Affluent living

Christian Century, May 3, 2003 by John R. Schneider

LILLIAN DANIEL does not so much review my book The Good of Affluence as remake it into something as repugnant to me as it is to her ("Affluent Christians," Feb. 8).

Daniel leads off with a quotation from my introduction: "I strongly challenge the notion that the world-shrinking effects of globalism generate strong obligations for any wealthy person in an advanced society to any poor person in an undeveloped one." This makes me seem to say, "To all of you who worry about those poor people we see on television, I say, `Let them eat cake!'" Readers who get past the introduction will find that I'm challenging the notion that globalism generates obligations that are as strong as "simple utilitarians" say they are.

In brief: John and Mary Wilson are working at two jobs to get four kids through college. According to "strict utilitarianism," John and Mary are doing something terribly wrong because they could redirect all that wealth to the poor of the earth. I challenge this because of a principle of "moral proximity" that is linked with a notion of particular "calling." I argue that this principle arises from biblical narratives and teachings, that it is conflict with the intuitions of "simple utilitarianism," that what people like the Wilsons are doing is a good thing, and that it is unnatural and destructive to think otherwise. Whatever obligations John and Mary have to the global poor (and they do have them), those obligations cannot be nearly as strong as the ones they have to their own children.

The reader will also be floored to hear that I argue that in biblical Palestine "the poor did not have it so bad, either." Daniel's deconstruction of my text here is nearly perfect. The quotation she gives comes near the end of a long discussion, in which I stress just how very corrupt the rich generally were, and how terrible the poverty of the poor was. The quotation comes as a minor but important nuance on the situation. Price-fixing has the effect of raising prices. If a peasant is selling a commodity that's been "fixed," the new price may be an increase. That means that he will get more money for what he's selling. This sounds like a normal conversation among social historians, which is what it is.

In restating my main theological argument, Daniel again cites a sentence in the introduction. Without so much as a word to reflect the explanation given in the body of the book, she offers this stinging caplet of sarcasm. "Last time I checked," she writes, "we got thrown out of the Garden of Eden for this sort of arrogance." I can only hope that readers will go into the chapters of the book to see the explanations and arguments for themselves. They will see that I do think that the narratives of abudance (Eden, the Promised Land, the Messianic Feast) are "paradigmatic." They describe a condition that is good insofar as God envisions it for human beings, and sometimes even brings it about for them. The relevant texts offer teaching on how those people are then challenged to make of it a spiritual and moral good. In order to do so two inseparable, interlocking requirements must be met. One is to cultivate a deep spiritual humility and sense of gratitude before the Lord. (Arrogance has no place.) The other is to cultivate a disposition of joy and compassion, one that inevitably grows into the twin goods of fruitfulness (not mere productivity) and justice (especially for the poor and powerless under one's protective care).

I do not apologize for using certain recent studies of modern capitalism (such as those of Michael Novak, Hernando D'Soto and Dinesh D'Souza) to show that its human workings are not inherently evil. The culture of capitalism is at least good enough (even if fallen) to create unprecedented opportunities for Christians to become powerful agents of spiritual and moral good.

The most distressing part of Daniel's review is her mystifying claim that I present "a savvy, networking, middle-class Jesus." This is supposed to convey my literary interpretation of Luke's Gospel in the light of major works in narrative biblical study--particularly the writings of Luke Johnson. In my view, the Jesus of Luke is not an ascetic (as is often presumed) but is presented in a deliberate typology of Moses (in Deuteronomy) as the supreme prophet. Therein, Jesus speaks especially to those whom God has blessed with wealth, and challenges them to see how serious a religious matter their manner of economic life is. In doing so, as I see it, Luke ingeniously intertwines two themes that together form the identity and character of Jesus as the Christ. On the one hand, there is the "radical Jesus" who leaves his home and family, takes up his cross and sets his face like flint toward Jerusalem. This Jesus walks under the shadow of death for the sake of the kingdom, and demands that anyone who would follow him must do likewise.

But on the other hand there is the "Christ of delight," the one who did not come fasting like John the Baptist, but came "eating and drinking," whose life with his friends was marked by constant celebration of this kind--as if in defiance of the evil looming ahead. In this, Jesus celebrates the very presence of the kingdom, which he led his followers to envision as a great feast. This form of enjoyment--even in a fallen world--is not evil (as his enemies and, notably, Judas came to think it was), but a very great good, in glaring contrast to the dark places inhabited by the great majority of the rich.