unbelieving saints, pious psychopaths
CARDINAL QUESTIONS
by
SCOTT McLEMEE
______________________________
Scott
McLemee's reviews, essays and interviews have appeared in The
New York Times, The Washington Post, The Boston
Globe, The Nation, Newsday, The Common
Review and numerous other publications including insidehighered.com,
where this article first appeared. For more of Scott, check
out his blog.
So
henceforth we have a whole new category of eminent religious
figure: Pope Emeritus. I don’t know if the expression
will catch on, but at least it’s less irreverent than
the meme describing the current situation as Popus interruptus.
(That’s proper cod-Latin, by the way. Please don’t
feel obliged to correct the grammar.)
It
can’t continue this way for long; as a Catholic friend
puts it, “The show must go on.” Those of us who
are neither believers nor gamblers have no real investment in
the outcome, of course. But the office and its claim to authority
are intriguing, even so, and I spent part of the weekend reading
a couple of dialogues between Vatican dignitaries and eminent
secular thinkers.
The
most recently published of them, Belief or Unbelief: A Confrontation
(Helios Press, 2012), is also, oddly enough, the earlier
of the two. It consists of a series of open letters exchanged,
in the pages of a newspaper, between Umberto Eco and Carlo Maria
Martini, the former archbishop of Milan, who at the time of
his death last year was a cardinal. In his introduction to Belief
or Nonbelief?, the Harvard theologian Harvey Cox notes
that Martini -- besides being a prominent scholar of the New
Testament and the organizer of an annual standing-room-only
lecture series for nonbelievers -- had been spoken of “as
a possible future pontiff.”
The
occasional reference in their dialogue suggests that it originally
took place circa 2000 as part of what Florian Schuller, the
director of the Catholic Academy of Bavaria, calls “a
very intensive, open, and committed discussion” under
way in Italy “between intellectual representatives of
the credenti (believers) and the laici (‘secular
persons’).” The colloquy between Jurgen Habermas
and Joseph Ratzinger making up The Dialectics of Secularization:
On Reason and Religion (Ignatius, 2006) was held at the
Academy in early 2004, about 15 months before the cardinal became
Pope Benedict XVI.
From
Schuller’s introduction to The Dialectics of Secularization,
it’s clear that the exchange between the philosopher and
the pontiff-to-be was arranged with the example of the Italian
discussions in mind. Schuller sounds an almost diffident note.
“We in Germany,” he writes, “seem to lack
a common philosophical dialogue on the basis of different positions
that are interested in each other (as in Italy) or structures
that permit a plurality of world views to engage in a societally
institutionalized yet completely free conversation on a high
level of reflection (as in France).”
On
the other hand, Habermas can engage in a public dialogue on
religion and secularity without anyone expecting him to clarify
whether or not he believes that Adam and Eve shared Eden with
the dinosaurs (as in America). No doubt Schuller’s chagrin
is heartfelt, but from this side of the water it can be difficult
to credit.
Max
Weber once referred to himself as “religiously unmusical”
– not hostile to religion, that is, but temperamentally
unable to respond to whatever it is that inspires or motivates
faith. To judge by his writings on religion over the past decade
or so, Habermas is a religiously unmusical person trying very,
very hard to feel the rhythm. By contrast, Eco can actually
carry a tune (he cites Thomas Aquinas with an evident passion
for nuance and implication) even if he says he lost his faith
in his early 20s and addresses Cardinal Martini from the standpoint
of a nonbeliever.
In
his exchange with Ratzinger, as elsewhere, Habermas maintains
that (1) the modern, democratic, constitutional state does not
require metaphysical legitimation, but (2) religious traditions,
which do involve large claims about the nature and meaning of
the universe, provide something crucial to making society livable,
since they transmit and sustain values that otherwise would
be pretty scarce.
All
citizens may be equal in the eyes of the law, at least in principle.
But recognizing formal equality is one thing, and respecting
the dignity of others, or feeling an imperative to reduce their
suffering, is quite another. It is, in short, a careful if rather
vigourless effort by an adherent of ‘methodological atheism’
(as Habermas describes himself elsewhere) to acknowledge that
religious faith is not just the un-integrated remnant of pre-modern
culture.
Nothing
in Eco’s open letters to Martini is incompatible with
what Habermas has to say, but they strain less to make room
for the idea that believers and non-believers might be sharing
a world together, rather than just putting up with each other.
He begins with the point that even the most secular-minded people
may find something fascinating about the biblical notion of
an apocalyptic end of the world. And in the book’s closing
pages he writes, “I’m not in favor of instituting
a clear-cut opposition between believers in a transcendental
God and those who don’t believe in any notion of a superior
being.”
Eco
and Habermas, then, are Unitarian Universalists, in the sense
of the old joke that UUs believe in one God at the most. And
their opposite numbers from the Vatican are as patient and indulgent
of them as possible. It is the appropriate response to dealing
with thinkers who are stumbling in the general direction of
absolute Truth. (Lest my Catholic mother-in-law read this and
take it the wrong way, let me make clear that it’s Martini
and Ratzinger who regard the church as possessing absolute Truth.
Indeed, they both spell it with the capital T).
The
worldly philosophers struggle valiantly to make some accommodation
between the pious and the profane. The cardinals respond in
kind. But in the end, each poses what is essentially the same
question to their interlocutors. “It’s difficult
for me to see,” Martini admits, “how an existence
inspired by” the standards of “altruism, sincerity,
justice, solidarity, [and] forgiveness” can be upheld
universally “when their absolute value is not founded
on metaphysical principles or a personal God.” Ratzinger
warns of “the hubris of reason that is no less dangerous”
than blind faith. The atomic bomb is preeminently the product
of human intelligence exercising itself. And what guidance will
keep us from succumbing to that hubris? It can only come from
Whoever created reason in the first place.
Not
a new thesis, by any means. It's one of the oldest strategems
of Christian apologetics: You value compassion, charity, forgiveness
etc. Those values must have a basis, or else they are arbitrary.
And if you don't think they are arbitrary (if you don't think
that the difference between empathy and viciousness is simply
one of taste), then you implicitly believe they have a source,
hence a creator, hence God. The merits of the argument have
been debated in dormitories for ages, and in the Vatican for
even longer. But Eco insists on a reality that can't be reasoned
away: