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The Logic of Downturn: Class Matters in Religion and Economics

Downturn as the Rule

Even in the midst of an economic crisis, it is easily overlooked that crisis situations are no longer the exception, but the rule, as most people keep hoping for better times in the not-so-distant future. It is, after all, commonly assumed that the economy operates in cycles. Nevertheless, the truth is that, in the globalizing free-market economy, downturn is a constant fact of life for an increasing number of people, even during times of economic progress. This is true not only in the countries of the so-called third world, but for an increasing number of residents of the wealthier countries as well. Already in the 1990s, when the global victory of capitalism was declared, the global market no longer benefited the workforce of the so-called first world automatically, as it had done for some time. A warning about this problem was sounded over a decade ago by the authors of a book titled The Judas Economy, who confessed to be “great believers in the dynamism of the free market.” The book concluded by pointing out that capital is divorcing itself more and more from the workforce everywhere. A telling example of this divorce was when, in the summer of 1996, the value of stocks retreated when the first real gains for wages in twenty years were announced.¹

The disconnect between workers and the interests of the corporations is, of course, much older, and is in many ways part of the system itself. A court ruling of 1919 against the Ford Motor Company set an important legal precedent and continues to define the expectations of our current situation. According to this ruling, CEOs and their corporations are charged with maximizing the benefits of their stockholders rather than their workers—a supremely significant regulation that, while not technically a law, is followed in praxis by all major corporations, but is not widely known by the public.² Even a business consultant, who in a recent conversation spoke of the beneficial nature of corporations that is promoted in much of the motivational literature, was not aware of this regulation. It might be argued, of course, that this line between workers and stockholders is increasingly blurred in today’s economy, as workers may own some stock as well, but this argument fails to consider the matter of scale: the income of most workers who have some stock investments derives from their labor for the most part, and so they can hardly be considered to be the beneficiaries of an economy that maximizes the benefit of stockholders at the expense of workers.

Persistent economic hardships, which are not only visible in the widening gap between the richest and the poorest but also in increased pressures on large and growing sectors of the population, invite new questions. These questions will become more pronounced as more and more members of the middle class, even in the United States, move closer to the working class.³ As more and more aspects of our lives are commodified and for sale, even those who used to enjoy certain free spaces in the middle between workers and the owners of large fortunes—the ones who consider themselves middle class—are being pushed into the ranks of working America. This includes members of the professional ranks like medical doctors, lawyers, ministers of religion, and university professors, who are feeling pressures they never knew existed, as their work is increasingly subject to economic calculations of profitability. This situation is bound to get worse in the long run due to ongoing shifts in power and wealth. The growing asymmetry between rich and poor is no longer just a matter of the absolute extremes—between multi-billionaires and people who are starving for lack of food—but manifest in the divide between those who labor for a living and those who control (although they may not necessarily own) the means of production and who command substantial amounts of capital. And, as we shall see, this growing economic asymmetry cannot be limited to financial matters alone, as it extends to every other aspect of life.

What is becoming ever clearer is that economic pressures are not limited to exceptional periods of decline. We are not just dealing with exceptional downturns, but with the continuing reality with which most people have to contend, even in the United States. This situation changes how we approach the question of religion and economics. Paraphrasing a famous statement by Walter Benjamin, who noted that “the tradition of the oppressed teaches us that the ‘state of emergency’ in which we live is not the exception but the rule,”⁴ we might say that the experience of those who are not benefitting from the market teaches us that the current economic emergency is not the exception but the rule. This is why the view from the perspectives of working people—that is, from all those who have not much else to rely on for their income but their own labor—is so crucial. These perspectives help us better understand what is going on—here the rules of the system become clearer, and it is no accident that they are not given much consideration in the formulas of current mainline economics. Our approach is, therefore, in direct contradiction with mainline economics, where entrepreneurs are seen as the one who matter most and from whom the basic impulses flow; where entrepreneurs are seen as the “revolutionaries of economics,” as Joseph Schumpeter put it.⁵ Mainline theology is no different in this regard from mainline economics, as it also tends to look to the top religious leaders for inspiration and guidance, rather than to the common people. What is too often overlooked, however, is not limited to the fact that even the most ingenious entrepreneurs are ultimately dependent on their workforce.⁶ Those in the workforce might also provide alternative views that cannot be seen from the perspective of the entrepreneurs, but which might prove more truly revolutionary to economics than anything proposed at the top. We will need to take these alternative perspectives into account as we take another look at religion and economics.

At present, when economics is charged with taking the shape of a religion and when theology shows increasing interest in studying economics while being (mostly unconsciously) shaped by its logic, fresh reflections on the intersections of these disciplines are imperative not only in order to understand the interplay of religion and economics but also in order to develop better alternatives. The reality of severe economic downturn adds urgency to these reflections, but also brings fresh perspectives. The silver lining in an otherwise rather depressing situation is that, in times of economic downturn, conventional economic and religious forms of logic otherwise taken for granted tend to be more visible and open to question. The logic of downturn helps test the perennial optimism which rules when things go well, and brings to light hidden presuppositions. As a result, the otherwise hidden connections between economic, religious, and other powers become visible. In this situation, I identify a logic of downturn, which broadens the horizons and opens our view for alternative resources.⁷ Being increasingly pushed to the margins, more and more of us are endowed with an unexpected potential to see more clearly. This clairvoyance not only lets us analyze more competently what is going on; it also enables us to envision better what our options are and what the alternatives might be. There is an “epistemological surplus” here that relates to what I have called a “theological surplus” in an earlier project and, hopefully, to a “surplus” in economic imagination as well.⁸ As I will argue more explicitly in the chapters to come, this logic of downturn is also one of the key elements of Christianity, as it is closely related to the logic of the incarnation of the divine in Jesus Christ: God does not become human just anywhere, but in a family of construction workers and day laborers,⁹ located on the underside of a small part of the powerful economy of the Roman Empire. This perspective has the potential to shed some new light both on the study of economics and on the future of the study of theology.

One of the key challenges of becoming aware of the reality of downturn is that it pushes us to pay attention to concrete situations of conflict and suffering. This is more crucial than one might think at first, because this is exactly what is lacking in the economic and theological status quo, which is either blissfully unaware of conflict and suffering or is anxious to cover it up. We are dealing with an old problem here, which goes back hundreds, if not thousands, of years. Even the prophet Jeremiah must have been aware of it when he transmitted the divine judgment: “They have treated the wound of my people carelessly, saying, ‘Peace, peace,’ when there is no peace” (Jer 6:14). We will not be able to understand the economy and its impact on all of our lives unless we consider it in light of the conflicts and tensions that it produces, and from the perspective of those who have to endure the brunt of these matters. Neither will we be able to transform what is going on without these perspectives.

Class Matters in Economics and Religion

In our current situation, it is convenient to perpetuate misunderstandings of both religion and of class. Mainline economics firmly believes in a deregulated market, and the free-market economy appears to function best when both religion and class are at work below the surface and out of sight, sheltered from investigation. The 2008 election season in the United States was a pristine example of this. Among the efforts made to erase what little is left of the notion of class in this country was the promotion of the views of “Joe the Plumber,” one of the heroes of the McCain campaign who appeared to be quite worried about rising taxes for the upper class. Believing in the American dream, Joe the Plumber appeared to see himself as a potential member of the ownership class—that is, the people who own or at least control a significant share of the means of production and who command capital. This erasure of class happens on various levels, and racial issues play an important role: working-class whites are actively lured into identifying with ruling-class whites rather than with working-class Blacks, Latinos, Latinas, or Asians; sometimes this lure includes the granting of small benefits and favors.¹⁰ These efforts explain in part the old American phenomenon of a lack of class consciousness, especially among the white working class. No wonder that Joe the Plumber and all other white plumbers might tend to feel more connected with a white billionaire like Bill Gates than with their Latino colleague José el plomero. Doing away with notions of class by whatever means possible makes the system run more smoothly. If all participants in the free market can be lured into considering themselves to be winners, they will not raise questions; even the ones who have lost so far can see themselves as potential winners in the future.

A similar dynamic is at work when it comes to religion: if the concept of religion can be confined to a narrow frame that extends no further than the personal, the moral, or, perhaps, the cultural, questions can be avoided about the role that religion plays in public matters, whether in the economy or in political struggles for power. However, it is becoming ever more difficult to maintain such a low profile, as religion has become a power to be reckoned with in U.S. politics in recent history. Moreover, religion is also increasingly becoming a power to be reckoned with in economics, as well, although this is not yet as explicit as in politics; things have generally been moving more slowly on this front and, perhaps, more undercover, but with no less consequence. Religion is an integral part of the discourse on class and economics, as will become clearer in this chapter.

There can be little doubt that the topic of class is among the most taboo subjects in the United States. The old advice not to talk about politics, religion, sex, or money in polite company preserves these taboos. Since class is not supposed to exist in any substantial way in this country, the advice of what not to talk about is often given without explicit reference to the taboo of money. That class is not supposed to exist does not mean, however, that class is not on people’s minds. The German adage that “money is not what one talks about; money is what one has” (über Geld spricht man nicht, Geld hat man) gives expression to this: the moneyed classes are aware of their privileges to such a degree that the matter is better left undiscussed. Media presentations on the “lifestyles of the rich and famous”¹¹ might seem an exception to this rule, but what is discussed there is the stuff that those people own—their yachts, their houses, their cars, and so on—rather than the deeper meaning of this stuff, which translates into power and influence, and how it is generated. In general, the upper classes seem to be more aware of their class interests than the lower classes—as shown, for instance, by the number of lobbyists in Washington, D.C., or by the existence of exclusive neighborhoods, clubs, and even churches and religious organizations. At a time when the labor unions have been losing members and lobbying power, the number of lobbyists for monied interests has been on the rise.

While class, thus, remains real but mostly undiscussed, there is a certain stigma that adheres to being lower class. When we launched a program for “disadvantaged youth” at Perkins School of Theology a few years ago, the youth resented this classification for good reason. Talking about the “lower classes” is part of the same set of problems, as the blame tends to fall back on those who are “lower” or “disadvantaged” with a vengeance—more so than ever in recent decades.¹² The way forward at the time for what became the Perkins Youth School of Theology was to talk about “youth under pressure,” a term that arose out of my theological reflections on matters of liberation theology. The term could be appreciated by the young people, since it put the blame not on them but on outside pressures. The problem was no longer with them but with the system. Of course, this is where the real challenge of class discourse starts: How do we understand these pressures that keep people down, and how do they influence our lives? This is where our learning process is just beginning, not just for our young people and not just in the realm of economics, but also in theology and religious studies.

The problem is that, even where the topic of class comes up, it is mostly discussed in ways that diffuse the challenges. Class is discussed, for instance, in terms of diversity of tastes and cultural preference, like the distinction between “lowbrow” and “highbrow” culture. Class is also discussed in terms of social status, depending primarily on income levels. The typical function of this discourse is the drawing of the poverty line, implying that there is no need to be concerned too much about anyone above this line. This is true not only for popular discourse but for mainline religious and economic discourses as well. Consistently missing from these discourses, however, are reflections on class in terms of relationships of power. Yet it is precisely in this context that the matter becomes interesting for our subject, since one of our basic definitions of economics has to do with relationships of power, and it is the matter of power that also helps us better understand religion.

Before continuing, let me note the tremendous challenge that these reflections on class pose to the current system. It is probably no accident that Martin Luther King was assassinated exactly at the point in his career when he began to pay serious attention to matters of class, and class remains a dangerous subject in the United States today. Moving from the observation of class differentials to the support of oppressed classes—as King did, when near the time of his death, he supported sanitation workers in Memphis—touches raw nerves, especially when it comes from religious people who are considered more or less allies in the world of economics.

What do we mean when we talk about class? The notion of class is not only left underanalyzed but is fundamentally misunderstood when it is defined primarily in terms of income levels, social stratification, or social status. The deeper levels of the notion of class have to do with questions of power, and with the particular sets of relationships that produce class differentials in the first place. In other words, income levels and social stratification must be seen as the result of class differentials, not as their cause. Note that income levels are dependent on many other factors, and are not always directly correlated with the underlying questions of power which are key to the notion of class. It is quite possible, for instance, to imagine service providers to the extremely wealthy—whether chauffeurs, chefs, or chaplains—who may get paid very well but who have little power when it comes to determining the work that they do. This issue is significant because the work that we do for a living shapes us to a large degree, and who holds the power over this work determines who ultimately benefits from it.

The implications of this observation are surprising at first sight: if class is defined not primarily in terms of income levels but in terms of the power and authority that people have in and over their work, most Americans are not middle class but working class: 62 percent of Americans belong to the working class in this scenario; 32 percent are middle class; and only 2 percent belong to the ruling class—that is, to the class that controls the means of production and commands capital.¹³ White-collar workers in cubicles, for instance, bear an uncanny resemblance to blue-collar assembly workers in terms of the power and authority they have over their own work. Even academics who work outside the traditional tenure system know what it means to have limited power and authority over their own work—something that is also increasingly true for those of us who work within the tenure system but whose performance is increasingly measured in terms of the parameters of corporate America (like the maximization of profits, efficiency, and so on). Even an examination of labor in the churches, especially those churches that have direct influence on the salary of their pastors, might lead to surprising insights about limited power and authority at work; the related lack of power would go a long way toward understanding the often-lamented phenomenon that pastors do not preach from their pulpits the more challenging theologies they have encountered in their seminary education.¹⁴ In other words, religion is impacted by the dynamics of class just as much as the rest of society, if not more. Add to that the observation that class is fundamentally about the distribution of power—and images of the divine often tend to reflect the power structures of society—and it becomes clearer how deeply interrelated economics and religion really are.

An understanding of class framed not primarily in terms of income but in terms of power picks up a classic understanding of class as related to the ownership of the means of production, and broadens it: those who have little or no ownership or control of the means of production have few other options than to sell their labor to those who own or control the means of production. And thus, those who are forced to sell their labor belong to the working class, which has little power over its work. Those who own or control significant shares of the means of production, on the other hand, mostly derive their wealth from the surplus that is produced by those who work; they belong to the ruling class because they are entitled by law to determine the work of others. The fundamental character of this distinction is also reflected in the commonly accepted economic logic that the interests of the stockholders trump the interests of the workers. Obviously, these things are becoming ever more complex in our current situation, and there are some grey zones, the most important one of having to do with the middle class.

Based on what has been said so far, it should not come as a surprise that being in the middle is not as comfortable as it sounds, as it means being in a place of tension. While members of the middle class may own no means of production (or at best only a small part, as small business owners, owners of a few rental properties, or some stocks), they may still have some element of control over the work process, perhaps as managers, supervisors, or independent professionals. This position, however, frequently places them in the midst of the tensions between the working class and the ruling class—that is, between the class that has little control over its work and little access to capital, and the class that determines much of the work process and commands capital. In this perspective, the problems of the middle become clearer, as they manifest themselves, for instance, in the tensions to which supervisors and foremen find themselves subject in their daily work. The law reflects this tension as well, as supervisors and foremen are prohibited from being part of the collective-bargaining processes of the workers, yet they are not the ones who determine salaries. Independent professionals may have more freedom, but even these professions are experiencing more and more pressure to conform to the expectations of the market, without direct recourse to the stronger organizations that safeguard the interests of workers. And even though members of the middle class are likely to be stockholders, this does not change their situation substantially, since their ownership of stock is fairly modest, and their power and influence as stockholders is of little consequence for the overall direction of the corporations. Unfortunately, the middle class is put in the straits of these tensions without most of the benefits of power and financial status and without the broader political influence that the ruling class accrues. As a result even this short examination of one of the grey zones of class—in the contemporary academy an emphasis on grey zones is often combined with an aversion to binary oppositions—points us back to the fundamental distinction between working and ruling classes as a distinction that continues to be relevant.¹⁵

The fundamental distinction between working class and ruling class, both broadly conceived, takes on particular interest when we note that the relations of power at work organize not only production but, at the most fundamental level, all other relationships as well. Since so many hours are spent at work, since so much of people’s sense of self is generated in work relationships, and since some of the most existential questions of everyday life are negotiated at and through work, the relations of power at work are significant building blocks of human life and affect all other areas—including culture, the realms of the emotional and the personal, and even religion, where power relations of the workplace find expression in self-selecting religious communities. In this context, a broad social-scientific study of the influence of class on the shape of religion would be of great service.¹⁶ It seems that even the Gospel of Prosperity changes its form, depending on the class context: while in a lower-class context the promise of prosperity needs to be repeated over and over again with great intensity, in upper-class contexts there can be polite understatement of these matters to such an extent that the topic of prosperity never needs to be addressed at all (although it remains at the heart of things, since it is taken for granted by the members of the community). This all-pervasiveness of class, based in power relations at work, is one of the key insights of the so-called New Working Class Studies, which investigate how class function not only in the workplace but also at home and in communities.¹⁷ This is where fresh investigations of class and religion will have to begin.¹⁸

Those who have traditionally considered themselves middle class will have to pay particular attention to these matters. In a pioneering work that is almost as painful to read as it must have been to investigate, Barbara Ehrenreich has captured the despair of formerly successful members of the middle class who have been laid off and who spend long months, if not years, searching for jobs. What if these people who are experiencing the logic of downturn in their own bodies were no longer the exception but the rule? The longer their job search continues, the less likely they will be able to find their way back into the system that has cast them out. To add insult to injury, they are often blamed for their own misery. Ehrenreich reports on a seminar for job seekers in which she participated. In this seminar, the leader strictly prohibited the blaming of others, including the blaming of tough economic times. Discussing the situation of Kevin, a thirty-six-year-old operations manager who contemplates starting his own business in response to expected layoffs, the leader of the seminar poses the question, “The person who is stopping Kevin is who?” to which the other participants who have also lost their jobs respond in unison, “Kevin!”¹⁹ The victim is the one who is stuck with the blame. Many others who are still holding on to their jobs in a situation that has increasingly grown worse live in permanent insecurity, often haunted by a form of depression that has been called “survivor syndrome.”²⁰ In this context, churches and religious communities have sought to help by offering their own job-search seminars and by offering spiritual support to unemployed members. Yet religion is used here mostly in order to help participants adapt to the situation rather than in order to challenge it.²¹ Having experienced some of these efforts firsthand, Ehrenreich wonders in her book: “Maybe one of the functions of the evangelical revival sweeping America is to reconcile people to an increasingly unreliable work world: you take what you can get, and praise the Lord for sending it along.”²²

The problem cuts deeper yet, calling for a reexamination of the presuppositions of the middle class in both economics and theology. Even the pride of the professions—which is lacking to a large degree in other areas of work, including the business world, that are not built on credentials and diplomas—is increasingly challenged.²³ Medical doctors, for instance, have begun to organize themselves in trade unions because the ethos of the free market encroaches more and more into their work, and introduces the principles of lean and mean production into the relationship with their patients. In the context of the free market, even the value of professional credentials and diplomas is subject to erosion. The world of the academy offers many more examples of this problem, as leaner and meaner forms of production are reshaping time-honored traditions even in the world of the so-called ivory towers. Beverly Harrison describes the particular problem that arises from the lack of class consciousness for the middle class: “The failure to see and name pervasive class dynamics in this society is robbing middle-strata people—especially men—of the critical insight needed to become aware of their subjugation or to act creatively and effectually against human oppression.”²⁴ Failure to understand the pressures impending upon the middle class, as they derive from free-market economics, is a substantial impediment to our work in both economics and theology. I have observed this dynamic in the classroom for over twenty years, particularly as white male seminary students of the middle class tend to feel, consciously or unconsciously, that they have no other choice than to root for the system. In the mainline churches, the situation is often similar or worse, since there is even more pressure to conform to middle-class perspectives, due to a more pronounced lack of diversity and to the fact that some of the top donors also sit in the pews. Without a clearer awareness of what is going on, things can only get worse.

While lack of class consciousness is an old American problem that affects even the working class itself, there are also explicit efforts to cover up class differentials. Through 401(k) retirement plans, for instance, the masses have been integrated into the ownership of capital to a certain degree and, thus, they share in the interests of the ruling class to some degree as well. As the owners of stocks and bonds, holders of 401(k) plans appear to have become full members of the class that owns the means of production and that commands capital. This can lead to tensions among workers, who now have an interest in the profit that is made from the work of other workers.²⁵ What is covered up here is the fact that these holdings of stock are miniscule compared to those of the bigger shareholders, and that very little real power is connected to them.²⁶ Such mystifications of class interests are not innocent, as they lead people to overlook their real interests—which are not just their own private interests as individuals but also the interests of their families, their friends, and their communities. In addition, they prevent a more accurate understanding of power.

In the spirit of the logic of downturn, we might say as a rule of thumb that people ought to be able to know that they are not members of the ruling class if they are not benefitting from the system in any substantial way. But much of this has hit home only in more recent times. For a while, it looked indeed as if the free-market system was benefitting a broad range of people, not only at the top but also in the middle. 401(k) plans were part of this excitement, as people were led to believe that the problem of pensions could be solved through modest contributions that would grow in sync with the stock market. That this shifted the risk from employers to employees who were responsible for their own plans seemed to be a small price to pay for the opportunity to become truly wealthy. This bubble, too, has now burst in a way that even the most clear-sighted critics could not have imagined even a few years ago. William Wolman and Anne Colamosca pointed out as early as 2002 that a stock market that was designed to benefit the financial interests of the wealthy would not be able to carry the weight of producing benefits for the nation as a whole. While Wolman and Colamosca never quite state it this way, it becomes clear that class distinctions are necessary for understanding even the financial future of the middle class, and for understanding that it is simply impossible for the market to make everyone wealthy.²⁷

In the United States and other industrialized countries, even some workers could consider themselves to be pretty well off, especially if they had union-backed jobs in prominent industries. A sense that they belonged somewhere in the middle class gave many workers false confidence in the system; sometimes this sense was strengthened by joining middle-class churches and other religious communities. This sense has still not quite worn off, but troubling economic developments have taken their toll. Workers in the auto industry, for instance, who enjoyed decent jobs and benefits only a few years ago now face an uncertain future as even the big three U.S. carmakers are struggling for survival, at least as far as their business in the United States is concerned. The economic fallout that started hit home in 2008—marking the worst downturn since the Great Depression—has heralded a new era. To be sure, the loss of funds that is tied to these events is not the key determinant of class, but the existential nature of these losses for many people reveals their positions of power in the system. Contrary to conventional economic wisdom, the real risk of downturn and the failure of whole industries is borne by the workers, whose existence is destroyed when jobs are eliminated in whole regions and whose housing values implode as a consequence. CEOs and other high-level business leaders, in the meantime, often tend to be able to hang on to their golden parachutes or to move on to the next assignment.

Religion, as we have observed, is tied up with these dynamics of class. While religion has oriented itself for the most part toward the upper classes, there are alternative forms of religion that are related to the lower classes as well. This has been the case throughout history and in all religions: for this reason, a simple switch between religions without attention to the dynamics of class—like the somewhat fashionable switch from Western to Eastern spiritualities, both Christian and non-Christian—will not present us with a solution. In this book, we will explore the question of what positive differences Christianity, as a particular form of religion, will be able to make in this context.

Growing Inequality: Some Numbers

The whole extent of what is going on cannot be depicted in numbers. Yet some numbers might help us to see more clearly. The following numbers do not simply make us recognize the tremendous economic stratification, which is real, even more importantly, they push us to think about the underlying relationships of power and what all of this means.

The absolute poverty rates in the United States have long been worrisome, as the United States is located at the bottom end of industrialized countries in this regard. According to a United Nations Human Development Report, the poverty level in the United States was 15.2 percent in 2007, which puts us on rank 17 of all industrialized countries.²⁸ But poverty in itself does not say anything about relationships of power. The distribution of income is more telling in this regard, as it depicts the relationship of the poorest to the rest of society. In this perspective, the United States ranks last out of all Western industrialized countries and many other less wealthy nations, just slightly ahead of Hong Kong and Singapore. Here are some numbers: in the year 2000, the share of the national income received by the poorest 10 percent in the United States was at 1.9 percent; the poorest 20 percent at 5.4 percent; the richest 20 percent at 45.8 percent; and the richest 10 percent at 29.9 percent. The ratio of the income share of the richest 10 percent to that of the poorest 10 percent was 15.9, which is a Gini coefficient of 40.8. (The Gini coefficient is the standard measure of economic inequality, according to which 0 signifies perfect equality and 100 absolute inequality.²⁹) Amy Glasmeier also reports the changes over time in the distribution of income in the United States: in 1977, the lowest 40 percent of families received 17 percent of earned income (income earned over a calendar year) while the upper 20 percent received 44 percent. In 2002, the lowest 40 percent received 12.5 percent of income while the top 20 percent received 50 percent, with the Gini index at 46.4.³⁰ All this needs to be seen in the context of the fact that in 2005 the United States occupied the second-highest place in terms of Gross Domestic Product (GDP) per capita, bested only by Luxembourg.³¹

The U.S. Census Bureau sheds further light on the historical development of this level of inequality. Beginning in the 1980s, the Gini coefficient increased dramatically, leveling off a bit in the period from 1993–1998.³² However, there is a major oversight in these numbers—which points in turn to a major oversight in the understanding of relationships of power—since in earlier data the numbers for the wealthiest Americans were left out of the calculations: the data show a major gap between 1993 and 1994, when the growth in the Gini coefficient for the income of families jumped from roughly 13 percent to 20 percent (at the same time, the growth in the Gini coefficient for the income of men went from roughly 16 percent to 26 percent). The U.S. Census Bureau gives the following explanation:

In 1993, the Census Bureau began using a new method of collecting income data, allowing respondents to report greater income values in the Current Population Survey. A change that may affect only a small number of cases (particularly those at the upper end of the income distribution) can have a considerable effect on inequality measures, like the Gini coefficient and shares of aggregate income, while making little or no change to median income. This had a profound effect on the upper end of the income distribution by recording income levels that had been previously underreported. The impact of this change on measured income inequality was quite large, and we are unable to determine precisely the proportion of the increase in income inequality between 1992 and 1993 that is attributable to this change.³³

While adjustments have been made, and the greater transparency at the top has added some clarity to the relationship between classes, we still do not really know the numbers at the very top; the precise value of any income above $1 million is not allowed to enter the statistics. One must seriously wonder how the numbers would change if higher incomes were taken into consideration and what this would tell us about relationships of power.³⁴ The following numbers (not supplied in the Census Bureau report) speak volumes about the development of the relationship of the wealthiest and the poorest: between 1979 and 2000, the top 1 percent gained 201 percent in after-tax household income, while the top 20 percent gained 68 percent. The bottom 20 percent gained 9 percent, and the next-highest 20 percent gained 13 percent.³⁵

All these numbers, however, still leave out other even more important details. The greatest discrepancies—not just in terms of money but in terms of the underlying relationships—can be seen when the assets owned by individuals are taken into account. The top 5 percent of the population owns 67.5 percent of the nation’s wealth, and the top 20 percent owns 91.3 percent of the nation’s wealth.³⁶ Upon closer look, the often-quoted discrepancy between CEO pay and worker pay, which began its steep ascendance in the 1960s, pales in comparison. A United Nations Human Development Report of the year 1996 notes: “The assets of the world’s 358 billionaires exceed the combined annual incomes of countries with 45% of the world’s people.”³⁷ What this means is that the world’s wealthiest 358 individuals own as much as nearly 3,000,000,000 people earn in a year. The United Nations Human Development Report of 1999 adds the following statistic: “The world’s 200 richest people more than doubled their net worth in the four years to 1998, to more than $1 trillion. The assets of the top three billionaires are more than the combined GNP of all least developed countries and their 600 million people.”³⁸ Behind these numbers is a process of monopolization that adds important insights for the question of relationships between the wealthy and the poor, with all the implications for the middle that we discussed earlier: “The recent wave of mergers and acquisitions is concentrating industrial power in megacorporations—at the risk of eroding competition. By 1998 the top 10 companies in pesticides controlled 85% of a $31 billion global market—and the top 10 in telecommunications, 86% of a $262 billion market.”³⁹ The United Nations Human Development Report of 2000 continues the story: “Meanwhile, the superrich get richer. The combined wealth of the top 200 billionaires hit $1,135 billion in 1999, up from $1,042 billion in 1998. Compare that with the combined incomes of $146 billion for the 582 million people in all the least developed countries.”⁴⁰

Understood in terms of relationships of power, this is more than anyone can really fathom or bear, and so it is perhaps no surprise that the word “billionaire” does not occur any more in the Human Development Reports after 2000, and the data are more and more defused. The only time that the rich at the very top are named again is in the report of 2005. One must, of course, wonder whose interest is really served by toning down this analysis. Is it to avoid upsetting the “rest of us,” or is it because something needs to be hidden because it is just becoming too blatant? On the whole, the reports use more and more generic talk about the “richest countries,” or the “richest 20 percent,” which levels the greatest discrepancies and the asymmetrical relationships expressed by them. While the United Nations Human Development Report of 2005 brings back another reference to the wealthy, by talking about income rather than assets, the numbers seem less dramatic: “The world’s richest 500 individuals have a combined income greater than that of the poorest 416 million. Beyond these extremes, the 2.5 billion people living on less than $2 a day—40% of the world’s population—account for 5% of global income. The richest 10%, almost all of whom live in high-income countries, account for 54%.”⁴¹ Of course, the relationship expressed here is still stunning: the wealthiest 500 individuals earn as much as the poorest 416,000,000 people.

All these numbers point to stunning discrepancies—not just in terms of money but in terms of power and influence—that mark the world in the twenty-first century. On the whole, these discrepancies are growing, through times of economic boom and bust, and they are much greater than any discrepancies in the history of the world. Never before have so few individuals owned so much. Some have compared this situation to feudalism, another period in history when discrepancies between the rulers and their subjects were pronounced. But feudal rulers were not individuals in the contemporary sense: they were not at liberty to spend all their wealth on themselves. They had some obligation toward the common good and the welfare of their subjects, an obligation which is increasingly eroded in the current system. The particular development of this matter in the United States needs to be kept in mind: in 1982, there were only 13 billionaires in the United States; in 1996, there were 179; and in 2005 there were 374.⁴² In the current situation, individuals are drifting in and out of this bracket, but the number as a whole keeps rising. These numbers are often seen as showing the advanced state of the U.S. economy, as there are fewer billionaires elsewhere, even in all the countries of Europe together. This judgment, of course, only makes sense if the question of relationship is neglected, as this massive gain at the top is achieved by massive losses in many other places. This is what the numbers show, despite ongoing claims that religiously repeat the mantra that a rising tide will lift all boats.

What has kept the system afloat in the past was the American Dream. Large numbers of people still hold on to this hope that anyone can make it to the top, a message that is also propagated in many religious communities across the theological spectrum. Yet the numbers tell a different story. Workers in the United States are less upwardly mobile than in many other countries, and small business failures are common not just in times of downturn. Economist Tom Hertz finds in his research that “by international standards, the United States has an unusually low level of intergenerational [economic] mobility: our parents’ income is highly predictive of our incomes as adults. Intergenerational mobility in the United States is lower than in France, Germany, Sweden, Canada, Finland, Norway and Denmark. Among high-income countries for which comparable estimates are available, only the United Kingdom had a lower rate of mobility than the United States.”⁴³ That is not the news that most people expect to hear. Hertz also points out that “children from low-income families have only a 1 percent chance of reaching the top 5 percent of the income distribution, versus children of the rich who have about a 22 percent chance.” Race is a compounding factor: “African American children who are born in the bottom quartile are nearly twice as likely to remain there as adults than are white children whose parents had identical incomes, and are four times less likely to attain the top quartile.”⁴⁴

In this context, greater wealth for individual families has most commonly been achieved not because salaries have grown but because women have joined the workforce in large numbers. In this context, it is important to keep in mind that the United States, unlike most countries in the world, never signed the United Nations conventions on freedom of association and collective bargaining.⁴⁵ At the writing of this book, the United States is one of the very few industrialized countries where large groups of workers do not have the right to organize. Since the United Nations Declaration of Human Rights endorses collective bargaining as a human right, the United States must be considered to be in violation of international human rights law. The religious aspect is of interest here, too, as many religions and a good number of Christian churches explicitly support the right of collective bargaining, a fact which is not widely known and which is rarely promoted by the churches themselves.⁴⁶

Surveys have shown that between 25 and 60 million workers would like to organize in unions, but only 500,000 actually are able to do so each year.⁴⁷ The Employee Free Choice Act before Congress in 2009 may change this situation by allowing workers to choose between different methods of organizing unions, but it is amazing to think that the country that prides itself on its civil liberties has laws that restrict the free organization of free citizens so severely that only between 1 in 50 and 1 in 120 workers can realize the choice to be unionized. Under the current law, the employers determine the process of how unions can be organized: they determine the time frame, and they have the right to campaign against unions during work hours, while pro-union forces are only allowed to campaign after hours. None of this is by accident, as the current state of things is actively promoted by interest groups: in the United States, freedom of association and collective bargaining is actively blocked by the dominant economic interests. In early 2009, a major informal effort against the Employee Free Choice Act which included top CEOs—some hailing from companies that had received government bailout money—was reported. Bernie Marcus, the cofounder of Home Depot, who was one of the leaders of the meeting, stated that this legislation would mean “the demise of a civilization.” Shareholders, he suggested, should sue CEOs who did not oppose the Employee Free Choice Act.⁴⁸ If this is not sheer cynicism, it must have to do with a firm belief in the free-market economy and its beneficial nature for all. This belief is so strong that it is allowed to trump both democracy and human rights.⁴⁹ The result is a form of class warfare that is commonly waged from the top: in the taped phone calls that are part of the Huffington Post report, there are frequent mentions of “the business community,” which functions as a class that makes sure that its interests are maintained by ensuring that the workers will be prevented from forming their own communities.

There is a gender component that adds to matters of inequality. A study by Heather Boushey makes the following observation about the recession that started in 2008:

Since … December 2007, employers have shed 2.6 million employees—a decline of 1.9 percent—with most of that occurring in the last four months of 2008. Not all groups, however, have been affected equally: Over the first year of this recession, job losses and unemployment have spiked higher for male workers than their female counterparts. This recession began with the bursting of the housing bubble, which has led to sharp job losses in male-dominated industries, especially construction, through 2008. As a result, the share of men in the United States with a job is at its lowest point ever, 69.7 percent. Over the past year, however, women’s jobs have been sustained by hiring in the government and health care sectors. As a result, since the recession officially began adult women’s unemployment has risen by 1.6 percentage points, to 5.9 percent in December 2008, from 4.3 percent a year earlier, while adult men’s unemployment has risen by 2.8 percentage points, to 7.2 percent from 4.4 percent over the same period.

What may look like a reversal of gender oppression becomes clearer when it is considered that “among full-time, full-year workers, women earn only 78 cents for every dollar a man earns.”⁵⁰ Since women provide cheaper labor, cuts are made to more expensive male labor. This trend can be seen even in the world of construction, a traditional stronghold of male labor: “Even within construction men have lost a disproportionate share of the construction jobs. Men make up 87 percent of the construction workers, but they have lost 95 percent of the jobs over the course of the recession.”⁵¹ There is a deeper structural problem: ever since the early 1980s, men’s unemployment has risen over women’s unemployment during recessions. The increasing feminization of certain professions points to a similar problem, as it is a move that usually comes with a cut in prestige and salary. Not even the church is missing here, as the feminization of ministry progresses and women fill in especially the lower ranks of the profession. Other factors like race and age also need to be considered in this context.

Amy Glasmeier sums it up, pointing out the factors of gender, race, and age: “American society is based on paradoxes. Its citizens are at once among the richest and the most economically insecure in the developed world. While income inequality was once on the decline, over the last twenty years the distribution of wealth and prosperity in the nation has become more unequal. Individuals and families at greatest risk for poverty are men with less than a college education, people of color (especially blacks and Hispanics), working families and families headed by women, and a significant number of the nation’s elderly.”⁵² The rising tide is not materializing for these people and neither is it for many others. In 2003, a person of color still had a one in four chance of being poor, while for whites the ratio was one in ten. Households headed by females had a one in three chance of existing below the poverty line; black female-headed households had a slightly higher chance of 38.9 percent. All children had a 17.6 percent chance of living in poverty, and black children a chance of 33.6 percent.⁵³

What matters are not so much the absolute numbers but the underlying asymmetries of power. As the rising tide fails to materialize for many, the other side also needs to be mentioned. The richest 1 percent of Americans were able to increase their after-tax income by 200 percent between 1979 and 2000, at a time when the real median family income went down—from $60,670 in adjusted 1959 dollars to $43,318.⁵⁴ The consequences of these discrepancies are hard to explain outside of the United States: in the country that has the most billionaires, there is no substantial social safety net, and while the country has the best doctors and hospitals in the world, there is no health care for 18 percent of the U.S. population under the age of 65.⁵⁵ These discrepancies do not occur by accident, and they are related both to economics and to religion, as I will show.

In this context, it may be surprising that a challenge comes from the business community itself. Already in 2006 the following assessment was made by a top investor, as reported in Fortune magazine: “ ‘About half of American industry has grossly unfair compensation systems where the top executives are paid too much,’ says Charlie Munger, Warren Buffett’s partner at Berkshire Hathaway. Florida governor Jeb Bush—a pro-market conservative—is even more blunt. Out-of-control compensation, he believes, is ‘a threat to capitalism.’ Says Bush: ‘Large rewards for great results can still be attacked, but they’re very defensible. But if the rewards for CEOs and their teams become extraordinarily high with no link to performance—and shareholders are left holding the bag—then it undermines people’s confidence in capitalism itself.’ ” While these statements may be unexpected, the real question is, what is the underlying problem? Are CEO salaries merely inexplicable accounting mistakes? The position of top investor Warren Buffett, currently the richest man in the world, throws some light on this: “the only cure for better corporate governance is if the small number of very large institutional investors start acting like true owners and pressure managers and boards to do the same.”⁵⁶ Note that this challenge to CEO salaries comes from those large investors who wield tremendous power based on ownership—made visible by the fact that their incomes are many times higher than those of the CEOs. Other investors are now following suit. Tom Gardner, cofounder of The Motley Fool, puts it this way: “For years now, heartless people have been running many of our world’s banks and investment houses, and our laws have been insufficient to restrain them. Boards of directors, CEOs, and their leadership teams created incentive systems that rewarded self-interest, impatience, and bottomless greed. That’s a deadly three-punch combo that can flatten employees, customers, and shareholders alike.” The conclusion is that until the excesses of CEOs are reined in, there will be no more investor confidence. Not long ago, the following comment would have been unthinkable coming from the finance sector: “Until there are new regulations in finance, there will be no rebound in investor or consumer confidence.”⁵⁷ Yet the substantial gap between CEO and worker compensation that is challenged here covers up another gap that is even more substantial: the gap between the major shareholders and workers. In order to understand what is really going on, we need to keep observing these matters from the underside, which, in this case, includes both workers and smaller shareholders.

Viewing these matters through the lens of relationship rather than through the lens of absolute wealth should make us realize that the problem is not primarily economic wealth but power. As economist Michael Zweig has pointed out: “Economic problems arise not because some people are rich but because private profit and the power of capital are the highest priorities in the economic system.”⁵⁸ Those who hold the most power—whether CEOs or large investors—make sure that no one is in a position to challenge them. CEOs seek to prevent the workers from organizing themselves because their own profits might be reduced. The top investors seek to prevent CEOs from writing ever-larger checks to themselves because otherwise their profits are cut. The struggles at the top are not primarily about money, however: both top CEOs and top investors have more money than they could ever spend. These struggles are about power and more power, and profits are crucial because they back up the power of those who get to pocket them. In this situation, the old topic of the ownership of the means of production still plays a role, although the situation has become more complex. Those who ultimately control the means of production—that is, those who hold substantial amounts of shares in a company—are the ones who have the ultimate say, as Buffett’s comments remind us. Those who do not control the means of production, even those who own small amounts of shares, need to work for those in control in one form or another and are, thus, dependent on them. The real problem with this sort of control over the means of production—which must not be confused with the ownership of private property in general, as will be pointed out in chapter 5—is that it skews relationships among people and creates sometimes severe asymmetries of power, a fact that is generally more visible from the perspective of the workers, who have to endure the pressures of this arrangement. While small-business owners often find themselves in the middle and, thus, may have some sense of these problems—they own some means of production but still often need to work in order to make ends meet—the owners of large amounts of shares in big corporations have a harder time understanding what is going on. As a result, any efforts to level the playing field will seem foreign and unfair to them. For this reason, the view from below turns out to be significant for anyone who wants to develop an understanding of the whole, both in economics and in theology.

Religion, Economics, and Class

What is becoming clearer now is that economic downturn for the majority of people, even during times of economic growth, is not simply an accident—or a succession of mere accidents—but is tied to a system that distributes power in unequal fashion. There is an emerging logic here, what I call the “logic of downturn,” which has tremendous potential because it provides a real alternative to the dominant logic of economic growth that is supposed to lift all boats. This logic of downturn not only provides new insights in economics; it also helps us better understand the phenomenon of religion. Like the notion of class, the notion of religion is frequently and conveniently misunderstood. The notion of religion is not only left underanalyzed but fundamentally misunderstood when it is defined in terms of personal or communal belief systems or practices that are independent from politics and economics.⁵⁹ To put it as succinctly as possible: the problem is that attention to religion, when paid primarily to belief systems, cultural-linguistic phenomena, or religious practices, not only neglects but tends to cover up the many aspects of life that have to do with questions of differentials of power, especially with the deeper questions of economics and class. And even when questions of power, economics, and class are addressed, they are often considered as optional strata of investigations—as the niche projects of certain scholars based on their personal interests and tastes—rather than as essential topics which need to be investigated whenever religion is investigated.

There is a long history to this compartmentalization of religion, economics, and other aspects of life, but the pressures of downturn make us take another look at how everything belongs together. Just as we are beginning to understand that definitions of economics and class are deficient if they do not take into account the asymmetry of power in everyday life and at the workplace and the resulting pressures, we also need to consider that definitions of religion that neglect these issues are deficient as well. The experience of downturn makes us painfully aware that our lives cannot be compartmentalized, since all aspects of our lives are affected by it. In reference to our discussion of class, we might say that sticking with reflections on belief systems in terms of religion is just as inadequate as sticking with reflections on income levels in terms of class. Just like income levels are the result, rather than the cause, of relationships of power as they shape up in class divisions and the division of labor, belief systems are the result, rather than the origin, of the practices of religion and the relationships of power that are worked out in this context.

Despite the fact that maintaining a definition of religion is an existential issue for religious studies and theology, once we begin to pay attention to the flows of power in everyday life, religion can no longer be seen as an independent phenomenon that can be defined in abstraction from other parts of reality. Whether religious studies and theology have been aware of it or not, religion has always been a part of life as a whole. What is still often overlooked is that it is this relation of religion to life—rather than a sense for academic adventure or sheer curiosity—that compels us to engage in interdisciplinary studies like the current one. In this context, the question of how religion relates to class introduces another level of investigation and a more embodied form of the study of the role of power. The particular questions to be considered in terms of religion and class are these: How does power as it is embodied and shaped in relationships at the workplace contribute not only to economic and political phenomena (the more typical focus of the study of class) but also to the shape of religion and belief systems? And what alternatives can we possibly envision? Such questions will push us beyond current modes of investigation in religion that function in terms of what might be caricatured as idealism—that is, modes of investigation that operate mostly in the realm of ideas without deeper reflections on how these ideas are produced.⁶⁰

In a next step, a similar question will need to be raised of the economic sciences, which—and this may come as a surprise to those who can see the idealism of theology and religious studies but not the other idealisms that shape our current situation—have often operated on the level of abstract and disembodied ideas as well. After all, it takes a substantial amount of faith and a strong commitment to the world of ideas to believe that the market will take care of all our problems, especially if the track record of the market is shaky at best. The following statement by two self-proclaimed Christian economists is not atypical of economics in general: “Markets generate economic incentives and rewards that are important for personal freedom and material well-being. Both tend to erode economic gaps over time. Under the best competitive circumstances, unwarranted prejudice gives way to market rewards that enhance productivity.”⁶¹ The logic of downturn, combined with a deeper awareness of class structures, forces us to reassess such idealistic assessments.

In this context, practical engagement with real-life issues as they shape up in situations of great economic pressure is a first step toward developing deeper reflections on both economics and religion. In Dallas, for instance, this was one of the reasons for the founding of a Workers’ Rights Board through North Texas Jobs with Justice.⁶² The work of such boards, whose members are recognized community leaders who have credibility with the public, is to support particularly those workers who have little other organized support. The work of a workers’ rights board is based on hearings in which the members of the board—mostly middle-class people with high visibility in the community, such as lawyers, government officials, pastors, teachers, professors, and others—begin to listen to the stories of workers. These stories often broaden the horizons of the board members, who for the most part have few first-hand encounters with the rising pressures that bear down on average workers. In recent meetings of the Dallas-based Workers’ Rights Board, for instance, construction workers from Texas and Arizona reported that they are not given water to drink in the brutal heat of the summers of the Southwest; that they have to perform dangerous jobs without safety equipment provided by the companies; and that their personal or family needs get little or no consideration. In response to these abuses, the Workers’ Rights Board seeks to communicate with employers and raise their awareness of what is going on through meetings and letters. If issues cannot be settled in this way, the abuses are made public so as to raise broader awareness. In this context, workers’ rights boards also become epistemological tools, broadening the horizons of board members, employers, and the broader public by dealing directly with what might be considered yet another and more severe logic of downturn. A theology that takes seriously these issues and questions can lead to new insights on the nature of religion, and it might develop new insights that are relevant for the study of economics as well.

Paying attention to class in the study of religion and economics forces us to revisit one of the foundational myths of U.S. history: the notion of individualism. This notion is still widely accepted and defended by religious people and economists alike. Even those who oppose it and argue for communitarian models of life instead, however, lend support to the notion of individualism because they assume that it exists. Both individualists and communitarians assume that individualism is real—the difference is that one group celebrates it while the other laments it. Various interpretations of religion are tied up with either of these perspectives, and some of the biggest conflicts in recent theology have been bound up with these two camps. Unfortunately, these fights lead nowhere. The logic of downturn further underscores our earlier argument that individualism is a mirage. Taking into account the experience of downturn in light of the notion of class, we are beginning to understand that individualism is the myth that helps to buttress the power of the ruling class, as it allows this class to see itself in separation from the working class.

Even common understandings of class in terms of income levels or social stratification perpetuate this myth of individualism, as discussion of class in terms of these phenomena does not require a reflection on how the various classes are related. In fact, the opposite is usually the case: the various levels or strata are usually discussed in isolation from each other, as if there were no connections between them.⁶³ An understanding of class in terms of power and the larger economic context, however, demonstrates that individualism is a myth—the favorite myth of those on the top, who have made it, and the scourge of a myth that haunts those at the bottom. The myth of individualism allows those on top to proclaim that their success is self-made, just as it allows them to maintain that the misfortune of those on the bottom is self-caused, a myth that is often internalized by those on the bottom. The American Dream—that anyone can make it to the top based on individual achievements—further feeds the myth of individualism, and consistently works against those at the bottom and in favor of those on the top. It discredits the aging busboy and endorses the youthful billionaire—leaving the former with nothing but an idealistic dream and the sort of religion that resembles Karl Marx’s notion of religion as “the opium of the people,” no matter how complex that notion may be.

In this context, something else comes to the fore that is even more difficult to bring up in polite company than politics, religion, sex, or money: the notion of class struggle. Talk about class struggle usually results in the accusation that those who dare even to mention the term are the ones instigating the struggle. But the reality is different: the current situation—in which the rich not only get richer but also more powerful, and everyone else, the middle class included, gets poorer and is increasingly stripped of power—points to a systemic problem. Clearly, the reality of downturn does not affect everyone in the same way. The ultra-rich keep increasing their wealth and power at the expense of everyone else—even if only relatively so—by participating in a sort of class struggle that is mostly invisible. In the construction industry, for instance, workers have been told that their salaries had to be reduced due to the recession, so that the company could deliver more competitive bids in a depressed market; in reality, the bids were often delivered virtually unchanged.

The struggle that is waged by the defenders of the free-market economy against worker solidarity is perhaps the most telling example of what is going on. While the declining state of the unions is often attributed to a loss of interest among workers, the reality is that there have been increasing numbers of systematic attacks against workers organizing themselves that have mostly gone unnoticed.⁶⁴ Economist Robert Brenner notes that the trump card of the U.S. economy is “a labour force that has, so far, proved not only incomparably more exploitable than, say, those of Western Europe or Japan, but increasingly over time.” Brenner further notes that “since the end of the New Economy bubble-driven boom, between 2000 and the present [2006], corporations and government have unleashed one of the fiercest assaults on workers in U.S. history.”⁶⁵ These assaults, referencing the legacy of the Bush administration, include cuts of increases in pay and wage, major intensification of workload, reneging on pension plans, reductions in health care, and increasing resistance to the organization of labor.

This sort of class struggle is justified by the philosophies of trickle down economics, and by quasi-religious beliefs that the market will benefit everybody in the long run and that a rising tide will lift all boats. Workers are being told, for instance, that in order to save their companies they need to make compromises, accept cuts in pay and benefits, and cease forming unions. In this context, workers and unions are often blamed for making unreasonable demands that jeopardize their companies, despite evidence to the contrary.⁶⁶ And here religion plays an essential role: the success of the class struggle that is waged against those who are less privileged and less powerful depends on keeping the beliefs in the beneficial character of the market alive. No matter that these beliefs fly in the face of reality, as the lack of a rising tide becomes the fate of more and more and nothing of substance ever trickles down.

In this context, there are different options for the work of theology and religious studies. One option would be simply to ignore the clash between the classes, which is the default mode now and which explains the high level of discomfort when the notion of class struggle is even mentioned. Another option would be to declare this clash as real, but part of another discipline or another world that is irrelevant in the spheres of religion. Yet another option would be to use religion to heal whatever clash might exist and to put to rest the remaining tensions—a common response, especially from mainline religious communities which quickly resort to notions of peace and harmony when confronted with tensions of any kind. None of these approaches, however, really captures the problem because none is in a position to address the underlying power differentials. As a result, theology and religious studies miss an opportunity to engage some of the key issues of life that shape religion, as well as the question of what difference religion might make in this context, which is a question that Marx missed in his own way.

The insights of liberation theologies, broadly conceived, are especially relevant at this point. A non-theologian, economist Michael Zweig, makes a significant observation about the difference of this approach to theology: “Liberation theology can be distinguished from liberal theology in that the former recognizes class conflict … and positions itself consciously as an ally of one class against the other; whereas liberal theology, which also seeks to ameliorate the conditions of capitalism and sees the need for structural changes, denies the class-conflictual nature of society and proposes instead a plan for social harmony among all the classes.”⁶⁷ While this assessment may sound harsh and tendentious, similar conflicts and tensions are at the basis of the Judeo-Christian traditions from Moses to Jesus and Paul, and things tend to become clearer when conflict is recognized rather than repressed. In addition, taking sides does not imply a lack of care about the other side: when Jesus took the side of the common people against the side of the privileged of his own day, he cared about the salvation of both sides, knowing that true harmony can only be achieved if the tensions are addressed and overcome rather than repressed. His impassioned speeches against the Pharisees in Matthew 23 provide only one example for this: accusing them of having neglected “the weightier matters of the law: justice and mercy and faith” (Matt 23:23) implies not so much an ultimate rejection but an invitation to conversation and a new beginning.

Unfortunately, in both theology and economics, conflict is too often repressed and pushed out of sight, so that it becomes even more harmful. It is frequently overlooked, for instance, that prominent economic moves that are recommended based on seemingly scientific economic arguments, like tax cuts for the wealthy, also create conflicts. Unlike supply-side economists in the 1980s, who assumed that tax cuts to the wealthy could be had without reduction in government spending, economists now know that these tax cuts have to be bought with cost reductions elsewhere. Those who support tax cuts to the wealthy usually endorse reductions to welfare for those at the lower end of the spectrum; even subsidies for school breakfasts for disadvantaged children have been cut in the past in order to finance lower taxes for the wealthy. Endorsing a move like this is either cynical or shows the extraordinary faith that is put in such tax cuts; in some cases there might be a bit of both. As president of Americans for Tax Reform, Grover Norquist famously stated: “My goal is to cut government in half in twenty-five years, to get it down to the size where we can drown it in the bathtub.”⁶⁸ Statements like this make it look like no one gets hurt when government is reduced. Nevertheless, what is really announced here is a deepening conflict and struggle between the classes: the cuts to welfare that result from such programs, for instance, are stunning and clearly intentional, as Norquist’s statement shows, and many other public services that support people in need are also put in jeopardy.

The logic of downturn helps identify a distortion of perspective that occurs both in economics and in religion. It is commonly presupposed that those on top represent the common interest—what is good for all—while those on the bottom represent various special interests. Public opinion in the aftermath of the devastation of New Orleans by Hurricane Katrina is a case in point. When the evacuees of New Orleans were given some funds to purchase the bare necessities of life, the common public sentiment was that they would surely squander this money without sense and reason. There was, however, no comparable outcry when large and lucrative contracts were awarded—often without competitive bids—to large corporations for the purpose of rebuilding the city. Just as there was a general distrust of those at the bottom, there was a general trust that those at the top who represent the world of business would do the right thing. The truth is that tremendous sums of money were squandered by those at the top, not only due to a lack of competition when no-bid contracts were awarded, but also because many companies did not perform well without oversight, with some taking the money and running.

Dealing with the issue of class, we need to ask ourselves what would change in economics and religion if common interest were not to be found at the top but at the bottom. In the case of hurricane-damaged New Orleans, would not those who have lost everything have a greater interest in rebuilding not only their own properties but also their communities as quickly and efficiently as possible, since they know that they are not able to survive long without them? Those whose lives get crushed by catastrophes, including catastrophic downturns of the economy, are the ones who cannot afford to waste time, money, or energy when seeking for solutions; and they are the ones who might help us to develop new insights into the things that contributed to these destructions. Already the Apostle Paul, turning a classical imperial notion of society as a hierarchically ordered body on its head, understood that “if one member suffers, all suffer together with it” (1 Cor 12:26a). While the imperial model of the body implied that top-down power and subordination were natural, that they should be accepted without question, and that the emperor knew what was best for everyone, Paul identified the location of common interest at the bottom, with those who suffer. The trade-union movement expresses a similar wisdom in this way: “An injury to one is an injury to all.” Common interest is found at the bottom, because pressure applied to the weakest tends to spread to everyone sooner or later. Conversely, gains made in this context also spread: the unions have found that when wages are raised for some workers and when their working conditions improve over time, the wages and working conditions of all workers tend to improve. In Paul’s language: “If one member is honored, all rejoice together with it” (1 Cor 12:26b). The Christian thing to do, in this context, is to take a stand with those who suffer and to work for change, which will ultimately benefit all of society.

One of the most important advantages of identifying common interest at the bottom is that new and constructive ways of interacting can be identified from here. Negotiations of employers and workers organized in unions, for instance, introduce a bottom-up form of negotiation that allows for a negotiation of the real issues, related to where the pain is. Rather than negotiating things through a seemingly omnipotent outside party like the Department of Labor, which may be out of touch and would have to interfere from the top down in order to be effective, strong unions could provide the input that is really needed from the bottom up—especially if it is seen that workers tend to have an interest in the well-being of their company which is often stronger and in many cases more existential than that of the owners themselves.

The same dynamic applies in religious discourse. If the matters of Christianity, for instance, are negotiated in relation with those who seek to live their faith in everyday life, the real issues of life can no longer be repressed, as they often are in the work of religious professionals and academics; the often-questioned relevance of Christianity would not be a problem either. And rather than negotiating the matters of faith from the top town, the people themselves could provide the input that is really needed. Both economics and theology would greatly benefit from such reversals.

One more issue must be raised in this context. The factor of human sin, generally affirmed by Christianity as a serious theological issue, is often used as an argument in favor of the free-market economy. A widely held position is summarized by one Christian author in this way: “Capitalism … begins with human beings as they are, coordinating the self-interested actions of self-interested people so as to produce an unintended beneficial outcome, and enabling the actions of ignorant people to be informed by more knowledge than such people could ever individually acquire.” By the same token, socialism is rejected by this author because “it postulates virtually omniscient, omnibenevolent beings.”⁶⁹ This position, despite having been argued countless times, actually has it backwards: while capitalism does indeed note the selfish nature of human beings to a certain degree, it appears to be hopelessly naïve and groundlessly optimistic about what happens when selfish human beings interact in the free market and about the market’s power to turn evil into good, especially in situations of grave asymmetries of power that transcend small-scale individual selfishness. An observation of market systems that does not romanticize the relations between buyers and sellers, but instead takes into account the logic of downturn—which points us to the often-serious distortions in power, for instance, in the relation of employers and employees or in a world of monopolies—cannot easily affirm such optimism.

The logic of downturn pushes beyond this trivialization of sin and relates to those Christian theological perspectives that recognize that sin never affects just individuals but also systems and relationships.⁷⁰ In this context, it appears that socialism takes sin more seriously by inviting a more sustained look at how free markets have actually shaped up in real life and by noting the accumulation of the means of production in the hands of a few, with the result that human selfishness becomes compounded; it might be argued that anti-monopoly regulations seek to address a similar problem of compounded human selfishness. The misunderstanding of socialism in the above remarks is of course a common one and has to do with a portrayal of the core concern of socialism as government centralism, which would result in a naïve reliance on the benevolence of government. The real concern of socialism, however, has to do not with totalitarian attitudes but with a concern for democracy—especially with what might be called economic democracy. Ethicist Beverly Harrison is one of the few working from within a Christian perspective who have understood this. For neoclassical economists, she points out, socialism means “centralized economic planning.” Historically, however, “a socialist approach to political economy meant economic democracy. It implied either shared resources or worker control of production and participation in determining the use of created wealth. All types of socialists addressed the specific alienations effected by separation of work and ownership.”⁷¹

How such a democracy can be achieved will have to be debated, but economic democracy is necessary precisely because the logic of downturn leads to a deepening awareness of what Christians would call sin. This deepening awareness of sin does not allow for the sort of optimism about human nature that is content with leaving leadership in the hands of a few who, in the case of economic leadership, are not even democratically elected. Christian ethicist Reinhold Niebuhr’s famous phrase might be interpreted in this broader context of economic democracy: “Man’s capacity for justice makes democracy possible; but man’s inclination to injustice makes democracy necessary.”⁷² This more realistic assessment of human nature maintains a healthy sense of sin and evil and begs the question of why notions of political and economic democracy ever got separated.

The Logic of Downturn and the Future of Religion

Once we begin to address these deeper tensions in economics and religion, the interesting question is whether religion might contribute to negotiating these relationships of power in constructive ways. Understanding how religion helps negotiate economics, class structures, and the clash between the classes introduces a new level of insight into the study of theology. Such an investigation of religion and class opens the door to deeper analyses of the complexity of power: How does religion help negotiate other power struggles related to economics, politics, culture, race, gender, sex, and so on?

One of the questions that can be pursued on the basis of these observations is how religion assumes different functions in different class contexts, rather than being limited to the role of the “opiate of the people.” This was, of course, one of Karl Marx’s most famous statements about religion, which must be seen in its own historical context. Many of the particular forms of mainline religion which he was able to observe in his time functioned precisely in this way. Religion in Marx’s time helped reduce the pain of the working class by being the “sigh of the oppressed creature and the heart of a heartless world,” but it did not contribute to resolving the burning issues of the day.⁷³ As we investigate this issue further in our own time, it might help to see that religion is not opium for everyone: religion is not opium for the ruling class, for instance, when it reinforces its power and helps extend its reach through quasi-religious ideas about the free market that govern the logic of economics. The interests of the ruling class are also supported by certain religious ideas embedded in the minds of the working class, such as the Gospel of Prosperity. By the same token, we need to take a closer look at what difference religion makes for those who experience the logic of downturn in their own bodies, especially the members of the working class and the middle class, who are increasingly experiencing similar pressures as they build their own logic and an alternative sort of power from the bottom up. This has nothing to do with reductionism—that is, the reduction of religious ideas to economic matters. Just the opposite: the term religion is liberated from reductionistic notions that place religion in a limited sphere. Placed in a broader context, religious positions can be observed in terms of the difference they actually make, one way or another.

This alternative use of religion does not have to be understood in narrow and exclusive terms. What difference does religion make to the poorest of the poor, for instance? What difference might it make to those white-collar workers who are often made to bear the brunt of economic downturn when they are let go by their employers and who have so internalized the myth of individualism that they blame themselves and thus withdraw from their peers?⁷⁴ The dilemma of white-collar workers is neatly summarized by Thomas Frank: they have no say but they are held responsible for what happens.⁷⁵

The relation of religion and class takes a special shape in the United States: whereas, particularly in Europe, workers have long since left the churches, which for centuries supported the ruling classes and their economic and political interests, in the United States many workers have remained in the churches. Yet these churches are not necessarily serving their interests, and they are often not doing much to help them develop alternatives and constructive solutions. In Texas, for instance, a large number of trade-union members are also members of churches, yet these churches give virtually no support to their causes. If these churches address economic or political issues, they often side with the employers. In churches that are attended both by employers and workers, the employers are usually the ones who make their interests heard; it has frequently not even occurred to the workers that they could do the same. While we will discuss the theological reasons for this situation in the next chapter in more detail (if God is seen as being at the top, those who occupy the top positions appear to be closer to God), it appears as if this behavior is closely related to financial contributions made to the church. Yet, although employers are certainly in a position to make bigger individual contributions to the church than workers, the collective contributions of workers are most likely not insignificant either, and, for this reason alone, things might change if worker solidarity were to develop in church. Fortunately, this is more than a dream, as there is a strong but little-known history of church and labor in the United States,⁷⁶ and current religion and labor coalitions are witnessing to solidarity being built from below, which makes a difference.⁷⁷

As solidarity emerges from below, the role of the middle class can be seen in a new light as well. This class, which is literally in the middle between the two conflicting groups, is often so strongly tied to the system that it is unable to make any contributions of its own. It is this class that is often most closely related to the religion of the market, as it is more dependent on religious hope than the ruling classes, due to its weaker economic status. But there are also some options here. One option took shape in Argentina early in the new millennium, when the middle class took to the streets in protest of the collapse of the country’s economy—unearthing the common interest of working and middle classes, as both benefit from the system only in a limited fashion. The middle class in the United States will ultimately have to face these issues, as well, as its economic status is declining amid the housing crisis and the crisis of the stock market, and it is beginning to develop an inkling that its economic fortune can no longer be expected to rise even at the rate of average economic growth. In this context, Barbara Ehrenreich makes an interesting suggestion for unemployed middle-class people: “No group is better situated, or perhaps better motivated, to lead the defense of the middle class than the unemployed—assuming they could recognize their common interests and begin to act as a political force.”⁷⁸ One can only imagine what contribution the mainline churches could make to such a development. Yet, in order to conceive of this, new kinds of theological reflections that deal with the common pain and that do not shy away from the logic of downturn are necessary.

In the following chapters, the notions of the divine, of hope, and of desire will be examined in light of this logic of downturn. Examining the ground of our hope and the role of desire in the interplay of theology and economics can lead to the development of constructive alternatives. What if we have put our hope in the wrong things? What if many of the gods in which 92 percent of Americans believe are false gods? What if our desires are tied up with things that are harmful? Constructive alternatives of hope and desire help reshape the current situation that causes undue pressures and the distortion of life—and even death—for large numbers of people. Is there hope at a time when, for much of humanity, things do not even minimally go as anticipated by mainline economic and theological models, and when economic models fail to take into account the existence of those on whose labor they are built? What images are able to generate such hope for all of humanity? How can desire be reshaped in ways that are life-giving for all of humanity?