I’ve just finished a delightful evening with my sister, during which we watched Downton Abbey, a British television series centered around a wealthy but soon-to-be-obsolete aristocratic family in the early 20th century, followed by a relatively recent film adaptation of Jane Austen’s Mansfield Park. As I was indulging in this night of anglophilia, I thought about two things: first, I am really looking forward to my research trip to England this autumn; second, and much more relevant to this blog, I realized that Jane Austen didn’t like church all that much, yet she and her friends and family always attended, because that is simply what one does (enter aristocratic British accent, but a good one, not some terrible Anne Hathaway accent from her recent movie).
And then I thought about the post I wrote last week about atheist priests in Holland, which led me to think about how and why people identify with a particular religion, even if they do not hold some of the most basic tenets of that religion; or, alternatively, believe in a particular religion’s beliefs and doctrines but do not regularly practice them. Now you’re asking yourselves, how in the world did she go from a night of BBC television to religious identity? Answer: because I am incredibly random. You should see rough drafts of my work and pity my friends and colleagues who read them–well, actually, this blog is sort of giving you an idea of that.
Since it’s 1am and I’m a bit tired, I’m going to avoid submitting you or even myself to a Durkheimian analysis, despite the nagging temptation to do so. Instead, I shall offer some thoughts that I had on this topic while putting together last Sunday’s photographic essay, a conversation I had with Ness at Alien Spectacles, and an article I recently read in Commonweal, kindly suggested by my brother-in-law.
Now, back to Jane Austen and how she portrays the vicars–they are often silly, boring, or unintelligent; now, Mansfield Park contradicts this point because the main love interest becomes a parson, who defies the dominant view, voiced by many of the characters in this novel, that all parsons are “stodgy” and unattractive. But this parson’s abilities in his actual job are never developed–he just makes a really great husband for Fanny Price. But it is usually the case that Austen expresses amazement that people continue to fawn over parsons when they can be such idiots (I’m thinking especially of Pride and Prejudice here).
Our atheist priest from Holland in last Tuesday’s posting offers one possible explanation: it’s not about the pastor, it’s about the congregation. His sermons were adapted to meet the needs of his congregation–it was they who created the conversation, not the other way round; and they attended church not to develop a closer relationship with God, but to be part of and identify with a like-minded community to promote such social obligations as neighborliness, universal love, and active service to those in need. This church was about community, both the one created within the church and the ocmmunity that they wanted to create outside of it. Ness–again, who blogs at Alien Spectacles–made a similar point about many Anglicans whom she knows back in her hometown of Sydney. Christianity is just as much about gathering in various church gilds intended to promote the social good as it is about Christ; and while few would fit into the category of “atheist Christian”, they most certainly would not feel compelled to adhere to all theological tenets of the faith.
Commonweal‘s post offers a more extreme example of Christianity as community identity. It posits that the notion of “cultural Christendom,” which is becoming a rallying point for those who want to preserve “Western” ideals, especially against the imagined “incursion” of Islamic ideals. The post argues that when someone identifies with Christianity for this reason, belief in Christ is actually optional. Here is more from the article, offering examples of what is meant by “cultural Christianity”:
One prominent example was the Italian journalist Oriana Fallaci, who spent her last years before her death in 2006 inveighing against a Muslim influx that was turning the continent into what she called “Eurabia.”
Fallaci liked to describe herself as a “Christian atheist” — an interesting turn of phrase — because she thought Christianity provided Europe with a cultural and intellectual bulwark against Islam.
There’s also Scottish-born historian and political conservative Niall Ferguson, who calls himself “an incurable atheist” but is also a vocal champion for restoring Christendom because, as he puts it, there isn’t sufficient “religious resistance” in the West to radical Islam.
Thus the gap between believer and unbeliever in narrowed by some in an attempt to retain a mythical European identity that is tied to a mythical Christianity that is characterized as uniquely Western. The post continues:
The modern-day crusade for Christendom by nonbelievers tends to be rooted in fears about Muslim immigration, but it’s also fueled by worries about the deterioration of European culture — and nostalgia for the continent’s once central place in world affairs.
Indeed, nostalgia is a powerful force in how community is imagined, and it is also what draws many to identify with their Christian community. Returning now to a conversation about Christianity at the local level, I have come to notice that many of my classmates and friends in my hometown have expressed sentiments that can be identified with the town’s evangelical Christianity, even though they do not necessarily attend church regularly or even believe in the theological tenets of the faith. This is not to say that many are not regular practitioners–some are very involved in their local churches. But there are others who are comfortable with the language of local Christianity–with its traditions and the political values that their local religious communities promote, without necessarily knowing or caring much about the whole Christ part of Christianity. They tell you they’ll pray for you when you have a problem, they defend prayer in schools, they are anti-abortion, and anti-enter other faith here, and yet they may not attend church or even tell you exactly what they believe–they are active participants in a particular Christian culture, not necessarily adherents to core doctrines.
I feel like what I’ve just discussed must be very obvious to any of you reading this, but that’s what this blog is about: the taken for granted, those human actions and interactions that are so familiar to us that we often do not see them. I know that it took my departure from my hometown and from the religion in which I was raised to fully see how I have been shaped by that community. I truly hope that you will comment with your own stories or opinions about religious community and identity so that we can continue the conversation.
And to conclude, I leave you with the words of one of my favorite authors, Jane Austen, who has her own take on Christianity, identity, and community:
It will, I believe, be everywhere found, that as the clergy are, or not what they ought to be, so are the rest of the nation—Mansfield Park