Review of Roger P. Minert, In Harm’s Way. East German Latter-day Saints in World War II

ACCH Quarterly Vol. 17, No. 4, December 2011

Review of Roger P. Minert, In Harm’s Way. East German Latter-day Saints in World War II  (Provo, Utah: Religious Studies Center, Brigham Young University, 2009) 545 pp. ISBN 878-0-8425-2746-0.

By John S. Conway, University of British Columbia

Roger Minert’s large-scale book is about one of the smaller religious communities, in East
Germany, in this case the Latter-day Saints, commonly known as Mormons. But the scope of his investigation is limited to the short period of World War II, and mainly to the crucial
period of its final catastrophic ending in 1945-6. This account thus focuses on the time before the imposition of communist rule in the German Democratic Republic, but foreshadows that much-dreaded development.

Rather than investigating the relationship of the Church to the governmental authorities, Minert’s interest is limited to describing in detail the lives of individual Mormons. He concentrates on a biographical approach, seeking to identify and record the experiences and witness of as many as possible of the ordinary members of each branch of the Church, and to draw up a complete listing of all who died during this period. To this end, he began, fifty years after these dramatic events, to interview all available surviving eyewitnesses, to locate biographies or autobiographies by or about eyewitnesses, and to study all available church records. Out of some thirteen thousand German members in 1939, he obtained interviews with five hundred survivors, who in turn also supplied first-person narratives or written stories of their own lives or those of deceased relatives.

Mormons have a strong interest in genealogy. So the records held in Salt Lake City, Utah, provide the historian with much help in linking family histories together. In addition many of the East German mission records for this period survived intact. (It is however not clear from his text why his study was limited solely to the East German Mission). The East German Mormon community, divided into districts and branches (or local parishes) was almost entirely an urban and lower-class phenomenon. These congregations contained almost no professional people. Most of the men were labourers or craftsmen. Only a few possessed their own meeting places, mostly using renting rooms in office-buildings in unremarkable parts of town. But their working-class solidarity was compounded by their loyalty to their fellow Mormons. The pattern of church organization, introduced from the United States, was largely patriarchal, while spiritual authority rested in men chosen or appointed for their dedication to the Mormon beliefs.

After all American missionaries were withdrawn in August 1939, the local branches became more dependent on each other. On the other hand, the conscription of all the younger male members into the German armed forces left many branches without leadership. In many cases, it was years before these men returned from prisoner-of-war camps. In many other cases, they never came back. Minert has successfully carried out the immense task of recording the names and biographical details of all the Saints who lost their lives during the war-time period. As well, he has interspersed narrative passages or vivid and valuable reminiscences drawn from his interviews.

Naturally the main focus is on the shattering events of 1944-5, when East Germany was assailed by the relentless bombing campaigns by the American and British air forces, and then conquered and ravaged by the invading Soviet armies. Many families were expelled from their homes, or had already fled to find refuge elsewhere. The perspective is of course that of the victims, who sustained each other by their devotion to their Mormon faith. Inevitably there is considerable repetition in these accounts, which, predictably, emphasize the sufferings endured, often heroically. The large number of surviving photographs, which Minert has reproduced, add to the immediacy of the narratives.

In his conclusion, Minert touches briefly on the vexed question of Mormon attitudes towards National Socialism. A small number, possibly five per cent, joined the Nazi Party, but the vast majority remained passive though loyal citizens. Nothing in their religious heritage led them to oppose the ruling power, or to refuse to join in its aggressive wars. Any opposition would have led to personal and collective suffering. “If there is any question of guilt on the part of the Latter-day Saints for tolerating an evil government (and in my mind there is not) they certainly paid a terrible price for their lack of action” (519).

This is church history from the pew upwards, but is outstanding as an example of meticulous
record-keeping. The surviving family members must be enormously grateful to have such a
tribute from a dedicated fellow Mormon in distant U.S.A.

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Article Note: Roman Catholics and the Establishment of the Third Reich

ACCH Quarterly Vol. 17, No. 4, December 2011

Article Note: Roman Catholics and the Establishment of the Third Reich

Larry Eugene Jones, “Franz von Papen, Catholic Conservatives, and the Establishment of the Third Reich, 1933-1934,” Journal of Modern History 83, no. 2 (June 2011): 272-318, and Martin R. Menke, “Misunderstood Civic Duty: The Center Party and the Enabling Act,” Journal of Church and State 51, no. 2 (Spring 2009): 236-264.

Suzanne Brown-Fleming, United States Holocaust Memorial Museum[1]

For the German Catholic Church—her princes, her politicians, her clergy and her laity—the period from January 30, 1933, to June 30, 1934 was replete with decisions which would impact and even dictate the path of her faithful until May 8, 1945. During these seventeen months until the shock of the so-called Blood Purge, most dramatic and decisive were the last weeks of March and the first weeks of April 1933.

On March 23, the Reichstag passed the Enabling Law (Ermächtingungsgesetz), or formally, the Law to Relieve the Distress of Volk and Reich (Gesetz zur Behebung der Not von Volk und Reich) by a vote of 441-94. Only the Social Democrats voted against the law which abolished democracy and the constitutional state.[2] On that same day, in his speech to the Reichstag, German Chancellor Adolf Hitler promised to “respect all treaties between the churches and the states” and stated that the “rights” of the churches would “not be infringed upon.”[3] In response, on March 28, the Fulda Bishops’ Conference (Fuldaer Bischofskonferenz) lifted the ban on Catholic membership in the NSDAP.[4]

That same day (March 28), Nazi party leadership ordered a boycott, to begin on April 1, at 10 a.m., directed against Jewish businesses and department stores, lawyers, and physicians. Everywhere in Germany, the NSDAP established local action committees which were to disseminate and organize the boycott.[5] On April 7, the passage of the so-called Law for the Restoration of the Professional Civil Service abolished the status of the nonpartisan civil servant with life-long tenure. The law specified Communists and Jews, though ultimately, it also affected Socialists and other opponents of the regime (some 30,000 persons total). It contained the so-called Arierparagraph, stipulating that only those of Aryan descent could be employed in public service.[6]  Lest we imagine today that no individual living in the midst of these events could possibly have understood their enormity and their relationship to German and universal Catholicism, in mid-April 1933, contemporary observer Edith Stein wrote to Pope Pius XI:

All of us who are true children of the Church and observe the events in Germany with open eyes fear the worst for the reputation of the Church, if the Church continues to remain silent. We are also convinced that this silence will be not able to buy long-term freedom from the German government [for the Catholic Church] in the future.  For the time being, the [Nazi] fight against Catholicism will be fought in secret and in less brutal form than the fight against Jewry, but it will be no less systematic.  It will not be long until no Catholics in Germany have a position unless they prescribe to the new course unconditionally.[7]

Professors Larry Jones and Martin Menke provide us with two fine articles that speak to the question that Catholics across Europe increasingly faced from the nineteenth century on: how should Catholics engage what Menke calls “the modern evolving secular state,”[8] and, for German Catholics, the National Socialist state? Menke offers analysis of the German Catholic Center Party’s decision to vote for the March 23 Enabling Act—this after rejecting National Socialism as “incompatible with Catholic teaching”[9] during the Weimar Republic and in the early months of National Socialist rule.  Jones provides the perspective of the right wing German Catholic nobility, whom he calls “Catholic conservatives,” the majority of whom rejected the Center Party as too liberal and opted to support the right wing parties of the DNVP and NSDAP. Jones focuses especially on the political decisions and initiatives of devout Catholic Franz von Papen. Papen, notes Jones, bears the distinction of being “the one person more responsible than anyone else for Hitler’s installation as chancellor on January 30, 1933”[10] and “the driving force behind the negotiations that culminated in the conclusion of the concordat” between the Holy See and National Socialist Germany.[11]

In responding to the German National Socialist state, German Catholic Centrists rejected it before March 1933. German Catholic conservatives embraced it. Both did so in pursuit of the same end—to ensure that the secular state espoused their (quite different) understandings of Catholic values. Menke argues convincingly that scholars must look at the events surrounding the Center Party’s vote for the Enabling Law in March 1933 and the subsequent negotiations between Rome and Berlin to conclude the concordat from early April to late July 1933 in the context of the key encyclicals Diuturnum Illud (1881) and Immortale Dei (1885). These encyclicals “defined Catholic teaching about the state and the role of Catholics as subjects and citizens of the state.”[12] In what became known as the principle of “Accidentalism,” governments were “accidents of history” while the “Church was eternal.” Catholics “should accept any existing authority as legitimate and deserving of Catholics’ loyalty and service as long as the life of the Church remained intact.”[13] One should look also, argues Menke, at the pattern of Center Party decision-making that came to characterize the Weimar years:

The Center Party had developed a well-practiced if uncomfortable pattern of crisis-management. First, the party maintained a principled position determined by the party members’ own perception of Catholic values as well as by a deeply emotional German patriotism characterized largely by nationalist outrage at Germany’s fate since its defeat in 1918. Then, as a given crisis mounted, the party shied away from any position of responsibility that not only would be incompatible with the Center’s professed values, but also would expose the Center to future recriminations on the political right. Once a crisis threatened the welfare of millions of Germans by risking foreign occupation or economic collapse and anarchy, in other words when a crisis threatened the German people itself, the Center forced itself to accept the unacceptable and bear the unbearable and supply the German government with parliamentary majorities and cabinet leadership to resolve the crisis. Until 1933, this proved largely successful.[14]

For Catholic conservatives, argues Jones, decision-making was driven by “a deeply conspiratorial conception of history that required them to act (emphasis mine) to protect the values and institutions they held dear” and to embrace “an organic theory of the state and society in which the rights and privileges of the individual were limited by the welfare of the whole and in which the illusory equality of the democratic age would be replaced by respect for the authority of God’s moral law.”[15]

Centrists who voted for the Enabling Law hoped their vote would protect the cultural life and religious life of the church; Catholic conservative support for the Enabling Law, and Papen’s participation in the National Socialism government as vice chancellor, reflected an active “desire to create a power base” within the structure of the Nazi state.[16] From such a base, Papen and other Catholic conservatives could build, promote, and incorporate with National Socialism their understanding of Catholic values. Both the Centrists and the Catholic conservatives were to be bitterly disappointed, for Edith Stein’s prophetic words of April 1933, that Catholics in Germany would need to “prescribe to the new course unconditionally,” meant they had sold their souls in vain.

Jones brings personal papers from archives across Germany to the table for his rich and detailed account of the Catholic conservative encounter with Nazism from January 1933 until the Blood Purge of 1934, including the personal papers of Engelbert Freiherr von Kerckerinck zur Borg, Max Buchner, Alexander von Elverfeldt, Franz Graf von Galen, Max ten Hompel, the Krupp family, Ferdinand Freiherr von Lüninck, August von Mackensen, Paul Reusch, Emil Ritter, and Otto Schmidt-Hannover. Jones writes that “there is no study of the Catholic aristocracy in the Third Reich” (313, f.159) and he is well-poised to fill this gap. He is among the first U.S. scholars to use the records of the Vatican archives released in 2003/2006 and available in microfilm at the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, and his findings demonstrate their promise to add yet greater nuance and complexity to the bedeviled months between January 30, 1933 and June 30, 1934.

Both Menke and Jones demonstrate a mastery of the vast secondary source literature, the majority of which is published in German. Here they bring what has been an incredibly dense and robust debate in Germany for decades to this side of the Atlantic, citing the work of Gerhard Besier, Thomas Brechenmacher, Heinz Hürten, Rudolf Morsey, Konrad Repgen, Karsten Ruppert, Klaus Scholder, Ludwig Volk, and Hubert Wolf, to name only some of the important scholarship available in German since the late 1960s.

For scholars of the German Catholic Church during the Third Reich, these two articles are must-reads. Too often in current historiography, the response of German Catholics to Nazi Germany’s treatment of Jews is viewed separately from their response to Nazi treatment of Catholics. In reality, their own embattled state deeply influenced and affected their decisions with regard to mistreatment of Jews. Nazi anti-Catholic and anti-Jewish policy must be studied together for the most nuanced understanding of the German Catholic church in these years. Precisely such pain-staking and detailed analysis of strands of German Catholic thinking, in this case Centrists and Catholic conservatives, must be placed side-by-side with analysis of German Catholic responses, or lack of response, to persecution of Jews and other non-Catholics.



[1] The views as expressed are the author’s alone and no not necessarily represent those of the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum or any other organization.

[2] Christian Zentner and Friedemann Bedürftig, eds., Encyclopedia of the Third Reich (New York: Macmillan, 1991), 237.

[3] Larry Jones, “Franz von Papen, Catholic Conservatives, and the Establishment of the Third Reich, 1933-1934,” Journal of Modern History 83, no. 2 (June 2011): 290; citing excerpts from Hitler’s statement to the Reichstag, March 23, 1933, reprinted in Hubert Gruber, ed., Katholische Kirche und Nationalsozialismus 1930–1945: Ein Bericht in Quellen (Paderborn: Schöningh, 2006), 34–35 (Jones, footnote 69).

[4] Jones, “Franz von Papen,” 291.

[5] Zentner and Bedürftig, eds., Encyclopedia of the Third Reich, 104.

[6] Ibid., 154-155 and 145-146.

[7] Original German: “Wir alle, die wir treue Kinder der Kirche sind und die Verhältnisse in Deutschland mit offenen Augen betrachten, fürchten das schlimmste für das Ansehen der Kirche, wenn das Schweigen noch länger anhält. Wir sind auch der Überzeugung, dass dieses Schweigen nicht imstande sein wird, auf die Dauer den Frieden mit der gegenwärtigen deutschen Regierung zu erkaufen. Der Kampf gegen den Katholizismus wird vorläufig noch in der Stille und in weniger brutalen Formen geführt wie gegen das Judentum, aber nicht weniger systematisch. Es wird nicht mehr lange dauern, dann wird in Deutschland kein Katholik mehr ein Amt haben, wenn er sich nicht dem neuen Kurs bedingungslos verschreibt.” Letter from Dr. Edith Stein to Pope Pius XI, No Date. AA.EE.SS. (Affari Ecclesiastici Straordinari) Germania (Germany), Anno (Years) 1933-1945, Hitler’s Chancellery 1933-45. Pos. 643, Fasc.158-161. RG 76.001M: Selected Records from the Vatican Archives, 1865-1939, United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, Washington, D.C. An English translation of the April 1933 letter appears on the website of the International Council for Christians and Jews (ICCJ) at the following link: http://www.jcrelations.net/en/?item=1897 (accessed 8/31/11). Historians knew of the existence of the letter, which Edith Stein referenced in her 1938 autobiography, but it could only be read for the first time with the opening of the Vatican Archives in 2003, when the petition could be read and tracked for the first time (Hubert Wolf, Pope and Devil: The Vatican’s Archives and the Third Reich, translated by Kenneth Kronenberg (Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2010), 183). The April 1933 letter is referenced and discussed in the following works: Gerhard Besier with the collaboration of Francesca Piombo, The Holy See and Hitler’s Germany, translated by W. R. Ward (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2007), 125-126; Guenther Lewy, The Catholic Church and Nazi Germany (Cambridge, MA: Da Capo Press, 2000, original edition 1964), 295-296, Konrad Repgen, “Hitlers ‘Machtergreifung,’ die christlichen Kirchen, die Judenfrage und Edith Steins Eingabe an Pius XI. Vom [9.] April 1933,” in Edith-Stein-Jahrbuch 10 (2004), 31-69; Wolf, Pope and Devil, 182-190 and 193-194; and numerous other works. Dr. Stein’s letter was attached to a cover letter dated 12 April 1933 from Archabbot Raphael Walzer, OSB, of Beuron monastery. Cardinal Pacelli did present her petition to the pope in a private audience on 20 April 1933. The heading above his six agenda items for that meeting reads “the archabbot of Beuron sends letters against the National Socialists.” There exists “no evidence in the archives of any other letters that Walzer might have sent.” Pacelli did not note down under this heading any instructions from the pope. See Wolf, Pope and Devil, 188, citing “Audience of April 20, 1933; ASV, A.E.S., Germania, 4 periodo, post. 430a, fasc. 348, fol.30r-v.” Wolf notes that if Pius XI did not articulate any specific instructions, Pacelli would not have made any notes, and thus the task of responding to a submission would have been assigned to Pacelli, the secretary of state, as a “routine matter” (Wolf, Pope and Devil, 188). Cardinal Pacelli answered Archabbot Walzer’s letter in a response dated 20 April 1933. It stated: “May I thank your Grace especially for the safe arrival of the kind letter of the 12th inst. and the attachment which came with it. I leave to your discretion to let the sender know in a suitable way that her message has been duly put before His Holiness. With you I pray God to take his holy church into his especial protection in these difficult times, and grant all the children of the Church the grace of courage and splendor of mind which are the presuppositions of ultimate victory.” See Besier and Piombo, The Holy See and Hitler’s Germany, 126; and Wolf, Pope and Devil, 189-190. For a discussion of the contents of the letter, see Freiburger Rundbrief: Zeitschrift für christlich-jüdische Begegnung, Neue Folge Heft 1-4 (2003), especially essays by Werner Kaltefleiter (“Der Vatikan öffnet sein Geheimarchiv”) and Elias H. Füllenbach (“Dass die Kirche Christi ihre Stimme erhebe”).

[8] Martin R. Menke, “Misunderstood Civic Duty: The Center Party and the Enabling Act,” Journal of Church and State 51, no. 2 (Spring 2009): 236.

[9] Ibid., 238.

[10] Jones, “Franz von Papen,” 280.

[11] Ibid., 294.

[12] Menke, “Misunderstood Civic Duty,” 236.

[13] Ibid., 237.

[14] Ibid., 257.

[15] Jones, “Franz von Papen,” 275.

[16] Ibid., 300.

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Article Note: Douglas Pratt and Barbara Göb, “Islam and Christian-Muslim Relations in Germany: Recent Developments and Continuing Issues”

ACCH Quarterly Vol. 17, No. 4, December 2011

Article Note: Douglas Pratt and Barbara Göb, “Islam and Christian-Muslim Relations in Germany: Recent Developments and Continuing Issues,” Islam and Christian-Muslim Relations 18 no. 1 (January 2007): 43-65.

By Heath A. Spencer, Seattle University

Pratt and Göb argue that Christian-Muslim relations in Germany are basically sound, but “a growing sense of unease keeps public interest closely attentive to any conflicts between Muslim habits and secular laws and customs” (44). Such fears have had an impact on inter-religious dialogue, where the focus has shifted from “theological rapprochement” to “questions of acceptance of democratic and liberal values” (53). The notion that Islam might be incompatible with the modern, secular state mirrors suspicions about German Catholics during the Kulturkampf of the 1870s.

The authors describe a wide range of organizations involved in dialogue activities within Germany, including the Intercultural Council, the Round Table of World Religions, Abrahamic Forums, the Christian-Islamic Society, the World Council for Religion and Peace, and the Coordination Council of Associations of Christian-Islamic Dialogue in Germany. The challenges of this work are significant. Christian theologians are often more theologically liberal than the Islamic laypersons they encounter in interfaith conversations. Nominal Muslims and Christians are less hung up on theological differences but have little interest in interreligious dialogue as such. The prevalence of hostile media images of Islam is also a barrier to productive discussion, as are some misguided attempts to use dialogue as a way to pressure Muslims to make symbolic, public affirmations of “Western values”.

The authors see Catholic theologian Heiner Bielefeldt’s recommendations as a more promising approach. Bielefeldt, director of the German Institute for Human Rights from 2003 to 2009 and UN Special Rapporteur for Freedom of Religion or Belief since 2010, argues that the best defense of the secular, constitutional state is to guarantee religious freedom. For Muslims, this includes Islamic religious education in state schools (comparable to what is already offered for Protestant, Catholic, and Jewish students), the right to build mosques without undue hindrances, and legal accommodations to Islamic burial practices. In the end, the authors caution that there is no simple answer to current controversies, but careful and sustained work aimed at mutual understanding will be more productive than sensationalism and stereotyping.

 

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Article Note: Keith Robbins, “Contextualizing the ‘New Reformation’. John A. T. Robinson and the Church of England in the early Sixties”

ACCH Quarterly Vol. 17, No. 4, December 2011

Article Note: Keith Robbins, “Contextualizing the ‘New Reformation’. John A. T. Robinson and the Church of England in the early Sixties,” Kirchliche Zeitgeschichte 23 no. 2 (2010): 428-446.

By John S. Conway, University of British Columbia

The latest issue of our parent journal, Kirchliche Zeitgeschichte, has an interesting article—the only one in English—by Keith Robbins, a distinguished scholar of modern history and a former university president. He throws new light on the celebrated debate launched in Britain in the 1960s with the publication of John Robinson’s book Honest to God. Robinson, who had recently been appointed as a junior bishop in Woolwich, south London, was by training a New Testament scholar. But he took the opportunity to popularize the ideas of three contemporary German theologians, Rudolf Bultmann, Dietrich Bonhoeffer and Paul Tillich. The impact of their radical views was tremendous. Honest to God became the
best-selling theological work of the century.

Robbins’ article outlines the context for the remarkable explosion of interest among church members and highlights the personal and institutional linkages behind the book. According to one commentator, its impact could be compared to the nailing of Luther’s theses to the church door in Wittenberg. The ‘New Reformation’ was hailed as a turning point. It came at a time when many thoughtful people in Britain were attempting to come to terms with the aftermath of the Second World War, the loss of empire, the threat of nuclear annihilation, the awareness of world poverty and the wholly new relationship with Europe. All these issues included a religious dimension, and Robinson’s controversial views reached out to many of those who believed that the new circumstances required new answers. Certainly Robinson desired to see reform, not only in the church’s dogmatic orthodoxies but also in its social witness and its political stance. These ideas were in fact propagated by a Cambridge coterie of younger theologians, many of whom went on to practise their convictions on the local parish level, often in south London. They were attempting to engage with contemporary culture by shedding much of the historical baggage and structures, which the Church of England had built up and maintained for centuries. A new morality which would revolutionize ethics was in fact already happening, but not necessarily in the transcendent sense of Bonhoeffer’s world without religion.

In the end, the hopes for new church structures came to nothing, as the establishment proved capable of institutional survival, even if its popular support has been much reduced. And even the desire for reformulating Christian doctrines in a non-mythological fashion has hardly gained momentum. As Robbins rightly concludes ‘A radical had been unable to deliver the change he wanted’.

 

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Journal issue: Religion, State and Society 39, no. 1 (March 2011). The Changing Nature of Military Chaplaincy

ACCH Quarterly Vol. 17, No. 4, December 2011

Journal issue: Religion, State and Society 39, no. 1 (March 2011). The Changing Nature of Military Chaplaincy.

By John S. Conway, University of British Columbia

This whole issue is devoted to the topic: The Changing Nature of Military Chaplaincy. Ever since the days of Emperor Constantine, Christian clergy have been engaged with armies, usually as chaplains, providing pastoral care of the soldiers, raising morale, offering spiritual nourishment and often burying the dead. This task, however, has always presented major moral problems, when chaplains appear to be justifying violence and hatred of the enemy, in strong contrast to the Christian Gospel of love. How this dilemma has been faced over the centuries is the subject of the six articles in this issue of the above journal, each of which has a useful bibliography attached. These describe military chaplaincies in a variety of historical and geographical settings, and reflect on the tensions, challenges and benefits that the system has engendered and still continues to bring. Despite the above title, the most noteworthy aspect is actually on the continuity of the issues involved.

David Bachrachs’ article on the wars in Germany in the tenth and eleventh centuries depicts chaplains developing the same kind of spiritual support for secular warfare as prevailed until the twentieth century. Rulers of all kinds have considered the mobilization of such resources by the clergy to be a vital prerequisite for victory But as Oliver Rafferty shows in his account of Catholic chaplains in the British forces in the First World War, the clergy on both sides preached imminent victory for their armies, championed mutually incompatible claims that God was on their side, and even legitimized mass slaughter. Such steps only discredited the office of military chaplaincy, often irreparably.

The moral dilemmas faced by chaplains in Hitler’s armies in the Second World War, as Doris Bergen has shown, were even more acute. They worked hard to legitimize themselves in the eyes of their officers and men. But in so doing they also legitimized the Nazi war aims and thereby sanctioned even the more atrocious war crimes. As Bergen noted, the chaplains contributed to the “spiritual numbing” of the Third Reich. Angelika Dörfler-Dierken’s examination of the post-1945 Lutheran chaplaincies in the reconstituted West German armed forces is therefore valuable in pointing to the changes made. Today the German Protestant Church expects chaplains to be the moral conscience of the army. They no longer hold military rank, hence are not compromised in advance. Their role is to sharpen the consciences of individual soldiers and to question whether the military operations are actually conducive to peace or whether they only add to the spiral of violence. Such a prophetic ministry, promoting the church’s peace ethic, may easily cause conflict with both the military leaders and civilian politicians. How to maintain such a stance in war-like situations, such as Afghanistan, remains to be seen.

In the case of Canada, as Joanne Rennick shows, the military chaplaincy used to be a bastion of Caucasian, male, predominantly Christian conservatism. But after 1945 drastic changes took place, both in the armed forces and demographically in the wider population. The effects of secularization and immigration, as well as the deliberate inculcation of the idea of Canada as a nation of peacekeepers, altered the armed forces’ understanding of their mission, and hence of the role of chaplains. Today chaplains face increasing pluralism among their charges, deinstitutionalized beliefs and a loss of moral consensus. So too chaplains are now obliged by law to accept a wider set of values and lifestyles, which makes conventional forms of religious ministry more difficult. Yet, as elsewhere, chaplains continue to meet the basic needs of military personnel and offer their pastoral services.

Military chaplains in Afghanistan, where Canada also had its share of troops, have faced momentous challenges, as is made clear in the final article by Gutkowski and Wilkes. Chaplains have often had to act as interpreters for soldiers facing a religious “frontier” in a majority Muslim country, where language and cultural barriers, let alone opposition to the foreign military presence, make for almost insuperable hurdles. Christian military chaplains require special training in cultural sensitivity to encounter Muslim populations at the same time as carrying out their traditional roles of providing for the support and pastoral guidance of their own troops.

As these articles show, the ethical and religious challenges of today are not so very different from those of earlier years. But the today’s extra range of encounters, both geographical and ideological, have only made the chaplains’ opportunities for service more demanding as they seek to influence the hearts and minds not only of their soldiers but of the local populations as well. The danger still exists that the chaplains’ religious tasks will be instrumentalized by the military commanders for tactical or propaganda purposes. On the other hand, their good intentions may easily be misconstrued. Using the chaplains’ religious authority to persuade locals of the good intentions of international forces, as in Iraq, Vietnam, or Afghanistan, may lead to ambiguous results. But such problems are not new. We can be grateful to the editors of Religion, State and Society for providing this comprehensive look at the contemporary perceptions of the issues connected with military chaplaincies.

 

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Conference Report: Bonhoeffer for the Coming Generations: A Conference Celebrating Dietrich Bonhoeffer Works English Edition and the 15th Annual Bonhoeffer Lectures in Public Ethics

ACCH Quarterly Vol. 17, No. 4, December 2011

Conference Report: “Bonhoeffer for the Coming Generations: A Conference Celebrating Dietrich Bonhoeffer Works English Edition and the 15th Annual Bonhoeffer Lectures in Public Ethics,” Union Theological Seminary, New York, November 13-15, 2011.

By Victoria J. Barnett, General Editor, Dietrich Bonhoeffer Works, English Edition

This conference was an unusual symbiosis of two longstanding cooperative international projects: the biennial Bonhoeffer Lectures in Public Ethics and the English publication of the 16-volume Bonhoeffer Works. With the imminent conclusion of the Bonhoeffer Works series (two volumes have yet to appear: volume 11 will be published next spring; volume 14 will appear in early 2013) the combination of these two events was a logical move. The conference in New York provided a retrospective of Bonhoeffer’s influence in the theological world in recent decades as well as a look at the promising future of Bonhoeffer scholarship.

The opening Bonhoeffer Lecture in Public Ethics was held by Sam Wells, Dean of the Chapel at Duke University, and set the tone for the predominantly theological reflections of the first day, which explored Bonhoeffer’s international interpretation by theologians and church activists as well as some new directions in the scholarship. Bishop Emeritus Wolfgang Huber of Germany, a Bonhoeffer scholar in his own right and the chair of the editorial board of the German Bonhoeffer Werke, offered an analysis of Bonhoeffer’s legacy after 1945 in the Federal and German Democratic Republics as well as in unified Germany after 1990. An international panel of Bonhoeffer scholars from South Africa, the United Kingdom, the United States, Brazil and Japan explored the different issues that have influenced the interpretation of the Bonhoeffer legacy in those countries. The afternoon presentations included a panel on “new research related to Bonhoeffer and public life,” with panelists exploring the influences of Harlem Renaissance literature and theology on Bonhoeffer’s ethical thought and activism (these were strong influences on Bonhoeffer during his fellowship year at Union from 1930-31), the theological continuities between Bonhoeffer’s Discipleship and his later Ethics manuscripts, and the development and consequences of Bonhoeffer’s concept of the “church for others.” The day concluded with an analysis of the extent to which Bonhoeffer’s Christology, which is such a central motif throughout this theological writings, can be understood in today’s pluralistic societies.

The second day was devoted to celebrating the publication of the Bonhoeffer Works English Edition, and speakers continued to explore his historical and theological context. Some background about the content and publication history of this series is in order. (Full disclosure: I have served since 2004 as general editor of the new English Edition, having edited volumes 8, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, and 16. I also worked as associate general editor on volume 6 [Ethics] and served both as volume editor and one of the translators on the recently published volume 15. Wayne Floyd, who resigned as general editor in 2004, edited volumes 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, and 9; the third general editor, Barbara Wojhoski, is a professional copyeditor who joined the project in 2004 and has overseen the copyediting and production phases since then. This arrangement means that I’ve overseen the work on the more historical volumes, although even these volumes contain a great deal of theological material.)

The German Dietrich Bonhoeffer Werke consists of 16 annotated volumes (plus a 17th index volume). The first eight volumes are his theological writings (Creation and FallDiscipleship, etc.) plus one volume of his fiction; the last eight volumes are arranged chronologically and contain his correspondence and some correspondence by others, university lectures, bible studies, sermons and various other documents from his life between 1918 and 1945. Much of the material in these last eight volumes has either never been translated into English or has appeared only in abridged form.

In 1990 the English Language Section of the International Bonhoeffer Society signed an agreement with the German Bonhoeffer Society and Augsburg Fortress Press for the translation and publication of the German volumes. The translations have been undertaken by a team of translators—some of them native German speakers, some of them Bonhoeffer experts, and some of them professional translators. Each volume was assigned to an individual editor who worked with the translator(s) for that volume and upon completion sent it along to the series general editor for review before publication. As part of the agreement with the German Bonhoeffer Society, the German editors of the respective volumes reviewed and commented on the translation.

Hence, the approaching conclusion of Bonhoeffer Works English Edition marks over 20 years of collaborative work by an international team. If the discussions at the New York conference are any indication, this body of work will open new avenues for research about both his theological and his historical legacy. Bonhoeffer interpretation to date has generally fallen into one of these two categories, with relatively few works that masterfully combine the two narratives (the Bethge biography, I think, is one such success).

Bonhoeffer himself was one of the most brilliant and provocative theologians of his generation. He cannot be understood without an understanding of his theological training, the influence of thinkers like Karl Barth, and the larger theological conversations—notably in the context of the Church Struggle and the international ecumenical movement—in which he was a key participant. At the same time, the historical locus of his life and work in Nazi Germany and at the heart of the German Church Struggle—and naturally his role in the German resistance and his execution by the Nazi regime—means that he has always been a figure of great interest to historians.

These very different aspects of his life and thought make him an unusually complex figure, and this is a challenge both to the theologians and the historians. Hence many of us found it particularly important at this conference that participants could hear from both disciplines and I believe that the second day, devoted to the series, successfully highlighted many of the important theological and historical issues. I introduced the day with some remarks about the series, its potential contribution to the field, and the research areas that still remain. This was followed by a panel of seven of the translators who have worked on the series, discussing the particular translation issues that arose in trying to convey the history, the theology, and the person of Bonhoeffer. A paper by the German project liaison Hans Pfeifer explored “the impact of translation on cultural elements in theology,” giving the German perspective on these challenges. An afternoon panel featuring Union Seminary professor Gary Dorrien and several editors of this newsletter (Doris Bergen, Andrew Chandler, Robert Ericksen, and Matthew Hockenos) discussed Bonhoeffer’s place on the historical landscape. The day concluded with a summary of Bonhoeffer’s theological contributions—with some significant new insights for further research—by Clifford Green, executive director of the Bonhoeffer Works English Edition and Michael DeJonge, author of a forthcoming book on the theological interaction between Bonhoeffer and Barth.

The conference—particularly the contributions by younger scholars—illustrated that there is still much to do, both in understanding the development of Bonhoeffer’s theology and in situating him in the history of his era and his church. The new English edition of the Bonhoeffer Works offers the big picture as well as all the minute details. The theological works in the first eight volumes and the theological/historical final eight volumes inform each other, because they will enable future scholars to trace the emergence of Bonhoeffer’s theology, follow its development throughout his life, and better understand the impact of the times in which he lived and wrote.

 

 

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Conference Report: Kirchliche Zeitgeschichte Conference, Kreisau, 15-17 September, 2011

ACCH Quarterly Vol. 17, No. 4, December 2011

Conference Report: Kirchliche Zeitgeschichte Conference, Kreisau, 15-17 September, 2011.

By Robert P. Ericksen, Pacific Lutheran University

The annual meeting of the journal, Kirchliche Zeitgeschichte/Contemporary Church History, took place in Kreisau, now in Poland, where Helmuth James von Moltke led the “Kreisauer Kreis,” a group of resisters against the Nazi state. We met from September 15-17, 2011, on the Moltke estate, now renovated and serving as a retreat center. German and Polish presenters spoke on the topic, “Kirchliches Versöhnungshandeln im Interesse des deutsch-polnischen Verhältnisses (1962-1989).”

Underlying issues on this topic are obvious. German-Polish relations had not been good since the re-establishment of Poland after World War I and the German bitterness that ensued. German crimes against Poland during World War II then added huge grievances on the Polish side. In the early postwar period, West Germany was tempted to downplay German guilt and complain about things such as the Polish border on the Oder-Neisse line—a border that left Germany without a large portion of its 1937 boundaries—and the perceived injustice of Germans mistreated, dispossessed of property, and driven out of Eastern Europe. This conference, focusing upon church responses to German-Polish relations from 1962-1989, dealt with three main themes found in the churches: German attitudes toward Poland, Polish attitudes toward Germany, and the underlying role of Christian identity in individual nations as well as in Europe as a whole.

Andrea Strübind presented a paper on the “Tübingen Memorandum,” a foreign policy statement by Protestant intellectuals that appeared in Die Zeit on March 2, 1962. This statement was signed by eight prominent individuals: Carl-Friedrich von Weizsäcker, Ludwig Raiser, Klaus von Bismarck, Georg Picht, Günter Howe, Helmut Becker, Joachim Beckmann, and Werner Heisenberg. These men identified themselves as Protestants and spoke of the need for private citizens of conscience to speak out on public issues, but the EKD and its more conservative leadership quickly distanced itself from these Protestant voices. The Memorandum offended many West Germans, even though its ideas subsequently drove West German policy. The authors included a claim for the free status of Berlin, but coupled it with the right of self-determination for the GDR, a foundation of human rights in foreign policy questions, and the need for “Wiedergutmachung” and reconciliation—including acceptance of the Oder-Neisse line—in Germany’s relationship with Eastern Europe. This statement raised hackles, not least because of its claim to a foundation in Christian ethics. In Klaus von Bismarck’s earlier words in relation to his family’s estates in Pomerania, “We have no claim on lands that God has taken from us.” Not all Germans were so magnanimous.

Polish efforts toward reconciliation in the 1960s included a correspondence between Polish and German bishops, but they mostly talked past each other. Polish bishops were willing to speak of “forgiveness,” rather than “reconciliation.” Christians forgive each other, they wrote. But they also expect confession and changed behavior. In general during the 1960s, West Germans were far more interested in the GDR and eventual reunification, than they were in questions of confession and forgiveness between Germany and Poland. Two decades later, as described in a paper by Gerhard Besier, Helmut Kohl picked up on this idea of Christian unity, making a gesture that combined his own roots in the Catholic Church with the Catholicism of Poles. In November 1989, he met in Kreisau with the Polish leader, Mazowiecki. Kohl insisted that the meeting should include a Catholic mass. This led to a “Friedensgruss” and a hug at the end of the service. It proved a powerful symbol of German-Polish reconciliation, useful both to Kohl and Mazowiecki, whether or not the emotional moment was spontaneous or planned.

Katarzyna Stoklosa presented a paper interrogating the idea of Polish Catholicism and Polish identity as reflected on Radio Maryja. This radio station, quite popular among some portions of the Catholic demographic in Poland (and among some Poles in the U.S.), emphasizes Polish nationalism with strong components of Catholic piety, ethnocentrism, and antisemitism. Willfried Spohn then offered ecumenism as the one hope for harmonious relations between the religions and nations of Europe. He leads a project at Göttingen University focusing on the ongoing effort to create European identity out of disparate nations. Noting the former widespread belief that Europeanization and secularization represent parallel processes, he acknowledged the resurgence of the Orthodox Church in Russia and the Catholic Church in Poland, not to mention the place of Islam in today’s Europe, as elements in a counter-thesis that unbroken secularization is by no means a certainty in the 21st century.

Having discussed various ways in which Christian leaders tried to deal with the disharmonies of early postwar Europe, conference attendees then speculated on whether religious identity coupled with ecumenism might provide the right set of tools for a harmonious future.

 

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Conference Announcement: 5th Annual Powell and Heller Family Conference on Holocaust Education, Pacific Lutheran University

ACCH Quarterly Vol. 17, No. 4, December 2011

Conference Announcement: 5th Annual Powell and Heller Family Conference on Holocaust Education, Pacific Lutheran University, Tacoma, WA, March 8-9, 2012.

By Robert P. Ericksen, Pacific Lutheran University

Bob Ericksen would like to announce that the 5th Annual Powell and Heller Family Conference on Holocaust Education will take place at Pacific Lutheran University in Tacoma, WA, on March 8-9, 2012. The program will include some reference to churches and the Holocaust. Please consult the plu.edu web site for further information. Interested persons may contact Ericksen at ericksrp@plu.edu.

 

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Letter from the editors: September 2011

ACCH Quarterly Vol. 17, No. 3, September 2011

Letter from the editors: September 2011

By Kyle Jantzen, Ambrose University College

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, one of the modern martyrs celebrated in stone at Westminster Abbey. Photo credit: “Saints and Martyrs” (http://saintsandmartyrs2010.blogspot.ca/2010/04/20th-century-martyrs-3.html)

This issue of the ACCH Quarterly is our most ambitious to date, surveying aspects of German ecclesiastical history and historical theology from the nineteenth century through the post-war reconstruction of the 1950s, as well as aspects of late-nineteenth and early twentieth-century European missionary endeavours.

Amid these diverse offerings are three pieces on Dietrich Bonhoeffer, whose life and legacy continues to dominate the scholarship on modern German church history. John Conway reviews an interesting new biography … of a book: Bonhoeffer’s Letters and Papers from Prison. Victoria Barnett, long active in the editing and translation of Bonhoeffer literature, describes the forthcoming final volume in the Dietrich Bonhoeffer Works English Edition. As well, we have provided a conference schedule and other information about the upcoming conference celebrating the completion of that same Dietrich Bonhoeffer Works English Edition.

On behalf of the other editors, let me wish you a smooth entry into the fall season (and, for many of us, a new semester of study or teaching). As always, if you have any questions, concerns, or requests, please feel free to contact me at kjantzen@ambrose.edu.

 

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Review of Anders Gerdmar, Roots of Theological Anti-Semitism: German Biblical Interpretation and the Jews, from Herder and Semler to Kittel and Bultmann

ACCH Quarterly Vol. 17, No. 3, September 2011

Review of Anders Gerdmar, Roots of Theological Anti-Semitism: German Biblical Interpretation and the Jews, from Herder and Semler to Kittel and Bultmann. Studies in Jewish History and Culture, Vol. 20 (Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2009), 675pp. ISBN: 978-90-04-16851-0.

By Christopher Probst, Saint Louis University

Anders Gerdmar’s study of the approaches of German Protestant biblical scholars toward Jews and Judaism from 1750 to 1950 is a compelling work of biblical scholarship cum intellectual history. The author captures the ambiguity of the attitude toward Jews and Judaism of many of the exegetes discussed with Habermas’s moniker, “the Janus face of the Enlightenment.” The book is an interdisciplinary tour de force in which the author blends (often seamlessly) biblical theology, church history, and the history of antisemitism. It is an ambitious work, one that is both needed and well executed.

The book is presented in four parts bracketed by a thoughtful introduction and a thorough conclusion. Gerdmar takes a roughly chronological approach, beginning with eighteenth century Enlightenment exegetes and ending with National Socialist interpreters of Christian Scripture. Yet, each of the four sections of the book corresponds with a particular trajectory in biblical exegesis. Thus, for example, Adolf Schlatter, whose life and career reached into the National Socialist era, is included in Part II, “Salvation-Historical Exegesis and the Jews: from Tholuck to Schlatter.” At the close of his discussion of each exegete, Gerdmar provides a helpful short conclusion. Part I, “Enlightenment Exegesis and the Jews,” includes analysis of the work of Semler, Herder, Schleiermacher, F.C. Baur, and Ritschl, among others. Part II includes Delitzsch, Strack, and Schlatter. In Part III, “The Form Critics and the Jews,” Gerdmar analyzes the work of Karl Ludwig Schmidt, Martin Dibelius, and Rudolf Bultmann. Part IV, “Nazi Exegesis and the Jews,” is the longest section of the book and includes in-depth analysis of Kittel and Grundmann.

The author analyzes the work of these exegetes along three lines. First, he examines how each characterizes Jews and Judaism. Second, he frames the exegesis of each scholar within their symbolic world, that is, “the world of thoughts, values and ideologies” (9). Finally, he discusses whether each scholar’s representation of Jews and Judaism legitimized or delegitimized discriminatory attitudes and practices toward Jews. This approach in toto lends balance and perspective to the study. Gerdmar’s analysis of the characterization of Jews and Judaism of the exegetes provides for the reader the data pertaining to their theology of Jews and Judaism in the context of their biblical scholarship overall. The second aspect of the author’s approach is a crucial bridge from his characterization of the work of the exegetes to his discussion of whether their work would have legitimized or delegitimized Jews and Judaism in their historical context. The final aspect gives the author the opportunity to demonstrate the link between religious legitimation/delegitimation and social action (12).

Gerdmar explains that his idea of symbolic world essentially accords with Peter Berger’s symbolic universe. He applies this notion to the modern scholars examined in the book, noting that “since Jews and Judaism are an important part of the symbolic worlds of these scholars, either as positive or negative entities, I observe how they construct Jews and Judaism. I call this ideological construction of Jews the ‘symbolic Jew’ …” (11). Throughout the book, he demonstrates indeed that “it is possible to hold elevated views of the ‘symbolic Jew’, yet regard the ‘real Jew’ next door as a nuisance, or speak of ‘that Jew’ in a pejorative manner” (11).

When Gerdmar gets to Gerhard Kittel and Walter Grundmann, of course, the picture gets a bit grimmer than the one painted of the work of the earlier exegetes. Rather than a Janus-faced approach to Jews and Judaism, here we have German Protestant theology in the service of the Nazi racial state. The author develops a careful argument about Kittel’s evolution from a credible scholar with a complicated but not overtly antisemitic approach to Jews and Judaism to a racist theologian who publicly supported Nazi racial policies. Despite Kittel’s complexity, Gerdmar might be a bit too cautious when he discusses the Tübingen theologian’s odious 1943 article “Die Behandlung des Nichtjuden nach den Talmud” (The Treatment of Non-Jews According to the Talmud). Written for the Ministry of Propaganda’s Archiv für Judenfragen (Archive for Jewish Questions), it includes the charge, based in passages ripped out of their contexts, that the Talmud grants Jews the freedom to kill non-Jews. Gerdmar avers that Kittel “probably did not take pride in this article, since he does not include it in his own documentation of printed works in his defence” (495). While this conclusion seems too cautious, Gerdmar rightly condemns Kittel’s distorted presentation of Judaism, especially as evidenced by his writings during the Third Reich.

Gerdmar’s is a thoroughgoing scholarship; it is dense and heavily footnoted. While specialists might quibble with minor points here and there, the weight of the scholarship is as a whole very impressive. The book assumes at least a modicum of understanding of biblical scholarship. A working knowledge of biblical Greek is helpful for understanding some of the author’s arguments, but not essential for appreciating the work as a whole.

Gerdmar’s study demonstrates the need for scholars of religion, biblical scholars, and historians working on issues of theology and biblical studies to read and incorporate into their scholarship works from across the disciplines. It is a mature work, one that recognizes that the works of biblical scholars should be, indeed must be understood in their historical contexts. With his very competent handling of a vast array of historical literature covering the sociological and historical settings of biblical exegetes who lived in three successive centuries, Gerdmar sets an example for his fellow biblical scholars. Historians working in the area of Christian antisemitism or, more generally, those whose area of expertise is the history of religion, would do well to follow suit by immersing themselves in the theological literature of the subjects of their historical studies.

Eschewing easy answers and trite generalizations alike, this superb study significantly expands our previous knowledge about the outlook of German Protestant biblical scholarship on Jews and Judaism since the Enlightenment. The force of Gerdmar’s study rests in the weight of its measured and acute analysis. It is a must read for anyone interested in German Protestant biblical scholarship during the modern era, and would also be helpful for those interested in the history of antisemitism.

 

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Review of Manfred Gailus, Mir aber zerriss es das Herz. Der stille Widerstand der Elisabeth Schmitz

ACCH Quarterly Vol. 17, No. 3, September 2011

Review of Manfred Gailus, Mir aber zerriss es das Herz. Der stille Widerstand der Elisabeth Schmitz (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2010), ISBN: 978-3525550083.

By Victoria Barnett, United States Holocaust Memorial Museum

The individuals in Nazi Germany who acted with moral clarity, simple decency, and straightforward courage are in such short supply that they are worthy not only of honor but of serious study. As we know all too well, between 1933 and 1945 the vast majority of German citizens lived their lives in the grey zones of compromise, silence, and complicity. Those who resisted were outsiders in virtually every respect, and they remained so after 1945, when most Germans were quite uncomfortable with those in their midst who had opposed and resisted Nazism or been its victims. And by the time people became eager to uncover these stories, many of the traces had become buried.

Elisabeth Schmitz is a poignant and powerful example of one such individual. In 1999 a short study by one of her students, Dietgard Meyer, appeared as an appendix in Katharina Staritz, 1903-1953. Mit einem Exkurs Elisabeth Schmitz (Neukirchener, 1999). The 1999 essay included the startling discovery that Schmitz (not the Berlin social worker Marga Meusel) was the author of the 23-page memorandum, “Zur Lage der deutschen Nichtarier,” submitted to the September 1935 Prussian Confessing Church synod in Berlin-Steglitz. Meyer’s portrait of Schmitz proved that she had been one of the rare Germans who had consistently and at great personal cost chosen to stand by their Jewish neighbors.

As Gailus notes in this new biography, several historians were already looking more closely at the history of the memorandum; the historian Hartmut Ludwig had already confirmed that Schmitz was indeed the author. It was Gailus, however, who began to compile and document a much more comprehensive picture of Schmitz’s activities during the Third Reich and the subsequent historiography that had omitted her. The author of several fine studies on the Kirchenkampf, Gailus organized a 2007 conference in Berlin on Schmitz’s life and work; papers from this conference were published as Elisabeth Schmitz und ihre Denkschrift gegen die Judenverfolgung. Konturen einer vergessenen Biografie (1893-1977). Gailus also served as the key consultant for the film Elisabeth of Berlin produced by U. S. filmmaker Steve Martin, who produced the documentary several years ago on Robert Ericksen’s work Theologians under Hitler; both films are available from Vital Visions (www.vitalvisions.org).

Gailus has now written a biography of Schmitz that does justice both to her courage and to the troubling questions that her story raises about how historical narratives are created. Indeed, one of the most fascinating aspects of this biography is its dual narrative, which combines the story of a remarkably courageous and self-effacing woman with what Gailus calls the “Erinnerungskultur”—the culture in which the narratives of memory in postwar Germany distorted the truth and obscured those individuals who had actually spoken it during the Nazi era.

As Gailus shows us, Schmitz was an Aussenseiterin in a number of ways, both before and after 1945. She was a trained historian (she did her doctoral work under Friedrich Meinecke), Confessing Church member, and teacher at a girls’ Lyceum. Her 1935 memorandum, written shortly before the passage of the Nuremberg laws, was a painfully detailed account of what everyday life for German Jews had become and a devastating indictment of what had happened to German society. But it was directed particularly at Confessing Church leaders. “The Germans have a new god,” she wrote, “which is race.” Schmitz wrote of her hope that the Confessing Church at the Steglitz synod would speak out, “late, much too late, but nonetheless better too late than not at all … Because for the church this does not concern a tragedy that is unfolding but a sin of our people, and because we are members of this people and responsible before God for this our people, it is our sin.” She subsequently added a postscript to the memorandum after the passage of the Nuremberg laws. In addition to sending it to the synod, Schmitz personally made about 200 copies of the memorandum and circulated them among friends and people whom she hoped would have influence.

For years the author of this memorandum was believed to be Marga Meusel, a Berlin church social worker who had written another memorandum about the Confessing Church’s responsibility for its “non-Aryan” members that was submitted to the Augsburg Confessing synod in October 1934. It was, I think, an honest mistake for many of us. Copies of both documents were in the same file folder in the Günther Harder collection of Kirchenkampf documents in the Berlin Evangelische Zentralarchiv, and because Meusel’s name was written on the one memorandum (and there was no name on the other) most historians concluded that Meusel was also the author of “Zur Lage der deutschen Nichtarier” – even though a February 1947 affidavit signed by Probst Wilhelm Wibbeling had actually confirmed Schmitz as the author (a copy of the affidavit was published in Meyer’s 1999 essay). But that affidavit wasn’t in an archive, but in Schmitz’s private papers—and Schmitz, as Manfred Gailus shows, was not a self-promoter. In 1948 Wilhelm Niemoeller attributed the Steglitz memorandum to Meusel, and in the years to follow the error was repeated wherever the memo was discussed (I repeated the error in my discussion of the memorandum in For the Soul of the People).

But the story is more complicated, because as Mir aber zerriss es das Herz shows, Schmitz did far more than write the one memorandum. From the beginning to the end, she tried to help Jewish friends and colleagues and convince her church to speak out in protest. In the summer of 1933 she wrote and then met with Friedrich von Bodelschwingh, hoping to move him to speak out about the persecution of the Jews. (Her summary of his reply in an Aktennotiz in the Bethel archives begins: “For the time being, only work in silence possible.”) In the years that followed she sought out and wrote many of the leading figures in the Confessing Church—all with the hope that she could convince the Confessing Church to take a clear stand. After the November 1938 pogroms, she wrote an impassioned letter to Helmut Gollwitzer, Martin Niemoeller’s successor at the Annenkirche in Dahlem, urging him to preach openly about what had happened and to include the German Jews in the prayers of the congregation. As Wolfgang Gerlach noted in And the Witnesses were Silent, Gollwitzer’s sermon was one of the few in the aftermath of November 9, 1938, that can be considered a protest.

Then, in a remarkable act of integrity and courage, Schmitz drew the consequence that so few within the Confessing Church (or anywhere) were willing to take: she resigned her position as Studienrätin on December 31, 1938, requesting an immediate leave of absence and early retirement. “I decided to give up school service and no longer be a civil servant of a government that permitted the synagogues to be set afire,” she later wrote. In her letter to the director of the Berlin schools she told him exactly why she was doing it: “It has become increasingly doubtful to me whether I can offer instruction … in the way that the National Socialist state expects and requires of me …. I have finally come to the conviction that this is not the case.” She then quietly did volunteer work for the Confessing Church until the 1943 bombing of Berlin compelled her to return to Hanau, where she had grown up. In 1946 she returned to teaching, at a Gymnasium in Hanau.

Gailus includes several documents that give the closest glimpse of Schmitz. In addition to the text of her 1935 memorandum and the 1938 letter to Gollwitzer he has included a speech that Schmitz delivered in Hanau on September 7, 1950, at a ceremony commemorating “the victims of fascism and the war.” By 1950 German speeches on such occasions could easily slide into rationalization and alibis. Not surprisingly, Schmitz’s words summoned her audience to the responsibility of remembering and remembering accurately, not just for political reasons, but because, in her words, “otherwise we would be defrauding ourselves of our human dignity.” She concluded her remarks with references to Jochen Klepper, Hildegard Schaeder, Klaus and Dietrich Bonhoeffer—and yet said not a word about her own acts of courage and integrity.

Outside of a very small circle of acquaintances—including several Jewish colleagues whom Schmitz had helped and who wrote affidavits for her after 1945—Schmitz remained unknown and unrecognized. One reason that emerges very clearly in this biography was her modesty. The memorandum was unsigned and, with Niemoeller’s early attribution of it to Meusel, the historical record seemed to have been established. But Schmitz lived long enough that she could have corrected it (Meusel was in ill health after the war and died in 1953). And as Meyer’s 1999 essay showed, Schmitz did assemble documentation after 1945—affidavits from people she had helped as well as the affidavit from Wibbeling. She had clarified the record, at least for herself—but in the decades that followed she didn’t tell her story. Even Dietgard Meyer later told Gailus that she had never learned about the memorandum directly from Schmitz.

And no one asked her. For a very long time the women of the church struggle and resistance circles were forgotten and on the margins of the historiography. Extensive documentation emerged from the work during the 1980s of Göttingen systematic theology professor Hannelore Erhart and a group of former Confessing Church Theologinnen and doctoral students, leading to several volumes, including the 1999 one with the essay on Schmitz. My own work (For the Soul of the People, 1992) included a study of the role of women in the Confessing Church based upon of my oral histories with about 25 of the Theologinnen and women who had been in the resistance. More recently, biographies of women like Schmitz and Gertrud Staewen (Marlies Flesch-Thebesius, Zu den Aussenseitern gestellt: Die Geschichte der Gertrud Staewen, 1894-1987, 2004) have appeared.

Yet another question arises, and Gailus addresses it bluntly in this volume: why didn’t any of those who had known her and worked with her during the Nazi era come forward in the postwar era to acknowledge her courage and the role she had played? Why is it that the leading figures in the Kirchenkampf who had known her during the 1930s (Gollwitzer, Niesel, and Barth, among others)—and who eventually wrote and spoke so extensively about the events of the church struggle—failed to tell the story of Elisabeth Schmitz? The portrait of her in this biography shows a woman driven by outrage at the Nazi persecution of the Jews, someone who was active in the most prominent Confessing Church circles Berlin: in the Gossen Mission, in Dahlem, in Charlottenburg, at the Kaiser-Wilhelm-Gedächtniskirche. As yet, as Gailus notes, when Schmitz died in 1977 only seven people attended her funeral.

In any case, we now have this fine biography of Schmitz. It is among the recent German books that I wish could be published in English; it would be a strong addition to any course on the Third Reich. Her story is so compelling that I think it would find wider interest, and the chapters on Erinnerungskultur and the emergence of the historiography of the Kirchenkampf—and the emergence of her own story and the correction of the historical record—could stand alone as studies in the creation of historical narrative.

 

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Review of Martin E. Marty, Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s Letters and Papers from Prison. A biography

ACCH Quarterly Vol. 17, No. 3, September 2011

Review of Martin E. Marty, Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s Letters and Papers from Prison. A biography (Princeton University Press, 2011), 275 Pp., ISBN 978-0-691-13921-0.

By John S. Conway, University of British Columbia

Princeton University Press is to be commended for launching a new series of biographies, not of well-known authors, but of their well-known books, and also for including Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s Letters and Papers from Prison (LPP) in the first group to appear. Equally welcome is the choice as biographer of the eminent Chicago scholar Martin Marty, who has done so much to popularize religious thought in his numerous writings.

Essentially Marty gives us a well-informed survey of LPP’s reception over the past sixty-five years. He begins by describing the exceptional, almost adventitious circumstances of how the book was born. Bonhoeffer was arrested in April 1943 and placed in solitary confinement in a dank and fetid-smelling cell in Tegel Prison in Berlin. For months he suffered from being cut off from his former intellectual and pastoral activities, and from his family and fiancée. But later, thanks to a friendly prison guard, he was able to smuggle out letters, especially to his closest associate Eberhard Bethge. And then, in the period from April to August 1944, he embarked on a voyage of theological exploration, with radically challenging ideas about the future of Christian witness and the role of the church. The texts of these fragmentary letters were to form the bulk of the book at its first appearance. Although his ideas were not fully developed, it is clear that Bonhoeffer hoped they would be the basis for a future book. He therefore asked for them to be securely preserved. Bethge was then serving with the German army in Italy. But he sent the letters back to his wife in Berlin with instructions to bury them in the garden, safe from the Gestapo or air-raids. Miraculously they survived. Months later they were disinterred, and the task of deciphering Bonhoeffer’s terrible handwriting began. Thanks to Bethge’s determination, the first selection came to be published in 1951. As Marty rightly comments, “had Bethge not done his storing and editing work, the only Bonhoeffer the larger world would know was the promising theologian whose career had been cut short by the war” (39).

Bethge knew that publishing LPP was a risky business. The majority of the German Protestant clergy regarded Bonhoeffer’s participation in the plot to assassinate Hitler as a criminal dereliction of both his national and professional loyalties. Protestant clergymen could neither condone nor connive at murder, especially of the head of state. Hence the refusal by the Bishop of Munich, Hans Meiser, in early 1953 to attend a commemorative service at Flossenburg concentration camp because he saw Bonhoeffer as a political not a Christian martyr. It took many years before the climate of opinion in West Germany changed towards those who had taken part in the anti-Nazi resistance movement, and only grudgingly was this act of political witness accorded fitting recognition.

By contrast, in church circles abroad, particularly amongst supporters of the ecumenical movement such as Bishop George Bell of Chichester, Bonhoeffer’s sacrifice of his life in such a cause was early on acknowledged and acclaimed. LPP provided the evidence such supporters needed. On the other hand, the question still remains an open one whether or not the reputation of LPP was enhanced by the fact that its author died a martyr’s death.

The first translation of LPP into English was published as a slim paperback by S.C.M. Press in 1953. It received immediate praise in Britain and subsequently in North America. It came at a time when many church members were questioning their traditional orthodoxies and pietistic practices. So Bonhoeffer’s controversial and provocative ideas about “a world come of age” and the need for a “religion-less Christianity” sparked great debate. His portrayal of Jesus as “the man for others” was enormously attractive to many, but to others an exaggerated and paradoxical distortion of Christian doctrine.

In the English-speaking world, the ideas expressed in LPP gained even more notice and/or notoriety through their very wide popularization in Bishop John Robinson of Woolwich’s short book, Honest to God, which appeared in 1963. Robinson sought to show that LPP brought a message promising freedom and authenticity to a Christianity liberated from its subservience to the state and ecclesiastical tradition. Robinson’s advocacy was dynamite for a questioning church and an unstable academic community. Those seekers and devotionalists who had eagerly latched on to The Cost of Discipleship, and found inspiration and spiritual sustenance, were now jolted into a new dimension. In a world come of age, Christians were called to a much more radical obedience, both politically and socially. They were summoned to abandon the individualistic, ego-centric pursuit of personal holiness but rather to share in the sufferings of God in the world.

Robinson sought to enlist the ideas of LPP to shake up the comfortable English church establishment. But in the United States, Bonhoeffer’s radicalism was extended much further. The American theologian William Hamilton took up the non-religious interpretation of Christianity, the coming of age of the world and the need to live etsi deus non daretur, and formulated his theology for the death of God. Where Robinson sought to reform, Hamilton sought to abolish. For him Bonhoeffer was significant because he had rightly focussed on the accelerating pace of secularization, the increasing unimportance and powerlessness of religion, and the end of special privilege for religious men and religious institutions.

Such iconoclasm in pursuit of Christian atheism evoked strong responses. Hamilton was accused of distorting LPP for his own ends. But, as Marty rightly comments, Bonhoeffer did write some provocative and exploratory pages and did not live long enough to clarify and develop his concepts.

In the meanwhile, and in another quarter, Bonhoeffer’s writings were being exploited for quite different purposes. In East Berlin, in what was then the Communist-controlled German Democratic Republic, the theologians of the Humboldt University sought to use Bonhoeffer’s challenging radicalism as part of their campaign for the creation of a new Marxist-based social order. Hanfried Mueller, for example, took up Bonhoeffer’s idea of the world come of age to propagate his view that LPP envisaged a religion-less and class-less society. His advocacy for a kind of Christian utopian Marxism was aimed to build up support amongst the East German Protestant clergy for the new socialist regime in the G.D.R. Despite its brilliance, Mueller’s book found little credence. For most western critics, he distorted LPP for obvious political ends. And the whole attempt, of course, collapsed in 1989.

Such creative misuses of LPP were not destined to last. More recently, Marty notes, there has been an increasing interest in LPP among Catholic theologians, who find there an inspiring record of religious fidelity. Especially since the Second Vatican Council, many Catholics have found common fears and hopes expressed in LPP. In the drastically changed context of theology and faith, the old walls of separation have broken down, drawing both Catholics and Protestants to seek for a new ecumenically promoted agenda.

Most notable in Marty’s view is the increasing interest in Bonhoeffer among Evangelicals. Most of them, such as his recent biographer Eric Metaxas, had long favoured his earlier writings and had avoided or downplayed the radical questions posed in LPP. But here too, Marty believes, many Evangelicals are on the move from frozen positions or stereotypes. Others were attracted by the family values and social order implied in LPP.

Marty’s penultimate chapter covers the reception given to LPP in the wider world. “Who is Jesus Christ for us today?” is as captivating a question in Cape Town as it is in Korea. Even while Bonhoeffer’s reputation was still a chequered or at least an ambiguous one in his homeland, Germany, he was much more readily hailed as a prophet abroad. In South Africa, for example, the story of resistance against tyranny echoed loudly in the struggle against apartheid. LPP showed the biblical basis for identifying with the suffering and oppressed in any situation. So too in Latin America, the ideas of LPP could come to be seen as the “cusp of liberation theology” (199). But, in the course of time, there were also those liberationists and feminists who pounced on passages in LPP which they believed displayed Bonhoeffer’s paternalistic, elitist or even sexist opinions. Yet Marty is surely right to point out the dangers of anachronistic distortion. Some commentators have undoubtedly used the messages of LPP to further their own ends or to exploit Bonhoeffer’s ideology for their own purposes.

“Are we still of any use?” Marty’s final chapter discusses continuity and change in Bonhoeffer’s ideas. Many commentators, he notes, have seen a striking change between his early writings and his later prison letters. Some even, like Edwin Robertson, regard the latter as dangerous for believers, both doctrinally and morally. But Marty emphasises the continuity, especially in Bonhoeffer’s Christology. This, he claims is the connecting thread which links but also goes beyond the numerous paradoxes contained in LPP. At the same time, he asserts that it is these same intriguing reflections which have already guaranteed LPP a long life-cycle, and will undoubtedly continue to inspire and challenge both Christian and secular enquirers in the years ahead.

 

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Review of Nicolai Hannig, Die Religion der Öffentlichkeit: Kirche, Religion und Medien in der Bundesrepublik 1945- 1980

ACCH Quarterly Vol. 17, No. 3, September 2011

Review of Nicolai Hannig, Die Religion der Öffentlichkeit: Kirche, Religion und Medien in der Bundesrepublik 1945- 1980 (Göttingen: Wallstein Verlag, 2010), 454 Pp., ISBN 978-3-8353-0799-5.

By Mark Edward Ruff, Saint Louis University

Nicolai Hannig’s pioneering book, The Religion of the Public Sphere: Church, Religion and Media in the Federal Republic of Germany, 1945- 1980, helps untangle the extremely complicated relationship between the Protestant and Roman Catholic churches and the burgeoning German mass media. Strongly informed by scholarship from the last decade on the German media, Hannig’s work delicately modifies common perceptions of the media as merely a mirror of society and of journalists as individuals who simply reported on what had taken place. The mass media, he convincingly shows, consisted of individuals with the power to create discourses, alter perceptions and even shape events themselves. These television reporters and producers, journalists at newsmagazines and radio-men comprise what he calls the new “media ensemble.” Hannig pays careful attention to all three genres—television, radio and print—but especially to the writers, editors and owners of the weekly news and influential illustrated magazines like Stern, Der Spiegel, Quick, Twen, Konkret, whose names will be familiar to Americans who have spent some time in the Federal Republic.

The genius of this book lies in Hannig’s application of the fruits of ongoing media research to the major issues plaguing both major German churches in the postwar era. Accounts of the German churches had long been driven by secularization narratives bleakly positing religious decline and putting forward pictures of empty church pews. Contesting scholarship has been more apt to underscore the revitalization of religion through the emergence of nontraditional alternatives ranging from the New Age to Pentecostal and evangelical movements. Seeking neither to dispel nor confirm these competing theories, Hannig turns instead to the role of the media in creating and disseminating narratives of decline and vitality. In the 1950s, the media conjured up images of religious revival, overlooking undercurrents of decline in youth organizations and elsewhere. “The revitalization of the religious in the postwar era and the 1950s,” he states, “was in this way to a significant degree a phenomenon of the media public” (100). Television broadcasts and articles in news-magazines even proudly featured scientific experts who claimed to prove the truths of biblical stories such as Noah’s ark or to demonstrate that the Virgin Mary’s final resting place lay in Western Turkey.

But from 1958 through 1966, sooner in the print media than in television, such affirmative and faith-enhancing portraits quickly became passé. The newsmagazines, in particular, exposed a church in “crisis,” one beset by a fall-off in religiosity and acrimonious conflicts between reformers and conservatives. The amount of coverage devoted to the churches, not surprisingly, grew dramatically. The aims of such reporting, particularly from 1966 through 1972, accordingly changed. Many journalists, it seems, deliberately strove to push the church out of politics and larger society as much as possible. But from the early seventies onward, coverage dropped off markedly. The media paid increasingly less attention to the institutionalized churches. It chose instead to profile cults, sects, gurus and evangelicals, alternative forms usually far removed from church doors.

How does Hannig account for what at first glance would seem to be an increasingly negative and even acerbic coverage of the churches? Why did such increasingly dismissive and marginalizing accounts ironically find resonance at the exact moment that the Roman Catholic Churches in the wake of the landmark Second Vatican Council were consciously striving to open themselves up to the modern world? Hannig convincingly lays out the significant structural transformation in the German media landscape that began around 1958 and redrew the media map in the 1960s. As a new younger generation of editors—often men in their late twenties and early thirties—assumed new leading positions as editors by the second half of the 1950s, German journalism was suddenly catapulted from a model of consensus to one of criticism. Drawing on critical formats from the Anglo-Saxon media world, including hard-hitting roundtables, open panel discussions and investigative reporting, German journalists no longer saw it as their duty to hobnob with leading politicians but to investigate, expose, and engage a critical public. Bearing out this transformation were the manifold media “scandals” of the 1960s which put politicians on the spot, brought to light wrongdoing and uncovered tarnished pasts. At the same time, the rise of television drastically altered the media landscape. While it did not immediately displace the more established radio and print mediums, it made the traditional mediums all more likely to ratchet up criticisms in a bid for readers, listeners and relevance.

But there were additional reasons for why the mass media came to look askance at the role of the churches in society and politics. The churches had been important players in the media world from the time that the Allies reorganized the German media. Most state governments created agencies to oversee radio and eventually television broadcasting. The churches dispatched their representatives directly into these agencies, where they ensured the live broadcasts of masses and church services in an astoundingly successful at outreach to those who rarely or never attended their local parishes. It becomes clear from Hannig’s account that secular journalists (an astounding forty percent were by the 1970s formally un-churched) had been chafing at the bit. Hoping to free themselves from clerical directives, they sought greater autonomy in the media sphere.

Yet one of the most impressive features of Hannig’s book is the gentle manner in which he debunks widespread perceptions of a secular anticlerical media pitted against the religious establishment. He adeptly illustrates this significantly more complicated relationship between the new media culture and religion in the Federal Republic in his depiction of Rudolf Augstein, the hard-driving founder and legendary driving force behind the prominent newsweekly, Der Spiegel. Well-known for wielding the axe against the Roman Catholic Church in various polemics, editorials and leading articles, Augstein almost single-handedly ushered in a new era of critical religious reporting. He devoted a cover of Spiegel and fourteen ensuing pages in 1958 to the Qumrum texts discovered nearly a decade before. In marked contrast to most religious reporting from earlier in the 1950s, this Roman Catholic made no attempt to show how modern society could corroborate stories from the Bible. With characteristic lack of humility, he put his magazine forward instead as a new agent of enlightenment, claiming sensationally that there were no historically verifiable truths about Jesus. But Hannig also brings to light a less familiar side to the Spiegel editor who had become infamous in religious circles. Augstein appears here as a defender of religious orthodoxy. His reputation as a provocateur notwithstanding, Augstein openly criticized the “modern theology” of the Protestant theologian, Dorothee Sölle. He granted access to the pages of Spiegel to the Protestant theologian Walter Künneth, who argued that Christian parishes needed to draw their sustenance not from the hypotheses of theologians but from the “bread of the bible.”

Augstein’s pronouncements deftly illustrate a larger theme of this book: the manner in which media giants sought to determine the essential quality of religion—what functions it should serve and the balance between transcendence and immanence in religious teachings. For Augstein as well as for many critical intellectuals of the late 1950s and 1960s, the churches had made the mistake of extending their grasp into virtually every domain of modern life, including charity and politics. As Augstein put it in a lecture, “How I imagine Christians,” delivered before two thousand largely Protestant academics, “the churches push themselves into charity, for whose purposes they ask for ever greater sums of money from the state, into the Kindergartens, in the senior citizens’ homes and in welfare … They found academies, city missions, pay attention to what is going on in radio and television, warn about drunkenness at the steering wheel and about excessive celebration at Carnival” (348). In so doing, they had not only misused their newly gained power but had overlooked their transcendental mission of saving souls for the hereafter. The irony here should be apparent: Augstein’s assessment dovetailed with those of conservative Christians opposed to the worldly focus of religious progressives determined to reconcile religion with modernity through heightened political activism and campaigns for social justice.

Vast sections of this book spell out the manner in which the media exhumed topics in a manner often unpleasant to church leaders. Journalists had much to say about “clericalization,” “confessionalism,” confessional schools and sexuality. They criticized, they challenged and they broke taboos. Naked bodies became a regular feature of the illustrated news magazines by the 1970s. Even more instrumental was the media’s role in bringing to light the Roman Catholic church’s past during the Nazi era. Hannig argues that it was less the controversy over Rolf Hochhuth’s play, The Deputy, that marked a decisive caesura than subsequent lesser-known controversies about the tainted backgrounds of Karl Fürst zu Löwenstein, a central figure in the Zentralkomittee der Deutschen Katholiken, and Matthias Defregger, an Auxillary Bishop in the archdiocese of Munich who had been present as a Captain in the Wehrmacht at a massacre of Italian hostages in June, 1944. Once the Defregger scandal unfolded in 1969, it was clear that probing publications like Spiegel, whose own research on the topic had been voluminous, had sought to leave the moral legitimacy of the Roman Catholic Church in shreds.

Even as comprehensive a work as this could not delve into every aspect of the relationship between the German churches and the media over such a broad swath of time. Left out of this work—and left open for future researchers—are additional dimensions to the church-media relationship. In focusing on radio, television and the weekly illustrated magazines, all weighty subjects in their own right, Hannig tended, with some exceptions, to exclude the daily newspapers and wire services from his focus. Also absent, except for a few cursory pages, is the role of the Roman Catholic and Protestant media: the diocesan newspapers, the religious magazines and above all, the Katholische Nachrichtenagentur (KNA), a Catholic news service that served as a significant historical actor and interacted with the secular media in a complex and often combative manner. Each of these topics, however, could warrant its own scholarly monograph, and Hannig rightly made the decision to keep his focus limited to the secular media.

It is rare for a dissertation not only to display such scholarly command and to retain a remarkable even-handedness on charged terrain. Hannig’s book is also eminently readable, even in spite of its indebtedness to media theory and the ideas of Pierre Bourdieu. On the occasions that he lapses into jargon, he does so deliberately and almost apologetically. Through the soundness of its research and its scholarly breadth, this impressive book will easily go down as one of the most important and weighty new works in German religious history of the last decade.

 

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Review Article: The Missionary Impulse of the Early Twentieth Century

ACCH Quarterly Vol. 17, No. 3, September 2011

Review Article: The Missionary Impulse of the Early Twentieth Century

Johanna M. Selles, The World Student Christian Federation 1895-1925. Motives, Methods and Influential Women, (Eugene, Oreg.: Pickwick Publications, 2011), xviii + 294 Pp., ISBN 978-1-60899-508-0.

Brian Stanley, The World Missionary Conference, Edinburgh 1910. Studies in the History of Christian Missions (Grand Rapids, Mich.: W.B. Eerdmans, 2009), xxii + 352 Pp., ISBN 978-0-8028-6360-7.

By John S. Conway, University of British Columbia

The second half of the nineteenth century saw a remarkable surge of Christian energies, fervour and organisational developments, especially in the Protestant churches of Europe and North America. This sprang from, or was at least parallel to, the momentous spread of technical and scientific achievements, which formed the basis for the political, economic and imperialist expansions of those years. At the same time, the rapid and world-wide spread of travel opportunities and the increase in living standards and disposable wealth allowed for a wider discovery and knowledge of distant lands hitherto unknown or only occasionally visited. The resulting optimistic climate of opinion led in many Protestant churches to a confident pursuit of expansion, particularly in the field of overseas missions. The biblical precept to spread the gospel to the ends of the earth was now framed in the popular slogan: “the Evangelisation of the World in this Generation.” In the 1880s and 1890s this goal seemed to many Protestants to be entirely achievable, and an unprecedented number of eager young Christians resolved to devote their lives to this noble purpose. To later observers, this over-confident belief in the superiority of Christianity and in the capacity of these missionaries to bring its message to “lesser breeds without the law” now seems recklessly misconceived. But at its apogee, a hundred years ago, this hope that a new age of gospel triumphs was dawning was widely shared even by sober and experienced ecclesiastical leaders. It was the religious equivalent to the same kind of ambitious expectations, which, in the political sphere, in the same period, had justified the expansion of their colonial rule by the leaders of the western European nations and of the United States, to cover so much of the surface of the globe.

These two books under review each touch on specific aspects of this momentous endeavour. Johanna Selles draws attention to the contributions made by women, which she feels have been neglected in the earlier ecclesiastical histories written by churchmen. But women played a significant part in this mission work, both at home and abroad. They were recruited from the growing number of participants in women’s higher education, who were no longer limited to a future of domesticity. Many of the universities and colleges where they had been trained were Christian foundations where education and piety were closely associated. So they eagerly joined missionary societies, or societies to promote temperance or other social reforms. Voluntary service with a church-related organisation was a socially approved activity for women. At the same time, since they were blocked by their gender from seeking ordination, such service provided an outlet for their undoubted idealism, especially for many younger women.

Selles concentrates her attention on one of these groups, the World Student Christian Federation, founded in 1895, which was in fact the first international student group of its kind, seeking to build a stage for Christian internationalism through the witness of national members and societies. It sprang from the initiative and enthusiasm for expanded Christian evangelism, especially in the Protestant colleges and universities in North America and Britain, but extending also to Scandinavia and Germany. Loosely formed as a federation, because of the widely differing religious traditions, national backgrounds and languages, the WSCF provided an international framework for the holding of conferences and campaigns, many of which focussed on recruitment for missionary service overseas.

In its first thirty years, the WSCF was led, as its General Secretary, by the well-known American evangelist John R. Mott, who was also a leading figure in the international YMCA, and, as we shall see, became the best-known champion of international evangelisation. But he was supported loyally and effectively by numerous women assistants. Selles gives us a valuable account of these women’s contributions, particularly of Mott’s closest associate, the British graduate Ruth Rouse. She proved to be both competent and highly impressive, and ably seconded Mott’s campaigns, especially appealing to women students on campuses around the world. But, as some later commentators noted, she could not be called an ardent feminist.

Mott’s recruiting style was unique. He travelled the world almost incessantly in great style. Arriving at a university city, he would stay in the best hotel and arrange for the student audience to be assembled in the largest hall or church. His appeal to the students to join in the task of the evangelisation of the world ended in an inspiring altar call. Those who responded were invited to come for an interview in Mott’s hotel on the next day. As one of them told me, if Mott was suitably impressed by the candidate’s sincerity and qualifications, he would end the interview by saying: “The Lord has need of your services in Prague (or other destination). Here is your ticket”.

Ruth Rouse came to be the essential connecting link between the workers in the field and the policy makers at home. As more and more Christian student organisations sprang up on the local level, so the coordination of their efforts became a vital prerequisite for success. She shared the vision of Christian internationalism and ecumenism, coupled with the passion for social reform and confidence in women’s capabilities which were hallmarks of the WSCF’s witness. The WSCF’s principal activities lay in organising international conferences, providing speakers to work with local units, and issuing publications which linked such groups to the others. All were imbued with a strong missionary emphasis, which in turn was not free from the assumptions of Christian cultural superiority.

To begin with, the WSCF’s emphasis was on personal evangelism and individual conversion. But, from the turn of the century, increasing attention was given to wider social and international issues, following the new theology of the social gospel. And after the First World War, which shattered so many illusions and expectations, a much more critical tone was heard especially from the younger members. Selles’ account finishes with the end of Mott’s long term of office, after a new generation demanded a different and less triumphalistic approach.

In retrospect, the World Missionary Conference, held in Edinburgh in 1910, can be seen as the high point of Mott’s career. At the age of forty-five, he had already served for fifteen years with the WSCF and even longer had held leadership positions in the World’s Alliance of YMCAs. He had travelled the world to all sorts of missionary outposts, and had gained the support of numerous wealthy American business magnates who gave him unprecedented amounts for his various good causes. He had early on been convinced that the time was ripe for the Christian message to be spread around the world, taking advantage of all the means provided by modern discoveries. Indeed the urgency of this cause was his continuing and vital concern. But two major obstacles existed. One was the lack of recruits. Hence Mott’s incessant campaigns, particularly among students in North American and western European universities. The other major handicap came from denominational rivalries and conflicts. By the turn of the century, Mott and other leaders in the missionary movement were convinced that their great task of evangelising the world could only be realised if all the churches collaborated, or at least overcame their frequently-displayed hostility towards each other. Doctrinal rivalries derived from centuries-old theological disputes could not be allowed to stand in the way of saving the unconverted. If the churches recognised their opportunity to collaborate, then the triumph of the gospel world-wide could be effectively achieved. As Mott said, “This is a decisive time for Christian missions.” It was also a time of exalted ambitions and confident expectations for the expansion and victory of the Christian missionary endeavour.

Brian Stanley’s scholarly and valuable account of the Edinburgh Conference begins by correcting a widely-held interpretation, namely that it was the beginning point of the ecumenical movement which grew so notably among the churches in the twentieth century. But Stanley rightly wants to place the emphasis on the missionary endeavours which the Conference fostered and recorded. In fact this was a decidedly Protestant and broadly evangelical gathering, along with a few High Church Anglicans, but no representatives from either the Catholic or Orthodox persuasions. The delegates were chosen from Protestant missionary societies rather than from the churches or denominations, with a preponderant attendance by Britons and North Americans. Only eighteen delegates were from Asia. A lone indigenous black delegate from Ghana represented Africa. All were however conscious that they were participating in an event which proposed to reshape the course of the world’s Christian history.

This over-confident optimism believed that the non-Christian world, especially in Asia, stood on the brink of a progressive transformation. The movement for reform and modernisation led by Christian elites would result from the ideological and financial power of western Christendom. This expectation was only heightened by the belief that the window of opportunity might not last. The necessity of action was all the more urgent. Stanley’s account vividly captures the mood of confident hope that such action could and would now begin to be taken.

Stanley’s description of the preparations and conduct of the Conference is both excellent and detailed. He pays deserved tribute to the organising skills of the youthful Scottish missions secretary, Joe Oldham, as well as to the charismatic leadership provided by Mott as Chairman. From the beginning they had decided that this was not to be an inspirational jamboree for missions enthusiasts, but a serious working conference by appointed experts. Eight high-level Commissions were appointed two years in advance which were to take soundings across the world’s mission fields and to report back on the most effective ways of promoting these missionary endeavours. But discussions on doctrinal questions were to be excluded. In the event, the Commissions’ questionnaires and subsequent replies formed the Conference’s most valuable contributions, which provide graphic evidence of the writers’ assumptions and expectations. The statistical surveys and the atlas of missions are particularly interesting. These reports can still be read with benefit.

Stanley’s account of the Conference itself is both precise and percipient. Most usefully, he gives names and dates for most of the prominent participants both in the Conference and in its preparatory Commissions. Drawing on these vast records, now deposited in libraries in Britain and the United States, he steers us through the thickets of ecclesiastical politics and theological controversies which arose before and during the Conference. The final achievement, he believes, was largely due to the skilful diplomacy and leadership of both Mott and Oldham, who formed a most effective trans-Atlantic team. His successfully evokes the atmosphere which captivated the one thousand men and two hundred women, most of them gray-haired but eager mission society or church leaders, drawn from all over the world. They became united in what proved to be ten days of mind-broadening excitement and devotional stimulation.

Stanley rightly pays attention to some of the Conference members’ critical views, such as those of the young Indian pastor who pleaded with the delegates to abandon their imperialistic attitudes, especially in their social relations with their converts. “You have given your goods to feed the poor. You have given your bodies to be burned. We also ask for love. Give us FRIENDS!” Stanley also gives the evidence that, although the principles of the Three Self-Movement for Missions (self-governing, self-supporting, self-propagating) had been accepted, in practice, in the field, such precepts were rarely followed. Many missionaries were fluent in justifying their reluctance to implement them.

Furthermore, Stanley does not overlook some of the Conference’s short-comings, such as the exaggerated expectations indulged in by some delegates, or the frequently expressed view that all other religions were precursors to, and would find their fulfilment, in Christianity. Particularly in the Conference’s Commission Four, dealing with “The Christian Message to non-Christian Religions,” the view was taken that all religious phenomena could be placed somewhere along a scale of progression, at the apex of which was of course Christianity. Stanley is rightly sceptical of this kind of progressive evolutionism. On the other hand, he is also critical of the arrogant assumptions held particularly by some Evangelicals who presumed that their version of Christianity with all its western cultural baggage was the only true one and should be thrust upon lesser races, who were expected to be eternally grateful. Such cultural and racial myopia was not uncommon even among those with extensive missionary experience. The planting of new Christian communities in all parts of the globe was of course the pre-eminent goal shared by all the delegates. But, predictably, the Conference deliberations did not challenge the existing situation in which the foreign missionaries exercised overall dominance, especially through their theological and financial controls. Or at best, they looked forward to a distant date when the indigenous churches would be able to stand on their own feet.

The triumphs of Christian internationalism which so many of the delegates predicted did not last long. The outbreak of the European war in 1914 destroyed the myth of Europe’s spiritual superiority. The slaughter of the trenches removed many of the generation of leaders who were to have carried the message of Edinburgh around the world. Instead the ideologies of nationalism and revolution quickly outmatched the discredited Christian creeds. The evangelisation of the world did not happen in that generation, nor in the expected manner. The claims of the Christian gospel had to be presented henceforward in a much humbler tone.

Subsequently, as the missionary movement’s impetus faded away, the legacy changed. As noted above, Edinburgh came to be reinterpreted, even by some of the leading participants such as Mott and Oldham, as the founding conference for Christian ecumenism. But the original assumptions of the missionary movement had had to be abandoned. The Edinburgh delegates had in fact displayed very little awareness of the new racial, political and theological issues which were to dominate the twentieth century, and radically to change the course of Christian history. But Stanley’s scholarly tribute to the devotion and piety of this earlier generation of missionaries serves to remind us that such gatherings as Edinburgh can leave an ambiguous legacy. It also should lead us to engage in deeper theological reflection on the Christian missionary task in the world of today.

 

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Book Comment: Ecumenical, Academic, and Pastoral Work: 1931-1932. Volume 11 of the Dietrich Bonhoeffer Works English Edition

ACCH Quarterly Vol. 17, No. 3, September 2011

Book Comment: Ecumenical, Academic, and Pastoral Work: 1931-1932. Volume 11 of the Dietrich Bonhoeffer Works English Edition (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, publication forthcoming in 2012).

By Victoria Barnett, United States Holocaust Memorial Museum

While the Bonhoeffer Works series is primarily a portrait of the biographical and theological path of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, in many places it also offers a uniquely detailed historical portrait of his church, political, and ecumenical context. This is particularly true of the forthcoming volume 11 of the series, which documents Bonhoeffer’s entry into the ecumenical world in the final years of the Weimar Republic. The volume offers some rare insights into the debates about nationalism and the emerging völkisch movements that were taking place in 1931 and 1932 within German Protestantism and in the European ecumenical movement. In many respects, this volume traces the beginnings of the fault lines that would soon place Protestants in Germany on opposing sides of the Kirchenkampf.

Like his ecumenical colleagues during the 1920s, Bonhoeffer was searching for the common ground that would unify “the church among churches.” But for Bonhoeffer, this common ground could exist only among churches that remained true to the confessions and the Word. This led him, at a very early stage, to criticize the notion of a national or any ideologically constrained church. As early as Sanctorum Commmunio (published in 1930), he warned that, “There is a moment when the church dare not continue to be a national church. . .”[1] This put him on an early collision course with German theologians such as Emanuel Hirsch, who in 1925 was already opposing German participation in the ecumenical movement. Hirsch’s position reflected the political isolationism of a German still angry about Versailles, but it was also based on the conviction that, as Robert Ericksen paraphrases it, “the ideal boundaries of a church should correspond to those of a Volk.”[2]

During the 1920s, then, opposing concepts of church were already evident in Germany, based in part upon contradictory views of the church’s role in a national culture. These issues began to dominate the ecumenical debates of the late 1920s and early 1930s, with both sides seizing ecumenism as a possible vehicle to further their cause. As Swiss ecumenical leader Adolf Keller noted in 1936, the interwar ecumenical movement found itself opposing a “rival, hostile, secular ecumenism” that sought not common religious ground, but rather the establishment of churches along the divisive boundaries of race and nationalism.[3]

In Germany, the Deutsche Christen were not alone in arguing for church recognition of those boundaries; even more mainstream Protestant leaders (including some who would join the Confessing Church) welcomed a new national destiny for Germany and saw this as part of some divine plan. The particular danger for the church came from within: from theologians and pastors who believed that religion and the new ideologies could be merged, as Gerhard Kittel contended when he supported Nazism as “a völkisch renewal movement on a Christian, moral foundation.”[4]

Thus, even before 1933, the lines of demarcation and the cast of characters who would soon play leading roles in the German church struggle had been established.[5] And this is where DBWE 11 begins: in the summer of 1931, after Bonhoeffer’s return from his year at Union Theological Seminary in New York. Before beginning his time as a lecturer in Berlin, Bonhoeffer traveled to Bonn where he met Karl Barth for the first time, attended the World Alliance conference in Cambridge and was appointed one of the three ecumenical “youth secretaries.” In the year that followed he attended ecumenical gatherings in Czechoslovakia, Geneva, and Gland, Switzerland, and he became an active participant in German ecumenical discussions.

One of the striking things about these ecumenical gatherings is the number of Germans in attendance who subsequently became prominent Deutsche Christen or openly embraced a nationalistic theology: in addition to Paul Althaus and Emanuel Hirsch, Hermann Sasse, Reinhold Krause (who delivered the infamous Sportpalast speech in November 1933), Friedrich Peter, Adolf Schlatter, Georg Wobbermin, Theodor Heckel, Hans Schoenfeld, August Schreiber, Fritz Söhlman, Wilhelm Stählin, and Erich Stange all make appearances in DBWE 11. In particular, the minutes and documents from the ecumenical meetings in this volume offer a detailed picture of the debates among the Germans. At the April, 1932, Berlin conference of the German Mittelstelle for ecumenical youth work in Berlin, Bonhoeffer disagreed with practically everyone present, including Theodor Heckel, who as bishop in charge of the church’s foreign office subsequently tried to block foreign recognition of the Confessing Church (and who after Bonhoeffer’s return from London denounced him to authorities as an “enemy of the state”).

This is a meeting where Friedrich Peter (later the Deutsche Christen bishop of Magdeburg) spoke of the need for the “völkisch self- preservation” of the church, and Bonhoeffer openly criticized the racialized language that had found its way into German theology, most specifically the concept of a divine order of creation that stressed the “separation and differences of peoples, their characteristics and fate.” Here Bonhoeffer scholars can find the political context of Bonhoeffer’s opposition to the fixed order of creation (Schöpfungsordnung) being promoted by the nationalist theologians, and read his highly political articulation of the “order of preservation” (Erhaltungsordnung) that he promoted to counter the nationalists.

The volume also documents Bonhoeffer’s relationship to those at the opposite end of the spectrum, particularly the individuals who were working in the early 1930s with Friedrich Siegmund-Schultze in his social ministry in eastern Berlin: Franz Hildebrandt, Richard Jordan, Renate Lepsius, Gertrud Staewen, and Hermann Maas. The rich details of the ecumenical documents and correspondence in this volume give a clear portrayal of the theological and political fault lines within German Protestantism on the eve of Nazism, before the real madness began.

 



[1]. Bonhoeffer, The Communion of the Saints (New York: Harper and Row, 1963), 189.

[2]. Robert Ericksen, Theologians Under Hitler (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1985) p. 142.

[3]. Keller, Adolf. Church and State on the European Continent. (London: The Epworth Press, 1936), p. 361.

[4]. Ericksen, p. 35.

[5]. See Glenthoj, 131ff, and Marikje Smid, Deutscher Protestantismus und Judentum 1932/1933 (Munich: Kaiser Verlag, 1990).

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