PHILIP YANCEY
Forgetting God
Why decadence drives
out discipline.
By Philip Yancey
[ posted 9/1/2004 12:00AM ]
Observing the modern world French sociologist Jacques Ellul noted
a striking trend: As the Christian gospel permeates society, it tends to
produce values that, paradoxically, contradict the gospel. I sometimes test his
theory while traveling overseas. I ask foreigners about the United States, the
world's largest majority-Christian society.
"When I say the words United States, what
comes to mind?" I ask. Invariably, I get these responses:
Wealth. Representing only 6 percent of the
world's population, the United States generates more than a third of the
world's economic output and dominates global finance.
Military power. We are, as the media
constantly remind us, "the world's only superpower." Indeed, our
current military budget exceeds the total of the next 23 biggest-spending
nations combined.
Decadence. Overseas, most people get their
images of the United States from Hollywood movies, which seem to them obsessed
with sex and crime.
European nations, with their Christian roots,
tend to manifest similar characteristics, which run counter to the teachings
and example of Jesus, whose life was marked by poverty, self-sacrifice, and
purity. No wonder followers of other religions, such as Islam, puzzle over
Christianity, a powerful faith that nonetheless produces the opposite of its
ideals in society at large. What accounts for this strange development?
I found a clue in the writings of Gordon
Cosby, the founding pastor of Church of the Savior in Washington, D.C. He noted
that high-commitment Christian communities begin with a strong sense of
devotion, which expresses itself in a life of discipline. Groups organized
around devotion and discipline tend to produce abundance, but ultimately that
very success breaks down discipline and leads to decadence.
Cosby termed this pattern the "monastic
cycle"—with good reason, for the movements led by idealists such as
Francis of Assisi and Benedict of Nursia repeatedly demonstrate the cycle. In
the sixth century, early Benedictines worked hard to clear forests and
cultivate land, investing their surplus in drainage, livestock, and seed. Six
centuries later, according to historian Paul Johnson, "Benedictine abbeys
had virtually ceased to be spiritual institutions. They had become collegiate
sinecures reserved very largely for members of the upper classes." The
abbots absorbed about half the order's revenue in order to maintain their
luxurious lifestyles, becoming "unenterprising, upper-class parasites."
Dominicans, Jesuits, and Franciscans
duplicated the cycle: an initial burst of devotion and discipline, a resulting
period of abundance, then a drift toward indulgence until some reformer came
along to revive the ideals of the founder. Protestant reformers faced the same
challenge. John Wesley warned upwardly mobile Methodists:
I do not
see how it is possible, in the nature of things, for any revival of religion to
continue long. For religion must necessarily produce both industry and
frugality, and these cannot but produce riches. But as riches increase, so will
pride, anger, and love of the world in all its branches.
As the Old Testament shows, entire nations can
fall into the same pattern. Hebrew prophets sounded the loudest alarms during
times when ancient Israel appeared to be thriving. Whenever the economy boomed
and peace prevailed, the Israelites attended less and less to spiritual matters
and looked instead to military power and alliances for their security. In the
prophets' phrase, they forgot God.
Perhaps we should call this trend the
"human cycle" rather than the "monastic cycle," because it
applies to individuals as well as to religious movements and nations. Beginning
with Adam and Eve's brief sojourn in Paradise, people have shown an inability
to handle prosperity. We turn to God out of need and forget God when things go well.
Americans who go on
short-term mission trips to third-world countries often return with glowing
reports about the fervency they found among believers. Eager faith in the midst
of poverty and oppression contrasts sharply with the complacency and
self-centeredness in our land of plenty.
Observing this trend in
numerous countries, I better understand why Jesus warned against wealth and
called the poor and persecuted "blessed." Out of sheer desperation,
the needy may turn to God. Meanwhile I worry about my own society, which relies
mainly on its wealth and power and fills every vacant space with entertainment
options. Can we, in a time of abundance, find a way to break the "monastic
cycle"? On the answer to that question, our future health may hinge.
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