This chapter explores some of the possibilities opened up by linking aspects of contemporary Christian theological critiques of domination with critical theory's critiques of domination.

There are three main reasons why Christian theology is relevant to the overall argument of this thesis. Firstly, there is a significant thematic continuity between critical theory and political theologies. Horkheimer recognised this continuity, as evidenced by the quote at the beginning of this chapter. So too did Adorno, who, in the last aphorism in Minima Moralia, wrote in self–consciously theological terms that philosophy could become responsible for guiding people in the living of the correct life through "... the effort to regard all things as the way they would represent themselves from the standpoint of salvation [Erlösung]. Knowledge has no other light than that which shines from salvation on the world; all others exhaust themselves in post facto construction and remain a part of technology" (in Jay, 1973: 177 – 8). Both political theology and critical theory look forward to a better world and implicitly, and often explicitly, criticise the present world. Secondly, Christian theology also thematically joins with critical theory in that both regard many aspects of conventional or secular Weltanschauüngen as ideological illusions, contributing to socially created and maintained limits on what can be perceived by people as possible. Thirdly, this theology is sociologically significant because the theologies to be discussed here are being used by activists throughout the world as theoretical guides for struggles against manifestations of domination. Indeed, liberation theologies cannot be properly understood unless the reflexive connections between theological orthodoxy or ‘right belief’ and theologically mediated social action, ‘orthopraxy’ or ‘right action,’ are also recognised. Further, Christian theology can be understood as an alternative paradigm to secular social theory because it offers its own explanations for human experience, as well as giving grounds for human hope. In its critical form, which is what political and liberation theologies represent, theology has two main tasks:

The actualisation of the eschatological themes in political and liberation theology leads to how political and liberation theologians deal with questions of politics and action.

The political theologies to be discussed in this chapter implicitly, and indeed often explicitly focus on domination. They are oriented to the task of attempting to articulate a theology which is relevant for people struggling for their emancipation from domination. In one sense, they are joining with secular theorists and activists concerned with questions of freedom and domination, but bringing with them distinctive perspectives derived from contemporary Christian political theology. As Matthew Lamb writes:

While not attempting to be comprehensive, this chapter examines some themes in recent Christian political theology, especially political theology developed by Charles Davis, Hans Küng, Johannes Baptist Metz, Jürgen Moltmann, Helmut Peukert, and Rudolf Siebert, and some themes in liberation theology, particularly as developed by José Miguez Bonino, Gustavo Gutierrez, and José Miranda. Key themes in both theological traditions to be considered here are eschatology, the Kingdom of God, the relationship between politics and action in these theologies, violence, humanity’s relationship with the environment, and the role of community in practical theology. The phrase ‘political theology’ is used to refer to politically–oriented theology emerging from North–Western Europe, and the phrase ‘liberation theology’ to refer to politically–oriented theology emerging from Southern America, though the difficulties in making such a distinction are accepted, a distinction nevertheless acknowledged as useful by liberation theologians such as Hugo Assmann, and American commentators on political theologies such as Matthew Lamb (Assmann, 1976: 86 – 97; Lamb, 1982: 54). These political and liberation theologies and theologians evidence a significant ecumenism, so on central points of argument it matters little that, for example, most of the Liberation theologians are Catholics, and, of the political theologians, Metz and Küng are Catholics, while Peukert, Moltmann, and Siebert are Protestants (e.g., Fierro, 1977: 19 – 33). It is not accidental that when they want to discuss the contemporary Western context in which theology is being done, theologians such as Moltmann and Küng turn to critical theory (e.g., Moltmann, 1967: 315; 1977: 107; Küng, 1978: 38 – 51), though there is agreement about the hopelessness and theoretical despair which overtook Adorno, Horkheimer, and Marcuse, to which they propose a reradicalised political theology as a corrective. Siebert and Peukert in particular take up some of the implications of Habermas's critical theory and apply them to theology, implications which will be examined below.

There is nothing especially new or novel about Christian radicalism arising to challenge established forms of domination. Indeed, much of the Bible itself can be interpreted as representing, even exhorting, political and social protest against established orders of domination. The Gospel of Mark, for example, is a favourite for radical exegetes not the least because it was almost certainly the first Gospel written, is probably closest to the original oral and quite possibly earliest written traditions of the early Christians, and "... originally was written to help imperial subjects learn the hard truth about their world and themselves... [Mark’s] is a story by, about, and for those committed to God’s work of justice, compassion, and liberation in the world" (Myers, 1988: 11). Explicitly, as described in Acts, the early Christian community repudiated private property relations in favour of radical communalism (Acts 243–47 & 432–37), a stance which still has enormous relevance today (e.g., Kavanaugh, 1982; Moltmann, 1977: 168 – 176; Berryman, 1987: 63 – 79). The history of Christianity is laden with instances of revolts against established domination manifested in both Church and State, those revolts contributing to the development of modern political practices and institutions, as well as providing a rich lode for contemporary secular and religious radicals. (e.g., Walzer, 1969; Gish, 1970). As writers such as José Miranda, a Mexican Liberation theologian, and Myers demonstrate, rereading the scriptures using modern critical and hermeneutic tools of literary analysis leads directly to an uncovering of the original meanings of the texts which reveals their radical criticisms directed at the society from which they emerged as well as their profound universal criticisms of all existing relations of domination and their yearning for a better world where justice and peace would be normal.

The relevance of theology for a discussion of domination is indicated by the fact that the political theology of Davis, Metz, Moltmann, Peukert, and Siebert, takes up many of the concerns of critical theory and explores and develops them in significant ways. This is of intellectual interest because it would have been initially reasonable to assume that critical theory, as a kind of Marxism, would have been at the very least antithetical to theological discourse which takes as its beginning the existence of God. Many forms of Marxism reject the notion of God, and thence reject theology, dismissing religion as an ideology, though by no means do these forms of Marxism neglect the sociological importance of a faith in God, just as they do not neglect the importance of other ideologies they take to be obstacles to humanity's struggle for maturity, autonomy, and freedom from domination. Critical theorists, especially Theodor Adorno and Herbert Marcuse, largely followed this atheistic tack. The fact that Max Horkheimer, especially towards the end of his life, was explicitly drawn to raise theological issues and indeed asserted that any politics which does not contain a theological moment was mere business, ought not be overlooked even as his closest colleagues, Adorno and Marcuse, always remained true to the atheistic trends in Marxism, though Adorno did briefly use theology–like language near the end of his life. But what Horkheimer was seeking to describe was not so much an explicitly Christian belief in God, but rather the indefatigable human hope that "... this injustice which characterizes the world is not permanent, that injustice will not be the last word" (in Küng, 1978: 491).

The fact that some political theologians are developing their theologies along lines indicated by the work of Jürgen Habermas further relates the two traditions in the theoretical sections of this thesis, if only for intellectual reasons (Siebert, 1976, 1983, 1985; Peukert, 1986).

To be sure, Christianity and major religious institutions have traditionally served to legitimate the status quo far more than challenge it, or more recently sought to become bastions against disturbing social changes wrought by modernity. Religious movements have also been change agents to challenge, and in some cases, overturn relations of domination. This latter role of religion, particularly Christianity, is what radical political as well as Liberation theologians, have emphasised. In many cases, the critiques of domination offered by these theologians have been one–sided, emphasising economic domination manifesting in unjust economic relations to the neglect of the domination of women as producers in so–called Third World economies, or emphasising ethnic domination to the neglect of structural aspects of domination built into the routine workings of their society. Alistair Kee, a British political theologian, has cautioned against grappling with specific instances of domination to the neglect of domination as such. Domination, for Kee, "... has to be understood as an ideology which hides behind accepted values and respected institutions [which] ... runs so deeply that in many cases those who have no intention of dominating nevertheless continue oppression" (Kee, 1986: xi). Kee points to an aspect of domination already mentioned in this thesis. The motives of, say, Western aid workers in so–called Developing countries may be entirely noble, but the ways they might use when helping the locals might correspond with a ‘banking’ conception of education as criticised by Paulo Freire, deflect the people’s attention away from the social, political, and economic roots of their misery, and thus reinforce the domination under which they exist (Freire, 1972). Domination is often obscured, and can be difficult to identify. But the way liberation and political theologians tend to attempt to identify domination and its causes is to join with society’s victims to hear their cries and mediate those cries to others concerned to transform social orders and individuals.

This discussion emphasises the broad, socially directed, political dimensions of the theologies being considered, but both political and liberation theologians also explicitly consider the private, inner, spiritual dimensions of faith and practice. To be sure, the tension between inner spirituality and outward action can itself be a means of reinforcing domination, and not a few Christians traditions emphasise inner spirituality in ways which lend support to established domination, if only by calling on their adherents to avoid political action. In contrast, if domination has existential components to it, and results in malformed personalities, then positing an alternative praxis rooted in more spiritual dimensions of human experience becomes crucial to an holistic approach to the practical critique of domination. The American Jesuit, John Kavanaugh, argues that prayer, as a social and political act, repudiates the insidiousness of materialist and consumerist domination:

The dynamic relationship between inner faith and outward action can be visualised as an endless spiral rather than a simple dialectic, as something of a continuing movement from orthodoxy, or ‘right belief’, to orthopraxy, or ‘right praxis’ or action in and upon the world, and back again (Gutierrez, 1973: 10 – 13). Gustavo Gutierrez, a leading Peruvian Liberation theologian, maintains that spirituality lies at the foundations of theological reflection:

Gutierrez recognises the multi–dimensionality of Christian faith and practice, a multi–dimensionality which the German theologian, Hans Küng, argues is embodied in Jesus. "He determines and influences man's life and conduct, not only externally, but from within. Following Christ means not only information, but formation: not merely a superficial change, but a change of heart and therefore the change of the whole man" (Küng, 1974: 551 – 552). From this position it appears possible to argue that at least one way in which domination can be challenged, perhaps even overturned, is to follow Christ because doing so puts the believer outside the demands of allegiance to any secular ideology or power, and thence necessarily brings the believer into conflict with those ideologies and powers, especially if the unity of belief and practice is accepted as crucial to authentic faith.

A further dimension to political and Liberation theologies ought to be mentioned as well. If critical theory is accurate about its general diagnosis of individuals being squeezed, as it were, into a diminishing space which remains free from being colonised by rationalization, but which is under constant threat of colonisation, that diminishing space ought to be seen as rather crucial because it is here that individuals remain at least partly free from having their ‘selves’ determined by the pressures and requirements of the public world of work and formal organisations (e.g., Habermas, 1984: 70 – 74; 340 – 343; 1987: 332 – 373). Habermas puts the matter this way:

The Christian Church, of whatever major denomination, as a large, bureaucratic, hierarchical, and decidedly patriarchal organisation is prey to rationalization as much as any secular organisation, but the Church, understood as simply a community of believers in Christ, is also viewed by some political theologians as a public space in which explicit intersections between private and public lifeworlds can occur. While not denying the importance of private, individual spirituality and religious experience, political and liberation theologians tend to argue that restricting religion to the private sphere contributes to the rationalization of the private life–world by removing another obstacle to this process. The argument from the system's perspective is that the sphere of morality, values, and religion is irrational and best kept to the private areas of one's life.

Some political theologians argue that communicative action can be rationally justified and thence ought to expand into the public sphere, leading to a deprivatisation of religious experience:

It is the external information and action aspects of this multi–dimensional faith and practice that matter here. One of the modern founders of political theology, the German theologian Johannes Metz, summarises his understanding of political theology this way:

The ‘eschatological message’, to which Metz referred above, is the explicit complexity of Christian eschatology. Approaching eschatology may appear to reverse the linear connection between creation and ‘the end times’. It may appear better to commence by examining what political theologians do with, say, Christian theological concepts of creation, or at least approach political theologies after the style of a systematic theologian. This is not the way political theologians tend to approach their topics and eschatology figures centrally in political theologies (as well as, in a secular–left sense, in critical theory's conception of immanent critique). Indeed, Jürgen Moltmann places Christian eschatology at the centre of his theology of hope, and in so doing, makes explicit connections between politics and Christian theology:

Eschatology is the ‘doctrine of the last things’ and can be simply concerned with the future, such as the future of the individual, the society, the world, or even the cosmos. This forward–looking eschatology usually describes the future in terms of justice, peace, reconciliation between humanity and God, and humanity with humanity. This is the hoped–for, yearned–for, even agonised–for future often described in eschatological theologies. But it has another, and theologically inseparable, concern with the here and now, a realised eschatology personified by Christ (Macquarrie, 1966: 313 – 330). Moltmann claims that the original Greek root, logos, from which comes eschato–logy, refers to a ‘here–now and always’ reality (Moltmann, 1967: 17). While eschatological theology contains many themes, the major theme political theologians tend to emphasise is the explicit judgement made of the present by the realised eschatology of Christ. Moltmann neatly outlines this grounded, existential, and political dimension of Christian eschatology:

Like Christian theology, but lacking its transcendent vertical dimension of humanity's relationship with God, critical theory assumes that a general, historical human interest in emancipation from domination exists, always embedded in the present, momentarily breaking out with vivid clarity, and then obscured. This is significant because it gives critical theory greater purchase for its critiques of contemporary domination. The theory's self–assigned task is to increase the length and depth of the clarity to convince more people to struggle for their freedom, without offering any guarantees that any particular strategy will succeed in achieving their goals. In this sense, critical theory also has an eschatology in that it both critically examines contemporary society, highlighting contradictions between society's ideals and its practice, and looks forward to a future, hopefully better, society. The general approach to critique used by critical theorists, ‘immanent critique’ (e.g., Antonio, 1981), operates by first expressing what a social totality holds itself to be, and then confronting it with what it is in fact becoming (Schroyer, 1975: 30 – 31).

Immanent critique, as a methodological tool, bears a striking resemblance to the Biblical doctrine of the Parousia, the Kingdom of God. Literally translated from the Greek, Parousia means ‘presence’, and refers to the presence of Christ both in the midst of the believers in the Spirit and coming again into human affairs at the end of history. Thus it can also mean ‘here now but not yet’ or ‘here now and yet to come’. "The hope of the parousia brings the historical present of Word and faith into the dynamism of the 'not yet' which thrusts forward to what is ahead" (Moltmann, 1977: 131). At one and the same time, the believer is understood to have entered into the Kingdom at the moment of their conversion to Christianity, ‘born again’, entering a special community of faith in the world here and now. This community also looks forward to the eschatalogical in–breaking of the Kingdom of God into history. The Christian takes up transcendent citizenship in the Kingdom of God by acknowledging Jesus as Lord, an affirmation which repudiates the domination of the powers of this world. Longing for the Kingdom to come is dialectically linked with permanent and irresolute dissatisfaction with the present, a dissatisfaction which contemporary political and Liberation theologians energise into active, theologically and politically informed, praxis (Küng, 1974: 224 – 225). Jürgen Moltmann describes this proleptic immanentness in The Church in the Power of the Spirit:

This conception of the Kingdom as proleptic, anticipating the glory, justice, and peace to come at the end of history, is simultaneously mediated through the community of faith seeking to actualise the Kingdom here and how in the fallen, domination–laden world through resolute action for liberation. This is coupled with the notion of immanentness, prophetically speaking, as it were, from outside history directly into immediate historical experience as a permanent actualising reminder that the present is not the sole boundary for possibilities of human experience, brings considerable energising power to struggles for liberation. Quite literally, while not laying claim to any kind of truth or certainty beyond the assurances of faith in God, those who are energised by the transcendent citizenship of the Kingdom, speak Truth to the power of this world, domination, confident that it shall not have the last word. As much as this relates to the individual brought into confrontation with their God, it also relates to the ways in which society is organised, producing a component in a critique of domination.

A parallel theme running through political theological discussions involves the complex issue of apocalyptic theology. Few political and liberation theologians explicitly discuss apocalyptic theology at any great length, but, theologically, eschatology and apocalyptic theology are inseparably linked insofar as they deal with the ‘last things’ and the means whereby the end of history will be brought about through the final and decisive intervention of God into human history, but also inseparably linked to the permanent judgement of this world. Contemporary usage of the word ‘apocalypse’ and its derivatives connotes a catastrophic event of historic proportions, such as a nuclear war. But apocalypse, coming from the Greek apokalupsis, also refers to a divine revelation. There is a general narrative form followed by both Jewish and Christian apocalyptic literature:

A distinct shift took place in Christian Biblical apocalyptic literature which is evident in later writings in the Bible. Whereas Mark, for example, shared the belief with the first Christians that the end of history could literally occur at any time, though the precise timing was known only to God, later writers, such as the author of the Gospel of John, came to believe that the Christian community was going to persist for some time to come and had to accommodate itself to on–going political and social realities without losing a firm hold on its central radical message. Therefore, the apocalyptic theme of anticipating an imminent end to history, and thence not requiring a theology for sustainable social existence, was expanded to encompass a realised eschatology of the Kingdom of God being both ‘here and now’ and ‘not yet’ or ‘yet to come’, incorporating the judgement of the present world order, its present transformation through the actions of believers in Christ, and the anticipation of its future, final transformation.

Where political and Liberation theologians mention apocalyptic theology, they tend to interpret Biblical apocalypses, such as Daniel, sections of the Gospel of Mark, and the Revelation of John, as radical political tracts intended to provoke resistance to domination rather than as exclusively future–oriented revelations of how God would bring an end to history, to which the readers should respond by patiently awaiting the imminent end of history. American political theologian, Ched Myers, who is deeply influenced by liberation and European political theologians, follows Richard Horsley and John Collins by arguing that Mark’s use of Jewish apocalyptic narrative forms continued the political use of the form found in Daniel, the purpose of which for both Biblical authors:

The Mexican liberation theologian, José Miranda, does not discuss apocalyptic theology at all in either Marx and the Bible (1974) or Marx against The Marxists (1980), but in the latter, he explicitly dismisses apocalyptic theology, with its vivid, and readily misinterpreted, imagery, in favour of eschatology:

The American–based German political theologian, Rudolf Siebert, traces links between Walter Benjamin and Johannes Baptist Metz’s political theology in an ingenious way. Recognising the echoes of Jewish and Christian apocalyptic theology in Marxism’s emphasis on the all–but inevitable and violent transformation of society from a capitalist to a communist mode of production, Siebert notes that, for Benjamin, religion was the eschatological remembrance of the innocent victims of history with the intent of revolutionary praxis (Siebert, 1983: 64). If contemporary secular politics is imbued with nihilism, and if, as Hans Küng argues in Does God Exist? that nihilism cannot be proved and yet is irrefutable, then so too is the antithesis of nihilism, which Küng asserts, is God and all that flows from the existence of God (Küng, 1980: 415 – 424). Siebert also reads Benjamin as arguing along the same general lines, that the thrust of our allegedly nihilistic society is actually towards a form of Messianic Realm because to be entirely true to nihilism would necessarily lead against the absolute institutionalisation of domination, itself impossible because of nihilism’s inherent subversion of legitimation and supposedly permanent structures. Nihilism is also the denial of the innocent victim of history, a denial of the memory of that victim because a nihilist would argue that their death was meaningless. Metz takes up the role of the memory of the innocent victim and uses it as a basis to argue that the Church should actualise the memory of Jesus:

This memory is an apocalyptic memory or, as Siebert describes it, an ‘apocalyptic consciousness’ because Metz, together with Benjamin, sought to critique contemporary society’s view of time as an "... empty infinitude, the Hegelian ‘bad infinity’" (Siebert, 1983: 93). The tendency in modern society is to manage time, to predict events, and explain the inexplicable by reference to its own legitimation categories, and thence the innocent victims of history, and their tormenting memory, are swept aside and consigned to historical oblivion, or, perhaps worse, their torment is selectively recalled to legitimate current social practices. This is also what Marcuse is criticising in One–Dimensional Man (Marcuse, 1964: 98 – 99). In contrast,

The relevance of this discussion of the role of memory in the context of an exploration of political theological positions on domination is to point to the possibility that one of the effects of domination is to deprecate people’s authentic memory and replace it with a ‘memory’ which is congruent with the aims of deploying domination in particular situations. Political theologians, and, to a lesser extent, critical theorists, seek to replace that manufactured memory with an authentic memory derived from the lived experiences of people in society.

Helmut Peukert helps explain why political and liberation theologians apparently deprecate apocalyptic themes to emphasise eschatological themes. In part, Jewish apocalyptic literature arose in pre–Christian times as the People of God underwent fearsome persecutions by invaders such as the Syrians. To try to explain to themselves why a God who was supposed to be prejudiced towards them and supposed to be eternally working for justice nevertheless allowed His people to suffer so unjustly and terribly, the Hebrews developed, firstly, an apocalyptic vision the key theme of which was the hope that Hebrew innocent dead would arise at the end of history. Later, the vision was extended to include God’s justice being visited upon all, with the just being saved and the unjust consigned to hell. In the New Testament, while Jesus took upon himself the traditions of Judaism, he emphasised the immanence of the Parousia and the restoration of God’s damaged creation. Peukert reads Jesus as overturning earlier apocalyptic traditions and expectations because he did not engage in pietistic withdrawal, like the Essenes, or guerilla warfare, like the Zealots, or collaboration with the invaders, like the Priests, or ritual purification, like the Pietistic faction in the Temple. Rather, as the Gospels amply relate, Jesus was gregarious, moving widely through his society, healing the sick, mixing with outcasts, preaching repentance and the Kingdom, and admonishing the unjust.

The point of this discussion is to briefly indicate that contemporary political theology is concerned to both redress the distortion of humanity's interactions with nature wrought by misguided, indeed ideologically loaded as well as anthropocentrically arrogant, uses of biblical texts to legitimate human domination of nature, and indicate the way towards a theologically literate environmental theology which is both Christian and critical. What Christians who take this emerging environmental theology seriously would do is an open question, but it is clear that humanity's interactions with nature have to change. It seems perfectly congruent with a committed Christian political perspective for Christians to act in the world to protect the environment from human depredations, because it is God's creation, because humans are supposed to be stewards of it under God, and because human domination of nature contributes so much to reinforcing and extending domination and distorting what Christians take to be humanity's right relationship with itself under God.

As noted earlier, it may have been more appropriate to commence a discussion of contemporary political theologies by briefly examining how some political theologians approach the creation, and with humanity's relations with nature, understood theologically as God's creation. But, as has been shown, political theological eschatology puts ‘the last things’ first and at the centre of Christian hope, action and suffering. Nevertheless, if only because they offer a refutation of centuries of allegedly biblically legitimated human domination of nature, as well as connecting with contemporary political concern with the environment, mention of how political theologians understand humanity’s interaction with nature will be made here. Also, as Horkheimer and Adorno essentially argued in Dialectic of Enlightenment, the basis of humanity’s domination of itself lay in humanity’s desire to dominate nature, firstly through myth and religion, and then through art and science (Adorno & Horkheimer, 1973; Leiss, 1972; 1990: 74 – 85).

Political theologians have sought to specifically address alleged biblical legitimation for humanity’s wholesale domination of nature.

From the general perspective of political theologians, here is no scriptural basis whatsoever to argue that God legitimates humanity's wholesale domination of nature in a way analogous to a builder turning a completed dwelling over to an owner, leaving the owner to do what they like with the dwelling. Rather, the Biblical relationship between humanity and nature under God as described in Genesis 215 is analogous to that of a custodial steward or, as Moltmann puts it, a gardener:

It is important to note here that Christians are not called upon to do nothing in the garden of which they are stewards. It would be an irresponsible steward who left their master’s property to degenerate. Stewardship is not a mandate for wholesale exploitation and destruction. Theological literacy couples biblically–grounded ethics with human actions in and on the world, and it is for Christians who take those ethical standards seriously to develop for themselves their approach to nature.

This necessarily leads to a consideration of the relationship between the environment and economics because use of the environment forms the basis for economic relations between people. Jürgen Moltmann recognises the connections between the contemporary capitalist ethos, the domination of some people by others, human domination of nature, and the environmental crisis and argues that the connections mean that Christians must break with economic values and practices considered routine in modern so–called developed society.

Because those social groupings seeking to dominate other people required some sort of religious legitimation for their activities, the general perversion of a Biblical view of humanity's relationship with nature as one of domination was required, duly developed, and promulgated. To be sure, as demonstrated by creation spirituality represented in the work of rather unorthodox Catholic theologian, Matthew Fox, a more ecologically sustainable view of humanity’s relations with nature has also been a feature of rather unregarded Christian theology (Fox, 1983)

Nevertheless, the mainstream view of humanity’s God–given right to dominate nature tended to hold sway well into the present century, until it was no longer required because secularisation had supplanted religion as a major legitimating and social stabilisation force. At the same time, the initial hope of the Enlightenment, that through reason humanity would be freed from domination required the provision of material products in sufficient quantities to free humanity from enslavement to capricious nature, was steadily transformed into the manipulation of desires and needs under an environmentally devastating capitalistic mode of production. It also ought not be overlooked that ‘communism in practice’ has contributed to massive ecological destruction, leading to a view of environmental degradation as transcending modes of production and finding its explanation somewhere other than particular economic or social systems. No regime, mode of production, or ideology has a monopoly on environmental destruction. As this process escalates, domination of both human internal nature and external nature in the form of the exploited natural world could lead to what Horkheimer called a ‘revolt of nature’ in which inner nature, largely assumed to yearn for emancipation from domination (Horkheimer, 1974) and external nature in the form of an environmental crisis – on which Horkheimer never wrote – reacted against technological domination to bring the whole works undone.

Marcuse, as was mentioned in the previous chapter, did briefly address humanity's relationship with nature in the context of discussing aesthetic reduction at the end of One–Dimensional Man (1964: 239 – 246). Though he is not explicit about the matter, Marcuse can be read as suggesting that if humanity were to deal with nature with more genuine respect, its liberation could be achieved along with greater human freedom. His views run parallel with what Moltmann earlier described as a biblical view of humanity's relations with nature:

William Leiss drew Horkheimer's conception of a ‘revolt of nature’ together with the environmental crisis to argue that:

For Jürgen Habermas, the ecological crisis constitutes one of a series of crisis tendencies in advanced capitalist societies to which such societies cannot adequately respond without violating their own logic (Habermas, 1976: 41 – 43). More recently, he argued that social movements concerned with environmental problems are reacting to obvious tangible environmental problems which he described as "... developments that noticeably affect the organic foundations of the lifeworld and make us drastically aware of the standards of livability, of inflexible limits to the deprivation of sensual–aesthetic background needs" (Habermas, 1987: 394).

Political theologians such as Moltmann, and more contemplative theologians such as the American Catholic, Matthew Fox, are issuing strong correctives to traditional Western theological and secular views of humanity's relations with nature which find significant support from so–called ‘new paradigm’ science which stresses ecological interconnectedness (Fox, 1983). Creation, no longer in the pristine condition allegorically described in Genesis, is yearning for itself to be reconciled once more with the Creator. As Moltmann puts it:

Christians who take environmental theology seriously would look to their own lifestyles, and the connections between their own lifestyles, global poverty, and environmental destruction. There is much to recommend what has been called an ‘intentionally simple lifestyle’ in a country like Australia, where we have the luxury of being able to simplify our lives to renounce many aspects of what has been called the dominant ‘Commodity Form’ of consumerism with its attendant environmentally destructive practices (e.g., Kavanaugh, 1982; Gill, 1989).

It is also important to understand how political theologians understand politics. The modern understanding of 'political' and 'politics' relates to a much broader terrain of experience and action than obtained prior to the Enlightenment, politics being now concerned with how societies grapple with problems, decide between alternative courses of action to address those problems, and, as strongly implied by Weber, politics is "... the process which ceaselessly aims at forming, developing, obstructing, shifting or overturning the relationships of domination" (Freund, 1972: 221). Given the general diagnosis of, particularly, crisis–ridden Western civilisation offered by the critical theorists, both theologians and critical theorists are confronted by the problem of how the 'false' consciousness of society can be broken through and transformed into 'true' consciousness. While critical theory still grapples with the problem of how to rationally assert this ‘true’ consciousness over against society's ‘false’ consciousness,

Setting to one side the traditions, history, and institutionalisation associated with the sociological understanding of ‘the Church’, while acknowledging that this could be interpreted as a problematic stance to take because it could be falling prey to precisely the same anamnesis which both critical theorists and political theologians reject, asserting that the Church, understood here simply as a community of believers in Christ, ought to have a political role in society, or that believers ought to act politically in the world is one thing. From the point of view of political and Liberation theologians, that matter is no longer open to debate. Metz notes that the history of Christianity is burdened with instances of exhortations to support various immediate political persuasions or dogmas, and he would not add to them. Rather, he writes, "Living in accord with the promise of peace and justice implies an ever–renewed, ever–changing work in the 'now' of our historical existence. This brings us, forces us, to an ever–renewed, critical, liberating position in the face of the extant conditions of the society in which we live" (Metz, 1969: 114). The role of the Christian, according to these theologians is to constantly proclaim to the powers of this world: "No, not far enough, not good enough by half!"

The political implication of most political and liberation theologies lead towards some sort of Christian socialism, perhaps even anarchism or communism. Nevertheless, even though they point towards economic redistribution and equity, human rights, absolute justice, and peace, Christianity's indefatigable opposition to the powers of this world which always fall short of God's absolute standards of justice and freedom makes Christian political theology permanently critical of human ideologies.

One solution to the problem of authentic Christian political action is withdrawal from the world, often coupled with some sort of Manichaeist or dualist interpretation of scripture which separates ‘the saved’ or ‘the righteous’ from the fallen, evil world, and helps create Christian enclaves or ghettos. That this is unacceptable is demonstrated by the fact that despite the very high likelihood that Jesus knew the Essenes and at least something of their teachings, he did not join their pietistic community to await the final battle between Light and Darkness. Another solution is to engage in politics and run the risks of co–optation, compromise, and political containment and thence fall prey to the corruption and pragmatism which typifies so much modern politics. Participation in secular political parties usually requires disciplined allegiance to the Party platform and practice, something which Christians can find difficult to give because their ultimate allegiance is to Christ who fundamentally challenges all secular relations of domination as falling short of the Kingdom’s standards. From the point of view of a secular party cadre, Christians cannot be trusted. Christians also cannot be trusted because, if the political theologians are right, they ought not readily to subject themselves to rationalised or scientised politics, which is what politics has largely become in contemporary society. Horkheimer was accurate when he wrote that a politics lacking a theological moment was mere business. A third solution is outright resistance, ranging from passive, quiet, unobtrusive acts of disaffiliation from mainstream politics, even through prayer, through to engaging in guerilla warfare. All the foregoing, and many combinations of them, have been attempted by Christians seeking to act politically in and on the world.

Hans Küng and Jürgen Moltmann certainly offer some practical suggestions on areas where Christians can attempt to act politically in and on the world, as Küng describes them at the end of On Being a Christian (Küng, 1974: 590 – 602), and Moltmann, while by no means neglecting the connections between economics, politics, and, society, argues that Christians

Küng and Moltmann both stress the bounded historical and social circumstances which will determine what specific issues and concerns are taken up by politically active Christians, and emphasise that nobody should criticise what one group of Christians do from a distance and without acute sensitivity to that specific context. What they agree upon is not so much the specificity of Christian political action, but the distinctiveness which ought to inform Christian political action. Arguing for human rights, which directly challenges more extreme aspects of domination in which powerful groups explicitly maintain that opponents to their domination can be physically and mentally violated, or disposed of like inconvenient animals, is a central position worthy of Christian action. Specifically, in the context of justifying human rights as a proper concern for Christian political action, Moltmann writes that:

More widely, Küng argues that it is not so much the specific issues or the concerns which a Christian takes up, but much more important are the distinctive ethical perspectives that a Christian brings to whatever issue or concern they take up, irrespective of its delineation as a political, cultural, or economic concern. From a biblical perspective, the Bible does not offer much specific guidance on many contemporary questions, so it becomes the distinctiveness of the Christian ethical perspective which offers guidance on what concerns to take up and how to act with respect to them:

One important point needs to be added to Christian political action, even more important because Christians worship someone who was executed by an imperialist occupying power as a result of a conspiracy hatched between collaborationist and pious factions of his own religious elite. Setting aside the important point of whether or not the example of Jesus legitimates Christian nonviolent or violent resistance, which raises precisely the same moral dilemmas as are faced by critical theorists seeking to validate their theory in action, the role of suffering in Christian political action needs brief attention.

Because action against domination can lead to suffering, and indeed domination itself can be associated with suffering, it is important to see how political theologians attempt to explain suffering, especially unmerited suffering by the innocent victim.

If Christ resurrected gives forth the energising eschatological hope which empowers Christian political action, then Christ crucified adds to that hope as well because Christ leads the people: Jesus has already suffered, and so the followers of Christ are bound to suffer as well if they go about doing God's business of bringing liberation. This is not a pious suffering of private denial: it is a public, costly, even deadly suffering with and on behalf of those for whom God expresses a most extreme partiality: the poor, the outcasts, the handicapped, society's dispossessed, ignored, and dominated. This is not a suffering alone, for the Christian community sustains and supports itself as its members do God's work: "It is a question for the whole fellowship whether the deepest suffering of the forsaken world is experienced and finds expression in it, together with the present realization of Christ's self–giving..." (Moltmann, 1977: 97).

Helmut Peukert advances a thesis on suffering which actually draws together key themes in much political theology as well as critical theory:

Communicative action, for Peukert, is the same kind of human experience as Habermas may be groping towards with his theory of communicative action (Habermas, 1984 & 1987) which goes well beyond speech acts which, so the earlier Habermas argued, contained at least something of at least a germ of genuine emancipatory potential. Solidarity refers to the intimate solidarity with others that giving up one's own life for them implies, and there are ample historical examples of such a profound solidarity, even without taking account of the solidarity with and for the world evidenced by Jesus crucified. Set in the overall context of Peukert's political theology, this solidarity with and suffering for others even unto death annihilates the attempt to remove the innocent victim from history which the persecutors seek to achieve. Peukert writes that as those who suffer in solidarity with the other anticipate their own deaths, they are brought into a reality which he calls ‘God’, which is identifiable and nameable. At this acute level of communicative action, "... I obtain the possibility of my own identity in an experience approaching unto death" (Peukert, 1986: 235). This is only conceivable, Peukert continues, in the light of the divine revelation of God in the Bible, and the absolute solidarity with humanity demonstrated therein. Couple this with the eschatological themes outlined earlier, belief in the resurrection of Jesus, the Kingdom of God, and Küng's assertion that Christian belief is verified through Christian practice, and the implications of suffering for Christian political action are made clear:

On the question of suffering, critical theory is silent beyond acknowledging that human existence is burdened with suffering, and this silence can only be corrected by reference to a theologically–informed critical theory. All the major critical theorists can offer is remembrance, almost protecting the memory of those who have suffered against instrumental reason’s tendency to selectively ransack that memory for its own purposes. Advocating praxis is all very well, but praxis in the sense advocated by critical theory necessarily must confront the human dimensions of struggle at some point. It must attempt to add meaning to the sometimes awesome costs of radical action which can defy individual capacities for comprehension and endurance. It must almost provide consolation, and certainly explanation, and this it cannot do unless linked with theological categories of suffering.

Habermas, for example, in the context of concluding his discussion of ‘Morality and Ethical Life’ asks rhetorical questions which, he writes, flow from the self–limitation of every non–metaphysical point of view.

Habermas then inserts a footnote pointing to Peukert’s Science, Action, and Fundamental Theology. He continues to argue that, in his view, moral theory should explain and ground the moral point of view, and moral theory can clarify the universal core of humanity’s moral intuitions and thus refute value scepticism, but "What it cannot do is make any kind of substantive contributions" (Habermas, 1990: 211). The point to note is that, without any qualification, Habermas points readers to a political theologian’s interpretation of and development upon his theory of communicative action. It may be dangerous to assume anything beyond the fact that Habermas is aware of this work, but, perhaps, he is aware that, coming from a theological rather than a philosophical perspective, some responses to his position are possible. He goes on to say that moral theory can guide the ways in which people could address moral–practical issues, but that the historical and social sciences can provide greater practical guidance than moral theory as they do so.

Emphasis on the question and experience of suffering is itself a major theme in political theologies, as has already been implicitly mentioned. Matthew Lamb, for example, argues for what he calls agapic praxis as a corrective to either apathetic resignation or heroic recrimination as human responses to the appalling domination of this world. Agapic comes from the Greek word agape which refers to ‘self–transcending love’.

The major way in which this agapic love is worked out in practice is through the Christian community.

This political theology bears directly on questions of domination and liberation, oppression and freedom, and brings a unique perspective to the critique of domination which is only beginning to be heeded by secular critical theorists. Some political theologians explicitly draw on critical theory, partly because critical theoretical analyses of threats to freedom inform political theological critiques of the world, and partly through a mutually informing dialogue between Christians and secular social critics. As Peukert has already indicated, some political theologians are explicitly taking up recent critical theory to develop their own theologies, and in so doing, are seeking to overcome some of the problems faced by critical theorists attempting to develop a rational, morally justifiable, and effective critical theory of society.

The ‘here–nowness’ of the Kingdom embraces the concept of a community, the People of God, into which the individual enters. The metaphor is one of rebirth in which the self dies to this fallen world and is reborn spiritually into the community of faith. The individual becomes part of this collectivity, draws strength from the community, is sustained by it, and through participation in it strengthens the whole. The individual is not alone, and thence entirely subject to the dehumanisation of rationalization, but part of a nurturing group equally rejecting the cloying encroachments of the rationalising world. Davis draws attention to this community aspect of lived faith when he writes that:

Being part of a community means that the individual's memory is strengthened and affirmed by others in the group and both individual memory and collective memory are rooted in a tradition and a lived experience which stands over against the reworkings of history required by the society which demands that its view of history is the only one. Moltmann, whose Church in the Power of the Spirit is largely focused on precisely this point, maintains that memory rooted in tradition helps place immediate events in historical perspective and anchors the individual and the community in a view of history and the future which is not determined by the present world order. The eschatological component, embraced even by critical theory with its orientation towards a human future free of domination, must be maintained for, as Moltmann writes, quoting Daniel Reisman,

Religious language and political language intersect when political language starts making open–ended ‘utopian’ claims for liberation as the goal of human progress and evolution, or makes ‘impossible demands’ for reconciliation between humanity and nature, and between human beings. Habermas asserted in his inaugural Frankfurt lecture in 1965, "What raises us out of nature is the only thing we can know: language. Through its structure, autonomy and responsibility are posited for us. Our first sentence expresses unequivocally the intention of universal and unconstrained consensus" (Habermas, 1971: 314). From this assertion, he developed, firstly, his theory of communicative competence, and then his theory of communicative action. One of the central threads running through these theories is a concern, not only with specific speech acts as such, but with discourse, and action. For Habermas, "... the goal of critical theory – a form of life free from unnecessary domination in all its forms – is inherent in the notion of truth; it is anticipated in every act of communication" (McCarthy, 1978: 273). McCarthy’s view of domination as Habermas understands it reiterates a point made by Marcuse in the first of his Five Lectures and cited in the last chapter to the effect that domination cannot ever wholly be removed, but it can be reduced "... to a rational division of labor and experience" (Marcuse, 1970: 2).

Attention to religious language, and language itself, in the context of a discussion of emancipation and domination, also leads to a recognition of the domination inherent in an exclusively masculine conception of God. Notice how this entire chapter, and indeed this entire thesis, has specifically avoided using gender specific language except when male or female pronouns and nouns were specifically required. While indicating sensitivity to the exclusion of women implied by gender–specific language, it also focuses attention on one important aspect of language and associated symbols in the context of domination and liberation. It also indicates that, while no specific mention is made of them here, I am well aware of various contemporary feminist and feminist–political theologies which add to many of the political theologies a distinctive feminist perspective which, at the very least, serves as a corrective to unconsciously masculine conceptions of God, and all that flow from them theologically, sociologically, and practically (e.g., Davis, 1980: 10 – 11; Kee, 1986: 1 – 29; Russell, 1975).

For Weber and the critical theorists, a constant theme was the failure of earlier, religiously–informed, worldviews, and their replacement by allegedly rational, non–transcendent, non–metaphysical, supposedly scientific criteria for human action and interaction in, with, and on the world. As the young Horkheimer wrote, while still very much influenced by Marx's criticisms of religion and Christianity:

While acknowledging religion's role as protest against that which is and pointing to that which could be, Horkheimer argues that because "Christianity [has] lost its function of expressing the ideal, to the extent that it became the bed–fellow of the state" (Horkheimer, 1972: 129), the ideal of perfect justice proposed by Christianity becomes an illusion. If the Church started to take its ideal of justice seriously, it would immediately realise that its complicity with the domination–laden status quo had to end.

Horkheimer here is not so much rejecting religion and Christianity as such but expressing a profound sense of pessimism about the possibilities for justice and liberation which he correctly interpreted as a central tenet of the biblical message. He also seems to be lamenting the absence of the Church in the vanguard of the struggle against domination rather than arguing that intrinsic to Christianity is an eager and fundamentally necessary accommodation between Church and domination manifesting in the status quo. Horkheimer, to be sure, overlooks the many instances of Christian resistance to domination throughout history, and even contemporary with the Frankfurt School as it faced the rise of Nazism. The Confessing Church in Nazi Germany was just one important example of Christian resistance to the state and evil regimes. Yet, theology, for Horkheimer near the end of his life,

Horkheimer's rejection of the traditional conception of God was really a stumbling over the tormenting problem of theodicy. If God exists and is omnipotent and omniscient, then why do domination and evil exist and persist apparently without respite?

In attempting to address this very question the Yahwist inserted Genesis 3 into the Torah manuscript, eventually giving rise to the Church's traditional doctrines of the Fall, allowing for a wholly just and omnipotent God over against almost irredeemably evil humanity, making sin and evil all humanity's fault. Specifically, as for Adorno as well – recall his aphorism that "To write poetry after Auschwitz is barbaric" (in Jay, 1984: 19) – the revelations of the horrors perpetrated by Stalinism and Nazism, coupled with the ascendancy of post–war instrumental reason, contributed much to Horkheimer's pessimism and indeed his theoretical despair, reflected in the progressive distancing of Adorno and Horkheimer's critical theory from any conception of practice. As Charles Davis summarises Horkheimer's position:

From a modern theologian's point of view, theodicy raises other problems, notably that it requires the application of reason to a problem which defies such an application. Theology which cannot address this question, and in general which cannot account for hope and the possibility of liberation in the midst of the present, is no longer theology. If God does not exist, or is seen as eternally indifferent to human concerns, then there appears no reason to infer God's partiality for either hope or despair. Without hope, there can be little left except hopelessness and, finally, nothing but nihilistic despair.

This is why consolation should be an element in a critical theory because, in the midst of oppression, failure, and betrayal, explanations for the darker sides of human experience need to be offered, otherwise suffering, struggle, and pain are finally meaningless. Authenticity in this context must mean capitulation to domination, the precise trap which finally caught Max Weber because he could not conceive of any extra–historical sources of ethical or religious guidance for human action which did not require the repudiation of his standards of substantive rationality. From a theological view, especially that of a modern political theologian such as Jürgen Moltmann, theology, particularly in its eschatological moments which embrace indefatigable hope for the future, provides both a criticism of the present and a looking–forward to the future to come:

Habermas starts out from a similar perspective to that of Horkheimer and Adorno in their most atheistic moments, arguing in Legitimation Crisis that the traditional, religion–influenced world–views have had their persuasive power and influence removed for all practical purposes by rationalization and its consequences for legitimation of the status quo through recourse to non–normative, non–communicative categories. Traditional religious explanations of many parts of the cosmos have been discredited in the light of current scientific knowledge (Habermas, 1976: 75 – 92). Humanity has to ‘live disconsolately’ with the realities of the current human condition which are "... irremovably attached to the bodily and moral constitution of the individual" (Habermas, 1976: 120). Habermas can be read as seeking to incorporate the allegedly superseded libratory trends in religion into his theory of communication free from domination. But, doing what Habermas attempts to do must result in historical amnesia with respect to past struggles and injustices, unless he leaves his lofty theoretical position and attempts to ground his theory in the world. At least Horkheimer recognised that, even if a better society were to develop, "... there will be no compensation for the wretchedness of past ages ..." which would necessarily limit the institution of some ideal of justice (Horkheimer, 1972: 130). To deny, or at least deprecate, past injustices is to negate the human capacity for individual and historical memory, and all that flows from them.

Habermas seems not even to allow for remembrance of the death of a loved individual. During life, an individual's relationship with the loved one has been mutually satisfying and enriching, communicative action at its most intimate and potent. A death denies the possibility of continuation and confronts the grieving individual with a permanent cosmic mystery which has baffled humans for as long as there have been conscious humans. Habermas also seems to neglect the psychological benefits of proper grief and grieving. The only explanation able to go beyond Habermas's essential disconsolate denial of, or capitulation to, death is to argue for the existence of God:

In one important sense, Rudolf Siebert's The Critical Theory of Religion is also a grappling with the problem of theodicy at one of its most potent, intimate, and personally painful levels. Throughout the book, Siebert returns to the death of his wife from cancer, and weaves this personal tragedy into the narrative as a most moving grounding for the otherwise highly technical theological narrative he develops. Clearly, writing the book, parts of which he readily acknowledges arose from discussions with his wife, was part of Siebert's personal grieving process as he came to terms with his loss, and also in coming to terms with his loss, he attempted to make theological sense of it. At the end of the book, after describing his wife's death, Siebert writes:

Siebert's conclusion, echoing Horkheimer's final assertion that theology is the resolute belief that the murderer will not triumph over their victim, is to propose both a theory of religion and a radical political theology, the former embracing a recognition of how and why domination distorts human potentialities and proposing praxes which might overcome these distortions even in the face of paradoxes of unconditionality and annihilation, and the latter rooted in what Horkheimer's metaphor indicates a yearning for, the Judaeo–Christian prophetic and messianic agonising for absolute justice. The murderers and victims have to be recognised for who they are, and a clear line of recognition established between them in history and in contemporary situations. Not only that, the radical political theology Siebert proposes requires a radical engagement in history:

Johannes Baptist Metz's discussion of remembrance is important here because Metz emphasises the energising power of genuine remembrance by often quoting a passage from Marcuse's One–Dimensional Man in his theological writings:

At this point in One–Dimensional Man, Marcuse is arguing that one of the effects of instrumental rationality is to require the selective manipulation of society's, and thence individual, remembrances. Remove those memories, and individuals begin to feel less tormented by possibilities of being and doing which are denied by their society. Freedom ceases to become the whole point of the West (c.f., Ellul, 1978), and freedom, and the memory of freedom in many dimensions as a possibility, is suppressed along with the histories of struggles for freedom which could serve to inform the present.

But such a society would not be boring. Outside of the sphere of the workplace, technologized leisure would be available to ensure that citizens are not bored, but neither would they be tormented by their memories of freedom once sought–for but now reduced to freedom to choose only between manufactured, processed, managed alternatives. Christianity becomes a crucial part of the West's memory, a way of remembering that the one–dimensional present need not triumph. On a personal level,

On a social level, Metz argues that the Church's memory of Christ's utter partiality for the oppressed ought to make Christians dangerous because theirs is a memory which ought not be contained by the powers of any given age but which looks to a radically different eschatology and ontology than that of the current age:

It should also be recalled that a political theological understanding of suffering also grapples with this problem of theodicy. Indeed, this issue is central to the political theology of Peukert, Lamb, and Siebert because all emphasise the acute solidarity with the victims of history evidenced by Jesus. While Siebert grieves for his wife and uses her innocent suffering and death as a springboard for a deeper theological understanding of communicative action, Peukert, as we have seen, argues that Christian suffering can only make sense when the existence of God is assumed (Peukert, 1986: 234 – 236). Assuming this is necessarily to remember the Judaeo–Christian tradition from whence much of the basis of the West's original understanding of freedom derives.

What Peukert proposes is a ‘fundamental theology’. In contrast to the crude fundamentalism popularly associated with so–called ‘fundamentalists’, who assert their fundamentalism through claims to having uncovered the foundational meanings of Biblical texts unmediated through any exegetical, historical, or even theological scholarship, Peukert's fundamentalism is fundamental because he claims, in line with Habermas's claims, that basic to human interaction are norms which presuppose human interests in freedom and truth. Incidentally, all political and Liberation theologians are first and foremost biblical exegetes, rooting their theology directly and firmly in scriptural exegesis; they are seeking to be true to their texts. At the same time, many are social activists, seeking to live out the implications of their theologies. Among the Liberation theologians, José Miranda is the most rigorous exegete. In this sense, the political and Liberation theologians are truly fundamental. Linking Metz's conception of the role of memory with his thesis on suffering cited earlier leads Peukert to a fundamental theology of communicative action:

In line with general theoretical requirements of universal applicability, and intersubjective verifiability, Peukert does not neglect the relationship between his fundamental theology as theology, and fundamental theology as also embracing a theory of society, which is also, to be sure, the central point of Habermas's theory of communicative action. As Habermas points out, the antithesis of communicative action, which can be succinctly described as instrumental or strategic action (Habermas, 1984: 273 – 337), violates the assumed human interests in free and undistorted communication, and thence, through processes of socialisation and rationalization, insinuates itself into the social and individual life–worlds where it circumscribes human recollection of, possibilities for, and experiences of, freedom from domination. Necessarily, as Weber, Horkheimer, and many other commentators have argued from their widely differing perspectives, this is death to a properly understood Christian theology, so laden with immanent, proleptic, prophetic, eschatological, and critical components. In proposing a fundamental theology rooted in categories of communicative action, Peukert argues that:

Clearly, the relevance of political theologies for contemporary critiques of domination lies in their absolute refusal to be contained within exclusively secular discourses on what constitutes communicative action, and their discussions of what amount to critical methodologies of doing and justifying freedom, and not just thinking about it. But there is still more to this debate between political theologians and critical theorists.

Important to the creation and nurturing of the ‘alternative memory’ of the Christian community is the role of narrative discourse, or story, in a renewed political Christian theology. Narrative discourse can be understood as a paradigm of what Habermas is developing with his communicative competence theory. The traditional role of the storyteller was to be the keeper of a society's memory, traditions, and history, relating them to each generation in the form of parables, tales, myths, and oral traditions so that they would not be lost, and with them the identity of the society. Embedded within traditional storytelling was the core tradition which a given story illustrated, provided the audience was able to disinter or properly interpret the central meaning of the story hidden in the details. If the audience misunderstood the story, or was not culturally equipped to interpret the story properly, then it became merely entertaining. Looked at from a modern angle, many so–called ‘fairy tales’ loved by children are only entertainment. But if read from the perspective of the original hearers of the tales when they were a vital part of a society's oral tradition, many turn out to be profoundly radical critiques of society. Many stories are revolutionary messages circulated underground to politically educate the people and highlight social contradictions which could be overthrown once enough people realised, to cite just one of these tales, the Emperor had no clothes and that even a child could see it because the child could see what the adults could not or refused to see. More formally, the partially socialised child's consciousness was not occluded by internalised beliefs or ideologies.

Storytelling often had a religious component to it, especially if the story or parable was describing a mystery such as death. The parables of Jesus as recorded in the Gospels invariably contain at least three components. They begin with a situation which any first century Christian or Hebrew would have known well, meeting a tax collector, a prostitute, a priest, or death, sickness, or mental illness. Then Jesus shatters the routineness using some device or other, opening the way to interpretation leading to either dismissing the deeper message or greater understanding of the mystery to which the story points. Those who could hear what Jesus was saying could understand the core message in the parable.

Then, by connecting narrative and story with wider concerns in politics, Jesus leads us towards seeing some, but by no means all, stories as ways of keeping traditions and commitments alive as ethically informed ‘liberated spaces’ embedded in contemporary society in which statements are made about ends over against means, possibilities over against drab actualities, and, as was stated in Chapter Three, a way of pitting alternative epistemologies, ontologies, and teleologies against those of the established society, not only as places where faith may be nurtured, but where action in the world can be prepared for, initiated, and reflected upon. It should not be surprising that there are clear links between the early Church as reported in Acts, periodic attempts at revolutionary communality in certain monastic and lay movements, and Marxist visions of communes and communal ownership and control of property, all interpretable as attempts by participants to challenge prevailing ways of organising human society. Within these ‘liberated spaces’, experiments are conducted into other ways of thinking and talking about human purposes and potentials. Moltmann makes an explicit parallel between Habermas' earlier notions of communication free from domination and the potential inherent in considering a Christian community as a ‘liberated zone’ or a ‘derestricted area’ though this notion of ‘fraternity’, of itself, would not go far enough:

Religious language adds a transcendent component to Habermas' communicative competence theory. In one sense, to be sure, even nuclear strategic literature can be described as using religious language because it grapples with eschatology, at least in historical terms, in that actualised nuclear strategy would represent the ‘end times’ or ‘last things’ for millions of people. Religious words, such as ‘apocalypse,’ which means divine revelation, are often used in the same context as nuclear warfare is discussed, though clearly not with their authentic meanings.

Drawing some of the themes in this section together, it can be argued that while critical theoretical attempts at uncovering emancipatory truths, beginning with language and moving towards communicative action contain important insights, certain dimensions of human experience, especially suffering, death, and the memory of these experiences, appear to slip through the theory. Either people have to live without consolation in the light of past injustice, and experiences such as loneliness sickness, and death (Habermas, 1976: 120), or, through radical engagement, dialogue, and solidarity with, and for, others engaged in action for freedom, develop a communicative, genuinely fundamental, and political theory and theology which allows for these areas of human experience and offers explanations and consolation (e.g., Myers, 1988: 454 – 457).

Through applying elements of critique to their own theological reflections, Latin American theologians developed a radical theology labelled liberation theology. Rather than a pietistic theology created in the quiet of seminaries, liberation theology was created in situations steeped in centuries of colonial and neo–colonial Christianity riddled with endemic injustice and murderous militarised regimes, often armed and aided by so–called developed world governments.

Liberation theology and recent German political theology, and Protestant and Catholic grassroots praxis, are very close, but it would be making far too much of the similarities to argue that they are identical for practical purposes. Alfredo Fierro, a Spanish commentator on contemporary political theologies, nevertheless stresses their important ecumenical component and argues that there are three major points of agreement: concern with praxis, public action, and a critical approach (Fierro, 1977: 19 – 33). The practical component of theology lies in the application of biblical teachings on reconciliation, redemption, and justice to address specific historical situations and problems. Faith cannot be something exclusively experienced and practised in secret or in private, but must also manifest in civil society through practical application of theology in everyday life. The critical aspect of theology has a number of foci, most important being the complicity of the historical and contemporary Church with oppressive structures and regimes, and the oppressive structures and regimes themselves. The critique is brought to bear on the Church, pushing for its radicalisation and renewal, as much as it is directed at the wider society. The critique is, especially in the case of liberation theologians, also deeply influenced by Marxist methods of social, economic, and political analysis, and by Marxist stress on praxis.

One distinctive feature of liberation theologians lies in the style of language they often use. While political theologians tend to use careful and even restrained language, the liberation theologians tend to use vigorous and excoriating language, denouncing, and attacking by naming the forces and institutions they argue are responsible for the injustice from which their theology emerges and to which it attempts to speak. In this sense, they share a linguistic heritage with the Old Testament prophets, and with Jesus himself, all of whom used extraordinary descriptions of their targets for criticism.

From an Asian perspective, in 1981 at Kuala Lumpur, the Christian Conference of Asia convened a consultation on People's Movements and Structures of Domination in Asia. In the Report of the consultation, Oh Jae Shik wrote that

The Christian Conference of Asia meeting focused on militarisation as a major manifestation of domination in the Asian region, but by no means did participants overlook connections between economics, development, and political structures as all contributing to domination reinforced by increasing militarisation of politics throughout the region, as well as highlighting the role of Christians in the struggle for more human and humane development.

The influence of the French socialist–Catholic philosopher Emmanuel Mounier, a founder and editor of Esprit from 1933, figured highly in inspiring revolutionary Christian activity in Latin America.

This denunciation often extended to active guerilla warfare, or to persistent nonviolent resistance and organising, both modes of struggle involving religious and laity. A dynamic process of cross–fertilisation and radicalisation took place between political and liberation theologians and activists as both informed the other with their political and theological critiques. Theologians whose work influenced the development of liberation theologies included Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, Johannes Baptist Metz, Jürgen Moltmann, and Wolfhart Pannenberg (Lazareth, in Bonino, 1975: viii). The catalytic event for South American Liberation Theology was the Second General Conference of Latin American Bishops (CELAM II) held at Medellin, Colombia, in 1968. The Medellin Statement explicitly indicated that the Bishops

The Medellin Statement gave Church eldership endorsement to what the grassroots had been feeling, thinking and doing for years in their parishes.

It should not be overlooked either that Paulo Freire's pedagogy was developed from his Christian and Marxist–inspired reflections on problems of functional and political illiteracy in Brazil (Mackie, 1980: 97 – 104). Freire saw literacy as both a basic practical skill which in itself empowered people to better understand and act in and upon their society, and as a tool for more explicit political empowerment leading to greater self–understanding and authentication on the part of dominated Southern masses (Freire, 1972). Freire's basic theory of conscientization can be summarised in this aphorism: Give a person a fish and you feed them for a day. Teach them to make a fishing rod and you feed them for a lifetime. But teach them how to read a fishing book and you could turn them into a revolutionary.

The Peruvian theologian Gustavo Gutierrez argued that liberation had three reciprocally interpenetrating levels of meaning:

What the Bible as read by liberation theologians understands as sin is almost identical to what a critical theorist would understand as domination (e.g., Oelmüller, 1974; Davis, 1980: 104 – 132; Miranda, 1974).To be sure, there is a linkage between domination and evil especially when domination is understood to involve distorted social relationships in which some people eliminate, exploit, control, or manipulate others. Theologically, sin has vertical and horizontal components. The vertical component involves the individual’s relationship with God, and in this sense, sin relates to the ways in which that relationship is distorted. The horizontal dimension relates to how people interact with each other under God. Sin denotes distorted relationships between God and the individual, and between individuals, the distortions indicated by reference to the ideal relationship between the individual and God, the individual and other people, as revealed by Jesus. Distortions in the vertical relationship contribute dialectically to distortions in the horizontal relationship and both are described theologically as sin (Macquarrie, 1966: 59 – 64; 238 – 245; 446 – 452). This is by no means to argue that domination directly correlates with a complete biblical understanding of sin, but it is to suggest that there are important correlations between domination, the distortion of human potentials and relations in society, and aspects of a biblical understanding of sin in social relations.

In political, economic, and social terms, José Miranda in Marx and the Bible rigorously exegetes scripture from Genesis 4111 to Matthew 2531 – 46 and concludes that God is obsessed with the doing of justice, eternally concerned for the poor and oppressed, and utterly opposed to the unjust and the oppressors (Miranda, 1974: 77 – 108). To do injustice, in the view of liberation theologians like Gutierrez, is to do sin.

Notice that Gutierrez does not write about ‘sins’, as if there were a hierarchy of ‘sins’. Sin is domination, injustice, and oppression, a radical repudiation of humanity's right relationship with itself, and with God.

This theology is also addressed to so–called developed societies, as indicated by the summary of the Medellin Statement quoted earlier. Further, according to José Miranda, whose conception of liberation theology is in part pitched against a wholly utopian, 'other–worldly' eschatology as well as an exegetical corrective to conservative, largely Western, criticisms of liberation theology's engagement with Marxism,

The practical implications of this theology lead directly to struggle against domination, and therein lies the tormenting problem of precisely how to wage struggle, or, more widely, the problem of orthopraxy or ‘right action’. Liberation theologians are divided both theologically and practically over the question of violence. Involvement of some priests in guerilla warfare, coupled with their subsequent involvement in revolutionary regimes as in Nicaragua has provoked Western secular and religious authorities, such as Cardinal Ratzinger, to criticise liberation theology on the basis that it provides a rationale for revolutionary violence. But for every advocate of violence, usually highly contextually qualified, one can find an advocate of nonviolence. But, as Phillip Berryman reports, no liberation theologian has written a book on revolutionary violence. "No liberation theologian has provided a theological rationale for killing. To the extent death is theologised, it is in reflections on martyrdom, the willingness to give one's life for others, not to take others’ lives" (Berryman, 1987: 195).

José Bonino puts the matter neatly in Revolutionary Theology Comes of Age:

Christians cannot retard the revolution because the demands of the struggle violate Christian conscientious objections to violence, objections which can lead to Christian complicity with the forces of reaction, the mouthing of pious platitudes, and morally contemptible isolationism in the face of appalling need requiring active Christian engagement. To be sure, there are many instances of costly and heroic Christian nonviolent engagement with liberation struggles, witness the Quakers and the work of many religious and lay groups throughout the so–called Third World.

The tormenting questions of tactical praxis which confront all who attempt to act in the world for change lead to situational justifications for violence or nonviolence which mirror those advanced by Marxist theorists such as Vasquez (Vasquez, 1977; Fierro, 1977: 201 – 207). Paul Lehmann's justification of violence in The Transfiguration of Politics (1975: 259 – 270) is another approach to this issue which firmly advocates violence. Drawing on Fanon and Marcuse – he quotes Marcuse from Repressive Tolerance (Marcuse, 1969: 116 – 118) – Lehmann distinguishes between systemic violence, which is the routine violence of unjust, exploitative, domination–ridden systems in society, and revolutionary violence, which is the apocalyptic violence used by the oppressed in their struggle for liberation, which Lehmann interprets as a manifestation of a God–sanctioned desire to remake the world for good.

For the latter theologians, as for activists everywhere, tactical and strategic considerations tend to govern whether or not to wage struggle violently or nonviolently. The final decision has to be a tactical one, mediated by profound ethical wrestlings. Preaching nonviolence from remote safety to people undergoing fearsome persecution is as contemptible as Christian pietistic withdrawal. For Moltmann, "The problem of violent action versus nonviolence is a false problem. The only real issue is between justified violence and unjustified violence" (in Fierro, 1977: 205 – 6). Though, while most Christians would be opposed to violence, reality is clearly laden with violence. Moltmann argues that the ethical standard for Christians would therefore be to abide by a principle of diminishing violence, to experiment increasingly with nonviolence and to expand its ambit for waging and resolving conflict. This can be interpreted as being part of the attitude Küng argued earlier Christians ought to bring to their political activities.

An exegesis from the Gospels might indicate that Jesus and his radical demands for ‘suffering servanthood’ on the part of the believer leads to an absolute commitment to nonviolence (e g., Camara, 1969: 101 – 111; Douglass, 1968; Myers, 1988) being wholly within the ambit of a political or Liberation theology. Ched Myers argues that Jesus advocates absolute nonviolence:

While not overlooking significant exegetical difficulties I have with his reading of the Gospels, Paul Lehmann brings the issues of immanence and violence together in a powerful way, grounding Moltmann's more theological reflections:

To be sure, relations of domination are violent relations because people's personhoods and potentialities for freedom are circumscribed and limited, in many cases by acts of murder and torture, but more widely through the maintenance of social relations which limit people’s perceptions of themselves and what is possible. This view of violence and domination may set the boundaries of what constitutes violence too widely for useful analytical precision. A very broad definition of violence could lead to anything being described as violent, from fairly trivial acts such as discipline in a school or family, depicting women in demeaning ways in advertisements, through to torture and genocide. Feminists would argue that depicting women in demeaning ways is akin to the direct violence of rape. Torture and murder are obviously directly violent. The question here seems to turn on the degree of violence done by whom to whom, and for what purpose or to achieve what end. This problem arises in nonviolence theory, where Joan Bondurant draws attention to the issue of ‘symbolic violence’ in nonviolent action in which nonviolent actors can nevertheless do violence to their opponents in symbolic terms (Bondurant, 1971: 120 – 132). This complex matter will be examined in Section two of this thesis. In peace research, Johan Galtung has proposed a distinction between ‘structural’ and ‘actual’ violence (Galtung, 1969). Actual violence is violence in which an actor doing the violence can be identified. Structural violence is violence in which there is no identifiable actor as such, but is violence done through routine social processes which limit some people’s access to valued social ‘goods’ such as food, education, housing, and health care. Galtung’s controversial conception of ‘structural’ and ‘actual’ violence will be examined in Section two.

For liberation theology, ‘structural violence’ is embedded in society’s structures which maintain gross disparities between rich and poor, and is often linked to Western models of development. Indeed, Gutierrez argues that the idea of ‘liberation’ is more appropriate than ‘development’ because the ‘development’ of so–called developing countries has resulted in escalating dependency of those countries on the so–called developed countries: