Christendom remains the Pope's real fallibility -Sep 20, 2006

Amid the acres of comment about Benedict XVI’s remarks concerning Islam in his recent German university speech, very little has been said so far about the core issue – the continuing confusion of Christianity with the dominant assumptions and institutions of Western society.

Instead, while noting obvious historical wrongs, the analytical stress has been on trying to add up the balance sheet of this particular pope’s opinions on questions such as Christian-Muslim relations. The difficulty with this is that it places too much emphasis on an individual (albeit a rather crucial and highly symbolic one), and demonstrates little comprehension of the power nexus out of which that leading individual speaks.

The debate about whether Benedict is personally well- or poorly disposed towards Islam will doubtless run and run. The answer is probably a bit of both. Some will continue to cite his hostility to Turkey’s EU accession, patronising words about other faiths, and a meeting with the (recently deceased) Islamophobic Italian journalist Oriana Fallici. Others will point to his explicit call for dialogue, his opposition to religious violence and his criticism of the mistreatment of Palestinians and the war in Iraq.

However, the Pope’s real fallibility – in this as in other matters – lies not in his words but in the underlying attachment of his office to the ideology and practice of Christendom, the deal whereby the church gains status in society by making itself dependent upon (and useful to) society’s governing authorities.

This ‘Christendom mentality’, which has shaped much of historic Christianity since the fourth century, is one which has grown accustomed to operating from a position of power, prestige and protection.

Rather than developing the ekklesia as a counter-cultural community which lives out the Gospel, the Christendom church seeks to make societies and nations ‘Christian’ by accruing social advantage for itself and leaving unchallenged the larger political agendas of ruling elites. It also expects to be listened to with respect; and where it demands, others are called upon to obey. It is no accident that, as Cardinal Ratzinger, Pope Benedict was the Holy See’s principal theological enforcer.

Today Christendom is in retreat. But it is also in denial. So the Roman Church (even though it dislikes this appellation, wanting simply to be ‘Catholic’) still operates out of a City State with a seat at the tables of power. And the Church of England, though it talks of ‘fresh expressions’, still jealously guards the comfort of Establishment. In a not dissimilar way, the religious right in the USA, theoretically ‘protestant’ and favouring a separation of church and state, acts to impose its will on government and society through money, power and coercion.

It is these realities, together with the flag-waving and military chaplaincy that sometimes accompanies them, which makes it difficult for many Muslims (not just ‘radicals’) to understand the true difference between Christianity and Western interests. This remains the case even though the majority of Christians are poor, black and located in the global South; and even though a clear majority of the world’s churches have been highly critical of US-led military adventurism and the ‘war on terror’.

What has all this to do with the response to the Pope’s address at the University of Regensburg? Everything. The evidence suggests that his monumental miscalculation in quoting (without approval, but also without essential qualification) criticisms of Muhammad from an ancient Christian Emperor, was both unintentional and natural.

It was unintentional in that Benedict clearly did not seek to offend. His theological and philosophical arguments against religious violence and for a particular kind of relationship between religion and reason may be seen to privilege his own position in certain questionable ways, but they were advanced in a thoughtful manner.

However the offence was also quite natural, because this pope (like his predecessors) remains cocooned by the historical privilege he embodies and perpetuates. His dialogue with the imperial Christian past may be critical, but it is critical by degree and tenor rather than by nature and substance. This is shown by the pontiff’s desire for Europe to remain predominantly ‘Christian’, as if the church has a right to rule.

For Pope Benedict, the Catholic Faith (as defined by his Magisterium) remains central and non-negotiable. All else is received and judged on its terms – whether other streams of Christian life, secular thought, the ministry of women, or the Muslim doctrine of God. Their capacity to speak for themselves in such a ‘dialogue’ is severely limited.

Even when he quoted Christian scripture as part of his expression of regret for the way his words had been heard, Benedict got into trouble, being accused of playing an anti-Jewish theme from St Paul. He simply did not have in mind the reality that new generations have lost touch with the texts he and others take for granted, so that they require careful explanation not simple assertion.

Some commentators have suggested that a sense of inherent superiority is a ‘natural’ and ‘inevitable’ part of what being Christian is about. It is nothing of the sort. The Gospel arose not as a message of self-interest, but as a call to self-abandonment. Jesus chose as his exemplars of faith not the religious establishment but the poor, the despised and the hopeless. And there is a whole history of dissent, radicalism and non-conformity in Christianity which demonstrates a very different kind of catholicity.

In rightly pointing out that linking violence to God is both wrong and incoherent, Pope Benedict describes a particular religious dilemma. But he is not, it seems, in a position to recognize that this problem is actually rooted in Christendom – which (in defiance of Jesus’ call to be peacemakers) spread and perpetuated itself through violence. Merely wagging our fingers at Muslims risks avoiding this uncomfortable fact. And it will not be heard.

If anything constructive is to be said about the alliance of religion, power and violence in Islam (which has a different, though deeply linked, history) it is necessary first to acknowledge and repent of imperial Christianity by seeking to de-link the church from its primary alliance with principalities and powers.

Though this is difficult for some secularists to accept, religious difficulties need a religious solution. This means that Christians and churches must now urgently consider how to put greater distance between themselves and coercive governing authority. They must not allow politicians of any persuasion or nation state to invoke ‘God on our side’.

In a world in crisis Christians are challenged to deconstruct the colonial and military symbols which have become part of ‘the faith’. In fact the central Christian image is of God invested in a wounded healer, not a crusading warrior. For this reason, peacemaking is not an add-on ‘ethical option’, it is the very essence of the kind of way, life and truth that Jesus fleshes out for us.

How, then, would a post-Christendom church approach relations with aggrieved Muslims, and with those of other religious or secular life-stance who remain deeply suspicious of its past (and present)? It would, as Archbishop Rowan Williams suggested recently, begin by listening to the story of the religious/ideological 'other' – rather than imperiously telling others who they are and what their story is.

Out of this humble conversation comes the corresponding opportunity and necessity for Christians to re-tell their own story, remembering those enduring sojourners, migrants and refugees from state religion who can reshape our memory and commitment from fear to hope.

Equally, a post-Christendom church would seek justice for all, not victory for itself. It would look for the truth of God in unexpected places, rather than presuming on its own ‘rightness’. Its confidence would be in the life-giving generosity of God, not in strength of arms or force of words. And it would seek face-to-face relationships (rather than abstract generalisations) where we can all see and be moved by each others' wounds, and therefore have a chance of making friends instead of enemies.

This is a costly and difficult path. There is no ‘grand strategy’ that will make it possible. It is a way of life which characteristically depends upon the small, the vulnerable, the local, the exceptional and the visionary. The challenge to the church, therefore, is to become the kind of community that makes this possible. And, in particular, to recognise some of the hidden places where it is already happening.

From the conscious abandonment of a domineering Christendom mindset will also come a renewed, more modest language for engaging. Jesus spoke of God's kin-dom through native stories, vivid images, and arresting examples of unlikely relationships restored.

In a culture geared to think that might begets right, that may not seem much of an answer to those who would wield words like swords, or who would force their religion or anti-religion on us as ‘the only solution’. But that is precisely why we need faith, not just reason, to imagine a different future.

[See also: Redeeming Religion in the Public Square, by Simon Barrow; and Faith and Politics After Christendom: The church as a movement for anarchy , by Jonathan Bartley]

Simon Barrow (www.simonbarrow.net) is co-director of Ekklesia. His background is in journalism, adult education, politics and theology, and his weblog is: http://faithinsociety.blogspot.com