James Tissot, Abraham sees Sodom in Flames (1896-1902)
© alamy.com
As talking morality in politics has come to an end, we are witnessing something that appears radically new: the language of politics has been decoupled from that of ethics. One specific way of the suspension of the ethical in political language is when one talks religion in place of, rather than alongside, morality.
In Oscar Wilde’s play, An Ideal Husband, Sir Robert Chiltern, a successful and highly respected politician, is blackmailed for having sold a Cabinet secret in his youth. Distraught, he seeks advice from Lord Goring, his closest friend. Lord Goring’s response is: “If you did make a clean breast of the whole affair, you would never be able to talk morality again. And in England a man who can’t talk morality […] is quite over as a serious politician.” It is this talking morality in politics, which has accompanied liberalism from the very beginning and has been dominant especially since the end of the Second World War, that has now come to end.
On Talking Morality in Politics
Just like late Victorian politicians, modern political leaders, particularly in liberal democracies, have felt themselves bound to justify every decision in moral terms. Even the West’s military interventions, some of which have resulted in the killing of hundreds of thousands, sometimes millions, of people, have been presented as a necessary part of what is at heart an ethical project—spreading democracy and liberal values. Today, we are witnessing something that looks radically new, even revolutionary. Almost overnight, the language of politics has been decoupled from ethics in ways that would have been almost inconceivable only a year or two ago. One could argue that the much-discussed crisis of democracy, associated with the rise of populism, is accompanied by the ongoing suspension of the ethical in political language.
For many it could be exciting to have at last someone who “says it as it is.” It is remarkable that President Donald Trump’s numerous falsehoods never hurt his standing among his followers. What his supporters mean when they say that Trump “says it as it is” is not at all that he sticks to the factual truth. Rather, he has demonstrated that he has no inhibitions about making statements with complete disregard to moral norms. Consider ideas such as Ukraine having to give up its mineral resources or the Palestinians in Gaza being cleared from their land, a piece of real estate that will be turned into a resort or, as a Republican senator said with no sense of irony, into a large Mar-a-Lago. It is not that no other country has been robbed of its resources or a people of their land before, but this was not the sort of thing that political leaders would openly and proudly acknowledge. If we forget about the real-estate aspect, Trump’s plan for Gaza, based on the forcible removal of its inhabitants, is in essence what the previous administration attempted to do. That was presented, as could have been expected, in the language of human rights. The population of Gaza would be provided with “humanitarian corridors,” which would lead to the Sinai desert in Egypt. Everyone fully realized that once the Palestinians left there would be no going back. Now Trump has completely done away with this kind of language. Thus, the ugliest and most outrageous “truths” are being spelled out in a confidant manner and with no sense of shame.
On Talking Religion in Politics
There is one specific way of dispensing with talking morality in politics: by talking religion in place of, rather than alongside, morality. This is a much more intriguing and conceptually more complex phenomenon than using the language of business and real estate. The reason is that there is a widely accepted, but rarely examined, idea that there is a natural affinity between ethics and religion.
Let me give a recent example. Soon after the Hamas terrorist attack of October 7, 2023, Israel’s Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu stood before Israeli soldiers and solemnly asked them to “remember what Amalek did to you.” He was referring to one of the most violent and morally repugnant episodes in the Hebrew Bible: “Remember what Amalek did unto thee by the way when ye were come out of Egypt: how he met thee by the way, and smote the hindmost of thee, even all that were feeble behind thee, when thou wast faint and weary; and he feared not God” (Deut. 25:17-18). In other words, the people of Israel, after fleeing bondage in Egypt and arriving in Canaan, the Promised Land, were attacked by one of the Canaanite tribes, known as Amalek or the Amalekites. As a result, King Saul was instructed by Samuel to annihilate Amalek: “Now go and smite Amalek, and utterly destroy all they have and spare them not; but slay both man and woman, infant and suckling, ox and sheep, camel and ass!” (1 Sam. 15:3). The God of Israel himself issued a divine command to his people: “Thou shalt blot out the remembrance of Amalek from under heaven; thou shalt not forget” (Deut. 25:19). The biblical narrative about the fate of Amalek falls under the category named with the ancient Hebrew term of herem, which means to “totally annihilate a population in war.” It is one among many passages that, when read ethically, cannot but “amaze us,” as the one of the most influential theologians of the twentieth century, Karl Barth, acknowledged, “by [its] remarkable indifference to our conception of good and evil.”
Someone who was not “amazed” was the nineteenth-century philosopher Søren Kierkegaard. His provocative insight is that the ethical and the religious are fundamentally different: ethics belongs to the “immanent” sphere while religion is a matter of divine authority, which is unconditional and cannot be judged by criteria drawn from the world of immanence. In Fear and Trembling, Kierkegaard’s intentionally shocking example of Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice his son at the command of God is a model of religious dedication, which, from an ethical perspective can only cause horror. On Kierkegaard’s terms, this is what religion is: it is the “teleological suspension of the ethical.” What we need to think through today is something altogether different, which, nevertheless, shares some features with Kirkegaard’s concept. Political speech, drawing on biblical stories such as Amalek exactly because it implies unconditional authority and forecloses critical judgement—aspects that belong to the religious, not the immanent, sphere in Kierkegaard’s terms—should put anyone who cares about democracy and liberal values on the alert. We have here a radically secularized “suspension of the ethical.”
Instead of a Conclusion
Biblical references in modern, secular contexts are frequently much more revealing about the one who selected the reference than about the original text. We could, therefore, end with another episode from the Hebrew Bible, again involving Abraham, that is relevant to the present situation. When God orders his people to go and destroy Sodom and Gomorrah, they all obey and only Abraham remains, alone in fear and trembling, to face a terrifying God. This episode became a familiar iconographical type, known as “Abraham Pleads (or Intercedes) for Sodom and Gomorrah.” I have always found this title inadequate, as it obscures the real import of the story. The whole point is that Abraham is not pleading—no courage is required for that. He challenges God, even shames him, and that certainly requires the greatest courage possible. Consider the narrative in Genesis 18:22-33. Abraham’s questioning of God starts with: “Will you indeed sweep away the righteous with the wicked? Suppose there are fifty righteous within the city ... Far be it from you to do such a thing ... Far be that from you! Shall not the Judge of all the earth do what is just?” Abraham persists: “suppose forty are found there ... or twenty.” All the while he is fearful and yet he keeps challenging God: “Oh, let not the Lord be angry, and I will speak again this once.” Notice that what Abraham demands of God is not compassion. It is justice. And there are times when even keeping the idea of justice alive requires courage.
Karl Barth, The Word of God and the Word of Man (London: Pilgrim Press, 1928), p. 38.
Clemena Antonova is art historian and research director of the “World in Pieces” program at the IWM.
