Tolerance, Conflict and Truth

I think about the concept of tolerance a lot. Tolerance is a live issue in American politics. The battle to incorporate more people into the American civic community is often framed in terms of tolerance; those fighting for greater inclusion often use the idea as a marker of what is the base minimum required to widen the circle. Tolerance doesn’t require acceptance, it doesn’t require approval, it doesn’t require friendship; thus, tolerance is often the most politically palatable way for some to come to terms with a more inclusive, more open society.

I think tolerance is a really useful concept for liberal democracy. You are simply never going to get everyone to embrace everyone else. There will always be conflict between various groups of people. However, I don’t think tolerance is very good for the Church. I don’t think Christians are called to mere “tolerance” of the other, nor are we called to tolerance of every worldview and individual choice. Tolerance is a double-edged sword, one that can tear through the fabric of the moral community that the church is called to be.

This is important because a lot of liberal churches today use the word “tolerance” quite freely in their attempt to gain more members and showcase their own openness and acceptance. While I think acceptance and openness are important traits for a church, I think those things can be had without the false allure of tolerance.

I want to take some space here to think through tolerance, and how it has defanged the moral witness of the church in a world where the church is sorely needed today. As I mentioned in a recent post, I have recently done a comprehensive read-through of most of the works of theologian Stanley Hauerwas, and so I want to explore tolerance through the frame of a passage from his book Performing the Faith. Here is the passage in full:

Christians came to America having fought hard to renounce confessional struggles. Subsequent generations born free of the battles for which their forebears fought no longer think it necessary to fight about anything. The struggle over the creed which occasioned the flight of their fathers and mothers becomes – for their sons and daughters – something that is itself unchristen. “Thus for American Christianity the concept of tolerance becomes the basic principle of everything Christian. Any intolerance is in itself unchristian.” Because Christians in America have no place for the conflict truthfulness requires, they contribute to the secularization of society; a society, moreover, which finds itself unable to subject politics to truth and the conflict truthfulness requires. Tolerance becomes indifference and indifference leads to cynicism.

Stanley Hauerwas, Performing the Faith: Bonhoeffer and the Practice of Nonviolence, page 59.

This paragraph does a really good job of summing up the trajectory of tolerance in American religion well. It starts where the Christian experience in America started: the flight from the wars of religion that wracked Europe for half a millennia. Groups like the Puritans, looking to escape the persecutions and wars of the Protestants and Catholics, found a place to put down roots free from the debates about creeds and sacraments and hierarchies. Eventually, this new home evolved into a place almost complete religious freedom – the ability to define for one’s self what is worth believing, what is worth fighting and even dying for.

But, as Hauerwas notes here, that freedom from religious conflict- freedom from the communal conversations about what a people are going to call true – congealed into a worldview where strongly-held metaphysical convictions are shunned, or at least held as much less important than materialist ones. One can have beliefs about God and truth and goodness, but in America, it came to be understood that those beliefs would by and large not have much consequence for the body politic.

This attitude seeped so much into American Christianity that to become exercised over your religious beliefs became something that was viewed as antithetical to what it means to be a religious person. Certainly, people still held to strong religious views, and often those views have had influences on the American way of life – one only has to look at the influence of Christian thinking on slavery and abolitionism. But those beliefs were never allowed to question or critique core American precepts, at least not if one wanted to be taken seriously as a member of the American project. Religious freedom became less about allowing people to believe what they want to, and more about ensuring no particular claim to truth could challenge the assumptions of the liberal nation-state.

And so the advent of tolerance, replacing the quest for truth in religious life. Truth claims inevitably led to the kind of religious intolerance and conflict that was so feared in continental Europe. To say that this or that belief is the Truth is to inevitably to say that other, conflicting beliefs are false. In the conversation of religious beliefs, this becomes an intolerable charge, one that must be defended against. Thus, in order to maintain peace between these factions competing for supremacy when there is no empirical way to assess those truth claims, tolerance becomes necessary. I will tolerate your claim to truth, and you will tolerate mine, and as long as we don’t try to domineer one another, we can peacefully coexist.

And this is mostly ok! I don’t want to be misunderstood here; tolerance has an important role to play in a pluralistic democracy. We should strive to tolerate those we just cannot bring ourselves to fully accept or agree with. In fact, one of the major problems roiling our society right now is the inability to tolerate difference. This comes from both the right and the left; toleration of those who look, act, think, believe, or love differently is under attack, and as a result, some of our basic rights are under attack as a well. As a political people, we should be pushing back against intolerance in all its forms, and understand that liberal democracy, free speech, and religious pluralism requires us to live and let live, even those we abhor, and even those who may hate us. The ability to live with that tension is the sign of a healthy polis.

All those qualifications in place, I want to come back to my primary point: toleration may be good enough for liberalism, but it isn’t good enough for Christians, even Christians living in and having a prominent place in a liberal democracy. Christians must walk a fine line between practicing tolerance politically, and demanding more than that of our selves and our communities. The problem with tolerance in a space like the Church is that tolerance eliminates claims to the True, the Good, and the Beautiful. And those are values the Church cannot afford to give up.

This isn’t a call to theological domineering. That is an ever present danger for the church, one that has caused a lot of damage throughout the years. And even in individual churches, that kind of domineering can quickly harden into cults of personality or exclusionary practices. The Christian way is one that always rejects putting ourselves over anyone else, even those who we feel are wrong and misguided. We cannot force the faith on anyone, nor should we want to. At the heart of Christian thought is the abhorrence of any form of coercion; just God is non-coercive, so should we be.

Here is what we are called to: a firm stand in favor the True, the Good, and the Beautiful, in favor of the Love that is God. And this kind of love can never be domineering or coercive, because it a love that is eternally giving and serving, and love centered on meekness, peaceableness, and kenosis – a radical emptying of self in favor of the Other. Tolerance, almost paradoxically, works against this kind of love, because tolerance in its purest form, doesn’t ask anything of us, or of anyone else. But we must ask something: we must ask ourselves if we are willing to stand so firmly on the side of love, on the side of the poor and the needy, if we are willing to stand in favor of what we know be True, to the point of enduring death. Tolerance tells us we don’t need to die for anything, because nothing is ultimately so important that it is worth dying for. But, as Christians, we know better, because we know our Savior died for us, and if we were worth dying for, imagine how much more the Good and the Beautiful are worth dying for. We are intolerant to to a world that refuses to ask of us more than we should be rationally willing to give, and we cannot be both intolerant and tolerant. But our intolerance is never directed at other people, even those who are the most abhorrent foes of what we know to be true. Our intolerance is always directed against the structures – the Powers and Principalities – that would call us to be so tolerant that we eschew all conflict and embrace, forever, pure ease and comfort. Are we really created for so little as tolerance?

don’t be significant or effective

Some of my critics were happy to say that my refusal to use a computer would not do any good. I have argued, and am convinced, that it will at least do me some good, and that it may involve me in the preservation of some cultural goods. But what they meant was real, practical, public good. They meant that the materials and energy I save by not buying a computer will not be “significant.” They meant that no individual’s restraint in the use of technology or energy will be “significant.” That is true

But each one of us, by “insignificant” individual abuse of the world, contributes to a general abuse that is devastating. And if I were one of thousands or millions of people who could afford a piece of equipment, even one for which they had a conceivable “need,” and yet did not buy it, that would be “significant.” Why, then, should I hesitate for even one moment to be one, even the first one, of that “significant” number? Thoreau gave the definitive reply to the folly of “significant numbers” a long time ago: Why should anybody wait to do what is right until everybody does it? It is not “significant” to love your own children or to eat your own dinner, either. But normal humans will not wait to love or eat until it is mandated by an act of Congress.

Wendell Berry, “Feminism, the Body, and the Machine” in What Are People For?

One of my favorite lines of thought within good Christian theology is a critique of the desire for efficiency and significance in modern culture. I based the entire first series of my essay project at The Radical Ordinary on this critique. For Wendell Berry, it is an on-going critique as well, and he states it so well in this essay. The world conforms itself to the demands of economics, of numbers and dollars and cents: everything must be efficient, streamlines, frictionless.

But, as Berry reminds us here, love is not efficient. Love is not significant, at least not in the way the world would view significance. It does not contort itself meet the needs the invisible hand of the market, but instead, moves things out of its reach. As Christians, and as the Church, questions of efficiency must always be pretty far down the list of priorities in making decisions about the use of our time, resources, and love. Other things must come first.

In the newest issue of Plough Quarterly, there is a story about the Palazzo Migliori, a mansion just off Saint Peter’s Square in the Vatican, that Pope Francis had turned into a home for people with no where else to go. The story contemplates the divine wastefulness of turning such a beautiful and historic building into a shelter for just a few people. In this section of the piece, I am reminded of these conversations I keep having here about effectiveness, and the words of Stanley Hauerwas and Wendell Berry:

Pope Francis dining at the Palazzo Migliori

This place gives Anna a story that bends toward peace and rests there. Something about its over-the-top-ness: the carefully painted crests on the ceiling, the terrace overlooking Saint Peter’s Square, the unnecessarily good food. The visitors who know your name and your favorites and your good and bad habits, who know you need to put that cream on your foot and will banter with you until you do it. Above all it is knowing: that this place could have been a posh hotel; that some might call its current incarnation a waste; that you are not being given the bare minimum.

When we love someone, we are not thinking of how to do so efficiently; we are thinking how to do it well. Think of new parents preparing a beautiful nursery: they may buy things the child never uses, and perhaps some of that money and effort might be better used elsewhere. But we are not surprised when loving parents put more thought and work into preparing a place than is strictly necessary.

There are certain things that we know make a good place for anyone – shelter from the cold, a quiet place to sleep, a warm stew, a clean place to wash up, art, song, softness – and we can prepare these things even before we meet the recipients. Once we meet, there begins the work of making it a good place for them in particular – for Astriche, who loves chamomile; for Lioso, who is so much more tired than hungry and just wants to sleep; for Ajim and his appetite; for Anna the teller of tales.

https://www.plough.com/en/topics/justice/social-justice/princess-of-the-vatican

The mindless drive for efficiency and significance is a depersonalizing drive. Love is not depersonalized. It requires intimacy, connection, and a knowing of the other we are called to love. You can build a generic homeless shelter, sure. But you can’t build a home, or a relationship that way. And only those relationships of love are what save lives and make the world a better place. And remember, you don’t need permission to act this way, or to develop a strategic 12-point plan to figure out how. Just ask, how can I show love today, or in this situation, or in this specific encounter, and then do those things. Don’t worry if it is the most effective use of your time. Don’t worry about whether it will undermine some bigger Plan. Don’t run a cost-benefit analysis. Just love, and be loved, as God wants us to be.

what is culture?

Alan Jacobs asked a question in April, that’s really stuck with me ever since: “what is culture?” I’ve been turning this question over and over in my head since then, as culture is a term I use here quite often. But Alan is right: what is culture really, because what it seems like everyone is always talking about (myself included) isn’t really culture. Here’s how he puts it:

Almost everyone who writes on this subject treats it as unproblematic, yet it is anything but. In the late 18th century Herder wrote of Cultur (the German spelling would only later become Kultur): “Nothing is more indeterminate than this word, and nothing more deceptive than its application to all nations and periods.”

I suspect that (a) when most people use the term they have only the haziest sense of what they mean by it, and (b) no two writers on this subject are likely to have a substantially similar understanding of it.

Alan Jacobs, “Christianity and …?”

I don’t really have a good answer to this, but I think Alan is right when he writes later that “If we can agree on some boundaries for this elusive concept we might be able to have a more profitable conversation.” As with any term we might use, really. It’s hard to have a coherent coversation if we can’t agree on a way to define our terms.

So, reading Wendell Berry as I’ve been doing recently, I ran across this quote, which I find very illuminating on this subject:

A healthy culture is a communal order of memory, insight, value, work, conviviality, reverence, aspiration. It reveals the human necessities and the human limits. It clarifies our inescapable bonds to the earth and to each other. It assures that the necessary restraints are observed, that the necessary work is done, and that it is done well.

Wendell Berry, “The Agricultural Crisis as a Crisis of Culture” in The Unsettling of America

Berry here gives us both a sort of composition of (healthy) culture, and some of the effects such a culture would enact on society. He is, of course, writing here in this essay about agricultural settings, but I think his ideas here apply more broadly then that. And, of course, Berry would surely disclaim any authoritative attempt to “define” culture here, and I agree this shouldn’t be presented her at some final word on Alan’s question above. Those qualifications aside, it’s a stab at understanding such a nebulous term, and if there is a list of voices who I trust on the subject of culture, Wendell Berry is surely near the top.

I really want to focus on that first sentence from the Berry is quote. In a later blog post, Alan does some “hand waving” (his term, not mine) towards defining what culture, or maybe what it isn’t. It involves “spheres of symbolic activity”, politics, symbols and imagery, amongst other things. I think he is right when he concludes that any good definition of culture is inevitably going to require the complexity of any entire theology of culture, which “would combine an inquiry into the character of our power-knowledge regime — a study of powers and demons — with an iconology, an account of the deployment of the images and symbols meant to govern our perceptions and affections.” (links are from the original.)

I like the direction Alan points us in here, and I think Wendell’s idea of culture being a “communal order” of things conforms nicely to that direction. If we are looking to define the character of our power and knowledge, as Alan says, then the values of “memory, insight, value, work, conviviality, reverence [and] aspiration” feel like good indicators of a healthy cultural character. Culture, then, is not necessarily one something among other somethings, but is instead a conglomeration of societal values, made possible by the presence of human virtues that society is forming its people in.

I also like Wendell’s cultural order because it opens the space to define an unhealthy culture as well, which I think is really important in our fallen world. So, just to riff off his essay, an unhealthy culture would be one defined by forgetfulness, shallowness, insignificance, sloth, suspicion, cynicism, and despair.

I have more to say about a healthy and unhealthy culture – for instance, I want to think about what forms these healthy and unhealthy cultures are expressed in – but I think I will leave those thoughts for the future, once I have put more thought to it. But, I do think Wendell’s writings can point us in a useful direction for answering Alan’s question.