Imagine for a second that you are somebody who believes in the existence of “something” beyond the physical cosmos. You are not sure how to talk about this “something” but you are confident enough that it is there. Would it be better for you to clarify what you mean by this “something,” or would it be better to leave your belief ambiguous? Could you accept the experiential, existential, and emotive source of this belief without paying attention to the drive for a reasonable explanation? Many people can live with mystery, paradox, and vagueness, but others, including myself, have an irresistible desire for clarity. So which do you prefer: vagueness or clarity?
Regarding religious belief, it seems that many people like to clarify their beliefs about God. This is why, throughout history, there have been calls from religious groups to clarify what they believe. Innumerable councils and synods have taken place for this very reason. Statements of faith, confessions, creeds, and systematic theologies are produced for this reason. Authority and orthodoxy are birthed for this reason. Just think of the titles of these works: The Clarity and Certainty of the Word of God (Huldrych Zwingli), The Clarity of God’s Existence: The Ethics of Belief After the Enlightenment (Owen Anderson), and For Faith and Clarity: Philosophical Contributions to Christian Theology (ed. James K. Beilby). But does clarifying your beliefs about God create more problems than answers? In many ways it does.
Firstly, there is the problem of simplification. When somebody clarifies their religious beliefs it often leads to overly simplistic statements. Saying, “I believe God is good,” while attempting to be a clarification, actually muddies up the waters. What do you mean by good? How can you apply a finite idea of good to a supposedly infinite being? I am not advocating the criminalization of religious expression, I am merely addressing the problem of simplification. It should also be noted that simplification is not always a bad thing, but it can often be used to stifle freethinking and courageous investigation. In my mind, there are far too many theological quips and Hallmark quotes that originate in a desire for clarity.
Secondly, there is the problem of settling. Say I have now clarified my belief in the “something” by stating that this something is a personal agent. I have decided this, and I have settled on it. I no longer need to go any further because I have the content of my belief brought to light and wrapped in a neat bow. What then becomes of further investigation and possible reformulation? How often do people settle too quickly and consider their beliefs an “open and shut case?” To me, quickly cementing my conclusions and considering them “eternally settled” is giving up on the joyous and frightening adventure of belief-formation. We have to remember that not everything etched in stone is praiseworthy, and that fallibilism regarding religious beliefs is a virtue, not a vice.
Thirdly, there is the problem of evil. If one is going to clarify their religious beliefs they also have to clarify how those beliefs handle the issue of evil. As my beginning quote from A.N. Whitehead declared, “All simplifications of religious dogma are shipwrecked upon the problem of evil.” Although I consider religious dogma to already be a simplification, I nonetheless can divine Whitehead’s meaning. If we do not have a certain nuance, subtlety, and sophistication, our religious dogmas leave us “shipwrecked upon the problem of evil.” For Whitehead, the notion of an omnipotent and omnibenevolent deity is an oversimplification and cannot escape the problem of evil. I happen to agree with him on this point. The worry that I have is that while many are happy to express their idea of God, and act as if they are being clear, they simultaneously avoid being clear about the problem of evil and suffering. If we are going to be clear, let’s be clear about all of it.
There have been many responses to the type of theology that insists upon clarification. Apophatic theology, for instance, considers positive statements about God to be unsuitable for such a transcendent and “Other” kind of deity. In this scenario, God is the dues absconditus, the “hidden” God who cannot, like the eternal Dao, be named. This makes for highly vague metaphors about God being “empty” and like a surd. If taken to its logical conclusion, the via negativa would leave one saying absolutely nothing about God. Even chanting “Om” is saying too much. There have also been many “continental philosophers of religion” who are fine with vagueness about God. Jean-Luc Marion, John D. Caputo, and Richard Kearney are good examples of this. They consider the analytic “problem solving” manner unfit for theological discourse. Vagueness about God is just as virtuous, if not more, than clarity.
An interesting mix between vagueness and clarity can be found in process theology. For process theology God can be described in clear metaphysical language, but can also be talked about with vague terminology. This is why there is plenty of common ground between process theology and eastern traditions like Buddhism and Hinduism. The emphasis on interconnectedness, relationality, personal experience, and non-coercive power makes process theology much more fluid and malleable when in discussion with eastern traditions. As Robert C. Mesle says, “Couldn’t we be enriched by learning from the Buddha about the proper place of theology in human life?” Yet, the interesting point here is that process theology often strives for clarity with its metaphysical language and usage of terms like “occasion,” “actual,” “entity,” and “energy-events.” The intriguing fact is that although process theology often utilizes precise language, it also avoids dogmatism, fundamentalism, and rigid certitude. For Whitehead, metaphysical clarity does not entail religious dogmatism.
With these different approaches to theology in mind, it becomes more and more important to find the most beneficial way to do theological discourse and bring about engagement with religious and social pluralism. Can theologians be clear without being overly simplistic, settling on beliefs as “eternal truths,” and avoiding the problem of evil? Are there more merits in theological vagueness and obscurity than in clarity? I cannot provide easy answers to these questions, but I can point out what I consider to be a beneficial trajectory. I am of the opinion that both clarity and vagueness have their respective failures; clarity can lead one to oversimplification, settlement, and avoidance of any idea that suggests the limitations of reason, while vagueness can be a cloak for ignorance and confusion.
Both have their merits as well: clarity helps to facilitate understanding and get to the bottom of what somebody “means” when they say such and such, while vagueness reminds us of the limits of language and reason and the need to think of the world in more existentially robust terms. The goal, I think, is to find a practical balance between these two modes of expression. John Dewey said it best, “Faith in the power of intelligence to imagine a future which is the projection of the desirable in the present, and to invent the instrumentalities of its realization, is our salvation.”