19 June 2015

Nonviolent Action

A review of Ronald J. Sider, Nonviolent Action: What Christian Ethics Demands but Most Christians Have Never Really Tried, Grand Rapids, MI: Brazos Press, 2015.

This little volume by Ron Sider consists mainly of a series of studies of examples of non-violent direct action (NVDA). The text is divided into four parts: ‘Proving it Works’ explores early developments in NVDA, the contributions of Gandhi and Martin Luther King, and the role of NVDA in the recent history of Nicaragua and the Philippines. Part 2 focuses more closely on the part NVDA played in the collapse of the Soviet Empire. Part 3 examines ‘Recent Victories’, including Liberia and the Arab Spring in Tunisia and Egypt. The concluding part is a call to action, which proposes that the clear successes of NVDA warrant its use as a moral alternative to war.

The book amounts to an extended pragmatic argument for NVDA based on a carefully selected series of cases. Since it is a relatively short book, a high degree of selectivity is necessary. But that very selectivity is also a weakness, particularly in view of the fact that all the examples he examines were successful. What about occasions when NVDA has failed (e.g. in China, Burma, or Bahrain)?

Sider’s selectivity seems to extend to his definition of NVDA. He seems to focus exclusively on mass protests against what modern liberal-minded Americans would regard as oppressive regimes. What about strikes, boycotts, and pickets? What about the Sanctuary Movement? What about prophetic/symbolic protests against nuclear weapons? What about the Occupy Movement? He avoids examples of NVDA directed against Western government policies, big business, the military-industrial complex, and those who threaten the environment. In other words, he avoids anything that might offend large sections of his potential readership.

Who is the book addressing? In the final section, Sider seems to direct his remarks at two main constituencies. On the one hand, he wants to wake up Western Christian pacifists who are too passive (complacent?) in their pacifism and who underestimate their capacity to bring about real change by taking appropriate (non-violent) action. On the other hand, he uses his collection of successful cases of NVDA as a stick with which to beat Western Christian advocates of just war theory. I felt this criticism was unfair since just war theory is about placing moral limits on the way a government wages war rather than being a defence of the use of violence per se.

In conclusion, this is a useful introductory study of major successful twentieth-century examples of NVDA. However, it fails to offer anything but a pragmatic justification for the use of NVDA. The reader will search in vain for any theoretical theological or philosophical underpinning. Sider fails to recognize when or why NVDA might fail. It would be very instructive to compare/contrast the political/cultural contexts of successful and unsuccessful cases. More generally, he fails to draw any practical lessons from the cases studied. Are there common factors that might be woven into a strategy for the successful deployment of NVDA? So while the book might be helpful to newcomers to the concept of non-violent action, it will be of very limited use to scholars or practitioners.

09 April 2015

Dietrich Bonhoeffer: theologian and martyr

Today is the seventieth anniversary of Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s execution in Flossenburg concentration camp. His last words to a fellow inmate were, ‘This is the end – but for me, the beginning – of life.’ His life, and particularly his death, is a salutary reminder to all Christians that we cannot avoid being political. As Christians, we do not have the luxury to remain silent;

Bonhoeffer is primarily remembered for his theology and his opposition to Hitler, but he also wrote a number of hymns and poems. Here is a translation of his best-known hymn (which if I remember correctly he wrote while in prison). The words seem peculiarly appropriate:

By gracious powers so wonderfully sheltered,
And confidently waiting come what may,
we know that God is with us night and morning,
and never fails to greet us each new day.

Yet is this heart by its old foe tormented,
Still evil days bring burdens hard to bear;
Oh, give our frightened souls the sure salvation
for which, O Lord, You taught us to prepare.

And when this cup You give is filled to brimming
With bitter suffering, hard to understand,
we take it thankfully and without trembling,
out of so good and so beloved a hand.

Yet when again in this same world You give us
The joy we had, the brightness of Your Sun,
we shall remember all the days we lived through,
and our whole life shall then be Yours alone.

23 February 2015

The Myth of the Market

A review of The Myth of the Market by Jeremy Seabrook (Black Rose Books, 1996)

Jeremy Seabrook’s book is a damning indictment of free market economics. He writes as a disillusioned socialist who has witnessed the total capitulation of democratic socialism (and, more recently, totalitarian socialism) to the content, if not the rhetoric, of free market ideology.

The book divides naturally into three parts: an initial analysis of the ideology (or mythology) of the market; a central section in which the author goes ‘walkabout’, illustrating his claims about the shortcomings of the market (or caring capitalism) from first-hand experience of places as diverse as Bombay and Glasgow, Rome and Lapland, even prosperous Illinois furnishes him with ammunition; finally, he reverts to a more analytical approach.

His case against capitalism is that the goods it promises are largely illusory. Far from being the agent of human emancipation, the free market reduces freedom to the freedom to spend (if you have money). It even fails to provide genuine freedom of choice since our spending patterns are increasingly dictated by the advertisers and image makers. Accompanying this narrowing of freedom is the gradual reduction of human beings to consumers: creativity and genuine individuality are crushed as we become increasingly dependent on the market.

The book is passionate, emotive, even tendentious in places. After reading it, I felt battered and depressed by the absence of any alternatives to global capitalism. Seabrook presents a nightmare vision of a global free market leading ultimately to apocalyptic totalitarianism. He does call upon Greens to resist but gives no clues as to how resistance might be organized.

In a sense, he fails to take his own analysis seriously enough. I recognized in his description of the free market all the hallmarks of a religion. Granted he does describe the market as the object of a quasi-religious cult, and he clearly sees the purveyors of fantasy in all its forms as the mediators of a substitute spirituality. However, he seems unaware of the sheer psychological force of a living religion. Money and the market are so successful precisely because they are archetypal in character. If you like, they are the loci of genuine (albeit, demonic) spiritual power. The Bible’s presentation of the first-century Mediterranean economy as Mammon remains uncomfortably relevant in the twenty-first century.

For Christians, this book offers a salutary reminder and a challenge. It reminds us that Western society, far from being secular, is intensely religious. His diagnosis of what ails our society is extremely helpful. However, we must beware of his pessimistic conclusions. The challenge is to show how the good news of Jesus Christ can be a practical and optimistic form of resistance to Mammon/the market.

16 February 2015

Christianity is a way of life

One of the blogs I follow has just published an entry on Islam, which begins thus:
Many centuries have passed since there was any meaningful dialogue between Muslims and Christians, mainly because the two religions are like chalk and cheese. Christianity is a profoundly theological faith: Islam, like Judaism, is a way of life. . . . because Islam is first and foremost a way of life it has no detailed theology of, for example, sin and salvation; and where it does venture into theology it is usually only to deny Christian beliefs.
I find this deeply disturbing. It is profoundly wrong (perhaps even heretical) to set up such a contrast between Christianity and Islam.

Such a contrast misrepresents Islam. The implicit dismissal of it as (merely) a way of life and the explicit description of its theological traditions in entirely negative terms (as nothing more than a reaction against Christian doctrine) betrays a profound ignorance of its theological depths. One merely has to think of the sophisticated schools of classical Islam that preserved and built upon Greek philosophy (and thereby helped to enrich Christian theology in the Middle Ages).

But the contrast also misrepresents Christianity (and herein lies its heretical potential). Of course Christianity is ‘profoundly theological’. But it is first and foremost, like Islam and Judaism, a way of life. Indeed, as a Christian, I view it as the way of life – according to Brother Francis, the vita evangelica, the form of life that is shaped by the good news of Jesus Christ. It is only secondarily theological, since as part of that gospel life we are called to love the Lord our God with all our minds. Theology serves the Christian life by articulating it and enabling us to discern what is and what is not an authentic expression of that life. Any account of theology that elevates theology above praxis runs the risk of degenerating into a new gnosticism in which right doctrine matters more than right behaviour.

NB I am not for a minute suggesting that the author is a heretic, or even that he seriously believes in the contrast his words seem to create, merely that he has expressed himself badly.

09 February 2015

Spirituality and the Secular Quest: a review

Peter H. Van Ness (ed.) Spirituality and the Secular Quest (London: SCM Press, 1996)

I begin my reflections on this massive volume with some trepidation. This latest addition to a series entitled ‘World Spirituality: An encyclopaedic history of the religious quest’ is certainly a very ambitious project. Given that we live in a predominantly secular era, the editors of the series felt that, for the sake of completeness, they needed a volume exploring the spiritual dimension of secular beliefs and practices. The result is a very diverse collection of papers grouped in broadly historical and broadly thematic contributions. The historical section tackles the roots of secularism together with various key phases and movements within the modern era. The thematic section attempts to encompass the bewildering diversity of beliefs and practices for which people might claim a spiritual dimension today. Most readers will find something in here of interest and relevance to their own situations.

Inevitably the quality of the contributions is uneven. Many of them are thought provoking. Several of them are quite hard going, demanding some familiarity with the technical jargon of contemporary critical theory. I also felt that several contributors were uneasy with their brief. As I read the book, the image that came to mind more than once was of ugly sisters trying in vain to make their feet fit a glass slipper.

In spite of the wealth of valuable material contained in these pages, by the end of the volume I too felt uneasy about the entire venture. The sheer breadth of the volume raises a serious question. If gay leathersex sadomasochism can count as a spiritual practice (pp. 344–6), is it possible to conceive of anything that would not count as spiritual? The encyclopaedic nature of the book suggests that it is both descriptive and comprehensive. There is certainly little indication that the authors are aware of any significant omissions.

Nevertheless, I am conscious of important areas of life that this book has simply ignored (and, by that marginalization, condemned as inherently unspiritual). The editor's working definition of spirituality is a good place to begin an attempt to identify these margins. Van Ness summarises the spiritual dimension of life as ‘the embodied task of realising one’s truest self in the context of reality apprehended as a cosmic totality’ (p. 5).

In the context of modernity (which, after all, is the cultural context of any book that focuses on contemporary secularity), the definition is disturbingly narrow. Modernity invariably interprets self in individualistic terms. Thus, in answering the question where is spirituality to be found in a secular age, the contributors have, mostly, shied away from the public sphere. Spirituality only appears to enter the public arena insofar as it concerns the personal identity of people in minorities and special interest groups (specifically feminists, gays, civil rights activists, and environmentalists). The spirituality inherent in scientific enquiry (or in academic methodology generally) is equated with the attitude of the individual practitioner. Similarly the treatment of the spirituality of arts, sports, and games focuses on the individual. For example, we are assured that even in a team game the sportsman is ultimately alone. Tell that to the footballer whose team has just lost a match because a team-mate scored an own goal!

It is tempting to accept this as a description of spirituality in a secular era. We could take this as another manifestation of the sharp dichotomy between public and private that prevails in the modern world. The social processes of objectification and rationalisation have evacuated the public sphere of meaning and value. In such a situation, where else should we seek meaning (and spirituality) but in the private sphere?

However, the fact that secularisation has led to a quest for spiritual experience in the private sphere, does not imply that the public sphere is inherently non-spiritual. On the contrary, as Walter Wink has argued very powerfully in his ‘Powers’ trilogy, our public institutions invariably possess a spiritual dimension.

Why does this matter? Because of an unspoken but patently false assumption about the nature of spirituality. According to Van Ness, the spiritual dimension of life is about self-fulfilment. It is entirely positive and beneficial. In view of the history of spiritual practice, I can only describe this as a naively optimistic view of spirituality. One contributor suggests that sadomasochism between consenting adults may be an aid to spiritual growth. However, what if I feel that a spot of child sex abuse or some human sacrifice would aid my spiritual development? Where do the grotesque self-mutilations of a St Rose of Lima figure in such a view of spirituality? What should I make of Adolf Hitler – an indisputably evil man, but one whose evil was tied into a very charismatic spirituality? Like every other aspect of human experience, the spiritual dimension of life is morally ambiguous and must be subject to an ethical critique.

In practice, the contributors to this volume do make implicit ethical critiques of their subject matter. For example, exploitative forms of sexuality are explicitly excluded from consideration in the chapter on gay spirituality. Other contributors are critical of consumerist tendencies in contemporary spirituality. However, the volume’s silence on the spiritual dimension of our public life prevents even such a limited critique of this. Yet because this aspect of our existence has been consistently neglected in the modern era, this is precisely the area that is most in need of conscious and critical scrutiny.

Perhaps the most powerful public spirituality of the late twentieth century is the spirituality of the market. Radical economists like Jeremy Seabrook acknowledge its archetypal status. Seabrook highlights our tendency to use religious and quasi-religious terminology in relation to the market. He also notes the way in which economic language invades other areas of human activity. Of course, Seabrook is not the first person to acknowledge the spiritual dimension of the market. Within the Christian tradition, we call it Mammon.

Closely related to the market is the military–industrial complex that was such an important part of the Cold War. Walter Wink has explored its spiritual dimension in some depth in the final volume of his ‘Powers’ trilogy: Engaging the Powers: Discernment and Resistance in a World of Domination (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991). Other distinctive features of our public world that have a clear bearing on the spiritual dimension of life include the mass media and the global information network.

From a Christian perspective, genuine spirituality can never be merely a matter of private spiritual practice. Even if we accept Van Ness’s definition of spirituality as the quest for self-fulfilment (a dubious view of what would count as spirituality within the Christian traditions), our understanding of human nature requires us to acknowledge the public dimension of spirituality. God did not create us as isolated individuals. According to Genesis 1, ‘male and female he created them’, i.e. as part of a network of social relationships. True self-fulfilment – achievement of the purpose for which God created us – is not possible apart from this network. Thus, in the quest for a Christian spirituality for a postmodern era, we should not be content with the narrow space in which modernity has attempted to confine spirituality. Quite apart from the impact we might have upon society, our own spiritual growth depends upon our finding Christian ways of being spiritual in the workplace, on the Internet, in the market.

It would, of course, be unfair to criticise this volume for failing to provide a Christian perspective on its subject matter. In spite of my reservations, it remains a thought-provoking overview of the spiritual quest in a secular era. Those who are called to think seriously about contemporary Christian spirituality would do well to ponder its contents (and its omissions).

10 January 2015

Introducing Evangelical Ecotheology

Review of Daniel L. Brunner, Jennifer L. Butler, and A. J. Swoboda, Introducing Evangelical Ecotheology: Foundations in Scripture, Theology, History, and Practice, Grand Rapids, MI: Baker, 2014.

In this recent addition to the burgeoning literature on ecotheology, a diverse team of evangelical theologians set out to introduce an evangelical ecotheology.

The volume is structured in four parts. They begin with methodological issues. An autobiographical introduction suggests that this book has arisen out of their personal experiences of environmental crisis. Chapter 2 takes us to Scripture – the predictable starting point for an evangelical approach to the environment but also the appropriate starting point for any orthodox Christian perspective on the subject. Thus in our engagement with the environment they recommend that we return constantly to the biblical witness, while maintaining a dialogue with the various Christian traditions and always conscious of the fallibility of our interpretations. They take for granted the popular metaphor of the two books: Scripture and creation are equally revelatory; and they warn against reading creation in ways that might lead us to romanticize, deify, or, spiritualize it. And they conclude the chapter with a brief survey of biblical reasons for creation care. In the following chapter, they pick up and further develop the theme of creation as revelatory.

Part II is an introductory exploration of ecotheology, beginning with a whistle-stop tour of how Christian traditions have viewed the natural environment, which admits the ambivalence of most of those traditions but nevertheless gives the reader an impressive introductory list of resources for further development of an ecotheology. The other two chapters of the section are devoted to a systematic survey of the major theological loci and how they relate to environmental issues.

With Part III, we turn from theory to Christian ecological practice. This is not so much because of the traditional Western intellectual prejudice that prioritizes theoria over praxis, but rather because for Christianity the two are inseparable: by their fruit shall ye know them and a theology that does not bear good fruit must always be questionable. After a discussion of what is involved in developing an ecotheological mindset, the authors embark on an exposition of good ecological behaviour for individual Christians in which they outline no fewer than ten spiritual/ecological disciplines. The final chapter of the section recalls that as believers we are not isolated individuals but members of a community as it explores ways of greening the Church.

In a brief concluding section, they highlight a distinctive feature of Christian environmental care: it is rooted in a specific hope – the restoration of all things. And they flesh out some of the characteristics of Christian hope as they relate to the environment.

The book certainly offers ample resources for someone embarking on an orthodox Christian exploration of environmental issues, but in what ways is it distinctively evangelical? Starting as it does with the Trinity, their systematic account of ecotheology suggests a post-Barthian perspective (albeit one informed by wide reading in the major Christian theological traditions) rather than a distinctively evangelical outlook. I must confess I was left wondering whether the approach is described as ‘evangelical’ simply because the authors self-identify as such.

One striking feature of the book is its perspective. This is particularly evident in the chapter on embodying down-to-earth living. For example, they offer, inter alia, an ecological examen, which includes such questions as ‘What kind of car do you drive?’ ‘How often do you fly?’ and ‘How often do you select cleaning products that are biodegradable or nontoxic?’ And they recommend buying a stainless steel thermos so that you can drink tap water while on the move rather than buying bottled water! This is environmentalism for suburban, middle class North America.

In conclusion, this is a well-written volume, and while it does not break new ground in ecotheology (evangelical or otherwise) it is a useful introduction for newcomers to ecotheology who want something written from an orthodox Christian perspective.