I know, I know, religion has no place in politics; politicians shouldn't ever speak in religious language or at religious events; religion is the cause for most, if not all, of the suffering in the history of the world; religion is the enemy of rational thought; every instance of religion in the public square is a sign of creeping theocracy and the impending end of freedom and liberty; etc., etc., etc. (Do I sound bitter? Sorry.)
But bear with me for a moment, because, as someone who does theology -- I can only hope to one day become a real theologian -- I believe that theologians do have something to teach politicians, and that thing is absolutely vital in face of the threat posed by the Bush administration and American imperialism.
For my entire life (and granted, I'm not terribly old), the United States has enjoyed the power of empire. True, it was for a time an empire whose power was tempered by that of another, the USSR, but it has been an empire as far back as I remember. There has always been a military dimension to America's imperialism, but, as with so many super-powers, America's imperialism has been much more significantly political, economic, and cultural.
Honestly, for much of my life, the imperial power of the United States didn't bother me. I was taught in school about the glories of America: our democracy, our liberty, our freedom, our Constitution, our Declaration of Independence, our progress. Of course, my parents being liberal, I was against everything that Reagan did, and Bush the first, but I was still so young during their administrations I doubt I really knew what was going on. What I knew was that America was great, and the idea of exporting that greatness would probably, if I had really thought about it, have appealed to me. Heck, even during the Clinton administration, when I was more politically aware, I didn't mind the idea of exporting American values. I really liked Clinton.
Then came George W. Bush and, not so long after the war in Iraq began, seminary. For those of you unfamiliar with the seminary experience, let me explain: There's a lot of drinking, combined with a lot of studying (although, perhaps, that's just where I went to school). Hermenuetics, exegesis, literary criticism, history, theology, sociology, cultural studies, ethics; all of these and more enter the seminary classroom as theological concepts are developed, explored, refined, discarded, and developed again. That is, perhaps, the most important difference between theology (and associated studies) and the popular piety and non-piety practiced around America -- and the world -- today. Theologians dissect their own beliefs and learn from others, always refining and contextualizing to see what a theology might mean in the lives of people. It's about far more than setting out a list of propositions, it's about considering the way we live and the beliefs that form that way of life.
But, really, I want to talk about two scholars that I encountered for the first time at seminary, both dead, one an educator, one a theologian and professor: Paulo Freire and Karl Barth. I'm going to over-simplify, but please bear with me.
Freire was a Brazilian educator, whose constant theme is that education and political change must come from the people. Oppressors impose their belief systems, constantly pushing down the oppressed and forcing them to do things the oppressors' way. For the oppressed, this is dehumanizing, humiliating, and -- as Jon Sobrino might put it -- deadly, both in the literal and metaphorical senses of that word. Liberation must come from the people, not from outside, and only liberation -- humanization -- will again make the people agents of history, order to shape their lives and reality, able to live their lives as themselves and not as extensions of the desires of others, able to be fully human.
Barth was a Swiss/German theologian who came of age during and after WWI. He had been taught in the tradition of liberal theology, which taught that human culture was able to bring justice and peace and all of those wonderful things that Christians believe mark the Kin(g)dom of God. When his professors signed on with German expansionalist policies, believing that the wonders and goodness of German culture could be brought to the rest of Europe at gunpoint and give everyone a little more of that Kin(g)dom, Barth did a 180 degree turn. He declared that the Kin(g)dom can only come about by the action of God, and that human attempts to bring it about will always end in failure. Given the death and destruction of that First World War, I can hardly blame his change of heart. He would continue teaching this view, and taking action, through WWII and on until his death in the 1980's. I disagree with a lot of what he has to say, but there's still something there -- a recognition of the dangers of human hubris, if nothing else.
When I look at American action in the world today, America's desire to rule by force, to forcibly spread 'freedom' and 'liberty' (always our versions, of course, and always so long as it benefits us), I realize the importance of Freire's and Barth's words. If Iraq -- or anywhere else -- is to be free, then that freedom must come from the people, and not from us. If we are to avoid falling into the hubris that, in the end, is capable of making life so much worse for everyone, we must be aware that American ideals, by themselves, do not necessarily improve the world. We must avoid arrogance.
Christian theology offers this lesson (though, of course, not only Christian theology offers this lesson), especially at this time of year. It is a question I've often heard: "If God is so powerful, then why did God have to become human to... um, do whatever God was doing?" I think this is the reason, strength and freedom must come from within. In order for God to truly teach us, God had to join us in solidarity. God had to come inside the human condition, live in the human condition, and suffer in the human condition in order to truly say anything about the human condition. Omniscience -- if God even has omniscience -- must take a back seat to compassion and solidarity. Likewise, too, must American power.
But, God remains God (as Barth might put it). While God has been with us, is with us, God also stands outside of us. God may be with us, but God also stands outside of us. Our power is, again as Barth would put it, nothing compared with true power (which is found by God's immanent form in service). God's transcendence reminds us always that we shouldn't be arrogant, that our cultures are a long way from perfection. We have no right to brag, and must always be aware of our imperfections, and the ability of those imperfections to do great harm.
Those are lessons that our foreign policy could certainly use.