A Facebook friend, Eric Van Evans, just wrote a critique of what he called "Exclusivism." He defined that position as "the belief that only one particular religion is true." (Often it is defined, instead, as "the belief that only followers of your faith will be saved.") In my doctoral dissertation, I also critique "Exclusivism" in the sense Van Evans criticizes, so I don't mind that definition or someone else taking a shot at it. The problem is that Van Evans seemed to assume that the only or best alternative to exclusivism was what is called "Pluralism," of the John Hick variety: that God is the sun and different religions the planets which take in rays from that sun in common. (Though Van Evans preferred the more seasonal metaphor of a garden with many flowers.)
It was a short piece, but a good starting point for thinking not only how Christians should view other traditions, but how the nature of reality itself, and the facts of human faiths, constrain our options, and why I think there is a better one than either Exclusivism or Pluralism.
"Religious exclusivism is the belief that only one particular religion is true. (a) The rest are seen as either dangerously confused or outright false.(b) This belief has always struck me as both philosophically untenable and spiritually impoverished. If God is love, as Christianity and other religions proclaim,(c) then that love must surpass doctrine. (d) So, I’ve always seen religion as a garden of many different flowers growing toward the same light. They may differ in color, appearance, or fragrance, but they share the same soil. (e) Here’s a brief sketch of why I’ve never been able to accept religious exclusivism." (f)
(a) Some exclusivists define their view, rather, as the belief that only their faith is salvific, leads us to God or to salvation. But like Eric, I also prefer to focus on truth, in part because it is easier to verify than the ultimate fate of all human souls.
(b) Some exclusivists, like the Catholic theologian Gavin D'Costa at Bristol University, whose work I critiqued in my dissertation and who participated in my viva voce, admit a great deal of truth in other religious traditions. They define their "exclusivism" more narrowly as meaning that their faith alone is ULTIMATELY true. I concede that I find such language confusing. Surely "exclusive" means one must exclude other faith traditions in a stronger sense than that.
(c) What does this mean, "Christianity and other religions" say that "God is love?" All other religions? A few other religions? This is certainly not universally believed. The closest parallel to Christianity here may be the ancient Chinese philosopher Mo Zi, who said that human beings should model themselves on the love of Heaven. But I have never heard that the Aztecs claimed that God or the gods were love. In fact, atheists are partly right: religion is often tribal, justifying one society to destroy other societies. One can, of course, cite Old Testament verses to justify this position, or to destroy it.
(e) What does it mean to say that "God's love must surpass dogma?" Isn't that itself a dogma?
(e) What does it mean to say that "God's love must surpass dogma?" Isn't that itself a dogma?
(f) Do all religions in fact "grow towards the same light?" And are there no weeds in this garden of religions? No snakes in the grass? Is human religious culture carefully tended flowers, or a wild jungle full of dangerous beasts?
One of the problems with Pluralism is that it tends to romanticize religion. After all, Charles Manson had a religion. Jim Jones was religious. Adolf Hitler can be seen as a highly successful religious entrepreneur.
In fact, I would argue that the garden or jungle of human religions is a highly diverse place. You have genuinely great thinkers, like Plato, Lao Zi, Isaiah, and Confucius. You have violent revolutionaries, like Mohammed and Marx. You have crackpots creating personality cults. You also find (or don't find) vague figures half lost in the mists of time, like the historical Buddha, about whom it is hard to make heads or tails.
And then you have Jesus of Nazareth, to whom, after a lifetime of study, I still find no strong parallels.
Van Evans then offers five observations or conclusions:
1. "Most people inherit their religion. Had I been born in Tehran, I would likely be a Muslim. In Kyoto, perhaps a Buddhist or Shinto. In a secular household, probably an atheist. Much of what we believe is shaped by the culture we find ourselves thrown into. But truth, of course, is not defined by geography."
This appears to be a generalized version of what John Loftus called "The Outsider Test for Faith," which I rebut in How Jesus Passes the Outsider Test. (And in our debate on Unbelievable.) Van Evans appears more careful about drawing conclusions from the "fact of religious diversity," as Loftus calls it. Good! For even given the fact that people in these various places do generally believe these things -- though people in Tehran seem to be divesting themselves of their Islamic beliefs right now, and Japanese are generally not all that "religious"-- no obvious conclusion follows.
People in different cultures also believed different things about the moon. Then astronauts in one culture went there, and gained a richer understanding of that body. If Jesus really is the Son of God, then he likewise offers greater knowledge of who God is, knowledge that in the course of events, like a great tree growing from a single seed (to use Jesus' own metaphor), will spread out from one spot.
One does not want to commit the genetic fallacy. That an idea originates in one place, makes it neither more nor less likely to be true, by and large. Something, after all, must be true, and awareness of that something is not likely to be evenly distributed. And belief in God is probably the most widespread metaphysical ultimate, so that belief is the least dependent on mere geography.
2. "Religions make different claims, but many point toward similar experiences such as awe, surrender, bliss, transformation, and mystical union. When a Muslim and a Christian speak about God’s love, they are often unpacking the same encounter with the divine, even if they interpret it through different lenses. Doctrinal differences may divide us, but our shared experience of God often unites us."
Perhaps the Aztec cannibal, when he eats the heart of a victim atop a pyramid in Mexico, experiences similar feelings of awe, surrender, and transcendence, as a Catholic when he eats the "body of Christ." After all, human beings have a limited patina of emotions. Does it follow that both are encountering "the divine," and even the same divine?
The claim that they are, or are not, are both doctrines. So even Van Evans admits, implicitly, that human feelings are not enough. There are also better and worse ways of understanding who God is, and what He wants us to do. That's doctrine. John Hick's Pluralism fails at this point, as D'Costa points out, and Hick admits that he has no basis to claim good is a better representation of "the Real" than evil. Which is another way of saying, in an effort to be fair to everyone, he winds up being unfair to what he knows in his heart to be true: that Good is good, and Evil is evil.
If Van Evans is arguing that recognition of the goodness of God should be a hint to ultimate truth, I agree, and that's one reason why I believe in Jesus. If he denies that, then it seems to me he's contradicting himself.
3. "Exclusivism assumes that one’s own religion has privileged access to ultimate truth. But epistemically speaking, that’s a problematic jump insofar as human knowledge is limited. In other words, we interpret the infinite through our finite senses. Even if one tradition seems truer than others, it’s implausible to claim that any one system exhausts the divine altogether. As the philosopher John Hick put it, different religions may be understood as culturally conditioned responses to the same transcendent reality. He often called this reality, “The Real.”
Lots of confusion here, so it's fitting that Van Evans brings in John Hick's name. (I hadn't noticed that he mentioned Hick when writing the above paragraphs.)
a. "Privileged access" is not the same thing as claiming "exhaustive knowledge" of truth. My analogy of the moon landing come to mind again. Neil Armstrong had privileged access to the moon, but not exhaustive knowledge of it. Just so, those who see me, said Christ, see the Father. That is not equally true of those who see Jim Jones, except in the sense that the Father of Lies is also a metaphorical "father." But Jesus did not say that his disciples had exhaustive knowledge of God. Those are two different claims.
b. Hick began by calling this reality "God," but then realized that excluded non-theistic traditions. In the books by him that I have read, he never seriously grappled with the problem I note above, that some religious founders are positively evil. He even seemed to include Maoism in his naive sketch of planets circling the sun, as I recall. In the end he essentially admitted that he couldn't privilege interpretations of "the Real" that privileged good over evil. But if one cannot judge between good and evil, why call what religions receive "light" rather than "darkness?"
c. All our knowledge is "culturally conditioned." It does not follow that some claims about reality can be verified, and others, falsified.
d. I don't like the word "assumes" here, either. Christians do not "assume" that Jesus is Lord. His life, teachings, miracles, death, and resurrection give us reason to call him Lord. Our faith is a conclusion, in other words, not an "assumption."
4. "A God who would punish a genuine seeker simply for being born into the “wrong” tradition would be infinitely cruel. That would make God more concerned with doctrinal precision than with the mind and heart postured toward the good. That sounds like a jealous tribal deity, not a God of absolute love and intellect. Does that sound like a God worthy of worship?"
That is, I concede, a potential problem with Exclusivism. I will let exclusivists answer it. I think the challenge is stronger or weaker, depending on what kind of exclusivist you ask. But notice that Van Evans has switched in his definitions from the question of truth, to the question of salvation.
5. "Every religion is a flawed, yet beautiful attempt to discover God. The mystics of every tradition got this right. Their approach was found in paradox, mystery, and silence. I trust them far more than the apologists who fervently try to convert others, claiming their religion is the only way. To believe one path is true does not mean all others are false. I remain drawn to the Christian story not because I believe it excludes other stories, but because within it, I’ve encountered meaningful transformation. But I’ve also encountered that same transformation in other traditions, too."
Despite Van Evan's distaste for doctrine, we're getting a lot of it here, without much discussion of the raw data of religions, which I make it my habit to study.
Despite Van Evan's distaste for doctrine, we're getting a lot of it here, without much discussion of the raw data of religions, which I make it my habit to study.
a. Many religions deny that their faith is "an attempt to discover God." Why impose that on them, then?
b. And what were Mohammed's true motives in launching jihad, pillaging enemy caravans, torturing and murdering those he attacked, and marrying dozens of women? To discover God? To gain loot? Or both at the same time?
Such questions must be answered, before drawing such conclusions.
c. As a Christian, I affirm that "Jesus is Lord." But that is not merely an a priori assumption to me. it is a conclusion that decades of studying non-Christian traditions has reinforced.
I deeply respect Confucius. I love the aphorisms and paradoxes of Lao Zi. To the extent I can figure out who Buddha really was, I think he may have been sincerely seeking for a solution to suffering in the world. I love Buddhist cuisine, and am amazed by the many beautiful temples I have visited in East Asia and North America.
And yes, I think Islam got some things right about God. He is the Creator. He is the Boss. I also think Marxism gets what power it has from truths it borrowed (albeit in a distorted form) from the Gospel.
But every religion is not "beautiful." Some are brutally ugly. If Van Evans has never witnessed this, he is lucky.
And yes, I think Islam got some things right about God. He is the Creator. He is the Boss. I also think Marxism gets what power it has from truths it borrowed (albeit in a distorted form) from the Gospel.
But every religion is not "beautiful." Some are brutally ugly. If Van Evans has never witnessed this, he is lucky.
d. There is, indeed, a time to be silent, and a time to confess ignorance. There is also a time to speak, and a time to declare what one thinks one knows. Van Evans chastises apologists, forgetting, it seems, that he is wearing the hat of an apologist even as he writes. I do, too, but I do not apologize for my apology.
Finally, Van Evans concludes:
"We have to be careful not to project our pathologies onto God. Religious exclusivism often does just that. It says, “I’m right. You’re wrong.(a) And if you don’t agree, you might go to hell forever.” There’s nothing noble or beautiful about that vision.(b) I don’t believe God is concerned with theological correctness. Instead, I believe God is deeply concerned with how we live: the love we give, the good we do, and the truth we seek. (c) So, I would encourage you to try to see religion as a garden full of flowers. They may look different, but at the end of the day, they emerge from the same ground and grow toward the same sun."
(a) John Hick and Eric Van Evans also say "I am right, you are wrong," one reason D'Costa describes the former as a de facto exclusivist. Logic forces us, in affirming A, to deny non-A. Pluralists can't get away from that, either. It is a little unfair of them to decry other exclusivists from talking precisely the same way they talk.
(b) No one said hell was beautiful. But while I am not an exclusivist, and while I prefer to talk about truth not salvation, there is something beautiful about love. And warning someone against the destruction of their soul, because you love them, can be beautiful. I know a cop who dragged a man out of a burning vehicle, who also talked about hell, also because he loved them. And he was a beautiful follower of Christ.
(c) Again, note the doctrine in service of anti-doctrine, here. But "faith vs. works" is a false dichotomy. Maybe God cares what we believe, in part because how we "love God," and if we love God, will determine how we love our neighbor, or if we love our neighbor. And maybe truth is precious for its own sake.
Van Evans then closes with three quotations, from the Quran, the Bhagavad Gita, and the Gospel of John, which resemble one another. I need not show that these three quotes are cherry-picked to prove his point, that all paths go up the same mountain. His quote from the Gita is probably closest to the actual message of the book, though that book was also a religious justification for waging war.
The logical problem here is even harder. What such cherry-picking shows is that D'Costa was right: "Pluralists" are really exclusivists, when it comes to truth. Because they exclude verses that don't support their point of view.
I am neither an exclusivist nor a pluralist. Over many years of studying Christian thought, in the Bible and among great thinkers like Augustine, Ricci, Chesterton, C S Lewis, and many others, I developed a model of religions I call "Fulfillment Theology." I believe that model is both biblical, and fair to the complex truth of world religions. One need not cherry-pick. Nor need one deny truth in non-Christian traditions: the Chinese traditions I have studied are rich in truth. But having seen what God has done through human traditions, I believe one can follow the star to the manger in Bethlehem, in worship and in wonder. Because I have found that the truths in other traditions ultimately point to Christ, often in the most amazing ways.
Or "blow out the candles, the sun has risen," as the great Chinese writer and philosopher Lin Yutang put it.
