Religion and Morality

Arthur C. Clarke famously claimed:

'One of the great tragedies of mankind is that morality has been hijacked by religion. So now people assume that religion and morality have a necessary connection. But the basis of morality is really very simple and doesn't require religion at all.'

This statement reflects a confidence in reason typical of Clarke’s time. However, it oversimplifies the relationship between religion and morality and overlooks the deeper questions about what it means to live as a human being. While Clarke champions rationality, his view fails to account for the essential role of hope, transcendence, and purpose in shaping morality and sustaining the human spirit.

Clarke’s view that morality is 'simple' overlooks the complex history of ethical thought. Morality has always depended on a shared story or context to give it meaning. Alasdair MacIntyre, in After Virtue, explains this well when he writes,

'The conception of morality which is generally shared in our culture is fragmented and incoherent. It requires a narrative context that is itself rooted in a tradition.'

MacIntyre shows us that morality is not simply a set of rules but part of a larger story about who we are and how we ought to live. Religion often provides this story, anchoring moral action in something greater than individual preference or cultural trends. Charles Taylor supports this idea in A Secular Age, where he notes,

'Our sense of fullness is linked to a sense that the good is something more than just a human construction.'

When morality is separated from this sense of something greater, it risks becoming shallow or uncertain, shaped by what is convenient or fashionable rather than what is truly good.

Clarke’s view also fails to address the human need for hope, which lies at the heart of both religion and morality. While reason can guide our understanding of what is right, it often cannot sustain the courage needed to pursue justice or endure suffering. Jürgen Moltmann, in Theology of Hope, reminds us that,

'Faith, wherever it develops into hope, causes not rest but unrest, not patience but impatience. It does not calm the unquiet heart but is itself this unquiet heart in humanity.'

Hope is not an escape from reality but a source of strength that enables individuals to act, even when circumstances seem overwhelming. Cornel West makes a similar point in Democracy Matters, writing that,

'Hope and love are indispensable in confronting nihilism. They sustain the very possibility of meaningful action.'

Without hope, morality risks becoming cold and lifeless, a mere calculation of what is possible rather than a vision of what is worth striving for. Religion often nurtures this hope by pointing beyond the immediate struggles of life to something lasting and meaningful.

Clarke also misplaces the blame for human failures, treating religion as the problem rather than recognising the complexities of human nature. It is true that religion has been misused to justify harm, but it has also been a force for good, inspiring movements for justice and liberation. James Cone, in God of the Oppressed, captures this when he writes,

'The role of religion in the struggle for freedom and justice is not an accident of history but an expression of the liberating power of God’s presence in human history.'

Religion’s moral legacy cannot be reduced to its failures. It has often been a source of strength for those fighting against oppression and working towards a better world. The real problem lies not in religion itself but in humanity’s tendency to twist any system—religious or secular—to serve selfish ends.

Clarke’s reliance on reason alone is not enough to explain or sustain morality. As Miroslav Volf writes in Flourishing,

'Human flourishing requires more than material prosperity and rational competence; it requires a sense of meaning that transcends the self.'

Reason and religion are not enemies. Instead, they can work together to guide human beings towards a fuller understanding of what it means to live well. Clarke’s view misses this vital truth: morality is not just about rules or outcomes but about shaping people into those who can aspire towards the good, even when the way is hard.

To explore these ideas further, works such as MacIntyre’s After Virtue, Taylor’s A Secular Age, and Volf’s Flourishing offer valuable insights. They remind us that morality is about more than rationality; it is about being human in all its richness, with faith and hope as essential parts of the journey.  

Whiteness

An Open Letter to White Nationalists and Others: A Call to Repentance, Redemption, and Reconciliation

A Call for Reflection and Transformation

To those who identify with or are influenced by white nationalism, and others who may subscribe to ideologies of racial superiority or exclusion, I offer this letter with the intention of calling you to a deeper understanding of the Christian gospel. This call is not just to an intellectual recognition but to a spiritual transformation rooted in Christ. At the heart of this letter lies the recognition that 'whiteness' is more than just a skin tone—it is an ideology, a set of values and assumptions about power, privilege, and identity that has been embedded in society for centuries. As such, this letter seeks to address the theological, moral, and social implications of embracing this ideology, and to offer the hope of transformation through the gospel.

Whiteness as an Ideology: More Than Skin Deep

Whiteness, as understood in the context of societal structures, is a construct built not solely upon physical traits but upon a system of power and privilege that elevates certain groups over others. As Frantz Fanon wrote in Black Skin, White Masks (1952), the psychological trauma of colonialism and racial oppression manifests in how non-white individuals internalise the values of the dominant 'white culture’ even when they are not themselves white. Fanon states, 'The black man is the slave of the white man; the black man is not free' (Fanon, 1952, p. 4). This 'whiteness' is not limited to those with lighter skin but is often adopted by individuals who may not fit the physical appearance of the dominant racial group but who nevertheless internalise and perform the ideological constructs associated with whiteness. This is evident in the lives of many individuals, particularly in colonised or post-colonial contexts, who, like W.E.B. Du Bois noted in The Souls of Black Folk (1903), experience a 'double consciousness'—a sense of internal conflict as they navigate their identity in a world shaped by racial hierarchies (Du Bois, 1903, p. 8). 

The ideology of whiteness asserts a superiority that is not only spiritual but also material. It is a lens through which power is exercised, wealth is distributed, and culture is defined. This mindset is ingrained in both historical and contemporary institutions, making it not merely an individual experience but a structural one. We must not confuse this ideological construct with the simple fact of skin tone. Whiteness is a cultural and social construct that upholds the logic of domination.

The Christian Gospel and the Call to Repentance

In the Christian tradition, the gospel offers a radical reordering of the world's values. Jesus Christ, in His life, death, and resurrection, dismantled the structures of oppression and called His followers to a life of humility, reconciliation, and love. As Paul writes in Philippians 2:6-8, Christ, though in the form of God, 'did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant' Phil 2:6–7. This hymn illustrates that in Christ, the pursuit of power, prestige, and superiority gives way to self-emptying love and sacrificial service. The invitation to follow Christ is one of radical humility and relinquishment of all forms of domination and self-exaltation.

To those embracing or complicit in the ideology of whiteness, the Bible calls for repentance. James 2:9 warns, 'But if you show partiality, you are committing sin and are convicted by the law as transgressors.' Partiality, especially based on race or skin tone, is a sin that distorts the image of God in others and leads to the dehumanisation of entire communities. White nationalism, in its essence, is a denial of the equal dignity of all people, created in the image of God. As Acts 17:26 reminds us, 'From one man, he made all the nations, that they should inhabit the whole earth.' There is no room for racial hierarchy in the kingdom of God.

The Trauma of ‘Whiteness’: A Spiritual and Psychological Condition

Fanon’s exploration of the trauma of whiteness is crucial for understanding the psychological effects of colonialism and white supremacy. The 'black man' (or the non-white person) often internalises the belief in the superiority of the white race, leading to self-alienation and a fractured sense of identity. Du Bois similarly captures the psychic toll of racial oppression with his concept of 'double consciousness,' where black individuals are forced to view themselves through the eyes of a society that devalues them (Du Bois, 1903, p. 8).

The ideology of whiteness, however, does not just affect non-white people—it also deforms the spiritual and moral identity of those who embrace it. The pursuit of power and dominance, masked as cultural or racial superiority, distorts the very image of God in the human person. In Matthew 16:26, Jesus asks, 'What will it profit a man if he gains the whole world, yet forfeits his soul?' Whiteness, as an ideology, promises power and privilege but ultimately leads to spiritual death and disconnection from God.

The Invitation to Redemption: A Path Forward

The Christian message is one of redemption for all people, regardless of race or background. The invitation to follow Christ is not just an individual journey but a communal one, as believers are called to embody the values of the kingdom of God—justice, mercy, and reconciliation. 2 Cor 5:17 declares, 'Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!' In Christ, there is a path of renewal, where old systems of oppression and hate are replaced by love and justice.

For those who have embraced or perpetuated the ideology of whiteness, the gospel offers a call to radical transformation. This transformation requires repentance—turning away from the sin of partiality, pride, and domination—and embracing the humility and sacrificial love of Christ. As Eph 2:13-16 states, 'But now in Christ Jesus, you who once were far away have been brought near by the blood of Christ. For he himself is our peace...to create in himself one new humanity out of the two, thus making peace.' The work of Christ is reconciling all people to God and to one another, breaking down the dividing walls of hostility, whether racial, ethnic, or socio-economic.

A Call to Action: Building the Kingdom of God

The Christian call is not only to individual transformation but to societal change. The work of reconciliation is not passive; it requires action. As Micah 6:8 calls us, 'He has shown you, O mortal, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.' Justice, mercy, and humility are the cornerstones of the kingdom of God, and they must guide the actions of all who claim to follow Christ.

The 'whiteness' ideology, with its basis in racial hierarchy and supremacy, has no place in the kingdom of God. It is a denial of the equality and dignity of all people, and it must be rejected in favour of a kingdom that celebrates diversity, justice, and peace. To the white nationalist, I implore you to examine your heart and turn away from the path of destruction. Repent, be reconciled to God, and live out the values of the kingdom of God.

A Prayer for Healing

Let us pray for a world where the trauma of whiteness is healed, where the lies of supremacy and division are replaced with the truth of God’s love and justice. Let us pray that all people—regardless of race or background—may experience the redemption and transformation that only Christ can bring.

References

Du Bois, W.E.B. The Souls of Black Folk. A.C. McClurg & Co., 1903.

Fanon, Frantz. Black Skin, White Masks. Grove Press, 1952.

2025 Resolution

Interconnectedness, Reconciliation, and Renewal

I thought we might approach the unfolding season of 2025 a little differently this year.

My philosophy centres on the interconnectedness of individuals and communities, where each is essential to the flourishing of the other. I believe individuals shape communities just as communities shape individuals, creating a dynamic, interdependent relationship. The past, I hold, is not something to be shed or forgotten but rather a foundation from which to build the future. As Ecclesiastes 3:15 reminds us: ‘Whatever is has already been, and what will be has been before; and God will call the past to account.’ The past informs our choices, offering lessons and insights, but it must not constrain us. Instead, it should serve as a guide as we move through the transitory nature of existence, always becoming who we are meant to be.

I see human growth as inherently communal. While individual effort and autonomy are valuable, they are incomplete without collaboration and connection. This resonates with Paul’s teaching in 1 Corinthians 12:12, where he describes believers as one body with many parts, each dependent on the other. It is through this collective work that we grow in love, creativity, and harmony.

Central to my understanding is the role of the Holy Spirit, who unites and guides us in our shared journey. The Spirit, as described in Acts 2, brings order to chaos and transforms divisions into understanding. This dynamic, unifying presence is vital for fostering the love and reconciliation necessary for human flourishing. Jürgen Moltmann captures this beautifully in The Spirit of Life, writing: ‘The Holy Spirit is the power of the resurrection for life, for life in fellowship, for life in fullness.’

I critique the rampant individualism of modern faith, which often separates belief from reason and community. Faith, for me, must be dynamic and relational, not static or confined to doctrinal rigidity. Jesus pointed to the ongoing nature of salvation when he said, "I still have many things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now" (John 16:12). This speaks not of works earning salvation but of salvation’s transformative outworking in our lives. It reminds me that the journey of faith is not just about coming to God but also about being reconciled to one another. Matthew 5:24 exhorts us: ‘First go and be reconciled to them; then come and offer your gift.’

Storytelling and ritual are integral to this reconciliation. They celebrate life, express gratitude, and embrace diversity. Stories shape identity and belonging, connecting us to our past and projecting us into a shared future. John Mbiti’s African perspective aligns with this: ‘I am because we are, and since we are, therefore I am.’ This communal view underscores the importance of collective narratives in shaping a hopeful and harmonious existence.

Faith, for me, is a living, evolving relationship with God, rooted in the mystery of our being and doing. Reconciliation—both with God and with one another—is at its heart. This requires breaking cycles of division and animosity. The story of Hagar and Sarah offers a poignant example, where unresolved tensions gave rise to enduring strife—strife mirrored today in the violence and trauma experienced in places like Palestine. Yet, the Spirit offers hope for unity. Acts 2 shows us how diverse tongues were brought into understanding, and Jesus stands as the catalyst for this reconciliation.

I long for a world where collaboration thrives—not assimilation, but true collaboration that honours individuality while allowing the Spirit to transform us. It is this transformation that transcends cultural imperatives and brings us to a place where faith and reason, mystery and understanding, exist together in harmony. As faith communities, we must turn outward, grounded in God’s dynamic being, to reconcile and create a future where the fullness of life, as promised in John 10:10, is realised.

Rise n Shine

A New Year’s Greeting: Rise and Shine

Yo, the clock’s ticking,
another season fading out like the last track on a mixtape.
Time and tide don’t wait for no one,
rolling steady, relentless, carrying us forward.

But look—on the horizon,
there it is: a new dawn.

Fresh hopes break through,
like sunlight slicing the skyline,
whispering,
'What’s next?'

Here we are,
standing in this liminal space—the in-between of
what was and what’s yet to come.

Pause for a moment.
Feel that?
That’s gratitude.
For this wild, wondrous world crafted by the Creator’s hand.

It’s all prep work, this beauty,
this grind—it’s set up for something bigger.

So let’s make it count.
Let’s resolve to level up,
to be the realest, rawest, best version of ourselves.

And then?

Let’s transcend even that.
Let’s step into what it means to be fully human,
to become the people we’re meant to be.

The street lights might flicker, but we’re here to shine.

Happy New Year.

Let’s rise.

Christmas 2024

Dum Diversas

 Dum Diversas Lives: USA and Russia - A Reflection and Warning

The papal bull Dum Diversas of 1452 marked a historical turning point in human relations. It offered the justification for the enslavement of non-Christians, particularly Muslims and non-European under the guise of divine mandate. King Alfonso of Portugal was granted authority by the Church - Roman Catholicism - to wage wars against the ‘Saracens’ and ‘pagans,’ to subjugate them, and to claim their lands and possessions. At the time, this declaration was framed as a defence of Christianity, a mission to spread and protect the faith. It was a pivotal moment that intertwined religious authority with political power, laying the groundwork for centuries of colonial exploitation and violence justified by divine will.

Today, in both the United States and Russia, we can see unsettling echoes of the same theological-political dynamic. The question arises: are we witnessing the same patterns of justification for violence and domination in modern geopolitics, this time framed within national and religious identity? The current conflicts, most notably in Ukraine and the rhetoric that supports them, reflect an uneasy continuity of these ideas, reinterpreted for contemporary politics.

In Russia, the Church's blessing of Vladimir Putin's war in Ukraine can be seen as a modern counterpart to Dum Diversas. The Russian Orthodox Church has endorsed the invasion, framing it as not merely a geopolitical struggle but a religious crusade—one that claims a divine mandate to defend Russian Orthodoxy and reclaim sacred lands. This mirrors the language used by the papacy in the 15th century, where divine authority was invoked to justify expansion, domination, and violence. The belief that God is on the side of the victors in war has persisted through the centuries, reshaping itself to suit the political realities of each era. But the psychological and theological underpinnings remain disturbingly consistent.

Across the Atlantic in the United States, the rise of Christian nationalism, particularly with movements like Project 2025, offers another example of how religion and politics can fuse to justify radical agendas. Evangelical Christian leaders are pushing for a return to what they see as America’s ‘Christian roots,’ with policies that align with conservative interpretations of Christian morality. The rhetoric is similar: a divine mandate to ‘restore’ the nation to its proper state, a moral vision that places religious beliefs at the centre of political life. Like the medieval papal bulls, this political movement suggests that certain actions—often aimed at exclusion or marginalisation—are not just politically motivated but divinely sanctioned.

Both Russia and the United States have seen the alignment of religious authority with political power to justify conflicts and policies that exclude, suppress, or harm certain groups. In the case of the Russian invasion of Ukraine, this is a matter of territorial and ideological control, disguised as a defence of faith. In the US it manifests in the moral justification for limiting rights, particularly for women, LGBTQ+ people, and racial minorities, all framed as part of a divine plan for the nation. The underlying idea is not unlike that expressed in Dum Diversas: the belief that the power of the state is divinely ordained, and that those who resist this order are in defiance of God’s will.

In both scenarios, there is a dangerous erasure of the Christian ethos of love, reconciliation, and peace. The teachings of Jesus, which warn against the consequences of violence and the dangers of idolatry—such as the worship of political power or national identity—are sidelined in favour of a more aggressive, territorial, and exclusionary version of Christianity. This reimagining of Christian doctrine to suit political ends reflects a troubling tendency throughout history, one that co-opts religious authority to justify harm and oppression.

The warning here is clear: we must remain vigilant in recognising when religious rhetoric is used to justify actions that contradict the core values of love, justice, and reconciliation at the heart of the Christian faith. In the same way that Dum Diversas led to centuries of exploitation and violence, the current alignment of religion with political power can quickly devolve into a justification for further harm. The human psyche, when confronted with the blending of religious belief and political might, can become easily swayed by the rhetoric of divine approval, losing sight of the deeper, transformative message of the Gospel.

As we reflect on these patterns, we are reminded of the teachings of Jesus, who warned of the dangers of violence and division, and who called for a radical love that transcends political, national, and religious boundaries. If we fail to heed this warning, we risk repeating the mistakes of the past, where the language of faith is used to mask the pursuit of power and domination. The echo of Dum Diversas still resonates today, but it is up to us to ensure that it does not shape the future in the same way it shaped the past.

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