It is hard to discuss economics today, both inside and
outside the church. You wouldn’t know that from the frequency with which it is
debated, because by this measure it seems to be an almost constant topic for
discussion. The difficulty becomes clear, though, if you actually pause to
listen carefully to what is being said. There seems to me to be three barriers standing
in our way.
First, not surprisingly, is the lack of civility. Start
talking about economic policy or theory and depending on what we say, there is
a chance we’ll be tagged by some label: “socialist” and “uncompassionate” are
two favorites. If we face a lack of civility outside the church, well, we
should try our best to learn to communicate as clearly and winsomely as
possible, but we really shouldn’t whine about it. Facing incivility within the
Christian community, on the other hand, is reason for concern. I could list
lots of biblical texts dealing with economic issues that will take a lot of
hard work to interpret correctly. The biblical texts that describe how we
should treat one another—for example 1 Corinthians 13—are unambiguous and clear
enough for a child to understand.
The second barrier to a thoughtful discussion of economics,
both within and without the church, is that the topic has been politicized. By
that I mean that almost as soon as the topic is mentioned, partisan positions,
parties, policies or personalities are invoked. This should not be. For one
thing, economics and politics are not coterminous. For another, as Christians
faithfulness requires we figure out how to think about economics from a
biblical perspective and only after that will we be able to figure out what
that means in the political sphere of life.
The third barrier is that very few of us have seriously
tackled the topic of economics from a biblical perspective. We have some texts
we use to justify some of our beliefs on the topic, but truth be told we’ve
picked those up somewhat after the fact, and they are pretty selective. If you
are feeling guilty about this, that is not my intention. (Feeling guilty about
incivility and politicization is a different story—for those repentance is in
order.) We live busy lives and economics is a huge topic, richly nuanced and like
all of life, constantly in flux. For topics like this, we can be thankful for
thoughtful Christian thinkers who do the hard lifting for us. Which brings me
to an article I am eager to recommend.
The article is free, online (www.cardus.ca) and is a
wonderful introduction to thinking Christianly about economics. Even if you
don’t discuss the topic much, you’ll have a better foundation for understanding
the topic by reading this piece. “Capitalism, Religion, and the Economics of
the Biblical Jubilee” is by Paul Williams, the Executive Director of the
Marketplace Institute, and Academic Dean, at Regent College, Vancouver.
Capitalism
as Ideology
Much of mainstream economics
presents capitalism as a morally neutral economic system. It does so with two
arguments.
The first focuses on the individual
consumer (or firm or worker). Capitalism is morally neutral, it is argued,
because it is designed to enable individuals to make their own choices based on
whatever values they happen to have.
The second focuses on overall
systemic outcomes: capitalism generates the largest possible economic pie and
we can then choose what to do with the proceeds.
But are these arguments compatible?
Capitalism is not, in fact, morally
neutral. The apparent neutrality of individual choice masks the underlying
moral assumption that the individual is the final measure of good, and should
always trump community choice, and that present choices should always trump
those of our forebears. It also fails to account for the unequal nature of many
actual transactions, so that frequently the choice of some undermines the
freedom of others. My choice to shop seven days a week (or the choice of a
superstore to open seven days a week) removes, or at least reduces, the freedom
of the families of shop-workers to spend one day a week together, since the
chances of both working parents getting the same day off recede and the
influence of shop-workers on such economic outcomes is relatively small. The
“good” of a family day of rest each week cannot be expressed in a system that
only recognizes autonomous individualism….
Read the entire piece here.
I am sitting on the back porch of Toad Hall as I write this.
The sky is blue, the air is crisp as it is so often in the autumn, and the
first hints of fall colors are appearing in the leaves of trees. A hummingbird
has been visiting our feeder but the bees and wasps that gather to lick at the
syrup keep driving it off. I chose the cheaper model instead of the one that
had little basket-like guards designed to keep insects away. The birds that
visit the back yard are like precious gifts of color and grace, so I’ll have to
rectify this later today.
I rewrote that first paragraph a couple of times before I
was satisfied, changing a word or two, deleting a phrase, adding another. I wanted
to communicate clearly. You aren’t here on the porch with me today, and I want
to bridge that gap at least a bit in your understanding. The hummingbird feeder
is only one object in my line of sight—there is also the bird bath that has
drawn a little flock of squabbling sparrows, the lovely pots that Anita filled
with a variety of flowering, climbing, aromatic plants, the tall grasses near
the garage that are in full display towering above the shorter hosta plants
with their massive spreading leaves. At best I can communicate only a little,
partially, but I want to communicate as clearly as possible. To do my best to
be certain you hear something of what I actually mean.
In the public square I listen to the voices wondering at how
poorly Christian pundits and commentators express themselves. Dick Keyes notes
that, “many of our neighbors believe that regarding the issues they care most
about, Christian people stand not on the side of good but solidly on the side
of evil. Being confident that they have a higher moral ground than those who
follow Jesus, they feel that can afford to ignore his claims… on many of the
issues where our society is morally and emotionally involved, evangelical
Christians are considered barbaric and bigoted. We are seen as part of the
problem and not the solution.”
I am not interested here to debate whether people are fair
to see us that way, or whether we have given them good reasons to hold the
perception. Rather, I wish to ask, since this perception of us is widespread,
do we speak in the public square with care in order to adequately deal with it?
Are we careful to communicate so the listening world hears something that
proves their perception of us is wrong? Or do we speak in a way that,
inadvertently or not, confirms their worst impressions of who we are and what
we believe? Have we intentionally reflected on this issue in order to
creatively reflect on how best to communicate in such a setting? And have we
developed careful but firm ways to distance ourselves from the voices clamoring
in the public square that claim to speak for evangelicals while displaying
little humility, disdain for any who disagree, sloppy research, and dire
warnings of impending disaster?
Faithfulness in following Christ, who claimed to be the
word, requires we take communication seriously enough to care not just that we
speak truth but that as much as it depends on us, the truth in all its mystery
and transcendence and beauty is actually understood.
Source: Dick Keyes in Chameleon
Christianity
: Moving Beyond Safety and Conformity (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker
Books; 1999) p 12-13.
: Moving Beyond Safety and Conformity (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker
Books; 1999) p 12-13.
This last Friday the weather widget on our laptops promised
relief from humidity. There is a little park in Lake City, MN (the home of
water skiing, the sign says as you enter the town) that we discovered several
years ago. Huge oak trees carpet the grass with shade. On one side of the park
stretches the Mississippi River and on the other a little canal linking a
marina with the river. With two canvas chairs, books, and a thermos of iced water
we retreat to absorb the quiet, read, pray, doodle notes as ideas present
themselves, and talk.
We rag on some of the powerboats, their phallic shape
unnecessarily calling attention to the shuddering power of their inboard
motors. We wonder at the sprawling yachts that coast by emanating signs of
wealth and guess whether the owners work for an investment bank or an insurance
company. We imagine taking our grandchildren out for a day on one of the slow
but steady houseboats, complete with gas grill on the flat roof. Jet skies,
rather like high-pitched mosquitoes dart in and out among the traffic.
But mostly we break the leisurely silence of the day to talk
about our life together, and the shape of our calling expressed in the ordinary
things that come our way. We have talked about this for years, and know we will
need to continue the conversation. Things don’t stand still, and if we aren’t
intentional about it, our schedule slips out of balance and the tyranny of the
urgent soon crowds out the good. Faithfulness isn’t automatic.
Later we continued our conversation as we ate together at
Nosh, on an outside second story patio overlooking one of Lake City marinas.
Beyond lay the River, dotted with sailboats, on which two barges slipped by en
route from St Paul to someplace south, perhaps even to New Orleans.
We are best friends, married now for 43 years, working
together in Ransom for 27 years, and still we find that none of this can be
assumed. Such conversations must be intentional, listening must be unhurried,
and still misunderstandings arise. I think she means one thing, she thinks I
mean something else, and going back to square one can seem an annoyance. But it
must be done, listening, asking questions, listening some more. Even when we
are on the same proverbial page digging deeper can deepen understanding.
Sometimes the most important words are the words behind the
words. They are often unvoiced, at least at first, but to not hear them is to
not hear at all.
This is true in the public square as well. As we drove to
Lake City we passed several billboards and signs on both sides of the abortion
issue. I do not question the motivation of the people who paid for and erected
them by the side of the highway. I assume both are passionate in their convictions.
But I am impressed at how both sides seem to be preaching to the choir and I can’t
imagine any of the signs persuading anyone on the other side to change their
position. They are talking past one another. Neither side hears the words
behind the words.
I am not interested here in debating abortion. But as a
Christian I want to argue that the pro-life effort in the public square is
often counterproductive. We raise arguments only pro-lifers will be impressed
at and then expect pro-choice people to be persuaded. Our arguments not only
are unpersuasive, but by failing to take pro-choice reasoning seriously we give
the impression of being out of touch and of being people who simply want to
force our convictions on others.
In The Rage Against
God
British journalist Peter Hitchens chronicles his pilgrimage through
atheism to faith in Christ. As he tells his story, he remembers going to stores
to purchase items for the birth of his first child, brightly colored plastic
stuff that seemed cheap and aesthetically distasteful. The entire event is
unnerving, but not just on the surface. Values about the good life that he has
long held are in the process of crumbling—or more accurately, they are being
torn down. “I felt (correctly as it turned out),” he writes, “that I was being
called by irresistible force into a state of life I had not chosen and would
never have voluntarily accepted.” That state of life was parenthood. “I have
often thought,” Hitchens continues, “that the strange popularity of abortion
among people who ought to know better has much to do with this sensation of
lost control, of being pulled downwards into a world of servitude, into
becoming our own parents.”
British journalist Peter Hitchens chronicles his pilgrimage through
atheism to faith in Christ. As he tells his story, he remembers going to stores
to purchase items for the birth of his first child, brightly colored plastic
stuff that seemed cheap and aesthetically distasteful. The entire event is
unnerving, but not just on the surface. Values about the good life that he has
long held are in the process of crumbling—or more accurately, they are being
torn down. “I felt (correctly as it turned out),” he writes, “that I was being
called by irresistible force into a state of life I had not chosen and would
never have voluntarily accepted.” That state of life was parenthood. “I have
often thought,” Hitchens continues, “that the strange popularity of abortion
among people who ought to know better has much to do with this sensation of
lost control, of being pulled downwards into a world of servitude, into
becoming our own parents.”
If Hitchens is correct, then the favored pro-life argument
that abortion is wrong because it involves a baby is guaranteed to fail. (This
was, indeed, the argument on all the pro-life signs and billboards we passed on
the highway.) In fact, if Hitchens is correct, reminding pro-choicer people
that it is a baby will serve to reinforce their commitment to abortion!
Civility, it seems to me, must include a passionate
determination to listen to and address the words behind the words. It’s a skill
that must be learned and a posture that is in conflict with the vast majority
of speech practiced in the public square and in the church. By God’s grace may
that be changed. When we fail in this most basic truth about human
communication, we may even discover that our attempts to speak backfire into
instances of strengthening the commitments we are trying to change.
As always I look forward to reading your thoughts and comments.
Source: The Rage
Against God: How atheism led me to faith by Peter Hitchens (Grand Rapids,
MI: Zondervan; 2010) p. 31.
: How atheism led me to faith by Peter Hitchens (Grand Rapids,
MI: Zondervan; 2010) p. 31.
Just to be sure we are communicating as clearly as possible,
I’ll start by defining the terms I’m using here. Every person has a worldview.
A worldview is the basic assumptions, beliefs and values a person has adopted
over the years, consciously or subconsciously as being true and good. All our
knowing, doing and feeling is intimately interlaced in our worldview, and its
content produces the answers we tend to give to the most important questions of
life, reality and death. Our worldview shapes our life, and defines our
perspective on things.
Hopefully that is not controversial. I do not mean it to be.
Assuming it isn’t, let me suggest a few modest proposals linking the lack of civility
in the public square with the notion of worldviews.
Proposal #1: Different worldviews tend to lead to different
conclusions. This can involve differing—even conflicting—conclusions about
everything from the proper goal of government, to lifestyles, to the definition
of the common good, to the identity of superstition, to the meaning of
marriage, to you name it. Again, not very controversial.
Proposal #2: Speaking effectively across worldviews is
immensely, amazingly difficult. For one thing, an idea that in my worldview is
beloved, obvious, and sacred may appear in another worldview to be irrational,
inconceivable, and dangerous. In order to truly communicate the speakers must
engage one another on levels far deeper than the idea being debated, and that
takes unhurried time, trust, and a willingness to both listen and accept
challenges to our own worldview. It can’t be done in slogans, debates, or brief
commentaries designed to maintain a media audience. Again, I don’t see this as
very controversial, but there it is.
Proposal #3: Of all people, Christians should understand
proposal #2. Some of us experienced the stunning reversal of having to
radically change worldviews when we came to faith. The rest of us know how hard
repentance is, how resistant we are to facing the hidden idolatries in our
hearts, and how difficult it is to drop ideas when shown in Scripture they are
legalisms or hypocritical or simply devoid of grace. But we forget. Because
something is obvious to us, it must be obvious to everyone, and to make it so,
we believe that speaking more loudly will do the trick. And to reassure
ourselves, we summarize our opponent’s position in a way that gets a laugh from
our side, apparently assuming that whatever is laughable to us is simply
laughable. A bit more controversial, I suppose, but fairly easily defended I
think.
Proposal #4: If we—I am referring to Christians, here—if we
are not engaged in the sort of conversation that involves unhurried time, the
intentional building of trust, and a willingness to both listen and accept
challenges to our own worldview, we should remain silent in the public square.
If you need a biblical reason, how about 1 Corinthians 13—the reason being that
we should never choose to be a clanging, clattering gong before the watching world.
OK, this is the controversial one, so I’d like to know what you think. (But
wouldn’t it be a relief?)
It is hardly news to note that America’s political public
square is less than civil. We may use different terms to describe the status
quo, but words like shrill, unkind, combative, and argumentative are often
invoked. I know enough history to realize this is not an entirely novel
phenomenon. It seems that people have long been deeply exercised over politics,
and have reflected that in their rhetoric. And I know enough of Holy Scripture
to be convinced that our rhetoric as Christians—about politics and anything
else—comes under Christ’s Lordship.
Recently I noticed an acquaintance—in Facebook’s
terminology, a “friend”—had under “Likes and Interests” clicked on:
O.B.A.M.A. (One Big Ass Mistake, America)
About which I offer a few reflections.
1. Let’s keep this in perspective--it’s just a click on Facebook.
True enough and so easy to do that many clicks are done with minimal
reflection. As Christians, however, we do not believe that the ease in doing
something removes our responsibility for having done it. And for blessing or
for curse, our Facebook profile is a public statement before a watching world.
2. Is this not a direct violation of Scripture? “Show proper
respect to everyone,” St Peter instructs us, “fear God, honor the king” (1
Peter 2:17). The emperor in power when the apostle penned these words was Nero.
We may not like a particular President or agree with his policies but we are
forbidden to be dismissive or disrespectful. Bible believing Christians would
be a lot more believable if they actually took their Bibles seriously.
3. One of the great errors of our day is the marriage of
conservative ideology and evangelical Christianity. Perhaps you find that this
political ideology most closely matches your convictions as a Christian. Even
so, we must always be careful that political convictions not seem to become an
aspect of the gospel. Talk to young adults who are non-Christians and a
significant number are unwilling to seriously consider the claims of Christian
faith because they cannot imagine voting Republican. The gospel is faith in
Christ, not faith in Christ and conservatism. Regardless of the arguments in
favor of conservatism, this state of affairs amounts to nothing less than
adding to the gospel, of placing a (political) stumbling block in front of
non-Christians hearing the good news of Christ. How we touch on politics—even
on Facebook—reflects intimately on how a watching world hears our gospel.
4. The gospel, like the Scriptures themselves, begins with
Creation. And Creation teaches us that all people are made in God’s image. All
people. Including President Obama and those who voted for Obama. This is not
merely a poor application of this article of faith it is a practical denial of
it.
5. The fact that people are made in God’s image means we
Christians should take the lead in demonstrating civility in the public square.
To the extent we don’t, to that extent we are being conformed to a fallen
world, squeezed into its mold (see Romans 12:1-2).
May we as Christians live in the political arena as
followers of Christ, demonstrating a proper respect for each person as a creature
made in God’s image. May our clicks on Facebook be thoughtful demonstrations of
lives lived intentionally. And as Os Guinness argues so convincingly in The Case For Civility
, may we exhibit civility, even in politics, to
the glory of the One we serve as King who loved his enemies unto death.
, may we exhibit civility, even in politics, to
the glory of the One we serve as King who loved his enemies unto death.
In a thoughtful column, “The Rhetoric of the Rant,” published in the Washington Post (and available here), Michael Gerson reflects on the plague of incivility practiced in the American public square. He is concerned about “not the blunt earthiness of the farmer or the unguarded political overstatement among friends,” he says. What he wishes us to consider rather, “is a practiced form of verbal aggression, combining harshness and coarseness to shock and intimidate.”
This sort of incivility is indeed rampant in political circles. Conservatives and liberals alike engage in it, and cheer on the verbal excesses of their favorite pundits. (Sadly, though they should know better, Christians engage in it too.) Here is an excerpt from Gerson’s piece:
The practitioners of the rant have their own television shows, radio programs and Web sites. And now it seems they will have their own elected representative, the author of Rush Limbaugh Is a Big Fat Idiot. Al Franken has made a career of such rants, supposedly asking “Isn’t Cardinal O’Connor an [expletive]?” calling opponents “human filth” and suggesting that his next book might bear the title: I [expletive] Hate Those Right-Wing Mother [expletives]! Which many Minnesotans apparently found refreshing.
The advocates of this approach often describe it (and themselves) as courageous. Franken explains, “My dad did say, ‘If you stand up to bullies they usually back down.’” But those who make their living beating up others to take their lunch money must eventually be categorized as bullies themselves. They take perhaps the most common human vice—self-indulgent anger—and cloak it as a rare virtue. But it is a strange moral inversion to talk of the “courage” of the raised middle finger. Perhaps adolescent rudeness. Maybe boorishness. Not courage, which involves standing up for a belief, not dehumanizing those who don’t share it. America doesn’t need another scolding lecture on the importance of civility. Well, apparently it does. So here goes.
The practice of civility is important to democracy. In his book, Civility: Manners, Morals and the Etiquette of Democracy, Stephen L. Carter defines civility as “the sum of the many sacrifices we are called to make for the sake of living together… We should make sacrifices for others not simply because doing so makes social life easier (although it does), but as a signal of respect for our fellow citizens, marking them as full equals, both before the law and before God.”
Respect makes cooperation for the common good possible. Civility acts like grease in the democratic machine; disdain is sand thrown into the gears. But civility is also a direct reflection of our belief in human equality. Even people we vehemently disagree with on the largest issues possess a democratic value equal to our own. Carter argues that this recognition does not preclude “passionate disagreement,” but it does require “civil listening.”
[Thanks to my good friend Steven Garber who alerted me to Gerson’s column.]