An Economy of Generosity

The other day at work, five of us worked the package line, putting completed units into sales cartons. Two people made (that is, folded) cartons; one person placed units in cartons; one person—me—placed rubber gaskets in cartons; and one person closed cartons to send them onto the case packer robot. One conveyor belt brought raw units in, and another conveyor carried packed units away.

I had the second easiest job that night, flipping a small rubber ring into a large target. I could daydream without hindering my job performance. But the conveyor moved fast enough that the closer inevitably fell behind and struggled to keep up. If she fell too far behind, she had to stop the conveyor until she caught up. But if she stopped the outgoing line, the incoming line kept bringing units, which formed a huge knot at the choke point.

Clearly my short-term interests were best served by letting the closer fight her own battles. I could shoegaze if I wanted, and what everyone else deemed a strenuous pace was, to me, pretty easy-going. But if she stopped the outgoing conveyor, we all had to deal with that huge knot. If I closed every fifth box, sacrificing my short-term interests, the closer could keep up, the knot would never form, and everyone was better served.

America’s political economy today is dominated by an attitude of “what’s mine is mine, and hands off.” Our tax laws and spending priorities reflect this attitude, as well as our charitable giving habits—while Americans donate more money than any other country in absolute terms, we have one of the lowest donation rates in the industrialized world. And we justify this in public discourse by appeals to capitalism and the free market.

But we forget that Adam Smith, author of capitalism’s foundational text, The Wealth of Nations, was no free market absolutist. He wrote that the wealthy had a moral obligation to pay greater revenues into the maintenance of society, making him an early proponent of the “Buffett Rule.” And he believed corporations, which manipulated massive volumes of what he termed “other people’s money,” were inherently untrustworthy.

There is simply no empirical reason to believe an absolute free market helps anybody. Indeed, by letting the rich hoard wealth while the poor pound sand, we create an aristocratic class and “everybody else.” But anthropology proves that poverty incubates crime, so a permanent poor underclass is a breeding ground for lawlessness. Thus the wealthy spend more money guarding their hoarded wealth, and enjoy less of it.

Lacking an empirical basis, defenders of self-interest manufacture moral arguments. They term taxes “theft,” insist they don’t want their hard-earned money given to “welfare queens,” and decry “socialistic” intervention. Unfortunately, most world value systems, including the Christianity which social conservatives claim, reject accumulated wealth without concomitant responsibility to serve those less fortunate.

If I focus on my short-term self-interest, and count myself blessed here and now, without planning for the future, I set myself up for catastrophe in the long term. Whether by befouling the atmosphere, or producing a customer base that can’t afford my merchandise, or by permitting raw units to accumulate in the choke point, pursuing immediate interests will exact a price I have to pay in the future.

Taking time to close every fifth carton is not easy. I have to break my rhythm with a simple task to perform one that is slower and requires fine motor skills. Essentially, I need to shift between two very different muscle actions, which is a nuisance. But it’s a smaller nuisance than having to keep up with the sudden influx from the choke point. And it’s an act I perform alone, which benefits everybody on the line equally.

Sure, something else could set me back. A carton maker could fold one improperly, get caught trying to straighten it, and send ripples down the line. Or the product placer might knock one carton over, sending others tumbling like dominoes. But that could happen. If I don’t extend myself to help the closer, the knot at the choke point will happen. I consider the risk worth the cost.

I don’t advocate a Soviet-style collectivization of risk. History proves that this fails. But if we all give a little of our short-term interest into a pool of public generosity, the long-term rewards, individually and as a society, should more than pay for that investment. And we could all use a little long-term security in this dangerous world.

Are Women On the Verge of Abandoning Christianity?

I once visited a Protestant church on the Sunday of their congregational business meeting. After the service, all the women filed dutifully into the kitchen to prepare the pot luck, while the men, who were few in number, stayed in the sanctuary to vote. In other words, while the scarce men undertook church “business,” the copious women actually got stuff done. I couldn’t help remembering this incident while reading Jim Henderson’s The Resignation of Eve.

Though Jesus called twelve men into his inner circle, he spent far more time around women than the Hebrews around him. He gave secrets to Mary Magdalene and the Samaritan woman at the well which he never entrusted to men. Though the world he lived in openly favored men, Jesus showed women a level of favor that, in his day, must have seemed downright scandalous. Henderson thinks this sets a standard for Christian gifts being distributed regardless of gender.

We run aground, however, in Paul’s epistles. 1 Timothy 2:12 says: “I do not permit a woman to teach or to assume authority over a man; she must be quiet.” This contradicts Paul’s own ordination of Priscilla and Aquila, but never mind; churches have used this scripture for centuries to keep women out of pulpits. This despite the fact that women outnumber men in pews, classrooms, liturgical programs, and—by a ratio of two to one—volunteer church jobs.

Backed by researcher George Barna, Henderson exposes a remarkable split among church women. While stats indicate that most women feel they have adequate influence in their congregations, the organized church is bleeding those most eager to teach and lead for Christ. This creates a two-tiered culture for women: those who accept their lot, to a greater or lesser degree, and those who bolt for more egalitarian denominations, or leave church altogether.

Even denominations like mine, which has ordained women for decades, don’t distribute authority equally. Most women pastors get relegated to subordinate positions or small rural congregations. My congregation has two women pastors, both under a male “senior” pastor. At various times in my life, I’ve been a member of three denominations that ordain women, yet never seen a woman holding the senior pulpit in a large urban congregation.

Jim Henderson

Henderson compiles fifteen interviews with women who react to the church’s power dynamic in different ways. Some agree with the idea that women should take a back seat; others balk at restrictions. Some choose to stick with their churches regardless of their quandaries; others rebel in overt or subtle ways. Some leave church, or even the Christian faith, altogether.

Henderson highlights that Evangelical Christian voters who propelled Sarah Palin to national prominence overwhelmingly attend congregations that don’t ordain women. Why would a woman make an acceptable President, but not a pastor? In fairness, one woman Henderson interviews wouldn’t vote for a woman. But overall, these congregations support a woman’s bid for secular authority, but not her more important bid to save souls and transfigure the world for Christ.

I have some problems with this book. Most stem from unbilled coauthor George Barna, whom I've questioned before. His stats and Henderson’s anecdotes clash, suggesting that one or the other is wrong—or, more likely, they conceal an unexamined subtext. This book could sustain more thorough, nuanced analysis. It makes a good introduction, and stakes out good territory, but I hope Henderson or another author has more work in the pipeline.

In my experience, unlike Henderson, I doubt American Christianity faces a mass female exodus. In my church, women overwhelmingly dominate positions of authority, although the pastor dubbed “senior” is a dude. If women are leaving the church, as Henderson (via Barna) asserts, it’s because people are leaving the church. Christians have failed to provide a viable counter-narrative for our fraught and tumultuous world.

Reading this book, I recalled David Murrow’s Why Men Hate Going to Church, which I have reviewed previously. Henderson and Murrow consider the same problem with the American church today, that while men occupy a thin veneer of nominal leadership, women actually make the place run. But by viewing this reality from different gendered standpoints, they draw very different conclusions.

I strongly recommend Henderson’s and Murrow’s books side by side. Gender in today’s church, like race and wealth, define how we relate to one another, and how we communicate Christ to the unchurched world. While these two books alone don’t resolve every difference, they stake out a debate I hope Christians consider well worth having.

The Revolution Will Not Be Compartmentalized

Early in The Coming Revolution, Dr. Richard G. Lee drops a line that reveals his real thesis. Praising a soldier who gave his life protecting his fellows from an Iraqi insurgent, he extols “the true meaning of duty, honor, country, and all those fine virtues the mainstream culture loves to ridicule and disdain.” This idea, that all American goodness is besieged by mass wickedness, informs not only this book, but much recent populist hysteria.

Which is weird, on balance, because Lee claims “the overwhelming majority” of Americans are on the verge of rebellion against the oppressive social order. So apparently the “mainstream culture” isn’t made by, you know, people. And it’s certainly not supported by ordinary Americans who reward culture creators with their time, money, votes, and other sustenance. “Mainstream culture” must be a charity from the dark matter universe.

This underscores the problem I have not just with Lee’s book, but with a certain subset of political discourse. On the one hand, Lee wants to claim he speaks for the silent majority of American thought. On the other hand, he places all goodness, virtue, and truth within a fortress under attack from mighty forces of unimaginable depravity. And he backs both claims with evidence that shows an appalling lack of forethought or study.

For instance, Lee claims to speak for an unbroken political tradition going back to the framers of the Constitution, and even before. But his historical awareness doesn’t proceed beyond 11th grade American Civics. He ignores any historical facts which contradict his story. He claims to know the Founders’ intent beyond what they set in writing. And though he dedicates an entire chapter to what they wrote, he includes only what supports his position.

Likewise, Lee’s knowledge of current events comes carefully pre-filtered. He cites opinion generators like Michael Medved, Glenn Beck, and Mona Charen as though they were scholarly sources. He uncritically quotes partisan journals like National Review and The American Spectator, presenting their reportage as unslanted fact. And he reduces complex, ongoing controversies to one-sentence bromides.

Dr. Richard G. Lee

In my favorite example, Lee says that “in December 2009... a Vermont court ordered a Christian child to be taken away from her biological mother and given to a former lesbian partner.” No further details, not even the parties’ names, are forthcoming. This seems like a simple case of anti-Christian judicial overreach. But following his source notes to an overtly partisan website, I found he was referencing the unresolved Lisa Miller-Janet Jenkins case.

According to the New York Times, Miller and Jenkins were in a Vermont civil union and raising Miller’s daughter together, when Miller converted to Christianity. Miller believed exposure to homosexuality would harm the girl; Jenkins believed the same about Christianity. When a court awarded Jenkins parental visitation rights, Miller, aided by her pastor, fled the country altogether. Clearly this case resists the simple resolution Lee demands.

For obvious reasons, I take personal affront at Lee’s diatribes against higher education. While some professors push a radical agenda, I and most of my colleagues endeavor to maintain a respectful, nonpartisan learning environment. Moreover, many colleagues share my Christianity to a greater or lesser degree. My undergraduate mentor, now deceased, led the local Quaker circle. We are hardly the vanguard of godless socialism Lee claims.

The longer I read, the more Lee presents a ceaseless array of enemies beating drums against America around every corner. But he somehow still claims his position represents the silent majority. Then he insists that, if the 2012 election doesn’t go the way he expects, “who knows what could happen?” Though Lee disavows violence, his subtext sounds like a Mafia protection racket: give us what we want, or something bad might happen.

Lee, whose doctorate is in theology, has a long publishing history linking conservative patriotism with evangelical Christianity. To him, American Christianity is indistinguishable from laissez-faire nationalism. While he fairly represents a certain subset of public discourse, he discounts any patriotism or Christianity that doesn’t align with his particular view. Then he trumpets the product as an ascendant mass movement for which he will speak.

My problem is not that Dr. Lee is conservative. Conservatism is a legitimate political position with a long and noble history. And anyone who reads liberal political theory knows that anyone, of any political stripe, can wear the same blinders Lee does. Rather, Lee’s strange, contradictory, and even comical positions reflect what happens when opinion leaders start with the answer, and go in search of the question.

There Is No "I" in "God"

“Sadly, in Gospel music today seldom is proclaimed the God of liberation—just the God of escape. Seldom is heralded the God who will deliver us from evil, just a God who delivers us from reality.”

This quote comes from “‘I Am the Holy Dope Dealer’: The Problem With Gospel Music Today,” from Obery M. Hendricks, Jr’s newest book, The Universe Bends Toward Justice. An activist seminarian, Hendricks contrasts modern Gospel music as an expression of African American Christianity with the Spirituals of the slavery and Emancipation eras. As you may guess from the quote, Gospel music falls short. I suggest Hendricks could go even further.

Though Hendricks presents a very complex and richly nuanced thesis, I want to focus on just one part. Hendricks describes the change from Spirituals to Gospel as coinciding with the Great Migration. In the late 19th and early 20th Centuries, hundreds of thousands of Black Americans left their rural agrarian roots in the South in pursuit of better work and a more prosperous life in Northern cities. Instead they found slums, smoke-belching factories, and appalling alienation.

Hendricks says, “assembly line labor is, by definition, mind-numbing and disempowering.” I would say it doesn’t have to be; the factory where I work encourages creative engagement and a certain autonomy. But I can ascribe that to a management that sees itself beholden, in part, to its labor base. Not all companies share that ethos, especially not white-owned companies with black workers in a time of legally enshrined racism.

As African Americans increasingly adopted 20th Century urban ideals of radical individualism, the communitarian ethos of the Spirituals came to seem increasingly quaint. While Civil Rights leaders used the old plantation songs to stir up political engagement, a new breed of Gospel songwriters championed a “me and God alone” ethic in which the individual reigns supreme, and political concerns are at best secondary.

This results in a Black population largely unengaged in the fight to better its situation. While racism dare not show its face in public, it has not disappeared from America (I abandoned my favorite watering hole because of overtly racist banter against President Obama). But African Americans are no longer energized to address naked inequities in our body politic. Hendricks blames that on curtailed community, starting with worship songs.

Hendricks, African American himself, justifiably focuses his inquiries on questions of race and racism. But I contend he does not describe a uniquely Black problem. Loss of community as a motivating factor in Christian civic engagement has had lamentable consequences for American Christianity. And while multiple factors probably contribute to that shift, we cannot overlook our increasingly individualistic modes of worship.

Evangelical Christians formerly led the fight for social justice. Evangelicals held leading roles in Abolitionism, the Labor Movement, and Women’s Sufferage. But after Dr. King’s death, Evangelicalism fell under the sway of radical proponents of the status quo. While traditional “peace churches” like the Quakers and the Mennonites continue agitating for justice, Evangelicals have become notorious for reflexive conservatism.

Not coincidentally, this change has taken place at the same time as much music in Protestant churches has transformed. David Murrow notes that the great classic hymns are sung about God, where much Contemporary Christian Music (CCM) is sung to God. Moreover, where classic hymns encouraged communal singing and group harmonies, CCM’s syncopated rhythms and first-person-singular language reward soloists.

Music has long been the centerpiece of worship. Whether the Psalms of monastic prayer, the four-part harmonies of Isaac Watts and Charles Wesley, or the power pop of Christian rock stars and youth leaders, music has bound believers together into a body. But this “I” focus in the newest music subdivides that body. Christians talk to God, but not to each other, or to the world.

Hebrews 10:25-25 calls on believers: “And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds, not giving up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but encouraging one another—and all the more as you see the Day approaching.” Much current Christian worship habitually only encourages the self, and spurs singers on only to personal morality. Encouraging one another had fallen away in favor of individualism.

Christian leaders often complain about their perceived creeping irrelevance. If they hope to beat back this trend, they need to start by reminding their flock that we are in this struggle together, and only together can we bring forth the vision of the apostles and the prophets.

Graduating the Electoral College

Before you read what follows, please be aware it no longer represents the author's views. I wrote this article well before December 2012, when Republican legislatures in swing states tried to enforce the described practice on their own states. I assumed, falsely I now know, that congressional districts were delineated fairly, giving both major parties an equal chance. Sad to say, both parties have a bad recent history of gerrymandering, making the system I describe in the following article even less fair than the system we have now. Therefore, I repudiate everything you are about to read.

Nebraska made history in 2008 when, instead of giving all its electoral college votes to one Presidential candidate, it kicked one to the minority winner. Nebraska is one of only two states to use the “Congressional District Method” to apportion electoral votes (alongside Maine), though no state has split its vote in living memory. Until Omaha gave its electoral vote to Barack Obama, the “winner take all” system dominated voting cycles for generations.

Instead of celebrating a history-making event, registered Republicans in Nebraska’s nominally nonpartisan legislature began debate on a bill to reverse this law. As long as other states don’t practice this method, it’s not fair, they whined, that Nebraska gave up one vote that would have made no difference in the overall election. Though this method wasn’t overturned, Nebraska’s subsequent redistricting ensured a Republican majority in all congressional districts.

Yet this divided system seems desirable to me. Because Nebraska has such a system, Democratic candidate proxies like Chelsea Clinton and Michelle Obama visited a state that would otherwise have been a solid Republican lock. A state that was overlooked in the 2000 and 2004 election cycles was treated like its vote actually mattered. Even if one insignificant vote got diverted, the benefits to Nebraska voters seem inestimable.

More states could benefit from dividing the vote in this manner. Many states that seem secure for one party—like Texas, Louisiana, or Arizona for the Republicans, or New York, Illinois, and California for the Democrats—actually ended the last few election cycles divided by less than ten percent. What’s more, the respective voting blocs are generally concentrated in geographic regions: mainly cities for Democrats, more rural areas for Republicans.

In 2008, national media considered California, Oregon, and Washington such a lock for Democrats that they called all three states for Obama before any voting precincts reported in. But all three are dominated by large coastal cities with Democratic bases. The rural inland counties, as well as cities like San Diego with substantial military populations, trend significantly Republican in all three states. Rural populations stand hostage to rich urban centers.

America’s Founding Fathers created a bicameral Congress apportioned on two different standards so that large cities and populous states could not run roughshod over smaller agrarian regions. Yet giving a state’s entire electoral representation results in exactly this power imbalance. Republicans in Umatilla, Oregon, or Democrats in Austin, Texas, might as well not vote for President.

Imagine, though, if all US states divided their electoral votes like Nebraska does. Instead of taking entire states for granted, candidates would have to campaign by the congressional district, stumping for votes at ground level. This would make a Presidential bid much more labor-intensive for the candidates and their organizations, but since it would diminish the influence of statewide and national media blitzes, it would also help offset big money.

The last several Presidential contests have turned on “battleground states,” a list that has fallen significantly in recent election cycles. Most media agreed on a core list of thirteen swing states in 2004, yet by 2008, six states split narrowly enough to count as battlegrounds. This is a momentous drop-off since 1992, when seventeen states split narrowly enough to be worth fighting for. Too many states’ elections results today are foregone conclusions.

The same cannot be said for congressional districts. As Omaha proved in the last cycle, a city or region can shift suddenly when it feels its interests or regional identity are jeopardized. Omaha, a non-unionized industrial city, usually meets the Republicans’ core demographic. But with a growing minority population, and a labor base that has been decimated by offshoring less prestigious jobs, Omaha felt the McCain-Palin platform threatened its heart.

Despite perennial grumbling, America has never abolished the Electoral College. Considering the difficulty in amending the Constitution, it’s unlikely to ever be abolished. And small states like Nebraska, which sees its Presidential voting presence nearly doubled by the Electoral College system, gain from the continuation of the system. While far from perfect, the Electoral College certainly enhances the character of America’s federal structure.

Nevertheless, splitting the Electoral vote according to the Congressional District Method will advance America’s democratic principles. It will prevent Presidential candidates from taking entire states for granted. It will forestall hasty calls like we saw in Florida in 2000. And it will force candidates to meet voters where they live, instead of depending on corporate cash for media extravaganzas. In short, dividing the Electoral vote will unify America’s voting process.