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- A blog I’ve been enjoying lately: Contagious Love Experiment, by Josh Stieber (joined also by Conor Curran), tells the ongoing story of an solider-turned-pacifist who is travelling across the country speaking about his experiences and his realization of the nonviolence of Christ. Stieber is speaking mostly in churches, but has also appeared in other venues, including a mosque. Check it out.
- Over at Resident Theology, Brad East continues his excellent series on Christian pacifism by returning to the question of martyrdom and by discussing the idea of “becoming God’s peaceable people“.
- Jonathon Zasloff over at Legal Planet offers an interesting perspective on the ways that religious traditions can contribute to environmentalism. His key idea: “religion is not economics”, and therefore can offer other systems of judgment through which environmental problems and solutions can be considered.
- Leslie Savan writes for Alternet about Lou Dobbs’ ongoing tour of foreign health-care systems. Dobbs has been remarkably inconsistent on the issue, but at the moment seems to be presenting single-payer and other government-backed systems less negatively (gasp!).
Today, I read My Name is Rachel Corrie. This short play, edited by Katharine Viner and Alan Rickman, is drawn from the diaries and emails of Rachel Corrie, an American killed in Palestine while nonviolently defending a civilian house from destruction by the Israeli military in 2003. The play was performed on London’s West End and has seen some limited productions in America, though it has engendered controversy because of its frank attitude towards the reality of the ongoing violence being perpetrated against civilians in Israel’s occupation of Palestine.
The work is deeply moving: a sad yet inspiring look at the life and death of a passionate child who became an equally passionate adult. The text of the play comes directly from Rachel’s own journals and letters (with the exception of a few letters sent to her, and minimal stage directions). Her writing comprises sometimes prose, sometimes lists, sometimes poetry — but whatever the form, it remains throughout poignant and compelling, drawing the reader into Rachel’s world and into the development of her ideas and emotions. At the end, I felt not as though I had met a character on a stage, but had actually grown to know, in whatever small way, the person behind the words.
As Rachel lives among the Palestinian people, she is both surprised by, and admiring of, the way they deal with the horrific realities of their existence. In a letter to her mother, she writes:
I am amazed at their strength in defending such a large degree of their humanity against the incredible horror occurring in their lives and against the constant presence of death. I think the word is dignity.
A little later, she reflects on the possibility that more people will recognize and protest the true brokenness of the world, a fracturing of which the oppression of Palestine is symptomatic, but that extends far beyond the Middle East:
I look forward to seeing more and more people willing to resist the direction the world is moving in: a direction where our personal experiences are irrelevant, that we are defective, that our communities are not important, that we are powerless, that the future is determined, and that the highest level of humanity is expressed through what we choose to buy at the mall.
Rachel Corrie’s tragic death served to stir up public opinion about the situation in Palestine. (Sadly, this discussion was quickly overshadowed in the media by the American invasion of Iraq.) In the ongoing debates about the true nature of the occupation and of the Palestinian resistance, Rachel’s writings offer a valuable insight that is underappreciated in the mainstream discussion. The final pages of the play contain her reflections on the response of Palestinians to Israel’s military activities, and here she presents the argument that, despite the fringe cases of terrorist activity by some groups, the vast majority of the population is continually countering the occupation through nonviolent methods in the truest sense. In a letter to her parents, she writes:
You asked about non-violent resistance, and I mentioned the first intifada. The vast majority of Palestinians right now, as far as I can tell, are engaging in Gandhian non-violent resistance. … These people are being shot at every day and they continue to go about their business as best they can in the sights of machine guns and rocket launchers. Isn’t that basically the epitome of non-violent resistance?
My Name is Rachel Corrie thus offers the reader (of, if you are lucky enough, the audience-member) three things: a poignant look at the life of an inspiring figure; an uplifting reflection on the capacity of the human spirit to deal with injustice — the hope for a better future despite present pain; and an intriguing, if cursory, discussion of the role of nonviolence in the conflict. I give the work my highest recommendation to anyone interested in these issues — but be prepared to be deeply moved and greatly inspired.
Last December I wrote about my response, as a Christian committed to nonviolence, to the legal requirement of draft registration in the US. I essentially treated the situation as having two faithful responses: non-registration, or writing in my conscientious objection on the registration card. These seemed to me at the time to be the only possible options that maintained the integrity of my ethical commitment.
I was wrong. Tobin D. Jacobrown, a Quaker living in Washington, D.C., has found another option: sue the government. As the Washington Post reports:
A Washington state Quaker filed a federal lawsuit Wednesday alleging that the U.S. government is discriminating against him because it will not recognize his status as a conscientious objector on military draft forms.
The American Civil Liberties Union filed the suit on behalf of Tobin D. Jacobrown, 21, in the District’s federal court. The suit asks U.S. District Judge Ricardo M. Urbina to order the government to recognize conscientious objectors when men register for the draft. …
“A big part of my religion is not submitting to any system that you feel is unjust,” Jacobrown said. “And I think this is unjust.”
Props to Jacobrown for his brave stance and braver actions. Perhaps the most beneficial aspect of this situation is that Jacobrown isn’t just framing his suit in terms of an abstract opposition to violence or a general pacifism; rather, he is explicitly claiming that the draft system creates injustice, and that it is this injustice that his religious beliefs compel him to oppose. Injustice, of course, is the ultimate issue: we must first reject violence because it creates injustice, and we must then embrace nonviolence as a way of living in the world because it fosters justice.
I hope and pray that Jacobrown’s case will be successful and that the Selective Service will indeed be required to accomodate conscientious objectors. But even if Jacobrown loses the case, he will have won the real battle: more public attention will be drawn to the injustice at hand, and more young men who are struggling with their legal obligations will become aware of their alternatives. Public attention gives rise to moral inquiry and theological reflection, and thus cannot but help us in the struggle for justice in America and in the world.
For further information on Jacobrown’s case, check out his webiste “Register for Peace”, or read the post about him on his cousin’s blog,
A quick thought: If the Resurrection is real, then “Jesus lives” is a political statement.
William Stringfellow once wrote this: “The essential and consistent task of Christians is to expose the transience of death’s power in the world.” Indeed, the power of death is far-reaching in the kingdoms of the world, for it is from death and the fear of death that the State ultimately derives its influence. Governments are founded on violence, which has as its ultimate manifestation death itself. To deny the power of death (as Jesus did!) is to challenge, in effect, the underlying principle of the State. Thus, to say that Jesus lives is to make a statement with drastic real-world political ramifications.
If death is the final expression of violence and destruction, resurrection surely is the final expression of non-violence and transformation. Thus, the basis of Christian ethics (nonviolence/transformation/overcoming-evil-with-good) is contained in the narrative of Jesus himself, rather than in any set of abstract philosophical-ethical propositions.
Related: Creeds and Ethics – Towards a Narrative Christology
Yesterday, the United States celebrated the memory of a successful, but violent, revolution. Of course, not all revolutions involve violence, but with the prominence of war-celebrating holidays like independence day in America, public appreciation of the reality of nonviolent regime change is often limited. So today, on the 5th of July, I’d like to recognize several recent successful nonviolent revolutions.
- Let’s start with India. In many ways, the Indian independence movement was the grandfather of modern nonviolent revolution, because it was led by the person most identified with nonviolent action: Gandhi. Gandhi’s philosophy of satyagraha, involving truth-seeking and active nonviolent resistance, inspired millions in India and around the world to seek creative alternatives to violence, and eventually resulted in the successful liberation of India from British rule.
- Poland provides another shining example of the possibilities of nonviolent resistance. In the face of an oppressive Soviet regime, the Solidarity movement grew as an anti-communist trade union, fostered in part by the Catholic Church. As Walter Wink writes in Jesus and Nonviolence: “An entire clandestine culture, literature and spirituality came to birth there outside the authority of official society. This undercuts the oft-repeated claim that what Mohandas Gandhi did … would never work under a brutal, Soviet-sponsored government.” The work of the Solidarity movement culminated in free elections in 1989.
- Wink goes on to say that “nonviolent general strikes have overcome at least seven Latin American dictators,” pointing to successful changes of government during the 20th century in Chile (1931), Cuba (1933), Guatemala (1944), Haiti (1946 and again in 1956), Panama (1951), and Colombia (1957).
- Finally, what may someday be remembered as a revolution is happening right now in Iran, and it is for the most part being conducted nonviolently. It remains to be seen whether protests against the corrupt government will be successful.
Many more examples exist; the Albert Einstein Institution has published a partial list of historical instances of nonviolent action.
The historical precedencts raise the obvious question of what would have happened if the American revolution had been conducted nonviolently, a question I have explored previously.
I’m preparing a presentation for YTI on Christianity, nonviolence and draft registration. A couple quotations I’m using: one from someone I know and who’s had a big impact in my life, the other from someone whose works I’ve read and whose works have also had a big impact in my life.
From Beth Corrie:
“Jesus says that he is the Truth. Gandhi says that Truth is God. If we believe that Truth is what IS – what actually “is the case” – then when God told Moses that he was the “I am”, we can see that Gandhi was on to something. For Gandhi, every human being has a piece of the Truth in him or her. Thus, we have no choice but to be nonviolent, because if we seek Truth, we cannot get there is we extinguish a piece of Truth by killing our enemy. Christians affirm the Imago Dei – the image of God in which all were created. To get closer to Truth, we have to find that truth in everyone we meet. To get closer to God, we have to find that image in everyone we meet. Seek Truth, and you will find God. Seek God, and you will find Truth.”
From Walter Wink:
“Love of enemies is the recognition that the enemy, too, is a child of God. The enemy too believes he or she is in the right, and fears us because we represent a threat against his or her value, affluence, and lifestyle. When we demonize our enemies, calling them names and identifying them with absolute evil, we deny that they have that of God within them that makes transformation possible. Instead, we play God. We write them out of the Book of Life. We conclude that our enemy has drifted beyond the redemptive hand of God.”
It is a year of really awesome sci-fi movies: First Watchmen, then Star Trek, and now Terminator Salvation. It’s a smorgasbord of dorkiness for a geek like me. In fact, for a very long time my career ambit
ion was …science fiction writer. I love the stuff. I’ve moved on to other long-term interests (theology and social justice), but somehow even in that area I keep returning to my original nerdy self. Thus my ongoing and intermittent “Film Theology” series, which has explored the theological ramifications of the issues posed by recent movies, all of them, thus far, scifi flicks. In March I wrote about the “Theology of Watchmen“, and just a couple weeks ago I pondered the “Theology of Star Trek“. Well guess what: I just saw Terminator Salvation.
The basic premise of the entire Terminator franchise is simple: in a post-apocalyptic future, humanity is fighting for survival against machines. The most recent film tells the story of John Conner, the prophesied leader of “the Resistance”, who appears to be the great hope of the human race in the desperate struggle.
I’d like to use the whole “war against the machines” concept as a jumping-off point for this post. In Terminator, the necessity of the use of violence against sentient machines is taken for granted. But as a pacifist and as someone very much interested in the study and use of nonviolent tactics, I don’t take that for granted. Thus, the question I’d like to explore, very speculatively of course, is this: What is the relevance of nonviolent ethics in a “war against the machines”?
The ethical necessity for nonviolence within a Christian theological framework is grounded in the idea that life is sacred because human beings are made in the image of God. Similarly, the demonstrated efficacy of nonviolence can be understood within the Christian context to result from the action of the imago Dei in our consciences and minds. As Walter Wink puts it, Christian nonviolence speaks to “something of God in everyone”. Both of these ideas can be translated into pluralistic and non-Christian terms and are present in some form in most religions. For example, the Indian advocate of nonviolence Narayan Desai speaks of a “level of humanness — however low it may be, in every human being” (quoted in Wink’s The Powers That Be).
The issues of necessity and efficacy (central to any discussion of the use of nonviolent strategy in a potentially violent conflict) are thus critically linked. How, then, to consider nonviolence in the “war against the machines”?
Clearly, the central question, as framed in Christian theology, would be this: “Do the Machines bear the image of God?” The initial answer for most people would be a quick no for seemingly obvious reasons. But the issue may be more complicated than it appears. It is quite possible that any artificial intelligence designed by humans in the future would have human characteristics, for every invention in some way reflects the character of the inventor. At a more fundamental level, it may be that the “image of God” (or the equivalent concept within a non-Christian religious or philosophical system) constitutes a necessary component of whatever “intelligence” is. In other words, it may be impossible have actual thought or to be “intelligent” (in the sense of the word that sets humans apart from other animals, or in the “artificial intelligence” sense) without having some component of a “conscience”, or “humanity”, or “imago Dei”.
To summarize, two possibilities become clear:
- The Machines in no way bear bear the image of God. Nonviolence, except in perhaps very limited circumstances, will probably be niether an ethical necessity nor a pragmatic possibility. This is likely the theological assumption in the world of Terminator.
- The Machines do, in fact, bear the image of God. In this case, nonviolence may indeed be a moral necessity — and fortunately, the effect of the imago Dei would also probably make it a pragmatic tactic.
The exploration of the imago Dei question (or non-Christian analogue) would be critical to philosophers, theologians, and ethicists during an actual war against machines. It may also prove to be an important ethical issue over the next decades as scientists improve current AI technology. For obvious reasons, the final resolution (if there is one) of this question is best left to the theologians of the future, and ultimately, the efficacy and necessity of nonviolence against “the machines” cannot be determined until the situation should actually arise.
Let us hope it never will.
Properly understood, the Church functions as a community that:
- Embodies an alternative ethics of nonviolence and transformation, rather than violence and destruction. We overcome evil through good. (Matthew 5.38ff; Luke 6.27ff; Romans 12.14ff)
- Embodies an alternative identity and allegiance in a Kingdom that is not of this world but is present in it. We act as witness to and dissident from Empire and Nation-State. (John 18.36; Luke 17.20f)
- Embodies an alternative economics of generosity rather than greed, of Jubilee rather than exploitation. We give freely and forgive debts as ours have been forgiven. (Matthew 6.19; Luke 4.19; Acts 2.44ff)
Each of these aspects of the Kingdom of Heaven, to which the Church is witness, requires hard commitment and flies in the face of “conventional wisdom” and cultural norms (especially in America). Christianity in this form becomes, ironically, more difficult to live out in societies where Christian rhetoric and nominal institutional membership are normative — i.e., in large countries with a “Judeo-Christian Tradition” or societies where the majority of citizens attend church. This paradox arises because in these situations Christian religion is appropriated by the State, compromising its essential pacifism (and, in individualist-capitalist societies, often its economic/social aspects as well).
Thus for the Christian who aspires to restore the Church to a model like that advocated here, “separation of church and state” is central — not to protect government from undue religious influence, but to allow the Church to maintian its integrity as a witness to the dominant order.
I’ve written previously about my discomfort as a Christian with the Pledge of Allegiance and with American nationalism more generally. I used to think that the Pledge is a rather radical and identity-claiming statement. But today, reading a post over at Experimental Theology, I came across the US oath of naturalization for persons desiring to become citizens — and the Pledge pales in comparison.
Please don’t read this post the wrong way. I have no objection to people, including Christians, who want to become US citizens — some of my closest friends are Christians who have done so. America offers many benefits of political freedom and opportunity, liberties that may not be available in some other countries, and there are indeed many compelling reasons someone might desire to be naturalized. But reading the Oath, I realize that it would be impossible for me, as a Christian standing in the theological tradition of the Radical Reformation, to swear it, if I want my words to mean anything at all.
The oath says this:
I hereby declare, on oath,
(1) that I absolutely and entirely renounce and abjure all allegiance and fidelity to any foreign prince, potentate, state, or sovereignty of whom or which I have heretofore been a subject or citizen;
(2) that I will support and defend the Constitution and laws of the United States of America against all enemies, foreign and domestic;
(3) that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same;
(4) that I will bear arms on behalf of the United States when required by the law;
(5) that I will perform noncombatant service in the Armed Forces of the United States when required by the law;
(6) that I will perform work of national importance under civilian direction when required by the law;
(7) and that I take this obligation freely without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion;
so help me God.
Here’s why I wouldn’t be able to swear this oath.
(1) As N. T. Wright has said, “If Jesus is Lord, then Caesar is not.” The actual, literal dominion of Christ over the Church makes a very real demand upon my political allegiance.
(2) “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you.” (Luke 5.27-28 NSRV)
(3) My “true faith and allegiance” can be only to the person of Jesus Christ and his Kingdom. See also #1.
(4) The Kingdom of God is a nonviolent one. See also #2. My faith prevents me from engaging in armed violence.
(5) See #4; I can no more directly aid violence in a noncombatant role than I can perpetuate it myself.
(6) I don’t have much of a problem with this part, assuming that the “work of national importance” doesn’t further the state’s violence.
(7) “Without mental reservation…” This would be impossible, clearly; see #1-#6 above.
I would be interested to see whether other nations’ oaths of naturalization are as identity-intensive as this one. If so, the Christian who pledges her political allegiance to the Kingdom of God and seeks her identity in that polity finds herself in a bind should she ever have to renounce her national citizenship and seek another, for whatever reason.
The Church, of course has its own naturalization oath: baptism. Infant baptism, then, is analogous to citizenship by birth, while adult baptism is analagous to citizenship by naturalization. This is part of the reason that, while I align myself generally with the Anabaptist tradition, I don’t have much of a problem with infant baptism.
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Edit/Update: I was just looking over the confession of faith of the Mennonite Church USA. From Article 20, “Truth and the Avoidance of Oaths”:
Throughout history, human governments have asked citizens to swear oaths of allegiance. As Christians, our first allegiance is to God. (Acts 5.29) In baptism we pledged our loyalty to Christ’s community, a commitment that takes precedence over obedience to any other social and political communities.
