Roger Scruton often wrote about his beloved England and how he was witnessing its tragic collapse. In 2000 he penned England: An Elegy (Bloomsbury). While focusing on just this one nation, much of what he says there can be applied to other parts of the West. Here I simply want to offer some quotes from the volume. In his Preface he writes: “What follows is a memorial address: I speak of England as I knew it, not as the country might appear to the historian. My intention is not to add to the store of factual knowledge, but to pay a personal tribute to the civilisation that made me and which is now passing from the world.”

That everything in life, including ourselves, our families, our loves, our relationships, our communities, our cultures and our countries are all transitory is a given. But we tend to live as if this were not the case. Things that we really love and value we tend to want to continue forever. But as George Harrison once put it, “All things must pass”.
Our life and our world will come to an end soon enough. The Bible also speaks to these realities. In James 4:14 we read: “What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes.” And Hebrews 13:14 says this: “For here we have no lasting city, but we seek the city that is to come.”
My youth is gone. My wife is gone. My very life will soon be gone. And many things I have loved will also one day be no more. But still, we can and should appreciate the good things that we have known. And that can include cultures and nations. Love of country can be a good thing, and grief over a country that was once great but is now in decline is also appropriate.
I grieve over the fate of the once great West, and the places I have spent most of my time in: Australia, America and Europe. Others also lament the decline of their own nations. One such figure is the late Roger Scruton. He often wrote about his beloved England and how he was witnessing its tragic collapse.
In 2000 he penned England: An Elegy (Bloomsbury). While focusing on just this one nation, much of what he says there can be applied to other parts of the West. Here I simply want to offer some quotes from the volume. In his Preface he writes:
“What follows is a memorial address: I speak of England as I knew it, not as the country might appear to the historian. My intention is not to add to the store of factual knowledge, but to pay a personal tribute to the civilisation that made me and which is now passing from the world.”
Various chapters look at such things as English character, culture, religion, law, society and government. But here I want to focus on his final chapter: “Epilogue: The Forbidding of England.” As with so many other Western nations, the demise of England is not due to external forces so much as inward decay. Self-loathing, guilt-tripping, and a determined repudiation of the past are all part of this.
The chapter begins with these words: “England consisted in the physiognomy, the habits, the institutions, the religion and the culture that I have described in these pages. Almost all have died. To describe something as dead is not to call for its resurrection. Nevertheless, we are in dangerous territory.”
He admits of course to the country’s many weaknesses and defects. He lists some, but then he says, “I find myself confirmed in the desire to praise the English for the virtues which they once displayed, and which they were taught even in my youth to emulate.” He continues:
This does not alter the fact that these virtues are rapidly disappearing. Having been famous for their stoicism, their decorum, their honesty, their gentleness and their sexual puritanism, the English now subsist in a society in which those qualities are no longer honoured – a society of people who regard long-term loyalties with cynicism, and whose response to misfortune is to look round for someone to sue. England is no longer a gentle country, and the old courtesies and decencies are disappearing. Sport, once a rehearsal for imperial virtues, has become a battleground for hooligans. Sex, freed from taboos, has become the ruling obsession: the English have the highest rate of divorce in Europe, regard marriage as a bore, are blatantly promiscuous and litter the country with their illegitimate, uncared-for and state-subsidised offspring.

Gone are the congregations and the little platoons. Gone are the peaceful folkways — the children’s games, parlour songs, proverbs and sayings — that depended on a still remembered religious community. Gone are the habits — the stiff upper lip, the aloof sense of duty, the instant assistance to the stranger in distress — that went with imperial pride. Gone are the institutions — the village shop, the market, the Saturday-night dance, the bandstand in the park — through which local communities renewed themselves.
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If isolation—the state in which we exist, dividing ourselves from one another and from God—permeates even the life of the church, then we can see isolation appearing in our church life in two different, polar-opposite forms. Following Bonhoeffer, we can see that there are two faces to isolation: that of the crowd and that of the individual.

Loneliness and even estrangement we are familiar with, but isolation? Is this too strong a term to describe the ways in which sin afflicts our common life? The skepticism of this nomenclature, I think, is twofold. First, it may come from a fear that this prioritizes sin as a fundamental reality of creation rather than grace. It is, after all, only because God sustains the world that we are able to name isolation clearly, as a falling away from our intended state as creatures. We were created for communion with God, and isolation is what we settle for and, as we shall see, unwittingly calibrate our experience of church to. But in order to see the way home, we must name the problem for what it is.
The second reason to be skeptical of the term isolation to describe the human condition may come from associating isolation with an extreme situation: that of prisoners in solitary confinement, of nomads living without another human soul. But these are simply isolation—as a theological reality—taking a dramatic physical shape. Isolation, as used in this book, refers not merely to a phenomenon but to a state that dictates how we in turn view the self and the activities that we do. Isolation names a condition in which, because of sin, the human exists divided from others and from God. Because of this division, we share a common world sustained by God, but we view one another as competitors in that world, each of us closed off, threatened by all others, and sustained fundamentally by our own efforts.
While loneliness describes a feeling that ebbs and flows with the presence of others, isolation—a pervasive state—better describes our state under sin, even when we are in the presence of others. Loneliness is, in other words, the harbinger of isolation, sending a message to remind us that this feeling of distance from others that we endure temporally is an echo of a far more serious situation. In using the term isolation throughout this book, I am naming the way sin permeates the world and the ways this condition then leads us to structure the world to try to overcome or compensate for that condition.
It is isolation that better describes the complex way in which sin divides human beings from God and one another, distancing them from the goodness and benefit of the God who is our source and from others, through whom we receive these good gifts.
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Written by Alan D. Strange |
Monday, February 19, 2024
The “spirituality of the church” (SOTC) relates to the reality that the church is supremely a spiritual institution (not a biological one, as is the family, or a civil one, as is the state) and that its power is moral and suasive (not legal and coercive, as is state power), ministerial and declarative (not magisterial and legislative, as is power in the Roman Catholic Church). Thus, the church is an institution gathered and perfected by the Spirit, having chiefly spiritual concerns, carried out in a spiritual fashion by a Spirit-indited use of the means of grace.

An Ongoing Dialogue
Historically, the church has at times claimed a supremacy that she does not have—over the state, especially—and she has, at other times, allowed the state to dominate her. Part of the genius of the Reformation was the rediscovery that the state is not over the church or vice-versa, but that all institutions are properly under God. The Scots, in opposing Erastianism—the notion among some Protestant rulers that the church is properly under the state, as was the case with the Church of England under the English monarch—particularly developed this Reformational notion that the church was not under the state in what they called the “spiritual independency of the church.” In the American context this came to be known in the nineteenth century as the doctrine of the “spirituality of the church” (SOTC).
To be sure, the doctrine was often abused to stop the mouth of the church against slavery; however, Charles Hodge of Princeton, and others of his time and following him, developed a better use of the doctrine, capturing the older notion that the spirituality of the church was calculated to spare the church from simply giving way to politics and state control, minding instead its proper spiritual call and mission, having rule over its own affairs. At the same time, Hodge was careful not to muzzle the prophetic voice that the church always possesses as she calls the whole world to repentance and faith. The spirituality of the church of this sort could be helpfully recovered for the ongoing dialogue of how the church is to relate to the world in which it finds itself, both in how it distinguishes itself from the world and how it gives itself to the world.
It is important for the church to do both: to distinguish itself from the world, or it fails to be the distinct agency of gospel proclamation that it is called to be, and to give itself to the world, or it fails to be the foot-washing servants that Christ calls it to be. The present atmosphere, in which the politicization of virtually everything looms, can prove especially challenging in this regard. Highly charged partisan political currents can impact the church as well as civil society, especially when it comes to the temptation of those on both extremes—left and the right—to bring social, economic, political, and like agendas into the church. The church as church may have something to say about present concerns (e.g., abortion, same-sex marriage, etc.), which is to say that God’s word may address such, usually in principle, though not in detail; in any case, not in a way that renders the church just another voice in the current cacophony of shouted political slogans, but that contributes a proper faith perspective to vexing moral questions in the public square. We need to be salt and light, to witness to the power of Christ and his gospel in an unsavory, dark world in a way that does not avoid the moral issues of our time, bringing a clear prophetic witness to them, but also not allow politics to swamp the boat so that the gospel gets sunk in a sea of cultural concerns.
Recapturing Spirituality
The SOTC, which we seek to recapture, is today either forgotten as a concept or remembered only for its abuses (e.g., justifying the church not addressing American slavery and the racial hatred that especially developed in its wake, including iniquitous Jim Crow laws).
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