Divine Economy: Theology and the Market

Citation

Waterman, A.M.C. (2002), "Divine Economy: Theology and the Market", International Journal of Social Economics, Vol. 29 No. 3, pp. 251-257. https://doi.org/10.1108/ijse.2002.29.3.251.2

“Divine economy” is understood by theologians to refer to the way in which God works in the world with or without the help of man. The term originates in the New Testament (Ephesians 3:9) and has given rise to what is called “Economic theology” in the eastern churches. Stephen Long, who appears to be a Methodist theologian, uses the term from which he takes his title only twice (pp. 186, 232) and it is possible, though not completely clear, that he understands the phrase in this original sense. His book tells little of how God works in this world, but much of how his fellow theologians quarrel among themselves about the human economy. It is intended to be “fundamentally a comparison of theology with economics as theoretical disciplines” (p. 6). Yet “economics” is often taken, in this book, to mean not a putatively scientific study of certain social phenomena (which is what the “theoretical discipline” is) but variously: a set of economic arrangements and institutions (the economy); justifications of a set of economic arrangements and institutions (ideology); and sometimes simply “capitalism” (never defined).

It would seem that Dr Long’s underlying polemical aim is to recommend the opinions of a present‐day Anglican theologian, John Milbank – whose works he finds congenial – according to which this undefined “capitalism” is a “Christian heresy” and hence that “Christian orthodoxy demands the abolition of capitalism and the production of a socialist market” (pp. 258‐9, 260).

In pursuit of this aim the author presents us with a detailed discussion of the doctrines of three groups of theologians: those who belong respectively to what are called “the dominant tradition”, “the emergent tradition” and “the residual tradition”. The first tradition, which includes such well‐known names as Michael Novak, Max Stackhouse, Ronald Preston and Philip Wogaman, is characterized by an acceptance of the present social order – based on private property and market exchange – as compatible in principle with Christian belief. The second tradition appears to be a transitory phenomenon of the early 1970s, a time when a Romantic revival of Marxism beginning in the late 1960s exercised strong appeal for certain American and European intellectuals. Out of that brief but fiery episode came many “liberation movements”: “national liberation”, “women’s liberation”, “black liberation” and the like, some of which have taken root. What is called “liberation theology” was a cognate attempt by certain clerics in Latin America to give Christian meaning to widespread rebellion against corrupt and oppressive regimes. In this part of the book we are introduced to some of the views of James Cone, Gustavo Gutiérrez, Rosemary Ruether and Jon Sobrino: names to conjure with 30 years ago. But hardly “emergent” now. The third, so‐called “residual”, tradition to which the author himself is affected, is “found outside of the familiar twentieth‐century landscape” (p. 177). Bernard Dempsey’s “theological economics”, Alasdair MacIntyre’s “virtue ethics” and John Milbank’s “poetic Christology” seem to be the chief ingredients in what is as yet inchoate.

Leading ideas of the principal authors in each of these traditions are presented and criticized in considerable detail: inconsistencies pointed out, objections by other theologians duly noted, and strong points acknowledged. It is no surprise that the “residual” tradition gets the highest marks. Were it not for excessive name‐dropping, occasional lapses into jargon and a pusillanimous acquiescence in the campaign of the Church of Rome to hijack the adjective “catholic”, the merely informative aspects of Dr Long’s book would be exemplary. By comparison with that of most other theologians today – admittedly a low hurdle – his writing is a model of lucidity. He is not the first Protestant theologian to forget that the negation of “catholic” is not “protestant” but “heretic”. And his willingness to assume that we can read Latin as easily as he is positively flattering. Simply considered as a critical compendium of late twentieth‐century, Anglophone, Christian social thought, this book is a valuable addition to the literature.

But this is not how the author wants us to consider his work, and therein lies the objection to it. He wants to keep dragging “economics” into his story. Yet as he himself acknowledges (p. 11), he is not an economist. To say that he has had few opportunities of acquainting himself with our discipline would be the most charitable way to excuse his performance. More fundamentally, “economics” is entirely irrelevant to his – strictly theological – project of criticizing “capitalism” as a Christian heresy. Had he never mentioned the word “economics” from beginning to end, this would have been a shorter, better and more useful book.

Dr Long’s knowledge of economics is derived from an introductory textbook, and he certainly understands the all‐important concept of opportunity cost. But he wants to invest it with more significance than it has. When economists use that concept they do not assume that “all human action and language takes place in the tragic world of scarcity” (p. 4). Of course Long’s own “love for [his] children, spouse, neighbors and even enemies is not born out of an inevitable scarcity” (p. 146). Only if he or others actually trade off love for children against love for spouse or neighbor (such things have been known) would that action enter the conceptual domain of the economic. But it is a matter of painfully observable fact – not “assumption” – that many millions of human beings all over the world continually face the need to decide between one scarce good and another. And all too often that is indeed tragic. What economists try to do is to investigate the consequences of real, not assumed, scarcity. What we do “assume” is that human beings make “rational” choices between alternatives, where “rational” means “consistent with their priorities”. It may not be a very good assumption but a lot of our models do have some explanatory and predictive value. So until someone comes up with anything better we are stuck with it. The “knowledge” we generate on the basis of this assumption, like all scientific knowledge, must be “provisional, fallible and corrigible”, in Karl Popper’s famous words.

Yet we are told that “theologians must deny this narrative of scarcity for it forces our language and actions into the inevitable embrace of death” (p. 146). In his zeal to “deny this narrative” Dr Long appears to have bent the facts in at least one place, for his discussion of a famous passage in Wealth of Nations begins with a misquotation. “We address ourselves, not to their humanity but to their self‐love, and never talk to them of our own necessities but of their advantages” (Smith, 1976, p. 27, my italics). Long changes “our” to “their” and continues: “The problem is found in … Smith’s prohibition to speak of ‘their necessities’ in favor of speaking only of their ‘advantages”’. This is not good enough. Many readers, I fear, may conclude on coming to this passage so early in the book that they need read no further.

This would be a pity. For the compatibility of social order with Christian belief is a matter of legitimate investigation by the theologian. If ever we could make up our minds exactly what we were going to mean by “capitalism” and “socialism” – and if there were at least in principle a real choice between the two – it would be not merely proper but obligatory for Christians to decide which of the two were more consistent with their daily prayer that God’s “will be done, on earth as it is in heaven”.

Does economics have any part to play in this inquiry? Obviously not directly. If economics generates any “knowledge” at all it is scientific knowledge, having no claim to “truth” in any ultimate sense. Economists have no professional expertise in discovering the will of God. If anyone has, it must be the theologian. All that economists can do is to prepare the ground for the question. It is our business to estimate the opportunity cost of alternative regimes. But it is not our business to recommend which regime should be chosen. Suppose we discover that a transition from “capitalism” to “socialism” would extinguish half the world’s wealth and permanently reduce our ability to support the world’s existing population. There is no correlation between wealth and either happiness or virtue, as Adam Smith well knew. Societies united by deep religious conviction, as in many parts of Islam, are quite willing to forego the material benefits of a market order for the spiritual benefits of doctrinal purity. Christians have always believed that wealth is a grave spiritual handicap. Should American Christians, persuaded of the truth of this belief, convince the rest of their fellow citizens, it would be quite in order for the USA to abandon the luxuries (and unjust inequality) of “capitalism” and to embrace the holy poverty (and secret police) of a “socialist” regime.

Theologians can and should advise us in this matter. That is why it is worthwhile for Dr Long to engage in debate with his fellow theologians. When they all agree we shall know what to do. But there is one thing, it seems to me, that theologians cannot do. They cannot abolish earthly scarcity by waving the heavenly wand of “God’s original plenitude” (p. 260).

Whether or not – as most Christians have believed for the past 2,000 years – scarcity is a consequence of Original Sin, it is a brute fact of the human condition. If “socialism” replaced “capitalism” for theological reasons, nothing economic would be changed. The new bosses would still have to decide what goods are to be produced, how they are to be produced and who gets them. It would take just as much toil and sweat to raise a crop, build a house or scrub a floor as it did before. More nurses in hospitals would still have to mean fewer teachers in schools. More time reading Shakespeare would still have to mean less time listening to Bach. And for many the choices would be more genuinely tragic. This world is a place of misery and terror for some, of hardship and deprivation for most, and of disappointment and sorrow for all.

For an American theologian to appear to maintain – from the affluence and security of a tenured academic position – that such is not the case is merely Romantic in A.O. Lovejoy’s sense: “a revolt against the finite”. Some will find it morally outrageous.