Neil Elliott, in his excellent study of Paul (Liberating Paul: The Justice of God and the Politics of the Apostle), continually addresses the ways in which many traditional and contemporary readings of Paul neglect the socio-political issues that confronted Paul. Consequently, the result has often been a presentation of Paul as a “theologian,” or “genius” or “mystic,” and this theologian/genius/mystic Paul is consequently not so concerned with politics or ethics. Elliott wants to collapse the false dichotomy between “theology” and “politics” or between “thought” and “action” in order to to arrive at a new understanding of Paul.
Thus, in his chapter on “Paul and the Violence of the Cross,” Elliott argues that many traditional and contemporary readings of Paul “de-politicize” the political nature and significance of Jesus' death. Thus, Elliott writes the following:
Rather than God triumphing over the powers through Jesus' nonviolent self-sacrifice on the cross, the Powers disappear from the discussion, and God is involved in a transaction wholly within God's own self.
However, this has drastic consequences, as Elliott goes on to write:
The cross could thus become the focal symbol for a sadomasochistic piety cultivated by the Domination System itself: a piety that inculcates submissiveness and resignation in the oppressed and teaches the oppressor the divine necessity of “good” violence.
At this point, Elliott is engaging in dialogue with Walter Wink (Naming the Powers, Unmasking the Powers, Engaging the Powers. It was Wink who first popularised an understanding of the New Testament language about “the Powers” as language about socio-political powers, and it was Wink who named the structure of those powers “the Domination System.”
However, Elliott also goes on to disagree with Wink on one key point. Wink argues that the praxis of nonviolence that Jesus embodies on the cross is that which overcomes the Powers; for Wink, the cross is thus a revelation of the defeat of the powers. Elliott, however, argues that the only thing the cross reveals is the violence of the powers, it reveals that the powers are “intractably opposed” to God, but, in the cross, they are not yet overcome. For Elliott, it is the resurrection that reveals the imminent defeat of the Powers in the final triumph of God.
Elliott believes that he and Wink differ because Wink focuses more on Colossians and Ephesians (letters that Elliot believes to be pseudo-Pauline forgeries), while Elliott himself chooses to focus on 1 Corinthians (a genuine Pauline letter). 1 Corinthians, Elliott argues, is a letter that takes the Powers completely seriously whereas Colossians and Ephesians “have underestimated the magnitude of the Powers' imperviousness to nonviolence.”
Now then, I was on the bus thinking about Elliott's reflections on the “Powers' imperviousness to nonviolence” and the ways in which nonviolence can easily become one of the expressions of the “sadomasochistic piety” that is encouraged by the “Domination System,” when the person sitting in front of me suddenly decided to turn around and start talking to me (why does this sort of thing happen to me so often?).
It turns out that this person was a transsexual woman, who was in the midst of transitioning (in this case from “male” to “female”). She began to talk about her experiences transitioning, about the oppression and marginalisation of the trans community, and about her own experiences of systemic discrimination at the hands of doctors, counselors, and other professionals. Needless to say, I was intrigued and, given that we were both riding the bus to the end of the line, we had quite a bit of time to chat back and forth. The conversation moved quite naturally into a discussion of solidarity, resistance, liberation, and the relation of violence to these things. While I was advocating for nonviolent resistance, my conversation partner was adament that the time had come for the oppressed to take up arms. Nonviolence, she argued, just doesn't bring about any sort of significant transformation. We've done it enough, and we've seen how all our non-violent means of protest and resistance have been co-opted or neutralised by the oppressors. Violence, she continued, is the only thing that will truly create change. For example, she said, doctors will continue to discriminate against, belittle, and further marginalise members of the trans community, unless the trans community takes up arms and begins to shoot doctors that behaved in that way. (It seems that my conversation partner had not underestimated “the Powers' imperviousness to nonviolence”!)
Having seen firsthand the ways in which oppressive structures, break, scar, and destroy so many people, I can understand the appeal of violent resistance. Further, when I think about the ways in which those structures actually encourage nonviolence (“sadomasochistic piety”), and even nonviolent resistance (like the “designated protest zones” that are now created at G8 or WTO meetings) the temptation to resort to violence becomes even stronger. However, I also believe that this was a temptation that Jesus experienced, that appealed to Jesus, but that Jesus ultimately rejected. Consequently, based upon his witness (and the witness of the early Christians), I believe that violence is not an option for Christian action today.
Consequently, I have a few questions:
(1) For those who disagree with me and believe that violence is a viable option for Christians, when is violence a viable option? For example, the violence espoused by people like Bonhoeffer and the French, Dutch, or Italian resistance movements during WWII is often considered virtuous, admirable, and even heroic; why then do those who admire these movements seem to totally oppose the very idea of violent resistance within North America? In my mind, there is not much difference between the damage and death being inflicted by political and corrupt powers in North America today, and the damage and death that was inflicted by Nazi Germany in the 30s and 40s.
(2) For those, like myself, who believe that violence is never an option for Christians, how do we practice nonviolence in such a way that it cannot be co-opted by the Powers to met their ends?
Christianity and Capitalism Part VIII: Missional Sharing (Priorities and Life-Trajectories)
Aware of the war waged, in our time and for our sake, against the poor, we must yield to [the] appeal for solidarity with the oppressed. We must answer [the] call for resistance to the sacred routines legitimating the course of empire.
~ Neil Elliott, Liberating Paul: The Justice of God and the Politics of the Apostle, 230.
Up until this point, I have concentrated on exploring some expressions of sharing that I believe should define those who are “in Christ.” In this regard, I have been thinking especially (but not exclusively) of the Johannine literature which reminds us that Christians should have a striking public (i.e. political) presence, precisely because of the ways in which they love one another. Of course, what we tend to do is romanticise or spiritualise John's talk of “love” instead of beginning to truly explore how we can move concretely into ever deeper levels of intimacy with God and one another. Therefore, having explored some of the ways in which intra-Christian sharing should be praticed, I would like to spend some time in this post exploring the question of how we can engage in extra-Christian sharing — and, once again, I would like to advocate for a form of charity that capitalism would label as “nonsensical.”
At this point, it is important to recall that the Church exists in the world, in order to participate in God's mission to and for the world. Christians are transformed by God so that they can move into the groaning-places of the world, as agents of God's new creation (as Tom Wright has reminded us time after time). Therefore, by beginning to envision a form of Christianity that can offer a genuine alternative to capitalism, I am not only exploring some of the ways in which the Church can be “holy” (i.e. set apart and uncompromised by corrupting influences, like capitalism) in a sectarian way. Rather, Christians are to be holy so that they can be effective witnesses within the world. Indeed, it is only when the Church is holy, and true to her identity, that transformation can occur within the world (as Hauerwas reminds us). Consequently, it is worth exploring some of the ways in which sharing with those who are not yet explicitly “in Christ” is a part of the mission of God and of the people of God.
It is worth emphasising that God's mission, and the mission to which God calls God's people, is one that is especially attentive to the plight of the poor, the vulnerable, the sick, the oppressed, and the forsaken. An honest study of the bible (from the Torah, to the prophets, to the Gospels, to the epistles) can only lead us to conclude that the liberation theologians are correct to argue that God demonstrates a “preferential option” for the poor. Indeed, God's especial attention to the poor is so strong that, when the Word of God becomes incarnate in the world, the Word takes on the form of one who is poor, homeless, and vulnerable. In fact, Jesus, the incarnate Word, becomes so vulnerable that he dies, helpless and abandoned, upon a cross. Therefore, the Church must both (a) demonstrate an equal “preferential option” for the poor; and (b) emulate the life-trajectory established by Jesus (a model that Paul develops in Phil 2). Thus, we see that the Church as a “community of beggars” may end up looking a lot more like actual beggars than we first imagined.
Yet both of these aspects — the priorities and the life-trajectory — of the Christian mission are at odds with the priorities and the life-trajectory that capitalism seeks to impose upon us. Thus, on the first point, capitalism teaches us to value the wealthy more than the poor, and those who “contribute” to the economy (through consumption, investment, and “responsible” debt-accumulation) more than those who do not — like the poor and homeless, who are often described as “parasites” “leeching” off of the system. Further, on the second point, capitalism teaches us a life-trajectory of “upward mobility.” It urges us to (continually) move on to a higher paying job, a more expensive house, a cleaner more respectable neighbourhood, a flashier car (or just another car), and so on and so forth.
Consequently, we can begin to see why sharing in a way that prioritises the poor while concomitantly emulating the life-trajectory of “downward mobility” established by Jesus appears to be so utterly nonsensical within the structures of capitalism. Within capitalism, sharing with the poor is, by and large, a wasted investment — but it can still be glorified as a “noble,” “humanistic,” “altruistic,” “romantic,” or “heroic” endeavour (note how the language used by capitalism to praise charity also simultaneously relieves most of us from the demands of charity — after all, we're just ordinary people, not noble or romantic heroes!). And this is precisely why the way in which Christians are called to share with the poor is attached to a life-trajectory; we are never to just share our resources with the poor — we are called to share our lives together with the poor. In my next post I will explore some of the concrete ways in which the Christian community can engage in this form of sharing.
A Few Theses on Christianity and Patriotism
Dolce et decorum est, pro patria mori.
~ Horace (a statement also referred to as “the old Lie” by British poet Wilfred Owen — cf. http://www.warpoetry.co.uk/owen1.html).
(1) Empires, just like the Church, have their own sacred rituals.
These rituals serve multiple purposes: they strengthen the general population's subservience to the lords of the empire (just as Christian rituals strengthen Christian subservience to the lordship of Christ), they bond the general population together with an increased feeling of unity (just as Christian rituals bond together those who are in Christ), and they often employ a spectacle that appeals to one's senses and emotions (just as Christian rituals engage in spectacles that do the same).
(2) Such rituals are used by empires to craft a form of religion or spirituality that advances the agendas of those who are lords of the empire.
For example, New Testament scholarship has become increasingly aware of the ways in which the “Imperial Cult” was used to advance the domination of Rome over conquered nations. Temples dedicated to the goddess Roma or to the divinised Caesars (Augustus, in particular) were built all across the Roman empire and participation in the “Imperial Cult” brought honor and access to powerful allies or patrons (for example, those who were elected as priests in the temples of Augustus could appeal directly to Caesar — the most powerful patron in the Roman world).
Further, rituals of the the Imperial Cult came to pervade all areas of social, economic, and public life in the Roman empire. Thus, the calendar was based upon the life of the Caesars (new year's day was the same day as the birthday of Augustus, for Augustus was said to have ushered in the new age of peace and prosperity); thus public festivals and feasts were held in honor of the Caesars; thus, both monuments and coins reflected the ideology of the Imperial cult; and thus political and business meetings were begun after each member offered a pinch of incense in honor of Caesar.
Thus, the Imperial Cult inundated all areas of life bringing many blessings in exchange for simple gestures of loyalty.
(3) In our day and age, the Religion of Empire is just as present.
We often miss this because the language employed is less “cultic” — less obviously “religious.” Our Enlightenment and scientific heritage has caused us to place “religion” within a narrowly defined box, and so we often miss forms of religion and spirituality that continue to impact our lives on a daily basis.
However, we find the Religion of Empire expressed in the language of Patriotism. Furthermore, when we think of Patriotism as the Religion of Empire, we also become aware of the ways in which the rituals of patriotism have inundated most (all?) areas of our public lives. Thus, the national anthem pervades public events (it is sung at the start of the school day, at sporting events, etc.), the flag pervades public space (in parliament buildings, schools, churches, lapels, backpacks, etc.), and public holidays often take on patriotic overtones (Remembrance Day, Queen Victoria's Birthday, Canada Day, Thanksgiving, etc.).
Furthermore, patriotism is just good for business. For example, Christian camps in Canada love to fly the flag over the idyllic and rugged Canadian wild (Canadians are pretty proud of their scenery). I happen to know this first hand because, a few summers ago, I was an assistant director at a Christian camp and I would not allow the flag to be raised over the camp (for years the whole camp had met at the flagpole for morning prayer every day). Or, take another example, probably the most successful advertising campaign for beer in Canada was built around the motto: “I am Canadian” which, in the most distinctive ad, is shouted as the climax of a rant by a young man about his pride in certain Canadian distinctives (Canadians are pretty proud of their beer). And one just looks good wearing a flag pin on one's lapel when going into a business meeting.
Thus, patriotism brings many blessings in exchange for a few gestures of loyalty.
4. However, if Christians are to offer a genuine alternative to the norms and values of empires, they must not become involved in the rituals that sustain and strengthen the Religion of Empire.
This was something that the early Christians realised from the beginning. Thus, we see Christians who lived in the Roman empire being persecuted because they refused to pinch incense in honor of Caesar. They would offered various reasons why they should pinch incense to Caesar — “we're not asking you to actually worship Caesar, just pinch the incense and keep worshiping your God,” or “look this is something we all do, and it brings us all together, what's so bad about that?” or “can't you recognise the things that are good about our country? Sure, we're not perfect, but we've got a lot to be proud of; can't you pinch a little incense just in recognition of that?” or “Hey, what are you? Some sort of anarchist? Would you rather have total chaos sweep over us?” or “Don't you have any respect for the traditions of our culture?” — but they continually refused. Thus, the early Christians suffered socio-political and economic losses, and some were even put to death, because of this.
Therefore, I would like to suggest that contemporary Christians should have the same attitude toward the anthem, the flag, and the national holidays. We should not sing, nor stand for, the national anthem. We should not fly, nor salute, the flag. And we should learn to celebrate the holidays that are structured into the Church calendar rather than celebrating national holidays. Perhaps, by doing these things, the people of God can learn what it means to be a “holy nation” that exists as a true alternative to the empires of this world.
Christianity and Capitalism Part VII: Sharing Life Together
Far more than political agitation, class warfare, or zeal for national liberation, [Paul] had come to believe that a focused concentration on sacrifice and sharing—monetary sharing as well as spiritual selflessness—was the most potent and effective weapon that God's elect could possibly use against the forces of darkness.
~ Richard A. Horsley & Neil Asher Silberman, The Message and the Kingdom: How Jesus and Paul Ignited a Revolution and Transformed the Ancient World, 182.
So long as we eat our bread together we shall have sufficient even with the least.
~ Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Life Together, 59.
In Part V of this series, I began to explore some of the practical ways in which Christians can exercise “nonsensical charity” by practicing the sharing that prevents debt, and the sharing of debt. Then, in Part VI, I briefly stepped back from from the discussion of practical forms of sharing in order to speak about the “Reformation of Desire.” Therefore, in this post, I would like to return to the theme of sharing, by exploring what might happen when we begin to think about sharing “life together.”
Of course, the expression “life together” is an allusion to Bonhoeffer's classic work on community (a work that served as something of a manifesto for the Christian community that Bonhoeffer lived in for awhile during WWII). It is worth recalling this text as we explore the practicalities of sharing within the Christian community. After all, Bonhoeffer reminds us that we must be practical when it comes to community, lest we cling too much to our “visions” of community and are thus overcome by the disillusionment that occurs when the reality of community hits us, as it inevitably will. Thus, Bonhoeffer argues that:
Only that fellowship which faces such disillusionment, with all its unhappy and ugly aspects, begins to be what it should be in God's sight… The sooner this shock of disillusionment comes to an individual and to a community the better for both. A community which cannot bear and cannot survive such a crisis, which insists upon keeping its illusion when it should be shattered, permanently loses in that moment the promise of Christian community.
So, with this warning in mind, what to I mean when I use the phrase “sharing life together”? Essentially, I am trying to emphasise that it is the totality of our lives that we should learn to share together. According to the model(s) established in the New Testament (NT), Christian community has less to do with Sunday worship services, coupled with a weeknight bible study and monthly volunteer service, and more to do with learning to share all areas of our lives — our living, our eating, our learning, our working, our playing — together. Having said that, I should emphasise that the call to share all areas of our lives together, does not mean we are to share absolutely everything together all the time (thus, for example, the practice of solitude is an important Christian discipline [so not all time is shared], and sex is only to be shared within the bounds of marriage [so not all things are shared]).
Therefore, if we are to properly understand the extent to which we are called to share our lives together, I think it is very important that we understand the way that “family” language is employed by Jesus, Paul, and the other NT authors. What we see in the NT is that one's family is now redefined as the community of faith. Thus, we see Jesus continually redefining one's family in this way (cf. Mk 3.31-35; Mk 10.29-30; Mt 23.8-9). In this way, sibling language comes to dominate references to others who belong to the community of faith. Thus, members of the community founded by Christ most commonly refer to one another as “brothers and sisters” (the use of this language so dominates the NT that the references are too many to cite here).
However, to understand why this shift in the identity of one's family is important for how we engage in sharing, we need to recall the significance of family and kinship within the context in which Jesus and the early Church lived (here, I will be drawing from deSilva's book, Honor, Patronage, Kinship & Purity).
Within the honor-based Greco-Roman culture, and the similarly honor-based Jewish subculture, relationships with those outside of one's kinship group was marked by competition and distrust. However, relationship within one's extended family was defined by cooperation, solidarity, trust, loyalty, harmony, unity, honor sharing, forgiveness, gentleness, and forbearance. Now, what is particularly interesting, is that the relationship that is to exist between siblings, is held by ancient authors to be the “closest, strongest and most intimate of relationships in the ancient world.” Where this starts to hit home is how this unity among brothers and sisters is to be expressed through their attitude towards their wealth. Thus, deSilva writes: “Since friends were held to 'own all things in common'… the same was all the more to be expected of close kin” (deSilva is quoting Aristotle's Nicomachean Ethics in this passage, and he also points to passages from Plutarch and Pseudo-Phocylides that support this position on the way in which siblings are to deal with wealth).
This, then, leads us quite naturally to the example of the early Jerusalem Church that we encounter in Acts. What we see here is neither an early expression of communism, nor is it a radical (but doomed) experiment. Rather, what we see in Acts is a Church that actually takes their new family status seriously. Thus, in Acts 4.32, 34-35, Luke writes the following:
And the congregation of those who believed were of one heart and soul; and not one of them claimed that anything belonging to him was his own, but all things were common property to them… For there was not a needy person among them, for all who were owners of land or houses would sell them and bring the proceeds of the sales and lay them at the apostles' feet, and they would be distributed to each as any had need.
What is radical about the Church in Acts is not the sharing that existed among its members — after all, this sort of sharing was the way brothers and sisters were supposed to relate to one another (cf. the deSilva quote that I used at the opening of Part V). Rather, what is radical about this Church as that one's brothers and sisters was no longer determined by ethnicity, social status, or any other factor apart from being a follower of Jesus.
Thus, if those of us who are “in Christ” today are to truly relate to one another as “brothers and sisters” (instead of simply ab/using that language as empty rhetoric in order to project a false sense of intimacy) we need to begin to explore ways in which we can share life together in a way comparable to the Church in Acts (which, by the way, was built upon the community of sharing that existed among Jesus and his disciples, and which continued to be the model for Paul's churches… but more on Paul in a minute).
This, then, leads us to contemporary practicalities, and I would like to suggest that one of the most important practical steps in sharing life together (in a way that offers a genuine alternative to the social structures of capitalism) is learning to share our space (i.e. our homes!) with one another. Christians must begin to explore ways of creating and sustaining the household as an intentional community, structured not around one's genetic family, but around the redefined family of those in Christ.
Of course, capitalism teaches us that this approach to sharing space is absolutely nonsensical. Our honor, our respect, is demonstrated by our ability to live independently of others. A sign of my adult status is the fact that I have my own place — if I am single, I buy a condo; if I am married, my wife and I have “arrived,” or at least are well on our way, when we buy our own house (of course, we'll probably begin with a “starter house” before we move on to bigger and better things).
However, this approach not only requires a form of debt-accumulation and wealth-hording that is inexcusable from a Christian perspective (i.e. given the need that exists among our Christian brothers and sisters — let alone the need that exists in all areas of our world! — there is no possible Christian justification for spending this much time and money paying for a house that will be occupied simply by myself, my wife, and our kids), this popular approach also sustains and strengthens a definition of family that is completely at odds with the Christian understanding of family — thus, when Christians choose to live in this way, they continue to support the structures of capitalism, rather than demonstrating a genuine Christian alternative. Unfortunately, this is but one of the ways in which the Christian concern to “Focus on the Family” and restore “Family Values” has completely missed the boat. That movement has adopted a false definition of “family” and, thus, it achieves exactly the opposite of its professed goal (ie. instead of sustaining the structures that can, in turn, sustain holy living within the Christian community, this movement further weakens the ways in which Christianity can genuinely resist outside corrupting influences, by adopting and employing a outside, and corrupt, model of “family”!).
Therefore, I would like to envision community-homes wherein couples, singles, children, seniors, single parents, etc., all share life together as the newly reconstituted family of those in Christ (I actually almost subtitled this post “Sharing Family” but I knew that would trigger memories of cults and “spouse-swapping” and so I thought it best to rework the title). Can we imagine what this approach to life together could do for a single mother who needs to somehow work and raise a child? Can we imagine what this approach could do for seniors who are generally pushed out of the public eye? Can we imagine what this could do singles who are looking for deeper levels of intimacy within the community of faith? The single mother receives free child care, the senior receives value and public space, and the single person receives intimate and fulfilling relationships with his or her brothers and sisters in Christ.
Furthermore, once we start sharing life together by sharing our space and our homes, it becomes possible to engage in other forms of sharing that counter the structures of capitalism. Especially, if community-homes decide to root themselves (missionally and incarnationally) within particular neighbourhoods (of course, the language of “mission” and “incarnation” means that we are simply deciding to try to learn how to love our neighbours). Thus, for example, the community-home of which I am a part, has chosen to root itself within Vancouver's downtown eastside — this means that we all live, work, volunteer, and go to church, within this neighbourhood. Everything is within walking distance — and so we have no need of a car (or a car each — which are often “needed” in houses where both partners work at commuter jobs) and thus we have learned another way to avoid debt and wealth accumulation (and we also learn how to be better stewards of the creation that has been entrusted to us). Of course, vehicles are but one example — there are all sorts of other things that we spend money on, that can be shared in a community-home (or even between a network of community-homes!), all we need is a little imagination to come up with other examples.
At this point is it worth recalling a comment posted previously on my entry about debt. A friend wrote:
I've had these conversations over and over again with people here… and its freakin the shit out of me and them, because we want to and we know, and then we added up the debt of our small little community and its almost a million dollars, and it scares the crap out of me to want to pay that off with them (emphasis added).
Now, my suspicion is that, when we begin to share life together in this way — when we're not all paying off our own mortgages, our own car payments, and so on — then suddenly the amount of debt that confronts us is much smaller and much more manageable.
Finally, it is worth remembering, at this point, that the family of those in Christ is a global family. Therefore, we must learn how to share our lives, and our resources, with our brothers in sisters who are in need in the two-thirds world. We must learn to not only share space, we must share across space. This sharing across space is something Paul never forgot. In fact, it was one of his top priorities. Paul saw one of his most important achievements to be “the collection,” that he gathered from his church-communities for the poor Christian community in Jerusalem.
This, then, leads me to a response to another comment I received on my post about debt, which is worth quoting at length:
I entirely agree if it was only the developed post-industrial world we were talking about here… I, on the other hand, live in Guatemala where this doesn't work so well. What is the responsibility of such 'First-World' intentional communities to the global poor? Also, such communities do not work very well if all their members are extremely poor (i.e., in a developing country). It seems that all alternative communities require a certain degree of cultural capital or privilege not accessible to the worst off among us.
In response to this, I would like to envision intentional community-homes in the West establishing connections with “brother” and “sister” communities in the two-thirds world. In this way, Western communities can provide the “cultural capital” and “privilege” that is “not accessible to the worst off among us.” It is one of my hopes that the community-home of which I am a part will be able to meet, and help sustain, another community-home in the two-thirds world (actually, with a little imagination, all sorts of other exciting possibilities could come from this connection).
Bonhoeffer reminds us that we will have sufficient for all, even the least, as long as we break bread together. What we need to remember is that every time we partake of the Eucharist, we are breaking bread with the global body of Christ, with Christians in the two-thirds world. Thus, after such bread breaking, how can we not also share all things with them?
April Books
Hmmm, it seems like these “reviews” are taking more and more time to write. I might have to start making them even more inadequate than they already are.
1. Church Dogmatics I.2: The Doctrine of the Word of God by Karl Barth.
Well, I’ve been poking away at this 900pp monster for the last few months and, now that I’ve finally finished it, I’ve got no clue how I can possibly summarise it here. Within this volume, Barth continues to address the topic of the revelation of God (begun in Vol. 1), through the incarnation of the Word (within this section he explores God’s freedom for man, the time of revelation and the mystery of revelation) and through the outpouring of the Holy Spirit (and in this section Barth explores the freedom of man for God, the revelation of God as the abolition of religion and the life of the children of God). Barth then goes on to explore the topics of “Holy Scripture” (as the Word of God for the Church, as authority in the Church, and as freedom in the Church) and the “Proclamation of the Church” (here, Barth explores the mission of the Church, dogmatics as a function of the hearing Church, and dogmatics as the function of the teaching church).
There were times when I found this book to be very exciting, and other times when I found it to be very, well, boring. I think the main reason why it took me so long to work through this book is because Barth spends a great deal of time addressing issues that I’m not altogether that interested in addressing. While Barth goes on about “subjectivity” and “objectivity,” I am reminded of a famous saying from Wittgenstein: “Don’t think. Look!”
2. With the Grain of the Universe: The Church’s Witness and Natural Theology by Stanley Hauerwas.
It had been awhile since I picked up anything by Hauerwas so I finally got around to reading this publication of his Gifford lectures. I’m glad that I did; this is an excellent book and one that is much more comprehensive than many other things Hauerwas has written (I’m slowly working my way through Hauerwas and, if my count is correct, this the 9th book that I have read by him).
Within this book, Hauerwas traces the development of twentieth century theology by examining the “natural” theologies of William James, Reinhold Niebuhr, and Karl Barth (all previous Gifford lecturers). Barth, Hauerwas argues, succeeds where James and Niebuhr fail, because Barth recognises that any sort of “natural” theology must be rooted within the doctrine of God. Therefore, such a theology cannot be developed by rational arguments; rather, it is developed by bearing witness to God’s activity within the world. Hence, Hauerwas’ central thesis is that:
natural theology divorced from a full doctrine of God cannot help but distort the character of God and, accordingly of the world in which we find ourselves. The metaphysical and existential projects to make a ‘place’ for such a god cannot help but ‘prove’ the existence of a god that is not worthy of worship.
Therefore, in summarising the differences between James, Niebuhr, and Barth, Hauewas argues that:
James was committed to the criticism of criticism for the sake of living well. Alternatively, Reinhold Niebuhr’s life was a political life in which all convictions were tested in terms of their significance for sustaining the democratic enterprise. In contrast, Barth’s convictions were tested by their ability to sustain service to God.
Hauerwas argues that both James an Niebuhr remove both the cross (i.e. christology) and the Church (i.e. ecclesiology) from the centre of theology. Consequently, he concludes that Barth must be seen as the greatest “natural” theologian of the three because Barth understands that “people who bear crosses are working with the grain of the universe” (a line Hauerwas takes from Yoder). Is it any wonder I enjoyed this book so much?
3. Honor, Patronage, Kinship & Purity: Unlocking New Testament Culture by David A. deSilva.
This book is probably the best introduction to NT culture that I have read. It is a scholarly work, and deSilva spends a lot of time exploring the cultural values of both Greco-Roman culture, and the Jewish subculture in NT times. However, he does this in order to bring a new perspective on a much of the NT writings themselves (thus, each theme [honor, patronage, kinship & purity] receives a chapter on how those values operated within ancient culture, and then a separate chapter exploring how our understanding of these themes impacts our reading of the NT). Furthermore, this book is easy to read and understand (i.e. you don’t have to be a biblical studies student to understand what deSilva is talking about) and it also also a pastoral focus; deSilva points to some of the ways in which the insight he provides impacts how we live as Christians today. The method deSilva employs is one that I think a great deal of biblical scholars should learn to use. I highly recommend this book.
4. In Search of Paul: How Jesus’s Apostle Opposed Rome’s Empire with God’s Kingdom by John Dominic Crossan and Jonathan L. Reed.
Within this book an NT scholar (Crossan) and an archaeologist (Reed) team-up to see what new insights might be brought to bear on Paul if we are more aware of the context in which he lived (although you don’t see any mention of this, I think that Crossan and Reed were led to to this approach [and to some of their conclusions?] by the work co-authored by Horsley and Silberman in ’97).
Essentially, Crossan and Reed argue that a proper understanding of Paul’s context should lead us to conclude that Paul was engaged in a highly subversive mission — on that directly opposed the values and reign of Rome, with the values and reign of Jesus. Although the text is rather meandering (Crossan prefers to write for popular audiences), I think that this central thesis is valid. Unfortunately, there are other places where the argumentation is sloppy and completely unsubstantiated, and it becomes clear that much of Crossan’s writing is motivated by other agendas that end up restricting his picture of Paul. Thus, Crossan’s “radical Paul” ends up looking strikingly similar to a 21st-century American Liberal.
5. God & Empire: Jesus Against Rome, Then and Now by John Dominic Crossan.
This book is largely a summary and synthesis of Crossan’s earlier books on Jesus and Paul and it thus continues to argue that Christianity originated as a non-violent, counter-cultural movement that focuses on the kingdom of God and the equality of people. However, in this work Crossan wants to engage with the Christian canon more fully, and so he traces a fundamental tension/ambiguity that he sees running through the biblical narrative. This is the tension between the portrayal of sanctioned, divine violence, and the portrayal of sanctioned, divine non-violence (Crossan also describes this as the tension between God’s distributive and God’s retributive justice). Essentially, Crossan is asking: is God violent or nonviolent? His answer to this is as follows: “My proposal is that the Christian Bible presents the radicality of a just and nonviolent God repeatedly and relentless confronting the normalcy of an unjust and violent civilization.” Furthermore, this is the conclusion Crossan comes to because, despite tensions within the canon, this is the answer that is incarnated “by and in” the historical Jesus.
Now, that’s all well and good but, despite my sympathy for Crossan’s basic conclusion, I find his argument is often too simplistic, many passages (and even whole books — like the Apocalpse of John) seem to be discarded a priori, and there are other areas that Crossan just doesn’t seem to understand at all (his perspective on the resurrection, well known it a lot of circles because of his ongoing debates with N. T. Wright on this topic, is a prime example of one of those areas). I guess I find Crossan so frustrating because, although I agree with a lot of what he has to say about Jesus and Paul as people who were “against” empire (then and now!), I think that he ends up discrediting himself precisely in that key area because of his sketchy scholarship in other areas.
6. A Long Way From Tipperary: A Memoir by John Dominic Crossan.
So, because I was working through Crossan’s material on Paul (part of my thesis research), I decided to read through Crossan’s memoir (after all, scholarship reminds us, over and over again, of the importance of reading a person’s work in context). In this book, Crossan tries to explore how his own life and experiences may have impacted his research on Jesus (he hadn’t started writing about Paul when this book was published). What I find most interesting about this is not what Crossan discusses but what he leaves out. For example, Crossan spends some time talking about how he grew up in Ireland, in a family that was inspired by the violent Irish resistance to the British Empire, and notes how many people have argued he was reading his own experiences in Ireland into his interpretation of Jesus as a Galilean peasant, who engaged in non-violent resistance to the Roman Empire. Thus, he spends some time showing why (or at least asserting that) he thinks his upbringing in Ireland, didn’t warp his scholarship. However, apart from one throw-away comment, Crossan spends no time at all questioning how his academic rootedness in a twentieth-century American Liberal environment may have impacted his scholarship. However, the impact of this environment is one that concerns me far more than Crossan’s upbringing.
I suppose what I found most interesting about this book is Crossan’s explanation of his own language. In this memoir, Crossan makes it clear that when it talks about things like “resurrection” he doesn’t literally mean “resurrection” as it has traditionally been understood; nor, when he talks about the “trinity” is he actually referring to the “trinity” in any sort of orthodox manner; nor when he talks about the “second coming” does he actually believe in any sort of literal “second coming.” And, finally, when he calls himself a “Catholic” it also becomes obvious that no Catholic would agree with his understanding of membership within the Catholic community. Of course, where his appropriation of biblical language and themes is concerned, Crossan would argue that he is simply being faithful to the biblical authors who never intended for things like the “resurrection” or the “second coming” to be taken literally (indeed, Crossan suggests that we would be “dummies” if that was the way we read the texts).
To be honest, I can’t help but find Crossan to be somewhat obnoxious. Although he argues that he is now more “polite” than “nasty” when arguing with orthodox Christian, it seems to me that he is now more condescending than crass. That is to say, it seems to me that Crossan’s “nastiness” is now simply more polished.
7. How to Read Lacan by Slavoj Zizek.
This was an exceptional book. I have found Zizek to be a very stimulating writer but, in part due to his writing style (the flow of his argument is often non-existent), and in part due to the fact that I have no academic training in the realm of psychoanalysis (Zizek is a psychoanalyst — among many other things!), I have strugged with some of his writings. However, this book (an introduction to Lacan, which ends up serving as an excellent introduction to Zizek as well), flows very well, carefully defines all the technical language it uses, and offers very helpful illustration. Indeed, I find Zizek’s reading of Lacan’s language of “the Big Other” (i.e. the symbolic order; i.e. society’s “unwritten constitution) coheres very well with Walter Wink’s reading of Paul’s language of “the Powers that be.” Add to this, Zizek’s understanding of Lacan’s take on the way in which desire is conditioned and alienated, as well as with the role fantasy plays in sustaining our (fake) “reality,” in combination with Paul’s understanding of the impact of Sin and Death, and you’ve got some incredibly provocative results. Oh, and the book is also very short — highly recommended.
8. Culture and Value by Ludwig Wittgenstein.
This book contains a number of disconnected aphorisms and observations that were recorded as asides by Wittgenstein in his various journals and notebooks. Here Wittgenstein explores themes of music, ethics, pedagogy, faith, and the existence of God. There is a great deal of insight in some of these comments, although a familiarity with Wittgenstein’s main works is probably helpful for understanding a number of the remarks. Here is are a few remarks I found particularly interesting.
On Christianity:
A theology which insists on the use of certain particular words and phrases, and outlaws others, does not make anything clearer (Karl Barth). It gesticulates with words, as one might say, because it wants to say something and does not know how to express it. Practice gives the words their sense.belief, it’s really a way of living.life. (Or the direction of your life.)
It seems to me that a religious belief could only be something like a passionate commitment to a system of reference. Hence, although it’s
I believe that one of the things Christianity says is that sound doctrines are all useless. That you have to change your
On Philosophy:
This is how philosopher’s should salute each other: “Take your time!”for heaven’s sake, be afraid of talking nonsense! But you must pay attention to your nonsense.
Don’t
On Science:
Man has to awaken to wonder — and so perhaps do peoples. Science is a way of sending him to sleep again.
[P]erhaps science and industry, having caused infinite misery in the process, will unite the world — I mean condense it into a single unit, though one in which peace is the last thing that will find a home.
9. Confessions of an Economic Hitman by John Perkins.
Maybe my expectations were too high, but I was pretty disappointed with this book — which is too bad because I’m sympathetic to Perkins’ cause. You see, in this book, Perkins describes how he worked as an “Economic Hitman” (EHM). As an EHM, Perkins worked for multinational corporations that would give false statistics to nations in the two-thirds world, thereby inspiring those nations to receive massive loans from the IMF or the World Bank, or the USA. This would then drive these nations into an ever-increasing debt and dependence upon the ones who granted the loans. Thus, the USA, for example, could then manipulate those nations, using that debt to garner their votes at the UN, to build military bases on their territory, or to plunder their natural resources.
That this sort of thing has been going on for the last fifty or so years should come as no surprised to the informed reader. However, Perkins’ book, because of his insider perspective, left me with the impression that we would get a lot of the nitty-gritty details of the parties involved, the transactions that occurred, and so on and so forth. Unfortunately, this is almost no supporting documentation for what Perkins says, and most of his anecdotes are incredibly vague. Instead we get the ramblings of a guilty conscience (Perkins has since tried to expiate himself by working for an environmental organization, supporting other non-profits and, of course, writing this book). So why does this bother me so much? Well, it bothers me so much because I think Perkins writes a book that is too easily discredited. If I compare Perkins to Chomsky, for example, I find that both reach very similar conclusions, but Chomsky has a long track record, a vast collection of sources to which one can be referred, and an equally vast collection of specific examples to which he can appeal. However, despite these things, Chomsky is often blown-off, so my question is: what chance does Perkins have of being taken seriously by those who are immersed into the system as it is?
10. Batman: Year One written by Frank Miller and illustrated by David Mazzucchelli.
Okay, if I’m not nerd enough reading all these books, I’ve recently taken to reading comics. Stumbling onto the whole genre of “illustrated novels” a few years back introduced me to some really excellent pieces, and this process has now led me back to some acclaimed comics (like Watchmen which I read a few months ago). I never read Miller’s most famous collection of graphic novels (the “Sin City” collection — a collection that overlaps sex, violence, and glory in ways that make me uncomfortable) but I thought that I’d give his take on Batman a go. And it’s a good take. This comic was a lot of fun and a pleasant distraction from all the reading I’ve been doing for my thesis.
Christianity and Capitalism Part VI: The Reformation of Desire
I had intended to continue this series by talking about some of the other forms of sharing that I think should define the Christian community. However, as this series progresses, I am continually confronted with the fact that one of the largest obstacles to embodying a form of Christianity that offers a genuine alternative to capitalism is that we just don't really want to live another way — thus, in Part II, I wrote about a “crisis of willing” and, in Part V, I spoke about the “hold” that a consumer lifestyle has on most Western Christians.
Therefore, in this post, I would like to take a step back, and explore why this is such a problem. And, to do that, I would like to begin with a quote from Slavoj Zizek.
Jenny Holzer's famous truism 'Protect me from what I want'… can either be read as an ironic reference to the standard male chauvinist wisdom that a woman left to herself gets caught up in self-destructive fury — she needs to be protected from herself by benevolent male domination: 'Protect me from the excessive self-destructive desire in me that I myself am not able to dominate.' Or else it can be read in a more radical way, as pointing towards the fact that in today's patriarchal society, women's desire is radically alienated: she desires what men expect her to desire, desires to be desired by men. In this case, 'Protect me from what I want' means: 'Precisely when I seem to express my authentic innermost longing, “what I want” has already been imposed on me by the patriarchal order that tells me what to desire, so the first condition of my liberation is that I break the vicious cycle of my alienated desire and learn to formulate my desire in an autonomous way.
~ Slavoj Zizek, How to Read Lacan, 38-39.
I choose to quote this passage from Zizek in full at the opening of this post because I think he provides an excellent example of one of the ways in which our social setting conditions and alienates even our most “authentic and innermost longing.” What we learn from Zizek (and even more from Foucault!) is that society disciplines our desires — it forms us in such a way that we “naturally” end up finding some things desirable and other things undesirable.
Thus, those of us who live in a society dominated by capitalism need to recognise that even our most “authentic and innermost longings” have been conditioned by capitalism. What we desire ends up being that which sustains and strengthens the structures of capitalism, and what we find undesirable is that which challenges capitalism.
What Zizek's example shows is just how insidious this conditioning of desire can end up being. Thus, even those who realize that their desire has been conditioned, still find that their longings function in an alienated manner. In Zizek's example we see a woman that awakens to the realisation that patriarchy has conditioned her to desire to be desired by men… yet she still desires to be desired by men. Thus, her cry becomes: “Protect me from what I want!”
It is not hard to think of other examples. I know many Christian men who have awakened to the realisation that capitalism conditions them to treat women as (sexual) objects (after all, if people can be made into objects, then they can become goods that can be bought, sold, and consumed). However, these men also discover that they are still attracted to those things that present women as (sexual) objects — objects that even desire their own consumption! In this way we end up with a great deal of Christian men addicted to internet pornography. Their cry also becomes: “Protect us from what we want!”
What really got me thinking about all this in more detail was something a friend of mine wrote recently. He and his wife are rooted in an innercity neighbourhood and trying to find ways of journeying alongside of the people there. He wrote this:
I've talked about doing a lot of things… I wanted to have people over for dinners, to invite those I find on the street into my home to hang out and eat. I also wanted to be involved in the local school… I want to spend time with my neighbours… However, as days, then weeks and finally years go by, and I haven't acted…I begin to ask myself why.
[A]nd the answer always comes back…because I don't really, truly, want to. If I did, then I would.
Therefore, if the Christian community is to exist as a truly genuine alternative to capitalism we need another Reformation. However, we need something that goes deeper than a re-formation of doctrine; what we need is a re-formation of desire. How then can we begin to engage in such a re-formation?
Awakening to the truth of our situation is an important first step. Later in his book on Lacan, Zizek argues that Lacan believed that our desires have become conditioned because our lives are based upon fantasy. Fantasy, according to Zizek, serves two functions: first, it serves as a screen that protects us from being overwhelmed by the truly traumatic truth of the reality of our situation; and, second, it literally teaches us how to desire. This second point is especially instructive, for, as Zizek says, “fantasy does not mean that when I desire a strawberry cake and cannot get it in reality I fantasize about eating it,” rather, he goes on to say, fantasy is that which teaches me to desire the strawberry cake in the first place (consequently, we learn why capitalism and modern technology fit so well together — the internet, television, and film, along with all forms of advertising, become the means of inundating us with fantasies that teach us how to desire). Thus, Zizek concludes that: “For Lacan, the ultimate ethical task is that of true awakening: not only from sleep, but from the spell of fantasy that controls us even more when we are awake.”
However, awakening to reality, and choosing to remain in the place where we are confronted with “unbearable, traumatic truth” (Zizek), is only half of the solution. For, as we saw above, we can learn that our desires our warped but that knowledge does not re-form those desires.
Therefore, it is useful to comment a bit more on my friend's example. The reason why my friend draws the conclusion that he does, is because he is reflecting upon something he recently read — a passage where a man, who had visited a monastery for a few days, asks a monk how he can continue patterns of prayer in his daily life. The monk responds with these words: “The first thing is that you have to want to pray. No amount of discipline or exercise or reading will do it if there is no desire.” The monk may be correct to assert that “no amount of discipline” will inspire prayer if there is no desire to pray. However, what the monk fails to mention (as far as I can tell) is that we must learn the disciplines that will condition us to desire to pray (of course, the paradox in this is that it is often the practice of regular prayer that disciplines us to want to pray so that we can pray regularly — which is why another monk once said, “Fake it, until you make it”!)
If the Christian community is to offer a genuine alternative to capitalism, it must be a place the exercises counter-disciplines to the disciplines of capitalism (this point is one that runs through the writings of Daniel M. Bell Jr. [cf. Liberation Theology after the End of History: the refusal to cease suffering] and William T. Cavanaugh [cf. Torture and Eucharist and Theopolitical Imagination]). In this regard, things like baptism, the Eucharist, the Church calendar, the liturgy, and the spiritual disciplines gain a new relevance. These things, far from being “spiritual” activities that are divorced from our day-to-day lives, are the practices that can re-form our desires.
However, developing counter-disciplines is also only a part of the solution. There is one more crucial component necessary for the re-formation of desire.
In Ro 7, Paul writes the following words:
For the good that I want, I do not do, but I practice the very evil that I do not want… I find then the principle that evil is present in me, the one who wants to do good… I see a different law in the members of my body, waging war against the law of my mind and making me a prisoner of the law of sin which is in my members. Wretched man that I am! Who will set me free from the body of this death?
In this passage, Paul is describing a person who has awakened to the reality that his or her desire has been conditioned and warped by outside influences. However, although this person comes to this realisation (in “the law of my mind”), he or she is incapable of acting differently (because of “the law of sin which is in my members”). Thus, the person concludes by crying out: “Protect me from what I want” (i.e. “Wretched man that I am! Who will set me free from the body of this death?”).
However, the crucial thing to realise is that Paul is not describing his experience as a Christian in this passage. Rather, he is describing his pre-conversion experience from a post-conversion perspective. After all, Ro 7 leads directly to Ro 8, where Paul goes on to describe his post-conversion experience, and, in doing so, he provides us with the answer to the question of “Who will set me free from the body of this death?” and the response to the cry: Protect me from what I want!”
In Ro 8, we learn that it is the Spirit of God who liberates our desire and makes new ways of living genuinely possible. This leaves us, rather uncomfortably, in a place of radical dependence. The re-formation of desire depends, ultimately, upon the in-breaking of God's Spirit.
By way of conclusion, it is worth recalling the experience of the disciples with Jesus. The disciples were those whose desires had been disciplined — they wanted Rome to be overthrown, they wanted the Jewish state to be restored, and they wanted to be the new rulers of that newly reconstituted state. In essence, their desires had been conditioned by their culture, and even though Jesus tried to teach them to desire other things (like desiring to serve others instead of desiring to be served by others) they never really got the point. Even when it looked like they understood what Jesus was saying, they were still unable to act out of that new understanding. Thus, even though we see the disciples all swearing that they would never betray Jesus, when the time comes we see them all run away. The disciples want to be loyal to Jesus, but their desires have been so disciplined that none of them are. It is only the coming of the Spirit at Pentecost that changes everything. After the Spirit comes we see the re-formation of the disciples desires, and we see those re-formed desires inspiring truly new, and wonderful, actions and results within the Christian community.
Now, what is particularly encouraging about all this (apart from the fact that it shows us that God's Spirit does break-in and re-form desire), is that Jesus commits himself to working with disciples whose desires have not yet been fully re-formed. Tom Wright captures this idea well when he writes the following:
[Jesus'] disciples, longing for a leader who would fulfill their dreams, were bound to hear his call to revolutionary love in terms of their own love of revolution. Jesus worked within that misunderstanding. It is just as well that he did. If the creator of the world had waited for a time when people would have understood his desire to save the world, and would have responded without ambiguity to that desire, he would have waited for ever (New Tasks for a Renewed Church, 50).
Therefore, let us continue to confront, and expose, the “traumatic” reality of our contemporary situation within capitalism, let us learn to develop the disciplines that re-form our desires, and let us continually cry out for the Spirit to be poured out upon us anew so that the re-formation of a Christian community out of capitalism will be fulfilled, all the while hoping that Jesus is, somehow, working, even now, within our misunderstandings.
Christianity and Capitalism Part V: Sharing and Debt
It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery.
~ Paul, Gal 5.1
I would now like to move into some of the more concrete outworkings of what I have been exploring in this series on Christianity and capitalism by exploring some of the ways in which the nonsensical charity of Christianity should play out in our contemporary context.
First of all, I would like to envision both the sharing that prevents debt and the sharing of debt within the Christian community. Few things are so effective in ensuring the unchallenged sovereignty of capitalism as the structures of debt that pervade all areas of our society. Debt ensures that we remain in a state akin to slavery. We are held in bondage by the credit companies, the banks, the government, the powers (and just like slavery in days gone by, so also we have trouble imagining an economic system that does not rely on debt).
It is interesting to note that even at the time of Jesus, debt was perceived to be one of the main structures that maintained oppressive powers. Thus, first-century Jewish liberation movements addressed debt as a central issue. It is worth highlighting two examples. During the “Great Revolt” of the Jews against Rome (AD 66-70), one of the first things the revolutionaries did was burn the debt records (cf. Josephus' Wars, 2:427). However, some thirty years prior to this revolt another alternative had been initiated — Jesus began a community that “held all things in common” so that “no one was in need” and in this way a powerful, yet nonviolent, alternative to the structures of debt was established and quietly began to grow and move towards the heart of the empire. The first option, the option taken by the Jewish revolutionaries (which, by the way, is the same option as the one taken by Tyler Durden in Fight Club) is, however, one that is forever closed to those who pursue the second option, the option taken by Jesus.
Therefore, the first step to being liberated from capitalism is to also refuse debt as an option within our lives. However, if the avoidance of debt is to be a realistic option for many of us (especially those of us who are poor and on the margins) we must begin to share financially with one another. This means doing “nonsensical” things like having a community that sponsors a person's university education so that that person isn't driven into debt by a Student Loan. This means doing things like supporting poor parents so that they can raise children without taking out loans and cash advances in order to get by. This also means living in a community where possession of credit cards is mostly a non-option. Living as a credit free society means moving through a series of steps. The first step would be to limit the number of credit cards within a household. Then, as we realise that we are doing fine by sharing one another's expenses, we could limit the number of credit cards within a particular Christian community and, ultimately, I believe that we could arrive at a place where there is no need for credit cards within the Christian community. When we can rely on one another for financial assistance then the drive to maintain a credit card in order to have a “good credit rating” (i.e. the drive to ensure that the slave-masters stay happy with us) becomes unnecessary.
However, because few of us are living in a state where we are free from debt, we need to realise that, if we are to share in ways that offer a genuinely liberating alternative, we must also share the debts that have already been accrued by other members of the Christian community. There are few actions that would be considered more nonsensical within capitalism than voluntarily paying off the debt of another person, but to engage in this sort of activity is the only honest option for a community that has been taught to pray for the forgiveness of debts (remember the Lord's Prayer?). This sharing of debt, that shares debt in order to overcome debt itself, should be a central aspect of the Church's proclamation of forgiveness. When we start living in this way, then maybe we will be able to remember that the gospel is literally good news to the poor, freedom for prisoners, and release for the oppressed. Of course, by describing the gospel in this way, I am quoting Jesus' “mission statement” as it appears in Lk 4, and it is interesting to note that this mission statement draws upon Israel's Jubilee tradition — a tradition that was centred upon the forgiveness of all financial and material debts!
It seems to me that the steps I have described here are quite simple to follow… but for one thing. That “thing” is the hold that a consumer lifestyle still has on most Western Christians. To pursue these simple steps we must begin to engage in a form of charity that restructures our lives and restricts our access to possessions, entertainment, and personal indulgences. The forms of charity that make sense within capitalism are forms that do not hinder my access to these things. Thus, just how genuinely Christian our charity is will be revealed by how willing we are to surrender precisely these things as we learn to share in new ways. I am reminded, once again, of the words of Mother Teresa who once said the following:
I don't want you to give from your excess. I want you to give in a way that hurts.
If we only give from our excess, our giving does not create an alternative to the structures of capitalism; rather it ensures that we remain the slaves of credit companies, banks, and governments. Only when we give “in a way that hurts” do we begin to embody a Christian alternative to capitalism that liberates us from debt.
Christianity and Capitalism Part IV: Sharing as Nonsensical Charity
The conviction that siblings are to make use in common of their inherited goods undergirds the exhortation to benefit and share with one another within the community… As siblings in Christ, the believers are to pool their resources in every way so that each member of the family knows the love of this family at his or her point of need…
What we witness in the early church is not an attempt to create a system of government and economics enforced through terror but rather an attitude that each believer has toward fellow believers—“love for brothers and sisters”—and lives without reservation.
~ David A. deSilva, Honor, Patronage, Kinship & Purity, 215-16.
I was first personally introduced to a more radical form of sharing through my interactions with another community of “beggars” — the homeless addicts that I first encountered in Toronto, and continue to encounter in the neighbourhood in which I live. Within this community, sharing looks rather different than the form of sharing that is encouraged in the churches I know (you know, tithe 10%, donate tax write-offs to charity, and give your old clothes to the Salvation Army, that sort of thing). Indeed, the sharing demonstrated in this community of beggars shames most Christian expressions of sharing.
I think, for example, of “Johnny.” Johnny is a gifted young man who lives for music… but one day he pawned his guitar so that he had enough money to support his heroin addiction. “I put my soul in the pawn shop today,” he said to me. Heroin meant so much to Johnny that he was willing to risk losing the thing he loved above all else in order to get high. But here's the catch: when it came time to shoot up, Johnny didn't think twice about sharing what he had with his friends. Indeed, one sees this all the time with addicts — they will surrender everything they have to score one point of heroin, or one rock, or whatever, yet they will, time after time, share that point, or that rock, or whatever, with their friends. The only thing that they have, the thing that they have sacrificed everything to get, this is what they share.
I believe that those of us who are eager to be anything but beggars would argue that applying this standard to our approach to sharing would be completely nonsensical. Capitalism does not teach us to share all that we have, and it certainly does not teach us to share that which we surrender everything else to get. Far from it. Capitalism teaches me to hold desperately to the core of what mine, just as it teaches me that, if I work hard to get something, then I don't have to share it with anybody. In fact, I'll work just as hard to ensure that such a precious thing stays mine.
Thus, capitalism conditions us to think that there is, in fact, little that is virtuous in the form of sharing that I have just described — it would tell us that I simply provided an example of beggars preying on other beggars in order to move deeply into self-destructive addictions. Therefore, my argument that such a destructive act as sharing drugs should be considered virtuous would be discarded as a nonsensical argument. However, although this objection is cloaked in the language of moral/charitable concern (i.e. “drugs are bad, and giving highly addictive drugs to your friends is very bad”), I suspect that, at its root, it is motivated by the fear of being genuinely confronted with a form of sharing that goes far beyond anything we have ever offered.
Thus, I persist in believing that this “nonsensical” form of sharing should challenge the form of sharing embodied in our community of beggars — the Church (not so say that there isn't a great deal of overlap in the two communities of beggars that I am talking about here). Furthermore, that our sharing does not appear to be just as nonsensical leads me to suspect that what is genuinely Christian about our sharing might have been lost.
That Christian sharing should appear nonsensical to those whose ways of living are dictated by capitalism becomes evident when we realise that the sharing (or “charity”) that is praised by capitalism (i.e. the charity that “makes sense” within capitalism) is actually a mode of charity that perpetuates the foundational structures of capitalism. The ways in which Western nations have used “foreign aid” to drive other nations into debt is perhaps the most obvious example of this, but other examples abound: the ways in which Christian social agencies and churches perpetuate the structures of capitalism by accepting charitable donations from major corporations should be considered, as we should also consider the ways in which popular approaches to tithing allow me to give 10% of my earnings to a church/charity and then feel fine about spending the remaining 90% on me. Christian sharing, however, must move beyond such superficial forms of charity in order to offer a genuine alternative to capitalism. And I suspect that such sharing will be labeled “nonsensical” because it will appear to be “impractical,” “wasteful,” or “foolish.”
So what are some of the concrete forms of sharing that should take place within the Christian community if we are to live as an alternative to capitalism? I'll get to that soon (I hope).
Justice as Gratitude: An Additional Thought
In a recent post, I argued that we needed to understand justice as living out the gratitude that is proper to those who are recipients of grace. Furthermore, I suggested understanding justice in this way has significant implications for how we go about pursuing justice today. I have continued to turn this around in my mind — asking myself questions like: what exactly are those implications? — and I was led back to a point made by a British theologian, David Ford.
In his book, The Shape of Living, Ford argues that our lives are shaped by “overwhelmings.” We all encounter various things in life that overwhelm us — like the overwhelming beauty of a sunset, or the overwhelming darkness of a violent assault, or whatever — and it is how we respond to those “overwhelmings” that determines the shape of our lives. Indeed, Ford argues that, because we will encounter both overwhelmingly good things and overwhelmingly evil things, we are forced to choose which overwhelming will be more foundational for how we live.
Therefore, the pursuit of justice defined as “living out the gratitude that is proper to those who are recipients of grace” requires that our lives be founded on an overwhelming encounter with God's grace and forgiveness. If this is the overwhelming that runs deeper than all others, then gratitude will naturally define us. We have encountered a God whose love for us is indescribable (I can't even find the words, staggering? profound? tender? powerful? overwhelming?). How, then, can we not live lives of gratitude?
Therefore, if this is the foundation of a Christian understanding of justice, what then are some of the implications for the Christian pursuit of justice?
First, this means that Christian justice will be marked by love. Christian justice is love because it flows from the place of being God's beloved — we are those who have been loved much; how can we not go forth to love others much as well? Thus, the pursuit of justice is nothing more than obedience to the command to “love your neighbour.” The dichotomy between love and justice (and God's love and justice, in particular) that is often made in various circles is absolutely false. Justice is the practice of gratitude-as-love within the context of injustice.
Secondly, and just as important, this means that Christian justice will be marked by forgiveness. Love and forgiveness are two sides of one coin but his point is often neglected (i.e. talk of forgiveness is ignored in social justice circles) or denied (i.e. forgiveness is seen as the opposite of justice in social justice circles) so it is worth pausing here. Here is the point that I want to make: the overwhelming that we encounter in God's love and forgiveness is greater than any overwhelming we encounter in the injustices that we personally experience. Therefore, the gratitude that flows from my state of being beloved is greater than the sorrow or anger I experience from the state of being wounded. Because of this, I am empowered to respond freely with forgiveness. This is why Paul can say that even in violent persecution, torture, and death, we are still “more than conquerors” because of the overwhelming love of God (Ro 8). Thus, Paul goes on to say that we should love, forgive, and do good to our enemies (Ro 12), just as Jesus tells us to go the extra mile, give to the thief, and turn the other cheek to the one who strikes us (Mt 5). Therefore, the only response that I can make to those who treat me unjustly is to live out the gratitude of a recipient of grace by forgiving the one who treats me this way.
This is why the notion of “justice-as-retribution” should be totally foreign to the Christian approach. This is why “vengeance” is reserved for God; it is reserved for God because the pursuit of vengeance is antithetical to the practices of gratitude. If we are truly grateful — as we will be if we have truly encountered God's love — then we will love and forgive. We are those who have been forgiven much, how can we not go forth and forgive others much as well?
[I should perhaps note that this talk of “forgiveness” should not sidetrack our resistance to, confrontation with, and excommunication of, oppressive powers but that's not the point I'm trying to make at the moment.]
An Aside (because my last few posts were too long)
The tragedy of the Church is that it has failed to be a place that heals brokenness. Therefore, Christians come to Church so overwhelmed by their own wounds, that they have no desire, or ability, to journey into the brokenness of others. Instead they run away from any broken people or places. Tragically, the Church becomes that which helps people to flee from brokenness instead of that which encourages us to journey into all brokenness so that all can be healed.
Another way of stating this tragedy would be as follows:
The tragedy of the Church is that it has failed to embody the proclamation of the forgiveness of sins and has, instead, attempted to aid in the flight from the world of Sin and Death, rather than being an agent of God's new creation.
(And if there is no healing, no forgiveness, and no new creation in our churches, then I can't help but wonder if there is no Spirit there as well…)