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Most people laugh when I tell them that I’m a double major in Economics and Religious Studies, or they cock their head and give me a quizzical look. Especially on campus, where students tend to characterize econ majors as ‘soul-less’, the combination seems particularly incongruous. But for me, there has never been a disconnect. Whether I’m reading a paper about the factors that influence schooling investments or on the philosophy underlying an unfamiliar ritual, I’m studying what interests me most human motivation and choice. I recently read an economics article that focused on the unintended consequences of our choices, in the form of an Ancient Jewish legal controversy. As commanded in Deuteronomy, Jews once celebrated a Sabbatical year every 7 years in which everyone forgave all debts. This was meant to assist the poor and those who could not repay their loans. But as time went on, lenders simply stopped lending the year before a Sabbatical year, and the poor could not get money to buy food and all that they needed. So the scholarly Rabbi Hillel instituted the prosbul, where any two people could appear before a judge and exempt their loan from this Sabbath year debt forgiveness. Following this the poor could get loans when they needed them, but lost this guarantee of economic relief. These Jews were searching for justice, for balance, and for the right way to guide ever fallible humans. The right practical solution proved difficult to find. This conflict is one that every faith tradition faces. Hindus and Jains have difficulty deciding which clothing items or meals cause the least injury to the world. Muslims, Christians and Jews have all struggled with issues of credit, loans, and interest. That struggle continues today in Sharia law’s commitment to eliminating interest and in the development of new Christian credit unions. The challenge of both “faith” and “economics” is that neither can offer us complete answers as to how we and our institutions should act. This is because they both face the complications of real, imperfect people. As a committed Christian, I firmly believe that as fallen humans we err in our choices and behavior. Though I may repeat weekly the Lord’s prayer that we are forgiven “our debts, as we forgive our debtors” I must wrestle with the fact that I’m not forgiving my debtors whether the poor countries that are in debt to me as an American taxpayer, or the friend whose slight I have not yet forgiven. Lassez-faire economists run into the problem of markets where the invisible hand is constrained (exchange and communication between people are not easy), or run into the social problem of how ownership can be justly defined (like the struggles of colonialism). Alternatives to capitalism also encounter the ‘human problem.’ The problem that communism has often faced is who gets to run the centralized economy, and how that person can be chosen. Similarly, no matter how ideal the goal, I have yet to meet a faith community whose members can always stick to its vision of goodness. Despite these challenges, the interaction between religion and economics and my daily personal enactment of faith and economic choices also offer me great hope. While I will not always make the right ones, the fact that choices are so complex and act in so many unexpected ways encourages me always to keep learning, to keep seeking out the righteous in both theory and practice. In all my economic choices and classes, I remember to keep in mind the changing proclivities of real people. In my faith commitments I must remember that some of my choices and ideas are wrong, some of everyone else’s are right, and understanding economic realities is essential to understanding the workings of God’s creation. So I keep studying, I keep my mind open, and I pray for understanding, hoping that one day a world closer to God’s just economics might find its way to Hannah McConnaughay is a fourth-year student at the University of Chicago studying economics and religious studies. |
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