It may be possible to have a good debate over whether or not Jesus believed in fairies," G.K. Chesterton said. "Alas, it is impossible to have any sort of debate over whether or not Jesus believed that rich people were in big trouble—there is too much evidence on the subject and it is overwhelming." 1

In The Good of Affluence: Seeking God in a Culture of Wealth, John Schneider disagrees. Offering "a theology of affluence for Christians seeking to live with integrity within this culture of capitalism," he finds that enjoying extreme riches is just fine with Jesus. He sees his book as an antidote to Ron Sider's Rich Christians in an Age of Hunger. And he states candidly at the outset: "I strongly challenge the widely held belief that the world-shrinking effects of globalism generate strong obligations for any wealthy person in an advanced society to any poor person in an undeveloped one."

I found much in the book to admire, lines worth quoting, some that soar. But a pattern emerged for me as I read. Schneider makes a point that I applaud, then takes it in a direction that invites dismay—mine at any rate.

In his opening chapter, Schneider sketches the emergence of capitalism and explains that in contrast to biblical times, when wealth was usually obtained at the expense of others, current free-market capitalism typically creates wealth and spreads its benefits widely. He presents this well. However, his uncritical enthusiasm for the achievements of capitalism—"the greatest liberating power in human history"—takes over. Despite his acknowledgment that acquisitive desire is sometimes insatiable and spiritually corruptive, Schneider sees mainly a remarkable harmony between modern habits of acquisition and moral virtues. And he disparages the conclusions of a growing body of research that beyond a fairly basic level additional wealth brings little or no more happiness. "People who say that money doesn't buy happiness simply don't know where to shop," he quips in one of 25 citations in one chapter alone from The Virtue of Prosperity by the very conservative Dinesh D'Souza.

Genesis "helps us to see that God in fact designed human beings to enjoy life in the material world," Schneider writes. The narrative, he says, "almost overflows with the love and joy that God feels as he brings forth this world." Again one cheers—until this garden of delight is said to tell us "that abundance, fruitfulness, and excess [a word Schneider likes] are the proper conditions for a full life of delight," and that "it is the condition of affluence alone that makes full delight possible." Citing the wealth and power promised to Abraham and the patriarchs, Schneider baldly asserts that "God's promises have always been material in nature." Forgiveness? Joy? Peace? The Holy Spirit?

Schneider builds next on the exodus. It shows "that the God of Scripture has a peculiar interest in setting the poor free from poverty." But it also provides a theology "uniquely aimed at the concerns of wealthy people seeking God." God promises to bring his people "into conditions of material prosperity and power in the extreme." God "leads a whole people into a rich land to become an extremely wealthy nation."

Schneider turns to the prophets, who tell us that a main reason for the exile was economic immorality. The rich exploited the weak in order to increase their own wealth—typical then, but not typical in our economy today, we are reminded. The prophets were objecting to "extreme indulgence," which is "a very different spiritual and moral behavior than merely having and enjoying prosperity in the extreme." What is the difference? Extreme indulgence reflects "a lack of proper, sacred grief for the suffering around and about [us]." "For had [the rich addressed by Amos] truly grieved, perhaps there would have been no summer homes or beds of ivory." Perhaps. But then their prosperity would not have been so extreme.

Schneider has perceptive pages on the social and economic world of Jesus, and the social and economic identity of Jesus, as well as that of his disciples, none of whom were known to be impoverished. He writes eloquently about "the radical Jesus as the Lord of delight" who wined and dined with tax collectors and sinners. However, when Schneider tries to harmonize his theology of wealth with the Gospel of Luke, I wince.

"[T]he strong criticisms of the rich in Luke are not at all condemnations of affluence," he writes. Jesus called people "to take part, in quite different ways, in the material delight of the promise." For wealthier Christians, like Zacchaeus, this meant "radical redirection of economic life." Here (and occasionally elsewhere) Schneider suddenly sounds like Ron Sider—but radical redirection of economic life is not an insight that prevails in this book or is even pursued with specific applications for today. It is overwhelmed by arguments for enjoying extreme prosperity.

Schneider says that in Luke, rich and poor function as metaphors for those who reject or accept Jesus. Metaphors? Not to Jesus' astonished disciples (e.g., Luke 18:26; Matt. 19:25). Did Jesus really mean, "Woe to you who are metaphorically rich" (Luke 6:24)? Yet Schneider takes Jesus' statement that those who leave house and family for the sake of the kingdom will "get back very much more in this age" (Luke 18:29-30) to mean "material prosperity greater than that which they had enjoyed previously." No metaphor here, just another material promise.

The book concludes with an epilogue on "being affluent in a world of poverty," based almost entirely on a largely untested theory of Peruvian economist Hernando de Soto (The Mystery of Capital), who wants to turn dead assets of poor people into working capital. So do I. But here the theory is used to suggest that the main way in which people of wealth and power in the U.S. can "connect their affluence creatively and redemptively with the lives of the poor and powerless" is by making its economy prosper. This is radical redirection of economic life? Poor people in poor countries have to create and develop their own wealth, Schneider advises. Outsiders can't do it for them. That's true, but it ignores the impact of rich country policies, such as subsidies for U.S. and European crops that undercut developing country farmers and cost them billions of dollars each year.

It also ignores evidence that, given an easily affordable amount of additional assistance, carefully targeted, most of the world's hungry could adequately nourish themselves. Yet we prosperous Christians bask in affluence, seldom offering so much as a word on their behalf to our members of Congress. You would never guess from Schneider's book that better policies and more generous assistance could play a crucial role in reducing hunger and poverty. Or that empty stomachs on one continent may be related to the love of affluence on another.

Today "the obligations of the rich are limited," Schneider says. The limiting framework is "moral proximity" to those in need. Lazarus occupied moral space at the rich man's gate, so the rich man stood condemned. (We do better at keeping our distance.) Schneider admits that modern technology has complicated the matter. "[M]ost any ordinary person living in an advanced society has, by technological means, possible access to almost any other person anywhere in the world. And this means that there is hardly a poor person on earth that any affluent Christian could not help." Not to worry. Moral proximity protects us from this perilous thought.

As for U.S. poverty, Schneider contends that poor people today are better off than ever. He quotes D'Souza: "If poverty is understood in its normal sense—as the absence of food, clothing and shelter—it is no longer a significant problem in America." This vastly underestimates the hardship for 35 million Americans who in 2002 fell below the official poverty line, many of whom frequently have to decide whether too few dollars should be spent on heat, health care, or groceries. The poverty line itself is determined on the basis of the minimum amount it takes to buy enough food, so not surprisingly the number of poor people in the United States and the number of those who were either seriously or occasionally deficient of food that year was roughly the same. No small problem, one would think, in a land flowing with affluence.

Do U.S. Christians really need a word that sanctions our acquisitive urges? Or do we need the word that God has rescued us from our addiction to things through the death and resurrection of Jesus? And the invitation of Jesus to take up our cross and follow him, share our possessions, and receive something infinitely better than the American dream?

Jesus said, "You cannot serve God and mammon." Schneider's book, I am sorry to say, encourages us to work both sides of the street. Doing so is a huge temptation, and Schneider acknowledges that those caught in the grip of mammon are the last to know. He's right about that. Our convenient way of life is built on the determination to keep the disturbing truth of Jesus' words at a safe distance.

Arthur Simon is the founder and president emeritus of Bread for the World.

1. Cited by Will Willimon, "Jesus Visits the Hamptons," Sojourners, March/April 2002, pp. 36-38.

Copyright © 2004 by the author or Christianity Today/Books & Culture magazine.
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