political theology, Vol. 15 No.

2, March, 2014, 107–109

INTRODUCTION

Religion and Radicalism

Roland Boer
University of Newcastle, Australia, and Renmin University of China, Beijing

This issue of Political Theology focuses on the theme of ‘‘religion and radicalism.’’
It is one of the fruits of an international research network of the same name, a
network that has members from nearly every inhabited continent on the globe. The
network’s nerve centre is the University of Newcastle in Australia, and from that
base I and a number of others coordinate its research focus and activities. Thus far,
we have held five conferences: Copenhagen (September 2010), Taipei (September
2011), Newcastle, Australia (October 2012),1 Herrnhut, Saxony (March 2013),
and Helsinki – St. Petersburg (September 2013). But what do we mean by religion
and radicalism? The underlying theme of this project is to explore the various
permutations of the intriguing political ambivalence of religion, especially of
Christianity, Judaism, and Islam. By ambivalence I mean the simultaneous
tendency to support oppressive state apparatuses with alarming ease, but also to
foster one revolutionary movement after another.
In our project, we seek to answer the following questions. How exactly should
we understand the call to social and personal transformation in the ‘‘religions of
the book’’ (Hebrew shuv, Greek metanoia, Arabic tawbah)? Is religion a
reactionary force or does it involve revolutionary potentiality? Or is religion,
particularly the Abrahamic religions, fundamentally twofold, originally based on a
revolutionary event but developed into a power system of the Church? Is this the
reason why revolutions tend to run into the mud, fostering even more oppressive
regimes in their wake? Or is the very power of the Church based on fidelity to the
revolutionary event of its origin? What about religious doctrines? In the Epistle to
the Romans, the Apostle Paul proclaims that every person should be subject to the
governing authorities (Romans 13), while in the same letter he observes that we
are ‘‘not under law but under grace’’ (Romans 6:14). Further, in Acts 5:29 we may
read the Apostles’ collective reply to the high priest who charged them not to
preach in the name of Christ: ‘‘We must obey God rather than men.’’ Indeed, does
not religion open up a transcendent dimension of freedom within the immanence
of political order? Or is it precisely this transcendent dimension of freedom – but
also that of secrecy (arcana) – that is needed in order to legitimize clerical and
political power? Presumably, there is no definitive answer to these questions, for it

1
The conference in Newcastle was also sponsored by the ‘‘Religion in Political Life’’ project at the university.

ß W. S. Maney & Son Ltd 2014 DOI 10.1179/1462317X14Z.00000000076

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is quite obvious that we have to take into account historical contexts: it is probable
that same religious principles that empower revolutionary militants can be used by
the established Churches in order to suppress them. Or is it? Our project may in
the end not be able to answer all of these questions, but our real desire is not so
much to provide definitive answers but to shift the debate so that new questions
may be asked.
The project has two distinct emphases in its exploration of the ambivalence
between the radical and reactionary potential of religion. One is more theoretical,
engaging with and seeking to move beyond the current intersections between
philosophy and theology. The other is concerned with what may be called case
studies in the long and rich history of this problem. The current issue of Political
Theology focuses on the latter. It does so by looking at both sides of the opposition
and then troubling their tense relationship. Thus, the study by Sean Durbin deals
with the more reactionary side of the tension. He explores the dynamics of identity
construction in the many-sided movement known as Christian Zionism. While it is
a truism that for groups to gain a clear identity they need an outsider, an enemy to
oppose, the specific dynamics of that process in relation to Christian Zionism have
not been explored in the way Durbin does. He distinguishes between outsider and
insider enemies, the former being Islam and the latter a vast collection of ‘‘liberal’’
Christians and academics, the ‘‘mainstream media,’’ elites’, indeed, anyone else
who suggests that Israel is implicated in the problems of the Middle East and that a
negotiated solution for a Palestinian state and shared Jerusalem is the way
forward. While this opposition provides a clear set of positions for Christian
Zionists, it is then complicated by a desire to step back into the Bible, which in its
turn provides a language by which to frame the world. The outside enemies (Islam)
become scripted in terms of the struggle between Isaac and Ishmael, while the
inside enemies are all those complicit in the death of Christ, revealing thereby the
subtle workings of Satan against God’s plan.
The second article also concerns the conservative side of the political ambivalence
of Christianity, now with a study of the curious body known as the Australian
Christian Lobby (established in 1995). This is not a mildly right-wing group, but one
that sits at the extreme edge of the religious right. Although it is small, it has made all
the right moves to become a significant political lobby group in Australian politics.
Its achievement has been not only to position itself rhetorically as middle-of-the-
road and widely representative of Christian positions, but also to shift what counts
as the middle. Through its clever positioning, the right-wing radicalism of the ACL
has been able to influence not merely avowedly religious politicians, but even those
who have little interest in religion.
The next article by Matthew Sharpe is really a turning point in this issue, for it
negotiates the shift to consider left-wing religious radicalism – the other dimension
of the political ambivalence noted earlier. However, the topic is somewhat
unexpected, for it is none other than the apparently secular and atheistic Albert
Camus. Sharpe’s article explores what may be called Camus’ effort to recover the
radical dimensions of Christianity from their institutional containment. More
specifically, Sharpe studies Camus’ neo-pagan religiosity embodied in a sense of
wonder at the majesty of the world; his tackling of the problem of evil, which
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continues to beset theology, as the basis of modern anti-clericalism and political

subversion; his appropriation of the egalitarian ethics of Christianity, without their
fashionably secularised eschatological forms that have comprised the common
path for so many in the modern era. Each topic is not so much an eclectic
appropriation from Christianity, but a struggle with that tradition’s core features.
In Tamara Prosic’s contribution we move from Camus to Eastern European
Orthodoxy, which offers a further example of negotiating the political ambivalence of
Christianity. Prosic challenges the caricature of Eastern European Orthodoxy as a
tradition that tends theologically – through Caesaropapism – to support authoritar-
ianism and autocracy. Or rather, this is a one-sided view, for these tendencies certainly
exist within that tradition. In order to explore the other side, Prosic focuses on the
doctrine of symphonia. This doctrine delineates the two spheres of responsibility of
church and state (much like the Lutheranism). However, in the case of Eastern
Orthodoxy, symphonia opens up not only space for support of the emperor, but also
the resources for undermining and even overthrowing the state. One need only
consider the many currents within the Russian Orthodox Church before and after the
Russian Revolution that sympathised with and actively supported the communists to
see how such a possibility arises from within Eastern European Orthodoxy.
The final article also touches on the Russian Revolution, but it does so focusing
on the thought of the Russian Bolshevik and first Commissar for Enlightenment,
Anatoly Lunacharsky. In particular, the articles offers a detailed analysis of
Lunacharsky’s two-volume Religion and Socialism (1908, 1911), which has
mouldered away in obscurity ever since Lenin condemned the first volume in 1908.
Yet to be translated into any language apart from Yiddish, the work pays close
attention. This is not merely because of its effort to recover the ‘‘warm stream’’ of
Marxism well before Ernst Bloch, not merely because of the understanding of
human beings which was deeply shaped by religious traditions, not merely because
of his engagement with Christian communism, not merely because of his effort to
construct what was called ‘‘God-building,’’ but above all because of his sharp
awareness of the political ambivalence of religion. Of course, Lunacharsky clearly
wanted to take sides with the progressive, socialist dimensions of religion, for then
they would become part of the effort to construct socialism itself.
My hope is that this sample of the work we have been doing with the Religion
and Radicalism Network provides an insight into our interests and research
agenda. Many have been the discoveries along the way, and many have been the
fruitful discussions. We anticipate much more.

Notes on contributor
Correspondence to: Roland Boer, email roland.t.boer@gmail.com
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