Month: May 2005

Today I received an e-mail from Sojourners calling for military intervention in the Darfur region of Sudan to protect civilians from government-sponsored militias. This seems to have become a kind of cause célèbre among certain elements of the Christian left (for lack of a better term). And it’s certainly a worthy one.

Still, as I’ve said before, one needs a clearer idea of what actually we should do once we’re there.

Justin Logan has suggested that committing U.S. troops isn’t necessary (and it’s not entirely clear that we could); we should, instead, provide logistics and materiel to African Union troops on the scene.

I’m symathetic to such a plan insofar as I think it would be better all things considered if regional conflicts were handled, when necessary, by local powers. The idea that the U.S. should jump into every conflict is a recipe for disaster (Somalia, anyone?). Think of it as the principle of subsidiarity applied to international politics.

Still, there may be times when the U.S. is the only power capable of intervening and circumstances warrant it.

Here’s a question though: are those of us who would like to see a drastically scaled back U.S. military establishemnt (a pretty utopian goal, admittedly) prepared to accept that such a reduced force would likely not be capable of intervening every time there’s some kind of humanitarian crisis? (This applies to the quasi-pacifist types on the Christian left as well as “seamless garment” types and traditonalist non-interventionist conservatives.)

There’s a post at Here We Stand that is relevant to some of the things we’ve been discussing around here: “The Paradox of Submission to the Governing Authorities.”

This seems like as good a time as any to resume blogging Robert Kraynak’s Christian Faith and Modern Democracy (you thought I’d forgotten, didn’t you? For earlier posts see here and here).

Earlier we saw that, according to Kraynak, the Christian tradition, far from uniformly supporting democracy has been remarkably insouciant about the form of secular government. The “two cities” tradition has generally supported whatever government was in power so long as it left the church free to preach and evangelize and served the temporal ends of providing peace and security, and, under fortuitous circumstances, encouraging virtue and piety.

Nevertheless, one might still argue that Christianity is “essentially” democratic due to its emphasis on the dignity of every individual human being. Shouldn’t that provide a kind of leveling effect on Christian politics?

Kraynak thinks that this argument rests on a confusion between the modern liberal democratic notion of human dignity and the biblical one. The former usually founds human dignity on the quintessential Enlightenment notions of reason and free will. But the latter, Kraynak thinks, is based in the biblical concept of the Imago Dei, which is by no means to be identified with our rational capacities. Kraynak surveys the passages where the Imago Dei is mentioned and comes to conclusions that differ widely from the rationalist notions of human dignity:

In these three passages [Gen 1:26-28; 5:1-3; 9:5-7], we have the only explicit references to the Imago Dei in the entire Hebrew Bible. All three make procreation and lifeblood the Godlike image in man; yet these are things that man shares with other animals. This is a real puzzle, one that is fraught with important moral implications. Many of the great commentators pass over the textual problems too hastily, usually because they have a preconceived notion of the attributes that reflect the divine image in man (the most common view is that reason and free will are the distinguishing features, although they are not mentioned explicitly in the passages on the divine image). What, then, is the Bible saying about the Imago Dei?

The only sense I can make of this puzzle is that procreation and lifeblood, while common to man and animals, must have a deeper meaning for humans than for animals. Procreation and lifeblood must be pale reflections of the original vitality and life-giving power that man alone possessed before the Fall when he possessed immortal life. The image of God in man would thus refer to man’s original immortality—an immortality that animals never possessed and that is different from God’s immortality in the crucial respect that man’s original immortality could be lost (it is an image of immortality, after all, not the real thing). In the biblical view, then, man stands between the animals and God as a creature with special dignity because he once possessed the Godlike attribute of immortality but lost it and became mortal, without, however, losing the hope of recovering it and gaining true eternal life. (p. 57)

The other aspect of the Imago Dei that the Bible focuses on is humanity’s capacity for holiness:

After the book of Genesis, there are no more references to the Imago Dei in the entire Hebrew Bible. Beginning with Exodus and continuing in subsequent books, man is compared with God in the capacity for holiness (kadosh). … To be “holy” in this sense has many connotations which are hard to define precisely. In a formal and almost tautological sense, holiness means being set apart from the profane. But it also implies separation from the profane in specific ways–by superior purity in sexual and dietary matters, by transcendence of the mundane through the mysterious presence of the invisible God, and by a high degree of righteousness in the execution of justice and social responsibilities. The divine image in man found almost exclusively in the Book of Genesis is thus superceded but not abolished by the imitation of God’s holiness in observing the divine law–making people more Godlike in their purity, transcendence, and righteousness. (pp. 58-9)

In the New Testament, says Kraynak, the notion of the Image of God is often applied to Christ, but also as reflected in the hierarchies of creation. Paul’s notorious statements about husbands standing in a relationship to their wives that is analogous to Christ’s relationship to his Church, for instance.

The upshot, says Kraynak, is that

[i]n the biblical view, dignity is hierarchical and comparative; in the modern, it is democratic and absolute. The Bible (both Old and New Testaments) promotes hierarchies because it understands reality in terms of the “image of God” which is a type of reflected glory–a reflection of something more perfect in something less perfect. Hence, dignity exists in degrees of perfection rather than in abstract equalities. The dignity or glory possessed by something made in the image of a more perfect being carries claims of deference, reciprocal obligation, and duty rather than equality, freedom, and rights.

[…]

[H]uman dignity in the Bible is both universal and selective; It proclaims the spiritual dignity of every person in light of their original perfection, but it permits and even requires different degrees of dignity in the created and fallen world based on God’s election of special people and the institution of human authorities. The Bible also seems to imply that while dignity in some sense is given and therefore ‘inalienable’ (as we would say today), it is also something to be won or lost, merited or forfeited, augmented or diminished. And it implies that obedience to emperors and masters, who are a part of the fallen world and largely conventional in status, does not violate the dignity of the Christian believer because true dignity lies in the possession of an immortal soul and interior freedom. (pp. 60-1)

This relative and comparative notion of dignity, reinforced by a metaphysical concept of the “Great Chain of Being,” has allowed the Christian tradition to comfortably coexist with hierarchies in family, church, and state. Although some hierarchies (those of the family, say) are natural, others are merely conventional (e.g. king and subject), the latter are still to be obeyed since they are willed by God as constraints on human sin.

In the last analysis, the New Testament teaches obedience to created, natural, and conventional hierarchies because the dignity of every person is a matter of inner freedom that is independent of external authority. Unconditional submission to Christ as Lord and King is the only absolute demand; all other obligations (to one’s nation, emperor, social class, the whole natural world, and even to one’s family) are conditional. … Everyone has an immortal soul with an eternal destiny which has at risk its eternal salvation or damnation. Compared to this question, the various forms of external obedience are of secondary importance. Thus, it is possible for the Bible to uphold the dignity of every human person as a creature made in the image of God and redeemed by Christ while supporting created, natural, and conventional hierarchies.

[…]

If this interpretation is correct, then the main conclusion we should draw is that both liberalism and the Bible seek to defend human dignity, but they define human dignity in different ways and draw different political conclusions. Liberalism equates dignity with autonomy of personality adn mastery of one’s destiny–political ideas that are inherently tied to democratic human rights. By contrast, the Bible equates the dignity of human beings with their relations with God, especially in their original immortality and their capacity for holiness–spiritual notions that permit spiritual hierarchies as well as undemocratic and illiberal politics. (pp. 63-4)

Kraynak makes a good case, I think, that liberal democracy can’t be read off from the Bible or the Christian tradition in any straightforward way. However, I do think there are a couple of places where we could take issue with some of his conclusions.

First, while the early Christians certainly didn’t preach revolution, it doesn’t follow that they were content to leave the social structures of society exactly as they were and were only concerned about a realm of “inner” spiritual freedom. Kraynak downplays the notion of the church as a social reality of its own that may have transformed social relationships between men and women, Jew and Greek, master and slave. Recent exegetes have paid more attention to this idea that the church was a new social body all its own with a distinctive way of life (John Howard Yoder and N.T. Wright come to mind among others), something which could not have failed to impact the larger society, at least indirectly. I would have liked to see Kraynak engage some of these thinkers.

Additionally, there is one other argument for liberalism/democracy that one might draw from the Bible and tradition that Kraynak doesn’t address (at least in this chapter). We might call this the pessimist’s argument. This kind of argument would begin not with human dignity, but with human sinfulness. Since “all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God,” it’s foolish to trust any one person or group of people with too much power over their fellows.

One Protestant view emphasizes that the only righteousness we “have” is Christ’s righteousness, and without that we are nothing but sinners deserving death. This is summed up in the Lutheran phrase simul iustus et peccator – we are both entirely righteous (in Christ) and entirely sinners (in ourselves). Virtue is not something we come to possess; we are radically dependent at every moment of our lives on God’s grace. As Luther wrote, in what was probably the last note to come from his hand, “We are beggars. This is true.” In this respect we are equals.

Luther’s sense of human sin seems to have created a horror of anarchy in him, as demonstrated by his response to the Peasants’ revolt. But those of us who have lived through the 20th century, when tens of millions of people were murdered by their own governments, might be forgiven for seeing a greater danger in excessive power and authority. Or at least we might conclude that there’s something to be said for liberal democracy after all.

In later chapters Kraynak is going to discuss how the Christian tradition came to embrace democracy and also what a “politics of the two cities” might look like today, so he may address some of these concerns as we go on.

Earlier I suggested my approval of the liberal theory of government that holds that “governments are instituted among Men” to “secure” the rights of “Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness,” and that governments dervie “their just powers from the consent of the governed.”

On its face, though, this seems to contradict the Christian understanding of government given in what Josh called the “much-abused” Romans 13:

Everyone must submit himself to the governing authorities, for there is no authority except that which God has established. The authorities that exist have been established by God. Consequently, he who rebels against the authority is rebelling against what God has instituted, and those who do so will bring judgment on themselves. For rulers hold no terror for those who do right, but for those who do wrong. Do you want to be free from fear of the one in authority? Then do what is right and he will commend you. For he is God’s servant to do you good. But if you do wrong, be afraid, for he does not bear the sword for nothing. He is God’s servant, an agent of wrath to bring punishment on the wrongdoer. Therefore, it is necessary to submit to the authorities, not only because of possible punishment but also because of conscience. This is also why you pay taxes, for the authorities are God’s servants, who give their full time to governing. Give everyone what you owe him: If you owe taxes, pay taxes; if revenue, then revenue; if respect, then respect; if honor, then honor. (Rom. 13:1-7)

On the one hand we have governement as essentially a human construct that exists to serve the needs of people (and could theoretically be changed or even abolished if it failed to do that).

On the other hand we have a notion of government as an instrument of divine wrath that serves to punish evil, requiring obedience. But how does that fit with the idea that we must “obey God rather than men” (Acts 5:29)?

Are these two notions compatible? Or does one or the other have to go?

I was afraid that in relying on a review I might have been unfair to Alan Wolfe in this post. But reading this interview in Mother Jones has assuaged my conscience.

Wolfe confirms my worst suspicions by offering his list of “great” figures in American history:

MJ: Who in American history would you put in the greatness camp? Who’s made this a priority?

AW: Well, for the first hundred years of the existence of our nation-state, the greatness idea was essentially a conservative idea. So its great advocates were Alexander Hamilton, at the time of the constitutional convention; John Marshall, very conservative US Supreme Court Justice; Abraham Lincoln; and, into the turn of the century, Theodore Roosevelt. I also argue that, in the 20th century, the mood shifted, and greatness swung in the direction of the Democrats, and of liberals. So that Franklin Delano Roosevelt, Teddy’s cousin, and the Kennedy-Johnson years really embodied the idea of greatness in the 20th century.

This list is virtually a who’s who of the great centralizers (UPDATE: and proponents of territorial expansionism, as Marcus points out) of American history – the political figures who made a point of disregarding the constitutional limits placed on government power in the service of their agendas. You may think (as I do) that at least some of these men were justified in what they did. It is, for instance, hard not to credit Lincoln for extirpating the scourge of slavery from our shores, despite the cost in blood and freedom that it required.

But that’s kinda the rub. Wolfe doesn’t seem to recognize that all these projects of “greatness” have costs associated with them that may well outweigh their purported benefits. I mean, who now looks back on the presidency of LBJ as one of greatness?

I just wish that people who advocate this or that policy of “greatness” or “purpose” or “world-transformation” would be up front about what following said policy will entail. Like, “American boys (and, increasingly, girls) will die and kill to implement my vision about what a better world would look like.” Could such a policy be sold in all candor to the public? Just asking.

Wolfe is optimistic that we can be bullied into it, though:

MJ: Turning back to home, a big challenge is going to be to convince Americans that they have more to gain than to lose from a stronger national government. What are the prospects for making that case?

AW: It is difficult, and I don’t pretend otherwise. As I argue in the book, greatness has really been the minority taste, where we seem to be more comfortable with the other tradition generally. Nonetheless, one of the ideas that really emerges from a study of the past is the idea of using the presidency in what TR would have called a tutorial manner, bully pulpit, politicians who are willing to engage with the American electorate in the form of playing an educative role. We’re probably a long way from that. Right now we seem to be in a more populistic kind of mood, where the people just express themselves and politicians run around and try to do whatever they’re articulating at any particular moment. I hope that this mood is one that was produced by the initial shock of 911, and that as we have more time to absorb that into our consciousness, we’ll come to realize how unsatisfactory that way is of responding, and Americans will come to appreciate that politics does involve leadership, and that a leader is one who speaks to our higher ideals and then tries to move us in those directions.

Get it? The president can “educate” us into doing the right thing. And given that the office has of late been occupied by men of such sterling character, who wouldn’t jump at the chance to be educated by them?

(Also, what’s up with the puffball interviewer at the allegedly leftist Mother Jones? Could they ask Wolfe one tough question? Just because someone bashes George Bush doesn’t necessarily mean he’s on the side of the angels, y’know.)

A good corrective to proponents of “greatness” would be this essay by Robert Higgs.

End of rant.

Today the Philadelphia Inquirer carried a review of Alan Wolfe’s new book How America Lost Its Sense of Purpose and What It Needs to Do to Recover It. Wolfe, a sociologist and author of several popular books, contrasts two approaches to American power:

Most Americans, Alan Wolfe believes, belong to “the party of goodness.” Preoccupied with virtue, individual freedom, and the pursuit of self interest, they fear that “too strong a government, too ambitious a domestic agenda, and too overreaching a foreign policy” will corrupt the very values that make this nation exceptional.

Wolfe prefers, however, the “party of greatness,” which involves “maintaining and extending liberty and equality; empowering government to promote the common good; and using force to defend and spread our principles abroad.” Unlike the party of goodness, proponents of “greatness” are willing “to bend principle, and sometimes law and custom, to achieve their goals.”

So Wolfe is presumably a fan of the Bush administration, right? No way! The Bush administration has used the language of greatness to mask an agenda that primarily serves private interests. To restore greatness we need high minded leaders devoted to the public weal like John McCain, Joseph Biden, and Wesley Clark.

Now surely Alan Wolfe has been around the block and must be aware that the language of “greatness” has frequently been used as a cover for the pursuit of private advantage. But Wolfe seems shocked that the Bush administration would do such a thing.

More fundamentally though, I’m with the “party of goodness” in getting nervous when I hear talk of “national greatness” or “America’s purpose.” Why should we think America has a purpose beyond secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity? I’m still enough of a Lockean to believe that governments exist primarily to protect the lives, liberty, and property of their citizens. That is the purpose for which they are established, as T.J. and co. pointed out.

But some have never been satisfied with that and have wanted America to have a more exalted, transcendent purpose. (e.g. being a “light to the nations,” “making the world safe for democracy,” even putting an end to evil). But where, pray tell, does this purpose allegedly come from? Are we talking about some Hegelian History-with-a-capital-“H” here? Or divine purpose maybe?

But as a Christian I believe that precisely two social entities – Israel and the catholic Church – have been endowed with a divine purpose. Beyond that, I can see no grounds for thinking that America, or any other nation-state, is the bearer of any kind of transcendent purpose. Such messiaic claims usually result in massive bloodshed and tyranny.

The idea of a government that protects the life and liberties of its citizens and helps them to live in relative peace and proseperity in order to pursue their own ends has always aroused suspicions from certain intellectuals on the Left and the Right. They yearn for a political order that directs its subjects to some kind of transcendent purpose. But history seems to show that those kind of regimes have a tendency to subordinate ordinary people and their happiness to the whims of those fortunate enough to be on top.