Marxism of the Master Class

I self-consciously borrow from Richard Hofstadter his description of John C. Calhoun as the “Marx of the Master Class” in his first book, The American Political Tradition and the Men Who Made It. Calhoun’s thought on class and power antedated Marx’s by a couple of decades, but the parallels are, as Hofstadter pointed out, eerie. The dominant arguments about American fiscal policy and economic growth are, I submit, far more similar to the thought of Marx and Calhoun than to the thought of any apostle of liberty.

Why isn’t raising taxes on the table? The chief argument seems to be that any increase in taxes will result in a collapse of the economy. Now, the current trillion-dollar government deficit essentially makes American consumptive capacity 10% larger than its production, i.e., the American economy is, one way or another, building much more stuff than we want to buy. And so the government is buying it, and thus propping up the economy.

Stated morally, the issue is that money you don’t have to work to earn is taxed much lower than money you do have to work to earn. From the pure standpoint of fairness, the answer, taxing all income the same whatever its source, is obvious.

But economics assumes we’re all sociopaths, and demands a more general argument without reference to right and wrong. The way it works is this: The further up the income ladder you go, the larger percentage of wealth is derived from investment income. Because capital gains taxes are significantly lower than taxes on earned income—i.e., income someone actually works to gain—there is a significant tax incentive to invest in greater production of goods and services, rather than spending the money on consumption of those same goods and services. So the supply-demand curve in society gets all out of whack. The overall result is that the government finds itself running large deficits to buy all the extra goods and services its tax policy subsidizes the production of—while having a much higher effective tax rate on the middle, i.e., the consumers, workers, small businesspeople, etc. of the society, than on the actually wealthy with significant investment income. In practice, not only do we get over-production and under-consumption, we also get a great transfer of wealth from the middle class to the master class. Not only is this immoral, it creates a giant structural federal budget deficit that must be continually run in order to keep the populace employed.

Nevertheless, the pressure in politics is to decrease the capital gains tax, not equalize it. This would worsen the problem, and increase government deficits as far as they go. The effect of the capital gains tax on matters of Christian vocation will be addressed in a later post...

Empty Tombers, Part I

Recently, when my bishop made a pastoral visit to my parish, one of the older ladies of the parish asked the bishop, "the church down the street says that we don't believe in the empty tomb. Is this true?" The bishop visibly bristled, his face flushed. He might not have been angry, but he was annoyed. "I'm an empty-tomber," he said. "I believe that Mary found the tomb empty on the morning of the third day. I can't make you believe that, but that's what we teach."

A few days before, I had, without much thinking about it, made comments that presupposed that Mormons are not Christians. To my surprise, this was taken badly. I suppose it shows my ignorance, but I had always assumed that Mormons' failure to accept some of the basic tenets of Christianity, e.g., the same scriptures (with nothing added), the Trinity, and so on, made their occasional claims to be "Christian" nothing more than apologetic tropes, or, more charitably, something like Sufi Muslims' occasional claim to be "Christians" because they revere the Christ of the Quran, who does, in fairness, closely resemble the Christ of the New Testament. I had sort of assumed everyone was aware of and accepted this general state of affairs. I discovered I was wrong when these statements were taken in bad part.

The Fallacy of Composition

I want, first, to say what I'm talking about. I'm asking: what makes a church a Christian church, and how would we know one that wasn't? Let's first do away with the fallacy of composition: just because everyone in a group is Christian does not make it a Christian church; nor does a church being Christian necessarily mean that all (or, theoretically at least, any) of its members are Christians. And you could reasonably argue that one can be a Christian without being a member of a Christian church at all, although the other side is at least equally arguable. So, let's be clear, the question is: what distinguishing characteristic(s) do Christian churches have? This is not at all the same as what distinguishing characteristic do Christian persons have. The former question is completely different, and should be addressed in a completely different way from the latter.

The Four Points

I want to begin with what I know best: The Anglican definition of a Christian church. This is the basis for most Anglican ecumenical discussions:

1. The Holy Scriptures of the Old and New Testament as containing all things necessary to salvation.
2. The Apostles' and Nicene Creeds as sufficient statements of the Christian faith.
3. The two dominical sacraments, baptism and eucharist, as defining and necessary sacraments.
4. The Historic Episcopate, in Apostolic Succession, as adapted to local conditions.

Different churches would add or subtract, or both, from this list. But this is the basics.

The Bible

The Bible is the divinely inspired record of a series of encounters with God. The Old Testament records the encounter of the Jewish people with God, over the period from around 1500 B.C. to about 200 B.C. The New Testament is really composed of two parts: the Gospels, which record the encounter of a group of poor men and women in Judaea with Jesus Christ, God's son and full, final, and complete self-revelation to the world; and the rest, which is about the struggles they had forming a cohesive church following Jesus' execution, resurrection, and ascension into Heaven. They are considered to be divinely inspired, i.e., God is (in some mystical way) their ultimate author. To a Christian, there might be other records of encounters with God—either other Christian writings, or perhaps even some writings in other traditions—but none are divinely inspired, nor do they contain anything necessary to salvation.

A couple of points of contention remain open. These grow out of the fact that it took about 300 years for all Christians to agree on which books were biblical, and which not. Certain Old Testament books did not have reliable manuscripts, and were held in low esteem by Jews during this period. The Christian translator and commentator Jerome (about a.d. 400) put these aside and called them "apocrypha." Subsequently, most Protestants rejected them as uninspired, and dropped them from their Bibles, although Roman Catholics and Eastern Orthodox retain them in full in their Bibles, and Anglicans retain them "for instruction in Christian manners and morals," but not as fully-inspired books.

The other is the relationship of tradition, interpretation, and Scripture. Roman Catholics and Eastern Orthodox tend to take a relatively higher view of tradition than Scripture. Roman Catholic thinkers generally see an essential continuity: the Bible is a part of the tradition; it is an essential and the single most important part of it, but it is an element of the tradition and not fundamentally discontinuous with it. Augustine of Hippo explained this viewpoint well when said, "I would not believe even the Scriptures if Mother Church did not command it." Moreover, to Roman Catholics, the Pope can add infallible revelations to the Bible ex cathedra at times. Eastern Orthodox disagree.

Many Protestants see the Bible as essentially discontinuous from tradition or interpretation. Thus, its words are to be interpreted purely in as straightforward a sense as possible, often without regard even to historical context or authorial intention (authorial intention of the human author, at any rate). The Bible is a closed document inherently immune from the types of analysis applied to other texts. It cannot be added to, or subtracted from.

Anglicans and other mainline Protestants take a characteristically moderate view. They tend to see the Bible as essentially discontinuous from tradition, i.e., it cannot be added to or subtracted from by tradition or by fiat of a high prelate. However, tradition and interpretational tools can and should be brought to bear on it in order to understand it correctly. Thus, interpretation occurs in an ongoing debate about meaning. Currently, the debate centers around whether and to what extent councils of Christians can shift interpretations over time. This is not a new debate, as it has been an open question ever since about a.d. 250. Eastern Orthodox have answered yes; Roman Catholics have answered no—although they permit high prelates to do so; and many Protestants have answered no, at least implicitly. Mainline Protestants are still haggling, although most accept the idea in principle.

One other note: Although the Bible contains all things necessary to salvation, not every single thing in it is necessary to salvation.

Apostles' and Nicene Creeds

Four major creeds grew out of the early Church: the Apostles' and Nicene Creeds, and the Chalcedonian Definition.

The Apostles' Creed grew out of an early baptismal ritual. It is:

I believe in God, the Father almighty, creator of heaven and earth.

I believe in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord. He was conceived by the power of theHoly Spirit, and born of the Virgin Mary. He suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried. He descended to the dead. On the third day he rose again. He ascended into heaven, and is seated at the right hand of the Father. He will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead.

I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy catholic Church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting. Amen.

The Nicene Creed is similar, but longer, and corporate. It was originally drafted at the Council of Nicaea, a conference of bishops in a.d. 325, and revised to its final form at the First Council of Constantinople, a later conference of bishops in a.d. 382. The bishops resolved that it was a statement of orthodox Christian faith. It is:

We believe in one God, the Father, the Almighty, maker of heaven and earth, of all that is, seen and unseen.

We believe in one Lord, Jesus Christ, the only Son of God, eternally begotten of the Father, God from God, light from light, true God from true God, begotten not made, of one Being with the Father. Through him all things were made. For us and for our salvation, he came down from heaven: by the power of the Holy Spirit he became incarnate from the Virgin Mary, and was made man. For our sake he was crucified under Pontius Pilate; he suffered death and was buried. On the third day he rose again in accordance with the Scriptures; he ascended into heaven and is seated at the right hand of the Father. He will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead, and his kingdom will have no end.

We believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the giver of life, who proceeds from the Father(and the Son). With the Father and the Son he is worshipped and glorified. He has spoken through the prophets. We believe in one holy catholic and apostolic Church. We acknowledge one baptism for the forgiveness of sings. We look for the resurrection of the dead, and the life of the world to come. Amen.

The Definition of Chalcedon grows out of another Council of bishops, this one at the Greek city of Chalcedon in a.d. 451. It is chiefly concerned with defining what Jesus and the Trinity are all about. It is:

Therefore, following the holy fathers, we all with one accord teach men to acknowledgeone and the same Son, our Lord Jesus Christ, at once complete in Godhead and complete in manhood, truly God and truly man, consisting also of a reasonable soul and body; of one substance with the Father as regards his Godhead, and at the same time of one substance with us as regards his manhood; like us in all respects, apart from sin; as regards his Godhead, begotten of the Father before all ages, but yet as regards his manhood begotten, for us men and for our salvation, of Mary the Virgin, the God-bearer; one and the same Christ, Son, Lord, Only-begotten, recognized in two natures, without confusion, without change, without division, without separation; the distinction in natures in no way annulled by the union, but rather the characteristics of each nature being preserved and coming together to form one person and subsistence, not as parted or separated into two persons, but one and the same Son and Only-begotten God the Word, Lord Jesus Christ; even as the prophets from earliest times spoke of him, and our Lord Jesus Christ himself taught us, and the creed of the Fathers has handed down to us.

As you can see, each is more sophisticated. The objective was to rule out various misconceptions about how to interpret the Bible and the Christian heritage as it had grown up to that time. Anyone who claims that any modern "heresy" is particularly bad has to judge it by the standards of the first five centuries of the Church—and basically no heresy today holds a candle to anything they came up with back in the day. The Christians believed some weird stuff then.

There are "non-creedal" Christians, e.g., Baptists and unaffiliated evangelicals, but in actual practice they are basically as creedal as any other Christians; it's just implicit, rather than made explicit every Sunday. But Roman Catholics, Eastern Orthodox, Anglicans, and most other mainline Protestants adhere to these creeds more or less explicitly. Whether they actually explain them to the average parishioner is a whole other matter, but they do adhere to them.

And, thus, to some extent, the ability to adhere to these creeds for the most part is a defining characteristic of a Christian church.

At some point, I might post some commentary on these creeds.

Part II to Follow...

Mission Accomplished!

So on September 1, 2010, "combat operations" ended in Iraq. This was over seven years after the end of "major combat operations," on May 31, 2003, 4200 American deaths and 35,000 American injuries ago, but let's forget that for a moment. I seriously doubt—given the Iraqis inability to do something so basic as to form a government—that "combat operations" are in fact over. But this is not the story I have to tell.

The question is, who won the war?

America is an unsurpassed military power. We have overwhelming superiority over any conceivable enemy except Russia, China, and India, and each of them possesses only slight and questionable superiority in one or two areas (Russia probably has more nukes, although they're outdated and not in as useful a posture; all three can field more infantry, although their infantries are less well-equipped and well-disciplined). Our naval and aerial superiority, and ability to project power to any corner of the globe, is unmatched; even unchallenged. We can defeat any nation-state or combination of nation-states, anywhere, on any terms.

Of course, the cost of all this is also unmatched: The 2010 Pentagon budget is $685 billion, not counting black budget items. This is a shade over 6% of the American gross domestic product, and a shade over a quarter of the federal budget. It is also around 45–50% of the world's military budget.

What of the cost of the Iraq War? A lot of tallies have been given, usually running into the multi-trillion dollar range, but the tally in lives is greater than the tally in treasure. Caesars have always assigned monetary value to lives, and the American Caesar is no different. The military provides a "death gratuity" of $100,000. The law provides for a cause of action for "wrongful death," when one person's negligence results in another's death. In a wrongful death action, a jury determines the value of a life—usually by a more or less actuarial calculation of the person's earning capacity in the probable remaining years of his life. It's a cold affair.

So we know how to put a value on an American life. But what's the value of an Iraqi life? No one knows exactly how many Iraqis died as a direct result of the war, and no one knows exactly how many died from allied (read: American and occasionally British) military action, versus al-Qaeda and other insurgent action, versus simply because of the sickness, famine, and dislocation that came as a result of the invasion. Numbers from credible sources vary from 95,000 to more than half a million; few have even ventured to try to count the number of injuries. NGOs tell us that millions more fled their homes, those who could afford it to Syria, Jordan, and Iran, those who could not simply to less-violent provinces. Whatever the numbers are, they sure as sugar aren't reported on CNN or Fox News.

If you don't even bother to figure out how many died, it's pretty clear you don't put much value on Iraqi lives.

Now, in fairness to the American military, it must be stated that our soldiers have made occasionally valiant attempts to compensate Iraqi civilians for damage or deaths we have directly caused. The payments are paltry, and of course there is a variety of possibly unsolvable economic problems with figuring out how much to give, but it's been tried, and some people deserve credit.

God's not a respecter of persons, and I doubt he's much of a capitalist, either. Each life, whatever its age, gender, occupation, even religion, is of incalculable value. But if, like Georg Cantor, we decide to compare infinities, I think that the Iraqis infinity of pain is greater than ours. Congratulations. If infliction of pain is the criterion of victory, then we won.

But why'd it happen at all?

There's no use in going over the same old ground. We were duped, for reasons that no one even remembers. The original objectives of the war—a putative link between Iraq and al-Qaeda that not even the CIA believed in, and weapons of mass destruction that turned out to be Saddam's nonexistent bluff to avert Saudi or Iranian invasions—are forgotten, and were never achieved. Once we found out the word "victory" was meaningless, we set our sights on refusing to lose—no more Vietnams!—and have managed to withdraw (mostly) on our own terms, with an uncertain pseudo-peace. Woodrow Wilson would be proud.

Getting Started

There are a number of things that made me want to write this blog.

I saw in the Washington Post, on the same page, articles about Congress making billions of dollars in emergency allocations to escalate military interventions on the other side of the planet... and an article about counties in the D.C. area begging local churches to hold paper and pencil drives in order to stock their schools with basic supplies. Then my own church started just such a drive.

I noticed that while Detroit, Cleveland, and New Orleans—among dozens of other places—slowly rust into large reddish blotches in the middle of the continent, and SUVs become de rigeur simply to make it to work for all of the potholes, six-lane highways of shining black tar are being laid in Iraq with American money.

I noticed that the overall tax rate in the United States is 17% of our gross domestic product, but our spending is 21% of our gross domestic product... both of which are amazingly low by the standards of most of the world. I hear a lot of people insisting that the way to lessen the gap is to cut spending; but I rarely hear that it might be a good idea to assess our priorities, or that increasing revenue is also a possible and possibly superior solution.

Then, on August 28, 2010, the anniversary of Martin Luther King's I Have a Dream speech, Glenn Beck and Sarah Palin held an "apolitical" rally seeking to "restore our national honor." In the process, I saw one of the greatest festivals of wealthy, well-educated, white self-pity in recent memory.

I was angry, because, as a relatively comfortable, well-educated, white, Protestant male, I did not want to be associated with this. At all. I found that what angered me most was the call to have your life remade, and to set things right, just as Christ, or perhaps John the Baptist, had done. Glenn Beck is not Jesus, and he is not John. I could not stand for the identification of the kingdom of the Founding Fathers with the Kingdom of Heaven; I could not countenance the identification of the American Dream with the Beatific Vision.

Caesars come and Caesars go, but Christ is forever.

I found that I possessed no way to talk about these issues that was not obviously Christian. I don't know what happened to my ability to talk about these things in secular ways, but I found I appear no longer to have it. Secular ways of talking about things couldn't go any further than to state the facts and, well... res ipsa loquitur. To explain, to talk meaningfully about anything, I found that I had to talk Christian.

I wanted to preach it, teach it, write about it, explain it. I needed to get it out. A trusted spiritual advisor said, "not to be too blunt, but... do so."

So this is my first inadequate attempt.