Abstract
How are we being observed? Who is watching us as we work, travel and relax? Why does this matter? Eric Stoddart provides thought-provoking answers to these and other related questions. In this interdisciplinary study, Stoddart investigates current surveillance ideologies and practices from a Christian theological perspective. A practical theologian by training who has taught at the University of Aberdeen, the Open University and the Scottish Churches Open College in Edinburgh, Stoddart offers a comprehensive account of a range of different approaches to being ‘surveyed’ in today’s digital age. Through this book he offers a theologically informed vision that underlines the importance of trusting relationships within families, among friends and between colleagues. As he observes, these relations commonly rely upon the ability to speak in confidence and privacy, without others knowing what is being said.
In the context of this study about surveillance Stoddart’s central aim is ‘to develop a critical theological ethics of care’ (p. 4). This sets him apart from the vast majority of other writers (of books and essays) in the rapidly evolving field of surveillance studies, which includes researchers trained in disciplines such as cultural, media and communication studies, political sciences, computing, sociology and criminology. For those trained in theology or ethics his account offers a fresh perspective; for those outside these fields his approach may be harder to embrace and require careful translation. He eschews any attempt to offer ‘universal ethical principles’, or to rely upon the right to privacy, and he draws instead upon feminist ethics in an attempt to develop a more critical interpretative approach, which seeks to ‘probe beneath surveillance’ (p. 3).
Stoddart also wishes to avoid sliding towards a nostalgic worldview, which pines for a return to a world of greater simplicity and physical proximity, where people commonly were relationally closest to those who lived nearby. He recognises the global reach that communicative technologies have brought, bringing distant peoples with common interests closer. While this has brought many benefits, it has also complicated human relations. This is underlined in his first chapter by Stoddart’s careful discussion of both analytical and ethical approaches to surveillance studies. He has listened carefully to the insights offered by scholars such as David Lyon and Lucas Introna. This allows him to discuss a wide range of different analytical approaches to surveillance, as well as the ‘diverse forms of surveillance practices’, while also underlining how we are the objects of ‘many surveillant gazes’ (p. 39).
By drawing on what he describes as a ‘feminist ethics of care’, Stoddart is able to go beneath the surface of surveillance. Rather than simply asking whether ‘surveillance might be performed caringly’ he attempts to show how his approach allows a careful interrogation of the ‘structures, systems and discourses of surveillance’ (p. 67). He partly does this through drawing critically upon the work of Martin Heidegger and Jacques Ellul, though he reveals that he is not satisfied with their ultimately negative or even dystopian perspectives on technology. Stoddart appears initially more drawn towards scholars such as Albert Borgmann who celebrate technology’s ‘disburdening and unencumbering’ potential (p. 75). Nevertheless, for Stoddart these accounts fall short when attempting to develop more ‘liberative action’ in the face of being constantly watched. This leads to a critical evaluation of the narratives by which surveillance is justified, and a particularly thought-provoking chapter on an ‘unsafe peace’ and the dangers of promoting a ‘culture of fear’. Stoddart challenges the widespread claims that seeing others better is necessary for preserving safety, peace and freedom. He points out that these claims can dazzle, distract, and lead to false promises of protecting comfortable and luxurious lives in the midst of a fragile and contingent world.
The reparative moves in Stoddart’s argument rely not on the assertion of our rights of privacy, but rather on what he describes as ‘(In)visibility’, which he sees as ‘a practice of liberative potential towards the flourishing to which God calls us from the future’ (p. 158). This claim could be developed further, though in the final chapter he does invite the reader to imagine the practices of worship and care that allow the ‘Christian community’ to make ‘itself visible’ (p. 170). This is founded upon a vision of God ‘who knew’ surveillance’s ‘gaze, suffered its harsh consequences’ and ‘watches over us that we might flourish and not wither’ (p. 171). According to Stoddart the ‘crucified God reorientates our perspective’ and shows how surveillance ‘ought first and foremost’ to ‘be for people’, and that only as ‘individuals and groups, lay and expert, keep holding it to account can we claim to be practising it carefully’ (p. 171; emphasis original). The practical implications of such claims are not always teased out, leaving plenty of scope for further work in this field of research. The issues raised in the concluding chapter have the potential to be the subject of another volume.
Two final observations about this illuminating book: first, the argument might have been made even more lucid with a clearer and more detailed exposition at the outset of how the discussion would unfold. Second, the wide range of sources and scholars he cites sometimes occludes the voice of the author. This approach has the benefit of providing an effective description of a topical field of research, but has the limitation of allowing the author’s own perspective and insights to be submerged beneath the weight of careful reading and research. These are comparatively minor quibbles which emerged from reading this nuanced discussion that raises a broad range of significant questions relating to surveillance. Overall, Theological Perspectives on a Surveillance Society is a rich, detailed and thoughtful addition to the rapidly expanding literature about surveillance.