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How Should We Vote?

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First of all, we should vote.  I join others in saying that to vote is actually part of our Christian calling.  Given the responsibility of the state to pursue justice, the chief goal of democracy is not to give citizens the right to determine the state’s purpose, as secular justifications for democracy might suggest.  Rather, when citizens vote, they share with their fellow citizens the duty to discern and pursue together justice and the common good.  This is a responsibility we may not ignore.  It’s a remarkable privilege—and a daunting one.

Second, we should vote biblically.  I’ve been impressed over the past nine months with how my partners in this conversation have worked to consider how biblical givens can be brought to bear on some of the most controversial issues we face in American society.  This is really hard work, particularly when people I respect come to conclusions with which I disagree (Mr. Teetsel comes to mind!), but who are evidently seeking the same goals as I am.  Clearly, this is a matter that requires yet more conversation and yet more prayer. 

Third, we should vote politically.  In these conversations, I have also been reminded that  political morality is only one dimension of morality.  Not all moral questions properly belong to the political—not all moral questions require a legislated response.  This means, among other things, that we should resist the temptation to see our principal task to be one of judging the personal morality of candidates.  Personal morality can shed some light on questions of character, but it pales in significance compared to the task of determining candidates’ political morality.  We need to consider programs, policy positions, and political principles as a way to gauge how candidates see the state to be implicated in the various questions we face as a nation.  This too is a lot of work.  No one said that citizenship is easy!

Fourth, we should vote to pursue public justice.  This means, for one thing, that our vote cannot be determined by calculations of self-interest (lower taxes for me, lower fuel prices for me, preserving my favorite tax credit).  So, for example, if we believe that justice requires that all members of society have an opportunity to participate in our common life, this will imply that in our efforts to confront our coming fiscal crisis, the burden should not be borne by the most vulnerable members of our society.  I believe that we need a more progressive tax system than we have currently, but regardless, a commitment to shield the most vulnerable may mean that I have to pay more taxes in the not-too-distant future.  I don’t relish paying taxes, but I must love my neighbor in that way, if that is what justice requires.

Finally, we should vote in hope.  Like many of my correspondents, I am not enthused about the options before voters in November.  Over the long run, I’d love to consider how structural changes to our electoral system might provide better choices.  Yet I know in politics what I also know to be true in the rest of life: that Christ is risen.  A politics of the resurrection means that the long, slow work of pursuing justice is not a work in vain, and that even a choice between two less-than-sterling candidates is still a choice that has kingdom significance.  Politics is messy, and American politics is particularly so, but the kingdom hope that is found in the resurrection can carry Christians through the messiness of campaigns, into the voting booth, and on into the rest of their political lives.

Loving Our Neighbors, Politically

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I find much to appreciate in the analysis that Eric brings to this discussion of the role of government.  In particular, I can strongly affirm his emphasis on the distinct roles of state and church.  The state cannot take upon itself the task of the church—it does not “speak to soul” in the way that the church does.  Similarly, when the church take upon itself the responsibilities of the state, all sorts of distortions and problems appear. 

But I part ways with Eric concerning what these institutions have to do with what we owe our neighbors who are in poverty.  Eric sees our responsibility to be primarily a matter of charity, which is a particular responsibility of the church.  That’s what leads him to warn against “subcontracting the work of the Church to government.” 

I too see charity to be a primary responsibility of the church.  Indeed the church that fails in the task of mercy fails in a task that Jesus himself saw as central to the gospel.  But charity is not the only way we demonstrate love for our neighbors.  We also owe our neighbors justice.  To love our neighbor is not only to extend him or her charity; it is also to see that justice is done for our neighbor.  And conversations about justice will necessarily lead to conversations about the state, as the state is precisely the institution charged with the task of doing public justice.

This means that we love our neighbors not only in church, but actually love them in the state as well.  Eric writes that “bureaucracies can never love”.  I think that’s actually a mistake.  Bureaucracies do love those they serve—but they demonstrate that love in ways that are appropriate to state bureaucracies: that is, in the administration of public justice.  How we love our neighbors is multi-faceted: in church we love through our charity, in the state we love through justice. (Similarly, we love our neighbors differently in families, in the classroom, at the office.)

This perspective doesn’t help us with the immediate task of determining whether the $78 billion we spend on SNAP (food stamps) is money well spent.  Evaluating particular programs is a matter requiring much study, much debate, and much prayer.  But this perspective does help us answer those who deny too quickly the possibility that by paying our taxes so that our neighbors receive food stamps, we may be actually showing love to neighbors in our community who otherwise could not participate with us in our common life.

 

Economic Justice as Moral Duty

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Let me begin with my main claim: the fact that poverty continues to be found within America is an offence against the Gospel.  The existence of pervasive poverty—46 million people, according to the Census Bureau—in a country as wealthy as the United States is not something that is merely sad or unfortunate or unpleasant, but more than all these, it is something immoral: it violates norms, founded in Scripture, concerning how human beings living in stable societies should care for each other.

This is also an indictment of the Christian church.  Despite what the worriers among us might suggest, the role that the church plays in American society is still a significant one.  But with a few important exceptions, the church speaks far less prophetically on behalf of the poor than it should, preferring instead to concentrate its efforts on poverty relief.  While relief efforts are certainly vital to the church’s mission, far too often the church is silent when it should be speaking, or even worse, actively taking sides against the very people whose well-being should be its primary concern.  To put it plainly, those who are not poor have a duty not only to care for those who are poor, but also to speak for their cause, to advocate for change wherever they have influence, and in other ways to advocate—and vote—for economic justice for all.  This is a duty placed upon all persons, but for Christians it is especially clear. 

What responsibilities are contained in this duty?  Must the wealthy give and give until we reach a situation of equality?  To what extent should we consider the notion of desert (what each person deserves)? Does this duty fall on all people in the same way?  To what extent does office matter: are our duties different in our roles as church member, as family member, and as citizen?

These are important questions, and we need to consider them—but they are secondary.  Indeed, we would be making important progress in this conversation if we could agree that this duty even exists.  But let me consider one of these secondary, controversial questions: what is the role of government with regard to this moral duty to care for the poor?

I am wary of the view that suggests that government is the institution most responsible for carrying out this duty.  One reason is that it becomes too easy for other offices and persons to downplay their own responsibilities.  But another reason is simply that often governments aren’t very good at carrying it out.  Government programs are blunt instruments, and evidence suggests that other actors in civil society can be much more effective at providing material and non-material assistance to those in need.  Of course, even if we conclude that government as government may not be the most important agents for the delivery of services, that does not relieve the moral duty of other institutions or individuals.  And it may be up to government to remind these other actors of their responsibilities in this regard.

What about other dimensions to the government’s task with regard to poverty?  I see three sets of responsibilities stemming from the state’s basic justice task: establishing parameters, coordinating responsibilities, and providing resources.

First, I suggest that a central task of government, founded in justice, is to ensure that the prevailing social arrangements are not exploitative of those who are worst off.  Some of the causes of poverty are structural, and often it will take government action to deal with structural injustice.  Legal protections for workers, a minimum wage, and tax policies such as the Earned Income Tax Credit, or the progressive tax system more generally, are examples of ways that governments can establish justice in the basic legal parameters of the political community.

Second, I see distributive justice, like other forms of justice, to be properly restorative in nature—that is, it seeks to restore people to community.  This requires more than what we as a society are currently doing, particularly through our welfare system.  Here, the state’s role as coordinator of responsibilities comes to the fore.  The duty to care for the poor falls on all parts of civil society, but on the state falls the special challenge of finding ways to persuade schools, churches, charities, banks and other actors to take up their own responsibilities, particularly in the areas where governments acting alone cannot succeed.

Third, only governments have the power to tax, and so governments must often take the lead in providing financial resources for the fight against poverty.  Some of these are straightforward policy matters: increasing deductions for charitable donations or ending discrimination against faith-based service providers.  But the state may also need to use its taxing power to raise the funds that can be brought against poverty—or it may need to reallocate resources from other programs and initiatives so that our duty to the poor can be carried out. 

On all these points, there is more to be said.  Let me respond here to only one objection: namely, that a good way for governments to exercise their responsibility for the poor is to ensure and establish continuing economic growth.  Economic growth, it seems to me, can indeed be considered part of the governmental responsibility to keep order, and as such, is supported by a general norm of justice.  However, I would insist that the immediate task of government to provide justice for the poor must take priority over the pursuit of economic growth.  If the price of continued economic growth is the impoverishment of millions of our neighbors, then our duty seems clear.  Ultimately, I would seek to challenge the opposition itself.  It may be that it is precisely by seeing justice done for the poor that we find our way to sustained economic growth.   Similarly, we may discover that economic growth, even if necessary, will not solve the problem of poverty on its own.  Genuine economic progress requires economic justice along with economic success. 

Seeking Peace, Seeking Justice: Iran and Syria

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The moral questions suggested by Syria and Iran are quite different in my view, and for that reason the moral considerations in each case are also different.    

While the Iranian situation may be the more dangerous of the two, it is the more familiar.  Using just war teaching, which is the tradition of theorizing about war found in the Roman Catholic, Lutheran and Reformed churches, we could certainly make a case that self-defense, a prima facie just cause in just war theory, provides appropriate grounds for military action, particularly because of the nuclear danger, but also because of Iran’s demonstrated support for international terrorist organizations.  Note that a successful case will require a clear demonstration not only of Iran’s nuclear intentions but also of its ability to succeed in these ambitions.  In other words, just war theory requires more than a recognition that a regime or leader is evil; we need also to know that this evil poses a threat to international order.

Just cause, however, is not the only criterion that a military response must satisfy.  In this case, we might be especially interested in proportionality of ends (the good achieved by the use of the force must be greater than the harms done), reasonable hope of success, and last resort.  My own view is that the case for military action in Iran fails all three of these tests. In particular, I find it hard to conclude that a well-designed sanctions regime tied to rigorous international inspections will not be able to yield results. And when compared with the long-term negative consequences and the inherent difficulty of pursuing the military option in Iran, a stronger sanctions/inspection approach looks far more likely to move us towards improved relations in the region. 

In contrast, the situation in Syria is more difficult, albeit less dangerous for international order. The difficulty stems from the fact that our moral reflections with regard to armed humanitarian interventions into states are considerably less well developed than our reflections on war between states.  Since 1648 (the Peace of Westphalia), international norms of state sovereignty and non-intervention have persisted more or less without interruption, until very recently.  It’s not obvious how just war theory could be understood to apply to cases like Syria (or other recent cases, such as Libya) without considerable revision of the theory itself. 

What are some of the moral differences?  Well, it’s complicated.  Can just cause, for instance, be understood to include the punishment of evil such as we see in Syria today?  International law permits no such understanding: self-defense and collective security are the only just causes for war under international law.  What are the risks of broadening this justification?  Right intention is another just war criterion—the intent in a particular action must be in accord with the just cause and not for another cause.  Most armed interventions are not humanitarian—how are we to establish right motives in humanitarian interventions?  How are we even going to measure them?  So my first impulse with regard to the Syrian case is to appeal for more good theoretical work to be done on the matter of just humanitarian action.

Of course, my appeal for more theory will do little for policy-makers who must make decisions at a speed that makes theorists tremble.  And it particularly does nothing for those most affected : the Syrian people themselves.  So again I begin with just war theory.  Here, I’m particularly concerned about the prospects for success—the Syrian military poses a far greater challenge than was faced in Libya, for example.  Whether the good of the end is proportional to the harm that will result is also unclear, in my view.  I fully recognize my limitations in making those judgments.  But these criteria suggest to me that military intervention in Syria would be unwise.

On the question of expanding just cause to include the punishment of evils taking place entirely within states, the criterion of right authority may provide guidance.  The United Nation’s role as the institution capable of determining violations of collective security (its “Chapter 7” powers) may provide grounds for asserting its place as the “right authority” for justifying military intervention on humanitarian grounds.  I wonder also whether the UN might provide prudential checks against violation of other just war criteria as we consider intervention.  That might help resolve some of the concerns I noted above as we consider this revision of just war theory.

A final, and more personal, note.  I’m writing on Good Friday (yes, I’m late—apologies all around).  To think about state massacres, nuclear weapons and international terrorism on such a day as today is a reminder that Christianity is more than a theory or political commentary.  Christianity has at its center the story of man brutally tortured and killed by powers interested in maintaining their own power against a man challenging their authority.  The wonder, of course, is that in his defeat of those powers three days later, Jesus proclaimed the coming of a Kingdom based not on violence and war, but on something far more powerful.  

Just war theory is often said to have a bias for peace, and indeed this is so: it was designed to place limits on the ways that armies kill each other. (In fact, its seventh criterion is that a just war must aim at peace). But peace is not its only bias. The victory over death signifies a victory over oppression and violence and injustice.  Just war theory also contains a bias for justice: if we can act against injustice, we must act.  For it’s in the coming together of peace and justice that we discover the foundations of Christ’s new Kingdom.

Moral Principles and Moral Courage

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As I have followed the national budget debate over the past twelve months or so, I have been struck by the ways that the arguments are framed morally.  Today, it has become commonplace to declare that the budget is a “moral” document, that as a statement of the nation’s economic priorities, it makes decisions that are moral by their very nature, both in themselves and in their consequences.  

This declaration is, of course, absolutely true: it is hard to see how anyone might imagine the federal budget to be merely “economic.”  In fact, it is so true that the reminder is almost unhelpful, for once we attune ourselves to the moral questions at stake, we see that in fact that participants are making moral claims all the time concerning budget priorities.  The question then is not whether moral principles, but which moral principles.

I see at least two great sets of moral claims at play.  One set is based upon economic stewardship.  The United States today is living beyond its means, and in fact, has been doing so for some time.  While extending costs over time may be appropriate and even advisable when benefits likewise extend over time, passing costs to future generations for benefits enjoyed only today goes against any stable norm of stewardship.  And when certain national priorities threaten to grow beyond the government’s ability to sustain them—I have in mind entitlement programs—stewardship demands that we consider how we might pursue these priorities responsibly.

A second set of moral arguments emphasizes justice.  While we have an obligation to consider our stewardship responsibilities for the sake of future generations, it is equally important to carry out our responsibilities to our neighbors today.  So if justice requires that all members of society have the ability to participate in our common life, the cost of efforts to reduce deficits may not be borne by the most vulnerable members of society.  Programs designed to meet these goals may need to be rebuilt from time to time, but the foundational requirements of justice with regard to the poor do not change.

I find it helpful to consider the moral framing of the debate in this way because, first of all, it encourages us to consider our motivations in the debate—and equally important, the motivations of others.  Often, opponents in the political budget fight are caricatured as uncaring and selfish (on the one side) or stupid and selfish (on the other).  Recognizing that our opponents’ positions may be morally grounded is valuable, even if we reject the policy prescriptions that flow from them.  It may not be necessary to find that our opponents are uncaring, stupid or selfish; it could be that they are merely wrong.

But does the recognition of the varied moral positions at stake issue help us as we stumble towards policy?  I think it may, for although we may arrive at these moral principles from different religious or ideological starting places, they enable a place from which alternate political conversations may become possible.  We may discover, uncomfortably perhaps, that our moral principles cut both ways in terms of policy.  The moral principle of stewardship, for example, applies not only to our finances.   Surely, a wise steward will not pay for yesterday’s fiscal deficits by passing social or environmental deficits to tomorrow.  It’s hard for me to see how tax increases on the most wealthy can or should be avoided in pursuit of these ends.

The moral claims of justice also cut both ways.  While justice requires bringing to the most vulnerable the care to which they are entitled, justice is also implicated in our  obligations to future generations, and that will require us to take a hard look at unsustainable spending patterns in particular areas. This will include military spending.  But the far more significant challenge, and the more difficult, will be the rebuilding of entitlement programs.  And for that reconstruction project, justice itself will require that all options remain on the table. 

What becomes clear, I believe, is that neither justice nor stewardship can be considered alone, and they certainly need not be opposed to each other.  Fortunately, the interplay of these two principles may result in more policy options than we perhaps had expected.  These are moral decisions, these are difficult decisions, but they remain decisions. 

And here we arrive at what is perhaps most challenging.  To make moral decisions, we must be morally courageous.  And in politics, that requires refusing easy answers (“tax the rich!”; “cuts across the board!”) and a willingness to assume some of the costs that come with being morally principled.  Both of the tempting options of  “more of the same” and “less of the same” must be rejected.  Now is the time for public policy makers to be as courageous as they are principled.