By JUDE DOUGHERTY
The West is its Past. The same is true for Islam. Though we may be knowledgeable about the past, what the future portends is impossible to ascertain. History has no predictive value. For one thing, the historian does not spend time formulating historical laws. For the most part he concentrates on telling his story. The historian of political philosophy may be an exception. He may try to show connections between philosophies and movements that he believes are connected, but this does not amount to the formulation of laws.
Some law-like statements can be made if one examines the history of philosophy, but they have little predictive value. If one embraces an empiricist outlook in the beginning, it is certain he will never develop a philosophy of being. But one cannot say with confidence where empiricism will lead — perhaps to Kant, to Wittgenstein, or to Russell or to Ryle, or to the neurobiologist Graziano.
In general, ideas do not follow a set course. There is no law that might enable us to predict the future of Europe as it now confronts a militant Islam.
Many will remember Rudyard Kipling’s poem that begins, “The East is East and the West is West and never the twain shall meet.” At face value the dictum remains a tautology. Yet it may be taken as way of saying there are two modes of thought that forever will remain incompatible.
Kipling himself had something else in mind. The poem continues, “But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, nor Birth, when two strong men stand face to face, though they come from the ends of the earth!” Which can be interpreted as, “When too strong men stand face to face, though they come from the ends of the earth, the accidents of birth…do not matter at all” (Wikipedia). But does experience confirm that?
Given religious and cultural differences, we may ask, is intercultural dialogue possible at the level of philosophy? At the level of theology?
If we remain at the level of philosophical discourse, can one find between Islam and Christianity common teaching about human nature and human fulfillment? There was a time when Islamic and Western philosophers seemed to occupy the same forum. As a matter of fact, medieval Islamic philosophers such as Al-Kindi, Al-Farabi, Avicenna, and Averroes are considered to be part of the Western philosophical canon; the same is true of the Jewish philosopher Moses Maimonides. All contributed to the development of Aristotelianism in the West, directly or indirectly.
Scholars, both Eastern and Western, may find Ibn Khaldun’s philosophy of history a point of contact. Khaldun (1332-1406), though a firm believer, was neither a member of the ulama class nor a theologian. He was a historian known primarily for his general theory of the rise, development, and decay of civilizations.
One may be tempted to conclude that Khaldun’s interpretation of history is reinforced by what has being taking place in Europe over the last century. A state, he maintained, goes through five stages and can go through all stages in a period of three or four generations. The first stage is the period of establishment, followed by consolidation of power, luxury, complacency, and population decline. His concept of “solidarity,” or the necessity of a religious unity in the people, is another insight worthy of discussion.
At the theological level, common discourse may also be possible, given that certain positions pertaining to immortality are held in common. Islam, whatever its form, Shiite or Sunni or other, attests to the belief in the resurrection of the body. It is plainly affirmed in the Koran. Aquinas believed that man was capus Dei, capable of union with God, of course, not simply through his own efforts but through his cooperation with divine grace. In the general sense of seeing the human being as oriented to union with ultimate reality, Aquinas was one with the Vedanta philosophers in India and with Plotinus in the ancient world.
Although Aristotle reasoned to the immateriality of the human soul, he did not reason to the reunion of matter and form, nor did Aquinas. For Thomas, belief in the resurrection of the body was part of orthodox Christianity, not a philosophical affirmation.
In both medieval Christendom and Islam, psychological theory inherited from the past had to come to terms with religious belief. Avicenna (d. 1037) found room in his psychology for both the prophetic revelation of the Koran and for his understanding of personal immortality. He held that the personal pronoun “I” refers to the soul, not the body, a view that is more indebted to Neoplatonism than to Aristotle.
Averroes, a 12th-century philosopher, begged to differ. Following Aristotle, he held that, as matter was the principle of individuation, there would be no means of distinguishing between disembodied souls. On that contention he logically should have rejected personal immortality, but in fact he affirmed the Islamic belief in bodily resurrection. Averroes is associated with the doctrine of double truth, that is, philosophy and theology might arrive at contradictory truths without detriment to either.
In spite of different approaches and ideas, psychological theory was commonly regarded as an integral part of philosophy, but pursued in the context of a religious worldview. That ended with the Enlightenment.
One of the most notable characteristics of Western Europe in the Middle Ages was its cultural and religious unity, brought about by a common alignment with the Chair of Peter and a common language of worship and scholarship — Latin. The Reformation brought that to an end, and no subsequent alliance has ever come close to producing the same degree of unity.
Does unity matter? Ibn Khaldun thought so. So too did Hegel, who attempted to show the unifying dimension of religion in his Lectures on the Philosophy of Religion, a treatise written in the light of his study of religion in India, China, ancient Egypt, Greece, and Rome.
Auguste Comte recognized the importance of creed, and sought to replace Christianity with his “religion of humanity.” John Dewey, writing from a purely naturalistic perspective, wrote for an American audience a book entitled A Common Creed. The topic remains relevant as the West is confronted with an international multiculturalism.
In spite of their indebtedness to Greek philosophical thought, Islamic philosophers in the Middle Ages were mindful of the discipline’s subservient nature to Muslim theology. They were obliged to walk a fine line. Some historians have suggested that Islamic philosophy in the Middle Ages should be considered as part of the process of Islam coming to reflective self-consciousness, an example of faith seeking understanding. Islamic theologians, to the contrary, looked upon this phenomenon as the substitution of Greek philosophy for the simple faith prescribed by Mohammed.
Within Christendom it was recognized that philosophy and theology were distinct disciplines. Theologians in their exposition of doctrine used philosophy and, as Gilson has point out, often contributed to its development, yet the two modes of thought were recognized as distinct. If the philosopher drew upon any premise derived from faith, he in effect entered the domain of theology. With the advent of modernity, it became clear that some philosophies open one up to Christianity while others make it impossible as a rational option.
Does the promotion of religious dialogue make sense when religious leaders themselves have failed to defend the Christian character of European culture, what Pierre Manent tactfully calls its “Catholic mark”? At a time when a strong voice is needed, the papacy seems to be weak and uncertain.
The Church may yet find in its midst another Gregory the Great (Pope from 590-604), but events are pressing. A firm hand at the helm of Peter’s Bark seems a thing of the past. The same lack of commanding leadership is equally true in the political order. There is no strong European leadership, certainly none capable of resisting an alien Muslim culture whose leaders are convinced that Islam will one day rule Europe.
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