The Church, Authority, and Foucault: Imagining the Church as an Open Space of Freedom (Routledge New Critical Thinking in Religion, Theology and Biblical Studies) 9781472474964, 9781315614717, 1472474961

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The Church, Authority, and Foucault

The Church, Authority, and Foucault addresses the problem of the Church’s enmeshment with sovereign power, which can lead to marginalization. Breaking new ground, Ogden uses Foucault’s approach to power and knowledge to interpret the church leader’s significance as the guardian of knowledge. This can become privileged knowledge, under the spell of sovereign power, and with the complicity of clergy and laity in search of sovereigns. Inevitably, such a culture leads to a sense of entitlement for leaders and conformity for followers. All in the name of obedience. The Church needs to change in order to fulfil its vocation. Instead of a monarchy, what about Church as an open space of freedom? This book, then, is a theological enterprise which cultivates practices of freedom for the sake of the other. This involves thinking differently by exploring catalysts for change, which include critique, space, imagination, and wisdom. In the process, Ogden uses a range of sources, analysing discourse, gossip, ritual, territory, masculinity, and pastoral power. In all, the work of Michel Foucault sets the tone for a fresh ecclesiological critique that will appeal to theologians and clergy alike. Steven G. Ogden is the Rector of Holy Trinity Church, Fortitude Valley, Brisbane, and adjunct lecturer in theology at Charles Sturt University, Australia. Formerly Principal of St Francis Theological College, Brisbane, and Dean of St Peter’s Cathedral, Adelaide, he is the author of The Presence of God in the World: A Contribution to Postmodern Christology based on the Theologies of Paul Tillich and Karl Rahner (2007).

Routledge New Critical Thinking in Religion, Theology and Biblical Studies

The Routledge New Critical Thinking in Religion, Theology and Biblical Studies series brings high quality research monograph publishing back into focus for authors, international libraries, and student, academic and research readers. This open-ended monograph series presents cutting-edge research from both established and new authors in the field. With specialist focus yet clear contextual presentation of contemporary research, books in the series take research into important new directions and open the field to new critical debate within the discipline, in areas of related study, and in key areas for contemporary society. For a full list of titles in this series, please visit https://www.routledge.com/ religion/series/RCRITREL New Voices in Greek Orthodox Thought Untying the Bond between Nation and Religion Trine Stauning Willert Divine Power and Evil A Reply to Process Theodicy Kenneth K. Pak Leaving Christian Fundamentalism and the Reconstruction of Identity Josie McSkimming Feminist Eschatology Embodied Futures Emily Pennington The Soul of Theological Anthropology A Cartesian Exploration Joshua R. Farris The Church, Authority, and Foucault Imagining the Church as an Open Space of Freedom Steven G. Ogden

The Church, Authority, and Foucault Imagining the Church as an Open Space of Freedom

YORK YORK

Steven G. Ogden

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LONDON LONDON LONDON

LONDON AND NEW YORK

First published 2017 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2017 Steven G. Ogden The right of Steven G. Ogden to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Names: Ogden, Steven G., 1955- author. Title: The church, authority, and Foucault : imagining the church as an open space of freedom / by Steven G. Ogden. Description: New York : Routledge, 2017. | Series: Routledge new critical thinking in religion, theology, and biblical studies | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2016037517| ISBN 9781472474964 (hardback : alk. paper) | ISBN 9781315614717 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Christianity and politics. | Sovereignty--Religious aspects-Christianity. | Church and state. | Church. | Liberty--Religious aspects-Christianity. | Authority. | Foucault, Michel, 1926-1984. Classification: LCC BR115.P7 O37 2017 | DDC 262/.8--dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016037517 ISBN: 978-1-4724-7496-4 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-315-61471-7 (ebk) Typeset in Sabon by Taylor & Francis Books

Contents

Acknowledgements Abbreviations Reference works

vi vii x

1

The Church and the problem of sovereign power

1

2

Under Foucault’s gaze: the subject, freedom, and power-knowledge concept

28

The concept of authority: guardians, gossip, and the sovereign exception

51

4

The spell of monarchy and the sacralization of obedience

80

5

The Church as an open space of freedom

110

6

New spaces and the imagination

130

7

Bearing the lightning of possible storms: critique, space, imagination, wisdom

157

Index

176

3

Acknowledgements

Over the years, I have been the recipient of good will and encouragement from friends, parishioners, colleagues, and students, who have contributed to my thinking in various ways. More recently, I have benefited from a number of timely conversations, real and virtual, with Norman Doe, Bruce Kaye, Sherril Molloy, Duncan Reid, Charles Sherlock, Geoff Smith, and Phillip Tolliday. I have valued the insight and time of Alan Cadwallader, Gary Foster, Ladelle McWhorter, Clare O’Farrell, Stephen Pickard, Peter Sherlock, and Cathy Thomson, who have read sections and chapters of the book. In the process, I have received helpful editorial support from David Shervington, Michael Bourne, Jack Boothroyd, and Matthew Twigg. Don Edwards and Lee Parker read the entire book, generously providing comments and suggestions with good humour, clarity, and wisdom. I could not have done this project without the generous support of Anne. I have learned much from her about love, courage, and integrity. I look forward to our next adventure.

Abbreviations

AB

AK

BC

BP

CT

DOL

DP EW1

EW2

EW3

FL

Abnormal: Lectures at the Collège de France 1974–1975. Edited by Valerio Marchetti and Antonella Salomoni, translated by Graham Burchell. New York: Picador, 1999, 2003. The Archaeology of Knowledge (and The Discourse on Language). Translated by Alan M. Sheridan Smith. New York: Vintage Books, 1969, 1971, 1972. The Birth of the Clinic: An Archaeology of Medical Perception. Translated by Alan M. Sheridan. London, New York: Routledge: 1963, 1973, 1989. The Birth of Biopolitics: Lectures at the Collège de France 1978–1979. Edited by Michel Senellart, translated by Graham Burchell. New York: Picador, 2004, 2008. The Courage of Truth: The Government of Self and Others II, Lectures at the Collège de France 1983–1984. Edited by Frédéric Gros, translated by Graham Burchell. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008, 2011. “The Discourse on Language” originally published in 1971, translated by Rupert Swyer. Reprinted as the appendix in The Archaeology of Knowledge. Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison. Translated by Alan Sheridan. New York: Vintage Books, 1975, 1978, 1995. Ethics, Subjectivity, and Truth: Essential Works of Michel Foucault 1954–1984. Edited by Paul Rabinow. New York: The New Press, 1994, 1997. Aesthetics, Method, and Epistemology: Essential Works of Michel Foucault 1954–1984. Edited by James D. Faubion. New York: The New Press, 1994, 1998. Power: Essential Works of Michel Foucault 1954–1984. Edited by James D. Faubion. New York: The New Press, 1994, 2000. Foucault Live: Collected Interviews, 1961–1984. Edited by Sylvere Lotringer, translated by Lysa Hochroth and John Johnston. New York: Semiotext(e), 1989, 1996.

viii FS GOL

GOS

HM

HS1

HS2

IKA

M OT

P/K

PP

PPC

PS

PT

SBD

Abbreviations Fearless Speech. Edited by Joseph Pearson. Los Angeles: Semiotext(e), 2001. The Government of the Living: Lectures at the Collège de France 1979–1980. Edited by Michel Senellart, translated by Graham Burchell. New York: Palgrave Macmillan 2012, 2014. The Government of Self and Others: Lectures at the Collège De France 1982–1983. Edited by Frédéric Gros, translated by Graham Burchell. New York, Palgrave Macmillan, 2008, 2010. History of Madness. Edited by Jean Khalfa, translated by Jonathan J. Murphy and Jean Khalfa. London, New York: Routledge, 1961, 1972, 2006, 2009. The History of Sexuality, volume 1: An Introduction. Translated by Robert Hurley. New York: Vintage Books, 1978, 1990. The Use of Pleasure: The History of Sexuality, volume. 2. Translated by Robert Hurley. New York: Vintage Books: 1984, 1985, 1990. Introduction to Kant’s Anthropology. Edited by Robert Nigro, translated by Robert Nigro and Kate Briggs. Los Angeles: Semiotext(e), 2008. Manet and the Object of Painting. Translated by Matthew Barr. London: Tate Publishing, 2009. The Order of Things: An Archaeology of the Human Sciences. Anonymous translation. London, New York: Routledge, 1966, 1970, 2002. Power/Knowledge: Selected Interviews and Other Writings 1972–1977. Edited by Colin Gordon, translated by Colin Gordon, Leo Marshall, John Mepham, Kate Soper. New York: Vintage Books, 1972, 1975, 1976, 1977, 1980. Psychiatric Power: Lectures at the Collège de France 1973–1974. Edited by Jacque Lagrange, translated by Graham Burchell. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003, 2006. Politics, Philosophy, Culture: Interviews and Other Writings 1977–1984. Edited by Lawrence D. Kritzman, translated by Alan Sheridan and others. London, New York: Routledge, 1988, 1990. The Punitive Society. Lectures at the Collège de France 1972– 1973. Edited by Bernard E. Harcourt, translated by Graham Burchell. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2013, 2015. The Politics of Truth. Edited by Sylvère Lotringer, translated by Lysa Hochroth and Catherine Porter. Los Angeles, Semiotext(e), 1997, 2007. Speech Begins after Death. Edited by Philippe Artières, translated by Robert Bononno. Minneapolis, London: University of Minnesota Press, 2011, 2013.

Abbreviations SMD

STP

TEF

WD

WK

ix

Society Must Be Defended: Lectures at the Collège de France 1975–1976. Edited by Mauro Bertani and Alessandro Fontana, translated by David Macey. New York: Picador: 1997, 2003. Security, Territory, Population: Lectures at the College de France 1977–1978. Edited by Michel Senellart, translated by Burchell. New York: Picador, 2004, 2007. The Essential Foucault: Selections from the Essential Works of Foucault 1954–1984. Edited by Paul Rabinow and Nikolas Rose. New York: The New Press, 1994, 2003. Wrong-Doing Truth-Telling: The Function of Avowal in Justice. Edited by Fabienne Brion and Bernard E. Harcourt, translated by Stephen W. Sawyer. Chicago, London: University of Chicago Press, 2014. Lectures on the Will to Know: Lectures at the Collège de France 1970–1971 and Oedipal Knowledge. Edited by Daniel Defert, translated by Arnold I. Davidson. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011, 2013.

Reference works

CRFF NRSV SOED

Collins Roberts French Dictionary New Revised Standard Version Shorter Oxford English Dictionary

1

The Church and the problem of sovereign power

Thinking otherwise As a child, I remember waiting anxiously with my parents for the arrival of the doctor. On one occasion, it was three in the morning and I had a bout of the croup. The doctor arrived wearing pyjamas and dressing gown, with a leather case and stethoscope in hand. We were greatly relieved – well before the examination. In those days, of course, there were other luminaries like the bank manager, teacher, or priest, but the doctor stood out.1 In the best sense of the word, the doctor had authority. But what did this mean? Well, it involved a combination of factors. For a start, the pyjamas and dressing gown signalled that the doctor’s authority did not depend upon dress. Certainly, the doctor’s expertise was prized. But above all, the doctor was a trustworthy figure, who cared for us. And so, the figure of the doctor was invested with authority. However, in contemporary society, the concept of authority seems outdated. Notwithstanding its apparent demise, authority is still a prominent part of contemporary church life. Whether it is the authority of conviction, bible, tradition, or office, authority is woven deeply into the ecclesial fabric. Nevertheless, there is a conspicuous failure of authority in the Church, which has to be addressed. In order to remedy this, the Church has to think otherwise, testing the limits, and remaining open to new possibilities. So what is the problem? The problem is the Church’s dependence on sovereign power. As part of society, however, the Church cannot completely remove itself from the influence of sovereign power. But the Church does not have to be complicit. It has its own vocation. Nevertheless, the problem is complex. Subsequently, I am focusing on key factors and their interactions. As an overview, here is an outline of the factors. First, the problem is described here as sovereign power. This is the problem of a church leader acting and believing he/she is the sovereign exception, exercising sovereign-like entitlements. In ecclesial practice, there is a preference for using prerogative over the harsher sounding entitlement or right. Second, in Foucauldian terms, we cannot stand outside the mesh of power-relations, but we can make choices about how we engage with power. Third, the choice is not easy, because laity and clergy, as well as senior clergy, become enthralled by “the spell of monarchy”.2 Consequently, others are marginalized. In fact, the

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ecclesial “mechanisms of exclusion” affect the whole Church,3 exacerbating the plight of those who are already on the outer.4 Fourth, the Church did not invent sovereign power. It is problem in other institutions too (cf. hospitals, schools, prisons). The point here is the need for the Church to re-articulate its vocation. Finally, this is not an argument for discarding authority; instead, it is about its renewal.5 So, how will this be approached? In terms of approach, this book is primarily a theological enterprise, which is broadly ecumenical, focusing on authority. The thesis is that sovereign power is the norm in the life of the Church.6 The aim is to explore alternative ways of thinking about, and being, the Church. In particular, this involves thinking differently about the Church by exploring four catalysts for change, which are critique, a spatial approach, the imagination, and shared wisdom.7 In this light, the book is an exercise in pre-ecclesiology, identifying catalysts for inclusion in the study of the Church. In the process, I am using interrelated strategies of critical reflection, conceptual critique, case studies, pastoral scenarios, and insights from philosophy, sociology, cultural studies, and other disciplines. Above all, I am using the work of Michel Foucault as the primary source, setting the tone for the ecclesiological critique. In broad terms, critique is about thinking differently or otherwise (penser autrement);8 as such, a “critique is not a matter of saying that things are not right as they are. It is a matter of pointing out on what kinds of assumptions, what kinds of familiar, unchallenged, unconsidered modes of thought the practices that we accept rest”.9 This involves testing the limits, where the limits may be exceeded, leading to “the modification of received values and all the work done to think otherwise, to do something else, to become other than what one is”.10 After all, though Foucault is reflecting on philosophy, theology is also an “endeavour to know how and to what extent it might be possible to think differently”.11 Critique, as such, is partly a cognitive exercise, but it is more, as “it must be conceived as an attitude, an ethos, a philosophical life in which critique of what we are is at one and the same time the historical analysis of the limits imposed on us and an experiment with the possibility of going beyond them”.12 In specific terms, critique involves identifying an unhealthy leader/follower dynamic in the Church. In this context, critique is the follower’s right “to question power about its discourses of truth”.13 In so doing, a follower exercises a significant degree of freedom. Overall then, critique is not a matter of finding a few bad eggs in the Church, and saying here is the problem, but rather it is a case of changing a church culture that is bound to sovereign power. In contrast to sovereign power, Christianity begins with the teaching and practice of Jesus, and his friends from Galilee. The heart of his teaching is the coming reign of God, which is the creative presence of God, already but not yet fully come. As such, a sign of the reign of God among us is the creation of a certain space (ekklesia),14 an inclusive space, a space of freedom (Gal 3:28), in which we are mutually empowered. In other words, the Church is called to be a space of freedom. So, let me say more about this spatial approach.

The Church and sovereign power

3

First, the expression space of freedom comes from Foucault. In particular, Foucault, in reflecting on his approach to the analysis of the present, declares: “It does not consist in a simple characterization of what we are but, instead – by following lines of fragility in the present – in managing to grasp why and how that-which-is might no longer be that-which-is. In this sense, any description must always be made in accordance with these kinds of virtual fracture which open up the space of freedom understood as a concrete space of freedom, i.e., of possible transformation.”15 This is a touchstone quotation for this book, in the way it spells out the meaning of critique, which can be summarized here by the question “how does the Church, and its authority, actually work?” Moreover, the Church, by following its own lines of fragility, and examining its own fractures, opens up “the space of freedom”. The lines and the fractures constitute the difficult truth the Church is called to face in every generation. In so doing, the Church renounces sovereign forms of power. Second, I am using the phrases the space of freedom and the open space of freedom interchangeably. The addition of the qualifier open is partly coloured by the Christian practice of ekklesia, picking up the democratic ethos of the early liturgical assemblies. Third, the concept of the space of freedom will be used as an alternative to the often implicit, but largely dominant, monarchical model of ecclesiology. At this juncture, however, it would be helpful to prefigure something about the character of the Christian space and the concept of ekklesia. In terms of the character of the Christian space, it is important to note the story of the haemorrhaging woman (Mk 5:24b-34), who is doubly polluted by virtue of gender and affliction.16 The issue, however, is not so much the healing, which is important, but that Jesus invites her into community (Mk 5:34). In so doing, Jesus transcends boundaries that were used to differentiate and marginalize others. Moreover, the writer highlights the significance of this action by sandwiching the story within another story. Tellingly, the temple gatekeeper had to wait until Jesus welcomed an unclean woman into community, “The despised woman as the poorest of the poor has symbolic priority in the Church. As such, she also represents the hosts of other oppressed groups in need of God’s favour.”17 In so doing, Jesus sets the ethical standard for his followers, as he embraces the unclean.18 Like a Foucauldian disruption, Jesus sets new norms.19 In terms of ekklesia, though rarely used in the Gospels (Matt 16:18; 18:17), it eventually came to encapsulate the Church’s identity. In broad terms, its theology goes like this: The Church is called to be a certain kind of space (ekklesia), open to the reign of God, rendering itself as a space of freedom (Gal 5:1, 5:13). That is, in contrast to the practice of empire, the ekklesia of God is an open space. In this context, followers of Jesus are called to a discipleship of equals,20 where there is freedom. This is not freedom as license, but the freedom to live with compassion for others. I will explore this in Chapter 5 by reading Gal 3:28 as an archetypal example of this kind of space. As such, Gal 3:28 is an iconic text, which provides insight into the character of ekklesia as an open space of freedom. In this space, love creates a unity (Gal 3:26–29) that leads to freedom, “For freedom Christ has set us free” (Gal 5:1). This sense of freedom, with its

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The Church and sovereign power

political implications, is underlined by the fact that many members of the Church at Galatia were not Jewish or Greek but Galatians, who were regarded as barbarians by the Romans.21 Nonetheless, the other is a full member of the liturgical assembly. In Christ, then, a unity is established that embraces differences. In other words, Paul has taken up a baptismal practice of the early church and made it the centrepiece of his letter to the barbarians (i.e. the marginalized other). Subsequently, church as ekklesia is an embryonic spatial approach, which can be built-on using Foucault’s spatial approach. All this is in contrast to a contemporary Church, under sovereign power, which is hierarchical, focusing on the instrumental value of persons and pursuing order over love. It is inherently exclusive, a culture of conformity, partly because of its commitment to unitary speech (discourses) and uniform behaviours, but also because of a lack of critical awareness. This is reinforced by the sacralization of obedience. In conclusion, I am optimistic about the potential for ecclesiological transformation. The optimism is premised on the incomprehensible mystery of God and a realistic view of the Church. By realistic, I am referring to the notion that in order to address the problem of sovereign power, the Church’s culture has to change. This involves changing how its leaders and followers are formed. In Foucauldian terms, this is the problem of subject formation. In particular, Foucault draws attention to the link between subjection and the subject, that is, the powers that subject us make us who we are.22 This means if we understand the nature of the Church’s enmeshment with sovereign power, we may find new ways of making lasting changes. Nevertheless, this kind of change is complex. It requires a fresh critique, a space of freedom, the work of imagination and shared wisdom. As such, the book is a theological exercise in thinking otherwise. The remainder of this chapter will explore key themes, which are sovereign power, the epistemological significance of church leaders, the marginalization of the other, the prevalence of suspicion in theological circles about using Foucault, and practical matters (including the chapter outline).

The problem of sovereign power Historically, authority has had a pivotal role in the tradition and practice of the Church. In order to develop a fresh approach to ecclesiology, this book will use Michel Foucault’s power/knowledge conceptualization to form a theoretical framework for the purpose of examining ecclesial authority.23 Overall, the concept of authority is implicitly present in his work, particularly in relation to the theme of sovereignty.24 According to Mitchell Dean, however, Foucault tried to consign sovereignty to the past, yet “Despite his repeated desire to cut off the King’s head … the ghost of the sovereign, like Hamlet’s father, keeps reappearing in his work.”25 Dean may have overstated the case; but the concept of sovereignty was problematic for Foucault. Likewise, the Church has been haunted by the figure of the sovereign. At least since Constantine, the Church has been enmeshed with monarchical forms of power. Arguably, sovereignty is the default setting of the Church in the West, which is reflected, for example, in

The Church and sovereign power

5

patterns of Christian leadership exercising their presumed right to power over others. In other words, the leader believes he/she is the sovereign exception. That is, the leader is the exception to the law, who sets the law. This leads inexorably to the marginalization of others. As such, it is important to prefigure here something of the character of ecclesial authority. The key to this is the epistemological status of church leaders. On this, Foucault’s concept of power/ knowledge is critical. In Foucault, the power/knowledge nexus generates epistemological possibilities, which in turn reshape power-relations, for “there is no power relation without the correlative constitution of a field of knowledge, nor any knowledge that does not presuppose and constitute at the same time power relations”.26 Knowledge, because of its nexus with power, shapes power relations producing real effects in bodies and in communities.27 In this context, the epistemological dimension of a church leader’s role is crucial. The leader, as guardian of the tradition, embodies certain norms.28 That is, the leader reinforces normative standards.29 This is partly because, the leader is divinely authorized, making his/her reading true. Moreover, at least implicitly, church leaders have a God’seye-view, because they have been divinely authorized. So, the shepherd (pastor) speaks for the good shepherd. As such, the epistemological role of church leaders is pivotal.30 This is evident in ecclesial discourse. I will argue that ecclesial discourses highlight the epistemological centrality of church leaders. In particular, ecclesial discourse determines who can speak, and what counts as true.31 Critically, a leader has oversight of the discursive practices of church communities, which is reinforced by non-discursive practices like enthronement rituals.32 With such privilege, the inherent temptation for every leader is to embrace sovereign power.33 Under these conditions, knowledge is appropriated like territory, “topographizing it, investing it with powers, bounding it by exclusions, defining who or what can rightfully enter”.34 Under the reign of sovereign power, the guardian of the tradition takes custody of truth, “It is the sovereignty of the knowledge possessed by the warder.”35 At this juncture, however, it is important to make two qualifications. First, much of this is unwitting behaviour, as “oppression is produced and maintained structurally and systemically; it may very well not be intentionally perpetuated by individuals”.36 Second, the sovereign pattern is reinforced by followers who are seeking sovereigns. In summary, under conditions of sovereign power, leaders argue that by virtue of their office, with its transcendent warrant, they know what is right and they have the right to have the final say, regardless of the circumstances. In Agamben’s terms, they are the exception to the law.37 In Foucauldian terms, their knowledge is privileged knowledge.38 As bearers of privileged knowledge, however, are these matters accessible only to epistemic-peers? And who are these peers? Are they under any obligation to explain their decisions, let alone seek consent? In addition, in good faith, laity and clergy believe the Church is divinely instituted and that God has called their leaders. So, even if they suspect a leader’s judgement to be at fault, they are called to be obedient. Like good

6

The Church and sovereign power

sheep, they are called to obey God’s anointed shepherds. In this context, obedience is a dubious virtue. As such, the failings of ecclesial authority are symptomatic of a wider ecclesial culture. Significantly, the marginal suffer.39 Subsequently, I need to say more about the other.

The marginalization of the other in the life of the Church Historically, the Church has welcomed the other with open arms. Gestures of hospitality, however, also accentuate the Church’s systemic mistreatment of the other. From barbarians to witches, court dwarves, hermaphrodites and colonized peoples, history is populated by others who have been conquered, burned, ridiculed, exploited, and enslaved at the hands of the Church. The other includes people with disabilities. There are the homeless too, as well as asylum seekers. And countless others who are marginalized on the basis of gender, sexuality, or race. In other words, there are many others and the process of othering takes place in many ways.40 But there is a common denominator: others are usually marginalized on the basis of difference. In Western culture, the other, at least implicitly, is regarded as abnormal, even frightening.41 Subsequently, the other has been problematized in various ways.42 As Foucault quips, “the history of abnormal individuals (les anormaux), begins quite simply with King Kong; that is to say, from the outset we are in the land of the ogres”.43 Nonetheless, Foucault explored the other in depth, especially in the context of what constitutes normal. In contrast to the normal, the abnormal are dangerous, “The constant division between the normal and the abnormal, to which every individual is subjected, brings us back to our own time, by applying the binary branding and exile of the leper to quite different objects.”44 In his classic study on madness, Foucault studied the process of separating the mentally ill from good society, which began in earnest in the eighteenth century. This is what he refers to as the period of confinement.45 In many cases, the mentally ill, criminals, and the indigent, were treated as one as they were confined together. In fact, “The presence of the mad among prisoners was not the scandalous limit of confinement, but its truth; not an abuse, but its essence.”46 Subsequently, the groundwork was set for the distinction between normal and abnormal. But what about the contemporary church and the other? Certainly, people are no longer burnt at the stake, but there is church gossip. I will discuss gossip in detail later, suffice to say, the concept of gossip points to a number of important issues: the nuanced nature of discourse, the power of knowledge for inculcating norms, and a way of marginalising the other. For Gluckman, who pioneered work on gossip, gossip is “among the most important societal and cultural phenomena we are called upon to analyse”.47 Epistemologically, gossip can be a source of knowledge, “Once we have established that some communication is gossip, the question of its reliability and truth is… much the same as that of any other piece of testimony”.48 Basically, gossip consists of “evaluative statements about individuals’ private lives.”49 This is an

The Church and sovereign power

7

absent third person. As such, gossip can be negative (cf. exclusion) or positive (cf. bonding/learning). Ironically, positive gossip can be used to balance the social ledger, or inject new wisdom (i.e. “a kind of subjugated discourse of the outsider”).50 The negative form of gossip, however, by propagating a prejudice can damage the absent person’s reputation, such that the person and her testimony are not taken seriously.51 In the end, a negative form of gossip reinforces social norms, where the norm “is not simply and not even a principle of intelligibility; it is an element on the basis of which a certain exercise of power is founded and legitimized”.52 That is, negative gossip marginalizes the marginal. In the Church, for example, this can take the form of hate speech about gay and lesbians persons (e.g. love the sinner, hate the sin), or gossip among leaders can undermine a follower’s employment opportunities (e.g. did you know that she’s a feminist). In summary, the mistreatment of the other is a significant measure of the ethical and spiritual life of the Church (Matt 25:31–46). The other, however, is not the direct focus here, but it forms the ethical horizon of the book (cf. Deut 10:19, “You shall also love the stranger”). Nevertheless, and this is critical, it is hard to understand the plight of the other in particular, if the marginalizing effects of sovereign power in general are not understood. In other words, what is it about the Church that marginalizes its followers (some more than others)? To that end, I will argue that living under sovereign power is the norm and not the exception. This means it is important to understand church culture, both its structures and its power-relations. In this light, I am also arguing that a church leader’s epistemological identity has a pivotal role in the leader/follower dynamic, and the marginalization of others. Under sovereign power, there is an inexorable drive toward unitary discourse and uniform behaviours, which sustains the binaries of clean and unclean, natural and unnatural, normal and abnormal, exacerbating the pervasive experience of marginalization. Moreover, as we are currently more aware of the significance of psychological harm, then marginalizing behaviour like negative gossip, hate speech, or bullying have to be named and addressed as destructive. Before proceeding, however, it is important to look at how the mistreatment of the other provides an insight into the character of sovereign power.

The child as other: Sovereign power, child abuse, and the Catholic Church In this light, child abuse is symptomatic of the abuses of sovereign power. But why child abuse? Overall, child abuse is paramount for a number of reasons. First, thousands of children suffered dreadfully, not to mention the heartache of their families and friends. Second, it has occurred in a number of Christian traditions. Third, the Church in the past has responded abysmally to survivors. In fact, the Church has protected the perpetrator, directly or indirectly, and blamed the victim. Fourth, many Christians have been distressed knowing children suffered, and that the Church failed. As a result, however, many churches have

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taken important steps to change attitudes, processes, and behaviours. Notwithstanding the signs of change, the failure of ecclesial authority played a role in all this. Specifically, the nexus between leadership, power/knowledge, and its impact on people, is critical here. Subsequently, this section will look at the child in Foucault, research on church members, as well as theological and social scientific reflections on child abuse in the Catholic Church. The Catholic Church has been chosen for this case study, partly because of prominence, but also because of the availability of research material. Some aspects of child abuse, in relation to the Anglican Church and sovereign power, will be referred to in Chapter 4. Historically, and in Foucauldian style, a strong argument can be made for the marginalization of the child as other.53 Since the nineteenth century, children have become increasingly problematized. Moreover, the Church’s indifference toward and concealment of child abuse are symptomatic of a culture that perpetuated the othering of children. In fact, the element of concealment cannot be underestimated as “secrecy is not in the nature of an abuse; it is indispensable to its operation”.54 Among other things, the Church’s silence played a role in the propagation of child abuse. In today’s context, Jodi Death summarizes the Church’s response to child abuse, which “included secrecy, denial, victim blaming, treatment of offenders, the silencing of victim/survivors and at times the support of victim/survivors, their families and a careful and caring response to their needs”.55 In theory, churches could be places where victim/survivors find their voice. In practice, the theme of forgiveness, which could be a source of life, has been used to marginalize.56 Specifically, she is interested in how forgiveness compounds the problem. As such, Death posits, “It is in understanding the role of forgiveness in church responses to abuse by Church leaders that there exists a need for further empirical study.”57 In general, forgiveness has a major role in ecclesial discourse. It is one of the major Christian truths, which has been entrusted to those with a ministry of oversight. However, “In relation to the role of forgiveness in responses to abuse by PICIs [i.e. personnel in Christian institutions], it has been recognized that forgiveness has functioned to silence victim/survivors, deny them voice and marginalise their stories … discourses of forgiveness include widely recognized concepts such as ‘forgive and forget’ and also more church-specific concepts of unconditional forgiveness and grace.”58 Significantly, under sovereign power, the exploitation of a Christian virtue like forgiveness is not unusual. In terms of theorization, there is a cluster of concepts like forgiveness, grace, charity, and obedience, which are representative of Christian piety in particular, and ecclesial discourse in general, which are open to exploitation. As such, this book contends that the concept of obedience is a major factor. For example, sovereign power exploits the axiom that good sheep are obedient, and as obedient sheep they should forgive others, just as Jesus the good shepherd commanded (Matt 18:21–22). Moreover, the culture of obedience goes hand in hand with a culture of secrecy. In fact, “it is indispensable to its operation”.59

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In an Australian setting, Catholic theologian Andrew Murray looks at the causes of child abuse, concluding that it is has to do with the very structure of the Church.60 In particular, and echoing Schmitt and Agamben (Chapter 3), “the church is an absolute monarchy, or rather a hierarchy, that is, a structured series of monarchies. It is without a rule of law, because the monarch is not subject to the law” (italics added).61 This pattern of sovereign power is replicated throughout the Church as, “Bishops, or parish priests, do not answer to anyone unless it is the pope or bishop above them.”62 Certainly, parish priests can also exercise sovereign power, and do, but they are ultimately bound to the bishops. Progression through the ranks, for example, “is through patronage, so that all eyes are on the man above”.63 In an American setting, social scientist Marie Keenan comes to a similar conclusion. She relies on empirical evidence, qualitative data, various sources (overseas and American), and interviews with abusive and non-abusive Catholic clergy.64 She identifies as problematic “Church governance and the exercise of power, authority, and obedience”.65 In a perceptive challenge, Keenan raises the (subject) formation of clergy, “When will such formation programs include a theology of power in which authority in the Catholic Church is reconfigured to include not just an understanding of the obligations when ‘under’ authority, but also an understanding of the responsibilities of those ‘in’ authority?”66 Certainly, Catholic leaders knew, as “There is now sufficient literature available on the subject of abuse by Catholic clergy to suggest that despite their protestations to the contrary, the Catholic Church hierarchy in Ireland and the United States had knowledge of sexual abuse by clergy from the 1960s onwards.”67 Significantly, there is a dynamic between sovereign power and the culture of obedience, such that “The problem with the whole approach to obedience that was encouraged and accepted by participants during their training was that it kept them like children in an institution that rewarded compliance.”68 Important themes emerge from this brief review, which begin to fill out the portrait of sovereign power. First, children were not valued, which is why they were treated instrumentally. Second, the lack of accountability on the part of leaders, and the maintenance of secrecy, are symptomatic of sovereign power.69 Third, complicity relates to the subject formation of leaders (and followers), which is reinforced by a culture of obedience. In other words, they have been formed this way. These qualities resurface in the Anglican study (Chapters 3 and 4), which also highlights the underlying influence of the monarchical model or pattern of church.

The marginalizing effects of untested norms In the major case study (Chapters 3 and 4), I will be arguing that the leader has a privileged epistemological role as guardian of the tradition. In particular, a leader under sovereign power has the capacity to exercise significant influence over ecclesial discourses. It is these discourses that re-inscribe cultural codes (or norms), which implicitly but effectively marginalize others. All this affects the

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way we see and treat others. In other words, our statements are bearers of social norms. Consequently, if the norms are not named then LGBTIQ Christians,70 for example, who speak in presbyteries, councils or synods, start with a credibility deficit and so their wisdom (cf. testimony) is diminished. In other words, if norms remain untested, our trust in the other is diminished. Certainly, there is a theoretical debate about which comes first, the norm or the structure. In ecclesial practice, however, there is an interplay between them, where norms are potent expressions of authority.71 As such, the norm turns what otherwise might be a prejudice into law.72 Unchallenged, injustice is normalized. But what is meant by norm? First, norms are an integral part of existence, “As human beings, we live in a normative register; to have a particular identity is at least in part to have a particular sense of right and wrong.”73 Second, norms are hard to define or detect because they are internalized, “The capacity for norm-responsiveness is not always exercised – it will not be visible in every action we take – but the fact that we are the kinds of beings who are capable of responding to norms is a crucial aspect of human agency … The norms that move us typically do so because they have been internalized as parts of our characters and identities.”74 As such, much of Foucault’s work is on the discursive inscription of norms, which form us as subjects. Third, norms are not inherently negative. Judith Butler reminds us of the “doubled truth” of norms.75 On the one hand, we need norms to live by. In this fashion, for example, this book is advocating a particular conception of freedom as normative. On the other hand, unnamed and untested norms can be harmful. Of course, the harmful aspect of implicit norms signals the particular contribution of Foucault, “it is not the normal and the abnormal that is fundamental and primary in disciplinary normalization, it is the norm.”76 For instance, Foucault argued that sex had become normative, or more precisely, the truth for twentieth-century Western culture.77 In the present climate, homosexuality has become the truth of the Church. It is not the whole truth, but it is a major part of the Church’s life in terms of polemical debates, media coverage, and public perception. The concern here then is to change the frame of reference. For example, starting with the Bible is not necessarily the best strategy; as it does not address the untested norms of sexuality, or name the negative gossip that shapes ecclesial discourse. For many Christians, the Bible is the primary (even sole) source of authority for addressing the issue of sexuality. Typically, six biblical texts have been the focus of ecclesial debates.78 Significantly, LGBTIQ Christians are often present as silent members in these debates. I say silent because they rarely feel safe to speak, let alone speak as an LGBTIQ person.79 So, notwithstanding the primacy of Scripture, the ecclesial debates are preshaped by unnamed norms. In other words, the parameters have already been set in place. For example, the cultural norm that “homosexuality is wrong”,80 continues to permeate discourses and affect decision-making processes.81 Besides, the widespread, fractious and unresolved nature of ecclesial debates on sexuality, constitute an answer of sorts. In other words, the current approaches are not working. The lack of resolution

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explains in part why some leaders are keeping sexuality off the agenda (Chapter 4, bishops’ protocols). However, this may not be the best response, for instance, “In the last fifteen years Anglicans have embarked on a high-risk strategy of conflict avoidance and containment in the face of growing differences over the place of homosexuality in the public life of the Church.”82 In the end, I will not be focusing directly on sexuality, but the issue of sexuality raises issues about church culture, unnamed norms, sovereign power, and the drive toward unitary discourse and uniform behaviour.

Suspicious minds: on theologians inferring Foucault does not care about truth I am using Foucault as my principal conversation partner. In order for his contribution to be appraised adequately, however, I need to say something about his tenuous place in theology. This section will address the presence of a certain reserve about the status of truth in Foucault, which is held by a number of theologians. Generally, the suspicions are based on an inadequate critique of a limited sample of Foucault’s work,83 which is used to dismiss him on the grounds he does not value the truth, or believe in the existence of truth. This is a misrepresentation of Foucault, and an oversimplification of the concept of truth. As such, the purpose of this section is to address these misrepresentations, and prepare the way for a fresh appraisal of his work. Two important outcomes emerge as a result of addressing these objections. First, obstacles blocking the reception of an appraisal of his work are identified. Second, his work constitutes a challenge to the Church to face its own complex and difficult truths. In other words, what starts out as an inquisition into Foucault, ends up being a challenge to the grounds of ecclesiology. Certainly, like other scholars, Foucault’s work has its shortcomings. Nevertheless, for him, truth is in the world, and it takes courage to discover it. Incidentally, it is often presumed that Foucault is anti-church, which apparently is consistent with his so-called nihilism. And this is a good starting place for a fresh appraisal. There are positive personal connections between Foucault and the Church. In fact, it seems reasonable to speculate that his personal experience of Catholicism influenced him positively, at least implicitly, though its significance should not be exaggerated. In other words, the Church was part of his subject formation.84 Arguably Foucault’s meta-ethic (Chapter 2), with its affirmation of freedom, and concern for the marginal, reveals traces of the best of Catholic moral and social teaching.85 Moreover, two incidents are noteworthy. First, in an interview, Foucault avowed “I have a very strong Catholic background, and I am not ashamed.”86 He also tells a moving story about the courageous Archbishop of São Paulo Dom Evariste.87 Second, with his funeral wishes, he asked for a religious service.88 He was buried in Poitiers at Vendeuvre-du-Poitou, the site of the family home. As a child, he attended mass at St Porchaire with his grandmother and siblings. St Porchaire cared for the marginalized. In typical Foucault style, however, his life and work resist categorization. But what about theology?89

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In theological circles, Foucault’s work is known, but there is an air of apprehension about using it. He has not been embraced by theologians to the same degree as Girard or Derrida. With Girard, his work on the scapegoat struck a chord with theology, and the Christian psyche, surrounding the themes of sacrifice and atonement. With Derrida, his method of deconstruction and his themes (e.g. hospitality, forgiveness), as well as his work with texts, words, and meaning, appealed widely to theological sensibilities. Certainly, Girard and Derrida pose their own theological challenges, however, they have been more readily embraced by theology than Foucault. In contrast, there is something disruptive about Foucault (which, after all, was his critical intention). Typically, Foucault’s work is used in theology in two broad ways. First, a Foucauldian insight, taken out of context, is used as evidence against him by creating straw figure Foucaults for rhetorical purposes. For example Alexander Jensen, after looking at Foucault in relation to institutions, arrives at the following conclusion, “Apart from this function in the game of power, there is no meaning, no truth in any human construct”.90 In a similar vein, Miroslav Volf claims Foucault “is not interested in ‘truth’ but in what passes for the truth, in what he calls ‘truth-effects’”.91 Graham Ward, who has a more nuanced approach to Foucault, also dismisses Foucault on the issue of truth “The truth of History, the ontology of historiography, was of no interest to him at all.”92 Because of these concerns about truth in Foucault, and his ties with Nietzsche, Foucault has been dismissed as nihilist. However, this often involves caricatures of Foucault, as well as Nietzsche.93 Foucault’s meta-ethic (his gaze) belies the nihilistic impression.94 Moreover, it counters the anarchic impression of his corpus, emanating from his nominalist style,95 by setting it against a humanizing horizon. Humanizing, not in the romantic sense, but in terms of identifying mechanisms of exclusion, stripping them away, and opening up new spaces of freedom. For instance, Foucault’s passion for freedom is the ethical driver behind his concern about the adverse effects of normalization on the other. Foucault’s own norms then “are directed more toward a decentring and localization of knowledge forms that will dislodge power/knowledge convergences, making it possible for us to think differently”.96 It is this capacity “to think differently”, in relation to power/knowledge relations, which is vital to the development of a fresh ecclesiological critique. Certainly, there is a new trend emerging in theology, which is more disposed to Foucault.97 But the prevailing mood is still one of suspicion, especially around the question of truth. It is not an easy task to categorize Foucault’s epistemology. In some ways, the best place to start is with his questions. In particular, he questions the way we construct knowledge, form theory, and write history. In a practical way, his epistemology is an analysis of knowledge, theory, and history, and a host of institutions and practices in-between. For Foucault, nonetheless, there is a real world where objects exist, events occur, and lives are lived. But we cannot access these objects, events, or lives outside of history. In other words, there is no unmediated study of the world. Truth is discovered in history, and expressed

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discursively. Moreover, there are theologians who broadly share a similar approach to Foucault on truth, like Tillich: “Religious truth is existential truth; to this extent it cannot be separated from practice.”98 They emphasize the incomprehensible nature of divine mystery, which commends an epistemological modesty. In this context, some reserve must be exercised in talking about God. In this vein, Paul Avis defends the contribution of philosophers, like Foucault, who represent the critical tradition, “The apophatic component in Christian theology, that speaks of a God who is hidden from us, shrouded in the cloud of unknowing, sits well with an epistemology that stresses the limitations of our knowledge and that probability is the guide of life.”99 I am not suggesting there is an easy solution here, but rather, I am arguing that epistemological issues are complex. Moreover, truth is important for Foucault. He describes his work as “the history of relations between thought and truth”.100 In fact, his epistemology “does not deny the necessity of the ordinary processes of empirical confirmation used in the justification of theory-choice, but he does raise new kinds of questions about the epistemic adequacy of these kinds of determinations as the means to establish truth. He also raises new questions about what kinds of truth these established methods produce.”101 So what can we affirm about his view of truth? Foucault’s truth is premised on an ontology of history, where truths emerge from history and are expressed discursively, so “one should identify the discursive practices which were able to constitute the matrices of possible bodies of knowledge.”102 For Foucault, it is a discursive world, but this is not saying that “‘everything comes out of somebody’s head’ or that ‘nothing exists’ outside of discourse”.103 Moreover, the most precious truths are received and shared as the properties of statements. In this regard, Foucault exercises an intellectual (and personal) modesty with truth claims. Above all, Foucault is not interested in abstract, disengaged, decontextualized truths, but palpable, engaged, contextualized truths. In this light, we can appreciate Foucault’s commitment to “the force of truth” and the ties by which women and men “have gradually bound themselves in and through the manifestation of truth”.104 As such, he interested in “The obligation to tell truth about oneself.”105 In other words, his commitment to a critical, contextual, and historical approach to truth, does not mean he is an ethical or epistemological relativist. In fact, across various contexts, Foucault challenges systems of domination, affirms the critical tradition of thought as a form of resistance, upholds personal freedom, encouraging a selftransformation that benefits others, where the value and integrity of the human body is recognized. These Foucauldian truths transcend specific contexts, and reflect something of his meta-ethical gaze. Foucault searched for truth with conviction. Moreover, it had a personal dimension for him, which was bound to his experience of World War II: “I experienced one of my first great frights when Chancellor Dollfuss was assassinated by the Nazis … Maybe that is the reason why I am fascinated by history and the relationship between personal experience and those events of which we are a part. I think that is the nucleus of my theoretical desires.”106 As such,

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Foucault sees “Knowledge as a means of surviving by understanding.”107 This may explain his reluctance to accept things at face value, as his norms “are directed more toward a decentring and localization of knowledge forms that will dislodge power/knowledge convergences, making it possible for us to think differently”.108 And this can lead to freedom.109 Overall, there is an enduring commitment to truthfulness in Foucault’s work.110

Practical matters: orientation, major sources, key terms, chapter outline I need to be make some comments about my orientation as a researcher, and identify the book’s major sources, key terms, and chapter outline. First, in terms of the book’s orientation, I am an Anglican priest. I am concerned about the well-being of minorities in the Church, but I am focusing on the marginalizing effects of church culture as a whole. I have had positive experiences of church life and its leadership, so I am also interested the renewal of the Church and its authority. I have included an Anglican case study, partly because I know it first hand,111 but also because it has catholic and reformed dimensions making it a reasonable candidate for this study. It is what Hans Küng calls “the third way”.112 In the end, however, the book has a broad ecumenical outlook. Finally, I resonate with a comment by Jeremy Bernauer: “As a Jesuit priest, I have often been met by surprise, occasionally hostility, when it is discovered that I am a respectful student of Foucault’s philosophy.”113 Second, in terms of major sources, the primary conversation partner is Foucault. The book, however, is a theological work. In places, Rahner’s work acts as a complement to Foucault. In particular, Rahner’s understanding of God as incomprehensible mystery, the sphere of freedom, symbolic causality, and the centrality of the imagination, play a supporting role in developing the book’s critique. Ironically, Foucault and Rahner share some interests (e.g. concern for other/neighbour). The major difference is that Rahner’s work is grounded in the infinite, as such their work is similar, but different or “asymptotic”.114 Moreover, Rahner, with a Foucauldian resonance, has helped theology appreciate “the situated, partial and fragile character of all human knowing and doing”.115 Further, the focus in Foucault is an ontology of history, which is the ground from which new truths are excavated. In Rahner, new truths are realized in history too, but this is premised on a metaphysics of knowledge, where mystery is the ground.116 As such, Foucault’s frame is finitude, whereas Rahner’s frame is the infinite. The question, of course, which cannot be resolved in this book, concerns the meaning of the infinite and the nature of God’s difference.117 Third, terminology is problematic as the meaning of concepts is debatable. Moreover, the inter-disciplinary nature of contemporary research complicates it. All the same, it would be helpful to prefigure key concepts, which will be addressed in due course. In this case, I will focus mainly on authority, knowledge, culture, leaders/followers and epistemic hubris. With authority, the book takes the position that authority is highly relevant. It is related to power, but it is not the same. It is often linked to a historical

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foundation or founding tradition, which finds its locus in persons, expressed in narratives, rituals and symbols. The use of the concept of authority then implies an element of consent, that is, without at least tacit consent, authority has no legitimacy. This is what separates authority from sovereign power. Moreover, authority (from augere) can be used to construe leadership as authorising or empowering. In this light, the book’s concern is with the rehabilitation of ecclesial authority. In specific terms, I am interested in ecclesial authority, and not authority per se. In other words, I will consider the seminal idea of authority, but work towards developing a concept of ecclesial authority. In particular, this concept is a working concept, which means it is practice oriented. In other words, the concept of ecclesial authority is linked to ecclesiology, and in turn, ecclesiology shapes the concept of authority. This means the concept is grounded in an ecclesiological model of Church as an open space of freedom. (Sovereignty, which is related to authority, will be addressed in Chapter 3). In terms of knowledge, the meaning of the term is disputed. I will use it heuristically as an umbrella term, encompassing true knowledge, truth, and wisdom, for “What makes knowledge the norm as opposed to, say, truth, or belief, or justified belief? Arguably, what is distinctive is that knowledge is the most general such norm that explains the others” and it “unifies the relevant set of norms”.118 However, in particular contexts, I will talk more directly about truth and wisdom. In terms of culture; I am defining it in broad terms, where “Cultures are complex, differentiated systems of meanings whose contents are dispersed among the minds of the myriad individuals whose interconnected activities in networks of differential association sustain the meanings through their communication with each other.”119 Generally, culture is about group membership, as well as shared experience, language, memory, narrative, and symbol.120 Cultural processes shape individuals differently, but cannot exist without individuals. As such, a culture is changeable and boundaries are not permanent. Subsequently, in order to address the problem of sovereign power, I am arguing that the Church’s culture needs to change. To change the Church, structures have to change, where structures are enduring social patterns.121 All these complexities need to be borne in mind. So, for example, the leader/follower dynamic will be described variously in terms of sovereign power and obedience, or control and compliance. These are shorthand ways of describing complex dynamics.122 In response, the book identifies four catalysts for ecclesial culture change: which are critique, space, imagination and wisdom. This is wisdom defined broadly; and it includes the importance of lost, disqualified or marginalized knowledges. The term clergy stands for ordained ministers and includes “priests and deacons (Catholic, Orthodox and Anglican) and pastors, ministers and elders (Lutheran, Methodist, Reformed, Presbyterian, Congregational and Baptist); bishops, presbyters and superintendents; and popes, patriarchs and presidents”.123 In this context, leaders refer to senior clergy occupying ecclesiastical offices like bishops, presidents, moderators or superintendents, all of whom exercise “a ministry of

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oversight (or episcope)”.124 The term followers refers to other clergy and lay members. Further, the leaders occupy senior positions, where senior refers to the highest position in a hierarchy, Sometimes the hierarchy is informal, but nevertheless dominant.125 In churches working on explicitly democratic lines, where the apparent locus of authority is the congregation, leaders can also be enmeshed in sovereign patterns of thinking and acting. In other words, there are informal hierarchies, with power differentials, in congregationally based Christian traditions.126 Dawn Moon, for example, conducted a study of United Methodist congregations in America, concluding with: “These congregations maintained themselves as the opposite of what members called ‘politics’. But many of the same hierarchies and conflicts that they found in secular life appeared within their church as well.”127 Further, I will use the phrase “a ministry of oversight” as an umbrella term for senior clergy, who are the guardians of the tradition (Chapter 3). As overseers, leaders receive, preserve, teach, and monitor the truths of the Christian faith, which influences and shapes their respective traditions, “Not only have religious leaders become the authorized keepers of the tradition, but the criteria, processes and outcomes of selecting, training and grooming future leaders have affected how religions develop as organizations and traditions over time.”128 Leaders are usually responsible for making sure standards (norms) are observed. Lastly, a key term is epistemic hubris, which is not about personal pride. Instead, it is an exaggerated sense of epistemic privilege, which is symptomatic of sovereign power. It is exercised on the basis of a particular construal of vocation and with the support of followers (active, tacit), emphasizing a diachronic over a synchronic understanding of tradition. Fourth, in terms of the chapter outline, Chapter 2 introduces Foucault as the book’s primary source. It addresses the themes of the mesh of power-relations, the power/knowledge conception, and the importance of discourse. In particular, the chapter raises the question of the overall coherence of his work, pointing to his meta-ethical perspective (Foucault’s gaze), with its focus on the subject and human freedom. The chapter also takes the issue of truth further, arguing that in the power/knowledge framework, the quest for truth is vital for Foucault. Chapter 3 is the first part of a two-part case study on Anglicanism. The second part is in Chapter 4.Chapter 3 underlines the epistemological importance of church leaders, which is expressed discursively (as well as non-discursively). Perhaps surprisingly, the concept of gossip illustrates the complexity of ecclesial discourse and knowledge. The chapter develops the concept of authority. It also introduces the concept of sovereignty, where the sovereign is the exception, in order to explain the problem of sovereign power. The idea of the exception is critical for explaining the misuse of ecclesial authority. In this context, the role of bishop as guardian of privileged knowledge is critical. This entails the problem of epistemic hubris. Chapter 4, is the second part of the case study. It uses Foucault’s phrase the spell of monarchy to encapsulate the attraction of monarchical models of ecclesiology. This encompasses a leader’s self-understanding as sovereign

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exception and the attachment of followers to sovereign exceptions. As such, the chapter explores how the problem of epistemic hubris emerges in contemporary versions of divine-right thinking. In fact, epistemic hubris thrives because of the compliance of clergy and laity. On this note, Foucault’s schema of pastoral power is a useful way of understanding ecclesial culture. This chapter concludes the case study and prepares the way for an ecclesiological alternative. Chapter 5 explores the concept of freedom, and Church as ekklesia as a space of freedom, which is an alternative to the monarchical model of ecclesiology. The argument is that ekklesia constitutes an important early exemplar of a spatial approach to ecclesiology. In particular, Gal 3:28 provides insight into the character of these early Christian spaces of freedom. This is preparatory for an examination of Foucault’s spatial approach and the importance of the imagination for ecclesial transformation (Chapter 6). Chapter 6 examines an existentialist approach to space in general, and Foucault’s spatial approach in particular (including the concepts of heterotopia and heterotopic imagination). The premise is that a new space renews the imagination, from which freedom is born, and as such, it constitutes a catalyst for ecclesial renewal, and the renewal of authority itself. This is not a simple, linear solution. Instead, it represents the confluence of four factors: critique, space, imagination, and wisdom, which act in concert as catalysts for change. Rahner’s work is used here to elaborate the work of the imagination, which is recast as a prophetic-paschal imagination that resonates with Jesus, and the rumour of the reign of God. Chapter 7 is the concluding chapter, which draws together the catalysts of critique, space, imagination, and wisdom. It signals the limits and the possibilities of this project. And brings together the book’s epistemological strands under the heading of shared wisdom. As such, the concept of wisdom is used to encompass diverse knowledges and human experience. Theologically, shared wisdom presumes we welcome the other, and the other brings us new knowledge. All these are important considerations for the renewal of ecclesial authority. But what about Michel Foucault?

Notes 1 Michel Foucault, BC, 202, “the medical gaze embraces more than is said by the word ‘gaze’ alone”. 2 Michel Foucault, HS1, 88. 3 Michel Foucault, SMD, 32. Cf. this is where Fiorenza’s term wo/men is important, encompassing a range of marginalized groups, Jesus and the Politics of Interpretation (New York, London: Continuum, 2000), 57 n. 2; the term encompasses “not only all women but also oppressed and marginalized men. The expression wo/men must therefore be understood as inclusive rather than as an exclusive, universalized gender term.” 4 Ladelle McWhorter, Racism and Sexual Oppression in Anglo-America: A Genealogy (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2009). 5 Carter Heyward, Saving Jesus from Those Who Are Right: Rethinking What It Means to be Christian (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1999), 56, authority as “the

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The Church and sovereign power ‘power to authorize’ or the ‘ability to empower,’ can be held and bestowed in just and unjust ways”. Foucault, SMD, 253, norms “can be applied to both a body one wishes to discipline and a population one wishes to regularize”. Daniel J. Treier, “Wisdom”, in Cambridge Dictionary of Christian Theology, Ian A. McFarland, David A. S. Fergusson, Karen Kilby, and Iain R. Torrance eds. (New York: Cambridge University Press), 538, “wisdom, as knowledge is applied to a particular situation by means of judgement (phronesis)”. In Foucauldian terms, the concept of problematization is part of the work of critique. Cf. Michel Foucault, FS, 171, “What I have tried to do from the beginning was to analyze the process of ‘problematization’ – which means: how and why certain things (behavior, phenomena, processes) became a problem.” Michel Foucault, “Practicing criticism”, in PPC, 154. Michel Foucault, “The masked philosopher”, FL, 307. Michel Foucault, HS2, 9. Michel Foucault, “What is Enlightenment?” in TEF, 56. Michel Foucault, “What is critique?” in PT, 47. Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza, The Power of the Word: Scripture and the Rhetoric of Empire (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2007), 10, ekklesia “entails equality, inclusivity, citizenship, and decision-making power for all members of the Christian community”. Michel Foucault, “Critical theory/Intellectual history”, in PPC, 36. Bruce J. Malina and Richard L. Rohrbaugh, “Purity/Pollution” in Social Science Commentary on the Synoptic Gospels, 2nd ed. (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2003), 395–397. Rosemary R. Ruether, Sexism and God-Talk: Towards a Feminist Theology (London: SCM Press, 1983, 2002), 133. Elizabeth A. Johnson, She Who Is: The Mystery of God in Feminist Theological Discourse (New York: Crossroad, 1992), 157, “Jesus unleashes a hope, a vision, and a present experience of liberating relationships that women, the lowest of the low in any class, as well as men, savor as the antithesis of patriarchy.” Jürgen Moltmann, The Spirit of Life: A Universal Affirmation (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2001), 119, “The truth of human freedom is to be found in the love that longs for life. This leads to unhindered, open community in solidarity.” A phrase associated with the work of Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza, e.g., Discipleship of Equals: A Critical Feminist Ekkle-sia-logy of Liberation (New York: Crossroad, 1993). Brigitte Kahl, “Galatians and the ‘Orientalism’ of Justification by Faith: Paul among Jews and Muslims”, in The Colonized Apostle: Paul Through Postcolonial Eyes, Christopher D. Stanley, ed. (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2011), 215. Foucault, SMD, 45. Ellen K. Feder “Power/Knowledge”, in Michel Foucault: Key Concepts, Dianna Taylor ed. (Durham: Acumen, 2011), 55, power/knowledge comes from Foucault’s middle “genealogical” phase, but “the concept in many ways encompasses the entire corpus, characterizing the implicit project of his ‘archaeological’ works, the explicit focus of the ‘genealogical’, and the working out of the implications for living a good life in the later ‘ethical’ work”. Robert Jackson, Sovereignty, Evolution of an Idea: Key Concepts (Cambridge, UK; Malden, MA: Polity, 2007), historically, sovereignty denotes the post-medieval development of the state, which came to represent supreme power (20). It is related to status and position (14–15). At this level, there are no limits to power (17). Today, the issue is the locus of sovereignty (leader, parliament, people, 22). Mitchell Dean, The Signature of Power: Sovereignty, Governmentality and Biopolitics (London: SAGE, 2013), 20.

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26 Michel Foucault, DP, 27. 27 Michel Foucault, PK, 98, individuals are “vehicles of power, not its points of application”. 28 Paul and Linda Whetham, Hard to be Holy: Unravelling the roles and relationships of church leaders (Adelaide: Open Book, 2000), 58–59, ethnographic study of Australian clergy “A key factor to leaders being set apart from their congregations is the emphasis on leaders being the holders of knowledge … The problem is that knowledge can be devoid of relationships altogether.” 29 Michel De Certeau, The Practice of Everyday Life, Steven F. Rendall trans. (Berkeley, Los Angeles, London: University of California Press, 1984), 171. De Certeau makes an apt comparison regarding “privileged readers”. 30 Michel Foucault, STP, 364. 31 Michel Foucault, AK, 50, 68 “the right to speak”, PK, 131. 32 Michel Foucault, DOL, 225, “ritual defines the qualifications required of the speaker”. 33 Paula Nesbitt, “Keepers of the tradition: Religious professionals and their careers”, Sage Handbook of the Sociology of Religion, James A. Beckford and N. Jay Demerath III eds. (London: SAGE, 2007), 298, “The ‘call’ has been widely used as a gatekeeping mechanism by religious organizations to admit or deny applicants based on various external criteria”. 34 Nikolas Rose, Powers of Freedom: Reframing Political Thought (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 34. 35 Foucault, DP, 247. 36 Ladelle McWhorter, “Post-liberation feminism and practices of freedom”, Foucault Studies 16, (September 2013): 61. 37 Giorgio Agamben, State of Exception, Kevin Attell trans. (Chicago, London: University of Chicago Press, 2005), 4. 38 Foucault, BC, 46, 66. 39 Nesbitt, “Keepers”, 305, cf. “Studies on women clergy over the past 50 years have shown remarkably consistent findings across geographic locations, denominations and decades.” 40 Othering is a heuristic term used to describe the process of marginalization on the basis of difference. 41 Rosa Braidotti, Nomadic Subjects: Embodiment and Sexual Difference in Contemporary Feminist Theory, 2nd ed. (New York: Columbia University Press, 2011), 243, “The monstrous body, more than an object, is a shifter, a vehicle that constructs a web of interconnected and yet potentially contradictory discourses about an embodied self. Gender and race are primary operators in this process.” 42 Erving Goffman, Stigma: Notes on the Management of Spoiled Identity (New York, London, Toronto: Simon & Schuster, 1963, 1986); Julia Kristeva, Powers of Horror: An Essay on Abjection, Leon S. Roudiez trans. (New York: Columbia University Press, 1980, 1982). 43 Michel Foucault, AB, 109. 44 Foucault, DP, 199. 45 Michel Foucault, HM, 62. 46 Ibid., 399. 47 Max Gluckman, “Gossip and scandal”, Current Anthropology 4, no. 3 (June 1963): 307. 48 (Tony) C.A.J. Coady, “Pathologies of testimony”, in The Epistemology of Testimony, Jennifer Lackey and Ernest Sosa eds. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2006), 269; Coady does not consider rumour as reliable as gossip, but claims that in certain cases it is worth investigating. 49 Kathryn Waddington, Gossip and Organizations (New York, London: Routledge, 2012), 8.

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50 Karen C. Adkins, “The real dirt: Gossip and feminist epistemology”, Social Epistemology: A Journal of Knowledge, Culture and Policy 16, no. 3 (2002): 216, http:// dx.doi.org/10.1080/0269172022000025598. 51 Axel Gelfert, A Critical Introduction to Testimony (London: Bloomsbury, 2014), 11–12; this is different from legal testimony; testimony refers to the role others play as sources of knowledge. This lies behind the notion of epistemic dependence, e.g. a scientist cannot know everything; she has to depend on the testimony of others. 52 Foucault, AB, 50. 53 Foucault, HS1, 153. 54 Ibid., 86. 55 Jodi Death, “Identity, forgiveness and power in the management of child sexual abuse by personnel in Christian institutions”, International Journal for Crime and Justice 2, no. 1 (2013): 83–84; www.crimejusticejournal.com. 56 Ibid., 94. 57 Ibid., 84. 58 Ibid., 85. 59 Foucault, HS1, 86. 60 Andrew Murray, “How might the church change in response to the sexual abuse crisis?”, (lecture, Catholic Institute of Sydney, Sydney October 2014), 5. 61 Ibid. 62 Ibid. 63 Ibid. 64 Marie Keenan, Child Sexual Abuse and the Catholic Church: Gender, Power, and Organizational Culture (Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press, 2012), xiv. 65 Ibid., 227. 66 Ibid., 263. Bishop Geoffrey Robinson, Confronting Power and Sex in the Catholic Church: Reclaiming the Spirit of Jesus (Minnesota: Liturgical Press, 2007), 290, “It is not enough that people should have a voice in such matters as determining the essential beliefs of the church, passing laws and electing officials. It is also necessary that those who serve the community in positions of authority should at all times think of themselves as accountable to the people they serve.” 67 Keenan, Child Sexual Abuse, 23. 68 Ibid., 157; Judith Butler, The Psychic Life of Power: Theories in Subjection (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1997), 20, “within subjection the price of existence is subordination”. 69 Foucault, HS1, 86. 70 LGBTIQ stands for lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, intersex, queer. 71 Jean-François Lyotard, The Differend: Phrases in Dispute, Georges Van Dan Abbeele trans. (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1983, 1988), 142 section 204. 72 Ibid., 143 section 207, the norm’s “meta-linguistic constitution marks the function of authority”. 73 Sharon R. Krause, Freedom Beyond Sovereignty: Reconstructing Liberal Individualism (Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 2015), 49. 74 Ibid. 75 Judith Butler, Undoing Gender (New York and London: Routledge, 2004), 206. 76 Foucault, STP, 57. 77 Michel Foucault, “Power and Sex” in PPC, 111, “How has sexuality come to be considered the privileged place where our deepest ‘truth’ is read and expressed? For that is the essential fact: Since Christianity, the Western world has never ceased saying: ‘To know who you are, know what your sexuality is’.” 78 Gen 19:1–11, Lev 18:22, Lev 20:13, Rom 1:18–2:3, 1 Cor 6:9–10, 1 Tim 1:9–11 (cf. Judg 19:22ff).

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79 Bruce Kaye, Conflict and the Practice of the Christian Church: The Anglican Experiment (Eugene: Cascade Books, 2009), 122: “How we conduct this conversation is thus in itself a vital part of the process we are engaged in.” 80 A frequent insult exchanged between Australian schoolboys is poofta (cf. faggot); cf. history of term sodomy in bible translations, legal documents, movies, novels and newspapers; cf. Mark D. Jordan, Telling Truths in Church: Scandal, Flesh, and Christian Speech (Boston: Beacon Press, 2003). 81 Martin Heidgegger, Being and Time, John Macquarrie and Edward Robinson trans. (Oxford, Cambridge: Blackwell, 1962), 191–192, “interpretation is never a presuppositionless apprehending of something presented to us.” 82 Kaye, Conflict, 8, effectively, this is what the Uniting Church in Australia has also done. 83 Foucault, DP, HS 1. 84 Didier Eribon, Michel Foucault, Betsy Wing trans. (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1989, 1991), 5; David Macey, Michel Foucault (London: Reaktion Books, 2004), 10. While partly conventional, church-going was nevertheless part of Foucault’s formation. 85 Macey, Foucault, 94, on Foucault’s work for prisoners. 86 Interview cited by Jeremy R. Carrette, “Foucault, Religion, and Pastoral Power”, in A Companion to Foucault, Christopher Falzon, Timothy O’Leary, and Jana Sawicki eds. (Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell, 2013), 371. 87 Michel Foucault “On religion” (1978), in Religion and Culture: Michel Foucault, Jeremy R. Carrette ed. (New York, London: Routledge, 1999), 107. 88 Eribon, Foucault, 330, “Foucault insisted that there be a religious service, it fell to the Dominican monk Michel Albaric, who was in charge of the Saulchoir Library, to give a brief homily. Then it was over.” 89 Matthew Chrulew, “The Pauline ellipsis in Foucault’s genealogy of Christianity”, Journal for Cultural and Religious Theory 11, no. 1, (Winter 2010): 1–15. Chrulew underlines Foucault’s silence on the apostle Paul, suggesting this represents an important area for future research (especially if some of Foucault’s unpublished material on Christianity is made available). 90 Alexander S. Jensen, Theological Hermeneutics (London: SCM Press, 2007), 169–170. 91 Miroslav Volf, Exclusion and Embrace: A Theological Exploration of Identity, Otherness, and Reconciliation (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1996), 249. Similarly, Christopher Norris, Epistemology: Key Concepts in Philosophy (London and New York: Continuum, 2005), 78–79. 92 Graham Ward, Theology and Contemporary Critical Theory, 2nd ed. (Hampshire and London: Macmillan Press, 1996, 2000), 58. Cf. Graham Ward, Cultural Transformation and Religious Practice (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2005). 93 Jensen, Hermeneutics, 173, “the nihilism of Michel Foucault”. Certainly, Nietzsche influenced Foucault (cf. genealogy), but Foucault’s work is multi-layered. Foucault himself regards Nietzsche’s influence as important, but restricted (“Critical theory” in PPC, 32), acknowledging him as a “paternal figure” (SMD, 47). 94 Michel Foucault, CT. 95 Ian Hacking, Historical Ontology (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2002, 2004), 83. 96 Linda M. Alcoff, “Foucault’s normative epistemology”, in A Companion to Foucault, Christopher Falzon, Timothy O’Leary, and Jana Sawicki eds., (Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell, 2013), 218. 97 Sophie Fuggle, Foucault/Paul: Subjects of Power (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2013); Tom M. Beaudoin, Witness to Dispossession: The Vocation of a Post-Modern Theologian (Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 2008).

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98 Paul Tillich, On The Boundary: An Autobiographical Sketch (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1966), 31. 99 Paul Avis, In Search of Authority: Anglican Theological Method from the Reformation to the Enlightenment (London: Bloomsbury, 2014), 340. 100 Michel Foucault, “The concern for truth”, in PPC, 256. 101 Alcoff, “Normative epistemology”, 222. 102 Michel Foucault, GOS, 4. 103 Carlos G. Prado, Starting with Foucault: An Introduction to Genealogy, 2nd ed. (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 2000), 157. 104 Michel Foucault, GOL, 101. 105 Michel Foucault, WD, 93. 106 Michel Foucault, “The minimalist self”, in PPC, 7. 107 Ibid. 108 Alcoff, “Normative epistemology”, 218. 109 Bernard Williams, Truth and Truthfulness: An Essay in Genealogy (Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2002), 12, “While truthfulness has to be grounded in, and revealed in, one’s dealings with everyday truths, it must go beyond truth as displayed in everyday truths.” 110 Williams, Truth, 19. 111 The insider method has advantages, as well as shortcomings; cf. Waddington, Gossip, 48. 112 Hans Küng, Christianity: The Religious Situation of Our Time, John Bowden trans. (London: SCM Press, 1994, 1995), 589. 113 James Bernauer “Foreword: Cry of the Spirit”, in Religion and Culture: Michel Foucault, Jeremy R. Carrette ed. (New York, London: Routledge, 1999), xii. 114 Tom M. Beaudoin, “Engaging Foucault with Rahner: Sketching an Asymptotic Relationship”, Philosophy and Theology 20, no. 1–2 (2008): 307–329. 115 Declan Marmion ed., Christian Identity in a Postmodern Age: Celebrating the Legacies of Karl Rahner and Bernard Lonergan (Dublin: Veritas, 2005), 175. 116 Steven G. Ogden, The Presence of God in the World: A Contribution to Postmodern Christology based on the Theologies of Paul Tillich and Karl Rahner (Bern: Peter Lang, 2007), 136–150. Rahner focussed on the human subject, addressing modernity by combining aspects of Aquinas with Kant. He grants subjectivity a privileged position trying to overcome the problem of extrinsicism, but God remains the constitutive principle. 117 Karl Rahner, “Mystery”, in Encyclopedia of Theology: The Concise Sacramentum Mundi, Karl Rahner ed. (Turnbridge Wells: Burns and Oates, 1975, 1993), 1002– 1003; cf. Karl Rahner, “The Christian concept of God”, in Theological Investigations 21, Hugh M. Riley trans. (London: Darton, Longman and Todd, 1983, 1988), 189. 118 Ernest Sosa, “Social roots of human knowledge”, in Essays in Collective Epistemology, J. Lackey, ed. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014), 169 n. 2. 119 John Scott, Conceptualising the Social World: Principles of Sociological Analysis (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), 19. 120 Ibid., 26, 38. 121 Ibid., 174, 212–213. 122 Edward Schillebeeckx, Church: The Human Story of God, John Bowden trans. (New York: Crossroad, 1989, 1990), 216. Schillebeeckx reflects on the mutual life of the Church, which holds in tension the apostolic tradition, ministerial authority, and “the authoritative life of the community of faith”. On the basis of this structure, he concludes that “there may be no master-servant relationships in the church”. 123 Norman Doe, Christian Law: Contemporary Principles (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 77.

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124 Ibid., 102. 125 Dawn Moon, God, Sex and Politics: Homosexuality and Everyday Theologies (Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 2004), 44, “Because the congregations in this study maintain pervasive unspoken hierarchies, those who see themselves at the bottoms of those hierarchies may see and struggle with a fundamental disconnection between themselves and those who have power or privileges over them, at the same moment that people at the top are experiencing communitas.” 126 Gregory A. Wills, Democratic Religion: Freedom, Authority, and Church Discipline in the Baptist South 1785–1900 (Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), 63, an informal hierarchy can express itself along gender and race lines. For example, in the nineteenth century Baptist South “Blacks often requested permission to have their own worship meetings. Whites generally consented, though not without misgivings. The question of control was a minor issue, for when whites decided that blacks had disorderly meetings, they abolished them.” 127 Moon, God, 234. 128 Nesbitt, “Keepers”, 295.

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Under Foucault’s gaze The subject, freedom, and power-knowledge concept

The subject and the possibility of freedom In practice, ecclesial authority bears a certain distinctiveness, which is grounded in a broad understanding of trust in leaders, rules, conventions, communities, customs, and ritual.1 Yet this trust, and its relationship to authority, is complex. In the first place, trust is fostered in and through the process of subject formation. This is often overlooked. The intention here, however, is not to undervalue the rational capacities or moral autonomy of individuals, but to emphasize the way thinking processes and ethical independence have been formed. In this context, church leaders, as bearers and interpreters of true knowledge, are vested with significant authority, which is undermined by sovereign power. The abuse of unilateral powers is a pertinent example (Chapter 4). This is where the control of what constitutes true knowledge, becomes a vehicle for power, rather than a legacy held in trust. Certainly, the practice of authority is a dominant feature of ecclesial life.2 As such, Foucault’s link between power and knowledge helps to explain the dynamic of ecclesial authority. In Foucault, power and knowledge are interrelated, but irreducible. The nature of that relation is problematic, although he brought them together in this way in order “to open up a space for inquiry into the interactive relation between knowledge and power”.3 However, Foucault provides an important clue for finding a way forward, which centres on historical particularity. Ecclesial authority, for example, needs to be analysed in situ, as truth is embedded in history. Hence, it is important to present a case study in order to critique the Church and eke out new possibilities (Chapters 3 and 4). In order to prepare for the case study, this chapter will critique the work of Foucault, prefiguring connections between it and the Church. Authority is an important concept in the Church, but it is largely undertheorized. In this light, Foucault’s power/knowledge conceptualization provides the basis for a more sophisticated understanding of ecclesial authority, as it helps to show the epistemological significance of leaders, and how followers are marginalized under conditions of sovereign power. Foucault, of course, was not a theologian,4 let alone a practicing Catholic. In fact, he was critical of Christianity, though not unsympathetic. Like Paul Tillich, Foucault did not always define his terms clearly or consistently.5 Like Karl Rahner, Foucault’s method is more

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evident in the outworking of a perspective, than in the development of a system.6 Certainly, Foucault’s argumentation is uneven in places. Moreover, he does not always address or acknowledge secondary material.7 This may be due to the fact he was writing in “a particular cultural context which is shared by his French audience”.8 Perhaps, he did not refer to secondary sources because of “politeness and a wish to avoid polemics”.9 But this does not help the reader, because “It is generally difficult to reconstruct the immense documentation on which Foucault always relied. It is incorporated in his manuscripts only at the final stage of publication, and never exhaustively”.10 Even so, his interest in the human subject and the realization of freedom resonate with the Church’s interest in the subject and freedom (Gal 5:1, 13). As such, he has something to offer a contemporary approach to ecclesiology.11 Specifically, the aim of the chapter is to develop a Foucauldian approach, which can be used to examine ecclesial authority. This has five dimensions: his meta-ethic, his work, the subject, power-relations, and the power/knowledge conceptualization. First, it involves forming an understanding of Foucault’s meta-ethic, which is not a system but an outlook, providing his work with an overall sense of coherence. As such, the meta-ethic is like an ethical horizon,12 forming the background against which he examines interests, individuals, groups, institutions, and events. Second, his work can be divided approximately into three periods: which are often referred to as the archaeological, genealogical and ethical. The human subject is a theme in each period, at least implicitly. Third, Foucault’s subject is a critical part of his work. In particular, there are two broad concerns, which can be described in terms of how the subject is shaped (i.e. subject formation) and how the subject can be transformed (i.e. self-transformation). In all this, it is critical to remember that the Foucauldian individual is enmeshed in power-relations, which play a part in the constitution of the individual. Fourth, the notion of a mesh or web of power-relations is fundamental to Foucault’s work. No one is outside the mesh of power-relations. Fifth, and foremost, his conceptualization of power/knowledge will play a crucial role in the dual task of reinterpreting and reimagining ecclesial authority.13 This is a pivotal section, which also raises issues about his approach to discourse.

A meta-ethical perspective In terms of understanding Foucault’s overall work, it is difficult to know where to begin, because of its breadth. But the concept of a Foucauldian meta-ethic is an important way of finding our bearings. Subsequently, this chapter’s title includes the phrase “under Foucault’s gaze”. The concept gaze is usually associated with Foucault’s notion of surveillance.14 But I am using it to describe the way in which he looks at the world, in general, and his “passion for seeing”, in particular.15 As such, I am arguing that the meta-ethic is like a Foucauldian lens, which helps us see how themes, like the subject and freedom, thread his work. First, in terms of the subject, Foucault is implicitly yet persistently concerned about the subject, “it is not power, but the subject, that is the general theme of

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my research”.16 Moreover, the subject is not a substance; “It is a form”,17 which cannot be understood outside the mesh of power-relations. As such, this is a complex, plural, and changing humanity. From this, however, key issues emerge in relation to questions surrounding the nature of freedom and human agency. Second, Foucault aims to foster “the undefined work of freedom”.18 By freedom, however, Foucault means more than the contemporary notion of liberation. In relation to sexual liberation, for example, he would argue “liberation is sometimes the political or historical condition for a practice of freedom”.19 Without practices of freedom, however, liberation may not be enough. In other words, a person can be liberated, but not free, depending on how she engages practices of freedom. In other words, freedom is enacted from within “the fine meshes of the web of power”.20 This concern for freedom, which is implicit in the first and second stages of his work, becomes explicit in the final stage. In summary, the meta-ethic is a working hypothesis that resonates with Foucault’s aspirations concerning the subject and human freedom. It is an appropriate interpretation of the normative dimension of his work. Nevertheless, because of its pivotal role, the meta-ethic needs to be examined more closely. The meta-ethic embodies a concept of freedom, and at least implicitly, an inchoate notion of human worth. In many ways, these are Enlightenment values, which Foucault uses to develop an understanding of critique (“the ‘critical’ tradition in the West”) and a critique of modernity.21 This interest in freedom finds a focus in the question of human identity, which for him is not fixed, but fluid. Moreover, there is a series of terms in Foucault, which encompass a set of values and aspirations regarding the subject, expressing freedom as a capacity for critical reflection and the potential for self-transformation, “Our liberty is at stake and consequently, instead of letting someone else say ‘obey,’ it is at this point, once one has gotten an adequate idea of one’s own knowledge and its limits, that the principle of autonomy can be discovered. One will then no longer have to hear the obey; or rather, the obey will be founded on autonomy itself.”22 In this context, critique is the subject’s right “to question power about its discourses of truth”.23 In so doing, the subject expresses their capacity for freedom. Foucault’s interest in freedom, and the value of the human subject, is also expressed outside academia. It is reflected, for instance, in his interest in the well-being of prisoners and prison reform.24 In addition, “From the late 1960s on, Foucault tirelessly took part in the real dirty work of political organizing – going to meetings, writing manifestos, handing out leaflets, and even driving three thousand kilometres from Paris to Warsaw in the fall of 1982, less than two years before his death, leading a convoy of medical supplies and smuggled printing materials that he had helped to collect for the beleaguered members of Solidarnosc.”25 His intellectual concerns touched him personally. For example, he resisted being forced by others into accepting a homosexual identity26 because he was aware of the impact of socio-political processes labelling, dividing, and managing individuals.27 In other words, his interest in the subject pervades his life and work. In different ways then, Foucault and the Church

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aspire to address the subject. Both offer the promise of freedom. In Foucault, freedom is realized in situ in the present. In the Church, there is a range in the types of freedom on offer, from existential versions concentrating on the possibility of freedom in the present, to eschatological versions projecting the hope of freedom into an other worldly future. Foucault’s work is complex. Nevertheless, he has a meta-ethical perspective, which finds its sharpest focus in the themes of the subject and freedom. Moreover, he has important things to say about institutions, like his insights into the problem of marginalization. But it needs to be put in the wider context of his overall work, in order to appreciate this fully.

Foucault’s work The purpose of this section is to continue to elaborate on Foucault, raising critical issues about his work. In so doing, the focus of the book will be sharpened. Certainly, Foucault was a philosopher who used history to critique the present, “My books aren’t treatises in philosophy or studies of history: at most, they are philosophical fragments put to work in a historical field of problems.”28 His extensive, discursive, and meticulous historical analyses (which have been challenged) were intended to be used for a critique of the present, “When I write, I couldn’t tell you if I’m doing history or philosophy … I’m a doctor, let’s say I’m a diagnostician. I want to make a diagnosis and my work consists in revealing, through the incision of writing, something that might be the truth of what is dead.”29 History, in his hands, invites the reader to rethink the status quo. It asks the basic question; how did we arrive at this point? In so doing, Foucault highlights the contingent character of present day knowledge.30 In addition, he reminds us that the past was also subject to contingency, that is, historical analyses have revealed historical complexities and contradictions. As a result, history is characterized as much by discontinuity and difference as continuity and sameness. But is there something wrong with a quest for continuity? It is not the case that Foucault refuses to acknowledge signs of continuity, but rather, he wants to critique the modern (idealist) view of history glossing over the significance of the ruptures and contradictions of the past. Subsequently, this shapes the way in which he sees his role: “What’s effectively needed is a ramified, penetrative perception of the present, one that makes it possible to locate lines of weakness, strong points, positions where the instances of power have secured and implanted themselves by a system of organization dating back over 150 years. In other words, a topological and geological survey of the battlefield – that is the intellectual’s role.”31 Certainly, this captures something of the style of his work in the first two periods, though something of this approach continues to the end. As Gutting argues: “Foucault’s critiques are not so much philosophy in the traditional sense as they are a matter of achieving a traditional philosophical goal – the critique of contemporary claims to knowledge – by new means.”32 It is this “critique of contemporary claims to

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knowledge” which is also vital to ecclesiological critique and a critique of ecclesial authority. But Foucault has his critics. Some sociologists, for example, are critical of Foucault in a way that expresses their frustration, even irritation, with his approach. Steven Lukes, for example, dismisses Foucault’s view of power because “it amounts to restating some elementary sociological commonplaces”.33 Bryan Turner claims that “Although Foucault’s approach provides a powerful perspective on medical discourse, it involves certain difficulties which it shares with structuralist analysis of discourse in general. Some forms of discourse analysis reduce the individual agent/speaker to the level of a socialized parrot.”34 Similarly, Jonathan Hearn remarks “This is not to deny Foucault’s distinctive and original contribution, but to question a certain air of exoticism that surrounds his work and to suggest that more engagement with similar ideas put forward by others might have enriched his work.”35 On the one hand, there is some substance to these criticisms. On the other, Foucault’s insights are not always given adequate attention or they are interpreted out of context. In contrast Frank Furedi, another sociologist, is aware of the limits of Foucault’s work, but uses it effectively.36 There are other criticisms too, which are worth mentioning under the headings of gender, agency, structural change, and authority: With gender: Foucault was gender exclusive, in the sense that the majority of his work was directed toward male concerns. For many reasons, this is a significant oversight, but especially in terms of issues surrounding power, sovereignty and authority. Admittedly, the trajectory of his work, and his personal commitments, suggests this is not entirely a straightforward issue. Moreover, it is worth noting “he worked enthusiastically with female colleagues, was consistent in supporting the establishment of political organizations by marginal groups, including women”.37 But there is still something missing here, especially in terms of the relation between sovereignty and manhood. As Bonnie Mann has argued, the two issues are integrally related.38 On that note, the problem of sovereign power is prevalent in the Church and the great majority of church leaders are male.39 Clearly, gender is an important issue in terms of ecclesiological critique and its transformation. In particular, sovereign behaviour by church leaders has its roots in a particular heroic, sovereign understanding of masculinity (Chapter 4). Lastly, Foucault’s work is “restricted not only in its lack of gender specification but also by its failure to register the diversity of male experience”.40 With agency: in some texts, the individual appears as a passive figure, wilting under the unrelenting impact of disciplinary measures or biopolitical forces. Agency, however, is more diffuse and implied in Foucault than clearly stated, at least until the final period of his work. In general, an important concept of agency is embedded in his conception of freedom, as power-relations imply a potential for realizing freedom.41 In particular, the theme of resistance provides an insight here. That is, in the mesh of power-relations, we can resist and resistance is an expression of freedom, which presumes a level of agency, “A great deal of human agency is lived in the middle voice … at the interstices of subject and object, dominant and subordinate.”42 In the Church, sovereign

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power has to be resisted in order for authority to be renewed. This often begins with the work of critique and the imagination. With structural change: there are concerns that Foucault’s approach to power-relations is not suited to addressing macro-level issues.43 It is also surprising that he did not address macro-level issues directly like colonialism. Nevertheless, given that many theorists (of all persuasions) have struggled with how to address macro-level problems, Foucault is not alone. The focus here is on the institutional or meso-level of analysis. Nevertheless, recent interest in Foucault’s work on neoliberalism suggests new ways of approaching macro-level issues.44 With authority: its relationship with power is complex. Moreover, it is hard to find references to authority in the index of recent works on power. It is as if power is the benchmark, because it is “a normatively neutral master concept”.45 Even when authority is considered, it is often subsumed under power. But the concept of authority figures prominently in the life of the Church. Certainly, authority has a secondary role in Foucault, and it often subsumed under sovereignty, but his power/knowledge conceptualization is ideally suited for articulating the meaning and practice of ecclesial authority. In the end, “There is no reason to think that Foucault got everything right.”46 Of course, there are limitations with his work, though other scholars have addressed these.47 But the main criticism, however, concerns the nature of the relationship between the three phases of his work (i.e. archaeological, genealogical, ethical).48 The final phase of Foucault’s work lies beyond the scope of this book. But it will be mentioned for two reasons. First, it helps to know something about the breadth of the Foucauldian project. Second, there is an element of controversy about his corpus. The debate itself, as yet unresolved, hinges on the nature of its overall coherence. From my perspective, and under the gaze of Foucault’s meta-ethic, the progression between the three phases makes sense in broad terms. The danger, however, is to overemphasize the degree of coherence, as though it is a system, which is coming from the philosopher who eschewed systems. Especially as he offered his books as “a kind of tool box which others can rummage through”.49 In other words, his work was to be used selectively for the task at hand, and not preserved for its own sake. Nevertheless, these are Foucauldian tools. So they can be used flexibly, but they need to be consonant with his meta-ethic. The periodization of a scholar’s work is a difficult exercise. Where do you draw the lines? On what basis? What constitutes work (cf. books, articles, lectures, notes, interviews)? Foucault is no exception. But the key to this issue is his meta-ethical gaze, which brings the three phases together telescopically. However, as a contrast to the tripartite periodization, Mark Kelly’s presentation of Foucault’s “thematic sections” is helpful in terms of grasping the finer detail.50 In chronological order, Kelly identifies the following thematic sections: Foucault’s early Marxism, archaeology, genealogy, discipline, sexuality, power, biopower, governmentality and ethics.51 In the process, he highlights key works of Foucault. However, even with a more finely calibrated system like Kelly’s, the nature of

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the relationship between the ethical phase and all that comes before it remains an issue.52 In contrast, Koopman acknowledges the problem and provides a clue to its resolution by concentrating on the development of the trajectory of the subject in Foucault, “The usual periodizations of early, middle, and late work or knowledge-focused, power-focused, and ethics-focused work simply cannot capture the unifying subtleties of Foucault’s many forms of thought. Foucault in all of his work is inquiring into the way in which we simultaneously constitute ourselves as subjects of knowledge, power, and ethics. His work can be seen as charting an overall trajectory of problematizations of the modern subject leading to responsive efforts to form ourselves otherwise.”53 So, it is important to look at how Foucault’s subject develops.

Foucault’s subject The concept of the subject figures prominently in the work of Foucault. In general, subjectivity is a way of referring to the idea of self in relation to others and the world; implicit in this is a notion of inter-subjectivity, where identity and meaning are socially constructed.54 In particular, Foucault’s subject involves multiplicities, change, and enmeshment with power-relations. Ostensibly, this is a discussion about Foucault’s anthropology, which may come as a surprise to those familiar with the ending of The Order of Things and his announcement of the death of man (sic).55 In all likelihood, however, that ending signals the death of a particular totalising anthropology – that is, the death of the Western subject (i.e. Cartesian, abstract, transcendent self). Subjectivity is more complex than that. Moreover, an important aspect about humankind in Foucault “is that it is an epistemological subject”.56 The subject is encompassed, shaped, and empowered by “a field of knowledge”.57 However, given the breadth of his work, it would be better to emphasize a multiplicity of subjectivities, “I do indeed believe that there is no sovereign, founding subject, a universal form of subject to be found everywhere”.58 Nonetheless, out of all this, the human body is critical for him. It is though, while identity is constructed, often imposed and subject to change, the body grounds us all. The body has a place in power-relations.59 Moreover, power is a relation that finds its locus in bodies, “it is always the body that is at issue – the body and its forces, their utility and their docility, their distribution and their submission”.60 The military understood this, when in the power of the parade, bodies became “legible and docile”.61 Similarly, punishment is a political act of power focused on the body, where “the body itself is invested by power-relations”.62 The word “invest” here is crucial.63 Power does not impinge on us from the outside, but rather it establishes and produces effects at the site of the body. As such, “the body is not a substance, not a thing, not a set of drives, not a cauldron of resistant impulse, but precisely the site of transfer for power itself. Power happens to this body, but this body is also the occasion in which something unpredictable … happens to power; it is one site of its redirection,

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profusion, and transvaluation”. In fact, “The individual which power has constituted is at the same time its vehicle.”65 This sense of the Foucauldian subject, which is an embodied subject, comes to life in moral action. As such, agency is linked to the subject’s use of their inherent power, in the face of contending hegemonies (e.g. sovereign power) and the constraints of their own subject formation (e.g. overcoming complex attachments). Clearly, the issue of agency is important. In Foucault’s third or ethical period, he articulates a form of agency, which is self-transformation. In this phase, the individual takes responsibility for her conduct and, in turn, this becomes the basis for an active response to the wider political context. Koopman illustrates the importance of this distinction as he explores Foucault’s ethical commitments. For Koopman, these commitments are practices of freedom, where freedom is something that is enacted rather than a metaphysical quality (though it is sometimes implied).66 This underlines the hidden wisdom of Foucault’s maxim “Freedom is the ontological condition of ethics. But ethics is the considered form that freedom takes when it is informed by reflection”.67 As Koopman argues, it is none other than “the courage to be your own authority without obedience to another”.68 In this light, Judith Butler captures the significance of the Foucauldian subject as “The subject is no simple effect or function of a prior form of rationality, but neither does reflexivity assume a single structure … we are not simply the effects of discourses.”69 In other words, there is in Foucault a strong sense of agency, but within particular constraints. Foucault has two broad senses of the subject, positive and negative. The first is to be subject to someone else – that is, under control or compliant with. The second is about the link between self-identity and self-knowledge. Respectively, the first is about being under subjection, and the second is about becoming a conscious subject.70 Critically, his conceptualization of the subject evolves. In the genealogical phase, it focuses on subject formation. In the ethical phase, it focuses on self-transformation. Subsequently, the shift between the two phases could be described as a movement from a critique of the constraining processes of subject formation to the development of self-sustaining practices of selftransformation, where freedom is realized in the midst of constraints (because we never step outside the mesh of power-relations). In fact, the concept of selftransformation cannot be understood fully, without placing it in the context of his power/knowledge dyad: “If Foucault’s genealogies tell the story of how we have become who we are in terms of the historical conditions that make subjects like us possible, then Foucault’s ethics carries this story forward into the future in order that we might become otherwise. Genealogies provoke a problematization, while ethics responds to that which is problematic in our condition.”71 In all this, ethics is critical. In summary, Foucault is concerned about the subject. As such, his subject is embodied, enmeshed in power-relations and open to change. The fact the subject can resist, implies the subject has freedom, albeit limited freedom. Further, in repudiating the binary opposition of normal/abnormal, Foucault affirms a 64

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multiplicity of subjectivities. In line with this, identity is formed but not fixed. Furthermore, his concern for the subject is an expression of his concern for the unfinished work of the critical tradition of the Enlightenment. To put this in perspective, it is important to say something about Kant. Foucault engages with Kant, concluding his appraisal of Kant’s anthropology with an invitation to consider future possibilities, “which would show that finitude is not an end but rather that camber and knot in time when the end is in fact a beginning?”72 Foucault spells out the content of this invitation, which is indicative of his own trajectory, by claiming, “The critical ontology of ourselves must be considered not, certainly, as a theory, a doctrine, nor even as a permanent body of knowledge that is accumulating; it must be conceived as an attitude, an ethos, a philosophical life in which the critique of what we are is at one and the same time the historical analysis of the limits imposed on us and an experiment with the possibility of going beyond them” (italics added).73 With Foucault, the critical tradition begins with the historical analysis of existing constraints. So, Foucault’s critical ontology of ourselves is a work of freedom. Nonetheless, in practice, the subject lives and breathes in a network of power-relations.

The mesh of power-relations The name of Foucault is associated with the concept of power, but he was expressly interested in power-relations. Hence, the title of this section is “the mesh of power-relations” evoking the image of a dynamic, complex web of interrelations. Typically, Foucault describes power-relations this way, “power must be understood in the first instance as the multiplicity of force relations immanent in the sphere in which they operate and which constitute their own organization”.74 In this context, individuals and groups are rooted in powerrelations. We may choose not to exercise power, but that decision is an exercise of power in itself, because we cannot stand outside the mesh of power-relations. That is, power-relations are not superimposed. On the contrary, we exist in the mesh, “in thinking of the mechanisms of power, I am thinking rather of its capillary form of existence, the point where power reaches into the very grain of individuals, touches their bodies and inserts itself into their actions and attitudes, their discourses, learning processes and everyday lives.”75 Foucault understands power-relations as charged, changing, and complex. All this has methodological consequences because power “is never localised here or there, never in anybody’s hands, never appropriated as a commodity or piece of wealth”.76 As such, it is more appropriate to talk about the individual being like a node in a force-field,77 engaging with others in a dynamic, sometimes disruptive process, rather than construing the individual as a discrete figure possessing power like a substance.78 This sense of the human subject being part of the mesh of power-relations, puts Foucault’s view of human agency in perspective. In other words, Foucault’s understanding of agency is contextual, the context is the mesh of power-relations, “Rooted in intersubjective, corporeal exchanges but not reducible to prevailing relations of power, individual agency emerges

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from dynamics too complex for anyone to fully comprehend, much less control.”79 But what about the issue of human freedom? A subject is not entirely captive to reigning power-relations; yet the subject is not fully in control of her destiny either, as “A great deal of human agency is lived in the middle voice.”80 Certainly, domination is a reality, but power-relations are more complicated than a simple schema of one group dominating another.81 In the web of power, then, it is reasonable to talk about freedom being expressed in various ways. In situations like child abuse, however, it is unreasonable to argue a child could exercise freedom, because of the obvious power differentials. In fact, a child’s compliance is an effect of the power of the abuser. In practical terms, Foucault recognized the existence of power differentials, which meant advocacy and intervention were warranted (cf. his work with prisoners). In particular, he astutely recognized that the child had been cast as a diminished other. In summary, an individual realizes freedom by exercising power (and resistance is also form of freedom). This is a freedom to become rather than freedom as licence. But there are limits in the exercise of freedom. At this juncture, it would be useful to signal some links between the Church and the concept of power-relations. Foucault’s conceptualization of powerrelations has a number of features that can clarify ecclesial complexities, as it is a perspective that makes it possible to talk about sovereign power in a more nuanced manner. Ecclesial domination is a reality, but the Church’s problems are more complex than a stereotypical bifurcation of exploitive leaders and illfated followers. Power is not “one individual’s consolidated and homogenous domination over others”.82 This is where Foucault’s power/knowledge conceptualization is invaluable; especially with regard to ecclesial power-relations and the epistemological significance of church leaders. Nevertheless, the renewal of ecclesial authority requires a break or disruption from the influence of sovereign power. This is not directed at leaders per se, but reliance on a monarchical model of leadership. In particular, the renewal of ecclesial authority finds its locus in followers choosing to reject sovereign power and, in so doing, becoming empowered. From this place of empowerment, they authorize leaders to lead. To appreciate this, however, we need to look at Foucault’s power/ knowledge conceptualization.

Power/knowledge: those who are charged with saying what counts as true The power/knowledge conceptualization is well suited for the analysis of the Church because it provides a credible explanation of the premium that is placed on knowledge by the Church. In the process, it identifies how decisions are made, by whom, and for what purpose. But the power/knowledge conceptualization is complex. In basic terms, power/knowledge refers to the nexus between power and knowledge that produces real effects, through bodies and communities in the mesh of power-relations. In that context, a church leader makes authoritative judgments for the faithful about what is normal (natural, right, true), where the

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norm is “an interplay of differential normalities. The normal comes first and the norm is deduced from it, or the norm is fixed and plays its operational role on the basis of this study of normalities”.83 In other words, the normative is partly a given, which the leader implements, but also interprets and shapes. Of course, there is a wider dynamic between normative judgments and the deference of followers to leaders.84 In particular, the authority of the leaders relies on the goodwill of the faithful. At least tacitly, the goodwill of followers expresses legitimizing consent. Moreover, a follower’s admiration for a leader is partly based on the belief that the leader has been authorized by God by virtue of the leader’s calling. And so, in theory, there are synchronic and diachronic dimensions to the legitimation of ecclesial authority. The centrality of the epistemological role of church leaders, in this dynamic, is evident in ecclesial discourse. In fact, ecclesial discourse has a major role in norm setting. Certainly, church leaders also have disciplinary roles, which can be expressed figuratively as the leader’s gaze (“the eye that knows and decides”).85 But the key to their authority is found in their epistemological significance, which is expressed discursively. Ecclesial discourses include doctrine, canons, polity, as well as gossip, and their interplay (and their interaction with the wider social context). In particular, the locus of a leader’s authority is found in their role as guardians of knowledge, which encompasses belief, truth, and true knowledge. In practice, these epistemological terms are not always differentiated in ecclesiological forums. The power/knowledge concept emerges in Foucault’s work in his genealogical period. However, he does not articulate precisely the meaning of his power/ knowledge configuration. In general, he uses it to say power and knowledge are entwined but irreducible. He summarizes the dynamic between power and knowledge as: “We should admit that power produces knowledge (and not simply by encouraging it because it serves power or by applying it because it is useful); that power and knowledge directly imply one another; that there is no power relation without the correlative constitution of a field of knowledge, nor any knowledge that does not presuppose and constitute at the same time power-relations.”86 In fact, “for knowledge to function as knowledge it must exercise power”.87 This resonates with ecclesial life, where a premium is placed on the interpreters of knowledge.88 Foucault, however, did not present the power/knowledge dynamic as a solution, but instead as a problem to be considered, which is why he felt compelled to study their relationship “when I read – and I know it has been attributed to me – the thesis, ‘Knowledge is power,’ or ‘Power is knowledge,’ I begin to laugh, since studying their relation is precisely my problem”.89 The power/knowledge conceptualization helps explain the character of the (subject) formation of church leaders and followers. In particular, ecclesial discourse underscores the epistemological significance of leaders as the keepers and the interpreters of truth (i.e. who can speak/what is true), which is reinforced by non-discursive activities (e.g. rituals) in a specific power-relation (i.e. pastoral power; Chapter 4). As such, it helps to explain epistemic hubris, and its place in

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the subject formation of leaders under sovereign power. Specifically, the difference between authority and sovereign power can be summarized as the difference between mutual empowerment and power over others. In particular, sovereign power surfaces in the leader’s drive to establish unitary discourses and uniform behaviour, which become an ambiguous measure of ecclesial unity, if not, theological orthodoxy. This is reflected in a leader succumbing to the temptation of seeing the privilege of acting as the exception under proscribed conditions, to acting as the sovereign exception as the rule, with little regard for circumstances or consent. These issues will be explored, but it is worth making the connection now to see the importance of Foucault’s power/knowledge conceptualization. With the Church, the power/knowledge relation has to be analysed in situ (Chapters 3 and 4). Notwithstanding this, a simple example can underscore the importance of Foucault’s dyad for understanding church authority. Typically, in church councils, presbyteries, and synods, the leader is authorized to have the final say on particular issues, and under certain circumstances. Much of this is written down in church law and polity. But there are unspoken norms, such as “I have authority over you, because you authorize me to.”90 As in a game of cards, players abide by unwritten house rules, which vary across the ecumenical spectrum, but “Each society has its régime of truth, its ‘general politics’ of truth: that is, the types of discourse which it accepts and makes function as true; the mechanisms and instances which enable one to distinguish true and false statements, the means by which each is sanctioned; the techniques and procedures accorded value in the acquisition of truth; the status of those who are charged with saying what counts as true.”91 In the Church, leaders and followers understand the discursive rules for generating true and false statements, and they recognize “the status of those who are charged with saying what counts as true”.92 Certainly, ecclesial discourse has a positive role in the institutional investment of authority in someone. But it has a negative role under sovereign power. So I need to say more about discourse in Foucault. The term discourse derives from the Latin discursus meaning “running to and fro” (which is very Foucauldian in itself).93 With Foucault, however, discourse is not so much about language, as in linguistic discourse analysis, but more about practices involving language. In an ecclesial context, such practices include doctrine, polity, edicts, canons, policies as well as letters, emails, sermons, and conversations. Clearly, it is often the little things, that is, the “infinitesimal mechanisms” matter.94 All this illustrates the complexity and fluidity of discourse. With the Church, therefore, if we are to understand the negative impact of sovereign power, then we have to go beyond official discourse (e.g. doctrine, polity) to consider unofficial and informal practices (e.g. gossip). In Foucault, however, the meaning of discourse is not always clear. Early in his thinking, discourse is made up of statements, where statements are more than an assembly of words, although they shape the way we use words,95 for “a statement is always an event that neither the language (langue) nor the meaning can quite exhaust”.96 Moreover, discourses instigate events.97 As such, the key here is to grasp the discursive practice, “discourses are the complex networks of

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statements that make knowledge possible; that delimit what can be said, or understood, within a particular discourse; and that determine who can speak (or at least speak with authority or be heard) within that discourse”.98 Or in Butler’s version, “The one who speaks the performative effectively is understood to operate according to uncontested power.”99 Without neglecting discursive practices, Foucault later re-situates them within the frame of his power/knowledge conceptualization. In addition, he increasingly emphasizes the importance of non-discursive practices like “the rituals of power” (cf. episcopal enthronements).100 The point here is that discourse matters a great deal in the life of the Church. It is not just about church law or doctrine. Moreover, as part of the mesh of power-relations, ecclesial discourse accomplishes things, instigates events, and sets people in powerful positions. With the aid of non-discursive practices, ecclesial discourse invests leaders with authority in order to be the guardians of knowledge, which, in turn, makes them more powerful because of the nexus between knowledge and power. Under sovereign power, church leaders strive to establish unitary discourse and uniform behaviour by means of epistemic authority.101 It can be done under respectable mantels of compromise, order, or moderation. But it sets up a deep division, “What it really does is to entertain the claims to attention of local, discontinuous, disqualified: illegitimate knowledges against the claims of a unitary body of theory which would filter, hierarchise and order them in the name of some true knowledge.”102 This sorting out of knowledges into acceptable, privileged and true knowledges, as opposed to disqualified, subjugated, and illegitimate knowledges, reflects the worst of the colonizing effects of sovereign power. In conclusion, the power/knowledge conceptualization incorporated the discursive focus of Foucault’s archaeological period and anticipated the personal emphasis of his ethical period, “I know that knowledge can transform us”.103 Of course, it is premised on the notion that there is, “no power relation without the correlative constitution of a field of knowledge”.104 In the Church, the power/knowledge conceptualization helps explain the epistemic character of authority, and the emergence of “those who are charged with saying what counts as true”.105 As a consequence, under sovereign power there is privileged knowledge, which seeks to exclude or cannibalize other knowledges in an attempt to establish unitary discourse. In contrast, Foucault offers a subversive invitation for “counterknowledge”,106 and “the insurrection of subjugated knowledges”.107 In all, there is something prophetic about an invitation to lost or disqualified knowledges, anticipating the shared wisdom of the Church as an open space of freedom (Chapter 7). It sounds like the rumour of the reign of God.

Truth matters: an epistemological note In this book, the focus is on the meaning and practice of ecclesial authority. To that end, Foucault’s power/knowledge approach will be used to illuminate authority. Subsequently, the epistemological significance of the dynamic between leaders and followers will become apparent. Other perspectives will also be

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brought to bear, but Foucault’s approach forms the backdrop. On that note, it may be useful to summarize elements in Foucault’s epistemology: first of all, his outwardly nominalist style belies the unifying effect of his meta-ethic. Second, he has an ontology of history; where truth is embedded in history needing to be excavated. All the same, he is determined to unearth difficult truths “Because there are such truths.”108 In other words, truth is important for Foucault; “if I know the truth I will be changed”.109 Third, knowledge and power are constitutive of human subjects. Fourth, his epistemological endeavours include non-discursive as well as discursive practices. Foucault is committed to truth. As such, his commitment to a critical, contextual, and historical approach to truth does not mean that he is an ethical or epistemological relativist. Across diverse contexts, Foucault challenges systems of domination, affirms the critical tradition of thought as a form of resistance, affirms personal freedom in relation to identity, encouraging a self-transformation that benefits others, where the integrity of the body is recognized. These Foucauldian truths, and others, transcend contexts and reflect something of his meta-ethical gaze. Therefore, as Foucault explores the power/knowledge relation, he reminds us that there is a lot at stake. It is not simply a theoretical exercise. On the contrary, it is an existential experiment, and the prize is the discovery of truth that speaks to the present.110 And so, contrary to the Foucauldian rumour mill, truth plays a critical role in his deliberations. In fact, Foucault, tired of having to defend himself, opines “All those who say that for me the truth doesn’t exist are simple-minded.”111 For Foucault, then, truth is more than an abstract proposition. It is rooted in “lived reality”.112 The discernment of truth is an ongoing, multi-layered, contextrelated process, which is mediated through discourses that are filtered by our experience and our communities. In that context, discourse plays an important institutional role in determining “the status of those who are charged with saying what counts as true”113 and disclosing “who can speak”114 and “what counts as true”.115 In the Church, for example, a leader has a ministry of oversight over the discursive practices of faith communities. In this context, the leader’s authority is reinforced by non-discursive practices like ordination or a commissioning.116 Moreover, at least implicitly, church leaders believe they have been granted a God’s eye view, by virtue of their calling. The inherent risk, however, is that leaders embrace sovereign power cultivating “an authoritarian perspective”.117 As a consequence, knowledge is at risk of being appropriated “marking out a territory in thought and inscribing it in the real, topographizing it, investing it with powers, bounding it by exclusions, defining who or what can rightfully enter”,118 which is reinforced by the lure of being lauded as a sage by followers seeking sages. In this context, the guardian of tradition takes custody of truth (cf. “the sovereignty of knowledge”).119 The problem, however, is not so much the errant behaviour of a handful of leaders, but rather, the subject formation of leaders and followers, and the dynamic between them. In other words, under sovereign power, this is an ecclesial culture where leaders are formed to believe they are the final, even sole, arbiters of truth. In other words,

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with the blessing of the faithful, the leaders have become the “privileged readers” of Scriptures, tradition, and doctrine.120 In conclusion, the meaning of the concept of power is contested. The concept is prominent in a number of disciplines, where it is hotly debated. The high level of interest is reflected in the production of various analyses, companions, guides, handbooks, and introductions on power. Clearly, Foucault’s work features prominently on this stage, with the concept of authority making an occasional appearance. In fact, some works barely mention authority, and if it is mentioned, it does not necessarily warrant a separate reference in the index. Other scholars, in the process of unravelling the meaning of legitimacy, focus on the apparent demise of authority. Some scholars in the Weberian tradition make a place for authority, but at the expense of an adequate treatment of power. Nevertheless, a number of conclusions can be drawn about power. First, the meaning of the concept of power is contested territory, but this does not mean the conceptualization of power has to be abandoned. It does mean, however, that any conceptualization is a work in progress, based on certain assumptions, and under particular conditions. Second, there are recurring themes, among them is the core Foucauldian interest in power-relations, rather than power per se, with such relations being configured as a mesh or network. Third, Foucault makes the case that knowledge, as an inherent part of power-relations, needs to be understood within the power/knowledge configuration. On that note, I need to make a caveat about the internet. The immediate context for this book is authority in the Western Church. However, the Church is not immune to global changes and historical events. In fact, the border between church and society is porous. Subsequently, if the power/knowledge nexus is expressed discursively, then the internet age has added a new dimension to the character and mode of discursive practices. In general, “the velocity and scale of knowledge exchange in the Internet age is unique”.121 In particular, the internet is complex and complicating, “considering the presence of social – that is to say, genderized, sexualized, racialized, and naturalized – power differences, the fundamental tension that emerges is between spectacular new versions of age-old questions of domination and exclusion”.122 In broad terms this means, for example, “the term ‘spirituality’ is in the process of being appropriated by business culture to serve the interests of corporate capitalism and worship at the altar of neoliberal ideology”123 To state the obvious, much of the appropriation of the term spirituality is taking place discursively on the internet. In fact, in that sense, virtual images are part of contemporary discourse. There are other implications too. The Anglican bishops in Australia (Chapter 4), for example, by placing protocols on the General Synod website, gave them quasi-official status, and allowed them to enter the internet as facts. Of course, what is disturbing is that, “We’re heading toward a world where an extensive trail of information fragments about us will be forever preserved on the Internet, displayed instantly in a Google search … This data can often be of dubious reliability; it can be false and defamatory; or it can be true but deeply humiliating of discrediting.”124 Today, the boundaries

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are blurred, and we are enmeshed with the world. But this is also the context for understanding the life of the Church. In particular, under threat, how does the Church address the question of its life in the mesh of power-relations? In particular, what about sovereign power? How can it be addressed?

Notes 1 David Beetham, The Legitimation of Power, 2nd ed. (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 1991, 2013), 76, 97, this involves belief systems, but it is wider than this, too. 2 Ibid., 99, “legitimation of power takes place within and not outside established power relationships”. 3 Colin Koopman, Genealogy as Critique: Foucault and the Problems of Modernity (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 2013), 37; cf. Todd May, Between Genealogy and Epistemology: Psychology, Politics, and Knowledge in the Thought of Michel Foucault (University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1993), 51. 4 Jeremy R. Carrette, Foucault and Religion: Spiritual Corporality and Political Spirituality (London and New York: Routledge, 2000), 119, “He never really considers the discourse of theological belief.” 5 Dianna Taylor, “Introduction: Power, freedom and subjectivity”, in Michel Foucault: Key Concepts, Dianna Taylor ed. (Durham: Acumen, 2011), 1, “Michel Foucault was not a systematic thinker.” 6 Gary Gutting, Foucault: A Very Short Introduction (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 40. 7 Frédéric Gros, “Course context” in GOS, 385, “Foucault will never look for theses or even interpretive frameworks in this secondary literature, but only for references which are very quickly worked on again in the original text and situated within the framework of a specific problematization.” 8 Clare O’Farrell, Michel Foucault (London: SAGE, 2005), 4. 9 Ibid. 10 Daniel Defert, “Course context”, in WK, 280–281. 11 On ecclesiology: some works allude to Foucault, but do not deal specifically with discourse or epistemology, like Stephen Sykes Power and Christian Theology (London, New York: Continuum, 2006). Other works address Foucault and ecclesiology such as Tom M. Beaudoin, Witness to Dispossession: The Vocation of a Post-Modern Theologian (Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 2008) or Roy Kearsley Church, Community and Power (Farnham, UK, Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2008), but they have different research interests to this book, focusing on a postmodern theologian’s vocation and the practice of koinonia respectively Moreover, they were both written prior to the publication of the English translations of Foucault’s allimportant Collège de France lectures. 12 Hans-Georg Gadamer, Truth and Method, 2nd rev ed., Joel Weinsheimer and Donald G. Marshall trans. (London, New York: Continuum, 1975, 1989, 2004), 301: “The horizon is that range of vision that includes everything that can be seen from a particular vantage point.” 13 Mary Beth Mader, “Knowledge”, in The Cambridge Foucault Lexicon, Leonard Lawlor and John Nale eds. (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2014), 227. Foucault used two words for knowledge: connaissance and savoir, “the particular knowledge of various objects that is produced is an instance of connaissance. But the very process of simultaneously constituting the particular type of subject that is created in producing a particular connaissance is an instance of savoir.”

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14 For example, the role surveillance has instilling norms in prisons, cf. Michel Foucault, DP, 187. 15 Gilles Deleuze, Foucault (Minneapolis, London: University of Minnesota Press, 1988), 50, “Foucault delighted in articulating statements and in distinguishing between them, only because he also had a passion for seeing: what defines him above all is the voice, but also his eyes. The eyes and the voice. Foucault never stopped being a voyant at the same time as he marked philosophy with a new style of statement, though the two followed different paths, or a double rhythm.” 16 Michel Foucault, “Subject and Power”, in TEF, 127. 17 Michel Foucault, “The ethics of the concern of the self”, in TEF, 33. 18 Michel Foucault, “What is Enlightenment?” in TEF, 54. 19 Michel Foucault, “The ethics”, in TEF, 27. 20 Michel Foucault, P/K, 116. 21 Michel Foucault, FS, 170–171. 22 Michel Foucault, “What is critique?” in PT, 49. 23 Ibid., 47. 24 David Macey, Michel Foucault (London: Reaktion Books, 2004), 96–97, Groupe d’Information sur les Prisons (GIP) was founded by Foucault. 25 David M. Halperin, Saint Foucault: Towards a Gay Hagiography (New York, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995), 23. 26 Michel Foucault, HS2, 18. Foucault refers to the nineteenth-century portrayal of the homosexual as “the deeply negative intensity of this stereotype”. 27 James W. Bernauer and Michael Mahon “Michel Foucault’s Ethical Imagination”, in The Cambridge Companion to Foucault, 2nd ed., Gary Gutting ed. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 164, “Foucault’s last writings put forward an ethical interrogation, an impatience for liberty, for a freedom that does not surrender to the pursuit of some messianic future but is an engagement with the numberless potential transgressions of those forces that war against our self-creation.” 28 Interview “Questions of method” in The Foucault Effect: Studies in Governmentality, Graham Burchell, Colin Gordon and Peter Miller eds. (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1991), 74. 29 Michel Foucault, SBD, 44–45. 30 Gutting, Introduction, 60, “contingencies masked as necessities”. 31 Foucault, P/K, 62. 32 Gary Gutting, “Michel Foucault” (2003, 2013), http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/ foucault/, 8. 33 Steven Lukes, Power: A Radical View, 2nd ed. (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 1974, 2005), 97. 34 Bryan S. Turner, The Body and Society, 3rd ed. (Los Angeles: Sage, 1984, 1996, 2008), 149. 35 Jonathan Hearn, Theorizing Power (Basingstoke: Sage, 2012), 91. This is based on a limited understanding of Foucault’s middle phase, the nature of subject formation, and Foucault’s epistemology (105). 36 Frank Furedi, Authority: A Sociological History (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 7, 218. 37 Halperin, Saint Foucault, 161. 38 Bonnie Mann, Sovereign Masculinity: Gender Lessons from the War on Terror (Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press, 2104), 2–3. 39 Ibid., 8–11. Mann is working with what she describes as “the phenomenon of gender/nation” in the context of the United States. 40 Carrette, Foucault and Religion, 79. 41 Michel Foucault, “Questions on geography” in P/K, 72, “each individual has at his disposal a certain power, and for that very reason can also act as the vehicle for transmitting a wider power”.

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42 Sharon R. Krause, Freedom Beyond Sovereignty: Reconstructing Liberal Individualism (Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 2015), 147. 43 Fabio Vighi and Heiko Feldner, Žižek: Beyond Foucault (Hampshire, New York: Palgrave Macmillan 2007), 6. 44 Cf. Michel Foucault BP, and Vanessa Lemm and Miguel Vatter eds., The Government of Life: Foucault, Biopolitics, and Neoliberalism (New York: Fordham University Press, 2014); Wendy Brown, Undoing the Demos: Neoliberalism’s Stealth Revolution (New York: Zone Books, 2015). 45 William E. Connolly, The Terms of Political Discourse, 3rd ed. (Oxford, Cambridge: Blackwell, 1974, 1983, 1994), 107. 46 Colin Koopman, Genealogy as Critique: Foucault and the Problems of Modernity (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 2013), 12. 47 Vighi and Feldner, Žižek, 142 n. 5, “Judith Butler’s work is arguably the most influential appropriation of Foucault’s conceptualization of power and resistance for feminist theory today.” 48 O’Farrell, Foucault, 69, “archaeology is about the ‘conditions of possibility’ which give rise to knowledge, whereas genealogy is about the ‘constraints’ that limit the orders of knowledge.” 49 Ibid., 50, cited by O’Farrell. 50 Mark G. E. Kelly, “Michel Foucault’s Political Thought”, Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy, 2013, http://www.iep.utm.edu/fouc-pol/, 1. 51 Michel Foucault, STP, 1, bio-power is “the set of mechanisms through which the basic biological features of the human species became the object of a political strategy, of a general strategy of power, or, in other words, how, starting from the eighteenth century, modern Western societies took on board the fundamental biological fact that human beings are a species”. 52 Kelly, “Political Thought”, 5. 53 Koopman, Genealogy, 56. 54 Roger Poole “Intersubjectivity”, in The New Fontana Dictionary of Modern Thought, 3rd ed., Allan Bullock and Stephen Trombley eds. (London: Harper Collins, 1977, 1988, 1999), 442. 55 Michel Foucault, OT, 422. 56 Gary Gutting, “Michel Foucault”, 2003, 2013, http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/ foucault/, 11. 57 Foucault, DP, 27. 58 Michel Foucault, “An aesthetics of existence”, in PPC, 50–51. 59 Turner, The Body, 47, Turner claims Foucault is not consistent in terms of what he means by the body. 60 Foucault, DP, 25. 61 Ibid., 188. 62 Ibid., 24. 63 In conversation, Ladelle McWhorter drew my attention to this aspect. 64 Judith Butler “Bodies and power revisited”, in Feminism and the Final Foucault, Dianna Taylor and Karen Vintges eds. (Urbana and Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 2004), 187. 65 Michel Foucault, “Two lectures”, in P/K, 98. 66 Colin Koopman, “The formation and self-transformation of the subject in Foucault’s ethics”, in A Companion to Foucault, Christopher Falzon, Timothy O’Leary, and Jana Sawicki eds. (Oxford: Blackwell, 2013), 531. Cf. Koopman, Genealogy, 189ff. 67 Foucault, “The ethics”, in TEF, 28. 68 Koopman, “The formation”, 537. 69 Judith Butler, Giving an Account of Oneself (New York: Fordham University Press, 2005), 120–121.

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70 Michel Foucault, “The battle for chastity”, in PPC, 240. 71 Koopman, “The formation”, 529; cf. Edward F. McGushin, Foucault’s Askesis: An Introduction to the Philosophical Life (Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 2007), 16, “Foucault’s shift from the analysis of dispositifs of power-knowledge to that of problematizations represents, along with the introduction of the notion of modalities of veridiction, an important methodological advance. His earlier work is not left behind, but rather displaced and complemented by his new focus.” 72 Michel Foucault, IKA, 124. 73 Foucault, “What is Enlightenment?” in TEF, 56. 74 Foucault, HS1, 92. 75 Michel Foucault, “Prison talk”, in P/K, 39. 76 Foucault, “Two lectures”, 98. 77 Paul Tillich, Love, Power and Justice: Ontological Analyses and Ethical Applications (London: Oxford University Press, 1954), 53; cf. “In this sense every self is a power structure.” 78 Michel Foucault, “Politics and reason”, in PPC, 83, “Power is not a substance.” 79 Krause, Freedom, 57. 80 Ibid., 147. 81 Foucault, “Questions”, 72. 82 Foucault, “Two lectures”, 98. 83 Foucault, STP, 63, of course, and this is a major concern of Foucault’s, as it depends upon what is regarded as normal or natural, and who decides. 84 Pierre Bourdieu, Outline of a Theory of Practice, Richard Nice trans. (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1972, 1977), 193. 85 Michel Foucault, BC, 108. 86 Foucault, DP, 27. 87 Foucault, “What is critique?” in PT, 71. 88 Jean-François Lyotard, The Differend: Phrases in Dispute, Georges Van Dan Abbeele trans. (Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press, 1983, 1988), 142 section 203; he reminds us of the dangers of claiming divine authorization, “the paradox of idiolects (God, Life, etc., designate me to exert authority, and I am the only witness to this revelation)”. 89 Michel Foucault, “Critical theory”, in PPC, 43. 90 Lyotard, Differend, 142 section 203. 91 Michel Foucault, “Truth and power”, in PK, 131. 92 Ibid., cf. Pierre Bourdieu, Language, Symbol and Power, John B. Thompson ed., Gino Raymond and Matthew Adamson trans. (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1982, 1991), 107; “The power of words is nothing other than the delegated power of the spokesperson, and his speech – that is, the substance of his discourse and, inseparably, his way of speaking – is no more than a testimony, and one among others, of the guarantee of delegation which is vested in him.” 93 Maja Mikula, Key Concepts in Cultural Studies (Basingstoke, New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008), 54. 94 Michel Foucault, SMD, 30. 95 Michel Foucault, AK, 80, 86ff. 96 Ibid., 28. 97 Michel Foucault, DOL, 231, “an event is neither substance, nor accident, nor quality nor process; events are not corporeal”. 98 Richard A. Lynch, “Discourse”, in The Cambridge Foucault Lexicon, Leonard Lawlor and John Nale eds. (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2014), 121–122. 99 Judith Butler, Excitable Speech: A Politics of the Performative (New York, London: Routledge, 1997), 49. 100 Foucault, SMD, 66; cf. Bourdieu, Language, 111 on “acts of authority” and “social ritual”.

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101 Foucault, SMD 10–12; cf. Connolly, Discourse, 226, “They use universalist rhetoric to protect provincial practices.” 102 Foucault, “Two lectures”, 83. 103 Michel Foucault, “The minimalist self” in PPC, 14. 104 M. Foucault, DP, 27. 105 Foucault, “Truth and power”, 131. 106 Foucault, SMD, 130. 107 Ibid., 7. 108 Friedrich Nietzsche, On the Genealogy of Morality, Keith Ansell-Peason ed., Carol Diethe trans. (Cambridge, New York: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 12. 109 Foucault, “Minimalist”, 14. 110 Linda M. Alcoff, “Foucault’s normative epistemology” in A Companion to Foucault, Christopher Falzon, Timothy O’Leary, and Jana Sawicki eds. (Oxford: Blackwell, 2013), 220, “social constructionist approaches do not dislodge the usual sorts of methods used either in the natural or the social sciences. But they do claim that the truth of the matter about how truth is achieved is not exhausted by a recitation of the empirical method.” 111 Michel Foucault, “The concern for truth” in FL, 456. 112 Linda M. Alcoff, Real Knowing: New Versions of the Coherence Theory (Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 1996), 12. 113 Foucault, “Truth and power”, 131. 114 Foucault, AK, 50, 68 “the right to speak”. 115 Foucault, “Truth and power”, 131. 116 Foucault, DP, 225, “ritual defines the qualifications required of the speaker”. 117 Alcoff, Knowing, 234. 118 Nikolas Rose, Powers of Freedom: Reframing Political Thought (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 34. 119 Foucault, DP, 247. 120 Michel De Certeau, The Practice of Everyday Life, Steven F. Rendall trans. (Berkeley, Los Angeles, London: University of California Press, 1984), 171. 121 Clare Birchall, Knowledge Goes Pop (Oxford, New York: Berg, 2006), 5. 122 Rosa Braidotti, Nomadic Theory (New York: Columbia University, 2011), 12. 123 Jeremy Carrette and Richard King, Selling Spirituality: The Silent Takeover of Religion (London and New York, Routledge, 2005), 28. 124 Daniel J. Solove, The Future of Reputation: Gossip, Rumor, and Privacy on the Internet (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2007), 17.

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Bourdieu, Pierre. Outline of a Theory of Practice. Translated by Richard Nice. New York: Cambridge University Press, 1972, 1977. Bourdieu, Pierre. Language, Symbol and Power. Edited by John B. Thompson, translated by Gino Raymond and Matthew Adamson. Cambridge: Polity Press, 1982, 1991. Braidotti, Rosa. Nomadic Theory. New York: Columbia University, 2011. Brown, Wendy. Undoing the Demos: Neoliberalism’s Stealth Revolution. New York: Zone Books, 2015. Burchell, Graham, Gordon, Colin, and Miller, Peter. eds., The Foucault Effect: Studies in Governmentality. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1991. Butler, Judith. Excitable Speech: A Politics of the Performative. New York, London: Routledge, 1997. Butler, Judith. Giving an Account of Oneself. New York: Fordham University Press, 2005. Butler, Judith. “Bodies and power revisited”. In Feminism and the Final Foucault, Edited by Dianna Taylor and Karen Vintges, 183–194. Urbana and Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 2004. Carrette, Jeremy R., Foucault and Religion: Spiritual Corporality and Political Spirituality. London and New York: Routledge, 2000. Carrette, Jeremy and King, Richard. Selling Spirituality: The Silent Takeover of Religion. London and New York: Routledge, 2005. Connolly, William E. The Terms of Political Discourse. 3rd ed. Oxford, Cambridge: Blackwell, 1974, 1983, 1994. De Certeau, Michel. The Practice of Everyday Life. Translated by Steven F. Rendall. Berkeley, Los Angeles, London: University of California Press, 1984. Deleuze, Gilles. Foucault. Translated and edited by Seán Hand. Minneapolis, London: University of Minnesota Press, 1988. Foucault, Michel. The Birth of the Clinic: An Archaeology of Medical Perception. Translated by Alan M. Sheridan. London, New York: Routledge: 1963, 1973, 1989. Foucault, Michel. The Order of Things: An Archaeology of the Human Sciences. Anonymous translation. London, New York: Routledge, 1966, 1970, 2002. Foucault, Michel. The Archaeology of Knowledge (and The Discourse on Language). Translated by Alan M. Sheridan Smith. New York: Vintage Books, 1969, 1971, 1972. Foucault, Michel. “The Discourse on Language” originally published in 1971, translated by Rupert Swyer. Reprinted as the appendix in The Archaeology of Knowledge. Foucault, Michel. Power/Knowledge: Selected Interviews and Other Writings 1972–1977. Edited by Colin Gordon, translated by Colin Gordon, Leo Marshall, John Mepham, Kate Soper. New York: Vintage Books, 1972, 1975, 1976, 1977, 1980. Foucault, Michel. The Use of Pleasure: The History of Sexuality, volume. 2. Translated by Robert Hurley. New York: Vintage Books: 1984, 1985, 1990. Foucault, Michel. Politics, Philosophy, Culture: Interviews and Other Writings 1977–1984. Edited by Lawrence D. Kritzman, translated by Alan Sheridan and others. London, New York: Routledge, 1988, 1990. Foucault, Michel. Foucault Live: Collected Interviews, 1961–1984. Edited by Sylvere Lotringer, translated by Lysa Hochroth and John Johnston. New York: Semiotext(e), 1989, 1996. Foucault, Michel. Society Must Be Defended: Lectures at the Collège de France 1975–1976. Edited by Mauro Bertani and Alessandro Fontana, translated by David Macey. New York: Picador: 1997, 2003. Foucault, Michel. Fearless Speech. Edited by Joseph Pearson. Los Angeles: Semiotext(e), 2001.

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Foucault, Michel. Introduction to Kant’s Anthropology. Edited by Robert Nigro, translated by Robert Nigro and Kate Briggs. Los Angeles: Semiotext(e), 2008. Furedi, Frank. Authority: A Sociological History. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2011. Gadamer, Hans-Georg. Truth and Method, 2nd rev ed. Translated by Joel Weinsheimer and Donald G. Marshall. London, New York: Continuum, 1975, 1989, 2004. Gutting, Gary. “Michel Foucault”. In Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, 2003, 2013, http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/foucault/. Gutting, Gary. Foucault: A Very Short Introduction. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005. Halperin, David M. Saint Foucault: Towards a Gay Hagiography. New York, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995. Hearn, Jonathan. Theorizing Power. Basingstoke: Sage, 2012. Kearsley, Roy. Church, Community and Power. Farnham, Burlington: Ashgate, 2008. Kelly, Mark G.E. “Michel Foucault’s Political Thought”, Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy, 2013, http://www.iep.utm.edu/fouc-pol/ Koopman, Colin. Genealogy as Critique: Foucault and the Problems of Modernity. Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 2013a. Koopman, Colin. “The formation and self-transformation of the subject in Foucault’s ethics”. In A Companion to Foucault. Edited by Christopher Falzon, Timothy O’Leary, Jana Sawicki, 526–543. Oxford: Blackwell, 2013b. Krause, Sharon R. Freedom Beyond Sovereignty: Reconstructing Liberal Individualism. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 2015. Lemm, Vanessa and Vatter, Miguel. eds. The Government of Life: Foucault, Biopolitics, and Neoliberalism. New York: Fordham University Press, 2014. Lukes, Steven. Power: A Radical View, 2nd ed. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 1974, 2005. Lynch, Richard A. “Discourse”. In The Cambridge Foucault Lexicon. Edited by Leonard Lawlor and John Nale, 120–125. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2014. Lyotard, Jean-François. The Differend: Phrases in Dispute. Translated by Georges Van Dan Abbeele. Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press, 1983, 1988. Macey, David. Michel Foucault. London: Reaktion Books, 2004. Mader, Mary Beth. “Knowledge”. In The Cambridge Foucault Lexicon. Edited by Leonard Lawlor and John Nale, 226–235. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2014. Mann Bonnie. Sovereign Masculinity: Gender Lessons from the War on Terror. Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press, 2014. May, Todd. Between Genealogy and Epistemology: Psychology, Politics, and Knowledge in the Thought of Michel Foucault. University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1993. McGushin, Edward F. Foucault’s Askesis: An Introduction to the Philosophical Life. Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 2007. Mikula, Maja. Key Concepts in Cultural Studies. Basingstoke, New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008. Nietzsche, Friedrich. On the Genealogy of Morality. Edited by Keith Ansell-Peason, translated by Carol Diethe. Cambridge, New York: Cambridge University Press, 1994. O’Farrell, Clare. Michel Foucault. London: Sage, 2005. Poole, Roger. “Intersubjectivity”. In The New Fontana Dictionary of Modern Thought. 3rd ed. Edited by Allan Bullock and Stephen Trombley, 442. London: Harper Collins, 1977, 1988, 1999.

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Rose, Nikolas. Powers of Freedom: Reframing Political Thought. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999. Solove, Daniel J. The Future of Reputation: Gossip, Rumor, and Privacy on the Internet. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2007. Sykes, Stephen. Power and Christian Theology. London, New York: Continuum, 2006. Taylor, Dianna. “Introduction: Power, freedom and subjectivity”. In Michel Foucault: Key Concepts, Edited by Dianna Taylor, 1–9. Durham: Acumen, 2011. Tillich, Paul. Love, Power and Justice: Ontological Analyses and Ethical Applications. London: Oxford University Press, 1954. Turner, Bryan S. The Body and Society. 3rd ed. Los Angeles: Sage, 1984, 1996, 2008. Vighi, Fabio and Feldner, Heiko. Žižek: Beyond Foucault. Hampshire, New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2007.

3

The concept of authority Guardians, gossip, and the sovereign exception

The aim of the case study So far, I have raised the problem of sovereign power. In the process, the work of Foucault has been appraised (Chapter 2) as the basis for a fresh ecclesiological critique. To that end, this chapter begins a two-part case study of Anglicanism (Chapters 3 and 4). The immediate purpose of the case study is to discover “how authority actually operates in the Church”.1 In the long run, however, the purpose of critique is to evoke new spaces, the imagination, and the wisdom of others. Undoubtedly, then, the two-part case study plays a pivotal role in this book. So it is important to be clear about its aim. The aim of the case study is to examine the problem of the Church’s enmeshment with sovereign power, which marginalizes laity and clergy, in general, and minority groups, in particular. This entails defining the problem of sovereign power and showing how it marginalizes others. First then, sovereign power reflects a monarchical model of church, which is inherently oriented toward the practice of power over others. The quintessential ecclesial expression of the monarchical model of power is found in the concept of bishop as the sovereign exception. Second, the bishop as sovereign exception, with the support of laity and clergy, uses his/her position as guardian of the tradition to quarantine knowledge as privileged knowledge. It is the attempt to accrue and govern knowledge, which leads inexorably to the drive towards unitary discourse and uniform behaviours. Moreover, this pressure to conform explicitly marginalizes those who do not fit in with named and unnamed norms (e.g. LGBTIQ persons). Along with non-discursive actions, the drive is discursively enacted. Gossip, which can take the form of hate speech, is an example of how these norms are discursively implemented. The concept of gossip illustrates both the multilayered nature of discourse and the shared or communal nature of knowledge. In other words, in spite of the best efforts of sovereign leaders, discourses cannot be fully rationalized and knowledge cannot be monopolized (which undermines the viability of securing privileged knowledge). At this stage, however, I need to say something about the complex nature of marginalization, which holds the key to ecclesial renewal. First, the marginalizing effects stem from a combination of bishop as sovereign exception, who

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is supported by the faithful. Its effects include others who are explicitly marginalized, for example, on the basis of gender, sexuality or race. With a certain irony, however, it also includes laity and clergy who are implicitly marginalized by virtue of compliance. As docile bodies, this is not the life we have been called to live (Chapter 4). Second, a premise in this book is that ecclesiological critique can lead to ecclesiological renewal and the renewal of authority, but this involves facing painful truths. In this instance, it is the truth of our enmeshment and complicity with sovereign power. By facing the truth, however, about how the Church actually works (what we are), we begin to imagine new possibilities (who we can be). In other words, in order to realize freedom, we have to understand the nature of the attachments that make us captive to sovereign power. As a we relinquish sovereign power then, we discover ecclesial authority, which is grounded in mutual empowerment (e.g. dispersed authority). So this chapter will explore the themes of epistemic hubris, the concept of authority, privileged knowledge, the importance of gossip, and the bishop as the sovereign exception. In preparation for this, I want to come back to issue of how the Church, and its authority actually works. In practical terms, the case study does not attempt to address the breadth of ecumenical concerns, but instead it deals with common issues, like the relationship between leaders and followers. In fact, the majority of the churches in the West are facing similar problems, such as falling attendances, aging congregations, marginalized social status, and the rise of Christian fundamentalism.2 In the face of such challenges, Paul Avis articulates the plight of the Anglican Church, “We need the assurance that Anglicanism is an estimable expression of the Christian Church; that it has all the resources, by the grace of God, to meet the pastoral and spiritual needs of its members; that it has the authority to call to its ministry those whom it believes the Holy Spirit is calling and to bestow on them the authority of the Church.”3 Authority, however, is a problem. Other Anglican scholars share Avis’s concern. Stephen Platten laments that the concept of authority has not been addressed in a critical manner in Anglicanism, “In the past, attitudes to authority have often been too facile. They have ignored the complexity of human existence and the intricate weave represented by reciprocity between the individual and the community, tradition and its development. There is still a depressing tendency to oversimplify and polarise the discussion.”4 In relation to ecclesiology, Ellen Wondra makes a similar appeal to Platten: “A crucial aspect of this needed reform of ecclesiological method, I think, is a more adequate description of how authority actually operates in the Church – of how authority is constituted, legitimated, and conferred, and how it is exercised and by whom.”5 In the present case study, there needs to be conceptual critique,6 as well as the traditional historical-thematic approaches that have dominated Anglican ecclesiology. On that note, the work of Foucault has been incorporated here to develop a more critical approach to Anglican ecclesiology. The work of Foucault helps explain the Church’s enmeshment with sovereign power, for example, by means of the nexus between knowledge and power, the

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nature of subject formation, and how this is expressed discursively. Unsurprisingly, Foucault is not arguing that there is no reality without discourse, but rather, reality is construed discursively. As such, discourses are more than an accumulation of signs, “they are practices that systematically form the objects of which they speak”.7 Moreover, there are various discourses (e.g. gossip). The multiplicity of discourses resists attempts at homogenization; this is in spite of attempts by some leaders to enforce unitary discourse.8 In other words, the dynamic between bishops and followers is shaped discursively. This serves to underline the importance of bishops as the bearers of knowledge. Specifically, they are the guardians of ecclesial discourse.9 In this light, the concept of epistemic hubris is relevant and needs to be interpreted epistemologically, as well as theologically.

Epistemic hubris The Church is not the only institution to wrestle with the problem of sovereign power, but it has its own vocation, which means it is called to live another way. However, different churches address the quotidian issues of authority and governance in different ways, but there are common problems like epistemic hubris.10 As (Bishop) Sykes wryly observes, “the moment someone starts to call you a kurios or master (or bishop, archbishop or pope – my lord, your grace, your holiness!) you are already resting upon a slope which will carry you downwards … unless you are very vigilant”.11 As such, epistemic hubris is a manifestation of the subject formation of church leaders, which is symptomatic of, and contributes to, sovereign power. In Anglicanism, for instance, it occurs when bishops believe they have the answer to a problem or that only they can solve it. This outlook stems from a particular construal of episcopal vocation (God alone), which is often supported by clergy and laity.12 This sense of accountability to God alone is not open to public scrutiny. By definition, it excludes the faith community from access to what eventually becomes privileged knowledge. The overall problem, however, is largely cultural. In other words, the subject formation of leaders and followers means the abuse of power is not necessarily about personal intention.13 However, there are exceptions. Moreover, laity and clergy believe that the Church is divinely instituted and God has called their leaders. So, even if they doubt a leader’s judgement, they themselves are called to be obedient. Like good sheep, they are called to obey God’s shepherds. So, as epistemic hubris is a feature of sovereign power, I need to say a little more. As the bishop is the guardian of ecclesial discourse, the misuse of authority invariably surfaces as epistemic hubris, which is expressed as divine right thinking and practice. Typically, sovereign power is found in the language of entitlement, right, or prerogative.14 In particular, under sovereign power, the bishop sees himself as the sovereign exception, regardless of circumstances or a lack of consent. Epistemic hubris then is a symptom of sovereign power. It is an exaggerated sense of epistemic privilege, which is exercised on the basis of a

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particularly narrow construal of vocation and with the support of followers (active, tacit or otherwise). In Foucauldian parlance, they have the right to speak, and what they say is true.15 In particular, this construal of episcopal identity emphasizes almost exclusively a diachronic (cf. apostolic) over a synchronic (cf. conciliar) view of tradition, such that conciliar aspirations are relegated or ignored.16 Under sovereign power then, consent is secondary or immaterial. But why the use of the archaic term hubris? Today, the term hubris has resurfaced in contemporary political and commercial discourse to describe abuses of power. The idea has religious-cultural roots in biblical stories like the expulsion from the garden “you will be like God” (Gen 3:5) or the tower of Babel “let us make a name for ourselves” (Gen 11:4). In this book, however, epistemic hubris is used heuristically to describe the contemporary ecclesial problem of sovereign power and its close relationship to knowledge. In theory, the bishop is constituted as the bearer of knowledge, but this is a trust and not a right. In practice, and under sovereign power, the epistemic responsibility of the guardian of the tradition manifests as implied omniscience.17 Implied meaning that the hubris emerges as part of the subject formation of a bishop. As such, it is usually unwitting behaviour, because this knowingness is often sincerely held by a bishop. Moreover, it is an expression of the bishop’s unique relationship with God, which is supported by a particular construal of the bishop’s calling (God alone). So, it is more hubris than egoism, which is why I have not used a term like epistemic egoism.18 Critically, under sovereign power, knowledge held in trust for the faithful, becomes the privileged knowledge of the few. Nonetheless, it would be useful to put this in wider context. Epistemic hubris is symptomatic of an ecclesial culture under sovereign power. As such, the Church nurtures the formation of bishops who behave like sovereigns and followers who seek them out. As a consequence, the central role of bishop as the guardian of a living tradition is distorted into the custodian of privileged knowledge. In this context, tradition is used to perpetuate conformity, making “it possible to rethink the dispersion of history in the form of the same”.19 Moreover, epistemic hubris thrives on the lure of the esoteric, all of which enhances power, because secrecy is “indispensable to its operation”.20 And it is a secret, because it is a matter between the bishop and God. This is not egoism, but a faithfulness nourished by a one-dimensional/diachronic view of vocation. Above all, such hubris is increasingly vulnerable to the allure of power, or what Foucault describes as, “the spell of monarchy”. It is at this point that the issue of masculinity becomes increasingly problematic (below).21 Taken to an extreme, epistemic hubris can manifest in the ridiculous, grandiose, or grotesque, “The grotesque character of someone like Mussolini was absolutely inherent to the mechanism of power”.22 In conclusion, this is a broad interpretation of epistemic hubris, which applies to bishops living under sovereign power. Knowledge is critical, however, that needs qualification because “The point in epistemology, as well as in politics, is not to subvert every authority but to make authorities accountable, to

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acknowledge their fallibility, and to incorporate an analysis of power within any critique of their knowledge claims.”23 The point here is to encourage accountability, and in the long term, change church culture.24 But what about the significance of knowledge?

The bishop as the guardian of knowledge In Anglicanism, the office of bishop has structural, theological, and symbolic significance. As such, a bishop has the capacity to influence greatly, clergy and laity, positively or negatively. In this chapter, the concern is not the value of the historic episcopate per se.25 Instead, the problem is sovereign power. Ultimately, the focus of this book is on renewing the meaning and practice of ecclesial authority, but the chapter is also making gestures toward a positive revaluation of the practice of episcopacy.26 In fact, for the purpose of critique, it would be helpful to look at the episcopal ideal, theologically and practically. Theologically, Rowan Williams considers that the decisive measure of the episcopate begins and ends with the Eucharist. This is the bishop’s “special responsibility”.27 As such, the Eucharist is the touchstone of episcopacy, as it recalls, embodies, and proclaims the Paschal symbol,28 setting the limits and direction for ecclesial authority in the process. Accordingly, the Eucharist embodies the diachronic and synchronic dimensions of faith,29 whereby the apostolicity30 and catholicity of the Church are brought together in the figure of the bishop as Eucharistic president.31 Moreover, the Eucharistic president fosters a “ministry of memory”.32 In the sacramental context then, the guardian is more trusted carer than legal custodian, that is, it is more about nurturing memories than preserving propositions.33 Ideally, all of the bishop’s roles are vital (cf. pastor, teacher, guardian), but it is bishop as Eucharistic president that is ontologically primary.34 This gives meaning to the bishop’s symbolic importance in relation to the catholicity of the Church,35 as “The gathered Christian community celebrates the sacraments under the leadership, guidance and authority of the one who presides. If the liturgy is the Church’s proper work, it is also the bishop’s proper work”.36 However, the episcopal ideal, as embodied by the symbol of the Eucharistic president, has wider implications. In fact, the “exercise of teaching authority in the Church, especially in situations of challenge, requires the participation, in their distinctive ways, of the whole body of believers, not only those charged with the ministry of memory. In this participation, the sensus fidelium is at work”.37 In this setting, the authority of the bishop is a unifying authority, “not an authority to abolish or minimise conflict within the community”.38 In Anglicanism, the ideal of episcopacy is related to the idea of dispersed authority, which is a seminal idea embodying primacy and consent, the diachronic and synchronic, working together in harmony. It is captured succinctly in the phrase bishop-in-synod or bishop-in-council. On the one hand, bishops have been granted epistemological authority by their particular vocation, which is confirmed by, and articulated in, the living tradition of apostolic succession. On

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the other hand, laity and clergy entrust their bishops to lead and, in so doing, they authorize bishops as their epistemic authorities. In addition, laity and clergy bring their own wisdom to bear. This is shared wisdom, which is discerned and sustained by the faith community. Of course, all of this underlines the epistemological significance of the bishop’s role, which reflects the power/knowledge nexus,39 as leaders and followers articulate “the status of those who are charged with saying what counts as true”.40 At its best, laity and clergy entrust the bishop with epistemic responsibility who, working with representative members of the laity and clergy, provides authentic leadership. As such, the bishop is trusted guardian of ecclesial discourse. In practice, however, this is undermined by sovereign power. Under sovereign power, the bishop takes custody of knowledge.41 So, what is the full significance of this epistemological monopoly? Foucault uses the power/knowledge dyad to say power and knowledge are entwined but irreducible, “there is no power relation without the correlative constitution of a field of knowledge, nor any knowledge that does not presuppose and constitute at the same time power-relations”.42 In fact, “it is in discourse that power and knowledge are joined together”.43 For a number of reasons, Foucault’s power/knowledge nexus rings true with ecclesial life, where a premium is placed on knowledge, and the interpreters of true knowledge who are deemed guardians of the tradition. Historically, the significance of the bishop has been understood as guardian of the tradition, “As the keeper of the tradition of Christ he will know what are the things which are not shaken.”44 Even today, “The bishop must teach, uphold and safeguard the faith and doctrine of the church.”45 In theory, this is a central part of episcopal identity, that is, the bishop by virtue of her calling, and the consent of the faithful, is steward of a living tradition. In practice, however, the issue is whether or not leadership is an expression of ecclesial authority or sovereign power. Ultimately, a shift from ecclesial authority to sovereign power is expressed in a determination to establish unitary discourse and uniform behaviour, which becomes the measure of ecclesial unity.46 At least implicitly, the shift is reflected in the bishop seeing himself as the exception, that is, she is above ecclesiastical law.47 So, the living tradition becomes a means of establishing conformity.48 In conclusion, the locus of authority is found in the epistemological centrality of the bishops. Under sovereign power, this manifests itself in bishops believing they have a right to the final say, because they know what is true, regardless of circumstances, expertise, or consent.49 In other words, they see themselves as the exception. This is partly because their knowledge is regarded by themselves and others, as privileged knowledge.50 So, if knowledge is meshed with power, and the power/knowledge nexus shapes us, how is this achieved? This is where the issue of ecclesial discourses is vital.

Gossip and the multi-layered nature of discourse The Church’s enmeshment with sovereign power is expressed and reinforced discursively. To that end, the concept and practice of gossip illustrates the

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multivalent nature of discourse, and the diverse and complex nature of knowledge. Nonetheless, the concept of gossip does not figure prominently in theology, let alone ecclesiology. It is, however, receiving attention in other disciplines like cultural studies, anthropology, psychology, and research in the work-place. Moreover, and this bears repeating, “Once we have established that some communication is gossip, the question of its reliability and truth is … much the same as that of any other piece of testimony.”51 For instance, “people passively and actively use gossip to determine their view of the world and to convey it meaningfully to others. To no small extent, we learn how to behave, think, and communicate from and with gossip. For these reasons, it has the potential to create collegiality and understanding as well as inequality and conflict along gossip lines, between and within social groups”.52 So, let me start with an overview of gossip.53 Considering gossip as discourse means recognizing that gossip has the capacity to communicate knowledge (cf. marginalized knowledges). In other words, gossip – as well as ecclesiastical law and polity – has epistemological value. As Karen Adkins argues, “I see two particular contributions gossip makes towards how we come to know things: first, that it helps us make connections between seemingly unconnected ideas; and second, that it helps us select out that to which we pay epistemic attention. In both of these cases, I want to emphasize, traditional epistemological tools of evaluation like inductive and deductive reasoning are present – again, we are not simply dealing with an entirely separate epistemic family.”54 For example, gossip is also a way for marginalized groups to challenge inequities safely. This is a positive construal of gossip. But there is also a negative version of gossip. As an expression of sovereign power, gossip can be used to trivialize the wisdom of others by undermining their credibility. But there is more to gossip than this. Typically, gossip is an evaluative judgement about an absent third person,55 which can be negative or positive, in terms of intent and effect. It depends on the situation; even the tone of the gossiper. However, it makes more sense in situ, where gossip is part of the complexity of ecclesial discourse. Now, the root of the term discursive has to do with running on. A discursive perspective recognizes the existence of many discourses, which are fluid-like and dynamically entwined.56 The point is not that gossip is more important than an ecclesiastical canon, but rather, ecclesial gossip needs to be considered as part of the mesh of power-relations, which shapes thinking, knowledge, norms, and behaviour. Ironically, a piece of gossip will often be more explicit about motivating values, than a synodical proposition. Gossip matters.57 It is part of the power/knowledge complex. In other words, it is necessary to consider private and informal discourses, as well as public and formal discourses, in order to understand the impact of sovereign power. However, it is important to put the concept of gossip in historical context. Social anthropologist Max Gluckman played a major role in placing gossip on the research agenda, “It has taken the development of anthropological interest in the growth and break-up of small groups to put gossip and scandal

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into their proper perspective, as among the most important societal and cultural phenomena we are called upon to analyse.”58 However, the concept of gossip is complicated. So, let me explore this further in relation to the positive and negative forms of gossip. First, Robin Dunbar interprets positive forms of gossip from an evolutionary perspective,59 “I have argued that gossip, in the broad sense of conversation about social and personal topics, is a fundamental prerequisite of the human condition. Were we not able to engage in discussions of these issues, we would not be able to sustain the kinds of societies that we do. Gossip in this broad sense plays a number of different roles in the maintenance of socially functional groups through time; although simple social bonding is perhaps the single most important of these roles”.60 In other words, gossip strengthens group bonds. It also reinforces group values.61 Within groups, gossip enhances learning because it is “a mechanism of information exchange”.62 As such, gossip can augment a person’s reputation (and her testimony).63 In addition, gossip can give voice to bearers of subjugated knowledges. In other words, it can enable the marginalized to exercise freedom, redressing the balance of power in small ways (cf. leaking information as a form of gossip).64 This is because the testimony of the marginalized is often trivialized or ignored: “After all, questions of testimony, expertise, and trust are intertwined with issues of power and privilege. The powerless in society are not usually taken to be trustworthy witnesses even when it comes to providing information about their own lives.”65 Second, negative gossip entails the proliferation of false knowledge about an absent third person. In particular, it relies on the untested testimony of the person spreading gossip, who is usually not held accountable for the veracity of his claims, or the harm done. In one way or another, however, gossip can get back to the absent third party (which was often the intent of the gossiper). Negative gossip entails the propagation of a prejudice or stereotype about the third person, which can harm that person’s reputation, diminishing her testimony.66 As such, negative gossip reinforces unnamed and untested norms, where a norm “is an element of the basis of which a certain exercise of power is founded and legitimized”.67 Moreover, the harm caused by negative gossip can be underestimated or ignored. But negative gossip is inherently destructive. For example, the tragic stories of young gay men, who have been harassed by internet trolls,68 illustrates how negative forms of gossip can become vehicles of hate speech, which are inherently violent.69 In this light, it is naïve or dismissive to say “it’s just gossip”. Moreover, gossip contributes significantly to the epistemic stock. That is, as gossip enters and circulates within ecclesial discourse, there is a risk that it will be accepted unchallenged as reliable knowledge. As Stephen Sykes confesses, “When considering appointments in the relative privacy of the bishop’s study, it was a manifest temptation to neglect the distinction between necessary discernment and an unnecessary denigration of a priest’s character or the circulation of unverified gossip.”70 In other words, church gossip can damage careers. In church forums, the statement “love the sinner, hate the sin” is a rhetorical attempt to justify the condemnation of the homosexual act, while maintaining a

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semblance of care for the homosexual person. However, uttering the word hate in public, in conjunction with sin, constitutes a form of hostile speech. This is fighting-talk. Moreover, can you actually hate the sin and love the sinner? It is almost impossible to quarantine the multi-layered effects of this type of utterance from hurting a gay or lesbian person who is present, and who is described as a sinner. As such, the utterance only serves to harm and marginalize LGBTIQ Christians.71 In practical terms, what may have started out as private negative gossip over coffee, morphs into public hate speech in a church council, which, in fact, is violent speech. Moreover, the matter of negative gossip (and hate speech) is complicated in the Church, because it is often melded with pastoral care discourse, conveying a semblance of compassion (e.g. it’s for their own good). At this juncture, a scenario would help to show how negative gossip works in the Church. In particular, it will illustrate how baseless gossip can move from private to public discourse as true knowledge. Incidentally, I will be using scenarios as illustrations. As such, a scenario is not based on a specific incident. In fact, it is a caprice, or a pastiche of incidents, for the purpose of explanation. In this particular scenario, a priest’s name is before a parish nomination committee. He is under consideration for the position of parish rector. Subsequently, he is interviewed by the nomination committee. On leaving the interview, the chairperson gives him positive feedback. A few weeks later, however, the diocesan bishop calls the chairperson by telephone to say that a trusted episcopal colleague told him that “I have heard the candidate is not compliant.” Immediately, the chairperson withdrew the priest’s name. In other words, the bishops have been gossiping. In this scenario, they have propagated unsubstantiated negative gossip as reliable knowledge. As a result, the nomination committee members were upset at the nature of the bishop’s intervention, and the chairperson’s compliance; but the committee members said nothing to either person. In terms of the importance of negative gossip, this scenario raises four issues. First, the Church is not immune to the circulation of negative gossip. In this scenario, the gossip is presented as reliable knowledge, which is already circulating among the college of bishops as part of their epistemic stock. At the least, the gossip is circulating among two bishops and a nomination committee. Disturbingly, there is no obvious reason why the gossip would not be more widely disseminated. Second, there is a personal cost for the unsuccessful candidate. It is in equal measure a matter of reputational damage and public humiliation. In this context, there is no avenue of redress. In the secular work place, “The reluctance to challenge the gossip of ‘mostly senior staff’ illustrates the power associated with occupying a particular position and role in a communication network.”72 Third, perhaps the bishop felt entitled to act outside the bounds of propriety? Certainly, it is appropriate for the chairperson to present the names to the bishop for approval.73 But it is inappropriate for the bishop to act on the basis of unverified gossip, especially as the candidate has no right of reply. Moreover, as long as gossip remains “in the informal and ‘unmanaged’ spaces of the organisational ‘underlife’, it serves to maintain the status quo”.74 In the Christian tradition, we should know something of the power of the (negative)

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word (cf. James 3). Fourth, negative forms of gossip take place with the complicity of others. In particular, the chairperson did not challenge the bishop, and nomination committee members did not challenge the chairperson. In summary, gossip is not frivolous. It is more than idle talk; especially as negative gossip can express condemnation, which “is very often an act that not only ‘gives up on’ the one condemned but seeks to inflict a violence upon the condemned in the name of ‘ethics’”.75 In late Medieval England, gossip expressed the condemnation of women. The injurious nature of ecclesial discourse, however, was often veiled in other forms of discourse like ecclesiastical laws and polity (e.g. circumstances under which women could be accused of sorcery).76 Nonetheless, women were dismissed as gossips (idle talk), and women’s talk was perceived as threatening.77 Consequently, the element of threat also made women vulnerable to the charge of witchcraft.78 In the context of possession, and not sorcery, De Certeau makes an apt link between past and present, “The time of the possessions is dead. From this point of view, historiographical exorcism works. But the mechanisms brought into play by uncertainty of epistemological and social criteria, in Loudon, and the necessity of establishing some, is taking place today with respect to other ‘sorcerers’: excluding them still gives a group the means of defining and asserting itself.”79 So, negative forms of gossip are harmful; especially as what may have started out as a private and informal statement, about an absent third person, becomes accepted as factual upon entering public discourse. This becomes clearer by putting it in context. I am arguing that the exercise of sovereign power adversely effects the majority of the Church, and some more than others. The key to understanding the adverse effects of sovereign power is found in the role of bishop as guardian of ecclesial discourses. In this context, gossip plays a role in the process of the marginalization of others, undermining their credibility. Moreover, gossip usually presents the other as a threat.80 In anthropological terms, “Scandalizing is one of the principal means by which the group’s separateness is expressed, even though it is also the principle manner in which internal struggles are fought. This combination of functions of scandal makes the hostility itself a mode through which the tribe remains united.”81 What’s more, “Gossip keeps the scandal scandalous.”82 Of course, those who listen to gossip could exercise discernment, but in the context of friendship, it is hard not to comply. Especially as there is something seductive about being the recipient of esoteric knowledge, “Who, among the totality of the speaking individuals, is accorded the right to use this sort of language (langage)? Who is qualified to do so? Who derives from it his own special quality, his prestige, and from whom, in return, does he receive if not the assurance, at least the presumption that what he says is true?”83 Sovereign power and the prestige that goes with it is seductive. It is dependent on the compliance of others, which is part of the bonding process that strengthens the sway of untested norms. Moreover, compliance is often masked, especially “when subordinates anticipate possible sanctions … And when some manipulate others effectively, both the recipients and third parties will find it difficult to grasp the role played by the manipulator.”84 In other words, with

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impunity, negative gossip entrenches the unnamed norms. In the process, diminishing the worth and well-being of the third person. Moreover, these norms are culturally encoded, making them harmful if left untested. Even more so, if they are sanctioned by the bishop as true knowledge. Negative forms of gossip include: she’s only a child, he is very liberal, typical feminist, he’s a rabid fundamentalist, and you do know she is a lesbian. It is important then to note the potentially harmful effects of ecclesial discourses. Specifically, negative gossip is stigmatising, where “A stigma is a culturally recognized quality that is used by people who hold power to stereotype and discredit others. A particular stigma disqualifies those so marked from full social acceptance.”85 In conclusion, I am making a heuristic distinction between discursive practices (e.g. gossip) and non-discursive practices (e.g. ritual). They are not mutually exclusive. For example, rituals are realized discursively, as what is enacted, spoken, and written, is the one sacramental experience.86 Moreover, working distinctions are made here in relation to the provenance and character of discourses: public (e.g. synod) and private (e.g. home); formal (e.g. canons) and informal (e.g. gossip).87 Historically, formal and public discourse is more likely to be construed as objective, than private and informal discourse. Furthermore, experts can dominate synodical proceedings, because “formal situations are difficult and demanding; they depend on special knowledge and skill which has to be learnt. Many people do not acquire even the necessary knowledge and skill to occupy peripheral positions in formal situations, and consequently find formal situations per se daunting and frightening – or ridiculous.”88 Of course, in a culture of deference, the bishop is the expert. This is reinforced by the Anglican penchant for order and politeness, where “Politeness is based upon recognition of differences of power, degrees of social distance, and so forth, and oriented toward reproducing them without change.”89 In such a sovereign world, destructive gossip is carefully veiled. The use of the concept of gossip indicates something about the complex nature of discourses and marginalized knowledges (i.e. lost wisdom).90 That is, knowledge is more dynamic and diverse than static and monolithic. As such, gossip should be taken seriously as a potential source of knowledge. As Coady concludes, “gossip as I have defined it is not a pathological form of testimony but a normal form of it. Whatever its moral standing, and I have argued that this may be less dismal than usually thought, its intellectual status is reasonably respectable. In epistemic terms it may be likened to whispered information rather than openly spoken word of mouth.”91 The repercussions of the encoding of a cultural norm, during subject formation, remains in place until it is examined (e.g. women are inferior to men). Moreover, speech can hurt (cf. negative gossip; hate speech). As such, speech belongs to, and is derived from, a community of speakers, “The speaker who utters the racial slur is thus citing that slur, making linguistic community with a history of speakers.”92 Similarly, the slur “the homosexual agenda”, emerges from and is sustained within a “linguistic community with a history of speakers.” Moreover, the performative element in hate speech, and forms of negative gossip, means this discourse is necessarily

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violent.93 Under sovereign power, hate speech can be tolerated in the name of unity, and negative gossip can be used to undermine those who threaten it (e.g. she is a troublemaker). In all this, the ecclesial discursive practices of negative gossip and hate speech are hardly Christ-like. Subsequently, I am arguing that it is our enmeshment with sovereign power, and our various attachments, which prevents us from realizing our freedom to live compassionately for others.

Authority, sovereignty, and the sovereign exception In the Anglican constellation, there is a cluster of seminal ideas surrounding authority, like dispersed authority, primacy and consent, as well as conciliarism.94 The list is not exhaustive, and the ideas are not mutually exclusive. Moreover, an individual idea, in terms of meaning and practice, is not exclusively Anglican. But the ideas, and their interrelations, collectively form a cluster in the Anglican constellation. But what is a constellation? The idea of constellation is associated with Benjamin.95 For Benjamin, ideas are “timeless constellations”.96 Building on this then, a constellation in this book is an identifiable pattern of ideas. Subsequently, I need to make a distinction between ideas and concepts. The relationship between the two is complex. In general, concepts are like “miniature theories”.97 Moreover, compared to ideas, concepts are relatively independent and objective.98 On that note, I am making a distinction between the seminal idea and the concept of authority. I am interested in “how authority actually operates in the Church”.99 And this is where Foucault’s power/knowledge nexus is invaluable. But first, what exactly is authority? Certainly, the concept of authority is complex and “attempts at legitimating authority lead to vicious circles”.100 Moreover, ecclesial reflections on authority are often self-legitimating.101 In addition, authority is problematized differently in different eras.102 So, it is important to be clear about the meaning of the concept as this can enhance critique. But, I am not trying to solve the problem of the meaning of the concept. Instead, the aim is to find a suitable starting point for developing a workable concept of authority. But this needs to be qualified. It is suitable in the sense that the approach brings new critical insights, and it is also commensurate with ecclesial life. It is workable in the sense that the approach has explanatory power, which is then nuanced and tested in situ. In this light, foundation as starting point has been chosen to interpret authority for two reasons. First, Hannah Arendt’s work on authority and foundation resonates with ecclesial authority, that is, there is a family resemblance (cf. authority, foundation, tradition, practices). Second, it is consonant with this book’s use of Foucault’s power/knowledge conceptualization. Moreover, in Foucault, founders inaugurate new discursive practices.103 As such, ecclesial authority can be grounded by the Gospel as foundation with Jesus as founder. In this context, the work of Arendt has been chosen for several reasons. First, Arendt, having raised the issue of authority’s demise, signals the need for a cautious approach to authority.104 Second, Arendt recognized authority’s

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complexity. For her, authority was neither coercion nor persuasion: “To remain in authority requires respect for the person or the office.”106 Third, stemming from her interest in ancient Rome, the concept of authority entails the notion of foundation as starting point.107 In this context, the foundation is like a story that initiates, and is incorporated within, a defining tradition, where “Tradition preserved the past by handing down from one generation to the next the testimony of the ancestors, who first had witnessed and created the sacred founding and then augmented it by their authority throughout the centuries.”108 As such, tradition itself forms, shapes, and sustains discourses and practices, Fourth, Arendt offers a warning, that is, after the decline of Rome, the Church embraced the imperial heritage, “the Church became so ‘Roman’ and adapted itself so thoroughly to Roman thinking in matters of politics that it made the death and resurrection of Christ the cornerstone of a new foundation”.109 Ostensibly, there was a shift in the locus of authority, overcoming “the strong anti-institutional tendency of the Christian creed that is so manifest in the New Testament”.110 In terms of power-relations, the Church became “the new protector of the Roman Empire” (or a Christianized version of empire).111 This is a noteworthy example of the Church’s predisposition toward sovereign power. Accordingly, I am using foundation as starting point to interpret ecclesial authority. But the concept of tradition also plays a role. For John Macquarrie, the meaning of tradition is contentious.112 In broad terms, a tradition is a set of context-related practices (and/or stories) for living and thinking.113 Tradition, of some sort, is a reality that cannot be avoided. As MacIntyre contends, “What I am, therefore, is in key part what I inherit, a specific past that is present to some degree in my present. I find myself part of a history and that is generally to say, whether I like it or not, whether I recognize it or not, one of the bearers of a tradition.”114 In an ecclesial context, tradition is vital, though it is not a rival to scripture “but is its necessary complement”.115 Like Scripture, tradition “is another bulwark against individualism and enthusiasm in theology”.116 For example, individuals may choose to reject the doctrine of the redemption, “but they cannot take their place in Christian theology”.117 Yet, tradition “can become dead and mechanical”.118 This is where an open and transparent process of interpretation is vital.119 As a living tradition, however, a fixation on unitary discourse or uniform behaviours seems out of kilter. This is partly why Anglican formularies are not overly prescriptive; allowing for diversity, discernment, and the use of reason. In summary, ecclesial authority can be construed in relation to the idea of foundation as starting point, which is sustained by tradition, embodying discursive and non-discursive practices. From an Anglican perspective, authority is legitimated by the bestowal of trust by laity and clergy on the bishop. Moreover, the bestowal of trust is a form of consent, where consent is part of an ontology of authority. In colloquial terms, consent is part of authority’s DNA. Without consent, authority has no legitimacy.120 Foucault rarely mentions authority (autorité). But it comes under the heading of sovereignty, where sovereignty is the supreme form of authority. But the concept of sovereignty is 105

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contested. This will be explored in relation to the contemporary debate on sovereignty, in order to find a way of exploring the nature of ecclesial sovereign power. Arguably, the modern debate on sovereignty begins with Carl Schmitt (and Walter Benjamin). In short, when is state violence justified? In contemporary terms, this relates to sovereign states arguing that, under exceptional circumstances, the state does not have to adhere to the law or the state can change the law to suit its political agenda (cf. treatment of refugees). As such, the “Sovereign is he who decides on the exception.”121 This means the sovereign, who is above the law, sets the law. It is like the saying the exception proves the rule. For example, under terrorist threat, a president authorizes the government to impinge on the rights of particular citizens, for the sake of national security (e.g. rendition). In an extreme situation, this is the exception. Somewhat ambiguously, the decision-maker stands above the law, but belongs to the law, yet: “The exception reveals most clearly the essence of the state’s authority.”122 This is the heart of the problem of democracy.123 Nevertheless, Schmitt does not resolve the problematization of sovereignty (“there is still no theory of the state of exception in public law”).124 For Giorgio Agamben, following Schmitt, sovereignty is the locus of authority.125 As such, the sovereign embodies “constituting power”.126 However, this does not mean the sovereign is “a subject hierarchically superior to all others”.127 In a crude way, then, the figure of the sovereign circumscribes the kingdom. As the exception, the sovereign determines the law, but is not above the law. However, it is hard to do justice to Agamben (or Schmitt), as “Sovereignty is an essentially ambiguous and shifting practice, despite what some theorists say about it.”128 It is a grey area, so I will be clear about how I intend to use it. First, there is no simple solution. Certainly, Foucault does not fully account for the resurgence of sovereignty, but he recognizes that its resurgence is part of the present.129 Second, Judith Butler recognizes that sovereignty is finely nuanced in Foucault, “What was not possible from his vantage point was to predict what form this coexistence would take in the present circumstances, that is, that sovereignty, under emergency conditions in which the rule of law is suspended, would re-emerge in the context of governmentality with the vengeance of an anachronism that refuses to die. This resurgent sovereignty makes itself known primarily in the instance of the exercise of prerogative power” (italics added).130 Moreover, she argues that sovereignty, which is less bound to the frame of the law as Agamben has argued, re-emerges after the suspension of the law. Third, in the power-knowledge frame, and as a complement, there is merit in the application of Agamben’s forensically adduced sovereignty to Anglicanism at the meso-level of analysis (Chapter 4). Agamben is wrestling with a complex political-legal issue. He is interested in an ambiguous region that is cohabitated by lawlessness (anomie) and law (nomos). It seems then that the sovereign occupies this ambiguous expanse. However, the sovereign – who is the exception, who designates the exception – establishes “a threshold of undecidability between anomie and nomos, between

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life and law, between auctoritas and potestas”. In figurative language, the sovereign, in tracing the circumference defines the circle. But there is a danger here. Authority (auctoritas) and power (potestas) do not sit together comfortably, and “when they tend to coincide in a single person, when the state of exception, in which they are bound and blurred together, becomes the rule, then the juridicopolitical system transforms itself into a killing machine”.132 In an ecclesial setting, however, is the language of killing machine too strong? Certainly, the history of the Church testifies to violent acts and harmful speech (e.g. anti-Semitism). In one form or another, sovereign power is destructive (cf. negative gossip, hate speech, bullying). So, it will be useful to compare the contemporary problem of sovereignty with the Tudor–Stuart problem of supremacy. The Reformation is a determinative epoch for Anglicanism, but it is not a simple task to categorize this period of history. The process of reformation in England was complex and protracted. Moreover, throughout the Reformation, and into the Restoration, the problem of supremacy was contested. But first a distinction. I will use the term sovereignty to describe broadly the modern/ postmodern problematic of power and authority. I will use the term supremacy to describe broadly the Reformation/Restoration problem of power and authority. But they are similar. In the Reformation/Restoration period, supremacy is a critical issue in a complex social structure.133 The concept of supremacy encompasses more than the formal acts of supremacy (cf. Henrician, Elizabethan). Specifically, there are major questions here: What is supremacy? What is its locus?134 Is supremacy embedded in the monarch, monarch in parliament, monarch and parliament; or monarch, parliament and people?135 Like Agamben’s “danger”, there was concern about focusing supremacy in one person. Ironically, one of the unintended consequences of the dispute was the emergence of a feisty understanding of episcopacy, leading to a more robust expression of bishop and diocese. In conclusion, authority is a complex concept. I am therefore adopting a working definition that is fitting for the Church, which is grounded in the idea of foundation as starting point. Second, the role of founder is critical. Third, founder and foundation, as the basis of ecclesial authority are embodied in a living tradition. Fourth, ecclesial authority is based on trust (i.e. “respect for the person or the office”).136 Fifth, sovereign power occurs where power is concentrated in one person, leading to authoritarian abuses, because he regards himself as the exception regardless of the circumstances. Typically, control of discursive (and non-discursive) practices becomes paramount.137 There is also an element of complicity (i.e. they said nothing). In other words, the problem of sovereign power has to be interpreted in the context of the dynamic between leaders and followers. Certainly, there are also positive reasons why lay and clerical members comply with sovereign demands, like faith, friendship, and a picture of the Church that is bigger than the individual. But under sovereign power, positive reasons can be exploited in the name of faithful obedience. So where do we begin? In Anglicanism, the diocese is a fitting context to explore these issues. 131

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Focusing on the diocese The focus will now be on the diocese, but first, I need to situate it in relation to the Anglican Communion. At face value, Anglicanism could be analysed in terms of macro and micro-levels. The use of three levels of analysis, however, is a more finely calibrated approach, with the Anglican Communion as the macrolevel (cf. societal), the diocese as the meso-level (cf. institutional), and the parish as micro-level (cf. individual). These levels are not watertight compartments. They are co-determinate. Ideally, it would be apt to look at all three levels (cf. multi-level analysis), but that is beyond the scope of this book. Subsequently, I am focusing on the meso-level (diocese) for the following reasons: first, the Anglican Communion is Anglicanism on a global scale, which encompasses a diverse range of provinces and dioceses such that it is difficult to generalize. In practical terms, this is the root problem of its current polemic: on what basis can it deal with the scope and diversity of perspectives? What structures are needed? Who decides? And how? Moreover, the global conversations taking place in the Communion involve a series of seminal ideas, often expressed as lofty ideals, which do not necessarily correspond directly to diocesan realities.138 Subsequently, the focus is on the diocese, which is the “basic ecclesiastical unit”, encompassing parishes, schools and other agencies.139 Second, the focus here is on the overall dynamic of the diocese. Certainly, cathedral dean, archdeacon, parish priest, and church warden, are capable of acts of sovereign power, but they are still followers. In a tradition where the diocese is the primary ecclesiastical unit, the bishop is the most powerful figure in the mesh of power-relations. It is as though all power-relations course through the bishop, as the centrality of the bishop is expressed in canon, polity, prayer book, ritual, acts of deference, and the furniture (cf. cathedra). After all, the bishop is God’s anointed shepherd. Third, and as an important caveat, the culture of a diocese is not monochrome. Even in a diocese, which is driven toward unitary discourse and uniform behaviours, there are parishes and schools that are open spaces of freedom, encouraging healthy resistance to pressures to conform to norms uncritically.140 In conclusion, the case study is on the contemporary Anglican Church, largely in the West.141 Examples will be taken from the Anglican Church of Australia, with other Anglican sources. The immediate focus is the diocese.142 The critical edge entails the pursuit of Foucault’s “the lines of fragility”, which deals with problems that can prefigure change.143 The Anglican lines of fragility include polemics around sexuality and gender; the cohabitation of catholic, liberal, evangelical, charismatic, and fundamentalist perspectives; and the tension between fading Western Anglicanism and burgeoning churches of the global south.144 Nevertheless, the greatest fault line is the problem of sovereign power. However, and almost in spite of the drive toward unitary discourses and uniform behaviours, there are multivalent discourses, multiple subjectivities, and diverse cultures in the Anglican Communion. So, the concept of the line of fragility is a fitting trope for Anglicanism, whose “credentials are its incompleteness”.145 In all this, the unresolved issue of authority looms large. Admittedly, Anglicans

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have always had trouble with authority. Historically, however, there has been a genuine commitment to an idea called dispersed authority; although Anglicanism has also “flirted regularly with a more direct and imperial exercise of power”.146 What is required is a critique of “how authority actually operates in the Church”.147 To that end, this chapter has established groundwork in the areas of authority and sovereignty, gossip and discourse, identifying the epistemological centrality of the bishop as guardian of the tradition. Subsequently, the next chapter will fill out the critique by looking at the wider influence of sovereign power and the spell of monarchy. In the process, the themes of bishop as exception, privileged knowledge, and epistemic hubris will be developed further.

Notes 1 Ellen Wondra, “Problems with authority in the Anglican Communion”, in Anglican Women on Church and Mission, Kwok Pui-Lan, Judith A. Berling, and Jenny Plane Te Paa eds. (New York: Morehouse, 2012), 25. 2 Peter L. Berger, “The desecularization of the world: A global overview”, in The Desecularization of the World: Resurgent Religion and World Politics, Peter L. Berger ed. (Grand Rapids: W.B. Eerdmans, 1999), 1–18; in terms of the broad trends, there are regional and denominational variations. 3 Paul Avis, The Identity of Anglicanism: Essentials of Anglican Ecclesiology (London, New York: T&T, Clark, 2008), 5. 4 Stephen Platten, Augustine’s Legacy: Authority and Leadership in the Anglican Communion (London: Darton, Longmann and Todd, 1997), 16; cf. Paul Avis, Anglicanism and the Christian Church: Theological Resources and Historical Perspective, rev ed. (London, New York: T&T Clark, 1989, 2002), 317. Avis is reflecting on Anglican theology, up until the early twentieth century, concluding that it “does not reflect sufficiently on how it is going about its work; it has not attained clarity about its work; it has not attained clarity about its norms, sources and aims. Specifically, it lacks a firm grasp of the nature of systematic theology and its historical theology is patchy.” 5 Wondra, “Problems”, 25. 6 Ibid., “Most ecclesiological accounts of authority and processes of legitimation are paltry, unhelpfully scant, and thin.” 7 Michel Foucault, AK, 49, 68. 8 Foucault, AK, 151, “Contradiction, then, functions throughout discourse, as the principle of its historicity.” 9 Norman Doe, Canon Law in the Anglican Communion: A Worldwide Perspective (Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press, 1998), 208, in the Anglican Communion, usually the diocesan bishop is responsible for maintaining “doctrinal standards”. 10 In apparently non-hierarchical communities, informal hierarchical patterns can take the form of deference to the church elder as trusted gatekeeper or the pastor who provides the authoritative interpretation of the bible. 11 Stephen W. Sykes, Power and Christian Theology (London, New York: Continuum, 2006), 149. Cf. Richard H. Roberts “Lord, bondsman and churchman: integrity, identity and power in Anglicanism”, in Religion, Theology and the Human Sciences (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 136. Roberts criticized Sykes’s earlier work, e.g. The Integrity of Anglicanism (New York: Crossroad, 1978). With a Foucauldian hue, Roberts claims that Sykes reinforced episcopal hegemony, because he did not appreciate the nature of hegemony, “it is the intrinsic character

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The concept of authority of the interconnection of knowledge and power as domination that can provide a far more realistic account of the basis of this ‘tyranny’ that Sykes is prepared to concede”; cf. Sykes’s response Power, 154, n. 20. Paula Nesbitt, “Keepers of the tradition: Religious professionals and their careers”, Sage Handbook of the Sociology of Religion, James A. Beckford and N. Jay Demerath III eds. (London: Sage, 2007), 298, the call as “gatekeeping mechanism”. Ladelle McWhorter, “Post-liberation feminism and practices of freedom”, Foucault Studies 16, (September 2013): 61. Jean Bodin, On Sovereignty, Julian H. Franklin ed. (Cambridge, New York: Cambridge University Press, 1992), 13 (361), as “the laws of a sovereign prince, even if founded on good and strong reasons, depend solely on his own free will”. Michel Foucault, “Truth and power” in P/K, 131 “those who are charged”; DOL, 225 “ritual defines the qualifications required of the speaker”; AK, 68 “the right to speak”. Brian Tierney, Foundations of the Conciliar Theory: The Contribution of the Medieval Canonists from Gratian to the Great Schism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1955), 3; “In strict accuracy, no doubt, one should speak of a collection of conciliar proposals rather than of ‘the Conciliar Theory”, and yet there was sufficient underlying unity of thought among the various writers to render the latter expression significant and useful. Cf. Francis Oakley, The Conciliarist Tradition: Constitutionalism in the Catholic Church 1300–1870 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), 66ff, for Oakley, the “underlying unity” hinges on three stands. As such, he strengthens the case for a broad, yet substantial, conciliar movement. Axel Gelfert, A Critical Introduction to Testimony (London: Bloomsbury, 2014), 98, arguably, an absence of epistemic peers is a symptom of omniscience. Linda Trinkaus Zagzebski, Epistemic Authority: A Theory of Trust, Authority, and Autonomy in Belief (Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press, 2012), 52–53. Foucault, AK, 21. Michel Foucault, HS1, 86. bell hooks, The Will to Change: Men, Masculinity, and Love (New York: Washington Square Press, 2004), 33, “By highlighting psychological patriarchy, we see that everyone is implicated and we are freed from the misperception that men are the enemy. To end patriarchy we must challenge both its psychological and its concrete manifestations in daily life. There are folks who are able to critique patriarchy but unable to act in an antipatriarchal manner.” Michel Foucault, AB, 13. Linda M. Alcoff, Real Knowing: New Versions of the Coherence Theory (Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 1996), 234. Kwok Pui Lan, “From a colonial church to a global communion”, in Anglican Women on Church and Mission, Kwok Pui-Lan, Judith A. Berling, and Jenny Plane Te Paa eds. (New York: Morehouse, 2012), 17–18. “The danger of the Anglican Church today is that it will adopt expedient measures to avoid schism and shortchange the process of deep thinking about what the Church can become … This means reimagining a Communion that is truly global, multicultural, respecting differences and remaining in conversation and fellowship even when it becomes difficult.” St. Cyprian, Epistle xxxiii. 1 in Documents of the Christian Church, 4th ed., Henry Bettenson and Chris Maunder eds. (Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press, 1943, 1963, 1999, 2011), 78. Cyprian has had an influential role in Anglican selfunderstanding: “Thence age has followed age and bishop has followed bishop in succession, and the office of the episcopate and the system of the Church has been handed down, so that the Church is founded on the bishops and every act of the Church is directed by these same presiding offices.” Cf. Rosemary Radford

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Ruether, Sexism and God-Talk: Towards a Feminist Theology (London: SCM Press, 1983, 2002), 238 n. 7, “The writings and treatises of Cyprian of Carthage in the third century A.D. represent the struggle of episcopal authority against this autonomous prophetic tradition.” Mark D. Chapman, Bishops, Saints and Politics (London, New York: T&T Clark, 2007), 10, “Anglican insistence on the historic episcopate continues to be a stumbling block in ecumenical discussions with those Churches which exercise different forms of oversight (episkope-).” The Virginia Report: The Report of the Inter-Anglican Theological and Doctrinal Commission (London: 1997), http://www.aco.org/documents/virginia/english/index. html, 5.7., 30. Cf. Penny Jamieson, Living at the Edge: Sacrament and Solidarity in Leadership (London: Mowbray, 1997), 133, “For their authority as priests or bishops to be honoured people need to be sure of their willingness to be bearers of the sacred in public liturgical functioning.” Rowan Williams, “Authority and the Bishop in the Church”, in Their Lord is Ours: Approaches to Authority, Community and the Unity of the Church, Mark Santer ed. (London: SPCK, 1982), 106, 110. Richard A. Norris, “Bishops, succession, and the apostolicity of the Church”, in On Being a Bishop: Papers on Episcopacy from the Moscow Consultation 1992, J. Robert Wright ed. (New York: The Church Hymnal Foundation, 1993), 62. “The episcopate, then, serves the unity of the church in its identity and calling not by simply being around, but by being answerable, that is, to the self-communication of God in Christ by way of Scripture, confession of faith, and sacrament. Within this system of communication, and only within it, legitimate succession of bishops is a symbol – something more than a mere sign – of the diachronic unity of the church with the Gospel that was and is its foundation.” Ibid., 57, “What is ‘apostolic’ is whatever of their immediate inheritance the churches of the second century took to derive from the period of the church’s origins – a period with regard to which they had little precise information. And among these was the institution of episcopacy.” Cf. A. Michael Ramsey, The Gospel of the Catholic Church (London: Longmans, 1936, 1956), 223, reflecting the ideal, “The Episcopate succeeded the Apostolate as the organ of unity and continuity.” The Gift of Authority (Authority in the Church III) Anglican-Roman Catholic International Commission (ARCIC) (Church Publishing, 1999), 9 par 26, “There are two dimensions to communion in the apostolic Tradition: diachronic and synchronic. The process of tradition clearly entails the transmission of Gospel from one generation to another (diachronic). If the Church is to remain united in the truth, it must also entail the communion of the churches in all places in that one Gospel (synchronic). Both are necessary for the catholicity of the Church.” Ibid., 10 par 30. Ibid., 6 par 14, “Tradition is a dynamic process, communicating to each generation what was delivered once and for all to the apostolic community. Tradition is far more than the transmission of true propositions concerning salvation” as tradition is “a channel of the love of God” (par 15). Williams, “Authority”, 96; cf. John D. Ziziouslas, Eucharist, Bishop, Church: The Unity of the Church in the Divine Eucharist and the Bishop During the First Three Centuries, Elizabeth Theokritoff trans. (Brookline: Holy Cross Orthodox Press, 2001), 2. “For it unnecessary to stress that out of the entire Christian world, Orthodoxy alone has kept the Eucharist and the Bishop in such a central place in its own consciousness.” Ignatius, Epistle to the Smyrnaeans, c. viii, in Documents of the Christian Church, 4th ed., Henry Bettenson and Chris Maunder eds. (Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press, 1943, 1963, 1999, 2011), 67, “Let that be considered a valid

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42 43 44 45

46 47

48 49

50 51 52 53

54 55

The concept of authority Eucharist over which the bishop appears, or one to whom he commits. Wherever the bishop appears, there let the people be, just as, wheresoever Christ Jesus is, there is the Catholic Church”. Ignatius was a popular figure among some Anglicans in the Restoration, as part of their search for sources of authority. Paul Avis, Becoming a Bishop: A Theological Handbook of Episcopal Ministry (London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2015), 144. The Gift, 14 par 43. Williams, “Authority”, 99. Foucault, “Truth and power”, 131. Ibid., Cf. Pierre Bourdieu, Language, Symbol and Power, John B. Thompson ed., Gino Raymond and Matthew Adamson trans. (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1982, 1991), 107, “the guarantee of delegation which is vested in him”. Jeremy R. Carrette, Foucault and Religion: Spiritual Corporality and Political Spirituality (London and New York: Routledge, 2000), 42: “The political force of religious discourse, in its power to silence and its power to demand an utterance, is the key theoretical operation on which Foucault’s ‘religious question’ can be examined.” Michel Foucault, DP, 27. Michel Foucault, HS1, 100. A. Michael Ramsey, The Christian Priest Today (London: SPCK, 1972, 1985), 98. The Principles of Canon Law Common to the Churches of the Anglican Communion (London: The Anglican Consultative Council, 2008), principle 37.4. Principles is an important document in Anglicanism; for background to the formation of this document, see Norman Doe, “Common principles of canon law in Anglicanism”, in A Fallible Church: Lambeth Essays, Kenneth Stevenson ed. (London: Darton, Longman and Todd, 2008). Hannah Arendt, The Origins of Totalitarianism, 2nd ed. (Oxford: Benediction, 2009), 438, cf. total domination “strives to organize the infinite plurality and differentiation of human beings as if all of humanity were just one individual”. Principles, principle 5.1, “The law binds the bishops, clergy and lay officers”; cf. principle 5.3, “No-one shall be above the law. All institutions and persons in positions of authority or office, ordained or lay, shall act in accordance with the law.” Foucault, AK, 21, and the “whole machinery”. Gerald A. Arbuckle, Confronting the Demon: A Gospel Response to Adult Bullying (Minnesota, MN: Liturgical Press, 2003), 71, in hierarchical models, “People are expected to fit into a tradition-based system in which superiors are presumed to have a monopoly over knowledge by right; subordinates are expected to conform and be dependent.” Michel Foucault, BC, 46, 66. (Tony) C. A. J. Coady, “Pathologies of testimony” in The Epistemology of Testimony, Jennifer Lackey and Ernest Sosa eds. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2006), 269. Eric K. Foster, “Research on Gossip: Taxonomy, Methods, and Future Directions”, in Review of General Psychology 8, no. 2 (2004): 95. Nicholas DiFonza and Prashant Bordia, Rumor Psychology: Social and Organizational Approaches (Washington DC: American Psychological Association, 2007), 13, “We define rumors as unverified and instrumentally relevant information statements in circulation that arise in contexts of ambiguity, danger, or potential threat and that function to help people make sense and manage risk.” Karen C. Adkins, “The real dirt: Gossip and feminist epistemology”, Social Epistemology: A Journal of Knowledge, Culture and Policy 16, no. 3 (2002): 223, http:// dx.doi.org/10.1080/0269172022000025598. Kathryn Waddington, Gossip and Organizations (New York, London: Routledge, 2012), 8.

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56 Lorraine Code, “Gossip, or in praise of chaos”, in Good Gossip, Robert F. Goodman and Aaron Ben-Ze’ev eds. (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1994), 105. “Gossip is located, situated discourse, yet never stable or fixed”. 57 Michel Foucault, SMD, 30, and the importance of “infinitesimal mechanisms” in the mesh of power. 58 Max Gluckman, “Gossip and scandal”, Current Anthropology 4, no. 3 (June 1963): 307. 59 Robin I. M. Dunbar, Grooming, Gossip and the Evolution of Language (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1994), 115. 60 Robin I. M. Dunbar, “Gossip in evolutionary perspective”, Review of General Psychology 8, no. 2, (2004): 109. 61 Richard L. Rohrbaugh, The New Testament in Cross-Cultural Perspective (Eugene: Cascade Books, 2006), 138. 62 Foster, “Research on Gossip”, 84. 63 Daniel J. Solove, The Future of Reputation: Gossip, Rumor, and Privacy on the Internet (New Haven and London, Yale University Press, 2007), 4. 64 Clare Birchall, Knowledge Goes Pop (Oxford, New York: Berg, 2006), 133. 65 Martin Kusch, Knowledge by Agreement: The Programme of Communitarian Epistemology (Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press, 2002), 52. 66 Miranda Fricker, Epistemic Injustice: Power and the Ethics of Knowing (Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press, 2007), 43. 67 Foucault, AB, 50. 68 Soleve, The future, 216, n. 45, on outing gays. 69 Judith Butler, Excitable Speech: A Politics of the Performative (New York, London: Routledge, 1997), 39. 70 Sykes, Power, 137. 71 Roger Scruton, “hate speech”, in The Palgrave Dictionary of Political Thought, 3rd ed. (Basingstoke, New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 1982, 1996, 2007), 289; hate speech is a generic term, which has become part of political discourse, finding expression in national laws (cf. Butler, Excitable, 77, 107). In the Church, the statement “love the sinner, hate the sin” can be construed as “an ‘instrument’ of a violent rhetoricity, the body of the speaker exceeds the words that are spoken, exposing the addressed body as no longer (and not ever fully) in its own control” (Butler, Excitable, p. 13). 72 Kathryn Waddington and Grant Michelson, “Analysing gossip to reveal and understand power relationships, political action and reaction to change inside organisations”, CMS conference at Manchester (2007): 7, http://www.mngt.waikato.ac.nz/ ejrot/cmsconference/2007/proceedings/talkpowerandorganisational/waddington.pdf 73 Principles, principle 42.1, “Prior authorisation to exercise public ministry as an ordained or a lay person within a diocese must be obtained from the diocesan bishop or other designated authority.” 74 Waddington and Michelson, “Analysing gossip”, 7. NB. Principles, principle 42.4, “Episcopal or other authorisation to exercise public ministry in a diocese may be refused only on those grounds which are provided for in the law.” 75 Judith Butler, Giving an Account of Oneself (New York: Fordham University Press, 2005), 46 cf. 49. 76 Michel de Certeau, The Possession at Loudon, Michael B. Smith trans. (Chicago, London: University of Chicago Press, 1996, 2000), 35ff. 77 “A gossip reveals secrets; therefore do not associate with a babbler” (Prov 20:19). 78 Susan E. Phillips, Transforming Talk: The Problem with Gossip in Late Medieval England (University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2007), 148–149. 79 De Certeau, Loudon, 227–228. 80 “A gossip goes about telling secrets” (Prov 11:13).

72 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90

91 92 93

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96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103

The concept of authority Gluckman, Gossip, 312. Birchall, Knowledge, 138. Foucault, AK, 50. William E. Connolly, The Terms of Political Discourse, 3rd ed. (Oxford, Cambridge: Blackwell, 1974, 1983, 1994), 98. Gerald A. Arbuckle, Culture, Inculturation, and Theologians: A Postmodern Critique (Minneapolis, MN: Liturgical Press, 2010), 56. Michel Foucault, TWK, 225, “Transformation of a discursive practice is linked to a whole, often highly complex set of modifications which may take place outside it … in it … or alongside them.” I have chosen general titles (public/private, formal/informal) to indicate broadly the origin and structure of statements, which contribute to knowledge. Norman Fairclough, Language and Power, 3rd ed. (London, New York: Routledge, 1989, 2001, 2015), 93. Ibid., 92. José Medina, The Epistemology of Resistance: Gender and Racial Oppression, Epistemic Injustice, and Resistant Imaginations (Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press, 2013), 78. “Alternative testimonial sensibilities can also serve as correctives of each other when they are objectively compared and contrasted, or when they are given a sufficiently unbiased space to engage with each other, yielding beneficial epistemic friction.” (Tony) C. A. J. Coady, “Pathologies of testimony”, in The Epistemology of Testimony, Jennifer Lackey and Ernest Sosa eds. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2006), 262. Butler, Excitable, 52. Judith Butler, Bodies That Matter: On the Discursive Limits of “Sex” (London, New York: Routledge, 1993, 2011), 139; simply put, performativity is about words that do or enact (i.e. performative). Butler regards performativity “as a specific modality of power as discourse”. Paul Avis, Beyond the Reformation: Authority, Primacy and Unity in the Conciliar Tradition (London, New York: T&T Clark, 2006), 22. “Conciliar thought advocated a form of distributed authority in which the fullness of authority was located in the whole body of the Church and came to focus and expression in councils – local, provincial and general – of which the papacy was the moderator.” Peter Osborne and Mathew Charles, “Walter Benjamin”Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, http://plato.stanford.edu/archives/fall2015/entries/benjamin/, 23. The importance of Benjamin’s work is growing, despite concerns his work does fit traditional categories (i.e. literary, cultural, philosophical). For Benjamin, metaphysical reality is better interpreted in terms of multiplicity than singularity. Walter Benjamin, The Origin of German Tragic Drama (London, Brooklyn: Verso, 1963, 1998), 34. Mieke Bal, Travelling Concepts in the Humanities: A Rough Guide (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2002), 22. John W. Burbidge, Ideas, Concepts and Reality (Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2013), 147. Wondra, “Problems”, 25. Jean-François Lyotard, The Differend: Phrases in Dispute, Georges Van Dan Abbeele trans. (Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press, 1983, 1988), 142 section 204. Ibid., “I have authority over you because you authorize me to have it.” Frank Furedi, Authority: A Sociological History (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 12. Michel Foucault, “What is an author?”, TEF, 387; “founders of discursivity” may not write, but they institute new discursive practices.

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104 Hannah Arendt, “What is authority?”, in Between Past and Future: Eight Exercises in Political Thought (New York: Penguin Books, 1961, 1967, 1977, 2006), 91, 94 “the modern loss of authority”. 105 Ibid., 121–122, “The word auctoritas derives from the verb augere, ‘augment,’ and what authority or those in authority constantly augment is the foundation. Those endowed with authority were the elders, the Senate or the patres, who had obtained it by descent and by transmission (tradition) from those who had laid the foundations for all things to come.” 106 Hannah Arendt, On Violence (Orlando: Harcourt Books, 1969, 1970), 45. 107 Arendt, Authority, 120; the strength of the Roman notion of authority is located in “a conviction of the sacredness of foundation”. 108 Ibid., 124. 109 Ibid., 125. 110 Hannah Arendt, The Promise of Politics, Jerome Kohn ed. (New York: Schocken Books, 2005), 50. 111 Ibid., 51. 112 John Macquarrie, Principles of Christian Theology, rev ed. (London: SCM Press, 1966, 1977), 11. 113 Alasdair MacIntyre, After Virtue: A Study in Moral Theory, 3rd ed. (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1981, 1984, 2007), 216, humankind is “a story-telling animal”. 114 Ibid., 221. 115 Macquarrie, Theology, 11. 116 Ibid., 12. 117 Ibid. 118 Ibid., 13. 119 Alasdair MacIntyre, Whose Justice? Which Rationality? (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1988), 167. “Every such tradition, to some significant degree, stands or falls as a mode of enquiry and has within itself at each stage a more or less well-defined problematic, that set of issues, difficulties, and problems which have emerged from its previous achievements in enquiry” cf. Scruton, “tradition”, in Dictionary, 698; sometimes the term tradition “substitutes for a considerable lack of theory”. 120 Connolly, Terms, 108. 121 Carl Schmitt, Political Theology: Four Chapters on the Concept of Sovereignty, George Schwab trans. (Chicago, London: University of Chicago Press, 1922, 1934, 1985, 2005), 5. 122 Ibid., 13. 123 William E. Connolly, “The complexities of sovereignty”, in Giorgio Agamben: Sovereignty and Life, Matthew Calarco and Steven DeCaroli eds. (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2007), 24, “a democratic state seeking to honor the rule of law is also one with a sovereign power uncertainly situated within and above the law. The rule of law in a state is enabled by a practice of sovereignty that rises above the law”. 124 Giorgio Agamben, State of Exception, Kevin Attell trans. (Chicago, London: University of Chicago Press, 205), 1. 125 Giorgio Agamben, Homo Sacer: Sovereign Power and Bare Life, Daniel HellerRoazen trans. (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1995), 15ff. Agamben is creative, but there are concerns about how he interprets philosophers, in general, and Foucault, in particular; cf. Colin Koopman, Genealogy as Critique: Foucault and the Problems of Modernity (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 2013), 272 n. 8. 126 Agamben, Sacer, 39. 127 Ibid., 26.

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128 William E. Connolly, A World of Becoming (Durham, London: Duke University Press, 2011), 131. 129 Michel Foucault, SMD, 39, “Sovereignty and discipline, legislation, the right of sovereignty and disciplinary mechanics are in fact the two things that constitute – in an absolute sense – the general mechanisms of power in our society”. 130 Judith Butler, Precarious Life: The Powers of Mourning and Violence (London, New York: Verso, 2004, 2006), 54. 131 Agamben, State, 86. 132 Ibid. 133 Jacqueline Rose, Godly Kingship in Restoration England: The Politics of the Royal Supremacy 1660–1688 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2011), 16. 134 Ibid., 23. 135 Ibid., 35, 38–39. 136 Arendt, Violence, 45. Cf. Avis, Becoming, 43, the concept of office is a reminder that authority is entrusted to the person who is bishop, within the life of the Church. It is given or received not taken. 137 Foucault, DOL, 224–225, “none may enter into discourse on a specific subject unless he has satisfied certain conditions or if he has not, from the outset, qualified to do so. More exactly, not all areas of discourse are equally open and penetrable; some are forbidden territory (differentiated and differentiating) while others are virtually open to the winds and stand, without any prior restrictions, open to all.” 138 Martin Davie, “‘yes’ and ‘no’ – a response to The Gift of Authority”, in Unpacking the Gift, Peter Fisher ed. (London: Church House Publishing, 2002), 43. “The Gift of Authority fails to reflect the life of the Church as it actually is. It is simply not true that the faithful are always able in good conscience to recognize God at work in the actions of their bishops.” 139 Doe, Canon Law, 38, “With the exception of a very small minority, notably the Church of England, the laws of most Churches in the Anglican Communion confer powers upon diocesan assemblies to create law for the diocese … Legal arrangements display a high degree of consistency as between churches in terms of general principles. Indeed, the existence of law at this level of the church may be thought to generate a fundamental theological assumption about the nature of the diocese as a basic ecclesiastical unit.” 140 Under conditions of sovereign power, an assistant bishop in Australia is in an invidious position as their authority is limited (she is not the sovereign exception); held in check by the diocesan bishop’s expectations and a desire to work with laity and clergy. As obedience to the diocesan bishop is part of her subject formation, she is vulnerable to potential bullying. 141 Bruce Kaye, Conflict and the Practice of the Christian Church: The Anglican Experiment (Eugene: Cascade Books, 2009), 62–63; cf. historical and cultural differences between the Anglican Church in Australia and England, and the Episcopal Church in the United States. 142 Doe, Canon Law, 58, a diocese is a territorial unit, “under the oversight of a bishop and governed by a representative assembly”. The word diocese comes from the Old French diocese from late Latin diocesis, which was originally a governor’s jurisdiction, from the Greek dioikesi the government or administration from dioikein to govern or manage a household (SOED). Typically, a diocese consists of parishes, church schools and other agencies (e.g. welfare). 143 Michel Foucault, “Critical theory”, in PPC, 36. 144 In some dioceses, multiculturalism is a challenge. In Australia, many Sudanese people are Anglicans. They are referred to collectively as the Sudanese. But the terms Dinka and Nuer, for example, were constructed by former colonial masters. Cf. Kwok “colonial church”, 13, and the meaning of postcolonial.

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145 Ramsey, Gospel, 220, “For while the Anglican Church is vindicated by its place in history, with a strikingly balanced witness to Gospel and Church and sound learning, its greater vindication lies in its pointing through its own history to something of which it is a fragment. Its credentials are its incompleteness, with the tension and the travail in its soul. It is clumsy and untidy, it baffles neatness and logic.” 146 Kaye, Conflict, 115. Cf. in conversation Lee Parker, Distinguished Professor RMIT University and member of the Uniting Church of Australia, remarked: “I think outsiders would not see Anglicanism as embodying dispersed authority, but rather as practicing a hierarchical-authoritarian version of authority.” 147 Wondra, “Problems”, 25.

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Lyotard, Jean-François. The Differend: Phrases in Dispute. Translated by Georges Van Dan Abbeele. Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press, 1983, 1988. MacIntyre, Alasdair. After Virtue: A Study in Moral Theory, 3rd ed. Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1981, 1984, 2007. MacIntyre, Alasdair. Whose Justice? Which Rationality? Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1988. Macquarrie, John. Principles of Christian Theology, rev ed. London: SCM Press, 1966, 1977. McWhorter, Ladelle. “Post-liberation feminism and practices of freedom”. Foucault Studies 16, (2013): 54–73. Medina, José. The Epistemology of Resistance: Gender and Racial Oppression, Epistemic Injustice, and Resistant Imaginations. Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press, 2013. Nesbitt, Paula. “Keepers of the tradition: Religious professionals and their careers”. In Sage Handbook of the Sociology of Religion. Edited by James A. Beckford and N. JayDemerath III. 295–322. London: Sage, 2007. Norris, Richard A. “Bishops, succession, and the apostolicity of the Church”. In On Being a Bishop: Papers on Episcopacy from the Moscow Consultation 1992. Edited by J. Robert Wright, 52–62. New York: The Church Hymnal Foundation, 1993. Oakley, Francis. The Conciliarist Tradition: Constitutionalism in the Catholic Church 1300–1870. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003. Phillips, Susan E. Transforming Talk: The Problem with Gossip in Late Medieval England. University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2007. Platten, Stephen. Augustine’s Legacy: Authority and Leadership in the Anglican Communion. London: Darton, Longmann and Todd, 1997. Principles of Canon Law Common to the Churches of the Anglican Communion. London: The Anglican Consultative Council, 2008. Ramsey, A. Michael. The Gospel of the Catholic Church. London: Longmans, 1936, 1956. Ramsey, A. Michael. The Christian Priest Today. London: SPCK, 1972, 1985. Roberts, Richard H. “Lord, bondsman and churchman: integrity, identity and power in Anglicanism”. In Religion, Theology and the Human Sciences. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002. Rohrbaugh, Richard L. The New Testament in Cross-Cultural Perspective. Eugene: Cascade Books, 2006. Rose, Jacqueline. Godly Kingship in Restoration England: The Politics of the Royal Supremacy 1660–1688. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2011. Ruether, Rosemary Radford. Sexism and God-Talk: Towards a Feminist Theology. London: SCM Press, 1983, 2002. Schmitt, Carl. Political Theology: Four Chapters on the Concept of Sovereignty. Translated by GeorgeSchwab. Chicago, London: University of Chicago Press, 1922, 1934, 1985, 2005. Scruton, Roger. “hate speech”. In The Palgrave Dictionary of Political Thought, 3rd ed., 289. Basingstoke, New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 1982, 1996, 2007. Solove, Daniel J. The Future of Reputation: Gossip, Rumor, and Privacy on the Internet. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2007. Sykes, Stephen W. Power and Christian Theology. London, New York: Continuum, 2006. Tierney, Brian. Foundations of the Conciliar Theory: The Contribution of the Medieval Canonists from Gratian to the Great Schism. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1955.

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Virginia Report, The: The Report of the Inter-Anglican Theological and Doctrinal Commission. London: 1997. http://www.aco.org/documents/virginia/english/index.html. Waddington, Kathryn. Gossip and Organizations. New York, London: Routledge, 2012. Waddington, Kathryn and Michelson, Grant. Analysing gossip to reveal and understand power relationships, political action and reaction to change inside organisations”, CMS Conference, Manchester (2007): 1–16. http://www.mngt.waikato.ac.nz/ejrot/cm sconference/2007/proceedings/talkpowerandorganisational/waddington.pdf. Williams, Rowan. “Authority and the Bishop in the Church”. In Their Lord is Ours: Approaches to Authority, Community and the Unity of the Church. Edited by Mark Santer, 90–112. London: SPCK, 1982. Wondra, Ellen. “Problems with authority in the Anglican Communion”. In Anglican Women on Church and Mission. Edited by Kwok Pui-Lan, Judith A. Berling, and Jenny Plane Te Paa, 21–26. New York: Morehouse, 2012. Zagzebski, Linda Trinkaus. Epistemic Authority: A Theory of Trust, Authority, and Autonomy in Belief. Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press, 2012. Ziziouslas, John D. Eucharist, Bishop, Church: The Unity of the Church in the Divine Eucharist and the Bishop During the First Three Centuries. Translated by Elizabeth Theokritoff. Brookline: Holy Cross Orthodox Press, 2001.

4

The spell of monarchy and the sacralization of obedience

We still have not cut off the head of the king The figure of the king looms large in Anglican culture. From its hierarchal structure to the bishop’s throne and its culture of deference, a monarchical model has shaped its ecclesial culture. The question is: how does Anglicanism rid itself of the king? Moreover, Foucault was aware of the power of sovereignty as embodied by the monarch. He tried to address the issue of “power without the king”,1 recognizing the persistence of sovereign forms of power, and concluding that “despite the differences in epochs and objectives, the representation of power has remained under the spell of monarchy. In political thought and analysis, we still have not cut off the head of the king”.2 Anglicanism, then, almost in spite of itself, has been largely under the spell of monarchy. This is true of other churches, and other institutions, but this does not mean Anglicanism has to accept the status quo. As such, critique is an important starting place for ecclesiological renewal. This entails identifying and addressing painful truths. In particular, it is about recognizing there is something about the culture of Anglicanism, and the dynamic between leaders and followers, which is drawn irresistibly toward sovereign power. Clearly, however, the genesis of sovereign power is complex, multi-causal, context-shaped, culturally-biased, and historically variable. In order to explore the problem, the book has introduced Foucault’s metaethic, highlighting the importance of the power/knowledge conceptualization (Chapter 2). It then set down a theoretical foundation underlining the role of bishop as the guardian of privileged knowledge and ecclesial discourse, the nature of gossip, and the significance of the sovereign exception (Chapter 3). This chapter will now investigate these problems further as the second part of the case study. It will argue that epistemic privileges, a construal of episcopal vocation (God alone), with the support of laity and clergy, work together to form a personal conviction (subject formation) that a bishop is the exception to ecclesial law, regardless of circumstances. In other words, he believes it. At face value, it is not unreasonable for a bishop by dint of office to constitute an exception, having unilateral powers, which operate under proscribed conditions. But what happens if the conditions are disregarded? In other words, what about the

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situation when leaders (and their followers) believe the leader is not accountable. That is, this is his prerogative. There are fundamental underlying problems, too, which relate to Anglicanism’s inveiglement with a monarchical model of ecclesiology.3 In many ways, Anglicanism still lives in the shadow of the king. In practice, the enthrallment with monarchy makes it difficult for the Church to separate itself from the effects of sovereign power as “Episcopacy in Anglicanism cannot be properly understood apart from its relation to the (political) concepts of sovereignty and authority.”4 This not just a problem for the Church of England. For example, a province of the Anglican Church can be constitutionally independent of the Church of England, but sociologically and spiritually bound to a monarchical model. Nevertheless, I suspect there is an ambivalence in Anglicanism about being drawn toward a monarchical model on the one hand, and feeling called to something different on the other. The problem is about how can we cut off the king’s head, when we in the thrall of the monarchical model? In order to understand this dependence, this section will examine the concept of divine right thinking and practice,5 elaborating on epistemic hubris, and the issues of territory and masculinity. All of which are enmeshed with sovereignty. But first, what about the shadow of the king?

Episcopal vocation: in the shadow of the king During the Reformation, bishops in England experienced external and internal threats. In this context, the notion of divine right episcopacy surfaced as the Church of England tried to establish its identity.6 On the one hand, there were tensions with the monarchy.7 On the other hand, there were pressures from Catholics and Presbyterians. In the face of threat, attempts were also made to articulate a concept of authority as foundation (cf. patristic), which did not require approval from Rome or Geneva: “The idea of iure divino episcopacy perhaps became hegemonic because it so usefully buttressed the Church against all these opponents at once.”8 Arguably, it began as rhetoric;9 but in time, it became part of episcopal subject formation.10 Today, Anglican bishops are also confronted by external and internal threats.11 External threats include marginalized social status, tarnished public image (cf. child abuse, misogyny) as well as social and political changes. Internal threats include declining membership, aging congregations, dwindling financial resources, and the rise of fundamentalism.12 Under threat, the ties with sovereign power are strengthened. In Anglicanism, sovereign power involves a construal of vocation that flourishes as epistemic hubris.13 In particular, the focus on a particular construal of the call of God is embraced at the expense of a sense of accountability to the people of God (as if they were mutually exclusive). As such, it represents a significant development in the subject formation of a bishop.14 In this vein, the nineteenth century is an important phase in the development of that legacy. Specifically, Tractarians reinterpreted the idea of episcopacy, for example, “As there is one Bishop invisible in heaven, so there is but one bishop on earth; and the multitude of bishops are … one and all shadows and organs of one and the same divine

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reality.”15 And so the episcopacy, which “was regarded by most earlier Anglicans as the best means of ensuring good order, but not as an absolutely necessary feature of a true church, was elevated into the criterion for Catholic identity”.16 In many ways, this constituted an ontological transformation as “The Episcopate was elevated by the Tractarians to the level of absolute necessity and at the same time acquired a mystical status”.17 This was a telling theological shift because it implied a bishop was ontologically different from the clergy (and, of course, the laity too). On this basis, sovereignty had been essentialized as part of the episcopal character, preparing the ground for the development of expectations regarding entitlement, right or prerogative. In addition, the doctrine of apostolic succession, which had always been important, now became “the (supernatural) basis for the authority of the Church”.18 Foucault’s examination of medical discourse, in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, suggests the elevation of episcopal status reflected broader social changes as “the status accorded to the doctor, who becomes not only the privileged, but also the virtually exclusive, enunciator of this discourse”.19 In summary, this is a turning point in the Anglican theology and practice, which influenced the subject formation of future generations of bishops.20 It achieved this by emphasizing the distinctive identity of the episcopate, on the basis of its purportedly unique ontological character; which was reinforced by a particular construal of apostolic succession (i.e. diachronic). From this, there emerged signs of divine right thinking, which was in effect “a form of authority that lay beyond any visible form of sovereignty”.21 Arguably, “the utter clarity of the Oxford Movement on the role and status of the episcopacy was more or less a new departure”.22 Of course, this development was not without its critics, but it was an important factor in the development of a “high episcopal theory”.23 Again, the issue here is not the office of the episcopate per se, but the basis of the office that excludes the consent of the faithful. Moreover, Anglicanism did not invent sovereign power, but the “high episcopal theory” reinforced its ties with sovereign power by endorsing a monarchical model of ecclesiology, which finds expression in divine right thinking and practices. Of course, there were other factors behind this sovereign enmeshment. The lure of divine right thinking is fostered by the confluence of power, desire and ritual.24 In Foucauldian terms, it is under the spell of monarchy. For instance, various models of theism have traditionally dominated Christian theological reflection. Gothic cathedrals with their height, use of light, and the symbolism of the East end accentuate the transcendent, which has been construed largely in monarchical terms: “Correlations of physical height and ‘high places’ with social status (and perhaps relative sacrality) do, in fact, provide the most cross-culturally common means of expressing and, to that extent, perpetuating social rankings via architecture”.25 Moreover, there is a transcendent element in the symbolism of Bishop as Eucharistic president, which, when embedded in a hierarchical structure, increases the temptation to move from divine calling to divine right.26 The issue is not the transcendent, but its commandeering for sovereign purposes. So what is happening here? To begin, power and pleasure

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“are linked together by complex mechanisms”. Moreover, there is a connection with the episcopal role of epistemic guardian, as “Religious discourse, juridical and therapeutic … are all barely dissociable from the functioning of a ritual that determines the individual properties and agreed roles of the speakers”.28 Certainly, these king-making properties emerge in a variety of institutions apart from the Church, but they are sacralized in the Church. As such, they surface in epistemic hubris. Divine right thinking and practice is a form of hubris. But what is hubris? And how is it being used here? For Tillich, hubris begins as we succumb to the temptation of seeing ourselves as the centre of the world, and presuming that we are “not bound to any special situation or element in it”.29 To illustrate this, Tillich takes up Genesis 3 where hubris is “the self-elevation of man (sic) into the sphere of the divine”.30 But also, hubris as self-elevation, “can appear in acts of humility as well as in acts of pride”.31 Critically, it is a refusal to recognize one’s finitude.32 This is similar to Arendt’s thinking. For Arendt, hubris is “the political temptation par excellence”,33 manifesting itself in the attitude, “everything is possible”.34 The motivation and outworking of hubris varies. In the present case study, it relates to a sense of vocation that is largely fixed upon the diachronic dimension (cf. apostolic succession), which under sovereign power leads to a range of abuses. With child abuse, for example, a measure of hubris can be found in the length of time it took for some leaders to make apologies and the character of the apology itself. The early apologies were often couched in the mode of “I am sorry that you are upset” or “I am sorry the Church did this” instead of the more compelling way “I am sorry I let you down.” Unsurprisingly, a clear and heartfelt expression of personal blameworthiness is an important aspect of an apology that is considered authentic and received as helpful by the recipients.35 Certainly, the guarded apologies would have reflected concerns about insurers and reputational damage, which raise other ethical problems. Above all, hubris manifests itself in a refusal to recognize that there are real problems, which affect real people. This includes minimising or ignoring the impact of negative gossip and hate speech (Oh, I don’t think they meant it that way). Such hubris is a symptom of divine right thinking and practice, which takes on an epistemic hue because of the bishop’s epistemological import. In an ecclesial context, bishops have “epistemic sovereignty”.36 They know best. But what does divine right thinking in practice look like? In order to explore epistemic hubris and divine right thinking further, I will analyse a scenario (i.e. bishop and diocesan council) and an event (i.e. bishops on sexuality). In preparation for these analyses, I will outline three background features under the headings of ritual, territory, and masculinity.37 These are three broad features, which help form an implicit interpretive horizon for understanding the scenario and the event. In particular, these features provide insight into both the subject formation of bishops and the emergence of epistemic hubris under sovereign power. Of course, there are other contributing factors such as external problems (e.g. social marginalization of the Church) 27

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and internal problems (e.g. declining membership, rise of Christian fundamentalism). In both analyses, scenario and event, the role of laity and clergy is critical. With ritual, there are many things that blur the distinction between: divine call and divine right, transcendence and hierarchy, symbolism and hubris. The trappings of monarchy are all there from thrones, crowns, and enthronement ceremonies38 to deferential gestures, acclamations,39 the colour purple (“the insignia of sovereignty”),40 as well as the order of procession; with matching titles of most, right and very reverend. As Foucault remarks, “The distribution according to ranks or grade has a double role: it marks the gaps, hierarchizes qualities, skills and aptitudes; but it also punishes and rewards.”41 Ironically, a theology of processional order could be justified by the injunction the first shall be last, but regrettably the last has become the new first, as Bishops, deans, cathedral canons and archdeacons periodically squabble over the order of procession.42 This is what Ruether refers to as “The feathers and robes of males display their power and authority in ceremonial situations.”43 As such, liturgical discourse is stained by “the language of empire”.44 It is seductive. It also relies on the dynamic between leaders and followers; as laity and clergy play a role with amens, which are a form of acclamation expressing approval and consent.45 In eighteenth-century colonies, for example, “Re-creating an English liturgical forum made those churches spaces of great authority, performative settings for speech and actions that sought to naturalize the power structures of the plantation world, especially as white colonists explored the meaning of race through their traditions of church seating.”46 As such, there are many reasons for the complicity of laity and clergy with divine right thinking and practice. In difficult times, imperial symbols can inspire the faithful; but also they can be a means of exploitation. Certainly, ritual strikes a human need for the numinous, as well as sovereign fantasies,47 which draw on “the desire to survive”.48 In a political context, power “has to be sustained by the mystical aura of law”.49 This is true of a church under sovereign power,50 where “formality both restricts access and generates awe”.51 All this relates to ecclesial culture, subject formation, and the dynamic between leaders and followers. However, “is it not the supreme and most insidious exercise of power to prevent people, to whatever degree, from having grievances by shaping their perceptions, cognitions and preferences in such a way that they accept their role in the existing order of things, either because they can see or imagine no alternative to it, or because they see it as natural or unchangeable, or because they value it as divinely ordained and beneficial?”52 Under sovereign power, ritual can be exploitive. The concept of territory is a measure of the divine right thinking of the sovereign exception. For Stuart Elden, the concept of territory is a recent construct, which hinges on the relationship between place and power.53 Subsequently, territory is about jurisdiction, that is, the right to exercise power over a particular place.54 As such, a diocese is a territory over which a bishop has jurisdiction. Historically, the origin of the words diocese and province are linked with territory.55 Nevertheless, I need to say a word about Foucault. I will introduce

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his schema of pastoral power later, which is useful for understanding the leader/follower dynamic. He argues there, however, that the shepherd (bishop) is not concerned about territory (but rather the flock).56 I would argue that in practice the distinction is not clear.57 In particular, with the Church’s dependence on sovereign power, acquisitions of territory of various kinds become increasingly important. As such, a concern for territory is a symptom of sovereign power.58 There is an element of desire here, which expresses itself as an acquisitiveness, and appears in language emphasizing possession like my decision. Yet, acquisitiveness starts out subtly, just as the territorialization of thought precedes the territorialization of things.59 In this context, the desire for possessing cannot be separated from the desire for power. By and large, this desire is gender related. A particular kind of masculinity sustains these factors, conspiring to reinforce the episcopal hubris of being the exception, regardless of circumstances or consent. In Bonnie Mann’s terms, this is “sovereign masculinity”.60 Admittedly, Mann is working with what she describes as “the phenomenon of gender/ nation” in a macro-level context of post 9/11 America. Nevertheless, her work resonates with this book’s work on sovereignty and masculinity. For example, the tensions surrounding Henry VIII, the supremacy, and the institution of moderation as control (below),61 are ingredients in a Reformation version of sovereign masculinity.62 Comparatively, however, manhood in particular, and masculinities in general have been under researched.63 Certainly, the roots of manhood run deep in the Christian tradition, for example, “Christian men of late antiquity shared with their pagan counterparts a desire to see themselves as manly, a desire also threatened by the military crisis of the Roman Empire. They also worried about the unmanly stance of victimhood. Out of that desire and because of those worries, Christian men fashioned for themselves the image of the soldier of Christ.”64 In a contemporary political context, Wendy Brown, has made important contributions to manhood. For her, it is not the same as male,65 because maleness is not the problem; instead “institutionalized ideals of manhood are the problem”.66 This is reinforced by a metaphysics that is often idealist, and hierarchical, using notions of law, order, and moderation to ensure nothing changes. In fact, Ethan Shagan makes a compelling argument regarding the meaning of moderation in the Tudor-Stuart period, which was less a fairminded exercise, and more a deliberate policy of social control. Fostered by Henry VIII,67 and reflected in the contention around supremacy; it stands to reason that the practice of moderation found a home in divine right thinking and the pursuit of order.68 Even then, the concept and practice of moderation stood out “as quintessentially masculine”.69 In fact, “moderation was virtually synonymous with strong effective authority. The via media of the Church of England was an argument for governance.”70 In conclusion, there is a theme here, which reveals a striving in history to be a certain kind of man, who is called to take a risk, make the hard decision, and choose for others, which is best captured by Bonnie Mann’s construal of sovereign masculinity, “The sovereign man, in essence, declares his own state of exception, in which he fantasizes that he is no longer subject to human

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vulnerability and intersubjective dependency (i.e. to the human condition). Since force is what is left when the normative power of the law is suspended, the state of exception also echoes and repeats the hyperbolic displays of agency that characterise sovereign masculinity, through which the sovereign man performatively constitutes his manhood.”71 Moreover, Mann argues that sovereign masculinity eventually affects “higher cognitive functioning”.72 In an ecclesial micro-context, sovereign masculinity underlines how reasonable people, who have been formed as monarchs by followers who want kings, make defective moral and practical judgments (e.g. bullying). Overall, I have surveyed three features related to sovereign power in ritual, territory, and masculinity, which contribute to the subject formation of bishops and are symptomatic of epistemic hubris. It is important now to consider examples, to test out this account of sovereign power. I refer to the examples respectively as bishop and diocesan council and bishops on sexuality. The first is a basic scenario, the second is a complex ongoing event. On that note, I need to make a distinction between the power to make a unilateral decision and veto power in particular.73 The former refers to a range of issues where decisionmaking powers are ascribed to a bishop (e.g. selection of ordinands). The latter is usually a special case of unilateral decision-making (e.g. ecclesial law).74 This is not a hard-and-fast distinction. Both unilateral powers, and a so-called right to veto, relate to an earlier discussion on sovereignty. That is, both operate on the presumption that the bishop constitutes an exception to the law, which is inscribed in law, meaning the bishop is still under the law. And this is the sticking point. In Anglicanism, the bishop is granted specific unilateral powers, which apply under proscribed conditions that encompass the conciliar nature of the tradition. In other words, consent matters. The problem occurs when those conditions are overlooked or overruled, implicitly or otherwise, on the bishop’s presumption of entitlement, right, or prerogative. In practice, prerogative is used as a euphemism for right or entitlement.

Unrestricted unilateral power In the scenario of bishop and diocesan council, a bishop was chair of a diocesan council, which was asked to conduct an investigation into the design and commissioning of a water fountain that was to be installed in bishop’s court in memory of a benefactor. After consultation, the diocesan council identified a fitting design. On reaching consensus, the diocesan council members put forward their plan. Without explanation, the bishop vetoed the plan. The diocesan council members accepted the bishop’s decision, and moved on to the next item of business. On the surface, this is unremarkable. After all, it is not entirely unusual for a diocesan bishop to veto a council recommendation.75 Beneath the surface, however, there are two unusual features, especially within a conciliar tradition with a commitment to dispersed authority. First, the bishop’s decision was made in spite of diocesan council’s consensus. Second, the bishop did not provide an explanation. By overruling consent, and not providing an explanation, it

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seems reasonable to infer that the bishop regarded the decision as his right to make as bishop. In other words, he presumed, at least implicitly, he was the exception to the law as “resurgent sovereignty makes itself known primarily in the instance of the exercise of prerogative power”.76 Subsequently, the scenario raises questions: was the bishop acting in good faith? What about consent? Was the bishop’s decision exercised “in the service of truth, justice and equity”?77 What about the diocesan council members acquiescing? What about canonical and ethical dimensions as “Leadership and authority should be exercised in an accountable manner, within the episcopal and synodical structures of a church, with respect for others in authority, and with regard for the common good and the dignity, rights, needs, and gifts of all.”78 Arguably, the bishop in this scenario was acting “for the common good and the dignity and rights of all”, but it is hard to see how the “dignity, rights, needs and gifts” of diocesan council have been served. Moreover, “Persons who exercise ecclesiastical governance should work in a collaborative and co-operative manner with those whom they encounter in their ministry and must not act arbitrarily but give, as appropriate, reasons for their decisions.”79 In other words, this principle presumes that those who are entrusted with authority will act in good faith. In fact, there is an expectation of collaboration, as well as a concern about not acting arbitrarily. Specifically, there is an expectation to give “as appropriate, reasons for their decisions”. There are three specific concerns here. First, what about the issue of consent? In terms of ecclesial authority, the bishop has ignored the issue of consent, as expressed by the council members. Second, was the decision legal? In principle, the bishop’s actions are legal. But somehow, canon law cannot guarantee good faith and collaboration with respect for all concerned. In other words, canon law does not address all the ethical contingencies. Third, what about the diocesan council members? Was there a challenge? The silence of the diocesan council can be an indication that the bishop’s right to act peremptorily is regarded as normal. Nonetheless, their silence, our silence, normalizes unacceptable behaviour. Of course, the concept of epistemic hubris means a bishop could be acting in good faith, while ignoring consent, but not see it as a problem. After all, he is only accountable to God. As such, this bishop was above the law by virtue of his vocation. In a political context, the “Sovereign is he who decides on the exception.”80 But even there, intervention is only warranted on the grounds of a crisis,81 “absolute necessity and temporariness”,82 or competence.83 In an ecclesial context, “No-one shall be above the law.”84 This raises critical issues for ecclesial authority.85 What are the limits? Who decides? Is everything possible? In the end, this bishop was implicitly exercising sovereign power, and not ecclesial authority, which can only work on the basis of trust and consent. Moreover, “Any authority without consent is tyranny. This applies as much to a synodical process, as to a direct form of episcopal government. It is of the nature of authority in religious matters, that if it does not acquire recognition, it undermines de facto such power as it may have de iure.”86

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The drive toward unitary discourse and uniform behaviours Under threat, the likelihood of increased enmeshment with sovereign power rises, manifesting itself in the drive toward unitary discourse and uniform behaviours. However, sovereign actions are not always easy to identify. It is a grey area, especially if matters are dealt with privately. In particular, the processes are not always transparent. This raises another problem. In order to maintain the veil of secrecy, an implied censorship is often set in place, which raises rudimentary issues: What is lawful? What about consent? The principle concern is that “in matters which touch all, all should have a voice.”87 Without a voice, others suffer, and some more than others. In this light, the annual conference of Australian bishops provides a telling example of implied censorship.88 With the incident of bishops on sexuality, the college of bishops in Australia had been addressing the issue of sexuality at their annual conferences. They have published a protocol on this, and other issues, on the General Synod website. Apart from the protocols, there is little available information about what transpired at their meetings. Apparently, they do not keep minutes. The reasons for the absence of minute-taking are not clear. At least implicitly, this could be seen as a calculated strategy of power.89 I will address this below. Nevertheless, the process of the bishops meeting privately, and publishing protocols is instructive. Moreover, there are similarities between the scenario of bishop and diocesan council and the incident of bishops on sexuality, in terms of a pattern of unilateral actions circumventing consent. In the scenario of bishop and diocesan council, the exercise of a right by the bishop, without consent or transparency, is relatively straightforward. In the second instance of bishops on sexuality, the implicit exercise of a right without consent and with limited transparency, is more complicated. In the incident of bishops on sexuality, perhaps unwittingly, the bishops were open to the charge of “manufactured ignorance” (keeping the faithful in the dark).90 Clearly, a counterargument could be made in relation to both instances that as elected diocesan bishops, they acted legally, with the authority of office, on the basis of tacit consent.91 In theory, this is true. In practice, however, acting legally does not necessarily mean respecting the trust that undergirds consent. Moreover, it could be argued that, in keeping others in the dark, the bishops were acting on the basis of “a substantive epistemic practice that differentiates the dominant group”.92 Nevertheless, there is more to be gleaned from the second instance. On the surface, the matter seems straightforward. The Australian bishops have been discussing in camera the polemical issue of sexuality. The upshot of the discussions has been the publication of a protocol on the General Synod website, specifically, “As we ordain, license or appoint to ministries within our dioceses we undertake to uphold ‘Faithfulness in Service,’ the code of conduct for bishops adopted by the General Synod in Resolution 59/04 and as amended by the General Synod from time to time.”93 The key to the document “Faithfulness in Service” comes under the heading of “Sexual conduct: Standards for clergy and church workers”, which reads: “You are to be chaste and not engage

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in sex outside of marriage and not engage in disgraceful conduct of a sexual nature.”94 Basically, the statement precludes the ordination of lesbian or gay persons who are not celibate, and the blessing or marriage of same sex unions. As elsewhere in the Anglican Communion, sexuality has been a divisive issue in the Australian Church. In response, the Australian bishops developed an approach to sexuality that was designed presumably to maximize unity and minimize controversy. Beneath the surface, however, the common mind of the bishops has contributed to the diminishment, even demise, of debate in the Church. As such, the real “danger of the Anglican Church today is that it will adopt expedient measures to avoid schism and shortchange the process of deep thinking about what the Church can become”.95 At the least, this is what Foucault describes as the work of “normalizing judgement”.96 In its simplest terms, this means the bishops have made judgments about sexuality, and how sexuality should be addressed, such that their judgments have normalized the status quo, further marginalizing LGBTIQ individuals and communities. As such, the bishops’ approach is an attempt to circumvent the debate, as “not all areas of discourse are equally open and penetrable; some are forbidden territory”.97 Nonetheless, this a “high-risk strategy of conflict avoidance and containment”.98 It also raises issues of lawfulness and consent. Surely, in representative government, “all should have a voice”.99 Some bishops, however, were privately unhappy with the process, the outcome, and its normalizing effects. Subsequently, individual bishops have tried to reopen the debate on sexuality in other forums. In spite of the protocols, some bishops have continued to support lesbian and gay clergy. All this highlights the complexity of the situation. On the one hand, the protocols constitute an attempt to implement unitary discourse and uniform behaviours. On the other, there is, in fact, no common mind. For these reasons, the future of the protocol process remains to be seen. But the protocol process is indicative of the seductive nature of sovereign power, which often suffers from the conflation of a responsibility for others with thinking for others. But I need to put this in a wider context. An introduction to the bishops’ protocols has been published on the General Synod website, which reads: “The following protocols express the common mind of the bishops as determined by consensus at our National Meeting. Each protocol bears the date it was first agreed. We confirm our agreement to abide by them and renew this commitment annually by consensus. While these protocols have no legislative force, it is expected that our bishops will abide by them, as an expression of the bonds of affection and unity that we share in the gospel and our collegiality in episcopal ministry.”100 The statement articulates some of the seminal ideas of the Anglican constellation. What’s more, it asserts that it is the bishops’ duty “to maintain the collegiality of the Episcopate, and to uphold the doctrine and discipline of the Anglican Church of Australia”.101 Unity is critical.102 Moreover, they intend “to uphold the doctrine and discipline of the Anglican Church of Australia”. In other words, they see themselves rightly as guardians of ecclesial discourse and practices, but not as custodians.103

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The key phrase is “no legislative force”. Apparently, the protocols do not constitute formal legislation, which would be a matter for individual dioceses to pursue. However, they are based on the consensus of bishops expressing a “common mind”, for the sake of “bonds of affection and unity”. This emotive language is on the national website. At the least, the bishops are expressing a moral imperative. Moreover, the website itself is significant, because the internet age has added a new dimension to discursive practices.104 Specifically, by placing the protocol on the website, the Anglican bishops have given it the appearance of official status, allowing it to enter the virtual world as official or true knowledge. Further, the term protocol has its provenance in public and diplomatic circles. As such, protocols were used as the basis for forming legal or diplomatic agreements. A protocol then, while inchoate, is part of a legal or diplomatic process.105 It seems reasonable to presume then, on the basis of the protocol’s publication on the website, the use of seminal ideas, and the choice of the word protocol, that the bishops’ protocol on sexuality constitutes a legal imperative expressing governmental intention. For all intents and purposes, this borders on de facto law, which has been unwittingly set in place without sufficient consultation, representation, or consent. In practical terms, however, the polemic in Australia (and the Anglican Communion) is a state of emergency, where protocols are de facto rules implicitly expressing sovereign power.106 But where is the voice of the faithful?107 Significantly, the law binds all.108 In other words, “No-one shall be above the law”.109 So, how is all this to be interpreted? Certainly, there is an element of secrecy here. Moreover, is this to be attributed to epistemic hubris, the need for control, misguided benevolence, implied censorship, or manufactured ignorance? Curiously, all the protocols have been temporarily removed from the General Synod website, and replaced with the following message “The Bishops’ Meeting of 2016 has initiated a review of all the bishops’ protocols to ensure that they properly reflect the collegiality and fellowship of the bishops of the national church and have removed them from this website until this review is completed. The protocols as approved in 2015 remain in place.”110 In conclusion, the incident of bishops on sexuality raises a number of concerns. First, the drive toward unitary discourse and uniform behaviours proved difficult to achieve among the bishops themselves, let alone the national church. Second, the outcome is at best ambiguous. Third, the process itself is a concern. Certainly, I have no doubt the majority of the bishops acted in good faith for the sake of the Church. But it is an instance of implied censorship diminishing consent, which is the basis of authority. Fourth, in terms of sexuality, it is at best an embargo on debate and the possibility of reconciliation, which normalizes the status quo. This means the marginal status of LGBTIQ Anglicans is exacerbated. Fifth, there is something about the secrecy, which provides an insight into church culture. Certainly, these are anxious times for church leaders.111 The problem, however, is that by not consulting or risking conflict, “practices of trust and truth-telling become eviscerated through suspicion”.112 So before we can explore alternatives, we need to ask questions about why, under

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sovereign power, bishops act as the sovereign exception and laity and clergy encourage them or acquiesce? In particular, we need an interpretive schema to understand church culture, which brings us to Foucault’s pastoral power.

Pastoral power and the sacralization of obedience I have been arguing that the problem of sovereign power needs to be examined from the perspective of the dynamic between leaders and followers. In other words, aspiring kings and king-makers rely on each other. In the present case study, this is about bishops acting as sovereigns, and laity and clergy being drawn to them. However, there is an important theological overtone here, which is the sacralization of obedience that reinforces this dynamic.113 Two qualifications need to be made about the dynamic, however, which are related to social factors and the untested influence of theological traditions. First, a number of social-political factors have influenced the ecclesial dynamic. The twentieth century, for example, which had a major role in shaping ecclesiology and theology, is littered with attempts to address issues of power. The issues include totalitarianism, so-called authoritarian personality, and role of the ordinary person. In particular, a range of studies have illustrated the ordinary person’s moral culpability in certain acts of violence, which has hinged on an almost pathological propensity to obey authority figures.114 In other words, the ordinary person’s unthinking obedience has contributed to abuses, atrocities, and pogroms. Second, there are psychological and theological factors. For example, desire can be our undoing “This desire for desire is exploited in the process of social regulation, for if the terms by which we gain social recognition for ourselves are those by which we are regulated and gain social existence, then to affirm one’s existence is to capitulate to one’s subordination.”115 Likewise, the trope of original sin is premised on the fear of disobedience,116 and the implied threat of being removed from the object of desire. By this, I am not arguing that there is no place for a doctrine of original sin. On the contrary, the prevalence of violence and abuse gives heed to some form of the doctrine. The question concerns the precise nature of the doctrine, and its presumed theological anthropology, which is often supported by superficial readings of Gen 2–3. Of course, this is not the place to develop a doctrine of original sin. The point is, however, that fear of disobedience is embedded in the Christian psyche.117 It is like, if I disobey, I will be expelled from the garden. On this note, Foucault’s schema of pastoral power helps to explain the embedded nature of our need to obey, and the failure to use our critical judgment. In order to appreciate the ecclesial leader/follower dynamic in a focused manner, I am going to use Foucault’s schema of pastoral power, but I need to make a few qualifications about it. Critically, Foucault’s pastoral power was intended to explain a political transition in historical terms,118 that is, the transition from a disciplinary era to modern governmentality.119 It was not designed for the explicit benefit of ecclesial institutions. It was not developed

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as a model in its own right. Hence, I am referring to it as a schema. And it is used here specifically for its explanatory power. It does not account for everything, but it identifies key motifs (e.g. shepherd/sheep) and explains how they are used. And so, his schema is used to complement other evidence and explanations. Finally, Foucault also refers to the schema of pastoral power as the pastorate.120 Here is an overview of his schema. Pastoral power describes the dynamic between leaders and followers, which is expressed in terms of the relationship between shepherd and sheep (cf. Luke 15:1–7, John 10; I Peter 5:1–5). Sociologically, the default position of this dynamic is an asymmetrical relationship that strengthens the sovereign power of leaders and disempowers the faithful, as “the tie with the shepherd is an individual one. It is personal submission to him”.121 In this context, the shepherd is responsible for each sheep, and each sheep is wholly dependent on and obedient to the shepherd. Obedience is prized, as there is no other salvific pathway.122 Hence, Foucault’s pastoral power provides a valuable explanation of the leader/follower dynamic. Of course, in practice, the benevolence, which lies behind the concept of bishop as shepherd can mutate into the hubris of entitlement, and the need to exercise sovereign power over others. This is precisely Foucault’s point. And it works surreptitiously. For example, the sheep are under the watch of the bishop, where “watch” describes the episcopal gaze (episcope means oversight). The gaze is internalized by the faithful, subtly and effectively, because there is “no need for arms, physical violence, material constraints. Just a gaze. An inspecting gaze, a gaze which each individual under its weight will end by interiorising.”123 The internalizing of the gaze is a source of stress for clergy, who often blame themselves (I must have done something wrong). But recurrent gestures, in the form of episcopal gossip or secrecy, heighten stress and reinforce negative self-image. In summary, Foucault locates the idea of governing in the Christian East “in the idea and organization of a pastoral type of power, and second, in the practice of spiritual direction, the direction of souls”.124 With pastoral power, he begins with the Egyptian, and then Jewish idea of King as shepherd. Moreover, the power of the shepherd is essentially “a beneficent power”.125 As such, pastoral power is “a power of care”.126 The paradox, however, is that the shepherd is willing to sacrifice the whole flock for a single sheep.127 For centuries, according to Foucault, the Church wrestled with the question of pastoral power, and who had the right to govern men and women. Subsequently, the pastorate became the paradigm for church governance.128 The sacralization of obedience then is a product of pastoral power where “The relationship of submission of one individual to another individual, correlating an individual who directs and an individual who is directed, is not only a condition of Christian obedience, it is its very principle.”129 For Foucault, pastoral power has implications for the emergence of modern governmentality, but it also tells us something about ecclesial subject formation. The pastoral power schema provides an insight into our subject formation, as “we see the emergence of what could be called absolutely specific modes of

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individualization”. This is a subject, “whose merits are analytically identified, who is subjected in continuous networks of obedience, and who is subjectified (subjectivé) through the compulsory extraction of truth”.131 The process of subject formation needs to be seen in conjunction with the evolution of the practice of confession, and the verbal avowal of sins. The avowal of sins to a confessor played a part in reinforcing the leader/follower dynamic and the sacralization of obedience.132 Certainly, the master–disciple relationship was a feature of philosophical practice, but with monastic practice, one always needed a master. It required “dependence and submission to the other”.133 But how does this tie in with the contemporary church? This is a survey of Foucault’s schema, but a number of parallels can be observed. In fact, the motif of shepherd/sheep is a recurring theme in the life of the Church.134 Some of this is contextual; however, the shepherd/sheep motif persists along with the sacralization of obedience.135 In practice, how is the sacralization of obedience manifested? Here is an illustration of how it works. In this scenario, a young lay woman had been a member of a diocesan fundraising committee for 12 months. One night, she spoke at a committee meeting for the first time. As she spoke, the bishop, who was chairing the meeting, shouted at her because she failed to follow correct procedure.136 The young woman was embarrassed. At the end of the meeting, she left quietly. The committee members, however, remained to enjoy a sherry with the bishop. Unfortunately, this was not the first time the bishop had behaved in this way.137 However, if the bishop’s behaviour remains unchallenged, then the silence of committee members, and the camaraderie over sherry, normalizes his abusive behaviour. Once again, it raises the dual issue of church culture and the subject formation of leaders and followers. Typically, the sacralization of obedience138 creates a culture of docile bodies,139 which explains the silence of the committee members.140 The scenario of the shouting bishop, brings to mind Foucault’s insight as to why a sovereign demanded the public execution of a criminal “The public execution did not re-establish justice; it reactivated power.”141 Nonetheless, silence, docility, and an uncritical attitude, unintentionally reinforces authoritarian behaviour in general, and bullying in particular. So how do we respond to this, in practical and theoretical terms? In practical terms, instances of episcopal bullying need to be evaluated professionally, fairly, and ethically.142 Here are some considerations. First, does a diocese have a clear and independent process for making complaints about bishops? Second, clergy are reluctant to complain about bishops, who are the “gatekeepers to preferment”,143 fearing it will adversely affect future employment.144 Specifically, a clergy person worries about reputational damage, in the form of negative gossip like “she is a troublemaker” or “he is not compliant” entering public discourse as fact. Third, so-called facts have real impact. In Australia, for example, the concern is not so much about having an existing licence terminated, but being denied a licence in the future. This is a form of withholding power. The capacity for a bishop to withhold or deny the granting of a licence is common cause for fear among clergy, which is stress producing. As such, clergy often comply for fear the next licence will be denied. 130

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In terms of critical reflection, some scholars have considered problems related to authoritarian behaviour in general terms.145 However, Anglican scholars on topics like authority, seldom make specific references to bullying. Certainly, bullying has only been problematized in recent decades.146 But there is greater awareness now about bullying: like cyber, work-place, and schoolyard bullying, as well as elder abuse. Of course, bullying can surface in emotional and psychological forms too, as well as physical acts (which have psychological dimensions). Moreover, it does not necessarily have to be repetitive. Notwithstanding the growing awareness, there seems to be a reluctance in Anglican forums to use the word bullying. So, rumours about bullying are often minimized or dismissed. Moreover, it is not easy to address them, as “the principal reason to be worried is not the possibility that they might be wrong to trust rumors, but that they might be right not to trust either the accuracy or completeness of official sources of information”.147 In some instances, commercial discourse is used to mask unacceptable behaviour. In particular, the term micromanagement has been used as a euphemism for bullying, where bullying includes persistent fault-finding, “withholding information to maintain power over people” and “refusing to delegate authority”.148 Unwarranted micromanagement is symptomatic of sovereign power manifesting in “perfectly calculated, controlled strategies of power”.149 In fact, and this distinction is vital, the abuse of power and the demise of authority are revealed as much in obedience to the law as its neglect. That is, in the name of good order, the abuse of power can be expressed in dogmatic adherence to the law by followers. And this is dangerous. In an extreme example, Adolph Eichmann’s dreadful crime was his obedience to a diabolical law, such that he “performs evil not by transgressing the law for the sake of evil but by fully observing the law, regardless of its content” and its effect on others.150 In particular, “the mind of Eichmann refused to let in anything that in one way or another might contradict his system of reference”.151 Certainly, the Eichmann example is extreme, but it expresses a type of abuse. In the case of leaders, blind adherence to a “system of reference” can also be an expression of epistemic hubris, which has destructive consequences. The ethical critique in this chapter has been largely implicit, but the abuse of power and misuse of authority have ethical and pastoral implications, which need to be made explicit. This ethical nuance echoes a concern of the early church, which is expressed by the recurring motif of Jesus’s critique of the elevation of law over human need (Mk 2:27, “the Sabbath was made for humankind”). Under sovereign power, ecclesial discourse has minimized or dismissed the suffering of others, for example, the ecclesial habit of talking euphemistically about child abuse (e.g. he had a problem with children) or bullying (e.g. he is just grumpy). This predilection for circumlocution, which includes followers as well as leaders, has led to the increased marginalization of others, and denied the Church opportunities for renewal. In conclusion, many of the problems addressed in this chapter reflect wider societal patterns. Other institutions suffer these problems. However, we are

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called to incarnate a different ethical standard. Bullying, for example, is abuse. Emotional, as well as physical acts of bullying constitute a form of violence, especially as we are more aware today of the serious long-term effects of psychological harm. Ethically, bullying constitutes immoral action. It is wrong. Bullying, as such, is symptomatic of sovereign power. Moreover, the key to addressing sovereign power is acknowledging that there are problems like bullying, and working to change ecclesial culture. I suspect the problem with church culture is a combination of sovereign power, and our need for sovereigns, which normalizes abusive actions.152 Moreover, it is entrenched by the sacralization of obedience. In other words, bullying is partly “the product of practices and techniques designed to produce submission”.153 This is not saying followers are directly responsible for an instance of bullying. But under sovereign power, compliant or obedient followers contribute to a church culture that fuels sovereign power.154 In particular, there is in Anglicanism a culture of deference, which is a combination of hierarchical structure, the trappings of empire, and the veil of Anglican politeness. This makes it all the more conducive for something like pastoral power to flourish. Ultimately bullying, under sovereign power, is part of the subject formation of leaders and followers. On a practical note, the bishop as the sovereign exception sets up impossible (grandiose) expectations, which the bishop could never meet, Moreover, I suspect most Anglican bishops, at least privately, are weighed down by the temptation to be the exception. By naming these problems, however, we are developing a critique that can lead to transformation. In the long term then, we have to change church culture. Before I explore these issues, however, I need to address the elephant in the sitting room, which is the rise of Christian fundamentalism.

The elephant in the sitting room Chapters 3 and 4 have developed a case study of the Anglican Church, with a diocesan focus (i.e. meso-level analysis), using scenarios and a critical event (cf. protocols). From the outset, there has been a special interest in discourse (and related practices), recognizing the role of bishop as the guardian of knowledge and discourses, as well as the complex nature of discourse (cf. gossip). In that process, the book has implemented a conceptual critique of the concept of authority, using the work of Hannah Arendt as a starting point. By focusing on the diocese, the chapter developed a more nuanced understanding of sovereign power, partly through the concept of epistemic hubris, which was supplemented by an exploration of the spell of monarchy. It also introduced the concept of the sovereign as exception into an ecclesial context. This was reinforced by the use of Foucault’s schema of pastoral power, which helped explain the leader/ follower dynamic and their subject formation. In the end, what emerged was a more nuanced understanding of the nature of sovereign power, and its drive toward unitary discourse and uniform behaviours, all of which marginalizes others. In an Australian context, however, it would be remiss not say something about the diocese of Sydney.

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The diocese of Sydney is a large urban diocese on the east coast of Australia. As a diocese, it is unique in the Anglican Church of Australia, in terms of its history, theology, and practice. It could be described broadly as representing a form of conservative evangelicalism, which has been influenced by Calvinism. Nevertheless, the Anglican Church in Australia is changing, and Sydney has played a role in these changes. In the last two decades, the diocese of Sydney has been proactive in promoting its distinctive version of Anglicanism. Currently, Sydney constitutes an internal threat to the Australian Church, but that is not the main problem. Moreover, this statement is not intended to be controversial, but rather, it is meant to provide a realistic description of the dynamic of the national church, and the impetus behind the drive toward unitary discourse and uniform behaviours. However, it would be useful now to put this in some historical context. Since the 2004 General Synod (Fremantle, Western Australia), which addressed the issue of sexuality, the configuration of the national church has changed. This is partly because the diocese of Sydney has come to embody an alternative form of sovereign power, with its own discourse and practices. Subsequently, it has been a catalyst, which has elicited the problem of authority. In other words, how does Anglicanism live with diversity? What is essential or accessory? Who decides and how? In many ways, the controversy is by and large the motivation for the development of the bishops’ protocols. Subsequently, my concern with the bishops’ protocol on sexuality is that a strategy of appeasement was implemented in the name of unity, which does not address the core problems. As an unintended consequence, it normalizes Sydney’s militant discourse and practices. It is not by accident that Sydney’s militant discourse echoes the ancient and masculine theme of “the soldiers of Christ”.155 It has all the hallmarks of sovereign masculinity. God is also portrayed in manly terms as a “sovereign God” with “sovereign power”, exercising “control” in the world.156 Before proceeding, I need to address the issue of fundamentalism, as it is often used as a frame of reference for construing the diocese of Sydney. First, as a phenomenon, fundamentalism is a relatively recent event. Arguably, there are two streams, American Protestant and traditionalist Catholic. Both streams are concerned about modernity,157 and the challenge it poses for the Christian metanarrative.158 As Charles Taylor has argued, fundamentalists are inherently prone to violence, because they feel bound to protect the moral purity of God, “The violence of God can be all too easily appropriated by the warrior cultures which internalize the numinous force of violence.”159 For Christian fundamentalists then, God’s moral purity is at risk, and this must be protected at all costs. Disturbingly, there was something of the “warrior culture” at the 2004 General Synod. Nonetheless, the meaning of the concept and phenomenon of fundamentalism is still under debate. Second, Sydney’s leadership has been referred to as fundamentalist, and members of the diocese have reacted defensively to this description.160 In practice, there are difficulties with trying to find one term to describe a large, complex diocese like Sydney. Third, a number of Sydney’s leaders have pressured the Australian Church into adopting unitary

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discourse and uniform behaviours on matters like sexuality. In particular, some conservative evangelical leaders have also exhibited signs of sovereign power, like a territorial imperative (e.g. church planting without consultation), hate speech (e.g. Love the sinner, hate the sin), and an absolutist epistemology. In that sense, it has posed an internal threat to the equilibrium of the Australian Church. Fourth, and in contrast, leaders and followers of all persuasions have been working for unity. The bishop’s protocols represent an equivocal attempt to address the problem of unity, which runs the risk of normalising the exclusion of others. The problem, in this instance, is the strategy of appeasement. Fifth, militant discourse has to be named. Generally, in the minds of Sydney leaders, the truth of the Gospel is inviolable. So they are like modern martyrs, bearing witness to the truth, which they feel called to defend ardently. In that context, militancy is part of the discourse.161 Under threat from the world, this is a call to heroic service, which they accept in good faith, confident they possess the truth as read directly from the Bible. Subsequently, the diocese of Sydney is the exception to the law, which sets the law. But there is an anomaly here. On the one hand, they actively support the protocol on sexuality. On the other hand, they apparently allow the practice of lay presidency.162 Sixth, among other factors, epistemology distinguishes fundamentalist from mainstream Christianity. Typically, they have the truth, which is absolute. In the long run, however, I do not think it is helpful or compassionate to dismiss members of the diocese of Sydney as fundamentalist (even if in some instances, it is technically true). This is because the term fundamentalism is generally used pejoratively. In particular, the use of the term can start out as negative gossip, only to enter public discourse as reliable knowledge, eventually morphing into hate speech. In practical terms, listeners stop listening to someone who is fundamentalist. In other words, because he is a fundamentalist, his credibility is diminished and his testimony ignored. Moreover, the diocese of Sydney is not a monochrome culture. In fact, the idea of a monochrome culture is a false rumour (they’re all the same). Certainly, the diocese of Sydney has posed problems for the national church. But the current strategies are not addressing the core problems surrounding diversity. Lastly, there is a certain irony here, because I have been addressing the theme of the rise of Christian fundamentalism, which is a problem, but there is also another problem with the discursive use of the word too. There is no easy answer. In conclusion, I have been operating on the basis of a working assumption concerning both the concept of sovereignty and the idea of the sovereign as the exception. This has been adapted from its political and legal usage, in order to examine the problem of sovereign power in Anglicanism, and its enmeshment with monarchical structures, gestures, and ideas. To that end, it has been useful in showing how Anglicanism has been enthralled by the spell of monarchy, which is evident in concepts and practices associated with epistemic hubris, divine right thinking, and the misuse of unilateral powers. In other words, the working assumption has been useful procedurally.163 But the concept is ambiguous (e.g. exception to the law/but not above the law). There is another way to view sovereignty.

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For Latour, sovereignty is a power to fix (localize) places, objects, people, on the basis of pre-determined coordinates,164 which presume the rigid or impenetrable nature of places, objects, people.165 In other words, places, objects and people are discrete. In the best tradition of European expansionism, sovereignty is a global warrant for a divide and conquer strategy. With this in mind, Anglicanism’s monarchical heritage has worked against the best of Anglicanism. As a deeply sacramental Church, its eclectic and vibrant mix of reformed and catholic, aesthetic and rational, pious and radical, has the capacity to adapt to new contexts and cultures in order to proclaim the good news. In fact, there are dioceses and parishes that live in love as open spaces of freedom. But Anglicanism is constantly at risk from this legacy of sovereign power, which means there is a certain irony surrounding its seminal idea of dispersed authority. On the one hand, dispersed authority is expressed by holding in tension leaders and followers, primacy and consent, the diachronic and the synchronic, such that the tradition embodies a dynamic comprehensiveness. In other words, at the heart of Anglicanism is a passionate commitment to multiple discourses and diverse behaviours that finds its unity in common prayer, which is symbolized in the role of bishop as Eucharistic president. In other words, she presides in the name of God and the people of God. On the other hand, dispersed authority is undermined by the influence of a monarchical model of ecclesiology, which thrives on sovereign power, such that it is driven inexorably toward establishing unitary discourse and uniform behaviours. The primal model needs to change. So, what if the primal model or pattern was the ekklesia? What about church as a space of freedom? A spatial approach, has no permanent boundaries. It is not focused on territory, but on the mystery of God and the gathering of the faithful who live for others. A spatial approach does not answer all contingencies, but it is a fresh starting point that resonates with early church practice. This alternative space, with a Foucauldian construal, can reshape our thinking about the meaning and practice of authority. As such, it is a first step in developing a broader, ecumenical, theorized approach to ecclesiology, which is centred on critique, space, the imagination, and shared wisdom.

Notes 1 Michel Foucault, HS1, 91. 2 Ibid., 88–89. 3 Mark D. Chapman, Bishops, Saints and Politics (London, New York: T&T Clark, 2007), 14. “At work in the formative years of the Church of England is a theology of monarchical absolutism: the king, to whom all authority had been delegated, was ultimately the source of all government (good or bad).” 4 Ibid., 11–12. 5 Roger Scruton, “divine right”, in The Palgrave Dictionary of Political Thought, 3rd ed. (Basingstoke, New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 1982, 1996, 2007), 189, from Augustus to James 1; there have been variations of the idea that “a sovereign rules by divine ordinance”. 6 Marcus K. Harmes, Bishops and Power in Early Modern England (London: Bloomsbury, T&T Clark, 2013), 89. “The complexity of ascribing jure divino

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origins to the episcopate was also made clear in the opinions of foreign Protestant theologians which English bishops solicited during the Restoration.” Jacqueline Rose, Godly Kingship in Restoration England: The Politics of the Royal Supremacy 1660–1688 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2011), 48. Ibid., 151. Ibid., 22, 150. Rose’s arguments about the rhetorical intent of jure divino are compelling. But it would have been strengthened by reference to the concept of vocation – that is, it is rhetoric, but some believed it too. Rose, Godly, 150, “Iure divino episcopacy was a mainstay of the patristic model of a pre-papal episcopate, with every bishop sovereign in his diocese and all bishops equally so in the universal church.” Stephen K. Pickard, Theological Foundations for Collaborative Ministry (Farnham, Burlington: Ashgate, 2009), 2. Pickard identifies the fear that is generated by autocratic leadership as a problem for the Church. In Australia, several conservative-evangelical Anglican churches have established new congregations in other parishes, without necessarily consulting the local incumbent or the diocesan bishop. Francis Oakley, The Conciliarist Tradition: Constitutionalism in the Catholic Church 1300–1870 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), 13; on a national scale, the Tudor–Stuart tensions over supremacy mirror the conflict between papal monarchy and the conciliar movement of the fifteenth century. Paul Avis, Becoming a Bishop: A Theological Handbook of Episcopal Ministry (London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2015), 72, cf. the “key to leadership is formation”. John Henry Newman, “Bishops and unity”, in The Anglican Tradition: A Handbook of Sources, G. R. Evans and J. Robert Wright eds. (London, Minneapolis: SCM, Fortress Press, 1991), 304. Mark D. Chapman, Anglican Theology (London, New York: T&T Clark, 2012), 195. Mark D. Chapman, Bishops, Saints and Politics (London, New York: T&T Clark, 2007), 12. Ibid., 11. Michel Foucault, AK, 164. There were precedents for this kind of thinking, e.g., Jeremy Taylor “Imposition of hands in ordination”, in The Anglican Tradition: A Handbook of Sources, G. R. Evans and J. Robert Wright eds. (London, Minneapolis: SCM, Fortress Press, 1991), 213–214. “This power of imposition of hands for ordination is fixed upon the apostles and apostolic men, and not communicated to the seventy-two disciples or presbyters; for the apostles and apostolic men did so de facto, and were commanded to do so, and the seventy-two never did so. Therefore this office and ministry of the apostolate is distinct and superior to that of presbyters.” Chapman, Bishops, 23. Ibid. Peter B. Nockles, The Oxford Movement in Context: Anglican High Churchmanship 1760–1857 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 310. “The Tractarians did not set out to defy the bishops, but submission had to be on their terms. This discrepancy between high episcopal theory and an almost Congregationalist practice became an unhappy legacy of the Movement.” Nicholas M. Beasley, Christian Ritual and the Creation of British Slave Societies (Athens, London: University of George Press, 2009), 70; in eighteenth-century Barbados “Anglican ministers’ desperate hopes to be identified with the master class likely meant that they summoned people of color to the parish church rather than celebrating these rites in their homes, marking an important difference from the genteel baptism of white infants.” Lindsay Jones, The Hermeneutics of Sacred Architecture: Experience, Interpretation, Comparison, Vol 2 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2000), 136.

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26 Gerald A. Arbuckle, Confronting the Demon: A Gospel Response to Adult Bullying (Minneapolis, MN: Liturgical Press, 2003), 71, in hierarchical models. “People are expected to fit into a tradition-based system in which superiors are presumed to have a monopoly over knowledge by right, subordinates are expected to conform and be dependent.” 27 Michel Foucault, HS1, 48. 28 Michel Foucault, DOL, 225. 29 Paul Tillich, Systematic Theology II (London: SCM Press, 1957, 1978), 49. 30 Ibid., 50. 31 Ibid. 32 Ibid., 51. 33 Hannah Arendt, The Human Condition, 2nd ed. (Chicago, London: University of Chicago Press, 1958, 1998), 191. 34 Hannah Arendt, The Origins of Totalitarianism, 2nd ed. (Oxford: Benediction, 2009), 437, “The concentration and extermination camps of totalitarian regimes serve as the laboratories in which the fundamental belief of totalitarianism that everything is possible is being verified” (italics added). 35 Nick Smith, I was Wrong: The Meanings of Apologies (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 60. 36 Joseph Rouse, “Power/knowledge”, in The Cambridge Companion to Foucault, 2nd ed., Gary Gutting ed. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 106. Rouse is referring here to a network of truths. In the Church, both the bishop, and the network of truths, exercise this sovereignty. 37 Managerialism, which is a commercial version of the territorial drive, refers to uncritical adoption of business principles and practices by church leaders as a potential solution to declining membership. Richard H. Roberts “Ruling the body: The care of souls in a managerial church”, in Religion, Theology and the Human Sciences (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 187–188, cf. 164. The key is uncritical acceptance, as the Church needs to learn some lessons from management practices (cf. Pickard, Collaborative, 180). 38 Jones, Sacred Architecture, 205, Jones’s reflections on a description of a Japanese sovereign’s funerary-rite strikes a chord with crowning and enthroning a bishop, as “decidedly dramaturgical means were enlisted to articulate and legitimate (however successfully) contentious claims to authority and to force upon probably highly resistant audiences the specific obligations consequent to those configurations of power”. 39 Giorgio Agamben, The Kingdom and the Glory: For a Theological Genealogy of Economy and Government, Lorenzo Chiesa (with Matteo Mandarini) trans., (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2011), 169. 40 Ibid., 178. 41 Michel Foucault, DP, 181. 42 John Macquarrie, Principles of Christian Theology, rev ed. (London: SCM Press, 1966, 1977), 430, “The Church, after all, is only on its way to holiness, and so sin remains, and even the offices of the Church can be used (or rather, abused) by careerists in search of notoriety and power.” 43 Rosemary R. Ruether, Sexism and God-Talk: Towards a Feminist Theology (London: SCM Press, 1983, 2002), 148. 44 Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza, The Power of the Word: Scripture and the Rhetoric of Empire (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2007), 7. 45 Agamben, Kingdom, 186, “It is hardly necessary to underline the central role that acclamations play in imperial ceremonies and liturgy”. 46 Beasley, Christian Ritual, 51–52. 47 Judith Butler, Excitable Speech: A Politics of the Performative (New York, London: Routledge, 1997), 78; it is all part of the “map of power”.

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48 Judith Butler, The Psychic Life of Power: Theories in Subjection (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1997), 7. 49 Slavoj Žižek, Living in the End Times (London, New York: Verso, 2010, 2011), 179. 50 Richard H. Roberts, “Lord, bondsman and churchman: integrity, identity and power in Anglicanism”, in Religion, Theology and the Human Sciences (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 118; “the question of social structure and hierarchy in relation to struggle even within the Church cannot be ignored without the possibility of ideological bewitchment and illusion”. 51 Norman Fairclough, Language and Power, 3rd ed. (London, New York: Routledge, 1989, 2001, 2015), 94. 52 Steven Lukes, Power: A Radical View, 2nd ed. (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 1974, 2005), 28. 53 Stuart Elden, The Birth of Territory (Chicago, London: University of Chicago Press, 2013), 6–7. “The history of the concept provides the basis for the more radical claim that the term territory became the way used to describe a particular and historically limited set of practices and ideas about the relation between place and power”; cf. Michel Foucault, “Questions on geography”, in P/K, 69 “Territory is no doubt a geographical notion, but it’s first of all a juridico-political one; the area controlled by a certain power.” 54 Avis, Becoming, 116–117, highlights the historic importance of diocesan boundaries. 55 Saskia Sassen, Territory Authority Rights: From Medieval to Global Assemblages, updated ed. (Princeton, Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2006), 38, n. 17. 56 Michel Foucault, STP, 129. 57 Elden, Birth, 8, “Foucault’s insistence on the relation between knowledge and power is crucial … most of what Foucault said specifically about territory is misleading.” 58 Ibid., 119, 262, 329. He also discusses Richard Hooker’s concern about territory (279–280). 59 Nikolas Rose, Powers of Freedom: Reframing Political Thought (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 34. 60 Bonnie Mann, Sovereign Masculinity: Gender Lessons from the War on Terror (Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press, 2104), 48ff, and the history of manhood. 61 Ethan H. Shagan, The Rule of Moderation: Violence, Religion and the Politics of Restraint in Early Modern England (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), 86, 113. 62 Mann, Sovereign, 8–11. 63 Sean Gill, “Christian manliness unmanned: Masculinity and religion in nineteenthand twentieth- century Western society”, in Men and Masculinities in Christianity and Judaism: A Critical Reader, Björn Krondorfer ed. (London: SCM Press, 2009), 309; “the most serious obstacle standing in the way of such research has been the androcentric nature of much traditional scholarship, which has problematized the feminine while treating the category of maleness as normative”. 64 Mathew Kuefler, “Soldiers of Christ: Christian masculinity and militarism in late Antiquity”, in Men and Masculinities in Christianity and Judaism: A Critical Reader, Björn Krondorfer ed. (London: SCM Press, 2009), 239. 65 Wendy Brown, Manhood and Politics: A Feminist Reading in Political Theory (Totowa: Rowman & Littlefield, 1988), 14. 66 Ibid., 187. 67 Ethan H. Shagan, The Rule of Moderation: Violence, Religion and the Politics of Restraint in Early Modern England (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), 86.

102 68 69 70 71 72 73 74

75

76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85

86 87 88

89 90

The sacralization of obedience Ibid., 24–27, 45 and its influence on modern governance. Ibid., 63. Ibid., 113. Mann, Sovereign, 212. Ibid., 20. Norman Doe helped clarify for me the distinction between unilateral decision, in general, and veto powers, in particular, which becomes more apparent in practice (below). Norman Doe, Canon Law in the Anglican Communion: A Worldwide Perspective (Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press, 1998), 113. Cf. The Principles of Canon Law Common to the Churches of the Anglican Communion (London: The Anglican Consultative Council, 2008), principle 20.6, “A diocesan bishop may give or withhold consent to proposed diocesan legislation to such extent as is provided by law, but may not legislate unilaterally” (italics added). From frustration to fulfilment: The final ten years of licensed ministry, A report to the House of Bishops from the Senior Clergy Group under the chairmanship of the Clergy Appointments Adviser (October 2007), 17, https://www.churchofengland. org/media/1285813/. “Many clergy feel alienated by the review process and/or the appointments system(s), which leads to a radicalisation and marginalisation of otherwise talented people. Demotivation may be particularly acute for able candidates who see younger candidates chosen ahead of them in open competitive procedures. Beyond this, there are several ‘glass ceilings’ in place which affect different groups of clergy, and not just senior appointments. These particularly affect women clergy, and those from minority ethnic background. The existence of separate and sometimes conflicting systems of patronage can result in the power of appointment being the power of veto.” Judith Butler, Precarious Life: The Powers of Mourning and Violence (London, New York: Verso, 2004, 2006), 54. Principles, principle 7.5. Principles, principle 16.4. Principles, principle 16.5. Carl Schmitt, Political Theology: Four Chapters on the Concept of Sovereignty, George Schwab trans., (Chicago, London: University of Chicago Press, 1922, 1934, 1985, 2005), 5. Ibid., 6. Giorgio. Agamben, State of Exception, Kevin Attell trans. (Chicago, London: University of Chicago Press, 205), 9. Schmitt, Political, 11. Principles, principle, 5.3. Jean Bodin, On Sovereignty, Julian H. Franklin ed. (Cambridge, New York: Cambridge University Press, 1992), 13 (361). “If the sovereign prince is thus exempt from the laws of his predecessors, much less is he bound by the laws and ordinances that he has made himself.” Stephen Sykes, Unashamed Anglicanism (London: Darton, Longman and Todd, 1995), 175. Principles, principle 18.1. The term implied censorship comes from Judith Butler, Excitable, 140. I have used it here, and adapted it, for broader purposes in order to mean actions taken by leaders, which might be well intentioned, but which implicitly exclude followers from important processes or decisions. Michel Foucault, PS, 236. Robert N. Proctor, “Agnotology: A missing term to describe the cultural production of ignorance (and its study)”, in Agnotology: The Making and Unmaking of Ignorance, Robert N. Proctor and Londa Schiebinger eds. (Stanford: Stanford

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92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103

104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111

112

103

University Press, 2008), 11. Proctor is studying ignorance (i.e. agno-genesis), “One of my favorite examples of agnogenesis is the tobacco industry’s efforts to manufacture doubt about the hazards of smoking. It was primarily in this context … that I first began exploring this idea of manufactured ignorance, the question again being ‘Why don’t we know what we don’t know?’ The non-too-complex answer in many instances was ‘because steps have been taken to keep you in the dark!’” Paul Avis, The Identity of Anglicanism: Essentials of Anglican Ecclesiology (London, New York: T&T Clark, 2008), 25, “The notion of a tacit consensus residing in a common ethos is a post factum accommodation to the demise of doctrinal accord within the Church. To say that, however, is by no means to reject the concept of a tacit consensus subsisting in the realm of praxis, but simply to make it abundantly clear that what we are talking about is not a supposed timeless essence of Anglicanism, but a conceptual construction, a pragmatic adjustment to the facts of history.” Linda M. Alcoff “Epistemologies of ignorance: Three types” in Race and Epistemologies of Ignorance, Shannon Sullivan and Nancy Tuana eds. (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2007), 47. General Synod (GS), Protocol 19, (2014), http://www.anglican.org.au/governance/ Pages/bishops_protocols.aspx, cf. Faithfulness in service, http://www.anglican.org. au/governance/commissions/documents/faithfulness. Faithfulness, 7.1. Cf. GS, Protocol 15, (2012). Kwok Pui Lan, “From a colonial church to a global communion”, in Anglican Women on Church and Mission, Kwok Pui-Lan, Judith A. Berling, and Jenny Plane Te Paa eds. (New York: Morehouse, 2012), 17. Foucault, DP, 184. Foucault, DOL, 225. Bruce Kaye, Conflict and the Practice of the Christian Church: The Anglican Experiment (Eugene: Cascade Books, 2009), 8. Principles, principle 18.1. GS, website. GS, Protocol 3, Collegiality and the Episcopate, (2000). GS, Protocol 12, Women in the Episcopate, (2008), “We resolve to nurture the highest possible level of collegiality as bishops, seeking to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace.” Rosemary R. Ruether, Sexism and God-Talk: Towards a Feminist Theology (London: SCM Press, 1983, 2002), 174, “The sort of teaching that perpetuates the gap between teaching authority and the ‘ignorant’ is not real teaching, but the clericalization of learning.” Rosa Braidotti, Nomadic Subjects: Embodiment and Sexual Difference in Contemporary Feminist Theory, 2nd ed. (New York, Chichester: Columbia University Press, 2011), 12. SOED. Butler, Precarious, 63 Principles, principle 16.4. Principles, principle, 5.1. Principles, principle, 5.3. GS (13.06.16) Ibid., “A statement of intention to maintain unity” recommended by the Standing Committee of General Synod (2014/1/4 16–17 May 2014, clause 6). “The dioceses expect each other to act with diligence care and caution in respect of any action which may provoke controversy, which by its intensity, substance or extent could threaten the unity of this Church.” Nancy Luxon, Crisis of Authority: Politics, Trust, and Truth-Telling in Freud and Foucault (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 5.

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113 Roberts, Lord, 145, alternatively, “the sacralisation of subordination”. 114 Stanley Milgram, Obedience to Authority (London: Pinter and Martin, 1974, 1997, 2010), NB. Foreword by Philip Zimbardo. 115 Butler, Psychic, 79. 116 Simona Forti, New Demons: Rethinking Power and Evil Today, Zakiya Hanafi trans. (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2015), 212. 117 Nigel Peyton and Caroline Gatrell, Managing Clergy Lives: Obedience, Sacrifice, Intimacy (London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2013); interview-based research in the Church of England, underlining centrality of obedience and its impact on clergy lives (22). In the book, and along Foucaudian lines, they pursue the theme of “obedient clergy bodies” (53ff). 118 Foucault, STP, 121, Christianity introduced “new mechanisms of power” into the world. 119 Michel Foucault, “Politics and reason”, in PPC, 67. “I have obviously no intention whatsoever of recounting the evolution of pastoral power throughout Christianity.” 120 Michel Foucault, STP, 121. 121 Michel Foucault, “Politics and reason” in PPC, 69. 122 Foucault, STP, 126. 123 Michel Foucault, “The eye of power”, in P/K, 155. 124 Foucault, STP, 123. 125 Ibid., 126. 126 Ibid., 127. 127 Ibid., 129. 128 Ibid., 152. 129 Ibid., 175, see n. 29 textual error. 130 Ibid., 184. 131 Ibid., 184–185. 132 Christopher Haigh, English Reformations: Religion, Politics, and Society under the Tudors (Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press, 1993), 21. “For it is likely that most of those who lived in Tudor England experienced Reformation as obedience rather than conversion; they obeyed a monarch’s new laws rather than swallowed a preacher’s new message. Even the preacher’s freedom to convert was circumscribed by official policy.” 133 Foucault, STP, 135. 134 Book of Common Prayer (BCP), and the consecration of bishops, “Be to the flock of Christ a shepherd, not a wolf.” Provinces have developed contemporary prayer books for their context. However, with the Scriptures, the Creeds, and the historic Episcopate, the BCP remains an authoritative text for the Anglican Communion. 135 BCP, and the ordering of priests, “Will you reverently obey your Ordinary, and other chief Ministers, unto whom is committed the charge and government over you, following with a glad mind and will their godly admonitions, and submitting yourselves to their godly judgements?” 136 Arbuckle, Confronting, 16, bullying includes “public or private humiliation”. 137 Ibid., 19. 138 Julia Kristeva, Powers of Horror: An Essay on Abjection, Leon S. Roudiez trans. (New York: Columbia University Press, 1980, 1982), 5, n. 1, “Mystical Christendom turned this abjection of self into the ultimate proof of humility before God, witness Elizabeth of Hungary who ‘though a great princess, delighted in nothing so much as in abasing herself.” 139 Peyton and Gatrell, Managing, 60, “priests regard their bodies as routinely and ‘officially’ under the control of the diocesan employing authority”. 140 José Medina, The Epistemology of Resistance: Gender and Racial Oppression, Epistemic Injustice, and Resistant Imaginations (Oxford, New York: Oxford

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141 142

143

144

145

146

147 148 149 150 151 152 153 154 155 156 157 158 159 160 161 162 163

105

University Press, 2013), 146, notes “the inability to challenge certain things or to ask certain questions”. Foucault, DP, 49. Lecturer in social psychology Anne Lee (Oxford) wrote an article on bullying in relation to the Church of England in the Church Times: “Why the Church must confront the bullies” (22.06.07). “An organisation that allows bullying behaviour to continue unchecked is compromised in proclaiming good news. Whenever a church or church organization refuses to answer questions, punishes those who express concerns, abuses confidentiality, covers up, coerces, threatens, or deceives, it is directly undermining gospel values.” Peyton and Gatrell, Managing, 20; cf. P. Nesbitt, “Keepers of the tradition: Religious professionals and their careers”, Sage Handbook of the Sociology of Religion, J. A. Beckford and N. J. Demerath III eds. (London: Sage, 2007), 298. “The ‘call’ has been widely used as a gatekeeping mechanism.” Doe, Canon, 141; throughout the Anglican Communion, a licence is generally required from the bishop for an ordained person to serve in a diocese. Provisions for termination of a ministry vary (155). However, the concern for clergy is not fully captured by legal provisions. Martyn Percy, Power and the Church: Ecclesiology in an Age of Transition (London, Washington: Cassell, 1998). Chapter 1 is an important chapter on related issues (cf. 133, apostle Paul and bullying). Likewise, Scott Cowdell, God’s Next Big Thing: Discovering the Future Church (Mulgrave: John Garratt Publishing, 2004), 202. “The real agenda is compliance and obedience, securing power for the management class.” Claire P. Monks and Iain Coyne, “A history of research into bullying”, in Bullying in Different Contexts, Claire P. Monks and Iain Coyne eds. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014), 1; “empirical research on the topic really began in the late 1970s”. In American literature it is often referred to as victimization. David Coady, What to Believe Now: Applying Epistemology to Contemporary Issues (Malden: Wiley-Blackwell, 2012), 106. Arbuckle, Confronting, 19. Foucault, PS, 236. Forti, Demons, 193. Ibid., 194. Ibid., 191. Ibid. Shelby Steele, “The culture of deference”, in Academic Questions 12, no. 1 (Winter 1998–1999): 54–62. This concept was originally drawn to my attention in conversation by historian Jonathan Inkpin. Kuefler, “Soldiers of Christ”, 239. Peter Jensen, The Revelation of God: Contours of Christian Theology (Downer’s Grove: Inter-Varsity Press, 2002), 266, 268. Malise Ruthven, Fundamentalism: The Search for Meaning (Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press, 2005). Niels C. Nielsen, Fundamentalism, Mythos, and World Religions (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1993), 42. Charles Taylor, A Secular Age (Cambridge, London: Belknap Press, 2007), 653. Michael Jensen, Sydney Anglicanism: An Apology (Eugene: Wipf and Stock, 2012), 13ff. Jensen, Revelation, 279. Peter Jensen is the former Archbishop of Sydney. Muriel Porter, Sydney Anglicans and the Threat to World Anglicanism: The Sydney Experiment (Farnham, Burlington: Ashgate, 2011), 97ff. Bruno Latour, “Onus Orbis Terrarum: About a possible shift in the definition of sovereignty”, Millennium: Journal of International Studies 44, no. 3, (2016): 318. DOI: 10.1177/0305829816640608.

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164 Ibid., 306; localization is linked to what it means to be an empire. 165 Ibid. 311, 313.

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Introducing a spatial approach The underlying problem is the Church’s enmeshment with sovereign power, which is fuelled by an enthrallment with the “the spell of monarchy”.1 As a consequence, many suffer, and some more than others. The key to understanding this culture is the dynamic between leaders and followers (cf. pastoral power). It is not the only factor, but it is a considerable one. So, how do we change this culture? In particular, how do we change the dynamic of control and compliance? The change will be inherently disruptive, bringing its own possibilities, challenges, and incongruities. Even then, we can never be completely free of the influence of sovereign power, but it does not have to be the driving force in ecclesial life.2 Subsequently, it is important to shift the focus now from the Anglican case study to an ecumenical perspective. By the same token, I am not about to write ecclesiological prescriptions for the churches that make up the ecumenical spectrum. Instead, I am outlining a suite of catalysts, which could enhance ecclesiological reflection and the renewal of authority.3 As such, the book is a pre-ecclesiology identifying catalysts for inclusion in various ecclesiologies. In brief, the catalysts are critique, space, imagination, and wisdom. In this chapter, I will critique the concept of freedom, which will lead into a discussion about new spaces and culture change. I will then show how the concept of ekklesia represents an early spatial approach, which can be built on in the next chapter, where I will develop the spatial approach, introducing Foucault’s spatial approach and the work of the imagination.4

Freedom This book is using a working definition of freedom, which is primarily an existential concern about practices in the world, rather than a metaphysical one about freewill. Of course, there is a debate, for example, about free will and determinism. But the jury is out on this debate. Notwithstanding this, I am arguing that in contrast to life under sovereign power, Christianity is a practice of freedom, which has to be reclaimed as “Each generation must define its

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understanding of freedom in a new way.” In this light, freedom is a process.6 As such, the word practice is critical. It is interpreted in terms such as exercise, training, rehearsal, preparation, or work. Christianity then is an exercise in freedom in the sense of both rehearsing and enacting, “unlike the judgement of the intellect which precedes action, and unlike the command of the will which initiates it, the inspiring principle becomes fully manifest only in the performing act itself”.7 Theologically, freedom is a gift of creation, bestowed on us for the sake of others.8 As such, we are called to say yes to freedom, realizing it in the world for the sake of the other. In order to develop a working concept of freedom, I need to explore three themes: freedom as gift, freedom is limited, and human agency. First, freedom is a divine gift.9 As such, it is an inherent part of the created order,10 entailing humankind’s vocation as co-collaborators with God,11 “The transcendence of God does not rest in itself, in a creator outside the world, nor is it forgotten in immanentist terms, as often in liberal theology, but comes to consummation in the social praxis of those who as co-creators support the growth of the kingdom of God in the world.”12 As such, a Christian concept of freedom brings together a rich blend of seminal themes ranging from the Creation to the Exodus traditions and on to Christ the liberator.13 As such, freedom has become an important part of contemporary soteriology, emphasizing process, practice, and social justice. Anthropologically, freedom is an innate human capacity, which is actualized in a life lived for others (Gal 5:13), that is, “freedom is not something persons have for themselves but something they have for others”.14 This freedom for others is grounded in our baptismal vocation. Consequently, “the foundation of this freedom is openness to others”.15 By God’s grace,16 the disciples entered the Christian experiment (Mk 6:7). In this spirit, the ministry of Jesus enabled others to discern and realize the gift of freedom. As such, freedom is more than an exertion of the will; it is about the whole person embracing the divine gift.17 On that note, Hannah Arendt makes a remarkable observation about the sayings of Jesus, “We find in these parts of the New Testament an extraordinary understanding of freedom, and particularly of the power inherent in human freedom; but the human capacity which corresponds to this power, in the words of the Gospel, is capable of removing mountains, is not will but faith.”18 Second, human freedom is limited. Under the banner of finitude, there are constraints such as social context, and the impact of others upon us exercising their freedom, so “the realm of freedom and the realm of unfreedom are not simply contiguous with or superimposed on each other. They are founded together in a specific relation”.19 As such, the outworking of freedom is incomplete, partial, and transient. Freedom can never be fully expressed or wholly achieved, “when we talk about liberation, we too mean an uncompleted process. By using this expression we are talking about the struggle for liberation which is itself liberating. We are not talking about freedom as a gift which we have received once and for all.”20 In other words, the Church’s work of freedom for others is an enduring but disrupted, hope-filled yet realistic vocation. So,

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freedom is our end (telos), which shapes and colours our character (ethos) and culture (cf. Gal 5:1). Third, freedom presumes a level of human agency: “My ‘freedom’ has to do with the degree to which I am the agent”, but also this freedom “belongs as much to my context, to the relationships in which I stand, as it does to me.”21 That is, within the constraints and limitations, we make choices: “A great deal of human agency is lived in the middle voice.”22 Even a no response, in a Foucauldian sense, can be an expression of personal power and freedom. So what about Foucault and freedom? In particular, in the mesh of power-relations, is it possible to talk about agency (below)? And what, if anything, has this to do with the renewal of ecclesial authority? In Foucault, liberation can be described as an expression of the practice of freedom though, as he reminds us, people can be liberated but not free.23 Foucault himself has been criticized for developing a narrow conception of freedom and the self. In particular, his concept of self-transformation has been interpreted as a version of selfishness.24 But much depends on how the concept of agency is understood. Certainly, there is in Foucault a concern for others (e.g. the abnormal) and a focus on self-transformation (e.g. practices of the self). In fact, his practices of the self are realized in freedom, in the world, for the sake of the other (cf. Rahner’s neighbour).25 Moreover, “as efficacy matters to agency, individual agency will extend beyond the boundaries of the self. It will be more than just an internal capacity of the person rooted in inner faculties such as the will. Individual agency is an emergent property of exchanges that are both intersubjective and corporeal.”26 In Christianity, we become a whole self among others, for the sake of others. This is the whole person, fully alive. But why is freedom important in relation to sovereign power? Sovereign power is a form of captivity. The task of addressing this confinement is the work of freedom. Obviously, some suffer more than others under sovereign power, but leaders and followers are captive nonetheless. The captivity is bound to the Church’s enthrallment with sovereign power itself. In particular, the Church’s implicit commitment to a monarchical model means that leaders and followers are bound to oppressive expressions of subject formation (cf. controlling/ complying). In different ways, leaders and followers are impoverished. The constructive response is not found by avoiding power, as there is no outside the mesh of power-relations, but in thinking critically and acting intentionally in relation to power. In that context, faith communities and individual Christians have to make a decision about power. The choice is not easy because followers, as well as leaders, have been enthralled by “the spell of monarchy”.27 In response, followers are called to exercise their power, because “subjects are not only made, we make ourselves”.28 In this context, critique is the subject’s right “to question power about its discourses of truth”, which leads to an experience of freedom.29 It is about refusing what we are in order to become who we can be. It stems from a life grounded in the mystery of God, which is not reliant on sovereign power. Overall, this resistance is not directed against leaders per se, but reliance on sovereign power. Followers then, in claiming power and acting

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in good faith, empower their leaders to lead. In other words, leaders are authorized by the faithful. As a consequence, authority is renewed as the Church is renewed. Ecclesial authority, then, is reciprocal. In this context, authority is not about complicity, as it ultimately relies on resistance to sovereign power by leaders as well as followers. In other words, in the mesh of power-relations, leaders choose to carry power more lightly, as they make themselves open to others, not as weakness but as courage that reconstitutes the authority of office. In terms of followers, in the mesh of power relations, they make a choice exercising freedom, enacting power creatively.30 None of this diminishes the divine. Instead, God works through the tradition and the faith community to empower the Church’s leaders. As such, the renewal of ecclesial authority is about the vocation of freedom for the whole Church. Moreover, this link between authority and freedom is a critical aspect of changing the Church’s culture. All these aspects are important, but a change of church culture is required in order to make them a reality. In particular, the Church needs to renounce the monarchical model and become a space of freedom. To that end, it would be helpful to revisit Foucauldian themes, and identify the origin of the concept a space of freedom.

Culture change and new spaces Foucault was concerned about the present. As such, his critique helps us see the present differently. The key to his critique is a careful analysis of the past. In his work, Foucault encompassed characters great and small, as well as archival minutiae, social trends, disruptive events, and puzzling lacunae. This entailed reclaiming ostensibly outdated or overlooked knowledge, piece by piece, rather than superimposing a preconceived framework. For instance, knowledge unearthed from lazar houses, plague schemes, military camps, houses of confinement, churches, hospitals, prisons, and schools contributed to his insights into power-relations, subject formation, and the importance of space. As a consequence, a new perspective on the present opens up the future. For example, if we understand why we treated the mad a particular way in the past, then we can respond to them differently in the present. Subsequently, the benefits of his genealogical explorations are used here to examine ecclesial authority with new eyes. In this light, the following quotation anticipates the work of this chapter and the next: “I would like to say something about the function of any diagnosis concerning the nature of the present. It does not consist in a simple characterization of what we are but, instead – by following lines of fragility in the present – in managing to grasp why and how that-which-is might no longer be that-which-is. In this sense, any description must always be made in accordance with these kinds of virtual fracture which open up the space of freedom understood as a space of concrete freedom, i.e., of possible transformation.”31 Foucault does not explain the meaning of the term “the space of freedom” here. The quotation, however, is evocative of his meta-ethic (Chapter 2), and its

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aspirations for the subject and freedom.32 Moreover, it makes a critical link between three important dimensions. First, the critique does not avoid, but instead explores “the lines of fragility” (what I refer to as our difficult or painful truths). Second, by exploring the lines of fragility, we open up spaces of freedom. Third, churches as spaces of freedom are spaces of “possible transformation”. In other words, this about changing the culture. In this book, the possibility of a space of freedom emerges as a genuine alternative to the monarchical model of church. This is because the monarchical model generates sovereign power, which marginalizes the faithful. Moreover, sovereign power’s quest to maintain privileged knowledge, and establish unitary discourse and uniform behaviours, is flawed. Instead of papering over the cracks then, which are normally regarded as threats to unity, let us open them up as spaces of freedom. In the spirit of Foucault, and the ethos of ekklesia, this book argues that the Church is called to be a space of freedom. However, it is important to understand the old culture, in order to appreciate fully the Church as a space of freedom. Ecclesial authority is undermined by sovereign power when a leader, who is acting out the monarchical model, ignores, excludes, or overrules consent. In most churches, for instance, leaders have a capacity to make unilateral decisions.33 However, unilateral decisions are not a right, but a trust that cannot be exercised indiscriminately. As such, Christian leadership does not mean “everything is possible”.34 In fact, one of the symptoms of sovereign power is hubris, embodied by the belief that I have been called to have the final say regardless of the circumstances. As such, hubris is self-elevation, manifesting itself in a refusal to recognize there are real problems,35 “The desire we so often hear expressed today for ‘episcopal figures,’ ‘priestly men,’ ‘authoritative personalities,’ springs frequently enough from a spiritually sick need for the admiration of men, for the establishment of visible human authority, because the genuine authority of service appears to be so unimpressive.”36 In the face of finitude, the heroic figure attempts a flight from the ordinary, in “the hyperbolic displays of agency that characterise sovereign masculinity”.37 Wendy Brown draws these themes together, as “Manhood is acquired through a relentless quest for immortality, through constructing ideals and institutions specifically contrasted to or with life.”38 With epistemic hubris, however, it is no so much self-elevation or an escape from the ordinary; instead, it is a matter of a leader being so focused on his narrow view of vocation (God alone) that others are marginalized, implicitly and explicitly. That is, the diachronic dimension of vocation has been separated from, and elevated above, the synchronic. As such, a lone male hero-figure working for God, occupies the heart of sovereign culture. Clearly, this is not just an Anglican or Catholic problem. This was Bonhoeffer’s observation.39 In general, it has as much to do with men and sovereign power as it does with denominational affiliation. In particular, it has links with a particular male construal of divine calling. To change this, we need to change the primal pattern of church from a monarchical model to an open space of freedom. The premise of this critique is that, while individuals are accountable for their behaviour, the long term issue is about changing church culture. I am

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defining culture in broad terms as the concept of culture is complex, and cultures are “differentiated systems of meanings whose contents are dispersed among the minds of the myriad individuals whose interconnected activities in networks of differential association sustain the meanings through their communication with each other”.40 Overall, culture is about group membership (cf. nation, church) and shared experience, engaging language, memory,41 narrative and symbol, all of which are culturally encoded.42 Moreover, a culture is changeable, and boundaries are not fixed. In fact, the increasingly porous nature of social boundaries is a challenge. Ultimately, “All boundaries are tenuous, frail and porous”.43 Furthermore, the Church is a sub-culture.44 The Church in Australia, for example, is a subculture of Australian culture. The Church has its own internal subcultures. Subsequently, my critique is working at the institutional or meso-level, focusing on “the internalization of institutional or institution-based ‘sub-worlds’”.45 In summary, the problem of sovereign power can be addressed by exploring spatial ways of changing church culture. So, here is an overview of the book’s spatial approach. First, the book’s spatial approach incorporates various approaches to space, stemming from theology, as well fields like philosophy, critical theory, and human geography.46 Second, the spatial approach incorporates the concept of place as “Place is the anchor of meaning and memory.”47 Space and place are inseparable, but the focus here is on space. Third, the theological reflection on space includes the early church practice of ekklesia, and the work of Schüssler Fiorenza, which I will bring together with Foucault’s spatial approach (Chapter 6).48 Fourth, the open space of freedom as such is in sharp contrast to sovereign practice, because it is open, inclusive, and transparent. Fifth, relations between spaces, places, and people, are interpreted symbolically (Chapter 6). That is, we need symbols to be fully human. So, in other words, the significance of a place is symbolically realized, where symbolic includes spiritual, historical, and cultural factors, as well as physical dimensions, human interaction and shared narratives (as “Every story is a travel story – a spatial practice”).49 In this sense, Foucault’s use of the term emplacement, in French and English, captures the sense that space is about the realization of something in a particular site,50 which, in an ecclesial framework, happens sacramentally. As such, we attribute significance to a place; experiencing it as meaningful space. In these sacred spaces, docile bodies become empowered. But why a spatial approach, and what makes it suitable for an ecclesiology? In terms of theorization, Foucault’s spatial concepts are relatively underdeveloped,51 but his overall spatial approach is compelling52 that is, it is his “spatial praxis” that is important. Specifically, the link between Foucault’s spatial approach and theology is found in the concept of church as ekklesia. This is a democratic space (i.e. a discipleship of equals).53

Ekklesia and the ethos of the Christian space Henri Lefebvre makes a remarkable statement about revolution, underlining the capacity of a new space to change the way we function: “A revolution that does

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not produce a new space has not realized its full potential; indeed, it has failed in that it has not changed life itself, but has merely changed ideological superstructures, institutions or political apparatuses. A social transformation, to be truly revolutionary in character, must manifest a creative capacity in its effects on daily life, on language and space.”54 The premise of this book is that the Church is called to be a new space. To that end, I am developing a spatial approach to ecclesiology in two stages (Chapters 5 and 6). The focus in Chapter 6 will be on developing a contemporary spatial approach to ecclesiology using Foucault’s spatial approach as a conceptual touchstone. This will be the Church as an open space of freedom, which represents a radical alternative to the monarchical model of sovereign power. In concert with other factors, this new space can act as a catalyst for the renewal of the Church and its authority. In preparation for Chapter 6, this chapter will to draw on two aspects of the early church’s tradition. The first aspect is the concept of ekklesia, which is an incipient spatial approach to ecclesiology. The second aspect is the letter to the Galatians, and Gal 3:28 in particular, which provides a portrait of the character of the Christian space of freedom. But first, I need to put these aspects in context. Certainly, Christianity begins with the teaching and practice of Jesus, and his friends from Galilee. The heart of his teaching is the reign of God, which is the creative presence of God that is already here, but not yet fully come. In due course, various Christian communities emerged in the first century throughout the Mediterranean. A significant issue for the contemporary Church concerns the nature and identity of these early Christian communities. The term ekklesia, though rarely used in the gospels (Matt 16:18; 18:17), is one concept that has been used to encapsulate the Church’s identity. In broad terms, the argument is that the Church is called to be a certain kind of space (ekklesia), which is open to the reign of God, rendering itself as a space of freedom (Gal 3:28, 5:1, 5:13). In contrast to the practice of empire, the ekklesia of God is an open space. In this context, the followers of Jesus are called to a discipleship of equals, where there is freedom. This is not freedom as license, but the freedom to live with compassion working for justice. Subsequently, this changes the way we see the world, the other, and the moment (from chronos to kairos). But first, I need to put the concept of ekklesia in historical context. In Athens during the fourth and fifth centuries BCE, ekklesia was a highly developed civic practice.55 In particular, the assembly was a political practice, which was part of a complex social structure.56 The assembly met regularly. It was open to adult male citizens;57 voting was usually by a show of hands. The attendees were remunerated. The agenda was made available prior to the assembly. Its business came via a council. In the assembly, participants were expected to speak with substance. In fact, the ekklesia was the place where free speech (parrhesia) was possible, even expected.58 In terms of its political character, the ekklesia had a role in the determination of state matters “the ecclêsia alone had the final and authoritative say in determining the decisions and policies of the

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state”. Clearly, the ekklesia is a political term, which makes its use in the early church a significant choice.60 In first century Christianity, the meaning of ekklesia had been adapted, in keeping with the life and practice of early Christian communities.61 In general, the term is best translated assembly, even though it has come to connote Church.62 The original term included individual Christian communities, all Christian communities, and “the universal Christian movement”.63 Specifically, in Paul, it came to mean liturgical assembly,64 that is, it is the ekklesia of God in Christ, albeit with an important political nuance, as “The word ekklesia, usually rendered ‘Church,’ referred in the first century CE to the civic assembly of a Greek city. Surprisingly then, Paul relied on an unambiguously political word, instead of any number of quite usable words for private religious associations, to refer to the assemblies he and his colleagues had gathered from among ‘the nations’.”65 Compared to the Athenian model, free speech had been extended, but not to women (at least not until Gal 3:28). For Økland, however, Paul transformed ekklesia. In so doing, this constituted, perhaps not intentionally, resistance to the imperium.66 Paul developed his theology in an imperial context, which placed certain cultural parameters on his conceptualization. But this does not stop its aspirational nuances from pointing beyond those parameters, “We may nevertheless regard his apocalyptic vision, however distorted by the ideological pressures of empire, as expressing a more comprehensive yearning for a future other than the one offered by Rome.”67 In short, there has to be some hermeneutical discrimination between Paul’s “ritualizing and hierarchalizing”, and the space of ekklesia seen against an eschatological horizon, which reframes its praxis.68 In particular, the faithful live for the promise of freedom; “in the Pauline communities there was a complex, fluid network of local and more than local structures and authorities. All together they order the ecclesiae, although there were really no official titles connected with leadership or authority. All this grew out of a pneumatic vitality and prophetic power of the Spirit.”69 In this light, it is important to look at the work of Fiorenza, who developed the concept of ekklesia. Schüssler Fiorenza explores the concept of ekklesia from a feminist perspective, using an intersectional analysis, with an awareness of the importance of space. Clearly, the concept of space figures prominently in her work. This is in addition to her use of spatial terms like “mapping”.70 But she does not theorize at length about the concept of space. Space, for Fiorenza, is related to meaning (cf. hermeneutics, discourse, imagination), it has a political nuance, and is embodied by a sociological entity (i.e. a faith community). A fuller understanding of her concept of space can be gleaned from the way she uses it to develop a theology around ekklesia. In particular, she interprets ekklesia as the “‘democratic congress’ of full decision making citizens”.71 As such, Fiorenza ‑ having made adjustments for Greek exclusions “imperial, elite, propertied, educated male heads of household” ‑ interprets ekklesia as the founding model for Christian community. And this faith community is an open, inclusive, democratic space.72 It is a

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gathering of people.73 In particular, it is the ekklesia of wo/men,74 which she interprets in spatial terms.75 In fact, she has a number of different spatial terms, which are used interchangeably depending on context. Therefore, the ekklesia of wo/men is (and requires) an open “hermeneutical space”.76 The ekklesia of wo/men is (and demands) a “democratic space”.77 As a democratic space, it is necessarily a “decolonizing space”.78 Such a space is “a space of divine Wisdom”.79 In summary, ekklesia is “a discipleship of equals”.80 As such, the “Ekklesia of wo/men is historically and theoretically conceptualized as the alternative … Ekklesia is constituted not by super- and subordination but by egalitarian relationships. It is not a reversal of kyriarchal domination and subordination but a space that is ‘already’ and ‘not yet’.”81 In contrast to empire,82 ekklesia is an alternative space,83 which is not dependent on kyriarchal powers. In this light, divine right thinking and practice is empire thinking and practice. As such democracy, as embodied by ekklesia, creates a genuine alternative. Moreover, the ekklesia of wo/men has a number of other important dimensions. Politically, ekklesia is an “open space”.84 Spiritually, it is “the force-field of the DivineWisdom Spirit”,85 which is set against the eschatological horizon of already but not yet. It is a utopian space, critiquing the present in the light of the future. But there is also something Foucauldian, even heterotopic, about Fiorenza’s ecclesial space. That is, it is a new space among the old spaces. It does not fit in, and by virtue of that, it offers something new. It critiques the old spaces (old wineskins) and holds out the promise of freedom. But can we say more about the character of this new space. This is where Gal 3:28 is a pivotal text, as it gives this “new space” shape and content. Galatians was circular letter written by Paul around 49–51 CE. He had been to Galatia before (Gal 4:13). So, it is important to consider: the immediate literary context, the verse itself, the wider social context and the meaning of unity in Christ. In terms of the literary context, a few explanatory remarks are warranted. According to Betz, Gal 3:26–28 focuses the reader’s attention on “Gentile Christians and defines their status before God” adding “This is the goal toward which Paul has been driving all along.”86 For Hays, Gal 3:26–29 is “the presupposition for Paul’s argumentation all along”.87 In other words, it is not a deduction of his argument, but its foundation. Moreover, Gal 3:6–25 does not make sense without the idea that “Christians are one in Christ and share his destiny”.88 In terms of v. 28, Betz claims “There can be no doubt that Paul’s statements have social and political implications of even a revolutionary dimension.”89 These social changes are part of the process of redemption. This is part of what it means to be a new creation (Gal 6:15). Arguably, there are three significant aspects to this text. First, “no longer Jew or Greek” challenges the presumption of a legal basis for identity by shifting attention to unity in Christ (cf. circumcision). Second, “no longer slave or free” implies a (muted) critique of slavery (cf. Philemon). Third, “no longer male and female” is arguably revolutionary, but Paul’s view varies (cf. I Cor 7).90 Moreover, it is not unreasonable to speculate that Paul’s position had evolved since I

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Corinthians (but this remains conjecture). In fact, the social context of Galatians (cf. the barbarians), supports the emancipatory element in Paul. What is critical, however, is that the three statements work in concert to accentuate that unity in Christ inaugurates a new era. In terms of wider context, we have a young community in Galatia, where there are agitators (Gal 4:10; 5:7–12; 6:12–13). In that context, the question of identity is critical. What is the basis of identity? The answer is that unity in Christ is the basis of a new status (equality) and identity (children of God). The debate about identity initially focuses on the practice of law as embodied by the rite of circumcision. This is a reasonable starting point, given that many of the early Christian communities were Jewish-Christian communities. But it was a mixed community consisting of barbarian Galatians as well as Jews and Greeks.91 In this emerging movement, identity finds its locus in Christ. In fact, old identities are transcended on the basis of a new unity in Christ. This is the recurring theme in nearly all the major interpreters: “What the gospel offered was new possibilities of identification (cf. 2:20) that could supersede old, and now questionable privileges and fixed roles and a new integration of opposites in the face of developments that pointed to disintegration. This meant finding one’s identity and integration in the crucified One, where human experiences were not bypassed in favour of harmonizing or dualistic designs.”92 The task of determining the nature of this unity is complex. In the Church today, it is hard to distinguish consistently between the terms unity, catholicity and communion.93 They are interrelated. In theory, unity in Christ implies a catholic sense of comprehensiveness and inclusion, which is conducive for life in communion. In practice, however, unity is often interpreted as uniformity, which is the responsibility of the leadership to impose as “the tyranny of globalising discourses”.94 So, it is important to explore the nature of unity implied in Galatians. In the letter, it is clear that unity in Christ addresses identity differentiation on ethnic, social and gender grounds (Gal 3:39).95 In each pair, there is a sense in which we are dealing with the other (Greek, slave, female), in contrast to the like (Jew, free, male). The text does not specifically address the contemporary issue of sexual orientation.96 However, it makes a claim that unity in Christ changes the way we see others, and just as importantly, it changes the way we understand the concept of unity. Here, and this is critical, unity is no longer based on legal practice (circumcision), but grounded in the incomprehensible mystery of God as disclosed in Christ, which transcends racial, social and gender distinctions. As such, unity in Christ creates communion by virtue of a catholicity that honours difference. In so doing, it enables the faithful “to break free from the tensions between unity and diversity in the church and, as St. Paul urged, truly embrace unity in diversity”.97 Accordingly, Volf claims, “The consequences of the Pauline move away from (differentiating but internally undifferentiated) bodies to the (unifying but internally differentiated) body of Christ for understanding of identities are immense.”98 In the body of Christ, there is unity and differentiation, “Catholicity, then, in the final analysis, is as much an ethical task as an ecclesiological concept: to be catholic is to be open

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to, supportive of, and in communion with the other.”99 All told, this unity and differentiation constitutes the theological heart of the new space. Before proceeding, it is important to clarify Paul’s position in relation to empire. Pauline texts have been used to contribute “to the broader master narratives of the West”, which have been totalizing narratives.100 Subsequently, Castelli makes an interesting counter-argument that there is a “drive toward reinscribing sameness in Paul’s discourse” so texts like Gal 3:28 function as “prooftexts”.101 But it is hard to categorize Paul (e.g. view of slavery). Moreover, in terms of slavery, Gal 3:28 is an idealized or utopic view. From a methodological point of view, Paul’s work is not seamless or entirely consistent. Certainly, “Castelli is right in identifying a discourse of power running throughout Paul’s epistles. However, in depicting such a discourse primarily in terms of a silencing of other voices within the early church, Castelli risks carrying out her own process of silencing since she fails to acknowledge Paul’s understanding and articulation of his relationship with his readers as anything more than one of straightforward authority and dominance.”102 On that note, then, the hermeneutical key is the rhetorical force behind the conviction that in Christ old divisions have been embraced and transcended (Gal 3:28), rather than the faithful have been colonized. As such, Paul consistently calls faith communities to unity in Christ in spite of differences. Better put, differences are part of the new space: “If it was no longer circumcision but baptism which was the primary rite of initiation, then women became full members of the people of God with the same rights and duties. This generated a fundamental change, not only in their standing before God but also in their ecclesial-social status and function, because in Judaism religious differences according to the law were also expressed in communal behavior and social practice.”103 The hermeneutical key is Paul’s choice of an early baptismal text – that is, Gal 3:28. In all probability, verse 28 came from an early Christian baptismal rite (I Cor 12:13),104 and though “scholars differ on the delineation of the different lines, they agree that the core of the traditional formula is Gal 3:28abc”.105 Moreover, if Galatians was written around 49–51, then verse 28 is an early tradition, reflecting something of the ethos of the early Jesus movement. Certainly, among commentators there is some disagreement about particular details.106 There is strong agreement, however, that unity in Christ is paramount and that it has social, political and cultural implications: “Paul’s choice of contrasts covers the full range of the most profound distinctions within human society – racial/cultural, social/economic, sexual/gender. The language implies a radically reshaped social world as viewed from a Christian perspective … equivalent to the ‘kingdomperspective’ which informed Jesus’ ministry.”107 This is consistent with what can be surmised about the nature of Paul’s pastoral concern and rhetorical intent. As a first century apostle and apologist, he is sensitive to the character and circumstances of particular communities. In terms of social context, he has aspirations for unity in the Galatian Church, and adapts his rhetoric to suit. Arguably, he chooses a text from a baptismal liturgy, and makes it the centrepiece of his letter. In terms of literary context, the text with its focus on “in

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Christ” is performative. In other words, in the name of love, Paul is hoping to inaugurate unity in Christ in the divided Galatian faith community.108 This is underlined by the fact that Paul the Jew is not advocating that Gentiles become Jews. By inference, difference is honoured. In conclusion, Gal 3:28 is an iconic text, which provides insight into the character of ekklesia as an open space of freedom. Ultimately, the text needs to construed from the perspective of love. But let’s put this in context. First, Paul is emphatic that his vocation, the Gospel, and the Church are all grounded in God. In fact, he is sent by God (Gal 1:1 cf. 1:15, 24). The Gospel is not of human origin (Gal 1:11). It is a revelation (Gal 1:12). Second, love is the only thing that counts (Gal 2:20, 5:6, 5:13–14). Love is virtue and vocation, as “The ‘works’ and body politics of love are the main topic of the parenetic part of Galatians 5–6 and the climax of the whole letter.”109 Third, love elicits a unity characterized by equality (Gal 3:26–29). Love leads to freedom, “For freedom Christ has set us free” (Gal 5:1 cf. 2:4, 5:13), with a new sense of vocation characterized by compassion (Gal 6:2). This sense of freedom, with its political implications, is underlined by the fact that many members of the Church at Galatia were not Jewish or Greek, but Galatians who were regarded as barbarians by the Romans.110 The other then is a full member of the liturgical assembly. This chapter has outlined the importance of freedom; its constraints, possibilities, and links with early Christian practices. It has underlined an incipiently open baptismal practice of an early Church, which was taken up by Paul and made the centrepiece of a letter to the barbarians (i.e. the other). Arguably, Church as ekklesia is an embryonic spatial approach, where the open space makes the actualization of freedom possible (Gal 5:1, 13). This is in contrast to a contemporary Church under sovereign power, which is hierarchical (at least implicitly). It focuses on the instrumental value of persons, pursuing order and polity over love. It is exclusive, because of its commitment to unitary discourses and uniform behaviours (and its lack of critical awareness), which is reinforced by the sacralisation of obedience. In order to address the problem of sovereign power; we have to change the Church’s culture by changing its primary model from monarchy to a space of freedom, as “This disruption provides a rich imaginary space: a provocation.”111 We have laid down the foundations for such a spatial approach in this chapter. It is important now to look further at space, Foucault’s spatial approach, and the life and work of the imagination.

Notes 1 Michel Foucault, HS1, 88. 2 Hans Küng, Disputed Truth: Memoirs, John Bowden trans. (London, New York: Continuum, 2007, 2008), 238. “I have never simply called for an abolition of power, and even in the church that is illusory. But I have called for a relativisation of power to serve rather than dominate. When John XXIII summoned the Council, to the horror of the Curia and contrary to its thinking in terms of power and power politics, he used his power for service and shared it with the bishops.”

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3 Peter Berger and Thomas Luckmann, The Social Construction of Reality: A Treatise in the Sociology of Knowledge (London: Penguin Books, 1966), 99. “Institutionalization is not, however, an irreversible process, despite the fact that institutions, once formed, have a tendency to persist.” 4 Peter Johnson, “Unravelling Foucault’s ‘different spaces’”, History of the Human Sciences 19, no. 4, (2006), 77, accessed 2015, http://dx.doi.org/10.1177/0952695106069669; “heterotopia is originally a medical term referring to a particular tissue that develops at a place other than is usual. The tissue is not diseased or particularly dangerous but merely placed elsewhere, a dislocation”. 5 Dorothee Soelle, “Between creation and resistance”, in Essential Writings (Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 2006), 147. 6 Sharon R. Krause, Freedom beyond Sovereignty: Reconstructing Liberal Individualism (Chicago, London: University of Chicago Press, 2015), 183. “The unfinished, open-ended quality of plural freedom is reason to approach the pursuit of freedom with humility. Just as human agency eludes sovereign control, freedom is never something we can fully master.” 7 Hannah Arendt, “What is freedom?”, in Between Past and Future: Eight Exercises in Political Thought (New York: Penguin Books, 1961, 1967, 1977, 2006), 150. 8 José Comblin, The Holy Spirit and Liberation, Paul Burns trans. (Eugene: Wipf and Stock, 1989), 41, “Experience of the Spirit comes about within history, in the actions of subjects – agents – of their history. It cannot be separated from acting in the world.” 9 Augustine, The Confessions, 2nd ed., John E. Rotelle ed., Maria Boulding trans. (New York: New York City Press, 1997, 2012), bk XIII, (31.46), 376. “This means that God is loved in what he has made”; Cf. Arendt, “freedom”, 165; in Augustine, freedom is conceived “not as an inner disposition but as a character of human existence in the world”. 10 Karl Barth, “God’s providence” in Karl Barth: Theologian of Freedom, Clifford Green ed. (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1989, 1991), 197. “If the relation between the Creator and the creature is the relation which they can see in Jesus Christ, then existence in this relation is the existence which is to be truly desired, an existence in the highest possible freedom and felicity. To have to confess this is not an obscure law, but a friendly permission and invitation.” 11 Dorothee Soelle, Thinking about God: An Introduction to Theology, John Bowden trans. (London, Philadelphia: SCM Press, Trinity Press International, 1990), 51. 12 Ibid. 13 Gustavo Gutierrez, A Theology of Liberation: History, Politics, and Salvation, Caridad Inda and John Eagleson trans. and eds. (London: SCM Press, 1971, 1973, 1974). 14 Dietrich Bohnoeffer, “Creation and Fall: The image of God on earth”, in A Testament to Freedom: The Essental Writings of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Geoffrey B. Kelly and F. Burton Nelson eds. (New York: Harper One, 1990, 1995), 106. 15 Gutierrez, Theology, 36. 16 Arendt, “freedom”, 155; courage liberates us from “worry about life for the freedom of the world”. 17 Paul Tillich, Systematic Theology I (London: SCM Press, 1951, 1978), 183. “Freedom is not the freedom of a function (the ‘will’)”, but rather of a person, “who is not a thing but a complete self and a rational person.” 18 Arendt, “freedom”, 166. 19 Herbert Marcuse, A Study on Authority, Joris De Bres trans. (London, New York: Verso, 1936, 1972, 2008), 8. 20 Dorothee Soelle, “On living resurrection, part 2”, in Essential Writings (Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 2006), 135. 21 Gordon Kaufman, In the Face of Mystery: A Constructive Theology (Cambridge, London: Harvard University Press, 1993), 172.

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22 Krause, Freedom, 147. 23 Michel Foucault, “The ethics”, in TEF, 26. 24 Pierre Hadot, Philosophy as a Way of Life: Spiritual Exercises from Socrates to Foucault, Arnold I. Davidson ed., Michael Chase trans. (Malden: Blackwell Publishing, 1987, 1995), 206–207. “It seems to me, however, that the description M. Foucault gives of what I had termed ‘spiritual exercises,’ and which he prefers to call ‘techniques of the self,’ is precisely focused far too much on the ‘self,’ or at least on a specific conception of the self.” 25 In the Jesus tradition, we are called to love our neighbours as ourselves (Matt 22: 34–40). 26 Krause, Freedom, 28. 27 Michel Foucault, HS1, 88. 28 Dianna Taylor, “Introduction: Power, freedom and subjectivity”, in Michel Foucault: Key Concepts, Dianna Taylor ed. (Durham: Acumen, 2011), 7. 29 Michel Foucault, “What is critique?”, in PT, 47. 30 Michel Foucault, “Questions on geography” in P/K, 72; “each individual has at his disposal a certain power”. 31 Michel Foucault, “Critical theory/Intellectual history”, in PPC, 36. 32 Gilles Deleuze, “Dispositive (apparatus)”, in The Cambridge Foucault Lexicon, Leonard Lawlor and John Nale eds. (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2014), 126. “Foucault always finds a new dimension or a new line in a crisis. Great thinkers are somewhat seismic; they do not evolve but proceed by crises or quakes.” 33 Norman Doe, Christian Law: Contemporary Principles (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 141, 155. 34 Hannah Arendt, The Origins of Totalitarianism, 2nd ed. (Oxford: Benediction, 2009), 437. 35 Linda Trinkaus Zagzebski, Epistemic Authority: A Theory of Trust, Authority, and Autonomy in Belief (Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press, 2012), 52. “The most extreme form of epistemic self-reliance is one in which someone refuses to take the fact that someone else has a given belief as a reason to believe it herself.” 36 Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Life Together, John W. Doberstein trans. (New York: Harper One, 1954), 108. 37 Bonnie Mann, Sovereign Masculinities: Gender Lessons from the War on Terror (Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press, 2014), 212. 38 Wendy Brown, Manhood and Politics: A Feminist Reading in Political Theory (Totowa: Rowman & Littlefield, 1988), 180. 39 Bonhoeffer, Life, 108. 40 John Scott, Conceptualising the Social World: Principles of Sociological Analysis (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), 19. 41 Ibid., 26. 42 Ibid., 38. 43 Zygmunt Bauman, Society under Siege (Cambridge: Polity Press, 2002), 13. 44 Scott, Conceptualising, 26. 45 Berger and Luckmann, Social, 158. 46 Sallie McFague, The Body of God: An Ecological Theology (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1993), 101. “Geography, often considered a trivial subject compared to the more splendid history (the feats of the forefathers), may well be the subject of the twenty-first century.” 47 Margaret Kohn, Radical Space: Building the House of the People (Ithaca, London: Cornell University Press, 2003), 149. 48 Stuart Elden, “Space”, in The Cambridge Foucault Lexicon, Leonard Lawlor and John Nale eds. (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2014), 470. “Foucault is less interested in providing a definition of space than with outlining different ways

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53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61

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The Church as an open space of freedom in which space has been understood, transformed, and effected, and the effects it has.” Michel De Certeau, The Practice of Everyday Life, Steven F. Rendall trans. (Berkeley, Los Angeles, London: University of California Press, 1984), 115. Peter Johnson, “History of the concept of heterotopia”, Heterotopian Studies (2102) http://www.heteropiastudies.com, 4. Ernest W. Soja, Third Space: Journeys to Los Angeles and other Real-and-Imagined Places (Malden: Blackwell, 1996), 147. “In contrast to Lefebvre, Foucault never developed his conceptualizations of space in great self-conscious detail and rarely translated his spatial politics into clearly defined programs for social action.” Philip Sheldrake, Spaces for the Sacred: Place, Memory, and Identity (Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press, 2001), 100. “Nevertheless, I believe it is possible to enter into an interesting conversation with aspects of Foucault’s thought. His concept of ‘heterotopias’ is a case in point.” Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza, Discipleship of Equals: A Critical Feminist Ekkle-sia-logy of Liberation (New York: Crossroad, 1993). Henri Lefebvre, The Production of Space, Donald Nicholson-Smith trans. (Malden: Blackwell, 1974, 1984, 1991), 54. David Stockton, The Classical Athenian Democracy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1990), 121. Ibid., 69–70, the assembly worked in conjunction with the prytaneis (standing committee) of the boulê (i.e. council of the 500). Ibid., 71–73, spectators could watch outside the area of the assembly. Michel Foucault, CT, p. 37, refers to the assembly as “the democratic space”. Stockton, Athenian, 121. Neil Elliott, “The apostle Paul and empire”, in The Shadow of Empire: Reclaiming the Bible as a History of Faithful Resistance, Richard A. Horsley ed. (Louisville, London: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 99. Raymond F. Collins, First Corinthians, Daniel J. Harrington ed. (Minneapolis, MN: Liturgical Press, 1999), 51. “In the golden days of Athens ‘ekkle-sia’ was used of the assembly of citizens who gathered to make civic decisions. It was used by Paul in the salutations of all his letters, with the exception of his letter to the holy ones at Rome (Rom 1:7) whose assembly Paul had not yet encountered. It evokes the idea of a gathering of people in a free city, assembled as God’s holy people.” Jorunn Økland, Women in their Place: Paul and the Corinthian Discourse of Gender and Sanctuary Space (London, New York: T&T International, 2004), 166; the ekklesia is not the same as oikos (household). Edward Schillebeeckx, The Church with a Human Face: A New Expanded Theology of Ministry (New York: Crossroad, 1985, 1992), 42–43; “in post-Pauline letters (Colossians, Ephesians) the word ekklesia is often used to indicate the universal Christian movement.” John D. Ziziouslas, Eucharist, Bishop, Church: The Unity of the Church in the Divine Eucharist and the Bishop During the First Three Centuries, Elizabeth Theokritoff trans. (Brookline: Holy Cross Orthodox Press, 2001), 46; “the point of altogether special importance is that it was not just any assembly, but strictly speaking, the eucharistic assembly that was called the ekklesia of ‘Church’. This is clearly shown by a careful examination of the information we can glean from the most ancient texts we have, namely Paul’s epistles.” Elliott, “The apostle”, 99. Økland, Women, 227. Elliott, “The apostle”, 115. Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza, The Power of the Word: Scripture and the Rhetoric of Empire (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2007), 101.

The Church as an open space of freedom 69 70 71 72 73 74

75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90

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Schillebeeckx, Human Face, 59. Fiorenza, The Power, 25, 35, 198; cf. 129 “a mapping of the decolonizing space”. Ibid., 71. Ibid., 35, 72, 76, 81–83, 128; cf. Rhetoric and Ethic: The Politics of Biblical Studies (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1999), 102. Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza,In Memory of Her: A Feminist Theological Reconstruction of Christian Origins, tenth anniversary ed., (New York: Crossroad, 1983, 1994), 345. Fiorenza, The Power, 6, n. 21; cf. Linda M. Alcoff, Real Knowing: New Versions of the Coherence Theory (Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 1996), 202. “Peasants, women, slaves, children, Jews and many other nonelites were ‘known’ to be liars, epistemologically unreliable and unable to distinguish justified beliefs from falsehoods.” Fiorenza, The Power, 10, 30, 74 “a feminist space”, 101, 128, 239. Ibid., 30, 70, 76, 81, 83. Ibid., 35 “the radical democratic space of the ekkle-sia”, 71, 81; “a radical democratic hermeneutical space”. Ibid., 69, 126–127, 129. Ibid., 189, 220 “the biblical discourse on Divine Wisdom, as a biblical space”, 239; “the space of Divine Wisdom”, 262, 266. Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza, Sharing Her Word: Feminist Biblical Interpretation in Context (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1998), 107. Fiorenza, The Power, 70. Ibid., 160, Fiorenza, Sharing, 135. Fiorenza, The Power, 111 cf. 29. Fiorenza, Discipleship, 348. Fiorenza, The Power, 77, 222ff. Hans Dieter Betz, Galatians (Philadelphia, PA: Fortress Press, 1979), 181. Richard B. Hays, The Faith of Jesus Christ: The Narrative Substructure of Galatians 3:1–4:11, 2nd ed. (Grand Rapids, Cambridge: Eerdmans/Dove, 1983, 1997, 2002), 204. Ibid., 204. Betz, Galatians, 190. Fiorenza, The Power, 5, Gal 3:28 is a central text, but there is also “the rhetoric of obedience and submission in Pauline letters”. Arguably, as 3:28 is an earlier baptismal text, it is acts as a critique of the obedience/submission theme in Paul; cf. Rom 13, I Cor 14 (155). Dieter Lührmann, Galatians, O.C. Dean trans. (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1978, 1988, 1992), 75. Cf. Briggite Kahl, “Galatians and the ‘Orientalism’ of justification by faith: Paul among the Jews and Gentiles”, in The Colonized Apostle: Paul through Postcolonial Eyes, Christopher D. Stanley ed. (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2011), 215; historically, “Galatians/Gauls thus became the ‘universal barbarians’ against which the Greco-Roman world united as the ‘common enemy’.” Lührmann, Galatians, 77. Bruce Kaye, Conflict and the Practice of the Christian Church: The Anglican Experiment (Eugene: Cascade Books, 2009), 163. Michel Foucault, “Two lectures” in P/K, 83. James D.G. Dunn, The Epistle to the Galatians (London: Baker Academic, 1993), 207–208. In conversation, New Testament scholar Alan Cadwallader argued that a comparison between I Cor 12:13 and Col 3:11 suggested Paul and his successors were more creative with this formula, than has been credited. Gerard Mannion, Ecclesiology and Postmodernity: Questions for the Church in our Time (Minneapolis, MN: Liturgical Press, 2007), 223.

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98 Miroslav Volf, Exclusion and Embrace: A Theological Exploration of Identity, Otherness, and Reconciliation (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1996), 48. 99 Gerard Mannion, “Response: Ecclesiology and the humility of God: Embracing the risk of loving the world”, in Ecclesiology and Exclusion: Boundaries of Being and Belonging in Postmodern Times, Dennis M. Doyle, Timothy J. Furry, Pascal D. Bazzell eds. (Maryknoll: Orbis, 2012), 32. 100 Elizabeth A. Castelli, Imitating Paul: A Discourse of Power (Louisville: Westminster/ John Knox Press, 1991), 133. Castelli uses, in part, a Foucauldian perspective. 101 Ibid., 130. 102 Sophie Fuggle, Foucault/Paul: Subjects of Power (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2013), 163. 103 Fiorenza, In Memory, 210. 104 Tatha Wiley, Paul and the Gentile Women: Reframing Galatians (New York, London: Continuum, 2005), 120–121. “The baptismal fragment Paul holds up as a standard unmasks the centrality of privilege in human sinfulness. The ‘new creation’ rejects privilege along with the unjust structures and relations it has constructed.” 105 Fiorenza, In Memory, 208. 106 Frank J. Matera, Galatians, Daniel J. Harrington ed. (Minneapolis, MN: Liturgical Press, 1992), 146. Matera emphasizes the future (eschatological) realization of the distinctions. Likewise, Pheme Perkins Abraham’s Divided Children: Galatians and the Politics of Faith (Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 2001), 76, emphasizes the eschatological dimension. However, the eschatological dimension can be overemphasized, for example, justifying gender inequality on the basis that the divisions will be transcended in the future. Paul’s pastoral agenda is to initiate unity in Christ in the Galatian faith community in the present. 107 Dunn, Galatians, 207. 108 Alain Badiou, St Paul: The Foundation of Universalism, Ray Brassier trans. (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2003), 90–91. Badiou is adamant that love is more critical than faith (cf. I Cor 13:13). 109 Briggitte Kahl, Galatians Re-Imagined: Reading with the Eyes of the Vanquished (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2010), 269. 110 Kahl, “Galatians”, 72ff. 111 Johnson, “Unravelling”, 81.

Bibliography Alcoff, Linda M. Real Knowing: New Versions of the Coherence Theory. Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 1996. Arendt, Hannah, “What is freedom?” In Between Past and Future: Eight Exercises in Political Thought, 144–169. New York: Penguin Books, 1961, 1967, 1977, 2006. Arendt, Hannah. The Origins of Totalitarianism. 2nd ed. Oxford: Benediction, 2009. Augustine, The Confessions, 2nd ed. Edited by John E. Rotelle, translated by Maria Boulding. New York: New York City Press, 1997, 2012. Badiou, Alain. St Paul: The Foundation of Universalism. Translated by Ray Brassier. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2003. Barth, Karl. “God’s providence”. In Karl Barth: Theologian of Freedom. Edited by Clifford Green, 194–199. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1989, 1991. Bauman, Zygmunt. Society Under Siege. Cambridge: Polity Press, 2002. Berger, Peter and Luckmann, Thomas. The Social Construction of Reality: A Treatise in the Sociology of Knowledge. London: Penguin Books, 1966. Betz, Hans Dieter. Galatians. Philadelphia, PA: Fortress Press, 1979.

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Bonhoeffer, Dietrich. Life Together. Translated by John W. Doberstein. New York: Harper One, 1954. Bonhoeffer, Dietrich. “Creation and Fall: The image of God on earth”. In A Testament to Freedom: The Essential Writings of Dietrich Bonhoeffer. Edited by Geoffrey B. Kelly and F. Burton Nelson, 105–109. New York: Harper One, 1990, 1995. Brown, Wendy. Manhood and Politics: A Feminist Reading in Political Theory. Totowa: Rowman & Littlefield, 1988. Castelli, Elizabeth A. Imitating Paul: A Discourse of Power. Louisville: Westminster/ John Knox Press, 1991. Collins, Raymond F. First Corinthians. Edited by Daniel J. Harrington. Minnesota: Liturgical Press, 1999. Comblin, José. The Holy Spirit and Liberation. Translated by Paul Burns. Eugene: Wipf and Stock, 1989. De Certeau, Michel. The Practice of Everyday Life. Translated by Steven F. Rendall. Berkeley, Los Angeles, London: University of California Press, 1984. Deleuze, Gilles. “Dispositif (Apparatus)”. In The Cambridge Foucault Lexicon. Edited by Leonard Lawlor and John Nale, 126–132. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2014. Doe, Norman. Christian Law: Contemporary Principles. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013. Dunn, James D. G. The Epistle to the Galatians. London: Baker Academic, 1993. Elden, Stuart. “Space”. In The Cambridge Foucault Lexicon. Edited by Leonard Lawlor and John Nale, 466–471. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2014. Elliott, Neil. “The apostle Paul and empire”. In The Shadow of Empire: Reclaiming the Bible as a History of Faithful Resistance. Edited by Richard A. Horsley, 97–116. Louisville, London: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008. Fiorenza, Elisabeth Schüssler. In Memory of Her: A Feminist Theological Reconstruction of Christian Origins, tenth anniversary ed. New York: Crossroad, 1983, 1994. Fiorenza, Elisabeth Schüssler. Discipleship of Equals: A Critical Feminist Ekkle-sia-logy of Liberation. New York: Crossroad, 1993. Fiorenza, Elisabeth Schüssler. Sharing Her Word: Feminist Biblical Interpretation in Context. Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1998. Fiorenza, Elisabeth Schüssler. Rhetoric and Ethic: The Politics of Biblical Studies. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1999. Fiorenza, Elisabeth Schüssler. The Power of the Word: Scripture and the Rhetoric of Empire. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2007. Foucault, Michel. Power/Knowledge: Selected Interviews and Other Writings 1972–1977. Edited by Colin Gordon, translated by Colin Gordon, Leo Marshall, John Mepham, Kate Soper. New York: Vintage Books, 1972, 1975, 1976, 1977, 1980. Foucault, Michel. The History of Sexuality, volume 1: An Introduction. Translated by Robert Hurley. New York: Vintage Books, 1978, 1990. Foucault, Michel. Politics, Philosophy, Culture: Interviews and Other Writings 1977– 1984. Edited by Lawrence D. Kritzman, translated by Alan Sheridan and others. London, New York: Routledge, 1988, 1990. Foucault, Michel. The Essential Foucault: Selections from the Essential Works of Foucault 1954–1984. Edited by Paul Rabinow and Nikolas Rose. New York: The New Press, 1994, 2003. Foucault, Michel. The Politics of Truth. Edited by Sylvère Lotringer, translated by Lysa Hochroth and Catherine Porter. Los Angeles: Semiotext(e), 1997, 2007.

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Foucault, Michel. The Courage of Truth: The Government of Self and Others II, Lectures at the Collège de France 1983–1984. Edited by Frédéric Gros, translated by Graham Burchell. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008, 2011. Fuggle, Sophie. Foucault/Paul: Subjects of Power. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2013. Gutierrez, Gustavo. A Theology of Liberation: History, Politics, and Salvation. Translated and edited by Caridad Inda and John Eagleson. London: SCM Press, 1971, 1973, 1974. Hadot, Pierre. Philosophy as a Way of Life: Spiritual Exercises from Socrates to Foucault. Edited by Arnold I. Davidson, translated by Michael Chase. Malden: Blackwell Publishing, 1987, 1995. Hays, Richard B. The Faith of Jesus Christ: The Narrative Substructure of Galatians 3:1–4:11, 2nd ed. Grand Rapids, Cambridge: Eerdmans/Dove, 1983, 1997, 2002. Johnson, Peter. “Unravelling Foucault’s ‘different spaces’”, History of the Human Sciences 19, no. 4, (2006): 75–90, http://dx.doi.org/10.1177/0952695106069669 Johnson, Peter, “History of the concept of heterotopia”, Heterotopian Studies (2012) http://www.heteropiastudies.com. Kahl, Brigitte. Galatians Re-Imagined: Reading with the Eyes of the Vanquished. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2010. Kahl, Brigitte. “Galatians and the ‘Orientalism’ of justification by faith: Paul among the Jews and Gentiles”. In The Colonized Apostle: Paul through Postcolonial Eyes. Edited by Christopher D. Stanley, 206–222. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2011. Kaufman, Gordon. In the Face of Mystery: A Constructive Theology. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1993. Kaye, Bruce. Conflict and the Practice of the Christian Church: The Anglican Experiment. Eugene: Cascade Books, 2009. Kohn, Margaret. Radical Space: Building the House of the People. Ithaca, London: Cornell University Press, 2003. Krause, Sharon R. Freedom beyond Sovereignty: Reconstructing Liberal Individualism. Chicago, London: University of Chicago Press, 2015. Küng, Hans. Disputed Truth: Memoirs. Translated by John Bowden. London, New York: Continuum, 2007, 2008. Lefebvre, Henri. The Production of Space. Translated by Donald Nicholson-Smith. Malden: Blackwell, 1974, 1984, 1991. Lührmann, Dieter. Galatians. Translated by O. C. Dean. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1978, 1988, 1992. Mann, Bonnie. Sovereign Masculinities: Gender Lessons from the War on Terror. Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press, 2014. Mannion, Gerard. Ecclesiology and Postmodernity: Questions for the Church in our Time. Minnesota: Liturgical Press, 2007. Mannion, Gerard. “Response: Ecclesiology and the humility of God: Embracing the risk of loving the world”. In Ecclesiology and Exclusion: Boundaries of Being and Belonging in Postmodern Times. Edited by Dennis M. Doyle, Timothy J. Furry, Pascal D. Bazzell, 24–41. Maryknoll: Orbis, 2012. Marcuse, Herbert. A Study on Authority. Translated by Joris De Bres. London, New York: Verso, 1936, 1972, 2008. Matera, Frank J. Galatians. Edited by Daniel J. Harrington. Minneapolis, MN: Liturgical Press, 1992. McFague, Sallie. The Body of God: An Ecological Theology. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1993.

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Økland, Jorunn. Women in their Place: Paul and the Corinthian Discourse of Gender and Sanctuary Space. London, New York: T&T International, 2004. Perkins, Pheme. Abraham’s Divided Children: Galatians and the Politics of Faith. Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 2001. Schillebeeckx, Edward. The Church with a Human Face: A New Expanded Theology of Ministry. New York, Crossroad, 1985, 1992. Scott, John. Conceptualising the Social World: Principles of Sociological Analysis. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011. Sheldrake, Philip. Spaces for the Sacred: Place, Memory, and Identity. Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press, 2001. Soelle, Dorothee. Thinking about God: An Introduction to Theology. Translated by John Bowden. London, Philadelphia: SCM Press, Trinity Press International, 1990. Soelle, Dorothee. Essential Writings. Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 2006. Soja, Ernest W. Third Space: Journeys to Los Angeles and Other Real-and-Imagined Places. Malden: Blackwell, 1996. Stockton, David. The Classical Athenian Democracy. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1990. Taylor, Dianna. “Introduction: Power, freedom and subjectivity”. In Michel Foucault: Key Concepts. Edited by Dianna Taylor, 1–12. Durham: Acumen, 2011. Tillich, Paul. Systematic Theology I. London: SCM Press, 1951, 1978. Volf, Miroslav. Exclusion and Embrace: A Theological Exploration of Identity, Otherness, and Reconciliation. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1996. Wiley, Tatha. Paul and the Gentile Women: Reframing Galatians. New York, London: Continuum, 2005. Zagzebski, Linda Trinkaus. Epistemic Authority: A Theory of Trust, Authority, and Autonomy in Belief. Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press, 2012. Ziziouslas, John D. Eucharist, Bishop, Church: The Unity of the Church in the Divine Eucharist and the Bishop during the First Three Centuries. Translated by Elizabeth Theokritoff. Brookline: Holy Cross Orthodox Press, 2001.

6

New spaces and the imagination

Developing a spatial approach The previous chapter demonstrated how the early Christian practice of ekklesia was an incipient spatial practice, which was characterized by freedom; in particular, a freedom for the sake of the other (Gal 5:1, 13). This chapter will develop the concept of space further, concentrating on Foucault’s spatial approach and the heterotopic imagination. This will lead into Karl Rahner’s work on the imagination, which could be described as an anthropology of the imagination.1 Critically, the significance of the imagination in precipitating ecclesial cultural change, and anticipating freedom, has been undervalued in theology. In addressing space, the focus here is on an existential construal of space, rather than space understood geometrically. Moreover, the existential view of space has been largely neglected by theology, “Ever since Augustine, there have been many theological meditations on time. But meditations on space are rare. In modern times, theology’s particular emphasis has been the experience of history. The categories of space have been left to the scientists.”2 In contrast, there has been a great deal of interest in space (and place) in philosophy, critical human geography, feminist geography, anthropology, sociology, and cultural studies. As such, it is an inherently multidisciplinary enterprise, encompassing a range of views. For Heidegger, “spaces receive their being from locations and not from ‘space’”.3 For Bachelard, “Inhabited space transcends geometrical space.”4 Finally, Lefevbre was interested in space as a social practice construed as perceived, conceived, and lived space, because space “considered in isolation is an empty abstraction”.5 Clearly, it is hard to summarize the volume and complexity of these reflections, which indicate a range of assumptions, starting points, and intentions. Overall, space, place, and spatial thinking have become increasingly important in a variety of disciplines. In the existential sense, the concept of space is realized in a particular place as “lived space”, through a complex meaning-making process.6 For instance, space is significant for people, as people attribute meaning to, or elicit meaning from, particular places.7 But the nature of the relationship between space, place, and meaning-making is debatable.

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In the process of theorizing about space and place, it is hard not to interpret one without the other, because they are interdependent. In the everyday, space and place are inseparable, but irreducible. In this book then, the emphasis is on space, in particular, an existentialist construal of space. This is based on the presumption that we find ourselves in places, which become meaningful spaces. In other words, space is related to the significance we attribute to a particular place. In fact, an existentialist understanding of space is inseparable from place. Nonetheless, if space is important, what can we know about it theologically? On that note, I will present a brief survey of some theological reflections on space, from which three broad themes will emerge.8 First, space is existentially significant. Second, God is made known to us in space. Third, space is associated with freedom, which is related to the work of creation. Finally, all these themes resonate with Rahner’s work on space. Specifically, his symbolic approach provides a credible explanation of the relationship between space and place, underlining the theological significance of space in the process. First, in terms of an existential understanding of space, Tillich’s work is important. For him, space is vital: “Without space there is neither presence nor a present.”9 Tillich, however, does not develop the concept of space systematically, but it is a recurring theme. One of the earliest statements by Tillich on space occurs in an address he gave for the dedication of a house in Potsdam in 1933, which emphasizes the existential import of space, “There is no space in itself; rather, there are as many kinds of space as there are ways in which living things create space for themselves, and that means, ways in which life becomes actuality. It is by its spatiality that everything living, including the human, is recognizable.”10 Like Torrance (below), Tillich rejects the receptacle notion of space, because space “is not a thing, nor a container in which things exist”.11 Instead, space is the context in which things, events, and life itself, are realized.12 Tillich also explores the tension between space and time, claiming figuratively: “Time and space should be treated as struggling forces, as living beings, as subjects with power of their own.”13 However, his essay is less a philosophical analysis, and more a conceptual exploration of time and space, which raises several issues. First, the distinction between space and place is not clear in Tillich. Certainly, space as meaning-filled space involves place, but the two terms are used interchangeably by Tillich. Second, he argues that space as meaning-filled can be colonized by individuals or groups (i.e. a “deification” of space).14 In this context, space becomes territory-like as humankind seeks to exert its sovereignty over that which cannot be possessed. Third, the importance of time, as ushered in by the prophetic tradition, works against the absolutizing of space. In other words, there is a future, which is God’s. This sense of future severs the need for human attachment. Fourth, a particular meaning-filled space can be valued, but not at the expense of other spaces. Subsequently, in the face of multiple spaces, Tillich affirms the concept of a “beside-each-otherness”.15 In fact, if “a special space gets divine honor” then human communities are corrupted into an “against-each-otherness”.16 This is

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typical of sovereign power, with leaders and followers under the spell of monarchy (e.g. my chapel). Fourth, in an explicitly philosophical manner, Tillich addresses space as one of the categories of finitude. In this context, space is bound to time.17 “The present implies space. Time creates the present through its union with space.”18 In the process, he prefigures a spatial construal of the reign of God as “The spatial element is obvious.”19 In summary, Tillich is interested in the significance of space. It is an ontological understanding, which keeps returning to and focusing on human existence.20 Second, God is made known to us in space. Torrance offers “a positive account of the relation of the incarnation to space and time”.21 His focus is “the problem of spatial concepts in Nicene theology” and Lutheran thought.22 In particular, he is keen to challenge the receptacle view of space, which came to dominate modern theology.23 In contrast to dominant Greek understanding, with its receptacle view, Nicene thought developed a “relational conception of space”.24 As such, Nicene theology had no place for an Aristotelian definition of space (i.e. receptacle);25 instead, it addressed space and time largely on theological grounds. In particular, space and time, based on the doctrine of creation out of nothing, had to be conceived “as relations within created order”.26 In the end, Torrance concludes: “Everything that is ‘body’, even in the Stoic sense, whether visible or invisible, is contained by that divine power, but since it comprehends and encompasses everything there can be no infinite void, for in His own transcendent way God is everywhere and in all things. It follows from this that space and time, and indeed all the structured relations within the universe, have to be understood dynamically, through reference to the creative and all-embracing power and activity of God.”27 Above all, God is made known to us in space and time, such that our knowledge of God is “grounded objectively in God’s own transcendent rationality”.28 Third, an emphasis on a relation between space, creation, and freedom is emerging in recent theology. In this vein, Moltmann’s work has been pioneering.29 In God in Creation, for example, he presents a critical survey on space, producing a range of important theological, historical, philosophical, scientific, and ecological insights.30 He begins the survey by lamenting the paucity of theological reflections on the concept of space.31 He recognizes the issue is complicated by the sheer diversity of spatial conceptions.32 Moreover, his interest in space surfaces elsewhere in his work.33 Later, and driven by ecological concerns, Moltmann expresses concern about “our limited space for living”.34 This is set against a background of understanding the earth spatially, that is, as “the living space of the earth”.35 All of this is grounded in God as “The creation of human beings in the earth’s community of creation, the taking flesh of the eternal Word among us, and the outpouring on ‘all flesh’ of the life-creating Spirit are an affirmation of humanity within the community of all the living in the living space of the earth.”36 Above all, freedom is essential for the living space of the earth and spaces are needed for human flourishing.37 In contrast then to forms of sovereign power, Moltmann is fostering spaces of freedom. In the end, however, the problem with Moltmann’s spatial approach is that he did not say

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more about it. It would have been helpful to have understood more explicitly: what he meant by the concept of space, its relationship to place, and his views on developing a spatial approach. Like Moltmann, Sallie McFague is interested in space, creation and freedom.38 Specifically, space is a pervasive and implicit part of her eco-theological interests: “The space, the ultimate space, as it were, that we all share, is the land, oceans, and atmosphere that comprise the planet.”39 In due course, the eco-theological dimension becomes more pronounced in her work as she explores “green spaces”40 and “wild space”.41 In quite a different style to both Moltmann and McFague, Catherine Keller mines a rich mythological vein with a narrative approach, which is held in tension with contemporary cosmology and expressed in lyrical terms as “a peculiar space of beginning yawns open”.42 Keller offers a more sophisticated conceptual analysis of space than McFague. She is also critical of Moltmann, for with his “radical affirmation of divine omnipresence, we must admit that the creation from nothing requires a space – outside or even within God – where God most definitely is not”.43 Moreover, Keller’s concept of “cloud space” is partly contemplative, partly apophatic theology, with Foucauldian heterotopic nuances.44 In this case, space offers a kind of mystical freedom. In summary, with the exception of Torrance, theological reflection on the conception of space has been limited, lacking detailed conceptual critique or causal explanation. On this note, Rahner’s work on space is often implicit, but pervasive. So, there is an important spatial element in his theology, which is a reflection of the way he sees God, humankind, and the world. Rahner does not develop at length an explicit conceptualization of space, but he refers to the concept repeatedly in notions such as “the sphere of freedom” (below) and his use of a “spatio-temporal” construal, for example: “It is possible to point to a visible, historically manifest fact, located in space and time, and say, Because that is there, God is reconciled to the world. There the grace of God appears in our world of time and space. There is the spatio-temporal sign that effects what it points to. Christ in his historical existences is both reality and sign.”45 Of course, something of the concept’s value is reflected in his theological anthropology, as the purpose of humanity is worked out in space and time, for instance: “Freedom is freedom in and through history in time and space, and precisely there and precisely in this way is it the freedom of the subject in relation to himself.”46 In Rahner, in fact, humankind needs a space of freedom.47 Nevertheless, it would be helpful to look further at the spatio-temporal construal and the concept of the sphere of freedom. For Rahner, God’s transcendence means God does not exist in the created order like a thing, an object, or a being; instead, the created order lives in God.48 This has anthropological implications because “We are not simply put on a spatiotemporal stage to set out our lives. Spatiotemporality is in our inner makeup, and belongs properly to us as human.”49 Moreover, the world is God’s space. As space, the world is not a receptacle that needs to be filled, but rather, it is the medium in which God’s presence is realized. As such, we can talk about

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space coming alive symbolically, in a particular place at a certain time.50 In this context then, there are no God forsaken places, but only places that have not yet come alive in God as spaces. As such, Rahner’s space, in the spirit of Foucault, is a space of “possible transformation”.51 Of course, these spatial reflections are general. There is one essay, however, that is quite specific about the importance of space for Rahner. Rahner wrote a significant essay on freedom entitled “Origins of Freedom”, which specifically expresses freedom in spatial terms.52 The crucial phrase here is Freiheitsraum, which is translated sphere of freedom. The key is raum, which can be translated as sphere or spacious room. It is a Heideggarian term, whereby “What the word for space, Raum, Rum, designates is said by its ancient meaning. Raum means a place cleared or freed for settlement and lodging. A space is something that has been made room for, something that is cleared and free, namely within a boundary, Greek peras. A boundary is not that at which something stops but, as the Greeks recognized, the boundary is that from which something begins its presencing … Accordingly, spaces receive their being from locations and not from ‘space’.”53 And so, ontologically, location provides space its being. Existentially, however, lived spaces arise because people attribute meaning symbolically to locations. In practical terms, however, location and space are not mutually exclusive terms. The meaning of Rahner’s the sphere of freedom becomes clearer later, when he refers to “this space of freedom” and “the social sphere of freedom”.54 The focus with the sphere of freedom is the context in which an individual chooses to accept and actualize her freedom: “By its very nature freedom needs an uncluttered sphere in which to realize itself, even if this implies inevitably the possibility and danger of a guilty perversion of freedom.”55 In the sphere of freedom, the individual makes a choice for or against God.56 It is yes or no. In answering yes, and in the spirit of Galatians, the individual begins to accept and actualize her divine calling. So out of God’s freedom, humankind has been created with an a priori capacity for freedom, which is realized in history, in space. In conclusion, the theologians examined above have different theologies and methods. Nonetheless, there is a common interest in the concept of space. As such, space is understood in relation to divine creation and human freedom. In contrast to the bleak places of sovereign power, this space is a sphere of freedom, which cannot be controlled like territory. In fact, the sphere of freedom is grounded in God, and it is mutually empowering space. Rahner also provides a theologically credible symbolic explanation here of the existential significance of space, where a particular place comes alive symbolically for a particular faith community. The creation and cultivation of this lived space is dependent upon the incomprehensible mystery of God (and not the fiat of leaders). Overall, theological reflection on the existential meaning of space in general, and a spatial approach in particular, is brief, understated, and lacking detailed conceptualization. Torrance is partly an exception, but his conception of space is more scientific than existential. This is where Foucault’s spatial approach is

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helpful, especially as it helps to develop the spatial potential of the concept of ekklesia in a contemporary setting.

Foucault’s spatial approach and the heterotopic imagination The concept of space plays a major, sometimes implicit, role in Foucault’s work.57 It is not the first thing that strikes the reader, but once noticed, the prevalence of spatial concepts in his work becomes apparent. In general, Foucault explores spaces that are associated with specific places (e.g. asylums) and, more importantly, he utilizes a broad spatial perspective (i.e. his gaze). In other words, his use of space has a lot to do with the way in which he construes power, knowledge, and subjectivity. As such, it is an important part of the Foucauldian meta-ethic. Subsequently, the aim of this section is to explore his concepts of space, heterotopic space, and the heterotopic imagination. The purpose of this is to develop more fully the theme of the Church as an open space of freedom. That is, Foucault’s spatial approach enables us to develop a conception of ecclesiology, which is a marked departure from the monarchical model and the sovereign exception. In particular, his notion of heterotopic spaces is useful for spelling-out the prophetic vocation of the Church. Moreover, his concept of the heterotopic imagination is invaluable for understanding the Church’s prophetic/paschal imagination, which is “the concrete effect on the whole cognitive-affective capacity of the person under the influence of the Spirit of Jesus”.58 All of this is preparatory work for the next section, which addresses the concept of the imagination. In summary, Foucault did not develop his spatial approach systematically; but it remains an important part of his gaze, that is, his “passion for seeing”.59 What is fascinating, however, with regard to this book, is that Foucault’s spatial approach implicitly links the concepts of space, freedom, and imagination. From language to asylums and prisons,60 Foucault interprets the world spatially. Recognition of his spatial interest changes the way in which we read Foucault. For example, his use of Bentham’s panopticon is stereotypically the primary focus of sundry readings of Discipline and Punish. Arguably, however, Foucault looks at prisons spatially, such that the panopticon is one (important) way of construing spatial relations.61 Moreover, Foucault’s use of space tends to be more existential than scientific. For him, human existence is spatial. In practical terms, Foucault’s texts refer to many spatial concepts and lend themselves to spatial readings. Above all, his spatial approach has explanatory power. So, here is an overview, which leads into his important reflections on heterotopia. There are several key elements in Foucault’s spatial approach. First, signs of spatial interest exist in his early work, especially in relation to language and knowledge.62 Moreover, he claims that space has been “for too long neglected”.63 Second, there is an informative interview with Foucault about the place of geography in his archaeology of knowledge.64 It is an unusual interview in that he argues there is no particular place for geography in his work, at the same

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time conceding the importance of space:65 “Properly speaking there is no ‘place’ in archaeology for geography, but it should be possible to conduct an archaeology of geographical knowledge.”66 Subsequently, he acknowledges there is a place for space.67 He proceeds to describe spatial terms (e.g. territory, field, displacement, domain, soil, region, horizon), recognizing that spatial metaphors can be geographical and strategic.68 Third, the spatial nuance is more explicit in another interview, which took place toward the end of his career. The interview begins with questions about his appreciation of architecture, although Foucault seems more concerned about space.69 He proceeds to explain that space becomes a political concern in the eighteenth century. Eventually, new notions emerge like society, communications, electricity and railroads,70 and there are strategic figures like engineers “who thought out space”.71 Specifically, Foucault extols an approach to critique that includes spatial considerations: “I think it is somewhat arbitrary to try to dissociate the effective practice of freedom by people, the practice of social relations, and the spatial distributions in which they find themselves. If they become separated, they become impossible to understand. Each can only be understood through the other.”72 But now the focus is on heterotopia.73 Foucault’s concept of heterotopia provides an important link between his spatial approach and the Church’s spatially interpreted vocation. To begin, in a seminal article, Foucault elaborates his conception of space where he claims space has a history, “the space now appearing on the horizon of our concerns, of our theory, of our systems, is not an innovation. Space itself, in the Western experience, has a history, and one cannot fail to take note of this inevitable interlocking of time with space.”74 As such, he outlines a history of space. In the Middle Ages there was “a hierarchized ensemble of places … a space of localization”.75 From the seventeenth century, “extension supplanted localization”.76 Finally, “In our day, emplacement is supplanting extension which itself replaced localization. Emplacement is defined by the relations of proximity between points or elements. In formal terms these can be described as series, trees, lattices.”77 And now, “We are in an age when space is presented to us in the form of relations of emplacement.”78 Foucault focuses on emplacement (site)79 by considering how it is defined by “the space outside”80, because “we live inside an ensemble of relations that define emplacements that are irreducible to each other”.81 He identifies “spaces which are linked with all the others, and yet at variance somehow with all the other emplacements”.82 Concerning these spaces, there are two types: utopias and heterotopias.83 Utopia are “emplacements having no real place”.84 A heterotopia, by contrast, is a peculiar emplacement. In my words, it is like an anomaly, or a counter-space that stands out. Heterotopias are different “Because they are utterly different from all the emplacements that they reflect or refer to, I shall call these places ‘heterotopias,’ as opposed to utopias.”85 But what exactly is the significance of these heterotopias? Heterotopias are disruptive, “Utopias afford consolation … Heterotopias are disturbing, probably because they secretly undermine language, because they

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make it impossible to name this and that, because they shatter and tangle common names, because they destroy ‘syntax’ in advance, and not only the syntax with which we construct sentences but also that less apparent syntax which causes words and things (next to and also opposite one another) to ‘hold together’.”86 The context here is language; in later work, the spatial dimension takes on greater social and geographical significance.87 Subsequently, Foucault attempts to describe these disruptive heterotopic spaces by enunciating six principles. Using these principles as a springboard, I will outline some initial connections with the Church’s life and vocation. First, heterotopias are part of every culture, taking diverse forms. This is “a constant in every human group”.88 But how we do know it is a constant? What is the constant?89 In fact, they are better understood in situ, in terms of “relational ‘difference’” rather than “radical alterity”.90 That is, the Church is not simply called to be different for its own sake, but in relation to the world, it offers a point of difference. It is not a matter of withdrawing, or yielding to the centre, but rather of operating out of the prophetic imagination. Second, historically, the function of heterotopia can change – for example, compare the social significance of cemeteries, which were historically situated in the heart of a town, but are more often now located on the edge of a city. This underlines how the subjective attribution of significance to a place changes the character of the space. Third, heterotopia are counter-spaces, conducive to juxtapositions of “contradictory emplacements”.91 In a way, this captures the ethos of the vocation of the Church as a space of freedom. Like the garden or theatre, the prophetic Church is hard to categorize, holding in-tension diverse spaces and peoples (i.e. being the salt of the earth). Fourth, heterotopias are often linked to “temporal discontinuities”.92 Likewise, the Church’s strength is not found in keeping up with the times, but living creatively in kairos time. Fifth, heterotopias can have an opening/closing aspect; being connected/ disconnected from what is outside, where “One can enter only with a certain permission and after a certain number of gestures have been performed.”93 The opening/closing aspect is a critical dimension in the present ecclesiological climate. For example, sexuality in the Church is about who is acceptable and who is not, and who decides and how. However, the Church as an open space (cf. Gal 3:28), challenges the way we construe ecclesial boundaries. As such, boundaries in church as an open space of freedom are more like thresholds than borders. Sixth, in relation to other spaces, heterotopias can constitute an illusion, that is, making other spaces seem less real, even compensatory. This aspect, of course, does not seem directly applicable to the Church, although it is redolent of the subversive nature of the reign of God. I am not arguing that the Church is a heterotopic space per se. As a space of freedom, however, there is something heterotopic about the Church’s vocation, which will be developed in the next section. In particular, the Church is called to foster its heterotopic imagination.

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As a space of freedom, the Church is a human institution, which aspires to be different, even a heterotopia of deviation.94 It is different, partly because of its utopic aspirations (its telos), which reflects its eschatological perspective.95 At the same time, it is committed to the world for the sake of others. Moreover, if the future is God’s, then we can live in the present with courage, creating new spaces in heterotopic ways. Foucault, however, did not fully develop a heterotopic model. But the idea of a heterotopic nuance of Christian space is worth exploring. This is where the imagination is pivotal. In conclusion, the idea of heterotopia is useful, not as a formal concept or model, but as a catalyst for thinking about the complexities of spaces. In other words, the heterotopic idea invites us to think both spatially and imaginatively. Specifically, a heterotopic space is disruptive, and “This disruption provides a rich imaginary space: a provocation.”96 In this context, I propose developing the idea of a prophetic imagination, along heterotopic lines, as a way of describing how new spaces lead to changes in church culture. In other words, it is not just the imagination at work, but a heterotopic, prophetic, paschal, imagination. In terms of terminology, and in order to capture the fullness of the Church’s vocation, I will use the qualifiers, heterotopic, prophetic or paschal, interchangeably. Overall, then, I am developing a concept of imagination that is partly inspired by the work of Foucault, his capacity for thinking otherwise, and his notion of the heterotopic imagination. In addition, Brueggemen’s concept of “the prophetic imagination” and Schneider’s “the paschal imagination” provide other important nuances. This means with Brueggeman, “It is the task of prophetic imagination and ministry to bring people to engage the promise of newness that is at work in our history with God.”97 And with Schneiders, she uses the paschal imagination as “a cipher for the Christian theological/spiritual imagination”.98 Lastly, Rahner’s theology is decisive in situating the imagination in an anthropology grounded in the incomprehensible mystery.

The imagination In this book, the concept of the imagination is not working in isolation from the other catalysts. It is part of a process of reconfiguration entailing critical awareness, new spaces and shared wisdom, which generate new practices of freedom. But this is not a simple, linear, causal solution. Instead, it represents the ongoing, interactive engagement of factors. Therefore, no single factor is decisive by itself, as “the presence of the imagination is not sufficient to generate agency that is fully or thoroughly emancipatory”.99 However, it is an important catalyst, working in concert with other catalysts. So, what about the imagination? In this book, the use of the imagination presumes a particular theological anthropology, which is based largely on the Rahnerian notion of God working intrinsically (cf. from the inside out). Our imagination, as such, which is grounded in God, leads us into the world for the sake of others. In fact, our well-being as human beings depends on the life of the imagination, as “a healthy spirituality requires a healing of the imagination”.100 Moreover, love

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is central to this divine synergy. Indeed, something as fundamental as the experience of unconditional love is capable of seizing, rejuvenating, and evoking the imagination, increasing the anticipation of freedom. In other words, unlike the static life under sovereign power, the open space of freedom is characterized by a dynamic, integrated life (Gal 3:28). In relation to the imagination, the creation of new spaces is critical.102 It is good news. Just as Jesus proclaimed the coming reign of God, we welcome unexpected spaces where freedom flourishes. The good news also underlines the danger of living under sovereign power, which is focused on unitary discourses and uniform behaviour, exerting power over lived spaces with destructive consequences, such that “Those spaces that fail to exhibit a certain openness, a certain ability to allow for contradictory juxtapositioning, will fail as well to provide a renewal of imagination without which no sense of freedom can thrive. In other words, the conditions of freedom themselves are spatial.”103 This makes us think differently. Moreover, we need new spaces to disrupt us from complacency, inspiring us to think otherwise, as “another model or models is necessary to re-establish the creative space in which disciplinary practitioners can ask a different set of ‘what if’ questions”.104 What if the Church was an open space of freedom? What if the Church was inclusive? What if knowledge was shared? What if authority was renewed, reflecting fully the life of the faith community (i.e. synchronic) as well as the integrity of tradition (i.e. diachronic)? What if the faithful authorized leaders and leaders empowered the faithful? In other words, these questions embody the values of the open space of freedom triggering the imagination. But first, let me outline the issues here: First, the imagination is a catalyst for change, which encourages us to think otherwise. But the meaning of the English word imagination is ambiguous. It indicates two broad streams of thinking about imagination, which are inseparable. I am referring to these broadly as responsive (cf. reproductive) and creative (cf. productive) senses of the imagination,105 which have their unity in consciousness, with perceptual and cognitive dimensions, as well as “bodily and placial aspects” that cannot be compartmentalized.106 For Casey, the imagination is a mental act in its own right. Its freedom and autonomy is ours.107 However, years later he acknowledges that, without diminishing the imagination, he may have originally overstated these distinctions (in the first edition of his book).108 Second, Foucault addresses the concept of imagination explicitly in his archaeological period. He does not deal with it explicitly in the remaining two periods. As such, the focus on the imagination in this book will shift from Foucault to Rahner, as it is a central concept in Rahner. Moreover, there are fundamental theological issues that have to be addressed, especially in relation to an anthropology, which theologically grounds the four catalysts of critique, space, imagination and wisdom. Third, the concept of the imagination is pivotal in Rahner. It is inherently linked to his transcendental anthropology, such that the responsive and creative

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dimensions of the imagination are embodied by a person, as well as grounded in the incomprehensible mystery of God. In other words, in being receptive to the material world (i.e. the responsive) the actualized human being moves out into the world in freedom, for the sake of others (i.e. the creative). Fourth, in Foucault, the focus is on an ontology of history, which conceptually does not require the infinite. In Rahner, the focus is on a metaphysics of knowledge, which conceptually depends on the infinite. However, there are similarities between Foucault and Rahner (Chapter 2), for instance: truth is discerned in history; the space/sphere of freedom, and freedom for others/ neighbours. Beaudoin describes their relationship as “asymptotic”.109 Certainly, Foucault is the primary conversation partner in this book. However, the concepts of critical awareness, freedom, and the imagination find a theological unity in Rahner’s anthropology. In other words, the book’s program for ecclesial culture change, finds its grounding in the incomprehensible mystery of God, which is expressed intrinsically in human bodies, faith communities, and the world. So what about the imagination? It is important to elaborate on the concept of the imagination. To begin, the imagination cannot be summoned from nowhere “like a deus ex machina”.110 To that end, I want to reflect further on the meaning of the concept imagination. It is complex. There is a debate about its meaning, but there is agreement that it has a role in opening up possibilities. As such, the imagination can initiate the creation of new images and practices. In the present case, the problem of sovereign power requires a substantial change in ecclesial culture. Nonetheless, this is not about an unrealistic search for an ecclesiological solution, instead it is about the realistic development of a set of catalysts for change, which are generated by the dynamic interaction of critical awareness, new space, and the imagination, and shared wisdom (Chapter 7). But what is the imagination? To reiterate, the English word imagination is ambiguous. The ambiguity is twofold.111 The first nuance stems from an obscure Latin word imaginatio (portrait; cf. eidolon), which is associated with description or reproduction. The second nuance stems from a Greek word phantasia (cf. doxa), which is associated with creativity or production. Although not a direct line, something of these nuances can be seen emerging in the contemporary debate surrounding the concept of imagination. In order to proceed, I am going to refer these two streams broadly as the responsive, and the creative versions of imagination. With this in mind, I will now focus on the imagination in Foucault and then Rahner, drawing on other sources as required. Foucault’s explicit work on the imagination belongs primarily to the archaeological period of his work; though the effects of the imagination are implicitly present throughout his career. Certainly, he explores the perceptual aspect of the imagination in his works on art. Regarding Manet, for example, Foucault concludes “The gazes are there to indicate to us there is something there to see, something that is by definition, and by the very nature of the canvas, necessarily invisible.”112 But his introduction to Binswanger’s Dream and Existence contains some significant themes.113 It is nearly twice the length of the piece it was

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introducing, and acts as a platform for Foucault to explore, among other things, the imagination.114 In the introduction then, the imagination plays a role in actualizing freedom. Its referent, however, is not an external object but the dream. The dream gives birth to the inherent possibilities of existence, and so “the analysis of dreams is decisive for bringing to light the fundamental meanings of existence”.115 This is all part of the development of “an anthropology of the imagination” which is grounded in ontology.116 In contrast to Kant, “Thus is the transition effected from anthropology to ontology, confirming that this is not an a priori division, but a concrete movement of reflection. It is existence itself indicating, in the fundamental direction of the imagination, its own ontological foundation.”117 In learning to dream, the imagination breaks “with the fascination of images” and rediscovers its path of freedom.118 On the one hand, then, the imagination is iconoclastic. In its dynamic outward movement, it destroys images. In this context, the imagination is “a waking dream”, which is on the verge of being actualized.119 The images, however, prevent the dream from being realized. On the other hand, the imagination, in its dynamic movement is aided by images, finding expression in the world in ethical and creative activity. After writing his introduction to Binswanger’s book, Foucault does not develop the concept of the imagination further. Certainly, Foucault’s body of work, with its diversity and creativity, could be characterized broadly as “an act of imagination, analysis, and commitment”.120 Foucault refers to the imagination frequently like “the force of imagination”,121 “the power of the imagination”122 and “the great reservoir of imagination”.123 Moreover, he consistently links, at least implicitly, space and imagination, which is evident in the concept of the heterotopic imagination. But overall, the imagination is not an overt feature of his work. In contrast, and using Foucault’s phrase, Rahner’s work could be described as “an anthropology of the imagination”. The imagination is crucial. Comparatively, it has been neglected a theme in theology, with the exception of theological aesthetics.124 However, Rahner is a theologian of the imagination. In the present context, this is not to imply that Foucault got it wrong. On the contrary, Foucault’s intuitions are insightful, like his preliminary linking of space, imagination and freedom. And I want to build on this. But for Rahner, the imagination is central. Moreover, as Rahner’s concept of the imagination is grounded in the infinite, it has much to offer key concepts in this book, to wit, the need for critique, space, imagination, wisdom, and the anticipation of freedom. Consequently, Rahner’s work on the imagination is an important complement to Foucault’s work on the space of freedom and the heterotopic imagination. Previously, I mentioned similarities between Foucault and Rahner. Asymptotic similarities perhaps, but similar nonetheless.125 So, how do they compare in this context? Foucault and Rahner have a shared ethical interest, consisting of a commitment to freedom and care of the other (neighbour). Both of them were also interested in a spatial approach. Nevertheless, there is something about Foucault’s eye for historical detail, and sensitivity to its fractures and disruptions, which grounds

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Rahner’s more idealistic conception of space. Further, both of them were influenced by Heidegger.126 With Foucault, this is reflected in his ontology of history, which is bound to finitude. It is an ontology of history, articulated within the limits of history. Moreover, important and substantial truths can be excavated (which may manifest some universal ethical qualities; Chapter 2). With Rahner, it is a metaphysics of knowledge that shapes his anthropology, which is grounded in the infinite. The difference between the two can be seen clearly in relation to the body. The body figures prominently in the work of both scholars. In Foucault, there is an ontology of the body. As such, he reclaims and proclaims the inherent dignity of what it means to be an embodied person; opening up and celebrating a multiplicity of subjectivities. Certainly, there are traces of what could be loosely described as an apophatic spiritualty here. In fact, in places, Foucault’s description of the relation of soul to body has an Aristotelian, if not Thomistic, feel (cf. formal/material).127 Nonetheless, for Foucault, the body is the locus of personhood. In Rahner, the body is central too, and it is valued. But ultimately, the Rahnerian body is constituted by God: “Rahner differs from Heidegger at this point. The philosophical possibility that the absolute, or the infinite, could appear within the metaphysical field need not be foreclosed. As far as Rahner is concerned, the infinite finds its way into metaphysics, by way of an unthematic anticipation (Vorgriff) of being, ‘prior’ to a specific encounter with a being.”128 It is a transcendent ontology of the human being, where significantly, “the imagination is the a priori possibility for the finite knower’s possibility of transcendence”.129 Rahner’s concept of the imagination is fundamental to his metaphysics of knowledge. It is a reminder that knowing is dependent on the incomprehensible mystery.130 His concept is partly influenced by Kant (via Heidegger). In Kant, the imagination is important, having an intermediate status between sensibility and understanding. As such, the imagination is productive.131 Heidegger, however, argued that Kant’s work presumed a pre-metaphysical unity.132 Rahner explored this unity relying on Heidegger’s construal of Kant, and with the help of Aquinas.133 For Rahner, Aquinas is foundational for his work on the imagination. Using Aquinas, Rahner argues that it is not so much that we see and understand God, but rather, we are constituted by God such that seeing and understanding are expressions of grace as “God is grasped not in his character as the ground of the objects of our perception but in his character as the ground of us who are the subjects of perception.”134 In Hearer of the Word, everything rests on this a priori capacity,135 which is the anthropological presumption linking us to God and the world. For Rahner, then, the gap between subject and object is real, but secondary to their ontological unity in God. In specific terms, his metaphysics of knowledge can be described as a response to the presence of an object, wherein there is a dynamic meeting of images in the mind.136 In that context, the imagination is central137 because it creates the sensible species, which arise in response to the presence of an object.

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The sensible species (phantasms) express the essence of objects (quiddity). In contrast, the intelligible species are images of a metaphysical type.138 Moreover, the relationship between the intelligible and sensible species can be construed in material-formal terms. Loosely, the intelligible species give form to the sensible.139 As such, transcendence is access to universal forms and, by virtue of this access, it is participation in universal being. As such, the imagination is the anticipation of freedom.140 In other words, the imagination is grounded in theological anthropology. Building on Rahner’s contribution, the imagination triggers new thinking and new ideas, in so doing it changes the constellation of seminal ideas. In other words, changing the space, elicits the imagination, renews thinking, and opens up new possibilities. The renewing capacity of the imagination has been taken up variously by Brueggemann and his work on the prophetic imagination, “The prophet is engaged in a battle for language, in an effort to create a different epistemology out of which another community might emerge.”141 Schneider’s paschal imagination is an important contribution.142 Likewise, Kwok Pui Lan pioneered work historical, dialogical, and diasporic interpretations of imagination.143 Lastly, for Schüssler Fiorenza, the imagination is part of the life and work of Wisdom.144 As such, she develops “a hermeneutics of creative imagination”.145 To imagine, however, people have to experience a space of freedom, as “Wo/men who have not experienced radical egalitarian love cannot imagine it.”146 The imagination, which is part God’s intrinsic gift to humanity, is vital: “In the life of the imagination human beings experience themselves as simultaneously creative and dependent. Not without reason do we speak of ‘unexpected flights’ of the imagination: these cannot be induced by force. Only in a state of relaxation do images begin to ‘flood’ the imagination. Imagination and freedom thus go together.”147 Epistemologically, the imagination has an important role as a source of new wisdom.148 Theologically, God can speak to us through “the inspirations of the imagination”.149 The key here is attention.150 In particular, “a preattentive turning”.151 This is not a contrivance, nor simply a gesture of the will, but rather like Rahner’s pre-anticipation, it is a precursor to action. In other words, it is “a matter of a total attitude that has its basis in feeling and thus in an anticipation of the whole of the individual’s own life”.152 It can lead to reflection and action, “The power of imagination is thus in fact the vital element at work in freedom as the latter takes concrete form” (italics added).153 As Hengehold argues for the political imagination, in the ecclesial imagination “bodies that are neither totally governed by the imagination of others nor afraid of their own capacity to introduce disorder discover unexpected capacities for action”.154 In that sense, the imagination is deeply spiritual and profoundly transformative. In conclusion, the potential for using a heterotopic imagination is partly realized by considering Foucault’s critics. Historically, the concept of heterotopia has been interpreted variously as a space of resistance, however, Hetherington sees heterotopia as spaces of social ordering.155 The significance of the conflicting views partly depends upon how resistance is defined. Theoretically, resistance

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could take the form of reordering society or challenging the ground of knowledge.156 Consider the following comparison. On the one hand, Hetherington defines heterotopia as “spaces that through their relationship to other spaces, represent modes of alternate social ordering that have come to be taken as some of the conditions of modernity. The social ordering to be found in each of these spaces is itself the effect of utopics, that spatial play that exists when agents try to turn a no-place into a good place.”157 On the other hand, Topinka considers that “shifting the focus from resistance to order and knowledge production reveals how heterotopias make the spatiality of order legible. By juxtaposing and combining many spaces in one site, heterotopias problematize received knowledge by destabilizing the ground on which knowledge is built.”158 Moreover, the alternate readings of heterotopia are not mutually exclusive. In terms of the Church’s vocation, there is a time for social reordering (Rom 13) and a time for resistance (Rev 13). The main issue is that Church is called to live on the boundary, imaginatively in the world.

Imagining new spaces The imagination has limitations, but it has a certain autonomy,159 which generates new possibilities. As such, it seems reasonable to focus on this capacity for imagining, moving from noun to verb form, which is grounded in mystery and sparked by critique and the inauguration of new spaces. Opening up new ways of thinking and acting, the capacity for imagining plays a key role in translating critical awareness into practices of freedom.160 Imagination is “the way we engage with the world”.161 Imagining, in terms of theological anthropology, epitomizes human creativity that is grounded in the incomprehensible mystery. As God is constitutive of who we are, imagining expresses our deep connection with God and the world. Nonetheless, having explored the imagination, it is important to return to the overall argument and the concept of space, in order to place the gift of imagining into wider context. In order to address the problem of sovereign power, church culture needs to change. In response, I am arguing that critical awareness, new spaces, the imagination, and shared wisdom all play catalytic roles in our ecclesial chemistry. In particular, critical awareness invites us to think otherwise, eliciting new questions, as we face difficult truths. In fact, questioning is an integral part of what it means to be human, where we open up the possibility of realizing our true selves in God and the world.162 As such, this is a prophetic and paschal imagination, which is based on the ministry of Jesus and his friends from Galilee. But what about the space of freedom? In many ways, just as Foucault provides conceptual insights into a spatial approach, Rahner expresses the theological spirit of the Christian space of freedom. In particular, space comes alive symbolically in a place at a particular time.163 And as such, it is a Foucauldian space of “possible transformation”.164 The book has brought Foucault’s spatial practice together with the Church’s spatial heritage (ekklesia). In this light, the Church has been called to be a

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certain space, which is an open space of freedom (Gal 5:13). In terms of ekklesia, the ethos of the new space is encapsulated in Gal 3:28. This is not church as empire, but ekklesia the democratic space. There are no sovereign exceptions here, but an open faith community, which means the Church is open to the wisdom of others. This includes the subjugated knowledges of others who live both within and without the Church (even the barbarians). This has epistemological as well as ethical implications (Chapter 7). Sovereign power diminishes the life of the Church. Epistemic hubris, with all of its trappings, harms others, spiritually, emotionally, and physically.165 As such, it is characterized by a lack of feeling for the plight of others (cf. child abuse).166 So the concept of subject formation is critical here in terms of changing ecclesial culture. That is, leaders and followers have been shaped (socialized) in a way that fosters destructive norms and behaviours, which have to be unlearned, for the Church to outgrow a culture of dominance and compliance (i.e. pastorate).167 Ironically, others play a role in this. Otherness is an integral part of the Christian ethos. In other words, Christianity welcomes the other and the other is constitutive of the character of Christianity. This is articulated powerfully in the Passion narrative, where the crucifixion is the definitive symbol of the rejection and redemption of the other.168 In this light, the empty tomb is a remarkable heterotopic space.169 It cannot be classified, because “the textualisations of the empty tomb are ambiguous insofar as they leave open what actually happened to the body of Jesus. Their narrative valorizes a compassionate practice of honoring those unjustly killed. It celebrates women as faithful witnesses who do not relinquish their commitment and solidarity with those who fall victim in the struggle against dehumanizing powers. Most importantly, it affirms that Jesus’ struggle did not end with the execution and death. The tomb is empty!”170 Moreover, “the rhetorical space of the empty tomb as an ambiguous open space” prefigures hope for the other. All of the Gospel accounts give voice to divine disruption. As such, the old ways of sovereign power are revoked. The concept of territory, for example, which is a substantial measure of divine right thinking, hinges on the relationship between place and power.171 There is an element of desire here,172 surfacing in language like it is my decision. In contrast, the open space of freedom is a discipleship of equals. The Jesus story then is a spatial story, which undermines sovereignty. As such, new ecclesial spaces are inherently disruptive, provocative, prophetic, and paschal spaces. They have social and spiritual impact, constituting both an expression of freedom and a form of resistance. These ambiguous spaces, imperfectly but evocatively prefigure the identity of the contemporary church as a space of freedom. With a Rahnerian nuance, Foucault’s heterotopic imagination and spatial praxis have provided a way to augment the reconfiguration of the Church. Indubitably, the Church is a human institution, but it aspires to be different (“a heterotopia of deviation”).173 It is different, partly because of its utopic aspirations. This is its vocation. Its telos of freedom, which turns its gaze back to the world, here and now. This means the Church is called to be a new space for others, brokering new forms of social order,

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challenging the ground of knowledge and the power of normalization, in the name of the other, and the one who died for others. In conclusion, critical awareness raises questions, cultivating new ways of being church. In this case, it is centred on the concept of the Church as an open space of freedom. This space elicits the work of the imagination, which works at various levels, cognitive and perceptual, personal and communal. In a bleak sovereign place, for example, the image of an open space of freedom, can change thinking and precipitate new praxis.174 In other words, the imagination plays a role in translating critical awareness into new practices of freedom. This is a prophetic imagination, based on the ministry of Jesus and his friends from Galilee, which is interpreted heterotopically, where the idea of a heterotopic imagination helps the articulation of a contemporary understanding of the Christian vocation (John 17: 14–16). As such, I am using the term prophetic imagination as an umbrella term encompassing key ideas,175 including heterotopic and paschal interpretations of the disruptive ministry of Jesus. Like the heterotopia, the impact of Jesus “provides a rich imaginary space: a provocation”.176 The main premise here is that changing the primary model of the Church to the new space evokes the imagination, heralding the possibility of freedom. In the process, it changes processes, with transparency replacing secrecy. It changes discursive practices, with a plurality of discourses replacing the tyranny of unitary discourse. It changes non-discursive practices, with an ethos of inclusion replacing mechanisms of exclusion. As such, power is shared. We are no longer docile bodies, but empowered communities. Others are welcomed, multiple subjectivities honoured and new wisdom cherished. In the process, authority has a restored foundation: with both the synchronic (communal) and the diachronic (apostolic) dimensions reunited. Consequently, we authorize leaders to lead, invoking God’s blessing, recognizing their place in a living tradition. With nothing but good will, we endorse our leaders as guardians of the tradition. But what about this shared wisdom? In fact, wisdom, and the wisdom of the other, is indispensable to the renewal of the Church and its authority.

Notes 1 Karl Rahner, Spirit in the World, William Dych trans. (New York: Continuum, 1957, 1968), 53, and “the possibility of metaphysics on the basis of the imagination”. 2 Jürgen Moltmann, God in Creation: A New Theology of Creation and the Spirit of God (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1985, 1991, 1993), 140. Sallie McFague, The Body of God: An Ecological Theology (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1993), 180. “Christian theology has not traditionally been concern with or interested in spatial matters.” 3 Martin Heidegger, “Building Dwelling Thinking”, in Poetry, Language, Thought, Albert Hofstadter trans. (New York: Harper, 1971, 1975, 2001), 153. 4 Gaston Bachelard, The Poetics of Space, Maria Jolas trans. (Boston, MA: Beacon Press, 1958, 1964, 1994), 47. 5 Henri Lefebvre, The Production of Space, Donald Nicholson-Smith trans. (Malden: Blackwell, 1974, 1984, 1991), 12.

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6 Ibid., 39–40. 7 Philip Sheldrake, Spaces for the Sacred: Place, Memory, and Identity (Baltimore, MD: John Hopkins University Press, 2001), 1. “Place is space that has the capacity to be remembered and to evoke what is most precious.” 8 John Inge, A Christian Theology of Place (Farnham, Burlington: Ashgate, 2003). I have not included this work on place to keep the survey brief, but also because his emphasis is clearly on place. From the outset, he presumes place has priority over space (1, “more abstract than”). 9 Paul Tillich, Systematic Theology I (London: SCM Press, 1951, 1978), 195. 10 Paul Tillich, “Dwelling, Space, and Time”, in On Art and Architecture, Jane Dillenberger and John Dillenberger eds. (New York: Crossroad, 1987), 82. 11 Ibid. 12 Paul Tillich, On the Boundary: An Autobiographical Sketch (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1936, 1964), 93; many of the Tillich’s themes have a spatial element, like the notion of the homeland. 13 Paul Tillich, “The struggle between time and space”, in Theology of Culture, Robert C. Kimball ed. (London: Oxford University Press, 1959), 30. 14 Tillich, “The struggle”, 32. 15 Ibid., 32–33. 16 Ibid., 33. 17 Paul Tillich, Systematic Theology III (London: SCM Press, 1963, 1978), 320. “Space in the historical dimension stands under the predominance of time.” 18 Tillich, ST I, 194. Cf. Elizabeth Grosz “Significant differences: An Interview with Elizabeth Grosz”, Interstitial Journal (2013), www.interstitialjournal.com, 2–3 “that every specific space, and perhaps space in general, has a history, has undergone changes, is inhabited by events that transform it”. 19 Tillich, ST III, 320. 20 Kyle A. Pasewark, A Theology of Power: Being Beyond Domination (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1993); his book was written prior to the publication of the College De France lectures, and the improved translation of the History of Madness (2006). It does not address the issue of ecclesiology directly, and has a limited understanding of Foucault’s view of history (47). 21 Thomas F. Torrance, Space, Time and Incarnation (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1969, 1997), v; in the 1969 preface, but reiterated in the 1997 preface. 22 Ibid., vi, vii. 23 Ibid., v. 24 Ibid., 4. 25 Augustine, The Confessions, 2nd ed., John E. Rotelle ed., Maria Boulding trans. (New York: New York City Press, 1997, 2012), Bk XIII, (31.46), Bk VII, 1, 159. Torrance’s line of argument is supported by Augustine, in that Augustine, who was interested in what we would call both space (spatium) and place (locus), did not see space as receptacle, but as extension “for though such a place would be a nothingness, it would still have the quality of space”. 26 Torrance, Space, 11. 27 Ibid., 11–12; cf. 60–61. 28 Ibid., 24. 29 McFague, The Body, 259 n 22. “One of the few instances of serious attention to the notion of space by a Christian theologian is [an] interesting treatment by Jürgen Moltmann in God in Creation.” 30 Moltmann, Creation, 147, e.g. geometric and ontological conceptions of space. 31 Ibid., 140. 32 Ibid., 142. 33 Jürgen Moltmann, The Spirit of Life: A Universal Affirmation, Margaret Kohl trans. (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1991, 1992, 2001), 40–43.

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34 Jürgen Moltmann, Ethics of Hope, Margaret Kohl trans. (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2010, 2012), 49. 35 Ibid., 36, 101, cf. 149 “the living space of the earth provides for its living things”. 36 Ibid., 59. 37 Ibid., 161, 210. 38 McFague, The Body, ix, 21, 28, 39. 39 Ibid., 128. 40 Sallie McFague, Super, Natural Christians: How Should We Love Nature (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1997), 149, 161, 162. 41 Sallie McFague, Life Abundant: Rethinking Theology and Economy for a Planet in Peril (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2001), 46–49. 42 Catherine Keller, Face of the Deep: A Theology of Becoming (London, New York: Routledge, 2003), 5. 43 Ibid., 18. 44 Catherine Keller, Cloud of the Impossible: Negative Theology and Planetary Entanglement (New York: Columbia University Press, 2015), 49. 45 Rahner, Sacraments, 15. 46 Karl Rahner, Foundations of Christian Faith: An Introduction to the Idea of Christianity, William V. Dych trans. (New York: Crossroad, 1976, 1978), 95. 47 Tillich, ST I, 194, “Thus in all realms of life striving for space is an ontological necessity.” 48 Torrance, Space, 11–12. Torrance lacks Rahner’s anthropological frame, but arrives at a similar conclusion, “for in His own transcendent way God is everywhere and in all things. It follows from this that space and time, and indeed all the structured relations within the universe, have to be understood dynamically, through reference to the creative and all-embracing power and activity of God.” 49 Karl Rahner, Hearer of the Word: Laying the Foundation for a Philosophy of Religion, Andrew Tallon ed., Joseph Donceel trans. (New York: Continuum, 1941, 1994), 112. 50 Kenan B. Osborne, Christian Sacraments in a Postmodern World: A Theology for the Third Millennium (New York: Paulist Press, 1999), 68; the world is a sacramental place or a “possible place of sacramentality”. 51 Michel Foucault, “Critical theory/Intellectual history”, in PPC, 336. 52 Karl Rahner, “Origins of freedom”, in Grace in Freedom, Hilda Graef trans. (New York: Herder and Herder, 1969). 53 Heidegger, Building, 152. 54 Rahner, “Origins”, 237. 55 Ibid., 236. 56 Osborne, Sacraments, 140; “human perception and response, though secondary, remain an integral ingredient of a sacramental event”. 57 Stuart Elden, “Space” in The Cambridge Foucault Lexicon, Leonard Lawlor and John Nale eds. (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2014), 467. Foucault “appears to be fairly indiscriminate in his use of geographical vocabulary, using terms such as place, lieu, espace, and emplacement in what might appear to be a fairly loose way”. But Foucault himself (below) recognizes how the meaning of these words change. 58 Sandra M. Schneiders, “Paschal imagination”, Theological Studies, 43 (March 1982): 65, “I suggest that what I like to call ‘the paschal, or Christian, imagination’ is precisely the concrete effect on the whole cognitive-affective capacity of the person under the influence of the Spirit of Jesus which enables the person to grasp the paschal wholeness and character of the Jesus event and thus enter into an existential participation on the mystery of Christ.” 59 Gilles Deleuze, Foucault (Minneapolis, London: University of Minnesota Press, 1988), 50. “Foucault never stopped being a voyant.”

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60 Michel Foucault, HM, 80–84, the space of confinement; DP 143, 145, “the disciplinary space”. 61 Stuart Elden, Mapping the Present: Heidegger, Foucault and the Project of a Spatial History (London, New York: Continuum, 2001), 6. “Re-reading Discipline and Punish within this wider project allows us to see that the model for the disciplinary society is not punishment, as is usually thought, but the interrelation of a number of mechanisms, notably those of the army and medicine. Such a reading enables us to shift the emphasis of spatial analysis away from the Panopticon, and to recognize the importance of space in a number of other areas.” 62 Michel Foucault, OT, xxi-xxii; cf. AK, 32; “the problem arises of knowing whether the unity of a discourse is based not so much on the permanence and uniqueness of an object as on the space in which various objects emerge and are continuously transformed”. 63 Michel Foucault, “The language of space”, in Space, Knowledge and Power: Foucault and Geography, Jeremy W. Crampton and Stuart Elden eds., Gerald Moore trans. (Farnham, Burlington: Ashgate, 2007), 163. 64 Michel Foucault, “Questions on geography”, in P/K, 63. 65 Ibid., 77. 66 Ibid., 67. 67 Ibid., 68. 68 Ibid. 69 Michel Foucault, “Space, knowledge, and power” in EW3, 361. 70 Ibid., 352–353; “a new aspect of the relations of space and power was the railroads”. 71 Ibid., 354. 72 Ibid., 356. 73 Robert J. Topinka. “Foucault, Borges, Heterotopia: Producing Knowledge in Other Spaces”, Foucault Studies 9 (September 2010): 56; “the term heterotopia comes from medicine, where it refers to the displacement of an organ or part of the body from its normal position”. 74 Michel Foucault, “Different spaces”, in EW2, 175–176. 75 Ibid., 176. 76 Ibid. 77 Ibid. 78 Ibid., 177. 79 CRFD, 331, emplacement can also mean place or location. 80 Foucault, “Different spaces”, 177; cf. 178, space outside is a “heterogeneous space in itself”. 81 Ibid., 178. 82 Ibid. 83 Hetherington, 54 “Utopia have never been simply about freedom but rather new types of perceived freedom produced through new types of social ordering”. 84 Foucault, “Different spaces”, 178. 85 Ibid., 178. 86 Michel Foucault, OT, xix. Cf. Peter Johnson, “Unravelling Foucault’s ‘different spaces’”, History of the Human Sciences, 19, no. 4 (2006): 75; in Foucault, there are “textual spaces” and “social spaces”. 87 Johnson, “Unravelling”, 81. Foucault’s account of heterotopia “however playfully presented, remains briefly sketched, provisional and at times confusing”. 88 Foucault, “Different spaces”, 185. “The sailing vessel is the heterotopia par excellence.” 89 Ibid., 179–180; his distinction between crisis heterotopias and heterotopias of deviation makes sense. But what we have here is brief, underlining the fact that he does not develop in detail the concept of heterotopia.

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90 Peter Johnson, “History of the concept of heterotopia”, Heterotopian Studies (2012) http://www.heteropiastudies.com, 3. 91 Foucault, “Different spaces”, 181. 92 Ibid., 182. 93 Ibid., 183. 94 Ibid., 180. 95 Johanna Oksala, Foucault on Freedom (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 175, “Normative ideals such as freedom, equality and justice articulate Utopian possibilities and give imaginations a concrete form that can be communicated and shared as a common political ideal and goal” (italics added). 96 Johnson, “Unravelling”, 81. 97 Walter Brueggeman, The Prophetic Imagination, 2nd ed. (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2001), 59. 98 Sandra M. Schnieders, The Revelatory Text: Interpreting the New Testament as Sacred Scripture (San Francisco: Harper, 1991), 102. 99 Linda M. Alcoff, “Foucault’s normative epistemology”, in A Companion to Foucault, Christopher Falzon, Timothy O’Leary, and Jana Sawicki eds. (Oxford: Blackwell, 2013), 101. 100 Sandra M. Schneiders, Women and the Word: The Gender of God in the New Testament and the Spirituality of Women (Mahwah: Paulist Press, 1986), 19. 101 Jesus was inspired by the love of others (Mk 14:9, “wherever the good news is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will be told in remembrance of her”). 102 Doreen Massey, For Space (London: Sage, 2005), 11. 103 Thomas L. Dumm, Michel Foucault and the Politics of Freedom, new ed. (Lanham: Rowman and Littlefield, 1995, 2002), 38. 104 Lucy Tatman, Knowledge that Matters: A Feminist Theological Paradigm and Epistemology (New York: Sheffield Academic Press, 2001), 38. 105 Richard Kearney, The Wake of the Imagination: Toward a Postmodern Culture (London: Routledge, 1988), 15. 106 Edward S. Casey, Imagining: A Phenomenological Study, 2nd ed. (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1976, 2000), xi. 107 Ibid., 233. 108 Ibid., xii. 109 Thomas M. Beaudoin, “Engaging Foucault with Rahner: Sketching an Asymptotic Relationship”, Philosophy & Theology 20, no. 1–2 (2008): 324. “Thus an asymptotic quality of the relationship between Rahnerian subjectivity-within-mystery and Foucauldian self-against-subjectivization emerges into view: both offer strategies for resisting totalitarianisms of the self (for Rahner, by attention to transcendental experience; for Foucault, by displacing subjectivization through the disciplines of historical thinking).” 110 Sharon R. Krause, Freedom Beyond Sovereignty: Reconstructing Liberal Individualism (Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 2015), 100. 111 “Imagination”, in Dictionary of Untranslatables: A Philosophical Lexicon, Barbara Cassin ed., Steven Rendall, Christian Hubert, Jeffery Mehlman, Nathaneal Stein, Michael Syrotinksi trans. (Princeton, Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2004, 2014), 479. 112 Michel Foucault, Manet and the Object of Painting, Matthew Barr trans. (London: Tate Publishing, 2009), 55. Cf. Foucault’s early work on madness (cf. HM), implicitly raises questions about reason (cognitive), unreason, and the imagination. 113 Michel Foucault, “Introduction (Dreams, imagination and existence)”, in Michel Foucault and Ludwig Binswanger, Dream and Existence, Keith Hoeller ed., Forrest Williams trans. (Humanities Press, 1993). 114 James W. Bernauer, Michel Foucault’s Force of Flight: Toward an Ethics for Thought (New York: Humanity Books, 1990), 28. “Foucault’s lengthy introduction

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118 119 120 121 122 123 124

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to the first French translation of Ludwig Binswanger’s ‘Dream and Existence’ is neither a presentation of the Swiss psychiatrist’s thought as a whole nor a strict commentary on the essay itself. While Foucault’s intention is ‘only to write in the margin’ of the article, his essay is far from marginal in specifying the level on which his anthropological thinking wishes to move.” Ibid., 59–60. Foucault’s own spatial interest emerges here as an interplay between “dream space” and “lived space”. Ibid., 33, 56. Ibid., 66. Cf. Martin Heidegger, Kant and the Problem of Metaphysics, 5th ed., Richard Taft trans. (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1990, 1997), 170. Heidegger challenges the idea of “an a priori division” in Kant, with his idea of a fundamental ontology. Foucault, “Dreams”, 75. Gary Gutting, Michel Foucault’s Archaeology of Scientific Reason (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), 61–63. Hubert L. Dreyfus and Paul Rabinow, Michel Foucault: Beyond Structuralism and Hermeneutics, 2nd ed., Michel Foucault, “Afterword” (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1982, 1983), 253. Michel Foucault, “Afterword to the temptation of St Anthony”, in EW2, 119. Foucault, AK, 181. Foucault “Different spaces”, 185, which he links with the importance of heterotopia. Paul Avis, God and the Creative Imagination: Metaphor, Symbol and Myth in Religion and Theology (London, New York: Routledge, 1999), 3; Richard Viladesau, Theological Aesthetics: God in Imagination, Beauty, and Art (Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press, 1999), 71. Thomas M. Beaudoin, “Engaging Foucault with Rahner: Sketching an Asymptotic Relationship”, Philosophy & Theology 20, no. 1–2 (2008): 324; “the relationship between Rahnerian subjectivity-within-mystery and Foucauldian self-against-subjectivization emerges into view”. John McSweeney, “Rahner in the mirror of poststructuralism: The practice of theology as the venture of thought”, Louvain Studies 29 (2004): 188, argues “there are sufficient parallels between the Rahnerian and poststructuralist conception and practice of thought, rooted in part perhaps in their common debt to Heidegger’s philosophical practice, that the former can be elucidated as a coherent practice in the light of the other”. Judith Butler, Bodies that Matter (London, New York: Routledge, 1993, 2011), 8–11, on the soul and the body in Aristotle and Foucault. Peter Joseph Fritz, Karl Rahner’s Theological Aesthetics (Washington DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2014), 18, cf. 52. “The Vorgriff is, then, the activity of the imagination.” Ibid., 46. Rahner, Spirit, 53. Immanuel Kant, Critique of Pure Reason, Vasilis Politis ed. (London: Everyman, 1934, 1993), 110. Heidegger, Kant, 2. Fritz, Aesthetics, 25. Eric L. Mascall, The Openness of Being: Natural Theology Today (London: Darton, Longman and Todd, 1971), 72. Rahner, Hearer, 41. Steven G. Ogden, The Presence of God in the World: A Contribution to Postmodern Christology based on the Theologies of Paul Tillich and Karl Rahner (Bern: Peter Lang, 2007), 158–170. Rahner, Spirit, 104.

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138 139 140 141 142

Ibid, 141. Ibid., 318–319. Fritz, Aesthetics, 74. Brueggeman, Prophetic, 55. Schneiders, “Paschal imagination”, 65; “‘the paschal, or Christian, imagination’ is precisely the concrete effect on the whole cognitive-affective capacity of the person under the influence of the Spirit of Jesus”. Kwok Pui-Lan, Postcolonial Imagination and Feminist Theology (London: SCM Press, 2005), 29ff. Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza, Changing Horizons: Explorations in Feminist Interpretation (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2013), 165. Ibid., 283. Ibid. Wolfhart Pannenberg, Anthropology in Theological Perspective, Matthew J. O’Connell trans. (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1985), 377. Lorraine Code, Rhetorical Spaces: Essays on Gendered Locations (London, New York: Routledge, 1995), 93; “to minimize or deny the role of imagination in knowledge production leads, again, to the barest caricature of a naïve empiricism”. Pannenberg, Anthropology, 381. Ibid., 380. Ibid., 382. Ibid., 381. Ibid. Laura Hengehold, The Body Problematic: Political Imagination in Kant and Foucault (University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2007), 12. Kevin Hetherington, The Badlands of Modernity: Heterotopia and Social Ordering (New York: Routledge, 1997); this is largely an historical approach focused on modernity. Topinka, Foucault, 56. Hetherington, Badlands, 139. Topinka, “Foucault”, 54. Topinka examines “Foucault’s notion of the heterotopia as it relates to order and knowledge production.” Ibid., 233. Mary Ann Zimmer, “Becoming immaculate: Images of oppression and imagination”, in She Who Imagines: Feminist Theological Aesthetics, Laurie Cassidy and Maureen H. O’Connell eds. (Minneapolis, MN: Liturgical Press, 2012), 186. “Images and the imagination also have a vital role in emancipation from cultural deformation.” Robert Cummings Neville, The Truth of Broken Symbols (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1996), 59. Rahner, Hearer, 45. Osborne, Sacraments, 68, the world is the “possible place of sacramentality”. Foucault, “Critical theory”, 36. Hans Küng, Disputed Truth: Memoirs, John Bowden trans. (London, New York: Continuum, 2007, 2008), 524. “I will continue to resist for the sake of the truth, to prize freedom, advance my research and fight: for a church which doesn’t regard itself as infallible and which in order to defend its stance often conceals the truth, makes mistakes, betrays. I will fight for a church which despite all possible errors bears witness to the truth of the gospel, open to honest debate of disputed questions and well prepared to enter into truthful dialogue with the various religions, philosophers and cultures.” Richard Kearney, Anatheism: Returning to God after God (New York: Columbia University Press, 2010), 42. “For empathy to become sympathy – that is, feeling with the other as though one was the other – an act of imagination is called for.”

143 144 145 146 147 148 149 150 151 152 153 154 155 156 157 158 159 160

161 162 163 164 165

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167 Krause, Freedom, 49, “that we are the kinds of beings who are capable of responding to norms is a crucial aspect of human agency”. 168 Foucault, AK, 175, “rupture is not an undifferentiated unity … it is always a discontinuity specified by a number of distinct transformations”. 169 Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza, “The cross as a central Christian symbol of injustice”, in Empowering Memory and Movement: Thinking and Working across Borders (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2014), 488. 170 Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza, Jesus: Miriam’s Child, Sophia’s Prophet: Critical Issues in Feminist Christology (New York: Continuum, 1994, 1995), 125–126. 171 Stuart Elden, The Birth of Territory (Chicago, London: University of Chicago Press, 2013), 6–7; “the term territory became the way used to describe a particular and historically limited set of practices and ideas about the relation between place and power”. 172 bell hooks, The Will to Change: Men, Masculinity, and Love (New York: Washington Square Press, 2004), 33. “To end patriarchy we must challenge both its psychological and its concrete manifestations in daily life.” 173 Foucault, “Different spaces”, 180. 174 Casey, Imagining, xvii. 175 Brueggeman, Prophetic, xiv, 3. 176 Johnson, “Unravelling”, 81.

Bibliography Alcoff, Linda M. “Foucault’s normative epistemology”. In A Companion to Foucault. Edited by Christopher Falzon, Timothy O’Leary, and Jana Sawicki, 207–225. Oxford: Blackwell, 2013. Augustine, The Confessions, 2nd ed. Edited by John E. Rotelle, translated by Maria Boulding. New York: New York City Press, 1997, 2012. Avis, Paul. God and the Creative Imagination: Metaphor, Symbol and Myth in Religion and Theology. London, New York: Routledge, 1999. Bachelard, Gaston. The Poetics of Space. Translated by Maria Jolas. Boston, MA: Beacon Press, 1958, 1964, 1994. Beaudoin, Tom M. “Engaging Foucault with Rahner: Sketching an Asymptotic Relationship”. Philosophy and Theology 20, no. 1–2 (2008): 307–329. Bernauer, James W. Michel Foucault’s Force of Flight: Toward an Ethics for Thought. New York: Humanity Books, 1990. Brueggeman, Walter. The Prophetic Imagination, 2nd ed. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2001. Butler, Judith. Bodies that Matter: On the Discursive Limits of “Sex”. London, New York: Routledge, 1993, 2011. Casey, Edward S. Imagining: A Phenomenological Study. 2nd ed. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1976, 2000. Cassin, Barbara. (ed.) “Imagination”, in Dictionary of Untranslatables: A Philosophical Lexicon. Translated by Steven Rendall, Christian Hubert, Jeffery Mehlman, Nathaneal Stein, Michael Syrotinksi, 479. Princeton, Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2004, 2014. Code, Lorraine. Rhetorical Spaces: Essays on Gendered Locations. London, New York: Routledge, 1995. Deleuze, Gilles. Foucault. Translated and edited by Seán Hand. Minneapolis, London: University of Minnesota Press, 1988.

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Dreyfus, Hubert L. and Rabinow, Paul. Michel Foucault: Beyond Structuralism and Hermeneutics, 2nd ed. Michel Foucault, “Afterword”. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1982, 1983. Dumm, Thomas L. Michel Foucault and the Politics of Freedom, new ed. Lanham: Rowman and Littlefield, 1995, 2002. Elden, Stuart. Mapping the Present: Heidegger, Foucault and the Project of a Spatial History. London, New York: Continuum, 2001. Elden, Stuart. The Birth of Territory. Chicago, London: University of Chicago Press, 2013. Elden, Stuart. “Space”. In The Cambridge Foucault Lexicon. Edited by Leonard Lawlor and John Nale, 466–471. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2014. Fiorenza, Elisabeth Schüssler. Jesus: Miriam’s Child, Sophia’s Prophet: Critical Issues in Feminist Christology. New York: Continuum, 1994, 1995. Fiorenza, Elisabeth Schüssler. Changing Horizons: Explorations in Feminist Interpretation. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2013. Fiorenza, Elisabeth Schüssler. “The cross as a central Christian symbol of injustice”. In Empowering Memory and Movement: Thinking and Working across Borders, 483–489. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2014. Foucault, Michel. History of Madness. Edited by Jean Khalfa, translated by Jonathan J. Murphy and Jean Khalfa. London, New York: Routledge, 1961, 1972, 2006, 2009. Foucault, Michel. The Order of Things: An Archaeology of the Human Sciences. Anonymous translation. London, New York: Routledge, 1966, 1970, 2002. Foucault, Michel. The Archaeology of Knowledge (and The Discourse on Language). Translated by Alan M. Sheridan Smith. New York: Vintage Books, 1969, 1971, 1972. Foucault, Michel. Power/Knowledge: Selected Interviews and Other Writings 1972–1977. Edited by Colin Gordon, translated by Colin Gordon, Leo Marshall, John Mepham, Kate Soper. New York: Vintage Books, 1972, 1975, 1976, 1977, 1980. Foucault, Michel. Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison. Translated by Alan Sheridan. New York: Vintage Books, 1975, 1978, 1995. Foucault, Michel. Politics, Philosophy, Culture: Interviews and Other Writings 1977– 1984. Edited by Lawrence D. Kritzman, translated by Alan Sheridan and others. London, New York: Routledge, 1988, 1990. Foucault, Michel. Power: Essential Works of Michel Foucault 1954–1984. Edited by James D. Faubion. New York: The New Press, 1994, 2000. Foucault, Michel. “Introduction (Dreams, imagination and existence)”. In Michel Foucault and Ludwig Binswanger, Dream and Existence. Edited by Keith Hoeller, translated by Forrest Williams. Humanities Press, 1993. Foucault, Michel. Aesthetics, Method, and Epistemology: Essential Works of Michel Foucault 1954–1984. Edited by James D. Faubion. New York: The New Press, 1994, 1998. Foucault, Michel. “The language of space”. In Space, Knowledge and Power: Foucault and Geography. Edited by Jeremy W. Crampton and Stuart Elden, translated by Gerald Moorem163–167. Farnham, Burlington: Ashgate, 2007. Foucault, Michel. Manet and the Object of Painting, Translated by Matthew Barr. London: Tate Publishing, 2009. Fritz, Peter Joseph. Karl Rahner’s Theological Aesthetics. Washington DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2014. Grosz, Elizabeth. “Significant differences: An Interview with Elizabeth Grosz”, Interstitial Journal (2013), www.interstitialjournal.com.

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Gutting, Gary. Michel Foucault’s Archaeology of Scientific Reason. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989. Heidegger, Martin. “Building Dwelling Thinking”. In Poetry, Language, Thought. Translated by Albert Hofstadter, 141–159. New York: Harper, 1971, 1975, 2001. Heidegger, Martin. Kant and the Problem of Metaphysics, 5th ed. Translated by Richard Taft. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1990, 1997. Hengehold, Laura. The Body Problematic: Political Imagination in Kant and Foucault. University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2007. Hetherington, Kevin. The Badlands of Modernity: Heterotopia and Social Ordering. New York: Routledge, 1997. hooks, bell. The Will to Change: Men, Masculinity, and Love. New York: Washington Square Press, 2004. Inge, John. A Christian Theology of Place. Farnham, Burlington: Ashgate, 2003. Johnson, Peter. “Unravelling Foucault’s ‘different spaces’”. History of the Human Sciences 19, no. 4, (2006): 75–90, http://dx.doi.org/10.1177/0952695106069669. Johnson, Peter, “History of the concept of heterotopia”. Heterotopian Studies (2012) http://www.heteropiastudies.com. Kant, Immanuel. Critique of Pure Reason. Edited by Vasilis Politis. London: Everyman, 1934, 1993. Kearney, Richard. The Wake of the Imagination: Toward a Postmodern Culture. London: Routledge, 1988. Kearney, Richard. Anatheism: Returning to God after God. New York: Columbia University Press, 2010. Keller, Catherine. Face of the Deep: A Theology of Becoming. London, New York: Routledge, 2003. Keller, Catherine. Cloud of the Impossible: Negative Theology and Planetary Entanglement. New York: Columbia University Press, 2015. Krause, Sharon R. Freedom beyond Sovereignty: Reconstructing Liberal Individualism. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 2015. Küng, Hans. Disputed Truth: Memoirs. Translated by John Bowden. London, New York: Continuum, 2007, 2008. Kwok, Pui-Lan. Postcolonial Imagination and Feminist Theology. London: SCM Press, 2005. Lefebvre, Henri. The Production of Space. Translated by Donald Nicholson-Smith. Malden: Blackwell, 1974, 1984, 1991. Mascall, Eric L. The Openness of Being: Natural Theology Today. London: Darton, Longman and Todd, 1971. Massey, Doreen. For Space. London: Sage, 2005. McFague, Sallie. The Body of God: An Ecological Theology. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1993. McFague, Sallie. Super, Natural Christians: How Should We Love Nature. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1997. McFague, Sallie. Life Abundant: Rethinking Theology and Economy for a Planet in Peril. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2001. McSweeney, John. “Rahner in the mirror of poststructuralism: The practice of theology as the venture of thought”. Louvain Studies 29 (2004): 187–208. Moltmann, Jürgen. God in Creation: A New Theology of Creation and the Spirit of God. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1985, 1991, 1993. Moltmann, Jürgen. The Spirit of Life: A Universal Affirmation. Translated by Margaret Kohl. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1991, 1992, 2001.

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Moltmann, Jürgen. Ethics of Hope. Translated by Margaret Kohl. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2010, 2012. Neville, Cummings Robert. The Truth of Broken Symbols. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1996. Ogden, Steven G. The Presence of God in the World: A Contribution to Postmodern Christology based on the Theologies of Paul Tillich and Karl Rahner. Bern: Peter Lang, 2007. Oksala, Johanna. Foucault on Freedom. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005. Osborne, Kenan B. Christian Sacraments in a Postmodern World: A Theology for the Third Millennium. New York: Paulist Press, 1999. Pannenberg, Wolfhart. Anthropology in Theological Perspective. Translated by Matthew J. O’Connell. Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1985. Pasewark, Kyle A. A Theology of Power: Being Beyond Domination. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1993. Rahner, Karl. Hearer of the Word: Laying the Foundation for a Philosophy of Religion. Edited by Andrew Tallon, translated by Joseph Donceel. New York: Continuum, 1941, 1994. Rahner, Karl. Spirit in the World. Translated by William Dych. New York: Continuum, 1957, 1968. Rahner, Karl. The Church and the Sacraments. Translated by W. J. O’Hara. London: Burns and Oates, 1963, 1974. Rahner, Karl. “Origins of freedom”. In Grace in Freedom. Translated by Hilda Graef, 226–247. New York: Herder and Herder, 1969. Rahner, Karl. Foundations of Christian Faith: An Introduction to the Idea of Christianity. Translated by William V. Dych. New York: Crossroad, 1976, 1978. Schneiders, Sandra M. “Paschal imagination”. Theological Studies 43 (1982): 52–68. Schneiders, Sandra M. Women and the Word: The Gender of God in the New Testament and the Spirituality of Women. Mahwah: Paulist Press, 1986. Schneiders, Sandra M. The Revelatory Text: Interpreting the New Testament as Sacred Scripture. San Francisco: Harper, 1991. Sheldrake, Philip. Spaces for the Sacred: Place, Memory, and Identity. Baltimore, MD: John Hopkins University Press, 2001. Tatman, Lucy. Knowledge that Matters: A Feminist Theological Paradigm and Epistemology. New York: Sheffield Academic Press, 2001 Tillich, Paul. On The Boundary: An Autobiographical Sketch. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1936, 1964. Tillich, Paul. Systematic Theology I. London: SCM Press, 1951, 1978. Tillich, Paul. “The struggle between time and space”. In Theology of Culture. Edited by Robert C. Kimball, 30–39. London: Oxford University Press, 1959. Tillich, Paul. Systematic Theology III. London: SCM Press, 1963, 1978. Tillich, Paul. “Dwelling, Space, and Time”. In On Art and Architecture. Edited by Jane Dillenberger and John Dillenberger, 81–85. New York: Crossroad, 1987. Topinka, Robert J. “Foucault, Borges, Heterotopia: Producing Knowledge in Other Spaces”. Foucault Studies, no. 9 (2010): 54–70 Torrance, Thomas F. Space, Time and Incarnation. Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1969, 1997. Viladesau, Richard. Theological Aesthetics: God in Imagination, Beauty, and Art. Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press, 1999. Zimmer, Mary Ann. “Becoming immaculate: Images of oppression and imagination”. In She Who Imagines: Feminist Theological Aesthetics. Edited by Laurie Cassidy and Maureen H. O’Connell, 181–203. Minneapolis, MN: Liturgical Press, 2012.

7

Bearing the lightning of possible storms Critique, space, imagination, wisdom

Possibilities As a way of expressing the scope of this book, I am going to present two sketches of the Church: first, under sovereign power and, second, as an open space of freedom. With the first sketch, the key to understanding this is an examination of the leader/follower relationship from the perspective of Foucault’s power/knowledge conception, highlighting the epistemic significance of leaders as guardians of the tradition. In a general way, this is the ideal. Under sovereign power, however, epistemic authority is displaced by epistemic hubris, surfacing as divine right thinking and practice. This is evident in the leader’s need to have the final say, regardless of circumstances or consent.1 This happens because the leader regards himself, at least implicitly, as the sovereign exception. As a consequence, followers are marginalized (some more than others) As such, the sovereign problem is expressed through and amplified by discursive and non-discursive practices, ranging from the abuse of unilateral decision-making powers to unwarranted secrecy, negative gossip, and bullying. Significantly, trust is diminished, as compliance out of fear is not the same as trust generously given.2 As a consequence, ecclesial authority is also diminished. Regrettably, followers as well as leaders are under “the spell of monarchy”,3 as their admiration for leaders mutates into false attachments.4 But it comes at a price. In particular, a loss of freedom is evident in the deterioration of living faith communities into aggregations of docile bodies. All this is reinforced by the fear of freedom, for “what is truly traumatic is freedom itself”.5 Under sovereign power then, followers are victims as well as collaborators, reinforcing the leader’s enthrallment with the spell of monarchy (and they said nothing).6 Because, so they think, their survival is at stake, but “within subjection the price of existence is subordination”.7 The second sketch is the Church as an open space of freedom, where leaders and followers are mutually empowered, “If authority is understood as authorizing the inclusion of all persons as partners, and power is understood as empowerment for self-actualization together with others, then the entire game of authority shifts.”8 This means leaders are authorized by the faithful and through a living tradition. Respectively, these are the synchronic and diachronic aspects of the

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legitimation of ecclesial authority. They work together in harmony as an expression of the mystery of God in the world, nurturing community and inaugurating leadership. Consequently, leaders have a clear sense of their accountability to the people of God, which they regard as an integral part of their calling. In this context, the followers’ admiration for leaders is expressed liturgically, for example, in the acclamations, and represents an important form of consent. All this is premised on mutual trust. So, on the one hand, followers entrust leaders with authority and accept their leadership in good faith. On the other, leaders exercise trust and transparency in governance. For example, there are exceptional issues that need to remain confidential, usually for personal, pastoral, or legal reasons. However, this is not because leaders are unable trust their followers to cope with a controversy, or understand complex issues. In fact, child abuse is a salutary reminder that so-called good personal, pastoral, or legal reasons cannot be used to relinquish pastoral, moral and communal accountabilities. As such, empathy and integrity are also essential gifts in Christian leadership and cannot be neglected in decision-making processes. With a new sense of selfawareness then, leaders do not confuse their responsibility for the ministry of oversight with misplaced or exaggerated claims about knowledge, expertise, or prerogative.9 Moreover, great leadership welcomes the wisdom of others, on the basis of mutual recognition, as well as a genuine desire to learn.10 The two sketches of a Church under sovereign power and as an open space of freedom, respectively encompass the concerns of this book. The critical question concerns the nature of the transition from sovereign power to a space of freedom, which is a question of changing the ecclesial culture. Subsequently, catalysts for change have been adumbrated throughout the book; but it is important to bring them together here in one place. In preparation for this task, I need to say something about the limitations of his book, which will help sharpen the focus for the remainder of this chapter. To reiterate, this is a theological work, which has incorporated interrelated sources and strategies, like philosophy (e.g. epistemology), sociology (e.g. authority), political science (e.g. sovereignty), and cultural studies (e.g. gossip). However, the work of Foucault has been the primary source. As a complement to his work, for example, Arendt, Schmitt, and Agamben, have also been used to develop the concept of authority. All this was supplemented by case studies, pastoral scenarios, and a critical incident (cf. protocols). So what of future possibilities? In the future, the leader/follower dynamic could be analysed in a similar fashion, but at the micro-level (e.g. pastor/elder/warden/parishioners). In addition, key theological themes could be investigated. For example, sovereign power constitutes an ecclesial default position, which raises issues like “what difference does it make to be a Christian institution?” or “is there something about being human that stops us from fulfilling our vocation?” Conceivably, a Foucauldian critique of the doctrine of sin, and its relationship to epistemic hubris, could be a way of understanding what we are and how we can go beyond our limits. That is, it could be argued that the attachment to sovereign power is a measure of something like a doctrine of original sin. As such, redemption is about

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naming attachments and changing direction (i.e. metanoia), exercising agency and claiming freedom. Other examples for future work include gender-related issues,11 even a Foucauldian-based theology of masculinity (cf. “man is an invention of recent date”).12 Moreover, there is a possibility of developing a theological anthropology of the imagination that engages with Foucault’s third or ethical period. In practical terms, the book raises issues about the formation of leaders in conjunction with the use of psychological profiling, selection, training, and the provision of professional supervision. In particular, leaders need training and professional support in relation to the establishment of fair and transparent appointment processes for clergy. In addition, the establishment of adequate procedures for complaints about leaders, and the use of independent whistleblowers, would enhance followers’ trust in leadership, as well as provide an avenue for addressing problems in a professional manner. Leaders, by fostering these processes, contribute to the renewal of authority. As such, their actions provide a compelling example to followers of trust, transparency and accountability. The focus in this book, however, has been mainly on a pre-ecclesiology, which has been an exercise in theorization and theological reflection with an eye on practice. But what of the concept of authority? Throughout this work, I have expressed a particular interest in authority. However, this not authority per se, but ecclesial authority. In other words, I have considered the seminal idea of authority, but worked towards developing the concept of ecclesial authority. In particular, the concept of ecclesial authority is a working concept, which means it is practice-oriented. In other words, the concept of ecclesial authority has been linked to ecclesiology, and in turn, ecclesiology has shaped the concept of ecclesial authority. This means that the concept of authority is not only a theory, but also a practice, or a precursor to practice, which is grounded in an ecclesiological model of the Church as an open space of freedom. As such, the model has a founder and a foundation. In particular, the practice of ecclesial authority has a founder in Jesus of Nazareth (and his friends from Galilee).13 Moreover, Jesus, though he did not write the Gospels, inaugurates new discursive and non-discursive practices, which come to life in the scriptures, tradition and faith communities of the Church. In that sense, the Christian Scriptures represent the foundation of the Church’s practice of authority.14 On that note, it is worth looking at some of the implications of this working concept of authority. In terms of the ecclesiological model, the early church practice of ekklesia is formative. It emerged from the life of early church as an open space of freedom (Gal 3:28). In this space, ecclesial authority is worked out. In this context, ecclesial authority is a practice of freedom (Gal 5.1, 5.13). It is there to enable; not to control. This ecclesiology then represents a realistic understanding of the Church in the world, in the mesh of power-relations. In this open space, however, power is shared. It is a space and a practice of mutual empowerment. In terms of process, the faithful authorize leaders to lead and leaders exercise an ecclesial authority of empowerment, that is, they authorize and empower the

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faithful. In the process, the authority of leadership is legitimated by the consent of the faithful. In turn, leaders exercise a ministry of inauguration as well as oversight. In fact, this ecclesiology informs and shapes the character of the ministry of oversight (e.g. people before order). In terms of theology, the ministry of the leaders is sanctified by God synchronically (community) and diachronically (tradition). This means the ecclesial tradition is a living tradition, which comes alive in the faith community. This also means the legitimation of ecclesial authority is worked out in practice, that is, the gift of consent is an open part of the life of the Church. In ecumenical terms, ecclesial authority will be expressed differently in different churches (e.g. ministry of oversight is construed differently). Nevertheless, I am proposing an alternative model for thinking about ecclesiology. But I have resisted the temptation to be overly prescriptive as each faith community inhabits, sustains, and ventures forth from its own space of freedom. In summary, I have developed a pre-ecclesiology, which is an ongoing and dynamic process of engagement between critique, space, imagination, and wisdom, offering catalytic ingredients for different practices of authority. Among the catalysts, the concept of space has a critical role in culture change. The premise is that a new space renews the imagination from which freedom is born. This is not a simple solution. But the creation of new spaces is a critical step in the process, as “the very possibility of any serious recognition of multiplicity and heterogeneity itself depends on a recognition of spatiality”.15

A Foucauldian disruption Critique is vital. In broad terms, it is about facing the difficult, unnamed truths, like sovereign power; but the process as such can be transformative. Disruptive, complex and open ended, but transformative. After all, it is the way of discipleship. Foucault himself provides a clue to the nature of such a process: “I can’t help but dream about a kind of criticism that would not try to judge, but to bring an oeuvre, a book, a sentence, an idea to life; it would light fires, watch the grass grow, listen to the wind, and catch the sea-foam in the breeze and scatter it. It would multiply, not judgements, but signs of existence; it would summon them, drag them from their sleep … I’d like a criticism of scintillating leaps of the imagination. It would not be sovereign or dressed in red. It would bear the lightning of possible storms.”16 So, I am taking Foucault’s construal of a particular kind of criticism, which “would bear the lightning of possible storms”, as a trope encapsulating the spirit of his critique, in general. As such, his approach is fundamentally disruptive, because the surface has to be disturbed in order for us to find, excavate, and claim difficult truths. Epistemologically, he raises questions about “what kinds of truth these established methods produce”.17 Existentially, he draws attention to an important relationship between the truth of what we are and the possibility of freedom. All of this is in keeping with the Foucauldian project, which is bound to the critical tradition of the Enlightenment. In that context, Foucault engages with

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Kant, but concludes with an invitation to consider future possibilities: “Is it not possible to conceive of a critique of finitude … which would show that finitude is not an end but rather that camber and knot in time when the end is in fact a beginning?”18 Foucault spells out the content of this invitation, which is indicative of his overall trajectory,19 by claiming a critical ontology of ourselves “must be conceived as an attitude, an ethos, a philosophical life in which the critique of what we are is at one and the same time the historical analysis of the limits imposed on us and an experiment with the possibility of going beyond them”.20 As such, it is the critique of “what we are” that leads to new possibilities. But what does this mean for the Church? The meaning of freedom can be found in our capacity to exercise “the critique of what we are”. This is about uncovering the truth of our lives, recognizing the limits, and going beyond them. But first, let me put this in perspective. In the light of the Church’s equivocal history (e.g. Crusades, witchburning), it seems reasonable to presume that sovereign power is its default position. This is “what we are”. However, this is not our calling. Certainly, this is a difficult truth, which means there is a level of urgency concerning the need for the renewal of the Church. Of necessity, however, this transition is not a smooth process. It is disruptive, but it is the kind of disruption that opens up new spaces of freedom. Of course, sovereign power is a reality in the Church, but its problems are more complex than outing a few tyrants, as power is not “one individual’s consolidated and homogenous domination over others”.21 So this is not an attack on leaders, but a challenge to the monarchical model of leadership. This is not a call to arms, but an assertion that ecclesiological transformation requires an element of disruption as we alter our attachments to sovereign power. In other words, the renewal of ecclesial authority finds its locus in followers courageously naming false attachments, exercising power, and taking up the call to freedom. In the process, they are empowered. In summary, the problem is the Church’s nexus with sovereign power, exacerbating the marginalization of the other, which emerges from a symbiotic leader/follower relationship. Subsequently, the culture has to change. This is not a smooth transition, because we have to change our attachments. But this is where Foucault is important. In his work, disruption is not inherently negative, but “a discontinuity specified by a number of distinct transformations”.22 As such, his discourse is peppered with ideas, concepts, and theory, which challenge hegemonic limits, transgress imposed boundaries, disrupt embedded norms, and provoke epistemological insurrections. These gestures express the lightning of possible storms,23 which offer the possibility of addressing difficult truths that open “the space of freedom”.24 To this end, Foucault unmasks the pervasive problem of power by repositioning it, within the context of the mesh of power-relations, drawing out its special relationship with knowledge. As such, power and knowledge shape the way we think.25 Moreover, his understanding of power and knowledge makes it possible to articulate the book’s central problem in a fresh way, which finds its focus in the concept of an open space of freedom.

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An open space of freedom So, what is the character of the Christian space? Well, the key is the place of the other (Matt 25:31–46). It is important, then, to return to a presumption in this book, which is the other, and look at it from two perspectives, negative and positive. Negatively, the other is bound to institutionalized prejudice.26 And grounded in fear, “The phobic has no other object than the abject.”27 What is at stake here? Ironically, we are attracted to the monstrous, but quick to point out that we are not like them.28 Perhaps, we need the unfortunate to feel fortunate.29 Positively, “When violent fear goes, so do monsters.”30 As such, the other is the catalyst that elicits the development of my personhood. Others make us human. In fact, the other is an irreducible part of us, as we have been formed by others, “I am, prior to acquiring an ‘I,’ a being who has been touched, moved, fed, changed, put to sleep, established as the subject and object of speech … These signs communicate to me in ways that are not reducible to vocalization. They are signs of an other.”31 Moreover, “Only the freedom of others keeps each one of us from hardening in the absurdity of facticity.”32 From an ethical perspective, we respond to the other out of compassion. From an epistemological perspective, the other enriches the wisdom of the Church. From an ecclesiological perspective, the presence of the other defines the character of Christian space (Mtt 25:31–46). In this space, we are all empowered. The development of new spaces changes the mesh of power-relations. In particular, a new space changes thinking by producing a new experience of what it means to be Church. In other words, a new space is an invitation to rethink and re-experience power-relations, discourse, subjectivity, and authority. And so the book has brought together Foucault’s spatial practice with the Church’s spatial heritage (ekklesia). As such, the Church is called to be a sacred space, which is an open space of freedom (Gal 5:1, 13). In terms of ekklesia, the new space encapsulated in Gal 3:28 is not Church as empire, but ekklesia the democratic space. This means the Church is open to the wisdom of others, and exists for the sake of the other (including barbarians). Historically, the Galatians “became the ‘universal barbarians’ against which the Greco-Roman world united as the ‘common enemy’”.33 This serves to underline the significance of Paul’s choice of the baptismal text (Gal 3:28), which portrays the Church as an open space of freedom.34 There is some disagreement about details,35 but there is strong agreement about the significance of the theme of unity in Christ; which has social, political, and cultural implications. Moreover, this interpretation of Gal 3:28 is consistent with Paul’s pastoral concern and rhetorical intent. As a first century apostle, he has aspirations for unity in the Galatian Church. Crucially, he chooses a text from an early baptismal liturgy, making it the heart of the letter, in order to proclaim and to precipitate unity in Christ. As such, Paul the Jew is embracing the gentiles as gentiles. As such, Gal 3:28 provides an insight into the character of the Christian space of ekklesia. In this community, love is primary (Gal 2:20, 5:6, 13–14),36 which is expressed in a unity that accepts differences (Gal 3:26–29), leading to freedom

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to live a vocation for others (Gal 6:2). In fact, the other is a full member of the liturgical assembly. Otherness is constitutive of the character of Christianity, which is evident in the Passion narrative.37 As such, the crucifixion is a Foucauldian-like disruption of the greatest magnitude. It irrupts at “the place of the skull” (Mk 15:22) with cosmic dimensions (Mk 15: 33). Consequently, the old order is subverted (Mk 15:38). In this light, the empty tomb is a theologically significant heterotopic space. Yet it prefigures hope for the other as “The tomb is empty!”38 Moreover, the Gospel accounts of the passion reflect on the import of divine disruption. In this context then, the Christian space of ekklesia is “a location of liminality, a correlation that lives always on the edge of both itself and what is other”.39 In other words, it is not simply a case of welcoming the other, but rather, the other is constitutive of the Christian space and its community. Perhaps unexpectedly, the significance of the other is also reflected in early church gossip and rumour. In some cases, gossip can be a dependable source of knowledge.40 In an ancient context, gossip “was a major factor in the identification and legitimation of leaders. A widely acknowledged reputation confirmed and sustained by an informal gossip network, provided a foundation for public authority.”41 And there was also gossip about Jesus, such as “What is this? A new teaching – with authority” (Mk 1:27) or “Can this be the son of David?” (Matt 12:23; cf. Luke 4:22, 36), and rumours, “the ruler heard reports about Jesus” (Mk 14:1), all of which play a role in the “identification and legitimation of leaders”.42 However, there were negative forms of gossip too, accusing him of being “a friend of tax collectors and sinners” (Matt 11:19 cf. 9:11). Ironically, negative gossip signalled the coming of “possible storms” and the disruptive ministry of Jesus. This is the rumour of an open space of freedom. In fact, there is something innately heterotopic about the reign of God (already/but not yet). Above all, the connection between the reign of God, love, and the other, is apparent in the symbol of the banquet, which in the teachings of Jesus is a heterotopic space. This can be seen at a number of levels. First, although it caused offense, Jesus chose to eat with the unclean (les arnormaux), drastically changing the seating arrangements. Second, the banquet shows the reign of God as innately countercultural, because of its inclusive nature, as the banquet is for the blind, the lame, the poor, women and children. It is for those who bear life’s stigma.43 Ironically, it is the stigmatized, and not the disciples, who see the significance of the ministry of Jesus.44 Nonetheless, the scope of the ministry of Jesus is vast. So, we need a benchmark text. It is time to return the haemorrhaging woman (Mk 5:24b-34). In the ancient world, a person’s social worth was related to holiness, which was a source of differentiation, finely calibrated in terms of the notions of clean and unclean, honour and shame. In this story, the woman by virtue of gender and affliction is a completely marginalized figure. Nevertheless, Jesus invites her into his space. He welcomes her as “daughter” (Mk 5:34). In so doing, he transcends boundaries that were used to marginalize others. Significantly, the writer highlights this

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action by sandwiching the story within another story. As Jairus, the temple gatekeeper, had to wait while Jesus welcomed an unclean woman, “The despised woman as the poorest of the poor has symbolic priority in the Church.”45 Jesus thus sets the ethical standard for his followers. In other words, this is a telling insight about the character of the Christian space of freedom, which helps to identify our distinctive vocation. Like a Foucauldian disruption, Jesus critiques the old norms and renews them (“but I say unto you”).46 In all, this is a radical shift from power over to power to, which inaugurates a new space of mutual empowerment, for the “Sophia-God is in solidarity with those who suffer as a mystery of empowerment. With moral indignation, concern for broken creation, and a sympathy calling for justice, the power of God’s compassionate love enters the pain of the world to transform it from within.”47 There are two issues, however, which need to be raised about the Church as an open space of freedom that relate to the limits and character of inclusion. The first issue relates to a question of discernment: “How can we tell the difference between benign and malign others?”48 The second issue relates to the issue of a sovereign tolerance veiled as inclusion. First, the nature of the limits of inclusion is an issue. As such, there is a need for “practical wisdom” in order to discern these limits. Certainly, part of the discernment process will include leaders actively seeking out the “shared wisdom” of the faith community on specific issues. Moreover, the question of limits involves the character and structure of the ecclesial decision-making process. Specifically, there is a need for genuine consultation at the meso-level (institutional) and micro-level (communal). Of course, this can only be worked out in situ (e.g. dealing with a violent individual). In other cases, leaders will take initiative, but in an open, transparent, and trustworthy manner. That is, the new praxis will be shaped by leaders consciously exercising their authority within the horizon of an inclusive and open space of freedom, for “A community that is truly Eucharistic does not exist to be self-contained but, in the pattern of Jesus, to be taken, blessed, broken open and given for the life of the world. In other words, the Christian community comes into its true identity paradoxically not by being bounded but by becoming the space of Jesus Christ, a truly catholic space, committed to embrace the whole created order as part of the economy of God’s salvation that makes loving space for the other.”49 This kind of leadership recognizes the lines of fragility, the disruptive events, and possible storms, are where the rumour of the reign of God can be heard. The lines of fragility then are not cracks that need to be papered over by a fiat of sovereign power. Instead, they represent kairos moments for leaders to engage creatively with the faithful, trusting them and themselves, in the Spirit, and with the Wisdom of God. Second, in the open space of freedom, there is a danger of tolerance masquerading as inclusion, for “Magnanimity is always a luxury of power; in the case of tolerance, it also disguises power.”50 In other words, tolerance is a sign that we are still operating under sovereign power. In fact, tolerance is not a positive

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strategy for building a culture of inclusion. On the surface, tolerance appears to be a form of inclusion, but beneath the surface, it is in fact a form of exclusion.51 It is as if to say: you are accepted up to this point, but no further. Moreover, tolerance is often instituted as a means of avoiding the hard work of love. Tolerance then is often a face-saving exercise for the sake of a dominant group, executed in order to pacify dissenters, or quell public disapproval (look how compassionate we are). In political life, tolerance is a form of de-politicization that “involves removing a political phenomenon from comprehension of its historical emergence and from recognition of the powers that produce and contour it.”52 Similarly, in the Church, the status of marginalized others is exacerbated by extending them tolerance, rather recognition and acceptance. It further diminishes their credibility as persons.53 This is a form of testimonial injustice, where we extend to them less credibility than we would usually extend, or that they deserve.54 In other words, tolerance means we do not take the other seriously, as “Testimonial injustice excludes the subject from trustful conversation.”55 We also miss out on their contribution to our shared wisdom.56

Shared wisdom and mutual empowerment For heuristic reasons, this book has adopted and applied a broad, contemporary understanding of shared wisdom, which is related to the epistemological centrality of ecclesial leaders; the importance of marginalized knowledges; and the gathering of knowledge, which is practical and theoretical, based on personal experience and the testimony of others. At this juncture, however, it is important to weave the strands together in a more explicitly theological way. As such, Sophia or Wisdom is the feminine expression of God’s presence in the world, offering divine knowledge to those who seek her out. As such, Wisdom is a radical counter-balance to masculine sovereign power, who “invites all without exception to her table”.57 In this light, the shared wisdom of the open space of freedom is inspired by the feminine personification of God; confirmed by numerous testimonies including Scripture and tradition, and enriched by the marginalized knowledges of others. In fact, “Knowledge and community are mutually related. In order to arrive at community with one another we have to know one another, and in order to know one another we have to come closer to one another, make contact with one another, and form relationships.”58 In this space, followers, in all their diversity, have much to offer, and leaders welcome diverse knowledges. In this light, the Church is truly “a space of divine wisdom”59 and an “epistemological community”.60 On an epistemological note, there is a growing body of research, which underlines the shared (communitarian) nature of knowledge.61 This entails moving beyond a strict individualistic approach to knowledge, which is the idea that knowledge is created or possessed by an individual, as though knowledge was a discrete epistemological fragment.62 In contrast, Welbourne, argues that knowledge is not owned by an individual, and that it can be

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transmitted in “a community of knowledge”.63 Kusch takes this a step further arguing that knowledge itself is formed corporately.64 In summary, shared wisdom is a central characteristic of the ekklesia, the open space of freedom. In freedom, then, churches embrace multiple subjectivities, discourses, practices, and knowledges. As such, the Church is a space of unlearning, new learning, and shared wisdom. It is “the free space for creative freedom” for others.65 Moreover, Wisdom brings its own kind of authority, because “The authority of experiences therefore culminates in human stories of suffering: stories of suffering over misfortune and failure, the suffering of pain, the suffering of evil and injustice, the suffering of and in love, sorrow or guilt. Here lie the great elements of the revelation of reality in and through finite human experiences.”66 But what about the issue of power and its nexus with knowledge? Foucault’s work is more than an exercise in epistemology. In particular, his power/knowledge conception helps to demonstrate how knowledge and the guardians of knowledge actually work. In particular, the concept of discourse is critical here. Foucault’s early work on discourse developed during his archaeological period. As Foucault moved into his genealogical period, he repositioned the import of discourse in the frame of the power/knowledge conceptualization. As well as heightening the power-knowledge relation, it served to underline the importance of the interface between discursive and non-discursive practices.67 They are “the complex networks of statements that make knowledge possible, that delimit what can be said, or understood, within a particular discourse; and that determine who can speak (or at least speak with authority or be heard) within that discourse”.68 Ecclesial discourse is worked-out in the context of particular power-relations, which can be interpreted specifically using Foucault’s schema of pastoral power. The schema has explanatory power in relation to the Church’s subject formation processes, its epistemology, and “its power to silence and its power to demand an utterance”.69 In this context, the status of a leader as a divinely designated speaker is vital for understanding sovereign power: “The one who speaks the performative effectively is understood to operate according to uncontested power.”70 Symptomatically, sovereign power emerges in striving to establish unitary discourse and uniform behaviour under banners like unity, order, or moderation. A shared faith, however, does not mean we have to speak or act the same way. In fact, the drive for unitary discourse, which can never be realized, means other ways of knowing are marginalized. However, in spite of “the tyranny of globalising discourses”, the lines of fragility keep drawing attention to lost wisdom,71 that is, the “local, discontinuous, disqualified, illegitimate knowledges”.72 Besides, the emergence of marginalized knowledges is a sign of the reign of God. Certainly, sovereign power’s drive for unitary discourse and uniform behaviour, cannot permanently conceal, let alone remove, the lines of fragility that can open up a space of freedom. Lastly, in addition to other knowledges (lost, disqualified, subjugated), various church’s councils and synods have largely overlooked the vast body of learning

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about the concept and experience of the other, which stems from anthropology, sociology, psychology, and cultural studies. On the one hand, this represents a form of hermeneutical injustice depriving us of wisdom, which occurs “when a gap in collective interpretive resources puts someone at an unfair disadvantage when it comes to making sense of social experiences”.73 On the other, this is an opportunity for leadership, as well as theological enquiry, because “socio-scientific analysis informed by critical reflexivity is insufficient on its own. Theological reflection must understand itself in this matrix, yet here it can do little without the unpredetermined gift, the charisma that comes with vocation.”74

Bearing the lightning In many ways, the height of epistemic hubris is not found in the robes and feathers of great processions, but in the confidence to orchestrate the lives of others. Such relations are characterized by power, fear, and the nervous laughter of the compliant.75 Moreover, “practices of trust and truth-telling become eviscerated through suspicion, it becomes impossible to speak meaningfully about authority”.76 The critical problem is the Church’s enthrallment with sovereign power. However, the problem is complex, relating to the convoluted history and multifaceted culture of the Church. It cannot simply be removed. It has to be managed, rather than control us. So I have focused on key elements, and their interaction. First, the problem is described as sovereign power because, it is a problem with power, but in particular, the Western Church has continually adopted, implicitly or otherwise, a monarchical model of power. Second, like other institutions, the Church is part of the mesh of power-relations. We cannot stand outside the networks of power, but we can actively and intentionally think and act differently. In that context, faith communities and individual Christians have to make a choice about using power creatively. Third, the choice is not easy, because followers as well as leaders have been enthralled by “the spell of monarchy”.77 Consequently, others have suffered, especially minority groups and individuals. In this context, the renewal of ecclesial authority involves critique, new space, imagination and shared wisdom. On this basis, followers exercise power in active engagement with their leaders. In claiming their power, followers empower their leaders to lead. In so doing, authority is renewed and legitimated. In this context, authority relies on the openness of leaders to followers, and the resistance of followers to sovereign power. In other words, and this bears repeating, “subjects are not only made, we make ourselves”.78 None of this minimizes the divine. Instead, God works through both the living tradition and the faith community to empower the Church’s leaders. With an eye on practice, the focus of this book has been conceptual and theoretical. Nonetheless, possibilities have been prefigured, which relate to the link between theological anthropology and church culture. In other words, the renewal of ecclesial authority involves anthropological and cultural changes, working in tandem. In all this, the imagination has a pivotal role. So, under the

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heading of an embryonic theological anthropology of the imagination, I want to prefigure possibilities. As such, the imagination is part of God’s intrinsic gift to humanity. Theologically, God can speak to us through “the inspirations of the imagination”.79 Like Rahner’s pre-anticipation, the imagination is a precursor to free action in the world. It is spiritual and transformative. Moreover, the experience of an open space of freedom evokes the imagination, which plays a role in translating critical awareness into practices of freedom. Above all, this is a prophetic imagination. Moreover, Foucault’s heterotopic imagination provides an additional contemporary nuance to this ancient vocation (John 17: 14–16). As such, I have been using prophetic imagination to encompass key ideas, including the heterotopic and paschal imagination, in order to interpret more fully the disruptive ministry of Jesus.80 In terms of the Church’s vocation, then, the Church is called to live imaginatively in the world. As such, the imagination can open up new ways of thinking and acting. In so doing, it is an exercise in freedom, epitomizing human creativity that is grounded in the incomprehensible mystery of God. Anthropologically, it is the Spirit come to life in us. As a spiritual exercise of the imagination, the renewing of ourselves and our Church covers many things. Above all, it invites us to love the Church so much that we find out how it works, warts and all, facing the painful truths, naming and testing unnamed norms. It recognizes, however, that the focus is on relationships. It also acknowledges the importance of leaders, and their epistemological and discursive responsibilities. It is slow to make the charge of tyrant, but ready to challenge the malevolent presence of sovereign power, identifying problems and owning collusion. It is more than willing to set in place procedures that protect the vulnerable in the name of love, as well as good governance. In the end, we authorize our leaders, as an expression of the marriage of tradition and communion, which stems from love, rather than the sacralization of obedience. Ultimately, these changes are about changing culture. In this context, leaders empower us, acting transparently and collaboratively. In this space, the other (who has been here all the while) brings wisdom that is embraced. In this relationship, we are encouraged by the Spirit to imagine, to think otherwise about the Church, and how we address our differences. In conclusion, the first-century churches could be described as “an unstable assemblage of faults, fissures, and heterogeneous layers”.81 The fixed point, however, the event, and decisive disruption is the crucifixion of Jesus of Nazareth. By this, I am not saying there is little else we can know. On the contrary, there is much than can be affirmed and proclaimed. Moreover, we bear witness to Christ, risen into the contingency of human existence and discovered in creation, suffering, sorrow, sacraments, prayers, sighs, and joy. Naturally, we are unsettled by the lightning of possible storms, but they draw us inevitably deeper into the mystery of God. But the mystery of God creates new spaces, kindles the imagination, and offers the gift of freedom. It undergirds the Christian understanding and practice of authority too, as “Individuals do not have authority of their own to speak, since before men and women speak, even if they are put in authority, they are already spoken to.”82 Our

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wisdom, however, is limited. Nevertheless, this is not a matter of relinquishing our search for truth. On the contrary, it is an invitation to name the difficult truths of the Church in order to be the Church. Ultimately, “the Church is not, as it so often seems, a ‘control system’ operated by its leadership that effectively marginalizes or excludes others, especially those not directly ‘accountable’. Instead, it is a ‘diversified system’ marked by shared leadership. Here, power is not held but transferred to others with whom it is shared.”83 All of this is grounded in the incomprehensible mystery of God, which comes to life in the Spirit, and with Wisdom, creating open spaces of freedom. This is freedom to fulfil our vocation for others (besides we are all other).84 With a sense of wonder about our shared humanity, we approach each other in a new way, “For if each of us can accept that we are the strangers, then there are no strangers – only others like ourselves.”85 This is not sidestepping the complexity of unresolved problems, but rather establishing a new starting point.

Notes 1 Linda Trinkaus Zagzebski, Epistemic Authority: A Theory of Trust, Authority, and Autonomy in Belief (Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press, 2012), 184; epistemic egoism. Cf. Axel Gelfert, A Critical Introduction to Testimony (London: Bloomsbury, 2014), 98; omniscience implies an absence of epistemic peers. 2 Ibid., 60–66. 3 Michel Foucault, HS1, 88. 4 Judith Butler, Excitable Speech: A Politics of the Performative (New York, London: Routledge, 1997), 78; it is all part of the “map of power”. 5 Slavoj Žižek, Violence: Six Sideways Reflections (London: Profile Books, 2008), 166. 6 Hannah Arendt, “What is freedom?”, in Between Past and Future: Eight Exercises in Political Thought (New York: Penguin Books, 1961, 1967, 1977, 2006), 163; if we wish to be free, we have to renounce sovereignty. 7 Judith Butler, The Psychic Life of Power: Theories in Subjection (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1997), 20. 8 Letty Russell, Household of Freedom: Authority in Feminist Theology (Philadelphia, PA: Westminster Press, 1997), 61 cf. 67. “Like Jesus’s prophetic action in cleansing God’s house, the metaphor ‘household of freedom’ is an eschatological image. It seeks to spell out what living according to the paradigm of authority as partnership would look like in our everyday life, but it does this by pointing to God’s intention of liberation and new creation.” 9 Church leaders usually excel in church governance, and knowledge about the Church’s tradition and liturgical practices. Leaders, however, are not necessarily competent at theological reflection, let alone pastoral care; so a team approach to ministry is essential. 10 Daniel J. Treier, “Wisdom”, in Cambridge Dictionary of Christian Theology, Ian A. McFarland, David A. S. Fergusson, Karen Kilby, and Iain R. Torrance eds. (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2011), 538; “wisdom, as knowledge is applied to a particular situation by means of judgement (phronesis), remains vital for theological method”. 11 (Bishop) Penny Jamieson, Living at the Edge: Sacrament and Solidarity in Leadership (London: Mowbray, 1997), 30. “There is often an illusion of neutrality; in such environments as the House of Bishops, the question of gender differences is a risky one to raise, for it can draw attention to the isolation of women in a way that embarrasses and shames my male colleagues.”

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12 Michel Foucault, OT, 422. 13 Michel Foucault, “What is an author?”, TEF, 387; “founders of discursivity” may not write, but they institute new discursive practices. 14 Hannah Arendt, “What is authority?”, in Between Past and Future: Eight Exercises in Political Thought (New York: Penguin Books, 1961, 1967, 1977, 2006), 120. 15 Doreen Massey, For Space (London: SAGE, 2005), 11. 16 Michel Foucault, “The masked philosopher”, in PPC, 326. 17 Linda M. Alcoff, “Foucault’s normative epistemology” in A Companion to Foucault, Christopher Falzon, Timothy O’Leary, and Jana Sawicki eds. (Oxford: Blackwell, 2013), 222. 18 Michel Foucault, IKA, 124. 19 Colin Koopman, Genealogy as Critique: Foucault and the Problems of Modernity (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 2013), 56. 20 Michel Foucault, “What is Enlightenment?”, in TEF, 56. 21 Michel Foucault, “Two lectures”, P/K, p. 98. 22 Michel Foucault, AK, 175. 23 Michel Foucault, “Masked philosopher”, 326. 24 Michel Foucault, “Critical theory”, 36. 25 Foucault “Two Lectures”, 93. 26 Rupert Brown, Prejudice: Its Social Psychology, 2nd ed. (Malden: Wiley-Blackwell, 2010), 78ff. 27 Julia Kristeva, Powers of Horror: An Essay on Abjection, Leon S. Roudiez trans. (New York: Columbia University Press, 1980, 1982), 6. 28 Brown, Prejudice, 89–90, on attribution theory and attribution error. 29 Rosa Braidotti, Nomadic Subjects: Embodiment and Sexual Difference in Contemporary Feminist Theory, 2nd ed. (New York, Chichester: Columbia University Press, 2011), 225; following “the binary logic of oppositions”. In my words, it is as though the norm needs the nightmare to feel normal. 30 Richard Kearney, Strangers, Gods and Monsters (London, New York: Routledge, 2003), 61. 31 Judith Butler, Giving an Account of Oneself (New York: Fordham University Press, 2005), 70. 32 Simone De Beauvoir, The Ethics of Ambiguity (New York: Citadel Press, 1948, 1976), 71. 33 Briggite Kahl, “Galatians and the ‘Orientalism’ of justification by faith: Paul among the Jews and Gentiles”, in C. D. Stanley ed., The Colonized Apostle: Paul through Postcolonial Eyes (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2011), 215. 34 Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza, In Memory of Her: A Feminist Theological Reconstruction of Christian Origins, Tenth anniversary ed. (New York: Crossroad, 1983, 1994), 208. 35 Frank J. Matera, Galatians, Daniel J. Harrington ed. (Minneapolis, MN: Liturgical Press, 1992), 146; Pheme Perkins, Abraham’s Divided Children: Galatians and the Politics of Faith (Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 2001), 76. 36 Briggitte Kahl, Galatians Re-Imagined: Reading with the Eyes of the Vanquished (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2010), 269. 37 Dorothee Soelle, Thinking about God: An Introduction to Theology, John Bowden trans. (London, Philadelphia: SCM Press, Trinity Press International, 1990), 124. 38 Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza, Jesus: Miriam’s Child, Sophia’s Prophet: Critical Issues in Feminist Christology (New York: Continuum, 1994, 1995), 125–126. 39 Graham Ward, The Politics of Discipleship: Becoming Postmaterial Citizens (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2009), 189. 40 (Tony) C. A. J. Coady, “Pathologies of testimony”, in The Epistemology of Testimony, Jennifer Lackey and Ernest Sosa eds. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2006), 262; he likens gossip to “whispered information”.

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41 Bruce J. Malina and Richard L. Rohrbaugh, “Gossip”, Social Science Commentary on the Synoptic Gospels, 2nd ed. (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2003), 367. 42 Ibid. 43 Luke 1:46–55, 4:16–21; 10:25–37; 15, 19:1–10: Jesus’s concern for the marginal, referred to as “the lost”. 44 Mark 10:46–52, with irony, a blind man sees who Jesus really is. 45 Rosemary R. Ruether, Sexism and God-Talk: Towards a Feminist Theology (London: SCM Press, 1983, 2002), 133. 46 Matt 5:17–20, or makes sure the old norms are fulfilled in a new way. 47 Elizabeth A. Johnson, She Who Is: The Mystery of God in Feminist Theological Discourse (New York: Crossroad, 1992), 270. 48 Kearney, Strangers, 67. 49 Philip Sheldrake, Spaces for the Sacred: Place, Memory, and Identity (Baltimore, MD: John Hopkins University Press, 2001), 85. 50 Wendy Brown, Regulating Aversion: Tolerance in the Age of Identity and Empire (Princeton, Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2006), 26. 51 Ibid., 186–187 52 Ibid., 15. 53 Miranda Fricker, Epistemic Injustice: Power and the Ethics of Knowing (Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press, 2007), 120. 54 Ibid., 4. 55 Ibid., 53. 56 José Medina, The Epistemology of Resistance: Gender and Racial Oppression, Epistemic Injustice, and Resistant Imaginations (Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press, 2013), 78. 57 Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza, “Introduction”, in Empowering Memory and Movement: Thinking and Working across Borders (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2014), 14. 58 Jürgen Moltmann, “The knowing of the other and the community of the different”, in God for a Secular Society: The Public Relevance of Theology, Margaret Kohl trans. (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1997, 1999), 135. 59 Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza, The Power of the Word: Scripture and the Rhetoric of Empire (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2007), 239. 60 Lucy Tatman, Knowledge that Matters: A Feminist Theological Paradigm and Epistemology (New York: Sheffield Academic Press, 2001), 130ff. 61 Martin Kusch, Knowledge by Agreement: The Programme of Communitarian Epistemology (Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press, 2002), 3. 62 Ibid., 48, strict individualism. 63 Michael Welbourne, The Community of Knowledge (Aberdeen: Gregg Revivals, 1986), 1. 64 Kusch, Agreement, 12–13. 65 Jürgen Moltmann, The Spirit of Life: A Universal Affirmation, Margaret Kohl trans. (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1991, 1992), 120. 66 Edward Schillebeeckx, Church: The Human Story of God, John Bowden trans. (New York: Crossroad, 1989, 1990), 28. 67 Michel Foucault, “The confession of the flesh”, in P/K, 195. 68 Richard A Lynch, “Discourse”, in The Cambridge Foucault Lexicon, Leonard Lawlor and John Nale eds. (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2014), 121–122. 69 Jeremy R. Carrette, Foucault and Religion: Spiritual Corporality and Political Spirituality (London and New York: Routledge, 2000), 42. 70 Judith Butler, Excitable Speech: A Politics of the Performative (New York, London: Routledge, 1997), 49. 71 Fricker, Epistemic, 2, and a “politics of epistemic injustice”. 72 Michel Foucault, “Two lectures”, in P/K, 83.

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73 Fricker, Epistemic, 1 74 Richard H. Roberts, “Theology and the social sciences”, in Religion, Theology and the Human Sciences (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 211. 75 William E. Connolly, The Terms of Political Discourse, 3rd ed. (Oxford, Cambridge: Blackwell, 1974, 1983, 1994), 98; “others can often be deterred by placing before them obstacles emanating from hidden sources.” 76 Nancy Luxon, Crisis of Authority: Politics, Trust, and Truth-Telling in Freud and Foucault (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 5. 77 Michel Foucault, HS1, 88. 78 Dianna Taylor, “Introduction: Power, freedom and subjectivity”, in Michel Foucault: Key Concepts, Dianna Taylor ed. (Durham: Acumen, 2011), 7. 79 Wolfhart Pannenberg, Anthropology in Theological Perspective, Matthew J. O’Connell trans. (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1985), 381. 80 Sandra M. Schneiders, Written that You May Believe: Encountering Jesus in the Fourth Gospel (New York: Crossroad, 1999, 2000), 10. “Revelation is rooted in the life of Jesus in Palestine in the first century. But it occurs in the faith life of believers in the community shaped by the text of scripture.” 81 Michel Foucault, “Nietzsche, genealogy, history”, in TEF, 356. 82 Schillebeeckx, Church, 214. 83 Daniel W. Hardy, Finding the Church (London: SCM Press, 2001), 257. 84 Slavoj Žižek, Living in the End Times (London, New York: Verso, 2010, 2011), 125ff. “The true problem is not so much the fragile status of the excluded, but rather the fact that, at the most elementary level, we are all ‘excluded’ in the sense that our most elementary, “zero” position is that of being an object of biopolitics, so much so that political and citizenship rights are granted us only as a secondary gesture, in accordance with strategic biopolitical considerations.” 85 Kearney, Strangers, 77.

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Index

abuse see child abuse accountability 81, 158 Adkins, Karen 57 Agamben, Giorgio 64–5, 73n125 agency: in Foucault 32–3, 35; freedom and 112; power-relations and 36–7; self-transformation as 35 Alcoff, Linda M. 47n110 Anglicanism 52, 81–2 Aquinas, Thomas 142 Arbuckle, Gerald A. 70n49, 100n26 Arendt, Hannah 62–4, 70n46, 73n105, 74n136, 100n34 Augustine 122n9, 130, 147n25 authority 14–15; Anglicanism and 52; in Arendt 62–3; bullying and 94; consent and 15, 38, 55–6, 63, 98; discursive practices and 65; dispersed 55, 62; ecclesial 28; empowerment and 159–60; epistemic hubris and 53–4; gossip and 163; knowledge and 55–6; power/knowledge and 28–9; role of 4; sovereign power and 32–3, 113; sovereign power vs. 39; sovereignty and 4, 62–5; wisdom and 166; see also church leaders; power Avis, Paul 13, 52, 67n4, 72n94, 103n91 Bachelard, Gaston 130 Barth, Karl 122n10 Beasley, Nicholas M. 99n24 Beaudoin, Thomas M. 150n109, 151n125 Benjamin, Walter 62, 64, 72n95 Bernauer, James W. 44n27 Bible: sexuality and 10–11 Binswanger, Ludwig 140–1, 150n114 bio-power 45n51 bishop 51–6, 59–61, 66–7, 67n9, 68n25, 70n35, 71n73, 74n140, 80–8, 92–5, 100n38, 102n74; see also church leaders

bodies: power and 34–5; space and 132 Bodin, Jean 68n14 Book of Common Prayer (BCP) 104n134, 104n135 Bourdieu, Pierre 46n92 Braidotti, Rosa 170n29 Brown, Wendy 85, 114 bullying 93–4, 93–5 Butler, Judith 10, 64, 72n93 Cadwallader, Alan 125n96 captivity 112–13 catholicity 55, 119 censorship, implied 88, 90, 102n88 Chapman, Mark D. 69n26, 98n3 charity 8 child: as other 7–9; problematization of 8 child abuse: forgiveness and 8; marginalization and 7–9 Chrulew, Matthew 21n89 Church: aim of case study of 51–3; ekklesia and 117; Foucault and 11–12; heterotopia and 137–8; leader/follower dynamic in 2; marginalization and 6–7; other and 6; power/knowledge and 37–8; power-relations and 37; under sovereign power 157; space and 145–6; as space for freedom 2–3, 146, 157–8, 162–5 church leaders 4–5; epistemological identity of 7; gender and 32; knowledge and 41; managerialism and 100n37; and power/knowledge concept 5, 37, 39; sovereign power and 11, 40; subject formation and 38–9, 53; territory and 100n37; truth and 37–8; see also bishop; leader/follower dynamic; sovereign power clergy: defined 15; senior 16; sexuality standards for 88–9; as term 15–16

Index Code, Lorraine 152n148 Collins, Raymond F. 124n61 Comblin, José 122n8 common good 87 communion 119 community 117–18, 132 compliance 9, 15, 17, 37, 52, 60–1, 145, 167 conciliarism 62 Connolly, William E. 73n123 consent 62, 86–8; authority and 15, 38, 55–6, 63, 98; dispersed authority and 55–6, 98; epistemic hubris and 53–4; sovereign power and 114; trust and 63 Constantine 4 critique 2, 33, 51, 160–1 crucifixion 163 cultural change 15, 113–15 culture: change 113–15; defined 15, 115; epistemic hubris and 54; as term 15 culture, church: sovereign power and 2 Cyprian 68n25 Davie, Martin 74n138 Dean, Mitchell 4 Death, Jodi 8 Deleuze, Gilles 44n15, 123n32 Derrida, Jacques 12 differentiation 119–20, 163–4 diocese 66–7 discourse: in Foucault 39–40, 74n137; origin of term 39; power-relations and 166; sexuality and 89–91; unitary 88–91, 96–7, 149n62 discursive practices: authority and 65; in Foucault 13; gossip and 51, 56–62; Jesus and 159; power/knowledge and 40; ritual and 61 dispersed authority 55, 62 divine right 53, 81–5, 97, 98n5, 118, 145, 156 Doe, Norman 67n9, 74n139, 74n142, 102n73, 102n74 domination 37 Dream and Existence (Binswanger) 140–1, 150n114 Dunbar, Robin 58 ekklesia 3–4, 115–21, 124n61, 144–5, 162 Elden, Stuart 101n53, 123n48, 148n57, 149n61, 153n171 empowerment 39, 52, 159–60, 164–7, 165–7 entitlement 1, 53, 86, 92

177

episcopal vocation 53, 81–2 epistemic hubris 53–5, 83, 87, 167 epistemology: in Foucault 12–13, 41, 54–5; God and 13; of gossip 6–7; truth and 40–3; see also knowledge Evariste, Dom 11 fear 162 Fiorenza, Schüssler 117–18, 125n74, 125n90, 143 I Corinthians 118, 120 I Peter 92 followers: defined 16 forgiveness 8 Foucault, Michel: agency in 32–3, 35; bodies in 34–5; Church and 11–12; discourse in 39–40, 74n137; epistemology of 12–13, 41, 54–5; freedom in 30–1, 113–14, 160–1; gender and 32; history and 13, 31, 136, 140; humanizing in 12; imagination in 140–1; Kant and 36, 160–1; knowledge in, words used for 43n13; Nietzsche and 21n93; norms in 10; power in 29–30; power/knowledge in 38; power-relations in 36–7; sexuality in 20n77; sovereignty in 80; space in 134–8; space of freedom in 3; subject in 34–6; in theology 12; truth and 11–14, 41–2; World War II and 13–14 freedom: agency and 112; to become 37; Christianity as practice of 110–11; Church as space for 2–3, 146, 157–8, 162–5; critique and 161; defined 110; in Foucault 12, 30–1, 113–14, 160–1; Galatians and 162–3; as gift of creation 111; imagination and 141; as license 37; as limited 111–12; meta-ethic and 30; other and 162; possibility of 28–9; power and 30; power-relations and 37; in Rahner 134; sovereign power and 110–11; space and 132–3, 134; subject of 28–9 fundamentalism 52, 81, 84, 95–7 Galatians 3–4, 116, 118–20, 121, 125n91, 130, 159, 162–3 gaze 92, 140, 145 gender: Foucault and 32; in hemorrhaging woman story 3 Genesis 54 geography 135–6 Gill, Sean 101n63 Girard, René 12

178

Index

Gluckman, Max 57–8 God: epistemology and 13; imagination and 143; space and 132, 133–4 gossip: authority and 163; defined 6; discursive practices and 51, 56–62; epistemology of 6–7; friendship and 60; Jesus and 163; knowledge and 6–7, 57; marginalization and 59, 61–2; negative 7, 57–61, 58, 163; norms and 51; positive 7, 57; power/knowledge and 57; sovereign power and 60–1; unity and 60 grace 8 guardian of knowledge 55–6, 95 Hadot, Pierre 123n24 Haigh, Christopher 104n132 hate speech 51, 58–9, 61–2, 71n71, 83, 97 Heidegger, Martin 130, 142 hemorrhaging woman story 3, 163–4 Henry VIII 85 heterotopias 136–8, 149n88, 149n89 heterotopic imagination 17, 135–8, 140, 141, 143–6, 168 history: Foucault and 13, 31, 136, 140; ontology of 140, 142 homosexuality 58–9; norms and 10 hooks, bell 68n21, 153n172 hubris, epistemic 53–5, 83, 87 humanizing 12 Ignatius 69n35 imagination: authority and 167–8; change and 139; critique and 51; epistemology and 143; etymology of 140; in Foucault 139, 140–1; freedom and 146, 160; God and 138, 142, 168; heterotopic 17, 135–8, 140, 141, 143–6, 168; in Kant 141; love and 139; paschal 135, 144, 148n58, 152n142; prophetic 137, 138, 143, 146; in Rahner 14, 139–40, 142–3; space and 117, 138–46, 160; as transcendent ontology 142 implied censorship 88, 90, 102n88 inclusion 164–5, 172n84 individualization 92–3 Inge, John 147n7 institutions: sovereign power in 2 Jamieson, Penny 169n11 Jensen, Alexander 12 Jesus Christ: discursive practices and 159; ekklesia and 116; gossip and 163; norms and 3

John, Gospel of 92 Johnson, Peter 122n4 John XXIII, Pope 121n2 Kant, Immanuel 36, 141, 142, 160–1 Kearney, Richard 152n166 Keenan, Marie 9 Keller, Catherine 133 Kelly, Mark 33–4 knowledge: authority and 55–6; bishop as guardian of 55–6; epistemic hubris and 54–5; in Foucault, words used for 43n13; gossip and 6–7, 57; guardian of 55–6, 95; imagination and 142–3; individual and 165–6; in power/knowledge nexus 5; privileged 5–6; subjugated 40, 58, 145, 166; as term 15; see also epistemology; power/knowledge nexus Koopman, Colin 34, 35, 46n71 Krause, Sharon R. 122n4 Kristeva, Julia 104n138 Küng, Hans 121n2, 152n165 Kwok Pui Lan 68n24 Latour, Bruno 98 leader/follower dynamic 2, 91–2, 158–9; see also church leaders Lee, Anne 105n142 Lefebvre, Henri 115–16, 130 legitimation 7, 38, 58 love 121, 138–9 Lührmann, Dieter 125n91 Luke, Gospel of 92, 163 Lukes, Steven 32 Lyotard, Jean-François 46n88 MacIntyre, Alasdair 73n119 Macquarrie, John 63 Mahon, Michael 44n27 managerialism 100n37 manhood 32, 85–6, 114; see also masculinity Mann, Bonnie 32, 85 Mannion, Gerard 126n99 marginalization: abuse and 7–9; child abuse and 7–9; complexity of 51–2; gossip and 59, 61–2; norms and 9–11; sovereign power and 1–2, 51–2, 161 Mark, Gospel of 163–4 masculinity 32, 54, 83, 85–6, 114; see also manhood Matera, Frank J. 126n106 Matthew, Gospel of 8, 116, 162, 163

Index McFague, Sallie 123n46, 133, 146n2, 147n29 McSweeney, John 151n126 meaning-making 130, 131 Medina, José 72n90 meta-ethics 12, 29–31, 41, 80–1, 113, 135 Michelson, Grant 71n72 micromanagement 94 moderation 40, 85, 166 Moltmann, Jürgen 18n19, 132–3, 146n2, 171n58 monarchy see divine right; “spell of monarchy” Murray, Andrew 9 mutual empowerment 39, 52, 159, 164–7 negative gossip 7, 57–61, 58, 163 Nietzsche, Friedrich 21n93 Nockles, Peter B. 99n23 norms: gossip and 51; homosexuality and 10; as integral to existence 10; internalization of 10; Jesus and 3; marginalization and 9–11; power/ knowledge and 38; untested 9–11, 58, 60–1 Norris, Richard A. 69n29 obedience 8, 91–5, 104n117, 104n132, 121, 125n90, 168 Oksala, Johanna 150n95 ontology: of history 140, 142 orientation 14 original sin 158–9 other: child as 7–9; Christianity and 145; fear and 162; freedom and 162; gossip and 7; marginalization of 6–7 Oxford Movement 82 Pasewark, Kyle A. 147n20 pastoral power 91–5 Paul, Saint 117, 118–20, 162–3 Pickard, Steven K. 99n11 piety 8 place 115, 130–1, 144–5, 147n7, 147n8, 147n25, 148n57; see also space Platten, Stephen 52 politeness 61, 95 Pope John XXIII 121n2 positive gossip 7, 57 power: bio- 45n51; bodies and 34–5; in Foucault 29–30; freedom and 30;

179

obedience and 91–5; over, vs. to 164; pastoral 91–5; power-relations vs. 42; sovereignty and 74n129; subject formation and 92–3; unilateral 28, 80, 86–7, 102n74, 114; see also authority; church leaders; sovereign power power/knowledge nexus 4; authority and 28–9; Church and 37–8; discursive practices and 40; in Foucault 38; gossip and 57; norms and 38; sovereign power and 52–3; subject formation and 38–9; truth and 37–40 power-relations: Church and 37; discourse and 166; mesh of 36–7; power vs. 42; subject and 37 practice 111 prerogative 1, 53, 81 present 3 primacy 62 privileged knowledge 5–6 protocols 89–90, 95–7, 158 Rahner, Karl 28, 133–4, 139–40, 141–3, 168 redemption 158–9 Reformation 65 resistance 13, 32, 41, 45n47, 112–13, 143–4 Restoration 65 revolution 115–16 rituals 61, 83, 84 Roberts, Richard H. 67n11, 101n50 Robinson, Geoffrey 20n66 Rose, Jacqueline 99n9, 99n10 Ruether, Rosemary R. 84, 103n103 rumor 70n53, 94 Russell, Letty 169n8 sacralization: of obedience 91–5 Schillebeeckx, Edward 22n122, 124n63 Schmitt, Carl 64 Schneiders, Sandra M. 148n58, 152n142 Scruton, Roger 71n71 secrecy 8–9, 54, 88, 90, 92, 146, 157 self-identity 35 self-knowledge 35 self-transformation 35 sexuality: in Bible 10–11; consent and 88; in Foucault 20n77; as normative 10; standards for clergy on 88–9; unitary discourse and 89–91 shared wisdom 2, 4, 40, 56, 138, 164, 165–7 Sheldrake, Philip 124n51, 147n7

180

Index

sin 158–9 site 136 Soja, Ernest W. 124n51 sources 14 sovereign exception 62–5 sovereign power: aim of case study of 51–3; Anglicanism and 81–2; authority and 32–3, 113; authority vs. 39; as captivity 112–13; Church under 157; consent and 114; culture and 2; defined 1; ecclesial discourse and 5; freedom and 110–11; gossip and 60–1; marginalization and 1–2, 51–2, 161; original sin and 158–9; in other institutions 2; power/knowledge and 52–3; privileged knowledge and 5–6; problem of 4–6; space and 131–2; tolerance and 164–5; truth and 41–2 sovereignty: authority and 4, 62–5; bishops and 82, 83; in Foucault 80; in Latour 98; law and 73n123; locus of 18n24; masculinity and 32, 85–6; power and 74n129 space(s): in Bachelard 130; body and 132; Christian 3; Church and 145–6; community and 132; ekklesia and 3–4, 115–21, 144–5; existential sense of 130–1; in Foucault 134–8; of freedom 2–3; freedom and 132–3, 134; geography and 135–6; God and 132, 133–4; in Heidegger 130; heterotopias and 136–8; history and 136; imagination and 117, 138–46, 160; in Lefebvre 130; meaning-making and 130, 131; multiple 131–2; new 113–15, 144–5; place and 131; in Rahner 133–4; revolution and 115–16; site and 136; sovereign power and 131–2; in Tillich 131–2 spatial approach 2–4, 110, 115, 130–8 “spell of monarchy” 82–3, 157, 167 subject: in Foucault 34–6; power-relations and 37; to someone else 35 subject formation 35, 38–9, 82, 92–3 subjugated knowledges 40, 58, 145, 166 supremacy 85 symbol 3, 14–15, 55, 69n29, 82, 84, 115, 134, 163–4

Taylor, Charles 96 Taylor, Jeremy 99n20 terminology 14 territory 84–5, 100n37, 145 “thinking otherwise” 2, 139 Tierney, Brian 68n16 Tillich, Paul 13, 28, 122n17, 131–2, 147n17 tolerance 164–5 Topinka, Robert J. 149n73 Torrance, Thomas 131, 132, 148n48 Tractarians 81–2 Treier, Daniel J. 169n10 Trinkaus, Linda 123n35 truth: church leaders and 37–8; epistemology and 40–3; Foucault and 11–14, 41–2; power/knowledge and 37–40; sovereign power and 41–2 Turner, Bryan 32 unilateral power 28, 80, 86–7, 102n74, 114; see also power unitary discourse 88–91, 96–7, 149n62 unity 119–20, 149n62 untested norms 9–11, 58, 60–1; see also norms utopias 136–7 vocation 1–2, 43n11, 53–5, 81–2, 99n9, 111–14, 121, 135–8, 145–6 Volf, Miroslav 12, 119 Waddington, Kathryn 71n72 Ward, Graham 12 Weber, Max 42 Welbourne, Michael 165–6 Wiley, Tatha 126n104 Wills, Gregory A. 23n126 wisdom 138, 139–41, 143, 146, 164, 165–7 women 118; see also gender “wo/men” 17n3 Wondra, Ellen 52 World War II 13–14 Zimmer, Mary Ann 152n160 Žižek, Slavoj 172n84 Ziziouslas, John D. 69n34, 124n64