Abstract
Nigel Biggar’s work on just war theory, and more recently on the widespread cultural turn for asserting individual rights, has attracted criticism and appreciation in equal measure. In this, his latest work, he turns his attention to the legacies bequeathed by empires, and, in particular, that of the British. For the avoidance of doubt, the book is clear that the British postcolonial legacy is ‘morally mixed’. On the one hand, slavery perpetrated appalling abuses and was birthed in outright racial prejudice. On the other hand, the renunciation of slavery was (arguably) British-led.
British merchant adventurers and missionaries embarked on a programme of global colonization, endorsed in 1600, with a Royal Charter and considerable financial backing from the City of London. Ireland and parts of the Caribbean had previously provided dry runs for colonization. The first British ‘plantations’ were in Ireland, and Tudor monarchs sold licences and granted lands to wealthy adventurers willing to cultivate the land and expel or subdue its occupants.
The imposition of colonial rule – Commerce, Christianity and Civilization – came with a fourth ‘C’: Conquest. That the Church of England went along with such actions all over the world will barely figure in any history of mission, where the missionaries will invariably be presented as pioneers and heroes. Some were, for sure. But this sanitization of the past risks not being able to see the darker and mixed motivations at work. At the same time, there are some postcolonial theorists who have turned missionaries into little more than pantomime villains, which rather trivializes the motivations of many and the hardships that most endured for what they believed to be a higher purpose.
That said, the slave trade was a ‘white plague’ that wiped out much of West Africa. The colonial rule imposed on native populations across India and Africa was often a barely concealed form of ‘enlightened despotism’, in which self-determination and democracy were brutally repressed as ‘rebellion’ (or revolution, if you were fighting for freedom).
Nietzsche identified four kinds of history: scientific, monumental, antiquarian and critical. He characterized scientific history as one of mere information, although, with no moral compass, it struggled to avert the chaos of relativism and postmodernity. Monumental history, in contrast, looked towards moral exemplars, with antiquarian history offering loyalty and the sacralization of such exemplars. In that respect, hagiology is a form of antiquarian history.
Of course, the first three types of history can easily metastasize in any body politic, and threaten the pulse of critical history. Liberal and conservative outlooks are both at risk here. However, Nietzsche asserted that only critical history – much as liberation theologians claim for churches and communities – can provide life and moral direction.
Nigel Biggar’s approach to his subjects is intentionally critical and moral. Bloomsbury had originally commissioned Biggar to write the book, but then indefinitely delayed publication, telling Biggar that ‘public feeling’ was ‘not currently favourable’. However, William Collins procured the manuscript and published it.
Some reviewers have been almost viscerally hostile to Biggar’s thesis. But others have praised it for its clarity, originality and flair. Our world is deeply divided on feelings about contested facts. Nigel Biggar’s willingness to question prevailing ideologies and contextualize moral concerns within a historical framework make him a valuable thinker in our time. Marmite-like, Colonialism will divide opinion, leaving few ambivalent. However, since moral choices must be rooted in critical histories, Colonialism simply cannot be ignored.