Christian Commitment, Symbolism, and Farming

The Christians I am closest to tend to fall into one of two camps as regards the question of “orthopraxis” — the question of what right Christian practice looks like. One camp sees right Christian practice as oriented “internally”: the practices that matter most before God are those which belong to my own inner life or to my individual communion with God. Prayer, meditation, the cultivation of a devotional life — these practices stand preeminent over what might be called “social” practices. But I am not interested in talking about this group in the present essay.

So to the second group. For the sake of symmetry, call them “externalists”. They see Christian practice as fundamentally characterized by a certain way of interacting with the external world. But there is a good deal of disagreement as to what this “certain way of interacting with the external world” comes to. I think my externalist friends tend towards one of two ways of understanding this “certain way”.

One contingent sees Christian practice as essentially concerned with personal and cultural evangelism; central to the task of following Jesus, they claim, is entering into the trenches of a “hearts and minds” campaign (only some in this group are “Evangelical” in the popular sense; many are Roman Catholic, for instance). The other contingent has more of a social justice bent to their Christianity; central to the task of following Jesus, they would say, is practicing regular acts of justice and mercy and joining in the struggle for more just and merciful communities. (My paraphrasing poorly represents the nuance with which many of these friends hold these orientations, but paraphrase is often a useful and, in this case, necessary tool).

Great friends. And, I should add, deeply committed Christians. Which is why they have felt so much concern over my choice of profession. You see, I left school to become a farmer, and both my evangelistic friends and my social-justice friends have found that decision disconcerting for much the same reason (albeit the same reason in two different window dressings). They are both concerned that a life of farming (especially on an isolated hillside in a small and isolated town) is too escapist. The culture evangelists see this farming gig as the loss of an opportunity to enter into a position that will allow me to influence a broad range of people, and do so – ideally – at a level that can actually reshape culture. Influence is the name of the game. Farming, unless you are an anomaly, is not likely to have the sweeping influence they have in mind. Hence the concern. The social justice folks similarly see this farming thing as the loss of an opportunity — in this case, the loss of an opportunity to help the most people I can help and effect the most justice I can effect. “Yes, you will be embedded tightly in a place, and, yes, you will provide useful goods to your place, but you should be in Boston, not Randolph, Vermont. Population centers are the epicenters of justice and injustice, the arteries where the most bleeding can be stopped.”

I have had many of these conversations, and I have tried many times to alleviate their concerns. But quite often, and at around the same point each time, our conversations misfire; we begin to start talking past each other. I have come to the opinion, very gradually, that what is going on in these conversational misfires is not an inability to dialogue. I think there is disagreement at the level of some deeply-buried assumptions – assumptions which we each took for granted in our conversation. Let me attempt to describe the assumption I think many of my friends have made, and then I will try to describe where I think my own assumptions part ways with theirs.

I think many of my friends (in both clans) are assuming a sort of utilitarianism in their conception of Christian orthopraxis. That sounds harsh. I don’t mean that these friends are Utilitarians in the sense that they hold to an ethical theory like that of Jeremy Bentham’s or J.S. Mill’s. I merely mean that latent in each of their conceptions of right Christian practice is a subtle calculus which identifies the good Christian life with some sort of maximization of quantity — the difference between the conceptions being the units which are in need of maximizing. The evangelists see the good Christian life as one in which his or her cultural influence is maximized; the more ears and eyes you reach the better. And the social justice crowd sees the good Christian life as one in which you have effected the most justice: fed the most hungry, clothed the most naked, healed the most sick.

On such views, my farming does, in many ways, look like impotent cultural influence and a slow and sorry form of struggling for justice. Which is why they expect me to give some defense against this appearance, to explain how my farming could turn out to be culturally and societally impactful. But if I am being honest about how I most see my farming intersecting with my Jesus following, such a defense is not what I am going to talk about. I am going to talk, instead, about the weight that I give to things which are (I struggle for the right words here) intangible, ineffective, and downright impotent. Give me a moment to explain what I mean by this.

As a disclaimer, I consider tangible neighbor love – feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, healing the sick, etc. – to be at the very heart of the Christian Way. I don’t see myself disagreeing very much with Leo Tolstoy or Peter Maurin or Dorothy Day (or Father Zossima) as to the importance and centrality of such love. But it seems to me that close beside such tangible, effective, and potent love, are practices which are wholly symbolic in nature, but which are – for all “practical” purposes – completely intangible, ineffective, and impotent.

I think of those early Christian martyrs. Whole families thrown to the lions in some instances. The martyrdom of these (remarkable) Christians was, as a matter of historical fact, remarkably effective: There are many testimonies of those who entered into the Christian Way because of the hope and willingness of these martyrs. But I find it silly to suppose that these martyrs went willingly before the lions, refusing to acknowledge the ultimate and unconditional sovereignty of Rome, because they expected such an effect. I think that they went willingly to such a death because they believed that in so doing they were affirming the Kingship of Jesus Christ, and the goodness and truth of his death and resurrection, and of their confidence that they would share in his death and resurrection. What they believed they were doing was, in one sense, completely intangible, ineffectual, and impotent — but they did it all the same! This symbolic gesture was, in fact, so precious to them that these Christians were willing to bring their own children into the arena with them.