Let's begin, then, by agreeing (all of us) that "Neener! Neener!"-ism isn't worth the time it takes to deride. There! that was easy. (Actually, Margaret and I just like saying "Neener, neener"; we'd never said that before we read Tom's blog, but now it's a household meme. I just said it to Margaret a second ago to drown out some of her comments on seminary life.)

I frequently encounter the vexing circumstance, however, that a point I regard as Neeneristic seems vitally important to someone in a Sunday morning adult education class; and a truly important nuance (as I see it) seems neeneristic to some less sophisticated theoretician. In Tom and Steve I've been blessed by kindred spirits who create the comforting illusion that important stuff stands out unambiguously from surrounding details. In other settings, though, I get into arguments over the neenerism of this or that detail. And part of my appreciation of postmodern theory derives from its usefulness in helping me to explain why stuff that just cries out to me "This Is A Big, Dumb Idea!" lures insightful critics into scholarly blind alleys--and why scholars who have active, rewarding careers at the forefront of the profession can look with mild pity at me for my misguided postmodern dalliances.

This perspectivalism inspires some to suggest that "Well, you can have your atheistic perspective and I have my faith, and you can't fault me for believing," while others suggest that since we manifestly can't live as though everything were a matter of perspective the whole (perspectival) postmodern endeavor fails the practical-reality test, while yet others object that admitting any degree of perspectivalism undercuts thebasis for faith in God. These objections carry considerable weight, probably more than I ought to try to wrestle with. Nonetheless, it's seemed to me that one version of perspectivalism offers me an intellectual resource for respecting other folks' arguments while at the same time permitting me to remain unconvinced.

An example: virtually all the scholarly literature written on biblical interpretation operates on the principle that "if you don't agree with what I'm saying, you are either ignorant, or perverse, or muddle-headed, or insane." Hardly any published position allows for the possibility that the topics about which biblical scholars argue do not admit of simple resolution. Hardly any published position allows that the very idea of what counts as evidence itself constitutes a tremendous proportion of our interpretive practice (so profound a part of that practice that the specific interpretive decisions we reach have already been largely decided by the positions we take on what counts as evidence).

This last point touches on two of my favorite theoretical works. One is Questions of Evidence, a collection of essays from Critical Inquiry that look at how "evidence" has been defined in various disciplines in connection with diverse questions. Over and over, essayists show that the evidence cited as compelling reason to believe (or doubt) in one generation no longer carries any particular force in the next--though the conclusions for which that evidence served may carry over. (On this, see also Mark Cousins, "The Practice of Historical Investigation," in Post-Structuralism and the Question of History, ed. Derek Attridge et al.) And Jean-François Lyotard has (in The Differend) shown how many of the most important questions we tackle depend on the terms by which we adjudicate them.

Does this mean that we can't form judgments? Does it mean that since there's probably some context that would back up any old claim (there must be--otherwise Ph D students would run out of possible dissertation topics), that nothing is true, and anything permitted? No. But it does mean that, once we articulate the basis for our judgments and the rationale for adopting this and this and that position on critical issues, life-and-death issues, then by George we're accountable, radically accountable for the claims we stake, for their implications, and for our integrity in staking those claims. We can't slough off our responsibility by saying "Everyone knows," or "It's only natural," or "No one really believes. . . ." Someone doesn't know, "natural" according to whom?, someone really does believe--and hard as we try to insulate ourselves from criticism, those ignorant, unnatural, credulous people don't go away simply because they're inconvenient for our arguments.

For instance, a number of warbloggers have gotten a lot of yardage out of claims that the present War Against Terrorists We Don't Presently Support enjoys universal support, that it's natural and obvious that the USA should take military action against nations where terrorists operate, and that no on really believes there would be another way to address terrorism. Such claims relegate pacifists and concerned liberals and "lily-livered libertarians" to discursive non-existence.

My postmodern inclinations, far from paralyzing me in the face of abyssal indeterminacy, help me to understand that wise, thoughtful, erudite thinkers may have well-thought-out conclusions that diverge from mine--while at the same time sticking to the arguments and reasons and convictions that, in the end, I can't leave behind.
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Peace