Abstract
The political activism of Christians in Malaysia is in an emergent phase. Despite significant advances, especially after the milestone general elections of March 2008 (where the ruling National Alliance regime lost its two-thirds majority in parliament), many Christians hesitate to engage politically and when they do, their engagement is incoherent. Based upon a survey and critical analysis of media statements by leading Christian organizations, this article argues that Christian activism remains anemic in part due to political theologizing which suffers from incoherency, inconsistency, a diminished view of the political, and an over-reliance on the rational. The article intimates that the kind of political discourse and theologizing adopted by the church would benefit from an application of psychoanalytical categories. It concludes by suggesting that psychoanalysis cannot only provide new categories with which to re-imagine political issues in Malaysia but also reinvigorate the Christian political imagination itself.
Introduction
Malaysian Christianity, Political Anemia, and Islamization
Browsing through the average Christian bookstore in the Klang Valley (Selangor, Malaysia), one may get the impression that the kingdom of God, at least as Malaysian Christian book-sellers perceive it, rarely extends beyond individual well-being. Most literature on sales relates to private spirituality and not much else; heaven, it seems, has nothing to do with public justice or nation-building. Participating in church meetings and gatherings, it is common to hear politics being spoken about enthusiastically yet tactfully avoided as part of the church’s spirituality as a whole. Perhaps the publishing market and the Sunday church discourse reflect how many Malaysian Christians remain convinced that the church qua church is no place to highlight politically sensitive issues (Roads, 2012), especially given Christianity’s minority status in Malaysia whose religious landscape echoes Barry Wain’s (2009: 9) declaration that the country is the most complex society in the world.
Out of Malaysia’s total population of 28.3 million today, and with Islam as the official religion, 1 Muslims comprise 61 percent of the population, Buddhists 19 percent, Christians 9 percent, Hindus 6 percent and other (mainly Chinese folk) religions 5 percent. Christians in Malaysia number approximately 2.2 million, consisting of 700,000 Chinese, 100,000 Indians and about 1.4 million Other or Bumiputera (literally, ‘sons of the soil’, referring to indigenous peoples such as the Iban, Kadazan and Senoi) (Ismail, Nair et al, 2010). 2 Brought into Malaysia during colonial times, Christian missionaries began establishing the myriad of denominations from the end of the 18th century onwards. These include Roman Catholicism, Evangelical Lutheran, Anglican, Presbyterian, Assembly of God and Full Gospel Assembly (Bong, 2012: 68–69). 3 In today’s settings, the norm leans towards the form of religious expression and personal piety with attendant ‘apolitical’ attitudes reflected in a general acceptance of the sovereignty of the ruling government (Yeoh, 2011: 98). Yeoh contrasts such a spiritual ‘charismatic’ 4 mentality – characterized by a hermeneutic of prosperity, literalism and purification/authenticity – with a more liberationist approach adopted by Roman-Catholic churches which focused more on human rights, social justice and inter-faith dialogues that only began to take serious roots from the 1970’s onwards. Nevertheless, socio-political issues remained less well known and an essentially subaltern expression of Christian spirituality (Yeoh, 2011: 8). Malaysian Christianity, like other non-Muslim religious movements in the country, 5 in other words, has arguably lacked a strong link between its institutional expression and colonial (and thus, later, post-colonial) state machinery (Yeoh, 2011: 94). 6 This is reflected also in the largely uniform responses of the denominations to socio-political issues. Without denying the diversity of the various denominations in the country, within the area of political activism, however, denominational differences towards the political are either non-existent or irrelevant in the context of understanding Malaysian Christian political activism. This is true especially in relation to the threats faced from the ruling regime and the collective evangelical responses to them. Largely because the state and Islamic authorities do not distinguish between the varying forms of Christianity, Christian groups have largely converged and attained a measure of inter-community identity in responding to these issues, for example, by rallying behind organizations like the Christian Federation of Malaysia (or CFM) 7 or the National Evangelical Christian Fellowship of Malaysia (or NECF). The very purpose of such NGOs in fact attests to the desire for a unified voice among the country’s denominations. Largely uninvolved in local political issues, including the critical period of independence in the late 1950s, 8 Christians in Malaysia avoided serious engagement with the state until the early 1980s, when faced with the onslaught of Islamization 9 initiated by Prime Minister Mahathir Mohamed (Chong, 2010: 138–145, 224–233). 10 Inspired by the Islamic resurgence that swept in from the Middle East since the 1970s, it is remarkable that the elements, which characterized the revival of Islam in Malaysia would, apart from its non-Christian doctrinal form, be welcomed by most spiritually minded Christians. For example, a central tenet of the renewed vigor and belief, which characterized the Islamization process was that Islam should not be a private religion but also a public guide to the organization of politics, the economy and society (Weiss, 2006: 104–114). 11 Though under the reign of Mahathir Mohamed, Islamization took on an accelerated pace, shed its traditional emphasis on doctrine, ritual and scholarship and became a virtual instrument of modernization and the overall consolidation of the ruling regime’s grip on power (Wain, 2009: 217–227). 12 Nevertheless, for the purposes of this study, Malaysia’s Islamic revival ironically spurred the political awakening of other faiths, including Christianity. This was due not least to the infringement of the Islamization on the human rights of adherents of other faiths, e.g. legal amendments that allowed state intervention into non-Muslim religions, reduced allocation ratios for non-Muslim places of worship (as compared to the building of mosques), the conversion of non-Muslim minors, the legal prohibition of preaching to Muslims, the introduction of hudud laws and many others (Bong, 2012: 70). More specifically to Christians, the government has begun restrictions on numerous activities like sharing the gospel, registering as a denomination, meeting as a group, buying land, conducting kindergartens, and recruiting church workers (Rowan, 2012: 96–100; Ackerman, 1993: 137–138). This is not to say that Islamization is the only event kindling a nascent Christian political activism; certainly the rise of the middle-class Christians (as part of the growth of the Malaysian middle-class in general) brought along with it a fresh political discourse centered around virtues of justice, participatory democracy, human rights and transparency (Saravanamuttu, 2013: 345–348).
Malaysian Christianity thus serves as prime example of a minority faith compelled towards political action by pressures from a secular state gradually taking on a non-secular bias in favor of a majority faith. Nevertheless, it is revealing that Malaysian Christian activism still remains a print-worthy news item (Sia, 2010). Even in 2012, pastors can still meaningfully discuss the political ‘awakening’ of Christians in Malaysia (Yeoh, 2012). Politically oriented sermons, up till very recently, were seen as deviant or abnormal (Lau, 2012: 1–8). 13 Despite significant advances then, especially after the milestone general elections of March 2008, 14 seemingly irrational hesitations persist among many Christians with regard to political engagement. A primary objective of this article is to show, via a survey and critical analysis of media statements by leading Christian organizations and thinkers in Malaysia, that political theologizing is a primary factor behind why Christian activism remains anemic. I argue that incoherence, inconsistency, a diminished view of the political and an over-reliance on the rational continue to plague Christian thinking about politics and faith, and that at least some fresh benefits can be gleamed from an application of psychoanalytical categories.
Psychoanalysis and the Interrogation of the Unconscious
It is hardly surprising that Malaysian Christian thinkers and activists – so inclined towards the rational – have largely snubbed the insights of psychoanalysis which is primarily concerned about explaining seemingly illogical or irrational psychosomatic symptoms in individuals. 15 Psychoanalysis offers new categories and practices for treating clinical disorders by postulating connections (or short circuits) between unconscious libidinal processes and conscious activities. There is a dimension within our minds, which cannot be symbolized or observed directly yet which influences our decisions and feelings. Pscyhoanalysis thus provides an intriguing framework of analysis not often applied in Malaysian politics. Similarly, not unlike the individual psyche, the collective psyche may contain much that is repressed and irrational 16 rendering these phenomena relevant for analyzing the political. 17 Suffice to say, given the inter-connectedness of the individual and collective, the psychic dimension is necessary for the construction of socio-political theories (Oliver, 2004: xiv).
Furthermore, employing psychoanalysis as a key tenet in socio-political studies is gaining in popularity. For example, J.K. Gibson-Graham (2006: 163–183) have studied cases (in the Latrobe Valley (Australia) and Pioneer Valley (United States) respectively) framed by the view that subjects’ identities are formed by and cemented in libidinal enjoyment and frustrated desire. They document ways in which these communities reinvented themselves – via, among other things, conversations, cultural and environmental projects – and thus created new spaces and identities, obtaining some release from the subjective rigidities of their prior economic situation. Their work is one example of how hegemony-producing fantasies (a key psychoanalytical concept) are challenged by subjects interrogating the stories they previously believed. Likewise, Yannis Stavrakakis (2007: 163–183) argues that national identifications are themselves predicated on affective dimensions i.e. symbolic authority cannot be divorced from notions of enjoyment and pleasure. According to him, the failure to produce a workable European identity based on the European Union is at least partially due to the missing ethnic substance which formerly provided the libidinal attachment to individual countries (Stavrakakis, 2007: 215–217). Finally, Ernesto Laclau’s theory of hegemony revolves around the Lacanian lack as a structuring principle. Laclau (2000: 53–59) theorized that securing political power involves covering over a lacuna in society, promising an impossible fullness in society yet hiding the fact that particular leaders can never be a proxy for universal representation. Ruling regimes, therefore, are always stuck with a split and distorted hegemony (e.g. there will always be elements namely communities and concerns) that cannot be fully integrated into the national narrative of harmony and order.
To reiterate, as a clinical discipline, psychoanalysis was unique in that it pioneered the study of the unconscious, directed towards the relief of psychosomatic symptoms, which defied logical explanation. This entailed recognizing the limits of consciousness and rationality, as well as the impact of fantasy and reflexivity on human subjects. Ultimately, psychoanalysis was and remains at the forefront of approaches, which deal with seemingly irrational behavior (Makari, 2008: 15–18). To the extent that many political scenarios cause bafflement or are perceived as rather absurd, the discipline arguably remains a viable tool for analysis, not least in Malaysia where, arguably, the absurd abounds. 18 Overall, therefore, this article will propose that psychoanalysis cannot only provide new categories with which to re-imagine political issues in Malaysia, and thus elsewhere too, but also reinvigorate Christian political imagination itself.
Elections, Non-Partisanship and a Refusal of the Real
Reasons abound as to the sporadic involvement of Malaysian Christians in political activism. These include: skepticism over the ‘social gospel’ and pressure from the government (Ng, 1994); the lack of a Malaysian Christian identity (Rowan, 2012: 187–197); the developmentalist mentality of the middle class in which wealth accumulation eclipsed social transformation coupled with the rise of middle-class Christians produces the double-edged sword of both the increased power of the laity yet reduced involvement in social activism given the focus on personal evangelism (Chong, 2010: 138–176; Loh, 2002: 19–50); the want of a contextualized Trinitarian theology (Kit, 2010: 83–88; Walters, 2002: 234–284) or one centered around neighbourology (love for the neighbor) (Batumalai, 1986: 155; Walters, 2002: 266–268); the fragmentation of churches especially among Protestants (Rowan, 2012: 160–161); and a strong sense of Christian identity centered around discipleship and reaching out and cooperating with non-Christian communities (Rowan, 2012: 187–197). 19
Peter Rowan’s (2012: 131) ground breaking survey of the attitudes of early twentieth-century Malaysian Christians to the role of the church in society revealed some stark results, e.g. very few churches are involved in local initiatives to promote national unity. It was particularly concerning that 55% of survey participants could not provide an example of their church’s involvement (Rowan, 2012: 132). Also, most survey participants rated themselves as ‘uncommitted citizens,’ with 62% replying ‘Yes’ or ‘Not Sure’ when asked if they would emigrate to another country if given the opportunity (Rowan, 2012: 135–137; Hwa Yung, 2006).
The generally poor response of many Christians is remarkable, not least given the proximity and abundance of Biblical themes involving politics and justice, especially in the New Testament (Rowland, 2004: 27–33; Storkey, 2005: 111–131) coupled with the seriousness of the Malaysian socio-political scenario. One may already detect here what psychoanalysts term a fetishistic disavowal: we know that we should be doing something yet we choose to act differently (Žižek, 1999: 389–390). This echoes Peter Rowan’s concern about the acute gap between what Malaysian Christians say they believe and what they practice with regards to peace-making and reconciliation in the country (2012: 140). 20
The political anemia of Malaysian Christians is arguably compounded by the often paradoxical theological positions of Christian leaders, especially when it comes to elections. For example, the National Evangelical Christian Federation of Malaysian (NECF), in a review of a book promoting Christian activism, declared that the church is responsible for advocating Biblical criteria for the government and the standards expected of political leaders. Yet the church, according to this conservative stance, somehow cannot endorse election candidates, laws or policies (NECF, 2012), 21 contra a proposal that the pulpit should be a place to ‘name names’ (Lau, 2012: 1–8). 22
Likewise, the Christian Federation of Malaysia (CFM), 23 in a press statement drafted by Bishop Ng Moon Hing, links the importance of democratic participation to the doctrine of dominion and stewardship of the earth (Genesis 1:26–28) and Jesus’ words about Christians being the ‘salt of the earth’ and ‘light of the world’ (Matthew 5:13–15) (CFM, 2012). The divine commandment to rule over and subdue the earth (Genesis 1:28), coupled with those in the Sermon on the Mount about the Christian’s responsibility to transform their communities, are employed to make the case that the Christian has the responsibility to elect a government to bring justice, equity and well-being to Malaysia. Whilst intuitively appealing, certain peculiarities in the CFM’s position – largely representative of how Christians and churches justify the importance of political engagement – need to be highlighted. For example, whilst CFM asserts that Christians have a God-given duty to protect and safeguard the earth, it nevertheless doesn’t translate this into a commandment for Christians to participate in the nation’s democracy and merely ‘invites and encourages’ God’s people to exercise their political rights. Yet if God has commanded the Christian to ‘rule over and subdue the earth’ and CFM has translated this into the Christians’ right to stewardship which, in turn, is translated to being politically responsible, why then it is not a duty for Christians to vote? Merely ‘encouraging’ Christians to vote hardly reflects the importance of a divine commandment to bless the earth; it sounds almost as awkward as a pastor simply ‘encouraging’ his members not to sin.
It is moreover theologically and politically baffling as to why CFM needs to stress that it, “is not politically motivated and is not endorsing any one political party.” This implies that it’s entirely up to individual Christians to vote whichever partisan group they believe will bring more justice to the country. This is a position, which not only ignores the numerous evidence and data on the corruption of the reigning Barisan Nasional (‘National Alliance’ in Malay) government but also paradoxically allows any Christian to refrain from voting should they believe that no party meets whatever criteria of justice that they personally hold. Nevertheless, CFM does not leave ambiguous what it considers to be priorities in selecting a governing party. It insists that Christians should vote bearing in mind questions like human dignity, equality, concerns about racial and religious bigotry, anti-corruption, care for the environment, freedom of religion and so on. This mirrors the position offered by Sivin Kit, a pastor at a local Lutheran church, who helpfully distinguished between being ‘neutral’ and being non-partisan, insisting that there are many cases for which it would be absurd to claim political neutrality (Sia, 2010). 24
All of which renders even more perplexing CFM’s stance when it comes to elections, which perhaps can be summarized as:
It is God’s commandment for Christians to be good stewards of the earth which includes political responsibilities within a democracy which, in turn, takes the form of voting. It is not God’s commandment – merely an encouragement – to vote. It is God’s commandment for Christians to be salt of the earth and, within a democracy, this entails electing the right party into power, one which upholds justice, harmony, etc. It is not God’s commandment to vote against a regime for which there is ample documentation of corruption, cronyism and anti-democracy i.e. it is not God’s commandment to elect the right party into power.
A close reading reasonably concludes that propositions 1) and 2) contradict each other, as do 3) and 4). Also, there is no clear explanation for why the CFM refuses to publicly denounce the ruling Barisan Nasional regime and urge Christians to vote against the alliance. This could reflect a long-standing theological trajectory, which de facto holds to a separation of church and any action suggestive of direct partisanship.
Bishop Ng has even stated that the CFM, “(does) not seek to engage the government on political issues because our mandate is to safeguard religious liberties in the country” (Chong, 2010: 233–234), as if protecting freedom of religion is an issue, which can be divorced from politics in the country. In fact, in a clear case of ‘engaging the government on political issues’ in its press statement regarding the Lina Joy case (Chong, 2010: 98–99; Lee, 2010: 62–73), 25 the CFM declared that, “it is now more pressing for the government and lawmakers to revisit the relevant legislation and to reinstate the jurisdiction of the Civil Courts so that equal protection of the right to choose and express one’s religion is accorded to all Malaysians, as enshrined in Article 11.”
Due to a severely limited understanding of the ‘political,’ 26 it appears that CFM’s position – while laudable for its call for Christian political engagement – is on the whole not only untenable, it may even border on the incoherent. 27 It is one thing to insist that Christian groups remain non-partisan; it is quite another for these groups, on a case by case basis, to publicly endorse (or reject) selected parties. By equating the political with the partisan, CFM unfortunately rigiditizes the scope of possible engagement in the sense that its supporters are disempowered from conceptualising how one can be actively political without the negative baggage of partisanship or from considering acceptable partisan avenues to political change which fits with Biblical admonishments of social justice (Yeoh, 2012; Lau, 2012; Kit, 2009).
Similarly, Bishop Hwa Yung – leader of the Methodist Church – in his 2012 series of writings regarding Christians and nation-building, appears to say almost all the right things but hesitates on what some would insist is the right thing to do i.e. vote out an oppressive incumbent. A general concern with tyranny (Yung, 2012a) and a reminder of the democratic responsibility of citizenship (Yung, 2012d) in the interests of reconciliation (Yung, 2012c) couched within a framework and directive of prayer and revival (Yung, 2012b) is entirely laudable and theologically resonant. Yet, typically, when addressing the subject matter of who to vote for – i.e. arguably the most critical point of a democracy – Yung declares that it’s improper to propose a specific party or candidate, citing democracy itself as the call to “vote prayerfully and thoughtfully, without coercion from anybody” (Yung, 2012d). He further explains that since pastors are like spiritual shepherds for politicians, they cannot be directly involved in in party politics lest those on the ‘other side’ are cut off, resulting in the loss of pastoral credibility (Yung, 2012d). Yet Yung doesn’t take into account the conceptual distinction between becoming a member of a political party and occasionally telling the church that it would be wrong to vote for a given party. To declare that it would be against the spirit of Biblical virtues and values to vote a certain party into power is not the same thing as siding fully with this party’s rivals. The Bible itself suggests that to be genuinely prophetic utterances required condemning specific people at specific times with clear objectives (Brueggemann, 2004: 8–16); how ironic, therefore, that pastoral credibility is invoked as a reason not to specify which party deserves to be voted out.
Hwa continues by re-asserting that voting is a private decision and that since pastors may have friends in more than one partisan camp, for the pastor to publicly speak out against a given party could not only alienate some of his friends but also call into question the faith and integrity of these people (Yung, 2012d). Whilst this appeals intuitively to our sense of friendship and goodwill, it contradicts the spirit and grain of Hwa’s remarks about righteousness, responsibility and the corruption of power. It is unlikely that Hwa opposes the public role of Christians in nation-building with their need to maintain private friendships but one cannot escape the impression that his position logically extols the respect of, say, a friend within the ruling regime over against the responsibility to speak out against that regime. In fact, Hwa Yung (2012d) does declare that pastors have the obligation to rebuke political leaders when they fail in their duties, citing the case of the prophet Nathan and King David (2 Samuel 12). If so, it is at the very least bizarre why a public rebuking of a given party followed by a call for people to vote against them is out of the question or is deemed not in line with the Old Testament prophetic theme. We could risk the hypothesis that this ultimate reluctance to make a stand for a specific political party on selected occasions reflects, indeed, a false form of neutrality. Could it be that the heart of this hesitation lies a fear of authentic engagement, or truly encountering the political Other? Is the Malaysian church ultimately seeking a ‘politics without politics’, reflecting its dread of the Real substance of things? Similarly, in the context of tolerance, Žižek also declares that many forms of tolerance today are dependent on ethno-centric (usually also Euro-centric) ideas of who an ‘authentic’ Other should be. When it comes to confronting acts like clitoridectomy or bestiality (performed by selected tribal groups around the world), such superficial pluralism tend to exhibit zero tolerance i.e. a refusal to confront the trauma of the Other, which is a variation of the fear in today’s world against encountering the true Real substance of things, hence the proliferation of products like decaf (coffee without coffee), cybersex (sex without sex), and chocolate laxative (chocolate without real chocolate) (Žižek, 2002: 174). Apply this to the issue of refusing to side with parties on the pulpit, it’s possible the Malaysian church has fallen prey to society’s desire to enjoy things sans their unpleasant side-effects; as with decaf coffee, so with ‘non-partisan’ political sermons which sound like another way of doing politics sans politics.
To conclude this section, the already half-hearted (albeit growing) attention devoted to political issues by Malaysian Christians is rendered more problematic by a theological trajectory sensitive to the realities of political oppression yet, within its own framework, reluctant to publicly declare specific parties to be wrong and call for them to be voted out. Within a psychoanalytical framework, one could insinuate that the inconsistencies of the Malaysian church leadership are the result of an unconscious disavowal of the trauma of their position if pushed to its logical conclusion. The jouissance of political resistance and activism is hard to sustain beyond superficial calls to action and a falling back on the traditional evangelical subordination of social-political concerns to ‘private’ ones. The unwillingness to specifically call for their members to vote out the ruling regime may signify an irrational fear of what even a hint of being partisanship may trigger. In both CFM’s and Hwa Yung’s case, especially the latter, it is remarkable that the very tenets of democracy which push them to challenge injustice in the country is the very same one which prevent them from identifying specific culprits. 28
The ‘Allah’ Controversy, Rational Dialogue and the Violence of Reason
Another issue surfaces with the kind of approach adopted by Ng Kam Weng 29 when responding to the ‘Allah’ controversy. 30 In an article published under the Kairos umbrella, Ng reaffirmed the right of Parti Islam Se-Malaysia (PAS) 31 to decide on their theological interpretation on the word ‘Allah’ and the right of particular religions to interpret their holy books and to profess their faith in their mother tongues. He also called for a constructive dialogue between Christians and Muslims to resolve the ‘Allah’ controversy (2013a). Ng’s modus operandi in responding to political issues usually involves reasoning from a priori principles derived from a broad selection of human rights and legal perspectives and critically identifying contradictions and inconsistencies in his opponent’s views.
For example, after issuing a call to constructive dialogue with Muslims, Ng immediately highlighted a contradiction between a recent declaration by the PAS Ulamak Syura Council and its President, Hadi Awang on non-Muslims restrictions regarding the use of ‘Allah.’ He proceeds to lay down axioms which he expects everyone to comply with, e.g., that everyone is entitled to hold their own religious views of God, that one group’s right to believe something should not impinge on another group’s right on what to believe regarding that same issue, that we should not misinterpret other religious views, that freedom of religion is a fundamental and inalienable right, and that polemics (in the form of fatwas, press statements and pronouncements) will not help mutual understanding. It is noteworthy, too, that Ng ends his article by quoting a New Testament verse, 1 Peter 3:15–16 regarding the need for Christians to produce a gentle and respectful answer for all who question them on their faith. This echoes an earlier article he wrote questioning the rationality behind the Sultan of Selangor’s decree forbidding non-Muslims in Selangor to use the word ‘Allah’ (Ng, 2013b) where, after quoting Isaiah 41:21 (“Set forth your case, says the Lord; bring your proofs, says the King of Jacob”) and Isaiah 43:26 (“Put me in remembrance; let us argue together; set forth your case, that you may be proved right”), Ng asserts that, “Authority in matters of faith is legitimate not because it is backed by legal or political coercion, but because it is supported by a compelling argument that is open to reason. The only force that is legitimate is the force of truth and peaceable persuasion” (emphasis added). Rational discourse frames and orders the kind of ‘structured pluralism’ that Ng believes is necessary for a modern democracy to resolve the differences among its communities whilst ensuring that the State doesn’t overstep its powers (Ng, 2004: 86–89). In a similar vein, Bishop Hwa Yung, drawing on the work of Rodney Stark, has also endorsed the view that democracy has its roots in the Christian faith given how Christianity exclusively advocated reason and logic in the search for religious truth (Yung, 2012b).
This rationalist-foundationalist approach, coupled with a call for peaceful discourse, is no doubt invaluable for resolving socio-political gridlocks. Apart from a fidelity to reasoned argumentation which exposes contradictions and unhelpful rhetoric, it also helps the public focus on the key issues and be wary of passionate concerns which may often be red herrings. 32
On the other hand, one can certainly overstate the importance of rational dialogue, especially in the service of democracy if one isn’t wary of how democracy itself may be merely a polemical principle, an ‘organizational form without political content’ (Goodchild, 2007: 56). The assumption that truth or justice will necessarily prevail with free, open and reasonable discussion tends to obscure the violence inherent in reason itself. For example, the act of framing or representing a subject necessarily excludes, stereotypes, and homogenizes. 33 Most of all, the interests of the proponents of reason have already determined the trajectories of the dialogue. For example, it is clear from Ng’s proposals that certain non-negotiables must apply and be accepted by all parties without which dialogue becomes virtually impossible, e.g. the freedom of religion, the separation of religion and state not to mention the very belief that dialogue in the interests of democratic pluralism is the best solution. For a proponent seeking to uphold the ‘fundamental realities of pluralist societies in Asia’ (Ng, 2004: 89), perhaps Ng’s libertarianism doesn’t go far enough to discern the plural modalities through which different faith-communities view pluralism itself.
A pertinent example of how differing modalities apply can be observed in the case of the French ban on the burqa, the veil wore by Muslim women. Slavoj Žižek (2011: 51–52) highlights the common argument that Muslim women should not be coerced (via tradition or religion) into wearing a veil and if they do decide to wear the veil, it should be an act of their free individual choice. However, Žižek points out that this would effectively transform the meaning of the act itself; the burqa would no longer be a sign of the woman’s role within the Muslim community but simply, “(an) expression of her idiosyncratic individuality, of her spiritual quest and her protest against the vulgarity of the commodification of sexuality, or else a political gesture of protest against the West” (Žižek, 2011: 52). 34 Similarly, for Ng to insist that Muslims accept as a starting-point the freedom of religion or the right of other faiths to interpret their own texts may only illustrate his ignorance or denial of how Muslims themselves view these very concepts themselves. This move tacitly takes for granted that religious groups have no right to make pronouncements about the public recognition of other deities, let alone the overlaps in faith-practices and the use of holy words (as the ‘Allah’ controversy demonstrates). The Old Testament itself demonstrates clearly that the God of the Hebrews detested the public presence of ‘other gods’ and that He clearly possesses a combative mentality when it came to rival deities (Boyd, 1997: 114–142) 35 , one presumably not very conducive to modern sensibilities. It is more than conceivable, therefore, that the Muslim other whom Ng addresses may assume a particular stance less because of his rejection of pluralist-rationalist principles and more as a result of his fidelity to a more traditional conception of divinity than Ng adopts. This approach also illustrates the classic Lacanian logic of exception whereby the one calling for the adoption of certain rules – e.g. adopting reason as the primary way forward – breaks the rules in the process. Such a form of subtly ‘non-pluralist pluralism’ adopted by Ng is arguably the obverse of the fact that his rationalism may inadvertently perpetuate the sort of Eurocentric Christianity, from which Sharon Bong (2012: 84–85) claims local theologies need to be de-colonized. Characteristics such as the transcendence of God, abstraction, doctrine, universalism and unitary truth tend to de-privilege post-colonial theologies with their emphasis on spirituality, divine immanence, praxis, plural truths and localization, resulting in a dissonant view of the (often subversive) other (Bong, 2012:85). In a word, Ng’s approach if employed uncritically may stifle a genuine understanding of the stakeholders involved in a political crisis, especially their values and differing modus operandi. The ‘plurality within unity’ and mutual acceptance he explicitly states are necessary to prevent social conflict (Ng, 2004: 86) may, in fact, embody suspect forms of tolerance dependent on ethno-centric ideas of who an ‘authentic’ Other should be. 36
Moreover, even assuming that modern rationality should be the norm for today, it is likewise not self-evident that the Christian narrative, especially as it pertains to politics, sacrifice and the atonement of Christ, can be copiously understood and accepted by today’s rational mindset. For example, the New Testament extols believers towards seemingly irrational tasks such as loving one’s enemies and doing so in the form of forgiveness and prayer for their persecutors (Matthew 5:44–45) and ‘turning the left cheek’ when slapped on the right (Matthew 5:39). Blessed, in fact, are Christians in circumstances of poverty, tragedy, meekness and persecution (Matthew 5:1–12). Likewise, Christians are called to equate tribulations, insults, and evil with joy and gladness (James 1:2, Matt 5:12) not least because great shall be the heavenly reward on account of these things. Thus, the very attempt by Christians to stand up for their rights, in a straightforward reading of the New Testament, already violates a certain strand of the teachings of Jesus. 37 It also noteworthy that the only explicit public call by a Malaysian Christian in the trajectory of forgiving and loving one’s enemies is by a student, Michelle Ng. It is rare (if not impossible) to hear Christian leaders issue press statements like those found in her column, “(Even if) the day comes when Christianity is prohibited in Malaysia, when our churches and bibles are forced to cease to exist, I can assure you that we will still welcome you into our homes with open arms; we will feed you when you’re hungry and we will care for you if need be; and we will pray for you every day” (Ng, 2013).
Finally, an approach oriented around rational dialogue, because it adopts libertarian reason as the solution to whatever issue is at hand, overtly assumes not only that a lack of reason is the primary cause of the problems arising but that if only all parties remain transparent and logical, a resolution should naturally arise. Without denying that thinkers like Ng recognize the largely political-partisan dimension in many of such religious issues (especially in Malaysia and particularly those arising very close to a major election), the concerns with approaches like his (and, to some extent, virtually every Christian NGO) is the undue privileging of reason and the non-problematization of the rational itself. Unsurprisingly, there is no discussion about the repressed desires of the main antagonists, the fantasies and libidinal aspects of political arena (Gibson-Graham, 2006: 130–163) and obsessive neuroticism (Žižek, 1996: 177) possibly manifested by key players. In a word, the unconscious of the socio-political is ignored. Ironically, leaning on the primacy of rationality may cause us to miss or disavow the rationality behind seemingly irrational behavior. Without denying the advantages of a reason-based approach, therefore, and notwithstanding the numerous exegetical perspectives of controversial passages, an over-reliance on the rational may miss critical aspects of the political domain. Attention to the unconscious, therefore, reinstates desires, affects and other domains of the collective psyche not susceptible to rational investigation.
Conclusion
Malaysian political theologizing remains at an impasse, seemingly unable to transcend the boundaries of the very form of rationality, which has been self-imposed on its public theology and discourse. The comfort of political apathy, the lure of wealth, the suspicions of ethnicity and the inherent limitations and violent obscuring of the rational – and not least a glut of irrational fears invading the Malaysian socio-political discourse – all render an exploration of the psychoanalytical landscape of the country an urgent endeavor, if only to identify new avenues and angles from which to make an impact on the power structures of the country. Psychoanalysis offers a framework to question the unspoken and unconscious desires behind activist positions, which somehow refuse to take themselves as far as their logic can take them, and even to interrogate the fantasmatic elements undergirding a particular party’s actions regardless of their official statements. By analyzing the contours and coordinates of trauma, perhaps the church would be less hesitant in saying what has to be said; perhaps they could put off the repulsion against identifying specific people and parties as culpable. By taking a less naïve view of reason and rational dialogue, the church could get to the real and often unspoken motivations and affects impacting a certain political group’s actions. By naming political fantasies for the injustice for which they serve as scaffolding, the church can speak and pray in a manner more resonant of the ‘powers and principalities’ warned of in the New Testament. 38 Malaysian churches need to step out of the consoling familiarity of the conscious and reasonable and wade (discomfortingly but necessarily) into the mystery of unconscious, the repressed, and the traumatic.
