Challenging the Myth of the Middle: Reflections on Class in Theology

Recently, the Wendland-Cook Program in Religion and Justice at Vanderbilt has launched an International Working Group on Religion and Theology in the Capitalocene. Convening nearly 100 global scholars, the mission of this group is to investigate and shape the work of theology and religion in the Capitalocene, with special attention to the function of class and labor (productive and reproductive, human and other-than-human) in its inextricable relations to various forms of climate imperialism, heteropatriarchy, neocolonialism, white supremacy, ethnocentrism, nationalism, ableism, and other prominent forms of exploitation and domination.

During its June meeting, the working group addressed chapter 3 of Dr. Joerg Rieger's new book, Theology in the Capitalocene. Charlotte Jacobs, and gave the following presentation. We offer it as a concise and powerful reflection on the work of the Working Group.

Response on Chapter 3 of Theology in the Capitalocene

Charlotte Jacobs

In Jörg Rieger’s significant book Theology in the Capitalocene, we explore the role that theology typically assumes within the context of the Capitalocene—what role it can potentially fulfill, and importantly, what role it should embrace in the pursuit of liberation.

In the third chapter (Class and Its Discontents in the Study of Religion and Theology), Jörg Rieger convincingly shows us the path and the task we face in today's social conditions. He does this by focusing on the organization of life and labor – so to say – and thereby skillfully combating serious misunderstandings especially in the understanding of class. In doing so, he provides fundamental translations and rectifications that are urgently needed, as the class perspective has not only been neglected in the past, but also misunderstood to such extent that it is almost impossible to grasp or convey today. The concept of class is something we must reclaim. By identifying and addressing the obstacles to understanding class—particularly the stratification approach and what I refer to as the "myth of the middle"—Jörg lays the foundation for a theology that, whether consciously or unconsciously, does not align itself with the interests of the ruling class.

In response, I would like to stress two crucial aspects:  Firstly, the urgently needed relational understanding of class shows us that by class we are talking less about an identity and more about the material matrix of social relations. And secondly, theologians finally have to understand that they are part of the exploited class and – however privileged they may be – they are not outside the clash of class interests which constitute capitalist society.

On the first aspect, the serious and nerve-racking confusion between stratification theory and class analysis is indeed the core of the challenge. Jörg Rieger gets to the heart of the matter when he writes that assumptions about class and the identification of class with social stratification, imagined like the layer of a cake, are the problem (p. 92). In German, there is even another word for this, namely "Schicht", which is something like layer or stratum and it is not called class.

In his chapter, Jörg Rieger highlights the irony that the Left largely abandoned the concept of class during the same period that neoliberal capitalism triumphed (p. 91). I would go even further: the absence of the relational class perspective and the shift within the Left—from focusing on overthrowing the system to better integrating into it—are intrinsically linked. In the academic field, it is easy to observe how class approaches have been deliberately suppressed over the last 50 to 60 years and replaced by stratification approaches. Because - and this is crucial - stratification approaches only want to describe and have no serious critical character. There is poor, there is rich. Both are described, but not recognized in their emergence nor explained in their relationship to each other. From the description of social strata may follow questions of representation or recognition, and, at best, moral questions of distributive justice. But no profound questions with transformative potential are raised.

So while stratification approaches only want to describe, class approaches want to explain: Why do living conditions look the way they do? Why are people in different class positions? How do they end up there? What are the processes that lead to this and continue to constitute it? Central to this explanation is – and I think this could be made even clearer – that one class is formed by the other class and vice versa through their relationship, that is: exploitation.

The class structure of capitalism, understood in its purest form, is the division between those who have to work for a living and those who live from the work of the people who work for a living. A capitalistically organized society is built in such a way – and this is no secret – that the work of the majority is at the service of the private profits of a few. The power that exists through the ownership of the means of production of these few is literally produced by those who are oppressed by it. This means two things:

1) Exploitation is not the exception but the rule of capitalism. An exploited work is not necessarily one with inhumane working conditions or bad pay. Exploitation means the fact that in a capitalist economy workers receive only a small proportion of the value they produce as their pay as the other is privately appropriated. In this sense, it does not result from violating the rules of our current mode of production, but from following them.

2) This also means that if the power held by the 1% through ownership of the means of production is literally produced by those who are oppressed by it, then this is exactly where the counterpower lies.  Consequently, a relational and thereby explanatory class approach is no longer just about a moral appeal of consumer criticism, recognition and not even about redistribution, but about the question of how we actually want to organize our society.

So, class is the relation I am situated in, a relation that assigns me a specific role—a relationship that I don’t have to be aware of to be part of or to be affected by. It is a relation that gives me an objective interest, which might not align with my subjective interest. Sadly, it is a relation that I need to be aware of to avoid confusing my interests with those of the exploiting class.

One of the biggest mistakes frequently made in class understandings is thinking that I, as a theologian, am not part of the working class. It's not about what we work on, where we work, or whether we work at all. “Working class” is perhaps the most confusing term because it implies that one must be currently working or able to work to belong to it. Instead, it means that I am dependent on my work to make a living. I really like the English term “work for a living” because it highlights that for wage- or salary-dependent people, work is literally a matter of survival. To be more precise: billionaires may work as a hobby or for other reasons, but they don’t have to work for a living. They are not wage- or salary-dependent.

All this to say: Theologians and scholars of religious studies must finally abandon the “Myth of the Middle,” which obscures conflicting class interests and contributes to theologies being complicit with dominant powers. We need to understand that we are part of the exploited class, and despite any privileges we may have, we are not outside the clash of class interests that defines capitalist society. As Jörg Rieger puts it, we are “never merely uninvolved observers but always already pulled into the struggle due to [our] own place in the web of labor relations, whether [we] realize it or not” (p. 137).

This is the social location of theology, where religion – in one way or another – plays a role in class formation. As seen in our traditions and continuing today, religion often supports dominant powers, making it easy to forget or overlook its contributions to resistance movements. Jörg Rieger rightly reminds us that we need the class perspective not only to understand and explain social relations correctly, but also to be part of class formation (p. 136). We should ask ourselves how we actually want to organize our society and remember that the way we organize life and labor is not a law of nature or God-given, but made by people.

Finally, something to think about: I agree with this chapter completely. I’d say the question of whether class relations are the right starting point is not up for debate because it touches on the points that matter most. But what we need to consider is: How can we effectively address this issue? I see a strategic difficulty because the defensiveness and preconceptions on all sides are strong. I would like to know: With all the roadblocks and misunderstandings, is there a shortcut? How do we move past the endless detour where we have to say, “I would like to talk about class. But it's not what you think, and it's not what you think either, and it's certainly not what comes to mind.”

Given the pitfalls of the term “class” alone (and I say this as someone writing her dissertation on the concept of class right now), is it really the term “class” I want to save? Must I dismantle all the lifelong self-deceptions and superstitions before even beginning to get to work? Talking about class still sounds like discussing another struggle, adding to the other struggles concerning gender, racism, and ecology. It still falsely sounds like a competition. So, is there a way to convey the notion of materialist analysis, the study of the mode of production, the awareness of the relation of exploitation, and the non-competitive notion of the diversity of exploitation?

Admittedly, my concern is that a shortcut might miss out on something essential, but I'm not giving up hope. I think that's the strategic question we continually face and need to discuss: How do we find a way to talk about class in this dense forest of misunderstandings?