Writing in the Dust (Paperback)

An attempt to find words is perhaps an accurate summary of this wide ranging yet focussed meditation on the events of 11th September and their aftermath. The Archbishop reflects on the shortcomings of language - even, or perhaps, particularly, religious language - in such extreme experiences of the human situation. He reflects on how easy it is to satisfy the desire to respond to "ease the tension" and yet how inadequate such response, whether word or action, must be without sufficient reflection. He initially draws on the notion of a "breathing space", the emptiness in the centre of the terror, and of the importance of avoiding the urge to fill this emptiness with word or action.

That this void is a place of profound reflection is illustrated in what follows. The reflections challenge the reader to move beyond the clichés and the demonisation of individuals, cause or ideologies to a more open and yet more critical assessment of the events of 11th September and their consequences. Archbishop Williams argues that such an assessment necessarily involves a degree of self-questioning, both in framing an appropriate response to these events and in seeking to grasp the implications of these events for the global community. Such self-questioning raises issues of the fear of powerlessness and the desire to translate such fear into the certainties of identification and subsequent defeat of the "enemy". Williams argues that in resorting to terminology of a "war against terrorism" and regarding this as sufficient, in some quarters at least, for an open-ended, imprecise military campaign resulted in a "squandering" of the moral capital accumulated in the early days following 11th September. Such a lack of focus calls into question the just war criteria of proportionality and discrimination and Williams suggest that the West's military response may have been "tainted" in this respect.

The book includes stimulating reflections on the nature of heroism and challenging contrasts are drawn between the dramatic heroism of martyrdom and the prosaic heroism of routine. And in a reflection on the dangers of reducing human beings to symbols, Archbishop Williams muses on the need to identify and register the suffering of another as a means of finding a common language. The symbol of the cross, Williams argues, stands not as a sign merely of our own suffering, but as something for all human sufferers because it belongs to no single human cause.

Archbishop Williams concludes his book with a meditation on the title "Writing in the Dust". His words, he says, as letters in the dust, may not last, but, returning to his image of the "breathing space", they may allow the time and space to reflect on, rather than simply react to, this experience.

At the heart of this book, there appears a conviction that in the "breathing space" will be found, not easy answers, but a hope that will carry us forward beyond the immediate shock and hopelessness. For all seeking to rekindle that hope and to run the risk of living it, this book offers much for reflection and stimulation, and yet much also to challenge and to disturb.

It is near the end of the text that Williams highlights the story that immediately came to mind for me, and that is of Jesus writing in the dust as the crowd gathered to stone the prostitute. In the gospel of John, many different interpretations have been given to explain Jesus' curious actions in that story. Why did he write in the dust? What did he write?

Of course, dust was all around in New York City that day, the dust and grit of debris from the once proud towers and planes that became a symbol of terror and mortality. But writing in the dust, Williams says, is something perishable, too. Something that will not last. In the days following the attacks, America was ready for war. Had there been a clearly defined target and enemy, America surely would have gone to extraordinary lengths for revenge. The murkiness of the situation left America struggling to find an adequate response, a response still being debated, now years later.

A lot of talk in the past has focused upon the warlike nature of specific religions, countered by historical examples of our own cultures, religious and quasi-religious. This leads to accusation and counter-claim -- has it led to any real introspection on the part of our culture?

Of course, part of the problem with this introspection is that it is impractical for the most part. It also lacks the emotive power and emotional satisfaction of a call for vengeance. When people asked, as they continued to ask, where was God during those moments, theologians of every stripe struggle to find an answer that is at both emotionally and intellectually satisfying. Williams has elements of major modern theological schools in his own theology, including process theological ideas.

Williams continues beyond this to discuss the impact on those of us in the West who misinterpret the intentions of Muslim peoples, perhaps deliberately. He discusses a general worldview in which the virtues of the past, the 'just war' and the ideas of heroism and patriotism are in fact more fully exemplified in terrorists like Al-Qaeda and the IRA than in those they combat. The evolution of conflict from World-War types of clearly-defined battlelines logistically and politically have given way to a rather messy world in which the sands shift too quickly for easy answers to have general applicability. He also addresses a certain sense of futility.

Finally, Williams talks about the symbolic power, and the emptiness and inappropriateness of such symbols, near the end of his meditations. Symbols have great power, but those symbols can be misused, sometimes deliberately, particularly by those who did not originate the events or meanings. Symbols can sometimes imprison reality, Williams states, and cause us to belittle and sometimes look past the reality involved. Thus, symbols must be handled with great care.

One might get the sense from this book that Williams is a 'bleeding-heart liberal', and, insofar as simple labels tell a half-truth, that might be true. Yet there is something far deeper here. It is a voice we need to hear, rather like the voice of Colin Powell in the Cabinet swimming against the stream of opinion in the administration. Williams is not speaking a popular voice, but it is a necessary voice, one of compassion for the victims, and genuine concern for the future, not just a future in which America will be safe, but in which the entire world sees justice. This requires, and receives from Williams, an honest and accurate assessment of the Muslim world, too.

Williams uses the language of prayer. He uses a language of common humanity and a language of compassion. Williams speaks from his heart looking for answers and being honest about not finding too many. This small book, written in the dust of September 11, bears revisiting a year after the events. Rather like the peaceful pleadings of Dietrich Bonhoffer in the midst of World War II, it may well be ignored for now. But this writing is certainly not merely in the dust. Its hope will survive.

Rowan Williams is the recently appointed Archbishop of Canterbury and head of the worldwide Anglican communion. Williams was also the Lady Margaret Professor of Divinity at Oxford University. Williams has been a prolific writer, including such theological and academic works as Arius: Heresy and Tradition; A Ray of Darkness, a collection of pastoral sermons and addresses; and The Wound of Knowledge: A Theological History from the New Testament to Luther and St. John of the Cross. One hopes that his writing career will not be stopped by his coming elevation. 'So this is writing in the dust because it tries to hold that moment for a little longer, long enough for some of our demons to walk away.'