Article
Comment
Language
Politics
5 min read

Our public discourse needs responsible rhetoric before it is too late

The right turn of phrase can turn a nation, the wrong one can destroy

Tom has a PhD in Theology and works as a hospital physician.

A crowd of people stand in the side steps of the Lincoln Memorial
Easter services, Lincoln Memorial.
George Pflueger, via Unspash.

When was the last time a brilliant piece of rhetoric made the headlines? 

“Empty rhetoric.”  

“Form over function.”  

“Sloganeering.” 

These—and other accolades—are stock trade when it comes to the art of denouncing public discourse. Red flags are rightly waved in the face of baseless claims and insincere promises. Scroll through a news reel; open a newspaper: language far stronger in style than in substance is not hard to find. 

Nowadays we are sensitive to these kinds of abuses of public platforms. When Donald Trump speaks of the ‘Great Big Beautiful Bill’ or Elon Musk of the ‘Big Ugly Bill’ we know the cogs at BBC Verify are likely to be turning. Fact-checking is an established trade.  

Sometimes political turns of phrase are just careless, inadequately thought through. Granted, a politician’s public address is often put together at a pace. Time is so remarkably tight that phrasing and formulations are not interrogated as fully as they might be. (Krish Kandiah recently picked up the Prime Minister’s “island of strangers” line and its unfortunate resonance) 

But of course, the critiques I’ve listed above are themselves sharply rhetorical. They are punchy. Not drawn-out logical deductions. They aim to make us sit upright and win us over. Or move us to a course of action. 

So: is rhetoric the problem? No. Its misuse is the problem. This isn’t always clear. And it’s the reason why simply decrying “rhetoric” won’t get us very far.  

I am sympathetic to the suspicion. When efficiency and pragmatism tower high among the canons of public discourse, it is easier to trade in polarising x versus y expressions. Being guarded in the face of such potent idiom is understandable.  

And yet the most remarkable public discourses in human history have been rich in rhetoric.  

Martin Luther King at the Lincoln Memorial: “I have a dream.”  

Churchill in the House of Commons: “we shall fight them on the beaches.”  

Lincoln’s Gettysburg address: “government of the people, by the people, for the people.”  

All these speakers knew that bare understanding doesn’t typically move people to action. An impassioned speech, a plea to respond, or beautifully woven prose often serve as the tipping point for social engagement. 

Which leads me to wonder, what if a suspicion of smart speech-making ends up stunting social engagement, rather than fostering it? Perhaps political discourse today has gone too far; perhaps rhetoric is beyond repair. And yet: abuse doesn’t mean there isn’t proper use. There is a better way.

When persuasive powers are uncoupled from sound argument, then rhetoric obscures understanding and has become irresponsible. 

In the classical era, training in rhetoric was a prominent feature of an education. You might say it was the way to avoid the charge: “All substance, no style”. It was about turning a sound argument into an art form. For Aristotle, rhetoric was about making use of the tools of persuasion—substance with style. But skill in persuasion was not a virtue of itself; it never stood alone. As Roger Standing has reminded us, “the function of rhetorical skills was not to persuade in and of themselves.” Indeed, training in rhetoric was training in responsibility.  

In his classic 1950s text Ethics of Rhetoric, Richard Weaver put his finger on this. He highlighted that “rhetoric passes from mere scientific demonstration of an idea to its relation to prudential conduct.” True rhetoric, then, is this: the art of lighting up the path that leads from sound logic to good action

Today, it seems that when it comes to the rules of rhetoric, communicators are answerable to polls and popularity. These ends justify the means, which makes fancy formulations fair game. If style secures votes, then it’s a good job done. But this means the communicator has no real accountability for his or her language. Pragmatism is in the driving seat. In a sense, responsibility has been handed over to the hearer.  

This is problematic. When persuasive powers are uncoupled from sound argument, then rhetoric obscures understanding and has become irresponsible. Language is no longer illuminating, but misleading. It is trading on falsehood, or perhaps half-truths, instead of magnifying what is true for the sake of what is good. 

Take an example. In the recent parliamentary debate over amendments to the assisted dying bill, the proceedings opened with the claim that “if we do not vote to change the law, we are essentially saying that the status quo is acceptable.” I don’t for a moment doubt the good intent in this claim—securing the most compassionate care possible for terminally ill adults. But let it be said: no, those who do not advocate assisted dying are not “essentially” saying this. This claim is a non sequitur: the conclusion does not follow the premise. It is logically unsound. 

Like many tools, the art of persuasion can be wielded carelessly; sometimes maliciously. But rhetoric-free public discourse would make for a colourless and lifeless thing indeed. What we need now is rhetoric that is responsible—responsible to what is true and responsible to good outcomes. These should not be split; as soon as they are, speech-making becomes sterile or hollow. I recently heard the neat phrase: “Some people reach your mind by going through the heart, and some people reach your heart by going through your mind.” Yes, as the Christian faith has always maintained: mind and heart belong together. Give us words that awaken both, like those once spoken by that obscure wandering rabbi, Jesus of Nazareth, in one of the most studied and penetrating speeches in human history:  

Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. 

Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. 

Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth. 

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled. 

I pray for public discourse brimming with both substance and style. It might help lead us to better things. 

Support Seen & Unseen

Since Spring 2023, our readers have enjoyed over 1,500 articles. All for free. 
This is made possible through the generosity of our amazing community of supporters.

If you enjoy Seen & Unseen, would you consider making a gift towards our work?
 
Do so by joining Behind The Seen. Alongside other benefits, you’ll receive an extra fortnightly email from me sharing my reading and reflections on the ideas that are shaping our times.

Graham Tomlin
Editor-in-Chief

Article
Creed
Nationalism
Politics
6 min read

Love is not an executive order: what Christian Nationalism gets wrong

Fear has never been a motivator of wise, just, and righteous action.

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

A protester wearing a Union Jack flag and hat and holding a cross, points while a man looks on.
Far right protesters, Portsmouth.
Tim Sheerman-Chase, CC BY 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons

The term “Christian nationalism” means different things to different people. John Stackhouse defines nationalism as “love of one’s nation, identification with it, and special concern for its well-being” and sees nothing wrong with it from a Christian point of view. But this is not the normal way the term is used today. Rather, it means an ideology that seeks political power in order to merge Christian identity with national identity. In other words, it means Christians seeking to impose Christian values on all citizens of a nation by the force of law. 

That’s not as bad as it may sound at first glance. Everyone thinks some values should be imposed for society to function – for example, human rights, private property, democracy. In one sense, there’s nothing unusual about Christians wanting their values to become law. Everyone – Muslim, Secular, pluralist – wants the law to reflect their values. How could anyone have values and not want their nation’s laws and policies to reflect them? 

But for Christians, there’s a catch. “Christian values” include not forcing people to live Christian lifestyles who do not identify as Christian. Christian values are founded on the teaching and example of Jesus, and he was never coercive. He aimed at people’s hearts, seeking willing rather than coerced obedience. His goal was that people should follow him and live by his teachings because they wanted to more than anything else in the world, not because they would be imprisoned or disadvantaged if they don’t. The gospel is an invitation to the most rewarding and fulfilling life imaginable, not an executive order to be obeyed out of fear. 

Jesus explicitly taught that Christian politics should be different to anything else the world has ever seen: 

“The rulers of the nations lord it over them, and their high officials exercise authority over them. Not so with you. Instead, whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant.”  

With these words (recorded in the gospel of Matthew), Jesus set a political agenda for his followers radically different to that of every other movement, religion, institution, or nation. Where others have always used power to dominate, control, and coerce obedience, Christians are to use power to serve those under them and to pursue their flourishing. With his own life Jesus showed what this looks like. The Jews expected the messiah to be a great military leader who would rally an army under his banner, shake off the Roman oppression, establish Israel as a nation, and rule it with absolute power and authority. Instead, rather than commit any violence, he submitted to death at the hands of the Roman oppressors. 

Jesus did not mean that his followers should not seek power and influence in the world, or that they should lie down and let themselves be trampled on like a doormat. The “Christian difference” is not to be non-political, withdrawn from all engagement in worldly affairs as if God did not care what happens in the world. No: the Christian difference is twofold: (1) never to seize or maintain power through violence, coercion, lies, manipulation, or any means that supposedly justifies the ends, and (2) to use power (when we are freely and willingly given it) in service to everyone regardless of their belief or lifestyle, especially the powerless. 

A truly “Christian” nation would never try to coerce Christian behaviour from anyone. 

Christians have not always done politics this way. In the centuries since Jesus walked the earth, they have often succumbed to the temptation to do politics like the rest of the world: grasping at authority and holding onto it by any means necessary, using it to benefit ourselves and our agenda in ways that harm and oppress others. The treatment of Jews in the late medieval period is a sobering example. Jews were forced to live in ghettos and wear conical hats. They were forbidden to hold public office, to build synagogues higher than any church, or to walk in the street on Sundays. Eventually they were forcibly expelled from several European states in order to leave no impediment to the fashioning of a truly “Christian nation,” i.e., a nation with only Christians living in it. 

Today, many Christians in Western nations are engaging in efforts to fight back against world views they believe are encroaching on them – secularism, Islam, and liberalism. They want to reassert Christianity as the dominant cultural force. It seems to me that these efforts are largely motivated by fear, brought about by the decline of Christian influence. There is a strong urge to self-preservation when one feels oneself increasingly marginalized. They feel that if they don’t regain power, then all the values and lifestyle that held dear will be swept away. They must protect themselves and seek to preserve Christian values by whatever means available. They must take back control, using financial, political, and cultural capital to regain governance and re-establish Christian laws in ‘our land’. 

Yet fear has never been a motivator of wise, just, and righteous action. Fear draws our attention away from the poor and needy towards our own plight. Fear makes us strike back with a self-protective instinct. When we are afraid, we feel justified in putting our own needs and priorities first. Violent behaviour is labelled “self-defence,” cutting aid budgets is labelled prudence, and refusing admission to refugees who have lost everything and are fleeing persecution is seen as the only sane course of action in a world of finite resources. Fear drives us to seek our own advantage, something Jesus never did. Perhaps Jesus knew that fear can be the greatest force to prevent us from living a Christlike life of service. Perhaps it’s not a coincidence that “do not be afraid” is the most frequent command in the Bible. 

For Christians, like me, there are better motivators for political action: things like wisdom, justice, and peace. (Dare I say love? Or is that too controversial?) But the best motivation of all is the desire to follow Jesus’ teachings and example not only once we have obtained power, but in how we seek it and how we hold onto it. 

There’s nothing intrinsically wrong with the idea of a “Christian” nation, if that means a nation that acts towards people – both citizens and non-citizens – the way Jesus did (and supposing the nation was not constituted by violence in the first place – but that is another story). A truly “Christian” nation would never try to coerce Christian behaviour from anyone. It would respect people’s freedom to live and believe what they chose, and would give equal opportunities, equal benefits, and equal rights to Christians, Muslims, atheists, and Jews alike. It would use its power to serve all people, especially the most vulnerable and least able to look after themselves. It would welcome and protect any foreigner who fled there to save their life or freedom, having lost everything at home.  

Such a nation would not be characterised by fear of losing its power. It would not seek to preserve its influence by blocking non-Christians from citizenship or positions of government. If the tide turned against it, it would humbly relinquish power rather than do anything coercive to hold on to it, just as Jesus humbly went to the cross rather than use violence against his oppressors. 

Celebrate our 2nd birthday!

Since Spring 2023, our readers have enjoyed over 1,000 articles. All for free. 
This is made possible through the generosity of our amazing community of supporters.

If you enjoy Seen & Unseen, would you consider making a gift towards our work?

Do so by joining Behind The Seen. Alongside other benefits, you’ll receive an extra fortnightly email from me sharing my reading and reflections on the ideas that are shaping our times.

Graham Tomlin
Editor-in-Chief