By Randall Smith
Although I will be referring to a comment made by a political candidate, my point is religious, not political. That is why I delayed sending this article until after the elections.
Elect Senator James Talarico has made, in the name of his “Christianity,” numerous comments that would be offensive to orthodox Catholics and to many other Christians. But, to be fair, so do many other politicians. Twisting Christian teaching for one’s own political ends is almost as common as attack ads during a campaign.
And most of what candidate Talarico has said about his version of Christianity has been widely circulated and is, by now, well-trodden ground. Let me, then, draw attention to something he said that, at least at first glance, seems much less offensive. Yet, as we shall see, appearances can be deceiving. And the claim deserves comment because the sentiment it expresses is more common.
In an interview, Mr. Talarico mentioned that he thinks all religions form a circle around a central something. Each sees that something in its own way, but they are not always aware that they are all looking at the same thing. What Mr. Talarico and those who share his point of view do not seem to understand is how presumptuous and offensive this is to each of the devout believers in that circle: not only Christians, but also Jews, Muslims, Hindus, Jains, Buddhists, Confucians, and everyone else.
As always, G. K. Chesterton identified the problem. In Orthodoxy, he observes: “There is a phrase of facile liberality which is repeated over and over again in ethical societies and parliaments of religions: ‘the religions of the earth differ in rites and forms, but they are equal in what they teach.’ It is false; it is the opposite of the facts. The religions of the earth do not differ much in rites and forms; they differ greatly in what they teach.”
Almost all the great religions, Chesterton points out, operate with “priests, scriptures, altars, sworn brotherhoods… They agree in the mode of teaching; what distinguishes them is what is taught.” To update Chesterton’s example, to say that all religions teach the same thing would be like saying that Fox News and CNN have the same point of view because both have presenters behind a desk.
The claim that all religions are essentially the same ignores what each faith actually holds to be true about God, human nature, history, and salvation. In short, it is an opinion based on ignorance.
And yet, many people ignore the religious traditions they do not share. This, in itself, is not offensive. What is offensive is that someone who offers a “view from above” of all religions tells one that his religious tradition prevents him from seeing the full truth. Because only “from above” could someone presume to look down upon “the circle” in which all believers sit and, from that “superior perspective,” lecture them about the unity they fail to see.
That person is saying, in effect: “I see what all of you, down there in your individual religions, fail to see. You have a partial view; I have a view of the whole.” Since each religious tradition claims to have a comprehensive view, the pretension that there exists a higher, more inclusive perspective that relativizes every religion cannot but offend the devotees of all of them.
Those of us who have dedicated our lives to a religious tradition can look at one another and understand the devotion shown by other believers in a way that those who lack that kind of devotion will never truly understand or respect. As a Christian, I can respect Jews, Muslims, or Confucians for those aspects of their religious traditions that coincide with mine.
Similarly, a Jewish rabbi might look at me and say: “Well, at least he is devoted to the one God and to keeping the Ten Commandments.” I admire Confucians for the same reason I admire Stoics: because they commit themselves to living according to the cosmic order as best they understand it. Both also have an admirable devotion to cultivating the virtues. A devout Confucian might recognize those same things in me. We could meet to talk about those virtues, commiserating with one another over how far short we fall of our goal.
Neither of us could share any of that with someone who adopts the “view from above” and is devoted only to the things he chooses. Our devotion to a single religious tradition would probably seem “narrow” and unreasonable to him. His lack of devotion to any tradition that does not align with his own desires would probably seem to most believers to be unserious, if not essentially “irreligious.”
The religious person has a deeply rooted devotion to his religion. Each person in that circle of true believers has staked his life on the truth of his faith. Those who adopt the “view from above” presume that they can discard the truth claims of particular religions while appropriating whatever they find attractive in them.
At any moment, that person can say: “I no longer like the Confucian thing; I think I’ll do Buddhist things for a while, at least until I see how it goes for me.” The devout Confucian and the Buddhist would probably be offended that someone sees the essentials of their lives as something that can be put on and taken off like a coat, according to what suits their “identity.” Some religious traditions have room for faqirs; none has much tolerance for the charlatan.
The “view from above” of all religions is not a way of respecting them; it is a way of telling them all: “The things you believe to be so fundamental and important are really not. We, the adults, know better.”
About the author
Randall Smith holds the J. Michael Miller Chair in Theology at the University of St. Thomas in Houston. His most recent book, Mapping the Itinerarium: A Companion to Bonaventure’s Journey of the Mind into God, has just been published by Emmaus Press. His articles can be found here: Randall Smith’s Portfolio.