[Roger Williams] developed his conception of “meer” civility—a minimal adherence to culturally contingent rules of respectful behavior compatible with, and occasionally expressive of, contempt for others and their beliefs—in the course of his evangelical interactions with the American Indians and his fellow Puritans in New England. In this context, the possibility of common ground between the parties seemed vanishingly slim. Nonetheless, Williams argued that a “bond of civility” might be forged that could unite even these most unpromising materials into the most tolerant society the world had ever seen.
This resolutely low-but-solid early modern virtue—a commitment to mutual contempt rather than mutual admiration—is at odds with the aspirational tenor of most contemporary political theory. Mere civility, if it is indeed a virtue, is one governing relations with ex-spouses and bad neighbors as well as members of the opposing party or sect. As such, it falls far short of the lofty and attractive ideals of sincere respect, recognition, and political friendship political theorists more often have in mind. And yet as Williams’s own example reveals, mere civility, like mere toleration, can actually accommodate more and deeper kinds of difference than the alternatives, while sustaining a commitment to fundamental disagreement despite its inherent disagreeableness.--Teresa Bejan Mere Civility: Disagreement and the Limits of Toleration, p. 14.
Last week I called attention to Bejan's learned, and wickedly funny book. My post dealt with Hobbes's analysis of microagression, but the main theme the book is an exploration of the views of Hobbes, Locke, and Roger Williams (1603-1683) on on toleration and civility. Strikingly, Roger Williams's "livelie experiment" (81), his "commitment to liberating men’s tongues in and about religion," (171) is held up not just as the ultimate source of America's “First Amendment Faith” (7; 22; 168), but also as the exemplar worth emulating. This is rooted in Williams's vision of a "tolerant society as a discordant whole held together by the ongoing, evangelical, often heated disagreements of its members." (73)
Williams's experiment contains three features stressed by Bejan: (i) disestablishment; (ii) a very broad understanding freedom of speech. In addition, these involve a species of (iii) restraint by the powerful not to use their power to suppress (see especially pp. 72-7).* This leads Bejan to conclude that, "the characteristic liberal institutional combination of disestablishment and individual freedoms of worship, expression, and association begins to look less and less secular and more and more like a form of established disestablishmentarian congregationalism." (172)
Before I get to my critical concern, I should note three important features of Bejan's argument. First, Bejan does not ignore the down-side of Williams's position -- a certain obtuseness about the risks and harms of hate-speech. Second, Bejan does not ignore the unsavory side of Williams's actions. By this I do not mean just his willingness to insult and show contempt for others (e.g. 65), but also his roles in the war against his former friends, the Narragansett, and slavery (162). Third, Bejan emphatically distinguishes her interpretation of Williams from the more Kantianizing and moralizing readings of Williams recently proposed by Martha Nussbaum. In particular, Bejan convincingly rejects the idea that Williams is motivated by respect of other cultures (64) and that his vision of toleration results from a (proto-Kantian) commitment to "mutual respect" (51).** By contrast, Bejan shows that Williams believes in the superiority of his "own civilization" (62) and that his toleration is motivated by his theological commitments (66ff). In particular, his commitment to conversion by way of conversation is at the core of his practice of toleration. One may say that toleration is the honey with which to entrap the would be converts.
To sum up, then, on (my interpretation of) Bejan's analysis of Williams, toleration as an institutionalized culture involves (i) disestablishment; (ii) a very broad understanding of freedom of speech; and (iii) restraint by the powerful not to use their power to suppress. In Williams (i--iii) rely psychologically on (iv) a desire to convert and (v) a belief in the superiority of one's Christian civilization. Interestingly and attractively enough, Williams is (vi) not (what I'll call) a sincerity-fundamentalist (80). Not all sincere speech needs to be tolerated (73-4). Some sincere speech really does destabilize the social order, although, in practice, Williams practices restraint and judgment (iii).
Now, the question is can toleration as an institutionalized culture, that is (i-iii), be maintained absent the theological commitments of Williams? After all, Williams underwent and put up with a lot of unpleasantness in order to convert souls. That is to say, the question is, can one keep conversation going with those one finds abhorrent absent theological commitments?
First, I address the question by looking at secular versions of (iv-v). It's pretty clear that one can maintain the superiority of one's civilization on somewhat secular grounds. I have secular-humanist friends who embrace, for example, such a view wholeheartedly óf "The West." (I leave aside here to what degree such versions of superiority often reveal an ongoing, latent commitment to what continental philosophers call onto-theology.) There are obvious down-side risks to flourishing beliefs in one's own superior civilization; it is grating to others -- and so generates, as Hobbes well recognized, risk of violence -- and those that believe in their superiority also have a tendency to use it as a justification for violence toward others. For every Williams there are hundreds of would be inquisitors and evangelists who prefer to legislate their views to others. Even so, it's clear that there are resources that can maintain (v), even as a species of civic religion, without theology.
It's less obvious what to make of a secular version of (iv).+ There are secular, even philosophical, preachers out there who preach the gospel of happiness, fitness, effective altruism, continuous growth, technological futurism, secular humanism, basic income, vegetarianism, or warn against ecological disaster, growing inequality, military-industrial establishment, etc. On the whole, such sectarian groups seek out the like-minded. I am sure all of us can offer shining examples of incredibly patient folk who sign up for such a movement, while being intimately familiar of the intolerance of any given echo chamber (never ours). But let's stipulate that the psychological desire to convert is present in secular circles, too. Does it offer us ground for optimism that it generates a sustained commitment to toleration? I am not optimistic on this score, because few of the groups I mention are intrinsically committed to open-ended conversation (as opposed to some normatively privileged action).
Second, so far I have treated some version of (iv-v), be it theological or secular, as psychologically (and socially) necessary conditions for toleration as an institutionalized culture (i-iii). But that need not be so so. One may, perhaps, treat the genetic and psychological origins of such a culture as dispensable. It is, for example, pretty clear that among American jurists, and those that broadly benefit of the status quo, “First Amendment Faith” is part of the civic religion of America without requiring commitment to any version of (iv-v), although it often tacitly relies on potentially incompatible versions of it. (Bejan is sensitive to the fact often ignored by my European friends, that no such “First Amendment Faith” exists in European jurisprudence.(p. 171)) This “First Amendment Faith” is fairly recent historically and one may wonder how robust it is once the Executive branch starts undermining and attacking it systematically. (The previous sentences are compatible with recognition that freedom of speech is de facto already very partially available to citizens.)
As an aside, Bejan notes but rejects a Whig "battle fatigue" explanation: on this view, early modern toleration was always only “a last resort for those who often still hated one another, but found it impossible to go on fighting," (p. 21 quoting Herbert Butterfield.) Let's stipulate, for the sake of argument, that Bejan is correct that the Whig explanation is false for early modern europe. One can imagine, however, it being psychologically accurate in other cases. Even so, the "battle fatigue" approach is fragile. Once historical memory of the battle (civil war, etc.) loses its hold over the living, the institution of toleration becomes fragile. Something similar can be said about approaches to internal toleration that rely on the existence of a common enemy (arguably this helps explain some of the flowering of “First Amendment Faith” during the Cold War after the excesses of the McCarthy era were stopped).++
Bottom line, by returning to Williams, Bejan has done more than merely shine an interesting light on many important ideas in the history of political thought. (And I have said nothing about her illuminating treatment of Locke and too little about her analysis of Hobbes.) She raises one of the most urgent questions of our times: absent Williams's theological commitments, can a political community expect to keep conversation going with each other now that modern forms of media exposure regularly how abhorrent we? I honestly don't know the answer and, in saying so, I reveal, alas, the fragility of my liberal faith.
+I ignore the very interesting question to what degree other theological commitments can also sustain toleration as an institutionalized culture, but recall my treatment of Ibn Rushd.
*It is worth asking to what degree Adam Smith was familiar with Williams's writings.
**I should note that in response to similar criticism in NYRB back in 2008, Nussbaum claimed that "Williams’s arguments do not rely on his odd religious views as premises, but, instead, on independent moral notions of impartiality and liberty."
++Bejan largely ignores the argument from epistemic humility (recall), although it is introduced by Hobbes (94).
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