Os Guinness is greatly influenced by the late Francis Schaeffer and is well-respected by those of us who are into “Worldview” studies. In this book, he compares and contrasts two revolutions: The American and the French. His main point is that America, if it wants to preserve any sense of freedom, would be wise to draw from the wisdom of a third revolution: The covenant between God and the Israelites made at Mount Sinai and recorded in the book of Exodus.
Guinness notes that “…the present crisis stems from the fact that over the last fifty years, major spheres of American society have shifted their loyalties and now support ideas that are closer to the French Revolution and its heirs rather than the American Revolution.” (3) The main issues he addresses in the book can be summarized by this shift, which he presents as this: “America cannot endure permanently half ‘1776’ and half ‘1789.’” I’m not a fan of big declarative statements of finality, in which someone pronounces eternal judgement on a nation if they don’t heed the advice found in their book. I also understand that this is often the best way to get the attention of an audience today, and pretty much anyone who speaks with nuance is subsequently ignored. So, Guinness sets himself up with a tall order to prove. Does he do so convincingly?
Guinness points to God as the “true revolutionary” who “turns the world right way up” when we are prone to “turn the world upside down.” (12) God creates order but we create disorder. He believes this is clearly seen in the Sinai covenant, and spends a good amount of time unpacking why. The type of freedom that society needs is “ordered freedom”; a balance between the extremes of authoritarianism and anarchy. Historically, not all revolutions are created equal.
In the Exodus story, the Bible clearly values freedom while standing in firm opposition to the abuse of power. It is a picture of both valuing the past as well as looking to the future. In this sense, Guinness claims, “True conservatism and true liberalism are blood brothers, not enemies.” (25) To walk this careful tightrope is not easy, but necessary, for “…freedom pursued in the wrong way all too often ends in serfdom rather than liberty.” (26)
Compared to the religious foundations of Sinai, the French Revolution stands in stark contrast, establishing a “Cult of Reason” that was every bit as “religious” as that which it sought to tear down. It seems that the religious fervor of any revolution is unavoidable; it just comes in different flavors. To better understand the theological underpinnings of Sinai, Guinness borrows much from the works of two contemporary rabbis, and offers valuable insight into a Jewish interpretation of the great Exodus story. He notes that secular ideologies always try to understand humanity by starting with ourselves, which inevitably leads to understanding us “downward,” reducing us “…to the level of nature or an animal or a machine.” (49) Starting with God, however, raises us up, understanding humanity “upward,” as made in the image of God.
Another interesting point that Guinness makes is on the importance of words. He notes that God revealed Himself to us through words, and even created the world using words. In our culture, however, words have often been cheapened. “In the Babel of our media and social media, words have been hyped, worn out, and left threadbare.” (56) He says, “There is ceaseless deconstruction, but not reconstruction. The dismantling is never followed by rebuilding.” (56) He begins to criticize the political left more and more, and likely wherever you fall on the political spectrum will determine how much you agree/disagree with what he says. This is not to say that he doesn’t offer words of critique against the right too, but he mostly see the echo of the French Revolution in the approach used by the progressive Left today.
There is much else that he says, but here are a few quotes that stood out to me.
“The people of God are to be an eternal critique of all that is wrong and a signal of transcendence pointing to a better and brighter way. They are called to be revolutionary, not reactionary, and a revolution that repairs and restores the world, turning its upside down to be the right way up.” (97)
“The first component in the cultural dynamics of sin is the temptation to suspicion of God and by implication a temptation to a deeper, wider suspicion of others and everything outside us as a threat to our freedom.” (108) He notes this suspicion is often directed against three things: boundaries, others, and the past.
“Under the philosophy of postmodernism, might always makes right. If power is the sole umpire in the game, how can ‘abuse’ be flagged as abuse when the powerful are simply being powerful and the weak are simply being weak?” (113) He notes how something like the #metoo movement can begin as an opposition to the abuse of power, but be coopted into an abuse of power itself by going on witch-hunts to ruin the lives and careers of every person that has ever made a mistake in their life. When the lines are blurred and the standards of today are retroactively applied to culture decades ago, it can create a culture of fear rather than reform.
“Liberation may take no more than a moment, but freedom is a way of life that takes longer and requires patience and persistence.” (141)
Postmodernism operates using the method of suspicion, “…because suspicion is the best way to protect against the power moves of others […] The result is that postmodernism can never create anything other than a low-trust society.” (146)
“Freedom is a gift and an inheritance, but it is also an art that requires practice, discipline, and perseverance.” (158)
Guinness notes the importance of history. One might critique him at this point and ask, “History…according to who?” But his issue is with the focus of condemning the historical sins of others rather than looking at ourselves; a sort of historical scapegoating. He says, “Never in history have so many archives been ransacked, so many witnesses deposed, so many hearings held, so many testimonies plumbed, and so many statues torn down—all on behalf of exposing ‘the sins of fathers’ rather than our own.” (195)
This can also be seen in a shift to elevate “image” over “character.” When a celebrity is caught in some sort of violation of the cultural moral rule book, they are forced to make a canned “confession” to save face (and career). He says, “The modern apology is not really an apology from the abuser to the victim. It is for public consumption, a plea bargain with fans, supporters, and critics and a required step on the path back to social rehabilitation. Whatever passes for repentance is an early move in the healing process. The happy ending is ‘achieving closure,’ capped by the announcement that it is time to move on and time for the tabloids and paparazzi to stalk someone else.” (195) I’m reminded of comedian Adam Corolla who famously has refused to grovel before any mob, and has been able to avoid “cancelation” because the wolves who are looking for blood always move quickly on to their next victim. Of course, as Christians, true repentance is a must. That’s Guinness’s point: what our culture demands is not true repentance, but often mere moral theatre.
In the end, I think this book has some good stuff to say. My biggest critique would be that Guinness often throws too much on the page to consider. He is obviously well-read, but many times fails to drill down and unpack an idea when he can get away with just mentioning it in passing. The chapters are long, and he perhaps could have benefited from dividing his many ideas into more manageable chapters. However, for someone wishing to engage the political and social climate from the perspective of the Old Testament, this book offers an interesting perspective.
Rating: 3/5
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