Reading:   from How Much Do We Deserve? An Inquiry into Distributive Justice
    by Richard S. Gilbert

     I worry that comfortable Americans, living in this culture of contentment, may have lost the capacity for moral outrage.  We constitute a culture both of contentment and contradiction – contentment in the unparalleled prosperity we enjoy at the beginning of the new millennium yet, at a deeper level, the contradiction in the islands of poverty we see in an ocean of plenty.  The competing issues of materialism and spirituality trouble us at the deepest levels of our being.  We who have taken pleasure in our prosperity are vaguely anxious that millions of others, living in our very midst, have not enjoyed the same bounty.

     So, are we the deserving and they the undeserving?  Is the marketplace the measure of all things?  How much inequality of any type can a democracy experience and survive?  In a competitive society, what should we do with the “losers”?  How much is enough in this winner-take-all economy?  Is economics guru Paul Samuelson right when he speaks of “the ruthless economy”?  If the person who ends up with the most “toys” wins, just what does he/she win?  Must people be cost effective?  Are those of us who have benefited from this affluence prepared to critique and transform the very economic structures and policies that have been so good to us?  What do we owe each other?

     These are the questions that empty the room.  No one today wants to think about them, let alone answer them.  Yet this feeling of moral and spiritual unease is not new.  The prophet Amos warned the people of Israel about being “at ease in Zion,” lying upon beds of ivory and stretching themselves on couches, chanting to the sound of the viol, drinking wine in bowls, but who are not grieved for the affliction of Israel.

     In the words of a modern prophet, Walt Kelly, in Pogo,

    There is no need to sally forth, for it remains true that those things which make us human are, curiously enough, always close at hand.  Resolve then, that on this very ground, with small flags waving and tinny blasts on tiny trumpets, we shall meet the enemy, and not only may he be ours, he may be us.

Sermon:
     How much do we deserve?  How much do we need?  How much is enough?  How much is too much?  What do we owe to those who don’t have enough?  I’m glad to see that those questions haven’t emptied the room yet.  And so I propose to spend the next little while considering these and related questions: that is, questions of distributive justice.

     “Distributive justice,” according to the Dictionary of Religious Ethics, is “the virtue by which goods and burdens of the community are distributed with due proportion among the citizens.”  It has to do with how evenly we as a society slice up the pie.  It involves questions of basic fairness and equity.

     My message this morning is inspired by, and draws heavily from, a recent book by Unitarian Universalist minister Richard Gilbert.  The book, from which you heard an excerpt earlier, is How Much Do We Deserve? An Inquiry into Distributive Justice.  Faced with a long-term trend of increasing disparity between higher and lower incomes in our society, between the haves and the have-nots, Gilbert addresses the situation in terms of justice.

     While economic analysis and ethical/moral analysis may sometimes seem to have little or nothing in common, Gilbert insists that economic issues are indeed ethical and moral issues as well.  And he aims to uncover and examine the hidden theological and ethical assumptions that underly economic reality.

     There are a number of philosophical approaches or theories regarding distributive justice.
Utilitarianism calls for actions that will bring the most happiness, or the least unhappiness, to the greatest number of people.  A libertarian view is represented by a theory of entitlement that asserts that people deserve what they have justly acquired, or what has been given them voluntarily by someone else who has justly acquired it.  A number of approaches fall under the general heading of social contract theory, where membership in a society guarantees one certain rights and benefits such as freedom and equality.

     All of these approaches have their pluses and minuses, of course.  And one of the greatest problems with all of them is that they are open to major disputes of interpretation and emphasis.  Take the pair freedom and equality, for instance.  There’s no way you can have total freedom and complete equality.  And so there are inevitable and interminable arguments about how the two can or should be balanced.
 Gilbert begins his analysis with the assertion that “Justice is the foundational value in social ethics,” and that justice “is predicated on the inherent dignity and worth of every individual.”  He then suggests four principles that he thinks argue for the justice of more equitable distribution of income and wealth.  Those principles are freedom, equity, community, and a fundamental religious impulse.

     There are many sources available that document the growing disparity of income and wealth.  I won’t throw a whole bunch of statistics at you; you can track them down yourself if you’re interested.  Just a couple of facts, as presented in a recent New York Times Magazine article by Paul Krugman.  First, “The 13,000 richest families in America now have almost as much income as the 20 million poorest.  And those 13,000 families have incomes 300 times that of average families.”  Also, over the past thirty years, while average annual salary has risen by about ten percent, compensation for top C.E.O.s has risen by about 3000 percent.  All of this becomes even more disturbing when you consider that incomes of those at the bottom of the heap have actually fallen slightly over that same time period.

     Faced with the vastly complex economic system under which we live, and with the apparent inequities that come with it, Gilbert articulates a key question: “Is it possible to present a distributive ethic that will be fair to all people and at the same time produce abundance to be shared?”  He believes the answer is “yes” and presents several “canons of distribution” that may help to mediate “between the principles of justice – freedom, equity, community, meaning - and social reality – poverty in the midst of plenty.”

     The six canons are adapted from those first suggested in a 1916 book, Distributive Justice, by John Ryan.  First is the Canon of Need, which states that “All human beings have the inherent right to have their basic human needs met before any economic surplus is distributed to others.”  Second is the Canon of Proportional Equality, the notion that the floor of need should be accompanied by a ceiling of proportionality, that “beyond a certain level, income is not only superfluous but can be morally and spiritually corrupting.”

     Third is the Canon of Contribution to the Common Good, which says that “those people who work in the service of the community [should] be rewarded more generously than those who work to further competitive self-aggrandizement.”  That would presumably include parents who serve the community by raising the next generation of children.  Fourth is the Canon of Productivity, “the basic economic concept of compensation reflecting production – that is, you can take out what you put in.”  Fifth is the Canon of Effort and Sacrifice, the idea that “Work that is particularly difficult or that involves considerable sacrifice deserves special compensation.”  And finally, there is the Canon of Scarcity, under which people with valuable skills, in short supply, are specially rewarded.

     The idea with these six canons is not to select the one which we consider most important and then treat it as absolute, in opposition to the others.  The idea is to take all six into account, in as balanced a fashion as possible.  Does that strike you as an impossibly complex task?  It does me.  And yet, in the process of trying to make decisions about either social policy or personal behavior, it is helpful to keep in mind most, if not all, of these dimensions of distributive justice.

     By calling for a balance of the six canons, I do not mean to imply that they are all equally important.  I don’t believe they are.  While a free market economy puts most of its eggs in the productivity basket, I would suggest that, especially from a moral, ethical point of view, the Canon of Need is basic, fundamental, of central importance.  I can live with some level of inequity.  I can put up with the fact that many at the top receive more than I think anyone can possibly deserve.  But the existence of millions of people lacking basic nutrition, shelter, and healthcare should produce moral outrage.  In the words of Richard Gilbert, “One must wonder about the spiritual life of someone who lives in extravagance and luxury while people in his/her own nation go to bed hungry and thousands of children around the world die every day.”

     Gilbert presents his idea of a “plan for a more equitable distribution in the American economy,” based on the six canons I’ve described.  As pertains to need, he calls for increasing the Earned Income Tax Credit to bring the working poor up to the poverty level, and for a negative income tax to provide a floor under all Americans.  And of course he presents other proposals concerning the reform and structure of taxes in order to pay for those and other programs designed to benefit the poor.

     All of that is good as far as it goes.  But I am left, after reading Gilbert’s book, with a continuing feeling of frustration and helplessness.  I would love to be able to influence public policy as a way of improving things.  But that is a very thick and solid wall against which to continue beating my head.  And as important as public policy is, focusing only there is at some level a copout.  I use my vote, and my political contributions, and my powers of persuasion, and then, if things don’t get fixed – Oh, well, it’s the politicians’ fault.  What more can I do?

     That is the million-dollar question.  What more can I do?  As people continue to struggle, and starve, and die, at some point I have to consider not only what society should do, but what I should do?  I have to ask not just “What does Bill Gates deserve?” but “What do I deserve?”  How much is enough for me?  And what do I owe, morally and ethically, to those with much less than what I have?

     Australian philosopher Peter Singer presented a rather extreme answer to these questions in his article, “The Singer Solution to World Poverty,” which appeared in the New York Times Magazine back in 1999.  He begins by describing the following hypothetical ethical dilemma:

    Bob is close to retirement.  He has invested most of his savings in a very rare and valuable old car, a Bugatti, which he has not been able to insure.  The Bugatti is his pride and joy.  In addition to the pleasure he gets from driving and caring for his car, Bob knows that its rising market value means that he will always be able to sell it and live comfortably after retirement.  One day when Bob is out for a drive, he parks the Bugatti near the end of a railway siding and goes for a walk up the track.  As he does so, he sees that a runaway train, with no one aboard, is running down the railway track.  Looking farther down the track, he sees the small figure of a child very likely to be killed by the runaway train.  He can’t stop the train and the child is too far away to warn of the danger, but he can throw a switch that will divert the train down the siding where his Bugatti is parked.  Then nobody will be killed – but the train will destroy his Bugatti.  Thinking of his joy in owning the car and the financial security it represents, Bob decides not to throw the switch.  The child is killed.  For many years to come, Bob enjoys owning his Bugatti and the financial security it represents.

     So, did Bob act unethically?  Most of us would probably agree that he did, as does Singer.  But Singer then asserts that those of us with more income than is required to satisfy our essential needs are faced with a very similar ethical dilemma every day.  He quotes a rough estimate that donations to organizations like UNICEF or Oxfam America in the amount of about $200 are enough to “help a sickly 2-year-old transform into a healthy 6-year-old – offering safe passage through childhood’s most dangerous years.”

     Every time we spend money on an expensive dinner out, or a new suit of clothing, or a computer or automobile upgrade, or a nice vacation, we are choosing not to spend that money on saving one or more children’s lives.  So are we on any better ethical ground than Bob?

     Now, I can hear the wheels turning in your minds, seeking the flaws in the analogy.  Goodness knows that was my reaction.  Well, Singer anticipates many of the likely objections, and disposes of them quite skillfully.  While I am not yet willing to do without all non-essentials, I do find Singer’s argument compelling.  I am still able to construct sufficient rationalizations to keep me from living a life of voluntary poverty.  But I feel a little less comfortable about enjoying the moderate, but relatively affluent life style that I live.

     Given that I am not prepared to give up all luxuries, or even to adopt Singer’s own practice of donating one-fifth of his income to famine-relief agencies, I can’t stand up here and call on you to do so.  But I do call on you to join me in doing some serious reflecting on how much is enough, and how much we wish to spend for someone else’s survival rather than on our own comfort.

     The opportunities for sharing our wealth are numerous.  I already mentioned UNICEF and Oxfam America.  There are also local opportunities, like Interfaith Mission, or the State College Area Food Bank, whose demand is up 15 or 20 percent this year.  There’s the Book For Every Child campaign that allows us to feed minds as well as bodies.  One idea that I really like is the Alternative Holiday gifts available after the service today.  They allow you to give charitable gifts in the name of loved ones rather than give those loved ones another material gift they really don’t need. That’s how I do most of my Christmas shopping nowadays.

     So what can I do about gross inequities in the distribution of the world’s wealth?  First, I can share of my own surplus in ways that can relieve some of the human suffering in the world.  Beyond that, I can try to learn as much as I can about policy alternatives and advocate for those that seem likely to shift things in the direction of justice.  Despite the frustration and the inertia of the present system, a better system, able to meet more effectively the needs of everyone, is possible, and is worth working for.  Most important is always to approach such questions both from the practical standpoint of workability, and from the deep grounding of religious principle, always seeking justice, equity, and compassion for all.