Both Christian and ‘human rights’ missionaries face the same dilemmas

If we think we can make the world a better place, standing on the side-lines is not an option, writes David Quinn

In the science fiction series, Star Trek, there is something called the ‘Prime Directive’. It instructs that no contact should be made with another civilisation until it has reached a certain level of advanced technological development. The civilisation must be allowed to develop in its own way without the intervention of outsiders until that point.

Should we have a similar directive here on Earth? That is, should we leave other societies and cultures alone until they reach a particular level of development, or until they reach out to us?

The question seems pertinent in light of developments in Afghanistan. For 20 years the West, led by the United States, has been trying to remake that country in its image.

The American-led invasion, which took place in October 2001, following the September 11 attacks on the US, overthrew the Taliban, which presided over the most extreme form of Islamic (Sharia) law on the planet. Women in particular suffered, but so did anyone who was not a Muslim. The Christian presence in Afghanistan is tiny because converting to Christianity can easily result in your death.

Status

The Americans were determined to raise the status of women in Afghan society, even introducing gender quotas into certain sectors. Humble rural councils had quotas. Many aid organisations descended on the country intent on Westernising it (because that is what it amounted to). Several dozen Irish people worked for these organisations. Their bravery and dedication cannot be doubted.

But now, suddenly, the Taliban are back in power, America has been humiliated in the eyes of the world, and aid workers, as well as the local allies of the Western powers are scrambling to get out of the country.

The question arises; should we have ever been there? Yes, perhaps the overthrow of the Taliban (from the Arabic word, ‘talib’ meaning ‘student’) was justifiable because they provided a haven for Osama Bin Laden and Al-Qaeda. But after that, what?

After that, the Western power begin to nation-build, that is, to try and turn Afghanistan into a cohesive, democratic country which adheres to the UN’s Universal Declaration of Human Rights. If that meant overturning centuries, if not millennia of local traditions, and transforming their understanding of Islam, then so much the better.

I used to believe in nation-building. Naively, I thought it was possible to turn countries like Afghanistan, Libya or Iraq into shining beacons of democracy. How wrong that was. It turns out that you can overthrow an existing status quo, one that might have been extremely bad, and actually make things worse.

Nation-building has actually succeeded sometimes, for example in Japan and Germany after the war. But those countries were absolutely smashed to pieces first, especially Germany, and anyway, the American victors were building on strong, pre-existing foundations. Germany was a Western country, a product of Western civilisation, and Japan had industrialised in the 19th century in order to try and match the power of the West, which it did, and also enabled it to wage war on its neighbours.

Tribal society

But in a place like Afghanistan, you are dealing with a deeply tribal society, where nearly all the loyalties are tribal. That is a very different thing entirely.

Does this mean we should foreswear trying to change societies like Afghanistan at all? Should we simply leave them alone entirely?

This is a question that concerned Christian missionaries long before it ever concerned UN-type human rights activists. Should we bring the Gospel to people who never heard of it? Why not leave them with their own religion?

For most of Christian history, the answer was never in doubt; of course we should tell them about Christ. He told us to ‘make disciples of all nations’. It is an explicit command from the Lord himself.

But now we are full of doubts. We know that sometimes Christianity arrived in a region by force, such as in South America, or Africa, with the colonisers.

Should the Church have kept its missionaries at home or sent them into these new mission fields? But the thinking was still that these newly encountered people were better off with the Gospel. The alternative was to let the likes of the Aztecs continue with mass human sacrifice uninterrupted, or else leave them to the ‘tender mercies’ of the most brutal of the Spanish Conquistadors.

The fact is, Christianity has a universal message (‘Catholic’ means ‘universal’, which is to say, the Catholic Church is the universal Church). In a similar vein, Christianity believes everyone is my neighbour and ought to be helped.

Liberal, secular humanism is also a universal creed. It is built on a Christian foundation. Like Christianity, it regards everyone as my neighbour, and it believes human rights (as the West defines them) are universally binding. This human rights ‘Gospel’ must be extended to the whole world, humanists believe, especially to places like Afghanistan that need it most.

Liberal, secular humanists therefore face exactly the same dilemmas as the Christian missionaries. For example, is it right for human rights organisations to follow Western conquerors into places like Iraq and Afghanistan, or should they stay as far away as possible?

Conquerors

But even if they don’t follow conquerors, much of the time they can only access a given country because of Western power, often in the form of money. Western aid to developing countries frequently comes with ‘human rights’ strings attached, which can include abortion.

So, should we adopt something like the Prime Directive instead and avoid contact with any place that hasn’t reached modernity on its own, or hasn’t invited us in?

We can’t really do that either. If we think we can better the lives of people, if we think our human rights creed (however we define that), or the Gospel will objectively improve their conditions, then it would be immoral to stand back, unless we think we will make things worse, which is very possible.

The best answer is sure to engage, but to do so with maximum delicacy and sensitivity rather than clumsily, or worse, with force.