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

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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

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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

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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

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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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Article Note: New Research on Churches in Postwar Germany

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

Article Note: New Research on Churches in Postwar Germany

Francis Graham-Dixon, “A ‘Moral Mandate’ for Occupation: The British Churches and Voluntary Organizations in North-Western Germany, 1945-1949,” German History 28, no.2 (2010): 193-213.

Ian Connor, “The Protestant Churches and German Refugees and Expellees in the Western Zones of Germany after 1945,” Debatte: Journal of Contemporary Central and Eastern Europe 15, no.1 (April 2007): 43-63.

By Steven Schroeder, University of the Fraser Valley

The extraordinary transformation of Germany after 1945 from Nazism to peaceful integration into international systems continues to draw considerable interest, as scholars attempt to render clarity to the complexities of postwar reconstruction. By looking at the various motives and actions of British government representatives, churchmen, and relief workers in Germany—and the interplay between them—Graham-Dixon’s study of the British zone sheds new light on the nature of occupation, and aspects of reconstruction, in this part of Germany.

The author argues that Britons agreed, in general, about their ‘moral mandate’ in Germany after the Second World War. However, some believed that the mandate “embodied a moral, Christian purpose,” whereas others wished to merely “exploit its use for propagandistic purposes” (193). Regardless of motive, the moral campaign proved useful for all British activities in Germany, especially when British policies and actions proved questionable, or even immoral. Focusing on the humanitarian crisis of the 1945-1946 population transfers (which was particularly acute in Schleswig-Holstein), Graham-Dixon asserts that it was church leaders and voluntary organization personnel (e.g., Bishop Bell of Chichester, Victor Gollancz) who ensured maintenance of the moral component in British policy, devoid of the exploitative component. Rather than resenting this action, British policy makers (e.g., Anthony Eden, Ernest Bevin)—who were generally less optimistic than churchmen about German rehabilitation—made good use of church leaders and relief workers in forging peaceful relations with a generally disgruntled German public, and in “validat[ing] … the worthiness of the British cause” (201).

The fusing of these two viewpoints became evident in 1947, when British troubles were at a peak. Some British church leaders (e.g., British Anglican Church head, Geoffrey Fischer) and some politicians (e.g., Lord Pakenham), openly tied the work of the Church and the Crown. Most politicians disavowed the connection and relied on voluntary organizations to work directly in aiding, and rehabilitating, the German people. Voluntary organizations (e.g., Save Europe Now!) labored in concert with German church organizations (e.g., Hilfswerk, Innere Mission, Caritas) to fulfill the occupiers’ goal of solving the humanitarian crisis in Germany. The British government hoped that this work would embed “higher spiritual and moral values within German society,” (208) and foster general goodwill. With demonstrable success in material aid and improved relations between Britons and the German people, these organizations filled the “policy vacuum,” and fulfilled the moral mandate claimed by the British government.

This is an important article that exposes new aspects of British occupation politics. It also reveals the significance that voluntary organizations can (and did) have in post-conflict stabilization. In this case, the British government exploited the goodwill of voluntary organization personnel by having them alleviate the humanitarian crisis it had helped create. In the end, good things came of their combined efforts regardless of motive and despite the misallocation of credit. One wonders how these elements of occupation appeared in the other zones, and about their long-term impact in Germany, and in British-German relations.

Ian Connor is well-known for his 2008 book Refugees and Expellees in Post-War Germany, in which he describes how the millions of displaced persons in occupied Germany posed numerous challenges to German reconstruction after 1945. This article is an offshoot of that larger project. It examines how some leading German Protestant churchmen and relief personnel feared that ethnic German expellees would stray from mainstream Protestantism to embrace Communism or Catholicism. Playing an “active role in the reconstruction of Germany” (44) by employing their “wide-ranging autonomy” (43), Protestant Church elites prevented, in a few cases, the escalation of political radicalism, even while operating on some misguided assumptions.

Connor argues that the central concern of Protestant elites (i.e., some pastors, but mainly key figures in Protestant relief work) was “the political and ideological implications of the refugee problem” (60). Protestant churchmen viewed the expellees as not only physically, but spiritually, dislodged and impoverished. Protestant churchmen founded the Hilfswerk of the Protestant Church in August, 1945 to assist the expellees, and to keep them from turning to political and religious alternatives. The idea was that the material aid and spiritual support of the organization would keep the expellees on the right track by providing them with stability and hope for a brighter future.

The Hilfswerk provided shelter, food, and clothing for expellees primarily in the western zones, while its eastern office operated under the wary surveillance of Soviet authorities. Indeed, fused into its material aid campaign was the Hilfswerk’s political agenda of expunging Soviet influence in the political unification of Germany. Whereas Protestant churchmen were overly concerned about the refugees embracing Communism (few voted for the KPD), they “ignored or failed to recognize the refugees’ undoubted susceptibility to the slogans of radical right-wing parties” (60). With questions lingering about the ideological and political foundation and motives of the Hilfswerk, the author offers an example of the organization’s success. When Trek Association leaders threatened to lead thousands of expellees on marches to less crowded areas within western Germany, Hilfswerk personnel intervened. Negotiations between the two organizations averted what one Protestant aid leader called, “a terrible catastrophe” (57).

Study of the immediate postwar period reveals widespread concern over political radicalism in western Germany. For example, the formation of the Catholic Kirchliche Hilfstelle in October 1945 stemmed, in part, from concerns about Catholic expellees turning to political extremism. Questions arise regarding German attitudes and agency under occupation, particularly concerning the establishment of the Federal Republic (and the GDR). Connor argues that relief organizations, like the Hilfswerk, played an important role in German reconstruction by fostering peaceful relationships. Still, the political agenda of the Hilfswerk, and other relief organizations, remains unclear. So does the broader implications of their work. Laudably, the author has contributed a significant component of an under-researched portion of the postwar development of Germany, and has opened doors for further examination of the role of relief organizations and other NGOs in the construction of the two Germanies.

 

 

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Article Note: Edward Mathieu, “Public Protestantism and Mission in Germany’s Thuringian States, 1871-1914”

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

Article Note: Edward Mathieu, “Public Protestantism and Mission in Germany’s Thuringian States, 1871-1914,” Church History 79 no. 1 (March 2010): 115-143.

By Heath A. Spencer, Seattle University

In this article, Edward Mathieu examines the religious and social activism of Thuringia’s bourgeois Protestants. His conclusions are not earthshaking, but his focus on a particular region allows him to qualify some of the conventional wisdom on topics such as secularization and the interplay of theology, class, and politics.

Mathieu challenges the notion that religion was simply retreating from the public sphere by the end of the nineteenth century. In fact, Thuringia’s voluntary Protestant associations were on the rise even as church attendance declined. Rather than fading out, Protestant religiosity was taking on new forms. Mathieu also counters the argument that Lutherans were driven by their theology to leave social problems to the state and limit the church’s role to an exclusive focus on the inner, spiritual life. Rather, Thuringian Protestants demonstrated a high level of social and civic engagement. On the flip side, “secular” press organs such as the Weimarische Zeitung and associations like the Meiningen District Education Association openly expressed an interest in religious and moral questions, and one cannot help but note the “religious tone of bourgeois public discourse” (125). Finally, Mathieu points out that there was considerable overlap in membership across Protestant associations that—at least on the national level—seemed to represent different political, theological, and social-cultural milieus (for example, the Protestant League and the more “conservative” Home Mission).

Throughout the article, Mathieu’s coverage of Protestant discourse is often more descriptive than analytical. However, he does note that Thuringia’s Protestants assumed a close correspondence between Protestant Christianity and German-ness, that liberal ideology and Protestant theology drew inspiration from one another, and that Protestant and bourgeois values (duty, hard work, respect for authority, objectivity, tolerance, intellectual freedom) were often indistinguishable from one another. Like their counterparts throughout the rest of Germany, bourgeois Protestants defined themselves against Catholics on the one hand and proletarians on the other. They found it hard to imagine working-class people as anything other than socialists, delinquents, and a threat to public order—antithetical to Christianity as they imagined it. Mathieu also points to some interesting parallels between Home Mission rhetoric oriented toward working-class Germans and foreign mission pronouncements regarding “savages” in overseas colonies.

Mathieu reminds us that the story of German Protestantism during the Kaiserreich cannot be reduced to a conservative/liberal binary, nor can German religious history be reduced to a simple story of secularization and declining church attendance. Thuringia’s liberal Protestants were involved in the “conservative” Home Mission, public school teachers were affiliated with Protestant missionary societies, bourgeois associations working with delinquent youth tried to place them in “proper” Christian homes, and Protestant liberals and conservatives were members of many of the same associations and united in their opposition to Catholics and socialists.

 

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Article Note: Marcus Tomalin, “Exploring Nineteenth-Century Haida Translations of the New Testament”

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

Article Note: Marcus Tomalin, “Exploring Nineteenth-Century Haida Translations of the New Testament,” Journal of Religious History 35 no. 1 (March 2011): 43-71.

By John S. Conway, University of British Columbia

It is interesting to find an article about a Canadian missionary experience, written by an English scholar, and appearing in an Australian journal. Dr. Tomalin, a Fellow of Downing College, Cambridge, gives us a detailed account of the translations by Church Missionary Society (CMS) missionaries sent out in the nineteenth century to the Haida Gwai, (formerly known as the Queen Charlotte Islands), a collection of islands off the coast of north-western British Columbia. Early contacts with white traders and settlers had brought diseases which rapidly reduced the Haida population. But the missionaries believed the language was still vibrant enough and that the New Testament and various Offices of the Book of Common Prayer should be translated for daily use. By the end of the century however, the Haida communities themselves wanted to learn English, so these translations have largely been forgotten. Study of the Haida language was largely left up to secular ethno-linguists. Tomalin’s detailed examination of these texts explores the difficulties and complexities involved in such trans-cultural transfers. Their authors’ efforts were clearly prodigious and thus form an integral part of the story of the Anglican Church’s establishment in western Canada.

 

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Program and Conference Report: Mennonite Studies at the University of the Fraser Valley

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

Program and Conference Report: Mennonite Studies at the University of the Fraser Valley, British Columbia, Canada

By Steven Schroeder, University of the Fraser Valley

The Fraser Valley, nestled between Vancouver and the coastal mountains of British Columbia, is home to a diverse population of which Mennonites comprise roughly 20 percent. Wishing to reflect the regional population in its academic curriculum, the University of the Fraser Valley (UFV), in cooperation with the local Mennonite community, has launched a program in Mennonite Studies. January 2011 marked the implementation date for the Mennonite Studies Certificate. Currently, the University is working toward the establishment of a Centre, and a Chair, in Mennonite Studies.

To raise awareness for the program, the University launched a speakers series in Mennonite Studies in fall 2010. Two events took place in Abbotsford, on the main campus of UFV. The first, entitled “Perceptions,” took place on October 19, 2010. A panel of Royden Loewen, Chair of Mennonite Studies at the University of Winnipeg, Marlene Epp, Associate Professor of History at Conrad Grebel University College, and Bruce Guenther, Associate Professor of Church History and Mennonite Studies at Trinity Western University addressed the question: what constitutes Mennonite Studies? In various ways, all three panelists responded by tackling the thorny, but central, question of Mennonite identity. Loewen identified seven categories of Mennonites, all of which related in some way to how the individual situates him/herself vis-à-vis the Mennonite faith tradition and Mennonite ethnicity. Riding above this taxonomy was Loewen’s notion that: “if you say you are a [Mennonite], you are one,” which underscored the diversity of the Mennonite community, and study of it. Epp agreed with Loewen’s assertion of Mennonite diversity, and focused her talk on aspects of Mennonite ethnicity. Referring to her own work, Epp posited that studying Mennonite culinary practices is a useful way to understand Mennonite ethnicity, particularly as food and cookbooks have been used to preserve Mennonite traditions amidst acculturation. Finally, Guenther addressed Mennonite diversity and identity differently, asserting that Mennonite ethnicity, like all ethnicities, is dynamic. In his view, academics building Mennonite Studies programs must broaden their scope beyond focus on the Dutch-German roots of the Anabaptist movement to reflect the diverse worldwide Mennonite community—including its many ethnicities—and to foster dialogue with non-Mennonites.

The second event, held on November 23, 2010, centered on the theme “Reflections,” and the question: what is the reciprocal relationship between Mennonite writing and Mennonite culture? Responding to this question were Andreas Schroeder, Rogers Communications Chair in Creative Writing at the University of British Columbia, Hildi Froese Tiessen, Professor of English at Conrad Grebel University College, and Rudy Wiebe, Professor Emeritus at the University of Alberta. Schroeder provided an historical overview of Mennonite literature from the inauguration of its “golden age,” with the advent of Rudy Wiebe’s work in the 1960s, to the present. Therein, he revealed how Mennonite writers—most of whom are not affiliated with, or interested in promoting, the Mennonite faith community—have, for decades, represented the Mennonite community to the outside world. Tiessen agreed, but blurred Schroeder’s demarcation locus by pointing out that this “outsider’s group” also included people who were members of Mennonite churches, and that negative stereotypes of Mennonite writers are inaccurate. Pointing to the “insider’s knowledge” of the writers, she stressed the positive contributions that they have made to understanding Mennonite life—including its many ethnic sub-groups—both inside, and beyond, the Mennonite community. Finally, Wiebe offered an historical narrative that complimented Schroeder’s and stressed Tiessen’s focus on the positive. Wiebe pointed out that the “the origins of Anabaptism is rooted in anything but fundamentalist, conservative, rural, uneducated people,” and that Mennonites owe their very existence to the scholarly acumen of people like Felix Manz, Conrad Grebel, and Menno Simons. Over the centuries, Mennonites worked as artisans and architects throughout Europe, often shaping the local landscape and culture. Moreover, Mennonite communities had songwriters and poets who commemorated Mennonite experiences and crafted the Mennonite heritage. All three panelists encouraged the University to promote the Mennonite literary tradition, which contributes significantly to Mennonite, and Canadian, culture.

These events provided useful information and engendered important discussion at a timely juncture, as UFV administrators and faculty move forward the Mennonite Studies program. During the question period after each event, the panelists offered specific recommendations for the new program, all of which were well-received. A third event in the speakers series, with the theme “Engagement,” will take place at UFV’s Abbotsford campus in fall 2011.

Please visit the following websites for additional information:

For details on the event to be held at UFV in fall, 2011:

http://www.ufv.ca/MarCom/newsroom.htm

For details about the Mennonite Studies Certificate at UFV: http://www.ufv.ca/arts/Arts_Programs/Certificates/Mennonite_Studies.htm

 

 

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Conference Announcement: Celebrating the Dietrich Bonhoeffer Works English Edition

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

Conference Announcement: Celebrating the Dietrich Bonhoeffer Works English Edition, November 13-15, 2011, Union Theological Seminary, New York.

By Victoria J. Barnett

Plans are well under way for the upcoming conference celebrating the completion of the Dietrich Bonhoeffer Works English Edition. Organized by the International Bonhoeffer Society, “Bonhoeffer for the Coming Generations” will take place at Union Seminary in New York, where Bonhoeffer came to study and teach in 1931 and 1939. The conference program is as follows:

Sunday | November 13

11:00 a.m. Optional Worship at Abyssinian Baptist Church

3:00 p.m. Check-in at Union Theological Seminary

8:00 p.m. Keynote Address “Bonhoeffer: Theologian, Activist, Educator. Challenges for the Church of the Coming Generations” | Sam Wells, Duke University

Monday | November 14

Bonhoeffer, Ethics, Public Life 1945-2010

“Inspiration, Controversy, Legacy. The Response to Dietrich Bonhoeffer in Three Germanys” | Wolfgang Huber, Germany

Panel: Bonhoeffer in International Contexts | John de Gruchy, South Africa; Keith Clements,

United Kingdom; Larry Rasmussen, USA; Carlos Caldas, Brazil; Kazuaki Yamasaki, Japan

Emerging Issues, New Research 2011-

“Bonhoeffer’s Strong Christology and Religious Pluralism” | Christiane Tietz, Mainz

Panel: New Research, New Issues | Florian Schmitz, Mainz; Reggie Williams, Pasadena; Brigitte Kahl, Union Theological Seminary

Tuesday | November 15

Translation and the Interpretation of History and Theology

“Translating Bonhoeffer. Intercultural Theological Challenge” | Hans Pfeifer, Düsseldorf

Translators Panel: Bonhoeffer in Translation: Challenges and Discoveries | moderated

by Victoria Barnett, USA

Historians Panel: History and Theology in Bonhoeffer Interpretation | moderated

by Andrew Chandler, Chichester

Theologians Panel: Reading Bonhoeffer the Theologian | Michael DeJonge and Clifford Green

Concluding Banquet

A banquet celebrating all the translators, editors, publishers, financial supporters and volunteers of the Dietrich Bonhoeffer Works English Edition will mark the conclusion of the conference on Tuesday evening.

For more information about the conference, as well as the registration form, please go to http://dietrichbonhoeffer.org/BonhoefferConf.brochure_Feb.2011.pdf.

 

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Letter from the editors: June 2011

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ACCH Quarterly Vol. 17, No. 2, June 2011

Letter from the editors: June 2011

By Kyle Jantzen, Ambrose University College

Stained glass windows from the Augustinian Monastery in Erfurt, Germany.

Our summer 2011 issue of the ACCH Quarterly deals almost exlusively with people and issues which are international in scope. We have reviews of two new books on Christians whose influence extended (or extends) far beyond Germany. The first is Wolfgang Sommer’s study of Lutheran leader Wilhelm Freiherr von Pechmann, whose antipathy to Bavarian church policy ultimately led to his departure from the Lutheran Church. The second is an edited volume of letters and writings from Franz Jaegerstaetter, an Austrian Catholic conscientious objector and martyr whose life and death was first made known widely throughout the English world several decades ago thanks to a biography by Gordon Zahn.

Alongside these reviews, two article notes examine the politics of the World Council of Churches and the relationship between the League of Nations and the WorldAlliancefor Promoting International Friendship through the Churches.

On behalf of my fellow editors, let me wish you all the best for a relaxing summer. If you have any suggestions for books we should review or issues we should comment on, please contact me at kjantzen@ambrose.edu.

 

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Review of Wolfgang Sommer, Wilhelm Freiherr von Pechmann: Ein konservativer Lutheraner

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ACCH Quarterly Vol. 17, No. 2, June 2011

Review of Wolfgang Sommer, Wilhelm Freiherr von Pechmann: Ein konservativer Lutheraner (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2010), 255 Pp. ISBN 978-3-525-55005-2.

By Diana Jane Beech, University of British Columbia

Wilhelm Freiherr von Pechmann was one of the most influential laymen active in the German Protestant Church in the early twentieth century. Born into a well-respected family on 10 June 1859 in Memmingen, Bavaria, von Pechmann was raised with a profound respect for his German homeland and was christened and educated into the specifically Protestant tradition. From an early age, von Pechmann saw himself as both “christlich und deutsch” (Christian and German). The compatibility of these religious and national identities came under question, however, much later in his life when Adolf Hitler and his Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei (NSDAP) came to power in Germany. From this point on, von Pechmann became engaged in a continual struggle not only against the Nazi State and its blatant intention to ‘de-Christianise’ the German nation, but also against his own Lutheran church, which he saw as all-too-submissive to Nazi hegemony.

Having been thrust into the world of work as a legal advisor to the Bayerische Handelsbank in Munich in 1886 following the untimely death of his father, von Pechmann never allowed his new professional obligations to distract him from his true passions of national politics and church affairs. As early as 1901 he was called to serve as the lay representative of the Munich diocese on the Bavarian General Synod. In 1909 he was called to the most prominent office of the Bavarian Protestant church as President of its highest instrument of church administration—the Oberkonsistorium. Only his professional standing as a lawyer and not as a theologian prevented his proposed presidency from coming into fruition.

In 1913 the University of Erlangen put an end to von Pechmann’s status as a layman by awarding him an honorary degree in theology. From 1919 to 1922 he thus became the first elected President of the Provincial Synod of the Bavarian Protestant church. His influence within ecclesiastical circles was not just restricted to a regional level, however, as he quickly grew in prominence within the worldwide Lutheran community as well as within the administration of the national German Protestant Church. For example, between 1921 and
1927, he headed the German Protestant Church Congresses in Stuttgart, Bethel, and Königsberg.

Despite being deeply conservative and “deutschnational” at heart, von Pechmann showed
great distain for the advent of National Socialism in Germany in the 1930s. From the very
beginning of the so-called Third Reich (1933-1945), he took aversion to both the totalitarian claims of Hitler and his NSDAP, and, in particular, the politico-religious heresy of the Glaubensbewegung Deutscher Christen (German Christian Movement). To initiate protest against Nazism, von Pechmann engaged in potentially risky correspondence with pastors, academic theologians, bishops, ecclesiastical lawyers, publicists, and politicians. In 1933, he became a card-carrying member of the Bekennende Kirche (Confessing Church), and fostered close relations with anti-Nazi theologian Karl Barth and Confessing pastor Martin Niemöller.

Von Pechmann’s increasing activism against Nazism brought him most notably into conflict with many of his fellow conservative Lutherans, in particular the leader of the Bavarian Protestant Church of the time, Provincial Bishop Hans Meiser. Von Pechmann believed that Meiser acted spinelessly against Nazi demands, and he was particularly disappointed with Meiser’s reluctance to defend the Jews and other so-called ‘non-Aryan’ Christians from Nazi persecution. As a result of his deep dismay over the compromising conduct of Bishop Meiser and other Lutherans of the period, von Pechmann took the radical step of not only resigning his positions in the church administration but also of legally leaving the Protestant Church which he had faithfully served for so long. Years later, after the fall of the Third Reich, he converted to Roman Catholicism and remained a Catholic until his death in Munich in 1948.

In his endeavour to demonstrate how Wilhelm Freiherr von Pechmann eventually came to abandon his willingness to accept episcopal direction and to become instead one of the most forthright opponents of Nazism to emanate from the German Protestant Church, Wolfgang Sommer presents an in-depth biographical account of von Pechmann’s life. Sommer begins with von Pechmann’s formative years in Memmingen and Augsburg and continues through to his eventual rejection of German Protestantism during the final years of his life. Accordingly, the initial chapters of Sommer’s work are devoted to detailing von Pechmann’s background, and his early struggles to locate himself neatly within both a political party and within the German Protestant Church. To depict von Pechmann firmly as a product of his time, Wolfgang Sommer pays great attention to the political developments and challenges facing von Pechmann throughout his life, with entire chapters devoted to the First World War (1914-1918), the November Revolution of 1918, and the reconstitution of German Protestantism during the Weimar Republic (1918-1933). In order to reveal the relevance of von Pechmann for world Protestantism and not just for the national German Church, Sommer also devotes a chapter to his impact on ecumenical relations and his collaboration with the worldwide Lutheran community.

Unsurprisingly, the largest section of Sommer’s study concentrates on the years of Germany’s National Socialist dictatorship and von Pechmann’s increasing opposition not only to Nazi measures but also to the actions of his own Lutheran church. By detailing von Pechmann’s timely recognition of the pitfalls of Nazism and his constant warnings to Bishop Meiser to refrain from assimilation to the Nazi Weltanschauung, Sommer effectively presents von Pechmann as the virtuous thorn in the side of the spineless Bavarian church.

Sommer continually emphasises von Pechmann’s morality and righteousness by contrasting his readiness to protest against the Nazi persecution of the Jews with Bishop Meiser’s reluctance to oppose the measures. This technique downplays the reality of the situation for Meiser, however. As the leader of one of the only Protestant churches in Nazi Germany not to come under the national administration of the Deutsche Christen, Meiser had an unspoken obligation not to infuriate unnecessarily Nazi authorities in order to protect the autonomy of his church and, by extension, that of German Protestantism per se. Although von Pechmann’s humanitarian, political, and theological insight was arguably impeccable
under the brutal conditions of Nazism, by overlooking the precarious predicament of the
Bavarian Bishop, Sommer enhances von Pechmann’s reputation at the expense of those churchmen in more complex and critical situations. Whilst Wolfgang Sommer should be praised, therefore, for shedding light on a man who was influential to the German Protestant Church despite not being a theologian himself, it is nonetheless important that his work is not used to disparage the efforts of those who were firmly trapped by the shackles of their Protestant and specifically Lutheran vocations.

 

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Review of Erna Putz, ed., Franz Jaegerstaetter: Letters and Writings from Prison

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ACCH Quarterly Vol. 17, No. 2, June 2011

Review of Erna Putz, ed., Franz Jaegerstaetter: Letters and Writings from Prison, trans. Robert Anthony Krieg (Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 2009), 252 Pp. ISBN 978-1-57075-826-3.

By Beth A. Griech-Polelle, Bowling Green State University

This review appeared first in H-German, H-Net Reviews in February 2011 (URL: http://www.h-net.org/reviews/showrev.php?id=31488) and is reprinted by kind permission of the author.

This volume presents the life and thoughts of a once obscure Austrian farmer, Franz Jaegerstaetter (1907-43). Thanks in part to the research of Gordon Zahn in the 1960s, Jaegerstaetter’s name began to circulate as a conscientious objector to Hitler’s brutal war.[1] And now, thanks to the beautiful translations of Robert Krieg and the careful editing of Erna Putz, readers can be reintroduced to the deeply moving writings of a truly spiritual man who determined that it would be better to die for his Catholic faith than to serve the evils of National Socialism.

The collection begins with Jim Forest’s introduction and with Robert Krieg’s overview of the general outline of Franz Jaegerstaetter’s life and death. Readers are transported to the small village of St. Radegund (d. 587) in Austria, not far from Adolf Hitler’s birthplace, Braunau-am-Inn. It is perhaps fitting that Jaegerstaetter was born in St. Radegund, since Radegund had lived through political turmoil, family assassinations, a forced marriage, and finally the formation of her own convent. St. Radegund’s institution enforced strict rules of meditation and constant prayer, and this example might have been useful to Jaegerstaetter, although his early life showed no signs of potential sainthood or a calling to martyrdom. Born an illegitimate child, Franz was eventually adopted by his mother’s husband. He had only an eighth-grade education, got in fist-fights, fathered an illegitimate daughter himself, and rode around on the village’s only motorcycle. Jaegerstaetter’s life, however, took a more noticeable turn when he married the devout Franziska Schwaninger. The farming neighbors may never have known this, but prior to Franz and Franziska’s marriage, both of them had independently considered entering religious life. However, most neighbors thought that Franz’s new wife influenced his openly religious dedication.

Part 1 of the volume reveals the extent to which Franz and Franziska’s religious views overlapped and supported each another. Here, Putz provides correspondence between the husband and wife while Franz was completing required military training (1940 and 1941), and then later his letters from his imprisonment (March-August, 1943). Throughout the correspondence, the couple’s love and respect for each other is evident. During the military training period, most of the letters detail the everyday life on the farm for Franziska, Franz’s widowed mother, and the couple’s three daughters. These letters have at times a playful note, since the couple fully anticipated being reunited once the training period was over. Franz offers advice about running the farm, often urging Franziska not to work too hard and to leave things for him to do upon his return. He also wrote briefly to Franziska’s father, who often came to help at the Jaegerstaetter’s farm. At other times, Franz begins to allude to his trouble in accepting the membership requirements of the “Volk community.” As his military training progresses, Franz begins to express more of his frustration with what he refers to as “the stream,” that is, National Socialism. He constantly uses this metaphor of struggling against “the stream’s” strong current, and he expresses dismay at the futility of much of what the training has entailed.

Although all of these letters offer compelling reading regarding the state of mind of Franz and Franziska, they also offer historians insight into the everyday life of Catholic farming communities under National Socialism. In them we see how various local priests were denounced, arrested, and imprisoned for speaking openly against the policies of the Third Reich. We run across Franz mentioning a mental institution in Ybb, and he alludes to the murderous “euthanasia project” of the Nazis. In some of Franziska’s letters from home, we can see how children were not allowed to attend mass on school days, how feast days had to be moved so Catholics could attend mass, how local politics played a role in who received leaves of absence, and who got to run an inn and whose inn was shut down due to “political unreliability.” Throughout this entire period, Franziska experiences pressure to participate in the local Nazi organizations, such as the Women’s Association, including the threat of social ostracism when choosing to opt out in this very small community.

The situation changes dramatically for the Jaegerstaetters on February 22, 1943. Franz receives notification that he is required to go to Enns for military service on February 25, 1943. By this time, Franz had written essays in various notebooks at home, which helped him to decide to refuse to fight for the Reich. Arriving at the Enns’ induction center on March 1, 1943, Franz had to return the next day due to a long line of men ahead of him. On March 2, 1943 Franz declared himself unwilling to fight for National Socialism, and, as he had anticipated, he was immediately arrested. Chapter 4 contains the correspondence between Franz and Franziska (although there was censorship of the mail) while Franz was in the prison in Linz. At this point of Franz’s incarceration, he still remained hopeful that he would be able to live, writing, “I want to save my life but not through lies” (p. 82). Indeed Franz writes to his wife that he would be willing to serve as a military medic, as that would not contradict his Christian conscience (p. 86). Ultimately, Franz decides that he cannot serve in any capacity in the military because he would be required to take the military oath of unconditional obedience to the Führer. What also emerges in this section is Franz working through his position, struggling with commands to obey earthly authority while serving the will of God. He resolves that it is far better to obey God than men. Jaegerstaetter determined that his eternal salvation was more important to him than his physical well-being, or even life. At the moment of his transfer to Berlin’s Tegel Prison, he quickly writes to Franziska, “Concerning my decision, I can tell you that I have come to no different decision as a result of the process that has played itself out. I am resolved to act no differently” (p. 108).

Arriving in Berlin on May 4, 1943, Franz was immediately incarcerated in the Tegel prison where he awaited his trial and sentence. At this point, Franz was only permitted to write one letter per month to his wife, but Franziska was allowed to send at least twelve letters to her husband. She was also able to visit him for twenty minutes on July 13. In Franz’s letters, he constantly offers his wife consolation, telling her that he is eating well, and is not physically suffering. He nonetheless exhorts her to continue to pray for him. Franziska sends him prayers, Communion petitions, and updates on village and farm activities. At one point, she is even able to send him a photograph of their lovely young daughters, which surely broke his heart. No less emotionally daunting for Franz would be the surprise visit of Franziska and Pastor Fürthauer on July 13, 1943. Franz’s defense attorney had arranged the meeting, urging Franziska and the priest to convince Franz to sign a statement that he would be willing to serve in the military. The twenty-minute meeting did not go smoothly. Franz became agitated with the priest, and in the days leading up to Franz’s execution, he wrote his last letters to Franziska, asking her, “Do you believe that all would go well for me if I were to lie in order to prolong my life?” (p. 128).

Franz, his hands in chains, wrote, “Do not be overly concerned about earthly things. The Lord indeed knows what we need…. In the next life we need suffer no longer. And the greater the suffering here, the greater the joy there” (p. 128). This letter was mailed the morning of August 9, the day that Franz was transferred to the prison at Brandenburg. There he wrote a final letter to his family, asking them for their forgiveness if he had offended them. At 4 p.m., August 9, 1943, Franz was guillotined. The priest, Pastor Albert Jochmann, reported that Franz went to his death peacefully.

Part 2 of the collection shows the evolution of Franz’s religious and political thought. There are two poems he wrote in 1932, and then a longer letter that he had written to his godson in 1935. The first of the notebooks was written by Franz in the period between his military training and his imprisonment. Each of the essays describes Franz’s thoughts on various aspects of Christian life, ranging from “On Faith” to “On our Fear of Other People” to “A Brief Reflection on the Current Era.” He addressed all of the essays to his family. They reveal Franz’s deep concern to preserve his integrity despite pressure from many sides to superficially accept the Nazi regime. He refused, stating, “What a terror it would be for us if we were sentenced by an earthly judge to life in prison. Yet it would be an even greater terror if we were sentenced by the eternal Judge to eternal damnation” (p. 158). The final essay in this notebook again directly references the dangers of swimming along with seemingly everyone else in “the stream,” and the dangers to one’s eternal soul.

Notebook 2, written in 1942, addresses the demands of National Socialism, opening with the important question: “Can someone be both a Catholic and a National Socialist?” (p. 173), to which Jaegerstaetter answers no. Catholics need to pull themselves “out of this swamp in which we are stuck and to become eternally blessed” (p. 176). He argues that suffering and martyrdom are part of working for Christ and one way to earn a place in Heaven. In subsequent essays, Franz explains that it will take true courage to be able to separate oneself from the “anti-Christian Volk community” (p. 178), but the promise of eternal salvation far outweighs any earthly suffering one might endure. He also argues that an acceptance of Nazism based on its fight against atheistic Bolshevism does not justify the taking of lives and property of Russian people (p. 183). He criticizes the lack of guidance and instruction from Catholic Church leaders: “Finding the right path is especially difficult when those who know about this path refuse to answer questions or give false information” (p.187). He then writes that Pope Pius XI warned that National Socialism was, in fact, more dangerous than communism (p. 190).

Chapters 9 through 12 contain separate essays and shorter notebooks, in which Franz continues his exploration of his faith and his understanding of the world and its demands. Throughout these writings, Franz argues that people must move beyond being Catholic in words but not in action. He refuses to judge National Socialists or people who claim to be Nazis, but he states that he does judge National Socialism as an evil ideology that endangers people’s souls. He asks, “Is death so horrible for us Catholics that we must gladly do everything so that we can lengthen our lives? Must we experience all of life’s enjoyments? Would we find much in this world to be difficult if we were to keep in mind the eternal joy of Heaven?” (p. 203). Throughout his final writings, Franz insists that Catholics take action in order to save themselves: “Who fares better in this world: the person who places earthly life before eternal life or the person who puts eternal life before earthly life?… For instead of being concerned about saving me from serious sins and directing me toward eternal life, these people are concerned about rescuing me from an earthly death” (p. 243). What Franz Jaegerstaetter concluded was startingly simple: “People want to observe Christians who have taken a stand in the contemporary world, Christians who live amid all of the darkness with clarity, insight, and conviction” (p. 211). He decided to live and to die with that clarity and conviction.

This deeply moving book is more than a collection of letters and essays by an uncompromising individual. It poses universal questions about the moral and physical consequences of the decisions that people make every day–questions about obedience to different institutions and individuals, and whether one should accept the cost of remaining quiet and going along with situations that give us ethical misgivings. Readers will be challenged and even inspired by the clear-sightedness of one obscure, straight-talking Austrian farmer, who decided that his “No,” even if it brought him an earthly death, was worth eternal life.

Note

[1]. Gordon Charles Zahn, In Solitary Witness: The Life and Death of Franz Jaegerstaetter, revised ed. (Spingfield, IL: Tempelgate,1986).

 

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Article Note: Hedwig Richter, “Der Protestantismus und das linksrevolutionäre Pathos. Der Ökumenische Rat der Kirchen in Genf im Ost-West Konflikt in der 1960er und 1970er Jahren”

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ACCH Quarterly Vol. 17, No. 2, June 2011

Article Note: Hedwig Richter, “Der Protestantismus und das linksrevolutionäre Pathos. Der Ökumenische Rat der Kirchen in Genf im Ost-West Konflikt in der 1960er und 1970er Jahren,” Geschichte und Gesellschaft 36 no. 3 (July-September 2010): 408-436.

By John S. Conway, University of British Columbia

Hedwig Richter, who teaches in Bielefeld, takes a highly critical, indeed sceptical, look at the World Council of Churches’ political attitudes in the 1960s and 1970s, claiming that these amounted to an attempt to give legitimacy to left-leaning utopian ideals, including even the idea of revolutionary violence.

The World Council of Churches was officially established in 1948,but had been preceded by several decades of endeavour to foster ecumenical cooperation between the Protestant churches, and to overcome the doctrinal animosities which had for so long marred their relationships. In the eyes of church leaders, these scandalous divisions had rendered in vain the churches’ witness for peace and international brotherhood in a century when the world was torn apart by war and revolution The task of creating a credible international institution to give effect to these goals was superbly carried out by the first General Secretary, Willem Visser ‘t Hooft. But its political outreach concentrated on rebuilding Europe after the catastrophes of the Second World War, which had shown the fragility of church relations, and their lack of influence on national politics.

By the end of the 1950s, however, a new era began. This was a period of rapid secularization. The churches lost support, their social relevance diminished, and their funding bases declined. In this crisis, Richter contends, the WCC’s leaders believed they could regain credibility for the Christian cause and for their institution by embracing the left-wing politics of the radical Christian fringe. Under the leadership of the third General Secretary, Philip Potter, a West Indian, the WCC promoted the slogan that the Church and the WCC shoud become “the voice of the voiceless” and that its resources should be used to advocate policies of benefit to the world’s neediest and most oppressed peoples. Such a stance included a deliberate bias against colonialism, capitalism, overseas exploitation, the arms race and other forms of military tyranny. Not surprisingly, the increasing power of the United States, and its European-based military alliance, NATO, became an easy target, despite the fact that the American Secretary of State, John Foster Dulles, had been an early champion of the WCC in the 1940s.

In 1961, at the WCC’s third General Assembly in New Delhi, representatives of the Orthodox Churches, including those from the Soviet Union, joined the Council, obviously with Moscow’s agreement. The predictable result was to curtail criticism of conditions in the Soviet-controlled parts of Europe, and the suspicion, which Richter does not refute, that the WCC was used to infiltrate Soviet agents to the west. The fact is undoubted that in the 1960s the WCC’s witness was unbalanced—polemic against the West, silence towards the Communist empire. Even the Soviet invasion of Czechoslovakia in 1968 was passed over without protest. Khruschchev’s anticlerical persecution in Russia, and the Orthodox Church’s apparent complicity, though deplored, was not allowed to hinder the continued adherence of this Church in Geneva.

In the 1970s the WCC took the significant step of promoting its Programme to Combat Racism, which sought to oppose, and even overthrow, those regimes, particularly in southern Africa, which practised racial discrimination. Large sums of money were raised to support the opponents of apartheid. Enormous controversy arose when it was rumoured that these monies were being used to purchase arms for revolutionary attacks by guerrilla forces against the oppressors. The World Council was at pains to claim that its assistance was solely for humanitarian purposes, but the lack of controls and its unilateral approval of the anti-apartheid cause weakened its stance. In Richter’s view, a double standard prevailed. By adopting what she calls the “mythology” of the anti-racial campaign, the WCC sought to gain institutional legitimacy and popular endorsement from left-wing circles beyond the church doors. This policy, she believes, was a serious distortion of the WCC’s original priorities to promote mission and church unity. Theological insights were displaced by overly political considerations, as though the vocal support of left-wing policies could restore the churches’ fortunes when their proclamation of the Gospel had so obviously failed.

 

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Article Note: D. Gorman, “Ecumenical Internationalism: Willoughby Dickinson, the League of Nations and the World Alliance for Promoting International Friendship through the Churches”

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ACCH Quarterly Vol. 17, No. 2, June 2011

Article Note: D. Gorman, “Ecumenical Internationalism: Willoughby Dickinson, the League of Nations and the World Alliance for Promoting International Friendship through the Churches,” Journal of Contemporary History 45 no. 1 (March 2010): 51-73.

By John S. Conway, University of British Columbia

The League of Nations was the twentieth century’s most idealistic project in international politics. It failed because of the entrenched nationalism of Europe’s leaders, particularly Germany. Consequently the reputation of its supporters suffered in the history books. Amongst them was the upper-class Englishman Willoughby Dickinson (1859-1943), whose life was devoted to moral uplift and public service. His contributions have now been excellently described in this fine article by Daniel Gorman, who teaches at Waterloo University, Ontario.

Dickinson’s career began with his service on the newly-created London County Council in the 1890s, where he campaigned eagerly for progressive causes. It was a natural step-up for him to become an M.P. in the Liberal landslide of 1906. His vision was enhanced by his sincere devotion to his Anglican faith, refuting the calumny that the Church of England was ”the Conservative Party at prayer”. Likewise he was drawn to the Quaker ideal of world peace, and already before 1914 was active in promoting this cause. In 1919 he became very involved with an international body of church laymen called the World Alliance for Promoting International Friendship through the Churches. This group sought to mobilize the churches on an ecumenical basis for the prevention of any future war. They deliberately avoided any kind of denominational or theological controversy, but instead concentrated on the world’s need for a new political order to replace the militarism and jingoism which they believed had caused the catastrophe of the Great War.

In the 1920s the World Alliance spread rapidly throughout Europe and North America. Dickinson gave much of his time and wealth in organising high-minded meetings to propagate this programme of international peace. A parallel endeavour, with the same aims of promoting peace, cooperation, disarmament and world order, led Dickinson to become a vocal supporter of the League of Nations, and of its public education activities through the League of Nations Societies established in each member state. In the 1920s Dickinson worked hard to bring about the international collaboration of these volunteer groups, and eventually became President of the International Federation of League of Nations Societies (IFLNS).

In 1930 the Labour Government gave him a peerage,but he found increasing opposition to his ideals for genuine peace and international friendship. His final years before and during the Second World War were a period of bitter disillusionment. Nevertheless his example deserves to be better known. His campaign for what he called ecumenical internationalism, designed to ameliorate world conditions through public education and leadership, combined religious motivation with political planning.

Gorman’s article is a valuable contribution by throwing light on this ardent crusader for peace and the institutions he helped to build in order to bring about this ideal at a most unpropitious period of the world’s history.

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Conference Report: Fourth Annual Powell and Heller Holocaust Conference, March 17-19, 2011

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ACCH Quarterly Vol. 17, No. 2, June 2011

Conference Report: Fourth Annual Powell and Heller Holocaust Conference, March 17-19, 2011, Pacific Lutheran University, Tacoma, WA.

By Robert Ericksen, Pacific Lutheran University

On March 17-19, 2011, Pacific Lutheran University hosted the Fourth Annual Powell and Heller Family Conference on Holocaust Education. This event began on the evening of March 17th with the showing of a film, The Last Survivor. This documentary focuses on survivors of four genocides—one from the Holocaust and one each from Rwanda, Bosnia, and the Congo. The co-directors, Michael Pertnoy and Michael Kleiman, introduced and discussed the film. They were joined by Justin Semahoro Kimenyerwa, a child survivor of the genocide in the Congo who now resides in the United States. The next morning Carl Wilkens spoke about another recent genocide. He was the only American to stay in Rwanda throughout the killing there, despite many who urged him to leave. His description of the genocide, in words and photos, helps explain his present work, which is to travel around the United States, sometimes by bicycle, raising awareness about genocide and other extreme forms of injustice.

Another highlight on Friday involved a discussion of the Huguenot rescue of Jewish lives in and around Le Chambon, France. This story about Pastor André and Magda Trocmé, along with other rescuers, is well known. Patrick Henry, a recent author on the rescue of Jews in France, gave the main presentation. He was assisted by Nelly Trocmé Hewett, a teenage daughter of the Trocmés at the time, who gave her first-person account of the rescue activities. Saturday morning included a dramatic presentation by “Living Voices.” This involved a one-woman show, “Through the Eyes of a Friend: The World of Anne Frank.” We also had a presentation on artistic responses to the Holocaust, including the work of Anselm Kiefer. A session on “Poetry after Auschwitz” began with a presentation on Theodor Adorno, followed by readings of poetry by writers such as Irena Klepfisz, a poet in Yiddish and English, who is also a child survivor of the Warsaw Ghetto. An afternoon session on Saturday included a presentation by two professors from Concordia University in Portland, Oregon. Kevin Simpson (psychology) and Joel Davis (history) described their interdisciplinary course on the Holocaust in a presentation under the title, “Explaining Evil: Cross-disciplinary Approaches to Teaching the Holocaust.”

Readers of this journal are reminded that PLU will host a Holocaust conference each spring. Planning for the next conference, scheduled for March 15-16, 2012, has just begun. Interested persons are invited to contact Robert Ericksen at ericksrp@plu.edu.

 

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