The "Christian" vs. "The Secular Person" (Sermon on the Mount IV)

July 10, 2010

In Luther's later treatise, entitled “The Sermon on the Mount,” we see an unfortunate shift from the promising (if somewhat disorganized) start of “On Temporal Authority.”

Having started with the Beatitudes, he asks, 

“What does it mean, then, to be meek?  From the outset here you must realize that Christ is not speaking at all about the government and its work, whose property it is not to be meek, as we use the word in German, but to bear the sword (Rom. 13:4) for the punishment of those who do wrong (1 Pet. 2:14), and to wreak a vengeance and a wrath that are called the vengeance and wrath of God.  He is only talking about how individuals are to live in relation to others, apart from official position and authority.” 

This is not an uncommon route to take--insisting that different ethical standards apply in private life vs. public life--and I am not going to contest that there must be some difference, because there is still a provisional task of judgment to execute until the fullness of the Kingdom comes.  The question we must ask, though, is whether it is an absolute difference;  should the commands of Christ have no effect on how a government decides to execute vengeance?  Do the priority of peacemaking and the value of mercy have no purchase in the public sphere?  Moreover, we must beware of articulating this eschatological distinction in terms which suggest it is simply a public/private distinction, as Luther appears to do here: do Christian ethics cease to have any relevance once we move from the individual level to the level of any institution?  The CEO of Enron had “official position and authority,” he was working not as an individual, but as representative of an institution.  Did the same ethics no longer apply?  As we go on, we will see that our concern here is not unwarranted.

Luther goes on to draw a sharp distinction between office and person: 

“The man who is called Hans or Martin is a man quite different from the one who is called elector or doctor or preacher.  Here we have two different persons in one man.”  Jesus, is not talking about the office-person: “He is not talking about this person here, letting it alone in its own office and rule, as he has ordained it.  He is talking merely about how each individual, natural person is to behave in relation to others.”  

See, now this is a very troubling move.  We have shifted from contrasting civil government and private life to contrasting any “office” such as “doctor or preacher” with private life.  While clearly every man has certain functions which belong exclusively to a particular office that he executes, and are not relevant outside of that office, it is rather more problematic to assert that different ethical principles apply within and without the office.  Moreover, if we are speaking about “offices” of this sort, it seems that very little of our lives indeed lie under the commands of Jesus.

All this is simply under the discussion of meekness.  Later, as he turns to consider the difficult commands of 5:38-40, he insists that this doesn’t mean a literal turning the other cheek-- 

“it was enough for a person to be ready in his heart to offer the other cheek....We say, therefore, that all it does is to proclaim to every Christian that he should willingly and patiently suffer whatever is his lot, without seeking revenge or hitting back.

“But the question and argument still remain.  Must a person suffer all sorts of things from everyone, without defending himself at all?  Has he no right to plead a case or to lodge a complaint before a court, or to claim and demand what belongs to him?  If all these things were forbidden, a strange situation would develop.  It would be necessary to put up with everybody’s whim and insolence.  Personal safety and private property would be impossible, and finally the social order would collapse.”

This new move is also quite troubling.  To take Christ “literally” here would mean that we would constantly have to suffer from “everybody’s whim and insolence,” and so it is clear that Christ merely means that we should turn the cheek of our hearts, so to speak, that we should be willing to suffer passively, but should not actually do so.  Such bifurcation of action and intention seems to rob these commands of most of their force, relevance, and value.  

In the following paragraphs, Luther combines the two approaches he has taken here--the distinction of civil government and private life, and the distinction of heart and outward action.  The earthly regime, we are told, must continue to “administer law and punishment,” maintain distinctions of ranks, etc.  

“But the Gospel does not trouble itself with these matters.  It teaches about the right relation of the heart to God, while in all these other questions it should take care to stay pure and not to stumble into a false righteousness.  You must grasp and obey this distinction, for it is the basis on which such questions can easily be answered.  Then you will see that Christ is talking about a spiritual existence and life and that he is addressing himself to his Christians.  He is telling them to live and behave before God and in the world with their heart dependent upon God and uninterested in things like secular rule or government, power or punishment, anger or revenge.”  

We begin, it seems, with a distinction between civil government and the kingdom of Christ, but this latter gets defined as “the right relation of the heart to God,” suggesting that, as Luther has already ventured, what matters is not that our actions conform to Christ’s commands, but that our hearts do.  

Of course, it is possible to read this at first in an Anabaptist way; Christians are to be “uninterested in things like secular rule or government, power or punishment” because they live according to a different kingdom.  However, we are going to see that he does not mean that Christians are to stay aloof from such things--of course they are to be involved in such things, but as secular persons, not as Christians.  As a Christian, we must love our enemies.  But  Christian could be, in addition to being a Christian “a prince or a judge or a servant or a maid--all of which are termed ‘secular’ persons because they are part of the secular realm.”  One’s identity in relation to other people, in this portrait, is not part of one’s being a Christian--one is a secular person inasmuch as one stands in relation to other people.  We may then ask how it is that a Christian could love his enemies, because inasmuch as he relates to his enemies, he must do so as a secular person.  You will see soon that I am not overstating the problem...Luther just plunges further and further into it.  

He expands upon the bifurcation of person and office, and considers the office to be a “secular person”:  “There is no getting around it, a Christian has to be a secular person of some sort.”  In this role, “your name is not ‘Christian,’ but father’ or ‘lord’ or ‘prince.’  According to your own person you are a Christian; but in relation to your servant you are a different person, and you are obliged to protect him.”

He continues, 

“You see, now we are talking about a Christian-in-relation: not about his being a Christian, but about this life and his obligation in it to some other person, whether under him or over him or even alongside him, like a lord or a lady, a wife or children or neighbors, whom he is obliged, if possible, to defend, guard, and protect.”  

In such cases we are told that it is wrong to apply the turn-the-other-cheek principle.  Is it wrong because the principle is in abeyance when you are acting in an office, or because the principle is about self, not others? 

He no longer draws the distinction clearly.  Observe, for instance, where he says:

“What kind of crazy mother would it be who would refuse to defend and save her child from a dog or a wolf and who would say: ‘A Christian must not defend himself’?  Should we not teach her a lesson with a good whipping and say: ‘Are you a mother?  Then do your duty as a mother, as you are charged to do it.”  

Rather than taking the obvious route with this example and saying, “Christ says a Christian must not defend himself, but clearly he should defend his child, so there is no contradiction,” Luther imagines that we must, as it were, suspend the Sermon on the Mount because we are talking about someone acting as a secular person.  We are to neatly distinguish two different identities for the Christian and two different sets of ethics for these identities: “Now, with this distinction of the boundary between the province of the Christian person and that of the secular person you can neatly classify all these saying and apply them properly where they belong, not confusing them and throwing them in one pot, the way the teaching and the administration of the pope has done.”  

What, we must ask, remains in the province of the Christian person, if we have bracketed out every aspect of his life that is in relation or in obligation to others?  It would seem that Christ’s commands are still to apply when it is solely oneself who is threatened, and Luther says so.  But having said this, he then immediately flip-flops and says, “It is permissible to use orderly procedure in demanding and obtaining your rights, but be careful not to have a vindictive heart.”  It’s fine to use the law simply for your protection, only not for vindictivenss.  “When the heart is pure, then everything is right and well done.”  

So the Sermon on the Mount does not offer us instruction when it comes to living in relation to others, and, even addressing us as individuals, it should be taken only as speaking to our hearts, our intentions, not our outward actions.  This is because any of our outward actions, it appears, are part of our “secular person.”:

“He lives simultaneously as a Christian toward everyone, personally suffering all sorts of things in the world, and as a secular person, maintaining, using, and performing all the functions required by the law of his territory or city, by civil law, and by domestic law....A Christian should not resist any evil; but within the limits of his office, a secular person should oppose every evil.  The head of a household should not put up with insubordination  or bickering among his servants.  A Christian should not sue anyone, but should surrender both his coat and cloak when they are taken away from him; but a secular person should go to court if he can to protect and defend himself against some violence or outrage.”

Since we are all secular people, we should all go to court to defend ourselves, but in our hearts, we should still live as Christians.  Here is an ethics that has been entirely emasculated and robbed of any livable form.  Here the Catholic counsels/precepts distinction gets turned on its side, separating each individual into a spiritual person who inwardly follows the counsels--the hard teachings of Christian ethics--and outwardly follows the precepts--more basic, natural law teachings.  

This is, of course, not Luther at his best, and we mustn’t imagine that Luther actually consistently applied such a bizarre and schizophrenic ethic.  Nevertheless, this sort of inward/outward ethical dualism has exerted a very strong influence on Protestantism and we must be alert to its presence.  A common form it takes in the modern world is in the dual standards we apply to the world of business: as a private individual, I am not greedy, nor combative, I seek peace with all men, but as a businessman, I can be a cutthroat competitor, seeking to destroy the competition and wring the last cent out of my customers, always seeking more and more profit.  

For Luther, the attempt to escape the hard words of the Sermon on the Mount has led him to destroy the foundations of Christian ethics.  Clearly, we need a better interpretive solution.

Luther on the Sermon on the Mount

July 6, 2010
Now, let’s turn to look at Martin Luther’s expositions of the Sermon on the Mount.  We find the first of these in his treatise Temporal Authority: To What Extent It Should Be Obeyed, and the second in, unsurprisingly, The Sermon on the Mount.  The first, while troubled by a number of inconsistencies (some simply the result of Luther’s characteristic lack of rhetorical caution), offers a much more satisfactory account than the second.  I shall resist the temptation to dwell on the inconsistencies and will stick to the core argument.

In this treatise, Luther beings by rejecting the “counsels of perfection” idea.  We must, he says, find a way to make these words “apply to everyone alike, be he perfect or imperfect.”  

All Christians then are bound by the commands of the Sermon on the Mount, and for themselves have no need of “prince, king, lord, sword, or law.”  However, the majority of those who live here in the world are not Christians; they do not observe Christ’s commands, but are full of violence and evil.  We cannot insist on applying these commands across the board in a society that is not ready for them.  “Certainly it is true that Christians, so far as they themselves are concerned, are subject neither to law nor sword, and have need of neither.  But take heed and first fill the world with real Chrsitains before you attempt to rule it in a Christian and evangelical manner.”  And so it is necessary that for such people there be a temporal sword “to bring about peace and prevent evil deeds,” while the spiritual does its work of “producing righteousness.”

Now, at this point, the argument is looking quite unsatisfactory.  You are tempted to scribble in the margin (as I did), something along the lines of, “But Martin, Jesus knew that not everyone would do good when he gave the command to resist not evil; otherwise, there would have been no need for the command.  He’s presuming that we’re surrounded by violent men, but we’re supposed to overcome by love, not a sword.”  But then things become much clearer.  Luther says, 

“Since a true Christian lives and labors on earth not for himself alone but for his neighbor, he does by the very nature of his spirit even what he himself has no need of, but is needful and usefu to his neighbor.  Because the sword is most beneficial and necessary for the whole world in order to preserve peace, punish sin, and restrain the wicked, the Christian submits most willingly to the rule of the sword, pays his taxes, honors those in authority, serves, helps, and does all he can to assist the governing authority... Although he has no need of these things for himself--to him they are not essential--nevertheless, he concerns himself about what is serviceable and of benefit to others.”  

In other words, Christ has forbidden his followers to use the sword to defend themselves, he has counselled them to give up their own cloaks when demanded, but he has never said that they cannot defend others, or track down and punish the thieves who take the cloaks of others.  He finally states this clearly a couple of pages later: 

“From all this we gain the true meaning of Christ’s words in Matthew 5:39, ‘Do not resist evil,’ etc.  It is this: A Christian should be so disposed that he will suffer every evil and injustice without avenging himself; neither will he seek legal redress in the courts but have utterly no need of temporal authority and law for his own sake.  On behalf of others, however, he may and should seek vengeance, justice, protection, and help, and do as much as he can to achieve it.  Likewise, the governing authority shoud, on its own initiative or through the instigation of others, help and protect him too, without any complaint, application, or instigation on his own part.  If it fails to do this, he should permit himself to be despoiled and slandered; he should not resist evil, as Christ’s words say.”  

Now this is quite interesting, and in fact, quite different from what he started out by saying.  You will see that as he reaches his conclusion, the two kingdoms schema he had begun with proves irrelevant.  For it is not that Christians don’t use the sword, and unbelievers do, or that Christians mustn’t use the sword against one another, but must against unbelievers who do, or even that Christians don’t use the sword for themsleves, but do use it for unbelievers.  Rather, it is quite simply, no Christian uses the sword for himself, or is anxious for his own rights and well-being, but all are anxious for the rights and well-being of others, Christians or worldlings, and will use the sword to protect them if necessary.  

This solution then qualifies, under the schema identified in the first part of this essay, as the fourth approach to dealing with the Sermon on the Mount.  It has the strength of having not added to or detracted from Christ’s words there--he means exactly what he says: “If you are attacked, turn the other cheek.  If you are stolen from, give to your enemy.”  However, Luther does not stick to this solution, as we will see in the next segment.

Lutheran Cherry-Picking (VanDrunen Review II.2)

May 2, 2010

(This post is actually short!)

In the last section of the chapter, “Precursors to the Reformed Tradition,” VanDrunen examines a figure whose name is regularly identified with “two kingdoms” theory, though rarely with the concept of natural law--Luther.   He seeks to show that both of these ideas played a crucial role in Luther’s political theology, which was in close continuity with the catholic strands he has already identified, and which set the stage for a more mature and systematic development in Reformed thought.

Before turning to briefly consider this discussion, I wanted to add one more thought to the previous post.  I’d mentioned some key distinctions in patristic and medieval political thought that VanDrunen glosses over, and I wanted to add one more--which person of the Trinity is seen as the source of political authority?  This was an important variation within the broad “two swords” stream.  Some medieval thinkers, such as the Carolingians (if I remember rightly), saw the prince as a vicar of Christ--just as Christ was prophet, priest, and king, so, in his Church, some were called upon to imitate his prophetical office, preaching the word, some were called upon to imitate his priestly office, administering the sacraments, and some were called upon to imitate his kingly office, administering civil justice.  In such a conception, the “two swords” did not correspond to a neat division between creation and redemption--rather, both were operative in the sphere of redemption.  Other versions of the doctrine saw the prince as the vicar of God, receiving his role from God the Father, the creator, and thus, to a certain extent at least, independent of Christ’s redemptive work.  This version is much more congenial to VanDrunen’s project, but a better historical sketch would have taken note of both versions.  

Now, what about Luther?  VanDrunen turns to Luther’s classic treatise On Temporal Authority to consider his two kingdoms doctrine.  For Luther, civil authority had been established by God since creation.  Those who are in Christ are members of his kingdom, which needs no temporal sword, and so for themselves, they never wield it, but they do wield it for the sake of unbelievers, those who live still in the kingdom of the world.  In the second half of the treatise, Luther argues that the temporal authority must never extend to rule over spiritual matters, or to exercise any coercion over faith.  

VanDrunen calls our attention to several salient points: first, there is a strong antithesis between Christians and the world, not merely eschatological, but ethical.  Second, there is a large area of commonality--both Christians and non-Christians live under temporal authority and both can wield it, though, significantly, “Luther does not treat it as a morally neutral realm, but gives civil rulers strong exhortations to exercise their sword with justice and within the limits of their authority” (60).  Luther moves beyond Augustine in treating coercive temporal authority as something good and God-ordained, and in insisting that the Christian is really and truly a citizen of both kingdoms, rather than, as with Augustine, only one. (At this point, I sense that VanDrunen is interpolating aspects of Luther’s later treatise The Sermon on the Mount, since, in On Temporal Authority, he certainly seems to speak as if the Christian is a citizen only of one kingdom, and simply works as an alien within the other.)  VanDrunen concludes here by saying that the Reformed view generally follows the lines that Luther has sketched, though with three differences: 1) a different use law-gospel distinction, 2) a difference in what is placed under each jurisdiction, and 3) a difference regarding the use of coercion in matters of faith.  

Van Drunen’s discussion of Luther on natural law is structurally similar to his discussion of Ockham on the same issue--the main point is simply to demonstrate that, contrary to popular stereotypes, Luther cheerfully employed this category in his ethical and political thought, and that he equated the Decalogue with the natural law.  VanDrunen does not go much beyond demonstrating this, and again leaves out of consideration any further questions, such as about how the natural law relates to the evangelical law.  So, as before, I feel that VanDrunen hasn’t yet shown us much of significance, though perhaps that was not his intent at this point.

A couple of critical remarks are also in order regarding the discussion of Luther on the two kingdoms.  First, I still see nowhere (even in the footnotes) a recognition that many scholars now argue that “two kingdoms” is simply a mistranslation (and hence, a misunderstanding) of Luther’s view, which should rather be rendered as “two regiments.”  This seems a much too significant issue to simply leave unmentioned.  Second, VanDrunen asserts that On Temporal Authority can be taken as representative of Luther’s political thought as a whole, and yet there is a considerable difference between its viewpoint and that of later works, such as The Sermon on the Mount.  For example, Luther does not seem to have remained consistent in his initial insistence that spiritual matters lay outside the purview of the magistrate.  Admittedly, Luther is not meant to be the main focus of the book, but this oversimplistic engagement with him makes it look as if VanDrunen is simply picking and choosing the version of Luther that fits best into the rest of his narrative.  

Thoughts on the Sermon on the Mount, Part I

May 1, 2010
The “Sermon on the Mount.”  Simply to mention it, in the context of any discussion of Christian ethics, will change the tenor of the conversation.  It may impart an aura of sanctity and infallibility, or it may evoke images of Anabaptist radicals turning their collective cheek.  It now looms larger in our cultural imagination than perhaps any other Biblical passage, standing, depending on whom you ask, for all that good about Christianity or religion, or for all that is weak, silly, or absurd.  The ethics of the Sermon on the Mount have come to take on an absolutist dimension, so that Max Weber could famously write, 

“The Sermon on the Mount, by which we mean the absolute ethics of the Gospel, is something far more serious than those who are so fond of citing its commandments today believe.  It is not to be taken frivolously.  What has been said about causality in science also applies to this ethic, namely that it is not a hired cab which one may stop at will and climb into or out of as one sees fit.  Rather, the meaning of the sermon (if it is not to be reduced to banality) is precisely this: we must accept it in its entirety or leave it entirely alone.”  

Max Weber invoked the Sermon on the Mount to illustrate the irresolvable tension between Christian ethics and political life--in political life, it simply wasn’t possible to live by the absolute demands of the Sermon on the Mount, and so the politician must conceal this beautiful, powerful ethics of conviction in his bosom, and live by a different ethics--an ethics of responsibility--so long as he served in a position of civil authority.  

In seeing this tension, yea, this contradiction, between the Sermon on the Mount and the ethics of political life, Weber is of course not alone; indeed, the passage has been a ceaseless gadfly to all attempts to formulate a Christian political ethic since the earliest days of the Church, and perhaps especially since Luther and his clashes with the Anabaptists.  In this essay, I want to sketch some of the contours of the way Christians have tried to make sense of the ethical demands of the Sermon on the Mount, suggest where I think some of the key pitfalls are, and try to lay down what seem to me the most promising ways forward.  I will be particularly focusing on two treatises by Luther.

First of all, let’s get the text in front of us.  Although the Sermon on the Mount is about many things, the verses that have been most offensive are 6:38-44:

“38 “You have heard that it was said, ‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.’ 39 But I tell you not to resist an evil person. But whoever slaps you on your right cheek, turn the other to him also. 40 If anyone wants to sue you and take away your tunic, let him have your cloak also. 41 And whoever compels you to go one mile, go with him two. 42 Give to him who asks you, and from him who wants to borrow from you do not turn away.

43 “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ 44 But I say to you, love your enemies, bless those who curse you, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who spitefully use you and persecute you.”

Now, standard responses among those eager to keep us from over-absolutizing these verses, those who refuse Weber’s challenge that you must take this passage all-out or not at all, are “Let’s not take this out of context” or “Let’s remember what Jesus’ main point here was” or “Remember that Jesus was speaking metaphorically.”  These are all rather vague.  Let’s look more closely at what the potential routes are to keep us from over-absolutizing. 

First, we might say that Jesus is speaking hyperbolically.  Of course he is speaking metaphorically--his point is clearly not a narrow one about cheek-slapping.  When people object “He is speaking metaphorically,” they presumably mean to say that Jesus does not intend us to take these commands as far as they might seem to go, and instead to take them as representative of a general attitude or demeanor we are to have.  What this objection often boils down to is some kind of inward/outward distinction: Christ is not telling us exactly what our external actions should be--he is not literally saying to turn the other cheek or even not to defend ourselves--but is telling us what our inner attitudes should be: unselfish, loving, more concerned for the other than for ourselves, slow to wrath, etc.

Second, we might say that, if we read the passage in context, we will realize that Jesus is only speaking about certain circumstances, not about any conceivable circumstance in which we find ourselves attacked, robbed, or confronted by an enemy.  Variations on this argument include a) the idea that Jesus is talking about someone who has been a long-standing enemy, not someone who just tries to mug you in the street, or b) the idea that Jesus is talking about everyday trials and tribulations, not about life-threatening situations.

Third, we might say that, if we read the passage in context, Jesus is only speaking to certain people, not to everyone indiscriminately.  For example, we might say that a) Jesus is talking about specifically about the circumstances of the Jews under Roman captivity, and giving practical advice aimed at that particular situation, or b) Jesus is talking to private citizens, not to public authorities or soldiers, who are obviously supposed to act differently.

Finally, we could point that Christ is, in each case, talking about self-defense.  He is telling us how to respond when we are attacked, abused, etc., not how to respond when someone else is attacked, abused, etc.  This seems to leave a lot of the radicalness in place, as it would seem to rule out all self-defense, but it would still allow, potentially, for military service, civil magistracy, and various forms of intervention on behalf of the oppressed.  

In following installments, I shall see how some of these approaches have been tried out (primarily by looking at Luther), and then return to offer an assessment of how tenable and useful  each of these four (or really six) options might be.

Luther on "the Three Jews who suck the world dry"

And further along, he shows he clearly has no libertarian scruples about the relationship between the magistrate and the economy:

Three special, distinct works all rulers might do in our times, particularly in our lands. First, to make an end of the horrible gluttony and drunkenness, not only because of the excess, but also because of its expense. For through seasonings and spices and the like, without which men could well live, no little loss of temporal wealth has come and daily is coming upon our lands....
Secondly, to forbid the excessive cost of clothing, whereby so much wealth is wasted, and yet only the world and the flesh are served; it is fearful to think that such abuse is to be found among the people who have been pledged, baptised, and consecrated to Christ, the Crucified, and who should bear the Cross after Him and prepare for the life to come by dying daily. If some men erred through ignorance, it might be borne; but that it is practised so freely, without punishment, without shame, without hindrance, nay, that praise and fame are sought thereby, this is indeed an unchristian thing.
Third, to drive out the usurious buying of rent-charges, which in the whole world ruins, consumes and troubles all lands, peoples and cities through its cunning form, by which it appears not to be usury, while in truth it is worse than usury, because men are not on their guard against it as against open usury. See, these are the three Jews, as men say, who suck the whole world dry. Here princes ought not to sleep, nor be lazy, if they would give a good account of their office to God.

I particularly like the second one. It really is odd that conservative Christians, who have moral scruples about just about everything else, should have no scruples about wasting obscene amounts of money on the vanity of "fashionable" clothes, by which they also contribute to the oppression of millions of Third World workers.