Some years ago I had a colleague who had spent his academic life tracing the social changes in our society since the Second World War. He noticed that many social indices began to change around 1955. (Things such as divorce rate, crimes, and child abuse.) It was an extraordinary collection of data. His interpretation of the data was that western society had made a shift from “other-regardingness” to “self-regardingness” and that this attitudinal shift seemed to account for much of the data. Why the changes began in 1955 he has no clue. Yet, I thought then, and still think now that he was on to something. (His idea is confirmed in works such as Bellah et al Habits of the Heart, 1985, 3rd edition 2007, and Putnam’s Bowling Alone, 2001).
The way a culture is structured is very complex. Layers of social mores are added to previous layers derived from interactions between different cultures and new ideas. This is why anthropologists are fascinated by cultures that have had no contact with others. What would a culture look like that had not passed through such synthetic changes? Of course, as soon as the anthropologist enters the scene, the previously untouched culture is immediately changed by the encounter!
It is very clear that western society, with its 2,500-year development has benefited from these kinds of cultural adaptations. We are shaped by Greek and Roman ideas, by Judaism and Christianity, by Muslim culture, by the encounter of the colonialists with native peoples. It all adds to the richness and the complexity.
It is an interesting and challenging puzzle to try to isolate an idea and to find its genesis. I want to take the challenge with regard to the idea of “other-regardingness.” I think we find its basis in something St. Paul said in a letter to an early Christian community, “Do nothing out of selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility regard others better than yourselves. Let each of you look not to your own interests, but to the interests of others.” Paul rooted this advice in his understanding of Jesus as equal with God, yet who emptied himself taking the form of a servant. Interpreting what Paul meant has had a long and difficult history. What exactly is the kenosis of Christ, the self-emptying? I am not going to attempt an answer, but simply note that whatever Paul meant by it, he used it as a springboard to suggest a way of living. The way was to humbly forget your self and to think about others. In other words, here is the idea of other-regardingness rooted in what we think about Jesus.
Forgetting self and thinking about the needs of others has been a very powerful thread in the history of western civilization. We can trace much that is good and noble (health care and social service for instance) to this principle.
It has not always been received kindly. In pre-Christian times humility was considered a vice and not a virtue (at least by Aristotle). Yet, the challenge to it comes more seriously at the heart of what we now call democratic capitalism. In 1776, Scottish philosopher Adam Smith published a book that would set the stage for the massive development of the west, The Wealth of Nations. Its insights were novel and powerful. Among his many ideas was the notion of “self-interest.” His belief was that if everyone acted in their own self-interest, the outcome would be for the best. Self-interest fueled the industrial revolution. Self-interest fueled the growth of capitalism. Self-interest fueled the imperialism of developed western nations. Self-interest lay behind the stupidity of the First World War, and led to the Second World War. Self-interest produced the Cold War.
To be fair to Smith, he assumed that self-interest would be moderated by moral sentiment. He called it “fellow-feeling.” When self-interest is strongly moderated by concern for others it seems to work fine. Yet, the history of the west in the last 300 years has been the steady erosion of fellow-feeling with the constant strengthening of self-interest. Self-interest and fellow-feeling are ultimately incompatible. One will be always the stronger. For all his brilliance, Smith did not foresee that. He did not realize that by introducing the novel idea of self-interest before interest for others, he would begin the steady erosion of one of the key insights of Christianity.
As I write, the US Congress is debating whether to bail out the financial markets. The rest of the world looks on with bated breath. In the fierce debates about this economic collapse, no one seems to have an answer. Financial systems are so large, so complex and so unpredictable. Here is food for thought. Should we have expected anything other in a culture that has left its moorings in other-regardingness for a life of self-regardingness? What would a solution be like if none looked to their own interests but to the interests of others? In public life the moral imagination to act so is missing. Memories of humility and other-regardingness are distant.
In 1985, Alasdair MacIntyre, another Scottish philosopher, suggested that it is in small communities of memory where virtue is kept alive. I hope we may be such in the Lindisfarne Community.
+Ab. Andy
The way a culture is structured is very complex. Layers of social mores are added to previous layers derived from interactions between different cultures and new ideas. This is why anthropologists are fascinated by cultures that have had no contact with others. What would a culture look like that had not passed through such synthetic changes? Of course, as soon as the anthropologist enters the scene, the previously untouched culture is immediately changed by the encounter!
It is very clear that western society, with its 2,500-year development has benefited from these kinds of cultural adaptations. We are shaped by Greek and Roman ideas, by Judaism and Christianity, by Muslim culture, by the encounter of the colonialists with native peoples. It all adds to the richness and the complexity.
It is an interesting and challenging puzzle to try to isolate an idea and to find its genesis. I want to take the challenge with regard to the idea of “other-regardingness.” I think we find its basis in something St. Paul said in a letter to an early Christian community, “Do nothing out of selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility regard others better than yourselves. Let each of you look not to your own interests, but to the interests of others.” Paul rooted this advice in his understanding of Jesus as equal with God, yet who emptied himself taking the form of a servant. Interpreting what Paul meant has had a long and difficult history. What exactly is the kenosis of Christ, the self-emptying? I am not going to attempt an answer, but simply note that whatever Paul meant by it, he used it as a springboard to suggest a way of living. The way was to humbly forget your self and to think about others. In other words, here is the idea of other-regardingness rooted in what we think about Jesus.
Forgetting self and thinking about the needs of others has been a very powerful thread in the history of western civilization. We can trace much that is good and noble (health care and social service for instance) to this principle.
It has not always been received kindly. In pre-Christian times humility was considered a vice and not a virtue (at least by Aristotle). Yet, the challenge to it comes more seriously at the heart of what we now call democratic capitalism. In 1776, Scottish philosopher Adam Smith published a book that would set the stage for the massive development of the west, The Wealth of Nations. Its insights were novel and powerful. Among his many ideas was the notion of “self-interest.” His belief was that if everyone acted in their own self-interest, the outcome would be for the best. Self-interest fueled the industrial revolution. Self-interest fueled the growth of capitalism. Self-interest fueled the imperialism of developed western nations. Self-interest lay behind the stupidity of the First World War, and led to the Second World War. Self-interest produced the Cold War.
To be fair to Smith, he assumed that self-interest would be moderated by moral sentiment. He called it “fellow-feeling.” When self-interest is strongly moderated by concern for others it seems to work fine. Yet, the history of the west in the last 300 years has been the steady erosion of fellow-feeling with the constant strengthening of self-interest. Self-interest and fellow-feeling are ultimately incompatible. One will be always the stronger. For all his brilliance, Smith did not foresee that. He did not realize that by introducing the novel idea of self-interest before interest for others, he would begin the steady erosion of one of the key insights of Christianity.
As I write, the US Congress is debating whether to bail out the financial markets. The rest of the world looks on with bated breath. In the fierce debates about this economic collapse, no one seems to have an answer. Financial systems are so large, so complex and so unpredictable. Here is food for thought. Should we have expected anything other in a culture that has left its moorings in other-regardingness for a life of self-regardingness? What would a solution be like if none looked to their own interests but to the interests of others? In public life the moral imagination to act so is missing. Memories of humility and other-regardingness are distant.
In 1985, Alasdair MacIntyre, another Scottish philosopher, suggested that it is in small communities of memory where virtue is kept alive. I hope we may be such in the Lindisfarne Community.
+Ab. Andy