The Metaphysics of Paradox: Jainism, Absolute Relativity, and Religious Pluralism 1498563937, 9781498563932

Table of contents :
Cover
The Metaphysicsof Paradox
Series Page
The Metaphysics of Paradox: Jainism, Absolute Relativity, and Religious Pluralism
Copyrigh page
Contents
Introduction
The Pluralism Debates in Western Philosophy of Religion
Chapter 1
The Pluralism Dilemma
On Truth in Religion
On Contradiction: Navigating Conflicting Truth Claims
On Knowing Truth: Epistemological Considerations for Religious Pluralism
Notes
Chapter 2
Western Approaches to the Pluralism Dilemma
Alternative Typologies
Pluralism: Between Relativism and Absolutism
Notes
Chapter 3
The Claremont Legacy and a Plurality of Pluralisms
John Hick: “The Real”
John Cobb: A Deeper Pluralism?
Raimon Panikkar’s Mystical Experience Pluralism
Limitations and Critiques of Pluralism
Notes
Foundations for Religious Pluralism: A Jain Perspective
Chapter 4
The Jain Doctrine of Relativity
Anekāntavāda: The Many Sides of Reality
Nayavāda: Knowing the Many Sides of Reality
Syādvāda: Describing a Many-Sided Reality
Notes
Chapter 5
Truth and Falsity in Jainism
The Exclusivity of Falsity
The Relativity of Truth
Transcendental Nature of Truth
Relative Truth as Part of the Absolute Whole
Respect for the Truth of Others
Notes
Chapter 6
Jain Responses to the Pluralism Dilemma
Jain Exclusivism
The Anonymous Jaina
Jain Pluralisms
Notes
New Considerations: The Structure of Pluralistic Thinking
Chapter 7
The One and the Many
Universals, Unity, and Truth
Paradoxical Nondualism: One and Many in Śaṅkara’s Advaita Vedānta
The Logic of Emptiness: Nāgārjuna’s Paradox
The Paradox of “Absolute Relativity”: A Jain Perspective
Notes
Chapter 8
Absolute Relativity
The Metaphysics of Paradox: A Deeper Religious Pluralism
Notes
Conclusion
Bibliography
Index
About the Author

Citation preview

The Metaphysics of Paradox

Explorations in Indic Traditions: Theological, Ethical, and Philosophical Series Editor Jeffery D. Long, Elizabethtown College

Advisory Board Purushottama Bilimoria, Christopher Key Chapple, Jonathan Gold, Pankaj Jain, Nathan Katz, Kusumita Pedersen, and Rita D. Sherma The region historically known as the Indian subcontinent (and more recently as South Asia) is rich with ancient and sophisticated traditions of intellectual and contemplative investigation. This includes both indigenous traditions (Hindu, Buddhist, Jain, and Sikh) and traditions that have found a home in this region (Islamic, Christian, Jewish, and Zoroastrian). This series is devoted to studies rooted in critical and constructive methodologies (such as ethics, philosophy, and theology) that show how these traditions can illuminate universal human questions: questions about the meaning of life, the nature of knowledge, good and evil, and the broader metaphysical context of human existence. A particular focus of this series is the relevance of these traditions to urgent issues that face humanity today—such as the ecological crisis, gender relations, poverty and social inequality, and religiously motivated violence—on the assumption that these traditions, far from being of merely historical interest, have the potential to enrich contemporary conversations and advance human understanding.

Recent Titles in Series The Metaphysics of Paradox: Jainism, Absolute Relativity, and Religious Pluralism, by Wm. Andrew Schwartz Digital Hinduism: Dharma and Discourse in the Age of New Media, edited by Murali Balaji Sri Chaitanya’s Life and Teachings: The Golden Avatara of Divine Love, by Steven Rosen Shakti’s New Voice: Guru Devotion in a Woman-Led Spiritual Movement, by Angela Rudert

The Metaphysics of Paradox Jainism, Absolute Relativity, and Religious Pluralism

Wm. Andrew Schwartz

LEXINGTON BOOKS

Lanham • Boulder • New York • London

Published by Lexington Books An imprint of The Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group, Inc. 4501 Forbes Boulevard, Suite 200, Lanham, Maryland 20706 www.rowman.com Unit A, Whitacre Mews, 26-34 Stannary Street, London SE11 4AB Copyright © 2018 The Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote passages in a review. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Information Available Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Available Library of Congress Control Number: 2018954725 ISBN 978-1-4985-6392-5 (cloth : alk. paper) ISBN 978-1-4985-6393-2 (electronic) ∞ ™ The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992. Printed in the United States of America

Contents

Introduction1 PART I: THE PLURALISM DEBATES IN WESTERN PHILOSOPHY OF RELIGION

11

1 The Pluralism Dilemma

13

2 Western Approaches to the Pluralism Dilemma

43

3 The Claremont Legacy and a Plurality of Pluralisms

65

PART II: FOUNDATIONS FOR RELIGIOUS PLURALISM: A JAIN PERSPECTIVE 4 The Jain Doctrine of Relativity

89 91

5 Truth and Falsity in Jainism

111

6 Jain Responses to the Pluralism Dilemma

129

PART III: NEW CONSIDERATIONS: THE STRUCTURE OF PLURALISTIC THINKING

161

7 The One and the Many: Universals, Unity, Paradox, and Truth

163

8 Absolute Relativity: The Paradoxical Logic of Pluralism

195

Conclusion213 Bibliography217 Index227 About the Author

231 v

Introduction

“The ‘universe’ comprising the absolutely initial data for an actual entity is a multiplicity.”1 These words from renowned philosopher Alfred North Whitehead seem like commonsense after taking a glance at the world in which we live. The world we experience is a world of multiplicity. Arguably, without multiplicity conceptualization would be impossible. We create concepts by distinguishing one thing from another. A chair is not a cow. Dogs are not people. Red is not blue. If the world was only one color, we would have no means by which we could conceptually entertain the category of color. If the world was constituted by only one substance and one form, if the world was not a world of multiplicity, there would be nothing to speak of. Such monism does not resonate with our experience of the world as multiplicity—multiplicity is a precondition for experience. After all, to be an experiencing subject is to be distinguished from the object(s) of experience—hence, multiplicity. However, sheer chaotic multiplicity is also not representative of our experience. Without a unity of concepts, chair, dog, cow, people, red, blue, are all meaningless. Without a unity of experience, there would be no conscious states of awareness. Without a unity of reality, the universality of logic, mathematics, and physics would collapse into relativism. The “universe” it seems, is a complex interplay of One and Many, of unity and diversity.2 With multiplicity comes difference. Presumably, difference is the root of all conflict—since conflict arises out of disagreement, not agreement. Whether it be different values, different interests, different cultures, different religions, and so on, difference is a normative description of the state of the world. As philosopher Nicholas Rescher points out, “In a human community of more than trivial size, dissensus rather than consensus is the normal condition.”3 But dissensus and multiplicity are not the only descriptive principles of reality. The world is also built on unity. While dissensus may be the 1

2

Introduction

normal condition of any sizable community—consensus is how communities are established in the first place. Without consensus, without any unity, without shared values, geographical locations, and so on, there is nothing to unite individuals in the form of societies. Therefore, it seems that both dissensus and consensus, both unity and diversity, are universal descriptions of the nature of things. If we are to find peace in the world of multiplicity we must find a balance between unity and diversity. When it comes to difference, none is more volatile than religious differences. The problem of religious pluralism, as it is often portrayed, is a clash of religious differences. Among other things, this is a conflict of religious claims to truth. Christians claim that a personal God is ultimate. Buddhists identify ultimate reality as Śūnyatā or “emptiness.” And still others see the cosmos as ultimate. According to Haribhadra, a sixth-century Jain thinker,4 “The ultimate truth transcending all states of worldly existence and called nirvāṇa is essentially and necessarily one even if it be designated by different names.”5 While Haribhadra’s assertion might seem plausible in his context, a closer look at the divergent faith claims of various religious traditions in today’s global context reveals that these are not merely different names for the same reality—they represent deep differences in conceptions of what is ultimate. And from these diverse conceptions flow a plurality of practices and doctrines.6 Throughout history, religious groups have often self-identified as “other than” for the sake of establishing themselves as unique communities of faith. Christians distinguish themselves from Judaism. Muslims distinguish themselves from Christianity. And many Jains distinguish themselves from Hinduism and Buddhism.7 While the lines of identification can be blurred, there are times when distinctions are crystal clear—for instance, polemical divisions where one group defines itself in direct opposition to another: Protestants who identify themselves as “protesting” the Roman Catholic Church, or Remonstrants who identify as “remonstrating” against Calvinism, or Calvinists who considers themselves a “reformed” version of the protesting Protestants. To define oneself, in part or in whole, as “other than” is to make a distinction that incites disagreement. That people disagree is clear. But what are we to do in the face of such disagreement? Is one group right? If so, does this make the others wrong? How do we know which views are true and which are in error? How are we to respond to religious and philosophical disagreement? What is the source of such disagreement? Can these differences be resolved? These are among the core questions which have been at the heart of discourse concerning religious pluralism. While the past forty years have brought about heated debates in philosophy of religion regarding these matters, the conversation has largely been confined to Christian philosophers of religion.8 This is ironic, given that

Introduction

3

the nature of the topic seeks to engage many faith perspectives. Nevertheless, in more recent years, there has been increased interest in comparative religious philosophy, whereby Eastern and Western thinkers and schools of thought are placed in conversation with each other to bring about new insights otherwise lost in the midst of sectarian inquiry. This book is an exercise in that discipline.9 Broadly speaking, this book deals with the importance of ideas—exploring and challenging foundational assumptions (those things we often take for granted), which tend to set the rules and limits of our thinking. My preferred strategy in this pursuit is comparative philosophy (East-West dialogue), with a special focus on Indic thought. Often, perspectives in Indian philosophy challenge the core assumptions of Western philosophers (myself included). By challenging foundational assumptions, by engaging in comparative philosophy, we can push the limits of our thought and deeply transform our understanding. Such transformation goes far beyond new theoretical insights, and can be the basis for transformations in life—changing the world as we know it. And this is the ultimate goal of my research—to make a positive difference in the world. More specifically, this book is a comparative philosophical exercise that challenges the logical assumptions of religious pluralists, by elucidating the paradoxical foundation required to reconcile contradictory truth claims between religions. I do this placing the paraconsistent dialetheism of Graham Priest and the paradoxical reasoning of Indic thinkers Śaṅkara, Nāgārjuna, and particularly the tradition of Jainism, in conversation with John Hick, John Cobb, and other philosophers of religious pluralism. In short, this book is an exploration into the structure of pluralistic thinking and the paradoxical logic at the heart of reconciling contradictory truth claims. WHY PLURALISM? Why write a book on religious pluralism? Religious multiplicity is an increasingly important reality in our twenty-first-century context. In one way or another, all of our lives have been impacted by religious difference. Sometimes this is quite overt. Perhaps you’re like me, and you were raised in an interfaith household. Celebrating Hanukkah and Passover along with Christmas and Easter, my childhood involved some semblance of dual belonging. Yet, I also attended an evangelical Christian church, and was taught that Jesus is the exclusive means of salvation. Religious pluralism is a means of embracing one’s own faith perspective while taking seriously the diverse religious experiences of others—our friends, family, and neighbors. As Thomas Dean notes, religious pluralism—the question of truth in the context of religious diversity—is the “central issue confronting [religion]

4

Introduction

scholars.”10 And how we understand the question of truth in our pluralistic context can have a significant impact on how we treat one another in a world of multiplicity. Existing literature on the “pluralism debates” in philosophy of religion is not difficult to come by. Within the “pluralism debates,” I will begin by focusing on three classical pluralistic models as exemplified by John Hick, John Cobb, and Raimon Panikkar. John Hick is often described as the “the best-known interpreter of the pluralist position.”11 The most thorough account of Hick’s version of the pluralist position is found in his Gifford Lectures, published in 1989 as An Interpretation of Religion. It was during his ten years as Danforth Professor of Philosophy of Religion at Claremont Graduate School (now Claremont Graduate University) that Hick developed his “pluralistic hypothesis.” Hick credits the academic environment of Claremont, “with its tradition of discussion of the problems of religious pluralism and of East/West interaction,”12 as having provided critical guidance in the development of his own thought on the topic of pluralism. Among those Claremont colleagues responsible for such an environment—specifically crafting the forefront of BuddhistChristian dialogue—were Masao Abe and John B. Cobb Jr. John Cobb, who held the Ingraham Professor of Theology at Claremont School of Theology and Avery Professor of Religion at Claremont Graduate School, joined Hick (and others) in shared concern about the challenge of religious diversity. Like Hick, during the 1980s, Cobb was preoccupied with the question of religious difference, conflicting truth claims, and the project of forging peace between the religions.13 As Paul Knitter notes, “In the international, inter-Christian, and increasingly inter-religious conversation about dialogue, I [Knitter] honestly cannot think of any other name that is not only as broadly known but also as deeply respected as that of John Cobb.”14 Knitter continues, “While others have helped construct positions within the academic discussion of religious pluralism [e.g. Hick], Cobb has fostered a conversation among those positions—which doesn’t mean that he has hesitated to make his own views clear and firm. While others are ‘responded’ to, Cobb is first of all ‘listened to.’”15 Despite shared interests and concerns between Cobb and Hick, these Claremont colleagues had significant disagreements about how to respond to the challenge of religious pluralism. Yet, there is a surprising lack of literature that puts Hick and Cobb (and their divergent pluralistic theories) in direct conversation. Part of my project will seek to contribute to the literature in this area. Raimon Panikkar, a contemporary of Cobb and Hick, has been called, “one of the most sophisticated and most profound among contemporary pluralists of religion.”16 According to Anselm Min, Panikkar’s pluralism “is radical because it is rooted in the very nature of things, in the pluralism of being itself, beyond all perspectivalism and indeed beyond truth and falsity taken as

Introduction

5

intellectual category.”17 Sometimes called “ontological pluralism,” Panikkar’s model embraces paradoxical thinking in ways Cobb and Hick seem hesitant to do. As Panikkar writes, “The principle of non-contradiction, for instance, cannot be eliminated. But pluralism belongs also to the order of mythos. It incorporates mythos, not, of course, as an object of thinking but as a horizon that makes thinking possible.”18 As such, Panikkar’s alternative model of pluralism may serve as a bridge between Christian-oriented Western discourse on religious pluralism and insights found in Indic traditions like Jainism. WHY JAINISM? An ancient tradition in the pluralistic context of India, the Jains have long been embroiled in the quest of reconciling religious differences. A religious minority in India, the Jain community had to work to justify their distinctive existence in a sea of difference. More than “theories” of pluralism, the Jain’s have earned a reputation for living peacefully and respectfully with all creatures in the midst of difference. It is often believed that Gandhi’s historic nonviolence movement was largely inspired by the nonviolent example of Jainism. While conducting my research for this book, I spent a summer in India with the International School of Jain Studies. After several weeks in the rare library at Parshwanath Vidyapeeth in Varanasi, India, I came across the work of British philosopher Graham Priest. Priest is the most well-known proponent of dialetheism; the view that some contradictions are true. I soon learned that Jain philosophy has much to offer by way of paradoxically affirming some contradictions as true, and that Jain dialetheism could serve as the foundation for a new kind of religious pluralism. The interrelated Jain doctrines of anekāntavāda, syādvāda, and nayavāda provide a unique perspective on the question of truth in the context of religious diversity. Specifically, it is the Jain paradox of “absolute relativity” and the various resolutions of this paradox that will be most revealing of the Jain position. Most scholarship on Jain philosophy focuses on the ethical doctrine of ahimsa (nonviolence) and related ascetic practices. And while there is some literature that discusses the doctrines of anekāntavāda, syādvāda, and nayavāda (or as Jeffery Long calls it, the Jain “doctrine of relativity”) there is surprisingly little work that deals with these themes from a serious philosophical perspective. In fact, many times the three terms are used interchangeably, such that the idea that one may refer to a metaphysical doctrine distinct from an epistemological doctrine or a dialectic goes completely unnoticed. Moreover, literature that focuses on these three doctrines and the implications in relation to Jain notions of truth (generally) or conflicting truth claims among religions (specifically) is rarer still.

6

Introduction

Some work exists that deals with Jain relations to Buddhists and Hindus, specifically focusing on the metaphysical notions of permanence and impermanence. Generally, these texts suggest (from a Jain perspective) that whereas Buddhists identify reality as ultimately impermanent, and Hindus define reality as ultimately permanent, Jainism can unite the two by affirming both-and. While there is some Hindu and Buddhist literature that (for this reason) refers to the Jains as illogical, for they embrace essential contradictions,19 few contemporary scholars have explored in great detail the promise and limitations of the Jain perspective on contradictions, truth, and reality. For this reason, in the spirit of Jeffery Long’s own work, I hope to demonstrate how the insights of the Jain perspective on matters of truth and difference can contribute to the Western discourse on religious pluralism. WHY DOES IT MATTER? Much of the violence between members of different faith communities is the result of black/white, either/or, binary frameworks. To claim that your religion is true is to imply that my religion is false. Hence, intolerance becomes the preferred mode of engagement for many religious adherents. On the other hand, to collapse into a relativism by which anything goes, undermines our ability to distinguish between true and false, right and wrong, better and worse, in any universal sense. This would appear most problematic on issues of morality, where relativism justifies genocide as equally good as feeding the poor. If we are to overcome intolerance while refusing to justify rape and murder as acceptable, if we are to move toward a more peaceful and just way of living together, we need an adequate way to stand between absolutism and relativism—we need a theory of religious pluralism. Substantively, the significance of this project is that it deals with the question of truth in the context of religious pluralism, which “is coming to be seen as a, if not the, central issue confronting scholars across the discipline [of religion].”20 Not only is the topic of critical importance, but by engaging philosophical themes found in Jainism, I am tapping into a tradition that is rarely studied in much depth by Western philosophers of religion. As such, this project hopes to be a unique contribution to discourse on philosophy of religion generally, religious pluralism more specifically, and the reconciliation of conflicting religious truth claims most strictly. Methodologically, the significance is that the project is an exercise in comparative (i.e., cross-cultural) philosophy of religion. As Gwen Griffith-Dickson notes, “The academic area of ‘philosophy of religion’ has traditionally worked almost exclusively with the philosophies and religions of Western civilization.”21 However, in light of our twenty-first-century context, the

Introduction

7

future of philosophy and religion will require a critical engagement with philosophical and religious thought across many traditions, representing (in some modest way) the diversity of perspectives worldwide.22 As Griffith-Dickson notes, “It is time to integrate the thinking of different religious-philosophical cultures into the English-speaking world of ‘philosophy of religion.’”23 This book, therefore (as an exercise in the comparative method), is an attempt to contribute to the development of the field of philosophy of religion as it moves in a cross-cultural direction. When change occurs at a fundamental level, paradigm shifts result. By exploring the paradoxical structure of pluralistic thinking (as illuminated by both Western and Eastern insights)—calling into question the most fundamental assumptions of religious pluralists—this book hopes to contribute to a paradigm shift in discourse on religious pluralism and conflicting truth claims. A paradigm shift that would encourage greater peace and reconciliation between religious peoples of the world of multiplicity. With this goal in mind, our journey toward a deeper religious pluralism begins with an analysis of the “pluralism dilemma”—the challenge of standing between absolutism and relativism in order to reconcile seemingly incompatible truth claims as true contradictions. Chapters 1 and 2 will be centered on this matter, with related exploration into the nature of truth, contradiction, and challenges of knowing how to discern between conflicting truth claims. In chapter 3, we will conclude Part I by surveying the perspective of three exemplars of religious pluralism: John Hick, John Cobb, and Raimon Panikkar. While Panikkar offers a more mystical (Indic influenced) pluralism that attempts to transcend the truth-false binary, both Johns build their theories of pluralism on the foundation of classical logic, the laws of noncontradiction, and excluded middle, attempting to turn contradictory truth claims into complementary claims. There are serious limitations to this approach toward religious pluralism, from which Jain insights can help shake us free. Therefore, in Part II we will turn Jainism; looking at the threefold doctrines of anekāntavāda, nayavāda, and syādvāda which make up the Jain doctrine of relativity. Jain relativity also has implications for Jain views on truth and falsity (which will be explored in chapter 5) and Jain responses to the pluralism dilemma (which will be explored in chapter 6). As a whole, Part II serves as a window into Indian philosophy which provides helpful insights on the nature of paradox which I believe would ground a deeper theory of religious pluralism. As such, chapter 7 continues to explore Indic voices, drawing on insights from Śaṅkara non-differentiated Brahman, Nāgārjuna’s logic of emptiness (śūnyatā), and the Jain paradox of absolute relativity—each as a distinct response to the metaphysical problems such as the One and the Many, Unity and Diversity, Universals, and Truth. As will be demonstrated, paradox is

8

Introduction

fundamental to making sense of these metaphysical puzzles, and is arguable fundamental to reality itself. From this analysis of Indic responses to metaphysical paradox, chapter 8 concludes with a further examination of paradoxical thinking and the structure of dialetheism—the view that some contradictions are true. By recognizing the dialetheic nature of reality, we establish a new foundation for religious pluralism. A foundation that doesn’t require turning contradictory claims into complementary truths, but can reconcile competing ultimate systems in their ultimacy. In this way, the metaphysics of paradox provides a new foundation for pluralism thinking, and can—I hope—lead to a paradigm shift in discourse on religious pluralism. NOTES 1. Alfred North Whitehead, Process and Reality (New York: The Free Press, 1978), 30. 2. As I will demonstrate later, the logic used to make sense of, and reconcile, our experience of unity and diversity in the world is relevant (if not essential) for our reconciling conflicting truths among the plurality of religions—a deeper theory of religious pluralism. 3. Nicholas Rescher, Pluralism: Against the Demand for Consensus (New York: Clarendon Press, 1993), 77. 4. There is disagreement regarding the dates of Haribhadra’s life. While he is generally placed between 459 and 529 C.E., some have placed him much later (700–770 C.E.). See Christopher Key Chapple, Haribhadra’s Collection of Views on Yoga (New York: SUNY Press, 2003), 1–2. 5. Haribhadrasuri, Saddarsanasamuccaya (Varanasi: Caukhamba Sanskrit Series Office, 1949), quoted in Jeffery D. Long, Plurality and Relativity: Whitehead, Jainism, and the Reconstruction of Religious Pluralism (unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of Chicago, 2000), 249. 6. While this is the traditional Western understanding of religion, I acknowledge that it may be as true (or more true) to say that beliefs arise out of a plurality—of practices—that one begins with religious life and later develops doctrines. Neither interpretation is crucial to my following argument and analysis. 7. See, N.K. Sethi, Jain: A Distinct Religion: Not a Branch or Sect of Any Other Religion (International School of Jain Studies, distributed June 19, 2012). 8. See John Hick and Paul Knitter, eds. The Myth of Christian Uniqueness: Toward a Pluralistic Theology of Religions (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1987); Gavin D’Costa, ed. Christian Uniqueness Reconsidered: The Myth of a Pluralistic Theology of Religions (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1990). 9. Like Panikkar, “I am fully aware that there is no East and no West, no monolithic Christianity, nor standard Hinduism, that human traditions and even human beings themselves are much more holistic than most of our intellectual disquisitions

Introduction

9

tend to assume. In every one of us looms an East and a West, a believer and an unbeliever, a male and a female, and so on. Every human being is a microcosm and every human culture represents the whole of humanity.” [Raimon Panikkar, “The Invisible Harmony: A Universal Theory of Religion or a Cosmic Confidence in Reality?” in Toward a Universal Theology of Religion, edited by Leonard Swidler (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1987), 118–119]. 10. Thomas Dean, Religious Pluralism and Truth: Essays on Cross-Cultural Philosophy of Religion (New York: SUNY Press, 1995), ix. 11. S. Mark Heim, Salvations: Truth and Difference in Religion (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1995). 12. John Hick, An Interpretation of Religion: Human Responses to the Transcendent, 2nd edition (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2004), xiv. 13. It was during this period that Hick wrote Interpretation of Religion; God Has Many Names; and The Myth of Christian Uniqueness. A few years prior to Hick’s arrival in Claremont, Cobb wrote Christ in a Pluralistic Age, which was followed by a flurry of publications including: Beyond Dialogue: Toward a Mutual Transformation of Christianity and Buddhism; The Emptying God: A Buddhist-Jewish-Christian Conversation; as well as numerous chapters and articles on pluralism and interreligious dialogue. 14. Paul Knitter, “Introduction,” in Transforming Christianity and the World: A Way Beyond Absolutism and Relativism , edited by John B. Cobb Jr. (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1999), 2. 15. Knitter, “Introduction,” 2. 16. Anselm Min, “Loving without Understanding: Raimon Panikkar’s Ontological Pluralism,” in International Journal for Philosophy of Religion, Vol. 68, No. 1/3 (December 2010): 59. 17. Min, “Loving Without Understanding,” 59. 18. Raimon Panikkar, “The Pluralism of Truth,” in World Faiths Insight, Vol. 26 (1990). 19. See Śaṅkarācārya, Brahmasūtra, 2.2:33–36. 20. Dean, Religious Pluralism and Truth, ix. 21. Gwen Griffith-Dickson, The Philosophy of Religion (London: SCM Press, 2005), ix. 22. Dean, Religious Pluralism and Truth, ix–x. 23. Griffith-Dickson, The Philosophy of Religion, ix.

Part I

THE PLURALISM DEBATES IN WESTERN PHILOSOPHY OF RELIGION

Chapter 1

The Pluralism Dilemma

Nearly fifty years ago, Wilfred Cantwell Smith wrote, The religious life of mankind from now on, if it is to be lived at all, will be lived in a context of religious pluralism. . . . This is true for all of us; not only for “mankind” in general on an abstract level, but for you and me as individual persons. No longer are people of other persuasions peripheral or distant, the idle curiosities of travelers’ tales. The more alert we are, and the more involved in life, the more we are finding that they are our neighbors, our colleagues, our competitors, our fellows. Confucians and Hindus, Buddhists and Muslims, are with us not only in the United Nations, but down the street. Increasingly, not only is our civilization’s destiny affected by their actions; but we drink coffee with them personally as well.1

While an accurate depiction of the world in the 1960s, this statement rings even truer today. Our current context of an unprecedented degree of diversity can be attributed in large part to, as Harold Netland notes, “Secularization, globalization and sweeping demographic changes brought about by immigration.”2 More recently, John Habgood echoes Cantwell Smith saying, “Other faiths used to belong to other lands. At home rival religious claims could safely be ignored. Or, if not ignored, patronized. The superiority of one’s own faith was so evident that the alternatives could somehow be brought within its purview without posing any real theological or social threat. Today things are different. Different faiths are practiced cheek by jowl in most parts of the world.”3 Raimundo Panikkar goes even further, arguing that, “Pluralism is today a human existential problem which raises acute questions about how we are going to live our lives in the midst of so many options. Pluralism is no longer just the old schoolbook question about the One-and-the-Many; it has become 13

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Chapter 1

the concrete day-to-day dilemma occasioned by the encounter of mutually incompatible worldviews and philosophies. Today we face pluralism as the very practical question of planetary human coexistence.”4 Like Panikkar, John Hick recognizes that in our current context, the plurality of religions poses both practical and intellectual problems.5 Practically speaking, the problem is (as Panikkar notes) a matter of living together peacefully in the midst of our religious differences. Such practical concerns became critical in the wake of the 9/11 events of 2001 and the islamaphobia that followed. The intellectual problem, however, is largely centered on matters of truth and difference. As Thomas Dean notes, “Above all, the question of truth in the context of religious pluralism is coming to be seen as a, if not the, central issue confronting scholars across the discipline [of religion].”6 Dean continues, According to the Hart report on religious studies in American higher education (Journal of the American Academy of Religion, 59, 4 [Winter 1991]), in response to the question what trends and issues will or should shape religious studies and theological studies in the foreseeable future, pluralism, was one of the most frequently mentioned issues. In particular, “in the pluralistic study of multiple religious traditions . . . there is the problem in such a kind of study as to how truth-claims are to be handled (with due regard to whether such claims are made, to whom they are claimed to extend and, if made, their very nature” (767). The report concludes that all subfields in religious studies will require “a greater sophistication in philosophy of religion, especially under the aegis of now emerging ‘comparative philosophy.’” (776)7

It is in this context that a new field within philosophy of religion and theology emerged—“theologies of religions.”8 In theologies of religion (sometimes referred to as theologies of religious pluralism)9 the primary questions are those Dean speaks of—truth in the context of religious plurality.10 Herold Netland observes that theologies of religions are concerned with questions like: “Why are there so many diverse religions? If Christianity is the true religion, why is it that so much of the world rejects it in favor of diametrically opposing religious traditions? Is it theologically and morally acceptable to maintain that one religion is uniquely true and that the others are at best incomplete or even false? Is Jesus Christ really unique after all?”11 Additional questions may include: Which religion is the “true” religion? Does only one religion provide the way of salvation? Are there many paths up one mountain (i.e., many ways to the singular goal of salvation/liberation)? Are there many paths up many mountains? Can Heaven and Nirvāṇa coexist? Can the God of Christianity and Brahman of Vedānta coexist? Are they mutually exclusive? Are they one in the same? Does every religion possess a partial truth? Is there

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value to be appreciated in all religions? To such questions, philosophers and theologians have provided a myriad of responses.12 Most of these responses have been categorized into a popular threefold typology: Exclusivism, Inclusivism, and Pluralism, which will be discussed more fully in chapter 2.13 The present chapter will explore the foundations of the pluralism dilemma and related questions. “Religious Pluralism” is a problematic phrase. One reason for this is the plurality of seemingly inconsistent ways the phrase is used. There are two primary ways religious pluralism is used: (1) a normative position and (2) a descriptive principle. As a descriptive principle, religious pluralism refers simply to the plurality of religions. This may also be termed religious multiplicity, religious difference, or religious diversity. That there are many different religions is the descriptive analysis of religious pluralism. As such, descriptive pluralism is largely incontrovertible.14 However, as a normative principle (to which the term “pluralist” applies), religious pluralism is a value statement about the multiplicity of religions—namely, that all (or at least many) different religions are more or less equally valid, true, and/or salvific. It is this normative use of religious pluralism that has been the center of decades of debates in Western philosophy of religion. The pluralism dilemma (or the dilemma for religious pluralists) is the challenge of reconciling conflicting truth claims. In the age of globalization, with ease of international travel, the internet, and so on there has emerged what is sometimes referred as a “global village.” The world of diverse cultures and traditions is being brought closer together, resulting in a heightened awareness of difference. In the midst of these differences, apparent contradictions arise. And these contradictions—these incompatibilities—call into question the truth of disparate claims. For this reason, the questions at the heart of normative religious pluralism are, and will remain, of central concern for the global village of the twenty-first century. The task of religious pluralism is to somehow hold together divergent truth claims. Philosopher and theologian Schubert Ogden argues that one can enter into interreligious dialogue (a common practice among advocates of religious pluralism) “only if one can somehow claim truth for one’s own religious beliefs without thereby denying, explicitly, or implicitly, that others’ religious beliefs also may possibly be true.”15 He then poses the question, “But how is it possible to claim that one’s own beliefs . . . are true while allowing at least the possible truth of others’ beliefs as well?”16 While Ogden is talking specifically about interreligious dialogue, his insight accurately embodies the “pluralism dilemma.” For those who wish to move beyond simple absolutism, exclusivism, and intolerance, answering this question adequately is of the highest priority.

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ON TRUTH IN RELIGION Perhaps the most popular theory of truth is that of “correspondence.” Accordingly, a statement is true if what is stated properly corresponds to the way things are—to reality. Now, this implies an objective reality to correspond to, one that is independent of subjective perspectives on the matter (i.e., metaphysical realism). Therefore, it would be helpful to explore the intersection between metaphysical realism and truth. One such example is William P. Alston’s, A Realist Conception of Truth, in which Alston presents what he calls “alethic realism,” or realism in respect to truth. According to alethic realism, “A statement . . . is true if and only if what the statement is about is as the statement says it is.” Propositionally, “it is true that p if and only if p yields a (necessarily, conceptually, analytically) true statement for any substitution instance.”17 This conception of truth seems to coincide with regular use of the term. In everyday language, it is certainly common convention to call true those statements which accurately describe the state of things. At first, it’s difficult to see how Alston’s alethic realism is wholly different from the dominant correspondence theory of truth, by which a proposition is true if it properly corresponds to “reality”—the way things are. But, Alston is adamant that his proposal avoids the pitfalls of a correspondence theory which presupposes a metaphysical realism. In fact, he argues that “alethic realism is largely neutral as between different metaphysically realist and antirealist positions.”18 Unfortunately, his imprecise language about being “largely neutral” tells us very little about the nature of alethic realism. Especially since Alston continues by admitting that “alethic realism can be said to carry a very weak metaphysically realist commitment.”19 Yet, what does it mean to carry a “weak” metaphysically realist commitment? Weak or not, Alston acknowledges that “a minimalist realism [i.e. his alethic realism] could be looked on as an inchoate correspondence theory.”20 While I do not wish to provide a detailed exposition or critique of Alston’s argument here, I will draw a few conclusions of my own. My concern for Alston’s alethic realism is its relation to metaphysical realism; particularly as it pertains to Alston’s response to religious pluralism. According to Alston, religious diversity is “the most difficult problem” for his position.21 The nature of the challenge posed by religious pluralism is “the existence of a plurality of incompatible religious perceptual doxastic practices.”22 Alston describes the challenge in greater detail by stating, The existence of a plurality of religious communities, each with its own belief system that is incompatible in various respects with each of the others, poses a serious and well advertised problem for the claim of each community. After all, it looks as if Moslems, Hindus, and Buddhists have grounds of the same

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general sort (revelation, religious experience, miracles, authority, etc.) as my fellow Christians and I have for the truth of our respective systems of doctrine. But then, unless I have sufficient reason for supposing that Christians are in a superior position for discerning the truth about these matters, why should I suppose that we are right and they are wrong? How can I be justified in continuing to affirm my Christian beliefs?23

Is the Christian in a superior position (e.g., epistemic position) for discerning the truth about religious matters? If one does not have sufficient reason for believing oneself in a superior position to others, how can one be justified in holding views that are highly contested? The pluralism dilemma, as I am focusing on it, is largely a concern about truth in the midst of immense diversity (i.e., conflicting truth claims). However, in order to understand more fully the problem of “conflicting truth claims” among religions, we must first explore notions of “truth” as they pertain to religion. What is truth? What sorts of things can be true? Are they the sort of things found in religion? As Michael P. Lynch explains in his book, Truth as One and Many, Many contemporary philosophers—like most philosophers over the course of Western philosophical history—are monist about truth; they assume that there is one and only one explanation of what makes something true. Like gold or potassium, they think that truth has a single inner structural essence—a philosophical “atomic number.” Of course, they disagree over what truth’s nature actually is, whether it is a matter of correspondence between thought and world or a type of idealized coherence among our beliefs. But they agree that where a proposition we believe is true, it is true in the same way.24

However, in recent philosophical discourse, many have been advocating for versions of “truth pluralism.” Truth pluralism is a position that suggests that “what property makes propositions true may vary across domains, or from subject matter to subject matter.”25 Meaning, for example, that “Correspondence with reality might be the alethically potent property—the property that can make propositions true—when it comes to discourse about ordinary, concrete objects. On the other hand, cohering with the axioms of Peano arithmetic and being endorsed most widely might be the relevant properties for discourse about respectively arithmetic and the goodness of consumer goods.”26 Among the truth pluralists, there is a plurality of pluralisms. In their book, Truth and Pluralism: Current Debates, Nikolaj Pederson and Cory D. Wright explain that most divisions within the pluralist camp are about one’s understanding of “alethic potency,” (i.e., those properties which make something true). For example, those who identify as “radical” or

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“strong” pluralists, “Truth is many, and just that. There is no overarching unity to truth.”27 Of course, this raises the question, what of the unity of plurality—the absolute truth that “truth is many”? Is that not an overarching truth? In radical pluralism, “truth-as-such is lost—truth-in-a-domain is what remains.”28 For the “moderate” pluralist, however, truth is both one and many. “Truth is many because different properties make propositions true in different domains, and it is one because all these propositions have something in common, truth-as-such.”29 But what exactly is “truth-as-such,” and how can we come to know it? Here again, we see that matters of truth are not always straight forward. There always seem to be deep and difficult disagreements about the nature of truth—what truth is—and how truth functions (in religion and beyond). Whether monists or pluralists, the dominant perspective in philosophy has been that truth, as a category, can only be properly applied to propositions. Harold Netland articulates this dominant position when he writes, “All propositions are either true or false and, strictly speaking, only propositions are either true or false. Propositions can thus be thought of as the minimal vehicle of truth.”30 Netland goes on to clarify, however, that “Although this understanding of truth is widely accepted in contemporary philosophy . . . there are many in religious circles who reject it as inadequate and even misleading in religion.”31 For this reason, in their book Religious Truth, Robert Cummings Neville and Wesley J. Wildman attempt to identify the types of “truth” as found across various religious contexts, and the different senses in which something might be considered true among the religions. They propose three major subcategories of religious truth: epistemological, expressive, and performative. As Neville and Wildman note, “Twentieth-century developments in the philosophy of language have complicated the question of religious truth, however. There is widespread recognition now that religions use language in expressive, exhortative, and performative ways, as well as in fact-asserting ways that intend to be true in the epistemological sense.”32 Within this framework they pose generic opposites to truth that correspond to their major subcategories, stating, “The opposite of epistemological truth is error, of truth in expressions deceit, and of truth in embodiment failure.”33 For example, a “heretic” in Islam is “someone who presumably had access to the true interpretations, perhaps even in their existential complexity and intensity, and nevertheless declares some true idea false or a false idea true.”34 This would be an instance of the opposite of epistemological truth (i.e., error). This is distinct from an expressive truth, in which the failure to be true is to deceive (i.e., to mislead the interpreter). Although, as Neville and Wildman note, “In the long run, deceit in expression is primarily a function of error in epistemological truth.”35 Meanwhile, the opposite of truth in embodiment is

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neither error nor deceit but “failure to attain to the interpretive form and activity required to access the religious object in the relevant respect.”36 In light of these proposed subcategories of truth, one might wonder, what sorts of things can be true? Can religions be true? Can faith be true? Can icons be true? Would it be a categorical mistake to say that a baptismal is true, or that Da Vinci’s painting Madonna Litta is true? What about texts? Can the Bible, as a text in general—distinct from the specific claims found within it—be true? Can an experience, let’s say a transformative experience on a mountaintop, be true? If so, would the Bible be true in the same sense that my experience of the beauty of the Bahai’ gardens in Haifa is true? What about claims? Can the category of truth be applied to all variety of claims, or only some? Since an entire book (perhaps an entire lifetime) could be devoted to clarifying and answering such questions, I will not attempt to do so here. However, as demonstrated by these questions, matters regarding truth (particularly in the domain of religion) are quite complex. When it comes to the pluralism dilemma—when it comes to the task of reconciling conflicting truths—whether understood as performative or propositional, the challenge of diversity remains. There are several levels to what I am calling the pluralism dilemma. At one level, the challenge is, in the midst of diverse truth claims, to determine which are worth taking seriously and which should be rejected as false. When it comes to religious truth claims, many of which deal with the great mysteries of life, death, and human existence, this evaluative and epistemic task is quite challenging. At another level, however, the challenge is not to determine which claims to truth are sound and which are not, but to justify one’s stance on the matter. If you believe that Jesus is divine (and that all claims to the contrary should be rejected as false), the challenge would be to justify this judgment. Perhaps most difficult task of justification, however, is for the religious pluralists who seek to reconcile or embrace seemingly incompatible or even contradictory truth claims. ON CONTRADICTION: NAVIGATING CONFLICTING TRUTH CLAIMS To understand this dilemma more fully, it will be helpful to analyze the underlying assumptions that make diversity problematic with respect to truth. It is commonly assumed that given two contradictories, only one of them can be true. Hence, to endorse contradictory views is a sign of error. In Western philosophy, this view can be traced all the way back to arguments put forth by Aristotle. In book Г of the Metaphysics, Aristotle sought to address what he identified as the problem of Presocratic philosophers

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endorsing explicitly contradictory views. In doing so, Aristotle formulated and defended what was to become known as the Law of Non-Contradiction. As Graham Priest notes, “This was a crucial moment in the history of philosophy. With the exception of Hegel and his fellow-travelers . . . nearly every Western philosopher and logician has accepted the authority of Aristotle on this matter. There is hardly a defense of the Law since Aristotle’s, worth mentioning.”37 As such, it is largely incontrovertible that Aristotle’s thought provided the foundations for a Western logic that has dominated the discipline for the past 2,300 years! And at the heart of this logic are two principles or laws, namely, the Law of Non-Contradiction (LNC—also referred to below as PNC or the Principle of Non-Contradiction) and the Law of the Excluded Middle (LEM). LNC holds that for any proposition, it cannot be both true and false. As Aristotle asserts “the most indisputable of all beliefs is that contradictory statements are not at the same time true.”38 For the metaphysical realists, with respect to the same referent at the same time, LNC entails that reality cannot be contradictory—it cannot both be raining and not raining in the same place at the same time. Aristotle also asserts that, “If, then, it is impossible to affirm and deny truly at the same time, it is also impossible that contraries should belong to a subject at the same time, unless both belong to it in particular relations, or one in a particular relation and one without qualification.”39 LEM holds that for any proposition, it must either be true or false—there is no third possibility. This true-false binary is intended to be a contrast to Anaxagoras, for whom (according to Aristotle) “there is an intermediate between the terms of a contradiction.”40 But, if Anaxagoras is correct, and there does in fact exist an intermediate between two contradictories, then (Aristotle argues) “everything [becomes] false; for when things are mixed, the mixture is neither good nor not-good, so that one cannot say anything that is true.”41 Aristotle continues, “Again, if all contradictory statements are true of the same subject at the same time, evidently all things will be one. For the same thing will be a trireme, a wall, and a man, if of everything it is possible either to affirm or to deny anything (and this premise must be accepted by those who share the views of Protagoras).”42 As H.W. Noonan articulates, “If he [the one who denies PNC] does wish to maintain (x)(F)(Fx & ~Fx), of course, Aristotle argues he will be committed to all things being one.”43 The problem with Protagoras, as one who allegedly denies PNC, is paralleled in Heraclitus,whom Aristotle identifies as saying “all things are and are not.”44 For, to say that “all things are and are not, seems to make everything true.”45 What Aristotle offers here, is often referred to as an “argument from explosion.” In essence, this argument suggests that the affirmation of any set of contradictories results in a logical explosion by which everything must be

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true. Symbolically, this argument can be presented as follows (where B represents anything): 1. A & ~A Assumption 2. A 1, Conjunction Elimination 3. ~A 1, Conjunction Elimination 4. A v B 2, Disjunction Introduction 5. B 3, 4 Disjunction Elimination By this argument, then, the simultaneous affirmation of contradictories (A & ~A), entails the affirmation of anything. Whether B represents unicorns, God, or square circles, the affirmation of two contradictory conjuncts entails the affirmation of these as well. As Aristotle argues, “If all opinions and appearances are true, all statements must be at the same time true and false.”46 Such, is the argument from explosion (ex falso quodlibet). For Aristotle, to affirm contradictions as true is to violate LNC and LEM, and therefore cannot result in meaningful speech. As Alan Code writes, “Basically, the argument [of Aristotle] is to the effect that acceptance of PNC is required for the possibility of significant thought and speech.”47 Along these lines, Aristotle writes, “this at least is obviously true, that the word ‘be’ or ‘not be’ has a definite meaning, so that not everything will be ‘so and not so.’”48 But if “all things are and are not,” (as in Protagoras and Heraclitus) then “to be” and “not to be” are indistinguishable. Likewise, if everything is false (as in Anaxagoras) then, “for when things are mixed, the mixture is neither good nor not-good, so that one cannot say anything that is true.”49 In short, violation of LNC and LEM (as demonstrated by the three Presocratic thinkers), results in the inability to speak (or think) meaningfully. Aristotle argues, “If . . . one were to say that the word has an infinite number of meanings, obviously reasoning would be impossible; for not to have one meaning is to have no meaning, and if words have no meaning our reasoning with one another, and indeed with ourselves, has been annihilated; for it is impossible to think of anything if we do not think of one thing; but if this is possible, one name might be assigned to this thing.)”50 And if we “rational human beings” cannot think or communicate meaningfully, we say both “yes” and “no” at the same time, if we have no beliefs, but “think” and “not think,” indifferently, “what difference will there be between [us] and a vegetable?”51 The Law/Principle of Non-Contradiction is articulated by Aristotle in a variety of ways: “the same attribute cannot at the same time belong and not belong to the same subject and in the same respect;”52 “it is impossible that contrary attributes should belong at the same time to the same subject,”53 “it is impossible for anything at the same time to be and not to be;”54 “ it is impossible that contradictories should be at the same time true of the same thing;”55

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the list goes on. However, most basically LNC is anything in the form ~(α &~α); it cannot be both α and ~α. Aristotle refers to PNC as “the most certain principle of all.”56 The most certain principles (or first principles) are such that “it is impossible to be mistaken.”57 As Alan Code remarks, “First principles . . . are not understood by tracing them back to causes. (The first causes have not causes.)”58 The strength of Aristotle’s claims regarding the nature of contradictions is an appeal to intuition. Intuitively, it seems that if I am married I am not a bachelor, and if I am an only child I have no siblings. These examples of distinctions made in everyday life help, as Aristotle accurately asserts, to provide the basis for meaningful thought and speech. However, as I stated previously, we create concepts by distinguishing one thing from another. A chair is not a cow. Dogs are not cats. Red is not blue. If the world was only one color, we would have no means by which we could conceptually entertain the category of color. What could it possibly mean to say I am both married and a bachelor? Since a bachelor is defined as an unmarried person, it seems that one cannot be both married and unmarried, both married and a bachelor. In this same vain, when we encounter seemingly incompatible claims, it is commonly assumed (intuitively, as reflected in the PNC) that both cannot be true. However, it is this intuition that religious pluralism seems to call into question. Various forms of pluralism do so in different ways, but the generally pluralistic approach is to fight against our intuition to simply exclude the truth of one in light of the seeming incompatible truth of another. This is, I think, one of the central (and most difficult) tasks of the pluralist—to provide an adequate justification for refusing to treat incompatible truths as intuitively exclusive. This is, at the deepest level, the pluralism dilemma. ON KNOWING TRUTH: EPISTEMOLOGICAL CONSIDERATIONS FOR RELIGIOUS PLURALISM When it comes to the justification of pluralism, we find ourselves in the realm of epistemology. What reasons do we have for treating our own beliefs as true and all others as false? What reason do we have for thinking we can reconcile seemingly incompatible truth claims? What ground do we have to stand on? Recent debates in the emerging discourse on the epistemology of disagreement have explored the implications of disagreement between epistemic peers.59 When epistemic peers (people who are on an epistemic par) disagree, there are two primary options, (1) “stick to your guns” and hold fast to your own position, or (2) call your own position into question. Assuming that a proposition is either true or false (LEM) and cannot be both true and false (law of non-contradiction), for any proposition there are only two available

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truth values.60 Therefore, in the face of two contradictory claims (in the face of epistemic disagreement), one conclusion must be called into question— either one’s own, or that of our peer. And since we are prone to view our own beliefs as true (for if we didn’t think them true, why would we believe them?), a rejection of those beliefs incompatible with our own is the natural response. As Alston states, “The most obvious move, in the face of genuine incompatibilities, is to try to show that the beliefs of one’s own religion are true and those of the competition are false. If this maximally direct approach is to have any chance of success, it must proceed on the basis of considerations that are common to all parties, like sense perception, rational selfevidence, and common modes of reasoning.”61 To be sure, contradictions are not as simple as we often treat them. Reason being, not all differences are contradictions. Differences can be complementary or even completely unrelated. For example, 4 and 5 are different numbers. But they are not, in themselves, contradictories. It is quite possible that both are the right answer if they are given in response to different questions. Now, imagine that in response to the question, what is 2+2, one person answers 4 and another 5. Under the common mathematical laws and classical logical convention, only one of these answers is “true” and the other (by default) is “false.” Now, consider the following logical disjunction: (α v β). These disjuncts are different, but it’s not necessary that they be contradictories. It’s logically possible that (α & ~ β), (~α & β), or (α & β). While these are not logically equivalent, all are logically possible given the disjunction (α v β). The possibility of (α & β) demonstrates that disjuncts (in themselves) may be different but not necessarily contradictories. All this to say, while it may be, as Alston suggests, “the most obvious move . . . to show that the beliefs of one’s own religion are true and those of the competition are false,”62 we should be careful to not confuse difference with contradiction. Nevertheless, while this either-or logic (the true-false dichotomy) may be satisfactory with respect to propositional language, it is not clear that religious language should be approached in the same manner. As the Wittgensteinians have shown us, it may be that some aspect of religious language is not propositional but confessional in nature. And since only propositions can state contradictions, it is not necessary that diverse religious statements be understood as “contradictory.” Rather, it is how they are true or false that should determine whether or not they are contradictory. Again, it is “alethic potency” (i.e., those properties which make something true), is where truth pluralists disagree. Therefore, it is not necessary to reject as false all religious claims that are different from one’s own—or, at least doing so is premature. But what happens when the truth claims of religious persons are claims about the phenomenal world? While Alston rejects this Wittgensteinian alternative, referring to it as the “easy way out,” his alternative “presupposes

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a realist theory of truth and its applicability to religious belief.”63 Alston assumes that “religious beliefs are true or false according to whether what is believed is the case, whether or not we have any way of deciding this.”64 That is, Alston attempts to move beyond purely linguistic or epistemological interests, and addresses the ontological elephant in the room: Do certain religious beliefs properly correspond to reality? It is not my intention to argue which perspective is superior, Wittgensteinian or Alstonian. Rather, I wish to examine Alston’s position as a response to religious pluralism and its epistemic relevance to the metaphysical foundation of pluralistic theories. Alston recognizes several challenges posed by religious pluralism. The first challenge rests on the fact that religious pluralism demonstrates a lack of consensus regarding belief forming practices. One possible explanation for the lack of consensus is that “there is no objective reality with which any of the contenders are in cognitive contact.”65 It is often assumed that if there were an objective reality that the diverse religions encountered, there would be a greater degree of consensus about religious matters. Put another way, since there is no single objective reality to stimulate our doxastic practices, there exist a plurality of practices—none of which can be clearly demonstrated as superior to the rest. If there were some objective reality, as is demonstrated by empirical reality, there would be a greater degree of consensus. Traffic signals, for example, work because there is an apparent shared reality to which we are all oriented. We all see the same lights, and we all see them change at the same time. We (mostly) all see the same lines in the road and stay in our respective lanes.66 Imagine the chaos that would emerge if traffic signals and freeway lanes were as contentious as religious claims. Not that our experiences aren’t varied—what looks like a green light to me may look like a purple light to you. However, that there is an actual light—a mindindependent reality and shared referent for our conflicting truth claims—that is the contention of metaphysical realism. The lack of consensus regarding, for example, the existence of God, is put forth as evidence to the contrary. If God were as real as traffic signals (a mind-independent reality that could serve as a shared referent for our conflicting truth claims), there would be a greater deal of consensus among the religions. Alston responds to this view by saying, “the facts are at least as well explained by the hypothesis that there is a transcendent reality, or dimension of reality, with which some or all of these practices are in touch, though of course they cannot all have it exactly straight.”67 In other words, the nature of divine reality (as transcendent) can explain the lack of consensus. While consensus is not a requirement for justified belief, and while dissensus does not entail that Christians are out of contact with an objective real, the challenge of religious pluralism does seem to put Alston in a tough spot. Hence, Alston admits that according to his explanation, religions (which posit conflicting

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claims about this objective reality) cannot all be equally true. This treatment of religious difference is akin to the inclusivism of Vatican II, which holds that other religions may have some “rays of truth” but are not ultimately salvific.68 But why presuppose that one’s own religion is salvific, and not just another in the pack with incomplete rays of truth? Why presuppose oneself to be in a privileged position (religiously, epistemically, or otherwise)? Another challenge, and possible explanation for this observed dissensus among religions, is that “none of the competing practices are reliable.”69 Reason being, if even one of the practices were reliable, it would be distinguished in such a way that demonstrates its reliability—whether by providing consistency, consensus, or some other means. In response to this critique, Alston argues that not even sense perception works in this way. He says, “SP’s [sensory perception’s] marks of reliability are displayed, as we have seen, only from within the practice.”70 In other words, sense perceptual practice is only reliable if we engage in the practice of sense perception. As in the example of traffic lights, there is an objective shared reality (the lights) but all of the drivers are blind, and unable to see them. Sight is the most reliable method for “seeing” traffic lights. Imagine the chaos (dissensus) that would ensue if everyone in Los Angeles used alternative (non-sight based) practices like smell or taste, to drive. However, such dissensus would not entail the nonexistence of stop lights, but the unreliability of methods like taste and smell for properly encountering that reality. In a similar fashion, Alston is arguing that doxastic practices must be active to be reliable. One cannot dismiss CP on the grounds of CP’s particularity, much like sight cannot be dismissed on the grounds that my hands cannot see. The problem with this line of thinking, much like the rest of Alston’s argument, is that it does not advocate for the reliability of Christian practices alone—in contrast to non-Christian doxastic practices. As Alston himself admits, “We have premised that only one religious doxastic practice can be (sufficiently) reliable.”71 This premise is rooted in Alston’s alethic realism. The question posed by religious pluralism, however, is that even if we assume that only one doxastic practice (one religion) can be true, “why should I suppose CP to be that one?”72 If one is to hold to a realist conception of truth with respect to religious practice, then Alston has rightly identified the problems—by what standard can we suppose any (typically one’s own) practice is the superior practice? What justification do we have in privileging our own position over-against that of others? Is there a nonarbitrary means of objectively and neutrally affirming Christian practice while simultaneously rejecting other doxastic practices as incomplete or false? Since the LNC makes it impossible for contradictions to be true, and alethic realism insists that “religious beliefs are true or false according to whether what is believed is the case,”73 the shear diversity of religious belief

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and practice (religious dissensus and disagreement) entails that not all religions are equally true. This rules out pluralism, whereby the many diverse religions are seen as more or less equally true. Therefore, Alston must either privilege one religion above all the rest (there is one true religion) or privilege no religion (all religions are false). In light of these options, Alston opts for the former, stating “we have premised that only one religious doxastic practice can be (sufficiently) reliable.”74 However, Alston is fully aware of the difficulty of this position. He realizes that if this “maximally direct” approach is to be more than crude perspectivism (or subjective internalism), that it must be defended “on the basis of considerations that are common to all parties, like sense perception, rational self-evidence, and common modes of reasoning.”75 But what argument can be given in favor of Christianity over-against Islam, Hinduism, Judaism, Buddhism, and so on by appealing only to those things common to all parties? In “Religious Diversity and Perceptual Knowledge of God,” Alston seems primarily concerned with whether or not CP is “irrational” or “unjustified” given religious diversity. He writes, “I would acknowledge that it is right and proper for one to be worried and perplexed by religious pluralism, epistemically as well as theologically, though not to the extent of denying the rationality of CP.”76 By way of defense, then, Alston argues that “CP has a claim to reliability just by virtue of the fact that it is a ‘going concern.’”77 Does this imply that other doxastic practices (let’s say Islamic practice [IP] or Hindu practice [HP]) are unreliable? Certainly IP and HP, which together are embraced by over half of the world’s population, also represent “going concerns.” If so, are they equally reliable by this virtue alone? Is the fact that people embrace these traditions evidence (available to all parties) that they are reliable or justified? Alston is far from clear on the matter. In fact, he acknowledges that “this conclusion is, admittedly, very imprecise. One’s justification for engaging in CP is diminished by religious pluralism, but not to the extent of its being irrational for one to engage in that practice.”78 Arguably, what we see here is that Alston’s primary concern is with matters of reliability, rationality, and justification—not truth. Since Alston recognizes the problem of religious pluralism as one of justification and epistemic confidence, the question, as he sees it, is whether or not one is “justified in retaining Christian belief in light of the contradictory views of others?”79 Put another way he asks, “Just how is the fact of conflicting doxastic practices supposed to make it irrational for me to regard CP [Christian practice] as a source of epistemic justification for M-beliefs [‘M’ for manifestation]?”80 Much like the debates regarding peer disagreement, Alston too identifies two options in light of religious disagreement— either we are justified (and it is rational to retain our commitment), or we are not justified (and it’s irrational to continue believing as we do).

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So, is the Christian unjustified in their belief, in light of the disagreement evidenced by religious diversity? In short, no. Though Alston admits that “Religious diversity is a reason for doubting the reliability of any particular religious doxastic practice,”81 he nevertheless holds that “religious pluralism would have such a bearing [lead one to conclude her own beliefs as unjustified] only if it constitutes a reason for thinking CP to be unreliable. And why should we suppose that it does?”82 The relatively seamless move from justification to reliability should not go unnoticed. Especially, since it is evidence of Alston’s presupposed version of reliabilist epistemology. Alston argues that if a practice is reliable, then it leads to true knowledge. This is circular, however, in that a practice is deemed reliable if it leads to true knowledge, and knowledge is deemed true if it originates from a reliable practice. If religious pluralism gives us reason to think that CP is unreliable, then one is no longer justified in holding CP. The opposite is also true, that unless we are given a reason to think CP is unreliable, we are justified in holding to CP. Alston is not neutral on the matter, suggesting that there is nothing inherent about conflicting doxastic practices that gives us a reason for thinking CP is unreliable. Alston abides by the principle of credulity (in that CP is innocent until proven guilty) and does not consider contradictory doxastic practices as defeaters worthy of shaking one’s confidence in CP. All the while, he maintains that “only one religious doxastic practice can be (sufficiently) reliable.”83 The idea that reliable practices lead to justified belief is interesting, but hardly conclusive. Moreover, it’s still not clear what this amounts to. Even if reliable practices lead to justified beliefs, does this entail that those beliefs which are justified are also true? Or, are people justified in holding false beliefs? If so, then justification seems irrelevant to matters of truth. In the midst of conflicting religious beliefs and practices, in the midst of religious disagreement, and “in the absence of any external reason for supposing that one of the competing practices is more accurate than my own,” Alston reasons that “the only rational course for me to take is to sit tight with the practice of which I am a master and which serves me so well in guiding my activity in the world.”84 In this way, unconvinced by any strong defeaters, Alston’s commitment to the principle of credulity results in epistemic particularism. This move is reminiscent of Alvin Plantinga who writes, “It would be irrational to take as basic the denial of a proposition that seems self-evident to you.”85 However, there is nothing about this argument that privileges CP over other doxastic practices. Therefore, Alston’s approach is ultimately available for all religions: a means of justifying Hindu truth claims, as much as Daoist truth claims, as much as Christian truth claims, and so on. Furthermore, insofar as “I,” “my,” and “me” are relative terms (which take on different meanings in different contexts; that is, are relative to the relevant

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subject), Alston’s convention of sitting tight with one’s own practices can be seen as universally relative. As such, two people who affirm contradictory positions to one another are both justified in “sitting tight,” according to Alston’s standards. By extension then, Alston can be seen as providing justification for mutually incompatible positions—inadvertently justifying religious pluralism. Alston himself admits this, saying, “Although I have been speaking in the first person for the most part, it goes without saying, I hope, that the conclusions I have been drawing concerning my epistemic situation as a practitioner of CP hold, pari passu, for practitioners of the other internally validated religious DP’s.”86 The key to unlocking Alston’s view here is the phrase “internally validated.” Though I dare not generalize about Alston’s perspective at large, it seems in this instance he embraces an internalist epistemology. But, if what counts in validating one’s doxastic practice is an internal criteria, what are we to do with alethic realism? Either, we are to give up alethic realism, and affirm a sort of coherence theory of truth, by which truth is understood in terms of coherence (internal and/or external); or we continue to embrace alethic realism, and admit that we do not deal in truth as such but only in truth claims. This latter option ultimately means bifurcating truth from the validity of our perspectives. If justification implies a truth relation (i.e., that only justified beliefs are true beliefs), then Alston has no choice; either provide simultaneous justification for contradictory practices, or take the “easy way out” and recognize that alethic realism cannot apply to religion. To this dilemma, Alston writes, “It may seem strange that such incompatible positions could be justified for different people, but this is just a special case of the general point that incompatible propositions can each be justified for different people if what they have to go on is suitably different.”87 But, as already mentioned, if this is so, what does justification have to do with truth? If justification and truth are seemingly unrelated, then alethic realism has no bearing on justification. Consequently, two people may be equally justified in affirming contradictory positions, but (at best) only one of them can be true. This means that Alston’s position can be used to justify contradictory positions without violating the LNC. Alston is not affirming the truth of contradictories, but merely allowing that people who embrace contradictory positions can both be more or less equally justified. So what’s the point? Why bother with postulating a theory of alethic realism with respect to religion, if religions cannot deal in truth as such, but only truth claims? Why even presuppose, as Alston does, “a realist theory of truth and its applicability to religious belief.”88 Why “assume that religious beliefs are true or false according to whether what is believed is the case, whether or not we have any way of deciding this.”89 If we have no way of deciding which

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religions are true and which are false, (which Alston seems to conclude) why even speak of religions as being either true or false? One might ask, does “sitting tight” which Alston recommends as the “only rational course,”90 mean the end of dialogue? Alston thinks not, writing, “I do not take the practical implication of this conclusion to be that the Christian or the member of another religious community, is free to shut herself up within the boundaries of her own community and ignore the rest of the world.”91 But why not? What reason does the religious practitioner have for engaging with the religious other? After all, despite disagreement, we have no choice but to simply rely on our particularized internal criteria for justification. The primary challenge to Alston’s position, as I see, it is this: If CP (for example) is justified by means of it being reliable, and it is reliable by means of it being a “going concern,” but IP and HP are also going concerns, and only one set of doxastic practices can be “(sufficiently) reliable,”92 what reason do we have for believing our DP (doxastic practice) is reliable, and the incompatible DPs of others are not? That CP may be a going concern “for me” does not strike me as sufficient reason (available to all parties) that it is the only reliable DP, especially in light of religious pluralism, whereby HP or IP is an ongoing concern for others. As such, it seems Alston fails to satisfy his own criteria of providing a defense of the reliability of CP on the basis of reasons “common to all parties, like sense perception, rational self-evidence, and common modes of reasoning.”93 Furthermore, if there is no objective means of judging the reliability, rationality, or justifiability of a doxastic practice, we are left with particularism, by which conflicting DPs can be deemed rational, reliable, or justified by applying Alston’s argument. Therefore, Alston’s position can be said (in the end) to be used to affirm contradictory DPs. That is, insofar as Alston maintains his application of alethic realism in respect to religion, his position embraces contradictions. This epistemic conclusion seems a difficult one to avoid—particularly for Alston’s alethic realism. The epistemic challenge of religious pluralism is a challenge similar to the epistemology of disagreement. An adequate response to the pluralism dilemma must be able to account for epistemic justification for conflicting truth claims among epistemic peers, or be able to demonstrate that the religions are not epistemic peers. Another important voice to consider in the epistemic conversation relevant to religious pluralism is that of the “perspectival particularists.” According to Nicholas Wolterstorff, “Most analytic philosophers of religion over the past quarter century have been . . . ‘perspectival particularists’ in their understanding of how philosophy is to be practiced; they were of this conviction well before deconstructionism melodramatically came to the same conclusion on its own anti-realist grounds.”94 Whether or not “most” analytic philosophers of religion of the past twenty-five years are of this variety, it is clear that

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perspectival particularism has played an influential role in the development of twentieth-century analytic philosophy of religion. As such, it would be helpful to explore the relationship between perspectival particularism and reformed epistemology (a position championed by Nicholas Wolterstorff and Alvin Plantinga), in order to shed light on epistemological concerns related to religious pluralism. Perspectival particularism is essentially an epistemic position—one that, like deconstructionism and postmodernism, recognizes knowledge as being limited, not simply by the finite human capacity for knowing, but by the inevitable knowing situation. All knowing subjects, as subjects, stand in a particular perspective to the external objects of knowledge. All knowledge is known by a knower. The implication being, knowledge must be embodied—we cannot “know” anything apart from knowing as ourselves, within the limits of our own perspective. It seems true enough, that we can adopt new perspectives and we can attempt to incorporate multiple perspectives into our cognitive purview, but we can only do so as ourselves. The impossibility of disembodied knowledge results in the inevitability of perspectivism. In describing perspectival particularism, Wolterstorff writes: The majority of recent analytic philosophers of religion have not supposed that one could or should practice philosophy as a generic human being; appealing solely to reason. They have regarded philosophy in general, not just philosophy of religion, as in good measure and in various ways an articulation of one’s own particular perspective. That is why these philosophers have neither tried to shed nor to conceal the religious convictions that they bring to philosophy; and that is why they have not attempted to discover some perch above the fray from which they could, qua purely rational beings, practice suspicion and lodge critique.95

As William Hasker articulates, “Perspectival particularism recognizes that there is an irreducible plurality of fundamental perspectives on reality, with a particular person’s acceptance of one of them strongly influenced by her prephilosophical beliefs and commitments.”96 Therefore, in many ways, it is our pre-philosophical beliefs and commitments that determine our philosophical perspectives. And, at the end of the day, our perspective (philosophical or pre-philosophical) is all we have. These pre-philosophical commitments are what Plantinga calls our noetic structure, and are the foundation for his “Reformed Epistemology.”97 Reformed epistemology is a philosophical perspective developed by twentieth-century philosophers Alvin Plantinga and Nicholas Wolterstorff. It is called “reformed” epistemology because it borrows several assumptions from the reformed theological tradition and the thought of John Calvin. Namely, these reformed assumptions include; (1) God exists, and (2) we humans

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were created by God with a sensus divinitatis (a faculty that, when working properly under the proper conditions, allows us to “sense” God). Plantinga and Wolterstorff have used this framework to develop an epistemology which accounts, not only for knowledge of God, but knowledge of the world. In epistemological terms, reformed epistemology might be understood as a form of “proper function externalism”—by which one can be said to possess “knowledge” if one’s faculties are functioning properly and the necessary external conditions are met. For example, if I am to “know” there is a table in front of me, my faculties must be working properly (e.g., my eyes must be working properly, so I can see); the environment must be proper (e.g., there must be enough light in the room for my eyes to see properly); and there must be an external object available to me (e.g., there must actually be a table in front of me). If all of these criteria are met, I can be said to “know” there is a table in front of me. The difficulty with this perspective is this—how do we verify that our faculties are functioning properly or that the environment is proper? It seems that in order to verify the conditions necessary for knowledge, we must be able to “know” something about the conditions for knowledge. But this would require knowledge of the conditions which can only be known if other conditions are met, which can be known only if other external conditions are met, and so on. Therefore, if knowledge is justified by the reliability of external conditions the reformed epistemologist is caught in an infinite regress in search of some foundation for reliability on which all other claims to reliability can be established. Aware of this problem, reformed epistemologists posits a theory of proper basicality. Plantinga writes, “A proposition is properly basic for a person only if he knows it immediately—i.e., knows it, and does not know it on the basis of other propositions.”98 For Plantinga, belief in God is properly basic in this way.99 While there is not universal agreement about which beliefs are “self-evident,” Plantinga argues that propositions which “meet this condition of immediate knowledge are those that are self-evident or incorrigible.”100 In other words, properly basic beliefs are self-evident beliefs. Properly basic beliefs are not dependent upon other beliefs or external evidence—they are immediately known. Regarding Plantinga’s defense of the claim that belief in God is properly basic, William Hasker distinguishes between two phases of argumentation. He writes, “The reformed epistemologists’ defense of it [the claim that belief in God is properly basic] has in effect two phases, an ‘external’ phase directed to other philosophers regardless of their own beliefs, and an ‘internal’ phase directed specifically to other Christian thinkers. The external defense trades heavily on what Wolterstorff has termed ‘perspectival particularism.’”101 In this way, perspectival particularism can be seen as linked to reformed

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epistemology, not simply because reformed epistemologists are perspectival particularists, but because perspectival particularism is the means by which reformed epistemology defends its core presupposition (i.e., the claim that belief in God is properly basic). But why is defense necessary, if properly basic beliefs do not require defense? To answer this question, it seems necessary to distinguish between two closely related and often conflated claims: (1) that God exists, and (2) the belief that “God exists” is properly basic. The first claim (that God exists) is itself thought—by reformed epistemologists—to be properly basic. As such, this claim needs no external evidence, since properly basic beliefs are immediately known and non-inferentially self-evident. However, the second claim is about proper basicality, not about the existence of God as such. And this second claim, as a second order claim, cannot be thought of as properly basic. Therefore, perspectival particularism is needed to defend the second claim (that belief in God is properly basic), not the first claim (that God exists). When understood in this way, how does perspectival particularism, as an epistemological position, defend the assumptions of reformed epistemology? Two problems arise. First, there can be no adequate defense of properly basic beliefs, in so far as such defense would involve external evidence. If external justification were possible, then the belief in question would not be properly basic. Second, there is no universal (non-particular) perspective by which second order claims can be evaluated as justified. As Hasker explains, “It is not in general possible to show, by neutral philosophical argument, that some one of these perspectives is correct and all the rest mistaken.”102 Nicholas Rescher tells us why, namely, that valuation is present in the process of making an argument. And all valuation is done from within the confines of our perspective, which is influenced by our experiences. As such, dissensus, not consensus, is the norm. As a result of our epistemic situation, Plantinga and Wolterstorff conclude that, “it is perfectly appropriate and in no way irrational for a person to philosophize on the basis of her own perspective, even if she has not been able to demonstrate the correctness of that perspective in a way that is convincing to others.”103 Similarly, Rescher states that “once we have done the best that can be done within the framework of our own values, we may rest content.”104 Such perspectivism concludes that philosophizing can only take place within the confines of our limited perspectives. This means that, where our cognitive values differ, or where our noetic structures differ, agreement is not in prospect. For that reason, consensus is not something we should concern ourselves with. Along these lines, Plantinga argues that, criteria for proper basicality must be reached from below rather than above; they should not be presented as ex cathedra, but argued to and tested by a relevant set

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of examples. But there is no reason to assume, in advance, that everyone will agree on the examples. The Christian will of course suppose that belief in God is entirely proper and rational. . . . Followers of Bertrand Russell and Madelyn Murray O’Hare may disagree, but how is that relevant? Must my criteria, or those of the Christian community, conform to their examples? Surely not. The Christian community is responsible to its set of examples, not to theirs.105

In this same spirit, S. Mark Heim, asks: “Whose basis of judgment am I to privilege if not my own? If I privilege another, it has become mine in that very act.”106 From this foundation, Heim also argues that “People who rationally hold contradictory views from different orientations are each justified in thinking the other wrong.”107 He later states that “they [contradicting propositions] cannot both be true at the same time of the same person. But for different people, or the same person at different times, there is no necessary contradiction in both being truth.”108 All knowledge is perspectival. And our perspectives, as such, are relative and not universal. Even when there are times when the vast majority of people seem to agree, it is not a result of universal knowledge, but shared relative perspectives. Hence, “we cannot deal in truths as such . . . but only in claims to truth.”109 Do Plantinga and Wolterstorff believe that we can deal with truth, qua truth, or only in truth claims? Does the perspectivism of reformed epistemology agree, that contradictory propositions “cannot both be true at the same time of the same person. But for different people, or the same person at different times, there is no necessary contradiction in both being truth?”110 In short, no. Interestingly, the perspectivism (or one might say relativism) of Plantinga and Wolterstorff with respect to epistemic justification, does not seem to be a factor in matters of truth. Reformed epistemologists are metaphysical realists. Therefore, despite Planterstorff’s111 acknowledgment of the epistemic limitations expressed in perspectivism, they ultimately affirm the singularity of truth (understood as proper correspondence to that which is metaphysically—and simply physically—real). Not only is truth singular, but we have access to that truth, when our reliable faculties are functioning properly under the proper conditions—even in the case of properly basic beliefs. As discussed above, Plantinga defines a belief as properly basic if that belief is self-evident (i.e., immediately known), without being based on other propositions. Now, he is quick to recognize a problem with this criterion, namely, “some propositions seem self-evident when in fact they are not.”112 One would think, therefore, that in order to safeguard against the risk of falsely holding some beliefs as properly basic, a criterion or criteria for self-evidence should be established. After all, it is a dangerous threat against the spirit of rationality if there is no test of proper basicality. Since properly basic claims

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do not require external defense or argumentation, the lack of an external criterion could lead to the affirmation of nearly any claim, without requiring any evidence or argumentation. Put another way, if epistemic particularism is a form of epistemic relativism, then what’s to prevent the justification of all potential claims (no matter how radical) from within the particularity of one’s beliefs? On the other hand, to provide a universal criterion or test of proper basicality, would be to undermine the very nature of properly basic beliefs. Not only so, but if all cognitive value judgments take place from within the framework of our noetic structure, how could we possibly apply an external criteria to test the reliability of that which is immediately known internally? Instead, Plantinga simply argues, “It would be irrational to take as basic the denial of a proposition that seems self-evident to you.”113 Although Plantinga claims to dispute the objection of properly basic relativism (or pluralism), most of what he writes seems to support it. To say, as stated above, “it would be irrational to take as basic the denial of a proposition that seems self-evident to you,”114 is in essence to say that a belief is properly basic if it seems properly basic. As Plantinga writes, “Suppose it seems to you that you see a tree; you would then be irrational in taking as basic the proposition that you don’t see a tree, or that there aren’t any trees.”115 Rationality, then, requires that we accept as properly basic and selfevident those things which appear to us to be properly basic and self-evident, regardless of whether or not they are in fact properly basic and self-evident. Rationality, for Plantinga, means accepting as true those propositions that seems to us to be true. The problem with Plantinga’s defense of properly basic beliefs is not so much what he says, but what he fails to say. Plantinga argues that “one who holds that belief in God is properly basic is not thereby committed to the idea that belief in God is groundless or gratuitous or without justifying circumstances. And even if he lacks a general criterion of proper basicality, he is not obliged to suppose that just any or nearly any belief—belief in the Great Pumpkin, for example—is properly basic.”116 While it’s clear Plantinga doesn’t wish for his defense of proper basicality, which is intended to be a defense of his Christian theistic belief, to become a defense for just any belief; it’s unclear what prevents this theory of proper basicality from caving in on itself. Can it be properly basic for person or community A that God exists, and properly basic for person or community B that God does not exists? If so, are we to give up on access to universal truth? Are we to give up on realism (metaphysical or alethic)? If proper basicality can be used to justify contradictory beliefs, doesn’t this mean someone is justified in holding false beliefs? If so, what good is justification? What’s to distinguish knowledge from opinion?

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In response to this problem, Plantinga writes, “how, then, do I determine whether I do know, as opposed to merely believe, that God exists? A typical traditional suggestion is that you know what you truly believe and have adequate evidence for—that is, you know that p if and only if you believe p, p is true, and you have adequate or sufficient evidence for p.”117 In his rejection of this sort of evidentialism, however, Plantinga does not provide alternative objective (nonrelative) criteria. Perhaps, this is due to his acknowledgment that such criteria can only be postulated and applied from within a particular framework—and is therefore always a form of epistemic particularism. Imagine that believers in the Great Pumpkin are equally justified as believers in the Invisible Gardner or the Christian God. If they are not equally justified, what would be the distinguishing factor? Plantinga might point to some form of community or tradition, but this argument seems short lived, if for no other reason than that Plantinga rejects the “truth” proposed by non-Christian religious traditions that meet this criterion. Another argument Plantinga gives is his argument from properly functioning reliable faculties. But, like his argument for proper basicality, this view can just as easily be used to defend the existence of the Great Pumpkin, as it can the existence of the Christian God. In fact, there is no external means by which one can unequivocally refute the claims to a private internal experience. And, what is a properly basic belief if not a private experience manifest in immediate knowledge? So, it seems that proper basicality inevitably leads to epistemic pluralism, in so far as it can be used to defend the “truth” of conflicting beliefs. However, this does not mean that Plantinga, as a perspectival particularist who affirms proper basicality, is a pluralist. While there seems to be an element of “what’s true for you is true, and what’s true for me is true” in Plantinga, a more generous reading of his intended meaning suggests that “what’s true for me is true,” and “what you think is true is irrelevant.” Such a reading implies that Plantinga’s position is not relativist, in that although his theory can be used from a variety of perspectives, each person only affirms the truth of their own position; given that we can only entertain one perspective at a time. This is important, since, normative relativism, as an “anything goes” kind of position, does not apply to reformed epistemology, for which exclusivism (not relativism) is a more accurate description. Coupled with metaphysical realism, it seems that what we “think” is true has no bearing on what “is” true. Not only so, but even if Plantinga’s and Wolterstorff’s theory of proper basicality falls into relativism, what would the force of such relativism be? Arguably, the very worst sort of relativism that Plantinga’s proper basicality could be accused of is a descriptive (as opposed to normative) relativism. Meaning, Plantinga’s relativism would simply be describing the epistemic situation—that we are

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bound to a perspective—and that we think different things are true. I would argue that nearly all contemporary Western (especially Analytic) philosophers acknowledge the epistemic situation as such—that knowledge, which is known by a knowing subject, always stands in a particular perspective to an object of knowledge. Furthermore, epistemic subjects often disagree. Such descriptive epistemic relativism, if we can call it that, is not altogether problematic. What may be more problematic, is how epistemic relativism leads to alethic exclusivism. What is the relationship between truth and knowledge, and how do we know that? Along these lines, D.Z. Philips identifies what is perhaps the most striking problem facing the doctrine of perspectival particularism—the charge of being a self-refuting paradox. Philips writes, These general conclusions about philosophy create tension for Wolterstorff’s argument. Are they arrived at from a particularist perspective? If so, how is this supposed to work? Does one pop out, as it were, long enough to make these general claims, before popping back in again to resume one’s particular concerns? Alternatively, if “perspectival particularism” is the result of an enquiry, the enquiry itself cannot be dependent on it. The outcome of an enquiry cannot be a presupposition of it.118

As Philips astutely observes, the tension for Wolterstorff (as well as Plantinga) is the result of making universal (or general) conclusions from the basis of relative (or particular) grounds. One might ask, does perspectival particularism apply to itself? Does the theory of perspectival particularism develop out of a particular perspective? If so, what use can it be to those outside of that perspective? If not, then the very nature of perspectival particularism, as a general theory, is self-defeating to the cause of particularism. Another way of putting it might be to accuse Wolterstorff of committing a performative contradiction, by which his theory of particularism itself is contradicted by the way his theory of particularism was developed. Either way, it seems the “tension” identified by Philips is more than mere tension, but a deep seated challenged to the whole enterprise of reformed epistemology. This raises important and difficult questions about the nature of truth claims and epistemic particularity. How do we move from particular to universal? How do we move from knowledge to truth; from truth claims to truth an sich? The interplay between truth and knowledge, experience and reality, between one and many, between exclusivism and pluralism—these are among the themes that will be explored in the pages to come. In this chapter, we have explored the nature of the pluralism dilemma—the challenge of reconciling conflicting truth claims. Part of the challenge has to do with the nature of truth claims and the varieties of truth domains. What

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does it mean for something to be “true,” and what sort of things can be said to possess the characteristic of truth? Part of the challenge has to do with traditional views on logic and contradiction. Can we transcend the true-false binary and establish an alternative logical foundation for reconciling contradictory truth claims? Part of the challenge has to do with the foundations of knowledge. Is truth knowable? How to we justify our claims to knowledge (and particularly, to knowledge of truth), in the midst of epistemic peer disagreement? In short, “How is it possible to claim that one’s own beliefs . . . are true while allowing at least the possible truth of others’ beliefs as well?”119 This is the nature of the pluralism dilemma. Implicit in this dilemma are issues of truth, knowledge, and difference. The above serves as a brief introduction into some of these issues within Western philosophy and philosophy of religion, and will serve as a background for further investigation into the nature of truth, contradictions, and pluralism. It is important to remember that the kind of pluralism for which I am interested in, is not an epistemic pluralism of justifications (whereby multiple inconsistent positions might be equally justified), but a metaphysical pluralism of truth (whereby multiple inconsistent positions might be true). NOTES 1. Wilfred Cantwell Smith, The Faith of Other Men (New York: Harper and Row, 1962), 11. Quoted in Paul F. Knitter, No Other Name: A Critical Survey of Christian Attitudes Toward the World Religions (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1985), 3. 2. See Diana Eck’s, A New Religious America, for a thorough discussion on this point. This is particularly true of the twentieth-century American context, in which most of the Philosophy of Religion debates on the plurality of religions took place. However, the same could be said of Europe, Asian, and other parts of the world with a long history of diversity. This fact contributes to the relevance of Eastern resources for discourse on religious difference. 3. John Habgood, Many Mansions: Interfaith and Religious Tolerance. Edited by Dan Cohn-Sherbok (London: Bellew, 1992), vii. Quoted in Veli-Matti Karkkainen, An Introduction to the Theology of Religions: Biblical, Historical & Contemporary Perspectives (Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 2003). 4. Raimundo Panikkar, “The Myth of Pluralism: The Tower of Babel—A Meditation on Non-Violence,” in Cross Currents, Vol. 29 (1979): 226. 5. John Hick, A Christian Theology of Religions: The Rainbow of Faiths (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 1995). 6. Dean, Religious Pluralism and Truth, ix. 7. Dean, Religious Pluralism and Truth, ix–x.

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8. Some may see this as a subdiscipline within theology rather than philosophy of religion. It is of little consequence to me where one seeks to locate the discipline of theologies of religions. 9. Karkkainen, An Introduction to the Theology of Religions, 20. 10. See Harold A. Netland, Dissonant Voices: Religious Pluralism and the Question of Truth (Vancouver, BC: Regent College Publishing, 1991); Paul F. Knitter, Introducing Theologies of Religions (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 2002); Karkkainen, An Introduction to the Theology of Religion; D’Costa, Christianity and World Religions; Hick and Knitter, The Myth of Christian Uniqueness; D’Costa, Christian Uniqueness Reconsidered; Heim, Salvations; Knitter, No Other Name; John Hick and Brian Hebblethwaite, eds. Christianity and Other Religions: Selected Readings (Oxford: Oneworld Publications, 2001); for examples of theologies of religions. 11. Netland, Dissonant Voices, 8. 12. For examples see: Netland, Dissonant Voices; Knitter, Introducing Theologies of Religions; Karkkainen, An Introduction to the Theology of Religion; D’Costa, Christianity and World Religions; Hick and Knitter, The Myth of Christian Uniqueness; D’Costa, Christian Uniqueness Reconsidered; Heim, Salvations; Knitter, No Other Name; Hick and Hebblethwaite, Christianity and Other Religion. 13. This typology appears to originate with Alan Race, Christians and Religious Pluralism: Patterns in the Christian Theology of Religions. While this threefold categorization has been widely used, it has also been heavily criticized. See D’Costa, Christianity and World Religions for a description and critique of this threefold typology. 14. While I would prefer to distinguish between plurality and pluralism, the unfortunate fact is that the two terms get used interchangeably enough (both within the context of religious pluralism as well as philosophical, political, logical, methodological, legal, ontological, etc. pluralisms) to potentially create confusion; requiring me to clarify my usage. For an example of “religious pluralism” used descriptively see Netland, “in itself, religious pluralism—diversity in religious practice and belief—is nothing new in our world” (Netland, Dissonant Voices, 4). 15. Schubert M. Ogden, “Christian Identity and Genuine Openness to the Religious Beliefs of Others,” in Buddhist-Christian Studies, Vol. 25 (2005): 21. 16. Ogden, “Christian Identity and Genuine Openness to the Religious Beliefs of Others,” 21. 17. William P. Alston, A Realist Conception of Truth (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1996), 1 18. Alston, A Realist Conception of Truth, 2. 19. Alston, A Realist Conception of Truth, 2. 20. Alston, A Realist Conception of Truth, 33. 21. William P. Alston, Perceiving God: The Epistemology of Religious Experience (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1991), 255. 22. Alston, Perceiving God, 255. 23. William P. Alston, “Religious Diversity and Perceptual Knowledge of God,” in The Philosophical Challenge of Religious Diversity, edited by Philip L. Quinn and Kevin Meeker (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 193.

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24. Michael P. Lynch, Truth as One and Many (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2009), 3. 25. Nikolaj Pederson and Cory D. Wright, eds. Truth and Pluralism: Current Debates (Oxford University Press, 2013), 2. 26. Pederson and Wright, Truth and Pluralism, 2. 27. Pederson and Wright, Truth and Pluralism, 2. 28. Pederson and Wright, Truth and Pluralism, 2. 29. Pederson and Wright, Truth and Pluralism, 3. 30. Netland, Dissonant Voices, 115. 31. Netland, Dissonant Voices, 115. 32. Robert Cummings Neville and Wesley J. Wildman, “A Contemporary Understanding of Religious Truth,” in Religious Truth: A Volume in the Comparative Religious Ideas Project, edited by Robert Cummings Neville (New York: SUNY Press, 2001), 171. 33. Robert Cummings Neville and Wesley J. Wildman, “Religious Truth in the Six Traditions: A Summary,” in Religious Truth: A Volume in the Comparative Religious Ideas Project, edited by Robert Cummings Neville (New York: SUNY Press, 2001), 163. 34. Neville and Wildman, “Religious Truth in the Six Traditions,” 164. 35. Neville and Wildman, “Religious Truth in the Six Traditions,” 165. 36. Neville and Wildman, “Religious Truth in the Six Traditions,” 165. 37. Graham Priest, Doubt Truth to be a Liar (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2006), 7. 38. Aristotle, Metaphysics, Book 4, Part 6. Translated by W.D. Ross, The Internet Classic Archives, http://classics.mit.edu/Aristotle/metaphysics.4.iv.html (accessed 4/15/18). 39. Aristotle, Metaphysics, Book 4, Part 6. 40. Aristotle, Metaphysics, Book 4, Part 7. 41. Aristotle, Metaphysics, Book 4, Part 7. 42. Aristotle, Metaphysics, Book 4, Part 4. 43. H.W. Noonan, “An Argument of Aristotle on Non-Contradiction,” in Analysis, Vol. 37, No. 4 (1977): 166. 44. Aristotle, Metaphysics, Book 4, Part 7. 45. Aristotle, Metaphysics, Book 4, Part 7. 46. Aristotle, Metaphysics, Book 4, Part 5. 47. Alan Code, “Aristotle’s Investigation of a Basic Logical Principle: Which Science Investigates the Principle of Non-Contradiction?” in Canadian Journal of Philosophy, Vol. 16, No. 3 (September 1986): 347–348. 48. Aristotle, Metaphysics, Book 4, Part 4. 49. Aristotle, Metaphysics, Book 4, Part 7. 50. Aristotle, Metaphysics, Book 4, Part 4. 51. Aristotle, Metaphysics, Book 4, Part 4. 52. Aristotle, Metaphysics, Book 4, Part 3. 53. Aristotle, Metaphysics, Book 4, Part 3. 54. Aristotle, Metaphysics, Book 4, Part 5. 55. Aristotle, Metaphysics, Book 4, Part 6.

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56. Aristotle, Metaphysics, Book 4, Part 3. 57. Aristotle, Metaphysics, Book 4, Part 3. 58. Alan Code, “Aristotle’s Investigation of a Basic Logical Principle,” 342. 59. See Feldman, Richard, and Ted A. Warfield, eds. Disagreement (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010); and Christensen, David, ed. “The Epistemology of Disagreement,” in Episteme: A Journal of Social Epistemology, Vol. 6, No. 3 (2009): 231–353. 60. While I acknowledge there are alternative logics, including many-valued logic and dialetheism, the dominant account of propositions and truth values is as portrayed above. 61. Alston, “Religious Diversity and Perceptual Knowledge of God,” 194. 62. Alston, “Religious Diversity and Perceptual Knowledge of God,” 194. 63. Alston, “Religious Diversity and Perceptual Knowledge of God,” 194. 64. Alston, “Religious Diversity and Perceptual Knowledge of God,” 194. 65. Alston, “Religious Diversity and Perceptual Knowledge of God,” 200. 66. It would be interesting to do a study on those regions of the world that tend to be more pluralistic (like India) and driving habits, to see how the two might relate. I know in my own experience, the “lanes” in New Delhi and Beijing appear to be equally true from many different perspectives. 67. Alston, “Religious Diversity and Perceptual Knowledge of God,” 200. 68. Knitter, Introducing Theologies of Religions, 75–79. 69. Alston, “Religious Diversity and Perceptual Knowledge of God,” 200. 70. Alston, “Religious Diversity and Perceptual Knowledge of God,” 201. 71. Alston, “Religious Diversity and Perceptual Knowledge of God,” 201. 72. Alston, “Religious Diversity and Perceptual Knowledge of God,” 201. 73. Alston, “Religious Diversity and Perceptual Knowledge of God,” 194. 74. Alston, “Religious Diversity and Perceptual Knowledge of God,” 201. 75. Alston, “Religious Diversity and Perceptual Knowledge of God,” 194. 76. Alston, “Religious Diversity and Perceptual Knowledge of God,” 205. 77. Alston, “Religious Diversity and Perceptual Knowledge of God,” 200. 78. Alston, “Religious Diversity and Perceptual Knowledge of God,” 205. 79. Alston, “Religious Diversity and Perceptual Knowledge of God,” 200. 80. Alston, “Religious Diversity and Perceptual Knowledge of God,” 200. 81. Alston, “Religious Diversity and Perceptual Knowledge of God,” 201. 82. Alston, “Religious Diversity and Perceptual Knowledge of God,” 200. 83. Alston, “Religious Diversity and Perceptual Knowledge of God,” 201. 84. Alston, “Religious Diversity and Perceptual Knowledge of God,” 204. 85. Plantinga, Alvin. “Is Belief in God Properly Basic?” in Contemporary Perspectives on Religious Epistemology, edited by R. Douglas Geivett and Brendan Sweetman (New York: Oxford University Press, 1992), 139. 86. Alston, “Religious Diversity and Perceptual Knowledge of God,” 204. 87. Alston, “Religious Diversity and Perceptual Knowledge of God,” 204. 88. Alston, “Religious Diversity and Perceptual Knowledge of God,” 194. 89. Alston, “Religious Diversity and Perceptual Knowledge of God,” 194. 90. Alston, “Religious Diversity and Perceptual Knowledge of God,” 204.

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91. Alston, “Religious Diversity and Perceptual Knowledge of God,” 206. 92. Alston, “Religious Diversity and Perceptual Knowledge of God,” 201. 93. Alston, “Religious Diversity and Perceptual Knowledge of God,” 194. 94. Nicholas Wolterstorff, “Analytic Philosophy of Religion: Retrospect and Prospect,” in Inquiring About God, vol. 1, edited by Terence Cuneo (Cambridge University Press, 2010), 19. 95. Wolterstorff, “Analytic Philosophy of Religion: Retrospect and Prospect,” 19. 96. William Hasker, “Analytic Philosophy of Religion,” in The Oxford Handbook of Philosophy of Religion, edited by William J. Wainwright (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 431. 97. See: Alvin Plantinga, Warranted Christian Belief (New York: Oxford University Press, 2000), 83. 98. Alvin Plantinga, “Is Belief in God Rational?,” in Rationality and Religious Belief, edited by C.F. Delaney (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1979), 19. 99. I do not wish to argue that belief in God is or is not properly basic. Rather, I simply wish to examine the essence of reformed epistemology, to see whether or not it is a form of epistemic relativism (akin to that of Rescher). 100. Plantinga, “Is Belief in God Rational?,” 19. 101. Hasker, “Analytic Philosophy of Religion,” 431. 102. Hasker, “Analytic Philosophy of Religion,” 431. 103. Hasker, “Analytic Philosophy of Religion,” 431. 104. Nicholas Rescher, The Strife of Systems: An Essay on the Grounds and Implications of Philosophical Diversity (Pittsburgh, PA: University of Pittsburgh Press, 1985), 147. 105. Plantinga, “Is Belief in God Properly Basic?” 140–141. 106. Heim, Salvations, 153. 107. Heim, Salvations, 137. 108. Heim, Salvations, 149. 109. Rescher, The Strife of Systems, 195. 110. Heim, Salvations, 149. 111. Like celebrity couples in Hollywood (e.g., Bennifer, Brangelina, or Kimye), this is my own playful combining of Plantinga and Wolterstorff. I don’t actually know how they would feel about this, and I decided not to ask. 112. Plantinga, “Is Belief in God Properly Basic?” 139. 113. Plantinga, “Is Belief in God Properly Basic?” 139. 114. Plantinga, “Is Belief in God Properly Basic?” 139. 115. Plantinga, “Is Belief in God Properly Basic?” 139. 116. Plantinga, “Is Belief in God Properly Basic?” 141. 117. Plantinga, “Is Belief in God Rational?” 12. 118. D.Z. Phillips, Religion and Friendly Fire: Examining Assumptions in Contemporary Philosophy of Religion (England: Ashgate Publishing, 2004), 53. 119. Ogden, “Christian Identity and Genuine Openness to the Religious Beliefs of Others,” 21.

Chapter 2

Western Approaches to the Pluralism Dilemma

THREEFOLD TYPOLOGY: EXCLUSIVISM, INCLUSIVISM, PLURALISM Western approaches to the pluralism dilemma have traditionally been categorized in three groups: (1) Exclusivism, (2) Inclusivism, and (3) Pluralism.1 This chapter will include an analysis of the threefold typology, alternative typologies, and approaches toward truth in this discourse. Among these three, “exclusivism” (the view that conflicting religious truth claims are mutually exclusive, which entails that only one can be true— namely, one’s own) was the dominant position throughout Christian history.2 As John Cobb notes, “The most common Christian response to this recognition [the recognition of religious diversity] has been to assume that those who are different from us are for that reason inferior. They lack the saving truth we possess and, accordingly, it is our task to convert them. Usually this has been by persuasion, but Christians have not always been above using more forceful methods.”3 While exclusivism is not a uniquely Christian position, a closer look at classical Christian exclusivism can help shed light on the exclusivist framework. The dominant version of Christian exclusivism states that: (a) Jesus Christ is the unique Incarnation of God, fully God and fully man; (b) only through the person and work of Jesus Christ is there the possibility of salvation; (c) the Bible is God’s unique revelation written, and thus is true and authoritative; and (d) where the claims of Scripture are incompatible with those of other faiths, the latter are to be rejected as false.4

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The term exclusivism is synonymous with the terms particularism5 and restrictivism,6 which some scholars prefer. The most significant difference between these three terms is the way they are interpreted and the baggage that each carry. While exclusivism is intended to be a position which excludes those paths to salvation that conflict with a particular way, many feel that the term exclusivism carries negative connotations, suggesting social exclusion for people of different cultures and religions.7 Particularism, on the other hand, is thought by some (like Douglas Geivett and Gary Phillips8) to more properly signify the theological position by which one affirms a particular path leading to salvation. Likewise, restrictivism is thought to more clearly articulate a position which restricts the path of salvation to a particular way. Yet, the term restrictivism has also come under scrutiny, as some think it portrays an “elitist club” mentality which has restricted access and membership.9 Whatever the nuance, all three terms affirm the same basic principles: the affirmation of a particular religious perspective and the subsequent rejection of all perspectives deemed incompatible with one’s own. Most commonly, the term “exclusivism” is used to denote a position which maintains “that its own central affirmations are true, and that if the claims of another religion appear to be incompatible with its own claims, the former are to be rejected as false.”10 Naturally, people do not devote themselves to doctrines and ideologies that they believe to be false. All religious devotees adhere to religions that they deem a valid religious expression. However, does affirming one’s own beliefs necessarily require the rejection of all other beliefs that appear to be contradictory? Different responses to this question are at the heart of distinctions between exclusivism, inclusivism, and pluralism. Whereas pluralism says no, and inclusivism both yes and no, religious exclusivism cries yes! Herold Netland explains that exclusivism does not necessarily hold that all claims of others are false. It can coherently say that some of the claims of other traditions might be true. Furthermore, it does not mean that all other religions are valueless, or that Christianity has nothing to learn from others.11 However, the only way that the claims of other religions can be considered true is if they do not contradict the claims (especially the essential claims) of Christianity. Exclusivists, as Netland suggests, may be open to certain truths offered by other religions, but only so far as one’s own essential truth claims are not challenged; particularly claims regarding salvation/liberation. In the words of self-proclaimed exclusivists Geivett and Phillips, “people are not saved apart from explicit faith in Jesus Christ, which presupposes that they have heard about his salvific work on their behalf.”12 Like most theological categories, expressions of exclusivism are presented on a spectrum. One exclusivist motto, coined by Cyprian in the early third century, is captured by the phrase, extra ecclesiam nulla salus (outside of the Church there is no salvation). But what is meant by the Church? Because of

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his ambiguity, it is possible that Cyprian’s declaration was in reference to a reality that extended far beyond culture, religion, or even time and space. It is unlikely that Cyprian was referring to the Roman institutional Church, since there was no such institution during Cyprian’s lifetime (A.D. 200–258). Perhaps Cyprian’s understanding of the Church was borrowed from St. Irenaeus who wrote, “For where the Church is, there is the Spirit of God; and where the Spirit of God is, there is the Church, and every kind of grace; but the Spirit is truth.”13 In this case, the “Church,” like the Spirit of God, is not bound by time, space, culture, or history. The Church, like God’s Spirit, is omnipresent. If this is what Cyprian meant by the “Church” then salvation may be available beyond any particular religion which would be historically and culturally bound. On another interpretation, perhaps salvation is set aside for those who properly participate in the life of God, however they may encounter God. If what Cyprian meant when he said there is no salvation outside of the Church is that salvation is available for those who properly respond, in various religious capacities, to Ultimate Transcendent Reality, then Cyprian has something in common with pluralist John Hick. This interpretation renders the exclusivist motto into a pluralistic affirmation, and seems uncharacteristic of Cyprian when considering the totality of his work. Cyprian’s treatise “On Works and Alms” as well as other writings of his, clearly suggest that extra ecclesiam nulla salus is not just a theological claim, but a social claim that requires all those who are to be saved to first be members of the Christian community and the Christian religion; participating in Christian practices of worship while being in fellowship with other Christians.14 Extra ecclesiam nulla salus, therefore, is a claim that cannot be separated from the central Christian proclamation that Jesus Christ is Lord. Regardless of what Cyprian himself actually meant by this salvation proclamation, those who came after Cyprian have taken his phrase and interpreted it in radically exclusive ways. A little over one hundred years after Cyprian, Christian exclusivism was much more than a stance regarding salvation, but was clearly a social and political exclusion that often resulted in the death of non-Christians. In A.D. 380, the following edict was issued by Emperor Theodosius, requiring the acceptance of the orthodox faith by all subjects: It is our will that all the peoples whom the government of our clemency rules shall follow that religion which a pious belief from Peter to the present declares the holy Peter delivered to the Romans . . . that is, according to the apostolic discipline and evangelical doctrine, we believe in the deity of the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost of equal majesty in a holy trinity. Those who follow this law we command shall be comprised under the name of Catholic Christians; but others, indeed, we require, as insane and raving, to bear the infamy of heretical

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teaching; their gathers shall not receive the name of churches, they are to be smitten first with the divine punishment and after that by the vengeance of our indignation, which has the divine approval.15

This edict was not just for “pagans” (adherents of non-Christian religions), but those considered heretical Christians as well. “Congregations of those who varied from this faith (the faith articulated at the first Council of Nicea) were not to be recognized as churches and were to be prohibited.”16 Another view that may be classified as “exclusivist” (though it can be more favorable toward the value of other religions) is described by Paul Tillich in which “all that is true anywhere in the world belongs to us, the Christians.”17 This view goes hand in hand with the belief that all truth is God’s truth. Practically speaking then, any truth that is present in other religions is merely a reflection of the full truth found in Christianity: the truth of God. Karl Barth is perhaps the best-known representative of this type of exclusivism. Tillich depicts Barth as believing that “all human religions are fascinating, but futile attempts of man to reach God.”18 Christianity, on the other hand, is God reaching down to humanity, revealing Godself through the person of Jesus Christ. For Barth, Jesus Christ is the sole revelation of God, the one and only revelation. That is not to say that Christianity, as a religion, is salvific unto itself. On the contrary, Barth writes that: No religion is true. It can only become true, i.e., according to that which it purports to be and for which it is upheld. And it can become true only in the way in which man is justified, from without; i.e., not of its own nature and being, but only in virtue of reckoning and adopting and separating which are foreign to its own nature and being, which are quite inconceivable from its own standpoints, which come to it quite apart from any qualifications or merits.19

For Barth, this means that religion, which necessarily contains a human element, cannot be salvific because humanity cannot save itself.20 Salvation comes from God and God alone. It is through God’s grace and self-revelation in Jesus Christ that salvation is possible, not through any particular human religion, even Christianity. However, because it is Christianity, though flawed as a religion, which proclaims the truth of God incarnate, Christianity (and Christianity alone) is the vehicle of salvation. For Barth, “The revelation of God is actually the presence of God and therefore the hiddenness of God in the world of human religion.”21 It is because Christianity proclaims the revelation of God through Jesus Christ that God’s revelation “can and must also be regarded as ‘Christianity,’ and therefore as religion, and therefore as man’s reality and possibility.”22 This form of Barthian exclusivism goes beyond a Cyprian exclusivism and argues for a broader revelatory exclusivism.

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Like all exclusivism, however, this Barthian form maintains that Jesus Christ is the absolute particular way of salvation, restricting any other particular paths. On both ends of the exclusivist spectrum (whether rooted in the institutional Church or a revelation beyond religion itself), we see evidence of the claim made by Karl Rahner who said, “No other religion—not even Islam—maintains so absolutely that it is the religion, the one and only valid revelation of the one living God, as does the Christian religion.”23 It is for this reason, Rahner argues, that religious pluralism is perceived as a great threat to Christianity. Alternative claims to truth challenge the logic and absolute superiority of the Christian claims. The development of inclusivism was a contemporary24 attempt to identify value within traditions different from one’s own, while retaining the uniqueness (and perhaps superiority) of one’s own tradition.25 One of the most wellknown advocates for the inclusivist position is Roman Catholic theologian Karl Rahner. Karl Rahner’s “Anonymous Christianity” was a groundbreaking development in Catholic theology and in the twentieth-century discourse on Christian “theologies of religions.” As technology advanced, new developments in transportation and communication added to an immigrating world. The idea that there are people with religious beliefs and practices quite different from one’s own (i.e., religious diversity) became less theoretical and more representative of lived reality. It was clear that we live in a diverse world, but could we do so together? Rahner sought to provide a new way of thinking about non-Christian religions from a Catholic perspective. It is important to note that Rahner wasn’t writing for Buddhists, Hindus, Muslims, and so on. He was writing for Catholics about non-Christians. While the traditional stance had been (“there is no salvation outside the church”), Rahner boldly uses Catholic theological values to argue that salvation is possible (though not necessarily ensured) outside of the Church proper. His argument develops in three steps: 1. God is love. This is a core biblical principle. But for Rahner, this implied that God loves everyone—not just Christians. However, this can’t be a theoretical love. As noted in Jn 3:16, “For God so loved the world, that he gave his one and only son.” God’s love is directly related to God’s saving grace and the redemptive act of Christ. Therefore, if God loves everyone, God must love everyone in this way—that he gave his one and only son for everyone. God’s love is a salvific love. 2. God is active in the religions. From the foundation of God’s inclusive love, Rahner concludes that God is actively present in other religions (not just in Christianity). God is actively offering his saving grace in and

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through other religions. This is, perhaps, where many Christians resist Rahner’s perspective; for Rahner argues that the Buddhist, for example, can be saved in and through Buddhism (not despite it). In other words, salvation is possible outside the church, and through non-Christian means. This is different than simply affirming, as many before him have, that non-Christians who are ignorant of Christ can be saved because God will judge them by the light they have (i.e., they are saved because they didn’t know any better). This is not Rahner’s position. Instead, because God is love, and God is actively present in all religions, God’s saving love is actively present in non-Christian religions. The same salvific love found in Christianity is also present in Buddhism, Hinduism, and other religions as well. Other religions can be salvific in their own right. However, this is not to say that Hinduism is salvific because of anything uniquely Hindu separate from Christ. At this point, Rahner take a step back from what seemed like a step toward pluralism, qualifying his position within his Christian context. 3. All grace is Christ’s grace. There are not multiple gods providing salvation in the various religions. There is one God (the God presented in Christianity), the God that created the whole world, that loves the whole world, and that is active in non-Christian religions. The grace that is offered in these non-Christian religions is the grace of Christ (which is directly tied into Rahner’s first two claims about God’s love—exemplified in Christ). In this way, Buddhists may be saved in and through Buddhism, but only insofar as Buddhism reflects and contains certain salvific elements consistent with Christianity. In other words, if a Buddhist is saved by Buddhism, it’s because of the similarities between Buddhism and Christianity, not because of the differences. It is still the God and Christ of Christianity that is doing the saving. As such, those Buddhists are actually Christians (because they are responding and oriented to the love of Christ), even if they don’t realize it—they are Anonymous Christians. As Rahner states, “In the acceptance of himself man is accepting Christ as the absolute perfection and guarantee of his own anonymous movement towards God by grace, and the acceptance of this belief is again not an act of man alone but the work of God’s grace which is the grace of Christ.”26 A Buddhist is not saved by any truth that is found in Buddhism autonomously, but by the truth of Jesus Christ that has been instilled in Buddhism anonymously. Therefore, a Buddhist is only saved insofar they are a Buddhist-Christian—albeit anonymously. In other words, a Buddhist is not saved by some unique truth particular to Buddhism, because all saving truth in Buddhism is necessarily Christian truth, since “all that is true anywhere in the world belongs to us, the Christians.”27

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This subtle (or not so subtle) claiming that Buddhists, for example, are really Anonymous Christians is a means of including non-Christians into the plan of salvation. To be fair to Rahner and his cultural-historical context, this was a huge step toward respecting non-Christians. Rather than having to convert non-Christians, dialogue becomes the preferred means of interaction: because the Christian has something to learn from the Hindu just as the Hindu has something to learn from the Christian—for God is manifest in both. No doubt there seems a tension between Rahner’s claim that a Buddhist can be saved in and through Buddhism as such, and his claim that the Buddhist is saved because she is an “Anonymous Christian.” One of the critiques of Rahner’s inclusivism is that it does violence to religious difference by imperialistically imposing Christian notions of God, Christ, salvation, grace, and so on on non-Christian traditions which may be working with different frameworks. Put another way, why are Buddhists Anonymous Christians? Why aren’t Christians anonymous Buddhists? That Christianity is given some level of supremacy over-against non-Christian traditions fails to appreciate the uniqueness that each religion possesses, in favor of uplifting the uniqueness of Christianity. What gives Christianity the right to subsume other religions, identifying the religious other as “one of us,” against their will? This criticism is well articulated by Hans Kung who argues that “what looks like tolerance proves in practice to be a kind of conquest by embracing, a cooptation by admission of validity, an integration through relativization and loss of identity. . . . Rahner’s theory of the ‘anonymous Christian’ is in the final analysis still dependent on a (Christian) standpoint of superiority that sets up one’s own religion as the a priori true one.”28 John Hick puts it this way, “It is as easy, and as arbitrary, to label devout Christians as anonymous Muslims, or anonymous Hindus, as to label devout Hindus or Muslims as anonymous Christians.”29 By placing Christianity in the seat of superiority above all other religions, by maintaining the particularities of Christianity as absolute truth and the only valid means of salvation, Christian inclusivism—at the end of the day—appears to be a form of exclusivism in disguise. Whereas inclusivism may not go as far as to say that “people are not saved apart from explicit faith in Jesus Christ,”30 inclusivism inevitably falls prey to the same attitude of religious superiority insofar as it is Christian particularity which is salvifically present in other religions. To claim that salvation is possible for non-Christians is, in a sense, a misrepresentation of inclusivism. Rather, salvation is possible for Christians only—with an admission that expands the definition of “Christian” to include those who are unaware of their status as such. In short, all are saved by Christ, whether we are aware of it or not. Therefore, Buddhists are not saved through enlightenment, and

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Muslims do not enter paradise because their good deeds outweigh the bad. Rather, all that are saved are saved only by Christian means: Jesus Christ. Advocates of pluralism suggest that this particularism cripples inclusivism in the same way it does exclusivism. In fact, in some ways, inclusivism does more violence to other religions than exclusivism. Whereas the exclusivist rejects the religious other, deeming other paths as false and inferior; the inclusivist seeks to actively establish dominance over the other by subsuming the other. In this way, inclusivism becomes a form of intellectual imperialism. Not only does the inclusivist claim superiority (like the exclusivist), but they violate the other’s position, removing all room for otherness. On the other hand, particularly when considering Rahner’s position in context, the “Anonymous Christian” proposal was never intended this to be a universal theory for people to understand religious difference. It was intended to be a Catholic theology of other religions—a way for Catholics specifically (perhaps Christians generally) to embrace non-Christian traditions in ways rarely done before. With this in mind, a generous reading of Rahner would not fault him for “imperialism” since he is speaking as a Christian to other Christians. His Anonymous Christianity demonstrates, on Christian principles from a Christian perspective, that non-Christian religions can be valuable in their own right, and even salvifically so. Pluralism, on the other hand, arose as an attempt to reconcile religious differences in a way that affirms seemingly incompatible traditions as true, salvific, or efficacious.31 In other words, pluralism seeks to overcome the absolutism found in dominant exclusivism and inclusivism, arguing that such attitudes toward religious differences are inherently immoral, imply undue arrogance, and have been the root of much violence in the name of religion. The pluralistic position is, as Paul Knitter notes, “a move away from insistence on the superiority or finality of Christ and Christianity toward a recognition of the independent validity of other ways.”32 Most generally, Knitter explains, “a pluralistic model represents a new turn—what might be called a ‘paradigm shift’—in the efforts of Christian theologians, both past and present, to understand the world of other religions and Christianity’s place in that world.”33 In this way, pluralism is an attempt to “move beyond the two general models that have dominated Christian attitudes toward other religions up to the present: the “conservative” exclusivist approach, which finds salvation only in Christ and little, if any, value elsewhere; and the “liberal” inclusivist attitude, which recognizes the salvific richness of other faiths but then views this richness as the result of Christ’s redemptive work and as having to be fulfilled in Christ.”34 Since the coming chapters will deal with pluralism in greater depth, I will say no more here.

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ALTERNATIVE TYPOLOGIES While the threefold typology (exclusivism, inclusivism, and pluralism) has been the dominant way of categorizing responses to religious diversity and theologies of religion, there are those who offer alternative categorization schemas. Among them is Gavin D’Costa. In his book, Christianity and the World Religions, D’Costa argues that while “the [threefold] typology has been useful, like a raft crossing a river, to get to where we are now,”35 the schema is extremely problematic for moving forward. D’Costa remarks that the threefold typology is too imprecise with respect to the question of salvation. He states, We find that Barth, Rahner, and Hick, traditionally classified as exclusivist, inclusivist, and pluralist respectively, can all be regarded as holding forms of universalism. Hick and Barth hold universalism as a certainty rather than a hope, as does Rahner. This means that all hold virtually similar views about the outcome of salvation for the world, but in the threefold typology they are categorized in very different ways. . . . What we find is that at a certain point on the inclusivist spectrum the distinction between inclusivist and exclusivist becomes vague or blurred. Similarly, at the other end of the inclusivist spectrum, it is difficult to distinguish the difference between pluralism and inclusivism, which is what causes Dupuis to call himself an inclusivist-pluralist, holding to Christ’s salvific efficacy in all cases, but allowing other religions to be substitutive salvific means.36

In light of these gradations and the apparent difficulty of having precise categories, D’Costa proposes a “seven-graded classification on the precise question of how a person is saved.”37 D’Costa’s sevenfold categorizations include (1) trinity-centered, (2) Christ-centered, (3) Spirit-centered, (4) church-centered, (5) theocentric, (6) reality-centered, and (7) ethics-centered. While a full analysis of D’Costa’s alternative typology is not necessary, there are several items worth noting. True enough, seven categories can provide greater precision than three categories. However, when one considers that even these seven are subject to gradations, it could be argued that precision comes at the cost of simplicity. More importantly, however, this sevenfold typology reflects different perspectives on “how” one is saved, whereas the threefold typology reflects different perspectives toward conflicting truth claims and the availability of salvation. In other words, D’Costa’s model is such that one could apply the threefold typology to it. Meaning, whether one affirms a trinity, Christ, Spirit, church, or other centered criteria for salvation, one may do so with an attitude of exclusion, absolutism, and particularism (i.e., the trinity-centered way is the only way), or one may do so with an

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inclusive attitude (i.e., each of the seven centers are valid only insofar as they imply each other), or one may do so with a pluralistic attitude (i.e., the seven distinct centered approaches are distinct yet more or less equally valid). As such, D’Costa’s alternative typology may help clarify attitudes toward salvation (understood as a distinctly Christian concern), but it gets us no closer to clarifying perspectives on truth and difference in the context of religious diversity. Despite the limitations of D’Costa’s alternative typology, his critiques of the threefold approach are quite useful. One such critique is that the terminology of the threefold paradigm “conceals the fact that all the different positions are exclusive in a very proper technical sense.”38 D’Costa continues, “The pluralisms of Hick and Knitter are indebted to agnostic liberalism, thus imposing upon all religions an exclusive hurdle which they must conform to if they are to grow up from their parochial adolescence. Unwittingly, Hick and Knitter stifle real religious differences, which are now encoded within their exclusive narrative about how things should be to be truthful to reality, a narrative that stops religions pursuing their own agendas in their own terms. They are reality-centered and ethics-centered exclusivists.” This is quite similar to Alvin Plantinga’s critique of the pluralist position. In his essay “Pluralism: A Defense of Religious Exclusivism,”39 Plantinga critiques religious pluralism by way of refuting the common pluralistic objections to exclusivism, namely moral and epistemic objections. Plantinga concludes that “exclusivism need not involve either epistemic or moral failure and that furthermore something like it [exclusivism] is wholly unavoidable, given our human condition.”40 For Plantinga, any time someone actively posits or refuses to posit any belief, that person is de facto an exclusivist, since classical logic requires that any affirmation implies a rejection of its contradictory. Plantinga writes, It must be conceded immediately that if she [the exclusivist] believes (1) or (2),41 then she must also believe that those who believe something incompatible with them [1 or 2] are mistaken and believe what is false. That’s no more than simple logic. Furthermore, she must also believe that those who do not believe as she does—those who believe neither (1) nor (2), whether or not they believe their negations—fail to believe something that is true, deep, and important, and that she does believe. She must therefore see herself as privileged with respect to those others—those others of both kinds.42

Here, we see that Plantinga’s use of exclusivism applies not only to active or positive belief (e.g., I believe in xyz), but even to those who wish to abstain from belief altogether (e.g., I don’t believe in xyz or the negation of xyz). Plantinga contends that the one who abstains from belief is just as guilty of

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exclusivism as the one who actively posits a belief writing, “I [the exclusivist and the abstainer] am implicitly saying that my attitude is the superior one; I think my course of action here is the right one and yours somehow wrong, inadequate, improper, in the circumstances at best second-rate.”43 In the case of the abstainer, one implicitly contends that abstaining is superior to positing belief. Plantinga concludes, therefore, that since exclusivism (understood as the affirmation and subsequent rejection of any position) is wholly unavoidable, it should not be considered an epistemic or moral failure. While it is not necessary to provide a detailed analysis of Plantinga’s argument at this time, suffice to say (as both D’Costa and Plantinga seem to be saying) that to hold a position entails—by logical necessity—the rejection of its opposite, which can be articulated as the principle of the excluded middle (it must be the case that either p or ~p) and the principle of noncontradiction (it cannot be both p & ~p). As such, the threefold typology—exclusivism, inclusivism, pluralism—would collapse into inevitable exclusivism. I will address this critique throughout the remainder of this book, including discourse on paradox, absolute relativity, and other ways that demonstrate how a pluralistic position may in fact be an exception to this excluded middle— noncontradiction perspective. Raimon Panikkar names two additional alternatives to the threefold typology—“parallelism” and “interpenetration.” With respect to the parallelism model, Panikkar writes: If your religion appears far from being perfect and yet it represents for you a symbol of the right path and a similar conviction seems to be the case for others, if you can neither dismiss the religious claim of the other nor assimilate it completely into your tradition, a plausible alternative is to assume that all are different creeds, which, in spite of meanderings and crossings, actually run parallel, to meet only in the ultimate, in the eschaton, at the very end of the human pilgrimage. Religions would then be parallel paths and our most urgent duty would be not to interfere with others, not to convert them or even to borrow from them, but to deepen our own respective traditions so that we may meet at the end and in the depths of our own traditions.44

However, this parallelism perspective seems to overlook the historical development and interplay of many religious traditions and communities. What may be treated as distinct parallel traditions are in actuality, cross-fertilized, deeply interconnected, ways of being religious. Christianity did not arise in a vacuum apart from Judaism. Islam did not arise in a vacuum apart from the influences and context of Christianity. Buddhism did not emerge wholly unrelated to Hinduism. It is in this spirit that Max Müller states, “He who knows one [religion], knows none.”45

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In response to the interpenetration model, Panikkar writes, We begin to realize that our neighbor’s religion not only challenges and may even enrich our own, but that ultimately the very differences that separate us are somewhat potentially within the world of my own religious convictions. We begin to accept that the other religion may complement mine, and we may even entertain the ideas that in some particular cases it may well supplement some of my beliefs, provided that my religiousness remains an undivided whole. . . . It looks as if we are today all intertwined and that without these particular religious links my own religion would be incomprehensible for me and even impossible. . . . Religions do not exist in isolation but over against each other.46

Panikkar continues: In a word, the relation between religions is neither of the type of exclusivism (only mine), or inclusivism (the mine embraces all the others), or parallelism (we are running independently toward the same goal), but one of a sui generis perichoresis or cirumincessio, that is, of mutual interpenetration without the loss of the proper peculiarities of each religiousness.47

However, just as comparative philosophers and theologians must be careful not to impose foreign concepts onto traditions, or appropriate unique concepts arising from particular traditions, this interpenetration perspective runs the risk of imposing categorical schemas from one religion onto the others; to pair heaven and nirvāṇa, karma and providence, salvation and mokṣa, resulting in a distortion of each of these doctrines and subsequently their traditions. While it is certainly true that, like cultures, no religion is an island existing independent from all others; the interpenetrator should be careful not to assume that all aspects of every religion are essentially connected. Whether one prefers the traditional threefold typology or one of many alternative approaches, the core questions remain the same—can religious differences be reconciled? How are we to make sense of conflicting religious truth claims? What would such reconciliation imply for matters of truth, logic, and contradictions? I will now explore these questions through the lens of pluralistic responses to religious diversity. PLURALISM: BETWEEN RELATIVISM AND ABSOLUTISM While it is important to understand the background and context of the pluralism discourse, ultimately it is irrelevant whether one adheres to the threefold typology or some alternative. This background simply serves to illuminate

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and locate the pluralism position and the affiliated problems with the logical foundations. Another means of understanding the field is on the spectrum of absolutism and relativism. Absolutism, put simply, is the view that there is a universal, absolute, objective ground for adjudicating between diverse perspectives. Now, whether we have epistemic access to such a ground is an open question of epistemology. But that there is such a ground, is the assertion of absolutism. Without some universal standard, some absolutists worry that rationality, morality, and truth will dissolve into arbitrariness, anarchism, or nihilism. “With no absolute standards, we would have no worthwhile goal of inquiry. By ruling out absolute truth, for example, we rule out the possibility of progress in knowledge. Without absolute standards, we could not distinguish between unenlightened and enlightened, backward from advanced, true from false, moral from immoral, beautiful from ugly.”48 For some, the universality of any absolute comes from the unity of the universe, our world, the laws of nature, logic, and rationality. While it can be difficult to identify the origins of the grounds for absolutism, that we often make universal claims is apparent. To say five is always more than four, right is always opposite of left, and death is a necessary conclusion to life, is to express statements with a universal or absolute quality—for everyone, anywhere, at any time. No doubt the strength of absolutism is its appeal to seemingly universal experiences. How many people do you know that never died? Any immortal friends that have been around for thousands of years? Without “the Highlander” to provide an example to the contrary, claims regarding the universal nature of death appear absolute. Another argument in support of absolutism is assumed universality of absolutist thinking. For example, absolutists “might argue that relativists cannot even assert relativism without first transcending it. To affirm that truth, goodness, or beauty are frame-relative, for example, we must ‘rise above’ frame-relativity altogether. In this way an absolutist might argue that relativism actually presupposes absolutism.”49 Put another way, even the relativists claim “everything is relative” appears itself to be a universal claim—one that presupposes absolutism. As such, many absolutists conclude that absolutism is an essential element of knowledge, coherent speech, and intelligibility. That’s not to say that nothing is relative. On the contrary, that some things are relative is hardly contested. Is Tom Cruise short? Relative to Shaquille O’Neil, yes. Relative to my friend’s two-year-old daughter, no. Is a new iPhone expensive? Relative to a bag of Skittles, yes. Relative to a house, probably not. Cheap and expensive, hot and cold, big and small, up and down, left and right, east and west, bitter and sweet—these are all relative terms. Typically, the relativity of such things raises no alarms. But what about morality? Is abortion wrong? Is the death penalty wrong? Is polygamy

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wrong? Suggesting that such things are (like size) relative, tends to be much more controversial. Yet, few things are more controversial (or deemed threatening) than the idea that “truth” is somehow relative. Whether mathematical truths, logical truths, scientific truths, or even metaphysical truths; that such truths are relative to frames of reference is often seen as problematic. In everyday use, “truth” isn’t relative or subjective. It’s not a matter of preference or opinion. It’s the way things are—it is the Truth. Certainly, in such matters, the absolutist perspective dominates the discourse. And absolutists tend to think that to say “that’s true” means it is true for everyone and anyone.50 Just as the world seems to be constitutive of both one and many, of both unity and diversity, it seems our world (and the nature of truth) is also constitutive of both universal and particular, both absolute and relative. An attitude of absolutism is often attributed to the position of religious exclusivism. As John Hick notes, “Until fairly recently it was a virtually universal Christian assumption, an implicit dogma with almost creedal status, that Christ/the Christian gospel/Christianity is ‘absolute’, ‘unique’, ‘final’, ‘normative’, ‘ultimate’—decisively superior to all other saviors, gospels, religions.”51 As discussed above, the term exclusivism is most commonly used to denote a position which maintains “that its own central affirmations are true, and that if the claims of another religion appear to be incompatible with its own claims, the former are to be rejected as false.”52 The idea that one’s own central religious affirmations are true in a universal, singular, absolute, unique, final, normative, and ultimate sense, suggests an absolutist attitude toward one’s own religion.53 It is a short road from, “my religion is the one true religion,” to “my religion is superior to your religion,” to “I am superior to you because I believe the true religion.” A central critique of religious absolutism is that an attitude of superiority often leads (as has been historically demonstrated) to an oppressive imperialism, whereby one seeks to dominate those considered inferior. As John Hick explains, “Christian absolutism, in collaboration with acquisitive and violent human nature, has done much to poison the relationships between the Christian minority and the non-Christian majority of the world’s population by sanctifying exploitation and oppression on a gigantic scale.”54 Stated another way, Hick remarks, “It is, I think, clear that in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries the conviction of the decisive superiority of Christianity infused with imperial expansion of the West with a powerful moral impetus and an effective religious validation without which the enterprise might well not have been psychologically viable.”55 One might classify this as the critique of moral failure, “For the moral validation of the imperial enterprise rested upon the conviction that it was a great civilizing and uplifting mission, one of whose task was to draw the unfortunate heathen up into the higher, indeed highest, religion of Christianity. Accordingly, the gospel

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played a vital role in the self-justification of Western imperialism.”56 Likewise, Marjorie Hewitt Suchocki connects religious exclusivism and absolutist attitudes to sexism, saying “Absolutizing one religion, such that it becomes normative for all others, is a dynamic with clear parallels to sexism, whereby one gender is established as the norm for human existence. Therefore, the critiques of sexism can be extended as a critique of religious imperialism.”57 Relativism goes the other direction. As Michael Krausz notes, “Relativism is characteristically defined as the dual thesis that (1) truth, goodness, or beauty, for example, are relative—relative to some frame of reference; and (2) non-absolute standards to adjudicate between competing reference frames exist.”58 Krausz explains more fully, stating: “Relativists hold that several incompatible non-converging reference frames, in terms of which we perceive and understand the world, could exist. At the boundaries of pertinent reference frames, where grounds for evaluation unique to those frames exhaust themselves, we have no absolutists way to adjudicate between contending frames. No absolute frame-neutral grounds for adjudicating between frames of reference exist.”59 Whereas basic absolutism affirms universals that apply to all people in all contexts, basic relativism rejects such universality and affirms that everything is contingent, contextual, and frame relative. Relativism with respect to truth is often criticized as leading to moral relativism by which there is no objective right or wrong. As such, one must acknowledge that Hitler and Gandhi are moral equivalents. In this way, the greatest critique of relativism is our own intuition and experience. For, even if one can philosophically justify relativism, something “feels” amiss. Yet, as the relativist cries out, “We can never be objective. We are each clouded by an environment that prejudices us, by past experiences that have shaped us, and by fixed ideas about the world that seem to make sense in our limited minds.”60 Such limitations are recognized out of the sheer fact of diversity and disagreement. Yet, as Krausz notes, “Relativism is not the same as the claim of diversity. Relativism does begin with the observation of the diversity of beliefs and practices embedded in different cultures, for example. It claims further that truth or rightness does not extend beyond the reach of pertinent reference frames.”61 Relativism is more than a mere recognition of diversity. The fact of diversity is not lost on the absolutist. As Krausz notes, “the diversity of beliefs and practices is also compatible with absolutism. Absolutists seek to evaluate or rank diverse beliefs and practices embedded in different cultures according to absolutist standards.”62 Absolutism and relativism are two extremes in the face of diverse truth claims. So where does pluralism fit it? Pluralism is best understood as standing in the tension between absolutism and relativism, and the task of avoiding the problems of both relativism and absolutism (via some middle ground) is

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one of the most significant challenges facing the pluralistic position. According to Jeffery D. Long, The most serious logical problem facing religious pluralism, however, is probably that of exclusionary criteria. If many, but not all, religions are true—as current forms of religious pluralism maintain—then how does one determine which ones? If one does not try to make a distinction between true and false religions, then one runs the risk of including among the “valid and effective forms of human awareness of and response to the Eternal One” such options as Nazism—which religious pluralists universally find morally reprehensible—and of thereby endorsing these options as valid. This is the problem of relativism.63

As Long accurately asserts, exclusionary criteria seem necessary to avoid relativism. Without such criteria, there is no way to distinguish between truth and falsity, between moral and immoral. Given that pluralism wishes to avoid relativism, exclusionary criteria are necessary. The problem with absolutism is the difficulty of identifying absolutists standards by which diverse beliefs can be ranked. How do we establish an exclusionary criteria? If absolutist standards exist, how do we have access to these standards in a non-particular, nonrelative way? There is also the problem of regress. Does an absolute standard need to be used to evaluate the absolute standard used to rank the diverse beliefs? Shouldn’t an absolute standard be required for evaluating the absolute standard used to evaluate the absolute standard, ad infinitum? The problem of relativism for truth claims is that one loses the ability to distinguish between true and false claims. Because no truths are absolute and universal, there is no way to distinguish between true and false claims, which entails that everything is true—and if everything is true then contradictions are true. And, as demonstrated in chapter 1, Aristotle argued that if contradictories are both true at the same time in the same sense, we lose the capacity for meaningful thought and speech. If it is as true to say that I am married as to say I am a bachelor, then unicorns exist, Ross Pero is president of the United States, and money grows on trees. By embracing contradictions, true and false lose all meaning.64 If Jesus is divine and Jesus is not divine (D & ~D) then it follows that the Bible is a pineapple—a nonsensical conclusion. Additionally, there is something intuitively amiss to say that feeding the poor is equally good to raping the poor—a conclusion that basic relativism would commit us to. To avoid justifying genocide, rape, and murder as appropriate religious practices grounded in religious truths, the pluralist must set boundaries. The necessity of boundary settings in avoiding relativism is paralleled in discussions regarding tolerance. Jürgen Habermas identifies a major problem with the concept and practice of tolerance, which he calls a paradox.

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The problem is, “that each act of toleration must circumscribe the range of behaviour everybody must accept, thereby drawing a line for what cannot be tolerated. . . . And as long as this line is drawn in an authoritarian manner, that is, unilaterally, the stigma of arbitrary exclusion remains inscribed in toleration.”65 In responding to Habermas, Lasse Thomassen writes, “There is no tolerance without intolerance; indeed, in some cases, intolerance is what makes tolerance possible.”66 Tolerance must have limits. Without limits, tolerance embraces bigotry, exclusion, racism, and all forms of intolerance. At minimum, it seems tolerance requires being intolerant of intolerance. If tolerance has no limits, then it stands for nothing. Likewise, religious pluralism must have limits. Without boundaries, pluralism becomes relativism and meaningful discourse on religion and truth is lost. At the very least, as William Connolly contends, “pluralists [must] set limits to tolerance to ensure that an exclusionary unitarian movement does not take over an entire regime.”67 He later writes, “The limit point [of tolerance] is reached when pluralism itself is threatened by powerful unitarian forces that demand the end of pluralism in the name of defeating ‘relativism,’ ‘nihilism,’ or ‘rootlessness.’”68 But, if this is true of pluralism, then how is pluralism any different than exclusivism? Jeffery D. Long articulates the problem with avoiding relativism being that “one is setting up a particular standard by which the truth or falsity of religious claims is to be judged—the very phenomenon of intellectual violence and imperialism against which this position is generally intended to protest.”69 If boundary setting is a requirement for avoiding relativism, but absolutism and imperialism are constituted by creating boundaries and standards to judge the validity, truth, or value of religions, how are pluralists to avoid absolutism? For this reason Anne Vallely writes, “It has been argued that a truly pluralist approach is a logical impossibility—that some criteria of truth are essential to all worldviews. Pluralism, therefore, becomes either a form of moral relativism, or another form of religious exclusivism.”70 Exclusionary criteria is necessary to avoid relativism, yet by adopting exclusionary criteria, one runs the risk of absolutism. The challenge is this: How do pluralists avoid absolutism while setting absolute boundaries (the exclusionary criteria necessary to avoid relativism), and simultaneously avoid relativism while relativizing the absolute claims of the various religions (the step necessary to avoid absolutism)? How then does the religious pluralist walk the line between both extremes? How does one avoid both relativism and absolutism and still hold together seemingly conflicting truth claims and value systems? Is pluralism logically impossible, or do we need a new logic? Is the paradox of pluralism (like the paradox of tolerance) problematic, or does it reflect the very structure of reality itself— consisting of both unity and diversity, continuity and change, universals and

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particulars, the absolute and relative? To walk such a line is no minor task, but it is the central task of theories of religious pluralism. Perhaps a middle way between absolutism and relativism requires a different set of assumptions—a different rule book. Perhaps James Robinson was on to something when he argued that “religious truth can only be attained by transcending the limitations of an exclusive, either/or perspective. ‘[T]ruth may come from refusing this either-or and accepting that the best working model for reality may be elliptical or bi-polar, or indeed multi-polar.’”71 This above discussion regarding the threefold typology (exclusivism, inclusivism, pluralism), of alternative typologies, and a deeper discussion of the nature of pluralism—standing between absolutism and relativism— serves as framework for understanding the category of religious pluralism. In chapter 3, I will explicate religious pluralism even further by surveying three major thinkers in the field of religious pluralism: John Hick, John Cobb, and Raimon Panikkar. Recognizing the limits of these classical giants of pluralism will set the stage for Part II and the search for alternative philosophical resources to ground a deeper theory of religious pluralism. NOTES 1. In recent years, Western scholars have criticized this three-category approach— either rejecting these categories altogether, or by introducing additional categories to capture nuanced alternatives. Nevertheless, since the three-model typology is dominant, and I wish to incorporate Jainism in the Western discourse on pluralism, I will adopt these traditional categories. 2. Netland, Dissonant Voices, 10. 3. Cobb, Beyond Dialogue, vii. 4. Netland, Dissonant Voices, 34. 5. Paul Tillich, Christianity and the Encounter of the World Religions (New York: Columbia University Press, 1963), 35, 44. 6. Clark Pinnock and John Sanders have invented this term for those who will not definitively assert that salvation is available outside special revelation. See Clark Pinnock, A Wideness in God’s Mercy: The Finality of Jesus Christ in a World of Religions (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 1992), 14–15; and John Sanders, No Other Name: An Investigation into the Destiny of the Unevangelized (Grand Rapids, MI: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Co., 1992), 37. 7. Dennis Ockholm and Timothy Phillips, eds. Four Views on Salvation (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 1995), 17. 8. Douglas Geivett and Gary Phillips, “The Particularist View: An Evidentialist Approach,” in Four Views on Salvation, edited by Dennis Ockholm and Timothy Phillips (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 1995), 214. 9. Ockholm and Phillips, Four Views on Salvation, 16. 10. Netland, Dissonant Voices, 35.

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11. Netland, Dissonant Voices, 35. 12. Geivett and Phillips, “The Particularist View: An Evidentialist Approach,” 214. 13. Irenaeus, “Against Heresy,” in The Ante-Nicene Fathers 1, edited by Alexander Roberts and James Donaldson (Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans Publishing, 1979), 458. 14. Cyprian, “On Works and Alms,” in The Ante-Nicene Fathers 5, edited by Alexander Roberts and James Donaldson (Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans Publishing, 1978), 476–484. 15. Theodosius I, “Edict,” in A Source Book for Ancient Church History: From the Apostolic Age to the Close of the Conciliar Period, edited by Joseph Cullen Ayer, Jr. (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1948), 367–368. 16. Kenneth Scott Latourette, A History of Christianity, vol. 1 (Peabody, MA: Prince Press, 1997), 163. 17. Tillich, Christianity and the Encounter of the World Religions, 35. 18. Tillich, Christianity and the Encounter of the World Religions, 45. 19. Karl Barth, “The Revelation of God as the Abolition of Religion,” in Church Dogmatics vol. 1, translated by G.T. Thomson and Harold Knight (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1956), 325–326. 20. There should be a distinction made between the earlier Barth and the later Barth. While the early Barth seemed to argue revelation in religion, the later Barth rearticulated his position as revelation against religion. My use of Barth is intentionally limited to the early Barth and his work entitled “The Revelation of God as the Abolition of Religion,” since I am more concerned with an example of a type of thinking about religious revelation and difference, than an accurate reading of Barth. That said, I do not believe that this distinction changes the ultimate core of Barth’s position which is constant throughout his life, being, Jesus Christ is the sole revelation of God and is the only means to salvation. 21. Barth, “The Revelation of God as the Abolition of Religion,” 282. 22. Barth, “The Revelation of God as the Abolition of Religion,” 283. 23. Karl Rahner, Theological Investigations, vol. 5, translated by Karl-H. Kruger (New York: The Seabury Press, 1966), 116. 24. While inclusivism, in the sense of the threefold typology, is a contemporary phenomenon, I am fully aware that inclusive-type attitudes have existed throughout Christian (and non-Christian) history. See Karkkainen, An Introduction to the Theology of Religions for a good demonstration of the Christian attitudes toward other religions throughout history. 25. The classic example of inclusivism is Karl Rahner’s “Anonymous Christian” proposal. See Knitter, Introducing Theologies of Religions, 63–108 for a generous discussion on this. 26. Karl Rahner, Theological Investigations, vol. 6, translated by Karl-H and Boniface Kruger (New York: The Seabury Press, 1974), 394. 27. Tillich, Christianity and the Encounter of the World Religions, 35. 28. Hans Kung, “Is There One True Religion?” in Christianity and Other Religions, edited by John Hick and Brian Hebblethwaite (Oxford: Oneworld, 2001), 126.

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29. John Hick, God Has Many Names (Philadelphia, PA: Westminster Press, 1980), 27. 30. Geivett and Phillips, “The Particularist View: An Evidentialist Approach,” 214. 31. See D’Costa, Christianity and World Religions; and Hick & Knitter, The Myth of Christian Uniqueness, for examples of the pluralists position. 32. Knitter, Myth of Christian Uniqueness, viii. 33. Knitter, Myth of Christian Uniqueness, vii. 34. Knitter, Myth of Christian Uniqueness, viii. 35. D’Costa, Christianity and the World Religions, 34. 36. D’Costa, Christianity and the World Religions, 34. 37. D’Costa, Christianity and the World Religions, 34. 38. D’Costa, Christianity and the World Religions, 35. 39. Alvin Plantinga, “Pluralism: A Defense of Religious Exclusivism,” in The Rationality of Belief and the Plurality of Faith, edited by Thomas D. Senor (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1995), 191–215. 40. Plantinga, “Pluralism,” 195. 41. (1) and (2) refer to the propositions Plantinga identifies as central to basic Christian belief. “(1) The world was created by God, an almighty, all-knowing, and perfectly good personal being (one that holds beliefs; has aims, plans, and intentions; and can act to accomplish these aims). (2) Human beings require salvation, and God has provided a unique way of salvation through the incarnation, life, sacrificial death, and resurrection of his divine son.” Plantinga, “Pluralism,” 192. 42. Plantinga, “Pluralism,” 197. 43. Plantinga, “Pluralism,” 199. 44. Raimon Panikkar, The Intra-Religious Dialogue (New Jersey: Paulist Press, 1999), 7–8. 45. Max Müller, Introduction to the Science of Religion, Four Lectures Delivered at the Royal Institute in February and May 1870 (Longmans Green and Co, 1882), 13. 46. Panikkar, The Intra-Religious Dialogue, 9. 47. Panikkar, The Intra-Religious Dialogue, 9. 48. Michael, Krausz, ed. Relativism: A Contemporary Anthology (New York: Columbia University Press, 2010) 14. 49. Krausz, Relativism, 15. 50. Alan Ryan, “Forward,” in Relativism: A Contemporary Anthology, edited by Krausz Michael (New York: Columbia University Press, 2010). 51. John Hick, “The Non-Absoluteness of Christianity,” in The Myth of Christian Uniqueness: Toward a Pluralistic Theology of Religions, edited by John Hick and Paul Knitter, (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1987), 16. 52. Netland, Dissonant Voices, 35. 53. Despite the fact that many religious thinkers have adopted an absolutist view regarding their own beliefs, Paul Tillich reminds us that the nature of “religion”—as dynamic and context dependent—is such that, “Absolute religion is a ‘square circle.’ Whenever Christianity has become religion, it a priori has lost its absoluteness.” (See What is Religion?, 127.)

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54. Hick, “The Non-Absoluteness of Christianity,” 17. 55. Hick, “The Non-Absoluteness of Christianity,” 20. 56. Hick, “The Non-Absoluteness of Christianity,” 19. 57. Marjorie Suchocki, “In Search of Justice: Religious Pluralism from a Feminist Perspective,” in The Myth of Christian Uniqueness: Toward a Pluralistic Theology of Religions, edited by John Hick and Paul Knitter (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1987), 150. 58. Krausz, Relativism, 3. 59. Krausz, Relativism, 14. 60. Kusum Jain, “Anekānta—Syāt—Saptabhangi,” In 7th International Summer School for Jain Studies—Study Notes, Vol. 4 (2011): 298–301. 61. Krausz, Relativism, 17. 62. Krausz, Relativism, 17. 63. Long, Plurality and Relativity, 105. 64. While this view regarding logical explosion is certainly the dominant perspective, I will challenge/nuance this argument in chapters to come. 65. Jürgen Habermas, “Religious Tolerance—The Pacemaker for Cultural Rights,” in The Derrida-Habermas Reader, edited by Lasse Thomassen (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2006), 197. 66. Lasse Thomassen, “The Inclusion of the Others? Habermas and the Paradox of Tolerance,” in Political Theory, Vol. 34, No. 4 (August 2006): 440. 67. William E. Connolly, Pluralism (Durham: Duke University Press, 2005), 42. 68. Connolly, Pluralism, 67. 69. Jeffery D. Long, Plurality and Relativity: Whitehead, Jainism, and the Reconstruction of Religious Pluralism (unpublished doctoral dissertation) (IL: University of Chicago, 2000), 105. 70. Anne Vallely, “Anekānta, Ahimsa and the Question of Pluralism,” in Ahimsa, Anekānta and Jainism, edited by Tara Sethia (Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 2004): 100; See also, Gavin D’Costa, “The Impossibility of a Pluralist View of Religions,” in Religious Studies, Vol. 32 (June 1996): 223–232. 71. Netland, Dissonant Voices, 143. Quoting John A.T. Robinson, Truth is TwoEyed (PA: Westminster, 1979).

Chapter 3

The Claremont Legacy and a Plurality of Pluralisms

When delving into discourse on pluralistic attitudes toward religions, one will quickly encounter the work of Claremont Graduate School professors John Cobb and John Hick. These emeritus Claremont professors played a major role in the development and popularization of pluralistic theories. This chapter will examine the pluralistic theories of Cobb and Hick, and put the two in dialogue with one of their contemporaries, Raimon Panikkar. John Hick is often described as the “the best-known interpreter of the pluralist position.”1 The most thorough account of Hick’s version of the pluralist position is found in his Gifford Lectures, published in 1989 as An Interpretation of Religion. It was during his 10 years as Danforth Professor of Philosophy of Religion at Claremont Graduate University that Hick developed his “pluralistic hypothesis.” Hick credits the academic environment of Claremont, “with its tradition of discussion of the problems of religious pluralism and of East/West interaction”2 as having provided critical guidance in the creation of his own pluralistic hypothesis. Among those Claremont colleagues responsible for such an environment—specifically crafting the forefront of Buddhist-Christian dialogue—are Masao Abe and John B. Cobb Jr. John Cobb, who held the Ingraham Professor of Theology at Claremont School of Theology and Avery Professor of Religion at Claremont Graduate University, joined Hick (and others) in shared concern about the challenge of religious diversity for theology. Like Hick, during the 1980s, Cobb was preoccupied with the question of religious difference, conflicting truth claims, and the project of forging peace between the religions. Despite shared interests and concerns, these Claremont colleagues had significant disagreements about how to respond to the challenge of religious pluralism. Hick sought to craft an interpretation of religion and reality that 65

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would allow for seemingly incompatible religions to be considered true without exclusion of the other by appropriating Immanuel Kant’s distinction between the noumenal and the phenomenal. For Hick, “Infinite Real, in itself beyond the scope of other than purely formal concepts (the noumenal), is differently conceived, experienced and responded to from within the different cultural ways of being human (the phenomenal).”3 Therefore, seemingly contradictory claims among religions are only “contradictory” at the phenomenal level (reality as experienced), while at the noumenal level (the level of reality in itself free of the interpretive lenses we bring to it) there is unity among religions. Hick’s pluralism identifies an essential unity underlying the penultimate diversity between religions. Therefore, conflicting claims can each be considered true without exclusion of the other—religious pluralism. While Hick relies on Kant’s epistemological distinction between noumena and phenomena,4 Cobb, in the words of David Ray Griffin, provides a “pluralistic ontology [which] allows us to understand the possibility that a wide variety of religious experiences could be authentic.”5 According to Griffin, Cobb’s pluralism “says that different religions emphasize the different salvific implications of different aspects of dimensions of the total truth, [and] sees a central task of theological dialogue to be the discovery of how these various doctrines are complementary rather than contradictory. Complementary pluralism can in turn be rooted in various perspectives, one of which is Whitehead’s philosophy.”6 For Cobb, seemingly contradictory claims among religions are actually complementary, not contradictory. Meaning, upon further examination of religious claims one realizes that, for example, Wesley’s “God” and Śaṅkara’s “Brahman,” while not the same, are also not contradictories. Rather, each tradition is simply identifying diverse aspects of a complex ultimate (that Cobb identifies with Whitehead’s philosophical scheme). The result, differing religious truth claims can be posited as true without exclusion of the other—religious pluralism. By identifying a distinction between “types” of pluralistic theories of religion, David Ray Griffin opens the door for a critical examination of pluralistic theories themselves—enter Raimon Panikkar. Is there a shared underlying structure to pluralistic attitudes toward religions (both identists and differential alike)? Is there a common thread in both Cobb and Hick, as two exemplars of pluralistic theories? Would finding such a common thread provide a general foundation for a pluralistic attitude toward theories of pluralism? Is there a way of reconciling pluralistic theories themselves (a pluralism about religious pluralism)—such that each pluralistic hypothesis can be considered true without exclusion of the other?

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JOHN HICK: “THE REAL” John Hick is recognized as the father of modern religious pluralism. In one way or another, most of the literature on religious pluralism engages Hick’s “pluralistic hypothesis.” His theory of pluralism is multifaceted and complex. One facet is epistemological. Hick argues that there is no objective absolute perspective—all knowledge is rooted in the limited perspective of a particular knower. Yet, he concludes from this that a plurality of positions can be conflicting and true. For Hick, the limits of knowledge are found in the neoKantian distinction between the noumenal and phenomenal (which he adapts from the work of Immanuel Kant).7 Hick argues that the noumenal object (a thing in itself) cannot be known in itself, and that we can only know a thing phenomenally (as experienced). Therefore, Hick claims that since direct knowledge of the noumenal ineffable Real8 escapes us all, we can do no better than rely on our experiences of the phenomenal Real (ultimate reality as perceived). As mentioned above, one of the key issues in the pluralistic debate is how to understand conflicting truth claims. Hick’s pluralism (as is true with all pluralism) allows for the possible validity of multiple conflicting truth claims. One way that Hick explains this possibility is with the infamous “duckrabbit” figure (Figure 3.1). The duck-rabbit figure, expounded upon philosophically by Ludwig Wittgenstein, is neither a duck nor a rabbit. In fact, in itself it is an ambiguous figure. It is not until the figure is experienced, categorized, and interpreted, that the ambiguous figure is described as either a duck or a rabbit. Furthermore, it should be noted that the figure cannot be perceived as a duck and a rabbit simultaneously by a single observer. While looking at the figure, if one can see both a duck and a rabbit, it is the result of the perception shifting back and forth between a duck and a rabbit—successively, not simultaneously. Hick argues that the transcendent and ineffable Real (ultimate truth/ultimate reality), like the duck-rabbit, is also ambiguous in its noumenal form. When it is perceived, the Real, like the figure, is possibly conceived of in many diverse ways—interpretations which are shaped by one’s cultural and historical context. For example, if someone is of a culture that is familiar with rabbits and not ducks, their interpretation of the ambiguous duck-rabbit will always favor the rabbit. Naturally, the reverse is true as well. What Hick attempts to draw from Wittgenstein’s example is a parallel of how we know the Real. Like the duck-rabbit, the noumenal Real is an ambiguous entity. Yet when perceived, the phenomenal Real can be understood in many different ways. In a sense, because the ambiguous duck-rabbit is neither a duck, nor a rabbit, it can therefore rightly be called a duck or a rabbit depending

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Figure 3.1  The ambiguous duck-rabbit. Duck/Rabbit drawing from Joseph Jastrow, Fact and Fable in Psychology (Riverside Press, 1900), 295.

on the perception of the knower. In the same way, the Real can be properly called impersonae and personae, one, three, and many, God, Allah, Shiva, YWHY, the Tao, and Brahman, all of which depends upon the experience of the knower. In this way, Hick attempts to show how truth claims about the Real are not truth claims regarding the noumenal unperceived Real, but the phenomenal Real which is filtered through our interpretative lenses.9 By making this noumenal-phenomenal distinction, Hick distinguishes between noumenal truth and phenomenal truth claims. Since all knowledge begins with experience and is known by a knower, all that is known is known phenomenally. That is to say, because of the relationship between knowledge and experience, nothing can be known in itself. If knowledge of the Real is the result of an encounter with the Real, even if it were theoretically possible to have direct access to the noumenal real, in the very act of encounter our knowledge of the Real become mediated through our experience, and is therefore phenomenal. So, unless there is a way to know the Real without experiencing the Real—a way to know the Real without knowing the Real—all knowledge of the Real is of the Real as perceived. Therefore, when it comes to claims about the Real, one never makes a claim about the Real an sich, but always the Real as it is experienced and perceived. Hick makes this distinction in order to say that all truth claims, even seemingly incompatible claims, are not about the noumenal Real in itself, but about the Real as perceived. Therefore, it is possible to have multiple conflicting claims about the Real, without changing the truth of the Real in itself. The noumenal Real is undivided. As such, contradictory claims about the noumenal real cannot both be true. Yet, the phenomenal Real, as a matter of perspective, is fragmented, and therefore contradictory claims can be understood as complementary.10

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To clarify, Hick is not postulating two realities (one noumenal, another phenomenal). There is only one Ultimate, one Real. Metaphysically, there is a basic unity—reality is one. However, Hick asserts that this one reality is experienced and conceived of in many different ways. While there is metaphysical unity, there is epistemological diversity. It’s important that the realms of epistemology and metaphysics (of knowledge and reality, respectively), while related, are not conflated. Hick’s pluralism would take on a very different character if he was postulating multiple realities, rather than a single reality that is conceived of in different ways. While Christians claim that God is Triune, Muslims deny any such claims. Absolutists would consider these conflicting claims incompatible. Either Christians are right, and God is three-in-one, or Muslims are right and God is simply one, or both are wrong; but both cannot be right. However, according to Hick, because these claims regarding God are merely claims based on perceptions of God, it is possible for both Muslims and Christians to be right in their own contexts. This position shares many affinities (I believe) with the Jain doctrine of syādvāda by which one should predicate truth claims with the term “syāt” to admit that such claims are not absolute, but made from a certain limited perspective. With a noumenal-phenomenal distinction, it is possible from a Christian perspective to conceive of God as Triune, and from a Muslim perspective to conceive of God as simply one. The key terms here are Christian and Muslim perspectives. It is possible for the Christian perspective and the Muslim perspective to be right simultaneously because their claims are claims about a phenomenal reality—claims regarding their experience of an ambiguous ineffable ultimate reality. The great error, according to Hick’s pluralistic position, is to confuse the phenomenal and the noumenal. Because Muslim truth claims are based in the Muslim perspective, they are true insofar as they are internally coherent with that perspective. Likewise, Christian truth claims are true insofar as they are internally coherent with the Christian perspective. That these claims appear conflicting is not a problem, since they are claims about different conceptions of reality (not the ultimate in and of itself). Ultimately, all claims about the Real are actually claims about the Real as perceived. Therefore, each claim is true in so far as it is true to the particular corresponding perspective. It is important to note that, just as no person can perceive the duck-rabbit as both duck and rabbit simultaneously, the same is analogously true with the ambiguous Real. One cannot properly perceive the Real as both impersonae and personae simultaneously. One cannot properly perceive the Real as one and many simultaneously. For that reason, each religious interpretation of the Real is an essential and necessary perspective which enriches all others. The more that people study religions beyond their own, the more they see how the Real can be conceived of in many different ways depending upon

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culturally and historically shaped perceptions. Doing this allows for religious adherents to affirm their particular perception of the Real while recognizing that the Real can also be perceived in different ways. Knowing this encourages religious adherents to humbly make religious truth claims, avoiding claims to superiority and absolutism. For Hick, each perspective is true insofar as claims are understood to be referencing a particular phenomenal reality, and false insofar as claims are thought to be referencing the Real in and of itself (an sich). Since we can only embody one perspective at a time, and since there are many valid perspectives, each perspective must be in dialogue with all other perspectives— coming together to form a greater conception of ultimate reality than can be captured by any particular perspective. A key analogy used by many pluralists, and used by Hick early in his career,11 to portray this relationship between truth and perception, is the ancient Indian folktale of the “Blind Men and the Elephant.” Abridged version, several blind men stand around an elephant, touching different parts of the massive creature, each assuming that their experience (of a trunk, tail, leg, side, etc.) is universal and that an entire elephant—as a whole—must be like that one part. Put another way, the men were unaware (due to the limitations of blindness) that each had access to only one part of a complex and large animal. The point of this story (for Hick) is that while each man is partly right from their limited perspective, no claim captures the complete essence of the noumenal elephant (in itself). All claims are made in response to an experience of the elephant, and all experiences are limited to a particular perspective. For Hick, the elephant is analogous to the Real, and the blind men analogous to humanity (or religious traditions). Each tradition experiences the Real and makes claims about the nature of the Real. The Real is one. The Real is many. The Real is persona. The Real is impersona. However, due to our blindness—our cultural-historical and epistemic limitations—we make the mistake (the same mistake as the blind men in the story) of treating our experience of the Real as the absolute and universal truth about the Real in itself. Hick’s suggestion is that religious adherents recognize the correct referent of their religious truth claims; that all claims which are rooted in religious encounters with the Real are encounters with the phenomenal, not the noumenal, and as such are particular not universal. This does not invalidate religious experience. On the contrary, just as each blind man is partly correct (because the tail is like a rope, and the leg is like a tree, etc.) so too are each of the various religions capable of being correct—of accurately describing an aspect of the Real as encountered. Therefore, the truth and falsity of religious claims are judged in accordance with a particular encounter of the phenomenal Real. If a blind man were to encounter the leg of an elephant and said “an elephant is like a blade of grass,” this would be a poor representation of the encounter with that aspect of the elephant, and therefore an invalid expression.

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Many critics of Hick have responded sharply to his usage of the Indian folktale. Most common is the critique that while all others experience only an aspect of the Real (the elephant) Hick claims to see the big picture. In other words, Hick claims to be the only one who is not blind, by positing a metatheory which identifies the need for a noumenal-phenomenal distinction.12 This criticism, however, falsely assumes that the only way to arrive at a metatheory is to be in a privileged position. On the contrary, Hick doesn’t posit a theory about the Real, using the noumena-phenomena distinction, because he has experienced the entirety of the ambiguous and ineffable Real (free of the limitations of metaphorical blindness). Rather, he arrives at his pluralistic hypothesis after considering the various claims made by others. If Hindus say “x” and Christians say “y” and Muslims say “z,” perhaps each has a piece of a larger puzzle. Hick never claims to see the fullness of the elephant. He makes it very clear that the Real, as he calls it, is ineffable, in the sense that it is beyond our human capacity for understanding.13 Like the folktale, Hick argues that different cultural and historical milieus shape our experience and interpretation of the now perceived Real beyond itself. Hick is not claiming to be the only one who is not blind, but is hypothesizing and attempting to reconcile the fact that six different blind men are articulating “conflicting” claims about the elephant. To put it in a broader perspective, Hick’s epistemology is an attempt to reconcile the reality of religious diversity and conflicting truth claims. Hick does not claim to know the Real simultaneously from all perspectives. Rather, Hick hypothesizes that the diverse great world faiths have developed as unique responses to the Real as it has been culturally and historically perceived. These diverse perceptions result in seemingly incompatible truth claims. Yet, since the Real is only known as it is perceived, and since the Real is ultimately beyond the human scope of conception, Hick asserts that the Real can be and has been perceived in many diverse ways, resulting in many diverse religious expressions, all of which are more or less equally capable of offering a salvific transformation from self-centeredness to Real-centeredness. Furthermore, in the folktale each blind man has a different interpretation of an elephant, based on a specific/unique experience with the elephant. These experiences are coupled with previous experiences, from which the men draw upon in order to articulate their particular experience as it is being interpreted. In order to describe an elephant like a tree, that particular blind man must have previous encounters with trees. The elephant is, therefore, a practical example of what Hick means by cultural-historical perceptions of the Real, and how all knowledge is known by a knower. Every theory of religious pluralism must stand between absolutism and relativism. Hick avoids absolutism by postulating the phenomenal Real. Since the diverse world faiths have developed (according to Hick) out of diverse encounters with the ineffable Real, and the seemingly incompatible

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truth claims of the various traditions have grown out of these encounters, all faith claims should be made conditionally, relative to a particular perspective—to a phenomenal Real (both validated and limited in scope by experience). No tradition stands privileged with respect to the Real. All are blind. No tradition can claim universality or absolutism. Since each encounter of the phenomenal Real is particular, all relevant truth claims are relative. Hick avoid relativism, by postulating a noumenal Real. There is a universal, absolute, ultimate truth. There is a real Real. So while Hick may tend toward relativism with respect to the phenomenal Real, and while he tends toward absolutism with the noumenal Real, by embracing both (the noumenal-phenomenal distinction) he stands in the tension between both extremes—pluralism. Another way Hick attempts to avoid relativism is by suggesting an exclusionary criterion: namely, that saving religions are those involving a “transformation of human existence from self-centeredness to Reality-centeredness.”14 Therefore, all religions are not necessarily salvific, as would be the case for unbridled relativism. Rather, it is only those religions which lead to a transformation from self-centeredness to Real-centeredness. This, in Jeffery Long’s terminology, is the exclusionary criterion that saves Hick’s pluralism from becoming relativism. If it is successful, then, Hick’s pluralism stands between absolutism and relativism, allowing that many but not all diverse perspectives can be true and valid perspectives.15 Hick’s pluralism is an interesting one, and has served as the standard model of pluralism for decades. The noumenal-phenomenal distinction and use of the Blind Men analogy make major strides in reconciling religious differences (in ways reminiscent of Jainism). Where Hick’s pluralism seems to fall short as a form of pluralism is in the supposition that all religions are oriented toward the same religious object—the noumenal Real. Postulating a single ineffable ultimate that all religions are oriented toward—even if they are blind and don’t realize it—rings of the very absolutism and imperialism that pluralism attempts to resist. Why should Hick assume that there is only one noumenal Real? Might it be equally possible that the phenomenal Real of each religion has a unique noumenal referent—might each blind man encounter a different elephant? It is for this reason that David Griffin refers to Hick’s pluralism as “identist” and where the “differential” pluralism of John Cobb comes into play. JOHN COBB: A DEEPER PLURALISM? John B. Cobb Jr. has written with authority on a vast array of topics. From theology to philosophy, Christianity to Buddhism, education to political theory, economics to ecology, etc. Cobb’s work extends far and wide, while retaining

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depth and precision. The list goes on. Unlike Hick’s Gifford Lectures, when it comes to Cobb’s thoughts on religious pluralism there is no single work that stands as representative of his perspective. As Paul Knitter notes, “Though Cobb has been one of the major voices in the Christian discussion about how to understand and approach other religious ways, his many writings on this topic lie scattered across the theological landscape of the 80s and 90s.”16 Knitter pieced together such writings in an edited work of Cobb’s thought titled, Transforming Christianity and the World: A Way Beyond Absolutism and Relativism. Perhaps one of the greatest articulations of Cobb’s “theory of religious pluralism,” is that of his friend and colleague David Ray Griffin. Griffin, who worked with Cobb to establish the Center for Process Studies in Claremont, also helped to organize a conference on process perspectives toward the pluralism dilemma—inspired by Cobb’s work in that area. Out of this Claremont conference (1998), arose an edited volume, Deep Religious Pluralism. It is in that work that Griffin portrays Cobb’s version of the pluralistic position toward religions, grounded in Whiteheadian metaphysics, as a deep pluralism. Deep pluralism is characterized by allowing diverse truth claims to be complementary rather than contradictory—identifying plurality, not unity, as grounding a theory of religious pluralism. According to Griffin, Cobb’s pluralism “says that different religions emphasize the different salvific implications of different aspects of dimensions of the total truth, [and] sees a central task of theological dialogue to be the discovery of how these various doctrines are complementary rather than contradictory. Complementary pluralism can in turn be rooted in various perspectives, one of which is Whitehead’s philosophy.”17 For Cobb, the move from contradictory to complementary truth is a direct result of his Whiteheadian framework. Mathematician and philosopher Alfred North Whitehead asserts a plurality of metaphysical ultimates (namely three: God, Creativity, and the Cosmos). This plurality of ultimates in Whitehead becomes a central piece of Cobb’s Whiteheadianinspired pluralism. It works like this: One of these [ultimates], corresponding with what Whitehead calls “creativity,” has been called “Emptiness” (“Śūnyatā”) or “Dharmakaya” by Buddhists, “Nirguna Brahman” by Advaita Vedāntists, “the Godhead” by Meister Eckhart, and “Being Itself” by Heidegger and Tillich (among others). It is the formless ultimate reality. The other ultimate, corresponding with what Whitehead calls “God,” is not Being Itself but the Supreme Being. It is in-formed and the source of forms (such as truth, beauty, and justice). It has been called “Amida Buddha,” “Sambhogakaya,” “Saguna Brahman,” “Ishvara,” “Yahweh,” “Christ,” and “Allah” . . . [the third ultimate is] the cosmos, the universe, “the totality of [finite] things.” Cobb relates these three ultimates to the three types of religion described by Jack Hutchinson: theistic, acosmic, and cosmic. The distinction between God and creativity helps us understand only the theistic and acosmic

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types of religion. But there is also a type of religion, illustrated by forms of Taoism and many primal religions, including Native American religions, that regards the cosmos as sacred. By recognizing the cosmos as a third ultimate, we are able to see that these cosmic religions are also oriented toward something truly ultimate in the nature of things.18

By affirming a plurality of ultimates, religious adherent can affirm that one’s own religion is truthfully oriented toward reality while simultaneously concluding that different religions may also be truthfully oriented toward reality. In other words, since diverse religions may be oriented toward diverse ultimates, both can be different yet true—complementary rather than contradictory. According to Griffin, this Whiteheadian pluralism resolves the dilemma of religious pluralism because it is a “pluralistic ontology [which] allows us to understand the possibility that a wide variety of religious experiences could be authentic. Although these three ultimates are inseparable, individuals and religious traditions can concentrate on one or two features alone. Insofar as there is concentration solely on God, on the universe in distinction from God, or on creativity, there would be the pure case of theistic, cosmic, or acosmic religious experience.”19 In this way, the plurality of ultimates explains why there are different conceptions of ultimate reality. Unlike Hick, where there is a shared object of religious experience (the noumenal Real) that is encountered and interpreted in different ways by different religions (a metaphysical unity with epistemic plurality), in Cobb’s pluralism the different religions refer to different aspects of a complex plurality of deeply interrelated ultimates. This allows for those “different” conceptions to be complementary rather than contradictory, yet still very much real. In a sense, it resolves religious difference without ignoring difference. It resolves religious difference without forcing religions to give up their uniqueness. As Cobb writes, “When we understand global religious experience and thought in this way, it is easier to view the contributions of diverse traditions as complementary.”20 As Karl Rahner states, “Every religion which exists in the world is—just like all cultural possibilities and actualities of other people—a question posed, and a possibility offered, to every person.”21 So what happens when different questions are posed; for example, when Christians ask about how to go to heaven and Buddhists ask how to attain nirvāṇa; or when Christians inquire to overcoming sinful nature and Buddhists inquire to overcoming suffering? Certainly it is no contradiction to say that Salem is the capital of Oregon and Olympia is the capital of Washington, or that a bicycle has two wheels and a tricycle has three wheels. The fact that the cities, Salem and Olympia, are different does not entail that they both can’t be capitals. Furthermore, this noncontradiction is not characteristic of only true statements.

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To say that bachelors are married and spouses are single is also not a contradiction. When distinct questions are posed and distinct answers are given, no conflict, contradiction, or error is necessarily present. Rather, difference, diversity, and complementary are found. While Rahner was not referring to Cobb’s perspective, I believe this captures the nature of Cobb’s complementarity quite nicely. Insofar as claims of Indigenous wisdom traditions are in reference to the “cosmic” aspect of the complex ultimate (i.e., the world), and the claims of Buddhists are responses to the “acosmic” aspects of the complex ultimate (i.e., creativity), and Christian claims are responses to the “theistic” aspects of the complex ultimate (i.e., God), the relevant claims have unique referents—different answers to different questions—and are therefore noncontradictory. This form of Whiteheadian-based “complementary pluralism” (understood as Cobb pluralism) takes significant steps in addressing religious difference and contradiction. However, it is a position which leaves little room for further steps—where leaps and bounds are required. The primary challenge to the task of this position is as follows: since Cobb posits a plurality of ultimates, Cobb’s pluralism can make sense of different religions worshiping different ultimates—understood as different answers to different questions. As Cobb’s “deep” pluralism indicates, if two statements are about different objects then statements can both be true while remaining different. Complementary pluralism entails that “contradictory” claims about ultimate reality are not contradictory, in that they refer to different aspects of the three Whiteheadian ultimates (God, Creativity, Cosmos). The problem arises, however, when divergent claims are made with respect to one and the same thing. When differences arise within a single religious tradition, or closely related traditions such as Methodism and Pentecostalism, Catholicism and Protestantism, Christianity and Islam, the likelihood that contradictory claims are being made with respect to the same subject matter radically increases. This same problem can arise when claims about particulars are expanded to universal claims. When conflicting statements are made about a single object, when different answers are given to the same question, it is here that we find the limits of Cobb’s pluralism. When different answers are given to different questions, the answers (truths) can be complementary rather than contradictory. But religions aren’t always asking different questions, and different answers to the same question result in an impasse—a noncomplementary incommensurability. As Whitehead himself states, “It cannot be true that contradictory notions can apply to the same fact.”22 In this vain, Jeffery D. Long writes (in Chapter 6 of Deep Religious Pluralism), “the fact that process thought can account for the differences among the three types of religion does not make it able to account for all of the apparent incompatibilities among the world’s religions. .  .  .

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Can process thought also be used to address the differences among religions of the same type, such as Judaism, Christianity, and Islam?”23 Moreover, historically it is differences between religions of the same kind that has been connected with interreligious violence. I can think of no immediate examples of wars being sparked by disagreement over whether ultimate reality is a personal God or an impersonal Śūnyatā. Whereas there are plenty of examples of violence connected to disputes about the nature of Jesus (as human or divine).24 If Cobb’s pluralism can only make sense of select difference between theistic, cosmic, and acosmic religious ways, what then of Long’s critique? What of disparity between Muslim and Christian notions of the God of Abraham? What of beliefs that are intentionally polemical, such as the five points of Calvinism crafted to challenge the five Remonstrant articles? What about conflicting views regarding religious ends? Can all of these be seen as complementary? Can Heaven and Nirvāṇa both be the fate of all worthy human beings? More problematic still, what of contradictions about physical claims like: Jesus rose from the dead; Adam and Eve were historical human figures; the earth was literally flooded, and God stopped the sun in the sky for Joshua? What of claims to miraculous healing? What does Cobb’s pluralism offer in such conflicts of religious difference? If one limits Cobb’s pluralistic position to Griffin’s portrayal in the introduction of Deep Religious Pluralism, certainly it is subject to Long’s criticism. However, process thought can be used to address the differences among religions of the same type by going deeper than Griffin’s presentation of Cobb’s pluralism. By deeper, I mean looking to those principles that make possible the plurality of ultimates—namely, the unity of contrasts. Those principles are alluded to by Cobb who writes, “I would propose that without a cosmic reality there can be no acosmic one, and that without God there can be neither. Similarly, without both the cosmic and acosmic features of reality there can be no God.”25 This statement by Cobb is a reflection of what Whitehead says in Process and Reality, that “there is no meaning to ‘creativity’ apart from its ‘creatures,’ and no meaning to ‘God’ apart from the ‘creativity’ and the ‘temporal creatures,’ and no meaning to the ‘temporal creatures’ apart from ‘creativity’ and ‘God.’”26 It is this principle which allows both a distinction and a unity between the plurality of ultimates that is key—Whitehead’s theory of one and many, of unity and contrast. While the plurality of ultimates can establish a deep religious pluralism, a more foundational principle, the unity-in-difference underlying the plurality of ultimates, can be the foundation of a much deeper form of Whiteheadian pluralism. Griffin’s focus which emphasizes that there are three distinct ultimates, fails to realize the more essential characteristic—that these ultimates are distinct but not separate. What does it mean to be distinct and not

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separate? To answer this, we must look at Whitehead’s conception of unity and the category of contrasts. And to understand these principles we need to look at Whitehead’s description of “creativity.” Whitehead asserts that the universe is a multiplicity. Not only so, but he contends that the universe is inherently dualistic. In Adventure of Ideas, he writes: The universe is dual because, in the fullest sense, it is both transient and eternal. The universe is dual because each final actuality is both physical and mental. The universe is dual because each actuality requires abstract character. The universe is dual because each occasion unites its formal immediacy with objective otherness. The universe is many because it is wholly and completely to be analyzed into many final actualities. . . . The Universe is one, because of the universal immanence. There is thus a dualism in this contrast between the unity and multiplicity. Throughout the universe there reigns the union of opposites which is the ground of dualism.27

Yet, as Whitehead argues, such duality (or polarity) is not a vicious dualism.28 In fact, one might argue that what Whitehead calls non-vicious dualism is really a form of nondualism, or non-differentiating difference. As such, nondualism should not be confused with monism (by which there is only unity). Rather, it is a complex unity of difference—a non-differentiating difference, or what Jeffery Long calls, unity-in-plurality. As Long notes, “Between absolute unity and absolute plurality—or rather, encompassing both as their synthesis—is unity-in-plurality (or plurality-in-unity).”29 Understanding the unique logic behind this nondualism is key to a deeper Whiteheadian/Cobbian pluralism. When it comes to standing between absolutism and relativism, Cobb (like Hick) embraces the tension. Cobb avoids absolutism by affirming the real difference between religions. It’s not many paths up one mountain, many ways of expressing the same truth, or one way standing as the only way. Instead, each religion, with its own questions and answers, can be valid in difference. With each religion having a unique referent (e.g., cosmic, acosmic, theistic), diverse claims are understood as complementary, not contradictory. In this sense, each tradition is not simply accepted as valid, but actively contributes to the complex truth of a complex reality and an interrelated plurality of complex ultimates. Since Cobb’s deep pluralism is perhaps more pluralistic than Hick’s identist unity-oriented pluralism, it is that much more difficult for Cobb to fight the charge of relativism. He does so in two ways. First, since there is unityin-difference, the many ultimates are not isolated, independent, or separate. Rather, they are radically interdependent—distinct without difference. This unity prevents an “anything goes” sort of relativism. Second, and perhaps most important, is that Cobb argues for relativity distinct from relativism,

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which is his ground for exploring seemingly incompatible claims through interfaith dialogue. As Paul Knitter explains, Cobb goes on “to affirm the full relativity of all truth claims: every affirmation, every religious truth, is relative not only in the sense of being limited, but also in the sense of being potentially relatable to other truth claims. What we know may only be a piece of the truth, but that piece can be linked to, and therefore enhanced by, other pieces.”30 Dialogue is required to determine whether or not differing claims are made with respect to the same referent. For example, if an atheist says “God does not exists,” and a theist claims that “God does exist,” the two claims appear conflicting—or more strictly, contradictory. And this is certainly implied by the terms “theism” and “atheism.” Prior to dialogue, it’s reasonable to conclude that atheism and theism are incompatible and contradictory. Yet, it is possible that the concept of God being rejected by the atheist would be equally rejected by the theist. If, by God, the atheist is rejecting an old man with a white beard, or a cruel puppet-master, or one that unilaterally determines all things, then what the atheist is rejecting may not be what the theist is affirming (Salem and Olympia). In such an instance, difference (which on the outset seems like necessary contradiction) is anything but! While this dialogue-centered approach can result in a complementary pluralism, it is not guaranteed that the difference is complementary. Cobb leaves open the possibility that the differences explored through dialogue are in fact contradictory, and in such instances both cannot be true. In this, Cobb avoids an “everything is true” sort of relativism, but it’s where we find the limits of his pluralism. RAIMON PANIKKAR’S MYSTICAL EXPERIENCE PLURALISM While Hick’s model of neo-Kantian pluralism (“identist” according to Griffin) is an epistemic pluralism of appearance, and Cobb’s Whiteheadian (“differential”) pluralism is a metaphysical pluralism of complex reality, a third important and distinct model is that of Raimundo Panikkar’s pluralism of mystical experience. Raimundo (aka Raymond, aka Raimon) Panikkar was a Spanish Roman Catholic Priest, international professor of comparative religious philosophy, and scholar of Indian philosophy. Born to a Catholic mother and a Hindu father, Raimon became a leading proponent of interreligious dialogue. While Panikkar (like Hick and Cobb) taught at many Universities, his most important work relevant to religious pluralism (including his 1989 Gifford Lectures—published under the title The Rhythm of Being), was drafted during his 16-year tenure as professor of University of California

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in Santa Barbara, where (upon retirement) he remained an emeritus professor until his passing in 2010.31 Panikkar has been called, “one of the most sophisticated and most profound among contemporary pluralists of religion.”32 According to Anselm Min, Panikkar’s pluralism “is radical because it is rooted in the very nature of things, in the pluralism of being itself, beyond all perspectivalism and indeed beyond truth and falsity taken as intellectual category.”33 Sometimes called “ontological pluralism,” Panikkar’s model embraces paradoxical thinking in ways Cobb and Hick seem hesitant to do. As Jeffery Long notes, Panikkar, in other words, does not claim to give simultaneous assent to the beliefs of Catholicism, Hinduism, and Buddhism—which he takes to be a logical impossibility—nor does he attempt to formulate a common core of beliefs shared by all of them—in the manner of perennialists and some common core pluralists—or attempt their logical synthesis on the basis of a philosophy of relativity—as I [Long] am attempting to do. He sees these religions, as systems of belief, to be incommensurable (Panikkar 1987b: 110). What Panikkar claims to have experienced is the Mystery beyond doctrine which he claims is at the heart of all religious experience: Catholic, Hindu, or Buddhist.34

This “mystery” beyond doctrine is knowable, not as a set of doctrines, but in religious experience, not in propositions but in feelings. This is the key to Panikkar’s pluralism. One could argue that while Hick focuses on the inevitably of dealing in the realm of the phenomenal Real, Panikkar proposes a pluralism that appeals to the realm of the noumenal Real. True, the noumenal can’t be known in itself through conventional (phenomenal) means, but perhaps it can be known through direct mystical experience. Such rationale is actually very common in Indic philosophical circles, where world-transcendence is put forth as a central means of spiritual knowing distinct from everyday knowing.35 For Panikkar, truth is beyond both unity and plurality. He states, “Pluralism affirms neither that truth is one, nor that it is many. If truth were one, we could not accept the positive tolerance of a pluralistic attitude and would have to consider pluralism a connivance with error. We could, at best, refrain from any judgment regarding disputable or irrelevant matters. But how can we abstain from condemning what we judge evil or error? How can we postpone practical decisions, all the more when mere postponement is already an uncritical decision?”36 He continues, “But truth is not manifold either. If truth were many, we would fall into plain contradiction. We said already that ­pluralism does not stand for plurality, the plurality of truth in this case. Pluralism adopts a non-dualistic or advaitic attitude that defends the pluralism of truth because reality itself is pluralistic; that is, incommensurable with either unity or plurality.”37

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Panikkar’s “advaitic” attitude moves the Western pluralistic conversation closer to the Indian roots of Jain thinking, and may be capable of resolving one of the major critiques of the pluralistic position: namely, the idea that pluralists are in no better position (epistemically or in relation to truth) than any of the traditions they seek to reconcile.38 As Herald Netland asks, “Are there any objective, nonarbitrary criteria for evaluating religious traditions? Or are all evaluations necessarily no more than the product of one’s own limited, culture-bound perspective? Can a Christian legitimately conclude that religious beliefs incompatible with Christian faith are false?”39 This, of course, is a matter of evaluating truth claims. But as Panikkar notes, “Truth does not allow itself to be conceptualized. It is never purely objective, absolute. To talk about absolute truth is really a contradiction in terms. Truth is always relational, and the absolute (absolutus, united) is that which has no relation. The pretension of the great religions to possess all truth can only be understood in a limited and contingent context. Not to be conscious of our myths leads to integralism. But in order to be aware of our myths, we need our neighbor, and therefore dialogue and love. The truth is first of all a reality that permits us to live, an existential truth that makes us free.”40 While Panikkar rejects absolutism, he also resists relativism, saying that “Relativism destroys itself when affirming that all is relative and thus also the very affirmation of relativism.”41 Therefore, like other religious pluralists, Panikkar’s pluralism also attempt to stand “between unrelated plurality and a monolithic unity.”42 What then does pluralism look like? Panikkar writes: By pluralism I mean the awareness of the legitimate coexistence of systems of thought, life, and action which, on the other hand, are judged incompatible among themselves. We may indeed recognize pluralism as a fact, but it is not intelligible in its contents, otherwise we would have a supersystem which would by definition destroy all pluralism. Pluralism is of the order of mythos and not of logos. There is no pluralist system. Pluralism belongs to the order of existence and not of essence. It is not a merely formal concept like plurality, but it is also not a material concept like unity.43

Here, Panikkar provides an explanation of pluralism that attempts to overcome the self-defeating and self-referential challenge of falling prey to the very thing it seeks to overcome. If a “pluralist system” is an absolute system, then it seems more in line with absolutism than pluralism. But if a “pluralist system” is a relative system, then it seems more in line with relativism than pluralism. As Jeffery Long notes, for Panikkar, “What the many religions have in common, in other words, is precisely their irreducible plurality. On this understanding, the attempt to articulate a unity underlying this plurality would end up negating it.”44 If Panikkar is correct, then ultimate reality

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(ultimate truth) goes beyond systematization, beyond absolutism and relativism, and lends itself toward mystical experience. The ultimate truth of reality is actually beyond conventional notions of truth and falsity, beyond real and unreal, beyond one and many, beyond propositions and conceptualization. As Long notes, “This is the paradox at the heart of Panikkar’s theology of dialogue: In addition to the inescapable fact of plurality, he also affirms that genuine, empathetic dialogue between divergent viewpoints is possible, that one is capable of entering fully into the experience of another while yet retaining—though substantially challenging—one’s own culturally and historically determined attitudes, beliefs, commitments, and assumptions. He claims that differences cannot be avoided or ignored, but that they can be transcended in the depths of religious experience.”45 What Panikkar shares in common with Cobb is a dialogical method. As Panikkar writes, “A Christian cannot assume at the outset that he knows what a Buddhist means when speaking about nirvāṇa and anātman, just as a Buddhist cannot immediately be expected to understand what a Christian means by God and Christ before they have encountered not just the concepts but their living contexts, which include different ways at looking at reality: They have to encounter each other before any meeting of doctrines.”46 As such, interreligious dialogue is a necessary first step on the path toward pluralism (or exclusivism for that matter) for both Cobb and Panikkar. At the heart of Panikkar’s approach to pluralism (in contrast to Cobb and Hick) is both the role of mystical (religious) experience and the notion that ultimate truth (we might say, the noumenal Real), transcends the true-false binary. While this is certainly distinct from the pluralism of both Hick and Cobb, Panikkar is not alone in this approach toward pluralism. In fact, several contemporary scholars have provided pluralistic models congenial to this; including Roland Faber and Catherine Keller. Faber and Keller, as demonstrated in “Polyphilic Pluralism: Becoming Religious Multiplicities,” echo Panikkar’s notion that relationality is at the heart of pluralism, claiming that “pluralism goes all the way down,”47 with respect to reality. Faber and Keller also propose a similar view on the inexpressible or mysterious nature of ultimate truth, stating, “Because we finite beings cannot ‘know’ the truth, which is infinite, neither can we exclude the truth of other religions.”48 This mystical experience pluralism carries significant implications for notions of truth and difference in religion. Quite paradoxically, the very principle that makes Panikkar’s pluralism possible (by freeing it from the limits of conventional truth) simultaneously makes it impossible for there to be any successful theory of religious pluralism. Again, as Panikkar notes, insofar as pluralism is a metatheory about the nature of religious truth claims it becomes a “supersystem which would by definition destroy all pluralism.”49 When pluralists make metaphysical claims (like Hick’s claim about the noumenal

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Real, or Cobb’s claim about Whitehead’s ultimates), are they making normative judgments? If so, what makes these normative claims any different than the claims of the very religions the pluralists seek to unite? Do Hindus for example, have to abandon their perspective in order to adopt Hick’s neo-Kantian framework? Do Buddhists have to abandon their perspective in order to adopt Cobb’s Whiteheadian framework? Do Vishishtadvaitans have to abandon their perspective in order to adopt Panikkar’s “advaitic” attitude toward truth or his mystic pluralism? This chapter will conclude by problematizing the general structure of pluralistic theories, such that the following section on Jainism might provide a positive response. LIMITATIONS AND CRITIQUES OF PLURALISM Before moving to the Jain perspective in Part II, it is important to briefly identify some of the significant limitations and critiques of the various theories of religious pluralism. In his book, Salvations: Truth and Difference in Religion,50 S. Mark Heim presents what he calls a “more pluralistic hypothesis.”51 Heim asserts that the various ways of being oriented to the world, manifest in diverse religious tradition, are actually different ways of judging beliefs—a plurality of contextual forms of reasoning. For Heim, what is true is true. However, because people from different orientations do not always agree on how to decide what is true—since each culture has its own means of epistemic justification—we are all equally epistemologically justified in holding our beliefs. While Heim offers an epistemology of relativity, he goes further to assert an ontological relativity—a plurality of religious ends. Heim critiques Hick for establishing a pluralistic hypothesis on a non-pluralistic assumption: namely, the exclusive nature of religious ends. If nirvāṇa and communion with God are thought to be the universal fate of all worthy people, then it appears they are contradictory. As contradictions, Hick identifies three possibilities: (1) one is true and the others are false, (2) none are true, or (3) the truth of these matters transcends contradictions. Heim, on the other hand, argues for a plurality of religious ends, such that nirvāṇa and communion with God upon death can be true for different people (or, at different times, even for the same person) so that “there is no necessary contradiction in both being truth.52 Heim argues that for Hick, the truth or falsity of matters like reincarnation or the resurrection of Jesus are irrelevant to matters of salvation/liberation. But Heim himself contends that “one’s commitments about these matters and others are integrally constitutive of the distinct religious fulfillment that is realized, if any are.”53 So, in the face of these real ontological questions with real answers, Heim resorts to a plurality of possible coexisting religious

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ends. It is in this way he provides a “more pluralistic” hypothesis, naming the limits of Hick’s pluralism and providing an alternative way forward. Heim explains that “there is a common contemporary reflex which asserts that to privilege one’s own conclusion is the same as denying that others are possible or reasonable.”54 But his plurality of religious ends provides a way out—not available in Hick’s hypothesis—empowering one to resist this contemporary exclusive reflex. Heim concludes: In philosophical terms the options are open. There could be many ineffable reals, and only one of them truly ultimate in the sense of exclaiming or being the ground of the others. There could be in fact only one actual ineffable real, substituting equally in the fulfillment of the various religious aims and equally described or not described by the various traditions. Or there could be many coexistent ineffable reals, none of them truly ultimate. Any of those metaphysical conditions could be consistent with the contention that, for instance, Śūnyatā and God are both ineffable and both real, and that human realization of the one and communion with the other are actual experiential possibilities. Thus, both could be functional religious ultimates. Whereas Hick is committed to saying that “Śūnyatā” and “God” are mythological cultural forms which represent “the Real,” my hypothesis presumes that they are real religious ineffables available to their seekers, while not foreclosing the possibility that one may ultimately be subordinate to the other or both to some other absolute.55

Whereas Heim identifies the limits of Hick’s pluralism (not dissimilar to Griffin’s “identist” critique of Hick), Jeffery Long identifies the substantial limits of Cobb’s pluralism. As mentioned above, Long writes, “the fact that process thought can account for the differences among the three types of religion does not make it able to account for all of the apparent incompatibilities among the world’s religions. . . . Can process thought also be used to address the differences among religions of the same type, such as Judaism, Christianity, and Islam?”56 The limits of Cobb’s pluralism are built into the very framework that allows for his complementary approach. It seems that in the process of explaining how seemingly incompatible religious perspectives are actually complementary (not contradictory) perspectives, Cobb loses the ability to reconcile religious perspectives that are in fact contradictory—particularly perspectives that historically emerge in opposition to each other. Yet perhaps the most pressing challenge to any pluralistic position is that of Alvin Plantinga who argues that “exclusivism need not involve either epistemic or moral failure and that furthermore something like it [exclusivism] is wholly unavoidable, given our human condition.”57 Essentially, Plantinga argues that even “pluralism” is exclusive, which is necessary for pluralism to be a position with exclusionary criteria (the absolute relativity). Does Hick’s pluralism require all to embrace neo-Kantian assumptions? Does Cobb’s

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pluralism require all to support a Whiteheadian interpretation of metaphysics? Does Panikkar’s pluralism require all to affirm an advaitic attitude toward truth and difference? If so, then it seems “pluralism” as a position is in no better position than exclusivism. If pluralism is to avoid relativism, there must be some criteria for evaluating religious claims so as to determine truth from falsity—what Long calls an exclusionary criterion. Logically, one of the concerns about relativism is that it is explosive. If everything is true, then (from another perspective) nothing is true. In fact, truth and falsity are interchangeable and meaningless. In its most extreme forms relativism leads to incoherency and unintelligibility. Concepts lose all meaning. Right is left. True is false. No distinctions can be made, for at the heart of distinctions is an exclusionary criterion. Something to separate the wheat from the chaff, truth from falsity, to exclude error from fact. This is not that. Dogs are not cats. Red is not blue. Donald Trump is not Bernie Sanders, and Islam is not Christianity. Such distinctions are only possible with exclusionary criteria. Extreme relativism entails the loss of distinctions, and with it, the loss of meaningful discourse. Therefore, if pluralism seeks to contribute meaningfully to discourse in philosophy of religion, it must establish some exclusionary criteria. Without such criteria, without any standards to measure right from wrong, good from bad, true from false, pluralism falls into relativism—anything goes and everything goes. But can an exclusionary criterion be provided on objective or universal grounds? One of the problems with establishing such criteria is that it always runs the risk of being arbitrary. Why should truth include x but not y? Why would most pluralists reject Nazism as an acceptable expression, but affirm Hinduism? At a higher-level discourse, why should we think that there are many valid religious expressions rather than only one (or none)? Whatever criteria the pluralists provide will likely appear arbitrary. The arbitrariness of the pluralist’s exclusionary criteria seems to place it structurally in the same dilemma as that of religious exclusivists—privileging one perspective over against competing perspective by using a seemingly arbitrary criterion. It is this dilemma that, I think, pushes Panikkar to establish a pluralism that is not a system or position, but of the order of mythos. But this seems insufficient to reconcile disparate religious perspectives. In this chapter, we have explored three classic models of religious pluralism. John Hick’s neo-Kantian pluralistic hypothesis is established on a version of Kant’s noumenal/phenomenal distinction. In order to stand beyond absolutism and relativism, Hick postulates a metaphysical unity (noumenal Real) and an epistemological diversity (phenomenal Real). John Cobb’s Whiteheadian pluralism is established on, among other things, Whitehead’s interdependent yet inseparable complex ultimate (God, Creativity, Cosmos). Cobb stands between absolutism and relativism by postulating a reality that

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is both one and many, such that all religions are oriented truly toward different aspects of the same complex ultimate. Raimon Panikkar’s non-pluralism pluralism attempts to go beyond a pluralistic system by postulating the possibility of direct access to transcendent ultimate reality through mystical experience. Panikkar doesn’t so much stands between absolutism and relativism but attempts to transcend both absolutism and relativism, both truth and falsity—refusing to “play the game” of conventional truth and difference, by appealing to a paradoxical ultimate beyond conceptualization and systemization. Despite their differences, the motivation for Hick, Cobb, and Panikkar is relatively similar—to find a way to make sense of multiple religious expressions as being valid yet different. And, despite their differences, all three appear to see the problem the same way: since contradictory claims can’t both be true, the task of pluralism is to show that conflicting claims aren’t actually contradictory. Cobb’s complementary pluralism attempts to relegate differences as noncontradictory insofar as they are different answers to different questions—different aspects of the complex ultimate. Similarly, Hick’s pluralism relegates differences as noncontradictory insofar as diverse claims are about particular conceptions of the Real, not the shared noumenal Real in itself—diverse claims about different referents. Even Panikkar attempts to relegate differences as noncontradictory by separating the conventional level of religious difference from the ultimate level of religious experience beyond truth and falsity. Underlying each of these pluralistic positions—the most fundamental unexamined assumption—is an acceptance of classical Western logic and the basic belief that contradictories cannot both be true. We need a new paradigm for religious pluralism. This new paradigm should be built on an alternative logical foundation—one that doesn’t avoid contradictions, but directly addressing the so-called elephant in the room. If a deeper pluralism is to emerge, it must be able to reconcile contradictory perspectives (not just complementary ones); and it must be able to provide nonarbitrary exclusionary criteria in order to stand between absolutism and relativism.58 It is with these concerns in mind that I turn my eyes to the religious and philosophical wisdom of the East. In this next section I will argue that the Jain doctrine of relativity can provide a promising foundation for a deeper religious pluralism. NOTES 1. Heim, Salvations. 2. Hick, Interpretation of Religion, xiv. 3. Hick, Interpretation of Religion, 14.

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4. Some may argue that the noumena-phenomena distinction is metaphysical rather than epistemology. See Henry E. Allison, Kant’s Transcendental Idealism: An Interpretation and Defense (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2004). Paul Guyer, Kants and the Claims of Knowledge (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987). 5. David Ray Griffin, ed. Deep Religious Pluralism (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2005), 50. 6. Griffin, Deep Religious Pluralism, 39. 7. See Immanuel Kant, Critique of Pure Reason, translated by Norman Kemp Smith (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003). 8. The “Real” is the name Hick gives to ultimate reality, which he claims to be ineffable. He used the Real as a neutral term in attempt to avoid the baggage affiliated with terms like God, Dao, Brahman, and so on. 9. Hick, A Christian Theology of Religion: The Rainbow of Faiths, 25. 10. It is important to realize that for Hick the noumenal and phenomenal are not two separate entities. Rather, there is only noumenal reality. But, when that reality is experienced and known, it is known phenomenally. In this sense, the phenomenal Real is a distortion of the noumenal Real. 11. John Hick, God and the Universe of Faiths: Essays in the Philosophy of Religion (London: Macmillan Press, 1973). 12. James Fredericks, Faith among Faiths: Christian Theology and Non-Christian Religions (New York: Paulist Press, 1999), 105. 13. Hick, A Christian Theology of Religion, 28. 14. Hick, Interpretation of Religion, 51. 15. The question remains, however, whether or not Hick’s exclusionary criteria is in fact another form of absolutism. This critique will be discussed more fully in chapter 3, and reflects a central challenge facing all theories of pluralism. 16. Knitter, “Introduction,” 1. 17. Griffin, Deep Religious Pluralism, 39. 18. Griffin, Deep Religious Pluralism, 47, 49. 19. Griffin, Deep Religious Pluralism, 50. 20. John B. Cobb, Jr., Transforming Christianity and the World: A Way Beyond Absolutism and Relativism, edited by Paul Knitter (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1999), 186. 21. Rahner, Theological Investigations, vol. 5, 117. 22. Alfred North Whitehead, Religion in the Making (New York: Fordham University Press, 1926), 77. 23. Jeffery D. Long, “Anekānta Vedānta: Toward a Deep Hindu Religious Pluralism,” in Deep Religious Pluralism, edited by David Ray Griffin (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2005), 133. 24. I owe this insight to Jeffery Long’s comments on an early draft of this book. Like Long, I agree that this realization sharpens his critique of the limits of Cobb’s pluralism. 25. Cobb, Transforming Christianity and the World, 121. 26. Whitehead, Process and Reality, 225. 27. Alfred North, Whitehead, Adventure of Ideas (New York: Free Press, 1967), 190. 28. Whitehead, Adventure of Ideas, 190.

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29. Long, Plurality and Relativity, 6. 30. Knitter, “Introduction,” 6. 31. I find it interesting that these three giants in the religious pluralism dialogues were all located just two hours from each other during the 80s. Perhaps there was something in the air! 32. Min, “Loving without Understanding,” abstract. 33. Min, “Loving Without Understanding,” 59. 34. Long, Plurality and Relativity, 167. 35. For a good discussion of mystical knowing in Indian philosophy see, B. Matilal, “Mysticism and Reality: Ineffability,” in Journal of Indian Philosophy, Vol. 3 (1975): 217–252. 36. Panikkar, “The Pluralism of Truth.” 37. Panikkar, “The Pluralism of Truth.” 38. For a deeper discussion on the Indic principles of nondualism that is also friendly to a Western reader, see Anantanand Rambachan’s, A Hindu Theology of Liberation: Not-Two is Not One (New York: SUNY Press, 2015). 39. Netland, Dissonant Voices, 152. 40. Henri Tincq, “Eruption of Truth: An Interview with Raimon Panikkar,” translated by Joseph Cunneen. The Christian Century, Vol. 117, No. 23 (2000). 41. Panikkar, “The Invisible Harmony,” 127. 42. Panikkar, The Intra-Religious Dialogue, 10. 43. Raimundo Panikkar, “Philosophical Pluralism and the Plurality of Religions,” in Religious Pluralism and Truth: Essays on Cross-Cultural Philosophy of Religion, edited by Thomas Dean. 44. Long, Plurality and Relativity, 178. 45. Long, Plurality and Relativity, 176–77 (italics added). 46. Panikkar, The Intra-Religious Dialogue, 27. 47. Roland Faber and Catherine Keller, “Polyphilic Pluralism: Becoming Religious Multiplicities,” in Divine Multiplicity: Trinities, Diversities, and the Nature of Relation, edited by Chris Boesel and S. Wesley Ariarajah (Fordham University Press, 2014), 61. 48. Faber and Keller, “Polyphilic Pluralism,” 78. 49. Panikkar, “Philosophical Pluralism and the Plurality of Religions.” 50. Heim, Salvations. 51. Heim, Salvations, 129. 52. Heim, Salvations, 149. 53. Heim, Salvations, 155. 54. Heim, Salvations, 138. 55. Heim, Salvations, 153–154. 56. Long, “Anekānta Vedānta: Toward a Deep Hindu Religious Pluralism,” 133. 57. Plantinga, “Pluralism,” 195. 58. As discussed in chapter 1, I am not interested in a weaker version of pluralism that attempts simply to provide justification for seemingly incompatible beliefs, or that seeks to show how seemingly incompatible perspective can all be valid (i.e., internally coherent). I am interested in a more challenging form of pluralism that seeks to reconcile seemingly incompatible religious truth claims—to hold together contradictions in harmonious tension.

Part II

FOUNDATIONS FOR RELIGIOUS PLURALISM: A JAIN PERSPECTIVE

Chapter 4

The Jain Doctrine of Relativity

The Jain “doctrine of relativity” consists of three different “relativity” doctrines—anekāntavāda, nayavāda, and syādvāda. In short, these three doctrines, when brought together, insist that reality can be approached from a variety of different but correct perspectives. This chapter will explore these doctrines as relevant resources for grounding a more robust theory of religious pluralism. ANEKĀNTAVĀDA: THE MANY SIDES OF REALITY It has been said that the central philosophy of Jainism is anekāntavāda (अनेकान्तवाद).1 Etymologically, anekānta (non-one-sidedness) is a negation of ekānta (one-sidedness). Philosophically, anekāntavāda is the Jain metaphysical doctrine of relativity and non-one-sidedness. According to this doctrine, reality is complex, multifaceted, and many-sided. Furthermore, entities are endowed with innumerable characteristics. As such, reality cannot be reduced to a single concept or characteristic. The many-sided nature of reality is a metaphysical relativity. Being that metaphysics deal with the nature of the reality, it’s important to know where Jains stand regarding the status of reality as either objective or subjective. To affirm reality as existing independent of cognition is to imply an objective reality (metaphysical realism). Conversely, to posit reality as existing dependent upon cognition—reality as a construct of cognition—is to imply subjective reality (metaphysical idealism). Such issues are not absent in the history of Indian philosophy, as both Hindu and Buddhist philosophers have debated these matters. It should be no surprise, then, to discover that Jains too have a position on this matter. Does reality exist as 91

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mind-independent or as a dependent product of our cognition? The Jain answer: realism. In his book, The Jaina Philosophy of Non-Absolutism: A Critical Study of Anekāntavāda, Satkari Mookerjee claims that “the Jaina is a realist out and out.”2 Similarly, Y.J. Padmarajiah calls the metaphysical doctrine of anekāntavāda the “most consistent form of realism.”3 He substantiates this claim by saying that “the claim that anekāntavāda is the most consistent form of realism lies in the fact that Jainism has allowed the principle of distinction to run its full course until it reaches its logical terminus, the theory of manifoldness of reality and knowledge.”4 A common example used to explain the doctrine of anekāntavāda is the ancient Indic story of the blind men and the elephant (the same general story as offered by Hick). As the stories goes: There were six blind men who were brought before the king and asked to describe an elephant. One man, holding onto a leg, describes the elephant as being like a tree trunk. A second man, holding onto an ear, disagrees, and suggests that the elephant is like a fan. A third man, who trips and falls into the side of the elephant, argues that the elephant is like a wall. A fourth, holding on to the tail, retorts that the elephant is like a rope. The fifth man, grabbing a tusk, describes the elephant as similar to a spear. Finally, the sixth man, holding onto the trunk, describes the elephant like a giant snake. They continue to argue about their differing perspectives, until the king (who was watching this spectacle) interjects. He explains that each of the men was holding onto a piece of the enormous elephant, and that ultimately, each of them was partially right. For Jains, this story is an essential example of engagement with the world. The elephant represents reality (i.e., the “way things are”). As metaphysical realists, for Jains, there actually is an elephant; meaning, there actually is a real world that is encountered, existing independent from our perception or experience. This is an important point that distinguishes the Jain position of relativity and perspectivism from forms of idealism and relativism. There is a real world, and it really is experienced. But, as expressed by the doctrine of anekāntavāda, just as there are many sides to the elephant (a tail, a leg, a trunk, etc.) there are many sides to reality. Reality is many-sided. Not simply reality as a whole, but any given entity consists of innumerable attributes. And, much like the blind men who are experiencing the elephant from their limited perspective, all people encounter reality from within the confines of a limited perspective (naya).5 Insofar as each blind man treats his limited perspective as the absolute, he commits the error of ekāntavāda (one-sidedness). That is, insofar as the assertion, “an elephant is like . . .” is intended as a rejection of other perspectives, insofar as the man who describes the elephant like a wall, does so as a rejection of the man who describes the elephant like a rope, he commits the egregious error of one-sidedness. Instead, according to Jainism, each of the blind

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men is accurately describing reality, though only partially. So, the proper response is to recognize the relative nature of one’s own assertion, and grant the validity of the perspectives of others. When the many aspects of reality are brought together in a creative synthesis, one gets closer to describing the whole truth. Anekāntavāda is helpful, therefore, in extending an attitude of tolerance toward those whose views are different than one’s own. When taken seriously, it encourages the exploration of the perspectives of others as real possibilities where truth can be found. If these other perspectives are seen as having a piece of truth that is absent from one’s own perspective then the perspectives of others can be seen as essential to our getting closer to the full truth. In addition to simply insisting on the many-sided nature of reality, Jainism identifies existence as constitutive of three characteristics: (1) origination, (2) destruction, and (3) permanence. Nothing can be said to exist without all three characteristics. This principle is rooted deep within the Jain tradition, and is even found in the most authoritative of Jain scriptures—the Tattvārthasūtra, which reads, “Existence is characterized by origination, disappearance (destruction) and permanence.”6 But how can this be? How can reality be essentially permanent and impermanent? How can origination and destruction (i.e., impermanence) be essential characteristics of a reality that is also permanent? How can these contradictory characteristics both be true of existence? The Tattvārthasūtra answers this question, explaining that the contradictory characteristics are established from different points of view.7 More specifically, in the case of existence, it is a matter of distinguishing between permanent substances and impermanent modes.8 From the perspective of substance, the existent object is permanent. But, from the standpoint of mode, the existent object is characterized by origination and destruction. One story used to explain this phenomenon is that of the Gold Crown. As it goes, a family heirloom (a gold crown) was melted down and turned into a necklace. When this happened, one family member was distraught and mourned the destruction of the heirloom for the crown was no more. Another family member was excited about the origination of the new necklace which has been created. While, a third family recognized the continued existence of the gold crown insofar as the substance from which the necklace was formed is the same substance in which the crown had existed—the same gold. From three different perspectives, this act of melting down the crown and creating a necklace can be seen as either origination, destruction, or permanence. And, from the Jain perspective of anekāntavāda, all three are correct, albeit partially so. Like the crown and the necklace, all existent objects can be characterized by origination, destruction, and permanence depending on the perspective one takes. And, to understand the many-sided nature of complex reality, one

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must acknowledge all three as representative of existing objects. In doing so, origination, destruction, and permanence are no longer seen as exclusive of each other, but mutually dependent characteristics of reality (like Whitehead’s unity and plurality). Traditionally, Jains hold that their doctrines (like the doctrine of anekāntavāda) are eternal, and therefore not direct products of historical contexts. While the truth of this assertion could be debated, the fact is that one can trace the application of the doctrine of anekāntavāda historically. Particularly, this can be found in historical debates between Hindus, Buddhists, and Jains, where anekāntavāda is used as a corrective. According to Jainism, in the spirit of Śaṅkara, the Advaitins identify permanence as the one-sided absolute of reality (Brahman). Buddhists, on the other hand, identify impermanence (origination and disappearance) as the one-sided absolute nature of reality (śūnyatā). The teachings of Jainism and anekāntavāda go beyond both one-sided perspectives, allowing that both are true (albeit partially). Accordingly, a full understanding of reality involves both permanence and change, bringing together both parts represented by the Buddhist and Advaitin perspectives together in a synthesized whole. The Jain position is neither identity nor difference, but both identity and difference— or perhaps identity-in-difference. As Nagin Shah writes, “The theory of identity-in-difference is a metaphysical presupposition. According to Jaina metaphysics, dravya or substance or the real is the substratum of both the permanent qualities and their changing modes. Origin, decay and permanency form the triple of the real. It combines both these aspects of identity and difference, permanence and change. The real is an identity expressed through difference, a permanency continuing through changes.”9 In this way, anekāntavāda is used not simply as a doctrine about the nature of reality, but as a corrective—establishing a middle way between one-sided and exclusive perspectives. It corrects one-sided perspectives by uniting them in creative synthesis to form a more complete truth. It allows the Jain perspective to become a sort of inclusive middle way between two or more extremes, whatever they may be. It accepts the partial and one-sided truths of others as true, though never in an ultimate sense. The corrective nature of anekāntavāda turns unqualified exclusive assertions into relatively true descriptions of a complex reality. Naturally, such a synthesis raises questions with respect to the ability to affirm mutually contradictory perspectives into a rational and intelligible whole. To explain this stance, Jainism requires a special logic, rooted in both syādvāda and nayavāda in conjunction with anekāntavāda (what I will call, the logic of absolute relativity). This will be discussed more fully in the sections to come. In recent years, Jain scholars have emphasized the close relationship between ahimsa (nonviolence) and anekāntavāda, suggesting that

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anekāntavāda (along with syādvāda and nayavāda) is a form of “intellectual ahimsa.” Historically, this is often far from the case, as anekāntavāda has been used as a weapon against other rival perspectives in India—establishing the superiority of the Jain perspective. The above discussion of anekāntavāda as a corrective to Advaita Vedāntin and Buddhist theories of permanence and impermanence is representative of this historical usage of anekāntavāda. This does not mean, however, that anekāntavāda can only be used to establish the superiority of Jainism over Buddhism, Hinduism, or any other position. In fact, contemporary Jain scholarship has identified the notion of intellectual ahimsa as an important part of contemporary Jain thought. This intellectual nonviolence is rooted in the notion of respecting the views of others. It is suggested that when one rejects the perspectives of others, as is customary when treating relative perspectives as exclusive absolutes, one does violence to the views of others. Therefore, in response to such intellectual violence, intellectual ahimsa works as an ethic of tolerance. As explained above, when taken seriously anekāntavāda encourages the exploration of perspectives different from one’s own, as they are real possibilities where truth can be found. If the disparate views of others are not seen as exclusively incompatible, but as diverse parts of the complex whole, then one can respect and appreciate views different from one’s own as being a piece of the truth that one does not possess. V.M. Kulkarni describes the doctrine of anekāntavāda concisely, saying, “According to the anekānta theory, reality by its very nature is many-sided. Each and every thing or entity is endowed with infinite attributes or properties (dharmas). So apparently contradictory, philosophical or metaphysical, propositions, made from different points of view with reference to one and the same things, are perfectly in order.”10 This acceptance of seemingly incompatible perspective, this intellectual ahimsa, provides a Jain framework for dealing with religious diversity and perhaps the basis for a Jain theory of religious pluralism. NAYAVĀDA: KNOWING THE MANY SIDES OF REALITY To be clear, anekāntavāda, as a metaphysical doctrine, is a doctrine about the nature of reality. It should be distinguished from its two corollaries: (1) nayavāda (the epistemological corollary), and (2) syādvāda (the corresponding dialectic of predication). If reality is truly complex and manysided, in what sense can anyone be said to “know” reality? This is where the doctrine of nayavāda comes into play. The elephant, as a symbolic representation of the world, depicts the many-sided nature of reality. Most strictly,

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anekāntavāda is a doctrine about the elephant. Nayavāda, on the other hand, is a doctrine about the blind men. Nayavāda is the Jain epistemological doctrine of the relativity of standpoints. According to this doctrine, reality can be approached from a variety of perspectives. The term naya is used to refer to “standpoints,” and these standpoints (or perspectives) represent the many ways that one can approach reality. Since reality is many-sided, there are many ways to approach reality (via the many sides). Furthermore, every perspective the knower approaches reality11 from is a limited and particular standpoint. From the metaphysical doctrine of a complex reality with innumerable attributes flows an epistemology which considers knowledge of an object incomplete insofar as it fails to account for the many-sided nature and innumerable attributes of that object. Nayavāda, the epistemological counterpart of anekāntavāda, states that “the nayas or standpoints may be thought of as different points of view taken by someone searching for the truth.”12 Without going into too much detail about the sophisticated Jain doctrine of epistemology,13 there are two basic ways of knowing reality in Jainism: (1) Pramāṇa and (2) Naya. “Pramāṇa is the valid knowledge of multiform object endued with many qualities. Pramāṇa is valid knowledge of itself and the things not known before. It is the instrumental cause of right knowledge, which must be free from doubt, vagueness and perversity. Lack of discrimination between the real and unreal is to create wrong knowledge.”14 Pramāṇa, therefore, can be understood as complete knowledge of reality. “Naya is the valid knowledge of one part, aspect, quality, or mode of multiform [objects]. Naya is part of pramāṇa. It is partial valid knowledge. It deals with a particular aspect which the speaker has in view; it is therefore a theory of standpoints.”15 Inferred from this epistemology is that the fullness of “truth” is the summation of all nayas. As H.R. Kapadia writes, “Every judgment that we pass in daily life is true only in reference to the standpoint occupied and that aspect of the object considered.”16 In that sense, all claims, which are made from single standpoints, are at best partially true and never absolutely true. Therefore, Jain epistemology encourages the knower to explore alternative perspectives, in order to formulate a more complete understanding of reality. “As one perceives the object from a combination of standpoints one comes closer to seeing the object as it really is. But only by seeing it from all standpoints would one actually attain the kind of valid cognition that pramāṇas alone can provide.”17 Naya (knowledge attained from a limited standpoint) is contrasted by pramāṇa (knowledge mediated via the pure soul). Whereas knowledge from naya results in one-sided and partial knowing, knowledge from pramāṇa is pure and absolute. This kind of knowledge comes from seeing reality from the summation of all standpoints. Confusing naya for pramāṇa results in ekānta (one-sidedness) and error. In other words, treating

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a relative perspective as the absolute perspective is to fall prey to the error of one-sidedness (ekānta). Given there are many sides to reality, and that reality can be known, the metaphysical doctrine of anekāntavāda demands that there is no single way to know reality. And although there are innumerable nayas from which reality can be known, Jainism has condensed its epistemology to include seven basic viewpoints that can be taken in respect to a given object. “Thus, the nayas serve to categorize the different points of view from which reality might be investigated.”18 These seven nayas are: 1. Naigama: the undifferentiated 2. Samgraha: the general 3. Vyavahara: the practical 4. Rjusutra: the clearly manifest 5. Sabda: the verbal 6. Samabhirudha: the subtle 7. Evambhuta: the “thus-happened” “The first three . . . are standpoints from which to investigate the thing itself, whereas the remaining four are standpoints from which to investigate the modifications that things undergo.”19 For my purposes, it suffices to say that the nayas refer to the various standpoints from which reality can be known. Consider the following gross example: there is a sculpture in the middle of a room. Standing in front of the sculpture gives viewers one perspective by which they come to know the statue. Standing behind the statue provides another perspective. Both are valid ways to perceive the statue, but both are limited. Therefore, to assume or declare that there is only one valid perspective is to make the mistake of one-sidedness (ekānta). As Padmarajiah puts it, “Nayavāda is principally an analytical method investigating a particular standpoint of a factual situation according to the purpose and the level of equipment of the experient (jnatr). . . . The particular standpoint thus investigated is one among a multitude of different viewpoints which, in their totality, reflect the full nature of the situation.”20 To be clear, this perspectivism is not to be confused with relativism. Meaning, these different valid perspectives are not validated by virtue of their being a perspective. Otherwise, each person would be allowed to have their own opinion, and all opinions would be valid because they are nothing more than opinion. Instead, nayavāda is a deep epistemology of perspectivism, for which knowledge (of this variety) is always bound by one’s limited ways of knowing. In philosophical discourse, this view has been stated in many different ways: there is no objectivity, we have no God’s-eye point of view, there is no neutral perspective—all of which make one thing clear: there are limits

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to the way humans come to understand. To say that there are limits to human knowledge may be mistaken as placing limits on the capacity for knowledge (i.e., the human brain can only hold a finite amount of data). While this too is true, it is different than the current claim that there are limits to the way one comes to know—which is always from a particular perspective. Just like the story of the blind men and the elephant, everyone has a particularized engagement with reality, and this particularity is a limitation. Therefore, one can only know reality from a limited perspective (one’s own perspective). Insofar as someone is not omniscient, that someone can only encounter the elephant (the world, ideas, philosophical notions, etc.) from one side at a time. As such, a fuller understanding of this complex reality requires that one synthesize this plurality of perspectives—bringing together the parts to make a whole. According to Jain relativity, each person has a piece of the puzzle, that is, reality. In order to see the big picture (or at least a bigger picture), the many perspectives must be brought together in a unified whole. It is important to note here that Padmarajiah uses the modifier “factual” to indicate the type of situation in which Jain epistemology (and nayavāda specifically) is to be employed. This helps distinguish nayavāda as a theory of knowledge from a doctrine of different opinions or tastes. Nayavāda is not used as a way to discuss multiple perspectives on flavors of ice cream or favorite sports teams. If so, it would become an “agree to disagree” sort of relativism, whereby each person is allowed to have their own opinion, and all opinions are valid. Rather, nayavāda is more akin to acknowledging different sides of the same coin; in which there is actually a coin and that the coin is (as coins tend to be) non-one-sided (anekānta). As Anekant Kumar Jain makes clear, naya is a form of valid knowledge. However, it is distinct from pramāṇa in that it is only partial valid knowledge.21 Although, as in the statue example, we can walk circles around the object—taking in multiple perspective—we can only occupy one perspective at a time. As demonstrated by Wittgenstein’s duck-rabbit, at a given moment we can only see the image as either a duck or a rabbit, but never both simultaneously. At best, then, we can be aware of, and even experience, both perspectives successively but never conjunctively. This phenomenon requires a unique dialectic—a special means of discourse that allows one knower to articulate multiple perspectives—the doctrine of syādvāda. SYĀDVĀDA: DESCRIBING A MANY-SIDED REALITY Syādvāda, as the dialectical corollary of anekāntavāda, is essential for talking about a reality that is many-sided and known from a limited perspective. Syādvāda (स्यादवाद) is the Jain doctrine of conditional predication (i.e.,

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qualified assertion). The doctrine of syādvāda is so named for its notion of predicating statements with the particle syāt. In ordinary Sanskrit usage, syāt is translated as “maybe” or “perhaps.” It is one of the three words used to answer a direct question. When asked, “is such and such the case,” one could answer, “yes,” “no,” or “syāt (maybe).”22 Translated this way, syāt suggests a degree of uncertainty. For example, if asked, “is it raining outside?” to respond by “maybe” or “perhaps” is similar to responding with “I don’t know.” In this way, the ordinary usage of syāt evokes a sense of skepticism. In Jain technical usage, however, syāt is not used this way. Rather than evoking uncertainty, in Jainism, syāt acts as a conditional “yes.” The Jain metaphysical doctrine of anekāntavāda postulates that reality is multifaceted (anekānta or non-one-sided). Since reality is many-sided and known from a limited perspective, all statements should be qualified as being made with respect to only one of those many facets (from a particular perspective). In Jainism, the particle syāt does just that. Since syāt (in its ordinary Sanskrit usage) is typically translated as “maybe” or “perhaps,” the Jain doctrine of syādvāda has often been confusingly described as the “maybe doctrine.” Preferred translations, however, include “in some respect,” “from a certain perspective,” and “under a certain condition.” Nevertheless, as a one-to-one translation between Sanskrit and English does not exist, most Jain scholars prefer to use the original term syāt. In Jainism, the particle syāt is used to turn categorical statements [A is B] into conditional statements [If p (syāt) then A is B]. For example, the statement “the pot exists” becomes “from a certain perspective (syāt), the pot exists.” This qualification is necessary to accurately express a statement which is, according to Jainism, always asserted from and conditioned by a particular perspective (naya). In this way, exclusive claims become inclusive claims—absolute claims become relative claims. For this reason, in contemporary Jain scholarship, the doctrine of syādvāda (along with the doctrine of anekāntavāda and nayavāda) has been used as the philosophical foundation of an inclusive or even pluralistic response to philosophical and religious diversity. In his book India and Europe: An Essay in Understanding, Wilhem Halbfass describes this type of Jain inclusivism as distinct in that it is nonhierarchical (“horizontal”), saying: In addition to the “vertical,” hierarchical model of inclusivism, there is also a “horizontal” model, which is typified by the Jaina doxographies. The Jainas present their own system not as the transcending culmination of lower stages of truth, but as the complete and comprehensive context, the full panorama which comprises other doctrines as partial truths or limited perspectives. .  .  . The Jaina perspectivism . . . represents a horizontally coordinating inclusivism

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which recognizes other views as parts and aspects of its own totality. Of course, the Jainas, too, claim a superior vantage point, and a higher level of reflection.23

In an additional attempt to overcome the confusion between ordinary usage and Jain usage of the term syāt, Jains often use syāt in conjunction with the term eva (certainly).24 This is done to avoid the skeptical and uncertain tone of syāt statements in favor of a qualified “yes.” It is important for Jains that syādvāda not be seen as a doctrine of skepticism. Rather, the predicative purpose of syāt is to qualify a proposition (a truth claim) as to take into account the plurality of nayas (perspectives) and the non-one-sided nature of reality (anekāntavāda). This has been the dominant interpretation since the second century when it was put forth by Jain philosopher Samantabhadra.25 Again, using the example of the blind men and the elephant; each of the blind men commits an error when they treat their perspective (e.g., “an elephant is like a rope,” “an elephant is like a spear,” etc.) as true to the exclusion of the others. The reason this happens is that the truths of the blind men, which are actually relative truths, are being asserted as absolute truths, which leaves no room for the relative truth of others. By following the Jain doctrine of syādvāda, the relative nature of truth claims can be captured—resulting in the mutual inclusion of a plurality of truth claims. By predicating the statement, “an elephant is like a wall” with the particle syāt, the absolute and exclusive statement becomes “from a certain perspective an elephant is like a wall.” And for the blind man who falls into the side of the elephant, this is certainly true. But, since the statement is now qualified as being “from a certain perspective,” it no longer excludes the perspectives of the others. This dialectic of relativity is a means of qualifying assertions so as to capture the relative nature of the claim in question. For some, this example of the elephant seems insufficient. While it may be true that there are many sides to elephants, and that these blind men are groping at different parts of that large animal, is it the case that all assertions can be seen from many valid perspectives? Can, for example, something be said to both exist and not exist? To this end, it is helpful to consider the sevenfold logic of syādvāda—saptabhangī. According to the Jain doctrine of syādvāda, there are seven types of statements—or seven modes of predication (saptabhangī.). Often used to describe these seven forms of assertion are examples of existence: 1. from a certain perspective (syāt) p certainly (eva) exists 2. from a certain perspective (syāt) p certainly (eva) does not exist 3. from a certain perspective (syāt) p certainly (eva) exists AND certainly (eva) does not exist successively 4. from a certain perspective (syāt) p certainly (eva) exists AND certainly (eva) does not exist simultaneously

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5. from a certain perspective (syāt) p certainly (eva) exists AND p certainly (eva) exists and does not exists simultaneously 6. from a certain perspective (syāt) p certainly (eva) does not exists AND p certainly (eva) exists and does not exists simultaneously 7. from a certain perspective (syāt) p certainly (eva) exists and does not exist successively AND p certainly (eva) exists and does not exists simultaneously A more abstract formulation of these seven alternatives includes: 1. Affirmation 2. Negation 3. Both affirmation and negation successively 4. Inexpressible (both affirmation and negation simultaneously) 5. Affirmation and Inexpressible 6. Negation and Inexpressible 7. Affirmation and Negation and Inexpressible Let us begin with statements of the form (1) and (2). According to anekāntavāda, reality is non-one-sided. Furthermore, the multifaceted nature of a thing includes the qualities of both existence and nonexistence.26 Therefore, one way to makes sense of this phenomenon is to distinguish between “exists” and “exists as.” Common examples of pots not having the qualities of pens, or cows not having the qualities of dogs, are littered throughout Jain literature as ways to explain this distinction. For example, a cow exists (qua cow) insofar as it has “cowness” (qualities essential for being a cow). Therefore, (1) from the perspective of cow attributes, a cow exists (qua cow). But, from the perspective of dog attributes (qualities essential for being a dog), a cow does not exist (qua dog). Therefore, (2) from another perspective, a cow does not exist (qua dog). This is the meaning of statements of the form (1) affirmation, and (2) negation. When it comes to distinguishing between “exists” and “exists as,” such examples seem to imply that the apparent contradiction lies in one’s failure to keep claims of existence as relative claims. In philosophy, examples of existence are often used because they appear absolute—either the pen exists or the pen does not exist. However, if one keeps in mind the anekānta (non-one-sided) nature of reality, even claims of existence must be taken as relative claims: syāt p exists and syāt p does not exist. What then of the third mode of predication—both affirmation and negation successively? Imagine that the object being discussed is water inside a particular bottle. It may be appropriate at one moment to say, (1) from a certain perspective the water exists. At another moment (perhaps after someone drinks all the water) it may be appropriate to say, (2) from a certain

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perspective the water does not exist. And together, these give us predication three, (3) that from yet another perspective the water both exists and does not exist successively (i.e., at one time it exists, at another time it does not exist). This mode of predication is essential for describing the Jain notion of reality which consists of “origination, destruction, and persistence.”27 Predications 5, 6, and 7 are also not altogether complicated, in that they are simply combinations of the first three with the fourth: 5 (1&4), 6 (2&4), and 7 (3&4). As such, how one understands modes 5–7 is directly dependent upon one’s interpretation of mode 4 (Inexpressible—both affirmation and negation simultaneously). Of the seven modes of predication, none has received more attention (and criticism) than the fourth mode. As such, there is not clear consensus on what is meant in the fourth mode by “inexpressibility” (avaktavya). Nevertheless, the above interpretation (simultaneous affirmation and negation) has been the dominant view since the time of Samantabhadra.28 That existence and nonexistence can be simultaneously ascribed to a single object in the same sense, or that a single assertion can be both true and false at the same time in the same sense, will certainly warrant looks of confusion from many philosophers (Eastern and Western).29 After all, what could it possibly mean to say that something is both true and false? It is sometimes suggested by Jain scholars that language is incapable of adequately expressing simultaneous existence and nonexistence.30 Therefore, the fourth mode of predication is considered “inexpressible.” Not only so, but even if it was possible to express simultaneous existence and nonexistence (e.g., by using logical notation such as [p & ~p], or even using the term avaktavya [inexpressible]), it is expected that the distinct notions of existence and nonexistence would always be presented to one’s cognition successively.31 In this way, the fourth predication, (4) “from a certain perspective inexpressible,” paradoxically takes an assertion to be both true and false simultaneously in the same sense. What this means with respect to truth values is highly debated in Jain philosophy. For some, this denotes an indeterminate truth value.32 For others, it denotes a neutralized truth value by which the components of affirmation (+) and negation (-) are taken together to form a new determinate truth value (0).33 And still others hold that inexpressibility is a product of unknowability and mystery.34 Despite these disputes regarding inexpressibility, the majority of Jain thinkers agree that a proper understanding of syādvāda should be grounded in the metaphysical doctrine of anekāntavāda. To be sure, the Jain doctrine of conditional predication (syādvāda) is intimately related and sometimes conflated with the metaphysical and epistemological doctrines of anekāntavāda and nayavāda, respectively. As such, in coming to a clear understanding of the doctrine of syādvāda, it is important to consider the doctrines of anekāntavāda and nayavāda as well.

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According to the Jain doctrine of anekāntavāda, the non-one-sided nature of reality, objects are endowed with innumerably many attributes.35 Ultimately, this means that objects are endowed with contradictory characteristics. Each of the seven syāt statements (not to be confused or conflated with the seven nayas) are examples of assertion from seven different perspectives. In this way, there is a perspective where “the pot exists,” and another perspective where “the pot does not exist.” When it comes to predication 4, there is a perspective that is “inexpressible” where “the pot both exists and does not exist simultaneously.” This means that statement 4 allows that contradictory attributes can be affirmed from a single perspective. Although, for whatever reason (whether linguistic, epistemic, etc.), this perspective is inexpressible. Given Jain metaphysical realism, it seems that (despite one’s knowledge or expression) it is either true or false that an object exists or an object does not exist (positions 1 and 2—affirmation and negation). Imagine the object being discussed is water inside a bottle. If the bottle exists, it exists as a mindindependent, objective, feature of reality. Same would be true of the water in the bottle. While at one moment it may be valid to say that the water in the bottle exists, and at another moment to say that the water in the bottle does not exists (position 3), given Jain realism, it is the case, that there is or is not water in the bottle at a given time and place, in a particular sense. The claims of positions 1–3 are not typically contentious. What seems troubling is position four—inexpressibility. According to B.K. Matilal, this fourth type of predication indicates when “there is some interpretation or some point of view, under which the given proposition would be undecidable so far as its truth or falsity is concerned, and hence could be evaluated as ‘Inexpressible.’”36 However, if this were truly the meaning of the fourth mode of predication, then it would be to incite skepticism. To continue with the example of the water in the bottle, this articulation of the fourth predication is to act as if the state of the bottle in question is unknown to the knower—one does not know whether or not the water in the bottle exists; as might be the case if the bottle in question is out of sight and cannot be examined. However, since the Jain doctrine of relativity is not a doctrine of skepticism—since Jainism has a unique technical usage of the term syāt—another description of the fourth principle is in order. One alternative is the explanation of Jonardon Ganeri, who states that “the fourth predication pertains to a simultaneous assertion and denial” of a given proposition—both p and ~p simultaneously.37 According to Ganeri, there are two traditional truth values that can be ascribed to a particular proposition—true or false. Jains, however, creative a third alternative—non-assertible. What appears to be a blatant contradiction in the fourth predication, the simultaneous affirmation and negation of a proposition (p & ~p), is in fact a new truth value. With only two truth values,

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the logical laws of noncontradiction and excluded middle require that given proposition p, it must be the case that either p or ~p, but cannot be both p and ~p simultaneously. But, by providing a third truth value, Jain logic attempts to avoid this quagmire. As Ganeri writes, “Thus, in Jaina seven valued logic, all the truth-values are thought to be combinations in some way or another of the two classical values.”38 Ganeri derives this interpretation of the fourth mode of predication from an article by F. Bharucha and V.R. Kamat, who write, “The fourth predication consists of affirmative and negative statements made simultaneously. Since an object X is incapable of being expressed in terms of existence and non-existence at the same time, even allowing for Syāt, it is termed ‘indescribable.’ Hence we assign to the fourth predication . . . [an] indeterminate truth-value.”39 Understood in this way, the fourth mode of predication is deemed inexpressible, not because of unknowability (as implied by Matilal) but because of the constraints of language. Ganeri’s interpretation maintains the dialectical nature of the doctrine of syādvāda without forcing skepticism upon the epistemological doctrine of nayavāda or metaphysical relativism upon the doctrine of anekāntavāda. And out of this sevenfold logic comes the predication aspect—the particle syāt. What must be understood about the use of syāt is that its predicative purpose is to qualify a proposition (a truth claim) as to take into account the plurality of nayas and the non-one-sided nature of reality. As John Koller writes, Samantabhara’s analysis, which is an agreement with that of most other Jaina thinkers, makes clear that the anekānta thesis is neither a thesis about skepticism or uncertainty nor a formulation of probability, but a thesis about nonexclusive predication based on the recognition that a given thing includes a potentially unlimited number of characteristics. This is why “syāt” means, in Jaina epistemological use, qualified acceptance of a categorical statement. It is because adding the particle syāt to a statement qualifies acceptance of its predicate that we can think of it as a logical operator, turning an unqualified categorical statement of the form “X is Y” into a qualified categorical statement of the form “Given a, b, and c, X is Y,” where a, b, and c stands for the necessary qualifications.40

Matilal puts it in another way saying, “Add a syāt particle to your philosophic proposition and you have captured the truth.”41 However, the “truth” that is captured is necessarily a relative truth, which is indicated by qualifying one’s proposition with the particle syāt. This practice allows one to affirm the truth and validity of their own experience and perspective, without being obligated to reject different or even contradictory experiences and perspectives of others. As Siddhasēna Divākara (fifth century) writes, “All the standpoints (nayas) are right in their own respective spheres. But, if they are taken to be refutations, each of the other, then they are wrong. A man who knows the

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‘non-one-sided’ nature of reality never says that a particular view is absolutely wrong.”42 According to Aristotle, to simultaneously ascribe existence and nonexistence to a single object would result in a meaningless assertion. What could it possible mean to say that something both exists and does not exist? To better understand this, Jain thinkers look back to the metaphysical situation, in which the idea of nonexistence is necessarily implied in an object that exists. As Satkari Mookerjee writes, “A real is neither a particular nor a universal in an exclusive manner, but a synthesis which is different from both severally and jointly though embracing them in its fold. . . . There is no absolute contradiction between being and non-being, when understood in relation to definite contexts and settings, abstracted from which they would have no reality of their own.”43 According to anekāntavāda these objectively real objects are non-one-sided. Furthermore, multifaceted nature includes the qualities of both existence and nonexistence. As Pragati Jain writes, “The surprising consequence is that not only is it not contradictory to ascribe both existence and nonexistence to an entity, but existence and nonexistence are always predicable of an entity.”44 Given that concepts are made intelligible only in contrasts—that red only makes sense in light of non-red—it can be concluded that the very nature of an object includes its opposite. In this way, the nature of a cow has bound within it non-cowness. Therefore, cowness and non-cowness are constitutive. It’s important not to make the leap, however, that cowness and dogness are co-constitutive, since it is not the case that without dogs per se, there can be no concept of cows. That is, there are always cats, birds, and oranges. So, when it comes to distinguishing between “exists” and “exists as,” such examples seem to imply that the apparent contradiction lies in one’s failure to keep claims of existence as relative claims. When claims regarding existence are used, they are often chosen because they appear absolute—either the pen exists or the pen does not exist. However, if we keep in mind the relative nature of truth claims, even claims of existence, it must be taken into account that an object existing “as.” The implications of syādvāda for expressing truth, then, is that “no judgment is true in itself and by itself without reference to the conditions under which it is made.”45 Let us again consider the context for which this doctrine has been most historically perpetuated, the disagreements between Advaitin permanence and Buddhist impermanence. As John Koller argues, Indeed, if taken at the same level and from the same perspective, even the Jainas would see the Advaitin and Buddhist claims as contradictory and mutually exclusive. However, from the perspective of a higher, inclusive, level made possible by the ontology and epistemology of anekāntavāda and syādvāda, their

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claims can be seen as ekānta, or partially true, and therefore not mutually exclusive contradictory claims. But from within either the Advaitins or the Buddhist perspective this higher, inclusive, level is unavailable, and the noncontradictoriness of their claims is uncognizable and inexpressible.46

In other words, the failure of both the Advaitins and the Buddhists is to neglect the many-sided nature of reality—a failure which results in treating one’s own limited perspective as the exclusively absolute perspective. Therefore, according to Jainism, both the Buddhist and Advaitin are only partially correct—or fully correct from their partial nayas. This does not mean some sort of hopeless skepticism, or vicious relativism. The Jain epistemological stance is a positive one, albeit qualified. It is for this reason that the Jain doctrine of relativity (sometimes collapsed into the doctrine of anekāntavāda) is sometimes referred to as a doctrine of non-absolutism. As such, the doctrine of syādvāda, “denies all absolute propositions .  .  . every proposition, according to the Jain doctrine, being only relatively true, i.e., true from a certain point of view, and untrue from a different point of view. It is thus a doctrine of Relativity of Truth . . . and should not be confounded with any form of Skepticism or Agnosticism, ancient or modern.”47 Kusum Jain affirms this point in saying, “Instead [of] creating doubt or uncertainty, syādvāda helps a correct, precise and through comprehension of the reality.”48 To this end, Mahavira is quoted as saying, “Where there is truth, from there language returns, neither intellect, nor thoughts nor even the mind goes there.”49 Mahavira acknowledges that truth transcends linguistic and cognitive capacities—though such transcendence does not preclude immanence. Therefore, “As an omniscient being, with infinite knowledge at his disposal, Mahavira recognized that truth or reality can be experienced but cannot be expressed in its entirety through the medium of language.”50 Together, these three doctrines, syādvāda, nayavāda, and anekāntavāda make up what Jeffery D. Long calls, the Jain doctrine of relativity (not to be confused with relativism).51 The purpose of this chapter was to introduce the Jain doctrine of relativity, which may serve as a resource for establishing a deeper religious pluralism capable of reconciling contradictory perspectives (not just complementary ones). Thus far, we’ve seen that in the Jain doctrine of syādvāda, the fourth mode of predication (simultaneous affirmation and negation—inexpressibility) is the sort of thinking that takes us one step closer to understanding the possibility of a deeper pluralism that paradoxically finds truth in contradictions. However, it is far too early to praise Jainism as having all the answers to our pluralism dilemma. To better understand the Jain doctrine of relativity, we must also explore Jain views on truth and falsity, which are essential to understanding the Jain means of reconciling seemingly contradictory perspectives.

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NOTES 1. See Bimal Krishnam Matilal, The Central Philosophy of Jainism: Anekāntavāda (Ahmedabad: L.D. Institute of Indology, 1981). 2. Satkari Mookerjee, The Jaina Philosophy of Non-Absolutism: A Critical Study of Anekāntavāda (Calcutta: Bharati Mahavidyalaya, 1944), 24. 3. Y.J. Padmarajiah, A Comparative Study of the Jaina Theories of Reality and Knowledge (Bombay: Jain Sahitya Vikas Mandal, 1963), 273. 4. Padmarajiah, A Comparative Study of the Jaina Theories of Reality and Knowledge, 274. 5. Siddhasēna Divākara, Nyāyāvatāra, translated by Satis Chandra Vidyabhusana (Calcutta: Indian Research Society, 1909). 6. Tattvārthasūtra 5.30. 7. Tattvārthasūtra 5.32. 8. Tattvārthasūtra 5.42. 9. Nagin Shah, Jaina Theory of Multiple Facets of Reality and Truth (Anekāntavāda), (Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 2000), 19. 10. V.M. Kulkarni, “Relativity and Absolutism,” in Jaina Theory of Multiple Facets of Reality and Truth (Anekāntavāda), edited by Nagin J. Shah (Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 2000), 66. 11. By “reality” I believe Jain’s have in mind what most of us mean—the state of things as they actually are. 12. John M. Koller, “Syādvāda as the Epistemological Key to the Jaina Middle Way Metaphysics of Anekāntavāda,” in Philosophy East and West, Vol. 50, No. 3 (University of Hawai’i Press, 2000), 401. 13. For a more detailed look at Jain epistemology, see: Hari Mohan Bhattacharya, Jaina Logic and Epistemology (New Delhi: K.P. Bagchi and Co., 1994); Hemachandra, Pramāṇa-mimamsa, text and translation with critical notes by Satkari Mookerjee (Varanasi: Tara Book Agency, 1970). 14. Anekant Kumar Jain, “The Concept of Naya in Jainism,” in 7th International Summer School for Jain Studies—Study Notes, Vol. 4 (2011): 289. 15. Jain, “The Concept of Naya in Jainism,” 289. 16. H.R Kapadia, Introduction to Haribhadra Suri’s Anekāntajayapataka with His Own Commentary and Municandra Suri’s Supercommentary (Baroda: Oriental Institute, 1947), cxviii. 17. Koller, “Syādvāda as the Epistemological Key to the Jaina Middle Way Metaphysics of Anekāntavāda,” 403. 18. Koller, “Syādvāda as the Epistemological Key to the Jaina Middle Way Metaphysics of Anekāntavāda,” 401. 19. Koller, “Syādvāda as the Epistemological Key to the Jaina Middle Way Metaphysics of Anekāntavāda,” 402. 20. Padmarajiah, A Comparative Study of the Jaina Theories of Reality and Knowledge, 303–304. 21. Jain, “The Concept of Naya in Jainism,” 289. 22. Matilal, The Central Philosophy of Jainism, 52.

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23. Wilhem Halbfass, India and Europe: An Essay in Understanding (Albany, NY: SUNY Press, 1988), 416. 24. See Jeffery D. Long, Jainism: An Introduction (New York: I.B. Tauris, 2010), 147; and Acarya Mahaprajna, “An Introduction: The Axioms of Non-Absolutism,” in Facets of Jain Philosophy, Religion and Culture: Anekāntavāda and Syādvāda, edited by Rai Ashwini Kumar, T.M. Dak, and Anil Dutta Mishra (Ladnun, Rajasthan: Jain Vishva Bharati Institute, 1996). 25. See Samantabhadra, Apta-Mimāmsā. 26. Pragati Jain, “Saptabhangi: The Jaina Theory of Seven fold Predication: A Logical Analysis,” in Philosophy East and West, Vol. 50, No. 3 (Honolulu, HI: University of Hawai’i Press, 2000), 395. 27. Tattvārthasūtra v. 30. 28. See K.K. Dixit, Jaina Ontology (Ahmedabad: L.D. Institute Indology, 1971) or Long, Jainism: An Introduction. 29. Graham Priest, Beyond the Limits of Thought, 2nd ed. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2002), 4. 30. There doesn’t appear to be consensus on what makes the fourth mode of predication “inexpressible.” Perhaps it is that language is a human construction that is limited by cultural-historical context; whereas absolute truth is eternal and beyond such limitations. Perhaps it is that the inexpressible truths are of the kind that can only be felt, in an omniscience space that transcends finite perspectives which is where language resides. Perhaps it is that inexpressible truths, as simultaneous affirmation and negation, are paradoxical—and as Graham Priest argues, paradoxes are found at the limits of thought and language. Whatever the reason, the important point for my purposes is not so much identifying the limits of language, but in identifying the paradoxical ways foundational to pluralistic thinking. 31. Nagin J. Shah, trans. Jaina Philosophy and Religion (India: Motilal Banarsidass, 1998), 351. 32. F. Bharucha and R.V. Kamat. “Syādvāda Theory of Jainism in Terms of Deviant Logic,” in Indian Philosophical Quarterly, Vol. 9 (1984): 183. 33. Matilal, The Central Philosophy of Jainism, 54. 34. Bimal Krishna Matilal, “Anekānta: Both Yes and No,” in Jaina Theory of Multiple Facets of Reality and Truth (Anekāntavāda), edited by Nagin J. Shah (Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 2000), 15. 35. Kulkarni, “Relativity and Absolutism,” 66. 36. Matilal, “Anekānta: Both Yes and No,” 15. 37. Jonardon Ganeri, “Jaina Logic and the Philosophical Basis of Pluralism,” in History and Philosophy of Logic, Vol. 20 (Taylor & Francis, 2002), 3. 38. Ganeri, “Jaina Logic and the Philosophical Basis of Pluralism,” 3. 39. F. Bharucha and R.V. Kamat. “Syādvāda Theory of Jainism in Terms of Deviant Logic,” 183. 40. Koller, “Syādvāda as the Epistemological Key to the Jaina Middle Way Metaphysics of Anekāntavāda,” 404. 41. Matilal, The Central Philosophy of Jainism, 61. 42. Matilal, The Central Philosophy of Jainism, 31.

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43. Satkari Mookerjee, The Jaina Philosophy of Non-Absolutism: A Critical Study of Anekāntavāda (Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1978), 12. 44. Jain, “Saptabhangi: The Jaina Theory of Seven fold Predication: A Logical Analysis,” 395. 45. Shah, Jaina Theory of Multiple Facets of Reality and Truth, x. 46. Koller, “Syādvāda as the Epistemological Key to the Jaina Middle Way Metaphysics of Anekāntavāda,” 407. 47. Kulkarni, “Relativity and Absolutism,” 62; quoting Syādvādamanjari, with notes by A.B. Dhruva, 32. 48. Jain, “Anekānta—Syāt—Saptabhangi,” 301. 49. Ayaro Sūtra 5/123–125 in Eternal, Quotes from Lord Mahavira, translated by Gyan Jain, 78. 50. Samani Charitrapragya, “Mahavira, Anekāntavāda and the World Today,” in Ahimsa, Anekānta and Jainism, edited by Tara Sethia (Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 2004), 77. 51. See Long, Jainism: An Introduction.

Chapter 5

Truth and Falsity in Jainism

THE FOUNDATIONS OF TRUTH With this Jain doctrine of relativity, the most pressing question becomes one of truth and falsity. In Jainism, truth (like reality) is complex. As such, the Jain perspective on truth is many-sided. The many sides of truth in Jainism are loosely categorized into two types: (1) relative truth and (2) absolute truth. To better understand this distinction as well as the complex views on truth, let us begin by looking at the Jain proverb—“‘munde munde matirbhina’—each one has his own mind.”1 Every person claims that he is saying the truth. Everyone’s opinion comes for our consideration and puts us in a quandary. Sometimes, we think, that one’s opinion is right and sometimes the other’s. In such situations, how can we find the truth? It is a very complicated problem. Lord Mahavira has solved this problem with utter simplicity through a small beautiful quotation—“Find the truth yourself.” Who are others? What all do they say? Without thinking of them, try to find the truth yourself. Persons who blindly believe others live with blindfaith. They will surely be deceived. Whatever in the world is yellow is not gold. It can even be brass. Hence, think on your own and decide the truth. Search the truth through your own experiences.2

This advice from Mahavira, which has been elucidated by Acharya Srimad Vijay, has a tendency to be misinterpreted as relativism. “Find the truth yourself,” can be mistakenly conceived as “what’s true for you is true.” But, this is far from the intended meaning. Rather, Acharya Srimad Vijay cautions against superimposing qualities of reality upon that which is an illusion. That is, he cautions against imposing the qualities of gold upon brass, as a result of experiencing yellow. This seems consistent with the Jain position, 111

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in that it still affirms the existence of an objective reality (gold, brass, yellow) which is experienced. Failure or falsehood enters when we associate our particular experience of yellow with the absolute conclusion that it is either gold or brass. It is clear that Jains, with their affirmation of a mind-independent reality, urge us to distinguish between brass and gold, and the respective qualities. But this doesn’t quite explain how one distinguishes between true and false correspondence in the Jain system. How do we know we are holding brass and not gold? What standard is used to determine truth from falsity? These core epistemic questions are answered in Jainism through experience. Satkari Mookerjee puts it simply, saying, “What should then be the criterion of contradiction and incompatibility? The Jaina affirms, ‘We consider a position to be incompatible, which has not the sanction of valid experience.’”3 Likewise, according to Y.J. Padmarijiah, the Jains hold that “experience is the source of the knowledge as well as of the validity of its truth.”4 Mookerjee also argues that “the problem of falsity is thus ultimately a question of experience. The problem of truth is no less a matter of experience. . . . The Jaina realist goes to experience when in doubt about the possibility of the occurrence of a fact, and if experience confirms it, he accepts it to be true.”5 To illustrate this point, Mookerjee uses the example of dreaming. He writes, “Subjective experience, as illustrated by a dream, is rejected as false because it is contradicted by our waking experience.”6 But as demonstrated by the Western philosophical giant, Rene Descartes, it is not always easy to distinguish between dreaming and being awake. Specifically, Descartes problematizes the epistemology of phenomenology, reminding us that our waking experiences can be deceptive. In his Meditations on Philosophy, Descartes writes: “All that I have, up to this moment, accepted as possessed of the highest truth and certainty, I received either from or through the senses. I observed, however, that these sometimes misled us; and it is the part of prudence not to place absolute confidence in that by which we have even once been deceived.”7 Descartes provides the following scenario: It may be said, perhaps, that, although the senses occasionally mislead us respecting minute objects, and such as are so far removed from us as to be beyond the reach of close observation, there are yet many other of their informations (presentations), of the truth of which it is manifestly impossible to doubt; as for example, that I am in this place, seated by the fire, clothed in a winter dressing gown, that I hold in my hands this piece of paper, with other intimations of the same nature. But how could I deny that I possess these hands and this body, and withal escape being classed with persons in a state of insanity, whose brains are so disordered and clouded by dark bilious vapors as to cause them pertinaciously to assert that they are monarchs when they are in the greatest poverty; or clothed [in gold] and purple when destitute of any covering; or

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that their head is made of clay, their body of glass, or that they are gourds? I should certainly be not less insane than they, were I to regulate my procedure according to examples so extravagant.8

He then states: How often have I dreamt that I was in these familiar circumstances, that I was dressed, and occupied this place by the fire, when I was lying undressed in bed? At the present moment, however, I certainly look upon this paper with eyes wide awake; the head which I now move is not asleep; I extend this hand consciously and with express purpose, and I perceive it; the occurrences in sleep are not so distinct as all this. But I cannot forget that, at other times I have been deceived in sleep by similar illusions; and, attentively considering those cases, I perceive so clearly that there exist no certain marks by which the state of waking can ever be distinguished from sleep, that I feel greatly astonished; and in amazement I almost persuade myself that I am now dreaming.9

Descartes dilemma is this: How do we know if we are dreaming or awake? When we are awake, our experiences seem real. When we are asleep, our experiences can seem real. What justification, then, do we have for trusting our experiences as the source of truth and knowledge? Descartes’ dilemma problematizes Mookerjee’s notion that “subjective experience, as illustrated by a dream, is rejected as false because it is contradicted by our waking experience.”10 While Descartes himself goes on to write five more meditations which attempt to solve this dilemma, the seeds of epistemological skepticism have already been sown. For Mookerjee, the subjective experience of dreaming is rejected as false because it is contradicted by waking experience. However, the same logic could be used to justify the truth of dreaming experience, insofar as it is contradicted by waking experience. That is, given that both dreaming and waking experience are mutually contradictory, on what grounds is waking experience given priority? This sounds odd, since our definitions for dreaming and waking are such that it is implied that one is real and the other illusory. So perhaps the more pressing question is, how does one know which experience is a dream and which experience is being awake?11 If one can dream about anything, including those experiences that can be had while being awake, how are we to determine which is which? Might I be dreaming now? As illustrated nicely by the recent Hollywood film, Inception, it’s even possible to have a dream within a dream—to wake from a dream, only to find that we are still dreaming, if only at a different level. I believe this dilemma poses problems for the Jain doctrine of truth, as portrayed by Mookerjee. Essentially, Mookerjee argues that “the problem of falsity is thus ultimately a question of experience.”12 However, he fails

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to account for the problem of experience itself, which is a problem of reliability. What makes our experience a reliable source of truth and knowledge? Unfortunately, Jain literature doesn’t seem to provide a good answer for the reliability of the senses. Instead it seems to be merely assumed that experience is a reliable measure of truth. It may be that Jains do not feel a need to defend what seems obvious to them—clearly I am awake, and experience is the best measure I have. Besides, if we didn’t use experience, what else would we use? Ironically, Mookerjee also argues that “the problem of truth is a logical problem and must be determined with logical means. The criterion of falsity is contradiction. If a judgment is found to be contradicted by another judgment of unquestionable truth, the former is to be rejected as untrue.”13 Epistemologically, this sort of thinking is called foundationalism—that there is some unquestionable foundation of knowledge by which we can judge all subsequent propositions. The problem with foundationalism, however, is how one can justifiably establish an unquestionable truth. What truth (or more accurately, truth claim) can be fundamentally unquestionable and undeniable? By what means is any proposition necessarily true. Insofar as such a foundation is established on experience, there is always the question of the reliability of that experience. Not only so, but our experiences are always relative. Therefore, the only sort of truth that can be established in this way is a relative truth—either as relativism (what’s true for me is true) or Jain non-absolutism (what’s true for me is partially true). Furthermore, if one is not careful, taken to the logical end and rejecting as untrue all claims found to be contradicting the “unquestionable foundational truth” (as Mookerjee suggests), can pave the way for exclusivism and absolutism—affirming our own experience (which provides us with our unquestionable truth) as absolute to the exclusion of all others. Regardless of this possible shortcoming (i.e., not validating the reliability of experience) in the Jain philosophy of truth, there are additional positive claims made about truth and falsity in Jainism. One such claim is the exclusivity of falsity, to which I now turn. THE EXCLUSIVITY OF FALSITY By the “exclusivity of falsity” I mean two things: (1) the gravest error one can make is ekānta—excluding the relative truths of others as a result of treating one’s own relative truth as an absolute truth and (2) the identification of false claims (distinct from true claims) as an act of exclusion—in that it requires an exclusionary criterion. Consider the example provided by Siddhasēna Divākara who writes, “All perspectives are true, in their respective spheres, and to the extent that

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they are mutually exclusive, they are false. One who comprehends the manysided nature of reality never characterizes a particular view as simply ‘true’ or ‘false.’”14 This Jain perspective characterizes error as any relative position which is treated as an exclusive universal. Therefore truth, as understood by this passage, is a matter of capturing the many-sided nature of reality. Similarly, Jeffery Long states that “the truth of any given claim is never determinable in isolation, but only in relation to that of all other claims. The most egregious logical fallacy, on this understanding of truth, is thus to affirm, in a one-sided fashion, the absolute validity of any single perspective (naya) to the exclusion of all contrary views—a fallacy called, in the Jain philosophical tradition, durnaya (Folkert 1993: 222).”15 Note, that it is not erroneous not to affirm one-sided perspectives. Without the ability to affirm our own perspectives, Jainism would lead to skepticism. Remember, the doctrine of syādvāda is not a “maybe” doctrine of uncertainty. Instead, the fallacy in Jainism is to accept a one-sided perspective at the exclusion of all others. This is an important distinction! In fact, one could argue, that it is this very distinction that rests at the heart of the pluralistic logic of Jainism—balancing between relativism and absolutism. Therefore, in the first sense, the exclusivity of falsity in Jainism identifies those statements as false which are one-sided—excluding all others. In the second sense, however, the exclusivity of falsity in Jainism means identifying as true all statements that exclude falsity. That is, all non-false beliefs are true beliefs. This sort of thinking is not uncommon to Western ears who tend to think of truth and falsity as a binary of opposites. However, the positions, when taken together, seem paradoxical. If exclusive statements are false, but true statements are those that exclude falsity, would not true statements be false statements by virtue of their exclusion of false statements? Such scenarios ring of self-referential paradoxes, like the liar’s paradox. I will address this sort of paradoxical dilemma and the associated logic in the sections to come. THE RELATIVITY OF TRUTH If falsity is inextricably bound up in exclusivity and one-sidedness, then perhaps truth is conversely bound up with relativity and many-sidedness. But what might this relativity of truth entail? In the spirit of the Jain doctrine of anekāntavāda (non-one-sidedness), if a statement is made from a limited perspective (naya), it can only be relatively true. This is the kind of truth dealt with most of the time. Inevitably, to assert something is to do so from within a particular framework (time, place, etc.) as a particular person. Therefore, when I say, “it is raining,” my statement may be true or false depending on

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my context. It may in fact be raining in Longview, WA and not in Claremont, CA. Therefore, the statement, “it is raining,” is only true or false in a relative sense. To treat relative truths as absolute truths is to commit the egregious error of ekānta (one-sidedness). Claims made from a certain perspective (syāt) are always relative claims. As such, they can only be true or false in a relative sense. When it comes to the Jain theory of error, the primary way of committing falsehood is ekānta, to treat one-sided relative truths as absolute and universal truths, to the exclusion of all contraries. In short, one commits this error by making an unconditional dogmatic assertion. The way to avoid such error is to follow the path of syādvāda, the Jain doctrine of conditional assertion/ predication. Accordingly, all claims should by predicated by the particle syāt (from a certain perspective), so that dogmatic assertions become conditional, and the relative truth of an assertion can be captured. In this way, the seemingly contradictory claims of others are seen as complementary insofar as they are asserted in different senses and from different perspectives. Truth, understood in this way, is a function of perspective. The truth of an assertion is directly dependent on the perspective from which it is asserted, and is therefore relative. But, if this were all that determined truth, then Jainism would devolve into a form of relativism, by which truth is simply a matter of perspective. If that were the case, then what’s true for you in your perspective would be true because it was your perspective. And what’s true for me in my perspective would be true because it is my perspective. This would mean, truth is a matter of perspective, with no objective criterion. Yet, Jains have gone to great lengths to defend against the charge of relativism. For Jainism, unlike relativism, it’s not the case that just any assertion can be true in just any sense. What saves the Jain position from relativism is the identification of two limiting factors which act as fixed points by which the truth of an assertion can be measured. These limitations are, (1) reality itself, and (2) the normative claims of the Jain tradition (i.e., absolute truth).16 Reality, as a limiting notion, is the result of Jain metaphysical realism. A true statement, even when made conditionally from a particular perspective, must be an accurate description of objective reality (if even partially so). Here, it is truth as correspondence that is an important notion of truth in the Jain tradition, whereby something is truth if it properly corresponds to reality. For Jains, there really is a “real world” to which each relative perspective is related. In this way, Jainism is a form of relativity, but not relativism. While it is possible to have a misguided perspective (to improperly describe objective reality), most of the time, reality—in its innumerable attributes—can be properly described from a plurality of seemingly contradictory perspectives. For this reason, Jains suggest the default position is to give others the benefit of the doubt, and assume they have a piece of the truth different from one’s

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own. In this way, it is possible to avoid the error of unnecessary exclusion and one-sidedness. In terms of relative truth, Mookerjee makes a bold statement, suggesting that “The Jaina admits the truth of all the premises.”17 If this were the case, however, and Jains really affirm the truth of all premises, there would be no room for falsity. This would seem to entail relativism, understood as an “everything is true” perspective. Despite Mookerjee’s articulation, this does not seem to be representative of the Jain tradition, since traditional Jain thought rejects the charge of relativism. At best, if truth were understood in Jain terms of relativity, then the relative truth of all claims might also entail the relative falsity as well. Since being relatively true implies a lack of completeness attributed to absolute truth, it could be argued that incompleteness entails error (i.e., falsehood). In other words, insofar as a statement is partially true, it is also partially false; such that every relative truth entails its relative falsity. While this generous reading of the Jain logic of relative truth can attempt to make sense of Mookerjee’s formulation in the context of the Jain tradition, it only takes us so far. Meaning, while relative falsity is implied in the relativity of truth, the important question is not “can a proposition be deemed relatively false?” but, “can a proposition be deemed objectively false?” Insofar as Jains affirm metaphysical realism and a correspondence notion of truth, it seems theoretically possible that someone can make a completely false claim by simply making a claim that corresponds to illusion and not to objective reality. True enough, the multisided nature of reality allows for a plurality of seemingly contradictory claims to all be relatively true, insofar as they correspond to different aspects of the complex real. However, this complex real is an objective real—and therefore it should be possible to make propositions that do not properly correspond to any aspect of reality. I’m not referring to logically incoherent statements like a “married bachelor,” but metaphysically (and physically) non-corresponding statements, such as “it rained in Claremont, CA on June 4, 2015.” Assuming that the one who makes such a statement means what people normally mean about raining, the location of Claremont, and the calendar month/day/year of June 4, 2015, it should be determinable whether or not the statement corresponds to the actually state of affairs (reality). Thus far, then, Jainism has established a theory of falsity that identifies error as (1) internal logical incoherence, (2) improper correspondence with objective reality,18 and (3) ekānta, by which one-sided views are mistaken as absolute views. Still, another interpretation of the Jain position provides a more sophisticated and philosophically desirable response to this dilemma— the transcendental nature of truth. The notion of the transcending, mysterious, or inexpressible truth is echoed in the Western pluralistic theory of Panikkar, as well as Faber and Keller. Such truth is not of a relative nature, but absolute.

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TRANSCENDENTAL NATURE OF TRUTH Whereas everyday truth is relative truth, Jainism has not given up on absolute truth. This fact keeps Jainism from becoming a vicious relativism (or trivialism), whereby everything is true. Whereas relative truths are one-sided truth, absolute truths are non-one-sided. Such truths can only be known by an omniscient jiva (soul) that has shed all knowledge obscuring karmas, and subsequently transcends one-sidedness. Absolute truth can only be grasped from an absolute viewpoint. Apart from omniscience, all viewpoints are nonabsolute (or relative) and therefore, can only grasp relative truths. For this reason, the normative claims of Jainism itself, passed down from the absolute perspective of the enlightened omniscient Jinas (e.g., Mahavira), serve as another measure of truth and falsity. Since, the perspective of omniscience is an absolute and pure perspective, all truth (even partial truth) must properly cohere to this absolute perspective. Here, it is truth as coherence that is an important notion of truth in the Jain tradition, whereby something is truth if it properly coheres to the logic of a given system. Absolute truth can only be grasped from an absolute viewpoint. Apart from omniscience, all viewpoints are non-absolute (or relative) and therefore, can only grasp relative truth. As Siddhasēna Divākara (fifth-century Jain philosopher) writes, “Since a thing has manifold character, it is comprehended (only) by the omniscient. But a thing becomes the subject matter of a naya, when it is conceived from one particular standpoint.”19 To grasp absolute truth is to grasp the many-sided nature of reality. But, from the standpoint of nonomniscience, and in order to avoid the error of ekānta, one should preface every claim with the participle syāt (from a certain perspective), to ensure that the claim is treated relatively. Absolute truth is essentially transcendent truth. Such truth is ultimately unknowable (for non-omniscient beings) and inexpressible (even for omniscient beings). This is a crucial stance on the notion of truth in Jainism, and undergirds the rationale for why Mahavira encourages his followers to “Find the truth yourself.”20 Truth—in its full complexity—can never be expressed, and subsequently can never be taught. It can only be experienced. Now, one might wonder, if this is so, why does Mahavira continue to teach—why propose metaphysical doctrines, doctrines of the soul, of karma, principles like ahimsa, and so on? If ultimate truth cannot be expressed, why all these attempts at expressing it? Not only so, but isn’t the claim that “absolute truth cannot be expressed,” an expression of an absolute truth? If so, does it refute itself? The transcendental nature of truth means that absolute truth is ultimately unknowable (for non-omniscient beings) and inexpressible (even for omniscient beings).21 As Dayanand Bhargava states, however, “Paradoxical though it may appear, the Truth which transcends logic can be known only through

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logic.”22 In this sense, the transcendental nature of truth is not simply that which transcends the mental capacity of the knower, but that which transcends our very method of knowing. As Bhargava argues, truth can only be known through logic (which seems to contrast the above discussed notion that truth as known through experience and not logic). Yet, perhaps what appears to be a contrast is the result of an unnecessary bifurcation between logic and experience. Keeping in mind the Jain perspective on the transcendent nature of absolute truth, perhaps the best way to understand Jain metaphysical and other doctrines, is not as attempts at defining the truth in its full complexity (in the absolute sense), but as symbolically pointing toward the absolute. In this way, Jain philosophical doctrines are not attempts at describing the indescribable, but a pragmatic means of using language as symbols that points one toward the goal—liberation. From a Jain perspective, to truly understand absolute truth and the many-sided nature of reality, one must ultimately transcend Jain doctrine, and experience the truth of eternal bliss. Therefore, another important notion of truth in Jainism is a pragmatic notion, for which truth is a means rather than an end. Such pragmatic theories of language and truth are not unique to Jainism. Fourth-century (B.C.E) Chinese philosopher Zuangzi represents a parallel perspective with his clever analogy, stating, “A fish-trap is for catching fish; once you’ve caught the fish, you can forget about the trap. A rabbit-snare is for catching rabbits; once you’ve caught the rabbit, you can forget about the snare. Words are for catching ideas; once you’ve caught the idea, you can forget about the words. Where can I find a person who knows how to forget words so that I can have a few words with him?”23 The transcendental nature of truth requires more than admitting our truth claims are always relative, It demands silence with respect to the ultimate truth value of all claims. Jonardon Ganeri provides a very helpful example to this end. He writes, Consider . . . a jury faced with conflicting evidence from a variety of witnesses. The Jainas would not here tell us “who dun it,” for they don’t tell us the truthvalue of any given proposition. What they give us is the means to discover patterns in the evidence, and how to reason from them. For example, if one proposition is agreed on by all the witnesses, and another is agreed on by some but not others, use of the Jaina system will assign different values to the two propositions. The Jainas, as pluralists, do not try to judge which of the witnesses is lying and which is telling the truth; their role is more like that of the court recorder, to present the totality of evidence in a maximally perspicuous form, one which still permits deduction from the totality of evidence.24

If this were true of Jainism, it seems they would not be pluralists in the normative sense, but in the descriptive sense. Rather than making a value

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judgment, that all perspectives are relatively true, Jains should (in accordance with Mahavira and the logic of Ganeri) stop after acknowledging the presence of many perspectives. What’s difficult, however, is that most propositions (including Jain propositions) appear normative. Even the descriptive proposition, that reality is multifaceted, becomes a normative metaphysical claim called anekāntavāda. And as a normative claim, it goes beyond the simple recording of multiple perspectives. It seems, therefore, that the only way to avoid breaking into normative claims in response to the many-sided nature of reality, is to be silent. Not simply silent about the truth value of any given proposition (the “who dun it” according to Ganeri), but silent even about the nature of the plurality itself. Likewise, all ethical doctrines (the doctrines of ahiṃsā and aparigraha) are also innately normative. But most of all, religion itself, as a means of identifying as “other than,” is always normative. Therefore, despite the situation proposed by Ganeri, Jainism cannot be silent insofar as it is a religion, philosophy, or ethical theory. Though silence may not be possible for Jainism, Ganeri’s observation still provides important lessons for application—namely, humility. As K.C. Bhattacharya states, As a realist, the Jaina holds that truth is not constituted by willing, though he admits that the knowledge of truth has a necessary reference to willing. His theory of indeterministic truth is not a form of skepticism. It represents, not doubt, but toleration of many modes of truth. The faith in one truth or even in a plurality of truths, each simply given as determinate, would be rejected by it as a species of intolerance. What is presented and cannot be got rid of has to be accepted as truth even though it is not definitely thinkable or is thinkable in alternative definite modes.25

In other words, the transcendental nature of ultimate truth demands a humility regarding relative truth claims. Such humility, I believe, is found in the admission that one’s own claims to truth are necessarily relative and should not be treated as exclusive and absolute. Humility is markedly different than skepticism, in that it does not require a rejection of belief. Rather, the humble believer can affirm one’s own perspective without treating it as an exclusive and absolute perspective.26 RELATIVE TRUTH AS PART OF THE ABSOLUTE WHOLE Another trend in Jain conceptions of truth and falsity is the distinction between partial and complete truth and falsity. This is similar to the relative

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and absolute distinction, like particular and universal, since all relative truth is partial truth from a particular perspective, and complete truth is absolute from a transcendent and universal perspective. The part is associated with the whole, in that the whole is constituted by the parts—it is the summation of all parts. As Kusum Jain writes, “A single conclusion, by itself, is usually a mere part of the whole truth.”27 This view on truth is clearly related to the Jain metaphysical doctrine of anekāntavāda. Given that reality is non-one-sided, each side is only a part of a larger whole. An elephant is not just a leg, not just a tail, not just a trunk. However, when the many parts of the elephant are brought together (in the appropriate structure), we say we have an elephant.28 However, not all “parts” fit the whole. Meaning, wings aren’t an essential characteristic of elephants. The elephant, representing a very real and objective reality, has attributes like legs, but not like wings. If someone were to claim to hold on to the wings of an elephant, we might suggest her claim doesn’t properly correspond to an elephant, and is therefore false. In short, this means that not all claims are valid. If they were, Jainism would dissolve into relativism. Instead, there is a single reality. A very real reality that must not be taken for granted. The metaphysical realism that is presupposed by Jain philosophy prevents the doctrine of anekāntavāda from becoming a doctrine of relativism. Accordingly, reality is not fragmented. There is one true reality, and that reality is the standard by which truth is determined. As Kusum Jain writes, “Truth is knowledge of reality.”29 In that way, reality itself is a standard that not only determines truth, but falsity as well. For every claim that does not properly correspond (at least in part) to reality, must be deemed erroneous. It is on this basis that Jainism can hold to the validity of multiple perspectives without falling into a non-absolutistic relativism whereby all perspectives are a priori valid. While all propositions may be relative, not all propositions should be understood as “parts” insofar as they do not fit in the greater whole. This part-whole distinction is also used to explain conflicting worldviews. Nagin Shah claims that “different systems of philosophy present conflicting world-views because they concentrate on different facets of the world. They separately do not embody the whole truth. They are but broken lights of the whole Grand Truth. They refute each other because they do not bear in mind that each world-view or account is true only from its own standpoint and is subject to certain conditions.”30 Whereas the recognition that all truth claims are relative claims encourages alethic humility, the recognition that all truth claims (as relative claims) can at best only be parts of a great whole, evokes an embrace of multiple perspectives as complementary parts which work together to create the whole.31

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Across religious traditions, there are a number of useful parables that offer insight into this part-whole paradigm. Among these, the scriptures of Christianity provide a useful analogy. 1 Cor. 12: 12–26 states, Just as a body, though one, has many parts, but all its many parts form one body, so it is with Christ. For we were all baptized by one Spirit so as to form one body—whether Jews or Gentiles, slave or free—and we were all given the one Spirit to drink. Even so the body is not made up of one part but of many. Now if the foot should say, “Because I am not a hand, I do not belong to the body,” it would not for that reason stop being part of the body. And if the ear should say, “Because I am not an eye, I do not belong to the body,” it would not for that reason stop being part of the body. If the whole body were an eye, where would the sense of hearing be? If the whole body were an ear, where would the sense of smell be? But in fact God has placed the parts in the body, every one of them, just as he wanted them to be. If they were all one part, where would the body be? As it is, there are many parts, but one body. The eye cannot say to the hand, “I don’t need you!” And the head cannot say to the feet, “I don’t need you!” On the contrary, those parts of the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable, and the parts that we think are less honorable we treat with special honor. And the parts that are unpresentable are treated with special modesty, while our presentable parts need no special treatment. But God has put the body together, giving greater honor to the parts that lacked it, so that there should be no division in the body, but that its parts should have equal concern for each other. If one part suffers, every part suffers with it; if one part is honored, every part rejoices with it.

This passage, which is written as a letter to an early Christian community, demonstrates (1) that each part has a unique function, and (2) that each part is dependent upon the others—the whole is the interdependent parts, which becomes more than the sum of its parts. While this Christian example uses parts of a body (presumably human), the Jains use a similar example of body parts, specifically that of an elephant. The blind men and the elephant parable, as discussed above is also used to illustrate the part-whole relationship. Kusum Jain writes, “If one blind man investigates only the elephant’s leg, and on that basis alone decides an elephant is like a tree trunk, he would be partly right but mostly wrong.”32 In this way, the Jain doctrine of truth, which distinguishes between partial truth (the elephant is like a tree trunk) and absolute truth (which is inexpressible), identifies the whole as being constituted by the interdependent parts. Jain continues, by saying, “The more different perspectives we adopt and the more different independent investigations we do, the more different conclusions we will gain, and the more deeply and comprehensively we are bound to understand.”33 In other words, not only are the parts mutually interdependent, but when the parts are brought together, we have a more complete

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and comprehensive understanding of the whole truth. By incorporating the perspectives of all blind men, we see the elephant more accurately and more fully than if we were to rely on only a single perspective. All the while, it should be kept in mind that simply integrating multiple perspectives does not provide us with the whole or complete truth, whose nature has innumerable aspects, and whose fullness is ultimately inexpressible. RESPECT FOR THE TRUTH OF OTHERS Among the various aspects of the Jain conception of truth, the bottom line— the heart of the matter if you will—is that conceptions of “truth” in Jainism facilitate respect and intellectual humility, while simultaneously resisting skepticism and absolutism. Samani Charitrapragya writes, “The application of the philosophy of anekānta enables us to understand the various dimensions of truth, to reconcile sometimes seemingly contradictory views, and facilitates an attitude of respect for other people’s points of view.”34 The recognition (through anekāntavāda) of the plurality of valid perspectives which yield a myriad of relative truths, and the transcendental nature of absolute truth which can only be experienced, demands humility with respect to truth. With relative truth, such humility is found in the admission that one’s own claims to truth (like all others) are necessarily relative and should not be treated as exclusive and absolute. With absolute truth, such humility comes with the admission that as non-omniscient beings, one only has access to relative truths. All the while, such humility does not become a form of skepticism, nor does it default to an exclusive absolutism. Since the ultimate truth is beyond words or concepts, all truth claims should be asserted with an attitude of humility and a dialectic of conditionality. Along these lines, Nagin Shah writes, “Anekāntavāda has respect for the view of others. It recognizes truth in every view, idea or system.”35 While I do not believe this is an accurate (or at least the best) description of the doctrine of anekāntavāda—since recognizing truth in every view is to fall into relativism (either alethic or metaphysical), it is important to note that the Jain vision of truth and falsity places an emphasis on the truth of other perspectives rather than the falsity—a hermeneutic of generosity rather than suspicion. At the intersection of relative and absolute truth is reality. From the standpoint of absolute relativism, everything is true. The colloquialism— “what’s true for you is true,” haunts this relativist position. Put another way, nothing can be false: truth is relative, to the extent that there is no objective or absolute truth. Relativism concerning physical and metaphysical matters, therefore, is problematic from a realist perspective. As discussed previously, metaphysical realism maintains that reality is an objective, mind-independent,

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existence. What is real is real, independent of what I “think” is real. Realism of this sort seems to require that “what is true is true” regardless of what is “true for you.” The knowing subject is largely irrelevant to the objective truth of a matter. In this, a distinction between epistemology and metaphysics is crucial. Like the blind men and the elephant, epistemic limitations don’t determine the truth of the matter. Whether we see the whole elephant or not, the elephant (qua elephant) does exist. So, is it possible to be in error (hold false beliefs) according to the Jain view? If so, how does one distinguish between true and false propositions? If there is no available means of distinguishing between truth and falsity, aren’t the only available options relativism (there is no falsity), or skepticism (the truth is unknowable)? Because Jains affirm metaphysical realism, there is a sense in which they embrace objective and not relative truth. That is, insofar as truth is understood in terms of properly corresponding to reality, and reality is objective (mindindependent), truth is also objective. However, Jainism presents a unique complication to this situation, by embracing the multifaced nature of reality. This seems to open the door for mutually valid conflicting truth claims, which can all be understood as true—but always in a qualified sense. This is different than the traditional relativism, which suggests that “what true for you is true” because it is true for you. By contrast, the Jain doctrine of relativity affirms that “what is true for you is true” because it is true. The acceptance of mutually exclusive truth claims is not so much a matter of accepting another’s perspective as self-validating, but accepting that another’s perspective may very well correspond to a different aspect of complex objective reality. Therefore, Jainism is able to maintain that truth is objective and that what is relative is not truth per se, but truth claims. As Kusum Jain writes, “‘Absolute truth’ cannot be grasped from any one point of view, by itself, because any viewpoint is dependent on the time, place, nature . . . of both the viewer and whatever is being viewed.”36 While statements like this are used to denote the limitations of any given viewpoint, statements like this also leave open the possibility that there is an absolute truth, which can (somehow) be grasped. Given that there is an absolute and potentially knowable truth, what is the function of truth and falsity in Jainism? According to Jeffery Long, “Truth and falsity are thus functions of the appropriateness of a claim to the sphere of existence to which it is relevant; and the interrelatedness of the many spheres of existence, the many sides or aspects of reality that this understanding of truth presupposes as its ontological basis, gives rise to the corresponding interrelatedness—the relativity—of the truth of all claims.”37 Therefore, in Long’s interpretation, there appear to be two functions of truth in Jainism—or at least two prominent theories of truth—(1) coherence and (2) correspondence. Insofar as Jainism holds

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truth and falsity to be relative to the context in which a claim is made, they embrace a coherence model. By itself, coherence can fall into relativism— since truth is understood only as internal logical coherence. Given a particular worldview, no matter how bizarre or unfounded, propositions related to that worldview can be deemed true or false simply on the merit of their internal coherency and loyalty to the presupposed metaphysical framework. But this is only one aspect of Long’s interpretation of Jain truth. The second aspect holds that the truth of a proposition depends, not simply on the context in which that proposition is made, but also upon the interrelatedness of all truth claims. In other words, the proper interrelation between propositions from various nayas is an essential characteristic of truth contrasted from falsity. Along these lines, Long also states that, “claims about reality are true or false not absolutely, but only conditionally: ‘in a certain sense’ (syāt) or from a certain point of view (Aptamimamsa 104).”38 From the coherence perspective, a proposition is false insofar as it is internally incoherent. In daily life, this is a common means of detecting a lie. When the account of events provided by an individual does not seem internally coherent, we begin to question the truth of the account provided. Consider the following true story from my childhood. When I was a teenager, my mother once asked me where I had been. I told her I was at my friend’s house till 10:00 and came home. But I didn’t arrive home till 11:00, and my friend’s house is only 30 minutes away. What happened to the remaining 30 minutes? I hadn’t intentionally lied, but forgot about a detour we took on the way home. Therefore, my story was not exclusively factual, in that I left out key information. And my mother, analyzing the coherence of my story, detected something awry. Similarly, the Jains maintain that internal coherency is a marker of truth. Though, it is not the only marker. From the correspondence perspective, a proposition is false insofar as it does not properly correspond to objective reality. As Surendranath Dasgupta argues, according to Jainism, “both logically and psychologically the validity of knowledge depends upon outward correspondence (samvada) with facts.”39 So falsity, from the perspective of correspondence, occurs when a proposition corresponds to illusion and not reality—illusion understood as any misrepresentation of the real. Consider another example from my childhood. One day, my younger brother returned home from school without eating his lunch. Not a punishable offense; I’m sure he ate something else, but after he came home he put his ham sandwich back in the fridge (quite responsibly from one perspective). When our mother noticed the sandwich in the fridge she asked my brother why he didn’t eat his sandwich. Surprisingly, my brother responded with, “I did mom.” She looked back in the fridge, and while staring at the sandwich she had prepared for him earlier that morning, repeated the question, “Are you sure you ate your ham sandwich?”

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Apparently a bit slow on the draw, my brother continued his commitment to his original story—almost as if saying he ate the sandwich would make it so that the sandwich in the fridge might disappear. It didn’t. And with irrefutable evidence contradicting his story, my brother was caught in a lie. In this case, it wasn’t simply that his story reeked of internal incoherence, but that the external evidence (objective reality) told a different story. Were my mother a Jain philosopher, she may have responded in a different way. Given that objective reality is multifaceted for Jains, and that our perception, experience, and our truth claims are always limited in scope, we can never correspond absolutely (save omniscience). Therefore, one must take into account the variety of standpoints. The question then becomes, how can falsity of this sort be determined? Whereas internal coherency can be objectively (or at least logically) examined, we do not have an objective means to examine proper correspondence to objective reality. Reason being, our examination of correspondence, like our claims to truth, will always be bound to our limited perspectives—which are decidedly nonobjective. So, it seems that the ability to distinguish between true and false belief in the sense of proper correspondence to objective reality is problematized in the Jain system. Perhaps if my mother asked my brother, “In what sense did you eat your ham sandwich” she would have discovered that my brother stole someone else’s ham sandwich (claiming it at his own) and that was the sandwich he claimed to have eaten. Or perhaps he ate a small slice of ham out of the middle of the sandwich, technically having eaten some of the sandwich, but never intending to claim to have eaten the entire sandwich? Point being, a Jain approach to truth seeks to consider the variety of ways and senses in which a statement can be made (or reality can be experienced). Among each of the different ways that truth and falsity are discussed within Jainism, an important distinction is present—truth and our knowledge of truth. As has been discussed in this chapter, in Jain relativity it is possible for some claims to be false. Whether false due to internal incoherence or inaccurate correspondence to objective reality, it is the possibility of falsity that allows Jainism to resist relativism. Since not all claims are true, Jain relativity is not relativism.40 Yet, because evaluation of a claim as either true or false must be done from a certain perspective (syāt), it is not easy (perhaps not even possible) to determine which claims are false. In Jainism, this results in a default generosity by which all claims are given the benefit of the doubt as being true from a perspective different from one’s own. Hence, Jainism also resists absolutism. The balance between absolutism and relativism is one reason while Jainism may provide helpful insights for religious pluralists. With chapters 4 and 5 under our belt—a brief exploration of the Jain doctrine of relativity and a survey of the Jain views on truth and falsity—we now have a foundation for mapping and understanding various Jain responses to

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the pluralism dilemma in conversation with Western responses to the same. It is to this task that I now turn. NOTES 1. Uttarādhyayana Sūtra 6/2, Gyan Jain, trans., Eternal, Quotes From Lord Mahavira, with elucidation by Acharya Srimad Vijay, (Chennai, Deepak Traders, 2009): 12. 2. Jain, Eternal, Quotes From Lord Mahavira, 12. 3. Mookerjee, The Jaina Philosophy of Non-Absolutism (1978), 13. 4. Padmarajiah, A Comparative Study of the Jaina Theories of Reality and Knowledge, 168. 5. Mookerjee, The Jaina Philosophy of Non-Absolutism (1978), 4, 14. 6. Mookerjee, The Jaina Philosophy of Non-Absolutism (1978), 4. 7. Rene Descartes, Meditations on Philosophy, translated by John Veitch (Meditation I, 1901). 8. Descartes, Meditations on Philosophy, Meditation I. 9. Descartes, Meditations on Philosophy, Meditation I. 10. Mookerjee, The Jaina Philosophy of Non-Absolutism (1978), 4. 11. Interestingly (as Randy Ramal noted in comments to an earlier draft of this book) the question shouldn’t just be about distinguishing between sleep and awake, as if awake represents truth and sleep represents falsity. Perhaps each type of experience (waking and sleeping) lead to different truths, since reality is many-sided anyways. While I have not seen anything in Jain literature to suggest this approach, it seems an interesting possibility that could be coherent with the rest of the Jain perspective. What if “reality” (the elephant) does not only include waking experience, but also dreaming experience? This, I think, would open up interesting alternatives within Jainism regarding the doctrine of Anekāntavāda and features of reality. That said, it is not something I will be exploring in this book. 12. Mookerjee, The Jaina Philosophy of Non-Absolutism (1978), 4, 14. 13. Mookerjee, The Jaina Philosophy of Non-Absolutism (1978), 4. 14. Siddhasēna, Sanmati-tarka, Chapter 1, Verse 28 (adapted from Matilal, The Central Philosophy of Jainism, 31). 15. Long, Plurality and Relativity, 18–19. 16. Long, Jainism: An Introduction, 150. 17. Mookerjee, The Jaina Philosophy of Non-Absolutism (1944), 19. 18. As discussed above, it seems experience is the only means Jains have for identifying improper correspondence with objective reality. However, experience, being subjective, is an insufficient means of identifying objective truth, given our locatedness in a limited perspective. This ultimately makes the second means of identifying error (on the grounds of correspondence) a useless category, since it is only possible for omniscient ones, which excludes all of us. 19. Siddhasēna, Nyayavatara (verse. 29). 20. Gyan Jain, trans., Eternal, Quotes From Lord Mahavira, 12.

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21. This use of transcendental (as synonymous with “transcendent”) is heavily critiqued by Kant, who poses a very different definition of the term transcendental. Nevertheless, I believe this use of “transcendental” is more common and widely accepted, which is why I choose to use it here. 22. Dayanand Bhargava, “A Few Modern Interpretations of Non-Absolutism,” in Jaina Theory of Multiple Facets of Reality and Truth (Anekāntavāda), edited by Nagin J. Shah (Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 2000), 111. 23. Zuangzi (Mair, 1994), 277. 24. Ganeri, “Jaina Logic and the Philosophical Basis of Pluralism,” 8. 25. K.C. Bhattacharya, “The Jaina Theory of Anekānta,” in Jaina Theory of Multiple Facets of Reality and Truth (Anekāntavāda), edited by Nagin J. Shah (Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 2000), 31. 26. Humility (particularly humility with respect to what we claim to know as “true” of ultimate reality), is often considered a precondition for interreligious dialogue. As John Archibald Wheeler writes, “We live on an island of knowledge surrounded by a sea of ignorance. As our island grows, so does the shoreline of our ignorance.” 27. Jain, “Anekānta—Syāt—Saptabhangi,” 299. 28. I realize that this is a simplistic overview of philosophies of identity. True enough, a three-legged elephant is still an elephant, and if an elephant had a liver transplant, we wouldn’t say the elephant how has two identities. Meaning, identity of the whole (the elephant) is not simply a matter of collecting all of the parts together, just as removing a part does not mean a thing ceases to be. However, for my purposes it suffices to say that in Jain theories of truth, the many sides of reality (parts), when brought together, provide a more complete picture of reality as such (whole). 29. Jain, “Anekānta—Syāt—Saptabhangi,” 298. 30. Shah, Jaina Theory of Multiple Facets of Reality and Truth (Anekāntavāda), x. 31. I am not suggesting that the part-whole distinction does not also elicit humility. I am merely identifying a different attribute provided by the distinction. 32. Jain, “Anekānta—Syāt—Saptabhangi,” 299. 33. Jain, “Anekānta—Syāt—Saptabhangi,” 300. 34. Charitrapragya, “Mahavira, Anekāntavāda and the World Today,” 82. 35. Shah, Jaina Theory of Multiple Facets of Reality and Truth (Anekāntavāda), xi. 36. Kusum Jain, “Anekānta—Syāt—Saptabhangi,” 298. 37. Long, Plurality and Relativity, 18. 38. Long, Plurality and Relativity, 17. 39. Surendranath Dasgupta, A History of Indian Philosophy, Vol. 1 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1951), 188. 40. While Jain relativity is not philosophically relativism (in that some claims can be false), the default generosity and affirmation of many-sided truth (along with the dilemma of always identifying false beliefs from within a certain perspective) means Jainism can often manifest as relativism in everyday life. I believe this is one reason why Jainism is accused of relativism, and why so many Jain scholars describe Jainism as affirming “all” perspectives as true.

Chapter 6

Jain Responses to the Pluralism Dilemma

Keeping in mind the discussion on Jain relativity and truth, I now turn back to the topic of religious pluralism. As discussed in Part I, the problem of religious pluralism is a matter of truth and difference. How are we to reconcile seemingly incompatible religious truth claims? Does the truth of one entail the falsity of others? The particular responses to this dilemma have been hotly debated issues in Western philosophy of religion. But where do the Jains stand on the matter? In short, I see expressions of all traditional responses to the threefold typology—exclusivism, inclusivism, and pluralism—in ­Jainism. In what follows, I will explicate these expressions as found in ­Jainism, discussing their strengths and weaknesses. JAIN EXCLUSIVISM Religious exclusivism is the perspective that only one religion’s views can be true, right, or salvific, to the exclusion of all views found incompatible. In one sense, exclusivism simply entails an affirmation of the true-false dichotomy as it relates to religion. Practically, however, it tends to manifest as an “I’m right and those who disagree with me are wrong,” sort of position referred to by some as unwarranted arrogance. Is there a sense in which Jains are religious exclusivists? Syāt, yes. Jainism, as a religion, has boundaries. Without boundaries, there is no way to define or distinguish religion from non-religion, or one religion from any other religion. Not only so, but one of the primary means by which religions establish boundaries, is by promulgating beliefs and practices that are characteristic of their communities. Therefore, it is no surprise that Jainism, as a religion, has an established set of beliefs and practices associated with membership (even if it be 129

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unofficial membership) in the Jain community. Put it this way, who is a Jain? To answer this question, most Jains (or anyone for that matter) would provide a list of characteristics associated with particular beliefs or practices representative of the Jain tradition.1 As Christopher Key Chapple writes, “The Jainas are firm in their own belief structure: their cosmology, logic, and ethics have remained unaltered for nearly three thousand years and, as we have seen, Jainism clearly distinguishes itself from other traditions.”2 During my time in India with the International School for Jain Studies, I had the fortunate opportunity to visit Jambudweep (a Digambara Jain temple in Hastinapur, Uttar Pradesh). On the temple grounds there are several incredible structures that are used to help teach Jain cosmology. One structure in particular, Teen lok Rachna, was modeled after the shape of the universe (See Figure 6.1). Inside, are a series of floors that represent the different levels of the universe in Jain cosmology—from the seven hells (which includes figurines of various kinds of hellish beings) at the bottom, all the way to Siddhashila at the top. It’s fascinating to see the degree of detail to which Jain cosmology has been mapped out. Jambudweep was developed to raise awareness regarding Jain mythology, cosmology, and philosophy. Yet, this detailed depiction of the various levels of reality, and the overall structure of the universe, is not put forth as one cosmological viewpoint (syāt) alongside other equally valid but radically different depictions of realty. Remember, Jains are metaphysical realists. There is an ultimately true shape to the universe, and it just so happens that this truth has been passed down to the Jain community from the omniscient lords. The teachings of Jainism are clear: the path to liberation (moksa-marga) consists of three jewels: (1) Right Belief, (2) Right Knowledge, and (3) Right Conduct. And the specificity of “right” belief, knowledge, and conduct refers to belief, knowledge, and conduct in accordance with the eternal teachings of Mahavira. As John Cort writes, “The path to liberation (moksa-marga) consists of correct (samyak) worldview (darsana), knowledge (jiana) and conduct (caritra)” (cf. Sukhlal 1974, p. 2). . . . Here one encounters not alternative perspectives, but a definitively stated metaphysical system, based on the fundamental and eternal truths (tatta) of soul (jiva), matter (ajiva), the karmic processes (asrava, bandha, samvara, and nirjara), and liberation (moksa). These are not presented as matters subject to debate and opinion, but as absolutes. Only one’s understanding of these truths may be relative, and the extent to which one’s understanding corresponds to the absolute truth provides one with a clear measuring stick of where one is on the path to liberation.3

In this way, Jainism acts like traditional religious exclusivism. The teachings of Mahavira—teachings about karma, the soul, cosmology, ahiṃsā, reincarnation, and so on are all presumed to be ultimate truths. In fact, right belief

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Figure 6.1  Teen lok Rachna. Photo by author.

means, “the belief in the existence and attributes of soul and other types of substances.”4 Similarly, “knowledge is right if it is without any doubts or oppositions or indecisiveness.”5 Therefore, failure to affirm the attributes of the soul as taught by Jainism, is failure to have right belief. And right belief is essential to the path of liberation—making adherence to the Jain path essential for liberation. Jainism sets exclusive limits to define correct and incorrect belief and practice. Those perspectives which appear incompatible with the Jain perspective cannot, therefore, be deemed “right.” Long also admits that “they [Jains] do affirm that one worldview, and not another, is

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ultimately true.”6 As written by Acharya Uma Swami in his commentary to the Tattvārthasūtra, “The religion based on non-violence, as preached by the omniscient lord is the only way to attain liberation. To think like this repeatedly is called truth proclaimed by religious (dharma) contemplation” (A.IX.7.14).7 So even at the heart of Jain scriptures there is a strong sense of exclusivism, by which the Jain path is understood as the only “true” path. Another kind of Jain exclusivism is essentially a claim to exclusive revelation. As Champat Rai Jain writes: We [Jains] have before us (1) the truth as taught by the Perfect Ones, the Tirthankaras, who attained to Godhood with its aid [Testimony of Gods], (2) the confirmation of the World of Law by a scientific study of nature [Science], (3) the agreement of reason after the most search enquiry [Logic]; and the most important of all (4) actual corroboration furnished by every other ancient religion, without a single exception, showing, in the clearest possible manner, the concurrence of the entire human race in the past, as to the reality and practicability of the method!8

This fourfold defense of the superiority of Jainism over-against all other systems of belief rests fundamentally on the claim to special revelation: “truth as taught by the Perfect Ones.” This revelatory truth is then confirmed by science, logic, all other ancient religions. Claims to special revelation of this sort are reminiscent of Karl Barth, perhaps the most well-known theological defender of Christian exclusivism via special revelation.9 Chris Chapple has also noted this parallel, saying “Like Barth, the Jainas are convinced of the sole effectiveness of their own tradition in achieving their goal.”10 It is difficult to argue against claims to special revelation. After all, to argue against such revelation is an admission that you are among those ignorant of the revelation! The claim to special revelation is also difficult to substantiate, which is why Jains have gone to great lengths to show how their views are supported by science, logic, and other ancient traditions. Such is a case of religious exclusivism par excellence. John Cort goes even further, and argues that the exclusive claims of Jainism are intimately tied to the application of anekāntavāda—the very doctrine that is typically used as the basis for Jain pluralism. Cort argues that: When a Jain admits that all worldly perspectives are relatively and limitedly true, as is done when employing the logic of anekāntavāda, s/he is not thereby conceding that a non-Jain might have a perspective on reality that is as true as the correct Jain perspective. The Jain perspective is based on the omniscience of the Jina and therefore, in Dhruva’s words, is informed by that “whole truth,” not a “broken truth.” As John Carman has recently pointed out, the “Jain approach acknowledges the different seekers’ partial grasp . . . [of reality, but]

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the supreme vantage point of Jain philosophy makes it possible to arrange and rank those different perspectives” (Carman 1993, p. 4). Jain debaters used anekāntavāda as a mode of hierarchical ranking to illustrate that all non-Jain philosophical positions are relative and so at best only partially true. But they did not turn anekāntavāda upon the Jain teachings themselves, since these are based instead on the absolute truth of the Jinas’ omniscience.11

It seems clear, therefore, that Jainism can manifest as a form of religious exclusivism. The central problem of exclusivism, even by Jain standards, is the problem of ekānta. In essence, the greatest possible error that one can make (according to Jainism), which is to treat your limited perspective as the absolute perspective to the exclusion of other perspectives—this is the error of religious exclusivism. Insofar as Jains embody exclusivism, it would certainly be a problem from the Jain perspective. It is of utmost importance that Jain scholars work to defend themselves against the charge of exclusivism. THE ANONYMOUS JAINA While these elements within Jainism suggest an attitude evocative of classical religious exclusivism, it is more often the case that Jainism manifests as a version of religious inclusivism akin to that of Karl Rahner. Chris Chapple argues that Karl Rahner’s Anonymous Christians is “problematic from the Jaina perspective” in that Rahner suggests that “all religions are ways of salvation.”12 However, I believe this is a slight misrepresentation of Rahner’s position, or Knitter’s interpretation of Rahner, from which Chapple is borrowing. Instead, I contend that another reading of Rahner portrays a practically paralleled position found in Jainism. As discussed in chapter 2, at its core Rahner’s inclusivism is a form of generous exclusivism, in which a person affirms as true one’s own beliefs, but acknowledges that others too may hold true beliefs, though only insofar as those beliefs are compatible with the truth of one’s own beliefs. In this way, “all religions are ways of salvation” as Chapple notes—but only insofar as the salvific quality is borrowed from one’s own religion. For Rahner, only one way (his way) is salvific. How then can he claim that “all religions are ways of salvation?” Because his “one way” is expanded to incorporate other ways—to subsume them. This is not to say there is something unique in other religions that allows them to be salvific in their own right, but only insofar as they contain the salvific qualities from one’s own tradition can they be considered salvific. For Rahner, this means the hidden Christ in non-Christian religions. Contrary to Chapple’s claim, I believe that in practice, this is perhaps the most widely adopted Jain perspective regarding religious difference.

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According to Paul Dundas (a premier scholar of Indian Philosophy), Recent scholarship has confirmed that anekāntavāda functioned in classical times as a technique which could promote the superiority of the Jain analysis of the world over other models of reality. Jainism’s apparent inclusivism and tolerance as supposedly resulting from anekāntavāda can in fact equally be interpreted as indices of its exclusivism. Indeed, the ancient scriptural evidence suggests that Jainism from the very beginning saw alternative religious paths as inadequate.13

And Dundas is not alone in this interpretation of Jain history and practice. Even Chapple describes the Jain position as “flexible fundamentalism.”14 Insofar as Jainism is fundamentalism, it is exclusivism. Insofar as it is flexible, it becomes inclusivism. It is regularly argued that Jainism, with its doctrine of relativity, is generous and open to other religions. Arguably, the very means by which Jainism appears to be open, is the means by which they are subversively inclusive—a form of intellectual imperialism. Consider the classical Jain argument. The Vedāntist perspective (reality is ultimately permanent) is partially true and therefore partially false. The Buddhist alternative (reality is ultimately impermanent) is partially true and therefore also partially false. Jains argue for identity-in-difference, or identity coordinate with difference, as a superior alternative which incorporates both Buddhist and Vedāntin perspectives. In this way, it seems the Jain perspective is treated, not as another perspective beside the Buddhist and Vedāntin perspectives, but as a complete perspective that embodies both partial truths; bringing about a full truth. In this way, Jain metaphysics is not provided as an additional metaphysics beside all others, but as a superior metaphysics above all others and can include the others. For that reason, it is often argued that anekāntavāda was historically used to demonstrate the superiority of Jainism over-against all other traditions (specifically Vedānta and Buddhism), not as a function of Jain humility.15 As Chapple notes, “Each system is acknowledged as a partial truth and hence validated, though not applauded.”16 Chapple also describes the Jain position as affirming “each truth is a partial one (naya) and no one statement (anekāntavāda) can ever account for the totality of reality.”17 Furthermore, “Jainas have exercised great care in articulating how their position differs from those of others, while not condemning alternate views as incorrect . . . only incomplete.”18 While this sounds more like pluralism, it is only part of the story. The partial truths of others are incomplete in themselves, but they are made complete when subsumed under the umbrella of Jainism—where absolute truth resides. This is the epitome of inclusivism!

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If, as Chapple and so many others suggest, “The Jainas assert that every statement is an utterance of partial truth; all postulation is rendered senseless by the ultimate postulate that no words are ever totally adequate to describe experience (avaktavya eva),”19 shouldn’t the Jain utterances about the soul, karma, etc. be included on the list of partial truths? More problematic still, doesn’t the claim that all utterances are partially true, as an utterance itself, fall into a self-referential paradox, whereby it too must be considered a partial truth by virtue of being treated as an absolute? The real question is this: are Jain doctrines incomplete doctrines alongside all other incomplete doctrines, or are they complete eternal truths? Perhaps the best answer is “both-and.” Perhaps there are some Jains (arguably more conservative Jains) who see Jainism as complete and superior to all other partially true faiths. To the extent that one adopts this perspective, they are inclusivists. Yet, there may be other Jains (more progressive Jains) who want to recognize the humility that inherently grows out of a metaphysic in which all truths are partial, because ultimate truth is inexpressible—which means even claims made by Jains are necessarily incomplete. To the extent that one adopts this view, they move beyond inclusivism (perhaps to pluralism). These two competing views are not clearly designated in Jain literature. Likewise, it’s not as if there are not two clearly defined camps within Jain communities—though one can envision a spectrum with Haribhadra on one end (more pluralistic) and Hemachandra on the other end (more exclusivist). In fact, when push-comes-to-shove, most Jains will probably lean toward the conservative interpretation—placing Jainism above and not beside all other religions. Chris Chapple, who tends to be more favorable than critical of Jainism, argues that “A respect for the viewpoint of others and a willingness to accept its contribution is made possible through the Jaina precept of syādvāda, that in a certain way and in a certain context, seemingly opposed or contradictory positions have value.”20 And in this, I agree with him whole-heartedly. However, in practice, it seems Jains can only “accept the contribution” of others if that contribution is already in agreement with the Jain position—or at least does not overtly challenge or contradict the Jain position. For, to contradict Jain doctrine is to contradict the perfect teachings of the omniscient ones—to contradict absolute truth. In this way, true difference, the scary kind of difference that forces us into a state of self-examination and possible conversion, is not available to the Jain. Insofar as they are “flexible-fundamentalist” they remain unwilling to be transformed or to alter their perspective. And if history can be used as a measure, it seems safe to say that Jains (whose basic beliefs have “remained unaltered for nearly three thousand years”), are not open to the possibility of radically different views on the ultimate nature of things.21 This is not to say, however, that Jainism and its doctrine of relativity have nothing to contribute to the Western discourse on religious pluralism. In fact,

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the doctrine of predication (syādvāda) is an absolute jewel. In this way, Chapple is correct that “This method [syādvāda] allows various scenarios to possibly be the case, but does not deny or relativize the validity of one’s own position.”22 Such a practice can provide a universal doctrine of humility without falling into relativism. This dialectic, when understood in its epistemological power, becomes a form of epistemological perspectivism more consistent with religious pluralism. JAIN PLURALISMS So far, we have seen that there are elements of exclusivism and inclusivism in Jainism. Yet there are also elements of pluralism within the Jain tradition. Openness to the truth of others requires humility. As Kusum Jain notes “Anekāntavāda is intellectual humility that empowers the user.”23 Jain also writes, Anekāntavāda is an informed and engaging method of reason. Such a principle does not ask us to try balancing in our minds a “multiplicity of viewpoints” regardless of whether they hold merit or not. It is also not the same as “relativism” or “non-absolutism,” meaning the belief in now absolutes. Rather than denying the existence of absolute truth, Anekāntavāda only reaffirms it—but with the cutting admission that truth is such an intricate and many-ended thing that no single belief system, no tower of dogma, no “grand unifying theory,” and no faith or religion can ever do it justice.24

I find this to be one of the most powerful statements that describes the Jain stance on truth and falsity, and the Jain capacity for embracing pluralism. The claim that “no faith or religion” can ever do justice to the absolute truth is a bold statement. One might ask, however, is Jain faith and religion to be included in this limitation? Does anekāntavāda as a metaphysical doctrine fail to do justice to the absolute truth? This is an odd question, given that the doctrine of anekāntavāda itself is what leads to the conclusion that no faith or religion can ever do justice to the absolute truth. This is perhaps the most profound logical question facing the Jain doctrine of relativity—does the doctrine of anekāntavāda apply to itself? Is it self-referential? By exploring the Jain doctrine of relativity and the Jain notions of truth and falsity, a key question remains unanswered. Much like the question Herald Netland asks with respect to theories of religious pluralism, “Are there any objective, nonarbitrary criteria for evaluating religious traditions? Or are all evaluations necessarily no more than the product of one’s own limited, culturebound perspective?”25 Jainism is faced with what seems to be a paradoxical

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situation. On the one hand, the Jain doctrine of relativity embraces the truth claims of others as being true. On the other hand, these perspectives are never embraced as the full truth, since reality (to which Jain truth corresponds) is many-sided. But what then of the claim reality is many-sided? Do Jains, like Hick and Cobb, have a problem of applying their pluralistic theories to themselves? If so, does that mean Jainism is self-refuting? Is the absolute doctrine of relativity relativized? These are sorts of questions are central to the pluralism dilemma. As noted in detail in Section I above, there are a variety of critiques of religious pluralism. One of the key challenges facing pluralism is trying to walk the line between absolutism and relativism—to affirm one’s own beliefs without rejecting the beliefs of others. Anne Vallely puts it this way: Can one be a strong defender of one’s own beliefs and also accept as true otherways-of-being, especially those that may be diametrically opposed? Critics of pluralism argue that such a thing is a logical impossibility, that to be consistently relativistic about knowledge claims would require one to be a relativist about one’s relativism, which rapidly leads to an epistemological dead end. Thus, critics assert, whether or not we want to accept it, we are all essentially exclusivists; we cannot help but judge others by some criteria arising from our own worldview.26

But is religious pluralism ultimately a matter of epistemology? Is the real risk running into an epistemic dead end? Perhaps part of the difficultly surrounding criticism of pluralism is really a misunderstanding of the nature of the pluralistic dilemma. Anne Vallely defines the pluralist platform as being: 1. “We the members of our group (religious or otherwise) are rationally justified in our conception of things. 2. They, the members of some other group, have a different conception of things. 3. They, the members of that other group, are rationally justified in their conception of things.”27 If this is truly the pluralist platform, then pluralism is not about truth, but about knowledge—rational justification. But, as has been brilliantly demonstrated by Edmund L. Gettier, knowledge is not merely justified belief. Is it possible to hold a justified false belief? If so, what can be meant by justification? The contemporary epistemological problem posed in Gettier’s paper, Is Justified True Belief Knowledge?,28 demonstrates, among other things, that a belief can be justified and false. If Gettier is correct, then to challenge the reasonableness of a claim should be distinct from contesting

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the truth-value of a claim. Imagine a situation where a set of identical twins decided to trick their parents by pretending to be the other—think Parent Trap. Imagine they start wearing the other’s clothes, responding to the other’s name, and so on. In such a situation, it seems perfectly rational, perfectly reasonable, for the parents to assume that the children are who they claim to be. In other words, the parents are “rationally justified” in believing something false. Therefore, it seems that rational justification does not ensure accuracy of fact. Actually, such is often the point of deception. People are most easily deceived when it is perfectly reasonable to believe something false. This goes to show that justified beliefs and true beliefs are not one in the same. Therefore, the more important and more difficult task of pluralism is not to make sense of the epistemic justification of divergent perspectives (as Vallely suggests), but to somehow affirm the truth-value of conflicting perspectives while simultaneously avoiding absolutism and relativism. When the pluralistic dilemma is understood in this way, we see how Jain relativity (with its metaphysical and not epistemological) foundation can be useful. As Mahavira is quoted as having said, “Those who praise their own faiths and ideologies and blame that of their opponents and thus distort the truth will remain confined to the cycle of birth and death.”29 Non-Ultimate Ultimates: Cobb’s Anekāntavāda How does the metaphysical pluralism of Jainism fit into the Western discourse on pluralism? Perhaps the greatest parallel, at this point, is with the metaphysical “complementary pluralism” of John B. Cobb Jr. As discussed in chapter 3, John Cobb’s pluralism asserts that conflicting claims are ultimately complementary, insofar as they are claims about different aspects of complex ultimate reality. Like Cobb’s pluralism, Jain pluralism also asserts that seemingly incompatible claims are ultimately complementary, insofar as they are claims about different aspects of complex ultimate reality. Metaphysical pluralism of the Jain variety, then, is quite similar to metaphysical pluralism of the Whiteheadian variety. But Cobb’s pluralism is not without its critics. The primary challenge to this position is as follows: since, Whitehead posits a plurality of ultimates, Whiteheadian pluralism can make sense of different religions worshiping different ultimates—understood as different answers to different questions. If one person says the apple is red and another says the apple is green, are the two propositions contradictory? Not necessarily. As complementary pluralism suggests, if two statements are about different objects—different apples—then these statements can both be true while remaining different. That is, if one person is referring to a Granny Smith and says that the apple is green, and another refers to a Red Delicious and says that the apple is red, both statements can be true: different colors for different

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applies. Similarly, complementary pluralism suggests that “contradictory” claims about ultimate reality are not contradictory, in that they refer to different aspects of the three Whiteheadian ultimates (God, Creativity, Cosmos). The problem arises, however, when one person says the apple is red and another says the apple is green, but they are talking about same apple. This is, perhaps, more akin to difference within a single religious tradition, or closely related traditions such as Methodism and Pentecostalism, Catholicism and Protestantism, Christianity and Islam. When conflicting statements are made about a single object, when different answers are given to the same question, it is here that we find the limits of Cobb’s pluralism. This is also a limit of the Jain version of “complementary pluralism.” Jain relativity reconciles incommensurable claims as being compatible in so far as they represent different aspects of complex and many-sided reality—different parts of the elephant. But what about differences regarding the same aspects of reality? When different answers are given to different questions, the answers (truths) can be complementary rather than contradictory. But religions aren’t always asking different questions, and different answers to the same question results in an impasse—a noncomplementary incommensurability. As Whitehead himself states, “It cannot be true that contradictory notions can apply to the same fact.”30 Jeffery D. Long explains that “the fact that process thought can account for the differences among the three types of religion does not make it able to account for all of the apparent incompatibilities among the world’s religions. . . . Can process thought also be used to address the differences among religions of the same type, such as Judaism, Christianity, and Islam?”31 Here, I believe the limits of Cobb’s pluralism are surmounted by Jainism. In response to Long’s critique of Cobb, Jainism identifies the above polemical claims as ekānta, and therefore erroneous attempts at universalizing particularity. From the Jain perspective, the claim that either Heaven or Nirvāṇa is the fate of all worthy human beings is to falsely make an absolute claim where a relative claim is required.32 Another difference is that Cobb’s pluralism can only account for the third doctrine of predication—asti and nāsti successively—since the third mode of predication is one of complementary difference. That p certainly exists in some sense, and certainly does not exist in another sense successively is ultimately to speak of two different p’s (or at least a single p in different senses— different attributes, different times, etc.). As K.C. Sogani writes, “The third proposition is: Syāt pen exists and does not exist. In this proposition the two attributes of existence and non-existence in their relevant contexts are successively predicated of the pen. Thus this proposition, which appears merely the summation of the first two propositions is not really so. It expresses a new aspect of pen under consideration . . . the combination of separate units give rise to a distinctive meaning, not apprehended in any of its constituent

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elements.”33 What Long’s critique of Cobb identifies, however, is the need to account—not for complementary differences—but contradictions. And this is exactly what I believe the fourth doctrine of predication allows us to do. As Sogani writes, “The fourth proposition is: Syāt pen is inexpressible.”34 Here, the “contradictory” statements which are made successively complementary in the third stage are rendered inexpressible in the fourth stage. While Jainism offers positive contributions to Cobb’s pluralism, I believe the reverse is true as well. Specifically, from a methodological perspective, Cobb provides a great service to Jainism! Cobb urges us to remember that not all differences are contradictions. It may be apples and oranges, as the saying goes. Difference may be complementary rather than contradictory. Therefore, as Cobb advises, we should first enter into dialogue to determine if those claims which seem to be flat contradictions are in fact what they seem. Cobb’s methodology, applied in a Jain context, means engaging in dialogue before deferring to the fourth mode of predication—the claim of inexpressibility. In fact, Cobb’s “beyond dialogue” method reflects a similar generous spirit to that of Jainism. Both Cobb and Jainism instruct us to begin with generosity and humility—to listen to difference between rejecting it as error. Cobb’s pluralistic model does not require the abandonment of one’s own views for the sake of embracing the other. In a similar fashion to the Jain model, one can assert “that the holding of even an uncompromising position on truth (as Mahavira did with respect to nonviolence) can coexist with a celebration of conceptual, philosophical and moral diversity.”35 New Whiteheadian Pluralisms: Faber, Keller, and Jainism While Cobb’s pluralism is certainly Whiteheadian, there are alternative models of pluralism inspired by Whitehead’s thought. Process philosophy has many affinities with Indic philosophy, including Buddhist notions of dependent co-arising and Jain notions of relativity and multiplicity. Whiteheadians have often considered creativity to be the universal of universals. This is no doubt a direct result of Whitehead’s own words, “‘Creativity’ is the universal of universals characterizing ultimate matter of fact. It is that ultimate principle by which the many, which are the universe disjunctively, become the one actual occasion, which is the universe conjunctively. It lies in the nature of things that the many enter into complex unity.”36 According to Robert Neville, however, “creativity could not be the universal of universals; rather, the ground of the contrast would be the universal of universals.”37 Yet Neville also states, “The process of unifying many into one is creativity; the process is creative since when the many is unified into one, there is one more singular than when the many is not so unified.”38 Why then does Neville argue that the ground of contrasts, rather than creativity, is the universal of universals?

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Let’s first clarify what Whitehead says about creativity. Creativity, for Whitehead, is connected to novelty. Without creativity, new things could not emerge—there would only be the repetition of the past, no creative advance. Moreover, novelty is unavoidable, insofar as each actual entity (at each moment) is distinct from all other entities and moments. Therefore, “creativity” is responsible for introducing new entities into the world of multiplicity (the land of the many).39 While creativity introduces novelty into the content of the many, it is the principle of the unity of contrasts that explains how such novelty avoids being purely disjunctive. This, at least, seems to be Neville’s perspective. But, as Lewis Ford argues, such a perspective is the result of Neville’s failure to fully comprehend Whitehead’s use of “creativity.”40 For, in Whitehead, it’s not creativity beside contrast, but creativity that contains contrast. Regardless of what one calls it (creativity or unity of contrasts), what’s important is a logic that allows a unity of the many that does not undermine the diversity. Whitehead famously writes, “The ultimate metaphysical principle is the advance from disjunction to conjunction, creating a novel entity other than the entities given in disjunction. . . . The many become one, and are increased by one.”41 It is this metaphysical principle that provides the foundation for a deeper Whiteheadian pluralism. Throughout Process and Reality, Whitehead attempts to explain this odd logic. At one point he declares that, “The actual entity is divisible; but is in fact undivided. The divisibility can thus only refer to its objectifications in which it transcends itself. But such transcendence is self-revelation.”42 He offers similar paradoxical comments when he writes: The final summary can only be expressed in terms of a group of antitheses, whose apparent self-contradictions depend on neglect of the diverse categories of existence. In each antithesis there is a shift of meaning which converts the opposition into a contrast. It is as true to say that God is permanent and the World fluent, as that the World is permanent and God is fluent. It is as true to say that God is one and the World many, as that the World is one and God many. It is as true to say that, in comparison with the World, God is actual eminently, as that, in comparison with God, the World is actual eminently. It is as true to say that the World is immanent in God, as that God is immanent in the World. It is as true to say that God transcends the World, as that the World transcends God. It is as true to say that God creates the World, as that the World creates God. God and the World are the contrasted opposites in terms of which Creativity achieves its supreme task of transforming disjoined multiplicity, with its diversities in opposition, into concrescent unity, with its diversities in contrast.43

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Such paradoxical language is reminiscent of non-dualistic eastern philosophy as well as Western mysticism. But how are we to make sense of all this? Aren’t these “antithesis” self-refuting? It is commonly thought that to speak in contradictions is to speak double-negations—to speak without saying anything. What could one possibly mean by saying, “I am here and not here?” Ultimately, is one neither saying “I am here,” nor is one saying “I am not here?” Perhaps, if self-refutation eliminates the possibility of saying anything at all. But, the problematic of self-refuting antithesis is rooted in a presupposed dualistic worldview. If we are to read such statements as contrasts and not contradictions; to see them in light of Whitehead’s philosophical system, they begin to make sense. The move from contradiction to contrasts suggested here is the work of “concrescent unity, with its diversities in contrast.”44 With the deeper metaphysical principles of a non-differentiating difference—the ultimate principle of complex unity—as the grounds for understanding religious pluralism, all claims (including conflicting claims between religions of the same kind) can be brought together in a complex unity. But can Whitehead make this doctrine of the unity of contrasts philosophically intelligible? The basic problem of intelligibility is one of systems. For those outside of Whitehead’s system, there is little that can be done to render the system itself intelligible. Whitehead’s logic is not one of independent causation, but of relativity—not of being, but mutual arising. By adopting the system, the logic becomes clear. From within, Whitehead’s philosophy of organism has the means to explain apparent contradictions, for even contradictions become contrasts brought into a complex unity by means of creativity in the process of concrescence. With the above principles, different religions and all their opposing claims can be brought together in a unity. This is not merely a pluralism that explains how one can simultaneously affirm those who embrace the Tao and those who worship Allah as both embracing true ultimate reality. A deeper religious pluralism can account for all difference, all multiplicity, all opposites; by bringing the universe into an actual unity. Like Cobb’s pluralism, this Whiteheadian pluralism does not destroy diversity for the sake of unity. It does not suggest that “all religions are essentially the same.” A complex unity is one in which the part retains their distinctiveness (unity-in-diversity). As Whitehead states, “a real unity cannot provide sham diversities of status for its diverse components.”45 True to the Whiteheadian model, a religious pluralism established on the basis of Whitehead’s complex unity does just that. Buddhists don’t become Christians as a result of this unity. Brahman does not become Yahweh. Distinctness and uniqueness is not lost. Complexity remains. Diversity does not stand disjunctive, but as a complex unity of contrasts.

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For a deeper pluralism, the unity seen underlying the multiplicity of ultimates should be the focus—not the idea that different religions are relating to different aspects of a single complex society of ultimates. True enough, the plurality of ultimates in Whitehead is a great example of the interplay between unity and diversity, but only as an example of an underlying principle. Here, I find the words of Charles Hartshorne helpful, “The real absolute is relativity itself, since its limitations are provided by its own reflexivity, or self-applicability, together with negation.”46 Relativity or relationality itself is ultimate. And for Whitehead, it is relations of relations, not “entities” relating in the traditional sense that make up reality. As Whitehead writes, “There are not ‘the concrescence’ and ‘the novel thing’: when we analyze the novel thing we find nothing but the concrescence.”47 Not only so, but “a relation is a genus of contrasts.”48 Therefore, relations of relations are a genus of contrasts of contrasts, which is the novel thing. The ultimate principle is not one of being, but of relativity—not “things” in relation, but relationality as such. The above analysis establishes a new ground for Whiteheadian religious pluralism. By looking deeper, we find the ability to account for religious difference far beyond the three types of differences addressed in Cobb’s pluralism. By focusing on these Whiteheadian principles in the context of religious difference, one can make sense of a profound unity in all religions without undermining their very real differences. Such an approach can lead to a greater peace between religions. As Bernard Meland states, “Precisely because we visualize such an encounter with opposites only as conflict, we fail to reach that level of response wherein the human problems that motivate our opponents can reach us. . . . A community of faith can arise out of a people living together with their differences under the judgment of their ultimate unity in God.”49 By seeing difference as complementary rather than contradictory, by recognizing the ultimate unity of opposites, we are able to live more peacefully in the midst of difference. Whitehead’s philosophy or organism provides the means to understand difference not as incompatibility, but as a complex unity of contrasts. Contrast is our ally, in that it increases intensity, while unity is needed to bring disjunctive intensity into conjunctive harmony. Unity (a real, yet complex unity) is essential. Together, both unity and contrast provide a well-rounded path for understanding and engaging religious pluralism. Whereas Cobb represents a classic conversation on Whiteheadian-based religious pluralism, recently there have been various attempts to make new contributions to the pluralism discourse from a process perspective; notably, Roland Faber and Katherine Keller. In the 2014 publication, Divine Multiplicity: Trinities, Diversities, and the Nature of Relation, Faber and Keller coauthored a chapter titled: “Polyphilic Pluralism: Becoming Religious Multiplicities.” Here, they articulate a shared

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proposal for a new Whiteheadian-based pluralism. It is not an arbitrary decision to use Whitehead, however. Rather, Faber and Keller believe Whitehead’s process philosophy to be ideally poised for pluralism (generally) and religious pluralism (specifically). Reason being, “Process pluralism goes all the way down. Instead of a tidy system that will handle the plurality of traditions from the process point of view we find that process theology, from the start composed of a variety of theological and philosophical influences, was itself always a multiplicity.”50 Pluralism is, therefore, built into the process system. Here, perhaps Griffin’s language of “deep pluralism” represents not only Cobb, but the process tradition more generally. What makes this polyphilic pluralism unique is its relational structure. It is a relational pluralism. As Faber and Keller note, “The process approach does not, then, settle for the pluralism—so prone to piracy—of many separate ones, but opts for a relational pluralism. If these traditions live, in fact, only in process and in interaction, then only such relationalism can actually disclose the concrete, contextual life of Wisdom traditions.”51 It is important to note that “relational” here, isn’t a matter of external relations—like two separate billiard balls crashing into each other52—but interdependent relationality that permeates and constitutes the very identity of each religion. Put another way, “Relational pluralism thus distinguishes itself from relativism in the cultivation of what we could call ‘strange attractions’ toward the others, the neighbors, the strangers, the stranger neighbors, with whom we find ourselves in relation—personally or planetarily—even before we can ‘identify’ ourselves in difference from them.”53 Relational pluralism, therefore, implies that difference need not separate. Rather, it is difference that brings us together, always in relation to one another. Faber and Keller write, “Difference does not separate. It does not protect authenticity from piracy by restoring oversimplification and mutual exclusion. Once I begin to feel—to ‘prehend’—the other (how am I separate from him/her/it?)—have I not taken some of that difference into self, effecting an ‘other in self’?”54 They continue, “A separative pluralism is always tempted to simply identify with its own local context and leave others to do the same. Such localism belies the tangled interdependencies of the multiverse. An effectual pluralism of differential foldings, however, will instead require us to transgress closed contexts as false expressions of relationless units. Our differential pluralism will understand multiplicity in its transcontextual valences, transgressive of the sealed boundaries of any single context, religious or cultural.”55 So, are there elements of relational pluralism to be found in Jainism? How might Jainism correct or enhance this new Whiteheadian pluralism? Interestingly, one of the leading voices on Jain contributions to theories

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of religious pluralism (Jeffery Long) is also influenced by Whitehead and process thought. It’s no surprise then, that Jainism and relational pluralism are quite compatible.56 In fact, the Jain theory of anekāntavāda could be described not simply as a many-sided worldview, but a relational one that champions polydoxy over orthodoxy—not simply one truth to the exclusion of all others, but a complex interplay of a cacophony of truths.57 Such polydoxy is well represented by Faber and Keller who state, “Polydoxy, unlike the orthodox self-understanding it intersects, clings together by a connective, a sticky logic: ‘To cohere’ means, first of all, ‘to stick together.’ Inconclusive of becoming, this stickiness, this mutual entanglement, seems to reflect something about all our relations.”58 The logic of Jainism, as a metaphysics of many-sidedness, is also concerned with how these many sides relate to one another. It is not just enough to say that there are many perspectives. Jainism goes further to argue that the plurality of viewpoints are never absolute. This resonates nicely with Faber and Keller who note that the mutual entanglement and intercontextuality is such that it cannot result in a single absolute standpoint. Instead, the nature of a relational reality in flux (one that is always in process and interconnected) entails that all ideas, concepts, and justifications must be “refolded again and again so as not to block their enfolded multiplicity.”59 Although it seems Jainism would be quite amenable to Faber and Keller’s polyphilic pluralism, it’s not immediately clear that Jainism is prepared to go far enough in affirming that “pluralism goes all the way down.” Perhaps at the level of naya, Jainism could affirm this deep pluralism. But the affirmation of an absolute perspective (achieved by shedding all knowledge obscuring karmas and becoming omniscient), Jain philosophy seems committed to an ultimate unity and only apparent diversity. Polyphilic pluralism, however, inverts the scenario, suggesting that simple unity is the illusion, and diversity in interpenetrating relation is what’s ultimate. Faber and Keller explain that their process pluralism is a relational and differential pluralism, whereby the enfolding and unfolding nature of reality yields a degree of complexity and uncertainty.60 Now, perhaps an argument could be made to identify a similar interpenetrating ultimacy in Jainism—perhaps by looking at the state of liberated jivas—but I will not attempt such explorations here. However, the affirmation of an “absolute” perspective (the perspective of the omniscient jiva) may not entail the abolishment of diversity at the ultimate level. Such determinations would require a deeper investigation into the Jain state of liberation, as well as the question of the One and the Many as it pertains to the logic of unity and diversity; which is essential for a deeper understanding of the structure and logic of pluralistic theories.

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The Elephant in the Room: Hick and Jainism on Reality & Truth John Hick’s pluralism rests on a neo-Kantian distinction between the noumenal and phenomenal. While Jains do not make particular this distinction, there is a similar epistemic gap present in Jainism. For the Jains, it’s not so much that one should distinguish between reality “in itself” and reality as known through our cognitive faculties. But, there is a sense in which ultimate reality—which is absolute truth—cannot be sufficiently captured by our limited perspective. Yet, where Hick doesn’t seem to leave room for unbiased, objective, direct experience of the Real (i.e., we always encounter the phenomenal and never the noumenal Real), Jainism asserts the possibility of direct knowledge by way of the unfettered karma-free soul. This is an important difference between Hick and Jainism—the distinction between Hick’s ineffable Real, and Jainism’s inexpressible Real. While the noumenal is ultimately ineffable (unknowable) for Hick, Jains assert that the absolute is in fact knowable through direct experience—though not expressible, as a result of the linguistic limitation. As discussed above, the term “deep pluralism” is used by David Ray Griffin, to distinguish Cobb’s pluralism as a “differential pluralism” from the “shallow” “identist pluralism” of people like Hick. Griffin writes, “according to identist pluralism [of people like Hick, Knitter, and Smith], all religions are oriented toward the same religious object.”61 This “many paths up one mountain” approach, is what Griffin calls superficial, in that it doesn’t allow for true diversity and difference. “Differential pluralism, by contrasts,” writes Griffin, “says that religions promote different ends—different salvations— perhaps by virtue of being oriented toward different religious objects, perhaps thought of as different ultimates.”62 This might be characterized as the “many paths up many mountains” approach. And, as demonstrated above, there are many affinities between Jainism and Griffin-Cobb pluralism. Nevertheless, this doesn’t mean there aren’t also similarities between Jainism and the pluralistic model of John Hick. When Anne Vallely describes the “standard pluralistic position,” she is describing the pluralistic hypothesis of John Hick. She writes, The standard pluralist position claims that various religious phenomena are culturally conditioned diverse responses to the Transcendent. The Transcendent is singular, but manifests itself (or is differently constructed) according to different cultural traditions. Therefore, the aim of pluralism and relativism is to give permission to diversity and difference; to see in others diverse signs of our “divinity.” Anekāntavāda goes beyond this. It does not merely give “permission” to diversity; it (ideally) mandates an encounter with it. It is only through exposure to other ways of being, will a fuller picture of reality emerge.63

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In a way, this is a “critique” of Hick’s pluralistic hypothesis—a criticism of Hick that is echoed by Griffin. However, there is no substantial difference between Vallely’s portrayal of Hick and her portrayal of Jainism. True enough, the dominant interpretation of Hick insists that he posits a single reality which can be encountered from a variety of standpoints. However, the Jain doctrine of anekāntavāda is no different. For Jains, reality is still singular, just multisided. But, the “non-one-sidedness” of reality does not imply a plurality of realities—rather, it implies a complex reality. The analogy of the blind men and the elephant, which is often used to express the nature of anekāntavāda, does not postulate multiple elephants, but multiple perspectives from which the single elephant can be encountered and known. Jains might even add, that to postulate multiple elephants from the basis of our particular experience is a form of ekānta—confusing individual nayas as representing different absolutes. Therefore, contrary to Vallely’s assertion, which attempts to divide or distinguish Jain pluralism from Hick’s pluralism, I think the two have more in common than she may care to admit. Vallely also writes, “Anekāntavāda can, perhaps, help redress the epistemological muddle in which we post-moderns find ourselves. The fact that there is no singular uniform standard of truth does not mean there are no standards or no truths, because there is not a single uniform reality, does not mean that reality does not exist.”64 Here, I fear that Vallely mistakenly confuses “multisided reality” with “multiple realities.” And this difference makes all the difference! At the end of the day, however, after taking slightly different paths; both Jains and Hick arrive at a similar conclusion—there are many true (though apparently incommensurable) perspectives. And it is this conclusion that allows both Hick’s view and Jainism to be considered forms of religious pluralism. Orientational Pluralism: Rescher and Jainism In another sense, the Jain doctrine of relativity also resonates with Nicholas Rescher’s “Orientational Pluralism.” Rescher is a contemporary Western philosopher and a self-identified generalist in a world of specialists. Despite this humility, it is probably more accurate to call Rescher a specialist in many different areas of Western philosophy. He has written/edited more than one hundred books, spanning across a variety of topics. The particular area of greatest interest to the pluralism dilemma is his meta-philosophical work—a theory he calls “orientational pluralism.” “Orientational pluralism” is the name Rescher gives for his constructive metaphilosophy—which is a form of postmodern epistemic relativism. Rescher first proposes this theory in a 1978 article titled, “Philosophical

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Disagreement: An Essay towards Orientational Pluralism.”65 He later realized that the depth of his theory required greater attention and clarification, so in 1985 he devoted an entire book to the matter titled, The Strife of Systems: An Essay on the Grounds and Implications of Philosophical Diversity.66 Rescher describes the task of that book as exploring the grounds and implications of why philosophers disagree. According to Rescher, the cause of philosophical disagreement lies in conflicting cognitive values. “Cognitive values indicate what one finds cognitively significant on the basis of one’s experiences.”67 Note the striking resemblance between Rescher’s statement and Nagin Shah, who argues that “Different systems of philosophy present conflicting world-views because they concentrate on different facets of the world.”68 According to Rescher, it should be no surprise that “in a human community of more than trivial size, dissensus rather than consensus is the normal condition.”69 For Rescher, valuation is not only present in “the ‘value disciplines’ of ethics, politics, aesthetics, and so on, where the substantive issues themselves involve values.”70 Rather, anytime someone is taking a position, or making an argument, valuation is present.71 If there is one central core to postmodern thinking—a postmodern principle—that principle would be the limits of rationality due to the impossibility of objectivity. The search for an objective (neutral) perspective via pure rationality was an important aspect of the Modern period. Yet, all knowledge is known by a knower. The implication being that knowledge must be embodied—we cannot “know” anything apart from knowing as ourselves, within the limits of our own perspective. It seems true enough, that we can adopt new perspectives and we can attempt to incorporate multiple perspectives into our cognitive purview, but we can only do so as ourselves. The impossibility of disembodied knowledge results in the inevitability of perspectivism. As Rescher astutely demonstrates, “We humans can no more view cognitive issues with our minds without having a perspectival stance than we can view material objects with our bodily eyes without having a perspectival stance.”72 This truism has been stated in many different ways: there is no objectivity, we have no God’s-eye point of view, there is no neutral perspective—all of which make one thing clear, there are limits to the way humans come to understand. To say that there are limits to human knowledge may be mistaken as placing limits on the capacity for knowledge (i.e., our brains can only hold a finite amount of data). While this too is true, it is different than the current claim that there are limits to the way we come to know—which is always from a particular perspective. If this sounds familiar, that’s because it also represents the Jain doctrine of nayavāda. In a sense, the Jain doctrine of relativity is a type of “Orientational Pluralism.” This is particularly true with respect to what I would call Jain

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epistemological perspectivism—known as nayas. We (as non-omniscient beings) are necessarily bound by a perspective. This is as true in physical matters as it is in philosophical and religious matters. Insofar as we are bound by a naya, our knowledge is always limited. Like Rescher, then, Jainism identifies the limits of the human capacity for knowledge, by recognizing that what we know through perspectives, we known in a limited sense—a position we can call epistemic perspectivism. So what is implied by all this? How are we to move forward and respond to plurality, diversity, difference, and disagreement in the world? For Rescher, “the fact that others with different bodies of experience might resolve the matter differently is simply irrelevant to our own resolution of the issue.”73 Therefore, “an individual need not be intimidated by the fact of disagreement—it makes perfectly good sense for people to do their rational best towards securing evidentiated beliefs and justifiable choices without undue worry about whether or not others disagree.”74 How then are we to proceed? With conviction! We can do no better than privilege our own perspective anyway—so privilege away! Since plurality of cognitive values is inevitable, consensus is impossible.75 Therefore, consensus should not be the goal. Similarly, failure to achieve consensus should not be viewed as a defect.76 As Rescher states, “Once we have done the best that can be done within the framework of our own values, we may rest content.”77 Rescher’s perspectivism begins as an acknowledgment that we can do no better than proceed from within the confines of our limited perspective. And so far as Jain nayas are concerned, the same holds true. In this same spirit, S. Mark Heim asks, “Whose basis of judgment am I to privilege if not my own? If I privilege another, it has become mine in that very act.”78 From this foundation, Heim also argues that “people who rationally hold contradictory views from different orientations are each justified in thinking the other wrong.”79 He later states that “they [contradicting propositions] cannot both be true at the same time of the same person. But for different people, or the same person at different times, there is no necessary contradiction in both being truth.”80 It is here, that Rescher’s perspectivism becomes a normative “pluralism” of orientation, rather than a descriptive “plurality” of orientations. That conflicting perspectives can be true for different people or for the same person at different times, is the logic of pluralism. And that this is possible due to epistemic perspectivism, is why Rescher calls his theory “Orientational Pluralism.” This thinking is remarkably similar to Jainism, for which each knower has a perspective (naya), each perspective (naya) is limited, and each perspective (naya) is in some sense partially true, and therefore valid—insofar as it is not treated as an absolute. Thus far, then, Jainism seems quite amicable to the RescherHeim type of pluralism.

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This postmodern approach denies the attainability of objective knowledge, and emphasizes the locatedness of all people (or in epistemological terms—all knowers). This means, according to Rescher, that “We cannot maintain a posture of indifference.”81 And few in the field of religious pluralism adequately argue the contrary. Most pluralists—like Keith Ward, Wilfred Cantwell Smith, John Hick, Paul Knitter (to name a few) hold that all people, all religions, and all propositions, are historically, culturally, and otherwise located. There is no objectivity, no “God’s-eye” perspective. And insofar as nayas are concerned, Jains too agree with the absence of objectivity and the limited nature of each perspective. As shown above, none make this more clear than Rescher who writes, “We humans can no more view cognitive issues with our minds without having a perspectival stance than we can view material objects with our bodily eyes without having a perspectival stance.”82 I believe this quote would enrich the Jain position, in that it would help Jains to expand beyond the simple understanding of a multifaceted reality in a purely physical sense (many sides to the elephant), and begin to include an intellectual plurality as well (many sides to a rational argument). Such a concept is certainly not absent in Jainism, but it is often easy when talking of perspectives on reality, to limit oneself to the realm of the physical. Emphasis on the doctrine of anekāntavāda as a “metaphysical” doctrine, can too easily be bound to the physical only. Whereas, a more robust understanding of anekāntavāda as a theory of truth, allows one to realize the multifaceted nature of both physical and mental realms. Inevitably, many of you (like me) still ask the question—but what about truth? If there are two contradictory positions, they cannot both be right! Who is right? Which tradition holds “true” beliefs? While these may be important questions, it is the process by which one would go about answering these questions that interests Rescher. When discerning the truth of physical matters, for example, one might “look” at the world to see if something is the case. Yet, in doing so, the truth-seeker is relying on their perspective, by which they perceive physical matters with their eyes (for example), in order to determine the truth. This is analogous to cognitive matters, in which we can only pursue the truth from within the confines of our cognitive perspective. The difficulty is that because our method of discovering the truth is rooted in our perspective, and we often have differing perspectives, we do not always agree on what is “true.” This is not to say that truth is ambiguous (or fragmented), but that it remains unknowable apart from our cognitive lenses. Ultimately, (for better or worse) Rescher commits himself to the limits of rationality. When these limits are reached, philosophical investigation can go no further. For Rescher, “The fact that truth and reality ‘are somehow out there’ in a thought-independent realm of their own is—even if conceded— simply beside the point; there is nothing that we can do with it.”83

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In one sense, Jainism affirms the limited nature of all perspectives. With respect to mediated knowledge such as knowledge attained through sense perception—Jainism is in agreement with Rescher. We each have a limited perspective. Now, Jains do admit a direct knowledge, which is knowledge attained through the soul. It is less clear that this type of knowledge is bound by the limitations of perspectivism. Yet, given that few of us have reached a state of spiritual purity at which our soul is free from the four types of knowledge obscuring karmas, naya is the best we can do. Another similarity between Jainism and orientational pluralism is the relationship between perspectivism and truth. K.C. Bhattacharya writes, “Truth as an indetermination or alternation of truths is but manifold possibility. Each mode of truth as alternative with the others is a possible though it has to be taken as objective.”84 In short, according to the Jain position, we can do no better than to treat “our truth” as “the truth.” To be clear, “the truth” understood in this way, is a matter of treating relative truth perspectives as objective truth, though never as absolute truth. Such thinking is very similar to Rescher, who writes, “There is clearly no conflict between our commitment to the truth as we see it and a recognition that the adoption of a variant probative perspective leads others to see the truth differently. Given that we ourselves occupy our perspective, we are bound to see our truth as the truth.”85 Along these lines, Rescher notes that “we cannot deal in truths as such . . . but only in claims to truth.”86 Here, he is making a claim akin to John Hick who writes, “They’re not mutually conflicting beliefs, because they’re beliefs about different phenomenal realities. It’s in this sense that they are reduced or ‘downgraded’ in their scope.”87 Rescher makes sense of conflicting claims on the epistemological level—we can never escape our perspective, meaning there is no object ground by which we can reject the perspectives of others. While Jains reach a similar conclusion, they do so starting from the metaphysical level, rather than the epistemological level. This difference in approach results in several bifurcations. For example, Jains do not agree with Rescher, that “the fact that others with different bodies of experience might resolve the matter differently is simply irrelevant to our own resolution of the issue.”88 For the Jains, the different perspectives of others matter greatly to our own point of view. As Chris Chapple writes, the Jains “defend holding strongly to one’s own perspective while simultaneously advocating the exploration of other expressions of truth.”89 Rescher’s perspectivism leads nowhere—it is the end of dialogue. We cannot escape our perspective (and even if our perspective changes it is still our perspective). Therefore, Rescher’s argument encourages affirmation of one’s own beliefs with little concern for the beliefs of others. The Jain model of perspectivism encourages exploration of other perspectives as a means of getting closer to the absolute truth.

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While Rescher’s perspectivism leads to an ambivalence toward the views of others, in Jainism, “an anekāntika (a person who recognizes multiple aspects of reality) is by nature more tolerant than ekāntika (a person who understand reality from only one perspective and sees things in an absolutist way).”90 Not only so, but “from a Jain perspective, the threat to life that we face arises from a faulty epistemology and metaphysics as much as from faulty ethics. The moral failure to respect the life of others, including life forms other than human, is rooted in dogmatic but mistaken knowledge claims that fail to recognize other legitimate perspectives.”91 Jain perspectivism requires the knower to go beyond oneself—which is impossible according to perspectivism—so the knower is instead forced to expand oneself. If you cannot transcend yourself, then expand yourself. This seems to be a helpful contribution Jainism makes to orientational pluralism. John Koller attempts to clarify, however, that such engaged perspectivism (as opposed to Rescher’s disengaged perspectivism) is not relativism. He writes, “Epistemological respect for the views of others,” however, is not relativism. It does not mean conceding that all arguments and all views are equal. It means that logic and evidence determine which views are true in what respect and to what extent. It does not mean that Jain thinkers who were committed to the truth of the Jain view could not, as scholars, be committed to explaining and defending their view by means of argument. In fact, it allows Jain thinkers to maintain the correctness of their own view, to recognize the inferiority of other views, and to criticize both their own views and other views in terms of their weaknesses, but to do so respectfully, recognizing their partial correctness.92

Engaged perspectivism, like that of Jainism, overcomes the central criticism of Rescher’s perspectivism—it overcomes the tendencies to result in the end of dialogue. Instead, engaged perspectivism results in the proliferation of dialogue. As Koller writes, “This respect, based on the anekāntika nature of reality itself, allows dialogue and reconciliation in the quest for truth, a quest that makes it possible for holders of false views to see for themselves the falsity of their views.”93 The Impossibility of a “Pluralistic Worldview”: Panikkar and Jainism Panikkar is a rare gem in discourse on religious pluralism. His investigations into the deeper structural concerns of pluralistic thinking provides illuminating critiques of many theories of religious pluralism, as well as constructive suggestions for ways to move forward. For my purposes, it is Panikkar’s

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perspective on the universalization of truth and pluralistic theories that I wish to put in conversation with the Jain perspective. As Panikkar notes, “The thrust toward universalization has undoubtedly been a feature of Western civilization since the Greeks. If something is not universal, it looms as not really valid . . . universal means catholic, and catholic means true. What is true and good (for us) is (also) true and good for everybody.”94 The desire of universalization, particularly as it pertains to universal truth, is not unique to Western civilization. In Jainism, despite the emphasis on the relative nature of truth from certain perspectives, reflected by the many sides of reality, Jainism (as discussed above) does not abandon its claim to absolute truth. The idea that there is a single reality—a single elephant, one mountain, a universe—is often presupposed in a way that undermines the expressed diversity (many sides, many paths, etc.). In other words, for Jainism—like so many others—diversity does not go all the way down. There is an underlying unity that brings together the many perspectives (the parts to a whole). Ultimate truth is truth that unifies the relative truths. Panikkar states his position antagonistically, saying “What I am against ultimately is . . . any form of monism.”95 In many ways, I think the emphasis in Jainism on relativity shares in Panikkar’s concern. The error of ekānta (one-sidedness) where by relative truths are treated as absolutes to the exclusion of all contrary relative truths, appears favorable toward Panikkar’s position. But perhaps this agreeability is premature. But perhaps this agreeability is premature. Panikkar explains that a pluralistic supersystem entails “the dethronement of reason and the abandonment of the monotheistic paradigm.”96 He uses the analogy of tolerance, whereby those who promote tolerance rarely consider the problem that “tolerance begins with why and who to tolerate the intolerant.”97 Furthermore, because pluralism cannot be a supersystem, it cannot be an umbrella under which we tolerate contradictory systems, because such an umbrella would be a system alongside other systems, not a perspective above all other perspectives. As Panikkar writes, The problem of pluralism arises when we are confronted with mutually irreconcilable worldviews or ultimate systems of thought and life. . . . We do not take seriously the claim of ultimacy of religions, philosophies, theologies, and final human attitudes if we seem to allow for a pluralistic supersystem.98

In this way, the question of the compatibility of Jain pluralism to Panikkar’s pluralism rests on the question of whether or not the Jain doctrine of relativity is intended as a supersystem (a metatheory). Put another way, is the Jain doctrine of relativity intended as an absolute? This question was discussed above, and for the most part, it does seem to be the case that Jainism embraces the absoluteness of relativity. Yet, since the absolute is one of relativity, it is

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not an absolute that undermines itself (like a pluralistic metatheory that seems to be alongside not above other perspectives). Rather, Jain relativity seems compatible with what Panikkar says about the relativity of truth. He writes, Relativism destroys itself when affirming that all is relative and thus also the very affirmation of relativism. Relativity, on the other hand, asserts that . . . any truth, is relative to its very own parameters . . . for truth is essentially relational. .  .  . Relativism destroys itself if we affirm it. Relativity on the other hand is presupposed in the act of denying it.99

Now, as Jeffery Long has argued, the Jain theory of relativity is presupposed in the act of denying, and affirmed when applied universally (even to itself). Panikkar, however, still seems hesitant to affirm relativity as an absolute. Reason being, for Panikkar, truth is essentially relational. In this way, Panikkar’s position is reminiscent of Faber and Keller’s polyphilic relational pluralism. So, does Jainism have room for the essential relationality of truth, in addition to the relativity of truth? If so, what does this entail? Panikkar attempts to summarize his position, stating “My thesis is clear: a universal theory of whatever kind denies pluralism. Any alleged universal theory is one particular theory, besides many others, that claims universal validity, thus trespassing the limits of its own legitimacy. Further, no theory can be absolutely universal, because theory, the contemplation of truth, is neither a universal contemplation, not is (theoretical) ‘truth’ all that there is to Reality.”100 Here, I think Jainism departs from Panikkar whose pluralism is more extreme. The impossibility of a universal theory (even a universal theory of relativity) goes beyond the Jain model of pluralism. Though it’s unclear where such an extreme pluralism leaves us. As Panikkar states, “There is no ‘pluralistic worldview’; there are simply incompatible worldviews.”101 So if there is no pluralistic worldview, since pluralism is at best one perspective alongside all others, what is the force of a pluralistic perspective? Where does pluralism take us? What does pluralism entail about notions of truth? Panikkar refers to the idea that truth is one rather than many as something largely taken for granted—an unexamined presupposition. Accordingly, for Panikkar the pluralism of truth is a “serious and disturbing hypothesis.”102 This is most notable when dealing with universal and absolute claims of ultimacy. But, to have an absolute perspective (an ultimate truth) is still to have a perspective (which is, by virtue of being a perspective, always relative). The challenge of pluralism, perspectivism, and relativism, at the level of ultimacy, is that to have a perspective on which perspective is ultimately true (the most accurate view of reality) is to have a perspective. But why suppose that your perspective on which perspective is the ultimately true perspective, is an ultimately true perspective? The truth of perspectives on perspectives of perspectives, and so on regresses infinitely.103

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The threat of infinite regress looms, as we seek to find an alternative to radical relativism on the one hand, and exclusive absolutism on the other. For Panikkar, a pluralism with respect to truth means that “Truth” transcends the true-false binary, it can be neither one nor many, since it is beyond such conceptualizations. And it is because of this transcendent nature of pluralistic truth that pluralism cannot be a system—even a supersystem—as all systems, as systems, are thereby conceptualizable.104 However, the Jain philosopher might ask Panikkar, shouldn’t your perspective regarding the transcendent pluralism of truth also be transcended if it is to be ultimately true? Should Panikkar relativize the truth pluralism of systems, by suggesting that syāt only some pluralistic truths are transcendent? Yet, this non-absolute affirmation of the transcendent nature of pluralistic truths would seem to imply the existence of some non-transcendent pluralistic truths. Along these lines, Panikkar notes, that true pluralism is not a matter of embracing complementary perspectives that only appear contradictory (akin to Cobb and Hick). Rather, true pluralism is a matter of reconciling contradictory ultimate systems in their ultimacy. According to Panikkar, the reconciliation of contradictory ultimate systems (i.e., pluralism) necessarily violates the principle of noncontradiction, which is why “the question of pluralism belongs to that ultimate level.”105 It is this perspective on pluralism that drives my present investigation. The pluralistic theories of Hick and Cobb, which attempt to demonstrates (in different ways) the complementary and compatible nature of seemingly incompatible religious truth claims, is—as Panikkar notes—not pluralistic enough. The Ontological Pluralism of Panikkar and the Polyphilic Pluralism of Faber and Keller get much closer to a true pluralism, which attempt to confront and reconcile contradictory ultimate systems. But the very question of ultimacy, of universals and particulars, absolutes and relatives, of One and Many, have yet to be adequately addressed with respect to the structure of pluralistic logic. We have, so far, explored traditional theories of religious pluralism in the West, the relevant doctrines for a Jain contribution to religious pluralism, and the possible compatibilities and incompatibilities between the Jain perspective and the Western theories. What remains is to explore further the underlying assumptions of pluralistic thinking—the very structure of pluralistic theories—so as to have a deeper understanding of the force and consequences of pluralism. These are the very issues I will be exploring in the closing chapters. To continue the discourse from the Jain context, chapter 7 will explore such conversations as documented in Indic thought, before concluding with discussion on paradox as the foundation for a paradigm shift in discourse on religious pluralism.

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NOTES 1. There is also a sociological element to religious identity, by which a person identifies with a religion—not because of their beliefs and practices—but because (for example) their parents are practitioners. In other words, it’s possible to be a Jain by birth. However, in adulthood, failure to uphold proper beliefs and practices generally leads toward a diminishing of the religious element of one’s overall identity. 2. Christopher Key Chapple, “Nonviolent Approaches to Multiplicity,” in Nonviolence to Animals, Earth, and Self in Asian Traditions (New York: State University New York Press, 1993), 91. 3. John E. Cort, “‘Intellectual Ahimsa’ Revisited: Jain Tolerance and Intolerance of Others.” in Philosophy East and West, Vol. 50, No. 3 (2000): 333. 4. Shugan C. Jain, “Uniqueness and Relevance of Jainism” in 7th International Summer School for Jain Studies—Study Notes, Vol. 4 (2011): 4. 5. Jain, “Uniqueness and Relevance of Jainism,” 4. 6. Long, Plurality and Relativity, 21. 7. Acharya Uma Swami, Jainism: Key to Reality (Tattvārthasūtra), translated by S.C. Jain. Hastinapur, (India: Digamar Jain Trilok Shodh Sansthan, 2011), 329. 8. Champat Rai Jain, Confluence of Opposites (London: Jaina Library, 1922), 403–404. 9. See, Karl Barth, No!, translated by Peter Fraenkel (London: Geoffrey Bles, 1946). 10. Chapple, “Nonviolent Approaches to Multiplicity,” 90. 11. Cort, “‘Intellectual Ahimsa’ Revisited,” 333. 12. Chapple, “Nonviolent Approaches to Multiplicity,” 91. 13. Paul Dundas, “Beyond Anekāntavāda: A Jain Approach to Religious Tolerance,” in Ahimsa, Anekānta and Jainism, edited by Tara Sethia (Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 2004), 125. 14. Chapple, “Nonviolent Approaches to Multiplicity,” 93. 15. Cort, “‘Intellectual Ahimsa’ Revisited,” 324–347. 16. Chapple, “Nonviolent Approaches to Multiplicity,” 89. 17. Chapple, “Nonviolent Approaches to Multiplicity,” 88. 18. Chapple, “Nonviolent Approaches to Multiplicity,” 86. 19. Chapple, “Nonviolent Approaches to Multiplicity,” 95. 20. Chapple, “Nonviolent Approaches to Multiplicity,” 93. 21. Chapple, “Nonviolent Approaches to Multiplicity,” 91. 22. Chapple, “Nonviolent Approaches to Multiplicity,” 93. 23. Kusum Jain, “Anekānta—Syāt—Saptabhangi,” 300. 24. Kusum Jain, “Anekānta—Syāt—Saptabhangi,” 298. 25. Netland, Dissonant Voices, 152. 26. Vallely, “Anekānta, Ahimsa and the Question of Pluralism,” 100–101. 27. Vallely, “Anekānta, Ahimsa and the Question of Pluralism,” 107. 28. Edmund L. Gettier, “Is Justified True Belief Knowledge?,” in Analysis, Vol. 23, No. 6 (1963): 121–123. 29. Sūtrakṛtāṅga 1.1.2.23.

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30. Whitehead, Religion in the Making, 77. 31. Long, “Anekānta Vedānta: Toward a Deep Hindu Religious Pluralism,” 133. 32. To be clear, I don’t believe Cobb would disagree with this point. In fact, he would likely be entirely supportive of this Jain perspective. 33. Kamal Chand Sogani, “Syādvāda: Conditional Dialectical Expression of Anekānta,” in 7th International Summer School for Jain Studies—Study Notes, Vol. 4 (2011): 309. 34. Sogani, “Syādvāda: Conditional Dialectical Expression of Anekānta,” 309. 35. Vallely, “Anekānta, Ahimsa and the Question of Pluralism,” 101. 36. Whitehead, Process and Reality, 21. 37. Robert C. Neville, “Whitehead on the One and the Many,” in Explorations in Whitehead’s Philosophy, edited by Lewis S. Ford and George L. Kline (New York: Fordham University Press, 1983), 263. 38. Neville, “Whitehead on the One and the Many,” 260. 39. Whitehead, Process and Reality, 21. 40. Lewis S. Ford, “Neville’s Interpretation of Creativity,” in Explorations in Whitehead’s Philosophy, edited by Lewis S. Ford and George L. Kline (New York: Fordham University Press, 1983), 272–279. 41. Whitehead, Process and Reality, 21. 42. Whitehead, Process and Reality, 227. 43. Whitehead, Process and Reality, 347–348. 44. Whitehead, Process and Reality, 347–348. 45. Whitehead, Process and Reality, 227. 46. Charles Hartshorne, Creative Synthesis and Philosophic Method (Chicago, IL: Open Court Publishing Company, 1970), 104. 47. Whitehead, Process and Reality, 211. 48. Whitehead, Process and Reality, 229. 49. Bernard E. Meland, “Together with Differences,” in The Divinity School News of the Divinity School of the University of Chicago, Vol. XXV, No. 3 (August 1, 1958): 5–6. 50. Faber and Keller, “Polyphilic Pluralism,” 61. 51. Faber and Keller, “Polyphilic Pluralism,” 61. 52. More recent developments in science suggest that even these seemingly independent billiard balls are not simply relating to one another externally. Each ball is comprised of molecules that are constantly in motion. “External” force applied to the ball also results in “internal” compression of molecules. Moreover, I expect that forthcoming breakthroughs on quantum entanglement will reveal a more deeply internal relation between matter. 53. Faber and Keller, “Polyphilic Pluralism,” 67–68. 54. Faber and Keller, “Polyphilic Pluralism,” 64. 55. Faber and Keller, “Polyphilic Pluralism,” 67. 56. For another resource that draws parallels between Jainism and Process thought (though with more of a focus on ahimsa), see Brianne Donaldson’s, Creaturely Cosmologies: Why Metaphysics Matters for Animals and Planetary Liberation (2015).

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57. While I won’t make the argument in this book, it may be that “polydoxy” would be a great literal translation of “anekāntavāda.” 58. Faber and Keller, “Polyphilic Pluralism,” 65. 59. Faber and Keller, “Polyphilic Pluralism,” 72. 60. Faber and Keller, “Polyphilic Pluralism,” 79–80. 61. Griffin, Deep Religious Pluralism, 24. 62. Griffin, Deep Religious Pluralism, 24. 63. Vallely, “Anekānta, Ahimsa and the Question of Pluralism,” 110. 64. Vallely, “Anekānta, Ahimsa and the Question of Pluralism,” 111–112. 65. Nicholas Rescher, “Philosophical Disagreement: An Essay towards Orientational Pluralism,” in The Review of Metaphysics, Vol. 32 (1978): 217–251. 66. Nicholas Rescher, The Strife of Systems: An Essay on the Grounds and Implications of Philosophical Diversity (PA: University of Pittsburgh Press, 1985). 67. Rescher, The Strife of Systems, 131. 68. Shah, Jaina Theory of Multiple Facets of Reality and Truth (Anekāntavāda), x. 69. Rescher, Pluralism, 77. 70. Rescher, The Strife of Systems, 113. 71. In this way, Alvin Plantinga’s critique of pluralism might be understood as applying to any form of cognitive valuation—which means any time someone takes a position or makes and argument. Rescher and Plantinga seem in agreement that valuation is inevitable, and that valuation entails exclusion. 72. Rescher, Pluralism, 108. 73. Rescher, Pluralism, 112. 74. Rescher, Pluralism, 125. 75. Obviously it is not impossible for some people to agree on some things. The sort of consensus Rescher is talking about is, first of all, philosophical consensus about major philosophical issues—which includes consensus among historical philosophers as well. I believe the unattainability of such consensus applies to theology as it does philosophy. Again, this is due to the diversity of experience, which forms of values, which we use to make cognitive judgments. 76. Rescher, The Strife of Systems, xi. 77. Rescher, The Strife of Systems, 147. 78. Heim, Salvations, 153. 79. Heim, Salvations, 137. 80. Heim, Salvations, 149. 81. Rescher, Pluralism, 108. 82. Rescher, Pluralism, 108. 83. Rescher, The Strife of Systems, 200. 84. Bhattacharya, “The Jaina Theory of Anekānta,” 31. 85. Rescher, The Strife of Systems, 198. 86. Rescher, The Strife of Systems, 195. 87. Hick, A Christian Theology of Religion, 42–43. 88. Rescher, Pluralism, 112. 89. Chapple, “Nonviolent Approaches to Multiplicity,” 91. 90. Charitrapragya, “Mahavira, Anekāntavāda and the World Today,” 83.

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91. John M. Koller, “Why is Anekāntavāda Important,” in Ahimsa, Anekānta and Jainism, edited by Tara Sethia (Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 2004), 85. 92. Koller, “Why is Anekāntavāda Important,” 89. 93. Koller, “Why is Anekāntavāda Important,” 87. 94. Panikkar, “The Invisible Harmony,” 120. 95. Panikkar, “The Invisible Harmony,” 125. 96. Panikkar, “The Invisible Harmony,” 125. 97. Panikkar, “The Invisible Harmony,” 125. 98. Panikkar, “The Invisible Harmony,” 125. 99. Panikkar, “The Invisible Harmony,” 127. 100. Panikkar, “The Invisible Harmony,” 132. 101. Panikkar, “The Invisible Harmony,” 127. 102. Panikkar, “The Invisible Harmony,” 127. 103. Panikkar, “The Invisible Harmony,” 127. 104. Panikkar, “The Invisible Harmony,” 128. 105. Panikkar, “The Invisible Harmony,” 125–126.

Part III

NEW CONSIDERATIONS: THE STRUCTURE OF PLURALISTIC THINKING

Chapter 7

The One and the Many Universals, Unity, Paradox, and Truth

In Part I, I provided a brief analysis of the “pluralism debates” that have occurred over the past half a century in Western philosophy of religion. The purpose of that section was to provide a framework for a cross-cultural/comparative interaction between Jainism and Western philosophy of religion on pluralism and truth. I discussed the pluralism dilemma and the related elements of truth and contradiction. For some, the answer is absolutism—as demonstrated by the exclusivist and inclusivist positions. For others, the answer is relativism. But the goal of pluralism is to hold the tension between both absolutism and relativism—to allow for commitment to one’s own beliefs without having to exclude the beliefs of others. In Part II, I turned to Jainism. I examined the Jain doctrine of relativity (distinct from relativism), by looking at the doctrines of anekāntavāda, nayavāda, and syādvāda. From these doctrines, I expounded on the role of truth and falsity in Jainism. This exploration revealed the possible ways that Jainism can answer the question of conflicting truth claims, which lies at the heart of the pluralistic dilemma. This led to an analysis of possible Jain responses to the pluralism dilemma, in conversation with many of the voices (and some new voices) discussed in Part I. Building off of the history of responses to the pluralism dilemma in Part I, and the relevance of the Jain perspective in responding to the same in Part II, Part III will involve a more direct and constructive examination of the structure of pluralistic theories, considering notions like universals, truth, and paradox as they pertain to pluralistic thinking.

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UNIVERSALS, UNITY, AND TRUTH Our baseline, so it would seem, is that one significant source for religious disagreement and violence—the very dilemma of religious pluralism—is the clash of universals. Put another way, the problem of religious pluralism is the problem of ekānta: of treating relative truths as universal truths to the exclusion of other relative truths. It’s not typically problematic if one group prays to the east while another prays to the west. It doesn’t seem to cause problems when Catholics cross themselves left to right, while Orthodox cross themselves right to left. But discourse about God, truth, and liberation—which tend to be treated as absolutes, ultimates, and universals—this is where the pluralism dilemma lies. How are we to reconcile incompatible ultimate systems? The difficulty with absolutes is that they leave no room for alternatives. If something is true absolutely, it is true in every circumstance—it is a universal truth. And, as Panikkar notes, “Universal means catholic, and catholic means true. What is true and good (for us) is (also) true and good for everybody.”1 Conflicting particulars can be seen as complementary or even unrelated, but conflicting universals are contradictories. And, in so far as we affirm the principle of noncontradiction, conflicting universals cannot coexist. One must be true, the other (by default) is false. Being pluralistic is not so much a problem when dealing with particular or relative truths, but is among the great challenges when dealing with absolutes and universals. Again, Panikkar insightfully writes, It is easy to be pluralistic if the others abandon their claim to absoluteness, primacy, universality, and the like: “We pluralists have allotted each system its niche; we then are truly universal.” This, I submit, is not pluralism. This is another system, perhaps a better one, but it would make pluralism unnecessary. We have a situation of pluralism only when we are confronted with mutually exclusive and respectively contradictory ultimate systems. We cannot, by definition, logically overcome a pluralistic situation without breaking the very principle of noncontradiction and denying our own set of codes: intellectual, moral, esthetic, and so forth.2

This is the challenge of religious pluralism. At this point, there are a few possible ways forward. One option is to give up on the pluralistic agenda. Go home to your particularity and rest comfortably in your exclusivism. Another option is to question the universality of the religious truth claims. Pluralistic models of this variety attempt to somehow pluralize universals, or downgrade contradictory ultimate systems into complementary relative systems. For example, to suggest that there are many paths up many

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mountains—that the Buddhist eightfold path can lead to nirvāṇa and that the Christian roman road can lead to heaven—is to recommend distinct ultimate goals. Among the most adequate and popular pluralistic responses of this variety are put forth by pluralists like Mark Heim and John Cobb. Such responses attempt to respect the uniqueness of each diverse religious tradition, without homogenization or exclusion. Yet, the suggestion that there are many mountains seems to presuppose that no mountain is ultimately ultimate (universally ultimate). As such, this procedure runs into passionate resistance from religious adherents who wholeheartedly believe their views regarding ultimate systems (views about God, truth, salvations, etc.) are universally true. A third possibility is to question the very foundations of the pluralistic dilemma—the logic of universals, contradictions, and the unity of truth. That is the constructive goal of this book. Unfortunately, not many have attempted to shed light on the problem of universals or the underlying logic of unity and multiplicity as it pertains to religious pluralism. Faber and Keller (along with Panikkar) go closer to this direction, and I wish to build off of their work in an attempt to take us further still. The question of the “One” and the “Many” is one of the oldest and most basic philosophical questions. As Graham Priest notes, “The notion of being one thing is, perhaps, our most fundamental notion. We cannot say anything, think anything, cognize anything, without presupposing it.”3 But how are we to reconcile our experience of unity and diversity? When Plotinus writes that “it is in virtue of unity that beings are beings,”4 he seems to be prioritizing unity. What constitutes unity? What does it mean to be one? Moreover, “when an object has parts (the many), how does their multiplicity produce unity?”5 Priest states, “Every object—or at least, every object with parts—is both one and many. But being one and being many are contradictories, so how is this possible?”6 Priest also comments that “this is not a serious puzzle: it is the thing that is one, and its parts that are many.”7 Yet, explaining how exactly this works is far from simple. How do the many become one, which is more than the mere sum of its parts? Are the parts also things, constituted by other parts? Is the universe an infinite regress of parts comprising wholes which are themselves parts of a greater whole? “What is the difference between a unity and a mere congeries?”8 Furthermore, how do we make sense of ultimacy? Is One ultimate? Is Many ultimate? What would this look like? Does universal necessarily imply unity? Does unity imply a One that obliterates the Many? Is truth singular in this way? Is it possible for there to be a plurality of ultimates? Can more than one ultimate system be true—absolutely and universally? Can contradictions be true? Is the universe consistent (i.e., the sort of place where logical coherence is assumed)?

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It seems that the very nature of our experience—presumably the very nature of reality—is inevitably a combination of unity and diversity. What’s significant about this realization is that it problematizes simplistic notions of both unity and diversity; of both one and many. It is in this spirit that Roland Faber proposes a unique pluralistic theory he calls “para-doxy.” Faber writes, “Instead of presupposing the One that determines one (identity) and many (mere difference) with any form of preestablished harmony as its means of grounding, the paradox of para-doxy uses modes of communication, resonance, and mutuality that cannot be framed by any means of identification within structures of laws of identity, universal generalizations, or classification.”9 Beyond simple unity and incoherent diversity, Faber finds a middle way with a both-and logic by focusing on neither one nor many, but the connection (relation) between one and many: communication, resonance, and mutuality. Faber is wise to recognize this third element (i.e., relation) between both One and Many. Even Plato states that “two things cannot rightly be put together without a third; there must be some bond of union between them. And the firmest bond is that which makes the most complete fusion of itself and the things it combines.”10 Graham Priest also seeks for a way to talk about this third element, stating: “A thing is not merely a plurality of parts: it is a unity. There must, therefore, be something which constitutes them as a single thing, a unity. Let us call it, neutrally (and with a nod in the direction of particle physics), the gluon of the object, g.”11 Priest continues: A common thought at this point is that what accounts for the unity of the parts of an object, its gluon, is their configuration, arrangement, structure, or some such. Whatever you call it, it is a relationship between the parts, and relationships related, by definition. Call relationships objects if you wish; but they are a special kind of object; and they bind together the parts by their very nature. There is already a confusion at the heart of this thought—and not an uncommon one. The confusion is between relating and unifying. Relations do not, in general unify.12

Interestingly, the difficulty that Priest identifies here can be overcome by inverting the scenario according to a process model. It’s not that separate objects 1 and 2, are somehow related by an additional object 3 (the glue). To say, as Priest does, that “relations do not, in general unify,” is to already presuppose that relations are an extra (outside) element imposed on objects, which are primary. But what if relationality is itself primary? What if relation is not the “glue” to hold external objects together, but the interdependent cause of essentially related objects? In this way, it’s not so much that relationality brings together foreign elements into some unity, but that out of essential relationality things emerge—what is described in Buddhism as codependent arising.

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Whereas “One” seems to imply singularity (which, if absolutized, entails radical monism), “Unity” seems to imply a relation between distinct—but not separate—parts. Could it be that “Universal” is more akin to Unity, while “Absolute” is more akin to One? When applied to the realm of truth, this would mean that “absolute truth” is inherently exclusive, while “universal truth” may describe a unifying relation between distinct truths. What might this look like? As Faber explains, “With Nicholas Cusa, Nāgārjuna, and Deleuze’s paradoxical logic of the both-and-neither-this-and-that polyphilic indetermination is deconstructive of abstractive unifications, simplifications, or reductions that haunt multiplicity under the Law of the One and the Many.”13 The “polyphilic” nature of truth, here, transcends the traditional bounds of the true-false binary. How exactly does this work? Faber turns to the nature of reality itself, stating: The paradox of multiplicity consists in this incompossibility: the impossibility of any abstraction to function as a priori reason for the participation of multiplicity as a variation of its “essence” and, at the same time, the necessity to formulate such ideas in order to understand multiplicities as multiplicities, that is, as an experiential a priori of any abstract unification. Any consistent unification has already lost the multiplicity that it was meant to control, but any adequate idea of multiplicity will necessarily become inconsistent or inadequate, it is always polyphonically indeterminate. Moreover, multiplicity as multiplicity is always a process of poly-harmonic indetermination. The “logic” of the poly-harmonic multiplicity does not state any law under the logic of the One and Many; it names the becoming of multiplicities with a paradoxical logic for which experience and understanding are fundamentally indeterminate.14

Here, Faber identifies the underlying problem with classical logic and notions of absolute truth—namely, that they are established on the presupposed framework of metaphysical consistency. If the essence of reality were static, then the principle of consistency would seem appropriate. However, when we begin to understand the essence of reality in terms of dynamic becoming, inconsistency becomes the new standard. Consider the example of “change.” Change is an essential feature of reality. Yet, as Priest and Routley put it, “in change . . . there is at each stage a moment when the changing item is both in a given state, because it has just reached that state, but also not in that state, because it is not stationary but moving through and beyond that state.”15 Roland Faber makes a similar observation in connection with Alfred North Whitehead’s notion of an “event,” stating: “The ‘reality’ of an event demonstrates a profound paradox: its reality of becoming does not exist as fact as long as it is actually happening; its facticity presupposes that its becoming has passed. As long as an event ‘exists,’ it does not yet exist; but when it finally exists, it does not ‘exist’ anymore.”16

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This also rings reminiscent of Hegel, who “rejects Kant’s assumption that contradictions are products of transcendental illusion. Hegel takes them to be accurate perceptions of an inconsistent reality.”17 As Hegel argues, “According to Kant . . . thought has a natural tendency to issue in contradictions or antinomies, whenever it seeks to apprehend the infinite. But Kant . . . never penetrated into the discovery of what the antinomies really and positively mean. The true and positive meaning of the antinomies is this: that every actual thing involves a coexistence of opposed elements.”18 Similarly, in describing reality as essentially a process of poly harmonic indetermination, Faber also notes the paradoxical essence of the incompossible—which is the paradoxical essence at the heart of reality itself.19 Put another way, the problem of the One and the Many—unity in difference—is inherently paradoxical.20 As Faber explains, In other words, the determinant of truth is not the ground of truth, but an addition that names a resonance within a multiplicity in the process of incessant creative alteration. The paradox of indetermination states that any claim will be situated between the ever-fluent limits of consistency and adequacy. On the one hand, when we survey experience with some adequacy, it becomes inconsistent. On the other, when we reduce experience “to a rigid consistency” it will become inadequate to its complexity.21

When applied to matters of truth and universal claims (particularly in religion), Faber invents the notion of “para-doxy” which parallels the metaphysical concept of “polydoxy” or “polyphilic pluralism.” In describing the paradoxical nature of polydoxy, Faber writes: Polydoxy seeks the poly-harmonics of an interrelated multiplicity of relational differences, but it is never exempt from the seduction to introduce its own fallacy of misplaced power, that is, it is not exempt from the impact of its paradoxal claim of multiplicity of any formulation of identity—be it that of the One or that of the Many. Polydoxy will always be overshadowed by the question how its inherent refutation of fanatic orthodoxy and its desire to live in a religious world of the indeterminacy of divine multiplicity will convey a sense of peace that is liberating and non-violent at the same time.22

In the context of polyphilic pluralism, polydoxy is really a “paradox” that, as Faber says, “does not seek orthodoxy.”23 Rather, “‘Paradox is opposed to doxa’ as is paradox to the doxa of orthodoxy. Para-doxy avoids orthodoxy if its doxa views the divine from a logic of the One and Many. . . . The doxa of this orthodoxy is defined by identity and counter-identity: who is in and who is out.”24

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To provide an alternative to the mechanistic metaphysics that underpins dominant views of universals and particulars does not entail a complete rejection of the pursuit of universal truth. On the contrary, as Panikkar notes, “The effort at a universal theory is a notable enterprise. It is also a fruitful one. So many misunderstandings are overcome when we search for a common language; so many unclarities are dispelled; collaboration is made possible and religions are purified of so many excrescences, narrowmindedness, and fanaticisms.”25 The problem is not universality as such, but the concretization of abstract universality—a fallacy of misplaced concreteness. What drives us to commit this fallacy? Perhaps the paradoxical nature of One and Many in the context of universals. As Panikkar explains, “From all this follows that there is no absolute truth, not only because we mortals have no access to it, but because reality itself cannot be said to be self-intelligible—unless we a priori totally identify Reality with Consciousness. The Absolute is in the Relative.”26 The idea that the Absolute is the Relative is clearly reminiscent of the Jain paradox of absolute relativity, but it should also be reminiscent of Faber’s polyphilic pluralism, which his incompossibility represents. In short, it seems that Unity and Diversity, One and Many, Universal and Particular, the very fabric of reality, is essentially paradoxical. This realization should not be taken lightly. In fact, it is important to recognize the deep history of such thinking, particularly as found in Indic thought. While the question of unity and diversity, of One and Many, tends to be discussed as a metaphysical question (perhaps even a logical one), it seems to me an important resource for making sense of the unity of truth in the midst of diverse truth claims among religions. Perhaps an adequate understanding of the One and the Many—which are somehow held together—can be applied to the structure of pluralistic logic and the foundation for a deeper theory of religious pluralism. By taking a brief look at various perspectives within the discourse on the One and the Many in Indic thought, I hope to bring us one step closer to this end. PARADOXICAL NONDUALISM: ONE AND MANY IN ŚAṄKARA’S ADVAITA VEDĀNTA Śaṅkarācārya (between 650 and 800 C.E.) was probably the most influential philosopher of the Vedic tradition, and is “known as the greatest exponent of Advaita Vedānta, which can fairly be called the most prominent spiritual tradition of India.”27 As a form of nondualism, Advaita Vedānta holds that the plurality we experience in the world is the result of ignorance (avidyā).

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Instead, there is only Brahman—the sole reality. According to Eliot Deutsch, “Braham, the One, is a state of being. It is not a ‘He,’ a personal being; nor is it an ‘It’, an impersonal concept. Brahman is that state which is when all subject/object distinctions are obliterated. Brahman is ultimately a name for the experience of the timeless plenitude of being.”28 Although Brahman is the sole reality (the One), much is said about the world (the Many) in the Advaita tradition. The relation between the One and the Many requires additional explanation. To say that Brahman is the sole reality and also that everything is non-different from Brahman, seems to imply that all distinctions are ultimately abolished. But, as K. Satchidananda Murty argues in Revelation and Reason in Advaita Vedānta, This would be impossible because it would be a travesty of our experience. The Vedānta replies that there is no world, but even if it is taken for granted that the world is we can explain it. The waves, foam and ripples of the ocean are not different from the ocean, still we speak of their mutual difference and conjunction. Though they are not essentially different from one another, they are also not identified by us with one another. Even so subjects and objects are not different from Brahman, yet our minds do not identify them with it.29

Therefore, Śaṅkara established a system to account for the experience of multiplicity while continuing to affirm the sole reality of Brahman. In short, the Advaitin system postulates three distinct levels of being: Reality, Appearance, and Unreality. Reality is that which cannot be subrated by any other experience (paramarthika). Appearance is that which can be subrated by other experiences (vyavaharika). Unreality is that which neither can nor cannot be subrated by other experiences (pratibhasika).30 The reason that at the level of Reality, subject/object is transcended, is because as long as the subject/object dichotomy exists, subration is always possible. Therefore, to be in a state of unsubratability is to be in a state beyond subject/object distinctions. A state where there just is Brahman. Only in this sense can we realize Brahman as the sole reality—the only nonsubratable. At the level of Appearance, however, there is a whole different story. This is the level of the material world—our experience of multiplicity. At this level, that which has not yet been subrated is “real” in the sense that it has not been subrated. But it can never be ultimately real, because it can always be subrated. So, while Brahman is the only reality in an ultimate sense, our experiences of the physical world are experiences of a “real” world in a much weaker sense. Finally, at the level of Unreality, there is that which can neither be or not be subrated. As Deutsch notes, “An ‘object’ is unreal when, because of its self-contradictoriness, it cannot appear as a datum of experience. A square circle, the daughter of a virgin, and the like are objects that have a conceptual

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status only, namely, as contradictions.”31 Therefore, “Unreality is that which can never be a content of experience. By the criterion of subration, the Unreal is non-being.”32 At the end of the day, “That which is One cannot in reality become Many, it can only appear to be Many—and this through superimposition grounded in our ignorance.”33 It is avidyā that produces the world of maya, through the process of superimposition (by which the qualities of one thing are inappropriately superimposed upon another). The common example of superimposition is the analogy of the rope and the snake. A person may see a rope in the night, and confuse it for a snake. At this point, the qualities associated with a snake (that it moves on its own and can bite you), are superimposed upon the rope. The one who superimposes in this way will be frightened by the harmless rope—afraid it will attack them. The perceived snake is an illusion, produced by the superimposition of snake qualities onto a rope—such is the way of ignorance. Śaṅkara’s cosmology, his levels of existence, his concept of superimposition and subration, as well as his theory of maya [illusion/appearance] and avidyā [ignorance], all have direct implications for how he understands truth. For Śaṅkara, “A cognition . . . is like the accused in court who is considered innocent until proven guilty; it is considered true until it is shown in experience to be false.”34 Simply speaking, something is “true” for Śaṅkara, as long as it has not been subrated. In this sense, something can be true, but not ultimately so. This vision of truth goes hand-in-hand with the Advaitin understanding of reality. Just as the world of appearances (distinct from Brahman) is “real” though never ultimately so, a proposition or belief that corresponds to the world of appearances can be “true” though never ultimately so. This understanding of truth has been criticized as inciting skepticism. For, if we cannot know truth (in the ultimate sense), then we cannot know truth in any “positive sense of the term; all that one can know is that they have not been shown to be false.”35 Of course, this critique presupposes that something “positive” can be known at the level of maya, which is already to commit the error of avidyā. In the absolute sense, there is no “positive” truth to be had at the level of Appearance. Does this mean that everything we experience at this level is false? Yes, in an ultimate sense. But, something can be deemed false only after it has been subrated. Brahman can never be subrated, and can therefore never be false. When it comes to the level of Appearance, something is true until subrated—or shown to be false. But what more can be expected? Is this not always the case? Even positive declarations of truth are only authoritative on the ground that they have not been shown to be false. This is quite similar to the hermeneutic of generosity embodied in Jain theories of truth, as well as exemplified by Cobb’s methodology of dialogue. In essence, Advaitins affirm a subjective version of the correspondence

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theory of truth—that a proposition is true for a person insofar as it properly corresponds to one’s experience of reality. If I have an experience of seeing a tree in front of me, wouldn’t the rational thing be to accept that it is true that a tree is in front of me? This seems to reflect the perspective of Alvin Plantinga who writes, “It would be irrational to take as basic the denial of a proposition that seems self-evident to you.”36 On the other hand, if I were to realize that the tree was part of a dream, it then becomes rational to accept that my previous experience was illusory, and should therefore be subrated. The difference between the Advaitin and typical Western understanding of truth, is not such much a difference about “truth” per se, but about the “reality” which acts as the basis for measuring true and false propositions. All this to say, from an Advaita Vedānta point of view, something is true if it is not yet subrated. And subration occurs on an individual level. Insofar as a knowing subject is presupposed, subration is possible—because subration is an active cognitive value judgment. If one person (a) holds belief p, which has not been subrated for person a, then belief p is true. But if person (b) holds that same belief p, and after a unique experience that person a did not have, comes to make a cognitive value judgment that subrates belief p with belief q, then belief p for person b is false—while belief q is true. Badha (contradiction) is often translated in the context of Advaita as “cancellation” or “sublation.”37 Badha, at the level of maya, can only occur on a subjective basis. At the level of Brahman, there is no badha. Truth functions (in an Advaitin context) as a subjective status given to an individual’s propositions. In this way, a given belief p might be true for one person and false for another, without any inherent contradiction. As Bina Gupta states, “Śaṅkara’s realistic epistemology contends that every cognition points to an objective referent, regardless of its veridicality of falsity.”38 At a first glance, this subjectivism looks like an opening for establishing an Advaita Vedānta theory of religious pluralism (or even relativism). Upon further examination, however, one realizes this is not so. Given Śaṅkara’s view of reality (regarding the One and the Many) and his view of truth, what might be implied about an Advaitin understanding of difference? As Murty argues, “A critic may say that if Brahman is the sole Reality and if everything is non-different from it, then all distinctions would be abolished. . . . The Vedānta replies that . . . the waves, foam and ripples of the ocean are not different from the ocean, still we speak of their mutual difference and conjunction. Though they are not essentially different from one another, they are also not identified by us with one another. Even so subjects and objects are not different from Brahman, yet our minds do not identify them with it.”39 This portrayal of difference in the Advaitin context is a confusing one. Part of the confusion, however, is that the Advaitin view of difference will

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depend on which perspective the Advaitin is speaking from. That is, from the perspective of maya there is difference. From the perspective of Brahman, there is non-difference. The confusion lies between the two, trying to bridge the gap between our experiences of difference and the unity of Brahman. In one sense, the task at hand is to explain how difference arises out of a non-different Brahman. The analogy of the ocean and waves are used here to demonstrate that Brahman and the world are of the same substance, and are not essentially different from one another. Yet we speak of them as different—hence, waves and ocean. Similarly, argues Murty, the world (including individual subjects) is not different from Brahman, though we speak of it as such. A question arises: if the world and Brahman are not different, why do we speak of them as such? In the case of the ocean and the waves, it seems there is a difference—though it is not one of substance, but form; not one of quality, but quantity. The term “ocean” is used to speak of the whole body of water, the term “wave,” is used to speak of a part of the whole. There are many waves in a single ocean. The waves are distinct as a particular manifestation of that whole—an instantiation of the ocean in a particular form—distinct from nonwaves. What then is to be said about Brahman? Is Brahman simply the whole, and the world one of the parts? How are we to say that Brahman, which is without qualities (without form), has a different form than the world, or that the individual subject is a particular manifestation of the featureless Brahman? Along these lines, Murty notes: As a matter of fact the distinctions of subjects and objects are not real, because the Upaniṣads say that Brahman alone is the reality, and that everything else is a mere name (empty words—vacarambhanam). At the same time the same thing cannot really be both one and many. Difference and non-difference, being mutually contradictory, cannot be equally true. As the Veda is emphatic that Brahman is the sole reality, this is the ultimate truth; for experience is no judge in these matters.40

This is an important point, that “difference and non-difference, being mutually contradictory, cannot be equally true.” Murty seems to be implying that when it comes to difference and non-difference, like levels of being and truth, there are multiple levels. So, it seems that non-difference is ultimately true as it corresponds to Brahman experience, and difference is only provincially true. Yet, Murty also declares that, Scripture tells us that the world is a modification of Brahman, just as jugs, pots and pans are modifications of clay. Pots and jugs are not materially different things; they are merely forms in which clay appears (akaravisesa). So though they appear differently, there is only one ultimate substance—clay. When we

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know the nature of clay, we know the real nature of its modifications such as pots and jugs. It is true that by knowing the essential nature of clay, we do not know all its shapes and forms. There is no harm in that, because shape or form is not an “entity.” Modifications are seen by the eye, but apart from the clay they have no essential (substantial) nature. That which is perceived, but has no substantial nature, is an illusion. So all modifications are illusions. The essential nature of clay, which remains even when there are no modifications, alone is real. Since the relationship between Brahman and the world is of the same kind, the world being non-different from Brahman, Brahman alone is the absolutely real, though the world is perceived.41

What is significant about the claim that the world is non-different from Brahman? For starters, it implies a different approach to Advaita, not (as often construed) as a tradition which seeks to negate the world as unreal. Rather, by identifying the world and Brahman as non-different—that the world is Brahman, because there is only Brahman—we see that the world is given (in a sense) full reality. It is true, as Bina Gupta notes, that “brahman’s nonduality seems inconsistent with the plurality of empirical existence,” which poses the question “what is the status of this plurality?”42 What does it mean to have a non-dual standpoint regarding the One and the Many? As a response to what he considers flaws in this Advaita perspective, Ramanuja proposes a concept of unity that is not so much unity but union. Ramanuja states, “From a logical point of view it is only union and not unity that can be thought of as being constituted of ultimately distinct and separate parts.”43 The main difference between unity and union, accordingly to Ramanuja, is that unity abolishes distinctions, whereas union holds difference together. While this idea of union might work for Ramanuja’s Vishishtadvaita (qualified nondualism), it cannot be the case that differences are simply brought together in harmony from Śaṅkara’s perspective—that is, since there are no ultimately real differences to be harmonized.44 So, what might the Advaitin perspective teach us about a deeper theory of religious pluralism? At its core, the problem of religious multiplicity presupposes a framework of difference and diversity. Multiplicity is only a problem insofar as it produces difference. And difference becomes a problem when the beliefs and practices of one group are in conflict with those of another. These conflicts occur, and are seen as problematic, for reasons as basic as that we share the earth and must live together despite our differences. But how might the Advaitin perspective of nondualism interpret this so-called problem of multiplicity? Are there really different religions? Are they really in conflict? Might difference be understood as complementary (or even unrelated) rather than contradictory? To be clear, the problem of religious pluralism is only a problem, as far as Advaitins should be concerned, from the perspective of maya—only from

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the framework of ignorance and the world of appearances. From the liberated perspective of Brahman, there are no religions, there is no pluralism dilemma; there is only Brahman. From the perspective of liberation, the problem of religious pluralism is null and void. There is no need to reconcile conflicting religious truth claims, because (in Brahman) there is already only non-difference. This view on the non-ultimate (illusory) nature of the world does not lead Advaitins to disengage from the world. As Roger Marcaurelle argues, the illusory nature of the world and Śaṅkara’s call to reject the subject-object dichotomy “does not necessarily imply that he [Śaṅkara] has abandoned social activities on the physical level.”45 And as shown above, Śaṅkara did not cease to speak about the world of plurality. Therefore, it seems reasonable to conclude that despite the fact that the nature of the problem of religious pluralism rests in the perspective of maya, an Advaita Vedāntin can certainly address the problem from within that same framework. In establishing an Advaitin response to religious difference, given the Advaitin logic of One and Many, let us first consider what has already been said about the nature of truth. From the perspective of maya, which is the perspective in which we must address the problem of religious multiplicity, truth is subjectively determined as that which has not yet been subrated. From this perspective, multiple religions may be true for different people at a given time, or for a single person at different times, without any essential conflict. In this way, the Advaitin response to religious pluralism may be a pluralistic response, in which there are many relatively true but different religions. That is, insofar as the Advaitin theory of truth allows for affirming as true mutually conflicting claims, it seems to lead toward a pluralistic response (akin to Hick). Two problems exist with this interpretation, however. First, to say that such an approach is pluralistic is to only state the minimum. Rather, if such a position regarding truth were to lead to pluralism, it would also lead to relativism—by which all views are relatively true. It appears to lack exclusionary criteria (apart from subration). And since such relativism is to be avoided by the pluralists an additional exclusionary criterion is needed. The second problem with interpreting the Advaitin theory of truth as necessarily producing a pluralistic theology of religions is the test of subration. Insofar as there is an experiencing subject and a plurality of objects of experience, inevitably one experience will be found in conflict with another. At such time, the subject must make a cognitive value judgment to privilege one experience over another. This act of privileging one over another is the act of subration. Therefore, the Advaitin theory of truth can only allow that a given person consider his or her own beliefs true, and therefore superior to all views found in conflict with one’s own. Such a position is akin to Nicholas Rescher’s Orientational Pluralism, which is at best a form of religious inclusivism, and more likely a form a religious exclusivism—since one can do no

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better than privilege one’s own perspective. A key difference between the Advaitin perspective and that of Rescher, however, is that from the Advaitin point of view, such perspectivism can only happen at the level of illusory maya. In this sense, even one’s own views will ultimately be subrated by Brahman experience and therefore all views will be found false.46 A very different possible approach is to ground the Advaitin response to religious difference in the Advaitin metaphysic. In this way, the unity that is implied by the singularity of Brahman may seem like a possible means of rectifying religious difference. According to Radhakrishnan, “Brahman is not exhausted by any of its particular manifestations, but is the unity underlying the entire manifested world.”47 Using this Advaitin perspective as the grounds for a response to religious multiplicity, one could argue that all religions, while retaining their uniqueness, are brought together in the underlying unity of the entire world—Brahman. The problem, of course, is that the religions don’t end up retaining their uniqueness. Unlike Ramanuja’s unqualified nondualism, in which Brahman brings difference into harmonious union, Śaṅkara’s Advaita seems to require that Brahman is single unity without difference. So, when it comes to the One and the Many, and making sense of truth, difference, and religious pluralism, Śaṅkara’s Advaita Vedānta seems to hold that at the ultimate level, there is only One—the singular Brahman. At this ultimate level, there is no diversity, no difference, no truth or falsity, only Brahman. At this level, the pluralism dilemma is no dilemma. There are no religions, and there is no religious diversity—there is only Brahman. Now, since Śaṅkara still speaks about the world of experience (the Many), there are resources within Advaita for considering the problem of religious pluralism (of conflicting truth claims among religions). Perhaps the logic the ocean and the waves, could shed light on possible ways to think of part and whole, of truth and falsity, unity and diversity. Alas, from the Advaita perspective, this direction seems only to complicate matters. To understand the world as the waves—parts to the Brahman ocean—is to make a distinction between form and substance (i.e., same substance, different forms). But Brahman is formless, so the distinction between Brahman and the world cannot be one of form. Rather, it is a distinction of ultimacy. Ultimately, there is only Brahman, and the world of difference is always non-ultimate. The One is ultimate, and the Many is illusory. In one sense, if the ultimate/non-ultimate distinction were the basis of a framework for religious pluralism, it would result in favoring one religion above all others. If liberated Brahman experience reveals the ultimate non-difference of things, then all religions will be subrated—except for the Advaitin’s who claim that non-differentiated Brahman is ultimate. Hence, Śaṅkara’s metaphysic leads to religious exclusivism.

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In another sense, insofar as Brahman experience subrates all religions, at the level of Brahman there is no single religion that stands true to the exclusion of all others—there is only Brahman. Meaning, if there are no religions to exclude in non-differentiated Brahman, then Śaṅkara’s metaphysic doesn’t actually lead to religious exclusivism. In this way, all religions are subrated, including Advaita Vedānta. Ultimately, Brahman experience transcends religion, transcends truth, transcends difference. In this way, Śaṅkara’s nondualism looks more like Panikkar’s mystical experience pluralism. This doesn’t come as a surprise, however, given Panikkar’s admission that his pluralism was informed by the Advaitin perspective. What this examination of Śaṅkara teaches us is that a metaphysical system that prioritizes the One over the Many—for which ultimate reality is undifferentiated unity—is not an adequate foundation for a deeper theory of religious pluralism.48 THE LOGIC OF EMPTINESS: NĀGĀRJUNA’S PARADOX Now, whereas Śaṅkara turns toward the absolute ultimacy of a positive One (Brahman), the Buddhist philosophy of Nāgārjuna might be said to represent another end of the spectrum—the logic of emptiness. Not much is known about the life of Nāgārjuna. Estimated dates for his life are somewhere between (150–250 C.E.). An Indian philosopher, Nāgārjuna is widely considered one of the most important Buddhist thinkers in history, and is the founder of the Madhyamaka (“middle way”) school of the Mahayana Buddhist tradition. Possibly referred to as an anti-metaphysician, Nāgārjuna was not without words on the question of the One and the Many; unity and diversity; truth and difference. Among his most important and influential theories, is his work on emptiness (śūnyatā). According to Nāgārjuna, as expressed in a famous passage from his Mūlamadhyamakakārikā (or Fundamental Verses on the Middle Way): Whatever is dependently co-arisen That is explained to be emptiness That, being a dependent designation Is itself the Middle Way (MMK 24:18)

In other words, everything is empty, and emptiness is dependent co-arising. But what does this mean? It’s not immediately clear, especially to the Western reader. Nāgārjuna’s basic notion (the conclusion, if you will) is: Everything is empty. This means that “things” (all that exists) have no essence.

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Now, essence, for Nāgārjuna, is a matter of static, enduring substance. It was a popular belief in Nāgārjuna’s time (even among many Buddhist thinkers) that the world, full of bodies, objects, experiences, and selves, could only make sense if it consisted of enduring substances. How could “I” today be “I” if I’m not the same “I” (in some enduring sense) of yesterday? How could anything exist if there was not enduring essence at its core that remains over time? By the time of Nāgārjuna, Buddhist scholars had begun to engage with the Brahaminical scholars of India, playing by these same philosophical rules—namely, doing metaphysics and postulating universal theories about the nature of reality (including the One and the Many). While it may seem Nāgārjuna’s work on emptiness was doing the very same thing, in fact, it is more likely that his motive was subversive; undermining the very nature of metaphysical speculation which he saw as true to the original teachings of the Buddha (hence, my reference to him as an anti-metaphysician). When Nāgārjuna arrives on the scene, he attempts to turn the entire system of Indian philosophy on its head, by identifying what he believed to be the original teachings of the Buddha: everything is empty. This means the world should not be thought of in terms of enduring substances (svabhāva). Instead, Nāgārjuna attempts to demonstrate how the world (which is everchanging) can only make sense apart from enduring svabhāva. He demonstrated, through a sophisticated set of arguments, that for something to have an enduring essence which implies the possibility of existing independent of all others, leads to a world of contradictions. How can a world of individual and independent objects be a world, let alone a world of change? Nāgārjuna inverts the assumptions, suggesting that existence is only possibly through interdependent co-origination (dependent co-arising). As such, things do not have some static enduring essence, which runs contrary to the notion of change. Instead, things have no essence (or at least lack an enduring essence). In order to explain how something without an enduring essence could exist, Nāgārjuna ingeniously turns to relations. Things don’t exist in and of themselves, but only as they relate to all other things. Therefore, without a separate enduring identity, everything is empty (meaning, dependently co-arisen). This should sound familiar, as Faber and Keller’s polyphilic relational Whiteheadian pluralism puts forth many of these same notions. The idea that, that which is empty (or dependently arising) is not identical to that for which it owes its existence (i.e., that to which has dependently arisen) is important in order to avoid some form of monistic nihilism, by which there could be no moral responsibility (since no one would have a unique identity). As Nāgārjuna writes, Whatever comes into being dependent on another It not identical to that thing

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Nor is it different Therefore, it is neither nonexistent in time nor permanent (MMK 18:10)

However, the ideas that, that which is empty is not different from that to which it owes its existence is also a means of avoiding the more common problem of substantialism (or as A.N. Whitehead would call it, a fallacy of misplaced concreteness). Therefore, Nāgārjuna’s emptiness stands between nonexistence and permanence—a middle way. What exactly is this “middle way?” The language of the “middle way” (madhyamaka), is not unique to Nāgārjuna. It is a common theme in Buddhism generally, and is even attributed to Gautama Buddha himself. It is thought that, for the Buddha, Buddhism is a middle way between an extravagant life as a prince on the one hand, and a life of extreme asceticism (likely referencing Jainism) on the other. For Nāgārjuna, however, the “middle way” seems to stand less between two ways of living, and more between two ways of thinking about the world: namely, externalism and nihilism. Externalism, or more accurately, the view that the world is made up of enduring substances (essences), is a view that Nāgārjuna actively opposed. Nihilism, or a view that rejects all forms of existence (resulting in utter nonexistence) is also rejected by Nāgārjuna—though this perspective is more closely related to Buddhism and as such requires a nuanced distinction. The question of essence, which was also discussed in the above section on Śaṅkara’s Advaita Vedānta, arises again as an important theme. The ocean-wave analogy was used to explain the diversity of maya (the illusory world of experience) in relation to unity of Brahman. Many waves flow from One ocean, sharing the same substance, but differing in form. In Nāgārjuna, however, the unity of shared essence between the waves and the ocean is non-essence, emptiness (śūnyatā). Nāgārjuna’s middle way stands between nonexistence (nihilism) and permanence. This is possible through the positing of an impermanent existence. To use the same ocean-wave analogy; in Nāgārjuna, the focus is on the impermanence of the waves. Each wave crashes on the shore, only to disappear into the vastness of the ocean yet again. The perpetual perishing of waves is representative of the true nature of existence. Emptiness, impermanence, and dependent co-arising, are all different ways of getting at the same general principle—recognizing that samsara (the cycle of death and rebirth) is not different from nirvāṇa (liberated state of eternal bliss). Insofar as Nāgārjuna’s desire was to help free us from conceptions that act as obstacles to liberation (as opposed to seeking to establish a philosophical school of thought) the conclusion that samsara is not different from nirvāṇa is perhaps more profoundly representative of Nāgārjuna than

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anything else. Understood in this way, Nāgārjuna’s discourse on emptiness does not leave us with a sense of metaphysical privation or a lack of some hoped-for independence. Rather, the interconnectedness of all things is to be a liberating notion. A notion that itself should be released. Like a raft that should be left behind when we arrive on the shore, or Wittgenstein’s ladder that should be discarded after we have climbed it, Nāgārjuna’s philosophy is a tool to help us attain liberation. Tools are useful. But emptiness must empty itself of emptiness—the one from whom emptiness is a view will accomplish nothing.49 For Nāgārjuna, the Many is dependently co-arisen and impermanent. The One is the underlying principle of emptiness. But how exactly are these related, and what does it mean for the unifying principle of emptiness to be applied to itself? According to Graham Priest and Jay Garfield, Nāgārjuna’s philosophy is about fundamental ontology, and Nāgārjuna’s conclusion is that a fundamental ontology is impossible. But this is a fundamental ontological conclusion. Hence, Nāgārjuna’s ontology (his notion of the One and the Many, of universals and particulars) is a paradox.50 For Priest and Garfield, Nāgārjuna’s “Ontological Paradox” is paradoxical insofar as it is an example of the very thing it rejects. But, is Nāgārjuna’s philosophy about a fundamental ontology? Does Nāgārjuna conclude that a fundamental ontology is impossible? If emptiness is dependent co-arising, might emptiness have less to do with “what” exists, but “how” things exist (namely, in relation)? It seems to me that Priest and Garfield are conflating “emptiness” with “nothingness.” Meaning, when Nāgārjuna claims that the essence of everything is empty, Priest and Garfield rearticulate this as, everything is without essence. And while this seems a fair interpretation of Nāgārjuna, I think it can be misleading with respect to Nāgārjuna’s notion of essence. Since, for Nāgārjuna, “essence” presupposes permanence—static enduring substance—the claim that the true essence of everything is emptiness (i.e., dependent origination) does not seem to imply that things have “no essence” (which would become more like nihilism) but that things have an interdependent impermanent essence. In other words, perhaps emptiness is not so much a matter of no-thing-ness, as it is about redefining the character of thingness (from static, permanent, independent to changing, impermanent, interdependent). Does this reading of Nāgārjuna resolve the “Ontological Paradox”? Perhaps. Perhaps not. To be fair to Priest and Garfield, another formulation of the Ontological Paradox is: Everything is empty, even of emptiness. Or, as Priest and Garfield say, “All phenomena, Nāgārjuna argues, are empty, and so ultimately have no nature. But emptiness is, therefore, the ultimate nature of things. So they both have and lack an ultimate nature.”51 Under these formulations, it is more difficult to explain away the difference between an empty essence and

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nonexistent essence. The emptiness of emptiness is certainly paradoxical, but does this make it meaningless? Priest and Garfield think not. In fact, it seems that if emptiness is not emptied of emptiness, then emptiness simply becomes a new form of enduring substance—the very thing Nāgārjuna is trying to refute. Therefore, to avoid dogmatic attachment to emptiness, we must empty emptiness of emptiness. As Priest and Garfield state, “Emptiness is the nature of all things; in virtue of this, they have no nature, not even emptiness.”52 This seems appropriate to the underlying theme of relinquishing all views, and is quite similar to the Jain paradox of absolute relativity, in which the principle of relativity is applied to itself. This may leave one (especially those in the West) with an uneasy feeling of incompleteness. Yet, the unresolved nature of this paradox is essential to it. It is in this unresolvedness that the paradox because self-affirming rather than self-refuting. The only way to resolve the paradox properly is to leave it unresolved. Put another way, Nāgārjuna’s assertion that emptiness is the nature of all things, is a statement about the One and the Many. In so far as there are “things” plural, for whose nature is emptiness, it seems Nāgārjuna is talking about the Many. Yet, in so far as these things have the same nature, it seems he is talking about a single nature: emptiness. The notion of interdependency (dependent co-arising) is also portrayed well by the Indic metaphor known as “Indra’s Net.” The metaphor is thought to originate from the Atharva Veda (one of the four Vedas), which describes reality as a net woven by the great deity Shakra (Indra). Basically, the net (reality) is said to be infinite—spreading in all directions with no beginning and no end. At each point where the threads connect (each node of the net) there is a jewel. The jewels are said to be arranged in such a way that every jewel reflects every other jewel. In this way, every jewel is within every other jewel. No jewel exists by itself independently of the rest. Metaphysically then, everything is related to everything else—everything is inherently interdependent. All the jewels in the net contain each other. Each part contains the whole.53 As Graham Priest notes, “It is not just the case that some things interpenetrate with some other things. All things interpenetrate with all things.”54 In this same way (for Nāgārjuna), everything and nothing interpenetrate one another. “Everything and nothing are like north and south. Each could not be what it is unless the other was what it is. Everything and nothing then interpenetrate. And since anything interpenetrates with nothing, it interpenetrates with everything: for any a, a↔e.”55 But more than simply being two sides of the coin of reality, the interpenetrating notions of everything and nothing appear to be contradictory. Namely, “Nothing” “both is (something) and is not (something).”56 Put in terms of logical Set Theory, “Everything is the mereological sum of the universal set. Nothing is the mereological sum of

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the empty set. . . . But there is nothing in the empty set, so nothing is absolute absence: the absence of all objects, all presences.”57 It is worth noting, at this point, that Nāgārjuna’s paradoxical logic of nothingness is also supported by his unique (unconventional) view on truth. The tetralemma (catuṣkoṭi) is a formulation of what was thought to be the four possible positions one could take to a given proposition or statement. A common form of argumentation in Indian logic, these four views are as follows: 1. Affirmation (yes) 2. Negation (no) 3. Conjunction (both) 4. Disjunction (neither) That we can affirm or reject a statement seems very straightforward. Affirmation and negation, like true and false, are popularly assumed binaries in Western thought. Not many would disagree with 1 and 2 as logical possibilities. The remaining two, however, 3 and 4 are a bit more complicated in terms of thinking about the truth of a proposition. Unfortunately, there is no uniform interpretation of the tetralemma or Nāgārjuna’s use of it. In recent years, many have tried to articulate the tetralemma into symbolic logic. The most common way is as follows: 1. A 2. ~A 3. A & ~A 4. ~(A v ~A) However, this formulation demonstrates several key problems. For starters, 3 is a violation of the widely presupposed Law of Non-Contradiction (LNC) and 4 becomes identical to 3 after applying principles like De Morgan’s Law, and likewise collapses. This is, perhaps, why only two alternatives (true or false) are exclusively and exhaustively provided in classical Western logic. However, in recent years, many Paraconsistent Logicians have tried new formulations of the tetralemma. These new formulations seek to demonstrate how truth and falsity are neither exclusive nor exhaustive. But Nāgārjuna’s use of the tetralemma doesn’t seem to go this direction. As far as Nāgārjuna is concerned, it seems there are several ways he uses the tetralemma. On occasion, it seems Nāgārjuna uses it to rule out three of the four possibilities, in order to adopt one of the four as closest to the truth. However, this does appear to be a common use of the tetralemma method in Nāgārjuna. What remains are the Positive and Negative tetralemma.

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The “positive” tetralemma involves the affirmation of all four alternatives. For examples: Everything is real and not real Both real and not real Neither real nor not real This is Lord Buddha’s teaching (MMK 18:8)

What could possibly be accomplished by affirming all four views? For reason to use the positive tetralemma might be to demonstrate that to speak of reality in terms of enduring substances and independent existence necessarily results in logical contradiction. This form of argumentation would be effective insofar as Nāgārjuna would be using his opponent’s own views against them to demonstrate how contradiction ensues (knowing that contradictions is something they sought to avoid). While there is textual evidence (as shown above) for Nāgārjuna’s positive use of the tetralemma, it seems the negative use is far more common. The “negative” tetralemma is a method of systematically rejecting all four views. Nāgārjuna identifies this in the teachings of Gautama Buddha, as a means of refusing to answer questions like: “Does a Tathāgata exist?” In this way, the tetralemma can be used to reject all possible positions, without adopting any—refusing to enter into metaphysical speculation. Throughout the MMK, Nāgārjuna reminds us that the Buddha teaches us to relinquish all views (even the view of emptiness); the one for whom emptiness is a view, that one will accomplish nothing.58 The negative tetralemma and the logic of emptiness go hand-in-hand. “Things have not self-nature: everything is what it is in relation to, and only in relation to, other things.”59 When the paradoxical logic of emptiness (which also resonates with Faber/Keller and process thought) is applied truth, then truth too has no self-nature. Truth is empty. As such, exclusive division on the grounds of conflicting truth claims is invalid because such exclusions presuppose the substantiality of truth claims. When truth is recognized as empty, truth empties itself of itself, and becomes itself (as such). In this way, truth claims do not exclude, but unite—not exclusivism but pluralism. Perhaps this can serve as a Buddhist foundation for a philosophy of religious pluralism, but the situation is far from settled. Because Nāgārjuna gives emptiness an ultimate status, there is a sense in which his position leads to religious exclusivism. Insofar as the ultimate truth is that all truths are empty, Nāgārjuna’s position rejects other religious claims to truth. What reigns supreme is Nāgārjuna’s position—the true position that all truths are empty. This is not dissimilar to how Śaṅkara’s claim

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that Brahman is ultimate seems to exclude any claim that something else is ultimate. In another sense, to say that everything is empty is only to say that it is empty of an independent enduring nature, and could therefore be nonempty (full) of interdependent co-arising. As in the example of Indra’s Net, “All things interpenetrate with all things.”60 This could be taken to mean that truth is bound up in falsity, and falsity is bound up in truth; that the truth of Christianity is bound up in the truth of Islam, which is bound up in the truth of Hinduism, and so on such that all jewels are reflected in all others. The whole is captured in each part, and the truth of one is dependent on the truth of all others. In this way, the interdependent nature of things certainly lends itself toward a pluralistic understanding. However, we must be careful not to treat the non-enduring, non-substantial, interdependent nature of things as an independent enduring nature. Therefore, emptiness is not best understood as interdependence alone, but interdependent co-arising, which inevitably includes a perpetual perishing in the process of emptying emptiness of emptiness. Therefore, in yet another sense, the non-substantial nature of truth as emptiness—which is perpetually being emptied of emptiness—leaves little room for ultimate disagreement between religions. In this way, Nāgārjuna’s position transcends distinctions like true and false, one and many, unity and diversity. Structurally, this seems close to Panikkar’s mystical experience pluralism and Śaṅkara’s nondualism. However, unlike Śaṅkara’s foundation of undifferentiated unity, Nāgārjuna’s process of emptying empytiness of emptiness does not posit a unifying foundation. If anything, his position results in an infinite regress of emptying emptiness of emptiness; for which there is no foundational unity or diversity, but an emptying process all the way down. From Brahman to śūnyatā, oceans to nets, a core revelation shared across these Indic voices is the essential paradoxical nature of reality. For my purposes, it is not necessary to side with Śaṅkara or Nāgārjuna regarding the nature of universals and truth. Both provide helpful insights regarding views on One and Many, and different ways of paradoxically making sense of reality as both. Insofar as Śaṅkara’s Brahman experience subrates all religions, all truth, and all difference, it could be paradoxically proposed that the truth of non-differentiated Brahman also transcends itself, because all truth is transcended. In the end, it’s clear that giving primacy to an ultimate unity is insufficient as a foundation for religious pluralism. Similarly, Nāgārjuna’s śūnyatā paradoxically proposes the emptiness of all things—including emptiness itself. Nāgārjuna’s claim that everything is empty is only affirmed as true in the act of emptying emptiness of emptiness and thereby transcending all truth. And while this sort of paradoxical thinking can be instructive for the type of foundation needed for a deeper religious pluralism, the fact that

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Nāgārjuna’s framework is one of unsubstantial emptiness, it is not sufficient to reconcile religious differences in their difference, since all religious truth claims are dismissed as ultimately empty. THE PARADOX OF “ABSOLUTE RELATIVITY”: A JAIN PERSPECTIVE Historically, one of the greatest critiques leveled against the Jain doctrine of relativity has been that of logical incoherency. Specifically, it was Buddhist and Vedāntin philosophers who considered the dualistic concession of both simultaneous existence and nonexistence (as indicated by the fourth predication in syādvāda) as inciting logical incoherency by violating the laws of non-contradiction and the excluded middle.61 In modern times the critique of incoherency remains, but has been posed in a new framework. I believe the greatest critique facing the Jain doctrine of relativity in the twenty-first century, is the critique of self-refuting incoherency—the paradox of “absolute relativity.” In short, the problem can be framed in a single question—is the doctrine of relativity itself relative? If the Jain doctrines of anekāntavāda, syādvāda, and nayavāda are themselves treated as universals, then they appear to run contrary to their own claim that all viewpoints and doctrines should be treated as relative attempts at describing a many-sided absolute. If everything is relative, then relativity itself is an absolute. But if there is an absolute, then everything is not relative. But, the absolute which undermines relativity is relativity itself. What results is a paradox that critics argue dissolves into incoherency. The same is true with similar instantiations, like “all global generalizations are false,” which itself is a global generalization: both true and false.62 Better than anyone, I believe Jeffery Long has provided the clearest articulation of the Jain paradox of absolute relativity. Long writes, “What happens if we apply the claim of universal relativity to itself? If the truth of the claim that the truth of all claims is relative is, itself, relative (and it must be, in order to be a universal claim, for it must apply even to itself), then it must itself be limited by the truth of all other claims, including its contradictory—the claim that at least one claim, at least one perspective, is not relative.”63 He later writes, “The paradox, in other words, is that the claim of universal relativity is relative precisely in the sense in which it is not relative—the sense in which it expresses an absolute truth.”64 This, in a nutshell, is what I am referring to as the paradox of “absolute relativity.” This paradox is thought to be problematic on two counts. First, insofar as the absolute is the doctrine of relativity, it contradicts itself. And second, insofar as other philosophical and theological Jain doctrines (doctrines of

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karma, cosmology, jivas, etc.) are posited as definite truths—of an absolute and not relative nature—they contradict the Jain doctrine of relativity. Graham Priest describes the problem like this: “A Jain is committed, presumably, to the view that Jainism is a more accurate perspective of how things are than are others. If not, why be a Jain rather than a Buddhist or a Hindu? On the other hand, Jains hold that reality is multi-faceted, and no one view completely captures how things are: each captures one of the facets. . . . This puts Jains in a somewhat awkward position when they argue with a Buddhist, Hindu, etc. If they disagree with such an opponent, they must hold that they are right in a way that the opponent is not; but also that their opponent is just as right as they are.”65 According to Priest, “Such a tension would seem to be resolvable in one of only two ways: either with the insistence that all views are not, after all, equal, that the Jaina view is privileged in some way, or in a thoroughgoing relativism.”66 Historically, the dominant Jain approach has been the former, one that embraces the superiority of the Jain perspective. This view was championed by Hemachandra (eleventh-century Jain thinker); a view that is criticized on two counts. First, insofar as the absolute is the doctrine of relativity, it seems self-contradictory. And two, insofar as other philosophical and theological Jain doctrines (doctrines of karma, cosmology, jivas, etc.) are posited as definite truths—of an absolute and not relative nature—they contradict the Jain doctrine of relativity. Regarding the absolutization of the principle of relativity, Jeffery D. Long calls this a logical necessity in order to avoid relativism. He writes, “The introduction of this absolute perspective [the perspective of the omniscient lords] is a logical necessity if the error of relativism, which negates itself by undermining its own validity, is to be avoided.”67 What then of the other Jain doctrines? Are the doctrines of karma, the soul, and so on to be understood in a relative or absolute sense? Regarding the absolutization of other Jain doctrines, John Cort argues that despite (and perhaps even as a result of) their doctrine of relativity, “the Jain worldview is as totalizing and self-referential as any worldview.”68 The force of Cort’s criticism is that “the Jains remove the possibility of subjecting their own meta-physics’ a priori to the relativizing logic of anekāntavāda.”69 Is the Jain doctrine of karma only relatively true? How about the Jain doctrine of jivas? In this way, Cort would be in hearty agreement with Bimal Matilal who writes, “above all, the Jainas were non-dogmatic, although they were dogmatic about non-dogmatism.”70 Such critiques (though Matilal was not intentionally leveling a critique) are reminiscent of Alvin Plantinga’s critique of religious pluralism—that pluralism requires the exclusion of exclusivism, thereby undermining itself—an argument that has sparked much discussion about religious pluralism and the logic of relativity in the West.

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One solution has been presented by second-century Jain scholar Kundakunda. According to Kundakunda, Jain doctrine itself should not be treated as an absolute. Rather, its doctrines (whether doctrines of the soul, of karma, etc.), should be treated as relative truths that simply point to a larger truth beyond all words and conceptualization. Although Kundakunda was an important and revered Jain thinker, this “two truths” doctrine, which treats Jain truth as among the relative truths of other perspectives, has been controversial in the history of Jain thought. Nevertheless, it does serve as a viable response, within the Jain tradition, to the critique of “absolute relativity.” In essence, Kundakunda identifies the absolute perspective as being beyond all words and conceptualization. Insofar as the Jain doctrines are purported by non-omniscient beings, it is necessary to do so via the medium of language and concepts which are relative attempts at naming an absolute truth. Kundakunda’s solution avoids relativism insofar as it retains the existence of an absolute (albeit a transcendent one), and it avoids absolutis, insofar as it puts the Jain perspective on par with other relative perspectives. Positing the existence of an absolute that is beyond the purview of non-omniscient beings is one solution, internal to the Jain tradition, that allows Jains to walk the line between absolutism and relativism—which is what the Jain doctrine of relativity attempts to do. These sorts of concerns, however, are part of a larger critique of the Jain position which may not be resolved by Kundakunda’s solution. Consider the example of the blind men and the elephant. There are three elements to the story (at least the version told above), (1) the elephant that represents reality, (2) the blind men who represent all men and women attempting to know reality, and (3) the king—the only sighted observer who sees the situation of the blind men and recognizes the many-sides of reality. While the doctrine of nayavāda suggests that all non-omniscient beings can only know reality from within the confines of a limited perspectives—represented by the blind men—the story seems to suggest that Jains are in a privileged position—the position of the king. This becomes apparent when the application of Jain relativity to the disagreement between Buddhism and Advaita Vedānta. Buddhists are considered advocates of the view that reality is ultimately impermanent, whereas Advaitins are considered advocates of the view that reality is ultimately permanent. But, according to Jainism, both are only relatively true since the Buddhists and the Advaitins are like the blind men—neither sees the big picture. As such, the Jain position (represented by the position of the sighted king) is deemed a superior position in that it recognizes the one-sided nature of the Buddhist and Advaitin claims, as well as the multisided nature of reality.71 One of the parallels between theories of religious pluralism and Jainism on this matter is the attempt at providing a “metatheory.” Matilal refers to

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anekānta as “meta-metaphysical,” describing the Jain doctrine as being “held at a slightly different level” than the metaphysical doctrines of others. In other words, the doctrine of anekānta should not be viewed as one metaphysical doctrine among many others. Rather, it is the chief metaphysical principle (the meta-metaphysical principle—or a doctrine about metaphysical doctrines).72 As such, it is no surprise that popular critiques against meta-theories of religious pluralism may be similarly leveled against the meta-metaphysical Jain doctrine as well (i.e., that religious pluralism is not a metatheory above exclusive religious claims, but is itself exclusive on the same plain alongside other religious claims). The paradox of absolute relativity is constitutive of two parts—the absolute and relativity. What’s paradoxical, is that these two parts are one in the same. Insofar as Jainism is not relativism, they posit an absolute. However, that absolute is the doctrine of relativity. As Long writes, “That the Jain doctrines of relativity do not amount to relativism is made evident, first of all, by the fact that they are expressed as entailment of a definite metaphysics—an ontology which affirms the ‘many-sided’ (anekānta) nature of reality, not as a mere conjecture, but as an absolute and necessary truth, knowable as such, upon which the claim of universal relativity—which is itself conceived as an absolute truth—is based.”73 It is clear, therefore, that “the Jain affirmation of relativity is thus inextricably bound up with the Jain affirmation of an absolute.”74 But does Jainism overcome this paradox? Is there a way out? One response is to ignore the logical confusion, and focus on practice. While paradoxes are not easily (if even possibly) resolved logically, they can be lived! Practices, which are dynamic, are not bound to the same rules as static logic. In practice, Jains can affirm their own perspective, treating it as absolute, while also being genuinely interested in and even affirmative of contradictory perspectives. As Champat Rai Jain writes in the Confluence of Opposites, This “Confluence of Opposites,” as the reconciliation of the apparently conflicting religions may be termed, is not possible elsewhere, not because they have no place for a gathering of men, nor because they are all characterized by intolerance, nor because they do not desire to be reconciled, but because they are the followers of Ekānta-Vāda (one-sided absolutism), the irreconcilable antithesis of Anekānta-Vāda (many-sidedness or relativity of thought). . . . The difference in the two views lies in this that while a non-Jaina would insist on the truth of his own faith, and would absolutely deny the validity of an opposite view, the Jaina would actually go out in search of the point of view (if any there be) from which the opposite view might be maintained.75

What is being argued here, is that even though Jains and non-Jains both affirm absolutes, the Jain paradigm encourages, not self-affirming arrogance

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or exclusivism, but understanding and appreciation of the views of others. What really matters, is the claim that the Jain perspective encourages deep and genuine investigation into the beliefs and perspectives of those who hold views contradictory to one’s own. And to do so, not for the sake of learning how to defeat one’s intellectual enemies (as is sometimes the case for conservative Christian apologists who study other religions to become more effective proselytizers),76 but for the sake of gaining a more robust understanding of reality—supplementing one’s own perspective with the perspectives of others—which brings us closer to the absolute truth. Another possible solution, perhaps uniquely provided by Jeffery Long, is to tackle the logic of absolute relativity head on. Long asks, “Why should relativity itself not be relative? How can an absolute be legitimately introduced into a relativistic system?”77 He answers, “The assertion of relativity, in order to be valid, requires a corresponding assertion of an absolute—of that to which the truth of all claims is relative—so that the claim of relativity will not negate itself.”78 What this suggests, according to Long, “is that relativity, applied consistently, yields an absolute perspective: for, by applying the claim of universal relativity to itself, one finds that there is at least one perspective—that from which the relativity of all perspectives can be affirmed—which is not relative, but which yet is relative in precisely this same sense.”79 Long’s argument is a sophisticated philosophical distinction between logical paradoxes (such as a “self-referential” paradox) and inexpressible contradictions. A self-referential paradox is an argument of circularity, by which the truth of a statement necessitates the falsity of that same statement insofar as it refers to itself. By demanding that the Jain doctrine of relativity be applied to itself, we create a self-referential paradox in which the absoluteness of relativity entails the relativity of absolutes, which entails the absoluteness of relativity, and so on. A common example of this kind of paradox is the “liar’s paradox.” The liar’s paradox is simple enough. Essentially, it consists of some form of the claim, “this statement is false.” The very nature of this claim, as a paradox, seems self-refuting. If the statement is in fact false, as it claims to be, then that which is being stated must not be true. But, if what’s being stated is not true, and what’s being stated is that “this statement is false,” then “this statement must be true.” But, if what’s stated is true, and what’s stated is that “this statement is false,” then what’s stated must be false. Put another way, the paradox consists of the phrase, “I am lying.” If I am lying, then what I am saying is untrue. In order to know what’s untrue, we need to examine what I am saying and falsify it. And if we falsify (or negate) the statement “I am lying” then we conclude that I am telling the truth—the opposite of lying (i.e., not lying). But, if I am telling the truth, then what I say

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is not to be falsified or negated, but affirmed. In that case, it must be true that I am lying. But if I am lying, what I am saying cannot be true. As you can see, the statement takes us around a logical circle, and insofar as it refers to itself, it is a self-referential paradox. As stated above, Long’s solution for the dilemma of the paradox of absolute relativity, “is that relativity, applied consistently, yields an absolute perspective: for, by applying the claim of universal relativity to itself, one finds that there is at least one perspective—that from which the relativity of all perspectives can be affirmed—which is not relative, but which yet is relative in precisely this same sense.”80 But how does this work? Long’s proposal—that anekāntavāda it is both relative and not relative in precisely the same sense—is a dialetheic solution. By dialetheic, I mean, the simultaneous affirmation of two contradictory truths. In his book, Beyond the Limits of Thought, Graham Priest remarks, “That a contradiction might be true, or that dialetheism (the view that there are true contradictions) makes sense, may still be abhorrent, and even threatening, to many contemporary English-speaking philosophers. More likely than not, even the suggestion of it will be met with a look of blank incomprehension.”81 He links this distaste for dialetheism to a blind (or at least staunch) formal commitment to Aristotle’s logical principles—namely, the laws of non-contradiction and the excluded middle. As Priest argues, “The limits of thought are dialetheic and that the application of this thesis illuminates the history of certain central aspects of philosophy.”82 Whereas Śaṅkara paradoxically affirms the truth of an ultimate non-differentiated unity (Brahman), and Nāgārjuna paradoxically affirms as ultimate the emptiness of all things (which is itself also emptied of emptiness), Jainism paradoxically affirms the absolute relativity of all things. What seems distinctive of the Jain paradox is that it does not undermine our experience of multiplicity (like Śaṅkara’s undifferentiated Brahman), nor does it require a rejection of reality as being perpetually emptied of essence like Nāgārjuna’s śūnyatā. Rather, the Jain paradox of absolute relativity is poised to equally embrace both One and Many, both absolute and relative, as mutually entailing one another. As mentioned in the beginning of this book, the “central issue confronting [religion] scholars” is the question of truth in the context of religious diversity. The pluralism dilemma is the challenge of reconciling conflicting truth claims in a way that stands between absolutism and relativism. By exploring three distinct Indic perspectives on the problem of the One and the Many, we now have a baseline for some of the ways that Indic thinkers have made sense of the paradoxical nature of reality. And it is this paradoxical nature of reality that will serve as a foundation for a deeper religious pluralism capable of paradoxically embracing the truth of contradictions.

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NOTES 1. Panikkar, “The Invisible Harmony,” 120. 2. Panikkar, “The Invisible Harmony,” 125. 3. Graham Priest, One: Being an Investigation into the Unity of Reality and of its Parts, including the Singular Object which is Nothingness (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014), i. 4. Plotinus, Ennead VI, 9. Translation from MacKenna (1991), 535–6. 5. Priest, One, i. 6. Priest, One, ii. 7. Priest, One, ii. 8. Priest, One, ii. 9. Faber, “The Sense of Peace: A Para-doxology of Divine Multiplicity,” 45. 10. Plato, Timaeus 31b-c (Hamilton and Cairns, 1961). 11. Priest, One, 9. 12. Priest, One, 11. 13. Faber, “The Sense of Peace: A Para-doxology of Divine Multiplicity,” 43. 14. Faber, “The Sense of Peace: A Para-doxology of Divine Multiplicity,” 42. 15. Graham Priest, R. Routley, and J. Norman, eds. Paraconsistent Logic: Essays on the Inconsistent (München: Philosophia Verlag, 1989), 7. 16. Roland Faber, The Becoming of God: Process Theology, Philosophy, and Multireligious Engagement (Eugene, OR: Cascade Books, 2017), 21. 17. Roy Sorensen, A Brief History of the Paradox: Philosophy and the Labyrinths of the Mind (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), 304. 18. Hegel, Logic, 1880: section 48. 19. Faber has also argued that mutual immanence is the ultimate in Whitehead. His argument dates as far back as 2000 with his German book Prozesstheologie, §21, and was repeated this in books God as Poet of the World, and more recently The Divine Manifold (especially Chapters 8 and 15). 20. For additional discussion on this, see: Keller, Face of the Deep and Cloud of the Impossible; Roland Faber, The Divine Manifold (London: Lexington Books, 2014) and Theopoetic Folds. 21. Faber, “The Sense of Peace: A Para-doxology of Divine Multiplicity,” 41. 22. Faber, “The Sense of Peace: A Para-doxology of Divine Multiplicity,” 46. 23. Faber, “The Sense of Peace: A Para-doxology of Divine Multiplicity,” 45. 24. Faber, “The Sense of Peace: A Para-doxology of Divine Multiplicity,” 45–46. 25. Panikkar, “The Invisible Harmony,”124. 26. Panikkar, “The Invisible Harmony,” 130. 27. Roger Marcaurelle, Freedom Through Inner Renunciation: Śaṅkara’s Philosophy in a New Light (New York: State University of New York Press, 2000), ix. 28. Eliot Deutsch, Advaita Vedānta: A Philosophical Reconstruction (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1969), 9. 29. K. Satchidananda Murty, Revelation and Reason in Advaita Vedānta (New York: Columbia University Press, 1959), 175. 30. Subration (or Sublation) is the cognitive process by which a given thesis is replaced by a new thesis, in the mind of the knower.

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31. Deutsch, Advaita Vedānta, 24. 32. Deutsch, Advaita Vedānta, 25. 33. Deutsch, Advaita Vedānta, 40. 34. Deutsch, Advaita Vedānta, 87. 35. Deutsch, Advaita Vedānta, 89. 36. Plantinga, Alvin. “Is Belief in God Properly Basic?,” 139. 37. Deutsch, Advaita Vedānta, 15. 38. Bina Gupta, The Disinterested Witness: A Fragment of Advaita Vedānta Phenomenology (Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press, 1998), 40. 39. Murty, Revelation and Reason in Advaita Vedānta, 175. 40. Murty, Revelation and Reason in Advaita Vedānta, 175. 41. Murty, Revelation and Reason in Advaita Vedānta, 176. 42. Gupta, The Disinterested Witness, 2. 43. R. Puligandla, Fundamentals of Indian Philosophy (Delhi: DK Print World, 1997), 230. 44. I also think that Ramanuja’s take on unity and union fails to grasp the nuance offered by Faber and Keller, for whom “unity in difference” seems to imply a relation between the Many which become One and are increased by One. 45. Marcaurell, Freedom Through Inner Renunciation, 10. 46. Or perhaps more accurately, at the level of Brahman the true-false dichotomy will also be done away with. 47. Puligandla, Fundamentals of Indian Philosophy, 270. 48. I realize that it may be possible for the principles of Śaṅkara’s nondualism to be utilized to formulate a pluralistic response to religious diversity—a response that unites religions in their difference, rather than subrating all difference with the exclusive Brahman perspective. However, for this I would probably need to turn to an examination of the Neo-Vedāntin variety; which must be left for another time. 49. MMK 30. 50. Priest and Garfield, “Nāgārjuna and the Limits of Thought,” in Beyond the Limits of Thought, 295. 51. Priest and Garfield, “Nāgārjuna and the Limits of Thought,” 268. 52. Priest and Garfield, “Nāgārjuna and the Limits of Thought,” 265. 53. Rajiv Malhotra, Indra’s Net: Defending Hinduism’s Philosophical Unity (Harper Collins Publishers, 2015). 54. Priest, One, 179. 55. Priest, One, 181. 56. Priest, One, 82. 57. Priest, One, 55–56. 58. MMK 30. 59. Priest, One, 182. 60. Priest, One, 179. 61. See Sogani, “Syādvāda: Conditional Dialectical Expression of Anekānta.” 62. Rescher, Paradox, 194. 63. Long, Plurality and Relativity, 22. 64. Long, Plurality and Relativity, 23.

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65. Priest, “Jaina Logic,” 275. 66. Priest, “Jaina Logic,” 275. 67. Long, Plurality and Relativity, 21. 68. Cort, “‘Intellectual Ahimsa’ Revisited,” 339. 69. Cort, “‘Intellectual Ahimsa’ Revisited,” 332. 70. Matilal, “Anekānta: Both Yes and No,” 16. 71. However, it is not always clear on where the average Jain stands. Meaning, is the sighted king a Jain, or an enlightened Jina? If an enlightened Jina, then the Jain might be one of the blind men, and so is not in a privileged epistemic position. Rather, the Jain would be a blind man who has been told the truth by the sighted king, but has yet to really see it himself. That would mean the Jain position is established on faith in the verbal testimony of the sighted king. Though what makes this a better foundation for truth than any other faith-based claim to truth? How is this any better than Buddhist and Hindu faith claims? This dilemma is reminiscent of the critique of the reformed epistemologists and their claim to properly basic beliefs. 72. Matilal, “Anekānta: Both Yes and No,” 1. 73. Long, Plurality and Relativity, 20. 74. Long, Plurality and Relativity, 21. 75. Jain, Confluence of Opposites (London: Jaina Library, 1922), 403. 76. See Dean Halverson, ed. The Compact Guide to World Religions (Minneapolis: Bethany House Publishers, 1996), for an example of this. 77. Long, Plurality and Relativity, 22. 78. Long, Plurality and Relativity, 22. 79. Long, Plurality and Relativity, 23. 80. Long, Plurality and Relativity, 23. 81. Graham Priest, Beyond the Limits of Thought (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 4. 82. Priest, Beyond the Limits of Thought, 8.

Chapter 8

Absolute Relativity The Paradoxical Logic of Pluralism

THE WAYS OF PARADOX AND RELIGIOUS PLURALISM As revealed in chapter 7, the essential nature of reality and, subsequently, the pluralism dilemma—the underlying problem of one and many, of universals and particulars, of truth and difference—is inherently paradoxical. As such, it seems appropriate to further explore the nature of paradox as the underlying logic of pluralistic thinking. I contend that a true theory of religious pluralism—a theory that reconciles contradictory ultimate systems in their ultimacy—is paradoxical. In his book, The Ways of Paradox, W.V. Quine develops the idea that “a paradox is just any conclusion that at first sounds absurd but that has an argument to sustain it.”1 Nicholas Rescher imposes further requirements on the structure of paradoxes—namely, that “each member of the paradox must be self-consistent. That way, the rejection of any member of the set is enough to restore consistency. Rescher defends this principle of self-consistency with the generalization that no contradiction is plausible.”2 In his book, A Brief History of the Paradox, Roy Sorensen notes that “At least since Epictetus, many philosophers have said that a paradox is a set of propositions that are individually plausible and yet jointly inconsistent.”3 The underlying assumption here, is that consistency is the true nature of things, and is therefore more desirable. Paradoxes are viewed as problems that need to be solved—the inconsistency needs to be resolved. But is reality essentially consistent? Does the inconsistency of paradox need resolution? Propositions that are jointly inconsistent form a contradiction. Some proposition p seems plausible. Some proposition ~p seems plausible. Together, proposition p & ~p forms a contradiction. But not all contradictions are 195

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paradoxical. While premises may be plausible independently, so long as one of them is rejected, the contradiction can be resolved. What does seem to ground paradox are those contradictions deemed indivisible—whereby neither premises can be eliminated, such that the contradiction must remain. Sorensen explains the notion of “indivisible contradictions” as contradictions that “cannot be divided into self-consistent propositional components in the way ‘P and not P’ can be segregated into a self-consistent P and a self-consistent not P.”4 So what sort of contradictions are paradoxical? Thinking back to Nāgārjuna’s metaphysical (or anti-metaphysical) claims about the nature of reality (i.e., emptiness), and his tretralemma of truth, Priest and Garfield explain: The centerpiece of Nāgārjuna’s Madhyamaka, or “middle way,” philosophy is the thesis that everything is empty. This thesis has a profound consequence. Ultimate truths are those about ultimate reality. But since everything is empty, there is no ultimate reality. There are, therefore, no ultimate truths. We can get at the same conclusion another way. To express anything in language is to express truth that depends on language, and so this cannot be an expression of the way things are ultimately. All truths, then, are merely conventional.5

This is not so much a conclusion of ineffability, or even a recognition of the limits of language that reality transcends. It is a deep commitment to relativity, interdependent arising, and emptiness. The claim that “everything” is empty, is an absolute claim. Yet, it is that very claim that entails that there are no absolutes (i.e., ultimate truths). Nāgārjuna’s logic of emptiness is a paradoxical stance that seems to both transcend itself (by putting forth a positive concept that is ultimate—emptiness) and is also contained within itself (as emptiness too is emptied of itself). This dual activity of being within and beyond the limits set forth is what Graham Priest refers to as the “Inclosure Schema” which represents those contradictions which are paradoxical—or what Priest calls dialetheias. The “Inclosure Schema,” as Priest describes it, is such that x is both in and not in a totality, something that both transcends and is found present in a notion. You might recall the set of antitheses proposed by Alfred North Whitehead who writes: It is as true to say that the World is immanent in God, as that God is immanent in the World. It is as true to say that God transcends the World, as that the World transcends God.6

Within Christianity, there are those who have depicted God in terms of pantheism, by which everything is God—pan (all), theos (God). Pantheism

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identifies God with the world. In this way, there is immanence but not transcendence. Hence, pantheism isn’t particularly paradoxical. Panentheism, however (which is the position most commonly attributed to Whitehead), is the view that everything is in God—pan (all), en (in), theos (God). In this way, the world is immanent in God, but God (not being identical to the World) transcends the World. This too is not particularly paradoxical, because it is the World that is enclosed and God that transcends. However, contemporary Whitehead expert Roland Faber notes that what Whitehead offers is neither pantheism nor panentheism. As Whitehead writes, “It is as true to say that the World is immanent in God, as that God is immanent in the World,” and “It is as true to say that God transcends the World, as that the World transcends God.” Together, God is immanent in the World but transcends the World, just as the World is immanent in God but also transcends God. Faber calls this Whiteheadian view “transpantheism,” because it involves dual immanence and transcendence.7 As such, transpantheism is far more paradoxical—representing the kind of view that fits the structure of Priest’s inclosure schema. As Faber explains, God and the world “exceed one another, and only for that reason, can be seen by Whitehead to be mutual instruments of novelty for one another.”8 Dialetheism is the view that some contradictions are true. Insofar as Whitehead’s antitheses are contradictory, his transpantheism can be said to be an example of dialetheism. Paradoxes are an important means of explaining and defending dialetheism, or true contradictions. As R.M. Sainsbury notes, “The main positive case for dialetheism is that there is no better response to various paradoxes, notably, but not only, the Liar and Russell’s paradox, than simply to accept the contradictions in question as true.”9 The best dialethic paradoxes tend to be paradoxes of self-reference. Among two of the most famous paradoxes of self-reference are Russell’s Paradox and the Liar Paradox. Russell’s Paradox (named after Bertrand Russell) and the Liar Paradox are considered among the most challenging of all the paradoxes.10 What is popularly known as Russell’s Paradox, is also categorized as a set theoretical paradox. Simplistically, it can be stated as the following question: Can a set of all sets contain itself? Imagine a set {A} that contains an apple A, and a set {B} that contains a banana B. Together, an apple and a banana can be a set {A, B}. What we actually have, then, are individual apples which form a set, individual bananas which form a set, individual apples and bananas together which form a set. Again, it is helpful to consider Whitehead’s paradoxical wisdom.11 As Whitehead famously states, “The many become one, and are increased by one.”12 What that means, in the example of apples and bananas is that the set of apples and the set of bananas (the many) become one as a set of sets, and in

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doing so create a new set (are increased by one). If you look carefully, you see that {{A}, {B}, {A, B}} are four sets, not three: (1) the set of apples, (2) the set of bananas, (3) the set of apples and bananas, and (4) the set of the set of apples, the set of bananas, and the set of apples and bananas. This doesn’t appear problematic. But what happens when sets are universalized? Here is where Russell’s Paradox comes into focus. If set {S1, S2, . . .} represents all possible sets, what then becomes of the set itself? As Sainsbury explains, Most classes are not members of themselves. The class of men is a class and not a man, so it is not a member of the class of men, that is, not a member of itself. However, some classes are members of themselves: the class of all classes presumably is, and so is the class of all classes with more than 100 members. So is the class of non-men: the class of all and only those things that are not men. No class is a man, so the class of non-men is not a man, and is therefore a member of the class of non-men.13

The self-referential nature of Russell’s set theoretical paradox has many affinities with the paradox of absolute relativity in Jainism. When the relative set is universalized as a set of all sets—when relativity becomes the absolute—is the absolute of relativity to be relativized as well? While some have suggested such paradox is self-refuting, I contend that this paradoxical logic is actually representative of reality itself—a claim I will explain more fully at the end of this chapter. The Liar’s Paradox is more difficult still. As described above, a simple form of the Liar’s Paradox consists of some form of the claim, “this statement is false.” In so far as the claim refers to itself it is both true and false. Consider a religious version found in Christian scripture: “It was one of them [a Cretan], their very own prophet, who said, ‘Cretans are always liars, vicious brutes, lazy gluttons.’ That testimony is true.”14 If Cretans are always liars, then what they say is always untrue. Yet, it was a Cretan who said that all Cretans are liars. If the prophet is correct, then what he says is true—Cretans are always liars. Yet, if he is correct, then what the prophet (a Cretan) says is actual untrue—Cretans are not always liars. Here, it’s not simply that the statement is both truth and false, but that each conclusion emerges from the other—that true and false, in this case, are dependently co-arising! As Graham Priest explains, “Truth and falsity come inextricably intermingled. . . . One cannot, therefore, accept all truths and reject all falsehoods”15 What one does, according to Sainsbury, is “reject all falsehoods which are not also truths.”16 This same sort of logic is embodied by Jainism, and exemplified in the Jain doctrine of relativity as discussed in Part II. Remember that according to Jainism, as a result of the many-sided nature of reality, there is a sense (syāt) in which claims can be both true and false.

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Now, Syādvada is indeed a dialectic of conditional predication. But that doesn’t mean truth in Jainism is only relative at the level of language. It is reality itself which is paradoxically said to be both asti (exist) and nāsti (not exist) simultaneously. Similarly, though the Liar’s Paradox is often classified as a semantic paradox, it’s not simply a trick of language. Some have attempted to resolve the Liar’s Paradox by dismantling the linguistic conditions necessary for the sentence to be paradoxical, but this approach is a failure to recognize the paradoxical structure of the Liar dilemma. To this point, Sainsbury observes that: It is natural to think that something about the self-referential character of Liar paradoxical sentences is the main source of their paradoxical nature. There may be something in this thought, but as it stands it is both incorrect and inadequate. It is incorrect because a sentence can refer to itself, as for example this very sentence does, without leading to any kind of semantic defect or paradox. So sentential self-reference cannot be the sole source of Liar paradoxes. It is inadequate because one can construct Liar paradoxes without using any sentence which refers to itself. For example, a pair of statements that refer to each other.17

There is a clear structure to these self-referential (or mutually referential) paradoxes that make them paradoxical. Now that we understand the structure of these paradoxically true contradictions, we can identify similar dialetheias in other settings. Taking us one step closer to the foundations of religious pluralism, one such paradox is what I call the “Paradox of Tolerance.” I take this paradox from Jürgen Habermas, who describes the paradoxical problem of the notion and practice of tolerance as follows: “that each act of toleration must circumscribe the range of behaviour everybody must accept, thereby drawing a line for what cannot be tolerated. . . . And as long as this line is drawn in an authoritarian manner, that is, unilaterally, the stigma of arbitrary exclusion remains inscribed in toleration.”18 In responding to Habermas, Lasse Thomassen writes, “There is no tolerance without intolerance; indeed, in some cases, intolerance is what makes tolerance possible.”19 Habermas believes that this paradox of tolerance can be overcome if the limits of tolerance are established in a nonarbitrary and rational manner. So, what is meant by a “rational manner?” As Thomassen articulates, both Habermas and Derrida hold that, “a norm is rational if it has been decided through the public use of reason among free and equal citizens so that the addressees of the norm are able to understand themselves simultaneously as its authors.”20 In short, the paradox of tolerance is solved, according to Habermas, if the decision to tolerate is rational (as opposed to arbitrary) and if the relationship between tolerated and the tolerating is not hierarchical. The idea of nonhierarchical toleration is not unlike the nonhierarchical

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(“horizontal”) inclusion of Jainism that Wilhelm Halbfass describes in India and Europe.21 One major problem with this view of tolerance is the requirement that a rational norm be determined among “free and equal citizens.” With regard to religious tolerance, George Marsden makes a similar argument, stating: Granting that there is some basis for concern about resurgent Christian imperialism, we should ask whether such concerns are sufficient to justify the effective silencing of traditional Christian voices in much of mainstream academic culture. From the point of view of promoting a diverse society, the answer is clearly “no.” That answer is clear because to answer “yes” would be to endorse the concerted imperialism of groups who wish to exclude traditional Christianity from public expression. Simple equity suggests that all sides deserve some protection. So far as public institutions such as mainstream universities are concerned, the problem is how to balance fairly the interests of the various sides in an era when basic cultural values are often sharply debated.22

The problem with Marsden’s proposal (like Habermas), is found in the phrase “simple equity.” In truth, there is nothing simple about equity. If it were a matter of treating everyone the same, then it would privilege those who currently hold a position of privilege. Majority voices would be dominant, and minority voices would be largely excluded. “Simple equity” forgets that we do not start on a level playing field, and therefore, making all things equal requires a great leveling. However, if we are to react to the current conditions of inequality in such a way that will produce equity, we are acting unequal to the privileged in favor of the underprivileged. It is a prerequisite of equity, inclusivism, and tolerance that we exclude imperialistic voices. While tolerance and pluralism should not be conflated, it is important to note the parallels. As William Connolly contends, “Pluralists set limits to tolerance to ensure that an exclusionary unitarian movement does not take over an entire regime.”23 He later writes, “The limit point [of tolerance] is reached when pluralism itself is threatened by powerful unitarian forces that demand the end of pluralism in the name of defeating ‘relativism,’ ‘nihilism,’ or rootlessness.’”24 But, if this is true of tolerance, then how—in principle—is tolerance any different than intolerance? The crux of this perspective is not so much that tolerance has limits, but that those limits are a form of exclusion. Therefore, the logic used to justify tolerant intolerance must be expanded to include other types of intolerance as well. This means, among other things, that a justification for tolerance is a justification (albeit not intentionally) for the very thing that tolerance seeks to exclude—intolerance. If tolerance is to avoid relativism, it must set limits. Yet, in setting limits, tolerance draws a line to distinguish between what can be tolerated and what

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cannot. As Habermas writes, “There can be no inclusion without exclusion.”25 Along these lines, Thomassen writes, “Inequality makes possible and limits equality; and inequality in the name of equality exposes itself to contestation in the name of equality. The condition of possibility of tolerance is simultaneously its limit.”26 Much like the Liar’s Paradox, it is in the act of being intolerant of intolerance (setting limits of tolerance) that tolerance become tolerance. This is the paradox. It’s not simply paradoxical that tolerance has limits. What’s paradoxical is that the limits of tolerance are the very thing that make tolerance possible, while simultaneously that which seems to undermine tolerance. Hence, the paradox of tolerance fits the structure of Priest’s inclosure schema. The paradox of tolerance mirrors the paradoxical foundations of religious pluralism. As Faber and Keller explain with respect to their polyphilic pluralism, “what limits our pluralism to an ethics of nonviolent encounter, intolerant of intolerance, exclusive of exclusion, disrespectful of disrespect, would be the very criterion of mutuality we have set forth.”27 Here, they connect their pluralism with the paradoxical exclusion of exclusion and intolerance of intolerance—understood as a necessary condition for pluralism. George Marsden astutely asks, “How can we affirm a pluralism that genuinely accepts others, without lapsing into relativism?”28 And while pluralism attempts to do just that—stand in the tension between absolutism and relativism—this is only possible if pluralism (like tolerance) sets limits. Without limits, pluralism becomes relativism. So what are those limits? How are the limits of pluralism determined (by what criteria)? How are the exclusionary criteria of pluralism different than any other exclusionary criteria—like the exclusionary criteria of religious exclusivists? Can pluralism be saved from the charge of self-defeating incoherence? If pluralism were simply exclusive, it would be a self-defeating argument, but not a paradox. The paradoxical nature of pluralism is not simply that pluralism excludes exclusivism. The paradoxical nature is that in excluding exclusivism, pluralism becomes pluralistic. Philosophically, this is a special kind of paradox—a self-referential paradox; an argument of circularity, by which the truth of a statement necessitates the falsity of that same statement, insofar as it refers to itself. The question remains: Does the exclusion of exclusion, which results in a self-referential paradox, become self-negating? Or, is it a self-fulfilling paradox? On the outset, this seems an impossible problem to solve. But our difficulty is not in understanding the paradox. Rather, the problem is our attachment to the logical laws (largely taken for granted since the time of Aristotle) of noncontradiction and excluded middle. In other words, if we simply look at the paradox itself, it is quite intuitive to understand. Is pluralism inclusive? Yes. Is pluralism exclusive? Yes? When asked separately, these two questions are quite simple to answer—a divisible contradiction.

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Yet, when put together, we begin to feel uneasy. Isn’t this an indivisible contradiction? Perhaps. But why should that be a problem? The simultaneous exclusive and inclusive nature of pluralism is only problematic in light of these ancient logical assumptions. As Thomassen writes, however, “the aporia is not simply a choice between either inclusion or exclusion, even if it is also that because exclusion obviously limits inclusion. It is simultaneously a question of both inclusion and exclusion because exclusion is the condition of possibility inclusion.”29 Put simply, it’s both-and, not either-or. In many contexts, it’s quite apparent that either-or thinking is far too limited and that additional categories are needed. For example, in the sixth installment of the Star Wars movies (Episode III: Revenge of the Sith), Anakin Skywalker—on the verge of becoming Darth Vader—declares, “If you’re not with me, then you’re my enemy!” To this, his mentor Obi-Wan Kenobi replies, “Only a Sith deals in absolutes.” So, unless you want to serve the dark side of the Force, either-or, for-against ultimatums are insufficient. The reason Obi-Wan says that for-against binaries belong to the Sith, is that such binaries tend to result in intolerant oppression and violence. Similarly, in the context of religion, for-against, and either-or, binaries often lead to violence (intellectual, emotional, and/or physical). This is where Jainism, and the fourth mode of predication of Syādvāda, can be instructive toward more peaceful relations between religions. Russell’s set paradox, the Liar’s semantic paradox, the limit paradoxes of tolerance and pluralism, the ontological paradox of Nāgārjuna, and the Jain paradox of absolute relativity, all share this in common: immanent transcendence. Each paradox becomes a paradox in so far as it transcends the conditions for which it is also contained. This is what Priest means by Inclosure Schema—the criteria for a paraconsistent dialetheia (i.e., paradoxical true contradictions). Relativity transcends itself as a totality in order that it can be a totality. It is not just a strange coincidence, but a requirement of the paradoxical logic of absolute relativity. Relativity (a contradictory to absolutism), when applied absolutely, is both within and beyond. That pluralism—which requires an exclusionary criteria—is inherently paradoxical is an important recognition for a deeper theory of religious pluralism. But to ground religious pluralism in a metaphysical pluralism of relativity and truth could certainly serve as the frame for a new paradigm in religious pluralism. To this, we now turn. THE METAPHYSICS OF PARADOX: A DEEPER RELIGIOUS PLURALISM Śaṅkara offers a vision of reality as ultimately undifferentiated unity. Nāgārjuna offers a vision of reality as a process of dependent co-arising.

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Jainism offers a vision a reality as absolutely relative. By bringing all three of these visions together into a creative synthesis, we arrive somewhere close to the speculative metaphysical vision of Alfred North Whitehead, and a paradoxical worldview for a deeper religious pluralism. Whitehead’s “philosophy of organism,” which is most commonly referred to as Process Philosophy (and sometimes described as a form of constructive postmodernism), is a vision of reality as relational becoming. The moniker “process” philosophy is used because Whitehead’s philosophy is built on the initial assumption that “all things flow.” Whitehead considers this one of the most obvious intuitions humans have about the nature of reality, and therefore an appropriate foundation on which we can build a philosophical system.30 Whereas most Western ontologies are substance-based and maintain that what’s real is enduring independent substances, for Whitehead the most basic elements of reality (that which makes up the world) are events—like drops of experience—that are interrelated and increasing in complexity.31 Hence, Whitehead’s ontology is described as an event ontology. Already, we can see a great deal of overlap between Whitehead’s process metaphysic and Nāgārjuna’s dependent co-arising. Whitehead needed a way to explain how something that is always changing can be fully actual. He came up with the concept of concrescence. Concrescence is simply the process of becoming concrete. As John Cobb explains, “Concrete means fully actual, and that means a completed actual occasion [an entity]. The use of the term ‘concrescence’ places emphasis on the idea that even these momentary flashes of actuality that Whitehead calls actual occasions are processes.”32 Now, the process of becoming fully actual (becoming “real” or “concrete”) also involves something Whitehead calls “prehension.” Prehension is the process of becoming what one is, by virtue of one’s relation to the past. We become what we become through our prehensions—always (at least partly) constituted by the past. Together, the process of prehension and concrescence explain what it means for everything to be a process of interrelated becoming. Both Nāgārjuna and Whitehead emphasize the transient nature of reality—interrelated becoming rather than permanent substance. Yet, whereas Nāgārjuna’s doctrine of perpetual emptying leaves us wondering what can positively be said about reality, Whitehead’s philosophy is thoroughly constructive. In Whitehead’s metaphysical scheme, the many become one in the moment of concrescence (potentiality becoming actual). Yet, once this occurs, the actual entity gets added to the many—the world of multiplicity and difference. Hence, “the many become one, and are increased by one.”33 One, stands for the singularity of an entity—not to be confused with the unity of all entities. Many conveys the notion of “disjunctive diversity”—that

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is, different singular entities. Creativity represents the process by which the diverse (disjunctive) singularities which constitute the “many” are conjoined as an actually existing complex unity. This notion of “Creativity” is an important difference between Whitehead and Nāgārjuna. As Philip Rose explains, “Creativity stands as the condition for the possibility of existence as such.”34 In this way, we can see some similarities between Whitehead’s Creativity and Śaṅkara’s Brahman. Not only is Creativity the means by which difference is brought together into a unity, but Creativity serves as the condition for the possibility of existence as such—what we might term “ground of Being,” or “Being itself,” distinct from particular beings. This seems to mirror Brahman, which could be said to be the source of particular beings in the realm of maya, and in which the many distinct entities of maya are brought together in a unity. However, whereas Śaṅkara’s Brahman offers a simple undifferentiated unity, Whitehead’s Creativity provides a complex unity in difference. As such, the limits of Śaṅkara’s solution to the One and the Many—that it seems to undermine our experience of multiplicity and difference—can be surmounted by Whitehead’s complex unity (perhaps more akin to Ramanuja’s qualified nondualism). After all, as Rose explains, “The task of philosophy [for Whitehead] is to outline the minimal conditions that need to be attributed to concrete fact in order to adequately account for the objective character of subjective experience.”35 In so far as undifferentiated featureless Brahman obliterates the objective character of subjective experience, it proves inadequate (according to Whitehead’s standard) to be a meaningful explanation of reality. By contrast, instead of emphasizing the underlying unity of reality, Jainism explains reality as inherently relative, many-sided, and relational. There are many sides to reality, and to treat one’s relative perspective as an exclusive absolute is to commit the most serious error in Jain philosophy. Moreover, it’s not simply that there are many disjunctive sides to reality. Each unique feature of reality is related to all the other features. And these relations are at the core of Jain absolute relativity and the many-sided truth of reality. Similarly, Whitehead’s system is deeply relational. As Rose explains, Within Whitehead’s metaphysical and cosmological system reality is defined in relational terms. The “things” that populate this relational world are constituted by their various relations—all beings are relational beings. Furthermore, however, while all “things” are constituted by their relations, all relations are further defined as value-relations, that is, relations of some positive or negative character. Such value-relations to the basic relations of attraction and repulsion characteristics of physical matter. Within this value-relation world all “things” are thus defined not simply in terms of their relations, but in terms of relationship responses to values felt, that is, as positive or negative reactions or responses to

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some “given” state of affairs.” By defining reality in terms of a relational framework of positive and negative responses, Whitehead provides us with a radical and highly novel perspective from which to view ourselves and our world.36

While we have taken a close look at Jain metaphysics, Jainism is perhaps most well-known for contribution to ethics. The Jain doctrine of ahiṃsā (nonviolence) is one of the most thorough ethical schemes in the world. Moreover, it is inexplicably tied to Jain metaphysics. Within the Jain tradition, all lifeforms are deemed intrinsically valuable. This is demonstrated by extreme Jain practices like wearing the muhapatti (a cloth that Jain monks and nuns use to cover their mouth to avoid harming small life-forms in the air while breathing), or the more extreme practice of sallekhanā, for which Jain monks will voluntarily fast to death as part of a commitment to do no harm and the recognition that—as Whitehead states—“life is robbery.”37 Now, these ethical commitments are reflections of metaphysical commitments; for which the Jain worldview postulates various types of entities and their importance to the whole of reality: from fire bodies, water bodies, air, earth, and plant bodies, to animals and humans, and beyond—all have value. And this value is not external to these life-forms, but implicit within them. In this way, Jainism is similar to Whitehead’s system which overcomes the fragmentation of facts on the one hand, and values on the other—a typical Western distinction. Rather, Whitehead unites facts and values, recognizing that value is inherent to the nature of reality, not externally applied to it. As Philip Rose explains, “That things have value and that things stand in an aesthetic, valuative relation to other things is, for Whitehead, the fundamental, objective condition of existence per se. . . . Because of the relational nature of his metaphysical scheme one can say, in effect, that for Whitehead ‘to be’ is to be the source of values given and the centre of values felt.”38 By using Whitehead’s metaphysic as a bridge between Advaita, Madhyamaka, and Jain worldviews, we now have a robust metaphysic of unity and diversity, of being and becoming, of fullness and emptiness, that is inherently relational and ethical. And with this worldview comes important insights for a deeper religious pluralism. According to Whitehead, the process of becoming introduces novel entities which are added to the world of multiplicity, yet are also unified in the fullness of reality—converting exclusion into contrasts.39 How exactly does this work? How is exclusion converted into contrasts? How does Whitehead’s metaphysic of paradox help us reconcile conflicting religious truth claims? If one begins (as much of the Western discourse on religious pluralism does), by setting up dichotomies—truth and falsity, relativism and absolutism, it’s no wonder the pluralistic framework is seen as vulnerable to selfrefuting paradox. But, what if these are false dichotomies? What if the entire

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framework of Western discourse on religious pluralism is misguided? As any chef will tell you, it doesn’t matter how pretty or delicious your frosting is, if the base of your cake is dry and flavorless. Foundations matter. Imagine a map of California. No matter how hard one tries, this map will not lead to Washington State. If we want a new destination, we need a different map—a new foundation and paradigm. As long as we leave the foundations of the pluralism dilemma unchanged, we restrict what is possible. Moving beyond exclusive binaries and fragmented dichotomies requires a new logic—a new worldview—that allows both that allows both asti and nāsti simultaneously. By examining Jainism on absolutism, relativism, and paradox we have an alternative foundation for pluralistic theories. Similarly, by recognizing the paradoxical nature of reality itself: of continuity and change, of unity and diversity, of One and Many, we now have reason to reconsider our limited true-false binaries. A deeper religious pluralism, one that embracing both-and paradoxical thinking which seems to be rooted in the very nature of existence (and nonexistence), is the kind of pluralism truly capable of standing between absolutism and relativism. Pluralism is not relativism. As Michael Krausz explains, Relativism is not pluralism. Pluralism, as here defined, affirms that for a given reference frame a distinct subject matter, object of interpretation, or world exists. A pluralist could hold that for any scientific paradigm, for example, another world exists. In contrast, relativism requires that, with respect to the same subject matter, competing reference frames exist. If a systematic plurality of subject matters answered to different reference frames, then pertinent frames could not compete. They would be talking past one another. Competition between reference frames requires that they address the same thing.40

The type of pluralism that Krausz references here is, I think, the kind of pluralism put forth by Cobb and Hick. Whether “deep” or “identist” pluralism, both Hick and Cobb seem to push for reconciling conflicting truth claims by relegating them to complementary (as opposed to contradictory) claims. And since, as Krausz notes, “If a systematic plurality of subject matters answered to different reference frames, then pertinent frames could not compete.”41 This form of pluralism has been well documented, and has made significant contributions to navigating religious conflict and enhancing peace among religions. I do not wish to downplay the significance of the work of Cobb, Hick, Panikkar, or any of the giants on whose shoulders I proudly stand. However, I am compelled by Jeffery Long’s critique, that this type of religious pluralism does not go far enough. If religious traditions answer to different frames of reference (as implied by Cobb and Hick complementary pluralisms), and in such cases pertinent frames of reference cannot compete (as Krause suggests), then the true force of classical religious pluralism is the

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reconciliation of non-competing frames of reference among religious traditions. In this way, classical religious pluralism accomplished far too little— unable to reconcile competing ultimate systems in their ultimacy. As comparative research in religion suggests, religious disagreement often arises when divergent universal claims are presented as different answers to the same questions. What of the difference between salvific atonement as limited to the elect in Calvinism versus being unlimitedly available to all in Arminianism? Certainly, this isn’t simply a matter of apples and oranges— of complementary differences. What of the difference between karma as a physical substance in Jainism versus karma as the natural order of things (not a substance) in Buddhism? What’s a pluralist to do? We need a deeper pluralism that stands between soft complementary pluralism and strong relativism—a pluralism that can reconcile some competing claims with respect to the same subject matter without affirming all claims. Put another way, a more robust pluralism (a deeper religious pluralism) would allow that some contradictory claims can be true with respect to the same subject matter without exploding into an “anything goes” relativism. Here, I find the insights of Eastern philosophy (like Jainism, Nāgārjuna, and Śaṅkara) as well as the paradoxical perspective of Graham Priest’s paraconsistent logic, helpful resources. Any attempt to reconcile contradictions while resisting the pull of relativism will require a reinterpretation of classic notions of truth and contradictions. A deeper pluralism will need to be grounded in an embrace of paradox at the limits of thought. In doing so, such pluralism should maintain some form of following statements on truth and falsity: 1. “Falsity is not the simple complement of truth: the two can overlap. Truth and falsity are therefore (at least partially) independent.”42 2. “Falsity is not simply the absence of truth; in some sense, it is a positive. Or perhaps better, reality contains certain ‘negative’ elements.”43 3. True and false interpenetrate each other. “The negation . . . is the backside of the affirmation.”44 These notions of interpenetration and paradoxical entailment are keys to a new foundation for religious pluralism. Fortunately, through Jainism and Whitehead, we have a metaphysical framework of interpenetration that can account for paradoxical entailment. Above, we posed the question: How is exclusion converted into contrasts? Part of the answer involves a shift from seeing contradictions as exclusive incompatibilities to consider contradictions in terms of polarities. Polarities are distinct but inseparable; they oppose one another, but mutually entail one another. Again, we find that Jainism provides useful insights, in that the egregious error of ekānta (one-sidedness)

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occurs when one truth is treated as absolute to the exclusion to its contradictories. But, if the true-false binary became a polarity, in that false is simply the underside of truth—such that truth indivisibly includes falsity—a deeper pluralism can emerge. As Graham Priest notes: Consider a magnet, and, in particular, its north pole, n. This is what it is only in virtue of a relationship which it bears to the south pole, s. (It could not be a north pole unless there were a corresponding south pole). . . . The ontological structure of each contains the other as a part. . . . The two mutually encode each other. Metaphysically, they are like two mirrors, each facing the other, each reflecting the other and its contents to infinity.45

This example of interpenetration is reminiscent of Indra’s Net. The interpenetration of “truth in contradiction” is a paradox that, when applied in the context of pluralism, requires an exclusionary criterion that is neither external, nor arbitrary, but emerges as a logical entailment built into the logic of pluralism itself. Imagine a coin. It is necessary that the coin has two sides. There cannot be a one-sided coin. Yet, it is the dual-sided nature (two poles) of the coin that makes it possible. If the two sides of the coin were indistinguishable (an undifferentiated unity like Brahman), or if the two sides were completely independent (a dualism), the coin toss at the beginning of the Super Bowl would be worthless. Rather, the two sides of the coin interpenetrate each other—distinct but inseparable, unity in difference, each mutually entailing the other. This journey has taken us far beyond conventional boundaries and binaries, where paradox is the new law of the land. As Graham Priest notes, “In traversing the limits of the conventional world, there is a twist, like that of a Mobius strip, and we find ourselves to have returned to it, now fully aware of the contradiction on which it rests.”46 In the Mobius strip shown here (Figure 8.1), because of the paradoxical twist, each side of the strip is both inside and outside. If one were to identify a given point and ask, “Is this the inside or the outside of the strip,” the answer would be “yes.” Each side of the strip is both inside and outside. It is this both-and mentality of interpenetration that can provide a frame of reference for pluralistic thinking. If a theory of religious pluralism is to adequately reconcile religious difference (even contradictory difference) it must develop a robust understanding of multiplicity. Multiplicity is more than simply “the Many”—disjunctive plurality. Important contributions to the notion of multiplicity have come from Deleuze, who describes multiplicity, not as one or many, but as a “one” that is said “of” the many. It is a relation—the differentiation of difference.47 As Deleuze writes, “A multiplicity certainly contains points of unification, centers of totalization, points of subjectivation,

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Figure 8.1  Mobius strip. https://www.istockphoto.com/photo/infinity-symbol-metalribbon-gm489484966–74694979.

but these are factors that can prevent its growth and stop its lines. These factors are in the multiplicity they belong to, not the reverse.”48 Faber and Keller, also well-known theorists of multiplicity, help articulate the nuance of multiplicity, stating: And so, by multiplicity we do not mean a mere many, a plurality of separate ones; nor by relationality do we mean a swamp of indistinction. Yet the lines of differentiation that we find in a logic of relational multiplicity resist predictability. Without leakage into the indeterminate, multiplicity collapses into totality and dies. The mystery of relationality lies, in part, in its inexhaustible depth and openness to emergence, its stubborn resistance to unification under one point of view. . . . This priority of multiplicity signifies in other words a developing attention to the edges of the known.49

What emerges, therefore, is an understanding of multiplicity as mutual interdependence, or dependent co-arising as expressed by Nāgārjuna, or interpenetration as expressed by Graham Priest. What each of these notions emphasizes is the element of relation. And what is religious pluralism if not an attempt to establish positive relations between diverse religious truth claims? “Just as for Whitehead ‘no entity can be conceived in complete abstraction from the system of the universe,’ all key notions, or metaphors, in a system of thought ‘presuppose each other.’”50 It’s the structure exemplified by the Jain paradox of absolute relativity. As Long asks, “Why should relativity itself not be relative? How can an absolute be legitimately introduced into a relativistic system?”51 He answers, “The assertion of relativity, in order to be valid, requires a corresponding assertion of an absolute—of that to which the truth of all claims is relative— so that the claim of relativity will not negate itself.”52 What this suggests, according to Long, “is that relativity, applied consistently, yields an absolute perspective: for, by applying the claim of universal relativity to itself, one finds that there is at least one perspective—that from which the relativity of all perspectives can be affirmed—which is not relative, but which yet is relative in precisely this same sense.”53 Long’s argument goes the way of

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interpenetrating entailment—a paradox by which truth entails falsity (Liar’s Paradox), whereby tolerance emerges in the act of intolerating intolerance, and where relativity becomes an absolute so it can be relativized. The Jain insight that anekāntavāda is both relative and not relative in precisely the same sense, is a dialetheic realization—a paradoxical foundation at the core of Jain philosophy of difference. Like Hegel, whose preferred reaction to a paradox is to acquiesce to the contradiction,54 Jainism too embraces the inescapability of paradox. For, as Hegel notes: a contradiction is “not, so to speak, an imperfection or a defect in something. . . . On the contrary, every determination, every concrete thing, every notion is essentially a unity of different and distinctive moments, which by virtue of their clear and essential differences pass over into contradictory moments.”55 In response to Alvin Plantinga, who argues for the inescapability of exclusivism; the deeper pluralist’s response should argue instead for the inescapability of paradox— which we encounter at the limits of thought and our core notions of existence. But paradoxes are difficult—if not impossible—to fully grasp. Like a fist full of sand, the tighter you try to hold on to it, the more it slips through your fingers. This is not unlike major religious notions, like God, Nirvāṇa, the Tao. Religious truths often involve an air of mystery (sometimes ineffability). There are always some elements of ultimate truth that continue to allude us. From a certain perspective (syāt) absolute truth transcends the bounds of conceptuality and logic. This is the type of thinking in Jainism that is exemplified by the paradox of absolute relativity. There is wisdom to be found in the Buddhist acknowledgement that liberation is achieved only when one transcends all impermanence; going beyond all categories. Reason is used to overcome reason. Logic is used to overcome logic. All categories (including logic and truth) are tools. While true-false binaries are useful vehicles for establishing meaningful thought and communication, at the limits of thought these binaries should be left at the base of the submit as we climb toward a higher level of understanding. As Arvind Sharma writes, “one should not lose sight of the fact that all proposals are finally disposable, to be disposed of like the raft after the other shore is reached.”56 Clinging to logic or truth is like strapping a raft to one’s back after reaching the final shore. The one who attempts this never fully reaches their destination. The role of logic in the context of Jain absolute truth is like a motor that drives itself beyond itself, simultaneously revealing its value and limits. The structure, framework, and foundations of a “deeper” theory of religious pluralism—a pluralism that can reconcile not only complementary differences but also contradictions—must be established on the grounds of paradoxical ways. While the way of paradox and the structure of pluralism may feel uncomfortable to Western sensibilities, the metaphysics of multiplicity (of unity and diversity, one and many) reveal the paradoxical nature of even the most basic philosophical problems, which drive us to the limits of

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thought. It is at the limits where novelty emerges. When we realize that paradox is not the problem, but an inevitable truth at the core of an inconsistent complex interpenetrating reality, we are uncovering a rare gem for reconciling contradictory religious ultimate systems in their ultimacy—the foundations for a deeper religious pluralism. The paradoxical reasoning needed for the pluralistic stance between absolutism and relativism is reflected in the very nature of reality; in the metaphysics of paradox. Recognizing this new foundation for theories of religious pluralism will, I hope, lead to a paradigm shift with new developments in discourse on religious pluralism. NOTES 1. Quine—quoted by Sorensen in A Brief History of Paradox, 350. 2. Sorensen, A Brief History of Paradox, 365. 3. Sorensen, A Brief History of Paradox, 364. 4. Sorensen, A Brief History of Paradox, 365. 5. Priest and Garfield, “Nāgārjuna and the Limits of Thought,” 260. 6. Whitehead, Process and Reality, 347–348. 7. See Faber, The Divine Manifold; and The Becoming of God. 8. Faber, The Becoming of God, 158. 9. Sainsbury, Paradoxes, 150. 10. Sainsbury, Paradoxes, 123. 11. Interestingly, Bertand Russell was a student of Whitehead’s at Cambridge. They later coauthored Principia Mathematica, which included an attempt to resolve this paradox. 12. Whitehead, Process and Reality, 21. 13. Sainsbury, Paradoxes, 123. 14. Titus 1, 12–13 (Bible). 15. Graham Priest, In Contradiction: A Study of the Transconsistent. (Boston: Martinus Nijhoff Publishers, 1987), 124. 16. Sainsbury, Paradoxes, 153. 17. Sainsbury, Paradoxes, 137. 18. Habermas, “Religious Tolerance – The Pacemaker for Cultural Rights,” 197. 19. Thomassen, “The Inclusion of the Others?” 440. 20. Thomassen, “The Inclusion of the Others?” 440–441. 21. Halbfass, India and Europe: An Essay in Understanding, 416. 22. George M. Marsden, The Outrageous Idea of Christian Scholarship (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), 33. 23. William E. Connolly, Pluralism (Durham: Duke University Press, 2005), 42. 24. Connolly, Pluralism, 67. 25. Habermas, “Religious Tolerance—The Pacemaker for Cultural Rights,” 197. 26. Lasse Thomassen, Deconstructing Habermas (New York: Routledge, 2008), 86. 27. Roland Faber and Catherine Keller, “Polyphilic Pluralism: Becoming Religious Multiplicities,” 80. 28. Marsden, The Outrageous Idea of Christian Scholarship, 4.

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29. Thomassen, “The Inclusion of the Others?,” 447. 30. Whitehead, Process and Reality, 317. 31. Whitehead, Process and Reality, 27. 32. John B. Cobb, Jr., Whitehead Word Book: A Glossary with Alphabetical Index to Technical Terms in Process and Reality (Claremont: P&F Press, 2008), 59. 33. Whitehead, Process and Reality, 21. 34. Philip Rose, On Whitehead (Wadsworth, 2001), 20. 35. Rose, On Whitehead, 17. 36. Rose, On Whitehead, 2. 37. Whitehead, Process and Reality, 105. 38. Rose, On Whitehead, 3. 39. Whitehead, Process and Reality, 223. 40. Krausz, Relativism, 17. 41. Krausz, Relativism, 17. 42. Priest, One, 151. 43. Priest, One, 153. 44. Faber and Keller, “Polyphilic Pluralism,” 80. 45. Priest, One, 178. 46. Priest and Garfield, “Nāgārjuna and the Limits of Thought,” 270. 47. Graham Jones and Jon Roffe, Deleuze’s Philosophical Lineage (Edinburgh University Press, 2009), 144. 48. G. Delueze, Two Regimes of Madness: Texts and Interviews, 1975–1995 (New York: Semiotext(e), 2006), 305. 49. Catherine Keller and Laurel C. Schneider, “Introduction,” in Polydoxy: ­Theology of Multiplicity and Relation (New York: Routledge, 2011), 2–3. 50. Faber and Keller “Polyphilic Pluralism,” 75. For other examples of this type of thinking as relevant to religious pluralism see: “Multiplicity and Mysticism: Toward a New Mystagogy of Becoming,” in The Lure of Whitehead, edited by Nicholas Gaskill and A.J. Nocek (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2014); “The Mystical Whitehead,” in Seeking Common Ground: Evaluation and Critique of Joseph Bracken’s Comprehensive Worldview, edited by Marc Pugliese and Gloria Schaab (Milwaukee WI: Marquette University Press, 2012), 213–234; “Khora and Violence: Revisiting Butler with Whitehead,” in Butler on Whitehead: On the Occasion, edited by Roland Faber, Michael Halewood, and Deena Lin (Lexington Books, 2012), 105–126; and especially “Immanence and Incompleteness: Whitehead’s Late Metaphysics,” in Beyond Metaphysics?: Explorations in Alfred North Whitehead’s Late Thought, edited by Roland Faber, Brian Henning, and Clinton Combs (Netherlands: Rodopi, 2010), 91–107. 51. Long, Plurality and Relativity, 22. 52. Long, Plurality and Relativity, 22. 53. Long, Plurality and Relativity, 23. 54. Sorensen, A Brief History of Paradox, 306. 55. Hegel, The Science of Logic, 422. 56. Arvind Sharma, The Philosophy of Religion: A Buddhist Perspective (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997), 144.

Conclusion

In chapter 1, we had a brief analysis of the “pluralism dilemma.” The central concern of the pluralism dilemma is discovering how to discern between conflicting truth claims. Included in this chapter was an exploration in truth, diversity, and related epistemic concerns. The purpose of this exploration was to raise more questions about the nature of the pluralism dilemma, and the challenges of pluralistic thinking. In chapter 2, we took a closer look at classic approaches to the pluralism dilemma in Western philosophy of religion. This included an exploration into the classic threefold typology (exclusivism, inclusivism, and pluralism), as well as alternative typologies. This chapter served to further explain the nature of religious pluralism as a position that stands between absolutism and relativism. Building off of an analysis of the dilemma (chapter 1) and an analysis of the framework of pluralism more generally (chapter 2), chapter 3 explored three key exemplars of classic religious pluralism in the West—John Hick, John Cobb, and Raimundo Panikkar. Upon analyzing these examples of religious pluralism, we were able to identify key limitations of these classic models; pointing forward to the need for new considerations in religious pluralism. All three chapters serve to establish a framework for which Jainism could interact with Western philosophy of religion on the theme of religious pluralism. In Part II, we turned to Jainism. Chapter 4 was an analysis of the Jain doctrine of relativity (distinct from relativism), by looking at the threefold doctrines of anekāntavāda, nayavāda, and syādvāda. These doctrines serve as the philosophical framework for Jain responses to religious diversity and conflicting truth claims.

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In chapter 5, we expounded on the role of truth and falsity in Jainism. This exploration revealed the possible ways that Jainism can answer the question of conflicting truth claims, which lies at the heart of the pluralism dilemma. Among the Jain views on truth, one important consideration is that all truth claims which are made from limited nayas are at best partial truths, that when interdependently brought together can form a more complete truth. However, the ability to identify conflicting claims as partially true is not, in itself, a solution to the pluralistic dilemma—as such a stance can also be attributed to relativism. What is required to stand in the gap of absolutism and relativism is the ability to distinguish between truth and falsity—not in a relative sense—but absolutely. Chapter 6 explored this by way of a cross-cultural dialogue between Jainism and Western philosophy of religion. From this comparative analysis of Western philosophy of religion and Jain relativity, we identified possible responses to the pluralism dilemma, as prescribed by Jain doctrine and philosophy. Ultimately, this analysis revealed the true heart of Jainism to be pluralistic. As Y.J. Padmarajiah argues, the “Jaina idea of relativity of knowledge . . . signifies that ‘the full knowledge of everything is inextricably bound up with the full knowledge of everything and (vice versa).’”1 When such thinking is at the heart of a tradition, it is no surprise that it would lend itself toward dialogue and the appreciation of plurality. Though Jainism is a tradition that for thousands of years has largely been confined to the continent of India, I trust that in the midst of our “global village,” there will be increased opportunities for Jains to be at the forefront of interreligious dialogue. As a whole, Part II serves as a window into Indian philosophy, by way of Jainism, which appears to have more of an affinity toward paradox and mystery than much of classical Western religious pluralists. In chapter 7, we continued to pull on the thread of Indian philosophy, exploring foundational paradoxical notions found in common metaphysical problems such as the One and the Many, Unity and Diversity, Universals, and Truth, which are all vitally relevant to framework of religious claims about the Ultimates, and Universals. By analyzing these issues, particularly through the lens of Śaṅkara, Nāgārjuna, and Jainism, we find examples of paradoxical attitudes relevant to the ways of paradox grounding religious pluralism. A common thread running through this book has been the claim that the underlying framework of pluralistic thinking (and hence, of theories of religious pluralism) is paradoxical. A central critique leveled against many pluralistic philosophies in the West is the charge of being a self-referential paradox (which is often associated with being self-refuting). Pluralism requires exclusionary criteria to avoid relativism, and hence is accused of being exclusive, which runs contrary to the character of pluralism. Yet, as we

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saw in the Indic views explored in chapter 7, paradox is unavoidable at the limits of thought when exploring the fundamental nature of reality. Chapter 8 attempted to synthesize Part I and II with chapter 7, in order to address more directly the rationale of paradox, and the implications for multiplicity and conflicting truth claims. When we move beyond true-false dichotomies and adopt, as Jainism provides, a new logic that allows for both permanence and change, that allows both asti and nāsti simultaneously, we find a way to overcome the classic pluralistic dilemma. In this way, Jainism doesn’t simply contribute to the Western discourse on religious pluralism, it challenges its very foundations—the basis of a new paradigm for religious pluralism. The admission of both asti and nāsti simultaneously results in paradox. Alas, the unsettling nature of paradox often leads to a seemingly inconclusive end. I believe, however, in the spirit of Graham Priest, that even an inconclusive discussion may be worthwhile. As Priest says: “Whether or not dialetheism is correct, a discussion of the questions it raises, concerning fundamental notions like negation, truth and rationality . . . can hardly fail to deepen our understanding of these notions.”2 My deep desire is that the above philosophical exploration into truth, pluralism, and paradox is found to be an exploration of profound problems and not silly questions. Again, Priest notes that “one of the hardest things in philosophy sometimes is to know the difference between a profound problem and a silly question. As with genius and insanity, the two can appear very similar.”3 While I do not consider this a work of genius, I only hope it isn’t one of insanity! NOTES 1. Padmarajiah, A Comparative Study of the Jaina Theories of Reality and Knowledge, 283. 2. Sainsbury, Paradoxes, 158. 3. Priest, One, 5.

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Index

absolutism, 6–7, 15, 50–51, 54–60, 70–73, 77, 80–81, 84–85, 114–15, 123, 126, 137–38, 155, 163, 187–88, 190, 201–2, 205–6, 211, 213–14. See also exclusivism; particularism; restrictivism Advaita Vedanta, 73, 95, 169–77, 179, 187, 205 ahimsa, 5, 94–95, 118, 120, 130, 205 Alston, William P.,16, 23–29 anekāntavāda, 5, 7, 91–106, 115, 120–21, 123, 132–34, 136, 138, 145–47, 150, 163, 185–86, 190, 210, 213 anonymous Christian, 47–50, 133 Aristotle, 19–22, 58, 105, 190, 201 avaktavya. See inexpressibility

contradiction, 3, 5–8, 15, 19–23, 25–29, 33–34, 36–37, 44, 52–54, 58, 66, 68, 73–80, 82–83, 85, 93–95, 101, 103–6, 112–14, 116–17, 123, 135, 138–43, 149–50, 155, 163–65, 168, 171–74, 178, 181–83, 185– 86, 189–90, 195–97, 199, 201–2, 206–8, 210–11 contrast, 20, 25, 76–77, 81, 96, 105, 119, 124–25, 140–43, 146, 204–7 correspondence (theory of truth), 16–17, 33, 112, 116–17, 124–27 creativity, 73–77, 84, 139–42, 204

Brahman, 7, 14, 66, 68, 73, 94, 142, 170–77, 179, 184, 190, 204

emptiness, 2, 7, 73, 177–81, 183–85, 190, 196, 205. See also Śūnyatā epistemology, 17, 19, 22–37, 52–53, 55, 69–71, 74, 78, 80, 82–83, 96–98, 103, 105, 112, 124, 137–38, 146–49, 152, 172, 193, 213. See also nayavāda excluded middle, 7, 20–22, 53, 104, 185, 190, 201 exclusivism, 15, 35–36, 43–47, 49–54, 56–57, 59–60, 81–84, 114, 129– 30, 132–34, 136, 164, 175–77,

catuṣkoṭi, 182. See also tetralemma Cobb, John B., 3–5, 7, 43, 60, 65–66, 72–79, 81–85, 137–40, 142–44, 146, 155, 165, 171, 203, 206, 213 coherence (theory of truth), 28, 118, 124–26 complementary, 7–8, 23, 66, 68, 73–78, 83, 85, 106, 116, 121, 138–40, 143, 155, 164, 174, 206–7, 210

D’Costa, Gavin, 51–53 dialetheism, 3, 5, 8, 190, 197 dualism, 77

227

228

Index

183, 186, 189, 201, 210. See also absolutism; particularism; restrictivism Haribhadra, 2, 135 Hemachandra, 135, 186 Hick, John, 3–5, 7, 14, 45, 49, 51–52, 56, 60, 65–72, 74, 77–79, 81–85, 92, 137, 146–47, 150–51, 155, 175, 206, 213 idealism, 91–92 impermanent, 6, 93–95, 105, 134, 179–80, 210 inclusivism, 15, 25, 43–44, 47–54, 60, 99, 129, 133–36, 175, 200, 213 incompatible, 7, 14, 16, 19, 22–23, 28–29, 43–44, 50, 52, 56–57, 66, 68–69, 71, 78, 80, 83, 87n58, 95, 112, 129, 131, 138, 143, 154–55, 164 inexpressibility, 101–4, 106, 108n30, 118, 122–23, 135, 140, 146, 189 Kundakunda, 187 Long, Jeffery D., 5–6, 58–59, 72, 75–77, 79–81, 83–84, 106, 115, 124–25, 131, 139–40, 145, 154, 185–86, 188–90, 206, 209 Mahavira, 106, 111, 118, 120, 130, 138, 140 multiplicity, 1–4, 7, 15, 77, 136, 140– 45, 165, 167–78, 170, 174–76, 190, 203–5, 208–10, 215 Nāgārjuna, 3, 7, 167, 177–85, 190, 196, 202–4, 207, 209, 214 nayavāda, 5, 7, 91, 94–99, 102, 104, 106, 148, 163, 185, 187, 213 non-absolutism, 92, 106, 114, 136 non-contradiction, 5, 20–22, 25, 28, 182, 185, 190 nondualism, 77, 169, 174, 176–77, 184, 204

noumena, 66–72, 74, 79, 81, 84–85, 86n10, 146 Panikkar, Raimon, 4–5, 7, 13–14, 53–54, 60, 65–66, 78–82, 84–85, 117, 152–55, 164–65, 169, 177, 184, 206, 213 paraconsistent (logic), 3, 185, 202, 207 paradox, 3, 5, 7–8, 36, 53, 58–59, 79, 81, 85, 102, 106, 108n30, 115, 118, 135–36, 141–42, 155, 163, 166–69, 177, 180–85, 188–90, 195–99, 201–3, 205–11, 214–15 particularism, 27, 29–32, 34–36, 44, 50–51. See also abolutism; exclusivism; restrictivism perception, 23, 25–26, 29, 67–71, 92, 126, 151, 168 permanence, 6, 93–95, 105, 179–80, 210, 215 perspectivism, 26, 30, 32–33, 92, 97, 99, 136, 148–49, 151–52, 154, 176 phenomena, 66–72, 79, 84, 146, 151 philosophy of religion, 2, 4, 6–7, 14–15, 30, 37, 65, 84, 129, 163, 213–14 Plantinga, Alvin, 27, 30–36, 52–53, 83, 158n71, 172, 186, 210 Priest, Graham, 3, 5, 20, 108n30, 165–67, 180–81, 186, 190, 196– 98, 201–2, 207–9, 215 properly basic beliefs, 31–35, 41n99, 193n71 Rahner, Karl, 47–51, 74–75, 133 Ramanuja, 174, 176, 192n44, 204 realism: alethic realism, 16, 25, 28–29, 34; metaphysical realism, 16, 24, 34–35, 91–92, 103, 116–17, 121, 123–24 relativism, 1, 6–7, 9, 33–36, 41n99, 54– 60, 71–73, 77–78, 80–81, 84–85, 92, 97–98, 104, 106, 111, 114–18, 121, 123–26, 128n40, 136–38, 144, 146–47, 152, 154–55, 163,

Index

172, 175, 186–90, 200–1, 205–7, 211, 213–14 relativity; 55, 77–79, 82, 115–17, 124, 126, 128n40, 142–43, 154, 196; absolute relativity (Jainism), 5, 7, 53, 85, 91–106, 111, 124, 126, 134–40, 147–48, 153–54, 163, 169, 181, 185–90, 198, 202, 204, 209–10, 213–14 Rescher, Nicholas, 1, 32, 41n99, 147– 52, 158nn71, 75, 175–76, 195 restrictivism, 44. See also absolutism; exclusivism; particularism Śaṅkara, 3, 7, 66, 94, 169–77, 179, 183–84, 190, 192n48, 202, 204, 207, 214 śūnyatā, 2, 7, 73, 76, 83, 94, 177, 179, 184 syādvāda, 5, 7, 69, 91, 94–95, 98–106 tetralemma, 182–83. See also catuṣkoṭi tolerance, 6, 15, 37, 49, 58–59, 79, 93, 95, 120, 134, 153, 188, 199–202, 210

229

truth: absolute truth, 18, 49, 55, 80, 100, 108, 111, 114, 116–19, 122–24, 130, 133–36, 146, 151, 153, 167, 169, 185, 187–89, 210; relative truth, 100, 104, 111, 114, 116–18, 120–21, 123–24, 151, 153, 164, 187; universal truth, 34, 70, 116, 153, 164, 167, 169 unity, 1–2, 7, 18, 55–56, 59, 66, 69, 73– 74, 76–77, 79–80, 84, 94, 140–43, 145, 165–69, 173–74, 176–77, 179, 184, 190, 192n44, 202–6, 208, 210, 214 universals, 7, 57, 59, 140, 155, 163–65, 169, 180, 184–85, 195, 214 Whitehead, Alfred North, 1, 66, 73–78, 82, 84, 94, 138–45, 167, 178–79, 191n19, 196–97, 203–5, 207, 209, 211n11 Wolterstorff, Nicholas, 29–36

About the Author

Wm. Andrew Schwartz is a scholar, organizer, and nonprofit administrator. He is Executive Director of the Center for Process Studies, Cofounder and Executive Vice President of EcoCiv, and Adjunct Professor of philosophy and theology at Claremont School of Theology. Schwartz received his PhD in Philosophy of Religion and Theology at Claremont Graduate University. He enjoys asking “big questions” and exploring the diverse way of thinking and living in the world, particularly through comparative religious philosophy. He endorses a relational worldview with a particular interest in promoting the common good.

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