Forgetting God
by Phillip Yancy
Why decadence drives out discipline.
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 trav-eling 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 mili-tary 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 demon-strate 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 pro-duce 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 pre-vailed, the Israelites
attended less and less to spiritual mat-ters 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 indi-viduals 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 compla-cency
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.
