free variable

In my many attempts to engage in discussion with people who come to my door proselytizing one of several faiths that are based on or vaguely resemble Christianity, I’ve noted one universal rhetorical tactic: persistent emphasis on the putative commonality between what I believe, teach, and confess, and what they’re selling. I understand why this is part of the script — people fear the unfamiliar, and are probably less poised to impulsively reject innovations marketed as merely a set of inessential tweaks and “improvements” to what one already believes. I also suspect that this strategy is fairly effective with people whose convictions are merely nominal or cultural, or perhaps with those whose faith is grounded in ecstatic experience without some foundational knowledge of doctrine and history.

If my experience is any guide, though, this strategy fails miserably when confronted with even a reasonably-informed, enthusiastic lay person. Indeed, the differences between Christianity and superficially-similar religions (regarding the nature of the Godhead, salvation, authority, and epistemology, to name but a few points of dispute) are obvious and fundamental; they are essential in a way that glib assertions of continuity could never let on. While the “elevator pitch” style necessitated by a porch conversation doesn’t lend itself to subtlety or nuance, one might nonetheless draw the conclusion that the objective of such rhetoric is deceit rather than merely making the intended proselyte more comfortable. Finally, if these interlocutors really believed that my faith was essentially the same as theirs and that I had merely missed out on certain novel enhancements, why would they be acting as if it were so important that they convert me?