The Principle of 'Charity'

I have often wondered how I would 'defend' myself (if such a defence were to be called for) if I were to be asked why, considering the fact that I am not a practising believer of any specific religious tradition, I spend so much (though not all!) of my time reading about the nature of religious belief/s and practice/s. Surely, it might be argued, one should actually live what one studies : if one studies mathematics or physics, for example, one should 'see' mathematics and physics not just inside a textbook but also in the extra-textual world. The point applies even more to religions : religions are not entities that can be detached from specific world-views and then examined under microscopes. To truly understand the nature of religion, it could be claimed with a lot of plausibility, one must live as religious people themselves do.

Consequently, by claiming to be a student of theology while not being 'religious' (in some immediately definable sense), have I not misunderstood the 'whole point'? To a significant extent, yes; perhaps, that is to say, I have become a mere 'textbook student' of religion. The reason, however, why I nevertheless study about religions is because I practise, in the academic world and outside it as well (assuming, for the moment, that this is a distinct boundary), a principle which could be called the Principle of Charity.

By this I mean that when one is presented with a view, or a set of interconnected ideas, the first question that should be asked is not : 'How do I know that this is true?' but : 'How do I know that this is false?' Let me explain this by giving an example of one specific view in all its 'bluntness' :

There exists a divine power, referred to by the Arabic word 'Allah', and this Personal power has a definite plan for humanity. This plan, eternally existent with Allah, was revealed to a Prophet called Muhammad, and it was then inscribed by him onto a text called the Qu'ran.

Express it in that 'raw' manner within the 'academy', and be prepared to face downright ridicule. 'But of course, how do you know that this claim is true?', would often be the first question. That in itself is nothing problematic; what is worrisome is that very often that is also the only question that people are willing to ask. Instead, if one were to ask : 'But of course, how do I know that this claim is false?', one immediately begins to realise what a huge burden of home-work one will have to bear in order to answer that question. In other words, when presented with any view, no matter how ridiculous/childish/stupid/absurd it may seem to us, this Principle says that we must be charitable enough to take upon ourselves the 'burden of proof', instead of smugly replying : 'Ah, well, the burden rests upon you!'. All of this is in analogy with the Christian notion of Caritas : Caritas enables us to overcome our self-obsessions and love our neighbour; similarly, the ('intellectual') Principle of Charity urges us to look outwards and try to know/understand what our neighbour is trying to claim.

That is, to continue with the above example, we must ask ourselves questions of the following nature. How do I know that a supra-spatiotemporal being cannot, in principle, exist? That such a being cannot have Personal relations with humanity, and purposes for the latter? And that this Personal being cannot reveal the divine will through a human intermediary?

By putting these questions in this manner I do not intend to imply, of course, that these views are transparently 'true'; if that were to be the case, I would probably be writing this as a Muslim, and I am not. I simply wish to suggest in this context that one should exercise, in such matters, the Principle of Charity and reply : 'Let us accept that these views are true, and try to see where they are 'coming from'.' Incidentally, it so happens that even within 'science' we usually operate with this Principle most of the time. Usually what distinguishes a 'scientific' theory from a 'non-scientific' one is not that the former can be verified but that it can be falsified; that is, most 'scientific' theories come with a set of conditions under which they would be falsified.

By using the notion of 'charity' in this manner I do not mean to suggest that it is an 'optional extra' for academic life; rather, it is one of its most defining features. That is, only to the extent that we are charitable enough to the other, and are willing to try to 'see' the world through the other's perspectives, shall we ever know what the other is actually claiming (or trying to claim). For example, the above Muslim views may not be a correct 'representation of reality', but only to the extent that we are charitable enough to enter into that world, alien to us, shall we even know what these views really are about. That might very well be the case, it might be replied, but how 'charitable' should we be then? Shall we exercise this Principle when talking to someone who says that she believes in the existence of unicorns, alchemists, witches and the like? To this one could reply that human charity, alas, is not as infinite as the divine, and our reserves of charity will run out 'at some point'. Much depends on where exactly that point lies : for some it would be unicorns, for some the existence of this world, for some the universal applicability of the 'laws of nature', for some the futility of existence, and for some the benevolence of Allah.

Am I then saying, to put it bluntly, that 'charity' is more important than 'truth'? That it is more important to be charitable to the Muslim, the Marxist, the atheist, the feminist, the Buddhist, and so on, than to find out whether or not his/her truth-claims are valid? To put the matter in these terms would, however, be a mistake. 'Charity' towards others is not a form of condescension, as if in being charitable one knows that the other is mistaken but nevertheless 'empathises' with him/her. (The latter is actually the condescension that goes by the name of 'tolerance' in some academic circles. People in such circles often claim, for example, to 'tolerate' Islam but without having read a single page of Islamic (religious/social/political) thought.) When these two notions of 'truth' and 'charity' are carefully examined one shall see that they are inextricably intertwined. It is impossible to be charitable to a view without, at the same time, raising the question of its truth-value, and on the other hand, only when we know that a certain view is true shall we really become charitable towards it. So, for example, the more we begin to 'see' the world through Marxist perspectives, the more we begin to ask how truthful these perspectives actually are; on the other hand, the more we begin to believe in the truth-claims of Marxism, the more we become charitable to Marxist interpretations of socio-economic existence.

'Charity' and 'truth', then, are the twin pillars on which the 'academic' enterprise is based; take away either one and the edifice starts tottering. Take away charity, and academic reports begin to read like dry compilations of statistical figures suitable, perhaps, for a government office but not for those who might wish to understand the 'other in its otherness'; and take away truth, these reports are nothing better than fanciful hallucinations useful, perhaps, for occasional diversions but ultimately damaging to the health of those who believe that it is the duty of the academy to 'describe things as they really are' (notwithstanding the pitfalls associated with the attempts to fulfil this duty).

It could be one of the duties of the academy therefore to create an atmosphere of 'truth and reconciliation' first within its boundaries, and then to foster such an atmosphere outside its domains. To hope for reconciliation without raising the difficult question of truth-claims is to hope too little, for nothing but an extremely fragile peace will come out of the wilful neglect of such claims. To give a specific Indian example, to distort the history of its mediaeval centuries and deny that (some) Hindus were persecuted by the Muslims in those times might be a fine pragmatic move for the sake of 'public peace', but it remains to be seen how stable this peace really is. On the other hand, it is only through such a painstaking process of soul-searching for the truth that we may hope, if hope at all, for some kind of reconciliation to be attained. This is a process that cannot be imposed from high above through political/legal measures, but must be one that every individual has to go through. To carry on with the above example, it would mean that a Hindu asks herself whether or not she can live next-door to a Muslim who might be descended (in some way) from her mediaeval Muslim forefathers. This suggestion would, to say the least, horrify politicians because of the anarchic potentialities associated with people digging up their past, but it just might be the case that it is only when people know what the truth is that they become empowered to forgive. So for example, once one raises the historical 'truth' of who persecuted whom in the past, one will also have to raise a subsequent question : does the truth that the grandparents of X persecuted our own in the past give us the moral right to persecute X now? That is a 'hard question' that everyone must ask for him/herself, and perhaps through asking questions of a similar nature we may look forward to a genuine reconciliation.