What Capitalism is

Over at American Conservative, they had a great piece deconstructing Rebound: Getting America Back to Great, a manifesto-of-sorts by Heritage Foundation scholar Kim R. Holmes. Much of the piece takes apart the book's rather hawkish view of foreign policy. But it was this part that caught my eye:

The U.S. government doles out roughly $1 trillion per year in tax expenditures, subsidizing various endeavors like owning homes, buying health care, and saving for retirement. As political scientist Suzanne Mettler has pointed out, these subsidies create a “submerged state” in which the recipients of government benefits do not recognize that they have benefited from the government. These programs, combined with Social Security and Medicare, constitute well over half of federal expenditures. They also all benefit middle-aged and elderly whites, the most important constituency of the very Republican Party alleged by some to be the best hope for cutting government spending. One would hope that a book pressing for the sorts of reforms that Holmes advocates would grapple with these realities, butRebound does not.

 Maybe one would hope that these realities would be addressed, but it's not really surprising that they are not. Most of us think, or would like to think, that our economic system supports itself, and stays together on its own. The programs mentioned are just a few of the thousand of little "tweaks" our economy gets from our government. But the tweaks are not all. The truth is that Capitalism simply does not work without a strong central state to support it, to enforce contracts, to set up corporations, and most importantly, to minimize the risk of those investing capital. When the economy fails, the state will inject "liquidity" to "jump start" it. The reason for this is not because the economy works like an engine, despite the metaphorical language used. No, the real reason is to insure investors that their risks are backed up by the government.

You see, pumping money back into the system (something that is necessary for Capitalism to survive) is not something that rich men do naturally. No, the temptation of wealth is to horde, not to attempt to have your money reproduce. The rich are rather risk averse creatures by nature. So, in order to make the sort of economy where rich men create industries and then pay other rich men to work those industries, you need a system that minimizes risk for the rich. Much of what the government does is done to achieve this goal. Many, if not most, companies opposed the recent government shutdown because it was unpredictable, and thus risky. Corporations at least instinctively understand that this system stands and falls by guarantees from the government. And that's what the "submerged state" is all about.

"The king's good servant, but God's first"

Here you will find a summary of the homily that Pope Francis gave the employees of the Vatican Bank on the danger of the Church-as-babysitter:

http://www.johnthavis.com/pope-francis-on-the-risk-of-a-babysitter-church#.UXAmcWS9Kc1

Francis is talking about the danger of going through the motions, getting through Confirmation and then being complacent. "I have my identity card all right. And now, go to sleep quietly, you are a Christian." At the end of the piece, there is a quote from an interview that Pope Francis gave when he was still Archbishop of Buenos Aires:

“We priests tend to clericalize the laity.We do not realize it, but it is as if we infect them with our own disease.And the laity — not all, but many — ask us on their knees to clericalize them, because it is more comfortable to be an altar server than the protagonist of a lay path. We cannot fall into that trap —it is a sinful complicity.”

I think there is a definite tendency, a definite temptation, to think that "participation" for the laity consists entirely of things that they can do within the Parish Church. Retreats, Eucharistic Ministry, Discussion groups, etc. As if being Christian can be safely quarantined between the four walls of the Church building.

But this is wrong. It's not what the gospels say, and it's not what Vatican II describes as the role of the laity. We are called to be the light of the world, and we shouldn't be putting that light under the bushel basket of a building. The models for the laity should be people like Dorothy Day, who took took no vows, but lived her life in voluntary poverty, dedicated it to the poor, and proclaimed Jesus wherever she went. Similarly, St. Thomas More was the "King's good servant, but God's first" and he payed the ultimate price for his witness. This is much harder than simply being a lector or Eucharistic minister, byt it is what we are called to as Christians.

The "Spirit of Vatican II" and my lack of understanding

I have a confession to make. While I try to get in the heads of people that disagree with me, and while I try to be charitable and try to see things from their point of view as much as my limited mind can, there are some mentalities that I simply cannot understand and have trouble being charitable toward. One of these is the mindset often called the "Spirit of Vatican II".

There were those who thought that the Second Vatican Council (1962-1965) changed everything. Suddenly, so the story goes, the whole content of the Faith, doctrines, dogmas, what have you, was up for re-evaluation, as well as possible rejection. I don't agree, and I have a hard time empathizing with those who think this way, and I think this stems from multiple reasons. The first of these is that proposed reforms tend to be exactly what the newest coolio idea is in the world at large, especially in academia. Whether it's a watered down Marxist-Neitszchism that re-evaluates everything in term of power struggles or a sort of New Age woo woo that seeks to get us acquainted with the spark of the divine in ourselves, the proposed doctrinal re-evaluations tend to be the same stuff that is widely available elsewhere, while diminishing the things , such as the Sacrament and Confession, that are only available within the Church.

That brings me to the second reason. I often, fairly or unfairly, blame this type of person for hiding the treasures of the Church that I only found in young adulthood. Some of my favorite things about the Faith, such as Adoration, and the Liturgy of the Hours, as well as the beautiful Latin language, were "treasures" that tended not to be available in my childhood, and that I had to discover myself. I haven't really gotten over my resentment toward those who "hid" these treasures after the council. This is surely the least rational reason but definitely one that has deep emotional significance to me.

The third reason, then, is that there is hardly anyone my own age with this mentality anymore. While there were plenty of opportunities to dialogue with enthusiastic Mormons or atheists or even very traditional Catholics my own age, almost everyone I know under the title of "Spirit of Vatican II" belongs to an older generation. The situation makes for a lack of understanding, as any dialogue has to jump everything that divides our generations. Often, the viewpoint is fueled by an experience of living through the Council, something that my generation definitely would not share.

In fact, for my own generation, and assuredly for future generations, it's hard to see Vatican II as anything other than just another council. If a "Spirit" did illuminate the council, then surely it was the same Spirit that illuminated the council of Nicea, Constantinople, Trent, and Vatican I. The truths of the most recent council couldn't contradict with the older councils, then, as long as all the councils were illuminated by the Holy Spirit. The whole reason the church is valuable is because it was founded in 33 AD on a cross outside Jerusalem, and it was founded as the body of Christ. If the Church today was founded instead by some old guys in Rome fifty years ago, then to Hell with it. I will continue to pray for my brothers and sisters in Christ who think like this, but I'm not sure I'll ever understand.

The Problem with Feminism

I know what you're thinking, "Oh goodness, another conservative blog is going to rail against feminism." That's partly true. I have a bone to pick. It is also true that the basic truth of feminism, that men and women are equals, is a truth more basic than the truth that the earth is round. My problem with feminism is a problem with particular instances of feminism, and it is a philosophical problem. I dislike feminism because it is so often Cartesian.

Rene Descartes, the French father of modern philosophy, is famous for his substance dualism. He thought that the material world, including our bodies, was one sort of substance, while our minds were another sort, an odd, ghostly thing that controls the meat bag that is our body. This sort of sentiment is exemplified by Yoda when he says "luminous beings we are, not this crude matter."

Feminism seems to take it a doctrine that we are not only luminous beings, but sexless luminous beings put into bodies, some of us with the misfortune of being put into female bodies. It says that we must use all of our technical and cultural might in order to destroy or ignore all of the "disadvantages" of those stuck in female bodies. These "disadvantages" tend to be related to female fertility. While this sort of feminism may make us all equal, it degrades femininity.

We cannot have any sort of true respect for the female if we do not respect the female body. Men and women are truly equal, but not in the sense of being the same thing unequally stuck in different things, but in the truly cosmic sense of being made in the image of God. A true respect for the feminine includes a respect for the feminine body, for the person is not a "luminous being" with a body, but a psychosomatic union of body and soul. Our bodies do not contain us, we are our bodies.

Of Dogma and the Rock

"Every one therefore that hears these my words, and does them, shall be likened to a wise man that built his house upon a rock, and the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and they beat upon that house, and it fell not, for it was founded on a rock. And every one that hears these my words and does them not, shall be like a foolish man that built his house upon the sand, and the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and they beat upon that house, and it fell, and great was the fall thereof." -Matthew 7:24-27

This famous quote from Matthew refers of course, to the rock of Jesus' words in the Sermon on the Mount. A man who lives his life according to Jesus' words is building himself up on good foundations, while the man who ignores his words is, well, not. Something of a parallel situation occurs regarding dogmas and prejudices. "Some people,” Chesterton reminds us, “do not like the word ‘dogma.’ Fortunately they are free, and there is an alternative for them. There are two things, and two things only, for the human mind, a dogma and a prejudice.” 

Prejudices are what Chesterton said pervaded his culture at the time. They are like building your house on sand, for they are nothing but tendencies, they blow with the wind. The puritan always wants less sensuality, the consumerist always more things, the spiritualist always less material things. You put them in a different era, a different culture, and they will still be arguing for more of this or less of that. Those that hold on to prejudices never have a place to stand, they never have balance. A dogma is like building your house on a rock. It provides one with clear, concise definitions and boundaries. It gives a man a place to stand. It is possible to navigate, and even to understand, the constantly shifting sands of culture and public opinion, so long as you have dogma to stand on. 

Dogma allows a man to wade through that sea of puritans, or sexual liberationists, or materials, or spiritualists, or militarists, or pacifists, and be able to appreciate their points, while also finding where they go wrong. It is a huge advantage over those stuck to a certain prejudice, as they cannot see the point of the opposite side, and cannot engage with them. For all interested, you should read this whole excerpt  by GK Chesterton.

Is the government us?

In the wake of the Supreme Court's ruling on the health care reform law, there will be plenty of debates over the role of the government vis-a-vis our health.  But I think there's a more important metaphysical problem that the debate over healthcare illuminates. It's the theme that Matthew J. Franck talks about in his post about the Christian response to the ruling at the Washington Post today.  He points out that "Some will claim that the responsibility for 'the least of these' necessarily falls chiefly on government, because government really is all of us." In the rest of the essay, he articulates and endorses the opposite claim.  My gut tends to agree with him.  I've always thought that there was something Hobbesian about the claim that the government's actions are my own, or that the government was some sort of incarnation of the will of the people.  Anyone with eyes could see that that is not true in practice. 

So what about the idea?  If the government is not an incarnation of the people's will in practice, is it that in theory?  This, I think, is one of the most pressing metaphysical political questions of our age.  If a government performs an act of mercy, if they heal they "sick, feed the hungry, clothe the naked, visit the prisoner, and comfort the afflicted," (Matt. 24:45) who gets credit for that act? Is it the whole society? Is it me or you? Does anyone get credit for it?  Is an act of mercy at all? These are rather important questions, and their implications go far beyond health care.  I fear, however, that these questions will be either skimmed over or ignored in the coming political rabble.

Whatever happened to (small-r) republicanism?

One of the most engaging essays of GK Chesterton's classic, What I Saw in America, "The Republican in the Ruins" addresses the fall and failure of the hopes of the Age of Reason.  He notes that America is the embodiment and the product of ideas of a certain age, an age that has long gone.  The other products of the age, the other experiments, such as Fredrick's Prussia and Peter's Russia, have gone the way of the age that spawned them.  Only America still stands, a living fossil of the Age of Reason.  But America itself is only has a shell of the ideals of the age that spawned it, the content of the American political culture has long since left its roots.

Some of the things that has been lost, such as the Enlightenment Deism of many of our founders, I will not take the time to mourn.  There are other ideas, however, who's loss is something rather sorrowful.  One of these ideas is the heart and soul of 18th century republicanism: the idea of the citizen.  The citizen was supposed to be an active participant in, and responsible for, the actions of the state.  He would be educated in the classical sense, and from his own realm of expertise help shape and form the state he lived in.  In Continental Europe, his obligations to the state were mandatory education, followed by mandatory military service, followed by a lifetime of political involvement.  That man (unfortunately only men at this point) was a full and equal citizen under the law, and rightfully so.

This sense of citizenship is almost completely gone in America's current political climate.  Both sides of the political divide talk about the citizen as if he were an entirely autonomous individual who's only considerations and obligations are to himself.  They only differ in how and where this autonomy should be curbed.  The result is maddening, as if a bunch of self-interested gluttons tried to govern themselves, a description which may be too close to the truth than we know.  The idea of a citizen is one that we have unfortunately shelved, and it is an idea that would help us greatly today.  I know that we are rather impoverished without it.