Resistance and submission: being inspired by Dietrich Bonhoeffer
(This text was published in Publik Forum Extra, March 2023)

“I am completely convinced of the best intentions of all those involved; but it is all too easy to mistake a conversation, an idea, a hope for an act, and I am always amazed to realize that basically... nothing has happened.” These words were written by the theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer in February 1944 in Berlin-Tegel prison to the German resistance. The fact that “the simplest things do not happen”, even though the necessity for them is actually obvious, does not only apply to the attitude of many Germans towards the Hitler regime. It can also be applied to the climate crisis, the mass deaths of refugees in the Mediterranean or many other problems.

Why don't more people resist injustice? Why is there great outrage when climate activists smear mashed potatoes on a famous painting (or on the glass pane in front of it), but not when entire swathes of the earth become uninhabitable or when many people do not have enough money for a home, healthy food or decent care?

A frequently heard response is the suggestion that protest “doesn't achieve anything” or “that there's nothing you can do”. In the style of the much-quoted “prayer of serenity” by the American theologian Reinhold Niebuhr: “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”
Many people therefore consider it wise not to get worked up about things that cannot be changed anyway. Depending on the context, this is also a very sensible approach. You cannot denounce every injustice 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Those who try to do so quickly end up with activist burnout, a spiral of exhaustion and depression. It is no coincidence that “pick your fights” has long been a maxim of feminism: it is better to choose political conflicts in a targeted and selective manner than to be constantly under stress.

But this sensible husbanding of one's own strengths and capacities is something completely different from the attempt to make a clear distinction between things that one can and should change and things that one cannot change and must therefore accept. As a rule, it is not at all clear what one can change and what one cannot – to find out, one must first try. Political transformations are collective processes, and whether something succeeds or not depends on many coincidences and circumstances. Moreover, in the face of flagrant injustice, the fundamental question arises as to whether one must at least try, because by watching one becomes complicit.

In 1944, while in prison, Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote: “I have often thought about the boundaries between necessary resistance to ‘fate’ and the equally necessary submission. I believe that we must confront ‘fate’ with the same determination as we must submit to it in due course. ... The boundaries between resistance and submission cannot be determined in principle; both must be present and both must be seized with determination.”

For Bonhoeffer, resistance and submission are not opposites, but two sides of the same coin. This is because the opponent is always different: resistance is directed against earthly conditions, for example against a dictator, against power structures or injustices. Submission, on the other hand, is directed towards God, towards the unknowable, towards “fate”. Obedience to God can almost force resistance to injustice.

A year earlier, in early 1943, Bonhoeffer had already been grappling with the question of what type of person is able to “hold their ground” in politically challenging times, that is, to seriously and effectively oppose evil. He distinguishes between six types, but in his opinion they all have to fail: the “reasonable” try to reach a rational agreement, but underestimate the problem. The “fanatics” become fixated on a pure principle, but get caught up in the unimportant. The “men of conscience” get caught up in so many internal conflicts that they end up doing nothing at all. Those who strive to fulfill their “duty” fail as soon as they have to take responsibility themselves. Those who rely on their “freedom” run the risk of no longer recognizing moral transgressions in themselves. And the “virtuous” will eventually close their eyes to the world, because in the dirty world of politics, it is impossible to maintain pure virtue.

But who is it then who can withstand evil? “Only the one,” writes Bonhoeffer, “for whom reason, principle, conscience, freedom, virtue are not the ultimate measure, but who is prepared to sacrifice all of these when he is called to obedient and responsible action in faith and in exclusive commitment to God, the responsible one whose life wants to be nothing more than a response to God's questions and call.”

In other words, it is faith in God that, according to Bonhoeffer, makes it possible to combine resistance and submission, political determination and humility. Only those who do not make themselves the standard of judgment can summon the courage, composure and presence of mind to make the decision to stand up against evil, to act and to take responsibility in a specific situation. Those who want to offer resistance in a spirit of submission must anchor themselves in transcendence.
This is a very strong idea, but it also makes it clear from what privileged position Bonhoeffer is writing. He only has men in mind as active players, and specifically bourgeois men who, like him, are endowed with a certain social influence and the associated opportunities for action by virtue of their origin and social status. These are people who are listened to, whose word counts, who are not plagued by self-doubt and hesitation. In another place, he explicitly formulates this: “It is the prerogative and nature of the strong that they ask the big questions and can take a clear position on them. The weak must always choose between alternatives that are not their own.”

However, this traditionally “male” attitude overlooks a problem that is now being pointed out by feminist and postcolonial movements: it is precisely the strong who are in danger of passing off their own desires and will as the will of God. For even if it is true that the courage to stand firm grows when you are on your way to a higher goal and know that God is on your side, it is precisely those people who believe that they are on a mission from God who are potentially the most dangerous of all. Because they act in the name of higher values, they feel justified in disregarding earthly boundaries – such as laws, morals, rules.

The destructive nature of this attitude has become clear during the coronavirus pandemic, where non-compliance with legal infection control measures has been elevated to the level of political resistance and some people even felt justified in inflicting violence on others, even murder, as in the case of the gas station customer in Idar Oberstein who shot an employee who asked him to wear a mask. The dangerous dynamic that can be assumed by this conviction that one no longer needs to adhere to any principles in the name of supposedly higher values was demonstrated by the storming of the Capitol after the recent presidential elections in the USA: the arrogant self-authorization to “resist” anything that one personally does not like has become one of the greatest dangers for Western democracies.

In a sense, one can fall off the horse from two sides between resistance and submission: the fact that people assume divine authority for themselves is at least as great a danger as not finding the courage to resist due to a lack of faith. The two dangers are also gender-specific, among other things. The Italian philosopher Luisa Muraro once put it this way: “The greatest sin of men was to take the place of God in relation to women – and the greatest sin of women was to allow this.”
Women, at least the older ones among us, were long educated to obey far too often, to always practice humility and to subordinate themselves to the instructions “from above”. Men, on the other hand, were traditionally educated to act in a strong and self-confident manner and to subordinate themselves to nothing and no one if possible. Today, the division of roles is no longer so clear and similar differences can also be found along other social hierarchies. But it is still true that we do not all have to learn the same thing in terms of political judgment and action: people who have been brought up to be humble and obedient have to practise trusting their own judgment, disagreeing and questioning authority. On the contrary, people who have internalized a self-image of strength, self-confidence and authority through their upbringing and social position must learn to question themselves, to distrust their own ability to judge, to listen to others and to learn from others.

It is no coincidence that today the political movements that have the greatest impact, that give the most cause for hope, are carried by groups of people who were once marginalized and not, as Bonhoeffer thought, by “the strong”: The Black Lives Matter protests in the USA are led by black people and other people of color, the protests against the Mullah regime in Iran by women, and the actions against the climate crisis by young people. Resistance and submission are, as Bonhoeffer quite rightly stated, not opposites, but belong together in political commitment. But it is important to carefully consider who should be exercising resistance and who would benefit from a greater dose of humility. It is the responsibility of each and every one of us to ask ourselves these questions, but it is also a criterion by which political action must be generally evaluated.

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