Question Time, on Thursday 29th September 2005 provided a masterclass in how not to ‘do God’ in public.
Sitting alongside the usual suspects and making his QT debut was Stephen Green, National Director of Christian Voice, the organisation that had risen to prominence in its campaign against Jerry Springer – The Opera.
Whatever you think of The Opera, Christian Voice or their uneasy relationship, you are unlikely to have been impressed by Mr Green’s contribution. He didn’t rant or fume or condemn his opponents to eternal hellfire. But he did something which sounded almost as bad. He quoted the Bible.
If that doesn’t sound so awful, you should have been there. Quoting scripture on a current affairs programme isn’t (yet) a criminal offence and Christians should (in theory) judge the Bible to be in some way authoritative. Nevertheless, the manner in which Mr Green spoke, beginning each answer, irrespective of topic, with ‘The Bible tells us…’, and then going on to quote Proverbs, prophets or whatever, was acutely embarrassing. Not only did Mr Green make himself sound ridiculous but he made the Bible sound intrusive and irrelevant.
Perhaps, critics will say, that’s because it is. Perhaps Mr Green was simply honest (or naïve) enough to demonstrate the idiocy of turning to an ancient text to resolve modern problems.
Christians (or most of them) will disagree but the whole affair forces upon them the question of how they should engage in the public square in such a way as to reflect honestly their religious convictions, whilst sounding sane and even, maybe, persuasive.
The answer to this question has long been bound up with the idea of ‘public reason’, best associated with the political philosopher John Rawls. In his essay, ‘The Idea of Public Reason Revisited’, Rawls wrote:
Reasonable comprehensive doctrines, religious or nonreligious, may be introduced in public political discussion at any time, provided that in due course proper political reasons – and not reasons given solely by comprehensive doctrines – are presented that are sufficient to support whatever the comprehensive doctrines are said to support.
In other words, you can be motivated by a particular understanding of the world, which urges on you a particular system of values as long as you articulate your position in language and with reasons that others, who do not share your convictions, will understand.
This is a sound argument, which would have saved Mr Green and those Christians in the Question Time audience some embarrassment. Rather than beginning an answer by saying, ‘The Bible tells us, “The rod and reproof give wisdom: but a child left to himself bringeth his mother to shame,”’ we might, for example, wish to talk about the (rather countercultural) need for discipline in raising children or, better still, cite statistics that show how the fragmentation of extended and nuclear families are depriving parents of the wisdom of older generations, leaving them nervous and ignorant about how to raise and discipline their children. If that sounds too pusillanimous, you could throw in a reference to the way in which Christian teaching and tradition places significant emphasis on the mutual responsibilities within a family, which we ignore at our cost.
For all the public reason argument has going for it, however, it is not without its problems. Foremost among these is the question what actually constitutes ‘reasonableness’. Who defines what is ‘a proper political reason’? Who says what goes?
The philosopher Nicholas Wolterstorff has observed that ‘it would take a good deal of exegetic industry to figure out what Rawls means by “reasonable”, and even more to figure our what he means by “rational”.’ Perhaps what is deemed reasonable is, in fact, reasonable only to those who share particular, silent presuppositions. Perhaps the ‘public reason’ argument is not, in fact, a done deal and, in reality, tilts the intellectual ground beneath our feet, favouring certain moral and social convictions over others.
If so, Christians face a dual challenge. Not only should they be willing to use public reasoning but they should be willing to challenge it. When required to express and justify themselves with ‘proper political reasons’, they should also be willing to question the validity of these reasons.
Take our current lexicon of public reason, for example. This currently revolves around the concepts of rights, freedom, and choice. There is much to be said for these but for all the good they do, they foist on us certain presuppositions that Christian groups (among others) may be reluctant to accept, presuppositions that relate to the individual’s supposed autonomy, for example, or that treat the freedom to choose as an ultimate good.
In much the same way, you can hardly open a newspaper today without encountering some talk of ‘faith’, ‘faith groups’, or the ‘faith sector’. ‘Faith’ has become the catch all for what was once known as religion.
This is, at least in part, because religion has become so dirty as a public word – denoting, in the public mind, antiquated, irrelevant, manipulative, illiberal practices – that religious groups have been desperate to be rid of it. Such complicity has paved the way for a whole new category to embed itself in the public consciousness in an astonishingly brief period of time.
And yet ‘faith’, whilst having some things to recommend it, is singularly inappropriate and misleading as a term to describe Christianity (or any other religion). To put it bluntly, it makes absolutely no sense whatsoever to define a religious group by its epistemological status.
If religious people have ‘faith’ or are members of a ‘faith group’, where does that leave everyone else? Are they members ‘doubt’ groups? Of ‘scepticsim’ groups? Of ‘knowledge’ groups? Or perhaps they are not members of any group at all? A seemingly innocuous term, like ‘faith’ or ‘faith group’, carries with it numerous connotations that muddy rather than clarify the issue.
Social and religious researchers sometimes talk about the de-secularisation of the West. There is much in this but it would be more accurate to talk about its ‘re-sacralisation’, the return of the notion of the sacred. We are still a relatively secular society, but are becoming an increasingly spiritual one, albeit often in superficial or consumerist ways.
Social research in the
In January 1950, only 10% of the public told
‘This,’ the report concludes, ‘leads to what some would describe as a more credulous society.’
This is not to suggest that belief in ghosts or fortune telling should be placed on same level as belief in, say, the resurrection – in terms of content, importance or forcefulness.
It is, however, to remind us that using the current public lexicon of ‘faith’ and ‘faith groups’ carries with it certain implications – that some people give credence to certain unverifiable phenomena and others don’t – that are simply wrong.
Is there an alternative? At the moment, the answer is no. On one level, specificity is always to be preferred, not least as an antidote to lazy thinking. ‘Religion causes wars’ is the kind of mindless aphorism that anyone can trot out safe in the knowledge that they will be greeted by a room full of nodding head. ‘Islam’ or ‘Christianity causes wars’ is a little more difficult.
Yet, ‘while it may be hard to live with generalisations, it is inconceivable to live without them.’ Much as specificity is to be recommended, ‘church’, ‘Christian’, ‘Muslim’, ‘Islamic’, ‘Jewish’, or ‘Hindu’ will not be enough. We all need categories.
To this end, it would be wonderful to see the return of ‘religion’, scrubbed clean of social opprobrium and presented in a more favourable light: a variety of people choosing to come together, united only by a common object of love and devotion. There are, alas, a whole host of reasons why this will not happen – not least Christians’ frequent inability to agree, let alone unite around a common object of love.
‘Narrative’ is another hopeful term. Each of us – from the Darwin-hating Christian fundamentalist to the Darwin-worshipping atheist secularist – tells a story with his or her life, a story that answers the questions that nag at us all: Who are we? What do we deem of ultimate value? What, if anything, are we here for? Where, if anywhere, are we going?
It is, however, too hopeful a term, at least at the moment: largely meaningless when used without the aid of lengthy, cumbersome explication.
Whatever term we choose to replace ‘faith’ and ‘faith groups’ will be inadequate in some way. But perfection is, in a sense, part of the problem. No public reasoning or vocabulary should expect to have a universal, rational appeal.
The task is not to invent the perfect language but to recognise the imperfection of our current one and, accordingly, to choose your words carefully – not least when invited to speak on Question Time.
This article first appeared in 'The Difference Magazine'.
