CALL: Ethics and Power in the Church—"Primer on Ethics and Power"

Primer on Ethics and Power Welcome to the onramp! As we quickly accelerate up to cruising speed, let me give you a quick orientation to this interstate drive-‐by-‐introduction to our seven weeks together. Over the coming weeks, we’ll take a few exits along this stretch of theoretical highway to explore some elements of what I’m introducing today in greater detail. For today, however, you’ll get a theoretical tour to ground our study, get you up to speed on what exactly it means to “do ethics” in the context of our course, what power theory means, and how ethics and power apply to parish life. Beyond the tour, we’ll make our first stop at our first case study to see how theory informs practice in the context of a real parish conflict that has been appropriately masked for anonymity. Each week’s discussion will focus on a new case study from a real parish with real people—clergy and laity—behaving… well, let’s just say humanly (not, however, humanely). Diving in, let’s start with a review (or an overview for those who have not studied this before) of ethical theory followed by a similar primer on power theory and its application to Parish life. PRIMER ON ETHICS The discipline of Ethics dates back many centuries before the Common Era. Since our task this term is to explore ethics and power as they relate to the Parish, a quick primer on ethics leading up to the Anglican tradition will help us immensely in understanding what is unique and particularly Anglican about how we do ethics today, and how that is changing in our contemporary world as we seek a more relational approach that muddies the waters of power and politics (as we’ll explore later in the term). I have chosen to focus this week on Plato, Aristotle, Jesus, Paul, Augustine, Aquinas, and (briefly) Kant. Each builds off of the legacy of their predecessors, and, as such, provides us with a somewhat coherent link from the fifth century BCE up through the thirteenth century CE, where Richard Hooker (sixteenth century) will pick up the strain in Week 3 as we take the first exit for ethics in the Anglican tradition. Plato was Aristotle’s teacher, which means that his influence is present in Aristotle’s work even though sometimes only as Aristotle is responding to correct or counter Plato. While there is nothing to suggest that Jesus read the early Greek philosophers (regardless, he proceeds along his own agenda in terms of ethics—go figure, he’s God ☺), Paul, on the other hand, would have had a good Roman education, including the Greek classics that are reflected in some of his writings and ethical teachings. Augustine combines Neoplatonism (“new” appropriations of Plato’s teachings systematized by Plotinus in the mid-‐third century CE); and Paul, to reformulate ethics in his own era, producing a theological ethics that shaped the early church with such influence that even eight centuries later(at the time of Thomas Aquinas) those intending to contradict Augustine (including Aquinas) treaded very lightly, in so doing. Finally, Aquinas is a follower of Aristotle. He disagrees with Plato, and somewhat with Paul and Augustine,

but takes quite a bit from Aristotle and Jesus in developing his virtue ethics that have had a similarly strong influence in the continuing growth of ethics in the Church. Each has been profoundly influential in his own time and in the centuries down to the present. Kant is an enlightenment rationalist and is included as he is essential to discussion of ethics after the nineteenth century. His influence in philosophy, ethics, and epistemology is demonstrated by the countless theorists since his time who have had to respond to his work before developing their own theories either from or against Kant’s theories. So a bit on each…. (I’ll be spending more time on Plato as a benchmark from which other theorists have built—text in Blue is historical contextualization and can be skipped to abbreviate today’s lengthier than usual reading assignment). Plato (c.429-347 BCE): Plato was born in c.429 BCE, about 41 to 42 years after his mentor, Socrates. While Socrates never wrote down any of his dialogues, theories, or ethics, Plato’s written works are largely composed of Socratic dialogues. The only text in which Socrates doesn’t appear is Plato’s final work, Laws. Socrates lived at the highest point of Athenian history and witnessed the blossoming of the Greek renaissance. Plato, on the other hand, grew up in a declining Athenian empire. He saw Athens lose the war with Sparta in 405 BCE, witnessed oligarchic rule established under the “government of Thirty Tyrants” (Plato, Grube trans., Republic, viii), and then saw democracy reestablished. The son of a family descended of kings, Plato hoped for a career in politics; but the timing of his life and the concurring circumstances of the governments in power proved unfortunate to this hope. Losing interest in political regimes he found unjust, he taught instead at the newly-‐founded Academy in Athens. The dates of his texts are disputed, but of the three periods of his writing, most experts place the Republic to have been around 380 BCE. By the time of the writing of this text, Socrates had been executed as a political criminal (an event Plato and many others found an egregious injustice). Plato’s Academy taught future statesmen and other elite citizens (including Aristotle) for nine-‐hundred years before it was closed in the sixth century CE by Emperor Justinian I for being “pagan.” Though Aristotle was a student of Plato’s, their philosophies differ to such a great extent that they represent the heads of two distinctly different philosophical lineages, tied to the different schools in Ancient Greece they headed. It is noteworthy that, philosophically, Plato begets Augustine, who, in turn, begets Luther and the two kingdoms’ tradition of the Protestant Reformation that elevate what is spiritual and heavenly, while denigrating that which is born of the body. In contrast, Aristotle begets Thomas Aquinas and the whole virtue ethics and natural law tradition (also still highly influential, particularly in Roman Catholic thought), which prizes reason and believes in the fundamental goodness of God’s creation where, even of their own rational nature, humans can achieve a measure of happiness (which is then perfected through faith and by God’s grace). Both traditions are also represented in Anglican thought (we’ll explore this in Week 3).

One of Plato’s pivotal concepts for understanding the world and developing his system of ethics is the Forms, which represent pure abstract ideas. Concrete objects in the world participate in the Forms only representationally and imperfectly. To borrow a useful illustration from Lisa Fullam (JST), a good cup of coffee necessarily participates in the Form of ‘Cup of Coffee’ but also participates in the Form of Goodness (the Good is the highest

Form in Plato’s philosophy). The cup of coffee, however, is merely a shadow of the Forms it represents, so that if we do not know the Form, we cannot know the cup of coffee. The soul, which is rational, gives us access to the realm of the Forms. According to Platonic thought, souls are better off without bodies, as bodies get in the way of the pure abstractions, i.e., Forms. We can begin to see from the last part of this definition where Augustine, as a Neoplatonist and ex-‐Manichean,1 takes this dichotomy between spirit and flesh and runs with it in developing his doctrine of original sin and the analogy of the two Cities (heavenly and earthly) in which humans may dwell (we’ll get back to that later).

Justice is another pivotal concept for Plato, around which he develops his theory of

the ideal social order in The Republic. The Republic is presented as a Socratic dialogue, which means it is written as a narrative with Socrates as a main character, who is arguing with other characters whose contributions serve to further Socrates’ opportunity to expound on his theories of Justice. Essentially, through this method of presentation, Plato presents his interpretations of Socrates’ teaching, including (we may presume) Plato’s own teachings and theories placed in the mouth of his mentor within the text. Without summarizing the text, some of the important theoretical developments include: The Forms and the ultimate purpose toward which humans endeavor: This purpose is called humankind’s end or “telos” (τελοσ).2 The highest Form is the Form of the Good, which represents the ultimate telos in Plato’s system. This Good is achievable only through the intellect, which alone can apprehend the Forms. Lesser good is also manifest in lesser things. A famous illustration of this is Plato’s parable of the Cave. Succinctly, the cave is the realm of ordinary human experience, wherein humans are chained inside a cave and can see shadows dancing on the wall, which they perceive as reality. The Philosopher, literally “lover of wisdom,” escapes the chains and can see the source of the light, which produces the shadows within the cave. He (a product of his time, Plato doesn’t posit the possibility of female philosophers) follows the light to its source and emerges from the cave to apprehend the Good, which is the ultimate human telos, providing a blinding and brilliant light that, at first, he is unable to see clearly because of his lifelong dwelling in the shadows of the cave. After a period of adjustment, he is able to see the Good clearly and endeavors to go back into the cave to enlighten the denizens of the shadow world within. Attempting to turn their heads away from the shadows to the source of the light and lead them out of captivity into the light outside the cave, the Philosopher finds the inhabitants obdurate and belligerent. Such, apparently, is the plight of the truly enlightened ☺. However, this is also why only the Philosopher is truly fit to rule in the ideal society. Socratic Method: A dialogical approach in which Socrates questions complex ideas by breaking them down into simpler and simpler ideas until he has arrived at an unarguable concept from which he then builds back up to his defensible definition of the complex idea. Despite exhibiting a deep wisdom, Socrates’ assumes a position of having no knowledge as

1 For a quick primer on Manichean philosophy/theology, see: http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/09591a.htm 2 The root of teleology, a branch of ethics concerned with the intended purpose and consequences of actions, or of human nature, more generally (this is a very broad definition). For more information on teleology, see the Westminster Dictionary of Christian Ethics excerpt in today’s additional documents folder.

a means of questioning his dialogical partners. Breaking down the complex concepts, hapless victims of the master undermine their own unsophisticated definitions of complex concepts by refuting them in their definitions of the simple concepts on which the complex concept is founded. Only after Socrates and his interlocutors have agreed on basic principles will Socrates then reconstruct a feasible definition of the complex concept (such as Justice in The Republic), which he then further problematizes to demonstrate only a best answer rather than a definitive one. Plato presents justice from this standpoint. Excellence: Plato develops a contention that knowledge as wisdom sees things as they are (think of the illustration of the cave above). In this argument, Philosophers have wisdom, which is required as a condition of and, therefore, is greater than Justice. Experience is key to acquisition of knowledge and its transformation into wisdom. The Philosopher combines both experience and wisdom with the third element of argument to achieve sound judgment. Since these three excellences (excellence in Plato is akin to virtue in Aristotle) are combined in the Philosopher, his is the most excellent life. These three excellences are part of the rational soul, which is the honored part in Plato’s schematic of the soul, belonging to the head, as the soul is mapped on the body. The appetitive parts of the soul are less honored. Appetites are like opinions, they are less excellent—bad, but not evil—and should be subordinated to reason (not inform it—as in “now is the most reasonable time to eat” rather than “I’m hungry, let’s eat”). Within this system, excellence is a character of function (distinguishing Plato’s understanding from Aristotle’s virtues, which are habituated characteristics, based on prudent choices). By harming a horse, for example, you decrease it’s excellence in Plato’s system. The same is true of a person. So, if the soul’s function is to sustain life, it cannot perform this function if deprived of its excellence, which Plato describes as justice. Plato’s four excellences (comparable to Aristotle’s list of virtues) are wisdom (close to divine), courage, self-‐discipline, and justice (last 3 are close to the corporal realm). The Mapping of the Soul and the Central Argument of The Republic: This mapping of the soul onto the body forms the core of The Republic, wherein Plato’s ideal society is a macrocosmic representation of the ideally ordered human person. The citizens of this city are essentially victims of the noble lie, a myth that the rulers of the city promulgate to provide order to the republic. The myth states that the gods placed metals in the blood of each citizen. Some were born with gold in their blood, some silver, some bronze, and some iron. These correspond to the rulers, the guardians, the artisans, and the farmers, and also to the soul as wisdom, courage, self-‐discipline, and justice. Knowledge is exercised on behalf of the whole, with no particular interest in mind. This is present only in the Gold person, the Philosopher King (the intellect part of the soul). Courage—right judgment about what is to be feared— is represented in the Silver person, the Guardian Soldier (the spirited component of the soul). Self-‐discipline results in harmony “concord,” and exists only when the desires are kept in check. This is present in all parts, whereas the first two are not present in the Bronze or Iron person who is best fit for the working classes (the appetitive components of the soul). Justice represents excellence in the ordering of society/self. Each person/part must perform their specific role, and mind their own business (i.e., not trying to do the role of another). In microcosmic view, individuals have a hierarchy of the soul, with wisdom as supreme, then courage, then self-‐discipline (which

not only includes temperance, but also the justice aspect of knowing “one’s place” or tending one’s own business. Pure Justice is an internal state of concord within the well disciplined self.

According to this model, good society will make good people, and the good of society is dependent on a good type of government. It is inappropriate to engage in deep relationships between classes. Particularly in marriage, the metals shouldn’t mix (this is an extrapolation). Regardless of intelligence, station is determined by class and equality of class is required for suitability in marriage as their offspring will be of the same class rather than a confused metallurgic hybrid. A citizen is one who participates in society according to his right and dutiful place. The goodness and excellence of the citizen, like justice, lies in each functioning in their given role to their best ability and without seeking to act in the role of another. While there is an order to society, all play their part and are of equal importance. This being said, the Gold/Ruler’s noble lie of the ‘metals’ helps those of lesser intellect better understand how/why society is as it is. Metaphysical Justice: In the final book of Plato’s Republic, Book X, Plato takes his justice model to a metaphysical level. Through Socrates’ Myth of Er, Plato describes his belief regarding the immortality of the soul, the thousand-‐year journey of the soul in the afterlife, reincarnation according to the wisdom and justice of one’s choices on the return journey to the earth, and the message sent back with Er from the afterlife to guide the living. The path of virtue according to this last book can be an ever-‐ascending spiral through countless lives, leading one into higher and higher states of the ultimate Good. Even a quick read of this last chapter might give some insight into Augustine’s theology as a Neoplatonist—great stuff! But I’ll leave that to those of you with enough time and interest to crack open this great primary source.

In a nutshell, Plato’s ethics revolve around the Good as the ultimate telos of human existence, which is described by excellence in wisdom, courage, self-‐discipline, and justice in the well-‐ordered soul and body, ruled by reason within the given confines of who one is capable of being (one does as one is, vs. Aristotle’s one is as one does… but that’s next). Aristotle (384-322 BCE): Aristotle was born in Macedon in 384 BCE (about 40 years after Plato) to Nicomachus, a member of the royal Macedonian court (Aristotle’s son was also named Nicomachus—Nichomachean Ethics is named for one or both of them). Greeks did not consider Macedonians to be Greek, regarding them as foreign invaders as they (under Alexander the Great) conquered the Greek cities in Europe and Asia (as well as the Persian Empire). This caused some turbulence for Aristotle, since he spent most of his adult life in Athens, yet was never an Athenian citizen. He studied under Plato in the Academy for twenty years (from 367 BCE until Plato’s death in 347 BCE). After completing his education, Aristotle founded his own school in 325 at the Lyceum in Athens, where he lectured and composed most of his written works. An unbroken line of successors maintained his philosophical school until 86 BCE, when the history becomes less certain. It is thought that the school was at least sporadically operated until Justinian shut down all (“pagan”) philosophical schools in Athens in the sixth century CE.

Although a student of Plato’s, Aristotle disagreed with Plato’s concentration on the Forms as disembodied universals of which particulars are but a shadow representation. He also disagreed on the telos or end (i.e., goal) of human existence—Plato insisted that the ultimate end is the Form of the Good, and Aristotle insisted that the good is too evasive and subjective to be a universal end, but that all can realistically be said to strive toward eudaimonia (ευδαιµονια), frequently translated as “happiness,”3 which for the enlightened strikes a balance between extremes through habituation of the virtues (which some modern ethicists argue are themselves subjective and culturally influenced).

For Aristotle, there are three kinds of goods: external goods, goods of the soul, and

goods of the body. Goods of the soul are the best because eudaimonia is an activity of the soul. Eudaimonia is the complete end, the best good; it is never instrumental for something else. A good human will function well by using his or her rationality excellently/virtuously in a complete life: This is eudaimonia.

As opposed to Plato’s dialogical Socratic method of inquiry, Aristotle’s surviving teachings come to us through his students’ notes on his lectures and are rather dry and linear as a result. He teaches that actions in accord with virtue are pleasant by nature, and, therefore, that the virtuous person’s life is eudaimonia in itself. External goods are also needed for eudaimonia (some examples from Nicomachean Ethics include: resources, friends, wealth, power, beauty, good birth, and good children). In effect, eudaimonia comes from cultivating virtue, plus adequate external goods, which for the highest eudaimonia requires a certain amount of luck, by Aristotle’s reckoning. The happy life is the life in accord with virtue; and the more serious and excellent the activity, the more superior it is, and, therefore, the more characteristic of eudaimonia. The highest eudaimonia is in the highest virtue, which is the understanding of the highest things, the divine. Aristotle thus arrives at the same end as Plato (though by different reasoning) in asserting that philosophy is the happiest/most pleasant activity.

Also paralleling Plato’s discussion of political science, Aristotle asserts that the goal

of political science is to make good, virtuous, happy citizens. However, rather than a Form of ideal society shaping ideal citizens, Aristotle insists that a good politician will put the most effort into instilling virtue into the citizens—though a good politician must still know the soul and study virtue, which makes the philosopher still sound suspiciously like the best candidate for the job. Good people will make a good society (note this reversal from Plato’s teachings). Agreeing with Plato, Aristotle too compares the State to the organism. Both have the same ends of eudaimonia and virtue. All community is established for a good—and the state for the highest good. Within this theory, for Aristotle, education of children is essential to the development and right ordering of virtue, and, therefore, universal education for children ought to be provided by the state.

Virtues are a good state of character, which cause good functioning. Actions must be

voluntary to warrant merit or demerit; therefore, where virtue and vice are within our

3 Literally, eudaimonia translates to “the state of having a well spirit,” or more simply “well-being.” As Happiness does not provide enough nuance for Aristotle’s use, I will use eudaimonia throughout.

power, they are voluntary. A virtuous person will take pleasure in doing the right thing, if one does not take pleasure in doing right, then one is not virtuous. Similar again to Plato, Aristotle focuses on reason as the highest and appropriate ruling power of the human person. Virtue is a mean as defined by reason, i.e., as a prudent person would define it. A virtue is a mean between two vices, one of excess, one of deficiency. Bravery is the mean in matters of fear and confidence; we fear bad things, especially death, and even more so death in war. Rashness and cowardice are the excess and deficiency of bravery. Some actions (i.e., murder) do not admit of a mean; they cannot be done well, only wrongly.

Also like Plato, Aristotle espouses a division of the soul into the rational

(practical/deliberative, and theoretical/speculative) and non-‐rational (nutritive and appetitive) parts. The divisions of virtue match these divisions of the soul. The rational virtues are the virtues of thought (or intellectual virtues), the non-‐rational (but capable of obeying reason) ones are the virtues of character (or moral virtues). Virtues of thought arise from teaching, virtues of character arise by habituation:

-‐ Prudence is the rational virtue by which we can find the mean in the moral virtues. -‐ Temperance and bravery (fortitude) are the virtues of the non-‐rational part (bravery

concerns pain, and temperance pleasure). -‐ Justice is virtue in relation to another person, and is discussed in terms of

distributive justice (those getting more or less according to who deserves more or less; it involves geometric mathematical proportion) and rectificatory or transactional justice (which involves returning situations to equality, restoratively, or in equal exchange). Essentially, justice is the mean between doing injustice and suffering injustice. It is worse to do injustice than to suffer it.

(NB. I am not offering a complete exposition of Aristotle’s virtues as they are not all necessary to our understanding of virtue theory.)

Of the vices, two, incontinence and intemperance, are important as they distinguish between one who knows what is right (but gives in, due to strong feeling/desire, leading to undesirable conditions of sleep, madness, or drunkenness, which are later regretted—incontinence), and one who actually believes s/he is doing right and has no regret (intemperance). The latter is bestial—acts like an animal—and is related to disease, it is beyond incontinence or vice. Bestiality is less grave than vice but more frightening, for the best part is not corrupted but rather totally absent.

For Aristotle, discussion of companionship is not a matter decided by the state, as for Plato, and bears special significance as Aristotle teaches that justice increases with friendship. Friendship, he teaches, is more about loving than being loved. It equalizes unequals, forms community, and allows good people to assist in the habituation of virtue by preventing error in one another (complementarity). Friends are the greatest external good, they are another of yourself. In friendship, the virtuous grow in virtue, one learns “what is noble from noble people” (NE IX.12.1172a1–14). The friendship of man and woman combines all the forms of friendship: Natural (as exhibited in nature, inherent to

the family, and available to all humans), complementary (as exhibited in human society), utile (serves both natural and social utility), and pleasurable.

Finally, metaphysically, Aristotle doesn’t elaborate a personal cosmological theory

but does assert that eudaimonia is by virtue and wisdom, and that the gods witness this truth, being supremely happy and virtuous and wise.

While Aristotle’s principle students were a small upper-‐class minority in high-‐

society Athens, he outlines a virtue ethics in Nicomachean Ethics that has been expanded upon, commented upon, and discussed for over two-‐and-‐a-‐half thousand years. Aristotle gave rise to Aquinas, who expanded upon Aristotle’s system of virtues and expanded on their application. Also, Aristotle’s development of Natural Law theory, as well as the virtues, speaks to the human condition in compelling ways. The virtues’ purpose in the development of eudaimonia and wholeness for the human person is more important to Aristotle’s ethics than are the descriptions of each individual virtue. As Plato believed that the excellent person is one who performs excellently within their given role—essentially “you do what you are”—Aristotle conversely taught that the excellent person is one who chooses excellent ends and behaves excellently to achieve them—essentially “you are what you do.”

Both Plato and Aristotle are teleologists, believing in an ultimate telos or “end” of human existence. In matters of ethics and justice, a familiar question, “do the ends justify the means or do the means justify the ends?,” points to two systems of ethics. Teleology looks at the desired end sought in the actions—if the end is good, then the intention is good; but this is not universal since one cannot knowingly act viciously in pursuit of a good end and claim that it justifies one’s actions. Deontology by contrast looks at right action. This is the ‘means justify the ends’ argument and is typically equated with following law regardless of the outcome. Again this is not black and white—no one would suggest (in a famous WWII example by Hegel) that someone sheltering Jews in their home ought not to lie to an officer of the Third Reich, who is doing a door to door search and asks if there are any Jews hidden there. We’ll look at this in more detail later when we entertain the discussion of relational ethics as deontological, as teleological, or as a third way.

Jumping forward four centuries, Jesus and Paul kick off our introduction to Christian ethics. The extra resource for this week: “Mark in Summary” is intended to be a companion to the next section. It is a brief review of Mark’s gospel pointing out particular areas that give us hints toward establishing a Kingdom ethics drawing on Christ’s life and teachings as presented in Mark’s gospel. Jesus in Mark: Mark’s gospel is compelling both in its content and its delivery. While this gospel may be the shortest and may lack some of the more elaborate descriptions of the other gospels, what it provides is fittingly called ευαγγελιον—it is “good news” particularly in the sense of a war report from the front lines of Jesus work in ministry. The urgency of Mark’s gospel sets the tone for the imminence of God’s Kingdom, which is the keystone of Christ’s ministry and teaching. It also sets up the reader with expectation for the

destination—what is Jesus constantly rushing toward throughout this gospel? The answer seems to be Jerusalem, but the original conclusion to Mark’s gospel unveils his true intention—the frantic drive toward Jerusalem is more about the constant expectations of Christ’s disciples than it is about Jesus actually rushing toward anything. Throughout Mark’s gospel, we see the disciples as companions, friends, and sharers of Christ’s ministry; yet they constantly seem to misapprehend Christ’s purpose. This comes to a head in the last few chapters of Mark. Peter rebukes Jesus for betraying everyone’s expectations by predicting his own death—‘how could Jesus die if he is to be the Messiah we expect him to be and take David’s throne in Jerusalem?’4 The disciples can’t cast out a demon at the foot of the mountain of the transfiguration. Seeming to rebuke the crowd for their lack of faith, it is more likely that Jesus is rebuking his faithless disciples who can’t cast out the demon because it can only be cast out through prayer. After being granted the authority by Jesus to cast out demons, they failed to give God the glory, failed to ask in prayer for God to work through them, and sought to cast out the demon by their own power, which they clearly lacked. Leaving from that encounter the disciples argue about who is the greatest. James and John ask Jesus to give them places of honor at his right and left hand when he takes the throne of David in Jerusalem—which offends the other disciples who also seek places of temporal power in a physical kingdom. Arriving at Jerusalem, Jesus carefully fulfills the prophetic description of how Messiah will come, but then he turns around and leaves the city. Twice. On the third day, he teaches in the temple, overcomes the challenges of the temple authorities, and leaves again. Judas has enough of Jesus’ betrayal of everyone’s expectations and turns him over to the authorities. Jesus tells his disciples he’ll meet them in Galilee after he is raised from the dead. Judas brings the authorities to Gethsemane, and Jesus is apprehended and killed. At the tomb on the morning of the resurrection, the women are told by an angel to tell the disciples that Jesus awaits them in Galilee. They flee the scene and are too afraid to tell anyone what they’ve seen. This is where the gospel of Mark likely ended originally, and it is here that we encounter Mark’s parting brilliance. The message to the disciples is essentially to go back to the beginning of the journey and start again. The imminence of God’s Kingdom is the true urgency of Christ’s ministry, but only when the disciples understand that the destination is not Jerusalem (that Jerusalem is, in fact, not important at all) will they finally understand the Messiah that Jesus actually intended to be—and the mission and ministry they were challenged to carry on after Jesus’ departure from the earth. What does Mark tell us of Jesus’ ethics?

We could say that Jesus is a teleologist, locating the ultimate end of human existence in the Kingdom of God, but closer to the mark might be a variation on some of the more recent decades’ feminist ethics that talk of an ethics of relational embodiment and care. It is clear that the Kingdom of Heaven is key to Christ’s understanding of what is moral, and what ought to guide us as an ethics of creation as we face decisions and seek the 4 Remember that the expected messiah was to reclaim the Davidic throne in Jerusalem, expelling Jewish oppressors, ushering in an unprecedented time of peace and prosperity, and was to rule in power, honor, and glory. By Jesus’ reinterpretation of God’s Kingdom, Christian ethics has taken the interpretation that Paul took in understanding (or perhaps MISunderstanding) God’s Kingdom to be about the afterlife rather than about this life. Thus much of Christian ethics tends to look only toward the eschatological hope as telos… which I don’t think Jesus intended.

good/appropriate response in a world where little, if anything, is truly black and white. His underlying question in approaching encounters with others in his own life and ministry seems to be: What is the compassionate and loving response that, at the same time, demonstrates the inexhaustible abundance of God’s Kingdom? The answer is sometimes correcting the expectations of those relying on tradition, rather than faith, to guide their actions in the world; it is frequently challenging the systems of domination and oppression that characterized his world from basic family structures all the way up to institutions of religion and state; but, it is always seeking to bring the Kingdom of God to life in the world around him as an example of how we are to love one another, serve one another, and of the inexhaustible love and forgiveness of God that is freely offered to all of creation. It is a kingdom that can never be possessed, but is anyone’s to give away. Let’s look at those underlined sections of “Mark in Summary” (in the week’s additional resources folder) and see how Jesus’ ethics of creation takes shape. Let’s go to another town so I can spread the message—that’s what I came to do.

Jesus’ call is one to action—it is an ethics based in how we respond to God’s call to us in the world. Prayer and respite are essential to our own self-‐care, but the work of faith is one of action. We may recall that Aristotle also believed “human good…is an activity of the soul in accord with virtue.” Eudaimonia is tied to action in much the same way that the Kingdom of God is—it is in a perpetual state of becoming dependent on our actions in the world. I didn’t come for those who don’t need me, but for those who do.

Jesus’ ethics of creation is a relational ethics that does not force itself on anyone, but invites participation through compassionate and open invitation. He will offer correction to those seeking to undermine his teachings or seeking to betray God’s intentions for humankind, but his main emphasis in his ministry and teaching is to draw those seeking a relationship with God into precisely that relationship.

The Kingdom of God represents Christ’s method as well as the reality he seeks to unveil for his followers. It is the world as it could be if we would love as God loves; it is the world as it ought to be. Living his life as an example of what the Kingdom of God is “like,” Christ invites each person he encounters in his ministry to take up the challenge to love this Kingdom into reality. Jesus teaches to each as they are able to hear—his message is for everyone.

Unlike Aristotle, who believed that the greatest eudaimonia was reserved only for those at the upper echelons of society, Christ taught and demonstrated that the Kingdom is for everyone. In fact, those most disadvantaged in society were to be the first inheritors of the Kingdom as they were the most in need of it. They will also be the best equipped to “enter the Kingdom”—as they have experienced it being given to them, they are best equipped to give it to others. It follows almost without saying, if we jump forward a bit in the summary, that Children—listed amongst the most helpless, voiceless, vulnerable, and

weak in society—are most naturally those to whom the Kingdom of God should belong. In fact, he goes on to say that whoever doesn’t receive the Kingdom of God as a child will not enter it. Taken straight from my summary, if children have never known the love of God, the abundance of God’s care, the unconditional acceptance and forgiveness of God, how will they ever learn to pass the Kingdom along to others with whom they come into contact?

Following from teaching-‐as-‐each-‐may-‐best-‐understand, Jesus does this in different ways throughout the gospels. In the example of the rich young man in Mark 10, Christ’s response isn’t a command for all people to sell their stuff, rather it is for this SPECIFIC young man who will learn what he lacks by doing this. Jesus’ challenge to this young man, and to others in other similar encounters, addresses what is in the way for individual people who want to develop a relationship with God and can’t. Look at it as a map to addressing our own stumbling blocks rather than as a concrete teaching applicable to everyone. Went out to proclaim the Kingdom.

Jesus is not just a teacher of his ethics of care—he actively models it as a living example of how we are to conduct ourselves in the world as agents of God’s Kingdom. God’s teachings vs. human traditions.

Jesus’ ethics seeks to replace human understanding of virtue with God’s understanding of it. As such, tradition needs correcting when it strays from God’s intention for human behavior.

-‐ Nothing outside a person defiles them—it is what comes from within us that defiles. -‐ Peter rebuked for having his eyes on earthly things (the wrong kind of kingdom). -‐ Stop trying to claim the glory, save yourself, and profit from the world. Let it go and

be a part of bringing God’s Kingdom into the world. -‐ This kind can only be cast out through prayer (i.e., “you, my disciples, tried to do it

yourselves instead of asking God to work through you”). -‐ Who is the greatest? The one who serves all.

Son of man came to serve, not to be served.

Jesus presents us with an ethics of service where one of the underlying questions of any ethical encounter ought to be “does this serve only me, selfishly, or does it honor the needs and best interests of those around me as well?” It is a safeguard against hoarding God’s abundance to ourselves rather than sharing it (think of the parable of the farmer who tears down his barn to build a new bigger one so he can store up his abundance for himself rather than sharing it with those in need). This aligns well with Aristotle’s virtue of temperance. When you pray, forgive everyone so that you may be forgiven (i.e., if you can’t forgive others, you can’t accept God’s unconditional forgiveness for yourself)

Jesus teaches an ethics of reciprocity and compassion. All the abundance of God’s

Kingdom is ours to command in service of others; yet, if in our hearts we cannot forgive and show love and compassion for others, we shut ourselves off from being able to accept God’s unconditional and inexhaustible love, forgiveness, and compassion for us. This ties into Christ’s exhortation to repentance—it is not that God needs our repentance in order to forgive us (we are already forgiven!), rather we need repentance in order to accept God’s forgiveness. Likewise, we must also be capable of forgiving others in order to be able to accept God’s forgiveness. Just as those who have never experienced being given the Kingdom will find it hard to give the Kingdom to others; so, too, those unable to forgive others will find it hard to accept God’s forgiveness (and by extension, to receive God’s Kingdom). We are by nature relational beings. Christ’s ethics recognizes this fact and teaches us to embrace it.

Toward this end, Christ’s recognition of the two greatest commandments—Love God and Love one’s neighbor as oneself—may be seen as key to bringing about God’s Kingdom. Seeing oneself in the other and reaching out to them with care, compassion, and understanding is central to Christ’s message. Only at the end of Mark’s gospel are the disciples finally ready to start over with a full understanding of this message: The journey, the breaking through of God’s Kingdom everywhere we went, the lives changed forever by our simple encounter, touch, words we shared, this is what is truly important! The Kingdom is relational—it’s not a throne, rather it’s a state of being that I now pass into your capable hands to continue loving into the reality of this suffering world. So too, we are invited as Christ’s followers, disciples, brothers and sisters, fellow children of God to continue that ministry and mission to the world around us in our lives. Matthew’s Jesus: Taking these lessons from Mark, Mathew’s Sermon on the Mount elaborates on the condition of our hearts as we engage in Kingdom ethics in the world around us. Each of the early pairings in the sermon (the “Beatitudes”) pairs the condition of the human heart, spirit, or body with a reason those in that condition will be blessed. Here Christ seems to speak of the Justice of the Kingdom of God. This element was not as prominent in Mark’s gospel; but, here it seems to take a central role in Christ’s teachings—essentially, those who are currently in need or are already serving others at their own expense will be blessed with what they need. Drawing the understanding of the Kingdom in from our discussion of Mark, this points to an ever widening spiral of those experiencing the Kingdom of God at the hand of others and then going out and spreading the Kingdom in return. Christ’s sense of justice goes well beyond the traditional understanding of law, speaking directly to the state of the heart and soul of the human person. Not just murder, but anger also draws the heart away from God. Adultery starts in the heart—one who looks at another with lust in their hearts is already starting to put up a barrier between themselves and God. Matthew 5: 38-‐41 speaks to Just resistance. This collection of Jesus’ wisdom directly addresses the systems of domination and oppression in his time and are teachings of subversive peaceful resistance to the powers that be:

-‐ As described by Walter Wink (in The Powers that Be), Jews were not Roman citizens, and were seen as barely better than slaves. A backhand is the blow that would be

received on the right cheek, a fitting strike for someone of lower social standing to receive from an oppressor. By turning the other cheek, two things are happening. First, the one struck is not submitting to the striker, but defiantly invites a second strike. Second, the striker must decide variously to strike with the palm (a strike only appropriate for one of equal social standing, which would recognize the Jew as an equal), to strike with the left hand (a serious taboo based on the use of the left hand for “unclean” tasks, which would disgrace the striker more than demeaning the one struck), or to walk away from the encounter humiliated by their failure to successfully demonstrate their power over the one struck. Put another way by my colleague Sean Gross, the encounter makes the aggressor acknowledge the humanity of the powerless person in his/her willingness to be humiliated again, which, in turn, belittles the one seeking to dominate the other through oppressive violence.

-‐ Giving of the tunic (the shirt worn against the skin) in addition to the coat (the outer garment) humiliates the one filing suit as it renders the first party naked and points the blame for their nakedness at the one filing suit. Also, as Dan Harrington suggests, it ties back to Mosaic Law in which one holding a tunic “in pledge” must return it before sundown, turning the tables on the one filing suit and putting them in the position of legal obligation to the one originally sued.

-‐ Walking the extra mile refers to the conscription power granted to Roman soldiers to force lower class citizens to carry their packs (for lack of a better word) for up to a mile. By carrying them an extra mile, the soldier is placed in a position of breaking the law and risks punishment. Additionally, it takes the forced conscription and transforms it into willing service (also suggested by Harrington), again placing the oppressor in debt to the oppressed.

These few examples tie into the ethics of resistance and transformation of social

order as they take the evil intended and turn it back on the perpetrator rather than impacting the state of the victim’s heart. “Do not resist an evildoer” may be better translated in Luke’s sense of not returning evil for evil, but in both cases what is intended is that we not take an eye for an eye or a tooth for a tooth (i.e., returning evil with evil in kind), but rather respond out of a resistance that demonstrates the injustice without taking it into ourselves and perpetuating it. This manner of response strives for a balance in justice that elevates both parties rather than denigrating both.

Matthew’s telling of Jesus’ teachings, parables, and healings offers a slightly different perspective on them as well. There is a different kind of urgency in Matthew’s gospel, reflected in Christ’s emphasis on the state of the heart, on justice, and on a true relationship with God. Matthew 12-‐13 additionally offers a different look at the disciples, who seem to be just as lacking in understanding as portrayed in Mark, yet are more highly esteemed by Jesus who explains everything to them in private. In chapter 18, Matthew describes the responsibility that comes with proclaiming the gospel and spreading God’s Kingdom. Again, he speaks to the condition of the heart, and, particularly, in cautioning that what we bind on earth will be bound in heaven and what we loose on earth will be loosed in heaven. God forgives unconditionally, abundantly, recklessly, but in order to receive that forgiveness (i.e., to be able to accept it), our hearts must be free from holding the evil

perpetrated by others—which means we must be willing to forgive almost as recklessly as Christ demonstrates in the parable of the 10k talents (Matt 18:23-‐35). It is interesting to note that the typical pay for a day’s labor in the field was one denarius. If one worked and saved every day’s wages for an entire year, one would have earned a single talent; so, to a day laborer in the fields, the talent represents a year’s wages. This means that the debt forgiven by the king was equal to ten thousand years’ wages, which—even if one could work for a hundred years—would still require 100 lifetimes to pay back. The debt owed to the forgiven slave by his fellow slave, in turn, was 100 denarii, or 100 day’s wages. Essentially, God’s justice looks first at the state of our own hearts, because it is here that a relationship is either forged with or estranged from God and one another. This highly relational aspect of Christ’s ethics is not changed from Mark’s gospel, but is amplified and elaborated upon in these parables. Luke’s Jesus: Luke’s Sermon on the Plain is also slightly different from Matthew’s Sermon on the Mount. I particularly appreciate his statement that “it is out of the abundance of the heart that the mouth speaks.”5 Luke demonstrates a similar concern for the state of the human heart and for the justice of the Kingdom of heaven that levels the playing field between all of God’s children. Luke adds the virtues of humility, generosity, and magnanimity to those of justice, compassion, love, forgiveness, courage, prudence, and temperance already explored in Matthew and Mark. While Jesus is not a virtue ethicist, it is easy to place them in Christ’s ethics, as they flow naturally from the daily practice of faith, relationship building, care, and the Kingdom ethics that strive to bring the overflowing abundance of God’s love for all of creation to the world through the hands and hearts of Christ’s followers.

I note that Alasdair MacIntyre (A Short History of Ethics) disagrees with me on the content and nature of Christ’s ethics. I adamantly disagree with his assertion that the Kingdom was expected by Christ to be a physical coming of the end times and that Jesus’ ethics were thus only to be taken as interim ethics. I feel, in this regard, that MacIntyre entirely misses the point of what the Kingdom of God refers to in Christ’s mission and ministry. I cannot wholly disagree, however, that this is how Paul viewed Christ’s message. It seems fairly clear from Paul’s writings that his Roman dualism impacted his understanding of Christ’s teachings, and that he did not only place a great distance between body and soul (the latter of which was the only source of good), but that he also projected this dualism onto Christ’s teachings and laid the foundation for Augustine’s radical split between spirit and flesh that has become indoctrinated into our inherited religious tradition. Sometimes cynically referred to as “Pie-‐in-‐the-‐sky-‐when-‐you-‐die,” the message that suffering in this life is tolerable because flesh ‘sucks’ (and so does life in the world), but that it is okay because the true reward for suffering without complaint comes in the afterlife is one that I think Jesus would oppose—along with Karl Marx, who famously referred to religion (particularly in this sense) as the opiate of the masses. In fact, I find this line of reasoning and faith to be contrary to Christ’s message and ethics as it suggests complacence in the face of the same injustice, domination, oppression, and persecution that Jesus spent his life railing against in all aspects of life. In this respect, I do agree with 5 Luke 6:45

MacIntyre that Paul’s is an interim ethics as we await the next life, which seems to be where Paul believes God’s Kingdom begins. But, I disagree that Paul believed it was so imminent that this life didn’t matter—there is too much of “running with patience the race” in Paul for him to literally believe Christ would be returning tomorrow (or next Tuesday at the latest). St. Paul of Tarsus (likely c.5-c.67 CE): Paul is an interesting contrast to Jesus. Paul writes to the established churches of Christ’s followers after Christ’s ascension (both those founded by Paul, and—as in the case of Romans—those founded by others); and it is interesting to note how different Paul’s perspective on ethics is from Christ’s—less than half a century after Christ walked the earth with his disciples. Romans and Ephesians in particular offer some rich material for mining a Pauline metaphysical virtue ethics:

From the beginning of the letter to the Romans, it is clear that Paul functions within a framework of natural law theory (Romans 1:20), and virtue. He quickly contends that those not in accord with natural law are filled with vice; and that by not accepting God’s kindness (which leads to repentance), one fills their heart with wrath.

Let’s take a quick bulleted summary of the first seven chapters as a means of highlighting some of the main points in Paul’s assessment of virtue, vice, natural law, and how these connect to faith, God’s eternal law, and salvation:

-‐ Those who live by the law without knowing it are righteous.

o Natural law is written on their hearts (Aquinas says this also, drawing on Paul perhaps to supplement Aristotle).

o Their uncircumcision becomes circumcision. -‐ Those who have the law and deny it are unrighteous (teach it yet don’t follow it).

o Hypocrisy. o Their circumcision becomes uncircumcision.

-‐ Circumcision as a symbol of righteousness under the law. o Righteousness outside the law = symbolic circumcision.

-‐ Through the law comes knowledge of sin. o All humankind is under sin and can’t be righteous apart from God’s grace in

Jesus Christ. o Jews and Greeks are equally unrighteous regardless of what they might say

against one another. -‐ Through Jesus comes justification by faith.

o Through this same faith comes fulfillment of the law. o Quite apart from works (which don’t justify or bring righteousness). o Comes to all people, not just circumcised.

" Abraham’s faith was accorded to him as righteousness before he was circumcised.

o So, too, as we have faith in Christ, it is our righteousness whether circumcised or not.

-‐ Chapter 5 boils down to virtue and vice.

o Vice comes through sin, comes through disobedience, and perpetuates to draw many into vicious behavior and lives.

o Virtue comes through faith, through obedience, and perpetuates to draw the faithful into virtuous behavior and lives.

-‐ Since through Christ we die to sin and are raised to God, the body of sin is destroyed. o So, don’t let sin exercise dominion over the body and make you obey its

passions (i.e., as in Aristotle and Plato, the rational part of the soul must rule over the appetitive part).

-‐ But, we mustn’t sin simply because we are no longer under the law. o Habituating sin makes us slaves to sin.

" Wages of sin is death. o Habituating righteousness makes us slaves to righteousness (i.e., to God).

" Free gift of God is eternal life in Jesus Christ. -‐ Married woman bound to her husband until he dies (divorce=adultery, but once he

dies she is free from the law concerning the husband). o Like this, believers in Christ have died to the law under which they were

formerly slaves to the passions and now are free to belong to Christ in righteousness.

-‐ The law is not sin, but without it I wouldn’t have known sin. o Law says don’t covet; so, sin makes me respond by coveting. (Bummer, eh?) o Law is spiritual. o I am flesh. o Law is good. o I am sinful. o My inmost self (mind/reason/spirit) delights in the law of God. o Members (body/flesh/passions/appetitive) belongs to the law of sin. o In my mind, I’m a slave to the law of God. o In my flesh, I’m a slave to the law of sin.

-‐ Those in Jesus are set free from the law of sin and death. o Came in “sinful flesh” to deal with sin and condemn it. o We walk accordingly not to the flesh, but to the spirit.

" Those who live according to the flesh set their minds on things of the flesh.

" Those who live according to the spirit set their minds on things of the spirit.

Taking in all that Romans has to offer, Paul is revealed as a metaphysical virtue

ethicist, pitting spirit against flesh in a cosmic battle between sin and righteousness. In many ways, the dualistic influences of Zoroastrianism on Roman culture (and understandings of faith and religion) seem very much to color his understanding of Christ’s gospel; and it is Paul that makes the Kingdom of heaven from the gospels into a metaphysical afterlife that is the promised bliss beyond this vale of tears. One of the major drawbacks of Paul’s approach is that it elevates the crucifixion (as atoning sacrifice) to the climax of Christ’s time on earth, detracting from the significance of Christ’s life, ministry, and teachings which point to the breaking through of God’s Kingdom in the here and now, brought about by our willingness to act on God’s physical call to us to be Christ’s hands and

heart in THIS world, here and now.

Paul is also, however, a paragon of faith whose tireless efforts to spread his understanding of the Gospel of Christ formed the critical nexus around which the Church grew into a global discipleship. In Romans 8:38-‐40, he declares his conviction that God’s love is absolute and inalienable, “For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

Yet, it seems that this love is extended in answer to the virtue of faith, which God confers at God’s own will—an infused virtue, as Thomas Aquinas would define it a few hundred years later (expanding on Aristotle’s catalog of virtues). I disagree with Paul here, but it seems that so does Paul himself, for he discusses the Gentiles in Rome being grafts onto the roots of the Jews, whom God first chose to be God’s children, and who will all yet be saved. It seems that perhaps his philosophy regarding who is to be saved and who is not is more about offering his teaching without attachment to whom amongst his listeners will heed God’s call, and rather to leave that up to God’s will—perhaps an authentic moment of humility undergirding Paul’s ministry. So, too, the Gentiles who have come to believe will be saved, and he exhorts them to “be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that you may discern what is the will of God—what is good and acceptable and perfect.”

Paul’s own list of beatitudes in chapter twelve reads like a list of virtues he exhorts his followers to develop and habituate. The virtues of authenticity, mindfulness, courage, love, compassion, justice, and friendship seem to characterize this section well. Chapter thirteen is Paul’s deeper exposition of the virtue of justice, in which we see elements from both Plato and Aristotle mixed in with imminent eschatological urgency. Chapter fourteen addresses temperance, compassion, and faith, particularly as applied to others around us since our behavior as believers also impacts others’ ability to have and develop a healthy relationship with God through faith.

Ephesians reiterates some of the same elements of virtue covered in Romans, highlighting, particularly: humility, faith, and egalitarian justice extended to all believers. In addition, Ephesians contains an exhortation to live an ethical life—“a life worthy of the calling to which you have been called” (Ephesians 4:1)—lived out in virtue (humility, gentleness, patience, love, peace, and unity), and making prudent use of the many gifts bestowed on the community by God. In this letter, Paul’s understanding of virtue (or pseudo Paul’s since the authorship of Ephesians is questionable) extends also to the community, which is to live in mutual cooperation, forgiveness, and relational interdependence, mutually supporting one another to abhor vice and cling to virtue as an example and imitation of God for all people. Along these same lines, in chapter five, the writer warns his followers to steer clear of those living in vice, and to have no part in their lifestyles—his final appeal, in this vein, is to the virtue of wisdom, which is to direct both the self and relationships with others. The rest of chapter five, as well as six, deals with some specifics of how to live virtuously as a community and closes in the customary farewell bidding from Paul and his entourage.

Where Jesus offers us a compassionate and faithful “Kingdom” ethics of embodied

and relational care for one another that seeks to bring the Kingdom of heaven to life in the here and now, Paul deviates from the mentality of bringing the Kingdom to life on earth and, instead, chooses to see (perhaps chooses isn’t the right word—believes?) the Kingdom as belonging to a heavenly realm only. This takes his ethics in a different direction since it is only those of faith that will ever see the Kingdom in Pauline theology. As such, our response to God’s free gift of grace in sacrificing Jesus to atone for our sins (which I also disagree with—it wasn’t God who needed Jesus to die in order to forgive humankind, it was humankind that needed Jesus to die before we could finally understand and accept the depths of God’s unconditional love and forgiveness for us) ought to be to live our lives no longer for sin (vice), but to live into the righteousness (virtue) with which we have been blessed through faith in Jesus Christ. Of course, to problematize this reading of Paul, he also concludes in Romans that sin is within the heart of the individual who acts. Despite all his polemics about virtue, vice, sin, and righteousness, it comes down to the heart of the believer and their relationship with God. If their actions erect barriers between themselves and God, it is accounted as sin. If their actions are in full view of God and cause no concern for them in their relationship to and with God, it isn’t. However, he still exhorts those stronger in their faith not to engage in behavior that will cause another Christian to sin because of their weakness of faith.

It is possible that Paul’s Roman upbringing influenced his understanding of Christ’s message—and I’m not sure he necessarily got the whole picture of what Jesus was seeking to accomplish. But, it is equally possible that he felt that for Gentiles to come to know and have faith in Jesus required a different approach—one they could better understand (a distinct possibility given that throughout Paul’s writings we can see that he wrote specifically to the needs of each individual community he addressed).

St. Augustine of Hippo (354-430): Augustine was born in 354 CE, in Tagaste, Numidia in North Africa (a three-‐century jump from Jesus and Paul, and a six-‐century jump from Plato and Aristotle). Augustine’s mother, Monica, was a Christian and his father, Patricious, was pagan and a leading local citizen. Monica is the only woman written about by name in Augustine’s works, and it is clear that he revered her throughout his life (granted, she gave him no other choice). Augustine was a brilliant student, and family and friends encouraged him to study for a career as a rhetorician. He preferred Latin to Greek, a fact that limited his exposure to writings from the Eastern half of the empire, but which also allowed him the early vacuum in which to begin to develop his own theories.

Augustine came to prominence during the split of the Roman Empire. Up to this point, much of the theology of the Church was coming from the East—Sts. Athanasius, Basil, and Gregory, and John Chrysostom were all fourth-‐century theologians before and during Augustine’s lifetime. With the dearth of Western theologians, the rise of Augustine to the office of Bishop, as well as his eloquence, sincerity, and intelligence, and his ferocity in defending what he believed to be the orthodox faith of the Church, translated much of his faith and teachings into the revered form of Doctrine at a time when upheaval might have otherwise dissolved or at least weakened the Western Church. In fact, perhaps largely due

to his brilliance, his teachings were the most influential in the church until the thirteenth century (nine centuries later), when Thomas Aquinas entered the scene. Until Augustine, theologians and philosophers alike contemplated citizens through an innately social conception of the human person. Augustine laid the groundwork for the conception of the modern person by addressing the individual in the intimate privacy of his own mind, body, and soul.

In reading his works, it is important to keep in mind that for Augustine, God alone is

ultimately real (the Form of being, if you will—he is a Neoplatonist after all). We can’t understand ourselves except from God’s point of view—God makes me intelligible to myself. We come to be and pass away, but God is eternal. God alone is to be enjoyed for his own sake. It is similarly important to keep in mind that Augustine’s first religious experience was with the Manicheans, who believed in a fundamental opposition between goodness and matter. In Manichean cosmology, the spiritual world was created by God (the true God of love and compassion, as known in the Christian Testament), and the material world was created by the demiurge—a lesser god (the creator god, as known in the Hebrew scriptures). Existence on earth is basically the battlefield between God and this demiurge, and one can never be sure who’s going to win. Each human soul is imprisoned in the body of flesh, which makes reproduction reprehensible (the Elect in Manichean theology took a vow of chastity so as to ensure that they would not entrap any more souls). Morality is of the spirit; so, if the flesh is weak, it is only to be expected, and may be attributed to alien forces of the flesh, rather than reckoned as damaging to the sprit itself. For this reason, Manichaeism was denounced by Christian as well as Pagan rulers as dangerous. While Augustine moved on from Manichaeism to Neoplatonism (which stressed the Forms of ultimate spiritual reality as vastly superior to the shadow representations of physical reality), his suspicion of bodily existence remained throughout his life and is evident in his pessimism about humankind in his writings. While he was familiar with Christianity, he struggled to find an intellectual challenge in Christianity until meeting Ambrose, and was finally baptized in 387, was subsequently ordained (it is said ‘against his will’) in 391, and was consecrated bishop of Hippo in 396, where he remained in service to the church until his death in 430.

Of the Christian scriptures, Paul captured Augustine’s particular attention. Paul’s assertion that all of human kind is enslaved to sin and only saved by the grace of God figures prominently in Augustine’s theology and teachings regarding Original Sin (which for Augustine is essentially an STD that shattered the original unity of reason and desire, and from whence concupiscence—disorderly desire—was born).

A principal influence on Martin Luther, Augustine’s teachings also largely influenced the Protestant Reformation in the high Middle Ages, and continue to live on in our shared traditions and doctrines of the church today.

History aside, I will readily admit that it is difficult for me to read someone’s work with so much self-‐loathing evident in their reflections, prayers, and teachings, and the fact of his apparent boyhood-‐abuse makes his adulthood-‐self-‐loathing that much more tragic to me. Augustine’s brilliance and lasting legacy is not specifically for his ethics. However, the

morality-‐laden guilt of his theology impacted the field of ethics as much as it did theology. I may disagree with much of his conception of the human-‐divine relationship, but his impact on history in both theology and ethics made him practically unassailable in the medieval Church (Aquinas treaded very lightly when contradicting Augustine, over eight centuries later); and, even today, he remains as a source of great authority, making him a force to be reckoned with regardless of our agreement or disagreement with some of his theories.

The Confessions gives us tremendous insight into the person Augustine became, and also demonstrates the roots of Augustine’s ethics in the ultimate Good as a telos for humankindand in the merit of developing excellence in both discovering and living into the authentic purpose of the self. Both of these concepts are Platonic in origin and are developed into seeking God as the ultimate Good, and the excellence of living through faith into the purpose we are called to by God. Augustine does not believe we are capable of living fully into God’s calling and grace in this life, but, as a reflection of the ultimate Good (Form of the Good) that we can apprehend in this lifetime—the life of faith allows us to achieve a measure of happiness in this life that will be perfected in the next.

The City of God was written in response to the sack of Rome in 410 CE by the Goths (which Augustine basically watched from his window) and represents the rich culmination of Augustine’s philosophy and theology. Watching the empire crumble around him, Augustine writes of the two orders of reality represented in the earthly city “of the flesh” (COG, 547) and the heavenly city “of the spirit” (ibid.). While humans are created to take part in both cities, many will never see the City of God, and although creation is Good by nature of God creating it, the diminishing of Good after the fall is evident in the earthly City of humankind.

Ethically, Augustine struggles in the COG with things like marriage and bodily existence. His background as a Manichean suggests that the physical body is to be rejected as evil (reproduction perpetuates this evil as it traps souls in matter and isn’t a nice thing to do). He takes a step back from this as a Christian—especially in light of the incarnation, but still struggles with life in the earthly city. He won’t go so far as to say that this life doesn’t matter, but he struggles to affirm it and still shows a clear preference for the afterlife. Within this model, virtue plays a role—but it seems more cautionary: In seeking and striving toward the Good, we’re to focus more on the fear of what displeases God than on what we are good at, or have achieved. Virtue is to serve God alone, not the end of human glory. Virtue is also positive when it rules the will toward God’s purpose and helps keep the vices at bay—the example of Theodosius as a virtuous ruler, characterized by justice and piety, is a strong argument in favor of Christian Rome at the end of Book V. Rome flourished before Christianity because of the pursuit of glory, honor, and power, which stem from living a life of virtue (these are “consequences of virtue not its antecedents” -‐ COG, 200). At the same time, these goals corrupt when the pursuit of them leads on the wrong path of private interest rather than common good, arriving at the moral corruption of the later, established, opulent Roman Empire. Why a non-‐Christian empire would flourish for so many centuries before seeking God, Augustine explained, is because Rome was to provide an example of law, order, and honor as a pale earthly shadow of the City of God. As an example of the extremes to which men will go to win glory and praise for

themselves, Rome also stood as an example for Christians that they should not boast in any of the lesser deeds they do to win glory for God (ibid., 207).

The moral significance of sin is that we are stuck in the earthly city and cannot access the city of God. Happiness comes from participation in God; and, had they not sinned, humans would have been happy forever (ibid., 444). But, Augustine believes that human nature was fundamentally changed because of sin. “So heinous was their sin that man’s nature suffered a change for the worse; and bondage to sin and inevitable death was the legacy handed on to their posterity” (ibid., 547). Cut off from God by our change in nature at the time of the fall, we no longer have access to true eudaimonia in this life. Augustine seems to struggle between wanting to blame flesh for all sin, and his faith that the flesh was and is good as God’s creation. Earlier in the text (Book V), he says sin is of the will since an evil will precedes evil action; and, again in chapter fourteen, he suggests that while we would like to blame it all on the body, it is not the body that precipitated the first sin, but the soul, which corrupted the body (which now tempts the spirit with the corrupted and sinful longings of the flesh).

The character of the will determines the quality of the emotions (COG 14.6); and, thus, emotions are good if people are good, bad if bad (14.8). Expanding on this thought, Augustine recognizes the summum bonum (highest good), to which we “refer all our actions, which we seek for its own sake, not for any ulterior end, and the attainment of which leaves us nothing more to seek for our happiness, as the ‘end’ [or telos of human existence]; everything else we desire for the sake of this, this we desire for itself alone” (ibid., 309). It is this Good which “conveys blessedness” (ibid.), but ultimately what this end is depends on what you love—is it God or is it ANYTHING else? Essentially, who and what we love determines which city will count us as citizens.

Similarly to Plato, Augustine concentrates more on the summum bonum than on the role of virtue. However, also like Plato, Augustine does recognize both virtue and vice. Virtue is seen as a shield against the vices (the worst of which is Pride). Virtues keep temptations in check, but life is not happy, and we are never rid of temptation, no matter how honorably we pursue virtue (evident in the model of the Roman Empire—first an example to the nations of honor and glory in pursuit of virtue, then as an example of iniquity in the comforts of the later empire). So, if life is not happy and we are never rid of temptation, why be moral? Unless we act in accord with the highest good, we cannot hope to be happy, either relatively happy as in the city of earth, or truly happy as in the city of God. Our health depends on our will being in accord with that of God. The highest happiness in this earthly city is hope in the resurrection/eternal life, is a gift from God through grace, is enjoyment of God—love of God for God’s own sake as an end, not as a means. St. Thomas Aquinas (1225-1274): Taking another eight-‐century leap forward, Thomas Aquinas was born in a hilltop castle between Rome and Naples in 1225. From a young age he was well educated, starting at the Montecassino monastery at age five, and transferring from there to the University of Naples when politics at Montecassino became tumultuous.

In Naples, Thomas came into contact with the Dominican order of Preachers, and with the newly translated Aristotelian works (Latin), both of which would claim his imagination and his lifelong work. Against his family’s wishes, he became a Dominican, and continued his studies at Paris and then Cologne. It was in Cologne that he met Albert the Great, whose passion for Aristotle became Thomas’ own. Thomas returned to Paris to complete his studies, becoming a Master, and taught in the Faculty of Theology, occupying one of the Dominican chairs for three years before moving on to Italy, where he spent ten years working with the mobile papal court at several Dominican houses, including Rome. He returned to Paris for another three years to address the controversy over Heterodox Aristotelianism and was then assigned to Naples. Thomas suffered from some mental instabilities; and, on his way to the Council of Lyon, he fell ill. He died about twenty kilometers from home, in the Cistercian abbey at Fossanova, on March 7, 1274. He remains one of the most influential Roman Catholic Theologians to have ever lived; and until the middle of the twentieth century (Vatican II), only theology written from his perspective was permitted in the RC Church. His theology and ethics are profoundly influenced by Aristotle, whose works in Latin translation reintroduced the relation between faith and reason to medieval theological thought, particularly for Thomas. In his work to address the controversy over Heterodox Aristotelianism, he countered the Averroistic interpretations of Aristotle (which adopted literal translations of Aristotle’s beliefs concerning the eternity of the world and the unity of the intellect), and also fought against the Franciscan tendency to reject Greek philosophy to keep Aristotle in the new universities. The result was a marriage of faith and philosophy, which survived until the rise of the new physics in the next century. (Adapted from the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy)

In brief, Thomas believes that as God only created that which was good, all beings are therefore good. Evil is a failure in goodness, which is not attributable to God, but to the creature. Since beings are good and yet capable of failing in Good, they should practice good behavior as a means of habituating virtue toward the end of perfection and the ultimate Good of union with God. Thomas outlines three forms of virtue toward this end:

-‐ Intellectual: The virtues pertaining to reason. -‐ Moral: The virtues pertaining to the appetites (irascible), which are the mean

between deficiency and excess. -‐ Theological: The virtues pertaining to supernatural happiness (only available

through God’s grace—they are Faith, Hope, and Charity).

The Cardinal virtues (i.e., the most central/core virtues) are Prudence (intellectual—right thinking), Justice (goes between intellect and appetite as reason applied outside oneself), Temperance (moral—as the limiting of appetites in subjection to reason), and Fortitude (moral—as the obedience of the irascible to reason in times of fear—i.e., courage).

The right application of reason, under which the appetites are kept in order, is spelled out in Law: The Eternal Law is the law of the created order, set in place by God’s eternal reason before time, and is knowable (though not completely/perfectly) to all through its reflection in the natural order, which takes part in the eternal law, and on which

the eternal law is ‘imprinted’ as Natural Law. From this natural law comes human understanding of good and evil via our participation in God’s eternal law. Extrapolating our own reason out to matters more specifically pertaining to human society, Human Law speculates on Natural Law to address specific human concerns necessary for governance of society. Since Natural Law and Human Law both apply to external and observable applications of reason, the Divine Law is necessary for the inner workings of the mind and body, not externally addressed by the other forms of Law. According to Aquinas, the Divine Law (made known to us in Scripture) addresses the condition of the mind, heart, and soul in purely internal matters known only to the individual and to God, so as to ensure that no sin goes unexamined or unpunished—external or internal. The purpose of human law in particular is to guide humans toward virtue. Since not all are virtuous, not all evil things are forbidden, but are gradually given up as an individual becomes more virtuous (some things not forbidden to the non virtuous would be unthinkable to the virtuous). Laws are said to be just when they are established and directed toward the end of the common good. They are unjust when they are contrary to human or divine good—the former of which may be followed anyway if they avoid scandal or disturbance, but the latter of which may not be followed as we are first subject to God before human law.

It is important to note when discussing Aquinas that, while he is an Aristotelian, he is first and foremost a Christian. His understanding of virtue is that it is a lifelong process of habituation, like Aristotle believed, but at the same time, God can and sometimes will infuse any of the virtues—intellectual, moral, or theological. Unlike Augustine, Aquinas believes that we can achieve a measure of happiness purely based on the Natural Law and the cultivation of the virtues. However, we cannot achieve perfect happiness without the Grace of God and the infusion of the theological virtues, which allow us to grow in faith and ultimately find union with God in beholding the beatific vision at death (the ultimate Good human telos). Immanuel Kant (1724-1804): Taking a final five-‐century leap for today, Immanuel Kant’s enlightenment era rational deontological ethics contributed a great deal to the shape and conversation of ethics in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Kant is most famous for developing a rational approach to ethics, reflected in the development of his Categorical Imperative from The Foundations of the Metaphysics of Morals, which offers a succinct articulation of his ethical theory, “Act only according to that maxim by which you can at the same time will that it should become a universal law” (FMM, 38).

The fundamentals of Kant’s theory of ethics stem from the enlightenment project’s focus on empiricism, rational thought, and what can be trusted from human experience. Essentially, Kant asserts that the human person lives in two worlds identifiable by physical existence and pure mind. Anything open to physical experience is subject to being tainted by desire. As such, he posits a rational a priori approach to ethics that focuses on pure duty without attachment to sentiment, desire, or physicality. From this position of pure mind, he develops the categorical imperative as a touchstone for evaluating the morality of action as right or wrong irrespective of the outcome. For Kant, the question of “why be moral” (Plato’s Socrates asks this same question of Good in the absence of consequence) has a simple answer: because it is right. Subsequent theorists have pointed out the shortcomings

of Kant’s work, including Hegel’s criticism of a purely rational project without context in real life. The example cited above about the Nazis at the door asking if you’re harboring any Jews comes from Hegel’s critique of Kant. The Categorical imperative cannot sanction the universalization of lying, so Hegel contends that lying to the Nazi to protect the Jews in your attic would be unethical despite the fact that in that circumstance it would be the right thing to do. Despite criticisms, however, Kant’s work in developing the categorical imperative as a rational project has had a lasting impact on the field, and has contributed to several subsequent theories, such as Habermas’ dialogical ethics, which we’ll be covering in Week 5. Below are some excerpts from The Foundations of the Metaphysics of Morals:

Kant’s Categorical Imperative is stated in five forms. The first is defined as The Categorical Imperative, followed by three practical principles, which combine to form the final statement of the Combined Categorical Imperative. Translated from Kant’s original German, these are somewhat inaccessible, but I will include them as well as some additional terms below.

-‐ The Categorical Imperative: Act only according to that maxim by which you can at the same time will that it should become a universal law (38).

-‐ 1st practical principle: Act as though the maxim of your action were by your will to become a universal law of nature (38).

-‐ 2nd practical principle: Act so that you treat humanity, whether in your own person or in that of another, always as an end and never as a means only (46).

-‐ 3rd practical principle: The Idea of the will of every rational being as making universal law (48).

-‐ Combined: Morality, therefore, consists in the relation of every action to the legislation through which alone a realm of ends is possible…. It must be able to arise from his will, whose principle then is to do no action according to any maxim which would be inconsistent with its being a universal law, and thus to act only so that the will through its maxims could regard itself at the same time as giving universal law (51).

Additional terms: Meritorious Duty – “the ends of any person, who is an end in himself, must as far as

possible be also my ends, if that conception of an end in itself is to have its full effect on me. This principle of humanity… is the supreme limiting condition on the freedom of action of each man” (47).

Virtue – “To behold virtue in its proper form is nothing else than to exhibit morality stripped of all admixture of sensuous things and of every spurious adornment of reward or self-‐love” (43f), i.e., virtue is pure morality.

“The subject of ends (i.e., the rational being itself) must be made the basis of all maxims of actions and thus be treated never as a mere means but as the supreme limiting condition on the use of all means (i.e., as at the same time an end)” (55).

Morality is thus the relation of actions to the autonomy of the will (i.e., to the possible giving of universal law by the maxims of the will). The action which can be compatible with the autonomy of the will is permitted; that which does not agree with it is prohibited. The will whose maxims are necessarily in harmony with the laws of autonomy is a holy will or an absolutely good will. The dependence of a will not absolutely good on the principle of autonomy (moral constraint) is obligation…. The objective necessity of an action from obligation is called duty (56-‐57).

“The dignity of humanity consists just in its capacity to give universal laws under the condition that it is itself subject to this same legislation” (57).

Feelings are purely subjective and superficial – “those who cannot think expect help from feeling” (60). PRIMER ON POWER THEORY

This primer on Power theory will be considerably shorter as the discipline does not date back over three millennia ☺. In this primer, we’ll be briefly covering classical models of power-‐over (as in rulers, slave owners, and extrapolated to symbolic power of abusers over their victims) expressed in ancient models of brute strength and sovereignty: Thomas Hobbes Leviathan and the Hebrew Testament will be covered with a subversive counter-‐model in the Christian testament through the person and teachings of Christ. Next we’ll transition into power-‐in-‐society as described by social contract theorists John Locke and Jean Jacque Rousseau, nuanced by the cultural relativity heavily represented in Paul’s work with the early church. The social contract will allow us to bridge into classical theories of power in Weber and Marx, and then into Justice and Human rights. We’ll briefly cover John Stuart Mill’s Utilitariainsm in comparison to John Rawls theories of restorative justice, the United Nations Universal Declaration of Human Rights, and Martha Nussbaum’s Human Capabilities Approach. Finally, we’ll briefly cover relational power theory in the work of Michel Foucault and Pierre Bourdieu. As Week 2 will be our first exit—Elementary Power Theory—this brief overview is only intended as an introduction.

While relational power dates to the beginning of human society, power theory as a discipline may be traced back only a few centuries. I choose to start with Thomas Hobbes’ Leviathan in conversation with the Hebrew Testament as they describe different aspects of early social conventions and the development of power over others in social relationship. Thomas Hobbes (1588-1679): Hobbes describes the human condition as one of natural competition, wherein humans tend to seek advantage over one another as a means toward security. In his theoretical construct of the state of nature (the theoretical state of human life outside of society), he contends that without society, humans are in a state of war, everyone against everyone else and uncertainty abounds. There is no law and, therefore, no injustice. There is also no industry, no culture, no navigation, no building of commodities, no instruments of moving/removing, no cartography, no account of time, no arts, no letters, no society, and the continual fear and danger of violent death. In this state, the life of man is “solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short” (Lev (I.13). Therefore our desire

drives us towards peace; in particular “fear of death; desire of such things as are necessary to commodious (comfortable) living; and a hope by their industry to obtain them” (Lev, I.13). Ostensibly, what this means, in Hobbes’ theory, is that we give up certain freedoms in favor of security. I put down my stick and you put down your stick, but the guarantee of the contract is that part of our power is handed over to a ruling authority that can keep the peace in a social contract by ruling over, and by power over, the lives of others. The “Leviathan” within Leviathan is the social body itself, which, controlled by the head in the person of the ruling power, is chaos tamed through social contract and freedom ceded for the promise of peace. This view of power taps into the shadow self of human experience—that underlying and often-‐feared element of each of us that we fear and seek to tame or bury, but which comes out in conflict moments when that primal fight-‐or-‐flight instinct takes us momentarily away from our best and most rational selves. In the Hebrew Testament, it is represented in Adam and Eve’s taking of the apple; in the Flood, in the slavery of Israel in Egypt; in the obduracy of God’s chosen people, in the ongoing demonstration of God’s power at work in, through, and over those of faith; in King Saul’s fall from glory, in the abandoning of Israel to foreign kings; and in countless stories of biblical characters, working within the systems of power to achieve God’s will, despite oppression. In the Christian Testament, Rome is the consummate “power over” character; yet, in Christ’s teachings, so, too, are the social conventions that create hierarchies in families, in social order, in the synagogue, and in relationships of inequality. As the subverter of conventional teaching; conventional wisdom; conventional philosophy; conventional society; conventional faith; and even conventional understandings of faith, God, the messiah, and Sin; Jesus provides a striking commentary on the ways in which Power Over can and must be named, challenged, undermined, and—ultimately—triumphed over (though in surprisingly servile and peaceful ways). In the best moments of parish life, this kind of authority is exemplified in the benevolent, but typically patriarchal,structure of the Beloved Rector, who is a father–knows-‐best figure, in charge of all aspects of ministry, liturgy, worship, programs, pastoral care, etc. In parish conflict, this kind of power is most frequently misused authority, which stratifies members, sets up hierarchies in orders of laity and differing orders of clergy, and is most tragically manifested in moments of weakness or advantage-‐seeking in which the abuse of authority can devastate and splinter community. This is also the chaos element, the shadow side of parish community, which can manifest in moments of explosive raw emotion in reaction against the injustice of the system itself.

John Locke (1632-‐1704) and Jean-‐Jacques Rouseau (1712-‐1778) both followed Hobbes as social contract theorists, developing a philosophy of ownership, participatory citizenship, freedom, and a much less bleak picture of the State of Nature articulated by Hobbes. John Locke: Locke was one of the greatest philosophers in Europe at the end of the seventeenth century. Locke grew up and lived through one of the most extraordinary centuries of English political and intellectual history. It was a century in which conflicts between Crown and Parliament and the overlapping conflicts between Protestants, Anglicans and Catholics swirled into civil war in the 1640s. With the defeat and death of Charles I, there began a great experiment in governmental institutions including the

abolishment of the monarchy, the House of Lords and the Anglican Church, and the establishment of Oliver Cromwell's Protectorate in the 1650s. The collapse of the Protectorate after the death of Cromwell was followed by the Restoration of Charles II—the return of the monarchy, the House of Lords and the Anglican Church. This period lasted from 1660 to 1688. It was marked by continued conflicts between King and Parliament and debates over religious toleration for Protestant dissenters and Catholics. This period ends with the Glorious Revolution of 1688 in which James II was driven from England and replaced by William of Orange and his wife Mary. The final period during which Locke lived involved the consolidation of power by William and Mary, and the beginning of William's efforts to oppose the domination of Europe by the France of Louis XIV, which later culminated in the military victories of John Churchill—the Duke of Marlborough. (Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/locke/)

Locke’s view of the state of nature is more closely aligned to Anglican teaching on Natural Law; and God factors prominently in his theories of the social contract, freedom, and rights—particularly including property ownership, which is one of his hallmarks. The social contract, for Locke, helps to avoid the inconveniences of the state of nature, wherein one must provide for all of one’s physical needs, as well as providing for one’s security. Any un-‐owned (essentially unoccupied and uncultivated) land that is settled and improved by its occupant becomes the property of its occupant, who can henceforth hold it, sell it, bequeath it, etc. However, one must only claim and cultivate what one can use. There must remain as good and as much for another as one has taken for one’s self.

While the state of nature is preferable in Locke’s system, it is untenable compared to

social cooperation, which recommends the social contract as a necessary alternative to allow diversification of talents and increased wellbeing. In nature, one’s only appeal is to God, whereas in society, one appeals to law. However, in Locke’s system, people have all the rights, and government has all the responsibilities for providing for the common welfare of the people. Porting the necessity of private property into the social contract, property, as well as persons, are protected under civic law, which serves to protect the rights and freedoms of the people, who in Locke’s system do not ultimately give up sovereignty. Power in Locke’s system relates to agency, labor, social cooperation, and contributive social power which is a power “with” rather than “over” as in Hobbes. Those unsatisfied with an unjust government retain the moral, political, and sovereign right to dissolve and depose the current government without dissolving the society. This is the volitional power of a parish community to create a common vision, come together to form a distinct body, buy a piece of property, build a church, call a rector, and legislate as a representative vestry. It is a healthy contractual form of power that promotes growth, and cooperation; yet, it is also the acquisitional form of power that can go terribly wrong when differences of opinion surface over how collective resources can best be used.

Jean-Jacque Rousseau: Rousseau builds on Locke’s theory of the social contract, correcting outdated notions such as natural slavery, while also developing his own distinctive contributions. His personal history is not as directly relevant to Anglican ethics as is Locke’s. However, the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy notes that “Rousseau greatly influenced Immanuel Kant’s work on ethics. His novel Julie or the New Heloise

impacted the late eighteenth century’s Romantic Naturalism movement, and his political ideals were championed by leaders of the French Revolution. What is distinct in Rousseau relating to power is his egalitarian approach to social contract. In Rousseau’s theory, each gives him/herself to the other in social cooperation such that each has an equal claim on the resources, labor, power, and support of every other in society. Sovereignty in Rousseau is held in common by the common will of the society. Each member is doubly bound within this system as each is a member of the sovereign will (bound to each individual), as well as being a member of the state (bound to the collective sovereignty of society as State). Utility is bound up with Justice in Rousseau, which will also tie Rousseau to John Stuart Mill (an Anglican introduced below), as each is bound to the help of the other in a mutual relationship of duty and rights that only admits alienation of as much power from each individual as is necessary to the proper and just functioning of society. Essentially, power in this system is relational, variable depending on the needs of the self and the other, which are kept in a communal balance that seeks toward the greatest good of the greatest number in society. At its best, this is power in the parish as a community of caring, seeking toward the health and wellness of each member. In conflict, this is also the power that can alienate a minority in favor of a perceived greater good for the majority. At its worst, it is abused by those holding the reins of power to promote the good of the few over the good of the whole community.

Paul’s chameleonic approach to evangelism and church planting seems to flow well from the models of power-with developed by Locke and Rousseau. His variety of communities and variety of approaches to Christian living, problem solving, and exhortation seem to suggest a similar model, wherein the rights belong to the community, and the responsibility comes from attempting to lead communities without undermining their autonomy or accountability to themselves and each other. This extrapolates out to the greater Christian community through the gathering of mutual support for the support of all communities under Paul’s care, in the exhortation to the Corinthians to make the table of fellowship one that honors all, rather than becoming a feast of plenty for some and one of poverty for others. It is also reflected in his teachings that exhort Christians to limit their own freedoms in order to support and nurture the faith of those for whom certain behaviors would be unconscionable and would represent stumbling blocks to their faith. Max Weber (1864-1920): Weber’s conception of power draws us into the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, where Weber develops a systematic approach to understanding power as a structuring force in politics, nature, and in relationships particularly relating to sentiments of prestige. Relationally, the critical element for Weber is an ideological bond between a critical mass of people galvanized behind an avatar, paragon, hero, or leader, who either represents, protects, or otherwise promotes the prestige of the group. In this sense, Weber is aligned with a power-‐over model which concentrates on the ideological foundations of authority, such as that held by a Beloved Rector or a particularly influential parishioner—who is also likely to be a large financial contributor.

Relating economics, social prestige, and politics, Weber discusses the specific way in which a community is structured as one which “directly influences the distribution of power, economic or otherwise, within its respective community” (Economy and

Society,180). Personal power within this political reality (which is the reality of all social existence) is represented in “the chance of a man [sic.] or of a number of men to realize their own will in communal action even against the resistance of others who are participating in the action…. The legal order is… an additional factor that enhances the chance to hold power or honor; but it cannot always secure them” (180-‐181). A haunting description of parish life, Weber’s accounting of power, while perceptive, represents the conflict-‐ridden nature of discrepancies in power within communities. While perhaps a pessimistic look at power, Weber yet represents the real potential present in any large group for advantage-‐seeking to replace egalitarianism, and the dangers of ideological rivalry which sometimes manifest in competing visions for parish futures. Karl Marx (1818-1883): Marx plays this element of power out to its extreme, viewing power almost purely in terms of coercive force, relating to the capitalistic monopoly over the means of production. This monopoly results in the alienation of labor as a debilitating form of power that reaches down into the core identity of a human person who no longer owns the products of their own productivity. I’m placing him out of historical order because of the extreme he represents in terms of parish life. If Weber describes the potential for ideological conflict, Marx describes the darker side of coercive force relating to the means of spiritual production in the hands of the clergy. A sinister application of this kind of power touches deeply into the spiritual life of a community, which entrusts its spiritual well-‐being to the clergy they call to administer the Sacraments, lead worship, provide spiritual direction and pastoral care, teach, guide, and nurture them. Justice, Human Rights, Human Flourishing, and Relational Power in Parish Community: Power placed into the service of community takes many forms as well, but a very brief narrative history relating to human rights may be helpful for our discussion, particularly as they relate to the development of relational conceptions of rights as human flourishing, developed by Martha Nussbaum (represented in Women and Human Development, published in 2001). John Stuart Mill’s (1773-‐1836) conception of power in On Liberty and in Utilitarianism conjures a model of power tied more closely to Rousseau’s understanding. Naming and developing the classical utilitarian Greatest Happiness Principle (that I’m contending relates to Rousseau’s connection between justice and utility), Mill discusses the use of power in community to develop a society that provides the greatest amount of satisfaction for the greatest number of its citizens. Seeking a better model, in which the prospect of a minority in abject poverty is not an acceptable condition for the greatest flourishing of the greatest number, John Rawls (1921-‐2002) develops a theory of Justice (in A Theory of Justice-‐1971), in which the recognition of humankind’s inability to act altruistically is addressed through development of a theoretical device by which to evaluate the justice of an existing system. Rawls’ theory is essentially the definition of an original position which posits a “veil of ignorance” (13) —a theoretical construction behind which lawmakers have no knowledge of their particular social situation, conception of the good, personal ends, social location, wealth, authority, etc. From this position, Rawls further posits the two principles of his theory of justice. The first requires equality in the assignment of basic rights and duties. The second holds that social and economic inequalities (for example, inequalities of wealth and authority) are just only if they result in the compensating benefits for everyone, and, in particular, for the least-‐advantaged

members of society. These two principles balance inequality by distributing the benefit of those advantaged to all in society; therefore, all benefit equally from the greater advantage of some. The question of defining universal human rights (which it is argued should be provided for in every human society) was initially taken up shortly after the end of World War II by the newly formed United Nations, which developed and signed a Universal Declaration of Human Rights in 1948, giving Rawls and other theorists a grounding in what must constitute a minimum for proper human functioning in society. Again, further developing the notion of justice beyond simply basic functioning, Martha Nussbaum develops the Human Capabilities Approach (Women and Human Development—2001), in which Nussbaum argues that rights, function, and reality do not always coincide, nor do the first two necessarily establish a baseline for actual human flourishing. The Human Capabilities Approach was developed as a means for evaluating human flourishing, based on a core set of ten human capabilities. As we’ll be taking this exit in Week 6, I won’t go into the capabilities here, but the development of this theory ties into our discussion precisely, as the flourishing of a community ties directly into the health of its individual members in relationship with one another. Where conflict develops, flourishing is endangered, and the longer conflict is allowed to ferment and deteriorate the overall health of the community, the more flourishing is undermined.

A fundamentally relational understanding of power helps us to understand how the interconnections between individuals, their relative balances of power in the broader community, and the uses and abuses of power tie into the overall health and wellbeing of the community—its ability to flourish.

Michel Foucault and Pierre Bourdieu, whom we will study next week in more detail, provide a firm foundation in relational understandings of power from which we will continue our discussion into the remainder of the term.

For now, we turn to our first Case Study. As I mentioned above—each week, we’ll be concluding our readings with a different Case Study from a real parish in conflict (details will have been changed to protect the anonymity of individuals and parishes), which I hope will provide the foundation for our discussion of theories and their application as we progress throughout the semester.

CALL: Ethics and Power in the Church—"Primer on Ethics and Power"

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