This volume is devoted to explaining the various permutations and applications of neoliberalism. This chapter covers a small part of that larger picture – the importance and rise of what might be deemed ‘religious neoliberalism'. By that I mean the various attempts to weave together a religious justification for the largely secular project of neoliberalism. In many ways, religion has an awkward at least, countervailing at most, relationship with neoliberalism. All of the world's major religions are at least superficially devoted to themes that do not fit well with neoliberalism – e.g., cooperation, community, reciprocity, love. As a major influence on thought, religion could thus be deemed, and in fact has been deemed, a threat to neoliberalism. Ayn Rand once famously referred to Christianity as the ‘kindergarten of socialism’ (Burns, 2009). Despite, or perhaps because of, these differences, Rightist scholars and ideologues have devoted themselves to framing neoliberalism and Christianity as not only mutually compatible, but mutually supportive. This chapter covers one version of these efforts – specifically those by American scholars and theologians to create theological legitimacy for neoliberalism – but versions of this story are also occurring in the UK (Cooper, 2013), Australia (Maddox, 2005) and Canada (McDonald, 2010). Though these efforts are more marginal to the neoliberal thought collective than, say, the Mont Pèlerin Group or the Chicago School, they have a political importance that far surpasses those seminal institutions. Namely, by providing a theological legitimacy for an idea that Christians might find alienating, they form the political basis for the modern Right, and thus the legislative basis to implement neoliberalism.
The idea that government should be uninvolved in social welfare and the market has gone from fringe to foundational among the American Right during the past 50 years. Figures like Friedrich Hayek, Ayn Rand, and Milton Friedman were cast as the ‘lunatic fringe’ as recently as the early 1960s for promoting such ideas, but now are iconic figures among the Right and beyond (Girvetz, 1963; Peck, 2010). Their message of individuated capitalism – one where people succeeded and failed purely on their own devices – is now an axiom on the Right in most western countries, and increasingly pervasive across the political spectrum. The American version of this ideational transition, from fringe to center, was built on an unusually disciplined electoral coalition of evangelicals, military conservatives, and libertarians (Diamond, 1995). This coalition has doggedly supported deregulatory policies and politicians almost reflexively since US President Nixon, despite their own internal differences and ambivalence about the proper role for government in society.
The support among libertarians is easy to understand.1 The foundational principle of the movement is an almost non-existent state, and Hayek, Rand, and Friedman are viewed as quasi-religious figures among modern libertarians. But military conservatives and evangelicals do not necessarily bow before the altar of Hayek, so their support is more curious. Military conservatives are organized around a big state idea – namely, that the American military should be the strongest in the world and backed by a muscular foreign policy. And evangelicals, though internally varied, are generally organized around a moral politics that, among other features, self-consciously venerates compassion for the least-fortunate (Elisha, 2008). How can a community so openly support ideas and policies that lack compassion for the poor? How can self-professed Christians support policies that eliminate or reduce housing, food, and care options for the poor? How does one get Christians to support such an ideology?
The prevailing wisdom is that the Rightist fantasy of state-less or state-light welfare is frequently tied to the rhetoric and scholarship of mid-twentieth century secular academic figures – Hayek, Rand, Friedman, and von Mises, in particular. These figures are frequently invoked to intellectualize the political movement. Yet, by themselves, it is unlikely that their ideas would have had much of a political influence beyond a small group of privileged conservatives. Their ideas read as mean-spirited assaults on popular social programs like Social Security; cold celebrations of greed that many (particularly Christian) Americans might find alienating. Explaining the rise of neoliberal capitalism as a sudden epiphany – an acceptance of secular neoliberal ideas – is doubtful. This chapter highlights some of the tortured (but politically successful) efforts of religious fundamentalist authors and activists to derive a biblical justification for neoliberalism, and suggests that these efforts have been underrepresented in recent narratives about the Right. Though less frequently invoked than the work of secular neoliberals, religious neoliberals scripted a narrative that brought evangelical Christians into the anti-governmental, anti-welfare fold – forming the political coalition undergirding the Republican Party and the neoliberal movement more generally. There are many dimensions to this coalition – ranging from cynical and self-conscious strategies by political operatives to fuse the factions of the Right, to casual reinforcement of anti-statist rhetoric in leading evangelical books, magazines, and blogs. But whatever their differences, they have created an important ideational bond between disparate factions of the conservative coalition. There are multiple components to this bond (see my Faith Based for a more complete description).2 I will focus on one: attempts to extract biblical legitimacy for neoliberal ideas.
The Religious Right has played a significant role in the formation of the political Right in the US (Diamond, 1995; Phillips, 2006). These ideas emanate from overwhelmingly White and Protestant positionality, but it is precisely this positionality that has been deployed to sanctify certain neoliberal principles, so it is useful to review (and to keep in perspective) here. It is also worth noting that despite the superficial uniformity of where these ideas come from, the Religious Right is actually a highly varied group of people, faiths, congregations, and organizations (Wilcox and Larson, 2006). I do not mean to dismiss this variation entirely, but the focus here is on those organizations and ideas within the evangelical fold that are focused on unifying Christians against socialism and for neoliberalism.
Three sub-movements stand out in this regard. First, Dominionism – the belief that Christians should take control of government and, in some more extreme forms, impose biblical law – provides ample justification for criticizing the secular interventionist state and its institutions. Second, Christian libertarianism, while small in size, provides the most direct and comprehensive biblical justification for neoliberalism. Third, Prosperity Theology provides a biblical justification for embracing the market and property rights. Though rejected by many theologians, its practitioners are highly influential, and its adherents are numerous. These movements are described below. The sketches are based on academic and popular accounts of each from both supporters and critics.
Dominionism, also known as ‘Dominion Theology', is the largest and most encompassing of the logics being considered here, and it is perhaps the one that is most widely held as an assumption by evangelicals in the US. It is also the most internally varied and controversial of the three logics being considered here. As Sara Diamond (1995: 246), a sociologist that many credit with coining the phrase ‘Dominionism', explains:
Dominion theology … was really more of a world view than a discrete set of tenets. Essentially, Dominionism revolved around the idea that Christians, and Christians alone, are biblically mandated to occupy all secular institutions until Christ returns. By definition, Dominionism precluded coalition or consensus-building between believers and non-believers.
The idea is derived from a controversial reading of Genesis 1:26 (King James Version) which reads as follows:
And God said, Let us make man in our image, after our likeness: and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth.
And a similar verse a few passages later (Genesis 1:28; KJV), which reads as follows:
And God blessed them, and God said unto them, Be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth, and subdue it: and have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over every living thing that moveth upon the earth.
Dominion theologians interpret these passages as an invitation to unabashedly infuse Christian people and principles into secular government and, in the US context, to ‘return America to its Christian roots'.3 While the term was coined by Diamond (1995), the belief system itself is often traced to the work of former Dutch prime minister Abraham Kuyper (1837–1920). Kuyper, a Calvinist, felt that all human actions were part of building God's kingdom – it is ironic that his ideas are now deployed by Dominionists as a way to exclude non-Christians in government given that he is generally considered a pluralist. Many credit him today with the concept of state funding for faith-based agencies, and the idea that the mixture of religion and government was not an improper one for a liberal democratic state (Daly, 2006).4 In the US context, this perspective was co-opted and radicalized most prolifically by two theologists, Francis Schaeffer (1912–1984) and Rousas Rushdoony (1916–2001). Schaeffer's highly influential book, A Christian Manifesto (1982), called on Christians to lose their ambivalence about infusing their religion with their politics. Accordingly, it was not only permissible for evangelical Christians to aggressively advocate for Christianizing government, but was also their responsibility.
Rushdoony extended and radicalized this notion further by suggesting that theonomy – biblical law – be imposed on the US. Many consider his work as the beginning of an even more extreme version of Dominionism, called Christian Reconstructionism. In this worldview, Old Testament biblical law would be imposed to include ‘capital punishment for homosexuality, adultery and abortion; a ban on long-term debt; a return to the gold standard economy; the abolition of income tax; and the destruction of the government welfare system’ (Diamond, 1989: 240–1). Certainly, the most prolific,5 and arguably the most influential, living Reconstructionist is Gary North. The son-in-law of the late Rushdoony, North was an active member of secular libertarian groups when he was young, but became a strict Christian Reconstructionist later in his life – so strict, in fact, that he rejected Rushdoony and Schaeffer as moderates on various issues. North was formally trained as an economist6 and still retains a strict Austrian School libertarian perspective (Clauson, 2006). He founded the Institute for Christian Economics, a think-tank that produces books and material that ridicules secular government, particularly welfare and government redistribution (Diamond, 1995). His books are written in a more popular style and are widely available in Christian bookstores in the United States. Reconstructionists like North invoke a sense of eschatological urgency to this agenda by suggesting that it is the duty of Christians to impose such an order before Christ returns to earth. Their belief system is ‘post-millennial’ in that they believe that followers will have to rule the earth for 1,000 years before his return, so it is urgent for Christians to take-over and replace secular government now. This view contrasts with pre-millenialists who think that Christ will return before this to usher in the 1,000 years of Christian rule, so it is less urgent to institute political change at this moment. In either case, Reconstructionism is widely viewed by both followers and critics as the most extreme form of Dominion Theology.
As a label, Dominionism is highly controversial. Above all else, it was coined by Diamond (1989, 1995, 1998), a sociologist who is widely critical of the American conservative movement, and Frederick Clarkson (1994), a religion scholar who has made a career out of criticizing the Religious Right. As such, some conservative journalists, writers and leaders have dismissed it as ‘conspiratorial nonsense’ (Kurtz, 2005), and an attempt ‘to smear the Republican Party as the party of domestic theocracy’ (Williams, 2005). Others who are less defensive, point to the fact that figures like Rushdoony and ideas like Reconstructionism are not shared in a wide doctrinaire way by evangelical Christians. Still others point out that most conservative evangelicals are pre-millenialists in orientation and, thus, are not predisposed toward having the urgency of post-millennial Reconstructionists. But while they may not be self-labels, it is also true that the foundational ideas of Dominionism – or whatever we choose to call it – are important to many evangelicals (Rudin, 2006). The Religious Right has, for example, made the appointment of sympathetic judges a key agenda item over the past 30 years, in part because of Dominionist assumptions. Moreover, the idea that Christians should hold dominion over the earth has been mobilized more recently to motivate more moderate politics, such as a pro-environmental stance by an increasing number of evangelicals (Cizik, 2005). Thus, as William Martin (1996) and others suggest, the label is more hotly contested than the idea itself.7 As Martin (1996: 354) pointed out in reference to an interview he did for his book, With God on Our Side:
Because it is so genuinely radical, most leaders of the Religious Right are careful to distance themselves from it. At the same time, it clearly holds some appeal for many of them. One undoubtedly spoke for others when he confessed, ‘Though we hide their books under the bed, we read them just the same'. In addition, several key leaders have acknowledged an intellectual debt to the theonomists. Jerry Falwell and D. James Kennedy have endorsed Reconstructionist books. Rushdoony has appeared on Kennedy's television program and the 700 Club several times. Pat Robertson makes frequent use of dominion language; his book, The Secret Kingdom, has often been cited for its theonomy elements; and pluralists were made uncomfortable when, during his presidential campaign, he said he ‘would only bring Christians and Jews into the government…'. He added, ‘There are a lot of us floating around in Christian leadership – James Kennedy is one of them – who don't go all the way with the theonomy thing, but who want to rebuild America based on the Bible.'
Dominionism may not be the label-of-choice by its followers but it encapsulates a belief system that is less disputed than its label.
In part because of the discomfort that many followers have over the label, it is difficult to arrive at solid figures on how large the Dominionist community is. Rushdoony once estimated the size of Reconstructionists at 20 million (Sugg, 2005), but gave little reason for arriving at this figure, so it is difficult to tell how accurate it is. Perhaps more relevant is the fact that the writings of Dominionists and Reconstructionists are widely available and that many Religious Right figures have expressed public sympathies for the ideas, or used them as a justification for various political interventions. Diamond (1995: 248) expresses this well:
What is important about Reconstructionism and other expressions of dominion theology was not so much the eccentricities of its key advocates but rather that diffuse influence that America was ordained as a Christian nation and that Christians, exclusively, were to rule and reign. Most activists in the Christian Right were not well versed in the arcane teachings of Rousas Rushdoony [and other Reconstructionist ideologues] … But there was a wide following for softer forms of Dominionism. Among the most popular of Christian Right ministries was one called WallBuilders, a lucrative book and tape sales operation, that promoted the claims that America's Founding Fathers were nearly all evangelical Christians, and that the only answer to rampant social problems was for Christians alone to run for elected office.
The work of North and others was also useful for creating a theological justification for many of the arguments that have emerged in the US over the past several decades regarding welfare, taxes, and the state in general. The ideas have become less radical as more adherents express their support. Dominionist ideas have been expressed in recent mainstream discussions on a variety of topics ranging from environmentalism, to economics, to faith-based welfare.
So what influence does Dominionist thinking have on the adoption of neoliberalism in the United States? First and foremost, Dominionism is a foundational assumption held by many evangelicals. It creates a theological justification for criticizing various forms of government intervention, whether that be through the protest of ‘activist’ judges or the promotion of political figures who will ‘return America to its Christian roots'. Second, this theology is rooted to a neo-Calvinist perspective that is both anti-statist (when it comes to welfare) and highly individualist when it comes to poverty. Thus, Dominionism helps deepen and sanctify the critique of secular welfare. Yet, by the same token, Dominionist Theology is a shaky foundation upon which to build neoliberal politics, so we should not go too far in emphasizing its influence. In particular, Dominionism, while opening a space for criticizing secular government, envisions a top-down theocratic state that would certainly not appeal to purist secular neoliberals like Hayek. Similar to Hilton's (1986) description of the alliance that economic liberals and evangelicals had in eighteenth-century England and Scotland, modern-day neoliberals and Dominionists may share a common enemy, but their endgame is considerably different. In politics, though, the antipathy against secular interventionism has been shared enough by Dominionists and neoliberals to consider their alliance – while shaky and headed for different ends – a powerful one of convenience.
Christian libertarianism is a loosely organized effort to synthesize the often-juxtaposed projects of conservative Christianity and secular libertarianism. It is a hybrid movement that does not draw on a single line of scholars, theologians or ideologues, but because many of the latter – both contemporary and historical – are powerful people who edit national magazines, write for journals, and run think-tanks, it is worth considering the influence of this particular construction. The most frequently cited biblical verse in support of this position is John 8:36 (KJV), which reads: ‘If the Son therefore shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed.’ Beyond this, Christian libertarians have drawn on three principle sources of inspiration for their movement. First, Christian libertarians draw inspiration from classical liberals who integrated some degree of Christianity in their liberal writings, the two most famous being John Locke and Lord Acton. Acton (1988) was the most outspoken in this regard and now has a think-tank named after him. In one of his more oft-quoted8 passages, he sets out how his Christianity and his liberalism are synergistic:
Liberty is not the power of doing what we like, but the right of being able to do what we ought. … Liberty is the prevention of control by others. This requires self-control and, therefore, religious and spiritual influences. … [In Western countries] Liberty has not subsisted outside of Christianity.
Second, and related to this synthesis, Austrian schooler Murray Rothbard (2006) outlines the three ‘libertarian experiments’ by early American colonists in Albemarle North Carolina, Rhode Island, and Pennsylvania. He suggests that the libertarianism of these early colonists was heavily influenced by and infused with Christian principles. Third, a number of others, including Hopfl (1991), have gone back much further to suggest that Martin Luther and the Reformation was based on a form of Christian libertarianism. He argues that ‘libertarian, egalitarian, communal motifs were part of the texture of his [Luther's] theology’ (Hopfl, 1991: p. xii). Whatever the source, however, the basic idea of Christian libertarianism is that society should aim for the maximum feasible freedom within a biblical framework, primarily the Ten Commandments.
There is, though, a great deal of controversy about this notion from both secular and sectarian corners. Some ‘libertarian Christians', who are quick to suggest that they are not the same as ‘Christian libertarians', quibble with the latter's interpretation of biblical verses, and how law makers should intervene with moral ‘crimes’ that have no obvious victim, such as lust. Christian libertarians believe that such crimes should be punished by the state, while libertarian Christians believe that government should exist only to punish crimes that victimize other people (Olree, 2006; Antle, 2007). Other theological differences between Christian libertarianism and Libertarian Christianity include the former being more likely to be tied to theonomic or Reconstructionist views, while the latter seems more tied to secular libertarianism and predestination. Overall, though, they both draw inspiration from the aforementioned verse (John 8:36) and are deeply skeptical of the interventionist secular state, particularly as it manifests in the form of taxes and social welfare.
Most secular critics, however, either do not make such a nuanced theological distinction, or are focused on a deeper contradiction that they see within Christian libertarianism, namely that libertarianism is an intrinsically secular ideal involving a small state. It is, thus, challenging to call oneself a libertarian if you consider ‘biblical sins’ like abortion, adultery, or homosexuality, or vices like alcohol, gambling, and prostitution to be punishable by the state. Ryan Sager (2006), for example, a secular neoliberal himself, is skeptical that the alliance between libertarians and Christians that undergirds the Republican Party in the US is sustainable. He points out that there has been an effort to ‘fuse’ the two perspectives since the 1960s, but that it has always been a tenuous alliance. In his own words:
Whatever alliances have been formed, libertarians have always tended to see social conservatives as rubes ready to thump nonbelievers on the head with the Bible the first chance they get, and social conservatives have always tended to see libertarians as dope-smoking devil worshippers. (Sager, 2006: 8)
Despite these differences, he suggests:
these two warring factions would ally to take over the Republican Party. By 2004, forty years later, they would dominate the entire country. (Sager, 2006: 21)
But to Sager, this alliance of convenience, albeit a powerful one, is beginning to break apart the Republican Party (see also Kirkpatrick, 2007). To him, secular libertarianism and evangelicalism are fundamentally incompatible ideas. Others have expressed skepticism about a tightly-fused alliance, but have nonetheless identified some ground for overlap. Doug Bandow (1994), for example, shares some of Sager's skepticism, but goes much further in trying to build bridges between Christianity and libertarianism. While Bandow (1994: 34–5) is skeptical that the connections are as firm as some argue, he does see ample ground for overlap:
Even Christians who are not libertarians and libertarians who are not Christians have many opportunities to cooperate on protecting religious freedom, restricting state expansion, encouraging private education, keeping the government out of child care, opposing welfare systems that destroy families, and so on. And given both groups’ need to find additional allies, it is increasingly important that Christians and libertarians not only talk with each other, but work together.
The areas that he identifies are revealing for what such an agenda might look like in an actualized political sense. Others have attempted to steer clear of the basic philosophical compatibility between libertarians and Christians by simply renaming the movement but still accepting its basic premises. Lienesch (1993: 107–8), for example, deems Christian libertarians ‘Christian capitalists’ and explains that:
In constructing their economic thinking, they borrow heavily from secular conservative writings, which they cite and combine in a seemingly unsystematic way. The writers they refer to most frequently include libertarians of the Austrian school of Frederick A. Hayek and Ludwig von Mises. … Among the currents that come together to form this theory of Christian capitalism, libertarianism seems to run the deepest and strongest. Religious conservatives turn easily to free market economic theory, and they draw heavily on the Austrian school thinkers such as von Mises, Hayek, and Murray Rothbard. In a free market theory they find the fundamental principles of their economic psychology, including individual self-interest, the profit motive, and free enterprise. Borrowing from these themes, Christian capitalist thinkers translate their meanings, turning free market theory, with its free-wheeling and forward-looking emphasis on entrepreneurship, into a more restrained and more pessimistic theory of self-discipline and social order.
Still others have tried to turn the debate to a consideration of the aforementioned historical roots of the movement to legitimate it and downplay its internal contradictions. Rothbard (1980, 2006), for example, though not a self-identified ‘Christian libertarian',9 suggested that an individual's religion should not preclude their ability to be a libertarian. He acknowledged that many present libertarians are atheists, but emphasized the fact that many libertarians have historically been Christian:
There is no necessary connection between being for or against libertarianism and one's position on religion. It is true that many if not most libertarians at the present time are atheists, but this correlates with the fact that most intellectuals, of most political persuasions, are atheists as well. There are many libertarians who are theists, Jewish or Christian. Among the classical liberal forebears of modern libertarianism in a more religious age there were a myriad of Christians: from John Lilburne, Roger Williams, Anne Hutchinson, and John Locke in the seventeenth century, down to Cobden and Bright, Frederic Bastiat and the French laissez-faire liberals, and the great Lord Acton. (Rothbard, 1980: 11)
In short, theological and secular controversies have been raised about the Christian libertarian alliance, but it would be misleading to say that these have undermined its importance for a fairly powerful set of adherents.
Though, as Antle (2007) laments, ‘they are … at a disadvantage without a theological tradition robust enough to compete with the Social Gospel on the left or Christian Reconstructionism on the extreme right', Christian libertarianism has some very powerful advocates. Arguably the most powerful person currently pushing a hybrid agenda of Christianity and libertarianism is Marvin Olasky. Olasky was a journalism professor at the University of Texas, and editor of the influential World Magazine. As an author of over 200 articles and books, a frequent talk show guest, advisor to President Bush, and popular journalist, Olasky has chosen to directly weave libertarianism and conservative Christianity into public policy discussions (Grann, 1999). Prior to the 1990s, Olasky was a relatively obscure professor, but this changed dramatically both with the publication of his infamous book, The Tragedy of American Compassion (1992), and then the rise of George W. Bush as governor and later president. Tragedy was a harsh critique of the secular welfare state. It venerated the religious charity-based approach of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries that was able to separate the ‘deserving’ from ‘undeserving’ poor, and which drew on community rather than federal government resources. It was welcomed with open arms by the rising Republican congressional delegation, whose leader, Newt Gingrich, famously delivered a copy to each freshman congressman in 1994. His neo-Calvinist tough-love approach to poverty softened the political edge of anti-welfarism (and anti-statism) that is intrinsic to libertarianism (and the Republican Party platform at the time) (Grann, 1999). It also contributed to building a platform that would help bring George Bush to power. Olasky was a direct advisor to Bush in Texas during his gubernatorial campaigns and is credited with devising the language of ‘compassionate conservatism’ (Olasky, 2000). While Olasky has not inspired a theological movement and does not have a literal congregation, his connections to powerful people and mainstream credentials give him and his ideas a legitimacy that extremists like North and Rushdoony have never possessed.
Related to this mainstream legitimacy, the ideas of Christian libertarianism are also promulgated by the Acton Institute for the Study of Religion and Liberty, named for the aforementioned patriarch of the movement, Lord Acton. The Acton Institute was founded in 1990, is located in Grand Rapids, Michigan, and is directed by Robert Sirico (Acton Institute, 2008). Among others, the aforementioned Marvin Olasky and Doug Bandow feature as board members. Through its journal (Journal of Markets and Morality), its magazine (Religion and Liberty), and its newsletter (Acton Notes), the organization promotes a blend of libertarianism and Christianity. Much like Olasky's focus, the Acton Institute is not aiming to devise or build a particular theological movement, but rather is directed at promoting the hybrid perspective of libertarianism and Christianity in public policy discussions. Though it is not as powerful as some secular libertarian think-tanks, such as the CATO Institute, it is recognized as influential and is certainly the most influential of its perspective.
Christian libertarianism and the variants of it are likely the smallest movement of those being discussed in this chapter. But, by the same token, it is an idea that is promoted by people and institutions that are more powerful than either Dominionists or Prosperity Theologians. Moreover, it is the most direct attempt to weave together neoliberalism (otherwise known as libertarianism) and conservative Christian theologies. It creates a biblically-justified space to critique secular government, particularly taxes and welfare. It tends to be less extreme than Reconstructionism, but for the most part shares the view that the Bible creates bounds that some secular libertarians are unwilling to accept. So, as with Dominionism, Christian libertarianism shares an intellectual enemy with neoliberalism, but has a very different ideal endgame. It creates a theological justification for abhorring big-government, taxes, and welfare, and has had a great deal of behind-the-scenes sway in recent public policy discussions in the United States.
Prosperity Theology – also known as Prosperity Lite, Health and Wealth, Word of Faith – is a controversial movement built around the idea that God wants you to be prosperous and that it is one's duty to donate heavily to one's church in order to activate this outcome. It is most often associated with the Charismatic and Pentecostal wings of Christianity. The basic philosophy is preached in three of the four largest churches in the United States: Joel Osteen's Lakewood Church in Houston; T.D. Jakes’ Potter's House in Dallas; and Creflo Dollar's World Changers Church near Atlanta. Historians, theologians and critics differ somewhat on its historical origins, but these three are most commonly cited. Alcorn (1989: 104) argues that traces of the movement can be found as far back as the ancient Pharisees who ‘…lived and breathed Prosperity Theology and relished labelling everyone beneath their social caste as “sinners”'. Jackson (1989), by contrast, traces modern-day Prosperity Theology to the mid-twentieth-century metaphysical cults popularized by Kenneth Hagin and Essex Kenyon. Hagin and Kenyon were popular Pentecostals in Texas and Oklahoma who sponsored revivals, radio-shows, and newsletters in the 1940s and 1950s. Finally, the most commonly-cited origin for modern Prosperity Theology (and the one that gives it the most controversy) is the 1980s televangelist movements that were led by now-disgraced preachers Jimmy Swaggart and Jim Baker.
A variety of different biblical verses are used to justify the position that God wants his followers to be prosperous, but the most often cited ones are as follows:
Deuteronomy 8:18 (KJV): But thou shalt remember the LORD thy God: for it is he that giveth thee power to get wealth, that he may establish his covenant which he swear unto thy fathers, as it is this day.
Malachi 3:10 (KJV): Bring ye all the tithes into the storehouse, that there may be meat in mine house, and prove me now herewith, saith the LORD of hosts, if I will not open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it.
John 10:10 (KJV): The thief cometh not, but for to steal, and to kill, and to destroy: I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly.
Each is used by prosperity theologians to promote the view that authentic piety toward God will be rewarded with material wealth. It serves, whether by design or default, as a salve for the guilt of wealth that many Christians feel, and as biblical justification for minimal or no focus on poverty amelioration, which dominate other theological schools within Christianity, particularly Liberation Theology and the Social Gospel.
There are, of course, many critics of this interpretation of the Bible and the political and cultural attitude that it is believed to foster. Secularists have repudiated the idea as essentially an offshoot of disgraced 1980s televangelist schemes that demanded heavy financial contributions from parishioners, and brought great riches (and eventually public shame) only to its leaders.10 But it is also seen as simply supporting, with biblical legitimacy, immediate-gratification, greed, and self-interest that is already rife in American society (Wolfe, 2003). As Alcorn (1989: 116–17) elaborates:
In Prosperity Theology, God is seen as a great no-lose lottery in the sky, a cosmic slot machine in which you put in a coin and pull the lever, then stick out your hat and catch the winnings while your ‘casino buddies’ (in this case, fellow Christians) whoop and holler (or say ‘Amen') and wait their turn in line. … In this sort of system, God's only reaction for existing is to give us what we want. If we had no needs, God would probably just disappear – after all, what purpose would he have anymore? With this kind of slick (and sick) theology, prayer ceases to be sacred. Instead of a means to give him glory and draw strength for the battle, prayer degenerates into an endless ‘wish list’ to take before our Santa God.
Finally, it is seen by some as little more than a form of pandering by religious entrepreneurs aiming to build their congregations by promoting a vision that parishioners will gravitate toward. As Lee (2007) has noted:
It is ironic that Pentecostalism, the branch of Christendom that once harboured ardent anti-secular sentiment, transformed into a new Pentecostal movement with the strongest embrace of technology, secularism, capitalism, and popular culture. … These ministries emphasize the therapeutic benefits of the faith and offer an optimistic view of the future that embraces American ideals of prosperity. In our competitive religious landscape, churches that adjust to cultural changes are flourishing while traditional churches lag behind and lose many members.
In general, there are a variety of secular cultural critics of Prosperity Theology. It is seen by some as a view that promotes greed, justifies inequality, and at worst leads to fraud cloaked in religion. But while secular critics abound, many religious scholars have also expressed deep misgivings about the philosophy.
There are several theological critiques of Prosperity Theology, but they can be grouped broadly under the argument that its preachers are only loosely based in the Bible, and that their views are contradicted more often than they are supported within the Bible. Rick Warren, pastor of the Saddleback Church in California, is a key critic of the Prosperity Theology movement. ‘The idea that God wants everyone to be wealthy?', he skeptically asked:
There is a word for that: baloney. It's creating false idol. You don't measure your self-worth by your net worth. I can show you millions of faithful followers of Christ who live in poverty. Why isn't everyone in the church a millionaire? (quoted in Van Biema and Chu, 2006)
And Warren, though probably the most famous theological critic, is not alone. Theological scholars have quibbled with the use and interpretation of the aforementioned biblical verses that underlie the movement. As one of the many of such scholars argues:
To preach a Christian lifestyle that must involve perfect health, enough wealth to live off the fat of the land, and the ability to call, at whim, upon God to interfere with history on one's behalf, is to preach a faith that has no true biblical precedent. Prosperity theology is therefore heretical because its claim to be Christian cannot be substantiated, and the faith movement is to be rebuked wherever it is encountered. (Jackson, 1989: 22–3)
Preachers like Warren and scholars like Jackson point to numerous other biblical verses that contradict Prosperity's emphasis on material wealth. Three verses are most commonly cited in this regard:
Timothy 6:10 (KJV): For the love of money is the root of all evil: which while some coveted after, they have erred from the faith, and pierced themselves through with many sorrows.
Mark 10:21 (KJV): Then Jesus beholding him loved him, and said unto him, One thing thou lackest: go thy way, sell whatsoever thou hast, and give to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven: and come, take up the cross, and follow me.
Luke 18:22–25 (KJV): Now when Jesus heard these things, he said unto him, Yet lackest thou one thing: sell all that thou hast, and distribute unto the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven: and come, follow me. And when he heard this, he was very sorrowful: for he was very rich. And when Jesus saw that he was very sorrowful, he said, How hardly shall they that have riches enter into the kingdom of God! For it is easier for a camel to go through a needle's eye, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God.
Theological critics point primarily to these and other verses to reinforce their position that Prosperity is at best loosely supported, and at worst blatantly contradicted, by the Bible. But while the movement has been harshly criticized by secular and religious scholars, it is hard to escape the fact that it is very influential in some parts of the country – that its promoters reach millions of people per week through televised sermons that construct a biblical justification for wealth accumulation.
Like all religious movements, it is very difficult to get firm figures on the number of adherents to Prosperity Theology, not least because it is both a formal theological movement with members who self-identify as such, and a set of assumptions that are likely more widespread. Alcorn (1989) says simply that ‘millions’ adhere to the philosophy in the US, but does not specify further. Time Magazine (Van Biema and Chu, 2006) teases us with the estimation that Prosperity Theology, ‘has been percolating in the 10 million-strong Pentecostal wing of Christianity', and goes on to argue that many of its assumptions are even more widespread than this, but does get more specific than this. In the same article, the authors report on a poll commissioned by their magazine which showed that while only 17% of Christians self-identified with the movement, 61% felt that ‘God wanted them to be prosperous', and 31% felt that ‘if you give your money to God, God will bless you with more money'. So while the formal adoption of Prosperity is somewhat limited, its central assumptions appear to be widely held by evangelical Christians in the US.
However, while the numbers of formal adherents are certainly important, the direct and indirect reach of several of its more high-profile proponents suggests that the movement may be broader than simple congregational surveys suggest. The movement is led by many of America's most influential preachers, such as Joel Osteen, and many others who integrate key elements of it into their ministry, including Rod Parsley, T.D. Jakes, and Kirbyjon Caldwell. Joel Osteen is one of the most controversial of these figures and arguably its most ardent supporter. Osteen pastors the Lakewood Church11 in Houston, Texas. He succeeded the pastorship from his father, John Osteen, in 1999, and has since built the ministry into one of the largest in the United States, with over 40,000 congregants (Van Biema and Chu, 2006). He also reaches approximately 2 million people in 150 countries through his weekly television broadcasts, and is a best-selling author, most notably of Your Best Life Now: 7 steps to living at your full potential, in 2004, and Become a Better You: 7 keys to improving your life every day, in 2007 (both of which have topped the New York Times Best Seller List) (Contemporary Authors Online, 2008a). In his books, broadcasts, and sermons, Osteen preaches an optimistic self-help message that is, by his own admission, less rooted in Scripture than some other ministries (Van Biema and Chu, 2006). Other famous prosperity ministers include Jakes and Caldwell. Jakes is also a prolific best-selling author and prominent figure in the African-American community (Pappu, 2006). His ministry preaches much more than just Prosperity Theology, but he is unapologetic about the association, seeing it as an optimistic interpretation of the Bible that can empower his congregants. In addition to weekly sermons at his 30,000-person Potter's House Pentecostal Church in Dallas, Jakes is a frequent guest on talk shows, and travels widely for speeches, including one in the Georgia Dome in which he reportedly broke the attendance record with over 84,000 people (Contemporary Authors Online, 2008b; also Winner, 1999). Caldwell, though presiding over a mere 15,000 parishioners, is more notable for his personal connections as President Bush's pastor at the United Methodist Church in Houston, Texas. He gave the benediction for the first Bush inauguration and recently presided over the marriage of Jenna Bush. Caldwell preaches a moderated form of Prosperity Theology in his church.
Prosperity Theology certainly has its critics, but it would be difficult to argue that it is a fringe movement given the influence of figures like Osteen, Caldwell and Jakes. But Prosperity is more than a formal theological movement. It is also a set of biblically-legitimated assumptions. And these assumptions, in turn, reinforce some of secular neoliberalism's main objectives. First, Prosperity Theology provides divine justification for what many are able to justify only in crass capitalist terms: accumulating wealth. It softens, contradicts, and muddies the notion that accumulation is the disreputable pursuit that socialists and progressive theologians cast it to be. Second, it reinforces the Calvinist tenet of individual responsibility for material success, and its darker corollary, individual responsibility for one's failures – a key justification for dissolving the welfare state. Third, Prosperity sanctifies private property as an expression of piety. It not only provides a rationale for focusing on your own wealth creation – separate from community or society in general – but also for ignoring the poverty of others. If ‘God wants you to be rich', as a recent Time Magazine article impishly pondered, then it is not too much of a stretch to assume that being poor is a form of justified punishment.
The rise of neoliberalism in the past several decades has been traced by a variety of geographers, sociologists, and political economists. Though the foci of these accounts vary considerably, a central theme is the importance of both economic thought and material conditions in the rise of the ideology. Neoliberalism, in this account, is the brainchild of Hayek, Friedman, and von Mises, who revived and promoted the works of the classical liberals in their famous Mont Pèlerin society and interventions throughout the world. It caught on for material reasons, namely that 1970s stagflation undermined the rationale for Keynesianism, and, more cynically, the wealthy wanted lower taxes. I certainly do not want to diminish this narrative. Not only have I helped author it, but I also still believe it to be largely correct. Yet, what I do question is the ability of this script for understanding the political diffusion of the ideal, in spite of all of its failure to achieve its putative ends and solve the problems that it was situated to solve. Surely, neoliberalism has benefited from other political movements that have their own built-in legitimating rationales. This chapter is an attempt to explore the importance of one broad justification – evangelical logics that are supportive of neoliberalism, even if indirectly or accidentally.
While neoliberalism is primarily a secular economic creation, it has benefited politically from the prominent rise of the evangelical movement in the United States. This dynamic is less acute in other countries, but is certainly present. This is not to say that every corner of the evangelical movement is supportive of neoliberalism, nor to say that we can automatically assume that evangelical Christianity would lead to the same supportive outcome in other countries. Rather, I think that three religious logics have created intricate faith-based rationales for supporting neoliberalism's main tenets – the emphasis on individual responsibility, deregulation, low taxes, and anti-welfarism in particular. All three are deeply, though not exclusively, influenced by neo-Calvinism and, as such, they share as much as they differ; yet each is aligned with a particular set of institutions, tactics, and theologies that are worthy of separate consideration. Though they each have both secular and sectarian critics, all of these movements lend credibility to neoliberalism by reinforcing its agenda. Dominionism invokes divine inspiration for challenging the secular state. Christian libertarianism invokes divine justification for abhorring socialism and the welfare state. Prosperity Theology deploys divine absolution for accumulating capital. Each draws inspiration from the Bible and, as such, invokes a legitimacy that is rooted in faith. They are influential for different reasons. Though formalized Christian Reconstructionism is most assuredly a fringe movement, the basic assumption of Dominionism utterly saturates the politics of the Religious Right and conservatives in general. Christian libertarianism does not have an intricate theological justification, but it has very well-connected promoters who have influenced recent policy. And Prosperity Theology, though derided by many theologians as an heretical mirage, is the organizing principle for some of the most powerful, widely-heard preachers in the United States.
It would be a stretch to suggest that these are the only ideas percolating on the religious or neoliberal Right in the US. It would also be a stretch to say that these ideas are uncontested from within or outside the evangelical fold. But, by the same token, it is difficult to avoid the curious parallel rise of neoliberalism, fundamentalist religious movements, and the role they have collectively played in bonding and promoting neoliberalism as a policy framework. Religious ideas – even fragmentary extremist ones – are an important and understudied component of this picture.
1. I am using the terms ‘libertarian’ and ‘neoliberal’ interchangeably in this chapter. Figures like Hayek and Friedman considered themselves to be ‘liberals’ (as in classical liberalism), and that mid-twentieth-century egalitarian liberals had stolen and appropriate the term for their use. ‘Libertarian’ is simply the label that modern followers of such figures assign to themselves to differentiate themselves from egalitarian liberals. ‘Neoliberal’ is the label that many academics use to describe the movement, given its links to classical liberalism.
2. This chapter is based in part on selections from my book Faith Based (Copyright, University of Georgia Press). I gratefully acknowledge permission to reprint these materials (see Hackworth, 2012, for full reference).
3. Ironically, given the importance of this perspective for radical conservatives, this verse has also been used more recently to advocate for a more progressive stance toward the environment (Cizik, 2005).
4. The difference of course between Kuyper's vision and the one that has been promoted by Dominionists, is that the former, while himself a Christian, felt that the same sovereignty should be granted to both churches and secular groups alike.
5. North was actually somewhat insecure about his level of productivity vis-à-vis his late father-in-law Rushdoony. North once quipped that he struggled to maintain the standard that Rushdoony set: ‘Rushdoony is the Marx of this movement. I'm trying very hard to be the Engels’ (Diamond, 1989: 136).
6. He has a PhD in Economics from UC Riverside, awarded in 1967.
7. Rudin (2006) has suggested that the term ‘Christocrats’ be used instead, though I doubt that this would allay the concerns of those who object to the term ‘Dominionist'.
8. Among the most common quoters of this passage are North American conservatives, after Reagan and Mulroney (the Canadian Prime Minister in the 1980s), who aim to weave a small government narrative with a moralizing one.
9. Rothbard is actually an anarcho-libertarian, a group with which many Christian libertarians have a great deal of disagreement.
10. An interesting sidebar to this association is that Even Baker himself repudiated the idea as a fraud, as he was being carted off to prison for fraud.
11. ‘Church’ may be a bit of a misnomer as his congregation is so large that it fully occupies a former professional basketball arena (formerly known as the Compaq Center).
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