Category Archives: Reviews

Review of Ralf Retter, Zwischen Protest und Propaganda: Die Zeitschrift “Junge Kirche“ im Dritten Reich

ACCH Quarterly Vol. 16, No. 4, December 2010

Review of Ralf Retter, Zwischen Protest und Propaganda: Die Zeitschrift “Junge Kirche“ im Dritten Reich (Munich: Allitera Verlag, 2009), 387 pp.  ISBN: 978-3-86906-066-8.

By Kyle Jantzen, Ambrose University College

Ralf Retter’s study of the Protestent journal Junge Kirche questions common historical assumptions about its role in the church politics of Nazi Germany. His detailed study of the periodical, which ran from 1933 to 1941, arises out of his doctoral dissertation at the Technische Universität Berlin. Drawing not only on his analysis of the publishing activity of Junge Kirche but also on the previously unpublished correspondence among those responsible for the journal, Retter tackles three discrete topics: the history of the German press in the Third Reich, the German Church Struggle, and the German Resistance. His main question is whether Junge Kirche was really just the mouthpiece of the Confessing Church and an organ of the church resistance to Nazism, as has been argued in the past. Like many other recent studies of the German churches under Hitler, his answers complicate our understanding of the relationship between Christianity and Nazism.

Junge Kirche was the leading Confessing Church journal in the Nazi era. More than that, it was one of the few supra-regional Protestant periodicals to survive in Hitler’s Germany, and was the Protestant periodical most likely to be read within Germany and circulated abroad. But how, asks Retter, did it function in the highly regulated press environment of the Third Reich? Clearly, it was oriented towards questions of theology, faith, and the proclamation of the gospel, avoiding subjects that spilled over outside the church and touching on state policy. However, given the anti-clericalism of the Nazi state and Junge Kirche’s insistence on the independence of the church to preach and teach according to Scripture, the journal found itself positioned against National Socialism (11). The key leaders who tried to steer the journal through the church politics of the Third Reich were Hanns Lilje, Fritz Söhlmann, and Günther Ruprecht, of whom only the first is fairly well known.

One of the challenging aspects of publishing during the Nazi era was censorship. Retter wonders how frequently and to what extent Junge Kirche suffered at the hands at censors, but also what role self-censorship played in the editorial process and (more controversially) to what extent those responsible for the journal might have identified with aspects of National Socialist ideology and rule. This raises the deeper question of whether Junge Kirche was really engaged in resistance against Nazism at all and, if so, whether its activities should be considered opposition (Widerstand) or merely non-conformity (Resistenz). Was it, Retter wonders, a force for the stabilization or destabilization of the regime (17)? In answering these questions, he devotes a good deal of attention to the argument that the journal was engaged in Resistenz between 1933 and 1936 (127), as it opposed the German Christian takeover of the church governments and supported the Barmen Confession, opposed both the introduction of the Aryan Paragraph in the churches and the abandonment of the Old Testament (188), affirmed the traditional historical narratives defending the long-standing presence of Christianity in Germany, supported the emergent ecumenical movement, and even criticized Nazi interference in the realm of the church (208). Still, Retter is careful to point out that this Resistenz took place in a context of traditional German-national sentiment.

By 1936, however, as the Confessing Church split and the pro-Nazi Fritz Söhlmann assumed the sole editorship of Junge Kirche, the journal lost most of its character as a centre for Resistenz. In rejecting the Dahlemite branch of the Confessing Church, Junge Kirche found itself caught up in internecine struggles and little able to engage in any significant opposition to the German Christian Movement. Siding with traditional Lutherans who were unwilling to break completely from the German regional church governments and the Reich Church authorities, Junge Kirche ceased functioning as a mouthpiece for the Confessing Church, argues Retter. By 1939, the pro-Nazi tendencies in the journal which had been present even from the beginning were given more or less free reign (particularly after Lilje, who had taken a more critical line towards the regime, was ousted from his editorial post). The self-censorship of publisher Ruprecht and editor Söhlmann kept the names of leading Nazis from appearing in the journal’s pages. And when Junge Kirche combined the embrace of Hitler’s war aims with its mission to foster piety and provide spiritual encouragement for Germans caught up in the Second World War, it grew into a stabilizing presence in the Third Reich—quite the opposite of a force for resistance.

For Retter, the fate of Junge Kirche mirrored that of the Protestant churches as a whole. Like the churches, it was reduced to the role of preaching the Word. Like the churches, its defence of the Reformation Confessions was interpreted by the state as political disloyalty and opposition. And like the churches, it had to work to clarify its relationship with the state. By choosing to support the “intact” Lutheran regional churches of Württemberg, Bavaria, and Hanover, Junge Kirche chose for cooperation with the National Socialist regime—a stance that opened the door for it to function as a propaganda arm of the state. Thus it was that the early period of protest gave way (in the language of the book’s title) to propaganda—active support for the Nazi regime and its conduct of war—a transition which was more self-induced than censor-driven (365). Indeed, the propaganda effect of Junge Kirche was especially profound, argues Retter, since it was a confessional publication and not a Nazi Party periodical. Its readers might well have assumed that Nazism was quite acceptable to the Christian churches of Germany.

All of this raises interesting questions pertaining to the relationship between Christianity and Nazism, highlighting once more the conflicting messages and understandings of the religious situation among German Protestants (and perhaps among Nazis, too). Concerns over Nazi anticlericalism and warnings about the movement becoming a political religion are mixed with Confessing Church support for aspects of Nazi antisemitism and the foreign policy of Lebensraum as well as calls to preach and promote piety in a particularly German cultural manner consistent with the conservative nationalism that marked the Protestant churches. In highlighting the presence of these inconsistencies and hypocrisies within the publishing arm of the Confessing Church, Retter contributes to our understanding of Christianity and Nazism as both partners and rivals attempting to win the hearts and minds of Christians in the Third Reich.

 

 

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Review of Jürgen Elvert and Jürgen Nielsen-Sikora, eds., Kulturwissenschaften und Nationalsozialismus

ACCH Quarterly Vol. 16, No. 4, December 2010

Review of Jürgen Elvert and Jürgen Nielsen-Sikora, eds., Kulturwissenschaften und Nationalsozialismus. Historische Mitteilungen im Auftrage der Ranke-Gesellschaft, 72 (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 2008), 922 pp. ISBN: 978-3-515-09282-1.

By Robert P. Ericksen, Pacific Lutheran University

This review appeared first in German History, Vol. 28 No. 2 (June 2010): 246-48, and is reprinted by kind permission of the author.

At the collapse of the Nazi State, some Germans committed suicide, unwilling to face a world without their Führer; some Germans were brought to Nuremberg, where they were placed on trial for war crimes and crimes against humanity; and most Germans began to act as if they had never been attracted to Adolf Hitler, despite sometimes copious evidence to the contrary. Already in 1946 Max Weinreich wrote Hitler’s Professors: The Part of Scholarship in Germany’s Crimes against the Jewish People;  but most professors managed to cultivate the idea, common to a large portion of their German fellows, that they had played no role in Nazi crimes and had merely been caught under the boot of a totalitarian regime. This postwar denial endured largely intact for a generation or more. In the past two or three decades, however, it has been overturned by scholarship which shows that ‘good Germans’ of every sort succumbed to the attractions of Hitler and worked willingly within and for the Nazi State. Such an assessment clearly includes German professors and their universities. Despite purges of Jewish faculty, despite the burning of books, despite violations of academic freedom, the Nazi goal of ‘Gleichschaltung’ (coordination) within the universities is now widely thought to have been ‘Selbstgleichschaltung.’ It was professors who helped burn the books and professors who competed for preferment after their Jewish and leftwing colleagues had been removed.

Kulturwissenschaften und Nationalsozialismus is one of several recent attempts to focus on scholars in the humanities as one aspect of this problem. The plan for the book, formulated in 2000, involved thirty-five disciplines. Participants hoped to create a foundation for future scholarship, showing where research on each of these disciplines stood at the time and creating a sort of grid by which interdisciplinary comparisons could be made. Jürgen Elvert somewhat disarmingly admits that the goals of the project were not achieved (p. 17). No contributor could be found for some areas, some contributors agreed to produce a chapter but failed to deliver, and some contributors produced work unworthy of being printed. Nonetheless, this ‘failed’ project resulted in twenty-eight chapters plus an introduction, filling some 922 pages. It is a very useful work, though hardly a quick read and somewhat uneven in quality and thoroughness. Individual contributions vary from a low of thirteen pages to a high of sixty on standard topics such as history, sociology, literature and political science, with much attention to philology as well as fields as diverse as classical archaeology and modern theater.

Hans-Joachim Dahms, one of the contributors, was an early player in the uncovering of academic complicity. In 1987 he co-edited Die Universität Göttingen unter dem Nationalsozialismus and he has since written extensively on philosophy during the Nazi era. Here he gives a very useful assessment of that discipline, arguing that no actual ‘National Socialist philosophy’ emerged during the Third Reich, nothing to equal, for example, the anti-Jewish, anti-Einstein ‘German Physics’ pushed by two Nobel laureates, Philipp Lenard and Johannes Stark. He blames this upon the quarrelsomeness of German philosophers and their ongoing arguments over neo-Kantianism, logical positivism, and other branches within their field. Many important philosophers, however, did endorse the Nazi state, most famously Martin Heidegger. Heidegger’s supporters later argued that his famous pro-Nazi address in 1933 as Rektor atFreiburg had nothing to do with his philosophical ideas and represented merely an early, mistaken assessment. Dahms cuts him no such slack: ‘It has long been clear that his NS enthusiasm during the Third Reich never stopped and that even after 1945 he never distanced himself from National Socialism in general or from his own actions during that time’ (p. 43). Dahms sketches the careers of other pro-Nazi philosophers, such as Alfred Baeumler ofBerlin, who said at the time of the book burning in 1933: ‘What we remove today are poisonous materials which were collected during a time of false tolerance. It is our task to let the German spirit within us become so powerful that such materials can no longer be collected’ (p. 48).

Horst Junginger, taking on the discipline of Religionswissenschaft, illustrates some of the irony and complexity of the Nazi era. As a student of comparative religion, Junginger cannot approve the old tendency to study religion only from the perspective of orthodox Christian belief. He mentions Adolf von Harnack, for example, arguing a century ago for the primacy of the Christian point of view (p. 52). Junginger then bemoans the postwar influence of Karl Barth, whose Christology rejected all non-Christian faiths as false attempts to find the true God (p. 85). Comparative religion of the sort practiced today expects a more modern approach, more objective, based upon empirical evidence and similar to anthropology in its method. Ironically, Junginger finds that just that sort of open modernity produced a strange variety of racist and völkisch religious movements during the Nazi period. Many of the individuals he describes began as Protestants. They studied theology and then often spent time on a mission field, perhaps in India, as in the case of Jakob Wilhelm Hauer. Back in Germany their linguistic skills and openness to non-Christian religions allowed them to fill newly created university positions in comparative religion. Within the nationalistic and racist atmosphere of their day, however, they were likely to use their freedom from Christian orthodoxy to endorse syncretistic beliefs closely related to the Nazi Weltanschauung.  Some, like Hauer with his German Faith Movement, tried to return to a purer, pagan past. Others, like the Deutsche Christen within the official Protestant Church, used comparative religion to reach the unlikely conclusion that Christianity had no actual connection to Judaism, but had always been entirely and inherently anti-Jewish. Walter Grundmann, professor of theology at the University of Jena and founding director of the Institute for the Study and Eradication of Jewish Influence on German Church Life, worked at de-judaizing the Christian tradition and even Jesus himself (as described recently by Susannah Heschel in The Aryan Jesus: Christian Theologians and the Bible in Nazi Germany). Dozens of professors attended conferences at Grundmann’s institute and contributed to its work. No scholar today would consider the work of Grundmann or the ideas of Hauer objective attempts to study and learn from religious traditions, yet many professors made that claim in the Nazi era and achieved success.

Every chapter in this book acknowledges the affinity of German scholarship for the ideas of the Nazi state, though authors differ in their assessment of culpability and in the breadth of their critique. Most academics never cooperated with the regime quite as much as the regime would have liked; most retained some loyalty to the ideals of their profession. Yet the story remains grim and much closer to the one told by Max Weinreich in 1946 than defenders of academia might like to think. This book is an important source for insight into the phenomenon. As is often the case, these German authors could have paid more attention to scholarship produced in Britainand America. However, most made good use of archival records, correspondence, and other forms of primary documents. Kulturwissenschaft und Nationalsozialismus thus takes its place beside similar volumes, such as Nationalsozialismus in den Kulturwissenschaften (Hartmut Lehmann and Otto Gerhard Oexle, eds., 2004) and Die Rolle der Geisteswissenschaften im Dritten Reich, 1933-1945 (Frank-Rutger Hausmann, ed., 2002), in helping us understand the failure of humanities scholars in Nazi Germany to be humane.

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Review of Emmy Barth, An Embassy Besieged: The Story of a Christian Community in Nazi Germany

ACCH Quarterly Vol. 16, No. 4, December 2010

Review of Emmy Barth, An Embassy Besieged: The Story of a Christian Community in Nazi Germany (Eugene, Oregon: Cascade Books, Plough Publishing, 2010), 306 pp. ISBN 13: 978-1-60899-879-1.

 By John S. Conway, University of British Columbia

The Bruderhof was the name given to a small Christian experimental community established in 1919 by Eberhard Arnold, a charismatic teacher and preacher, as a protest against the militarism and nationalism which had led to Germany’s recent defeat. He sought to recreate a community based on the ideas of the radical Reformer, Jakob Hutter, whose disciples had long since been banished from Europe and survived only in small groups in the Dakotas and western Canada. They aimed to follow Tolstoy’s lead in living a communal life without individual property, but witnessing in unity to their common piety and pacifism. In the 1920s this group settled on a dilapidated farm in a remote corner of Hessen near Fulda and began to propagate their idealistic vision as best they could. At first, this alternative life-style attracted a number of young people both from Germany and from other parts of Europe, drawn together in fervent discipleship of brotherly love according to the Sermon on the Mount. By 1933, the community had grown to over 100 persons.

The advent of the Nazi Party to power drastically altered the Bruderhof’s fortunes. Eberhard Arnold was quite clear about the incompatibility of his vision with Nazi ideology. It was not long before the local authorities began to harass the community, making use of allegations that they were a bunch of crypto-communists or even drug users. Already in November 1933, the farm was raided by armed policemen who openly declared that the Bruderhof had no place in Hitler’s Germany. The Bruderhof’s charitable status was revoked, their fostering of children at risk was suspended, and various sanctions damaged the profitability of their farming operations. In early 1934, they were forbidden to operate a separate Christian school, so that the school-age children had to be evacuated to Switzerland. In the following year, the introduction of military conscription led to the emigration of all their young men, whose pacifist beliefs prevented them from joining any military force. At first, a refuge was found on a remote hillside farm in Lichtenstein, until the authorities there bowed to Nazi pressure. Another section of the community then went to England in 1936, where they were befriended by Quakers and relocated to a farm in the Cotswolds. Unfortunately Eberhard Arnold died of a botched operation in November 1935, but even without his inspiring leadership the group managed to maintain their spiritual integrity. However, this was not enough to alter the Nazis’ resolute determination to get rid of them all. In April 1937, the police again raided the Bruderhof in force, declared its property to be confiscated, and ordered the community’s immediate disbandment. Three of the leaders were imprisoned for nearly three months, but were eventually released. The survivors emigrated from Germany to England and began to reorganize their witness once again.

This whole sad story is excellently told by Emmy Barth, one of Eberhard Arnold’s descendants, who is the community’s archivist in what is now their main centre in upper New York State. She has skillfully woven together and translated the surviving material of Arnold’s sermons, speeches and letters, and has been able to discover in Berlin the relevant documents in the records of the Reich Ministry of Church Affairs for 1936-37. While this book is entirely written from the point of view of those affected and tells us little that is new about the Nazi persecution of these minor sects, nevertheless her story is a valuable illustration of self-reliant spiritual strength refusing to capitulate in the face of ruthless and unfeeling paranoia.. Thanks to Eberhard Arnold’s prophetic vision, the Bruderhof movement continues to survive and indeed flourish. Emmy Barth’s sequel to this book, No Lasting Home: A Year in the Paraguayan Wilderness, continuing the story of their subsequent wartime flight from England to Paraguay, was reviewed in our March 2010 issue (Vol. 16, No. 1).

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Review of Richard Bonney, ed. and trans., Confronting the Nazi War on Christianity: The Kulturkampf Newsletters, 1936-1939

ACCH Quarterly Vol. 16, No. 4, December 2010

Review of Richard Bonney, ed. and trans., Confronting the Nazi War on Christianity: The Kulturkampf Newsletters, 1936-1939. Studies in the History of Religious and Political Pluralism, Vol. 4 (Oxford: Peter Lang, 2009), 578 pp. ISBN 978-3-03911-904-2.

By Doris L. Bergen, University of Toronto

This volume presents a fascinating primary source on church-state relations in National Socialist Germany from the remilitarization of the Rhineland in early 1936 to the eve of World War II.  The full title of the newsletters collected here was “Kulturkampf: News Bulletin of the Religious Policy of the Third Reich.” As Bonney explains in his introduction, these newsletters were published in London in English by the Kulturkampf Association, also known as the League for the Defence of Christianity, with funds from Erwin Kraft and encouragement from Bishop George Bell. Bonney estimates a circulation of about 2,500 copies. The English edition was translated from a French original, the work of German Catholic exiles in France. Karl Spiecker, a former chief of the German press service, was the editor. No doubt his experience was key in giving the bulletin its professional quality. Some of the newsletters have already been published in German, edited by the distinguished church historian Heinz Hürten: ‘Kurturkampf, Berichte aus dem Dritten Reich, Paris’. Eine Auswahl aus den deutschsprachigen Jahrgängen 1936-1939 (Regensburg: F. Pustet, 1988). Bonney’s book now makes this material available in English, along with some portions that Hürten did not include.

The newsletters are remarkable in their depth of coverage and analytical sophistication. Spiecker and his contributors, none of whom are identified, were surprisingly well informed on everything from international affairs to local developments. They devote what comes to almost 150 pages in the book to the Anschluß of Austria and its ramifications for the churches yet also note the significance of quotidian matters, such as the July 1938 attempt by a German merchant to “Aryanize” his daughter’s name, Judith, by lopping off the “h.” Consideration at three levels of courts left the outcome uncertain (416-7). Many of the newsletters reproduce passages, some of them extensive, from Nazi speeches and publications: Der Stürmer and Das Schwarze Korps, but also others that are no longer well known. Readers interested in any aspect of life in Nazi Germany in its understudied “middle period” are certain to find pertinent tidbits and possibly even major insights here.

The broad outline of the position presented in the newsletters is fairly predictable. Informed readers will be able to anticipate the central claims already from the titles – of Bonney’s volume, with its reference to the “Nazi War on Christianity” and of the newsletter, with its invocation of Bismarck’s Kulturkampf. The newsletters depict National Socialism as an ideological, institutional, and moral assault on Christianity that evolved from crude frontal attacks led by pagans and neo-pagans to a much more dangerous scheme to create a nazified, national church. For the people who assembled and distributed the bulletins, what must have been incredibly difficult and also risky work held out the promise of rallying forces beyond Germany in support of the churches, in particular the Roman Catholic Church and its most beleaguered elements. For Bonney, publishing this material now is a way to pay tribute to clergy who did not give in to Nazism (the book, like the German edition of Raul Hilberg’s Täter, Opfer, Zuschauer, is dedicated to Bernard Lichtenberg). It also appears to be a response to Richard Steigmann-Gall’s “revisionist position” (23), to which Bonney refers at numerous points.

Like every rich primary source, the Kulturkampf newsletters also contain surprises. The authors demonstrate an impressive grasp of the complex and dynamic connections between Nazi treatment of the churches and Hitler’s foreign policy. They devote a significant amount of space and understanding to developments within German Protestantism and to fostering a spirit of Christian solidarity. Rather than preaching the now familiar contention that the Roman Catholic hierarchy, led by an anti-CommunistVatican, settled for Hitler as the “lesser of two evils,” the newsletters explicitly reject that view. National Socialism was totalitarian, they insist, and as an ideologically conceived religion or substitute for religion, it posed an absolute and mortal threat with which there could be no compromise. The authors of the newsletters clearly recognized the centrality of antisemitism to the Nazi program, but in their analyses, the persecution of Jews is always a point of departure for discussion of the position of institutionalized Christianity. Most telling perhaps is the lengthy coverage of Hitler’s infamous speech of January 30, 1939, in which he “prophesied” that the next world war would result in the annihilation of Jewry. That part of Hitler’s tirade goes unremarked here, as the newsletters focus on another threat he made: that continued “misbehaviour” on the part of the churches would result in complete separation of church and state in Germany (488).

The usefulness of Bonney’s volume is unfortunately limited by the brevity of the introduction – much more could have been done to explain exactly what the newsletters were and how they were produced and received – and the paucity and unevenness of the footnotes. Nevertheless, this is a valuable contribution that provides much to ponder for all students of National Socialism.

 

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More reviews of Susannah Heschel, The Aryan Jesus: Christian Theologians and the Bible in Nazi Germany

ACCH Quarterly Vol. 16, No. 4, December 2010

More reviews of Susannah Heschel, The Aryan Jesus: Christian Theologians and the Bible in Nazi Germany (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2008), 384 pp., ISBN: 978-0-691-12531-2.

Susannah Heschel’s book about Walter Grundmann and the Institute for the Study and Eradication of Jewish Influence on German Church Life (1939-1945) continues to attract attention and stimulate debate. Below are links to four reviews (two we’ve already published and two that are new to us) that we believe will be of interest to readers of the ACCH Quarterly:

1. Daniel J. Harrington, S.J., Professor of New Testament at the Boston College School of Theology and Ministry, in the predecessor of the ACCH Quarterly, John Conway’s ACCH Newsletter, available here.

2. Björn Krondorfer, Professor of Religious Studies and the Department Chair for Philosophy and Religious Studies, St. Mary’s College of Maryland, in theologie.geschichte and ACCH Quarterly (Vol. 16, no. 2), available here.

3. Beth A. Griech-Polelle, Associate Professor of History, Bowling Green State University, on the listserv H-German, available at http://www.h-net.org/reviews/showpdf.php?id=25673.

4. Bernard M. Levinson, Professor of Classical and Near Eastern Studies and of Law, University of Minnesota, and Tina Sherman, Brandeis University, in Review of Biblical Literature, available at  http://www.bookreviews.org/pdf/7576_8280.pdf.

 

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Review of Dyron Daughrity, The Changing World of Christianity

ACCH Quarterly Vol. 15, No. 3, September 2010

Review of Dyron Daughrity, The Changing World of Christianity (New York, Oxford: Peter Lang, 2010), 290 pp. ISBN 978-14331-0452-7.

By John S. Conway, University of British Columbia

Dyron Daughrity teaches World Christianity at Pepperdine University in southern California. He rightly believes that such a course should now be taught from a global perspective and no longer with the earlier emphases on Europe or North America. Today there are far more Christians in Africa than in Western Europe or North America. The region of Latin America and the Caribbean is easily the most Christianized part of the world. These facts represent a changing of the guard. So this new text book reflects these new positions and stresses not only the geographical spread of Christianity, but also the fact that it is the most global, most diverse and perhaps the most influential religion in history. Such a comprehensive survey in the space of less than three hundred pages requires not only a skilful absorption of secondary sources, but also an ecumenical and eirenic disposition and an ability to adopt a judicious balance between the various components of such a study. It is good to say that Daughrity admirably displays these characteristics. While there is no complete bibliography, each chapter has extensive footnotes for the sources used, as well as questions appended for analysis which are designed to prompt further discussion. Despite some passages which call for greater precision and depth, Daughrity’s lucid style makes for easy undergraduate reading.

Daughrity’s approach is geographical, dividing the world into eight regions, but beginning with the historical evolution from the Middle East and ending in Oceania, suitably for the world’s largest faith. Following the lead of such current scholars as Lammin Sanneh and Philip Jenkins, Daughrity traces the shift in numbers from the northern hemisphere to the south, when he sees the tipping point as occurring around 1980. The reception of the Christian message as brought by earlier northern missionaries made all the difference, and demography will maintain the momentum. While he warns that religious growth is uncontrollable and unpredictable, he is clearly optimistic for the future of Christianity, especially in its more free-flowing Pentecostal forms.

His survey of each region begins with a general description of the political and social background, followed by a section on the background of Christianity in this area. He then moves to an examination of present-day Christianity, followed by a short piece on each country. This allows him to make interesting and sometimes provocative comparisons. For instance, he suggests that the present weakness of Christianity in the Middle East can be traced back to the divisions in Christian ranks at the time of the Muslim conquests. The solidarity of Islam and its tighter control over its adherents has prevented any Christian resurgence. By contrast, the defeat of Muslim forces in Spain in the late Middle Ages can be attributed to the solidarity – fanaticism? – shown by the Catholics of that region. He even suggests that, had Ferdinand and Isabella failed, then the whole exploration of the New World might well have been undertaken by Muslims.

In Eastern Europe, Daughrity of course welcomes the overthrow of Communist rule with its attendant persecution of the churches, but suggests that in Russia, the residue of the Soviet oppression of faith is like a cultural mist which does not evaporate instantaneously. In Hungary, however, the overthrow of Communist rule has revived freedom of religion and made that country a leading example of religious pluralism.

Turning to Western Europe, Daughrity explores the reasons why this region, which was Christianity’s heartland for so many centuries, is presently experiencing a period of increased scepticism and secularism. Europe for so long provided the leadership corps, widened the theological and scholarly horizons and mobilized the missionary forces which carried Christianity to all corners of the globe. But in recent decades a widespread disillusionment with “organized religion” has been notable. In part, the political changes of the last two centuries have almost everywhere broken the ties between Church and State which were increasingly seen as barriers to individual freedom, or to some at least a hindrance to spiritual growth. Furthermore the rapid changes in immigration and demographic patterns have led to a pluralisation of religious allegiances in Europe. Many people now fear that Islam may become the predominant religion in twenty-first century Europe. The “De-Christianization of Europe” is already being discussed. At the same time, the two major wars of the last century undoubtedly challenged all authority patterns. Dietrich Bonhoeffer provocatively argued in favour of a religionless Christianity, one where Christian social ethics would be practised without the burden of authority or doctrine. Daughrity supports the view taken by Grace Davie that Western Europeans are in a phase of “believing but not belonging”. When humanitarian movements strikingly follow Christianity’s prophetic voice, one could argue that, in this sense, Christianity is being reinvented.

In Latin America and the Caribbean, despite the brutal even genocidal manner of Christianity’s introduction five centuries ago, this region nevertheless now encompasses the heartland of Christianity. Paradoxically, this legacy imposed by the European conquerors is now vibrant and indigenized. But it still contains overtones of injustice, especially towards the original native peoples. Predominantly Catholic,Latin America nevertheless has seen an explosive growth of Protestantism, especially Pentecostalism. This community has the advantage of a much more flexible church polity and is free from the regrettable burden of Catholic history.

In his account of Christianity inNorth America, Daughrity lays stress on the darker side of the impact on native peoples and the long support for slavery. Nevertheless, its ethos is very different from that found inEurope. The absence of any politically dominant state church led to an amazing plurality of Christian endeavours, particularly in revivals, which have continued to the present. This resilient tradition, he hopes, will be enough to counter the corrupting influence of acquisitive capitalism.

The remarkable fact about Asiais that Christianity, as brought by European colonialists, has expanded rapidly now that the imperial era is finished. The successful indigenization of this originally Asian faith has seemingly been able to avoid the kind of syncretism which has weakened Christian witness elsewhere. Yet Asiais still riven by religious conflicts, especially in Muslim majority areas, and the future of Christianity remains problematic.

Africa is now second to Latin America in having the most Christians in a cultural block. Again, this growth has accelerated after decolonization. While Ethiopiacan boast of a continuous Christian adherence without European intervention since the early centuries, most of the continent’s Christians resulted from the nineteenth century missionaries’ activities, both Protestants and Catholics, of such well-known figures as David Livingstone. Today,Africa as a whole struggles to find political and social models of its own. The lack of success may perhaps be attributed to past colonialism, or to the effect of the slave trade, or to the indigenous poverty which hampers the kind of developments seen in Asia. Nevertheless, the faith thrives. Daughrity’s survey of the background of African Independent Churches is very helpful. His conclusion that Africa is suffused with religion seems well documented.

Finally there is Oceania, where a multiplicity of Christian influences has spread across the many archipelagos, making Christianity the most universally accepted and integrated cultural force. But this process is severely understudied, due to the marginalization of Christian missionary work by anthropologists who concentrated on tribal indigenous cultures. Daughrity pleads for a more balanced account of Christianity’s contribution to this fascinating and far-flung area.

One hundred years ago, Protestant missionaries were calling for the “evangelization of the world in this generation”. Daughrity claims that this goal has now been achieved in that every part of the globe has heard the call of Christ and the responses are still reverberating. Christianity, in its various and sometimes conflicting forms, affects virtually every country and society. Daughrity’s survey of the various factors involved in this world-wide process will be appreciated by students as a valuable guide for further and deeper investigation.

 

 

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Review of Tanja Hetzer, “Deutsche Stunde”: Volksgemeinschaft und Antisemitismus in der politischen Theologie bei Paul Althaus

ACCH Quarterly Vol. 15, No. 3, September 2010

Review of Tanja Hetzer, “Deutsche Stunde”: Volksgemeinschaft und Antisemitismus in der politischen Theologie bei Paul Althaus (Munich: Allitera Verlag, 2009), 296pp.  ISBN: 978-3-86520-328-1.

By Christopher Probst, Howard Community College

Tanja Hetzer’s in-depth study of the widely published, genteel Erlangen theologian Paul Althaus originally appeared as the author’s Ph.D. dissertation for the University of Sussex.  It is a work of intellectual history in the finest sense of that term.  In addition to shedding new light on his personal development and career, Hetzer mines a broad range of Althaus’s works, providing rich analysis of his thinking about Jews and Judaism over the course of a career that spanned many decades.  The fullness of the biographical information is woven together with Althaus’s developing thought, giving the reader a full-orbed picture of this crucial but bleak aspect of his life and work.

During the Nazi era, Althaus self-consciously occupied a place in the Protestant “middle.”  That is, he did not align himself formally with either the generally Nazi-wary Confessing Church or the largely pro-Nazi German Christians.  Even so, argues Hetzer, the Protestant middle propagated many of the same völkisch and antisemitic tropes and cultural codes as did their counterparts in the German Christian movement.  This realization is heightened by the fact that Althaus sought consciously to build bridges between the middle and the more “moderate” members of the German Christian movement (17, 241).  In impressive fashion, Hetzer situates Althaus’s urbane and theologically sophisticated antisemitism in the intellectual environs of neo-conservative Lutheran theology but also in the broader cultural currents of anti-egalitarianism, anti-liberalism and the “Wilhelmine mentality of authority, power and severity” (40).  The author thus forwards the picture of a theologian who traded in antisemitic stereotypes, but whose worldview was nonetheless fairly complex.  This was no rabble-rouser on the margins of Protestant Christianity.  Althaus was a gifted and revered theologian with a public face.

Althaus maintained that the Protestant churches “greeted the German turning point of 1933 as a gift and miracle of God,” ascribing theological significance to the ascent of the Nazi regime, and marveling that the German people had been saved from both “the abyss” and “hopelessness” (23).  He also co-authored the Erlangen Opinion on the Aryan Paragraph (1933), in which he and his colleague Werner Elert called for the implementation of the Aryan Paragraph in the church, demanding that Jewish Christians refrain from taking “official positions” in the Protestant church.  In the early postwar era he at first chaired the denazification committee at Erlangen, then was suspended from his university post (largely due to his anti-democratic, pro-Nazi pronouncements in Die deutsche Stunde der Kirche (The German Hour of the Church, 1933) and Obrigkeit und Führertum (Authority and Leadership, 1936)), and finally was re-instated to his chair approximately one year later (20).  Such important biographical details are coupled with detailed analysis of his theological writings and represent the book’s greatest strength.

Another strength of the book is the author’s convincing portrayal of Althaus’s long-term ideological development.  Crucial to this is her discussion of Althaus’s Weimar-era writings.  Hetzer demonstrates convincingly that “his worldview solidified far before the seizure of power of the National Socialists” (11).  A key component of this worldview is Althaus’s theologically sophisticated concept of the “orders of creation” (Schöpfungsordnungen).  In his 1934 work Theologie der Ordnungen (Theology of the Orders) Althaus described these orders, which include family, Volk and nationality, as divinely sanctioned forms which represent “essential conditions of the historical life of mankind.”  Hetzer demonstrates both that Althaus’s orders of creation theology was well-established by the time the Nazis came to power and that the Erlangen theologian connected the orders to his refined system of theological ethics (17, 143).

In the mid-1920s, German Protestantism’s relationship to the “völkisch question” was “still in many respects unsettled” (149).  Due in large part to Althaus, the issue moved from the margins of the Protestant discussion to the center.  His experiences with the German völkisch movement while he served as a military chaplain in occupied Poland during the First World War had helped to shape his views about the Volk.  Then, in 1927 the 39-year-old Althaus delivered a lecture titled “Kirche und Volkstum” (“Church and Nationality”) to a church congress at Königsberg.  The lecture, argues Hetzer, signified a “caesura” with respect to Protestant attitudes toward the Volk and indeed toward the so-called “Jewish Question” (151ff.).  Here, Althaus offered a carefully constructed new political theology in which he complained of an “invasion by foreigners” (Überfremdung) in the areas of the arts, fashion and finance which he believed had led to a disintegration of the national community (Volksgemeinschaft).  The present distress of the German Volk, he railed, was due to the “Jewish threat.”  Even while generally avoiding open and direct antisemitism, Althaus “theologically legitimized and stylized” hatred of Jews (154).

The author includes an insightful discussion of the heated controversies engendered by Althaus’s antisemitic “entanglements” during the Third Reich (15-18).  It appears that this dark facet of Althaus’s past did not really begin to come to light until at least the late 1970s.  Also included is a very helpful and thorough bibliography of Althaus’s works, arranged chronologically (266-278).

This excellent study substantially augments our previous knowledge about the Erlangen theologian – and by extension the Protestant “middle” – during Weimar and the Third Reich.  There are no radical interpretive departures from previous literature on Althaus (e.g., Robert Ericksen’s Theologians Under Hitler).  Yet, the beauty of Hetzer’s book lies in its richness, depth and breadth – all of which enhance considerably our understanding of the anti-Judaism and antisemitism present within the Protestant church during Weimar and the Third Reich.  An English translation would enable students and others without facility in the German language access to this work, which is essential reading for anyone interested in German Protestantism during the first half of the twentieth century.

 

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Review of Hubert Wolf, Pope and Devil: The Vatican’s Archives and the Third Reich

ACCH Quarterly Vol. 15, No. 3, September 2010

Review of Hubert Wolf, Pope and Devil: The Vatican’s Archives and the Third Reich, translated by Kenneth Kronenberg (Cambridge, Mass. and London: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2010), 325 pp.  ISBN: 978-0-674-05081-5.

By Heath A. Spencer, Seattle University

In this English translation of Papst und Teufel (first published in 2008), Hubert Wolf successfully challenges the conspiracy theories and sensationalism of a number of playwrights, novelists, journalists, and historians who have assessed the relationship between the Catholic Church and the Nazi state.  Remarkably, he does so without letting Catholic leaders off the hook or covering up their very real moral failures.  Making use of recently released materials from the Vatican Secret Archives, he has produced a provocative and highly readable account of the “view from Rome” during the turbulent decades between the two world wars, as well as new insights into the way Pope Pius XI and Eugenio Pacelli (the future Pope Pius XII) understood, interpreted, and responded to the early stages of a catastrophe that culminated in world war and genocide after 1939.

Wolf begins with an analysis of Pacelli as nuncio in Germany from 1917 to 1929.  The failure of Benedict XV’s peace appeal in 1917 seems to have convinced Pacelli that direct papal intervention in the Great War (and future conflicts) was ill-advised.   Pacelli’s reports from this period also reveal his preoccupation with the ills of modernism (ranging from liberalism and socialism to contraceptives and coeducational sports) and his desire to make state-oriented German Catholic bishops more responsive to Vatican directives.   Although Pacelli was anti-democratic and anti-socialist, he was pragmatic enough to recognize the need for the Catholic Center Party to work with the Social Democrats in the Weimar Republic, and although he displayed a level of anti-Semitism that was typical among European Catholics in this era, he strongly condemned the virulent racism of völkisch groups he encountered in Germany during the 1920s.

Wolf follows up with an assessment of attitudes toward Jews and Judaism in the Vatican during the 1920s.  Unlike Daniel Jonah Goldhagen, who posits a uniform and essentialist Catholic anti-Semitism, Wolf finds evidence of diverse views ranging from the philo-Semitism of Amici Israel, a Catholic organization promoting Jewish-Christian reconciliation, to the vehemently anti-Jewish orientation of Raffaele Merry del Val, head of the Holy Office under Pius XI.   Unfortunately, Pius XI took the side of the Holy Office in a controversy over reform of the Good Friday liturgy, leading to the censure of philo-Semites in the Congregation of Rites and the dissolution of Amici Israel.  Pius XI’s famous condemnation of anti-Semitism in 1928 was an attempt to deflect accusations that might emerge when he dissolved a pro-Jewish Catholic organization, as well as a way to distinguish between an “acceptable” Catholic anti-Judaism and racist anti-Semitism.   The back story Wolf reveals to Pius XI’s decree is a more nuanced story of moral failure than the one Goldhagen tells, but it still seriously undermines simplistic representations of Pius XI as a courageous opponent of anti-Semitism.

Wolf’s chapter on the Concordat of 1933 challenges the “package-deal thesis” promoted by Klaus Scholder, who suggested that Pacelli, as Papal Secretary of State, pressured German bishops to lift the ban on Catholic membership in the Nazi Party and encouraged the Center Party to support the Enabling Act—both in order to secure passage of a Concordat with the German government.   Nuncial reports as well as Pacelli’s notes on meetings with Pius XI and various ambassadors to the Holy See reveal that Pacelli was caught off guard by the German bishops when they announced they were lifting the ban.  Wolf argues persuasively that if Pacelli had been pulling the strings, he would have demanded something in return for this concession.  Instead, he had to negotiate the Concordat without some of his key bargaining chips.

In the end, both Pius XI and Pacelli made unpalatable compromises in order to preserve the Church’s ability to provide pastoral care under hostile regimes.   It was easy for them, as well as the German episcopate, to condemn Nazi ideologues like Alfred Rosenberg, but much harder to openly condemn a head of state—even Adolf Hitler.  In such cases, they preferred indirect approaches, refuting ideas that were contrary to Catholic teaching without naming the authors of those ideas.  Even in the context of race war and genocide after 1939, Pacelli (by then Pope Pius XII) indicated that he preferred public action by German bishops to direct intervention by the Vatican.   When such action was insufficient, Pius XII still considered his own hands tied.

Pope and Devil, by revealing the decision-making processes in the Vatican in such rich detail, presents us with a nuanced story that includes moral successes and failures as well as a large gray zone in between.   Wolf’s theological training, ordination, and prior years of experience in the Vatican Archives work to his advantage as he assesses the interplay of individual personalities and institutional dynamics in the Catholic hierarchy.  His ability to transmit his scholarship to specialists and non-specialists alike earned him the Communicator Award from the Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft in 2004, and it continues to play out in his leadership of a critical online edition of Pacelli’s reports to Rome during the latter’s years as nuncio in Germany.  Some American readers will be disappointed that Wolf does not do more to engage credible scholarship on this side of the Atlantic, but perhaps his priority was to address readers who are more likely to have heard of figures like Goldhagen, John Cornwell, and Dan Brown—even though such authors make relatively easy targets.  In any case, the book is a refreshing contribution to a longstanding but still unresolved debate about the Vatican’s responses to National Socialism, particularly where Pacelli was involved.  It will not end the “Pius war,” but by demolishing the most egregious misrepresentations on both sides, it points the way toward more productive discussions in the future.

 

 

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Review of Shalom Goldman, Zeal for Zion: Christians, Jews, and the Idea of the Promised Land

ACCH Quarterly Vol. 15, No. 3, September 2010

Review of Shalom Goldman, Zeal for Zion: Christians, Jews, and the Idea of the Promised Land (Chapel Hill, N.C.: University of North Carolina Press, 2009), 367 Pp. ISBN: 9780807833445.

By Steven Schroeder, University of the Fraser Valley

In Zeal for Zion: Christians, Jews, and the Idea of the Promised Land, Shalom Goldman highlights the work of a wide variety of Zionist sympathizers—from diplomats, humanitarians, and literary figures, to mystics, rabbis, Christian preachers, and religious radicals—who served the goal of Jewish statehood, albeit with varied intentions. He argues that “Jewish Zionism would not have succeeded without the help of Christian Zionism” (p. 99), and illustrates this claim in six accounts; three from ca. 1850 to the founding of Israel in 1948, and three from 1948 to the present day.

An introductory chapter precedes these accounts, in which the reader will find a thorough historical overview of Christian and Jewish views of the Holy Land. Goldman stresses the less studied aspect of how the diverse, but overlapping, religious views of Christian and Jewish Zionists served the Zionist cause. He asserts that the two groups started out in very different positions in the late nineteenth century—with Christians focusing on pre-millennial dispensationalism, and Jews on the security of the Jewish people—but slowly merged their efforts in a more intentional and overt way from the 1970s on.

The first half of the book focuses on the century leading up to the creation of the state ofIsrael, highlighting the work of Christian and Jewish Zionists, the relationships forged between these two groups, and the results of their individual, and combined, efforts. The central figures in this section, and throughout the book, reveal many atypical thoughts and actions vis-à-vis the traditional views of their co-religionists, and the status quo at the time. For instance, the first chapter focuses largely on the work of British journalist and politician Laurence Oliphant, who attempted to establish a Jewish state in Palestine via Zionist settlement and diplomacy. Oliphant was a gentile humanitarian who claimed to have left Christianity in the 1850s in favor of a self-styled eclectic mysticism (p. 61). His unqualified support for the establishment of a Jewish state was an anomaly during a time when nearly all Christian Zionists assumed the accompanying conversion of Jews to Christianity.

Reverend William Hechler, Herbert Danby, and Arminius Vambery were other key Christian Zionists who stood out due to their pioneering work. Hechler, a chaplain in the British embassy in Vienna during the late nineteenth century, had joined forces with Oliphant in supporting Jewish pogrom victims in Russia during the 1880s. In Vienna, he utilized his position to further the Zionist cause by brokering meetings between his friend Theodor Herzl and the Grand Duke of Baden, as well as Kaiser William II. Unlike Oliphant but like most Christian Zionists, Hechler’s interest in Jewish affairs and Zionism was steeped in Christian dispensationalism. He declared that Jewish Zionists “were unaware that they were fulfilling Christian messianic expectations” (p. 103). Continuing in this vein in the next chapter is the work of Herbert Danby, who published works (e.g. in Bible Lands, a journal he founded) that explicated Christian Zionism. He also translated, from Hebrew to English, Rabbi Joseph Klausner’s path breaking book, Jesus of Nazareth. Klausner’s book and Danby’s translation were intended to defuse Christian-Jewish antagonism and convince Jews and Christians that they served the same God and the same political goals of the Zionist movement. Arminius Vambery held similar beliefs while serving as a British agent in the Ottoman Empire, where he furthered Hechler’s ambitions by arranging for Herzl an audience with Sultan Abdul Hamid in 1901. To be sure, Vambery, like Oliphant, was not a typical Christian Zionist, but rather a man of Jewish descent who adhered to a wide range of spiritual beliefs.

Nearly all of the Jews in this study had abandoned their assimilationist views to embrace Zionism in the wake of antisemitic pogroms throughout Europe during the late 1800s. The author stresses that these Zionists benefitted from Christian Zionist support. Jews who are highlighted in the first half of the book were mostly secularists, reflecting the majority Zionist view during the period in question, and they are presented as secondary figures to the Christian Zionists at this time. Nephtali Imber was a marginal Zionist figure, claiming fame for writing Hatikvah, a famous Zionist anthem that became the Israeli national anthem in 2004. Theodor Herzl’s and Joseph Klausner’s writings and work factored more significantly, but the author stresses that they relied heavily on gentile support (e.g. Hechler and Danby).

The second half of the book focuses on numerous individuals who continued to support the state of Israel after its founding in 1948, along with some present day figures who have taken up the cause. Most of the cases in this section reveal the significance, and continuance, of the work highlighted in the previous section and feature some individuals who broke with tradition and some who deepened it. Catholics Gilbert Keith (G.K.) Chesterton and Jacques Maritain are credited for breaking the mould of Vatican anti-Zionism and contributing to the radical shifts in postwar Catholic teaching, particularly during the 1960s (p. 198). Conversely, we find in the Protestant camp a strengthening and deepening of Hechler and Danby’s teachings in the thought and action of the likes of Pat Robertson and John Hagee, who unequivocally support the state of Israel—including the expansion of settlements in Palestinian territories—seeing it as a harbinger of the mass conversion of Jews to Christianity and the second coming of Christ. Ignoring these latter components, adherents of the Jewish settler movement (e.g., Gush Emunim, p. 286), find strong allies in these fundamentalist Christians.

Zeal for Zion is a welcome addition to the growing body of scholarship that examines both Christian and Jewish contributions to the Zionist enterprise. To be sure, some readers will question how representative of each respective group these individuals were, how cooperative Christian-Jewish Zionist work has been, and what, particularly, binds all of the disparate people and groups in the overall development of the Zionist project. Still, each account reveals important details and many surprising elements of Zionist history. Taken together with the author’s personal experiences (e.g. the influence of gentile pro-Zionist writers like Jorge Luis Borges during the 1960s and 1970s), it makes for a fascinating, significant book.

The valuable findings in this book provide numerous possibilities for future researchers, including further exploration of the ambivalent, if not antagonistic, base of this Christian-Jewish relationship in the Zionist movement. Indeed, the bases for Christian and Jewish Zionism have changed little since the nineteenth century, with each side serving its own purposes, with few exceptions. Religious radicals from both faiths have not fostered peace and mutual recognition in the Palestine/Israel conflict, or in Christian-Jewish relations. Moreover, the long-term ramifications of their views have not been explored in much depth. Within this book, Goldman has provided numerous examples of exceptional individuals who, while serving their respective goals, inadvertently engendered innovative engagement in Christian-Jewish dialogue—innovations that could be explored further and utilized for peaceful purposes.

 

 

 

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Review of Eric Metaxas, Bonhoeffer: Pastor, Martyr, Prophet, Spy: A Righteous Gentile vs. the Third Reich

ACCH Quarterly Vol. 15, No. 3, September 2010

Review of Eric Metaxas, Bonhoeffer: Pastor, Martyr, Prophet, Spy: A Righteous Gentile vs. the Third Reich (Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2010), pp. 608, ISBN 1595551387.

By Victoria J. Barnett, General Editor, Dietrich Bonhoeffer Works, English Edition and Director of Church Relations, U. S. Holocaust Memorial Museum

This is a badly flawed book. On one level it is simply a popular retelling of Bonhoeffer’s life drawn from familiar sources such as the Dietrich Bonhoeffer Works English edition, the Bethge biography, and Love Letters from Cell 92. Metaxas has also looked at the outtakes of the Doblmeier documentary interviews with Bonhoeffer’s students, so there are a few new anecdotes here. Much of the book, however, is a familiar patchwork of lengthy direct citations from the DBWE volumes, the Bethge biography, and Love Letters. It is also a consciously evangelical (in the U. S. context) interpretation of Bonhoeffer, his life, and times.

Neither of these factors are obstacles per se to a good new look at Bonhoeffer. A shorter biography of Bonhoeffer for the general audience is long overdue, and this one is readable enough. And there is certainly room for an evangelical examination of Bonhoeffer’s theological development in the context of his life and times. Bonhoeffer’s spirituality, his eloquent articulation of the life of discipleship in the world, and his powerful witness have always given him a wide following among evangelicals, and the trajectory of his theological and political development definitely has the character of a spiritual journey. A solid evangelical examination of Bonhoeffer in the historical context of what was happening to churches and theologians, both in this country and in Germany, would be fascinating—particularly if it dealt with the still under-researched discussions about Nazism that occurred among Baptists, Pentecostals and others at the evangelical end of the spectrum.

Unfortunately, that’s not the book Metaxas has written. There are two central problems here. The first is that he has a very shaky grasp of the political, theological, and ecumenical history of the period. Hence he has pieced together the historical and theological backdrop for the Bonhoeffer story using examples from various works, sometimes completely out of context and often without understanding their meaning. He focuses too much on minor details and overlooks some of the major ones (such as the role of the Lutheran bishops and the “intact” churches). The second is that theologically, the book is a polemic, written to make the case that Bonhoeffer was in reality an evangelical Christian whose battle was not just against the Nazis but all the liberal Christians who enabled them (in fact, Metaxas is much kinder to the secular humanists, but that’s probably because they were members of the Bonhoeffer family).

The result is a terrible oversimplification and at times misinterpretation of Bonhoeffer’s thought, the theological and ecclesial world of his times, and the history of Nazi Germany. There are numerous errors, some small, some rather stunning. The most glaring errors occur in his account of the church struggle, which is portrayed as the battle between the Nazi-controlled German Christians against Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who here leads the Confessing Church together with Martin Niemoeller. In Metaxas’ version, the Barmen declaration repudiates Nazi anti-Semitism, the Confessing Church breaks away from the Reich Church, and the neutral or intact churches are completely absent from the scene (there are not even index entries for Bishops Wurm, Marahrens, or Meiser, the last of whom is referred to but not named). Bonhoeffer of course leads the way, both in the name of true Christianity and on behalf of the Jews. This oversimplification of the battle lines and the complexities of the church struggle (and of Bonhoeffer himself) characterizes the portrayal of the entire period. National Socialism and its leaders are of course unambiguously anti-Christian. Most of the generals in the resistance against Hitler, we learn, are “serious Christians”. Luther’s anti-Semitism is attributed to his digestive troubles, and Metaxas does not address how anti-Semitism, whatever its source, had permeated the mindset of German Protestantism and the wider culture. There is a brief nod to the fact that Franz Hildebrandt is Christian but of Jewish descent according to the racial laws. Elsewhere, however, there is little distinction between converted Jews and secular or observant Jews, and his entire discussion of the persecution of the Jews and the churches’ responses is clueless. In some places it is offensive, as when Metaxas argues that supporters of the Aryan paragraph were not really anti-Semitic: “Some believed that an ethnically Jewish person who was honestly converted to Christian faith should be part of a church composed of other converted Jews. Many sincere white American Christians felt that way about Christians of other races until just a few decades ago.” (Why, some of their best friends …). Along the way Metaxas inserts shorthand summaries that range from the silly (Luther as “the Catholic monk who invented Protestantism”) to the bizarre (the difference between Barth and Harnack is compared to contemporary debates “between strict Darwinian evolutionists and advocates of so-called Intelligent Design”).

All of this, however, leads to a selective misreading of Bonhoeffer’s theological development and a profound misunderstanding of what happened to the German churches between 1933 and 1945. The failure of the GermanEvangelicalChurchunder Nazism was not that it was filled with formalistic, legalistic Lutherans who just needed to form a personal relationship to Jesus, but that it was filled with Christians whose understanding of their faith had so converged with German national culture that it tainted both their politics and their theology. (As an interesting aside, when I first interviewed Eberhard Bethge in 1985 he explicitly compared this kind of Protestantism to what he had seen of the American religious right. A thoughtful evangelical reading of the development of Bonhoeffer’s extensive writings on the church-state relationship and the public role of religion would be a major contribution to the field, but Metaxas doesn’t even mention that aspect of Bonhoeffer’s thought). What Metaxas fails to grasp is that there were many devout, well-educated, Bible-reading Christians in Germany who read their Losung each morning and fully supported National Socialism.

Moreover, Bonhoeffer’s theology, precisely because it was the theology of a devout, reflective, and faithful Christian, was far more complex than the narrow ideological confines to which Metaxas tries to restrict him. While Metaxas spends a lot of time on Bonhoeffer’s role in the ecumenical movement, he ignores the fact that many of Bonhoeffer’s ecumenical allies were precisely the kinds of “social gospel” Christians (and in some cases of a “liberal” bent) that he so despises. He also ignores the pacifism that shaped ecumenical leaders throughout Europe and dismisses its influence on Bonhoeffer himself. While Bonhoeffer may not have become a complete pacifist, he took it seriously, and his reflections on pacifism decisively shaped his readings of certain texts and it certainly shaped his early ecumenical activism. Metaxas grounds much of his theological argument upon Bonhoeffer’s early critique of American theology, particularly when he was at Union Seminary in 1931-32. Yet as critical as Bonhoeffer was of his professors and fellow students, he himself acknowledged how much he had gained from that year, and it’s striking that when he returned in 1939 it was with a nuanced acknowledgment of the strengths of U. S. Christianity (in light, I think, of the failures he had witnessed within German Protestantism). His essay “Protestantism without Reformation” reflects on the strengths and weaknesses of U. S. Protestantism at all points of the American church spectrum, not just the liberal end. Nonetheless, according to Metaxas, by the time Bonhoeffer leaves New York in July 1939 he has had an epiphany: the plight of the fundamentalists in the United States is just like the battle of the Confessing Church back home. “Here they were fighting against the corrupting influences of the theologians at Union and Riverside (Church), and at home the fight was against the Reich church.”

Well. There’s something going on here, but it doesn’t have much to do with real history and it’s certainly not Bonhoeffer. This book is clearly intended as theological biography, but it fails because Bonhoeffer’s theology cannot be read ahistorically (as Andrew Chandler’s astutely noted in his 2003 review of the Bonhoeffer Werke, “The Quest for the Historical Bonhoeffer”), and it certainly can’t be understood without addressing the complexities of Bonhoeffer’s thought as he struggled with the realities of his times.

That, in fact, is both the challenge and the potential for reading Bonhoeffer. Looking at Bonhoeffer in historical context removes him from any narrow theological box, evangelical or liberal. Bonhoeffer was deeply pious in a way that some liberal Christians (again, in the contemporary U.S. sense of that word) might find hard to connect with and it’s that piety that speaks directly to evangelicals around the world. At the same time, he was a highly intellectual and critical Christian, and therein lies his appeal for Christians on other points of the spectrum. More importantly, Bonhoeffer had witnessed firsthand what happens when faith and ideology converge. Thus, during the dark war years, when some church leaders, including his ecumenical colleagues, called for a “rechristianization” of Europe and a return to Christian values, Bonhoeffer explicitly repudiated it, both in Ethics and in his prison letters. He also warned his students at Finkenwalde against the dangers of an individualistic “personal relationship” to Christ. Bonhoeffer’s central concern remained the life of Christian faith in the world, yet his understanding of Christianity had been shaken and altered by the failures of his church under Nazism. In 1942 he wrote of “a Christendom enmeshed in guilt beyond all measure” and I personally think that any interpretation of his famous discussion of “religionless Christianity” needs to start there. A thoughtful and honest evangelical analysis of the complete Bonhoeffer, not just the parts that go down easy, would be useful. But Metaxas has simply pulled together the passages he likes and ignored anything that might complicate the picture he wants to create—the same thing of which he accuses others, when he writes on page 466: “Many outré theological fashions have subsequently tried to claim Bonhoeffer as their own and have ignored much of his oeuvre to do so … (they) have made of these few skeletal fragments something like a theological Piltdown man, a jerry-built but sincerely believed hoax.” Yes, indeed.

 

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Review of Michael Hirschfeld/Maria Anna Zumholz, eds., Oldenburgs Priester unter NS-Terror, 1932 – 1945. Herrschaftsalltag in Milieu und Diaspora

ACCH Quarterly Vol. 15, No. 2, June 2010

Review of Michael Hirschfeld/Maria Anna Zumholz, eds., Oldenburgs Priester unter NS-Terror, 1932 – 1945. Herrschaftsalltag in Milieu und Diaspora (Münster: Aschendorgg Verlag, 2006), 818 pp. ISBN: 3-402-02492-6.

By Mark Edward Ruff, Saint Louis University

This review appeared first in the Catholic Historical Review, Vol. 96 No. 1 (January 2010): 160-161, and is reprinted by kind permission of the author.

This mammoth volume details the persecution of Roman Catholic priests in Oldenburg during the years of National Socialist rule.  Containing nearly 80 separate accounts of individual priests and clergy who ran afoul of the Nazi state, this compilation is a Festschrift for Joachim Kuropka, the historian at the local University in Vechta known for his regional histories of the Oldenburg region in Northwestern Germany and his scholarship on the Cardinal of Münster, Clemens August Graf von Galen.

This dense volume centers on Oldenburg, a long, slender sliver that technically belonged to the diocese of Münster but was cut off geographically by the diocese of Osnabrück. The northern sections were part of the Catholic diaspora, an almost exclusively Protestant bastion known for his strong support for the Nazis. In contrast, the southern regions, which included the regional centers of Cloppenburg and Vechta, was home to a thriving Catholic milieu.  With than 90 percent of the population consisting of registered Catholics, the Catholic parishes there boasted thriving ancillary organizations and a dynamic parish life.

The editors, Michael Hirschfeld and Maria Anna Zumholz, leave little doubt that the strength of the Catholic milieu in these southern regions contributed to the efficacy of actions that thwarted Nazi efforts to dismantle the building blocks of this Catholic subculture. They argue that the milieu in this region did not erode. The “indicators” of religious strength – the number of priests in a region, Easter attendance, etc. – show that the milieu, in spite of significant persecution, more than held its own. Nor did clergy contribute to an attitude of uncritical obedience to the Nazi state. Instead, they were in the forefront of the resistance to Nazi ideology, seeking to counter the anti-Christian attacks launched by the Nazi ideologist, Alfred Rosenberg. As such, these priests earned the special enmity of Nazi enforcers in the Gestapo, who cracked down – sometimes methodically, sometimes sporadically – on Catholic institutions and their associates.

To be sure, this focus on persecution – the arrests, the threats, the disruptions to parish life – is an indispensable part of the story of the Catholic church under Nazi rule. For in fact, as the section on regional Nazi perpetrators in the Gestapo, party and the courts makes clear, hardliners sought to eradicate nearly all traces of religious influence on German public life.

But this is a selective lens with which to view this era, one which is by definition, incomplete. The focus on persecution necessarily precludes an analysis of accommodations to the Nazi state made by other clergy either by choice or out of necessity.  Absent are what might be termed the grey areas in the relationship between the church and National Socialism. To what extent were these priests representative of the clergy as a whole and were there areas in which they granted their approval to the other aspects of the Nazi agenda and state? The editors pay lip service to these questions, but their answers ultimately hearken back to works of earlier eras. The narratives they create are those produced already in the 1940s by chroniclers such as Johannes Neuhäusler : the patterns they use were laid out in the 1980s and 1990s in the voluminous works, Priester unter Hitlers Terror, produced by the Kommission für Zeitgeschichte in Bonn.  This is not to negate their findings but to suggest that this is but one part – and a necessary part – of a larger picture.

 

 

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Review of Derek Hastings, Catholicism and the Roots of Nazism: Religious Identity and the Early Nazi Movement in Munich

ACCH Quarterly Vol. 15, No. 2, June 2010

Review of Derek Hastings, Catholicism and the Roots of Nazism: Religious Identity and the Early Nazi Movement in Munich (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), 312 pp. ISBN: 0195390245.

By Beth Ann Griech-Polelle, Bowling Green State University

For many people the National Socialist movement is forever embedded in their minds with neo-pagan revivals and pseudo-sacral rituals. Derek Hastings’ work, Catholicism and the Roots of Nazism, attempts to prove otherwise.Hastings’ research reveals a distinctly Catholic overtone in the early development of the Nazi movement in Munich and its environs and he argues that, up until the failed 1923 Beerhall Putsch, the movement was overwhelmingly Catholic in its orientation.Hastings’ greatest contribution here is to provide well-researched evidence that addresses the very early moments of the NSDAP’s formation, something that has hitherto been largely neglected by historians of the Third Reich. He also makes a major contribution by providing portraits of individual Catholics, both from the clergy and the laity, in order to demonstrate how the early movement was intertwined with Catholic identity. Once again,Hastings makes an enormous contribution in that most studies, when addressing the foundations of the Nazi movement, ignore the reality of Catholic-dominated Munich and seek to portray Nazism as incompatible with Catholicism. Finally,Hastings is also able to show how the movement eventually lost its Catholic orientation and along the way, many of its original Catholic supporters.

One of the many strengths of Hastings’ work is his ability to “break the mold” and prove that Munich Catholics were not “typical” in that they were generally opposed to ultramontanism and especially rejected political Catholicism. This resulted in many Catholics rejecting the Center Party and also in the development of a distinctive Catholic culture, which emphasized “religious Catholicism” in opposition to that of the perceived hypocrisy of political Catholicism. Through the exploration of pre-WWI Catholic trends, Hastings convincingly argues that Reform Catholicism became a type of “fighting,” nationalistic movement around Munich and that Reform Catholicism was able to link itself to the more nebulous “Positive Christianity,” which the early Nazi movement incorporated into the 1920 party platform. In the third and fourth chapters of his work, Hastings makes a compelling argument that although Nazism stressed interconfessionalism, the movement was flourishing in a Catholic environment where Nazi publications stressed that their members should attend Catholic masses, ceremonies, and demonstrations. He also shows, through short biographical sketches, various Catholic priests who energetically stepped forward to encourage their parishioners to join the Nazi movement. All of this Catholic overlay began to dissipate once Hitler made the decision to allow Erich Ludendorff and the Kampfbund to become involved in the attempted putsch of 1923.Hastings traces the decline of Catholic influence and the drifting away of many of the early and most vocal Catholic supporters of the Nazi movement. Once the Nazi movement was refounded, a more secularized version of political religion supplanted what had once been intimately tied to a Catholic-Christian world view.

Derek Hastings has made a significant contribution to the field of German history with this manuscript. His work makes an excellent companion piece to Kevin P. Spicer’s Hitler’s Priests, as Spicer’s work tracks many of these same Catholic supporters of Nazism, albeit in a later time period. Also, Hastings’ work will complement the work of Richard Steigmann-Gall since Steigmann-Gall’s The Holy Reich seeks to argue that many Nazi leaders thought of themselves as practicing Christians—but Steigmann-Gall focuses primarily on Protestants which again places the work in a later time frame. In addition, Hastings has been able to effectively argue, through the use of excellent archival sources, that the early Nazi movement was in fact dominated by a type of German Catholicism and that this perspective on the world should not be overlooked simply because of an antagonistic relationship that developed between the Catholic Church and Hitler’s regime in the latter years of the Third Reich. Perhaps most importantly,Hastings work will challenge German historians to re-think what made many German Catholics believe that they could be both “good Nazis” and “good Catholics.” His work goes a long way in showing how that connection was in fact possible, particularly when the parish priest was giving the blessing over swastika flags and officiating at various Nazi ceremonies.

 

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Review Article: The Death of Christian Britain Reconsidered

ACCH Quarterly Vol. 15, No. 1, March 2010

Review Article: The Death of Christian Britain Reconsidered.

By John S. Conway, University of British Columbia

Callum Brown, The Death of Christian Britain, Understanding secularisation 1800-2000, 2nd edition. London: Routledge, 2009. IBSN 13: 978-0-415-74134-3.

Jane Garnett et al., eds., Redefining Christian Britain: Post-1945 Perspectives. London: SCM Press, 2007. ISBN 978-0-334-04092-7.

Keith Robbins, England, Ireland, Scotland, Wales. The Christian Church 1900-2000. Oxford University Press, 2008. ISBN 978-0-19-826371-5.

Ten years ago, Callum Brown, who is Professor of Religious and Cultural History at Glasgow’s second university, Strathclyde, published his controversial book The Death of Christian Britain. It has now been republished in a second edition, with an additional chapter taking issue with some of Brown’s critics. This is not an ecclesiastical history. It has little to do with the churches as institutions or their theologies. Rather it is an impressionistic exposition about what Brown calls the Christian discourse amongst the British population in the period from 1800 to the present. He seeks to show that for the first 150 years, this discourse, particularly as seen in the writings and preaching of the evangelical sections of the various churches, provided an identity, a mental structure, and a moral code of behaviour for the majority of the population. This generally-held discourse, he believes, is what made Britain a Christian country. But this is no longer the case. “The culture of Christianity has gone in the Britain of the new millennium. Britain is showing the world how religion as it has known it can die.”

The impact of these challenging views was only made more strident by his claim that this ‘death’ could be precisely dated to the 1960s, i.e. had already happened, and by his assertion that the principal cause lay in the decision-making of young women. Their abandonment of the habits and thought-forms of their mothers and grandmothers, who had for so long sustained both the moral forms and the institutional life of the churches, was the key factor. In the remarkably short period of the 1960s all this was to be eroded. It was a sudden and drastic process which Brown described as the de-pietisation of femininity and the de-feminisation of piety.

These provocative assertions were part of his sub-title’s Understanding Secularisation 1800-2000. But secularisation is both a complex as well as an emotive term. There have been at least two rival and opposed assessments. On the one hand, almost all church-goers including the professional clergy and their supporters, have deplored the loss of faith, the decline in church attendance, the erosion of social and personal values, and the abandonment of the so-called Christian identity of the nation. These developments were often associated with the growth or urbanisation and modernisation so that the myth of ‘the unholy city’ with its dark satanic mills could be contrasted with the simple purity of rural life centred around the parish church or chapel on the village green.

On the other side, the champions of secularisation saw this as a revolutionary advance into the modern age, when the individual is liberated from superstition or the shackles of clericalism. Secularisation is a salute to reason, to intellect and to progress. By the mid-twentieth century, virtually all British intellectuals subscribed to this ideology. Yet it took the impetus of a social revolution in the 1960s, which freed British popular culture from what Brown believes was the misery of a restrictive Christian discourse, often backed by the state. For at least a century this discourse had governed all aspects of self-identity and expression, community-regulated leisure and domestic life. Its repressive features, in the name of adherence of Christian morality, had imposed great suffering on minorities and miscreants, such as homosexuals. It had strictly limited the range of opportunities especially for women. It was the rejection of these bulwarks of Christian piety, so Brown believes, which so rapidly led to the death of this kind of Christian culture in Britain.

Brown’s critics were quick to attack him for his reductionism and for his mono-causal explanation for the demise of the Christian discourse. But it is noteworthy that Brown also took issue with much of the methodology employed by many sociologists of religion. Particularly he disputed the widespread teleological theory whereby religious decline was seen as the inevitable and linear obverse of the rise of rationality and science. Brown disputed this time line by pointing to the undeniable revival of religious life in Britain in the immediate post-1945 years. So too he challenged the views taken by many left-wing social scientists who drew their analysis from Marxist theory. According to this paradigm, Christianity’s hold was largely class-based, and would and should disappear once the class struggle was overcome and modernisation ensued. But the subsequent discrediting of Marxism and its theories of modernisation now requires now requires new coherent explanations for the apparent changes in Britain’s religious adherence.

Redefining Christian Britain. Post-1945 Perspectives is the product of an Oxford conference whose contributors sought to escape from the ideologically-based theories or the sociologically-based statistics of the proponents of secularisation. Instead they sought to stress Christianity’s continuing influence on culture through literature, art and architecture. As well, they found Christian moral ideas as forming the background for many economic developments, as well as in protest movements. Above all they seek to claim the continued relevance of Christian values in Britain’s national identity. Christian Britain is not dead, they assert. There is no corpse in the Library. Rather, these essays contain countless examples of how Christianity has continued to infuse public culture, though the authors admit that the cultural strength of religion must be separated from its institutional strength or decline. By rejecting any teleological approach, they argue for a wide variety of positive adjustments in British religious life, pointing particularly to the number of sub-cultures brought in by recent immigrants.

There is considerable mention of “transformations” in the chapters of this book. Many of the contributors rightly point out that the 1960s were indeed years of change and challenge in Britain. The national identity, and with it the many religious associations it held, were transformed in more ways than allowed by Callum Brown. The loss of empire, the spectre of nuclear annihilation, the awareness of world poverty, and the wholly new relationship with Europe, all posed questions which included a religious dimension. Above all, these were years in which religious certainty faded, to be replaced by a far more questioning discourse. It was not surprising that Bishop John Robinson’s Honest to God should prove to be the best-selling theological work of the century. The abandonment of the ideal of authority, and the disappearance of a deferential society, both clearly affected the position of the clergy. So too the rise in the general standards of education meant that many more individuals than before claimed an independence of mind which no longer looked for paternalistic guidance from the churches or their ministers. There was in fact a process of spiritual fragmentation when the institutional church, with its rituals and dogmas, no longer received automatic assent. This development proved to be far more corrosive of belief patterns than the alleged impetus of women’s sexual liberation.

There were indeed, as Mark Chapman points out, many churchmen who welcomed a transformation of their spirituality, and who looked for more relevant forms of Christian witness, stripped of the Victorian trappings of religion. Some were to welcome the abandonment of dogmatic theologizing, and were to cultivate a vaguer religion of love and service of fellow men and women. But others still recognized the need to maintain the importance of the transcendent in both personal and public life. They were to argue that the churches should continue to have a prophetic and critical role over against all idealistic political or social proposals. If the churches limited themselves to being agents of social reform, they would have lost a dimension of incomparable worth. Transformation should be achieved without sacrificing the essence of the Judaeo-Christian heritage. And institutional diminution was not necessarily a pointer to social relevance. In the view of these authors, the wishful thinking of doomsayers, predicting religious and moral decline, has to be challenged. Little evidence exists that the national standards of personal morality have declined, even when the churches’ previous emphasis on puritan-style sexual ethics has been overtaken. Instead, newer issues such as nuclear armaments, climate change, or world poverty are clearly able to arouse strong moral reactions, derived certainly from Christian roots. The discursive Christianity of the British nation still continues in a variety of different ways. A transformed view of the sacred, and an ardent desire for genuine spiritual experience, still persists, even if bearing little resemblance to the master-narrative of former years. The authors’ conclusion is that Christianity in Britain has been better able to respond to changed circumstances than grand narratives of decline or death have allowed. The picture they uncover is one of innovation and exploration not of atrophy or paralysis. In short they believe that Christian Britain is not dead but that it will continue to be reshaped and redefined in the years ahead.

How Christianity interacted with broader social and political movements in the twentieth century is the focus of Keith Robbins’ magisterial study of the Christian Church in the four countries which form part of the British Isles. Robbins is a distinguished scholar of church history, and a former university president. He is very much aware that England,Scotland,Wales and Ireland all have a long history of dialogue between Christianity and its surrounding culture. The varieties and the peculiarities of this relationship lie at the heart of his book. Christianity has been embedded in Britain for over sixteen hundred years, during which it has been shaped by numerous, frequently conflicting impulses. The dialectic between past and present has produced radically different situations and seemingly incompatible belief-systems. Yet Robbins seeks to write transnationally and transdenominationally since he believes he can see the unity in this diversity.

This is no ordinary textbook. The reader should be warned not to expect any systematic delivery of names, dates, places or statistics. Instead, it is a large-scale portrait, or rather a series of large-scale portraits in chronological order, bringing in aspects from each of the national church settings. Robbins paints with a variety of multi-coloured brush strokes, each drawn from his immense fund of knowledge and reading. His style is allusive, following in the footsteps of G.M. Young and Owen Chadwick. Readers are therefore expected to have considerable knowledge already in order to appreciate his nicely-pointed comments.

Robbins naturally takes issue with Callum Brown`s over-simplistic assessment. Rather, he believes, the churches have always lived in an ambiguous and often awkward symbiosis with their environment. The issue is how this relationship can be fully described given the complexity of the churches’ institutional life and the variety of ways in which the different sections of the population both contribute to and are drawn from the church communities. A ‘typical’ church, he believes, is elusive, but he seeks to integrate, in a comprehensive and ecumenical whole, the various strands, both from within and outside, as well as from above and below.

His task has been complicated by the fact that most church histories have been written from the perspective of one or other denomination to confirm their legitimacy and authority, and to impugn the claims of others. Robbins seeks to rise above this fray and adopts an even-handed ecumenism. He is ready to understand, though not necessarily to endorse, those viewpoints which he sees as narrowing down the Christian message because of a particular theological or social slant. All have, he believes, to be accommodated as part of Christian Britain, even when discordantly opposed to each other, as for example in twentieth-century Ireland. So his volume is irenic and suitably comprehensive, and his wide-ranging sympathies can open new horizons of insight.

For the first half of the century, the question of how the churches related to concepts of Britain’s national identity and to its military and political fortunes was a constant preoccupation. In England the established church had little debate about where its duty lay, but increasingly more about the ethical values such nationalism propagated. In Ireland, the Catholic faith had no such priority. It saw itself as the church of the victimized population, creating barriers against unwanted and alien onslaughts. But both sides saw their stance as upholding their Christian witness. The bitter divisions in doctrine and practice which had accrued since the Reformation still prevented unity. But increasingly all churches faced parallel challenges confronting what came to be known as the tide of secularisation.

Yet in 1914 all the churches in England,Wales and Scotland, and in some parts of Ireland, especially the north, enthusiastically backed the war effort including its appeal to nationalism, militarism, even jingoism. Only a tiny handful saw pacifism as the true Christian discipleship. But the subsequent mass slaughter on the battlefields thereafter was to cause a major and irreversible crisis in the credibility of the Christian witness and to lead to long-lasting disillusionment with its institutions and personnel – and not only in Britain. To many observers, myself included, this post-war disenchantment marked the onset of the death of Christian Britain.

But Robbins rightly points out that the churches were too closely integrated into their host societies to be able to develop alternative theologies or practices. The clergy particularly could not escape the role of being public cheerleaders for the war effort. But the price was fateful. During the Second World War, most church leaders were more cautious. Bishop George Bell urged the government to ensure that the war was waged in a Christian fashion on behalf of the Universal Christian Church, and not just for the advance of national interests. The Pope, in the impartiality of the Vatican, upheld the cause of peace, despite being under relentless pressure to join one side or the other. No German church leader ever opposed the regime or its wars of racial annihilation. Attempts to justify such events as Auschwitz or Hiroshima merely discredited those who tried. Such horrendous crimes only revealed the Christians’ impotence and their creeds’ irrelevance.

But, as both Brown and Robbins show, in the post-1945 period, the desire to rebuild Britain on the basis of Christian family values brought about a revival in many denominations. The more critical questions were subdued or postponed. The churches existed in a widespread state of cognitive dissonance. Only in the 1960s did these issues become insistent. Many younger people, of both sexes, then found they could no longer support the supposedly hypocritical and compromised churches, which should be left to die out. Secular scepticism was more honest.

There was, however, one part of the British Isles, in the last half of the century, where Christianity and the churches were of crucial significance, though hardly in any laudatory sense. Robbins’ treatment of the ‘troubles’ in Northern Ireland is brief but succinct. Undeniably, the situation in Ulster reinforced his main contentions. The province’s deep-seated religious factions and rivalries were inextricably interwoven in the political and social fabric. The conflicting religious traditions were not just a propagandistic cover for more vital economic or political struggles. Rather the intensely-held folk memories of each side’s religious traditions gave the conflict its enduring and intractable quality. Cromwell mattered.

Even more significantly the conflict continued even though the church leaders on both sides came to deplore the violence and bloodshed. But they were not heard. The clergy’s authority was one of the casualties of this un-Christian fratricidal strife.

All this was part of a wider process. In the latter part of the century authority figures in both church and state were rejected. As prosperity grew, so did the notion of self-help spirituality. Britain became a market-place for competing yet negotiating moralities. Many church leaders recognized that they had been improperly coercive in the past. And while the Pope still called for obedience in matters of personal, especially sexual, morality, he increasingly called in vain and could no longer seen as the voice of Christendom.

The final years of the century were therefore years of institutional and ethical unsettlement. Questions were increasingly posed about the identity and viability of churches, but not severely enough to overthrow the historical divisions embedded since the Reformation. The failure of church unity plans meant that the churches remained rooted, for better or for worse, in their cultural inheritances. And their discordant voices meant that they lost more of their moral authority, along with their disappearing membership. Britons became much more pluralistic in their religious views and spiritual searching.

Thus Robbins finds himself at least in partial agreement with the more guarded of Callum Brown’s assessments. “This was a period which witnessed the increasing marginalisation of religion from British public life, intellectualism and popular culture.” And yet, a wide survey conducted at the turn of the century found that 77% of the population reported themselves as having a religious affiliation, the majority of whom declared they were Christians. This was perhaps based on a diffuse understanding of what Christianity meant and entailed.. But it could indicate that the notion of the death of Christian Britain had been overstated. Christianity could still be regarded as a significant contributor to national life, even if its institutional expressions were fragile. The secular state cannot be regarded, in Robbins’ view, as the desirable terminal conclusion of two thousand years of Christian presence on Britain’s soil. The pluralistic spiritual patterns which currently prevail may yet hold out other possibilities.

 

 

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Review of Raymond Cohen, Saving the Holy Sepulchre

ACCH Quarterly Vol. 15, No. 1, March 2010

Review of Raymond Cohen, Saving the Holy Sepulchre. Oxford University Press, 2008. ISBN 0195189663.

By John S. Conway, University of British Columbia

The most venerated church in Christendom is surely the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem, or as it is sometimes known, the Church of the Resurrection. Christian pilgrims have been coming to this shrine for over seventeen hundred years. It was near this spot that the Roman Emperor Constantine’s mother, Helena, in the early years of the fourth century is reputed to have identified the hill of Calvary where Jesus was crucified. Not far away she also believed she could locate the site of His burial in the tomb, and hence the site of His Resurrection. Unfortunately both were located under a second century Roman temple dedicated to Venus. But with imperial backing, this heathen building was cleared away, and an impressive Christian basilica began to be built. From its floor, steps led to a crypt and then down to a chapel where St Helena is said to have discovered the relics of the True Cross. The chapel survives to this day.

The original Byzantine structure was replaced centuries later by an even more magnificent cathedral built when the Crusaders conquered the land. This brought under one roof – actually a huge dome – the various shrines such as the rock of Calvary, the tomb or Edicule, and numerous chapels around the ambulatory, or processional corridor around the apse, But inevitably, age and climate took their toll, as did the constant wear and tear of so many thousands of pilgrims. In 1808 a devastating fire did heavy damage, and in 1927 an unprecedented earthquake in Jerusalem alerted the authorities to the fact that repairs were urgently needed.

Unfortunately, despite the basilica being so venerated, or more probably because of it, the various church communities who, over the centuries, had claimed the right to worship in the building, had never been able to agree with each other as to how this historic building should be maintained or repaired. These quarrels had been so intense that in 1757 the Turkish Sultan who ruled Jerusalem as part of the Ottoman Empire had imposed a law stating that none of the communities was to be allowed to change anything in the structure or in its furnishings and decoration. This Status Quo edict, as it was called, was enforced rigorously, so that all attempts by one or other community to undertake repairs were prohibited. The result was benign neglect, so that by the end of the nineteenth century, many observers were predicting that the building would soon collapse. But luckily in the twentieth century, it was saved, as is excellently and informatively described in a recently-published book by Raymond Cohen.

The obstacles were enormous. In the first place, over the past hundred years,Jerusalem has come under the control of four competing and incompatible political regimes. Each had its own ideas as to how to deal with the Christian Holy Places, and the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in particular. The four centuries of Turkish rule came to end in 1917 when the Protestant British General Allen by rode into Jerusalem, and raised great fears amongst the Catholics and the Orthodox that the heresies of the Reformation would be imposed on them. In fact the British instead established Palestine as a Mandate of the League of Nations, and were sedulously careful to uphold the now ancient Status Quo settlement. But in 1948, Jerusalem’s Old City was occupied by the Jordanian army, and for nineteen years an international boundary ran along its battlements, only a few yards from the sacred precincts of the Holy Sepulchre. In 1967, during the Six Days’ War, Israeli forces succeeded in evicting the Jordanians, luckily without any serious damage to historic monuments. Israel immediately announced its determination to protect the Holy Places and to make them open to all comers. The possibility of an international outcry at the time, and later the desire to encourage Christian tourists, has led successive Israeli governments to adopt a strict hands-off policy. But in contrast to the Jordanians, they see no reason to become involved with the fractious problems of the Holy Sepulchre’s repairs.

The initiative was therefore left to the Christian communities themselves. But it took a great many years before the age-old suspicions and rivalries could be overcome between the six groups who all claimed the right to worship in the Holy Sepulchre. The principal actors have been the Greek Orthodox Patriarchate, the Latin or Roman Catholic custodians of the sanctuary also with their own Patriarch, and the Armenian Church, asserting that it was the oldest continuous community. Lesser, but often noisy, claims were maintained by the Syrian Orthodox Church, the Copts and the Abyssinians. Over the centuries each of these had sought to obtain ownership, or at least use, of particular portions of the basilica, or had established rights to use parts of the building for its processions and services, even where ownership was disputed. Since there were hardly any surviving written records, in effect the 18th century Status Quo arrangement froze matters indissolubly.

Any suggestion by one community that repairs should be undertaken was often fiercely contested – sometimes for years. Each community also suspected that, with any changes, their age-long rights might be eroded. Naturally each demanded, for reasons of prestige, that it should appoint its own chief architect. Getting these men to agree proved extremely arduous and led to many delays.

In any case there was strong disagreement as to what they were undertaking. The French Catholics sought to restore as much as possible of the mediaeval masterpiece. The Armenians, on the other hand, wanted a reconstruction in a more modern style, which could include Armenian paintings and frescoes. Compromise was exceedingly difficult. Furthermore, even when agreement on each detail was reached, it all had to be approved by the respective ecclesiastical patriarchs, who in turn had to ensure support from their homelands.

But finally, over the past fifty years, compromise agreements were reached on the need for urgent and constructive repairs on the now dilapidated basilica. Little by little, the unsightly mass of wooden scaffolding which had blocked out the great dome for decades, was removed. The interior regained its ancient splendour, and the dome was decorated anew with an ecumenical, if abstract, design. Largely due to the unprecedented co-operation of the local church leaders, the architects were encouraged to recruit skilled masons who could handle the delicate tasks of restoring the brickwork, the stone surrounds, the pilasters, and the paintings. Their work had to be carried out, of course, while below in the main body of the church, the daily services, processions and pilgrimages were conducted without ever ceasing. The result was that the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, which had been in real danger of collapse, was saved for posterity.

This remarkable rescue effort has now been skilfully described in Raymond Cohen’s book, using as many of the surviving records as could be found, as well as his personal knowledge of the site and his many visits to see how the rebuilding project was progressing.

Of course, as Cohen points out, this great achievement cannot be taken as evidence of any desire for closer Christian unity. Inter-church reconciliation is not on the agenda in Jerusalem. The weight of history and theological controversy still dominate ecumenical relations. These age-long conflicts have not been resolved. But, for this magnificent restoration project, co-operation and compromise prevailed and the adversaries came together in a common cause. Had they not done so, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre would today be a ruin. But now, it stands, as it has done for so many centuries, as the most venerable and sought-after pilgrimage site in all Christendom. We should indeed be grateful for the blessings bestowed on us by this unexpected and momentous restoration, and also thank Raymond Cohen for his perceptive record of how this achievement was finally brought about.

 

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Review of Emmy Barth, No Lasting Home. A Year in the Paraguayan Wilderness

ACCH Quarterly Vol. 15, No. 1, March 2010

Review of Emmy Barth, No Lasting Home. A Year in the Paraguayan Wilderness. Rifton, NY: Plough Publishing House, 2009. ISBN 978-0-87486-945-3

By John S. Conway, University of British Columbia

In 1920 a Christian commune of pacifists was founded in Germany under the leadership of Eberhard Arnold, dedicated to the Anabaptist teachings of piety and non-violence, and repudiating the militarism and bloodshed which had so recently engulfed Europe. But this Brotherhood’s experiment aroused considerable opposition, which turned virulent under the Nazis. In 1937 the Gestapo expelled the community and forced them to flee to England.

They were helped to re-establish by the Quakers, and joined by a number of English pacifists who had obtained conscientious objector status. Nevertheless, after the outbreak of war in 1939, their situation became more difficult. The Brotherhood was convinced that part of their witness, both for German and English community members, was to remain together, living in love and harmony even when their two countries were at war. But as enemy aliens and pacifists they were no longer welcome. Curfews and travel restrictions were imposed. Debates as to whether the community should be allowed to exist were raised in Parliament. Late in 1940 they decided that they should all move again and seek refuge elsewhere. Since neither Canada nor the United States would accept them, they went instead to the only place which offered asylum, Paraguay. This short but vibrant reportage, drawn from the Brotherhood’s own records, is the story of their first year in the wilds of Latin America.

Emmy Barth, who is herself a descendant of these exiles, gives a wholly sympathetic picture of their experiences and the hardships they encountered in the harsh semi-tropical conditions of Paraguay. The Paraguayan government wanted more settlers in the remote and barren district of Chaco, and was prepared to offer the same privilege of exemption from military service, which had been extended to a group of German Mennonites who had moved to the Chaco some years earlier. In turn, the American Mennonite Central Committee offered the Brotherhood its support and some start-up costs.

But for these European refugees, trying to establish themselves as the guests of another tight-knit community, in the midsummer heat, and without any housing of their own, proved to be a real test of their faith. Worse still, they found, in these Mennonite communities, a considerable number of sympathisers with Hitler’s Germany, which was believed to have rescued Mennonites from the grip of Soviet Communism. The dark side of Nazi Germany was simply discounted by several leading members of the Chaco Mennonite community. So despite the close similarity of these communities’ origins and their Reformation faith, in fact tensions were constantly present. They were only resolved when the Brotherhood moved to a different and more pleasant part of Paraguay.

But the conditions were rigorous. Their numerous small children fell sick and several died. The men had to build their houses and meeting places from scratch, while the women were fully engaged in child care. Despite death and deprivation, however, the joy of building a new community in a new land was never entirely quenched. Through all the hardships, their faith in each other and in their witness was maintained. The numerous surviving photographs printed in this book, showing these home-made villages and their community activities, give a vivid portrait of this rural exile existence. Their main objective was the survival of the Brotherhood, and in this they succeeded. Twenty years later, when conditions improved, the Brotherhood emigrated to the United States where it still upholds its ideals today.

Emmy Barth is to be commended for her compassionate account of this short episode, which captures the courage and faithfulness of the community, and conveys something of the spirit which inspired and still inspires them.

 

 

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