Postmodernism and the Ethics of Theological Knowledge

Justin Thacker

• Publisher: Routledge
• Year: 2016
• Print ISBN: 9780754661856
• eBook ISBN: 9781317077251
• Topic: Théologie et religion
• Subtopic: Religion

This book establishes the necessary integration of theological knowledge with theological ethics. It does this as a response to the postmodern critique of Christianity, as exemplified in Rorty and Lyotard. They argue that any claim to know God is necessarily tyrannical. Contemporary responses to such postmodern thinking often fail to address adequately the ethical critique that is made. This book redresses that balance by suggesting that our knowedge of God and love of the Other are so intimately connected that we cannot have one without the other. In the absence of love, then, we simply do not know God. Justin Thacker proposes that an effective theological response to postmodernity must address both knowledge and ethics in an integrated fashion as presented in this book.

Chapter 1 Rorty, Lyotard and the Ethics of Postmodernism

DOI: 10.4324/9781315601694-3

Two Faces of Postmodernism

Not the least of the many paradoxes that plague discussion of the postmodern is that it is, perhaps by definition, indefinable. When one peruses the cultural forms that attach themselves to the label, then Tyron Inbody’s description of it – ‘Intellectual velcro dragged across culture’¹ – certainly appears apt. Indeed, it is perhaps inevitable, in a cultural phenomenon that is simultaneously anti-modernistic and hyper-modernistic, that there will at least be some tensions, if not outright contradictions, contained within. However, despite this, an indication of how one might gain a purchase on the bundle of concepts that goes under the name is provided by John Caputo. He writes, ‘“Postmodern” thinking, if it means anything at all, means a philosophy of “alterity”, a relentless attentiveness and sensitivity to the “other”.’² In addition to this, in a footnote to this remark, he also states, ‘Lyotard’s more familiar characterization of it as an “incredulity towards metanarratives” is also very useful’.³ We have, then, two descriptions of the postmodern: a philosophy of alterity; an incredulity towards metanarratives.

Of course, these two descriptions need not be seen as antitheses, and may in fact represent two aspects of the same single phenomenon. However, I have drawn attention to this polarity because of the way a number of authors have used a similar twofold conception to argue that philosophical postmodernism can be understood as lying along a spectrum with these two positions at either end. So, Edith Wyschogrod describes two distinct forms of postmodernism, the first of which she classifies as nihilistic, and the second as differential. The difference between these forms is found in the issue of faciality.⁴ The nihilistic postmodern sees in the face an icon that requires deconstruction. The differential postmodern understands the face as already deconstructed in expressing its vulnerability.⁵ Wyschogrod notes at least one factor that is important in leading to these opposing interpretations. The nihilistic postmodernism is characterised by a celebration of ecstatic unlimited desire, whereas differential postmodernism understands desire to be rightly limited by the Other. According to Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari, desire is a societal phenomenon controlled by those with power, as if it were a commodity to be traded. Given this circumstance, they contend, what is needed is a revolution that liberates the means of production of desire, thereby leading to a celebration of unlimited desire.⁶ The differential postmodern, in contrast, sees in this celebration of desire a will-to-power that tramples over the Other. This is true for the simple reason that ‘the Other can never coincide with the desire that intends him/her’. For the differential postmodern, the Other is presupposed.⁷

Caputo follows a similar fault line and classifies his two types of postmodernism as heteromorphism and heteronomism.⁸ The heteromorphic postmodern is characterised by a plenitude, an ‘overflow of an all too great fullness’.⁹ The heteros refers to a multiplicity of the person and the only law that governs them is an autonomy. This form of postmodernism is expressed as authentic life, will-to-power, self-fulfilment and self-aggrandisement. It is postmodern because it is expressing the self without limitation, without closure. The heteronomic postmodern is different. Here, the heteros refers to the Other as the source of one’s law. This is true not so much in the sense that the Other has power over the self, but rather that the Other can never be contained or circumscribed by the self. The other is always Other, and as such breaks in, disrupts and represents something radically different: alterity.

There exists an obvious parallel between Wyschogrod’s and Caputo’s descriptions, a parallel that Caputo is happy to acknowledge.¹⁰ On the one hand, then, we can recognise a philosophy of alterity that understands itself in terms of its inability to circumscribe the Other. Sensitivity to the Other is demonstrated by acknowledging the potentiality of the Other to deconstruct and critique the Self. On the other hand, we can also perceive a philosophical nihilism in which it is the Self that cannot be circumscribed. In this circumstance, resistance to closure is expressed by complete and uninhibited expression of the Self. The similarity between these positions is that both recognise the inability of the narrative to grasp the intended object. There is always, to use Derrida’s terminology, a différance, an endless deferral of meaning for the sign cannot capture the signified, or even bring it to complete presence. The distinction, however, is found in the way in which this phenomenon is afforded significance. For the nihilistic philosophers, the emphasis is located in the inadmissibility of any determinant narrative. They demonstrate such a severe scepticism and mistrust, or incredulity,¹¹ towards such narratives that all that remains is, to use Nietzsche’s phrase, the ‘will-to-power’. In contrast, for the philosophers of alterity, the locus of attention remains the Other, and the inability of my narrative to circumscribe them. Hence, for the former group it is the validity of our narratives that is important. For the latter, it is the status of the Other that matters.

Wyschogrod and Caputo then go on to locate the same philosophers in each category. Nietzsche, Deleuze and Guattari are placed on the nihilistic, heteromorphic side; Derrida, Lyotard and Levinas are placed on the Other differential/heteronomic side. Derrida, in particular, is an interesting case here. He is frequently criticised by his opponents as espousing an unreconstructed nihilism, yet he is often at pains to insist that this is not what he is doing.

Deconstruction is always deeply concerned with the ‘other’ of language. I never cease to be surprised by critics who see my work as a declaration that there is nothing beyond language, that we are imprisoned in language; it is, in fact, saying the exact opposite. Every week I receive critical commentaries and studies on deconstruction which operate on the assumption that what they call ‘post-structuralism’ amounts to saying that there is nothing beyond language, that we are submerged in words – and other stupidities of that sort. Certainly, deconstruction tries to show that the question of reference is much more complex and problematic than traditional theories supposed. It even asks whether our term ‘reference’ is entirely adequate for designating the ‘other.’ The other, which is beyond language and which summons language, is perhaps not a ‘referent’ in the normal sense which linguists have attached to this term. But to distance oneself from the habitual structure of reference, to challenge or complicate our common assumption about it, does not amount to saying that there is nothing beyond language.¹²

What this example illustrates, and what this discussion of postmodernism has been leading to, is that in reading postmodern philosophers one must always remain alert to this polarity between nihilistic incredulity and alterity. For it is frequently the case that the philosophy of alterity may not always be the most obvious feature of such writings, even when it is the underlying motive and purpose behind such philosophies. It may be the case that because a philosopher repeatedly affirms their denial of closure, that they may appear as essentially nihilistic.¹³ However, what is often motivating such affirmations is in fact a philosophy of alterity, for it is precisely by such denials that the Otherness of the Other is to be protected. The argument that I wish to pursue in this chapter is that this is precisely how we should understand the philosophies of Rorty and Lyotard. That is, their denial of universal or determinant narratives does not arise from some nihilistic scepticism, but is rather their means of fostering a philosophy of alterity.¹⁴ Indeed, the case I shall be making is that both authors self-consciously recognise a tension, if not contradiction, at the heart of their work, but this tension is permitted precisely because it contributes to the philosophy of alterity that they seek. Both Rorty and Lyotard recognise that to be absolutely consistent would lead to a form of Nietzschean nihilism that they despise, and that provides no basis for a philosophy of alterity. Hence, both authors modify their own programme such that a philosophy of alterity can be posited even in the face of what would otherwise be nihilistic. The significance of all this for theologians responding to Rorty and Lyotard is that our goal should not be to persuade them of the veracity of the Christian narrative,¹⁵ or that Christianity is not a metanarrative and therefore we can believe it.¹⁶ Rather, our primary goal should be to show that our narrative also posits a relentless sensitivity to the Other. Moreover, it does this not despite its nihilistic alter ego, but rather precisely by opposing such nihilism. We can, then, agree to some extent with the goal that Rorty and Lyotard seek though we have found a very different route to get there.

Rorty's Foundational Ethic

According to Charles Guignon and David Hiley, it is Rorty’s ‘moral and social commitments that have motivated his critique of epistemology-centred philosophy from the outset’.¹⁷ They do not, however, particularly defend or explore this assertion. The purpose of this section, then, is to demonstrate the validity of this suggestion and to show the extent to which Rorty’s ethics really are the motivating factor behind his espousal of pragmatism. Once I have done this, I will then draw out some of the implications of this for theologians wishing to respond to Rorty’s rejection of Christianity.

There are a series of inter-related points that I will make in the course of this argument. In the first place, I shall draw attention to a performative contradiction at the heart of Rorty’s thought that has been noted by many of Rorty’s critics. However, I shall then go on to propose that this contradiction is not accidental or overlooked by Rorty, but is rather the self-conscious price he pays in order to facilitate his more important aim of shoring up an ethic of social justice. The argument that I will make is this: Rorty’s overall goal is to find some way to defend a liberal ethic (which I shall define shortly). He was unable to find such a defence in realist construals of philosophy, so he turned to a philosophy of pragmatism in order to underpin this social hope. Pragmatism is capable of supporting such a liberal ethic in that it disallows the imposition of one’s views onto another, and it fosters the kind of sensitivity to the Other that Rorty seeks. Yet, at the same time, the danger Rorty perceives is that if such pragmatism is merely held pragmatically, then it can be ignored by those that do not find it socially or ethically useful. In order for Rorty’s ethical purpose to be fulfilled, Rorty cannot allow that to happen. So, his pragmatism must be held non-pragmatically. This is the performative contradiction that many of his critics have noted. However, my suggestion is that Rorty accepts this paradox precisely because his more important aim is to support the particular social ethic that he espouses. Therefore, a performative contradiction is the necessary, but accepted, cost of using a philosophy that will support his wider ethical purpose.

Rorty's Pragmatism

In the book that seminally states his position on these matters, Rorty begins by attacking the representational view of knowledge.¹⁸ He mounts two principal arguments to demonstrate the vacuity of the notion that knowledge is concerned with the mind mirroring reality. The first of these is his denial that any form of incorrigible knowledge exists.¹⁹ Rorty’s point is that for a ‘theory of knowledge’ to have meaningful content, then there must exist some benchmark of indubitable knowledge against which other knowledge claims may be assessed. According to Rorty, no such locus of privileged knowledge has been substantiated. The second point Rorty makes is that even if our knowledge consists in some ...

Table of contents

• Cover Page
• Half Title Page
• Series Page
• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Dedication
• Table of Contents
• Acknowledgements
• Foreword
• Introduction
• 1 Rorty, Lyotard and the Ethics of Postmodernism
• 2 Perichoretic Participation
• 3 Revelation and Faith
• 4 Theological Knowing
• 5 The Ethics of Theological Knowledge
• 6 Rorty and Lyotard Revisited
• Bibliography
• Index