Speaking of Christians and patriotism, I liked this piece from the Christian Century.
I mean, I personally spent the 4th helping my wife study for the bar exam, but in principle I like what this article has to say.
Speaking of Christians and patriotism, I liked this piece from the Christian Century.
I mean, I personally spent the 4th helping my wife study for the bar exam, but in principle I like what this article has to say.
Ben Myers posted this bombastic Stanley Hauerwas quote (is there any other kind?) for Independence Day:
I assume most of you are here because you think you are Christians, but it is not all clear to me that the Christianity that has made you Christians is Christianity. For example: How many of you worship in a church with an American flag? I am sorry to tell you that your salvation is in doubt. How many of you worship in a church in which the fourth of July is celebrated? I am sorry to tell you that your salvation is in doubt.
The quote is from an address to a group of seminary students, but it’s a good encapsulation of much of what Hauerwas has said about the relationship between Christianity and America over the years. Jim West provided a stern rebuke of Hauerwas here; Fr. Chris has some thoughts here.
The question here is one of loyalties, but I think the terms in which it is debated are often simplistic: you’re either loyal to the nation (in this case, the US) or to the church. This misses the point that we have multiple overlapping and interpenetrating loyalties, which cannot be neatly and hierarchically ordered. (With one important exception that I’ll get to in a minute.)
We find ourselves, simply as a result of the place we occupy in the world, with loyalties to family, friends, spouses, children, communities, employers, professional associations, charitable organizations, social clubs, religious bodies, and various levels of political community. As a general rule, these don’t need to be justified by recourse to some ethical theory, they are simply the warp and woof of our life together. Nor is there any simple algorithm for settling the conflicts that arise between these loyalties. Sometimes I may have to choose between loyalty to my family and loyalty to my spouse, or between my employer and my country, or between my religious community and my political community.
An important qualification of all loyalties, though, is the more universal ethical context in which we exist and which, for theists anyway, flows from, is rooted in, or reflects the divine mind. This means that particular loyalties can only make limited claims on us. For example, a father’s duty to care for his children doesn’t entitle him to harm other people’s children. Loyalty to my country doesn’t justify inflicting injustice on citizens of other countries. In other words, preferential treatment of those to whom we’re connected by special bonds isn’t wrong per se, but it’s subject to qualification in light of more universal duties.
Because our highest loyalty, if we’re Christians, should be to God, we are called to follow God’s will, so far as we can discern it, in all areas of our life. The national community, though it can and has become an object of idolatry, can, acting through the government, be one instrument for advancing these values. And, I’d add, that in many cases it’s the only agent in society that can do certain things. Self-styled radical Christians who want us to live in anarchist communes rarely seem to address things like infrastructure, environmental protection, and the social safety net. Are Christians supposed to abandon our concern with these things and leave the “dirty work” to the “heathens”?
The problem I see with the Hauerwasian view is that it has a tendency to elevate the church to the object of highest loyalty and threatens to collapse the distinction between Christ and the church. Gerhard Forde warned against seeing the church as an “eschatological vestibule” where the kingdom of God has already come in its fullness instead of as an earthen vessel where we hear God’s word and receive the sacraments. The church, as a human institution, is no more immune to corruption than any other, so we can’t assume that it deserves our unconditional loyalty any more than the nation does. In fact, a good candidate for the essence of Protestantism might be the imperative to criticize the church in light of the gospel.
All of which is not to say that Christians should traffic in American exceptionalism. No nation can, contrary to what most of our politicians seem to think, be the world’s last, best hope. That title belongs only to God. Which is why we’re obliged not to identify any of the powers and principalities of this age with the divine will but to seek to embody that will in our life together. The point is that we all have “divided loyalties,” but Christians are supposed to (however imperfectly) order them to our universal duty to God.
Just a short re-cap:
Judging by the way our leaders act, and what we go along with, it seems that it’s hard to keep all this in our heads, so I thought reducing it to a few bullet points would be helpful.
Everybody got that? Cool.
Following up a bit on this post, in his book Morals, Reason, and Animals, philosopher S.F. Sapontzis has a helpfully clear discussion of just what animal liberationists are and are not claiming when they talk about “equal rights” for animals.
First, animal liberationists do not claim that animals do, or should, have all the same rights as human beings. This would be absurd, because animals don’t have an interest in, say, the right to an education or freedom of religion. “Recognizing that rights are tied to interests and that animals do not have all the interests we do (e.g., in religion and education), animal liberationists recognize that it would be nonsensical to seek for animals all the rights we require” (p. 79). Sapontzis identifies three broad rights that liberationists might agree they are seeking for animals: 1) the “right to live their lives according to their nature, interests and intelligence,” 2) the “right to live in a habitat ecologically sufficient for normal existence,” and 3) the “right to be free from exploitation” (p. 79). This is pretty radical stuff, but hardly the same thing as granting animals the same rights as human beings.
Second, liberationists aren’t committed to saying that the rights of animals do, or should, enjoy equal priority with the rights of human beings. He quotes Peter Singer to this effect:
A rejection of speciesism does not imply that all lives are of equal worth.[…] It is not arbitrary to hold that the life of a self-aware being, capable of abstract thought, of planning for the future, of complex acts of communication, and so on, is more valuable than the life of a being without these capacities. (quoted on p. 79)
And, lest this be thought a particular quirk of Singer’s utilitarianism, Tom Regan takes a similiar position in his The Case for Animal Rights.
In cases of genuine conlfict, then, such as so-called lifeboat scenarios, there is nothing irrational about holding that animals have the sort of basic rights listed above and that human rights should take precedence. As Sapontzis puts it,
We cannot infer from the principles used when we are forced to choose the lesser of two evils to the principles of moral status in force when such a hard choice is not required. Such emergency principles are invoked not as extensions of common moral principles but as auxiliaries needed because those common principles do not provide satisfactory guidance in these uncommon situations. Consequently, it is not self-contradictory to say that when we can fulfill both human interests (e.g., in food) and animal interests (e.g., in life), we ought (morally) to do so, but when we cannot fulfill the interests of both, we ought (morally) to give preference, within the bounds of fairness, to fulfilling the interests of those beings capable of the greater range of moral actions. (p. 80)
Talking about “equality” for animals, then, means allowing that they have an equal right, other things being equal, to have their particular interests respected:
Thus, animal liberation seeks neither to extend to animals the same set of rights enjoyed by humans nor to deny that normal human life–assuming that we ordinarily have a greater range of capacities for making the world a morally better place and will put these capacities into action–can have a greater moral worth than animal life. Rather, animal liberationists contend that just as it would be immoral to follow Swift’s “modest proposal” routinely (and avoidably) to sacrifice some people’s interest in life in order to fulfill others’ interest in food, so it should be immoral routinely (and avoidably) to sacrifice animals’ interest in life for such purposes. (p. 81)
Sapontzis concedes that what is or is not “avoidable” is an empirical question, and something to be determined on a case-by-case basis. But what is incontestable, I think, is that, by and large, we scarcely give that question any consideration. That’s the difference between animal liberation and anti-cruelty movements, laudable as those might be. Anti-cruelty movements accept the routine use of animals for human purposes as a given; meanwhile, the whole point of animal liberation is to challenge it.
Though I often think of myself as a closeted Episcopalian, I don’t usually comment on Anglican matters. But I thought this piece from the always-interesting Theo Hobson was worth pointing out. Hobson argues that, in trying to hold the Anglican Communion together come hell or high water, Rowan Williams has unwittingly doomed the Church of England.
Obviously, I’m in sympathy with the “revisionists” here, but it’s worth pointing out that, at least as far as I can tell, the “conservatives” have been proposing a radical revision of their own in the understanding of the Anglican Communion itself. They’ve sought to change it from a loose confederation of autonomous national churches held together by “bonds of affection” into a much more centralized institution with quasi-universalist pretensions. That alone would be enough to get my localist/libertarian hackles up.
The libertarian-liberal quasi fusionist blog The Art of the Possible is rapidly becoming a must-read. And I’m not just saying that because my favorite libertarian blogger Jim Henley linked to one of my posts there. Maybe it’s also because of my own warring inner liberal and libertarian.
Case in point: where else would you find this exhaustive revisionist account of the “green revolution” written from a distinctly radical, anti-statist perspective, courtesy of Kevin Carson?
I think I may be coming around the the John Schwenkler view that what we really need is a hands-off policy in agriculture to create a level playing field and see if organic farming can deliver the goods.