protestant identity and peace in northern ireland

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Protestant Identity and Peace in Northern Ireland

10.1057/9780230365346 - Protestant Identity and Peace in Northern Ireland, Graham Spencer

Also by Graham Spencer DISTURBING THE PEACE: Politics, Television News and the Northern Ireland Peace Process FORGIVING AND REMEMBERING IN NORTHERN IRELAND (editor) OMAGH: Voices of Loss THE MEDIA AND PEACE The STATE OF LOYALISM IN NORTHERN IRELAND ULSTER LOYALISM AFTER THE GOOD FRIDAY AGREEMENT (editor with James W. McAuley)


Protestant Identity and Peace in Northern Ireland Graham Spencer University of Portsmouth, UK


© Graham Spencer 2012 All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without written permission. No portion of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted save with written permission or in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, or under the terms of any licence permitting limited copying issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency, Saffron House, 6–10 Kirby Street, London EC1N 8TS. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages. The author has asserted his right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. First published 2012 by PALGRAVE MACMILLAN Palgrave Macmillan in the UK is an imprint of Macmillan Publishers Limited, registered in England, company number 785998, of Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire RG21 6XS. Palgrave Macmillan in the US is a division of St Martin’s Press LLC, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010. Palgrave Macmillan is the global academic imprint of the above companies and has companies and representatives throughout the world. Palgrave® and Macmillan® are registered trademarks in the United States, the United Kingdom, Europe and other countries. ISBN 978–0–230–20161–3 This book is printed on paper suitable for recycling and made from fully managed and sustained forest sources. Logging, pulping and manufacturing processes are expected to conform to the environmental regulations of the country of origin. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. A catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress. 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 21 20 19 18 17 16 15 14 13 12 Printed and bound in Great Britain by CPI Antony Rowe, Chippenham and Eastbourne


Things go wrong in order to show us that it is God’s will that we should change them. That is the real truth. Abbe de Tourville


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Contents

Acknowledgements

viii

Introduction

1

1 Protestant History and Imagination

9

2 Evangelicalism, Presbyterianism and Protestant Church Identity in Northern Ireland

37

3 Dealing with Peace through Forgiveness and Reconciliation

95

4 Catholic Perspectives

140

5 Ecumenism: A Case Study of the Inter-Church Group on Faith and Politics

174

6 Christianity in a ‘Post-Conflict’ Northern Ireland

209

Conclusion

235

Bibliography

243

Index

252

vii


Acknowledgements

This project would have been very difficult to complete without financial support from the British Academy, and teaching relief provided by the School of Creative Arts, Film and Media at the University of Portsmouth, so I am very grateful to both. In particular, I want to thank those who took part in the study, all of whom gave their time without hesitation. Keith Tester and Sue Harper offered insight into and support for the aims and scope of the book, and my friends and family provided encouragement and humour throughout. The book is dedicated to Roy Cleife, who died in February 2011.

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Introduction

Scene 1 – A paramilitary roadblock checkpoint stops an oncoming car Paramilitary: Are you Catholic or Protestant? Driver: I’m an atheist Paramilitary: Is that a Catholic atheist or a Protestant atheist? Scene 2 – A Protestant is stranded on a desert island. After five years a shipwreck is washed up. The Protestant then proceeds to use the wood from the wreck to build two churches. Three years later a rescue team see the Protestant survivor and come onto the island. They spot the two structures and ask what they are for. The Protestant responds: ‘That’s the Church I don’t go to and that’s the Church I do go to’. I start with these two jokes to indicate that, first, religious identity seems inescapable in Northern Ireland and, second, that Protestants tend to define that identity by what they are not. Stereotypical and simplistic though these definitions might seem they are not without credibility. The role of religion as a boundary marker (Brewer 2004; Mitchell 2006) and as a point of identity within Northern Ireland has a powerful impact on communal imaginations and, more importantly, has been used to reinforce identity divisions rather than challenge those divisions (Fulton 2002). Invariably, the appeal of religious conviction in a conflict environment has been inextricably linked to communal and political affiliation, but what that appeal amounts to in the light of a ‘post-conflict’ world poses different questions about identity, purpose and meaning. What is meant by identity, for our purposes here, can be understood as that which ‘denotes the ways in which individuals and collectivities are distinguished in their relations with other individuals and 1


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collectivities’ (Jenkins 2008, 3rd edn: 18). Put simply, and in this case, this requires analysis of that to which Protestant churches are committed and that which makes them different from other Christian churches who similarly describe themselves as either Protestant or Catholic. The demarcations between Protestant and Catholic are evident from the Reformation, but there is considerable difference in how Protestant churches view that separation which is reflective of liberal/conservative and fundamentalist variations in identity (and these definitions are used by many within the churches themselves). Importantly, though religious distinction in Northern Ireland is overwhelmingly between Protestant and Catholic, it is also between Protestant and Protestant, creating an inherent disposition towards exclusiveness within the identity as well as without. This is not a construct confined to Protestantism, of course, and we would be well advised to remember that exclusiveness functions as an integral feature of identity formation more generally, shaping collective imaginations against those who are different and outside of the collective. Or, as Gilroy describes it, ‘identity is always particular, as much about difference as about shared identity . . . identity can help us to comprehend the formation of the fateful pronoun “we” and to reckon with the patterns of inclusion and exclusion that it cannot help but to create. This may be one of the most troubling aspects of all: the fact that the formation of every “we” must leave out or exclude a “they”, that identities depend on the marking of difference’ (quoted in Jenkins 2008: 21). Although there are degrees of exclusivity within Protestantism that move between pluralist and fundamentalist positions, it is apparent that the Protestant ethic was built on protest and resistance to the established orthodoxy of Catholicism. From this basis one might also reasonably think that inherent to the Protestant tradition is a far greater preference to articulate what one is against rather than what one is for. In a climate of conflict, the protesting voice has something quite obvious to protest against (the parameters, motivations and consequences of conflict itself), and within that protest there can be degrees of abhorrence that reflect a scale of positions and responses. But, in a society which is striving for a changed ‘post-conflict’ world, the idea of protest becomes more problematic, not only because it is harder to be opposed to peace (and especially if one has been arguing for the need to end conflict), but because it is harder to adopt oppositional positions with the same intensity and to the same emotional effect. Clearly, one can be opposed to how peace is achieved and can question the costs attached to meeting that end, but if one has traditionally been opposed to conflict it is self-evidently harder to maintain the same level of protest towards


Introduction

3

peace. It is this dilemma which I am particularly interested in exploring here. That is, how Protestant churches are reacting to the development of a ‘post-conflict’ peace in Northern Ireland and what contribution they are making to its development. How Protestant churches are adapting to the transformed political and social environment, what they have to say about it and what role they might play in supporting peace are questions which frame this study, and in order to address such questions I will draw from a wide range of interviews conducted with Protestant clergy across Northern Ireland. Importantly – and paradoxically – the Protestant tendency for separation relies on the relational. In order to declare the importance of separation one needs to be clear about from whom one is being separate and why, and to do this one needs to emphasise the problem of relations. To state the need for distance is also to state the fear of closeness, and so distinction has to be found that justifies the resulting separation. Within Protestantism such distinction, for those outside, can look minimal, often based on a preference for a particular mode of service or scriptural emphasis. For the outsider it may seem that the issue is a matter of detail which is more incidental and trivial than fundamental. Yet, using such detail as the basis for difference and separation defines the Protestant impulse. It sets difference and separation as a marker of identity and social commonality as a threat to that identity. Unlike Catholicism, which contains differences within an enclosed system of belief, Protestantism views the enclosed system as repressive, idolatrous and inhibitive of the individualism that the Protestant favours. Of course, there are considerable nuances and degrees of objection to the Catholic system, which relate to a wide range of perceptions about threats and disadvantages, but overall the enclosed system is seen as too dogmatic and too representative of institutional authority for most. Defining identity by articulating what one is primarily against poses difficulties for advocating a positive vision of what one is for. If a society ends violence and moves towards peace, one might well assume there is less opportunity for articulating what one is against and have it find a receptive audience. Furthermore, if the certainty of conflict can create clear demarcations about right and wrong, good and bad, friend and enemy and produce a clearer sense of self-definition as a result, peace can unsettle the certainties of that identity by provoking questions and re-evaluations to meet new social expectations about change. Though the divisions of conflict work against any sense of common identification, the divisions of peace may operate within the context of a wider public good and so lead towards a more common sense of identification. This is not to downplay the polarisations of communities


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and antagonisms about the shape of peace, but to suggest that peace (and here I mean the absence of violent conflict) poses a different environment for identity influences which is likely to provoke shifts in how that identity is expressed and seen. If one defines oneself against the other who changes, then presumably one’s own self-definition must change if the other is to remain apart, distinct or different, and in this context a recitation of old established hatreds will not do. New challenges therefore arise for identity that may challenge the structure of identity itself, and if identity seeks to remain static in relation to change, how relevant is it for the shifting needs and aspirations emerging with that change? What use, to put it another way, is a largely static identity for a society where identity itself is subject to a wider range of influences and opportunities and is there a possibility in this new light, as Maalouf (2000a) argues, that a reconsideration of identity can arise which is more self-reflective, critical and liberal than before? To address these concerns this book covers a number of areas. To begin with, Chapter 1 is used to establish the historical basis of the Protestant imagination, its Puritan emphasis and a preoccupation with literalism. The literal has played an important part in shaping attitudes towards Scripture and its interpretations, but has also had consequences for thinking about society and others within it. By applying a logic that seeks to relate understanding to pre-determined truths, the Protestant outlook has seemingly conceptualised the social against rules and measures of control which derive from set moral principles and positions. This compares with the Catholic tendency to use logic differently, where moral positions are drawn from a more complex picture and where morality is conceived less in terms of black and white, but as gradations of right and wrong. This distinction in how logic is applied is a useful starting point for thinking about how Protestants and Catholics view the world and morality within it. It is a distinction that also underpins identity differences and conceptualisations of the social. Chapter 2 looks at the history of evangelicalism and Presbyterianism in Northern Ireland. It examines how the evangelical emphasis is inclined to avoid intellectualisation, favouring simplicity and the power of emotion as a means of engagement with the Christian message. The evangelical impulse is also seen to have supported the shift from the institutional to the personal, stressing conscience and intuition as the path to God. The emotive relationship has historically become a strong force to shape belonging and communal imagination, but it is the internal world of the human that takes precedence for the evangelical, with one’s relationship with the Bible drawn from individual


Introduction

5

attachment and comprehension. This disposition towards the individual has also led to the emergence of the fundamentalist outlook with its associated values of militancy and conservatism. An anti-intellectualism strand within the evangelical mind helps reinforce this worldview further and a preference for austerity, the ‘moral trial’ and guilt imbue the evangelical impulse with a heavy emphasis on judgement (this judgement has tended to be harsh). However, there are variations to this commitment which reflect liberal as well as fundamentalist strands, and in Northern Ireland these differences have led to diversity in temperament and attitude about society, communal polarisation and conflict. To assess these differences further I use interview material to show how Protestant clergy see themselves and their role in Northern Ireland today. The respondents from a number of different churches outline what makes their particular Church separate and distinct from others and offer insights into how they seek to apply core beliefs and principles (in that sense the emphasis on identity in this book is the lived identity, and although this lived identity shapes public perceptions it is what clergy believe in that I am more interested in because this is more likely to provide an accurate picture of how belief relates to the public world). Unsurprisingly, the more liberal churches show a far greater degree of critical self-examination than their fundamentalist counterparts. The fundamentalist churches tend to adhere to a worldview that is particularly rigid on truth and which views that truth as being reached only by way of acute principles and convictions. Unlike the liberal churches, which show empathy with pluralist approaches to life and other denominations, the fundamentalist churches deny the value of pluralism and view separation as a mark of purity. This purity is directly related to understanding of truth and is unbending and severe in its form. However, the distinction between liberal and fundamentalist churches is made more complex by liberal and conservative elements that similarly co-exist within the liberal churches (this seems not to happen in the fundamentalist churches who resist liberalism and its perceived diminution of the Puritan ethic). It would therefore be more accurate to categorise Protestant differences in terms of liberal/conservative and fundamentalist outlooks. The apparent lack of what one respondent calls ‘a meta-narrative’ within Protestantism (the emphasis being more on counter-narratives) not only reveals the problem of collective articulation about social, political and religious matters, but it also indicates the lack of a coherent approach to these areas in ways that connect with the public


6


imagination. The need for a common identification in relation to peace is not possible because the notion of a common identification contradicts the Protestant inclination for separation, isolation and protest. Although the more moderate churches are engaged in a range of social, political and religious relationships with those outside their denominational influence (which in my view has to be augmented if churches are to gain a hold in a changed Northern Ireland), the notable absence of progressive input to public and political spheres about change and moral direction indicates a problem for the churches playing a part in the development of peace and stability. One of the ways the churches can contribute to discussion about moral direction within the emerging ‘post-conflict’ environment is in relation to debates about forgiveness and reconciliation, and this is discussed in Chapter 3. Here the respondents talk about forgiveness and reconciliation from their respective Church perspectives and, just as the churches can be broadly conceptualised in liberal/conservative or fundamentalist terms, so the debate about forgiveness tends to find a dual perspective in relation to conditional and unconditional approaches. The forgiving spirit clearly resides at the centre of the Christian message, yet how that might be reached and exercised is disputed. The disputation reflects a tension between perpetrator-/justice-based arguments (conditional), and victim-/individual-based arguments (unconditional), but dealing with the relationship between these two points has a significant contribution to make in terms of how Northern Ireland deals with its past and its future. Reconciliation generally implies a restoration of relations between two individuals/groups/communities, but forgiveness has an important role to play in reaching this end. What needs to be done to bring about forgiveness and reconciliation and understanding the relationship between each requires engaging with problems of social impact as much as Christian conviction. Of course, the principles of faith will shape responses, but the chapter stands more as a prompt to the possibility of dialogue and moral exchange about conditional/unconditional conceptualisations and in that way is an attempt to bring the Protestant understanding more directly into contact with debates that have real importance for peace. In the spirit of engaging with dialogue and difference which runs through the book (and with difference comes the need to respect those who don’t want to dialogue), it seems legitimate and necessary to hear what Catholic clergy have to say about their own identity and how it relates to the social and political (Protestantism after all has historically defined itself against Catholicism). Moreover, if we are


Introduction

7

to hear Protestant argument that seeks to undermine the credibility of the Catholic tradition, then the least we can do is allow Catholics the space to describe how they see themselves and the Protestants they live with. Chapter 4 draws from interviews with Catholic clergy about how they view the role of community, how they think about and rationalise problems, how they adapt to change and how they perceive forgiveness and reconciliation. This chapter will serve to highlight not only identity differences in relation to Protestants but the possibilities for dialogue, further engagement and the search for some common ground in relation to peace. The Protestant churches which have traditionally articulated a strong anti-Catholic message have tended to use this message to shape a convergence of religious and political identity, but in the wake of the peace process the question of whether this message continues to have resonance requires further consideration. Although there are numerous examples of positive inter-Church relations and cross-community Christian work (Gallagher and Worrall 1982; Taggart 2004; Power 2007; Wells 2011), the legitimacy of ecumenical relations is still largely resisted by many interviewed in this book (as well as accepted by some). However, Chapter 5 provides an example of the possibilities that can emerge from ecumenical encounter. Interviews conducted with members of the Faith and Politics Group (established before the peace process) give an example of how Protestants and Catholics can work together for the benefits of social change. The documents produced by the Group about addressing the enmity of conflict are evidence of intent to promote the need for dialogue beyond narrow Church interests. They are a demonstration of how variations in Christian understanding can be used collectively to confront the social and political basis of conflict and in so doing are representative of a Christian ethic which has impact beyond the denominational interests of separate churches. The work of the Group is an example of Christian responsibility willing to confront difficult questions for the wider social good. It is an example of tolerance, dialogue and communication with others as much as the self and shows how divergent positions can be accommodated and shared within a wider context. The example of the Faith and Politics Group in sharing and working with those from different Christian backgrounds takes us towards the final chapter which is designed to encourage debate and dialogue about the role Protestantism might have in a ‘post-conflict’ Northern Ireland. Following the momentum of the political peace process and using the political as the context within which Christianity can strive to influence moral ideas and emphases about peace, this chapter places particular


8


stress on the need to deconstruct the ‘other’ and to shift from the exclusive story that is used to maintain and isolate, to the inclusive story that is used to facilitate change and recognition of common humanity. The new environment poses a considerable challenge for identity from which the churches are not exempt. The difficulty, however, for a number of these churches, is how tradition is protected in a context of social and political reform. In conclusion, I argue that if Northern Ireland continues to move away from conflict, it is likely that the fundamentalist outlook will diminish and the liberal churches will do better because of their more pluralistic and adaptive approach to faith and change. And here, such liberalism depends on welcoming equality and confronting mechanisms of separation that seek to degrade, insult, discriminate and humiliate (an appeal, in my view, which can only be made by the inclusive story). Overall then, the book is about Protestant Church identity and what role that identity can play in the development of peace. But this role is also framed as a comparison to the political peace process which has maintained political identities and differences within a broader (if contested) frame of the common good. My argument is that religious differences have a similar role to play. The recent divorce of the Free Presbyterian Church from its long-time moderator Rev Dr Ian Paisley (Spencer 2009) is an indication of how, for some, the political and the religious must now be separated when traditionally both were used interchangeably to support identity, community and fear of the other. Such a move demonstrates fundamentalist unease to political transformation and has allowed for a revival of protest against the perceived threat of change (change that is inevitably seen as imposed from outside). However, although understandable, I want to contend that this is a mistake and that the Protestant churches need to advocate a more strongly supportive presence alongside political change; that there is an imperative to be expansively involved in the social and political conversation about moral direction in the new Northern Ireland rather than a repetition of arguments about the need for withdrawal and separation. By not doing so, the churches risk becoming peripheral to the public imagination and their potential contribution to society is stifled. The ‘post-conflict’ moment therefore poses new challenges for Protestant identity. How these challenges are being interpreted and met is what this book is about.


1 Protestant History and Imagination

Origins At its foundation, Protestantism draws from a commitment to faith through principles established at the time of the Reformation. Though the Reformation grew from a collision of turbulent political, social and cultural forces shaped by the transition from feudal to capitalist society (Woodhead 2004: 162–169), those principles, prompted by Luther at the turn of the sixteenth century, emphasised the possibility of rooting individual belief in Scripture and in the process marked a point of departure in the relationship between the individual and the authority of the Catholic Church. The departure came from an emerging perception that Catholic Church authority and its structures of worship inhibited rather than facilitated contact between the individual and God, and this was so because as an intermediary the Church ultimately stood as an interference from, or distortion of, the direct individual–God relationship. Though initially still recognising the importance of the Catholic Church and concerned about what a rejection of Catholic authority would mean for Christianity, it is clear that the beginnings of Protestantism amounted to a moment of resistance towards Catholic superiority and, as such, signalled the emergence of a fundamental shift in how the individual was perceived in relation to God and the practice of worship. By positioning the individual rather than institutional authority as the locus for contact with God and articulating a need for freedom in religious practice (ibid.: 159), the Protestant Reformation, over time, incited a series of protests about adherence to Christian principles, which though similar in the sense of sharing opposition to Catholic dominance found no common point of reference as to how 9


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those principles should be understood, expressed and adopted (McGrath and Marks 2007: 9). This lack of commonality led to divergence in what faith meant and made contested approaches to belief a defining characteristic of the Protestant imagination. In the view that the Church was there no more than to provide structure and purpose for faith and worship, Protestantism depicted the institutional role of the Church as an intervening mechanism and saw its function as beneficial only if the structures of Church worship facilitated the individual–God relationship over and above the institutional–God relationship. Because of the diverging theological emphasis, ‘description rather than definition’ (ibid.: 1) became the basis for meaning and identity and led to the notion of ‘Protestant’ becoming ‘a shorthand term for a number of seemingly disparate Christian denominations and general cultural attitudes’ (ibid.: 2). Agreement is more evident with regard to the economy, culture and politics, but religious principles remain disputed (ibid.). Historically, though Protestantism was unified in the sense that it resisted Catholic authority, it was not unified in its objections to this authority. This created a resistance to institutional power built on ideas and it was contestation over these ideas which marked the schisms and divisions that came to define the Protestant approach to faith (ibid.: 14). These schisms were largely a reflection of different applications of conscience, since it was this which determined how one understood biblical meaning. The tendency towards fragmentation and disunity had the most notable impact in attitudes about individualism, work and capitalism (Weber 2005). Supported by the emergence of books and growing literacy, early Protestant individualism changed conceptualisations of the self and through a personal and conscience-based ethic prioritised freedom and expectations about social progress (McGrath 2007: 36). However, as Tillich (1957) reminds us, there exists a tension in this relationship between the religious and the social because of the secular considerations that come into play. The emphasis on individual reason and self-control means that it is individualism rather than institutional authority which acts as the determinant of faith and, as is known, it is individualism which has resulted in the rise of the secular and the decline of religious belief. The rejection of Church authority and efforts to reduce the Church to an historical event, or the result of social and psychological circumstances, means that Church legitimacy as a structure of biblical power is disregarded and with it the communal solidarity that keeps individualism in check. As Tillich notes, Protestantism ‘is the attitude of protest against form’ (ibid.: 206) and ‘In every Protestant form the religious element must be related to, and questioned by


Protestant History and Imagination

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a secular element’ (the secular world based on understanding of finite existence and structure at poetic, scientific, ethic and political levels) (ibid.: 214). Tillich observes how ‘Protestantism, by its very nature, demands a secular reality’ and how the power of its application is invariably measured by way of where it stands in relation to the secular world (ibid.: 213–214). The culture of autonomy, which Protestantism emphasises, inevitably puts freedom and resistance to institutional authority at the centre of this autonomy, but it is a freedom which undermines communal purpose and puts the Protestant in tension between the self and the secular. The individual responsibility to which the Protestant is overwhelmingly subject at the same time condemns him to his own inferiority and inability to progress beyond the limits and failings of his own individualism. And, it is this orientation which not only leads to the absence of an independent hierarchy in Protestantism but turns the Protestant towards state order as a basis for communal stability and social cohesion (ibid.: 228). The rupture in Christianity brought about by Protestantism encouraged individual engagement with Scripture in order to make sense of one’s relationship with conscience and God. For Luther, one of the founding fathers of Protestantism (1483–1546), this meant breaking away from the use of allegory and metaphor which had sustained Catholic thinking and constructing a worldview based on precise and literal interpretation of Scripture (Kolb 2009: 44). Luther’s problem with the Catholic approach was that it offered a multitude of interpretative possibilities which hindered rather than helped one quarry the true meaning of words in the biblical text. The potential for layered meaning, which Catholicism emphasised, was seen by Luther to confuse rather than clarify and because of this obstructed the intent of God’s message and will. The Lutheran emphasis on ‘justification by faith alone’ (sola fide) signified that only literal engagement with Scripture (and knowing that Scripture was the actual Word of God) could bring the individual to a profound connection with God’s voice and desire and it was literalism (McGrath 2007: 43) which should shape how the Bible is applied to everyday life. The idea of being justified by faith stressed the need for immediate rather than incremental conversion (Collinson 2003: 48), and was designed to lead the individual to understand that justification meant knowing one’s own sinful nature (ibid.). Such an understanding relied on constantly doubting one’s worth, as well as one’s overwhelming unworthiness and sinfulness. This was essential to keep the individual mindful of his own guilt and lack of goodness, and only through belief


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in the Gospel and striving to uphold its message can the individual hold his sin in the proper light and realise the possibility of salvation. But, to reach this end, the individual must always be humble and penitent, for only in this way will he demonstrate commitment to God and avoid self-serving approaches to faith. Luther’s critique of the Catholic Church derived from a disparity between how he saw Church authority on the one hand and his own personal experience and struggles with faith on the other (Atkinson 1968: 69). His criticism of papal authority was based firmly on literal understanding of Scripture (Chadwick 1990: 51), and it was this devotion to the literal which influenced Luther’s objection to the selling of indulgences by the Catholic Church. Luther saw absolution as unlikely given that God could not ‘be placated by external acts, by forms, by payments, by “good works” ’, and he drew this conclusion from the contention that forgiveness is a gift, not something that can be acquired or purchased (people would pay the Catholic Church to receive forgiveness and this was called ‘indulgences’) (ibid.: 46–47). This resistance to Catholic authority, which developed through the process of reform and protest beyond Luther, also relied on accepting the pervasive nature of sin and the apparent misery of the human condition as part of this transformation. As Cameron summarises this outlook: The early Protestants strove to convince believers that the saving of fallen souls was not a process of little lapses and little rituals to correct those lapses. Rather, it was a question of real sin, of a massive, all-corrupting inability to do right, which only God, by utterly gratuitous, self-sacrificing mercy, first covered with his grace, and then gradually, step by step, replaced with his own goodness in the Christian, in a process completed only in death. This vast act of mercy made the piecemeal atonements and ‘good works’ performed by men, or by the Church for men, seem not only hopelessly inadequate, but treacherously deceptive and blasphemously distracting from the real point. (Cameron 1991: 112) The emergence of the literalist perspective, which Luther advanced, created a vantage point which slowly changed perceptions of individual and social responsibility. This shift evolved from Luther’s contribution to a humanistic struggle, where the Bible was seen as a whole and unified body of knowledge with complex and diverse meanings read as integral to this whole. The humanistic emphasis was designed to counter rhetorical emphasis and to convey truth through hard logical



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interpretation (Collinson 2003: 29), creating an appreciation of Gospel which ‘prescribed a new precedence of ear over eye’ (ibid.: 28). The Word was increasingly seen as requiring a more specific relation to absolute meaning in biblical terms (sola scriptura) (ibid.: 27), resulting in a categorisation of sin and salvation through laws of condemnation and resurrection (Kolb 2009: 46). For Luther, justification of the biblical message as being both Gospel (where one’s identity is built on the conviction that one is God’s child) and Law (the expectation that being God’s child will result in producing good works to demonstrate such a commitment) enabled the individual to better dedicate his efforts with God and the world. But, the validity of this position was dependent on one’s relationship with Scripture, for it was only here that Christians could find what was necessary to know and believe. Nor could this lead to any confusion about source and judgement because, as God’s judgement, Scripture cannot be in contradiction or confusion (ibid.: 49). Only through engagement with the unmediated Word of God can the individual therefore find true meaning (ibid.: 55), a meaning which increasingly drew from ‘commands and promises’ that moved the individual from hopeless despair to the possibility of renewal and depicted personal growth as a response to one’s trust in God (ibid.: 79). Though the environment of the Church symbolised the existence of the faith community, for Luther, the Gospels were more important because it is the Gospel that most firmly shows how God, rather than institutions, had chosen the believer (ibid. 153). This approach was used to support the argument that faith was not an act of ritual, which had to be performed in a Church, but the absorption of the Gospel into one’s own life (Chadwick 1990: 73). Since the Church can extend different emphases and priorities to the practices and rituals of faith, it is the unchanged meaning and intent of the Gospel which becomes more dependable in the struggle to find God. In that sense, the main function of the Church is to reinforce the belief that engagement with the Word is the path to conversion and not to portray itself as that path. This, in turn, reinforced Luther’s belief in biblical truth and the need to experience the lessons of Scripture through personal struggle and understanding (Atkinson 1968: 76). The road to salvation, from this perspective, was through long hard work on trying to relate personal meaning and experience to the Gospel and trying to live up to what the Gospel message advocated (ibid.). To reach this end, the individual was invited to grasp the importance of the emancipated self, who, according to Luther, would be free from the demands and repressions of institutional control (Woodhead 2004: 159). This shift from a socially oriented ethic to a personal one pointed the individual increasingly inwards to


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the internal world of conscience and moral struggle and made the Bible the only means of authority in this process. For Luther, the law was seen not as incidental to the Gospel but complementary to its demands (indicating how the law became an important aspect of Protestant theological conviction). In addressing the rule of law Luther used three metaphors for understanding its importance. First, the law was seen as a mirror which revealed ‘our impotence and our secret unwillingness to do the will of God’, thus highlighting ‘our self-centred alienation from God even in our very quest for God’. Second, the law is seen as a hammer which ‘breaks us down, at last reducing us to despair’ and showing us ‘that wrath of God which is revealed against all unrighteousness’. And third, the law is seen as a mask ‘since the sinner’s despair is part of God’s beneficent intention’ and it is ‘only when we despair that he does “proper work” of redemption in us’ (Whale 1960: 37–38). Law is therefore an extension of God’s will, but distinct from Gospel. To break the law is real evidence of one’s sinful nature and one can only confront this forcefully through adherence to Gospel. For Luther, the law stands to provide evidence that the individual abides by God’s will, which is manifest in the distribution and implementation of law and a fear of making known one’s distance from God’s desire by disobeying it. Public knowledge of one’s sins is seen as an abdication of individual responsibility and so a violation of respect for biblical definitions of the moral. As a rejection of God’s Word, the lawbreaker stands as worthy of the greatest wrath, his existence evidence of the depths to which the individual can sink and the extent of sin which can inhabit man. His presence is one to be fearful of and serves to demonstrate the need for vigilance against sinful tendencies and violations of God’s will. After Luther had initiated reforming movements which developed across Europe, Huldrych Zwingli (1484–1531) succeeded in bringing Reformation thinking to Switzerland. Zwingli’s contribution to the Protestant impulse was based upon reform and change which stressed the moral message of Christ (McGrath 2007: 67). Zwingli’s approach was drawn from a logical, rationalistic perception of faith, concerned less with its passions and more with the inherent meaning of Scripture. More challenging of the Church than Luther, Zwingli’s emphasis was very much on the freedom of the individual and the possibility of achieving salvation through grace (MacCulloch 2009: 616). His reinterpretation of the Ten Commandments and criticism of images and icons used to explain the Commandments facilitated a destructive attitude to sacred art, which became seen as dangerously idolatrous (far less the case



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with Luther) (ibid.: 618–619). Because of the power of symbols and what Zwingli saw as their ability to distract from scriptural meaning, attention was particularly given to the Eucharist which stood as a vindication of the priest’s ability to act as an intermediary between the believer and God, which Zwingli rejected. Zwingli saw the Eucharist not as a truthful manifestation of Christ’s body but as action to symbolise community and prioritise less what God means to man and more what man means to God (ibid.: 620–621). Zwingli was systematic in his efforts to reject the past (ibid.: 622), using a deductive logic which questioned the truth of the Catholic tradition by exposing disparity and weakness in relation to scriptural truth. Zwingli’s moralistic exposition of faith provided some contrast to Luther’s emphasis on grace and the emotive more passionate aspects of faith which Luther preferred. For Zwingli, the Bible was the ultimate authority and his response to the problem of interpretation was to further stress individualised rather than institutionalised meaning (McGrath 2007: 70). Luther’s prescriptive view of justification by faith, which had been challenged by Zwingli’s drift towards rational interpretation and logic, differed from Calvin’s more descriptive approach to faith which followed. For Calvin (1509–1564), the idea of election (being saved) comes from justification through faith, where reading of the Bible is used to expand one’s knowledge and love of God and through that process extend love to one’s neighbour. This emphasis specifically involved relating the details of Scripture to the life of readers and referring back to those details in order to find answers to the dilemmas of social life and human predicaments, therefore bridging ‘the gap between past and present, between text and reader, by drawing analogies’ (Steinmetz 2004: 117). The enduring feature of sin was endemic to the human condition precisely because Adam and Eve had sinned and because of this condemned all future humans to a sinful nature. Calvin described this sin as blindness, where, on not being able to see properly, the individual could only find sight through the revelations of Scripture. The Gospels were not just moral pointers, but enabled one to overcome the blindness of ignorance and sin (ibid.: 121). Unless this lack of vision is corrected, Calvin argued, the individual would create replacement images of meaning which would act as idols in place of God (ibid.). But, Calvin’s theology was necessarily selective, allowing only some to find salvation (Muller 2004: 132) and allowing only some the means of finding the precise and ‘correct’ interpretations of Scripture which enabled progression to the elect. From this perspective, Calvin was confronting the danger of multiple


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interpretations of Scripture and it was in addressing this danger that he replaced institutional authority for scriptural authority (McGrath 2007: 93–94). Calvin’s attempt to make biblical interpretation a coherent lifesystem (Kuyper 1931) effectively personalised biblical meaning, and, in so doing, imagined the self through the scriptural rather than the social. Unlike Luther, Calvin sought to legitimise the role of the Church by finding a model of influence which was informed directly from Scripture and did so by recommending a four-pronged method of Church government through pastors, doctors, elders and deacons. His approach was underpinned by the conviction that the Church was a vital mechanism for holding together a community of believers, but that a particular form of government was required to resist Church authority being exercised as in Catholicism (Avis 2002: 25). This attention to the role of the Church, which risked making Church control acceptable, resulted in objections and disputes about function and ministry that became increasingly representative of contestations about truth, worth and trust (such contestations coming to epitomise the Protestant impulse of individualism and schism (ibid.: 33)). Yet even though Calvin had seen the importance of the Church as an instrument of social influence, his own perception was that ‘one became a good citizen in order to be a better believer’ (Wolin 2004: 163). From this viewpoint Calvin’s idea of power was a reflection of his thinking about unity and cohesion as symbolised by the Church operating as a political structure to facilitate social binding (ibid.). This invariably meant that social and political action were viewed as indicators of religious conscience and that surviving moral and personal temptations of resistance involved strong Church government which would help prevent the decline of social and political norms (ibid.: 170). One way in which the Christian ethic was most notably expressed was in relation to the concept of double predestination where ‘some members of the human race are eternally known by God as those who will be saved by grace through faith, and the others are justly damned for their sins’ (Muller 2004: 144). Though having origins earlier in the Reformation period, this principle asserted that it was God that decided who should be saved and who should be condemned and that this possibility was based on one’s relation to sin (ibid.: 145). Such a conviction sought to demarcate society into those who were committed to the Gospel and those who weren’t and so used the threat of sin as the dividing line. Those who tried to confront their sinful nature by turning to God through Scripture were effectively seeking to live by God’s will, whilst those who did not were condemned to reap the consequences of sin



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forever. The struggle against sin was therefore a struggle of conscience in an attempt to seek grace and be saved. From a Calvinist perspective this meant not only linking world events to the specific advice and guidance of the Bible, but perceiving the self as unworthy of glory, which is expected to be given to God only (Chadwick 1990: 93). Because Calvin sought to emphasise as clearly as possible the implications of biblical meaning, he also tended to stress the most negative and destructive aspects of human behaviour and inclination (ibid.: 95). As Chadwick observes on the personal and social consequences of this logic, ‘the moral and devotional power in the doctrine of election was mighty. The Calvinists were austere, fearless, hardworking, devout men of the Bible. They knew what they believed, they knew what they must do, and they knew by what authority they must do it. For a hundred years they were the most potent religious force in Protestantism’ (ibid.: 96). What such a consciousness also produced was an uncertainty about who the elect actually were, and it was this uncertainty which contributed not just to the pervasion of doubt but, as Carroll observes, to a relationship with God that was rooted in fear (1993: 59). This fear, for Calvin, was itself an indication that the relationship with God was right, for, as Calvin himself put it, ‘I will worship in fear’ (quoted in Carroll 1993: 59), but it was also a recognition that religious tension resided in the connection between visible and invisible worlds. In contrast to Luther, who was seen as having shaped the environment of Protestant change, Calvin can be read as shaping how the inner individual might best respond to that environment (ibid.) and impressing how the most desired response is harsh self-discipline and meeting the demands of a Puritan life. From this vantage point, Calvin had succeeded in turning the man inward (ibid.: 55). Differing from Luther in his emphasis on predestination, works as a mark of religious devotion and pervasive doubt built on a sense of self-loathing and a harsh God (ibid.: 55–60), what Calvin reinforced was an obsession with the self, but as Carroll identifies, a self that ‘becomes detached from the world and bogged down in a lonely subjectivity’ (ibid.: 80).

The Puritan ethic As an extreme form of the Protestant imagination which developed in Tudor England and became a widespread movement or tendency that filtered into a variety of Protestant denominations and outlooks (Woodhead 2004: 212), Puritanism is concerned with ‘the attempt to transform society by first using grace to make God’s will one’s own’


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(Bremer 2009: 3). To do this, the individual has first to conceptualise his own life and nature as inherently and essentially sinful. Given that the Puritan ethic relies on the dominance of sin and unworthiness, so the individual must be riddled with guilt, his action and worth a manifestation of constant struggle against failure and judgement. Yet, to know this and to continue to struggle against it is indicative of Puritan character, the route to salvation and God’s undeserving love (grace). For the individual, the recognition of conscience is crucial since it is this which will enable him to realise his own guilt (Carroll 1985: 153). The social consequences of this conviction, as Carroll reminds us, mean that ‘Puritan morality recognises that a man needs to sublimate if he is not to degenerate into debauchery or madness, and so it commands him to disciplined work and pious living’ (ibid.). The struggle for purity and salvation in one’s actions is representative of moral conscience, but this struggle is also recognition of the tragedy which pervades life and the human condition. It is ultimately a way of trying to live with guilt and sin and it is the total realisation of each as conscience which keeps the individual on a moral path; a path which also requires ‘a dire need for authority and obedience’ (ibid.: 163). The guilt which emerges and applies here is used as a civilising mechanism and it is guilt which shapes cultural meaning and social action. Guilt influences virtue, so making the individual strive to better himself through work and hope (ibid.: 166). Staunchly Calvinist in outlook, the Puritan ethic refers to five central principles as a basis for conviction. First, that man’s essential nature is one of depravity. Second, that God chooses certain individuals for salvation based on unconditional election. Third, that the redeeming work of Christ through His sacrifice offers the possibility of salvation and uniting one to Christ through faith. Fourthly, the ‘special inward call’ to salvation which is made known only to the elect (as opposed to the outward call which is ‘made to all without distinction’). And fifthly, being eternally saved because of being chosen ‘by God, redeemed by Christ, and given faith by the Spirit’ (Steele et al. 2004: 5–8). The notion of complete depravity, which underpins a sense of worthlessness, is at the centre of one’s orientation to all other principles since it generates self-loathing and shapes conviction to change through the ruthless and unbending demands of the Puritan ethic. Depravity, in essence, means that ‘man’s nature is corrupt, perverse, and sinful throughout’ (ibid.: 18) and provides a contamination that ‘extends to every part of man, his body and soul; sin has affected all (the totality) of man’s faculties – his mind, his will, etc’ (ibid.: 19). Only the saved sinner is capable of



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good, since in the spiritual world the unsaved sinner can do nothing to improve his lot. The unsaved sinner is condemned, corrupted and unable to save himself from Satan and the temptations of evil (ibid.). However, although the struggle to change one’s nature is imperative it does not necessarily lead to election. This is a decision that can only be made by God and cannot be affected by man’s struggle to confront sinfulness. Man has no influence on the outcome of election and all he can do is work against the depravity and inability which infect his soul. The process of struggle is all he can achieve and the best he can do. Moreover, election does not necessarily lead to salvation, only the possibility of salvation (ibid.: 28); an outcome that again is beyond the control of man himself. Only struggle against one’s depraved nature provides the hope that man will become changed, but this is a process without end and access to the elect ultimately remains unknown. Essentially, the Puritan emphasis is on the internal world and defending oneself against the external contaminations and dangers of social life (Carroll 1977: 6). However, social or public life also provides the context for man’s efforts to achieve purity since the public world represents and manifests sin in its most gross form. Detachment from this world becomes necessary if one is to eradicate as far as possible the temptations of sin from one’s own life. As Carroll puts it, the Puritan ‘disdains the public world of society and its day-to-day concerns, governed by man’s compromises and imperfections, except in that he can succeed in creating within it projects framed by his own ethical demands, directed by his own salvation’ (ibid.: 7). Yet the social also performs an important function in that it allows man to both demonstrate and measure his dislocation from the dangers of public influence through works, which become the means for making known ‘his spiritual experience of redemption’ (ibid.: 5). Works take on a vocational importance, become a symbol of man’s commitment to election and an indication of the discipline needed to confront inherent guilt. Provoked by the need to try and confront sin, works provide the individual with a referent for Puritan character and create an opportunity to challenge inherent depravity. Works also provide the means to demonstrate dedication and commitment to perfection, another marker of purity and indication of man’s attempt to confront the failures of his own life and conscience (ibid.). The social not only allows for wider comprehension of individual conscience and guilt but produces emotional distractions and temptations which take one away from God, towards trivial selfishness and self-absorption. Because of this, the emotional side of human nature


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is particularly dangerous and should be countered by ruthless rationalism in order to avoid self-obsession and degradation. As Weber explains, one consequence of this worldview is negativity and rejection of ‘all the sensuous and emotional elements in culture and in religion, because they are of no use toward salvation and promote sentimental illusions and idolatrous superstitions’ (Weber 2005: 62). For Weber, it was this distrust and animosity towards the emotive which grew to shape the ‘disillusioned and pessimistically inclined individualism’ (ibid.) that came to define the Puritan imagination. Put simply, emotions change and are subject to whims and fantasies, whereas rationalism acts as a detachment from the emotive and is concerned with establishing facts and principles. Applied to life, the emotive provokes suspicion and uncertainty, but the rational roots the individual in meaning and responsibility which goes beyond the self, or at least locates the self in a context of critical self-evaluation. The constant fear of not living up to this standard invariably contributes to character traits such as ‘pedantic earnestness, strident moralising, hysteria, icy detachment, or a melancholia brought on by the crushing burden of conscience’ (Carroll 1977: 8). Because of anxiety and fear about predestination, Puritanism cultivated a spirit of hard work and self-discipline which, as Weber discovered, became the bedrock of modern capitalism. Though based on a restricted sample of Puritan sources and a distinction that equated Catholic stagnation with Protestant dynamism and growth (Coffey 2008: 328), Weber’s contention that the work ethic was a central component of Puritan conviction derived from the belief that the possibility of salvation was linked to self-improvement and ‘by living industrious, scrupulous lives and productive lives, saving and investing their earnings’ Puritans would find ‘evidence of divine favour in their business success’ (ibid.). On the one hand, the principles of Calvinism are seen to have ‘produced spiritual angst which bred “this worldly asceticism” which in turn nurtured “the spirit of capitalism” ’ (ibid.), but, on the other, they cultivated an opposition to hierarchy based on the belief that all humans are depraved and necessarily equal as sinners. The possibility of self-advancement was ultimately for God alone, so rendering social superiority meaningless as proof of elect status. The political consequences of this imagined equality and dislike for authority are seen as key influences in how one conceives the democratic life, with ideals of freedom and social responsibility linked to the conviction that every man has the same opportunity to strive for self-improvement and every man is equal on that basis (Kuyper 1931: 27).



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This perspective was clearly connected to the emphasis on individualism which saw conformity and institutional authority as dangerous deflections from conscience and God. By defining individual discipline and application as a focal point for moral progress and undermining the very idea of religious mediation, Protestantism effectively ‘left the sinburdened soul, in the last resort, alone’ (ibid.: 187). This was reinforced by the process of looking inwards rather than outwards and where community became little more than ‘the setting of an eternal drama of salvation’, where the consequences of individualism could be played out (MacIntyre 1998: 121). Given that religious conviction was concerned more with the individual world, there is perhaps no surprise that the autonomy so favoured also became the basis of an individualised society with its associated economic and political motives. As MacIntyre explains, the individual ‘is defined against the God who creates him and as against the political and economic order to which he is subordinated’ (ibid.: 124). For the individual, all decisions are related to the possibility of choice (ibid.: 126) and it is this which not only determines theological inclinations but conceptualisations of preferred social and political order (Ozment 1993: 22). From its early stages, Protestant social and political order amounted to using state rights and local controls as a form of resistance against a hierarchical and authoritarian Catholicism (ibid.: 19). Historically, from the 1700s to 1800s in particular, the British social and political order was marked by a concerted anti-Catholicism (Haydon 1998: 33–52), which was used to define British identity, shape colonial domination and enshrine discriminatory law against Catholics in order to entrench a general attitude of divisiveness. Punitive measures were enacted in relation to education, property rights, voting and worship (Colley 2005: 19). For Protestants, serious engagement with the Bible and literature served to extend the anti-Catholic ethos and reinforce the perception of legitimate Protestant dominance and suffering as a consequence of being elect, shifting adherence from the confessional state to the elect nation (Black 1998: 53–74).The creation of enemies and cultivating an attitude of conflict meant that suffering and danger became inherent to the idea of the chosen people, where resilience and endurance were taken as characteristics of strength and God’s will (Colley 2005: 28–29). This attitude was further used by Protestants to entrench the belief that ‘they were special in God’s care’, with the struggle for prominence a key feature of self-definition (ibid.: 29). Colley points out how such attitudes were widespread regardless of convictions about the Bible and engagement with scriptural meaning, making political and social conviction an


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extension of religious identity. Growing access to literature underpinned the work ethic of Protestantism, with literacy seen as a consequence of religious freedom and growing economic prosperity taken as evidence of God’s blessing, existing ‘very comfortably with a profoundly Protestant patriotism and complacency’ (ibid.; 43). Colley’s excellent study Britons indicates how religious identity shaped social and political identity and how this identity was built on a strong discriminatory emphasis which encouraged a broader respect for conflict and war by unifying against a common enemy which threatened the chosen people fighting to defend God’s will (ibid.: 53). Even though the Puritan imagination galvanised resistance to Catholicism it did not (as one might expect) find cohesion and unity in its expression. Consistent with the Protestant impulse, Puritans have historically fragmented and moved towards a variety of denominational perspectives which reflect specific interests and doctrinal positions (Bray 2007: 102). This fragmentation should alert us to the dangers of categorising Protestantism, as well as remind us of the problems for progression when rigidity (or certainty) is made so central to faith and conviction. The more fundamental version of this rigidity is an outlook of self-reliance and self-loathing in their most extreme forms. That one tries and fails is inevitable given that depravity and sin are endemic human conditions. But if one believes this then one also believes that it is necessary to fail, for failure is the challenge which shapes character and tests the individual’s desire to find God. Yet even taking into account the fragmentations of Protestantism and the various doctrinal emphases that exist, it is still important to realise that these differences are constrained within a paradigm of logic and that the contours of this logic keep to a particular design.

The logic of the word Literal adherence to Scripture contributed to a critical, rationalistic and deductive logic (Hill 1991: 49). Though the thinking of Luther was able to hold together apparent paradoxes and ambiguities from a dialectical approach to logic, subsequent movements in Protestantism turned away from this method to ‘one of formulation, consolidation and the beginnings of a system’ which sought ‘to crystallize, to harden, and sometimes to take on some of the shapes of the forces’ that the system sought to oppose (Marty 1972: 39). Those forces, which were essentially concerned with challenging papal authority and marginalising the centrality of tradition in religious persuasion, created a rejection of



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interpretative difference by focusing on the pure and infallible message of Scripture (ibid.: 118). But in its attempt to oppose the Catholic system Protestantism lacked a centre or organising structure and this was so because the notion of authority increasingly stood in contradiction to the disunity which Protestantism encouraged (ibid.: 52). Commonality was found in the desire for independence, but there was a dilemma at the heart of this intent which came from liberalist applications, for the liberal outlook encouraged interpretative difference and so challenged the view that absolute truth can be found only within Scripture (ibid.: 125). This problem of interpretative difference induced a fundamentalist struggle over meaning and certainty. Ideas about truth, which underpin contestations over definition and identity, tended to resort to literalism as a way of dealing with this dilemma. This method emphasised sequence, progression and an approach built on propositions and concepts of logic which favoured substance, linearity, clarity, simplicity and even compartmentalisation in order to resist opposing systems of logic or enquiry (ibid.). However, two dangers emerged from this adherence as Protestantism developed. One was to do with rejecting the mystical because of an obsessive rationalist attachment to the Word of God which dismissed that which could not be proved or verified, and the other related to the growth of resistance towards those who wanted to look beyond the literal. Each of these positions grew as variants in the struggle over using strongly rationalised approaches to faith in daily lives (ibid.: Bouyer 1955: 121). The appeal of what came to be a reforming tradition, and which invariably conceptualised change in terms of purity and certainty rather than mystery and uncertainty, held attraction precisely because of the answers it offered to human fears and insecurities. In its extreme form fundamentalist interpretation gained support because it appeared to offer not just an explanation, but answers to the anxieties and predicaments that confront the human condition. In doing this, Protestant Puritanism sought to confront ‘an entrenched institutionalism by appeal to an older and purer truth before and beyond it’ (George and George 1961: 341) and used a deductive logic which began with a premise of truth (Scripture) and then determined that all other ‘truths’ could only be seen as such when confirmed against that premise. Unlike the more inductive logic of Catholicism, which starts from a point of experience and then draws a wider understanding on the basis of conceptualising that experience through Catholic rituals (working outwards), deductive logic starts from a position of truth against which


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all else is measured (working inwards). The deductive approach therefore relies on a continuum of logic where conclusions are made in relation to a preconceived notion of truth. With the inductive model, truth is worked towards and so is more the end point than the start point for understanding and meaning. Unlike inductive logic, deductive logic tends to emphasise mind over the heart (rather than the other way round) and so constructs logic as a struggle of the literal over the emotional (Peters 2005). In comparison, the inductive logic emphasised by Catholicism is a process which generates knowing from the unknown and in that sense is a movement towards the general from the particular (Fowler 2007: 9–10). Because deductive logic creates movement towards the particular from the general (defined as an overarching truth), it is also a process which seeks to contain and explain propositions, eventualities and interpretations within the terms of a general law or framework (ibid.: 242–249). Then, experiences and problems are maintained within a context which traces how each relates to truth (ibid.: 249). Interpretations and conclusions are considered against such truth and assessed as relevant or not on the basis of how they interlock and reaffirm overarching notions of that truth. As the definitions suggest, deductive logic is essentially a process of working out and subtracting the nature and relevance of meaning in relation to well-established principles of truth and order, whilst inductive logic is about outlining and working towards general conclusions on the basis of particular and specific instances. Providing a more succinct analysis of these differences, Peter Berger examines the function of inductive method through what he calls the ‘plausibility structure’ of the Catholic system which is oriented towards the authority of Church influence and the community which surrounds it. Here, the individual ‘operates what may be called a specifically Catholic conversational apparatus, which, in innumerable ways, each day confirms the Catholic world that he cohabits with his significant others. If all these social mechanisms function properly, his Catholicism will be as “natural” to him as the colour of his hair or his belief in the law of gravity’ (Berger 1969: 53). According to Berger, ‘practices, rituals, and legitimations’ constitute a vast ‘body of knowledge that provides explanation and justification for each detail of religious life and belief’ (ibid.), and it is this body which forms a general picture to comprehend the complexities and problems of social life. In contrast, those who adhere to the deductive method of Protestant faith, and in particular the Calvinist perspective, tend to conceptualise the aspirations of belief as possible only when the individual starts from the point of perceived



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truth. As Berger puts it for those seeking election, ‘you don’t get there unless you start from there’ (ibid.: 56). This indicates that Catholicism works more through a conditioned approach to life and belief, whereas Protestantism tends to operate more from a factual perspective. And whilst conditions change and require flexibility in terms of comprehension, facts tend not to change and so acquire a dominance or rigid basis for comprehension. The two forms can also be thought of as political divergences which are imbued with conservative and liberal influence. Or, as Berger neatly sums this difference up: ‘Conservative theology, however rational it may be in its method, tends to deduce from the tradition. Liberal theology, however much it may emphasize the necessity of faith, tends to induce from generally accessible experience’ (ibid.: 97). Ironically, the suggestion of rigidity in Protestantism looks problematic given the many different churches and emphases which have come to exist within the tradition. However, these differences are more often than not a result of contestation about that rigidity rather than a rejection of it, where the deductive approach is seen as being discredited by interpretative difference and where schisms have resulted in an attempt to restate that which is seen as truth. In that sense, schisms and fragmentations might be seen as an attempt to return to the imperatives of deductive logic and in its emphasis on a central or general truth it is evident that the deductive approach is not a static or complete process. Indeed, the search for Protestant meaning from this premise is necessarily a search without end since the idea that the forces of change set in motion by the Reformation can be completed is a contradiction to the reformed ethic, which requires constant vigilance, active protest and the search for greater purity. Within Protestantism the Church is subject to constant judgement and renewal in an attempt to reassert a commitment to repentance because of the inherent sinfulness that pervades man (McAfee Brown 1965: 45). And the constant of sin, to a greater or lesser extent, hinders the legitimacy of the authoritative voice, so making distrust of institutional powers inherent to identity. One of the consequences of the deductive approach to meaning is that the centrality of truth in Scripture also corresponds with a search for the literal at the expense of the human. Or, to put it another way, Scripture can only gain more authority and significance if human needs and desires are recognised less and less (ibid.: 69). Humanity reduced (or elevated depending on how one looks at it) to the literal drama and lessons of Scripture also means that the Bible stands as a reminder of the dangers and contamination of life which can only be understood and confronted through the Bible itself (so reinforcing attachment).


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As mentioned earlier, the judgements which come from this relationship instruct the individual that only by distancing himself from the degradations of life can he be saved and that the basis of such salvation is necessarily biblical (ibid. 78–79). Further, the believer can only experience security when temptations to deny God are fully overcome, for only then can the Protestant live securely (ibid.: 40). These factors combine to shape an identity which draws from a logic that seeks to affirm principles essentially through the denial or resistance of alternative principles, strives to provide a collective or general position in order to resist dilutions and emphasises a descriptive approach to life, but where descriptions point beyond themselves to overall frames of meaning and commitment. All these elements derive from the premise that God gave the individual the opportunity to experience faith and that faith is not a creation of man or his decision. He is and must be subservient to it and his individual conscience must be rooted in the responsibilities of this relationship (ibid.: 11). The central importance of the Word which was reinforced by the availability of the book contributed to a dynamic of conversion which was necessarily shaped by persuasion and rationalism (Pettegree 2005). As Todd observes when looking at the history of Protestantism in Scotland, the significance of the Word which was experienced through reading, preaching, singing, recitation and repetition ‘became the hallmark of communal worship and individual piety’ (Todd 2002: 24), and rituals based upon the Word became the confirmation of adherence to both God and the Calvinistic intent which inspired this relationship. Thus ‘the man with the word hidden in his heart, the woman who meditated constantly on the Scriptures, the community where the word shaped behaviour and belief’ effectively constituted and defined Protestant culture (ibid.: 25). But this orientation also relied on certain characteristics to help support the notion of authenticity. Aside from the lessons of Scripture as statements of fact, which in tune with Calvinist theology shape the ‘conviction that every human being has every moment to be with the living God’ (Leith 1977: 67), there is also a demand in Protestant language ‘for simplicity, directness, authenticity and sincerity’ (ibid.: 81) which could only be met by clarity and straightforwardness. Sermons to be effective had to be ‘not ostentatious or pretentious but plain, roughhewn, and powerful’ (ibid.), with directness taken as a mark of sincerity and truthfulness. Ostentations and perceived pretensions (as in Catholicism) were distractions from the truth and so in conflict with the message of Scripture.



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For Ellul, the word prompts dialogue. The importance of the word is emphasised because only the word can provide exchange and provoke response (Ellul 1985: 16). It is only the word that can fully and truly engage the individual with that beyond him. The image leads him into his own imagination, but it is the word which speaks directly and which commands action. For Ellul, it is only the word which can express truth. The image, in contrast, can offer no such contact, because the image is difficult to prove false. Or, as Ellul puts it, ‘An image can be inaccurate with respect to reality, but it is never false because it cannot deceive us about the truth. Images have nothing to do with truth, except for the confusion established in the modern mind between reality and truth. Only the word can be false, since it is destined to express truth and because it occupies the central position’ (ibid.: 32). Ellul goes on, ‘In itself the image supplies no fundamental basis for judgement, decision, or commitment. Only the word (since it is at the same time instrument, agent and locus of confrontation between truth and falsehood) can be also the agent and the locus of differentiation and criticism, thus leading to a judgement’ (ibid.: 34). Reiterating a deductive logic in his appreciation of the word and what he sees as its humiliation by the image, Ellul applies the word as the force of judgment in discerning truth from falsehood. It is the word, Ellul contends, that provides us with morality and ethics and only language, he insists, can create that end (ibid.: 34–35). It is the word that shapes and defines criticism, whereas the image is illusory in relation to the authenticity needed to reach this conclusion: ‘The decision an image would lead us to make can never be an all-or-nothing decision. But the word does constrain us in that sense, probably because of its very nature. For when the word is not authentic, it is absolutely nothing. All that remains is the air. On the contrary, the image and action, however inaccurate they may be, always remain and give the illusion of reality and effectiveness’ (ibid.: 35). Ellul’s main argument is that truth can only be realised through the word. This may be illustrated by the rather simple example of being told one is loved in comparison to looking at an image which may suggest that love. To be told is a far more powerful reality than having to try and guess whether that reality exists. And indeed, one is more likely to accept the suggestions of an image about love if it reinforces and confirms a love that is already established and known. Clearly then reality and suggestion are not the same. But perhaps Ellul rather overstates the separation and that suggestion and reality need each other; that the movement and relationship between each is a continuum as much as


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a separation. In the Catholic tradition images are important not just to communicate but to offer the potential for connection with God. However, for many Protestants images do not lead one to the truth, they take one away from it, locating attention and meaning in the image instead of what it strives to suggest. This tendency, for what many Protestants would see as idolatry, is reflective of an inherent suspicion of the image and is connected to the image’s perceived destructive rather than constructive power with regard to truth. It is the Bible which offers the route to God and the Bible is words not images; therefore, to try and find God through images is seen not only as deception but as an insult to that fact and truth (ibid.: 50). Or, as Ellul puts it, ‘Only the word conveys the truth of a religious message’ (ibid.: 47). In keeping with the discipline of fundamentalist scriptural interpretation, Ellul points towards the individualism which derives from commitment to the word by stressing that although the Word of God is a commandment, there is also a tendency for the individual to differentiate meaning from that commandment and it is through this tension between truth and understanding truth where the burden of commitment to God’s Word is tested (ibid.: 65). This relationship cannot find any meaningful comparative commitment in the realms of the visual, since the visual is a mediated reality and so a fictional world. The image can be nothing more than an image, a manufactured and structured expression of the real and so a false reality. For Ellul, the image is no more than a spectacle of artificiality (ibid.: 194). It is the word that makes us human beings and to reduce this orientation to its opposite, that is to suggest that the image can do this, leads not only to the humiliation of the word but a denial of what it means to be human (ibid.: 195), which is taken as obsession with the need to communicate rather than the importance of what is communicated. The result of viewing the world through the paradigm of the image and what we might now term ‘visual culture’ is not only a fracture and dislocation of the human from the word, but a detachment from what humanity and God Himself mean (ibid.: 197). Pointing strongly towards a Protestant conviction for the word, which is able to distinguish truth and separate fact from fiction, Ellul implies that reality contrived through the visual ‘is the universe of non-discrimination, related to the totality and to unity with violent contrasts. Everything essential about the Christian revelation is called into question (with different degrees of seriousness) by the basic reference to images and by mistrust of the word’ (ibid.: 199). A preoccupation with the Word is not merely a logical distinction between Catholicism and Protestantism, but a moral one. To deviate



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from the literal truth of Scripture is to suggest that human imagination and interpretation is superior to God’s Word and this is a rejection of truth. The evident problem with this, however, is that the fractured nature of Protestantism is itself a manifestation of the very interpretive difference it seeks to resist. At the formative stages of Protestantism, disagreement about whether Scripture is the Word of God, or whether it contained the Word of God (McGrath 1999: 152), meant that contestations about truth were inherent to the beginnings of the imagination. The potential for further complication comes from varying interpretations which arise in order to meet specific concerns about aspects of biblical meaning rather than its overall meaning. Those aspects relate not only to literal understanding, but metaphorical understanding, with certain parts of Scripture used as the basis for doctrinal positions and the formulation of moral understanding and where passages are used to provide ethical guidance and the promise of Christian hope (ibid.: 158). However, true to an overriding deductive logic, none of these positions are deemed acceptable if made from a standpoint which departs from literal considerations. Given that the notion of what constitutes literal has also been subject to contestation (ibid.) it remains apparent that Protestant logic is loaded with internal conflicts which constrain the struggle for truth in a context of literal interpretation. The logic, which acts as a determinant for this struggle, therefore draws from an impulse which is necessarily divisive and conflictive, its progression dependent on schism and fracture (Fernandez-Armesto and Wilson 1996: 167).

Northern Ireland How might we begin to understand the application of these principles and history in relation to Northern Ireland? One useful starting point for thinking about how the differing worldviews of Catholicism and Protestantism can impact understanding of conflict and social life can be found in a 1995 Radio Ulster lecture given by Padraig O’Malley. In his lecture, O’Malley examined how the logic of Catholicism remains at odds with Protestantism because the deductive logic of Protestantism prefers a clear right and wrong approach to problems, compared with the inductive approach of Catholicism which embraces a more fluid understanding of problems. Catholicism, in drawing moral positions from complexity rather than beginning from a standpoint of original moral positions which determines all else, highlights how Catholic morality is worked through, whereas for Protestants morality tends to be established through rigid principles of logic (O’Malley 1995: 23).


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Relying more on the merits of private judgement and conscience, Protestants remain suspicious of Catholicism’s adherence to the Church and in Northern Ireland have tended to view this association as representative of nationalistic ambitions which run counter to the interests of the British state. Perceived Catholic prevarications about individual responsibility by Protestants have served to reinforce the view that Catholicism is ‘a religion of equivocation, where right and wrong are gradations on a theological curve – weights variously described as venial and mortal on some scatological scale’ (ibid.: 24). Talking about this scale and how immorality has degrees of meaning, O’Malley goes on, ‘Catholics, in the Protestant perspective, appear to put little premium on truthfulness: dishonesty is assigned to a lesser category of sinfulness, being at best a venial offence and therefore not to be taken very seriously’ (ibid.: 25). Protestant attitudes to the state are indicative of this difference. As one religious figure is quoted by O’Malley as saying ‘The common good will generally be thought of by Roman Catholics as a more or less philosophical or theological concept. The Protestant will think of the common good in a very practical way – the maximisation of tolerance and the minimalisation of suffering. Catholics have a different concept of it: it’s to help the fabric of the state in a more or less monolithic way.’ What these variations amount to are ‘different and incompatible catalogues and understanding of the virtues, including justice, or the different and incompatible stock of psychological description of how thinking may generate action’ (ibid.: 25). To further highlight how the psychology works in this way, O’Malley argues that for those most influenced by Calvinist Puritanism in Northern Ireland ‘right and wrong are not only morally distinguishable, but absolutes, and they bring the same inflexible, no-compromise stance to their attitudes on every issue, and the same distrust of others – especially Catholics who do not share their rigidity. They mistake their own rigidity for virtue, for standing for principle, for an honesty they are unwilling to impute to others who do not share their unyielding dogmatism’ (ibid.: 26). Referring to the Anglo-Irish Agreement as an example to show how Protestants and Catholics reacted differently to the prospect of political change, O’Malley observed that because the Agreement had to embrace dual positions in order to promote inclusivity it necessarily had to ‘reflect this duality of intent. Hence its ambiguity and malleability, its emphasis on intent rather than fact, its adherence to process rather than specifics, its design as a framework rather than a set of provisions. This



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accounted for its appeal to Catholics and to much of the opposition among Protestants: they could not understand it’ (ibid.: 27). The divergent outlooks of Protestants and Catholics have historically served to reinforce boundaries between the two communities and stress the polarization of identity in the process (Mitchell 2006; Elliott 2009). Mitchell observes how religious labelling is used to mark out differences between communities, even where there is an absence of religious conviction, in order to separate identities and construct a sense of belonging (2006: 59–63). As Mitchell points out, ‘religious identifications carry associations of acceptance/non-acceptance, inclusion/exclusion’ (ibid.: 67) and so reinforce not only the sense of self, but the other. From a Protestant perspective, boundaries have a notable moralistic purpose and for many Protestants separations come down to moral principle. Even when ideas are ‘not universally accepted or always coherent’ they invariably function as a ‘resource for identification’. Following the form of conventional logic, Mitchell highlights how Protestants have tended to reduce social and political circumstances to historical positions and so reproduced beliefs that support and perpetuate reasons for historical dominance. Most notably, those beliefs have been attached to questions of liberty and honesty, which stand in contrast to perceived Catholic authoritarian allegiance and obfuscation (ibid.: 114). The political consequences of this outlook are especially pronounced in relation to the Catholic tendency to keep theological emphasis focussed inwards through ritual, liturgy and sacraments rather than outwards and so more directly engaged in the terrain of political discourse (ibid.: 131). Though the complexity of the Protestant imagination in Northern Ireland is shown by the range of churches that exist, these variations have a common foundation in that they were built on an anti-Catholic ethos, at the centre of which is a rejection of papal authority. This resistance, which clearly contradicts the idea of liberty that many Protestants express as central to the Protestant ethos (Elliott 2009: 52), also led to extreme Protestantism influencing politics and political discourse. Nowhere is this better exemplified than by the politico-religious figure Rev Dr Ian Paisley (see Bruce 1986, 2007; Cooke 1996; Moloney 2008 for extensive studies of Paisley), who since the start of the Northern Ireland Troubles (post-1969) successfully advanced a strong anti-Catholic rhetoric which demonised Catholicism as a dangerous exception to Protestant belief and security (Brewer 1998). By articulating Catholicism as a constant threat to the


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Union with Britain and augmenting Protestant anxieties about loss by depicting Catholic intent as inextricably linked with Irish nationalist goals, Paisley’s fundamentalist approach also served to limit other moderate Protestant elements from making dialogue with Catholics and reinforced division between the communities in the process (ibid.: 131). By creating a vision of Catholicism as an institution rather than a community of people, Paisley shaped a perception which rejected any engagement with Catholic meaning or sensibility, so determined was he to represent Catholicism as destructive towards the British state and so Protestant/unionist identity and interests (O’Malley 1983: 181). This position, as O’Malley points out, was permeated strongly through Protestant consciousness in ways which moved outside immediate religious conviction into the public world more generally, with particular effect on socio-economic perceptions. Thus ‘Catholics are “disloyal”, hence Catholics do not want to work; Catholic unemployment is part of a sinister ruse to overload the welfare system, thereby draining the country economically; Catholics consciously opt for high unemployment and high birth rates to subvert the state by depleting its resources’ and so on (ibid.). By making Catholicism an issue of political influence (by tying the ‘dangers’ of Catholicism to practically every area of public life), Paisley was able to make resistance to Catholicism a political as well as religious ambition and create a paranoia which saw any potential dilution of the fundamentalist line as ‘selling out’ a Protestant Northern Ireland. The impact of this was to present any counter-argument as contributing to Catholic aims to destroy the state, which, in turn, cultivated a disregard of Catholic resistance against civil rights violations and discrimination (ibid.). But the consequences of extreme Protestantism, as expressed by those such as Paisley, also played into Catholic fears about Protestant concerns with power and keeping Catholics oppressed to maintain that power. The social effect of this antagonism is well described by O’Malley: ‘Protestant fears therefore tend to be self-fulfilling: the more Protestants behave as though they are threatened by Catholics, the more Catholics behave in a way that reaffirms Protestants in their view that they are in fact threatened. At which point Protestant perspectives polarise, the hard line becomes the only line, and Paisleyism comes to the fore. The source of its allure is its power to convince many that their particular positions depend on the maintenance of Protestant power, whether they do or not’ (ibid.: 182). The ability to convincingly adopt the fundamentalist position as expressed by Paisley relates strongly to the intensification of fear and



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protest. As O’Malley puts it, ‘it is easier to arouse people against something then for something’ (ibid.: 184), and the fear this generates is conducted on two levels: first, at a level which emphasises what one is and, second, at a level which emphasises what one is not. Fear in other words is used to stress what one will lose not what one might gain and depends on exaggerated claims about the other to be effective in this way. In the case of hard-line Protestantism one of the central claims comes from the belief that Protestants have a God-given right to the land they occupy and have a contractual obligation under a covenant with God to act as those chosen to protect and preserve this right (Brewer 1998: 137). This also means that political perspectives are seen as a legitimate manifestation of this covenant, allowing for moral values to become indistinguishable from the demands of social and political life. Attempts to shape support and respect for notions of civil and political liberty are extensions of this identity, against which Catholicism has no respective counterclaim. On this point Brewer notes how ‘claims of injustice are either denied in the covenantal view or seen as irrelevant because Catholics are outside the political contract’ (ibid.: 142), making an anti-Catholic ethos integral to exclusivity of the covenantal obligation. Importantly, the idea of covenant contributes significantly in attaching notions of self with land. Perhaps one of the most important studies to address this relationship is D. H. Akenson’s book God’s People (1992). Here, Akenson looks at the culture of Ulster-Scots and how a firm belief in covenant shaped Presbyterian attitudes towards society through interpretations of Scripture in ways which created clear rules and standards for social stability and morality (ibid.: 102). Though Presbyterianism (as the biggest Protestant denomination) will be more specifically addressed in the next chapter, it is nevertheless important to establish some understanding of the commitment to covenant as a basis for Protestantism more generally (whether accepted or rejected), since covenantal culture led to social norms and notions of exclusivity which informed discipline and standards in social life (ibid.: 111). Commitment to the covenant was shaped by a Calvinist ethos and an anti-papal emphasis that served to provide a strong politic–religious ethic. This ethic was also based on a respect for monarchy, but only if the monarch served to follow religious practice and respect as stressed by Calvin. What this amounted to was a ‘conditional loyalty’ which on the one hand relied on commitment to covenant and on the other a ‘contractarian’ outlook which preserved and protected ideas of liberty and government in the democratic interest (defined more specifically


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as protecting Protestant interests). The combination of the religiously directed covenant and the politically directed contract served to create the ‘just and moral character of the state’ which could be challenged if preconceived notions of either were deemed to be violated (ibid.: 118). Drawing from identification with Israel, where God had entered a covenant with Jews, the covenantal relationship specified obedience as an inherent characteristic and its protection a sacred task (Ford 1984: 245–246). This constituted a self-image of loyalty and protectionism that boasted a self-confidence, but also lacked it, as the uncertainties of elect theology and the demands of conversion immersed the recipient of this identity in self-doubt and fear. Not only did Protestants from the seventeenth century on tend to see themselves as serving the call of God who had delivered them to a chosen land, but they were also expected to define morality and social behaviour, using religious restraint to shape moral positions whilst expecting Church governance to exercise and monitor such standards (ibid.: 253). As Akenson points out, in taking the idea of covenant from the ancient Israelites, ‘the Ulster-Scots learned a particular method of sacralising politics. And the particular emphasis that comes from covenantal bonding includes a very sharp sense of right and wrong, of sacred and profane’, making Ulster-Scots ‘one of the hardest people in the world with whom to negotiate’ (ibid.). The imagination was one that favoured insularity and looking towards the inner man. No interest was found in compromise with perceived enemies (which would amount to a departure from truth and conviction) and Ulster-Scots showed a deep suspicion of hierarchical authority, which not only inferred connotations of institutional control (Catholic power) but stood antagonistically in relation to the consensual form of discipline upon which covenantal thinking relied (ibid.: 121). Struggles against enemies were mythologised into battles to preserve identity and to ensure that ‘the Chosen people were delivered from their savage native foes’ (ibid.: 139), as part of ‘an archetypal deliverance myth’ used to reinforce cultural identity and preserve the idea of being a ‘persecuted minority’ (ibid.: 139–140). As Akenson also explains, by infusing biblical conviction with public and political discourse, Ulster-Scots were able to combine ‘religious belief and collective historical experience’ and galvanise imaginations of identity and purpose in the process (ibid.: 143). Drawing from a wider concern with the importance of ‘bands, pacts, covenants, contracts, natural law, the rights of man and the rights of people’ (Torrance 1981: 227), the Ulster-Scots culture saw the political



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as a measure of one’s adherence to the religious and it was a preoccupation with this tension which encouraged collective and defensive action. This provided ‘a conceptual framework within which Reformed theology was to be recast as ‘federal Calvinism’ and facilitated ‘a “theology of politics” which could be readily grasped by the man the street’ (ibid.: 228). The conviction of such a culture, which others might find intransigent and difficult, is derived from the belief that those who live within it stand as chosen before God and that being ready to protect that position is an essential part of the identity (Akenson 1992: 143). This also means that the primary position is necessarily one of defence and vigilance towards those deemed to be a threat to the perceived superiority of the culture. Civil and religious liberty were central to such a perspective and facilitated the belief that individuals would be freer under a Protestant state than a Catholic one (Elliott 2009: 73). And, although the fear that Protestantism had of Catholicism contributed to fissures and schisms within it, there still existed the perception that Protestantism was superior because of its ability to resist papal authority and dominance (ibid.: 93); even if it also consisted of people ‘with a peculiar accent, a blunt manner, a philistine outlook on life, an intransigent frame of mind, and in the case of religion which came to be most associated with it [Presbyterianism], a tendency to lace everyday speech with scriptural references’ (ibid.: 119). These influences on Protestant identity which I have outlined above are in no way to be seen as a definitive exposition of the Protestant imagination. What they should be seen as is a reference point for consideration of the various strands of Protestantism at work in Northern Ireland today. In other words, the historical context, the extremes of identity and the forms of logic which have been outlined offer a characterisation against which modern Protestantism can be compared and judged and it makes sense for the comparison to be made in relation to the more extreme aspects of the imagination rather than the more moderate, since it is the extreme Protestant vision which has tended to contain and restrict the development of other moderate forms (the existence of Paisley is an indication of this). What follows is an analysis of the complexities of Protestantism in connection to the themes and issues introduced above. The next chapter looks at respondents from a wider range of Protestant churches, about how they view their own identities in connection to history, the Puritan mind and logic. The differences and similarities not only provide us with a relevant analysis of where Protestantism stands today, but will enable such


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identities to be seen in relation to contemporary social transformation and change more broadly. The many churches which define themselves as Presbyterian indicate distinctions which are variations of that term and what it means to be a Presbyterian. Those variations and how they relate to other Protestant identity forms is the area of enquiry to which we now turn.


2 Evangelicalism, Presbyterianism and Protestant Church Identity in Northern Ireland

Evangelicalism To be evangelical is to be committed to spreading the ‘good news of the gospel’ (Olson 2005: 3), but definition of evangelicalism refers more to an identity which derives from shifts in belief and application of Christian principles (Larsen 2007: 7). These shifts, which give rise to a range of denominations, take origin from well-established positions that serve to contain the evangelical imagination through four interrelated modes of application, which Beddington refers to as ‘conversionism, the belief that lives need to be changed; activism, the expression of the gospel in effort; biblicism, a particular regard for the Bible; and what may be called crucicentrism, a stress on the sacrifice of Christ on the cross’ (Beddington 1993: 3). A strong connection to the authority of the Bible, God’s message as recorded in Scripture, seeking salvation by trying to live up to that message and using missions to impress the need for a spiritually transformed life all converge to shape the evangelical mind (Marsden 1991: 4–5). And although denominations vary in terms of organisational structure and biblical emphasis, most adhere to overriding influences of the Reformation, Puritanism and Pietism (Pietism being an influence which sought to promote the devotional ideal of godliness and the virtue of righteousness), which use Luther and Calvin as the impetus for spiritual and theological engagement. But what particularly binds the differences in evangelicalism is the emphasis on the emotional impact of faith and the role of ‘living faith’ brought into the heart of the ‘ordinary believer’ (McGrath 1993: 14–17). Because evangelicalism encompasses a number of approaches to Christian faith which serve to both discourage and encourage groups from engaging with the social, there is a constant struggle present 37


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between internal and external worlds. Yet keeping these distinctions in mind, we must also acknowledge that a dedicated personal relationship with Jesus Christ is sustained by the constant struggle for grace and faith alone. Reliant on a renewed commitment to the Holy Spirit, the evangelical seeks to produce a better understanding of the self and how that self relates to the world (Bloesch 2008: 16) and, consistent with the Protestant spirit, the intention is to strive for greater purity. Scriptural interpretation necessarily complements this search, but resists any potential lurch towards mystical understanding. Alongside this distrust of the mystical exists suspicion of any tendency to reduce scriptural interpretation to propositional or formulaic comprehension since this risks rationalism becoming the object of faith rather than the Word of Christ (ibid.: 19). Such suspicion also connects to an underlying tension between truth and untruth, the literal and the fictional, the creative and the uncreative, and movement and stasis, for each impacts on the individual struggle for salvation. For Noll, this resistance to rationalism has legitimised antiintellectualism and reinforced rather than guarded against fundamentalist and sectarian attitudes. This is seen to have happened, Noll informs us, because of an ethos which is ‘activistic, populist, pragmatic and utilitarian’, and which provides ‘little space for broader or deeper intellectual effort because it is dominated by the urgencies of the moment’. Referring to Clifford, Noll agrees that ‘The Evangelical Protestant mind has never relished complexity. Indeed its crusading genius, whether in religion or politics, has always tended toward an over-simplification of issues and the substitution of inspiration and zeal for critical analysis and serious reflection’ (Noll 1994: 12). This inspiration and zeal (particularly within America) has shaped convictions to the extent where education and cultural sophistication are perceived as a hindrance to faith, and where obedience is deemed more virtuous than rational or learned enquiry (ibid.: 11). The belief that ideas should be made subordinate to their emotive power provided the impetus which gave rise to the dominance of the emotive over the intellectual and in that sense marked an important historical rupture within Protestantism, moving rational interpretation into a wider context of emotive attachment (Hofstadter 1963: 55). This shift towards the emotional was underpinned by embracing enthusiasm and feeling rather than thought as the route to God (ibid.: 56), with enthusiasm seen not only as proof of one’s relationship with God, but as a source of authority and security in social and political affairs – the result of which was value being given to ‘the personal and charismatic rather than the institutional’ (ibid.: 57).


Evangelicalism, Presbyterianism and Protestant Church Identity

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Evangelicals developed missions in the search for converts and denominations were formed on the basis of exploiting this new freedom. Now, the struggle over emotional conversion and choice was simplistically expressed as a battle between heaven and hell (ibid.: 84). The outcome of this struggle, as Hofstadter points out, created a situation where the intellectual importance of leadership (which had dominated with the Puritan tradition) diminished in the wake of a change where ‘the evangelical ideal of the minister as a popular crusader and exhorter’ now took precedent (ibid.: 86). Evangelicalism then (at least in America) led to an erosion of intellectual and educational ideals, replacing this outlook with an appreciation of theology that relied on immediacy and the charisma of ‘felt’ conversion. This way of seeing offered simplicity and clarity, but also led to a situation where issues and concerns not directly addressed in Scripture were dismissed as incidental or irrelevant to faith (McGrath 1988: 60). The potential destabilising impact of critical assessment was absorbed into a general resistance against ambiguity and mystery because each created the possibility of complication, thereby undermining intensity and scriptural certainty (ibid.). The emotive basis of evangelical conviction is a powerful mobilising force of influence which cultivates a strongly felt sense of communal belonging (Grenz 1993: 31), and it is this belonging that keeps spiritual meaning anchored to the emotional. The emotive, so favoured by the evangelical, determines the meaning of the Gospel through the ‘experienced’ nature (rather than ‘explained’) of Jesus’ preaching and so finds common ground with Calvin’s call for ‘the internal testimony of the Holy Spirit’ (quoted in McGrath 1996: 101). This experience of feeling shaped attitudes to evangelical conversion and spiritual intimacy, which were both seen to emerge from the charged ‘decisive moment of turning from darkness to light’ (Larsen 2007: 11). As Hilton argues in relation to this point, ‘ “Feeling” was felt to be important because religion was assumed to be natural or inductive’ (Hilton 1986: 19), and it was the dominance of this perception that required simple expression since the relationship between simplicity and feeling is not best served by complexity and intellectualisation. From this perspective, the narrative of Scripture took precedent over any interpretative framework being applied (ibid.: 113) since narrative became the referent for truth, whereas interpretation could change that truth and in the process threaten the clarity of narrative. It is this turn which both reinforced belief in the authority of Scripture and, because of a strong judgemental emphasis, limited the possibilities of freedom and stressed the dangers of social and cultural life (McGrath 1996: 62). Understanding the Bible


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was thus not an intellectual exercise, but came from emotional connection and attachment; a felt understanding which relied on piety rather than rationalism to be properly absorbed and comprehended (Hilton 2001: 21). However, the struggle for conviction (more readily experienced as clarity and purity) and certainty also led to rigid and authoritative positions. The fundamentalist disposition thrives on the emotive emphasis, allowing militancy and conservatism to dominate over liberalism and pluralist attitudes (Marsden 1991: 1). Originated as a term to describe militant evangelicals in America, the ‘fundamentalist’ has traditionally also served to support a staunchly religious conservatism which has shaped domestic and foreign political outlooks and provided a context for ‘setting dominant American moral standards’ (ibid.: 2). Not all evangelicals are fundamentalists, however. Fundamentalists who remain suspicious of scholarship take a literalist approach to the Bible, reject Christians who do not accept their position, promote right-wing views and hold rigid convictions about the re-emergence of Christ, contrast with others who encourage scholarship of faith, appreciate the cultural and historical contexts when Scripture was written, view the Bible as history, metaphor and symbol, value co-operation with other denominations, use the Bible as a basis of critical reflection and accept the legitimacy of different biblical interpretations about the re-emergence of Christ (Harris 2008: 6; for differences, see also Tidball 1994: 17–18). These differences reflect inevitable tensions about where to concede and where to resist pressure for modernisation – a struggle between the negotiable and non-negotiable (Tidball 1994: 31) – and about how theological positions and preferences might be applied. But whilst acknowledging these variations and the contestations that arise, each is constrained by an approach (from understanding the historical, literary and cultural context of Scripture, appreciation of how the writing of Scripture followed intent, using straightforward explanation in Scripture to understand more complex parts of it, recognising that for all its possible differences Scripture points towards ‘coherence in Christ’, referring to the Holy Spirit for understanding and applying text to everyday dilemmas and experiences and following the Gospel in order to demonstrate belief and obedience of God (ibid.: 92)) which makes religious conviction inseparable from convictions about social and political order. The impact of the evangelical imagination on social and political thought is addressed in Hilton’s excellent book The Age of Atonement (2001). Hilton explains how the development of this imagination led



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to a middle-class preoccupation with moral and national pride from the mid-nineteenth century in Britain which shaped ‘ideals of economy, frugality, professionalism, and financial rectitude’ (Hilton 2001: 7). Signalling a departure from an eighteenth century ethos concerned with ‘rationalistic and mechanistic’ conceptualisations of theology, the midnineteenth century provided a new awareness where life was envisaged as ‘an arena of moral trial’ between saints and sinners and dispatching individuals towards heaven or hell dependent on their conversion and commitment to the merits of saintly life and belief (ibid.: 8). Pain was inherent to this struggle and central to the process of judgement where one could show one’s dedication through the pain endured. Confronting pain therefore became expected as proof of accepting God’s will and was considered an integral part of experiencing His judgement. Pain, to put it slightly differently, was taken as essential for self-improvement because it reflected God’s desire ‘for the moral redemption of mankind’ (ibid.: 17). Importantly, the economic arena was conceived as a place of ‘great spiritual trial and suspense’ (ibid.), where individuals could prove their worth and display moral character in their daily affairs. This served to underline the advantages of capitalism since economic and social disparity were read as a sign of one’s standing before God, with the market providing an opportunity to both accrue wealth and through that wealth enable benevolence and philanthropy, which reinforced status and social importance (ibid.: 15). Social advantage was broadly accepted as God’s desire and because of that legitimised the social influence and control exercised by those who had it (ibid.: 16). But, alongside this was the eternal presence of misery and despair which was attached to the possibility of self-improvement and addressed the emptiness and sinfulness that are inextricably linked to ‘man’s hope of sudden conversion as grace flooded into the empty vessel of his soul’ (bid: 27). A key consideration in this emerging worldview was the need to view existence as both an individualistic and mechanistic affair. And, as Hilton explains, this influenced social conditioning in relation to individual responsibility, family, work, government and state, with each supporting a broader trajectory of moral purpose and progress (ibid.: 33). On the one hand, there was certainty in terms of emotive adherence to the evangelical impulse, but on the other, the individualistic ethos riddled the imagination with uncertainty. This resulted in a constant battle between positive and negative outlooks which was contained by a general unease about ‘whether happiness or misery best testified to


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God’s efficient governance or the mortal world’ (ibid.: 35), and it was this uncertainty which pervaded evangelical identity. Though diversity existed in the expression and conviction of the evangelical spirit, it also existed within a mechanistic and individualistic universe and it was within this environment that contestations over identity and social responsibility took place. In relation to Northern Ireland today we can see diversity in the expression of evangelicalism across four discernible identity types. Ganiel charts those groupings as moving from a traditional (or covenantal/Calvinistic) position at one end of the scale, to ‘post evangelical’ (separatist) at the other and what she calls ‘mediating’ and ‘pietist’ inflections in between, with variations in these types representative of engagement or withdrawal from society and politics (Ganiel 2008: 7). Detailing the four types further, Ganiel concludes that ‘traditional evangelicals have “adapted,” mediating evangelicals have “assimiliated,” pietist evangelicals have “privatized,” and post-evangelicals have “converted” ’ (ibid.: 104), with each of these types trying to deal with the challenge of growing individualism and a wider range of social/cultural influences in the congregational setting (ibid.). Now, subject to postmodern visions of the world where meta-narratives have crumbled under the weight of fast-moving cultural trends and growing individualism, evangelicalism is being forced to adopt some degree of reflexivity to these forces, whilst at the same time facing the growing problem of trying to maintain core beliefs in a world where respect for beliefs (or authority) has waned. The delineations and changes which Ganiel identifies find comparison with Patrick Mitchel’s outstanding analysis of evangelicalism in Northern Ireland from the early to late twentieth century. Referring to two broad perspectives which he calls ‘closed and open evangelicalism’ (Mitchel 2003: 130), Mitchel views the evangelical spectrum as consisting of fundamentalist groupings at one end and liberal at the other, with conservative elements in between. Closed evangelicalism, for Mitchel, refers to an identity which has ‘broadly failed to find the balance between distance and belonging to its host culture, opting instead for a (biblically) compromised form of belonging without distance’ (ibid.), whereas open evangelicalism seeks ‘to find a creative tension’ between itself and wider unionist identity. Open forms, whilst receptive to relations with other evangelical groupings, also value critical assessment about the connections between religion and socio-political outlooks in Northern Ireland (ibid.: 131), unlike closed forms which tend to interpret in the context of strongly defined and inward-looking



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evangelical principles. But of particular interest with Mitchel’s study is his understanding of the interconnections between evangelicalism and Presbyterianism and how each contributes to reinforce a sense of identity which permeates political and nationalistic imaginations. Drawing from a strong anti-Catholic bias, Presbyterianism gave the case of unionism the same spiritual emphasis and legitimacy that underpinned religious faith (ibid.: 225), leading to a fusion of religious and political identity in order to reinforce a sense of national and communal belonging. Historically, the more closed version of evangelicalism held greater popular resonance within unionism (and connected with a perceived need to deal with growing urbanisation and Catholic advance (Doyle 2009: 16–41)), appealing to political conservatism, defence of the Church of Ireland, land ownership, Orange Order sectarianism and anti-Catholicism (McBride 1998: 227), but has since given way to more pluralistic variants as Northern Ireland has moved towards tentative peace and the influences of post-modernity.

Presbyterianism in Northern Ireland In his book The Narrow Ground, A.T.Q. Stewart provides a brief caricature of the Presbyterian inclination towards austerity and how this shapes reaction to social and political life: The Presbyterian is happiest which he is being a radical. The austere doctrines of Calvinism, the simplicity of his worship, the democratic government of his Church, the memory of the martyred Covenanters, and the Scottish refusal to yield or to dissemble – all these incline him to that difficult and cantankerous disposition which is characteristic of a certain kind of political radicalism. His natural instinct is to distrust the outward forms of civil government unless they are consonant with his religious principles. On the other hand, his situation and his history in a predominantly Catholic Ireland have bred in him attitudes which seem opposite to these, making him defensive, intolerant and uncritically loyal to traditions and institutions. His special kind of political outlook has been accurately defined as ‘settler radicalism’. (Stewart 1977: 83) Though this summary risks simplification, many of its points have been incorporated into more contemporary explanations of the Presbyterian impulse, where the image remains one of being dour, driven by selfreliance and with a strong distrust of institutional authority (Dunlop


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1995: 13). It would, however, be a gross exaggeration to suggest that Presbyterians all act this way. The tendency to both reject and accept diversity points towards the range of tolerances and intolerances that exist and so variation in how the individual might be expected to act morally and socially (ibid.: 14). What does dominate, as previously mentioned, is the adherence to private conscience, using judgement to interpret Scripture for oneself and not allowing reason to be elevated above the Word of God (ibid.). A consequence of this is that one must remain convinced of the need to be honest before God, as well as convinced of the need to oppose those who advocate they speak for God and attempt to impart a mediating role on His behalf (ibid.: 17). Fragmentations which have traditionally existed in unionism in Northern Ireland indicate the propensity to find consistency with the Presbyterian disregard for unity. Indeed, as we know, unity is seen as dangerous and an affront to the individual struggle with Scripture and conscience. Significantly, if the measure of conscience and morality is how one exercises one’s own relationship with Scripture, then the idea of moral unity itself becomes problematic since such a concept would presuppose a ‘correct’ or ‘pure’ interpretation of morality, which contradicts the importance of the individual struggle. Perhaps if unity does exist, it does so as an opposition to unity. Construction of the Protestant imagination is elaborated in Lee’s Ireland 1912–1985. Here Lee highlights how ‘dour manliness’ sustained the Protestant identity, along with a list of capacities which stood in contrast to Catholics who were seen as ‘lazy, dirty, improvident, irresolute, feckless, made menacing only by their numbers and by their doltish allegiance to a sinister and subversive religion’ (Lee 1989: 4). In the early twentieth century the Ulster identity ‘was an abstract Protestant ideal untainted by the contamination of a Catholic presence’ (ibid.: 5), where community and belonging was envisaged in terms of polarisation and insulation from the Catholic enemy. Defining the differences further, Lee notes how ‘Whereas to most Ulster Protestants, the Catholic Irish were not only different but inferior, to most Irish Catholics, Ulster Protestants were merely different, not inferior’, with Catholics unaware of how fear and insecurity operated within the Protestant psyche (ibid.: 10). Polarisation with Catholicism was further entrenched by depicting the Catholic as not free but subject to the mediations and authority of the priest, whereas for the Protestant freedom came from the absence of such mediation. Only the truth of the Word was seen as the path to freedom and light, whilst for the Catholic, because of enslavement to a



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system of popery, there is only darkness (Wright 1973: 228). In viewing Catholicism as in opposition with the British Protestant system, Protestants also became convinced that Catholicism contributed to social instability, eroded political loyalty and undermined moral values (Hempton and Hill 1992: 82). Historical perceptions that an ascendant Catholicism would lead to persecuted Protestants, a decline in law and order, an end to the Protestant way of life, create social and economic collapse and bring about Home Rule all played into fears about Catholic advance being equated with the destruction of Protestant identity (ibid.: 180). Until well into the twentieth century, as Holmes points out, Presbyterian prophecy relied on the portrayal of Catholicism as a system which was ‘variously assailed as the enemy of intellectual improvement, national prosperity, and the eternal well-being of human souls’ (Holmes 2006: 153). It is not difficult, given this fear and paranoia, to see why Protestantism has historically positioned the Catholic enemy at the centre of its imagination. Invariably, Protestant fears contribute to unease and suspicion and it is this apprehension which goes some way towards explaining why such importance is attached to what is said and how it is said. As Dunlop summarises in his valuable assessment of Presbyterianism in Northern Ireland, ‘Presbyterians are suspicious of those who come bearing a wealth of vocabulary, wondering what might be hidden in the multiplicity of words. If it can’t be said simply, perhaps there is something to hide’ (ibid.: 84). Elaborating further on Presbyterian perceptions of language, Dunlop explains, ‘Language is like a signpost which points away from itself. To see the truth you have to look where the language points. For some other people, the truth lies within the language, so instead of looking where the language points, you look deeper and deeper into the language, taking its meaning literally . . . For others, language is more complex still, providing space between the lines, leaving room for interpretation, not tying people down with many assumed presuppositions. Fundamentalist discourse is different again, being often most marked by the declamatory style of its delivery and its intolerance of perceived and identified enemies’ (ibid.: 98). These differences with language have had impact at the political level in Northern Ireland where Presbyterian influences have come into play in relation to unionist approaches to political accommodation (see also Blair 2010: 154; Spencer 2010: 444–445, where the former British prime minister highlights differences in how unionists and nationalists approached peace talks). Here, comparisons can be made with this description Dunlop gives: ‘[Presbyterians] are much less likely to


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separate form and substance. For them, the meaning of a document is the sum total of the words used. If they want to understand it, they don’t ask what it is getting at, they don’t look for spaces, they delve into the meaning of the words’ (ibid.: 99). Continuing, Dunlop notes how ‘Presbyterians like the words to be precise. Generally, they try to get the language right first and then build the relationships. If they can’t agree on the words, then the relationships suffer, even disintegrate’ (ibid.: 100). Commenting further on how such an approach may impact on political negotiation and understanding of other communities, Dunlop concludes, ‘Presbyterian language does not have too many layers to it; it does not possess too much flexibility. Presbyterians may not be very good negotiators. Their opening statements tend to contain an analysis of the situation along with the bottom line. There is no movement either contemplated or even possible, unless you can convince them that the analysis is wrong. If you can’t convince them of that, the bottom line will not move, on principle’ (ibid.: 101). In relation to religious conviction the emphasis on certainty, whilst at the same time stressing man’s inherent worthlessness and inability to bring about his own salvation, hints at the contradictions which lurk at the heart of the Presbyterian impulse and which contribute to the divergent positions that different churches take (Brooke 1987: 51). Initially functioning more as a political society in its own right (built on the dissenting and independent intellectual tradition), Ulster Presbyterianism is now seen more as a movement within society (ibid.: 179), increasingly subject to social forces and influences and subsumed within the general definition of Protestantism. For Brooke, one of the key historical changes which has beset Presbyterianism comes from a shift where Presbyterian nationhood, which dominated in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, gave way to splits and schisms from the nineteenth century as a response to growing instability and division in British politics (ibid.: 202). Then, as threats from a strident Catholic Ireland emerged, Presbyterianism reflected the growing uncertainties about what nationhood meant and divided as a response. In an attempt to reassert identity, Presbyterianism fractured and became factionalised. The impact of modernisation also created problems for an evangelical preoccupation with conversion and the rigidities of established positions. The process of industrialisation brought with it an emphasis on engineering, calculation and the benefits of profit. It was this period, as Miller points out, where ‘the fruits of industrial transformation’ tended ‘to justify the scientific outlook and almost to require its universal adoption’ (Miller 1978: 69). Wealth was taken as God’s will – an indication



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that one might be of the elect – and provided a means of satisfaction which gave respite from the more severe traits of Calvinism (ibid.: 70). Indeed, it played into the potential for salvation by creating employment, developing production and contributing to social improvement (ibid.: 71). This perception reoriented the individual towards the social world and in so doing moved the Church towards civil society (ibid.: 73). It also revealed the tension between containing religious belief within religious communities and applying that belief in business and social affairs. Here, the internalised world of the Church began to give way to the externalised world of the social; a shift which Miller marks as a move from ‘prophetic to conversionist’ evangelicalism (ibid.: 88), with Church prophecy beginning to succumb to the appeal of psyche and individual preferences. As Miller describes this transition: ‘By restricting the miraculous to one’s interior life, the conversionist emphasis allowed popular religion to function according to the empirical norms accepted by a modern society’ (ibid.). According to Holmes, Presbyterian belief is built upon three pillars: tradition, reform and revival (Holmes 2006: 3). Tradition refers to the application of the Westminster standards (Confessions of Faith, Directories for Public and Family Worship and The Form of Presbyterial Church Government), reform to the overhaul of structures and beliefs as a result of economic change, Enlightenment thinking and the growth of evangelicalism, and revival from the 1790s when Presbyterianism underwent a reawakening and used the Westminster standards to reassert religious obedience (ibid.). Originating from the migration of Scottish settlers in the early 1700s (origins can be found in a Scots army brought to Ulster in 1642, where chaplains formed the first presbytery (Holmes 2000: 25)), early Presbyterianism was staunchly Calvinist, emphasising the sinful nature of man and the redemptive power of Christ (Holmes 2006: 5). One of the key markers of early Presbyterian identity and purpose was revealed by signing up to the Solemn League and Covenant in the sixteenth century which provided a political accommodation between Scottish and English parliaments, effectively binding the two entities ‘to preserve and advance the cause of the Reformation in the United Kingdom, to extirpate popery, prelacy and heresy and to secure the rights and liberties of the Scottish and English parliaments’ (Holmes 2000: 29–30). In its reaction to the forces of industrialisation and the development of the market economy, Presbyterianism sought to address the possible influences of this new age through a resurgent evangelical conviction, for it was this which was taken as evidence that the individual


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was still adhering to Presbyterian ideals in the wake of social and economic turbulence (Holmes 2006: 13). The locus of this identity was formed through the ‘meeting-house’ which was used to define moral and ethical understanding of communal life (ibid.: 27) and forge the link between what Holmes calls ‘goodly and godly living’ (ibid.: 28). The moral demands put in place to meet the changes imparted by industrialisation and rationalistic thought were not an attempt to shun such changes, but to absorb them into living through the realisation that social standing benefits from the formation of a range of social groupings and educational programmes which reinforced the virtues of hard work and industriousness; each of which were taken as indications of one’s religious worth (ibid.: 29). By the eighteenth century Presbyterianism had already fragmented into six distinct groups, each a reflection of different associations with social, moral and historical values (ibid.: 30). Though these groups drew from similar points of religious reference and conviction, each experienced varying degrees of success in trying to meet the demands and pressures of social change. But, as Holmes makes clear, it was the more conservative of these groups that fared best, able to exercise a range of positions but also impress key principles against alternative groupings in the wake of not just social change, but the growth of Presbyterian and evangelical factionalism (ibid.: 31). Interestingly, as Holmes also notes, evangelicalism successfully adapted and indeed thrived on social upheaval and conflict, appealing to different social classes and groups and offering a means to cope with the uncertainties of social change (ibid.: 39).

The Presbyterian Church of Ireland The term Presbyterian refers to a specific form of Church government which consists of lay elders who collaborate with Church ministers to give the Church spiritual direction and discipline. Derived from the word ‘presbytery’, which is a collaboration of elders and ministers, the role of these two groups historically has been to ensure that order is kept in services and that this adheres to expectations of the reformed spirit and ‘godliness’. Both elders and ministers consult each other about how the Bible should be interpreted and applied, but in the modern period there has also been a particular emphasis on expressing the authority of God in relation to legal and institutional affairs. The social responsibility of Presbyterianism received more attention in the twentieth century and drew from new theological reflections on the Reformation



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as an influence for this reorientation. This compared with the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, where the Church had been more concerned with doctrinal purity and the schisms which came from contestations about that purity. Describing the Presbyterian Church today, one of its ministers, Rev Dr John Finlay, summarised the structure in the following way: Whilst we are about five hundred odd congregations we are grouped together in what we call presbyteries, with about thirty congregations in geographical groups. In our structure of government every congregation is in one sense self-governing, but is not isolated and is responsible to the presbytery group which is itself responsible for the congregation. Each congregation is responsible for its own spiritual, financial and social outreach to the community, but is submissive and subject to the wider collective body of the thirty congregations, which is composed of the minister and one representative from that congregation. We also have a Church court and all the presbyteries meet together at the General Assembly one a year, and that acts as a Supreme Court. So, it’s a tiered system of democracy. Rev Robert Beggs confirmed this view, stressing how hierarchy is subject to influences from the ground up: Within the Presbyterian system, where you have the congregation and elect elders, it’s a kind of bottom-up approach. The congregation elect elders from among their number and they become ruling elders. In each congregation there is a teaching elder, who is minister and then the elder’s body, where representatives are appointed to a group of churches within the area. That would be the presbytery and then we have the General Assembly which gathers once a year with representatives from all the Presbyterian churches in Ireland. But the wider question of how Presbyterians see the world and how such perceptions are constitutive of identity was expounded by Rev Norman Hamilton, who talked both about a need for clarity and the social and political implications of this need: We have the cultural expression of what you might call reform faith, so you have an embodied Protestantism that expresses itself in terms of plain speaking and where you would need to do a lot of work to persuade me. This comes out of religious conviction, but


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is also a historical position which follows the three-legged stool of biblical faith in Scripture alone, grace alone and faith alone. But for Presbyterians this also follows a historic rejection of the establishment which is expressed theologically, politically and socially. The slogan ‘Ulster Says No’, for example, is culturally acceptable because there is no price to be paid for saying that. Plain speaking, particularly in rejection, is what we are up against, and it comes very easily and naturally because we are of the dissenter tradition rooted in the troubled relationship between Scottish Presbyterianism and the Scottish nation vis-a-vis the English establishment. Elaborating further on how oppositional communities are seen to engage with differences at the political level, Hamilton continued: Protestants tend to be into stances. Republicans have commented how we seem to have no understanding of process, where they argue for something, get part of it and bank it, then ask for the rest and move on. In comparison, they believe Protestants want everything before they accept anything. So we have to have all the ‘i’s dotted and all the ‘t’s crossed before we move on. In other words, we want every bit of the jigsaw in place before we’ll accept the picture. Part of this comes from the obsessive individualism of Presbyterian theology, where there is a much stronger emphasis on salvation being individually acquired and where you are seen as individually accountable. Then you want greater certainty. But one problem with this is the fragmentation which results. This fragmentation in churches and unionism is another expression of dissension, excessive individualism and lack of cultural or theological commitment to community which contrasts with the republican/nationalist/Catholic community which would be quite happy to have most of the pieces around the framework in place and then they’ll fill in the picture, maybe even change it. As long as they know the game they’ll not be worried too much about piece 378. Republicans would often tell me how they are into process whereas Protestants are into events and that this may be so because we have the event of conversion, the event of the second coming of Christ, the event of Easter. Our theology is actually constructed around events. But in emphasising the event, whether it be the political event, the theological event, or the social event, we have lost a sense of journey and process which is built into Scripture.



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The individualism which Hamilton refers to invariably brings with it the insecurities of being alone and adrift from any firm or distinct communal belonging beyond the congregational setting. Significantly, although the Protestant strives to find security and puts much stall by certainty, the constant fears and concerns associated with this need sustain uncertainty, with the importance attached to individualism assuring that disagreement (and so uncertainty) continues. As Hamilton put it Within Protestantism there are very few mechanisms for creating a common vision. By its very nature the more you accentuate individualism the more you fragment. So the more difficult it is to have a meta-narrative and see the big picture. Protestant theology has lost the big biblical picture of the balance between individual accountability and community. The expression of Protestantism is more to do with the autonomy of the individual and we are quite secular even on our theology. Protestantism is culturally obsessed by individualism for theological reasons. The emphasis on individual salvation and accountability means that nobody can do religion for you. This is the basis to reformation theology. The Protestant Church itself is quite a broad Church and the bigger a group is the more diverse it is. So we would have a wing of the Church which is quite puritanical in outlook, where social and cultural viewpoints are what Scripture says. Furthermore, Protestants are right because we are people of the Word and we deliver certainties. But on the other side there is a softer wing. The large middle section of the Church would be socially and theologically conservative but would also be very private, so there is little connection between the local Church and life as a Christian in the wider world. It’s almost a sort of ecclesiastical subculture, where there would be a separation between spiritual and daily life. And then there would be another small group of social activists who would be committed evangelicals, believe in personal salvation and the authority of Scripture and who would argue that not being involved in the wider community is actually unbiblical. Referring to the influences of biblical exegesis, Glenn Jordan (who has written widely on evangelical Protestants) observed how the literal underpins social understanding and tends to relate that understanding to precise rather than fluid meaning:


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Within the evangelical stream faith tended to be a proposition thing and the Bible is something that you do in order to extract truths and statements and doctrine. This means that you have to make a very careful reading of the text to get that out and then you systematize it into your theologies. Evangelicalism has the twin influence of Puritanism and Pietism, but within the Reformed Calvinist side of Protestantism it is the Puritan influence which is strongest and with that there is a real emphasis on literalism. The problem is that this also lives in a tension with the Pietism which is more experiential and the felt side of religion. The literalism does have an impact on how communities approach the political process as well. For Protestant unionists there would be an attempt to parse the words and phrases until they are firmly understood, so meaning needs to be locked down before agreement is signed. Whereas, nationalists like John Hume would tend to say we will put this down and discover its meaning as we implement it. For Protestant unionists there would be no stress on implementation until we understand every word. This tension is very much reflective of a theological one. One way of looking at the nationalist approach would be to say that it is creative but another, and the Protestant way, would be to look at it as very untidy and lacking in precision. Principles are very important here and you live your life according to those principles. So, you’re not lazy, you work hard, you’re not profligate and you are thrifty. By living simply in this way you automatically achieve economic and social advance and that is what you are called to. There is also a notion, to use Wesley, of ‘redemption and lift’ where you advance and leave behind what you once were. This has led to those who do well leaving areas they came from. In the Catholic parish system this is different, so if you become a lawyer, or a doctor, or you run your own company, you will retain a connection with the parish and you are expected to invest in the life of the parish. That doesn’t really exist in Protestantism. The relation between social and political perceptions and theological understanding was further expanded by Rev Dr John Finlay: Our Church tends to emphasise democracy, responsibility, individualism and a work ethic. Although this is seen as admirable, it is also a bit defensive and tends to be very insular. Our religion would be very individualistic and the evangelical wing of the Church would stress that individualism before God. Here, every man stands and falls before God. The primary concern in life is to be reconciled with God



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and to be brought into a relationship with Him. Theologically God has come to us in Christ. It’s His death on the Cross that effects our reconciliation to God and through faith in Him we are reconciled and it is a personal relationship that is then worked out in everyday terms. Although there are grey areas theologically, everybody is essentially Calvinist, where predestination is counterbalanced by human responsibility. Some would strongly emphasise predestination whilst others would not. In terms of the Protestant psychology we are more comfortable with bluntness and straightness and people are expected to keep their word and there is a preference for the person to put their cards on the table so others can either buy into it or not. The emphasis on integrity and honesty is also created through the work ethic where fair play and justice are expected. Historically, there has been the perception, because of the political divisions, that Catholics are disloyal to the state because their worldview would be different. That was the logic and it’s a logic which will not move to B until A is sorted out. In her response, Rev Dr Lesley Carroll stressed the significance of negativity in the Protestant outlook and how that negativity tends to emerge from a strong individualistic emphasis: It is difficult in the Protestant/unionist community to think in terms of a long term vision. There is an appreciation that something is to be done but no real consideration of where that will lead us or how it impacts on congregational life. There is a perception that God will look after His own and because we are His own we needn’t worry too much because God will look after everything, whereas Catholics would be out doing things and trying to find some theological basis for what they are doing. There is also a tendency to stress the ‘black’ story because that’s the honest story, so negativity is seen as more honest. This comes I think from our individual dealings with God, where because of this individuality we have to be honest with ourselves which means recognizing how bad we are and how good God is. That is hammered into the Protestant community and is almost genetic. There is also the belief in the Protestant Church that you are out until you decide to come in, whereas in the Catholic Church you are in until you decide to go out, so everybody belongs in Catholicism unless they choose not to and in Protestantism you only belong if you choose to. One of the dominant themes is keeping yourself pure, so you don’t give credence to what you think is wrong. It doesn’t matter if you are dealing with nice people, so Catholics are wrong, the Mass


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is wrong and it’s a matter of purity. Nor can we lead them to believe that they are doing the right thing when they’re not. But Catholicism tends to not acknowledge that there is difference or that it can make people feel outsiders. Catholic sectarianism tends to function by overlooking difference and Protestant sectarianism tends to function by pointing to difference. The net result of that is that Protestants seem to look very bigoted and Catholics look warm, welcoming people. The insularity of much of Protestantism was underlined by Rev Tony Davidson, who explained that although exclusivity tends to inhibit confidence there is a worse fate for those who seek to encourage inclusiveness: Protestantism does find some symbolic unity which comes from confessionalism and the Westminster Confession of Faith, but the detail becomes very important and churches have divided over that detail. There has been a theological war over a particular line of truth. That is an inherent part of our thinking and it manifests itself politically and socially. At another level, Protestants are particularly concerned with individual redemption and the individual’s need to be saved. The freedom associated with this is very important and that is why we fragment. The freedom to think for oneself creates a strong anti-Christian dimension within Protestantism because people make individually motivated choices about where and how they want to worship. For Catholics, it’s more about community choice, where salvation comes from being part of a global entity. Being part of this worldwide tradition gives you a lot of confidence, but for Presbyterians the bigger picture is much less important. If you want to die in Protestantism then talk about unity; psychologically it’s a disaster because all self-respect is lost in the process. The emphasis on difference in Protestantism means that you have to define in what way you are different and this creates exclusivity, fragmentation and division. There is also rigidity in the tradition which shapes perceptions of social standing. If one goes back twenty years the big sin for Catholics was sex, but for Protestants it was always pride, not getting above oneself and knowing one’s place. For Rev Stafford Carson, it is faith in the Word that constrains the communal sense, but this sense is also one that resists authority since



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interpretation of faith (and so the Word) reinforces the individualistic ethos, with conceptualisations of the community envisaged through the personal: If you look at the architecture of a Protestant Church you will find the essence of the tradition, which is the gathered congregation meeting around a central pulpit on which there is an open Bible. The congregation gathers to hear God’s Word. This is the central act of Protestant worship. Protestants in the reform tradition understand worship as fundamentally a dialogue, where there is a conversation going on. If you examine Protestant worship you will find there is a call for us to come and worship God. He calls us and we respond by coming into Church to worship, adore and praise Him for who He is and to listen to His Word as it is read and preached. We then respond back to Him in prayer. So there is a dialogical approach to worship which is centred on the Word, hearing that and responding to it. We believe that each person with the Word of God in their hand and the Spirit of God in their heart is capable of interpreting and understanding the Bible over against say a magisterial approach to Church life, which suggests that as an individual you can’t really understand God’s Word and that you need the priest to interpret it for you. But Protestantism has within it the seeds of its own divisiveness because somebody will hear me preach and say something with some degree of authority but will go home and interpret the Bible for themselves and not agree with me. They may then go off and form their own Church on the basis of that disagreement. In the Westminster Confession of Faith it will describe the relationship between God and man or even human experience in terms of guilt and in a kind of forensic, judicial way, which you might say is a biblical category and that if we don’t keep the rules we are guilty of trespass. But today people think less in terms of guilt and more in terms of alienation, about being left out. These concepts now increasingly shape Protestant understanding. But the Protestant world and life view is much more on the vertical dimension than it is on the horizontal dimension. We understand that the key relationship is with God but have downplayed the horizontal dimension. The imperative is about being right with God, to prepare to meet your God, know that your sins are forgiven and that you are going to heaven when you die. But there is little sense of community in this relationship, it is about the person.


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Going further on how theology is interpreted, Carson continued: In terms of how Protestantism applies biblical theology there is a tendency to study Scripture for raw data and for systematic theology. So people bore down into Scripture on a given topic and interpret it for progressive, organic and redemptive reasons. By progressive you are seeing a movement and it’s organic in that one part is organically related to the other. It then becomes redemptive in working towards a high point which is the person and work of Jesus Christ. So people will ask what does the Bible teach us about x and that comes through researching and digesting and systematizing the teaching of the Bible. It’s about knowing the particular doctrine and how it developed. Clearly this also contributes to magnify the power of Scripture and gives much less credence to the authority of the Church. Rev Dr Ian Hart further confirmed the dominance of individualism and how the personal determines one’s relationship with God, thus overriding Church authority and institutional authority more generally: There is something of a spectrum within our denomination. We would have people on the right who would be committed to a very literal understanding of the Bible, then there would be those on the left whose theology would be universalist and they wouldn’t place the same emphasis on the need for a personal response to God as others would. The Westminster Confession of Faith is one of our subordinate standards and is staunchly Calvinist. But, in our Church, subscription to the Confession, which is required of all ministers and elders, gives a certain degree of flexibility. Now there is an understanding that signing up does not mean that you are committed to every phrase or word, but that broadly you accept the importance of a confession in your faith. The Protestant approach basically says that the individual has to deal with God and not that the Church will relate to God on your behalf, as tends to be the case in Catholicism. This individualism shapes an individualistic approach to life in general, so socially Protestants don’t work together nearly as well as Catholics do and perhaps that is why there is less communal confidence in Protestantism than there is in Catholicism. Adding to the discussion, Rev John A Braithwaite pointed out how language is a marker of one’s religious identity and how nuances in expression reveal a great deal about which ‘community’ one is from:



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On the Protestant side there is probably a tendency to listen for key words in another’s Christian conversation to know whether they are ‘one of us’ or ‘one of them’. So to hear the word ‘saved’ or ‘born again’ for example would be a good indication that you are of Protestant persuasion. The Catholic Church tends to use the term ‘evangelicalization’ whereas Protestants talk about ‘evangelism’, that would be another distinguishing mark and Protestants are more touchy about language than Catholics. There is also a preference in Protestantism for logic. In sermons and preaching they like things to be clear and fairly cut and dried and not just alluding to certain things or illustrating things. They prefer, as many would say, ‘calling a spade a spade’.

Emphasising the diversity of the Church, the Very Rev Alistair Dunlop also went on to talk about how identity is often constructed on the basis of what Presbyterians are not rather than what they are:

Presbyterians would be Calvinist and believe in God’s sovereignty. They would also say that once you are saved you can’t lose it. But there are shades of understanding here as well. So there would be fundamentalist and conservative evangelicals, where the fundamentalist doesn’t pay any attention to scholarship, but a conservative will look at scholarship and ask what can be learnt from it. With fundamentalism there is a tendency that because you believe something nobody can say anything else about it. But our weakness is because we’re so independent we just go off and do our own thing when we don’t agree. There is very much a historical tendency within Presbyterianism that if you don’t like a decision you go on your own. Having said that, Presbyterians and Protestants more generally want to have hope in the sovereignty of God and hope that God knows what He is doing. So although we don’t know where we are going, we trust He does. Contentions have emerged over whether the Bible is the Word of God or contains the Word of God and one leads to a more liberal theology than the other. But divisions have also occurred over styles of worship, forms of government and about grievances which have not been addressed quickly enough. Hardly justifications for separate denominations, but that is what happened. We are very good at telling people what we don’t like and what we don’t believe and what we don’t agree with, but it’s a lot less common to hear what we stand for positively.


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For Rev Ruth Patterson, talking about Presbyterianism in the wider context of Protestantism, the presence of guilt is influential on identity formation: It seems to me on the whole that the Northern Irish Protestant is more contained and restricted within themselves in comparison with Catholics whose spirituality pervades the whole of life and is more relaxed. There also seems to be a more diverse cultural heritage in the Catholic community and more of an identity which is positive about being Irish, whereas the Northern Irish Protestant is often more defensive. I think this may be because underneath all the ancestral stuff there is a sense of communal guilt about having taken what was not theirs. Protestants tend to feel that their identity is going to be swallowed up and that this would show that they didn’t really know who they were in the first place. Catholics also have this sense of belonging to a worldwide Church which Protestants don’t have. So for those who attend Church the sense of belonging is very much connected to a particular congregation. Protestants are very wordy people and that can be used as a protection, because if you cover everything with words then you really don’t have to listen. Yet, as Rev Jack Lamb argued, the negativity which tends to underpin self-image and understanding (where identity is defined by what one is not and how one is different from others) relies on superiority in order to protect from potential feelings of inferiority: The Protestant community has tended to be defined through the words ‘no’ and ‘never’. But when asked what they are for rather than what they are against they often remain stumped. There is also an emphasis on the intellectual and the cerebral. Protestants would be very wary of the visual, statues, candles, stained glass windows and pictures of Jesus. Rather than calling a building a Church we would call it a ‘meeting house’, where there would be no stained glass windows, no images and the bare minimum of symbolism. Yet, even though we do rituals, we feel superior to Catholics because we don’t go round with incense burners and Holy Water. The shaping of social conscience was seen by Rev Dr Russell Birney as inextricably linked to the Protestant imagination and perceived as the basis of political conviction as well:



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Through the many changes in theology by way of liberalism and modernism the emphasis on the Word has remained constant. But this emphasis can also make us appear rigid and dour which is contrasted against a more relaxed Catholicism. There is a real fear of Rome rule and this has been used by unionist politicians over the years who have equated Dublin rule with Rome rule. There is little appetite for cross-community Church work with Catholics because of the lingering sense of triumphalism or superiority that many Protestants would feel in contrast to Catholicism. There is the belief that the Reformation gave us a body of truth which is impregnable and that would be the attitude still shared. There is also the perception that if I give you my word, it’s not a means to an end, it is the end and I will stand over it even if it costs me. Our loyalty is to the Queen and not the British parliament, who we can’t depend on. The idea among many would be that the Crown is safe until a Catholic occupies it and if that does happen then the whole basis of the Union crumbles. For Rev John Dickinson, the exclusivity of Presbyterianism (and indeed Protestantism generally) is sustained by a sense of purity and marginalisation (the marginalisation taken as a sign of purity), and the preference for difference this encourages becomes the justification for isolation and rejection of others. Whereas Catholicism is seen to absorb difference, Protestantism favours rejection and setting apart from those against whose one’s identity is gauged and lived: There is the sense that the Word of God is the inspired truth, that there are no mistakes within it and that if you are looking for authority for your behaviour, or the policies of your Church, or the political structures of your country, then that authority is located in the Word and when you keep close to that Word you are safe. But when you stray from that Word then you are courting danger. Although one must also recognise that people who look at Scripture will come to different conclusions, it is still a willingness that those people are attempting to submit themselves to the authority of the Word and that is important. Protestantism struggles to find its roots beyond the sixteenth century whereas Catholicism has a strong sense of continuity from much earlier. This I think aids the sense of community in Catholicism where there is an attitude of forgiveness which Protestantism lacks. If God reveals Himself in Word and communicates that Word to people then faith becomes more about preserving


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the purity of that Word. Understanding your position in the world revolves around understanding that Word and so it’s not surprising that the Word becomes significant for you. In Catholicism the Word is always within the context of the Church. I think the fundamentalist approach to the way full stops, commas and particular words are used comes to an extent from this approach. Churches also reflect the need to stay in the same place theologically and not to move out of that place, which plays into a defensive psychology. Moreover, if the big deal is propositional truth then most discussion will be conducted on that level, but we also have the problem that if propositional truth was established in 1560 why is it not the same today? The propositional stance creates barriers and difficulties which makes movement and compromise especially difficult. This corresponds with an inherent suspicion of authority, where, if you give someone enough authority, they will definitely go wrong. What can be discerned here is that there is a certain consistency and continuum within Presbyterianism where change amounts to deviation, which creates instability and therefore brings into question one’s conviction as a Presbyterian. As the self-reflection and criticisms here also show the Presbyterian Church has a number of clergy who are perhaps more representative of the intellectual tradition than the evangelical impulse. They elaborate consistently and in some detail the need to understand the limitations and strengths of identity formation and importantly how this identity continues to have strong social and political implications. They articulate, to put it another way, that there is a real association between religious beliefs and one’s sociopolitical convictions. But these comments compare somewhat with the Free Presbyterian, Reformed Presbyterian and Evangelical Presbyterian churches that now follow, which reflect the extent of the fundamentalist/liberal divide.

The Free Presbyterianism Church Formed in 1951 and consisting of some sixty congregations today, the Free Presbyterian Church (FBC) stresses its key principles as being fundamental in doctrine, evangelical in outreach, sanctified in behaviour, Presbyterian in government, Protestant in conviction and separatist in practice. Originating as a group who protested at being denied access



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from the Down presbytery for a Gospel mission, the FBC (whose slogan is ‘The Scriptures Only’) has become particularly known for its founder and moderator of fifty-seven years (as well as former Assembly First Minister), Rev Dr Ian Paisley, and reflects the Puritan ethic in its most severe form in Northern Ireland. Free in the sense that it will have no association with liberalism or ecumenism, the FBC has historically drawn from ‘the banding together of faith Protestants to resist the papal dominance in the political community’ (Mac Iver 1987: 361). Adherence to this position is maintained by ‘the same static method of interpretation’ of history and the Bible, and commitment to the 1643 Westminster Confession of Faith, containing some thirty-nine articles which set out legal, moral and religious aspects of subscription to the Church of England at that time (ibid.: 363). Traditionally, the FBC crystallised the struggle against the Catholic Church, with Catholicism seen as part of a political project to bring about Irish unity. This struggle, for Free Presbyterians, was not merely about doctrinal and moral purity, but fighting to preserve Ulster and Protestantism generally (Moloney 2008: 12). And throughout most of Paisley’s tenure as moderator there was a constant message being voiced about the need to be vigilant against any attempt to weaken the Protestant nation (Mac Iver 1987: 373). The effect of this message relied on a convergence of religious and political nationalism (Mitchel 2003: 204) making politics and religion inseparable. Such rhetoric, as Brewer points out, ‘offers continuity with tradition’, with an emphasis on ‘no surrender’ shaping a perception ‘that resolves the ontological anxiety of Protestants who see the Janus connection between their Britishness and Protestantism being prised apart by Irishness and Catholicism’ (Brewer 1998: 111). Identity constructed through this viewpoint relies on what Wright calls ‘autonomy of ideology’ (Wright 1973: 218), where articulations are made dependent on ‘a highly developed preoccupation with the presence of that other group’ (Wright 1973: 218), which stands in contrast to the extremes of religious Protestantism and the demand for separatism. Depicting Catholicism as the enemy of Protestantism also means that any potential moderation towards that enemy effectively undermines separatist ideals and any concomitant belief about moral superiority. Associations made with Catholicism and the Provisional Irish Republican Army campaign played into arguments about attempts to overthrow Protestantism (Cooke 1996: 59), with political dialogue seen as evidence of dangerous liberalism (note that although this outlook was to all intents and purposes contradicted by Paisley when he led the


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DUP (Democratic Unionist Party) into Stormont, it was this moderation which also led to Paisley’s expulsion as moderator). For Paisley, the struggle against Catholicism was ‘divinely inspired and directed’ and ‘all part of God’s battle against apostasy’ (ibid.: 93), and it was this characteristic method of constructing identity as a way of life being threatened that led to the FBC not only articulating an anti-Catholic rhetoric, but also an anti-liberal Protestant rhetoric, with the dangers and threats to Protestantism as much internal as external. As Jordan observes, this fundamentalist emphasis emerges from a strong sense of ‘oppositionalism’ (Jordan 2001: 20), where a conservative community is represented as under constant threat from those both inside and outside its imagined borders. And, as Mitchel notes, Paisley’s politico-religious success came from a state of ‘intense apocalypticism, combined with fundamentalist militancy, a pessimistic sense of impending doom, and fear of imminent betrayal’, which ‘served to legitimate and sustain his political goal of “saving” Ulster from the clutches of satanic Romanism’ (Mitchel 2006: 221). Such resistance to compromise could be seen in Paisley’s rejection of the 1998 Good Friday Agreement, where he characterised unionist parties involved in the talks as those ‘who would tolerate Dublin’s involvement in our affairs’ and saw the Agreement as ‘a vindication of terrorism’ which gave ‘a two-fingered salute to the democratic community of Northern Ireland’ (Paisley 1999: 1278, 1318). Referring to nationalists as ‘a dark conspiracy’, Paisley saw the Agreement as little more than a ploy ‘hatched against unionists by a great consistent movement of pan-nationalism, which embraces within it gains made at the expense of law and order, while undermining the democratic process that feeds an unjustifiable hatred of all that is British in its expression of identity and claim of loyalty in Ulster within the Union’ (ibid.: 1295). Ironically, this very Agreement formed the basis of political accommodation with nationalists which Paisley and the DUP accepted in 2007. But although this new-found reflexivity and pragmatism signified changes which ended the fusion of religious and political nationalism (Southern 2005), what we now know is that it also ended Paisley’s position as head of the FBC, which retreated to the sanctified world of theological and religious separatism in order to maintain fundamentalist principles and resist the threat of change (Spencer 2009). Emphasising the key Free Presbyterian principles of being Protestant in conviction and separatist in practice, Rev Ralph Hall also highlighted how biblical understanding influences social outlook and how literalism informs one’s relations with Scripture:



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Protestant in conviction would be a personal union with Christ by faith alone, being the basis of salvation with God. Separatist in principle basically refers to an open system that accepts everything and everybody without any kind of boundary or principles involved, or, a closed system which accepts nobody apart from your own fellowship. I see a separatist as being within the two, a close fellowship being able to reach out to those who hold the main core fundamental beliefs as we do as a denomination, whilst on the same footing rejecting and seeking to reprove those aiming to take a contrary stand or perhaps lacking in fundamental issues. The Bible is our absolute truth and it shapes how we deal with society and how we function in society and our reactions to change. There are certain things that we would never change, which puts us out of step with modern thinking. We take a literalist approach to Scripture. Some would look at some of the miracles or the readings of Scripture and see it as allegorical, but we believe it to be a literalist book, which, if it says it happened, then it happened. No question about it. Supporting this view and elaborating on it, Rev Dr John Douglas explained: The Westminster Confession of Faith outlines our doctrinal position. The values are pretty well fixed and in terms of the backbone theology and the entire inspiration of Scripture in its original form, the Church is absolutely rigid on that. Being separatist in practice means that in relation to the ecumenical movement, and all the influences that go along with it, we would be in opposition in the strongest possible way. We stand aloof from the ecumenical movement and everything loosely associated with it. The importance of separatism was strongly advocated by Rev Ivan Foster, who was keen to impress the need to remain distanced from Catholic influence: We are adamant in our rejection of the modern concept of ecumenicalism, that’s what brought us into being, a rejection of ecumenicalism. In the worshipping of God you must be careful not to countenance anything that is contrary to what He has revealed both about Himself and how He is to be worshipped. I can’t enter into a fellowship and spiritual communion with somebody who holds a view of God that is contrary to the Bible.


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The static nature of Free Presbyterianism serves to reassure its followers and certainty derives from restating established positions, as Rev John Greer intimated: What we believe is founded on and agreeable to the Word of God. My own conviction is that God’s Word is inspired and given by the Holy Spirit and so infallible. The Bible has the basic role of faith in practice, but is also connected for us to the work of Puritans such as Thomas Cranmore, C.H. Spurgeon and the reformers. The Bible states and declares that God is eternal, unchanging and unchangeable. It is the Word of God which I focus on and preach and in a world of uncertainty it is good to have that rock. The unchangeable nature of belief was also stressed as central by Rev Thomas Murray, who commented: We would take the Bible as our only infallible rule of faith in practice and we always go back to the Bible as the Word of God. Presbyterianism in government simply means that the Church elects its officers and the congregation elect their officers. The elders are elected for life and they have the sole responsibility of the spiritual aspect of the Church in regard to discipline. The elders of all our churches come together and they form the presbytery which is the top governing body. Presbyterianism, if it is administered properly, has one standard of faith and it is the presbytery’s job to make sure that every Church holds to the fundamentals. The wages of sin is death and because of our sin we are under the judgement of God and without salvation our souls will be damned, lost for eternity. Rev Alan Smylie again reiterated the importance of literal interpretation, pointing towards the belief that only through a clear commitment to perceived truth can one find a path to salvation: The inerrant, inspired and infallible Word of God would be the starting point. We believe in the verbal inspiration of Scripture and we adhere to that. In the main tenets of Scripture there would be no digression or deviation. We believe there are certainties but it’s not a bondage or legalistic. We believe that we have liberty in Christ and that the truth shall make you free. So we believe there is freedom in Christ and we preach that whilst holding to the Word of God. We hold to the Reformed faith and adherence to Scripture. We are



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separate from any of the modern trends and movements that deviate from the plain teaching of Scripture. It’s only in Christ alone that we are justified, not by our own efforts or works, but by what Christ has done. We believe that people are sinners by nature and that Christ does not make you sinless, but changes your life and transforms you into a new person. The need for separation, which supports a sense of superiority through certainty (although this certainty relies on separation to remain convincing), was similarly voiced by Rev David McIlveen: The old historic principles of the Reformation are deeply embedded within the teaching of Scripture. The challenge that salvation is not of works but of grace, that the blood of Christ alone can be the very means of cleansing the sinner from their sin, is the basis by which we present the message of the Gospel. The simple preaching of God’s Word is important because then people can understand it very clearly. Hope is also important, showing that foundations are unmovable and that we have the authority of God’s Word as the main pivotal point in our ministry. We are very direct with people and we say if it is not in the Bible then don’t believe what we are saying. As Protestants we protest against anything that is contrary to God’s Word and when we speak of separation we mean in our worship and biblical teaching. We believe that God tells us in His Word ‘Do come out from among them and be ye separate’. We would also be sensitive to covenant theology, which is where the covenant of God is made between Himself and His son and because we are found in Him and represented in Him, so the convent and its blessings are ours. The similarity of these comments reflects a fundamentalist outlook, where movement from established positions is seen as tantamount to weakness and lack of conviction. The consistency of the responses is also indicative of a resistance to liberalism, which is perceived as unable to address the questions of human sin and depravity that need to be confronted. The fundamentalist emphasis is made particularly apparent by the need to adhere to firmly entrenched views on truth (where by association other interpretations are less truthful), but is made especially pronounced by the way the Church defines itself against others and particularly Catholicism. The social impact of the FBC has been made stronger by the presence of its long-term charismatic moderator Rev Dr Ian Paisley, but even here Paisley’s removal as moderator


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came about because of a move away from fundamental truth as he was drawn to the realities of political compromise (and compromise in any sense is a move away from truth). What is notable here is that the certainty of truth must be forever vigilant against the threat of influence which might bring into question the validity of that truth. Because of this, certainty is permanently fragile and actually lacking in confidence because if one is confident in one’s position and identity then one will be prepared to dialogue with others who disagree. By not doing so (and remaining separatist in practice), Free Presbyterianism is able to maintain legitimacy in the eyes of its followers and insist it represents truth more than other denominations.

The Reformed Presbyterian Church The Reformed Presbyterian Church (RPC), which was constituted in 1763, also takes a fundamentalist position with regard to religious conviction. It adheres to the WCF and uses this commitment to establish its key doctrinal position. Outlining fundamental principles in the handbook Testimony, the RPC states how essentially its outlook is ‘not different from those held by many reformed and evangelical churches. Such differences, as they are, lie in the application and implementation of these truths and particularly in the prominence which Reformed Presbyterians give to the kinship of Christ. The Covenanter banner, which bears the inscription “For Christ’s Crown and Covenant,” expresses the desire of the Reformed Presbyterian Church to proclaim and submit to Christ as King – to say in all things “Jesus is Lord” ’ (Testimony 1990: 5). In its structure the RPC stresses three aspects of organisation which it calls: Prelacy, Independency and Presbyterianism. The first of these elements makes a clear distinction between clergy and laity, the second holds to the importance of autonomy between congregations and the third follows the traditional pattern of hierarchy and order in Presbyterianism which stresses the need for courts that operate at various levels throughout the Church (ibid.: 44). Emphasising its theological positions as being apostolic (rejecting the Catholic Church’s right to act as successor to the Apostles), Protestant, Calvinist and evangelical, the RPC consists of some thirty-two congregations in Northern Ireland and particularly strives to distance itself from humanism, communism, Islam and Roman Catholicism. Explaining the main aims and purpose of the Church, Rev David McKay commented:



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We believe ultimately there is one truth. We believe in Scripture. We have God’s revelation of truth, rather than the fruit of human search and discovery. We have authorised speech from God about Himself, about the world and about understanding of it. Every human is obviously to be tested by the standard. So we don’t believe in a kind of post-modern wilderness, where everything is interpretation and that your interpretation is just as valid as mine. We believe that there is such a thing as truth and we seek as faithful an understanding of the Bible as possible. We believe that God is sovereign and that salvation is ultimately God’s work and that we are dead in sins until we are made alive by a miraculous working of God. The Word is central and there is always a desire for clarity, for truth on issues. Our folk become a little uncomfortable when it starts to become a bit woolly and mystical because that is not part of our outlook. The centrality of Scripture and its relationship to purity were reinforced by Rev David Silversides: We believe in the authority of Scripture alone – the salvation is by Christ alone, through faith alone and by grace alone. We hold to the descending obligation of the covenants, that is, the Solemn League and Covenant which binds England, Scotland and Ireland to acknowledge Christ’s kingship over the nation. Initially, all Presbyterians believed that. Every Presbyterian minister had to sign the SLC but in the process of time the Presbyterian Church moved away from that position and that is when the Reformed Presbyterian Church formed, at the time of descending division over the covenant. Later, the Presbyterian Church departed from its initial position on worship and began to sing hymns and use organs, whereas we sing only the psalms without accompaniment. So there has been a progression of divergence. The covenanter position is the high watermark of acknowledging Christ as King of the nation and from there we have declined. That is the high biblical ground to which we are duty bound to return. Having once bound the nation to these principles of Christ as King, the Bible as the final authority is how the national should be run. The issue of scriptural principle is always an issue of purity. We believe that only what God sanctions in Scripture should be allowed in the worship of God. Whereas Luther held what is called the ‘normative principle’ – that whatever Scripture condemns is


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forbidden in worship – we hold to Calvin and Knox, namely the ‘regulative principle’, which is whatever Scripture does not sanction or warrant is excluded from the worship of God. Given that the New Testament makes no mention of instrumental music we would say that there is no biblical warrant for using it in worship. Fundamentally it is a question of authority, that true Protestants believe in the authority of the Bible and where the Bible is clear they are willing to be clear, but when the Bible does not answer a question they are prepared to leave it unanswered. The rigidity of this position found common expression across all respondents and is further exemplified by Rev Knox Hyndman: We come to know God through Jesus Christ so we are saved by coming to a relationship with Him, by grace, through faith and Christ alone. Interpretation is fixed in terms of the revelation which God has given us through His Word and that can’t really change. It isn’t subject to man’s interpretation, so it isn’t subject to cultural distinctions or differences in the time in which we are living. Scripture is fixed and unchangeable. I have to be faithful to the Word. The context in which God was speaking to the men whom he was inspiring to write Scripture was always changing, sometimes war, sometimes peace, sometimes famine, sometimes poverty, but the Word itself was unchanging. I have to preach the truth which has been revealed to us in the Word but I have to apply that truth to the particular circumstances in which we find ourselves. Worship is extremely simple. It’s made up of singing, praying, reading and giving, where you bring your offering. There’s nothing else outside of that, no singing solo, no band performing, no drama taking place, it’s very simple. The Church is in the world as a prophetic voice, basically saying this is wrong and that is right. We encourage you on that and warn you what is contrary to God’s Word. The unchanged nature of values and key principles is what gives the Church meaning and security. To demonstrate this once more Rev Robert McCollum explained: We subscribe wholeheartedly, universally and without reservation to the Westminster Confession of Faith. We are not free to innovate with regard to worship which must come from His Word and so we worship as He has ordained, as He has set before us in Scripture. That is called the ‘regulated principle of worship’ and many Reformed



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Christians would subscribe to that. God has authorised the Book of Psalms to be used in His praise, with the unaided human voice, so that would be something that would be distinct. We wouldn’t regard that as a tradition but as a biblical practice. We take a literal interpretation but there are books which we interpret differently. There are poetic books which we have to recognise are based on metaphors and symbols and in that sense it is poetic imagery which is used. This requires a different form of interpretation. Then there is literal interpretation with regard to say Genesis and Creation. To a certain extent we are unchanged in that we adhere to a document which was published in 1647 [Westminster Confession of Faith]. The documents haven’t changed because God is an unchanging God, so therefore core values and doctrines do not change either even though the application of the Word of God changes because society changes and we have to be imaginative in how we apply it. The centrality of the Word is something that you will find in all our congregations and particularly in respect to the layout of the buildings. The pulpit is in the centre over the communion table and the Word then forms a very central part of the worship in that Scripture is probably read twice, psalms that are part of Scripture are sung and the message is preached. There is a strong emphasis on men and women being of their word and that a man’s word is taken as his bond. We are sometimes known as the covenanter Church simply because we adhere to the covenants that Charles II declared as illegal.

The Evangelical Presbyterian Church Formed in 1927 following secession from the Presbyterian Church because of resistance to liberalist teaching that was seen to deviate from core principles and which went unpunished in the dispute that followed, the EPC, like the Free Presbyterian and Reformed Presbyterian churches, adopts a fundamentalist stance in relation to Scripture and the biblical message, adhering to the WCF. The EPC is the smallest of the Presbyterian churches in Northern Ireland amounting to some nine congregations, and, like both the Free Presbyterian and Reformed Presbyterian churches, the EPC adheres to a strong Calvinistic emphasis, where man is seen as inherently sinful, worthy of God’s wrath and will face eternal damnation and punishment if this sin is not confronted through Jesus Christ. Although as with the Free Presbyterian and Reformed Presbyterian churches there is a commitment to the WCF, the reading of the WCF is interpreted in its most acute form,


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confirming the fundamentalist line and reinforcing the overwhelmingly negative view of man. Only through new-birth and being born again does man have an opportunity to address his unworthiness, although this struggle is without end therefore making the condemnatory understanding of man’s nature a permanent reference point to the worldview. Rev Robert Beckett elaborated on the importance of the Bible for his Church and the importance of clarity as the basis of faith: Our Church would be very firmly committed to the Bible as the infallible Word of God, not only as a theoretical basis, but as a practical working document for how people should live their lives in relation to society. People in my area call a spade a spade and, in particular, farming people are noted for being very straight, very honest and just saying it how it is. People tend to like things either black or white. They would be inclined to say don’t make me think about it or beat around the bush, just tell me the way it is. But then the exposition of the Bible is very similar, very straight. Protestantism would not be united as a community however, tending to be very factional. I believe that the Calvinistic interpretation of the Bible is correct and my own method of preaching is consecutive expository preaching. In my denomination we would very strongly emphasize the centrality of preaching, which was one of the hallmarks of the Reformation; a return to preaching the Word of God. Pointing out how difference between the Evangelical and Reformed Church may be as minimal as the former singing psalms and hymns whilst the latter would be inclined to sing psalms only, Rev Jeff Ballantine went on: We emphasize the Gospel of our Lord and Saviour Jesus. We are Presbyterian in government so we don’t act as an independent Church, we join together to govern the entire body of God’s people and elders from other churches can help in this. Because we are Evangelical Presbyterian we don’t have liberals or modernists within the denomination. We were part of the mainline Presbyterian Church up until about seventy-five years ago when there was a heresy trial where certain views about Scripture amounted to a denial of miracles and the belief that Scripture contained errors, which was vindicated by many Presbyterians but which we could not agree with and so we came to stand apart, leading to the congregations we have today.



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Whereas the Reformed Presbyterians sing only psalms, we would sing psalms and hymns. We believe that some of the Roman Catholic beliefs are contrary to Scripture and especially that one can draw near to God not only through Christ, but Mary and through Saints. Also the continual offering of Christ in the Mass is something we would see as a contradiction of Scripture. We believe in the regulative principle where the Word of God regulates how we are to worship Him. God is so holy that He says all our righteousness amounts to is a filthy rag. The Gospel never changes and the Word of God never changes, only our situations and the applications of it change. Rev Samuel Watson indicated some potential nuance in scriptural interpretation, but also explained how literal meaning informs faith and how deviation from that fundamental position is seen as the path to dilution of conviction and understanding: Scripture varies. Some aspects have to be taken literally and are historical, other parts, for example Revelation, are symbolic and have to be interpreted accordingly, but we would take the Gospels to be literally true and would follow them on that basis. Self-righteousness is one of the greatest sins in the Protestant Church and we would guard against that. But we would not care for watering down our faith or deny basic fundamentals in order to come to a low common denominator with other churches. Rev Gareth Burke saw the presence of liberalism as the main threat to the legitimacy of fundamental positions and as with the other smaller Presbyterian churches emphasised the importance of separation from flexibility and compromise (note such flexibility rather than being seen as an adaptive strength is perceived as a relinquishment of commitment and so a diminution of principles): We have a strong commitment to the good news of salvation. That Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners and that man is born alienated from God, where, to be reconciled to God he needs to have a living relationship with Jesus Christ. So we are committed to Scripture and the pure Gospel. It would be our conviction that Calvin rediscovered biblical truth and what was in the Word in terms of election, predestination and so on. We also recognize that within Scripture there are a range of literary genres and in interpreting Scripture one has to bear that in mind. So the way one approaches the


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Book of Psalms as poetry or song is different from the way one’s going to approach Paul’s Epistle to the Romans. To be reformed is to be committed to the doctrines that were discovered at the time of the Reformation by Luther and then formulated by Calvin. The marks of the Reformed Church would be as defined by Calvin – the centrality of the preaching of the Word, the faithful administration of the sacraments, the faithful exercise of Church discipline. We would also be committed to the doctrine of election and predestination. We would assert that man is dead in sin and unless God is quickening him by His Holy Spirit, he cannot reach out to God. We are not necessarily locked into the Church as they were in Calvin’s time and we recognise the society we are in, but you cannot compromise the truth. You can only adapt your approach to where people are at. Our deep-seated concern is that any form of change will inevitably lead to some kind of liberalising, so it would be resisted.

The Non-Subscribing Presbyterian Church Having foundations to the first non-subscribing presbytery of 1725, the Non-Subscribing Presbyterian Church is the most liberal of the Presbyterian churches in Northern Ireland, having broken from the Presbyterian Church under the guidance of Dr Henry Montgomery who rejected the dogma of the WCF and formed the first non-subscribing Remonstrant Synod of Ulster in the 1820s. The point of contention with the Westminster Confession was its insistence on creeds and its staunchly Calvinistic outlook, which Montgomery saw as lacking in empathy or love. Adhering to an ethos of ‘faith guided by reason and conscience’, the NSPC believes that the teachings of Christ should take precedent over doctrines which are determined at a later date. Although the Church stresses the need for unity, it envisages that unity as universal standards of duty and responsibility towards the Ten Commandments and stipulates the need to ‘Love your neighbour as yourself’. It is this liberalism which (in reverse to the churches that stress fundamentalism) also creates tensions when the Church seeks to establish certainty and direction, since the emphasis on toleration, for some in the Church, has led to a situation where it is extremely difficult to develop a clear and purposeful direction. An inclination to believe that all views are important creates a problem of distinction and qualitative differentiation which makes it difficult for the Church to move, and a number of its representatives see that the strength of the Church (its liberalism) is also, to an extent, its weakness.



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Rev Nigel Playfair summarised this history of the Church and the liberal emphasis as follows: Non-subscribing, for us, means that we do not subscribe to creeds. Because of that, we would see ourselves as a liberal Church and there would be a wide range of theological and political views within the denomination. The key historical moment was the Synod of Ulster in the 1700s where there was an attempt to impose subscription to the Westminster Confession of Faith, which was highly Calvinist. Rejection of this was formed on the basis that subscription to Christian creeds restricted unity and that love was more important than correct belief. Because of a refusal to subscribe to the WCF some were thrown out of the Synod of Ulster and that is where the non-subscribing idea originates from. In the Presbyterian Church there are doctrinal standards but in the Non-Subscribing Church you cannot have a doctrinal standard and this is where the tensions come in. The big fissure is the idea of the Trinity and of Unitarianism. Non-Subscribers for most of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries would have rejected the doctrine of the Trinity. Problems have really arisen between recognizing Scripture and the Bible as the Word of God and how that has been used for man-made creeds. Creeds could not intervene here and that is where you have tensions around the idea of reading the Bible according to your own conscience, which of course can be interpreted in a million ways. The problem of distinction between man-made creeds and the Word of God was known by the Non-Subscribers in the eighteenth century, but now it’s harder to draw that distinction because many Protestants would say that the Word of God is manmade. As far as the structure of the Church is concerned theoretically it’s a Presbyterian Church denomination where each congregation sends representatives, ministers and elders to the presbytery and the Synod and these are called ‘Courts’ which decide on spiritual matters. But, there is also a sense that each individual and each congregation can have their own theological ethos. In that sense, it is more or less a congregational polity. But the Non-Subscribers were very much of the mind, like Protestants generally, that they would have greater religious liberty and civil freedom than they would have been allowed with a resurgent Catholicism. One of the difficulties with the NonSubscribing position is that you cannot say, apart from in very broad terms, what the Church stands for. It’s the idea of the sacredness of individual conscience which is difficult to reflect organisationally. One of the weaknesses of this Church within Northern Ireland is that


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you cannot take a position on anything. Part of our constitution is that every congregation has the right to have a minister according to its own views. Reflecting on the Protestant tendency towards literalism, Playfair continued: The story that is told is of the plain Protestant word. There are two aspects to this. One is the Word of God, that Protestants somehow grew up reading the Bible as the Word of God and that there was a plain, clear and distinct sense of that, one of the implications of which is that you can trust people because of it. And the second aspect is that you cannot trust Catholics. That Protestants are people of the Word is not a long away from saying that Protestants are always clean and tidy, whereas Catholics are dirty and smelly. That is the implication it seems. Of course, the idea that there is this plain sense of the Word is meaningless when compared against events on the ground which constantly change. It’s more a convenient identity construct. It’s more about Protestants being people of the Word in comparison to Catholics, who are devious and that if you turn your back on them they will destroy you. That is the siege mentality of the Protestant imagination. That siege mentality is also concerned with the traitor within, who is hated more than the traitor without, the Lundy who is behind you. Along with this there is a distrust of those who read books because they can change their mind. Although this is now starting to thaw, traditionally anyone who had a new idea would have been called a Lundy because he was the one who was breaking the ranks and the ranks had to be held. Providing his assessment of the liberalist strand that underpins the NonSubscribing tradition, Rev William McMillan argued: There is no backbone in liberal Protestantism and that is a danger to those like the Non-Subscribing Church. Also, I think many would find liberal faith cold, whereas there is greater heat in fundamentalist approaches. There is a weakness in liberalism that we must accept that the other person might be right and when we try to condemn the fundamentalists many will say that should not happen because the liberal should live and let live, disagree without being disagreeable. That’s why I think liberals have failed and why fundamentalists are winning. They do not face demands of the questioning mind, but



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the acceptance of dogma. There is a tendency within Protestantism to insist that it is the right of every individual to interpret the Scripture according to the dictates of his conscience. But the idea of going back to the Word is pure fundamentalism. The problem has always been whether the Word is interpreted literally or not. Non-Subscribing Presbyterians would say that while the Bible is important, it is a series of books which have to be critically examined. They would never have given the Bible the same authority as it is given by the majority of Presbyterians, who would not openly criticise Scripture because it would be seen as tantamount to heresy. Pointing out how movement and reaching a firm decision about the Church’s purpose are often obstructed by the desire to preserve liberalism, McMillan went on: In theory we are a Presbyterian denomination, but, in practice, we are actually a collection of congregations. But one of the problems with us is that there is no sense of movement. You would look in vain at the records of our Synod and presbytery to see any discussion of moral issues of the day and there is next to nothing on political or cultural issues. In that sense we are ossified and in a time capsule. There is a tendency for many conservative Presbyterian ministers to see people outside the Church as not part of their community, and although they’re locked together as Protestants, there is nothing to connect them at all, with no sense of communal belonging as there is with the Catholic Church. The community is the community of the ‘born again’ and if you’re outside that, even though you’re born into a broad so called ‘Protestant community’, you are seen in ways you will not find in the Catholic community. Offering this overview of the Church, Rev David Steers elaborated: The Non-Subscribers did not believe that subscription should be enforced to any man-made documents. They believed in the Bible as the sole rule of faith and practice and were opposed to the Westminster Confession which became standard reform doctrine. Ours is a small Church, about thirty congregations, but it represents a liberal strand of thinking within Presbyterianism in Ireland. Generally, we would be in favour of ecumenical co-operation and would liaise very closely with the neighbouring clergy of all denominations. We believe that the Bible is the only thing that matters and do not


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believe in subscribing to man-made formulas. Protestants have this desire to tie up as precise a meaning as possible, which Catholics don’t really bother about. Within Catholicism there is a lot of space for ambiguity and not trying to seal things up in the form words. But, Non-Subscribers would be less like many other Protestants in arguing that you can’t tie things up and it’s best not to try otherwise you end up enforcing and imposing things on people’s conscience and that leads to oppression. The whole point of Protestantism on one level is communicating the Gospel. The centre of almost any Protestant service is preaching and that is about communication, getting your message across in a simple and direct way. But, Rev Dr John Nelson, like other respondents, particularly stressed the Protestant need for clarity: Most of the Protestant denominations like things very precise and very detailed. They like assurance and knowing what something says – this is how it is and this is where we stand. That line of thought permeates the theology as well as the social outlook. The theology is basically the belief that we have it the right way, whereas others, and particularly Catholics are ‘fundamentally in error’, that is the phrase one hears. The political dimension of that is that there are other communities which you do not trust. Protestants tend to like things neat and tidy and that is often associated with living. There is also this notion of the ‘narrow ground’ where the Ulster Protestant is never so happy as when he’s inside the walls and the gates are closed and the siege has begun, because then you have that crisp clarity where we are here and they are there. Inside the walls raises all sorts of religious and theological connotations. It’s about the chosen people within walls, which can literally be the New Jerusalem. It’s the siege mentality and that comes from feeling that we are under constant threat, where if you ever take your eye off the situation, you’ll be swept into the sea. Certainly with Protestants everything is levelled against Scripture, but when something is perceived as being contrary to Scripture then this is seen as having social rather than scriptural implications. For Rev Chris Hudson, the emphasis on a less forgiving stance within Protestantism in general highlights distinctions not only at a religious level, but impacts on social acceptance or not of political change: We are the people who preached historically that nobody has a right to tell you how to interpret Scripture or what sort of relationship you



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should have with God. You determine that yourself. Once you accept the Bible as the Word of God you make your significant interpretation of that. As a denomination we tend to be obsessed with history and we rarely talk about the present or the future. Ulster Protestants like to know how everything works, whereas with the Catholic side, to some extent, it’s a more poetic view of life and about living out the drama of life. Nationalists might think they are in a three act play with two more acts to come, whereas Protestants would see it as a one act play and that would be about the Union being safe. Catholicism is a forgiving religion whereas Protestantism is a religion that believes the application of law and that you must be punished for your crimes. That’s why it’s very hard for Protestants to buy into the fact that people were released from prison when they had not completed their sentence under the terms of the Good Friday Agreement. Catholics were far more accepting of this. Similarity and variance pervade the Presbyterian imagination, as the interview comments from the four churches above demonstrate. In a sense, the comments of the respondents confirm Mitchel’s reference to open and closed conceptualisations of faith and practice. Interestingly, the more open sections within Presbyterianism show an inclination to reflect critically on how faith and theology impact on society and politics. But the more closed or fundamentalist churches tend to view the world through rigid parameters of interpretation which find support by resisting engagement with any demand for reflexive approaches to the concerns and complexities of social life. Life, for these churches must be pulled within the boundaries of religious conviction, which itself must not truck with the whims of cultural taste and desire. Indeed, for the fundamentalist churches social life is a contamination which must be confronted by what the churches propose. In contrast, the liberal strand of Presbyterianism appears to face the opposite problem, which is a failure to offer certainty and security in a social world increasingly subject to instability and insecurity. These differences are not confined to the Presbyterian churches however, but can be seen to function with varying levels of influence in other Protestant churches such the Church of Ireland and the Methodists.

The Church of Ireland The Church of Ireland adheres to the Anglican tradition and emphasises historical continuity as the basis of faith and practice. That historical influence prioritises a commitment to Scripture, reason and


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tradition (Avis 2000: 25) and contains each within wider processes of evangelicalism, Catholicism and liberalism. Seeking to promote a liberal ethos which accommodates territorial differences and social diversity, Anglicanism finds commonality with the Catholic search for inclusiveness and holding differences within the structures and mechanisms of Church life. Anglicanism has also maintained a pre-Reformation tradition for constitutionalism (reinforcing relations between Church and state), representation (allowing congregations to take part in the sacraments of Church life) and consent (facilitating the means for laity to interpret Scripture by using vernacular exposition (ibid.: 26)), as well as shaping conceptualisations of national meaning and belonging. The Catholic inclinations of the Church are derived from an emphasis on universal and inclusive appeal and based on similar intentions of leadership and ecclesiological purpose (Turnbull 2007: 7). But comprehensive understanding of Anglicanism also requires taking into account the communication of core doctrinal and confessional standards through the Thirty-Nine Articles (statements of faith, intent and practice), homogeneity, the unity of belonging, common prayer and governance of the Church through canon law and synod, which was the cumulative impact of giving the Church a diocese rather than parish function (ibid.: 2–3). The existence of continuity and discontinuity within Anglicanism is essentially a product of the tension between Catholic authority and the Reformation, with movement between these two forces a reflection of preference towards Church control or individual conscience and interpretation (ibid.: 10–11). This struggle is also conditioned by biblical criticism and the emergence of a strong liberal tradition that arose from the Enlightenment and brought with it the growth of theological scholarship (ibid.: 30). But, Catholic influence and liberal thought, though integral to Anglican definition, should not be used, as Turnbull notes, ‘to detach the Church from every identity and its locus of authority residing in Scripture and Scripture alone’ (ibid.: 45). Catholic influence may exist in relation to intentions of unity, structure and sacramental symbolism, but engagement with theology relies solidly on principles established by the Reformation (Wand 1961: 47). And, although there is a balancing of the evangelical impulse with the Catholic impulse, with Anglicans generally showing a preference for one or the other (ibid.: 49), each is managed by an overarching Protestant liberalism which is representative of individual conscience and toleration. The differences can be further seen by an evangelical emphasis on faith, conversion and atonement compared to a Catholic emphasis on ‘grace, authority and incarnation’ (ibid.: 50).



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Historically, the emergence of the Anglican Church coincided with the rise of the nation state and nationhood (Avis 2001: 13), making the presence of Anglicanism an important touchstone for national meaning and rooting Christian belief in the context of the political and the social. Here, faith became an extension of national identity with the individual perceived in relation to the state and the state inextricably linked to the realisation of spiritual growth and human worth. Significantly, as Avis points out, the ethos of a national Church embraced a series of roles which impacted on the state through moral purpose: A national church understands that its mission is to the whole nation, to the whole population considered as a great community (or a community of communities). It is committed to providing its ministry of word, sacrament and pastoral care to every section of the population. It has a close and sympathetic relationship to national culture and, more locally, to regional expressions of that culture. It has a chaplaincy role to national institutions, such as schools and colleges, municipal corporations, the armed services, hospitals and penal institutions. It expects to make its contribution to the articulation of public doctrine, particularly in social and educational policy and to the principles of wide acceptation that underlie it. It aims to project its message, its values and its presence at every level of national life. (Avis 2001: 15–16) For Anglicans then, Christian responsibility has been traditionally linked with state responsibilities and the life of its citizens is conceptualised within the parameters of both religious and national concerns. It is through this intersection that the Church acquires and creates national purpose and it is here, as Avis reminds us, that the Church ‘has a structural, constitutional place and role, recognised and committed to it by the state, in national life’ (ibid.: 25). The state, in this context, is seen not in terms of governmental ideology and power but as ‘a divine institution’ which is effected by good and bad motivations (for social good or party political and business interests). Those good and bad motivations arise from the uncertainties and sinful inclinations of the personal which the state is always above. In turn, the state is an embodiment of Church life and aspiration; a place of demonstrable religious conviction and the struggle against sinful man. It is a place where the individual exists to benefit the social and where man can go beyond individual greed and desire for the benefit of others. It is a place, to put it another way, where the social consequences of human agency are taken


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as evidence of one’s religious commitment, and where ‘the institution of the state is ordained by God as a creation ordinance for the wellbeing of humanity’ (ibid.: 60). A further implication of the Church/state relationship is that those working for the state have historically been seen as ‘doing God’s work’, showing a duty and moral obligation to serve the community ‘through the structures of governance that comprise the state’ (ibid.). The relationship between Church and state life is effectively the personalisation of state responsibility and the attempt to fuse individual meaning with state meaning to the extent, as Avis puts it, where the state itself takes on the role of a ‘corporate moral person’ (ibid.: 61). Through its involvement in charity, commitment to community cohesion, the structures of family life, marriage, work and general moral obligation, the Church connects the individual to the social and, in so doing, shapes national consciousness and identity through the oscillations of nation-person discourse (ibid.). The effectiveness of this attempt to see the state as divine institution has resonance only when the legitimacy of that state is accepted and unchallenged. Clearly, in this regard, the potential strength of Anglicanism rests on how the state is seen by those that exist within it. But, when the state emerges as a contested concept (a point of disagreement and conflict) so the Church has a much more complicated task in promoting national cohesion and encouraging state obedience. At that point, it may find itself striving to mediate contested perceptions about the state, as has been the case in (Northern) Ireland where the concept of the nation and nationhood has traditionally split along Irish and British (or Catholic and Protestant) lines. In this instance, the Church of Ireland has found itself trying to straddle the disputations and antagonisms of Irish and Northern Irish identities, with its Catholic underpinnings finding greater support in the Republic of Ireland than Northern Ireland (denominational support in Northern Ireland is significantly less – and dropping – than in the Republic of Ireland where support for the Anglican Church continues to rise (Macourt 2008)). A historical dilemma for the Church, since the formation of Northern Ireland in 1921, has been trying to maintain all-Ireland appeal and relevance, by on the one hand showing support for unionism in Northern Ireland, whilst also supporting a pluralist Ireland which has a preference for Catholic teaching and social systems on the other (ibid.). Problematically the Church of Ireland has therefore sought to promote the inclusive ethos of a national Church in relation to two distinctly oppositional notions of national identity and, because of this, it has found itself trying to balance divergent ideals of belonging. And even though the Church maintains an identity which is seen as ‘non-Roman



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Catholicism’ (Avis 2000: 65), because of its adherence to universality and homogeneity, it is precisely this inclination which provokes unease among much of the Protestant population in Northern Ireland. As to how Anglicanism seeks to manage the tension of the dual identities of Protestantism and Catholicism, Rev Patrick McGlinchey explained: There is quite a strong evangelical element within the Church of Ireland which tends to be more dominant in Northern Ireland than the South. In the North there has also been a strong tradition towards the Union and there’s been a strong fear of Irishness and that would have made Catholic trappings a lot less attractive. But you also have a wider range of Protestants who are more at ease now with Catholics and are less threatened by other expressions of the Christian faith. Historically, in the Protestant psyche there has been an emphasis on distance where if you disagree theologically it’s important that you convey that disagreement by distance because it is taken as a betrayal if you don’t. Bishop Alan Abernethy elaborated on this perception further, commenting: I think that for the Church of Ireland we have always been caught between being Protestants and Catholics, but we’ve been squeezed into being more Protestant then we might have been elsewhere in the world. We’re instinctively conservative if not always overt in that regard. Throughout the thirty-forty years of conflict, as with most denominations, we were working hard to keep a lid on things. But if we failed here it was probably by not challenging our own people with their intolerance. This is a difficult thing to do because in the midst of conflict you are busy pasturing and herding the damaged. Now we are picking up the pieces of unresolved issues and deep hurts and of communities being probably more polarized than ever. The hurts of people are also very deep since many feel betrayed by politicians, by paramilitaries and by the churches. Rev William Lewis mentioned how the hierarchical and corporate structure of the Church of Ireland functions differently from the localised Presbyterian churches: It would be an oversimplification but there is the view that at the Reformation Anglican churches only threw out what contradicted the


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Bible whereas Presbyterians threw out everything that wasn’t specifically mentioned in the Bible, including organs and Church music. We are based on the Catholic system of diocese and parishes, controlled by bishops and a clergyman in each parish and a curate if it’s a bigger parish. Presbyterians are more congregational based. They may or may not have a distinct territory and each of the ministers is responsible to their session, he’s only one of a team and he’s quite limited in what he can do. In the early period the Church of Ireland was Calvinistic but has become more the opposite of that now, less narrow. The Presbyterian Church is stronger in the rural areas and that’s the reason why historically the Church of Ireland has been stronger in the towns. Archbishop Alan Harper also commented on this issue when speaking about how Anglicanism compares with Presbyterianism, as well as how the lack of an agreed centre within Protestantism creates difficulties for the development of a communal instinct: We have retained the patterns of ministry of the ancient Church and the sacraments of the ancient Church, and we adhere to those sacraments and the Word in so far as we’re able to do. Presbyterianism differs from us both in terms of its ecclesiastical polity, because it is essentially a congregational Church and because it doesn’t have the threefold orders of bishops, priests and deacons, which the Church of Ireland has in common with the Roman Catholic Church. We also have a covenant with the Methodist Church and are working towards much closer identification, perhaps with a complete understanding of the nature of ordination and a closer understanding about the interchangability of ministries. The Presbyterian tradition would be separate from that theologically. There is an immensely diverse spectrum and series of shades of opinion within Protestantism generally. But for us, we regard faith as not simply a matter of individuality, but also being part of a community, part of the people of God, part of the Body of Christ and we try to hold those things in balance. In a broader sense there are issues also concerning the Anglican Communion at the moment about determining where the ultimate authority lies. If you have the Roman Catholic tradition which reposes authority in an individual, who has ultimate jurisdiction, if you have a jurisdictional system which has an agreed central authority, then that is a secure system in all sorts of ways. If you don’t have that and if in particular everyone is expected to form his or her opinion based



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upon his or her understanding of God’s written Word, then you’ve got a very different way of looking at the world and responding to the world, which leaves you wide open to being undermined by those who don’t share the same minutiae of the position you share. Talking about the individualism that underpins Protestantism, Harper also underlined the Protestant desire for certainty and the inevitable expression of difference that arises in that struggle for certainty: It is a component of the inherent nature of Protestantism to say that it is infinitely salami sliceable. It’s about that individualism which was determined at some stage in the past that we don’t sit comfortably with people because of our theological views and are different and therefore we are going to form our own congregation which reflects the internal consistency of our theological standpoint. There is a kind of inbred nature, a kind of theological inner reality which leads to the potential for a much less cohesive community structure and therefore a much less cohesive political structure on the Protestant side compared with the nationalist side. If you give any indication of deviating from a very strict and straight line down the middle interpretation of issues there is going to be somebody ready to put the boot in in order to take advantage of what is perceived to be you being unsound on the particular issue concerned. For Bishop Michael Jackson, the unifying role of the Church of Ireland tends to create distrust amongst those who see it as an extension of Catholic teaching and ambition, and sits somewhat uneasily with many Protestants who prefer clarity and commitment to firm principles: For Protestants exposition is like the Ronseal principle in that there is an expectation that ‘it does exactly what it says on the tin’. And if you actually hold dearly that Scripture does exactly that then other written words must do the same because everything, in a sense, is inferior to Scripture. Many within Protestantism would say that one is being disloyal by even saying that Scripture is open to interpretation. Simplicity is connected to sincerity and integrity and trust is part of that. There is also a sort of cultural cast of mind whereby if everybody holds the same thing we all hold together. Within the Church of Ireland we would be seen as just the other side of the door from Rome and that is because we are stubborn enough to hold to our title deeds of being a combination of Catholic and Reformed. There


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is still this idea that the Church of Ireland regards itself as a sort of establishment and that breeds resentment among fellow Protestants as well as Roman Catholics. But there is also an attitude which says don’t get above yourself because you’ll get cut down, or who is he or she to tell me what to do because I’m every bit as good. It’s like a pride of self-sufficiency where if you can’t do it yourself you shouldn’t be doing it. There is also this strange idea that you are doing the state a good turn by not taking its money and the caricature that Roman Catholics get all the money because the priest writes the applications. But the new political environment has also had impact here because there was a sense of belonging when people were under pressure and once that pressure lifts there is a sense of insecurity which permeates. You now do not know what the new world contains. Church of Ireland people would probably describe themselves as conservative, traditional, biblical or adhering to kingdom values. All these terms are out there and used as part of the à la carte identity. Then there is the worst thing which is to be liberal, because when a conservative traditionalist views you as a liberal it means you are low on principles and high on naivety. Both sides are needed along with those in the middle who can keep the two sides from falling over the edge. But whereas liberalism gives diversity and may allow extremism an opportunity to breathe, such extremism erodes that room to breathe. Rev Barry Dodds saw Catholic inclusiveness and unity as much as a response to discrimination by the British state in Northern Ireland as social teaching which inherently stresses the importance of the faith community: The Catholic community had historically tended to operate as a state within a state and had built up all kinds of capacities to be able to allow their communities to survive, whereas Protestant communities had maybe stood on their own two feet as individuals and there was no great need for them to come together to draw down things necessary for the life of the community. Many Protestants would have seen no way of doing business with Catholics, but now I think people are released from that and there is a feeling of freedom from that kind of attitude. This also found agreement with Rev Charlie Leeke, who similarly saw Catholic communal cohesion as being shaped by British state coercion and discrimination:



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Catholic people because their backs were to the wall, had to depend on one another, and there was a greater sense of sharing, whereas on the Protestant side there was the ‘big man in the big house’ who would help. If something needed doing in a Protestant village or community people went to the politician. Local police or doctors also tended to be Protestant. Because of this Protestants did not need to be so community focussed. But, of course, politically Protestants are the people who feel under siege and are always on the defensive because of that. Catholics are also much happier with the greyness of things. They can tolerate the woolly edges to things provided they are going in a direction that suits their goal, whereas for Protestants things need to be carefully laid out. Protestant politicians like the strategy clear before them because it provides a ‘handrail’. They very much need the detail. Many would believe that the Anglican Church believes everything and nothing because of its flexibility. A lot of Presbyterians would look at the Church of Ireland and say we are Catholics because we bow when we say the name of Christ for example. They would see that as a Catholic thing. But many Protestants are fearful of losing what they gained at the Reformation and this creates the siege mentality. When you live in fear of something you become very defensive and introverted. You are also less willing to debate and dialogue so there are negative implications to this viewpoint. Rev John McDowell viewed Protestant insecurity as intensified by social and political change in Northern Ireland and viewed growing Catholic confidence (which appears to correspond with Protestant anxiety) as less a result of Catholic social teaching and more a result of opportunities brought about by political progress and the prospect of social change: British and Irish politics is moving away from all of the insecurities that traditional unionists would have had and perhaps if you’re moving in a very uncertain state and you’re moving away from what you had and not towards something that you want, then you prefer to have things nailed down so you know where it is you are going to. Perhaps also, on the other hand, if you are moving towards the thing that you desire and the thing you dislike is disintegrating and you are moving towards a new world which you want then you will be prepared to put up with a bit less precision and accept a bit more flexibility in what is said and done.


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The Methodist Church Methodism began as a separation from the Anglican Church and is sustained by a sense of piety which stresses ‘a strong personal urge towards holiness, an evangelistic missionary impulse, and adherence to a distinctive church order and discipline’ (Turner 1978: 114). The separation, although not the initial intention of the founding figures of Methodism, brothers Charles and John Wesley, occurred for reasons of social conviction as well as faith (Wakefield 2000: 131), but emerged in particular because of frustrations over what was perceived as restrictive and inwardly focussed Anglican principles and practices (Carter 2002: 50). Retaining a commitment to the toleration of other traditions, Methodism also maintained Catholic sympathies for inclusiveness (ibid.: 51), adopting the Catholic search, through unity, for the love of God (ibid.: 59). Indeed, one of the key distinguishing features of Methodism is its ‘commitment to a theology of interdependence’ and the development of a theology which is not driven by a claim for a singular notion of Church truth (Clutterbuck 2004: 59). However, its particular emphasis is oriented towards a social outworking of faith which is expressed as much through social obligation and outreach work as the teachings of the Church. Because of this emphasis, as Carter notes, until recently churches were referred to as ‘societies’ reflecting the importance of their attachment to the need for social good (ibid.). For the Wesley brothers, the call for unity was based strongly ‘on the moral and spiritual unity of the societies as a result of their common call to holiness and their common experience of life in Christ’ (ibid.: 57–58), and sharing (or koinonia) occupied a central importance in this call to holiness. The pastoral work in Methodism is expressed as essential for building common experience and addressing social needs. This notion of sharing has always underpinned ‘Methodist ecclesial consciousness’ (ibid.: 67) and encouraged Methodists to be especially active on ecumenical activities. In turn, mission and evangelicalism provide a strong sense of purpose where ‘The urge to holiness was both kindled and nurtured within the ordered life and discipline of the Christian fellowship, whilst the evangelistic, missionary impulse, expressive of a universal Gospel, was an essential consequent of the other two elements and itself implied a characteristic intensity which in turn governed them also’ (Turner 1978: 114). The Church is structured along the lines of what is called the ‘Connexional Principle’, which is concerned with generating and sustaining flexibility by sending preachers to where they are most needed (ibid.: 61). Explaining this further, Carter observes how ‘Wesley hit



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upon connexionalism as a disciplinary and evangelistic device. He was always concerned that the societies should have a global sense of priorities, dictated by their understanding of the needs of others rather than by their purely domestic convenience’ (ibid.: 67). This emphasis on dispersed rather than centralised authority is complemented by a dedication to ‘mutual responsibility and accountability at every level’ (ibid.: 68). It also draws from a range of Protestant traditions and has distilled an approach to Scripture and faith which is laid out in publications such as the Christian Library and the Methodist hymn book (ibid.: 69). Accepting the importance of biblical criticism, Methodists saw that no Church could have a monopoly on biblical truth and argued that ‘diversity is legitimate and enriching’ (ibid.: 71). This acceptance of diversity was contained within clear and disciplined doctrinal parameters, but the important distinguishing feature which marked Methodism out was the attention given to the relationship between Church and society, rooting faith in social problems and conditions and infusing religious outlook with social moralism. Playing a significant part in the development of Victorian moralism (Turner 1978: 101), Methodism particularly stressed ‘disciplined, simple, pious lives removed from worldly pleasures and centred on home, chapel and business’. Moreover, the ‘duty of hard work, the evils of luxury and extravagance, the virtues of foresight and thrift, moderation and self-discipline were instilled into ordinary church members and provided an undergirding to the moral earnestness characteristic of Victorian England’ (ibid.: 110). These values were particularly demonstrable when the Word of God was proclaimed in a context of mission; but, in more recent years an emphasis on balancing the personal and the social has given way to a preference for ‘issues of social holiness and justice’ (Clough 2004: 45). The manifestation of this holiness is inextricably linked to the experience of social circumstances, with redemption seen as a ‘fundamentally social experience’ (Marsh 2004: 129). This experience is also grounded in a ‘theology of ordinariness’ which views grace as available to all and not just the elect (ibid.). From this vantage point one’s religious commitment has meaning only in relation to the social where it can be lived and expressed as a demonstration of one’s conviction. ‘Its tendency’ as Marsh notes ‘to equate experience as (e.g. a fellowship) with experience of (God/Spirit/Christ) has the positive consequence that it provides a way in which experience of God is to be enjoyed explicitly in the context of daily living, and potentially beyond the identifiable Church’ (ibid.). The search for holiness then is best realised through the social outworking of faith, with redemption a result of placing the individual at the service of the social. But,


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Methodism might also be seen as motivated by the need for ‘encounter and dialogue’ in relation to other denominations, faiths, churches and communities, with such engagement important for giving and receiving in the light of a broader search for inclusivity (Clutterbuck 2004: 68–69). Offering a brief overview of how Methodism evolved, Rev Harold Good explained the Church’s societal role as a defining context for identity and purpose: Methodism arose from the Holy Club in Oxford to which John and Charles Wesley and some others belonged. Those who came together to form this club began to live a very methodical and disciplined Christian life. It led to a disciplined study of Scripture, disciplined visitation of the prisons and hospitals, disciplined collection of money to give to poor and deprived families and these people became known as the Methodical people - Methodists. Wesley came from the evangelical wing of Anglicanism and was trying to take faith out of the cloisters and out onto the highways and byways to share it with people who had never really heard the Gospel in its purity and entirety. Complementing this summary, Rev John Wonnacott provided the following assessment of Methodism, as well as evaluating this view within a critical appraisal of Protestantism: Methodism grew out of the Anglican Church and is really a movement for social holiness. They were very much regarded at that time as a renewal movement rather than trying to establish a new denomination. Wesley wanted to be a man of action so he went into prisons and campaigned on social issues. The idea of social holiness is not simply a holiness of the heart but a holiness that’s going to impact on your relationships and behaviour. It’s as much about relations with others as it is relations with God. Tied in with social holiness is the concept of salvation where Christ came to rescue us from being separated from God. In Methodism there is the conviction that all need to be saved, all can be saved, all can know themselves saved and all can be saved the utmost, but all of this must be seen in the context of the need to engage with the local community. Congregations and clergy seem to have opted for a priestly model, more a one-man-band picture where one person will prepare all the sermons, lead all the worship, visit all the sick and this is less and less about participation.



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Before then talking about exclusion and the role of churches within that exclusion: Here there is a real desire to differentiate, where people want to know they are right and the other group is wrong; where one group is chosen and the other is discarded. Rather than celebrating our differences we prefer to demonize those who are different from us and people tend to stay within their denomination because of that more. I think that at times the Church lacked leadership and we were simply cosseting our people, confirming their prejudice and sectarianism. We have not taken enough steps to show people there is another way. When things start to be a bit grey in Protestantism a split forms. When the lines of demarcation become blurred that becomes unsettling and some set out to sharpen things a bit more; being more definite. You can go into these communities and see people walking round in their pyjamas and the reason for that is because the streets are within a few hundred yards of their houses and this area is regarded as their front room. They are with friends and neighbours and this is home for them. But if you take them out of that space they are in a foreign place where they lose their reference point and identity. Rev David Cooper elaborated further on the social engagement expected of Methodism, before also going on to talk about the differences and divisions that permeate Protestantism at political and social levels: One of John Wesley’s well known statements was that there is no holiness but social holiness. In other words, there is no development of a complete life without relationships in the community as well as personal relationships with God. The Church should therefore be used as an instrument of healing and hope and peacemaking in society. I think that one of the differences between the communities could be observed between unionists and republicans at the time of the Good Friday Agreement, where unionists would often say that nothing can be agreed until everything is agreed, whereas nationalist and republican feeling was more pragmatic and they could see it as an evolutionary process, where maybe you don’t have to agree to everything at any particular stage but you use it to move on and see how it develops. Unionists had to actually see everything being agreed step by step. They needed a greater assurance as to where it was going to lead. In a sense, this is a problem of imagination and what I mean by that is imagination as a means of seeing other possibilities.


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Nationalists and republicans are more able to see how possibilities unfold, whereas unionists want every ‘i’ dotted and every ‘t’ crossed before moving to the next stage. But there are other images which also come out here. For instance, most of the loyalist murals are about remembering the past, whereas republicans use murals which are also about an emerging future. That message, it seems to me, is saying that our time is coming and using tradition and history to help open up to a new future. The problem is it’s not about accepting everything at once in terms of peace, but working for trust so you can create possibilities. A comparison can be made here with story rather than words; open emerging possibilities as against closed and defined statements. The republican interpreters also tend to be poets rather than into prose. Poetry allows you spaces between the lines for imagination, allowing opportunities to emerge which are less forthcoming with close, heavily worded or tightly packed sentences in prose. I can also remember people talking about how untidy Catholic houses were. That everything should be in its place, orderly. That is more Protestant thinking, which is often about negative defining. There is also a suspicion present where we want the truth and we know what the truth is, whilst others are masking it. Rev Gary Mason spoke about how restrictive practices often underline the literal interpretation of Scripture, before highlighting how preoccupations with purity and certainty shape relations with the prospect of social or political change: The Wesleyian tradition is about personal holiness and social holiness whereas for much of Northern Ireland Protestantism it’s personal only. There is a dour spirit about Ulster Protestantism and the sense that something will go wrong. I think that mentality comes across in how Scripture is read as well. The fear of being wrong certainly erodes confidence. Perhaps that is why Protestants tend to want precision and show a preference for dogmatism which stresses the only way to understand something. There is also a sense of keeping yourself separate from the world which obsessions about sin feed into. This seems to reflect a Protestant dislike for chaos, uncertainty and mess which is less prevalent with Catholics. Another thing about the Protestant mentality is the unease about taking risks and this was reflected by the inability to articulate a clear and confident Protestant case during the peace talks. This was never stated. I also think the literalism has bred dishonesty in many ways. The idea that Scripture can be



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interpreted one way and that this can be applied to modern society suggests an inherent snobbery as with the idea of a ‘correct’ interpretation. For a number, the Old Testament ethos of Israel driving out the enemy based on God’s request had political connotations about purifying the land, coming out from among them and being separate, touching not the unclean etc and has a strong political as well as religious component to it. The fundamentalist approach that unless you see everything my way you must be wrong is still a prevalent mindset. The problem with this approach is that if one thing goes wrong, then the whole house comes tumbling down. Such people are not prepared to live with chaos or uncertainty. Rev Harold Good also pointed towards the problem of superiority and exclusiveness within Protestantism, which has traditionally served to resist changes to positions of dominance in the realms of social and political influence: In my experience with Protestants there is a desire to have everything tied down very clearly whereas the Celtic way of doing things is to wheel and deal a bit where it doesn’t matter too much if it’s a pound here or there. But the Protestant way seems to be more about holding one to contract. If you take the devolution of policing, one side wanted to have that all nailed down whilst the other side wanted to leave it more open and flexible. In my experience there is less generosity within Protestantism, less ability to give you the benefit of the doubt because there is a preference for things to be neat and tidy. There’s a spiritual superiority about Protestantism where my Catholic neighbour does not have the same relationship with God that I do unless he’s come through my process. I’m not born with rights as a Protestant but have to prove myself worthy of them and this is all tied up with Calvinist theology, which has slipped into culture more broadly. If you asked a lot of Protestants about the theological distinctions they would not be able to explain them. It’s more something inherited and we are not quite sure whether it’s cultural, political, theological, or a bit of each. In Irish history and Irish Church life our political identity and Church identity and cultural identity are so entwined it’s as if when you criticize one you’re criticizing all. People feel safer where the ground rules are understood but if you get to a place where you live entirely by laws it’s very restrictive. When everything is prescribed it doesn’t leave much room for discretion or change.


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Rev David Campton further expanded on how political circumstances contributed to the Catholic sense of community, which Protestantism lacks: Protestants don’t understand what community means really. Our religion has become so individualised and privatized that we’ve forgotten what community means within the Church, never mind our connection to the wider community. Sometimes there is a lot of rubbish talked about community being so much better on the Catholic side, but I think this had a lot more to do with disadvantage and the fact that Catholics were downtrodden together than it did with a theology of community. It also helps that there is only one broad Catholic denomination where the whole community is the parish. For Protestantism the defining factor is individualism and this sewed the seeds of its own destruction. Methodists fall distinctively within the sort of holiness movement of nineteenth century evangelicalism and most Methodists would regard themselves as evangelical in orientation. What marks us out as Protestants is individualistic faith, personal pietism and personal salvation rather than any sort of community ethos. In those respects we are similar to Presbyterianism and have lost a lot of the social holiness emphasis advocated by Wesley. For Rev Jim Rea, the persistent unease towards those who seek to build dialogue and bridges with Catholics is reflective of how distrust is used to police borders between communities: We are always defending something in the Protestant community and we always know what we are against rather than what we are for. There are two dominant images which are first that Protestants have got the children of Israel in triumph, who are delivered by God and have God on their side. And second, that Catholics are victims who are always talking about victim-hood. Obviously with the individualism of Protestantism there is no one voice and so no communal sense as there is in Catholicism, which has been much better at articulating problems as a community. Many would take the view that to go into another community would be to break rank and should not be trusted. So there is the persistent problem of trust and confidence to deal with which is far easier to contain if you don’t move outside the boundaries.



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The feeling of anxiety which is exacerbated by individualism was also hinted at by David Gallagher, who, in talking about how those different approaches apply to problems in Protestantism and Catholicism, went on: Protestantism is more concerned with product than process. If you look at adherence to the Articles of Faith they want everything signed, sealed, delivered, and nailed down so you don’t transgress. And being product driven it’s very much about knowing the end result, whereas this is far less the case with a process when you are involved in opening both the other side and yourself in dialogue. You don’t know the ends. There is also the being destined to go to hell and no surrender philosophies to deal with and one can see how the religious and the political overlap with that. The perception of loss is so dominant and it is this perception which is much more powerful than the reality. Contributing to the discussion, Dr Johnston McMaster commented broadly on Protestant psyche and offered this comprehensive assessment of how that psyche impacts on communal identity: The border is a huge psychological line. Interestingly, and I have done this, if you ask a group of Protestants to make a list of words they associate with Catholics they will come up with a religious list like infallibility, Mary, the Mass, the papacy and authority, they are all the bogies and fears. But if you ask a group of Catholics to list words they associate with Protestants they will come up with a political list like Orange Order, unionism, or Britishness. So whilst one seems to see the other in religious terms that other group responds by viewing the differences in political terms. But for Protestants the real fear is being swamped or taken over, or dominated by Roman Catholicism, which is also political because it is connected to the idea of a united Ireland. But we have all sides who continue to define themselves in opposition to each other, creating an oppositional identity and an oppositional theology. So identity is formed through putting down boundaries and creating differences. It has also been about resisting the dilution of those differences so the identity has been very much negative. Of course, if organized or institutional religion is being culturally disestablished and the religious badge of identity becomes less and less significant then identity discourse and discussion will begin to change, but there will also be confusion and a level of


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insecurity which some will want to confront by getting more behind the barricades, by entrenching. The challenge is how to move from the boundaries of prejudice, of misunderstanding and of fear and to move beyond that into a wider space of freedom and empowerment. McMaster then went on to talk about how differences in the two communities shape responses to social and political change: Nationalists read between the lines whilst unionists just see the lines. Protestants will often say we say what we mean and we mean what we say, but this is true only to them and doesn’t make sense to others. Furthermore, the perception of nationalists or Catholics is that one can never trust what they are saying. I think Protestants and unionists tend to be literalists, whereas nationalists and Catholics tend to be metaphoric and they think much more of pictures. If you listen to a conversation, Protestants will go from a to b to c, whereas if you listen to a chat show on Irish radio the conversations do not move from a to b to c, but go round in circles. The Belfast Agreement was also sold in two different ways, seen as an end point by Protestants and unionists and a stepping stone or the beginning of a new process for nationalists and Catholics. One also remembers that Paisley wanted photographic proof of IRA decommissioning. It had to be empirical. There is also this strong sense of individualism where if you don’t like ‘a’ you can go out and start up ‘b’ and this goes back to the right of private conscience, individual conscience. Dispersed authority which has shaped the Protestant community has also shaped Orangeism and unionism, with schism and division so characteristic of these models. The responses in this chapter reveal a wide range of approaches to theological and social conviction. For some, there is evidence of considerable critical self-reflection which signifies a liberal and questioning approach to identity, whilst for others, there is greater certainty and a far less questioning approach to identity. But having introduced the core principles and values that shape this diversity, what do the churches have to say and contribute when it comes to the development of peace? One way to think about this question is to see what respondents think needs to be done for forgiveness and reconciliation to take place (since both reside at the heart of the Christian ethic) and that is the problem which will concern us next.


3 Dealing with Peace through Forgiveness and Reconciliation

Forgiveness If forgiveness is necessary for a restoration of relations, enables moral repair and can help overcome the tendency towards bitterness, revenge or resentment, then one might well presume that it is the basis of reconciliation and peaceful existence. And since the concept of forgiveness sits at the heart of the Christian tradition one might also reasonably expect Christians to have a more convincing view about the importance of forgiveness in public and political life and better understand its significance as a foundation for social stability and peace. Yet, the forgiveness debate remains contentious, not least because of the polarisations that arise in relation to two positions where on the one hand forgiveness is seen to occur unconditionally (and so given), and on the other seen to occur conditionally (and so earned). In the first instance forgiveness is a gift and in the second instance it is a price. This basic yet fundamental difference is particularly evident with regard to Protestant perceptions of forgiveness in Northern Ireland, and it is this difference which poses problems not just for shared understanding of what forgiveness might potentially mean, but the possibility of reconciliation itself. However, before we move to the arguments which Protestants adopt in relation to these two perspectives on forgiveness, it seems desirable that we should try to at least grasp some of the fundamental concerns and issues at stake within the forgiveness debate. Much of the literature which reflects on the problem of forgiveness invariably grapples with overcoming resentment towards another who has inflicted wrongdoing or harm. In causing this harm, the wrongdoer is seen to have stepped outside expected boundaries of human conduct, and because of this eschewed moral responsibility (Hughes 1997: 34). 95


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The extent of how much one has been wronged and how far a wrongdoer has departed from moral responsibility indicates wide variations in human behaviour and the scale of pain inflicted, making any definitive account of forgiveness impractical and unrepresentative. Further complication arises not just because forgiveness may exist in a range of forms and expressions (ibid.: 45), but because in extreme circumstances there might also be a moral imperative to not forgive (Govier 1999). What is evident is that the many circumstances in which pain and wrongdoing take place highlight the potentially limitless context of consequences with which the forgiveness debate must deal. Arguments for forgiveness, even in the most extreme of cases, sometimes point towards a preference for separating the act from the actor (or in religious terms the sin from the sinner) and so view the imposition of pain as distinct from any individual desire to inflict it (Kolnai 1974: 97). Through this separation one is able to maintain awareness of the humanity of the wrongdoer and move away from a preoccupation with revenge, bitterness and anger. From this perspective, these reactions are viewed as counterproductive, damaging and lead to an exacerbation of pain and suffering above and beyond the initial act of harm. But given that such feelings and experiences seem an inevitable result of suffering, perhaps the crux of the forgiveness debate is why forgiveness is possible at all (ibid.: 91). According to North, ‘Forgiveness is a way of healing the damage done to one’s relations with the wrongdoer, or at least a first step towards a full reconciliation’ (North 1987: 503), but moving towards a state of forgiveness first requires ‘a “change of heart” ’ which can ‘make good the relations’ between victim and wrongdoer and it is this change which may impact the wrongdoer in such a way so as to stimulate engagement with the victim and help rebuild relations (ibid.). This is not to ignore the scale of hurt or damage done, but for North is important if ‘the wrong not be allowed permanently to damage and distort one’s personal relations’ (ibid.: 505). One might see this orientation as being about ‘ “re-acceptance”, or, “re-admittance”, and “over-coming” ’ (ibid.: 506), but whichever term one chooses, each is conceived within a bigger picture of ‘moral worth’ (ibid.: 507). Forgiveness, concludes North, ‘is the natural completion of a process of restoring and healing in the relations which the wrongdoer has, for a time, suspended: the relations of affection and regard that form the basis of harmonious moral and social life’ (ibid.: 508). Although North perceives this relationship as involving effort on the part of the wrongdoer in order to restore relations and one’s own sense of humanity and worth, it is difficult not to see the primary


Dealing with Peace through Forgiveness and Reconciliation

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motivation towards this end as coming from the victim, and it would appear that the argument for restoration depends largely on the victim initiating moves which will allow the possibility of engagement to take place. But questions quickly emerge here. What kind of relationship is it that needs restoration (particularly if victim and wrongdoer do not know each other)? How can this relationship be restored in the case of extreme damage or suffering? Does this restoration have equal worth for both parties? And, what if in the attempt to create restoration the victim becomes subject to more pain and the wrongdoer does not show regret for that he has done? North’s argument seems to rely on the proposition that forgiveness will be preferable for both victim and wrongdoer, but how compatible between each of the parties can this outcome be and indeed should it be compatible given the infliction of pain by one on another? In a real sense these questions point towards the tension between the conditional and the unconditional, each of which depends on different moral parameters and intentions. Perhaps, in a way, the conditional approach ties both victim and wrongdoer into a relationship which the unconditional approach does not need, and if the unconditional approach is the position which the victim chooses to take, then he is doing it essentially for reasons which put himself first and wrongdoer second. Although the conditional approach might also do this, it is more likely that the victim’s needs would become connected with the wrongdoer’s reactions and this risks the potential of the victim coming off worse as well as better. Thus the conditional approach suggests that progress for each is somewhat dependent on the other and that for the victim this risks further pain and insult which the unconditional approach is less likely to produce. Interestingly, unconditional forgiveness does not require the wrongdoer to show regret or to apologise and because of that provides the victim with complete control of the decision to forgive (if the victim does not need to know who caused him pain, then his response of unconditional forgiveness does not rely on the wrongdoer having to take certain steps in order to make forgiveness possible). For those who disagree with unconditional forgiveness because it interferes with predetermined ideas about justice, it is worth remembering Pettigrove’s comment that ‘If it turns out that forgiving is not unjust, then forgiving in the absence of an apology should not be unjust’ (Pettigrove 2004: 199). But, a refutation of unconditional forgiveness is also a refutation of the victim’s right to act as he sees fit in response to his own pain and suffering. Here we come up against the social message that


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unconditional forgiveness gives out in comparison with conditional forgiveness since objections to unconditional forgiveness are surely more to do with notions of justice, order, blame and redemption than they are to do with the good of the victim. Whereas unconditional forgiveness asks for nothing, conditional forgiveness asks for requirements to be met and for forgiveness to be earned. The lesson and message of being seen to acknowledge one’s role as perpetrator and seeking to show regret and apology for that role is also a gesture of restoration and moral order from which the perpetrator has departed (Bennett (2003) refers to differences between the unconditional and conditional more in terms of personal and redemptive forgiveness, while Biggar (2008) prefers a compassion and absolution distinction). Unconditional forgiveness implies that all power to forgive rests with the victim, but this power in conditional forgiveness rests with the wrongdoer because if he does not repent or show regret then forgiveness (according to this position) is not possible. In terms of conditional forgiveness the act of forgiving depends to a greater or lesser extent on the wrongdoer giving the response that the victim can accept in order for forgiveness to proceed. Even in the event of wrongdoer and victim not knowing each other the interactive nature of this forgiveness is about restoring a relationship which is socially and individually tolerable. But how can a victim who has experienced extreme suffering be restored to his pre-suffering self? If he has not been changed by that pain and often irrevocably, then forgiving becomes quite meaningless or at least is trivialised. Conditional forgiveness seems to satisfy expectations of repentance and sorrow which the victim may surely need, but since forgiveness can occur without this conditionality then its primary function is to restore moral order first and victims’ needs second. And, as the word restoration implies, conditional forgiveness means ‘going back’ to the suffering experienced and working to ‘reframe’ that suffering in order to remember it differently and so allow one to live less painfully in the future. Balazs’ argument that without the move towards forgiveness ‘the offense remains in a sense “valid” ’ (Balazs 2000: 126) is more a philosophical reflection on the value of forgiveness within the conditional framework and as a moral imperative to the offer of repentance. From this perspective, a rejection of repentance indicates a rejection of the offer to restate some moral order and, again, Balazs’ assertion that forgiveness ‘must be proportionate to the offense’ (ibid.) is tied to social expectations about what constitutes such proportionality and because of this is concerned less with what the victim needs and wants and



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more with the social ramifications of forgiveness and its role as public responsibility. Balazs seeks to create equivalence between repentance and forgiveness by further insisting that although ‘repentance is a moral duty, forgiveness is one, too’ (ibid.: 127), implying that both victim and wrongdoer have equal responsibility to act within the forgiveness– repentance relationship. Yet, this argument for equivalence by levelling the responsibility to restore relations between wrongdoer and victim also unreasonably equates the suffering between both parties and fails to distinguish between just and unjust in the process. The implication that both victim and wrongdoer have a duty to engage is an attempt to put a positive outcome before the realities of suffering and regret. Moreover, the question of what amounts to proportionate levels of repentance and forgiveness is not addressed. Once more this is a dilemma of the conditional approach to forgiveness which the unconditional does not have to deal with because this type of forgiveness is offered regardless of what the wrongdoer says or does. The unconditional does not need a relationship, or seek to restore one, and because of this releases the victim from any sense of duty or expectation to receive repentance. Clearly, the unconditional approach appears to become a problem precisely because it does not provide a mechanism to satisfy social demands for the wrongdoer to show remorse and accept responsibility for pain caused. In turn, although unconditional forgiveness is an action which may not take account of the social and political need for acknowledging the suffering inflicted, it is the only course of action which can be seen to remain entirely under the victim’s control. But what of those who do not wish to forgive? What of those who see no benefit from forgiveness and who believe that to forgive is to give the impression that what has been done is acceptable rather than unacceptable? Here we stray into the terrain of resentment, the very emotion that forgiving is seen to overcome, the very emotion which is seen to further damage the already pained victim (a position which again speaks for the victim rather than listens to the victim). The work of Murphy (1982) (and others such as Brudholm (2008) and Vetlesen (2006, 2009)) holds particular relevance here since it challenges assumptions about the need to rid oneself of resentment and so act according to the benefits and advantages of forgiving rather than the disadvantages. These are the people which Murphy (and to some extent Brudholm and Vetlesen) might view as not grasping the role or importance of unforgiveness. Murphy takes on the role of resentment from a legal/justice-based perspective (whilst Brudholm refers explicitly to the problem of forgiving systematic evil such as genocide and the Holocaust and Vetlesen


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examines forgiveness in relation to pain) and is concerned with the value of respect in the forgiving process and the social implications of how respect is perceived and understood. Murphy, like others, begins by pointing out how forgiveness is foremost concerned with overcoming resentment and in that sense is a struggle within the self about whether to forgive or not. He is surely right to claim that the person who cannot or will not forgive is cast as the bitter and isolated victim, subject to further damage which is selfinflicted because the struggle to forgive has not been won by forgiveness itself. But Murphy has a very good point when he asserts that a ‘too ready tendency to forgive may be a sign that one lacks self-respect’ and risks not taking one’s rights seriously (1982: 505). Murphy’s key contention is that ‘a failure to resent moral injuries done to me is a failure to care about the moral value incarnate in my own moral personality and a failure to care about the very rules of morality’ (ibid.). In contrast to the restoration of relations argument which is concerned with moral order, Murphy seems to imply that to forgive under any circumstances, or too quickly, amounts to an abdication of respect for one’s own morality and what Murphy means by morality in this context is related to the ability to care about oneself. Though not clear about what forgiving too quickly means (this also implies there is a best or better time to forgive), Murphy believes that to forgive without taking in the full consequences of what has happened can indicate a lack of respect not only for oneself but others too, and that ‘If forgiveness is acceptable, it must be of a kind which is consistent with self-respect, respect for others as moral agents, and allegiance to the rules of morality’ (i.e., forgiveness must not involve any complicity or acquiescence in wrongdoing) (ibid.). Interestingly, Murphy suggests that for forgiveness to have real worth it must come from self-reflection and strength, but that this is not immediate and can only occur once one has grasped the full extent of pain inflicted and understood its life-changing implications. He purports that because resentment acts as a defence against violation of the self its manifestation is an indication of self-respect and that the person who lacks resentment in the event of being wronged lacks this self-respect (Murphy 1988: 5). But this is also an argument which conforms to social expectations of empathy and moral order since, as Murphy explains, ‘If it is proper to feel indignation when I see third parties morally wronged, must it not be equally proper to feel resentment when I experience the moral wrong done to myself?’ (ibid.: 6). Evidently, Murphy’s position is constructed very much on the basis of a justice model of forgiveness, where forgiving is seen in the context of moral expectation



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and order that is socially and politically constructed. But, the depiction of resentment as a mark of resistance to forgiving too easily (again the conditions which one must fulfil before this can be overcome are not elaborated) rather too conveniently aligns self-respect with resentment and does not acknowledge that releasing oneself from resentment may also be seen as a mark of self-respect. Moreover, who is to say that someone has forgiven too quickly or can know what processes the victim has gone through to reach that point? To suggest that to forgive too quickly is to deny self-respect diminishes the victim to social expectations about how one should forgive and when. It is too focussed on the possibility of forgiveness condoning the actions of the wrongdoer rather than the needs of the victim. Further, when Murphy raises the problem of forgiving at all costs he is not clear on what those costs are. Important though his contribution is, it becomes an extension of the conditional position because it suggests that certain things have to happen before forgiving can be meaningful and this conditionality relies on social and political justice-based perceptions more than the requirements of the victim (a conclusion similar to Murphy is reached by Novitz 1998). Notably, the conditional approach to forgiveness requires the involvement of the wrongdoer in order to show that forgiveness has actually been communicated, where the wrongdoer can be seen so that the victim knows who he is forgiving, and where the wrongdoer is identifiable as a real rather than imaginary person (where does this leave those who forgive wrongdoers that remain anonymous, who will never be met or who have died before they can ever be known?). It requires both victim and wrongdoer to communicate their relationship because of a destructive moment or event and it is this destruction which has provided the basis of their coming together. For both, this process is about overcoming the impact of what has occurred, one by forgiving and the other by repenting, but rather than demanding an order which stipulates repentance first, forgiveness second, there is a view within Christianity that the victim comes to forgiveness by recognising the potential for doing the same thing as the wrongdoer if in the same circumstances. This is not justification or endorsement, but understanding. As Rowan Williams puts it when interpreting forgiveness through the message of the Easter Gospel, ‘the authentic word of forgiveness, newness and resurrection is audible when we acknowledge ourselves as oppressors and “return” to our victims in the sense of learning who and where they are. It is the process in which memory becomes my memory, the memory of a self with a story of responsibility. And to remember in this way is to have restored to me part of the self that I have diminished’ (Williams



1982: 14). In this respect, as Williams argues, ‘the diminution of another is also the diminution of the self’ whilst in comparison recognition of the other’s humanity augments self-worth and the humanity of those who observe or come into contact with it’ (ibid.). The resurrection for Williams is the symbol of forgiveness as possibility and that possibility is concerned with evaluating ourselves and augmenting our humanity through the hand of forgiving. Here forgiveness offers the path to a better future and does so because ‘Once we grasp that forgiveness occurs not by a word of acquittal but by a transformation of the world of persons, we are not likely to regard it as something which merely refers backwards’ (ibid.: 45). We forgive, Williams might say, when we recognise the weakness of the other and when we see value in addressing that weakness by looking for humanity beyond the destructive act. In so doing, we begin to see through the devastation that act may have created and use it as the basis for a new beginning. It can, to put it another way, help the victim to reclaim the future rather than remain imprisoned by the actions of the past (Holloway 2002: 15–37). Williams’ Christian conviction does not talk about the need for repentance but points towards a need to forgive (to show humanity rather than deny it) which derives more specifically from the unconditional approach. This contrasts markedly with arguments for conditionality, where accepted standards and norms of conduct must come into play before forgiveness becomes authentic (and just as repentance exists as proof within the conditional interplay, so forgiveness must demonstrate proof if the relationship is to have value) (Griswold 2007: xv). For, if the relationship between wrongdoer and victim requires reciprocity then each must offer proof to the other that forgiveness and repentance are both meant. The presence of both parties to each other (what Griswold calls the ‘paradigm case’ (ibid.: xxii)) offers the chance for each to face up to the scale of hurt caused and give each the possibility to question the other on the impact of that hurt and move towards what Griswold believes is ‘a cancelling of the debt’ (ibid.). This compares, Griswold argues, with forgiveness which relies on the two parties not coming together (the ‘non-paradigm case’) but where forgiveness is offered without the involvement of the wrongdoer. In this instance, Griswold suggests that forgiveness is imperfect because it is not founded on a resolution with the engagement and acknowledgement of both parties. One problem with this emphasis though is that it takes little account of the wrongdoer rejecting advances and offers of forgiveness, or where that leaves the forgiver if it were to happen.



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The concept of a desirable as opposed to undesirable model of forgiveness is closely connected to the conditional versus unconditional debate, with the former more often seen as a better way of forgiveness being achieved than the latter. The conditional approach, according to Griswold, is preferable because without adherence to the norms of engagement and interpersonal communication forgiveness ‘would collapse into forgetting, or excusing, or condonation, or rationalization, as the case may be’ (ibid.: 47), and only when the conditionality of this experience is fulfilled does this ‘qualify the offender for forgiveness and entitle the victim to forgive’ (ibid.). These conditions require the full story of hurt to be exposed and explained and for this to happen both wrongdoer and victim are needed. In order to overcome the pain of suffering narrative provides the means for reframing thought and moving beyond the confines of hurt. It involves, a reordering of events so as to use suffering as a motivation for empowerment rather than imprisonment, but for this to happen each of the participants to that suffering have to be included in the narrative and make known to the other the effects and impact of the pain created (ibid.: 98–110). This emphasises the importance of truth if forgiveness is to be reached and for truth both victim and wrongdoer are needed. For Griswold, ‘Anything an individual can accomplish here on his or her own regarding forgiveness is less than fully adequate’ (ibid.: 212), with forgiveness requiring more than what the forgiver alone can provide. But what does this incompleteness mean and what might the ramifications of it be when considered without the involvement of both parties? Clearly the engagement of both victim and wrongdoer infers a kind of completeness which the victim alone cannot find. However, there are numerous examples of forgiveness being offered in the absence of the wrongdoer where the forgiver is able to live fruitfully with meaning and it is difficult to discern if they would live better having met the wrongdoer (Spencer 2011). Indeed, there is every possibility that they may not, because meeting the wrongdoer can add to misery and expose loss in a far more brutal and damaging way than previously imagined. The suggestion that forgiveness may be better through the conditional route may be true as a preference for some, but not others. Of course, this cannot be properly known until such a meeting takes place and this brings to light the dilemma in testing the value of one form of forgiveness against another. We need to recognise that the conditional approach risks making forgiveness much harder for the victim striving to give it. Moreover, if the wrongdoer does not show the expected



level of remorse or repentance this may not only serve to intensify the victim’s pain, but dissuade him from his initial desire to forgive. From a psychological perspective the meeting of both parties is necessarily related to the offering of forgiveness and is ‘other-directed’ (North 1998: 19). And, as North points out, even in the event of the wrongdoer not being met, ‘our forgiveness is still directed at him as an object of our thoughts and memories, and our behaviour would be different were it possible to meet him again. If we cannot meet him again, then forgiveness will typically have some outward manifestation in our behaviour toward others with whom we come in contact’ (ibid.: 19–20). What this interesting position indicates is that the forgiver is not only changed by his efforts to forgive, but that this change can come from one’s imaginations of the wrongdoer rather than through interpersonal interaction (some might argue this is actually the basis of forgiveness rather than having to meet the wrongdoer (Spencer 2011: 275–291)). Perhaps the most significant aspect of the victim’s role in the forgiving process, whether he meets the wrongdoer or not, is the re-framing process which is necessary for the victim to achieve separation from the wrong that has been perpetuated (North 1998: 26). This reframing does not amount to a rejection of the pain experienced, but moves the victim towards a more complex understanding of the wrongdoer in the hope of providing ‘the whole picture, or at least a richer picture, in which the wrongdoer is someone over and above the particular hurtful action’ (ibid.). And, although this enables the victim to see the wrongdoer’s humanity instead of this inhumanity, this process depends on a separation in the mind of the forgiver between act and actor which strives to overturn any preoccupation with the wrongdoer’s inhumanity. From a psychological viewpoint forgiving depends on variables where the individual moves from an ‘uncovering phase’ (where anger and hurt is experienced), to a ‘decision phase’ (where the possibility of forgiving is seen and a change of heart emerges), to a ‘work phase’ (where empathy and reframing come into play), to a ‘deepening phase’ (meaning for the self and others where the forgiver recognises the importance of the wrongdoer as the stimulus for forgiveness) (Enright et al. 1998: 53). These phases also find some comparison with Shriver’s model of political forgiveness which similarly utilises a four-stage approach to forgiveness that depends on: ‘(1) memory of evil and a moral judgement of the evil, (2) a forbearance from vengeance, (3) an empathy for the enemy, and (4) an intention of renewed positive relation with the enemy’ (Shriver 1998: 134). The political is seen by Shriver as an



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environment of neighbours, where relations are the result of now one neighbour reacts to another. As a basis for political forgiveness neighbours are invited to explain their own stories of pain because ‘the study of pain-filled history is the beginning of forgiveness in politics’ (Shriver 1995: 68). Since forgiveness is about forgiving something, it is important, as Shriver observes, to know about and understand what one is forgiving (ibid.). History, in other words, must form the ethics of memory and relations, and this is achieved when remembering itself is shaped and contained by a strong moral component. Surely though, any notion of political forgiveness must align itself with conditional rather than unconditional forgiveness, and because of this is associated with justice more than victims’ needs (Digeser 2001). Indeed, could one say that the needs and requirements of victims are incidental to the wider issue of political decision-making, which relies more on the idea of a debt being cancelled, or where state-determined punishment is changed for the benefits of political expediency rather than the feelings of victims (as with the early release of paramilitary prisoners in Northern Ireland as part of the Good Friday Agreement). But, political forgiveness, for Digeser, is useful because it ‘doesn’t require the removal or the presence of any particular motive’, only ‘a form of civil behaviour and not a particular attitude’ (ibid.: 21). Nor would such a form of forgiveness be dependent on trying to eradicate resentment and anger but ‘keeping it at a slow boil’ (as Digeser puts it when drawing from a Nietzchean analysis) (ibid.: 23). Here, political forgiveness is seen as a process which seeks to provide a moral control of suffering, where it is contained outside of individual needs but to which individual needs become subject. Because of this, political forgiveness does not have to contend with the complexities of individual resentment. As said, it is about releasing individuals from the debts of conflict and suffering in order to bring about a new environment where individuals are freer because of restraining forces lifted. It is, to put it another way, a gesture and expression of reconciliation where the past ‘should no longer serve as a basis for legitimate claims into the future’ (ibid.: 33). The success of political forgiveness, for Digeser, requires transformation of relations between parties which is not dependent ‘on the emotional or internal states of the forgivers’ and where restoration of the offender is seen in the context of a common good (ibid.: 35). It does not need or point towards the importance of eradicating resentment because resentment is used in the political forgiveness process to provide impetus and energy about forgiving oriented towards the context of the future more than the past. One might view this approach as also designed to draw



a line around a victims and victimisation culture in order to set out a future which is a separation as much as a continuation. But how probable is this? First, we need to be careful about how we define ‘political’ and acknowledge that in conflict most references to the political are extensions of identity and fears about concessions to the other. If the political is divided then would not any articulation which has inevitable associations to the political be subject to similar divisions and antagonisms? And if this is so what might political forgiveness bring about except more contestations about what constitutes a victim and who is best placed to voice the positives of a political forgiveness process, however defined? The suggestion that political forgiveness by functioning without the constraints of individual emotion and suffering is able to work more effectively and expansively on shaping forgiveness, has a logic which denies how the political plays on and has itself been subject to emotion and suffering (note how a Victims Commission in Northern Ireland had to appoint four Commissioners in order to reflect divisions and disagreements about what constituted a victim). That the political has played its part in inciting the very conditions which communities are invited to forgive indicates a further problem. And yet, there is also a case for stating that although the political realm cannot offer or provide forgiveness, it can create a culture in which conversations and recommendations about the value of forgiveness can move a society towards closer engagement from which other possibilities may emerge. But even here, political leaders can say sorry and call for forgiveness towards past suffering, but who that apology speaks for and how effective it is publicly is another matter (David Cameron’s apology for Bloody Sunday may have helped end the dispute about state responsibility towards those murdered, but has done nothing to assist reconciliation in any broader sense). The role of the Protestant churches in Northern Ireland has particular relevance here since their relationship with the state and its institutions means that models of forgiveness have tended to be connected with interpretations and expectations of the political (Thompson 2001: 139). The historical emphasis on no forgiveness without repentance has drawn from and reinforced social expectations about justice which have direct line into the political and the moral convictions which give the political meaning. What are the attitudes of the Protestant churches towards forgiveness then in the current Northern Ireland climate and what do representatives have to say about the differences between conditional and unconditional approaches towards forgiving?



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In sketching an outline of what forgiveness means, Rev John Dunlop (Presbyterian) started from the position of emphasising how unconditional forgiveness reflects God’s relationship with man, before highlighting the role of blame and regret in the forgiving process: God’s forgiveness is offered prior to repentance taking place. Grace comes before repentance and faith. But whether the person who has offended initially appropriates or accepts that and repents is another element within forgiveness which can help a healing process. However, we should also remember that when forgiveness is offered it is also accusing and blaming the person of something, so behind the offer of forgiveness is the accusation of wrongdoing. If the offender turns round and explains he was justified in what he did and doesn’t therefore want to be forgiven where does that leave us? I think first there needs to be some dialogue or conversation within the relationship so the perpetrator can come to understand the devastating effects of his action on the victim, which is what restorative justice does. In understanding the consequences of his actions this can lead to repentance which, in turn, leads to profound regret. The offended party may not start this relationship in order to forgive but once there is a movement to the interpersonal level the offence is pulled into a relational context. Each begins to understand the psychological state and the relational issues and this can lead to a very deep sense of regret over past actions. Forgiveness is a dynamic of empowerment where I am not prepared to be trapped in the event visited upon me or my family by x, y, or z in the past. Dunlop continued: A person may not feel they want to forgive but there can still be a process which leads them to a point where they feel they can do this and that it will release them from the power of the perpetrator. We have to be reminded constantly that this is part of the interior, theological, emotional and spiritual dynamic of the Christian faith. Dialogue is important to help us explore the context which shaped actions. If you understand forgiveness judicially, as a justice concept, this makes the relational aspect more difficult because if the purpose of offering forgiveness is to heal the relationship, then it requires a response. You don’t just bank it and go on doing what you’ve always been doing. The judicial understanding is a misunderstanding in the intention of forgiveness. God within Christ reconciled the world to



Himself and that is supposed to underpin the nature of the Church community. For Rev Norman Hamilton (Presbyterian), forgiveness tends to be connected to political persuasion and this relationship requires some disentangling if the advantages of forgiving are to be realised: The Lord’s Prayer expresses repentance towards God in the first half and in the second half ‘As we forgive those who sin against us’, does not require anything from the person who has aggrieved you. There is a mire of moral equivalence here which allows people to fire off politically and our theology of forgiveness is shaped by political and social contexts more than it is by the Word alone. How do you balance mercy, justice and love and peace? Historically, Protestants have gone for the need for justice and that is still very much there, but where does mercy fit in? The nexus between justice, peace and mercy are major biblical themes, but the difficulty for Protestant theology is how the mix of these is to be dealt with. Rev Lesley Carroll (Presbyterian) concurred with these sentiments, viewing forgiveness as part of a debate which (like many others) has been tied to struggles between communal and individual responsibility: People have made forgiveness statements quickly after events where they probably would have had no sense of what that would actually mean practically speaking in the way they would live their life. But such statements have been very influential in keeping people from retaliating so they have been important. Although we live in an instant world, forgiveness is not an instant thing. Some would argue that forgiveness belongs entirely to God and we have nothing to offer in terms of forgiveness. Some would say that forgiveness should be offered to a community but how can one ask for forgiveness from others? One cannot bear the weight of collective sins. It’s an individual and personal thing. Words like forgiveness have also been politicized and a problem is how the Church communicates its thoughts on this or takes a moral stance which does not reinforce the politicization. But if the Church strives to address emotional connections that people have with other identities outside of the Church or with the traumas of the past, through a renewed emotional connection with Christ or God, there may be some success to be had.



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Rev Ruth Patterson (Presbyterian) spoke about the value of forgiveness as having an unknown impact on the wrongdoer but being important for the well-being of the forgiver: I think to forgive somebody even if the other person does not accept it, or is dead, is important for my well-being (physical, emotional, spiritual) and my own growth to forgive. It’s important for me to forgive whether I am reconciled to the other person or not. We will never know what effect forgiveness has on the person who has been forgiven. Forgiveness seems to be a component of reconciliation because if you are holding against somebody how can you build a bridge. Reconciliation takes two – forgiveness can happen with just one person forgiving – it can do something for me and it can hopefully release some healing power in the other person. That may eventually lead to reconciliation but it also may not and part of this is the realm of mystery. Rev Dr Ian Hart (Presbyterian) saw forgiveness more in terms of process, which needed repentance in order to sustain creative and imaginative interaction: Forgiveness can either be regarded as an instant thing or a process and the most we can hope for is to try and persuade people to move along the progression between non-forgiveness and forgiveness. Sometimes a softening of the relationship between perpetrator and victim can bring about change and a small bit of repentance can help this. Both sides need to show flexibility and creativity here, but my understanding is that if someone repents you must forgive them. Jesus taught that if someone comes and says he is sorry you must forgive him. But it is far less clear what to do if he doesn’t do that. Then, working towards forgiveness seems much harder. Rev John Dickinson (Presbyterian) focussed on the importance of relationship in forgiveness and pointed towards how perceptions of victim and wrongdoer also shape social expectations about forgiveness. In so doing, he raised the significance of conditionality: In any kind of human relationship an element of ‘proof’ is important if trust is to be re-established when it has broken down. The difficulty comes with the repentance issue. I think that the Protestant community would have a tendency to constantly look at this in terms of



the behaviour of the person needing to be forgiven, rather than in terms of the behaviour of the person doing the forgiving. The reality is that it is possible to forgive someone who has not repented even though there is a tendency to think that no-one will receive forgiveness unless they have repented. That is the order which is commonly expected. The Protestant community has traditionally been reactive and that follows the logic that I will not forgive you unless you have repented first. The problem with this is that the Gospel makes it known that God offers forgiveness ahead of my repentance so there is a Christian inconsistency here. But, the emphasis on forgiveness from an unconditional perspective was voiced by those such as Rev Ken Doherty (Presbyterian) who stressed: Forgiveness comes first and then repentance afterwards. Chronologically that is the way I see it. We need to go back to the story of the Prodigal Son and when he was forgiven. He was forgiven when he was still away in the far country. The father forgave him and the whole process of him coming home was a process of repentance and that is the chronology, forgiveness first, repentance second. That is the way that God deals with us, He forgives first. Now unless we repent we do not actually receive that forgiveness, but God does not stipulate that unless we repent we will not be forgiven. He has already forgiven but there is an imperative to repent in the Gospel in response to that. Rev Jack Lamb (Presbyterian) supported this position adding: Clearly in the Lord’s Prayer we ask the Lord to ‘Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us’. It doesn’t go into the mechanics of how that is to be done. It states it quite blandly that we are to forgive people their sins. What that prayer is clearly saying is that I want you to forgive me the wrongs I have done to the extent that I forgive other people the wrongs they may have done to me. It does not say we are only going to forgive those who have admitted they are wrong and they are sorry. It is an unconditional forgiving of people who have wronged you. However, for the more fundamentalist churches forgiveness can only realistically be given and received in the context of an overriding repentance. As Rev Willie McCrea (Free Presbyterian) put it:



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The basis of God’s forgiveness is repentance. There has to be repentance. Jesus said ‘Accept ye repent ye shall all likewise perish’. If a man is assigned to hell for all eternity because he will not repent of sin, then I do not believe that we should forgive and forget. I believe there has to be repentance. Rev Brian McClung (Free Presbyterian) underlined this assertion, insisting: The Lord has stated that he will forgive any repentant sinner. He doesn’t exclude. He says that ‘All that the Father who gave to me shall come to me and he who cometh I will not cast out’. So, sinners aren’t turned away because they are too wicked. Paul said ‘I am the chief of sinners’ and he was a murderer and the Lord saved him. Repentance is a turning away from sin with sorrow. It’s not an excusing of it or a justifying of it. It’s an open acknowledgement of sin and confessing your part in it, forsaking it and not going back to it. The person who is converted and brought to Christ is someone who repents for their sins. That’s the terms on which God gives forgiveness. In turning away from something you must turn to something else. You turn to obey God and His Word. You live in obedience to the moral law of God. God gives the gift of repentance which means that God gives everything that is needed to repent. A view further confirmed by Rev Ralph Hall (Free Presbyterian), who added: Before forgiveness there has to be repentance and there has to be a change of heart before forgiveness can be granted. For me, those who talk about forgiveness without repentance haven’t really dealt with the issues that have gone before. For true repentance you are so sorry for what you have done that you don’t want to do it again. There is a biblical basis for repentance then forgiveness. Consistent with this line, Rev Gareth Burke (Evangelical Presbyterian) similarly advocated the importance of repentance before forgiveness, continuing: Repentance and faith are necessary for forgiveness. Repentance in a recognition and turning away from sin and faith is a reaching out to Jesus Christ and trusting in Him. Repentance is certainly essential



before forgiveness can take place. We have a responsibility to be willing to forgive and we can affect that forgiveness whenever there is evidence of repentance. There has to be repentance first because that is the way that God has dealt with us. God sent Jesus Christ to die on the Cross for sinners that we may be reconciled to Him and experience His forgiveness. God is willing to forgive but there must be repentance on our part first. In comparison, Rev Jeff Ballantine (Evangelical Presbyterian) preferred to view forgiveness in the context of justice and so aligned the forgiveness debate with political/social expectations about moral order: We have terrorists who ought to be in prison but are in Stormont because the government has taken an entirely pragmatic view and allowed them in in order to try and make progress as they see it. Victims have been victimised further and the perpetrators of violence have been rewarded. But in order to have true peace you cannot ignore justice. God cannot be gracious without at the same time being just. God doesn’t forgive us unconditionally if we don’t repent. There is no such thing as unconditional forgiveness because if you wrong me and I forgive you but you have not repented then what does it mean? It becomes a meaningless expression. Reconciliation is only possible if one repents. Others took an almost identical stance to those respondents from Free Presbyterian and Evangelical Presbyterian churches, with representative Rev Knox Hyndman (Reformed Presbyterian) arguing: The biblical order is repentance then forgiveness and there can’t be forgiveness without repentance. The person to be forgiven has to express repentance and sorrow. If the individual has not asked to be forgiven, does he then want to be forgiven? There has to be proof that the perpetrator wants forgiveness and that comes by showing sorrow and repentance. This view was further reinforced by Rev David Silversides (Reformed Presbyterian), who advocated: Personal forgiveness does not mean believing that crime should not be punished. Liberal churchmen have taken the concept of loving your enemy and applied it to civil justice, so punishment for crimes



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is minimised, which is wrong. Forgiveness in Scripture means ‘letting go’. When the perpetrator has repented there is always a responsibility on the Christian to not seek personal revenge. The Christian is to try and remain free of personal malice but that does not mean they pretend that wrongdoing did not take place. The Christian cannot ignore murder because it is offensive to God. When repentance is forthcoming there can be not only an absence of personal malice, but some resumption of normal relations. Yet, within the liberal strands of Protestantism there is a more flexible relationship between conditional and unconditional conceptualisations of forgiveness. Emphasising the importance of the latter, Rev William McMillan (Non-Subscribing Presbyterian) stated: Forgiveness can only come when you really understand that there is something that needs to be forgiven. If you don’t believe that it’s wrong to kill why would you want to be forgiven for it? Many don’t want forgiveness because this would require an admission that what was done was wrong and they could not live with that. In the parable of the Prodigal Son the father is willing to forgive but he couldn’t do it until the son returned. Once the son did return his father’s forgiveness became available. It was always there but it could not be expressed until the son’s return. There are those who have said that liberals are short on ideas of sin so they don’t worry about forgiveness because there isn’t too much to forgive. Not too many liberals talk about original sin it has to be said. Instead they are talking about the need for re-orientation. For the fundamentalists unless there is conversion you are lost, but, importantly, this has to be on their terms. For Rev Nigel Kirkpatrick (Church of Ireland), forgiveness should meet the needs of both victim and perpetrator, even if the perpetrator cannot experience forgiveness until he accepts it from the victim: Forgiveness, for the person doing the forgiving, is an action that releases him from bitterness and anger. It releases him to get on with his life. I relate that to God’s forgiveness which is unconditional, but there is also a need to take the forgiveness being offered. In that sense the perpetrator will not be granted forgiveness until he comes and takes it. To receive it he needs to come and look for it and that is the same as repenting for what he has done. So the perpetrator does



not feel forgiveness until he looks for it and takes it. Confessing and receiving absolution probably engenders an inclination to want to forgive and to pass that on. But if you have a God full of darkness and austerity, who is like a stern father who beats his children, then you’re not going to really feel forgiven if you go to confession. You’re going to be made to feel like a naughty person. Looking upon forgiveness as an individually motivated decision which has impact whether handled from a religious perspective or otherwise, Rev Patrick McGlinchey (Church of Ireland) contributed: People can decide to forgive outside of the theological context and without the power of Jesus Christ. I don’t think it is something that can only take place within that religious milieu. People can decide to take on an attitude of forgiveness. There have been figures involved in paramilitarism who went on to profess the need to end violence and sectarianism and that forgiveness towards those previously seen as sworn enemies can be found; that hate is a thing of the past and that with it there is no future. Forgiving someone surely doesn’t mean that you minimise what they have done, it just means that you choose to no longer hold a grudge towards them. I have never seen anybody emotionally healthy who bears a strong and abiding resentment towards someone for what they have done to them. Rev Michael Parker (Church of Ireland) chose to speak about how the wider political context provides a key influence in how forgiveness is interpreted and approached and suggested that for forgiveness to re-engage social interest it has also to renegotiate the historical fixations of political vantage points: Forgiveness is a creative word. There was little opportunity for relationships in the 1970s and 1980s but now there is an opportunity to forge new understandings and new relationships. Forgiveness, it seems to me is the context in which this can happen. There is a kind of pragmatic forgiveness emerging which says that we have to get past old stories and positions and have to work in a new more open, more neutral space. For years it was all about the word ‘no’, leading to disengagement and isolation. To move towards forgiveness those positions have to change.



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Expressing the unconditional approach to forgiveness, Bishop Alan Abernethy (Church of Ireland) highlighted how by viewing forgiveness as responsibility to God individual needs become an extension of this attachment and so are set in an institutional setting which shapes expectations about how the needs of the victims might be met: God offers forgiveness whether there is repentance or not. But we aren’t forgiven until we receive it. We cannot enter into the fullness of that forgiveness unless we engage with it. Forgiveness can still be offered but unless someone receives it it is not complete. If you really believe that God has offered us His forgiveness it is very hard to say no to it if someone is saying sorry and offering repentance, which means turning away. I have to model forgiveness on what God does. Jesus died whether we receive that forgiveness or not. Forgiveness is on offer whether we take it or not. But you have to be careful that you do not make people feel bad who cannot forgive. There has to be compassion and mercy for those who have suffered hurt. For me, forgiveness is a divine thing and any human attempt to respond to that has to be modelled on what God offers. That forgiveness is unconditional. Jesus died regardless of whether I receive that or not. The Very Rev Dr Houston McKelvey (Church of Ireland) also expressed the importance of the Church as a necessary context for understanding the historical, social and practical importance of forgiving: Probably the most important thing the Church has to offer society is the sacrament of forgiveness and reconciliation and that is driven from the altar. You truly and honestly repent of your sins through the recitation of prayer and this draws you closer to your faith. The reason you get a wafer in your hand is not for your peace of mind and it’s not to make you feel more self-centred and adjusted. It’s to give you the energy to go outside and witness for Christ and do this healing work in the world. The revolutionary dynamic in Christianity is the communion and that is where you seek forgiveness, express reconciliation and exchange peace with those beside you. The problem with many Protestant churches is that there is more time spent on petty squabbles inside the Church rather than being a force to be reckoned with on the streets. We spend too much time navel-gazing and belonging to a religious club.



Rev John McDowell (Church of Ireland) added to the debate by viewing the power of forgiveness of a gift, but in pointing out that a gift has to be received, he also underlined the necessity of relationship (and therefore conditionality): Forgiveness is a spiritual gift. God forgives people and expects them to forgive others. Like all gifts it can only be enjoyed if it is received. You can’t forgive someone who does not want to be forgiven because then everything just hangs in the air. The offender does not then see the need for a gift, as it were, so there must be a degree of recognition. Whether it is repentance or not it is up to the person who has been wronged to establish the basis of the relationship between the two parties and to acknowledge that something is amiss in the relationship. It is a need to re-establish a moral relationship. Otherwise it’s like putting a gift on the table and saying there is forgiveness and if someone says that they are not taking it then it just sits there and loses its moral impact because it hasn’t been taken. From the Christain viewpoint we also need to remember that while man sinned, God forgave. He did not wait for man to go and say he was wrong and He did something that was immensely costly to Him so that man could say he was wrong. The Cross is meant to appeal so man can see when what he has done is wrong. So it is a Christian duty to be prepared, even as the wronged person, to allow someone to admit they were wrong. Given the nature of people there are not going to be many cases where one person will admit to be entirely wrong, with the other seen as at least partly to blame for the situation that existed between the two. But for Archbishop Alan Harper (Church of Ireland), the wider purpose of developing a debate about forgiveness lay in the possibilities it presents for communities in rethinking their relationship and responsibilities to each other: There needs to be a dialogue about whether or not there is such a thing as vicarious forgiveness; whether one can offer apology and seek absolution from acts of which one was not personally responsible, but which may have been done by someone tangentially at least in the name of a whole community. To what extent can you articulate a community response and whose role is it to do that and how should it be done? That is a fraught theological issue. There is a strong sense that only the aggrieved body is the one who can offer forgiveness on



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his or her behalf. There is another view which says we are all part of something in Church concerns, we might be part of a denomination and if things have been done in the name of a corporate entity like a denomination then it may be appropriate for that denomination not just to disassociate itself from it, but also to make some sort of gesture of apology, or seek reconciliation on the basis of saying that was not done in my name and I do not approve of it. Because of attitudes within the community of which I am part, I must bear some responsibility. Continuing, Harper went on: Do we have to wait to move on as a society for everything to have been resolved, or can we ‘park’ things and say today is a new day, all that belongs to yesterday, but we have the urgent issue of today to deal with and can we do it in a co-operative and respectful manner? There are those who say we cannot move on from yesterday until yesterday has been resolved and for the process of reconciliation there need to be a number of things in place. First is that the perpetrator must recognize his responsibility for that which gave offence – so there is an initial recognition. The second thing is to seek forgiveness for what has been done – so recognition then seeking of forgiveness. That then places the onus on the one to whom you have turned for forgiveness to be generous in offering that forgiveness so the process of completion can occur. Then there has to be a determination in the mind of the offender that he can never contemplate doing such a thing again – that it is now behind him, but also recognisable as an unacceptable way of being. But we have tens of thousands of people who are suffering hurt and pain and linking them up with those who did that or indeed with the group to which they belong is a very complex process. We have to move from suspicion to a position of acceptance and subsequently, trust. There will be some who will benefit hugely by the opportunity for forgiving. There will be others who will find it impossible to forgive, but who are prepared to move on, to ‘park’ the issue and decide that was another day. There will be those whose bereavement means nothing can make things better. So there is no one linear process which can encapsulate all of this. We are talking abut the relationship of community and community, the internal relationships within segments of the community which find themselves in a state of disunity and sometimes in a state of enmity. But there is a very powerful component in Christianity



which says that my responsibility is to be as a forgiving person wherever I am. It’s most simply and powerfully encapsulated in the Lord’s Prayer and which predicates on forgiveness for me on the basis of the extent to which I’m prepared to be forgiving. The unconditional emphasis towards forgiveness is particularly favoured by Rev Harold Good (Methodist), who stressed: Repentance that is demanded doesn’t actually mean very much. What do you do with someone who takes the position that they are not going to say sorry and believe that they acted with legitimate intent? Then such demands become quite meaningless. Christ’s ministry was not about condemnation, He continued to challenge and expose what was wrong but His ministry was not about condemning people. Condemnation takes us nowhere. We are bedevilled with a fundamentalism which is built on condemnation, which bears down on people and makes them feel bad about themselves and others. Really, if I feel I have been forgiven beyond my deserving, then I want to treat other people in the way that I believe God has treated me. And for Johnston McMaster (Methodist) forgiveness also comes before repentance, thereby putting expectations of justice after forgiveness and not before. Highlighting that for many Protestants this would cause problems for expectations of justice over forgiveness, he went on: The Protestant position in general has been that the possibility of forgiveness can only come with repentance. For Catholics forgiveness is more of a process whereas for Protestants it tends to be conditional, repentance first and then forgiveness and in that order. But many seem to have forgotten Calvin’s theology which stressed forgiveness and then repentance. He described the repentance and forgiveness order as legalistic repentance and the forgiveness and repentance order as evangelical repentance and Calvin said it is the latter you will find in the Gospels and not the former. So we have been rooted in a society where the God image has been largely punitive about how Protestants and Catholics perceive justice. For Catholics, justice has been much more abut fairness, equality, fair play with equality issues the primary thing. Whereas for Protestants and unionists justice has been very much about Shakespeare’s Shylock and the pound of flesh.



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Finally, for Rev David Clements (Methodist), the possibility of forgiveness cannot be easily disconnected from other wider social forces of influence and at the centre of those social forces remains the need to deal with problems of anger and (in)justice: I would see resentment mostly in negative and self-destructive terms. Anger is different though. There is a distinction to be made here about righteous anger which is in understanding what has happened and knowing something is wrong, and that anger is a proper and right response to that. But the danger is when this anger becomes internalised and negative, when it becomes bitterness and resentment, which is always going to be self-destructive. I also think that sometimes the pressure to forgive comes too quickly. It is right to forgive and to come to that spirit of forgiveness, but not at the expense of failing to recognise the injustice and sin that’s been committed and the proper feelings of anger that that induces.

Reconciliation Unlike forgiveness, which may fall into conditional and unconditional categories, reconciliation is firmly conditional and this is so because it requires interaction. In outlining a framework for thinking about reconciliation, Lederach stresses the importance of the relational when he argues that reconciliation should strive to shift attention away from issues which sustain division and conflict and move it towards a process which ‘focuses on the restoration and rebuilding of relationships’ (Lederach 1997: 24). His vision of reconciliation is dependent on a reorientation of relations between conflicting parties by conceptualising difference within a context of similarity, emphasising the humanisation of one side to the other. Reconciliation, for Lederach, ‘must find ways to address the past without getting locked into a vicious cycle of mutual exclusiveness inherent in the past’ (ibid.: 26) and present the opportunity ‘where concerns about both the past and the future can meet’ (ibid.: 27). Reconciliation, in other words, functions as a space where contact about the past and future can combine to shape new understandings about the present (ibid.). But, to achieve this, Lederach recommends that reconciliation address three primary concerns. First, there must be a shift from independent and exclusive positions to interdependent and inclusive positions. Second, a space should be created which enables past pain to be voiced in ways which allow a gradual loosening of attachments to that pain. And third, consideration must



be given to justice and peace but within the context of a shared future (ibid.: 31). By collectively dealing with these concerns Lederach believes that the potential ‘to address, integrate, and embrace the painful past and the necessary shared future as a means of dealing with the present’ can be realised (ibid.: 35). The attempt to develop the concept of a shared and inclusive society through acknowledging the hurt and pain of the past, constructing fruitful relationships, shaping new attitudes which underpin support for cultural and attitudinal change, and working to facilitate transformation in the social, political and economic realms provides the framework for discussion about reconciliation and its concomitant objectives (Hamber and Kelly 2009: 286: 310). The dialogical nature of reconciliation inevitably and profoundly seeks to confront fear of the other since it is fear which resists the possibility of change and ensures the continuation of conflict. This fear, as Vanier points out, can be a fear of difference, a fear of failure, a fear of loss and change and a fear of individuals seeking to challenge established and expected norms, yet whatever form it takes, fear is invariably exclusive and demands conformity in order to thrive (Vanier 1999: 73–81). In response to this fear the reconciliation process should aim to adopt ‘both forward and backward-looking dimensions’ which simultaneously embrace individual and social worlds (Dwyer 1999: 83). By doing so, reconciliation must accommodate competing individual and communal experiences and manage the tensions of these experiences (ibid.: 85). The basis of the tension, as Dwyer observes, derives in particular from anxieties and apprehension about the disruption or even eradication of established narratives which shape identity and create social meaning. Successful reconciliation depends on what Dwyer calls ‘narrative incorporation’, where stories and images of identity are absorbed into a wider narrative which attempts to differentiate between ‘the former’ and ‘new self’ within an environment based on equilibrium (ibid.: 88). That equilibrium needs to avoid the domination of one narrative by another and does this by containing differences within the context of a new future-based narrative structure. If parties are made properly aware of this goal they are then more able to realise that competing and divisive articulations must be brought together to support the emerging new narrative (ibid.: 89). Contested narratives then begin to find meaning together as a response to a wider more embracive narrative. So, whilst containing the tension of differences, the reconciliation process, from this perspective, is designed primarily to support ‘strategies of narrative



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revision’ (ibid.: 96) and use divergence as a means to reach convergence by conceiving the specific in terms of the collective. The role of narrative is therefore integral to reconciliation and the journey towards social transformation. As Brison put it when talking about the importance of narrative in recovery from trauma, ‘In order to construct self-narratives we need not only the words with which to tell our stories, but also an audience able and willing to hear us and understand our words as we intend them. This aspect of remaking a self in the aftermath of trauma highlights the dependency of the self on others and helps to explain why it is so difficult for survivors to recover when others are unwilling to listen to what they endured’ (Brison 2002: 51). Brison’s simple yet profound comment highlights the importance and significance of the interpersonal and the role of narration in order to either bring that relationship closer together, or drive it further apart. Her comment is a reference to distance and being heard, but in terms of reconciliation the significance of narrative relates more centrally to the possibilities of reinterpretation and using stories to revisit the past without envisioning that past as a means to serve and reinforce old conflict-based positions. Richard Kearney, who defines narrative as ‘the universal desire to make sense of history by making a story’ (Kearney 1998: 40), also goes on to point out that by working to reveal the undiscovered potentialities of narrative and critically questioning the history of identity there is a chance that the past can be used to ‘wrest tradition away from the conformism that is always threatening to overpower it’ (ibid.). The pressure to resort to conventional or dominant narratives must also be seen as a pressure to open up ‘a dogmatic opposition between the “eternal verities” of tradition, on the one hand, and the free inventiveness of imagination, on the other’ (ibid.: 40–41). For Kearney, that imagination needs to adopt an attitude of suspicion and vigilance towards established narrative in order to expose ‘the alienating role of myth as an agency of ideological conformism’ (ibid.: 47). Thus one needs to be not only suspicious (or apply what Lederach calls ‘constructive pessimism’ (Lederach 2010: 60)) and critically aware of how dominant narratives prevail, but one must also listen for the values and prejudices that underpin those narratives. The process of communication (telling) and reception (listening) remains essential to the transformation of entrenched communal boundaries and is vital if individuals and communities are to move beyond the myths that sustain those boundaries. The significance of narrative in social and communal identity is further expounded by Sacks, who notes how stories ‘recapitulate the



human experience of time: the open future, the outcome dependent on our choice, the alternative possibilities that lie before our imagination and our strength or weakness of will’ (Sacks 2007: 117), and exist as an essential characteristic of what it means to articulate the human condition and historical experience. Adopting the concept of covenantal renewal which is used to shape a society ‘that honours the dignity of all’ (ibid.: 118), Sacks applies the notion of covenant as a metaphor for ‘the home we build together’ and views narrative as key to this metaphor because ‘We are part of a story, begun by those who came before us’ (ibid.: 122). The covenantal narrative which Sacks refers to is imagined as a space or environment which facilitates a ‘politics of responsibility’ where ‘people undertake to abide by a moral code, pursue a moral vision and create a society built on justice, compassion and respect for human dignity’ (ibid.: 123). Sacks’ covenant adopts a framework for rethinking collective and individual social order which produces not just coexistence but co-responsibility, transforming “We” out of multiple ‘I’s” (ibid.: 143) and moving the concept of covenant beyond communal identity and security to social identity and security. As Sacks insightfully observes, ‘We either make social cohesion, or its absence unmakes us’, but we do it through the engagement of narrative and dialogue since ultimately the ‘common good cannot be legislated’ (ibid.: 158). At the heart of the politics of responsibility that Sacks talks of is the story and it is the story that is the referent for identity, history and the future which has to shift if perceptions of each are to support the need for collective rather than communal security. Though the notion of covenant is likely to be problematic for Catholics in Northern Ireland who may be inclined to see the term as having Protestant/unionist connotations of control and domination, in Sacks’ vision covenant finds similarity with Volf’s emphasis on ‘moral commitment’ which is concerned with how identity is constructed through relations and how one finds definition against the other (Volf 1996: 154). From this standpoint, covenant ‘means to attend to the shifts in the identity of the other, to make space for the changing other in ourselves, and to be willing to re-negotiate our own identity in interaction with the fluid identity of the other’ (ibid.). The narrative at work here stresses the complementary nature of identity, recognises independence within a context of interdependence and is about ‘making space of the other in the self’ (ibid.). For Volf, giving and generosity become essential factors for constructive and positive engagement, and the need to draw from a theological basis in order to give the new covenant permanence is key to providing a context with meaning beyond the self



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and shaping the necessary conditions for what Volf refers to as ‘embrace’ (ibid.: 155). The possibility of renewed relations through covenant, for Volf, ‘is God’s embrace of the humanity that keeps breaking the covenant’ whereas ‘the social side of that new covenant is our way of embracing one another under the conditions of enmity’. Or, as Volf summarises it, ‘Embrace is the inner side of the covenant, and covenant is the outer side of the embrace’ (ibid.: 156). Embrace, then, is the counter to exclusion which is based more on enmity than difference (ibid.: 47). The theological context becomes significant here because it offers the universality or overarching framework of God within which the particular circumstances of individual and group identity can exist and shift (ibid.: 45). For Volf, the figure of Christ is presented as unity since Christ is seen to incorporate all bodies and conditions within the one body. His suffering provides the context, the boundary, within which all human possibility can be witnessed and known (ibid.: 47). In relation to the division of communities and groups Volf uses a Christian ethos as a means to understand the relationship between distance and belonging and acknowledges that rather than difference being ignored or brushed aside it is actually difference which ensures universality because it is the common human condition (ibid.: 49). Volf also identifies the dilemma of chaos without boundaries as well as the control and repression which boundaries provide (ibid.: 63–64), and identifies the attention and care necessary to avoid one or the other dominating. Each risks developing exclusive situations ‘when the violence of expulsion, assimilation, or subjugation and the indifference of abandonment replace the dynamics of taking in and keeping out as well as the mutuality of giving and receiving’ (ibid.: 67), but for this to happen there has to be a preoccupation with the self and resistance to the other. Using the metaphor of the individual who allows the other to enter and enjoy the security of shared space, Volf points towards the importance of love and giving as necessary for a ‘de-centered center’ of belonging which facilitates embrace (ibid.: 71). The importance of dialogue is also addressed by Williams, who rightly observes that ‘when language decays, possible views of the world disappear’ (2005: 56). Viewing the propensity for war or violent reaction as evidence of ‘a profound sickness of spirit’ and insisting that the way to address such sickness is to take down the structures which help keep it in place, Williams uses the death of Jesus as a means to comprehend reconciliation between God and the world, which produced not only transformation, but ‘an expansion of horizons’ (ibid.). The peace of Christ is an essentially embracive space, reconciling the range of human



experience into a transformative context. Dealing with the antagonism that tends to exist with dualistic relations, Williams contends that Jesus ‘does not allow either world to settle down in its own conventions, but interrupts it with worlds from elsewhere. Into the world of easy hope he brings the memory of hell; into the world of self-indulgent despair he brings the affirmation of love. Each world is extended and, as we have seen, intensified by the other’ (ibid.: 81). The power of Jesus as the personification of reconciliation comes because ‘he refuses to belong, but creates a world for others to belong in’ (ibid.). It is also clear that Williams wants the Church to bring these points into a debate with social resonance and purpose. He wants the Church to change the interpretative landscape of social and political division by using the lesson of Christ as the context with in which difference can be both expressed and reconciled. Whatever the possibilities and practicalities of the exclusive–inclusive transition (and inclusive here does not mean the rejection of identity but its absorption into a broader frame of reference where it exists alongside and not just because of the other), it is clear that such a process depicts identity as a conversational and negotiative process dependent on the presence of the other, and it is from this other that identity and meaning are drawn (identity is based on what we believe we are not as much as what we believe we are and indeed, in Northern Ireland, the churches are seen to have perpetuated a ‘theology of separation’ which has reinforced belief in independence and polarisation (Wilson 2003: 119–140)). This identity is recycled through memory, history and myth and in the conflict setting uses the relations between each to produce an identity which is seen as violated or under threat by the other, so forcing the argument for separation (rather than its end) in order to avoid perceived annihilation or destruction (Lederach 2010: 142). To resist this possibility and the destructive actions that may result from it, reconciliation requires those involved to deconstruct the division and polarisation from which identity draws. This also means that the simplistic and distorting dualities of ‘us and them’, ‘good and bad’, must be reworked by drawing from concepts of sharing, coexistence and accommodation, with differences running in parallel, as with twin-tracks which remain separate but eventually combine to bring those who travel on those tracks to the same destination (Castle 2008: 75). The need to question and challenge the belief that violence and antagonism contributes to security and preservation rather than the opposite also requires the courage to step outside the boundaries of identity and view change as a process of dialogue and respect (ibid.: 173). The



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potential transformation that can come from such engagement is nicely expressed by Carl Rogers, who wrote: If you really understand another person in this way, if you are willing to enter his private world and see the way life appears to him, without any attempt to make evaluative judgements, you run the risk of being changed yourself. You might see it his way, you might find yourself influenced in your attitudes or your personality. This risk of being changed is one of the most frightening prospects most of us can face. If I enter, as fully as I am able, into the private world of a neurotic or psychotic individual, isn’t there a risk that I might become lost in that world? . . . The great majority of us could not listen; we would find ourselves compelled to evaluate, because listening would seem too dangerous. So the first requirement is courage, and we do not always have it. (Quoted in Castle 2008: 76) But, as Castle is surely right to point out, one must first find the confidence to confront and accept one’s own vulnerability if the reconciliation process is to take root, for the embedding of reconciliation ‘will only be possible if a person, or a group, is willing to readjust their identity in the light of the otherness of the other’ (ibid.: 80). And this, as Stevens reminds us, demands ‘conversion of heart and mind’ (Stevens 2004: 43). Within the space that the reconciliation process creates, there is also the opportunity to develop links and relations between various levels of social, psychological, spiritual, economic and political influence. In dealing with such a range of influences and forces reconciliation is not just about holding competing perceptions and identities in a non-destructive space, but is concerned with ‘the social reconstruction of a society’ and ‘the rebuilding of the moral order’ (ibid.: 42). It is about changing the structures of society which have reinforced and contributed to conflict by developing a transformative culture which exposes the damaging consequences of not changing. This cannot be imposed or forced, but emerges through the creativity and imagination of dialogue which is both interrogative and non-accusatory. Denial of dialogue amounts to denial of the common human experience and responsibility ‘to answer questions addressed to us, to defend ourselves against attacks, to reply to injunctions, to meet challenges’ and to be able to respond to actions made upon us (Niebuhr 1963: 56). Refusal to engage in such interaction is an abdication of what Niebuhr calls ‘the responsible self’, a self that is irrefutably social and where impressions and understandings of the self are formed as a consequence



of and in response to social circumstances (ibid.: 71). To reject this relation with the social and what the social entails is the road to the irresponsible self, concerned with individual desires and whims and the disregard of others. For Niebuhr, ‘The responsible self is driven as it were by the movement of the social process to respond and be accountable in nothing less than a universal community’ (ibid.: 88). To resist this relationship is not only to put individual or group desires before the common good, but to act in a way which reinforces the exclusive society and sows the seeds of conflict. The irresponsible self is seen to rely on the promotion of fear in order to have legitimacy and so must prevent or obstruct dialogue which risks diluting fears and exposing weaknesses in the position which the irresponsible self adopts. To reverse this insecurity and move towards the inclusive society there must be a generosity of spirit and intent towards the transformative process (Newlands 1997: 237). Dialogue which is attuned to a future in this regard ‘should seek mutuality in intellectual and social communities’ (ibid.: 243), since as is only too apparent in the modern world, the absence of dialogue increases the likelihood of violence and makes conflict the more likely expression of community and identity. Openness and generosity of spirit is the basis of the inclusive society, whereas closed and self-interested protectionism becomes the basis of the exclusive society. As Niebuhr might put it, the irresponsible self is the road to the divided and exclusive society but the responsible self is the road to a society committed to the common good and inclusivity. In connection to communal conflict, reconciliation depends on working through divisive relations between groups and addressing the tensions that arise because of perceived realistic and symbolic threats (Riek et al. 2008: 258). These two sets of threats emerge because of competition and conflicting goals in the case of realistic threats, and when one group violates the values of another in the case of symbolic threats (ibid.). Confronting the presence and influence of these threats is seen as essential for effective reconciliation, which must also address distance between groups and reduce inequality of power which is maintained by that distance (Harris and Fiske 2008: 301). Asymmetrical levels of power and control act as considerable obstruction to reducing distance, whereas working to provide symmetrical relations brings some equality into the process of interaction, making constructive and nonthreatening dialogue more likely. To achieve this change individual reconciliation is crucial for opening up the possibilities of ‘recognition, respect and acceptance’ as well as developing security (Stephan 2008: 372), whereas, in contrast, societal reconciliation emerges through



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language and meaning which is communally oriented and largely symbolic (ibid.: 370). But, if reconciliation is necessarily seen as having to deal with a dynamic of threats that arise in connection to in-group and out-group relations, then it is apparent that perceptions of the out-group must be transformed by ‘changing fear to curiosity’ and ‘demystifying cultural practices of the out-group’ (Worchel and Coutant 2008: 436). By working to break down the fears that sustain and perpetuate insecurities, the perception may be developed ‘that the out-group, like the in-group, is heterogeneous and composed of individuals with different views, life styles, and desires. The process requires humanizing the out-group (the enemy has a face) while still respecting integrity of group boundaries’, as well as realising that differences are not always constitutive of violence and antagonism (ibid.). The positive influence of religion in reconciliation is that it can offer ‘identity as moral possibility’ (Sacks 2005: 8) and help redirect groups and communities towards the concept of ‘the public’ (or common good), which can be shaped by imaginations of family life with all the fragilities and tensions that this life contains. This is significant for beginning to comprehend how the heterogeneous and the homogenous coexist and can help shift social awareness towards recognition of ‘a community of communities’ (ibid.: 84–94). Faith, contends Sacks, can offer the environment within which shared understanding can come about, but only if that faith is supportive of difference as the basis of commonality. The reference to society as a community of communities offers the chance to comprehend religious identity as a manifestation of difference in sameness, or, as Sacks put it, ‘A community of communities needs two kinds of religious strength: one to preserve our own distinct traditions, the other to bring them to an enlarged sense of the common good’ (ibid.: 94). The existence of such an environment, for those such as Schreiter, requires a strong spiritual motivation. Like Williams, Schreiter emphasises the reconciliation of Christ as necessary for a spiritual dimension to reconciliation. Using the division between victim and perpetrator as the basis of a renewed relationship, Schreiter spots the opportunity for the emergence of a strongly humane ethic as one experiences the other, but conceives the success of this encounter as ultimately down to how it is conducted as a spiritual matter (Schreiter 1998: 14–19). In relation to the possibility of social reconciliation, which he refers to as ‘a process that engages an entire population’, Schreiter identifies how reconciliation means essentially ‘reconstructing a society’ (ibid.: 112) and how this reconstruction is a moral matter. Whereas individual reconciliation



is about ‘the restoration of humanity damaged by traumatic events’, societal reconciliation calls for ‘a process of reconstructing the moral order of society’ (ibid.: 116), and this requires reference to a wider more expansive concept of morality which is beyond and outside the confines of territorial claims and communal solidarity. To reach this wider space, Schreiter believes the churches can play a vital role, providing ‘those spaces of safety, memory, and hope that help make reconciliation possible’ (ibid.: 128). This is not to suggest that identity and communal loyalty be jettisoned by a commitment to the inclusive society; clearly this is improbable. No, the emphasis is much more that identity and solidarity be understood and interpreted in relation to a common good and not just with the obsession about securing identity and solidarity in the light of oppositional communities. The inclusive society built on reconciliation is a society where the inclusive is the context in which communal identity and solidarity can be expressed without recourse to antagonism and confrontation. In that sense, it is a context which changes the nature and understanding of memory and identity itself, and indeed will have to if antagonism and confrontation are to be overcome. In relation to the problem of reconciliation in Northern Ireland, Rev Norman Hamilton (Presbyterian) argued for churches to respond to the uncertainty and insecurity which has come to emerge in the transition from conflict to post-conflict society more forcefully. Within the changed climate Hamilton believes it is essential for churches to articulate a clear and purposeful vision about what they stand for and what contribution they can make in response to the uncertainty and fear that has arisen in the post-conflict phase: One of the debates we’ve been having within the Presbyterian Church is asking what the future role of the Church is given the new political dispensation. At the moment there is no meta-narrative but a contrast is being made with the past. Then we knew what we were for, we buried the dead, we comforted the families, we pastured the pain and we appealed to people to stop the killing. And that was our diet week in and week out for thirty years. But now that has stopped, the question arises what do we mean for the public arena? Until we find a new meta-narrative we may well be stuck. What is clear is that a fundamentalism which articulates certainties has gone. The certainties have been shown to be uncertain, but the vacuum is filled not by the removal of the certainty. It has been filled with more uncertainty. Church leadership has to play a part in civic leadership and reconciliation is reinforced by a theological commitment to justice.



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The problem is taking a political line towards these issues where there is a tendency to appeal to the hard-line because it protects my own tribal electorate. For Rev Dr John Finlay (Presbyterian), the changes which have emerged from the peace process mean that responsibilities for inter-Church work and communal dialogue are opening up. Finlay’s belief is that political change will encourage greater Church collaboration and that by not doing so the churches will effectively be isolating themselves from the realities of a changed political environment: As society becomes more and more secular, churches and all denominations will no longer have the luxury of being able to be distant from one another and apart from each other. Many will feel compelled to working closer with others that they previously would not have worked with. Young people do not have the same denominational hang-ups that my generation has and don’t seem to care about distinctions based on Methodism, Church of Ireland, Pentecostal or Presbyterian etc. I can even see unification within Protestantism taking place, not under the one ecclesiastical umbrella, but a coming together of core values. If we demanded that we wouldn’t move forward until we knew every item of truth there would be no future for us. I think the problem for Protestantism is how we make religious excuses for hanging on to the past and how religion and politics are both spiritualized. That is why the religious crusade was about Ulster and God. This makes it particularly difficult to let go of the past. But I think politics will change religion. I think there will be a slow mergence of the two political traditions in government and this may well shift people’s attitudes to how they see the religion of others. I think you will see a coming together of like-minded Christians regardless of their affiliation. I see a much greater co-operation between the churches on core issues and values and there will be a growth in this relational development. But for Rev Lesley Carroll (Presbyterian), the perception remains that churches seem unable to know how to respond to change, being unprepared and hesitant about communicating new purpose and meaning within a post-conflict context: When the conflict was on everybody knew what their role was and churches saw their role as providing pastoral care and delivering the



clarion call to end violence. Then the world changes so what are we now supposed to do? Two difficulties emerge. One is getting a kind of co-ordinated thinking going which is post-conflict and based on peace, but it is very difficult to pursue this co-ordination. And the second is that people are continuing to fight the war in other ways, which again makes strategic and co-ordinated thinking very difficult. There seems to me a huge deadness in the Church at this time about how to deal with anything in the civil realm. This is not disinterest, it comes from not knowing how to respond. We need to be involved in policy formulations and responding to the concerns of social and political life and we need to do this without being pious and fingerpointing. If you ask clergy what they mean by a shared and better future most will not know what to say. Carroll further elaborated: The Church is the least theological thinking community to which I belong. But unless the Church is interested in how they can apply theology to the change taking place we cut ourselves from our roots and become just another lobby group. This has been made more difficult by the Presbyterian tendency to not talk about theology because we don’t agree. There would certainly be a tussle about what should constitute shared worship and the churches can get so anxious about making a mark in the world that they end up doing nothing. We have these commitments from the Reformation which shaped our theological worlds but we have not yet tried to unpack these notions for a secular world and that will require us to unpack them for ourselves. We still operate as if the Church is the centre of the world and everybody should be listening to it. We need to think outside the walls instead of inside the walls. But we will be forced to look beyond ourselves if we are not going to die. To see that we have a broader social purpose and to change this outlook that we don’t have to go outside the Church to have a role. Carroll also went on to talk about the part played by the churches in the construction of identity and was critical of how they have tended to divorce themselves from the impact and consequences of conflict: There is an identity in Christ as being the foundational and most important part of identity and somehow the churches have not managed to culturally divorce that from other identities. So we haven’t



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managed to separate that identity in Christ from all the others. On that there is certainly work for the Church to do. We need to become aware of how we function as Protestants as well as how we function as Christians, to open the door to those who are different from us but who share an identity in Christ with us. We also have ministers who never lived through the conflict and who are working with their congregations, who have been carrying the weight of grief, so they were socialised and educated in different worlds. There are great avenues for the Church to have conversations with people in ways which politicians have difficulty with, such as trying to work out what this shared and better future would look like but without being moralist. This is the kind of engagement with the public sphere where the churches can actually offer something to society. Rev John Dickinson (Presbyterian) added to this assessment by talking about how the structures of the Presbyterian Church tend to work against flexible response to change: The Presbyterian Church is largely a leaderless Church. It’s a Church whose very structures prevent leadership and make it almost impossible for the denomination to decide on a policy and apply it throughout all of its churches and structures. This is because of the individualism and the attitude towards Church functions. We are trying to look forward to the next twelve years and trying to figure out how we can change our decision-making processes and some of our structures so that we can relate better to a rapidly changing society. There is a symbiotic relationship between faith and politics in Northern Ireland but the political climate is certainly changing and I think this has spiritual and religious implications because it has to an extent robbed people of a particular religious outlook which depends on an oppositional figure to coalesce against. This change has taken away the figure around which political and religious objections could solidify. That shift has made it easier for people who wanted to say things but were afraid of the consequences to speak up and this, I think, has impacted on religion. I do however struggle with the sustainability of a set of political arrangements that basically leave no place for making reconciliation a necessity for living together. If each states that they have to co-exist and to an extent have to work with each other but have no desire to be friends, then what kind of basis is that to build a future on?



But, the Very Rev Alistair Dunlop (Presbyterian) saw reconciliation in the context of God, implying that it is more likely to take shape in relation to an understanding which reaches beyond the immediate needs of the self or one’s community, even though Dunlop was also convinced that this development remains unlikely given the highly disputed nature of what God means and does: Reconciliation is basically about peace with God. That is where it starts and until we have that sense of peace in our hearts with God we don’t have the motivation or the ability to make peace with others. Forgiveness is what we can do with God’s grace and we need to forgive to move on. Reconciliation will only happen if that has happened and if the other person is able to do the same. It is a meeting of minds. In terms of community reconciliation, I can’t see it happening. You can have peaceful co-existence, which is not the same thing. Reconciliation is where you don’t necessarily have to agree but you come to a position where you respect each other. You are able to live together, talk out issues and agree to disagree, but there has to be a level of reciprocation. Contentions about how God is interpreted and applied reflect problems with the claim that God can provide an integrative context for reconciliation, and the concept of ‘God-as-context’ risks becoming an extension of the disputations which exist between the different churches, as the comments of Rev John Greer (Free Presbyterian) indicate: The true Gospel does unite people but the reconciliatory movements are not based on the right foundation. There are all these peace movements in Northern Ireland founded on the idea that you can bring people together irrespective of what they believe and when that comes to religion it just is not going to work. The only true reconciliation is when there is what we always referred to as a great awakening or spiritual revival and if men’s hearts are changed by the Lord’s grace and the work of the Holy Spirit. Then men can be brought together. It’s not an absurdity to talk about reconciliation if it is viewed from this perspective. It could happen if the Gospel were to be reawakened in the hearts of men. Rev Dr John Douglas (Free Presbyterian) further underlined this position and took reconciliation to mean developing closer relations between Catholic and Protestant churches:



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If we look at reconciliation in the social sense it can cover a multitude of sins, so we are looking at political divergence, we’re looking at religious views which are contrary one to the other. Reconciliation here is not achievable in the highest sense. We would want to have the lower sense achieved namely so we can live in peace and be friends and meet people in terms of employment and business. For Free Presbyterians we can’t have reconciliation of religious belief because the Roman Church would have to give up its doctrines and they are saying we would have to give up ours, so that’s intransigence. Ecumenism is not reconciliation unless we are going to be reconciled to rule from the Vatican and people delude themselves by thinking it’s like a forum. The Roman Catholic Church has said that those who are not Roman Catholics will be obliged by negotiation of dialogue to give up their ground. This is not acceptable. Rev Gareth Burke (Evangelical Presbyterian) similarly argued for the inward-looking and self-preserving commitments which inform perceptions of reconciliation and hinted at the potential dangers of dilution through what he saw as concessionary dialogue: Our major concern is that man is reconciled to God through faith in Jesus Christ. In terms of reconciliation between the communities, that is a often a very fluid, abstract, difficult concept to work out what that really means in practice. The ‘new’ Northern Ireland which is often spoken about is not sympathetic to the Christian Gospel. Indeed, many want to cast off the old ways of religion and that is a big challenge to the Church, dealing with an increasingly Godless society. We need to be God-centred, not man-centred. Our deep-seated concern is that any form of change will inevitably lead to some kind of liberalising, so it is to be resisted. Rev David Silversides (Reformed Presbyterian) contributed to the view that dialogue stands as a threat to religious purity and stressed that endurance of key principles is reliant on avoiding rather than seeking dialogue: There has been a pressure that in order to show you want peace you must compromise biblical principle and accommodate Roman Catholicism and the dangers of being sucked along with this false sense of unity have increased, so while the basic message has not changed, the need to warn against this particular form of false



ecumenism has increased. Society changes and things become more complex but essential principles that have to be applied do not change. Yet, in contrast to such comments, the more liberal churches took a view which was supportive of dialogue. As Rev Chris Hudson (NonSubscribing Presbyterian) put it: Because of the peace we are moving towards some level of reconciliation and an understanding of how we will live together, but the problem is people don’t really want to talk about this, as if it is the elephant in the room. There is plenty of talk and argument across the divide but discussion about reconciliation is avoided and I think the churches are guilty of not talking about this as well. But also churches need to speak to each other in the context of God’s love and they’re obliged to do that. To set a dialogue with each other in a non-argumentative way without trying to prove that someone else’s religion is wrong. Bishop Michael Jackson (Church of Ireland) was similarly vocal about the need to use the changed political environment to renegotiate identities away from conflict to post-conflict objectives: There is the intimacy of society to deal with where people have rubbed along as neighbours until they systematically divided on the basis of varying ideologies and this is where the Church has been powerless. The churches in a sense were very happy to be in the separate denominational identities and although they weren’t actually hostile they didn’t really meet and this was a tremendous weakness. But dealing with other religious institutions for many would be regarded as a slippery slope to anything goes. Diversity is seen as loose standards which often translates to the view that you might be a nice fellow but I’m actually appalled by what you do. There is a sense where people have not taken the opportunity which is embedded in postmodernism, which is to give an intelligible account of what you are about. But people are frightened of things being eroded if they go too fast. Jackson’s inference that change has created suspicions and uncertainties, which must be addressed within a post-conflict framework of



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analysis and interaction, was also seen as important by Archbishop Alan Harper, who commented: What we are on is a process and it will not be a straight line graph, there will be all sorts of contortions and sign waves on the graph and that will be as representative of human relationships as it will the political process. But we need to decide whether the Church is an organization or a community, because if the Church is in for the long haul it will require an internal transformation of minds and hearts in relationships and away from the denominational identity which appears to represent a particular community, towards a commitment to healing. This change is inherent to reconciliation. We have to remind ourselves constantly that to be inclusive is not to be compromised in your individuality. Very soon ten per cent of the population of the Republic will have been born outside the country. The Church of Ireland has had an influx of new membership in the Republic, so it is a growing community and such a change must also come into this conversation about what we are and what we want to be. Yet there are also lessons to be learned from the value of dialogue and the role played by Church figures during the early and most fragile stages of the peace process. As Rev David Cooper (Methodist) recalled when talking about Methodists and Catholics meeting Sinn Fein in confidence before the peace process had gathered momentum: One of the difficulties we encountered was this misunderstanding that in Northern Ireland engagement equals agreement. But the question was always how are we going to influence each other without hearing each others’ stories? How are we going to be able to own our past and acknowledge it and find a way beyond it if we don’t engage? That was what we tried to establish. Three or four of us from the Council on Social Responsibility would meet in the Clonard Monastery with John Hume and Gerry Adams [we also met in the Methodist Church on the University Road in Belfast], engaging at the very critical point and looking at how we could actually begin to move away from violence. Adams was talking about the difficulty of the IRA splitting horizontally and there was considerable resistance to a ceasefire, particularly in south Armagh, Kerry and east Tyrone. The leadership were in a very dangerous position if they considerably



moved a very tight republican agenda. We were trying to help each other to understand the thinking and feelings about the past and the future and it was an attempt to test the willingness to see how far people were prepared to go. If you are comfortable with who you are then it frees you up to be more open to who the other person is. Unless the wounds of history are healed, we’re going to hand onto the next generations a poisoned chalice of bitterness, retribution and killing. Cooper went on to elaborate: The verb reconcile actually means to exchange with the other so the meaning of reconciliation is to be prepared to stand in the place of the other, be prepared to walk in the other’s shoes, be prepared to understand the other’s history and the other’s vision of the future. We need to end the rehearsing of prejudices and come out from behind the security of ‘our’ barriers and ‘our’ tribe. As Wesley put it, the parish is not defined by geographical boundaries and not by different denominations. If you are only built on protest you are setting up a negatively oriented organization. A Church that has been built on the things we are against has lost its way because the things that shape us, make us what we are and give us an identity, should not be about negatives but a positive reshaping and reordering of society. Cooper’s recollections of dialogue and its value was strongly supported by Rev Harold Good, who argued that refusal to engage with others is not evidence of confidence in one’s position, but weakness: If somebody cannot dialogue with me or if I am afraid to dialogue with others then it shows I am very unsure of my own position. But one also has to be wary about being dogmatic too, about telling others in no uncertain terms one’s position and why they are wrong. Dialogue is being open to each other and it is between each other and that is the difference. What some people consider a dialogue is really a monologue. So dialogue is about listening. If I am not clear or unsure of my position then I wouldn’t really want to get into that. If I am sure of my position I would not have to shout you down. But this is also about one’s view on rights. From my position we are born with inalienable rights and God given rights. But with fundamentalist theology you have to earn those rights. We are all



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undeserving and are born in sin so we don’t deserve a thing until we have been saved and redeemed and within a narrow definition by those fundamentalists about what that means. Rev David Campton (Methodist) also stressed the importance of dialogue as the foundation of constructive relations, but believes that this needs to occur at a variety of levels both within organisations and communities as well as between organisations and communities: I’m reluctant to see people dealing with issues themselves without a connection to other people, just as there is a problem for me about single identity work without having relations with anyone else. It risks becoming a reinforcement of your own perspectives and prejudices whereas one really needs to know how those perspectives and prejudices, actions and words effect relations with others. The whole process of reconciliation is about both an internal process but also a relational process and it can’t be divorced from the community development agenda. The debate has all too often been defined in terms of community relations, as being between different communities, whereas community development is what happens within communities. The issue of language and who first lays hold of a word is always a problem but we need to rediscover a theology of reconciliation. God created human beings to relate to each other and that is one of the dimensions that set us out as being created in the image of God; we relate. When that relationship breaks down (which is what we talk about in the New Testament) the concept is of God reconciling the world and humanity to Himself. If Christ is reconciling the world to Himself, then we have a responsibility to play a part in that. Such comment was further underlined by Rev Gary Mason, who emphasised the importance of narrative as the basis of mutual respect and finding similarity in difference: There are of course religious and secular definitions of reconciliation. The secular component is summed up by John Hume’s classic phrase ‘benign apartheid’ which was quite prophetic when he uttered that during the early stages of the peace process in the early 1990s. But stories are important here. I heard the stories from my grandfather about Catholics being untrustworthy people and from childhood those stories that you grow up with shape and form you and it was only later



when one began to engage in conversation with people from the other tradition that you realised similarities as well as differences, which are healthy in any normal community. That aspect of reconciliation can only really come about from hard dialogue, however, or else you end up with major separation. But the possibility of reconciliation through dialogue, for Johnston McMaster (Methodist), is dependent first on the creation of space for exchange and engagement to take place and where identity is seen as inextricably linked to the other. Only through understanding the detrimental impact of this relationship as well as its potential value, Johnston suggests, can work begin which changes this situation: There needs to be freedom and the safe space where people can encounter and further create that space whilst also pushing their own boundaries and encountering others to enlarge their vision of who they are. It is important to create a sense of liberation and empowerment to engage across boundaries of prejudice and misunderstanding and fear and to be confident and comfortable with doing that. There has to be the same intellectual and emotional space to raise questions that people have never dared to raise before. Remember that for many hardliners their sense of identity has been shattered and aggression is part of a defence against that but no doubt there will come a point when they will realise the need to move and they will do so. Reconciliation is often telling stories, whether of experiences or sectarianism, and is being honest about one’s attitudes or actions. It’s about relationship building and building trust between people. It is not about setting out a finished product for people. It is a life process and a transformative process. The problem of forgiveness and reconciliation, as the literature reveals, is ultimately a matter of dialogue and discourse (even in the case of unconditional forgiveness the forgiver must struggle with the competing narratives that exist within himself about whether to forgive or not). Moreover, if each is to be achieved we should acknowledge the need for constant questioning as part of the process, for it is surely questioning which will keep dialogue alive (Kristeva 2010). Questioning will need to take place with the self as well as others and so touch internal and external worlds simultaneously. To refuse this is to reject the value of compromise and so does little to underpin the change necessary to transform society and relations. There is a tendency within



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Protestantism to be at best suspicious and at worst hostile towards Catholics, but what do Catholics think about their own role and faith within Northern Ireland today and what consequences might these perceptions have for reconciliation? The next chapter is an attempt to tease out these areas a little further by allowing Catholics to articulate their own experiences and convictions about Christianity and living in Northern Ireland.


4 Catholic Perspectives

This chapter sets out to highlight some basic yet important themes which sustain the Catholic outlook and through interviews with a number of Catholic clergy draw out thoughts and perceptions which underpin how those themes are understood and how that understanding influences action. So far, this study has concentrated on diversities and similarities that exist in Protestantism and considered both in relation to the possibilities of working towards peace and stability in Northern Ireland. This discussion now moves towards engagement with the Catholic community in an attempt to establish a comparative analysis of how Catholics perceive these problems and how the Catholic imagination envisages dealing with the emergent issues and concerns that such problems create. For purpose of convenience and to highlight some of the central differences which come into play between Catholics and Protestants, this chapter provides a tentative exploration of five areas which are (1) community and conflict, (2) structure and approach, (3) words, mystery and imagination, (4) process and flexibility and (5) reconciliation and forgiving. These categories not only help facilitate a structured interrogation of some of the more obvious distinctions that exist between Protestants and Catholics in connection to the problems of peacemaking, but also allow for contrasts in approach to be drawn out with a view to examine how different worldviews might productively seek to confront the problems of peace as explored in the final chapter. Significantly, although this interrogation of Catholic thinking is largely illustrative with regard to the Protestant interview material, it provides an important contrast to the vagaries of Protestantism and particularly in terms of the unifying effect that the Catholic tradition provides for those groups and orders which live within that tradition. A number of the common experiences 140


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and commitments which support this unity are drawn out through interviews with the aim of providing us with a necessary comparison to the divergent and often antagonistic Protestant expressions of Christian conviction and belief. It is through identifying such comparisons and highlighting the nuances of meaning and approach which shape the Catholic mind where we will most effectively be able to grasp what both Protestantism and Catholicism means in relation to peacemaking. Hopefully those comparisons will also help move us beyond simplistic and divisive appreciations of either tradition. To continue to see both forms of Christianity as not only separate, but even hostile to each other, will not only leave Christianity static and weak with regard to the challenges of a society moving from war to peace, but may also serve to reinforce the very problems of division which hinder social transformation. This chapter therefore aims to encourage a greater curiosity and acknowledgement of Catholicism in relation to Protestant outlooks and in the process highlight the value of dialogue between the two traditions about how each can contribute to a post-conflict Northern Ireland.

Community and conflict At the heart of the Catholic imagination is the concept of community (Mitchell 2006: 72). In contrast to the Protestant tendency towards fragmentation, individualisation and separation, Catholicism places theological emphasis on unity as a basis for social action and obligation. So, while Protestants seem to concentrate on the divisions and differences of humanity (that which divides), Catholics view ‘humanity as united with God in Christ through Incarnation’ (Sweeney 2008: 31). Because of this orientation the Catholic mind is drawn more to that which binds humanity together rather than that which divides humanity (ibid.: 32). Underpinned by the intersecting rituals of liturgy, Mass and the sacraments, Catholicism seeks to hold the social and spiritual together and use this relationship to construct an identity which is ostensibly communal in outlook (ibid.: 73). Shaping notions of community through the practical experience of communion and the mystery and drama of theological expression which takes place within the communion space (ibid.: 81), the Catholic tradition tends to consider individual actions in relation to social consequences and, as such, seeks to position the individual firmly within a context of social responsibility. Unlike the Protestant tradition, where individual action is considered more in terms of moral conscience and personal connection with God, Catholicism comprehends individual action beyond the confines of personal guilt and



conscience and more as a reflection of relations with communal faith values. Thus, whereas for Catholics the individual is seen primarily in terms of communal responsibility, within Protestantism the communal is seen primarily in terms of individual responsibility. Just as the Protestant would be more likely to view the social from the perspectives of individual (im)morality, so the Catholic would be more inclined to view individual (im)morality from the perspective of the social, but through a concept of the social which is defined and expressed via the aspirations and teachings of the Church itself. Significantly, within Catholicism, respect for diversity is seen as a necessary extension of the communal. Whilst personal connection with God is achieved through a vertical theological emphasis of individual worship, the importance of relations with others is viewed as an outworking of a horizontal theological emphasis which is conveyed through communion, with both seen as mutually reinforcing manifestations of faith and responsibility (Bacik 2002: 56). Communal spirituality, in order to maintain coherence, must take into account the ambivalence of the human condition and retain a respect for plurality, whilst adhering to doctrinal principles as far as possible. Unlike reformed theology, which emphasises the sovereignty of God and the essential depravities and failings of human nature, the Catholic tradition is drawn to the mystical experience of Christian conviction and utilises a more structured approach to spiritual growth and direction (ibid.: 19). For Catholics, ethical concerns are seen not so much as questions of personal relevance but communal relevance, with moral issues discussed primarily in relation to how the individual connects or disconnects with the social (Greeley 2001: 131). However, any suggestion that Catholics might be more supportive of social relations and order because of a propensity to accept change and understand the creative tensions between human beings and their social environment more imaginatively (ibid.: 130) has proved especially problematic with regard to Northern Ireland, where the social has been historically perceived as having oppressive connotations because of a linkage with discriminating policies and interests of the British state, as well as the anti-Catholic tendencies of Protestantism (Brewer 1998). This tension has often impacted divisively on relations between the Church and those from Catholic communities seeking to end British rule, with the Church’s perceptions of militant republicanism often taken as passivity towards state action and repression, as well as the state using the Catholic Church to underscore its own non-religious interests (Rafferty 1994: 285). Church condemnations of IRA violence, for example, have



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been perceived by republicans as helping British/Protestant rather than Catholic concerns, with the Church’s lack of resistance to political power further contributing to communal antagonisms (ibid.: 286). But, taking this into account, for Catholics generally, the transitions and changes of social life seem to be more tolerably understood because of a spiritual continuity which is personified by the history and change of the Church itself (Crilly 1998: 29). Following the Second Vatican Council which sought to further integrate the Church and community (and change popular perceptions of the Church’s authoritarian and pious nature), the Catholic Church has since been expected to facilitate an awareness of ‘collegiality’ which draws Church, clergy and laity closer to a unified participation in the Holy Spirit and balances the needs of Church and community simultaneously (ibid.: 26). This relationship seeks to reinforce a continuum between authority, faith and morality and in the process provide a balance between the external and internal worlds that shape spiritual direction. In relation to Northern Ireland, the Catholic Church has historically played an important role in constructing a sense of identity for those in Catholic communities, an identity which, as Rafferty points out, has encouraged an ‘allegiance to something greater or more abstract than itself’ and which has found expression not just in faith terms, but the political sphere as well’ (Rafferty 1994: 283). But, in an attempt to hold diversity within a presence of unity, Catholicism has inevitably provided a context for recognising the validity of those which many Protestants would see as illegitimate. Although, the Church made routine condemnations of the violence carried out by those from Catholic communities, there has also been an acknowledgement by the Church of the need to engage with the consequences of such actions from the vantage point of communal responsibility. Unlike Protestantism, which tends to exclude those whose actions are deemed intolerable, Catholicism recognises that actions have implications for the community and so must be understood particularly in relation to communal cohesion and stability. The sense that bad Catholics are Catholics first and bad second not only indicates the propensity to see individual identity in the context of communal identity, but also highlights an emphasis which views responsibility as the effects of one’s actions on others. From this communal impact perspective, actions invite critical self-examination and moral awareness in the hope that bad actions will be seen as bad precisely because of their effect on others and not just because of a violation of the relationship between the individual and God (although, of course, this comes into it). Referring to this process, which stresses acceptance



rather than rejection of those who act in violation of Catholic principles, Fr Oliver Crilly (Port Glenone) used the example of IRA funerals to highlight the Church’s stance towards dealing with those who have acted in ways which contradict moral teaching (without offering sympathy for violent actions): Some on the Protestant side of the population would have had great difficulty in understanding why you would have a Church funeral for somebody who was in the IRA. But the Catholic perception is very different. I can be a bad Catholic but that does not mean that I am excluded. There is something much stronger in the Catholic perception about belonging which is very close to the Jewish tradition, the Old Testament tradition, of being part of the people. If somebody breaks the rules or gets into situations which don’t coincide with the teaching, you are sad but they still belong to you. Crilly’s reference to the inclusive nature of Catholicism, in the case of Northern Ireland, is also strongly related to the Church’s presence as an authoritative institution which was reinforced by the conflict and Catholic resistance to the structures and control of Protestant rule and British involvement. Against this background, the priest became a central point of focus: The Northern Ireland Protestant community talk about the Planter and the Gail, where the Protestant community came from the plantations of Ulster and where through that they maintained a sense of the British tradition of aristocracy. The Protestant community tends to appreciate the roles of aristocracy and its modern equivalent in terms of political structure. The Catholic community did not have their aristocracy and because of that what they tended to do was replace it with the clergy. You would be expected to be a spokesman at community level even on things which has no specifically religious connection. You were exercising religious leadership but you were also being called upon to be the equivalent of the squire who turned up at all these functions as a figurehead representing the Catholic community. This umbrella of belonging also means you have to manage and cope with people who have different outlooks. Alongside the role of the Church as an authoritative mechanism in the context of political conflict, which underscored an identity of belonging, there is, as Crilly noted, also a realisation that the priest



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himself (and so the Church) signified the centre of community life, able to contain conflicting experiences and perceptions within a space of Catholic interpretation and toleration: We talk about the Catholic understanding of vocation. The first call before your individual vocation in the Church is the call to belong to the faith community and this sense of belonging is able to cope with variations in perspective. It is belonging to each other but it’s also the way you find God. You find God’s presence through finding the faith community so they are not separated. It’s a question of making contact with God through the community. The priest is first of all a representative figure chosen by the faith community, but it’s the faith community that has the presence of God and it’s the priest as part of that community. This elaboration was also supported by Jesuit Tom Layden (Belfast), who described the priest in Northern Ireland as able to articulate the moral in a context where notions of right and wrong are broadly contested and resisted: Catholicism has lived with a particular accent and a particular emphasis in Northern Ireland. That accent and emphasis comes from being a minority and it comes from the experiences of exclusion and discrimination in the past. Now there is a strong sense of transition and being much more confident because of that. But alongside that it is very important to put the priest in the context of the community, as the centre, or focal point of unity. The priest is there to serve the people as they worship God, as they seek to respond to the call of God and Scripture and as they seek to live lives of integrity. The priest is therefore somebody who serves the evolution and growth of the Christian community and in that role the priest needs to be centre of unity. For Fr Aidan Troy (Holy Cross), it is because of the priest’s centrality within the community that he is able to exert influence. Routinely used as a touchstone for communal problems and perspectives, it is because the priest is seen as being both from and of the community that his voice has resonance: Within the Catholic community the school, the family and the parish are like three legs of one stool. Protestant clergy don’t have



the same power as the Catholic priest. I might say the stupidest thing but the community would be very forgiving in the sense that they might not agree but they would agree with your right to say what you want. Protestant clergy can’t speak automatically in the name of the community the way the Catholic priest can. He has position in the community even if Church attendance is only five per cent. Culturally he is much more rooted in the community and the sense of authority that the priest exercises is very powerful, for good and bad. This emphasis on the communal rather than the personal therefore establishes a context for how the priest seeks to confront the problems and tensions of difference. Or, as Benedictine monk Mark EphremNolan (Rostrevor) expressed it: Quite often, for the Protestant, the community does not matter because emphasis is on the personal relationship with Jesus Christ. To live out that personal relationship in Jesus Christ you enter into some kind of holy huddle where the group of the elect go to the same service in the same Church at the same time. But, that’s not how you build relationships and neither is it a community which is built on an appreciation of difference. The Northern Ireland conflict has placed notable strains on relations between republicans who reject the British state and the Catholic Church, which has shown both support and criticism for the republican case. Even against a strong Vatican line to disassociate from and condemn actions of violence, there has been a tendency within the Church more generally to show inconsistency in its position towards republicanism (O’Connor 1993: 277). Confined mainly to a few individuals who voiced condemnation of violence (ibid.), there was a strong perception within republicanism that this served to underscore the legitimacy of British control and so posed a threat to the physical force strategy. This in turn led to significant antagonism between those acting to change the state and Church representatives who, in condemning violence, were seen by many republicans as protecting the state. As Fr Tim Bartlett (Armagh) explained this difficulty: As armed republicanism moved away from its community defence base in the early 1970s and became more ideological it also became more hostile to the Church, sometimes seeing the Church as an enemy. A problem for a large number of IRA men, however, was



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that for a lot of them their parents and grandparents were all very involved in the Church so they were not going to be able to actively attack the Church. But a lot of them resented the Church for its vociferous challenge to their violence and because of that many in the IRA would have regarded the Church as having betrayed the Catholic community in the political sense. One of the most vocal against the actions of violence was Cardinal Cahal Daly. Viewing violence as contributing to rather than ending injustice, Daly spoke consistently about justice arising through peace and maintained that ‘Because God is a God of Justice, there cannot be anything other than a counterfeit peace when society is built on injustice. Any society which is influenced by Christian principles will be concerned with justice as a priority. Working for peace means working for justice’ (Daly 1991: 134). Expanding on this position, Daly commented: I was convinced that violence was in part the result of a good deal of deprivation and injustice, particularly when this was seen as being the result of an unjust political system which favoured one section of the Northern Ireland community and discomforted the other section. The greatest opposition I had came from republican sources which was paradoxical if you like because they too would have spoke of deprivation in Catholic and nationalist areas. But they were doing their best to sabotage what I was trying to do in the way of alleviating the deprived social conditions of many in those areas. I think it was because they wanted improvement in those areas to be seen to be coming from the republican movement and not from any outside force. To combine the condemnation of republican violence and at the same time to be working for justice and equality in those areas was something they could not and did not accept. So they continued with the propaganda that I was a British agent, getting British money because I was compliant with British colonial and imperial interests and so on. They felt they had to be in control and believed that the only hope in these areas was for the armed struggle to succeed. The struggle became an end in itself and everything that contributed to the struggle had to be simply part of the way people thought and acted and lived. Daly, who saw republicanism as a secularisation of Catholicism based on nationalist revolutionary ideology (ibid.: 192), and who believed



republican violence to be a provocation which incited loyalist retaliation so republicans could claim they were protectors of the Catholic community (ibid.: 191), went on to further summarise the Catholic communal relationship between conflict, state and the Protestant outlook: The initial injustice was towards Catholics as a community. No matter what your political spectrum was, or where your place in that spectrum was, it was the case that you were discriminated against because you were a Catholic and we were all born out of that commonality. We were part of a family where through the parish, the school etc, there would have been an instinctive, familial type of friendship with the priest, a sense that he is my priest, he belongs to me and I to him, even if I disagree with him. Even though the Church challenged and disagreed with those who carried out violence, the idea of them being hostile to the Church would be an anathema to their family and their tradition. So the priest was a natural point of reference for them even with the intellectual and moral dispute over violence. Also, Catholics do have that point of reference always beyond the state. Protestants tend to be more emphatic in their trust of the state and part of that comes from the scriptural emphasis on being divinely ordained, where, because of that, the government is divinely ordained to promote good and punish evil. We wouldn’t be as emphatic about that, the idea that it’s the state’s job to root out evil and for good. We would be more inclined to see the state’s role as being to moderate society, the economy, provide for the common good and protect the community from those seeking to harm it. But I think because Catholics have believed in and reacted on behalf of the community rather than reacting to a fragmented and individualistic sense of belonging, it frightened many Protestants. In the Catholic community, the parish and the concept of the Eucharist and that we all shared communion together created a community of common faith which bred a deeper communal bond which Protestants don’t have. This tendency for Catholics to respond more collectively than Protestants, for Fr Oliver Crilly (Port Glenone), has contributed to a general confidence amongst Catholics when faced with the prospect of change and especially when that change is based on movement towards a non-discriminatory society as has been the case in recent years:



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Every step forward is a plus or a gain from the Catholic community’s point of view because having been in a position where they were kept without power, any amount of power-sharing is a step forward. Because a lot of change has been in the favour of the Catholic community you would expect them to be more at ease with change and that I think is the case. The peace process, which marked a transformation where Catholics have moved from outside institutions and structures of power to inside those institutions and structures, has to a large extent removed pressure on the Catholic Church to provide a clear message on violence (also validating the position of those such as Daly who spoke about the need for peace before justice). But another consequence of this transformation is that republicans are now able to make the argument that it is republicanism itself rather than Catholicism which has gained leadership of the Catholic community and that this reflects a diminishing role in the Church’s influence and authority (Rafferty 1994: 277). Coupled with the growth of secularisation, there is also now the widening belief in Northern Ireland that it is politics rather than religion which can best improve society and respond to the demands of social modernity, and with these shifts one must acknowledge the rise and acceleration of individualism, which intersects more with the interests of Protestantism, and the popularisation of private rather than communal experiences and expressions of religious faith (ibid.: 287). Catholic resistance to social integration particularly in relation to education, as O’Connor points out, also plays into problems with institutional authority and control, being indicative of a ‘fear of social and political assimilation – and loss of identity – as much as any purely theological concern’ (O’Connor 1993: 320). Alongside this, one needs to bear in mind how divisions created by conflict which served the ties between self, family and community that reinforced the Catholic emphasis (ibid.: 333) are now beginning to collapse as social divisions become more fluid, less rigid and subject to explanation and understanding which does not require access to Catholic theology or principles. The effectiveness of the Catholic tradition which, like Protestantism, profited from being a closed system of belief that functioned as a response to a history of social and political division (Akenson 1988) may now, precisely because of social and political change, find it much more difficult to exert such influence. As society becomes more open through a reconfiguration in both internal and external socio-political relations, it is probable that this will continue



to pose significant problems for Church legitimacy and ultimately for its role as the dominant reference point for communal life.

Structure and approach A Catholic disposition towards a broadening of possible meanings about faith and its institutional expression, where the strains of diversity may be accommodated under an ethos of community (Dillon 1999: 27), will most likely be tested by the transition from conflict to peace. The idea that pluralism will not so much threaten but enrich communal solidarity (ibid.: 196) is seen as encouraged in Catholicism because of a dialogical relation between Church and community, where differences and tensions can be comprehended through a systematic approach to issues and concerns (ibid.: 218). Drawing on a ‘common symbolic and institutional framework’ as the basis for dialogue, this relationship is seen to provide a degree of reflexivity and because of this flexibility imbue doctrinal principles with the necessary means for negotiating the problems and contradictions of social life (ibid.: 219). Unlike Protestantism, where a change of mind may be associated with a change of congregation, the Catholic considers change in the context of constant transformation (process). So, just as the Protestant may ‘become some brand or other of Protestant’, to be a Catholic is to accept that ‘you are always becoming a Catholic’ (Sweeney 2008: 68). This approach to life derives from what Tracy calls the ‘analogical imagination’ (Tracy 1981), where symbolism and mystery are used to carry doctrinal meanings and where ‘the mediating realities of doctrine, analogy and institution’ provide a sense of communal order and reception (Tracy 1981: 267). From the perspectives of this imagination, relationships are structured and ordered according to a ‘similarityin-difference’ paradigm. As Tracy explains, ‘The order among the relationships is constituted by the distinct but similar relationships of each analogue to some primary focal meaning, some prime analogue. A principal aim of all properly analogue languages is the production of some order, at the limit, some harmony to the several analogues, the similarities-in-difference, constituting the whole of reality’ (ibid.: 408). Continuing, Tracy observes that The order is developed by explicating the analogous relationships among various realities (self, others, world, God), by clarifying the relationship of each to the primary analogue, the meaning chosen as the primary focus for interpreting reality. In Christian systematics,



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the primary focal meaning will be the event of Jesus Christ (usually mediated through particular forms and traditions). That focal meaning as event will prove the primary analogue for the interpretation of the whole of reality. The event will prove the major clue to the similarities-in-difference awaiting explication among the realities of God, self, other selves and world (society, history, nature). These now articulated similarities-in-difference will prove clues to the possibly ordered relationships disclosed by the event as each analogue is focussed, interpreted, related through newly formed propositions to the other analogues as similarities-in-difference by the primary analogue, the Christ event. (ibid.) Drawing from this imagination there is a tendency, Tracy goes on to argue, to accommodate the negative as part of the similaritiesin-difference because ‘the dissimilarities between God and the world as are as great as the similarities’ and where ‘the via eminentiae is possible only on condition of its constant fidelity to the via negationis’ (ibid.: 409). This logic, for Tracy, is representative of ‘a mind searching from some order, yet recognizing, at every moment on its search, the irreducible tension at the heart of its own participatory and distancing experience of the originating event as an event of a disclosureconcealment to focus the entire search: a mind recognizing, therefore, the ultimate incomprehensibility of the event that provides the focal meaning for developing both analogies-in-difference and order from chaos’ (ibid.). This is a mind, Tracy concludes, that is ‘recognizing the self-constituting, dynamic demands of the spirit of inquiry’s own most need for critical reflection and the human mind’s and heart’s own need for some similarities-in-difference, some analogues, some principles of order, some ultimate harmony in the whole of reality’ (ibid.). The tensions that operate through the similarities-in-difference paradigm reflect relations between parts and the whole, between personal struggles (the individual) and institutional offerings (the Church). It is recognition that both subjective and objective are interwoven and that meaning operates through the visible (that which is real) and the non-visible (that which suggests the real). In that sense, the Catholic disposition offers a linkage between understanding and nonunderstanding, between what the role of man is or should be in the world and the faith community that connects him to a reality beyond himself. The emphasis on community is oriented to a divine reality which is defined by the Church and it is the Church which offers the individual the route to this divine reality, providing the framework by



which to make sense of the imbalances and contradictions that permeate life. Relations between the individual and the Church (which symbolises the faith community) are thus an explicit acknowledgement of the need for spirituality to embrace dual perspectives (such dualities are noticeable, for example, in sin and guilt on the one hand and the possibility of grace on the other) and to see that ‘God is both transcendent and imminent’, at work in the ‘universal inner world of conscience’ and ‘the outer world of Jesus Christ manifested in Scripture and liturgy’ (Bacik 2002: 6–7). This outlook is also dependent on embracing ‘both/and’ positions even when those positions appear to be in opposition with each other. Providing an example of this, O’Collins and Farrugia explain how Catholics ‘do not accept an “either/or” in the case of Jesus and his Mother. Many Protestant Reformers and their followers hold that honouring Mary (and, for that matter, other saints) somehow blurs the unique role of Christ as Saviour. But Catholics do not admit a choice here; they want Jesus and his Mother’ (2003: 376). This accommodation is reflective of a broader inclination to mediate through words a particular event by way of ‘the literal, the allegorical/spiritual, the tropological [way of acting], and the analogical’, and it is through both text and event that the Catholic approaches mystery (Martin 2002: 152). For Catholics, the reading of Scripture is concentrated on the acts of God rather than the words themselves and those acts are most prominent through the processes of communion and sacramental worship (ibid.: 154). Then, Scripture becomes lived faith, a transformative experience where words, when absorbed through faith, make present and bring to life the event to which words refer (ibid.: 155). Unlike with the Protestant perspective, which derives meaning from a dialectical approach to Scripture (and shapes the broader worldview), the analogical imagination of the Catholic seeks to link events and ideas through historical, mystical and ethical systems of thinking (ibid.: 157). As Martin explains, events become ‘related to one another because of their relationship to God. Symbol sees events as significant because they are expressions of meaning. History is still in progress, and thus it is still possible to understand one’s self and one’s future by connecting the events in the life of the church and one’s own life to the events of the past’ (ibid.). Scriptural interpretation, for Catholics, is therefore woven into tradition and the mechanisms of expression which connect the individual to a communal, divine reality. It is, as Martin concludes, ‘basically a contact with the Sacred Text as it mediates divine realities’. Scripture thus ‘finds its primary home in the communal celebration of the Liturgy



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and in the continuation of that celebration in personal lectio divina’ (ibid.: 168). For Fr Tim Bartlett (Armagh), the relationship between Church and theology is an attempt to synthesise reason and faith (Ratzinger 2004: 138–161) which draws from a defined approach to doctrine and its expression that is different from Protestantism precisely because of its hierarchical formulation and expression: There is a tension between the ideal and the reality and the Catholic is always caught in that tension somewhere. The Church would say okay the drama of morality is at the subjective level for the individual, but the law of morality is objective, as seen with the Ten Commandments, the core teachings of the Church etc. In Catholicism you can point to the doctrine and you have a single point of authority, whereas in Protestantism you don’t. Ratzinger used to say that in ecumenical dialogue it is clear what Catholicism believes and to know how decisions are made about changing structures, but who speaks for Protestantism in the Protestant churches? The spectrum is narrower in the Catholic Church because there is a defined body of doctrine and it is clear when you are outside of that, but for Protestants it seems as though you take the Scriptures and decide what you think yourself. The spectrum to which Bartlett refers is also seen as important by Tom Layden SJ (Belfast), who highlighted the Catholic tendency to try and reconcile viewpoints from a systematic basis of interpretation (thereby holding together the philosophical (reason) and the theological (faith)), with historical fact and logic providing foundation for faith (Ratzinger 2007: xv): There is a tradition in Catholicism of systematic theology, of people being taught how God brings about salvation. We follow the pattern in Scripture and tend to do so in a logical, progressive way. This is almost like theological geometry, highlighting opposite positions and explaining why we would have difficulties with the opposite position. Although some Presbyterians would adopt a systematic approach many Protestants would not. They would be great at quoting Scripture and know exactly where to refer to if I mention sin, but they would be far less comfortable with systematic discussion. However, as Brian Lennon SJ (Armagh) pointed out, it is precisely because the spectrum is broad and not narrow that the Church is able to



hold differing positions within the realms of a central doctrinal position and maintain the similarities-in-difference outlook which Tracy identifies. It is an attempt to understand detail and difference within the context of a unified whole: It would not occur to most Catholics that just because the Vatican said something we should all say we believe that. If you do not respond and stay silent in relation to a statement made by the Vatican this would not be taken by Catholics as a sign that you agree with it, whereas I think Protestants would see it like that. They are much more likely to take an individual response and that is a difference between the communities. But within Catholicism there is a broad spectrum of differences from conservative right across and this is reflected in understanding. In terms of Jesuits, for example, you would not get a position on anything.

Words, mystery and imagination An overriding emphasis on the Word in the Protestant tradition to a large extent is shared within Catholicism, but a key difference in understanding between the two comes from the importance that Catholics attach to the symbolic (sacrament). Unlike the Protestant tendency to ‘pull strands apart, dissecting and critiquing them’, the Catholic tendency is to wind ‘strands together’ (Sweeney 2008: 38). That is, whilst the ‘Protestant approach might be to break down into phrases, analyzing the original languages, and applying some modest textual criticism to show how what was once said may be applied to today’s situations’, for the Catholic the approach ‘might be to move in the opposite direction – to move from the tiny to the vast – and to illuminate the passage’s meaning through comparison with other texts, the lives of people who have lived those texts, and other resources of tradition’ (ibid.: 38–39). Pope Benedict XV1 (Ratzinger) characterises the Word/sacrament relationship as a collaboration of informative and performative strands (Benedict XVI 2007: 4), where word and symbol combine to allow for divine mystery. Describing the Catholic tendency to place equal emphasis on Word and sacrament Fr Paul Symonds (Ballymena) commented: We would say that God speaks to every individual in a unique and personal way. When it comes to the Word I don’t see much difference at all between Catholics and Protestants. I suppose the main distinction would be that in the Catholic tradition Word and sacrament



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are almost inseparable, so we would see the liturgy of the Mass, the Eucharist, as two parts of equal importance. The liturgy of the Word, which is the readings, and the liturgy of the table, which is the Eucharist, the consecration of the bread and wine and the distribution of Holy Communion are both necessary. In most Protestant churches they would stop at the end of the liturgy of the Word and it’s only in the Presbyterian churches where you would get the Lord’s Supper or Holy Communion perhaps four or five times a year. So for us, it’s the Word and the sacrament and for the Protestants it’s the Word and with rare exceptions they stop there. The Catholic emphasis for many is sacramental and maybe that is because we tend not to be that cerebral. We are body and spirit and we see visible tangible things as important. But there is also a messiness about Catholicism and part of the genius is showing that there are more ways of worshipping God than just with the mouth and lips. We, of course, do that as well, but we also worship through art and the visible. Combining both verbal and visual images, the process of sacrament is also a process of encounter (Brown 2008: 112), which contributes to the general ‘feel of the liturgy’ as a whole and allows the worshipper to experience the presence of Christ ‘through various media rather than a theology of one static location’ (ibid.: 111). It is also representative of the process of repetition which functions to ‘school the heart’ (Sweeney 2008: 115). Fr Oliver Crilly (Port Glenone) described the tendency towards mystery as part of this process, as well as having a historical foundation in Northern Ireland which also draws from the arts: There is something in the Catholic tradition which supports the idea of mystery and ambiguity, but in the Irish situation it goes back beyond that and is reinforced by a tradition which is pre-Christian in early Irish society, a Celtic thing. It is also the sense that the forces of nature are beyond our control and total understanding, so we are living in the shadow of that mystery all of the time. This pre-Christian mystical awareness meant people were able to move into Christian mysticism more easily because they were receptive to this sense of the other world. But, there is something which in pre-Christian literature flows easily into the Catholic perspective and because of a Catholic tendency which relates to the resonance of early Irish literature. It’s hard to put a dividing line between what is purely Catholic theology and what is mingled with a Celtic tradition. The



Catholic tradition does shade into the literary tradition which is postChristian in Irish society and there is a strong emphasis there on mystery and mythology. Yet, for Fr Gerry Reynolds (Belfast), the acceptance of mystery is also an acknowledgment of how God moves beyond the limits of the rational mind, or the logic of individualism. It is both an ability to encounter meaning by allowing the presence of God to enter the self and a realisation that this presence is ultimately beyond the self: The essential agency in human history is mysterious. It’s the mysterious hand of God in human history that is working through us and in us and we can’t define that all that clearly. We surrender to it, let go and trust it and that is indicative of the nature of our way of believing. In the Protestant tradition they would say they are saved by trust in God by trusting grace, but I think that’s even more characteristic of the Catholic way when it comes down to it. Protestants tend to want everything defined and nailed down whereas we are able to go with the sense that in all of this there is a divine element that we surrender to. The Church in the world is a seed, this is the allegory. Don’t waste your time arguing where the walls are because the Church has no boundaries. It’s more the action of God in us and through us and about moving to a future that is beyond our understanding. We are not saved by doctrines but a mystery that is deeper than that. Doctrines are signposts that direct us towards the mystery but the encounter with that mystery is beyond all doctrine. The concept of mystery and being open to power of the invisible suggests that, for the Catholic, rigid interpretation or dogmatic claims of biblical truth actually close down the possibility of being receptive to God’s Word and its connections to the flux of life. Moreover, while many non-Catholics would view mystery as ‘interesting uncertainty’, for Catholics, mystery is seen more as ‘incomprehensible certainty’ – an interaction to trust even if beyond the bounds of logical explanation (Sweeney 2008: 138). This connects to a worldview where mysteries are accepted as natural and ‘where physical appearances do not exactly explain themselves’ (ibid.: 32). Unlike a number of Protestants, who adhere to the belief that Scripture has largely fixed meaning because of reflecting an actual and unchallengeable truth, as Fr Mark Ephrem-Nolan (Rostrevor) pointed out, scriptural meaning



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changes because relationships, understandings and circumstances also change: All too often the Word is taken as something which is used to shoot down others, pointing out their errors, that they are not in accord with this verse, comma or dot. The question of prayerful reading is another posture which relates here. Benedictine monks would read Scripture as a way of going about things and view the Word as something which changes us, helping us grow day after day in the way of conversion. So the Word actually becomes the text rather than the pretext, where I have already decided what the Word is going to mean today, what it teaches, or how it should be used. For us, the words have to be seen in a relationship to a person. This is a dialogue where first I have to listen. The implication here is that Scripture is both read and re-read and through that process the reader is provided with a depth and breath of interpretation. As Ratzinger describes it, ‘This is a process in which the word gradually unfolds its inner potentialities, already somehow present like seeds, but needing the challenge of new situations, new experiences and new sufferings, in order to open up’ (Ratzinger 2007: xix). Moreover, biblical reading should not seek to fragment the overall unity of the Christian message but follow a Christological hermeneutic ‘which sees Jesus Christ as the key to the whole and learns from him how to understand the Bible as a unity’ (ibid.). In this sense, the Word of Scripture is understood in a wider frame of reference which is a continuum of the Catholic tendency towards unity itself. Interpretation from this perspective is an attempt to engage with meaning beyond any individual position of authority or knowledge, but to remain open to a range of possible meanings which words may provide over time. Or, as Ratzinger puts it ‘The process of continually rereading and drawing out new meanings from words would not have been possible unless the words themselves were already open to it from within’ (ibid.: xx). A preoccupation with the accuracy of definition and meaning which is shaped by the literal method is clearly at odds with interpretation that draws from a dramatic sense of possibility through combining both theological diversity and continuity. As Ratzinger observes, theology based on Scripture alone means that ‘statement of doctrine has no other theological quality than that of being a correct interpretation of Scripture, and therefore, subject to



correction by better interpretations. Consequently, the Church has a factual regulatory function, but no theological voice of her own’ (1987: 222). The idea of speaking with certainty on Scripture, which many Protestants would prefer, therefore compares with a Catholic emphasis on mystery as Tom Layden SJ (Belfast) explained: It would be over-simplistic to suggest that Protestants are totally closed to mystery but Protestants do seem uncomfortable with careless language. They would tend to say that it may sound nice when Catholics engage in poetic language but then ask what does it really mean? Similarly, Catholic theologians would tend to speak about God as holy mystery, but Protestants would ask where in Scripture does that comes from and why are the theologians not saying God the Father or Jesus as the life-giving spirit? They would say where is he coming from and where is the authority for what he is saying? Is this man speaking for himself or is he speaking for the Lord? Layden continued to talk about the use of the dramatic as a route to the divine, as well as highlighting that distinctions between the literal and dramatic approaches to worship need to be considered as a conflictual relationship because of the social divisions in Northern Ireland: If you look at the Catholic community we have a tradition of seeing human things as coming from God and reflecting God’s goodness. We think that drama is something good so there will often be dancing, musicals and plays etc in Church halls. We see this as something that can help us give glory to God and take this as a sign of God’s creative power in our midst. Protestants seem to be rather preoccupied with God and God alone. They are particularly wary of false gods and idolatry. But some of these differences have also been historical reactions to each other. Protestants sing in Church therefore Catholics should not sing so enthusiastically. Catholics go for drama so Protestants tend to avoid it and so on.

Process and flexibility An emphasis on drama within Catholicism connects not only to mystery but receptiveness towards the unfolding nature of narrative. Unlike in Protestantism, where a preoccupation with literal meaning means considerable unease with the idea of process and the ambiguities



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of meaning which rise and fall within the expressions of narrative, Catholicism relies on narrative to illuminate mystery. In relation to this, literal meaning tends to have instant meaning (which Protestants in the main prefer), whereas mystery and process require interpretation to be shaped by time and movement (narrative). This approach, as Cunningham identifies, considers time not as static, but chronological, a continuum where past, present and future merge and where ‘the world has come out from God and will return to God in the final age’ (2009: 93). Because of this view, there is an overriding emphasis where ‘Catholicism accepts the limitation of the present and the hope for a final resurrection’ (ibid.), and it is this emphasis which, in contrast to Protestantism and its focus on the event or the isolated moment, sustains the perception of conversion within Catholicism as a lifelong process. As Fr Tim Bartlett (Armagh) described it: Within the Protestant community and particularly in Presbyterian and Baptist evangelicalism there is a tradition which emphasises the moment of conversion to Christ. One minute you are the sinner persecuting the Christians, like St Paul, and the next minute you encounter Christ as your personal God. If a person said that they had turned from their terrorist ways then it would be taken as an instant conversion, very black and white and no need for a process. In contrast, the Catholic community believes that you are both saved by the moment of baptism and by continual conversion, so therefore there is a sense of being patient with the process of conversion which is a life-long process. Culturally there is a greater patience in the Catholic community with the approach to process rather than one minute expecting individuals to be black and the next minute for them to be white. So for us it would be the journey of conversion rather than the moment of conversion. I would say that I am saved but that I am also being saved all the time and because of that there will always be a part of me which requires transformation or conversion or grace to facilitate that change. Another way of thinking about process, as Bartlett indicates, is in terms of journey, which provides a metaphor for thinking about present and future as a connective (Cunningham 2009: 94) and which envisages a destination end point (ibid.). As Fr Paul Symonds (Ballymena) pointed out, this continuum relies on recognition of change not in an instantaneous fashion, but in the context of destiny. It is destiny that provides justification for the journey being undertaken and creates a framework



by which to legitimise the importance of process. But, process is also about stages of development which are required in order to give both narrative and destiny meaning: The whole pilgrimage of faith is a pilgrimage of gradual purification and we do not see that as something which is completed at the moment of physical death. That is why there is a place in our tradition for praying for people after they have died. But within our lives there is a lot of unbinding to do, layers of greed, lust, laziness, resentfulness, jealousy and bitterness and it takes a long time to unravel all those negative layers. To me that is the process of purification. Fr Aidan Troy (Belfast) explained how the Catholic accommodation of journey reflects an emphasis on faith as a life-long process and, in relation, how the idea of personal salvation, which is prioritised in Protestantism at the moment of being born again, would not be an experience familiar to Catholics. Whereas for many Protestants salvation would be seen as likely in a lived moment of conversion and so occurring in life, for Catholics salvation would be viewed as a transformation at the end of one’s life and so occurring at the point of death: At the popular level of devotion, Catholics have a big thing for pilgrimage making trips to Lourdes, Rome etc and have always had this idea almost like Moses that the ‘promised land’ is always beyond us. Catholics, going back, have always had this notion that we are travelling, a travelling community. The tradition for preaching at missions and retreats and the idea of itinerant preaching where priests travelled from place to place means that journey is very deep within the Catholic psyche. The priest and the Catholic community in general would never be able to subscribe to the notion of being saved. The Catholic works on the principle of the mercy of God coming at the end of the story. It’s working on the basis of a bigger story, a bigger picture, a long-term trajectory. Fr Mark Ephrem-Nolan (Rostrevor) underlined the emphasis on process and explained how reading Scripture from this perspective provides a context of meaning which embraces both the need for change and respect for the mysteries of how that change develops. An acceptance of the desire to feel part of a process and understand one’s humanity through the narrative of process necessarily provides structure and flexibility for those seeking conversion:



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There is this sense that the Catholic tradition is a long tradition which has been through a process of evolution and change. There is the sense of an unfolding story and the story is not about some perfect moment, it is ongoing. The Church is always being reformed, albeit slowly. But Protestants had their reformation and appear to be stuck. Indeed, they could be seen to be constantly de-forming and breaking up. Story is very important for keeping a society going. The real role of sacred Scripture is to help us to be able to read the signs of the times and to help us to see that we are at a stage of history which is part of a bigger, longer story which is the Bible. The Bible should help us to ask questions rather than provide answers. It’s not a filing cabinet where we just use parts of it to bolster our view, or use as a proof text. I have to accept my humanity for what it is, not how I dream it to be, but how it has unfolded and worked out. Tom Layden SJ (Belfast) also referred to the importance for Catholics of being connected to a history (continuum) and structure (the Church) which contextualise religious experience primarily in terms of process rather than moments and events: When you get together with Protestants they tend to want to explore events and talk about whether the Catholic has been saved, whether he accepts Christ as his saviour, and whether he realises how everything changed on Good Friday. But for Catholics, there is a much stronger relationship with belonging to something larger than this time and place. Catholics feel that they belong to a Church which is universal in time and space and draw strength and encouragement from that. So there is this sense that we belong to something greater than ourselves and that experience is universal, which a number of Protestants might have a problem with. For Catholics, the Church symbolises an experience of both change and consistency, so, as Ratzinger notes, although there is changeability in the Church it is also the case that if there ‘were not also unchangeability and permanence, it would be meaningless for us to continue to designate her through the ages by the one word “Church”, for, in that case, there would be lacking to her the identity that keeps changeability in check’ (Ratzinger 1987: 130). Ratzinger concludes that ‘we always find the Church in the tension between what is changeable and what is unchangeable. On the one hand, she is that which is changeable, for she bears within herself the mark of all the changing generations of



mankind throughout the centuries. Yet she must, of all that, remain ever “the Church” and, for that reason, be also the subject in which change occurs, but which, remains always identical with herself’ (ibid.: 131). And as Cardinal Cahal Daly (retired) confirmed on this point, because this tension is about adaptability and reflexivity within limits (because it is only by the imposition of such limits) it is therefore also about the containment of difference: It’s flexibility within a very clear doctrinal unity. There are theological differences within that unity but there is a strong sense of a solid doctrinal base by all the different variations of Catholicism. National variations, cultural variations, even theological variations, but it’s diversity within a unity and the grace of God. We have learnt ways of respecting difference without creating division, of having distinction without division.

Reconciliation and forgiving Within Catholicism, the function of the seven sacraments (Baptism, Confirmation, the Eucharist, Marriage, Penance, Holy Orders and the Anointing of the Sick) is to experience the love of God in relation to one’s own story and circumstances (Guzie 1981: 20). As such, the sacraments serve primarily as actions rather than objects, in which the individual participates rather than observes (ibid.: 31–32). This engagement frames the Church’s role in terms of the communal ‘we’, with each sacrament concentrating attention on how ‘we’ relate to each other and the Church. The sacraments work principally at a symbolic level and it is this symbolism which leads the worshipper into the realms of the mysterious. The symbols themselves may be tangible, but what they point towards is essentially mysterious and invisible (ibid.: 47). As Guzie describes this process, the sacraments create ‘the very act of signifying a reality’ and in that moment ‘they both make and change our reality’ (ibid.: 50). In contrast to the individualistic emphasis of the Protestant tradition, the Catholic experience seeks to position individual experience within the context of Church and community, thus reconciling the individual to the self, Church and community simultaneously. For Guzie, the ‘personal effect of the sacrament is not the starting point for understanding what a sacrament means. There is a place in any liturgy for moments which direct our attention “upward.” But any liturgical celebration is in its total thrust “horizontal.” It is an expression of this body which has come together to celebrate, in just this way, because



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these folks know that they are one body in Christ. In this context, the personal devotion of any individual cannot be the norm for sacramental practice’ (ibid.: 62–63). The sacrament then is an outward symbol which takes one to the inner self (moving from the external world to the internal world) and in that moment provides a transformation through inner grace (Walsh 2005: 106). The sacraments stand in contrast to a Protestant experience which expresses that all revelation can only be found in the Bible and that divine truth exists independent of Scripture and the literalist worldview (Strange 1996: 61). For Catholics, the nature of tradition (the lived experience) and Scripture (biblical interpretation) create mutually reinforcing positions which are ‘intimately related’ (ibid.). Moving between the two is ultimately a creative act, providing the path to a divine reality and a state of grace (ibid.: 93). The sacrament of reconciliation, which is more commonly known as the confessional but historically as the sacrament of penance, symbolises a process of healing one’s disconnect with God, reintegration with the community through the acknowledgement of individual wrongdoing and a coming to terms with one’s own sin. In the Catholic context, sin itself is viewed more as a straying off the path, getting lost or missing the mark, ‘all of which can be intentional or unintentional’ (Forest n.d: 5). The communal relevance of the sacrament, as Forest makes clear, is expressed as key because of the ‘common delusion that one’s sins are private or affect only a few other people. To think our sins, however hidden, don’t affect others is like imagining that a stone thrown into the water won’t generate ripples . . . Far from being hidden, each sin is another crack in the world’ (ibid.: 8). Recognising this and acting through repentance to address it is, according to Forest, ‘the door of communion’ (ibid.: 9). Confession then for Catholics is primarily a social action which ‘restores our communion with God and each other’ (ibid.: 10). ‘The communal aspect of the event’, Forest continues, ‘tends to safeguard it, solidify it, and call everyone to account – those doing the ritual, and those witnessing it’. Moreover, the community is represented by the priest who acts to give ‘guidance and wisdom that helps each penitent overcome attitudes and habits that take us off course, who declares forgiveness and restores us to communion. In this way our repentance is brought into the community that has been damaged by our sins – a private event in a public context’ (ibid.: 13–14). This private–public interaction serves to reintegrate relationships with God, the community and one’s self through four particular stages: (1) an admission of sin; (2) a determination not to commit the sin again; (3) a



process of penance such as sustained praying; and (4) declaring the sin forgiven with the sinner reconciled to both God and the Church (Walsh 2005: 113). As Fr Tim Bartlett (Armagh) explained, the process of reconciliation provided by the sacrament enables divine and communal obligation to become realigned in the light of confession over a wrongdoing: It provides a structure for a community process of dealing with the past to some degree. You would begin by the invocation of God and God’s mercy and help as an individual and you begin with an acknowledgement of your sinfulness. The sacrament of reconciliation clearly focuses on what the individual has done. The act of saying sorry and moving to restitution, making up or doing some penance even if it is at a symbolic level is a gesture towards making up for what I did and making a commitment to not do it again. The very fact that the person is there is the first verification to the priest that this is a person who is sincerely in some way repentant. I also think that there is a structure there for communities to engage in a process of acknowledgement of seeing forgiveness from the other, of a commitment not to do it again and acknowledgement towards others’ aspirations or at least giving the space to that aspiration. Within this context the priest has the ‘jurisdiction’ to provide forgiveness (Trese 2005: 435). Elaborating on the role of the priest as witness to confession, and the communal significance of his presence, Cardinal Sean Brady (Armagh) commented: In our tradition of the sacrament of reconciliation you have to confess first and those that come have come to the realisation that they have something to confess. But the confession has to have a purpose of amendment where they are confessing not just to God, but another person [the priest]. For the confession to be effective you need each person who confesses to take ownership of their sins and to indicate a turning away. That is what our understanding of conversion is. But we would also be challenging them to specify, identity in some way, what area of their lives needs healing, reconciliation and pardon. People bring that area of their life which most needs healing before the Lord and name it. Cardinal Cahal Daly commented particularly on the priest’s conceptions of right and wrong in the confessional, as well as the importance of the



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circumstances and influences that shape the tendency to sin. He also saw the presence of the confessor as evidence of a need to reveal sin, gain freedom from guilt through that admission and by way of repentance acquire a commitment to not act in the same way again: Repentance is both an internal disposition of mind and an internal awareness of the wrongness one did. It is also an admission of that awareness and a promise not to sin in that way anymore. It is taken on trust but we can form an impression quite quickly as to whether a person is sincere or not. The fact that the person has come to confession at all is an incipient admission that he needs confession and needs forgiveness and so therefore what he was doing was wrong. We would in the abstract see an absolute distinction between right and wrong, the morally right and the morally wrong, but when it came down to a closer examination of the circumstances, the mindset of the person who acted in this or that way, it would be less absolute. I think objectively speaking we would be absolutist in judging something right and something else to be wrong, but in the confessional we would also want to know the circumstances in which the person acted and we might be less absolutist when we look at all the circumstances, all the motivations, pressures and so on under which the person was acting. Taking into account external factors which are likely to have influenced the confessor’s capacity to sin was also stressed as important by Fr Oliver Crilly (Port Glenone), who stated: Background situations do actually affect the level of guilt. In one sense it seems like a modern phenomenon to be allowing for psychological and social aspects that would effect what one might call culpability but these are factors which are mentioned in moral theology going back to the Middle Ages. So there might be a list of things which impact on culpability where the objective and the subjective would be talked about. If a person comes to confessional you know they have a problem so you would be assessing their situation in a more gentle way because of that. Although any requirement to demonstrate that forgiveness is dependent on the confessor meeting necessary conditions is not taken as a prerequisite within Catholicism, there is still the expectation, as Fr Oliver Crilly



(Port Glenone) pointed that, that repentance will occur if sin is to be absolved: It’s the celebration of God’s forgiveness and particularly with the more serious sin sacramental forgiveness becomes necessary, but it’s in a total context. I think that sometimes people have a sense that within the Catholic Church there is no forgiveness without confession which is not true. Even in the strictest Catholic theological tradition confession is only required for what is referred to as mortal sin. Confession does not have any efficacy in terms of forgiveness of sin unless there is a firm desire of amendment and it has no significance without that. Moreover if the person is putting on a show of repentance then the confession is not real. The priest cannot do away with somebody’s sin. That person has to have genuine repentance and the priest is putting the official seal of the Church’s approval on that. But it’s not the priest who has to determine the authenticity here, only the person him or herself can do that. For Fr Gerry Reynolds (Belfast) the presence of the priest exists as a vindication of Jesus’ mercy and kindness and the Church should seek to return the confessor to the faith community which is itself negated and stifled by holding on to sin: We are tangled in doctrinal misunderstanding when we become preoccupied with the priest as sacrament or sign. The priest embodies the mercy of Jesus and He hears you and me and the Church is where we meet Jesus in one another. Both are important. But, it is also following the Scripture which says confess your sins to one another, get assurance of pardon from your brother and sister who tells you to leave it be and leave it to God’s mercy, don’t be carrying that burden on your back but let it go. It’s also an indication of trying to help people see the one mysterious reality, of God’s mercy and forgiveness coming into human life and from that starting point trying to sort out the differences, divisions and distances that exist between us. Elaborating further on the purpose of the sacrament, Fr Paul Symonds (Ballymena) stressed how the main purpose of the confessional is to rebind the individual–Church–community relationship and in the process end the fragmentation which has emerged through a sinful violation of this relationship:



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New life comes from repentance. We have the sacrament of reconciliation which is about our relationship with God and our fellow human beings, so we take the line that there is no such thing as private sin in that sense. Although my sin may have been done in a very private place because I have sinned, I have hurt the whole body of Christ and the whole Church. If we are truly repentant for having done that and request to take part in that sacrament and speak out our sin then we can be assured by the priest that we have both God’s forgiveness and the forgiveness of the Church. But I always say in sermons that unless you are at peace with God before you come into the confessional it’s not very likely that you will be at peace when you go out. The confessional, as Fr Aidan Troy (Belfast) went on to explain, is also an opportunity for the individual to understand his or her own human worth and how previous actions have diminished that worth. In that sense, the confessional presents a return to the realms of the moral and a realisation of one’s own humanity which was discredited by the sinful act: The sacrament of reconciliation is an opportunity to acknowledge your own humanity, your own fragility and to know there is an allloving God who wants you very much to be part of His people, but it’s not cheap grace. The key is the purpose of amendment. I actually come before God and say I cannot claim to love you God if I do not love my brother and sister, so the sacrament has the potential to open up the development of reconciliation. The communal aspect is the strength of it. That takes precedent over the personal. Fr Troy continued to point out the need to realise the differences of individual lives and the varying circumstances which contribute to wrongdoing. The confessional is a validation of one’s individuality as well as recognition of one’s obligations to act with honesty and integrity: One of the strongest characteristics of God as we understand God is that of mercy and forgiveness. To put a person through a number of hoops before you forgive them to and to demand a degree of repentance which is almost like grovelling is not helpful. People influence each other by working together. There is no such thing as easy forgiveness but equally one should not seek to make demands



on people. The priest can only administer the sacrament according to the disposition of the person. You have to understand the circumstances of those who come to confession. You cannot play God with them and you cannot paint all with the one brush. I’ve been at the death bed of quite a number of people who were significantly involved in the conflict and they have grave worries about what they did in their time. Even though they may still believe they acted with integrity, which might be misguided but that is their belief, at their death they still hope that they are going to God. It’s not as easy as right and wrong, but there is nevertheless a process of questioning and self-reflection which occurs. Furthermore, as Fr Mark Ephrem-Nolan (Rostrevor) went on to explain, the presence of the priest at the confessional is a manifestation of human frailty and the search for humanity. The position of the priest, for Ephrem-Nolan, is not an exercise in power, but a validation of weakness as an inextricable part of the human condition. From that perspective, the priest invites the wrongdoer to integrate with this struggle and in so doing reabsorbs him into the community which the wrongdoer seeks support from and wishes to return to: In receiving the person who comes to seek reconciliation the person who receives them is a fallible sinner himself. He is not there as a model of perfection dispensing forgiveness, but primarily as a representative of the community. The sacrament is about finding some way of re-integrating with the community. My personal and social sin cuts me off from the community of the Church as well. Relationships with others break down and that’s where the priest is needed, as both a representative of the community and as a representative of the welcoming and forgiving Christ. This intermediary role is very important and in being about praying with others, means sacramental reconciliation in a wider sense. Reintegration with one’s own humanity, the Church and community is achieved through the struggle with forgiving. As Cardinal Sean Brady (Armagh) described, this tension and the importance of forgiving is a reciprocal process: We try to realise that further progress cannot be made without the topic of forgiveness being addressed. We would have difficulties with



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the idea of communal forgiveness because I can’t offer or accept forgiveness on behalf of somebody else, but it seems that only those can forgive who have received forgiveness and for that to happen we all need to realise the need for forgiveness and that we are all sinners. If I go and confess my sins and ask for forgiveness I am more likely to offer forgiveness to somebody else. This is a conversion of the heart. The measure of it is to forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. Each of us has to look into their heart and ask how forgiving we are before we ask the Lord for forgiveness. This is also restorative because if I offend my neighbour to restore that relationship I have to turn back and ask for forgiveness. Cardinal Cahal Daly went on to highlight the problem of applying judgement to the wrongdoer, emphasising the importance of openness in the interaction and viewing the potential for forgiveness as beyond conditional expectations that the priest might claim to represent: We would be less demanding of demonstrable repentance before death and would feel that we cannot be the final judge because only God can be the final judge. As God is merciful and compassionate we are not going to exclude divine forgiveness because we have no evidence for it. We leave that to God. There is openness to the possibility of repentance beyond anything that we ourselves can determine. Who is to say that even in the final stages of a morally evil act where the person is killed by their own moral activity that he did not have something like a conversion experience and show repentance? For Fr Oliver Crilly (Port Glenone), forgiveness being conditional on some kind of proof is problematic to Catholics. Here the unconditional (which relates to the mysterious, that which is invisible and perhaps incomprehensible) offers as much opportunity for forgiveness. In this respect, the gesture towards forgiving is primarily an act of grace, a gift to be offered and received: Within the Protestant tradition it would appear that there is more of a need for proven repentance before forgiveness or the possibility of forgiveness could be offered. But within the Catholic tradition statements of unconditional forgiveness would be understandable as a decision that is made; that forgiveness is a decision that can be made irrespective of where the other person has come from.



In the Protestant community it seems as though forgiveness is more something which needs to be earned. As Fr Mark Ephrem-Nolan (Rostrevor) went on to explain, forgiving comes from God. The priest is the channel, an instrument which facilitates the possibility. If forgiving comes from God, who is beyond man, then man can only be open to the possibility of being forgiven by making contact with God. It is the priest who provides the pathway for this reconnection: When Jesus is on the Cross at the moment of being put to death we listen to His last words ‘Father forgive them for they know not what they do.’ He doesn’t say I forgive you. He asks the Father to forgive. We can ask God to do for us what we cannot do for ourselves, and we ask to receive something which is not ours. So who are the people who say we have got to be in a position to forgive? It was never our prerogative to forgive anyway because only God alone can do that. The most that any of us can do is to become a channel of grace, but that comes from beyond us. This chapter brings into relief some important points of distinction with regard to the outlooks of Protestantism. To begin with, the communal emphasis of Catholicism provides a theology of accommodation which seeks to hold together contested attitudes and perceptions that are in contrast to the Protestant emphasis on individualism and exclusivity. With Protestantism, it is evident from the many churches which exist that schism and diversification are endemic conditions of the Protestant tradition. To demonstrate that one is a Protestant is to be part of the history of division and exclusion, itself an indication of individual conscience and personal choice. The process of restraining tensions and differences within an overall theological and institutional framework is problematic for Protestants not only because this is a Catholic tendency, but because to do so implies subservience to institutional rather than individual conscience. The Catholic disposition towards the analogical imagination provides the logic by which to absorb rather than reject. Since all possibilities and potentialities are reflections of human capacity, to exclude any is to simultaneously ignore facets of the human condition which make us human to begin with. In Catholicism all human behaviour may be conceptualised through the lessons of Jesus. To reduce the world into a series of either/or formulations is to separate behaviour into what we



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find palatable and unpalatable, but, since Catholics are encouraged to see that similarities and differences, good and bad, may be understood though the message of Jesus Christ, so disassociation and exclusion stands in contradiction to the ‘similarity-in-difference’ paradigm which shapes thought. This is not a question of collapsing, say, the moral and the immoral into one, but to see one as an extension of the other and as a potential manifestation of the other. Within Protestantism the moral distinction is imperative. It is much more than a technical disagreement as may often appear to be the case from the outside. The choice of which Protestant Church to attend is itself the statement of a particular moral position which justifies the separation of one Church from another. One is saying something about oneself by going to a Free Presbyterian Church, or Methodist Church, or a Reformed Church, in a way which does not exist in Catholicism. It is this individual rather than communal preference which is at the heart of Protestantism and which more obviously distinguishes the Protestant from the Catholic. Argument that the lack of clarity over moral distinction in Catholicism makes the bad acceptable, or at least makes the immoral seem less immoral than it is, raises questions about possible exploitative authority and control which were highlighted by the Ryan Report of 2009 which examined years of systematic child abuse at Catholic institutions in Ireland. For many Protestants, this outcome would no doubt be seen as an inevitable result of moral indifference within the Catholic Church towards actions of gross immorality. That this abuse was made evident by the dissections of legal rather than religious inquiry would also appear to confirm the merits of the strictly legalistic understanding of the moral favoured by many Protestants. Such revelations of abuse would confirm for many Protestants the dangers of adhering to a moral monopoly (contradicting any notion of moral indifference), which inevitably makes exploitation and corruption more rather than less likely. However one looks at it, this abdication of responsibility towards dealing with serious human crime is a very real dilemma of believing that all actions can be overcome within the realms of the spiritual. In Ireland today, the Ryan Report indicates a gross failure of the communal ethos which has badly damaged relations between the Catholic Church and its public. That said, and taking into account Church apology and recommendations of greater transparency in Catholic institutions, it is unlikely that the Catholic imagination will undergo significant introspection or re-evaluation in the wake of the Ryan Report. What form would this take anyway in relation to a deductive logic which favours connections more than disconnections



and which views all human capacity as a detail in relation to the vast bigger picture and framework of God? At best one can expect the crisis to be seen as an opportunity for transformation by re-energising commitment to core principles and practices. Most likely is that the crisis of abuse will be seen to have happened not because of moral monopoly but because moral monopoly was not adhered to. Though the Ryan Report raises a whole range of serious questions about the Catholic Church and its procedures (which will not be elaborated here), it would appear that addressing the effects of the abuse will be seen more as an institutional issue (and ironically individual – since only certain individuals took part in the abuse) than a digression of the Catholic imagination, and that to return trust will present a substantial challenge to the ‘flexibility and process approach’ which is generally favoured to deal with dilemmas of the human condition. What this chapter particularly reveals with regard to the Catholic mind is a propensity towards thinking about situations, circumstances and problems not in terms of what each of these mean in isolation, but what they might mean in relation to a much wider trajectory and what relevance they might occupy in a life-long narrative. If for Catholics the end point in life is the most important point, then everything else is largely seen as preparation for that moment. The Church itself symbolises this emphasis through process, and as an institution of universality, stands as evidence of both change and consistency. It is this strong sense of history which might particularly encourage the Catholic to see the momentary in terms of the timeless (the finite in the infinite). Of course, what particularly matters is destination (conversion), but it is the journey which takes the individual to that destination. The strong emphasis on journey (pilgrimage) also points the Catholic towards the importance of process rather than the event (destination) and in that sense views life and death as a continuum, as a trajectory concerned more with beginnings than ends. The impact of this disposition appears to be that life is a constant outworking of mysteries which are manifestations of a much larger, almost incomprehensible religious whole. This whole is the invisible (where unity comes from) and it is from the invisible that the visible (reality) emerges. For the Protestant, this worldview is contrary to an inductive logic where principles and positions matter more than process; where the visible matters more than the invisible and where the rational is more reliable than the mysterious. The consequences these distinctions might have for forgiving and reconciliation are complex. How might we move towards a discourse which embraces these distinctions? This will be explored more in the



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next two chapters, but for now it is important to recognise that both communal and individualistic emphases on forgiving and reconciliation are important. Whilst the Protestant emphasis encourages the individual to look within for forgiveness, we might say that the Catholic emphasis encourages the individual to look without. In other words, if the Protestant prefers to view the problem as a matter of individual conscience, then the Catholic recognises that this conscience only has meaning in relation to the social, the communal. Both are essential aspects of meaningful forgiveness and reconciliation. The consequences and value of both outlooks therefore have relevance for the development of inclusive Christian debates on the issues of forgiveness and reconciliation, no matter how contested or ignored. To consider this dilemma more fully it seems logical that we should turn to the idea of the ecumenical encounter for perhaps it is here, in the ecumenical encounter, that Christian differences might be better reconciled to the moral possibilities of using diversity as a means rather than obstruction for inclusive dialogue.


5 Ecumenism: A Case Study of the Inter-Church Group on Faith and Politics

The ecumenical context Traditionally, the ecumenical movement has been concerned with the promotion of Church unity and working to overcome divisiveness in Christian life (Kinnamon and Cope 1997: 1). Underpinning the ecumenical approach is an ethos which seeks to develop commonality through service, fellowship and witness, from which emerges a renewal of purpose through co-operation and recognition of the unifying power of the body of Christ (ibid.: 2). Striving in particular to facilitate a reconciliation of conflicting faith dialogues, the body of Christ provides a spatial unity within which divergent expressions of faith can be collectively considered and tolerated. As such, ecumenism is a movement which works to address the antagonistic emphasis of faith positions by acknowledging the value of each within the one space of God’s presence (ibid.: 5). The ecumenical movement, we are told, ‘at its best, lives creatively with such tensions, refusing to reduce them to either/or choices’ (ibid.) and is able to do so because of being ‘essentially a spiritual mood or religious commitment rather than a single clearly worked out theological position’. Ecumenism then can be viewed as a pragmatic impulse which seeks to construct a unified sense of Christian life and community (Houlden 1983: 173). At its most radical, ecumenism is necessarily critical of Christian divisions and aims to challenge self-interested or exploitative expressions of the Christian faith. In this regard, it can therefore be seen as largely interrogative towards differing Christian perspectives and interpretations (Avis 1986:129). By revealing and penetrating the divisive functions of faith expressions and highlighting the negative implications of such divisions in the context of fundamental Christian 174


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principles (ibid.: 130), ecumenical practice is oriented towards reversing the exclusivity and marginalisation which derives from insular and division-forming interpretations of the Christian imagination. Attempts to recognise the unity of the Christian message are not guided by the aim of eradicating differences, but providing a space in which differences can be appreciated and respected without becoming detrimental to the idea of unity in God. For those such as Conti, ‘dialogue is the privileged means of ecumenical encounter’ (2008: 45), and this is so because dialogue, unlike monologue, is conversational and it is through this exchange that one comes to understand and empathise with the position of the other. But along with conversation, contends Conti, there must be ‘an insistence on conversion of heart as the necessary prerequisite of ecumenism’ (ibid.), for it is this emotional shift which supports the ‘desire to act ecumenically’ (ibid.: 44). Such action is not designed to create a singular view of the Christian faith, but to create space in which ‘unity is reconciled in diversity’ (McCullough 2008: 75) and where truth of the Gospel may be expressed ‘in a diversity of forms’ (ibid.). The positive experience which comes from accepting this diversity in unity, for Gately, comes from the change that emerges as ‘an exchange of ideas’ gives way to ‘an exchange of gifts’ and where faith becomes strengthened and deepened by ‘reciprocal enrichment’ (2008: 137). The ecumenical encounter then helps construct a sense of communion ‘which permits making space for the other without renouncing one’s own identity’ (ibid.). Geraldine Smyth describes the ecumenical experience as ‘an invitation to allow the churches to be transformed through the grace of exchange and shared life’ (2003: 120). It is, she continues, ‘a journey into truth still unguessed, a journey into compassion for the other’s suffering and into a willingness for shared witness’ of the Christian message (ibid.). Talking more specifically about Northern Ireland, Smyth considers ecumenism as the means to ‘ward off the temptation to identity-based religion, and to find new ways of witnessing to the divine pleroma that is revealed in every act of listening to those beyond our Pale’ (ibid.). But to do this, Smyth believes, there needs to be receptiveness to the poetic imagination which, because of its ability to make comprehension fluid and not dogmatic, is able ‘to sustain the ethical and theological claim’ that becomes challenged in the attempts at ‘keeping identities open for communion’ (ibid.: 122). What Smyth also refers to through the exchange of identities within a context of poetic imagination, like Conti, is a need for conversation (Bond 1998: 83) which is able to create the dynamic necessary for respectful engagement and



so work to ‘appropriate the implications of the “other” Christian traditions’ (ibid.: 90). This communication, for those such as Bond, ‘is not the forsaking of one place in order to be something else but an expansion of selfhood by way of being identified with and challenged by the “other” ’ (ibid.: 91). Efforts to create a ‘fusion of difference’ through the tension of ‘near and far’, between ‘what is one’s own and what is alien’ provide an alternative identity which is ‘an identity-in-difference’. In the process, a space is derived from ‘unity in diversity, within and between traditions’ (ibid.: 92) and from ‘a dialectical rather than a static or conflictual reality’ (ibid.: 97). Seen through this lens, preservation of varying Christian identities becomes dependent not on maintaining difference at the expense of unity, but on emphasising the idea of unity as a necessary means for sustaining and tolerating difference in ways which seek to minimise division and facilitate non-threatening interpretations of alternative Christian positions. The ecumenical encounter therefore seeks to use difference not as a means to reinforce exclusivity, but to shape inclusivity by working towards a context of mutually shared Christian convictions. From this perspective, theological differences are variations of interpretive preferences which draw from and intersect with a unifying sense of Christian life. One can see that in relation to a politically and socially divided society, which resorts to violence as an expression of difference, the ecumenical encounter (if it is to have political and social resonance, which one would expect as evidence of a live faith) must address issues of sectarianism, facilitate discourses of peace and work to increase the potential for reconciliation. According to Raiser, the aim in such circumstances is to provide a ‘new creative energy that can reach beyond the dominant cultural pattern and reshape or transform it’ and in the process ‘draw on resources of empowerment and legitimation which transcend the social and political context’ (2007: 238). This transformation is not about moving away from political and social concerns, but addressing those concerns from a spiritual viewpoint which uses peace rather than conflict as a reference point and tries to influence the political through the spiritual rather than the other way round (although both are at work here). For Kaiser, this interaction must necessarily be ‘realistic about human self-interest and the temptations of power and domination, but will refuse to get trapped in the confrontational logic of power by strengthening the capacity and the longing for mutual recognition and for reciprocity’. Kaiser argues for an encounter that will ‘acknowledge human vulnerability and thus the need for basic security, but rather than building up defensive barriers it seeks to transform



vulnerability into a mark of true humanity: the acknowledgement of mutual dependence and responsibility for one another’ (ibid.: 240). Central to this dynamic are dialogue and listening, which facilitate consideration for the other and provide a context of engagement based on respect and an appreciation for a ‘dignity of difference’ (Sacks 2003). As Sacks argues, dialogue which is oriented towards a respect for difference also opens the way for the possibility of forgiveness and tolerance since it ‘introduces into the logic of interpersonal encounter the unpredictability of grace’ (ibid.: 179), which itself helps to resist expectations that we ‘replay the grievances of yesterday’ (ibid.). Sacks goes on to assert that the shift towards a condition which is receptive towards forgiveness will increase the ‘ability to live with the past without being held captive by the past’ as well as providing an opportunity for the ‘refusal to be defined by circumstance’ (ibid.). From this perspective, and in the context of violence and suffering, Sachs interprets forgiveness as ‘the counternarrative of hope’ (ibid.), which does not mean ‘abandoning the claims of justice’ but acknowledging that ‘the past is past and must not be allowed to cast its shadow over the future’ (ibid.: 188). Clearly, this position finds some consistency with Desmond Tutu’s claim that there is no future without forgiveness (1999) and with the suggestion that those who do not forgive are consigned to the grievances and bitterness of the past. However, such a contention needs careful consideration in relation to arguments which purport that an unwillingness to forgive may be as morally defensible and indeed even as desirable as a willingness to forgive and that the preservation of resentment can itself act to resist the legitimacy of future destructive and violent action.

The ecumenism of reconciliation The problem of forgiveness (which was explored at greater length in Chapter 3) though complex and evasive, as well as able to be manipulated in ways which help maintain sectarian attitudes (fundamentalist evangelicals emphasising repentance before forgiveness can take place), continues to underpin the Christian commitment to reconciliation and is routinely interpreted as a necessary connective to conflict resolution debates. According to David Stevens, if reconciliation is to be rescued from becoming a vacuous concept, it must address six possible meanings which can function to provide a coherent approach against the negativity of sectarianism and division. First, reconciliation should be seen as concerned with ‘living together in difference’. Second, it should be seen ‘in terms of the inter-related dynamics of forgiveness, repentance, truth



and justice’. Third, it should be seen as ‘a place – where the different conflicting parties meet and face together the claims and tensions between truth and mercy and justice and peace’. Fourth, it should be seen ‘in the context of revenge and sacrifice’. Fifth, it should be seen ‘in terms of a set of attitudes and practices that are necessary for dealing with plurality, for fair interactions between members of different groups, for healing divisions and for finding common purposes’. And sixth, it should be see as ‘creating and sustaining conversation’ (2004: 22–23). For Stevens, the process of reconciliation means acknowledging and working towards a space where the divisiveness of the ‘us and them’ relationship is transformed to viewing each as dependent on the other and where the ‘other’ himself is welcomed into a new social dynamic which is both reflective of a new social morality and a receptiveness towards repairing damaged relationships (ibid.: 42). The movement towards reconciliation is therefore inextricably linked to a series of multi-level social interactions which deal with ‘the hurts, resentments and enmities that exist (the task of repair and healing) and seeks the transformation of relationships with all that implies at the spiritual, psychological, social, economic and political levels’ (ibid.: 43). Reconciliation, when seen in this light, prioritises a social dynamic built on linking forgiveness, repentance, truth and justice and using that linkage to shape a transformed, non-confrontational space where differences are embraced as necessary rather than a hindrance for social diversity (ibid.). In that sense, reconciliation becomes a transformative process which demands constant creative and positive engagement with the ‘other’ who has traditionally been seen as a threat to established social relations (ibid.). It is, to put it another way, a dynamic of interaction between groups through dialogue and addressing the issues which sustain distance and support the conditions for sectarianism, since such interaction forms the basis for constructive relations and overcoming the boundaries that separate and divide. In Liechty and Clegg’s study Moving Beyond Sectarianism (2001) the authors detail various understandings of sectarianism in order to highlight its ranging manifestations and explain sectarianism as a system of values, actions, beliefs and structures which operate at personal, communal and institutional levels (this, they argue, ‘typically involves a negative mixing of religion and politics’ (2001: 102)). Invariably constituting a distortion of identity and belonging, Liechty and Clegg define sectarianism as an expression of ‘destructive patterns of relating’ which occur most notably in terms of ‘hardening the boundaries between groups, overlooking others, belittling, dehumanising, or demonising



others, justifying or collaborating in the domination of others’ and ‘physically or verbally intimidating or attacking others’ (ibid.: 103). In considering sectarianism, the authors advise us to examine the logic of identity positions in relation to these areas and in particular to assess articulations for evidence of boundary-hardening (ibid.: 254, 255). ‘The integrity of truth claims depends on relationship’ Liechty and Clegg insist, and ‘when truth claims are made outside that context, they are increasingly likely to take on an element of self-serving fantasy’ resulting in distortion and misrepresentation (ibid.: 254). Liechty and Clegg go on to assert that this distortion of identity corresponds with a distorted sense of belonging which is most effectively confronted through relationships that cross rather than stay within boundaries (ibid.: 297). To convincingly deal with sectarianism at its root, the authors ask for the churches to re-dedicate to the notion of communion, for it is from the communion experience that destructive patterns of identity and boundary-marking are most effectively confronted. Liechty and Clegg view a lack of communion (with communion taken as a manifestation of reconciliation at work) not as incidental to sectarianism, but a reinforcement of its divisive effects. Without a clear intention to provide an outworking of communion which is necessarily inclusive and so reconciliatory, the likely outcome is that churches will continue to manage divisions rather than try to overcome them (ibid.: 313). The mission of the churches, Liechty and Clegg contend, must be motivated to extending and building relationships instead of reinforcing the legitimacy of a destructive separatism (where superiority is used to minimise the possibilities of relationship-forming dialogue) which spills into communal life and provides a basis for conflict. The model for achieving this is constructed through three intersecting approaches which churches are advised to adopt. First, there needs to be a ‘moving from a predominant hermeneutic of suspicion towards others towards a hermeneutic of suspicion’ of each Church’s ‘own positions and motivations’. Second, there needs to be ‘a movement away from constructing identities negatively over others to developing identities in the kind of positive relationship that respects and leaves space for difference’ which ‘does not necessarily imply agreement’. And third, there needs to be movement ‘from a predominant hermeneutic of negative engagement with others, within their own church tradition, in other Christian traditions and in society, towards a hermeneutic of positive engagement with those who are different, or who are antagonistic’ (ibid.: 331). The recommendations which Liechty and Clegg provide for churches to engage constructively in inter-Church dialogue in order to reduce



sectarian tension connect strongly with a need to address pervasive claims of moral superiority. As the discussion document Sectarianism produced by the Working Party on Sectarianism in 1993 noted when analysing the potentially divisive consequences which can result over contested notions of truth, dismissive or disdainful attitudes can become particularly damaging when ‘combined with the ancient idea that error has no rights, or in a weaker version of the same principle that those in error have lesser rights or that they only have rights out of pragmatic necessity’ (1993: 25). The document called for the need to distinguish religious difference from sectarianism by stressing the importance of examining how the consequences of differences are believed and exercised. This emphasis on consequences means that religious expression shifts from being understood in terms of how it represents the interests of ‘us’ to understanding how it represents the interests of ‘us and them’ simultaneously and indeed how notions of ‘us’ impact on ‘them’ (ibid.: 8–9). Sustaining this kind of division may occur not only by overt messages and symbols of preferred dominance, but ‘as much by silence’ where real feelings and unease remain hidden (ibid.: 29). To create trust and work towards a culture of mutual respect between religious groups and denominations, openness is required where disagreement can be made public without recourse to fear or the threat of being devalued (ibid.). The deterrent impact of challenging structures of dominance in order to reconfigure subordinate relationships into relationships of mutual acceptance and respect (of which disagreement and criticism are a vital and positive indication of that acceptance) lay at the heart of dismantling sectarian attitudes and reducing the tensions which contribute to the dynamic of violence (ibid.: 30). It is a move away from conceptualising others as enemies by deconstructing the stereotypes which support this conceptualisation, and it is through closing down distance between communities in order to reduce the tension of territorial claims that the potency of the sectarian mind might be defused (ibid.: 32). As the document goes on to argue, in relation to deterrence and separation, the scale of threat tends to be used to legitimise a sense of security between antagonistic communities because substitute ‘gods’ are created to maintain identity and notions of superiority (‘we are what we are because the “others” are not what we are – and therefore not as good as us’ (ibid.: 35)). The concept of unity (the ecumenical response) is important here because, if radical, it shifts the focus from the preservation of institutional and communal interests and responsibilities towards social interests and responsibilities, thereby



viewing faith as social responsibility more than theological or political security. This shift of re-conceptualising the demands and imperatives of institutional positions in terms of social responsibilities and interests, is a problem which lay at the heart of Avishai Margalit’s discussion about what constitutes The Decent Society (1996). For Margalit, the decent society is one ‘whose institutions do not humiliate people’, and whereas ‘a decent society is one whose members do not humiliate people’ (ibid.: 1). Defining humiliation as ‘any sort of behaviour or condition that constitutes a sound reason for a person to consider his or her self-respect injured’ (ibid.: 9), Margalit asks us to look at the reasons why humiliation takes place and in doing so steers us towards thinking about the consequences of such behaviour. Margalit suggests that for us to eradicate mechanisms of humiliation it is necessary to move away from a preoccupation with the agents of humiliation to confronting the humiliating situation itself – moving from the personal to the social (ibid.: 129). To overcome humiliation Margalit believes it necessary to stop expecting institutions to prevent humiliation and to appreciate more the personal impact of what humiliation does, for it is through acknowledgement of this personal impact that we can come to realise how responses which appeal to the personal rather than the institutional provide us with better opportunity to alleviate the humiliation caused. It is through association with the human rather than the institutional that we have more chance to avert the humiliating experience and its corrosive effects. Unlike institutional relationships, only personal relationships can create love and love is the response that Margalit particularly wants us to think about as a response to the experience of humiliation (ibid.). To eradicate humiliation and develop empathy and connection with the ‘other’, Margalit also emphasises the importance of openness as a condition which is conducive for positive engagement and views this as important because ‘respecting people deserves the idea that their future is open, and that they can change their lives for the better through action or a reevaluation of their past’ (ibid.: 72). In a sense, Margalit’s discussion points at an appeal for the private (personal) to change the public (social) rather than allow the public to continue controlling private expectations about the systematic expression of dismissal and disdain (which arises through institutional pressure). But, in order to bring about this transformation we must surely first grapple with what Hannah Arendt calls the ‘conditioned existence’ (1989: 9) – meaning societal structures and systems that determine human values and interaction – and both recognise and agree that to move away from



a system of structured division and antagonism there must be a transformation of the conditions which enable those structures of divisions and antagonisms to exist. The ecumenical encounter may be conceptualised as one possible way of providing the impetus needed to move us towards this new space. With regard to Northern Ireland although ecumenical practice has been evident since well before the emergence of modern conflict, more commonly referred to as the Troubles (Gallagher and Worrall 1982: 130–152), its impact has been minimised by the dominance of divided relationships which most of the churches have presided over. Historically, for many Protestants, the term ecumenism has been associated with a plot to bring Protestant churches under the auspices of the Catholic Church, as well as an incitement to communism and modernism, with its dangerous and inherent propensity for change (ibid.: 23). Intersecting with the political divisions which contributed to a continuation of the conflict, it has been apparent for some time for those involved in ecumenical work that political transformation will be much slower to develop and less likely to take root without the involvement and interventions of the churches (ibid.: 201). The position here is clear, as churches have been trying to manage and influence social responses and reactions to violent conflict, so they have been politically active and to not maintain that activism in relation to bringing conflict to an end would amount not only to a denial of political responsibility (itself a political preference), but also social responsibility. Further, to not be involved in a process of reconciliation will indicate that Christian positions have been adopted for political rather than spiritual reasons, and that preservation, through the emphasis of difference, is of more interest than ending such division. This, of course, poses considerable problems for those who claim to live under a Christian ethic yet use it more for the consolidation of individual and institutional interests (which in the case of Protestants is a tendency towards individualism rather than developing ministry which strives for social stability through communal resonance) than reaching out to those with different religious inclinations and convictions. Yet taking into account such difficulties (and particularly since the talks which led the political parties to the Good Friday Agreement of 1998), there has been a notable commitment to ecumenical work in Northern Ireland from the Church of Ireland, the Presbyterian Church and the Methodist Church, which was especially prompted by an attempt to explore the ecumenical encounter as expressed in



response to the Catholic Church’s Decree on Ecumenism which emerged from Vatican II discussions in 1964 (Power 2007: 25–26). Though this decree emphasised the importance of teaching theology ‘from an ecumenical viewpoint, not polemically’ (O’Malley 2008: 195), it also problematically envisaged Christian unity as that which existed before the Reformation, thus bringing all Christian faith under the auspices of the Catholic tradition (ibid.: 301). This suggestion of keeping to orthodox principles posed a dilemma for unity which has been reflected in a number of historical encounters between Protestants and Catholics in Northern Ireland where both have sought to maintain core principles whilst developing inter-Church collaborations (see Gallagher and Worrall 1982). Moreover, whilst the Decree on Ecumenism might be seen to promote a Catholic disposition towards such encounters, and Catholics have played a central role in the development of inter-Church relations (Power 2007: 11), it should also be noted that key meetings such as the Ballymascanlon talks (which took place through the Irish Inter-Church Meeting from 1973 and started at the Ballymascanlon Hotel near Dundalk) were largely brought about by the approaches of Methodists to the Catholic Church (Gallagher and Worrall 1982: 136) following annual ecumenical conferences at Glenstal in Limerick in 1964 and Greenhills at Drogheda in 1966 (Taggart 2004: 85). Other conferences such as the Greystones talks in Wicklow in 1963, which involved the United Council of Churches and Religious Communions in Ireland (which had existed since 1922 becoming the Irish Council of Churches in 1965), also sought to develop a sense of common action and fellowship between churches and build a framework within which member churches could share positions on opposition to violence and other divisive social issues (ibid.). As Gallagher and Worrall note, the meetings from Ballymascanlon which were devised to set up a working party ‘which would discuss pastoral problems’ (Gallagher and Worrall 1982: 136) attempted to address, through a range of papers, how Protestant and Catholic churches conceived areas such as ‘Scripture–Church–Authority’, ‘Social and Community Problems’, ‘Baptism–Eucharist–Marriage’ and ‘Christianity–Secularism’ (ibid.: 137–138). For Protestant representatives this meant dealing with Catholic participants where at times ‘hierarchical positions seemed fixed and non-negotiable’ (ibid.: 149). Such precedents for ecumenical relations, which still exist today (more specifically in the form of the Irish Council of Churches and the Inter-Church Meeting) and though difficult, signify also how inter-Church relationships can be educative when they seek to



facilitate understanding and tolerance of differences between churches. But it should also be noted that member churches ‘are not committed to approve specific actions or statements by Councils’, and continue ‘to retain their own autonomy of judgement and action’ (Taggart 2004: 119). Interestingly, this highlights a potential problem with the ecumenical encounter through the Councils’ structure, which is reconciling the distinction between unity, on the one hand, and autonomy on the other. This dilemma is perhaps more obviously demonstrated in varying articulations from Protestant and Catholic churches about the conflict, with Protestant churches tending to use a law and order argument against violence and Catholic churches tending to use a justice argument (each therefore reflective of communal and political differences towards the conflict and each other). More impressive and perhaps more likely to achieve the aims of the ecumenical vision is the development of a Christian grouping which is able to reconcile autonomy and unity, and through a series of developed responses which address conflict causes, able to take agreed positions on how to deal with those causes. This means approaching problems less through the continuing differences and separations of a Protestant and Catholic ethic, but negotiating the two by striving to work through an overarching Christian ethic, or at least an ethical framework which draws influence from beyond the confines of a dominant religious self-interest. It would also mean being less bound by the formal structures of Councils, which stand to defend official positions whilst advocating tolerance and change, and working to create practical recommendations which reach over and through the separations of the Protestant and Catholic imagination. Understanding this problem requires some recognition of the socialising influences of religion and how that socialisation has legitimised reactions and responses towards social life. It requires, as Berger tells us, understanding that religion ‘maintains the socially defined reality by legitimating marginal situations in terms of an all-encompassing sacred reality’ (1990: 44). Berger goes on to explain that by providing an interpretive standpoint from which to make sense of life situations, the religious experience ‘permits the individual who goes through these situations to continue to exist in the world of his society – not “as if nothing had happened,” which is psychologically difficult in the more extreme marginal situations, but in the “knowledge” that even these events or experiences have a place within a universe which makes sense’ (ibid.). From this perspective, religion provides a structure and base from which to formulate social understanding and comprehension, thereby shaping responses and legitimising forms of actions (ibid.: 45). Or, as



Berger puts it, ‘existing in a particular religious world implies existing in the particular social context within which the world can retain its plausibility’ (ibid.: 49). It is not only from this position that the individual determines a sense of rightness about the social roles he or she is expected to play (ibid.: 37), but, through the sacred reality which is applied, he or she is also able to ensure that the ‘inherently precarious and transitory constructions of human activity are thus given the semblance of ultimate security and permanence’ (ibid.: 36). In making its constructed nature and character (in other words its socialising priorities) unapparent by appealing to the sacred (or the ‘cosmic’ as Berger calls it), institutions of religion tend to also hide the socially constructed forms of knowledge which they promote (ibid.: 33), so disguising how their explanations function to ‘justify the social order’ (ibid.: 30). Such justifications are used not only to explain how things ought to be but what is, providing both cognitive and normative power (ibid.). What we might take from this is that for the ecumenical encounter to have purchase it needs to at least acknowledge the potentially restrictive socialising influences that institutions (in this case churches) use to protect their own legitimacy and see those socialising influences as constructed by particular uses and interpretations of the sacred.

The Faith and Politics Group: development, aims and objectives Given the pressures of adhering to formal institutional expectations about autonomy and unity, perhaps it is not surprising that productive attempts at the ecumenical encounter have tended to arise from those working with some degree of independence from the restrictions imposed by the formal structures and regulations of the official churches with their institutionally determined appropriations of the Christian faith (which also finds some sympathy with Margalit’s suggestion that it is the personal rather than the institutional which can move us closer to the possibility of the ‘decent society’). The Faith and Politics Group (which developed independently from the churches and consisted of participants acting in a personal capacity) which formed in 1983 under the official title of the Inter-Church Group on Faith and Politics, grew out of discussions that took place at the Greenhills Ecumenical Conference and consisted of up to sixteen members from a range of Christian faith positions, is an example of this possibility. The aim of the discussions initiated by the Group was to consider the conflict not just in terms of theological difference, but political difference



(Power 2007: 176), and through a series of public documents produced over some sixteen years (ibid.) confront the idolatry of sectarianism via a politically informed Christian ethic (ibid.: 177). Interestingly, debates were constructed less on using the conflict as a basis for expression of theological difference, but viewing the conflict as a process from which theological differences were reinforced. In relation, the Group sought to view the conflict as a reference point from which collective rather than divisive religious responses might emerge. Instead of using the conflict to justify theological differences, the Group sought to focus those differences onto the conflict itself and use that focus to assess how Christian understandings might provide unified articulations about social and political issues which were inflammatory or reinforced communal antagonisms. In such documents as Breaking down the enmity (1993) the Group seek to address the question of reconciliation – which is seen as ‘the restoration of broken relationships’, ‘not wanting to destroy, dominate or separate’ the other, ‘sharing power, responsibility and resources’, as well as ‘going beyond the “right” and “wrong” of the conflict – the vicious circle of action and reaction – to create new and creative relationships’ (1993: 17) – through the frame of theological reference, but also by combining an understanding of political division and conflict with Christian obligation and co-operation. Numerous other documents intersect with this aim, outlining in greater detail suggested paths of progress. Recognition of how notions of superiority hinder the potential for accommodation and require collective more positive appreciations of identity rather than insular and negative expressions of identity (see Self-Righteous Collective Superiority as a Cause of Conflict (1999)), also provide insight into how claims for dominance and exclusivity reinforce sectarian attitudes. In a further document A Time to Heal (2002), reconciliation is conceptualised as being best achieved through the figure of Christ, for it is by way of this interaction that one might be ‘freed from anxiety about identity’ (2002: 7). Using the peace process as a backdrop, the Group also argue that ending conflict (which had conventionally been seen as more of a win–lose scenario) is dependent on viewing the other as a partner instead of an enemy, gaining trust through new dialogue-relationships and coming to understand that bringing conflict to an end depends on mutually appreciated perceptions of belonging, which provide consent and legitimacy for moves towards a shared future (ibid.: 30–32). Many other documents such as Burying Our Dead: Political Funerals in Northern Ireland (1992), The Things that Make for Peace (1995), Liberty to the Captives? The Early Release of Politically Motivated Prisoners



(1995), Forgive Us Our Trespasses . . . .? (1996), Doing Unto Others: Parity of Esteem in a Contested Space (1997), New Pathways (1997) and Transitions (2001) indicate the range of attempts to converge political issues with theological analysis and in the process incite wider discussion about the social and political responsibility of Christian churches in a context of political conflict. Outlining the main intentions and structure of the Group, member Geraldine Smyth (Irish School of Ecumenics and Dominican) explained how overall: It was trying to bring some dialectical engagement between the area of faith/religion/churches as well as those working in the socio-political field, although the Group was self-formed initially. A number were invited to try and hold a cross-border dimension, a Catholic-Protestant dimension and a male-female dimension. Nearly all of the participants had some commitment to engage with the socio-political field and particularly in relation to issues linked with the Troubles, justice, peace and reconciliation. We recognised that at the very least conversations and patterns of dialogue were needed which took the differences seriously and particularly took hardline political and religious positions seriously. It was called the InterChurch Group on Faith and Politics probably to avoid the word ecumenical, which is a red rag to a bull in many Church circles. For Janet Quilley (Quaker), the strength of the Group derived from an inclination to work independently from institutional controls and to assess a range of socially and politically divisive issues without formal pressure for expected outcomes: The Group wanted to discover through working together what they could say as Christians. Sometimes with different theologies coming together this was very difficult, as was tackling political issues like the release of prisoners, policing and funerals. The Group was not necessarily representative of a lot of people and they were feeling and pushing out boundaries with the things they were talking about, which wouldn’t automatically get support from those in their congregations. Some, such as those from the Corrymeela community [a reconciliation-based organisation], were not in the situation of having a parish or a congregation, so it perhaps didn’t affect them as much in terms of external pressures. Overall, I think the Group was coming from the view that in being people of faith there must be



something that we could say together. Our contribution was probably in stripping down faith to see what was really important and what would stick in the sense of what we can all reasonably sign up to. John Darcy May (Irish School of Ecumenics) indicated how the output of the Group was a representation of this freedom, but also spoke about how the ethos of the Group was oriented as far as possible towards avoiding expression of political positions which had historically been used to sustain division: We had to be extremely careful about not being seen as politically bias, so, as a rule, there were no party political connotations to what we were saying. Most churches who were enmeshed in this political conflict would not have dared to address the logjam and we were aware of that, so we tried to keep it to faith theology and to analyse what was going on from a faith perspective. There were real differences within the Group but maybe there was less at stake in the sense that we didn’t represent our respective institutions officially, we were somewhat free from that restraint. Really we had to justify ourselves more before the public forum. Alan Martin (Presbyterian from Ireland) similarly saw the aim of the Group as being motivated by using theological differences in order to try and draw out the potential for collective rather than individual positions, which had traditionally served to reinforce separation: We were trying to relate our faith to the political situation in which we found ourselves. This was not being done to any extent and people tended to withdraw into their private faith so theology was rather concentrated on the individual. This didn’t have much in the way of motivating power in terms of working for peace, since to do that you need a theology which starts to see things collectively. We saw the situation around us and wanted to make a comment out of the Christian faith which resisted the continuation of the various divisions within the Christian community, which had been exploited to create more division. For Johnston McMaster (Irish School of Ecumenics and Methodist), this meant moving towards a general or consensual position which had the space to accommodate different viewpoints, as well as recognising the social/political context within which the Group was operating. But, as McMaster pointed out, for the discussions to have wider resonance, it



was apparent that recommendations needed to take account of acceptable (and non-acceptable) public parameters for effective dissemination and work with those restraints in mind: It was a genuinely ecumenical gathering that drew people from across the spectrum. It was from an ecumenical basis and perspective that the Group was making comment on the politics of the day and it was envisioning an alternative to division, which was not always acceptable because the politics was heavily polarised. I think that underpinning the Group was a faith perspective which stressed that you cannot separate faith from political life if faith itself is about justice and peacemaking. Those are political issues. So it was about faith speaking critically into politics and into the struggle of our politics during those years; to try and find ways forward through dialogue, through conflict transformation, through creating agreement and by bringing about ceasefires. But, there was also an awareness in the Group that you could not push the boundaries too far and that what was needed was a sensitivity that people would not fear, be turned off by, or, use in an antagonistic way. Because of that, the work was not so much theology specific but more generalised. Elaborating further on how the Group tried to encourage religious communities to consider political divisions and the impact that religious belief might have on those divisions, McMaster continued: It is clear that each of us had been shaped by our respective confessional traditions. If you were coming to this project as an Anglican, Presbyterian, Methodist or Catholic there is a tradition behind each which shapes you in some way. But, in the context of Northern Ireland you are also shaped by political dynamics and history. We were trying to encourage Church people to see that their faith had something to say about the complex political dynamics that we were engaged in and about the problem of widespread privatisation and individualisation of religion. We were highlighting that faith is public, not in the dominating or co-opted sense, but in the sense that it can raise critical questions about the way that power is being used, the way justice is being exercised or not exercised and that faith can be about practical politics. Not party politics, but practical politics, where politicians could perhaps use these ideas to think in a different way, or push the political process forward in a different way.



Trevor Williams (Corrymeela) saw the experience of the Group as being shaped by a desire to facilitate reconciliation by drawing from the work and ideas associated with those such as the Corrymeela community (with which a number of the Group were connected), which sought to minimise the significance of religious difference by providing interpretations that were designed primarily around reconciliation-type narratives: The aim was over time to reflect theologically on the issues that were emerging from the conflict and to draw from a theological framework as a means for thinking about the current context. In a sense, and because it was reflection on political realities, one could say that there was a political theology at work here. But it was rooted in the experience of reconciliation and forgiveness which was the ethos that lay behind the Corrymeela community. It was about dealing with people of faith and no faith and thinking about how both groups might share stories, reflect upon them and analyse what was going on. Timothy Kinahan (Church of Ireland) spoke about the importance for the Group of seeking to challenge the traditional relationship between Church and politics (which had effectively been one of preserving positions) by engaging with the problem of distance between groups and trying to initiate movement into a relationship which had been generally static: We were seeking to challenge a prevailing religious nationalism in Northern Ireland in both communities through talk on reconciliation, bridge-building, forgiveness etc. Those themes underpinned everything we wrote. We were not so much trying to look at what was wrong, but what were possible paths of constructive engagement for a way forward. We produced a series of documents and blanket-mailed them to interested politicians and clergy, as well as those who were less interested but might read them. We felt that the religious constituency needed to move and the political constituency needed to see that not all religious people were content with the old mantras of the past. Also, many of us in some way or another were involved in the peace process, talking to politicians and trying to get them together in both formal and informal ways. But this involvement was more individual rather than group based. The natural logic of our position was that it was necessary to introduce a different dynamic to the political structures (of which many were a part) and



to try and get parties to get rid of sectarian elements and attitudes in order to become more open to talking with people from different backgrounds. Taking this point further, John Morrow (Corrymeela) highlighted the significance of process as part of this project and moving away from zero-sum politics, which had reinforced attitudes of winning and losing in communities and inhibited the possibility of constructive dialogue: From our perspective it was clear that many people were identifying their faith with one side of the conflict and that the churches had become almost chaplains to the conflict instead of playing another role. We certainly did not seek to abolish the relationship between faith and politics, but to try and find a creative relationship between the two, as in a political theology. We wanted to see what the implications of our faith were for politics at this time of conflict, which we felt was not being properly explored by the churches. But, we were motivated, I think, by an ecumenical vision which to my mind is very much a journey rather than a clear cut place to go. We are committed to that journey on the basis of being called by Christ to seek unity, which can only be found if we are prepared to enter into a journey together. If we do that we are in dialogue with each other and this can lead more and more to a renewal of our faith, because we might then start to see that none of us has a monopoly on truth, that we learn from each other and that all have a need for correction in different ways. So it is very much about being committed to get into a journey which is relationship-forming. This is challenging the conventional political viewpoint which is that all too often one side is trying to beat the other down and create winning ideologies rather than listening. Although the work of the Group was motivated by the ecumenical encounter, Geraldine Smyth (Irish School of Ecumenics and Dominican) noted how the difficulty with advancing ecumenism in Northern Ireland is compounded by attitudes which are antagonistic to the idea of unity in acts of worship: For most, ecumenism means taking part in worship with other churches and there has been a lot of hesitancy on this, especially from the Protestants for whom it is a matter of conscience. They



would have seen social relationships with Catholics as something which might have been encouraged in the light of the Troubles, so there was a certain social awareness and consciousness filtering into social life, but still even among people who are quite actively involved in inter-Church work, there is a line drawn about worship together. For many, ecumenism means worship together, it means recognising the other Church fully as a Church and although some do, there are certain Protestant groups who don’t. It is important to recognise that there is official ecumenism and there is the ecumenism of ordinary people who tend to be ahead of Church representatives. But for ecumenism to become mainstream acceptable, there needs to be some people in official or quasi-official positions who are willing to give support to that kind of activity. As John Darcy May (Irish School of Ecumenics) pointed out, this antagonism was not confined to Protestant religious communities, but can be found in Catholic communities as well: The full title of the Group was An Inter-Church Group on Faith and Politics because you can’t really use the ‘e’ word. This was not just a Protestant problem either. The Catholic Church was actually more difficult and very buttoned-up on this and it was very hard to get Roman Catholic clergy explicitly involved in anything ecumenical. The religious orders and particularly the Jesuits were more the exception, because the official Catholic Church was extremely wary. David Stevens (Corrymeela) elaborated further on the negative perceptions given to ecumenism by referring to a wider unease with religious positions that seek to advocate inter-Church relations and reconciliation dialogue: This is not a religious conflict in the sense that people are fighting over the Virgin Mary, but there are religious dimensions. AntiCatholicism has been profoundly important both as a religious concept and as a political concept. Religion is more of a marker and it is one of the dividing points in this society. For many of the churches, ecumenism can’t bring peace in a society like this. Indeed, it can make it worse by trying to sanctify political aspirations. There is less of a tendency to see ecumenism as a factor for stability or better social relations here.



Politics and difference An important part of the Group’s work was discussing the political differences which have served to polarise Northern Ireland society. Duncan Morrow, from the Community Relations Council in Belfast (who although not a formal member contributed to the work of the Group) summarised how political and religious positions converge in relation to these polarisations, highlighting a related tendency to obstruct reconciliation and attempts to overcome the politics of division: A Catholic tends to live in a world in which he or she is part of a bigger whole and Catholics are happier to look at that bigger whole and work out their relationship with it. Many Protestants are suspicious that this idea of the whole hides power and abuse of power and for the Protestant if that suspicion is not laid out in front of you, then somebody is trying to pull the wool over your eyes. So the Protestant concern is about being convinced and forensically dividing up what you are looking at to try and overcome this suspicion. The Protestant mindset is not to avoid hard truth, in fact it is the opposite, we know that we are sinners so don’t be trying to soft-soap us here, just give us the harsh truth. Community is seen very much in individual terms and compromise is difficult. I think the Protestant obsession is focussed on not being a Catholic and to see itself primarily in a kind of rivalry with Catholicism. This is not just a theological rivalry, but political rivalry, and this distinction was part of the organisation of principles and political ideas, as well as economics, which crystallized into a type of nexus and the interactions are complex. Going on to explain how rivalries are encased in Protestant and Catholic worldviews which have different connections to ideas of superiority and the community, Morrow continued: There has been a Protestant emphasis on defending yourself and always being alert to Roman power and this is because it was in your political and economic interest since Catholics are your mortal enemies. This negative obsession has acted as a very powerful force and has a fundamentalist strand which surfaces easily if the system is not working, or if you are in misery. Then, this fundamentalist strand provides an appeal for order. Structurally, in some forms of Protestantism, particularly those which draw most heavily on Calvinism and Lutherism, there is this profound sense of



Catholicism being bad because it threw us good people out and we are the people of God. We are the elect. In Catholicism, this experience is not pervasive theologically but has communal resonance, that whether you are Church-going or not, we were the good guys who were ultimately wronged. We were the ones who were driven off the land, who got no access to power and were discriminated against by the state. The thinking there is that we had no place in the state and imperialism acted against us, so for Catholics political history is a moral enterprise. The emphasis on different thinking about political change between communities and how change is perceived within those communities was also expounded by Brian Lennon (Jesuit priest), who commented: It seems that the need for precision on the side of Protestants/unionists and vague frameworks on the side of nationalists/Catholics is because they are politically self-serving. Protestants want to do a deal if that’s the end of it, whereas nationalists think yes we will do a deal, but let’s keep talking. Catholics talk about being inclusive and taking an open-ended approach to the future and a new context. The inference is we might not know when we are there because by then we might have a few more cards to play, whereas the Protestant view tends to be we will go on that journey with you if you give us a fence which we can put up at a certain point so we don’t have to go any further. Political benefits also serve moral positions. The Protestant community is tied in to law and order and the state and everything that goes with that, so you don’t tell lies, you are upright and must have integrity. Catholics are the exact opposite, for the reason that they are politically benefiting from that opposite. But, it’s also important not to think about Catholic fears here as much as Catholic resentments. The two communities are not equal, not in parallel, and this is very important to understand for those engaged in the reconciliation debate. Duncan Morrow (Community Relations Council) went on to highlight how different actions made within/towards the state became part of the division which sustained conflict and shaped perceptual antagonisms: The pre-eminent Protestant political demand was to support the rule of law as understood by unionist majority rule and therefore the critical moral question for the Protestant churches was the rule of law. Those who broke the law were seen as bad people, as criminal in



some sense or other. But the Catholic community took the opposite view, which was ambivalence about the rule of law and what many saw as imperialism and not law. Because of this, Catholics tended to be much less judgemental about those who broke the law and there was not such a hard and fast line drawn in that community about good and bad based on who did the killing and who did not. Within the Catholic community, this relationship with the law is much more of a continuum, whereas, within the Protestant community there is clear break between yes and no, good and bad. This kind of Protestant fundamentalism is very modern because it is trying to apply scientific notions of truth, yes and no, in a field which has no comprehension of this kind of truth. But one can see the appeal of apocalyptic notions with this worldview. Catholics have the opposite in that they have heaven and deliverance and for a people who, for their history, have been marginalised. The attractive story is reaching heaven. If people feel they are going to go first, be judged and be saved, if they are the elect, then the apocalypse makes more sense. Contributing further to this summation of how theological positions have permeated and sustained worldview differences between Protestants and Catholics, David Stevens (Corrymeela) went on: In terms of worldview, one must also see that some of the more fundamental churches would make sharper black and white distinctions compared to Catholics. The Reformed Calvinist conservative evangelical would be much more fundamentalist and make much sharper distinctions, whereas Catholics are better at dealing with the greys of the world. Within Catholicism you have a dogma which is nonnegotiable but within that dogma you can be immensely flexible. I think Protestants are absolutely obsessed by words and wanting to know what words mean is a classic approach that Protestants would take in politics. They would have a basic position which you can only very tentatively move beyond. So words, text, the position and a conservative worldview are very important for Protestants. For Catholics it tends to be more about getting the framework right. This view was also shared by John Morrow (Corrymeela) who emphasised the systematic approach to problems favoured by Protestants, which contrasts with the broad picture approach of Catholics: There is a sort of empiricism about Protestant thinking that one needs to go from a to b and follow the English approach of not trying to



sort everything out but take an a, b, c approach. In contrast, the Catholics want to have an overall theory and an overall picture of things, so they tend to operate though political ideologies more in that sense. For Timothy Kinahan (Church of Ireland) the Protestant imagination is held in particular by related areas of influence which emphasise individualism, exclusivity, negativity and viewing the communal through the personal. As he put it: In Protestantism there is a much stronger emphasis on the personal, personal salvation, your own personal interpretation of Scripture and your own personal relationship with God. So there is a much greater degree of individualism and if you tend to disagree with somebody in your Church community you are much more likely to go off and find somebody you do agree with. Protestants tend not to be inclusivelyminded. There is also a strong tendency to think of doctrine and faith in propositional terms, a faith is a creed, it is a statement about Jesus or what Jesus does for you and when others challenge that view there can be no real dialogue because that challenge is based on a false position. I think a lot of Protestants would pride themselves on their doctrinal distinctions with Catholicism and that shapes identity. A lot of that identity is bound up with what we are not and why we are different to Catholics. Such negativity does not provide a particularly good view of judgement and righteousness. So, for example, the poor are often seen as suffering injustice as a result of God’s judgement. Protestants also like clarity whereas Catholics seem to love frameworks because all sorts of things can fit under a framework and it allows room for creative fudge. For Protestants, the communal experience is personalised and the personal experience is communalised. This is based on a post-Enlightenment tradition where the individual has primacy and which was not used in that way before. St Paul never uses the word ‘you’ in the singular, it is always plural, but that hasn’t been part of the Protestant psyche since the post-Enlightenment era. Drawing attention to the fusion of religious and political positions in Northern Ireland and how political framing of issues impacts religious expression, Trevor Williams (Corrymeela) noted: It is very hard to separate political and religious realities here because the context in which we understand our religion and the context in



which we frame our beliefs is profoundly influenced by the political realities which we experience. Ian Paisley talked openly about the ‘whore of Babylon’ and the Pope as an ‘anti-Christ’ and this became part of his political profile, being anti-Catholic. Historically, there has been a tendency to know who was loyal and who was disloyal by their religious position and for Protestants this goes back to the plantations, where loyal Protestant people were drafted in and those who did not conform to that loyalty were rebellious. Those who were Catholic were immediately seen as disloyal, an attitude itself reflective of post-Reformation rhetoric and defining oneself by way of an anti-Catholic stance. So, the marrying of politics and religion goes back over centuries and is deeply embedded here. Moreover, normal politics, which elsewhere is about regulating society through the services of governments, is not the way politics has worked here. In the Northern Ireland context the political priority has been defeating the other side rather than defeating the problem which disadvantages society generally. This politics was about working to resist the political opposition and denying them the opportunity of fulfilling political aspirations. It was about keeping others out and the political system was contrived to operate in that way. It was not right and left issues, or providing services and meeting public needs, because there was only one issue and that was the border. On the work of the Group, John Darcy May (Irish School of Ecumenics) highlighted how the participants themselves could not escape political and religious conditioning and how these perceptual differences impacted on the reading of problems and responding to those problems: In the discussions there was a tendency for the Protestants to start from the position of the Bible, whereas Catholics tended to want to get at the principles behind the thing. There is also a tendency in wider evangelical circles to use the Bible as a means for interpreting events and to say this is right and this is how it should be. A broader analysis of politics, economics, social stratification and making judgements which were not based on the application of a formula was less easy for such people. I think this view is also reflective of differences in attitudes at party political level, where unionists would say that if we must absolutely agree to a text then we have to know exactly what it means and what the implications are, whereas republicans would be more inclined to say we will work through this and still reach our aims. The sense of righteousness which often emerges from Protestantism is also representative of a sort of forensic justification



which is quite black and white, good and bad, saved or condemned etc. In trying to challenge these perceptions, what the Group was doing was examining the political situation with political theologies which were not tied to party political allegiances and which took into account the structured nature of society. Although there was a moral undertone to all the documents we produced it was important to not try and prove in any objective sense that one theology was better than another, but that a variety of interpretations were necessary to understand conflict and that what might be best for society might not also be best for religious groups. Attempting to extrapolate the relationship between political and religious convictions and how political considerations impacted the work of the Group, David Stevens (Corrymeela) concluded: There is a sort of implicit political theology in our documents which is more reconciliation oriented and one of our influences would have been the Barthean view of separating political commitments from faith commitments. We always said that the political discernments we came to didn’t have theological sanction so we would see those as much more relative. In the documents there is a concentration on the significance of idolatry and that if you make political commitment sacred then that is idolatry. Our attempt to make distinctions between political positions and faith commitments did, I think, come out of Barthean reflections. If you take the position that the Bible says this or that then this is not going to be an argument to convince people who are non-religious. In its more extreme form Protestantism very much takes the hard-line view that if the Bible says so then to do otherwise is wrong. But Catholic moral thinking often has a strong naturally reasoned component to it which helps dialogue between believers and non-believers. This helps facilitate shared moral principles because believers and non-believers can effectively both engage in moral discourse. Within the Presbyterian tradition there is a strong emphasis on covenant election and understanding that we are superior people who are entitled through our covenant with God to have this land. Covenant also has a conditional loyalty which has provided justification for doing things. Indeed, the Solemn League and Covenant of 1912 links covenant with election in this way. Much of Protestantism is based on separation, yet often in the political arena it is about assembling as big a coalition of unionists as possible, so there are paradoxes between politics and religion here as well.



Theoretical frameworks and the work of Rene Girard One method used by the Group to shape discussion was to refer to an ‘external’ more ‘neutrally’ designed theoretical framework to help pull the varying religious positions towards broader conceptualisations of conflict in order to move beyond the particularism of Protestant and Catholic positions. Significantly, the Group referred to work by, amongst others, Shriver (1995) on the construction of ethical positions towards forgiveness in politics, Volf (1996) on using the idea of embrace as a theological response to the problem of exclusion, Wink (1992) on resistance to domination and developing non-violent engagement, Lederach (1997, 1999) on building reconciliation in divided societies, and Wright (1987), whose work sought to deconstruct the nature of Northern Ireland society and critically examine suggested responses to ending conflict there. But, perhaps the most prominent framework which the Group made reference to (and disagreed as well as agreed about) came from the work of Rene Girard, whose interest was particularly focussed on the societal roles of scapegoating and what Girard calls ‘mimetic desire’ as an underpinning of conflict. Girard’s argument is that as ‘antagonism and violence erupt, they both spread in the same mimetic way, by cumulative resentment and vengeance’ and that essential for this transition is the ‘scapegoat mechanism’ where violence is channelled against a common enemy, whilst at the same time reconciling the community which exerts the violence (Girard 2007: 64–65). This reconciling power comes not from agreement on what everybody wants, but is found in a common point of hatred and so what everybody does not want (ibid.: 66). The stereotypes of persecution produced in a conflict situation create what Girard calls ‘negative reciprocity’, which ‘although it brings people into opposition with each other, tends to make their conduct uniform and is responsible for the predominance of the same’ (Girard 1986: 13–14). In this process of disintegration, Girard contends that ‘rather than blame themselves, people inevitably blame society as a whole, which costs them nothing, or other people who seem particularly harmful for easily identifiable reasons’ (ibid.: 14). As communities sink into violence, fear is produced which, in creating widespread confusion, obscures any sense of differentiated meaning and culture, thereby depriving ‘all that distinguishes one person from another in time as space’ and where as a ‘result all are equally disordered in the same place and at the same time’ (ibid.: 16). Through a multitude of mythical and ritualistic significations the community engaged in conflict is seen by Girard as both magnetised



and repelled by the ability to inflict suffering and it is precisely because the community is able to suppress and subdue this tendency that it is unable to admit its own destructive capacities and inclinations in conflict (Girard 2005: 104). A failure for those within violent communities to discern how memisis shapes collective attitudes to violence (whether actually or implicitly supported) and to understand that violence as an expression of communal existence, for Girard, can be compared to the adult who ‘is generally ashamed to imitate others for fear of revealing his lack of being’ and so who demands that others imitate him ‘in order to conceal his own lack of originality’ (ibid.: 155). At the root of such conflict, insists Girard, there is a silence about the capacity for violence which contributes to memisis and which makes the tendency to inflict suffering both easier and more likely (Girard 2003: 34), and it is in the process of acting towards violence, as being played out or in its aftermath, that the religious is able to offer what Girard refers to as ‘reconciliatory transference’ (ibid.: 37), for it is in this moment that religion is able to offer itself as ‘nothing other than this immense effort to keep the peace’ (ibid.: 32). What Girard means by peace (for presumably there are states of peace and degrees of violence which effect those states) and whether religion is concerned with more than trying to maintain peace is open to question, but what is important for our purposes here is to note how the Group drew from Girard’s analysis in order to understand the destructive capacities of conflict beyond the structured and institutional positions from which their varying theological positions drew. Explaining the prominence of Girard’s influence on the group, Trevor Williams (Corrymeela) commented: Girard’s thesis is essentially about violence and religion and what he calls mimetic desire. In the modern world we think of ourselves as individuals, but we are only ourselves in relation to others, so what is desirable for you becomes desirable for me and vice versa and what becomes associated with that is the possibility of rivalry, of the desirable object and the development of the scapegoat as each seeks to try and gain hold of that desirable object. Girard has a particular view of atonement which uses the innocent as taking the place of the scapegoat and being killed. But the resurrection is about how the scapegoating mechanism is unmasked. Scapegpoating works because basically a society and a community, which are in conflict, choose an object. The scapegoat who is probably nothing to do with the problem at all, is driven out and in that process of being driven out the



community becomes aligned once more. This is then used to prove that the scapegoat was the problem after all even though they were not, which leads to further problems in recognising or understanding how the scapegoat is created. Jesus was the classic scapegoat who comes back to meet His accusers who have failed Him, not with accusation but to say ‘Here I am’. This unmasks the scapegoating process and for Girard the saving act of crucifixion and resurrection can liberate, it can show us another way out of this rivalry and encourage us to try and find another reality. Duncan Morrow (Community Relations Council), a strong advocate of Girardian analysis, continued: The purpose of Christian communities is not to be counter-culture, but to be a contrast to culture in the way that they deal with violence and the responsibility for violence. The other thing is in a relationship everybody is responsible for violence. It’s not that nobody is, but that in violent societal relationships people are violent to one another. Girard’s point is that society organises violence by agreeing on the legitimate target of that violence. It’s not a rational agreement, but it emerges, and in that process scapegoating becomes central to the placing of responsibility for violence. Connected to this are our desires, which for Girard are not our own, but are largely about selfimportance. This self-importance is ultimately about our imitation of wanting to be God, to be a replacement for God. For Girard, recognition of such a reality can help us to resist participating in it any longer. In a sense, the doctrine of salvation itself is a message about being saved from what is seen as normal. But, for David Stevens (Corrymeela), Girard’s work is much more than an observation of conflict and the mechanisms which bring it about since it also offers the possibility for thinking about how reciprocal destructive actions might be minimised or deterred by raising the question of forgiveness: You could argue that one way of understanding forgiveness is breaking mimetic patterns. I hit you so you hit me creates mimetic action and reaction and one way of understanding vengeance is I do something so you have to do something to equalise the score. Forgiveness breaks this mimetic pattern. One way of understanding the Sermon on the Mount, in a practical way, is if you mirror your opponent



you will get caught in patterns of desire, action-reaction responses. That is a very practical thing, but one way of not doing that and not mirroring your opponent would be to forgive them. The first thing about forgiveness is not retaliating, which means not getting caught up in this mimetic pattern and not being part of that destructive process.

Dealing with forgiveness and repentance ‘The question of forgiveness, which is at the centre of the Christian faith, is subject to divergent theological emphases about what is required to bring it about and, in particular, highlights contrasting expectations about personal responsibility in the process’. The work of the Group was particularly concerned with the individual and communal emphases on forgiveness and its relation to repentance. Within Protestantism a tendency to view religious conviction through personal action means that the individual (rather than the social as context) becomes the reference point for responsibility. From the perspective of the personal, it is the perpetrator who must bear responsibility for suffering and seek to address the wrongs he has inflicted. It is the perpetrator who must seek forgiveness through apology and repentance and so it is the perpetrator who must initiate the act of forgiving by making it known that he realises the consequences of his actions and the need to repent for them. For Duncan Morrow (Community Relations Council), the emphasis on the personal does little to confront the social reasons for violence (viewing violence as an individually motivated act and reparations as similarly oriented towards the individual), but does offer some explanation for why Catholic and Protestant responses to violence differ in relation to the forgiveness question: Within Protestantism there is a very strong Calvinistic element which recognises forgiveness but which almost requires the individual to sign up to a list of things and one of the first things is repentance. They can deal with forgiveness but first they want to see abjection, a clear apology and recognition of sin. So the core question they ask is ‘Are you repentant?’ rather than ‘Do I forgive?’ leaving the issue with the person’s act of self-abjection. In Protestantism there is nobody to absolve you and that is part of the problem with Protestant forgiveness. It’s not that they don’t have a theology of forgiveness, but it depends on repentance. There needs to be a penance if you are to be absolved of your sins. In the Catholic system there is recognition



of sin, forgiveness is spoken and you are absolved so there is a way. Protestantism might say yes you are forgiven, but you are an abject sinner and that is the tie-up. There is always this point of judgement and not being worthy which the individual is forever pulled back to. The idea of forgiveness as a construct for political as well as personal change, which had been raised by the Group in relation to Digeser’s proposition (2001) that forgiveness can have political resonance if expressed through secular and public rather than personal and religious modes of communication, and conceptualised as a process of release rather than receiving (which contrasts somewhat with the repentance precondition argument), was sceptically viewed by those such as Timothy Kinahan (Church of Ireland) who saw problems with the idea of forgiveness being articulated as a common position by Church officials and leaders. For Kinahan, such forgiveness connected more with an acceptance of unconditional forgiving which stood in opposition to the conditional repentance emphasised as necessary within the Protestant tradition. Clearly, from this viewpoint, a communal approach to forgiving becomes problematic (seen as too generalised) and is somewhat at odds with the individualistic emphasis: It is very difficult for leaders on behalf of a community to say we are sorry when large swathes of that community would say we have nothing to be sorry for and you do not represent me. Clearly it is of limited value. What is needed is not so much to forgive and apologise, but to get on working together, to co-operate over real bread and butter issues. That is where things begin to be informally understood and will facilitate one side knowing more about the other and seeing where they are coming from and at least not holding up the barrier which has stood to prevent understanding. The Protestant community has particular difficulty with unconditional forgiveness. They feel you need to be saved in order to receive God’s forgiveness and must actually ask for it and this personal emphasis is carried into the political sphere as well. You can’t forgive somebody if they don’t recognise that they have done wrong and you can’t forgive somebody if they haven’t asked for it. But, as a broader political point, I think people find it much harder to forgive if they think they are losing out. In terms of a religion which is certain of its own rightness and everybody else’s wrongness, there is little room for tolerance and for many Protestants you can’t compromise in the religious sphere because that is playing God. This is why for many the political slogan



of ‘no surrender’ is not just a political stance, but a consistent life philosophy. Brian Lennon (Jesuit Priest) also saw the idea of forgiveness (or more precisely forgiving) having a cross-community political resonance as doubtful since this would depend on a shared appreciation of what forgiveness is and what is necessary to bring it about, which is currently lacking. It would also depend on the individual and the communal being seen as mutually significant in the forgiving process, and shifting Protestant and Catholic perceptions which are at odds with each other. Explaining the Catholic emphasis, he commented: A political relationship is not the same as a personal relationship. Forgiving means first of all I let go of any attempt to hate you and any attempt to wish you wrong. Second, it means getting to the stage where I am not dominated by hate. Third, that I get to a point of empathy with what you have done and why you have done it, even though I am utterly opposed to what you have done. And fourthly, I am actually open to a new relationship with you in the context of a non-oppressive relationship. So, for example, the battered wife is not called into a relationship with her husband, but to the possibility of a relationship with a non-battering husband. She is not being asked to go into an oppressive relationship. Now all this is at the individual level, but if you start applying that politically you can see enormous problems because unless one side wins there is no clear truth about what is right or wrong. When we are talking about individuals it is possible to have some sort of agreement, but rarely do such conditions apply to the social and a context where there is a very general disagreement about right and wrong. In theory though I think the Catholics are better at approaching the forgiveness problem and it’s because of the confession. The practice of confession is very simple and clear. You’ve done wrong, you accept that you have done wrong, you have recognised the harm done, you confess to this genuinely, you ask for God’s forgiveness and you do what you can within reason to repair the damage you have done. In working that out you never have to put too much of a burden on others in similar situations. So there is taking responsibility, some degree of penance and an effort at restitution. Highlighting the tensions between Protestant and Catholic traditions on relations with the forgiveness question, Duncan Morrow



(Community Relations Council) indicated differences in perceptions about forgiveness between the two communities and gave attention to how the Catholic Church especially integrates the process of forgiving into its rituals and practices: Ritualising of confession, absolution and so on inside Catholicism means the possibility of a person, through ritual, coming to a place where they can examine what they have done. Also, in having restoration spoken so the person can hear it, Catholicism has a clearer mechanism for forgiveness and confession running through it. Protestantism has the problem of not being one thing. As a multicentred Church it is basically a political statement. It’s a refusal of the right of the Pope to tell you whether you are a Christian or not. You either agree with that or not and then you know if you are Protestant or not. But one big problem for Protestantism is that in rejecting the Catholic ritual and the learning of the Church it has descended into having no mechanisms and no sacraments, which are the visible signs of the mystery in life. Those sacraments in the Catholic Church provide the moment at which reconciliation is possible and this makes forgiveness possible. Within Protestantism some evidence is required that the individual knows what forgiveness is about and the emphasis here is on personal responsibility. In Catholicism there is an ability to live with sin and see it not just in terms of individual actions, but as a human predicament. The Catholic–Protestant distinction in terms of communal–personal emphasis was seen by John Morrow (Corrymeela) as significant in the discussions of the Group and, in particular, the social relevance of the documents produced was something which leant more towards recognition of the communal (so receptive towards the Catholic emphasis): Extreme Protestantism based on a doctrine of purity views the problem of tolerance as potential contamination and a dreadful heresy. This refusal to acknowledge is consistent with the Protestant position which will not recognise what is wrong with society and why conflict broke out. They still think there was a conspiracy which caused the conflict, but until they properly understand what went wrong and is wrong they will have little chance of putting it right. The idea of a community repenting is certainly problematic, but more so for Protestantism, where it is believed that only an individual can do that and yet until there is some movement to a recognition of communal



responsibility in conflict and a corporate repentance for that it is hard to see how broader discussion about forgiveness can take place. In some respects the confessional in Catholicism takes forgiveness out of the wider sphere and also places emphasis on the individual, but the corporate outlook of Catholicism certainly provides a communal focus, which Protestantism lacks. A lot of our documents were attempting to show how one might apply some of these ideas to society as a whole. We tended to use not just the New but the Old Testament as well, where God regularly speaks to the people as a whole. At the root of the tradition there is very often an application of concepts to the whole nation which we have reduced to individual behaviour, even though when one side talks about the other here it is often ‘they’ rather than the individual which is talked about. Ultimately human situations are complex and are not best understood or served by black and white, good and bad arguments. We are all too often seeking to apply simplistic understandings to complex situations and all this does is help create a nice clearly defined enemy to keep divisions going. Trevor Williams (Corrymeela) went on to challenge the ‘repentance first’ position so often advocated by Protestants and stressed a more Catholic inclination when talking about the need to offer forgiveness in order to be able to receive it: It is clear that God’s love comes to us first and then we begin to respond to that, but in terms of the theology of forgiveness there are very stark realities about forgiveness in Scripture, such as forgive us our trespasses, and that unless we forgive we can’t ask for God’s forgiveness. The problem is how do you articulate that publicly and what does it mean to a community which is traumatised? We didn’t just talk about theological truth in terms of we ought to do this or do that, but we wrestled with the idea of truth and how one could make truth meaningful in the highly difficult and complex circumstances of human experience. Although the Gospels emphasise how important it is to love one’s enemies, in conflict the emphasis is very much about one side wanting to defeat the other, so the Gospel message is counter-instinctive to how we respond and how we have been taught to respond. For Johnston McMaster (Irish School of Ecumenics/Methodist) part of the problem lay in the distinction between ‘vertical’ and ‘horizontal’



expression of Christian conviction, along with a failure to acknowledge the politics of interpretation or how the exclusivity of interpretation might be perceived as having inclusive ramifications. As McMaster elaborated: The ongoing privatisation and sacramentalisation of religion here means that forgiveness is often seen as being between the individual and the vertical, between the individual and God and the churches struggle to articulate a theology of forgiveness which is horizontal, and that takes in the relational. This is because the theology here has never been relational. It’s been about truth in terms of propositions, in terms of defined formulations and doctrine. But faith is relational, social and horizontal as well as vertical and to demonstrate that we need a public theology where forgiveness, reconciliation, healing and peace-building help shape new public realities and public dynamics, or, if you want, new social realities and social dynamics. The problem though is how we produce that change given that we live in a very punitive society which people want to see represented in the criminal justice system. Of course, the Protestant concept of justice is a law and order concept; a concept which unsurprisingly is also held by a community that holds power. But such a view is also sustained by a single and definitive history. What we need is dialogue which reveals different histories because this would help challenge single truth versions of history that are used to define theology and faith. For Brian Lennon, like Johnston McMaster, interpretation and understanding about areas such as forgiving and repentance (for example), which were so thoroughly discussed by the Group, cannot be separated from the political context in which they are articulated and which they draw from. In the instance of forgiveness and repentance, contestations about theological viewpoint are supported by interests that have political as well as theological underpinning: Interests in such areas have political implications. Protestants demand repentance because it represents their interest in keeping others in the dock. In contrast, republicans are often seen as sinners when the Catholic community does not see them as such. Indeed, the Catholic community tends to slide over the question of repentance and say they did the wrong thing but their heart was in the right place, which again is an excuse to dodge the issue of repentance and is self-serving because Catholics tend to be against the



state. In both cases each is reacting to the political benefits of their respective positions and reinforcing the outlook of their respective political community. The responses given by members of the Faith and Politics Group make it evident that different perceptions and antagonisms that exist in connection to Protestant and Catholic traditions were a central consideration of their work and so integral to the ecumenical encounter. In trying to provide discussion of social and theological issues and relate understanding of the two areas to addressing the causes of conflict, the Group had to wrestle with perceived differences in outlook between the two communities and from an understanding of those differences seek to articulate a unified position. This example of inter-Church relations is illustrative of how ecumenical practice might work, where inclinations to protect and preserve theological convictions are challenged and made more open to alternatives through serious enquiry and critical reflection on the social and political consequences of those convictions. Clearly, this requires receptiveness, compassion towards the other and self-reflection. It is also a test for the confidence of one’s own identity and faith. Importantly, as well, the interview comments provide insight into notable differences between Protestant and Catholic viewpoints with regard to forgiveness and politics that further help contextualise the vagaries of Protestant identity and motivation which have preoccupied our attention so far. The aim now is to see what the implications of such engagement might mean in the changing social and political landscape of Northern Ireland. Taking into account the identities that shape Protestantism and which separate it from Catholicism, the emphasis now shifts to look at what such differences might mean in relation to each other and a post-conflict Northern Ireland.


6 Christianity in a ‘Post-Conflict’ Northern Ireland

Comprehending the other As Northern Ireland moves from conflict to peace the role of the Christian churches is surely challenged to address the exclusivity and divisions which have sustained attitudes to conflict, but which must give way if there is to be a transformation towards preventing a return to conflict. To do this, exclusive and closed communities must be encouraged to see themselves within the context of wider society, which reaches beyond the defensive and inward-looking worlds that keep communities in suspicion and so threatened by each other. Achieving this end requires tolerance and recognition of the other, as well as dialogue oriented away from, rather than towards, conflict (and here I mean conflict which leads to violence, murder, destruction and pain). There needs to be, to put it another way, a realisation of the other which is built on a conviction of ending destructive relations and perceived threats to identity. This means that hostility, stereotyping and myths (which have prevailed during conflict) need to be deconstructed and notions of the other have to be re-evaluated. But first a process is needed which is based on encounter and enquiry and which moves towards a nonconfrontational and respectful engagement with the other. This process must also strive to develop a relationship which deepens identity and worth, rather than contribute to its erosion and humiliation. If we look outside theological considerations of this problem to begin with, we can gain a valuable approach to recognition from Taylor’s work on multiculturalism. Taylor’s starting point here is that our identity is ‘partly shaped by recognition or its absence, often by the misrecognition of others, and so a person or a group of people can suffer real damage, real distortion, if the people or society around them mirror back to them 209



a confining or demeaning or contemptible picture of themselves’ (Taylor 1994: 25). The result of such a perception, for Taylor, is a ‘reduced mode of being’ (ibid.), and it is this reduction which not only stifles human potential and worth, but which humiliates or degrades the other to suit one’s own self-interest. This tendency is made particularly likely in a society which prioritises individualisation (Taylor views this preference as ‘part of the massive subjective turn of modern culture’ and a preoccupation with ‘inwardness’ (ibid.: 29)), where morality comes from an inner voice that draws from self-fulfilling justification. Such a morality is often used to complement individualised positions that extricate more than include and which determine morality in relation to private more than social worlds (worlds now necessarily constructed to serve the interests of the individual). For Taylor, who is quick to also emphasise the importance and value of self-definition and modern identity, placing the individual at the centre of social life has also ‘given rise to a politics of difference’ (ibid.: 38) which favours recognition of ‘the unique identity of this individual or group, their distinctness from everyone else’ (ibid.). The separation which comes from individualised moral reasoning also depends on isolating those who resist the particularism of this reasoning and who prefer instead to view the community in relation to the individual rather than the other way round, but it is in striving to understand what those others stand for (rather than obsessions about what those others might take away or deny me) that we come to understand the real value of moral positions. Dialogue with other communities serves to test moral reasoning and in so doing risks validating or invalidating that which is believed and preferred. This, inevitably, is the risk of dialogue, which is that it can serve to strengthen and deepen that which can be defended with confidence and persuasion, whilst exposing the inadequacy and shortcomings of argument which cannot be presented with confidence or persuasion. In a real sense, dialogue can be used to reconcile or divide, with each possibility a reflection of morality and the language used to express that morality. As Sacks observes, ‘A rich repertoire of shared concepts allows us to develop the liberal virtues of mutual respect, toleration and the kind of practical compromise that does not entail compromise of conviction’ (Sacks 2000: 29). ‘Moral vocabulary’, Sacks continues, ‘is our most important resource for mediating between contending interests or desires’ and shapes the possibility of meeting others (ibid.). Yet, for Taylor the advantage of dialogue is not that it merely questions the self-definition of ‘us’, but that it leads to a transformation of ‘us’. New ways of seeing things come not just from engaging with difference, but


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allowing that difference to help us rethink and develop our own values and beliefs. Because of this, as Taylor concludes, dialogue can lead to an expansion of one’s horizons and a situation where ‘if and when we ultimately find substantive support for our initial presumption, it is on the basis of an understanding of what constitutes worth that we couldn’t possibly have had at the beginning. We have reached the judgement partly through transforming our standards’ (Taylor 1994: 67). Here, dialogue is seen as productive not just because it draws us closer to others, but because it clarifies the basis of belief and intent and allows each to be understood by way of others who do not adopt the same worldview. To remove oneself or one’s community from dialogue is a refusal to want to understand the other, but may go further than mere objection on the basis of believing others to be wrong (because this can be easily demonstrable in discussion). The greater likelihood is that the refusal to dialogue comes from fear and not just of others, but of oneself and one’s inability to defend one’s position or beliefs when scrutinised or tested. Far easier to justify one’s position and moral reasoning when engagement is resisted, for one does not have to measure or consider what one takes as important against the effects it may have on others. From this perspective, individualised reasoning which serves to reinforce exclusion also provides a worldview that is in contradiction to dialogue and operates primarily as monologue. The monologue is not interested in difference but sameness. It is about converting others to a single position and not about considering that single position in relation to other positions. It is not about adaptation, accommodation or tolerance, but stasis, separation and intolerance. It is the closed as opposed to the open hand. For those who insist they embody the search for truth and purity one would expect the basis of this belief to be the realisation that this search must necessarily involve testing one’s convictions with those with whom one does not agree, with those who are different, with others. Yet it is precisely because such an exchange can result in the truth being experienced not as rigid, certain and undeniable, but as fluid, interpretive and changeable that dialogue presents a danger and it is a danger because it can lead to positions being exposed not just as limiting, but repressive, exploitative and misinformed. When Moltmann observes ‘it is only in the foreign land that we understand what home is’ (Moltmann 1999: 144), he is identifying the power of the opposite as a shaping social and cultural force, but he is also identifying the importance of the other who is used to contain and support our self-image when he says that ‘It is only in our encounter with others that we experience our own selves’ (ibid.). The logical extension



of this position is that others influence the self-image we seek to protect and preserve. Those others enable us to want to be part of a community in order to feel more important than we would alone. This need to be attached to something much bigger than ourselves is where the other becomes integral, but if we really wanted to know about ourselves we would want to know more about the other. As Moltmann argues, one can only understand the self-image when engaging with those used to help create it and so therefore one can only fully understand oneself when one understands the other. The communal, after all, is the public form of the social relationships we adopt (ibid.: 135). Here, Moltmann is not advocating that we all become the same, but that we all recognise the similar traits we adopt when he subscribe to communal identities. Those identities are, of course, particular, but they are also similar in that they derive from relations with the other who is used to confirm the identity we wish to convey or be part of. Moreover, because ‘we perceive the other with what is opposite in us ourselves’ (ibid.: 144), the other is essential for the identity with which we feel secure. The contradiction of the other provides clarity to us in that in enables us to know what we are not, but, because of this, the other is also inextricably part of us and his denial is a denial of the foundations and validity of our self-definition and image. A socially oriented Christian ethic must recognise and expose the distinctions which we use to mark out ‘us’ from ‘them’, as well as also illuminate how the other can be ‘us’ when looked at from the opposite direction. By putting ourselves in the position of the other we not only see the other more clearly but we understand ourselves better. This happens because we see what our identity is built on and relies on and we see how the other’s identity is constructed on a vision of us which is similarly contradictive. For Moltmann, it is clear that without understanding the other we do not and cannot fully know ourselves; we lack self-knowledge. From this position, engagement and knowing the other means engaging with and knowing ourselves. It is not a running away from ourselves, a distraction likely to erode our self-image and so send us floating rootless in a world of growing insecurity. No, for Moltmann, the other is a crucial part of who we all are and by rejecting the other we remain incomplete and unfulfilled. We deny ourselves the possibility of knowing who we are and so what we can be. Knowing the other (which means talking to and understanding the stories of the other), even if one disagrees with him, is the path to common humanity. Refusing to know the other amounts to a rejection of that humanity and because of this insults the Christian ethic of love and compassion.



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Those who seek to preserve communal identities as fixed or static contribute to the death of the community. They deny it the possibility of growth. This point is particularly emphasised by Vanier, who notes how the ‘community that isolates itself will wither and die; a community in communion with others will receive and give life’ (Vanier 2007: 103). Stressing the importance of the open community and its capacity for listening and sharing, Vanier notes how the closed community, which prefers to listen only to itself and shares only with those similarly committed to its communal demands, is also a community which only has the capacity to insist it is right and everyone else is wrong (ibid.: 144). It rejects the humility and love which the open community makes possible and although we need to treat the terms open and closed with some care, it is evident that Vanier is calling for a community along the lines of that characterised by Bettelheim, who claims that ‘communal life can flourish only if it exists for an aim outside itself. Community is viable if it is the outgrowth of a deep involvement in a purpose which is other than, or above, that of being a community’ (quoted in Vanier 2007: 90). Resistance to the openness that Vanier and Bettelheim ask for may also be seen as a fear of both loss and gain. Loss in the sense that strongly held conditions and beliefs may be exposed as too rigid for modern life, and gain because what may replace long-held convictions could be flexibility and a desire for accommodation which strengthens identity and its value. But, for Vanier, the preservation of community is best reached by opening up rather than containing or closing access to others. This needs acknowledgement that the community is ‘not there simply for itself’, but that it ‘belongs to humanity’ and that it exists as ‘a gift which must bear fruit for all people’ (ibid.: 117). However, Vanier also talks about the need for a community not to be totally open because then ‘it will never keep and deepen its own values’ and in being influenced by the values of society rather than the community itself risks losing ‘its freedom for truth’ (ibid.: 118). In turn, if the community is too bent on preservation and rejecting of social values it will be reduced to dogmatism and adopt an ethos of superiority that will harden the community and make it unwelcoming to others. But this tension is not elaborated or examined in the depth needed by Vanier to explain how the relationship between closed and open must function if either is to avoid total dominance (and in terms of complete openness or freedom this means secularism). Vanier’s position shows a preference for balance, but it is a balance tilted slightly more in favour of the community rather than society because it is the community rather than society which is seen as most likely to embody the Christian experience. It is the community



which is seen to give the social meaning and it is the Christian imagination which is more likely to avert the influences of secularism (which emanate from the social but all too often remain disconnected from the communal). Expanding further on the need for engagement between these two entities (the communal and the social), Vanier is clear that the community should express its values where possible but not to the extent of promoting superiority and domination. Rather, the emphasis should be to widen understanding and absorb others through dialogue. To talk only to those who already display the values one adheres to, for Vanier, is a sin because this creates ‘a wall so we cannot speak to each other’ and is too firmly based on a refusal to encounter others because of an insistence on being right (rather than wrong) – an insistence which speaks only to the self and which determines that others have nothing to offer and so are of no use; they are lesser persons (Vanier 2005: 33). This, as Vainer goes on to point out, is not freedom (which ‘comes as we move from fear to trust’ (ibid.: 35)) but imprisonment; a result of the captive mind. The obsession with maintaining authority obstructs what Vanier refers to as ‘the listening heart’ (ibid.) and amounts to little more than a need to follow orders and commands. This telling others what to think and do closes down the capacity to see how others live and what they value, and does little to engage trust or build mutual respect. Real dialogue, for Vanier, must strive to go beyond the desire to understand and enable one ‘to appreciate the difference’ (ibid.: 46), for it is this appreciation which encourages learning and which contributes to the community gaining knowledge of itself in terms of its relational presence and responsibilities. As a manifestation of identity the community requires rituals where its members are expected to demonstrate their involvement by living and defending those rituals. The power of rituals is their linkage with the past and the necessary repetition of the meanings they inspire. As Seligman et al. put it, ‘Repetition circumscribes the future in and by the past. It limits an otherwise infinite and uncontrolled set of all possible future events within the frame of a known, specific, particular and felt (past) experience’ (Seligman et al. 2008: 120). In terms of religious experiences and meaning, rituals often emphasise the tragic as a path to transcendence and it is this tragedy which is used as a basis for understanding relationships in social life (ibid.: 28–29). Tragedy is more regularly witnessed in the fractured and fragmented aspects of human existence and ritual is a means to provide a response to this broken state. Here, rituals can act to repair brokenness but only in a



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temporary way, because fragmentation is the endemic human condition against which efforts to bring harmony and transformation are focussed (ibid.: 30). The effectiveness of ritual has become less convincing, however, as societies favour individualism and post-modern responses to meaning, even though rituals are used as a defence against the insecurities of a rootless modern world. Though the impact of the ritual is short-term, its repetitive expression lends towards feelings of solidity and so imbues communal life with recognisable dedications and longings that have greater impact the more repetition is adhered to. The Mass, for example, is more likely to shape individual and social life if it is experienced on a daily basis than once every six months because its potential to influence (as with all rituals) is increased by regularity. However, in contrast to Protestantism, which concentrates on the inner self, Catholicism finds rituals planted in social worth and responsibility. The Puritan ideal, in comparison, is less concerned with the social world, which is viewed as a source of conflict. Here, ‘Lacking any external referents, any anchors in the world outside the self, such an inward search for sincerity is truly never-ending’ (ibid.: 104), and any ambiguity or possible confusion ‘threatens the attempt to arrive at the “true” self’ (ibid.: 107). From this perspective, the self provides a ‘totalizing boundary’ (ibid.: 108), which finds tension against rituals that view the self within the context of wider social and religious responsibilities. But the ritual as an extension of communal identity can also be brought into question when society changes and traditional boundaries start to break down, or are traversed for a wider purpose of social good (as demonstrated by the decision of the Democratic Unionist Party to share power and work with Sinn Fein). Then, working to a common cause or purpose may come to demonstrate that communal identities are not likely to end with change, but can take on a new meaning in relation with others. Coming to see the world from the position of the other is surely what the trial of Christ points us towards and it is the message of the trial which Williams uses in order to encourage us to think more carefully about how the other defines us and is part of us. It is a gesture to recognise incompleteness and a fear that working to realise a more complete existence amounts also to a dilution of what one stands for and believes. Although it is unrealistic and naïve to expect a world of commonality in terms of religious conviction and value, Williams invites us to turn towards the other rather than away and ‘looking at outsiders for signs of the sort of thing of which God would approve, and replacing one set of standards for belonging with another’ (Williams 2000: 55). Drawing



from Hauerwas, Williams is concerned with testing religious conviction by way of creating new relations with the other and contends that ‘The true moral question is what kind of community ought we to be so that we can welcome and care for the other in our midst without that “otherness” being used to justify discrimination’ (ibid.: 59). The expansion of inner worlds requires a growing openness with external worlds and, for Williams, the presence of the other provides the opportunity for this development. As Williams puts it, others ‘represent the fact that I have growing to do, not necessarily into anything like an identity with them, but at least into a world where there may be more of a sense of its being a world we share’ (ibid.: 62). Continuing, Williams goes on, ‘it is not that the outsider is by definition right, nice or superior, but simply that the outsider’s presence puts a question that reminds me that my account of things, my way of making the world all right and manageable, is not only an incomplete enterprise, but may be an enterprise that is keeping out God because it lets in the subtle temptation to treat my perspective as if it were God’s’ (ibid.: 65). Interpreting the trial of Jesus as a lesson in how the other may be treated and the dangers of exclusion that can result in dehumanisation, Williams notes that it is precisely because Jesus declines to reinforce expectations of power and authority that he becomes a threat, and in showing powerlessness by declining to compete Jesus renders the tension between rivalry and defence illusory (ibid.: 69). This is not to depict defence as worthless, but to question what is being defended and to be wary of defending that which has been constructed as the truth. As Williams observes, ‘once you decide that what you are fighting for is absolute, you have made it relative’ and that if one believes that he is defending the will of God ‘You have mingled your passion and fear with a witness to God’s truth’ (ibid.: 81). In looking to the trial of Jesus, Williams is asking for a transformation of heart which moves the individual from his personal world to that which Jesus symbolised and lived – a world of sharing and acceptance. Note also that the figures who serve the interests of judgement and punishment, who themselves came to symbolise an authority that excludes and is absolute, are ultimately weaker for their absence of love and compassion. Bent on securing control, such authority is evidently unstable and fearful of itself. It declines to reach out and understand others who exist as a threat to communal cohesion – a cohesion which relies on repressive social control and the illusions of superiority in order to legitimise the pain and suffering inflicted. It is a system that depends



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on the degradation of the other and the absence of common humanity in relation to that other. Williams’ reference to the trial of Christ as a lesson of possible discovery about the other sits well with Hauerwas, who seeks to develop a Christian ethic which is similarly directed towards inclusion and understanding the dangers of exclusion. Hauerwas observes how the self gains meaning through social agency and views the self as defined by how one acts in the world. This starting point is used to anchor individual life within the social and to make it clear that the consequences of individual life are inescapably social. Individual character, to put it another way, emerges in response to social circumstances and develops in relation to how one interacts with others or not. Hauerwas, rather than viewing the other as a possible danger, comes to understand that other as essential for one’s own freedom. That is, we are free because others allow us to be and that we consider society as more or less free by way of historical and contemporary comparisons with systems of others (Hauerwas 2003: 44). The inextricable relationship that one has with others, for Hauerwas, is central to what we make of ourselves: ‘the kind of community in which we encounter another does not merely make some difference for our capacity for agency, it makes all the difference. From this perspective we are not the creators of our character; rather, our character is a gift from others which we learn to claim as our own by recognizing it as a gift’ (ibid.: 45). Hauerwas believes that the narrative we use to construct our character should not have a clear or fixed end, but should emerge and shift from being with and learning from others (ibid.). But, Hauerwas is also keen to point out how ‘We fear others because they always stand as an implicit challenge to our deceptions. Thus it seems the inherent necessity of all people to have or create an enemy’ (ibid.: 47). From this perspective, ‘the enemy’ is an important construct for the self and central to the narratives which reinforce identity. In essence, the evil that lurks in man is a necessary co-relate to the good that also lurks and so both are inherent to human possibility. Both inform narratives about what may emerge in the tension between these two extremes. The good of Christ takes form against the evil He faces and the perpetrators of that evil take form from the goodness of Christ. Both are needed and each defines the other as human possibility. The exclusion of one over the other is a rejection of the complexity that informs and shapes character and worth. Fundamental oppositions are integral to each other and each is necessary in the formation of narratives which contribute to identity. Living in peace surely means to understand this tension



and the relations that draw from it, and as Hauerwas succinctly puts it, ‘To be “at peace with ourselves” means we have the confidence, gained through participation in the adventure we call God’s kingdom, to trust ourselves and others. Such confidence becomes the source of our character and our freedom as we are loosed from a debilitating preoccupation with ourselves. Moreover by learning to be at peace with ourselves, we find we can live at peace with one another. And this freedom, after all, is the only freedom worth having’ (ibid.: 49). Here Hauerwas takes the story of Christ to be a social ethic which churches are asked to try and exemplify (Hauerwas 1981: 40), adopting a role that must strive to recognise and encourage the gift of communal diversity and not repress it. The lessons of Christ therefore provide the narrative which can be absorbed into communal life and give the freedom, exploration, discovery and character that create moral purpose, but which resist exclusion and the superiority which is often used as a bulwark of identity for those who claim they better represent the truth of biblical meaning. But what Williams and Hauerwas also bring to light is the problem of (in)security in communities, when faith is used to try and overcome fear by reasserting rigid principles to create security and purpose. Here they suggest that even though engagement is to be encouraged there needs to be a re-evaluation of identities which have previously sought to discourage or deny interaction with those seen as enemies (requiring a re-engagement with the past and how that past has been used to exclude or impose superiority). This re-assessment also needs to confront claims for truth which serve to render the past a distortion. As Todorov puts it, ‘A sanctified past brings nothing to mind but itself; a trivialized past reminds us of anything and everything’ (Todorov 2003: 164). A reassessment of the past brings with it the possibility that identity will have to be modified, adjusted, renegotiated in the light of a more critically evaluative mind. Perhaps it would not be too far off the mark to suggest as well that this reassessment can better open up the realisation that identities are multiple rather than homogenous, susceptible to other influences and so other people. And perhaps it is in the recognition of the influences others have brought that one might feel a little more sympathetic to those ‘not of the tribe’ and to whom one’s thoughts and actions now take on a new moral focus (ibid.: 165). The need to re-imagine the basis of divisive identities and polarised communities can open the potential for each to acknowledge how identity has been used as a basis for conflict and that peace rests on holding these divisions within a context of respect for difference. As Rigby observes in relation to the development of justice after conflict, ‘acknowledging the reality of the



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other’s history, even when you view the past through a different lens, is the basis for how a kind of organic solidarity embodying a fundamental respect for difference can be laid’ (Rigby 2001: 191). But the potential for this new beginning also relies on understanding that demarcations of ‘us’ and ‘them’ are necessarily manufactured and in the Northern Ireland context have served the tensions of conflict better than peace. Such demarcations are not only evident with regard to Protestantism and Catholicism but, as shown in this book, are endemic to Protestantism itself which is divided along conservative/liberal lines and moves between homogenous and diverse strands (Stevens 1998: 227). The tendency to protest, resist and seek truth (also seen as purity) can follow one of two paths. First, the path of isolation and exclusion means that the search for truth is seen as confined to a minority with similar beliefs. And second, the path of engagement and inclusion means that the search for truth is seen as best achieved with those of different beliefs and outlooks. Whilst the former relies on withholding (restraint), the latter relies on sharing (release). And whilst the former is dependent more on people coming to the Church, the latter takes the view that the Church must come to the people and those people will consist of different identities which will require a new language and sense of purpose that moves outside of insular and defensive identity, to work in relation with wider society and the differences that shape it.

From the exclusive to inclusive story This shift towards the inclusive means that there has to be a change in how stories are used. Rather than appealing to the sensibilities of specific groups and so operating exclusively, stories which seek to locate differences in the wider context of human experience, with its capacity for extreme and moderate preferences, operate at an inclusive level. And whilst the exclusive story is fixed to meet set characteristics and traits of a particular group, the inclusive story considers those characteristics and traits in the context of others, looking for both the advantages and disadvantages they might bring to social life (we can take the exclusive story to be one which aims to keep others outside of the community and the inclusive story, to be one which aims to bring others into the community). Renegotiating the story here means transforming traditional narratives that rely on specific ends (closed), to narratives without end (open), and which exist primarily as a process of discovery and possibility. If the end to stories is predetermined and known, then the potential for creativity, imagination and exploration is curtailed. The purpose of



the exclusive story is to make thought and action meet set ends and in that sense contain expression within clear limits which serve a fixed or known position. Such a story is dominated by the appeal of the end, the result to which all will strive and to which all will measure their potential and worth as humans. The inclusive story, on the other hand, is more inclined to see ends as counterproductive precisely because of their limiting nature. The inclusive story is not inclined to offer answers as the exclusive story does, but questions, encouraging constant evaluation, discussion and development. The inclusive story, then, is exploratory as opposed to non-exploratory and aims to incite transformation, whereas the exclusive story finds meaning in rigidity and containment. Whilst the inclusive story is interested in others, the exclusive story is only interested in those of like mind. Behind the exclusive approach is an appeal for certainty which can only be achieved if the exclusive story is adhered to rigorously. The exclusive story therefore finds meaning and purpose from the tendency to hold and maintain (a message used many times within political Protestantism to confront perceived dangers of change and Catholic influence). It is a story which is condensed and which contains variations within a reductive framework. In contrast, the inclusive story attempts to release and allow individuals to explore alternative influences and views which have identity impact. There is another key distinction that also needs to be made, however, and that is that the exclusive story is oriented towards the past, whilst the inclusive story is oriented towards the future. The certainty of the exclusive story can only gain that certainty by drawing from well-rehearsed values and principles, for the threat to the exclusive story comes by way of how those values and principles can be brought to question and undermined. Even if the story of Jesus Christ is a ‘claim to totality’ and the provider of an exclusive overarching identity (Bonhoeffer 1995: 60), it is also apparent that such exclusivity only has validity in a context of inclusivity, for it is the inclusive which provides maximum space for individual value to be expressed and acted upon. It is also the inclusive context which best gives rise to the possibility of dialogue. Clearly the tension between narratives that prioritise exclusive or inclusive positions, as McCaughey indicates (1993: 40–55), is a tension between the story devised to meet a specific end and the story without a specific end and because of this not just about rigidity and reflexivity, but conditionality and unconditionality. That is not to say that inclusivity means welcoming everyone equally and without question. Indeed questioning is the basis of the inclusive story because it underpins the self-reflection and evaluation which



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encourages the self to be seen in the context of the other and not the reverse. Whilst the inclusive story embraces the possibility of change and is in keeping with the trajectory of historical development, the exclusive story uses this trajectory as an intensifying threat since change is the constant danger to truth. The tension between these two narratives and the identities they underpin can be read as a tension between exclusion and embrace (Clegg 2004), with exclusion more likely if faith is oriented towards the personal rather than the social. Though of course, essential to social development, religious conviction which is built on the personal is problematic when it comes to inter-communal relations. Of importance here, as Clegg notes, is that a preoccupation with the personal ‘denies to the Christian community a vision of creation and salvation and a description of the mission of the church, which speaks directly to the fragmented state of societies and the world’ (ibid.: 84). Interestingly, Clegg takes this potential discontent further by viewing exclusive and inclusive in terms of conscious and unconscious relations and points towards each as dependent on the other, if not in obvious dialogue. The conscious/unconscious metaphor can be similarly read as the connection between what we know and don’t know, between what is evident and tangible and what not evident and not tangible. It is a relationship between knowing and learning, between what has past and what is to come. A fruitful relationship between the spheres of consciousness and unconsciousness is not a fear of what is to come and an attempt to control the future by the constraints of the past, but conceiving the future as drawing from those constraints in order to find release from the antagonism and conflict of division (and so the past). The reconciliatory implications of opening the personal to the social (and vice versa) emerge precisely because moves towards the inclusive cannot deny the presence of conflict and the role of the personal within that conflict (ibid.: 87). For Clegg, the churches have been too eager to emphasise the need for justice over liberation (ibid.), suggesting that only once the churches have reconciled themselves to their role within conflict and sought to address the consequences of this by extending the hand of friendship through dialogue can demands for justice be properly realised (ibid.). Reconciliation, for Clegg, means bringing together the rational and non-rational parts of the self and finding salvation from balancing relations between what we believe and what we don’t believe. It is a gesture towards balance over the continuation of imbalance. This sits uneasily with a Protestant ethos that adopts ‘a profoundly individualistic and differentiating dynamic’ and which has traditionally



led to a ‘destructive assertion of difference’ (ibid.: 95). But to change this tendency, Clegg maintains there is a need for a full and open expression of identity which establishes a firm starting point, from which there should be an attempt to ‘encourage people to express their different denominational identities in strong, positive terms, to give them space to be themselves, and an affirmation that their identity is respected, before attempting to make any connections of commonality’ (ibid.: 95). The problem here though is such expressions already exist and it is a desire to convey these strong identities that leads to the reinforcement of difference and division. What is meant by space poses two immediate questions. First, how much space and second who will provide or create this space? The starting point of strong assertion may make values and principles evident, but there is little to assure others that this can lead to anything more than an effort to preserve that which is already believed and known. What is more important than the revelation of identities (because it frames how those identities are communicated) is the motivation to dialogue in the first place, and, as we have seen, for a number of the more fundamentalist churches this is alien to the Puritan ethic that sustains identity. Perhaps the incitation to dialogue has to come from an agreement that something is wrong rather than a need to impress how one is right about what is wrong. And perhaps to facilitate dialogue churches need to be a little less theological and a little more social, and by that I mean they need to articulate more prominently what they see wrong with society and engage more in dialogue about what can be done to bring about change. This will not only begin to draw out some of the oppositions to social life, but make it evident that for collective agreement on how society may transform, individual inputs and beliefs are needed. If each is allowed the space to offer a contribution to how post-conflict society might take shape, it is more likely that the churches will reinforce social change for good beyond their individual preferences. Such engagement, to put it another way, will depend on differences being seen as vital for a freer and more open society – not as detrimental for openness, but essential for it. As Geraldine Smyth has argued, to become engaged in dialogue productively is to recognise that one has a responsibility to explore one’s position towards conflict and how it relates to peace, and where, if ‘we shed the masks of self-righteousness, we see reality with more truthfulness and can admit that our histories and identities are not as straightlined as we have believed’ (Smyth 1996: 258). Drawing from McDonagh, Smyth observes how ‘within every Catholic is a repressed Protestant,



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and likewise that buried within every Protestant is a repressed Catholic’ (ibid.). She makes this point not only to underline the inextricable linkage of oppositional identities, but to highlight how brokenness is an inevitable result of this relationship gone wrong. For Smyth, acceptance of the brokenness caused by violent conflict is essential if the paralysis of guilt, shame, anger and resentment is to be transformed (ibid.: 262). An admission of this impact is necessary if blame and hostility are to be averted and if the politics of division which sustained conflict is to give way to a politics of difference which supports post-conflict transformation. The distinction between division and difference is an important one, since division confirms the exclusive story whilst difference is the basis of the inclusive story. An indication of the damaging consequences of exclusivity within the conflict situation is succinctly articulated by the late Protestant clergyman Rev. Dr Roy Magee, who played an important role in encouraging loyalist paramilitaries to cease their armed campaign: ‘force begets force and violence begets violence. Instead of bringing a man to a problem, it will exasperate the problem and create more violence and killing. So the principle is that however you seek to bring a man to violence, violence is not the way to end it. And that the only way to end it is by means of dialogue and by means of making room for people whatever religious or political views they may have’ (Little 2007: 88). This ‘making room’ is where the concept of the inclusive becomes integral because it means that the discrimination and animosity which serve violence become defused by a non-discriminatory and equalitybased environment where superiority/inferiority demarcations cannot flourish. In the inclusive environment, a disposition towards learning is the basis of openness which the exclusive environment actively seeks to resist, and it indeed uses this resistance as a key component of identity formation. A refusal to learn (and learning requires having the confidence to admit one’s weaknesses and shortcomings and be challenged in what one believes) is in contradiction to the notion of openness. It is an appeal for intransigence, where identity can only function effectively if it is not subject to outside influences. But, it is an identity which can only thrive if society accepts divergence and where convergence is seen as dangerous. In a society moving away from violent conflict it is difficult to see long-term stability and peace coming from continued divergence. The benefits of change (taking into account the many social problems of disadvantage and sectarianism that continue), even if they are seen as being achieved from a process of violence and conflict, depend on acceptance of shared interests and responsibilities and



any success this brings will make the argument for divergence harder to articulate convincingly. But defining what space is and how it might be accessed by religious groups is more complex than the mere suggestion that churches should talk to whoever is prepared to listen. For Brewer et al., the role of churches in the development of peace and stability in civil society functions at four levels: intellectual space, institutional space, market space and political space (Brewer et al. 2010: 1024). These spaces enable dialogue to move from engagement about policy questions over dealing with conflict, to the development of civil groups working on issues of sectarianism and transformation, to using social and cultural resources which help underpin peace initiatives and change, to working within the political process as mediators and interlocutors (ibid.: 1024–1025). By engaging with and working through these different spaces, religious groups more expansively assert their influences on peace ‘taking them from pastoral care to politics’ (ibid.). And by moving away from the defence of denominational imperatives, churches can help play a part in the transition from ‘negative to positive peace’, aiding political transformation by reinforcing the need to support and implement political settlements (ibid.: 1029). The potential for churches to help peace and stability should not be underestimated since, as Brewer et al. rightly note, individual clergy played a key role in helping to develop the formative stages of the peace process, with religious figures also forming the backbone of the Consultative Group on the Past which researched how to deal with the legacy of the Troubles (Report of the Consultative Group on the Past 2009). But, the contribution which the churches can make to peace in Northern Ireland is perhaps more productive when there is a clear attempt to support ‘a theology of hermeneutics of peace’ because ‘it gives religious peacemakers detachment and trustworthiness; and is a corrective to the focus on the specifically religious dimensions of violence’ (ibid.: 1032–1033). However, this depends on the churches moving outside of the safe domain of denominational security and into the more unstable and challenging demands of civil society. This is a shift from exclusive to inclusive thinking and from the intolerance which comes with conflict and violence, to the possibility of tolerance, which comes with peace and stability. Such a change might also be seen as an opportunity for churches to carry their work and influence beyond narrow group and identity interests. The moment of peace allows for wider interaction with moral and religious possibility and, because of this, offers the chance to interpret



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situations from new (less hostile and more inquiring) points of view (Niebuhr 2006: 28). For Niebuhr, this moment of opportunity is a revelatory moment ‘which makes our past intelligible’ and enables us to ‘remember what we have forgotten and appropriate as our own past much that seemed alien to us’ (ibid.: 59). The revelatory moment offers a space for encounter and renewal because ‘It demands and permits that we bring into the light of attention our betrayals and denials, our follies and sins’ (ibid.: 60). The moment is further significant because, as Niebuhr argues, it offers not just a chance of personal re-engagement with sin but institutional re-engagement too, since in the light of revelation, Church history itself ‘becomes a confession of sin’ (ibid.: 61). The revelatory moment is about reinterpretation, but more importantly, reconstruction. It is to see pain and suffering not as exclusive, but inclusive and common to humanity. This leads us also to a ‘conversion of memory’, viewing the past of common humanity as the personal past and reintegrating with that past from outside the restrictions of narrow and guarded communal identities. Now, within this new environment, Niebuhr reminds us that we have a responsibility for repentance to confront the consequences of violence which has been used to preserve symbolism or self-image, or the suffering that we have seen inflicted and remained somewhat indifferent to (ibid.: 63). Jesus Christ, for Niebuhr, offers the pattern, the context, for this more expansive relationship with identity, life and suffering, and as Niebuhr puts it, ‘In him we see the sin of man, not of some men; in him we find the faith of man, not of Protestants or Catholics, of Lutherans or Presbyterians’ (ibid.: 63). One of the most profound points Niebuhr surely makes is that ‘The measure of our distance from each other in our nations and groups can be taken by noting the divergence, the separateness and lack of sympathy in our social memories. Conversely the measure of our unity is the extent of our common memory’ (ibid.: 64). If the search for common memory which comes through talking about and listening to common experience is necessarily a process without end, so the revelatory moment has to be an inclusive moment; a beginning of ‘the neverending pilgrim’s progress of the reasoning Christian heart’ (ibid.: 72). It is a transformation, where, as Gopin notes, ‘One acknowledges and respects boundaries between peoples as a religious experience, not a barrier to that experience’ (Gopin 2000: 150). Further, we might also suggest that separateness does not only erode sympathy but obstructs humility too, for humility is the route to openness where others are treated as guests and where engagement with the unknown is welcomed as part of an educative journey. Or, to quote Cherry, ‘To be wise is not so much to



see the sense on the far side of our confusion or the order beyond our current chaos, as to trust ourselves to venture into the confusion and chaos. Openness, or wisdom, demands that we take the risk of being overwhelmed, that we render ourselves vulnerable to the unknown and the uncertain’ (Cherry 2011: 121), and for this we need to take the step of wanting to visit others. Cherry points towards reconciliation as the manifestation of a changed heart and mind, and views reconciliation as a constant of meaningful life ‘because our experience is fundamentally of diversity and division, of observing or crossing boundaries of hearing, but also owning, a plurality of voices and identities’ (ibid.). If society in Northern Ireland begins to move away from conflict, a more open society will most likely emerge where the idea of the closed community (the exclusive story) will seem less like a refuge, a place of security, and more a place of restriction and of holding back. If opposed communities are to avoid going back to conflict they will need to see those they oppose differently and this will mean seeing themselves differently. The restraints caused by conflict are likely to be met with a desire for freedoms which were previously denied and new forms of enquiry and curiosity about the other will invariably mean that communities will communicate more and become more permeable in the process. Surely those who maintain a closed existence in this new environment will begin to wither because they will be seen as locked in the past and unable to offer or react reflexively to the demands and expectations of the present. To put a slightly different emphasis on this, the appeal of the future will be based not on the insular prospects of the past but, again, on the possibility of leaving that conditionality and working for a freer more dynamic society. The role of the churches in this transition is not insignificant. To quote Torrance, writing in 2006, ‘the church is never more socio-politically relevant than when it has the courage to be itself, to think out of its own center, to act from what it knows. When it does that, it has something relevant to say in contexts of alienation, oppression, racism, sexism, and the national and ethnic polarization that have so haunted the last decade. Simultaneously, it is never more obviously irrelevant than when it seeks to endorse common ground (that is what everyone “knows”) and seeks to justify its own existence by defining its own mission with recourse to what it does not need to contribute to public knowledge’ (Torrance 2006: 80). But the orientation towards the inclusive environment at least requires questioning the conditional framework in the light of unconditional love and forgiveness (ibid.: 57). It is a shift from the closed community to the open



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community, where underlying values are not jettisoned (obviously unrealistic), but reinterpreted by their relational consequences and how they impact on others. To achieve this, others must be listened to and invited to offer their own experiences, for this offers a possibility of dialogue not only about how one wants to be seen by others, but how one is seen by others. The implications of such dialogue reaching beyond the immediate world of communities must not just be viewed as accidental, but deliberate, critical and purposeful. It is a means of reaching out and presenting the value of identity to a wider, changing society. As Norman rightly observes, ‘The more the emphasis is on the parish the less the prospect of addressing the world’ (Norman 2003: 127). Churches must end what Norman refers to as ‘sectarian self-identity’ (ibid.), where the notion of community is used to reinforce specific self-serving ends, and where Church leaders have been concerned less with social development and more with their separation from it. This means a journey from inwardness to outwardness and engaging with the consequences of identities which have traditionally been used to separate, antagonise and divide. Significantly, the exclusive story finds hope from tradition and history (or at least seeks to preserve identity from viewpoints of the past) rather than the future. For the inclusive story however, the past enslaves rather than liberates. Security for the exclusive story comes precisely from restricting the potential for liberation, since this means liberation from the restraints of the exclusive story. Liberation therefore is impossible from the vantage point of the exclusive story – the possibility of constructive change a contradiction. The future is always reducible to the past and hostage to it and the future presents a worse scenario of entrapment, trivialisation and diminution. Here, the hope of the future is the hope of the past and indivisibility is essential. Homogenisation and continuity keep the identity of the exclusive story in check. In contrast, the inclusive story constructs identity as a work in progress, incomplete, insufficient and inherently contradictory. It’s relation to difference is more the authentic voice of humanity and it is a voice not of the only story, but the many stories. It is a more complex reflection of the human predicament and so is more likely to bring us closer to truth than the exclusive story which bases its own claims for truth on simplicity. The argument for change in Northern Ireland is an argument for the inclusive story and not the exclusive story, which may have served communities at times of conflict, but is unlikely to assist peace. Only the inclusive story (and this of course must include reflecting and dialoguing with those of the exclusive mind) can underscore constructive



social and political change, because the inclusive story is the story of difference and the exclusive story of sameness. The identities of Protestant churches revealed in this book reflect conservative/fundamentalist and liberal/pluralist approaches to Christianity in Northern Ireland. These differences are not only matters of theological conviction, but impact on how churches respond to the outside world. The fundamentalist churches use the outside world as a threat whereas the liberal churches tend to see it more as an opportunity and challenge. In either case, to a greater or lesser extent, identity is a process of ‘becoming’ which uses the influences of others to reinforce values and principles.

The challenge of identity and change Importantly, identity is not innate, but acquired (Maalouf 2000b: 21). The more complex question to discuss when dealing with the fundamentalist/pluralist tension, as Maalouf notes, is to find out ‘where legitimate affirmation of identity ends and encroachment on the rights of others begins’ (ibid.: 28). And here, we come to the problem of polarisation where divisions and differences are used not to develop the compassion and forgiving qualities of a community, but to keep others at bay. Generally speaking, the pluralist does not want to be drawn towards the fundamentalist position and the fundamentalist does not want to be drawn towards the pluralist position. The best way to avoid this is to focus on what divides and to use differences as a means to support this division. The fundamentalist position, for Herriot, ‘refers to a discernible pattern of religious militance by which self-styled “true believers” attempt to arrest the erosion of religious identity, fortify the borders of the religious community, and create viable alternatives to secular institutions and behaviours’ (Herriot 2007: 6). Adopting a hostile approach to the secular world, emphasising dualism and the power of binary oppositions, expressing the need for an authoritarian outlook, applying a highly selective view of the world and stressing that God will triumph and impose His will on earth (ibid.), the fundamentalist views modernity as the greatest danger to belief and influence. Yet, what is clear is that this perceived danger is a necessary condition for the fundamentalist position to gain hold. That which it fears and disregards it needs most, for the existence of such a threat is what binds the community closest. The fundamentalist, to put it more simply, needs an ‘enemy’ (ibid.: 14), and it is the enemy which facilitates the moral dualism of right and wrong that keeps the fundamentalist position intact. But



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within this process, it is also important that the enemy is dehumanised and rendered into a voiceless object. Keeping the enemy as a construct of the imagination, removed from any sense of common humanity, the fundamentalist is able to depersonalise the other and create the maximisation of difference (ibid.: 32). And, whilst the fundamentalist seeks to exaggerate internal similarities, so he must exaggerate external differences, moving between prototype to stereotype in order to maintain distance (ibid.). For this reason, the presence of the dangerous other is a constant, where, as Elster nicely explains, ‘A person whose independence requires the destruction of an external object, depends on that object in his very being and hence cannot without contradiction desire its destruction’ (quoted in Appiah 2005: 140). The desire to uphold and defend difference is therefore also a process infused with conformity (ibid.: 151). Further highlighting the dynamic of group conformity, Appiah goes on, ‘the group represents a clump of homogeneity, and that homogeneity is perpetuated and enforced by regulative mechanisms designed to marginalize and silence dissent from its basic mores and desires’ (ibid.: 152). The importance of distance cannot be underestimated in how the fundamentalist constructs his worldview. His very existence depends on representing the other as a constant danger, where vigilance against possible moderation is essential for survival. Any attempt to move across the gap of difference not only amounts to an abdication of responsibility (Spencer 2009), but risks the collapse of principles and values on which fundamentalism rests. Danger is a constant not just because of the other’s presence and possible influence, but because of the fundamentalist’s own inability to police the divide for signs of contact and diminution of conviction. Summing up the construction of group identity in this way, Hogg and Mullin observe how such group identification is a powerful force in reducing uncertainty ‘because the process of depersonalization associated with a self-categorization transforms the “uncertain self” into a “certain self” governed by an in-group prototype that is consensually validated by fellow in-group members’ (quoted in Herriot 2007: 39–40). And, for the fundamentalist group, the need for a central pillar of belief which is decisively understood performs a much more important function than it does for non-fundamentalist groups, where the need for certainty is less important and where central beliefs can be more openly contended and disputed (ibid.: 41). The authority of the fundamentalist group is further underscored by the greater sense of homogeneity and the greater gulf between its own selfimage (prototype) and the image of others (stereotype) (ibid.). In every



sense, the exaggeration of difference and moral superiority is integral to the survival of the fundamentalist position, along with impermeability and a rigid centrality ‘which determines salience’ (ibid.: 117). As comes through from the interviews conducted for this book, for the fundamentalist Protestant churches meaning comes from non-engagement. Security is found in standing apart. Others are referred to primarily in terms of being wrong and their belief is seen to support the dangers of change (dangers which ironically are essential for maintaining fear of the ‘outside world’). Thus religious liberalism and pluralism legitimise the secular world and contribute to the destruction of ‘truth’. Being drawn towards this world stands as a violation of religious duty and responsibility and so any engagement with it tends to be expressed in terms of intolerance. From the fundamentalist perspective the relationship between transience and permanence (White 2002: 149) is managed primarily from the standpoint of permanence. The more fundamentalist churches in Northern Ireland (such as the Free Presbyterian Church) have historically depicted the influences of transience and permanence as a tension between insecurity and security, between uncertainty and certainty, and have based their appeal not just on theological conviction but political (in)security. The environment in which this worldview has held sway (although not overwhelmingly) has also provided a legitimising context for religious fundamentalism. Because of the heightened sense of insecurity created by conflict the desire for security is intensified and articulations of certainty offer considerable attraction within this landscape. But, as Northern Ireland moves to embrace peace, it is probable that claims for certainty will hold less attraction (at least from those groups in present form). Indeed, such claims, because of their historical prominence, may come to symbolise a past that a new Northern Ireland wishes to leave behind or at least detach itself from. And if that were to happen, appeals for security which gained support in the time of conflict may now appear disadvantageous to change. Now, the past will be seen as an obstruction to the future, which was not the case before because the future was envisaged as a battle between right and wrong, good and bad, black and white, survival or destruction. Clearly the motivation for this change has been political rather than religious. It is the political which has set the precedent for churches to think about their role in a post-conflict society and which has shown that different identities can still be emphasised but in the context of working with others rather than resistance to working with those others. And although it is evident that political identities will come under



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pressure in the new climate, it is also evident that when political parties lose support they do so because they have been unable to communicate and articulate what they stand for in a way which connects with wider society. A refusal to dialogue in this atmosphere will not help preserve identity either. In all likelihood it will dramatically erode an identity, because it will expose the inability of identity to protect and make secure. Because of this, an identity which once found considerable support will be more likely to lose support. The tendency to protest within Protestantism comes not just from a preoccupation with minor difference, but most importantly, and as Colwell insightfully observes, because God is conceived less in terms of love and more in terms of will (Colwell 2001: 63). It is God’s will which is most expressed and which provides the means of distinction. If love can be expressed more in terms of its unconditional power and common humanity God’s will, in contrast, appeals to the rational, the legalistic and the conditional. This conditionality also draws strongly from the historical and it is the historical which tends to shape reactions to the unfolding present. The relationship between past and present, in terms of faith, is a tension between how the historical is used and what influence it provides for the challenges of the present. As White describes this tension, ‘God’s faithfulness drives us in two directions at once. It has a sort of intrinsic bi-polarity. It takes us uncompromisingly into the reality of actual historical process to seek signs of his continued commitment to us. But at the same time it does this always and only in the light of a whole story, whose beginning and end radically transcend us at any one moment’ (White 2002: 40). Though a minority might discern the political transformation to be an indication of growing hopelessness, the majority clearly see the new environment as a moment of opportunity for positive change. Yet, as some of the respondents in this book confirm, churches have been somewhat silent on how to react to peace. Within the climate of conflict churches can appeal far more easily to sectional interests and make comments about the damage of violence, but what is the message about peace and the end of violence? What, in other words, can Protestantism meaningfully say about peace? Though there is likely to be a resurgence in fundamentalist faith through charismatic movements which capitalise on the theme of rebirth, and though the traditional fundamentalist churches look set to lose appeal and interest (because they have no other position than to withdraw from society), the more reflexive and pluralist churches have the greater potential to advance political change and public debate about peace. Further, those with a pluralistic



approach to faith are more likely to engage with others less from a position of imposition and domination and more from a position of listening and being prepared to adjust approaches as differences with others become better known (Gopin 2000: 204). Such an approach is also likely to better support individuals and organisations dedicated to developing peace and non-conflict dialogue. The insistence on diversity is a claim for conformity even if it is a claim which requires tolerance and respect of difference. Yet, confined to secular logic, the claim for diversity risks rejecting and isolating the very diversity it pertains to defend. Secularism itself is built on particular reasoning which requires normative structures and beliefs and although secular reasoning ‘is a language that everyone speaks and can argue and can be convinced in . . . religious languages operate outside that discourse by introducing extraneous premises that only believers can accept’ (Taylor 2011: 49). The introduction of religious language into secular society therefore also stands to potentially contradict the assumptions of secular logic (ibid.) precisely because it represents a diversity which secularism is inclined to see as limiting or representative of minority interests. Ironically, as Taylor intimates, secular diversity is based on a logic which has gained influence because of its homogenising power rather than its ability to embrace and promote heterogeneity. In that sense, the pluralism that secular reasoning appears to support is not ‘deep pluralism’ but ‘shallow pluralism’ because it refutes the positive and necessary contributions that can be made from religious reasoning within the public realm (Connolly 2005). And this occurs even though (as Weber made known some time ago) secular society is a logical extension of the individual reasoning that Protestantism cultivated. Reference to secularism is used here mainly because Western democracy has adopted this model of social life and it appears likely that any return to ‘normalisation’ in Northern Ireland will use the dominant secular model as a referent for progress. But religious contribution to this transition is important because it can help underscore the moral dimensions of change and so lend greater credibility to politically induced transition. Religious identity, through its ‘moral force’, can act to reinforce democratic politics and the welcoming of difference (Gutmann 2003: 167). It can also ‘help motivate ethical action’ to reduce discrimination and inequality by encouraging belief in the value of morally oriented action (ibid.: 159). A more visible presence from the churches in relation to debates about change and transformative projects would also have a twofold effect, showing not just a recognition of politics



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but a politics of recognition (Appiah 2005: 101), with churches offering suggestions and discussion which test and build the roots of transition. Moreover, the inclusion of religious debate and suggestion to the process of change may assist a re-imagining of engrained self-definition and contribute to the emergence of what Trilling calls ‘the opposing self’ (see Appiah 2005: 106); a self which becomes both simultaneously inward and outward looking and moves in accordance with the flux of this interdependency. The possibility of identity being eroded by way of inclusion in the politics of change is unlikely given that wider publicity helps to ensure the continuation rather than dissolution of identity (ibid.: 130). Effective religious contribution to post-conflict society in Northern Ireland means that religion should not seek to impose itself from some higher moral position (and so above), but help prepare ‘to seize upon places of confluence between conflict resolution and religious values’ (Gopin 2000: 200). Contribution, to put it another way, should be ‘tailored carefully to the circumstances’ (ibid.) and this requires a comprehensive understanding of how others are perceived within and between different communities and identities (ibid.: 200–201). Such an understanding is not well served by maintaining separation or being preoccupied with defence. Nor is it well served by being preoccupied with overcoming others through assertiveness and attack. But, for those who seek to assert their identity with the same vigour as before (and particularly in the case of more fundamentalist groups) the more effective response is to ‘evolve a new notion of mission, witness, and related concepts and practices’ (ibid.: 202) (this may offer some explanation for the appeal of new large evangelical gatherings in Northern Ireland, such as the Whitewell Metropolitan Tabernacle in Belfast, which have been modelled on American charismatic tradition and focus attention on the idea of rebirth – a new evangelicalism for a new time). There is though another way of looking at the idea of rebirth which is oriented more specifically towards the needs of children as a means of drawing focus away from contestations about conflict that remain tied to the preservation of self-interest and threats to identity. By discussing what the future might hold for children rather than adults, there may be a possible loosening from the constraints of the past and the emergence of discussion which is concerned more with ‘a new awakening of the primacy of life over death and of peace over violence’ (Smyth 2007: 128). The metaphor of new birth here is envisaged as ‘a letting go to new life and an invitation to love “an other” in attentiveness and self-forgetfulness’ (ibid.: 129). It is, as Smyth argues, an



attempt to draw us ‘into that creative purpose in a freedom and intimacy that constitutes a relationship of dynamic life and love’ (ibid.) and re-imagine a future which is not held back by the conflictive and divisive attitudes of the past. Smyth’s appeal is, to all intents and purposes, a question about memory and how memory is used to construct the future. It is also an appeal which finds consistency with Volf’s contention that there is a moral imperative to ‘remember rightly’ if the mistakes of the past are not to be repeated (Volf 2006), and it is above all connected to how the future might be imagined. On this, Volf is clear that remembering rightly means connecting memory to personal healing, and that by re-remembering past abuses by integrating memories into a broader context of understanding we can begin to reinterpret past hurts (ibid.: 27–28). But this, Volf suggests, also requires a distinction between truthful remembering and remembering which is based on prejudice, distortion and loathing (ibid.: 51–53). In the latter case, remembering is locked into attitudes of the past whilst in the former case memory is oriented towards the future. These points are variations of the exclusive/inclusive story, where patterns of memory are used to hold or release. But it is the inclusive story which is best placed to facilitate the kind of re-imagining to which Smyth and Volf point. The ability to adopt a creative approach to memory surely depends more on remaining vigilant against the discriminatory or derogatory view of others and the recycling of past myths and stereotypes (the exclusive story). Indeed, the inclusive story is a call for creativity, for questioning the basis of positions and for considering the implications of what might happen if those positions change. Quite clearly, at a political level the peace process was built not just on a desire for change (though obviously contested) but the creative approach and it was creativity (revisiting and renegotiating issues and concerns) that shaped an environment which made political agreement possible. This is a lesson in approach that the churches would do well to support if they want to play a valuable or helpful role in the development of peace.


Conclusion

The range of responses about identity and change in this book reflect a complexity and diversity in the Protestant impulse which range from liberal/conservative to fundamentalist outlooks. The fundamentalist worldview found resonance in the Northern Ireland conflict because, as the more extreme position, it was able to articulate in the harshest terms what the perceived dangers to Ulster identity were. In this climate, these dangers existed as any possible undermining of Protestant culture, which itself was unified as a form of defence (this, at least, appeared to be the thrust of Paisley’s message). The fundamentalist line for defence was therefore an argument for homogenisation, where the measure of loyalty was made against the toughest and most unbending line, and where the more liberal churches were the potential ‘enemy within’, their moderation threatening to weaken Ulster. Protestant identity, from the fundamentalist perspective, was driven by the need to protect and preserve a fixed imagination of Ulster which reflected not liberal but fundamentalist rhetoric. Within this environment complexity risked fragmentation and recognition of others risked diminution of the Ulster dream. The peace process changed this outlook however and opened an environment for identity claims to be more closely scrutinised. In the political realm, which has driven the ‘post-conflict’ transformation process, identity has had to be more convincingly articulated and its value for an emerging concept of public good has become the litmus test of legitimacy and value. In the political sphere any political identity which has no contribution to make to the political peace to all intents and purposes is redundant. This shift has necessarily reversed previous obsessions about opposing change. Indeed, the appeal of the peace process is built on a demand for change (even if it must contend with those who 235



are opposed). To say that the peace process has challenged the context of Northern Ireland is an understatement, but its continuation, and so strength, depends on progressively diluting the psychologies which sustained conflict. The peace process has not completely replaced the conflict process, but has transformed Northern Ireland by allowing new possibilities for engagement and understanding that were denied during conflict. The divisions and differences still exist, of course, but they are now being conceptualised within a context much broader than the oppositional community. The success of the peace process is also down to a growing recognition of the need for liberalism. It shows that the fundamentalist position cannot assist peace (unless it is being used as an influence which should be avoided) and the main reason for this is because the fundamentalist position refutes equality, the pursuit of the common good. Instead, it articulates inequality, selectivity, superiority and hierarchy; the very things that serve conflict better than peace. Only the liberal outlook has the capacity to embrace and drive the idea of the common good, working to resist the things the fundamentalist approves of and advocates. The liberal is more inclined to accept the importance of equality (even if a disputed or relative notion of equality) and more likely to accept that civilised democracy must strive to adopt rules and principles which accommodate difference within parameters of a common good (a good which, as Brueggemann argues, requires a propensity for sharing and neighbourliness (2010)). Further, the peace process, as an evolving moment, requires an evolving moral direction to accompany it. It needs, to put it another way, a morality of peace rather than a morality of conflict. But a morality of peace requires an emphasis on the common good and the inclusive story, whereas a morality of conflict depends on recycling myths about the dangers of those not of like mind. The exclusive, in contrast to the inclusive, is a narration which says that in order for ‘us’ to remain as we want ‘they’ have to be kept away and that the only option for ‘us’ is to make sure we keep ‘them’ at bay. There is little time for an interpretation which determines that a better way for ‘us’ to continue as ‘us’ is to welcome ‘them’ because this then removes the basis of the threat and allows others to see ‘us’ as we really are. But, the peace process, to a considerable extent, has exposed the fallacy of this division. This is not to dispute the legitimacy of communal and ideological differences that shape culture in Northern Ireland, but to dispute those differences as a credible basis for a return violence. And indeed, as the development of peace takes hold and reflection and critical evaluation of the conflict


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grows, there is less chance of differences being used for violent ends. Now, the emphasis has to be on difference as the means for peace not the reason why it can’t be reached and that the more tolerance of difference there is the less likely the return to conflict becomes. The peace process then offers a new narration of relations. It is not a rejection of identities, but a reformed context within which to express those identities and a context where difference is not a threat, but an enrichment to culture. Having said that, what role can the Protestant churches provide to support this new narration? In the case of fundamentalist churches one would have to conclude at this point in time not much, but then we have to remember that fundamentalist churches are minority churches. The loud voice that those like the Free Presbyterian Church (essentially through the public face of Rev Ian Paisley) used in order to defend identity during the conflict is so firmly rooted in a defence of the past that it appears unable to move and because of this may over time dissipate. The static, understandable though this may be for those who crave security, is ultimately an unrealistic prospect for dealing with social change because it denies interaction with many of the social influences to which populations are increasingly subject (images, technology, multiculturalism, post-modernism, etc.). In comparison, the liberal position is better placed to make sense of these influences because the form of thinking it promotes is inclusive and flexible. It is a position which actively seeks accommodation (thereby spreading its influence further) and because of this demonstrates its relevance instead of its irrelevance. The idea of certainty is clearly problematic in a post-modern world which presents truth as a matter of interpretation and self-interest. The idea of globalisation has added to this claim by promoting interconnectedness and permeability and making a qualitative distinction between truth claims difficult. The popular sociological explanation of identity in this environment particularly emphasises reflexivity, with modern identities seen not as singular, but multi-layered, the result of multiple influences cultivated by advanced capitalism and consumerism. Moral response to this environment requires a morality that is similarly adaptive and it is clear that a highly literalist, fundamentalist perspective has little positive contribution to make, except to call for a resistance of change and retreat. The liberal perspective though has, on the other hand, an inclination for direct engagement and has much to say in relation to social circumstances of inequality (particularly to intolerance, sectarianism, racism, discrimination and insult) and because of this is better able to deal with the dangers and insecurities of the modern world. The liberal seeks to examine dangers and insecurities within



a context of inclusiveness (or, to use globalisation language ‘interconnectedness’) and by doing so is better placed to defuse the possibility of violent conflict. Importantly, conflict in Northern Ireland happened not just because of political and social division and discrimination, but because of the absence of liberalism and the dominance of the literal/fundamentalist mind. The fundamentalist message has historically been the message of conflict and because of this it cannot be the message of peace. Only the liberalist voice can be that message. Thus whilst the fundamentalist narrative finds receptiveness in a conflict situation where fears and anxieties are heightened and simplistic positions are called for, in the peace situation this narrative has little worth. Now, as fears and anxieties fade and curiosity and enquiry grows, the possibilities for understanding and tolerance are augmented. Moreover, as confidence returns, a greater propensity for questioning evolves (a non-threatening form of questioning which is interested in finding out about the other rather then affirming established negative stereotypes and myths), leading to the deconstruction of conventional narratives and the emergence of new narratives and conversations. Conflict is clearly made easier by refusing to engage with those one dislikes. Then one can perpetuate negative, derogatory and humiliating myths. But, if this is so, then conflict is made much harder by engaging with those one dislikes, for the negative myths can only thrive in a context of dislocation, or remove. The politics of dialogue is a gesture to explore the basis of what it is one dislikes and feels threatened by. It is, in a very real sense, an attempt to confront the basis of what one fears (whereas conflict perpetuates those fears). In this book, there is a raft of evidence to show that dialogue is seen as a positive and necessary step by many of the Protestant clergy interviewed. It is seen not only as an opportunity to overcome misunderstanding and ignorance, but as the path to humanisation of the other. Dialogue is the means to deconstruct the narrative that dehumanises, the narrative that depicts a community not as individuals (common humanity) but as an object, which is a threat precisely because humanity is denied, ridiculed and insulted. It is also a rejection of equality and because of that a rejection of love, which is about equality (as McCabe observes, ‘to love just is to see the equality of another’ 2005: 3). Although the Protestant impulse is infused with a commitment to the literal, it is apparent from the responses in this book that there is considerable variation in how the literal is comprehended and applied. There is a factual emphasis and a creative emphasis, with the fundamentalist


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churches insisting on the factual and the liberal churches preferring a more creative approach. This creative approach is not a denial of truth (rather the opposite) because it illustrates the struggle with and search for meaning. It is an attempt to apply the literal in a variety of contexts in order to find a deeper truth. This creative application of the literal finds some parallels with the political process, where the literal has been interpreted from a range of perspectives in order to facilitate inclusivity around common problems. Obviously, if the political peace process had taken a fundamentalist turn it would have collapsed immediately. Politics created the space for an engagement with difference and through that engagement dealt with divisions in a context of commonality. This is surely what must happen if the Protestant churches are to play a role in peace. They must themselves shape other contexts within which differences can be shared rather than imposed. And perhaps one of the most important of these contexts is in relation to forgiveness and reconciliation. The emphasis on conditional and unconditional approaches to forgiveness reflects a relationship between justice and the individual which is inclusive if we chose to acknowledge the necessity of both. The dialogue necessary on forgiveness is therefore a dialogue between conditional and unconditional positions. It is not a dialogue that seeks to reach hard and fast conclusions, but which seeks to explore the purpose of both, the independence and interdependence of both, from a range of Christian vantage points. In turn, such exploratory dialogue is not about proving right from wrong, but establishing a dialectic of alternative possibilities. The work of individual clergy members (both Catholic and Protestant) played a significant part in the formative stages of the peace process (Wells 1999; Spencer 2008: 80–89) and throughout organisations such as the Quakers, the Corrymeela Community, the Centre for Contemporary Christianity in Ireland, Healing Through Remembering and initiatives such as the Hard Gospel Project, the Gospel in Conflict Program and the Unity Pilgrims Initiative (Wells 2011) have made a necessary intervention into the public space about the need for tolerance and understanding. The identity of the organisations above has not been weakened by this intervention. It has been strengthened. Not restrained by an insistence on fixed or irrefutable principles the organisations have demonstrated Christian conviction, but in terms of practical and persuasive example. The strength of these organisations and initiatives is the creative application of the literal. It is also the inclusive narrative in action. Each represents the search for common humanity and a deconstruction of the exclusive narrative that sustains conflict. Each stands as an attempt to overcome the exclusive



story by working across community differences and the identities which support those differences. Each also stands as an attempt to cultivate relations with others in ways which resist what Adorno might call ‘the authoritarian personality’ (see Connolly 2005: 4). As Northern Ireland moves away from a preoccupation with conflict and becomes increasingly subject to the expectations, pressures and mobility of modern peaceful democratic arrangements it is likely, as Connolly notes, that the pluralisation of life will lead to a ‘reconstitution of relations’ (ibid.: 161) and that this change will work ‘against the realization of the national imaginary’ (ibid.: 7). Open more to pluralistic forces which strive to reduce inequality, Connolly believes that fixed boundaries will become more porous rendering the ‘mobilization of majority assemblage’ more important than the idea of ‘a unified nation’ (ibid.: 9). His point is that modern democracy is increasingly built on a pluralist tendency which mitigates against fixed relations and relationships. An inevitable result of this tendency is that relations become fluid instead of static and that an appeal for the static is an appeal lacking as a credible witness in the real world. The implications of this turn create a liquid world that shifts in relation with consumer and technological demand and where societies are unable to maintain their shape for too long (Bauman 2005). Maintaining a staunch nationalist perspective in this landscape is unlikely to create a sense of security for very long. The nationalist tone is an inadequate response because its meaning is contrary to the state of liquidity that now shapes contemporary social and political relations. The desire for security and meaning in this uncertain world is understandable, but a fundamentalist response offers little in the way of a useful vantage point. Indeed, such a response creates unrealistic expectations because it is an unrealistic reading of the external world. It is more a call to satisfy the emotive desire for protection and security which invariably requires further and louder calls to maintain attraction. But, in its dislocation from the external world it creates a fictional world, a removed world dependent on rejecting forces of influence. As stated, a conflict society creates the space for such a worldview because a society in conflict is invariably built on a tension between those demanding change and those resisting that change. In this context both forces provide space for the fundamentalist voice; the emotive call finds greater hold in the conflict society where complexity is reduced to simplicity and wider perceptions become increasingly internalised within the area of conflict itself. At such a time, communities and identities become oriented towards defence and claims about the threat of the other feed


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the demand for defence. This environment (where communities see themselves under siege) gives the fundamentalist a role and at the same time makes it increasingly difficult for the moderate to be heard. In a climate of peace the opposite situation arises because without such an acute enemy the fundamentalist can now appear to be unreasonable (when before he was credible), a force of destabilisation and even a threat to the possibility of peace. It would be absurd to suggest that the fundamentalist churches here are a threat to peace, but less absurd to say that their message will lose ground precisely because of the changes which the peace process has brought about. The fundamentalist impulse, which thrives in a climate of conflict, can easily be seen as a liability in a climate of peace; an impulse out of touch with a changed world and an impulse that works against rather than for the development of relations (relations which work better in societies committed more to equality than inequality (Lijphart 1999; Wilkinson and Pickett 2010)). The moderate voice is better able to work for equality because of its inclusive tendencies, by its non-discriminative frame of reference. The question here though is how moderate (or more liberal) Protestant churches can work to build equality and so help avert a return to conflict. Problematically, the moderate voice often seems to lack emotion, determination and heat (all of which appeal through dramatic emphasis) and its ability to mobilise consciousness is constrained by deep unease of mobilisation itself, since the idea has connotations of the fundamentalist outlook and risks being used for reasons of exclusive intent. This also means that injecting purpose into debate and discussion risks isolating those with a different purpose. The more liberal of the Protestant churches see this as a real problem, arguing that promotion of the belief that everyone has a valid point inevitably means that no valid point is made. Each becomes absorbed into a greater desire for tolerance and so distinction of qualitative difference is avoided. But, as the work of the Faith and Politics Group demonstrates, this can be overcome if conviction is focussed on confronting an actual rather than abstract problem. Then, difference can be pulled into a common point of attention which has a practical outcome. The success of the Faith and Politics Group was limited by the conflict, when political parties were more interested at that time in defending and protecting communities rather than dialoguing with others. The political impact would have probably been higher if the ideas produced had been expansively absorbed into peace politics. Yet, the work of the Group still stands as an lesson of inclusive possibility and its legacy would be greater if a



similar model were adapted to build wider discussion about peace and stability. Overall, this book attempts to indicate the role of identity in dialogue as well as difference. It locates Protestant identity within its historical context, examines different positions and attitudes and conceptualises these distinctions in the context of conflict as well as peace in Northern Ireland. Hopefully, also, it is devised in such a way where the possibility of dialogue is suggested by the juxtaposition of comments from the different Church representatives who appear here. Notable to those comments from the more liberal Church respondents is a criticalevaluation of the churches own shortcomings in the peace process, which has resulted largely in reticence, indeed silence, in relation to dialogue, forgiveness and reconciliation. A number also note how this inability to engage is contrary to the Christian ethic of tolerance and love, which is moved to develop social compassion and consideration. Clearly, the dominance of the fundamentalist churches throughout the Troubles deterred the more moderate churches from speaking out (their moderation seen as weakness and giving succour to the enemy), but even though the climate has changed and requires moderate voices to bring shape and influence to new moral directions, there is still hesitancy for many to engage in this process. But to remain within the confines of Church walls and the congregational setting is to continue to see the local as more important than the social. Only when the churches see the social as the context which allows the local to flourish will they begin to have the confidence to move outside of traditional boundaries which have served to keep identity enclosed, inward looking and suspicious of others. Those boundaries, which were carved out not just by the convictions of theology and history, but by the psychology of conflict, are now shifting however, and in that shift an opportunity has emerged to reinterpret theology and history in the light of peace. This is a moment when a new identity shaped by a Christian ethic of inclusiveness can emerge, but it will only emerge if those involved decide to make it happen.


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Index

A à la carte identity, 84 Abernethy, A., 81, 115 activism, 37 activist ethos, 38 Adam and Eve, 15 Age of Atonement, The (Hilton), 40–1 Akenson, D. H., 33–4, 149 American moral standards, 40 analogical imagination, 150–1, 170–1 Anglican Church, 79, 86 Anglicanism Christian belief, importance of, 79 Church of Ireland, influence on, 77–9 communal identity in, development of, 82–3 continuity within, 78 discontinuity within, 78 dual identities of, management of, 81 national identity of, 78–9 state and, relationship between, 79–80 see also Church of Ireland Anglo-Irish Agreement, 30–1 antagonism, 192, 199 anti-Catholic ethos, 33 anti-Catholicism, 21–2, 31–3 anti-intellectualism, 38 Apostles, 66 Appiah, K. A., 229, 233 Arendt, H., 181 artificiality, 28 Atkinson, J., 12–13 asceticism, 20 attachment notions of self, 25, 33 austerity, 43 authenticity, 26 authoritarian Catholicism, 21, 144 authoritarian Protestantism, 144

authority, 78 in Catholic Church, resistance to, 9, 10, 12 Church, 56 individual, 9 institutional, 9, 10, 11, 16, 56 papal, 12, 22 in Scripture, 16, 25, 39–40 autonomy of ideology, 61–2 Avis, P., 16, 174 B Bacik, J. J., 142, 152 Balazs, Z., 98–9 Ballantine, J., 70, 112 Ballymascanlon talks, 183 Baptist evangelicalism, 159 Bartlett, T., 146, 153, 159, 164 Bauman, Z., 240 Beckett, R., 70 Beddington, D. W., 37 Beggs, R., 49 beliefs Christian, 79 Presbyterian, 47 Protestant imagination, defining characteristic of, 10 religious, 189 in Scripture, individual, 9 true, 228 belonging, de-centered center’ of, 123 Benedict XV1, Pope, 154 Bennett, C., 98 Berger, P. L., 24–5, 184–5 Bible criticisms of, 87 in Evangelical Presbyterian Church, importance of, 70 interpretation of, 48 legitimacy of, 40 literalism approach to, 40

252


Index understanding, 40 Word of God, interpretation of, 55 biblical faith, 50 biblical meaning, 16–17 biblical theology, 56, 62–3 biblicism, 37 see also Bible Biggar, N., 98 Birney, R., 58 Black, J., 21 Blair, T., 45 Bloesch, D. G., 38 Bloody Sunday, 106 Book of Psalms, 72 Bond, M., 175–6 Bonhoeffer, D., 220 Bouyer, L., 23 Brady, S., 164, 168 Bray, G., 22 Braithwaite, J. A., 56–7 Breaking down the enmity, 186 Bremer, F. J., 18 Brewer, J. D., 32–3, 61, 142, 224 Brison, S. J., 121 British Protestant system, 45 Britishness, 61 Britons, 22 Brooke, P., 45 Brown, D., 155 Bruce, S., 31 Brudholm, T., 99 Brueggemann, W., 236 Burke, G., 71, 111, 133 Burying Our Dead: Political Funerals in Northern Ireland, 186 C Calvinism, 47 doctrines of, 43 federal, 35 principles of, 20 Calvinist ethos, 33 Calvinist Puritanism, 30 Calvinist theology, 26 Cameron, D., 106 Cameron, E., 12 Campton, D., 92, 137 capitalism, 10, 20 Carroll, J., 19–20

253

Carroll, L., 53, 108, 129–30 Carson, S., 54 Carter, D., 86 Castle, B., 124–5 Catholic authority, 9, 10 Catholic Church authority in, resistance to, 12 government in, four-pronged method of, 16 individual-authority relationship in, 9 individual-social relationship in, 12 individualism in, 10 indulgences by, selling of, 12 institutional-God relationship in, 10 liturgy in, rituals of, 141 plausibility structure of, 24 purpose of, 13 Catholic emphasis, 204–5 Catholic morality, 29 Catholic power, 34 Catholic priests Catholicism, role in, 144–6 forgiveness by, 164–5 reconciliation and, 166, 168 Catholic sectarianism, 54 Catholic tradition, 141 Catholicism, 16 analogical imagination, disposition on, 170–1 antagonism in, 192 authoritarian, 21, 144 changeability in, 161–2 common good, concept by, 30 in community concept of, 141 conflict and peace in, relationship between, 150 conflicts with, 141–50 defense in, 146–7 dialogical relation between, 150 emphasis on, 170 faith in, 142 of people, vision of, 32 conditioned perspective of, 25 conflict, perceptions by, 31 continuity in, 59 continuum in, importance of, 161 conversion to Christ in, 159–61


254 Index Catholicism – continued dishonesty and, 30 forgiveness in, 162–73 conditional, 169–70 consequences of, 172–3 from God, 170 judgment and, 169 prerequisites for, 165–6 priest’s role in, jurisdiction of, 164–5 reciprocal process for, 168–9 Free Presbyterian Church, struggle with, 61 hierarchical, 21 identity of, reinforcement of, 31 inductive logic of, 23, 29–30 as institution, vision of, 32 moral distinction in, 171–2 as nondiscriminatory society, 148–9 in Northern Ireland, 29–30 peace process in, 149–50 polarization with, 44–5 priests role in, 144–6 psychological outlooks of, 31 reconciliation in, 162–73 communal relevance of, 163 consequences of, 172–3 defined, 163 external factors for, 165 and God, relationship with, 163–4 humanity and, 167–8 individuality and, 167–8 priest’s role in, 166, 168 process for, 164 purpose of, 166–7 repentance through, 163, 164–6 for sins, 163 as religion of equivocation, 30 religious identity in, 143–4 sacraments of, 162–3 salvation in, 160 secularization of, 147–8 social identity of, 142–3 social instability, contribution to, 45 socioeconomic perceptions of, 32 structural approaches to, 150–4 doctrinal position on, 154 hierarchical formulation, 153

philosophical basis for, 153 theological basis for, 153 symbols of, 161–2 truth and, 30 unity, theological emphasis on, 141 worldviews of, 29, 195 see also Word of God Centre for Contemporary Christianity, 239 certain self, 229 certainty, 23, 46, 90–1 Chadwick, O., 12–13, 17 change of heart, 96–7 changeability in Catholicism, 161–2 Charles II, 69 Cherry, S., 226 Christ as King, 67 Christian belief, 79 Christian conviction, 206–7 Christian ethics, 16, 212 Christian faith ecumenism in, importance of, 174–5 evangelicalism, approaches to, 37–8 Christian forgiveness, 206–7 Christian hope, 29 Christian Library, 87 Christian principles, 37 Christianity, 9, 11 see also ‘post-conflict’ Northern Ireland Christianity Church authority, 56 Church court, 49 Church of England, 61 Church of Ireland, 77–85 à la carte identity of, 84 Anglicanism, influence on, 77–9 communal cohesion in, 84–5 consent in, 78 constitutionalism in, 78 historical influences on, 77–8 inclusiveness in, 84 individualism in, 83 representation in, 78 Scripture in, vernacular exposition for interpreting, 78 social identity in, 85 structure of, 81–2 unifying role of, 83–4


Index unionism, support for, 80–1 unity in, 84 see also Anglicanism churches see specific types of civil liberty, 35 clarity in Non-Subscribing Presbyterian Church, 76 Clegg, C., 221–2 Clements, D., 119 closed evangelicalism, 42–3 Clough, D., 87 Clutterbuck, R., 86, 88 Coffey, J., 20 cohesion, 16, 84–5 collegiality, 143 Colley, L., 21–2 Collinson, P., 11–12 Colwell, J. E., 231 common good concept of, 30, 127 philosophical concept of, 30 Protestantism, concept by, 30 theological concept of, 30 common vision, 51 commonality, 174 communal cohesion, 84–5 communal conflict, 126–7 communal dialogue, 129, 137 communal emphasis, 180–1 communal faith, 142 communal guilt, 58 communal identity, 82–3, 93–4 communal life, 48 communal relevance, 163 communal responsibility, 108 communal solidarity, 10 communal worship, 26 communion, 179 communism, 66 community in Methodist Church, sense of, 92 in ‘post-conflict’ Northern Ireland Christianity identities in, 213 insecurity in, 218–19 rituals following, 214–15 Protestantism, concept of, 141

255

Community Relations Council in Belfast, 193 complacency, 22 comprehension, 25 compromise, 71–2 condemnation, 13 conditional forgiveness, 97, 101–2, 113, 116 in Catholicism, 169–70 conditional loyalty, 33 conditional reconciliation, 119 conditioned perspective of Catholicism, 25 confessional see reconciliation conflicts in Catholic community, 141–50 Catholicism, perceptions by, 31 communal, 126–7 ecumenism and, 199–200 inclusively and, 222–3 peace and, relationship between, 150 Protestantism, perceptions by, 31 Connolly, W., 232, 240 Connexional Principle, 86–7 conscience, 44, 58–9 consent in Church of Ireland, 78 conservatism, 40 conservative theology, 25 consistency within Presbyterianism,60 constitutionalism, 78 Conti, M., 175 continuity, 59, 78 continuum, 60, 161 control, institutional, 13 conversionism, 37, 39, 159–61 Cooke, D., 31, 61 Cooper, D., 89, 135–6 Cope, B. E., 174 Corrymeela Community, 239 Coutant, D. K., 127 covenant, 33 commitment to, 33 with Jews, between God and, 34 Presbyterianism, role in shaping, 33 Protestantism, role in shaping, 33–2 reconciliation and, 122–3 religiously directed, 34


256 Index Creation, 69 creeds, 73 Crilly, O., 143–4, 148, 155, 165–6, 169 crucicentrism, 37 cultural identity of Methodist Church, 88 of ‘post-conflict’ Northern Ireland Christianity, 211–12 of Presbyterian Church of Ireland, 49–50 of Scripture, 40 of Ulster-Scots, 34, 44 culture, 26, 28 Cunningham, L. S., 159 D Daly, C. B., 147, 149, 162, 164, 169 Davidson, T., 54 ‘de-centered center’ of belonging, 123 Decent Society, The (Margalit), 181 decision phase of forgiveness, 104 Decree on Ecumenism, 183 deductive logic to meaning, 25 Protestantism of, 29–30 of Word of God, 23–6, 27, 29 deepening phase of forgiveness, 104 defense in Catholic community, 146–7 democracy, 49, 52–3 Democratic Unionist Party (DUP), 62 denial, 125–6 depravity, 18–19 desirable model of forgiveness, 103 devotional power, 17 dialogue communal, 129, 137 incitation of, 222 of reconciliation, 120, 123–5 supportive, for reconciliation, 134 to Word of God, approach yo, 22 Dickinson, J., 59, 109, 131 Digeser, P. E., 105, 203 ‘dignity of difference,’ 177 Dillon, M., 150 directness, 26 discontinuity, 78 dishonesty, 30 disunity, 10 divergence, 225–6

diversification, 170 diversity, 51, 87 doctrine of election, 17 Dodds, B., 84 Doherty, K., 110 Doing Unto Others: Parity of Esteem in a Contested Space, 187 double predestination, 16–17 doubt, 17 Douglas, J., 63, 132 dour manliness, 44 Doyle, M., 43 Dublin rule, 59 Dunlop, A., 57, 132 Dunlop, J., 43–4, 107 Dwyer, S., 120 dynamism, Protestant, 20 E Easter Gospel, 101 ecumenism in Christian faith, importance of, 174–5 commonality, for development of, 174 ‘dignity of difference’ and, appreciation for, 177 exclusivity, reinforcement of, 176–7 forgiveness and, 201–2 purpose of movement for, 174 reconciliation, for facilitating, 174, 177–85 communal emphasis on, 180–1 communion and, 179 forgiveness and, 177–8 Good Friday Agreement and, 182–3 inter-Church dialogue for, 179–80 inter-Church relationships and, 183–4 in Northern Ireland, 182 sectarianism and, 178–9 social identity of, 181–2, 184–5 reconciliation-type narratives by, 190 religious beliefs of, 189 repentance and, 202–8 social identity of, 188–9 structure of, 187


Index theoretical frameworks for, 188, 199–202 conflict, 199–200 external, 199 forgiveness, 201–2 neutrally, 199 see also Faith and Politic Group educational ideals of evangelicalism, 39 elect theology, 34 Elliott, M., 31, 35 Ellul, 27–8 emancipated self, 13 embrace, 123, 221 emotional conversions of evangelicals, 39 emotive power, 38 of evangelicalism, 39–40 in Gospel, 39 Protestantism in, 38 Enlightenment thinking, 47 enquiry, 38 Enright, R., 104 enthusiasm, 38 Ephrem-Nolan, M., 146, 160, 168, 170 equality, imagined, 20 equivocation, religion of, 30 ethics, 16 see also specific types of ethos activist, 38 anti-Catholic, 33 Calvinist, 33 individualistic, 54–5 populist, 38 Protestant, 31 utilitarian, 38 Eucharist, 15 evangelical conversion, 39 evangelical factionalism, 48 evangelical imagination, 37, 40–1 evangelical impulse, 41–2, 60 evangelical mind, 37 Evangelical Presbyterian Church (EPC), 69–72 Bible in, importance of, 70 compromise in, 71–2 faith in, clarity as basis of, 70

257

flexibility in, 71–2 fundamental principles of, 69–70, 72 liberalism in, 71–2 origins of, 69 Reformed Presbyterian Church and, distinguishing between, 70–1 salvation in, 71–2 Scriptures, interpretation by, 71 Westminster Confession of Faith in, adherence to, 69–70 Evangelical Protestant mind, 38 evangelicalism, 37–43 Baptist, 159 Christian faith, approaches to, 37–8 closed, 42–3 defined, 37 economic arena for, 41 educational ideals of, 39 emotive power of, 39–40 faith in, 37 fundamentalists perspective on, 40 Holy Spirit and, commitment to, 38 intellectual ideals of, 39 Jesus Christ and, personal relationship with, 38 leadership in, intellectual importance of, 39 in Northern Ireland, diversity of, 42–3 open, 42–3 purity in, 38 rationalism in, resistance to, 38 salvation in, 38 self and, understanding of, 38 evangelicalization, 57 evangelicals, 37, 39 evangelism, 57 exclusive–inclusive transition, 124 exclusiveness, 196 inclusively and, 221 in Methodist Church, role of, 89 of Presbyterianism, 59–60 within Protestantism, 91 reinforcement of, 176–7 extreme Protestantism, 32


258 Index F factionalism, 48 faith, 13, 15 biblical, 50 in Catholic community, 142 communal, 142 in Evangelical Presbyterian Church, clarity as basis of, 70 in evangelicalism, 37 justification by, 11, 15 living, 37 in Methodist Church, 87 in Presbyterianism, 51–2 Protestantism, approach to, 10 reform, 49–50 rule of, 64 Faith and Politic Group, 185–92 Church and politics, challenging of relationship between, 190–1 debates by, 186 development of, 185 forgiveness and, 202–8, see also forgiveness independence of, 187–8 negative perceptions of, 192 in Northern Ireland, advancing of, 191–2 political context of, 188–9 political identity in, 193–8 purpose of, 187 reconciliation, role in, 186, 193 repentance and, 202–8 success of, 241 Farrugia, M., 152 fear, 17, 23, 32–3, 34 federal Calvinism, 35 ‘felt’ conversion, 39 Fernandez-Armesto, F., 29 Finlay, J., 49, 52, 129 Fiske, S. T., 126 flexibility, 71–2 Ford, A., 34 Forest, J., 163 Forgive Us Our Trespasses . . . .?, 187 forgiveness, 12, 95–119 advantages of, 108 Catholic emphasis on, 204–5 Catholic-Protestant distinction between, 203–5

change of heart and, 96–7 Christian conviction and, 206–7 communal-personal emphasis on, 205–6 concept of, 95 conditional, 97, 101–2, 113, 116, 169–70 debates over, 95, 108, 116–18 decision phase of, 104 deepening phase of, 104 desirable model of, 103 ecumenism and, 201–2 Faith and Politic Group and, 202–8 fundamental principles of, 95 from God, in Catholicism, 170 historical expectations of, 106, 115 importance of, 95 incompleteness and, 103–4 justice and, 112, 118 motivation for, 114 ‘other-directed,’ 104 of perpetrator, 113–14 personal context of, 203–4 political, 104, 105–6, 112, 114, 203–4, 207–8 power of, 116 practical expectations of, 115 process for, 107–8, 109 reconciliation and, 177–8 relationship in, importance of, 109–10, 116–18 repentance and, 102, 106, 109, 110–13, 118, 206 resentment and, 95–6, 99–100 self-reflection and, 100–2 separation and, 96 social expectations of, 112, 114, 115, 119 strength for, 100–2 theoretical emphases on, 202 unconditional, 97–8, 110, 113, 115, 118 ‘uncovering phase’ and, 104–5 undesirable model of, 103 value of, 98–9, 109 of victim, 113–14 violence and, 202–3 work phase of, 104 Foster, I., 63


Index Fowler, T., 24 fractionalization, 46 fragmentation, 10, 48 Free Presbyterian Church (FBC), 60–6 autonomy of ideology in, 61–2 biblical theology of, 62–3 Catholicism, struggle with, 61 founder of, 61 fundamentalists outlook on, 65–6 Good Friday Agreement, rejection of, 62 literalism in, 62–3 origin of, 60–1 perceived truth in, 64–5 political identity of, 61 principles of, 60 rule of faith in, 64 salvation in, 64–5 separatism in, importance of, 63 static nature of, 64 superiority through certainty in, 65 Westminster Confession of Faith in, adherence to, 63 freedom, 20, 44 Fulton, J., 1 G Gallagher, D., 93 Gallagher, E., 7, 182–3 Ganiel, G., 42 Gately, S., 175 General Assembly, 49 Genesis, 69 George, C. H., 23 George, K., 23 Girard, R., 199–202 God Catholicism, reconciliation and relationship with in, 163–4 covenant between, and Jews, 34 forgiveness from, in Catholicism, 170 idol, 15 reconciliation, in context of, 132 Reformed Presbyterian Church, worship of, 68 sovereignty of, 57 will of, 46–7 ‘God-as-context’ risks, 132

259

godliness, 37, 48 godly living, 48 God’s People (Akenson), 33 Good, H., 88, 90, 118, 136 Good Friday Agreement, 62, 105, 182–3 goodly living, 48 Gopin, M., 225, 232–3 Gospel, 13 in Conflict Program, 239 emotive power in, 39 universal, 86 government, 16, 33 Govier, T., 96 grace, 78 Greeley, A., 142 Greenhills Ecumenical Conference, 185 Greer, J., 64, 132 Grenz, S. J., 39 Griswold, C. L., 102–3 guilt, 18, 58 Gutmann, A., 232 Guzie, T., 162 H Hall, R., 62, 111 Hamber, B., 120 Hamilton, N., 49, 108, 128 Hard Gospel Project, 239 Harper, A., 81–2, 116–17, 135 Harris, H. A., 40 Harris, L. T., 126 Hart, I., 56, 109 Hauerwas, S., 218 Haydon, C., 21 Healing Through Remembering, 239 Hempton, D., 45 Herriot, P., 228–9 hierarchical Catholicism, 21 Hill, C., 22 Hill, M., 45 Hilton, B., 39 Hofstadter, R., 38–9 holiness, 86, 87 Holloway, R., 102 Holmes, A. R., 45, 47–8 Holmes, F., 47 Holy Spirit, 38, 39, 40, 143


260 Index Holy Water, 58 Home Rule, 45 honesty, 31 hope, Christian, 29 Houlden, J. L., 174 Hudson, C., 76, 134 Hughes, P. M., 95 human behavior, 17 humanism, 66 humanity, 141 Catholicism and, reconciliation in, 167–8 Protestantism, theological emphasis on, 141 in Scripture, 25 in Word of God, 25–6 Hyndman, K., 68, 112 I identity à la carte, 84 of Catholicism, reinforcement of, 31 communal, 82–3, 93–4 national, 78–9 political, 22 in ‘post-conflict’ Northern Ireland Christianity, challenges of, 228–34 Presbyterian, 47 Protestant, 35–6, 44 of Protestantism, reinforcement of, 31 religious, 22 social, 22 see also specific types of identity interests, 224–5 ideology, autonomy of, 61–2 idol Gods, 15 imagination analogical, 150–1 evangelical, 37, 40–1 Presbyterian, 77 Protestant, 10, 31–2, 44, 58–9, 196 imagined equality, 20 immorality, 30 incarnation, 78 inclination, 17

inclusiveness in Church of Ireland, 84 in ‘post-conflict’ Northern Ireland Christianity, 219–28 conflict, 222–3 dialogue, incitation of, 222 divergence, 225–6 embrace, 221 exclusion, 221 identity interests, 224–5 ‘making room’ concept, 223–4 narrow group, 224–5 open expression of identity, 222 peace, development of, 224 principles, 220–1 reconciliation, 226–7 self-righteousness, 222–3 separateness, 225–6 stability, development of, 224 sympathy, lack of, 225–6 values, 220–1 in Presbyterian Church of Ireland, 54 reconciliation and, 226–7 incompleteness, 103–4 independency, 66 indignation, 100 individual authority, 9 individual-authority relationship, 9 individual piety, 26 individual reason, 10 individual responsibility, 108 individual-social relationship, 12 individualism, 196 in Catholic Church, 10 in Church of Ireland, 83 consequences of, 21 in Methodist Church, 93 in Presbyterian Church of Ireland, 51, 52–4, 56 of Presbyterian theology, 50 in Protestantism, 10, 170 Puritan ethics and, 21 Word of God and, 28 individualistic ethos, 54–5 individuality, 167–8 individualized meaning, 15


Index inductive logic of Catholicism, 23, 29–30 of Word of God, 24–5 indulgences, 12 industrialization, 47–8 insecurity, 23 inspiration, 38 instability, social, 45 institutional authority, 9, 10, 11, 16, 56 institutional control, 13 institutional-God relationship, 10 institutional power, 10 institutional space, 224 institutionalized meaning, 15 intellectual ideals, 39 intellectual power, 38 intellectual space, 224 intellectual tradition, 60 inter-Church dialogue for reconciliation, 179–80 Inter-Church Group on Faith and Politics, 185 see also Faith and Politic Group inter-Church relationships, 183–4 interdependence theology, 86 internal testimony of Holy Spirit, 39 IRA, 144 Ireland 1912-1985 (Lee), 44 Irish Catholics, 44 Irish Council of Churches, 183 Irish Inter-Church Meeting, 183 Irishness, 61 Islam, 66 isolation, 59 J Jackson, B., 83 Jackson, M., 134 Jenkins, R., 2 Jesus Christ, 38, 40 Jews, covenant between God and, 34 Jordan, G., 51, 62 judgment in Catholicism, 169 in ‘post-conflict’ Northern Ireland Christianity, 216–17 Scripture, for interpreting, 44 in Word of God, 27

261

justice, 112, 118 justification, 13 by faith, 11, 15 for isolation, 59 K Kearney, R., 121 Kelly, G., 120 Kinahan, T., 190, 196, 203 Kinnamon, M., 174 Kirkpatrick, N., 113 Kolb, R., 11, 13 Kolnai, A., 96 Kristeva, J., 138 Kuyper, A., 16, 20 L Lamb, J., 58, 110 Larsen, T., 37, 39 Layden, T., 145, 153, 158, 161 layered meaning, 11 leadership, 39 learned enquiry, 38 Lederach, J. P., 119–20, 199 Lee, J. J., 44 Leeke, C., 84 legitimacy of Bible, 40 Leith, J. H., 26 Lennon, B., 153, 194, 204, 207 Lewis, W., 81 liberal theology, 25 liberalism, 40 in Evangelical Presbyterian Church, 71–2 in Non-Subscribing Presbyterian Church, 72, 74–5 liberty, 31, 33, 35 Liberty to the Captives? The Early Release of Politically Motivated Prisoners, 186 Liechty, J., 178–9 Lijphart, A., 241 literalism, 52 Bible, approach to, 40 in Free Presbyterian Church, 62–3 in Non-Subscribing Presbyterian Church, 74 to Scripture, 22 Word of God and, 23


262 Index Little, D., 223 liturgy, rituals of, 141 Lord’s Prayer, 110 loyalty conditional, 33 political, 45 self-image of, 34 Luther, 9, 11–14, 37 M Maalouf, A., 228 Mac Iver, M. A., 61 MacCulloch, D., 14 MacIntyre, A., 21 Macourt, M., 80 Magee, R., 223 ‘making room’ concept, 223–4 Margalit, A., 181, 185 marginalization, 59 market space, 224 Marks, D. C., 10 Marsden, G. M., 37, 40 Marsh, C., 87 Martin, A., 188 Martin, F., 152 Marty, M. E., 22 Mary, 71 Mason, G., 90, 137 Mass, 71, 141 May, J. D., 188, 192, 197 McAfee Brown, R., 25 McBride, I. R., 43 McCabe, H., 238 McCaughey, T. P., 220 McClung, B., 111 McCollum, R., 68 McCrea, W., 110 McCullough, C., 175 McDonagh, E., 222 McDowell, J., 85, 116 McGlinchey, P., 81, 114 McGrath, A. E., 10–11, 14–16, 29, 37, 39–40 McIlveen, D., 65 McKay, D., 66 McKelvey, H., 115 McMaster, J., 93–4, 118, 138, 188–9, 206–7 McMillan, W., 74–5, 113

meaning biblical, 16–17 deductive approach to, 25 individualized, 15 institutionalized, 15 layered, 11 of Reformed Presbyterian Church, 68–9 true, 13 in Word of God, 23 meeting-house, 48 mercy, 12 Methodism, 86 see also Methodist Church Methodist Church, 86–94 Anglican Church, separation from, 86 certainty in, 90–1 communal identity of, 93–4 community in, sense of, 92 Connexional Principle in, adherence to, 86–7 cultural identity of, 88 diversity, acceptance of, 87 exclusion in, role of, 89 faith in, 87 fundamental principles of, 86 individualism in, 93 interdependence theology of, 86 Methodism in, founding of, 86 Methodist hymn book in, 87 origins of, 86 political identity of, 89–91, 94 Protestantism within, 88 purity in, 90–1 purpose of, 88 Scriptures in, interpretations of, 87, 90 social identity of, 88, 89–91, 94 structure of, 86–7 Victorian moralism, role in development of, 87–8 Methodist hymn book, 87 militancy, 40 Miller, D. W., 46–7 mimetic desire, 199 Mitchel, P., 42–3, 61 Mitchell, C., 1, 31, 141 modern Protestantism, 35


Index modernization, 40, 46–7 Moloney, E., 31, 61 Moltmann, J., 211–12 Montgomery, H., 72 moral conscience, 18 moral logic, 28–9 moral power, 17 moral standards, 40, 171–2 moral values, 45 moral vocabulary, 210–11 moralism, 44 Catholic, 29 in Protestantism, 29, 34 Puritan, 18 Victorian, 87–8 Morrow, D., 193–4, 201, 202, 204–5 Morrow, J., 191, 195, 205 motivation, 114, 127–8 Moving Beyond Sectarianism, 178–9 Muller, R. A., 15–16 Murphy, J. G., 99–101 Murray, T., 64 mystery in Word of God, 23, 155–8 N narratives reconciliation and, role of, 120–2, 137–8, 190 for reinforcing identity, 217–18 Narrow Ground, The (Stewart), 43 narrow group, 224–5 national Church, 79–80 national identity, 78–9 nationalists, 90 negativity, 196 Nelson, J., 76 neutrally, 199 Newlands, G., 126 New Pathways, 187 New Testament, 68 Niebuhr, H. R., 125–6 Noll, M. A., 38 Non-Subscribing Presbyterian Church, 72–7 clarity in, 76 fundamental principles of, 72 historical overview of, 73–4 liberalism in, 72, 74–5 literalism in, 74

263

origins of, 72 overview of, 75–6 political identity of, 76–7 religious identity of, 76–7 social identity of, 76–7 Westminster Confession of Faith in, rejection of, 72 nondiscrimination, 28, 148–9 normalization, 232 Norman, E., 227 normative principle, 67 Northern Ireland, 29–36 anti-Catholicism in, 31–3 Calvinist Puritanism in, 30 Catholicism in, 29–30, see also Catholicism evangelicalism in, diversity of, 42–3 Faith and Politic Group in, advancing of, 191–2 Northern Ireland Troubles in, 31–2 Presbyterianism in, 33, 43–8 austerity in, 43 language in, perceptions of, 45–6 political role in, 45–6 Protestant imagination in, complexity of, 31–2 Protestantism in, 29–30, 32–5, see also Protestantism reconciliation, problems with, 128–9, 182 religious labeling in, 31 Ulster-Scots in, 33–5 unionism in, 44 Northern Ireland Troubles, 31–2 North, J., 96, 104 Novitz, D., 101 O O’Collins, G., 152 O’Connor, F., 146, 149 Olson, R. E., 37 O’Malley, J. W., 183 O’Malley, P., 29, 32 open evangelicalism, 42–3 openness, 213–16, 222 ordinary believer, 37 ostentation’s, 26 ‘other-directed’ forgiveness, 104 Ozment, S., 21


264 Index P Paisley, I., 31, 61, 65–6, 237 Paisley, I. R. K., 62 Paisleyism, 32 papal authority, 12, 22, 35 Parker, M., 114 patriotism, 22 Patterson, R., 58, 109 peace in Catholicism, process of, 149–50 conflicts and, relationship between, 150 following ‘post-conflict’ Northern Ireland Christianity, 209 inclusively and, development of, 224 reconciliation and, 135–7 perceived pretensions, 26 perpetrator, forgiveness of, 113–14 persuasion, 22, 26 Peters, T., 24 Pettegree, A., 26 Pettigrove, G., 97 Pickett, K., 241 Pietism, 37, 52 piety, individual, 26 plausibility structure of Catholic Church, 24 Playfair, N., 73–4 pluralism, 40 polarization, 44–5 political culture, 34–5 political forgiveness, 104, 105–6, 112, 114 political identity, 22 in Faith and Politic Group, 193–8 of Faith and Politic Group, 188–9 of Methodist Church, 89–91, 94 of Non-Subscribing Presbyterian Church, 76–7 of Presbyterian Church of Ireland, 50, 52–3 of Protestantism, 31 political loyalty, 45 political space, 224 populist ethos, 38 ‘post-conflict’ Northern Ireland Christianity, 209–34 change in, challenges of, 228–34

Christian ethic in, 212 community in, 213–19 cultural identity of, 211–12 identity in, challenges of, 228–34 judgments in, 216–17 moral vocabulary following, 210–11 narratives for reinforcing identity in, 217–18 openness in, resistance to, 213–16 peace following, 209 punishments in, 216–17 purity following, 211 social identity of, 211–12 theological considerations following, 209–10 truth following, 211 see also inclusiveness post-conflict text, 129–31, 134–5 power, 16 Catholic, 34 devotional, 17 emotive, 38 of forgiveness, 116 institutional, 10 intellectual, 38 moral, 17 Power, M., 183, 186 pragmatic ethos, 38 predestination, 20 prelacy, 66 Presbyterian, defined, 48 Presbyterian belief, 47 Presbyterian Church of Ireland, 48–60 biblical theology in, 56 Church authority in, 56 cultural identity of, 49–50 democracy in, 52–3 diversity of groups within, 51 hierarchy of, influences on, 49 inclusiveness in, 54 individualism in, 51, 52–4, 56 individualistic ethos in, 54–5 institutional authority in, 56 literary context of, 51–2 political identity of, 50, 52–3 reconciliation in, 131 religious identity of, 56–8 responsibility in, 52–3 self-image in, 58


Index social conscience in, 58–9 social identity of, 51–3 structure of, 49 theological context of, 52–3 Westminster Confession of Faith and, 55 work ethic in, 52–3 see also Presbyterianism Presbyterian factionalism, 48 Presbyterian ideals, 48 Presbyterian identity, 47 Presbyterian imagination, 77 Presbyterian impulse, 43–4, 46 Presbyterian nationhood, 46 Presbyterian theology, 50 Presbyterianism common vision of, 51 consistency within, 60 continuum within, 60 covenant, role in shaping, 33 exclusivity of, 59–60 faith in, 51–2 fractionalization of, 46 fragmentation of, 48 historical changes in, 46 horizontal dimensions of, 55 industrialization, impact on, 47–8 marginalization in, 59 modernization, impact on, 46–7 in Northern Ireland, 33, 43–8 origins of, 47 Pietism, influence of, 52 Puritanism, influence of, 52 purity in, 59 re-awakening of, 47 reform faith in, 49–50 Reformed Presbyterian Church (RPC) and, structure of, 66 salvation in, 46–7 social responsibility of, 48–9 Ulster, 46 variations in, 36 vertical dimensions of, 55 Westminster Confession of Faith in, 47 presbytery, defined, 48 pretensions, perceived, 26 principles, inclusively and, 220–1 Prodigal Son, 110

265

protectionism, 34 ‘Protestant’ becoming,’ 10 Protestant capitalism, 10 Protestant complacency, 22 Protestant culture, 26 Protestant dynamism, 20 Protestant ethos, 31 Protestant freedom, 44 Protestant identity, 35–6, 44 Protestant imagination, 10, 31–2, 44, 58–9, 196 Protestant interests, 34 Protestant mind, Evangelical, 38 Protestant patriotism, 22 Protestant Reformation, 9 denominations during, influences of, 37 double predestination during, 16–17 in Switzerland, 14 theological reflections on, 48–9 in United Kingdom, 47 Protestant tradition, 141 Protestant vision, 35 Protestant work, 10 Protestantism as authoritative institution, 144 categorizing, 22 Catholic authority and, resistance to, 9, 10 common good, concept by, 30 communal faith in, 142 community, concept of, 141 complexities of, analysis of, 35 conflict, perceptions by, 31 conversion to Christ in, 159–60 covenant, role in shaping, 33–2 deductive logic of, 29–30 dishonesty in, 30 dominance, resistance to, 35 emotive power in, 38 exclusiveness within, 91 extreme, 32 factual perspective of, 25 faith, approach to, 10 formative stages of, 29 guilt in, 58 humanity, theological emphasis on, 141 identity of, reinforcement of, 31


266 Index Protestantism – continued individualism in, 170 institutional authority of, 11 within Methodist Church, 88 modern, 35 morality in, 34 in Northern Ireland, 29–30, 32–5 papal authority, resistance to, 35 political influences of, 31 principles of, 9 psychological outlooks of, 31 Reformed Calvinist side of, 52 religious identity in, 143–4 rigidity in, 25 salvation in, 160 in Scotland, history of, 26 secular reality of, 11 social behavior in, 34 social identity of, 142–3 superiority within, 91 truth in, 30 work ethic of, 22 worldviews of, 29 see also Word of God; individual churches Protestants Northern Irish, 58 Ulster, 44 worldviews of, 195 Protestants morality, 29 Provisional Irish Republican Army, 61 public good, concept of, 127 punishments, 216–17 Puritan ethics, 17–22 anti-Catholicism and, 21–2 guilt and, 18 individualism and, 21 moral conscience and, recognition of, 18 predestination and, fear of, 20 principles of, 18–19 Puritan imagination and, 20 Puritanism and, 17–18 salvation and, 18–19, 20, 21 self-improvement and, 20 sin and, 18–19 social consequences of, 18 unworthiness and, 18 Puritan imagination, 20, 22

Puritan morality, 18 Puritanism, 23 denominations during, influences of, 37 Presbyterianism, influence of, 52 Puritan ethics and, 17–18 purity doctrinal, 49 in evangelicalism, 38 following ‘post-conflict’ Northern Ireland Christianity, 211 in Methodist Church, 90–1 in Presbyterianism, 59 in Reformed Presbyterian Church, 67 religious, 133–4 in Word of God, 23 Q Quakers, 239 Quilley, J., 187 R Rafferty, O. P., 142–3, 149 Raiser, K., 176 rational enquiry, 38 rationalism, 26, 38 Ratzinger, J., 161 Rea, J., 92 reconciliation, 119–39, 174, 177–85 commitments to, 133 communal conflict and, 126–7 communal dialogue for, 129, 137 communal emphasis on, 180–1 communion and, 179 conditional, 119 consequences of, 139 covenant and, 122–3 defined, 119, 186 denial and, 125–6 dialogical nature of, 120, 123–5, 179–80 ecumenism, for facilitating, 174, 177–85 exclusive–inclusive transition and, 124 Faith and Politic Group, role in, 186, 193, see also forgiveness forgiveness and, 177–8


Index framework for, 119 God, in context of, 132 Good Friday Agreement and, 182–3 inclusively and, 226–7 inter-Church relationships and, 183–4 narrative incorporation and, role of, 120–2, 137–8 in Northern Ireland, problems with, 128–9, 182 peace process and, 135–7 post-conflict text and, 129–31, 134–5 in Presbyterian Church, 131 primary concerns for, 119–20 relationships and, 132–3, 138 religious influence on, 127 religious purity and, 133–4 sectarianism and, 178–9 social identity of, 181–2, 184–5 spiritual motivation for, 127–8 supportive dialogue for, 134 theological context for, 123 value of, 135 vulnerability and, 125 reconciliation-type narratives, 190 reform, pillar of Presbyterian belief, 47 reform faith, 49–50 reformation theology, 51 Reformed Calvinists, 52 Reformed Church, 72 Reformed Presbyterian Church (RPC), 66–9 docturnal position of, 66 Evangelical Presbyterian Church and, distinguishing between, 70–1 fundamental principles of, 66, 68–9 goals of, 66–7 God, worship of, 68 meaning of, 68–9 origin of, 66 Presbyterianism and, structure of, 66 purity in, 67 purpose of, 66–7 Scripture in, centrality of, 67–8 security in, 68–9 structure of, 66

267

values of, 68–9 Westminster Confession of Faith (WCF) in, adherence to, 66 Reformed Presbyterians, 66, 71 reformed spirit, 48 Reformed theology, 35 regulative principle, 68 rejection, 59 relationships in forgiveness, importance of, 109–10, 116–18 reconciliation and, 132–3, 138 see also specific types of relevance, communal, 163 religion of equivocation, 30 religious beliefs, 189 Religious Communions in Ireland, 183 religious experience, 225 religious expression, 196–7 religious identity, 22 in Catholicism, 143–4 of Non-Subscribing Presbyterian Church, 76–7 of Presbyterian Church of Ireland, 56–8 in Protestantism, 143–4 on reconciliation, 127 religious labeling, 31 religious liberty, 35 religious persuasion, 22 religious purity, 133–4 religiously directed covenant, 34 Remonstrant Synod of Ulster, 72, 73 repentance Catholicism, through reconciliation in, 163, 164–6 ecumenism and, 202–8 Faith and Politic Group and, 202–8 forgiveness and, 102, 106, 109, 110–13, 118, 206 Republic of Ireland, 80 republicans, 90 resentment, 95–6, 99–100, 100 responsibility communal, 108 individual, 108


268 Index responsibility – continued in Presbyterian Church of Ireland, 52–3 social, 48–9 resurrection, 13 revival, pillar of Presbyterian belief, 47 Reynolds, G., 156, 166 Riek, B. M., 126 Rigby, A., 218–19 righteousness, 37 rigidity in Protestantism, 25 Rogers, C., 125 Roman Catholicism, 30, 66 Rome rule, 59 rule of faith, 64 rule of law, 14 Ryan Report, 171–2 S Sacks, J., 210 sacralizing politics of Ulster-Scots, 34 sacraments, 141, 162–3 Word of God and, 154–5 salvation, 13, 14 biblical, 26 in Catholicism, 160 in Evangelical Presbyterian Church, 71–2 in evangelicalism, 38 in Free Presbyterian Church, 64–5 in Presbyterianism, 46–7 in Protestantism, 160 Puritan ethics and, 18–19, 20, 21 in Word of God, 26 scapegoat mechanism, 199 schism, 170 Schreiter, R. J., 127–8 Scotland, 26 scriptural authority, 16 Scripture authority in, 25, 39–40 belief in, individual, 9 biblical faith in, 50 in Church of Ireland, vernacular exposition for interpreting, 78 cultural identity of, 40 Evangelical Presbyterian Church, interpretation by, 71

historical contexts of, 40 humanity in, 25 importance of, 26–7 judgment for interpreting, 44 literal adherence to, 22 literal understanding of, 29 literary contexts of, 40 metaphorical understanding of, 29 in Methodist Church, interpretations of, 87, 90 in Reformed Presbyterian Church, centrality of, 67–8 truth of, 25, 29 see also Word of God sectarian self-identity, 227 sectarianism Catholic, 54 idolarity of, 186 reconciliation and, 178–9 secular reality, 11 secularization, 147–8 security in Reformed Presbyterian Church, 68–9 self attachment notions of, 25, 33 certain, 229 emancipated, 13 evangelicalism and, understanding of, 38 uncertain, 229 self-advancement, 20 self-control, 10 self-doubt, 34 self-identity, 227 self-image, 34, 58 self-improvement, 20 self-loathing, 17 self-reflection, 100–2 self-righteousness, 222–3 Seligman, A. B., 214 separateness, 225–6 separation, 96 separatism, 63 Silversides, D., 67, 112, 133 similarityin-difference’ paradigm, 150 simplicity, 26 sincerity, 26


Index sins, 12–13, 15 Catholicism for, reconciliation in, 163 Puritan ethics and, 18–19 Smylie, A., 64 Smyth, G., 175, 187, 191, 222–3, 233–4 social behavior, 34 social conscience, 58–9 social holiness, 87 social identity, 22 of Catholicism, 142–3 in Church of Ireland, 85 of ecumenism, 188–9 of Methodist Church, 88, 89–91, 94 of Non-Subscribing Presbyterian Church, 76–7 of ‘post-conflict’ Northern Ireland Christianity, 211–12 of Presbyterian Church of Ireland, 51–3 of Protestantism, 142–3 of reconciliation, 181–2, 184–5 social instability, 45 social responsibility, 20, 48–9 socio-economic perceptions of Catholicism, 32 Solemn League and Covenant, 47 solidarity, 10 Southern, N., 62 sovereignty of God, 57 Spencer, G., 239 spirit, 20, 48 Spirit of God, 55 spiritual intimacy, 39 spiritual motivation, 127–8 stability, development of, 224 state and Anglicanism, relationship between, 79–80 Steele, D., 18 Steers, D., 75 Steinmetz, D. C., 15 Stephan, W. G., 126 Stevens, D., 177–8, 192, 195, 198, 201, 219 Stewart, A. T. Q., 43 Strange, R., 163 strength for forgiveness, 100–2

269

superiority, 59 in community, 193–4 Free Presbyterian Church, through certainty in, 65 within Protestantism, 91 supportive dialogue for reconciliation, 134 Supreme Court, 49 Sweeney, J. M., 141, 150, 154–6 Switzerland, 14 symbols of Catholicism, 161–2 Symonds, P., 154, 159, 166 sympathy, lack of, 225–6 T Taggart, N. W., 7, 183–4 Taylor, C., 210–11 Ten Commandments, 14–15 theological curve, 30 theology biblical, 56, 62–3 Calvinist, 26 conceptualization of, 41 conservative, 25 elect, 34 interdependence, 86 liberal, 25 of politics, 35 Presbyterian, 50 reformation, 51 Reformed, 35 of separation, 124 Things that Make for Peace, The, 186 Thirty-Nine Articles, 78 Thompson, A., 106 Tidball, D. J., 40 Tillich, P., 10–11 Time to Heal, A, 186 Todd, M., 26 Todorov, T., 218 Torrance, A. J., 226 Tracy, D., 150–1, 154 tradition Catholic, 141 intellectual, 60 Presbyterian belief, pillar of, 47 Protestant, 141 Transitions, 187 Trese, L. J., 164


270 Index Trinity, doctrine of, 73 triumphalism, 59 Troubles (Report of the Consultative Group), 224 Troy, A., 145, 160, 167 true believers, 228 true meaning, 13 truth absolute, 23 biblical, 13 and Catholicism, 30 contestations about, 16 deductive logic of, 23–4 following ‘post-conflict’ Northern Ireland Christianity, 211 inductive logic of, 24 overarching, 24 perceived, 24–5, 64–5 in Protestantism, 30 of Scripture, 15, 25, 29 in Word of God, 23–4, 27–9, 59 Turnbull, R., 78 Turner, J. M., 86–7 Tutu, D., 177 U Ulster Presbyterianism, 46 Ulster-Scots, 33 cultural identity of, 34, 44 hierarchical authority of, 34 in Northern Ireland, 33–5 political culture of, 34–5 sacralizing politics of, 34 uncertain self, 229 uncertainty in Word of God, 23 unconditional forgiveness, 97–8, 110, 113, 115, 118 ‘uncovering phase,’ 104–5 undesirable model of forgiveness, 103 unforgiveness, 99 unionism, 44, 80–1 United Council of Churches, 183–4 United Kingdom, 47 unity, 16, 44 Catholicism, theological emphasis on, 141 in Church of Ireland, 84 Unity Pilgrims Initiative, 239 universal Gospel, 86

unworthiness, 18 utilitarian ethos, 38 V values of forgiveness, 98–9, 109 inclusively and, 220–1 moral, 45 of reconciliation, 135 of Reformed Presbyterian Church, 68–9 Vanier, J., 120, 213–14 Vatican II, 183 Vetlesen, A. J., 99 victim, forgiveness of, 113–14 Victims Commission, 106 Victorian moralism, 87–8 violence, forgiveness and, 202–3 visual culture, 28 visual images, 27–8 Volf, M., 234 vulnerability, 125 W Wakefield, G. S., 86 Walsh, M., 163–4 Wand, J. W. C., 78 Watson, S., 71 Weber, M. 10, 20 Wells, R., 7, 239 Wesley, C., 86 Wesley, J., 86, 89 Westminster Confession of Faith (WCF), 47, 54, 61 Evangelical Presbyterian Church, adherence to, 69–70 Free Presbyterian Church, adherence to, 63 in Non-Subscribing Presbyterian Church, rejection of, 72 Presbyterian Church of Ireland and, 55 Presbyterianism, standards in, 47 in Reformed Presbyterian Church, adherence to, 66 Whale, J. S., 14 White, V., 230–1 Whitewell Metropolitan Tabernacle, 233


Index Wilkinson, R., 241 Williams, R., 101–2 Williams, T., 190, 196, 200, 206 Wilson, D., 29, 124 Wink, W., 199 Wolin, S. S., 16 Wonnacott, J., 88 Woodhead, L., 9, 13, 17 Worchel, S., 127 Word of Christ, 38 Word of God, 29 and Bible, interpretation of, 55 in Catholicism, 60, 154–8 conflictual relationship with, 158 interpretations of, 154–5, 157–8 literal meanings of, 158–9 mystery in, 155–8 sacraments and, 154–5 certainty in, 23 concepts of, 23 dangers of, 23 deductive logic of, 23–6, 27, 29 dialectical approach to, 22 humanity in, 25–6 importance of, central, 26 individualism and, 28 inductive logic of, 24–5 judgment in, 27

271

literalism and, 23 logic of, 22–9 meaning in, 23 moral logic of, 28–9 mystery in, 23 in Protestantism, 59–60 interpretations of, 154–5 literal meanings of, 158–9 purity in, 23 salvation in, 26 truth in, 23–4, 27–9, 59 uncertainty in, 23 visual images and, 27–8 see also Scripture work ethics, 22, 52–3 work phase of forgiveness, 104 Working Party on Sectarianism, 180 worldviews, 29 Worrall, S., 7, 182–3 worship, communal, 26 worth, contestations about, 16 worthlessness, 46 Wright, F., 199 Z zeal, 38 zero-sum politics, 191 Zwingli, H., 14–15


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