Category: Andrew Fiala Blog

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A United Nations commission investigating the Ukraine-Russian War issued a report this week concluding that Russian forces have committed the “vast majority” of war crimes in the conflict. But it also found two cases in which Ukrainian forces committed war crimes.

Russia’s invasion of Ukraine counts as the first criminal act. And then there were indiscriminate bombings, torture, summary executions, and sexual violence. The cases in which Ukrainian forces were implicated involved the abuse of Russian prisoners of war. This is not to say that a kind of “you too” argument would minimize Russian atrocities. But war is messy. And it is usually difficult to sort out good guys and bad guys.  

Most wars involve war crimes. American forces have committed war crimes, with the events of My Lai (in Vietnam) and Abu Ghraib (in Iraq) showing up in lists of war crimes. Even peace-keeping forces (the UN’s blue-helmeted soldiers) have engaged in criminal acts, including notorious cases of sexual violence and exploitation.

Pacifists might conclude that war is wrong because it seems to beget this kind of lawlessness and atrocity. The War Resisters International (WRI) was founded in 1921 with the declaration that war is a crime against humanity. But until war is finally abolished, it is wise to call for better prosecution for war crimes and for more education, training, and understanding of the rules of war.

Is war criminal?

Pacifists will sometimes claim, like the WRI does, that war itself is criminal. Pope Francis stated in his new book, Against War, “War is madness, war is a monster, war is a cancer that feeds on itself, engulfing everything! What’s more, war is a sacrilege.” But we often fail to see that. The Dalai Lama once explained that’s because we take it for granted that war is legal. He said, “Since armies are legal, we feel that war is acceptable; in general, nobody feels that war is criminal or that accepting it is criminal attitude. In fact, we have been brainwashed.”

In making this kind of claim, however, the pacifist may be unable to distinguish between better and worse wars. Is there a difference, for example, between aggressive war and defensive war? A blanket rejection of war seems to ignore that difference. The moral framework of the just war tradition helps clarify matters. War crimes can be understood as violations of the just war theory. That theory says that it is wrong to deliberately target noncombatants and that torture and rape are not legitimate weapons of war.

But a number of critics have pointed out that modern war typically violates the moral prohibitions of the just war theory. Hannah Arendt said, “by the end of the Second World War everybody knew that technical developments in the instruments of violence had made the adoption of ‘criminal’ warfare inevitable.” She was referring to the mechanized killing of modern warfare and the criminality of bombing civilian population centers. I have contributed to this kind of critique in The Just War Myth, where I concluded that actual wars don’t live up to the standards of the just war theory.

Prosecuting war crimes

When crimes are committed, we must identify and punish them, if we can. There is an important difference between a state that prosecutes war crimes committed by its own soldiers and a state that orders those crimes or excuses them. A critic of war may point out that it is rare for war crimes to be prosecuted from within. War crimes are often a matter of “victor’s justice,” with the victors setting up tribunals to punish the vanquished.

And yet, it is worth noting that the U.S. did punish the soldiers involved in My Lai and Abu Ghraib, even if those punishments were modest and contentious. The U.S. might do better in this regard. But politics makes this difficult. One interesting study showed that Americans tend to forgive war crimes when they are committed by the “good guys.” We are confused about what it means to “support the troops” and we’ve politicized the idea. This might explain why former-President Donald Trump pardoned a Navy SEAL who had been convicted of war crimes in Iraq. But we support the troops by expecting them to behave morally, and providing training and guidance that supports good behavior.

It also helps that international commissions and institutions like the International Criminal Court (ICC) have been established. But these remain weak so long as major players like the United States and Russia are not subject to their jurisdiction. The U.S. has never formally joined the treaty that authorized the ICC. And under Trump, the U.S. even imposed sanctions against ICC officials who were investigating war crimes in Afghanistan. President Joe Biden revoked that policy. But the U.S. and Russia continue to exist outside the jurisdiction of the ICC.

Pacifists should support war crimes tribunals

Critics will rightly complain that this lack of an effective international tribunal leaves powerful nations free to commit war crimes with impunity. One important way forward, then, is to support institutions like the ICC.

We also ought to avoid oversimplifying the critique of war. Some wars and warriors are better (or worse) than others. This is also true of crime. Some crimes are worse than others. And some criminals are worse than others. And while the goal of eliminating war is a noble ideal, we still benefit when war crimes are prosecuted and punished. 

There is a kind of simplicity in stating that all war is criminal. But the world is not that simple. And declaring that all war is criminal can create confusion when trying to prosecute war crimes.

War crimes occur in every war. We should support the work of identifying and prosecuting them. And we should encourage states and militaries to be more vigilant about their own misconduct, to stop excusing war crimes, and to take responsibility for their own misdeeds.

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I signed the Montreal Declaration on Animal Exploitation, along with nearly 500 other philosophers. The signatories include such notables as Peter Singer, the Princeton philosopher well known for his work on “animal liberation.” Secular thinkers should embrace this Declaration and the idea of secular vegetarianism.

The Montreal Declaration condemns animal exploitation that inflicts “unnecessary violence and harm” onto nonhuman animals. It imagines “transforming numerous institutions fundamentally.” Broad social change will not occur overnight. But we can stop eating meat.

We are all animals

If it is wrong to inflict unnecessary harm on animals, then you should become a vegan or a vegetarian. If meat is not necessary and meat-production causes harm, then you ought not eat meat. Behind this simple syllogism, there are complicated questions.

One question is which animals and how much suffering? Wild salmon and free range dairy cows may be different from factory farmed chicken or pork. Vegans, lacto-ovo vegetarians, and pescatarians continue to argue about these details.

But they generally agree that meat eating is not necessary. This is a counter-cultural claim. Western religious traditions typically hold that nonhuman animals are inferior to human beings and exist for our use. God gave Adam dominion over the animals. And animal sacrifice was once viewed as pleasing to the gods.

These ideas make little sense in a secular age. The theory of evolution teaches us that we are animals too. Humans and nonhumans share a common neurophysiology. We also share a similar experience with other social animals. Human beings suffer when cut, burned, beaten, and killed. And we suffer when separated from the herd, isolated, and confined.

What is necessary?

The vegetarian argument holds that harm done to nonhuman animals is not necessary. But what do we mean by necessary? It is fairly easy to establish that meat is not necessary for human health. A diet heavy in meat is not healthy. And vegetarians can live long and healthy lives.

But words like “necessity” and “health” are complicated. There are layers of meaning here embedded in culture, customs, and social practices. Health is not merely a physiological concept; it also contains cultural elements.

For a bull fighter, killing the bull is “necessary.” And one might argue that meat eating is “necessary” given a certain form of life. Meat eating was thought to be a “healthy” part of American and European diets for a long time. Think about the role of hot dogs and steaks in American culture. In Germany, beer and sausage go hand in hand. And in Greece, lamb is often on the menu.

The vegetarian argument calls these norms into question. It asks us to rethink forms of life and cultures that are oriented around meat. This is why the vegetarian argument often strikes a fundamental nerve. If you argue that meat eating (or bullfighting) is not necessary, you seem to call a person’s entire way of life into question.

There is a parallel here with arguments about religion. Religious believers typically react strongly to atheists who argue that religious belief is mistaken. For the believer, the critique of religion is not just an exercise in logic. Rather, it is a matter of fundamental existential import. Atheists who suggest that belief in God is not necessary will be perceived as attacking the very foundation of the believer’s form of life.

Sectarian vegetarianism

This is why atheists and vegetarians should tread lightly. And maybe we can find common ground. Vegetarianism has often been pluralistic, drawing on multiple sources in religion and in secular thought.

Gandhi provides a famous example of an eclectic and pluralistic approach. His vegetarianism was influenced by Jain, Hindu, and Buddhist traditions. But Gandhi explains, in his autobiography, that he also learned a lot from the Vegetarian Society of England. Even before Gandhi visited England, Christians and humanists in Europe and America were embracing plant-based diets.

One significant example in the United States is John Harvey Kellogg. Kellogg’s advocacy of plant-based food was influenced by Seventh Day Adventism. Yes, corn flakes had a vegetarian and sectarian birth. And in pursuit of plant-based protein, Kellogg invented peanut butter.

Kellogg wrote a primer on vegetarianism in 1899, in which he chronicled religious views of meat eating and abstention from meat. He explained, “the ethical argument against flesh eating is found in the fact that lower animals are, in common with man, sentient creatures.” Kellogg put this in theological terms, stating that God is “actually present, living and working in every created thing.” He concluded, “the slaughter of animals of any sort for mere pleasure ought to be prohibited by law.”

Secular vegetarianism

The vegetarian argument has evolved in a more secular direction. The Montreal Declaration is not focused on theology. It reflects secular, moral philosophy. And my sense is that secular thinkers are becoming more sympathetic to the vegetarian argument. Indeed, there is a growing number of vegetarian atheists and humanists. One recent survey shows that there is a substantial demographic overlap between atheism and vegetarianism.

This makes sense given the fact that a substantial critique of our misuse of animals depends upon a critique of the anthropocentrism of the Biblical worldview. Atheists and humanists are less likely to conform to outmoded social norms. And nonreligious people seem to understand the evolutionary argument mentioned above, which puts humans and nonhumans in the same predicament.

If this is the only world we’ve got and suffering is not redeemed in another world, then it is incumbent upon us to reduce suffering here and now—for ourselves, for other humans, and for our fellow animals.

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The decline of Christianity in the United States does not mean that “religion” is dead or dying. News of the death of religion may excite humanists, but it is unlikely to go extinct. Religion is an adaptable social phenomenon. Religious beliefs and behaviors have always evolved. In a free country, this evolution will continue.

Secularism and the rise of the nones

The Pew Center released a recent report predicting the continuing decline of Christianity in the United States. This corresponds with a prediction about the rise of the “nones”—the folks who say “none of the above” when asked about their religious affiliation. The rise of the nones has been widely discussed. Phil Zuckerman has been talking about it for over a decade. So have I.

The new Pew report is an important reminder of how religious liberty works, as I argued recently. In a secular society, people are free to switch religions. Our shifting religious demography is a sign of our freedom.

There is no uniform story about switching here. Some will move from one congregation to another within a given tradition. Some may change from one faith to another. But the majority of those who are switching seem to be switching out of, without switching into, another faith tradition. The nones are moving away from specific religious traditions and ending up unaffiliated. Another way of describing these folks is to speak of them as “the unchurched.”

The Pew Center shows that during the past 50 years, the nones grew from 5% in 1972 to around 30% today. They predict that if trends remain the same, in fifty years, 41% of the population will be nones.

The increase of the unchurched is coming at the expense of Christianity. Pew reports that in 1972, 90% of Americans identified as Christian. But today only 64% of Americans are Christian. If the rate of changes stays the same, Pew predicts that the Christian population will be 46% in 2070. That means that Christianity will no longer be the majority religion in the U.S.

The nones are not all atheists

Atheists and humanists may celebrate this result. But before the atheists pop the champagne, let’s make sure we do not over-interpret this data. This does not mean that atheism or humanism will grow as fast as we might think.

Most of the nones are not atheists or agnostics. The recent Pew report did not predict the growth of atheism. But Pew has published information on atheism and agnostic in a related report from 2021. In 2021, 4% described themselves as atheists and 5% said they were agnostic. But another 20% said “nothing in particular.”

Now it might be that “nothing in particular” is a way station on the path to atheism. Perhaps those who say “nothing in particular” are afraid to admit they are atheists. I know my own journey to atheism worked that way. At one point, I stopped believing. But I was reluctant to embrace the term atheism. It took a while, and a bit of courage, to come out of the religious closet, so to speak. So, there may be some nones who keep moving along a similar trajectory and end up as atheists.

Spirituality and religiosity

But among the nones, there are those who are called “spiritual but not religious.” These folks don’t understand their spiritual identity in terms of any specific faith. Pew has also been tracking these kinds of people. In a 2017 report, they say that 27% of Americans identify themselves as “spiritual but not religious.” This category is fuzzy. So, we want to be careful about over analyzing things here.

But we can imagine what this might mean. The spiritual but not religious folks are people who believe in some higher power and some spiritual notion of the soul. They may celebrate religious holidays. They may even pray and practice some rituals. But they do it on their own, apart from any organization, authority, or set of official dogma.

I suspect that the growth of the nones will include the growth of the “spiritual but not religious” folks. Our culture is awash in unchurched spirituality that is idiosyncratic and syncretic—and not easily categorized as part of any given tradition. As an example, we might consider the growth of yoga.

One reason to suspect the persistence of spirituality and religion broadly construed is that this is an important part of human culture and psychology. Authors such as Dan Dennett, Robert Bellah, and Nicholas Wade suggested that there were social, psychological, and evolutionary pressures at work in the creation of religion. Spirituality is psychologically satisfying. And religious organization serves social purposes.

History of the evolution of religion

It is likely that spirituality and religion will persist as part of a basic human need for meaning and structure. But, and here is the exciting part of the story, religion will change. The history of the evolution of religion shows that there has always been ongoing evolution. Religions are born, mature, and evolve in response to social and psychological pressures. It is likely that religion will continue to evolve in this way.

The contrarian Episcopalian Bishop John Shelby Spong made a similar claim in a book published over 20 years ago, Why Christianity Must Change or Die. His point was that the old myths no longer make sense to the present generation. A religion that does not evolve and adapt will soon go extinct.

History shows us that religion has always adapted. Christianity developed as a response to the Judaism of the Roman empire. Islam appeared later as Jews, Christians, Zoroastrians, and others mingled on the periphery of the Roman and Byzantine world. In the United States, new religions appeared as Christianity evolved to become Mormonism, Christian Science, and other offshoots. A similar story can be told about the evolution of Buddhism out of Hinduism. And so on.  

Celebrating the freedom to create religious meaning

The rapid shift we are witnessing in terms of religious affiliation and identity is a time of foment and transformation. These are exciting times for those who study religion. And while I might prefer that more people would embrace humanism, I know this is unlikely.

For my part, I want to make sure that religious liberty remains fundamental. And so long as we are free to think, innovate, and experiment with religion and spirituality, I’m content to watch the evolution of religion, as Americans use their liberty to explore what it means to be human.

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There is a South Park episode in which the kids use an “f-word” to mock a bunch of obnoxious bikers. The word is obviously offensive, which is why the kids use it. A violent struggle erupts. In the end, the bikers embrace the epithet and admit that they are f@gs. But at that point, the word has lost its meaning.

Another f-word is undergoing a similar transformation: fascist. We call each other “fascists” to the point of absurdity and a loss of meaning. But the misuse can, and very well may, lead to violence.

Fascists everywhere

Fascism has a precise and useful definition: It describes a dictatorial, authoritarian government that stifles opposition by force and subordinates all individual and group identities to the identity of the state. It defines a pure in-group, often by race, while strategically labeling and demonizing out-groups to advance the agenda of the in-group.

While elements of this definition have arguably been in play in our recent history, nothing approaching the literal definition has occurred—and the use of the word itself to describe elements well short of the definition is as problematic as defining an opinion poll as “democracy.”

President Biden suggested recently that MAGA Republicans are “semi-fascists”. Some pundits were thrilled to see Biden use the f-word. Robert Reich and others have called for a more explicit condemnation of what they see as Republican fascism. Republicans were outraged, of course, despite the fact that they also use the “f-word.” Donald Trump accused the Democrats of being fascists back when he was president.  

And as if to round the circle, Republicans like Trump also accuse the FBI of being “a Fascist Bureau of Investigation” for searching Mar-a-Lago. A number of right-wingers piled on, including Florida Republican Rick Scott, former Trump official Steve Bannon, and Colorado’s Loren Boebert, each of whom said that the search was a “Gestapo” tactic.

All of this rhetoric is historically obtuse and offensive, as a recent LA Times article indicated. It is also polarizing, alienating, and dangerous. This is not Berlin or Rome in the 1920s and 30s, where street violence and weak constitutions combined with ethnonationalism to bring fascism to life. We live in a diverse and stable constitutional republic. And so far, that system is working.

Trumpism is not fascism

I do not offer my remarks here as a defense of Trump or Trumpism. I’ve written an extensive critique of Trump, who I see as a person with a tyrannical personality. But the good news is that in the United States, would-be tyrants cannot gain power, and the rule of law punishes violence.

The checks and balances of our system worked. Trump left power in 2021. There were dangerous moments (i.e., January 6). And we must remain vigilant. But our vigilance can become absurd if we see fascism everywhere we look.

Trump is not a virulent anti-Semite or ethno-nationalist. He is a narcissist and a liar. But he has no theory of the master race and no plan for extermination camps. He is a salesman and a billionaire in a diverse capitalist society. Trump is focused on his brand and his name, not on some myth of iron, soil, and blood.

Perhaps we need a different word to describe this particular amalgam, like trumpism. Trumpism is a movement with a loose agenda. It is primarily focused on whatever nonsense flows out of Mar-a-Lago at the moment. It is not even really a coherent political ideology but a cult of personality and wealth, more South Park than Munich. It is defined less by a guiding political philosophy than the utter lack of one.

All of the talk of “American carnage” and “making America great again” can sound like something out of the 1930s. But Trump’s vision is not about returning to the era of a Kaiser or creating a thousand-year Reich. He’d much rather lower taxes on the wealthy, say “Merry Christmas” instead of “Happy Holidays,” and keep himself out of jail.

Now some Trump supporters might harbor a more sinister ideology. But the real fascists are not found in the halls of Congress. They lurk on the margins, plotting violence, and despite delays and misinformation, they end up in prison when their plots are exposed.

Semi-fascism is not fascism

Now it may be that the f-word is changing its meaning and growing beyond its historical origin. Matt Ford in the New Republic suggested that fascism can be understood as a certain “vibe,” that is ultra-nationalist and opposed to racial, ethnic, and sexual minorities. I understand the vibe he’s describing. But no one in the Republican party has suggested a program of genocide.

Perhaps that’s why President Biden used the term “semi-fascism” to describe the MAGA Republicans. Semi-fascism is more like a vibe. But semi-fascism is not fascism. And a vibe is not a political program.

A related concern is the rise of Christian nationalism. Some have gone so far as to claim that Christian nationalism in America has morphed into “Christo-fascism.” That suggestion was made recently by Yale sociologist Phillip Gorski. In a Tweet, Gorski explained, “Christian fascism… plays upon fear, nationalism, and victimhood to maintain a mythological patriarchal past and squashes liberal democracy.”

I understand what he is worried about. There are undoubtedly some Christian extremists out there lurking in the shadows. But the mainstream of the Republican party seems more interested in using the Supreme Court to get its way than in resorting to violence. And they have been successful: Roe v. Wade is gone and coaches are allowed to pray at football games. These are important changes in Constitutional law. But they are not fascist.

The risk of violence

The history of fascism and anti-fascism is a history of violence. If your enemy is a Nazi, then violence can be justified in stopping him. Let’s avoid falling into the dialectical trap created by this overheated rhetoric. Violence breeds reactionary counter-violence. The risk of escalation holds on both sides of our polarized political tinderbox.

One part of the solution is to understand how and why our Constitutional system worked to prevent a would-be tyrant from consolidating power. We need to be vigilant about that system in order to prevent any party or person from subverting the rule of law. But we also need to be more careful with our language and how we use the f-word.

The post Resisting the new F-word appeared first on OnlySky Media.

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Resentment and anger fuel much of our public discourse. There is not much room for values like compassion and forgiveness. So, President Biden’s loan forgiveness plan comes as a surprise.

To some, it is even an insult. Senator Mitch McConnel said “Democrats’ student loan socialism is a slap in the face to working Americans who sacrificed to pay their debt or made different career choices to avoid debt.”

Senator Ted Cruz called it a “gut punch” to hard-working Americans.

These metaphors indicate a visceral reaction to the idea of forgiving a loan. The very idea is an outrage. And politicians are clever at cultivating outrage.

Choosing vicarious gladness

But do we have to feel resentment? I don’t think so.

If you resent other people’s good fortune, you’ll have lots to be angry about. But if you find a way to enjoy other people’s gladness, you can find a lot to be happy about.

Unfortunately, we are often conditioned to resent other people’s good fortune. This is the grumpy mean-spiritedness of cut-throat competition. In the world of zero-sum games, the other guy’s good luck comes at my expense.

But life is not a zero-sum game. Other people’s happiness can spread to me—if I let it in.

The wisdom of turning the cheek

This kind of thing is taught by the world’s wisdom traditions. Jesus encouraged his followers to overcome resentment. When slapped in the face, Jesus recommended turning the other cheek. He encouraged his followers to cultivate tolerance and acceptance. This is good advice, even for secular folks like myself, who don’t think that Jesus was a miracle worker.

And the advice is common. Socrates advocated something similar. He said it’s wrong to return evil for evil. Other ancient Greek and Roman philosophers generally warned that anger undermines good judgment and leads us astray. Seneca described anger as misery that enslaves. He compared resentment to what happens when an animal gets its neck caught in a trap. In thrashing about in rage, the animal only tightens the noose.

It would be much better to learn to absorb life’s blows and overcome anger. As Marcus Aurelius warned, anger and vexation about an injury often cause more harm than the injury itself. There is wisdom in learning to accept and forgive. And you don’t need to be a Christian to think so.

The problem and the possibility of secular forgiveness

Jesus also taught his followers to forgive so that they might be forgiven. In the background of Christian forgiveness, there is a complicated story about original sin and the need for atonement.

But we can embrace the wisdom of forgiveness without all of that metaphysical baggage.

Secular philosophers have often neglected the idea of forgiveness. Some even argue that it is unjust to forgive because justice seems to require punishment and retribution.

Secular systems of justice typically rely upon a calculation of harm, punishment, and reparation. You may want to forgive someone who harms you. But the cops, the courts, the banks, and the insurance companies are not in the business of forgiveness. Nonetheless, forgiveness could be a useful value in the secular world. It allows us to acknowledge harm and wrongdoing while helping us move forward.

Biden’s loan forgiveness plan may seem like a slap in the face because, in our secular world, we have not made room for forgiveness. The worker bees in our society are supposed to follow the rules. We’ve been trained in the discipline of accountability, liability, and debt repayment. God may forgive your sins. But Uncle Sam and the bankers will get their pound of flesh. And the bees that don’t conform are driven out of the hive.

And yet, what if the world were different? It turns out that loans can be forgiven. Who knew this was even possible? This proposal opens the door to larger questions about our notions of liability and accountability. Maybe the world would be better off if there were more forgiveness and less resentment, more compassion, and less cut-throat competition.

The value of forgiveness, and the cost of resentment

That’s a dream, of course. This world still involves lots of anger and resentment, and politicians who stir the pot.

And nothing comes for free. Ted Cruz estimates that Biden’s loan forgiveness plan “will cost every taxpayer an average of $2,100.” He makes this point in an effort to incite more outrage. But we spend taxpayer dollars on lots of stuff that not everyone agrees with. According to one recent estimate, the U.S. military costs the average taxpayer about $2,000 per year.

With these nearly equivalent numbers on the table, it’s worth reflecting on what we value. Would you rather bail out people trying to get an education or support the military? Or both? Or neither?

It may seem odd to think that we have any choice in the matter. But if loans can be forgiven, maybe we could think differently about a lot of stuff.

This is a good time to think about the kind of society we want to live in—and the kind of people we want to be. How important is forgiveness in the secular world? What is the cost of resentment? And is it possible to imagine a world that is more compassionate and less angry?

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