The following passages were extracted from Matthew C. Bagger's paper, "The Ethics of Belief: Descartes and the Augustinian Tradition" from the Journal of Religion. Worth Reading.
I
The phrase "the ethics of belief" is perhaps best known from the passage in "The Will to Believe" where William James discusses W. K. Clifford's essay of that title.' In a characteristically cosmopolitan yet trenchant phrase, James slightingly describes Clifford as "that delicious enfant terrible." James then reproduces a lengthy quotation (with editorial insertions) from "The Ethics of Belief." Here is a portion of the passage James excerpts: "If [a] belief has been accepted on insufficient evidence [even though the belief be true, as Clifford on the same page explains] the pleasure is a stolen one....It is sinful because it is stolen in defiance of our duty to mankind. That duty is to guard ourselves from such beliefs as from a pestilence which may shortly master our own body and then spread to the rest of the town....It is wrong always, everywhere, and for every one, to believe anything upon insufficient evidence." Clifford, of course, has religious belief in mind in this extraordinary (and, I might add, quintessentially Victorian) passage. Contemporary philosophers of religion generally refer to this idea - that we have a duty to believe (or, alternatively, that we are virtuous when we believe) only on sufficient evidence as "evidentialism." They correctly see John Locke as the first major figure to apply evidentialist canons specifically to religious belief, but Locke, of course, inherits the general evidentialist stance (as with so much else) from Rene Descartes.
Descartes considers free will the "supreme" human perfection and traces cognitive error to the misuse of free will. Making judgments for Descartes is a type of behavior wherein we must properly employ our free will. We are responsible and at fault for cognitive error. The criterion of truth for Descartes is clarity and distinctness of intellectual vision. We must exercise our free will to refrain from making a judgment when this criterion is not satisfied. Descartes explains: "If...I simply refrain from making a judgment in cases where I do not perceive the truth with sufficient clarity and distinctness, then it is clear that I am behaving correctly and avoiding error. But if in such cases I either affirm or deny, then I am not using my free will correctly. If I go for the alternative which is false, then obviously I shall be in error; if I take the other side, then it is by pure chance that I arrive at the truth, and I shall still be at fault." Even if one believes the truth, one is nevertheless blameworthy because one believes on insufficient evidence. Although Descartes's notion of evidence differs markedly from Clifford's, we nonetheless see here a similar articulation of what Clifford would later label "the ethics of belief."
Following Alvin Plantinga, many contemporary philosophers of religion try to link evidentialism historically and conceptually to a type of epistemology they call classical foundationalism - a type of epistemology shared by the empiricist Locke and the rationalist Descartes. Classical foundationalism has been almost universally abandoned, and these contemporary philosophers argue that this fact requires that we reject evidentialist constraints on religious belief as well. Religious belief need not rationally require sufficient evidence in its support. In fact, they shift the burden of proof from the theist to the nontheist. Plantinga claims, furthermore, that what is rational to believe without evidence varies and that the "Christian community is responsible to its set of examples [of rational belief not based on evidence], not to [Bertrand Russell and Madelyn Murray O'Hair's]" Despite Plantinga's claim, the application of evidentialism to religious belief is neither essentially a historical product of classical foundationalism nor is it conceptually dependent on classical foundationalism. Rather, the epistemic values central to modern life place the bur- den of proof on certain kinds of religious belief. Regardless of the origins of evidentialism, however, and leaving the burden of proof to one side, a careful consideration of a richer or more complete conception of the ethics of belief - a conception, moreover, that is congenial to the religious believer – leads to the conclusion that evidence is central to an evaluation of religious belief.
The Augustinian tradition of mystical theology pays special attention to the complexities involved in evaluating religious believings. Teresa of Avila and John of the Cross, as prime exemplars, offer a wealth of insight into the assessment of belief. In comparison with the paramount importance that the Carmelites place on self-knowledge, the examination of conscience, and the discernment of spirits, the usual philosophical discus- sion of the ethics of belief seems impoverished. In order to highlight the contrast, I intend to detail how the epistemologies of both Descartes and the Carmelites resemble Augustine's and how they evince some similar concerns. The contrast between the two conceptions of the ethics of belief should appear stark against this shared background...
III
...Descartes and the Carmelites share several Augustinian themes. They both insist on the primacy of self-knowledge and believe we have an obligation to meditate in order to know ourselves and God. They all adopt Augustine's account of the three levels of vision in De Genesiad litteramlibri duodecim virtually verbatim and consider intellectual vision the light of God shining within the soul. Self-knowledge is, for them, inextricably linked to knowledge of God because we know God through God's light shining within us. Descartes and the Carmelites also share very similar worries about a supernatural agent deceiving us about what we find psychologically compelling. Against this shared background, one divergence between Descartes and the mystics stands in bold relief. The mystics follow Augustine in emphasizing types of self-knowledge about which Descartes evinces little if any concern. These types of self-knowledge point to the broader conception of the ethics of belief I have mentioned.
Although she never explicitly makes the distinction, Teresa advocates two related but distinguishable forms of self-knowledge to be gained through meditation. One type of self-knowledge consists in an understanding of the nature of the soul, its faculties, and its capacities. This form of self-knowledge is crucial for self-management. To effectively conform one's soul to God, one must have a working knowledge of the human soul and of God's relation to the soul. Teresa explains that a confessor is helpful in this regard because an experienced confessor should have this knowledge. Teresa here echoes themes central to works like De Trinitate,where Augustine seeks knowledge of the human soul and its faculties and capacities in order to understand how the faculties of the soul are created in God's image.
The second type of self-knowledge advocated by Teresa is equally Augustinian. She promotes meditation because the soul gains knowledge about itself as an individual soul before God. The knowledge the soul gains in meditating on itself and its relation to God is personal self-knowledge. The soul learns how wicked and weak it is compared to God. God is the standard of perfection and truth against which the individual soul learns its true measure. Because God is truth, meditating on God dispels the illusions and vanities that the self erects to shield itself from a true estimation of itself. The self-knowledge the soul gains here is a degree of self-transparency and an accurate assessment of its virtues and its love of God. The contrast with God inevitably promotes the virtue of humility. The meditation is a moral exercise and is morally ennobling. The self, however, can be very tricky and can deceive itself to protect itself from this humbling self-knowledge. It can misrepresent or intentionally fail to acknowledge its actions, emotions, and motives. Teresa explains that an experienced confessor is crucial in this regard to provide third- person evaluations of the soul's honesty in meditation. She argues, in fact, that virtues like humility are peculiar in that if one truly has them, one cannot esteem oneself highly enough to believe so. One needs a confessor because only the third-person perspective is reliable with regard to the virtues.
This second view of self-knowledge is represented in Augustine's Confessions. Augustine there describes God as the teacher "who sheds his light into my heart and scatters the shadows within it." True self-knowledge for Augustine is possible only through a knowledge of God. He writes, "So I will confess what I know of myself, and I will also confess what I do not know of myself; because what I know of myself I know by means of your light shining upon me, and what I do not know remains unknown to me until my darkness be made as noonday in your countenance." For Augustine, it is our relation to God that shines light and truth into our souls, which, when left to themselves, have virtually limitless capacities for self-deception. Augustine addresses God, "You took me from behind my own back, which was where I had put myself during the time when I did not want to be observed by myself, and you set me in front of my own face so that I could see how foul a sight I was-crooked, filthy, spotted, and ulcerous."
It should be obvious, I think, that Descartes's Augustinianism ranges over only the first of these two senses of self-knowledge found in the Augustinian tradition. The second more personal and moral arena of self-knowledge is conspicuously lacking. He advocates a set of Augustinian meditations not as a continually pursued, pious exercise in moral development but as an inquiry, semel in vita, into the faculties and capacities of the soul. He meditates on the self and God to prove that our faculties are adequate to the task of discerning truth (especially about the external world). He engages in meditation to validate a criterion of truth against a skeptical objection. Having once assured himself of the ability of the soul to distinguish truth, he goes no farther. The self now fulfills its duties, its ethics of belief, simply by applying the criterion correctly.
The other conception of self-knowledge in Augustine, the one that looks to the honesty and integrity of the self's epistemic dealings with itself, points to a richer and more relevant ethics of belief. The ethics of belief need not be limited to the assessment of whether one has satisfied impersonal canons of responsible belief acquisition but should involve questions about the honesty and integrity of one's religious believings and reasonings. Of course, this applies (perhaps especially) to the reasonings of philosophers of religion, too. Many of the most powerful modern polemics regarding religious belief have been waged on precisely these grounds. At the most fundamental level, Nietzsche's objection to Christianity, for instance, is emphatically not that Christianity is a lie but that it is a dishonest lie, the "self-deception of impotence." Similarly, Freud criticizes religion because he claims it is based on wishful thinking (a psychological condition that shares an uncertain and disputed boundary with self-deception). Kierkegaard, conversely, attacks Christendom not because it believes on insufficient evidence but because its belief is self-deceptive. The Augustinian tradition points to a more complete ethics of belief, one all the more relevant now when evidentialism is under attack.
A noncontroversial characterization of self-deception is culpable self-persuasion through unfair means. An ethics of religious belief should minimally require that one's belief and one's reasoning about that belief not be produced or maintained through culpable or unfair means. Assessments of belief are complicated, however, by the fact that the means through which one achieves self-deception are not in all cases culpable or unfair. The major strategies for deceiving oneself can, in different circumstances, also function as means of rational or commendable self-management. Many contemporary philosophers, while disagreeing about whether self-deception requires divisions in the self and whether it is an intentional activity, suggest that the psychological processes operative in self-deception also operate in the maintenance and pursuit of rational objectives. The compartmentalization of beliefs into relatively autonomous spheres, for instance, protects us from the debilitating domino effects of changes in remote beliefs. This epistemic conservatism "increases adaptability and flexibility by keeping options open."Likewise, we peremptorily deploy "exclusionary categories" (e.g., we dismiss ideas as absurd or crazy) to "help us manage our cognitive resources and protect our view of the world from radical change in the face of pressures that are more efficiently and reasonably felt as marginal." These salutary forms of resistance to epistemic change, however, can easily serve self-deceptive purposes. In the same fashion, the practice of diverting one's attention from interfering thoughts can invaluably aid one's concentration, but it also makes willful blindness possible.
More affirmatively, unrealistic opinions regarding friends, family, or our chances of success are often indispensable to preserving our commitments or projects (in "The Will to Believe," William James argues that the ethics of belief should accommodate precisely these sorts of ventures in believing) but are also the material of self-deception. Similarly, adapting one's preferences in the face of frustration (i.e., sour grapes) can be a rational and praiseworthy response but can also be blameworthy and self-deceptive. Imaginatively rehearsing scenarios can augment one's understanding of past events or help prepare for future challenges but can also provide a means of deceptive escape. Finally,certain practical techniques that work to bring about laudable and desired changes in the self's beliefs and desires ("character planning") work equally well to deceive the self.
The Augustinian tradition exhibits subtle appreciation of these Janus-faced features of moral psychology. In structuring the religious life around the pursuit of spiritual marriage, Teresa promotes self-management. This desideratum requires a change in the will, and Teresa provides her nuns with an array of sophisticated strategies for protecting their commitment and achieving their end. These strategies include exploiting the power of the imagination (in meditation), careful control of one's attention, preference adaptation (through strict enclosure), the use of exclusionary categories (e.g., temptation), peer pressure, and character planning (e.g., avoiding one's family, accepting menial tasks, etc.). Equally, however, Teresa recognizes that the same or similar strategies can work counterproductively to shield the self and protect commitments one would better lose. She warns against the self's strategies to defend against humility (e.g., making a show of piety, wallowing in self- accusations, seeking menial tasks).
In addition to ardent self-scrutiny, Teresa repeatedly urges her nuns to rely on the offices of a competent confessor to distinguish between the praiseworthy means of cultivating and preserving one's commitments and blameworthy self-deception. Teresa suggests that an external, third-person perspective is necessary for assessing the possibility of self-deception in one's religious commitments. In essence, she admits what Bas C. van Fraassen has claimed, that attributions of self-deception make sense only from a perspective different from that of the subject of self-deception. To come to see oneself as self-deceived, one must come to a new appreciation (perception and evaluation) of the facts of one's situation. Self-scrutiny and consulting a confessor both enable one to test one's current appreciation of one's situation.
It is from such an external perspective that theists (like Kierkegaard) and nontheists alike have detected in philosophy of religion traces of the sort of "insincere sincerity" that characterizes self-deception. Historically, philosophy of religion has notably employed the strategies that con- tribute to both rational self-management and self-deception. The tendency from Kant through Wittgensteinian fideism to compartmentalize religion and insulate it from science forms an especially obvious example.
The use of exclusionary categories like "reductionism" forms another. The noncognitivist project and the tendency to overlook the implicit explanations embedded in religious experience, both stemming from Schleiermacher, require that one divert attention from fairly obvious features of the religious life. We have good reasons for rejecting each of these strategies without assessing the degree of self-deception involved, but this demonstrated inclination of philosophers of religion to employ these sorts of ambiguous strategies suggests we should focus more thematically on the possibilities of self-deception in our reasoning about religion.
Like experienced confessors, we need to learn to distinguish the circumstances of legitimate commitment maintenance from illegitimate self-deception. Such discernment will require that we test our appreciation of our situation. Testing one's appreciation of a situation-the perception and evaluation of facts-amounts to confronting one's conception of the relevant evidence with a competing conception. To face the possibility of self-deception, one must introduce evidential considerations. One must open to challenge both what counts as evidence and the relative weighting of evidence. The possibility of self-deception renders evidence of principal concern to an appraisal of religious belief.
To this extent, Clifford was precisely correct. Despite the sententious injunctions about the indispensability of evidence to all belief that James quotes, Clifford's central target in "The Ethics of Belief" is, in fact, those who employ culpable means of maintaining belief. "If a man, holding a belief which he was taught in childhood or persuaded of afterwards, keeps down and pushes away any doubts which arise about it in his mind, purposely avoids the reading of books and the company of men that call in question or discuss it, and regards as impious those questions which cannot easily be asked without disturbing it-the life of that man is one long sin against mankind." The sinfulness derives from the culpable use of attention, character planning, and exclusionary categories ("impious") to suppress doubt and avoid inquiry. Clifford's first and most memorable example is a shipowner who "knowingly and willingly" deceives himself by suppressing his doubts about the seaworthiness of one of his ships. Clifford resorts to the demand for sufficient evidence only to prevent these acts of epistemic dishonesty. Even if we reject Clifford's stronger formulations of the need for evidence, the possibility of self-deception demonstrates the necessity of evidence to the evaluation of religious belief.
Though Clifford correctly sees that evidence is crucial in combating self-deception, he does not recognize the ambiguous nature of the means of self-deception. To this extent James was precisely correct. The strategies operative in self-deception are not necessarily or in all cases culpable. An attribution of self-deception, both Teresa and van Fraassen insist, requires a perspective different from that of the subject of self-deception. To rule out the possibility of self-deception, we must test our appreciation of our situation by at least opening ourselves to alternative appreciations. Insofar as religious belief itself is at issue, this third-person perspective requires that we answer to others who do not necessarily share our appreciation of the human situation. Plantinga's claim notwithstanding, the Christian community is responsible to followers of Bertrand Russell and Madelyn Murray O'Hare and vice versa. The complexities of self-deception suggest that the ethics of religious belief is far more complicated than a complacent attack on evidentialism would suggest.
