Let me preface this entry with the acknowledgment that I really don't know what I'm talking about. I am neither a historian nor a sociologist. I'm simply thinking a lot these days about certain conversations taking place in our culture - and wondering where they come from. I expect this hypothesis has already been explored in depth by those far more qualified than I to do so. And I humbly request that those more knowledgeable about these matters will offer corrections and recommendations in the comments.
Also, I am aware that I use exclusively the male pronoun below. It is not an accident.
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The neighborhood where I perform my ministry has recently provided me with quite an education on human behavior and motivations. Our neighborhood was built by rich whites at the turn of the 20th century as the first "suburb" of Richmond (it was called a "streetcar suburb," because the city built a streetcar line to ferry the wealthy residents back-and-forth between their grand houses and the merchants in the city). After the war, Richmond's vibrant upper- and middle-class black community began moving into this area -- which of course occasioned massive white flight. When a Presbyterian church in the neighborhood took up and headed out to the (new) suburbs, the local presbytery and Presbyterian seminary together founded in its place the first integrated congregation in the City of Richmond. This congregation flourished for several decades, and maintained its unique character. However, its fortunes mirrored those of the neighborhood, and with the 1980's and '90's came a general economic downturn, along with an increasing loss of diversity. By 2010, both the congregation and the neighborhood were almost completely bereft of white people.
In the past few years, however, the neighborhood has begun to experience gentrification, and that trend has accelerated rapidly in the past year. At the same time, there has been a revival of community organizations, with a concomitant increased engagement in civic issues affecting our specific neighborhoods. City services, real estate development, crime, and parking issues are all frequent topics on an electronic bulletin board I subscribe to. Mixed in with these are fairly regular announcements of organization meetings, local events, and generally upbeat comments about the direction the community is taking. Membership on this bulletin board is heavily skewed in favor of recent arrivals, many of whom are young and tech-savvy (and white). One comment in particular has stuck with me because of the frequency of its appearance, and the lack of any comment in response to it. That comment is one that opines, in some way or another, "We [i.e., the new arrivals] are going to make this a great community!"
Which has gotten me thinking about colonialism.
As I've been thinking about it, it seems to me that colonialism is distinctive by the philosophy which underlies its exercise of power. Peoples and rulers have fought for power and dominion since the beginning of time. But colonialism seems to have a unique character. It adds to the common appetite for power an insidious ingredient of "betterment" -- the idea (always uncritically accepted by the colonist) that the exercise of their power is fundamentally "good for" those being colonized.
I'm not aware of any ancient conquests predicated on this aim. It seems to me that this philosophical framework appears only in the wake of the Enlightenment. And this would make some sense, since it was the Enlightenment (I think) that robustly developed the understanding of 1) the individual 2) apart from the divine 3) who had the power to improve himself - and, by extension, those around him. (In other words, the Enlightenment is why Barnes and Noble is able to devote so many shelves to "self-help" books.)
This notion of "betterment" exceedingly complicates the phenomenon of colonialism, simply because the exercise of dominion is no longer understood as simply the deserts of a stronger power. Rather, colonization is unique because the conqueror sincerely believes that the exercise of his power is virtuous -- even helpful. And, to complicate matters even more, this belief is often vindicated through endeavors like education, health care, farming methods - even an occasional brokering of peace between warring indigenous peoples.
Yet these admitted improvements are never accomplished by themselves. They are inevitably the handmaidens to the colonizing power that truly (if disingenuously) sees itself as Savior. It is this fundamental assumption that poisons every action of the powerful, because it uncritically labels all aspects of the natives' life as inferior, and all aspects of its own as superior. Such is the character of the Messiah Complex.
The inevitable consequence of this dynamic, of course, is that any criticism of the colonist is immediately met with protestations that point (exclusively) to the colonist's most clearly humanitarian endeavors, buttressed by an "all-or-nothing" mentality. Because colonialism is un-self-critical, it is inescapably immature. It refuses to allow for the possibility that its motivation for any particular endeavor (however humanitarian its appearance) may actually spring from a subconscious awareness that the endeavor in question actually benefits the colonist as much as - if not more than - the colonized.
This selective blindness can affect both sides (although the colonist, exercising power, is far more culpable). Those colonized may refuse to acknowledge whatever actual improvements colonists may have brought, translating to an indiscriminate and wholesale indictment. Consequently, the colonist hears not a criticism of particular practices, but of the "noble vision" (however erroneous) at the root of his "benevolent" colonizing efforts. By the same token, because the colonist is unwilling to acknowledge that the changes he has brought are not universally and equally beneficial, he views the colonized as ingrates and savages - who, of course, therefore need more colonization.
It all comes back to the fundamental premise of colonialism - that the colonists' efforts are based on (or at least are significantly characterized by) an altruistic motive for improvement, and that its consequent actions are therefore beyond reproach. The problem, of course, is that even the purest and noblest of human efforts will always be stained with self-interest (cf. Is. 64:6b).
Which brings up the final thought-tangent: I'm reminded of the clever and unique practice of the Deceiver. People frequently characterize him as completely evil, and his works as completely evil. This is actually to his advantage, because all he need do is Not Appear Evil, and people will therefore conclude that he cannot be the Deceiver. And so this is his modus operandi: if you examine scripture's depiction of the Deceiver, you will see that he never tempts with unadulterated sin (because we humans are far too virtuous to fall for something so venal). Instead, the Deceiver always mixes actual Truth into his ploys. He accurately tells Eve that she and Adam will know good and evil after eating the fruit, and he accurately quotes holy scripture in his attempts to tempt Jesus in the wilderness. That is what makes his deceptions so insidious: no matter how evil, they always contain some goodness.
*cf. also, "We're from the government. We're here to help."
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Please let me say again that what I've written above is no more than 1) a rough draft of 2) personal musings. It needs significant editing, but the driveway is waiting to be shoveled and I have other responsibilities. I do not mean for this to be received as authoritative in any way. Rather, they are just my thoughts, and I covet your thoughtful response and engagement.
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