Politics and the pulpit

Who cares what an archbishop thinks, anyway?

If inviting the Archbishop of Canterbury to guest-edit the New Statesman was some kind of attention-grasping strategy then it succeeded beyond anyone's wildest expectations. The ensuing row centred mostly on a single sentence from Rowan Williams's offering - "With remarkable speed, we are being committed to radical, long-term policies for which no one voted." Given this week's backtracking on health reforms - which today earned the government a rebuke from the right by former Labour minister Alan Milburn - it might be doubted whether the coalition's reforms are either speedy or radical. But the wider question was whether he should have said anything at all.

Whatever Williams actually said, or meant, critics were quick to accuse him of "meddling in politics", specifically party politics. What they meant was that he was meddling in the economic and social side politics. Nadine Dorries, for example, complained that he was ignoring "areas of policy where politics and the church overlap", by which she meant her personal hobby-horses of abortion, the "sexualisation of children" and euthanasia. On such moral questions he was "deafening in his silence as he hides away with his fingers in his ears".

But on what basis is it assumed that an archbishop should be outspoken on some political issues and silent on others? Abortion and sex education are no less "political" - and no more "moral" - questions than those of health, education or social welfare. Indeed, to the chagrin of its critics the Big Society agenda depends upon the involvement of churches and other "faith-based" groups, as Williams himself acknowledged. As for health and education, the Church of England has extensive interests in both, through its large (and controversially growing) provision of schools, through its network of hospital chaplains and through church involvement in, say, the hospice movement.

Historically, the churches were the largest and often only providers of social care. Schools, hospitals and poor relief were the business of ecclesiastics long before they became the responsibility of the state. Concern for the poor and needy, often in conjunction with a negative attitude towards money and money-making, has been a feature of Christianity since the beginning. Some strands within Christianity stress it more heavily than others, however - and as usual the Bible offers contradictory advice.

The reputation of Jesus is of a penniless wandering holy man, not merely uninterested in material wealth but ideologically opposed to it: famously, he told one would-be disciple that it was easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God. But he seems to have had at least some wealthy friends and supporters. One woman - traditionally identified with Mary Magdalene - apparently thought nothing of using an entire bottle of very expensive ointment to dress his hair. As Margaret Thatcher famously reminded the Church of Scotland, the Good Samaritan offered money as well as sympathy to the wounded traveller. And one has to wonder who actually paid for all those loaves and fishes.

Christians down the centuries have interpreted the Gospel's social implications in strikingly different ways, ranging from total renunciation - mendicant friars or hermits who went to live in desert caves - to rampant and unapologetic money-making. Some Christians deem it heretical, but churches teaching some form of "prosperity gospel" - the belief that God will bless his worshippers with material wealth - are the fastest-growing and most dynamic in the world. The United States might be the traditional home of Christian capitalism, but it is these days just as appealing in Asia and Africa. It was recently revealed that one Nigerian pastor, who heads a church known colloquially as the Winners' Chapel, is worth at least $150 million dollars - which puts Rowan Williams' own salary of around £70,000 somewhat in perspective.

Part of the secularisation process in the West involved the taking over of social provision by the state. It is this, combined with the increasing privatisation of morality, that has deepened the sense of a church/state split, with the church being involved more in questions of personal conduct than of social organisation. But it's notable that when church leaders discourse publicly upon questions of sex and medical ethics (abortion, euthanasia, embryology research, etc) they can be sure of being denounced by secularists. Whereas if they choose, like Rowan Williams last week, to discuss poverty or the state of the public services, criticism comes from Christians of a different political viewpoint. Neither the National Secular Society nor the British Humanist Association chose to comment publicly on the Archbishop's foray into political journalism. Instead it was left to the likes of Nadine Dorries to be outraged.

There's an obvious, and often remarked-upon, left/right split in when it comes to episcopal interventions in politics. Critics on the left tend to get upset when bishops talk about sex (because the positions they take tend to be conservative), those on the right when they talk about money (where their views, in Britain at least, tend to the soft-left). It's tempting to leave it there, with the thought that what really annoys people is to hear church leaders disagreeing with their own point of view. But why should that annoy people? Why should anyone care what an archbishop happens to think about the economy?

I think it comes down to a lingering belief that church leaders are experts in morality - and that therefore whatever they say they speak from some elevated perspective. Or at least that they presume to; or that they should. The word "pontificating" springs to mind. Strictly speaking, perhaps, WIlliams wasn't pontificating - that's the Pope's prerogative. He was archiespiscopating - which, by long Anglican tradition, is an altogether more ambivalent and equivocal activity. Still, give a man a pulpit and you kind of expect him to use it. Archbishops are as strongly criticised when they don't speak out as when they do.

Nelson Jones runs the Heresy Corner blog. He was shortlisted for the 2011 Orwell Prize for blogging.

 

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Brexit has opened up big rifts among the remaining EU countries

Other non-Euro countries will miss Britain's lobbying - and Germany and France won't be too keen to make up for our lost budget contributions.

Untangling 40 years of Britain at the core of the EU has been compared to putting scrambled eggs back into their shells. On the UK side, political, legal, economic, and, not least, administrative difficulties are piling up, ranging from the Great Repeal Bill to how to process lorries at customs. But what is less appreciated is that Brexit has opened some big rifts in the EU.

This is most visible in relations between euro and non-euro countries. The UK is the EU’s second biggest economy, and after its exit the combined GDP of the non-euro member states falls from 38% of the eurozone GDP to barely 16%, or 11% of EU’s total. Unsurprisingly then, non-euro countries in Eastern Europe are worried that future integration might focus exclusively on the "euro core", leaving others in a loose periphery. This is at the core of recent discussions about a multi-speed Europe.

Previously, Britain has been central to the balance between ‘ins’ and ‘outs’, often leading opposition to centralising eurozone impulses. Most recently, this was demonstrated by David Cameron’s renegotiation, in which he secured provisional guarantees for non-euro countries. British concerns were also among the reasons why the design of the European Banking Union was calibrated with the interests of the ‘outs’ in mind. Finally, the UK insisted that the euro crisis must not detract from the development of the Single Market through initiatives such as the capital markets union. With Britain gone, this relationship becomes increasingly lop-sided.

Another context in which Brexit opens a can of worms is discussions over the EU budget. For 2015, the UK’s net contribution to the EU budget, after its rebate and EU investments, accounted for about 10% of the total. Filling in this gap will require either higher contributions by other major states or cutting the benefits of recipient states. In the former scenario, this means increasing German and French contributions by roughly 2.8 and 2 billion euros respectively. In the latter, it means lower payments to net beneficiaries of EU cohesion funds - a country like Bulgaria, for example, might take a hit of up to 0.8% of GDP.

Beyond the financial impact, Brexit poses awkward questions about the strategy for EU spending in the future. The Union’s budgets are planned over seven-year timeframes, with the next cycle due to begin in 2020. This means discussions about how to compensate for the hole left by Britain will coincide with the initial discussions on the future budget framework that will start in 2018. Once again, this is particularly worrying for those receiving EU funds, which are now likely to either be cut or made conditional on what are likely to be more political requirements.

Brexit also upends the delicate institutional balance within EU structures. A lot of the most important EU decisions are taken by qualified majority voting, even if in practice unanimity is sought most of the time. Since November 2014, this has meant the support of 55% of member states representing at least 65% of the population is required to pass decisions in the Council of the EU. Britain’s exit will destroy the blocking minority of a northern liberal German-led coalition of states, and increase the potential for blocking minorities of southern Mediterranean countries. There is also the question of what to do with the 73 British MEP mandates, which currently form almost 10% of all European Parliament seats.

Finally, there is the ‘small’ matter of foreign and defence policy. Perhaps here there are more grounds for continuity given the history of ‘outsourcing’ key decisions to NATO, whose membership remains unchanged. Furthermore, Theresa May appears to have realised that turning defence cooperation into a bargaining chip to attract Eastern European countries would backfire. Yet, with Britain gone, the EU is currently abuzz with discussions about greater military cooperation, particularly in procurement and research, suggesting that Brexit can also offer opportunities for the EU.

So, whether it is the balance between euro ‘ins’ and ‘outs’, multi-speed Europe, the EU budget, voting blocs or foreign policy, Brexit is forcing EU leaders into a load of discussions that many of them would rather avoid. This helps explain why there is clear regret among countries, particularly in Eastern Europe, at seeing such a key partner leave. It also explains why the EU has turned inwards to deal with the consequences of Brexit and why, although they need to be managed, the actual negotiations with London rank fairly low on the list of priorities in Brussels. British politicians, negotiators, and the general public would do well to take note of this.

Ivaylo Iaydjiev is a former adviser to the Bulgarian government. He is currently a DPhil student at the Blavatnik School of Government at the University of Oxford

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