Pagans and Christians
Occasionally in the debates about Christianity’s weakened position in American culture,
you’ll hear traditionalists and conservatives analogize the Christian
situation, now or soon, to the environment the faith faced in its
earliest centuries, as an embattled minority in a hostile pagan empire.
I’m not a particular fan of this analogy, for various reasons: Not only
because lions-and-catacombs imagery risks trivializing the concept of persecution at a time when Christians outside the United States face actual Diocletian-style consequences for their beliefs (and don’t always receive the charity they deserve from their American co-believers), but also because describing contemporary American culture as pagan in the style of the ancient world strikes me as a category error, which underplays the extent to which middlebrow American spirituality is still infused with Christian-ish sentiments and assumptions and ideas, and underplays, as well, just how radically different a thoroughly repaganized society would be from the one we (happily) inhabit today.
All of that said, I wouldn’t want to say that there are never echoes of the ancient world in contemporary religious debates. Consider, as a for instance, this piece in Slate from
the science writer Brian Palmer, which passively-aggressively complains
about the fact that so many of the doctors fighting Ebola on the ground
in Africa are … Christians … and worse still, Christian missionaries … and not that there’s anything wrong with that, but actually maybe there is something wrong with that (“I’m not altogether proud of this bias—I’m just trying to be honest”), or at least Palmer wants us to know that he’s a little troubled by its implications (“some missionaries are incapable of separating their religious work from their medical work … I suspect that many others have the same visceral discomfort with the mingling of religion and health care …“)
even as, broad-minded guy that he is, he concedes that “until we’re
finally ready to invest heavily in secular medicine for Africa,” the
missionaries may deserve our grudging support.
The first time I read
the piece, I was filled with a stuttering sort of rage, but reading it
again it doesn’t actually merit that kind of click-bait outrage. Palmer
seems less hostile to Christian missionaries and their work than he is
confused by what they’re doing: He clearly has a set of ideological
frames through which he sees the world, a set of assumptions (the
separation of medicine and religion should be absolute, proselytization
is wicked/backward/ignorant, helping people is what governments and secular
groups are supposed to do) that simply don’t fit with what’s happening
on the ground in Africa and who’s actually there, which in turns leaves
him both unsettled and subtly resentful at all these Christian
missionary doctors for unsettling him.
Palmer’s secular and
scientistic worldview, of course, is not the worldview of the classical
world, which was far more inegalitarian and cruel than the
still-Christian-influenced secular humanism of our own era. But there is
still a parallel, at once amusing and illuminating, between his tone in
the Slate piece and the tone of some of the surviving comments on
Christianity from Roman authorities, which so often married
incomprehension, hostility and (eventually) resentment at being, well, shown up
by these strange cultists and their zeal. In particular, there’s a
little bit of Pliny the younger in Palmer’s essay — the 2nd-century
governor of Pontus writing in bureaucratic bafflement to his emperor (in a tone that W.H. Auden borrowed, I suspect, for his King Herod in “For The Time Being”) — and a whole lot of Julian the Apostate, the 4th century emperor who tried and failed to restore paganism, and whose letters include various complaints about how “all men see that our people lack aid” from pagan sources, even as “the impious Galilaeans support not only their own poor but ours as well.”
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