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But there is also something wrong with most modern versions of the complaint. First, retellings of the evils of Christianity frequently involve gross exaggerations in popular discussion. This is the product of an unnoticed propaganda. I’m reading a stunning new book at the moment titled Atheist Delusions (Yale University Press, New Haven & London, 2009) by Eastern Orthodox scholar Prof. David Bentley Hart. One of Hart’s powerful arguments is that every new era retells the past in a way that elevates its own position as the great deliverer, the bringer of special freedoms; and that necessarily requires exaggerating, even lying, about the horrors of the past. We do this on a small scale when we talk about the moralism of the 1950s or the prudishness of Victorian England. It happened on a macro scale in the 18th-19th centuries, argues Hart, when Enlightenment leaders popularised the expression ‘Dark Ages’. Here was an attempt to describe the era of Christendom as an era of oppression, ignorance and violence, as opposed to the era of freedom and peace brought about by secular reason. No serious historian today could go along with this story. Hart writes: Hence modernity’s first great attempt to define itself: an ‘age of reason’ emerging from and overthrowing an ‘age of faith’. Behind this definition lay a simple but thoroughly enchanting tale. Once upon a time, it went, Western humanity was the cosseted and incurious ward of Mother Church; during this, the age of faith, culture stagnated, science languished, wars of religion were routinely waged, witches were burned by inquisitors, and Western humanity labored in brutish subjugation to dogma. All was darkness. Then, in the wake of the ‘wars of religion’ that had torn Christendom apart, came the full flowing of the Enlightenment and with it the reign of reason and progress. The secular nation-state arose, reduced religion to an establishment of the state and thereby rescued Western humanity from the blood-steeped intolerance of religion. This is, as I say, a simple and enchanting tale, easily followed and utterly captivating in its explanatory tidiness; its sole defect is that it happens to be false in every identifiable detail. This tale of the birth of the modern world has largely disappeared from respectable academic literature and survives now principally at the level of folklore, ‘intellectual journalism,’ and vulgar legend. (Atheist Delusions, Yale University Press, New Haven & London, 2009, 33-34) In my next post I’ll offer a couple of clear examples of this folklore approach to telling Christianity’s past. Right now, I simply ask readers to contemplate an important insight. Experts aside, most of us have picked up our knowledge of the Crusades, the Inquisitions and other horrors of Christendom from sources other than respectable academic literature. Is it not possible that we have simply accepted mere propaganda as fact? John Dickson
(We ask that you please keep all comments to 200 words or less) The complaint that religion leads to violence has been in the Top 10 Reasons Not to Be a Christian for decades. In the last few years I think its gone to about No.3 with a bullet
Christians have to acknowledge just how serious this complaint is. They also need to concede that it is partly right. Believers have done and said abominable things in the name of Christ. When we put this question to Prof Edwin Judge, one of Australia’s leading authorities of Western history, he insisted that the church has always been “a mixed bag; a mix of good and bad”. Modern believers have to face the facts and admit that the church has often failed to live up to Christ’s standards. In this context I find it fascinating that the opening statement of Sermon on Mount, which in many ways was a speech directed against those in first century Galilee who thought the kingdom of God could be established by violence against the occupying Romans, asks us to acknowledge our failures before God: “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven” *(Matt 5:3). The kingdom, Jesus says, belongs not to those who think of themselves as morally and spiritually rich, but to those who look into their souls and find poverty. Real Christians, therefore, shouldn’t have any difficulty admitting their failure to live up to the ideals of Christ; the true church likewise shouldn’t have a problem admitting the seriousness of the modern world’s complaint against it. Terrible things have been done in Christ’s name. The seriousness of the complaint against the church should not be underestimated. But in my next post I want to point out what I think is wrong with the complaint. John Dickson (We ask that you please keep all comments to 200 words or less) The reaction to the arrest of renowned film director Roman Polanski this month has been—to put it mildly—intriguing. The 76-year-old had admitted to unlawful sexual intercourse with a 13-year-old in 1977. He pleaded guilty to statutory rape, but fled the country before sentencing. For thirty years he has lived in France, raising a family and continuing his work without censure. Those lining up to defend the Polish director in his hour of need have been conspicuous by their positions of influence if not by their large numbers. The French Foreign Minister, no less, described the arrest as ‘sinister’. The cultural minister from the same country said it was ‘totally unjust,’ and felt it revealed a ‘scary’ side of America. And a host of sophisticates, European artists and Hollywood insiders have been quick to defend Polanski and cast his capture as cruel, barbarous and the result of persecution. ‘Incomprehensible overzealousness’ is how the arrest was described by Poland’s foreign minister Radoslow Sikorski. ‘He’s so talented.’ ‘It was years ago.’ Can’t we forgive and forget?’ It’s hard to imagine the same generosity being extended to a wayward Catholic Priest, or schoolteacher, no matter how long ago were their crimes. Forgive and forget. If only it were that simple! Yale University theologian Miroslav Volf writes in his book, The End of Memory – Remembering Rightly in a Violent World, of the need ultimately to put memories of past wrongs aside; of active ‘forgetting’ as part of forgiveness, healing and reconciliation. He could easily be misunderstood. Volf, himself a victim of intense and sustained interrogations by the government of then Communist Yugoslavia, insists that the Christian vision of the world entails the possibility of overcoming the past for both the victim and the perpetrator of wrongs. He holds out hope of healing from guilt and (at least partial) redemption even for those who have committed terrible crimes. But here’s the thing. This is no teary-eyed sentiment according to Volf. Nor is it the justification of the weak and powerless coming to terms with the cards life has dealt them. Forgiveness and reconciliation can only ever occur once justice has been served. In this sense, it is hard-nosed. The light of truth shone into dark places where sometimes we’d rather remain hidden, is the only hope for the possibility of recompense. Polanski’s crime, and a crime it was, is not something to be swept under the carpet of time, or artistic success, or other contributions that he may have made. We may well hope for compassion for him at the appropriate time. But he has not faced justice, and therefore cannot truly move beyond the stain of what transpired in a Hollywood home all those years ago. Simon Smart (We ask that you please keep all comments to 200 words or less) |
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