Posted on by Robert J. Delahunty

The Virtuous Democratic Statesman at War

The figure of Theseus

This is an opportune moment to discuss the character of Theseus, as Euripidestheseus-statue-gallery portrays him. By the fifth century, the image of Theseus had become, in a word, that of the consummate Athenian statesman, warrior and gentleman — the founder of the city’s democracy but also the epitome of its aristocratic qualities.   In the image of Theseus, Athens saw the best and finest presentation of itself. “Of all Greek heroes, Theseus . . . has the greatest claim to enshrine all the best qualities of the Athenian citizen, not least in his championship of the demos, celebrated by poets and painters alike of the classical period.” John N. Davie, Theseus the King in Fifth Century Athens (1982). (For a more recent and very full treatment, see Sophie Mills, Theseus, Tragedy and the Athenian Empire (1997)).

By the time Euripides’ Suppliants was produced, Theseus had been richly and variously mythologized; but he had become, unmistakably, an Athenian national figure (unlike Heracles, with whom he had been associated, but who remained a Greek hero). He was famed for having killed the Minotaur, a monster that was half-man and half-bull, and who devoured sacrificial offerings of young Athenians. By that act, Theseus liberated Athens from being forced to pay (human) tribute and came to represent the forces of civilization against barbarism. His legendary deeds were commemorated by the fifth century lyric poet Bacchylides, who in one fragment says that “a god impels him, so that he can bring justice down on the unjust,” and that he journeys seeking “splendor-loving Athens.” Theseus also seems to have been the central figure in a lost epic poem.

From the late sixth century onwards, Theseus begins to appear frequently in Athenian vase painting, and the imagery depicting him there resembles that of the Athenian tyrannicide Harmodius, suggesting that Theseus was linked to the emergence of the young Athenian democracy. Euripides goes so far as to say in The Suppliants that he was the true founder of the Athenian democracy. By the fourth century, the belief that associated Theseus with the foundation of the democracy seems to have been widespread: the celebrated painter Euphranor showed him in the company of Demos (the People) and Demokratia (the Democracy). By fabricating this link, Athens’ artists and myth-makers gave the city’s democracy a royal pedigree. See Henry J. Walker, Theseus and Athens (1995); Martin Robinson, A Shorter History of Greek Art (1991).

Athens also memorialized and honored Theseus in its public buildings. The

Theseion
Theseion

Theseion, was a hero shrine in the center of Athens, built to house his body. According to the later writer Plutarch’s Life of Theseus, “now he lies buried in the heart of the city, . . . and his tomb is a sanctuary and place of refuge for runaway slaves and all men of low estate who are afraid of men in power, since Theseus was a champion and helper of such during his life, and graciously received the supplications of the poor and needy.” In the comic poet Aristophanes’ The Knights (l. 1312), the Theseion is also represented as a place of refuge. Gradually, Theseus’ shrine came to be seen as a place of refuge for suppliants of all kinds.

Athens’ fifth century tragic poets exalted Theseus to new levels. “[I]n the hands of the tragedians . . . Theseus grew in stature as a statesman and king until, in the [Suppliants] of Euripides and Oedipus Coloneus of Sophokles he appears as a humane and articulate representative of democracy” (Davie). Indeed, he becomes the personification of the city itself: “Where he is representative of Athens in tragedy, Theseus embodies Athenian civilization in all its manifestations, so that he is usually less an individual character with his own fate than a symbol of Athenian virtue. . . . [H]e is amply endowed with all four cardinal Greek virtues, and other characters can simply look on and admire.” (Mills). Later Athenians singled out the justice of Theseus’ intervention on behalf of the Argive suppliants for special praise. In his Funeral Oration, the Athenian speaker Lysias commended Theseus for deploying Athens’ military might for the selfless and humanitarian purposes of upholding Greek laws and of ending Thebes’ outrages against the gods.  See Lys. 2.7-10,

Theseus’ colloquy with the Athenian herald

Returning now to the play, we pick up the action after Theseus has received the Assembly’s assent to his expedition against Thebes. Theseus addresses two heralds – the first, Athenian, the other, Theban – in succession. (Functionally, both heralds serve as ambassadors.) Theseus instructs the Athenian herald to appeal “graciously” to Creon, King of Thebes, to surrender the unburied Argives; if Creon refuses, the herald is to tell him that war with Athens will ensue.

Theseus gives his (intended) ambassador specific instructions what to say and how to say it. Greek cities commonly, but not invariably, limited the discretion of their diplomatic representatives in that way. See, e.g., Herodotus, Histories, Book VII, c. 148 (ambassadors to Argos say what “they have been instructed” to say). As one scholar notes, the practice of sending an ambassador with instructions was especially advantageous for a democracy, because that procedure “ensured that the will of the people would not be thwarted by their envoys.” Anna Missiou-Ladi, Coercive Diplomacy in Greek Interrstate Relations (1987). Theseus’ instructions may reflect a preference for democratic diplomatic practice.

Theseus’ colloquy with the Theban herald

As Theseus is giving these instructions, a second herald, the Theban, appears. The Theban brusquely demands to speak with the “king absolute” of Athens. Theseus corrects him sharply: “This state is not/Subject to one man’s will, but is a free city. The king here is the people, who by yearly office/Govern in turn.” (Euripides is obviously being anachronistic here.) The Theban herald rejoins with a stinging critique of Athenian democracy, and Theseus answers with a defense of it.

Some critics find this constitutional colloquy intrusive (or even a later interpolation), see, e.g., G.M.A Grube, The Drama of Euripides (1941) (finding the debate to be a “flagrant irrelevancy”). But Euripidean drama was renowned for its intellectual qualities: later ancients called him “the philosopher of the stage,” see C. Collard, Euripides (1981), and even in his own lifetime, the comic poet Aristophanes satirized his efforts to educate the Athenian public, see John Dillon, Euripides and the Philosophy of His Time (2004). The debate between Theseus and the Theban herald in fact deepens the argument of what is essentially a drama of ideas. In particular, it raises the possibility that Athens’ military intervention was just because, in part, of the decisional procedures that led to it.

The constitutional argument

The clash between the Theban herald and the Athenian democrat-king mirrors the great fifth and fourth century debate in Greece between the proponents and opponents of democracy. (Herodotus presents a version of the debate in the form of a dialogue among three Persian nobles, one of whom advocates democracy, the second oligarchy, and the third, monarch. Histories Book III, cc. 80-83; see generally Josiah Ober, Political Dissent in Democratic Athens: Intellectual Critics of Popular Rule (1998). For the Theban, whose city (he says) “lives under command/Of one man,” it is obvious that a democratically governed city cannot make coherent or intelligent public policy. “Experience gives/More useful knowledge than impatience. Your poor rustic,/Even though he be no fool – how can he turn his mind/From ploughs to politics?”

The Theban’s argument parallels that of the fourth century writer known as “Pseudo-Xenophon,” who is his tract On the Constitution of Athens maintained that “among the best people there is minimal wantonness and injustice but a maximum of scrupulous care for what is good, whereas among the people there is a maximum of ignorance, disorder, and wickedness; for poverty draws them rather to disgraceful actions, and because of a lack of money some men are uneducated and ignorant.” (E.C. Marchant trans.). Some critics take the Theban’s anti-democratic speech to be “good Euripidean doctrine” that “Theseus does little or nothing” to refute. (See L.H.G. Greenwood, Aspects of Euripidean Tragedy (1953)). This, I think, is clearly wrong.

The essence of Theseus’ answer is that Athenian democracy depends on the equal protection of the law, and therefore serves the ends of justice. “Equal laws” mean that the rich and the poor, the strong and the weak, are subject to the same laws and can all seek their protection. (The Pseudo-Xenophon contends that this is untrue, alleging that Athens’ laws are designed to promote the interests of the worse-off.) Further (although this is more implicit than explicit), Theseus’ argument suggests that a domestic policy that protects the city’s lower classes through equal laws is congruent with a foreign policy that gives precedence to the claims of Greek customary international law over the claims of power and force:

          A state has no worse enemy than an absolute king.

          First, under such a ruler there is no common law.

          One man holds the whole law in his own grasp; that means

          An end to equality. When laws are written down,

          Both poor and rich possess their equal right; the weak,

          Threatened or insulted by a prosperous neighbor, can

          Retort in the same terms; the humble man’s just cause

          Defeats the great.

Just as the written law of Athens protects the weak from the strong, so Athens itself, by enforcing the common (if unwritten) laws of the Greeks, will vindicate the rights of Argos that a more powerful Thebes is violating. Democracy, it appears, leads naturally to humanitarian intervention, or to what we call “the responsibility to protect.” Both in its domestic arrangements and in its foreign policy, Athens as a democracy is deeply committed to the rule of law. By contrast, in violating the common law of the Greek city states, Thebes is rejecting the idea of equal justice, and “is behaving toward the other states of Greece just as a despot . . . behaves toward the other citizens of his [city].” Walker, Theseus and Athens.

Theseus also defends Athens’ constitution on the grounds that deliberative democracy tends to produce policy decisions of a higher quality than autocracy. Specifically, he argues that that is true of the question of initiating wars:

          Further: the people, vested with authority,

          Values its young men as the city’s great resource.

          An absolute king regards them as his enemies;

          The best of them, and those he thinks intelligent,

          He kills off, being afraid of rivals to his throne.

          How can a city grow in strength, when all its young

          And bold spirits are mown down like fresh stalks in spring?

As Plato will later argue, see The Republic, Book IX, 578a-579c, the “absolute king” or tyrant is governed by fear of internal enemies; and that fear may cause him to project violence outward against foreign states. Thus, the absolute king will tend to make decisions, especially concerning war, that are destructive of the common good. By contrast, Theseus argues, a democracy will address the question of war far more carefully, because the decision rests in the hands of its citizens – and it is their lives, or those of their children, that will be at stake. Here again we may cite Pseudo-Xenophon, who says that in Athens, “it is the people who man the ships and impart strength to the city; the steersmen, the boatswains, the sub-boatswains, the look-out officers, and the shipwrights — these are the ones who impart strength to the city far more than the hoplites, the high-born, and the good men.”

Theseus also argues that Athens’ democratic system makes the city richer,

Theseus in discussion
Theseus in discussion

because under a tyranny the common people have no incentive to work and save: “Why should a man win wealth and substance for his sons/When all his labour only swells a tyrant’s hoard?” Herodotus had earlier made exactly the same point about Athens (Histories Book V, c. 78): once Athens had rid itself of its tyrants, the Athenians “became by far the best of all. . . . [T]hey were deliberately slack when repressed, since they were working for a master, but after they were freed, they became ardently devoted to win achievements for themselves as individuals” (The Landmark Herodotus (Robert B. Strassler ed., Andrea L. Purvis trans. (2007)). And in fact, recent research confirms the unusual prosperity of ancient Athens. See Mogens Herman Hansen & Thomas Heine Nielsen, An Inventory of Archaic and Classical Poleis (2004).

The Theban herald, however, denies that democratic decision-making is rational. From his perspective, it is impaired by a cognitive or emotional deficiency from which every voter suffers: no voter thinks that he will be a casualty. In other words, democracies take undue risks because their voters discount risk too much: they are therefore war-prone.

          For when an issue of war hangs on the people’s vote,

          Then no one reckons that his own death may be involved;

          This mournful prospect he assigns to someone else.

          If Death stood there in person while men cast their votes,

          Hellas would not be dying from war-mania.

Moreover, the Theban argues, if democracies were rational, they would consistently prefer peace to war, since the benefits of peace are obviously greater:

          All men know, which of two arguments

          Is more valid; we know what good, what evil is;

          How far peace outweighs war in benefits to man;

          Peace, the chief friend and cherisher of Muses; peace,

          The enemy of revenge, lover of families

          And children, patroness of wealth. . . .

 And more pointedly, he says to Theseus:

          A wise man’s love is owed first to his children, then

          To his parents; and to his native land, which he should strive

          To build, not to dismember. Whether on land or sea,

          A rash leader is a risk; timely inaction, wise.

It is, of course, entirely natural that the Theban ambassador should urge on Athens the advantages of peace: if he is persuasive, his city will be spared an Athenian invasion. Nonetheless, there is obvious appeal in his arguments.

But Theseus remains unpersuaded. Euripides invites us to think that Athens occupies a midway position between Argos and Thebes. Argos by its aggressiveness has initiated a foolish and unjust war, which it has lost. Thebes counsels peace, but the peace for which it calls is stained by the Theban injustice of not allowing the Argives to repatriate their dead. There is an unjust peace, exactly as there is an unjust war; and an unjust peace is an unstable one. Athens is positioned as the mean between these two opposites: it wages war justly, to undo the effects of an unjust war that has led to an unjust peace.

Posted on by Robert J. Delahunty

Politics and Pity

His Mother's Son
Listen to Your Mother

Theseus and Aethra

We have reached a turning point in Euripides’ drama.  Theseus, king of Athens, has rejected the pleas of the suppliants from Argos to intervene on their behalf against the city of Thebes, and to recover the dead bodies of their sons, which still lie exposed and unburied before that city’s walls. Theseus seems to be willing to allow Thebes’ offense against the laws and customs of Greece to stand; he will not deploy Athens’ military power or even its diplomatic efforts on behalf of the Argives.

At this point, Theseus’ mother, Queen Aethra, personally supplicates him on the Argives’ behalf. She appeals partly to his personal sense of honor, partly to his concern for his reputation and that of Athens, partly to his duty to uphold the claims of justice and law.

In general, women in classical Athens were allowed no role in public political discourse. See Paul A. Rahe, The Primacy of Politics in Classical Greece (1984). Despite that, Theseus (pointedly unlike King Creon in The Antigone) is willing, not only to hear her out, but to be persuaded by the force of her reasoning. Aethra says:

          This, my son, is for your honour; nor do I

          Shrink from exhorting you, when pride of power denies

          Dead men due burial and the rites of decency,

          To force them to their duty by the might of arms,

          And stop them undermining the established laws

          Of all Hellas. This one bond makes all cities one:

          Free, honourable respect for universal rights. . .

          You’ll march with Justice on your side.

Theseus is persuaded:

          To avoid a dangerous task

          Is not my nature. I have, by honourable deeds,

          Chosen and claimed this character among the Greeks,

          To be always the punisher of injustice. So,

          I cannot now refuse this task. . . .

          I will go and redeem their dead,

          If I can, by persuasion; if words fail, the sword

          Shall gain the same end.

The place of pity in politics

In his illuminating essay Pity and Politics (2005) (in Pity and Power in Ancient Athens, Rachel Hall Sternberg (ed.)), David Konstan has read the colloquy between Theseus and Aethra in light of Athenian conceptions of the place of pity in politics. The Greeks viewed pity not to be raw emotion, but to incorporate an intellectual component – to involve the exercise of moral judgment. Pity was not simply a response to suffering or misfortune as such, but only to undeserved hardship. So understood, Theseus’ refusal (before Aethra’s intervention) to take up the cause of the Argives was not a matter of his obtuseness or insensitivity, as some critics suppose. Rather, it reflected Theseus’ judgment that the sufferings Adrastus had brought on himself and his city were deserved, because they flowed from an unjust (and unsuccessful) war. Pity would have been out of place.

Aethra’s intervention might then be read as an exercise in persuading Theseus to reconsider that judgment. After all, the Argive women had nothing to do with Adrastus’ campaign of aggression. Moreover, Argos’ aggression had been fully punished by its defeat; for Thebes to deny the Argive warriors the burial rites customarily given to the fallen was to not to exact justice but to commit injustice. By persuading Theseus to reconsider his incomplete understanding of the Argive case, Aethra would have opened the valves of pity in his heart.

In fact, however, that is not Konstan’s analysis. Rather, he argues that Aethra persuades Theseus by convincing him that both Athens’ and his own reputational interests are at stake. She is making her case, in other words, in terms of public, political rationality. There is no “hint that Theseus’ change of heart has been inspired by pity. He has been convinced to help the Argives on the grounds that doing so will enhance his reputation and that of Athens, and will also vindicate a divinely sanctioned custom of the Greeks. This is a politically sober, if high-minded, motive.”

Konstan’s interpretation seems correct to me. But by accepting it, we do not impeach the justice of Athens’ armed intervention. Perfect altruism is not to be expected in the world of statecraft. But concern for the international order and the common good of nations may be, and in fact is, found.  Moreover, states may seek to maintain a certain reputation for themselves because of a profound sense of self-identity: they may intervene protectively on behalf of strangers at some material cost to themselves because of a strong conviction that that is the kind of State they are. International Relations theorists have noted that “the search for moral prestige and credibility” can function as a cause of humanitarian intervention, and that this purpose, though no doubt related to more “materialist” power political aims, is still distinguishable from them. See, e.g., Oded Löwenheim, “Do Ourselves Credit and Render a Lasting Service to Mankind”: British Moral Prestige, Humanitarian Intervention, and the Barbary Pirates (2003).   As Euripides presents the matter, that is the case with Athens here.

Other interpreters err, in my judgment, either on the side of too much cynicism or on the side of too much idealism.   Either they seem to think that states are simply incapable of acting disinterestedly, or they think that states can only be supposed to have acted disinterestedly if altruism was their sole motive. For an overly cynical interpretation, see Ann N. Michelini, Political Themes in Euripides’ Suppliants, (1994) (“Even the strong moral motivations and apparent altruism in Theseus’ involvement in the Theban-Argive quarrel are characteristic of imperialism, since high principle is a necessary support for intervention that is not justified by traditional interests or obvious needs.”). But that is to say that the only considerations that can motivate states are unqualifiedly material ones – and that is false. For the idealist error, see J.W. Fitton, The Suppliant Women and the Herakleidai of Euripides (1961) (“If this were a Just War, it would be inspired by high motives; in fact the straight appeal of Adrastos fails and the motivation appears to be a tangle of national pride, personal egoism and maternal compulsion”). But a Just War can be inspired from a mixture of motives, and here it seems that the defense of panhellenic values is the crucial one.

The Justice of Athens

By representing Theseus as initially unwilling, despite the Argives’ pleading, to intervene in Argos’ quarrel with Thebes, Euripides has underscored the justice of Athens’ eventual war. Unlike Argos’ expedition against Thebes, Athens’ war is not undertaken rashly and without due deliberation. Rather, its intervention is a reluctant one. After questioning Adrastus closely about his expedition against Thebes and concluding that it was an impious war, Theseus was at first unwilling to lend him support or to associate himself with an unjust aggressor, even if that aggressor has in turn been wronged. Further, Theseus vows to attempt (and does attempt) to resolve the quarrel peaceably “by persuasion,” so that armed intervention is a last, not first, resort. Athens is also going to war as “the punisher of injustice,” not for narrowly self-interested reasons. Its cause – to uphold “the established laws of all Hellas” – seems unquestionably just.

Even if its reputational interests are also at stake, Athens’ chief motive is to see justice done, established law upheld, wrongs righted. And the Chorus acclaims Athens for doing precisely that:

Come, city of Pallas [Athens (RJD)], come to a mother’s aid;

Save from dishonour the laws of mankind.

You reverence Justice;

Injustice you despise;

To those in distress you bring deliverance.

Moreover, Theseus is portrayed as an exemplary ruler, not as a tyrant (as, it would seem, Adrastus was). Theseus is open to reason and argument; he yields when his mother’s case convinces him. Further, after making his decision to intervene, he announces that he will seek democratic ratification for it from the Athenian popular assembly:

I desire that all my citizens

Shall give their free assent; they will uphold my wish,

But their hearts will be stronger in this cause, if I

Have given them reason.

In consulting his people, Theseus acts like King Pelasgus of Argos in Aeschylus’ Suppliant Women, who declares “though I am ruler, I will not do this thing without the consent of my people, lest hereafter, if any evil befall, the people should say, “You honored aliens and brought ruin upon your own land.”” (l. 397, H.W. Smyth trans.).

3372
Taking It to the People

Democracy and deliberation

Those who hold that democratic procedures and informed deliberation improve the quality of public decision-making, or who hold that democracies are more likely than autocracies to choose the “right” wars to fight, will take note of Theseus’ invitation to debate.  Certainly, unlike the impulsive and grasping Adrastus, he does not take his city to war only because of the urging of hot-blooded or opportunistic young men. That is not the Athenian way, which is to be open, consultative, considered. Notice too that Theseus has earlier asked Adrastus if he is seeking Athens’ help with, or without, the backing of the people of Argos. (On the other hand, we should also notice that Theseus does not offer the Assembly the opportunity to reject his decision for war: he calls the Assembly to explain his reasons and have it ratify his decision.)

Furthermore, Theseus, who is young himself, combines the prudence of age with the vigor of youth, while Adrastus, who is old, has shown both the folly of youth and the weakness of age. In Aeschylus’ The Persians, the ghost of the prudent Shah Darius bemoans the rashness of his son and successor, Shah Xerxes, who has arrogantly led his army and navy to disaster in Greece. “My son Xerxes,” Darius says, “is a young man who thinks young thoughts and does not remember my injunctions” (ll. 781-83; Edith Hall trans.). Theseus comports himself as a young Darius, Adrastus as an old Xerxes.

Indeed, we should contrast Theseus’ treatment of the suppliant Argive women and their king with Adrastus’ treatment of Polyneices and Tydeus, both of whom were strangers to Argos and both of whom were presumably suppliants seeking Adrastus’ protection. Adrastus welcomed them both and indeed married them into his family, even though Polyneices was under his father’s curse and Tydeus had killed a kinsman, an act that the Greeks regarded as “utterly abominable” (Parker, Miasma). If Theseus seems too harsh initially in not yielding to the pleas of the wronged stranger/suppliant women who seek his aid, he does at least act far more prudently than Adrastus had when Polymeices and Tydeus arrived at Argos.  His conduct towards both sets of foreign visitors displays the reserve that characterizes a wise statesman.

In all these respects, Theseus and Athens appear to be acting bravely, prudently, moderately and above all justly. Euripides seems to be showing us the blueprint for a just war, or more specifically of a “good” humanitarian intervention. Although problematic under contemporary international law, armed humanitarian intervention for the Greeks was not merely permissible, but in some circumstances normatively mandatory. The core characteristic of such actions, as the Greeks understood them, is present here: “helping, protecting, or saving the wronged.” Indeed, the phrase “to help the wronged” (boethein tois adikoumenois) became the watchword for such interventions. See Polly Low, Interstate Relations in Classical Greece (2007).

Peering below the surface?

In later postings, I shall argue that Euripides is also presenting a subtler, darker and more complicated picture – though his intentions become clearer only after the Athenian victory at Thebes in announced. As I read the play, that announcement marks a decisive reversal in the drama: the underside of war, even of an immaculately just and lawful war, will be revealed. It is as though we are shown the hidden side of a carpet whose cunning surface beauty and artistry we have admired. But that is for later; in the following postings, I pursue the analysis of the action of the play.

Posted on by Mark Movsesian

Panel: “The Present & Future of Religious Freedom” (Chicago, Dec. 10)

The Lumen Christi Institute will host a panel, “The Present and Future of Religious Freedom,” on December 10 in Chicago:

Recent controversy over the HHS contraceptive mandate and the participation of faith-based organizations in federal grant programs has raised questions about religious freedom in the American legal and political systems. This discussion will consider the perceived conflict between civil rights and religious freedom and the roles of Congress, the judiciary, and administrative agencies for how religious freedom will be understood, applied, and protected in the future.

The panelists are Noel Francisco of Jones Day and Michael Moreland of Villanova Law School. Details are here.

Posted on by Christina Vlahos

Reiff, “Born of Conviction”

In December, the Oxford University Press will release “Born of Conviction: White Methodists and Mississippi’s Closed Society,” by Joseph T. Reiff (Emory & Henry College).  The publisher’s description follows:

The dominant narrative of the role of white citizens and the white church in Mississippi’s civil rights era focuses on their intense resistance to change. The “Born of Conviction” statement, signed by twenty-eight white Methodist pastors and published in theMississippi Methodist Advocate on January 2, 1963, offered an alternative witness to the segregationist party line. Calling for freedom of the pulpit and reminding readers of the Methodist Discipline’s claim that the teachings of Jesus permit “no discrimination because of race, color, or creed,” the pastors sought to speak to and for a mostly silent yet significant minority of Mississippians, and to lead white Methodists to join the conversation on the need for racial justice. The document additionally expressed support for public schools and opposition to any attempt to close them, and affirmed the signers’ opposition to Communism. Though a few individuals, both laity and clergy, voiced public affirmation of “Born of Conviction,” the overwhelming reaction was negative-by mid-1964, eighteen of the signers had left Mississippi, evidence of the challenges faced by whites who offered even mild dissent to massive resistance in the Deep South.

Dominant narratives, however, rarely tell the whole story. The statement caused a significant crack in the public unanimity of Mississippi white resistance. Signers and their public supporters also received private messages of gratitude for their stand, and eight of the signers would remain in the Methodist ministry in Mississippi until retirement. Born of Conviction tells the story of “the Twenty-Eight” illuminating the impact on the larger culture of this attempt by white clergy to support race relations change. The book explores the theological and ethical understandings of the signers through an account of their experiences before, during, and after the statement’s publication. It also offers a detailed portrait of both public and private expressions of the theology and ethics of white Mississippi Methodists in general, as revealed by their responses to the “Born of Conviction” controversy.