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Conviction politics is changing morality

Political dialogue gives way to animal-like culture war.

Barnabas Aspray is Assistant Professor of Systematic Theology at St Mary’s Seminary and University.

A severed doll head, resembling Donald Trump, lies on dirty ground.
Max Letek on Unsplash.

“We're gathering 100 MILLION signatures to OVERTURN Trump's wrongful conviction!” 

I received this SMS message, along with a link, on Monday 10th June. It was the fourth message of its kind I’d received since the verdict convicting former US President Donald Trump of felony. This time, out of curiosity I followed the link. I found a lot of words in capital letters conveying a sense of extreme urgency, but I did not find any evidence or argument for the injustice of the verdict. 

Trump’s conviction has been met with a torrent of reactions from people across the political spectrum. Everyone sees the event as an episode in the upcoming US election in which Trump plans to run for president. For those on the left, it’s final and conclusive proof that he is unfit for office; the evidence is clear, the courts have decided, end of story. For those on the right, it’s a further sign of the depraved depths to which the Democrats will go to discredit him; the jury was rigged, and the whole thing was a political stunt to win the election. The legitimacy of the court ruling is something nobody on the left questions and nobody on the right admits. 

To me, these responses are another sign of the ever-widening gap between left and right that eats up all common ground, even the rule of law. Political victory now takes priority over truth or justice – or perhaps more accurately: victory for my side is identical with truth and justice. To concede anything to the opposing side is seen, not as praiseworthy, but as betrayal.  

My comments in what follows are nonpartisan: I want to point to what is true of both sides equally: the failure of dialogue and its replacement by a warfare mentality. This change affects even what we consider moral and admirable behaviour. It is not only a problem in the US. Ever since Brexit, things have become increasingly polarised in the UK as well. 

That is what “culture war” means. War and dialogue are opposites; war is what happens when dialogue has failed.

Formerly in Western nations, rival political parties offered different means to achieve the same end: a flourishing society of justice, peace, prosperity, and freedom. Politicians disagreed but they respected each other. They had faith in the political process in which they all participated. Consider as an example the letter George Bush Senior left Bill Clinton after losing the 1992 US election.  

“Your success now is our country’s success,” he wrote. “I am rooting hard for you. Good luck.”  

The fact that he was now president was more important than which political party he belonged to. 

In such a cohesive society, the legal system was a trusted arbitrator whose decisions would be accepted by victor and loser alike. This does not mean the system was perfect. Everyone knew that justice could sometimes miscarry. But the public did not see themselves as qualified to judge that either way. How could they expect to know more than the jury? 

What we are witnessing now is a return to a more animal-like state in which the goal is that my team wins no matter what. If the arbitrator rules in favour of my tribe, they are seen as executing justice. If they rule against my tribe, their ruling must by definition be unjust. 

That is what “culture war” means. War and dialogue are opposites; war is what happens when dialogue has failed because both sides have been unable even to “agree to disagree.” 

Reasoned debate is seen as no longer effective in light of the vile underhanded tactics of the other side (but not, of course, of my side). 

In dialogue, both sides aim to uncover the truth even if the truth turns out not to be what I wanted or thought. Prioritizing the truth means that I might realise I was wrong and concede the point, even at some material cost. For example, in a property dispute, I might become persuaded of the truth of my opponent’s case and give up my claim. That may be painful, but winning was less important than justice being done. In dialogue, both ‘sides’ are really on the same side because they both ultimately want the same thing. 

In war, on the other hand, the goal is to defeat the enemy and it makes no difference whether they are right or wrong – or rather, it is assumed without question that they are wrong. If words are used in war, they are weapons in disguise, not meaningful communications. 

This transformation from dialogue to war changes morality itself. You are now judged, not by the sincerity of your pursuit of truth, but by how loyal you are to your tribe. Even to take seriously the opposing position is viewed like reading a propaganda flyer dropped from a Nazi airplane: don’t even read it, it will only twist your mind! 

Even seven years ago, fans of Jordan Peterson were fond of the phrase “all I want is to have a reasoned debate.” Regardless of your opinion of Peterson or of whether he exemplified this, those who used this phrase revealed a desire for dialogue rather than war. But today, many of those same followers no longer say that. Now they say, “the left is out to get us and must be stopped” and their counterparts say, “the right is out to get us and must be stopped.” Reasoned debate is seen as no longer effective in light of the vile underhanded tactics of the other side (but not, of course, of my side).

What do we want from our political opponents? We want them to listen to us and to take our arguments seriously. 

What role can Christianity have in this polarised society? Sadly Christians are often seen as part of the problem rather than the solution: sold out to one political party. But we should be clear that Christianity does not sit neatly on either side of the divide. That does not mean Christians should be moderate or “centrist,” as if none of the issues matter much. Christianity comes down strongly on many things, but those are spread across the political spectrum. The way Christians vote depends on which issues they judge to be the most important or pressing in the current circumstances. 

Second, Christians are called to make peace in time of war. “Blessed are the peacemakers,” Jesus said, “for they will be called children of God.” Christians are called build bridges rather than burn them, to seek common ground rather than trying to obliterate their opponents. This can start with showing love and respect for the person behind the argument; by celebrating our common humanity before trying to argue a point. 

Third, it means exemplifying the kind of attitude we want to see in our opponents. “In everything do to others as you would have them do to you,” Jesus told his disciples. What do we want from our political opponents? We want them to listen to us and to take our arguments seriously. We want them to stop making cheap caricatures of us and represent us at our best. We want them to break out of their echo chambers and read news from a variety of political leanings. We want them to open themselves to persuasion and be prepared to change their minds. Jesus suggests leading by example and doing those things first.  

Fourth and finally, the Christian’s allegiance is to truth and justice above any tribe, any agenda. The real political situation is almost certainly complex, with much to be said for and against both sides. There are awkward facts that don’t fit our own political position; let’s admit them. The Christian commitment to truth means being ready to acknowledge the weaknesses, failings, and faults on our own side before we point the finger. It’s hard, I know. I am not perfect at it myself. But it’s a more Christlike moral standard to aim for than that of the culture warrior who excels at demolishing the enemy.  

Restoring dialogue won’t be easy and may come at a high personal cost. But the cost is greater if we don’t try. My own desire is to see Christians taking the lead in the restoration process and showing the world what Christlike peacemaking can accomplish. 

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Hospitals are home to the truth of war

Remembering what war really is.
A black and white photo shows solider patients and nurses in a hospital.
Christmas in a German military hospital, Word War One.
Aussie~mobs, public domain, via Wikimedia.

I’ve been re-reading Erich Maria Remarque’s All Quiet on the Western Front in the run-up to Remembrance Day. Remarque, born in Westphalia in 1898, uses his own experiences of the horrors of the Western Front to paint a gut-wrenching portrait of its futility and suffering, seen through the eyes of 20-year-old Paul Baum. 

It had been towards the end of this First World War that Hiram Johnson, Republican Senator of California, observed that ‘the first casualty when war comes is truth.’ This is precisely Paul’s experience. 

The newspapers delivered to the soldiers at the Front are hopelessly, naively, offensively optimistic. They present a painfully, laughably discordant tissue of lies that deny the most basic truths of daily experience. When Paul goes home on leave, truth is even harder to find. His remote father only wants to hear tales of glory and courage and well-fed soldiers. His blabbering former teachers - the very ones who had cajoled his whole class to sign up - are patronising, ignorant and opinionated on the best route to victory. They literally have no idea, and worse, they don’t want to know.  

It’s only when he’s taken to a Catholic Hospital after an injury that Paul stumbles on an agonising truth -  

‘A hospital alone shows what war is.’ 

Paul’s vivid description of life on the wards backs this up. He witnesses the unceasing production line of shattered bodies tumbling into every available space. He’s warned against ‘The Dying Room’ which is conveniently, practically, located next to the mortuary. He catalogues the surrounding wards - ‘abdominal and spinal cases, head wounds, double amputations, jaw wounds, gas cases, nose, ear and neck wounds … the blind … lung wounds, pelvis wounds, wounds in the testicles …’ He’s grateful for the gentle, joyful kindness of Sister Libertine, ‘who spreads good cheer through the whole wing.’ 

This hospital is more eloquent on the theme of the futility of the fighting than any newspaper article or speech, censored or otherwise. 

For much of my adult life grainy videos of precision-guided bombs and leaders pounding their fist in defiant rhetoric have been the go-to guides to tell us the truth about modern warfare. I trust these sources less than ever, as I recall my instinctive respect for the ambulance drivers, nurses and doctors on the front-line - wherever it may be - marvelling at their courage and truth-telling and even-handed humanity. 

Their voices are shamefully drowned out in the world’s conflict zones, dwarfed by propaganda as insulting and truth-lite as the newspapers that doubled as toilet paper for both sides on the Western Front. And I cringe at the thought of what Paul and his young comrades would’ve made of hospitals - those oases of truth - becoming the targets of today’s bombs, missiles and drone strikes. 

We, rightly, remember the First World War as the very epitome of futility - Paul and his generation saw this truth far more clearly than we do. But let’s not congratulate ourselves, as we prepare for Acts of Remembrance in 2024, on having made any real progress in the last 100 years - hospitals across the globe’s conflict zones still tell us what war really is, if only we could hear, if only we would listen.