The Myth of Public Reason

In recent decades a consensus has emerged that religious ideas and theological notions are sectarian and private in character, and therefore they should not be offered in the public square. A genuine “public philosophy,” to use the term of art, must appeal to principles of “public reason,” another term of art, which are accessible to all citizens. It is therefore supposed that a public philosophy can’t rely on the sorts of claims about God, providence, salvation, and morality that religious people make. Religious themes can be used for their rhetorical effect. Martin Luther King used a rich biblical imagery to promote civil rights, and his sermons and speeches are widely admired. But his core ideal of equality remains non-theological, or so it is claimed.

Religious people should not confuse good preaching with effective political witness. But some of the arguments against using religious beliefs as part of one’s public philosophy are actually very weak, casting doubt on blanket claims that religious convictions and principles have no role in public debates.

Take the oldest one, the argument from controversy. Throughout the modern era it has been taken as self-evident that religious beliefs are uniquely controversial, tending toward social divisions and even sectarian violence. People point to the Wars of Religion in the past, Northern Ireland more recently, or Islamic terrorism and Sunni/Shiite Muslim conflict today.

John Rawls tried to avoid these conflicts by ruling them out of bounds. Public reason, he argued, should be “political” and not “metaphysical.” He thought that theology (and, for that matter, most robust philosophies that have strong views of our moral purpose) should be kept out of the public square. They are “comprehensive doctrines” that by their very nature militate against the give-and-take of democratic discussion and compromise. St. Augustine is fine for the seminary, and Aristotle for the seminar room, but their overall vision of our nature and destiny should be kept out of the public square.

Most proponents of “public reason,” Rawls included, secretly know that the argument from controversy is specious. In the first place, the idea that we ought to rule out “comprehensive doctrines” amounts to a “comprehensive doctrine” about the relation between politics and morality, and for that matter between politics and theology. And it’s a controversial one, as the vigorous debates about Rawls and his theory indicate.

More importantly, nearly all the distinctive aspects of a modern liberal society were at some point profoundly controversial and divisive, from the question of universal suffrage, through abolition, to racial equality. Winning these battles was necessary for liberals like Rawls to endorse the argument from controversy. When your side has the upper hand, it’s very tempting to define dissent as illegitimate.

But liberals can’t help themselves. When Rick Santorum makes the altogether rational and sensible observation that racism involves moral judgments about skin color (an odd basis for moral judgments) while opposition to homosexual acts involves moral judgments about behavior (the usual basis for moral judgments), his views are labeled as “controversial.” Meanwhile, proponents of gay marriage make arguments that are controversial and divisive, as the current political climate indicates, and yet are deemed acceptably “public.” One cannot avoid the conclusion that a “controversial” stance largely means a policy, principle, or position that liberals oppose.

I’m not in favor of the conservative tendency to criticize liberals as imposing a double standard. It’s better to argue that the main premise of the argument from controversy is mistaken. Controversy is the stuff of democratic politics. Instead of trying to determine the criteria of a “public reason””and thus risk the temptation of defining as non-controversial what you believe ought to be widely accepted”the relevant question is whether partisans in public debates are willing to accept the constraints of civility and the rule of law. In recent decades it’s been modern liberals and their radical friends who have shown themselves less trustworthy on these points than the supposed theocrats. For example, gay activists harass and intimidate those who have supported and signed petitions that defend traditional marriage, a tactic the liberals rarely criticize.

More penetrating and serious is the argument from democratic participation. A governing consensus in a genuinely democratic society must be open to argument and capable of analysis by those who dissent. For example, if judges depend upon seers or oracles, then we cannot debate the merits of their decisions. The oracle says what it says”or at least what the judge says it says”and we have to accept the outcome. Thus says the Lord.

There is a great deal of truth to this objection. Christians, Jews, Muslims, and others base many of their beliefs on divine revelation, and direct appeal to this source in a pluralistic society poses significant problems. However, few religious traditions formulate their doctrines by raw appeals to authority, and certainly not their doctrines about social and moral questions.

A Christian theology of marriage, to take a current and timely example, involves biblical, philosophical, and historical arguments, all of which can be engaged and weighed by non-Christians who take the time to study them. Moreover, when it comes to applying that theology of marriage to the public square, a Christian draws upon centuries-old debates about just how and to what degree civil society should legislate moral and theological truths.

So even if a Christian speaks in a distinctly theological way in the public square, there’s plenty for everyone to debate. An atheist is not going to accept an argument based on the story of the union of Adam and Eve, the Song of Songs, and St. Paul’s evocation of the mystery of marriage, just because it’s biblical. But these sorts of arguments made by the Church fathers, medieval scholastics, Reformers, and modern theologians are much more than citations of Scripture and appeals to authority. They express a vision of human flourishing that secular people can recognize. Because biblical concepts and images saturate Western culture, a Christian theology of marriage (as well as a Christian view of the relation of law to morality) is accessible to the moral and political imaginations of most citizens, no matter what their religious beliefs (or lack of beliefs).

What makes truth claims “public” is their currency, not their pedigree. Most Americans are capable of grasping the moral import of St. Paul’s understanding of marriage as a binding, exclusive covenant, and it is condescending to say that an atheist is unable to entertain this biblical vision and cannot make up his own mind whether it ought (or ought not) to shape public policy. As anyone who has taught a seminar or led a discussion knows, the fact that a moral ideal is Christian (or Jewish or Muslim or Hindu)”and the fact that the most elegant and persuasive way to expound the ideal involves drawing on Christian (or Jewish or Muslim or Hindu) sources”does not make the ideal inaccessible to a diverse range of people and incapable of varied and vigorous debate.

The capacity of religious sources to engage (and sometime enrage, which since we’ve already set aside the argument from controversy is not a mark against it) stands in contrast to the social-scientific studies that are often championed as the very best sort of fact-based public reason. For years I served on university committees that had to make policy decisions. I was consistently struck by how many well-educated people, many with doctoral degrees, could not understand the logic and force of arguments based on statistics. It was a lesson: Human beings are engaged far more easily and deeply by stories, symbols, and rituals, as every politician knows.

Intellectuals may not like this, but it’s simply false that fact-based arguments encourage or even permit democratic participation. On the contrary, this sort of “public reason” promotes governance by experts, an approach to making laws and formulating regulations that, when it comes to the experience of most citizens, isn’t all that different from the consultation of court prophets. For anyone outside the small world of fellow specialists, the modern expert is as beyond question as the ancient oracle. By contrast, as Reinhold Niebuhr demonstrated in his supple use of biblical sources and theological concepts, a religious person speaking religiously can provoke thoughtful public reflection among a wide range of citizens.

Closely related to democratic participation is the argument from fairness. The loyal follower of Rawls may allow that most citizens aren’t equipped to follow complex arguments about policy. But with enough education and under ideal circumstances they could. But that’s true for religious arguments, as well as metaphysical arguments.

For example, a Thomist of the strict observance argues that a just society should encourage, perhaps even compel, religious observance. It’s an argument that depends on deeper arguments about human nature”we have a natural desire to know and serve God”as well as a theory of justice that requires legislators to actively promote the sorts of behaviors that lead us to satisfy our natural desires in the proper way, including our natural religious desires.

The idea that government should promote religion sounds rather extreme to an American. After all, some of the Founding Fathers rejected this line of argument, often for good reasons. But that does not make the Thomistic argument unfair. The loyal followers of St. Thomas think along the same lines as advocates of “public reason” who champion fact-based arguments. Under ideal circumstances and with enough education, people will see their obvious human interest in acknowledging and offering proper service to the Creator.

At a practical level, a commitment to public reason and the desire for a public philosophy make a great deal of sense. The kinds of arguments best made at a theological conference are not the same as the ones best used in the public square. That’s as it should be. St. Augustine recognized and taught that what ought to govern the inner life of the Christian community is not the same as what ought to govern secular society. The decrees of church councils are not civil constitutions. But the supernatural love that animates the City of God is by no means irrelevant”or inaccessible”to the City of Man. To a certain degree divine truths (as well as metaphysical truths) are rightly brought into the public square. Just how and how much is a matter of prudence and practical judgment rather than the application of bright-line tests and specious, hollow doctrines of “public reason.”