Natural disasters, financial crises, pandemics, wars and social unrest—each striking society in increasingly rapid succession—serve as stark reminders of our vulnerability.
For over a century, there has been a widespread yet superficial optimism about the prospects of peace, prosperity, and universal progress, driven by social evolution and technological revolution (or, conversely, social revolution and technological evolution). Paradoxically, what was once celebrated as the solution to humanity’s suffering is now, in part, seen as a source of the global crisis. This grim reality forces us to confront a truth we might prefer to ignore—the vulnerability of mankind.
The growing importance of solidarity
The term “vulnerability” originates from the Latin vulnus, meaning “wound.” While initially used in a predominantly physical sense, in modern times it has taken on a more abstract meaning, referring to the human capacity for psychological or moral loss. In the 17th century, the word carried both an active and passive connotation—to wound and to be wounded—but its modern usage is limited to the latter.
The social world that humans collectively shape is alarmingly fragile. As sociologist Bryan Turner observed, “The social arrangements we create are never entirely perfect or reliable. We live in a world of perpetual, ceaseless social change, with the result that our associational world is never perfectly suited to human needs and intentions. The social world is contingent and unstable, so it is unpredictable. We live in an institutional setting where management strategies constantly demand the amalgamation, restructuring and reorganization of the corporate world. The risky character of social arrangements is particularly evident under conditions of rapid modernization. There is no perfect blueprint for institution building, and we are all subject to the whimsical outcomes of action. We live in a world of unanticipated consequences.”[1]
Diverging perspectives
What will be the ultimate outcome of society’s vulnerability? Will there even be a definitive outcome? Philosophical perspectives vary widely—at times, they are outright contradictory. One undeniable truth, however, is humanity’s remarkable resilience—its ability to withstand hardship, absorb losses, and recover just enough to keep moving forward.
“The uncertainty of life is a function of the vulnerability of our embodiment and the precariousness of social institutions, but nevertheless social life persists. Human beings as individuals and social groups have a surprising capacity for recovery, survival and renewal. Any account of the divisions and conflicts that surround the scarcity of means to the achievement of ends (in economic theory) must also take note of the co-operation, reciprocity and sharing that are the building blocks of social existence. In addition to social conflict over resources, there is also a celebratory quality to social relationships which we find in ceremonials, rituals and festivals.”[2]
Many wonder whether the social forces of cohesion and interaction will be enough to sustain society. Others see history as an endless cycle of conflict, destruction, and eventual rebirth from the ashes of those who have fallen. Perspectives range from unwavering optimism to deep skepticism and outright despair.
Human history, shaped by countless cycles of crisis, catastrophe, recovery, and progress, offers a rich field for multidisciplinary study. It allows for a deeper understanding of how opposing forces—selfishness and altruism, isolation and cooperation, individualism and solidarity—manifest across different levels of society.
Aspects of solidarity
In Solidarity in Europe, Steinar Stjerno explores four key dimensions of solidarity: What is its foundation? What is its purpose or function? To what extent is it inclusive—who is brought in, and who is left out? And how strongly does it prioritise collective identity—how much space does it allow for individual freedom and autonomy?
“Thus, solidarity entails two core themes in social theory—the relationship between an ‘I’ and its identifications with a ‘we’, and the relationship between a ‘we’ and a ‘they’. Almost all examples of solidarity imply inclusion and exclusion and a consideration of the relationship between the freedom and autonomy of the individual and the individual’s preparedness to subordinate that freedom and autonomy to the group.”[3]
Educating for solidarity
What drives a genuine concern for the well-being of others and the willingness to contribute to their happiness? Is it primarily an emotional response? Or is it a rational choice based on moral principles? Writer Aurora Morales argues that it is neither: “Solidarity is not about altruism. It stems from an inability to tolerate the affront to our own integrity that comes from passively or actively collaborating in the oppression of others. It arises from a deep recognition of our most profound self-interest—the understanding that, whether we like it or not, our liberation is inextricably linked to that of every other being on this planet. Politically and spiritually, we know in our hearts that nothing else is untouchable.”[4]
While Morales describes this fundamental self-interest as the primary source of solidarity, she does not refer to a raw, unrefined instinct, untouched by responsible social thought. Such thoughts do not emerge spontaneously. Rather, they are the result of meticulous effort and disciplined, educated, and shaped thinking.
Humanity’s historical experience is distilled into social laws, which must be understood, internalised, and woven into the value systems of individuals and communities alike. Yet, life is sometimes too short or too uneventful to allow for a fully conscious formulation of these principles of social interdependence. This is why studying history through the lens of social interaction and the role of generosity and mutual support reinforces such understanding.
As the poet John Donne famously wrote, “No man is an island, entire of itself;
Every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main.”
There is also an emotional dimension to solidarity—the ability to empathise with the suffering or injustice inflicted upon an individual or a community. But can this emotional aspect of solidarity be cultivated? The role of the family and the community in which a child, and later a young person, is raised is crucial. The atmosphere within the family, the way adults respond to the pain or frustration of those unable to assert themselves, the remarks made about the marginalised, the insulted, the outcast, those scorned or deemed undeserving of rights or legal protection—all these factors can either nurture a child’s sense of compassion or reinforce indifference and rejection toward the disadvantaged.
Artistic creations—especially literature, theater, and film—often draw their themes from the lives of the suffering and the oppressed. Understanding the perspective from which an author perceives and experiences the pain of others, as well as recognising the echoes of that experience within oneself, enriches human understanding and reshapes one’s outlook on life.
Solidarity in action
Alongside a deeper awareness of human vulnerability and suffering, the true meaning of solidarity is expressed through collective action—supporting those in need and addressing the root causes that sustain inequality and deprivation. A relevant example comes from Dwight Nelson, pastor of a university church in Michigan (USA): “Last year, we convened a new task force—Solidarity with the Poor—here in the Pioneer Memorial Church. It is composed of university faculty, community social workers, area business people, and some students. The mission of this task force is to help us prioritize the needs of our community and the nearby inner city and assist us in developing a strategy to keep Isaiah 58’s call before us as a campus and congregation. I listened to these community activists describe how we need to take very seriously God’s call to social justice in Isaiah 58:6. The inner-city poor are enchained by cycles of ignorance and misfortune. Unless they can be given skills and tools, they will remain in economic and social bondage. And it is a bondage, an oppression not unlike a war.”[5]
Engaging young people, educators, specialists, and local leaders in discussion, decision-making, and action brings together a formidable team and fosters a spirit of responsibility and involvement with far-reaching effects that, over time, can transform society.
Immediate intervention—focused on crisis response and addressing urgent needs—is undeniably important. But true solidarity matures through a deeper examination of the root causes of crises, tackling them in a systematic and persistent way. Corrective measures, social restructuring, legislative improvements, and holding accountable those who exploit the suffering of others are the real test of solidarity’s maturity.
Many believe that the role of Christians is limited to crisis intervention—to easing suffering and healing moral wounds—without having the right to challenge the structural evils of society or work toward their eradication. Yet true solidarity demands more: advocating for systemic change, replacing exploitative structures with economic models and social infrastructures that offer real opportunities to the marginalised.
That this is not the case is reflected in the stance taken by one of the most respected evangelical theologians of our time, John R. W. Stott: “The cross is a revelation of God’s justice as well as of his love. That is why the community of the cross should concern itself with social justice as well as with loving philanthropy. It is never enough to have pity on the victims of injustice, if we do nothing to change the unjust situation itself. Good Samaritans will always be needed to succor those who are assaulted and robbed; yet it would be even better to rid the Jerusalem-Jericho road of brigands. Just so Christian philanthropy in terms of relief and aid is necessary, but long-term development is better, and we cannot evade our political responsibility to share in changing the structures that inhibit development. Christians cannot regard with equanimity the injustices that spoil God’s world and demean his creatures. Injustice must bring pain to the God whose justice flared brightly at the cross; it should bring pain to God’s people too.”[6]
The day of solidarity
In his thought-provoking book Rich Christians in an Age of Hunger, Ronald Sider argues that a true observance of the Sabbath frees us from the grip of materialism by drawing us deeper into God’s presence: “If Christians could recover the practice of the Sabbath, it would help us turn away from the mad consumerism that is destroying people and the environment. Almost everything in our culture undermines what the fourth commandment wisely insists on preserving.”[7]
The seventh day was given to humanity by God as a time for both mental and physical rest, a day of joy spent with family and friends. Breaking free, even briefly, from the relentless machinery of the work week would allow us to rediscover, time and again, the importance of relationships and concern for others. We are more than mere spectators of social life. And even if our efforts in solidarity do not always yield visible results, at the very least, we can be certain that we have been engaged in something truly worthwhile.
This article was originally published in 2010 and later republished in a special retrospective edition of Signs of the Times Romania in January 2018, marking 110 years since the magazine’s first Romanian-language issue.