Beyond Clarity and Moralizing
A Place for Productive Ambiguity in Theology
Photo by Dalton Smith on Unsplash
Productive Ambiguity
- Ambiguity and Beauty: Ambiguity in works of art holds beauty and value, providing space for interpretation and creativity, commonly recognized in literature, drama, theatre, and film.
- Shakespeare as Illustrative: Shakespeare's use of gaps and ambiguity invites participation and exploration of life's complexities, showcasing the brilliance of his incomplete plays.
- Theology and Ambiguity: Theology can and often should have loose ends, allowing for diverse beliefs, dynamic ethics, and multiple spiritual paths.
- Overemphasizing Clarity: Overemphasizing clarity can lead to rigid doctrines and neglect the ambiguous aspects of life.
- Overemphasizing Moral Messages: Overemphasizing moral messages in theology can miss the complexities of human life by always seeking to convey a definitive moral 'message.'
- Divine Openness to Ambiguity: The divine response to human stories, with their ambiguities, reflects a God who is truly loving, open and relational, and enriched by ambiguities.
- Ambiguous Representations of God: Ambiguous representations of God, not preoccupied with definitional clarity and rich in metaphor, can be illuminating because they avoid reducing the divine to a stereotyped character, allowing for a more nuanced understanding.
- Embracing Uncertainty: Embracing uncertainty and complexity in theology allows for a more open and relational approach that values questions, exploration, and the ongoing process of understanding, and is honest to the mystery of human life.
Explorations
I have graded many a student essay and gently written, on the side, "ambiguous" and "unclear." One time a student responded: "But I want to be ambiguous and unclear. I want to leave some breathing space. I want to be productively ambiguous."
She was a theatre arts major at the college where I taught. She'd been reading a lot of Shakespeare, who is productively ambiguous in almost all of his plays. He leaves gaps, breathing space for different performers, readers, audiences and directors to interpret, help complete, and add to his works. That is part of his genius. He doesn't answer questions, he nurtures them. Implicitly, he encourages his recipients to be in process. Or at least his works do.
I shared my student's response with colleagues and they quickly and predictably responded: "She's no Shakespeare. Nor are we. She must learn to write clearly and unambiguously before she can experiment with more theatrical writing."
I disagreed with them. I think she was right to challenge me. There's a certain kind of beauty in clear writing, to be sure. Technical writing needs to be clear and precise. But there's also a kind of beauty productive ambiguity. As a theatre arts major, she was especially attuned to the beauty of the ambiguous and, by implication, the beauty of an open-ended life.
*
Productive ambiguity is an open and relational event. It happens when a situation or concept is deliberately left open to multiple interpretations, allowing for various perspectives and meanings to emerge. Rather than being a source of confusion or misunderstanding, such ambiguity is "productive" because it fosters creativity, dialogue, and critical thinking, including further questions. It encourages individuals to explore different angles, question assumptions, and engage in deeper exploration of ideas, without a sense of complete closure. Productive ambiguity is often used in art, literature, philosophy, and other fields where complexity and nuance are valued. Why not theology?
*
Janet is a post-evangelical Christian drawn to open and relational theology, and also an actor and playwright. She loves the theatre. Janet applied for a master's program at a leading seminary in the United States, hoping to write a play exploring open and relational themes. She wanted the play to be her masters thesis. Her idea was to write and then perform the drama with other students in her class.
Her application letter took on a story form, presenting characters grappling with themes of love, resentment, forgiveness, despair, hope, and addiction among folks living in West Virginia, where she lives. The story did not have a happy ending, but it was honest to human life. She believed that open and relational theology is "open" because it can be open to life as it presents itself, without seeing it through rose-colored glasses. For her, the wisdom of open and relational theology is not that it has happy endings, but that it invites and encourages such honesty.
Her story impressed those who read her application, and she was accepted. However, she was advised that in her course of study, she would need to write clearly argued essays. "You can't just write stories," said one professor. "You also need to to scholarly, theological work." His assumption was that "real" theology is written in clear and distinct prose, making arguments and drawing conclusions. She sensed that, for him, plays were second-order theology, but that their "message" need to be presented in non-narrative form.
Another reader also suggested that if her play were to present open and relational theology, it probably needed a happy ending, as one aim of open and relational theology is to offer a clear alternative to 'bad' theologies that present God as all-powerful and in control of things. His assumption was that an open and relational play should present the truth of open and relational theology. It should have a clear moral message, like a morality play.
"But isn't there a place in open and relational theology for ambiguity and indecision, as with Hamlet in Shakespeare?" she wondered. "Isn't there a place for further questioning?"
The answer, she sensed, was no. Open and relational theology must present "good" theology and reject "bad" theology, and it must be clear in its message. She decided not to enter the program. She's going to write the play anyway.
*
Many post-evangelicals are brought up to believe that it is important to be "clear" about their beliefs. These beliefs must be clearly stated, with definitions in place, such that all questions are "clearly" answered. There is no place for loose ends, incompleteness, gaps, or productive ambiguity. The arguments must be airtight, without much breathing space.
As they leave evangelical culture, alienated from its dogmatisms, they may bring this preference for clarity with them, seeking alternative theologies that provide "clear" alternatives.
Open and relational theology sometimes functions this way. When post-evangelicals first encounter open and relational theologies, they often find them compelling by virtue of their clarity. True, open and relational theologians will speak of the importance of being humble amid their clarity, valorizing what they call "epistemic humility." This humility does not obviate the impulse toward clarity. It means that, after their positions have been clearly stated, they recognize that these positions may be wrong.
This approach contrasts sharply with that of a dramatist like Shakespeare. Almost all of Shakespeare's plays are filled with productive ambiguities, that is, with gaps. A leading Shakespeare scholar at Oxford, Emma Smith, author of This is Shakespeare (and many other works, calls it "gappiness."
That gappy quality is so crucial to my approach that I want to outline it here. Shakespeare’s plays are incomplete, woven of what’s said and what’s unsaid, with holes in between...Shakespeare’s construction of his plays tends to imply rather than state; he often shows, rather than tells; most characters and encounters are susceptible to multiple interpretations. It’s because we have to fill in the gaps that Shakespeare is so vital.
In an interview she adds:
"Well, 'gappiness' is just all this breathing space that there is in Shakespeare: all the things that we don’t know, the space there is for our creativity. So, I’m trying to say these plays are really incomplete, and the thing that they need to complete them is us and our sort of inventiveness, our world, our experience."
In short, the gaps are not merely defects or things left out; they are pregnant possibilities or, to use Whitehead's language, "lures for feeling." The gaps - the things left unsaid and unresolved - invite and require creativity.
*
The gaps also carry a truth of their own. They reflect the complexity of the characters in the play, who are not reducible to simple stereotypes that can be judged "up" or "down." Even one of the most murderous characters, Macbeth, is complex in this way, and despite his horrendous actions, the reader or listener gets to know him deeply, as he is on stage so much. The genius of Shakespeare and many other playwrights and filmmakers is that they create gaps for further exploration.
*
The problem lies in making a fetish of clarity that leaves out the unresolved and perhaps also the unresolvable. When we philosophers and theologians over-emphasize clarity, we unwittingly fall into a will-to-mastery, a will-to-power, wherein we want to "master" a subject—even if, as in the case of theology, the subject happens to be God.
Outsiders sense this. God becomes an object, indeed an idol, in our imaginations. We may proclaim to the heavens that God is Love, but the Love we speak of becomes an idea in our heads that we want to be clear about, waving it as a banner, a flag, inspiring others and, along the way. dividing the world into bifurcated teams. On one side is "good" theology; on the other is "bad" theology. And we, of course, are on the good side. We are on a moral crusade to convert others to our way of thinking.
Something is lost. We leave no space for productive ambiguity, for collective questioning, for the joy of being unsure, for, to quote Whitehead, "a creative advance into novelty." Our crusading impulses take over.
*
I realize that not all theologians can write or speak in productively ambiguous ways. We have been shaped by canons in the academy that prioritize clarity. Such is our Cartesian legacy, which holds that good ideas are always "clear and distinct." We are embarrassed if someone says that we are vague, and even criticize others, including our students if we teach, for being unclear.
*
I think there's something more going on. We have been trained to think that theology at its best offers "take home messages" about how to live in the world. It must be prescriptive. This is where Shakespeare has it over theology. As an artist he can be descriptive without being prescriptive. He can simply present a character and say, in effect, this is life in its complexity and ambiguity, no further lesson needed. He invites us to be attentive, to be mindful, to take life into account with being too quick to judge. What might theology be like if it were less judgmental, less preoccupied with giving messages on how to live? What might it be like if, to quote Whitehead on the nature of love, it was "a little oblivious as to morals."
Love neither rules, nor is it unmoved; also it is a little oblivious as to morals. It does not look to the future; for it finds its own reward in the immediate present.
Make no mistake. Shakespeare's play are filled with characters who wrestle with moral questions and morally-preoccupied plots as well. My point is that the plays themselves encourage us to bracket our own moralistic mindsets for a while and simply look at what life includes. Is there a place for this kind of looking in open and relational theology?
*
Incorporating productive ambiguity into open and relational theology would involve embracing uncertainty and complexity, allowing for a broader range of interpretations and experiences, leaving breathing space. Here's what it might look like:
In essence, productive ambiguity in open and relational theology can help open and relational theology become still more open and relational.
*
I seek an open and relational theology that is open to productive ambiguity. It can, as with Janet above, present and communicate open-ended narratives, just like the play she wrote. Its epistemic humility is not that of developing a "position" which is recognized as finite and fallible, but in bypassing positions altogether through openness to life as it is and becomes. It ha an artistic quality to it. A theatricality.
*
As a process theologian, I can't help but think that the very Soul of the universe, God is attentive to these narratives and that as the stories of our lives unfold, filled as they are with ambiguities and complexities, they add something to the divine life that gives God breathing-space: that is, a space to be creative, to weave what is given into a whole, even if a kind of tragic beauty, that is a divine voice.
Perhaps this is what Janet sensed in proposing her play. She sensed that we humans don't need to add further commentary to the stories of our lives, but that we can trust that something good is made of them, even in their ambiguities. This, I believe, is the God to which open and relational theology rightly points. A God of love who welcomes questions and whose love is itself incomplete, because always enriched by new stories.
- Jay McDaniel
She was a theatre arts major at the college where I taught. She'd been reading a lot of Shakespeare, who is productively ambiguous in almost all of his plays. He leaves gaps, breathing space for different performers, readers, audiences and directors to interpret, help complete, and add to his works. That is part of his genius. He doesn't answer questions, he nurtures them. Implicitly, he encourages his recipients to be in process. Or at least his works do.
I shared my student's response with colleagues and they quickly and predictably responded: "She's no Shakespeare. Nor are we. She must learn to write clearly and unambiguously before she can experiment with more theatrical writing."
I disagreed with them. I think she was right to challenge me. There's a certain kind of beauty in clear writing, to be sure. Technical writing needs to be clear and precise. But there's also a kind of beauty productive ambiguity. As a theatre arts major, she was especially attuned to the beauty of the ambiguous and, by implication, the beauty of an open-ended life.
*
Productive ambiguity is an open and relational event. It happens when a situation or concept is deliberately left open to multiple interpretations, allowing for various perspectives and meanings to emerge. Rather than being a source of confusion or misunderstanding, such ambiguity is "productive" because it fosters creativity, dialogue, and critical thinking, including further questions. It encourages individuals to explore different angles, question assumptions, and engage in deeper exploration of ideas, without a sense of complete closure. Productive ambiguity is often used in art, literature, philosophy, and other fields where complexity and nuance are valued. Why not theology?
*
Janet is a post-evangelical Christian drawn to open and relational theology, and also an actor and playwright. She loves the theatre. Janet applied for a master's program at a leading seminary in the United States, hoping to write a play exploring open and relational themes. She wanted the play to be her masters thesis. Her idea was to write and then perform the drama with other students in her class.
Her application letter took on a story form, presenting characters grappling with themes of love, resentment, forgiveness, despair, hope, and addiction among folks living in West Virginia, where she lives. The story did not have a happy ending, but it was honest to human life. She believed that open and relational theology is "open" because it can be open to life as it presents itself, without seeing it through rose-colored glasses. For her, the wisdom of open and relational theology is not that it has happy endings, but that it invites and encourages such honesty.
Her story impressed those who read her application, and she was accepted. However, she was advised that in her course of study, she would need to write clearly argued essays. "You can't just write stories," said one professor. "You also need to to scholarly, theological work." His assumption was that "real" theology is written in clear and distinct prose, making arguments and drawing conclusions. She sensed that, for him, plays were second-order theology, but that their "message" need to be presented in non-narrative form.
Another reader also suggested that if her play were to present open and relational theology, it probably needed a happy ending, as one aim of open and relational theology is to offer a clear alternative to 'bad' theologies that present God as all-powerful and in control of things. His assumption was that an open and relational play should present the truth of open and relational theology. It should have a clear moral message, like a morality play.
"But isn't there a place in open and relational theology for ambiguity and indecision, as with Hamlet in Shakespeare?" she wondered. "Isn't there a place for further questioning?"
The answer, she sensed, was no. Open and relational theology must present "good" theology and reject "bad" theology, and it must be clear in its message. She decided not to enter the program. She's going to write the play anyway.
*
Many post-evangelicals are brought up to believe that it is important to be "clear" about their beliefs. These beliefs must be clearly stated, with definitions in place, such that all questions are "clearly" answered. There is no place for loose ends, incompleteness, gaps, or productive ambiguity. The arguments must be airtight, without much breathing space.
As they leave evangelical culture, alienated from its dogmatisms, they may bring this preference for clarity with them, seeking alternative theologies that provide "clear" alternatives.
Open and relational theology sometimes functions this way. When post-evangelicals first encounter open and relational theologies, they often find them compelling by virtue of their clarity. True, open and relational theologians will speak of the importance of being humble amid their clarity, valorizing what they call "epistemic humility." This humility does not obviate the impulse toward clarity. It means that, after their positions have been clearly stated, they recognize that these positions may be wrong.
This approach contrasts sharply with that of a dramatist like Shakespeare. Almost all of Shakespeare's plays are filled with productive ambiguities, that is, with gaps. A leading Shakespeare scholar at Oxford, Emma Smith, author of This is Shakespeare (and many other works, calls it "gappiness."
That gappy quality is so crucial to my approach that I want to outline it here. Shakespeare’s plays are incomplete, woven of what’s said and what’s unsaid, with holes in between...Shakespeare’s construction of his plays tends to imply rather than state; he often shows, rather than tells; most characters and encounters are susceptible to multiple interpretations. It’s because we have to fill in the gaps that Shakespeare is so vital.
In an interview she adds:
"Well, 'gappiness' is just all this breathing space that there is in Shakespeare: all the things that we don’t know, the space there is for our creativity. So, I’m trying to say these plays are really incomplete, and the thing that they need to complete them is us and our sort of inventiveness, our world, our experience."
In short, the gaps are not merely defects or things left out; they are pregnant possibilities or, to use Whitehead's language, "lures for feeling." The gaps - the things left unsaid and unresolved - invite and require creativity.
*
The gaps also carry a truth of their own. They reflect the complexity of the characters in the play, who are not reducible to simple stereotypes that can be judged "up" or "down." Even one of the most murderous characters, Macbeth, is complex in this way, and despite his horrendous actions, the reader or listener gets to know him deeply, as he is on stage so much. The genius of Shakespeare and many other playwrights and filmmakers is that they create gaps for further exploration.
*
The problem lies in making a fetish of clarity that leaves out the unresolved and perhaps also the unresolvable. When we philosophers and theologians over-emphasize clarity, we unwittingly fall into a will-to-mastery, a will-to-power, wherein we want to "master" a subject—even if, as in the case of theology, the subject happens to be God.
Outsiders sense this. God becomes an object, indeed an idol, in our imaginations. We may proclaim to the heavens that God is Love, but the Love we speak of becomes an idea in our heads that we want to be clear about, waving it as a banner, a flag, inspiring others and, along the way. dividing the world into bifurcated teams. On one side is "good" theology; on the other is "bad" theology. And we, of course, are on the good side. We are on a moral crusade to convert others to our way of thinking.
Something is lost. We leave no space for productive ambiguity, for collective questioning, for the joy of being unsure, for, to quote Whitehead, "a creative advance into novelty." Our crusading impulses take over.
*
I realize that not all theologians can write or speak in productively ambiguous ways. We have been shaped by canons in the academy that prioritize clarity. Such is our Cartesian legacy, which holds that good ideas are always "clear and distinct." We are embarrassed if someone says that we are vague, and even criticize others, including our students if we teach, for being unclear.
*
I think there's something more going on. We have been trained to think that theology at its best offers "take home messages" about how to live in the world. It must be prescriptive. This is where Shakespeare has it over theology. As an artist he can be descriptive without being prescriptive. He can simply present a character and say, in effect, this is life in its complexity and ambiguity, no further lesson needed. He invites us to be attentive, to be mindful, to take life into account with being too quick to judge. What might theology be like if it were less judgmental, less preoccupied with giving messages on how to live? What might it be like if, to quote Whitehead on the nature of love, it was "a little oblivious as to morals."
Love neither rules, nor is it unmoved; also it is a little oblivious as to morals. It does not look to the future; for it finds its own reward in the immediate present.
Make no mistake. Shakespeare's play are filled with characters who wrestle with moral questions and morally-preoccupied plots as well. My point is that the plays themselves encourage us to bracket our own moralistic mindsets for a while and simply look at what life includes. Is there a place for this kind of looking in open and relational theology?
*
Incorporating productive ambiguity into open and relational theology would involve embracing uncertainty and complexity, allowing for a broader range of interpretations and experiences, leaving breathing space. Here's what it might look like:
- Open-Ended Narratives: Biblical and religious narratives can be interpreted as open-ended, encouraging believers to see themselves as co-creators in the unfolding story. This approach will emphasize the participatory nature of faith and the ongoing process of revelation.
- Emphasis on Questions Over Answers: Instead of providing definitive answers, open and relational theology can prioritize questions and the process of seeking understanding. This will foster a culture of curiosity and humility, where uncertainty is valued as a space for growth and exploration.
- Inclusive Community: By embracing ambiguity, open and relational theology can create space for diverse beliefs and practices within the faith community. This inclusivity would allow for dialogue and collaboration among people with different theological perspectives, fostering mutual respect and learning.
- Dynamic Ethics: Ethical guidelines can be presented as adaptable to changing circumstances rather than rigid rules. This will encourage moral discernment that takes into account the complexities of real-life situations and the evolving nature of human understanding.
- Multiple Paths to Spiritual Growth: Recognizing that individuals have unique spiritual journeys, open and relational theology can affirm various paths to spiritual growth, including different forms of prayer, meditation, community involvement, and creative expression.
In essence, productive ambiguity in open and relational theology can help open and relational theology become still more open and relational.
*
I seek an open and relational theology that is open to productive ambiguity. It can, as with Janet above, present and communicate open-ended narratives, just like the play she wrote. Its epistemic humility is not that of developing a "position" which is recognized as finite and fallible, but in bypassing positions altogether through openness to life as it is and becomes. It ha an artistic quality to it. A theatricality.
*
As a process theologian, I can't help but think that the very Soul of the universe, God is attentive to these narratives and that as the stories of our lives unfold, filled as they are with ambiguities and complexities, they add something to the divine life that gives God breathing-space: that is, a space to be creative, to weave what is given into a whole, even if a kind of tragic beauty, that is a divine voice.
Perhaps this is what Janet sensed in proposing her play. She sensed that we humans don't need to add further commentary to the stories of our lives, but that we can trust that something good is made of them, even in their ambiguities. This, I believe, is the God to which open and relational theology rightly points. A God of love who welcomes questions and whose love is itself incomplete, because always enriched by new stories.
- Jay McDaniel
