Category Archives: Capitalism - Page 2

Porn and Economics

According to the latest post on CNN’s polittical ticker, apparently the porn industry is submitting a petition to congress to receive a $5 billion bailout package from the US government. Congress has, predictably, not responded to the request, which is simply theatrics (the porn industry ain’t hurting right now, folks). But it is something of an iconic event depicting the realities of contemporary America. It’s at once hilarious and horrifying. It depicts a few of the great ironies about American culture and economics. Here again we get to see how utterly intertwined are America’s obsessions with money and sex:

But while the antics of Larry Flynt are laughable, it does expose the truth about the nature of American economics and the current bailout issues. After all, if we can give $700 billion to utterly corrupt executives who do nothing but practice cronyism, nepotism, and systemic usury why can’t we give it to people that produce porn? If industry qua industry has a right to financial security on the basis of its desirability to the populace, what grounds would we have for denying the porn industry the same benefits?

Morality of any sort isn’t meaningful within the orbit of capitalism. The only thing that is meaningful is the flow of money.

One of the Many Ironies

I just received my copy of Phlip Goodchild’s new book, Theology of Money, which looks quite amazing. The irony is that I had to pay over $40 (US) for it. To write a book reivew on it for which I will recieve no compensation. I think there’s something either quite profound or quite pathetic in there. Maybe both.

Donald Miller at the DNC: The Reactive Poltics of Evangelicalism

Davey has helpfully pointed us to a rather bizarre occurrence at the Democratic National Convention, namely the closing prayer by fellow Portlander and author, Donald Miller. Miller many of us know from the wildly successful book Blue Like Jazz: Nonreligous Thoughts on Christian Spirituality. This book has, in many ways, come to be cast as the quintessence of the sensibility of so-called emerging church. Miller’s actual writing is really not  bad. It is funny, whimsical, and sometimes insightful. It is the bane of all memoirs to appear self-consumed (how could they not?) and as such, I certainly don’t fault Miller on that score. However, one must pause to think about the oddity of a fellow like Miller being asked to offer a closing prayer at the DNC. Since when did major political parties start seeking out those perceived as emerging Christian bohemeian hipster types to chaplain their events? What is going on here?

Miller, like Jim Wallis and others among the “evangelical left” (a term I use with trepidation — clearly it could be taken pejoratively, but we need some sort of workable descriptor) are central among those whose vote the Democratic party is courting. Obama’s current surge of seemingly indestructible popularity is largely grounded in his appeal to young social justice-oriented people, many of whom are inclined towards the spirituality and thinkers associated with the emerging church.

Miller claims, on his website that his prayer at the DNC is part of “sending a message to Washington that no single party has the Christian community in their pocket.” This echoes Jim Wallis’s tired rhetoric about how both the left and the right are misguided, but pretty much everything about the left is actually pure gospel and the right is irredeemably diabolical. However that is not the point I am interested in.

I suppose it is not a horrible thing to let Washington know that Christians cannot be absorbed by one political party, but how is that message really all that good? The implicate of Miller’s message seems to be that Christians as a whole are not the political capital of the Republicans, rather, depending on what kind of Christian you are, you can be the political capital of either the Democrats or the Republicans. (I’ll leave aside the question of whether or not Wallis and Miller really want to send that message at all.  I suspect they’d far rather have all Christians be voting Democrat than have Christians voting against one another.)

The real question that is going unasked here is how is it a good thing if Christianity is so plastic as to be easily circumscribed within the architecture of either the Democratic or Republican parties? Why would the fact that Christians are no longer of the same mind about which political party to get in bed with be a good thing? Its as though Wallis and Miller are reveling in the fact that finally some of us Christians are different than the religious right and are able to express that difference by opposing them through the apparatus of the Democratic party. What is ultimately the point of rejoicing for Miller and Wallis is that Christians are finally dividing from one another over the causes they find important.

My point in this is not to suggest that things were better when evangelicals were almost universal expected to vote Republican. Surely they were not. However, the kind of political imagination that delights in the fact that finally new lines are being drawn along political lines and Christians are falling on both sides of them is surely not a very Christian way of thinking. It is agonistic and divisive all the way down. Certainly there are issues that must be divisive for the sake of truthfulness (cf. 1 Cor. 11:19), but I don’t think this is at all what is going on here. This has far more to do with the sort of identity politicking and social self-branding that has become fetishized in late-capitalist culture. What is ultimately important to Miller and Wallis, or at least the sort of spiritual-political sensibility that they have come to represent, is that they be differentiated from the Religious Right, this barbarous Other which they despise. What is crucial for them is all the trappings that come along with their differentiation from this Other. Their politics are reactive from begining to end. Thus, if praying at the DNC stands in opposition to praying at the RNC then that is clearly the move to be made. By making it Miller brands himself the certain sort of religous-political persona with whom the current culture of disaffected evangelicals have come to identify. The notion that it might be just as problematic for two political parties to have sectors of Christianity in the pocket as one is not really a consideration.

All of this points to a fundamental problem with the evangelical ethos in the United States from which the emerging church movement springs. Evangelical identity, at least in the U.S. is so utterly determined by the American political imagination and the capitalist economy which grounds it, that it is unable to express or realize itself except through the political-economic architecture of America, regardless of what political subdivision it finds itself in. It is part of the fabric of evangelical identity to be beholden to a certain notion of what meaningful political existence means, namely good citizenship, responsible participation in the “public sphere” for the sake of ordering society towards the relative good. As such, any and all forms of evangelical religious practice must by definition take their  bearings and derive their intelligibility from their participation in the American political apparatus which is constituted by late-capitalism.

Thus, the whole capitalist superstructure — upon which Democrats and Republicans feed like pilot fish upon an whale — constantly absorbs any and all evangelical political action into itself. It doesn’t matter to the capitalist structure whether or not evangelicals are in the pocket of one party or two in the least. As long as evangelicals remain within the orbit of their historic ethos they will always be seamlessly enfolded in the capitalist tapestry. Donald Miller praying at the DNC says absolutely nothing whatsoever to allay or contrast the captivation of evangelicals to the rhetoric of the religious right. It makes absolutely no difference to it whatsoever because it simply occupies an opposing nodal point within the binary antagonisms which make up the fabricated antinomies that run the capitalist order. Insofar as evangelicals, emergent or not continue to simply take their place on either side of the given polarities of micropolitics, they will continue to remain satiated subjects of capitalist discipline.

The only truely theopolitical form of Christian witness in the world will be one that is not caught up in the binary oppositions that obtain in contemporary political discourse. By remaining within the polarity of action and reaction, Christian politics is endlessly determined by the political logic of the civitas Cain rather than the civitate dei. Christian politics can only truly be Christian when it is not determined by the cycle of action and reaction that establishes the agonistic order of the earthly city. For Christian politics to be truly Christian they must be, at their very core, nonreactive. The peace of the city of God is in no way determined, constituted, or defined by the agonism of the earthly city. In the same way the translation of human bodies out of the body of Adamic death into the body of Christic life in baptism is in no sense determined by the powers of domination. Baptism is the translation of bodies into the realm of gift-giving and receiving, a realm which is not determined by the logic of violence that underwrites the reactive nature of all earthly politics.

Of course, there are many objections that could be lodged against the positing of this nonreactive theopolitical alternative that I have just hinted at. Surely all churches and all Christians are always-already circumscribed within the violent agonistic logic of the earthly city. Simply to pretend that we inhabit a pristine paradise of gift is nothing more than the construction of fictions, is it not? To this I can only say no. And I can say this on no basis other than the promisory reality that lies at the heart of the gospel. To be sure the line between the earthly city and the city of God runs through each one of us, but that by no means entails that we should settle down and break off our pilgrimage toward Jerusalem simply because we are not there yet. To inhabit the city of God is not to inhabit a stable defined space which we could counterpose with the earthly city. The city of God is the company of pilgrims who journey eschatologically through the present age, bearing within themselves the firstfruits of the age to come. We live not by the stability of something given, but in the instability of promise and gift. The nonreactive politics of the pilgrim people of God is not a total system which could supplant the earthly city or which is free from the violence of the earthly city. It is rather the proclamation, expectation, and experience of the apocalypse of God’s gift which breaks into the totality of the earthly city opening up spaces of infinite peace in which real human life can and does take place in the midst of this present world. What we are called to believe is that this sort of thing really happens. And such a belief cannot be inferred from the logic of prior sequences of events. What we are called to, as Craig Hovey has helpfully pointed out is not the stability of prediction, but the insecurity of promise.

To live in that promise would be to inhabit a space in which we are willing to do that hard work of problematizing our attempts to easily participate in the political binaries of this present age. To live in light of the Trinitarian future of promise and gift is to live in the realm of inutiliy, in which our political practices are likely to look like utter foolishness. But what else would we expect when the criterion of political intelligibility in our world is based on the very structure of reaction that the Christian order of peace calls into question?

It may be that I have finally drifted too far afield from my initial questions about the political and theological logic of Miller’s participation in the DNC. Ultimately  the question revolves around political content of the gospel. Insofar as we allow the promisory imagination of the gospel of Christ to be circumscribed by the political logic of the earthly city we are failing to truly embody our theopolitical calling as the ekklesia of of the triune God. And in so failing we become simply another branded commodity to be bought, sold, and fetishized in the ubiquitous market of global captitalism. I fear that Donald Miller, by casting in his lot where he has may have done just that. It is my hope that ultimately the call of the pilgrim people of God will be sweeter and more alluring than the apparent utility false polis and the cool trappings of insidious agora of this age. And I think that hope is not ill-founded.

Theological Self-Branding

Recently my friend, David Horstkoetter posted two lists detailing theological words that he did and did not like. And David Congdon, another friend has followed suit. Both sets of lists are fun to read and I find myself in general agreement with many of the impulses and sentiments behind what words are and aren’t found appealing in these lists. And clearly of the making of blog-lists there is no end. I’ve certainly populated this place with a ton of them. So none of this should be taken as a reflection on either of my friends any more than it is a reflection on me. My question is about this whole phenomenon of making lists that express personal theological tastes and sensibilities.

Reflecting on this dynamic of list-making, especially one as up front as ‘theological stuff I like and stuff I don’t like’ made me think more deeply about the dynamics at work in these sorts of modes of theological self-expression. These sorts of lists are often a sort of personal self-branding in which we express our individuality, personal sensibilities, social standards, and theological sophistication. Lists like these make it clear what sort of people we would and wouldn’t like, the kinds of books we think are worth reading, and the ideas and habits we disdain. In short, list-making can be a very subtle form of narcissism. Who is at the center of such lists but ourselves? Clearly all we end up doing in these lists is offering as compelling a picture of who we are and what we are into as possible, to the shaming of others if necessary.  

Theological lists of favorite books become a way to show others how much we read and how damn good our reading habits are. Movie memes get a chance to show off how conversant we are with contemporary culture through film. And on it goes. What worries me about this is that such tendencies toward self-expression through this sort of branding tends towards the commodification of theology and its concepts. I am free to assemble my own theological persona as a pastiche sexy labels, authors, and adjectives. This seems to veer dangerously close to an oddly perverse sort of commodity fetishism: now our theological ideas and sensibilities become the capital through which we define and assert ourselves over against others; they become the medium of social relationships within the theological community.

I doubt this will mean the end of my list-making, but such reflection on the potential narcissism of such self-branding modes of writing is certainly important, if for nothing else, to provide a measure of self-examination to accompany our making of such lists. The infinite undulations of the capitalist serpent are quite ubiquitous. If we allow the hegemonic inclination towards constructing and asserting synthetic, branded identities to become embodied in our theological habits we will certianly do ourselves and others quite a disservice. As such, perhaps we should be open to considering that writing a list or contributing to a meme is the most precarious rather than the most trivial of all theological forms of writing.

True Radicality

“What is truly radical…is not that God rewards those who help the poor; what is truly radical is that Jesus identifies himself with the poor.  The pain of the hungry person is the pain of Christ, and it is thus also the pain of anyone who is a member of the body of Christ.  If we are identified with Christ, who identifies himself with the suffering of all, then what is called for is more than just charity.  The very distinction between what is mine and what is yours breaks down in the body of Christ.  We are not to consider ourselves as absolute owners of our stuff, who then occasionally graciously bestow charity on the less fortunate.  In the body of Christ, your pain is my pain, and my stuff is available to be communicated to you in your need… In the consumption of the Eucharist, we cease to be merely ‘the other’ to each other.  In the Eucharist, Christ is gift, giver, and recipient; we are simultaneously fed and become food for others.”

–William T. Cavanaugh, Being Consumed: Economics and Christian Desire (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008), 56.

Theological Heroin

I just got my new copy of William Cavanaugh’s new book, Being Consumed: Economics and Christian Desire.  It looks like another great, but brief book, not unlike his previous Theopolitical Imagination, though this book is clearly designed more for laypeople seeking to work out the shape of their lives on a microeconomic scale.

For me, ever since reading his Torture and Eucharist years ago, I have come to view Cavanaugh’s writings as a form of theological narcotics.  They literally make me high.  There are a few other authors that share this status, but Cavanaugh is near the top.  It’s pretty much like what they all say about heroin.  When you’re on it everything is wonderful.  That’s why you should never touch the stuff unless you want to be addicted for the rest of your life.

Consuming Sensations: Zygmunt Bauman

“For the consumers in the society of consumers, being on the move — searching, looking for, not-finding-it or more exactly not-finding-it-yet is not a malaise, but the promise of bliss; perhaps it is the bliss itself.  Theirs is the kind of traveling hopefully which makes arriving into a curse. … Not so much the greed to acquire and possess, not the gathering of wealth in its material, tangible sense, as the excitement of the new and unprecedented sensation is the name of the consumer game.  Consumers are first and foremost gatherers of sensations; they are collectors of things only in a secondary and derivative sense.”

– Zygmunt Bauman, Globalization: The Human Consequences (New York: Columbia University Press, 1998), 83.

On the Possibility of Resisting Capitalism

In recent posts there have been some good questions raised about the nature of Christian social critique, particularly of capitalism and how authentic theological action can take place in the face of the capitalist order.  I’ve argued on the one hand that Christians should be ideologically opposed to capitalism on theological grounds.  I’ve likewise argued that all such oppositions to the capitalist order occur within the context of capitalism.  None of us critiques from outside, but always from within the hegemony of global capitalism.  The question this raises regards what kind of authentic theological action is able to open up new vistas of liberation and hope.  How can the Kingdom break into the capitalist hegemony?

This is clearly a question that should be pondered and practiced in many different venues and in many different ways.  While I’ve argued that there is no way to overthrow capitalism or extract ourselves from it, that should not, however mean that genuine resistance, liberation, and hope is not possible or actable-on in the world.  What we cannot do is come up with a theory of another totalized system with which to replace capitalism.  We cannot do this for two reasons.  First, it would take much to make plausible the idea that another global economic framework could ever overcome the capitalist order.  Secondly, and more important theologically, is that the logic of the Christian gospel does not lend itself to any sort of totalizing economic framework which humans could autonomously construct.  All totalized systems of economics are susceptible to the critique of the interrupting Word of God.

One of the ways in which I think an authentic mode of theological action is embodied is within the practices of monasticism, particularly the vow of stability.  In vowing to stay in one place, monastics (and the “new monastics”) create a space in which forms of life can be cultivated, that, at least in some aspects are free from capitalist discipline.  While not a total answer (there can be no total answers) to the capitalist problematic, a community who takes it upon themselves to deny themselves the kinds of mobility and “options” at least is taking on one crucial way of attacking the pervasiveness of capitalist discipline.  This is, of course merely one way in which theological action which opens up experiences of liberation from the capitalist hegemony.  What other modes of theological action would folks put forth?

McCabe on Capitalism

“What is wrong with capitalism is simply that it is based on human antagonism, and it is precisely here that it comes in conflict with Christianity.  Capitalism is a state of war, but not just a state of war between equivalent forces; it involves a war between those who believe in and prosecute war as a way of life, as an economy, and those who do not. … Christianity is deeply subversive of capitalism precisely because it announces the improbably possibility that men might life together without war; neither by domination nor by antagonism but by unity in love.  It announces this, of course, primarily as a future and nearly miraculous possibility and certainly not as an established fact; Christians are not under the illusion that mankind is sinless or that sin is easily overcome, but they believe that it will be overcome.  It was for this reason that Jesus was executed – as a political threat.  Not because he was a political activist; he was not. … But he was nonetheless executed as a political threat because the gospel he preached — that the Father loves us and therefore, in spite of all the evidence to the contrary, we are able to love one another and stake the meaning of our lives on this — cut to the root of the antagonistic society in which he still lives.”

–Herbert McCabe, God Matters (London: Continuum, 2005), 192-193.

The Ethics of Complicity

One of the topics that consistently comes up in discussions of whether or not Christians should endorse capitalism is that of complicity.  All of us in the West are very much cogs in the machinery of the capitalist engine, and as such speaking out against it seems hypocritical to say the least.  How can one legitimately critique a system they grow fat off of?  Likewise when the question of the just use of violence is raised, the objections to the Christian pacifist always entail pointing out the fact that he generally lives in a country which allows him to uphold his convictions at no risk to himself.  It is the work of violence that makes his commitment to nonviolence possible, and as such he occupies a highly compromised ethical position.

Now, on one level the force of these criticisms simply has to be acknowledged.  Yes, most vocal Christian opponents of capitalism drive decent cars and have comfortable houses.  Yes, most vocal Christian pacifists have never been in a situation where the temptation to use physical violence has been a real temptation and their safety is largely secured by the violence they decry.  And this is a scandal.  However, the tacit assumption of the above objections is that the hegemony of capitalism and the ubiquitous use of violence to safeguard social life in the West places a moral obligation on Christians living under the benefits of such systems to either endorse them or refrain from participating in them altogether.  Once we grant that we are all kept safe by violence, and that capitalism enables me to have my precious iPod, we either need to buck up and stop our moralistic jabbering about the injustices of violence and capitalism, or move to Belize and live in utter simplicity.

However, such binary alternatives are precisely the creation of the very global order in question.  The either/or of support or get out is a false alternative, precisely because there is no way to get out.  There is no idyllic “outside” into which Christians may flee.  The fact that Amish furniture can be bought online with the greatest of ease illustrates capitalism’s ability of absorb and sublimate attempts to withdraw from it. 

The point of all this simply to state with the greatest clarity that there is no pristine, untainted position of moral high ground in which Christian social critics might be insulated from complicity with the violence and injustice of our world.  The simple fact is that we are all complicit people, deeply embedded in violence(s) we fail to see, and pervasively compromised by the principalities and powers of this world.  The key to proper theological action in a world in which we are all guilty lies precisely in not allowing our complicity to lead to resignation.  That is precisely what the ruling powers are always after.  Once we can be made to see that our lives are ruled by the powers of the state and the market, we rushed to believe that therefore we should simply become good citizens and good consumers, rather than placing ourselves in the precarious position of being a critic with blood on their hands.

However, this is precisely what prophetic action in the world entails.  The way beyond complicity is neither resignation nor the pursuit of moral purity.  It is rather to continue to speak words of resistance and newness in the midst of our own complicity.  It is to allow ourselves to be put into question, to insist that every theological critique we make of anything must always also be a critique of ourselves and our practices.  All of this is to say that Christian critique of political and social injustice is never the critique of the outside observer, but always and only the words of repentance.  Of course, the belief that repentance is a true response to our pervasive complicity in injustice is quite tenuous.  The idea that attempts at repentance can be a viable “answer” to those who would dismiss theological critique is a precarious one indeed.  Nearly as precarious and counter-intuitive as the confession that the Crucified one is risen.

Modernism and Postmodernism or Early and Late Capitalism?

Amongst theologians and churchmen today talk of “postmodernism” is legion.  Everywhere people are trying to figure out what it is and how to deal with it from a Christian perspective.  This is particularly seen amongst evangelical Christians who certainly spill more ink on the cultural and philosophical issues of modernism and postmodernism than Christians from other traditions (perhaps due to Protestantism’s inherently more pliable nature as a tradition vis á vis the wider culture). 

However, one of the largest problems with how such issues are approached theologically has to do with the way in which theologians often assume that “modernism” and “postmodernism” stand for philosophical ideologies and their attending effects on culture.  In other words, when people talk about “the culture of modernity” or the “postmodern culture” most of them are talking predominately about ideas and their impact on culture.  What is assumed in discussions that take up the grammar of modernism versus postmodernism is that the perceived shifts in cultural and philosophy are predominately intellectual shifts that trickle down as it were into the culture.  Perhaps we can call this way of narrating contemporary culture and thought as philosophical Reaganomics (or Thatcherism, if your a Brit).

The point of all this is that the notion that contemporary cultural shifts (such as those that the emerging church movement seeks to engage) are brought on by the trickling down of “postmodern” ideas in contrast to the old ideas of “modernism” is naive and, well, simply wrong.  The idea that the constellation of philosophers and philosophical trends commonly called postmodern are somehow actually “beyond” the modern is simply silly.  Derrida, Foulcaut, Lyotard and company are nothing if not the progeny of modernity.  Only if “modernism” is clumsily equated with a radically Cartesian philosophy could we ever imagine that “postmodernism” takes us beyond it.

It seems to me that a more fruitful way to think about the cultural and philosophical shifts that have been taking place since the later 20th century is to view them under the rubric of (as suggested above), economics.  What are commonly identified as modernism and postmodernism are better understood as early and late capitalism.  In early capitalism, emerging as it does with the breakdown of Christendom and the rise of the Enlightenment self we have the beginnings of the creation of the capitalist subject: the isolated individual who produces and consumes.  The notion of the self that is informed by the political philosophies of Hobbes, Locke, and Rousseau is precisely the nascent self of capitalism.  This is the birth self-contained individual whose goal is to secure happiness, flourishing, and safety through production and acquisition of capital, making social arrangements by means of a social contract.

What is commonly called the postmodern, then is better understood simply as the flowering of the capitalist self.  The transition from stable, self-defined individuals to the ever-illusive, hypermobile self of postmodernity is simply one of maturation, not rupture.  The self-contained individual of the Enlightenment must inevitably come home to roost as the infinitely constructable self of contemporary western culture.  And this is nothing new.  In evaluating modernity, one should never forget that romanticism, just as much as rationalism is a thoroughly modern philosophical mood, both of which are birthed in the waters of capitalism.

The hipster who lives in a loft appartment (paid for by his parents) doing art and doing his best to be “authentic” and a “non-conformist” is but the current incarnation of the decadent romantic self.  Such cultural realities are not indications of a postmodern culture that is displacing the old, modern culture.  Rather they are just further examples of the way in which capitalism produces and sublimates its own antibodies.  The hipster artist who drinks organic espresso and local microbrews and carries a copy of Of Grammatology in his backpack is precisely the product of capitalist discipline.  The erratic identities and social fragmentation of contemporary youth culture in the west has nothing to do with a shift from modernism to postmodernism.  They are simply the products of global capitalist hegemony bearing themselves out. 

For the Christian theologian then, the order of the day is for us to stop yammering about “postmodernism” and start talking seriously about the demonic nature of the social relations engendered by the global capitalist order and how the church must manifest a different form of sociality from that of the world around us.  However, until we are able to talk openly about the fundamentally economic nature of how culture is constructed we will simply be spinning tales that serve no purpose other than to satiate our furtiveness about “kids today”.  Of course it is easier just to rabble-rouse about how these young punks are destroying our traditional values than to look seriously at how such cultural realities are constructed in the undulations of global capitalism.  Because if we do that then we may actually have to change the shape of our lives.  And that’s just far too self-implicating, isn’t it?

Identity Politics Exposed

“For each identification (the creation or cobbling together of identity) creates a figure that provides a material for its investment by the market. There is nothing more captive, so far as commercial investment is concerned, nothing more amenable to the invention of new figures of monetary homogeneity, than a community and its territory or territories. The semblance of non-equivalence is required so that equivalence itself can constitute a process. What inexhaustible potential for mercantile investments is this upsurge — taking the form of communities demanding recognition and so-called cultural singularities — of women, homosexuals, the disabled, Arabs! And these infinite combinations of predictive traits, what a godsend! Black homosexuals, disabled Serbs, Catholic pedophiles, moderate Muslims, married priests, ecologist yuppies, the submissive unemployed, prematurely aged youth! Each time, a social image authorizes new products, specialized magazines, improved shopping malls, “free” radio stations, targeted advertising networks, and finally, heady “public debates” at peak viewing times. Deluze put it perfectly: capitalist deterritorialization requires a constant reterritorialization. Capital demands a permanent creation of subjective and territorial identities in order for its principle of movement to homogenize its space of action; identities, moreover, that demand anything but the right to be exposed in the same way as others to the uniform prerogatives of the market.”

– Alain Badiou, Saint Paul: The Foundations of Universalism (Stanford, CA: Stanford Univ. Press, 2003), 10-11.

H/T: Christian Amondson

Reclaiming Christ’s Time

Throughout the history of the Christian church, one of the crucial ways in which the church has fostered is particular ethos and distinctive identity has been through the rhythms and celebrations of a particular calendar.  The Christian liturgical year embodies a way of ordering time which is distinctively shaped by the Christian narrative.  The seasons of the Christian year offer a way of ordering time which reflect a distinctively Christocentric and Trinitarian shaping of ecclesial life.  Through a narrative-Christological ordering the celebrations and festivities of its people, the church constructed a powerful mode of ecclesial formation that orients its members toward an explicitly theological and ecclesial understanding of their identity and the practice of everyday life.  An analysis of the social and political lives of nations and other socio-political bodies bears out that the way in which a society structures time (and particularly festivities and holidays) distinctively shapes its members into a certain kind of polity, both politically and economically. 

However, the distinctively Christian way of shaping time offered by the Christian liturgical year has been largely lost in the contemporary evangelical church, the life of which has rather become dominated and determined by the calendar of the nation-state and market (which tell us, above all, when we must shop).  The fragmentary nature of evangelical identity testifies to the need for a recovering of the church’s liturgical year as a powerful tool of ecclesial formation and Christian education.  Through a recovery of the liturgical year, Christian churches have an opportunity to reclaim a holistic and missionally oriented ecclesial self-consciousness which is vital to the faithful witness of the church in the culture of late-modern capitalism. 

The Pernicious Domination of Choice

In various discussions of ecumenism and ecclesiology one of the elements that often comes up is the issue of the church’s givenness, or non-givenness.  One of the standard lines is that the Roman church is a structure that is greater than the sum of its parts, it is a “given”, whereas Protestant churches are self-made fabrications of a group of individuals who “create” a church by their own choosing.  And prima facie, such a description seems plausible, given the state of a great many evangelical churches in the West.  However, such a diagnosis of Protestantism as a volitonal fabrication versus Roman Catholicism as a stable rock of givenness is more than naive.

The more pressing and real issue behind these often rhetorically charged discussions is the dominance of choice in the social structuring of the modern world.  Modernity and late-capitalism have constructed a world of transience, illusive immediacy, and hypermobility in which it is fundamentally the choices and preferences of individuals (provided that they possess enough capital) which determine the activities, affiliations, and practices of personal life.  While various ecclesial traditions quibble about who is “voluntaristic” and who is “given”, the truth of the matter is that late-capitalism has constructed us all as persons who approach life on the basis of the sovereignty of choice.  Whether we are Roman Catholic of Protestant, we are all constructed as self-contained individuals whose concrete religous practices, geographic locations, and social affiliations are determined by the capitalist economy, rather than the ekklesia. 

This is why Roman Catholic theologian Tracey Rowland is absolutely right to argue that the pressing issue for Christians concerned with the integrity of eccleisal life, practice, and witness is “not so much whether one is a self-described Protestant or Catholic, but that of where one stands in relation to the cultural formation described as ‘modernity.’”  The problem is that the integrity of our ecclesial traditions have become so fragmentary under capitalist discipline that they either have little ability to cultivate any sort of ecclesial ethos at all (many Protestants), or they maintain the ethos of tradition while losing the socially formative power of that tradition to the domination of the market, which structures and regulates the lives of its Christians (many Roman Catholics).

What Christians, whether they are Roman Catholic or Protestant are called to, is intentional devotion to and appropriation of their rootedness in the historical tradition of the church, begining with the story of Israel, climaxing in the history of Jesus, and carried on historical church in the power of the Spirit.  The reality of choice, as constructed in late-capitalism as the all-powerful arbiter of shaping life, must be met head-on by Christians.  The simple fact of the matter is that choice goes all the way down, whether we like it or not.  We all have the option of leaving whenever we want.  The market has given us this power.  The vocation of Christians who wish to stand against the economic forces of fragmentation which seek to tear asunder the body of Christ is, more often than not to refuse to make the choices which capitalist order places in our laps.  What is necessary is for Christians to take on an inherently self-limiting posture regarding their vocational and economic “options” in the world.  One way in which this is being done, and has been done throughout the church’s history is the monastic practice of vow-making, particularly embodied in the Benedictine vow of stability.  Such modes of covenanted life, which limit, curtail, and stand against the proliferation of choice in the capitalist order are absolutely central in the cultivation of the kind of alternative eccleisal consciousness the church is called to be.  In short, what is necessary if Christians are to embody an alternative to the economic hegemony of modernity and capitalism is that we be willing to be fools

Three Theological Quotes on Capitalism

First, I think that Christians should stop yakking about ‘consumerism.’ ‘Consumerism’ is not the problem—capitalism is. Consumerism is the work ethic of consumption, the transformation of leisure and pleasure into duties. Talking about consumerism is a way of not talking about capitalism, and I’ve come to think that that’s the reason why so many people, including Christians, whine about it so much. It’s just too easy a target. There’s a long history behind this, but the creation of consumer culture is very much about compensating workers for loss of control and creativity at work, and those things were stolen because capital needed to subject workers to industrial discipline. (I don’t, by the way, believe that we inhabit a ‘post-industrial’ society. Our current regimes of work are, indeed, super-industrial.) Telling people that they’re materialistic is both tiresome and wrong-headed: tiresome, because it clearly doesn’t work, and wrong-headed, because it gives people the impression that matter and spirit are antithetical. As Christians, we should be reminding everyone that material reality is sacramental, and that therefore material production, exchange, and consumption can be ways of mediating the divine.

-Eugene McCarraher

Not only does capitalism deform the desire of those who prosper or at least survive under its tutelage, it also distorts human relations, even of those who are excluded from its fruits. This is to say, even if capitalism elevated the poor, it would still be wrong on account of the way it corrupts human relations, rendering them antagonistic, competitive. Capitalism has so construed the market that humans interact agonistically, competitively. All of us, winners and losers, consumers and excluded, compete for resources, for market share, for a living wage, for a job, for the time for friendship and family, for inclusion in the market, and so forth. Capitalism is wrong because even if it delivers the goods, it nevertheless works against the Good, corrupting (and perpetuating the corruption of) human sociality in competitive and conflictual modalities. Capitalism is wrong, not simply on the grounds of what it fails to do but because of what it succeeds in doing: distorting human desire and relations.

Daniel M. Bell, Jr.

There is no point to making broad utilitarian claims about the benefits of ‘the free market’ as if we could identify a market as ‘free’ merely by the absence of restraint on naked power. Giving free rein to power without ends is more likely to produce unfreedom than to produce freedom. There is simply no way to talk about a really free economy without entering into particular judgments about what kinds of exchange are conducive to the flourishing of life on earth and what kinds are not. Though my purpose in this essay has not been to go into detail about the specific ends of human work and material possessions, the Christian tradition provides a wealth of reflection on these matters. I believe it would be counter-productive to expect the state to attempt to impose such a direction on economic activity. What is most important is the direct embodiment of free economic practices. From a Christian point of view, the churches should take an active role in fostering economic practices that are consonant with the true ends of creation. This requires promoting economic practices that maintain close connections among capital, labor, and communities, so that real communal discernment of the good can take place. Such are spaces in which true freedom can flourish.

William T. Cavanaugh

Switch to our mobile site