At Home and Not at Home: Religious Pluralism and Religious Truth

Religious pluralism and religious truth are topics that preoccupied H. Richard Niebuhr at in his work but nowhere more than in The meaning of Revelation. In the preface to that work Niebuhr recognizes both Ernst Troeltsch and Karl Barth as his teachers and notes that they are frequently thought to be "in diametrical opposition to each other." Nevertheless he proposes to "combine their main interests," though he is modest as to whether he has succeeded.

On the question of the uniqueness of the revelation of God in Christ, Troeltsch and Barth would indeed seem to be irreconcilable. Toward the end of his life Troeltsch came to recognize that the great world religions had equal claims to validity, though he did not quite leave it at that, as we will see later. As for Barth, he drew an absolute distinction between the revelation of God in Christ and the religions, which are purely human expressions and as such more or less idolatrous. It would seem rather difficult to combine those insights.

Before making progress on that front, let us consider more closely how we understand the central Christian claim that God revealed himself in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. How are we to understand this claim-understand as opposed to evaluate it? I am convinced that this claim is not very well understood even in our own society and must be very hard to understand in non-Western societies.

To suggest the problem let me recount an incident that occurred while I was at the Institute for Islamic Studies at McGill University in Montreal in the 1950s. A couple of years earlier my wife and I had spent a summer conducting fieldwork in a Mormon community in Ramah, New Mexico. Being new to Canada and rather homesick, we invited in two Mormon missionaries from Utah when they called on us in Montreal and spoke with their familiar Western twang. After exchanging small talk, which is what we really wanted, the missionaries were eager to get down to the business of converting us. They pulled out an elaborate display of illustrated cardboards, depicting incidents from the Bible. The story developed sequentially along the lines of "if you believe this then you must believe this." I was willing to consent up to a certain point and then I had to discourage the discourse from continuing. I already knew a great deal about Mormonism and was not about to be converted.

Aside from disappointing our new friends, the thing that most impressed me on that occasion was that their entire pitch was based on the assumption that a) we were familiar enough with the Bible to follow their argument and b) that if they could demonstrate that the Bible said something they wanted to prove, we would be constrained to agree. Ignorance of the Bible or lack of confidence in its authority would have left them completely at sea. Or rather it would have forced them back to the beginning, to prove, as they would put it, that "the Bible is true," long before they would ever get to the topic of Joseph Smith.

It may seem as if I am making a long leap, but I believe the first Christians were in the same situation as those missionaries. There is only one point in the New Testament, as far as I know, at which the gospel is preached to those entirely lacking in knowledge of the scriptures (most of the gentiles to whom Paul preached were among the sympathizers of the synagogue, so Paul could presume what George Lindbeck calls "biblical literacy'), and that is Paul's famous address on the Areopagus. Paul's entering wedge is to tell the philosophically educated Athenians that he has discovered "an altar with the inscription, 'to an unknown god.' What therefore you worship as unknown this I proclaim to you" (Acts 17:23). Then he goes on to speak of "the God who made the world and everything in it, he who is Lord of heaven and earth," and he proceeds to give a brief précis of Genesis. He ends with the notion that God will "have the world judged in righteousness by a man whom he has appointed, and of this he has given assurance to all by raising him from the dead" (17:24-33).

In short, in order to preach Jesus Christ and him crucified to the biblically illiterate Athenians, Paul must convince them of the fundamentally Jewish notion of a creator God who is Lord of all and who will bring the world to an end in a last judgment. Only in that context does the incarnation, crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus Christ make sense. Even though Paul abrogated the Jewish ritual law for the gentiles, he still, in a critically important sense, had to convert them to Judaism before he could convert them to Christianity. That is as much the case today as ever and is evidenced by the fact that the Hebrew scriptures are canonical for Christians.

To put this in Niebuhrian terms: converting people to Christianity without Paul's background of Hebrew radical monotheism would be converting them to a sort of henotheism, a belief in Jesus as a kind of "guardian spirit." It would confirm the suspicion of the Athenian philosophers about Paul: "He seems to be a proclaimer of foreign divinities" (Acts 17:18). Indeed, today much missionary work carried on by Americans or Western Europeans in the non-Western world, emphasizing individual salvation rather than a transformed way of life, may be only the proclamation of a foreign divinity. As the missionary-theologian Lesslie Newbigin puts it: "A religion of individual salvation had been taught, along with a wholesale rejection and condemnation of traditional culture. The result has been . . . a superficial Christianity with no deep roots and then-later-a reaction to an uncritical and sentimental attachment to everything in the discarded culture." Only much later when the new Christians have the Bible in their own language will they or their children or grandchildren be able to discern what of the missionary culture and what of the traditional culture is really consonant with a genuine living-out of the gospel in their own circumstances. Theirs will presumably no longer be a "superficial" Christianity.

Thus it would seem that a nonsuperficial Christianity must be based on something more than an individual decision for Christ, must be based on induction into the Christian cultural-linguistic system. Without such induction the individual decision may be not for the biblical Christ but for

a henotheistic guardian spirit. And that is true not only for so-called new Christians, but for many of us in our own allegedly Christian society who do not understand what Paul would have required us as Christians to understand.

In short, understanding the meaning of Christ as Lord and Savior is deeply contextual, dependent on historical memory and cultural-linguistic literacy. Because it is so, understanding Christ requires membership in a confessing, worshiping community-the church. It is for this reason that Stanley Hauerwas has recently reasserted the old claim that "there is no salvation outside the church." Although it goes against the grain of our culture to say so, the notion of a private Christian is a contradiction in terms.

Yet if we insist, as I believe we must, relentlessly on the historical, linguistic, cultural and social particularity of the Christian faith, how can we proclaim its universality? How can we say with Peter, "There is salvation in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given among mortals by which we must be saved" (Acts 4:12)? Or with Paul, "Therefore God also highly exalted him and gave him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bend, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father" (Phil. 2:9-11)? Particularly, how can we say those words when we live side by side with good people of other faiths or, in their own eyes at least, of no faith at all?

Christians have taken several positions on this question. The polar ones are the inclusivist or pluralist position, namely that there is salvation in other names and Christians should simply drop the language of Peter and Paul, and the exclusivist position that the words must be asserted straightforwardly: there is no salvation in any other name. For many, however, these stark alternatives seem equally unattractive, or even arrogant, as though we know what only God can know: who is saved and who is not. The effort to maintain the biblical assertion without consigning most of humanity to perdition has developed a number of arguments, two of which George Sumner calls implicit faith and prospective salvation. He illustrates the idea of implicit faith with Karl Rahner's notion of the anonymous Christian. The idea of prospective salvation is the notion of an eschatological moment at the end of time when everyone will be given the opportunity of a saving encounter with Christ.

Both notions are of considerable interest, though, both can also easily bog down in baroque complexities. In any case, the whole issue arises from a category mistake. The mistake arises when we take language which is deeply contextual, that is confessional, and in the case of Paul probably also liturgical, and turn it into objective assertions of a quasi scientific form that give us information about the eternal fate of non-Christians. Here I am trying to redeem Ernst Troeltsch's notion of a truth for us. He wrote, "A truth which, in the first instance, is a truth for us does not cease, because of this, to be very Truth and Life."By a truth for us I do not mean only a truth for Christians: Peter was speaking to non-Christians. It is a truth for non-Christians if they can hear it, and we have already seen how difficult that may be. As to the fate of non-Christians, as well as of those who lived before Christ, the only Christian thing to say is that that is in the hands of God, or, to put it more colloquially, God can deal with that.

The words of Peter and of Paul are, like so many words in the Bible, dangerous words, easily turned into triumphalism, which Niebuhr would call the henotheistic worship of the Christian community rather than the one God. But if we take them confessionally, in the double Niebuhrian sense of confession-saying what we believe and repenting of our sin and lack of faith in the same breath-then we can find in them, with Troeltsch, very Truth and Life. A too easy, although quite compelling, way of making the point is that "salvation" is a notion whose meaning is understandable only within the Christian cultural-linguistic system, so of course no one else has it; whatever Buddhists or Confucians, say, are after, it is not salvation.

A stronger way of putting it is that the idea that there is salvation in no other name but Jesus has the horizon of universality from the point of view of the context in which it is used. It is not the truth of Buddhists or Confucianists, but there is no truth, even scientific truth, that transcends the community that produces it. Yes, this means that all truth is relative, but it does not mean that all truth is relativistic, that anything goes. All truth is potentially fallible and can in principle be contested, but contested by people living within a community of intelligibility for whom both the truth and challenges to it have meaning. There is no truth that truths itself, although modern rationalism since the time of Descartes assumes there is.

We do not, however, live in only one community, human beings never have. Some of us have managed to live, at least imaginatively, in other religious communities. I suspect, in some cases I know, that those Christians who espouse a pluralist or inclusivist position, who reject the notion of salvation in no other name, have personally experienced the truth and the light that is discerned in Buddhist or Hindu or Confucian or Islamic communities. They also live in the academic world of religious studies and comparative religion, which is also a community of sorts and also claims to know at least something of the truth. One of the virtues of participating in several communities is that one can see problems with the language of one community from the point of view of another. When it comes to claims about the uniqueness of the revelation of God in Christ it is certainly appropriate for Christians to learn what that language has meant to other communities, especially though not exclusively the Jewish community, and to be careful about how they use it and what they mean by it.

But we are getting our wires crossed if we think we can jettison defining beliefs, loyalties and commitments because they are problematic in another context. Reform and reappropriation are always on the agenda, but to believe that there is some neutral ground from which we can rearrange the defining symbols and commitments of a living community is simply a mistake-a common mistake of modern liberalism. Thus I do not see how Christians can fail to confess, with all the qualifications I have stated, but sincerely and wholeheartedly, that there is salvation in no other name but Jesus.

One of the wisest statements about our present situation of religious pluralism comes from Herbert Fingarette in his book The Self in Transformation:

It is the special fate of modern man that he has a "choice" of spiritual visions. The paradox is that although each requires complete commitment for complete validity, we can today generate a context in which we see that no one of them is the sole vision. Thus we must learn to be naïve but undogmatic. That is, we must take the vision as it comes and trust ourselves to it, naïvely, as reality. Yet we must retain an openness to experience such that the dark shadows deep within one vision are the mute, stubborn messengers waiting to lead us to a new light and a new vision . . . We must not ignore the fact that in this last analysis, commitment to a specific orientation outweighs catholicity of imagery. One may be a sensitive and seasoned traveler, at ease in many places, but one must have a home. Still, we can be intimate with those we visit, and while we may be only travelers and guests in some domains, there are our hosts who are truly at home. Home is always home for someone; but there is no Absolute Home in general.

For Christians the church is home. For H. R. Niebuhr the church was finally home, though somewhat grudgingly because he was so acutely aware of its faithlessness and its disloyalty.

I would argue for a stronger doctrine of the church than I find in Niebuhr, perhaps a more catholic one, one that emphasizes the church as the body of Christ-the church as the one sacrament from which all the particular sacraments are derived, as Karl Rahner put it. I am attracted by communion theology as David Yeago has recently expounded it (in "Memory and Communion: Ecumenical Theology and the Search for a Generous Orthodoxy," in Reclaiming

Faith: Essays on Orthodoxy in the Episcopal Church and the Baltimore Declaration, edited by Ephraim Radner and George R. Sumner). He speaks of the trinitarian structure of the communion of the church:

This Trinitarian complex of remembrance of Christ, appeal to the Spirit, and thanksgiving to the Father is not simply one aspect of the church's life; rather, it is the very act of the church's life, the act in which the church's koinonia is realized. The church is that community whose common life is a lively remembrance of Jesus Christ, in the power of the Spirit, to the glory of God the Father. And it is in this way that the communion of the church in history becomes a living sign of the eschatological reconciliation of the world with God.

Concretely, of course, this means that the church is the community that celebrates the Eucharist. The Eucharist is by ecumenical consensus the corporate act in which "the community of God's people is manifested," and it is of crucial importance that the identity-defining rite of the Christian community is precisely a rite of remembrance, an act in which the many are united in a common turning in the Spirit to one in particular, to the Palestinian Jew Jesus, through whose life and in whose person the salvation of the God of Israel is confessed to have been conclusively bestowed on humankind.

On occasion students come to me and ask what church to go to, adding, "but I'm afraid I don't believe in God." I never tell them what church to go to, but I do say not to worry. about believing in God. I tell them that if they become part of the life of the church, then they will begin to see how the word is used and what it means. Believing in God, I say, is not something one decides in the privacy of one's room, but something one comes to in a living community, which for Christians is the church. Maybe, to be realistic, it depends on the church.

In Radical Monotheism Niebuhr spoke of God as Being itself or the principle of Being. These terms make sense only within the tradition and community of Western philosophy-"Being" in Niebuhr's or Tillich's or Plato's sense is missing in East Asian thought; even the word is lacking in Chinese and Japanese. Niebuhr's philosophical language about God was more a commentary on the Bible's (and thus the church's) language than a foundation or a substitute for it.

Niebuhr was nervous about any mediation of God, even through Christ, certainly through the Bible or the church. Yet what would an unmediated access be? We have no unmediated access to truth. The cultural-linguistic communities in which we live are only the most obvious of the many mediations that connect us to our world. So truth cannot derive from some unmediated encounter; it depends on the quality of the mediations. It is perhaps to get at this mediating aspect of truth that Vaclav Hável speaks of "living in truth" as something different from knowing the truth. And it is to this dimension too that Paul at the Areopagus is referring when he speaks of the God not just that we know but in whom "we live and move and have our being."

The value of communion theology for me is that it emphasizes the church not only as a community that links us to our fellows, but as a community that links us to the trinitarian God in common membership. In the Eucharist we become members of his Body; the Spirit enters not only the bread and the wine but the members of the congregation; and the glory of God the Father becomes present in the act of worship. In the creed we say that we believe not only in the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit but in "one, holy, catholic and apostolic Church," not a fourth member of the godhead but the place where the triune God becomes actual in our lives. The life of the church gives a particularly vivid example of the fact that a cultural-linguistic community is a living membrane that unites us to reality.

Niebuhr knew well that clause of the creed. His commentary on it in the last, unfinished chapter of Faith on Earth is one of the most remarkable things he ever wrote:

The line between church and world runs through every soul, not between souls. Neither is the distinction between visible and invisible church as idealism makes it, that is between the actual and the ideal church, a tenable one. For the church in which we believe, on which we count as the supporting, interpreting community of faith, is actual, interpersonal reality, not a form, but an action, trust and loyalty experienced over and over again . . .

[But the church] is forever involved in the great inversion whereby man turns back upon himself and his works, back upon his faith, away from the God of faith. When it seeks to correct this tendency in one direction, as when it reacts against idolatrism of subjective reliance on religious feeling, it swings into the opposite direction and substitutes right doctrine about God for God himself. History and contemporary visible church life make it quite clear to us that when we say "I believe in the Holy Catholic Church" we cannot mean this church. And yet, without it the community of faith does not exist, anymore than the personal self which lives by faith exists without mind and without body.

In this extraordinarily powerful but extraordinarily ambivalent statement Niebuhr is, as is often the case with him, holding together two almost incompatible things neither of which we can abandon without peril.

I would emphasize, if anything even more strongly than Niebuhr, the empirical church, the communion of the saints that has come down in unbroken continuity from apostolic times, so that we see the resurrection through the eyes of the disciples, because they and all the intervening generations are still present to us. The preface for the eucharistic prayer for the Epiphany season in the Book of Common Prayer says that in the mystery of the Word made flesh God has caused a new light to shine in our hearts "to give the knowledge of your glory in the face of your Son Jesus Christ." But if we find the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ, we find the light of Christ in the faces of the saints down through history to the present. Who can become a Christian without seeing that reflected light? And if the light is not shining in our churches, is that not one of the reasons why people turn away from them? If we lose the doctrine of the communion of the saints, then we have nothing but separate individuals, and the witnesses to the acts of Christ are simply people long ago and far away with beliefs and purposes not our own, so what are they to us or we to them?

And yet, central as the community of the church is for us, it is not our only community. Robin Lovin, commenting on a sentence of Niebuhr's that I have quoted above, "The line between church and world runs through every soul, not between souls," says:

The relativity of Niebuhr's theocentric relativism derives not from the variety of religious and cultural contexts in which different people live, but from the awareness that each person lives in several of these contexts at once. We are not fully integrated centers of reflection astonished by the discovery that there are others who see the world differently from ourselves. We understand the pluralism of our social context in part because it reflects the variety of ways in which we understand our own experiences.The problem of being the church is acute for us not only because we must live side by side with those of other religious communities, but because the church is only one of the communities in which we live. Pluralism is within us as well as without us. As Wilfred Cantwell Smith has said,

in the university we live in a community with a religious devotion to truth which ultimately descends more from Plato than from the Bible.

If the church is still our defining community, as I think for Christians it must be, then it is so in part because it breaks the metaphor of home. The church is a sign of the kingdom of God, and in that sense participates in it, but it points beyond itself to the eschatological kingdom in all its fullness. Its telos is not in itself but beyond itself, in the "city out of sight." It is our home and yet not our home; it directs us toward what Niebuhr called the universal community. Though there are plural religions and plural communities, and no absolute or unmediated truth, and only God is at home absolutely, still the truth for us in the church, so far as in humility and repentance we can grasp it, does not cease to be very Truth and Life.



Finding the Church: Post-Traditional Discipleship

In 1970 I published an intellectual autobiography that served as the introduction to my collection of essays titled Beyond Belief: Essays on Religion in a Post-Traditional World. I want to make a first effort at bringing that essay up to date. I will, however, take two essays I published in the 1970s (both included in Beyond Belief) as intellectual benchmarks with respect to which I will measure changes, developments and continuities in the subsequent years. They are "Religious Evolution" and "Civil Religion in America," the two most influential essays I ever wrote. I want to trace the development of my thought with regard to discipleship and citizenship from the positions set forth in those essays and largely reiterated in the introduction to Beyond Belief.

The essay "Religious Evolution" was more Hegelian, more ethnocentric and more personal than I realized when I wrote it. The religious Weltgeist turned out to be the Geist of my own culture, as indicated by the special prominence of Protestantism -- virtually the only instance of the stage of "Early Modern Religion." It also turned out to be the Geist of myself in stage five, "Modern Religion," as is evident to me from the title, Beyond Belief with its subtitle alluding to the "post-traditional." What I was celebrating in what I called modern religion was a degree of freedom from traditional and institutional restraints which curiously prefigures several of the "post" movements of recent years (indeed, in 1970 I already referred to the contemporary situation as "postmodern"). In my description, modern religion focused on the individual, who had the task of largely making up his or her religion from whatever traditional or current materials lay at hand, finding like-minded individuals to cooperate in this effort if they were available. Radical voluntarism was the key, although I never failed to moderate it with statements to the effect that freedom could be exercised only "within [largely unspecified] limits."

Readers of Habits of the Heart will probably recognize that in the 1960s I was championing just the sort of religious individualism, strongly identified with "expressive individualism," that came in for rather severe treatment in the later book. Obviously by 1985 I had "changed my mind." It is difficult at this point to sort out the cultural, political and personal changes that can account for this difference in my position, but I will try.

As I recounted in Beyond Belief; I was reconverted to Christianity in the middle 1950s by Paul Tillich -- first by The Courage to Be, and then by his sermons and other books and by some degree of personal contact when we were both at Harvard in the late '50s and early '60s. But I was in a quandary as to how to give institutional expression to my new situation, and with my essentially individualistic position, in no hurry to do anything about it. Since Tillich's preaching was so incomparable, I felt that no form of worship that focused on the sermon was going to be satisfactory to me. Early on I felt my only options were silence or liturgy. I tried attending Episcopal morning prayer on several occasions but found it excessively dry.

During the mid-'60s I established a loose connection with the Cambridge Friends Meeting and even taught First Day School at the junior-high level for a while, something I found far more exhausting than my teaching at Harvard. Although I shared many of the social concerns of the Cambridge Friends and came to admire the spiritual depth of some of the members, the silence I was seeking was all too often broken, sometimes with anecdotes from the latest issue of Reader's Digest. After my move to Berkeley in 1967 I put the institutional question on hold and was, when I wrote the introduction, essentially a "private Christian," even though I knew at some level of consciousness that that was an oxymoron.

In the late '70s I made my second approach to the Episcopal Church, this time at Saint Mark's Church in Berkeley. By then the main Sunday service was no longer morning prayer, but the Eucharist. I think that was quite important to me, but also Saint Mark's was a wonderful parish, described pseudonymously as "Saint Stephen's" in Chapter 9 of Habits of the Heart.

I do not look happily on my 25 years of shopping for the right parish; I have been quite hard on consumer Christians who flit from church to church seeking the most convenient services. But it is unrealistic to assume that Christians today will stay where they were brought up, if they were religiously brought up at all. Both the Protestant principle of voluntarism and the modern respect for autonomous decision make it natural for adults to choose their own religious affiliation. Here I would adopt the analogy of Hegel's conception of marriage, namely, that it is a contract to enter a noncontractual relation. It is a contract in that it is entered into freely. It is noncontractual in that it is in intention indissoluble. Hegel, a devoted Lutheran, allowed for divorce on the grounds that we are sinners and may not be able to live up to our intention, but the intention is never to be taken lightly.

Even though my church identity did not finally clarify until the past ten or 12 years, I feel it is no longer an open question for me. I suppose there might be developments in my parish or my denomination or myself that might cause me to change, but they would have to be drastic indeed to undermine what I now consider a settled commitment. In any case I hope never again to be cut off from the body of Christ in the concrete sociological meaning of that term. A period of seeking, when one tries out various options, would seem normal in our kind of society, but I would not recommend my protracted process.

One of the things that brought me back to a more active churchmanship by the end of the '70s was the fact that what I had been writing and publishing gained for me a growing religious audience. Not only was I asked to speak to religious groups, from local congregations to denominational assemblies, but I was even asked to preach -- at a time when I had no church affiliation. This situation made me feel increasingly inauthentic. The church was calling me to be in fact what I was experimenting with in my writing. The point I want to underscore here is that I did not undergo an existential decision to "return to religion" out of the pure innerness of my personal situation. Even my initial shift in point of view that allowed me as an adult to consider religion as a viable option came from my exposure to Tillich and his confident assertion that Christianity is not "belief in the unbelievable." And my later turn to more active fellowship in the company of believers was motivated as much by a feeling that the church had need of me as it was by any private needs of my own.

Having said something as to the development of my discipleship, let me now take up the question of citizenship. From my adolescence to the late '50s I had been quite alienated, both culturally and politically, from American society. My decision as an undergraduate to major in social anthropology and as a graduate student to study East Asia, especially Japan, had to do with my desire to understand societies quite different from my own -- tribal societies like the Pueblos and the Navahos, or an exotic civilization like Japan -- where I could feel a degree of cultural authenticity that I did not experience at home. My Marxist political involvements as an undergraduate made me vulnerable, during the McCarthy period, to pressures that made me decide to go to Canada in 1955. For a while I did not know if I would ever return, but after the hysteria abated I was appointed to the Harvard faculty in 1957.

My year in Japan in 1960-61 had the effect of reminding me how American I was, even though I deeply appreciated the experience of Japan. As part of my Fulbright obligations I gave a series of lectures in Japanese universities on religion in American public life that formed the germ of the later essay on civil religion. The early '60s were also an optimistic time at home when it seemed that the civil rights movement was bringing about long overdue changes in our society and a new phase of democratization seemed possible.

My more positive attitude toward my own country was rather abruptly shocked by our involvement in Vietnam, which I knew at once was a terrible mistake. When I was induced in 1965 to write an essay for an issue of Daedalus on religion in America, I chose the theme of religion in American public life, concluding with a ringing condemnation of the Vietnam war. That was the essay published in 1967 as "Civil Religion in America," which in important respects changed my life. The response it generated was far greater than anything I had ever published before. In order to respond to the many invitations to write and speak stimulated by the essay, I had to give myself a quick course in American studies, something I had almost consciously avoided hitherto. Here, as in my work on the church -- and the audiences were to an extent overlapping -- my concerns were at the same time practical and intellectual. I felt that I could not withdraw from my new American audience and return to my chosen field of Japanese studies if my fellow citizens found what I had to say interesting and helpful at a time when my country's actions cried out for public involvement.

In 1973 I gave the lectures (at Hebrew Union College in Cincinnati) that would be published as The Broken Covenant in 1975, and would in turn project me into an intensive year of public speaking during the 1976 Bicentennial. But when the subject of civil religion became a minor academic industry, I became increasingly concerned, as conferences, panels and symposia on the subject proliferated, that the whole issue was bogging down into arguments over definition and that substance was being overlooked. What was particularly distressing to me was the almost inveterate tendency in some quarters to identify what I called civil religion with the idolatrous worship of the state. Since I had, from my initial article, emphasized the element of divine judgment over the nation, quoting the great lines from Lincoln's Second Inaugural Address as my central text, I could not but find such an interpretation abhorrent. It was not that I failed to recognize the existence of such idolatrous belief, though historically it was more commonly enunciated by preachers than by politicians, but that I believed it to be a perversion of the central and normative tradition. It was as if those who would be quite shocked if the essence of Christianity were judged by the faith's most perverse historical expressions had no qualms in doing just that to American civil religion.

In any case my own concerns were not definitional or even theoretical so much as they were practical. The Broken Covenant was indeed a jeremiad intended to change America, and of course it was widely received that way. But it did not put a stop to the definitional disputes, and by 1980 I was ready to drop the term. Varieties of Civil Religion, a collection of essays published in that year by Phillip Hammond and myself, turned out to be my swan song with respect to civil religion. In my introduction I suggested that the religio-political problem was endemic in all cultures whether something like the American civil religion existed or not. And though the book had several essays concerned with the U.S., it turned resolutely in a comparative direction as the most hopeful way of dealing with the larger issues.

In Habits of the Heart (1985) the term "civil religion" does not appear. Instead my four co-authors and I speak of "the biblical and republican traditions," which we do not claim to be identical but which we see as deeply interrelated. We support a contemporary reappropriation of them over against the radical individualism, in utilitarian and expressive form, that seemed in recent years to be driving the older traditions to the periphery of our culture. In retrospect this terminological decision seems wise, for in all the discussion which Habits generated, which was sometimes quite vituperative, the issues remained substantive and not definitional.

Habits is a political book. It is also, and only a little less obviously, a religious book. It was explicitly public philosophy; it was (largely) implicitly public theology. Barbara Ehrenreich picked up the cue, even if she misinterpreted it, when she questioned in her review in the Nation how "five atheistic social scientists" could counsel Americans to go to church. Of course we did not counsel people to go to church, though we did try to show why some of the people we interviewed do go to church and what the meaning of the biblical tradition is in America. What Ehrenreich could not imagine is that the five authors of Habits were all active members of their respective religious communities; she assumed -- and statistically she would be right in her assumption -- that we would be atheists.

Some readers have misread Habits as a Protestant book. Others, reading more carefully, noted its differences from The Broken Covenant and the degree to which Habits was not a jeremiad. Some even found it optimistic, though optimism and pessimism are in the eye of the beholder. Actually I was the only WASP in the Habits group; three of my co-authors were raised Catholic and one is Jewish. The difference is as much in tone as in content. Whereas The Broken Covenant was the voice of a prophet crying in the wilderness, alternately denouncing and lamenting for his people, Habits and its successor volume The Good Society, written by the same five authors and to be published in 1991, speak as one group of citizens to our fellow citizens, criticizing some things but also encouraging, offering examples of effective citizenship and church membership, and looking forward, if not with optimism, at least with hope. Instead of an individual voice, we speak from within a community (actually many communities, but first of all the community of the five authors) to others in overlapping communities that finally include the whole earth.

If The Broken Covenant is an expression of Tillich's Protestant principle, then the more recent work, with its emphasis on the common good and, if one reads just below the surface, the body of Christ, is an expression of what he called the catholic principle. I do not mean to imply that our emphasis is exclusive, for we intend, both politically and religiously, to be ecumenical. And on the whole we have been received as such.

To break down the boundaries: that was our hope, and with the great political changes of 1989 and 1990 the possibilities seem greater than we had imagined. Yet the barriers are numerous, and to encourage a genuinely synoptic discipleship and citizenship is a task that still faces many obstacles. With the publication of The Good Society the collaborative phase of my work will be over, and I hope to return again to the problems raised in my essay on religious evolution nearly three decades ago.

Discipleship and citizenship and the relation between them have been my enduring preoccupations. The problem of meaning is inextricably related to the problem of what must be done, but they are not identical problems and one must move back and forth between them.

The university is not the most comfortable place to carry out either of these kinds of inquiry in the present age. Specialization proliferates in the research university, and normative questions find no obvious disciplinary home. Even so, the spirit of the academic community as a moral community, or, as Josiah Royce put it, a community of interpreters, is not entirely dead. Indeed, here, too, there are some unexpectedly hopeful signs. In the border areas between philosophy, the humanities and the social sciences there are some significant openings. Books such as Alasdair MacIntyre's After Virtue, Albert Borgmann's Technology and the Character of Contemporary Life, Stephen Toulmin's Cosmopolis, Charles Taylor's Sources of the Self and Theodore Von Laue's World Revolution of Westernization cannot be neatly pigeonholed in any discipline, and all of them are full of implications for theology. Perhaps not since the generation of the classic American philosophers -- Pierce, Royce, James, Dewey and Mead (none of them technical philosophers in the contemporary meaning of the term) -- has it been possible to range so broadly over the great intellectual issues of the day and break the taboo that would separate religion from secular culture. These developments are stimulated and encouraged by parallel developments in Europe -- as for instance in the great synthesizing intelligence of Jurgen Habermas.

It is apparent, even in these few lines, what I owe to Tillich, whose thought has so deeply penetrated my own that it would be very hard for me to specify all that I have learned from him. I was also fortunate to have as my principal teacher in sociology Talcott Parsons, a man of extraordinary intellectual range and openness. Although Talcott never wrote much about religion, sociology of religion was probably his greatest lecture course, one that we taught jointly for a while and one that I continue to teach in my own way up to the present. I have increasingly come to see H. Richard Niebuhr as an intellectual forebear, although I never met him and did not begin to study him seriously until after his death. Like Tillich and Parsons, Niebuhr ranged between religion, the social sciences and the humanities in a most fruitful way. It was Niebuhr who continued the tradition of Royce and Mead into the second half of the 20th century, when the philosophers had largely forgotten them.

These reflections on the major early influences on my thinking have an obvious bearing on where I am trying to go in my remaining years of intellectual inquiry. I do not mean, by the few references possible in this article, to suggest any kind of canon. I have been deeply influenced by East Asian classical culture, tribal societies and their myths, and feminists and liberationists among contemporary thinkers, all of whom I would include in the ongoing conversation. If it is to certain European and American thinkers of the past that I recur, it is not with their canonized texts that I am concerned, but with their aspirations, their willingness to deal with the largest questions of meaning and responsible action in a free society. Western theology has been accused of marginalizing and excluding too many voices, some of whom are now fortunately beginning to be heard. But theology itself has been marginalized and excluded from the research university, with damaging consequences for our intellectual life and the education of our young people. It will not be easy to change that situation, but I am happy to join those who are trying to do so.

So I move back and forth between fundamental questions of meaning and the problem of responsible action in a democratic society. The latter problem is particularly salient for Americans in a period when we have watched world democratic revolutions on TV. Given the resonance of world events, I will be surprised if Americans, too, are not before long swept up into the process of reconsidering our inherited institutions and their consequences for our life today. Nations, even very powerful nations, no longer have the power to control their own fate. They are affected not only by economic pressures but by cultural pressures. If the pressure toward globalization of our thinking in practical matters continues to increase, as it almost inevitably will, it can only intensify the spiritual questions that our common fate on this earth raises in new and urgent ways. It is, I believe, the primary task of the intellectual today, with all due modesty, to attempt to mediate these practical, intellectual and spiritual pressures so that we can hand on our material and moral endowment to future generations with some degree of hope.

In the end I am not sure whether I have "changed my mind" or not. The questions and the aspirations show a remarkable continuity. The answers and the dialogue partners have changed, sometimes drastically, but that is how a living tradition works. So I will end on a somewhat ironic note of contrast: in 1970 I wrote of a "post-traditional world"; today I believe that only living traditions make it possible to have a world at all.

Imperialism, American-style

While "American Imperialism" has been a catchphrase on the left for a long time, people on other parts of the political spectrum are only now beginning to accept the idea that we have entered the age of the American Empire. How well is America prepared to sustain an empire? Not very. Indeed, the deep hostility to government that is part of the American tradition makes the very idea of empire repugnant. If we don’t want a strong government at home, why would we want one strong enough to rule the world?

Interestingly enough, George Bush gave clear expression to this feeling during the 2000 electoral campaign. He consistently opposed what he called "nation-building" as an American responsibility and called for more "humility" in our relation to the rest of the world, striking an isolationist chord that has been perennial in our tradition. Many have noted how much 9/11 changed Bush’s views. But even after laying out in September 2002 the most explicit blueprint in history for American world domination in the document "The National Security Strategy of the United States of America," Bush could tell a group of veterans that America has "no territorial ambitions. We don’t seek an empire. Our nation is committed to freedom for ourselves and for others."

Such statements led Michael Ignatieff to comment (in a January 5 article in the New York Times Magazine):

A historian once remarked that Britain acquired its empire in "a fit of absence of mind." If Americans have an empire, they have acquired it in a state of deep denial. But Sept. 11 was an awakening, a moment of reckoning with the extent of American power and the avenging hatreds it arouses. Americans may not have thought of the World Trade Center or the Pentagon as the symbolic headquarters of a world empire, but the men with the box cutters certainly did, and so do numberless millions who cheered their terrifying exercise in the propaganda of the deed.

In spite of the fact that with respect to the word "empire" Bush is apparently still in a state of denial, his National Security document is nothing if not a description of empire: America will strike any nation or any group that it deems dangerous, whenever and however it feels necessary, and regardless of provocation or lack thereof. America invites allies to join in these ventures but reserves the right to act with or without allies. No nation will be allowed to surpass or even equal American military power, and indeed other nations are advised to limit or destroy any "weapons of mass destruction" they may have, and that includes Russia, China and India. Only the U.S. will have large reserves of weapons of mass destruction, apparently because only we can be trusted to use them justly.

Although the document several times uses the time-honored phrase "balance of power," it is very unclear what that phrase can mean in a situation where we have all the power and no one else has anything to balance it with.

So we have a paradox: because of our aversion to the idea of big government, our president can deny the idea that there is an American Empire at the very moment when we are asserting absolute military domination of the globe.

How can we understand this peculiarly American approach to empire? Part of the answer lies in understanding our dissenting Protestant tradition. The dissenting Protestants who founded America were suspicious of government. They thought people should do things for themselves through voluntary societies. They were also deeply moralistic. Opposed to the established churches, which happily included saints and sinners, they regarded their own churches as churches of the saved. They tended to see society and the world as split between the righteous and the unrighteous. In that tradition, the desire to triumph over evil can trump the aversion to power. If evil is loose in the world, it is up to us to put a stop to it.

Since 9/11 Bush’s rhetoric has been continuously punctuated by the words "evil" and "evildoer." Perhaps the most extreme use of the term came in the service in the National Cathedral on September 14,2001, in which Bush declared that it is "our responsibility to history" to "rid the world of evil."

Robert Jewett has long pointed out the American infatuation with superhero figures with mythic powers whose sole purpose is to rid the world of evil, though they never seem to succeed completely. The superhero is usually fighting against an evil genius bent on world domination who must be stopped. Enter Osama bin Laden. Early on Bush promised to "smoke him out and get him," That hasn’t worked out, but there is always a waiting line of potential evil geniuses, and the next in line turned out to be Saddam Hussein. Yasir Arafat is also in line, as is Kim Jong II. If there are evil people out there who want to destroy us -- and we must admit that Osama bin Laden, at least, has explicitly promised that that is exactly what he wants to do -- then any use of force to put a stop to them is justified.

Splitting the world into good and evil is a general human propensity; I don’t want to claim that the U.S. has a monopoly on this activity, only that we do it more than other Western nations. And even though I see dissenting Protestantism as one source of this tendency, as my reference to superheroes suggests, this tendency is now secularized and pervasive in our popular culture, disseminated by movies, television and video games. At a deeper level, our infatuation with technology plays into this idea: technology, particularly military technology, will give us the equivalent of the supernatural invincibility of super-heroes.

In describing the moral shift after 9/11 Joan Didion in her article "Fixed Ideas" (New York Review of Books, January 16) quotes Steven Weber of the Institute of International Studies:

The first thing you noticed [after 9/11] was in the bookstores. On September 12, the shelves were emptied of books on Islam, on American foreign policy, on Iraq, on Afghanistan. There was a substantive discussion about what it is about the nature of the American presence in the world that created a situation in which movements like al-Qaeda can thrive and prosper. I thought that was a very promising sign.

But that discussion got short-circuited. Sometime in late October, early November 2001, the tone of that discussion switched, and it became: What’s wrong with the Islamic world that it failed to produce democracy, science, education and its own enlightenment, and instead created societies that breed terror?

I have my own memory of when the discussion shifted: the Fox network began an incessant campaign against those seeking to "understand" those who had attacked us. According to the Fox commentators, pure evil is beyond understanding -- it can only he opposed. "Moral clarity" became the watchword: any effort to understand the enemy, above all any attempt to show that the U.S. might bear some responsibility for conditions leading up to the attacks, was denounced as showing a lack of moral clarity, as moral relativism, postmodernism or worse.

Didion’s point is that this tendency has flattened discussion since 9/11, and has created a government in which Democrats, with few exceptions, either have remained silent or have supported whatever the president wants with respect to foreign policy -- the congressional vote on war powers in regard to Iraq being the, prime example.

An understanding of moral splitting helps its see how a nation deeply suspicious of government seems ready to assert absolute world military supremacy -- after all, we are simply trying to go after the bad guys -- and to doubt the patriotism of anyone who thinks otherwise. But does moral splitting help us assume the responsibility that world power carries with it?

Ignatieff argues strongly that it does not. In an earlier article in the New York Times Magazine (July 28, 2002) titled "Nation-Building Lite," he notes that "the Bush administration is trying to reconstruct Afghanistan on the cheap. But empires come heavy or not at all." Remember Afghanistan? Apparently neither our leaders nor our fellow citizens really want to. Ignatieff helps us understand why:

Empire means big government. One paradox of the new American empire is that it is being constructed by a Republican administration that hates big government. Its way around this contradiction is to get its allies to shoulder the burdens it won’t take on itself. In the new imperial division of labor on display in Afghanistan, the Americans do most of the fighting while the Europeans, who have no ideological problems with big government but don’t like fighting, are only too happy to take on the soft sides of nation-building: roads, schools, sanitation and water.

As Ignatieff observes, the U.S. is supplying only military security lite as well. It’s cheaper for the U.S. military to work with local warlords than to help Muhammad Karzai build a military force that could control the whole country. But local warlords are prone to fight each other and to resist centralized control from Kabul. Since the U.S. is unwilling to provide even minimal security for the whole country, the various European nations that have taken on nation-building responsibilities are more and more uncertain whether they can even stay in Afghanistan. From the American point of view, we have taken care of the bad guys: the Taliban are no longer in power. Why can’t we just leave, like superheroes always do after they have defeated the evil genius? Is our grasp on history so faint that we have forgotten the last time we intervened in Afghanistan to support the Mujaheddin in their war against the Soviets and then left when we thought the battle was won? Ignatieff writes:

Washington had better decide what it wants. If it won’t sustain and increase its military presence here, the other internationals will start heading for the exit. If that occurs, there is little to stop Afghanistan from becoming, once again, the terror and heroin capital of the world. There is no reason that this has to happen. Afghans themselves know they have only one more chance. They understand the difficult truth that their best hope of freedom lies in a temporary experience of imperial rule.

Afghanistan remains exhibit A for the problems of empire, American style. We are prepared to fight the bad guys wherever they appear, but we don’t seem to have the stomach to finish the job after the initial military victory. If we are messing up in Afghanistan, where reconstruction and serious reform are stalling, why would one think we would do better in Iraq, a much larger and more complex society? But Afghanistan is old news. We barely hear a whisper about it from Washington.

Ignatieff’s more recent, even more sobering Times article is titled simply "The Burden." For the British in their heyday empire was the "white man’s burden" -- thank God we have gotten beyond that. Nevertheless, it’s true that empires create burdens.

I should make it clear that I don’t think -- and Ignatieff doesn’t think -- that empires are inevitably bad. In War Before Civilization, Lawrence Keeley argues that the Roman Empire created one of the most peaceful periods in history -- fewer men under arms, and fewer civilians killed in war than in most of history. The British Empire during its heyday, roughly from the Napoleonic Wars to World War I, maintained a degree of tranquillity in the world that encouraged unprecedented economic growth. However, the Romans and the British knew that empire imposes enormous burdens and were prepared historically and culturally to take those burdens on. At their best they also knew that no empire, no matter how strong, is all-powerful. Over-extension is the bane of empires: limits must be recognized. If they are not, it is the beginning of the end: burdens that are too heavy lead to imperial defeat and dissolution.

Ignatieff argues, and I agree with him, that the world needs the American Empire as a guarantor of security and the basis for building new institutions in shattered nations. But military superiority is only the first step in creating a successful empire. Are we prepared for the many time-consuming and exhaustingly expensive steps that must follow if the empire is to be a success?

What are our cultural resources for sustaining empire? I’ve suggested that dissenting Protestantism is an unlikely support for imperial power. Furthermore, dissenting Protestantism is not at its most influential today. It has been undermined by the very individualism it helped to unleash. Max Weber argued almost 100 years ago that Protestantism, in helping to create capitalism, was unleashing a genie that would come back to haunt it. Capitalism gives rise to a secular version of Protestantism that operates through the culture of mass consumerism and the ideology of privatized self-fulfillment. Consumerism and privatization undermine the very institutional basis of democracy -- that is, the structure of voluntary association, the civil society, without which democracy becomes, as Tocqueville warned, democratic despotism or the rule of an economic aristocracy. It is a strange time for America to take on the responsibilities of empire -- a time when our own society, from the family to the corporation, shows signs of deep inner incoherence.

We must also ask what kind of influence America is exerting on the rest of the world. Every great empire depends as much on its cultural influence as on its political authority and military might. American culture, through the movies, television and the Internet, pervade. the world, but with what message? The idea of affluence and self-indulgence as the meaning of life would not seem to be a firm basis for the dissemination of democracy. To what extent is our culture teaching the world the virtues of citizenship, self-control, care of others? These are the ideals that make democracy work. To what extent is American culture teaching the world the opposite of these ideals?

American intellectuals may be tempted to watch in resigned fascination as the greatest empire the world has ever seen lumbers toward self-destruction. I don’t want to do that. I still believe our enormous power can be used for good. Even though, as a Christian, I can only support military action with fear and trembling, I am not arguing that all use of military power is wrong. In a world as dangerous as ours, a judicious use of military power is probably unavoidable, I did not oppose the war in the Persian Gulf: annexation by force must be reversed. I believe it was a great mistake to leave Saddam in power in 1991 -- removing him would have meant simply finishing a war he had provoked. Our intervention in Bosnia was wrong only in that it came much too late, after a quarter of a million unnecessary deaths had occurred. I believe it was right to stop the ethnic cleansing of Kosovo, though as in Afghanistan, where I also think our military action was justified, we can ask if our contribution to its rebuilding has matched our military victory.

But military action should always be a last resort. Its consequences are too grave and its outcome too uncertain to engage in except as a last resort. At the moment, I would much rather see the U.S. military intervene in Israel and Palestine to provide security for both peoples and the possibility of building a democratic and peaceful Palestinian state than engage in a highly personalized invasion of an "evil" country yet to be proven a threat to anyone. Fortunately, the supermen at the Pentagon do not seem inclined to take on the really dangerous member of the axis of evil, North Korea -- at least not for now.

As for cultural resources, I have several suggestions for making our empire benign, though some of them may seem utopian. We are, more than ever, a city on a hill. But what do the eyes of all people see when they look at us? Are we the model of Christian charity that John Winthrop and the 17th-century Puritans intended us to be? Not nearly as good a model as we could be. Why do we have the highest rate of poverty, the largest percentage of the population without health insurance, and the greatest number of gun deaths among any of the advanced industrial nations? Why are we polarized into two nations, one living in First World affluence, the other in Third World misery, again unlike any other advanced nation? If we want to be, as other successful empires have been, a teacher to the world, why cannot we give them a better model to imitate? Empire is enormously expensive. If it means that we abandon those in need at home, is it worth the candle?

Those who are dissenting Protestants -- and more people than we know are influenced by this tradition -- should consider whether their aversion to government and their tendency to moralistic splitting are an adequate basis for imperial responsibility. On this point, Jimmy Carter provides a helpful model. As a professing Baptist, though one who has found it necessary to dissociate himself from the Southern Baptist Convention in its present incarnation, he exemplifies the dissenting tradition. Yet he has turned the individualistic moralism that somewhat marred his presidency into a model of civic responsibility in his years of retirement, becoming perhaps the most valued ex-president in our history and a deserving recipient of the Nobel Peace Prize.

Influential though the dissenting Protestant -- tradition is, it is clearly only one of many religious traditions in today’s America. Traditions with a stronger sense of the common good, a better understanding that we need each other and will not make it all alone -- in one way Judaism, in another Catholicism. even Protestant denominations with a heritage of establishment -- have much to contribute as we think through how we as a nation must act in the world today. I also think all the minority traditions -- Muslim, Buddhist, Native American and others -- have much from which we can learn. Almost all of them, in one way or another, have ways of thinking about the world that are less individualistic and privatizing than our dominant tradition.

Our greatest need, in our hour of imperial eminence, is moderation. Our greatest danger, in our present moralistic and belligerent mood, is taking on responsibilities we cannot and will not fulfill. Though we are the greatest military power the world has ever seen, we cannot rule the world alone, not even if we have Britain as our faithful shepherd dog ally. We are not rich enough or strong enough to do that. In the past six months we have to some degree pulled back from a radical unilateralism to a recognition that the rest of the world counts. Let us nurture that change and extend it.

Edward Tiryakian, in an interesting paper on American hegemony after September 11, argues that we cannot succeed as the world’s only hegemonic power. He suggests that a viable world order cannot be unipolar, but must be at least tripolar: the European Union and The major nations of East Asia must be equal partners in sharing the burden of lessening world disorder.

It is not helpful, though it might he understandable, for our president to say not long after 9/11, "You’re either with us or you’re with the terrorists. The world is too complex and its diversity too great to he split into two camps on any issue. We must expect that many who have no sympathy with terrorism nonetheless are not "with us" in all that we propose to do. When we tell them what to do it would be wise, as Tony Blair recently suggested, to "listen back," even if we have to hear strong disagreements.

We should also remember that, though unilateralism-- we will either withdraw from the world or dominate it -- has long existed in the American tradition, it has never been the only strand. It was, after all, Woodrow Wilson, a Presbyterian, who proposed the League of Nations at the end of World War I, and Franklin Delano Roosevelt, an Episcopalian, who drew the plans for the United Nations as World War II neared its conclusion. If at the moment the American administration seems inclined to withdraw from or refuse to join almost every international agreement (the Kyoto Protocol and the International Court of Justice are only the most obvious examples), this has not always been true. We have in the past signed test ban treaties, promoted efforts to limit nuclear proliferation, joined with other nations in a variety of international undertakings. Our support for rebuilding Europe and Japan after World War II, though in part motivated by the cold war, was sustained and successful, the opposite of the pattern of hit and run we are tempted by today.

The National Security document of September 2002 claims world military hegemony. As Max Weber has taught us, the monopoly on the use of force is the very definition of the state. That document is a blueprint for a world state, and that state is us. The new world order indeed. But can a nation that hates taxes become the world state?

A nation that is in many ways falling apart at home can’t be the only player on the world stage. We need to build a society -- and a world -- in which it will be clear that we need one another, that we will bear one another’s burdens. As John Winthrop said in his great sermon before disembarking for the New World:

We must delight in each other, make others’ conditions our own, rejoice together; mourn together, labor and suffer together, always having before our eyes our commission and community in the work, our community as members of the same body . . .

The U.S. has enormous power, more than any nation has ever had before -- probably more than it is good for any nation to have. Power in itself’ is not bad. The question is, What kind of power? Careful power is moderate and restrained, always thoughtful of consequences, always concerned that it nurture, not destroy. The Christian tradition is rooted in the idea that God in Christ is the very exemplum of careful power. All of the other great traditions say something similar in one way or another. Can we build empire based on careful power and lay regardless power aside? That is the test that 9/11 and its aftermath lays on our shoulders.

History and Policy in American Broadcast Treatment of Religion

A prima facie case can be made that there is a contradiction between the fundamental religiosity of the American public and the treatment of religion in American mass media. By all accounts, the USA is the most religious of the major western industrial countries. More Americans by far claim that religion is important in their lives and claim to regularly engage in religious activities than is the case in western Europe. The next nearest European country by this measure - the Republic of Ireland - reports levels of religious service attendance at about two thirds those of the USA.

Anecdotal measures from ‘niche market’ (as opposed to ‘public’) media support the notion of a high level of religious interest. Religion is the third most widely-syndicated radio format, and religious book publishers set new sales records each year. These trends are not limited to the conservative side of the religious spectrum. So-called ‘new age’ or ‘alternative’ religious movements are also booming. The 1994 book of new age cosmology The Celestine Prophecy spent over 28 weeks on the New York Times bestseller list.

At the same time, religion is remarkable by its absence from mainstream American public media. While most major newspapers have at least one full-time religion writer, their output seldom finds its way into the front sections of their papers on a daily basis, and the total number of religion writers nationally is small compared to other news ‘beats’. The situation is even more pronounced in broadcasting, where until recently, there were no religion correspondents on network news, and where only three of the over 600 affiliate television stations have had religion reporters (Hoover et al., 1994; see also Buddenbaum, 1990).

This situation has come to be more recognized in recent years. For example, ABC World News Tonight commentator Jeff Greenfield has

observed that ‘... when it comes to the day-to-day presence of religion in America’s media, it’s a very different story. In fact, usually it’s no story at all’ (13 August 1993).

Dan Rather concurred in a January 1994 issue of TV Guide: ‘Religion was consistently underreported . That’s especially unfortunate when you remember how many of the worst conflicts today are born of religious misunderstanding .... There isn’t a news organization that wouldn’t benefit from greater attention to the coverage of religion.’

Stephen Carter, in his influential book The Culture of Disbelief (1993), suggests that the absence of religion from television - both news and entertainment - is one of the most significant measures of the problematic place of religion in American discourse, where it is assigned only the most truncated and limited role. People are allowed to have substantial religious lives in private, but not to talk about religion in public as though it were anything more than a ‘hobby’ (to use Carter’s term):

we often ask our citizens to split their public and private selves, telling them in effect that it is fine to be religious in private, but there is something askew when those private beliefs become the basis for public action. (Carter, 1993 : 8)

Carter’s argument is based in Tocqueville (1945), who felt that democracy actually depends on the ability of democratic discourse to take account of the moral claims of religions. ‘First, they can serve as the sources of moral understanding without which any majoritarian system can deteriorate into simple anarchy, and, second, they can mediate between the citizen and the apparatus of government, providing an independent moral voice’ (Carter, 1993: 36).

The absence of religion from American public media is further ironic when so much of contemporary political discourse is dominated by religious claims and religious sensibilities. James Davison Hunter’s (1991) study of America’s ‘culture wars’ has identified the extent to which contemporary political struggles are rooted in the century-old fundamentalism-modernism controversy that came to a head in the 1920s with the Scopes Trial - itself a major ‘media event’.

Contemporary commentary on media treatment of religion has itself been modulated by this divide. Most prominent critics of religion and media point to the ‘media elite’ studies conducted by S. Robert Lichter, Stanley Rothman and Linda Lichter (1980, 1981, 1982) as evidence of a persistent ‘anti-religion bias’ on the part of American media. Ralph Reed of Pat Robertson’s ‘Christian Coalition’ put it this way on CNN’s Crossfire program:

on the one hand, you have mainstream, middle America, which is devout, church-going, prays daily .... They’re more devoutly religious, more devoutly

of faith, but on the other hand you have the media elites, which according to sociologists Stanley Rothman and Bob Lichter, 86 percent said that they go to church either infrequently or not at all, and what happens is you have that syndrome ... which perpetuates stereotypes of people of faith as - in the same way that blacks were once stereotyped and women were once stereotyped. (Crossfire, CNN, 29 December 1993)

While many non-conservative observers (Bill Moyers, for example - see Hoover et al., 1994) agree fundamentally that religion’s status in broadcast content is somewhat tenuous, the critics on ‘the right’ tend to be the most outspoken and most clearly identify the problem as one that can be attributed to the contemporary actions of contemporary actors (see Olasky, 1988). These contentions assume that the problem of religion in broadcasting (and the other mass media) must be seen as a political matter and specifically as a matter of religious politics.

It is the purpose of this study to argue that these issues must be seen from a historical perspective, less lodged in specific religious political claims. We see at least the following as reasons for taking such an approach. First, the Rothman and Lichter-derived criticisms are suspect on the basis of their easy assumption that the problem, to the extent it exists, can be found to reside wholly within the rational and biased choices of contemporary ‘gatekeepers’ in the news business. We would like to investigate the extent to which there is a historical or structural basis for the situation that might transcend such explanations.

Second, we question whether this situation may be seen only as a reflection or measure of the overall status of American religion (as the Carter thesis would seem to suggest) or whether deeper and more complex historical or institutional relationships are involved.

Third, we question the notion that the issues here are limited to the utility of media to religion as instruments of religious publicity or religious proclamation. Simply put, we have reason to suspect, from a reading of the history, that the situation is more than merely one of transmissional or instrumental utility. James Carey’s (1989) influential essay criticizing the traditional ‘transportation’ model of communication implicit in much media theory and research is broadly indicative here. There is evidence that communication practices - specifically in the area of broadcasting - have been organically embedded in the whole fundamentalist-modernist controversy from the earliest days of the century, thus evidencing an integration between the realm of ‘the media’ and the realm of ‘religion’. It further appears that the practices and prerogatives of the various combatants in the ‘culture wars’ have played an important role in the development of policy and practice regarding religion, particularly in broadcasting.



Previous research

Past work on relations between religion and the public media has tended to focus on instrumental understandings of media and their utility to various religious bodies and religious sensibilities. Ellens (1974) classifies various approaches to religious broadcasting with reference to their sources in the major denominations of the religious culture. His history suggests that religious use of broadcasting can be typified as a movement from a purely ‘oratorical’ model in the early 1920s to a ‘public service’ model in later years. This transformation resulted from policy decisions by the FCC to privilege religion as an aspect of broadcast public service responsibility and by the industry to accept this as part of their mandate under the Communications Act of 1934. Ellens also describes how mainstream religious bodies accommodated themselves to this situation.

Jennings (1969) presents a deeper reading of the policy history of religious use of the airwaves: ‘The predominant concern of the Protestant churches during the period of this study was in the procurement of access and employment of these facilities for their private needs’ (1969: 482), he notes. Jennings’ work provides a detailed history of these negotiations, but from the perspective of the mainline or establishment groups, who were in a position to benefit from the situation as it evolved. The system which emerged, that of ‘public service’ broadcasting time provided free (on what was called a ‘sustaining’ basis) to those faith groups who cooperated with commercial broadcasters, created a ‘two-tiered’ system of religious broadcasting in America. On one tier were these mainstream groups. On the other were those groups, primarily evangelical and fundamentalist Christian churches and para-church organizations, which were ‘left out’ of the sustaining-time system.

In various works, Hadden (1992; Hadden and Shupe, 1988; Hadden and Swann, 1981) has addressed the consequences of this structuration. In step with other observers (Schultze, 1991; Voskuil, 1990) Hadden observes that those groups left out of the sustaining-time system would later come to dominate religious broadcasting in the era of televangelism. Frankl (1987) concurs, suggesting that the entrepreneurial spirit engendered by the necessity of financing expensive broadcasts outside the public service rubric served the televangelists well when economic and structural changes began to privilege independent, ‘commercialized’ religion. Armstrong’s (1979) apologia for televangelism strikes the same theme.

Horsfield (1984) provides a comprehensive analysis of policy and practice in religious broadcasting, evaluating both the evangelicaltelevangelist and the mainline-sustaining approaches. He notes that, by the early 1980s, the balance of power had shifted in favor of televangelism as the amount of air time allocated by the broadcast industry to sustainingtime religion was beginning to wane. Hoover (1988) concurs with this

judgement, identifying the extent to which the prominent religious broadcasters achieved increased political and social status and profile during the 1980s.

What is lacking in these studies is a systematic appraisal of the evolution of policy and practice within commercial broadcast institutions. The focus on the prospects of televangelism tends to ignore the extent to which a situation was evolving (or hardening) in which relatively little attention was given to religion in public media content at all. The prospects of religion at the ‘margins’ (in cable religious networks on the part of televangelists or on the ‘fringe’ public service time available on a sustaining basis to others) is of less interest here than is the role of religion within the ‘center’ or ‘core’ of broadcast content: in news and entertainment programming. The question with which we began addresses this general realm of public discourse, not the marginal realms to which religion has been relegated in broadcast content. We turn now to a study of the history of that relegation.



Categories of broadcast treatment of religion

In the most general terms, then, approaches to the question of religion in broadcast content could address the issue in three specific contexts. First, there is the area of commercialized religious broadcasting, on both television and radio, the best-known model of which is televangelism. Second, there is the area that came to be known as ‘sustaining-time’ religious broadcasting (also on television and radio). This was and is programming placed under a generalized ‘public service’ rubric, but often produced in cooperation with one or more religious groups, nationally or locally. Third, there is the broad question of religion in formal commercial broadcast content, both news and entertainment. While much of the commentary on broadcast treatment of religion has focused on entertainment programming, it is our purpose here to address policy and practice in general, leaving aside for the moment the question of entertainment.

The situation that obtained until recently with regard to religion in broadcast news was particularly stark. None of the major commercial networks had religion reporters in their daily news operations. Coverage of religion in these programs was also rare, tending to focus on institutions (Rome correspondents traditionally covered the Vatican when major news was made there, for example) or on controversies and scandals. Peter Jennings, in explaining the decision by ABC to add a religion reporter early in 1994, expressed the same sort of dissatisfaction found among critics and observers of network practices: ‘I came to the conclusion that we simply weren’t doing a very good job in the area of religion’ (Jennings, personal communication, 1993).

The same has held in local television markets. Until recently, out of the approximately 60 network-affiliated and independent VHF stations in the country (those most likely to have local news operations) only two, WFAA in Dallas and KSL in Salt Lake City, have had religion reporters. WFAA’s was Peggy Wehmeyer, who moved to ABC News in early 1994. A third station, KOTV in Tulsa, added a religion reporter in 1993 (Hoover et al., 1994).

On one level of analysis, this should be even more surprising than the situation with the networks. If, as Rothman and Lichter have claimed, the major networks evidence an institutional culture which does not understand religion, then it is more understandable that they would leave religion ‘off the news agenda’ than it is that local television stations would. The latter should be more closely articulated into their local cultures, and reflect the religiosity of their religions. Why, then, haven’t stations in Atlanta, Nashville, Birmingham or Bakersfield taken religion into their news purview?

In radio, there has been a somewhat different story. Several network news programs have, over the years, dealt with religion as part of the news package. The longest-lived of these, The World of Religion on the CBS Radio network is still in production at KMOX in St Louis, and is still carried over the CBS owned and operated radio stations several times a week (Lloyd, 1993). UPI Radio Network has employed a religion editor for ten years, according to published accounts, and provides a religion newsfeed for stations which wish to purchase this specialized service. Other radio wire services also offer specialized religion packages (Govier, 1994).

Some local radio stations in major markets have devoted attention to religion. WINS in New York, for instance, has for many years included regular religion commentaries in their weekend news cycles (Lloyd, 1993). There are other, similar examples which, while not exactly the same as religion reportage, nonetheless represent a commitment to the topic.

Saying that there has been a paucity of attention to religion in broadcast news is not to say, of course, that there has been no religion on the air at all. As we have seen, there is actually a great deal there, but it differs substantially from the ‘ideal’ of religion reportage represented by the recent moves at ABC News. There is the long and significant tradition of independent quasi-commercial religious broadcasting, beginning with the fundamentalist ‘radio preachers’ of the l920s and stretching to the programs known as ‘televangelism’ today. There is nearly as long a tradition of ‘sustaining-time’ religious programming presented on a ‘public service’ basis by commercial broadcasters, usually in cooperation with one or more of the major faith groups in ecumenical alliance.

Broadcasting has thus had no tradition of religion news to parallel that which has long held sway at the nation’s newspapers. Instead, there is a

situation which seems to describe - through its very structuration - the particular construction of religion in public discourse observed by Carter. The ‘radio preachers’ and televangelists have represented the intensity and privatism of religion which has traditionally been encouraged to flourish off the public stage. The ‘public service’ model of programming represents a mode of broadcasting based on a limited presence of religion in public culture - able to exercise a certain autonomy, but within socially and culturally defined limits.

There is reason to think that these two interrelated activities have functioned, in part, to establish standards and expectations for broadcast treatment of religion. By their mere existence and profile, they have conditioned audiences and producers to certain understandings of what happens when religion appears in broadcasting, and may have served to reinforce, in the minds of media decision-makers, certain perceptions of its ‘natural’ role and place.

It is further possible to see religious broadcasting as a particular site of struggle over the cultural ascendancy of religion in modernity. It is significant that the first ‘radio preachers’, and the subsequent televangelists, represent one side (the ‘fundamentalist’ side) of the great religious-cultural divide that defines American religion in the late 20th century, and that the ‘ecumenical’ or ‘establishment’ broadcasts represent the other (the ‘modernist’) side.

The history: a struggle for definition

It is often not recognized that the emergence and development of religious broadcasting was actually integrated into (rather than being a mere reflection of) the broader modernism-fundamentalism conflict of the early 20th century. While it might be an obvious conclusion to suggest that this was a coincidence - that the occasion of the development of the technology of radio communication coincided with the rise of fundamentalism and naturally become one among many sites of its expression -there is reason to suspect a deeper connection between religion and religion’s use of broadcasting.

Carpenter (1985), in a fascinating study of early fundamentalist radio, has identified a cultural-symbolic connection between the medium and its early fundamentalist users. Far from seeing it as merely another means of evangelism, these preachers saw in broadcasting a powerful, cultural, almost mystical instrument, one that could confer social and cultural status and power.

The evangelical coalition’s mastery of mass communications, claims one observer, has been the matrix of its survival and success. I don’t see it exactly that way. Rather, in an age of sight and sound, evangelicals have used the

reality-establishing force of mass communications to convince themselves -and many others, apparently - that they are a real presence in American public life. They have transmitted their images into the ‘show windows of modem publicity’. (Carpenter, 1985: 15)

 

Schultze (1987) takes a similar view, noting that broadcasting stimulated a profound ambivalence in these early users; on the one hand drawn to its power, on the other, fearful of its implications. But, Schultze feels that a ‘mythos’ of broadcasting - that it has implications far beyond its ‘informational’ or ‘publicity’ capacities - has come to hold in the minds of conservative Christians.

For whatever reasons, fundamentalist Christians were among the earliest users of broadcasting, beginning in the era before uniform federal regulation began. By 1925, more than 10 percent of all stations were licensed to religious organizations. Hadden and Swann note that among these religious licensees, ‘.... for every This ‘broad truths’ approach thus contrasted sharply with the virulent appeal of the evangelical radio preachers. Due in no small part to a desire for the avoidance of controversy, the radio industry itself soon began expressing its preference for the ‘mainstream’ approach represented by Cadman. A passage from a 1923 issue of an industry publication is indicative:

It becomes apparent that we have not to consider the question shall radio be utilized for broadcasting religion, but rather should radio be used by this particular church for broadcasting the particular form of worship used by this church? (quoted in Ellens, 1974: 27)

As a result of what quickly became the common interests of broadcast stations and broadcast presenters from the mainstream churches, an arrangement was worked out which gave speakers such as Cadman, Harry Emerson Fosdick, Ralph Sockman and David H.C. Read air time on what were then the major radio outlets of the time, the General Electric and Westinghouse stations in New York.

This proved to be the model for what occurred after the introduction of omnibus regulation of broadcasting in 1927 and 1934. In both the Radio Act of 1927 and the Communications Act of 1934 provision was made for the regulatory body to oversee communication services to local communities which would serve the ‘public interest, convenience, and necessity’. During its occasional periods of activism, the Radio Commission and the subsequent Federal Communications Commission (FCC) both took steps under this doctrine to ensure that a wide range of community interests would be served by broadcasting, religion being prominent among those interests (Jennings, 1969: 3; FCC Blue Book, 1946: 10-13).

Thus the newly-regulated and regularized broadcasting that evolved in the period 1927-35 had an important incentive to give account of religion as part of its overall service obligations, and a further incentive, based on the experience of the period before 1927, to ensure that what religion was aired was of a variety that involved ‘broad truths’ and was noncontroversial. Broadcasting in this era quickly became dominated by radio networks which soon achieved a national scope, and which came to determine much of industry practice vis a vis speciality topics such as religion. However, this practice was to evolve without a great deal of direct involvement from the regulatory authorities. Aside from general expectations, they gave few guidelines.

NBC’ s approach became definitive of the network philosophy regarding religion that developed. ‘NBC will serve only the central or national agencies of great religious faiths .. . as distinguished from individual churches or small group movements’, said a 1928 NBC statement of principles (Jennings, 1969: 29). NBC was the dominant network in the

early years. Its major rival CBS (founded in 1927) struggled financially and, as a result, was initially open to selling air time for religion.

Independent religious broadcasters thus gravitated to CBS, and one of them, Father Charles Coughlin, precipitated yet another crisis over religious controversy. Coughlin first began appearing on CBS in 1930, and rapidly began to build a following through his mixture of populism and ardent nationalism. His program took on more and more of a ‘political’ stance, as he attacked both ‘unregulated capitalism’ and ‘international bankers’. A confrontation ensued with CBS management, which insisted that Coughlin ‘... desist from these subjects and submit advance scripts’ (Barnouw, 1966: 46). Coughlin appealed directly to listeners, who sent 1.25 million letters of protest to the network.

CBS decided to take a different approach along the lines of the NBC model. It moved to replace all paid religious broadcasts (including Coughlin’ s) with a program called Church of the Air, which offered free air time to speakers from the three ‘major’ faiths on a rotating basis. This donation of air time, called ‘sustaining time’, thus became the dominant model for network treatment of religion.

Coughlin continued his program by creating his own network of individual stations (based at WOR in New York) linked by leased telephone lines. He became more and more overtly ‘political’ in his broadcasts, first supporting Roosevelt, and then teetering toward fascism. He suggested that ‘Christians suffer more at the hands of the Reds than Jews do in the Third Reich’, that Nazi actions elicited publicity because of ‘Jewish influence in radio, journalism and finance’, and that Jews were leaders in communism against which Nazi Germany had to fight in self protection (New York limes, 21 November 1938: 7). He also objected to attempts to censor him on radio as a ‘typical case of Jewish terrorism of American public opinion’ (New York Times, 27 November 1938: 46). His perceived anti-Semitism and pro-Nazism eventually led to his being discredited in the wake of national consensus forged by the USA’s entry into the war.

The Coughlin affair had far-reaching consequences for broadcast policy and practice regarding religion. The National Association of Broadcasters (NAB), the industry trade association, moved in 1939 to adopt its first industry code, and it included provisions covering religion that were widely perceived to have resulted from the still-fresh memories of the Coughlin controversy. The New York Times reported that the code ‘was seen in some quarters as designed to bar Father Charles E. Coughlin from buying time on stations belonging to the Association ...‘ The code was explicit regarding religion:

Radio ... may not be used to convey attacks upon another’s race or religion.

Rather it should be the purpose of the religious broadcast to promote the

spiritual harmony and understanding of mankind and to administer broadly to

the varied religious needs of the community. (quoted in Jennings, 1969: 109)

In its discussion of appropriate approaches to controversy, the code set an important precedent, and provides a telling account of the developing self-understanding of broadcasters regarding their role as guardians of public discourse. The code directed that potential controversy in broadcasts should be dealt with by integrating controversial spokespeople into ‘public-forum-type’ broadcasts, where the ‘... control of the fairness of the program rests wholly with the broadcasting station or network’ (New York Times, 4 October 1939: 15).

The notion of ‘fairness’ remains controversial to this day. Its direct impact on the issue of network practices regarding religion was that it came to be interpreted in a specific way. That is, broadcasters came to take full responsibility themselves for the character and nature of religion on their airwaves. This, in turn, led them to move toward a kind of religious broadcasting that represented consensus, that promoted ‘... spiritual harmony and understanding of mankind ...‘ and spoke to broad, varied interests.

The way they chose to pursue this was through an extension of the NBC model, whereby major ecumenical and faith groups were given sustaining time for national broadcasts. Ironically, this meant that at the same time that these broadcasters moved to assert control over potentially thorny issues in the area of religion (both by direct control over content and by delegation to the reliably ecumenical mainstream organizations) they were quickly absolving themselves of this responsibility. Henry Bellows of CBS spoke about the issue during Congressional debate over the 1934 Communications Act:

we have uppermost in mind freeing ourselves from the responsibility which we are not qualified to assume of allotting time on a commercial basis to different religions .... So long as we view this question solely in the light of business practice, we are likely to fail to give the radio audience the balanced religious broadcasting it is entitled to. (Jennings, 1969: 60)

These deliberations are significant to our concerns here because of an important difference between American broadcasting and print media. Broadcasting is regulated, and as a result has had to engage in policy discussions that have been both more open and more deliberative than is the case with print journalism. Thus, decisions made at the time of the 1934 Communications Act, and the companion NAB Code (written expressly to guide industry practices under the Act), have been determinative of later practice in many areas, not least religion.

And what was the general doctrine which developed? Clearly, the broadcasting industry chose, for understandable reasons, to dodge the issue of religion, rather than meeting it head-on as an affirmative obligation that would find its way readily into such things as news broadcasts. This history reveals a construction of religion as potentially controversial, and as something that rightly exists outside the purview of the broadcaster engaged in a rationalist pursuit of business opportunity. As a result, religion developed in national broadcasting in a specific way.

First, industry doctrine regarded religion as something that needed to be pursued in the most general, rather than specfic, terms. One way of avoiding the sort of controversies encountered in the 1920s and 1930s was to construct religious interest as something that could be engaged on a general level of ‘spiritual harmony’.

Second, industry doctrine eschewed professional responsibility or judgment regarding the character and nature of religion content. Unlike areas such as business, agriculture, the arts or the ‘hard news’, where broadcasters moved aggressively to establish a place of parity with the print media (the epigram of the industry publication, Broadcasting Magazine used to refer to the ‘fifth estate’), broadcasters chose to defer their professional judgement in religion to the faith groups who they invited to participate in the sustaining-time system.

This is a delicate point. Broadcast licensees are, of course, ultimately responsible and accountable for all the content they carry. The networks continued to exercise control and influence to a certain extent in their working relationships with their sustaining-time partners over the years (Pomeroy, 1992: McClurken, 1992). However, it is clear that the whole purpose of the sustaining-time system was to eliminate the necessity of the industry taking responsibility on some level for what they considered to be the internecine issues of interest within the broader religious community. This point can be clarified by referring to the approach to religion adopted elsewhere, such as in the United Kingdom. Both the British Broadcasting Corporation and the independent commercial networks in Britain maintain their own internal religion units and produce a wide variety of programming including news, documentaries, commentaries and, of course, broadcast religious services.

Third, industry doctrine constructed religion as a public service responsibility rather than something that would necessarily infuse entertainment offerings, or - more importantly - news. This was, in part, responsive to the evolving regulatory doctrine of the time. Both the Federal Radio Commission and the later FCC issued guidelines for ‘public service’ performance that, until 1960, explicitly included religion. The compartmentalization of the ‘public service’ rubric had itself resulted from debates over the crafting of the 1934 Act. In a key decision, Congress had voted against requiring air-time or license set-asides for ‘public service’ as a matter of law, leaving it instead to the responsibility of broadcasters to ascertain and serve these interests within the run of their schedules. The discourse about ‘public service’, and subsequent industry and regulatory practice (facing obvious commercial pressures), resulted in public affairs programming being marginalized and, eventually, truncated to the point of near non-existence in most television schedules. Religion has thus suffered the same fate as agriculture, education, the arts, local talent and the myriad other offerings originally envisioned as part of the overall ‘public service’ to be offered by American broadcast licensees.

This doctrine recognizes one important difference between the print and broadcast media. The print media are able to afford the luxury of compartmentalization. ‘News’ and ‘feature’ sections can, to an extent, stand alone. Religion writers at many papers regard the religion section as a positive thing, a place where they can craft coverage that is complete and expansive (Hoover et al., 1989). Newspapers can think of their product as being divided into ‘beats’, and accord the various beats allocations of space appropriate to their needs.

In broadcasting, compartmentalization is more problematic. Ratings pressures lead broadcasters to care very much for audience and programming ‘flow’. Thus, interrupting the schedule with programs that are significantly ‘different’ is discouraged. This means that, unlike the ‘magazine’ orientation of newspaper layouts, broadcast texts are constructed to be as homogeneous as possible. ‘Rough edges’, such as educational and public affairs programs, naturally get pushed to the margins.

In the years between 1939 and 1975, this situation held sway. With some important and significant exceptions and struggles along the way, religion content in broadcasting was dominated by the ‘sustaining-time’ system. At the same time, fundamentalist and evangelical broadcasters did not go away. They continued to be able to buy time on local stations and on the Mutual radio network, and they gradually built up a constituency. Hadden and Swann sum up the implications of this situation:

The future course of nonmainline religious broadcasting in the U.S. was set: it would of necessity be entrepreneurial. Fundamentalists would have to buy time, and their audiences would have to furnish the money. This was their only avenue to radio, and they would fight to keep it open. (Hadden and Swann, 1981: 78)

The latter-day inheritors of this tradition are, as we have said, the televangelists. At the same time, the sustaining-time system has almost wholly disappeared on the national level. At the present time, none of the major networks produces a weekly sustaining-time television program, and the resources devoted to those that remain are shrinking.

It is not our purpose here to investigate the practices of religious broadcasters themselves in great detail. However, there are two points we would like to emphasize because they remain significant. First, we have noted with regard to the early days of fundamentalist radio that religious broadcasting came to be an important element of the emerging struggle

between modernism and conservatism in that era. It played both a practical and symbolic role in those conflicts, and was central to their development. This situation has continued through the rest of the century.

George Marsden (1982) has shown, for instance, that moves by moderate evangelicals in the 1940s and 1950s to craft a less socially pernicious image for conservative Christianity involved an appreciation of the role of broadcasting and the other public media in that process. Billy Graham was hailed by those forces as the person to fulfill this task, and his high-profile broadcasts were central to the calculus.

Second, as these more moderate conservatives began to become more active through the founding of the National Association of Evangelicals (NAE), the implications of the network approach to religion came into further relief. In its policy documents, the NAE emphasized the necessity of its broadcasts being able to preach ‘doctrinal’ sermons (Voskuil, 1990:

85). This was a clear challenge to the notion of ‘broad truths’ emphasized by the NAB and the mainline churches which participated in the sustaining-time system.

There has been a minor controversy over the role of the mainline churches in these developments. There are charges (implicit in Hadden and Swann, for example) that mainline complicity in the public-service system had the intent of ‘keeping the evangelicals 9ff the air’. The implication is that there may have been a cynical manipulation of a situation that worked to the advantage of the dominant mainline groups. As the history reviewed here shows, however, there was a fundamental reason for the lack of cooperation, put succinctly by the NAE in its policy statement. Evangelicals wanted to preach ‘doctrine’ in broadcast programs. The networks and mainline churches were committed to a ‘broad truths’ approach. These were simply incompatible with one another. There may have been minor conspiracies or a chain of complicities along the line, and it can certainly be said that this marginalization advantaged one group over the other (at least for a time), but no more nefarious an explanation is necessary.

This review of the early history of broadcast treatment of religion helps to resolve the conundrum with which we began. How was it that broadcasting developed in the USA (the most religious of the western industrialized countries) for over 50 years without more attention being given to religion in its news and entertainment programming? Part of the answer is that, in its early history, broadcasting achieved a construction of religion that allowed it to be treated at the margins, rather than at the center of broadcast content. This construction can be attributed in part to tensions and pressures faced by broadcasting in its formative years. More importantly, though, it represents a reaffirmation of the basic problem religion has faced in entering public discourse in general. Its construction into the private realm meant that evolving doctrine in the area of broadcasting could follow a ‘path of least resistance’ and conveniently compartmentalize religion.

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Conclusions



We began by noting that much of the research available dealing with religion and broadcasting focuses on the history of the development of televangelism and suggested that our purpose here was to move to a more detailed account of the development of policy regarding religion content in general, policy that would have implications for the treatment of religion in the core output of broadcasting: its news and entertainment programming.

The findings fall into four general categories. First, it seems clear that the question of access to broadcast channels has served as an important point of religious-cultural negotiation and definition since the earliest days of radio. It has been a definitive battleground on which America’s religious ‘culture wars’ have been waged for most of this century. Broadcasting has played both a functional and a symbolic role in these cultural struggles and negotiations.

Second, it is clear that religious struggle and controversy have informed much thinking and policy-making over the years. This tone of controversy has actually become determinative to a great extent, leading to a reticence on the part of regulators and broadcasters to meet the question of religion head on (for a discussion, see Hadden and Swann, 1981: 72).

Third, the approach to policy that developed in broadcasting was one that fitted well with the centralized system of broadcasting (dominated by the ‘chains’ or ‘networks’) that evolved after 1934. The major networks, led by NBC, evolved a policy that had two features: first, the networks arrogated to themselves responsibility for control over religious content by refusing to sell air time to sectarian groups. This fitted into a practice encouraged by the 1934 Act and the FCC, whereby local stations - and by definition the networks - were expected to devote substantial attention to ‘public service’ programming. Second, at the same time, the networks moved quickly to divest themselves of the responsibility for the content of this air time, turning it over to established religious institutions, with the expectation that the approach taken would be broad and noncontroversial.

This solution to the problem of religion is interesting as a commentary on the state of American religious evolution at that time. The fact that certain religious voices - specifically mainline Protestant and Roman Catholic - could be so facilely integrated into such a system is a measure of the prominence of institutional religion and of the relative consensual harmony that existed.

This situation has obviously changed, leading to our fourth finding: the relative advantage of mainline and Catholic access to ‘sustaining time’ rather quickly turned to disadvantage when economic and technological change made it possible for a range of evangelical and para-church institutions to achieve national distribution outside the network system after 1975. While it is outside the scope of this study, it appears to be the case that one direct consequence of the emergence of televangelism was the erosion of sustaining time on commercial broadcasting. That policy deliberations had never really dealt with the nature and quality of religion content in any normative terms meant that televangelism’s emergence could become a justification for network programmers to do what their balance sheets demanded: eliminate sustaining-time ‘public service’ religion altogether.

The policy evolution reviewed here can be described, in hindsight, as seriously flawed. In an era when interreligious understanding seems to be a more and more prominent public goal, religion is given very little access to the most prominent context of the American public sphere: broadcasting. That commercial broadcasting could divest itself so easily of responsibility for religion in the 1930s means that today there is no grand tradition of religion coverage in broadcast news, for example, that would serve understanding of the role of religion in contemporary issues. However, with the benefit of historical perspective, we are reluctant to too quickly condenm the process. This history is itself a measure of the larger problem identified by Stephen Carter: the generally recessive position of religion in American public discourse.

 

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Schultze, Quentin J. (1990) ‘Keeping the Faith: American Evangelicals and the Media’, in Q.J. Schultze (ed.) American Evangelicals and the Mass Media. Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan.

Schultze, Quentin J. (1991) Televangelism and American Culture. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker.

Steinfels, Peter (1994) ‘The News Media and Religion: A Changing Mood that Bodes Well for the Nation’s Believers’, New York Times 30 April: A4.

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Alfred A. Knopf. (Original work published in 1834 and 1840).

Tuchman, Gaye (1978) Making News: A Study in the Construction of Reality. New York: The Free Press.

US Federal Communications Commission (1946) Public Service Responsibility of Broadcast Licensees. Washington, DC: FCC.

Voskuil, Dennis (1990) ‘The Power of the Air: Evangelicals and the Rise of Religious Broadcasting’, in Q.J. Schultze (ed.) American Evangelicals and the Mass Media. Grand Rapids: Zondervan.

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Princeton University Press.

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Wuthnow, Robert (1992) ‘Introduction’, in Vocabularies of Public L(fe. New York:

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Media presentations

Greenfield, Jeff (1993) Commentary, ABC World News Tonight 13 August Reed, Ralph (1993) Discussion of religion and the media, Crossfire, CNN, 29 December.

Interviews and live presentations

Jennings, Peter (1994) Anchor, ABC World News Tonight. Videotaped presentation to the Religion Newswriters’ Association, New York, 30 April.

Jennings, Ralph (1993). Public Radio General Manager, Fordham University. Telephone interview, 22 February.

Lloyd, Roy (1993) Director of Electronic News, National Council of Churches. Interview, New York, 12 April.

McClurken, William (1992) Former Director of Broadcasting, National Council of Churches. Telephone interview, 3 August.

Pomeroy, W. David (1992) Director of Broadcasting, National Council of Churches. Telephone interview, 3 March.

Santos, John (1993) Producer, WNET. Interview, New York, 13 April. Wehmeyer, Peggy (1994) Religion correspondent, ABC World News Tonight. Telephone interview, 25 April.

Private Threats to Free Expression

The usual litany of private threats fills the law journals, trade papers, and recent books concerned with free expression. They include the "chilling effects" of libel suits, the perennial conflicts between property and access, the three out of four publishers who intervene in news decisions affecting their local markets, the advertisers’ freedom to move their money to where their interests are, industry self-regulation in broadcasting and advertising, the backlash against conveying under duress (as in a hostage crisis) points of view that are never aired as directly without duress, the flareups of book banning and censorship of textbooks, the rout of the civil rights movement, the retreat from principles of fairness and equality (even where never implemented), the attack on scientific and humane teaching, the threat of self-appointed media watchdogs to also spy on teachers in the classroom, and the general vigor of ancient orthodoxies masquarading as neo-this and neo-that.

In fact, none of this is all that "neo." What is, however, of a different order of magnitude is the convergence of technological, institutional, political, and cultural currents, historic bases on which assumptions about religion, speech, press, and self-government are based. The tide washes over familiar labels, shifts political landmarks, blurs traditional distinctions, and stirs up the old melting pot. There is a change in our culture that challenges our theories, let alone the practice, of access and free expression. The mainstream of that tidal wave is television.

The historic nexus of power, state and church, gave way to the symbiotic relationship of state and television. The Founding Fathers could not foresee the rise of a media establishment, a virtual private Ministry of’ Culture with government-licensed broadcasting at its center, functioning as the Religion they forbade Congress to establish. My thesis is that in licensing broadcasters and then letting the marketplace take its course, Congress has made law respecting the establishment of the modern equivalent of religion and has, in effect, transferred the right to abridge freedom of speech and press from Public to Private government.

Now let me back up and reflect on the myth of the marketplace of ideas, trace the role of the press in political theory, and focus on trends toward concentration that set the stage for a communication perspective on our current predicament.

"There are no free markets, only markets controlled by capitalists, kings, communists or pirates, for markets are complex human organizations which cannot exist without order, hierarchy, power, and control." Freedom is the invention of outlaws, rebels, pornographers, and others who challenge that order, hierarchy, and control. They are more likely to be a nuisance or menace than popular commodities to be traded on demand. Their value for the survival of self-government is not set by the laws of supply and demand.

The mechanisms that govern the mass media marketplace are those of property and money. They include high technology, high capital investment needed to enter, high political as well as economic stakes, reliance on corporate sponsors, and relative insulation f ran public or consumer participation in policy-making. These generate the dynamics of concentration and conglomeration that tend toward the creation of an electronically-based global media empire. New communication technologies, far I ran eroding the reach of the old, sharpen the aim and deepen the penetration of telecommunications culture-power into new areas, including those now served (often less efficiently) by print. The combination of government licensing and market mechanisms may actually be more effective (and certainly less visible) cultivating ideological homogeneity and deflecting serious challenge than would be laws more publicly enacted.

Rulers always define freedom as what they do. Control of communications is necessary for some freedom of action of any establishment. Censorship is the rule, not the exception, in all societies. Liberal democratic theory counters that with the necessities of self-government in a society of conflicting interests. Application of that theory is difficult, often painful, and always incomplete. It requires acceptance of the subversive challenge, the occasional disruption, the periodic and unpleasant but vital shock of recognition that things change faster than myths and must be reckoned with. The First Amendment permits such dynamics of social survival but does not secure it. In fact, in its current interpretations, it provides a shield for the mechanisms of its evasion. Realistic strategies for securing, let alone extending, the rights envisaged by those who drafted the First Amendment, if possible at all, require freedom, first of all, from the myths and shiboleths that have obscured a full view of what we are up against.

Some conception of the role of the "press" has always been a central feature of modern political theory. A secular press of politics and commerce was instrumental to the rise of diverse mass publics independent of church and nobility. The press was (and is) a relatively specific and selectively used organ of the more literate of every class. Its hard-won freedom to express and advocate competing and conflicting ideologies and class, group, and political party interests was supposed to sustain the political diversity necessary for self-government in a complex society.

The decline of the party press and subsequently of political parties themselves as primary means of communication with voters limits the viability of the liberal theory of the press as a pluralistic ideological advocate. The rise to dominance of a single market-driven advertiser-sponsored and ideologically coherent press system, claiming to represent diverse publics, and invoking Constitutional protection of its freedom to virtually preempt the marketplace of ideas, further strains democratic political theory. Many studies document the trend toward media concentration. Two wire services, one in bankruptcy, supply most world and national. news. Chains dominate the daily and weekly press, with the top 10 controlling more than one-third of circulation. Only ~ percent of cities have competing newspapers. A strike can leave a city like Philadelphia without a daily paper for weeks. Magazines and books provide the most varied fare, but electronically-based conglomerates own the biggest publishing houses. Broadcasting is of course the most concentrated. The top 100 advertisers pay for two-thirds of all network television. Three networks, increasingly allied to other media production and distribution, control over 70 percent of the market. More importantly, they control most of the programming for all people. "The greatest threat to journalistic independence and integrity is not the Jesse Helmses," a network news executive was reported saying this week, "and it’s not the libel suit -- it’s red ink." Entertainment -- that universal source of information for those who seek no information -- is even more constrained. Some 50 weekly series are cancelled every year, many without a fair chance. Many programs and films are made but never aired. A handful of giant corporations, probably not much more than 40, manage the bulk of all. mass media output. With the current "merger mania," their numbers are shrinking and their reach is expanding every year. Labor, minorities, and other sources of potential diversity lose ground with every merger.

There is not much ground to lose. The high point of ideological ferment following Allied victory in World War II provoked furious reaction. No "free marketplace of ideas" prevented the use of loyalty oaths, witch hunts, and intimidation associated with the name of the late Senator McCarthy to "purge" unions, organizations, and media of radical and other unorthodox elements, ostensibly, as always, to save us from communism.

Early media casualties were the few independent daily newspapers that had survived the buffeting of the pre-war and war years, such as fl1 and the York, Pa. Gazette. Journals of opinion have always depended upon rich donors to keep them alive. Rising costs killed many and prevented new entries except for the orthodox foundation-supported variety. Some of’ the survivors also shifted into reverse with the changing political tides.

The civil rights and women’s movements broke the chill of the witch hunts and blacklists of the ‘fifties and provoked, in turn, the new virulence of fundamentalist and other orthodox attacks on minority rights, science, textbooks, education, and academic freedom in the ‘eighties. By now, however, the cultural mainstream itself has undergone a sea-change. To appreciate its magnitude, we shall take a brief tour of history from a communications perspective.

"If I were permitted to write all the ballads I need not care who makes the laws of the nation." Scotch patriot Andrew Fletcher said in 1704. He may have been the first to recognize that a centralized system of the legends, songs, stories, (what we call entertainment, as well what we call information) forms a compelling mythology reaching every home and confers power that kings, emperors, and popes could only dream about. Today television actually wields that power. How did this come about?

Humans interpret experience in symbolic contexts. The stories we tell, rather than the direct threats and gratifications of the moment animate the human imagination and define for us what exists, what is important, what is right, and what is related to what. Our arts, sciences, religions, laws, and politics are mainly stories we tell and internalize, or impose. The process weaves a seamless web of human cultures, erecting for each its own interpretations of reality, and guiding its social relations.

There are three basic types of stories performing different and often overlapping functions. They have been told in three basically different ways through history.

The first type are stories of how things work. Usually called fiction or drama or myth, they make the all-important but invisible structure of social relationships and the hidden dynamics of life visible and understandable.

Second are stories of what things are. These are the facts, the legends, the news selected to relate to social values and powers. They give credibility to each society’s fantasies of reality and alert it to threats and opportunities.

Third are stories of what to do. These are stories of value and choice. They present some behavior or style of life as desirable (or undesirable) and propose ways to attain (or avoid) it. These are sermons, instructions, laws, commercials. Different, of course, in complexity, authenticity, and authority, they essentially tell us what to do or not to do.

These three types of stories, or story functions, mingle in the process that weaves the fabric of culture. That is the symbolic environment in which humans grow, learn, and live like humans.

Until the invention of printing, all three types of stories were told face-to-face. A community was defined by geography and history and the rituals and mythologies held in common. Stories memorized and recited or read and interpreted from rare manuscripts united the tribe or community into a coherent structure with little need or opportunity for diversity, dissent, resistance, or rebellion.

Then comes printing. Printing represents the industrial revolution in culture, a prerequisite for all the other upheavals to come. Printing breaks up the ritual, challenges sacred interpretations, extends communities beyond previous boundaries of time and space. Printing ushered in the Reformation and with it religious plurality and the differentiation of consciousness reflecting competing and conflicting classes and other interests (all struggling for the right to tell stories from their own points of view) in the same society. Printing makes possible the rise of modern mass publics. These are loose aggregations of people who never meet face to face and yet have much in common through the stories they share. Publics are created through publication. Modern theories of public policy formation stem from the print era.

The latest transformation in story telling is the electronic. As print broke up the central mythology and ritual of the pre-industrial age, television short-circuits the selective potentials of previous media. It is watched relatively non-selectively, by the clock rather than the program. It is the central mass-ritual of the telecommunications age. It tells "all the ballads" Andrew Fletcher wrote about, to all the children, parents, and grandparents at the same time. For the first time in history, children are born into a symbolic environment, pervading the average home about 7 hours a day. It is no longer the parent, the school, nor the church but a distant corporation tells most of the stories to most of the people most of the time. It brings to them the message and perspective of its sponsors to which there is no effective challenge.

We have studied that process for nearly two decades and found that television satisfies many previously felt religious needs for participating in a common ritual and sharing beliefs about the meaning of life and the modes of right conduct. It is, therefore, not an exaggeration to suggest that the licensing of television represents the modern functional equivalent of an establishment of religion.

The essence of a centralized mass ritual like television is that it exposes far-flung and otherwise heterogeneous communities to the same system of story-telling. It pervades every home with a common message, and bypasses previous requirements of mobility and literacy. Our research has found that this tends to blur the traditional distinctions of sex. age, race, class and all minority interests, blend them into a more integrated perspectives, and bend them to central institutional interests.

The cultural tidal wave that is television alters viewers’ conceptions of reality, shifts political orientations, and-.- vocal claims to the contrary -- cultivates conformity and intolerance of differences. Its undertow tends to pull those divergent perspectives that remain into its mainstream. Such dissolution of authentic publics in a more homogeneous commonality of an audience of consumers challenges our theories of self-government.

Provisions that attempted to preserve fairness, plurality and public participation in broadcast policy crumble under the impact of a shift of controls to ever larger industrial combinations. This process is called deregulation and is justified by an appeal to the free marketplace. The trade paper Variety announced in its September 11, 1985 issue (p.45): "Diversity in the entertainment business, for decades the cornerstone of government policy and congressional oversight, seemingly has melted overnight into something akin to benign neglect."

I present a diagnosis and not a prescription. We have drifted into an historic dilemma from which there is no easy way out. Television is a mass and not a class act; the task is not to make it into an elite pastime. It is to begin the long process of public discussion about the resources, ideas, and actions needed to liberate this great medium from the constraints imposed on it by the mechanisms misnamed the free marketplace. The task is to extend the First Amendment’s prohibition of an establishment of religion and abridgement of speech and press to private as well as public government.

Faith, Hope and Bigotry

All Organized religions assume that religion teaches man distinct values that he might not otherwise have—moral values that guide him, in his everyday relations with his fellow man, toward higher, nobler or more humane levels than he might reached without religion. But is it true? Do the religious have distinct moral values that set them apart from the less religious? And if so, do these values help or hinder a genuine concern for the well-being of other members of the human race?

Many research studies have shown that there are significant differences in beliefs and attitudes between Jews, Catholics and Protestants, and even between various Protestant denominations. Most disturbing are findings that show that the religiously devout are on the average more bigoted, more authoritarian, more dogmatic and more antihumanitarian than the less devout. Such findings are disturbing from a religious standpoint because they point to a social institution that needs to be reformed. They are disturbing from an anti-religious standpoint because they point to a social institution that deserves to be destroyed.

Value Systems. I wanted to see if these value differences indeed existed between the religiously devout and non-devout, and to see how religious values were related to social compassion. In April 1968 I examined the value systems of well over 1,000 adult Americans ranging in age from 21 to 80. The sampling and data collection were handled by the National Opinion Research Center of the University of Chicago, a national polling organization. The national sample was selected to represent all adult ages, social classes and parts of the country.

The instrument used was the Rokeach Value Survey, a simple two-part scale that has proved to be a reliable measure of values. In previous research I have found that it regularly gives distinctively different value profiles for men and women, whites and blacks, hippies and non-hippies, artists and businessmen, scientists and policemen, and pro- and anti-Wallace groups.

The first part of the survey consists of 18 goals or terminal values such as a comfortable life and a world at peace which the subject is asked to "arrange in order of their importance to YOU, as guiding principles in YOUR life."

Rank-ordering 18 items in ones head is a nearly impossible task, so we printed the values on special gummed labels that could be moved about the page while one was deciding on his rankings.

Means. Of course, people sometimes agree on their goals in life, hut they differ on the best means of reaching them, so second part of the survey lists 18 means or instrumental values, such as courageous and honest, which subjects are also asked to rank according to their preference.

I split the value profiles into nine subgroups identifying themselves as nonbelievers, Jews, Catholics and six Protestant denominations: Episcopalians, Congregationalists, Presbyterians, Lutherans, Methodists and Baptists. The ranks used are averages. A value ranked one was the value most highly prized of 18 values by the average member of a given religious group. The second-most-cherished value was ranked two, and so on, with the value considered least important by the group being given the rank of 18. These profiles not only help us identify those values that are distinctly religious but also show the typical value profile of the average American nonbeliever, the average American Jew and the average American Christian.

It was immediately evident that all of the groups are similar in some respects. They all generally agree that such end-goals as a world at peace, family security and freedom are the most important, and an exciting life, pleasure, social recognition and a world of beauty are the least important. As for the means of reaching these goals there were other across-the-board agreements. Every group in the survey agreed that the most important means value is being honest, and all approved of being ambitious and responsible, but they all placed least value on being imaginative, intellectual, logical or obedient. These similarities describe a typical American value pattern that might well be different from, say, a typical Russian value pattern.

Nonbelievers. But the profiles of the several religious groups also differ from one another. Jews generally place relatively higher value than Christians on such goals as equality, pleasure, family security, inner harmony and wisdom and they prefer means that emphasize personal competence — being capable, independent, intellectual and logical. The average nonbeliever value profile is similar in many respects to that of the average Jew. Both put relatively less emphasis than Christians on such Boy Scout social values as being clean, obedient and polite.

The similarity between Jews and nonbelievers may mean that Jews are generally less religious than Christians, but it should also be recognized that Jewish people have strong ethnic-cultural identification and are likely to say "Jewish" when asked their religion, even if they are not religious and never attend synagogue.

Other differences appear between various Christian groups. Baptists ranked moral values -- salvation and being clean,forgiving and obedient -- relatively higher than the other Christian groups. And they ranked a sense of being broadminded, capable and logical relatively lower.

On the other extreme, Episcopalians ranked moralistic values generally lower than the Baptists did and personal-competence values higher. Of all the Christian groups considered here, Episcopalians are obviously the most different from the Baptists and generally speaking most similar to the Jews. But this does not mean that Jews and Episcopalians are indistinguishable. Episcopalians ranked salvation and forgiving higher than Jews, and Jews valued a world at peace, equality and pleasure more highly than Episcopalians did, implying that the Jews are somewhat more liberal, peace-loving and fun-loving than Episcopalians. Also, the Jews consistently rank the personal-competence values somewhat higher and the moralistic values somewhat lower than all Christian groups do, including the Episcopalians.

Christians. When we back off from the data far enough to look at the forest rather than the trees, two values -- salvation and forgiving -- stand out above all others as most distinctively Christian. While Jews and nonbelievers ranked salvation last, Christian groups generally ranked it considerably higher—third on the average for Baptists and anywhere from ninth to 14th for the remaining Christian groups. Forgiving was low-ranked—l5th or 16th—by Jews and nonbelievers but on the average somewhere between third and eighth by the several Christian groups.

This typical picture of the Christian value system held up even when we used such other definitions of religiousness as frequency of churchgoing and perceived importance of religion in one’s daily life. Salvation was ranked third by those who attended church every week, but it dropped linearly to 18th for those who never attended; forgiving was ranked second by the weekly churchgoers and decreased linearly to 11th for those never attending. With perceived importance of religion as the criterion of religiousness, salvation was ranked first for those reporting religion as very important in their everyday lives, but last—l8th—for those who said religion was unimportant. The comparable findings for forgiving were sixth for those who said religion was important and 13th for those reporting it as unimportant in their everyday lives.

Sociologists might argue that the differences are not so much a result of religious upbringing as of social-class differences. But when the various religious groups were matched for income and race (about 16 per cent of the sample was black) and then compared with each other, the value differences remained generally the same.

Christians commonly see themselves as a loving, helpful people, but the survey data indicated that loving and helpful were not valued more by Christians than by the other groups.

Guidelines. Values are our standards for living: they guide our conduct, lead us to take a particular position on a specific social issue, predispose us to favor one or another political ideology. They are the standards we use to judge things, to praise or blame ourselves or others. They are the principles that tell us which beliefs, attitudes and actions of others are worth arguing about, or worth trying to influence. But most important, values enable us to rationalize our own attitudes and actions— which might otherwise be socially unacceptable—so that we may always feel morally in the right, or at least keep our self-respect intact. An unkind remark made to a friend, for example, may be rationalized on the ground that it is "just being honest"; an inhibited sex life may be rationalized as self-control; an aggressor nation can be self-righteous if its actions are justified in the name of national security, self-defense or the preservation of freedom.

Bigotry. As already pointed out, research findings show that there is a positive relationship between religiousness and bigotry. But a question may be raised about the validity of the measures of religiousness that have been used. Saying that you are a member of a particular church, or that you attend church with a certain frequency, or that you see religion as important does not necessarily indicate that you are a truly religious person. The hallmark of a truly religious person is the espousal of recognizable, religiously inspired values that are distinctly different from the values typically espoused by the less religious and the nonreligious.

The influence of organized religion is readily apparent in the value profiles we have examined. Persons who are nominally identified with organized religion, persons who frequently attend church, persons who report that religion is important in their everyday lives generally share common religious values that clearly distinguish them from those not nominally identified with religious institutions, from nonchurchgoers and from those who report that religion is unimportant in their everyday lives.

Consider now the two values identified as most distinctively Christian—salvation and forgiving. What kinds of standards for living do they represent and what functions do they serve for Christians? Do they guide social action and foster a concern for the well-being of others or are they used as standards to rationalize self-preoccupation, a withdrawal from worldly concerns or an indifference to the plight of others?

King. A tragedy provided an opportunity to get timely insights into these questions. Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated just as the survey was to be sent out and a question was asked on how the respondents felt about it: When you heard the news of the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., which one of these things was your strongest reaction: (1) Anger (2) Sadness (3) Shame (4) Fear (5) He brought it on himself.

I considered that the fourth or fifth response indicated less social compassion than the first three. When the responses came in I looked at the ranking on salvation and forgiving for people giving each of these five types of reaction to Dr. King’s assassination.

About a third of the respondents said that Dr. King had brought it on himself and an additional 10 per cent reported fear as their main response. These two subgroups ranked salvation fourth on the average, while those who felt sadness, anger or shame ranked salvation from ninth to 14th. There was no consistent relationship, however, between reactions to the assassination and the importance attached to forgiving.

In two other questions on the King murder the respondents were asked whether they had felt anger or whether it had made them "think about the many tragic things that have happened to Negroes and that this was just another one of them." Those placing a high importance on salvation were insensitive to such feelings— "It never occurred to me"—whereas those not so salvation-minded were most likely to have experienced such reactions. And again, there was no apparent relationship with the value of forgiving.

Issues. The respondents were asked their opinions on other racial and nonracial issues as well. Did they favor or oppose open-occupancy and fair-employment laws, desegregation in education, interracial dating and intermarriage? Did they believe in inborn racial differences in intelligence, and was the white majority or the black minority most to blame for the plight of blacks in America? What did they think about providing a college education, medical and dental care and guaranteed incomes for the poor? And how did they feel about the student-protest movement, and what role ought the church to play in social and political affairs?

Compassion. On virtually all of these questions the results were the same as those obtained for questions concerning King’s assassination. Those expressing views unsympathetic to the black, the poor and the student-protest movement and those who did not welcome the church s involvement in political and social affairs uniformly values salvation more than those taking a more compassionate stand on such issues. And with only occasional exceptions those who cherish forgiving were no more or less sympathetic on such issues than those who cherish forgiving less. Evidently, Christians who valued salvation were not necessarily the same who values forgiving (the correlation between the two values was only .28)

In general, the negative relationship between religious values and social compassion was strongest for the Protestant groups, especially the Baptists. But the results for Catholics were somewhat less disturbing: for them there was no relationship rather than a negative relationship, suggesting that for Catholics, at least, religious values are more or less irrelevant as guides to a compassionate social outlook.

Millitance. Carl Willis and Faye Goldberg recently examined various differences between black militants and black nonmilitants in Atlanta, Georgia. The sharpest predictor of differences was, paradoxically, their response to the question on racial identification. Militants typically responded that they were black and nonmilitants typically identified themselves as Negro. Next best as a predictor of militancy was the rank-ordering of salvation. Militants ranked it a low 14th on the average; nonmilitants ranked it a high third. One interpretation of Willis and Goldberg’s data is that an Other-worldly concern in black people is incompatible with a militant stance toward the problems of this world. This suggests that militance may grow among black people if they are able to free themselves from commitments to certain religious end-goals.

Impotence. What kind of Christians tend to be preoccupied with salvation? Sociological as well as Marxist theory would suggest that an Other-worldly orientation would appeal most to those who feel powerless, to those who feel that they have no influence over political and social events. This feeling of alienation and powerlessness was measured in the national sample with the statement, Because the experts have so much power in our society, ordinary people don’t hare much of a say in things. Those who agreed with this ranked both salvation and forgiving significantly higher than those who disagreed. This feeling of powerlessness on the part of those identified with Christian values is, of course, at variance with Christian doctrine that asserts that the individual can be a tremendous force for good in this world, by personal example and by active involvement.

Most Bigotry. Allport and Ross concluded from their review of relevant studies that although churchgoers in general are more bigoted than nonchurchgoers, the occasional churchgoer is the most bigoted of all. Persumably, regular churchgoers are more intrinsically oriented and inner-directed, that is, they have internalized a religious creed that they try to follow sincerely. Under this reasoning one would expect the frequent churchgoers to be more compassionate than the infrequent churchgoers who are presumably more extrinsically religious or other-directed.

The findings from my national sample do not support such a view. On virtually all the social issues the frequency of church attendance did not make much difference—the regular churchgoers were no more compassionate than the less regular churchgoers.

To describe the differential reactions to social issues of the people in my national sample, I have deliberately put the matter in terms of social compassion rather than liberalism-conservatism. Liberal and conservative political philosophies are alternative outlooks toward achieving human happiness and welfare, and many of the questions put to the respondents could indeed have been reasonably ordered along a liberal-conservative continuum. But others cannot. The reaction to Martin Luther King’s murder—He brought it on himself, for example—is a calloused, uncompassionate response rather than a conservative response. Similarly, it seems more accurate to say that it is a lack of compassion rather than political conservatism that would prompt a person to believe that blacks are basically less intelligent than whites, or that blacks have failed to achieve equality because they lack initiative, or that the poor remain poor because they are lazy.

Profile. The general picture that emerges from the results is that those who place a high value on salvation are conservative, anxious to maintain the status quo and unsympathetic to the black and the poor. They had reacted fearfully or even gleefully to the news of Martin Luther King’s assassination, they are unsympathetic with student protests, and they do not want the church to become involved with the social or political issues of our society.

Considered all together the data suggest a portrait of the religious-minded as a churchgoer who has a self-centered preoccupation with saving his own soul, and an alienated, other-worldly orientation coupled with indifference toward -- a tacit endorsement of -- a social system that would perpetuate social inequality and injustice.

If is a discrepancy between a person’s espoused values and his conduct and position on important contemporary issues, then these data from a representative sample of Americans strongly suggest a hypocrisy deeply embedded within many religiously oriented individuals. And by implication, the date point to a hypocrisy deeply embedded within organized religion as a social institution.

Yea & Nay. Christian tradition has two primary Biblical sources for its position on human values—the "thou-shaltnots" of the 10 Commandments and the "thou-shalts" of the Sermon on the Mount. The findings presented here suggest that the church has done a much better job of teaching us what not to do than what we ought to do. The findings suggest a pervasive social outlook among the religious-minded that seems to be incompatible with and often opposite to the compassion taught in the Sermon on the Mount. If Christian values do indeed serve as standards of conduct, they seem to be standards more often employed to guide man’s conduct away from rather than toward his fellow man. Moreover, the results seem compatible with the hypothesis that religious values serve more as standards for condemning others or as standards to rationalize one’s own self pursuits than as standards to judge oneself by or to guide one’s own conduct.

Change. There are nightly news reports these days of the efforts by young persons, black and white, to change the fundamental structure of our educational, governmental and social institutions on the grounds that these institutions support racism and the military-industrial complex at home, imperialism and immoral wars abroad. The findings discussed here would suggest that religious institutions are also in need of change.

If the church, taken as a whole, is at best irrelevant and at worst a training center for hypocrisy, indifference and callousness, it is unlikely that the clergy—members of the religious Establishment—will be the ones to initiate the program of radical change that seems to be called for. True, there is a protest movement against the religious Establishment, beginning within the Catholic Church and to a somewhat less public extent within the various Protestant churches, but the research of Rodney Stark and others suggests that the movement is a losing cause. And a recent Gallup Poll reports that of a representative cross-section of adult Americans, 69 per cent felt that religion was increasing its influence on American life in 1957, but that only 14 per cent felt the same way in 1969.

Opiate. Karl Marx proposed—with some justification, my data would suggest—that religion is the opiate of the people. But religion would be less open to the charge that it is an opiate if children were taught that salvation and happiness are the rewards for doing good rather than for not doing bad—for obeying the "thou-shalts" of the Sermon on the Mount rather than the "thou-shalt-nots" of the 10 Commandments.

Such a simple shift of focus, however, will probably require a profound reorganization of the total structure of organized Christianity. And if this reorganization does not come about, the data presented here lead me to propose that men will get along better with their fellow men if they can forget, or unlearn, or ignore what organized religion has taught them about values and what values are for.

Sounds of Silence

The churches have often been likened to a sleeping giant—an institution with a vast but dormant potential for creating brotherhood, social justice and a more humane society. With its huge membership and presumed moral authority it is assumed that if the giant roused itself, it could be a potent social force.

Some of our earlier studies have shown that the persons who most need their prejudices shaken are often the ones most likely to be in church on Sunday morning. This is why people speak of the giant as sleeping and why ministers, with their choice Sunday-morning audiences, have a unique opportunity to contribute to the public good.

One must wonder why the influence of religious institutions has remained potential for so long. Recent studies by Milton Rokeach have strongly confirmed and extended our earlier finding that belief in Christian teachings is often incompatible with concern for Christian ethics. Many clergymen say in despair that their sermons seem to fall upon deaf ears; that people are able to compartmentalize their lives so that prejudice, hatred and selfishness remain unaffected by messages from the pulpit.

The sermon is the primary medium through which church members learn their pastor’s instructions in the meaning and direction of Christian thought. Yet the sermon appears to be ineffective as a moral guide, and many ministers seem to be unable to fill the role of the shepherd guiding his flock.

Issues. Concerns such as these prompted us to conduct a thorough survey of Protestant ministers from nine major denominations in California. In the spring of 1968 we picked a stratified random sample which included two-thirds of the Protestant ministers and sent each an extensive questionnaire. Since the samples were random, every minister in California had an equal chance of being selected. Questionnaires were completed by 1,580, a satisfying 63 percent.

When we analyzed the results, we began to see why Christian congregations have been so unshaken by years of sermonizing. It turns out that whether or not people listen, there is not much to hear. Most sermons rarely touch on controversial moral and ethical issues. More than a third of the clergy said that never in their entire ministries had they taken a pulpit stand on a political issue. We stress issue because we wished to distinguish it from taking stands on political candidates. Political issues are not just partisan matters, but include controversies like school prayers, racism, drug legislation, sexual conduct, divorce and pornography.) Even the clergymen who had commented on social issues were not particularly vocal. Only 25 percent those surveyed had in the last year given at least five sermons that dealt mainly with controversial topics.

Doctrine. We wondered whether speaking out from the pulpit was related to the religious convictions of the clergymen, so we constructed a Doctrine Index, scoring for a minister whenever he expressed unwavering faith in any of five traditional doctrines: the existence of a personal God; the divinity of Jesus; life beyond death; the literal existence of the devil and the necessity to believe in Jesus in order to be saved.

Doctrine-Index scores ranged from 0 to 4, depending on how many of the doctrines a minister believed in. Most of our ministers were traditionalists, holding to the orthodox doctrines. (So few rejected only one doctrine that we combined them with the ministers who accepted all doctrines.) A substantial number rejected two doctrines, somewhat fewer rejected three, and so on, with a small minority of modernists who rejected all of the traditional Christian beliefs.

The Doctrine-Index score was strongly related to the tendency to speak out: of the modernists, 93 per cent had taken a stand on a political issue from the pulpit. Only 42 per cent of the traditionalists had done so.

"Political issue" is a vague term, and we realized that trivial as well as major matters could be included in these estimates. So we asked the ministers to be more specific. During the period of this study there were three issues in California in which clergy had been especially vocal—at least in news reports—so we asked each of our pastors specifically whether he had ever delivered a sermon or a section of a sermon on Proposition 14, the grape-workers’ strike or the Vietnam War.

Open Housing. Proposition 14 was a proposed constitutional amendment placed on tlie ballot by real-estate leaders, designed to repeal an existing open-housing law and to prevent any future Legislature from passing such a law. The amendment was strongly opposed by major political spokesmen from both parties and brought an outpouring of clergy opposition unprecedented in recent California history. Newspapers ran a great many ads signed by most of the prominent church leaders—not only clerical activists, but also bishops and other leaders not noted for public participation in social issues. (The proposition passed two-to-one at the polls. The electorate ignored the moral leadership and voted out the open-housing law. The amendment was later declared unconstitutional by the courts.)

The public activity of religious leaders and religious institutions was only partly reflected in the sermons of the rank-and-file clergy. Just over half (56 per cent) of those pastors who served parishes in California at the time of the election had ever delivered a sermon or even a part of a sermon on the Proposition 14 issue. From the rest of the pulpit, silence reigned. Silence was highly related to belief in traditional church doctrines: 95 per cent of the modernists preached on Proposition 14 while only 29 per cent of the traditionalists did so.

Grape Strike. Another important California social issue at the time was the effort by migratory farm workers to organize a union and obtain minimal wages and benefits. To the rest of the nation this is known as the California Grape Strike. During the height of the organizing drive—which continues— prominent Americans, including the late Robert F. Kennedy and Walter Reuther, came to march with strike leader César Chavez and his workers in Delano, California. And clergymen were highly visible among the marchers and supporters all over the state.

Our survey, however, showed that only 22 per cent of clergymen delivered sermons or sections of sermons on the farm workers’ strike. Again, this was strongly related to the Doctrine-Index: while more than half (52 per cent) of the most liberal clergymen spoke out on the issue, only nine per cent of the most conservative did so. The activist New Breed clergy saw compelling Christian issues in the strike, but this view was not shared by a large majority of the clergymen.

Holy War. The war in Vietnam was surely the most profound American social and political issue at the time of the survey. The nation was writhing with doubt about the morality of the interminable bloodshed. Scores of Americans felt morally compelled to go to jail for resisting the draft or for acts of protest against the war. Bitter controversy raged over the Christian view of the war. The late Francis Joseph Cardinal Spellman saw it as a holy and Christian endeavor. Other Christian spokesmen have seen the war as most morally reprehensible. Meanwhile, back in the pulpit, what were the California clergy saying?

A third of them have never even devoted a section of a sermon to the war. And among the most theologically conservative ministers, the majority (51 per cent) had never even mentioned the war from the pulpit. Of course, speaking on the war did not mean opposing it—the questionnaire asked only whether the war was mentioned in a sermon. In a crude measure of hawkishness we asked the ministers whether we ought to "increase our military efforts in order to win the war." Of all the clergy 27 per cent agreed (55 per cent of those most theologically conservative). Of course there is no reason why hawks as well as doves should not speak out on the war. Indeed, some did. But most hawks were also theologically conservative and were much less likely to preach on the war.

The fact that one out of three Protestant clergy had never said a word about the war indicates a degree of silence that seriously challenges the notion of sermon as a source of moral guidance.

Biafrans. In another part of the questionnaire we asked the clergymen to say how much they had talked about certain other important moral questions. But here we asked them to limit their estimates specifically to sermons delivered during the past year.

The "past year" in this case was from the late spring of 1967 to the late spring of 1968. This was one of the most agonizing years in American history. In the summer of 1967 parts of Detroit and dozens of other American cities burned. The Kerner Commission issued its monuinental report on the racial crisis. Eugene McCarthy launched his peace campaign. Lyndon Johnson announced his withdrawal from politics and began a new effort to negotiate peace. The Middle East was torn by a lightning war and a bleeding peace. l3iafrans starved by the tens of thousands. In Memphis, the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King was gunned down and a new wave of riots followed.

Yet even in this year of racial turmoil, death and tragedy, the majority of Protestant clergymen in the progressive state of California had not devoted a single sermon to racial problems.

Nothing so underscores the discontinuity between the clerical activists, who have marched and even died for racial justice, and their nondemonstrating brethren. It is not simply a difference between words and deeds; the majority of clergymen have no words, either.

On the other national and international issues there were almost no sermons. The strong relationship between silence and the Doctrine Index persisted on almost all the issues.

Bias. It must be recognized that our questions established only the minimum level of preaching on issues. Our data do not show which ministers preached often on socially relevant topics—only how many failed to preach on them at all. Further, it is possible that some clergymen—feeling they surely ought to have mentioned one of these topics—may have reported sermons they wished they had preached along with those they did preach. Nor can we eliminate sermons in which the topics were discussed so allegorically that many in the congregation did not understand what was being implied. We can also assume that clergymen in California are not a representative sample of clergymen all over the United States, but are, if anything, more liberal and vocal. For validation we did a study of a randomly chosen sample of the ministers who had not returned our questionnaire. We found that in our study sample there was a modest over-representation of younger and more liberal clergymen. Consequently, because of all these built-in biases, our findings are the most generous possible estimate of the extent to which the American Sunday morning sermon is concerned with socially relevant issues.

Perhaps the clergymen were saving their moral opinions for other parts of their pastoral duties. But barely half (54 per cent) said that they frequently discuss public affairs with members of their congregation.

Deafness. Perhaps clergymen are simply frustrated by the feeling that their flocks don’t listen to them. This deaf-ears argument was rejected right away—two-thirds of the ministers (68 per cent) agreed that "Clergymen have great potential to influence the political and social beliefs of their parishioners." And this belief in the power of the pulpit was not related to the Doctrine Index.

The traditional clergymen felt just as influential as the modernists, perhaps more. Still, they did not try.

Many clergymen believe that their congregations object to relevant sermons. Only eight per cent agreed that most members of their congregation would approve of a pulpit stand on a political issue. All the clergymen agree on the question of lay resistance to this-worldly talk from the pulpit. But conservative clergymen conform to these expectations and the liberals do not. Thus, perceptions of the laity cannot account for the differences between them.

Are the clergymen silent because of pressures from their colleagues? Over all, about two-thirds thought their colleagues would approve of their giving a socially relevant sermon. Here the strong relationship with doctrinalism recurs. Modernists think their colleagues would approve of such sermons and traditionalists think their colleagues would not approve. But peer pressure cannot explain the difference. Conservative pastors are not simply giving in to the objections of their colleagues: they themselves do not strongly approve of such use of the pulpit.

What do clergymen think is the proper use of the sermon? We asked them how important it was to accomplish each of several purposes in their sermons: 1) to provide spiritual uplift and moral comfort to those who are distressed (59 per cent thought it very important); 2) to point out the existence of human sin (54 per cent); 3) to illustrate the type of life a Christian should follow (79 per cent); and 4) to apply Christian standards to human institutions and behavior (73 per cent). The relationship with doctrinalism held on all but the fourth purpose—generally, the per cent of conservative clergymen who approved each purpose of the sermon far exceeded the per cent of liberal clergymen who did so.

Vices. These different views about the sermon come into clearer focus when we look more closely at the amount of preaching on the 13 issues we examined. Typically the traditionalist clergy are the most silent on all issues—except the four that are considered personal vices: crime and juvenile delinquency, drug use, alcoholism and sexual conduct. On these four there is a marked tendency for both the modernists and the traditionalists to speak out. Traditional Christianity has placed major emphasis on personal vices as barriers to salvation. We suspect that when the conservative clergy preach on such topics it is to denounce such individual action -- when they preach on crime they emphasize "Thou shalt not steal," while the more liberal clergy emphasize the social causes of crime.

It is inadequate to conclude that the major reason the clergy do not speak out on important issues is simply that they are committed to traditional Christian doctrine. The Sermon on the Mount is also a part of traditional Christianity. What is it about doctrinal commitment that causes the conservative clergy to remain silent? We asked the ministers directly what they thought was the function and mission of the church. We identified two conflicting views of the church's function, which we called Other-worldliness and This-worldliness.

Billy Graham. Evangelism is one type of Other-worldliness, exemplified by Billy Graham. Individual salvation is seen as the solution to our worldly problems. If all men are brought to Christ social evils will disappear. Clergymen who follow this belief concentrate on conversion and evangelism. They mostly ignore social and political efforts for reform because so long as there are men who have not been won to Christ a sinful society is inevitable.

Another Other-worldliness view holds that life is merely a time of testing during which one must establish his right to spend eternity in heaven. This conception rejects the possibility of substantially improving worldly affairs. "Where will you spend eternity?" is the only worthwhile concern, so why go to the trouble of talking about superficialities such as programs to solve social crises?

The more liberal This-worldly clergy reject such views. Their emphasis is not on getting right with God, but on getting right with other men. These clergymen stress loving thy neighbor as the major Christian ethical dictum.

We found that the ministers’ opinions about the role of the church were strongly related to their belief in traditional doctrines. Forty-four per cent of the sample agreed with the evangelist statement that "If enough men were brought to Christ, social ills would take care of themselves." But there was a wide split -- 77 per cent of the conservative ministers agreed, but only seven per cent of the theological liberals.

Heaven. A similar pattern appeared in response to an extreme anti-Otherworldly view: "It is not as important to worry about life after death as about what one can do in this life." The total agreement was 68 per cent, but this ranged from 42 per cent of the traditionalist clergy up to 100 per cent of the modernists.

We began to see that many church leaders are silent because their doctrinal commitment— Other-worldliness —makes preaching on vital issues seem irrelevant. We asked three questions relating to Other-worldliness and found that such beliefs were strongly but not totally related to doctrinalism. We could find This-worldly and Other-worldly ministers among both the modernists and the traditionalists.

The questionnaire data supported our idea—the traditionalist clergy were generally much more silent, but when we looked closer at them we found that the ones who rejected Other-worldly ideals were much more likely to speak out than traditionalists who embraced Otherworldliness. The same was true at all levels of the Doctrine Index—it was the Other-worldliness and found that such silent. Of course, only a few of the modem clergy are Other-worldly, while a great many of the traditionalists are; this basic division of clergymen is what led to our original finding that doctrinalism was so strongly related to speaking out.

Thus, it seems that it is the theological beliefs of the clergy themselves that keep them silent in the pulpit. Indeed, the clergymen recognize this: 94 per cent of the liberal ministers thought their own theological views generally encouraged their participation in social-action activities, but only 39 per cent of the most conservative clergy thought so.

Joy. We are forced to conclude that a major reason that clergymen high on doctrinalism are so unlikely to preach about the problems of race, war and poverty is that they see such problems as mundane in contrast to the joys of the world to come, and besides, they believe these social ills would take care of themselves if enough men were brought to Christ. Thus it is because of their religious convictions that many Protestant clergymen do not speak out on social issues. If the majority are silent, it is because they believe that is best.

These findings appear dismal for those who hope to awaken the churches to the urgent problems of modern society. However, those who believe that the churches can play a role in those problems have never pinned their hopes on the silent majority of clergy.4 Rather, they believe in an impending reformation based on the outspoken minority— a New Breed of theologically liberal, activist clergymen. Our data indicate that there is such a minority in today’s ministry—but is it the vanguard of sweeping theological and institutional change?

Defection. There are signs that during the past decade the New Breed has been influential in campus and experimental ministries and even in administrative positions within the churches, but our data suggest they have had little success at the parish level, where most clergymen are and where most communication between the clergy and the laity takes place. Here the proportion of Old Breed ministers has not declined. On the contrary it appears that not only are the New Breed a very small minority among parish ministers, but their numbers may now actually be declining.

In the ministry today, defection is high and probably on the increase, while recruitment is declining. There are many cues that both processes mainly affect the New Breed. In our study we asked all clergymen to reconsider their calling: Looking back on things—if you had it to do over—how certain are you that you would enter the ministry? It seems a telling comment that only just over half (56 per cent) of California ministers said they definitely would do it again. More important only 14 per cent of the modernist clergymen believed they definitely would go into the c1ergy again while 75 per cent of the traditionalists definitely would.

It may yet be, as some clergy activists predict, that the discouragement of the New Breed with the parish church will produce radically new forms of ministry, and transformation in the church. But this assumes a church that can survive as an institution without relying on the parish as its primary unit. In our judgment this does not seem likely.

So far as we can tell, Sunday mornings will remain the same, with America's silent majority sitting in the churches, listening to silent sermons

The Political and Economic Conditions of Freedom of Information

An acceptable degree of freedom of information exists nowhere in the world today. Information is the basis of power. The structure of power is today not compatible with freedom for men and the care of the earth; rather it is the social organization by which men are denied freedom and the earth defiled. The technology of communications today is the principal means by which power is established and maintained. Hubris, mendacity and social hypocrisy in the service of irresponsible institutional power are the character of its contents by which this is accomplished.

The scientific and technical revolution of the past several centuries has reduced the functional time-space within which the several races, cultures, ideologies, religions and economic systems of mankind live to the dimension of a village. This is true whether we think of our capacity to kill or cure, to build or destroy, to travel or communicate, to live or to believe. Within that functional world-village, we find now existing genocidal war (Indochina), cold war, nuclear weapons threats, conventional weapons threats, colonialism and neo-colonialism, wildly unbalanced use of resources so that a major part of the world population starves or verges on starvation while a minor part consumes lavishly, racism, ignorance, a defilement of the environment through pollution of air, water and soil, and reckless wastage of irreplaceable resources. Within the "highly developed" areas the massive flight from reality represented by addictions to alcohol, narcotics, tranquillizers, suicide, crime and other escape mechanisms reflect the "dis-ease" of the cultures. This is the context in which our topic appears.

"Information," I will define as knowledge in its dynamic relation between man and man. man and his environment. and between parts of the environment. Or, if you prefer, it is Norbert Wiener’s definition, "a name for the content of what Is exchanged with the outer world as we adjust to it, and make our adjustment felt upon it.1. "Freedom", I define (with Ellul) as the act of resisting necessity. One is not free when and where one’s actions are determined for one by habit, by parental or other training, by external authority. "Freedom of information" then must refer to the conditions which would permit every human being the opportunity of full individual development while living In a way which enhances the welfare of the human race and of the physical and biological environment. So defined, "freedom of information" rests on the conditions which are also essential for "peace," defined by Robert M. Hutchins in opening the Pacem In Terris international convocation as "...not merely the absence of war; it is the nurture of human life everywhere." I am aware that Article 19 of the UN’s Declaration of Human Rights refers to freedom of information in a more limited sense,2. but we should by this time be aware that the full bill of human rights is a necessary accompaniment of the enjoyment of any limited range of freedom of information and ideas.

Whether the phrase "freedom of information" be defined broadly or narrowly, the control of information is the basis of power. Machines plus human organization equal technology. They also have come to equal modern institutions. They exist and they function by virtue of their control over the individuals who comprise them in the process of exchanging content with each other. This control Is exercised through the ideologies, myths, beliefs, assumptions, procedures, policy statements, instructions, etc., which constitute and justify the individual and collective operations making up in their totality the way we use our lives. When, as is the case, men are generally denied freedom3. and the earth is dangerously defiled, the power structures which are our institutions must be held accountable for the lack of freedom of information which brings about this result.

The technology of communications is the central core of the whole modern technological, institutional complex. The history of printing is the history of power struggles between interest groups concerned to protect themselves in the emerging national states from the 15th Century onward. The history of the postal service from the 17th Century onward is the story of efforts of elements within the power structure of the national state to promote their own interests and to defeat those of others (through their own use of its facilities and through using access to the content of the mail as a source of intelligence). The impetus for innovating the wire-telegraph came from national defense establishments concerned to use control of knowledge to preserve and extend their power, and its subsequent history conforms to the pattern of other communications media in this regard.

The Communications Revolution is the name we may give to the cluster of technological innovations which took place beginning somewhere in mid-l9th Century, and which includes such items as: wire telegraphy and telephony; radio telegraphy and telephony; sophisticated photographic equipment; motion pictures; high-speed printing equipment, including capacity for mass production of photography and color; facsimile; television; the typewriter, photo-offset and chemical means of document reproduction; information recording office equipment of all kinds (bookkeeping, etc.); indexing and information retrieval equipments; computers and automation. These innovations have penetrated and will penetrate further every institution and every individual life. These innovations transformed and enlarged old centers of private power and created new ones in the Western world. Collectively they are the core of the tangled network of business, religious, trade union, military, and political organizations and relations which together constitute the power structure in the world.

The power-yielding capacity of the new communications technology falls into two categories: the "mass media" (print media, radio-TV, motion pictures) and the remainder, but the distinction is perhaps more formal than real for all of the new technological means of communications reinforce each other. In the more "advanced" western countries the prime function of the commercial mass media Is to market the economy’s output of consumer goods and services and to train the population to dutiful consumership and devotion to the national "system". The purpose of the entertainment, information and educational material presented is initially to form individuals into audiences which are then sold to advertisers for such training. Conformity to the status quo is the principle which frames the point of view and selection of these materials.4.

The techniques which are employed to sell goods and services are also (often unconsciously) applied to ideas. Erich Fromm defines the art of feelings in people without making them aware that ‘their’ thoughts are not their own".5. We must recognize that such brainwashing takes place to greater or lesser degrees in at least every advanced national system. In the process morality and liberal political Institutions are eroded.6. Such a set of institutions and individual actions could only be perpetuated in the real world today by the maintenance of a dream world in which it is constantly justified. This dream world is constructed of popular myths. In the leading Western nation the intra-national portion of this mythical world consists in such as the following, each of which has a variety of manifestations:

(1) Look out for number one; let the other fellow take care of himself.

(2) Public government is inherently bad and politics are dirty; private business is clean and efficient; public taxation is malevolent, private taxation is benevolent; that government is best which governs least. (3) Private property approaches the sacred; public planning which would interfere with it is inherently bad.

The foreign portion of the mythical world includes:

(1) We are good; they are bad. (2) Communism is an international conspiracy.

(3) Our foreign relations problems are caused by Communists and therefore counter-revolution anywhere in the world is good. (4) Better dead than red; the only appropriate response to foreign problems is military; we must be tough; force is the only thing Communists respect. (5) Foreign policy must be authoritatively determined by our Commander in Chief and the military; we should trust our leaders (but this is cushioned by the myth that "we" are pluralistic, free to think and for us the individual is sacred, while "they" are monolithic, told what to think and for them only the system is sacred). (6) Technology, know-how and winning are the all important values and our high moral ends justify our means. (7) We are the defenders of the "free world" and we will take any risks to preserve "our system".

In the socialist and mixed systems which comprise the remainder of man’s social institutional context, the technology of communications serves their systems’ values and goals. As late arrivals on the historical scene, those systems enjoy the challenging and difficult advantage of building new social orders, rather than operating old ones. Socialist morality as it is taught by the communications systems in the socialist countries, of course, has the power-ordering consequences of the technology In general, of the technology of communications, and of the mass media technology in particular. While we in the west are less familiar with the details than we are with our own, it seems safe to infer that the technology-based power structures in the socialist and mixed systems employ manipulative techniques similar in kind If not in degree to those In the west. Thus, the myths by which the Russians and Chinese systems mobilize opinion against each other and against Western nations have the hubristic quality with which we are familiar in the west. That the values of the technological system take precedence over those of individual welfare is exemplified In the Stalin regime in the Soviet Union. And the centrality of the power significance of the communications technology is attested by the pivotal importance of which faction controls the radio-TV stations and the telephone systems whenever a coup or revolution takes place in an African, Asian or Latin American country.

Within the functional world-village, to which technology has now shrunk mankind’s space-time dimensions, information on a world or inter-continental scale is distorted, mutilated and ignored to a much greater degree than information within the nation-state systems. The five so-called "World-wide" wire services upon which each nation’s mass media (and to some extent government) depend for information about events outside its own border are arms of their respective national systems (American, English, French and Soviet) and mirror the interests of the power structure within their home countries in the selection and presentation of information from the outside world. None of them cover all countries with anything like adequate reporters or freedom from conflicts of interest. Literally, events of world signif1~cance are unavailable on objective terms to virtually the whole world population.7.

One may conclude this portion of the analysis by agreeing with Ellul that in all but the least organized parts of the world,



"Rationality and coherence of action no longer depend on personal reflection or voluntary decision by the individual but on his integration into the objecçive and collective planning which governs his actions.".?8.

Power in the national state rests on public opinion -- or on "consensus" as one head of state prefers to call it. Public opinion provides day-to-day legitimacy to but does not control the national state. It is manipulated and controlled by the dominant Institutions -- economic, political and religious --of that state. The ability to control public opinion is exercised through the means of communication, and most critically through the mass media of communication. The communications media set the agenda of issues, problems, beliefs, points of view, etc. which the population of the state have for consideration and through mass production of materials conceived in a certain way create public opinion reflecting those materials. Through this power to inform -- (i.e. to determine the flow of information), the dominant institutions form the national state’s policies and actions. As Sauvy remarks, the freedom to inform Is now the counterpart of what was once the freedom to build castles.9.

The technological developments of the past century provide the organizational basis for regional and world policies rooted in ecological considerations. Communications technology as exemplified in space communications is In the forefront of this development and Illustrates the paradox.

The national state as we know it -- the largest formal political entity developed to date -- grew up in the past three centuries. It was made possible and inevitable by the Industrial Revolution which initially set the limits to its size. The continuation of the Industrial Revolution in the past 100 years has progressively passed beyond the scope and dimensions of the national state and has already provided the basis of regional and world organization. The basis of this government ("government" means exercise of authority over organizations) are the rudimentary institutions and institutions- coming-into-being-through-need-and-capacity which are all around us. The significance of this basis is generally missed because of the brainwashing we receive from the national state institutions, and because of the slowness of the development (until the last few decades when the pace of development accelerated rapidly). Some of the many facets of this development are:

(a) The development of production technology which now peaks in the form of automation and cybernation. The productivity of the most advanced countries rises so high that they can, in effect, give away their product to their own citizens. In this situation the great bulk of the world population cannot be left to suffer chronic starvation, disease and lack of elementary services. The moral sense to this effect of the advanced nations with pale skins will be reinforced by the determination of the less advanced nations with colored skins. The obvious method of solving the twin problems highlighted by cybernation in the advanced nations -- unemployment of skilled people and of machine capacity -- is to apply these technical productive capacities and products on a regional and world basis.10. This ecological point of view underlies such international organizations as The Food and Agriculture Organization, the UN Conference on Trade and Development (and consequent establishment of a Trade Board), UNESCO, the UN Special Fund and Technical Assistance program, and others.

(b) The development of the technology of public health -- which has increased life expectancy in the past century and is responsible for the "population explosion". This calls for popular education for population control. But more importantly it calls for regional and world organization to apply productive technology to feed and clothe the world’s population. The cry ‘overpopulation’ arises from obsolete national-state points of view and implicitly reflects a chauvinistic white man’s view. For how can it be said that there is world overpopulation when no attempt has been made to organize the available technology to feed and clothe the world population? The same ecologically oriented organizations referred to under (a) are relevant here.

(c) The development of the technology of war -- which has made the national military establishments largely obsolete. An institution incapable of performing its function is obsolete. Admittedly today no military establishment can protect its nations from destruction in a nuclear or bacteriological war. Very little evidence of ecologically based organization appears in this area -- the international agreement for keeping the Antarctic de-militarized and plans for nuclear free zones in Africa and Central Europe (Rapacki plan) are the sole examples. We return to this problem later.

(d) The development of the technology of communications -- which simultaneously provides the mainstay of power of the national state and its symbiotic institutions, and an example of the highest stage of development presently visible in world-ecological organization and policy. The first half of this dialectical situation has already been analyzed briefly in section 1. The technology of communications demonstrated, even in the 19th Century, its pressure toward higher orders of social organization. The postal service technology led to the creation of the Universal Postal Union in 1863 -- the first of the present UN family of ecologically based world institutions. Through it uniform operating standards and procedures were developed and applied to international mail. Wire telegraphy early In its history led through bilateral treaties to a 20-nation International Telegraph Union in 1865 -- the lineal predecessor of the present International Telecommunications Union,11. which establishes procedures and standards for telegraph and telephone operations and which allocates the use of the radio spectrum world-wide.

The radio spectrum allocation is a completely new institution which represents a complete break with previous ideas of organization, property and policy. In law it rests on functional use of a world resource. It rejects ideas of property as being measured in three-dimensions and subject to "ownership" by individuals, corporations or national states. The radio spectrum is legally the property of the human race and the regulation of its use rests on the proposition that the conditions on which individuals or groups may use it must be consistent with the interest of all other possible users in its use. Not only must the use of the radio spectrum, as a technical matter, be on terms which are mutually acceptable to the members of the human race, but through the ITU, its users contribute the knowledge of the propagation and other characteristics of the radio spectrum which is the by-product of its use.12.

Not only is there centralized planning, administration and regulation by a functional organization for radio allocation at the world level, but similar development exists at the regional and at the functional level, as well as within national states. By "functional level", here I refer to the world-wide organization of classes of radio users (e.g. aviation, marine, common carrier, broadcast). At all organizational levels, standards and operating procedures tend to be generalized on a world-wide basis. Moreover, the applications of the radio technique have been differentiated increasingly and today they permeate the whole of technically advanced society and integrate it into a regional and world-wide technological order.13.

In addition to the ITU, a list of regional and world organizations ecologically related to radio administration includes the International Civil Aviation Organization, the International Marine Communications Organization, European Broadcasting Union (western Europe), International Broadcasting Organization (eastern Europe), Asian Broadcasting Union, African Broadcasting

Union, and others.

The paradox of communications technology is that on the one hand, the ITU and its related organizations are not concerned with the substantive content which passes through the communications channels (being devoted solely to technical matters), while on the other hand, as an international institution, an experienced American engineer could speak of it in these terms:

Since the radio spectrum belongs to everyone and no one, it is like the very air we breathe. When problems arise, we have become accustomed to the idea of gathering at a table and talking over these problems. Once this is done solutions not previously apparent are usually found. The fact that such solutions have inherent compromises of one sort or another as their basis is typical of the nature of the problem with which we are dealing. More importantly, it underscores the necessity for decisions in the use of a common natural resource even though such decisions are not ideal from the point of view of any one group of users. Each user and group of users has been forced by circumstances to accept a policy of ‘give and take’, realizing that he must give in some instances in order to receive in others."14.

It is precisely this prototype of technological pressure toward new regional and world organization which also embodies the presently toughest resistance from the national state to such evolution. For in the national frame of reference "intelligence" and command of the most efficient communications technology are deemed a prime essential of national security and power. Communications satellites, however, might be the technological innovation which breaks the impasse.

The supply of channels for voice and record electronic communication between continents became very short in relation to the demand which developed in the years since 1945. Communications satellites which became scientifically practicable by the late 1950’s will provide an abundance of channel space of high quality and at very low cost. The engineering work on them has now been substantially accomplished, and prototype models will shortly be replaced with operational systems. The best system appears to be the synchronous satellites, three of which spaced around the earth at an elevation of 22,300 miles will provide line-of-sight coverage to about 98 percent of the earth’s surface. The channels provided by radio repeaters in such satellites may be used for communications between two points on the earth’s surface, or for broadcast. The possible services include voice telephone, radio broadcast, television broadcast, facsimile, telegraph transmission of verbal massages or of data for computers. In its report to the UN Economic and Social Council in 1959, the ITU evaluated the potential as follows:

"It is in fact quite probable that new telecommunications equipment which.. .is bound to be developed in the next ten years will offer the technical possibility of ensuring what might be termed ‘Total freedom of information’, i.e., freedom to see and hear at all times what is happening In any part of the world. Telecommunication already plays a very important part in the modern world with its influence on the political, economic and social levels. Moreover, scientific and technical progress in the next ten years will introduce unprecedented achievements In this field and it is no exaggeration to assert here and now that teleconimuni- cation will play a primary role both on the national and on world levels and it could also be pointed out that the most difficult problems are not generally of a purely technical nature and that telecommunications questions should more and more command the attention of governmental authorities at the highest level.. ..Obstacles to freedom of Information as far as transmission are concerned will hence soon be only of a political and economic nature and the ITU can but express the hope that the appropriate internati~onal organizations will soon manage to overcome them."15.

On the recommendation of the United States and the Soviet Union, the UN created its Committee on the Peaceful Uses of Outer Space to make plans for, inter alia, communications satellites. Despite the euphoric rhetoric of its ambassador’s speeches at the UN, the United States has blocked all efforts by uncommitted and socialist nations to bring the problems of organization and policy of communications satellites before that Committee, thus frustrating the Committee and the recommendations of the ITU.16.

Brazil, for example, repeatedly urged that the UN should be made the organizational home of communications satellites and that there should be a prohibition by the UN on the use of the satellites "...for the purpose of encouraging national, racial or class rivalries...."17.

The United States created a commercial corporation to exploit the publicly developed communications satellite technology in 1962. It then negotiated the terms of an agreement with 17 states (initially, others have since signed) under which the "space segment" is to be owned in undivided shares by the signatories in proportion to their respective contributions. Voting strength on the Interim Communications Satellite Committee is measured by those contributions. Absolute United States control of the "Committee" is ensured by the provision that the U.S. share will not fall below 50.6 percent of the total. Comsat Corporation, the U.S. commercial monopoly, is to be manager in the design, development and operation of the system. Presumably because of the general sentiment outside the United States for some kind of UN "home" for the communications satellites, the agreement provides that by January 1, 1969 the Committee should report to its members

"recommendations concerning the definitive arrangements for an international global system which shall supersede the interim arrangements established by this Agreement. This report, which shall be fully representative of all shades of opinion, shall consider, among other things, whether the interim arrangements should be continued on a permanent basis or whether a permanent international organization with a General Conference and an international administrative and technical staff should be established." (Article IX(a))

It also provides that an international conference should be convened by the United States government to consider the report of the Committee.

In response to the United States policy, the Soviet Union has orbited its communications Satellites and currently it is reported in the press that the Soviet Union and France are negotiating some sort of arrangement for its use.

From present evidence it appears that both the Comsat Interim Committee and the Soviet Communications satellite system are to be used initially for point-to-point relay purposes, i.e. it is not intended that they should broadcast TV and radio directly to populations. The technology of communications satellites, however, has developed so rapidly that Hughes Aircraft Corporation (prime contractor for the Comsat Corp satellites) now offers to deliver within two years similar satellites capable of TV and radio broadcast service, to work directly with home receivers equipped with inexpensive special antennas. Such broadcast satellites could cover a continent or a large country with usable signals, or by directional antennas could aim their signals at smaller countries. The cost of the space segment of such a system would be low, as compared with ground-based TV systems: launching, rocket and satellite would cost about $10 million, including allowance for possible launch failure, to which should be added not more than $5 million for the ground station "up-link". Useful life is estimated at five years. With such opportunities, it is safe to say that national ventures in satellite broadcasting could be numerous in the next 10 years. And the Incentive as well as the technical capacity will be present for private commercial "pirate" operations (analogous to sea-borne pirate broadcast stations off European shores which currently are forcing commercial radio onto the United Kingdom) to be undertaken anywhere in the world.

By now it should be clear that unprecedented integrative tendencies are at work in communications technology. They have taken the world to the brink of an integrated communications system capped by communications satellites with almost unlimited capacity to integrate mankind organizationally. But the forces based on the national state which resist organizational integration are so strong that currently the prospect for communications satellite organization resembles the order of the jungle more than humanity. The future, however, is indeterminate and man can make of communications satellites what he wills.

When one considers the technological pressures toward world and regional organization which have been sketched above, the force of the remarks by Aldous Huxley on the politics of ecology becomes apparent:

"Committing that sin of overweening bumptiousness, which the Greeks called hubris, we behave as though we were not members of earth’s ecological community, as though we were privileged and, in some sort, supernatural beings and could throw our weight around like gods. But in fact we are, among other things, animals -- emergent parts of the natural order. If our politicians were realist they would think rather less about missiles and the problem of landing a couple of astronauts on the moon, rather more about hunger and moral squalor and the problem of enabling three billion men, women and children, who will soon be six billions, to lead a tolerably human existence without, in the process, ruining and befouling their planetary environment.

"Animals have no souls; therefore, according to the most authoritative Christian theologians, they may be treated as though they were things. The truth, as we are now beginning to realize, is that even things ought not to be treated as mere things. They should be treated as though they were parts of a vast living organism. ‘Do as you would be done by.’ The Golden Rule applies to our dealing with nature no less than to our dealings with our fellow-men. If we hope to be well treated by nature, we must stop talking about ‘mere things’ and start treating our planet with intelligence and consideration....

"Power politics in the context of nationalism raises problems that, except by war, are practically insoluble. The problems of ecology, on the other hand, admit of a rational solution and can be tackled without the arousal of those violent passions always associated with dogmatic ideology and nationalistic idolatry....

"Power politics, nationalism, and dogmatic ideology are luxuries that the human race can no longer afford. Nor, as a species, can we afford the luxury of ignoring man’s ecological situation. By shifting our attention from the now completely irrelevant and anachronistic politics of nationalism and military power to the problems of the human species and the still inchoate politics of human ecology we shall be killing two birds with one stone -- reducing the threat of sudden destruction by scientific war and at the same time reducing the threat of a more gradual biological disaster.

"The beginnings of ecological politics are to be found in the special services of the United Nations Organization. UNESCO, the Food and Agriculture Organization, the World Health Organization, the various Technical Aid Services --

all these are, partially or completely, concerned with the ecological problems of the human species. In a world where political problems are thought of and worked upon within a frame of reference whose coordinates are nationalism and military power, these ecology-oriented organizations are regarded as peripheral. If the problems of humanity could be thought about and acted upon within a frame of reference that has survival for the species, the well- being of individuals, and the actualization of man’s desirable potentialities 18 as its coordinates, these peripheral organizations would become central."

Policies conducive to freedom of information and regional and world organizational development are currently frustrated by national state considerations. There are many roads to an ecologically organized world. Regional and world government will rest on community, communications and public opinion. A UN-based broadcast satellite operation is proposed. Also a UN-based information service to supplement present wire services.18.

The national state and obsolete economic institutions are the principal obstacles to regional world development today.19. If one asks, what are the possible roads to a world without war, that essential way-station on the way to freedom of information in anecologically organized world, Arthur Waskow answers that there are five: (a) Control of the nation-state system through stabilizing the balance of power and reducing international tensions but keeping the weapons; (b) Reform of the system through total disarmament without abandoning national sovereignty or the pursuit of national interest; (c) Extension of the system through the creation of a federal world government; (d) Fragmentation of the system through increases in the power of extra-national associations and Institutions across national boundaries, and corresponding decreases in state power as these occupational, industrial, scientific, and other groups gradually expropriate from the national governments the power to make decisions within their own fields; and (e) Abolition of the system through substituting love f or coercion.20." And of course he points out that combinations of roads are possible over time. While no doubt all roads must be tried, the thesis of the present paper is what Waskow calls the "fragmentation" road ((d) - above) will shortly merge with the "extension" road ((c) - above) and that communications institutions are a key factor in this approach.

Loyalty, trust, faith in others of the human species appears not to be born in any of us. It is learned. For uncounted millenia mankind taught itself loyalty and trust only in the Immediate family. Later it taught itself loyalty to the extended family or tribe. Loyalty to the nation-state has been a principal object of the communications and educational systems of the family and of the national community for a few hundred years -- a relatively short period in man’s history. The reason man has presently so little loyalty to the human race is simply that he has not been taught it. Instead, as we all are aware, the institutions of the nation-state (prominently the family, the schools, the churches, the mass media) commonly teach ethnocentrism and prejudice against people who are racially or Ideologically either traditionally or conveniently used as scape goats. Even when there is no intent, subconscious or otherwise, to teach ethnocentrism and prejudice in our nation-state systems, the presentation of news (e.g. of damage done to people by earthquakes, avalanches, or wars) about distant peoples in a context of passive entertainment and commercial announcements as typically happens In western TV, radio and press fosters indifference. The vicarious observation of injury to an unfamiliar "them" when repeated perpetually produces a callousness which is a breeding ground for ethnocentrism and prejudice.

No doubt there is much that the family, the school, the church and the mass media could do within the nation-state to teach loyalty to the human race, and at a later point I will refer to the churches’ obligation in this regard. However, we must recognize that the bias in the teaching by the nation-state institutions is against this trend. At least we can ask that those nation-state institutions stop teaching disloyalty to the human race.

But, we must go further.

Community depends upon communication. The world community depends upon world communication. As Professor Jerome Frank puts it,

"The reason there has not been a feeling for mankind is because we have not been able to communicate so fully and intimately with mankind. One of the great new hopes of the world is that the media of mass communication, and the shrinkage of the world in terms of transportation and so on, are going to lead to a rapid build-up of a world-wide network of communication and of mutual rewar4s, out of which I think can grow a feeling for all mankind."21.

Presently there is a void In the world’s technology precisely in the area of world communications institutions. They simply do not exist In terms relevant to the need and the technical potential.

To put the matter in another light, among the reasons why the efforts to achieve "world government" in the past 100 years have not succeeded is the fact that the nation-state has effectively avoided the issue. "World government" has never been on the agenda-for-action of the world’s population because the power structure of the nation-state has kept it off the agenda of the mass media controlled by those states. A fundamental political fact is that order under law can only advance when and where there is common consent -- i.e. when public opinion provides a consensus to support It. The whole history of the de-emphasis on the city-state and the evolution of the nation-state proves this point. We cannot hope to reach Utopia in one step. A world wide common consent on all issues which cleave our new functional world-village is far off. But until those issues are placed effectively on the agenda-for-action by the population of that functional world - village we will wait in vain for the first effective steps toward a modest degree of world government.

The meaning and scope of democracy is involved in this too.



"Western democratic theory, from the days of Mill to our own, has always been concerned with internal affairs. Foreign affairs, or diplomacy, are intrinsically and historically undemocratic. They are the prerogative of the executive, who is the heir to the monarch. Diplomacy thrives on methods, such as secrecy, that are profoundly undemocratic or anti - democratic....

"As long as internal affairs outweigh foreign affairs, democracywithin the nation - statej can survive, probably to the detriment of foreign affairs. When foreign affairs, the crushing issues of war and peace in a technologically shrinking, increasingly interdependent world, begin to outweigh internal affairs, and domestic policy becomes largely determined by foreign policy las in the U.S.A. with its Vietnam war today - - DWS the democratic process is doomed to be stifled and choked. To be rescued, to survive even on the domestic plane, the democratic process must be carried over from the internal to the international sector. Foreign policy must be internationalized and carried out~ not by diplomats representing the executive, but by representatives qf the people in international bodies of deliberation." 22.

I suggest that concerted efforts should be made to develop satellite broadcasting system capable of transmitting TV, radio and facsimile programs to the whole world under the auspices of the United Nations. As indicated earlier the engineering products are available and comparatively cheap on which to build this world communications institution.

Administrative structure. Initially, an experimental phase should try out a model drawn from experience in the UN trusteeship system for undeveloped territories and in the earlier League of Nations mandates, as well as in the exploration of Arctic regions, in the organization for the peaceful uses of atomic energy and for the International Geophysical Year.

A Satellite Broadcasting Commission should be established by the General Assembly as the "trust" organization for an experimental period with a fixed term (five or ten years). This Commission should be divided into a governing body and an operating body.

The governing body might be referred to as the Board. It would consist of national government delegations and would own the facilities of the Commission. It would provide financing and be responsible for the budget of the Commission. It would establish general policy and provide general rules for the aims, responsibilities and operation of the satellite broadcasting system. It should most emphatically not be involved in operations and any possibility of undue pressure from it on detailed operations, beyond its general policy guidance, should be excluded. The British Broadcasting Corporation illustrates the role of such a Board.

A sound financial base must be provided for the system. Of a number of logically possible bases, those based on deriving revenues from advertising would be totally unacceptable to a number of countries and must be excluded. Financing based on receiver licenses would demand a fairly high standard of living on the part of viewer - listeners and a degree of prior commitment to the service which obviously do not exist. The only feasible financial base appears to be direct contributions, either from broadcasting organizations (national and regional) or from national governments. Presently and for some time to come many broadcasting organizations would not be able to make financial contributions sufficient to support an independent, efficient satellite broadcasting operation. For the immediate future at least, national government contributions must provide the financial base, calculated as are contributions to the UN and other inter - government bodies.23.

The operating body might be referred to as the Satellite Broadcasting Federation. It would operate within the general policy established by the Board. This Federation would be formed from the broadcasters and would consist of the regional broadcasting unions rather than national broadcasting organizations

Program policy. Program content for satellite broadcasting should be based on the most significant common denominator of international acceptance on educational and cultural affairs and should progressively pursue the terms on which initially controversial aspects of educational and cultural matters may be programmed for regional and world audiences. At the present stage of man’s development the broadcasting of public events is the most obvious example of the most significant common denominator of international acceptance. Sports (Olympic games), music festivals, major religious events (a Pope visits the UN), major technological events (astronauts return from the moon; a hydro electric project is completed, etc.) illustrate the type. Also at this level of acceptance may be the teaching of basic literacy, physical geography, biology, botany, plastic arts and the performance of music. A second and more controversial pool of materials which the Commission should develop into mutually useful programs might include personal hygeine, public health, human geography, the races of mankind, technology and its applications to economic development and - - history. The overriding principle is that beginning with the educational and cultural material in which mankind most readily finds common interest, the programming will move progressively and as rapidly as possible to thornier materials.24.

A question arises as to the desirable degree of centralization of program responsibility at the operating level of the Federation of regional broadcasting unions. At the outset it will clearly be desirable to maximize the decentralization in program responsibility at the operating level so that it devolves upon the Federation’s constituent Unions in such a way that programs would reflect the programming capacities of the countries they now serve. Even from the start, however, the Federation should send out an ad hoc internationally responsible program production team for live coverage of international events, in cooperation with the United Nations.

Finally, the Commission’s programming policy should recognize its obligation to maintain liaison with the UN - related organizations, especially UNESCO, FAO, WHO, and to develop appropriate programs in relation therewith.

The second stage in the development of the world satellite broadcasting system should grow out of the experience in the experimental stage.

That such a world satellite broadcasting system would find strong support is suggested by these remarks by U. Thant at the Pacem in Terris international convocation in New York in 1965:

"Governments, however well and sincerely they may cooperate in the United Nations, cannot by themselves face the great and shifting problems of our age in isolation. The peoples they represent must also give life and reality to the aims and ideals of the Charter, towards which we strive. Here, again, now have the means to achieve a great objective, an enlightened world public opinion. One of the revolutions of our age, the revolution In communications of all kinds, has made a well - informed public opinion technically possible for the first time in history. Our problem is to ensure a beneficial use of these means of communications. This Is a challenge to leaders both temporal and spiritual, to intelligent and creative men and women everywhere. Without real knowledge and understanding and without a determination to learn from the past, to rid ourselves of outmoded prejudices and attitudes, and to face the future together with both hope and wisdom, we shall not succeed in making our aims and ideals a working rea1ity."25.

which presently exists in the fledgling community of mankind. It would support and draw support from those other ecologically - based organizations now affiliated with the UN. It would make a start toward providing a world public opinion which would demand and eventually achieve appropriate organizational forms where popular delegates could by - pass to some degree the functionally obsolescent nation - state system. At such a time the nation - state would not vanish; it would simply discharge the functions appropriate to its scale and would doubtless continue, as do cities today to command an appropriate but limited loyalty from individuals.

The possessors of power (through the communications technology) to control men today are the political and economic institutions which rely on and in turn maintain the national state as the prime agent of mankind’s organization. Where the Church is identified with these national state institutions, as is largely the case, its influence at the grass roots level reinforces the reign of these obsolete institutions and policies. The challenge. to the morally responsible institutions (pre-eminently the Church). is to disarm the national power based on communications technology and to shape the new regional and world institutions which should use the power of that technology to implement policies compatible with the care of the earth and humanity.

In our functional world - village, the political and economic conditions of freedom of information are the same as the conditions of peace, of justice, of life with approximate equality of opportunity. The substantive problems are basically three: (1) The growing gap between the advanced and newly developing nations in terms of levels of living (food, essentially); (2) The growing gap between colored and pale skinned people which is linked with the food problem and exacerbated by ideological differences; and (3) The ideological garb in which these problems appear. The procedural problem is how to organize ourselves in this world to meet these substantive problems. And here the impediments center on the obsolete nation state and its obsolete institutions. I have suggested that rudimentary regional and world organizations which foreshadow the kind of organizational structure capable of meeting the world’s ecological problems have already emerged and that in the area of communications lies the opportunity to build the, core (or nervous system) for world and regional ecological organization.

I now suggest that the churches of the world, and especially of the western world where the obsolescence in policy and structure is most evident and where the churches can perhaps do something about it, should address their energies, their hearts and their minds to doing something practical to bring about the unity of mankind. As Ritchie Calder puts it science and technology have catapulted the world within the past 20 years into a situation where "Mankind has become an entity, interdependent through our common necessities."27. The youth of the western world, born post - atom, senses this, but as Calder says,

• .their elders are still schizophrenic - - recognizing the facts of a shrunken world, but rejecting the implications, which upset outworn creeds." This would mean acting on the answers to such questions as:

(1) What can the churches do to teach people loyalty to humanity with a degree of intensity which places that loyalty superior to loyalty to the nation state, the national economic system, the ethnic "in - group"?

(2) What can the churches do to detach themselves from their undue support of the nation-state and its principal supporting economic and political institutions?

3) What can the churches do to produce the needed changes in the policy and structure of the nation - state and its principal supporting economic and political institutions to the end that effective power will be vested in appropriate regional and world organizations?

4) What can the churches do to promote the plan for a world satellite broadcasting system? A world - wide news service?

5) What can the churches of the world do to develop mutual understanding amongst themselves on a program involving the preceding questions?

In posing these questions I am sensitive to certain facts about the western churches - - whether they are also valid for other churches I do not know. One of these is that the church tends most to be a prisoner of its cultural context at the local community level where economic, political, and ethnic pressures focus on the minister, priest, etc. At the upper organizational levels these pressures are often lighter. A second observation is that it is precisely at the national headquarters levels of the typical western church that the Inertia of church organization and staff exerts Its most debilitating Influence on the capacity of the church to effect change in its own program or in the policies of the economic and political institutions In which It Is enmeshed. And the third observation is that at all organizational levels of the church there will be found people interested In and capable of working effectively for change.

Everyone identified with a church would seem obliged today to consider anew his position in light of the condition of injustice in our functional world - village. "He who preaches love in a society based on injustice can purchase immunity from conflict only at the price of hypocrisy," says the anonymous sage. And as Pope Paul said in his Christmas message in 1965:

"Is not peace the first greeting that is given in the name

of Christ - - as He Himself gave it after His resurrection:

‘Peace to You’?

"And is not the first contribution which the church can offer, from her position in the midst of the world, to give, promote, and teach peace?

"Peace Is in fact the first and chief good of any society. It is based on justice, freedom and order; it opens the way to every other value In human life....

"Brothers, heed the message of peace which Christmas brings to men who even now are the object of God’s love. Check the way things are going. It is possible that you are on the wrong track. Stop and think. True wisdom is to be found in peace.

Peace needs to be built on a courageous revision of the inadequate ideology of egoism, strife and national superiority. We need to know how to forgive and begin again, so that the relationships between men will not be determined by power and. force nor simply be economic gain or the state of civic development but by a higher concept of equiality and solidarity…"28.

And General Douglas MacArthur, one of the foremost military figures in the Western World, said substantially the same thing.29.

By their profession of faith, members In churches have obliged themselves to a concern with this morality. For millenia religious leaders have decried injustice and war, but they were bucking a going concern until the last couple of decades. Now, the massive pressures of technology in all fields are pushing toward world organization and ecologically based policies. The unity of man is immediately possible - - for the first time in history - - and the alternative of nuclear destruction may make this the only time in imaginable history when man’s unity is possible. Let the morally concerned get on with the job of acting accordingly.



In seeking to use the power of technology to cure the present ills of our dangerous technological age, we must recognize that a long run struggle will still lie before us if we can make the current passage without further and possibly fatal damage to the earth and to humanity. For the conditions of optimum freedom of information then will still be beyond immediate reach. Freedom of information for all men will still require millenia of evolution before man and his institutions are equitably arranged in relation to each other. But while there is still examined life there is hope - - and the possibility of starting to take the needed steps to cure the obvious problem.

There is the possibility suggested above that by taking advantage of the impetus of technological advances, mankind may build the type of ecologically - oriented regional and world organizations appropriate to order in our functional world - village of today. If this happens and the evil propensities of the nation - state and its symbiotic institutions are abated,, what then? Mankind will then be started on a promising new level of existence. It will find the end of war an immediately feasible goal. It will find the world supply of and world demand for food, clothing, etc. at least conceptually and hopefully functionally related to each other. It will find the related issues of nation - state organization in Africa and Asia posed in a context where their solutions are at least commonly visible. And many other human problems related to the present ecological imbalances will be accessible to sensible solution. But injustice will still be far from disappearance. Hostility between peoples will not have vanished - - merely transformed into non - lethal forums. Substantial progress will have been made towards realization of the political and economic conditions of freedom of information, but their full realization will still be far distant.

Obviously the world will not be a utopia; rather simply less inhuman than it 18 now. And the human race will be embarked on a new phase in offering a systematic analysis of all the problems which this technological development itself will pose to mankind in the millenia which would follow, at least it is possible to suggest some considerations for common concern.

A cautionary note comes from Ellul who points out that the values of technological innovation are always ambiguous, and that;

(1) All technical progress exacts a price, i.e. while it adds something on the one hand, it subtracts something on the other. No ibsolute progress results because while technological innovation adds values of undoubted merit, it simultaneously destroys values no less important.

(2) All technical progress raises more problems than it solves and tempts us to perceive the consequent problems as technical in nature, and to seek technical solutions to them.

(3) The evil effects of technological innovation are inseparable from the good. It will not do to say, as some do, that technology is neutral and may be used for good or bad ends. In fact the good and bad effects are simultaneous and inseparable.

(4) All technological innovations have unforeseeable effects.31.

What distinguished man historically from other animals was his acquired capacity to learn and to pass on what he learned to others in his community, i.e. to communicate both in the present and to the future. Culture is the broad name for what he learned and passed on and the technique and organization by which culture existed and was perpetuated was in a sense both his technology and his communications system. In time it came to involve art forms of all kinds, (heiroglyphics, drawings and carvings, images, tools, etc.) and for all purposes (ranging from what we would call economic (making a living) to what we could call religious (giving him a sense of meaning in life)). These art forms became specialized, e.g. in seeking to understand the physical world (primitive astronomic devices), and some were specialized in what we call art, philosophy and drama. Languages were developed and techniques of recording language produced writing. Looked on very broadly as the means to understand and control his environment, all of these parts of human culture provided the basis on which modern man has erected his science, his technology and his "arts". In this sense, man’s culture is a sort of shadow - world which he has constructed and used as his way of coping with others of his own kind and with his physical environment. This shadow world "works" pragmatically to take advantage of the physical environment, as when the steam engine or the atom bomb was developed. But the fact that man’s culture j~ a shadow world tends to be lost sight of when a technology becomes as all - embracing as will be that of a globally organized mankind. For this shadow world imperfectly reflects the real world, and as it has been monopolized by the white western world in recent centuries, it mirrors the aggressiveness of that culture. One class of problems that such a globally organized mankind must face up to early is the class of problems which I call man - environment problems.

Quite evidently the face of the man - environment problems most deserving attention is that which the Greeks called hubris - - the conscious or unconscious assumption that man can be all powerful. Whereas primitive man saw himself (and where he exists today, sees himself) as part of an organic world which he cannot control, we have many examples of man's arrogant, self - assertive pretensions to be master.31. While not found amongst scientists frequently, this hubristic attitude is often explicitly and implicitly taken by engineers in their view of the physical world.

A second class of problems which a globally organized mankind must solve will be the man - man problems. Presently, hubris in the extreme marks the point of view of the world’s leading nation - state in this area too. A leading American economist, Kenneth Boulding recently said:

" .between the great and the grandiose is a hair’s breadth. It is an invisible boundary that can be passed over without noticing it. The man or the society, however, that passes over it is on the road to destruction, for grandiosity is greatness without realism, without tenderness, without sensitivity, and it produces the frame of mind that eventually becomes deaf to ominous messages of the real world. I believe that the United States is frighteningly close to this boundary, a Rubicon that Caesar crossed, Napoleon crossed, Hitler crossed, and from which there is no return save through disaster. Whether we have crossed this boundary I do not know.

"It is, of course, our image of ourselves not only as a great power but as the great power that is at the root of all our grandiosity. Can’t we have a Moderately Great Society? One lesson of history is that nothing falls like success, for the successful do not have to learn anythlng."32.

There are other man - man-problems too. One of these is what might be called the problem of technological arrogance. We, enmeshed in the western technology, find ‘what we call "literacy" an essential good, and indeed for us the ability to operate primarily within a shadow - world of symbols which we call literacy is necessary for the functioning of our technology. But we project the assumption that what we call literacy is a necessary good to all ‘peoples, even those whose culture is not based on such a shadow world. We equate culture with literacy, and this is at least debatable and probably erroneous. A further example of technological arrogance is our attitude toward what we call education. Again, for our type of society it is essential. But we forget that education is a two - edged sword. It may be in fact destructive of either ignorance or knowledge; the one sure aspect of it is that people are different after they have it than they were before, but to assume that in all cultures this difference is desirable is again a probably erroneous inference.32.

Still a third problem in technological arrogance involves our attitude toward rationality. Our dictionaries define knowledge as "assured rational conviction". Education is defined as "to give knowledge or training to". We assume that man can only order his life if it be done rationally on the basis of "information". This passion for rationality pervades our shadow - world in the functional world - village, and we in the so - celled advanced areas presume that we have a monopoly of rational wisdom which must be trained or educated into all mankind. Again the assumption that all cultures must identify culture with rationality is probably erroneous.

The last large area of problems which an ecologically - oriented global community must face up to is what may be called the man - society relationship. Here we have the thorny area of the individual versus the group which has troubled mankind in the western world for the past several millenia but especially since the rise of the nation - state. Believing as I do that "freedom" is the act of resisting necessity, and recognizing that the global technological society would expand the range and variety of necessities, it seems probable that in this one problem area alone mankind may find room for dialogue and development indefinitely into the future. The vista of possible mutual adjustments between the scope for individual resistance to necessity and the range of degrees of social necessity which may take place in a process of successive approximations is infinite and might occupy. mankind until the earth finally cools and perhaps mankind migrates to other solar systems.34.

Such problems, however, must be reserved for full attention until the time for them is ripe. For the present there are more pressing problems for which the solutions are more evident. The crucial issue is whether mankind can now take the needed steps to ensure the survival of its accomplishments and shortcomings, accumulated over uncounted millenia. We may not make the passage, but if we do not it will be because we don’t deserve to. While there is still self - conscious, examined life there is hope and the challenge to take the needed steps to cure the obvious problems.

Footnotes

 

 

1/ Wiener, Norbert. The Hwnan Use of Hu’nan Beings, (N.Y., Doubleday, 19501 Anchor Books edition, 1954, p. 17.

2/ "Article 19. Everyone has the right to freedom of opinion and expression; this right includes freedom to hold opinions without interference and to seek, receive and impart information and ideas through any media and regardless of frontiers."

3/ In "Western Man in 1970", Ellul says: "The moralists and the phenomonologiste are agreed that a moral man is one who Is in an ethical Situation, of which choice is the characteristic feature. A man can only be moral if he is confronted by a choice and makes that choice. There can be various kinds of choice (the classical choice being between good and evil, between end- values, or between courses of action based upon a value). But the characteristic feature of the man of 1970 is that he has less and less choice of this kind and that, even when he has a choice, he does not make that choice, so strong is the pressure in one particular direction. Piecing together some of these facts, we find that they all point in one direction -- to the fact that man responds increasingly to signals. He is trained by the techniques of human relations to fit perfectly Into the group. He Is passively ‘culturized’, brought up to accept everything without question or criticism. In these conditions there is less and less choice. On the one hand individual choice is eliminated by the highly organized, careful training given by society. Every important decision is objectively defined, predetermined by the working of the manifold techniques of a society in which every action Is carried out by technical means and In which the community is conc~rned with man as a whole, including his opinions and feelings. It would be impossible to give men freedom of choice when the social organization has become so sensitive and delicate that every choice, even the most commonplace, is liable to react on the community, and every opinion or feeling Is treated as a serious matter because it may affect the Individual’s productivity or social adjustment, or his human and public relations." Ellul, Jacques, "Western Man in 1970", in de Jouvenal, Bertrand, Futurables, Studies in Conjecture, 1963-64, (Geneve, Librairie DROZ, p. 79).

4/ According to Mr. Edwin Newman of the National Broadcasting Company, on a nation-wide TV broadcast in the United States, "...the general level of TV behavior In news reflected the American society, and it was not reasonable to expect an organization that Is financed by advertisers to pioneer In fields that may offend people. TV covers what flows naturally from the organizational system in which we live." Quoted by Jack Gould in his column, New York Times, February 19, 1965.

A standard set of specifications given by major national advertisers to writers of TV and radio dramas:

"In general, the moral code of the characters In our dramas will be more or less synonymous with the moral code of the bulk of the American middle-class, as It is commonly understood. There will be no material that may give offense either directly or by inference to any

organized minority group, lodge, or other organizations; institutions, residents of any state or section of the country, or a commercial organization of any sort. This will be taken to Include political organizations; fraternal organizations; college and school groups; labor groups; industrial, business and professional organizations; religious orders; civic clubs, memorial and patriotic societies; philanthropic and reform societies (Anti-Tobacco League, for example); athletic organizations; women’s groups, etc., which are in good standing.

"We will treat mention of the Civil War carefully, mindful of the sensitiveness of the south on this subject. No written material may be used that might give offense to our Canadian neighbors... .There will be no material for or against sharply drawn national or regional controversial issues... .Where it seems fitting, the characters should reflect recognition and acceptance of the world situation in their thoughts and actions, although in dealing with war, our writers should minimize the ‘horror’ aspects... .Men in uniform shall not be cast as heavy villains or portrayed as engaging in any criminal activity. There will be no material on any of our programs which could in any way further the concept of business as cold, ruthless and lacking all sentiment or spiritual motivation." ("Madison Avenue’s Program Taboos," Variety, October 26, 1960.

Paul Lazarsfeld and Robert Merton have said: "To the extent that the media of mass communication has had an influence upon their audiences it has stemmed not only from what is said but more significantly from what is not said, for these media not only continue to affirm the status quo but in the same measure they fail to raise essential questions about the structure of society. Hence by leading to conformism and by providing little basis for a critical appraisal of society, the commercially sponsored mass media indirectly but effectively restrain the cogent development of the genuinely critical outlook. This is not to ignore the occasionally critical journal article or radio programme but these exceptions are so few that they are lost in the overwhelming flood of conformist material.. . .Since our commercially sponsored mass media promote a largely unthinking allegiance to our social structure, they cannot be relied on to work for changes, even minor changes, in that structure.. . .Economic pressure makes for conforinism by omission of sensitive issues." (Lazarsfeld, Paul F., and Merton, Robert K., "Mass Communications, Popular Taste and Organized Social Action" in W. Schramm, ed., Mass Communications, (Urbana, Ill., 1949), pp. 459-80, 470-471.)

5/ Fromm, Erich, Liberation, October, 1961, p11.

6/ Professor H. H. Wilson of Princeton University recently said:

"The incidence of corruption and dishonesty at all levels of society is so prevalent that a distinguished American sociologist feels justified in characterizing the United States as a ‘racket society’. Ritual lies and institutionalized deceit have achieved cultural approval. Whitaker Chambers, despite repeated admissions of lying under oath, was accepted by the society as a sober patriot and a responsible man. We have made national heroes of police spies, while the Department of Justice has protected professional perjurers in the name of national security. There seems to be no public revulsion against those who participated in rigged quiz shows, payola, or white collar crime, as epitomized in the electrical industry’s price fixing, or the universal acceptance of cheating on examinations. After all, on what basis does one condemn cheating on examinations when the purpose is to acquire a degree which will enable one to get a Madison Avenue job writing ‘whiter than white’ soap jingles, or plugging the consumption of cigarettes? On what basis does one condemn the football players who cheat, or the basketball players who indulge in gambling fixes, when the respectable university authorities promote these commercial carnivals? The fact is that we have whole industries employing the most advanced scientific and psychological skills to promote institutionalized deceit, not only the advertising and public relations industry, but manufacturers who rely on deceptive packaging and planned obsolescence, and the drug companies who promote drugs before they know what the side effects may be. The point is, succinctly made by John Jay Chapman, that ‘mere financial dishonesty is of very little Importance in the history of civilization. The real evil that follows in the wake of commercial dishonesty so general as ours is the intellectual dishonesty it generates. One need not mind stealing, but one must cry out at people whose minds are so befuddled that they do not know theft when they see it.’

"For a society premised on the inherent worth of the individual as its prime value, the most disturbing element is the evidence of a growing contempt for human beings. This is illustrated by the deliberate manipulation of news by government and the official justification of deceit as a policy. The general tendency is to treat people as. puppets, to be manipulated for the consumption of official policy, or as bottomless pits for the consumption of commodities. One may see the same tendency in the ruthless invasion of privacy, exploiting the most personal details of private life In the guise of presenting ‘news’, and no person In any walk of life is protected against this kind of exploitation.

"The fact seems to be that the United States is moving toward a kind of modern feudalism, and one not necessarily harsh and repressive for those who conform; a soclfQ’ dominated by elites with an ever-widening gap between the rulers and the ruled, with the mass of people destined to play a passive, or at best a ritualistic role; a society featuring social engineering which in the guise of ‘efficiency’ dehumanizes and destroys human relationships; a society in which privatization, escapism; withdrawal become a common defensive response; a society which degrades and undermines by creating permanent dependency without meaningful individual

participation in crucial decisions. To avoid facing up to this reality we argue that these conditions are exceptional, temporary, the result of personal inadequacy, necessary for national security or simply a reflection of ‘human nature’ -- the prime excuse for escaping responsibility and avoiding action. We indulge in the nonsense of explaining anti-social behavior in terms of ‘bad’ men versus ‘good’ men -- all that is needed is to replace the badies with the goodies and the problems will be solved. Or we offer as solutions the improvement of education, the return to religion, or pious exhortations to achieve the ‘Great Society’....

"We tend to look at our institutions and their problems as separate entities, to be treated in piecemeal fashion, when what is needed is to look at society and its culture as an interacting whole. When this is done it is difficult to refute the conclusion of a sober and perceptive American scholar who wrote:

‘Too often today the sickness of the body politic is regarded as a local infection that does not materially affect the health of the whole organism. The picture needs turning about. It is the politic body entire that is racked with pain while only an extremity or two, a finger or two, remains in precarious, Insular well-~~eing. Were all the miseries that are labelled "social problems" added up -- crime and mental disorder, divorce and desertion, illegitimacy, delinquency, alcoholism, drug addiction and suicide -- they would run into millions and millions. The United States, one should recall, has (about) forty million families. A rare family it is whose household is not invaded by one of these apocalyptic riders....It is no longer a problem of curing a few sick. It is no longer a problem of preventing the sick from making the healthy sick. It is a ~prob1em of the commonwealth. The whole political community has about it the air of a hospital.’ (de Grazia, Sebastian, Errors of Psychotherapy, p. 10-11)

(Wilson, H. H., The American Way: Model or Warning? An address in the

PLAIN TALK series, "Toward the Future Society", March 9, 1965, The

University of Saskatchewan Regina Campus, Regina, Canada, pp.9-13.)

7/ Today there are five news agencies operating "world-wide" -- i.e. nominally professing to report to the mass media of the world what happens anywhere In the world. Of these four are commercial organizations, engaged in producing, distributing and marketing a product -- news. Two of these four are operated from the United States, one from England and one from France. The fifth agency is Tass, the Soviet press service. None of the agencies covers all countries of the world with competent reporters in sufficient number. Conflicts of interest abound in the commercial wire services:

in many countries the wire service both sells incoming news to the country and buys outgoing news from the country and the price of doing the former is that the latter is tailored to the propaganda policy of the country’s information ministry. For all five wire services, the legal form, the rights and duties, the definition of the news "product", the conditions

under which correspondents are employed and may work -- all reflect the national and business systems of their respective home countries. All perceive the world through their nationalistic eyes.

As concerns the availability to the world’s population of the news produced by the five wire services, there is again a gross imbalance. If the latest study on the subject by UNESCO (in 1953) is still valid, less than 10 percent of the world’s population lives in countries the press of which has available to it both the western wire services and that of TASS. Not far short of two-thirds of the world’s population has available to its press only the point of view of the western wire services and the remainder -- a bit less than one-third -- has available only that of TASS. Finally, one need not labor the point that the press of the western world has only a slight interest in presenting to its customers even the biassed foreign news "product" it gets from the wire services. Nor the point that the staffs of the wire services are inadequate both in quantity and quality to perform their ostensible functions. In sum, the way the world gets news about itself through the general communications network is archaic, inadequate, parochial, and dangerously divisive in an age when institutional lag should be reduced rather than perpetuated.

(See UNESCO. News Agencies; Their Structure and Operation, (Paris, UNESCO, 1953), pp. 199-201)

8/ Ellul, Jacques, "Western Man in 1970", op. cit., p.52.

9/ Sauvey, Alfred, La Nature Sociale. (Paris: Armand Cohn, 1959)

10/ JamesG. Patton, President, National Farmers Union (USA), recently said:

"The countries of the world, through the United Nations, should adopt a food policy of how to feed the people of the world, or how to come closer to feeding the people of the world, and then through international trade agreements they should divide both the commercial and the social markets. The social market at the present time is larger than the commercial market, and this encompasses the Common Market. At the present time our orientation is toward Europe, whereas the great quantity of empty bellies in the world is in the Pacific Basin. If we will busy ourselves with that, we can let the Europeans go pretty much the way they want to go and have a decent trading relationship with them... .We need to use the United Nations to establish a raw materials resources board to stabilize world prices, and then we won’t have much trouble about the rich men getting richer by manipulating the prices of the poor man in monoculture countries." And again: "The issue today is not communism versus whatever we have. It is whether or not we, the white men, the minority of the world, can join the rest of the human race who are colored. This is the central issue. The problem is not Russia but the colored men of the world who are seeking the same dignity and the same equality that we have. And they are not going to settle for less". On the Developed and the Developing. An occasional paper resulting from an International Convocation on the Requirements of Peace published by the Center for the Study of Democratic Institutions, Santa Barbara, California, 1965, pp. 15-16.

Lee A. DuBridge, President of the California Institute of Technology said:

"From a purely technical standpoint, we now know enough to:

‘Produce enough food to feed every hungry mouth on earth --and to do this even though the population should double or treble.

‘Make fresh water out of sea water, and thus irrigate all the earth’s arid regions.

‘Produce enough energy from uranium to light and heat our homes and offices, electrify our railroads, and run all our factories and mills.

‘Build houses, buildings, and indeed whole cities, which are essentially weatherproof...’

"But, Dr. DuBridge points out, "A host of techniques capable of solving mankind’s problems and easing his burdens cannot be used because we do not know how to bring adequate resources of money, labor and materials, and most of all, management to bear on the problems -- or bring them to bear in such a way that the results achieved would, in a monetary sense, justify the costs." Quoted in Waterman, A. T., "Science in the Service of Man", Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, May, 1962.

11/ See Smythe, Dallas W., The Structure and Policy of Electronic Communications, University of Illinois Bulletin 82, Urbana, Illinois, 1957, p. 17-21.

12/ Unlike most other resource use, moreover, the use of the radio spectrum does not waste or damage the resource.

13/ In 1964 there were in the United States alone 1,434,645 radio stations operating within the standards, rules and allocations established by the International Te1ec~inunications Union and the various regional, functional and national regula~Jry bodies. This was more than a four-fold expansion since 1956.

14/ Quoted in Smythe, Dallas W., The Structure and Policy of Electronic Communications, p.103.

15/ I. T. U., Telecommunications Journal, September, 1959, p.189. Emphasis added.

16/ American Ambassador Yost, in late 1961 told the Committee:

"The United States believes that communications satellites can eventually play an important role in the expansion and improvement of international communications and the fostering of international understanding...." (Committee on the Peaceful Uses of Outer Space. Verbatim Record of the first meeting, November 27, 1961, p.27.)

Ambassador Stevenson, speaking to the Committee One of the UN said of communications satellites: "This fundamental breakthrough in communication could affect the lives of people everywhere. It could forge new bonds of mutual knowledge and understanding between nations. It could offer a powerful tool to improve literacy and education in developing areas....Now we have sought in good faith and so far as it is possible to present a program which is above the clash of partisan politics or the cold war. The principles and programs embodied here bestow no special advantage on any state -- they are in the interests of all states." (Address to UN Committee One, December 4, 1961, mimeographed.)

17/ Committee on Peaceful Uses of Outer Space. Additional Report, November 27, 1963, p. 27. Brazil also said:

"The present system used in radio and television transmission is based upon national boundaries. National broadcasting with political goals, through short waves aimed at other countries does not invalidate this basis. But it is certain that satellites will annihilate all such national boundaries, and a country or group of countries able to exploit outer space for radio and television transmission will be in a position of strength -- insofar as political propaganda is concerned, without precedent in history. The political power of radio and television in all countries must be borne in mind, particularly as it is felt in some underdeveloped countries where illiteracy is high, to evaluate the impact that the use of these media could bring to bear upon the political life of the world in the future.

"Thus, our Committee should study how to place radio broadcasting and television transmission by means of satellites under international control, preferably within the structure of the United Nations and perhaps through a space agency. In this connexion, we feel that it would be very useful to have the United Nations convene an international conference on outer space. One of the main purposes of this conference should be the regulation of the use of satellites under international control for radio broadcasting and television communications. This conference should also deal with the possibilities of using satellites for mass education and elimination of Illiteracy throughout the world." (Committee on the Peaceful Uses of Outer Space. Verbatim Record of the Eighth Meeting, March 27, 1962, p. 18-20.)

The Austrian delegation, in General Assembly debate in December 1963 pointedly complained at the American policy of keeping communications satellites out of the UN purview:

"In the United States, ‘Comsat’ -- the Communications Satellite Corporation -- Is planning the first launching of a commercial-type communication satellite in 1966, and the company expects its initial system with global capacity to be in operation by 1967...,The establishment of such a system would, however, also have important legal and political aspects, such as the participation of governments in the ownership, use and management of the satellite system. These aspects, we feel, should be considered by the Outer Space Committee. It might equally wish to consider whether the global communications system, available on a non-discriminatory basis to all nations of the world, as envisaged by Assembly resolution 1721 (XVI), part D, should not be placed under the auspices of the United Nations." (General Assembly, Verbatim Record, A/C.1PV. 1342, December 2, 1963, p.52-55.)

18/ Huxley, Aldous, The Politics of Ecology, An Occasional Paper on the Free Society published by the Center for the Study of Democratic Institutions, Santa Barbara, California, 1963, p. 6-7.

19/ This not-original proposition finds recent expression in the following sample:

Morgenthau: "The great overriding issue that we must face in our government and that other governments must face as well lies in the discrepancy between our conventional modes of thought and action on the one hand and the unprecedented novelty of the objective conditions under which we live. We think and act in terms of the pre-atomic age, while we live in an entirely new age which has made those ideas of the past as obsolete as earlier ideas were made obsolete by the previous industrial revolutions. This concerns particularly the nation state. I am convinced that the nation state has been rendered obsolete by the nuclear revolution in the same way In which feudalism was made obsolete two hundred years ago by the first industrial revolution of the steam engine. .. .There Is no doubt that the absolute national sovereign state is the enemy of man on earth." Morgenthau, Hans J., On the World Comiiunity, pp. cit., p.23.

Hoagland: "Any living organism, including a society, has to adapt to the changes in its environment or perish. As a biologist I have been interested in the fact that so many more species and forms of plants and animals have disappeared because of their inability to adapt than are here today --hundreds compared to each one here today. Of course, this is also true of civilizations and social systems that have been built up by man in the course of his social evolution. I agree with Mr. Morgenthau that there is an obsolescence today, as a result of nuclear weapons, of the concepts of nineteenth century sovereignty. They will have to be solved in some form of world government, some form of general agreement to live under a rule of law against war. This doesn’t necessarily mean replacing the cultural differences between nations, butit does mean enforceable law that can be controlled by some form of international agreement and a police system." Hoagland, Hudson, Ibid., p.25.

Weinberg: "...not only our political organizations are being rendered obsolete by the march of military technology, but also our economic organizations are being rendered obsolete by the march of civilian technology.. . ." Weinberg, Alvin, Director, Oak Ridge National Laboratory, quoted in Dreher, Carl, "The Big Atom: Solving the Water Shortage", The Nation, Vol. 197, (December 28, 1963), p. 453

Stanford Research Institute: "In the coming decade, science and technology will provide new means to use the vast resources of the oceans, to exploit the Arctic and Antarctic, to explore space, perhaps to affect climates. Unless better ways of cooperation are established, these advances Into new frontiers willOntensify international tensions. Current concepts of national sovereignty are not well suited to the orderly regulation of these advances nor to their development for maximum utility with minimum conflict. Policy panners will find it increasingly necessary to explore new types of supranational organization." Stanford Research Institute, Possible Nonmilitary Scientific Developments and their Potential Impact on Foreign Policy Problems of the United States. A study prepared at the request of the Committee on Foreign Relations, United States Senate. (Washington, G.P.O., 1959), p 1.

Levontin: "It is thus not too much to say that the states of the world maintain a common front against international law."

"The proposition which emerges then, is that international security is not possible -- not for transient or remediable reasons but because the concept is self-contradictory. This is the myth of International security: the persistent belief, contrary to historic evidence as well as to logical demonstration, that states can continue sovereign and independent, while, at the same time, it is nevertheless possible to work out a system of security among -- as distinct from above -- them: international security. Intellectually, the belief in this self-contradiction is on a par with acceptance of round-squares and sugar-salt lumps. Yet life is not wholly intellectual; and the myth persists. The pretensions of ‘international law’ befog the essential contours of the myth and somewhat conceal what should have been a self-evident truth: that a state is either sovereign or under law. The hoary chimera that ‘states are sovereign under international law’ has been, and still is, so frequently repeated that it is advisable... .to take a close hard look at ‘international law’."

"Thermonuclear danger is imminent, and the means of avoiding it are known. The means are not physical, but they are known. Every man’s defence against robbery Is likewise not physical. People do not walk about armed and personally guarded. They defend themselves by instituting government above themselves. They cannot defend themselves by mutual terrorization (which the major powers are now trying to do) but only by concentrated terrorization, which because It is concentrated, is not terrorization but is the orderly governmental monopoly of force,.. .Ultimately every nation, small and big is faced with a choice which may be expressed in the words ‘Federate or Perish,’ If their government does not exercise the one choice, it opts implicitly for the other....

"The price of government Is exceedingly high. It not only implies, for the several national ‘governments’, the prospect of having to waive a substantial portion of the pomp, prerogative and privilege which they now enjoy as the traditional concomitants of the possession of national military power, and having to content themselves with the considerably smaller amount of glory which is reserved for mere units of local administration. It also implies, for the more advanced peoples, readiness to forego some of their intellectual pride and ethnic prejudice, and even possibly some of their national welfare, which is implicit -- temporarily -- in partnership with the less advanced."

Levontin, A. V., The Myth~ of International Security. (Jerusalem, The Magnes Press, 1957) p.133, xvii, and xx-xxi. Emphasis in original.

20/ Millis, Walter. The Demilitarized World. Center for the Study of Democratic Institutions, Santa Barbara, California, 1964, p.39..

21/ On the Developed and the Developing, sup.clt., p.18-19.

22/ Borgese, Elisabeth Mann, in A Constitution for the World. Center for the Study of Democratic Institutions, Santa Barbara, California, 1965. p 19-20. Emphasis added.

23/ The establishment of a Commission Board composed of national government delegations is warranted by more than the financial responsibility they would assume. Communications satellites involve major national policy considerations. Only at this level of authority can the Important broadcast policy issues which are involved in satellite broadcasting be appropriately resolved in policy for the Commission. The existing professional broadcasting organizations at the national level would not be capable of making such determinations as Board members without placing themselves under national governmental pressures which should not be imposed on them.

24/ The program policy of the Commission must also be based on the premise that mankind consists of many diverse cultures, most of which represent in actual numbers very large numbers of persons. From this premise flow at least two fundamental policy points:

(a) Perceptual traits or habits, peculiar to cultural and ethnic groups are sufficiently different from each other that the program policy must deal sensitively with this factor. The cultural material from a predominantly print-literate (i.e. sight-oriented) culture such as Western Europe and North America will not be meaningful In the same terms to peoples in a predominantly oral culture (sound- oriented such as in Africa and Asia) and the converse is true as well. The images and conventions of the art forms (e.g. the editing technique involving long shots, close-ups, panning and montage in cinema, TV and radio) have one meaning in some cultures and a different or no meaning in others. This fact imposes a double responsibility on the program policy for satellite broadcasting. On the one hand, it is necessary to handle program material in such a way that the products of one culture are comprehensible to other cultures. On the other hand, it is necessary that one culture should not replace others. En principle, the program objective should be to present material in such a way that each culture’s universal insights may be appreciated in their unique cultural context by other cultures. This is easier said than done, but this is the challenge which satellite broadcasting poses to mankind. We have developed to a fine art the technique of killing each other; surely commensurate resources should be committed to the task of learning how to understand each other.

(b) The second policy consequence is that in practice the Commission’s programming should be produced for differentiated but large audiences. It is neither feasible nor desirable to try to produce all programs of a satellite broadcasting service to broadcast to all the world’s population. As with all broadcasting, most programs must perforce be addressed to minority audiences. In this connection, "minority" audiences take on a new meaning. A program ~or a "minority audience" of say 1 percent might in the United States reach 2 million people. For the Satellite Broadcasting Commission it might reach 60 million people. Flexibility within a program schedule produced for large but specific audiences should be the principle here.

25/ On the World Community, sup. cit., p.22. Emphasis added.

26/ UNESCO. News Agencies: Their Structure and Operation. Paris, UNESCO, 1953, p. 199-201.

27/ Calder, Ritchie, "The Speed of Change", Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, December, 1965, p 2-5.

28/ Text of Pope Paul’s Christmas Message "To All Men", New York Times, December 24, 1965, p 6.

29/ Not long before his death, General Douglas MacArthur in an address to a joint session of the Senate and House of Representatives of the Philippines, said:

"The great question is -- can global war now be outlawed from the world? If so, it would mark the greatest advance in civilization since the Sermon on the Mount. It would lift at one stroke the darkest shadow which has engulfed mankind from the beginning. It would not only remove fear and bring security -- it would not only create new moral and spiritual values

-- it would produce an economic wave of prosperity that would raise the world’s standard of living beyond anything dreamed of by man.

"Many will tell you with mockery and ridicule that the abolition of war can be only a dream -- that it is but the vague imaginings of a visionary. But we must go on or we will go under. And the great criticism that can be made is that the world lacks a plan that will enable us to go on.

"We are now in a new era. The old methods and solutions no longer suffice. We must have new thoughts, new ideas, new concepts. We must break out of the strait-jacket of the past. We must have sufficient imagination and courage to translate the universal wish for peace which is rapidly becoming a universal necessity -- into actuality."

This speech was not published or reported in the United States press.

30/ Ellul, Jacques, "The Technological Order", Technology and Culture, III, (Fall, 1962, p.394-421.)

31/ "President Johnson said today that if America’s global commitments ‘sometimes cause us difficulty or create danger, then let us not be dismayed.’

"We cannot, and will not withdraw from this world’, Mr. Johnson said in a speech apparently aimed primarily at younger Americans. ‘We are too rich, and too powerful and_too important. But most important is that we are too concerned.’...

"Picturing the United States as the spiritual capital of an empire of democracy, Mr. Johnson said: ‘Today the sun never sets on free men, or on men struggling to be free. Our democracy has proved the most powerful secular idea in the history of man." (New York Times, February 23, 1965. Emphasis added.)

"President Johnson... .told a group of students who visited the White House that many of his ideas had come from students. He said he would like to see them develop as much fanaticism about the United States political system as young Nazis did about their system during the war." (New York Times, February 6, 1965, p.C-.13.)

Also see Hitler, A., Mein Kampf.

 

32/ Boulding, Kenneth, "Postscript: A Moderately Great Society", New Republic, December 18, 1965, p 15-16..

"By almost all the world’s standards, the United States is an inconceivable success. We have attributed this largely to our virtue and good management, not wholly without reason, but a certain amount of it is due to luck -- the fact, for Instance, that we have so often done the right thing for the wrong reasons.

"What is dangerous, however, is that because of our success it is hard for us to learn that we may be operating with an image of the world that has in fact passed away. The conditions of success in the future are not the same as the conditions in the past. What we do not understand, and seem almost incapable of learning, is that in the long run, legitimacy is much more important for survival than either wealth or military power; and that though up to a point, wealth and military power create legitimacy, beyond a certain point, they destroy it.

"It was Stalin at Yalta, we may remember, who sneered at the Pope for having no divisions, but Stalin’s divisions did not save his good name for posterity or his monstrous statues from destruction, while St. Peter’s still stands.

"In the international arena, then, the United States has delusions of grandeur. We spend $50 billion a year to impose our will on the world and we find that we are impotent in Vietnam because we have no legitimacy.

"Even if our napalm and airborne terror produce "victory", the damage done to our moral image; enormous, for we have become a monster. Our wealth and military power produce affability on the world’s face and curses in its heart. We are incapable of organizing the world in our own image, and in the course of trying to do this, we are destroying ourself.

"The military-industrial complex is eating the heart out of American life and seriously reducing -- perhaps in the long run fatally -- its potential for economic progress. In the 1950’s, for instance, there were 45 countries that had a higher rate of growth in per capita income than the United States.

"Because we are grandiose on the international scene, our perfectly sincere motivations toward producing a Great Society at home are all too likely to be frustrated. I can only sketch the points of failure.

"Our agricultural policy, while it has produced a spectacular technological success, has failed to develop the social inventions needed to make the necessary adjustment to this success, and we find ourselves with uncontrollable surp1~es. We ship these abroad under the benevolent title of Food for Peace and create cumulative dependency and the probability of future disasters and famines of enormous magnitude. Already our barns are half empty and surplus may give way to shortage.

"Our flood control policies actually increase the probability of loss both of life and of property from floods because we treat rivers as physical systems and enemies instead of as social systems and dangerous friends. Our public housing creates desert communities, filing cases for live bodies, alienation and delinquency. Urban renewal tackles the problem of slums by pushing little people in little houses around and moving the rich and middle class into the central city and the slums outside. If we are not careful, indeed, the bulldozer will become the symbol of the Great Society.

"Our educational system, in spite of recent improvements, is still shockingly inadequate and is still producing far too many people who are functionally illiterate and incapable of taking their place in the modern world. Our architecture is an assembly line of imported rectangular cliches. Our airports are clearly designed without human beings in mind, and our automobiles are designed to kill 40,000 or 50,000 people a year. Our civilian industries are technologically backward, our railroads are a national disgrace, television is a wasteland and we cannot even control the Dutch elm beetle.

"By this time, I am sure, I have lost all my friends, most of whom are in the Vital Center, or what I am now tempted to call the Devitalized Consensus. "Just give us time", they will say. "Our hearts are in the right place. We are very busy solving all these problems, and pretty soon they will all be solved."

"The Vietnamese will all be dead, the slums will be cemented over and the poor will no longer be with us. If there are any left, they will be against us.

"I am an ingrate, a curmudgeon. There goes the bus to the Great Society, with a brass band on the top and a missile at the rear, and I seem to have fallen off and am just throwing up quietly on the sidewalk."

33/ Coomoraswamy, Ananda K., Am I My Brother’s Keeper?, Asia Press, 1946.

34/ Ellul’s analysis runs in these terms:

"...freedom is not an immutable fact graven in nature and on the heart of man. It is not inherent either in man or in society, and it is meaningless to write it into a law. The mathematical, physical, biological, sociological, and psychological sciences reveal nothing but necessities and determinisms on all sides. As a matter of fact, reality is nothing except combinations of determinisms. Freedom consists precisely in overcoming and transcending determinisms. ‘Freedom’ is a word completely without meaning unless it is related to necessity, unless it represents victory over necessity. If we say that freedom is graven in the nature of man, we can only mean that man is free through obeying his nature, or to put In another way, through having conditioned his nature. But this is nonsense. We must not think of the problem in terms of the choice between being determined and being free. We must look at it dialectically, and say that man is indeed determined, but that it is open to him to overcome necessity, and this act is freedom. Freedom is not a status, but a movement; not a vested interest, but a prize continually to be won. The moment man stops and resigns himself, he becomes subject to determinism. He is most enslaved when he thinks he is comfortably settled in freedom.

"In the modern world, the most dangerous form of determinism is the technological phenomenon. It is not a question of getting rid of it, but, by an act of freedom, of transcending it. How is this to be done? I do not yet know. That is why this book is an appeal to the responsibility of the individual. The first step in the quest, the first act of freedom, is to become aware of the necessity. That man can see, analyze the determinists that press on him attest8 to the fact that be can envisage them simply as objects confronting him and, by seeing them in this way, act as a free man. If man were to say: ‘These are not necessities; I am free thanks to Technique, or despite Technique’, this would prove that he is totally determined. But by grasping the real nature of the technological phenomenon, and the extent to which it is robbing him of freedom, he confronts the blind mechanism as 8ubjeCt, i.e. as a conscious being."

Ellul, Jacques, The Technological Society, New York, A.A. Knopf, Inc., 1964, p .xxxii-xxxiii.

 

Process Theodicy and the Concept of Power

If "X is omnipotent" means "X possesses the logical limit of power," I suspect that the view most in accord with what Whitehead says in his later writings on metaphysics and religion is that no being is omnipotent. Should we then conclude that the God of Process and Reality is something less than deity, i.e., something less than a suitable object of worship? Though there have been those who have simply announced that a being possessing less than the logical limit of power would not be worthy of worship, my own intuitions do not sustain this verdict nor have I yet encountered an argument that leads me to think it is right. But, given any system of thought in which God is portrayed as having something less than perfect power, at least one version of the traditional problem of evil will not arise within it.

Question: Is there logical conflict between the statements "God exists" and "evil exists"? Not if God has limited power. On this view, one could suppose that although God is perfectly good and thus would prefer a world devoid of evil, it is not within his power to bring such a world about. What is surprising, I think, is that some contemporary spokesmen for Whitehead’s metaphysical position fail to follow a route that would allow this straightforward comment on the existence of evil in the Process Universe. For example, in several of his writings on this topic, Charles Hartshorne strives to assure us that on his view (and on Whitehead’s as well) God’s power’ is without limit -- the "greatest possible."1 Following Hartshorne, this same theme predominates in part III of David Griffin’s God, Power and Evil: A Process Theodicy (GPE). But, of course, a return to the doctrine of divine omnipotence reintroduces the question posed above. Hartshorne and (following him) Griffin answer it negatively, maintaining that although God possesses the greatest possible power, his power is not sufficient to bring about a world containing no instances of evil. I should say at the outset that I find this position highly implausible. I also find the arguments used in its support to be quite ineffective. Still, for those of us who have labored in the past to straighten the conceptual kinks in the traditional problem of evil, the emergence of a new theodicy, worked out in something more than only cursory form, is an occasion of special interest. What makes the present occasion even more interesting is that the reasoning set forth by Griffin in support of the position originally advanced by Hartshorne turns importantly on a number of the more subtle features of the difficult, though foundational, metaphysical concept of power. A study of Griffin’s reflections on this topic thus brings the reader face to face with conceptual issues related to this concept that would be worthy of careful philosophical attention even had they no immediate bearing on the traditional problem of evil. Thus, in this paper, I want to examine Hartshorne and Griffin’s process theodicy. The focus will be on the arguments provided by Griffin in the source just mentioned.

1. Mackie on God and Evil.

Consider the following three propositions:

1. God exists -- and is omnipotent

2. God exists -- and is perfectly good

3. Evil exists.

According to J. L. Mackie in his well-known paper "Evil and Omnipotence" (Mind, 1955), these three propositions constitute an Inconsistent triad. This is to say that the conjunction of any two entails the negation of the third. Mackie adds that although this claim may not be immediately obvious, if we supplement the set with some "quasilogical" rules specifying logical relations between "good," "evil" and "omnipotent," its truth will become apparent. The rules needed are two in number, viz., (A) "Good is opposed to evil in such a way that a (perfectly) good being always eliminates evil if it can;" and (B) "There is no limit to what an omnipotent being can do." Rule B is meant to entail that it is within the power of an omnipotent being to eliminate all instances of evil. Mackie concludes: "From these it follows that a good omnipotent thing eliminates evil completely, and then the propositions that a good omnipotent thing exists, and that evil exists, are incompatible." Mackie then assumes that the world contains instances of evil, i.e., that proposition 3 is true. The upshot is that either proposition 1 or proposition 2 (or both) must be false. Since evil exists, God, as conceived in the Christian tradition, does not exist.

Look again at rule B. Why should we suppose that it is within the power of an omnipotent being to eliminate every instance of evil? Griffin points out that in company with a great many other contributors to the recent literature on the problem of evil, Mackie assumes that an omnipotent being is one who can bring about any state of affairs the description of which is logically consistent. Since all agree that a world devoid of evil is consistently describable, it is thus supposed that it is within the power of an omnipotent being to bring about a world devoid of evil. Griffin maintains that the analysis of "omnipotence" upon which this argument turns is not acceptable (GPE 262ff.). Suppose that a given state of affairs (S) is consistently describable. It does not follow that the statement "God brings about S" is consistent. Several kinds of counterexamples have been suggested in the literature. S. A. Graves points out that while it is possible that a certain individual (J) freely chooses to perform a certain action (A), it is not possible for God to bring it about that J freely chooses to do A. Were God to bring it about that J chooses to do A, J’s choice to do A would not count as free.2 Consider another kind of case proposed by Alvin Plantinga. It is logically possible that there be a state of affairs not brought about by God. But it is not logically possible for God to bring about a state of affairs not brought about by God (GOM 137). What these cases presumably show is that the analysis of "omnipotence" upon which Mackie’s challenge to traditional theism rests is not adequate. Mackie’s argument thus needs to be revised if it is to furnish a basis for further discussion.

Let’s then amend Mackie’s thinking about the concept of omnipotence to take account of the difficulties just uncovered. Instead of supposing that "X is omnipotent means it is within X’s power to bring about any consistently describable state of affairs," let’s agree that "X is omnipotent" means, instead, "it is within X’s power to bring about any state of affairs (S) where ‘X brings about S’ is consistent, i.e., where X’s bringing about S is logically possible."3 Given this revision, God might count as omnipotent even though he cannot bring it about that J freely chooses to do A and even though he cannot bring about a state of affairs not brought about by God. Mackie’s challenge can now be formulated so: since there is no contradiction in the claim that God brings about a world devoid of evil, if God is Omnipotent, it is within his power to do so. But since God is perfectly good, he would do so if he could. Evil exists in the world. It follows that God (being omnipotent and perfectly good) does not exist. This reformulation puts us in position to examine Griffin’s response to Mackie. The hinge of the reasoning consists in what Griffin (following Hartshorne) has to say about the concept of perfect power.

2. Griffin on Perfect Power

According to Griffin, a being counts as a "perfect reality" just in case it is a being "greater than which cannot be consistently thought." It is clear from the context in which this Anselmian formula is provided that Griffin means it to apply specifically and directly to the power such a being would have. The power possessed by a perfect being would be power "greater than which cannot be consistently thought" (GPE 273). This is perfect power. It is, as Griffin says elsewhere, "the greatest power it is conceivable (possible) for a being to have" (GPE 268), i.e., (in Hartshorne’s words) "absolutely maximal" or "the greatest possible" power. Hartshorne adds that as regards power, a being having perfect power "has no possible superior" (DR 138). Power at the logical limit seems clearly to be the message contained in these various remarks. However, with this much established, Griffin tells us that the question of real interest is "how much and/or what kind of power is it conceivable for a being to have ?" (GPE 268). The call here is for a more concrete determination of the general formula -- an identification of the amount and/or specific varieties of power a being would have to possess in order to count as having the logical limit of power. Various answers to this question are referred to by Griffin (and by Hartshorne) as "views" of omnipotence. I shall adopt this way of talking in what is to follow.

Griffin tells us that there must be a world and that anything qualifying as a world would have to contain a multiplicity of actual beings (GPE 279). Further, Griffin takes it to be a "metaphysical truth" that each actual being has power -- power to (partially) determine its own activities and power to (partially) determine the activities of others (GPE 267f.). It follows that there could not be a world that did not include a multiplicity of actual beings each of which possesses power of these two sorts. Griffin says:

The main point to be stressed here is that the fact that the world is composed of actualities with this two-fold power is not a contingent feature of our particular world. It exemplifies a metaphysical principle about reality: any world necessarily contains entities with this two-fold creativity. (GPE 278)

With this thought in mind, consider now the view of omnipotence that Griffin claims is presupposed in what he calls "traditional theodicy", and which he also thinks governs the reasoning in most of the contemporary, philosophical literature on the problem of evil (GPE 268,272). This is what Hartshorne labels the "monopolistic view" of omnipotence. Here, perfect power consists of "a monopolistic concentration of power -- the wielding by one agent of all the power there is or could be" (Hartshorne’s "Omnipotence essay). On the monopolistic view, if a being has perfect power, it has all the power. But, of course, given this way of understanding the logical limit of power, in a world containing an omnipotent being, if there were any other beings (as Griffin says there would have to be since all worlds contain a multiplicity of actual beings), they would possess no power at all. And since it is a "metaphysical truth" that all actual beings have at least some power, it follows (Griffin says) that it is "impossible," i.e., "not coherently conceivable" that there exists a being who is all-powerful, i.e., possesses all the power. The monopolistic view of omnipotence is utterly incoherent (GPE 268, 270, esp. 272).

How, then, shall we circumscribe the amount of and/or the variety of power that a being would have to have in order to count as the possessor of perfect power? If we rule out the idea that one being could have all the power, perhaps the answer is that although there must be a multiplicity of beings each of which has power to (partially) determine its own activities and to (partially) determine the activities of others, if one of them had perfect power, it would have power enough to completely overpower the others. This would be to say that whatever powers other beings might have, if a being had the logical limit of power, it would be capable of completely determining each of the activities of all of the others. Griffin rejects this second view of omnipotence along with the first. His argument centers on the following proposition which he refers to as "Premise X": "It is possible for one actual being’s condition to be completely determined by a being or beings other than itself" (GPE 264). Subsequent discussion makes clear that included in an actual being’s "condition" are all of its activities. Premise X implies that all of the activities of a given being might be completely determined by a being or beings other than itself. Griffin argues that this entails that there could be beings whose activities are completely determinable by another and that this, in turn, entails that there could be beings that are completely devoid of power. We read:

For Premise X to be accepted, actual (in distinction from imaginary or ideal) entities would have to be completely determinable in all respects, by some being or beings other than themselves. In other words, they would be totally devoid of power -- power to determine themselves, even partially, and power to determine others, even partially. (GPE 266)

But as we already know, it is a "metaphysical truth" that actual beings have power. It follows that Premise X is deficient. It follows, further, that the view of omnipotence we are now considering is deficient as well. In fact, given the argument just reviewed, what we have been treating as an alternative to the monopolistic view of omnipotence really is not an alternative at all. If to be completely determinable by another is to be completely devoid of power (as Griffin claims), then if there exists a being having power sufficient to completely determine each of the activities of all other beings, the others have no power and thus it alone possesses whatever power is possessed by actual beings. The alleged alternative really reduces to the monopolistic view.

What we are left with, then, is what Hartshorne refers to as the "social view" of omnipotence. Vis-à-vis its relations with other beings, the greatest power a being could have is power to "influence" the partially self-determined activities of others. Power greater than this simply is not possible.4 But if this is true, then we can see where Mackie went wrong in the (revised) formulation of the problem of evil. He was supposing that if a being had perfect power, it would be capable of completely determining each of the activities of all other beings and thus would have power sufficient to bring about a world devoid of evil. But this presupposes the monopolistic view of omnipotence which is unintelligible. Given the only understanding of omnipotence that makes any sense (the social view), the conclusion is, rather, that not even an omnipotent being could completely determine the activities of other beings and thus guarantee a world lacking evil. Griffin says:

Even a being with perfect power cannot unilaterally bring about that which is impossible for one being unilaterally to effect. And it is impossible for one being unilaterally to effect the best state of affairs among other beings. In other words, one being cannot guarantee that the other beings will avoid evil. The possibility of genuine evil is necessary. (OPE 268f.)

He summarizes his position regarding the concept of perfect power and its implications for Mackie’s challenge as follows:

This position follows from the meaning of ‘‘world’’ as containing self-determining beings since it is not logically possible for one being completely to determine the activities of another entity that by definition has activity that is underived from any other being. Again, it may be that an omnipotent being might be successful in preventing all genuine evil in such a world (just as a father might be successful for fifteen years in preventing any fights between his children). But the omnipotent being cannot be the sufficient cause of that state of affairs, and hence cannot guarantee it; whether or not it occurs will be partly due to the worldly entities themselves. Hence, the actual presence of genuine evil in the world is no disproof of the existence of an omnipotent being who wants to prevent all genuine evil. (GPE 269)

Using "S" to stand for a world devoid of evil, Griffin seems here to be committed to the idea that while it is logically possible for S to exist, the statement "God (unilaterally) brings about S" is a logical contradiction. And this pulls a number of threads together. As regards the meaning of "X is omnipotent" (i.e., "X has perfect power"), the most general formula is "X possesses the logical limit of power." But this last can be further analyzed in accordance with the definition we arrived at under Griffin’s guidance in the first section of this essay. It can be rendered: "It is within X’s power to bring about any state of affairs (S) which is such that X’s bringing about S is logically possible." What the social view of omnipotence is telling us is that a world devoid of evil is not a possible value of S in that last mentioned formula. This is not because a world lacking evil is logically impossible. It is because if such a world were to come about, it could not be said to have been brought about by a single being capable only of influencing, rather than determining, the activities of others. It would be, at best, a joint-production. At least part of the cause would be the self-determined element contributed by the others.5 The upshot is that Mackie’s challenge to traditional Christian theism fails. Quasi-logical rule B is false.

3. The Argument Against the Standard View on Omnipotence

Chapter III of Hartshorne’s The Divine Relativity begins with the following sentences:

What troubles theologians have with the "attributes" of God! God, it seems, has all-power, absolute power. Does this mean that, since he has all the power, we have none; or that, since he does or can do everything, we do or need do nothing? And when we sin against God, does God himself "do" this? Of course (we are told) not exactly. Man has free will, and secondary causes are real as well as the primary cause. But what then is meant by all-powerful?

Although the concept of omnipotence used in traditional Christian literature is not a paradigm of clarity, the questions asked in this passage can only have resulted from a somewhat surprising misconstrual on Hartshorne’s part. With respect to marbles or pineapples, ownership is exclusive -- if I have them all, you have none. But power doesn’t work that way -- nor (so far as I know) has anyone prior to Hartshorne supposed that it does. I possess the power to shatter the glass sitting on my desk and so does my son. The fact that I possess that power does not mean that others do not possess it as well. Thus, when it is claimed in Christian theological texts that God is all-powerful, this is not meant to imply that God (in Hartshorne’s words) "has all the power." Being omnipotent, God has the power to shatter the glass, but so do I and so does my son. The so-called "monopolistic view" of omnipotence is of no real interest in the present discussion. If it is unintelligible (as Griffin and Hartshorne insist that it is), this will not count as a criticism of what Griffin calls "traditional theodicy,’ nor will it have any real bearing on the adequacy of various positions taken in the contemporary, philosophical literature on the problem of evil. However, I think that a great many classical as well as contemporary theologians and philosophers have supposed that if God is omnipotent, it is within his power to completely determine each of the activities of all other beings. In fact, I suspect that this idea concerning the power a being would have to have in order to count as the possessor of perfect power has been widely enough held to warrant being referred to as the "standard view" of omnipotence. And what is interesting here, I think, is that while the standard view of omnipotence does not appear to entail that beings other than God are devoid of power, it does entail that the exercise of power on the part of any finite being is importantly conditioned, i.e., it is contingent upon God’s willingness to refrain from exercising some power of his own. Thus, for example, if it is within my power to shatter the glass on my desk, the exercise of that power is contingent upon God’s willingness to refrain from exercising his power to keep the glass intact. According to the tradition, this point can be generalized for each of the activities of all finite agents. But, as we have seen, Griffin rejects the standard view -- it was the first (alleged) alternative to the monopolistic view that we considered in the preceding section. Griffin found it to be defective. In fact, given his reasoning, it reduces to the monopolistic view itself. Thus, I now want to look more closely at this part of the argument. If Griffin has really discovered a flaw in what lam calling the "standard view" of omnipotence, this would have important negative consequences for Christian theology generally and especially for the way in which it has dealt with the traditional problem of evil.

Let us go back to Premise X. So as to have it before us, I shall state it again:

It is possible for one actual being’s condition (including its activities) to be completely determined by a being or beings other than itself.

As should be clear from the foregoing account, Griffin’s argument against the standard view of omnipotence rests on the claim that Premise X is in some way deficient. But what species of deficiency is involved in this case? Griffin’s official (i.e., fully explicit) answer to this question is that Premise X is meaningless. But in addition to this official diagnosis, at least two others are hinted at in the text which are not only distinct from and incompatible with it, but are distinct from and incompatible with one another. The first is that Premise X is inconsistent, i.e., logically false. And the second is that Premise X is what I shall call "metaphysically false." Thus, if we are to probe Griffin’s thinking on this point with any pretense of completeness, we must examine each of these three theses in turn. That each is (as I say) distinct from and incompatible with each of the others will be argued as the discussion proceeds.

(1) Premise X is Meaningless: Griffin’s argument for this thesis is based on a theory of meaning that he claims to have taken from Bishop Berkeley. According to the theory, a term or phrase has meaning only if it can be assigned what Griffin calls a "ground" or "basis" in experience. Presupposing this as a condition of meaning, Griffin asks:

What reality could one point to that would supply the empirical basis for the meaning of "a powerless actuality?" This thing would have to be directly experienced as being devoid of power. I do not experience anything meeting these criteria that I would term an actuality. . . . [Again] the issue at hand is whether we experience anything that we might term an actual being devoid of power. I say that we do not. (GPE 266)

The function "X is a powerless actuality" is thus meaningless. But, as we have already noted, Griffin says that Premise X entails the existence of powerless actualities. To repeat the passage in which this claim is made:

For Premise X to be accepted, actual (in distinction from imaginary or ideal) entities would have to be totally determinable, in all respects, by some being or beings other than themselves. In other words, they would be totally devoid of power -- power to determine themselves, even partially, and power to determine others, even partially. (GPE 266)

Griffin concludes: "Accordingly, Premise X should be rejected not simply as false, but as meaningless" (GPE 267).

I have two comments to make about this argument, viz., (i) it rests on an ad hoc premise; and (ii) it is invalid. I shall elaborate each.

(i) Grant that a term or phrase has meaning only if it can be given some ground or basis in experience. Griffin assumes that "X is a powerless actuality" has meaning only if the thing (allegedly) referred to by this phrase can be directly experienced. Putting aside the question of whether we ever directly experience powerlessness in actual beings (and this question is not formulated precisely enough to permit of an answer), this requirement is much too strong to be adequate. Consider the term "point" as it is used in the discourse of pure geometry. We do not see or touch or in any other way directly experience that which is referred to by this term. What would it be to directly perceive a spatial position that has no dimension? Shall we then conclude that "point" is meaningless? Hardly. The conclusion is, rather, that this term has some other basis in experience or that (contrary to hypothesis) a term can have meaning even if it lacks an experiential ground. As a general remark, it is surprising to find a contemporary thinker relying on a theory of meaning as naively empirical as this. As Berkeley himself pointed out in several of his writings,6 and as the history of Logical Positivism during this century amply illustrates, no such theory could possibly pretend to capture the meaning of "meaning."

Let us stay for a moment longer with the question of whether "powerless actuality" might be assigned a basis or ground in experience even though (still assuming) no such thing is ever directly perceived. In the Principles of Natural Knowledge, Whitehead made a suggestion as regards the observational basis of the term "point" that might be of interest in the present discussion. Consider a series of concentric circles drawn with a compass on a sheet of paper. Starting with the largest (outside) member of the set and attending progressively inward to each of the others, via an act of extrapolation to the limit of the series, we can form the concept of the point. Here, "point" is given a basis in experience even though it does not refer to an item directly perceived.7 Perhaps this idea would work in the case of "powerless actuality" as well. Allow that we do not directly experience powerless actualities. Still, we do experience things having more or less power. The wave that I catch when riding my surfboard is experienced as having physical power that considerably exceeds that which I experience when touched on the shoulder by my eight-year-old daughter. Attending progressively through a series of actualities exhibiting less and less power, via an act of extrapolation to the limit of the series, perhaps I can arrive at the concept of a powerless actuality. Is this right? I don’t know. But it is not clear that it is wrong. So far, we have been given no reason to suppose that unless we directly experience things as powerless, "powerless actuality" can be given nothing in the way of an experiential basis.

(ii) If the function "X is a powerless actuality" is meaningless, then its negation is meaningless too. A negation sign in front of a meaningless string of symbols does not convert the whole into a meaningful statement. But Griffin claims that if "X" takes actual beings as values, the function "It is not the case that X is a powerless actuality" (i.e., "X is the possessor of power") is not only true, but a metaphysical truth. This cannot be right. Either Griffin’s metaphysical truth is meaningless, or the function "X is a powerless actuality" has meaning. Again, if "X is a powerless actuality" is meaningless, then "I experience a powerless actuality" is meaningless, and "I do not experience a powerless actuality" is meaningless too. But this cannot be. Griffin claims to be sure that he never experiences powerless actualities. It must be that he understands the phrase "powerless actuality" well enough to know what it is that he does not experience. Lastly, Griffin says that to affirm Premise X is to commit oneself to the claim that actual beings are completely determinable, and this (he says) is just another way of saying ("in other words") that there are powerless actualities. But if "X is a powerless actuality" and Premise X are meaningless, this line of reasoning is completely aborted. Assuming that it makes sense to suppose one can affirm a meaningless string of symbols, surely one cannot be said to have committed oneself to anything by so doing. And what shall we make of the idea that "there are powerless actualities" is just another way of saying ("in other words") that actual beings can be completely determinable? This could be true only if these two strings of symbols have the same meaning. This is precluded if the former has no meaning at all.

These last observations are preliminary to the point I now want to argue. What they show, I think, is that whatever may be the ultimate meaning-status of the function "X is a powerless actuality" and Premise X, Griffin is clearly supposing that they have some kind of surface meaning -- enough to permit an investigation of their logical connections to one another and to the claim that actual beings are completely determinable. In what is to follow, I shall assume this as well. My contention is that Premise X entails nothing whatsoever as regards the existence or nonexistence of powerless actualities.

Suppose there is a world containing two entities A and B. Suppose further that it is possible for A to completely determine all of the activities of B. Under these conditions we could say that B is completely determinable by A, but it would not follow that B is devoid of power to determine its own activities for itself. There are two cases to consider. (1) Suppose that it is possible for A to completely determine the activities of B. Now suppose that while A has the power to control the activities of B, A chooses not to exercise that power. B might then be left with power to determine its own activities for itself. Example: A father (A) allows his daughter (B) to move her own arm when it is within his power to restrain her. (2) Suppose that B possesses the power to determine its own activities for itself. Now suppose that B does not (perhaps chooses not to) exercise that power. A is then left to determine B’s activities for it. Example: A father (B) allows his daughter (A) to move his arm though it is within his power to move his arm for himself. From the claim that it is possible for one being’s activities to be completely determined by another (Premise X) it does not follow that the one in question is completely devoid of power. The distance between these claims is at least as ample as the distance between the concept of having power and the concept of exercising power.

Two conclusions are in order. First, what I am calling the "standard view" of omnipotence does not reduce to the monopolistic view. These two concepts would be equivalent only if beings that are completely determinable are necessarily beings that are devoid of power. As we have just seen, this claim is false. Secondly, since the standard view of omnipotence presupposes the possibility described in Premise X, if the latter were meaningless, that would be a source of embarrassment for partisans of the standard view. But that Premise X is meaningless has not been established. As I suggested earlier, and as we have just seen, Griffin’s effort so to establish rests on an ad hoc premise (i.e., "the function ‘X is a powerless actuality’ is meaningless"), and an invalid inference (from "B is determinable" to "B is devoid of power"). So far, the standard view does not appear to be in any serious trouble.

(2) Premise X is Logically False: Since meaningless strings of symbols cannot bear truth values, if Premise X is meaningless, it is not logically false, or if it is logically false, it is not meaningless. Thus the thesis now to be considered is clearly distinct from and incompatible with the first. Further, I suspect that it is this second thesis concerning the deficiency of Premise X upon which Griffin is really depending in his argument against the standard view of omnipotence. Look again at the long passage quoted at the end of the second section of this essay -- the one containing the summary of Griffin’s reply to Mackie (GPE 269). This is only one of many that might be cited in which this second thesis seems clearly to be underpinning the reasoning. However, since this thesis is not explicit in Griffin’s text, no argument is given in its support. Thus, I now want to offer an argument for its truth that is of my own construction. Though Griffin would no doubt find the conclusion attractive, I am not sure what portion of the reasoning he would accept.

Again, suppose there are two actual beings A and B. Allow that it is possible for A to completely determine all of the activities of B even in the case where B is making whatever effort it can to determine its own activities for itself. This last clause is added in order to strengthen Premise X. The strengthened version is presupposed by the basic idea at work in the standard view of omnipotence, viz., that if A is omnipotent, A has power sufficient to overpower whatever effort B may make to determine its own activities for itself. Now, if it is possible for A to completely determine all of the activities of B even in the case where B is making maximum effort to determine its activities for itself, then whether or not A does in fact do so, there is at least a possible world (W) in which A does just that. But consider the situation in W. B is making maximum effort to determine its own activities, and yet they are completely determined by A.

Principle P: If B makes whatever effort it can to do F and fails, B does not have the power to do F.

Assumption T: "Actual beings are possessors of twofold power is a necessary truth whose negation is contradictory.

It follows from Principle P that in W, B is completely lacking in self-determining power. Given Assumption T, it follows from this that in W, B is not an actual being. Put otherwise, it follows that the strengthened version of Premise X is contradictory. According to this premise, there is, e.g., a possible world containing two actualities in which the activities of one are completely determined by the other even in the case where the first is making maximum effort at self determination. But there is no such possible world. In any world containing a complete-determiner, whatever determinees there are will fail to qualify as actual beings. Thus Premise X is false. And since any false proposition of the form "It is (logically) possible that…" is contradictory, Premise X is logically false.

This argument for the deficiency of Premise X seems to me to be better than the one upon which Griffin explicitly relies in his text. If we take Principle P and Assumption T as premises in the proof, whether or not it is sound, it is at least valid. And note, if the conclusion of this argument is granted, the standard view of omnipotence will have to be dismissed as incoherent. Argument: Suppose again that A and B are actual beings and that A has power to completely determine the activities of B even when B is doing whatever it can to determine its own activities for itself. It must then be possible for A to exercise that power. While A might have powers that are not exercised, a power that could not be exercised (i.e., an unexercisable power) is no power at all. But if Premise X is logically false, no such power could be exercised. To suppose that it could would be to suppose it possible for A so to act as to actualize a state of affairs that is impossible. The conclusion is that the hypothesis is incoherent -- no being could have power enough to count as omnipotent on the standard view. Thus the question before us is whether the premises of the present argument for the deficiency of Premise X are true. I shall close this part of the discussion with two remarks addressed to this question.

(i) Consider the case in which I am making maximum effort to raise my arm but it is being held down by a person much stronger than I. Add that were I not constrained, I could move my arm at will. Shall we say that under these circumstances, I lack the power to raise my arm? Maybe we should say, instead, that I still possess the power to raise my arm but that in the circumstances I am prevented from exercising it. Though I think that both of these ways of describing the situation would be intelligible, the latter seems to me to underline an element in the picture that is smudged in the former, viz., that, although inhibited, I still have something that counts as arm-raising potential. I am not like a dead man or a rag doll. I am not completely, utterly, absolutely, unconditionally, etc. devoid of something that can be classified as the power to raise my arm. (If only that fool would let go of my arm, I would show you what I mean.) Now, consider the case of the omnipotent being who is determining the activities of another even though the other is making maximum effort to determine its own activities for itself. Is this a case of being completely powerless, or is it a case of possessing power but being prevented from exercising it? What we need here, I think, is some further information. How would it look if the omnipotent being were not exercising its power to completely determine the activities ofthe other? If under these conditions the other could determine its own activities for itself, some species of power should be assigned to it even in the inhibited state. As it stands, I think that Principle P is false. I also suspect that any variation on P that would be sufficient to sustain the argument given above would be false as well. Power is tenacious. It survives nonexercise, and it also survives overpower.

(ii) In Process and Reality, Whitehead maintained that the ultimate constituents of the universe are actual entities (also called "actual occasions") each of which possesses two-fold power of the sort described by Griffin. According to Whitehead, this theory was arrived at by "the method of descriptive generalization" and is to be thought of as a "working hypothesis" finally to be tested by reference to empirical fact (AI chapter 15). As regards the method of descriptive generalization, Whitehead compared it to the flight of an airplane. One begins with a restricted generalization descriptive of phenomena encountered in one field of inquiry (e.g., physics, physiology, psychology, etc.); one then (as he says) "makes a flight into the thin air of generalization" -- framing the description to cover all actualities -- finally landing again to see how the theory squares with observed fact in areas other than the one from which the inquiry began. The crucial test of the unrestricted generalization rests in the latter observations (PR chapter 1, section 2).8 My point is that throughout his discussion of methodology in metaphysics, Whitehead emphasized the empirical nature of the enterprise-especially the final test. His own theory concerning the nature of the ultimate constituents of the universe was not advanced under the banner of an a priori necessity. He offered it as a contingent generalization whose truth could be established (if at all) only by straightforward a posteriori procedures.

How, then, did Griffin come up with the idea that "actual beings are possessors of two-fold power" is true (as he says) "by definition" (GPE 269). Though this claim (or something like it) is required if the argument offered above is to work (Assumption T), there is nothing in Whitehead’s texts -- nor does Griffin offer any considerations of his own -- that would lead one to think it is true. Further, the claim itself seems to me to be implausible in the extreme. Two-fold power Includes the power of self-determination. Shall we then conclude that philosophers such as Descartes who thought that there are actual beings (material objects) that do not have such power, were simply confused on a point of semantics -- mistaken about the meaning of the phrase "actual being?" That would be preposterous. Whatever the substantive metaphysical facts may be concerning the powers possessed by actual beings, they will surely not be discovered simply by consulting definitions. Of course, one might always resort to metaphysics by fiat -- pure stipulation concerning the meaning of"actual being." But, then, one could hardly be surprised if nobody pays very serious attention. Though sometimes useful as tools, by themselves semantical inventions solve no philosophical problems.

(3) Premise X is Metaphysically False: In the paragraph directly following the one in which Premise X is first introduced, Griffin says:

Premise X, which speaks of actual beings, begins: "It is possible . . .". But what kind of possibility is at issue? This is not an issue that can be settled by logic alone. Rather it is a metaphysical issue. In fact, this is what many would consider the metaphysical issue par excellence, the difference between actuality and other types of "being" such as possibility. (GPE 265)

Exactly what the "metaphysical issue par excellence" is supposed to be is not made clear in this passage. Is the problem one of determining what kind of possibility it is that is affirmed in Premise X, or is it one of discovering the difference between actualities and possibilities? As it turns out, it is neither. Two paragraphs later, the metaphysical issue is identified as that of determining whether Premise X is true, i.e., whether the possibility affirmed in Premise X does or does not obtain. Of course, Griffin’s position is that it does not. The implication seems to be that his rejection of Premise X does not finally rest on the claim that it is meaningless or logically false but on the idea that it is unacceptable for metaphysical reasons. Though there is precious little on this topic to work with in the text, I now want to see if I can make this thesis clear.

First, let us agree that a state of affairs (S) counts as metaphysically impossible if it is precluded by certain substantive metaphysical principles that are true. The parallel here is with physical, psychological, economic, etc., impossibility. S counts as physically, psychologically, economically, etc., impossible, just in case it is precluded by certain physical, psychological, economic, etc., principles that are true. Allow that S is metaphysically possible if it is not metaphysically impossible. Secondly, just as a false proposition of the form "It is logically possible that is logically false, so let us say that a false proposition of the form, "It is metaphysically possible that . . ." is metaphysically false. Griffin s view seems to be that the kind of possibility at issue in Premise X is a metaphysical possibility and that the specific metaphysical possibility affirmed in that proposition does not, in fact, obtain. The claim is, then, that Premise X is metaphysically false, i.e., it asserts that a certain state of affairs is not precluded by substantive metaphysical principles that are true, when, in fact, it is. Given this as what I shall refer to below as Griffin’s "third position" concerning the deficiency of Premise X, I think it is clear that it is both distinct from and incompatible with each of the other two positions already examined. On this third position, Premise X has negative truth value and thus cannot be meaningless. But, on the other hand, the claim is not that Premise X is a false proposition of the form "It is logically possible that or that it is inconsistent on some other count. If it were, the metaphysical issue we are here considering (i.e., whether Premise X is true or false) could "be settled by logic alone," and this would be contrary to what Griffin tells us in the passage quoted above. On this last question, I think that the finished view all but explicit in Griffin’s remarks is as follows: There are possible worlds -- i.e., logically possible worlds -- in which the activities of some beings are completely determined by another. But these worlds are not metaphysically possible -- they are metaphysically impossible, i.e., their actuality is precluded by certain metaphysical principles that are true.

In the first section of this essay, in response to Griffin’s objections to the analysis of "X is omnipotent" presupposed in Mackie’s original challenge to Christian theism, we revised that analysis to read: "X is omnipotent means "It is within X’s power to bring about any state of affairs (S) where X’s bringing al)out S is logically possible." We have seen that Griffin at least appears to use this analysis when formulating his reply to Mackie’s challenge. However, if we now agree that Premise X is only metaphysically false (and not logically false), i.e., if we agree that it is only metaphysically impossible (and not logically impossible) for one being’s activities to be completely determined by another, given the analysis of "X is omnipotent" with which we have been working, there would be no apparent reason for supposing that it is not within the power of an omnipotent being to completely determine each of the activities of all other beings and thus to bring about a world devoid of evil. The fact that S is precluded by metaphysical principles provides no reason at all for supposing that X’s bringing about S is not logically possible. Thus, the problem with which we started is still with us. In the context of the discussion to this point, Griffin’s third position regarding the deficiency of Premise X simply does not address the issue.

What is needed, of course, is an adjustment in the context -- more specifically, a second revision in the analysis of "X is omnipotent." We must make a switch in the last clause of the first revision -- changing "X’s bringing about S is logically possible" to "X’s bringing about S is metaphysically possible." With this modification, X would count as omnipotent just in case it is within X’s power to bring about any state of affairs (S) where X’s bringing about S is metaphysically possible. Assuming this, and assuming as well that the metaphysical possibility affirmed in Premise X does not obtain, it follows that a being could be omnipotent even if it lacked power sufficient to determine each of the activities of all other beings and thus (Griffin would say) to bring about a world lacking evil. The third position is now harnessed to the plow. Given the two assumptions just isolated, it is at least making contact with the problem at hand.

As above, I shall conclude with two critical comments.

(1) Griffin tells us that the possessor of perfect power is a being having power "greater than which cannot be consistently thought," I.e., one having "the greatest power it is conceivable (possible) for a being to have." In the opening paragraph of the second section of this essay, I noted that the import of these descriptions (and some others therein recited) is that a being has perfect power only if it possesses the logical limit of power. This is what such phrases are used to convey both in the classical literature (Anselm) and in contemporary discussions of omnipotence and the problem of evil. To use them otherwise, without warning, would be obscuristic in the extreme. But now, under what conditions shall we say that a being possesses the logical limit of power? Most would agree that a being (X) counts as having such power if there is no possible world containing a being having greater power than X. This is to say that from the ascription of more power than is possessed by X, one can derive a logical contradiction. Now, consider the status of what is usually counted as a metaphysical principle. Such a principle is presumably descriptive of fact, however foundational. Though it may be supposed stronger (more binding, firmer, more important, or some such) than a mere physical law, it is still a substantive proposition whose negation is not contradictory and which is thus logically contingent. This is to say that however binding it may be, there are possible worlds in which it fails. Off hand, the conclusion would appear to be that a being having the logical limit of power would have power sufficient to bring about a state of affairs (S) even if S were precluded by a metaphysical principle. But, of course, this might be wrong. It might be that while it is logically possible that S obtain, one can derive a contradiction from the claim that some individual brings S about. Still, I should think that before endorsing the idea that the logical limit of power is restricted to power sufficient to bring about only what is metaphysically possible, we should want to be shown that such contradiction can, in fact, be derived. My point is that on the surface, at least, the analysis of "X is omnipotent" that goes with Griffin’s third position concerning the deficiency of Premise X does not capture the idea of perfect power as understood by Griffin and as generally understood in discussions of this topic. If Griffin is to make good a claim to the contrary, the burden is on him to derive the required contradiction and thus show that the analysis of "X is omnipotent" here being considered does not involve a slip to the concept of something less than perfect power.

(ii) Premise X is metaphysically false, i.e., there is no metaphysical possibility of the sort it affirms. This would be true only if the existence of beings whose activities are completely determined by a being or beings other than themselves is precluded by metaphysical principles that are true. But why should we agree that the metaphysical principle involved in this case is true? If we discount appeals that had relevance only when considering the claim that Premise X is meaningless or the claim that Premise X is logically false (i.e., Griffin’s appeal to the meaninglessness of "X is a powerless actuality" in the first case and to ‘the definition of "actual being" in the second case), Griffin’s text provides nothing in the way of support for the assertion that the metaphysical principle upon which he is relying is correct. The conclusion is that even were we to accept the analysis of "X is omnipotent" needed to make it even relevant, the major trouble with Griffin’s third position regarding the deficiency of Premise X would still have to be faced. What is needed is an argument -- some whisper of evidence -- that goes at least part of the way toward showing that Premise X is metaphysically false. Until that is supplied, there is probably no point in attending to any of the other problems that Griffin’s third position involves.

Since the discussion in this section has been complicated and since it constitutes the center of my reflections on Griffin’s argument for the process theodicy, perhaps a word of summary would be appropriate before it is brought to a close.

Griffin tells us that the existence of a being that is omnipotent on the so-called "monopolistic view" of omnipotence is "impossible," i.e., "not coherently conceivable." Since, for Griffin, what I have called the "standard view" of omnipotence is not distinguished from and, inflict (given one of his arguments) reduced to the monopolistic view, it, too, is incoherent and for the same reasons. Further, Griffin’s thinking as regards the incoherence involved has something to do with the idea that Premise X is deficient. Thus, focusing just on the argument against the standard view of omnipotence (since, I have argued, the monopolistic view is not the same and has no theological significance) what I have tried to do in this section is to discover what is wrong with Premise X and how its failure renders unacceptable the standard view of omnipotence. However, in addition to his official position regarding the deficiency of Premise X (that it is meaningless), Griffin’s arguments and remarks suggest at least two other ways of understanding the vagueries of this proposition. Thus, in the interest of completeness I have worked in turn with three quite independent critiques of Premise X, attempting in each case to assess its plausibility and to determine its connection (if any) with the claim that the standard view of omnipotence is incoherent. In the course of the discussion a number of interesting, important and in some cases, difficult topics intimately connected with the concept of power have been addressed. Among these I include the notion of having or possessing as it relates to power; the distinction between having and exercising power; the logical status of "unexercisable power ; and, perhaps most crucial of all in the context of traditional Christian thinking about omnipotence, issues hovering in and around the illusive concept of over-power. Still, as regards Griffin’s specific project, the results have been largely negative. So far as has been shown to the contrary, there is nothing wrong with Premise X and nothing wrong with the standard view of omnipotence. Of course, this is not to say that the standard view is acceptable. It is just to say that it has not been shown to be otherwise.

4. The Argument for the Social View of Omnipotence

Having found the monopolistic and thus (on his account) the standard view of omnipotence unintelligible, Griffin argues that a being having perfect power would have power only to "influence" the activities of others. The reply to Mackie is, then, quick in coming. A being having power only to influence the behavior of others could not unilaterally guarantee that the activities of others will not be evil or will not be such as to result in evil. While a world without evil is logically possible, no being -- not even an omnipotent being -- could unilaterally bring such a world about.

This final part of Griffin’s argument for the process theodicy turns on an assumption that he appears to have borrowed by Hartshorne, viz., that the so-called "social view" of omnipotence is the only alternative to the monopolistic (and thus to the standard) view.9 The critique of the latter thus established the former as (in Griffin’s words) "the only view that is coherent if one is talking about the power a being with the greatest conceivable amount of power could have over a created, i.e. an actual world" (GPE 269). But this conclusion can hardly stand without something more in the way of support. Backing away from the monopolistic and standard views, I should think that the first diminutive would be this: With respect to any finite being, an omnipotent being has power to completely determine some of its activities (e.g., its walking activities), but does not have power sufficient to completely determine all of its activities (e.g., not its talking activities). We might call this the "selective view" of omnipotence. And note, a being that is omnipotent on this selective view might exist even if Premise X turned out to be meaningless, logically false, or metaphysically false. Such a being could exist together with other beings even if not all of the activities of any of the latter could be completely determined by another. But, of course, if this alternative were to be accepted, it would not follow that an omnipotent being could not unilaterally bring about a world devoid of evil. What would remain to be argued is that the potential activities of other beings that are evil or that result in evil are not among those the omnipotent being could determine to the contrary. The final picture is not encouraging. Even had Griffin succeeded in showing that the standard view of omnipotence is incoherent (which he did not), rigor would require that yet another negative thesis be established, viz., that the selective view of omnipotence is unacceptable. I do not see how such a thesis could be successfully argued.

5. Epilogue

In chapter 96 of the Enchiridion, Augustine writes:

Nor can we doubt that God does well even in the permission of what is evil. For he permits it only in the justice of His judgment. And surely, all that is just is good. Although, therefore, evil, insofar as it is evil, is not a good; yet the fact that evil as well as good exists, is a good. For if it were not a good that evil exists, its existence would not be permitted by the omnipotent God, who, without doubt can as easily refuse to permit what He does not wish, as bring about what he does wish.

Applying the principle articulated in this passage to the special case of immoral actions performed by men and angels, in chapter 100 of the same text, Augustine says:

For as far as it relates to their own consciousness, these creatures did what God wished not to be done: but in view of God’s omnipotence, they could in no wise effect their purpose. For in the very fact that they acted in opposition to His will, His will concerning them was fulfilled. And hence it is that, "the works of the Lord are great, sought out according to his pleasure," because in a way unspeakably strange and wonderful, even what is done in opposition to His will does not defeat His will. For it would not be done did He not permit it (and, of course, His permission is not unwilling, but willing); nor would a Good Being permit evil to be done only that in His omnipotence He can turn evil into good.10

Although Augustine is speaking in this passage only about the actions of men and angels, I am sure he would readily extend the point to cover the activities of whatever other beings there are that are capable of (partially) determining their own activities (actual Occasions?). Augustine’s amazing message is that if God is omnipotent, then no matter how untoward the activities of finite agents may be, we must suppose that they are performed with God’s permission. Somehow or other (in a way "unspeakably strange and wonderful") all things that exist or occur (including such activities) contribute to the ultimate good. If they did not, God would not permit them to be. I have argued elsewhere that for all anyone has been able to show to the contrary, this theodicy is free of logical contradiction.11 But, of course, if it is not contradictory, then Mackie’s challenge to traditional Christian theism fails. If "God exists" and "evil exists" are logically incompatible, no explanation of evil in a theistic universe would be possible. Any such (alleged) justification would itself be contradictory. But note, Augustine’s way of handling the problem of evil is very different than Hartshorne’s and Griffin’s. For Augustine, since God is omnipotent, it is within his power to completely determine each of the activities of all other beings, and thus it is within his power to prevent all instances of evil. He does not do so only because the evil action of others are ingredients in the ultimate good. Griffin challenges the second of Mackie’s quasilogical rules. Augustine’s more promising approach is focused on Rule A. My point is that even though the process theodicy is not successful, process theology has other ways to go. Augustine’s solution to the problem of evil works (if it works at all) even if God is omnipotent. And as I mentioned at the very beginning of the discussion, the problem of evil is dismantled altogether once one shakes loose from the unlikely (and contra-Whiteheadian) idea that to be worthy of worship, a being must be omnipotent, i.e., must be the possessor of the logical limit of power.12

 

References

DR -- Charles Hartshorne. The Divine Relativity. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1948.

GOM -- Alvin Plantinga. God and Other Minds. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1967.

GPE -- David Griffin. God, Power, and Evil: A Process Theodicy. Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1976.

 

Notes

1 See Hartshorne’s article "Omnipotence" in An Encyclopedia of Religion, edited by Vergilius Ferm (Philosophical Library, Inc., 1945), p. 545ff; and DR 138.

2 "On Evil and Omnipotence," Mind, 1956. This point is anticipated by Hartshorne in The Divine Relativity, p. 135. It is also emphasized by Alvin Plantinga in his recent writings on the free will defense, e.g., part A of God, Freedom and Evil (Harper Torchbooks, 1974).

3 This analysis is suggested by Plantinga in GOM 137.

4 This thesis is developed by Hartshorne in his article "Omnipotence" and in DR 134-42. It is further expanded by Griffin in the first half of chapter 18 of GPE.

5 It is at this point that the already obvious parallel between Griffin’s argument for process theodicy and Alvin Plantinga’s most recent effort to defend the free will theodicy becomes most apparent. Cf. Plantinga’s God, Freedom and Evil,. section A, subsections 4-6.

6 Cf. the Introduction to the Principles, no. par. 20, See also the Alciphron, Book VII (Jessop and Luce, III, pp. 290-97).

7 What I have just said is what I take to be the broad, intuitive idea behind Whitehead’s highly technical effort to expose the observational import of "point" via the method of extensive abstraction. See PNK, chapter 1, entitled "Meaning" (esp. p.5) for Whitehead’s account of the project undertaken in this volume. Then see part III, chapters 8-11 for the details of the definition of "point." My remarks here are based largely on what Whitehead says about "abstractive classes" in no. par. 30 of chapter 8, PNK 104-06.

8 The thesis advanced here is further developed and emphasized in subsequent sections of this chapter. See especially the penultimate paragraph.

9 Cf. Hartshorne’s article on "Omnipotence" and GPE 269f.

10 These two passages are taken from The Basic Writings of St. Augustine, ed. W. T. Gates (Random House, 1978) which, in turn, were taken from A Select Library of Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers of the Christian Church, ed. Philip Schaff.

11 "Hume on Evil," Philosophical Review, 1964. See also Roderick Chisholm’s splendid and much more fully developed argument for the same conclusion in "The Defeat of Good and Evil," Proceedings of the American Philosophical Association, (1968-69), 21-38.

12 I am grateful to my friend and colleague Rebecca Pentz for many suggestions, comments, and criticisms which were of great help to me in working out the argument of this essay.

A. N. W.: A Biographical Perspective

The attempt to write a life of Whitehead is something one should not wish on one’s worst enemy. The kinds of private documents a biographer needs are almost nonexistent. Whitehead did not keep a diary, and he was famous for not writing letters; they took too much time from his work. Natural letter-writers, like Bertrand Russell or Virginia Woolf, write mainly to express themselves; Whitehead had little of that interest. There are some family letters, but those to his parents and brothers have not been preserved. In his will he directed that his letters to his wife be destroyed; that makes a great gap, for she is easily the most important person in his biography. The fact is that Whitehead was as keen on privacy as Russell was on publicity.

Nevertheless, his son North, back in 1965, gave me the strongest possible encouragement to attempt a biography. When I objected that his father would not have wanted one, the answer was: A. N. W. believed that there should be biographies of great men, but never thought of himself as in that class. So I went ahead, collecting official records and sending out countless inquiries, to which the most usual answer was, "I wish I could help you, but I have no letters, and only a few memories of times long past." It was my conviction that, as no professional biographer in his right mind would touch Whitehead, someone who knew him and his work should write as much about this great man’s life as the scanty materials allowed; not a memoir, mind you, but an objective partial biography. The length of time it is taking me is due mainly to this amateur’s complete inefficiency in biographical research and writing.

It is not only Whitehead’s personal life for which there is too little documentation. As he had requested, his widow destroyed (along with letters he had received) his unpublished papers and the manuscripts of his books. He idealized youth and wanted young thinkers to develop their own ideas, not spend their best years on a Nachlass. Hence Whitehead’s intellectual biography, so far as we can be certain about it, depends mainly on the external facts of his life and the prefaces to his books. A valiant endeavor to discover, from the texts of his metaphysical publications, just how they were written, has been made with great ingenuity by Lewis Ford.

I do not propose to deal tonight with influences on Whitehead, but I should like to say something about the first influence on him, that of the Whitehead men: his grandfather, father, two uncles, and oldest brother, Henry. They should receive individual descriptions; I must be content to say that together, as forward-looking, incredibly hard-working middle-class Victorians who did much good in their churches and schools, and in local administration (and did it without antagonizing people), they gave Alfred North Whitehead a model of a dedicated, useful Christian life and of firm moral character. Although Whitehead in his thirties ceased to be an orthodox Christian, in other respects he was faithful to the model all his life. His friends and pupils at Harvard should not have been surprised to discover that although he was a tolerant man, his morals, in the main, were conventional Victorian morals. Since Whitehead was nearly forty when the Queen died in 1901, we should see him as a man of the Victorian age whose intellect bore its best fruit a quarter of a century later.

Whitehead began to teach and write philosophy after he had devoted forty years to mathematics. Nowadays the mathematician is usually remembered only as Russell’s collaborator on Principia Mathematica. That is unfair to Whitehead. In 1890, when Russell was his freshman pupil at Trinity College, Cambridge, Whitehead conceived a large scheme of mathematical work, which he pursued for decades. I have described it elsewhere1 and will here say only that his ultimate aim was to exhibit the most powerful systems of algebraic symbolism for exploring the physical world. He did not reach this goal. Volume I of his underestimated Treatise on Universal Algebra2 was the first product of his pursuit of it. The second was the memoir, "On Mathematical Concepts of the Material World."3 Then came the three volumes of the Principia.4 They were to be followed by a fourth, on geometry, written by Whitehead alone, hut he never finished it.

Whitehead was a good mathematician; no one would call him a great one. It was in philosophy that he achieved greatness. He told me, when he was seventy-five, that he had been philosophizing, in an amateurish way, since he was twenty-three. I found that in May of that year, when he was a graduate student at Cambridge, he was elected to a small discussion club. This was the secret, and famous, Cambridge Conversazione Society, known to outsiders as the "Apostles" It met on Saturday nights, not for formal debate, but for free and perfectly frank discussion of ideas, following the reading of a paper. A later Apostle, Professor R. B. Braithwaite, allowed me to see the Society’s book for the years when Whitehead was an active member, 1884 to 1888. So far as I know, this is the only document from which anything can be learned about Whitehead’s early philosophical views. Thanks to Professor Braithwaite, I can tell you a little about them; a little, because the minutes are not records of the discussions, but only of titles of papers read, of stands taken in a vote at the end of each meeting, and of such very short comments as members chose to write into the book as they voted. I shall limit myself to Whitehead’s outlook on the universe, his philosophy of life, and his religious views.

A meeting which broke up in the early hours of Whitehead’s twenty-fourth birthday concluded with a vote on the question, "Does the devil exist, or is he merely loathsome?" Whitehead voted, Yes, the devil exists; and he wrote in the book, "He is the Homogeneous." Two weeks later Whitehead read a paper on the question, "Is it now as it was in the beginning?" It is unlikely that at this time -- 1885 -- any of the Apostles rejected Darwinian evolution. But the idea of homogeneity again came to the fore in the final question, "Is a homogeneous universe a failure?" Whitehead and two others voted Yes; four voted No. The discussion might have been partly about Herbert Spencer’s conception of evolution, but is more likely -- Whitehead’s discussion especially -- to have been about the speculative application of the second law of thermodynamics to the physical universe as a whole, with its prospect of a final state of perfect equilibrium. The talk at the next meeting was also about the process of the universe. The question at its close was, "Democritus or Heraclitus?" Whitehead gave the nod to Heraclitus. This is a bit of evidence of his early preference for a rich, "thick" metaphysics over a reductionist materialism. Unfortunately, the Apostles’ book during these years includes no reference to Platonic metaphysics.

The records of these three meetings strongly suggest -- I do not say, demonstrate -- this about the general outlook of the young mathematician Whitehead: he had a positive attitude toward change, tension, the multifariousness of things and qualities; his hackles rose over the notion of unrelieved uniformity; and he rejected Democritus’s "spatialization" of change. I use Bergson’s word because I want to make a point. When Whitehead’s readers find such features in the philosophy of science that he began to write thirty years later, they often assume that these are Whitehead’s response to his reading of Bergson. My point is that in 1885 Bergson was just beginning to find his philosophy, and none of it had been published.

On various issues in human life, the stands that Whitehead took were similar in kind. He answered No to the question, "Shall we truckle to our environment?" That was the most natural answer, but the question was not an idle one, for the conservative, easy-going Apostle, J. K. Stephen, voted Yes. Three years later a meeting ended with a division on a question loaded the other way: "Shall we run our heads against brick walls?" Yes, said Whitehead. Throughout his Apostolic years he took a position on the side of diversity and adventure whenever the question concerned their contrast with uniformity and the status quo. He voted that the world ought not to agree about tastes; on another occasion, that we should not "be normal." To "What shall we do with social experiments; encourage, make, discourage?" Whitehead answered, "Encourage"; this was in June, 1884; he was not enough of an activist to say, Make them." His was a philosophy of change, but -- as appeared in another vote -- without the belief that we have a criterion of progress.

The contrast between thought and feeling came up several times. "Shall we cut off the tail?" was a way of asking whether we should try to be purely rational beings. Whitehead voted against cutting off the tail, and wrote, "The operation is too dangerous." (Readers of Adventures of Ideas know how hard-headed rationalism evoked his skepticism and alarm.) In the autumn of 1886, when he read a paper entitled, "Is the playwright the best historian?" the closing question was, "Facts or feelings?" "Feelings" he said. The idea that feeling is central, and can itself be cognitive, is a major theme in his mature philosophy.

In October, 1887, a paper by Lowes Dickinson gave rise to the question," Shall we read Hegel?" At this time Dickinson was reading Hegel’s Logic with McTaggart. Whitehead wrote in the minute book, "Urge others to (10 50 and to read other metaphysicians as well." Note that he urged others to read Hegel; if Whitehead himself had tried, he had looked only at Hegel’s remarks on mathematics and had been turned off.

In their religious views, the Apostles of 1884 to 1888 were a mixture of believers and nonbelievers, with the former in the majority. "Do we believe in God?" was the closing question on May 2, 1885. Five Apostles said they did not: Whitehead was one of nine who declared that they did.5 Two years later, there was a division on whether a personal God is a satisfactory explanation of the universe. McTaggart and two others said it was not; Whitehead and one other voted Yes. Young Whitehead believed in God the Creator.

Some weeks after the vote on belief in God, Whitehead, answering Yes to the question, Shall we transcend our limitations?" wrote in the book, "I want to see God." The beatific vision was important to him. The following October he gave a paper on the question, "Is one life enough?" The question voted on was, "Do we desire immortality?" Whitehead accompanied his affirmation with the note, "I want a sort of a something." He wanted immortality of some kind, not necessarily the specific kind in which his father and grandfather believed. At a meeting in 1887, McTaggart led a discussion of the idea of Nirvana. The final question then took the form, "Should we object to be annihilated?" "Yes," said Whitehead, dissenting from McTaggart.

Although his religious views would undergo radical changes, the positions which I have reported Whitehead took on other subjects should not surprise anyone familiar with the philosophy he wrote after he came to America in 1924.

Whitehead was brought up in the Church of England; his father, uncles, and oldest brother were in holy orders. As a young Fellow of Trinity College, he heard talk about the relative merits of Roman Catholicism. Perhaps the Anglican Church had everything except religion, with regard to which it offered only a socially useful simulacrum. One night in 1886, the Apostles divided on the question, "Should Churchmen go to Rome?" "Yes," declared Whitehead, "Or in the other direction." By "the other direction" he meant, I believe, toward dropping all Christian belief. Whitehead did so -- ten years later. That was the upshot of a long debate with himself about the claim of Rome to his allegiance. He was all but converted by reading Cardinal Newman. In him Whitehead found a keen thinker, a historian, and a saintly man who drew his sympathy. He finally went to the Oratory at Birmingham in the hope of talking with Newman. It is impossible to say when he did this. On the basis of what his children told me, the best guess I can make is, early in the summer of 1890. (Newman died on August 11.) There is no record of the visit: the Oratory did not keep a visitor’s book until after the turn of the century. But something came out one Sunday evening in the academic year 1932-33.6 It was near the close of an "at home" for his Harvard students; the circle that was talking to him and the circle talking to his wife had become one. She remarked on the unfairness of Lytton Strachey’s book, Eminent Victorians, and added that when "Altie" was young he had an interview with one of them, Cardinal Newman. Whitehead sat quietly and said nothing. The strange silence was broken by a student asking him what Newman was like. Whitehead was still silent, then suddenly said, "He was wonderful." "But," he added, "he was very old then." The same impression, of an event so significant and personal that Whitehead did not want to talk about it, comes from Lucien Price’s report of a conversation in September, 1945.7 Sir Richard Livingstone and Whitehead were talking about university education. When Livingstone brought up Newman, Whitehead said that he had once seen and spoken with him; but when he was asked if he could remember what Newman said, he answered, "It is too long ago," looked preoccupied for a moment, then abruptly changed the subject.

It is unlikely that Whitehead had more than a very few minutes with Newman, who since 1886 had been very frail, quite deaf and almost blind, not up to an interview with a stranger. Newman’s secretary would have intervened and led Whitehead away, to talk with someone else about joining the Catholic church. The result, to Whitehead’s mind, was inconclusive. But Newman stayed high in his esteem. In lectures at Harvard Whitehead frequently remarked that he was a thinker of great merit and recommended reading him.

This same summer, probably soon after the trip to Birmingham, Whitehead proposed marriage to a young woman he had fallen in love with, Evelyn Wade, and to his surprise was accepted. I have seen a fine leatherpocket edition of the Imitation of Christ, inscribed, "Evelyn from Alfred. Dec. 16th 1890 / Feb. 15th 1891." The first date is that of their marriage; the second, of his thirtieth birthday. He was giving her something he prized, with the hope that, as partners in a Christian life, they would often read it together. Perhaps the Christianity she had absorbed as a child of Protestant (Anglican) parents in a Catholic convent school (in Brittany) amounted merely to going through certain motions.

He was still consumed by the question that led him to visit Newman. This was a not a consuming question for his wife, but she was willing to follow his lead and embrace whatever conclusion he reached; she knew that he alone had the brains to carry out the intellectual and historical analyses which had to be made. For about seven years after his marriage he read a great deal in theology and its history, acquiring quite a library; she participated in this to some extent. A little searching by me has turned up no records of discussion of the question with anyone else. Whitehead looked upon it, I think, as a private question. Probably there were talks and exchanges of letters with his favorite brother, Henry, who was an Anglo-Catholic and a priest, later the Bishop of Madras. When Henry Whitehead was a Fellow of Trinity College, Oxford, he had seen Newman (an Honorary Fellow). But Henry Whitehead’s heirs have kept no pertinent material. In Cambridge there were few opportunities for discussion with Catholics until after 1895; because of a ban Cardinal Manning had got imposed, there were less than a dozen of them in the entire University. Of course a future researcher might find in the papers of some friend of Whitehead’s a reference to what he thought about the doctrine of papal infallibility, which Newman was reluctant to accept, and which Mrs. Whitehead later said was the great obstacle.

An Anglican who asks himself with the utmost sincerity whether he should go to Rome is assuming that authority is essential for religion, and is seeking that authority. When Whitehead first asked himself this question, the authority of Newtonian concepts in physics was absolute. As the 1890s advanced, it became clouded. Every year brought new discoveries which caused the Newtonian framework to become more strained. Whitehead has called this crumbling of the scientific rock one of the crucial experiences of his life.8 It cannot have strengthened his assumption that there was a true traditional authority in religion, however hard to identify. I suppose that this was one of the reasons for the decision he reached, probably in 1897. (I shall mention another possible reason later.) His decision was not to go to Rome but "in the other direction." He could find no clear authority in any church and no compelling reason for subscribing to any promulgated articles of Christian faith. Whitehead (joined by his wife) became an agnostic – "an outspoken and even militant" one, according to the article on him in the Dictionary of National Biography. As a good logician, he realized that it is not possible to prove the nonexistence of God; but the distinction between his agnosticism and atheism was purely theoretical. The children were told that they need no longer say prayers.

Whitehead’s position was by no means unique. The great division at Cambridge was no longer between the established church and dissent; it was between Christians and freethinkers. Whitehead’s son North, however, once said to me that there was something a little odd about his father’s agnosticism. The tone was a bit like that of a priest celebrating a Black Mass. It was as if he wanted to be religious, and was being defiantly atheistic. At least, though the conclusion of the long private debate was perfectly definite, it was not altogether welcome. The process had been agonizing, nothing one would go through again or like to see one’s children go through. Accordingly, most of the theological library was sold.

Whitehead’s agnostic period lasted about twenty years. A little parody of simple Christian theism which the family staged for house-guests one Sunday in March, 1913, has been reported to me.9 Mrs. Whitehead said, "The servants are all out for the afternoon, so Alfred, North, and Jessie are going to act a ‘mystery play’." North was then twenty-one years old, Jessie, nineteen. The play began with these three, as the three persons of the Trinity, entering the large living room arm in arm carrying a rugby football. Whitehead, a most benevolent God the Father, said, "I’ve had a wonderful idea. Let’s put something alive on this ball." Action of making and putting things on the ball was followed by watching it and tutt-tutting over the deplorable goings on there. North and Jessie appeared doubtful that the Creation was such a good idea. Whitehead then said, "I am sorry, Son, but you must really go down there and see if you can do something about it." After some argument, North gathered up a portmanteau and steamer rugs and reluctantly left the room. As the other two continued to observe the ball, they made witty comments on the Son’s earthly career. North returned, disheveled: "Oh I have had an awful time! I won’t ever go there again." More earth watching, until Whitehead shook his head sadly, "And it hasn’t done a bit of good. They are worse than ever! Oh, bother the thing!" and with a vigorous kick sent the ball across the room. Then the Trinity marched out arm in arm.

I have told this story to show the Whiteheads’ cheerful despair of the redeemability of mankind by Christianity, in 1913. At that time it was relatively easy for educated Englishmen of good will to pursue their goals without religious faith. Steady progress by reform, not by violence (except in Ireland) seemed to be the order of the day, and was what the Whiteheads believed in. For example, he was chairman of the Cambridge branch of the Men’s League for Women’s Suffrage. 10

The Whiteheads moved to London in 1910. His mathematical publications had not received as much attention in England as they deserved, and he spent the first academic year without a job. Contrary to popular belief, Principia Mathematica did not make him famous. He had no chance of a professorship at Cambridge. Finally, when he was fifty-three, he gained one at the Imperial College of Science and Technology. It was the summer of 1914.

The guns of August blew up Whitehead’s world for good and all. They began a slaughter of young men the like of which England had never experienced. It was greatest among university men, who were generally given Army commissions as second lieutenants. Whitehead’s heart was desolated by the casualty lists. He was devoted to his pupils and knew them intimately. North Whitehead was luckier than most. The younger son, Eric, reached fighting age in the last year of the war, joined the Royal Flying Corps, and was shot down. Eric’s death was a terrible blow to his mother, for he was her special darling. Whitehead himself, with iron self-discipline, in the war years thought out and wrote his most important book in the philosophy of physics, An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Natural Knowledge. He also wrote priceless essays on education and began to do important administrative work in the University of London. But the horror of the war was always at the bottom of his mind. It led him to abandon his agnosticism. I cannot set a year for this. But North and Jessie were of the opinion that Eric’s death was behind their father’s turn to theism. It is only fair to say that both North and Jessie remained agnostics.

Would Whitehead have remained one but for the war? Probably not. A thinking man who as a boy was brought up in a religion which did not repel him and who in his thirties became an unbeliever as likely, if he is at all religious by nature, to figure out his own theism eventually. That is what Whitehead the philosopher did.

Insights came as he developed his theism, but I should not assume that some intellectual perception caused him to question his agnosticism. Also, if Whitehead sometime had a decisive religious experience, I have found no record, or even the slightest reference, to it. I am content to say that the first year of the war started a change in feeling, a change which grew stronger as he meditated, and as the war went on. Nothing that he published while he was living in England suggests an abandonment of agnosticism, though I think that if, in his post-war years there, a suitable occasion had been provided for giving utterance to his meditations, he would have struck a religious note.

The theism Whitehead turned toward was a philosophical one. I described earlier the young mathematician’s interest in philosophy. Throughout the decades at Trinity College, Cambridge, there were almost daily talks with McTaggart, Russell, James Ward, and others; at London, he joined the Aristotelian Society in 1915. Thus it was likely that tinder sufficiently challenging circumstances his work would sometime turn toward general philosophy, instead of stopping with the philosophy of mathematics and physics. The war made this inevitable. In 1924 Harvard’s Department of Philosophy provided the opportunity that did not exist in Britain. Whitehead "blossomed out there.

I suppose that he had been pondering the incursion of value into the world for a long time before he publicly expressed his faith in a harmony at the base of existence. It is a twofold harmony, logical and aesthetic, he said at the end of the first chapter of Science and the Modern World: "While the harmony of logic lies upon the universe as an iron necessity, the aesthetic harmony stands before it as a living ideal molding the general flux in its broken progress towards finer, subtler issues." These are the words in which he first referred to what he very soon called "God."

Near the end of the chapter on Religion and Science in the same book, Whitehead made a beautiful statement of "the religious vision." I assume that you are familiar with it. Apart from the religious vision, he added, "human life is a flash of occasional enjoyments lighting up a mass of pain and misery, a bagatelle of transient experience." That is how the war made human life look to him as an agnostic.

The unspeakable horrors of 1914 to 1918 not only edged Whitehead out of his agnosticism; they also help explain the fact that he did not rejoin the Church of England, or become a communicant of some other. The formulas of churches seemed less real than the anguish. Also, the assurance he wanted after the war was not of the kind that faith in omnipotence would provide. He sought a God of love who was not a personal Creator but a divine factor in the universe, a Harmony that is always present, not overruling but beckoning and preserving. I should doubt that in the field of theology any division runs deeper than that between defining God traditionally, as the omnipotent, sole cause of existence of a temporal world and defining Him as a factor in the universe. Whitehead must have accepted the traditional Christian notion in the years when he was uncertain whether he should be an Anglican or a Roman Catholic. In the scanty materials for his intellectual biography I have found no indication of when and how he was first repelled by the notion of Almighty Power. Revulsion is evident in everything he published about God; but such publication, we must remember, did not begin until 1925. It is a good guess, but only a guess, that the presence of this notion in both creeds was the main reason why, in the mid-nineties, he turned his back on both of them. I suspect that his wife had something to do with it. She took little interest in how the world came into being, but much in eliciting beauty from the world that is given. And I doubt that she thought churches as important as he then did. Incidentally, Whitehead’s ranking of beauty over goodness and truth (in Adventures of Ideas) is mainly due to his life with her.

In Dialogues of Alfred North Whitehead,12 Lucien Price reported him as saying that if he were to choose among present-day Christians he would prefer the Unitarians. But he turned down a splendid opportunity to speak in a Unitarian church. This came in 1935, when a graduate of the Harvard Divinity School (where Whitehead had sometimes spoken), Leslie T. Pennington, was called to the First Parish Church in Cambridge, Massachusetts. That was where Emerson had given his Phi Beta Kappa address, "The American Scholar." It seemed to Dr. Pennington that Whitehead had been speaking more profoundly to the condition of our life than any other living philosopher. He knew of no one, he wrote me,13 "whose mind and spirit could express more perfectly the faith I wished to make the base of my ministry in that Church." Accordingly, he sent Whitehead the most persuasive invitation he could write to preach the sermon at his Installation Service. Whitehead, in a gracious reply, declined to do so. He had talked it over with his wife and agreed with her that acceptance would tend to identify him with Unitarianism and thereby impair the objectivity of his influence elsewhere. Mrs. Whitehead was the custodian of his image as a sage; but I think he himself wanted to keep his message independent of churches.

Protection of his image is not a factor in the answer Whitehead gave to an invitation to officiate in private religious ceremony. His young friends, Dr. and Mrs. John T. Edsall, were theists but not members of any church. They had read Religion in the Making and Process and Reality. In 1930 they asked him, by letter, whether he would christen their first-born, with these unexceptionable words: "In the love of God I name this child Lawrence, and require of his parents that they bring him up in the ways of beauty and truth," There was to be a little ceremony, a "dedication" to God. Whitehead sent a reply in which he apologetically but firmly declined to do this. The Edsalls did not keep the letter, but told mem4 that Whitehead said in it that he did not feel entirely sure of his own opinions and would not wish to make any statement in connection with belief. He was, however, present at the christening,

Today, Whitehead’s philosophical theism is taken to provide some of the basic premises of theologians who are Anglican, Catholic, Methodist, and others. Mitch of this is due to the influence of another philosopher who admired Whitehead, Charles Hartshorne. My own wish is that thinkers in disciplines other than theology, who suspect that Whitehead had something to say to them too, do more to explore the use of his philosophy. Because of the industry of process theologians, his influence, in comparison with the width of his own interests, is now lopsided.

Whitehead the philosopher was both a powerful technical thinker and a very wise man. That is a rare combination. The first owes much to his experience as a mathematician concerned with axioms, with unnoticed assumptions, with what follows logically and what does not. It is hard to describe his wisdom. Instead of attempting to do so, I wish to conclude by saying what I think I have found out about his character.

It seemed sweet and simple. It was sweet, but not simple, except perhaps in the sense of being all of a piece. One uncommon feature of Whitehead’s character was the absence of egoism, of impulse to push himself forward. When he was not pursuing his work in mathematics or philosophy, he was helping other people, usually his pupils. These were his natural activities, and his wife made it possible for him to concentrate on them, by shouldering the practical problems of their life. (In America, she acted as his business manager with publishers.) Still, the absence of egoism was part of his character. Let me put this positively: he had genuine humility, and the invulnerability that goes with it.

Whitehead had good ability to size up the pupils who came to see him, and his help was appropriate to that pupil, but his manner was so uniformly benign that some -- Paul Weiss (the American pupil who saw him most often), my wife (Victoria Lincoln), and probably a few others -- detected a basic impersonality. His disposition was angelic, but angels aren’t human. When I said to Jessie Whitehead,15 "I don’t remember ever seeing your father laugh, or break into a grin -- only a smile," she answered, "It sounds a horrible thing to say, but it’s true." I think Whitehead’s sweetness came largely from detachment. He was a loner. Of course I do not mean this in the literal sense, of one who remains alone or avoids the company of others. Whitehead needed pupils to teach and friends to talk to. He had innumerable friends, and would talk amiably with them on almost any subject, but he did not give himself without reserve to anyone except his wife. A man who forms really close friendships will figure in his friends’ memoirs and biographies. There are many of these, but Whitehead is scarcely mentioned in any except Russell’s autobiography.

Whitehead at Harvard used to say that he was no good if he didn’t have two hours by himself each day. In his solitude he wrote what have become texts for the process theology movement. His first big book, the Universal Algebra, was something no one else would attempt. That is also true of his other major works, mathematical and philosophical. The concepts he worked with were more general than most of those in current use. His detachment enabled him to see what was being assumed on both sides of a disputed philosophical or political issue.

Whitehead’s talk was witty, but nothing was blurted out in disregard of consequences. In criticism he was truthful; a devastating comment was made with the utmost gentleness. He had delightful humor and a tendency to be ironic; but there was no malice in his irony. He was the most civilized person I have ever met.

Whitehead believed that the polemical activity of the intellectual world was largely waste motion, with much harmful simplification of ideas into targets. Advance called for the creation of new ideas and the exploration of their scope. He created some new ideas; the exploration of their scope is the most valuable task that the present generation of Whitehead scholars can undertake.

 

Notes

1 "A. N. Whitehead on his Mathematical Goals: a Letter of 1912," Annuls of Science, 32 (1975), 85-101.

2 Cambridge University Press, 1898.

3 Philos. Transactions, Royal Society of London, Series A, 205 (1906), 465-525. The memoir was reprinted in F. S. C. Northrop and Mason W. Gross, eds., Alfred North Whitehead: Art Anthology, New York, 1953.

4 Cambridge University Press, 1910-1913.

5 Less than half of those voting were active members of the Society. Election was for life, and an unusually large number of formerly active members -- called "Angels" -- had come to this meeting in order to hear the scheduled speaker, Walter Raleigh (later Sir Walter Raleigh), whose wit and humor made him most admired of the active Apostles.

6 Letter from Lewis S. Feuer to the author, June 5, 1970.

7 Lucien Price, Dialogues of Alfred North Whitehead (Boston and London, 1953), Dialogue XLII.

8 In his lectures at Harvard, and in Price, op. cit., Dialogues XXVIII, XLII.

9 On Sept. 8, 1968 by the Hon. Mrs. H. B. Pease, who was present, being then Miss Helen Wedgwood. aged eighteen.

10 In 1907. This was a nonmilitant organization.

11 Cambridge University Press, 1919; second edition, 1924.

12Dialogue XXXVI.

13 On May 26, 1967.

14 In conversation. July 23, 1966.

15 In 1966.