Shifting the Overton Window: What will Judaism become?
Someone turned me on to a new journal – Secular Culture & Ideas – covering cultural (secular) Judaism. There’s an interview with science journalist Natalie Angier, an essay on secular thought in American politics, and several articles on Jewish feminism. Douglas Rushkoff’s essay on how secular voices can redefine Judaism is especially interesting in light of our previous discussions of the Overton Window. Rushkoff begins:
Can we talk? Why aren’t I surprised that none other than Joan Rivers is responsible for one of the most accurate condensations of the core values of a three thousand year old tradition. It was the Jews’ struggle for self-preservation, after all, as well as their deeply held humanist beliefs, that made them promoters of open discussion—so much that third century Romans purchased memberships in Jewish synagogues just so they could take part in intellectual conversations.
Sadly, for many Jews today, Judaism is a closed book. Jewish texts are not open for scrutiny; they are intentionally left closed. In many synagogues, community is either forgone or leveraged in the name of fundraising for a besieged Israel. …
The good news is that Judaism has faced such crises before and survived. In each instance, a small minority of the Jewish population adopted a radically recontextualized understanding of its fundamental tenets. And in each instance, only that small minority flourished, carrying into the next era what would from then on be called “Judaism.” Each successful shift involved experiencing, or reexperiencing, Judaism’s most essential insights of basic humanism and iconoclasm.
Those shifts are shifts of the Overton window. You stake out new ground, and attract support around the new position until you’ve shifted the terms of the debate. Then you do it again, progressively moving the debate until it’s reached the point you were seeking.
“New atheists” like Dawkins and Harris (presumably Hitchens, too) tend to argue that such rethinking cannot happen in religious settings. Rushkoff disagrees for clear historical reasons, and describes how that change could be put into practice:
The challenge to Jews, and to all thinking people, is to resist the temptation to fall into yet another polarized, nationalist, or God forbid, holy posture. Instead we must resolve ourselves to reaching back to Judaism’s core beliefs. The prophets stressed social ideals and compassion; the Jewish holidays are meant to instill a sense of compassion on behalf of Jews and strangers alike. … It is high time these core values were exhumed and revived.
Just as the definition of social justice had to evolve over time, so must the definition of what it means to be Jewish. Fortunately, Judaism is open to discussion. It can be questioned and reinterpreted; indeed, it is supposed to be reinterpreted, for the paramount Jewish tradition is to question and break with tradition itself.
This attitude might be attacked as “appeasement” by some, but I think it presents a much more accurate account of moderate faith than what, for instance, Sam Harris describes.
In The End of Faith, Sam Harris argues:
Imagine that we could revive a well-educated Christian of the fourteenth century. The man would be a total ignoramus except on matters of faith. His beliefs about geography, astronomy and medicine would embarrass even a child, but he would know more or less everything there is to know about God. … There are two explanations for this [if it were true ‑TfK]: either we perfected our religious understanding of the world a millennium ago– while our knowledge on all other fronts was hopelessly inchoate– or religion, being the mere maintenance of dogma, is one area of discourse that does not admit of progress.
I inserted “if it were true” above because Harris’s statement is historically illiterate, and similar sentiments in other books on the same theme only serve to undermine the authors’ claims to intellectual integrity. Martin Luther inspired the Protestant Reformation in the 16th century, and the Counter-Reformation followed within the Catholic Church. A 14th century Christian would not recognize Protestantism in any form, nor would he recognize modern Catholicism. Hasidism is an 18th century phenomenon, so even the most visibly observant strain of modern Judaism would be unfamiliar to a 14th century Jew, let alone a Christian of that era.
The Immaculate Conception (the idea that Mary was born without original sin) was first formalized in the 15th century, and wasn’t established as Catholic dogma until the 19th century. We can argue about the epistemology involved in a papal statement of dogma, but to the extent that such statements reflect an era’s knowledge of God, the 14th century Christian’s knowledge would unquestionably be different from a modern Christian’s (even if he belongs to a church which does not hold to the Immaculate Conception).
Modern process theology, a widely accepted view within academic theology, would be utterly unfamiliar to 14th century theologians or worshippers of any sort. Reform Judaism is a modern phenomenon, one which laid the groundwork for the shift that Rushkoff calls for within secular Judaism. I think there’s a lot of room for a “secular Christianity” modeled on the cultural form of Judaism that is most common in America. I think that would connect with a lot of people, and would shift the discussion about what religion means in a way that would be productive in a lot of ways.
10 COMMENTS
>odern process theology, a widely accepted view within academic theology
>would be utterly unfamiliar to 14th century theologians or worshippers of any sort
It would be utterly unfamiliar to 99% of religious people on the planet today either. So it hardly counts as a real example.
Several of your other points, however, are more appropriate to a valid discussion.
The problem is, however, that the Holy Books themselves do not change. However, it could be said that that is not totally true, either, since new translations are often made available. However, the differences between translations is generally negligable.
One other point is that Judaism hardly compares to Christianity and Islam because it is not based on belief, but rather on ritual and right-action. It is also inherited, and does not seek to convert outsiders. There are now and have been, at the very least throughout the 20th century, many atheist Jews. I don’t really think the same thing can be said for Christianity or Islam.
“There are now and have been, at the very least throughout the 20th century, many atheist Jews. I don’t really think the same thing can be said for Christianity or Islam.”
Atheists for Jesus?
“The problem is, however, that the Holy Books themselves do not change.”
Neither does gravity. Our knowledge of gravity does change, and so (one might argue) does our knowledge of the Holy Books.
I don’t claim that process theology is commonplace, merely that thinking (knowledge?) about God has indeed changed. String theory remains a poorly understood. It may increase in popularity or not, but it changes.
As for atheist Christians, I wonder sometimes. I think there are a lot of people who attend church for social/cultural reasons, and figure that if they attend church, they must believe in God. They may not have thought about it beyond that. I’m inclined to think that there are distinctions in what people believe about God that are not captured by public polling on the issue.
Our knowledge of the universe changes not only with more advanced thinking on our part, but also with the availability of new evidence.
Given that there are no new revelations, how do we know any difference in theological thinking is actually progress? It’s merely “different” to me. Your choice of string theory as an example is perfect. It’s not “poorly understood”. It’s merely “different” until it predicts something better than the older model does (nb: I am not an expert). Until it does, we don’t consider it progress, either.
If god had said something, wouldn’t you rather suppose that he meant it? Why would his message be subject to our progress in decyphering it, leaving billions of people of faith in the past with an incomplete and incorrect version, committing atrocities against one another?
Even we are more careful with our choice of words when instructing a child to do something, and we definitely don’t sit still if the kid misunderstands and burns himself.
“The prophets stressed social ideals and compassion”
Well some of them did occasionally, I guess, but there was also a lot of warning that God was starting to get a little ticked off with the choices his chosen people were taking, and that he just might be about to go an a genocidal killing spree. I tend to disagree with the idea that the Bible, or indeed any holy book, is in some way a timeless exemplary text, in which it is possible to reinterpret the contents so that they are always relevant. On the other hand I don’t see it as an intentionally evil thing either. I see it as an accumulated cultural encyclopedia of history and culture of that day — whenever it was, 4000 years ago or so. It was the science of the time before the scientific method showed us a better way. One could endlessly interpret virtually any book to get good and bad moral judgements that we can all understand and live by (for instance how about Lord of the Rings, or Harry Potter) but it doesn’t mean that because one can do so it somehow proves an underlying spiritual ‘truth’.
That was an interesting post. Religious identity is a complicated issue to discuss, but each person is forced to confront it at some point, if only in its absence.
As for atheist Christians, I wonder sometimes.
As an apostate from the Catholic Church, I can say there are at least ‘cultural Catholics’. Although the faith is gone, and the beliefs of the Church rejected intellectually, you cannot easily erase the way you were raised. Many of my values, personal and communal, and my thinking about certain issues has being affected by my upbringing to the point that I still have alot in common with a normal Catholic, unless we begin talking about God or the Church.
John, I was thinking of the phenomenon of “lapsed Catholics” when I wrote that, as well as “jack Mormons,” and the atheistic musings of a British Anglican bishop a while back. This might be an interesting thing for someone on that side of the issue to tackle (hint, hint). We all know that Church attendance peaks around Christmas and Easter, presumably because people are seeking the pageantry as well as a connection to their traditions. Catholicism, with its elaborate ritual and extensive traditions, probably attracts more of that than other churches.
Koray: I think the issue of evidence in theological debates is tricky. Does “it makes sense to me” count? Many Christian sects believe in personal revelation as an ongoing process. Quakers hold that the Holy Spirit resides in everyone and that their comments in meetings are expressions of that spirit. (The Society of Friends dates from after Sam Harris’s hypothetical 14th century Christian). Whether that counts as evidence or not is arguable, I suppose. I tend to think the standard applied ought to be close to what we apply to literary analysis. I don’t like Dickens because I find him wordy and stuffy. Other people (including my English teachers) like that, I guess. Am I wrong? Are they right? Or shall we simply say “de gustibus non est disputandum”?
I chose string theory as an analogy to process theology precisely because both are new ideas that are still being tested, as well as to respond to the criticism that process theology is unknown to most people. Process theology may escape beyond the academy and influence preachers and congregants, or it may fail to do so. How that happens will be interesting to study.
Josh: “It makes sense to me” doesn’t count, although I’d see that as a personal progress in understanding the same set of evidence.
Personal revelations on the other hand do count. As much as I am looking forward to my first encounter, I find them suspicious in general, though.
I mean, I was afraid of the dark as a child. I could very easily bring myself to perceive danger. Having read some popular psychology books, I understand that our brains are not so reliable. We manufacture memories and delude ourselves. Some of us sincerely claim to have been abducted by aliens, seen ghosts, etc.
Given that, I am extremely skeptical of anything that I would personally experience, especially considering the magnitude of a claim like having a heart to heart with a holy spirit.
Secondly, and more importantly, I know that it shouldn’t take much to get in somebody’s head. Given what I know about schizophrenics, mind altering drugs, the power of computers, etc. I guess that the technology required to manipulate somebody’s brain to make him see the president ride a pink elephant takes much less mojo than creating and starting life on this planet.
So even if the personal revelation is indeed not manufactured by the person himself, which is beyond the individual to ascertain at the very moment, there is a trust issue with such communications. We don’t have a way of knowing who really is talking to us.
I understand that many people claim that “it all makes sense to them.” Fine. But I’d expect them to be almost apologetic when saying that. They’re not.
But on what basis do we as observers separate “personal revelation” from “personal insight”? What is the standard of proof required of a philosophy, beyond that it “make sense”? What is the standard of proof in aesthetics? In literary criticism? The standard of proof in science is clearly different than the standard of proof in these other valid human endeavors. Is that automatically shameful?
They’re not valid human endeavors.
Disagree? Explain the standard by which you’re evaluating human endeavors.