Blaming prosperity for any loss of what are called spiritual values is meaningless and destructive, writes JOHN WATERS
IN HIS wonderful poem, Lament, Dylan Thomas summoned up the "deadly virtues" that plague the born-again God-fearing on their deathbeds. The poem portrays the sinner, "dying of downfall", becoming more morally upright as He becomes physically decrepit, renouncing all that made him human. It is a terrifyingly funny poem, because it says so much about the kind of Christianity visited on these parts: a life-denying prohibitionism requiring would-be believers to choose between God and desire.
It is, of course, a false choice, because human desire is perhaps the most persuasive evidence of the existence of God. For this reason I cheered reading last Friday's article on these pages, "Killing the myth that Ireland's wealth has poisoned its values", by Michael Casey, former chief economist with the Central Bank.
Casey is right that blaming prosperity for any loss of what are called spiritual values is meaningless and destructive, because it suggests that only in poverty can we find God. He is probably right, too, that much rhetoric condemnatory of prosperity is an attempted reassertion of old forms of control, largely working off an imposed guilt about possessions and a resilient strain of puritanism in the religious imagination of society. He might have added an even more important point: that this hectoring has been one of the primary forces in alienating Christians from Christ.
Due to the prevailing interpretations of the Christian message in relation to what is called materialism, it is increasingly difficult for the economically comfortable Christian to reconcile faith and lifestyle. Constantly confronted by the implicit accusation that there is a fundamental incompatibility between the values of the marketplace and godliness, Christians are forced to embrace either their circumstances or their faith, but not - or at least not comfortably - both.
Sigmund Freud, in Civilisation and its Discontents, suggested that we are already overburdened with conscience. The cultural superego has imposed upon us such a burden of socially necessary guilt that individual happiness is impossible. Conventional interpretations of the Christian message in the context of wealth and poverty can be seen, therefore, as tending to bear down further on the individual for no good purpose, attacking the individual's chances of happiness through selfishness without suggesting how happiness can be achieved otherwise.
If it is to connect with people in this rational-scientific age, Christianity needs to move beyond simple piety, to specific principles which find harmony with how the world works. It needs to offer answers that fit the questions.
To be a good Christian, must I give my money away? What, then, of my children's welfare? If, unilaterally, I decide to do this, what will my gesture achieve other than the microscopic improvement of the situation of some few others? Perhaps, yes, I can send a message by my example.
But if everyone follows my example, how will the wealth of the community be sustained? And anyway, don't I also transfer my guilt with my largesse? Can only the already poor embrace prosperity without guilt? And for how long before they, too, must give away what they have received? Unable to deal with these conundrums, we tend, on hearing the repeated mantras of our pastors, to flagellate ourselves a little and go on as before.
We accuse ourselves of, for example, insufficient generosity to the poor, or of hypocrisy on account of our continuing espousal of values we fall short of. But our self-accusation is short-lived and pointless. Unable to reconcile the contradictions, we turn away and embrace Mammon with ever greater conviction, as if only this offers the clarity we crave. We edge a little further away from Jesus, not because we resent Him, but because, unable to live up to what we are told are His injunctions, we decide to be hung for sheep.
There is, of course, a point at which materialism becomes dangerous. When a society invests its entire store of meaning in the material domain, it begins to throttle the very life of the citizen, depriving him the nutrients essential to spiritual survival. This became part of the end condition of communism, and might happen with capitalism also. But this is not, generally speaking, our preachers' thesis.
A more interesting discussion about the relationship between Christianity and prosperity might gravitate around the idea of how adequately affluence meets the call of human desire. The present moment of economic uncertainty might be a good time to explore this.
Has money answered all our questions or even suggested a potential to do so? Am I satisfied by what I possess or does it leave me wanting more? Is this "more" simply more of the same or something else? How, acknowledging that prosperity has both value and limits, do I live in a modern society? Can I reconcile good fortune with Christianity?
Michael Casey is right that we need a more thoughtful analysis, involving a more complex equation of values. We need to be reminded not that materialism is wrong, but that it will not deliver everything we need.
The present lack of clarity endangers everything worthwhile, missing the real point about love of neighbour and further diminishing the stock of religiosity in our society.