). In philosophy, fideism usually means a mode of thought or teaching according to which reason is more-or-less irrelevant to (religious) belief, or even that faith is strengthened, not undermined, if one judges that reason is unable to give it support. It is noteworthy to keep in mind that the common pejorative use is something different compared to philosophical use, although the common use is derived from the philosophical use, with certain alterations. The philosophical definition given above is a vertical definition meaning that these features are somewhat common to forms of fideism in all times. Horizontal definitions, instead, look at fideism as it appears within particular contexts. For example, Tertullian’s and Kierkegaard’s fideisms are not completely similar since these thinkers opposed different ideas by their belief-policies. The term “fideism” appears very often when postliberal or postmodern forms of theological method are discussed, and it is used almost always as a negative indicator: fideism is something unwanted and even dangerous. The reason for this pejorative use lies ultimately in the way some postliberals or communitarians emphasize the autonomy of their particular worldview or religion and its incompatibility with other strategies of rationality, which makes a fideistic

Polis: From Political Theology to Theological Politics as Exemplified by Jürgen Moltmann and Stanley Hauerwas (Lund: Studia Theologica Lundensia, 1994), pp. 231–247. In this work, these various terms are not intended to be pejorative although they have been used in that manner since Ernst Troeltsch’s taxonomy of Church-Sect-Mysticism. Thus, I do not consider “sectarianism” suspect as such, even if evil forms of sectarianism clearly exist.    I am following here Paul Helm, Belief Policies (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), p. 189.    For example, the charge of fideism was leveled against Hans Frei who was interpreted as advocating a type of narrative theology, which remained in a textual and confessional ghetto. The charges of anti-realism and anti-foundationalism were expressed as well. Frei, however, rejected these accusations. George Lindbeck’s Nature of Doctrine was met with similar attitudes and rejected by some as irresponsible fideism, Barthian confessionalism, and sectarianism. See Paul DeHart, Trial of the Witnesses: The Rise and Decline of Postliberal Theology (Malden: Blackwell, 2006), pp. 31, 35–36. Wentzel van Huyssteen (Essays in Postfoundationalist Theology (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1999), p. 186.) has pointed to the same slide to “Wittgensteinian fideism” in the narrative theology of Ronald Thiemann. Numerous additional examples could easily be given.

Introduction: Fideism and Recent Developments in Modern Theology



belief policy the ideological shelter and protection shield for the integrity of the community. In the discussion surrounding post-Lindbeckian theological method, the notion of fideism appears in different and often ambiguous senses. Therefore, further conceptual clarification is needed in order to secure precision in the discussion. Without a doubt, much of the use of fideism as a pejorative concept goes back to an over-simplified rationality-irrationality dichotomy, which has long dominated epistemological discussion. According to this dichotomy there are only two types of belief: rational or irrational (that is, fideistic). “Rational” means in this discourse that propositions need to be backed up by adequate evidence and the strength of belief should be adjusted according to the amount of available evidence. All propositions which do not meet this standard are irrational or suspect and they can be held only in a fideistic way—and should not therefore be held at all. Recent discussions in epistemology and philosophy of religion have challenged this dualism of faith and reason. Nonetheless, the discussion concerning postliberal or communitarian theological method is far from over. Despite the amount of sophistication, which is used to create the contours of such a method, the critics claim that it bears resemblance to some not-sointellectual forms of ideological fundamentalism. The apparent fear is that when this kind of mode of believing becomes applied to a particular religious conviction, we easily get the result that such convictions remain as closed world-views, which cannot negotiate with or even understand other views. The horrors of religiously motivated terrorism easily pop into mind. This has been the basic criticism from the “liberal” side of theological field: we should not encourage belief policies that can be used to promote violent or intolerant behavior. It would be like overlooking a loaded gun in the playground. In theoretical form, the worst-case scenario would    Jeffrey Stout argues that the need to guarantee some degree of autonomy for theology has created a growing interest in communitarian theological inquiry. Stout observes that “the more Rawlsian [contractarian] our law schools and ethic centers have become, the more radically Hauerwasian the theological schools have become.” See Stout, Democracy and Tradition, p. 75.    According to Thomas D. Carroll, the problems regarding the concepts of fideism are due to its common pejorative use, the lack of historical precision (the concept is used ahistorically to refer to all kinds of thinkers in various eras), and the complex philosophical background of the concept itself. See Carroll, “Traditions of fideism,” Religious Studies 44 (2008): pp. 1–22.    See, for example, Martin Warner, “Transcending Boundaries in Philosophy and Theology,” in Kevin Vanhoozer and Martin Warner (eds), Transcending Boundaries in Philosophy and Theology (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007), p. 29; John D. Caputo, Philosophy and Theology (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2006), pp. 55–58; Nicholas Wolterstorff, “Faith,” in Edward Craig (ed.), Routledge Encyclopedia of Philosophy (London: Routledge, 1998).    Of course, the fundamental irony of this is that the most well-known “fideist” in the United States is Stanley Hauerwas, who is a well-known pacifist.

Beyond Fideism



be something like what Nancy Frankenberry has characterized in the following manner: 1. Forms of life are not subject to criticism. 2. Each mode of discourse is in order as it is, for each has its own criteria and sets its own norms of intelligibility, reality and rationality. 3. There is no Archimedean point or common ground in terms of which a philosopher can relevantly criticize whole modes of discourse. 4. Commitment is prior to understanding, intertextual criteria take precedence over extracontextual considerations, and confessional functions can substitute and finally supersede cognitive meaning.10 Behind this kind of thinking usually lies the following understanding of the nature of language. Language is taken to be universal, that is, we cannot step outside language since that would entail stepping outside the world and adapting the “God’s eye viewpoint.” We cannot be in contact with the world without language and thus we cannot examine the semantic relations between our language and the world. These notions could be summarized in five points: 1. We cannot demonstrate the semantic relations between words and the world. 2. Linguistic relativism is true: everyone is imprisoned within language. 3. The effect of language is always distracting. 4. It is impossible to construct a meta-language, which could go beyond the limits of ordinary language. 5. Truth as correspondence is an impossibility.11 Although the aforementioned notions describe a rather extreme position, it has been used to some degree within theology. Some more radical postmodernists who write about theology accept these tenets as such while some want to modify some of them. For example, it may be possible that a person regards claim (2) true while holding that claims (3) and (5) are false. While being a strong postmodernist entails holding all afore mentioned tenets true, being a moderate postmodernist requires rejecting at least (1), (3) and (5). These modifications, to which we return later, point towards the burning issues of contemporary theology. The strong version seems to entail some kind of fideism, where language games are considered to be incommensurable, while moderate versions try to argue against that kind of isolation.   Nancy Frankenberry, Religion and Radical Empiricism (Albany: SUNY, 1987), p. 11. Cited in Wentzel van Huyssteen, Shaping of Rationality: Toward Interdisciplinarity in Theology and Science (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1999), p. 194. 11   I have modified here Martin Kusch’s account of universal language. Martin Kusch and Jaakko Hintikka, Kieli ja maailma [Language and World] (Oulu: Pohjoinen, 1988), p. 17. 10

Introduction: Fideism and Recent Developments in Modern Theology



In common uses of the concept, fideistic systems are usually deemed problematic because it is feared that they cannot negotiate with other views.12 In addition, within the fideist context religious faith and commitment become easily blind or arbitrary—and remain in constant danger of sliding into conceptual relativism. Fideism is thus unable to explain why we choose some beliefs, language games or convictions over others. Why is one belief better, or more plausible, than the other? Usually those who hold more conservative beliefs worry about this. If we need to proclaim the Gospel to all nations, how can that be possible if we are not able to exceed our language games? Does not the justification of the belief become an impossibility? If we are unable to ground our beliefs on something universal, doesn’t this make our beliefs irrational?13 From the viewpoint of the state and the secular public square, the resilience of religion has caused unexpected problems. Religion did not vanish as was expected in the 1960s; instead it has changed its form. Mainstream denominations are in decline and the number of “secular” people grows but simultaneously communities with strong ideology gather more adherents.14 Expecting the triumph of secularism has to a large extent left the secular sphere without tools to handle confessional issues.15 Indeed, the question of the relation between religions and the secular public square is one of the most pressing problems in modern Western societies.16 Secularism or liberal democracy, however, in itself can be considered to

12   Kevin Diller argues that the critiques of fideism usually imply that an assumption that is more or less unsupported by reason becomes “an unassailable ground of knowledge.” Diller writes: “The real sting of fideism is its lack of humility which stifles dialogue and prevents the growth that can come from being challenged by other views. Where the hubris of human certainty infects our thinking, ghettos form and stagnate.” See Diller, “Does Contemporary Theology Require a Postfoundational Way of Knowing?,” Scottish Journal of Theology 60 (2003), p. 288. See also Jeffrey Stout, Flight from Authority (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1981), p. 12. 13   For example, the encyclical Fides et Ratio (§55) claims that “There are also signs of a resurgence of fideism, which fails to recognize the importance of rational knowledge and philosophical discourse for the understanding of faith, indeed for the very possibility of belief in God.” A similar issue was touched on in Pope Benedict XVI’s famous Regensburg address “Faith, Reason and the University: Memories and Reflections”; if we cannot reason about faith all that is left is the use of power, coercion, and violence. 14   Tamney, Resilience, p. 2. 15   Peter Berger, “Secularization Falsified,” First Things 180 (Feb. 2008): pp. 23–27. Berger’s point is that secularism does not mean absence of religion, but the presence of multiple religions in the same space. 16   See, for example, the discussion in Joseph Ratzinger and Jürgen Habermas, Dialectics of Secularization: On Reason and Religion (San Francisco: Ignatius, 2006); George Klosko, Democratic Procedures and Liberal Consensus (NY: Oxford University Press, 2000), 81–97; Marie A. Eisenstein, Religion and the Politics of Tolerance: How Christianity Builds Democracy (Waco: Baylor University Press, 2008).

Beyond Fideism



be a sort of confession with strong metaphysical/pseudo-religious assumptions.17 Traditionally, this confession has had only two basic ways to handle the other confessions, the first being coercing everyone to play by its own rules, or allowing pluralism where no position is given a superior position. In both cases, the secular sphere has been found incapable of dealing with other confessions, which has led to violent oppression of other confessions or allowing a free market to everyone. Both of these options can easily cause violent reaction or aggressive behavior. Whereas issues related to fideism have received attention in philosophy, social theory, and cultural studies have often treated concrete fideistic world-views in an arrogant or at least condescending manner. In particular, religious conservatism has been regarded as an unenlightened or primitive ideological position, which cannot stand intellectual criticism.18 However, more characteristic for today’s Christian theology in the USA and Europe, however, is the closeness of its most influential academic thinkers to both classical Christian theology and general scientific and philosophical discourses. This attitude, exemplified by Karl Barth and his pupils in the 20th century and, for example, by Eberhard Jüngel, Pope Benedict XVI, Stanley Hauerwas, Alvin Plantinga, Robert W. Jenson, George Lindbeck, and Richard John Neuhaus today, is highly academic and intellectualistic.19 Their traditionalist attitudes have nothing to do with anti-intellectualism. The present study consists of three independent but interrelated parts. The work has three aims: clarification of the uses of “fideism,” clarification of different types of postmodern theological method, and finally suggesting the contours of religious identity and rationality which takes seriously both classical Christian identity and pluralistic contexts where most of the Christian communities dwell nowadays. First, I will examine the nature of fideism both as a philosophical concept and as “applied fideism,” meaning how it appears in the history of theology and in postmodern theology. My analysis of the concept of fideism is based on close reading of the texts of Tertullian, Pascal, and Kierkegaard, who are typically termed “fideists.” As a modern exemplar, I briefly discuss Reformed epistemology’s apologetic method. These writers are selected because of their popularity as examples of Christian fideism.20 At the end of the first chapter I will offer a new   See, for example, Kristen Deede Johnson, Theology, Political Theory, and Pluralism: Beyond Tolerance and Difference (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), pp. 55, 251–253. 18   In the media, this view is regularly promoted by “new atheists” such as Richard Dawkins, Sam Harris, and Christopher Hitchens. 19   Although the theologians listed here inhabit different locations on the theological scene, preserving the theological identity of the Christian community is of vital importance for them. 20   While this study concentrates on Christian theology, the same issues have surfaced in the other religions as well. For example, in the Islamic tradition Al-Ghasali (1058–1111) claimed in his Incoherence of Philosophers that whenever human reasoning produced results that seemed to contradict the revelation one should doubt the methods of reasoning rather 17

Introduction: Fideism and Recent Developments in Modern Theology



classification of different types of fideism. This classification aims to exceed the aforementioned reductive reason-faith dichotomy. Chapter 2 forms a transition from conceptual analysis of fideism to the contemporary theological scene. I will briefly illustrate the philosophical roots of the postmodern turn and consequent emergence of postliberalism as its theological heir. In Chapter 3, I will examine the discussion concerning theological method after the postmodern turn. I consider George Lindbeck’s work as the turning point since after him the methodological discussion has not been the same. Although Lindbeck did not develop a clearly characterized method, his work has given rise to a new set of approaches.21 I will provide a “road-map” to recent discussion, which I will engage from the viewpoint of mutual interaction, asking how proponents of different methodological solutions understand their relations to other types of rationality and discourse. Here we come back to the notion of fideism. In the late modern situation, we easily end up in the situation where everyone claims the right to speak his or her own language. The crucial question here is how and on what grounds theologians may maintain the truth and inter-communal status of their discourse while admitting that knowledge is always “theory-laden.” The recent methodological discussion has centered on the collapse of foundationalism, which was once supposed to guarantee universal grounding for all intellectual discourse. After its collapse, we have seen the emergence of various redefined forms of foundationalism and anti-foundationalism. These discussions concerning the foundations of knowledge have had an effect to what we hold real. Consequently, there are various conceptions of realism, which give ground and shape to many methodological solutions. I have used four “centers of gravity” to classify the recent methodological moves. The centers are Traditionalism, Revisionism, Correlationism, and Descriptionism (see Figure 3.4). The centers are not clear-cut categories but instead spaces where certain methodological solutions begin to have effect. I will describe the nature than the revelation. This view was opposed by Averroës (1126–1198) who trusted more in philosophical methods. However, Al-Ghasali’s view became more popular in Islamic theology, while Averroës’ view had more influence in Christian medieval philosophy. See Iysa Bello, The Medieval Islamic Controversy between Philosophy and Theology (Leiden: Brill, 1989). 21   To date there have been only rather vague definitions of what the postliberal theological method is. As Lindbeck never developed his thoughts to full form, his followers started to proceed in different directions and no well-defined exposition of their method has been published to date. One reason for this may be that Lindbeck’s work is complex and the reason for its multifaceted reception and response lies already in the source. Nonetheless, DeHart defines a few overall characteristics: (1) a strong orientation towards Trinitarian and Incarnational themes, (2) a stress on the distinct social practices of the ecclesial communities and the way they are formed, (3) ecumenism and appreciation of the Catholic tradition, (4) an effort to recover new modes of biblical exegesis, and (5) appreciation of the achievements of Karl Barth. See DeHart, Trial, pp. 44, 57.



Beyond Fideism

of the centers using exemplifying theologians. Nevertheless, I am not aiming for close reading of the theologians as such but I use them as reference material while addressing the “negotiability” of different methodological strategies. In Chapter 4, I propose a model of theological rationality and identity based on the idea of negotiability. My category of negotiability is new in this theoretical context. I have adapted it from the ecumenical dialogues in which the churches agree to write new texts, seeking to reformulate their own faith in a common manner. Briefly speaking, a negotiable religious conviction should fulfill three criteria: 1) that this conviction is at least to some extent intellectually understandable to the outsiders, 2) that this conviction is basically open to enter into conversation with other convictions, and 3) the conviction in question can grow in wisdom and receive new truths. In practice, such a characterization probably depicts many existing religious communities and their ecumenical self-understanding. But I am aiming at a theoretical grounding and understanding of this kind of negotiable religious identity. What kind of inter-communal communication arises from postmodern types of theological method? What does it mean to have a religious identity based on this type of theory and practice of religion? Can it be considered legitimate in the light of Christian theological tradition? Through considering some of the most influential works of noted contemporary theologians, I claim that there are religious identities that can be negotiated and communicated, and that there are ecclesiastical doctrines, which can be meaningfully discussed among the churches. But this requires a particular kind of rationality, which arises from Christian theological traditions exercised as localized and open-ended inquiry within the discourse of individuals and churches as well as in discussions between religious communities and secular authority. To sum up, the basic objective of my study is to analyze both 1) fideism within classical Christian theology and 2) the contemporary methodological solutions that seek express the task of theology after the linguistic turn. Finally, I attempt to go 3) a step further and ask whether and in what sense a negotiable religious identity is a theoretical possibility in our understanding of Christian theology. I am thus exploring whether it is possible to go beyond fideism without sacrificing the communal identity, and in what ways rational negotiation and communication with other religious and secular world-views can be a plausible option for the Christian churches in the 21st century.

Chapter 1

Fideism and Christian Tradition Theological and Philosophical Definitions of Fideism Defining “fideism” is a complicated task. The term “fideism” first appears apparently independently in the texts of the Protestant Eugene Ménégoz and the Catholic Léon Ollé-Laprune in late 1880s, and already then it had two different meanings. Ménégoz used the term in Schleiermacherian fashion to define the core of religious life, a pure state of faith, which would exceed the historical particulars and symbols of different religions. What matters most is God’s moving the heart, not reason, which only creates contingent expressions of the more fundamental feeling. Ménégoz’s position has sometimes been called “symbolo-fideism” due to its emphasis on religious symbols over doctrines. In contrast to his liberal Protestant colleague, Ollé-Laprune used the concept in order to criticize those Catholic theological currents which did not rely on natural theology but which tried to put more emphasis on faith as they saw the contemporary secular reason as a threat to religion; if public reasoning could not be used to provide evidence for Christianity any more, maybe one could rely on faith instead. This strategy never won the day in Catholic theology, which since the middle ages has been very critical of any undermining of reason. In 1347, Clement VI

   The term is also occasionally used to refer to a Protestant emphasis that Christians are saved by faith alone (sola fide). This position may also be called “solifidianism.” The counterparts are in this regard faith and good works, while in epistemological-philosophical context they are faith and reason. However, these two contexts cannot be totally separated. Especially in Lutheran theology the use of reason is sometimes connected to the idea of the righteousness of the flesh, an endeavor to gain salvation through human capacities. See, for example, Luther’s theses in his Heidelberg Disputation in WA 1, pp. 353–365.   Eugene Ménégoz, Reflexions sur l’évangile de salut (1879), reproduced in Publications diverse sur la fideisme et son application à l’enseignement Chrétien traditionnel (Paris: Fischbacher 1900–21, vol. 1), p. 36; Léon Ollé-Laprune, De La Certitude Morale (Paris 1880), pp. 226–227. Carroll (“Traditions,” p. 10), however, has found the concept already in a Catholic periodical from year 1854, but that appearance did not have lasting significance.    For a general overview of Ménégoz’s thought see Carroll, “Traditions,” pp. 11–15.    See S.A. Matczak, “Fideism,” in New Catholic Encyclopedia, 2nd edn, vol. 5 (Washington D.C.: The Catholic University of America, 2003), pp. 711–713; Alistair Mason, “Fideism,” in Adrian Hastings (ed.), The Oxford Companion to Christian Thought (Oxford: Oxford University Press 2000), pp. 240–241; Carroll, “Traditions,” pp. 15–17.

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issued a condemnation of Nicolaus of Autrecort’s skeptical theses. Only a couple of decades before Ménégoz and Ollé-Laprune, Gregory XVI made a Catholic professor of theology, Louis-Eugène-Marie Bautain, recant his previous teachings regarding reason’s inability to affirm, among other doctrines, God’s existence and the historicity of Christ’s miracles. The orthodox Catholic theses against Bautain’s fideism (the term was retrospectively added to the debate) include a claim that “the use of reason precedes faith and leads men to it through revelation and grace” and that “the reason can demonstrate with certainty the truth of revelation.” Therefore, the position then known as “semi-fideism,” according to which reason can guarantee truth only with probability and not with certitude, was condemned as well. However, it must be stated that in these condemnations reason does not appear as an autonomous faculty of mind, which has power in se to reveal divine matters; reason needs the help of faith.  Since the 19th century Catholic resistance to skepticism and defense of the powers of reason, fideism has been used in a negative sense to indicate a suspect belief policy, which tones down the power of reason. The general reason for rejecting the fideistic undermining of reason by Catholic theologians was the fear of subjectivism, relativism, and epistemic circularity. However, Terence Penelhum and Richard Popkin have pointed out that the intellectual roots of what later became known as “fideism” are to be found in late medieval humanism with its interest in ancient Greek philosophy. The reemergence of ancient Skepticism is the most important reason for fideistic argumentation in the Renaissance era theology. In the 16th century, the texts of the Pyrrhonian skeptic Sextus Empiricus (2nd century–3rd century AD) were

 See Denzinger, Enchridion Symbolorum, §1028–1049.   Robert MacSwain has made an interesting remark that philosophers like Richard Swinburne appear to fulfill this criterion of semi-fideism. For discussion, see MacSwain, “Solved by Sacrifice”: Austin Farrer, Fideism, and the Evidence of Faith (Diss., University of St. Andrews, 2010).   Denzinger, Enchridion Symbolorum, §2755–2756. “L’usage de la raison precede la foi, et y conduit l’homme pas la revelation et la grace. La raison peut prouver avec certitude l’authenticité de revelation faite aux Juifs par Moïse et aux chrétiens par Jésus-Christ.” In 1855, the Catholic Church denied the juxtaposition of faith and reason since both of them have their origins in the same immutable fountain of truth (immutabilii veritatis fonte, Deo optimo maximo), and they both should give aid to one another (sibi mutuam opem ferant). See Denzinger, Enchridion Symbolorum, p. 2811. On faith and reason in official Catholic teaching before Vaticanum II, see also Denzinger, Enchridion Symbolorum, §2775–2780, 3008–3009, 3026, 3033, 3135–3138, 3875.    Matczak, “Fideism,” pp. 712–713. In fact, Catholic theology has regarded all kinds of theologians, such as William Ockham, Martin Luther, Blaise Pascal, Friedrich Schleiermacher, Rudolf Bultmann, and William James, as fideistic. What is common to these thinkers is that they more or less drive a wedge between faith and reason in a way that at least seems to challenge the Thomistic synthesis.  

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translated into modern languages. Sextus’ texts were widely read in Europe after the Reformation and his ideas were used in many creative ways. Basically, his skeptical method made it possible to demonstrate that faith is immune to critiques of reason because you were always able to call the ways of reasoning into question. Therefore, accepting views or religions is not a matter of reason but of conformity. Sextus writes on religion as follows: Although, following the ordinary view, we affirm undogmatically that God exists and reverence Gods and ascribe to them foreknowledge… For we follow a line of reasoning which, in accordance with appearances, points us to a life conformable to the customs of our country and its laws and institutions, and to our own instinctive feelings.10

Penelhum offers a general concept, skeptical fideism, as a classification for forms of belief which use skeptical argumentation to undermine reason. Skeptical fideism may, however, take many forms. One may use it, as Sextus did, to argue for conforming to prevailing local customs and beliefs; this Penelhum calls conformist fideism. This strategy was employed by, for example, Erasmus of Rotterdam, Michel Montaigne, and Pierre Bayle. In this case, one could attend worship and liturgy outwardly but inwardly disagree with the normative teaching. The participants abstain from inner commitment but do not deny or criticize it in an open manner. Clearly, this attitude was intended to preserve some order in society by promoting a form of civil religion—especially after the tumultuous times of 17th century Europe. Interestingly, a similar approach was employed by some thinkers within the Roman Catholic Counter-Reformation who used skeptical texts to argue for the Catholic position: because nothing (including, of course, the new Protestant beliefs) is sure, it is better to stay in the Roman Catholic Church. This strategy, however, was later condemned by the Catholic Church.11 On the other hand, there were evangelical thinkers who used skepticism to promote their views. Penelhum classifies Pascal and Kierkegaard as “evangelical fideists.” Although the original skeptical avoidance of any beliefs and Christian faith mutually excluded each

  The first translation of major influence (Hypotyposes, Engl. Outlines of Pyrrhonism) was published in 1562 by Henricus Stephanus. Sextus’ thought was related to the classical Skeptic tradition originating from Pyrrho of Elis (c. 360–275 BC). Sextus, however, was the one who gave it systematic form. Terence Penelhum, God and Skepticism: A Study in Skepticism and Fideism (Dordrecht: Reidel, 1983), pp. 3–5. 10   Sextus Empiricus, Outlines of Pyrrhonism, III, 2; I, 17. 11   As already noted, standard Catholic theology today strongly rejects fideism. For example, Catechism of the Catholic Church §286 affirms that God’s existence can be known with certainty by human reason. However, this knowledge can be obscured and disfigured, and thus faith is needed to correct and enlighten the reason. 

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other, skepticism offered unintentional help to the latter by exposing the limits of reason.12 The contemporary definitions follow in the footsteps of the Catholic tradition of natural theology and the Enlightenment’s understanding of reason. In textbooks, dictionaries and introductions, fideism is customarily split in two classes. The basic distinction, which I consider to be theologically inadequate, is made between soft or moderate fideism and radical or extreme fideism. Moderate fideism, exemplified sometimes by Blaise Pascal, insists that truths of faith are merely beyond reason, while radical fideism, exemplified sometimes by Tertullian and Kierkegaard, claims that faith is essentially contradictory to reason—the act of the faith does not only look paradoxical, but is genuinely and essentially so. Something is believed because it is absurd. Moderate fideism seems to allow more room for reason, evidence, and argument than its extreme counterpart. According to moderate fideism, the rational search for truth must precede faith but it is still faith that makes the search complete. Concordantly, extreme fideism is claimed to abandon all rational reflection and inference in favor of irrational and absurd faith.13 The problem with this account of radical fideism is that such a belief-policy is virtually non-existent in the history of classical Christian theology. The only examples of it appear in the writings of Johannes Climacus, Søren Kierkegaard’s non-Christian pseudonym. Not even Climacus, however, is completely clear with his supposed radical fideism since he discusses the notion of faith being merely beyond certain notions of reason, not necessarily against reason as such. Thus the notions sometimes linked to Climacus, such as “reasonless” or “irrational fideism”, seem inadequate. The only thinker who might pass for an irrational fideist is the Russian philosopher Lev Shestov (1866–1938), who developed a speculative form of negative theology, where irrationality functions as a negative proof of divine rationality. Shestov’s model never gained wide acceptance. To sum up, it is fairly easy to construct a form of radical fideism as a theoretical phenomenon; the actual existence of such a belief-policy seems controversial. The problem with the aforementioned account of moderate fideism is that it says very little about the actual relation between faith and reason, for example that reason is unable to fathom everything in the realm of religion. Numerous rather rational thinkers can be termed fideists in this sense, such as St. Thomas Aquinas, Immanuel Kant, and Richard Swinburne. A well-known use of the term is in “Wittgensteinian fideism,” which refers to a claim that a specific religion (or any other form of life) does not easily square with  See Penelhum, God and Skepticism, p. 14.  See, for example, Terence Penelhum, God and Skepticism. See also Penelhum, “Fideism,” in Philip L. Quinn and Charles Taliaferro (eds), Blackwell Companion to Philosophy of Religion (Oxford: Blackwell, 1997), pp. 376–382; Richard H. Popkin, “Fideism,” in The Encyclopedia of Philosophy (vol. 3 and 4. New York: MacMillan, 1972), pp. 201–202. It should be noted that the classification of different thinkers to their respective classes of fideism may vary case by case. 12

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other forms of life; that one is not able to translate everything that exists within a particular form of life into the language of an other form of life, and that there is nothing wrong with this incapability. Additionally, as previously noted, language games cannot be justified by extra-systemic means. Some thinkers, such as D.Z. Phillips, conclude that a religious form of life does not need any other justification than the fact that it exists. In this case, “fideism” indicates the impossibility of translating between the languages of different forms of life.14 While perhaps having a certain value in providing a concise overview of the topic, this basic distinction between “moderate” and “extreme” is not very helpful in the detailed evaluation of fideism. Fideism is quite often used in a pejorative sense, which does not make a faithful definition any easier; even words such as “soft” and “extreme” have a certain finger-pointing tone. The afore-mentioned notions, therefore, do not greatly help us to understand fideist belief-policies. Historical Dimensions of the Distinction between Faith and Reason Despite the fact that the term “fideism” is relatively novel, it has since its inception been used to refer to some of the biblical accounts of religious life and practice. In the following, I shall examine the alleged appearances of fideism beginning from biblical material, and offer a short account of the emergence of the distinction between faith and reason within the Western philosophical and theological tradition. The juxtaposition of faith and reason was quite alien to the authors of Scripture; or at least it was presented in a different way. However, in some sense this general attitude of God’s revelatory actions exceeding the limits of human reason has always been a part of the biblical faith. However, grasping the actual meaning of the ancient concepts, stories, and expressions is not always easy. For example, the Hebrew Bible does not have a clear-cut definition of “faith” or “to believe.” The nearest expression of it is aman, which means “to be firmly set on something” or “to hold something to be true.”15 For example in Isaiah 7:9, the prophet says to Ahaz: “If you do not stand firm in your faith, you will not stand at all,” connecting the act of believing to endurance. A typical context of faith in the Old Testament is testing. In the story of Abraham, God gives him instructions without explanation and expects that they be followed obediently even though they seem to be against common human experience. Abraham’s actions and faith in God rest in the promise of blessing and becoming the father of “a great nation” (Gen. 12:1–2). However, even this promise is absurd since Abraham and Sarah were beyond the age of having children. The apparent absurdity is illustrated in 14   See the debate in Kai Nielsen and D.Z. Phillips (eds), Wittgensteinian Fideism? (London: SCM Press, 2005). 15   Joseph P. Healey, “Faith,” in David Noel Freedman (ed.), The Anchor Bible Dictionary, vol. 2 (New York: Doubleday, 1992), pp. 744–745.

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the passage where Sarah laughs (Gen. 18:12–15) after hearing the promise of the Lord in Mamre. Nonetheless, the promise is fulfilled, and Abraham and Sarah have a son. This dialectic of impossible becoming possible now functions as the background when God puts Abraham to test and commands him to sacrifice Isaac. The story of the binding of Isaac is not about faith and reason in a way we nowadays understand those concepts, and imposing that kind of framework is alien to the narrative.16 Abraham has experiential evidence of God’s goodness when he sets out on the journey to Moria with his son. His act is not based on “blind faith”, but still he is not able to give an account of his subjective assurance and hope that would not be met with (at least initial) disbelief. In the proclamation of the prophets, faith is typically contrasted, not to intellectual unbelief, but to apostasy. This is so because faith is understood in the communal sense as loyalty to tradition, which is received and carried on in the form of certain practices. Thus the person who neglects the faith becomes obedient to some other tradition; he or she does not return to the state of reason, which was left behind by a leap of faith—as we might today think. However, faith can also be deserted while retaining the practices if one strips them off of the existential meaning and the ultimate reference. In this case, the rituals are performed without a correct internal attitude towards the object of the worship. If the worshippers do not dispose themselves to do good works and to be faithful, the rituals are in vain (see, for example, Jr. 7). The Old Testament notion of faith can be summarized as remembrance (Hebr. zikkaron). Israel has experienced something that functions as a hermeneutical key to the state of the world. Again and again, Israel is called to remember the Lord’s deeds in the past, and act according to those deeds in the future (for example, Dt. 4:9–10).17 This consequently opens an alternative reading of the place of human beings in the universe. In the midst of the chaotic uproar of earthly powers, a person of faith is able to exceed his or her locus in the world by coming to understand that God is able to overthrow these powers. Therefore the person of faith is not limited to the earthly perspective alone, being able to hope for things that are yet unseen

16   The basic problem of interpreting Abraham’s near-sacrifice of Isaac in Gen 22 is, first of all, the fact that it is a narrative, which does not make straightforward assertions about the relation between faith and reason. Secondly, as previously said, the interpretation history of the narrative is enormous and multifaceted. On various Jewish and Kierkegaardian interpretations, see Jerome Gellman, Abraham! Abraham! Kierkegaard and the Hasidim on the Binding of Isaac (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2003). 17   “Only be careful, and watch yourselves closely so that you do not forget the things your eyes have seen or let them slip from your heart as long as you live. Teach them to your children and to their children after them. Remember the day you stood before the LORD your God at Horeb, when he said to me, ‘Assemble the people before me to hear my words so that they may learn to revere me as long as they live in the land and may teach them to their children.’”

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and out of reach. The hope is grounded in history, in the past, but it ultimately transcends history and its limitations, reaching to the future.18 As “faith” is practice-oriented in the Old Testament, so is the account of “knowledge.” One of the most dramatic affirmations of knowledge about the divine things is Job’s words: “I know (hebr. yada) that my Redeemer lives, and that in the end he will stand upon the earth.” (Job 19:25). Clearly, Job’s mode of knowing his Redeemer and His ultimate victory is of a particular kind.19 Martin Warner describes Job’s way of knowing as more of a “fleeting insight … partially foreshadowed but immediately lost to view, than even a settled conviction, let alone knowledge in the epistemologist’s sense.” Job expresses here a psychological state, which is not transferable to others as such. He is proclaiming his faith and trust in God whom he believes will come to his aid, even in the face of ultimate horrors. Warner suggests that the story of Job provides us with two different epistemologies. The comforters of Job will try to settle the issue by deductive reasoning, arguing from first principles to a conclusion (God is good, Job is suffering, therefore Job is suffering for a good reason).20 However, this is of no avail to Job, and in the book the comforters are made to sacrifice for their sins, that is, their bad advice. Job instead is caught up in an experience, which makes him transcend the traditional wisdom of his comforters. The solution to Job’s problem is revealed in ecstatic rapture that makes the pieces of the puzzle fit together giving the conviction that God is good although the suffering is real and always present in creation. The answer touches not only intellect but heart, and it touches intellect in a way that was not expected. Therefore, Job (42:2–6) exclaims: [Then Job replied to the LORD :] I know that you can do all things; no plan of yours can be thwarted. You asked, “Who is this that obscures my counsel without knowledge?” Surely I spoke of things I did not understand, things too wonderful for me to know. You said, “Listen now, and I will speak; I will question you, and you shall answer me.” My ears had heard of you but now my eyes have seen you. Therefore I despise myself and repent in dust and ashes.

18

  Healey, “Faith,” pp. 745–749.   For an insightful treatment of Job’s story as interpreted from the viewpoint of growing in wisdom, see David Ford, Christian Wisdom: Desiring God and Learning in Love (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), pp. 90–120. 20   Warner, “Transcending Boundaries,” pp. 15, 19–20. 19

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“Knowledge” plays the essential role in Job’s account of his experience. First, he acknowledges that God is all-powerful, but then he needs to admit that his knowledge was not perfect after all. In God’s answer, it is articulated that God will provide him the right knowledge. This answer does not come in the form of hearing but “seeing,” which when used in relation to God is something beyond expression. In the end, this experience leads Job to repentance. The word yada means typically a personal and connected way of knowing as in sexual contact (Gen. 3:7, 4:1) or knowledge that is based on experience, for example, in the case of Pharaoh where knowing “that I am the LORD” is based on acts of God (Ex. 7:17). In a similar way in prophets’ proclamations, knowing the lordship of Yahweh is grounded in His work in the past or in the future (for example, Ex. 6:7; Ez. 39:28). Generally, the most typical usages of the word is “to know very well,” “to be sure about something,” “to become aware,” “to understand,” or “to acknowledge.” “Knowing” God means experiencing something that changes the way you think about yourself and the world. It is not a speculation from the distance by an outsider but when the subject is drawn into the act personally and often in a way that can even be shocking. In the New Testament, faith (pistis) appears as the self-definition of the Christian existence. It can refer to the content of faith as a whole and becoming a sharer of this tradition, coming to faith (for example, 1. Cr. 15:2, 11). “Coming to believe in Christ” means accepting and assenting to the apostolic proclamation and consequent embracing of a new form of life. The person who has faith becomes a member of a family or “people.” Faith is understood as a virtue, as faithfulness to the proclaimed and received message (for example, 1. Tm. 1:5).21 In the Epistle to Hebrews (3:14, 11:1), faith means perseverance and endurance, holding fast to the promised hope: “faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.” The Epistle of James depicts faith in connection with works, claiming that “faith without works is useless” (Js. 2:17, 26).22 In the Gospels, faith appears in the context of Jesus’ miracles, lack of faith being a hindrance to miracles (Mt. 13:58); correspondingly, faith in the power of Jesus to perform miracles enables healing (Mt. 9:29, Mk. 2:5). Apparently people 21   According to Risto Saarinen, faith and love are almost synonymous in the passage. See Saarinen, The Pastoral Epistles with Philemon and Jude (Grand Rapids: Brazos, 2008), pp. 35–36. 22   Douglas Harink offers an important corrective to the standard Protestant understanding of faith, which has become unnecessarily juxtaposed with work or deeds, in the fear of work-righteousness. Faith can never be separated from obedience. In the heart of Paul’s proclamation is a call to an alternative way of life, and this is what faith indicates, especially in the Pauline corpus. See Harink, Paul among Postliberals: Pauline Theology Beyond Christendom and Modernity (Grand Rapids: Brazos, 2003), pp. 25-66. The Apostle James has usually been treated as being in tension with Paul but this is not a necessary reading; see, for example, Timo Laato, Rechtfertigung bei Jacobus: Ein Vergleich mit Paulus (Hormisto 2003).

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found it hard to believe in Jesus, for the Gospels address the question of unbelief on many occasions. In the Synoptic Gospels (for example, Mt. 8:26, 14:31), Jesus admonishes his own disciples for having little faith (oligopistia). In John (12:37), despite Jesus performing miracles, people still do not believe in him. In the New Testament, the accounts of knowing are fairly similar to the Old Testament accounts; knowledge is tied in close connection with actions and experiences, as in 1 John where knowing and loving God are mutually associated.23 In 5:2 a person’s actions are regarded as a warrant for knowing whether that person loves God, and in 3:16 God’s actions are the ground for knowing God’s love.24 However, in the Pauline epistles there is more dialectic in the usage of the concept. In particular, the beginning of Paul’s First Letter to Corinthians has classically been used to juxtapose faith and reason. The apostle claims in 1 Cr. 1:21: “For since, in the wisdom of God, the world did not know God through wisdom (dia tees sofias), it pleased God through the folly (dia tees moorias) of what we preach to save those who believe.” But is Paul really juxtaposing reasoning to faith? Does he call for the abandonment of rational discourse in favor of irrational faith? Although a superficial reading might indicate this, the context of the sentence does not point in this direction. Paul addresses here specific problems in Corinth, which did not consist in excessive use of reason. Instead, the problems were about pride and self-love. God’s wisdom, the cross-shaped wisdom, is strictly contrary to this kind of earthly wisdom and power. Therefore it will appear as folly for selfsufficient pride. Paul does not propose casting away reason; rather he calls for a shift of perspective, reasoning from different presuppositions and values. Paul is addressing the patterns of thought behind the reasoning. Christians should abandon what this present age thinks worthy and look to Christ as the model of giving self for others. Christ does not represent irrationality but, rather, love that looks to the good of others. This, however, appears as folly to non-Christians.25 Another well-known statement from Paul is in 2. Cr. 5:7, where he states that Christians should “walk by faith (dia pisteoos), not by sight (dia eidous).” Here Paul does juxtapose faith and a certain kind of knowledge. The classical meaning of eidos is that when somebody knows the eidos of something, he or she is able to grasp the essence of the object having the correct knowledge (episteme). However, “walking by faith” in Paul is similar to Johannine experimental “knowing;” it is 23  See Sarah Coakley, “‘Not with eye only’: The Resurrection, Epistemology and Gender,” Reflections vol. 5 (Spring 2002): p. 30. 24   1 Jn 5:2: “This is how we know (egnookamen) that we love the children of God: by loving God and carrying out his commands.” 1 Jn 3:16: “This is how we know (ginooskomen) what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us. And we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers.” For more examples, see Warner, ibid., 17. 25   For a good introduction to this theme, see Mark McIntosh, “Faith, Reason and the Mind of Christ,” and Lois Malcolm, “The Wisdom of the Cross,” in Paul Griffiths & Reinhard Hütter (eds), Reason and the Reasons of Faith (NY, London: T&T Clark, 2005).

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not complete conceptual grasping of the object but more like being known by God and becoming in union with Him. In Heb. 11:8, the author uses the absence of episteme to describe Abraham’s faith: “By faith Abraham obeyed … not knowing where he was going.” The lack of knowledge is here replaced by active faith and obedience.26 In some ways, religious knowledge is different from or more than acknowledging the propositional truth of a sentence. In the time of Christ, few if any came to believe in him after deducing the existence of God from some presuppositions. For them the separation of faith and reason would seem absurd for faith seems to be the most reasonable thing they can think of. Of course, the term “reason” does not appear (in the modern meaning) in the New Testament.27 “Reasonability” does, however, emerge in an interesting context. Paul is brought in front of King Agrippa and he gives testimony of his conversation with reference to the vision on the road to Damascus. After hearing this Festus, the procurator, rises to oppose Paul’s words in Acts 26:24–25: At this point Festus interrupted Paul’s defense. “You are out of your mind, Paul!” he shouted. “Your great learning is driving you insane (mania).” “I am not insane, most excellent Festus,” Paul replied. “What I am saying is true (aletheia) and reasonable (sophrosyne).”

Festus uses the word mania to label Paul’s testimony as insanity. “Mania” refers to delirium, eccentric, or bizarre behavior. To this Paul responds by claiming that he is speaking the truth and his words are reasonable. Sophrosyne and mania were, in Greek literature, contrasting movements of the soul.28 Reasonability meant harmony and balance between the cosmos and human being. The reasonable person moderates his or her desires and lusts, practicing self-knowledge, selfcontrol, and careful deliberation of circumstances and proper actions (in which Festus, but not Paul, manifestly failed). Later it became one of the four cardinal virtues, prudence (sapientia). In the face of Festus’ attack, which surely was understandable, Paul seems to suggest that there is another form of reasonability differing from Festus’ judgment. However, Paul does not claim that his message is reasonable for Christians only, or that you have to become a Christian to hold this reasonable. Instead he is claiming that his witness is reasonable in a universal sense (not only within Christian 26   Bruce Ellis Benson, Graven Ideologies (Downer’s Grove: IVP, 2002), pp. 20–21. See also Rowan Williams’s account of knowledge, obedience, and martyrdom in The Wound of Knowledge (Eugene: Wipf and Stock, 1998), p. 14. 27   The Greek word for reason is logos, which has its own definite, Christological, meaning. The concept that comes closest to our understanding of reason might be “wisdom”, sophia, which appears often in the New Testament. 28   See, for example, Xenophon, Memorabilia 1.1.16; Plato, Phaedrus 244D and Protagoras 323B.

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language game pace Wittgensteinians), probably because he makes a reference to historical events of which there exist other witnesses as well.29 He understands that the story is implausible but he can do no other than hold it as true. Clearly, this experience sets the rules for rationality and irrationality for Paul and it functions as a motivator for his preaching as well. Faith as commitment and faith as an experiential form of knowledge maintain their place in subsequent Christian tradition. For the sake of brevity, I will not aim at a detailed account of faith and reason in the history of theology; a few illustrative examples will suffice. In the medieval church, Anselm of Canterbury (1033–1109) provided one the most influential and widely discussed treatments of faith and reason. His Proslogion, subtitled Faith Seeking Understanding (lat. fides quarens intellectum), has puzzled theologians and philosophers ever since, and Anselm’s argument has been read both in rationalist and fideist ways. Is Anselm’s argument believable only for those who already are Christians, or is he trying to provide an argument, which could have general persuasive power, even for those who do not share the Christian worldview and belief in the actual existence of quo maius cogitari non potest? In fact, Anselm seems to try to do both at the same time. He clearly makes his argument in prayer—within the Christian worldview—but simultaneously he is trying to address those who do not share his beliefs. The argument in itself is formally understandable to anyone; it is logically structured and clear. Thomas Guarino has argued that Anselm’s argument is in theory open to every rational mind although Anselm does acknowledge both the noetic effects of sin and the important place of the experiential knowing of God.30 Concerning the role of experience, Anselm states: Whoever does not believe will not understand. For the one who does not believe will have no experience and the one who has no experience will not know. For, indeed, just as experience surpasses the hearing about things so, in the same way, the knowledge of one who experiences surpasses the knowledge of one simply hearing about things.31

Guarino argues that Anselm’s insistence on recognizing the existence of God by reason alone (sola ratione) means only possibility, which may never actualize. Clearly, Anselm does not claim that everyone will actually agree with him, and knowledge of God based on pure reason can be tentative and vague at best. 29   This was clearly important for the early Church, see, for example Lk. 1:1–4 and Acts 1:1–4. 30   Thomas Guarino, “Contemporary Lessons from the Proslogion,” Nova et Vetera, vol. 7 no.1 (2009): pp. 125–152. 31   Epistola de incarnatione verbi I, 9, 5–8: “Nimirum hoc ipsum quod dico: qui non crediderit, non intelliget. Nam qui non crediderit, non experietur; et qui expertus non fuerit, non cognoscet. Quantum enim rei auditum superat experientia, tantum uincit audientis cognitionem experientus scientia.”

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The full grasping of the meaning of faith requires something that Guarino calls “performative existential commitment;” without this one cannot hold Anselm’s argument true but may still understand the logic behind the argument and respect it. Thus, Anselm tries to balance between doing theology within his own monastic tradition and using “public” reason for his cause. 32 The first centuries of the second millennium saw the emergence of new ways of connecting faith and reason. While some saw Anselm as already rationalizing the faith too much, he did not go as far as Peter Abelard (1079–1142), who went further than any of his contemporaries in stressing confidence in reason’s power to fathom divine mysteries. Abelard’s style soon caused a backlash and a reemphasis on experiential knowing. Bernard of Clairvaux (1090–1153), especially, saw personal experience as the source of divine knowledge, which was not communicable to others. Two theological styles began to emerge. Edward Grant states that “it often seemed as if the new theologians assumed that the use of reason would lead to faith, whereas the traditionalists held that only faith could produce proper reasoning.”33 The greatest figure in medieval theology, Thomas Aquinas (1225–1274), began his Summa Theologiae by addressing the question of whether there is a need for a discipline complementing philosophy. Thomas famously states that in principle the existence of God could be fathomed by reason, but not everyone is capable of this; hence the need for revelation. Even as regards those truths about God which human reason could have discovered, it was necessary that man should be taught by a divine revelation; because the truth about God such as reason could discover, would only be known by a few, and that after a long time, and with the admixture of many errors. … Therefore, in order that the salvation of men might be brought about more fitly and more surely, it was necessary that they should be taught divine truths by divine revelation. It was therefore necessary that besides philosophical science built up by reason, there should be a sacred science learned through revelation.34

Although the first quaestio gives somewhat rationalistic tone to Aquinas’s work, reason is not separated from faith. What was new in Thomas’s thinking compared to earlier tradition was the emphasis on faith as an assent to some truths (which, yes, could be found out by reason by few people), yet this assenting was described as “the command of the will moved by the grace of God”. According to Thomas, reason in itself was prone to all kinds of errors, which could be avoided only by 32

  For a profound treatment of Anselm’s argument and of the use of philosophy in theology in Anselm’s time, see Toivo Holopainen, Dialectic and Theology in the Eleventh Century (Leiden: Brill, 1996). 33  Edward Grant, God and Reason in the Middle Ages (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), p. 63. 34   ST I.I.1.

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seeking knowledge in connection with knowledge of God. Thomas even claims, “in divine matters natural reason is greatly deficient.”35 In order to have right kind of reasoning, the will needs to be purified by the grace of God, thereby enabling the intellect to assent to divine truths. Thus, grace and will have priority over intellect.36 Additionally, even if the possibility of knowledge of God through reason is argued very emphatically, there is a serious limit to what we can know about God. There is apparent apophatic stress in some of Thomas’s writings which underlines God’s hiddenness.37 Thomas’s caveats notwithstanding, contemporary Byzantine theologians, for example, saw Thomas putting too much emphasis on reason over experience.38 The shift from realism to nominalism introduced a new theme to the discussion, which had a long lasting influence. Thomism, as a theological version of Aristotelian realism, stressed reason’s capabilities to infer from nature to God. This was possible because such realism presupposed that there are normative patterns in reality, which have a revelatory function, thereby enabling natural theology; one could establish fundamental religious truths without the help of revelation additional to nature. This approach was challenged by via moderna thinkers such as William of Ockham (1285–1349). Although there were multiple strands in nominalism, the new basic idea was that there exists a certain kind of distinction between God and the created order. God did not have to create the world as it appears to us now since God is ultimately free in his absoluteness; creation is the willed act of God and therefore contingent. Consequently, one cannot use reason in a similar way as before to infer from nature to God because nature is not as such revelatory. Philosophical truth and theological truth ceased to be the same. Thus, true theology is not concerned about the phenomena in the world but God’s will. This affects a change in the sources of theology. If it is not nature that tells the truth about God then it must be God’s revelation. Consequently, the primary faculty in the human being for divine knowledge is not reason but faith. In semantical theory, there had already been a shift from Plato’s theory of ideas to Aristotle’s realism. When Plato thought that objects have meaning because they share a universal idea, Aristotle claimed that the meaning is inherently in the objects. In both of these two cases, the world has primacy in the act of knowing; the world is intelligible and understandable. However, the shift from realism to nominalism marked a more fundamental change. In nominalist metaphysics it is   ST II–II.2.4.   See Reinhard Hütter, “The Directedness of Reasoning and the Metaphysics of Creation,” in R. Hütter and P.J. Griffiths (eds), Reason and Reasons of Faith (New York: T&T Clark, 2005), pp. 180–181. 37  See, for example, Rudi A. te Velde, “Understanding the Scientia of Faith: Reason and Faith in Aquinas’s Summa Theologiae,” in Fergus Kerr (ed.), Contemplating Aquinas (London: SCM, 2003), pp. 55–74; Guarino, Foundations, pp. 240–241; SCG I, 30; III, 49. 38  See, for example, Kallistou Angelikoude, Kata Thoma Akinatou (Athens: Stylianos Papadopoulus 1970). 35 36

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Plato: objects have meaning in relation to the universal idea S

W

I

O

M

Nominalism: meaning is in the soul

S = soul W = world I = ideas M = meaning O = object

Aristotle: meaning is in the object S

W M/O

Postmodernism: meaning is a social construction

S

W

S

W

M

O

M

O

Figure 1.1

World and meaning from Plato to postmodernism

understood that the meaning actually resides in the soul or will of the observer. Objects in the world did not have a share in some universal concept, which provided them with meaning, and there was not an inherent meaning in the objects themselves. This way the world starts to lose its intelligibility. These nominalists, however, were not relativists. They considered meaning to be objective because they were Christians who believed that ultimately God provides the right order of reference. Nevertheless, this was a step which eventually enabled skepticism, and finally postmodernism, where there is no God to secure human knowledge. Therefore meanings become impositions of the will upon the world; meaning becomes a social construction. The Reformation picked up some of the nominalists’ ideas, especially the belief that the ultimate source of divine knowledge lies in the Bible and faith, not in philosophy. However, how the Reformers continued to use philosophy to their advantage is an extremely complex matter. Luther criticized both realists and nominalists, yet he used many of their ideas and revised them to some extent. The Reformation was not, in fact, anti-philosophical (even if the rhetoric of the Reformation clearly was); instead the reformers tried to “baptize” the old ways of doing philosophy in order to create a more Christian way of philosophizing. This, however, did not bear real fruit. Luther never developed a full-fledged system and soon after his death a time of internal controversies began and other issues were considered to be more important. After the Council of Trent (1545–1563),

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Aristotelian philosophy made a comeback as the general scientific language, first among Catholic theologians and then Lutherans as well. Lutherans adopted Aristotelian categories and method as clarifying tools but disliked that way of doing metaphysics.39 Still they had nothing to replace it. This set the Reformation on a slippery slope that after some time led to existentialism, and the separation of faith and reason in ways never seen before.40 I am not claiming that the Reformation caused modernism or that it provided the intellectual tools for it, but rather that the Reformation was not able to stop the slide. When Catholic theology returned to Thomism, Protestant theology allied more and more with Enlightenment thought. In the long run, this led to the separation of the truths of faith and truths of reason. Religion was evacuated from the public discourse to a private realm. To sum up: The juxtaposition of faith and reason as two clearly distinct ways to engage with reality is something quite recent. In the premodern world, there was no clear antithesis between faith and reason; yet, there were still probable and improbable things. In rational inquiry the emphasis was on the object. Reason (logos) was deeply embedded in the structures of the universe. Therefore humans were rational insofar as they participate in the inherent rationality of the universe. When God was thought to be the Creator of the rational universe, and Himself the rational being, it was natural that the religious faith was thought to be rational. The rationality was an a posteriori type of rationality; it was grounded in the actual events and other items within the universe. In the Enlightenment, the emphasis shifted from the object to the subject and acquiring knowledge from the world was seen as being less straightforward. Before one can assess the data one gathers from reality one must establish a set of infallible beliefs that provide the ground for other knowledge. In the Enlightenment form of rationality, reason as a human quality gains metaphysical rights to master the universe, which was seen as inherently irrational.41 The Enlightenment can be seen as the midwife for two very different conceptions of knowledge and belief: Rationalism and Fideism. In the general philosophical discourse Rationalism gained the primogeniture and Fideism was locked into a closet. However, the postmodern situation has ironically turned the relations upside down. Now Rationalism is deemed suspect and everyone is suddenly a Fideist. Postmodern philosophers seek to unveil the faith-commitments inherent   For a detailed study of Luther’s use of philosophy see Theodor Dieter, Der Junge Luther und Aristoteles: Eine Historisch-Systematische Untersuchung zun Verhältnis von Theologie und Philosophie (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2001). 40   This is a common claim made, for example, by Charles Taylor, A Secular Age (Cambridge: Belknap, 2007), pp. 79, 733; Louis Dupré, Religion and the Rise of Modern Culture (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2008), pp. 22–23, and Benedict XVI, Faith, Reason and the University: Memories and Reflections. 41   A good summary is Myron P. Penner, “Christianity and Postmodern Turn: Some Preliminary Considerations,” in Myron P. Penner (ed.), Christianity and the Postmodern Turn (Grand Rapids: Brazos Press, 2005), pp. 21–22. 39

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in all claims of knowledge; there is no such thing as pure rationality because all different modes of rationality are grounded in faith-commitments. With the pendulum of rationality swinging back and forth in the last few centuries, there has developed a certain kind of bewilderment regarding the powers and use of reason. For example, while in the humanistic sciences trust in reason’s power has diminished, in the hard sciences the development has been totally different. This situation asks for a re-consideration of the natures of faith and reason without lapsing into anachronisms and simplifications. In the following chapters I will examine the belief policies of Tertullian, Pascal, Kierkegaard, and Reformed epistemology. The reason why these thinkers or movements have been selected to exemplify fideism is because they were forced to develop a creative account of faith and reason due to the challenges they faced in their historical contexts. Today, western civilization faces a challenge somewhat similar to those encountered by these historical figures: different forms of rationality are clashing against each other. Yet historical situations are always unique. The first Christian centuries differ greatly from the 18 and 19, 20 and 21 centuries, and for this reason the belief-policies developed differ to some extent from each other. What is common for Tertullian, Pascal, and Kierkegaard is the fact that all their works are in one way or another fragmentary or simply notoriously hard to interpret. Tertullian’s writings are not detailed accounts of doctrines but more like polemics delivered on different occasions. They are both very concise and full of, sometimes excessive, rhetorical devices. Most of his writings present a case for Christianity against a position to which he is opposed, such as Marcionism or Valentianism. Pascal never finished his Apologia, which we have only in the form of Pensées. All we have are fragments that resemble more diary entries than logical argument. Ordering of the fragments in a logical manner is a matter of endless dispute. Kierkegaard used a number of pseudonyms, imagined authors, which he made up to represent different views on religion, knowledge, and faith. This fact alone raises questions about the connections between fideism and irrationalism. Concise and fragmentary texts are more open to multiple ways of reading. Also, reading texts out of their context is easier if the context cannot be ascertained or even does not properly exist. This reinforces the case for maintaining that the fideists deserve a fair trial. Fideist Thinkers and the Question of Rationality Tertullian and the Rationalities of Athens and Jerusalem Tertullian (155–222) is usually depicted as the major apostle of unreason in the Patristic period.42 This interpretation finds its base in the two well-known passages, 42  See, for example, Carl Raschke, The Next Reformation (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2004), pp. 19, 129, 152, 165; Owen Chadwick, Early Christian Thought and the

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which are almost always cited when someone refers to the thinking of Tertullian. The first passage is from De Carne Christi which is, for some unknown reason, usually cited incorrectly. The statement “Credo quia absurdum” (I believe because it is absurd) is the example of fideism in the Church Fathers. However, this appears to be a misquotation of Tertullian’s text. What he actually says is as follows. the Son of God died; it is by all means to be straightforwardly believed, because it is unfitting (prorsus credible est, quia ineptum est). And he was buried, and rose again; the fact is certain, because it is impossible.43

The second passage, which is used to confirm Tertullian’s general distaste towards philosophy, is from De praescriptione haereticorum. His famous phrase goes: What has Athens to do with Jerusalem? What has the academy to do with the church? What between heretics and Christians? Our instruction comes from “the porch of Solomon” (Acts. 3:5), who had himself taught that “the Lord should be sought in simplicity of heart (Wisdom of Solomon 1:1).” Away with all attempts to produce a mottled Christianity of Stoic, Platonic and dialectic composition!44

In spite of these statements, it is (seemingly not equally) a well-known fact that Tertullian was extremely well trained, for example, in law, rhetoric, philosophy, and classical literature. He also made use of these skills in order to support the Christian faith.45 So what is actually going on here? Classical Tradition (NY: Oxford University Press, 1984), pp. 1–2; Etienne Gilson, Reason and Revelation in the Middle Ages (NY: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1939), pp. 8–9. 43   Carn. 5: “Crucifixus est dei filius; non pudet, quia pudendum est. Et mortuus est dei filius; credibile est, quia ineptum est. Et sepultus resurrexit; certum est, quia impossibile.” The English translations from Tertullian are from Ante-Nicene Christian Library: The Writings of Tertullian (4 vols. Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1869). 44   Prae. 7: “Quid ergo athenis et hierosolymis? quid academiae et ecclesiae? quid haereticis et christianis? nostra institutio de porticu solomonis est qui et ipse tradiderat dominum in simplicitate cordis esse quaerendum. Viderint qui stoicum et platonicum et dialecticum christianismum protulerunt.” 45  See, for example, Timothy Barnes, Tertullian: A Historical and Literary Study (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1971), p. 210. According to classical philologist, Eduard Norden, Tertullian’s De Pallio is the most sophisticated form of Latin ever written. See Norden, Die Antike Kunstprosa II (Leipzig and Berlin, 1909), p. 615; quoted in Barnes, Tertullian, p. 229 n. 6. De Pallio discusses the true nature of wisdom and the true philosopher. It is written in an ironic, Kierkegaardian way; Tertullian deliberately uses complicated language structures and words with multiple meanings in order to show off his rhetorical and philosophical skills. On how Tertullian’s relation to philosophy has been interpreted, see Robert Sider, “Approaches to Tertullian: A study of recent scholarship,” The Second Century, vol. 2/4 (1982): pp. 247–250.

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There have been efforts to solve this apparent contradiction. A. Labhardt, for example, has proposed that Tertullian is a classic example of sacrificium intellectus as described by C.G. Jung. As a believer, Tertullian was forced to reject anything that goes beyond divine revelation. However, as a scholar he could not reject his former training. He thought one way and lived in another. He both rejects the use of philosophy and keeps using it. So the aforementioned affirmations should be interpreted as products of a split personality.46 However, I think that there is a psychologically less ambitious way of reading Tertullian. In order to understand his argumentation it is appropriate to take a closer look at his view of rationality, for Tertullian is in no way opposed to the use of reason in theology, and the charge of irrationalism seems misplaced when one carefully reads his texts. Firstly, Tertullian explicitly condemns irrationalism and associates it with Gnosticism because, in his view, in Gnosticism argument could be replaced with pretentious narrative. In fact, it is Gnosticism that surpasses reason. The reason why Tertullian makes this claim is that he thinks Gnosticism to be an internally incoherent system.47 Tertullian discusses the notion of irrationality in De anima where he argues that sin or evil in general is equivalent to irrationality. Tertullian states that Plato’s division of the soul into two parts, rational and irrational, is in accordance with faith. However, the rational part of the soul is the natural condition, which was impressed upon it in the creation by God, who is essentially rational. The irrational element must have accrued later, as a function of transgression, which thenceforward became inherent in the soul. This acquired irrationality has grown together with our inherent rationality so that it looks as if it has been there from the very beginning. However, thinking that the irrational element is derived from God would make God also irrational. Therefore it must be that the irrational proceeds from the Devil who is the origin of sin. Sin is extraneous to God, to whom the irrational is an alien principle.48 In keeping with this, Tertullian thinks that the senses were created by a rational and good God, and that they are, even after the Fall, in such a condition to provide reliable information concerning the external world—while admitting that there is always the possibility of error. However, in the normal course of life it would be absurd to doubt the senses.49 Secondly, he sees a place for natural theology in argument. For him, such knowledge is hierarchically structured. Natural religions form the lowest stage, from whence one can rise up through the use of philosophy. Judaism holds the highest position outside of the Christian revelation. The previous stages before 46

  A. Labhardt, “Tertullien et la philosophie ou la recherché d’une ‘position pure’,” Museum Helveticum 7 (1950): pp. 177–180. 47  Eric Osborn, Tertullian, First Theologian of the West (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), p. 23. 48   Anim. 16, 2: “a diabolo immissio delicti, inrationale autem omne delictum; igitur a diabolo inrationale, a quo et delictum, extraneum a deo, a quo est inrationale alienum.” 49   Anim. 17–18.

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Christianity can be used as pointers towards the ultimate goal.50 God created reality and it can accordingly reveal something about both God’s existence and his properties. Thus, non-Christian philosophers can form at least some right affirmations about God by their use of reason alone. The partial success of nonChristian philosophers derives from their participation in the creation common for all human beings.51 Osborn sums up Tertullian’s position well: “All that is true in philosophy is the historically conditioned development of the true reason which is revealed in the gospel.”52 Reality and philosophical reasoning as a part of the created order establish a starting point for the matters of faith. The human mind needs the sensible world in order to get knowledge about the insensible world. Only on the basis of events in this world is one able to form judgments about another world that exists beyond this earthly sphere. This world, as a harmonious, ordered and rational whole, points to God as its creator and maker.53 Thirdly, Tertullian shows remarkable familiarity with both Aristotelian and Stoic logics.54 This is apparent throughout his treatises. He charges the nonChristian philosophers with inconsistency using classical logical argument forms.55 For example, the context of the previously cited passage from De Carne Christi Tertullian uses the modus ponens argument. While typically claimed as “Tertullian’s paradox” it seems that he himself had something entirely different in mind. In the fifth chapter of De Carne Christi, he is not stating a paradox but rather trying to prove Marcion’s account of Christ’s human nature wrong.56 The main argument, which gives the context to the paradoxical statement as well, goes as follows: 1. If Christ really died, he has to have a mortal nature (or body) capable of dying. 2. Marcion ignores the childhood narratives of Christ but retains passion narratives, where Christ’s death is depicted.

  Marc. 2.27.6; virg. 11.6; anim 2. 20. See also Osborn, Tertullian, p. 45.   Paen. 1.2; anim. 2.1; cor. 4.1. 52  Osborn, Tertullian, p. 45. paen. 1; test. 5–7. 53   Marc. 17:ii.3. R.H. Ayers, Language, Logic and Reason in the Church Fathers (Hildesheim: Georg Olms Verlag, 1979), pp. 31–32. 54  See various examples in Ayers, Language. 55   For the general consistency of Tertullian’s own thought see Ayers, Language, pp. 34–61. 56  In the passage at hand, Tertullian uses classical rules of rhetoric, especially exaggeration, against the arguments of Marcion. For a more detailed account on Tertullian’s fideistic phrase, see Tim Rose, Kierkegaard’s Christocentric Theology (Aldeshot: Ashgate2001), pp. 66–70. 50

51

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3. Therefore, Marcion should admit the true humanity of Christ if he is not to contradict himself.57 In other words, Tertullian is accusing Marcion of intellectual incoherence and selective reception of biblical material. But how about the “unfittingness,” or “absurdity,” as it was later on labeled, of Christ’s death and resurrection? James Moffat has pointed out the striking similarities between Aristotle’s Rhetoric and Tertullian’s phrase.58 Aristotle writes in Rhetorica (2.23.21): Another line of argument refers to things, which are supposed to happen and yet seem incredible. We may argue that people could not have believed them, if they had not been true or nearly true: even that they are more likely to be true because they are incredible. For the things which men believe are either facts or probabilities: if, therefore, a thing that is believed is improbable or even incredible, it must be true, since it is certainly not believed because it is at all probable or credible.

Aristotle indicates that the things in this world are either facts or probabilities, and if people believe something improbable then it must be a fact. According to Moffat, Tertullian uses a similar argument to claim that if someone makes a wildly improbable statement, it is more improbable that somebody should have just made it up than that it is a fact. Following the Philosopher’s lead, Tertullian is trying to infer factuality from uncertainty using radical disjunction as a clarifying tool by which he tries to outwit his antagonists. Thus, Tertullian’s phrase should be seen as an ironic and rhetorical overstatement rather than a last line of defense against non-Christian criticism. Now that it has been demonstrated that Tertullian is hardly an irrationalist since he makes extensive use of philosophical arguments, we need to examine his notion of faith. What are the relations of faith, reasoning, and revelation, and how does a person come to embrace the Christian faith personally? We noted earlier that natural theology is possible for Tertullian. God is both known and unknown. The created order reveals God’s majesty but the fundamental fault of man is not to recognize (recognoscere) this.59 Tertullian does not separate the natural created order from the divine reality. Thus reason and faith are not mutually opposite or exclusive. The natural order must first be examined through reason in order for the spiritual recognition to take place. The existence of the created order—and the revelatory events in history—work as the warrant for belief in God.60 For   Ayers, Language, p. 19.   J. Moffat, “Aristotle and Tertullian,” The Journal of Theological Studies, vol. XVIII (1916): pp. 170–171. There is evidence that Tertullian was familiar with Aristotle’s argument. The similarity could not be only a coincidence. See Ayers, Language, pp. 21–23. 59   Ap. 17.6. 60   Marc. 1.12.2.; 1.18.2. 57

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Tertullian, believing things just because they are improbable is not the crucial issue. There has to be something that makes faith, in Jamesian terms, a live option. Tertullian uses five different warrants for the Christian faith: Scriptural witness, reason, the superior moral behavior of Christians, spiritual testimony, and tradition.61 Tertullian believes that the witness in the Bible is enough to prove the factuality of improbable events and thus grant them the status of a fact.62 All different warrants considered together make faith available as an option, although they do not make it not-improbable. Faith is for Tertullian fundamentally rational—or to put it in a more extreme way: Only Christian faith gives a consistent account of the reality. Tertullian sees in the secular philosophies inherent inconsistencies, which he attacks with reductio ad absurdum argument. Conversely, only Christian faith offers a coherent view both of the world and of the biblical witness. It is hard to say for sure to what extent Tertullian is in actuality a natural theologian or a presuppositionalist. This is due to the rhetorical style of many of his texts, and various situations where he writes to oppose different systems of thought. On the one hand, he seems to suggest that reason can understand many things about God even without revelation. On the other, he is very clear that for Christian reasoning the starting point of all argument and reasoning is the Creed, or the Rule of Faith. This is apparent especially in De praescriptione haereticorum, where the opposition between Athens and Jerusalem is made. However, opposing Athens to Jerusalem does not mean opposing faith and reason; instead it means opposing different kinds of reasons. According to Justo González, “Athens” stands here for a position where facts conform to reason; thus the factual is only what can be understood and stated logically. Correspondingly, “Jerusalem” stands for the type of rationality where only what is experienced can be understood. Athens is “dialectical” and “static”, whereas Jerusalem is “historical” and “dynamic”. The problem of dialectical reason is that it is able only to state self-evident facts. It is governed only by itself and remains thus in the realm of universal reason, a position sealed from factual and temporal reality.63 The dynamic position looks to historical events and builds its reasoning accordingly.64 The answer to the rhetorical question about the choice between Athens 61

  See Anthony Guerra, “Polemical Christianity: Tertullian’s search for certitude,” The Second Century vol. 8. no. 2 (1991). 62   Guerra, “Polemical Christianity,” pp. 115, 123. 63   Prae. 7:6. 64   Justo L. Gonzáles, “Athens and Jerusalem revisited: Reason and authority in Tertullian,” Church History 43 (1974): pp. 22–23: “‘Athens’ and ‘Jerusalem’ thus imply two different approaches to authority. If ‘Athens’ is right, there is no better source of authority than universal reason, especially as it is purified from the imperfections which it has in historical man. If ‘Jerusalem’ is right, there is no better source of authority than an ocular witness, although that witness must still make sense—and here one must remember that Tertullian is constantly blending apostolic Jerusalem with forensic Rome.”

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and Jerusalem is clearly negative. Tertullian sees Athens and Jerusalem opposing each other as basic beliefs; approving the Athenian method of belief-forming is ruled out within Christian theology but this does not mean a negative attitude to philosophy as such. Only one type of philosophy is rejected here. On the basis of the joint witness of Scripture and tradition, Tertullian claims the Rule of Faith as the basis for Christian reasoning. Tertullian describes the content of the Rule in Prae. 13, which is basically a doxological statement closely related to Apostolicum.65 Accordingly, the Rule comprises three points: totality, correction, and perfection.66 Firstly, everything was created by God. Secondly, everything is to be corrected through Christ’s work. Thirdly, Christ will execute the final judgment, which sets everything in the perfect state according to the will of God the Father. For Tertullian, the Rule is based on these historical, and also forthcoming, events, and this is something that even his adversaries admit, at least to some extent. He argues against Gnostics, for example, how these events are to be interpreted. The Gnostics fail in their attempt because they have different presuppositions about reality and the order of things, that is, a different rule of faith. It is worth noting that Tertullian denies the legitimacy of heretics quoting Scripture in their own favor, because “it does not belong to them.”67 They are destined to end up in chaos and inconsistency because they mix their own presuppositions with material that is written according to another set of presuppositions. This is why Athens and Jerusalem cannot be joined together, and “dialectical” Christianity, an amalgam of philosophy and Christian scriptural witness, is sheer madness for him: it means mixing together mutually opposing presuppositions. How then does a person come to have a Christian presupposition, which is evidently needed in order to understand rightly the meaning of the Scriptural witness? The content of the faith, due to its miraculous character, is “wildly improbable,” and definitely not a description of everyday life. Still, Tertullian believes that there is enough warrant to hold these things as true and historically factual. But believing that some events are historical does not, of course, make one a Christian. Faith is for Tertullian a willing commitment to a set of religious truths and practices, which is backed by the aforementioned warrants, but for him there is no one all-out argument for or against Christianity.68 In the first Christian centuries, the process of conversion usually lasted a long time, and involved a gradual 65

  The Rule is presented in three places in Tertullian’s corpus with slight modifications. The rule was used as a part of catechesis, and it was created in order to inoculate the Catholic congregation against Gnosticism. Its fluid condition was due to the changing character of heresies in the first Christian centuries. See L. Wm. Countryman, “Tertullian and the Regula Fidei,” The Second Century vol 2. no. 4 (1984): pp. 208–227. 66   This partition is made by Osborn, Tertullian, p. 41. 67   Prae. 15.4. 68   Guerra, “Polemical Christianity,” p. 122.

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revealing of Christian doctrine through extensive catechetical training, which culminated in Baptism and First Communion.69 Catechesis consisted mainly in acquiring proficiency in the Christian way of life and in some cases the actual doctrinal content was introduced only a little before the initiation. This way of becoming a Christian and engaging in Christian belief-policy was a matter of a long process comprising multiple stages of personal development, with various types of arguments and experiences. Conversion as a whole was understood as changing one’s community or place in the world, a movement from one form of piety or form of life to another. However, it in many cases had a dramatic element (for example, most famously Augustine’s tolle et lege), which could set the movement in process.70 To sum up, the relation of faith and reason in Tertullian’s case is a very multifaceted matter. He makes wide-ranging use of some of the philosophies of his time while being critical of others. The criterion of the usefulness of philosophy is clearly its ability to give a coherent account of biblical witness and Christian experience. For this reason, the Rule of Faith as the sum of Christian beliefs functions as the measure of reasoning. Even if the miraculous element cannot be moved from the heart of Christian faith and made reasonable independently, Tertullian is extremely rigorous in providing universally solid arguments for the coherence of his belief. Argument, however, does not seem to work so much as an evangelistic tool as a defense against external accusations and threats. Similarly, coming to faith does not happen so much through accepting an argument as through embracing a new way of life and perspective on reality. Pascal and Passionate Rationality In this chapter I will assess the nature and goal of Blaise Pascal’s Wager argument (Pari), and examine the role of proof and passions in Pascal’s thought.71 Usually, Pascal’s Wager has been presented as a fideistic or pragmatic argument for the existence of God. The idea behind this interpretation is that Pascal implies that belief in God carries the prospect of eternal reward for strictly limited, even 69

  See Countryman, “Tertullian,” pp. 221–226.  See, for example, Marcia Colish, Ambrose’s Patriarchs: Ethics for the Common Man (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2005); Anthony Grafton and Kenneth Mills (eds), Conversion in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Age: Seeing and Believing (Rochester, N.Y.: University of Rochester Press, 2003); Karl Morrison, Conversion and Text: The Cases of Augustine of Hippo, Herman-Judah, and Constantite Tasatsos (Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 1992) and James Muldoon (ed.), Varieties of Religious Conversion in the Middle Ages (Gainesville: University of Florida Press, 1997). 71   For the background influences of Pascal’s thought see Graham Tomlin, Power of the Cross: Theology and the Death of Christ in Paul, Luther and Pascal (Waynesboro: Paternoster, 1999), p. 256. Denzil Patrick, Pascal and Kierkegaard I (London: Lutterworth Press, 1947), pp. 106–134. 70

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negligible, cost. Pascal does not argue directly for the existence of God insisting only that it is more reasonable to believe than not to believe. Thus when epistemic evidence is inconclusive, one can consult prudential, or pragmatic, reasons.72 It is hence assumed that Pascal does not try to prove, or even examine, the truthfulness of Christianity as such but instead seeks to demonstrate the value of belief in God, even without knowing whether it is objectively true or not. The belief, thus, involves a leap of faith without absolute assurance. In his Pensées, the Wager argument is presented in four different forms. The first one is a weak dominance argument, which claims that a believer is in no case in a position worse off than one who does not believe. The second and third versions introduce probability values to the argument. The second version claims equiprobability of the options, meaning that it is as probable that God exists as not. The famous passage in the Pensées goes as follows: For it is no use to say it is uncertain if we will gain, and it is certain that we risk, and that the infinite distance between the certainty of what is staked and the uncertainty of what will be gained, equals the finite good which is certainly staked against the uncertain infinite. It is not so, as every player stakes a certainty to gain an uncertainty, and yet he stakes a finite certainty to gain a finite uncertainty, without transgressing against reason. There is not an infinite distance between the certainty staked and the uncertainty of the gain; that is untrue. In truth, there is an infinity between the certainty of gain and the certainty of loss. But the uncertainty of the gain is proportioned to the certainty of the stake according to the proportion of the chances of gain and loss. Hence it comes that, if there are as many risks on one side as on the other, the course is to play even; and then the certainty of the stake is equal to the uncertainty of the gain, so far is it from fact that there is an infinite distance between them. And so our proposition is of infinite force, when there is the finite to stake in a game where there are equal risks of gain and of loss, and the infinite to gain. This is demonstrable; and if men are capable of any truths, this is one.73

72   Pragmatic arguments are normally benefit-directed: they try to motivate the acquisition of a belief because of the benefits possibly generated by holding that belief. Truth-directed arguments instead try to acquire a true belief. On the other hand, pragmatic arguments can be a) truth-dependent or b) truth-independent. In case a) benefits are obtained only if a favorable state of affairs occurs. Concordantly, in case b) believing a proposition is recommended because of the benefits of believing itself whether or not the proposition should be true. See Jeff Jordan, “Pragmatic Arguments,” in P. Quinn and C. Taliaferro, A Companion to Philosophy of Religion (Oxford: Blackwell, 1997), pp. 352–353. See also Nicholas Rescher, Pascal’s Wager (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1985), pp. 4–5. 73   Pascal 418. The references are made so that the number indicates the fragment as they appear in Blaise Pascal, Pensées (London: Penguin 1966). The translations are from this edition.

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The third, and the best-known version, claims that no matter how small one takes the odds to be that God exists, as long it is a nonzero probability, one should wager for God’s existence because it carries an infinite expected utility. The logic behind the argument is as follows. Either God exists or not. You can either believe in God or not. From these options the following scheme of options emerges, where p is some indeterminate probability greater than zero but less than 0.5.74 God exists (A) Believe in God (B) Do not believe

P P

God does not exist 1-p 1-p

in God

The expected utility value (EU) of the case (A) is infinite because believing in God in the case that God really exist carries an infinite reward being, thus always bigger than in the case (B) where EU is always some finite value. EU(A) = ∞ x p + (1-p) = ∞ EU(B) = p + (1-p) = some finite value Now, common sense rationality compels one to choose the belief policy, which maximizes EU. Therefore, one should choose to believe no matter how unlikely it is that God exists. The fourth version of the argument implies that believing in God is supreme over not believing, whether God exists or not, because the earthly benefits of believing exceed those of not believing. According to Pascal, living virtuously instead of partaking in corrupt pleasures brings preferable results in this life.75 Whether the Wager is actually convincing is in dispute, and I will not address this question here.76 However, no one denies that the argument is essentially rational, and it can be examined on rational grounds. Pascal is basically using 74

 I use here Craig Duncan’s exposition. See Duncan, “Do Vague Probabilities Scotch Pascal’s Wager?,” Philosophical Studies 112 (2003): pp. 279–280. 75   Jeffrey Jordan, “Pascal’s Wagers and James’s Will to Believe,” in W. Wainwright (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of Philosophy of Religion (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), pp. 176–177. 76   There are multiple fronts on which the Wager argument is discussed. The most common objection is the so-called “other gods argument,” which claims that there are more options to choose than only two. However, according to Pascal not all possibilities are equal in value. Accordingly, Pascal offers extensive arguments for the existence of the Christian God compared to other deities. See Pascal 198, ch. XVI. Secondly, the Wager should not be understood as the first step of argumentation but as the last one. When relevant alternatives are narrowed down to theism and naturalism/skepticism, the Wager is called forth to tip the scale in theism’s favor. On the discussion, see the essays in Jeff Jordan (ed.), Gambling on God: Essays on Pascal’s Wager (Lanham: Roman & Littlefield, 1994) and Jeffrey Jordan, Pascal’s Wager: Pragmatic Arguments and Belief in God (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006).

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reason as an argument for faith. The Wager argument is not meant to be a call for blind choice, absurdity and abandonment of rationality. Distaste for the argument and the charge of fideism arise from Pascal’s anti-evidentialist attitude, which while not dismissing proofs and evidences considers them of minor value. What is of interest is the general notion of rationality in Pascal’s thought. Pascal writes at length about the nature of reason in his Pensées. It may be surprising that so ingenious a thinker as Pascal states “reason can be bent in any direction.”77 Pascal does not regard reason as the master of human mental faculties. What is stronger than his or her reason are the passions.78 They form the inner disposition that affects the use of reason so that a person believes what he or she wants to believe.79 In the past, according to Pascal, this has been demonstrated in occasions where “larceny, incest, infanticide, parricide, everything has at some time been accounted a virtuous action.”80 Even the identification of the highest good has not been undisputed. One says that the sovereign good consists in virtue, another in pleasure, another in the knowledge of nature, another in truth, Felix qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas, [Virgil, Georgics, ii. “Happy is he who is able to know the causes of things.”] another in total ignorance, another in indolence, others in disregarding appearances, another in wondering at nothing, nihil admirari prope res una quae possit facere et servare beatum, [Horace, Epistles, I. vi. 1. “To be astonished at nothing is nearly the only thing which can give and conserve happiness.”] and the true sceptics in their indifference, doubt, and perpetual suspense, and others, wiser, think to find a better definition. We are well satisfied.81

Pascal is hence arguing that the better is not, in fact, free to use reason—for actually he or she has already placed the bet driven by will and emotions. This notion of powerlessness to wager for the existence of God is present already in the Wager fragment, where an unbeliever cries out: “ … I have my hands tied and my mouth closed; I am forced to wager, and am not free. I am not released, and am so made that I cannot believe.” In addition, there are numerous fragments in the Pensées that stress the same thing.82 Instead of seeking to provide a direct argument proving God’s existence, Pascal seems to argue for both the rationality of belief and the depravity of human reason, which results in the inability to believe. The Wager argument is used to show that

77

    79   80   81   82   78

Pascal 530, 820. Pascal 44, 45, 119, 131, 182, 234. Pascal 539. Pascal 60. Pascal 76. For example Pascal, 44–45, 119, 381, 539.

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there is no such thing as neutrality.83 Pascal invites the better to realize, not that there are no real and accessible proofs for Christianity but that people have an irrational distaste for Christianity, which prevents their conversion. All reasoning is perspectival, and, especially, tainted by sin. Yet, the general inability to believe in God and act accordingly does not prevent us from making rational judgments, or even to formulate consistent philosophical and intellectually compelling structures of thought. This is well illustrated in Conversation of Pascal with M. de Saci on Epictetus and Montaigne (Entretien avec M. de Saci, 1658).84 In January of 1655, Pascal was given an opportunity to visit Port-Royal des Champs, which was a small spiritual community that consisted of a number of individuals who lived in a cloister-like environment. Lemaistre de Saci (1612–1694) served at the time as the superior of the community and he was noted for his intellectual capacity to discuss in depth any matter of human science or of philosophy in general. During the course of the conversation, Pascal takes Epictetus and Montaigne as examples of opposite poles in philosophy, which he considers to be the only two coherent and philosophically sound positions. Epictetus, according to Pascal, “is among the philosophers of the world who have best understood the duties of man. He requires, before all things, that he should regard God as his principal object; that he should be persuaded that he governs every thing with justice; that he should submit to him cheerfully; and that he should follow him voluntarily in every thing, as doing nothing except with the utmost wisdom: as thus this disposition will check all complaints and murmurs, and will prepare his mind to suffer tranquilly the most vexatious events.”85 However, the problem of Epictetus is his “diabolic pride.” He values the human duties, and faculties, which he seems to regard as incorrupt, to such an extent that he is unable to see the virtual impossibility of carrying out the duties in reality. Montaigne, skeptic as he is, instead “puts all things in a universal doubt. … His uncertainty revolves upon itself in a perpetual and restless circle, alike opposed to those who affirm that every thing is uncertain and to those who affirm that

83   This view has been argued by Bernard Howells, “The Interpretation of Pascal’s ‘Pari’,” Modern Languages Review 79 (1984): pp. 45–63. See also Graham Tomlin, Power of the Cross, pp. 240–241. 84   The conversation was not written down by either Pascal, or Saci, himself. Also it is not, and it does not pretend to be, a detailed description of the original discussion. Nicolas Fontaine, a member of the order, wrote it down and Michel Tronchain published it as late as 1736. However, it is usually thought that the positions the disputants take are genuine, even though they are presented in quite a poetic form. The same ideas are presented in the Pensées in fragments 131, 182 and 183. 85   Pascal, Conversation, iii. Translations are from Blaise Pascal, Minor Works, vol. XLVIII, 2, trans. O.Q. Wright (New York: P.F. Collier & Son, 1909–1914). Online: www. bartleby.com.

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every thing is not so, because he will affirm nothing.”86 Then Pascal sums up his analysis. It appears to me that the source of the errors of these two sects, is in not having known that the state of man at the present time differs from that of his creation; so that the one, remarking some traces of his first greatness and being ignorant of his corruption, has treated nature as sound and without need of redemption, which leads him to the height of pride; whilst the other, feeling the present wretchedness and being ignorant of the original dignity, treats nature as necessarily infirm and irreparable, which precipitates it into despair of arriving at real good, and thence into extreme laxity. Thus these two states which it is necessary to know together in order to see the whole truth, being known separately, lead necessarily to one of these two vices, pride or indolence, in which all men are invariably before grace, since if they do not remain in their disorders through laxity, they forsake them through vanity, so true is that which you have just repeated to me from St. Augustine, and which I find to a great extent; for in fact homage is rendered to them in many ways.87

Pascal rejects both Epictetus and Montaigne, even though they are philosophically coherent, because they do not square with reality.88 They are totalizing different readings of the world and neither is satisfactory as such because each ignores the rival point of view. However, these positions were not totally misplaced. If they could be melded together a supreme position would emerge. Pascal discusses this possibility with Saci but remains in doubt because they mutually exclude each other. Harmonizing them seems philosophically impossible, but on the other hand in nature and real life knowledge is possible only if both human dignity (Epictetus) and depravity (Montaigne) are taken into account. Then Pascal introduces an idea: Only a divine act could harmonize the apparent contradictions. As an example he mentions the two natures of Christ. This it is that harmonizes the contrarieties by a wholly divine act, and uniting all that is true and expelling all that is false, thus makes of them a truly celestial wisdom in which those opposites accord that were incompatible in human doctrines. And the reason of this is, that these philosophers of the world place contrarieties in the same subject; for the one attributed greatness to nature and the other weakness to this same nature, which could not subsist; whilst faith teaches us to place them in different subjects: all that is infirm belonging to nature, all that is powerful belonging to grace. Such is the marvelous and novel union which God alone could teach, and which he alone could make, and which   Pascal, Conversation, vi.   Pascal, Conversation, xviii. 88   Pascal’s thinking, even in science, was never abstract but always concrete and deeply grounded in reality. See Patrick, Pascal and Kierkegaard, pp. 73, 112. 86

87

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is only a type and an effect of the ineffable union of two natures in the single person of a Man-God.89

The Christian form of rationality Pascal proposes is an inclusive form of rationality. It takes both Epictetus and Montaigne seriously without neglecting either of them. In this union a new third has emerged: a rationality of the cross. But who can adopt such a form of rationality that looks self-contradictory? Pascal himself warns: “contradiction is a poor indication of truth.”90 Clearly, not just any contradiction whatsoever will do. What is interesting here is that Pascal seems to think that people generally adopt this form of rationality because the positions of both Epictetus and Montaigne as such are impossible to implement in real life. So a human person automatically chooses a middle position even when he or she is not able to argue for it philosophically.91 But of course choosing God is at least in some ways different from choosing some mundane thing. In fact, Pascal admits that it is not in the power of a human being to make the choice for God. Although the form of rationality employed in religion is not foreign to people, the choice itself is. As reason is not able to make the choice alone, Pascal emphasizes “the diminution of passions.” In order to believe, that is, to wager for God, one must realize one’s absolute incapacity to wager. This is supposed to lead to self-hatred, and consequent turning away from self-love and the fallen form of rationality, where the true corruptness of reason is neglected.92 A person must be changed in order to come into communion with God. In this change he or she is not supposed to deny reason or forget the evidence.93 Pascal’s notorious claim “the heart has its reason of which reason knows nothing” must be set in its correct context.94 Instead what should be sought is an opening for inspiration, that is, God’s mercy and effective work in the soul, which sets the evidence in the right light. Here are three sources of belief: reason, custom (la coutume), inspiration. The Christian religion, which alone has reason, does not acknowledge as her true children those who believe without inspiration. It is not that she excludes reason and custom. On the contrary, the mind must be opened to proofs, must be confirmed by custom and offer itself in humbleness to inspirations, which alone

  Pascal, Conversation, xiix. See also Pascal 733.   Pascal 177. 91   The idea of a middle position is presented often in the Pensées. See 124, 173, 174, 183, 199. 92   Pascal 378. 93   Pascal 183: “Two excesses: to exclude reason, to admit nothing but reason.” 94   Pascal 423. 89

90

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can produce a true and saving effect. Ne evacuetur crux Christi. [I Cor. 1. 17. “Lest the cross of Christ should be made of none effect.”]95

Religious faith for Pascal consists of rational examination of the evidence and overall claims of the belief. This examination is a never-ending and open-ended process. Secondly, this is joined together with reordering of passions and will through the exercise of faith (that is, custom or habit). And thirdly, there is need for illumination, which is faith as the free gift of God. Thus, faith does not come to be merely through rational examination and diminution of passions. But how do these three function as a whole? Pascal writes: This internal war of reason against the passions has made a division of those who would have peace into two sects. The first would renounce their passions and become gods; the others would renounce reason and become brute beasts. (Des Barreaux.) But neither can do so, and reason still remains, to condemn the vileness and injustice of the passions and to trouble the repose of those who abandon themselves to them; and the passions keep always alive in those who would renounce them.96

We cannot rid ourselves from reason or passions; instead we need to find a way to relate them to each other in a way that takes both of them seriously. Here we see how this relates to the discussion with M. de Saci. Pascal sees the fundamental problem in our nature, or “the heart,” which he uses as holistic expression of human being. Pride and sloth are vices that produce bad reasoning, but as movements of the mind they cannot be located solely either in intellect or will. Habitual behavior, which includes both intellect and will, affects our thinking and feeling, and pride can confirm us in the deluded beliefs and reasoning instigated by our customs and company, thereby reinforcing our habitual practices. “Custom is our nature,” he writes.97 Customs are born from the context we live in: “good or bad company trains or perverts respectively.”98 But here lies a problem. In order to make the right choice we need to be trained in virtues but if we dwell in bad company we will never acquire the correct habit or custom. This Pascal calls “a vicious circle from which anyone is lucky to escape.” However, in a fragment soon after this one, he suggests that breaking the circle is easy. Just give up your life of pleasure and you will have faith. This can even be done “easily.”99 There is some kind of ambivalence in the Pensées regarding the bondage of the will. On the one hand, the human will is deeply enslaved but on the other hand it can free itself by the proper act of will. It seems reasonable to see here differing views as thought experiments, 95

    97   98   99   96

Pascal 808. Pascal 410. Pascal 419. Pascal 814. Pascal 816.

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ultimately suggesting that he did not wish to formulate a simple description about this matter. A similar ambivalence exists with regard to reason as well. On the one hand, he claims that that without reason “religion becomes absurd” and that one should not believe in Christianity because of some authority or demand of conformity but because reason says so. Yet, he admits that reason can lead one to multiple conclusions. Finally it is “the heart,” the unity of reason and will that will produce the correct behavior. Here Pascal uses the human body as an example. As individual members of the body cannot have a life of their own separated from the life of the body, so the different faculties should function so that they desire the good of the body and thus achieve their own good.100 The attitude of avoiding of the extremes and keeping the whole in mind should guarantee the best results. Pascal does claim a role for natural theology in Christian belief.101 He admits that there is a considerable body of proofs, which have some convincing power. Pascal explicitly mentions the historical accuracy of the Bible, miracles, and prophecies; additionally there are entire chapters in the Pensées committed to proofs only.102 Human reason can examine these, but this does not necessarily lead to religious faith. The key factor is not the available evidence but the disposition of the person looking and examining the evidence. The evidence appears true or false depending on the angle from which one looks at it. According to Pascal, proofs can convince (convaincre) but they cannot convert (convertir).103 Pascal offers in fragment 449 an additional reason why a change of approach is needed in religion. He does not want to undertake the task of trying to prove the existence of God or any divine matter by natural reason because he believes that he would never be able to convince “a hardened atheist,” and more importantly such knowledge of God without the knowledge of Christ would be in vain. Pascal claims that it is possible to “have an excellent knowledge of God without that of our own wretchedness and of our own wretchedness without that of God. But we cannot know Jesus Christ without knowing at the same time both God and our own wretchedness.” The examination of nature and philosophy leads, yes, to a god but not to “the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, the God of Jacob, and the God of Christians.” The God of Philosophers, the God without Christ, leads its servants to atheism or deism, both of which are abhorrent to the Christian religion. What is actually wrong with the God of the Philosophers? Pascal does not think that the God of Philosophers and Christ are necessarily different deities, or that examination of proofs by natural reason necessarily leads away from Christ. Instead Pascal sees pure philosophical speculation as a sort of pride, which neglects 100

  Pascal 374.   Pascal’s apologetical method is usually examined as if it consisted in the Wager only. This, however, omits the context where the Wager is supposed to be used. 102   Pascal 418: “I confess it, I admit it. But, still, is there no means of seeing the faces of the cards? Yes, Scripture and the rest, etc.” 103   Tomlin, Power of the Cross, pp. 246–247. 101

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the “wretchedness” of human nature. As reality is paradoxical, so is human nature. Only Christ can salvage humanity from being the perfect paradox. Pascal claims that Christ is the “centre to which all things tend that whoever knows the principles of religion can give an explanation both of the whole nature of man in particular and of the whole course of the world in general.”104 True self-knowledge correlates with knowledge of God and vice versa. It is not thus simply proofs or signs that can change a person and make them capable of believing but “the virtue contained in the folly of the Cross.” A person who has gone through self-annihilation, which comes through the realization of feebleness of both pure rationality and pure skepticism, does not reject the Cross but sees it as the source of ultimate wisdom because it gives an accurate description of human nature and the proper remedy for its wretchedness.105 The person who seeks to become a Christian is advised to start practicing the faith in order to understand the faith. But at least learn your inability to believe, since reason brings you to this, and yet you cannot believe. Endeavor, then, to convince yourself, not by increase of proofs of God, but by the abatement of your passions. You would like to attain faith and do not know the way; you would like to cure yourself of unbelief and ask the remedy for it. Learn of those who have been bound like you, and who now stake all their possessions. These are people, who know the way, which you would follow, and who are cured of an ill of which you would be cured. Follow the way by which they began; by acting as if they believed, taking the holy water, having masses said, etc. Even this will naturally make you believe, and deaden your acuteness.106

Pascal’s advice is in line with his general apologetical style. As reason and a pure evidential approach cannot be considered as the arbiter in this regard, pragmatic arguments are introduced. Likewise the subjective conviction of the truthfulness of Christianity is to be found through the experience of living like a Christian. In short, Pascal’s approach is universally understandable and reasonable as a method for Christians and non-Christians alike. Pascal points to the shortcomings of “pure reason” approaches; nothing can be approached with reason only. 104

  Pascal also claims here that Christ “is a God of love and of comfort, a God who fills the soul and heart of those whom He possesses, a God who makes them conscious of their inward wretchedness, and His infinite mercy, who unites Himself to their inmost soul, who fills it with humility and joy, with confidence and love, who renders them incapable of any other end than Himself.” 105   Pascal 291; Tomlin, Power of the Cross, p. 231. 106   Pascal 418. Kierkegaard offers a similar advice or rule: “The Christian thesis goes not: intelligere ut credam, nor credere ut intelligam. No, it goes, act according to the commands and orders of Christ; do the Father’s will—and you will become a believingone.” JP 3023; XI1 A 339 (1854).

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Although the content of the belief is not natural to non-Christians it has significant points of contact with the general experience of living as a human being. Kierkegaard and Ideal Rationality There are interesting passages in the texts of Kierkegaard, which bring him close to Tertullian. Not only does he praise Tertullian for his famous (but wrongly cited) dictum credo quia absurdum, but he also despises all attempts to bring reconciliation between philosophy and theology: “philosophy and theology can never be united.”107 Again, we must venture beyond the rhetorical exaggerations in order to find the actual belief-forming method that Kierkegaard wishes to propose. Still it must be borne in mind that Kierkegaard is not interested in the general epistemological process of acquiring knowledge from the world. Instead what drives him is achieving the genuine mode of existence, not general epistemology.108 As noted earlier, the fact that Kierkegaard uses pseudonyms posits a hermeneutical problem making interpretation of his texts challenging. The fideist position of an extreme sort—that rational justification is of no value for genuine faith—is primarily found in the pseudonymous writings of Kierkegaard, and the whole issue appears in a somewhat different light in the writings published with his own name, or in his journals. The important thing to remember with the pseudonyms is that (ironically) his most well known books are written under non-Christian pseudonyms. Especially his pseudonym Johannes Climacus (Engl. John the Climber) is a type of person who does not have faith in God—but who is willing to understand what the faith is. Climacus is the “author” of Philosophical Fragments and the famous Concluding Unscientific Postscript. Another important pseudonym in this respect is also Johannes de Silentio (Engl. John of Silence) who is the author of Fear and Trembling, who ponders the story of Abraham and Isaac—without reaching a conclusion (hence the name Silence). One of the ideas in Fear and Trembling is to depict how the unbeliever sees the Abraham narrative. Even if the pseudonyms are not able to reveal the Christian attitude towards faith and reason, Kierkegaard’s non-Christian pseudonyms have an important lesson to teach for they are able to reveal absurdities resulting from wrong approaches to religion and life in general. It is typical for the pseudonyms to emphasize the absurdity and paradoxality of religious faith. In Postscript, Climacus infamously states how “the absurd is that the eternal truth has come into existence in time, that God has come into existence, has been born, has grown up, etc.”109 and “the paradox is primarily that God, the eternal, has entered into time as an individual human being.”110 But why is this 107

    109   110   108

JP 3245; 1 A 94. Rose, Kierkegaard’s Christocentric Theology, p. 175. KW XII.1 210. KW XII.1 596.

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absurd? In the background there lies Gotthold Ephraim Lessing’s (1729–1781) well-known claim: “accidental truths of history can never become the proofs of necessary truths of reason.”111 Lessing had claimed that because one cannot demonstrate the factuality of historical events, nothing can be demonstrated by means of historical truths. In other words, there is no way from particular and accidental events to universal meaning and value. This Lessing regarded as metabasis eis allo genos: a jump from historical truths to metaphysics, and this jump over “the ugly broad ditch” was something Lessing was not able to perform, even though he admits that he would be willing to do so if someone would inform him how to execute the leap. In the beginning of Postscript, Climacus admires Lessing’s position for it seems that Lessing has understood correctly what Christian faith is all about. A contingent Christ-event does constitute the essential core of Christianity and accepting that is a real challenge to what human beings normally regard as reasonable. A peculiar thing in Climacus’s stance is that he sides with an Enlightenment thinker, Lessing, and criticizes simultaneously Christian philosophers and apologetical writers such as Johan Georg Hamann (1730–1788) and Friedrich Jacobi (1743– 1819). Yet, it must be observed that Climacus does not wholly side with Lessing either, as he does not side with Hamann and Jacobi. But why does Climacus see it important to ally with an Enlightenment philosopher in order to support his religious cause? Alastair Hannay proposes that in this way the nature of faith is made more serious and the break with contemporary thinking clearer. In Climacus’s view, Christian thinkers of the Counter-Enlightenment tried to make faith an easy thing. Hamann understood our relation to everything in reality as based on faith. Therefore, if even mundane things require faith, religious faith cannot be more scandalous than any other faith. Jacobi, who had been in correspondence with Lessing trying to help him to make the leap, was too sure about the results of the leap. The leap was too easy, too assured, and without risk.112 For Climacus it was not right to unmake the ditch, instead it should be as wide as possible—even infinite. Kierkegaard seems to need the as-wide-as-possible-ditch because this reveals the act of faith in its extreme form, and how it is seen outside of faith.

  G.E. Lessing, Lessing’s Theological Writings (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1956), p. 53. 112   Alastair Hannay, Kierkegaard: A Biography (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), pp. 290, 296. Actually Kierkegaard, Hamann, and Jacobi are very close to each other. The main difference seems to lie in the issue of whether believing is easy or not. Kierkegaard’s non-Christian pseudonyms tend to describe faith as very hard, whereas Christian philosophers seem to suggest that it is not so hard after all. The background tactics, however, are similar. Both share the interest of criticizing autonomous reasons and giving more attention to the role of the passions. See also Graeme Garrard, CounterEnlightenments (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2006), pp. 32–33. 111

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In Climacus’s works, the content of faith is summarized in bare Christological language, where the presence of the eternal God in time forms the paradox, which reason cannot fathom. However, Kierkegaard’s Christian pseudonym, AntiClimacus, who according to Kierkegaard represents a perfect Christian, offers another perspective on the issue. Anti-Climacus extensively explains faith’s relation to offense. When a non-Christian, such as Climacus, examines the story of Christ, he evidently finds it amazing, or even truly absurd. Accordingly, the unbeliever is offended by the absurd story of Christ. In this respect both Christian and non-Christian pseudonyms share similar goal: there is something in faith that cannot be translated into the language of pure reason only. According to Anti-Climacus, offense is due to three elements in the narratives about Christ. Firstly, in Christ it becomes evident how a single person is more important than the system or the multitude. Thus it is Christ, as single person, who challenges everything there is. Secondly, the divinity of Christ, when contained in humanity, offends people necessarily. It was hard even for Christ’s contemporaries to regard Him as divine.113 Thirdly, the humanity of Christ offends people as well. It is thought that it is not fitting for a divine being to exist in such a low form as He did.114 However, this way offense enables faith, when it singles out the person of Christ as the object of belief.115 Offense, therefore, safeguards Christian faith. Without the possibility of offense there is no Christian faith, but speculation: an attempt to modify the content of the paradox. Speculation does not leave the paradox as it is because it thinks that the activity of reason is to offer an explanation for everything. However, this Kierkegaard thinks to be the wrong assignment for reason because “the activity of reason is to distinguish the paradox negatively—but no more.”116 It is important to note that Kierkegaard does not abandon the use of the reason. He argues that reason must do everything that is in its power but then it must cease and make way for faith. Reason is used to examine the propositions made about God, especially those concerning the incarnation of the Son, in order to truly locate the paradox. Reason is especially needed to find the paradox. Then, however, reason is not to be allowed to solve the riddle because it will end up in

  For Lessing (Theological Writings, 106) Christ’s divinity seems to form an offense.  On the categories of offense, see KW XX 123–144 (Practice in Christianity). 115   KW XX 81: “Just as the concept ‘faith’ is an altogether distinctively Christian term, so in turn is ‘offense’ an altogether distinctively Christian term relating to faith. The possibility of offense is the crossroad, or it is like standing at the crossroad. From the possibility of offense, one turns either to offense or to faith, but one never comes to faith except from the possibility of offense.” 116   JP 7, X A 354. 113 114

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destroying the object of the paradox—which must remain intact.117 Explaining the unexplained is out of question (because that would be irrational).118 The correct activity of reason is to define what must be believed. For Kierkegaard, it would be irrational to make reason absolute, because reason can see that it cannot comprehend everything, that is, it is not absolute. For Climacus, the act of belief is not irrational and devoid of understanding because “[the Christian] must have [understanding] in order to believe against understanding.” The limits of the reason are not random but they are drawn by reason itself. So it is not faith but reason that makes those limits. In addition, understanding prevents the Christian from believing “nonsense.”119 Clearly, Climacus thinks that “paradox” and “absurd” are not “nonsense.”120 Therefore, just anything that is contrary to understanding, like square circles, will not do. However, before I address the content of faith, the issue of the nature of   KW VII 59 (Fragments): “How then does the learner come to an understanding with this paradox, for we do not say that he is supposed to understand the paradox but is only to understand that this is the paradox. We have already shown how this occurs. It occurs when the understanding and the paradox happily encounter each other in the moment, when the understanding steps aside and the paradox gives itself, and the third something, the something in which this occurs (for it does not occur through the understanding, which is discharged, or through the paradox, which gives itself—consequently in something), is that happy passion to which we shall now give a name, although for us it is not a matter of the name. We shall call it faith. This passion, then, must be that above-mentioned condition that the paradox provides.” 118  In KW XII.1 218–219 (Postscript), Climacus writes: “What on the whole does it mean to explain something? Does explaining mean to show that the obscure something in question is not this but something else? That would be a strange explanation. I should think that by the explanation it would become clear that the something in question is this definite something, so that the explanation would remove not the thing in question but the obscurity. Otherwise the explanation is something other than an explanation; it is a correction. An explanation of the paradox makes clear what the paradox is and removes the obscurity; a correction removes the paradox and makes clear that there is no paradox. But the latter is certainly no explanation of the paradox but rather an explanation that there is no paradox. But if the paradox emerges from the placing together of the eternal and an existing individual human being, does the explanation, in removing the paradox, then also remove existing from the existing person? .. Consequently, the explanation of the absolute paradox that declares there is no paradox except to a certain degree, in other words, that there are only relative paradoxes, is an explanation not for existing individuals but for the absentminded.” 119   KW XII.1 567 (Postscript). See also KW VII 59 (Fragments). 120   Instead, Kierkegaard claims that faith involves “a contradiction.” This does not mean formal or logical contradiction but a general opposition, which is not exclusive. For a good expositions of the subject, see C. Stephen Evans, Faith Beyond Reason (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998), pp. 80–83, and Janne Kylliäinen, Living Poetically in the Modern Age: The Situational Aspects of Kierkegaard’s Thought (Helsinki: Philosophical Studies from the University of Helsinki 2009), pp. 329–344. 117

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the paradox needs to be examined. Climacus claims that the paradox is absolute, meaning that it cannot be explained away. It is not a misty cloud but an impenetrable concrete wall. The paradox does not cease to exist even in the kingdom to come since it is a description of the act of God and therefore a depiction of God’s eternal identity. The becoming of God in time, however, is not a logical inconsistency or a nonsensical statement. Eternity and time, God and human, universal and particular do not exclude each other, although it is absurd for reason to seek to understand how they could be joined. Recognizing this, reason comes to its limits and is thereby made perfect.121 Thus, Kierkegaard is not an irrationalist. Instead he aims only to show that reason has its limits, and there is nothing revolutionary about that. Before Kierkegaard, Immanuel Kant had already done this in his Critique of Pure Reason. According to Kant, when reason reaches its limits it falls into contradictory claims (antinomies).122 But then, how to live with contradictory claims? As already noted, Climacus offers a non-Christian view of faith and it seems that there is no solution here to be found. Yet, in his journals Kierkegaard describes the absurd from the other side of the threshold. “When the believer has faith, the absurd is not the absurd—faith transforms it, but in every weak moment it is again more or less absurd to him. The passion of faith is the only thing that masters the absurd … Therefore, rightly understood there is nothing at all frightening in the category of the absurd.”123 This does not mean that faith “explains” the paradox. What is believed is always beyond comprehension.124 Even if faith does offer a solution to the paradox, faith also changes the relation of an individual to it. Here we need to define what Kierkegaard actually means by rationality. C. Stephen Evans has used the terms concrete and ideal to depict the nature of two different concepts of rationality, which seem to affect Kierkegaard’s discourse. Concrete reason accepts as reasonable only (objectively) provable things, and considers itself self-sufficient. Thus anything that this reason does not understand must be nonsense. The ideal mode of rationality, instead, understands its limits. The role of reason in the belief-forming process is revered and an irrational authority does not set it aside, but reason itself wills its own downfall. The critique

121  In KW VII 37 (Fragments), Climacus says: “But the ultimate potentiation of every passion is always to will its own downfall, and so it is also the ultimate passion of the understanding to will the collision, although in one way or another the collision must become its downfall. This, then, is the ultimate paradox of thought: to want to discover something that thought itself cannot think.” 122   Kant, Critique of Pure Reason (NY: St. Martin’s Press, 1965), pp. 111–112. 123   Quoted in Alastair McKinnon, “Søren Kierkegaard,” in Ninian Smart et al. (eds), Nineteenth Century Religious Thought in the West (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985), p. 197. See also JP X 2 A 592. 124   JP XI 2 A 380.

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of the concrete notion of rationality does not indicate rejecting rationality per se but seeing rationality in different forms—as also Tertullian and Pascal do.125 Next we need to consider the nature of the paradox and Christian revelation. Kierkegaard encountered this challenge in a curious form during his own lifetime. A Danish pastor named Adolf Peter Adler (1812–1869) claimed to have experienced a mystical vision, which caused him to distance himself from Hegelianism, which had previously been his intellectual backbone. In his vision Jesus had commanded him to burn the books he had previously written from the Hegelian viewpoint. Instead he started to publish new books that included the visions and revelations he had received. After some hearings and trials he was suspended from his office due to obvious mental disorder. In the Book of Adler, Kierkegaard discusses the case of Adler and his own relations to Adler’s project. Kierkegaard (like Adler) was an individual against the crowd. Both of them wanted to reclaim the apostolic Christianity. Yet their cases were different. Adler treated his own visions as the means of divine revelation, equal or even superior to the tradition and Scriptures. Kierkegaard instead called for submission under the authority of the Apostle and insisted that being an inspired individual with attitude, message, and the mission does make one an authentic Christian.126 Kierkegaard claims that Adler never actually managed to shake off Hegelianism from his back. Adler had never yielded under the authority of the apostolic witness, not before and not after his mystic visions. According to Kierkegaard what makes religious experience and different passions Christian is that they are to be controlled by the “definition-of-concepts” (Begreps-Bestemmelser). When the emotion is transposed or expressed in words in order to be communicated, this transposition must occur within the definitionof-concepts. Truly Christian awakening requires the Christian emotion and the definite conceptual-language (Begreps-Sproget). Even though Christian faith is subjective, incommunicable, and unprovable, it is not autonomous, independent, or self-contained. It cannot take just any form or expression.127 In other words, the Christian person, and theologian, needs to be familiar with and loyal to the Christian dogma.128 This dogma is the safeguard against subjectivism.129 But  Evans, Faith Beyond Reason, pp. 94, 106.   Kierkegaard, On Authority and Revelation, pp. 163–166. 127   Arnold B. Come, Kierkegaard as Theologian: Recovering My Self (Montreal: McGill-McQueen Press, 1997), p. 28. 128   Kierkegaard, On Authority, 166: JP VII2 B 235, pp. 200–201. 129  See, for example, KW XIX 96–97 (Sickness Unto Death). Kierkegaard has been sometimes read in an anti-realist way to mean that the theological concepts do not refer to an actual mind-independent reality. Kierkegaard, however, claims that “the Christian reality exists before any Christian exists, it must exist in order for anyone to be able to become a Christian. … even if no one had perceived that God had been revealed in human form in Christ, yet God had been revealed.” Kierkegaard, On Authority, p. 168–170; Papirer VII2 B 235. For the realism/antirealism debate on Kierkegaard, see C. Stephen Evans, “Realism 125 126

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why this set of dogmas? Why choose Christian dogma over another religion or philosophy? Why this Apostle and not that? Kierkegaard was a well-known opponent of apologetics and he definitely was not eager to argue for the superiority of Christianity over other worldviews since that would imply disbelief.130 What then should be done? Should we believe without argument just because someone is claiming something? As a fierce critic of group mindedness, he obviously did not want to argue that we should believe in Christianity because everyone else believes it too, or just because we happen to live in a cultural setting where Christianity is the major religious system. Neither had he wished to give room for a kind of individualism where everyone is a prophet of his or her own revelation. Christianity should be proclaimed as it is without attempts to reconcile it with the needs of contemporary times. Yet, this does not mean that Christian faith is a call for a blind choice. Christianity contains elements which make it a warranted object of belief (but this so only if Christianity is treated as it is).131 I use “warrant” here not to indicate that Kierkegaard would have wanted to justify the faith but that he thought that there are some elements which make Christian faith a unique and live option. First, all religions have doctrine. In Islam, for example, it is based on the teachings of Mohammad. In Christianity, however, the “doctrine” is not a teaching so much as it is a person and the works and acts (Virksomhed) of this person. Christian faith is about who Christ is more than what he taught (although the latter is not unimportant).132 Second, the person of Christ as such is the nexus of time and eternity, immanence and transcendence, God and human being. Christ is the ultimate synthesis, the paradox of God-in-time. In other words, Christ is genuinely historical but not “merely historical,” and thus able to make what is historical and in time eternal. Arnold B. Come expresses this clearly: “Theology is indeed ‘internal’ to us as and Antirealism in Kierkegaard’s Concluding Unscientific Postscript,” in Alastair Hannay and Gordon D. Marino (eds), The Cambridge Companion to Kierkegaard (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999). 130   Kierkegaard tries to avoid idle speculations about the truth of Christian doctrine. This he sees mostly as an excuse to delay conversion. A person, who wants to wait until a certain amount of proof is available, will wait until the end of time. See KW XXI, 34– 35 (For Self-examination). In KW XIX 87 (Sickness Unto Death) Anti-Climacus writes: “To defend something is disparage it. … Well, he who defends it has never believed it. If he believes, then the enthusiasm of faith is not a defence—no, it is attack and victory; a believer is a victor.” 131  In fact, this is a somewhat contested issue in Kierkegaard scholarship and it seems Kierkegaard himself ventured back and forth regarding this issue. For a general overview and balanced criticism of Kierkegaard’s view of epistemic justification, see Paul F. Sands, The Justification of Religious Faith in Soren Kierkegaard, John Henry Newman and William James (Piscataway: Gorgias, 2004), pp. 94–102. 132   KW XII 326.

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something subjectively appropriated, but this process of appropriation is dependent on a relationship to something that is not only ‘external’ to us but that is further deliminated as a unique particular event in space and time, and so is ‘historical’.”133 Therefore, the person of Christ forms the center of Christian faith, it gives form to the way of believing and being, or continuously becoming, a Christian. Believing in paradox as a belief policy is something that continually goes beyond the limits of immanent, secular reason. This way, through the God-man, Christianity is able to claim being in touch with God.134 These elements give the unique character to the Christian faith which makes it stand out in the middle of all religions. But “unique” here does not have to mean “absolutely different.” All human beings share the same universe, same mysteries, and questions of existence. Kierkegaard continuously plays with the idea of imaginatively constructing something from paganism that goes beyond paganism. For example, Kierkegaard’s Philosophical Fragments was this kind of test case.135 Therefore what Christianity claims is unique but it still has resonance with other religions, faiths, and worldviews. It engages with the same questions but gives unique answers, which are yet understandable to others.136 Therefore, theology is not sealed off from other discourses. Kierkegaard uses philosophical language and arguments all the time to make his point. Here much can be built upon common experiences shared by all people and thoughts developed by secular philosophers. Yet, Christ remains as a mystery to be embraced by faith. Revelation is something empirical, contingent, and historical. It is located in Christ’s life and actions. Christ’s existence and action in history makes Him the specific source, basis, and authority of Christian theology. However, because   Come, Kierkegaard, pp. 16–17.   For example KW XII.1 578. 135  See also KW XII.1 361. 136  See, for example, Come, Kierkegaard, p. 247. In a draft of Postscript Kierkegaard illustrates this in the following way: “Socrates, therefore, does not have Christian faith at all; it is of course not found in paganism, but he has an analogy to it. His paradox is just the expression for the passion of inwardness with which he relates to the eternal truth, which becomes a paradox only by pertaining to an existing person, by being appropriated by an existing person. Thus it was also a paradox of faith to believe that there is a god, which still is by no means Christian faith.” KW XII.2 50–51. The passage continues to further explore the similarities and differences between Socrates and Christianity. “The Christian paradox is the passion of inwardness in relation to the eternal truth, which itself proclaims to be a paradox, and in turn this passion of inwardness has subjectively its most paradoxical expression in the individual’s being a sinner himself—and consequently he is hindered, not only by existing, in acknowledging the eternal truth. The objective paradox, on the other hand, is formed in this way: the eternal truth, which itself proclaims itself to be the paradox, has a historical element within itself, has come into existence. Just as the Socratic paradox appeared through the eternal truth’s relating itself to an existing person, similarly the Christian paradox appears through the eternal truth’s having itself come into existence and now in turn relating itself to an existing person in paradoxical passion.” 133

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Christ is the nexus of divine and human realities, and one of a kind, the concepts formed on this basis are necessarily unique. They have a different essence and function compared with all other concepts. Thus, we need a different type of concept formation and assessment, which secular philosophy is not able to provide. There is no direct way to ascend from “secular” to “Christian” or from “universal” to “particular”—the road goes in the opposite direction.137 A well-known place where these notions of inter-communal communication appear is in the context of Kierkegaard’s existential spheres: aesthetic, ethical, and religious. There is no necessary development from one sphere to another. Consequently, it might seem that one sphere cannot call another into question because they are different readings of the world. However, the leap from one sphere to another takes place when a sphere consumes itself into nothingness. In the aesthetical stage, it is the realization that the aesthetic’s life is totally grounded on external beings and states of life. She is happy when everything is OK around her, but unhappy when it is not. A crisis, for example, in the course of life may cause critical evaluation of such shallowness. Is there more to this life? At the ethical level it is the notion of guilt that causes the downfall. What should I do with the absolute demand of righteousness? What should I do when I fail? These questions drive a person towards God as the source of her existence, and the religious existential stage. Therefore, the fundamental criticism comes from within, not outside, the sphere. These crises are of such a nature that these spheres themselves cannot answer them. However the next stage is able to give a solution, and realization of this affects the leap.138 In conclusion, Kierkegaard can hardly be considered an irrationalist. His whole corpus forms an extremely detailed argument, which shows remarkable affinity with and knowledge of the philosophy of his day. Kierkegaard acknowledges the inherent plurality in human life and the impossibility of trying to force everything under one system. Although his main thrust seems to be against natural theology, he does not turn his back on it completely. Questions of faith can be discussed publicly and openly. Yet for him, as was also the case with Tertullian and Pascal, faith is not a matter of winning an argument. It is a matter of taking a place in the world, coming to have a perspective on reality, or being on a journey to inhabit that perspective more fully. Even when it is still out of reach, one can understand what it is, hold it true and desire it. Yet, arguments can be used. They may be targeted against rival forms of life. They may indirectly support one’s own position but Kierkegaard does not think that one can have any argument for Christian faith other than the mystery of the person that Christ is.

  Kierkegaard, On Authority, pp. 107–111. See also Come, Kierkegaard, p. 21.   For a brief introduction to this theme, see C. Stephen Evans, Kierkegaard’s “Fragments” and “Postscript”: The Religious Philosophy of Johannes Climacus (Atlantic Highlands: Humanities Press, 1983). 137 138

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Reformed Epistemology and Practical Rationality In recent philosophy of religion, Alvin Plantinga’s apologetical method has received the fideist label. In their philosophical program, Plantinga and other Reformed epistemologists try to answer the “evidentialist challenge.”139 The evidentialist objection against theism claims that accepting propositions should be rational in the sense that propositions should not be believed if there exists no adequate public evidence for the belief. In addition, the firmness of belief should not exceed the amount of available evidence.140 Plantinga argues that this type of evidentialism is based on epistemological foundationalism, which has recently come in for heavy criticism. However, Plantinga does not want to the reject the foundationalist noetic structure in toto. Instead he wants redefine the criteria of how we should decide what counts as a basic belief on which other beliefs are grounded. Plantinga defines the fundamental principle of classical foundationalism as follows: (CF) A proposition p is properly basic for a person S if and only if p is either self-evident to S or incorrigible for S or evident to the senses for S.141

Plantinga claims that CF contains two deficits which make it epistemologically unsatisfying. More generally, Reformed epistemologists have criticized classical foundationalism as holding too narrow a view concerning which beliefs can be properly basic. Firstly, according to CF most of our everyday beliefs would be unjustified, such as beliefs about the past, or of the external world. Secondly, CF is not itself self-evident, incorrigible, or evident to the senses; additionally CF cannot be inferred from beliefs that are incorrigible or self-evident. This makes CF selfreferentially incoherent. 142 From this Plantinga concludes that both evidentialist attacks and defenses with respect to Christian theology are to a certain degree misplaced. Reformed 139   For good general introductions, see Timo Koistinen, Philosophy of Religion or Religious Philosophy? A Critical Study of Contemporary Anglo-American Approaches (Helsinki: Schriften der Luther-Agricola-Gesellschaft, 2000), pp. 92–122; James K. Beilby, Epistemology as Theology: An Evaluation of Alvin Plantinga’s Religious Epistemology (Aldershot: Ashgate 2005), and Keith Mascord, Alvin Plantinga and Christian Apologetics (Waynesboro: Paternoster 2006). 140  See, for example, Nicholas Wolterstorff, “Can Belief in God be Rational if it has no Foundations?,” in A. Plantinga and N. Wolterstorff (eds.), Faith and Rationality: Reason and Belief in God (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1983), p. 136. 141   Alvin Plantinga, “Reason and Belief in God,” in A. Plantinga and N. Wolterstorff (eds.), Faith and Rationality: Reason and Belief in God (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1983), p. 136. 142   Alvin Plantinga, Warranted Christian Belief (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), pp. 97–99.

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epistemologists call for a more generous view of proper basicality insisting that it is improper to assume that belief in God is irrational unless evidence for God’s existence can be presented. Plantinga boldly goes on to claim “it is entirely right, rational, reasonable, and proper to believe in God without evidence at all.”143 It is this claim and its apparent anti-evidentialist attitude that has launched the fideist charges against Reformed epistemology: Plantinga abandons reason and summons the fideistic shelter to protect theism from criticism.144 In the following, I will briefly illustrate Reformed epistemologists’ strategy with an eye to alleged fideism and consequent relativism. A central part of Plantinga’s strategy is that he separates de facto and de jure objections to religious belief. The de facto objection is targeted against the truth(s) of Christian belief: some state of affairs makes a particular belief untrue. De jure objections instead deal with the justification of the act of belief. Briefly put, de facto objections claim that there is something wrong with the content of the belief, while de jure objections claim there is something wrong in the act of the belief. Although these aspects may and do coincide, they can be assessed separately. In his Warranted Christian Belief, Plantinga concentrates on the de jure objections and tries to argue that there is no such justified objection, that is, defeater, against the act of Christian belief.145 The epistemological problem with regard to de facto questions is that it is never possible to answer them from religiously neutral point of view. In a way, one has already decided what one will say about given thing before stating one’s argument.146 Plantinga claims that Christians are not responsible for the atheist’s norms of rationality since Christianity has a particular notion of rationality. Siding with Roderick Chisholm, he claims that we have no universal a priori criteria for rationality, which could function as a demarcative tool in our definition of proper basicality.147 Rejecting the deductive formation of justified beliefs, Plantinga proposes inductive orientation as the way of Christian reasoning according to which the concept of rationality is based on particular experiences and beliefs as in Tertullian’s case. Nicholas Wolterstorff, another Reformed epistemologist, adopts a similar strategy claiming that we have prima facie justification for our beliefs because it is rational to believe that our cognitive faculties are reliable. The belief becomes irrational only if the believer finds defeaters against the belief, which she cannot 143

  Plantinga, “Reason,” p. 17.   For criticisms from a Thomistic point of view, see, for example, Linda Zagzebski (ed.), Rational Faith: Catholic Responses to Reformed Epistemology (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1993). In recent years the disagreement between Thomistic thinkers and Reformed epistemologists has been to some extent diminished. See Mascord, Alvin Planntinga, pp. 190–202. 145   Alvin Plantinga, Warranted Christian Belief, pp. viii–xi. 146   Plantinga, “Advice to Christian Philosophers,” Faith and Philosophy 1 (1984): p. 271. 147   Koistinen, Philosophy of Religion, p. 98. 144

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refute. However, because the Reformed epistemologist is not obliged to respect non-theistic criteria, what does count as an adequate defeater? In this respect, it could be only another belief the person already holds. Wolterstorff states that this is a form of “negative coherence theory.” In contrast to positive coherence theories, one does not need positive support for the belief; it is enough that there are no adequate defeaters.148 But clearly mere internal coherency will not warrant that one’s position is better than the critic’s position. As a response to the challenge of pluralism, Plantinga claims that the notion that there exist plural systems with differing basic beliefs and descriptions of rationality is “irrelevant” to Christian philosophers. They are not obliged to justify their way of thinking by the rules of the others. In fact, this reflects just what philosophy is: different systems of thought arguing against each other.149 However, in order to argue one does need something in common. Reformed epistemologists are not naïve in the sense that they would hold that all beliefs are equally true. They acknowledge the inherent plurality in the world and the fact that people hold different beliefs, which they themselves regard as warranted by the rules of their own systems.150 Even though Reformed epistemologists acknowledge that different communities reason in different ways, they hold that people can engage in reasonable debate about those beliefs. Reformed epistemologists’ argumentation follows the rules of standard logic and their arguments are generally understandable to anyone independently of his or her worldviews. Additionally, the acceptation of religious beliefs as properly basic does not entail rigid fundamentalism. Since justification for holding beliefs is only prima facie, the believing person has to find acceptable answers to the defeaters threatening his or her basic beliefs. The Reformed epistemologists’ view is fallibilist: beliefs are at best prima facie justified, thus they may turn out to be false in the end. Nevertheless, within this fallibilist framework, Plantinga thinks that some views are objectively more warranted than others. In Warranted Christian Belief, Plantinga discusses the role of rationality in belief formation: on what grounds we may regard a belief as rationally warranted?

148

  Wolterstorff, “Can Belief in God be Rational,” pp. 170–75.   Plantinga, Warranted, pp. 437–457. See also Wolterstorff’s account of dialogical pluralism in Wolterstorff, Justice: Rights and Wrongs (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2008), p. xi. 150   For Reformed epistemologists, reality is layered in such a way that on the bottom of everything exists a pre-scientific worldview, which affects the nature of actual scientific discourse. Depending on the grounding of the deepest commitments very different systems of thought will emerge. See, for example, Wolterstorff, Reason in the Bounds of Religion (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1999), pp. 68–84; Plantinga, “Advice”. Dutch Reformed philosophy (Kyuper, Dooyeweerd) had formulated this before. See James K.A. Smith, Introducing Radical Orthodoxy (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2004), p. 172. 149

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Here Plantinga relies on William Alston’s account of practical rationality as presented in his Perceiving God.151 According to Alston, in many cases the formation of beliefs about God happens on the basis of experience or perception of God. This, he argues, can be taken as an act of practical rationality. Alston claims that there exist “mystical doxastic practices” of which Christian Mystical Practice (CMP) is a specific variant. When compared to sense perception (SP) we are forced to concede that there exist no non-circular arguments for claiming that SP or CMP are reliable. In the case of SP, we need to rely on our senses in order to argue for the reliability of SP. In fact, all our basic doxastic practices are “in the same leaky epistemological boat;” none of them can be argued to be reliable in a non-circular way. This Alston calls “the crisis of rationality.” Because the best option (non-circular argumentation) is not possible for us, he goes for the second best option trying to argue that CMP is practically rational to engage in. Alston claims that SP and CMP are socially established practices that are not demonstrably unreliable or otherwise disqualified, and they do not lead to massive inconsistencies. Thus there is no reason to think them to be unreliable; additionally we know of no alternative doxastic practices whose reliability we could demonstrate in an epistemically noncircular fashion. Lastly, it would be disruptive to stop forming belief in these ways.152 From this Alston concludes that one has an epistemic right to rely on CMP and in doing so one does not violate any notion of rationality which could be reasonably employed in these kinds of situations. In other words, it is pragmatically rational to trust one’s senses even in the absence of non-circular proof for the reliability of sense-experiences.153 A typical criticism against this type of rationality is that it is too permissive. The negation of evidentialism is feared to lead to too loose criteria or counterintuitive ways of holding beliefs. If the criteria for proper basicality are always tradition-dependent, or even subjective, how can we assess the questions about, for example, the source of my religious experience, is it Jahve, Allah, the Hindu monkey god Hanuman, or something else?154 151

 Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1991.   Alston, Perceiving God, pp. 146–225; Plantinga, Warranted, pp. 108–134. 153  Of course, this argument is a lot more nuanced than this short summary. See Alston, Perceiving God. Alston does acknowledge that religious pluralism reduces the rationality of engaging in CMP below what it would be if there were no other religions. Nevertheless, he argues that it does not make engaging in CMP irrational. (Ibid., pp. 274–278.) 154   For example David W. Tien has argued for Confucian beliefs using Plantinga’s method; see Tien, “Warranted Neo-Confucian belief: Religious pluralism and the affections in the epistemologies of Wang Yangming (1472–1529) and Alvin Plantinga,” International Journal for Philosophy of Religion 55 (2004): pp. 31–55. The classic example is known as “The Great Pumpkin Objection”: Is one entitled to believe in the existence of the Great Pumpkin if one uses Plantinga’s method? Plantinga denies this by claiming that this is not a real option for genuine belief. According to Plantinga, one must have adequate experience 152

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Among others, Norman Kretzman and Richard Swinburne have criticized Plantinga’s negative stand towards evidentialism.155 Kretzman claims that evidentialism, in the broad sense, is a universal, natural and intuitive part of all rational activity. In his view, Plantinga usually understands the phrase “believe on the basis of” generatively, meaning that one believes as a consequence of seeing the force of particular evidence. This view, according to Kretzman, does not give a right picture of the role of evidence in belief formation processes. Even Thomas Aquinas does not claim that proofs (The Five Ways) are the ways, which actually lead people to religious faith, but instead are vehicles to support already present faith. In fact, while Plantinga does not think that evidential proofs, or public evidence, are irrelevant for faith, he argues that evidence does not (and does not have to) play the kind of role in belief formation suggested by hard forms of evidentialism.156 Reformed epistemology seeks to provide standards of rationality which are not immediately self-refuting. This leads them to advocate what some see as lowering commonly accepted standards, which consequently leads to increased possibilities of being in error. You may have an epistemic right to a belief, which eventually may turn out to be false. Your belief may be warranted but still false. The more risks you take, the more likely you are to hold false beliefs. Nicholas Rescher offers a relevant perspective on how risk functions in knowledge seeking. According to Rescher there can be two extremes: risk-seeking and risk-avoiding. Risk-avoiders effectively avoid having false beliefs, at the cost of losing the possibility of obtaining correct new information. Conversely, riskseekers are likely to find new truths alongside many results that are unwanted. For example, if a person believes everything that is possible to believe, she will no doubt hold some correct beliefs but will simultaneously have numerous beliefs that are not true. Rescher sees both these strategies as unsatisfying. In the middle of the existence of God before it can be considered as a properly basic belief. Holding beliefs without such experience would be an example of an irrational basic belief. Even if Plantinga can convincingly argue against belief in the Great Pumpkin, things get more complicated with actually existing belief systems, like Hinduism and Islam. For a more detailed treatment, see Beilby, Epistemology, pp. 130–135. 155   Norman Kretzman, “Evidence against Anti-evidentialism,” in Kelly J. Clark (ed.), Our Knowledge of God: Essays on Natural and Philosophical Theology (London: Kluwer, 1992). Richard Swinburne’s criticisms are fairly similar, See, for example, Swinburne, “Plantinga on Warrant”, Religious Studies 37 (2001): pp. 208–210. 156   Koistinen claims that in the end, Kretzman and Plantinga are not very far from each other. See Koistinen, Philosophy, pp. 129-130. See also Plantinga, Warranted, p. 368; “Rationality and Public Evidence: A reply to Richard Swinburne,” Religious Studies 37 (2001): pp. 217, 222. Beilby, Epistemology as Theology, pp. 124–128. Still, many people think that this is the weakest point in Plantinga’s thought. Beilby comments that Plantinga’s (as such correct) observation that public arguments do not convince everybody, should not lead one to think that public theistic arguments should not be used. See also Mascord, Alvin Plantinga, pp. 208–220.

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of the spectrum are risk-calculators, who try to find a balance between obtaining real knowledge and minimizing false knowledge. In this case, you understand that obtaining new knowledge or perspective means always taking a risk but at the same time one must try to rule out possibly false beliefs.157 Recently, Deane-Peter Baker has demonstrated how Plantinga’s project could be augmented in the direction suggested by those critics who see the emphasis on mere de jure questions as wanting. Reformed epistemology’s treatment of de jure questions can be considered feasible as such but the problem lies in its inability to provide reasons for conversion. The belief may be warranted but are there reasons why I should believe it in the first place, or are there public arguments that could make it reasonable for me to change my religion? Baker argues that transcendental arguments could be used here in support of an already existing agenda. In particular, Baker employs Charles Taylor’s phenomenological argument for the existence of God as an exemplary case.158 This kind of transcendental argument does not prove that God exists; rather, its purpose is to provide independent reasons for seeing a particular belief as possibly true or at least worthy of consideration. If Christian theism does provide a good account of our moral phenomenology, as Taylor suggests, then the truth claims of Christianity cannot be dismissed as irrelevant without further consideration. Although transcendental arguments do not settle the de facto question once and for all, they do make what they argue for a live option for belief.159 In sum, the Reformed epistemologists’ faith is not unassailably secured from criticisms; there exists a complex and delicate method for considering competing claims, and in theory (and in practice as well) it is possible that one will modify one’s beliefs when good reasons are given.160 Thus, it cannot be considered an isolated discourse even if it considers rationality to be tradition-dependent. Being tradition-based does not entail being immune from criticism. While starting from a certain perspective, the believer and the communities of faith necessarily bring their tradition within range of public discussion and argumentation.

 Nicholas Rescher, Pluralism: Against the Demand of Consensus (Oxford: Clarendon, 2000), pp. 82–84. 158   Taylor presents this argument in his Sources of the Self. According to Taylor, one needs a theistic framework for arguing for universal love, as naturalist metaphysics are unable to give support for it. See Deane-Peter Baker, Tayloring Reformed Epistemology: Charles Taylor, Alvin Plantinga and the De Jure Challenge to Christian Belief (London: SCM, 2007), pp. 105–191. 159   Baker, Tayloring, pp. 206–208. 160  See Beilby, Epistemology, p 126. For this reason, Beilby thinks that Plantinga cannot be considered a fideist. For a good treatment of how defeaters actually work see Ibid., pp. 164–177. 157

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Fideism Revisited In the first section of this chapter I called into question the standard distinctions and classes of Christian fideism. My reading of the standard fideist thinkers has shown that the basic distinction between categories of “rational” and “irrational” is too simplistic to support a detailed account of the nature of the belief-policies proposed by these thinkers. The irrational form of religious fideism exists mainly as an abstract possibility, rather than in reality. Of course, the existence of religionbased violence is indeed real, but we must be careful in considering whether the violent acts are result of certain belief-policies or certain beliefs. I will return to this question later in the study. Nevertheless, the simplistic classification of fideism as irrationalism is highly suspect and should be rejected. In the following, I present a new way of how the concept could be employed to maximize terminological precision. It seems clear that the “fideist” theologians and philosophers discussed above think that religious propositions are, at least on a lexical level, understood by the believer and non-believer in a similar way, or at least that this is possible.161 Even Kierkegaard’s non-Christian pseudonyms do not claim that the unbeliever necessarily misunderstands the religious utterances, but rather that unbelievers very likely miss their existential significance, or give them a false interpretation based on his or her presuppositions, or tries to remove the offense. However, religious language is not so different from everyday language that these discourses are totally separated. Let us consider two sentences: 1. A policeman is heading this way. 2. Christ died for our sins. Both of these can have existential significance to a person—or not. A thief reacts differently to the first sentence compared to the situation where an honest citizen hears the same words. However, both a thief and an honest citizen can imagine how the other would react to such an utterance. Similarly, a terrified sinner and a self-righteous person see sentence (2) differently while being able to consider it from other perspectives also, at least to some extent. Yet, in many cases we simply lack a way of deciding what to do with a sentence. Sometimes this can be a deficit on our part; we may be ignorant or too inept to 161

  Paul Griffiths suggests that there are mainly two reasons for people not being able accept claims. Either they do not understand them (insufficient catechesis), or if they do understand them they do not want to believe in them (volitional depravity). Insufficient knowledge can be fixed through education, volitional depravity only through character formation. Consequently, it is possible to understand but not to believe. See Griffiths, “How Reasoning Goes Wrong: A Quasi-Augustinian Account of Error and its Implications,” in P. Griffiths and R. Hütter (eds), Reason and the Reason of Faith (New York: T&T Clark, 2005), pp. 158–159.

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understand it. But sometimes the problem lies in what the sentence claims. In this case, we simply do not have any evident method of fixing the truth-value of the sentence. Sentence (2) is an example of this. Christ dying for the sins of the world has significance, which even a non-believer can understand—but is it true? The fact that a claim has significance, even existential significance, does not of course indicate that it is true. If somebody says to a thief that “a policeman is heading this way” the sentence may have real significance to him while being false. The policeman may be heading some other way, or there may be no policeman at all. Normally we can easily fix the truth-value of sentence (1), but this seems to be more problematic with regard to sentence (2), or at least the way of fixing the truth-value cannot be totally similar in each case. The afore mentioned “fideistic” thinkers do not claim that religious language appears as utter nonsense to unbelievers; rather, they claim only that a non-believer cannot consider sentence (2) to be true in the full and personal “performative” sense. The existential significance of religious propositions is fully understood only within the religious way of life. In keeping with this, the following principle of understanding could be formulated: (PU) Human beings are more capable of grasping the meanings of claims when they engage in living according to those claims or practicing policies entailed by those claims.

One might be tempted to see this as a distinctively fideistic principle and seek to define “fideism” accordingly, but this would hardly be satisfactory since the rule holds in every aspect of human life. It holds in similar fashion whether the claims are ethical, political, or religious. Even within the hard sciences one gains more knowledge when one becomes more used to and personally committed to the language, practices, and methods of a given science. What it brings out is that one may need to trust oneself to an authority in order to learn anything in the first place. Sometimes philosophers use the concepts of global and local fideism. Global fideism claims that all knowledge is acquired by faith. One example of this is known as the parity argument, which claims that several commonsense beliefs share with religious faith the feature that they are beyond rational justification. In that case, religious faith is actually no worse than different forms of nonreligious everyday beliefs. The bottom line of the argument is that dismissing faith as irrational because it involves “a leap” beyond reason is inconsistent. In this global sense, “fideism” does not designate any particular way or process of forming beliefs but it only indicates the element of trust and uncertainty in all human knowing. However, as our examples (1) and (2) demonstrated, within our realm of experience there exist different phenomena which require different ways of fixing the truth-value of claims about them. Reality can be seen as stratified so that the same rules do not hold in every case. For example, we could say that

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reasoning in mathematics and in love differ in fundamental ways. We may also claim that knowledge of material phenomena and knowledge of God are acquired through differing modes of investigation. This move is sometimes labeled as “local fideism;” holding, for example, religious beliefs does not mean abandoning generally accepted logical rules but only limiting the scope of certain ways of reasoning to a designated area. This demarcation may be defended, for example, by reference to the fact that God as a transcendent being is beyond rational-empirical inquiry, or that the human reason and will to believe are corrupted by sin, which has more effect on our reasoning faculties when they encounter non-material and value-related things.162 The belief-policies of Tertullian, Pascal, and Kierkegaard can be classified as examples of local fideism because they make restrictions on the use of reason or they seek to define multiple types of rationality assuming that different types of reason have their own areas of use. Further distinctions between different kinds of local fideisms are still needed but first we must consider the cases of fideism as irrationalism and fideism as conformism. With respect to irrationalism, there exists a position, which Paul Helm calls conceptual fideism.163 According to the Russian philosopher Lev Shestov, one should hold certain beliefs that are absurd and impossible because only God can make the impossible possible. Absurdity and irrationality function as negative pointers to God. This position might come close to some sort of apophatic mysticism, where understanding and knowledge is disregarded, or where meditation on impossibility is a method of visio beatifica.164 Conceptual fideism might well serve as a spiritual exercise but it can hardly be considered as a public argument for belief. Additionally, it is not a commonly held and known position in Christian theology. Coming back to the thinkers examined in previous sections, what is striking about them is that they write hundreds and hundreds of pages where they argue for their belief—using rational arguments. As noted, they usually consider having some kind of epistemic justification or warrant to believe what they believe. Tertullian, Pascal, Kierkegaard, and Plantinga all agree that there exists historical evidence for Christian belief, which, however, remains inconclusive as such. They do not deny the auxiliary role of natural theology. Still, for all of them the key factor is not the available evidence but the disposition of the person looking and examining the evidence. The evidence is under-determined and people are able to give multiple interpretations of it according to their presuppositions. The belief is

162

  It is also possible to use local fideism in the realm of ethics; while scientific facts can be tested and known, ethical truths are not acquired in the same way. Therefore they are to be accepted on faith, which is not necessarily religious. 163   Helm, Belief Policies, p. 192. 164  See, for example, Lev Shestov, Athens and Jerusalem. All Shestov’s works are available online in shestov.by.ru.

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firmly rooted in reality, in the historical events, to which everyone has an access but there is no neutral ground to evaluate the evidence. There are two possible solutions to this dilemma. On the one hand, one can claim that everything is subjective and there is no way to evaluate the evidence. In this sense reception of a worldview is essentially conformism. An individual accepts the beliefs because everybody else does so without considering them personally (non-reflective fideism), or because an individual sees that sharing certain common beliefs is good for him or her, or to the community at large (reflective fideism).165 The reflective version of conformist fideism takes advantage of skepticism, which puts everything under doubt, in order to promote staying within a particular tradition. As noted earlier, this was the original use of skepticism with regard to religious matters by Sextus Empiricus and his Renaissance followers. One may have a moral reason for holding beliefs, for example, because communities need shared values in order to exist, and it can be beneficial to hold certain beliefs whether they are true or false. For example, Voltaire and Montesquieu thought that it is good for the nation that the people believe in God because they will behave better when they have the fear of the Lord in their hearts.166 In conformist fideism, there has been a shift from Sextus’ individualistic stance, where a person seeks for a place of peace and certainty in the midst of multiple mutually contradicting opinions, to a more communal approach. Sextus’ original thought was clearly directed to the more restricted use but it is inherently susceptible to political and communal uses. Non-reflective conformist fideism, however, is not very interesting (while being without a doubt one of the most common belief-forming methods in the world). From the viewpoint of this study, it does not—although it definitely should!—really engage the question whether there exists adequate reason for choosing a particular worldview over another more than the mere commonness of this worldview. Clearly, multitudes can err, and consensus is no guarantee of truth. These conformist forms of fideism, which disregard evidential considerations in favor of pragmatism, form the class of pragmatic fideism. None of the thinkers examined in the previous chapter can be really regarded as pragmatists in this sense. However, the fourth version of Pascal’s Wager, 165   For example, John Bishop argues for certain belief policies on ethical and moral grounds in his Believing by Faith (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007) arguing for a type of reflective fideism. As the evidential basis for religious convictions is ambiguous one has no other choice than to use moral arguments for choosing an adequate belief. 166   Garrard, Counter-Enlightenments, p. 123. In Nazi Germany, conformist belief policy played a role in the formation of the nation. For example, Paul Joseph Goebbels (1897–1945) claimed: “It is almost immaterial what we believe in, so long as we believe in something.” For Nazis, it was important that people had a belief in something because without having such beliefs it would impossible to believe in the nation, race, or Führer. Michael Burleigh, Sacred Causes: The Clash of Religion and Politics, from the Great War to the War on Terror (New York: Harper, 2007), pp. 94–95.

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where one should choose Christianity because the Christian believer is better off in this world compared to non-believer, does meet this criterion, as also does William James’s pragmatist religion.167 It is evident that the aforementioned thinkers argue for their belief-policy with a secular audience in mind, and this separates them from pragmatism or conformism. Although these fideist thinkers may seem to de-emphasize the use of reason in favor of revelation in forming beliefs about God, they nevertheless affirm the use of rational argument in defending their belief-policies. This means that even if what is believed seems irrational from certain points of view, believing in it may still be argued rationally in the public arena. Although there is not sufficient evidence to justify the veracity of a proposition (according to the prevalent notion of rationality in the particular culture), there may nevertheless be grounds for accepting and acting according to it.168 This indicates that a fideist may move to rational considerations at the second-order level in defending his or her beliefpolicy. Rational argumentation may hence constitute a second-order defense of a first-order fideism. Fideists deny that faith is just an irrational act of will, which blindly accepts any truth claims that happen to be around; instead they seek ways to justify the acceptance of a proposition within the general rational discourse while the proposition itself, considered directly, seems unjustifiable.169 But why should a person choose a second-order defense for his or her beliefs in the first place? The one who rejects the prevalent notion of reason must consider it as suffering from fundamental shortcomings. This is usually argued on the grounds that God by definition is beyond neutral rational inquiry, and that human reason is both limited and corrupted by sin. Kierkegaard and Pascal especially engage these issues in detail. While Tertullian, Pascal, Kierkegaard, and Plantinga seem to adopt all the afore-mentioned elements in their theology, they differ at some points. The major difference is the use of arguments and the relation of faith to the evidence. The same holds true regarding the main currents of philosophical theology in general.  See, for example, William James, Pragmatism (New York: Prometheus, 1991), pp. 119–132. 168   Robert Nozick, The Nature of Rationality (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993), pp. 63–93. 169   Helm, Belief Policies, p. 193. See also Wessel Stoker, Is Faith Rational? (Leuven: Peeters, 2006), pp. 211–212. Actually, the second order argument approaches can never totally succeed in the end, though they can approach the essence of religious conviction asymptotically. This problem is illustrated through the danger of infinite regress. It seems that a question arises about the grounding or warrant of this second-order consideration of evidence: on what basis do we decide that the act of believing a proposition accepted in a fideist way is “acceptable” within the secular form of reason without altering secular reason itself? Although different systems of belief can come closer and understand each other, they will never become identified without one losing its original identity and adopting the identity of the other. 167

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While both forms of conformist fideism are essentially uninterested in arguing and examining the evidence, Christian theologians use argumentative language in trying to communicate with other forms of rationality, which indicates that Christian rationality is not a closed system. But how should we approach the differences between the belief-policies? Theoretically there are three clearly distinguishable positions, which relate to evidence and belief. 1. There is no evidence against believing p. 2. There is no evidence for believing p. 3. There is evidence against believing p and for believing p. Case (1) occurs when we deal with beliefs based on common sense-experience, like a belief that objects fall towards the center of the Earth. Clearly, religious beliefs are not of this sort. Case (2) would be an example of irrationalism, even from the viewpoint of the aforementioned fideists. Most of our everyday beliefs fall within category (3) meaning that we have some grounds for the belief but we can always bring in some counter-evidence. For example, I believe that Jones tells me the truth because I know him well and consider him an honest person. However, I know that in this particular issue he might have a reason to lie to me. I have therefore evidence for both trusting and distrusting Jones and I have to make my choice without absolute certainty. Like most mundane beliefs, religious beliefs are like that. Within class (3) we can still have weaker and stronger cases. A stronger case would be one where the majority of evidence supports the belief, for example, the appearance of dark clouds supports the belief that it will rain soon. In the case of religions with supernatural beliefs an alleged irregularity occurs, which makes the evidential support weak. One is faced with a phenomenon which is improbable in the light of usual experience. Since people do not usually rise from the dead, believing in Christ’s resurrection indicates believing against the majority of evidence. One may invoke something that might count as evidence for resurrection but this evidence is always in the minority position and in contrast to general evidence. For this reason, it could be argued that the concept of “fideism” genuinely fits the all forms of classical theology because Christian faith is essentially linked with the element of mystery and particularity, which goes against what we commonly hold true.170 Even in the most argumentative and rationalistic forms, the element of offense is not removed. Fideism would then be a belief policy, where the relation between belief and evidence is irregular (and in this extended sense religious faith, at least the classical Christian one, is inherently fideistic). However, stretching the concept too far makes it useless. Thus I have coined the term communicative fideism to illustrate the standard version of fideism within classical Christian theology in opposition to pragmatic and irrational forms 170   See, for example, William Wainwright, “Theology and Mystery,” in Oxford Handbook on Philosophical Theology, Thomas Flint and Michael Rea (eds), (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), pp. 79–82; Evans, Faith Beyond Reason, 152–153.

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of fideism.171 In addition to communicative fideism, we have soft and hard forms of rationalism. The distinction between these three goes as follows. A communicative fideist may use arguments only to refute competing worldviews, for example, to show why, say, atheism, or a particular interpretation of Christian theology is not a viable option. He may not engage in straightforward apologetics or use positive arguments for his stance while still speaking, preaching, or instructing the audience towards the acceptance of a particular worldview.172 Kierkegaard, for example, could be thought to act in this way. Also, traditional Lutheran sermons and theology, which put their emphasis on Law and Gospel dialectics rather than apologetics, works along the same lines. Stanley Hauerwas’s theology, where the emphasis is on the practice and lived reality of the doctrines, fits into this category as well.173 This form of fideism, in fact, comes close to pragmatism. Communicative fideism tries to make the belief understandable and define it as clearly as possible but it does not argue for it in an evidentialist way. One considers that there is significant amount of proof and evidence for the Christian faith but the problem of unbelief does not reside in the amount of proof but in the disposition of the person looking at the proofs. I have summarized the basic tenets of communicative fideism in the following points. 1. Reason is never free from passions and presuppositions, which can be either conscious or unconscious. 2. Many intentional objects of reasoning are such that it is impossible to provide irrefutable proofs­­—as is sometimes possible in, for example, mathematics—of their existence or nature. 3. This does not mean neglecting reason since reason is needed to define and locate what is believed. 4. The content of the belief is propositionally understandable. It is not nonsense. 5. Reason can be used to support the act of belief although the content of belief itself is beyond reason. The act of belief has to be warranted. 6. Rationality is to be understood in a dynamic sense. The stress is not on platonic, universal notions but in the historical a posteriori approach. 7. The rule of faith itself is based in reality, in the Christ-event, of which there exists historical evidence, which is open for public examination.

  Also C. Stephen Evans (Faith Beyond Reason) suggests a division between “responsible fideism” and “irrational fideism.” 172   Wolterstorff (“Can Belief in God be Rational,” p. 137) claims that this has been the traditional form of Christian apologetics, that is, the emphasis has been more on refuting the charges against Christianity than in giving reasons for Christianity. This tendency, however, has been reversed in modernity. 173  See, for example, Arne Rasmusson, Church as Polis, pp. 175–177. 171

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While communicative fideism takes a critical stance towards natural theology and evidentialism, there are forms of Christian apologetic discourse that stress the possibilities of reason more strongly. The discourse can be distinguished by the type of arguments they use. In its softer forms, a person may use both negative arguments to criticize the opposing views and offer positive arguments to demonstrate the superiority of his or her worldview. This position is exemplified, for example, by Alvin Plantinga. In softer forms, one does not stress so much the public nature and the actual evidential matter of Christian belief than in the harder forms. In these latter cases, one seeks to communicate with as wide an audience as possible using, for example, the standard means of natural theology (Norman Kretzman, J.P. Moreland) or probabilities (Richard Swinburne). It could also be said that the softer forms concentrate on the de jure challenge while harder forms pay more attention to the de facto challenge on religious belief. In Figure 1.2, I have outlined the aforementioned belief-policies in between two poles of evidentialism and irrationalism. Irrationalism is set apart from major belief-policies because it is disputed whether it really counts as a Christian beliefs policy at all. I have also mentioned here, in the other extreme, scientism and metaphysical skeptisism, which tries to cope with as pure and minimal a concept of reason as possible. Detailed engagement with this position is, however, beyond the scope of this work.174 Figure 1.2

Typology of belief policies Evidentialism – pragmatism

Pure rationalism (scientism/ metaphysical skeptisism)

Hard and Soft rationalism

Communicative Fideism

Irrationalism Conformist Fideism (reflective fideism and non-reflective fideism)

Conceptual Fideism

Summing up, the most pressing problems regarding fideism are unassailability, relativism, the inability to engage in public discussion, and the impossibility of criticizing the beliefs. However, there is no need to argue that (communicative) fideism leads to unassailability or relativism. Conformist and skeptical forms of fideism, on the other hand, are more easily linked with relativism since basically any ideology can take control of a conformist form of fideism, while this is more difficult with communicative forms of fideism, which are based on historical events and subsequent communal practice, while also being open to public discourse and argument. Further, the pragmatic forms of fideism appear to be in greater danger of lapsing into violent behavior than the various forms of communicative fideism. In 174   For good analysis of scientism, see Mikael Stenmark, Scientism: Science, Ethics and Religion (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2001).

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pure pragmatism, the categories of right and wrong are easily replaced by desired and unwanted when the will to power is the final arbiter in the disputed matters. In communicative fideism, violence is of no avail. Using the distinction of John Paul II, communicative fideism does not impose, but proposes, seeing that genuine religious conviction cannot be evoked by an argument but instead by the Holy Spirit, so there is no point in the communicative action incorporating violence.175 Communicatively fideistic beliefs and practices of Christian theology can be critically discussed and evaluated in public. If we consider the communicative fideists and assess their belief policy we can readily observe that their way of thought has at least five points of correlation with general philosophical discourses. First of all, these thinkers clearly underscore coherence of thought; one should not mix mutually contradicting claims or systems. Secondly, the basic rules of logic are followed. Thirdly, these thinkers seem to hold that their fideistic belief policy is inclusive, meaning that holding it does not entail dismissing the ways of thought we hold normally true. Fourthly, there is a dose of pragmatism in fideism. The ultimate test of truth is life itself, which makes the belief a part of public life and discussion.176 Communicative fideism seeks actively to contact and converse with other forms of rationality. Finally, communicative fideism does not entail holding beliefs, to borrow Quine’s expression, “come what may,” or that they are immune to criticism. On the other hand, one can be a hardcore evidentialist and still believe come what may. Thus the inability to engage in public discussion need not be directly related to some particular belief-policy. The title of this book suggests a move “beyond” fideism. How this actually takes place will be the concern of the following chapters, but in relation to the above taxonomy of belief-policies, I propose a move away from purely pragmatist forms of rationality while simultaneously recommending a dynamic relationship between more Barthian-influenced positions and correlationist forms of theology. Thus, I argue that fideism as irrationalism and conformism is not the path we should follow in Christian public theology. Theology must retain its public character but also hold on to its traditionally mediated distinct nature. However, this can only take place in critical engagement and communication with other traditions, not through isolation from these traditions.

  John Paul II, Redemptoris Missio §39.   However, I do not mean that the fideists think that there are only pragmatic reasons for belief or that there are no epistemic reasons for belief at all. For discussion on pragmatism and contemporary theology, see Randal Rauser, Theology in Search of Foundations (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), pp. 255–284. 175 176

Chapter 2

Interlude: The Postliberal Turn in Theology The Fall of Foundationalism and the Rise of Pragmatism Proceeding now onwards from the conceptual clarification of fideism, we need to take a brief glance at the development of recent philosophy and its influence on theological method. The major philosophical upheaval in the 20th century was the epistemological revolution caused by the full-scale collapse of Cartesian foundationalism. Classical Cartesian foundationalism claimed that all non-basic beliefs must be supported by a finite chain of beliefs; thus beliefs cannot circularly justify themselves. Foundationalism divides justified beliefs into those that are justified by inference from others (mediate, non-basic beliefs) and those that are justified without inference (immediate, basic beliefs). A series of mediate beliefs can be derived from immediate beliefs, which keeps the inference truth preserving. Immediate beliefs are such that are, in some sense, intrinsically reasonable for a subject to believe. A classical example of such a belief, with its resulting scientific method, is René Descartes’s dictum “cogito, ergo sum,” where the indubitability of cogito is used as the basis for all knowledge. Hence, it is our experience (“I think”) that has formed the foundation for knowledge. However, the assumption that this foundation should be absolutely indubitable has come in for heavy criticism. The first basic criticism against classical foundationalism is the fact that the claimed foundational basic beliefs are not, after all, radically different from the generated knowledge. The claimed basic beliefs also need justification. In addition, the whole idea of foundationalism does not fulfill its own standards. It cannot, as a requirement for rationality, be justified according to itself; it is not self-evident, incorrigible, and non-circular. The foundationalist program started to falter simultaneously within multiple areas of scientific inquiry. In the following, I will briefly go through some agents of change. In 20th-century philosophy, several figures wrestled with issues regarding our situatedness in the world and especially the thinking of Ludwig Wittgenstein has had a major impact in the development of philosophy and theology. In his early Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus (1921), Wittgenstein gave an account of the relation between language and the world such that a proposition is a picture of the reality with which it is concerned. Language pictures the world and although language may undergo changes it still should retain the same logical structure that is in the world. The ontology of Tractatus is atomistic: the world consists of    For accounts of classical foundationalism, see Robert Audi, Epistemology: A Contemporary Introduction (London: Routledge, 1998), pp. 188–189, 206.

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mutually independent facts that may be examined empirically. This was joined with the idea that “The limits of my language mean the limits of my world,” which ultimately resulted in the conclusion, “Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent.” Therefore it was impossible to approach the world as a whole and use language to speak about metaphysics. In his posthumously published Philosophical Investigations (1953), he introduced a theory which altered the earlier perspective to some extent. Now the meaning of the concept was defined by its use and its context. Thus the words do not have meaning apart from the “form of life” in which they are used, and the same word may have different meanings in different contexts. This pushed Wittgenstein’s position in a more holistic direction. Instead of concentrating in mere ostension, we need to pay attention to how the concept is used. In 1956, Wilfrid Sellars (1912–1989) published his famous article “Empiricism and the Philosophy of Mind” where he claimed that immediate sense impressions could not ground knowledge, as empiricism had classically claimed. Sellars’s argument became known as the critique of the “myth of the given.” According to Sellars, everything we experience is dependent on having a concept of the thing experienced. Therefore, we experience the world through language, which challenges the foundationalist method of verifying knowledge by comparing it to states of affairs as they are in the world. Instead of the method of correspondence, Sellars proposed a form of coherentism. Another important and similar event was Willard Van Orman Quine’s (1908– 2000) critique of logical positivism in his article “Two dogmas of empiricism” (1951). The dogmas Quine criticized were the distinction between analytic and synthetic truths and reductionism. Analytic sentences are statements of necessary truth, which can be tested without reference to empirical reality. The typical analytical sentences are tautologies, such as “All bachelors are unmarried.” Quine, however, argued that there is no non-circular definition of “analyticity.” Analytical sentences use synonyms, which are, as concepts, in need of explanation as much as analyticity itself. Therefore, the distinction between analytic and synthetic truths cannot be sharply drawn. This conclusion was fatal to logical positivism because these kinds of distinctions were fundamental to its foundational structure. Second, Quine resisted reductionism by claiming that we cannot fix the truthvalue of our statements “individually but as a corporate body,” meaning that   Tractatus §5.6 and 7.   For example, Philosophical Investigations §117.    From this some have concluded that religion is an autonomous language game intelligible only to the players. For a good discussion of this issue, see Fergus Kerr, Theology After Wittgenstein, 2nd edn (London: SPCK, 1997), pp. 29–31.   Sellars, Empiricism and the Philosophy of Mind (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1997).    Quine, From a Logical Point of View (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1963), pp. 20–46.  

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particular experiences are not directly linked with particular statements without the involvement of the whole frame of reference. Therefore, our knowledge does not consist of differentiated units, being instead more like a web. The evaluation of these webs in terms of truth-values cannot take place by comparing single statements to the world but rather by evaluating the web as a whole. The evaluation takes place pragmatically; the most efficient web is more likely to be true than the less efficient. In principle, any statement within the web can be revised but you cannot revise all of them at the same time. A related proposal was the indeterminacy of translation, which has fed significantly into postmodern theories of language. According to Quine, when we encounter “hitherto untouched people,” who speak a language not familiar to us, we face the situation of radical translation. This means that any particular translation of a foreign word can be defended only by appealing to the context, such as the behavior of the speaker and his or her other utterances. However, here we face infinite regress, the other utterances being equally context bound. Quine does not claim that translation is impossible or that words do not have meanings. Instead, he seeks to demonstrate that there is no non-relative identification of the objects of reference. Already before classical foundationalism began its demise, new epistemological strategies had started to emerge. One of the most important schools of thought with regard to theology was pragmatism. The pragmatist movement includes a vast group of philosophers who generally share only a family resemblance differing in many points. The first joint feature is, however, the attempt to find meaning for concepts (or truth) through experience and practice instead of Cartesian inquiry. Second, this leads to abandoning absolute certainty in knowledge; instead pragmatists favor the concept of “warranted assertability.” Third, truth as mere correspondence is not so much wrong as it is inadequate. The pragmatist may hold that there exists a world outside of our minds but stating this does not yet lead us very far; in effect, coherency is given precedence over correspondence. From the viewpoint of metaphysics, pragmatist thought contains various types of both realist and anti-realist readings of reality. The central figure behind the pragmatist philosophy was Charles Sanders Peirce (1839–1914). From Peirce’s huge, but to a large extent posthumously published, scientific output, a few trains of thought are instructive here. According to Peirce, signs always represent something in relation to something. Therefore, always when someone uses signs they are inseparable from interpretation. All reflective activity is based on the use of signs which, in turn, are related to other signs. But how are we able to make sense of reality? Our knowledge about the world “out there” is based on hypotheses tested against our experiences. This makes all knowledge less than absolute and thus in a certain sense uncertain and fallible.    Quine, Word and Object (Cambridge, MA: MIT, 1960), ch. II. See also Michael J. Loux, Metaphysics: A Contemporary Introduction (London & New York: Routledge, 2002), pp. 266–273.

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Research corrects itself as it engages with the world; the progress of science is based on interaction between the object and the observer. Additionally, knowledge is not a private matter but requires an interpretative community. Peirce, however, denies that truth is only an artifact created by the community. Instead reality itself forces the community to consensus in due time. Peirce’s system thus presupposes “Real things” beyond personal opinions of scholars. After Peirce, William James developed pragmatist methodology further in a more anti-realist direction. James saw pragmatism as a tool for solving metaphysical dilemmas. The meaning of ideas lies in their “cash value”: truth is what pays. In this manner religious beliefs are warranted pragmatically if they are shown to be valuable for human beings. James’s religious thought is based on an agnostic view of God; belief in God can have an effect on our lives even if God does not exist. Of modern day philosophers, Richard Rorty’s (1931–2007) pragmatism encapsulates many prevalent trends in our intellectual climate. Rorty claims that, after the fall of foundationalism, we have lost universal criteria of evaluation and justification outside specific languages. There is no pure reason or pure experience since they are always ideologically contaminated by the surrounding culture and its use of language. As a solution to this, Richard Rorty’s pragmatism argues that we should accept the values of the particular communities we inhabit. There is no objective vantage point to judge the values of different communities. Rortian pragmatism thus endorses solidarity towards traditions in preference to an ideal of objectivity.10 In addition, the work of postmodernist French philosophers such as Jean-Francois Lyotard (1924–1998), Michel Foucault (1926–1984), and Jacques Derrida (1930–2004) regard objective knowledge as a myth used to (violently) impose dogmas on people, seeing knowledge and truth as elusive and subject to power and will. Summing up, the postmodern theory of knowledge has shifted the emphasis from the ontology of knowledge to the social context of knowledge. Knowledge is seen as practice, which is affected by all kinds of non-rational and unacknowledged phenomena. Accordingly, the idea of neutral reason has come in for heavy criticism; instead of objectivity we have limited perspectives on reality, which themselves are already tainted by the will to power. In the light of this, we can see how fideism and the demise of foundationalism often collapse into one another when, for example, a community, or a specific form of discourse, makes a claim to rationality using criteria internal to itself. This situation has given rise to a number of new proposals for doing theology. In many ways, George Lindbeck’s work in particular, has transformed the scene and that is where we turn next.



  Charles Peirce, “Fixation of Belief,” ch. V. online: www.peirce.org.   James, Pragmatism, p. 132. 10   Richard Rorty, “Solidarity or Objectivity?,” in Objectivity and Truth: Philosophical Papers (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991). 

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Postliberalism The theological counterpart of this pragmatist and communitarian wave in philosophy was, or is, known as postliberalism. The origins of the movement are in the theological maelstrom of post-WWII western society. Around the time of Karl Barth’s death in 1968 a number of theologically radical manifestos started to emerge. Phenomena such as black theology (James Cone), feminist theology (Mary Daly), and “death of god” theology (Thomas Altizer) started to create a new front in opposition to traditional styles of theology. The theological climate of that time was much in favor of correlating Christian faith with the contemporary intellectual values and trends. In the 1970s, Paul Tillich’s Systematic Theology was the most-read coursebook in American seminaries. For some, however, Tillich was too shy in his methodological correlation, which caused Gordon Kaufman to put forward his own more radical proposal in Essays on Theological Method (1975). Accepting an extreme Kantian stance, Kaufman proposed a vision of theology where doctrines were seen as products of imagination and therefore open for deconstruction and amelioration according to personal and social needs. In the same year, a less radical proposition was advanced in David Tracy’s Blessed Rage for Order, where he sought to improve Tillich’s method of correlation. For Tracy, correlation meant convergence of Christian doctrine and contemporary secular experience. Inevitably, this led to revisioning classical doctrines, which later gave birth to the concept “revisionism” to indicate the theological style of a “new liberalism.”11 It was these contemporary trends that caused uneasiness in the minds of theologians such as Hans Frei and George Lindbeck, who saw the emerging radicalism as a seriously flawed attempt to find the essence of Christianity beyond its tradition, while they were also suspicious of fundamentalist conservatism. In 1984, George Lindbeck’s seminal work The Nature of Doctrine proposed a new way of understanding theological method, which would avoid the pitfalls of both new liberalism and old conservatism. Unsurprisingly, Lindbeck’s theses have since aroused much discussion and interest. It is not my aim to provide a full account of Lindbeck’s book and his method; other scholars have done this in more detail already.12 Instead, I represent here the basic tenets of his thought that are needed in order to grasp the central idea of his proposal. Here I follow Paul DeHart’s list of the four basic elements of Lindbeck’s method, which are as follows: 1. a sociological sectarianism with a catholic ecclesiology; 2. the idea of religion as semiotic system;   A profound exposition of postliberalism’s roots can be found in Paul DeHart, Trial, pp. 1–52. 12  See, for example, Adonis Vidu, Postliberal Theological Method: A Critical Study (Carlisle: Paternoster, 2007); DeHart, Trial; C.C. Pecknold, Transforming Postliberal Theology (London: T&T Clark, 2005). 11

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3. a quasi-Thomistic theory of religious truth; 4. a notion of intra-textuality.13 The first element touches the issue of the survival of distinctive Christian identity in a secular world, where the Constantinian order of culture and religion has largely collapsed. In order to survive in this new world, Christian communities need to adopt sociologically “sectarian” ways of being. Sectarianism does not entail here a theological sectarianism or withdrawal from the public squares of the societies but a re-ordering of religious life according to more communal ideals.14 When cultural support for religions and churches disappears, the members of the communities are called to gather together in identity preserving “small, cohesive, mutually supporting groups.”15 Only in this way, by adapting the new communalism, can churches hope to have a significant effect on the culture at large. Thus circling the wagons is of instrumental value for cultural change. According to Lindbeck, secular groups have no means to set final goals or propagate the fundamental values, such as love, neighborhood, and justice, which society needs for its flourishing. Only ideological or religious communities can set these goals.16 Being ecclesiologically “catholic” means in this respect being open to a wide range of different aspects and elements of human life, culture, and theology, which are joined together by confession of Christ as Lord. Although individual communities can vary in terms of liturgical and theological style they need to have minimal consensus amongst them, which makes them one and does not set them against each other.17 Second, Lindbeck draws heavily on Wittgenstein-influenced theories of language and the Kuhnian notion of scientific paradigms. According to Lindbeck, there are no neutral standards, which could be used as a point of evaluation with regard to, for example, religious doctrines. Against this background, Lindbeck sees classical attempts to define the nature of doctrine as defective. Lindbeck makes a distinction between propositional-cognitivist (PC), experiental-expressivist (EE), and cultural-linguistic (CL) understandings of theological doctrine. According to PC, a classical conservative position, Christian doctrine provides informative propositions and truth claims about objective realities. EE, on the other hand, relates to classical liberal theology’s claims that doctrine is subordinate to general 13   DeHart, Trial, p. 58. DeHart uses the concept “quasi” to indicate the creativity of Lindbeck’s reading of St. Thomas. See Ibid. pp. 83–89. 14   For a detailed description of Lindbeck’s sectarianism, see David H. Kelsey, “Church Discourse and Public Realm,” in Bruce Marshall (ed.), Theology and Dialogue: Essays in Conversation with George Lindbeck (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1990), pp. 12–13. 15   DeHart, Trial, p. 59. 16   Lindbeck, “Ecumenism and the Future of Belief,” pp. 3–17; “The Sectarian Future of the Church,” pp. 226–243. 17   DeHart, Trial, pp. 60–61.

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religious experience, which is interpreted differently through various doctrines and religions. Lindbeck himself sees both PC and EE as missing the true essence of Christian doctrine and that is why he represents his view of CL as a more accurate account. According to CL, Christian faith is best understood as a cultural linguistic system, with the consequence that Christianity is primarily neither a set of religious propositions nor an expression of religious experiences. This means that becoming religious is more like learning a language than, for example, simply accepting propositions. The idea of CL is based on Lindbeck’s interpretation of religious doctrine as a grammar or as a semiotic system, which sets the rules of discourse within a specific context. Human communities employ various symbolic structures, which give shape to these communities. In a sense, communities both shape and are shaped by these structures. This is how doctrines work in religious communities. They are authoritative grammatical rules, which give shape to beliefs and practices, which are considered of vital importance for the identity and survival of the community. Doctrines function as a second-order language, which directs the first-order language, for example, worship. Additionally, Lindbeck argues that theology, as a second-order language game, does not make first-order truth claims about reality. Thus theology is to be understood as an endeavor to address the language of the community, not the focus of the community, that is, God. Just as grammar by itself affirms nothing either true or false regarding the world in which language is used, but only about language, so theology and doctrine, to the extent that they are second-order activities, assert nothing either true or false about God and his relation to creatures, but only speak about such assertions.18

These kinds of assertions are to be understood in terms of Lindbeck’s ecumenical agenda. For him, postliberalism is to a large extent a method for ecumenical discourse. CL is an attempt to provide a framework for mutual dialogue between genuinely disagreeing parties. Previous understandings of the nature of doctrine cannot explain why dialogue partners can both disagree on some formulations and still concur that they share mutual agreement of a deeper kind implicit in their respective formulations. Lindbeck concludes that this is because doctrines do not function in a way it has been thought they do. Some doctrinal propositions may be mutually opposing but only within certain contexts. Ecumenical work cannot proceed by expecting that everyone will compromise something for the sake of unity. Instead Lindbeck’s CL seeks to give tools for explaining what given doctrinal formulations do in their respective contexts. This way the formulations can be left as they are—“without capitulation”—while acknowledging the place and legitimacy of another view.19   Lindbeck, Nature, p. 65.   Lindbeck, Nature, pp. 15–17, 91; DeHart, Trial, p. 70.

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Third, this raises a question of Lindbeck’s theory of truth. Lindbeck argues that doctrines cannot be taken as referring to God because application of human concepts, which are analogous with regard to their being in God, such as goodness, is always beyond verification. How could a human person assess whether her idea of goodness actually has a reference in the nature of God? Yet Christians claim to know that God is good. How does Lindbeck solve this dilemma? Lindbeck’s theory of religious truth is “performative.” Although there always remains a distinction between the signified (God’s goodness) and the human mode of signification, what is approachable in this case is the disposition towards God. In signifying God, a person seeks to dispose herself as to correspond to the nature of God. This correspondence remains always mysterious but Lindbeck claims that this aptly defines what takes place in the act of signification.20 But is there any way to test the truth of, for example, Christian God-claims, if as it seems that God’s goodness needs to be presupposed? DeHart summarizes Lindbeck’s point appropriately: “The only test of categorical truth is the living of the pattern itself, the ongoing test of the religious symbol system’s ability to provide illumination and orientation for life and account for anomalous experiences.”21 The truthfulness of religion is measured against its capacity to shape people’s lives, and in relation to other religions and belief systems in the sense of making credible accounts of religious phenomena at large. There is no ultimate proof for the truth of any belief system. Instead the truth must be supposed—and then tested in the laboratory of life. Fourth, in keeping with these aforementioned elements, the following picture of theology emerges. In Lindbeck’s system, the concept “intratextuality” forms the center of the theological enterprise. This concept is used to refer to at least three different but mutually connected things. Firstly, the text in this respect is the religion as a whole consisting both of sacred scripture and of consequent practice. Secondly, this leads to a notion according to which the Christian community continuously seeks to read and describe the world in Christian terms. Thirdly, in Lindbeck’s CL approach the texts of Holy Scripture are in the center. This means that the primary interpretative category of the “text” is the Bible and its own narrative. This means that hermeneutical primacy is in the world created by the biblical narratives and not in the world of general human experience.22 The idea of intratextuality is supposed to secure the faithfulness crucial to preserving Christian identity. Yet the constructions of Christian dogma should be at the same time applicable and intelligible.23 Applicability means that the theological enterprise should be relevant and capable of practical application in   Lindbeck, Nature, pp. 64–65.   DeHart, Trial, p. 84; Lindbeck, Nature, p. 131. 22   DeHart, Trial, pp. 92–95; Alister McGrath, “An Evangelical Evaluation of Postliberalism,” in T. Phillips and D. Okholm (eds), The Nature of Confession: Evangelicals and Postliberals in Conversation (Downer’s Grove: IVP, 1996), p. 25. 23   Lindbeck, Nature, p. 112. 20

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contemporary life. However, Lindbeck denies the existence of pure and neutral experience, which is set over Christian tradition in order to give it a revisioned shape. Instead contemporary experiences should be approached from the point of view of Christian narrative. Likewise intelligibility does not mean reformulation of doctrine to fit a contemporary ideal of rationality. Instead, Christian theology is called to describe its doctrines in a fashion that removes unnecessary intellectual blockages which resist the application of the Christian message. As expected, the criticisms of postliberalism, construed in a broadly Lindbeckian fashion, have been multifaceted. The discussion has centered on three intimately interrelated topics: truth and relativism, text-world relation, and sectarianism.24 I will not attempt a full-scale analysis of Lindbeck’s or his colleagues’ works here. Instead, I will take Lindbeck’s position as a challenge that needs to be engaged (recognizing that Lindbeck’s program may be able to answer these challenges from within). In the following I shall present the most problematic points in his proposal. As we shall see, these questions appear frequently in recent discussions of theological method. The first problem touches the notion of truth. If Lindbeck neglects the idea of neutrality, how is it possible to retain the notion of truth without sacrificing everything to relativism? Lindbeck seems to suggest that reasoning and justification of beliefs is achievable only within a certain web of belief, and the decision between these webs is not based on reason or proofs.25 This issue is closely intertwined with the question: how should we choose one narrative over another? The postliberal answer seems to stress cultural, historical, and contextual factors, which leaves us still with the question of the truth-bearing status of the narrative. What if Christian tradition got Jesus wrong from the beginning? In order to resolve this, one would need to examine the relation of the faith of the Christian tradition to history. However, postliberals have not been very eager to address these issues.26 Secondly, epistemological issues cannot be dissociated from ontology. Lindbeck’s account of doctrine has been interpreted to suggest a form of antirealism. Many scholars have pointed that while Lindbeck’s Wittgensteinian language game theory has some advantages, it misses a crucial point in the use of religious language. Religious language users do understand themselves to address extratextual reality in their speech, making truth claims about the world. Religious speech seeks to correspond with mind-independent reality at least in some partial sense. Lindbeck’s ambiguity in addressing the relation of language to extralinguistic and extrasystemic realities has led to charges of relativism.27   Pecknold, Transforming, pp. 4, 100. Philip Kenneson, “Alleged Incorrigibility of Postliberal Theology,” in T. Phillips and D. Okholm (eds), The Nature of Confession, p. 97. 25   David K. Clark, “Relativism, Fideism and the Promise of Postliberalism,” in T. Phillips and D. Okholm (eds), The Nature of Confession, p. 111. 26   Kevin Vanhoozer, Drama of Doctrine: A Canonical-Linguistic Approach to Christian Theology (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2005), p. 99. 27   See, for example, McGrath, “An Evangelical Evaluation,” p. 35. 24

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According to Lindbeck, the Nicene Creed, for example, does not make any firstorder, or ontological, truth-claims, being rather a rule of discourse.28 Among others, Miroslav Volf has argued that Lindbeck’s distinction between intratextual and extratextual realities is not so clear as he seems to suggest. The church as it exists in this world is never outside the world in the sense that there could be a pure space between the world and the Church. Therefore, the being of the Church is always shaped by the surrounding culture. Extratextual and intratextual worlds overlap and shape each other.29 For this reason, Lindbeck’s proposal of doctrine as a cultural-linguistic grammar—if taken as exhaustive—seems inadequate.30 When a Christian inhabits a text, that is, a cultural-linguistic framework, she does not dwell in the realm of language only but she engages an activity within a certain reality. Volf asks: “If I am supposed to be located in a Christian ‘cultural-linguistic system’ where is that ‘system’ itself located?”31 According to traditional Christian teaching, God did not incarnate as a semiotic system but as flesh and blood. God’s engagement with history in Jesus Christ is more than a mere web of significance. Those close to more classical theological traditions feel uneasy with Lindbeck’s description of propositional-cognitivist interpretation of doctrine. Many of Lindbeck’s critics claim that his understanding of the propositional nature of doctrine is flawed. Theology and religion are propositional to their core. Many scholars have challenged the very notion “postliberal,” claiming that Lindbeck does not succeed in getting out of a Schleiermacherian scheme where doctrines are governed by Christian existence/practice and not by divine revelation.32 Thirdly, anti-realist readings of Lindbeck lead easily to the problems of intracommunal discourse and sectarianism. If we are unable to argue for or against certain discourses, the specific discourses are isolated and the engagement between 28   Lindbeck, Nature, p. 19. Hence, it has been claimed that Lindbeck has committed himself to anti-realist metaphysics. However, it is not the task of the present study to analyze Lindbeck as such. For an attempt to refute the anti-realist interpretations of Lindbeck, see Jeffrey Hensley, “Are Postliberals Necessarily Antirealists?,” in T. Phillips and D. Okholm, The Nature of Confession. 29   Volf, “Theology, Meaning and Power,” in T. Phillips and D. Okholm, The Nature of Confession, p. 51. 30  In keeping with this, Placher proposes that there may be two ways to read Lindbeck. Firstly, Lindbeck may claim that religious language does not refer anything beyond itself and the community using the particular language. On the other hand, he may claim, less radically, that doctrines function as grammatical rules for the Christian community. This enables ontological truth claims that extend beyond the community to the reality itself. Lindbeck would thus only argue for the possibility to compare doctrines. William Placher, “Paul Ricoeur and Post Liberal theology,” Modern Theology 4 (1987): p. 46. See also Sue Patterson, Realist Christian Theology in a Postmodern Age (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), p. 39. 31   Volf, “Theology, Meaning and Power,” p. 54. 32   Vanhoozer, Drama, p. 97. Francesca Aran Murphy, God Is Not A Story: Realism Revisited (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), p. 69.

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discourses can take place only in the form of one overpowering the other; hence the charges of imperialism and isolationism.33 While Lindbeck thinks that there are no neutral foundations which could give support to apologetics and no possibility for mediation between the categories of the contemporary secular world and Christian faith, he does not think that Christianity is isolated or imperialistic—at least any more than any other tradition is. All traditions go through constant pragmatic tests of their truth, which makes them assess the world (including other traditions) and their understanding/ interpretations of it again and again. During this process, Christian theology needs to engage in the perpetual task of explaining its contents to outsiders.34 As has become evident, the central problem from which all the others emerge is Lindbeck’s understanding of the relation between text and the world. Lindbeck has tried to respond to this challenge by distinguishing three kinds of truth: categorical, intrasystemic (coherentist) and ontological (correspondence). According to Lindbeck, the first two kinds are needed to get the last one right.35 Real correspondence is enabled by true performance of intrasystemic truth. In other words, in order to refer to God, one must not only utter some words but also grasp the meaning of the words and engage in practice that reflects this understanding.36 Lindbeck writes: It does no harm and may be helpful sometimes to speak of two other kinds of “truth,” categorical and intrasystematic, that are necessary in order rightly to affirm the ontological truth of, for example, Christus est Dominus. First, in the absence of appropriate categories and concepts, Christ’s Lordship is misconstrued. That Lordship is unlike any other: it involves, most astonishingly, the suffering servanthood of One who is God. Unless this is in some measure understood, “Christ is Lord” is false: it predicates the wrong Lordship of Jesus Christ. Nor does this proposition correspond to the reality affirmed by faith unless it is also, in the second place, intrasystematically “true,” that is, coheres

33   For example F. LeRon Shults argues that Lindbeck has privileged one philosophical theory, a certain way of reading the late Wittgenstein, and uses it as the non-contested starting point of his theological method. While trying to use Wittgenstein’s language game theory as universal grounding for theology, Lindbeck falls into a foundationalist position, where he chooses one particular doctrine or language game as authoritative, namely Nicaean Christology. See Shults, The Postfoundationalist Task of Theology (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1999), p. 54. Vidu (Postliberal Theological Method, p. 178, 226) suspects that Lindbeck is more loyal to philosophy of language than to the actual identity and practices of the Church. This consequently pushes him towards a position that is less communicative than Christian theology would naturally allow. 34   Lindbeck, Nature, p. 131; DeHart, Trial, pp. 97–98. 35   Lindbeck, “Response to Bruce Marshall,” The Thomist 53 (1989): pp. 403–406; “George Lindbeck replies to Avery Cardinal Dulles,” First Things (January 2004): pp. 13–15. 36   DeHart, Trial, p. 86.

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and is consistent with the whole network of Christian beliefs and practices. In the light of these clarifications, the tripartite division of “truth” implies neither relativism nor lack of objectivity.37

Lindbeck goes on to claim “It most emphatically does not imply that the realities which faith affirms and trusts are in the slightest degree intrasystematic. They are not dependent on the performative faith of believers (as if, for example, Christ rose from the dead only in the faith of the Church), but are objectively independent.” Although Lindbeck’s system can be taken as committed to realism, the form of realism is very delicate, and it has been hard for his readers to get a grip on it. However, even if there is no particular postliberal theological method, it was Lindbeck’s work that put theology on a new track. After this brief introduction, I now turn to contemporary models and proposals for theological methodology.

37

  Lindbeck, “Dulles,” p. 15.

Chapter 3

The Predicament of Fideism and Postmodern Theological Method Theological Method in the 20th Century: Some Typologies Hans Frei’s typology for contemporary theological methods, which was posthumously published in his Types of Christian Theology, has since been the standard taxonomy of the subject. In Frei’s typology, there are five types between two opposites of church/faith and academy/science. However, Frei expresses multiple caveats along the way concerning the viability and fragmentary nature of his typology. The typology was clearly meant to be more suggestive than determinate and it should not be read in a clear-cut manner.

(1)  Kaufman /Kant

Figure 3.1

(2)  Bultmann /Tracy

(3)  Schleiermacher /Tillich

(4)  Barth

(5)  Phillips

Hans Frei’s academy-church typology

In the first type, theology is taken to be a science within the academy and its subject matter is to be approached with rules similar to those of any other subject. The communal self-description of a given religious group does not have priority over scientific engagement with it. In Europe from the Enlightenment onwards this was the way of doing theology, which gave justification to theology as genuine science. The goal was explanation of religion in pure scientific terms. Consequently, this    (Eds) George Hunsinger and William C. Placher (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1992).    Frei, Types, p. 27. On the problems of the typology, see also DeHart, Trial, p. 206.    Frei, Types, pp. 3, 28–30.    The German word wissenschaft is notoriously hard to translate and Frei regularly uses the German concept in his work. In contemporary English, “science” is associated with natural sciences and their respective methodologies. The original meaning of wissenschaft included also humanistic and social sciences meaning that “wissenschaft, then, is the inquiry into the universal, rational principles that allow us to organize any and all specific fields of

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view had an effect on religious communities as well. Academic theological science was not only descriptive—it sought also to address the question of the genuine understanding of the religion, the most notable example of this being Immanuel Kant’s famous book, Religion within the Limits of Reason Alone. In Gordon Kaufman’s case, this meant that there is no specific self-description of Christianity. Instead, Christianity is just one expression of universal human existence. The second type attempts to correlate Christian doctrines with general cultural settings or contemporary ideals of science. Yet for David Tracy there is, in contrast to Kaufman, a real specificity of what Christianity is. Theology is explication of this fact in terms of the meanings human beings generally attach to their experience as being human. Nevertheless, this means subsuming the specific nature of Christianity under general religious experience. The third type uses correlation as well but it does not propose any super theory or comprehensive structure integrating the opposing poles of philosophy and theology. For Schleiermacher, Christian doctrine concerned the conditions of the self; our immediate consciousness of absolute dependence, which in effect meant being in relation to God. Schleiermacher’s complex theory indicated an elusive relation between general experiences and Christian language. On the one hand, Christian concepts could be transposed into their experiential correlates. On the other hand, experiences could be evocative analogues of Christian concepts. From this it results that, for example, the general experience of despair is not the same as the Christian concept of sin but a necessary precondition for understanding what sin is. Thus theology is not only translation of Christian concepts into contemporary language but also interpretation of contemporary experiences with the help of Christian concepts. There are, however, no clear-cut rules governing how this should take place. The fourth, Barthian, type does not see theology and philosophy as equally powerful poles but calls for the subordination of philosophy to theology. Theology is done within the Christian community, the Church, being self-description of the community’s beliefs and practices. Yet, theology involves “a critical task … [a] wissenschaftlich test.” Theology does not so much explain as interpret or redescribe the meaning of Christian assertions. In this, theology needs philosophy as a tool for self-description used in an ad hoc manner. In the fifth type, theology is purely a matter of Christian self-description. As an example of this, Frei presents the Wittgensteinian philosopher of religion, D.Z. inquiry into internally and mutually coherent, intelligible totalities.” See Frei, Types, p. 98. Although Frei thinks that this principle taken literally surrenders too much of the specific nature of Christian theology, he still thinks that theology needs to relate to this ideal even in a fragmentary manner.    Trans. Theodore Greene and Hoyt Hudson (New York: Harper, 1960).    Frei, Types, pp. 31–34.    Frei, Types, pp. 70–74, 81–82.    Frei, Types, pp. 78–83.

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Phillips, whose method attempts to provide a purely descriptive account of the uses of theological language. For Phillips, theology and philosophy have their own criteria of intelligibility, and they are completely distinct forms of life. The task of philosophy (of religion) is to clarify the uniqueness of religion and provide descriptive tools designed for this use. Yet, for Phillips, the self-description takes place through philosophical prescription, which, at least to some extent, joins the types (5) and (1) together, and that indicates for Frei that Phillips does not succeed in his attempt. In trying to find the most suitable method for contemporary theology, Frei rules out types (1) and (5), which he sees as resembling each other. In these models the communication between discourses is made impossible by a priori denial of mutual correlation. This leaves types (2), (3), and (4) where there is overlapping between internal and external discourses. In their own distinctive ways, these types are generally open to engage with other discourses and thereby able to enter into inter-communal conversation, which he sees as desirable for theology. Yet, Frei opposes type (2) to types (3) and (4). The reason for this is Frei’s reading of Tracy’s and Schleiermacher’s method of correlation. Frei considers Tracy’s “systematic correlation” in opposition to Barth’s “systematic subordination,” which leaves Schleiermacher’s “ad hoc correlation” in the middle. In systematic subordination, as Frei understands it, the “flow of interpretation” starts from biblical narrative, which is re-described in the second order theological language and ends in the auxiliary use of third order external frameworks. In type (2), the flow goes in the opposite direction, which leads to external frameworks mastering the meaning of the biblical narrative. In Schleiermacher’s case the direction of the flow is decided case-by-case and it leaves it more ambiguous. DeHart has demonstrated that the central question in Frei’s typology is the interpretation of Schleiermacher. Frei actually wants to defend Schleiermacher’s method, although he distances himself from Schleiermacher’s

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The flow of interpretation

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doctrinal position. He sees Barth’s hostility to correlation as beneficial in its own time and in relation to some specific issues but Frei advocates that more scope be allowed for correlation. However, the boundaries between types (2), (3) and (4) remain somewhat ambiguous. Even if some of Frei’s juxtapositions may be to some extent inaccurate, and his reading of his exemplary theologians not always sound, Frei’s basic claim that the Christian symbolic network cannot totally be expressed through some other symbolic network is of great importance. An attempt to reverse the subordinationist flow of interpretation would result in an unwarranted loss of identity. Theology would transform and reduce into some other semantic order— and cease being theology. This takes place in type (1), where correlation in fact is “systematic.” In the three correlationist types, the issue is more one of degree and style of correlation. Therefore, it seems that the problems are not in the method but in how it is employed. For Frei, Schleiermacher’s method is in itself correct but Tracy (and Schleiermacher himself) make bad use of it while Barth takes an unnecessarily negative stance against it. More recently, Robert C. Greer has offered another typology which uses “realism/anti-postmodernism” and “anti-realism/postmodernism” as the opposite poles.

(1)  Foundational realism/Schaeffer

Figure 3.3

(2)  Postfoundational realism/Barth

(3)  Postfoundational middle-distance realism/Lindbeck

(4)  Postfoundational anti-realism/Hick

Robert Greer’s realism–anti-realism typology

In Greer’s type (1), the exemplary theologian is Francis Schaeffer. For Schaeffer, theological method works along foundationalist lines. Theology should be based on indubitable foundations, which for Schaeffer is inerrant Scripture. In effect, this leads to a notion according to which there is only one correct interpretation of the biblical message.10 The second type moves beyond a foundational model of justification but seeks to retain realistic ontology: Theological language addresses a real entity when it speaks about God.11 However, Barth’s system, which functions For Frei’s positive reading of Schleiermacher’s method, see DeHart, Trial, pp. 229–231.   Greer, Mapping Postmodernism: A Survey of Christian Options (Downer’s Grove: IVP, 2003), pp. 94–95. 11   It should be noted that Greer’s use of “postfoundational” indicates only a move away from classical foundationalism. Therefore it differs from the uses of, for example, Wentzel van Huyssteen and the usage presented in this book. 

 

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here as an exemplar of type (2), is notoriously hesitant towards natural theology; instead theological reflection begins with God’s self-revelation, which cannot be proved by neutral means. According to Barth, natural theology leads to idolatry. In contrast to type (1), contemporary representatives of type (2) (for example, Miroslav Volf, James K.A. Smith, and Stanley Grenz) affirm a view according to which there is no single theological system that fully encapsulates the Christian faith. Therefore, the existence of plurality of theological styles is advantageous, not disastrous, to Christian faith. This, however, does not entail an anythinggoes attitude. The reasonable interpretations of Christ-event are sorted out using pragmatist criteria.12 In type (4), exemplified by John Hick, theological inquiry starts with accepting the impossibility of exceeding one’s own culture and historical situatedness. Although Hick does not deny the existence of the divine reality, he thinks that since we have no neutral way to speak about it, we are not able to compare religions in earnest. In Hick’s system, religious choices are essentially conformist and cannot be argued for.13 As the third type, Greer formulates a model of postfoundational middle-distance realism, which he constructs around the thinking of George Lindbeck. According to Greer, Lindbeck acknowledges the plurality of viable theological options but denies the relativistic anti-realism of type (4). This is done by grounding the theological enterprise in God’s self-revelation and the witness of the Church in the form of Scripture, creeds, and liturgy. Greer seems to think that the differences between types (2) and (3) are capable of inter-communal communication. In type (2), the pragmatist criteria offer ways for common discourse between different belief systems. However, Lindbeck’s type (3) reading of the late Wittgenstein pushes him to a more communicatively isolated position. Since different communities have varying conceptions of truth, goodness, and reality, it is impossible to comment on some community’s business from some other community’s viewpoint. This is supposed to guarantee communities their own space while acknowledging the inherent plurality of the world.14 Without a doubt more typologies exists, but it is not necessary to provide more of them here. At this point, it is enough to capture some kind of general picture of the field of discussion. Although helpful and heuristic, these typologies do not manage to cover the discussion as it appears today. Of course, typologies are always Procrustean beds and I do not claim that what I am going to propose would be free of this problem either. Here I agree gladly with Frei’s claim: “typologies … are nothing to be particularly proud of.”15 But still, reality is just too much to be taken into account as such; it is too complex to deal with without auxiliary means. In the following, I present my reading of the current discussion in the 12

    14   15   13

Greer, Mapping, pp. 97–121. Greer, Mapping, pp. 137–140. Greer, Mapping, pp. 142–157. Frei, Types, p. 19.

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form of a figure in which I have tried to include the most important factors and trends. Usually typologies tend to move between two poles but, as Frei has already indicated, the extremes usually collide, and in many cases the differences between the types are hard to pin down. I have tried to depict the trends in theological method in circular and dynamic fashion. Thus there are no extreme poles while the themes presented in previous typologies are still included in it. I believe that the following typology is able to capture the dynamic nature and continuous movement in the current discussion more efficiently than the previous models. Of course, the typology is of no value in itself. The value, if there is any, lies in the ability to help us see the field of discussion more clearly. This will, I hope, lead to terminological precision, ability to grasp the real issue at hand, and—in the most ideal case—to the transcending of some unnecessary boundaries. The four basic types in my scheme are (1) Traditionalism, (2) Descriptionism, (3) Revisionism and (4) Correlationism. These types do not present clearly distinguishable positions but they are to be understood more as centers of gravity, which draw things towards themselves. The central idea in the mutual location of these types is that one type feels both closeness to and distinction from its neighbors but aims to maintain its clearest distance with respect to the position on the other side of the circle. Types usually borrow something from their neighbors, which opens the possibility that a type may transform into its neighbor when it comes sufficiently close to a neighboring center of gravity, and can mean that some theologies are simply hard to pin down and characterize. On the upper left side of the figure, allegiance to the Church’s identity grows, whereas on the lower right side one seeks to be loyal to some ideology (which may vary case by case). On the lower side, correlation with extra systemic frameworks 1. Traditionalism Goal: perservation of identity Means: subordination to tradition and revelation

3. Correlationism Goal: communication Means: correlation

Figure 3.4

2. Descriptionism Goal: true description Means: disinterested inquiry

4. Revisionism Goal: social/personal fulfilment Means: revision of doctrines

A dynamic model of theological methods

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becomes systematic. On the upper right side, the influence of Wittgenstein is more apparent while on the lower left side, the closest philosophical affiliation is found typically with the philosophy of science or Thomistic metaphysics. The upper centers are usually more descriptive than prescriptive, while the lower ones aim more to prescription and explanation as well. The upper left center considers the preservation of the nature of Christian tradition of more value than the lower right center. The general description of the four centers is as follows. In center (1), you consider your primary allegiance after God to be to the Church and you seek to preserve its self-identity. The central beliefs of the Church form an epistemic primacy, which is able to trump competing forms of rationality. Theologians feeling close to type (1) usually employ nonfoundationalist language but their methods are usually founded on the Church’s core beliefs, such as Christology or Trinitarian dogma.16 This foundation is not universal like the one supposed by Cartesian foundationalism but is a local or a weak one. Center (2) employs nonfoundationalist language, being committed to some sort of anti-realist metaphysics, which forms the foundation in this case. Center (3) attempts to bring theology in consonance with contemporary ideologies. In this case, some scientific paradigm or ideology has the primacy over traditional Christian identity and self-description. The result either can either be reductionism or a more modest revision of the beliefs, which (in some cases) is argued to be in accord with the true nature of Christian faith. Finally, center (4) shares some of the goals of center (3) but attempts to explain classical doctrines with the help of science, metaphysics, or some other generally accepted criteria while being simultaneously loyal to the goals of center (1). In the following sections I aim to take a closer look at these types through theologians who have family resemblances to the given types. It must be borne in mind that I do not expect the exemplary theologians to be 1:1 scale representatives of the given types, and it should be easy to point out why person A does not represent (in all respects) the center where I have located him or her. One of the purposes of this dynamic model is to indicate that the boundaries are elusive and that theologians cannot be classified very easily. Nevertheless, the centers are real in the sense that they depict certain sets of common sensibilities that usually—but 16   For the sake of clarity, I follow Wentzel van Huyssteen’s distinction according to which “postfoundationalism” refers to a stance where both the contextual nature of knowledge and the possibility of truth are confessed. “Nonfoundationalism” or “antifoundationalism” goes further denying even the hope to strive towards the truth. The local foundationalist positions, which van Huyssteen calls “crypto-foundationalism,” appear in centers (1) and (3). In these centers people usually employ nonfoundationalist strategies but in order to legitimate prima facie one type of rationality over others. The difference between classical foundationalism and local foundationalism is that the local foundation is by definition local and does not try to be universal. van Huyssteen, Essays on Postfoundationalist Theology, pp. 2–5.

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not always—exist together. In each section I provide a sketch of the presuppositions of each type. Types of Theological Method Center (1) Traditionalism Many of the recent post-Lindbeckian methodological proposals are closely related to the thinking of Karl Barth. Barth’s own theological style was formed in contrast to certain tenets of the liberal Protestantism of his time. A theology which builds its self-understanding according to the needs of the time and accommodates too much to cultural elements becomes, according to Barth, a travesty of Christianity as was notoriously apparent in theological developments in pre-WWII Germany.17 The turning point in Barth’s thinking occurred when he saw how contemporary liberal theology uncritically supported the nationalist cause, claiming that the history of the German people contains “revelation” in Hegelian fashion. His resistance led him to fiercely oppose natural theology and emphasize the Church’s own traditional self-understanding and confession as its basic foundation. Thus theology begins with God’s self-revelation, not from setting the rules of discourse from the human side. Barth states: “Prolegomena to dogmatics are possible only as part of dogmatics itself.”18 Theology, therefore, from the Barthian viewpoint means subordination to the apostolic message and tradition. Contemporary theologians who follow more or less in the footsteps of Barth include, among others, Stanley Grenz, Stanley Hauerwas, Andrew Moore, Bruce Marshall, David Bentley Hart, and Robert Jenson. Even though these theologians may differ in some points, and even distance themselves from Barth’s thinking, their overall styles of doing theology resemble each other.19 I have outlined typical characteristics of type (1) in the following tenets.

17

 See, for example, Arne Rasmusson, “‘Deprive them of their pathos’: Karl Barth and the Nazi Revolution revisited,” Modern Theology 23:3 (July 2007): pp. 371–391; “Historiography and Theology: Theology in the Weimar Republic and the Beginning of the Third Reich,” Kirchliche Zeitgeschichte 20:1 (2007): pp. 155–180. 18   Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics 1/1 (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1975), pp. 42, 305. For Barth, there can be no higher norm or criteria for accepting God’s revelation than the revelation itself because that would mean considering this supposed norm more fundamental than the revelation. 19   Indeed, Robert Jenson (Systematic Theology Vol 1. Triune God (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), p.21) claims: “One need not adopt all Barth’s characteristic theologoumena to take this massive work as model and challenge … ”.

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The basic tenets of Traditionalism

(1)  Traditionalism Neutrality/objectivity Method of justification Natural theology/ use of philosophy Nature of rationality Nature of reality Goal Method Communication

Rejection of the possibility of neutrality: everybody inhabits some story or conceptual framework Prima facie justification of Christian self-understanding: there is a foundation but it is not universal; weak foundationalism Critical (but not necessarily totally negative) attitude towards natural theology, ad hoc use of philosophy Tradition based, but not necessarily incommensurate Realist/internal realist Preservation of Christian faith and tradition Assimilation of foreign beliefs based on system’s own beliefs Inter-communal communication takes place from fixed and conscious identity but the identity is not closed or immune to criticism

In the following, I will demonstrate these points with the texts of these thinkers. It is not my aim to offer a complete close reading of their theological systems. Instead, I will attempt to provide an account of the elements that give the center its distinctive nature. The Question of Prolegomena: God or Idol? The prime example of re-consideration of the nature of theological prolegomena in recent Christian theology is Robert Jenson’s two-volume Systematic Theology.20 Jenson claims that there are no neutral vantage points from which to enable the theological enterprise, and that it is not possible to give warrant to theology with supposedly independent criteria. Here Jenson departs from the method of earlier liberal Protestantism, which used hundreds of pages for theological prolegomena, trying to ground theology in, for example, universal reason (Enlightenment) or experience (liberal Protestantism). Theology does not need “right” metaphysics to give ground to its legitimate existence. Several other theologians have made similar claims. According to David Bentley Hart, Christian theology starts with its own story about God, creation, Christ, and the practice of love. The first things this story meets are the eye and the heart. In Christian theology, truth cannot be separated from the beauty of the way Christian faith reads and explains the world. In keeping with this, Christian thought does not offer a single or even a set of “rational” arguments that knock down the interlocutors. Christian truth may be “urged” and “enacted” 20   Jenson, Systematic Theology Vol. 1 and Systematic Theology Vol. 2 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997–1999).

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but never proved by detached investigation. It is first and foremost the beauty of the Christian story that convinces the seekers.21 John Milbank’s position on faith and reason comes close to that of Hart. However, Milbank’s Radical Orthodoxy program is notoriously hard to contain within any clear-cut taxonomy. A typical reaction against Milbank has been the charge of fideism due to his unwillingness to recognize any other starting points outside the theological.22 For Milbank, the dualism of faith and reason results from bad theology gone rampant. Dismissing the participatory metaphysics of Aquinas enabled the existence of the secular sphere, which ultimately created the aforementioned dualism. Milbank now seeks to undo this dualism by showing faith and reason to be completely harmonious—if observed through a specific Christian framework.23 Milbank vociferously expresses his distaste for fideism, which he sees in Barthian neo-orthodoxy. For him, Barth is too modern and not postmodern enough, being imprisoned within modernity’s dualisms. Milbank’s unique model does not call for a retreat from the public sphere but rather taking over the public sphere with the strength of the Christian vision.24 In this mission Christianity cannot rely on neutral arguments that in turn rely on universal and pure reason—because there are no such things—but on “taste,” in telling the Christian story which vindicates other stories and absorbs them.25

  David B. Hart, Beauty of the Infinite: The Aesthetics of Christian Truth (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2004), p. 4. To be precise, Hart follows Hans Urs von Balthasar in his Beauty of the Infinite more than Barth, and I do not wish to characterize him as Barthian even if some traits in his theology show some Barthian sensibilities. In many ways, Hart shares many sensibilities of center 4. 22   John Milbank, Theology and Social Theory: Beyond Secular Reason (Oxford: Blackwell, 1990), pp. 1, 330. For criticisms, see, for example, Alister McGrath, The Science of God (Edinburgh: T&T Clark 2004), pp. 13, 120. 23   Milbank, “Programme of Radical Orthodoxy,” in Laurence Paul Hemming (ed.), Radical Orthodoxy? A Catholic Inquiry (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2000), pp. 33–46. 24   D. Stephen Long, “Radical Orthodoxy,” in Kevin Vanhoozer (ed.), Cambridge Companion to Postmodern Theology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), pp. 131–134; James K.A. Smith, Introducing Radical Orthodoxy, pp. 143–183. 25  If the earlier stage in the Radical Orthodoxy movement seemed to favor antiuniversalist and incommensurabilist attitudes, more recent work appears to move in a direction where revelation, Church and grace are found in all human societies. See, for example, Milbank, Being Reconciled (London: Routledge, 2003), pp. 105–106, 122, 138; Future of Love: Essays in Political Theology (Eugene, OR: Cascade, 2009), pp. 316–335. This seems to push Milbank into a specific kind of correlationism (of course, this has to be interpreted through his understanding of “participation”), where philosophical concepts have more influence than the actual theological content. In that case, the traditionalism or “orthodoxy” of Milbank has to do more with the form than the matter of Christian theology. For an interesting critique, see, for example, Eric Gregory, Politics and the Order of Love (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2008), pp. 125–148. 21

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Stanley Hauerwas’s theology famously puts its emphasis on practice and witness: “Without witness, there is no argument.” Christian truths are first and foremost something to be lived out; they are not “just another set of beliefs, but a story at once simple and complex that encompasses all that is.”26 The danger in traditional natural theology is that it divorces the beliefs from the practice and tries to prove the existence of a god who does not matter and has no actual effect on reality, including the way we lead our lives. Instead, Christians are called to witness about the reality of the Triune God through witness and bearing the cross. This action is not supposed to lead into isolation as it reveals “the grain of the universe:” truth is there where lives are lived in sacrifice for the other, in imitation of Christ. In a similar way, Stanley Grenz and John Franke call for moving beyond the Enlightenment-influenced foundationalist theological method. Instead of being a set of inferences from indubitable knowledge, beliefs should be seen as a system where individual beliefs are supported by their neighbors. Thus when no single isolated foundation exists, theology must be seen as a web of mutually supporting beliefs. This web, “the cognitive mosaic of Christian faith,” comprises the Christian worldview, which in point of fact is grounded in the selfrevelation of the Triune God. Grenz and Franke cite sociologists Peter Berger and Thomas Luckman in favor of understanding all knowledge as socially constructed. In Kantian fashion, we do not meet the world as it is but we only experience it through language, experiences, and culture, which make us inhabit a particular perspective on reality. As human beings we are unable to transcend our situatedness, and we have prima facie justification for our perspective. For Christians, this means seeing the world through the lenses of the Gospel.27 One of the most sophisticated defenses of Christian self-identity in recent years is Bruce Marshall’s work, Trinity and Truth, where he goes to great lengths in defending the right of the Christian community to its particular reading of the world. According to Marshall, Christians do not need to borrow their fundamental truths from other, non-theological, systems, since they can build their epistemological structure and account of truth in a “robustly Trinitarian” way. Marshall confesses his indebtedness to George Lindbeck for showing how “Christians can and should have their own ways of thinking about truth and about deciding what to believe.”28 Trinitarian identification of God is the central element in Christian belief and practice, and everything Christians believe or do is shaped by this belief. This practice indicates that Trinitarian beliefs are the primary criteria for truth in Christian communities. In other words, Trinitarian   Stanley Hauerwas, With the Grain of the Universe: The Church’s Witness and Natural Theology (Grand Rapids: Brazos, 2001), pp. 215, 229, 231. 27  Stanley Grenz and John Franke, Beyond Foundationalism: Shaping Theology in a Postmodern Context (Louisville: WJK Press, 2001), pp. 51–54. 28   Bruce Marshall, Trinity and Truth (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), p. xi. 26

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beliefs have epistemic primacy in relation to all other beliefs, those beliefs being subordinate to them. Clearly, this is what holding something to be true and primary means: In the case of competition of beliefs, the beliefs which are held to be primary will trump those which challenge them. The alternative to this, which Marshall sees as prevalent in modern theology (Schleiermacher and Bultmann being the prime examples), claims that in order to decide what is true in Christianity we must test its claims against some non-Christian notions of Wissenschaft. Consequently, we will have a method of correlation, where consistency with extra-systemic beliefs grants the right to hold Christian beliefs. But should there be a conflict between the systems, it is the Christian system that needs to back down or revise its claims.29 In fact, the critique of center (4) by center (1) boils down to the claim that correlation greases the slope leading to center (3). Using correlation as a means to fix the truth of theological claims unmasks that what was held to be true from the start were not the Christian beliefs but some specific notions of justification. In keeping with this, accepting this kind of method of justification, indicates that such a modernist approach is unable to do justice to the meaning of Christian sentences, or else it must replace their original meaning with something that is allowed by given epistemic criteria. Here Marshall refers to Donald Davidson, according to whom the meaning of the sentence is tied to its truth conditions. In order to understand the meaning of the sentence, one must also grasp the conditions within which it can be held to be true.30 For example, when making a translation from an unknown language, one must proceed by ascribing truth to the utterances of a language speaker. Marshall writes: “We can interpret native utterances in a non-circular way if we can correctly locate their truth conditions. The chief test for whether we have done so is whether we can count as true most of the sentences the native holds true.”31 So this is how we learn a language: by seeing what are the truth conditions and whether they are met. We cannot accept the modern way of mixing correlating epistemic primacies because that leads to a false translation: instead of learning the meaning that an utterance has in its natural environment, we ascribe to it a meaning that it should have. For Marshall, correlation as a means of trying to fix the truth-value of beliefs of one system with the help of another is a category mistake.32

 Marshall, Trinity, p. 59.  Engaging with Marshall’s reading of Davidson is beyond the scope of this volume. For a critical but appreciative and insightful treatment of both Marshall and Davidson, see Adonis Vidu, Theology After Neo-pragmatism (Carlisle: Paternoster, 2009). 31  Marshall, Trinity, p. 97. 32  Marshall, Trinity, pp. 138–140. 29

30

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In addition to granting theology its space, the rejection of neutrality has a deeply theological function.33 One of the main concerns of center (1) is the need to ensure that the God we worship is in fact the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, instead of being an idol. This means that the starting point of theology cannot be any metaphysical conceptualization but a particular revelation. That is, we do not first need to establish a theory about the reality of creation in order to come in contact with the Creator. Theology begins from the self-revelation of God, not from philosophy or metaphysics.34 This theme has been recently examined by Andrew Moore. He claims that we should make a methodological distinction between the God of philosophers and the Triune God of the Bible, meaning that the realism of Christianity should be demonstrated without appealing to philosophical theism.35 This move is supported by the fact that central Christian claims resist explanation. The markers of Christ’s special identity, such as incarnation and resurrection, cannot be explained by non-theological frameworks without reduction, which consequently changes the meaning of these events. In short, reductionist scientific method should not be given the status of being able to define the credibility of theological claims, which is a danger that lies in more correlational methods.36 Jenson shares the same emphasis on the particularity of Christian revelation. For Jenson, the Christian understanding of the world is irredeemably tied to particulars. The doctrine of the Trinity is the particularly Christian answer to the universal question of being in time. The Christian answer in the form of Triune God is not a human projection (á la Feuerbach) but the depiction of reality. There 33  On the recent discussion concerning neutrality and contextuality in philosophy of science see, for example, Ilkka Niiniluoto, Critical Scientific Realism (Oxford: Clarendon, 2002). 34  See, for example, Barth’s treatment of analogia entis and analogia fidei in CD II/1, pp. 80–84. 35   Andrew Moore, Realism and Christian Faith: God, Grammar and Meaning (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), pp. 29–34. 36  Moore, Realism, p. 37. See also William Abraham, Crossing the Threshold of Divine Revelation (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2006), pp. 9–10. In a like manner, Abraham eschews epistemic strategies, which start from general epistemic theory in order to secure Christian theism its intelligibility. Abraham states that this strategy is problematic for the following reasons. First of all, there is no agreement among epistemologists which might be the best method of justifying beliefs. Second problem with general methodology is that proposed general criteria are always reductive and fragmentary. Thirdly, general methodologies cannot treat or secure the detailed content of Christian belief although they might be able to provide ground for some sort of minimalist theism. But this poses a problem of authenticity since, while trying to treat the way Christians hold their beliefs, it cannot deal with those beliefs. Fourthly, accepting general criteria a priori rules out employing distinctive characteristics contained within Christian tradition. Finally, an attempt to canonize particular general criteria for epistemic justification only multiplies the possibility of schism when all are not willing to accept the proposed criteria.

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is no transcendence detached from historical and temporal reality. Consequently, the doctrine of the Trinity cannot identify anything if God has not already identified himself. Thus, the doctrine of Trinity is a contextual expression of the acts in which God identifies himself. To be precise: God does not only selfidentify by certain events, thereby suggesting that he is ontologically something different from or outside of those events. Instead, God identifies himself with those events.37 This indicates that God is ontologically bound to those events, the two most important events being the Exodus and the person of Jesus Christ (“the Christ-event”), especially his Resurrection. Still, God is in a certain sense other than the reality which He uses to identify himself, though He nevertheless is in some way the same as these events. In addition to particular identifying events, God’s self-revelation takes places through “personal names” and identifying descriptions. These include God’s proper name JHWH and the answer to the question “Who is God?” as it is given in the New Testament: “Whoever raised Jesus from the dead.” Since Jenson believes that God is really identifiable by and with the Exodus and Resurrection, it seems appropriate to ask what sort of being God is. Jenson’s answer is that God’s hypostatic being is constituted in dramatic coherence—or in other words, life within the history.38 God is identified by particular temporal events and is known within particular temporal communities by personal names and particular identifying descriptions.39 The juxtaposition of the eternal and universal notion of deity with the particular one is illustrated in the following excerpt. The dependence of the word “god” on the expansively analogous notion of “eternity” gives “god” a logical quirk we should note here. In a sentence with a religiously potent predicate and “god” as subject, such as, for example, “God redeems,” the predicate remains materially undetermined until the referent of “god” is identified. For if we do not know which putative god is intended, “God redeems” says only that a somehow eternal someone somehow transcends whatever situation that someone regards as undesirable; when we learn that, we learn little enough. Only when “god” is identified as, for example, Baal, does “God redeems” acquire religious meaning, in this case “God sends rain and so rescues the city.” Finally, the product of such predicates, “saves” must   Jenson, Systematic Theology I, 47–48. See also Oswald Bayer, Theology the Lutheran Way (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2007), pp. 191, 193–198. 38   Theology and theological doctrines thus do not speak only about theological language but about God’s works within our history. According to Jenson, true knowledge of God is not available without special revelation. However, the special revelation consists of particular events in history being presented in a universal way. While Jenson sees that no universal criteria of rationality are needed in the Church in order to ground its particular way of thinking and reception of revelation, its particular theology is a prerequisite of universal rationality. See Jenson, Systematic Theology I, pp. 6–9, 18–19. 39   Jenson, Systematic Theology I, pp. 57–60. 37

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be entirely moot until its subject is identified; so that the proposition “All gods save” is indeed indisputable but only because it is wholly empty.40

This notion takes advantage of one central point of Wittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations: the meaning of the sign is its use, which can be defined only within a certain context. Therefore, speaking about “god” in a universal sense is utter gobbledygook; all reasonable ostension needs to take place as a part of a story. The theme of particularity is developed and set against correlational methods in David Bentley Hart’s Beauty of the Infinite as well. Hart states: “if indeed God became a man, then Truth condescended to become a truth, from whose historical contingency one cannot simply pass to categories of universal rationality; and this means that whatever Christians mean when they speak of truth, it cannot involve simply the dialectical wrestling of abstract principles from intractable facts.”41 In order to understand Christianity, one needs to understand the irreducible historical grounding of Christian faith. The Christian message is not a timeless wisdom but a particular story about a particular Jew in a particular form.42 However, the attempts to separate the Christian message from the events of this world have been there from the beginning. Hart calls this removal of the offence of the particularity of Christ “Gnosticism.” Two key figures of modern theology with this type of Gnostic theological method are Rudolf Bultmann and Paul Tillich. Paradoxically, Bultmann’s attempt to “demythologize” Christian theology was in reality a mystification of Christian theology par excellence. Bultmann belongs to the line of theologians, starting from Lessing, who seek to fill the ugly broad ditch separating Christianity from the world of universals. This Bultmann tries to do by locating the essence of Christianity somewhere behind the text and descriptions of particular events. However, this eventually leads to dehistoricizing the Christian faith, which does not any more interact with the world but is hidden somewhere in the depths of the self and inner being of humanity. Instead of grounding faith in actual life and history, it becomes metaphysical discourse. “[Bultmann’s] theology brings the entire weight of faith to rest upon a transcendental interiority by annihilating all aesthetic continuity between God and creation, and so necessarily terminates in a Gnosticism that extracts from the mire of created contingency a purely spiritual, formless, inward, and unutterable wisdom, disabused of all illusion.”43 In the case of Paul Tillich, the content of kerygma is evacuated from this world by reducing theological language to symbols. According to Tillich, if theological claims are understood literally, God is deprived of ultimacy and 40

    42   43   41

Jenson, Systematic Theology I, p. 56. Hart, Beauty, p. 5. Italics his. Hart, Beauty, p. 17. Hart, Beauty, p. 23.

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majesty drawing God on to a level which is less than ultimate, in the midst of finite and conditional beings. He even claims that if faith takes its symbols literally it becomes idolatrous.44 While admitting symbols their due place, Hart claims that for Tillich, vague talk about symbols works as an easy out when encountering difficulties with particular narratives or the scandal of the particular as such. The realm of abstractions is more immune to criticism.45 Nevertheless, this leads to an empty and docetic vision of creation with mere theological frosting. The concrete details of the narratives are sacrificed in favor of the categories of universal and hidden spiritual meanings. The basic flaw in Tillich’s theological method, as Hart sees it, is its lack of interpretative acuity to distinguish openly fabulous narratives (such as the story of Eden) from the descriptions of concrete events. When everything is reduced to the level of the symbolic, we lose the events, which were to be the content of the faith. Salvific acts of God, such as crucifixion and resurrection, have no abstract meaning outside or without the actual event itself. Divine revelation is neither ethereal nor remote: “it has weight, density, and presence.”46 Thus the central claim within center (1) is to provide a space for particularity and resist totalizing claims. This, however, typically draws the accusations of fideism. Is the cost of having an identity based on particulars too high? Identity and Critique As has been already pointed out in the introduction and the chapter on postliberalism, the critiques of these types of theology have been centered on the themes of communication and negotiation. It has been claimed that the alleged “fideism” of these models is something that prevents dialogue and mutual interaction, making religion unintelligible for the modern world, and closes them in an isolated intellectual ghetto. If we cannot settle the issue through extra systemic means we hold beliefs irrationally, the critics claim. Regarding the possibility of extra systemic critique, Jenson readily admits, “No community cares much about self-critique and church is here no exception.”47 Yet, this does not mean that center (1) is beyond critique or that it is a sealed position. In this section I seek to address the question of how contemporary Barth-influenced   Paul Tillich, Dynamics of Faith (New York: Harper, 1957), p. 52.   In fact, this marks a retreat to a kind of fideism where beliefs are evacuated beyond criticism. This kind of fideism is not usually seen as dangerous because it involves separation of belief and ethics/practice. Beliefs do not directly have effect on practices; they may motivate a person to action but they do not give form to action. The form is borrowed from generally available criteria, not from special revelation. Thus if Christians do what everybody else is doing, it matters only a little what they believe because that does not bear much on their actions. 46   Hart, Beauty, pp. 25–28. 47   Jenson, Systematic Theology I, p. 11. 44 45

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systems cope with inter-communal discourse. How are the claims of faith communicated to outsiders? Can the faith be negotiated and how does it relate to criticism? Answering the first question, Jenson claims that the Christian story has a certain point of contact with general human experience. Drawing on the discussions surrounding “death of God” theology, Jenson builds his account of Christian theology in relation to the central existential and philosophical questions of the 20th century: if there is no transcendence beyond our realm of experiences, which would connect earthly events in a continuum thereby creating a purpose and goal for everything, are we left with nihilism and relativism? While generally critical of natural theology, Jenson nevertheless uses as a universal starting point negative natural theology.48 Jenson claims that there exists a formal, conceptual set of questions, which structure the particular contents of all belief systems. Every human being wrestles with certain common questions, which are universally shared. These questions gather around the question of time. All human self-understanding and action is necessarily tensed; humans cannot act upon the world without the categories of “will be” (future), “was” (past), and “is” (present). On the one hand human life is shaped by the past, which is always beyond our reach and therefore determined to be as it is forever. On the other hand, humans look towards what is to come, this future being free from the past and yet to be disclosed. Human life “happens” in the intersection of past and future, that is, in the present. Jenson claims that people in all cultures understand what it means to live in time, in the waiting for the open, unknown and unpredictable future. This self-understanding creates religions and their counterpart, nihilism. What unites all religions is the attempt to merge events in history into a continuum, or a story, giving thus meaning to the present. If human beings cease from this endeavor they practice nihilism, in which human life is interpreted as a plotless series of disconnected events without any direction or meaning. Generally, religions are reactions to the possibility of nihilism. Jenson claims that in all that we do, “we rely upon some way in which time’s discontinuities are believed to be transcended, that is, we posit and seek some or another eternity. If our seeking becomes thematic, we practice religion.”49 This way all religions and even nihilism are always connected to some kind of self-revelation of the Triune God, who is encountered in the phenomenon of time. God forces human beings to interrogate the meaning of their lives. These existential questions do not, however, contain specific content being thus able to be answered within all kinds of belief systems in different ways. Jenson sharply   Jenson, “Proclamation without Metaphysics,” Dialog 1 (1962): pp. 22–29. I have used here Timo Tavast’s Finnish dissertation on Jenson. See Tavast, Ajassa identifioituva Jumala. Robert W. Jensonin triniteettioppi (Joensuu: University of Joensuu Publications in Theology, 2006), p. 45. Tavast argues that Jenson’s early take on natural theology goes through only minor changes and remains essentially the same in Jenson’s later writings. 49   Jenson, Systematic Theology I, pp. 54–55. 48

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criticizes the kind of positivistic theology of religions where sheer forms or questions shape the content of religion(s). Jenson believes that the answers given to these questions differ a great deal from one tradition to another. He argues that it is possible to characterize two basic models of how to join the past and the future together. It is either the (fixed) past or the (open) future which shapes the transcendence. In the first case (past), it is not time which defines the reality. Time and all events of history are in the end contingent, and what really is, is not shaped by contingency and change. Beyond time and change there is something necessary, static, immovable and eternal, which in religion is defined as “God.” In the latter case (future), it is first and foremost temporal and particular events of history which open up the future beyond determinism, a future that is constituted by the temporality and particularity. On this model it is only the presence of the Triune God within our history that makes sense of history.50 This has a significant effect on how Jenson treats the role of metaphysics in his theology. Because Christian understanding is rooted in particular historical events this necessarily affects the way other metaphysical systems can be deployed and used by Christian theology.51 This also raises the question how intercommunal discourse actually takes place and whether it can be warranted by intrasystemic means. As a response, Jenson defines rationality as a virtue, as “epistemic openness to God’s future,” meaning entertaining the possibility of changing one’s mind and testing one’s opinions. Irrationality, instead, is a “crime.” Jenson claims: “When I maintain my opinions merely because I already hold them, I shut myself against the future and so against the new possibilities others represent to me. And so I violate community. I violate community even or especially when I hold my opinions simply because my community itself already maintains them.” Agnosticism Jenson regards as a sort of cowardliness. While it represents itself as courage, it in fact only enables a situation where nothing changes and everything remains as it was. Only one who makes a claim “This is true,” is genuinely open to the future, the claim making her open to the possibility being wrong.52 Hart also claims that Christian theology has no interest in disinterested rationality, which he regards as a mere “myth,”53 while nevertheless announcing his dislike of “anti-foundationalist” ideological shelters against critique with regard to epistemological and ontological issues that theology needs to address. Hart believes that because the Christian story is “the true story of being,” and therefore meant for all with no exclusions, it must “speak out of its story in   Jenson, Systematic Theology I, pp. 54–57.   He, for example, claims that most of the ecumenical disagreements result from accepting non-biblical metaphysics as the basis for theology. See Jenson, Unbaptized God: The Basic Flaw in Ecumenical Theology (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992), p. 118. 52   Jenson, Systematic Theology II, pp. 146–147. 53   Hart, Beauty, p. 3. 50 51

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a way that is not ‘narrative’ only … in a way that can find resonances and correspondences in the language and ‘experience’ of those who are not Christian.” But on what grounds does Hart choose this particular story to be true? He regards Christian truth as “an aesthetic truth”. The truthfulness of Christian narrative lies in its power to address the nature of being, make sense of reality’s goodness and its overall coherence. These attributes are lacking in other stories.54 Hart’s system starts with Christian self-understanding and internal examination of its coherence. The test of coherence, however, is not encapsulated within the Christian community but is assessed against the common human experience and other stories and explanations of the world. Therefore, Hart’s position is not purely coherentist. Yet, Hart’s theology and his aesthetic epistemology work along different lines than does, for example, classical Thomistic theology, which uses the analogia entis as the connecting element between our world and God’s reality. For Hart, reality has an ambiguous character meaning that it can be interpreted as inherently violent (postmodern/Nietzschean reading) or as a reflection of divine beauty and love (Christian reading). There is nothing in reality that forces either of these interpretations both being more or less intelligible readings of the world. This ambiguity makes the use of analogy, correlation and natural theology more problematic. Becoming Christian is becoming enchanted by the beauty of Christ. The Christian reading of the world can be critiqued by offering an alternate reading that offers some other kind of beauty or end for the world, but there never is a third place from where the issue could be settled objectively. For Marshall, the Christian belief system is not isolated. One may not believe just anything, nor may epistemic priorities be selected arbitrarily. Further, although holding beliefs in an epistemically responsible way does not entail that one should be able give reasons for every one of her beliefs, it does entail that any one of her beliefs is in theory open for challenge and change. Such challenges may occur when the Christian believer confronts alien or novel beliefs. Alien beliefs are those that are not central for the Christian belief system and can be held false or true without this affecting the communal identity. Novel beliefs are those that are live options for the community of believers but with respect to which there is no existing decision about what to do with those beliefs. “Novel claims are ‘live’ options for belief when (a) they come with reasons attached which make the claims in some degree persuasive, and (b) they impinge closely enough on the Christian community’s identity-forming belief and practice to make deciding about their truth worth the trouble for the community or its members.”55 Assimilating a novel belief may require stretching or even abandoning some   Hart, Beauty, pp. 4, 31. See also John Milbank and Catherine Pickstock, Truth in Aquinas (London: Routledge, 2001), p. 9. 55  Marshall, Trinity, p. 148. No belief can be a priori neglected as unfitting for Christians. Any belief might be included as a part of Christian system of beliefs. See Marshall, Ibid., 22. 54

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of the prior beliefs. This makes it harder to assimilate those novel beliefs that impinge on the community’s central beliefs. If a community accepts novel beliefs that are contrary to or in tension with its central beliefs, this indicates the end of the community that held those beliefs as central and the birth of a new kind of community with other epistemic priorities or simply one community being absorbed by the other. Genuine assimilation of alien or novel beliefs takes place through a process which does not challenge the epistemic primacy. The Christian belief system, however, invites this kind of assimilation according to St. Paul’s example of “taking every thought captive to obey Christ” (2. Cr. 10:5), setting Christian faith under the burden of actively seeking common ground with other systems and finding ways of assimilating their beliefs. This entails that Christians are to make every effort in order to understand the other systems as profoundly as it is possible. Outright rejection of other systems is therefore not an option for Christians.56 But we still may ask whether the Christian belief-system is essentially sealed from real criticism in the sense it could not turn out be false. If we follow Marshall (who has formulated this in a most detailed and rigorous manner), the answer is no. For example, indubitable evidence that Christ’s resurrection was an ingenious fabrication would destroy the particular grounding of Christian beliefpolicy and the possibility of holding it true.57 Although a Christian believes that disciples did not invent Christ’s resurrection, she can still have a descriptive logical option for a method of demonstrating how her belief-system might be proved to be false. The central criticism concerning center (1) was its hesitant attitude to the adoption of external criteria for evaluation of its beliefs. Behind these criticisms there can be multiple reasons, one of them being, of course, fear of religiously motivated terrorism and other harmful behavior. Additionally, problems of ecumenical convergence rise to the fore when everyone holds their particular notions as true. Believing something strongly and with a come-what-mayattitude is thus seen as dangerous. But two objections might be offered. First, contrary to the popular dictum “it does not matter what you believe if you believe 56   Vidu, Theology, pp. 204–207. Vidu claims that Marshall succeeds in avoiding unwanted fideism and intellectual isolation, opening a public space of discourse. Vidu, however, wonders whether the use of Davidson poses other kinds of problems. He writes: “While the need to optimize agreement results in a large number of beliefs being accepted into our belief system, we have no other way of distinguishing between rival beliefs which passed through ‘the net’ except by appealing to those epistemic priorities. We will thus have to disagree with particular beliefs other people hold precisely in order to find them true on most other matters. Yet the fact remains that we cannot disagree with them on most things. Should our priorities require us to do so, then those that do would have to be relinquished, or our ascription of meaning revised.” (Ibid., 205). 57  Marshall, Trinity, p. 167; Jenson, Triune Identity (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1982), p. 168; Frei, Theology and Narrative (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993), p. 14.

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sincerely” we should observe what is believed as well as how it is believed. The real problem is harmful beliefs not belief-policies themselves. Secondly, even in center (1), the theologians do not argue for an absolute come-what-may attitude, and they do seek resonances and interaction with other systems. The second class of criticisms has to do with the distaste of metaphysics. For example, Francesca Murphy has claimed that inability to address the question of “being,” emphasis on language, and the performative notion of truth make theological truths psychological; they happen only in the mind of the performer. Some forms of Barthian-influenced theology come close to a kind of anti-realism or the descriptive notion of theological method of center (2). Especially from the viewpoint of center (4), this is a theologically inadequate position since while it can guarantee the identity it cannot guarantee the existence of something that transcends the individual identities and gives them their shape.58 This brief description of thinkers leaning towards center (1) brings out the widespread perception that theology requires its own space, which may be defended with the help of communitarian philosophies. If there is no universal access to reality beyond particular viewpoints, then theology can justify its perspective as well­—at least prima facie. But as we have seen, communitarian particularism may not be regarded as a recent invention (and thus something that must first be correlated with Christian faith) but rather as a genuine expression of the original Christian understanding of the world. Center (2) Descriptionism In the latter part of the 20th Century, while some created liberation theologies or openly revisionist models and some engaged in different sorts of defense of more traditional religious belief, others saw possibilities in Wittgensteinian languagegame theory. Instead of revising or defending religious doctrines, they should be left “as they are” without altering them.59 The task of philosophy of religion should be authentic description and analysis of the religious use of language. The most well-known proponent of this approach is D.Z. Phillips but some other philosophers share the same style, such as Eberhard Herrman, Norman Malcolm, 58  Murphy, God is Not a Story, p. 53. Murphy claims that, “narrative identity is not strong enough to anchor a particular presence, because it is not physically embodied. It gives us the idea of the resurrected Christ. But, it does not point us along the way to the resurrected body of Jesus, as seen by Mary Magdalene and the other apostles.” (Ibid. p. 71) Murphy seems to read contemporary Barthians as anti-realists (which is a possible but not necessarily warranted reading). In fact, Murphy sees Barthian narrative theology as a slippery slope, which eventually leads to anti-realism when the used method becomes the content of theology. See Ibid. pp. 30–31, 121, 128–129. 59  See Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations, §124: “Philosophy may in no way interfere with the actual use of language; it can in the end only describe it. For it cannot give it any foundation either. It leaves everything as it is.”

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O.K. Bouwsma and Hilary Putnam.60 Additionally, Lindbeck’s account of postliberal theological method has some resemblance with center (2). However, having analyzed Lindbeck in a previous chapter I am not aiming to repeat the exercise in this context. Much of the philosophical setting of center (2) goes back to Wittgenstein’s late philosophy, especially to his theory of language games in Philosophical Investigations. While it is not the object of this study to analyze Wittgenstein in detail, a few issues need to be addressed here. One of Wittgenstein’s aims in Philosophical Investigations is to show that describing the sign-world link is a really complex matter. In Tractatus, Wittgenstein presents only one theory of how language works (the picture theory), while in Investigations he brings more to the table in order to show that we cannot survive with one theory only. It is impossible to provide a single universal theory which is able to cover all aspects of the use of language.61 Yet we are able to depict different aspects of how language is used in different contexts. Understanding the nature of language as a matter of sheer correspondence between words and the phenomena of the world is reductionism. There is more to language than mere ostension. There is, yes, a link between words and the world but there is no other way to define this relation but by using language in certain contexts. The word “five,” for example, does not refer anything in the world as such. However, if we use it in the context of buying five doughnuts, it has the ostension of five particular doughnuts, but in some other context the ostension is five particular apples. For most of the time, despite the fact that language is always imprecise, it works properly because language is connected with reality and is consequently corrected, if necessary, by reality.62 In this context, when compared to Derrida, the following difference emerges: if for Derrida the meaning of a sign is its relation to other signs, for Wittgenstein the meaning is its use, which allows room for correspondence without surrendering everything for it.63 For both Derrida and Wittgenstein everything is language but for Wittgenstein language is not everything. 60   Theologians using Wittgenstein can differ a great deal from one another and the whole concept of a Wittgensteinian theological style is somewhat problematic. For a concise introduction to the theme, see Koistinen, Philosophy, pp. 139–160. See also D.Z. Phillips, “Wittgensteinianism: Logic, Reality, and God,” and Nicholas Wolterstorff, “Religious Epistemology,” in William J. Wainwright (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of Philosophy of Religion (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005). 61   Fergus Kerr claims that Wittgenstein tried in his later writings to free himself of the “absolute conception of reality.” See Kerr, Theology after Wittgenstein, pp. 18–26. 62   Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigation, §3. Dan Stiver, Philosophy of Religious Language (Oxford: Blackwell, 1996), p. 66; Patterson, Realist Christian Theology, p. 79. 63   Fergus Kerr has recently pointed out that, in fact, Wittgenstein does not present this idea as an unqualified claim, but rather says that in “a large number of cases” meaning is use. See Kerr’s review of Terrance W. Klein, “Wittgenstein and the Metaphysics of Grace,” in New Blackfriars 89 (January 2008), pp. 126–127.

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In keeping with this theoretical background, the central tenets of center (2) could be expressed as follows. Table 3.2

The basic tenets of Descriptionism

(2)  Descriptionism Neutrality/objectivity Method of justification Natural theology/ use of philosophy Nature of rationality Nature of reality Goal Method Communication

Rejection of the possibility of neutrality: Religion and, for example, science are separate language-games or forms of life. Religious language is beyond verification and it has no meaning outside the religious form of life; anti-foundationalism. Critical: Natural theology is a category mistake. Tradition based, incommensurate. Internal realist /antirealist. Making religious language understandable, not believable or more rational. Disinterested inquiry and description Religion addresses common phenomena, which are shared by all. Religion can be discussed publicly although the beliefs cannot be fully understood by non-practitioners of religion.

Center (2) differs greatly from the other centers in that its practitioners claim no apologetic religious agenda. So long as they remain within its constraints, they are not for or against religious views and try not to take sides in theological matters. It is not therefore evident that it should be considered as sponsoring a “theological method” in the normal sense of the term because it tries to locate itself outside theology. Instead, it could be classified as a philosophical approach to theology. Phillips proposes that such work should be the task of “philosophers who are Christians” in contrast to what Plantinga has suggested in his “Advice to Christian Philosophers.”64 A Plague on All your Houses Because D.Z. Phillips is the main proponent of this approach, it is best to start with an introduction to his thinking. Phillips presents his position as a middle way between “the ‘perspectival particularism’ of Reformed epistemology and the Enlightenment conception of philosophy as the rational assessor of all our beliefs and practices.”65 Although these exemplary opposites differ from each other a great deal, they share a common feature, which, according to Phillips, is accepting the form of the Cartesian dilemma: how can I reach contact with mind-independent 64   Phillips, “Advice to Philosophers who are Christians,” in D.Z. Phillips, Wittgenstein and Religion (London: St. Martin’s Press, 1993); Plantinga, “Advice.” 65   Phillips, “Wittgensteinianism,” p. 448.

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reality? Phillips claims that all contemporary schools of thought suffer from the same disease: inability to get to the reality. “Reidians have suggestions that we are in contact with reality. Reformed epistemologists offer us beliefs that we have such contact. Both schools say that we must trust the faculties that produce these beliefs. Neo-Kantians offer us interpretations of reality. None offers us certitude about the everyday world.”66 This is due to confusion concerning the nature of language. The Cartesian starting point leads to a confused position, where questions of “realism” and “anti-realism” arise. Phillips has been labeled a metaphysical anti-realist, but he has responded to this by claiming that both aforementioned positions are equally absurd or confused. People can ask questions of possibility and can raise suspicions about all kinds of facts. Yet, according to Wittgenstein there are a number of things that we do not call into question. All we have is this world as we experience it. We cannot step outside of it; although we may entertain an idea of doing so, but we have no means of conceptualizing that step. Thus both realism and anti-realism are basically products of confusion.67 This leads to the claim that religious sentences are beyond verification since everything that they could be measured against is within the same system, or form of life, as the sentences themselves. As in the case of Reformed epistemology, the Wittgensteinian approach offers an answer to the evidentialist challenge. From the Wittgensteinian point of view, evidentialism offers a fundamentally flawed account of religious life. The religious form of life, as Wittgenstein understood it, is uninterested in proofs and evidence. In Culture and Value, Wittgenstein makes a bold claim: “Queer as it sounds: The historical accounts in the Gospels might, historically speaking, be demonstrably false and yet belief would lose nothing by this; not, however, because it concerns ‘universal truths of reason’! Rather, because historical proof (the historical proof-game) is irrelevant to belief.”68 Evidence does not even give support to the religious beliefs. In Phillips’s view, Reformed epistemology is still too much in the grip of the foundationalist dream, as can be seen in Plantinga’s search for warrant for religious belief. For Phillips, religious beliefs are justified just because they are there. They are the context of the believer’s existence, which he or she is unable to exceed. Additionally, Wittgenstein thought that the unbeliever is unable fully to understand what the believer believes. For Wittgensteinians, theology and, for example, natural science have different notions of rationality and it would be a great mistake to force one common criteria of rationality onto all forms of life. Concepts, such as “being,” “reference,” and “existence,” have different meanings in the religious context compared to other

66

  Phillips, “Wittgensteinianism,” p. 453.   Phillips, “On Really Believing,” in Wittgenstein and Religion, pp. 34–42; Wolterstorff, “Religious Epistemology,” p. 261. 68   Wittgenstein, Culture and Value, 32e. 67

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ones.69 There is no need to justify religious form of life simply for the reason that there exists no common way of justification. This has raised the charges of fideism against Wittgensteinianism and given birth to the term “Wittgensteinian fideism.” How should philosophy of religion be done then? As already mentioned, for Wittgensteinians philosophy of religion is a “disinterested enquiry.”70 Both Phillips and the Reformed epistemologists agree in claiming that there is no neutral view point on religious matters, but while the Reformed epistemologists see this as a warrant for their Christian cause, Phillips sees this as offering an opening for a descriptive methodology, which could, at least in theory, be shared by Christian and non-Christian alike. Instead of apologetics, Phillips suggests that Christians should be “simply doing philosophy,” without embracing confessional attitudes of any sort. While there is no common rationality, there is still a common way to do philosophy. Phillips states with respect to truth claims: “[Philosophers’] concern is with their conceptual character, not with their truth. Indeed, clarity about their conceptual character will bring one to see why philosophy cannot determine truth in such matters. Of course, the philosopher will be interested in what it means to speak of truth in such contexts, but that interest is not itself a desire to embrace those truths.” Disinterested enquiry is supposed to reveal “a variety of meanings and conceptions of truth which cannot be reduced to any single paradigm,” and this goal can be achieved only by means of “clarifying the grammar of the various concepts involved in the language-games we play.”71 Thus Phillips’s descriptive method involves only “grammatical” analysis of the use of religious concepts. Philosophy is not supposed to function as an arbiter in religious problems although it can help religious language-users by pointing out inconsistencies and confused uses of language. The main effect, however, is revealing the variety of human experience and the different modes of rationality which people employ in their lives. Wittgensteinian method does not try to explain, it only tries to understand. Explanation is provided only within a language-game but there is no explanation for the existence of a particular language-game.72 Despite the withdrawal from universal explanation, this approach is supposed to create a sensible attitude toward multiple aspects of human reality and provide people with capacities for conflict resolution.73 69   Koistinen, Philosophy, pp. 145–151. See also Eberhard Herrmann, Scientific Theory and Religious Belief: An Essay on the Rationality of Views of Life (Kampen: Kok Pharos, 1995): Religion, Reality, and Good Life (Tuebingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005). 70   Phillips, “Advice,” p. 232. 71   Phillips, “Advice,” p. 233. See also Herrmann, “What Kind of Philosophy is Philosophy of Religion”, in Timo Koistinen and Tommi Lehtonen (eds), Perspectives in Contemporary Philosophy of Religion (Helsinki: Schriften der Luther-Agricola-Gesellshaft, 2000), p. 174. 72  Norman Malcolm, Wittgenstein: A Religious Point of View? (London: Routledge, 1993), pp. 76–82. 73  Moore, Realism, p. 74.

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From a Wittgensteinian point of view, philosophers are not priests (as Wittgensteinians might see the role of some Christian philosophers who engage in straightforward apologetics) but more like oracles. The advice provided by the oracles are second-order “points” made by, supposedly, outside observers, who do not address the truth-questions of a particular language user. What the languageuser does with the oracle’s advice is left totally in the power of the believer. After all, religious truth is a religious, not a philosophical matter. Phillips’s position has been criticized with respect to its supposed neutrality. Is it possible to give a neutral description of the use of language by a person who does not share the commitments of the particular community? Wolterstorff has suggested that Wittgenstein probably did not challenge some basic presuppositions which were held by logical positivists of his time, such as that metaphysical language is not meaningful although it may be important and have a positive role in human life.This presupposition may have caused Wittgenstein to think that religious language is not assertoric. Whether or not this is so, many philosophers influenced by Wittgenstein claim that religious language is not used to make reference to God or metaphysical/transcendent beings.74 Further, Timo Koistinen has pointed out that Phillips’s description of religion has much in common with the existentialist tradition, which can hardly be described as exemplifying an objective and disinterested approach to these issues.75 Interest without Interest? Phillips recognizes these concerns and seeks to answer them. He clearly understands that when, for example, a theist is using religious language she thinks that she may actually refer to God. But if our concepts are rooted in our practices and are manifested in them, how is it possible to claim that God is something other than this world or anything in it, which a theist holds as integral to her thinking. If God is something beyond or other than this world, Phillips wonders, what can this possibly be? We have no conceptions that exceed our rootedness in this world. God is not “real” in any other sense as we experience God in our lives. It would be a confusion to try to conceptualize a “pure” God because that would be, in religious terms, worship of a philosophical concept. This has drawn the accusation of Feuerbachian reductionism: the original beliefs of theists are reduced to a description of religious attitudes and feelings. Phillips, however, denies this.76 Divine predicates of love and grace can never be the same as human predicates since “human attitudes could not occupy the   Wolterstorff, “Religious Epistemology,” pp. 254–256; Malcolm, Wittgenstein, p. 90. In his Tractatus, Wittgenstein sought rigorously to set a limit to “the expression of thoughts,” and “… what lies on the other side of the limit will simply be nonsense.” See Wittgenstein, Tractatus, Preface, p.3. 75   Koistinen, Philosophy, p. 159. 76   Phillips, “On Really Believing,” p. 48; “Wittgensteinianism,” p. 462. 74

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conceptual space said to be filled by divine love and grace.” Phillips lists four reasons why divine grace and similar concepts are “other than the world.” First, the spiritual reality called grace is other than the world in that it is other than the ways of the world, other than worldliness. Second, the spiritual reality is other than the world in that it makes no sense to speak of any human being possessing this reality in its fullness. Third, the spiritual reality is other than the world in the sense that believers are answerable to this reality they can never fully possess and measure themselves with respect to it. Fourth, the spiritual reality is other than the world insofar as we can be mistaken about it in being guilty of idolatry. … And at the end of life, what one is answerable to is not one’s attitudes, but to God.77

In contrast to Feuerbach and early logical positivism (Braithwaithe, Ayer, etc.), Phillips does seem to leave the door open for “realism.” Even if we are not able to conceptualize the mode of reference to God, nothing prevents our language from really being able to get in touch with God. Phillips is clearly correct in his claim that we have no way to prove that a person addresses God with his utterances. We may analyze how she uses the language but the truth of such utterances as “Thou hast delivered my soul from death and my feet from falling” must be left outside of philosophical discourse. Andrew Moore has examined Phillips’s critiques of realism and anti-realism.78 In his view, the main problem in Phillips’s thought lies in its inability to address the question of realism. Phillips sees the whole realism—anti-realism debate as confused. However, the crucial question for Christians, “Is [Christians’] spiritual affect merely an effect of their practices, a solipsistic projection; or is it the result of an encounter with the Divine Other?,” remains unaddressed. On Phillips’s account Christians are left with the permission to understand their language “realistically” but without any philosophically perspicuous understanding of what this could mean. Clearly, this is a crucial question for Christians but philosophy, according to Phillips, is not able to address it. This significantly weakens the power of Phillips’s approach. The analysis of the uses of language was to deliver us from confusion, but in the end it appears to replace confusion with puzzlement.79 Phillips suggests that this mode of philosophizing should be the one recommended for Christians. Clearly, he has an important lesson to teach. The importance of an ability to look at issues from other angles compared to one’s own 77

  Phillips, “Wittgensteinianism,” p. 462.  Moore, Realism, pp. 80–92. 79  Moore, Realism, pp. 88–89. Moore suggests that Phillips “is so keen to rid theology of bad metaphysics that he can only conceive of God’s acting in our practices in terms of such views. This is why he treats practices as autonomous from God and fails to see that Christianity cannot avoid having metaphysical conceptions (such as ‘providence’ and ‘contingency’) embedded within it.” Moore, Realism, p. 91. 78

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and to distance oneself from one’s beliefs cannot be overestimated in our present world. However, Christians are not per definitionem called to be neutral towards religion. Phillips seems to suggest some kind of personal dualism. As a Christian, a person may hold her beliefs true but if that same person does philosophy she distances herself from the subject matter. This may be wise and useful advice but can one really step completely outside one’s beliefs? If someone already inhabits a Wittgensteinian-existentialist language-game, that would be no problem. Phillips’s method seems to be open in full sense only for certain type of Wittgensteinians, (yet it may be in a partial manner inhabited by other people as well). This is indicated in Phillips’s accounts of what kind of character the genuine philosopher has. Phillips promotes the Socratic method, where an interlocutor constantly performs evasive moves, which raises her above the first-order discussion to where she is able to reveal the confusions of the actual participants in the conversation. Suggesting a Socratic identity for Christians would significantly challenge the way Christians generally hold their beliefs— but then everything is not left as it is anymore.80 In his late work, the influential philosopher Hilary Putnam has also addressed religious questions in Wittgensteinian fashion.81 Like Phillips, he too wants to avoid the pitfalls of evidentialism and fideism although his approach differs in some respects from that of Phillips. Putnam claims that religious questions cannot be solved in purely scientific fashion, and for this reason scientistic attacks against religion are doomed to fail. Atheistic scientism misunderstands the nature of religion, and its critique typically misses the target. Still, Putnam does not engage in religious apologetics for or against any particular religion or way of life; rather, he wants to defend the pragmatic right to make religious commitments whether they are atheistic, theistic, or agnostic. According to Putnam, religion can and should be discussed in the public arena and in general philosophical discourse instead of considering it prima facie as escapism or confusion. These options are the usual results of strict metaphysical realism (when joined with naturalistic assumptions). Putnam himself has criticized metaphysical realism and formed a Wittgenstein-influenced position of internal realism: everything there is in the world for us to experience must always be related to our perspectives, theories, conceptual frameworks, and customs. His

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  Phillips, “Advice,” p. 235. Phillips quotes Wittgenstein here: “The philosopher is not a citizen of any community of ideas: that’s what makes him a philosopher.” Eberhard Herrmann seems to suggest that this kind of general critical attitude against everything should be included in religious identity as well. See Herrmann, “What Kind of Philosophy,” p. 179. 81   For example, Hilary Putnam, “God and the Philosophers,” in Peter French et al., Philosophy of Religion (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1997); “On Negative Theology,” Faith and Philosophy 14 (1997); “Thoughts Addressed to an Analytical Thomist,” The Monist 80 (1997). See also Sami Pihlström, “Hilary Putnam as Religious Thinker,” Journal of Interdisciplinary Studies 11 (1999): pp. 39–60.

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internal realist position offers a pluralist reading of reality, which is able to give room for religion and avoid the (violent) monism inherent in scientism.82 Putnam, however, does not want to put forward a view according to which religions are merely forms of life of which we can only provide descriptions. Instead we must be able at the same time to revere religious forms of life and to criticize them as well. As the tools of evaluation, Putnam offers three principles. First, according to The Principle of Experience, beliefs should be tested in practice, in “the laboratory of life”. Second, The Principle of Fallibilism entails that human opinions are always subject to the possibility of error due to their situatedness. Acknowledging human restrictions should guard against the negative side effects of absolute truth claims. Third, The Principle of Communication subjects everything, including existential and religious commitments, to public discussion. Truth is inherently a public matter and anyone claiming truth should be prepared to argue for it.83 Even if science cannot have a decisive say in the truth of particular religious views, they still should be subjected to rational examination. However, one may wonder whether this position is coherently sustainable.84 If religion and science are separate and independent forms of inquiry, are not the aforementioned principles subject to this separation as well? The principles themselves are very formal and in need of further description in order to be of any practical value. However, the way they are described cannot take place in a vacuum. What is considered to be, for example, practical, can vary from community to community.85 Nevertheless, such considerations should not obscure the advantages of Putnam’s suggestions. None of his principles is inherently impossible for Christians to accept. Although they cannot function as final arbiters in religious questions, they still offer valuable tools for public discussions of religion. Center (3) Revisionism The collapse of foundationalism revealed the underlying problem of classical liberal theology. The drive to alter the content of theological doctrines in   Putnam, “Replies,” Philosophical Topics 20 (2000), p. 351.   Putnam, “God,” pp. 182–183. 84   For example, Sami Pihlström has claimed that Putnam’s suggestion for pragmatic philosophy of religion does not succeed for this reason. Yet he considers Putnam’s attempts of great value and worthy of further consideration. See Pihlström, “Hilary Putnam.” 85   For example, Putnam (“God,” p. 183) refers to James’s saying “be tolerant, at least outwardly, of everything that is not itself intolerant.” However, there is no culture-free definition of tolerance. Something which for one person is an act of intolerance can be seen as an act of love from another’s point of view. For an example from sexual ethics, see Jean Porter, Natural and Divine Law: Reclaiming the Tradition for Christian Ethics (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1999), pp. 212–213. 82 83

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order to make them objective and universal turned out to lead to nothing more than the creation of just another tradition-dependent point of view. The old liberalism neglected the irreducible differences of religions and diminished their particularities. The idea of essentialism was hard-wired into liberalism, which surfaced in the need to obliterate diversity and specific religious identities.86 The more recent wave of liberalism, which has received the title “revisionism,” is in many ways the direct heir of the old liberal project although it has adopted the postmodern critiques of modernity. Revisionism comes in many forms and degrees but it has some common characteristics which bind the different forms together. If the old liberalism tried to universalize everything in monistic fashion, revisionism seeks to celebrate individuality and particularity. There are many proponents of this approach and they have various goals. However, despite the differing goals, a common methodology unites the various forms of revisionism.87 Although most theologians near center (3) could be properly characterized as “liberal,” this does not necessarily apply to all. Nevertheless, within the overall framework of revisionist trends in theology, liberalism in some form is typically considered a positive feature, even though the previous (modernist) methods of advancing it, and indeed some proposed results, may be rejected. As a typical characterization, in this center the question of truth is set aside to make room for the more important notions of politics, personal fulfillment, and morality. The goal of revision is to effect a change with regard to, for example, gender, race, or class oppression.88 I have included in this center following variants: feminist theology (Mary Daly, Grace Jantzen, Pamela Sue Anderson), deconstructionist, anti-realist or a-theologies (Gordon Kauffman, Gianni Vattimo, Don Cupitt, Mark C. Taylor), liberation theologies (James Cone, Gustavo Gutierrez), ecotheologies (Sallie McFague), process theologies (John B. Cobb Jr., David Griffin), and queer theologies (Elisabeth Stuart, Marcella Althaus-Reid). It is not possible to treat all these extremely multifarious theologians and theologies fairly in only a few pages. To keep the discussion within reasonable bounds, I have outlined the typical characteristics of center (3) as follows:   Pecknold, Transforming, p. 4.  See, for example, Elina Vuola, Limits of Liberation: Feminist Theology and the Ethics of Poverty and Reproduction (London: Sheffield Academic Press, 2002), p. 37; Juan Segundo, Liberation of Theology. Trans. by John Dury (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1975), p. 9; Melissa Raphael, “Hermeneutics from a Feminist Perspective,” in Lisa Isherwood and Dorothea McEvan (eds), An A to Z of Feminist Theology (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1996), pp. 99–102. 88   See, for example, Mary McClintock Fulkerson, “Feminist Theology,” in Kevin J. Vanhoozer (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Postmodern Theology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), pp. 109–110; Mikael Stenmark, “How Should One Do Religious Epistemology?,” in T. Lehtonen and T. Koistinen, Perspectives, p. 137. 86

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The basic tenets of Revisionism

(3)  Revisionism Neutrality/objectivity Method of justification Natural theology/ use of philosophy Nature of rationality Nature of reality Goal Method Communication

Rejection of the possibility of neutrality: every tradition serves some power Foundational pragmatism: what brings forth a desired state of affairs is to be accepted; Agnostic view of God Pragmatic use of natural theology Tradition based, but universal in weak sense, pragmatism Social constructivism; anti-realism; critical realism Enabling some desired state of affairs. Revision of dominant/ traditional belief system Use of allegedly universal and shared concepts (oppression, body, rationality, fulfillment etc.)

From Truth to Politics Theologians close to center (3) typically accept the results of the linguistic turn. If we cannot be in direct contact with reality due to the mediating role of language, then no more can we expect to be in contact with God. An important semantic assumption behind this center is that since language is unable to relate to things in non-contextual manner, we need to get rid of the idea of metaphysical “truth” or the idea of a “correct” way to address God. We are bound to our use of language and cultural context, which we cannot step outside—so there is no all-encompassing, non-pragmatic notion of truth that could function as an arbiter. Thus the pragmatist criterion becomes decisive. We do not find truth by looking and examining reality; instead we construct it. The anti-realist reading of Wittgenstein and related developments in French postmodern philosophy affected the inception of social constructionism. Contrary to essentialism, things as they appear to us are not absolute but constructed, that is, contingent and subject to change. Combined with a Foucauldian analysis of power structures, this enabled the emergence in this context of the idea of liberation, the possibility of overthrowing existing structures, which after all were only contingent and arbitrary. Ian Hacking has presented the rough outline of social constructionist thinking as follows: 1. X need not have existed, or need not be at all as it is. X, or X as it is at present, is not determined by the nature of things; it is not inevitable. Depending on the level of commitment and will to create change, the following further notions may emerge.

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2. X is quite often bad as it is. 3. We would be much better off if X were done away with, or at least radically transformed.89 Revisionism comes in all kinds of guises and degrees. By X one can refer to just any state of affairs in the world, which he or she regards as unwanted. Roughly expressed, center (3) could be characterized as consisting in two different kind of groups. First, there is the anti-realist branch, which is close to center (2). They, however, do not claim to describe matters only, but rather wish to bring about change using social constructivist and post-Wittgensteinian methods, seeing the function of theology precisely as that of facilitating a continuing movement away from essential structures. Accordingly, this style appears more as a speculativedeconstructive play than as a program with a clear goal. A primary example of this is Gianni Vattimo’s “weak thought” or Mark C. Taylor’s “erring.”90 The anti-realist theologies draw heavily on deconstructive literary theory and its anti-metaphysical account of language. Following the trends of late 20th century French philosophy, they emphasize the inability of language to speak adequately about transcendental entities. Theology becomes thus stripped of metaphysics. If traditional philosophical and theological reasoning fail, it is possible to use political arguments. Sometimes it is claimed that the anti-realist position is more tolerant and should be preferred for this reason.91 The second branch would be more politically motivated revisionism, which aims to create some predetermined state of affairs with the help of post-structuralist ideology. Generally, classical theism and Christian dogma is seen as in need of revision because it contains thought-patterns which are interpreted as promoting violence and oppression or because classical theological language is considered so outmoded that it has no hope of surviving in the contemporary world. 89   Ian Hacking, Social Construction of What? (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1999), p. 6. 90  See, for example Gianni Vattimo, Belief (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1999); Mark C. Taylor, Erring: A Postmodern A/theology (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1989). A similar but less radical thinker of this style is John D. Caputo. See, for example, his What Would Jesus Deconstruct (Grand Rapids: Brazos, 2007) and Theology and Philosophy. Two helpful treatments of this area are Hugh Rayment-Pickard, Impossible God: Derrida’s Theology (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2003) and Ronald T. Michener, Engaging Deconstructive Theology (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007). 91   See, for example, Don Cupitt, Creation out of Nothing (London: SCM Press, 1990), p. 90. However, this is not evident. Anti-realism is just another argued and metaphysically structured way of reading the world, which rejects other readings opposed to it. Therefore, it is hard to see what makes anti-realism as such more tolerant and “open” than realism. Cupitt’s theology has some resemblance to pragmatic forms of fideism as genuine religious faith disregards objective foundations, being thus a matter of faith alone. (1987, 162) On the discussion of Cupitt’s thought see, for example, Moore, Realism, p. 6, and Brian Hebblethwaite, The Ocean of Truth (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), p. 50.

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Revisionism thus may have both apologetic and political aims. The thoughtpattern expressed by Hacking is used more or less in both of these forms, providing the basic structure of contemporary revisionist thinking.92 According to Mikael Stenmark, when transferred into the world of theology, the following thoughtpattern comes to the fore. (A group of people) C believe (or imagine) p. Belief (or image) p has negative political and moral consequences for S. S is very important and valuable. Belief (or image) q, on the other hand, has positive political and moral consequences for S. 5. Therefore, C should not believe (or imagine) p but q.93 1. 2. 3. 4.

Stenmark correctly points out that revisionist theologies are typically pragmatic in their orientation. They see epistemic or truth-promoting questions and inquiries as of little or no value, stressing more non-epistemic, pragmatic, moral, and practical reasons as the ultimate arbiter of religious methodology.94 Stenmark offers multiple examples of this in the writings of contemporary thinkers. For Mary Daly, the ultimate question is “does [God-talk] encourage human becoming toward psychological and social fulfillment, toward an androgynous mode of living, toward transcendence?”95 Gordon Kauffman wants religious symbolism to “function to good effect in human affairs.”96 Sallie McFague prefers those “models of God,” which “bring fulfillment for living beings,” nature as a whole included, and Rosemary Rathord Ruether proposes as the criterion of truth “what is most ethically redemptive.”97 According to James Cone multiple beliefs may enjoy scriptural support but not all of them are true. The test of theological truth 92

  See, for example, Fulkerson, “Feminist Theology,” pp. 111–112.  Stenmark, How to Relate Science and Theology: A Multidimensional Model (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2004), p. 126. 94  Stenmark, How to Relate Science and Theology, p. 122. The older versions of liberation theology have usually employed “universal epistemic dependence” meaning that religious beliefs need to be affirmed by universally accepted epistemic criteria. This has usually created revisionist interpretations of Christian doctrine. Contemporary versions, instead, use local criteria for epistemic justification, which do not have to be universally accepted. On epistemic justification in modern theology see, Marshall, Trinity, pp. 66–71. See also Milbank, Theology and Social Theory, p. 236. 95  Mary Daly, Beyond God the Father (Boston Beacon Press, 1973), p. 21. 96   Gordon Kauffman, Theology for a Nuclear Age (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1986), p. 32. 97  Sallie McFague, Models of God: Theology for an Ecological, Nuclear Age (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1987), p. 196, n. 13; Rosemary Ruether, “Imago Dei, Christian Tradition and Feminist Hermeneutics,” in K.E. Borrensen (ed.), Image of God and Gender Models (Oslo: Solum, 1991), p. 277. 93

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is coherence with the experience of oppression and (hoped for) liberation. Only those interpretations which resonate with the experiences of the oppressed and effectively contribute to ending injustice are true.98 Elina Vuola’s analysis and summary of the method of liberation theology underlines the mutual relation between theory and praxis. The central criticism of European “white” theology is that it is theoretical and a-historical, not rooted in the actual experience of the people. Liberation theology, on the contrary, has praxis both as its point of departure and an objective. Theologies of liberation share a common conviction of the need to create a theory which will have practical consequences and the ability to bring about social change. It seeks a more active role in the transformation of reality and shuns passive subordination to states of affairs. Biblical faith cannot be silent in the face of unjust society. Change is created by finding new ways of thinking.99 Methodologically revisionist theologies are interdisciplinary, meaning that they use methods and results of at least one other branch of intellectual inquiry. The partners can vary case by case. Historically, the first dialogue partner was Marxist sociology and philosophy. The creative minds of first-generation liberation theology studied in Europe during the 50s and 60s, when Marxism was considered avant-garde in European universities. Marxism, on the other hand, was deeply influenced by anti-realist trends in contemporary philosophy of science, which eventually had an effect on the view of reality in liberation theology. More recently, the closest dialogue partners, especially within feminist theology, are found within the French post-structuralist camp (Derrida, Lacan, Foucault), which shares the same metaphysical assumptions. Other auxiliary disciplines of more practical orientation include, especially, the social sciences, which provide tools for revealing the structural causes of oppression and ways to create alternative ways of thinking.100 The most au courant tool in revisionist theology is queer theory, which builds on the same aforementioned basis but tries to answers questions and challenges which are left outside traditional liberationist theorizing. Earlier forms of liberationism employed the tactic of strengthening one particular identity, such as womanhood, in order to get their voices heard. This could involve using essentialist metaphysics according to which there exists some unified and universal thing we call, for example, “womanhood.” However, some theorists saw this as only strengthening dualisms, here, that between men and women. Dualisms, however, are typically considered to be inherently evil because they enable the initiation of oppressive power structures, for example the classification of people into “them”

98   James Cone, God of the Oppressed (NY: Seabury 1975), pp. 30–36. See also Marshall, Trinity, pp. 70–71. 99   Vuola, Limits of Liberation, p. 39. 100   Vuola, Limits of Liberation, pp. 53, 57.

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and “us.” From a liberationist standpoint, dualisms are typically regarded as political constructions to reinforce the status quo and existing hierarchies.101 The earlier essentialist strategy has been to a large extent replaced by a more radical deconstructionist agenda, which moves beyond the static fundamental nature and order of things and attempts to see the world without essences. Concretely, this means seeing gender as “performance,” as a role which people inhabit in different ways in different surroundings. Some wish to deconstruct the whole idea of the complementarity of the sexes and see gender as a “habit.” The most radical forms see the body itself as a construct, which is contingent and open for changes, lacking ontological status apart from the acts that fabricate it through social discourses.102 In theology, queer theory has been employed by some feminists and gay theologians. Especially within gay theology, queer theory became a tool to integrate the diversity of sexual minorities within a single classification. As a term, “queer” refers to anything that stands outside the norm. While classical feminist theory set up rallies, organizations, and demonstrations to bring justice to the oppressed group, queer theory challenges the whole system which produces such classifications as heterosexuals and homosexuals. In biblical studies, the focal point is on the texts that create certain attitudes to minorities. The older tactic would have been debating the interpretation of the texts, such as in the case of homosexuality the prohibitions in Leviticus and Paul. From the viewpoint of queer theorists, this only stagnates the situation and enhances the opposition. Queer theory accepts the prohibitions and the negative stance as such and then analyzes the texts from the viewpoint of what kind of power structures they produce and how. Without the exposition of the power structures in play, queer theorists believe, the hoped-for liberation will never take place.103 However, for some feminists this means stepping outside the confines of Christianity. For “post-Christian feminists,” such as Daphne Hampson and Mary Daly, Christianity is inherently so patriarchal that it is beyond salvation. Hampson considers it dishonest for someone to claim that they are both Christians and feminists. Daly, on the other hand, disregards the whole concept “post-Christian” because it gives too much weight to Christianity, which she regards as evil and irredeemable. Instead of re-interpretation, post-Christian feminists call for dismissal.104

 See, for example, Elisabeth Stuart, Gay and Lesbian Theologies (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2003). 102   See, for example, Judith Butler, Gender Trouble (New York: Routledge, 1990), p. 136. 103   Laurel C. Schneider, “Queer theory,” in A.K.M. Adam (ed.), Handbook of Postmodern Biblical Interpretation (St. Louis: Chalice Press, 2000), pp. 206–212. 104   Lisa Isherwood, “Post-Christian Feminism,” in L. Isherwood and D. McEvan (eds), An A to Z of Feminist Theology, pp. 180–182. 101

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The (Dead) Ends of Liberation? Although the discussion surrounding revisionist and liberationist theology is both vast and interesting, for the sake of brevity I will not address it as a whole here. Instead I consider two pressing questions which correlate with the theme of this study. The first addresses the issue of using pragmatic criteria in religious epistemology, and the second, which is closely related to these epistemological issues, is the role of absolutes in theorization, that is the ontological presumptions behind some of the revisionist theories. Liberation theology is essentially pragmatist. If everything is language (because there is nothing outside the text), the question of vital importance here is the language we use when we refer to “god,” not because of the right use of the language but because of the consequences a particular way of speaking has. Now, this may seem like good advice but a closer look is needed. The crucial question is whether it is possible to ground an epistemology on consequences. It may be wise to avoid some action because it is likely to create something bad but this is not enough to establish a full-scale epistemology—or a theological method. Stenmark provides examples of how such reasoning ultimately fails. He claims that the theological pragmatist, such as Sallie McFague, confuses factual things with values and political considerations. In general, we consider something to be true or rational even if it conflicts with some concept of morality. That nuclear reaction exists is true regardless of the horrible consequences of fear and death it has created in our post-nuclear age. The same problems arise if we make assertions about the differences of the sexes. Male and female brains may have different structures, regardless of the results of articulating a theory which supports, for example, the non-complementarity of the sexes.105 However, due to its anti-realist ingredients, revisionists may still claim that their case holds. They may admit that with regard to the physical world there are clearly distinguishable truths but when it comes to the use of language in the case of non-physical reality social constructionism takes control. But this does not square well with the most progressive theories of liberation. When, for example, feminist theologians have tried to argue for their cause, they have faced difficulties with regard how to justify their views. Generally, feminist theology has expressed revulsion against the idea of universal rationality because that involves a patriarchal idea of reason and causes oppression or subordination. In liberation theology it has been openly confessed that no position is ethically neutral or free of interests. Liberation theology has chosen one perspective, which is not universal and does not claim to be one, and approaches reality and the biblical message from that angle.106 This brings us to the second problem, and here solutions within liberation theology start to differ from each other. The most radical answer to the epistemological 105 106

 Stenmark, How to Relate Science and Theology, p. 127.   Vuola, Limits of Liberation, p. 42.

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challenge is to dismiss argumentation and reasoning as “phallocentrism.” This is the road taken by, for example, Grace Jantzen. The whole endeavor of epistemic justification is inherently masculine and therefore suspect. Jantzen proposes an approach freed from all disjunction and binary opposition, which seeks to create a state based on “justice” and “trustworthiness.”107 Sarah Coakley, however, expresses doubts about Jantzen’s project. It is unable to exceed the binaries while it claims itself as an opposite to “phallocentric” project. Deconstruction of previous dualisms ends up in enforcing a new dualism. Secondly, Jantzen still has to make reference to some universal values so long as she does not want to accept that all standpoints are equally good. Clearly, announcing her feminist reading of reality as the most redeeming one is an absolute statement and based on some absolute values, yet she is unwilling to admit that her reading is just a reading among others with no upper hand. However, she is not able to argue for the superiority of her views, at least in a way that would convince people outside her form of life. According to Coakley, Jantzenian feminism has little value for the feminist project because it shuts itself off from the general rules of discourse and withdraws “into an alternative sectarian world.”108 Therefore, this type of feminism resembles reflective forms of pragmatic fideism. In keeping with this, a further difficulty comes to mind. The shifting of the emphasis from physical reality to the world of language marks also a change of focus to how people should speak and think, not only how they should act. What seems troubling here is the notion that the liberationist agenda seeks to control the ways people think and believe. Paradoxically, this kind of liberationism contains an urge to promote thought-control. But this is only logical: You cannot express your (allegedly oppressive) thoughts freely because language is all there is. This reading dislocates the discussion from reality to the world of ideas. By changing the thoughts, you change the language, which means essentially changing the world. In the end, some forms of liberationism and totalitarianism may not be so far from each other. Both share a monistic view of reality, which can be realized only by revealing the false duality and then removing the unwanted opposite. If power is the basic element of the reality, we need only another power to change things according to our wishes.109   Grace Jantzen, Becoming Divine (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1998), pp. 18–23. 108   Sarah Coakley, “Feminism and Analytic Philosophy of Religion,” in W. Wainright (ed.), Oxford Handbook of Philosophy of Religion, pp. 503–505. Jantzen’s argumentation is based to a large extent on her readings of Foucault and Lacan: “phallocentrism” is a consequence of masculine self-interests and unconsciousness. Coakley, however, asks whether invoking such arguments backfires on such feminists. Are feminists free from selfinterests and unconsciousness? Of course not. But this brings us back where we started. Why is feminist self-interest better than “phallocentrism?” 109  On the metaphysics behind deconstructionist ideologies, see Oliver Davies, Theology of Compassion (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2001), pp. 114–137. 107

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If, however, one does not want to follow Jantzen’s path, there are other options. Pamela Sue Anderson, for example, is critical of extreme forms of feminist theology, such as Jantzen’s, and tries to allow some room for rational persuasion and intercommunal discourse. Anderson argues for “standpoint” epistemology according to which different standpoints are capable of revealing perspectives of truth, and, she assumes, those perspectives which currently reside in the margins, pressed there by dominating discourses, are able to reveal more truth than the powers that be.110 This move, however, opens a door for realism, which is a difficult partner for progressive liberationists. In her more recent works, Anderson has claimed that we should enter into other people’s standpoints to achieve less-biased views of reality. But now the marginal standpoints are not privileged anymore.111 Coakley speculates that this brings Anderson close to mainstream analytic philosophy, which she tried to oppose in her earlier work. In order to engage multiple standpoints with respect to the world, the whole endeavor will fall victim to absurdity without at least minimal commitment to the use evidence, reasoning, and some kind of realism.112 By what criteria do we think that a particular thing is good for human beings? The more theological question is: which parts or passages in the Bible do we recognize as primary and which secondary, and why?113 Anderson, it seems, is able to escape from the trap into which Jantzen seems to fall in mixing epistemological issues with semantics and pragmatics. For Anderson, one’s standpoint is an ethical achievement, not an epistemological filter. Thus, a priori political or moral considerations do not have a direct bearing on ontology or epistemological criteria as such. However, Coakley asks what separates this type of feminist philosophy from virtue ethics. Probably nothing.114 In effect, we can see how Anderson is actually coming close to center (4) and its realist view of reality. A recent insight into the ontology of liberationism is offered by Daniel Bell’s work on liberation and forgiveness. Bell argues that the central problem in mainstream liberation theology is its emphasis on power and justice, which stagnates the situation into a perpetual play of power between oppressors and oppressed. This exclusive emphasis on justice and the human desire to achieve certain ends reflects the capitalist worldview, which can be broken only by forgiveness. Bell gives credit to liberation   Pamela Sue Anderson, A Feminist Philosophy of Religion (Oxford: Blackwell, 1998), p. 73. 111   Anderson, “‘Standpoint’: Its rightful place in a Realist Epistemology”, Journal of Philosophical Research 26 (2001): p. 131. 112   Thus also Niiniluoto, Critical Scientific Realism, pp. 242–251. 113   For example, Mary Grey criticizes feminist hermeneutics for dismissing a wide range of biblical material as not part of the “liberating core” of the Bible. According to Grey, feminist biblical theology can be roughly divided into three different styles: conservative, revisionist, and dismissive. See, Grey, “Feminist Theology,” in Christopher Rowland (ed.), Cambridge Companion to Liberation Theology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), p. 96. 114   Coakley, “Feminism,” pp. 514–515. See (Ibid. pp. 516–519) for Coakley’s own proposal for feminist philosophy of religion. 110

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theology for giving voice to the oppressed, but he sees the need to move forward and break the cycle of desire by giving up the focus on violence and searching for another kind of ontological foundation for liberation. For Bell, this means connecting the program of liberation back to more traditional forms of Christianity.115 (4) Correlationism In Frei’s typology, all three middle positions can be defined as correlationist in the broad sense. All of them make use of some other discourse, yet they differ in the amount of correlation. Within center (4) we may find different ways to correlate, for example, Christian theology and natural science/philosophy, or attempts to find transversality between different notions of reason. Theologians involved in this endeavor typically use the natural sciences or the philosophy of science as conversation partner. Exemplary thinkers in this respect are those who seek to build bridges between other disciplines and theology such as Alister McGrath, Nancey Murphy, Wentzel van Huyssteen, F. Leron Shults, Wolfhart Pannenberg and David Tracy. Additionally, traditional Thomistic theology and many branches of philosophical theism fall within this category as well.116 The general aim is to free theology from isolation, and find common ground with the outside world while at the same time remaining loyal to the self-understanding of the Christian community. The characteristics of this center are as follows. Table 3.4

The basic tenets of Correlationism

(4) Correlationism Neutrality/objectivity

Everybody is situated and socially embedded but we can reach for universal knowledge. Method of justification Ad hoc foundationalism; postfoundationalism. Natural theology/ use of Correlational or analogical use of natural theology. philosophy Nature of rationality Convergent, transversal, or universal. Nature of reality Realist or Critical realist. Goal Balance between Christian self-understanding and secular science, philosophy or metaphysics. Method Correlation of beliefs of different systems. Communication Convergence between different forms of rationality through inter-disciplinary approaches and metaphysics.

115  See Daniel M. Bell Jr., Liberation Theology After the End of History: The Refusal to Cease Suffering (London: Routledge, 2001). See also Eric Gregory’s reworking of feminist theology around the concept of love in Politics and the Order of Love. 116   For example, Richard Swinburne attempts to show that even secular philosophy can demonstrate Christian truths “in some respect”. See Richard Swinburne, “Vocation of a Natural Theologian,” in Kelly J. Clark (ed.), Philosophers Who Believe (Downer’s Grove: IVP, 1993), p. 197. See also Roger Trigg, Rationality and Religion (Oxford: Blackwell, 1998), p. 178.

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In this center, thinkers admit our situatedness in the world but distinctively hold that it is possible to transcend our situatedness. There is thus distance from extreme postmodern notions of reason and nonfoundationalism. Postfoundationalism, which some of the thinkers in this center seek to develop, means finding a middle way between foundationalism and nonfoundationalism. This can be achieved only in an interdisciplinary manner, which typically involves some sort of correlation between theology and metaphysics or other disciplines. By way of contrast, center (2) is against any interdisciplinarity (Wittgensteinian language game theory excluded), and those associated with center (1) may think that too much interdisciplinary theorizing can endanger theological integrity. Generally, if the theologians of center (1) aim to drive a wedge between the God of philosophers and God of Israel, those of center (4) seek to maintain an analogy between them. An excerpt from Wolfhart Pannenberg illustrates this: “The affirmation that the God of Israel and the God of the philosophers is the one and same God—an affirmation that entails the reception by Christian theology of the philosophical argument for the one true God—is a constitutive and permanent feature of Christian faith.”117 However, the God of philosophy is not simpliciter Yahweh and God’s own selfrevelation is needed to enlighten the connection between philosophical and Christian deities. Investigating the philosophical God is not in vain although it can arrive only at a minimalist notion of god, which needs to be supplemented by revelation. The correlation, however, comes in degrees. The closer you are to center (1), the less adventurous you tend to be with regard to belief revision, and the more you accept the goals and methods of center (3), the more revisionist the theological method becomes. Analogy and Transcendence The most classical forms of correlation, or analogy, are those models where Christian revelation is given autonomous status over other narratives while, for example, secular philosophy is used to explain the meaning of revelation. In these cases the line between the centers (1) and (4) is elusive. One remaining difference between the centers is that in (1) you cannot have an independent role for philosophy. An example of the classical use of philosophy in theology is the encyclical Fides et Ratio where the Roman Catholic Church affirmed the need of philosophy for understanding and doing theology. “Theology in fact has always needed and still needs philosophy’s contribution. As a work of critical reason in the light of faith, theology presupposes and requires in all its research a reason formed and educated to concept and argument. Moreover, theology needs philosophy as a partner in dialogue in order to confirm the intelligibility and universal truth of its claims. … Were theologians to refuse the help of philosophy, they would run the risk of doing philosophy unwittingly and locking themselves within thought-structures 117   Wolfhart Pannenberg, “The God of the Philosophers,” First Things (June/July 2007): p. 31.

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poorly adapted to the understanding of faith.”118 In the encyclical, philosophy is given an independent role, so that theology and philosophy are different spheres of discourse, which still have much to share. Faith and reason need to give support to each other but they are not the same. Philosophy has its relative independence and so has theology. Philosophy cannot tamper with the premises of theology and theology cannot set the rules for philosophy.119 The motive for this positive account of reason lies in seeing metaphysics as a necessary aid for reasonable discourse. Against voluntarist understandings of nature, Pope Benedict XVI argues in his famous Regensburg address that “the faith of the Church has always insisted that between God and us, between his eternal Creator Spirit and our created reason, there exists a real analogy, in which—as the Fourth Lateran Council in 1215 stated—unlikeness remains infinitely greater than likeness, yet not to the point of abolishing analogy and its language.” God is not evacuated to the divine realm as he “has revealed himself as logos and, as logos, has acted and continues to act lovingly on our behalf.” The knowability of God and all reasonable discourse is grounded in shared metaphysics: God shares his nature with human beings by becoming Logos and assuming a form of human existence and discourse, which can be recognized by all humans.120 The mainstream of Protestant philosophical theology and Catholic Thomistic theology has followed similar lines. The knowledge of God is analogous to natural knowledge, and reason can recognize a number of things that correlate with the revelation. For Aquinas, this attempt had its foundation in the words of the Apostle in Rom. 1:20: “the invisible things of God are understood by the things that are made.” Based on the ontological relationship between the Creator and the creation at least fragmentary knowledge of divine things is possible through the means of natural theology.121   Fides et Ratio §77.  See, for example, Fides et Ratio §13, 42, 77, 79. A more recent practical example of this attitude is Pope Benedict XVI’s prolegomena in Jesus of Nazareth where he stresses the role of history and the need of historical-critical biblical research in understanding the basics of Christian faith. We cannot escape the fundamental role of factum historicum, which in principle is open for everyone to investigate. If we cast history aside, there goes the heart and foundation of Christian faith as well. Due to its historical character, Christian theology is open to historical methods. The methods should be pursued rigorously while acknowledging their limits. For example, seeing Bible as a unity is not a direct consequence of using historical methods but requires an act of faith, which nevertheless is not a blind leap of faith but grounded by “historical reason” which makes the faith possible. Thus Benedict XVI proposes a balance between historical-critical methods and the faith of the church similar to that put forward in Fides et Ratio. See Benedict XVI, Jesus of Nazareth (New York: Doubleday, 2007), pp. xv–xxiv. 120   Benedict XVI, Faith, Reason and University. 121   Thomas Guarino, Foundations of Systematic Theology (London: T&T Clark 2005), p. 243. See also pp. 209–310 for a more detailed explanation of the use of analogy in the history of theology. 118

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One of the contemporary areas where these ideas are especially prominent is the attempt to find common ground between theology and natural sciences. One of the leading theorists in this camp is Alister E. McGrath, whose A Scientific Theology project sets out an approach to theology respecting the unique nature of theology as a scientific discipline, simultaneously drawing on the insights of the natural sciences.122 Christian theology is argued to be a distinct legitimate intellectual discipline in its own right, with its own sense of identity and purpose, linked with an appreciation of its own limitations and distinctive emphases within the human quest for wisdom as a whole. One of the starting points of McGrath’s project is the rejection of fideistic approaches to theology, where theology comes incommensurate with other language games.123 But why choose natural science as a dialogue partner for theology? According to McGrath these two disciplines share the same approach to reality, which they consider to be both rationally structured and intelligible. In other words, both are committed to realism. First, reality is what it is independently of what we happen to think about it. In other words, we do not create or construct facts but we instead find them as we engage with reality (ontological realism). Second we are able to get in touch with the reality through knowing it (epistemological realism). Third, it is possible to make linguistic formulations, which more or less correspond with the reality (semantic realism).124 In keeping with this, we are able to speak about God through analogies between the created realm and the creator. The phenomena in our world have the potential to represent something about God but they must always be authorized to fulfill this function. For example, by looking at a shepherd in a field we do not come to understand more about God if there is no record of Christ saying: “I am the Good Shepherd.” Thus analogies rest upon a covenant between signifier and signified, not upon nature as such. Still, the ontological emphasis of God’s revelation is in created reality. Human beings need special revelation to discern the revelatory nature of historical events as God’s revelation for human beings. Thus special revelation does not rise above the natural world but brings us back to it. Nevertheless, analogies are not identical with the systems with which they are associated. Simultaneously, different analogies form a network of interlocking images, whose interpretative use is determined by their mutual relationship.125 McGrath identifies himself as associated with the critical realist school of thought, which he has adapted from T.F. Torrance (1913–2007) and Roy Bhaskar (born 1944). Critical realism presents a sort of middle way between naïve realism and postmodern anti-realism. According to the former, our knowledge about 122   At the time of writing this book, the first three volumes of the series are out: Nature (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2001); Reality (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2002) and Theory (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2003). 123  McGrath, Reality, p. 43. 124  McGrath, Nature, pp. 75–76. 125  McGrath, Theory, pp. 104–132.

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reality is objective and not polluted by the observer. This was a typical modernist notion of knowledge. The latter claims that there is no knowledge outside specific contexts, all claims being bound to a certain time and place. Additionally, there are no universal criteria to evaluate different notions of reality. Critical realism denies both relativism and naïve realism claiming that although our knowledge is always partial and progressive, we have ways to distinguish between false and true accounts of reality. Generally, this takes place using pragmatist criteria. Some accounts function better than others, some accounts explain more than the others.126 Concerning the criteria for evaluation of differing interpretative traditions, McGrath takes up some of Alasdair MacIntyre’s ideas. We are able to evaluate interpretations by assessing how internally coherent and convincing a given tradition is and how it is able to deal with its intrasystemic problems. Can a tradition offer an account of why different traditions exist, and is a tradition able to answer questions which some other traditions raise but cannot solve by themselves? This way it is possible to evaluate interpretations without resorting to a third, allegedly neutral, point of view, which would eventually be in the same epistemological boat as the two other positions, thus not being neutral at all.127 McGrath’s stance is postfoundational, meaning that there are no neutral “God’s eye points of view” from which to observe reality objectively and without interest. This way theology is given its own space and independence as an intellectual discipline. It is able to stand on its own feet without anyone being able legitimately to state a priori that (Christian) theology gives a somehow flawed account of reality. For example, human beings are not in a position from which we could say: “physical reality is all there is.” It is impossible to lay down a priori what methods must apply to theology as “science about God,” or to assume that norms and working assumptions drawn from other disciplines can be transposed to theology without doing violence to its integrity. This opening of possibilities beyond the physical realm does not, however, legitimize theology to form a ghetto of its own and isolate itself from general intellectual discussion. Conversely, only postfoundationalism makes possible genuine interaction between the disciplines. Postfoundationalism calls for dialogue between various disciplines and attempts to find common factors between them. McGrath states that the goal of scientific theology is not to merge theology with the natural sciences but to find resonance between them. This way theology makes it possible to communicate its contents to non-theological audience, fulfilling thereby the apologetic function of theology as well.128

  For an extensive treatment of critical realism see, Niiniluoto, Critical Scientific Realism. Niiniluoto’s theory is based on the concept of “truth-likeness” (verisimilitudo). Science cannot rest assured with its current state but it can still be considered to approach truth more and more. 127  McGrath, Reality, pp. 64–72. 128  McGrath, Nature, p. 303; Science of God, p. 89. 126

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One central tenet of McGrath’s critical realism is the notion of stratified reality. This means that reality is multi-leveled so that a working method appropriate for one level does not necessarily work at another. For example, we have different methods in physics and psychology. Similarly within medicine we can study a cancerous tumor, which is a physical entity, the sociological effects of cancer, or the mental effects of cancer on the patient and his or her family. All these strata are both separate and linked with each other, with no universal method to study all of them using same means. McGrath thus denies the thesis of methodological reductionism or monism according to which all sciences are reducible to one particular science and its method.129 Secondly, it must be recognized that each distinctive method of investigation cannot be predetermined a priori by, for example, philosophers or physicists, but only a posteriori as the result of an engagement with the specific strata of reality. In critical realist terminology, this approach is usually paraphrased: “ontology determines epistemology.” First we encounter the phenomenon and then we start to test which method is the best to examine it.130 This means that we have no one theological method, but multiple methods engaging different strata of theological reality. For example, according to McGrath, the basic error of previous methodological discussions has been the drive to collapse all theology within a singular notion of, for example, feeling (Schleiermacher) or community (Lindbeck). But clearly there is more to the theological or religious sphere of life than mere feelings or uses of language within communities. In theology we are not able to study God per se. Even revelation is something that took place in the past and we have today only the effects of revelation. We have multiple revelatory phenomena, such as texts witnessing about Christ, ancient liturgies, prayers and creeds, communal structures (such as offices of deacon, pastor, and bishop), formation of theological concepts (such as ‘homoousios’) and images, and accounts of religious experiences, supreme weight being given to the Holy Scriptures. All these together form the object of theological inquiry and every different phenomenon requires an approach of its own. Theology approaches revelatory strata by abduction, by inference from things to which we have access now to the best possible explanation asking: what happened to bring this state of affairs about? In keeping with this, theology should all the time observe the big picture: how the different strata are mutually connected and how they form a whole.131

 McGrath, Reality, p. 230.  McGrath, Reality, pp. 218–219. See also Niiniluoto, Scientific Critical Realism, pp. 21–41. 131  McGrath, Theory, pp. 154–155. 129

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How Flexible the Foundation, How Critical a Realism? McGrath’s project is one of natural theology. “Nature,” however, is not such an uncontested concept which always and everywhere means the same thing. The theoretical frameworks from which we observe nature decide what we mean by “nature” and what we consider to be “natural.” Therefore, nature as such is not something that explains (explicans) but something that demands explanation (explicandum).132 Thus McGrath thinks that the “naturalness” of natural theology cannot warrant it as an objective grounding for theology (which, clearly, is the Barthian fear). The Christian reading of nature is to view it as creation. Because all that exists is created by God we are able to discern footprints of God in nature. However, we are not able to come to know God only by observing nature. For example, the classical proofs for the existence of God fail in the sense that they do not provide genuine knowledge of a personal God. Instead proofs may function as a support for the coherence of a belief system and in this way communicate something about that system to outsiders. In the same manner, natural theology cannot be regarded as providing proof of Christian revelation without being circular. Instead, natural theology offers resonance, meaning a realization that what is being proclaimed makes sense of things. Theology offers a “prism” through which nature can be viewed and understood. McGrath’s account of the nature of “nature” reveals an important aspect in correlationist theology. If nature is taken as something to be interpreted it is not an independent pole opposing theology, the interpreter. In McGrath’s theory, theology has the upper hand, which takes him close to center (1). A similar theorist in this vein is Wentzel van Huyssteen, who attempts to break free from intellectual isolation by stressing interdisciplinarity between sciences. However, his take on these issues is more correlational than McGrath’s. According to van Huyssteen, we should be able to engage in interdisciplinary conversations “with our strong personal convictions intact,” while simultaneously acknowledging the limitations of our own tradition. If, in the course of conversation, it becomes apparent that another position is a more adequate problem-solver than our own, we should be open for belief-revision and let the new theory replace the old. This freer attitude towards correlation is due to his understanding of theological language, which he regards as human convention, “the result of creative intellectual construction, which—along with the commitments they serve to express—should be examined and critiqued too.” This entails that “all theological explanations should therefore be open to intersubjective examination and criticism, which means that theological statements should at all times be construed as hypotheses.”133 Based to a large extent on the thinking of Wentzel van Huyssteen, F. LeRon Shults has formulated “four couplets of postfoundationalism,” which represent the dynamics of the “ideal type postfoundationalism.”  McGrath, Nature, p. 294.   van Huyssteen, The Shaping of Rationality, pp. 258, 262.

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(PF1) Interpreted experience engenders and nourishes all beliefs, and a network of beliefs informs the interpretation of experience. (PF2) The objective unity of truth is a necessary condition for the intelligible search for knowledge, and the subjective multiplicity of knowledge indicates the fallibility of truth claims. (PF3) Rational judgment is an activity of socially situated individuals, and the cultural community indeterminately mediates the criteria of rationality. (PF4) Explanation aims for universal, transcontextual understanding, and understanding derives from particular contextualized explanations.134 Principle (PF1) depicts the interplay between experience and belief. First, all our experiences are already interpreted meaning that there is no way we could receive some information through experiences neutrally. Therefore, we cannot simply move from experience to belief in linear fashion. Additionally, all our beliefs must be linked to our experiences. Our beliefs, however, do not determine what we experience. The network of prior beliefs does inform our experience but it does not restrict what we can experience.135 Truth and knowledge are the subject matter of (PF2). Postfoundationalism wants to hold on to the foundationalist notion of truth as an ideal, which makes the scientific inquiry intelligible while at the same time admitting that it is always possible to err. Thus, postfoundationalist epistemology is fallibilist. No theory should be absolutized beyond criticism and possible improvements.136 Foundationalism typically privileges the individual in the reasoning process. Nonfoundationalism, on the other hand, emphasizes the role of community. Principle (PF3) insists both on the role of the individual as the one who makes rational judgments and on the role of the community with regard to what the individual considers as rational. This takes place in interdisciplinary dialogue and opens up conversation with other discourses and rationalities.137 Finally, explanation and understanding form the last couplet of (PF4). While foundationalism attempted to explain everything with universally valid means (ultimately reducing everything to one particular point of view), nonfoundationalism escapes to the safe haven of understanding and ceases from making contact with other traditions in order to avoid the reductionism of foundationalism (cf. center (3)). Postfoundationalism instead tries to maintain both aspects of scientific inquiry. Explanation should not take place without understanding, which should be understood as “intuitive grasping of patterns of meaning.” Explanation should proceed from empathic understanding of the subject matter and should aim towards

 Shults, The Postfoundationalist Task, p. 43.  Shults, The Postfoundationalist Task, pp. 43–50. 136  Shults, The Postfoundationalist Task, pp. 50–58. van Huyssteen, Theology and the Justification of Faith (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1988), p. 142. 137  Shults, The Postfoundationalist Task, pp. 58–63. 134 135

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theoretical reconstruction in a way that scientific inquiry could at least to some extent answer why-questions.138 Compared to Huyssteen’s and McGrath’s models, David Tracy’s method moves more in the direction of center (3). Like the postfoundationalists, Tracy is trying to avoid the restraining tendencies of modernity; theology must be free from both reduction and systemization. Unlike the aforementioned postfoundationalists, Tracy resists any attempt to guarantee theology some space of its own, seeing that as leading theology into a ghetto. One of the goals of Tracy is to provide public access to theology for everybody. Christian convictions must be rationally accessible to Christians and non-Christians alike, which means appealing to universally recognized categories such as experience, rationality, and responsibility.139 In the public arena, religions need to cease using religionspecific arguments and use universal language instead. With regard to theological language, the solution for him is found in pragmatism and post-metaphysical philosophy mixed with negative theology. In theology, Tracy works within a postmetaphysical scheme where you cannot have universal grounds of the old kind. This does not prevent him from trying to find a way between the strong claims of “old” metaphysics and total silence. Thus for Tracy, theological language is only “fragments” which are meant to reveal that we have no pure access to the transcendent. Any theological claim about God would necessarily imprison God within reductionist language. Therefore, post-metaphysical negative theology is for Tracy the only way to speak (or to speak without speaking) properly of God.140 Although Tracy shares many aspects of the classical Christian tradition, it can be asked whether his commitment to avoid “modernity” is itself modernist. Tracy’s view of God as the wholly other sounds more metaphysical than theological.141 In some sense, Tracy’s system seems similar to Phillips’s and it suffers the same problems as his system. Tracy’s commitment to avoid idolizing God-speech takes him increasingly under the influence of center (3). When considering the postfoundationalisms of McGrath, Huyssteen, Shults and Tracy we see how the positions approach center (3) when “nature” is given a more independent state and theology is considered as a part of nature itself, as something to be interpreted.142 Seeing theology and nature more or less as mutual  Shults, The Postfoundationalist Task, pp. 68–76.  David Tracy, The Analogical Imagination: Christian Theology and the Culture of Pluralism (London: SCM Press, 1981), pp. 56–59. 140   Tracy, “Hidden and Incomprehensible God,” Reflections (Autumn 2000): pp. 62–88. 141   For critiques of post-metaphysical mysticism, see James K.A. Smith, Speech and Theology (London: Routledge, 2002), pp. 157–161; Merold Westphal, Overcoming OntoTheology (New York: Fordham University Press, 2001), pp. 229–255. 142   For example, process theology uses natural theology in a more systematic way, which pushes it even more in a revisionist direction than the aforementioned thinkers. See, for example, John Cobb Jr., A Christian Natural Theology, 2nd edn (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2007). 138 139

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partners in inquiry leads to the enterprise of epistemic correlation where theologians try to be loyal to both the identity of theology and the epistemic standards of contemporary philosophy. However, some theologians have concluded that this violates the identity of the Church (or any community), being not so much wrong as a category mistake. Bruce Marshall argues that in order to correlate something one must decide beforehand the truth-value of the correlated things, which in fact leaves nothing to correlate and the whole idea of correlation becomes pointless. In other words, correlation as a method of finding the truth of theological claims is profoundly misguided.143 Another type of criticism deals with the requirements of the postfoundationalist type of religious rationality. Mikael Stenmark has claimed that the type of postfoundationalism indicated by van Huyssteen is too ideal to be a useful form of belief-policy since it requires too much. According to Stenmark, postfoundationalism entails, firstly, taking skepticism as the norm of our cognitive life and, secondly, making deliberation a compulsory requirement for rationality. The most pressing problem in postfoundationalism is the inherent fallibility of all knowledge, which seems to bring about skepticism and agnosticism—and such an attitude does not square well with the historic role of the Creeds in Christian theology. Fallibilism as skepticism does not describe accurately the way people generally hold beliefs.144 Stenmark defends a view of rationality which he defines as “a matter of seeking to do the best we can realistically manage to do in the circumstances in which we find ourselves, given our cognitive (and other relevant) resources.”145 Contra van Huyssteen and Shults, he claims that it is not rational to require that in order to have a right to believe p, we should be able to provide good reasons for it.146 This is so simply because as limited beings we do not have time and resources to establish 143  Marshall, Trinity, pp. 137–140; Bayer, Theology, pp. 184–185, 193. Even given Marshall’s critique one may use correlation to explain theological concepts, but this has nothing to do with the truth of the concepts. 144   This has also been argued by Moore, Realism, pp. 48, 50-51, 60–61. If postfoundationalism entails the never-ending quest for better explanations, this requires some criteria for how to evaluate the progress and development of explanations. But does theology have any other standard for evaluation than its own beliefs? Kevin Diller rhetorically describes postfoundationalism as “not as faith seeking understanding but rather doubt seeking criteria for adequacy”. See Diller, “Does contemporary theology require a postfoundationalist way of knowing?,” p. 293. Roger Trigg argues that the problem with critical realism (which goes hand in hand with fallibilism) is the fact that it runs ontology and epistemology together. In other words, there is a danger that what is regarded as true becomes dependent on the certainty of our knowing it. Henceforth it becomes unclear how reliable our knowledge can be. Consequently, critical realism can be used to argue for very different kinds of systems; everything depends on how distant from reality we are thought to be. See Roger Trigg, Rationality and Religion, p. 84–87. 145  Stenmark, How to Relate Science and Theology, pp. 88–89. 146  See, for example, Shults, The Postfoundationalist Task, p. 30.

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all our beliefs in this way. Instead, Stenmark argues for presumptionism, according to which our belief-forming processes and the beliefs formed by them should be presumed to be innocent until proven guilty.147 However, even if one cannot demand such a high level of abstraction in belief-forming for everyday beliefs, Stenmark states that postfoundationalism is a credible form of scientific rationality and inquiry, which could be used in academic theology as well. However, even in science we should not think that our right to hold beliefs is dependent on other people agreeing with us. A scientist who believes that global warming is caused by human actions has the right to hold her theory to be true, even if she has not been able to convince everyone in her field that the case is so. All she has to do is to try to convince others that she is rationally entitled to hold her beliefs as true.148 Nevertheless, I believe that it is possible to develop a model for “normal,” everyday religiosity based on a postfoundationalist sensibility; and I shall return to this in the following chapter. Beyond the Methods This typology with its centers arises from a sort of phenomenological approach, where I have tried to describe how the discussion appears to the observers.149 Participants in discussion usually define themselves and their place in opposition to some others. Barthians oppose revisionists. Revisionists may see Barthians as patriarchal. Correlationists seek to maximize the ability to communicate and eschew as fideisms those models which do not see such communication as important. Wittgensteinians like to observe and define things without getting too much involved. Observing these various oppositions we come up with the typology depicted above. But as I have already conceded, typologies are only tentative and are necessarily limited; one should not attribute too much clarificatory power to them. While they may help us to gain a useful vantage point on the discussion, we miss something crucial if we fix our interest only on the differences between the methods. One way to transcend the proposed typology is to use it to see how different centers share certain characteristics. They are not isolated entities and even the opposing centers share common features. We can observe the centers from the viewpoint of methods (means) and teleology (goals). To a large extent, the discussion has focused on the methods. However, concentration on methodological solutions cannot take us very far  Stenmark, How to Relate Science and Theology, p. 90. Stenmark claims that presumptionism should not be confused with Reformed epistemology because he is not arguing for belief in God being a basic belief. For a more profound treatment, see Mikael Stenmark, Rationality in Science, Religion, and Everyday Life (Notre Dame, IN: Notre Dame University Press, 1995). 148  Stenmark, How to Relate Science and Religion, p. 102. 149   A consolidated analytical summary of the centers can be found in the Appendix. 147

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because very different kinds of theologies can be developed with similar methods. This applies even to theologies on opposite sides of the circle. Although they oppose each other in the sense that they do not want to become what the other side is, they both share some similar methodological features. Both (1) and (3) use a local foundationalist method, which gives warrant for their cause. By using correlation, we can end up having everything from classical Thomistic theology to Gordon Kaufman’s extreme revisionism and even D.Z. Phillips’s Descriptionism. It all depends on what mode of thought, or goal, we correlate theology. But how do we choose our correlational partners and goals? Clearly, the choice is made by prior commitment to some goal, which reflects each thinker’s world-view and seeks to give warrant to that worldview in the form of a method. That is why it is the goal, not the method, which ultimately defines a given theological style. Discussion of the methods is easier since they are more amenable to being discussed publicly, being theologically more neutral. Shifting from the means to the goals, the diversity between the centers grows. Goals are shaped by values and they are more subjective, which makes them harder to share. Based on the above typology we can present the main goals of the different theological methods as follows. 1. 2. 3. 4.

Continuity and integrity of identity and tradition. True description of the other. Social justice and human fulfillment. Universal communication and argumentation.

How we understand human fulfillment and the purpose of theology, or life in general, gives the ultimate shape and identity to our theologies. It is how we understand tenet (3) that creates the biggest differences between different theological methods. Because of this, we cannot just lump all centers together even if they do share common features.150 We need also to note that the theories are based on different (and possibly contradictory) narratives. Although one cannot melt all the existing models together, observing these goals and considering possible ways to embrace them within one’s own center might be beneficial for the future of theology. This would not erase differences and end the disputes, but it might help us read our own context and our dialogue partners better, redirect the focus of discussion, and even help to go beyond false dualisms. Indeed, I suggest that the aforementioned tenets could form a theoretical 150   What I tried to show with the typology is that although different centers have certain special characteristics, they share a common space where they continuously interact with each other and share each other’s features. Revisionists do not think that preserving communal identity is of no value and Traditionalists engage in socially reforming practices. Descriptionists acknowledge the pivotal role of intercommunal discourse and understanding of the other. Correlationists see the value of true description and inquiry that distances itself from its objects.

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framework for the development of a Christian community that lives in late modern society. In such a process, theology has two aims: clarification of one’s own identity and growing understanding of other identities.151 This can be carried out only with the help of finding ways to converse (through both speech and deeds) with other communities. And sometimes practicing common virtues, sharing the same pain and hope, are the best ways of communication. As a result of such processes, people may gain assurance that strengthens their existing identities and helps them to see the problems in them too. Yet, there is nothing that automatically guarantees a positive outcome for conversation. Sometimes we have no other way than just acknowledging disagreement; we remain unconvinced of the particular good that is proposed for us. Then we reject the goodness of that proposed good, continue to remain in tension, while acknowledging the need to find ways to prevent violent clashes. For Christians the solution in many cases may be to suffer violence, but they can never properly adopt violence as their means to get to their goals. As noted earlier, what was seen as problematic in ‘fideism’ was the fear that some convictions become unassailable. Adopting the aforementioned tenets as part of one’s identity might be beneficial in that respect and, in fact, they are already an essential part in the self-understanding of many existing theological communities. However, the nature of the models of rationality and discourse required need still to be addressed. In the following chapter I will propose a model for theological identity which seeks to avoid the pitfalls of both unassailability and relativism.

 See, for example, Bayer, Theology, p. 199.

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Chapter 4

On Theological Rationality and Religious Identity Mediating the Identity In previous chapters I have examined different types of fideist belief policy, the philosophical roots of postmodernism and pragmatism, and various suggestions for theological method in our times. In this chapter I will sketch a model for religious identity and rationality, based on the previously analyzed material, which seeks to avoid the contrasting pitfalls of relativism and absolutism while being simultaneously grounded in the classical Christian theological tradition. “Identity” by definition means sameness (lat. idem). A thing possesses qualities, which makes it possible to distinguish it from other things. When two objects share the same qualities we can say that they are identical, that is, they have the same identity. Identity also involves spatiotemporal continuity meaning that object A at time t1 shares the same features as object B at t2. “Religious identity” is a much-discussed concept both in ecumenism and in many branches of theology. In our context we primarily mean an ability to recognize some individual or group as belonging to some known religion, church, or confession. Secondarily, it is a temporal concept which means the consistency of an individual’s or a group’s religious conviction during new challenges and changes of life. Both the first and the second meaning presuppose that one’s religious identity has to do with one’s manifold, but often rather stable, set of religious attitudes, opinions, practices, and ethical values, all of which are covered by the word “conviction.” The fact that identities exist through time although they may experience change—of which more will be said later—means that they share the same story, that is, they exist within the same tradition. Alasdair MacIntyre describes tradition as “an argument extended through time in which certain fundamental agreements are defined and refined in terms of two kinds of conflict, those with critics and enemies external to the tradition who reject all or at least key parts of those fundamental agreements, and those internal, interpretative debates through which the meaning and rationale of the fundamental agreements come to be expressed and by whose progress a tradition is constituted.” MacIntyre understands tradition in dialectical fashion, as a continuous movement and interaction between different identities. In other words, identities come to exist when different convictions    Alasdair MacIntyre, Whose Justice, Which Rationality? (London: Duckworth, 1988), p. 12.

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engage in interaction with each other as they are handed over (lat. tradere) from generation to generation. In the course of time, this movement may result in the annihilation of some of the identities if they lose their coherence and fail to survive through crises. In this case, they may just wither away or be absorbed by the rival tradition. In some cases, agreement is reached and the rivals are reconstituted together as a new tradition. Clearly, traditions and identities are always elusive. In theology we may speak about Christian identity, or, for example, Lutheran identity, of which the former is a more general and the latter a more particular identity description. However, it is not always clear what we mean by Christian identity and what we take to be the essential features of that identity. Even if we might not be able to provide an eternally valid and totally satisfactory definition of Christianity, we can still quite easily point to certain distinguishing characteristics of Christian tradition which can help us to solve most of the cases when a question arises whether some group or belief can be considered as Christian or not. Yet it must be borne in mind that recognition of a group being within the Christian tradition does not indicate full or visible communion, or absence of disagreement even on quite central matters of faith. Divisions among the communities usually arise from disagreement about what the true identity of the given group consists of. The division may result in break-up when opposition between identity and difference emerges. “We” are distinguished from “them.” According to Michael Root, a difference that can be considered church dividing is one that threatens the identity of the church as church; whether a particular activity will compromise what church believes. Conversely, a disagreement about the matter cannot be considered to be church-

   However, it is not necessary that there be no dissenting voices within the tradition. According to MacIntyre, healthy traditions should embody conflicting voices. MacIntyre, Whose Justice, pp. 209, 222; After Virtue (London: Duckworth, 1981), p. 222.   On the problems of essentialist descriptions of Christian identity see, Wybren de Jong, Identities of Christian Traditions (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 2000), pp. 12–21, 171–172. The basic problem of essentialism in this context is the impossibility of reaching agreement between different traditions on what are the essential features of Christian identity. This is due to the complex and manifold nature of the various traditions, different ways of judging the place of central features in the context of these traditions, and different ways or perspectives from which the particular features can be observed and interpreted.    For example, De Jong lists as distinguishing features Christ-centered beliefs and practices, centrality of the Bible, rituals like Baptism, Eucharist and ordination, certain forms of prayer and veneration, ecumenical creeds and doctrinal formulations, certain forms of church order and offices, Sunday as rest-day, ecclesiastical festivals (Christmas, Easter etc.), certain symbols (cross, dove etc.), and certain concepts and theories about the correct interpretation of beliefs. See De Jong, Identities, p. 71.

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dividing if conversation partners can perform the controversial act (such as celebrate Eucharist) together. Another question in this respect is the role of change and belief-revision. If an entity goes through a change is it still considered to have the same identity as before? To what extent is adopting a new belief or practice detrimental or beneficial to the identity of a community? A specifically ecumenical question (which I will not try to address here) is the degree of dissimilarity between two identities, which share more or less the same tradition. How much and in what respects can two churches or communities disagree with each other and still acknowledge each other as Christian communities? The question of Christian identity is a complex matter for two reasons. First, all identities are contextual; they are born in some specific context to address some specific problems with means that are restricted by the time and place of their inception. Second, the identities are always elusive. Identities do not consist only of propositions and claims but also practices and other phenomena that are beyond exact description. Thus it is impossible to provide an exhaustive account of the Christian identity. In keeping with this, it follows that we have no “pure Christian identity” but different mediated forms of identities. Although it can be said that communities have identities, it is so only because the individuals in the community share some particular characteristics. But how do the individuals receive their identity and how does the mediation take place? In Christian faith the basic foundation of identity is the Christ-event, by which I mean all that the first disciples experienced 2000 years ago—and how they saw this event as a part of an already existing narrative of Israel as God’s chosen people and God’s previous covenantal acts in history. Canonically, the Christ-event was written down by four more or less interdependent authors, the evangelists. Simultaneously there were practices in the early church which mirrored the Christevent and attempted to give an impression of that event in the form of prayer and theological language. The latter, especially, was immediately joined with contemporary philosophy and culture. Consequent theological traditions were linked to different philosophies which shaped their reading of the Scripture and tradition. In sum, there have always been both propositional and practical aspects that have formed the Christian identity.

   See, for example, Michael Root, “Identity and Difference: The Ecumenical Problem,” in Bruce D. Marshall (ed.), Theology and Dialogue: Essays in Conversation with George Lindbeck (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1990), pp. 165–190.    Helm claims that the propositional aspect is always primary or basic to other aspects. See Paul Helm, “Does the Authority of a Tradition Exclude the Possibility of Change?,” in Marcel Sarot and Gijsbert van den Brink (eds), Identity and Change in the Christian Tradition (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 1999), p. 119. From a hermeneutical point of view he is clearly right. Acts and practices are unintelligible without descriptions (meaning

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At the present day, contemporary individuals stand more or less within these various traditions. When forming their identity they are influenced directly by the Canon, but at the same time they see it through their context in history, and from within a particular tradition. In keeping with this, we have within the same tradition, for example, Lutheranism, people whose identity is in some ways similar and in some ways different when compared to other people within the same community. In addition to this, we have multiple accounts of the Christ-event within the Canon, as we have multiple ways to practice the faith, and join differing philosophies and theology together. Thus, there is a significant plurality within the Christian beliefnetwork. We do not have Christianity as such but always in mediated form. This way of mediation is illustrated in the following diagram. Christ-event

Canonical Witness (consists of multiple perspectives)

Practices of Early Church (creeds, sermons, prayers, ecclesial structures, ways of social engagement)

Philosophies and Worldviews (Platonism, Aristotelianism, Realism, Nominalism, Modernism, Postmodernism etc.)

Education, personal history, personality, and experiences

Theological traditions (Catholic, Orthodox, Lutheran, Reformed, Pentecostal etc.)

Theological identity of contemporary individual

Figure 4.1 Mediation of Christian identity a place within a narrative) of what they mean. Temporally, however, these acts can take place before the propositional explanations of their meaning.

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However, it would be too negative to think that people are so imprisoned in their respective identities or traditions that one cannot not exceed his or her place in the narrative. Clearly one is able to change one’s identity. Individuals are not exhaustively defined by their contemporary location. However, this means that their identities may always be on the move as they come to see how their identity has been mediated through history and experiences. Of course, this raises some difficult questions about the role of mediation and its necessity. For some religious people, it might be hard to see the limitedness or elusiveness of their perspective (which is a direct consequence of seeing religious identity as mediated). The crucial question, then, is: is mediation a bad thing? James K.A. Smith has discussed extensively the issues of mediation and the nature of theological language in his works The Fall of Interpretation and Speech and Theology. Smith challenges the classical notion of mediation as an (evil) result of the Fall, instead seeing it as a (good or neutral) part of being a creature. Simultaneously, he seeks to refute the postmodern notion of interpretation/ mediation as inherently violent. This Smith regards as a heritage from modernity— still present in some influential trends of postmodern thought—which sought absolute certainty and universal control over reality. Instead Smith denies that the process of naming objects is necessarily a violent act since it can also be a loving act, where human beings interact, communicate, and create bonds with each other. This results from his account of interpretation as a good creaturely feature. The classical Augustinian account of interpretation regards the existence of signum and significandum as the absence of immediacy, which had existed between human being and objects (and even God) before the Fall. In the original state there was no need for signs and consequent interpretation because the knowledge of God was immediate—and therefore there was no need for interpretation. Similarly, language exists only where there is time, since in language the concepts follow each other in consecutive order. Augustine thus also sees time, not necessarily as evil, but in any case as something that will cease to exist in Kingdom Come. Therefore, in the next life there will be neither time nor mediation.10 Smith, however, asks is not being in time something constitutive for being a human? Was not there time in original creation? Does this pose a threat to the original goodness of creation if being limited becomes something to be erased? Does this mean erasing the difference between God and humans? This opens up at least a possibility of seeing mediation as not necessarily bad while admitting that it can have a distracting influence so that false interpretations become possible. Mediation is a necessary condition of being the human whom God addresses. In the state of imperfection, mediation can have unwanted consequences (false    A short rebuttal of incommensurability is found in Mary Midgley, Heart and Mind (London: Routledge, 2003), p. 80–87.    Downer’s Grove: IVP 2000.    Smith, Fall, p. 129. 10  Smith, Fall, pp. 140–143.

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interpretations, etc.) but this alone does not suggest that mediation as such is evil. However, from this follows the next question: how do we live in a world filled with all kinds of interpretations? Smith admits that he cannot objectively prove hermeneutical structures to be good but he believes them to be such. On the other hand, no one can prove them to be essentially evil either. Both tragic (Nietzschean) readings and religious (Kierkegaardian) interpretations of reality are possible constructions. Individuals must choose between these two and accept the possibility of being wrong since the decision cannot be based on ultimate certainty. But why choose the religious reading over the tragic one? Here again we face the questions of relativism and fideism. Does admitting the role of mediation take us to the relativity of all viewpoints and identities, and is blind faith all we have to choose between them? Based on Smith’s ideas at least three reasons can be given for this not being so. First of all, if reality is ontologically evil we would have no means to judge its goodness, and such an ontological demonization of the world gives us no means to oppose violence—if violence after all is everything there is.11 In other words, relativism and fideism in this form surrender the world to violence. From this point of view, all interpretations are not equal. Second, even if all choices take place within some tradition, which makes allencompassing interpretations and judgments about the world impossible, this does not lead to abandonment of norms of interpretation. Smith claims: … interpretations cannot be normative if by normative we mean universal or all-encompassing—the one, true interpretation. However, what is interpreted remains a norm for every interpretation; there is something or someone who stands before all of our interpretations and is binding upon every construal. This interpretative norm, which stands before (or even “outside of”) interpretation, constitutes the phenomenological criterion of every construal; there are universals that are binding upon interpretation. But these universals are better understood as empirical transcendentals than a priori transcendental criteria.12

According to Smith, truth is not ontologically ineffable; it is a “process of uncovering.” Truth “happens” when some aspect of reality is revealed to the observer. Smith seeks to refute relativism by claiming that while reality allows multiple interpretations, it does not allow them infinitely since reality itself rules out some of the interpretations. In pragmatic fashion, Smith insists that true interpretation must work. However, this makes truth a process where something real but elusive little by little uncovers itself to us. Of course, mediation makes all our speech about God or spiritual reality less than perfect. Instead of regarding this as a problem, Smith claims that this is in full accord with the classical view of speaking about God. The third reason for  Smith, Fall, p. 161.  Smith, Fall, p. 169.

11

12

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not seeing mediation as a problem arises from the Christian self-understanding of God’s nature, which is always beyond total description. But if our language is not perfect, how can we be sure that we are actually addressing God in our creeds and prayers, or that we are not idolizing our imperfect images of God? If with regard to the material world, all our naming is in some way reductive, then it must be even more reductive with regard to God. In order to save God from violent objectification, Smith calls on backup from Augustine. “Violent” or “objectifying” predication is the halting of reference, the security of meaning, and the adequation of the concept and object. But praise is characterized by incompletion, reference without end, and a fundamental inadequation. The intentional aim is not halted in praise, but only deflected, without consummation or completion. And yet, one is able to speak of transcendence, since the transcendent God “has accepted the homage of human voices, and wishes us to rejoice in praising him with our words” (Aug. DC 1.6.6.). But praise in no way claims to comprehend such transcendence, which is why Augustine consistently distinguishes between “knowledge” and “comprehension.”13

Smith’s proposal defines genuine theological first-order use of theological language as praise. In praise, a person claims to have true knowledge of God although at the same time admitting that she does not comprehend God in toto but seeks to understand God more and more. Naturally, seeing our knowledge of God as mediated has a bearing on our understanding of who we are. Charles Mathewes points out that contemporary society typically imposes on us an identity, which is either too shallow or too tight. This effectively leads to ‘identity politics’ where everyone always speaks as a representative of a particular group, as a Christian, as a black woman, as a gay. Everyone is thus located within a narrow, predetermined paradigm, which ultimately reduces persons to a fixed, fully consummated identity. There is no need to wait and see because everything that I am is here and now. There is no becoming anymore. Mathewes argues that Christians have good reason to oppose this kind of identity-imposing, which for him reflects our fallen desire to have an apocalyptically realized identity, “one that ‘at last’ knows what it is and inhabits that identity exclusively.” Opposing this reading of ourselves, Mathewes writes: “When we confess our faith, we do not yet fully know what we are affirming, and hence we do not yet know who we are, or who we will be when we are finally called before the judgment seat. And in the interim, we should ‘wear’ this identity in a non-defensive, ‘confessional’ manner—welcoming conversation and dialogue, queries about what one believes, challenges to the coherence of those beliefs, and outright direct attacks on the particular objects of faith as well.”14  Smith, Speech, p. 133.   Charles Mathewes, A Theology of Public Life (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), pp. 205–207. 13

14

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Smith’s and Mathewes’s ideas offer somewhat theoretical but still helpful background for engaging the issues of Christian identity from the viewpoint of mediation. In order to supplement their exposition, I propose that this process of uncovering needs three relations that define the context for Christian reflection on the Christ-event. First, we need a synchronic relation that connects different contemporary Christian identities together. This takes place by ecumenical discussion where churches seek to acknowledge each other as Christian communities. Secondly, there needs to be a diachronic relation, that is, tradition that goes back to the common origin, the Christ-event. Thirdly, the Christ-event must be an authoritative and normative relation for examining the aforementioned synchronic and diachronic relations because some communities may stray away or go through a malformation after which they cannot be considered as legitimate interpretations of Christian faith. This third relation enables the continuous examination of the interplay between de facto tradition and de jure tradition. Not all events and choices in Christian theological tradition have been perfect, and some may even have been erroneous. Thus an item being de facto part of Christian tradition does not automatically mean that it is de jure a legitimate part of that tradition.15 On the one hand, this principle makes consideration and critical discussion possible while on the other, it makes the boundaries of traditions elusive. Christian theology is the process of reflection which seeks to uncover the meaning of the Christ-event in new contexts. In this process it needs all these three relations in order to stay Christian. If a community neglects one or two of these relations it is in danger of becoming self-sufficient and liable to form a ghetto of its own. In the next section, I seek to formulate the contours of Christian identity, acknowledging the elusiveness of our identities and interpretations but at the same aiming to maintain some solidity. This raises the question: can Christians negotiate with the other (meaning both other Christian and non-Christian) stories and if so, how? Negotiating the Identity The decisive element of historical Christian faith is a particular event of God assuming human form. Consequently, this event established the foundation on which the Church has built its notion of rationality. The ultimate measure of 15

  See Helm, “Does the Authority of a Tradition Exclude the Possibility of Change?,” pp. 128–129; De Jong, Identities, p. 247; Vanhoozer, Drama, p. 322–323. According to Christoph Schwöbel, the relationship between identity and change consists of “attempting to recover and preserve the authenticity of the Christian message in its changing forms of expression, opening up possibilities that lead from dissensus to consensus in the Christian communities, [and] reconstructing the continuity of tradition.” See Schwöbel, “Rationality, Tradition and Theology: Six Theses,” in Marcel Sarot and Gijsbert van den Brink (eds), Identity and Change in the Christian Tradition (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 1999), p. 182.

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rationality and model for identity building is the person of Jesus Christ.16 The modern attempts to locate the contours of rationality in the abstract world of ideas outside history and particularity have usually succeeded at the high price of downplaying or even dismissing that particularity, which gave birth to the Christian story (and other stories) in the first place, and it is specifically this feature of modernity (and some forms of postmodernity as well) that has been regarded as leading to an unacceptable reductionism. But if the particularity of Christian narrative is safeguarded and its identity preserved intact, other kinds of problems emerge. Especially in late modern western culture we recognize that we have numerous different narratives at our disposal. The presence of multiple others and particular stories in our societies can (or should) cause an identity crisis: a realization that there exist various readings of the world which do not square with my reading of the reality. Charles Taylor gives a poignant description of this kind of religious existence in a secular society. The best sense I can make of my conflicting moral and spiritual experience is captured by a theological view of this kind. That is, in my own experience, in prayer, in moment of fullness, in experiences of exile overcome, in what I seem to observe around me in other people’s lives—lives of exceptional spiritual fullness, or lives of maximum self-enclosedness, lives of demonic evil, etc.—this seems to be the picture which emerges. But I am never, or only rarely, really sure, free of all doubt, untroubled by some objections—by some experience which won’t fit, some lives which exhibit fullness on another basis, some alternative mode of fullness which sometimes draws me, etc. 17

Taylor’s depiction surely gives an accurate impression of how a contemporary religious person feels about his or her religious identity. The burning question, which emerges in this kind of situation, is: what then? What should I do in the face of multiple choices? Without a doubt, the difficulty of achieving consensus in religious epistemology makes a skeptical or even nihilistic attitude appealing for many. In fact, there are actually very few possible options for how to react in this kind of situation. Leaving the question of the truth of particular options aside we must first establish a theory of how to relate to pluralism. Here, I believe the pragmatist philosopher Nicholas Rescher’s theories can be used constructively.

16

  Although within the classical Christian tradition there is no clear consensus how the particular and universal aspects of reason could be related together, both Barthians and Thomists agree on the centrality of the Christ-event. On this see, for example, Colin Gunton and Robert Jenson, “The Logos Ensarkos and Reason,” in P. Griffiths and R. Hütter (eds), Reason and the Reasons of Faith (New York: T&T Clark, 2005), pp. 78–85. 17   Taylor, A Secular Age, pp. 10–11.

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Rescher has outlined the following matrix based on two questions, which can be answered in various ways.18 Q1: How many of the alternatives with respect to a controversial matter are plausible in the sense of deserving sympathetic consideration and deliberation? Q2: Within the range of such viable alternatives, how many are acceptable in the sense of deserving endorsement and adoption?

Now, depending on how these questions are answered, the following range of positions emerges. Q1

Q2

Doctrinal position

0

0

Nihilism

1

1

Monism (absolutism)

2 or more

Pluralism 0

Skepticism

1

Preferentialism Doctrinalism (rationalistic) Relativism (irrationalistic)

2 or more

Syncretism

Rescher’s matrix offers us a way to schematize the possible reactions to pluralism. As such, it does not say anything about the truth of a particular belief or practice. Rescher himself argues for “preferential doctrinalism,” which he sees as the most reasonable attitude in pluralistic societies. While nihilism, skepticism and syncretism are available and existing attitudes, and many people do favor them, they are problematic because they are self-defeating and/or have unwelcome consequences. Basically, nihilists and skeptics just leave everything as it is and distance themselves from the others. In a similar way, syncretism makes rational evaluation of different positions a priori unachievable. All three positions could be seen as holding back from such evaluation or as adopting one position and raising it above others without giving actual reasons for it (resembling thus the reflective form of conformist fideism). To be precise: nihilists, skeptics and syncretists do argue for their positions but the reasons are usually a priori reasons, thus ruling out serious engagement with reality. In the face of multiple (or even an infinite number of) choices it is better to avoid taking any positions or select them all. In the first case (nihilists and skeptics), the positions collapse together with monism and in the latter we run counter the   Rescher, Pluralism, pp. 98–99. Printed by permission of Oxford University Press.

18

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basic laws of logic and the reality of life. We simply cannot value every position as equal without falling into utter absurdity. Monism, instead, refuses to see any other option as initially plausible or worth consideration because it assumes that that there is only one reasonable way of seeing things. Advocates of a monist position may argue in the universal and public arena with representatives of other positions but monism rejects the inherent plurality of the world. It is possible (but not necessary) that monist positions are most prone to violence towards other positions.19 It must also be borne in mind that monism may take religious and non-religious forms. Non-religious monism could be a form of militant atheism (former Soviet Union) or liberal democracy (contemporary Europe), which would like to exclude religious arguments and identities from the public sphere.20 When it comes to preferential pluralist options, we have two choices: doctrinalism and relativism. In the case of relativism, the choice between multiple options is done without actual evaluation of positions. We just accept the values that happen to be the values of our society at that time, without any further reflection. Therefore, this could be classified as conformist fideism in the nonreflective sense. Preferential doctrinalism, instead, tries to map a route between consensus theories of truth (Habermas) and anything goes—relativism (Feyerabend). First of all, consensus does not guarantee truth (as we know, multitudes can err), and secondly, in most cases, it is just too optimistic to hope for a consensus to be attainable. Thirdly, in many cases consensus is a form of violence where the other is silenced in favor of the system in power.21 Relativism is not a preferable solution for the reasons already mentioned. Rescher argues that it is possible to consider multiple positions as plausible while evaluating one’s own position as rationally superior. This entails that one has chosen it or has come to hold it through rational consideration. Yet, it is possible that many different people come hold different beliefs as rational and consider that they have come to this position through an evaluative process that satisfies their understanding of rationality. Different backgrounds and contexts just lead people to have different rational resolutions. In this case, the preferential doctrinalist agrees that resolution p is rational for group A but it is not rational for her own group B. This does not, however, entail that B holds p and ~p as equally valid. B has no choice than to proceed with its own standard of rationality (because 19   The popular late modern belief about the violent nature of the Enlightenment towards the other is somewhat exaggerated. For monism, tolerance and intolerance in the Enlightenment see Garrard, Counter-Enlightenments, pp. 128–130. 20  I am not, however, claiming that liberal democracy is violent or anti-religious per se. For appraisal of such positions see Christopher Insole, The Politics of Human Frailty: Theological Defense of Political Liberalism (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2005); Gregory, Politics and the Order of Love. 21   Rescher, Pluralism, p. 156. Rescher uses here totalitarian regimes as an example.

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requiring B to simpliciter accept the standards of A is clearly absurd). The fact that B exists and that its members have different standards of rationality does not mean that they lose their right to hold ~p, although the fact that A holds p might form a possible defeater or reason for members of B to reconsider their initial claim or the presuppositions in their mode of rational justification. Nevertheless, it does not have an a priori effect on their right to hold ~p. The following example from the 2009 American presidential election may illustrate this. Jim reads Barack Obama’s The Audacity of Hope and is fascinated by Obama’s political vision. After careful consideration, he decides to give his vote to Obama. Jim’s sister Jill, however, is a supporter of John McCain and they engage in argument concerning the views of their respective candidates. After the argument, Jim still remains unconvinced of McCain’s superiority. Does this inability to reach consensus entail that Jim has to delay his judgment or that he cannot vote at all? Obviously not. The argument may help Jim to see that Obama’s vision has some flaws but his basic vision still holds, and he is therefore in good epistemic position to give his vote to Obama. It must be borne in mind that preferential doctrinalism compels us to see our cognitive commitments as judgments, and not as mere opinions or matters of taste. Rescher sums up his position as follows. But is pluralism not a self-defeating position because it must take the view that all rivals to itself—absolutism, nihilism, and the rest—are just as meritorious? By no means! A sensible pluralism will not take such an egalitarian view at all. It will view those rivals as available, as deserving serious attention, perhaps even as plausible and tempting. But it will not—and need not—view them as correct, as sensible, or equal in merit with itself. It refuses to be dogmatic and to reject rival positions out of hand, without the courtesy of due scrutiny and evaluation. But it equally refuses to be gullible—to accept anything and everything on its own. It is open-minded, not empty-headed. It is certainly not monolithic and discriminatory in excluding all alternatives from the outset. But it is perfectly prepared to be preferential and discriminating in holding that our superior claims prevail in the final analysis. Its negative view of rivals is not unthinking and dogmatic but rests on a basis of reflection based on rational evaluation.22

Rescher claims that people have the intellectual and moral duty to stick to their judgments unless good reasons are given to do otherwise. This does not lead to endorsing other views or downgrading one’s own commitments. Indifferentism simply betokens abandonment of the search for truth and implies the lack of intellectual virtues, such as confidence and courage.23   Rescher, Pluralism, p. 119.   Rescher does not favor intellectual isolation but stresses the continuous need of extra-systemic discussion between different discourses. Additionally, one is entitled to 22

23

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In the context of religions and value disagreements, Rescher’s view has multiple beneficial consequences.24 First, it guarantees the prima facie right to hold one’s own beliefs with strong commitment, which is a central feature of the religious way of life, or, indeed, any form of life. Second, it rejects intellectual isolation and requires everyone to give an account of her commitments. Third, it sees sympathy and humility as the central virtues with regard to interaction between human communities. Fourth, it can help to bring religion and religiously motivated values back into public discussion. Keeping everything that has been said before in mind, the question about the nature of Christian identity in our pluralistic context emerges in such a context. I have chosen the concept “negotiable Christian identity” to address it, not because it is politically correct but because it brings together some core features of traditionally understood Christian identity. By “negotiation” I do not mean bargaining and compromise as if matters of conviction should be subjects of crude exchange. Instead, I take negotiability to mean an open-ended process of theological deliberation, which should proceed in organic relation with the belief-system’s core beliefs. In the following, a more structured description of negotiability will be provided. The features that form the framework of negotiability include (1) diachronic justification of beliefs, (2) abductive reasoning, (3) experiential knowing, (4) incompleteness and open-endedness of doctrinal formulations, (5) fallibilist understanding of knowledge, (6) strong commitment to one’s own identity, and (7) importance of growth in virtues. The first three of these can be seen as causes for (4), which together form the transition to a given identity. The last three features describe existence within the identity.25 This can be illustrated as follows.

having one’s own beliefs only if one has taken all currently available alternatives into consideration. See Rescher, Pluralism, pp. 111–112. However, this demand may appear rather harsh and too ideal to be carried out in reality. I take Rescher to mean that we need to do everything we are able to do in our given situation that can be reasonably demanded from us. 24   To date, there exist only a few attempts to use Rescher in theology. The most prominent examination is P.D. Murray, Reason, Truth and Theology in Pragmatist Perspective (Leuven: Peeters, 2004). See also Risto Saarinen, “After Rescher: Pluralism as Preferentialism,” in Viggo Mortensen (ed.), Theology and Religion: A Dialogue (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003), pp. 409–413. Of course, many ideas similar to Rescher’s have been presented within philosophical theology by, among others, Reformed epistemologists and Marilyn McCord Adams. See, for example, Adams, “Sceptical Realism: Faith and Reason in Collaboration,” in Anthony Fisher OP & Hayden Ramsey (eds), Faith and Reason: Friends or Foes in the New Millennium? (Hindmarsh: ATF Press, 2004), pp. 8–15. 25   For a somewhat similar proposal for postfoundationalist theology as interplay between reliabilism, fallibilism and intellectual virtue, see Vanhoozer, Drama, pp. 302–305.

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Abductive reasoning

Experiential knowing Embracing the identity

Incompleteness of doctrinal formulations

Fallibilism

Common sense rationality

Defeating the defeaters

Growth in virtues

Perseverance

Humility

Living the identity

Strong commitments

Figure 4.2 Negotiable theological identity Of course, I do not claim that these features have been used since the Early Church as regulative theological concepts designating the framework of Christian beliefs, but rather that they illustrate the central processes in Christian belief- and identity-formation. In this sense, I take these tenets as a descriptive account of the already existing classical Christian tradition while claiming that they also should be held more consciously as normative. Next, I will explain this view more comprehensively. Diachronic Justification of Beliefs Becoming religious usually takes place as a long process, which includes multiple stages, arguments, experiences, encounters, conversations, and choices.26 At some point in the process, the person feels that a system of beliefs gives a coherent and meaningful account of the world. To use Taylor’s term, a theological view of the world “emerges” as a result of being in the world. The mode of emergence can take various forms, which may correlate with personal characteristics or with the specific form of religiosity one encounters. For example, the road to faith for an Indian pariah or a North American professor will probably be different and will culturally involve, to some extent, diverse experiences. What is common, however, 26

  This is not only a philosophical but a psychological fact as well. Developmental psychologists have argued that the more different domains of life that belief touches, the more probable its truth seems to us. See Justin L. Barrett, Why Would Anyone Believe in God? (Walnut Creek: Altamira, 2004), pp. 64, 90–91.

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is the acknowledgement that this specific system of beliefs makes “sense” of the world and the individual’s place in it. Faith is something that forms the link between person and the world joining these together within one narrative.27 William J. Abraham has rightly observed that in religion people rarely if ever use synchronic justification for their beliefs.28 The synchronic view of religious beliefs is like a static snapshot, whereas the diachronic view takes beliefs as a sort of narrative that develops over a time. This means, first of all, that there is neither a global defeater for a given religious belief system nor one single knock down argument for the belief. The belief system does not rest on a single basis but it is a complex mixture of experiences, truth claims, witnesses, and other data.29 Faith can grow and deepen just as it can weaken and fade completely away. Yet, typically, no single thing or event can cause the loss of faith as no single item can cause faith either.30 Faith is best seen as a process, where knowledge, strength of belief, and trust can grow.31 Additionally, the process is person-relative so that the 27   It is widely held that identity takes place always within a narrative. Narratives sustain individuals’—and communities’—identities over time. A person finds his or her place in the world through narratives, and this gives unity to life. Simultaneously, this makes experiences and understanding always dependent on these narratives. See, for example, Vanhoozer, “Once More Into the Borderlands: The Way of Wisdom in Philosophy and Theology after the ‘Turn to Drama’,” in K. Vanhoozer and M. Warner (eds), Transcending, p. 39; Paul Ricoeur, Oneself as Another (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992). However, this is an increasingly contested claim. See, for example, Galen Strawson, “Against Narrativity,” Ratio XVII (2004): pp. 428–452. Strawson argues against “the psychological Narrativity thesis” according to which it is descriptively accurate to depict our lives as narrative, and against “the ethical Narrativity thesis” according to which it is essential to a well-lived life to lead it narratively. Strawson wants to promote an “Episodic” view of life in which there is no continuous self that extends from the past to the future; identity states are thus discontinuous. Among others, Paul J. Eakin has responded to Strawson by pointing out that he does not succeed in promoting the Episodic reading of life without resort to narrativity. See Eakin, “Narrative Identity and Narrative Imperialism: A response to Galen Strawson and James Phelan,” Narrative, vol. 14. no. 2 (2006): pp. 180–187. 28   Abraham, Crossing, pp. 129–131. 29  One is reminded here of Richard Swinburne’s cumulative argument for the existence of God. Even if some believers might find Swinburne’s Bayesian probability calculations unsuitable for their religious way of life, the basic idea of summing up different kinds of data is quite likely the way it goes for most people. 30   Wittgenstein (On Certainty, pp. 141–142) claims, apparently correctly: “When we first begin to believe anything, what we believe is not a single proposition, it is a whole system of propositions. (Light dawns gradually over the whole.) It is not single axioms that strike me as obvious, it is a system in which consequences and premises give one another mutual support.” 31   In Lutheran theology, faith is typically defined as notitia, assensus, and fiducia. Faith, however, does not justify because of the strength of these faculties of the soul. Instead faith justifies because it is a union with Christ, which redirects the faculties to

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same arguments and experiences do not have similar epistemological value to all individuals. If we examine the great thinkers of the Christian history of theology, we can easily find many significantly different modes of inference and argument. Despite the differences, these theologians usually agree on what they are arguing for (for example, the existence of Christian God, or some particular truth of Christian faith) while they disagree on what is the best way to argue for it.32 Abductive Reasoning Religious rationality deals with the whole range of human life and experience. Religion is not a set of abstractions or propositions but a way of life, a wholesome attitude towards existence. However, one central aspect of the Christian religion is that it does make statements and claims about the world. It claims to give answers to the questions of life, and it gives suggestions about how our lives should be led. The way it gives answers does not proceed deductively, where conclusions necessarily follow from the premises. Among others, Alister McGrath and Martin Warner claim that religious rationality often uses abduction as a model of reasoning. Abductive reasoning (as suggested originally by Peirce) proceeds as follows. A state of affairs C occurs p could explain C p is probably true Now, abduction does not automatically guarantee the truth of p since it only suggests the possibility of p being true. McGrath argues that despite the fact that abduction does not guarantee that the conclusion is right and true it is a valuable method of inference. For example, it is used in natural sciences as a tool to access the events of the past.33 Warner claims that, amongst others, Blaise Pascal’s way of reasoning is abductive. Pascal tries to make sense of human experience including all aspects of understanding and feeling. Then he suggests that Christianity might be the form of belief which could correlate to these experiences—and be therefore true. As a criticism, it might be said that this produces only subjective and culture-relative answers. However, Pascal maintains that this procedure should include all religions and non-religious life forms as well. Resulting from his own consideration, he Christ and his merits. For a treatment of this see my, Justitication and Participation in Christ (Leiden: Brill, 2008). 32   Abraham, Crossing, p. 41. 33  McGrath, Theory, 154–5. Stephen T. Davis has argued for a similar abductive reading of Gospel narratives. What happened to Christ could be best explained by the claims he made about himself. See Davis, “Looking for Jesus and Still Finding Christ,” in D.Z. Phillips (ed.), Biblical Concepts and Our World (Houndmills: Palgrave, 2004), pp. 156–157.

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concludes that Christianity is true, yet his philosophy attests that this attitude is to be considered as an open-ended inquiry.34 Experiential Knowing The ultimate object of religious knowledge is God. In Christianity, God is understood to be personal, which means that God is known through his actions including particular acts, words, and events within our history.35 In some, though not in all, respects, the mode of knowing God is similar to our knowing persons in general. We learn to know Jones by spending time with Jones and doing things with him. As in human relations, we are transformed by those with whom we are in contact. In the last analysis, knowledge of God is not inferential but experiential. This is however not to deny that logical arguments have, and should have, a role within religious life. Still, the most profound spiritual knowledge is gained through experience and progress in this way of life.36 Religious knowledge involves more character formation and suffering than learning a method of forming warranted true beliefs. Religious knowing rules out the possibility of knowing without personal involvement. A person may learn algebra without being personally involved but getting to know a person this way is virtually impossible. Additionally, in many cases the meaning of the concepts is not restricted to verbal communication or exchange of formal propositions. Actions, deeds, and all kinds of physical gestures have a great deal of influence on how these propositions are to be understood.37 Oliver Davies describes faith as a dialectical relation involving cognitive recognition and volitional affirmation. Here Davies has in mind the narratives where the disciples, after recognizing Jesus, affirm him as the Son of God (for example, Matt. 16:13-20). This kind of recognition and affirmation can take only place within an already existing relationship and is carried on in openended discipleship. The role of discipleship is one feature which makes religious 34   Warner, “Transcending Boundaries,” pp. 21–22. Simple forms of inference in religion and matters of value do not usually work well because the procedures of rational judgment are so complex and subtle, and one can never fit everything that is needed within one argument. See also Martin Warner, Philosophical Finesse: Studies in the Art of Rational Persuasion (Oxford: Clarendon, 1989), ch. 5; “The Fourth Gospel’s Art of Rational Persuasion,” in M. Warner (ed.), The Bible as Rhetoric: Studies in Biblical Persuasion and Credibility (London: Routledge, 1990), p. 177. 35   See, for example, Colin Gunton, “Revelation: Do Christians Know Something No One Else Knows?,” in Colin Gunton, Intellect and Action (London: T&T Clark, 2005): pp. 46–66. 36   This issue has been dealt more fully in the section “Historical Dimensions of the Distinction Between Faith and Reason.” 37   Even emotions can be considered as a form of knowledge. See Linda Zagzebski, Divine Motivation Theory (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), pp. 79; Bennett W. Helm, Emotional Reason (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001).

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knowing differ from other ways of knowing. The knower who once was a listener is invited to become a participant in the conversation and the message, which in fact is the relationship itself, is entrusted to her.38 The revelation given in this relation directs and interprets the acts of knowing and experiencing. For example, Christ’s crucifixion in itself, as an isolated event, has no commendable meaning, or the possible meanings are actually the opposite of the meaning that revelation gives to it.39 Incompleteness and Open-endedness of Doctrinal Formulations. The whole discussion so far has a bearing on how we should understand the nature of doctrinal formulations. The widespread classical and ecumenical understanding implies that doctrinal formulations are not exhaustive. Doctrines are second-order formulations based on injunctions, claims, stories, events, principles, and paradigms expressed in the biblical narrative, which attempt to represent the content of the biblical faith in concise form.40 Already within the Bible there is, as I. Howard Marshall puts it, “incompleteness … seen in factors such as diversity, the occasional nature of the teachings, and the impossibility of dealing with later questions and problems.” Additionally, revelation consists of not only single statements but the whole narrative, which gives the interpretative context to the individual texts. This entails that doctrine “can and must develop beyond scriptural statements.”41 Although Christians are committed to the fact that they have certain knowledge of God, their knowledge is always restricted by their fallen nature, finite capacities  Davies, Theology of Compassion, pp. 211–224.   Vidu points out that we need to pay attention to the disposition of individuals and the content of what is experienced. Without this, we cannot distinguish between right and wrong perceptions. See Vidu, Theology After Neo-pragmatism, pp. 243, 249. 40  I am of course aware of the different accounts we can give of the concept of doctrine. My description above implies that doctrines have cognitive meaning and that they are used to refer to first-order reality (I presuppose here metaphysical realism but without the notion of one-true-reference; there can be multiple correct definitions and descriptions of the same object). Nevertheless, doctrine encompasses the life of faith as whole, which is not reducible to propositions only. As concise expressions of biblical faith, it has a rule-like function in the life of the church. For a more developed account of doctrine, see Vanhoozer, Drama, p. 110. See also Insole’s description of realist religious discourse. Christopher Insole, Realist Hope (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2006), p. 2. 41   I. Howard Marshall, Beyond the Bible: Moving from Scripture to Theology (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2004), pp. 78–79. There are, however, certain rules governing how doctrine can be developed. Marshall indicates that development should take place within the continuity of the Church’s faith being loyal to the Gospel so that it is the Gospel itself, and “not some modern or postmodern agenda”, which calls for renewal or revision. See also Kevin Vanhoozer’s response and clarification of what “going beyond” means, in the same book, pp. 81–96. 38 39

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of intellect, and the limited nature of human language to mediate between the self and objects. Doctrines are capable of mediating something of divine truths in analogical fashion but this is never comprehensive or complete. They are simultaneously seen as both revelatory and fragmentary.42 Religious truth can be held true and non-absolute without doing violence to Christian self-understanding and the notion of certainty. In keeping with this, knowledge of God is always received as a gift and humans can never possess it by their own powers. Due to the personal character of revelation, it can not be communicated in a purely formal way as rules or methods. Christian truths are communicated when they are lived out and made manifest in works of love.43 An obvious problem with the idea of fragmentary knowing is of course the demarcation between right and wrong “knowledge.” How do we recognize truth from falsehood if some of our beliefs are always wrong? Do we end up in global skepticism? Despite the larger-than-life nature of the question, it is rather theoretical. Firstly, are the alternatives any better? According to them, all our knowledge is infallible, and if we are not able to reach absolute certainty we should refrain from making decisions, or all our beliefs are wrong (including this one). Either we end up having a notion of rationality which makes most of everyday beliefs unwarranted, or we end up having a performative contradiction. Secondly, we actually fare quite well in our lives with fragmentary knowledge. That is because most of our beliefs at least approximate to truth although they may not satisfy very high standards of justification. Approximation to truth comes in degrees. For example, scientific advancement does not necessarily mean that previous theories were simply false. Instead in many cases they can be accommodated within the new theory as its subclass. Thus the new theory does not necessarily overthrow the previous one but merely corrects it. In the realm of values and religious beliefs, matters usually get more complicated. In the following section I aim to describe how fallibilism might work within religion. Fallibilist Understanding of Knowledge In what sense can we maintain the fallibility of religious claims? In epistemology, the general problem of fallibilism is that it opens the door for skepticism. In fact, two options emerge. Either fallibilism can be seen as willingness to improve one’s knowledge and therefore as a tool to make corrections when needed, or it enables the undermining of already existing knowledge thereby making strong commitments impossible. Fear of relativism and global skepticism makes evidentialism seem   Guarino, Foundations, pp. 210–211; Vanhoozer, Drama, pp. 288–291. See also Rowan Williams, “Between Politics and Metaphysics: Reflections in the Wake of Gillian Rose,” in Gregory Jones and Stephen Fowl (eds.), Rethinking Metaphysics (Oxford: Blackwell, 1995). 43   Davies, A Theology of Compassion, p. 285. See also Marshall, Trinity, pp. 208–211. 42

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attractive to many. However, the earlier discussion of Rescher’s work has given some indication that such fears may not be well founded.44 Along the same lines, Mikael Stenmark offers an account of religious rationality, which helps us to conceptualize this in terms of principles.45 First, in a pluralist situation a religious person is quite likely to meet challenges to her views. If a particular, for example, scientific discovery appears, which is in tension with a person’s religious views, what should she do? Stenmark argues that in these kinds of cases we should use the cautious principle of belief revision. This means that “when revising something we already believe we should pick, among those alternatives that are available to us, the one that is nearest to our original conviction.” Thus, for example, an evolutionary view of cosmos need not challenge a person’s view of the existence of God or particular attributes of God, although it may cause her to revise her beliefs about how God created the world. Secondly, it is clear that we do not hold all our beliefs with equal strength, as some beliefs are more central than others.46 With regard to peripheral views, we may give up or alter those and this does not affect the belief system as a whole. Consequently, according to the principle of concern, “we should require stronger reasons for giving up something we believe which has greater depth of concern in our belief-world than for giving up something which plays a more peripheral role.”47 However, religious believers are usually very keen about their beliefs and usually not willing to alter them. According to Stenmark, this means holding a belief “dogmatically.” However, this no-matter-what-happens attitude can be shared by theologians and philosophers, Christians and atheists alike.48 In order to provide an alternative, Stenmark argues for the strength-of-belief principle according to which “in a situation where I meet many other apparently reasonable and honest people who happen to believe something other than I do, this should affect the strength with which I hold onto my belief at least in such a way that I realize that there is a real chance that I actually could be wrong.” According to Stenmark, it is rational to believe something dogmatically only in those contexts 44

 On Rescher’s understanding of fallibilism and the right to make strong claims see Murray, Reason, Truth, and Theology, pp. 138-143. See also S. Hetherington, “Knowing fallibly,” Journal of Philosophy 96 (1999): pp. 565–587. 45  Stenmark, How to Relate Science and Religion, pp. 103–115. 46   See, for example, Nicholas Wolterstorff’s account of “control beliefs” in Wolterstorff, Reason Within the Bounds of Religion, pp. 67–69. 47  Stenmark, How to Relate Science and Religion, p. 106. 48  MacIntyre takes it as an indicator that the system is in epistemological crisis when it contrives a set of epistemological defenses that shield it from criticisms. Exemplary cases for MacIntyre are astrology, some aspects of psychiatry, and liberal Protestantism. See Alasdair MacIntyre, “Epistemological Crises, Narrative, and Philosophy of Science,” in S. Hauerwas and G. Jones (eds), Why Narrative? Readings in Narrative Theology (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans 1989), p. 147.

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where no other ways of believing exist, such as in cultures where only one way of thinking is prevalent and is not challenged by other views.49 However, in a situation where there are multiple ways of seeing things it is not rational to hold beliefs dogmatically. A pluralistic context makes the dogmatic attitude irrational.50 As a further clarification of Stenmark’s principles, it might be said that a person clearly cannot consider the whole of her system wrong. Instead, it could be claimed that she can doubt one belief or one set of surrounding beliefs at a time. This could be called the restriction of doubt principle. In the course of time, she might end up doubting more of her beliefs and finally doubt the core beliefs of her system. If her doubt leads to the abandonment of the core beliefs her identity will change. She leaves identity A and embraces identity B. But this is a process, which proceeds through the stages of doubt.51 A second supplement to Stenmark could be what I call the claim analysis principle. If a claim challenges an identity, the challenging claim p can be made by a “sisterly identity.” For example, when a Catholic theologian argues that her Reformed friend should reconsider her views of justification, both of them share a common Christian identity even if they inhabit different subgroups within it. In this case, the presuppositions on which the respective subgroup identities are built are very much the same and the relevant claims of the Catholic tradition do not necessarily call for big revisions of the systems at whole. But the challenge can also be made by those with an “alien” rather than “sisterly” identity, a belief system which has totally different presuppositions. In this case it must asked whether the accepting of claim p entails that in order to hold p true one must approve the presuppositions on which it rests. The more alien the identity, the more likely it is that its claims are built upon its own basic presuppositions.52 In that case one needs to discuss the presuppositions (not only the claims based on the presuppositions) and see whether they are compatible or not.53 If there is deep disagreement regarding the supporting presuppositions, it is not rational to try to absorb p, for in this case, the challenger would absorb the challenged identity.

49

  Although believing X might be rational in that kind of situation, this does not guarantee the truth of X. 50  Stenmark, How to Relate Science and Religion, p. 109. 51  One cannot put everything one believes in question at the same time. See MacIntyre, “Epistemological Crises,” p. 152. 52  Of course, even the sister identities can inhabit different kinds of metaphysical structures (for example, Thomism, Barthianism etc.). 53  I do not think that there are different language games or forms of life that are absolutely incommensurate. Still, some discourses have more to do with the others while some have more distance between them. Even in the most extreme cases, however, there exists at least some link between the discourses, which enable conversation and understanding if not substantial agreement. See, for example, MacIntyre, Whose Justice?, pp. 370–371.

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Should such a move be seen as legitimate, this would indicate that the challenged identity was going through a serious epistemological crisis.54 But does this kind of fallibilism lead to a holding of beliefs only in a tentative way?55 Holding beliefs tentatively entails that a certain belief is accepted as a working hypothesis and subjected to critical evaluation in order to gain more evidence or counter-evidence. In tentative believing, the belief is considered as possibly true. Stenmark, however, argues that his strength-of-belief principle is in accord with “full acceptance,” meaning that beliefs are held as true without doubts concerning their credibility. Full acceptance believing is the normal way of holding beliefs, which results from the simple fact that it is difficult, or virtually impossible, for humans to hold most of their important beliefs only tentatively. In full acceptance believing a person remains in theory open for criticism, revision, or even rejection of the belief, but does not at the moment consider anything as a challenge for her beliefs. The strength-of-belief principle, however, prevents regarding other believers a priori as fools.56 Charles Taylor indicates this kind of attitude as follows: “I may find it inconceivable that I would abandon my faith, but there are others, including possibly some very close to me, whose way of living I cannot in all honesty just dismiss as depraved, or blind, or unworthy, who have no faith (at least not in God, or the transcendent).”57 Strong Commitments Fallibilism may be a tempting option in an academic sense because it always leaves doors open in every direction. But how credible a description of religious identity is this? Surely, a believer may find herself doubting and drawn towards other stories than the Christian faith from time to time but this is not what faith is about, although it is a part of life of faith. Believers do not say after amen, “… but I might be wrong.” Holding beliefs cannot boil down to leaving everything open.58 One is reminded here of G.K. Chesterton’s comment on an absolutely open  See MacIntyre, Whose Justice?, pp. 361–369.  In his response to Fides et Ratio, Richard Bernstein understands fallibilism to mean that one cannot hold convictions with certainty, and judges the encyclical as foundationalist when it understands faith as being “certain” of its object. See Bernstein, “Faith and Reason,” Books and Culture 5 (Philosophers Respond to Fides et Ratio), July/August (1999): pp. 30–32. For a different reading, see Alasdair Macintyre, The Tasks of Philosophy: Selected Essays Vol. 1. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), pp. 179–215. 56  Stenmark, How to Relate Science and Religion, p. 109–110. 57   Taylor, A Secular Age, p. 3. 58   John Caputo suggests that the formulation “to rightly pass for a believer” might be an apt way to indicate one’s religious affiliation. See Caputo, Philosophy and Theology, p. 63. Although Caputo’s formulation shows a degree of humility, it might be too weak a description of how religious people feel about their identity because it is too open, and its relating of belief to action is too vague. However, if used in a Kierkegaardian sense, 54

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mind being like a constantly open mouth, which is never able to come down on anything solid. In fact, we cannot avoid having strong commitments about matters of ultimate importance.59 Additionally, in order to act we need to believe that claims and our opinions about them are true. According to Peirce, “if a proposition is to be applied to action, it has to be embraced, or believed without reservation. There is no room for doubt, which can only paralyze action.”60 But how should we relate the reality of doubt and uncertainty to the fact that we need to take our beliefs seriously if we are going to act at all? A simple taxonomy might help us to grasp the issue better. Firstly, it is possible simply to reject the claim and consequently choose not to act upon it.61 Secondly one may assume a position which enables both doubt (although not very strong) and consequent action. Thus one may accept a hypothesis without believing in it in the full sense, using it to ground one’s actions so that one behaves as if the claim was true. On the other hand one may have faith or hope that some course of events may take place even in the face of contrary evidence. In these cases, one does not actually believe or have knowledge that the case is thus or so, but one entertains a serious possibility or hope for it, and this is enough to make one act upon the claims. Believing would be an attitude which considers the particular claim justified, but which does not entail that one holds it to be absolute or incorrigible; rather, the believer does not see any convincing defeater to it at that moment, that is, she believes with full-acceptance.62 One may hold religious beliefs in the sense where Christ is de facto the only true Christian and everyone falls short of imitating him, one might accept such language or formulations like “becoming a Christian” or “willing to become a Christian,” which Kierkegaard uses. Here, the language of becoming entails active attitude without direct identification with the absolute form of the Christian identity, which by definition is beyond reach. 59  See, for example, Plantinga’s argument for the impossibility of a genuinely pluralist or open position in Alvin Plantinga, “Pluralism: A Defense of Religious Exclusivism,” in Thomas D. Senor (ed.), The Rationality of Belief and the Plurality of Faith: Essays in Honor of William Alston. (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1995), pp. 191-215. See also Paul Griffiths, Problems of Religious Diversity (Oxford: Blackwell, 2001), p. 150. 60   Cited in Murray, Reason, Truth, and Theology, p. 139. 61   In this context one might also cite Rorty’s “solidarity,” which has an ironic element in it. A Rortian believer holds her beliefs ironically. She holds them but with the suspicion that they might be wrong, and she uses irony to distance herself from her beliefs in order to secure that she does not get too much involved with possible error. See, Richard Rorty, Contingency, Irony, and Solidarity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), p. 75. The problem with such irony is that one is actually committed only to the principle of non-commitment, which gives very little motivational power for action, being inadequate to build any kind of sustainable identity. Yet, it is better than totally fluid identity, which commits itself consecutively to different kinds of stories without clear structure. See Robert C. Roberts and W. Jay Wood, Intellectual Virtues: An Essay in Regulative Epistemology (Oxford: Clarendon, 2007), pp. 191–192. 62  I am modifying here the account of Audi, Epistemology, p. 276.

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of acceptance, hope, faith, and belief, and in many cases one’s religious beliefnetwork is a mixture of all these. For example, one may have an accepting view on which philosophical system fits best together with Christian theology. Or one may hope and pray for a recovery from sickness. And one may believe in the existence of God but remain less sure that one’s concepts describe God’s nature with a high degree of accuracy. When we speak about religious identity and rationality, we should make a distinction between scientific rationality and religious rationality.63 By scientific rationality I mean a detached form of inquiry where the postponement of judgment is possible. For example, the existence and exact nature of dark matter in the cosmos does not have direct existential influence on our everyday lives (it can, or course, be a source of deep enthrallment) and we can withhold our judgment about it without that affecting our lives in any way (progress in academic life may sometimes require accepting and promoting beliefs you are not entitled to hold, but that is a different matter). Religion, however, works along different lines.64 Firstly, religion has direct influence on our everyday choices and the way we lead our lives. Secondly, these choices are inevitable and we cannot postpone them. If we face a challenge in our lives, we are drawn into the middle of the situation at that very moment and we are forced (meaning that we automatically do so) to react to it based upon our previous commitments. Grounded in the narrative we are living at the moment, we just react. We cannot step outside of our lives and become mere spectators of them, and if we attempt to do so, absurd consequences usually follow.65 Of course, challenges can nevertheless lead us to change or revise our commitments and narratives. 63  Stenmark argues for a view of religious rationality, which is based on accounts of the rationality we use in our everyday lives. Although he maintains that comparing theology with science may be an option for theologians and scientists, it is a task that cannot be undertaken by normal people since they do not have the time and resources to engage in such a full-fledged assignment. Therefore, he distinguishes religious rationality from theological/scientific rationality. The mode of rationality we can expect normal religious people to have has more in common with everyday rationality than the scientific evidentialist type of rationality. 64   Murray (Reason, Truth, and Theology, pp. 141–142) gives examples of different kinds of certitudes in the life of faith. Avery Dulles distinguishes between the “speculative certitude” of scientific knowledge and the “certitude of adherence” of faith. See Dulles, The Assurance of Things Hoped For (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), p. 32. Aquinas speaks about the objective certainty of eternal, immutable things, and less certain subjective faith which, however, can grow through experience. ST 2.2.4.8. Kierkegaard’s Climacus describes faith as “objective uncertainty,” which is held true through “passionate inwardness.” Kierkegaard, KW XII.1 (Postscript), p. 203. Religious certitude resembles to some extent being in love. It cannot rely on a scientific type of certainty although it is not totally groundless. 65   This option usually appears in fiction. See, for example, Joel and Ethan Coen, The Man Who Wasn’t There (2001) and Albert Camus, The Outsider, and according to a legend

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A scientist or a theologian may as a part of her calling engage in detached and disinterested inquiry regarding some claims, which she might hold true at that moment. Whether and to what extent this is really possible, is a matter of debate. Even if a total detachment might be impossible, the engagement in this type of activity is something that one cannot reasonably expect from “normal” believers; clearly, this can take place only in very fragmentary fashion. When engaging in a dialogue or when our beliefs are challenged, must we leave the result so open that, at the beginning of our engagement, we do not know what we will believe at the end? As a requirement this seems to be unreasonable. We simply cannot check our beliefs at the door when something challenges us.66 Instead we can be attentive to the other side and seek to understand it as well as we can. In that process, we might end up having an agreement or simply continue to disagree. Some form of consensus may emerge as a result but it cannot be presupposed.67 Identities can be negotiated only if there is an identity. True dialogue between traditions can only take place between genuine representatives of these traditions. In many cases dialogue takes place in the context of political correctness where everyone has to give up their distinctive identity in order to merit their place at the table. If the traditions have to be baptized in the name of dissemination of meaning, radical hermeneutics, and political correctness, we lose the traditions, and instead of authentic dialogue we end up having some kind of monologue of a single new tradition.68 It seems, therefore, reasonable to maintain that the traditions have a prima facie right to hold on to their identities. The traditions, however, may lose this right if they enter an epistemological crisis in which they run into problems with their own beliefs that cannot be solved by the belief system itself. This kind of problem can arise without external pressure or it can be brought about by a challenge from another tradition. Such an epistemological crisis does not of itself show that an alien identity is able to challenge that tradition on its own grounds. Still, an alien identity can challenge another identity simply by virtue of being able to spot an incoherency in the other system that has gone unnoticed. In such a case it is not that group A offers its own claim p for group B, but A is able to show why B is not entitled to hold its belief q.69 Pyrrho of Elis starved to death. 66  On our ability and inability to choose our beliefs see, for example, Marshall, Trinity, pp. 212–216; Zagzebski, Virtues, pp. 61–69. 67   This is one of the basic principles in multi-religious Scriptural Reasoning-project. See David Ford, Christian Wisdom, p. 279. 68   On a critique of this kind of “dialogue,” which entails giving up the truth claims and particularity see, for example, Harold Netland, Dissonant Voices: Religious Pluralism and the Question of Truth (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1991), pp. 290–296. 69  See MacIntyre, Whose Justice?, pp. 361–367; Jean Porter, “Tradition in the Recent Work of Alasdair MacIntyre,” in Mark C. Murphy (ed.), Alasdair MacIntyre (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), pp. 46–49.

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Growth in Virtues As I noted earlier, more important than the actual belief-policy are the beliefs supported by it. In fact, similar beliefs can be supported in different ways while a single belief-policy can be joined with almost all kinds of beliefs. For a long time, epistemological discussions have regarded rationality as the chief (and probably only) virtue, as if rationality would be the only decisive issue regarding our beliefs.70 The taxonomy sketched out in chapter 3 has, however, helped us to see that we cannot function with such a narrow spectrum. Additionally, we can have human beings that are rational but cruel, or non-rational but loving. In order to advance the conversation, we need to widen our perspective and see how other virtues function within belief systems.71 William Abraham, for example, lists among intellectual virtues “wisdom, prudence, foresight, good judgment, intellectual carefulness, fair-mindedness, flexibility, thoroughness, intellectual candor, courage, apt doubt, elegance, teachability, perseverance, understanding, truthfulness, intellectual humility, open-mindedness, sincerity, studiousness, originality, appropriate trust, and the like.” Among intellectual vices he lists “folly, obtuseness, gullibility, intellectual arrogance, insensitivity to detail, party spirit, wishful thinking, stubbornness, conformity, dishonesty, cowardice, wilful naïveté, vicious curiosity, intellectual laziness, and the like.”72 In the illustration above (Figure 4.2), I listed two different virtues as representing polarities that control the belief-forming and negotiation process. On the one hand, a virtuous person needs to have endurance and courage to hold on to her beliefs. On the other, she has to be trained in good judgment and humility. Endurance means that she does not abandon her beliefs the first moment they cause her difficulty, pain or suffering. She is willing to endure much intellectual and social resistance when criticized. Clearly, being in tension—no matter how great—with other beliefs does not indicate that one needs to abandon one’s beliefs. The greatest moments of human grandeur have been the occasions when the few have resisted the many and held on to their beliefs even in the face of torture and death.73 Conversely, 70

  Previously rationality was understood mainly as following certain rules while recently philosophers have come to see rationality, for example, more as the proper functioning of the intellectual faculties. On recent development in epistemology, see, for example, Roberts and Wood, Intellectual Virtues, pp. 1–8. See also Nicholas Wolterstorff, John Locke and the Ethics of Belief (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996). 71  See, for example, W. Jay Wood, Epistemology: Becoming Intellectually Virtuous (Downer’s Grove: IVP, 1998) and Linda Zagzebski, Virtues of the Mind: An Inquiry into the Nature of Virtue and the Ethical Foundations of Knowledge (NY: Cambridge University Press, 1996). 72   Abraham, Crossing, p. 175. See also Zagzebski, Virtues, p. 114. 73  Even in the hard sciences, it is not considered wise to abandon one’s theories at the first moment anomalies appear. Instead, a scientist may need to endure for a long time

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there have been times when people have stubbornly held unintelligent or even evil beliefs. Therefore, we need training in humility and good judgment in order to learn to avoid false beliefs. One problem with virtues is that they are very formal; their meaning in concrete situations is not always clear.74 In many cases crises result from different understandings of what is the right practice of virtue in a given situation.75 How do we judge between good judgment and courage, and stubbornness and party spirit? We do not have a magic wand that automatically solves these problems. We practice the virtues in the way that our tradition interprets them. We need to learn the virtues from somewhere and this learning takes always place under an authority.76 Thus learning entails an interplay of obedience and trust. In some traditions, obedience is not regarded as a virtue, being more like a vice or form of naïveté.77 However, in Christian tradition it is one of the main virtues.78 Christian obedience is not blind in the sense that it is arbitrary. It may require submission in the moment of disagreement but even the submission is based on trust. An event may occur when the believer submits herself to God even against her own will but the motivation to this act can come (or should come) from the conviction that God, who commands this, is good. A Christian learns the meaning of the virtues in the course of her life and she is meant to grow in understanding them. Simply put, the way of discerning right from wrong comes through practice. When the person practices the virtues, seeks more knowledge, defends some views and criticizes others, she gains that ability. W. Jay Wood presents some features that describe good virtuous epistemological action.79 Firstly, one should have or strive to attain the ability to diagnose one’s epistemic condition. This means identifying the intellectual vices one suffers most, without finding a satisfactory solution to the problem and to live “in a world out of joint”. See Thomas Kuhn, The Structure of Scientific Revolutions (Chigaco, IL: University of Chigaco Press, 1996), pp. 81–82. 74   On the problems of understanding what “love” means on different situations, see my, “Aporia of arguments from love,” The Chronicle of the Oxford University C.S. Lewis Society, vol. 4 nr 2 (2007). 75   For example, at the general meeting of the German Society for Mental Hygiene (Bonn 1932), Hans Harmsen, who was the medical director of the Inner Mission’s network of asylums, rejecting “vulgar utilitarian arguments,” described forced sterilization as a “moral duty, which can be explained as love of one’s neighbour and responsibility towards future generations.” Conversely, in 1930 Rome had issued an encyclical Casti connubii, which took a negative stance against eugenics. See Michael Burleigh, Death and Deliverance: “Euthanasia” in Germany c. 1900-1945 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), p. 45. 76   See, for example, Griffiths, “How Reasoning Goes Wrong,” pp. 150–151; MacIntyre, After Virtue, p. 190. 77   For a discussion of obedience as virtue see, S. Hauerwas and C. Pinches, Christians Among the Virtues (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1997), pp. 129–148. 78   See the treatment of the concept of faith in the first chapter of this book. 79   Wood, Epistemology, pp. 148–153.

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and acknowledging that we can err in our reasoning culpably. Secondly, one should be willing to make corrections after this introspection. If one notices that one has a bias in a given direction, she should be willing to fight against it.80 Thirdly, the corrective adjustments in one’s belief system and training in the virtues is a lifelong process and one should never cease from it. Fourthly, the epistemic consideration should take place within a community, which can strengthen existing virtuous behavior. Also, working with people who exemplify the aforementioned virtues makes it easier for others in that community to do so as well.81 The apparent danger in holding strong beliefs is “dogmatism.”82 Dogmatism, however, is a property of the person holding beliefs, not of beliefs themselves (since every belief, even agnosticism can be held in dogmatic way). Some people do hold their beliefs in a dogmatic fashion but this has more to do with their psychological structure as individuals than with the beliefs they hold. Dogmatism involves a continuous inability to respond rationally and with understanding to challenges to one’s own beliefs. While non-dogmatism could mean open, sympathetic, and rational engagement with challenging views, dogmatism disregards them out of hand and without due consideration. Dogmatism can sometimes be joined with intellectual laziness or complacency. In such a case one does not care much about one’s beliefs and counterarguments directed against them, or one regards those opposing them simply as inferior.83 Opposed to dogmatism (a perverted form of courage and firmness), we find the virtue of humility. A humble person feels free to test her beliefs against even the strongest objections. She can also engage in intellectual exploration and experiment with all kinds of claims, including those kinds of beliefs which are considered unacceptable by the majority. Her first question in the face of challenge is not: “How can I trash the opponent?” but “What can I learn from her?”84 The epistemically humble person can think outside of the box and gain understanding (she is not satisfied with mere acquaintance85) of other beliefs, while possibly 80   An extensive treatment of the nature of bias is Douglas Walton, One-Sided Arguments: A Dialectical Analysis of Bias (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1999). 81   On learning and practicing virtues as communal praxis, see also Zagzebski, Virtues, pp. 228–229. 82   Dogmatism is here distinguished from “dogma:” one can believe the dogmas of the Church without being dogmatic in the sense described here. A good treatment of the subject is Gerhard Sauter, Gateways to Dogmatics: Reasoning Theologically for the Life of the Church (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003), pp. 229–240. 83   Roberts and Wood, Intellectual Virtues, pp. 194–198. 84  Michael Barnes’s theory of religious dialogue demonstrates this kind of attitude. See Barnes, Theology and the Dialogue of Religions (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), pp. 242–244. 85   In other words, it is not virtuous only to have right beliefs and avoid false beliefs; instead one needs to improve one’s knowledge about things, all the time striving for perfect knowledge.

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disagreeing with them. Additionally, humility entails that the humble person does not look down on a dogmatic person or regard her as inferior. A dogmatic person may have greater intellectual capacity and other virtues even if she is not perfect in all respects. A humble person may still criticize such a person on the grounds that she is not living as virtuously as she should. But what I am after with this model? How it can be used and by whom? Formally, it is universal as every religion and belief system seems to work along similar lines; beliefs are held by humans always in the same way, independently of what those beliefs are. Thus the model in this sense is not particularly Christian and a member of some other religion could use it to articulate her own story. It however becomes Christian when we start to define the contents of the beliefs and the nature of the virtues. As already noted, there is no theoretically context free account of the practical application of the virtues. For example, Christians understand humility as humility before God and thus include the aspect of obedience and suspicion of one’s own reasoning. A humble Christian is therefore not only fallibilist regarding her Christian beliefs but also regarding her natural reasoning and the urges of her will. Christians live in tension and in waiting for eschatological confirmation of their beliefs. In the meantime, they try to balance the different elements of their understanding of reality. The model of negotiation is meant to offer tools for understanding identity formation within the plurality of the world. The model seeks to go beyond fideism in the sense that it avoids both nihilistic relativism and fundamentalist fanatism. Without this kind of system it is easy to adopt either hostile attitudes toward other systems or embrace cynicism. The model emphasizes the natural need of human beings to hold their beliefs not just tentatively but with full acceptance. Simultaneously, it specifies a way of converging with other systems so that there still remains room for genuine and rational disagreement. It helps us to see religion, in this case Christianity, as a public discourse which is open for everyone. If observed in the light of the fourfold typology presented in chapter three, it could be located within the fourth center (Correlationism), albeit with a strong gravitational pull towards the first one (Traditionalism). Additionally, it also combines the tenets represented by the different centers: continuity and integrity of identity and tradition, true description of the other, social justice and human fulfillment, and universal communication and argumentation. Of course, it is not meant to solve every known problem but it offers a model of genuine religious identity, which simultaneously enables conviviality with other identities. Afterword: Living in a Particular World This study started with the problems inherent in postmodern or postliberal theological method, which stresses the individuality and particularity of all knowledge claims. It was feared that this kind of methodology would result in the stagnation of dialogue and inability to discuss claims in the public arena. However, examination of classical forms of fideism indicated that fideism as it appears in

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Christian theological tradition should not be considered as a closed, unassailable and irrational system, although it is often accused of being so. The mainstream of Christian theology employs philosophical tools and engages in deliberation according to its own inherent rules, finding ways to relate itself to other data in the world. Naturally, the fact that not everyone shares the same view of the world can cause stress and even violence amongst people. Life would surely be a lot easier if everyone would just think like me and appreciate the same things as I do. But is it reasonable to hope for such a state? Maybe it is. But if answered affirmatively, the problem of means immediately emerges. How could we create such a state? And is not there a temptation to use violence in creating the “orthodox” world? Should we silence the dissenters or perhaps coerce them to agree with us? In the human world, both pluralism and particularity seem to be inescapable facts. The world contains multiple stories and goals according to which people lead their lives. The Christian story is one of these particular stories. This necessarily sets Christianity against other narratives, calling forth the possibility of conflict and war. Yet David Bentley Hart argues that the element in Christianity that is violent—violent in trying to end all violence—is its fundamental commitment to peace, the ceasing of coercion. This particular element makes it impossible for Christianity to have a place that is “neutral;” in fact, Christianity is highly suspicious of all claims for neutrality because it sees in them a delicate and hidden form of violence. Hart interprets postmodern “radical hermeneutics” and “death of metaphysics’ as a part of “strategy of power, serving a deeper even perhaps unconscious desire to set sentinels at the boundary of every other narrative; not rejoicing in the open and atelic play of difference, but a panoptic scrutiny that stands guard against every narrative that would narrate itself too fully.” In fact, postmodernism may be the most total of totalitarian regimes “in the guise of a debile and chastened hermeneutical history of secularization.”86 Christianity knows no peace other than the peace of Christ. In order to reach that peace it seeks to persuade everyone to share this vision but it cannot coerce anyone. In opposition to postmodern and postmetaphysical narratives of peace it does not require suffering the reduction of all narratives and particularities to something universal; “to something fundamentally indifferent, something superadded to a mysteriously obliged and obliging subject who inhabits a ‘community’ where narrative differences are merely cultural residues.”87 To reach its end, Christianity must conform to the form of its master and call for martyrdom lest it become prey for temptations of violence and power. Christian persuasion must perpetually set itself on the side of the rejected and excluded seeing this as the place of ultimate triumph. Hart claims that Christianity has no recipe for peace other than its own narrative, which overcomes violence through conversion. It desires the freedom of all stories so that they may be defeated by Christian persuasion or their adherents freely reject the persuasion.   Hart, Beauty, pp. 420–421.   Hart, Beauty, p. 428.

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In similar vein, Oswald Bayer warns against the sort of dialogue which presupposes the existence of a common truth, which can be fathomed when different communities search for it together. Rejecting this modernist notion of dialogue, Bayer argues that such rejection does not lead to relativism or anarchism since “the alternative to dialogue is not domination but intercession in the solidarity spoken of in Romans 9:3.” Following the example of Christ, the Christian Church is to become a slave and take the place of the others. Only this way can the Church avoid the power-play and self-exaltation involved in “dialogue.”88 Hart’s and Bayer’s proposals are clearly meant only for the practicing Christian community because they reflect central tenets in Christian theology, which are not universally shared. Nevertheless, if Christian particularity is practiced along these lines it can hardly be considered as a direct threat. It can be an indirect threat as it challenges the normal order of the world but this is so only if this story is actually lived out in reality. More generally, if we cannot escape particularity we may focus our attention on the nature of different particularities. Particularity cannot and should not be held problematic as such.89 Instead, we need to start to take a closer look at what kind of particularity we are dealing with. This calls for shifting the emphasis of inquiry from method and theory to contents of beliefs and consequent practices. I am not arguing that pragmatism should be the way to go but that pragmatist insights should not be forgotten. Yet the pragmatist elements should be considered in the framework of a chastened realism: there exists an independent and universally shared reality against which we test our beliefs.90 In the case of Christianity, it is precisely the particularities of Christian beliefs that grant it the necessary tools for providing self-identity, intercommunal discourse and possibilities of reconciliation. Without them it becomes harmless—and in its own terms useless; merely a tool for some other ideology that uses it to promote its own agendas.

  Bayer, Theology, pp. 200–201.  Some cases of this particularity, from the Christian point of view, belong to the goodness of Creation and they should not be done away; yet some cases are consequences of sin, which never cease in this life totally although we may be able to control these unwanted effects. To battle against the corruption and sin of this world we need some place to start: a tradition, which helps us to live in this world. See Johnson, Theology, pp. 235–236, 240–242, 253. 90   Pragmatism cannot be an epistemological norm. Although helpful in many ways, pure pragmatism may in the end create more severe problems than those it was supposed to solve. A sort of minimal conception of realism as suggested by Niiniluoto (Scientific Critical Realism, pp. 211–226) might be valuable for theology as well. Niiniluoto’s critical realism is summarized to three following tenets: (1) Our conceptual frameworks structure the world, (2) there can be multiple correct definitions and descriptions of the same object, and (3) truth involves some sort of correspondence between language and external things. 88

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Appendix 1. Traditionalism

2. Descriptionism

3. Revisionism

4. Correlationism

Neutrality/ objectivity

Rejection of the possibility of neutrality: everybody inhabits some story

Rejection of the possibility of neutrality: Religion and science are separate language-games or forms of life

Rejection of the possibility of neutrality: every tradition serves some power

Rejection of the possibility of neutrality: everybody is situated and socially embedded

Method of justification

Prima facie justification of Christian self-understanding: there is a foundation but it is not universal; weak foundationalism Critical (but not necessarily totally negative) attitude towards natural theology, ad hoc use of philosophy

Religious language is beyond verification and it has no meaning outside the religious form of life; anti-foundationalism Critical: Natural theology is a category mistake

Foundational pragmatism: what brings forth a desired state of affairs is to be accepted; Agnostic view of God Pragmatic use of natural theology

Ad hoc foundationalism; postfoundationalism

Nature of rationality

Tradition based, but not incommensurate

Tradition based, incommensurate

Tradition based, but universal in weak sense, pragmatism

Convergent, transversal

Nature of reality Goal

Realist/antirealist Preservation of Christian faith and tradition

Realist/antirealist Enabling some desired state of affairs

Method

Assimilation of foreign beliefs based on system’s own beliefs

Realist/antirealist Making religious language understandable, not believable or more rational Disinterested inquiry and description

Critical realist Balance between Christian self-understanding and secular science Correlation of beliefs of different systems

Communication

Inter-communal communication takes place from fixed and conscious identity but the identity is not closed or immune to criticism

Religion addresses common phenomena, which are shared by all. Religion can be discussed publicly although the beliefs cannot be fully understood by non-practitioners of religion

Use of allegedly universal and shared concepts (oppression, body, rationality, fulfillment etc.)

Natural theology/ use of philosophy

Revision of dominant/traditional belief system

Correlational use of natural theology

Convergence between different forms of rationality through inter-disciplinary approaches and metaphysics

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Vuola, Elina, Limits of Liberation: Feminist Theology and the Ethics of Poverty and Reproduction (London: Sheffield Academic Press, 2002). Wainwright, William, “Theology and Mystery,” in The Oxford Handbook on Philosophical Theology, Thomas Flint & Michael Rea (eds), (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009): 78–103. Walton, Douglas, One-Sided Arguments: A Dialectical Analysis of Bias (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1999). Warner, Martin, “Transcending Boundaries in Philosophy and Theology,” in Kevin Vanhoozer and Martin Warner (eds), Transcending Boundaries in Philosophy and Theology (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007): 15–30. ––––––––,  “The Fourth Gospel’s Art of Rational Persuasion,” in M. Warner (ed.), The Bible as Rhetoric: Studies in Biblical Persuasion and Credibility (London: Routledge, 1990): 171–185. ––––––––,  Philosophical Finesse: Studies in the Art of Rational Persuasion (Oxford: Clarendon, 1989). Westphal, Merold, Overcoming Onto-Theology (New York: Fordham University Press, 2001). Williams, Rowan, Wound of Knowledge (Eugene, OR: Wipf and Stock, 1998). ––––––––,  “Between Politics and Metaphysics: Reflections in the Wake of Gillian Rose,” in Gregory Jones and Stephen Fowl (eds), Rethinking Metaphysics (Oxford: Blackwell, 1995): 3–22. Wittgenstein, Ludwig, Culture and Value, trans. Peter Winch (Oxford: Blackwell, 1980). ––––––––,  On Certainty, trans. Denis Paul and G.E.M. Anscombe (NY: Harper & Row, 1972). Wolterstorff, Nicholas, “Faith,” in Edward Craig (ed.), Routledge Encyclopedia of Philosophy (London: Routledge, 1998): (online: www.rep.routledge.com). ––––––––,  “Can Belief in God Be Rational if It Has No Foundations?,” in A. Plantinga and N. Wolterstorff (eds), Faith and Rationality: Reason and Belief in God (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1983): 135–186. ––––––––,  Justice: Rights and Wrongs (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2008). ––––––––,  Reason in the Bounds of Religion (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1999). ––––––––,  “Religious Epistemology,” in William Wainwright (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of Philosophy of Religion (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005): 245–271. ––––––––,  John Locke and the Ethics of Belief (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996). Wood, W. Jay, Epistemology: Becoming Intellectually Virtuous (Downer’s Grove: IVP, 1998). Xenophon, Memorabilia, trans. Amy L. Bonnette (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1994). Zagzebski, Linda, Virtues of the Mind: An Inquiry into the Nature of Virtue and the Ethical Foundations of Knowledge (NY: Cambridge University Press, 1996).

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Index

Subject Index abduction 120, 141–144 absolutism 129, 138, 140 absurdity 12–13, 18, 25–26, 28–29, 34, 39, 41–45, 58, 100, 114, 139–140 agnosticism 68, 94, 104, 107, 124, 156, 161 analogy 48, 89, 95, 116–117 apologetics 39–42, 50, 62, 75, 101–104 apophatism 21, 58 Aristotelianism 21, 23, 27 assimilation of beliefs 85, 95–96 atheism 6, 39, 51, 62, 104, 139, 148 Catholicism 1, 7, 9–12, 23, 30, 51, 69, 70, 86, 116–117, 132, 149 the centers of gravity 7, 82 correlationism 115–125 descriptionism 97–105 revisionism 105–115 traditionalism 84–97 certainty 5, 10–11, 28, 32, 35, 57, 59, 61, 67, 124, 133–134, 143, 147, 150–152 commitment 4–5, 11, 19–20, 23–24, 30, 52, 102, 104–107, 114, 121, 123, 126, 140–142, 147, 150–152, 158 communication 8, 49, 64, 79, 81, 85, 92, 99, 105, 107, 115, 125–127, 145, 157, 161 communitarianism 2­–3, 69, 97 conformity 11, 39, 58–64, 81, 138–139, 154 conservatism 1, 5–6, 69–70, 114 constructivism 107–108 conversion 30–31, 35, 47, 55, 158 conviction 1, 3, 5, 8, 15, 40, 64, 110, 121, 123, 127, 129, 141, 148, 150, 155 correlation 7, 64, 69, 78–82, 86, 88–89, 91, 95, 115–116, 121, 124–126, 157, 161

“death of god” theology 69 deconstructionism 69, 106, 111, 113 dialogue 5, 8, 70–71, 92, 110, 116, 118–119, 122, 126, 131, 135, 141, 153, 156–159 disinterestedness 94, 99, 101, 102, 153, 161 dogmatism 156 ecumenism 1, 7–8, 70–71, 94, 96, 129–131, 136. 146 Enlightenment 12, 23, 42, 59, 77, 85, 87, 99, 139 essentialism 106–107, 110–111, 130 evidentialism 34, 40, 50–54, 59, 61–64, 100, 104, 147, 152 explanation 40, 43–44, 66, 77, 83, 89, 95, 101, 120–124, 132 faith and certainty 13–14, 50, 150–152 and history 91, 116–117, 131 degrees of 151–152 fides quarens intellectum 49, 124 in the Old Testament 13–16 in the New Testament 16–19 antithesis between faith and reason 10, 13, 17, 23, 28, 44, 86 fallibilism 52, 105, 122, 124, 141–142, 147–148, 150, 157 feminism 69, 106, 109–115 fideism communicative fideism 61–64, 81 conceptual fideism 58, 63 conformist fideism 11, 59, 61, 63, 81, 138–139 definition of 9–13, 56­–64 evangelical fideism 11 global fideism 57

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local fideism 57 non-reflective fideism 59, 63, 139 radical or extreme fideism 12 reflective fideism 59, 63, 113, 138 skeptical fideism 11 semi-fideism 10 soft or moderate fideism 12–13 solifidianism 9 symbolo-fideism 9 Wittgensteinian fideism 2, 12–13, 19, 73, 78–78, 104 Fides et Ratio 5, 116–117, 150 foundationalism 7, 50, 65–68, 75, 80, 87, 100, 105, 150, 161 anti-foundationalism 2, 7, 94, 99 classical foundationalism 9, 65, 67, 80, 83 crypto-foundationalism 83 local foundationalism 136 nonfoundationalism 93, 116 postfoundationalism 93, 115–116, 119, 121–125 weak foundationalism 95 fundamentalism 3, 52, 69, 157 Gnosticism 26, 30, 91 heart 9, 14–15, 25, 37–40, 59, 85, humility 5, 40, 141–142, 150, 154–157 identity and change 136–157 identity politics 135 mediation 129–136 Socratic identity 104 survival of 6, 60, 70–72 , 80, 83, 85, 87, 92, 124, 126–127 incompleteness 141–142, 146 indeterminacy of translation 67 intellect and will 15, 21, 35, 38 Islam 6–7, 47, 54 Justification (epistemic) defeaters 51–52, 55, 140, 142–143, 151 diachronic justification 136, 141–143 synchronic justification 136, 143 warrant 28–30, 47, 52–55, 58, 60, 62, 100–101, 126, 145 warranted assertability 67

knowledge and experience 15–21, 40–41, 65–68, 87, 122, 141, 143, 145–146 about reality 27, 34, 36, 41, 118–119, 124, 152 and postmodern turn 65–68 faith as 15–24 knowledge of God 21, 26–27, 39–40, 117, 121, 133, 135, 145–147 seeking 54–55, 155–156 self-knowledge 18, 40 language liberation theology and 112–113 the picture theory 98 language-game 98–99, 101–102, 104, 161 Kierkegaard on 46 Lindbeck on theological 70–75 mediation and 107, 131–135, 147 universal 4 liberalism 3, 7, 69–70, 105–106, 139 liberation theology 97, 106–115 Lutheranism 9, 23, 62, 90, 130, 132, 143 mainstream Protestantism 1, 84–85 metaphysics and anti-realism 74, 83, 100, 102, 108, 110, 113 and realism 146 and participation 86 and skeptisism 63 and history 42 Aristotelian 23 of secularism 5–6, 158 nominalist 21–22 naturalist 55 pragmatist 67–68, 123 theology without 89, 94, 97, 103, 107 Thomistic 83, 117 Wittgensteinian 66, 104 the myth of the given 66 narrative identity 72, 92, 95–97, 126, 131–133, 137, 143, 145, 152 natural theology 9, 12, 21, 26, 28, 39, 49, 58, 63, 81, 84, 87, 93, 95, 99, 107, 115, 117–121, 123

Index negotiation 3, 5, 8, 92–936, 136, 141–142, 153–154, 157 nihilism 93, 137–138, 140, 157 nominalism 21, 22, 132 offense 43, 56, 61, 91 ontology 65, 68, 73–75, 80, 90, 94, 111–112, 114–115, 117–118, 120, 124, 134 paradox 12, 27, 40–48, 91, 113 parity argument 57 particularity 61, 89, 91–94, 106, 137, 153, 157–159 pluralism 6, 52–53, 55, 105, 123, 137–141, 148–149, 151, 153, 158 postliberalism 1–3, 7, 16, 65, 67, 69, 71–76, 92, 98, 157 postmodernism 4, 22, 68, 80, 129, 132, 158 pragmatism 59–60, 62–69, 81, 88, 107, 112, 119, 123, 129, 137, 141, 146, 159 preferential doctrinalism 138 Queer theology 106, 110–111 realism 7, 21, 46–47, 80–81, 89, 100, 103, 114, 118, 132, 146, 159 antirealism 2, 97, 103, 108 Lindbeck’s realism 73–76 Critical realism 107, 118–121, 124 internal realism 104 minimal realism 159 Reformed Epistemology 6, 24, 50–55, 99–101, 125, 141, 149 revision of beliefs 69, 97, 106–112, 114, 116, 123, 125–126 principles of 148–150 rationality Athens and Jerusalem 24–25, 29–30 concrete and ideal 45 disinterested 94 dynamic 29, 62 the crisis of 53 incommensurability 4, 85, 99, 118, 133, 149 passion and 34, 37, 45–46, 62, 152 practical 53 rationality of the cross 37 science and religious 118–121, 147–152

179

secular 9, 29, 48, 60, 115–116, tradition-dependent 55, 99, 106–107 transversal 115 universal 51, 62, 77, 85, 90–91, 112, 115, relativism 4–5, 10, 51, 63, 73, 76, 93, 119, 127, 129, 134, 138–139, 147, 157, 159 the Rule of Faith 29–31 scepticism 10–12, 22, 33, 35, 40, 59, 63, 124, 137–138, 147 Scriptural reasoning 153 sectarianism 1–2, 69–70, 73–74, 113 secularism 1, 5–6, 8, 49, 69–70, 75, 86, 137, 158 scientism 63, 104–105 Thomism 10, 21, 23, 51, 70, 75, 83, 95, 104, 115, 117, 126, 137, 149 Trinitarian theology 7, 83, 87, 89–90 truth aesthetic 95 analytic and synthetic truths 66 and certitude 152 and community 1, 7, 68, 81 and contradiction 37 and consensus 59, 139, 159 and correlation 88 and correspondence 4, 67 and pragmatism 106–109, 114, 134, 138, 149 and reason 10, 12, 23, 42 fixing the truth value 57, 88, 100–102, 124 making truth claims 71–76, 105, 116, 143 performative theory of truth 72–76, 97 religious 18, 20–21, 23, 30, 32, 40, 47–48, 51, 55, 72, 85, 87, 91, 147 seeking 54, 64–65, 83, 122, 140 truth-likeness 119 Vaticanum II 10 via moderna 21 violence 5, 56, 64, 108, 115, 119, 127, 134, 139, 147, 158 virtues 16, 18, 34, 38, 40, 94, 114, 127, 130, 140–142, 151, 153–157

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Wager Argument 31–34, 37, 39, 59 Wissenschaft 77–78, 88

Name index Abraham 13–14, 18, 39, 41, 89 Abraham, William 142–144, 154 Adams, Marilyn McCord 141 Adler, Adolf Peter 46 Agrippa 18 Ahaz 13 Al-Ghasali 6–7 Altizer, Thomas 69 Allah 53 Althaus-Reid, Marcella 106 Alston, William 53 Anderson, Pamela Sue 106, 114 Anselm of Canterbury 19–20 Audi, Robert 65, 151 Augustine 31, 36, 133, 135 Averroës 7 Ayer, A.J. 103 Ayers, R.H. 27–28 Baker, Deane-Peter 55 Barnes, Michael 156 Barnes, Timothy 25 Barrett, Justin L. 142 Barth, Karl 2, 6–7, 64, 69, 77–81, 84, 86, 89, 92, 97, 121, 125, 137, 149 Bautain, Louis-Eugène-Marie 10 Bayer, Oswald 90, 124, 127 Bayle, Pierre 11 Beilby, James K. 50, 54–55 Bell, Daniel M. 114–115 Bello, Iysa 7 Benedict XVI 5–6, 23, 117 Benson, Bruce Ellis 18 Berger, Peter 5, 87 Bernard of Clairvaux 20 Bernstein, Richard 150 Besier, Gerhard 1 Bishop, John 59 van den Brink, Gijsbert 131, 136 Bultmann, Rudolf 10, 77, 88, 91 Butler, Judith 111 Burleigh, Michael 59, 155

Braithwaithe, R.B. 103 Caputo, John D 3, 108, 150 Carrol, Thomas 3, 9 Chadwick, Owen 24 Chesterton, G.K. 150 Chisholm, Roderick 51 Clark, David K. 73 Clement VI 9 Climacus, Johannes 12, 41–47, 49, 152 Coakley, Sarah 17, 113–114 Cobb Jr., John, 106, 123 Colish, Marcia 31 Come, Arnold B. 46–47 Cone, James 69, 106, 109–110 Countryman, L. Wm. 30–31 Cupitt, Don 106, 108 Daly, Mary 69, 106, 109, 111 Davies, Oliver 113, 145–147 Davis, Stephen T. 144 Dawkins, Richard 6 DeHart, Paul 2, 7, 69–72, 75, 77, 79–80 Denzinger, Henricus 10 Derrida, Jacques 68, 98, 108, 110 Dieter, Theodor 23 Diller, Kevin 5, 124 Dulles, Avery 75–76, 152 Duncan, Craig 33 Dupré, Louis 23 Eakin, Paul J. 143 Eisenstein, Marie A. 5 Epictetus 35–37 Erasmus of Rotterdam 11 Evans, C. Stephen 44–46, 49, 61–62 Festus 18 Feuerbach, Ludwig 89, 102–103 Feyerabend, Paul 139 Fontaine, Nicolas 35

Index Ford, David 15, 153 Foucault, Jean 68, 110, 113 Fulkerson, Mary McClintock 106, 109 Franke, John 87 Frankenberry, Nancy 4 Frei, Hans 2, 69, 77–82, 96, 115 Garrard, Graeme 42, 59, 139 Gellman, Jerome 14 Gilson, Etienne 25 Goebbels, Paul Joseph 59 Gonzáles, Justo L. 29 Grafton, Anthony 31 Grant, Edward 20 Greer, Robert 80–81 Gregory XVI 10 Gregory, Eric 86, 115, 139 Grenz, Stanley 81, 84, 87 Grey, Mary 114 Griffin, David Griffiths, Paul 17, 21, 56, 137, 151, 155 Guarino, Thomas 19–21, 117, 147 Guerra, Anthony 29–30 Gunton, Colin 137, 145 Gutierrez, Gustavo 106 Habermas, Jürgen 5, 139 Hacking, Ian 107–109 Hamann, Johan Georg 42 Hanuman 53 Hannay, Alastair 42, 47 Harink, Douglas 16 Harris, Sam 6 Hart, David B. 84–86, 91–92, 94–95, 158–159 Hauerwas, Stanley 1–3, 6, 62, 84, 87, 148, 155 Healey, Joseph P. 13, 15 Hebblethwaite, Brian 108 Helm, Bennett W. 145 Helm, Paul 2, 58, 60, 131, 136 Henricus Stephanus 11 Hensley, Jeffrey 74 Herrmann, Eberhard 101, 104 Hetherington, S. 148 Hintikka, Jaakko 4 Hitchens, Christopher 6 Holopainen, Toivo 20

181

Howells, Bernard 35 van Hyussteen, Wentzel 2, 4, 80, 83, 115, 121–124 Hütter, Reinhard 17, 21, 56, 137 Insole, Christopher 139, 146 Isherwood, Lisa 106, 111 Jacobi, Friedrich 42 James, William 10, 60, 68–69, 105, Jantzen, Grace 106, 113–114 Jenson, Robert W. 6, 84–85, 89–96, 137 Johannes de Silentio 41 John Paul II 64 Johnson, Kristen Deede 6, 159 de Jong, Wybren 130, 136 Jordan, Jeff 32­–33 Jüngel, Eberhard 6 Kallistou Angelikoude 21 Kant, Immanuel 12, 45, 69, 77–78, 87, 100 Kauffman, Gordon 106, 109 Kenneson, Philip 73 Kelsey, David H. 70 Kerr, Fergus 21, 66, 98 Kierkegaard, Søren 2, 11–12, 14, 24–25, 27, 31, 36, 40–49, 56, 58, 60, 62, 134, 150–152 Klosko, George 5 Koistinen, Timo 50–51, 54, 98, 101–102, 106 Kretzman, Norman 54, 63 Kuhn, Thomas 70, 155 Kusch, Martin 4 Kylliäinen, Janne 44 Laato, Timo 16 Labhardt, A. 26 Lehtonen, Tommi 101, 106 Lessing, G.E. 13, 42–43, 91 Lindbeck, George 1–3, 6–7, 68–76, 80–81, 84, 87, 98, 120, 131 Long, D. Stephen 86 Loux, Michael J. 67 Luther, Martin 9, 10, 22–23 MacIntyre, Alasdair 1, 119, 129–130, 148–150, 153, 155

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Malcolm, Lois 17 Malcolm, Norman 97, 101–102 Marshall, Bruce 70, 75, 84, 87–88, 95–96, 109–110, 124, 131, 147, 153 Marshall, I. Howard 146 Mascord, Keith 50–51, 54 Mason, Alistair 9 Matczak, S.A. 9–10 Mathewes, Charles 135–136 McCain, John 140 McGrath, Alister 72–73, 86, 118–123, 144 McFague, Sallie 106, 109, 112 McIntosh, Mark 17 McKinnon, Alastair 45 Ménégoz, Eugene 9–10 Michener, Ronald T. 108 Midgley, Mary 133 Milbank, John 1, 86, 95, 109 Mills, Kenneth 31 Moffat, James 28 Mohammad 47 de Montaigne, Michel 11, 35–37 Montesquieu 59 Moore, Andrew 84, 89, 101, 103, 108, 124 Moreland, J.P. 63 Morrison, Karl 31 Muldoon, James 31 Murphy, Francesca Aran 74, 97, 115 Murphy, Nancey 115 Murphy, Mark C. 153 Murray, P.D. 141, 148, 151–152 Netland, Harold 153 Nicolaus of Autrecort 10 Nielsen, Kai 13 Niiniluoto, Ilkka 89, 114,119–120, 159 Norden, Eduard 25 Nozick, Robert 60 Obama, Barack 140 Osborn, Eric 26–27, 30 Ollé-Laprune, Léon 9–10 Pannenberg, Wolfhart 115–116 Pascal, Blaise 6, 10–12, 24, 31–40, 46, 49, 58–60, 144 Patrick, Denzil 31, 36 Patterson, Sue 74, 98

Paul 16–19, 111 Pecknold, C.C. 69, 73, 106 Peirce, Charles 67, 68, 144, 151 Penelhum, Terence 10–12 Penner, Myron P. 23 Peter Abelard 20 Phillips, D.Z. 13, 72–79, 97–104, 123, 126, 144 Pihlström, Sami 104–105 Pinches, Charles 155 Placher, William 74, 77 Plantinga, Alvin 6, 50–55, 58, 60, 63, 99–100, 151 Plato 18, 21–22, 26 Popkin, Richard H. 10, 12 Porter, Jean 105, 140, 153 Putnam, Hilary 98, 104–105 Quine, W.V.O. 64, 66–67 Saarinen, Risto 16, 141 de Saci, Lemaistre 35–36, 38 Sands, Paul F. 47 Sarah 13–14 Sarot, Marcel 131, 136 Sauter, Gerhard 156 Schneider, Laurel C. 111 Schwöbel, Christoph 136 Segundo, Juan 106 Sellars, Wilfred 66 Sextus Empiricus 10–11, 59 Shestov, Lev 12, 58 Shults, F. LeRon 75, 115, 121–124 Sider, Robert 25 Smith, James K. A. 52, 81, 86, 123, 133–136 Stenmark, Mikael 63, 106, 109, 112, 124–125, 148–152 Stiver, Dan 98 Stoker, Wessel 60 Stout, Jeffrey 1, 3, 5 Strawson, Galen 143 Stuart, Elisabeth 106, 111 Swinburne, Richard 10, 12, 54, 63, 115, 143 Raschke, Carl 24 Raphael, Melissa 106

Index Rasmusson, Arne 1, 62, 84 Ratzinger, Joseph 5 Rauser, Randal 64 Rawls, John 3 Rayment-Pickard, Hugh 108 Rescher, Nicholas 32, 54–55, 137–141, 148 Ricoeur, Paul 74, 143 Roberts, Robert C. 151, 154, 156 Root, Michael 130–131 Rorty, Richard 68, 151 Rose, Tim 27, 41 Ruether, Rosemary R. 109 Tamney, Joseph B. 1, 5 Tavast, Timo 93 Taylor, Charles 23, 55, 106, 108, 137, 142, 150 Taylor, Mark C. 106, 108 Thomas Aquinas 12, 20–21, 54, 86, 95, 117, 152 Tien, David W. 53 Tillich, Paul 69, 77, 91–92 Tomlin, Graham 31, 35, 39–40 Tracy, David 69, 77–80, 115, 123 Trigg, Roger 115, 124 Troeltsch, Ernst 2

183

Vainio, Olli-Pekka 155 Vanhoozer, Kevin 3, 73–74, 86, 106, 136, 141, 143, 146–147 Vattimo, Gianni 106, 108 te Velde, Rudi A. 21 Vidu, Adonis 69, 88 Volf, Miroslav 74, 81 Voltaire 59 Vuola, Elina 106, 110, 112 Wainwright, William 33, 61, 98 Walton, Douglas 156 Warner, Martin 3, 15, 17, 143, 144–145 Westphal, Merold 123 William of Ockham 10, 21 Williams, Rowan 18, 147 Wittgenstein, Ludwig Wolterstorff, Nicholas 3, 50–52, 62, 98, 100, 102, 148, 154 Wood, W. Jay 151, 154, 156 Xenophon 18 Zagzebski, Linda 51, 145, 153–154, 156