Camus was not always so pessimistic. Yet he felt it incumbent upon
contemporary thinkers to take cognizance of the “blood-stained face which
history has taken on today” (RRD, 53). This, to say the least, they have not always done.
In “The Century of Fear” he zeroes in on the particular tragedy of the modern world. “Something in us has been destroyed by the spectacle of the years through which we have just passed.
And this something is man’s eternal confidence which has always led him to believe that human responses could be drawn from another man by speaking to him the language of humanity” (A/I, 142).
The historical question aside, the import is clear. A certain bond that, at least implicitly, unites us—sharing as we do a common condition, a common destiny, and a naive confidence in the humanity of others that dialectically tends to confirm our own humanity—this bond has been broken and our sense of humanity thrown into question by the events of the past twenty-five years. Something new has entered into the relation of person to person, and our priorities have been changed. Camus continues: “We have seen lying, degrading, killing, deporting, torturing, and on each occasion it was not possible to persuade those who did it not to do it, because they were sure of themselves, and because one does not persuade an abstraction, that is to say, the representative of an ideology” (A/I, 142—3, my italics).
Persuasion and all it entails have been negated. In its place has come Truth in the person of the representative of an ideology. A claim to the possession of Truth is certainly not unique in history. But Camus’s analysis of the implications of such claims, specifically with respect to public policy formation and the nature of dialogue and persuasion, has revealed a new dimension in political discussion. With directness and simplicity, he comments that “the long dialogue of man has come to a stop. And, of course, a man that one cannot persuade is a man to be feared” (A/I, 143).
The problem is twofold and gathers together a basic line of my argument: First, what is involved in the destruction of dialogue? Second, how may dialogue be reconstituted and developed?
After treating these two questions, I shall conclude with a reconsideration of the importance of dialogue to the metaphysical concerns that have been the themes of Camus’s life and thought.
A Brief Review
To recapitulate, in studying the development of Camus’s thought I have traced the emergence of human awareness first with respect to the natural and individual conditions of existence, and then with respect to our common situation and ultimate destiny. My theme has been a conception of revolt in which individuals strive to reflectively construct a meaningful life out of the givens and possibilities available to them, while refusing to go beyond such experience for justification. In a sense, the attempt has been to show that experience can be self-justifying, and to suggest what is involved in such a position.
In this context, revolt was faced with an internal contradiction that had to be met. The experience of a meaning and dignity ingredient in the human situation had given rise to theories that justified the suppression of a portion of humanity. Born out of communality, revolt seems to have justified oppression. It was this problem that Camus addressed in The Rebel. In the search for guides to conduct, he had to make clear the difference between the experience of revolt and the dialectical inversions often involved in its expression. But if, in treating this problem, I revealed the nature of the ideological perversion, I have not yet given detailed consideration to its practical implications. These are, however, precisely the problems that political thought must face.
The limited nature of this problem must also be kept in mind. Camus’s concern is always directed toward the reconstitution of social life in order to make a renaissance possible. The political question must be seen as focusing upon the form and context of collective engagements with respect to the formulation and execution of public policy. Hence the remarks concerning dialogue and persuasion are not presented as a complete analysis of these experiences, but rather only to suggest their essential political role. For example, dialogue is not to be taken as identical with persuasion. Two may share a world in terms of which they speak with one another, without addressing any questions of policy.
Persuasion
Persuasion is an intersubjective act with both personal and social consequences for policy. To undertake to persuade someone is implicitly to affirm the value of that person’s opinion and, tactical considerations aside, of his or her person. It is almost to say: “You are a human being with a certain interest in this area; I therefore respect your right to be considered. Now, I believe my views are correct, and I would like you to consider them in full. If you do, I am sure you will agree as to their correctness.” The attempt to persuade is, therefore, apart from purely tactical considerations, more an offering of a position for consideration than an insistence upon its finality for policy. It is a dialogic act, bearing witness to:
1. Respect for the person of the other.
2. Concern for the opinion of the other.
3. Belief in the correctness of one’s own opinion.
4. Faith in the availability of that correct opinion to the other.
5. Commitment to the intersubjective nonultimacy of any belief concerning public policy.
While the individuals concerned, as representatives of divergent positions, are explicitly at odds on the issue at stake, implicit in their commitment to persuasion is the bond of unity arising out of their common universe of discourse that alone makes dialogue possible. Implicit is a mutual commitment to the world of the other out of which that universe partially arises. It is to the importance of such a common world that Camus refers when he speaks of the attempt to make dialogue possible.
A commitment to persuasion is therefore a commitment to the value of another’s world as at least equal, if not prior, to that of the prevailing of one’s own truths. It is important to note here, in qualification, that the intersubjective commitment need not involve the surrender of one’s own truths or even a willingness to consider them as possibly dubitable, even though that would be the expected psychological accompaniment. Rather, we might continue to hold privately to our truths as indubitable, certain, and ultimate, while not insisting that others do likewise, and even permitting other views, however “erroneous”, to hold sway in the “objective” or “intersubjective” world of public policy formation.
There can clearly be two distinct kinds of commitment to persuasion: political and metaphysical. The commitment may be to the most desirable way of forming public policy; or it may be to the very evolving nature of truth itself. Furthermore, equally strong and competing authoritarian views as to the nature of truth have on occasion given rise to practical conceptions of the virtues of democratic procedures in policy formation; witness John Locke’s position on toleration. It is only when the commitment to the value of the individual becomes more than simply a practical consideration dictated by the exigencies of power, however, that such discussion becomes dialogue and the commitment to democracy gains existential depth. Thus the existential commitment to dialogue in the realm of the political bespeaks a totally different metaphysical conception of the nature of truth and value. Short of that metaphysic, political toleration is a holding action dictated by a balance of power. The fruitfulness of the doctrine of toleration lies in its potential for opening up the deeper and more fecund existential region given expression in dialogue. It is to the political essentials of that world that my remarks are here directed.
The metaphysical commitment to persuasion includes (1) the right of individuals to their own world and (2) the belief that individual worlds are united by common meanings, values, or interests. Language is but one quite significant way of objectively expressing these implicit common interests. And democracy, while in one sense but the practical instrument of toleration between competing worlds in transformed guise, becomes the essential means by which this metaphysical commitment finds political expression.
Similar to the decision of the Roman Catholic Church at the Second Vatican Council, this political commitment means that, while error may have no rights, the erring individual does. And while the Catholic Church clearly believes there is a transcendent Truth and it is in possession of the unique source of that Truth—revelation—it has taken the political position that this Truth cannot be imposed upon others. In other words, the priority of the individual conscience has been asserted in regards to the coming to a preexistent Truth.
Here is a clear example of the distinction between a metaphysical commitment and a political position. Whether ultimately these become incompatible would seem to depend upon the exact nature of the metaphysical commitment. To the extent that its theoretical formulation is exclusive and final, the political position can only be a holding action, a tactical decision resulting from a recognition that one is unlikely to make one’s final Truth prevail now. To the extent that the Truth is not exclusive—for example, that erring individuals apart from their beliefs may be likewise an ultimate value—these commitments may not be ultimately incompatible. The may not here concerns the rigidity of one’s attachment to, the finality attributed to, and the essential nature of, the ultimate Truth in question. The two may be maintained simultaneously. If pushed to their logical extremes, however, they might be forced into exclusiveness and contradiction.