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Posts archive for: March, 2008
  • Objectionable conscience

    For me, "current affairs" usually means the last century, but for once I've managed to be only a few months behind the debate. I've got round to reading ++Rowan's lecture and it reminded me rather of the debate a couple of years ago on the Gospel of Judas - i.e. it would be far more interesting if it actually said what the media claimed it said. In actual fact, the bish didn't propose any particular legal model, the introduction of Sharia law, or anything else; it was purely a theoretical and academic discussion, raising questions more than giving answers.

    It's a pity, though, that the media interest in Sharia law led them to overlook more subtle but equally controversial points. Take this one, for example:

    "And when courts attempt to do this [judge motives] on the grounds of what is 'generally acceptable' behaviour in a society, they are open, Bradney claims (102-3) to the accusation of undermining the principle of liberal pluralism by denying someone the right to speak in their own voice."

    Or this:

    "One of the most frequently noted problems in the law in this area is the reluctance of a dominant rights-based philosophy to acknowledge the liberty of conscientious opting-out [...]: the assumption, in rather misleading shorthand, that if a right or liberty is granted there is a corresponding duty upon every individual to 'activate' this whenever called upon."

    The Archbishop's argument is that the practical enjoyment of rights conferred by the state doesn't require their general, universal recognition as "human rights". He draws a parallel between the right to an abortion and the right of gay couples to adopt. In the first case, it is accepted that individual doctors can opt out of performing or recommending termination, so long as this doesn't prevent abortion from being readily available to every woman who is entitled to it. On the other hand, all adoption agencies are now required to recognise the right of gay couples to adopt, even though the desired effect (adoptive children being available for eligible gay couples) would still be achieved if the requirement were only placed on publicly funded adoption services. Abortion is seen as a medical issue, so the priority is access to free medical services; but adoption is seen as a gay-rights / equality issue, in which the recognition of the right is as important as the outcome.

    You have to admit he has a point. Unfortunately, this is the point at which Dr Williams' nerve fails him. He accepts that religion is not a 'purely private matter', inhabiting a separate space from other types of opinions and identities such as political beliefs, race or social tribe. He could propose a radical model of purposive law in which only the outcome is important, leaving significant space for people to find their own individual way of living within that law. Instead, he chooses the standard 'opt-out' model, in which religious beliefs are treated as a special category and exempted from otherwise general rules.

    The problem with the opt-out is that, if it is not to become a free-for-all, there has to be some kind of limit to what people can claim they are doing on religious or 'conscientious' grounds. ++Rowan settles for the standard fudge - religious opt-outs have to be backed up by authority, i.e. the clear requirement of an institutional church or the consensus of scholarly opinion. Paradoxically, individual conscience has to conform to the expectations of society.

    It seems to me that the word "conscience" is losing its natural meaning. Naturally, it ought to imply a personal conviction based on compassionate instincts. The concept of "conscientious objection" has always been associated with the Quakers - who reject the idea of authority in religion but were often prepared to suffer ostracism and prison for their refusal to kill. It now appears that a "conscientious" scruple means precisely the opposite of that deeply personal, isolating situation. Instead, it can only have its conscientious status validated if it is based on obedience to authority and required as membership of a (respectable and recognised) group. That traumatic responsibility which used to be the mark of conscience has been abdicated or 'delegated-up' to another.

    In so doing it has, arguably, also lost that element of compassion. It was truly sickening to hear representatives of Catholic adoption agencies - good people, undoubtedly, who had tried to help both childless couples and neglected or unwanted children - insisting that their consciences required them to close their agencies and give up their valuable work. In fact, the chances of a gay couple actually approaching a catholic adoption agency are slim. Even if such a couple did approach a Catholic agency, it is only their sexuality which could not be taken into account in deciding whether to place a child with them. Religion, cultural background and opinions can all be taken into account; in fact there may even be an obligation to place a child from a Catholic background with a practising Catholic couple. There was even the option of ignoring the law - not something I would generally recommend, but more principled than the attitude of "play by my rules or I'm taking my ball home".

    The people I have sympathy with are the social workers - people on the front line, not in a palace in Rome - who are in the position to truly have personal convictions about what is best for a child, based not on dogma but on compassion and on experience. Social workers must find it difficult turning down perfectly acceptable parents because they don't have the same ethnic or religious background as a certain child, or they fail in some way to fulfil the middle-class ideal of the perfect parent. As far as Rowan Williams is concerned, theirs is a second-class conscience.

  • Jesus Camp

    Well, I've finally put my money where my mouth is. I've signed up for a week-long trip to Taize. This won't be my first religious-themed trip, but it will be the longest and most intense - not to mention the only one to involve camping. And there will be no escape. Far from being a retreat into private prayer and silence, there will be nothing but a piece of canvas between me and five thousand fully paid-up Christians - from many nations and many churches but all of them under thirty.

    From everything I've heard, this should be an incredible spiritual experience. But I have to admit to a certain amount of trepidation. At least fifty per cent of this is the deeply trivial question of where I'm going to plug in my hair dryer. I am a profoundly shallow person, and I'm faintly terrified by the possibility of finding myself surrounded by happy campers who can throw up a tent in two minutes, fit their worldly possessions into a rucksack, and whose love of God is all they need to keep them warm at night. My heathen credentials may be betrayed less by my unorthodox theological opinions than my unsuitable shoes. On the other hand, Taize worship is incredibly moving and hypnotic, and often involves the use of candles and icons - not something I normally associate with the earnest, wholesome type of Christian!

    What most intrigues but slightly concerns me is the community's emphasis on "young people". The Taize project itself is in no way new or immature - it is a brave experiment in ecumenical monasticism, born out of the experience of the second world war, and it has been spectacularly successful. Given that people often find it hard enough to get on with other people in their own churches, whom they see once a week on Sundays, the fact that men of different religious traditions are living the religious life together is truly admirable. And, until his death at the age of ninety, it was led by the same man who founded it in the 1940s (Brother Roger, who did not die peacefully in his bed, as a nonogenarian might have the right to expect, but was murdered in full view of his congregation). Nevertheless, the community's website does somewhat give the impression that anyone over thirty is rather past it.

    In the case of Taize, I think this emphasis on youth may be a hangover from hippy influences in the 'sixties - a new generation finding free love in chastity and obedience and in the shadow of mediaeval Cluny. Its worship seems to owe more to the idealism and Eastern-inspired mysticism of the Summer of Love than the slick down-with-the-kids trendiness of the modern megachurch. There has obviously been a lapse of architectural taste at some point - its church looks like the misbegotten bastard of a swiss chalet and the Taj Mahal - but on the whole it seems to avoid novelty for novelty's sake.

    The same can't be said of all churches, though. There is a worrying pressure on churches to make themselves more modern, more accessible, more youth-centred. The result, in my opinion, can be horribly patronising. Youth pastors wearing jeans as if neither their congregation nor God deserved the same respect they would show to a business colleague; Alpha course posters asking if there's more to life than your mobile phone (well, oddly enough, yes); or the campaign by one church a couple of years ago (as seen on TV) entitled "Church Lite - it's better for you". If somebody offered me Church Lite, I'd wonder why they didn't think I could cope with the real thing.

    Worse than that - the aim to be accessible can often have the opposite effect. Margaret Hodge recently complained that the Proms are not sufficiently 'inclusive' or accessible - not because of their price (about that of a cinema ticket) nor because of their location, but presumably because they're full of classical music. Now I write as somebody who finds eighty per cent of classical music impenetrable and I have an attention span of five minutes tops, but it seems to me that it begs the question - what is it that you want people to have access to? It's all very well including everyone, but what are you including them in?

    In the world of 'culture', we are in danger of entrenching class distinctions, creating cultural ghettos. If so-called 'high art' - opera, ballet, Shakespeare - is seen as elitist and inaccessible, and children and the general public are no longer introduced to it, then it will be restricted to precisely that 'elite' who go on their own initiative. Young people from backgrounds that aren't associated with 'culture' will grow up feeling that it's 'not for the likes of them'. The drive towards accessibility will lock people out from the very world it is meant to be providing access to.

    Perhaps the same is true in the world of faith. In some churches - the churches that don't try to be accessible to "the youth" - there is a real sense that this is something different, something special. It's something worth wearing a hat for, worth looking a bit silly for, worth putting some effort into trying to understand. I'm a young(ish) person from a non-christian background, and those are the churches that I love. But it doesn't surprise me that many people view them with suspicion and feel intimidated. I've heard it said numerous times that certain traditional aspects of worship are "distancing" or "exclusive" - always, of course, from people who don't do it themselves and haven't tried to understand it. If people are always being told that the church is elitist and unwelcoming, is it surprising that they think they won't be welcome?

    The premise of Taize is that "young people" will want to spend a week chanting, looking at icons, and talking God - and it appears that they do, in vast numbers. Perhaps the key to making faith accessible to a new generation can be found in a remote field in France and the legacy of a ninety-year-old monk.

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