One of the nice things about living in the world is the occasional, accidental discovery that certain things go well together. I imagine this accounts for food and wine connoisseurs. I am neither, and hope to remain that way, but, as every man ought to be an expert on his own corner of the world, I enjoy the discoveries when they happen. A few years ago, for instance, through trial and error I stumbled on the truth that Gibbon's Roman Empire goes well with Saturday mornings, orange marmalade on toast, and pots of strong coffee. Most recently (and now to the point of this post) Freeman's account of the Valley Campaign, a Sunday afternoon, scuppernong wine, and I all converged on the same point, and we enjoyed the meeting.

Miracles and Monks

Regarding the spiritual gifts I am a moderate cessationist: they have mostly ceased since the apostolic times, but frequently recur in situations similar to that of the apostles--to wit, in places of the world new to the gospel. There, demons still hold some sway and the coming of the Son of Man to overthrow them is properly announced with signs and wonders, just as in first-century Jerusalem.

Living as we do in a post-Christian, not a pre-Christian era (an era entirely novel in the history of the world, finding its only parallel in the long history of Israel), small wonder we stumble at the miraculous accounts of early church historians. Things don't happen that way in our age because they don't need to--the demons have been toppled, and it is only sinful men that need to be dealt with rather than hostile spiritual powers.

Galatians makes it clear that Israel's period of bondage to the law was a period of subjection while preparing to assume her inheritance in Christ, and the Bible mentions that the law was delivered to Moses by angels. When Christ came to redeem humanity, He finally fulfilled the dominion mandate that was originally given to mankind, to subdue the earth and rule over it. Ever since then His people, as their redemption deepens, have been increasing their rule over creation as instruments of Christ--the very thing for which creation has longed and groaned.

So when the dauntless monks first carried the gospel into northern Europe, they were the trumpeters announcing to the temporary rulers of creation that the King had come and was booting them from office without a pension plan. No wonder they met with cranky demons; no wonder they had to back up their claims with demonstrations of the new power over creation that had been given the Man, and through the Man to the men.

This has a particular application to miracles that demonstrate a power over nature, such as Christ calming the wind and the waves. For one thing, it implies that there are not merely impersonal "forces of nature", but that each part of nature is delivered into the care of a being. Thus, when St Brendan saw spiritual powers at work in objects that we nowadays recognise as ordinary parts of nature, he was not necessarily being superstitious. In his day, the whales might really have been wicked monsters bent on their destruction, because the spiritual powers that governed the whales were hostile to the Christ-led human takeover of creation.

Today, there are still personal beings in charge of creation, but they are us, not demons, and we are putting our powers to helpful purposes (with many missteps along the way) rather than the random and fantastic displays of the demons. They may have controlled the power of water to smash boats and create freak whirlpools, but we enchain the waters to produce electricity. They may have driven a herd of hogs violently into the sea, but we get bacon. And creation could not be happier: her groanings and longings are being fulfilled. After 4000 years of futility, she at last found her true master for whom she was created.

Our modern skepticism is intended as a denial of Christ's authority. But more deeply, and quite unconsciously, we bear witness to how wide a chasm there is between us who live in a land where Christ has ruled for millennia, and the first missionaries who came to a land where Christ's banner had not yet been planted. Fear is the result of unbelief in a pre-Christian society; skepticism is only possible in a post-Christian society. In the intervening time--the Christian period--the very nature of the world must have been fundamentally altered.

Distributism

As best I can tell from reading a few articles about distributism (but nothing yet by its originators themselves, so take this for what it's worth), it appears to be striving toward a condition that the Bible considers a hallmark of God's blessing.

Solomon's reign was a high type of Christ's millennial reign:

And Judah and Israel dwelt safely, every man under his vine and under his fig tree, from Dan even to Beersheba, all the days of Solomon. 1 Kings 4:25.

Micah prophecies the same blessing when Christ comes:

But they shall sit every man under his vine and under his fig tree; and none shall make them afraid: for the mouth of the LORD of hosts hath spoken it. - Micah 4:4.

The same phrase is used by a false Christ to tempt the godly:

Hearken not to Hezekiah: for thus saith the king of Assyria, Make an agreement with me by a present, and come out to me, and then eat ye every man of his own vine, and every one of his fig tree, and drink ye every one the waters of his cistern. 2 Kings 18:31

Finally, the destruction of this state of society is a severe judgment from God:

And they shall eat up thine harvest, and thy bread, which thy sons and thy daughters should eat: they shall eat up thy flocks and thine herds: they shall eat up thy vines and thy fig trees: they shall impoverish thy fenced cities, wherein thou trustedst, with the sword." - Jeremiah 5:17.

It seems clear to me that widely distributed ownership of land (or any means of production) is an essential condition of a Christian society.

Definitions of capitalism abound, and I have studied no capitalist theory. I will therefore limit my denunciation of capitalism to the fruits it has born, and let alone the ideal or pure capitalism of theory. I believe I can do this while remaining meaningful, because "by their fruits ye shall know them."

From what I picked up from a few articles by The Distributist Review and The Chesterbelloc Mandate, a basic distributist critique of capitalism lies in the division of capital and labor, the separation of the ownership of the means of production from the labor involved in the production. That our modern capitalist system has inflicted a great chasm between the two can scarcely be denied. That this economical condition is almost the reverse of the blessing that every man shall sit under his own vine and fig tree, is also undeniable. That, by itself, should suffice to seriously call into question corporate capitalism.

A Lew Rockwell type might respond: "But capitalism simply creates a playing field that favors good production over bad production. We simply ask that the best man win; and the existence of great corporations is an example of the best man winning. What's to complain about?"

I once bought into this, but lately I have become convinced the free market system rests on a pelagian premise: that, in fair competition, the good triumphs over the bad. But this is the same argument that gets us mob rule when applied to politics. Theorists of pure democracy claimed that, as the first law of nature is self preservation, the masses would never vote for a destructive ruler. The theorists overlooked the destructive tendencies of sin in every man's heart, and terrible consequences have attended this oversight. Similarly, free competition in the marketplace can only result in endlessly better prices for endlessly better products if the consumer makes endlessly better choices with his money. History has here, too, proven the opposite. It is true that competition weeds out some classes in favor of others: but the competing classes are not "good products" and "bad products"; they are "successful moneymakers" and "unsuccessful moneymakers." There is no necessary correspondence between a successful moneymaker and a good product. Wal-Mart proves this well.

One of the articles on distributism that I read, but can no longer locate, pointed out that when the laborer makes a product and profits from it himself, he has two interests: the product itself, and the profit from it. When a labor and capital are separated, the interests are also separated. The laborer has an interest in the product, but not in the profit. The capitalist has an interest in nothing but the profit. As long as he can sell at a profit, he has no interest in the goodness of the product itself. This creates pressure on the laborer to turn out products at the level best suited to make money, and diminishes his concern for the inherent worth and quality of what he makes.

Now it is true that a rare laborer could care so much about his work that he does a better job than the Bottom Line demands. It is also true that a capitalist could care so much about what he sells that he invests beyond the level the Bottom Line demands. But here is the point: when the two interests of profit and production are separated, there is a tension, institutionalized by the system, between the two. True, it is not necessary to yield to the tension, but that's like a having a faithful marriage while living in Las Vegas. You can theoretically make it just fine...but why set yourself up? A wise man sees where the road goes and removes his way far from it.

One of the most difficult parts of the flooring job I now have is reuniting the two interests. Through years of warehouse work a work ethic was instilled in me: do quality work if you can, but when the pressure is on, nothing matters to management except speed. In business where the owner, the profit-maker, and the laborer are all one man, there is an even balance between the two interests. My boss is in the business because he loves working with wood flooring. (Of course, he likes profit, too.) His standard for his own work generally exceeds the customer's standard, and he is free to pursue really good woodwork because he also controls the bottom line. If he were separated from the labor and only cared about profit, he would crank out floors at the minimum standard at which he could make a profit. If he were separated from ownership and interested only in the floor (with an hourly wage unconnected with the actual value of the floor), all the pressure from ownership would be to sacrifice superfluous quality for profit-making speed.

In a biblical view of economy, quality and profit should be mutually supportive. When a business becomes destructive of one of these ends, it becomes destructive of the other, and it is high time to alter or abolish it.

Industrialism

It may be useful to distinguish between industrialism and what we might call, in the absence of a better word, industriality.

Many have rightly argued that to attack technology or industry in its essential nature is to locate evil in an object or a method rather than in the heart of man. The evil uses to which the processes or products of industrialism have been put ought certainly to be condemned where the sin originated, not in the instrument of the sin's expression.

The argument holds when applied to industriality. It is misapplied in connection with industrialism.

It may help to define terms.

Industriality: a method of manufacturing objects, or organizing labor, that involves mass production, assembly lines, the predominating use of machinery, or other characteristics of the factory production process; on grounds of efficiency, with a tendency toward uniform results.

Industrialism: an ideology that transfers factory methods to human society; that sees an analogy between a machine and a body of men; in pursuit of objective and empirical standards to replace those of religion and metaphysics; with the goal of obtaining the greatest good for the greatest number, defined by utility and pleasure rather than honor or peace.

With this distinction in mind it will be easier to fervently damn industrialism (as all good men ought to do) without disregarding the true source of its evil results.

Perhaps it will be helpful to carry on at greater length. Every object or idea dreamed up by man bears his image. According as the man is obedient or disobedient to the law of God, his creation will bear either a blessing or a curse. The materials used in the creation of an object are certainly not cursed. They bear no evil in themselves. But man does. Therefore when man puts matter to use, the resulting creation must bear an inherent bias toward a good or evil usage.

Neil Postman's book Amusing Ourselves to Death is a good example of what I am getting at. The book's thesis is that the image-based culture we find ourselves in today carries a dangerous bias toward evil that theprevious era's typological culture did not. He never argues, to my recollection, that a TV is inherently wicked; only that it carries with it a native tendency toward unhealthy ways of life. There is no sin in using a television; but wise men will recognize the dangers and govern their habits accordingly.

I contend that industriality--the industrial method we use to produce most of our goods--carries similarly dangerous tendencies toward utilitarianism, materialism, and the effacement of personality. This century and the last have made abundantly plain the horrors that lie at the end of this road. If we are wise men, should we not begin to meditate on how best to bridle our (admittedly convenient) servant, Industriality, in order to escape its evil bias? May we not even begin to meditate on how to reconfigure our method of production for a good rather than an evil bias?

Alexis de Tocqueville said of democracy,

Whenever social conditions are equal, public opinion presses with enormous weight upon the mind of each individual; it surrounds, directs, and oppresses him; and this arises from the very constitution of society, much more than from its political laws. As men grow more alike, each man feels himself weaker in regard to all the rest; as he discerns nothing by which he is considerably raised above them or distinguished from them, he mistrusts himself as soon as they assail him. (Democracy in America, II.20.)

The factory is the most egalitarian of commonwealths; the goal of industriality in production--uniformity, repetition, interchangeability--is what industrialism wishes to effect in human society; and a democracy is the most fertile ground for the seeds of industrialism. And as democracy tends to eventually center control in the hands of a dictator, so industrialism tends toward brutal, exploitative monopolies.

In That Hideous Strength and the fragment The Dark Tower, C S Lewis sees industrialism (closely allied with other attempts to create a "scientifically governed" society) as the bane of all that made life livable--the true, the good, and the beautiful. In Tales of the Long Bow, if only incidentally, G K Chesterton brings his hammer to bear on the same rock. Aldous Huxley and George Orwell similarly raised the specter of uniform and interchangeable men, no longer individuals. And practically every science fiction movie since the 1920s has stirred up dread in our hearts of a faceless society run on the principles of the factory.

Wiping the factory system of production from our midst will not cure the ultimate problem of the evil in men's hearts. But if we are wise we must acknowledge that as long as we have this dangerous servant in our midst, at least in its current configuration, it will never stop exerting a subtle pressure in the direction of hell.