11. Opinion, Conviction, Belief

Marcel draws a sharp distinction between opinion and belief. Opinion always concerns that which we do not know, that with which we are not familiar. It exists in a position between impression and affirmation. It is often the case that opinions have a “false” basis, which is most clear in case of stereotypes and prejudices (“everybody knows that…”). Furthermore, opinions are invariably “external” to the things to which they refer. I have an opinion about something only when I disengage myself from it and hold it at “arm's length.” Nevertheless, we hold or maintain these opinions in front of others, and given the elusive foundations on which these opinions are based, it is easy to see how an opinion slides slowly from an impression we have to a claim that we make. This transition invariably takes place as part of an absence of reflection on the given subject and the entrenchment of the opinion due to repetition. Our opinions are often “unshakable” precisely because of the lack of reflection associated with them.
While opinions are unreflective and external, convictions—which are more akin to belief than opinion—are the result of extensive reflection and invariably concern things to which one feels closely tied. Like opinions that have entrenched themselves to the point of becoming actual claims, convictions are felt to be definitive, beyond modification. However, when I claim that nothing can change my conviction, I must either affirm that I have already anticipated all possible future scenarios and no possible event can change my conviction, or affirm that whatever events do occur—anticipated or unanticipated—they will not shake my conviction. The first possibility is impossible. The second possibility is based on a decision, a decision to remain constant whatever may come. However, upon reflection such a decision seems as over-confidant as the claim to have anticipated the future. By what right can I affirm that my inner conviction will not change in any circumstance? To do so is to imply that, in the future, I will cease to reflect on my conviction. It seems that all I am able to say is that my conviction is such that, at the present moment, I cannot imagine an alteration in it.
Belief is akin to conviction; it is, however, distinguished by its object. Marcel insists in many places that proper use of the term “belief” applies not to things “that” we believe, but to things “in which” we believe. Belief is not “belief that…” but is “belief in…” Belief that might be better characterized as a conviction rather than a belief; however, to believe in something is to extend credit to it, to place something at the disposal of that in which we believe. The notion of credit placed at the disposal of the other is another way of speaking about disponibilité. “I am in no way separable from that which I place at the disposal of this X… Actually, the credit I extend is, in a way, myself. I lend myself to X. We should note at once that this is an essentially mysterious act” (Marcel 1951a, p. 134). This is what distinguishes conviction from belief. Conviction refers to the X, takes a position with regard to X, but does not bind itself to X. While I have an opinion, Iam a belief—for belief changes the way I am in the world, changes my being. We can now see how belief refers to the other, and how it is connected to disponibilité: belief always applies to “personal or supra-personal reality” (Marcel 1951a, p. 135). It always involves a thou to whom I extend credit—a credit that puts myself at the disposal of the thou—and thus arises the problem of fidelity.[12]

12. Creative Fidelity

The discussion of “creative fidelity” is an excellent place to find a unification, or at least a conjunction, of the various themes and ideas in Marcel's non-systematic thought. Ontologicalexigence, being, mystery, second reflection, and disponibilité all inform the discussion of creative fidelity, which in turn attempts to illustrate how we can experience these mysterious realities in more or less concrete terms.
The “problem” posed by fidelity is that of constancy. However, fidelity—a belief in someone—requires presence in addition to constancy over time, and presence implies an affective element. Mere constancy over time is not enough because “a fulfillment of on obligation contre-coeur is devoid of love and cannot be identified with fidelity” (Marcel 1964, xxii). Thus, the question is posed as follows. How are we able to remain disponible over time? How can we provide a guarantee of our “belief in” someone? Perhaps the best way to address this complex idea is to address its constituent parts: the problem posed by fidelity and the answer given by creativity.
The extension of credit to another is a commitment, an act whereby I commit myself and place myself at the disposal of the other. In extending credit to the other I am also placing my trust in her, implicitly hoping that she proves worthy of the credit I extend to her. However, we sometimes misjudge others in thinking too highly of them and at other times misjudge by underestimation. Recalling that there is an affective element of spontaneity involved indisponibilité, how can I assure that I will remain faithful to my present belief in the other? Like the question of conviction over time, my present fidelity to another can be questioned in terms of its durability. Though I presently feel inclined to credit the other, to put myself at her disposal, how can I assure that this feeling will not change tomorrow, next month, or next year? Furthermore, because I have given myself to this other person, placed myself at her disposal, when she falls short of my hopes for her—hopes implicit in my extension of credit to her—I am wounded.
However, the “failure” of the other to conform to my hopes is not necessarily the fault of the other. My disappointment or injury is frequently the result of my having assigned some definite, determinate quality to the other person or defined her in terms of characteristics that, it turns out, she does not possess. However, by what right do I assign this characteristic to her, and by what right do I judge her to be wanting? Such a judgment drastically oversteps—or perhaps falls short of—the bounds of disponibilité. In doing so, it demonstrates clearly that I, from the outset, was engaged in a relationship to my idea of the other—which has proved to be wrong—rather than with the other herself. That is to say that this encounter was not with the other, but with myself. If I am injured by the failure of the other to conform to an idea that I had of her, this is not indicative of a defect in the other; it is the result of my inappropriate attempt to determine her by insisting that she conform to my idea. When I begin to doubt my commitment to another person, the vulnerability of my “belief in X” to these doubts is directly proportional to the residue of opinion still in it (Marcel 1964, p. 136).
Nevertheless, practically speaking, there are innumerable times when my hopes for the other are not in fact met, when my extension of credit to the other—which is nothing less then the disposability of myself—results only in a demand for “more” by the other. Such situations invariably tempt me to reevaluate the credit I have put at the disposal of the other and to reassert the question of durability concerning the affective element of my availability to the other. Thus, again, the mystery of fidelity is also the question of commitment, of commitment over time
“How can I test the initial assurance that is somehow the ground of my fidelity? …this appears to lead to a vicious circle. In principle, to commit myself I must know myself, but the fact is I really only know myself when I have committed myself” (Marcel 1964, p. 163). However, what appears to be a vicious circle from an external point of view is experienced from within, by the person who is disponible, as a growth and an ascending. Reflection qua primary reflection attempts to make the experience of commitment understandable in general terms that would be applicable to anyone, but this can only subvert and destroy the reality of commitment, which is essentially personal and therefore, accessible only to secondary reflection.
Returning to the question of durability over time, Marcel insists that, if there is a possible “assurance” of fidelity, it is because “disposability and creativity are related ideas” (Marcel 1964, p. 53). To be disposable is to believe in the other, to place myself at her disposal and to maintain the openness of disponibilité. “Creative fidelity” consists in actively maintaining ourselves in a state of openness and permeability, in willing ourselves to remain open to the other and open to the influx of the presence of the other.

اقتباس :: The fact is that when I commit myself, I grant in principle that the commitment will not again be put into question. And it is clear that this active volition not to question something again, intervenes as an essential element in the determination of what in fact will be the case…it bids me to invent a certain modus vivendi…it is a rudimentary form of creative fidelity. (Marcel 1964, p. 162)

The truest fidelity is creative, that is, a fidelity that creates the self in order to meet the demands of fidelity. Such fidelity interprets the vicissitudes of “belief in…” as a temptation to infidelity and sees them in terms of a test of the self rather than in terms of a betrayal by the other—if fidelity fails, it is my failure rather than the failure of the other.
However, this merely puts off the question of durability over time. Where does one find the strength to continue to create oneself and meet the demands of fidelity? The fact is that, on the hither side of the ontological affirmation—and the attendant appeal of Hope—fidelity is always open to doubt. I can always call into question the reality of the bond that links me to another person, always begin to doubt the presence of the person to whom I am faithful, substituting for her presence an idea of my own making. On the other hand, the more disposed I am toward the ontological affirmation, to the affirmation of Being, the more I am inclined to see the failure of fidelity as my failure, resulting from my insufficiency rather than that of the other.

اقتباس :: Hence the ground of fidelity that necessarily seems precarious to us as soon as we commit ourselves to another who is unknown, seems on the other hand unshakable when it is based not, to be sure, on a distinct apprehension of God as someone other, but on a certain appeal delivered for the depths of my own insufficiency ad summam altitudinem… This appeal presupposes a radical humility in the subject. (Marcel 1964, p. 167)

Thus, creative fidelity invariably touches upon hope. The only way in which an unbounded commitment on the part of the subject is conceivable is if it draws strength from something more than itself, from an appeal to something greater, something transcendent—and this appeal is hope. Can hope provide us with a foundation that allows humans—who are radically contingent, frequently fickle, and generally weak—to make a commitment that is unconditional? Marcel acknowledges, “Perhaps it should further be said that in fact fidelity can never be unconditional, except where it is Faith, but we must add, however, that it aspires to unconditionality” (Marcel 1962a, p. 133).

13. Hope

Hope is the final guarantor of fidelity; it is that which allows me not to despair, that which gives me the strength to continue to create myself in availability to the other. But this might appear to be nothing more than optimism—frequently misplaced, as events too often reveal—that things will turn out for the best. Marcel insists that this is not the case. Following now familiar distinctions, he makes a differentiation between the realm of fear and desire on one hand and the realm of despair and hope on the other.
Fear and desire are anticipatory and focused respectively on the object of fear or desire. To desire is “to desire that X” and to fear is “to fear that X.” Optimism exists in the domain of fear and desire because it imagines and anticipates a favorable outcome. However, the essence of hope is not “to hope that X”, but merely “to hope…” The person who hopes does not accept the current situation as final; however, neither does she imagine or anticipate the circumstance that would deliver her from her plight, rather she merely hopes for deliverance. The more hope transcends any anticipation of the form that deliverance would take, the less it is open to the objection that, in many cases, the hoped-for deliverance does not take place. If I desire that my disease be cured by a given surgical procedure, it is very possible that my desire might be thwarted. However, if I simply maintain myself in hope, no specific event (or absence of event) need shake me from this hope.
This does not mean, however, that hope is inert or passive. Hope is not stoicism. Stoicism is merely the resignation of a solitary consciousness. Hope is neither resigned, nor solitary. “Hope consists in asserting that there is at the heart of being, beyond all data, beyond all inventories and all calculations, a mysterious principle which is in connivance with me” (Marcel 1995, p. 28). While hope is patient and expectant, it remains active; and as such it might be characterized as an “active patience.” The assertion contained in hope reveals a kinship with willing rather than desiring. “Inert hope” would be an oxymoron.

اقتباس :: No doubt the solitary consciousness can achieve resignation [stoicism], but it may well be here that this word actually means nothing but spiritual fatigue. For hope, which is just the opposite of resignation, something more is required. There can be no hope that does not constitute itself through a we and for a we. I would be tempted to say that all hope is at the bottom choral. (Marcel 1973, p. 143)

Finally, it should be no surprise that “speaking metaphysically, the only genuine hope is hope in what does not depend on ourselves, hope springing from humility and not from pride” (Marcel 1995, p. 32). And here is found yet another aspect of the withering that takes place as a result ofindisponibilité in general and pride in particular. The same arrogance that keeps the proud person from communion with her fellows keeps her from hope.
This example points to the dialectical engagement of despair and hope—where there is hope there is always the possibility of despair, and only where there is the possibility of despair can we respond with hope. Despair, says Marcel, is equivalent to saying that there is nothing in the whole of reality to which I can extend credit, nothing worthwhile. “Despair is possible in any form, at any moment and to any degree, and this betrayal may seem to be counseled, if not forced upon us, by the very structure of the world we live in” (Marcel 1995, p. 26). Hope is the affirmation that is the response to this denial. Where despair denies that anything in reality is worthy of credit, hope affirms that reality will ultimately prove worthy of an infinite credit, the complete engagement and disposal of myself.

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11. Opinion, Conviction, Belief

12. Creative Fidelity

13. Hope

11. Opinion, Conviction, Belief :: تعاليق

11. Opinion, Conviction, Belief

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