Theological Ping-Pong

I have just finished a book with a rather odd, and strangely endearing title:

Mitchell, B. (1990). How to Play Theological Ping-Pong: Collected Essays on Faith and Reason. London: Hodder and Stoughton.

Mitchell was Ian Ramsey’s successor as Nolloth Professor of Philosophy of Religion at Oxford and the collection includes his inaugural lecture. However, that is not the one I want to focus on. The one I do want to discuss is the title piece, about theological ping-pong.

Initially, Mitchell apologises for the frivolity of the title, which, he says represents all too accurately the contents of the paper (originally a talk at an informal theology group (such things only happen in Oxford, I surmise)). Anyway, there is a serious point within the text, and I think it applies more widely than just to theology.

Applying some basic logic to various theological writers, Mitchell suggests that there are, in many such writings, two basic positions, which he names ping and pong. I suppose we could recast that in Hegelian terms as thesis and antithesis. Firstly, Mitchell states, two combinations must be ruled out:

1. Neither ping nor pong.

2. Both ping and pong.

Having done this, the argument can move on, as he notes, to establish your position with minimum effort and maximum discomfort to an opponent. The basic argument is:

1. Either ping or pong.

2. Not pong.

3 Therefore ping.

Ping is, of course, the position of the author. It is of course an option for the opponent to avoid playing the game, and declare that the outcome is, or could be both ping and pong, or neither ping nor pong. The defence to this, however, seems to be that the opponent has not addressed the issue and, therefore, has not understood the original meaning of the author (and is therefore being a bit thick). The latter points are, it seems to me, usually implied.

Having mastered the basic rules of ping-pong, more advanced strategies are advanced. The first Mitchell suggests is transcending ping and pong. Here, the claim is made that there is an element of truth in both ping and pong and that there is no third position except somehow above them. The two basic rules are obeyed, but a ‘higher synthesis’ is found. Again, critics might say that this seems silly: theism and atheism cannot be that simply transcended, for example, but the author can simply smile, leaving opponents suspecting they have not understood this deep theologising.

Next up, Mitchell suggests a strategy is to hold ping and pong in dialectical tension. Ping and pong are both true but opposed to each other. The tension involved in thinking this is simply part of being human. Hence sin is both inevitable and humans are responsible for it. Ping pong suggests you cannot have both, but holding the tension between them allows the author to claim that the situation is not as paradoxical as lesser intellects might believe. Most of us probably shrug and move on at this point.

Next up, the advanced player can claim, in fact, that pong is pong. This is almost a matter of definition. If we defined our terms right, we can show that ping is pong. For example, if we define praying for grace sufficiently tightly, we can claim that it is both expressing human freedom and exhibiting the grace of God at work. The grace of God, on this definition, is identified with the highest expression of human freedom, that is, praying for grace. Ping is pong. The author presumably is hoping that the narrowness of the definition used to prove the case is either unnoticed by the reader or forgotten by the end of the argument.

Mitchell explores other possibilities. He cites Ramsey’s Religious Language where Ramsey is writing about ‘theological episcopacy’ and ‘empirical episcopacy’. Mitchell is not sure exactly what game Ramsey is playing here but reckons it must be some form of ping-pong. I dare say that examples could be multiplied.

Mitchell finishes with advice for novices. The basic game gives a clear-cut victory with minimum effort, but the gambit is obvious and the opponent may either not play the game or simply counter-attack, arguing that ‘not ping therefore pong’ refutes your position. It also looks a bit polemical. The more advanced games have some disadvantages as well. Transcending ping and pong puts you out of reach, but loses you sympathy. Holding the tension is similar, but you do not look so superior so you do not lose as many points for style as you might otherwise. Dialectical tension is an uncomfortable position, so you might do not appear to be claiming to be cleverer than anyone else. On the other hand, Mitchell does note that there is a fine line between holding dialectical tension and simply contradicting yourself.

If you identify ping and pong you seem to have won, and so does your opponent. You have granted them all they could desire while actually redefining their position to be yours. This is a very powerful position to be in, as you can reject any protestation that pong is not ping as unintelligible, as you have shown that pong is ping. The only problem is that a stubborn opponent might simply argue that they can tell the difference between ping and pong, even if you cannot. In these circumstances, your near invulnerability starts to look rather shaky.

I suspect that these sorts of arguments appear much more widely in the academy than just in theology. In physics, for example, there was a period of time when it was thought that a photon must be either a wave or a particle. The answer to the question ‘which is it’ is, of course, ‘neither or both’, which must be some sort of ping-pong result. Similarly, arguments as to the cause of the English Civil War swirl around: the rise of the gentry, the fall of the gentry, religion, capitalism, bourgeoisie, and so on. Again, which was it? The answer is somewhere in the ping-pong of debate.

The problem seems to be, really, that academic debate starts to look a bit like petty point-scoring over issues for which most people care little, if anything, for. But then, that is the academy for you. No one really cares that much whether a spectral line in helium shifts the wrong way under certain conditions, or whether the religious epistemologies of Bernard Lonergan and Ian Ramsey are compatible. In fact, investigating these issues can lead us to further reflection and ideas about the nature of reality and of being human. But in themselves, they appear to be simply counting the number of angels that can dance on a pin-head.