Against Faith

I have some serious problems with the notion of faith as it has informed much of Christian thought, and in fact consider it to be one of the worst intellectual inheritances which we have. In short, faith is downright irrational and prevents people from acting along with reality.

Of course, many will disagree with me. They will provide all sorts of analogies for how religious faith fits in with how we live the rest of our lives and how it is a valid means of finding truth. Rather than simply say that I don't like faith, I figured that I would lay out in detail my arguments. So this post is going to be a bit long, yet still probably too condensed; I can go on about specific points as necessary in comments.

To begin with, though, what is faith? I take faith here to be (a) a belief, (b) beyond observed evidence to some extent, (c) involving commitment. There are other elements (especially involving a sense of trust and actual action based on held beliefs), but any version of faith which I am criticizing involves these three points at least.

• Analogy from Personal Trust: Religious faith is unlike faith in another person. When I trust another person, I already have two things at my disposal. First, I know that other person exists. Second, I usually already have evidence to support my trust. If I let someone drive my car, I have some reason to believe that they are decent drivers and will not abscond with my vehicle. I do not hand my car keys to strangers. To claim that religious faith (for example, that God exists and acts in a particular way, according to the dictates of some religious group) is like faith in a person fails the first criterion and is sketchy about the second - for every example of God's "goodness," there are people starving to death, tortured, and held under oppressive regimes which they will never escape. I would never let out my car to a person who crashes every tenth time they drive, let alone every other time! But at any rate, whatever one makes of the latter point, it makes absolutely no sense to have faith in a person when I don't already know that said person exists. (I also take it that believing "God exists" is different from believing "God as represented something like how this particular group says exists", at least for the purposes of this kind of faith.)
• Analogy from Marriage Commitment: Another analogy stems from marriage. The idea goes that committing oneself to a spouse is like committing to a religion. And if one holds that different religious paths are somewhat on par, this might be a valid analogy. In this case, I am merely a religious bachelor, and we have no disagreements over religious truth. However, many people from whom I hear this believe that there is one true religion. I do not have "one true spouse." I would choose to marry a person simply because things work with that person; there is no truth or falsehood behind the choice, merely various degrees of practicality. But in the case of religion, there are incompatible truth claims. I would be committing myself to a belief, holding it to be true come what may, and this is utterly unlike marriage. Whether or not a marriage works involves an act of my will. The truth of a religious belief is beyond my control, as I cannot will God into being or choose to consciously continue on after death.
• Analogy from Love and Evidence: Another example that people sometimes give for faith is also found in romantic relationships. One cannot prove that another person loves them; one must take it on faith. However, despite the lack of proof, there must be clear evidence. If I am dating so-and-so, I should be able to give concrete, unambiguous examples of why I think they love me rather quickly. If I struggle, then there is trouble in the relationship. If I must do what most religious people do and claim that "I know he/she loves me, though I don't understand why he/she does this or that seeming terrible thing," this is a sign that I need to bolt from the relationship ASAP. So religious faith is unlike faith in love because it (a) does not give clear, unambiguous evidence (again, a whole lot of bad stuff happens in the world, at least as much as good), and (b) involves one having to explain away some atrocious stuff, which makes religious believers akin to battered men and women. (I realize this is probably offensive, but how offensive is it to hold that a "loving" God sends creations, which could be reshaped and forgiven, to Hell? Or that said God commands genocide? And if you have to hold to some utterly poppycock notion of love to hold this, how am I wrong? Love doesn't have to be all touchy-feely, but it must be concerned with the actual good of the beloved in some fashion.)
• Faith in Tradition: Of course, one might refocus what the object of faith is. Perhaps it is faith in a line of transmission, with a tradition. But when we examine traditions across the world, we do not see them to be terribly accurate. Within a generation, stories can be added and revised. For one example, off the top of my head: Nelson Mandela in his autobiography talks about how his father stood up to the authorities and lost his chiefly status because of it. However, this event, which happened early in the life of a man still alive, has been shown to be inaccurate, according to court records. And if nothing else, there are competing traditions. Islam has had highly sophisticated ways of tracking traditions from Mohammad's life; why not take their transmission to be more accurate than, say, Christianity's? Or why not accept the traditions handed down by those hunting down the reincarnations of the Dalai Lama? One has faith in ones own tradition; why not in tradition in general then? If one holds to ones own tradition because of historical arguments, these arguments cannot themselves be believed and committed to via faith and require regular analysis and fact-checking, trying to disprove ones hypothesis at least as much as confirm it, at least assuming that one genuinely does care for truth.
• Faith as a Lens: Perhaps one could say along with Augustine, Pascal, C.S. Lewis, and others, that one believes in a religious faith not from evidence seen beforehand, but because such faith allows them to see the world more clearly. The problem here is that many different groups say the same thing. Zen Buddhists will make the same claim. Muslims will hold that their revelation makes the most sense of the world. Ritual magic users say that you have to believe in the rituals, and then you will see that all their beliefs about magic make sense. I personally think that my practical atheism makes much, much more sense of the world than Christianity ever did. So the fact that a given belief makes the most sense out of your own world does not in and of itself mean a whole lot. Study to show yourself approved, and make sure that study includes critical analysis of your own beliefs.
• Faith as Last Resort: This could be because we have to choose between atheism/nihilism/something else supposedly awful, on the one hand, or as a variant of Pascal's Wager: that if we have to choose between possible infinite happiness and possible infinite suffering, we choose the option that might possibly lead to happiness, whether or not it's probable. My issue with these sorts of approaches is that they cut down the possibilities on both sides of the equation. There is no particular reason to think that we must be left with some meaningless nihilism (or that nihilism is therefore such an awful fate); and I for one fail to see why atheism would be so terrible. Nor is there reason to suppose that there is only one option which could lead to happiness. What if we have to choose between two different faiths, each of which will throw us in hell for believing the other? What if we have to choose between our own potential infinite happiness, at the cost of sacrificing what good we could realistically do here in the world by facing up to its shortcomings? The notion of faith as a last resort hinges on there being two categories, one possibly very good and the other being very bad. But there are multiple categories, and the values of each aren't so clear.
• Faith as Psychological Necessity: Finally, maybe someone would hold that there is no rational reason to hold to religious faith, but it is necessary nonetheless. One reason might be that most people have no way of getting at truth through reason and study, and so faith gives them something to hold on to. But that doesn't make faith right or true. This is an argument for better education, not for widespread religion. If the beliefs exist merely as a necessity to appease the masses, why shouldn't we keep revising the widespread beliefs, to better match the present world? A similar reason, one which I hear a lot, is that we need to hold to things of faith in order to find this life worth living, especially when it is difficult, or in order to get out of philosophical skepticism. But again, that does not mean that there is any reason at all to believe that ones articles of faith are true, and I would rather hold courageously to the truth than sedate myself with a security-blanket falsehood. Also, many people get along just fine without believing in God or an afterlife, so there seems to be no reason to believe that faith is even psychologically necessary; one should not confuse their own insecurities with deep-seated needs of the human race. A third closely related reason for faith would be that we crave mystery, which the modern world strips away. Well, perhaps, but that doesn't mean that a set of mysterious beliefs and rituals has an ounce more reality than a good fantasy book, or that our desires tell us anything more than that we desire things.

Note that all of the above holds even if one says that there is some evidence for their beliefs, but we must still make a leap of faith. Any leap at all, any commitment to a belief in how the world exists without constant reference to said world, is problematic. It's this commitment that is the crux of the issue; we make judgments based on imperfect information all the time, but seldom do we commit our lives and souls to the results, and even less often to we claim that this is a beautiful thing rather than an awful, gut-wrenching choice to be avoided if possible. Claims that faith and reason are like two wings of a bird, or otherwise partners, fall into the same category: either that faith has a rational basis (and, as stated above, the fact that it helps you see the world better is insufficient in itself), in which case you are simply trusting reason, or said faith at times asks one to overstep reason, in which case all of my earlier points apply.

At this point, I'm undoubtedly going to get some people claiming that science, or atheism, or an evidence-based approach to life, is itself a "faith" and a "religion." This is utter BS. I think that evolution is correct based on evidence, evidence which continually comes in; the detractors don't have a clue what evolution really states; and I base some things in my life accordingly. If scientists start coming up with contrary evidence, or creationists ever start to understand the material they're working with and put forward cogent arguments, I'll revise my view and my life accordingly. I don't do this, say, in cosmology, where results change frequently. I don't have a commitment to the evidence such that I will hold to it come what may. I don't have some holy book or teachings that I stick to; every piece of information gets decided on its own merit (and when I inevitably fail at this, I consider that a shortcoming and appreciate it being pointed out to me). I don't romanticize my ignorance and make it into a virtue. How is any of this like a faith which valorizes going beyond the evidence, committing oneself to a view and choosing to see something as true independently of the world, and which centers on some received knowledge which often beggars reason without offering explanation?

Another response which I am likely to get is that faith isn't really doing anyone any harm, so why don't I leave it alone? As long as I have to deal with people shoving God down my throat, offering prayers and snide comments about my eventual salvation, it's at least a problem which *I* have to put up with. But more than that, how can we run a society well with an eye to human flourishing if we hold on to a view that refuses to keep asking: how can we do this better? How do things really work? How could things really work? To give an example: when I was in South Africa, I saw car accident rates 7-8 times higher than here in the US. But when someone got into an accident in my village, people did not take this to be a result of poor driving skills, poor roads, or blatant disregard of the rules of the road. They thought that the ancestors or God were displeased and must be appeased. By focusing on boogeymen, they avoid dealing with the real problems. And that makes everyone worse off; if one person decides to be a more careful driver, they cannot get far, because everyone else is still a maniac. Beliefs are social. If you cannot be bothered to look over your beliefs, then that doesn't mean that you get a pass. You influence society by being in it, sharing your thoughts, by your actions, by voting, by raising children under your beliefs. Faith is a social problem, not a private one to be overlooked out of some vague nostalgia or sense of "piety."

Against Optimism

Around Thanksgiving, I heard many people talking about how they were grateful to have a job, despite the fact that they would have to abandon family gatherings in order to work Black Friday. I found myself thinking that "gratitude" is a horribly misplaced emotion for such a situation.

Now, granted, it is better to have a source of income than not. But gratitude implies that one owes some sort of debt to another, and a company is owed no debt for exploiting workers. One can accept the fact that one must go in and earn some money, and that this is reality. But one should not approve of corporate bullies.

I hear from a lot of people that we should be grateful for what we have, because many people have it worse. And I am admittedly privileged beyond most. Life also sucks sometimes, and this is true completely independently of people are starving halfway across the world. (And to whom would I be grateful? If it is to a god, then this god is responsible for the miserable conditions the world over just as much for my good fortune. Gratitude is not appropriate in such a situation, but rather a trembling fear that I might someday be put on the cosmic asshole's shit list. A god that gets people into Wheaton but then starves entire nations is not worthy of worship, only terror.)

But at this point someone might say, "But it makes me feel better to have hope in something, so what is wrong with that?" Because an unfounded optimism, a fantastic belief that the world is good, is selfish. One has chosen to make placate oneself with an opiate creating false beliefs, which render one unable to respond accurately to real problems. How can one meet others in their need, when one chooses comfort over truth? How can one address problems when the problems are ultimately good?

And if individual optimism is reprehensible, what shall we say of communal optimism? Of views which justify faith, because it is the only way of finding meaning for human existence (ignoring for the moment the direct counter-examples of people who have no problem finding fulfillment in such an existence – such an appeal to faith is an acknowledgement of one's own lack of imagination and inflexibility, not of the human condition)? Of beliefs which encourage a leap beyond the evidence, which by its very nature also is a leap beyond critical examination and which places ones wish fulfillment outside the realms of analysis?

Now, one might think that I would advocate a pessimism, by contrast. But that would not follow. Pessimism is its own set of fantasies which obscure the world. However, pessimism might at least encourage one to go out and change the world when necessary, so I have less of a problem with it. An acceptance of the actualities of the world as it is makes the most sense. Whether one wants to keep the world in stasis or to start a revolution, one must start with where things are presently. If I work a job I hate, I should go in and do it as calmly as possible, then search for new jobs afterwards in like spirit. But let us drop any view that valorizes fantasies.

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(Of course, some of this is overblown. But no one responds to carefully drafted and qualified posts, so let's see what this can incite.)

Is Faith Oppressive?

I will get back to the last installment of my expert knowledge series soon, once I figure out what I'm actually going to write for it - I had planned what is there already, and I want to see where it all leads as much as anyone else (assuming that others are interested). But first, a brief tangent that I was thinking about: is faith in a given revelation oppressive?

Now, of course, such a question cannot be answered for all cases of faith, nor perhaps can a definitive answer be given in any case. I merely want to raise some issues. It seems to me that Christianity, Islam, and Hinduism (and I've seen similar Buddhist statements) make a virtue out of faith and a vice out of doubt. One should believe authority by default; the Bible says it, the church says it, the Qur'an, the Vedas, enlightened beings, etc., and so you ought to believe what you have been told. A skeptical, critical attitude has often been regarded as not simply a misfortune keeping one from the truth (perhaps you merely have a bad luck to not be able to rationally accept an important belief, even though you have virtuous mental habits), but something evil in itself: it is a vice, and it is blameworthy.

Two things have made me think about the oppressive character of this attitude. First, I went to a conference on a text by the medieval Jewish thinker Judah Ha-Levi. The text was about a king who was searching for the right way to lead his country, and who asked a philosopher, a Christian, and Muslim, and a Jew about what he should do. The text went beyond typical religious polemics and actually gave a thoughtful response and some interesting empirical investigations into what should mark a true religion. One can still quibble with the naive trust of scriptures given, but overall Ha-Levi gave a better response than I've seen from anyone else in the Middle Ages, and probably a better response than I've seen in most contemporary apologetics. Is part of this due to the fact that the Jews were marginalized, and had to actually work through their beliefs, while Christians and Muslims have been able to mandate belief from a position of power? How could any believer hold to the obviousness of her faith without at least a history of power backing it up? Even conservative members who feel themselves under attack from the surrounding culture can only feel under attack because they used to hold the more dominant view.

Second, my master's thesis was on concerns about certain interpretations of Zen Buddhism. Some of these concerns were about the social and ethical ramifications of Zen belief: one throws away rational critique (supposedly) and therefore loses the ability to analyze one's society. This lack of critique has led to Zen involvement in WWII, and sexual abuses by roshis in American Zen centers (to put it simply; of course, there are ways in which Zen can save itself, I think). But (to make a claim which I don't have space here to elaborate), it did not seem like the problematic Zen attitudes were any different from expressions of faith in, say, an Abrahamic tradition, in which one puts some authority beyond rational critique in order to have peace (whether internal or communal). But this has led to social problems whenever it has occurred: groups become marginalized and oppressed, because the the group members are considered malformed and cannot accept the revelation that all truly virtuous people accept.

The Jews should obviously accept the New Testament because they already have the prophecies concerning Christ; the Buddhists are obviously wrong because their practices don't have the sattvic characteristics of the Vedantins; the Qur'an is obviously the work of God and anyone who says otherwise is obscuring her original nature as a Muslim; polytheists are obviously wrong because, well, they're just plain stupid, because no one has ever sat down to think through the pagan worldview. And because of this obviousness, we are justified in putting the authority beyond criticism and expecting others to do the same. For anyone who says otherwise, that this is not how the virtue of faith has worked, point me to a single work of apologetics that does not grant a special status to a view which cannot rationally support itself and that deals honestly and faithfully with other positions. Heck, simply get me one that can take simply the general skeptic's position seriously.

Now, of course these aren't the only expressions of these traditions, and not everything is wrong with some sort of faith (although in my more cynical moments I do tend to think that all acts of religious faith whatsoever are problematic in this way). I mean, I do consider it worthwhile to dedicate my life to studying religious thought, after all! But there does seem to be some problem here, and I hear enough assertions by various believers to this effect (that they know best and everyone who disagrees simply doesn't see things appropriately) that something needs to be done. We live in an age of multiple, competing authorities. We can't just wish them away, and each one calls all of the others into question. We now have a better vantage point to see how oppressed groups have been treated in the past, and we have an ethical imperative to act conscientiously.

(To point out a couple of problems with the above broad sweeps, in interest of fairness: early Christianity does seem to have the emphasis on faith even without much power, and one can see a positive role for skepticism in C. S. Lewis' That Hideous Strength. And some Islamic views concerning our original nature as Muslims are content with any affirmation of the unity of the source of being. But I think that the problems I've raised are real enough, even if the narrative is incomplete.)

Expert Knowledge - Part 4 of 4

In the previous posts, I have argued that (1) knowledge is built on expert communities, (2) these communities legitimately structure knowledge claims in a hierarchy, and (3) they can by and large avoid issues of oppression insofar as they stick to their own internal goals without adding in extraneous concerns. Whether I have argued these well is a separate issue, and I am sure that they need (and probably have received elsewhere) much more fleshing out. But in any case, I want to see what happens with religious expert communities. I will first start with the relation of communities to each other, in a couple brief senses; it really is going to be two posts in one, but I want to finish this series and I've already labeled it as as 4 post series. I may (highly) edit this and add in some citations to risk sending to a conference at some point, so please, please, PLEASE leave a philosophical criticism or two on these entries to help improve the mess if you have the time. Or let me know if this has all been said before by some continental guy I haven't read (which would be any of them) and who has said it better.

Novices vs. Ousiders

There is a difference between two different sorts of non-knowers. The first group is that of the novices, who belong to a given expert community for the time being and so are responsible to that community. If one starts asking medical questions, one is beholden to the medical experts if one actually wants to understand medicine; if one does not, one is not really asking medical questions. On the other hand, there are outsiders. If someone does not want to learn about dead white men, then those communities who specialize in dead white male culture (should) have no control over them. So one can be in a community without being considered a knower. A problem here is that outsiders may have nowhere else to go, but that is another (albeit important and relevant) issue.

Essence vs. Existence

There is also a difference between knowing about a particular topic, and knowing how it fits with other topics. A physicist may know physics thoroughly, but this does not mean that her opinion concerning the relation of physics to other sciences (or worse, to politics or religion) has any weight, except insofar as it is knowledge of physics. Of course, this is already extremely problematic; even what "physics" is has been determined by different conversations between different and interrelated communities sharing many individuals. One cannot simply delineate "this" community from "that" community in reality. But for practical and general purposes, there seems to be some sort of knowledge in which the physicist participates, being trained and ratified by a given community within which she continues to dialogue, and I can't think of a better shorthand term for this sort of knowledge than "physics".

I will refer to this division as between the essence of a body of knowledge (what it is about) and its existence (that is obtains within the broader context). There can be a community of experts about (put your favorite pseudo-science here), and they can legitimately have some body of knowledge, but there are also the interrelations between this community and other communities to be considered. Every body of knowledge both is something, but also fits within the larger context of humanity in a certain way, and these are separate issues. "Existence" as I am using it here refers only to how a thing exists, since it must already exist in some way as a communal practice if any community discusses it, but it seems for the present to make a handy technical term so I will keep it unless someone objects. Someone can talk about a phoenix, and even state truths about it (a phoenix is a bird, for example), so it must exist in some way, or we would have nothing stable to talk about. We could (in theory) disagree over whether it exists in physical reality (whereupon I could reach out and touch it) or merely in the reality of social construction (or perhaps, a differently constructed social reality than the physical one and less likely to harm me via physical contact).

The essence of the topic is something understood truly only by the given community; math is understood by mathematicians and medicine by medical experts (although again, these are not necessarily clearly delimited and defined essences which can be neatly separated from each other). The existence of the topic, though, is even less clearly delimited. There are wider communities which can discuss such issues: how physics exists is discussed in the wider community of modern science, for example. But poets and philosophers and university boards all have some relation to the different ways in which the physics community interacts within the larger world, and ultimately, so does all of humanity (and beyond, if we were to encounter other beings capable of considering these issues). Essence then is largely decided within communities, while how the essence exists is decided within ever-increasing circumferences. To fully and completely understand how anything exists, we would need all of the approaches available to us.

Members of a community must, then, listen to those outside of the community in this respect in order to understand their own field better. The mathematician does not need to listen to everyone concerning what mathematical theorems are true, but she does need to listen to others in understanding what math is. The poet may be clueless when it comes to physics, but can both heighten our appreciation of the grandeur which physics shows us as well as call into question its unjustified dominance; for this reason, the physicist may need to listen to the poet to understand physics. In the end, knowledge and communities are both internally and externally constituted and any individual (whether a human being or a specific community) is also made up by the other communities.

Religious Expert Communities

So, where does this leave religious communities? First, different religious communities set their own rules on a lot of things according to their own internal life. Muslims get to exegete the Qur'an, not Christians or Hindus. Evangelicals, Catholics, and Eastern Orthodox each get their own communities of understanding their authoritative sources and of understanding. Different religious groups have their own specific experts, and in order to be considered a knower, one must be trained and accepted by these specific experts, as in any other field.

It is one thing to be the spokesperson for a given group; it is another to say that one's given belief really obtains, and this is why I wanted to refer to an essence/existence distinction (which probably makes more sense here with religions than it did with, say, physics). The Christian can argue that, within the Christian community, God's justice needs to have been satiated by Christ's atoning death. But this pulls in notions of justice which are shared by other communities; it is not Christian justice which demands God's act, but some feature of reality which should be accessible to people in general. (In general, any rational argument is such that it should connect together ideas appropriately; other communities may disagree with one's starting position, but if you have a good argument from your own premises, this should be widely recognized or else suspicious). When no one else gets the necessity of atonement, ostensibly argued from concerns beyond those of the Christian community, the Christian community needs to revise its claims. Otherwise, it is stretching beyond its community's own inner life and being either oppressive or foolish, dictating what, say, "justice" is to others without having formed the proper expertise. The Christian community, in this case, can (a) restrict their claims to some specifically Christian form of justice which of course no one else holds by definition (but then, what about original sin?); (b) reject the argument and work within the larger community to come to a better understanding of justice and how it fits with the Atonement (as many contemporary theologians are doing); or (c) revise their arguments so that they actually explain their arguments appropriately to others so that the others can see the internal logic of the Christian position (but then the Christians must also listen to other voices in response).

So the Christian community in this case is making claims beyond itself, as it seems to me that world-wide religions must all do to preserve their claims to heal the human spirit in general. While Christians are the finally arbiters on what Christians actually teach (and not, say, militant atheists or well-meaning religious pluralists), they are not the arbiters on what they say that falls within the scope of humanity at large or within other groups' expertises'. To say otherwise would be like allowing a peculiar sort of Christian math which can trump everyone else's math, perhaps because of some rounding found in the measurements of the bath in Soloman's temple. But this is ridiculous; the community which actually understands math through constant practice and training and in which one can be recognized for knowing math is the arbiter for interpreting Christian mathematical claims, not vice versa. But at the same time, when Christians are confronted by other communities, it is the Christian community which decides how to respond based on its own internal life. It may be oppressive (or foolish) to continue claiming knowledge outside of the community's marked expertise, but there is no single response to having a problem pointed out, as shown in the example above with justice. Religious communities must change based on their own internal principles, as mathematics did in the 18th and 19th centuries when it split into modern math and physics.

Religious Expertise and Laypeople

So this goes some way toward outlining how communities can relate to each other, though it is at best a beginning. But what about the novices in the community of faith? How do they relate to the experts of their faith? Are professors, pastors, and priests more members of a given faith than the common people? That depends on the faith and what it requires for practice; one can practice correctly without complete understanding. The experts in the community decide what is actually the knowledge-base of that community. But, since that community does not have any say outside of its own legitimate principles without becoming oppressive, novices in religious understanding may be the relevant experts in some areas upon which the religion touches. When the experts of the community say that the Bible denies evolution, the microbiologist within that particular church is dependent on those experts for their understanding of the Bible; evolution, however, is also discussed by the scientific and especially biological community, and so she is the expert there. One could also say that married people are better experts on family and procreation than celibate priests, no matter how well the latter have been trained in their own expertises.

So the common people of the religion do lack the sort of knowledge which the experts of their religion have. Further, insofar as religious dialogues are concerned with intersecting expertises, lay people uninvolved with these expertises will be left out. But some issues have broader human concern, and so while many people will have no legitimate opinion about the essence of any of these bodies of expert knowledge, they do have some say on how these bodies of knowledge exist. The working-class person's opinion of what is true in physics is irrelevant, but her opinion of how physics impacts her own life (perhaps in being replaced by a machine at work?) is part of the larger discussion. So too does the person sitting in the pews (or standing, or sitting on the floor, or kneeling in prayer) have some aspect in which her religion is affecting her, as will even the ardently non-religious.

Expert Knowledge - Part 3 of 4

In my last post, I argued that it does make sense to include certain people within the category of expert knowers and others outside as non-knowers. However, this raises the specter of unequitable power relations, with which I hope to deal in this post.

Someone may criticize this view as being elitist, and the concern seems to come up often enough that it should be dealt with. Is the attribution merely descriptive, or pejorative? If descriptive, then it probably fits; so what? If pejorative, then what exactly is wrong?

It is the denial of elitism that is problematic. On the one hand, it is harmful to deny one's own superiority in a given area if one clearly knows more. I rely on my doctor having more medical knowledge than myself; if she were to play humble and average Jane on me, claiming that she really doesn't know any more than I do, or any more than I could figure out on my own relatively efficiently, then she would have trouble curing me.

It also seems that a frank admission of elitism, that some people really do know more than others, that some people really are experts and this is something that it takes years of effort to achieve (and so is not open to the general public for scrutiny), is the ground on which we can even talk of oppression. If people are oppressed, they are actually oppressed. They are actually deprived of some good. To act as though we are all equal when we are not in actuality is to say that those deprived of an education have not actually missed out on anything; that is, they have not been oppressed, and we can all breathe more easily.

In addition, to deny elitism in this sense is to place either an undue burden on the individual, who must now shoulder all responsibility herself for everything she needs, or we must cheapen knowledge acquisition, as if understanding the world and the Other were a simple business. We live and learn communally, which entails our dependence on others who know better than us, even if dependence can be painful.

With that said, the problem with expert knowledge is deciding who the experts are. When we fill the concept of "rationality" and "expert" with content determined by the experience of white males, for example, then this perpetuates a cycle. Men do math, because men are good at math; they are the ones rational enough to do math. Which means that in the next generation, mostly men will be drawn to do math, which means that the stereotype sticks. Maybe a couple women are "unfeminine" enough to be mathematicians, but most women (and all the "real" women) stay out. And of course, examples could be adduced; it was the experience of privileged, rational, land-owning Whites who gave content to the Enlightenment notion of a person, for instance, such that it was a simply matter to consider black slaves as non-persons.

The problem here, it seems to me, is that we multiply the final causes (that is, the goals, that which unifies) of a discipline. We implicitly (since we dare not explicitly) hold both that medicine must work empirically, and that the doctors conform to our image of what a doctor should be. But what is it within each disciple that justifies it? We have our expert community pursuing a discipline; what justifies that community?

It seems important here that we can pick out some immanent criterion, something tangible and readily within experience. If we say that the certainty of math is what legitimates it, then the current experts are the ones who tell us what certainty is, and who can have it. This seems to me to be a way in which those experts in power continue their dominance against minority voices, perhaps illegitimately. But this problem is lessened if we look for a clear mark. What has distinguished the mathematical community of experts? Their unanimity. If a sizable body of people claiming to do math, and who have put in the requisite time for study, come to different conclusions, they could not simply be written off. This is because writing them off would both assume unanimity (which is why they must be wrong) and deny it (since not everyone has agreed). Therefore, this community must be admitted and their claims critically analyzed from within the community, perhaps leading to a redefinition of mathematics.

This can come about because communities are not static. Every expert community can have its common goals for the time being which unify that community. These may need to change; there is no reason to assume eternal essences to disciplines. After all, mathematics today is not the same discipline as of a couple centuries ago. Leibniz saw no need to have a mathematical basis for continuity, because everything in nature is continuous. Modern math doesn't care about the natural world, although it can be applied to it, and no principle can be left undefined. But the changes in math came about due to internal specifications of its goals, and internal processes changing those goals. When the goals split in different directions, we got two different bodies of experts: the mathematicians (favoring logical rigor) and the physicists (favoring description of the natural world). But both of these communities naturally grew out of earlier mathematics.

How does this relate to power relations? The goals of a community are what define the community; these in themselves do not seem to set up unjust power relations. If you don't want to empirically test medical techniques, you're simply not doing what the typical modern medical community is doing. Other aspects (to be covered below) may create injustice, but for the present we are simply defining the communities. Therefore, what creates the power imbalance is the community ignores its unifying principle, its form of life, for tangential concerns. If medicine is defined by being empirical, but we don't even bother to look at the empirical investigations of other sources of medicine or of medicine done by certain minority groups, then we have transgressed the inner life of the medical community itself. But racism within medicine is not to claim that medicine is set up such that minorities are bad doctors; it is to claim that the minorities would be good doctors but are prevented from being such by extrinsic concerns (if minorities would truly be bad doctors, they shouldn't be doctors, since they wouldn't be able to cure people well; I simply don't admit the starting hypothesis). Racism and sexism are problems precisely because they are at odds with the internal goals of the community.

So now the question might be: what keeps there from being a community which defines itself in terms of being white and male, and dedicated to preserved the white male culture? Nothing, really, and I'm not sure that there is anything intrinsically wrong with this. Kant and Plato said some good things, after all, and it would be a shame to lose them. But there should also be room for a community dedicated to preserving, say, black culture. There would be two reasons why our white male community could be problematic. First, it could dictate the concerns of other communities, preventing the black cultural community from existing, or at least flourishing. Second, and perhaps simply a variant of the first, such a community could create exocentric values; that is, values for those outside of itself (and poisoning individuals within, for that matter), which state that not only does the community have its own goals and processes and standards, but that these should be normative for others: people in general ought to study white male culture, since it is superior to other cultures.

Both of these points, though, seem to be illegitimate uses of expert knowledge. The specialist in white male philosophy is only an expert in that area, and so unless she is an expert in, say, black culture as well (and all expertise must be ratified by the community itself), she must defer to the experts in that field when making claims about it. Similarly, the mathematical community can say what it wants to about math, but mathematicians cannot in themselves set the value of math for everyone else (although they can extol the praises of why they themselves love math). There is a plurality of expertises, and experts in one field do not thereby have any claims in other fields until they have proven themselves again.

In summary, then, it would seem that a strategy for reducing unjust power relations in expert communities would be for such communities to a) pay attention to their own internal workings and to hold themselves to such internal standards, and b) respect other communities as being other with their own separate expertise.

Of course, this leaves other problematic issues. Do we say that Nazi Germany was free to abide by the inner life of its own community? It seems to me that political entities have their own problems, not least because the criterion of expertise is missing (there seems to be relatively little knowledge required for political behavior, other than how to gain power for oneself). At any rate, I do not claim to be solving all problems of injustice in this essay; I merely want to lay out some ways in which expert communities can keep their claims to expertise and their stratifications of knowledge-bearers, without thereby necessarily introducing concerns about race, gender, etc.

Now that I have something of a working theory, I would like to turn it to the problem of knowledge within religious communities as given through testimony.

De fide

I really need to be working through some theological issues on a more detailed level, so I will be posting here my intial thoughts in hopes that people can correct me where I'm wrong. My first post here is on faith, though it will deal significantly with the notion of works as well. Faith must be, to some extent, a cognitive phenomenon; after all, "we walk by faith and not by sight." But I think that making it predominantly cognitive (even if we're talking "heart-knowledge") is incompatible with Scripture and creates a host of problems in actually living it out. The latter has do with most of my earlier rants concerning the church, so I won't repeat it here unless someones wants a summarized, cleaned-up form.

Faith cannot be equated with our acts, but it stands in a tighter relation to them than simply a sufficient condition. Paul, in the final chapter in Galatians (of all books), says that the only thing that counts is faith expressing itself in love. The passage in James which talks about a person showing his faith by what he does is well-known. The faith of Abraham is his journeying, and the faith of the people coming to Jesus to be healed is their coming in the first place.

The point is that the model cannot be (a) have faith, (b) do good works. It can't be simply the works either, but the works are non-dual with the faith. They are the expression of that faith, without which there is no faith; not as in the contrapositive to "faith implies good works," but in the direct removal of faith. The works are the particulars in which faith is embodied, and in which faith exists, though it could also have existed in other works.

Lest this point seem to be simple hair-splitting, I'll jot down my thoughts on why the distinction is important. If faith is just the condition for works, then our response should be one of quietism. We should put aside our human efforts in order to let God work. If works are the direct expression of faith, then we must exert effort in trust that God will come alongside and work with us in the exertion. This leads to the (planned) next discussion, on usage of "human effort," "works," and "flesh."