Rejoinder to Menachem Fisch: A Few Stubbornly Penultimate Reflections

1 Introduction

1. The following remarks may give rise to the impression that they are meant to be the definitive conclusion to a previous discussion, at least with respect to the intention and conviction of their author. This impression, should it arise, is misleading, in fact, deceptive. For reasons that seem to lie in the nature of the matter, I am, on the contrary, confident that my reflections are not a final word in the strict sense, but rather a “stubbornly penultimate” word, in the sense of the title of my essay, in the decidedly non-Socratic dialog that Menachem Fisch and I have been conducting for many years. Even less – and reasonably enough! – do I consider them to be the ultimate or unsurpassable word. Incidentally, such a word may have been spoken long ago and none of us registered it (at least not me). Or it may never be uttered, though we continue our dialog undaunted in the vain hope of uttering it at some point. Of course, a coincidence like the following seems completely out of the question: our conversation ends abruptly in the – nota bene: justified – belief of those involved that what has been said is final and conclusive. As mentioned already, such an absurdity lies not least of all in the nature of the matter – the very matter that is the subject of this special issue of NZSTh: dialogical rationality.

2. Before discussing Fisch’s “rejoinder” in detail below, I should like to briefly recapitulate the course and status of the discussion to date. The vantage-point of the latter was a series of writings penned by Fisch, which develop four core theses that are repeated and defended in various ways and contexts^[1]: (1) The framework beliefs that allow people to orient themselves normatively on a fundamental level (in that they make it possible not only to make concrete validity claims with regard to true/false, good/bad etc., but also to raise and examine them in a rational way) are in principle changeable in a rational way. (2) Such changes cannot possibly be explained as the result of (a) the self-application of the very framework assumptions to be changed, and (b) solely by their respective subjects. Rather, (3) they or their possibility is necessarily conditioned intersubjectively, i. e. by the impact of other human beings who critically question and successively undermine those framework assumptions – subjects who are classified as competent and credible (“peers”) by those affected, albeit grudgingly. (4) Talmudic Judaism and the Jewish-rabbinic literature offer the paradigm of a dialog that is possibly unsurpassed to this day, in which one’s own normative framework assumptions are put to the test in the manner described and subsequently modified or revoked time and again.

The objections I raised against Fisch’s theses in an earlier article^[2] essentially focused on three points: I argued, first, that exposure to the normative criticism leveled at us by other human beings is indeed “capable of destabilizing normative commitment”^[3] to one’s own underlying framework-beliefs and standards, as Fisch holds; however, closer scrutiny reveals that this is neither sufficient nor necessary, but rather accidental in this respect. Secondly, I tried to show that Søren Kierkegaard’s account of how people fundamentally change their mind provides resources both for a substantial critique of Fisch and a more adequate understanding of the transitions in question. Finally, I argued that Fisch’s framework-model – though meaningful, in fact heuristically indispensable in and of itself – has robust transcendental implications, which as such are being ignored, if not directly denied, by Fisch and, precisely by being ignored or denied, unnecessarily weaken the overall plausibility of his account.

2 Issues Regarding (the Concept of) Rationality

1. With Fisch’s rejoinder, it now seems to me that we have made real and, at least in part, quite surprising progress in our dialog. In my opinion, this progress is due on the one hand to the fact that Fisch engages directly with my standpoint; on the other hand, that he does so in a way that, at least for me, makes it clearer than before where he sees the essential points of agreement between his position and mine, despite the differences that undoubtedly remain. I am referring here first and foremost to a point that I made in my original article – in fact, with the aim of strengthening Fisch’s position, namely, by pointing out what I consider to be one of its hidden premises, which rightly understood in no way undermines, but on the contrary supports it.

In his reply, Fisch does not go so far as to endorse the thesis expressed in the aforementioned context, according to which all intersubjective understanding has robust transcendental implications; however, he does agree that some inherently human notions transcend the diversity of human normative frameworks and “are shared by all human speakers.”^[4] According to Fisch, however, these are not so-called “thin evaluative concepts.”^[5] Although these can also be considered universal, because every human being is in one way or another dependent on them and ascribes some kind of meaning to them, they are not a possible subject of fruitful dialog “across major normative divides,”^[6] mainly due to their irreducible semantic vagueness and ambiguity. The two concepts that Fisch considers more promising in this respect are selfhood and rationality. Here he not only sees greater potential for understanding them in general, but also with a view to mediating between our two points of view.

I feel like I have to dampen this optimism a little at first, for Fisch’s reason for distinguishing between the two types of “thin evaluative concepts” frankly does not make much sense to me: Selfhood and rationality are, after all, somewhat vague and in any case semantically highly contested concepts, and here the fact that they express something universal (at least in the sense that they attribute to all human beings a certain, and indeed identical, capacity – or at least, the disposition to develop this capacity: namely the capacity to be or become a “self” and/or to act “rationally”) does not change matters considerably.

On the other hand, and this is what matters most to me here, Fisch now speaks about rationality in a way which seems to me to be much closer to my own point of view than I – and perhaps Fisch, too – had previously realized. I will therefore deal with this aspect first and postpone the issue of the self: i. e. the concept in view of which, according to Fisch, there are still the greatest, perhaps irreconcilable differences between his position and my own. I primarily aim at answering a double, partly hermeneutic, partly epistemic question. Firstly, do Fisch’s reflections properly identify what we both de facto agree – or disagree – on? Second: Is it true that, in the context of the issues at hand, everything that we both believe (or at least some of it) is in fact true, while I am mistaken wherever Fisch’s view differs from mine?

2. “Schulz and I agree that to act rationally is to act for a reason,” as Fisch puts it.^[7] I agree with this diagnosis – provided a twofold specification is added regarding the concept of rationality. Firstly, Fisch assumes that only actions fall into the class of the rational. However, belief (whether religious or not) can undoubtedly also be rational – or irrational, for that matter. Admittedly, and here again I agree with Fisch, this is true only to the extent that this belief (a) is either reducible to action – most likely to “acting as if one believed” qua acceptance; or that (b) belief is at least one of the necessary conditions for action and in this sense is effective in guiding action. Fisch keeps silent about this, but I assume he would agree that option (a) is to be ruled out: Belief and acceptance are neither coextensive nor can the former be reduced to the latter.^[8] In contrast, assumption (b) seems to me to be correct, and I guess it should also find Fisch’s approval: We are entitled to speak of the rationality or irrationality of a belief, because and to the extent that the latter informs and conditions the possibility of action (and thus a fortiori: also that of rational action).

The second clarification seems more important: instead of “to act rationally is to act for a reason,” ought one not rather say, “to act for a good reason”? Fisch denies this. A “good” reason would be an objectively valid and/or universally agreeable reason. Both provisions are, of course, not coextensive: the so-called Golden Rule is universally acceptable, but not objectively true or valid – at least not in the sense in which the proposition “all bodies are extended” is true or valid. But whatever the case, the only decisive factor in the present context is the fact that from Fisch’s point of view the closer definition of “good” is semantically misleading and, incidentally, not even necessary, since a reason for action based on the perception or judgment of the respective subject of action is entirely sufficient. More precisely, a reason for action whose factual existence coincides with its assessment, for whatever reason, as being present is enough: To “act rationally is to act for a reason, and [...] one has reason to act when a situation strikes one as sufficiently lacking, or wanting, and sufficiently capable of improvement to justify intervening.”^[9] Accordingly, Peter acts rationally only, but also whenever he reacts to situational conditions of the kind described – or more precisely: to his perception of those conditions as conditions of the kind described – in a way that seems appropriate or satisfactory or reasonable to him, and to him alone. Both elements taken together, Peter’s perception or judgment of a need for action plus his subsequent action which claims the former as a reason for itself, can therefore be considered rational, if and to the extent that Peter executes them in the sense described. In a certain sense, the normative and as such purely subject-internally constituted power of the factual prevails here. It is to be conceded (following Fisch) that actions and reasons for acting can vary greatly not only from individual to individual, but also and above all depending on context and culture – and the same goes for what counts as a rational reason for action, respectively: “What might seem wholly satisfactory to a Western, secular liberal might well strike a devout God-fearing Jew or Muslim as reason for taking urgent and decisive action.”^[10] In other words, where a Western liberal might see no need for acting at all, a conservative Muslim may already feel challenged to take action – and ex hypothesi both behave completely rationally.

3. On the one hand, I sympathize with this view, and all the more so as it is closely related to a basic feature, or a basic type, of rationality that I myself claimed elsewhere^[11] to be essential and irreducible: namely instrumental rationality. Accordingly, an action can always (if not necessarily only) be considered rational if, among other things, (a) it is guided by a belief that, against the background of a perceived need for (plus a related goal of) action, is directed towards means that appear to be expedient; and if this means-ends-belief (b) is able to maintain the “right balance” between excessive credulity and excessive skepticism in such a way that it proves to be successful in choosing the means it has selected as expedient;^[12] and here (c) the corresponding judgment of the agent is completely sufficient to establish and vouch for this success.

So far, so good. However, for one thing such a concept of rationality seems reductive on a purely descriptive level already – namely by failing to distinguish between rationality as an execution and as a mere disposition.^[13] The normative aspect is more serious: rationality can and should always be and act in an eminently critical rather than purely instrumental way – and I am sure Fisch would agree. Among other things this raises the difficult question of whether rationality can be considered an end and/or a virtue, and if so, of what kind. I cannot go into detail here, instead I will only mention in passing three basic aspects of the view that I myself am inclined to subscribe to: First, and formally speaking, rationality, qua disposition, does indeed denote a (nota bene: relative; see below) virtue, albeit one that occupies a peculiar intermediate position between “those virtues that can be interpreted as both duties and goods (e. g., reliability) and those for which this is not the case, because and insofar as they can be considered goods but not duties (e. g., wisdom).”^[14] This is because, on the one hand, I am considered responsible and hence held accountable for (not) acting rationally, whereas, on the other hand, the very same rationality seems to be contingent and somewhat elusive, in that I am not able to be (and consider myself) rational thanks to a mere fiat of the will; in other words, I have no full and unrestricted power or control over my own rationality. Second, and structurally speaking, rationality is a virtue to the extent that, in Aristotelian terms, it strikes the “right balance” or golden means between credulity and excessive skepticism in the manner described – and this not only from a phenomenological or first person-, but also from an epistemic or third person-perspective.^[15] Sure enough, I don’t need to reflect upon my (or anybody else’s) rationality in order to be rational. But if my belief, conduct or behavior truly deserves that label, then it does so also and necessarily due to the fact that it actually meets the condition of hitting the “golden means” between credulity and excessive skepticism regarding the success of my envisaged action and the appropriateness of the selected means to achieve that success.

Third, and normatively speaking, this does not imply that rationality can be regarded as an unambiguous or unconditional good. For, this would require, among other things, that the goal of a given action can be deemed unambiguously good or preferable, and this condition is sometimes, but of course not always and necessarily met. Accordingly, rationality requires intersubjectivity – and this regardless of whether the latter and its epistemic standards are to be considered culture-dependent, hence prone to change or modification, or not.

This being said, the main problem with Fisch’s concept of rationality lies in the fact that it is too broad or too liberal: in other words, it does not allow – at least it does not call for – the restrictions just noted. Accordingly, a man who disrobes and jumps into the water to save a child from drowning would act rationally, but by no means more rationally than, for example, an SS henchman who on the Auschwitz ramp selects a person deemed unfit for work for the gas chambers; or a paranoid who equips his house with automatic firearms because “everyone in the world is after him.” They all act “for a reason,” hence rationally according to Fisch’s standards, but not necessarily “for a good reason,” and the question is: can we really and indiscriminately assess their behavior as “rational” and this to the very same degree?

In my opinion, a semantic choice must be made at this point: Either one favors, like Fisch, a broad concept of rationality whose extension includes extreme cases like the ones just mentioned (SS-man, paranoiac). What is lacking then, is, firstly, a separate argument to account for the distinction between reasons for action simpliciter and (epistemically and/or ethically) good reasons: if bad reasons for a certain conduct are nonetheless rational, how do we tell them apart from the good ones? The problem can be exacerbated: If only those, but also all actions deserve to be called rational that are performed “for a reason,” then actions for which there are good reasons simply do not exist. Actions might still be irrational – provided they are or have been performed for no reason at all. But once such reasons, whatever they might be, are present and effective in the mind of an agent, namely as a motivation for his action or conduct, those reasons are ipso facto to be deemed rational and thus cannot be bad. And since they cannot be bad, they cannot be good, either – for good reasons are only possible if bad ones are too.

This price seems too high to me – moreover, paying it is quite unnecessary: For, if one takes a narrower concept of rationality as a basis, with the consequence that everyone, yet also only those who have good reasons for their actions, act rationally, not only is there room for a clear break in the assessment of the cases just mentioned (the life-saver acts, at least possibly, rationally – as opposed to the SS man or the paranoiac), but also the counter-intuitive assumption that good reasons for action simply vanish disappears. It is replaced by the much more obvious or natural hypothesis that the goodness or badness, worthiness or unworthiness, rationality or irrationality of actions not only is possible per se but can also be assessed rationally. For, otherwise (that is by following Fisch’s approach), we are left with a highly unpleasant alternative: competing claims to rationality oppose and neutralize each other without there being any “rational” way of adjudicating between them.

I must admit, however, that my own approach also has a price, a price that might eventually turn out to be an advantage, though: The internal or subjective rationality-criterion of the “broad” approach (rational are all and only those actions in which an agent selects and successfully applies the means suitable from his point of view for any purposes functioning as reasons for his action) must be supplemented by a dimension of objective and intersubjective rationality, which of course, considerably limits the range of rational conduct and behavior. Accordingly, “anyone who [...] should be able to be considered rational must be able to respond to questions with intersubjectively understandable and valid reasons for their belief(s)/action(s) in question or be prepared to ask themselves corresponding questions.”^[16] These objective (appropriateness), intersubjective (agreeability) and subjective (willingness to engage in dialog) rationality conditions are, or at least can be, fulfilled – ex post, at any rate – by the above-mentioned lifesaver, whereas SS-men and paranoiacs must and can be ruled out here.

In an earlier text, I quoted Robert Audi who aptly speaks of “responsiveness to experience”^[17] as an element and condition of rationality. That Fisch is ultimately on the same or at least on a similar track is shown, among other things, by his almost identical formulation of “responsiveness to reasons”^[18] as a defining element of rationality. The latter is not possible without a certain kind of responsiveness – and this responsiveness in turn is not possible without the ability and willingness to engage in conversation or dialog, and even less so without a willingness to self-correct: Only those who are able and willing to expose their own claim to rationality to critical scrutiny can be rational and act rationally. Strictly speaking, we can only be rational if (a) we are both able and willing to change our minds, if need be; and if, furthermore, (b) we expect this need to arise, in all probability, sooner or later. Just as one cannot engage in dialog or dispute without trust, one can likewise not behave rationally without trust – the trust, namely, that others will act in the same or in a similar manner in comparable situations and therefore approve of one’s own behavior, or at least respect it as an attempt to act appropriately under the given circumstances. Just as human beings can neither be free nor (morally) good on their own or as solitary beings, they cannot be or act rationally on their own either. Not only based on reading Fisch’s writings, but also and above all based on numerous conversations, I am completely convinced that he is ultimately of the same opinion. My (only) complaint is that this view appears to be insufficiently backed up by his exoteric or explicit concept of rationality.^[19]

4. It must be admitted that Fisch developed ideas elsewhere which are suitable for supplementing what is missing in the present context – or which at least indicate the direction in which further considerations could be expressed. Above all this applies to his reflections on the rationality of so-called framework transitions, repeated in various contexts.^[20] Fisch writes: every rational act “necessarily requires that a normative framework of [...] norms and standards be firmly in place, with reference to which practitioners can deem a theory or procedure sufficiently wanting or lacking [either] to merit replacement”^[21] or merely repair – or, indeed, re-confirmation. Fisch draws attention to three crucial points in this context. First, the issue of rationality is not limited to the correspondence or non-correspondence of individual validity claims with their underlying (and often tacit) framework beliefs, but extends to the latter themselves, i. e. to the question of whether and, if so, how and under what conditions rational framework transitions are possible. If the latter are possible – and Fisch affirms this – then, secondly, neither this possibility itself nor the rationality of corresponding transitions can be interpreted in any internalist way, i. e. as the result of mere self-criticism on the part of those who make those transitions. This is because such self-criticism can only be conceived of as something that would have to be carried out precisely in virtue of the very framework whose validity is at issue. Thirdly, if such transitions, as rational ones, are nevertheless possible – and according to Fisch this is indeed the case – then they must be regarded as externally constituted, or at least triggered: i. e. as something the genesis and rationality of which depends on the interventions and objections of others who successively undermine the assumptions at issue and who are recognized as knowledgeable and credible peers.

I have commented critically on these ideas elsewhere – at least in part^[22] – and will not repeat this criticism here; nor will I invoke or comment upon Fisch’s response (cf. his article in the present issue of NZSTh). The decisive point is one that, in my opinion, not only confirms the idea of rationality I defended above, but also suggests that the latter converges with the one Fisch advocates, at least to a major extent. He writes: “To act rationally is to take persistent critical stock of one’s world by means of the normative commitments to which one holds it accountable, and to intervene whenever one deems them to be sufficiently breached.”^[23] In my opinion, this thesis suggests that, from Fisch’s point of view, rational actions not only have critical implications, but that they are above all potentially self-critical and for this very reason also have certain trans-rational implications, since both criticism and self-criticism are related to and in fact dependent on certain normatively deep and far-reaching framework-commitments. Put another way: rationality is only possible as such; for it appears to be subject to something that not only conditions it, but limits its own scope, yet at the same time is always (at least subliminally) in view as such and as a guiding ideal of behavior. It is precisely this idea that I wanted to express in the previous section (3.) by urging that only those who are able and willing to question their own rationality at any time (thus behaving in a “responsive” manner to possible counterarguments) can be rational. Accordingly, one can only be and act rationally if one is willing and able to revoke one’s own claim to rationality at any time, namely under the proviso that others either demonstrate one’s own basic normative assumptions to be contradicted or else show that the latter need reform (or even suspension) themselves. I am not sure whether Fisch would agree with this reading, but it seems important to me as an additional qualifier to his – perhaps all too liberal – concept of rationality.

3 Issues Regarding the (Concept of the) Self

1. In the present context I am even more resolutely than in my earlier account^[24] in favor of the narrower concept of rationality outlined above because I believe that from here, I can more easily counter the objection that Fisch raises against my Kierkegaard-inspired conception of the human self – an objection that, from his point of view, marks the actual point of difference between our standpoints. I agree. The matter is convoluted, however, for it seems to me that Fisch’s account contains at least three errors: Firstly, he thinks he disagrees with me about an issue on which, at least as I perceive it, he de facto agrees with me. Secondly, there is indeed disagreement on two other points (2. and 3.), but here Fisch is wrong in my opinion – irrespective of the fact that he correctly marks our disagreement.

He writes: “[H]uman self-consciousness [...] goes far beyond mere self-awareness. We are not simply aware of having [...] [certain] desire[s] [...] We take a normative stand toward them [...] This uniquely human ability to self-divide and hold oneself accountable is how I understand us subjectively relating to our own subjectivity.”^[25] The phrase “to relate subjectively to one’s own subjectivity” is inspired by Kierkegaard and I have adopted it.^[26] Now, when Fisch refers to it his point is critical: in his opinion my recourse to Kierkegaard may be hermeneutically correct, i. e. covered by what he writes and means to say, but in any case, it is part and parcel of a misinterpretation of the human self qua self-relation, namely in such a way that the latter’s genuine normative implications are overlooked or underestimated.

Frankly, I consider this to be a misunderstanding of my position, and my response touches on two aspects, one conceptual and one epistemic – I will return to the latter in section 3. Firstly, then, the conceptual aspect: to put it bluntly, I am in complete agreement with Fisch that the (conscious or reflexive) human self-relation does not have the character of disinterested contemplation, but rather that of wanting (or rejecting) oneself, and consequently has intrinsic normative implications. Invoking Kierkegaard in this context has only one purpose: to clarify and explain how this self-volition or self-rejection – more precisely, the constant oscillation between both – can come about in the first place. In my opinion, what Fisch rightly calls “self-divide” is better understood in view of its possibility and genesis if, first, one realizes that (a) two forms, layers or stages of subjectivity are at stake here and must be distinguished. (b) The second stage consists in the conscious or willfully potentiated reflection of the first, to the effect that (c) this reflection takes place precisely in the medium of the former. In this way it triggers and thereby helps generating the very potentiation (qua willing or refusing oneself), from which normativity emerges, namely in the sense of having to face and to resolve an inner conflict caused by the aforementioned oscillation: We always already relate in the medium of temptation to the (indeed: genuinely normative) question of whether we want to be the ones who succumbed to it or not; always in the medium of a desire for prosperity we find ourselves compelled to ask whether we want to be or have been the ones who failed because of the non-fulfillment – or fulfillment! – of that desire and thus did possibly not become “ourselves”’. Etc. Hence, I am in complete agreement with Fisch regarding the diagnosis of irreducibly normative implications of the human self or self-relation, but I consider myself misunderstood insofar as my (Kierkegaard-inspired) analysis of their genetically necessary conditions is concerned. Conversely, in my opinion, this analysis supports Fisch’s point of view, and it does so consciously and on purpose.

2. As already indicated, the second issue points to a real disagreement between myself and Fisch – a disagreement that, in my view, cannot be easily resolved or eliminated: it pertains to the origin and nature of the very normativity which is generated in and through human self-consciousness. To avoid misunderstandings: the issue is still of a purely conceptual kind. It is not, or not yet, about our ex hypothesi divergent response to the genuinely normative or epistemic question whether or not some X, which is claimed as an authoritative source of normativity, deserves to be treated as such. The difference merely concerns our apparently contradictory understanding of this source itself. Fisch writes: “While I locate the self’s source of self-critical self-appraisal in the second-order dimension of the self itself, Heiko insists that it pertains to a third level he describes as ‘a serious [...] metaphysical commitment – a commitment to something unconditional or quasi-divine.’”^[27]

I completely agree with this characterization: the point marked by Fisch is indeed the core of our disagreement. Fisch’s error – if there is an error – is therefore to be located elsewhere: namely in the very thesis he advocates regarding the source of normativity. Fisch denies that it is necessary to refer to a third, metaphysical entity when it comes to accounting for the possibility that a self on the second-order level enters a normatively meaningful conflict with itself (qua first-order level); for, in his opinion, recourse to the double-layered structure of the self is completely sufficient for such an explanation.

This notwithstanding, he explicitly states that the foundation of normative self-relation and self-criticism which he locates in the second-order volitions “is no less ‘unconditional’ than Heiko’s quasi-divinity.”^[28] This is precisely where the first problem lies: if I am not mistaken, Fisch’s approach lacks the conceptual tools and theoretical prerequisites to make this unconditionality-trait within the human self-relation conceivable as immanent to this relation itself. The primary reason lies in Fisch’s overly broad or liberal concept of rationality, which I outlined and criticized in section two of my paper. Sure enough, we seem to be in complete agreement about the starting point/s: people make decisions, and they do so under the impression and within the framework of a self-image that is to be preserved and continuously confirmed, but which is also and often modified by further decisions. We also agree that this self-image is conditioned and heavily impacted by culture and upbringing, and in particular by the community in which we live and in which our decisions are permanently judged and sanctioned, either positively or negatively. This notwithstanding, people can and do refer to reasons for their decisions – nota bene: reasons that are always and ultimately rooted in the normative self-image to which they are functionally assigned. As has been shown, from Fisch’s point of view, these decisions can be considered rational simply because and insofar as they are based on reasons: he expressly denies that they must be “good,” i. e. objectively valid and/or intersubjectively acceptable reasons. As we have seen, however, no one can rightly be called rational who does not at least have a strong interest in having good reasons for these decisions (see section two above). Thanks to this interest, and this interest alone, human beings can be described as decision-making animals related to a dimension of the unconditional – a dimension perceived by them to be normatively grounding and orienting the former interest. For instance, we can only enter a serious dialog with someone, if and insofar as we have both a belief and an interest in the presence and efficaciousness of some “unconditional,” hence irrevocable and incorruptible virtues and/or values which normatively bind and orient us in our conversation: e. g., trustworthiness, honesty, reliability, open-mindedness, respect, responsiveness for arguments etc. It is precisely the idea of a mutual dependence between normative unconditionality and human interest in “good” reasons – namely, for all those decisions and actions which are meant to serve one’s own self-realization in the broadest sense – that, in my opinion, is missing in Fisch’s argumentation.

But even if it were possible to remedy this error, i. e. by successfully attributing the character of the unconditional to a source of normativity within the human self-relation itself, I do not really see how to avoid the consequence that this source must be understood (a) as a genuine third (besides and beyond the first- and second-order dimensions of the self), and indeed (b) as a third entity of a metaphysical kind.

Ad (a): Fisch often refers to Harry Frankfurt’s distinction between first-order and second-order volitions^[29] for structurally describing the human self-relation: human beings do not simply have desires, for instance, but they can and de facto do take an either approving or disapproving reflexive stance towards these desires. In essence, this description seems to me to be structurally and phenomenologically accurate. As a devout Kierkegaardian I would merely like to add that we typically reflect in the medium of the respective desire (qua first-order volition), namely in the sense of its reflexive approval or rejection, and that this affords us with at least one genetic or psychological explanation for the instability of and the susceptibility to conflict within the fragile structure of the self.

Here’s my critical point – and I repeat, it is purely descriptive or phenomenological in nature: in my opinion, it would be completely incomprehensible how any such conflict might arise at all, in the consciousness of the person concerned, if what we are dealing with are only two parameters, namely the two levels or stages of volition described. More specifically, it would remain incomprehensible how Peter might believe that he has to deny himself a wish, if we do not assume that he consciously – and usually quite reluctantly – sees himself confronted and challenged by a third instance or entity, perceived as normatively absolutely authoritative, through which he willy nilly has to reconsider whether or not he is justified in holding on to his wish.

Ad (b): The fact that I refer to this “third” instance or entity as metaphysical does not lead to, much less justify the conclusion – nota bene: not drawn by Fisch! – that I vote or would have to vote for its identification with God, let alone with a theistically and/or Christianly conceptualized God. Likewise, I do neither feel compelled nor inclined to interpret the origin of consciously relating to this instance as a (divine) “call of conscience”. My choice of term merely insinuates that what we are dealing with here is to be considered a non-physical, in fact transempirical entity that cannot be grasped as such within the boundaries of naturalist worldviews and/or scientific preconceptions. “Quasi-divine” (my term in this context), then, only implies that this metaphysical entity possesses properties – above all: that of unconditional authority – which are typically attributed to or associated also with God. Of course, in principle this third entity “could also be understood as the norms of the social world,” as an anonymous reader of the present article observed. Such norms can only be considered non-metaphysical, however, if they are perceived as something, which the “social world” itself takes to be a purely empirical and historically alterable entity. (“In our society rules X, Y, Z are currently taken for granted, but we can very well imagine a time, in which rules S, T, U would apply.”) As soon as a society claims those rules to be unconditionally binding and as such to be historically invariant, they must be considered metaphysical.

3. The third and final point also offers a variant of the penultimate one: Fisch and I firstly disagree; secondly, he is, in my view, wrong on the merits, although, thirdly, he accurately marks our disagreement in this regard. The only difference to the aforementioned point (2.) is that now a decidedly normative, more precisely epistemic instead of a purely conceptual problem is at issue.

Fisch precisely hits the decisive difference in this respect: At the heart of our “dispute lies the very unconditionality of religious people’s commitment to divine norm and command.”^[30] Two issues are de facto addressed here: Firstly, the (primarily, but by no means exclusively moral) unconditionality of human commitments – are all human commitments of a finite, relative and preliminary nature or are there also infinitely, ultimately and absolutely significant ones? Secondly, the relationship of the unconditional to the divine.

The previous section has already shown that Fisch considers it unnecessary to invoke any idea of the divine to explain both the origin of unconditionality in the human self and the possibility of a practice corresponding to it. In the present context the normative aspect is at issue: the ground of the unconditional or the unconditional obligation can, but does not have to be conceived as divine from his point of view. And even in the former case (where God is invoked) there is no reason to think of the divine in the sense of a “perfect being theology,” i. e. as unconditional in itself or as an absolute moral authority. On the contrary, the form of Talmudic Judaism to which Fisch feels committed worships a God who “is not only not morally perfect, but knows it, and, therefore, demands and welcomes our [human] normative critique.”^[31] In turn, Fisch himself attributes to me a Kierkegaard-inspired variant of a divine command ethics (DCE). Such an ethics “deems God to be absolute and perfect [...] holding ourselves in check with absolute authority”; we “may doubt our understanding of its dictate, but not its dictate itself.”^[32]

Fisch’s presentation and contrasting of our positions is, in my opinion, entirely correct and convincing; not so his rather cautious vote in favor of his own point of view. In conclusion, I should like to make two brief critical remarks, firstly an external one, i. e. relating to the comparison of our divergent views. I have elsewhere given a decidedly theological vote in favor of a DCE;^[33] i. e. as a Christian theologian, I feel compelled to contradict Fisch. From a philosophical perspective, things look different, though: Here, in my opinion, we end up with a stalemate, which as such does not allow for any reasonable or rational preference; for in light of my argument in the previous section, there is no reason for claiming that God and only God – much less the God of classical theism – remains to be thought of as a placeholder of that which is unconditional and unconditionally authoritative. Certainly, the idea of a divine being as the ultimate, unsurpassable and presumably exclusive “source of the self” (Charles Taylor) offers sufficient reasons for making sense of the possibility of that unconditionally authoritative “third” (see above), both in ontological and moral terms; however, it does not offer necessary or indispensable reasons for it. And whether these sufficient reasons turn out to be the most plausible ones in comparison to all factual and/or conceivable competing hypotheses must, if I am not mistaken, remain open for the time being. In this respect, Fisch might counter – and rightly so – that his own position provides at least as satisfactory an explanation as my contrary approach, not only in conceptual terms (see above), but also epistemically.

However, an additional and possibly more serious problem looms large on a purely internal level, thus affecting the coherence of Fisch’s overall approach. Sure enough, even if my vote for the irreducibility of a third (metaphysical) instance as the origin, necessary condition and element of the unconditionality-dimension within the human self can pass for convincing, it does not follow that a religious believer in Fisch’s sense, although claiming an unconditional interest in the unconditional, simultaneously and inconsistently worships something conditional (= the fallible God of Talmudic Judaism); for this conclusion would only be compelling if the person in question ignored the fact that his or her God must be regarded as limited and fallible. However, another, both theologically and pragmatically disastrous problem looms large at this point: on the one hand, Fisch’s believer merely believes to worship as God what he does not in truth worship and also cannot worship – namely the fallible God of Talmudic Judaism; on the other hand he denies to worship as God what he, secretly, believes to be truly divine: the unconditional dimension of his own true self, in the sense described above.

4 Conclusions

I will conclude with a few systematic remarks. They tie in with what I believe I have learned from my conversations with Fisch over the years. Of course, many different things could be mentioned here – but in any case, and above all, a unique interweaving of academic and relational levels in his thinking. Both the content and style of Fisch’s philosophy are shaped and determined by the unshakeable conviction of a radically dialogical nature of human rationality, and this conviction corresponds to the cultivation of an attitude that he aptly calls “epistemic humility” – an attitude which he himself possesses to an admirably high degree. That seems exemplary to me.

1. More specifically, I owe two lessons to the years of refreshingly controversial conversations with Fisch and, in particular, to our literary discussion in the context of the present articles. Here is the first, fundamental-hermeneutic lesson: people can obviously not only be mistaken in judging that their counterpart is wrong in the “assertion that p,” but also in what they wrongly attribute to him as the “assertion that p” (and of course, they can also be wrong in both respects). Conversely, if someone wants to defend themselves against the accusation “you say, write or mean that p, but ¬p,” they also have three and only three strategies at their disposal, which can be typologically distinguished with the help of J. L. Austin’s famous distinction.^[34] Firstly, the strategy of excuse: “What I said, wrote or meant is not p”; secondly, that of justification: “p”; and thirdly, a combination of both.

Needless to add, the very same applies if someone does not want to criticize, but on the contrary wants to praise someone and express his agreement with him. In this case, too, hermeneutic caution is required, as it might turn out that the diagnosed agreement does not actually exist, and that praise is therefore no less misleading than illusionary criticism in the parallel case. Accordingly, praise can be misplaced not only when it is given for what should in truth be censured – or else should be entirely self-evident – but also when its addressee does not deserve praise at all because the quality or view for which he is being praised is wrongly attributed to him. Suppose, Peter and Thomas are discussing the war in Ukraine. Both can agree or disagree on some relevant issue X, e. g. whether arms deliveries to Ukraine are politically advisable or not under the current circumstances, without reflecting on whether they agree or disagree on this. However, if they do, at a meta-level, as it were (and this is the rule, at least in the case of disagreement), there remain, in terms of a purely combinatory logic, six possible ways of answering the question, whether and to what extent they rightly or wrongly consider themselves to be in mutual (dis)agreement regarding X:

1. Peter praises Thomas regarding his opinion about X, and rightly so; firstly, Thomas has the same opinion about X as Peter; and secondly, this opinion is true.

2. Peter is wrong to praise Thomas regarding his opinion about X: Although both hold the same opinion about X, this opinion is wrong.

3. Peter wrongly praises Thomas regarding his opinion about X: Peter’s opinion about X is true, but he wrongly attributes it to Thomas.

4. Peter rebukes Thomas regarding his opinion about X, and rightly so: Firstly, Thomas holds a contrary and/or contradictory opinion to Peter regarding X; and secondly, the opinion held by Thomas is wrong.

5. Peter wrongly rebukes Thomas regarding his opinion about X: Peter rightly attributes to him an opinion about X that is contrary and/or contradictory to Peter’s own opinion; but the latter wrongly considers Thomas’s opinion to be wrong.

6. Peter wrongly rebukes Thomas regarding his opinion about X: The opinion that Peter attributes to Thomas regarding X is indeed wrong; but he wrongly attributes it to Thomas.

Obviously, the matter is somewhat complex, and correspondingly prone to error be it about judgments about the truth of one’s own/another’s position; be it regarding the agreement of one’s own view with that of another; or be it in both respects. Preferentially ordered, variant (1) would certainly be at the top, followed by (4): in both cases there is no error involved. Whether, if there is, one considers an error pertaining to the attribution of a mutual agreement or disagreement (nos. [3] + [6]) to be more fatal than a mistake pertaining to the truth or falsehood of the factual question under discussion (nos. [2] + [5]), I am prima facie unable to decide; likewise, if such an error is more serious depending on whether the respective attribution is made with the intention of censure (nos. [5] + [6]) or praise (nos. [2] + [3]).

In the preceding sections, I partly affirmed and partly criticized Fisch, and accordingly expressed my agreement or disagreement with him. The question of whether and to what extent my attributions are (and are not only believed by to be) correct (cf. nos. [1] and [4]) or wrong (cf. [2], [3], [5] and [6]) in both respects is one that I feel entitled to ignore, simply because it cannot be answered, neither by Fisch nor by myself; an answer would have to override, per impossibile, the externalist insight that the truth or falsehood of a judgment is contingent upon it, i. e. subjectively unavailable. And this insight pertains to all the above-mentioned variants ([1]–[6]): i. e. not only to the truth- (nos. [1], [2], [4], [5]), but also to the attribution-issue (nos. [1], [3], [4], [6]). However, on the flipside there is a benefit that is difficult to overestimate: realizing one’s own fallibility and limitedness promotes and facilitates the attitude of epistemic humility – an attitude the cultivation of which appears to be desirable at all times.

2. There is also a second and more abstract lesson to be reckoned with, in terms of the pragmatics and ethics of dialogical rationality: it is sometimes better, even morally preferable to be in mutual agreement about one’s disagreement than about one’s agreement – at least if one is right in the former but errs in the latter. And it is also preferable to disagree about one’s agreement than about one’s disagreement: provided both parties erroneously consider themselves to disagree. As a starting point and motivating force for further dialog and mutual understanding in general any actual unity in disagreement seems just as preferable to any apparent and therefore unjustified agreement in unity as to any unjustified disagreement therein – or in disunity (it is, of course, not preferable to any actual unity in unity!). I feel both proud and relieved to be able to conclude that in or after the vast majority of conversations with Fisch, either the latter or the former has emerged. Indeed, I would be ready to defend the claim that the dialog we have conducted over the years is itself an instance of what it is about: a dialog concerning issues of rationality in the medium and spirit of a rationality conceived of as irreducibly dialogical. Not least because of this, we will in all probability continue our conversation – a conversation based on mutual respect, sympathy, appreciation and humor, regardless of any differences of opinion. That is no small feat by any standards, and certainly not something to be taken for granted.