The postmodern era has, among other things, called into question the wisdom of maintaining discrete disciplines in the academy. Faculty in liberal arts colleges know the value of engaging colleagues outside our departments (and the sheer impossibility of avoiding them!). In discussing issues of common interest, we become aware of perspectives not yet considered, questions not yet asked, problems we cannot solve on our own. In larger institutions, where budgets allow for stricter division of labor, such cross-pollination is not necessarily a given and may even be hindered by political structures or office geography. Regardless of institution, there always remain some who hold tightly to disciplinary “orthodoxy” or even doubt the importance of other fields. When it comes to economists and theologians, for example, the history of their conversations is a mixed bag of inspiration, misunderstanding, and name-calling.
The premise of Ian Harper and Samuel Gregg’s volume is that theologians and economists—or businesspeople and Christians—should talk more often. The ten essays are broken into three sections that approach the past, present, and future of economic-theological dialogue. The four chapters in Part I (by Stephen Grabill, Ricardo Crespo, Samuel Gregg, and Paul Oslington) trace a history of economic thought that dates back to pre-Christian times, providing an alternative to any narrative that might begin with a “big bang” in late eighteenth-century Britain. Their perspective is that economics is not anti-religious in its origins but actually has deep roots in Christian thought; and while the secularization of academia has created strong disincentives for scholars to engage seriously across disciplines, modern economics may stymie its own usefulness by seeking to separate itself from the insights of its own past. Readers may infer that these authors would like to see greater involvement of Christians in economic conversations today, both in universities and in the public sphere (provided they are willing to educate themselves before pontificating).
The authors in Part II delve into how economics and Christian theology relate to each other at the theoretical level. Geoffrey Brennan and Anthony Waterman break the possibilities for this relationship into four “ideal types” (independence, dependence, convergence, and clash), and they seek to demonstrate that an imperialist lack of “epistemic modesty” on the part of both disciplines might create more tension than any essential facet of either one. Gordon Menzies puts a folksy spin on Brennan and Waterman’s typology, imagining a conversation—sometimes cordial, sometimes conflicting—between an androgynous “Economic Man” (John) and a female “Theological Man” (Mary). Personifying the two models brings the embedded narrative of each discipline into the open, raising the interesting question of how these narratives shape the identities of those who internalize them.
Having established precedent and potential for engagement, the volume turns in Part III to questions about modern business and its role in the twenty-first century. If the first section seemed geared toward persuading an audience of economists that theology is not irrelevant to their work, the articles by Michael Miller, Philip Booth, Ian Harper and Eric Jones, and Peter Heslam seem mainly concerned with making the case to a Christian audience that business is not un-Christian. Quite the contrary; they present business as a moral undertaking that fosters the common good, even without politically-correct practices of “giving back” to communities through philanthropy. Capitalism, they argue, is the solution to humanity’s problems rather than the cause of them. Even if the affluence it creates does tend to magnify certain problems somewhat, capitalism also gives rise (eventually) to virtuous desires for things like political rights and environmental care. In any case, these authors are adamant that government meddling is far worse than anything greedy individuals or unscrupulous corporations have wrought.
The hero of this volume would appear to be Pope John Paul II—cited in several chapters—whose 1991 Centesimus Annus promoted free markets and (somewhat ironically) rejected centralized power. The villain at first appears to be Enron, which is held up repeatedly as the poster child for bad business; but late in the story the reader gleans that corruption is a red herring. Instead, the real villains of this story are the forces of “illiberalism”—neo-Puritan know-it-alls (often left-leaning Christian theologians) who are anti-choice and want to legislate morality, who think poverty and gross inequality can and should be eradicated, who believe politicians (but probably not the Pope) are infallible, or who think governments are more likely to address global warming than profit-seeking corporations. Meanwhile, although John Paul II is indeed an important voice in this volume, in the final analysis it is clear that he is merely a handmaiden to the true hero: individual conscience. (It is not simply by virtue of being pope that he gains the authors’ respect; Booth asserts that Pope Pius XI’s misguided 1931 affirmation of corporatist business models bore unfortunate resemblance to the fascist thought of his time.) Particularly in Part III, it is emphasized and re-emphasized that only individuals—managers, owners, consumers, workers—can pursue good and resist evil. Only individual virtue will protect the earth, free the oppressed, or save the world.
This is a well-organized, clearly-written, harmonious, and user-friendly introduction to the topic, with a veritable “who’s who” of economics-and-theology scholars making up the list of contributors. It is potentially valuable to researchers on both sides of the intellectual pond, and several chapters could work well as stand-alone articles for instructors of business ethics or the history of economic thought. But these strengths are also its weaknesses. No author questions the broad outlines of neo-liberal economic thought; nine of the twelve are in economics or business departments (though some also have backgrounds in theology), and the other three are associated with the libertarian Acton Institute. The volume comes across as a conversation among insiders, a sermon for the choir that precludes any real debate. Of course, debate does not need to be the point of every collection of essays, but in a book that is purportedly geared toward sparking broader conversation, it might have been worthwhile to include at least a few voices unsympathetic to the predominant ethos—perhaps an institutionalist, a liberation theologian who survived Pinochet’s “free” markets, or someone working on the front lines of economic development. Moreover, there seems to be not a single woman or non-Westerner among the contributors, which gives the volume a sense of being out of touch with the reality of both business and Christianity in the twenty-first century. The editors seem frustrated that this conversation has been marginalized for so long, and yet they perpetuate this marginalization by inviting only those who agree with their presuppositions to participate.
More importantly, the tone of the volume seems to emphasize the permanence and separateness of the two fields rather than what they have in common. This is perhaps most pronounced in Part II in which, first, scarcity and inequality are upheld as two economic non-negotiables—convictions against which no amount of theological huffing and puffing can ever prevail. Secondly, the personification of economics and theology as John and Mary reinforces old stereotypes of economics as rational or “masculine” and religion as touchy-feely or “feminine”; one is from Mars, the other from Venus. (John proposes utilitarian marriage at the end, but Mary, ever the romantic, wants to hold out for love.) But these are only the most obvious examples of an ongoing theme, laid out in the introduction, that economics is “worldly” and theology is “other-worldly”; they are therefore bound for permanent discord and—whenever concrete reality is at stake—theology is bound to sing back-up. Part III, especially, exudes a great deal of impatience with theologians who refuse to give up naïve notions of justice and neighborly love. All of this leaves the reader wondering what, exactly, the authors expect theology to offer economics other than a rubber stamp of approval (and of course Sunday school for the moral formation of future business leaders of the world).
Heslam’s chapter ends the volume on a hopeful note, laying promising groundwork for future conversations. He offers a thoroughly persuasive case for the importance of private business in the fight against global poverty, and manages to do this without ever resorting to sneers at government or caricatures of the charitable sector. He urges liberation theologians to re-think their models, which rightly draw attention to poverty but which tend toward stopgap measures (albeit desperately needed ones) that do not bring about lasting solutions. Instead of liberation he proposes transformation, which does not resign itself to material evils but seeks to address them head-on with entrepreneurial creativity. (Nobel Prize winner Muhammad Yunus comes to mind.) Heslam acknowledges that in order to end poverty, more than good individuals are needed; it also requires factors like good infrastructure, good laws, good education, a free press, a working justice system—in other words, good government. Without claiming too much for the private sector or individual conscience, his exhortations to theologians to avoid the usual sneers or caricatures of businesspeople and to spend at least some time thinking about production, not just distribution, ring true. By the end of this article, I was convinced that Christian ethicists (or any people of good will) who care about social justice would do well to devote much more time to understanding and theologizing business.
