ROME – Religious conversion, when done for the right reasons, is always a supremely personal act. No matter how much study and counsel may have come first, and no matter how many interpersonal or cultural considerations may lurk in the background, ultimately an individual person retreats into the sanctuary of his or her own soul and makes a choice before God.
As a result, evangelists, as a matter of both theory and instinct, generally don’t like to think much about the “macro” level of conversion. In their eyes, whether nations rise or fall, or economies expand or contract, depending on religious trends—all that fades into near-irrelevance compared to the eternal destiny of an individual soul. It’s the classic case of that well-known bit of Talmudic wisdom: “Whoever saves a single life is considered by scripture to have saved the whole world.”
That’s unquestionably the proper attitude to have. However, it doesn’t mean there are no “macro” consequences of movement from one faith to another, especially when it’s widespread and lasting.
Consider, for instance, how differently Spain might look today had Islamic rule endured into the modern era. Or, one might ponder the obvious cultural contrasts among western European nations depending on which became Protestant five centuries ago and which remained Catholic. (Recall Hillaire Belloc’s famous observation in this regard: “Wherever the Catholic sun doth shine / There’s always laughter and good red wine.”)
So, is there a spot on the global map today where broad trends in religious affiliation could have significant cultural, even strategic, implications?
Try China.
Seventy-five years of state-imposed atheism has done a fairly good job of weakening the grip of traditional spiritual options.
Let’s acknowledge from the outset that God’s grace is always greater, and more unpredictable, than any human analysis. That said, most experts in religious demography will tell you that in the main, the religious map of the world today is fairly well set, at least for the time being.
The Indian subcontinent is likely to remain majority Hindu, for instance, just as Latin America is likely to remain majority Christian, though no longer necessarily majority Catholic, given the phenomenal rise of Evangelical and Pentecostal Christianity over the last half-century. In sub-Saharan Africa, people are choosing between the world’s two major monotheistic religions, Christianity and Islam, as the old tribal religions continue to fade away; on the whole, the continent will remain a mix of the two.
China, however, appears a bit more up for grabs.
Seventy-five years of state-imposed atheism has done a fairly good job of weakening the grip of traditional spiritual options, and in any event, Confucianism, long the country’s most prominent faith, is more of an ethical code than an actual religious creed. Today, as some of the old taboos break down in China and as social mobility, trade, and digital communications make it increasingly difficult for the Chinese Communist Party to keep the outside world at bay, the long-suppressed spiritual hunger of a substantial portion of the Chinese population is seeking an outlet.
By any measure, the growth of Protestantism in China is proof of the point. In 1949, at the time of the Communist takeover, the country conducted the last census which included religious affiliation. At that time, there were just around a million Protestants. Estimates today vary widely: The Chinese General Social Survey puts the total around 20 million, China’s Three-Self Church claims around 40 million, while the much-consulted World Christian Database puts the number at a staggering 110 million, most of which is some form of Pentecostalism. No matter which figure one accepts, the increase obviously has been dramatic.
It’s worth noting that the expansion of Protestantism in China came after Communist authorities expelled foreign missionaries, so virtually all of this growth has been homegrown.
Christianity, however, is not the only option on the menu.
Part of the reason that the Chinese government has launched such a ferocious crackdown on its Uyghur Muslims, concentrated in the northwestern corner of the country, is precisely because of a burgeoning Islamic religious revival that began in the early 2000s, featuring a new wave of Islamic schools, a growing trend toward Muslim women wearing veils, and increased attendance at local mosques. Given that the Xinjiang region borders several majority-Muslim Central Asian states, including Afghanistan, the fear is that an increasingly powerful Islamic presence could lead to pressure for political and even territorial concessions.
Let’s imagine what difference it might make if, say, a quarter-century from now, China is 30 percent Christian or 30 percent Muslim.
On the Christian option, China could become a much larger and more powerful version of South Korea. Despite its recent turmoil, with Yoon Suk Yeol declaring and then annulling martial law six hours later, for the most part South Korea is a democratic and economically prosperous nation, a contributor to global peace and stability, with a largely pro-Western orientation. Not coincidentally, it’s also roughly 30 percent Christian, having experienced rapid growth in Christianity after World War II.
By conventional reckoning, the single largest mega-church in the world is the Yoido Full Gospel Church in Seoul, which was founded in 1958 and today occupies its own island. It is believed to draw 250,000 worshippers every Sunday for nine services translated into sixteen languages. It also operates several satellite churches throughout Seoul and in other parts of the country.
On the other hand, should Islam prevail, then China could be on its way to becoming a larger and nuclear-armed version of Nigeria, where Muslims represent roughly 50 percent of the population, and where the homegrown jihadist movement Boko Haram has wreaked havoc domestically and internationally since its foundation in 2002.
Some Christians in Nigeria suspect that the military and security forces in the country, which tend to be dominated by officers from the Muslim-majority northern part of Nigeria, either overtly support Islamic radicals or, at a minimum, are slow to intervene or to prosecute perpetrators of terrorist acts.
None of this is to suggest Islam is inherently violent, or Christianity universally benign. It’s simply to highlight two contemporary examples of what may be at stake, depending on how religious trends in China unfold over the next few decades.
Naturally, the argument for becoming Christian should never be “don’t be like those guys.” Conversion ought to be rooted in that to which one is attracted, not that by which one is repelled.
Still, it’s interesting to ponder the possible collective consequences of all those individual choices—and, for evangelists, it may also lend some useful context to their labors.
