Christianity’s chief contribution to America’s civic life resides less in the ideas and positions Christians promote than in the way they go about promoting them.Debate about our shared life as citizens has always been a vigorous affair in American history. Yet recent years have seen a hardening of positions and a refusal to cross boundaries to cooperate or even understand those with whom we disagree. Not only in the rough and tumble world of political campaigns, but even in the historically more bipartisan world of governance, the American public square has become a fundamentally divided place.One reason for this situation, says Ellen Marshall, is an absolutizing of the ethical positions that underlie political commitments. Both the religious right and the secular left have couched their ideas in terms of unbending moral principles, certain in their possession of the truth. But Christian ethics teaches us that, while God's truth is indeed absolute, our grasp of it never is. Recognizing this truth, Christians can more faithfully engage in the political sphere by:• Insisting on a rigorous and sustained exercise of the virtue of humility. • Charting a narrative understanding of Christian ethics, in which a rich description of the context of moral decisions is necessary to understand how right and how wrong they are. • Taking account of the moral ambiguity that resides in almost all human actions.Read the Introduction
Christians in the Public Square
Faith that Transforms PoliticsBy Ellen Ott MarshallAbingdon Press
Copyright © 2008 The United Methodist Publishing House
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-0-687-64698-2Chapter One
Love
With this chapter, we begin to turn our attention from the substance of the debates to their form. Chapters 1 through 3 make three recommendations regarding the form of progressive Christian political engagement: (1) that it should take the shape of love in the public square, (2) that it should attend honestly and deliberately to moral ambiguity, and (3) that it should practice theological humility. This chapter draws on guidance from the history of nonviolent action to argue that love must accompany Christian political engagement, and to describe this love in action.
Love, as a subject in Christian ethics, has a long history as one would imagine, given its primacy as one of the three theological virtues. It has, moreover, received particularly intense scholarly scrutiny since Anders Nygren published Agape and Eros in the 1930s. Around the same time, Reinhold Niebuhr began to articulate the distinction he sees between love and justice, a distinction that appears in various forms throughout his life's work. Gene Outka, ethics professor at Yale University, has also shaped this discussion with his systematic treatment, Agape: An Ethical Analysis. With the rise of liberation movements, the self-sacrificial aspect of agape came under critical scrutiny. In the 1970s, Roman Catholic ethicist Margaret Farley joined other feminists to emphasize love as mutuality and equality rather than self-sacrifice.
It is important to know that there is a history of scholarship on the ethics of love. However, the resources informing this chapter primarily come from the history of nonviolent resistance, where we find descriptions and examples of love persisting in the crucible of conflict. Mahatma Gandhi, Martin Luther King, Jr., Thich Nhat Hanh, Desmond Tutu, and Dorothy Day provide us with helpful language for and practices of love in the context of struggles for social change. The following pages provide a brief description of five related concepts, one from each figure: ahimsa, agape, interbeing, ubuntu, and personalism. It is helpful to think in terms of a Venn diagram, a series of overlapping circles.
Each concept has its own context, meaning, history, and religious tradition, but there is also a common area that provides additional texture to the concept of love in the context of political engagement.
Unconditional Love as a Starting Point
I believe that Christians should engage politics with a love that risks not being reciprocated, an unconditional love for all, a love that makes no distinction between friend and enemy. This is not a universal argument for unconditional love as the highest form of love in every context. It is an argument for the necessity of agape in situations of heated political conflict where we must learn to confront one another without hatred. As I will argue more fully later in this chapter, I recommend this form of love in politics because I believe we are fundamentally related in such ways that your benefit is not wholly distinct from mine, and because I believe that this form of love has the potential to transform our politics and our societies in positive ways. I find myself nodding to the truthfulness and importance of agape as described by Gene Outka:
Agape then includes unilateral efforts to establish and enhance personal relations marked by closeness and social relations marked by concord. It does not await, anticipate, or demand a response in kind, though it desires and hopes for such a response, and takes actual attainment as the fruition it seeks. It will, moreover, strive for reconciliation that forsakes negative equivalence: 'When reviled, we bless; when persecuted, we endure; when slandered, we try to conciliate' (1 Corinthians 4:12b-13 [RSV]). The refusal to make reciprocity a condition for care about another's well-being points likewise toward universal love.
I do not think that a love that refuses "to make reciprocity a condition for care" is the only form of Christian love. But I do think it is an essential posture for Christians in the public square.
In her reflections on the suspension of human rights and civil liberties for those suspected of terrorism, philosopher Judith Butler writes, "Whether or not we continue to enforce a universal conception of human rights at moments of outrage and incomprehension, precisely when we think that others have taken themselves out of the human community as we know it, is a test of our very humanity." I feel the same way about the commitment to unconditional love in the context of heated political debate. My ability to care for the well-being of the very person whose views threaten the people and values I hold dear is a test of my humanity and my discipleship. We are not called to discipleship only in private places or only when it is politically effective. Discipleship requires that we reflect the light of a gracious and loving God. We cannot do this when we place that light under the bushel of political division and public antagonism.
To take it a step further, I am convinced that means and ends are related, to the point that we cannot realize a beloved community with less than loving means. Deep in my own faith and family tradition is the pietist conviction that connects action with character formation: I become what I do. The study of nonviolence convinced me that this sense of individual character formation also holds true on larger, social scales. We, as communities, become what we do.
Gandhi put it this way: "They say 'means are after all [just] means.' I would say 'means are after all everything.' As the means, so the end." As Gandhian scholar Rex Ambler explains, the connection between means and ends "exemplified the fundamental strategy of Gandhian peacemaking, which was to embody the goals to be struggled for in the conduct of the struggle itself." Like Gandhi, King preached the connection between means and ends, adding that hateful acts contribute to hate in the universe. In his account of the Montgomery bus boycott, King writes:
In my weekly remarks as president [of the Montgomery Improvement Association], I stressed that the use of violence in our struggle would be both impractical and immoral. To meet hate with retaliatory hate would do nothing but intensify the existence of evil in the universe. Hate begets hate; violence begets violence; toughness begets a greater toughness. We must meet the forces of hate with the power of love; we must meet physical force with soul force.
This connection between means and ends is so important because we create the future through our present actions. If we want a less violent future, we must act less violently in the present. Repeating behavior does not make transformation possible. Transformation requires that we disrupt the pattern. If I respond to hate in kind, then I foreclose the possibility of a new opportunity in the future. But if I respond to hate with love, then I have introduced a new possibility; I have created a space for love to grow.
I want to stress that unconditional love is not the only form of love suited to the public square, in my view. But in these situations of intense conflict, we must begin with agape because it functions as a negative limit: No matter what, we refuse to hate and to dehumanize those whom we confront. In the predominantly Buddhist context of Vietnam, Thich Nhat Hanh pointed to non-duality and interbeing as the concepts that could transform a society splitting so violently along ideological lines. In India, Gandhi called on ahimsa as an ancient precept to counter the divisive violence of imperialism and inter-religious warfare. In our contemporary U.S. context marked by ideological division that is exacerbated in campaign seasons, Christians should practice a form of love that confronts without hatred.
In order to give texture to the call to love in the context of political engagement, I begin with a review of the meaning and role of agape in the writings of Martin Luther King, Jr. I then draw on four other concepts as well. Ahimsa is a precept from Hindu, Jain, and Buddhist traditions that means, at a minimum, not to cause injury to another living thing. But, as we will see, it also calls for an "over-flowing love for all." Agape and ahimsa overlap to issue a clear call for renouncing violence in thought, word, and deed, and returning hatred with love. Now, how do we do this? How do we renounce anger? How do we stop harboring ill will, let alone act with love toward people whose views not only are disagreeable, but indeed threaten some of our core values? Continuing our survey of nonviolent resistance, we find three further concepts that help to answer these questions because they underscore the reality of interrelatedness, and insist on the inherent dignity and worth of every person.
Interbeing is a word created by Thich Nhat Hanh as the best approximation of the Vietnamese words, Tiep Hien. Thich Nhat Hanh founded the Buddhist Order of Tiep Hien in Vietnam in the mid-1960s. In this order we have another example of a religious community, forged in the crucible of conflict, committed to overcoming violence and ideological division with a commitment to, in this case, interbeing: "I am; therefore you are. We interare." Interbeing is grounded in the Buddhist notion of non-duality, which means that no single thing exists apart from other things. Separateness is illusory; "there is no such thing as an individual," writes Thich Nhat Hanh. Archbishop Desmond Tutu's use of the African concept of ubuntu offers a similar picture of an interrelated human family. Like all of the concepts referenced here, ubuntu has a complex meaning that stretches far beyond the sliver I examine. But, there is present within this broad concept an idea that overlaps with interbeing to emphasize the depth of human interrelatedness. "My humanity is caught up, is inextricably bound up, in yours." Interbeing and ubuntu deepen the hue of human connection and issue a clear call to perceive and act according to our relatedness to one another. Finally, I turn to the Catholic Worker movement and personalism, a concept that has a complex and broad history as well as a helpful overlap with agape. One central tenet of personalism is that we affirm the dignity of every person; or in explicitly Christian language, we seek the face of Christ (or that of God) in every person. After an introduction to each term, I offer a series of practices for love in the context of divisive politics.
Renounce Violence in Thought, Word, and Deed
After graduating from Crozer Seminary and completing doctoral work at Boston University, Martin Luther King, Jr. accepted a position as pastor of Dexter Avenue Baptist Church in Montgomery, Alabama. During his second year in Montgomery, Rosa Parks refused to relinquish her seat on the bus, and King found himself (at age 26) at the forefront of civil disobedience. In his account of the Montgomery bus boycott in Stride Toward Freedom, King describes the emergence of the "basic philosophy that guided the movement."
This guiding principle has since been referred to variously as nonviolent resistance, noncooperation, and passive resistance. But in the first days of the protest none of these expressions was mentioned; the phrase most often heard was "Christian love." It was the Sermon on the Mount, rather than a doctrine of passive resistance, that initially inspired the Negroes of Montgomery to dignified social action. It was Jesus of Nazareth that stirred the Negroes to protest with the creative weapon of love. As the days unfolded, however, the inspiration of Mahatma Gandhi began to exert its influence. I had come to see early that the Christian doctrine of love operating through the Gandhian method of nonviolence was one of the most potent weapons available to the Negro in his struggle for freedom.... Nonviolent resistance had emerged as the technique of the movement, while love stood as the regulating ideal. In other words, Christ furnished the spirit and motivation, while Gandhi furnished the method.
King is not speaking of love in a sentimental or affectionate sense; thus the insistence on agape rather than eros or philia. Agape is "disinterested love," meaning that it seeks not one's own good, but the good of another, and does not distinguish between "worthy and unworthy people." It "is an entirely 'neighbor-regarding concern for others,' which discovers the neighbor in every [person] it meets." King understood agape as a cohesive factor in even the most divided societies. "Agape is love seeking to preserve and create community.... Agape is a willingness to go to any length to restore community.... It is a willingness to forgive, not seven times, but seventy times seven to restore community." Indeed, "agape is the only cement that can hold this broken community together."
The story of King's "pilgrimage to nonviolence" includes an influential sermon by Howard University President Dr. Mordecai Johnson. Dr. Johnson had just returned from India and spoke at length about Mahatma Gandhi. King writes,
His message was so profound and electrifying that I left the meeting and bought a half dozen books on Gandhi's life and works. Like most people, I had heard of Gandhi, but I had never studied him seriously. As I read I became deeply fascinated by his campaigns of nonviolent resistance.... As I delved deeper into the philosophy of Gandhi my skepticism concerning the power of love gradually diminished, and I came to see for the first time its potency in the area of social reform.... Love, for Gandhi, was a potent instrument for social and collective transformation. It was in this Gandhian emphasis on love and nonviolence that I discovered the method for social reform that I had been seeking for so many months.
Mahatma Gandhi's method was called, satyagraha, "the Force which is born of Truth and Love or Non-violence." Satya means truth; agraha means firmness. The very first item in the 1930 code of discipline for those practicing satyagraha is: "Harbor no anger but suffer the anger of the opponent. Refuse to return the assaults of the opponent." Gandhi then explains the commitment more fully:
A satyagrahi must never forget the distinction between evil and the evil-doer. He must not harbour ill-will or bitterness against the latter. He may not even employ needlessly offensive language against the evil person, however unrelieved his evil might be. For it is an article of faith with every satyagrahi that there is no one so fallen in this world but can be converted by love. A satyagrahi will always try to overcome evil by good, anger by love, untruth by truth, himsa by ahimsa. There is no other way of purging the world of evil.
Gandhi defines ahimsa as "a complete freedom from ill will and anger and hate and an overflowing love for all." Like each of these five concepts discussed in this chapter, ahimsa is a broad and complex notion, and it comes from multiple religious traditions. Joan Bondurant describes ahimsa as "an ancient Hindu, Jain, and Buddhist ethical precept. The negative prefix 'a' plus 'himsa,' loosely meaning 'injury,' make up the word which is usually translated as non-violence. Yet ahimsa is eminently more than a negative notion." As Gandhi writes, "Not to hurt any living thing is no doubt a part of ahimsa. But it is its least expression. The principle of himsa is hurt by every evil thought, by undue haste, by lying, by hatred, by wishing ill to anybody." "Ahimsa really means that you may not offend anybody, you may not harbor an uncharitable thought even in connection with one who may consider himself to be your enemy."
We can see King's integration of agape and ahimsa most concretely in the language of the Commitment Card that participants in the Birmingham Campaign were asked to sign. Regardless of the hatred and violence visited upon them, the protestors were committed to "walk and talk in the manner of love" and to "refrain from the violence of fist, tongue, or heart." We find similar commitments among the list that constituted the Code of Discipline for Gandhi's campaign in 1930: (1) "Harbor no anger but suffer the anger of the opponent. Refuse to return the assaults of the opponent," (2) "Refrain from insults and swearing," and (3) if taken prisoner, behave in an exemplary manner. The actions themselves are never intended to "defeat or humiliate the opponent, but to win his friendship and understanding." To that end, each "attack is directed against forces of evil rather than against persons who happen to be doing the evil." Nonviolent resistance aims to avoid "not only external physical violence but also internal violence of spirit. The nonviolent resister not only refuses to shoot his opponent but he also refuses to hate him." Thus, resisters practice methods that further the ultimate goal of reconciliation and transformation. For example, a student leader during the Civil Rights movement, Diane Nash, explains, "We used nonviolence as an expression of love and respect of the opposition, while noting that a person is never the enemy. The enemy is always attitudes, such as racism or sexism; political systems that are unjust; economic systems that are unjust—some kind of system or attitude that oppresses."
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Christians in the Public Squareby Ellen Ott Marshall Copyright © 2008 by The United Methodist Publishing House. Excerpted by permission of Abingdon Press. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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