N.T. Wright Gets It Wrong

REMINDERS OF THE dreadful ambitions of Islamic extremists are not hard to come by. Earlier this month we learned that authorities thwarted a "massive" terrorist attack against American targets in Germany, planned by at least two German citizens who had converted to Islam. Two weeks ago, Osama bin Laden released another video prophecy pledging victory in his jihad against America and the West. "Our holding firm to this magnificent Book is the secret of our strength and winning of the war against you." And, of course, we've just marked the sixth anniversary of the attacks of 9-11.

Yet despite the violent religious character of this threat, many in the West--church leaders in particular--refuse to think soberly about its moral and spiritual dimension. Indeed, prominent leaders in the Christian church, liberal and conservative, seem devoted to purely secular explanations for Islamist rage. But if the aims and tactics of al Qaeda do not suggest the existence of radical evil, what does? How are we to judge the nature of militant Islam?

Christian author J.R.R. Tolkien, living through the grief and darkness of the Second World War, produced an epic myth of humanity's titanic struggle against evil, The Lord of the Rings. A few lines from an exchange between Gandalf and Frodo are worth recalling:

"Last night I told you of Sauron the Great, the Dark Lord," said Gandalf. "The rumours that you have heard are true: he has indeed arisen again and returned to the Dark Tower of Mordor. That name that even you hobbits have heard of, like a shadow on the borders of old stories. Always after a defeat and a respite, the Shadow takes another shape and grows again."

"I wish it need not have happened in my time," said Frodo.



"So do I," said Gandalf, "and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us."

At the risk of oversimplifying the problem, it seems that a new shadow of evil has appeared, in the shape of what many now call Islamic fascism. One of its antecedents--Hitler's fascist movement of the 1930s--appears to echo back into our own day with each car bombing, beheading, and video rant from al Qaeda. Islamic scholars such as Bernard Lewis, in fact, see a philosophical link between radical Islam and Nazism, with profound consequences for the West. "If the leaders of Al-Qa'ida can persuade the world of Islam to accept their views and their leadership," Lewis writes, "then a long and bitter struggle lies ahead, and not only for America."

The historical analogy to European fascism has its limits, and no one really knows how much of the Islamic world endorses, or sympathizes with, the objectives of Osama bin Laden. Yet the ferocity, ruthlessness, and staggering vision of his cult of nihilism--the establishment of a global Islamic dictatorship--is plain enough. Why, then, do numerous Christian leaders and institutions seem ambivalent or chronically naïve about this threat? The problem is not confined to liberal theological voices such as the National Council of Churches or Chicago Theological Seminary, or to cranky pacifists such as Stanley Hauerwas or Jim Wallis. The unwillingness to confront the rise of Islamic extremism extends to theologically conservative thinkers and educators: those who are influencing a generation of believers on issues of church and state, war and peace.

The latest and perhaps most troubling example is that of a British church historian much admired by American evangelicals, the Anglican Bishop N.T. Wright. The Christian church owes a great debt to Bishop Wright's scholarly work on the resurrection of Jesus and the life of Paul. Indeed, it's hard to name a living academic who has done more to defend the historical integrity of the New Testament. "I'm a classical historian," he once told the BBC. "And I have used all the tools at my disposal to discover more and more about who Jesus was." Wright has employed those tools--careful analysis, a willingness to weigh evidence, intellectual curiosity--to advance the claims of the gospel over a long career.

Since being named Britain's fourth-ranking bishop, from Durham, Wright's views on various religious and social issues have received widespread attention. A few years ago he also joined Britain's House of Lords, a political position, and recently has applied his mind to the war on terrorism. A careful look, however, at his political thinking--in writings, sermons, interviews, and public statements--suggests that Wright has abandoned the critical tools that served him so well in the academy.