Our Faith in Letting
It All Hang Out
By STANLEY FISH,
Op-Ed Contributor NYTimes on the Web, February 12, 2006
Delray Beach, Fla. -- IF you
want to understand what is and isn't at stake in the Danish cartoon furor, just
listen to the man who started it all, Flemming Rose, the culture editor of the
newspaper Jyllands-Posten. Mr. Rose told Time magazine that he asked 40
Danish cartoonists to "depict Muhammad as they see him," after he noticed that
journalists, historians and even museum directors were wary of presenting the
Muslim religion in an unfavorable light, or in any light at all.
"To me," he said, this "spoke to the problem of self-censorship and freedom of
speech." The publication of the cartoons, he insisted, "was not directed
at Muslims" at all. Rather, the intention was "to put the issue of
self-censorship on the agenda and have a debate about it."
I believe him. And not only do I believe that he has nothing against
Muhammad or the doctrines of Islam, I believe that he has no interest (positive
or negative) in them at all, except as the possible occasions of controversy.
This is what it means today to put self-censorship "on the agenda": the
particular object of that censorship — be it opinions about a religion, a movie,
the furniture in a friend's house, your wife's new dress, whatever — is a matter
of indifference. What is important is not the content of what is expressed
but that it be expressed. What is important is that you let it all hang
out.
Mr. Rose may think of himself, as most journalists do, as being neutral with
respect to religion — he is not speaking as a Jew or a Christian or an atheist —
but in fact he is an adherent of the religion of letting it all hang out, the
religion we call liberalism.
The first tenet of the liberal religion is that everything (at least in the
realm of expression and ideas) is to be permitted, but nothing is to be taken
seriously. This is managed by the familiar distinction — implied in the
First Amendment's religion clause — between the public and private spheres.
It is in the private sphere — the personal spaces of the heart, the home and the
house of worship — that one's religious views are allowed full sway and dictate
behavior.
But in the public sphere, the argument goes, one's religious views must be put
forward with diffidence and circumspection. You can still have them and
express them — that's what separates us from theocracies and tyrannies — but
they should be worn lightly. Not only must there be no effort to make them
into the laws of the land, but they should not be urged on others in ways that
make them uncomfortable. What religious beliefs are owed — and this is a
word that appears again and again in the recent debate — is "respect"; nothing
less, nothing more.
The thing about respect is that it doesn't cost you anything; its generosity is
barely skin-deep and is in fact a form of condescension: I respect you;
now don't bother me. This was certainly the message conveyed by Rich Oppel,
editor of The Austin (Tex.) American-Statesman, who explained his decision to
reprint one of the cartoons thusly: "It is one thing to respect other
people's faith and religion, but it goes beyond where I would go to accept their
taboos."
Clearly, Mr. Oppel would think himself pressured to "accept" the taboos of the
Muslim religion were he asked to alter his behavior in any way, say by
refraining from publishing cartoons depicting the Prophet. Were he to do
that, he would be in danger of crossing the line between "respecting" a taboo
and taking it seriously, and he is not about to do that.
This is, increasingly, what happens to strongly held faiths in the liberal
state. Such beliefs are equally and indifferently authorized as ideas
people are perfectly free to believe, but they are equally and indifferently
disallowed as ideas that might serve as a basis for action or public policy.
Strongly held faiths are exhibits in liberalism's museum; we appreciate them,
and we congratulate ourselves for affording them a space, but should one of them
ask of us more than we are prepared to give — ask for deference rather than mere
respect — it will be met with the barrage of platitudinous arguments that for
the last week have filled the pages of every newspaper in the country.
One of those arguments goes this way: It is hypocritical for Muslims to
protest cartoons caricaturing Muhammad when cartoons vilifying the symbols of
Christianity and Judaism are found everywhere in the media of many Arab
countries. After all, what's the difference? The difference is that
those who draw and publish such cartoons in Arab countries believe in their
content; they believe that Jews and Christians follow false religions and are
proper objects of hatred and obloquy.
But I would bet that the editors who have run the cartoons do not believe that
Muslims are evil infidels who must either be converted or vanquished. They
do not publish the offending cartoons in an effort to further some religious or
political vision; they do it gratuitously, almost accidentally. Concerned
only to stand up for an abstract principle — free speech — they seize on
whatever content happens to come their way and use it as an example of what the
principle should be protecting. The fact that for others the content may
be life itself is beside their point.
This is itself a morality — the morality of a withdrawal from morality in any
strong, insistent form. It is certainly different from the morality of
those for whom the Danish cartoons are blasphemy and monstrously evil. And
the difference, I think, is to the credit of the Muslim protesters and to the
discredit of the liberal editors.
The argument from reciprocity — you do it to us, so how can you complain if we
do it to you? — will have force only if the moral equivalence of "us" and "you"
is presupposed. But the relativizing of ideologies and religions belongs
to the liberal theology, and would hardly be persuasive to a Muslim.
This is why calls for "dialogue," issued so frequently of late by the pundits
with an unbearable smugness — you can just see them thinking, "What's wrong with
these people?" — are unlikely to fall on receptive ears. The belief in the
therapeutic and redemptive force of dialogue depends on the assumption (central
to liberalism's theology) that, after all, no idea is worth fighting over to the
death and that we can always reach a position of accommodation if only we will
sit down and talk it out.
But a firm adherent of a comprehensive religion doesn't want dialogue about his
beliefs; he wants those beliefs to prevail. Dialogue is not a tenet in his
creed, and invoking it is unlikely to do anything but further persuade him that
you have missed the point — as, indeed, you are pledged to do, so long as
liberalism is the name of your faith.
Stanley Fish is a law professor at Florida International
University.
|
