Stanley Fish in his New York Times blog gives a good review of a new book by Terry Eagleton, entitled: â€œReason, Faith and Revolution: Reflections on the God Debate.â€
“…British critic Terry Eagleton asks, â€œWhy are the most unlikely people, including myself, suddenly talking about God?â€ His answer, elaborated in prose that is alternately witty, scabrous and angry, is that the other candidates for guidance â€” science, reason, liberalism, capitalism â€” just donâ€™t deliver what is ultimately needed. ‘What other symbolic form,’ he queries, ‘has managed to forge such direct links between the most universal and absolute of truths and the everyday practices of countless millions of men and women?’
“…but at least religion is trying for something more than local satisfactions, for its ‘subject is nothing less than the nature and destiny of humanity itself, in relation to what it takes to be its transcendent source of life.’ And it is only that great subject, and the aspirations it generates, that can lead, Eagleton insists, to ‘a radical transformation of what we say and do.’
“The other projects, he concedes, provide various comforts and pleasures, but they are finally superficial and tend to the perpetuation of the status quo rather than to meaningful change: ‘A society of packaged fulfillment, administered desire, managerialized politics and consumerist economics is unlikely to cut to the depth where theological questions can ever be properly raised.’
“The fact that science, liberal rationalism and economic calculation can not ask â€” never mind answer â€” such questions should not be held against them, for that is not what they do.
“And, conversely, the fact that religion and theology cannot provide a technology for explaining how the material world works should not be held against them, either, for that is not what they do. When Christopher Hitchens declares that given the emergence of ‘the telescope and the microscope’ religion ‘no longer offers an explanation of anything important,’ Eagleton replies, ‘But Christianity was never meant to be an explanation of anything in the first place. Itâ€™s rather like saying that thanks to the electric toaster we can forget about Chekhov.’â€
Stanley Fish | Think Again | The New York Times
May 3, 2009, 10:00 pm
In the opening sentence of the last chapter of his new book, â€œReason, Faith and Revolution,â€ the British critic Terry Eagleton asks, â€œWhy are the most unlikely people, including myself, suddenly talking about God?â€ His answer, elaborated in prose that is alternately witty, scabrous and angry, is that the other candidates for guidance â€” science, reason, liberalism, capitalism â€” just donâ€™t deliver what is ultimately needed. â€œWhat other symbolic form,â€ he queries, â€œhas managed to forge such direct links between the most universal and absolute of truths and the everyday practices of countless millions of men and women?â€
Eagleton acknowledges that the links forged are not always benign â€” many terrible things have been done in religionâ€™s name â€” but at least religion is trying for something more than local satisfactions, for its â€œsubject is nothing less than the nature and destiny of humanity itself, in relation to what it takes to be its transcendent source of life.â€ And it is only that great subject, and the aspirations it generates, that can lead, Eagleton insists, to â€œa radical transformation of what we say and do.â€
The other projects, he concedes, provide various comforts and pleasures, but they are finally superficial and tend to the perpetuation of the status quo rather than to meaningful change: â€œA society of packaged fulfillment, administered desire, managerialized politics and consumerist economics is unlikely to cut to the depth where theological questions can ever be properly raised.â€
By theological questions, Eagleton means questions like, â€œWhy is there anything in the first place?â€, â€œWhy what we do have is actually intelligible to us?â€ and â€œWhere do our notions of explanation, regularity and intelligibility come from?â€
The fact that science, liberal rationalism and economic calculation can not ask â€” never mind answer â€” such questions should not be held against them, for that is not what they do.
And, conversely, the fact that religion and theology cannot provide a technology for explaining how the material world works should not be held against them, either, for that is not what they do. When Christopher Hitchens declares that given the emergence of â€œthe telescope and the microscopeâ€ religion â€œno longer offers an explanation of anything important,â€ Eagleton replies, â€œBut Christianity was never meant to be an explanation of anything in the first place. Itâ€™s rather like saying that thanks to the electric toaster we can forget about Chekhov.â€
Eagleton likes this turn of speech, and he has recourse to it often when making the same point: â€œ[B]elieving that religion is a botched attempt to explain the world . . . is like seeing ballet as a botched attempt to run for a bus.â€ Running for a bus is a focused empirical act and the steps you take are instrumental to its end. The positions one assumes in ballet have no such end; they are after something else, and that something doesnâ€™t yield to the usual forms of measurement. Religion, Eagleton is saying, is like ballet (and Chekhov); itâ€™s after something else.
After what? Eagleton, of course, does not tell us, except in the most general terms: â€œThe coming kingdom of God, a condition of justice, fellowship, and self-fulfillment far beyond anything that might normally be considered possible or even desirable in the more well-heeled quarters of Oxford and Washington.â€ Such a condition would not be desirable in Oxford and Washington because, according to Eagleton, the inhabitants of those places are complacently in bondage to the false idols of wealth, power and progress. That is, they feel little of the tragedy and pain of the human condition, but instead â€œadopt some bright-eyed superstition such as the dream of untrammeled human progressâ€ and put their baseless â€œtrust in the efficacy of a spot of social engineering here and a dose of liberal enlightenment there.â€
Progress, liberalism and enlightenment â€” these are the watchwords of those, like Hitchens, who believe that in a modern world, religion has nothing to offer us. Donâ€™t we discover cures for diseases every day? Doesnâ€™t technology continually extend our powers and offer the promise of mastering nature? Who needs an outmoded, left-over medieval superstition?
Eagleton punctures the complacency of these questions when he turns the tables and applies the label of â€œsuperstitionâ€ to the idea of progress. It is a superstition â€” an idol or â€œa belief not logically related to a course of eventsâ€ (American Heritage Dictionary) â€” because it is blind to what is now done in its name: â€œThe language of enlightenment has been hijacked in the name of corporate greed, the police state, a politically compromised science, and a permanent war economy,â€ all in the service, Eagleton contends, of an empty suburbanism that produces ever more things without any care as to whether or not the things produced have true value.
And as for the vaunted triumph of liberalism, what about â€œthe misery wreaked by racism and sexism, the sordid history of colonialism and imperialism, the generation of poverty and famineâ€? Only by ignoring all this and much more can the claim of human progress at the end of history be maintained: â€œIf ever there was a pious myth and a piece of credulous superstition, it is the liberal-rationalist belief that, a few hiccups apart, we are all steadily en route to a finer world.â€
That kind of belief will have little use for a creed that has at its center â€œone who spoke up for love and justice and was done to death for his pains.â€ No wonder â€œDitchkinsâ€ â€” Eagletonâ€™s contemptuous amalgam of Hitchens and Richard Dawkins, perhaps with a sidelong glance at Luke 6:39, â€œCan the blind lead the blind? Shall they not both fall into the ditch?â€ â€” seems incapable of responding to â€œthe kind of commitment made manifest by a human being at the end of his tether, foundering in darkness, pain, and bewilderment, who nevertheless remains faithful to the promise of a transformative love.â€
You wonâ€™t be interested in any such promise, you wonâ€™t see the point of clinging to it, if you think that â€œapart from the odd, stubbornly lingering spot of barbarism here and there, history on the whole is still steadily on the up,â€ if you think that â€œnot only is the salvation of the human species possible but that contrary to all we read in the newspapers, it has in principle already taken place.â€ How, Eagleton asks, can a civilization â€œwhich regards itself as pretty well self-sufficientâ€ see any point in or need of â€œfaith or hopeâ€?
â€œSelf-sufficientâ€ gets to the heart of what Eagleton sees as wrong with the â€œbrittle triumphalismâ€ of liberal rationalism and its ideology of science. From the perspective of a theistic religion, the cardinal error is the claim of the creature to be â€œself-originatingâ€: â€œSelf-authorship,â€ Eagleton proclaims, â€œis the bourgeois fantasy par excellence,â€ and he could have cited in support the words of that great bourgeois villain, Miltonâ€™s Satan, who, upon being reminded that he was created by another, retorts , â€œ[W]ho saw/ When this creation wasâ€¦?/ We know no time when we were not as now/Know none before us, self-begot, self-raisedâ€ (Paradise Lost, V, 856-860).That is, we created ourselves (although how there can be agency before there is being and therefore an agent is not explained), and if we are able to do that, why canâ€™t we just keep on going and pull progress and eventual perfection out of our own entrails?
That is where science and reason come in. Science, says Eagleton, â€œdoes not start far back enoughâ€; it can run its operations, but it canâ€™t tell you what they ultimately mean or provide a corrective to its own excesses. Likewise, reason is â€œtoo skin deep a creed to tackle what is at stakeâ€; its laws â€” the laws of entailment and evidence â€” cannot get going without some substantive proposition from which they proceed but which they cannot contain; reason is a non-starter in the absence of an a prior specification of what is real and important, and where is that going to come from? Only from some kind of faith.
â€œDitchkins,â€ Eagleton observes, cannot ground his belief â€œin the value of individual freedomâ€ in scientific observation. It is for him an article of faith, and once in place, it generates facts and reasons and judgments of right and wrong. â€œFaith and knowledge,â€ Eagleton concludes, are not antithetical but â€œinterwoven.â€ You canâ€™t have one without the other, despite the Satanic claim that you can go it alone by applying your own independent intellect to an unmediated reality: â€œAll reasoning is conducted within the ambit of some sort of faith, attraction, inclination, orientation, predisposition, or prior commitment.â€ Meaning, value and truth are not â€œreducible to the facts themselves, in the sense of being ineluctably motivated by a bare account of them.â€ Which is to say that there is no such thing as a bare account of them. (Here, as many have noted, is where religion and postmodernism meet.)
If this is so, the basis for what Eagleton calls â€œthe rejection of religion on the cheapâ€ by contrasting its unsupported (except by faith) assertions with the scientifically grounded assertions of atheism collapses; and we are where we always were, confronted with a choice between a flawed but aspiring religious faith or a spectacularly hubristic faith in the power of unaided reason and a progress that has no content but, like the capitalism it reflects and extends, just makes its valueless way into every nook and cranny.
For Eagleton the choice is obvious, although he does not have complete faith in the faith he prefers. â€œThere are no guarantees,â€ he concedes that a â€œtransfigured future will ever be born.â€ But we can be sure that it will never be born, he says in his last sentence, â€œif liberal dogmatists, doctrinaire flag-wavers for Progress, and Islamophobic intellectuals . . . continue to stand in its way.â€
One more point. The book starts out witty and then gets angrier and angrier. (There is the possibility, of course, that the later chapters were written first; Iâ€™m just talking about the temporal experience of reading it.) I spent some time trying to figure out why the anger was there and I came up with two explanations.
One is given by Eagleton, and it is personal. Christianity may or may not be the faith he holds to (he doesnâ€™t tell us), but he speaks, he says, â€œpartly in defense of my own forbearers, against the charge that the creed to which they dedicated their lives is worthless and void.â€
The other source of his anger is implied but never quite made explicit. He is angry, I think, at having to expend so much mental and emotional energy refuting the shallow arguments of school-yard atheists like Hitchens and Dawkins. I know just how he feels.