Explainer

Creed

Development

8 March 2024

6 min read

Flourishing a way out of poverty

Is it just for rich people who have nothing to worry about other than feeling a bit happier?

Jane Cacouris

Jane Cacouris is a writer and consultant working in international development on environment, poverty and livelihood issues.

Beside a shack in a rubbish dump, a man wearing a black shirt and bare foot sits on a stool and looks around.

Bill Wegener on Unsplash.

Humankind stands at a crossroads today. Still emerging from the aftermath of a global pandemic, the world is faced by monumental environmental, social and political challenges. Extreme weather events, floods and food poverty are no longer only on our screens affecting poor people in countries far away; screens that we in the global North were able to switch off after a momentary sigh of compassion before getting on with our lives. Some of us are starting to feel the impacts of planetary change and have financial struggles too. But they haven’t really affected us that much yet. We still have the time, space and luxury to ponder how we can improve our emotional and mental wellbeing – perhaps carve out some more “me time” or go on more walks in nature or keep a daily journal.

The shift from considering poverty and wellbeing simply in monetary terms to a broader, multi-dimensional understanding of these terms is not new. It began at the turn of the twenty-first century with the Millennium Development Goals (MDGs) which aimed to tackle material poverty but also access to health, education and water and sanitation - the first united global effort to eradicate world poverty. In 2015 the Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) replaced them, going further and also recognising the importance of environmental sustainability in realising poverty goals, as well as their interconnectedness.

In theory this all made perfect sense and since the MDGs were established in 2000, global poverty was on a declining trajectory for a number of years. However, progress towards eliminating world poverty has been slowing down since 2013. And since Covid in 2020, progress towards the SDGs has stalled with most recent reports showing a rise in the number of people living in extreme poverty for the first time since records began. If present trends persist, by 2030, a staggering 575 million people will remain in extreme poverty and 84 million children will be uneducated.

A bleak picture. With the global machinery signed up to reduce world poverty (and that’s not even bringing the COP Climate Change talks into the mix), how have we got to this point? By diversifying our attempts to improve human wellbeing, have we taken our focus off eliminating basic, grinding economic hardship? Or conversely, is it too little too late? Did our historic focus on economic development rather than equitable human wellbeing sow the seeds of inequality and planetary disruption that we are now reaping? Should we actually go further? And as the timeframe to achieve the SDGs narrows, there are calls for the next set of human development goals to be more overtly focussed on human flourishing.

When you are doing your best to survive, perhaps thriving isn’t top of the priority list.

Human flourishing is the state of optimal functioning and wellbeing across all aspects of an individual’s life and their community. We flourish when we live with purpose; when we practice gratitude, forgiveness, and open-mindedness.

A group of experts from Harvard have proposed five sets of Global Flourishing Goals to lead on from the SDGs, including striving for meaning, purpose and life satisfaction, ending economic hardship, social and political cohesion as well as protecting biodiversity. Likewise, the Christian aid and development agency, Tearfund, has long been a proponent of viewing human wellbeing holistically. The Light Wheel is a tool to guide practical action that promotes seven different areas of wellbeing – such as material assets and resources, emotional and mental wellbeing, living faith, personal relationships - that in turn lead to whole life transformation and flourishing communities.

But what do the world’s poorest people think about this emphasis on flourishing? When you are doing your best to survive, perhaps thriving isn’t top of the priority list. Who cares about life satisfaction and fulfilment when you are struggling to feed your children a daily meal of rice and beans? Is the concept of flourishing for rich people who have nothing to worry about other than feeling a bit happier? Is this the right track for global human Development?

“Poverty is lack of freedom, enslaved by crushing daily burden, by depression and fear of what the future will bring.”

“Poverty means working for more than 18 hours a day, but still not earning enough to feed myself, my husband, and two children.”

These are quotes from a landmark World Bank study, Voices of the Poor; an unprecedented millennial effort to gather the views, experiences, and aspirations of more than 60,000 poor men and women across sixty countries. The study presented the realities of poor people’s lives through their own voices. How do they view poverty and wellbeing? What are their problems and priorities?

Although poverty is rarely about one thing, for the world’s poorest, the bottom line was and always will be hunger - the lack of food. As expected, human wellbeing without the basic building blocks for survival - food and water – is impossible. Better health and access to education were also priorities. However, it seems that having enough materially for a good life is asking for relatively little. “But at least for each child to have a bed, a pair of shoes, a canopy over their heads, two sheets—not to sleep like we do on the ground.”

But the responses were much broader than a desire for material and basic needs to be met. Many of the expressions of wellbeing were about relationships; social and emotional wellbeing were acutely important. Harmony within the family unit and wider community, close and reliable friendships, helping one another. Wellbeing also had important psychological dimensions for those interviewed, such as the desire for dignity and respect, to feel better about oneself, to maintain a spiritual life.

When people were asked to rank the institutions most important in their daily lives, local churches scored well because they offer spiritual support as well as material assistance in times of need, also serving to strengthen communication between the various groups in the community. Community cohesion matters to the poorest. And relationships are at the heart of the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

So can you flourish your way out of poverty? If we mean the UN definition of extreme poverty, and if flourishing means wellbeing in all aspects of life, then probably no. The poorest people in the world, like the rest of us, need the minimum building blocks of life to survive before they can thrive here on Earth.

But from a Christian perspective the new Development discourse around flourishing is moving in the right direction. In John’s Gospel in the Bible, Jesus is clear that he came “that we may have life, and have it to the full”. When Jesus refers to a full “life”, he means the assurance of eternal life that comes through a faith in Jesus Christ. To truly flourish in our Earthly life, the hope of eternal life with Jesus is the critical aspect of wellbeing – it is what sustains and strengthens us as humans as we live our life on Earth. This is the great equaliser between the rich and the poor. The poorest people often see this far more clearly than the rich who have less need for God and an eternal life where – as it says in the Bible - there will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain and all will be new.

“We may be poor in material things, but we are rich in the eyes of God.”(Voices of the Poor, 2000)

Of course it depends what weight you put on the spiritual aspect of flourishing, but perhaps on balance, those we consider to be the poorest on Earth are actually far closer to human flourishing – to having a “full life” - than we are.

Essay

Creed

Politics

10 May 2024

1 min read

MAGA’s sorting of America

What would Bonhoeffer make of the rogue creed?

Jared Stacy

Jared Stacy holds a Theological Ethics PhD from the University of Aberdeen. His research focuses conspiracy theory, politics, and evangelicalism.

A red baseball cap, with Make America Great Again written across it, sits on an open bible.

Natilyn Photography on Unsplash.

“Ten years is a long time in the life of every human being.” So begins Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s essay, After Ten Years. For him, the decade in question was 1933 to 1943. The place, Germany.

The original essay, penned to mark the new year of 1943, reflects on the tenth anniversary of Hitler’s ascendancy to power through democratic machinery. The piece was sent to an inner circle of Bonhoeffer’s friends. “Are we still of any use?” asks Bonhoeffer. There’s a question I can relate to.

And so, I’ve returned to these modest words again and again these last few years. They’re prophetic, a jolt of honesty born of resilient hope. Not unlike Martin Luther King Jr.’s Letter from a Birmingham Jail, both could be modern epistles.

Their prophetic edge is clearer with eyes on our own situation. 2024 is not 1968 or 1933. As an American citizen, we have our own “decade” to reflect on in the United States. And that is the decade of MAGA, or “Make America Great Again.”

What began as a slogan became a cause which gave rise to a community.

Just 10 years ago, Trump wasn’t sitting in courtrooms. Back then, he stood on a stage to address the Conservative Political Action Conference. He wasn’t a candidate, but a businessman, reality TV star, and disrupter of status quo.

It was at that 2014 meeting Trump uttered that now ubiquitous slogan. Near the end of the speech, less rambling and sharper than his stream-of-consciousness rallies today, the line appears, “we need to make America great again.”

Trump wasn’t the first to use it, that was Reagan in 1980. Then, like now, it evoked a sense of nostalgia, of “good old days” that never were. But nostalgia is powerful, primal. It allows us to persist in the illusion that, for example, the social order of Jim Crow America was somehow more moral and upstanding than our present situation. As if lynchings, mob violence, and political inequality vanish in the mists of our longings. This is and can only be the imagination of white supremacy.

Trump didn’t invent the slogan, but perhaps he was the first to tap into its deepest lode in the bedrock. What began as a slogan became a cause which gave rise to a community. Now, “MAGA” is its own qualifier. We have “MAGA Republicans” and “MAGA Rallies” of the “MAGA faithful.”

Today, we ought to learn that we are simply not tweeting or posting our way out of this.

And where have churches been in these days? Hans Ulrich calls the church a “place of reversal” a place where rogue creeds and words ought to be emptied of their power, where a different public is constituted around the wine, bread, and water. But the lines of MAGA are drawn straight through our churches in America.

Caleb Campbell pastors in Phoenix, Arizona. I asked him recently his thoughts on the impending election, and how it would affect his church. Most churches have already been sorted, he told me. In 2020, churches fractured from within, torn from the pandemic, protests, and the Presidency. But now, there has been a sorting, and settling. The partisan lines, those borders the church is empowered to transgress, are sadly reinforced.

The lasting power of “Make America Great Again” over the last decade is significant. Among practicing Christians, the story we tell about America in our churches has theological consequences. And every church tells this story, implicitly or explicitly, in speech or in silence. And rather than emptying the rogue creed “Make America Great Again” it would seem that in and among many churches across America, it has been given an ample charge of theological authority.

MAGA trades in all the elements of a seemingly eradicated virus called fascism. A mythic past, demographic anxiety, authoritarian rule, all elements converging and colliding in American life. And curiously, the one thing that gives fascism its strength is a failure to remember.

And perhaps this is why Bonhoeffer’s letter, read on the rising tide of anti-democratic platforms, speaks so directly to us. It holds space for a necessary exercise of remembering.

“Who stands firm?” Bonhoeffer asks in the wake of Hitler’s ascendancy. Even the Confessing Church, organized to resist the Nazification of the German evangelical church, soon folded. Pastors either took the oath of loyalty, or enlisted. Time had proved how most attempts to stand firm in the Third Reich had collapsed in on themselves. Such failures mark our day, too.

Bonhoeffer answers his own question in a way that is instructive for us. He surveys all the failed responses to Hitler’s rise. For example, there’s the “reasonable ones” who simply think better answers and clearer communication win the day. Today, we ought to learn that we are simply not tweeting or posting our way out of this. Even more stalwart, institutional efforts fail here. In the torrent of raw information sewage flowing with conspiracies, algorithms, and slogans, reason isn’t enough.

Private virtue “closes its eyes to injustice” and scrolls its own virtue signaling posts with smug self-satisfaction.

There’s the ethical fanatic, who tries to “meet the power of evil with purity of principle.” Many in days like ours are earnest in their convictions, but white-knuckling principles is satisfied not with responsibility but with keeping to some arbitrary vision of integrity that prizes its artificiality, confusing the arbitrary refusal to cede principles with responsible action. There’s those of conscience who, Bonhoeffer notes, can never know the difference between a bad conscience (which can be strong) or a deceived conscience.

The path of duty seems attractive, until we recognize that “just following orders” is the justification of every functionary in Trump’s MAGA machine. And of course, freedom, which can side with the wrong to prevent the worst and so lose its own solid footing. When all else fails, Bonhoeffer holds out private virtue as that last course of action. Not to be confused with monastic retreat, private virtue “closes its eyes to injustice” and scrolls its own virtue signaling posts with smug self-satisfaction.

If all these routes are taken off the table, we find ourselves in position to recognize a bitter truth: we’ve made resisting Trump a good business. Good for convincing stakeholders to fund new ventures, good for justifying ourselves as a moral opposition. After 10 years of MAGA, it’s true that we have assumed much about democracy that can only be realized by vigilance.

Our democracy is a spectacle, not a process. It is an oligarchy of represented interests, not a democracy of representatives. And Trump? The ethos of greatness has always been tied to the former, not the latter. And it is in this situation, not uncommon throughout history, but novel for us who face it, that we can receive the question, “who stands firm?” Bonhoeffer’s question resounds.

If the resistance of reason, principles, duty, or virtue fail, then what? Bonhoeffer’s insistence is that responsible action is “nothing but an answer to God’s question and call.”

Does this mean only Christians can save the world? That Christians are inherently “better” or “righteous” in politics? No. But ten years of MAGA would seem to suggest that this belief continues to animate the evangelical political machine. This is not Christendom; living “in answer to God’s question” means that Christians, simply by virtue of the story we confess and participate in, point to the One who saves.

The singular answer Christians give, of a witness to God’s call, is a window into the story in which the world may find its salvation and hope. Logics of inclusion and exclusion are shattered in the event of reconciliation. There’s a politics in these wider horizons that can heal the bitter contempt that marks our present situation. And sure, Bonhoeffer’s conclusion may strike some as trite sentimentality, of veiled Christian piety that belongs anywhere but politics or the public square. But that’s precisely it.

The Christian story creates a public with its own politics. And this doesn’t mean the church is a counter-society, set up against the world, rather, it is precisely in our participating with fellow citizens in the mess of political process where such a witness can be given and made. There is a free responsibility to this presence. This is not Christian dominance, Christendom 2.0, or MAGA visions of authoritarian power dressed up in Christian rhetoric. This is something more modest, and yet deeply radical.

A decade of MAGA ought to have taught many of us much more than we currently know. And such learning can only happen once we stop incentivizing and normalizing assaults on democratic machinery that come to us as a spectacle for our consumptive entertainment. There remains a way to stand firm, a way that resists necessities and immediacies, primarily because it has the audacity to confess the truth that the world is already reconciled, it just doesn’t know it yet. And nowhere is this ignorance more concentrated than in the retributive, ascendant vision contained in the phrase, “Make America Great Again.”