getting it almost right and shakespeare and measure for measure

I had a conversation with a colleague last year that went something like this. First, to set the context: I had just read an online article by French philosopher Michel Foucault (d. 1984) on "parrhesia," (the Greek word for "freedom" or "lack of hindrance") in which he talked about how Plato used the term and then how it was used in later Greek philosophy and early Christianity. His interest was obviously not only historical; he was trying to make the case for "free speech" in a new and powerful way when confronting some of the daunting realities of the post-colonial world of the 1960s and 1970s. His article showed the results of both a superior French education and an engaged mind in the late 20th century. After reading his article, I decided to write two of my own essays on "parrhesia" because I saw that Foucault had not gotten it quite right as he discussed the early Christian use of the word. Indeed, I showed that if Foucault had been aware of how the word was used, especially in Luke-Acts, he could have made even a stronger case.

So when I saw my colleague, a professor of French history, I asked him what he thought of Foucault. (This was before I told him about my reading of Foucault's "Parrhesia" piece). My question gave him the opportunity to muse about a time nearly 25 years ago when he was studying in Paris and attended Foucault's lectures. But the upshot of our conversation was when he said, "Foucault was, in my mind, the most brilliant 20th century philosopher but, in fact, he almost always got it wrong." I liked the way my colleague phrased it, because that was my reaction when reading Foucault. His essay pullulated with insights but insights that were slighly askew.

A second story comes to mind illustrating the same thing. When I was studying in Tubingen (Germany) in 1980-81, I made it a point to learn all I could about not only the current generation of Tubingen theologians but also some of the retired eminences who still resided in the town. One of the latter was a scholar named Ernst Kasemann. Everyone who is a "professional" New Testament scholar knows of him and has read some of his (relatively few) articles. He was a member of the "Bultmann circle" of New Testament scholars who, after WWII, launched the "third quest" for the historical Jesus by asserting, contrary to his teacher Rudolf Bultmann, that there really was a solid core of historically authentic material in the Gospel tradition. But over a long and distinguished career Kasemann wrote few books and several (but by no means many, according to the standards of German scholarship) articles primarily about Jesus and Paul. When talking to a friend once, who had marinated himself in German New Testament scholarship, I asked him his reaction to Kasemann. "Brilliant intellect, creative insights, but almost always got things wrong."

A Contrasting Story

One more story fills helps clarify the problem even more. When I was doing doctoral work at Brown in religious studies in the late 1970s, I had two kinds of professors. About half the department consisted of scholars born after 1930 who were very active writers and leaders in their respective fields. The other half consisted of men born in the 1920s who had never written a professional article after completing their Ph. Ds. It was not as if this latter group was unintelligent or unengaged. They all had premier Ph. D.s (Chicago, Yale, Boston Univ.) but chose, as time went along, to focus primarily on teaching, on mastering the latest moves of their colleagues, or on university administration. But I wanted to understand the mindset of these men born in the 1920s as it related to writing and, in fact, why they hadn't done any when I knew that the expectations for me when I went into teaching would be to publish early and often. One of them confided to me that the reason he didn't publish was because he was afraid that he would get it wrong. Or, alternatively, he feared that he would not have read and thoroughly digested everything everyone had ever said about the matter and therefore might only be giving "provisional" rather than "permanent" insights into an issue.

Bringing it Together

Thus, from my past, there are a number of images and stories about how people contributed to their fields or to knowledge in general. The most creative people I ever met or knew at second-hand were those who were driven by a large agenda in their work, articulated thoughts that emerged from this agenda and, predictably, got it wrong. Did they know they were getting it wrong when they first set their hand to write? Would they have cared if someone could come along and shown that they hadn't dotted every "i" or crossed every "t" in their scholarship?

Shakespeare was dealing with a different issue than "getting it right" in a scholarly way when he wrote Measure for Measure, but his framing of the issue of fault or lapse and its relationship to goodness or truth has always stayed with me. He says, "They say, best men are moulded out of faults; And, for the most, become much more the better, for being a little bad." The aim of the moral life is not perfection, according to this approach to life, but to realize the goodness in being a little bad. So, I would like to apply Shakespeare's insight to the creative process. I say, 'The best writers/scholars/investigators are not those who wait until they can get it all right (whatever that might mean), but those who sometimes get it almost right. By so doing you encourage others to think for themselves, to examine critically what you have said and to strive to say it better when they decide to speak.'

Conclusion

As I am living now in my 54th year, I am increasingly aware of the fragmentariness of my own knowledge and how I simply must make statements with partial knowledge (knowledge that is fragmentary and may also come from a biased perspective). Rather than letting that paralyze me, I make the statements. I search diligently and try to "get it right," but often I don't. And, I hope that I, and the people I meet, are better for it.

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