A Modest Proposal: A Pastoral Political

Theology

Ryan LaMothe

Pastoral Psychology

ISSN 0031-2789

Pastoral Psychol
DOI 10.1007/s11089-013-0557-1

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Pastoral Psychol
DOI 10.1007/s11089-013-0557-1

A Modest Proposal: A Pastoral Political Theology

Ryan LaMothe

# Springer Science+Business Media New York 2013

Abstract A pastoral political theology, I contend, has four goals, namely, (a) critical,
systemic examination of political governance, policies, programs, and structures vis-à-vis
the concept of care—theologically understood, (b) facilitating cooperation and collaboration
with diverse others in cultivating public spaces of appearances, (c) offering concrete plans in
meeting the needs of particular others—citizen and non-citizen, and (d) assessing the
implementation of these solutions. In this article, I offer an outline of and foundational
theological premises for a pastoral political theology, indicating its distinctions from and
contributions to political theologies that focus on justice and liberation. More specifically, I
focus on the first goal, relying on the concept of care, theologically understood, as a
hermeneutical framework for assessing the political milieu.

Keywords Politics . Space of appearances . Theology . Pastoral care

It has been my conviction ever since reading Rauschenbusch that any religion that
professes concern for the souls of men and is not equally concerned about the slums
that damn them, the economic conditions that strangle them, and the social conditions
that cripple them is a spiritually moribund religion only waiting for the day to be
buried. (Martin Luther King, Jr. 1998, p.18)
Thank you, George W. Bush and Dick Cheney. Before their election by the Supreme Court,
as far back as a young man in the Army, I had been interested in politics, but this concern was
never a focus of my writing or work as an academic and pastoral counselor. Perhaps, like many
people, I compartmentalized, divorcing therapy, teaching, and research from political issues.
This became untenable for me when faced with the foreign and domestic policies and programs
of the Bush-Cheney administration, the Republican-dominated Congress, and center-right
Democrats. I handled my sense of powerlessness by delving into political philosophies and
theologies, researching the consequences of political-economic policies, reading histories of the
American Empire, and exploring deeply held political fictions that sustain patriotic entitlement
and exceptionalism. I eventually became convinced that any cure of souls tradition must
possess a critical framework vis-à-vis the socio-economic and political (including religious)
structures and how they contribute to or mitigate human suffering. Because I wished to voice
my views, I began to write on these issues, relying on the perspectives in which I had been

R. LaMothe (*)
Pastoral Care and Counseling, St. Meinrad Seminary and School of Theology, St. Meinrad, IN, USA
e-mail: rlamothe@saintmeinrad.edu
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schooled, namely, pastoral theology and psychoanalysis. Unwittingly, I was meandering my

way toward articulating a pastoral political theology that provides a hermeneutical framework
for critiquing the political milieu, while pointing to possible solutions.
This article is a modest foray into enunciating a pastoral political theology. In brief, a
pastoral political theology begins with an anthropological notion of care that is informed by
theology as well as the research and insights of human and physical sciences. The aims of a
pastoral political theology, which emerge from and are contingent on the notion of care, are
fourfold. The first foundational goal is to address the question, “What is going on?” More
specifically, political pastoral theology assesses and critiques—relying on the concept of
care, theologically understood—a society’s political (a) relations of power and authority
(e.g., governance), (b) discourse, and (c) policies and programs and their social conse-
quences. This analysis and critique necessarily include listening and attending to the
respective constituents involved, especially those who are vulnerable and in need. The
second aim is to cooperate and collaborate, whenever and wherever possible, with diverse
others in cultivating a public space of appearances (Arendt 1958), wherein individuals1 can
express their needs and desires while being recognized and treated as unique, inviolable,
valued, responsive subjects—persons (Macmurray 1961). Without this space of appear-
ances, there is no public realm in which to engage in critical and constructive political
reflection and discourse. The third aim is to engage in the process of cooperation and
collaboration in offering and enacting concrete plans in meeting the needs of particular
others. The fourth aim is to assess the implementation of these solutions, paying particular
attention to those who need care, those who provide it, and whether or not care is achieved.
It is not possible, in a short article, to elaborate on each of these goals. I limit my focus to
depicting a hermeneutical framework that can be used in answering the question “What is going
on?” Before doing so, it is important to set the context by briefly clarifying what is meant by the
idea of politics and identifying the origins and types of political theologies. This is followed by
an explication of the concept of care as used by certain feminist political theorists who posit that
care is a political concept. In a similar way, I argue that pastoral care can also be framed as a
political concept used in critiquing the social-political milieu. In this section, then, I identify and
describe theological premises that undergird the concept of pastoral care vis-à-vis the political.
That is, I place these premises within the context of the political and the notion of care. This
serves to highlight similarities and differences from notions of care used by feminist political
theorists. My hope is to provide an interpretive framework for a pastoral political theology.
Permit me to proffer a few clarifications. First, readers may label my approach and work as
progressive or liberal. I will not quarrel with either appellation, though I would prefer to say that
the foundational stance of my pastoral political theology is a compassionate realism, which, in my
view, depends on a caring disposition and practice and does not necessarily belong to any political
party, though one would hope it is a central feature of Christian discipleship. By realistic
compassion I mean (a) an accurate recognition and understanding of the suffering of others, (b)
a willingness to be with and share, to some degree, in the suffering of particular persons in need,
and (c) the development of competent, caring policies and actions aimed at addressing the needs
of particular others. Second, liberation theologies are political theologies that generally focus on
issues of justice in the social-political realm, and justice is often framed in terms of freedom and
political rights. In my view, care and justice are distinct terms, though nevertheless related.
Philosopher John Macmurray (1961) argued that “justice is the negative aspect of morality, which
is necessary to the constitution of the positive, though subordinate to it. . . . Without justice,

1
I have deliberately avoided the term “citizen” because it restricts political space to those who are recognized
as citizens. The use of the term “individual,” then, includes immigrants.
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morality becomes illusory and sentimental” (p. 188). Morality, for Macmurray, depends on a
positive aspect of human life, which is care. For Macmurray, one can demand justice but not
generosity,2 benevolence, and affection, which he would, I believe, associate with care. “The care
for another which fails in justice,” Macmurray wrote, “loses its moral character” (p. 188). Care,
then, is a broader concept that includes situations that are not initially or necessarily understood in
terms of justice, such as care of economically distressed mothers, daycare, care of the elderly, or
care for one’s political opponents. Yet, care that excludes or overlooks justice is sentimental and
myopic, often leading to other injustices. Similarly, justice that is devoid of care is an arid,
merciless administration of the law.
Another clarification focuses on the stance of a pastoral political theology toward proposing
or advocating for a particular political system. Some political theologies tacitly or overtly
support or seek to legitimize theologically a particular type of political system. I believe that
pastoral political theologians must remain at a critical distance, or what philosopher Simon
Critchley (2007) calls an interstitial distance, from the state and not attempt to provide
theological justifications for a specific kind of political governance or institution.3 Instead, a
pastoral political theology is a theological, critical reflection on political matters and not “the
attempt to bring the rule of the City of God on earth; it is not the attempt to make human beings
live according to God’s laws” (Kahn 2012, p. 117). Put another way, “the proper goal of
political theology is [not] to describe a set of political institutions; for political institutions are
anyway too fluid to assume an ideal form” (O’Donovan 2012, quoted in Kahn, p. 117).4 A
pastoral political critique, however, may include a condemnation, theologically justified, of an
entire political system, such as totalitarian political entities. This said, I confess to having a clear
preference for democratic polities, though I make no attempt to provide theological justifica-
tions for democracy. Instead, I focus on using the notion of care, theologically understood, to
critique some of the political realities of our time.

Politics and political theologies

It is difficult to define politics. We know what it is when we see it and that is probably
because it is in our marrow, our DNA. Politics has been a reality of human life since we

2
One may not demand generosity but, as I will discuss below, there is an existential demand to care, which is
evoked by the face of the Other.
3
I rely on Macmurray’s (McIntosh 2004) understanding of the “State.” The State “exists to make society
possible, to provide mechanisms through which the sharing of human experience may be achieved” (p. 106).
This is analogous to Arendt’s (1958) view of political power as citizens acting together—space of appear-
ances. The State, in other words, has a function vis-à-vis a space of appearances and the sharing of human
experience. This said, for Macmurray, the “State is merely a mechanism, and therefore a means to an to an end
. . . it has no value in in itself. . . . The State has no rights, no authority, for it is an instrument not an agent; a
network of organizations, not a person” (McIntosh 2004, p. 106). This highlights the socially constructed
reality and impermanence of political institutions, their impermanence, and the necessity that they be
secondary and subordinate to persons-in-community.
4
I suspect the main reason for this stance is connected to what both H. R. Niebuhr and Karl Barth recognized
as the human tendency to confuse one’s beliefs about God for the wholly Other God. For instance, Niebuhr
(1956) described this as the “confusion of the subject with the subject’s object [which] is more than an
epistemological fallacy” (p. 43). Indeed, it is idolatry. Barth (in Carter 2012) wrote, “We suppose that we
know what we are saying when we say ‘God.’ We assign to Him the highest place in our world . . . we press
ourselves into proximity with him… [but] secretly we ourselves are masters in this relationship. . . . And so,
when we set God upon the throne of the world we mean God ourselves. . . . God Himself is not acknowledged
as God and what is called ‘God’ is in fact Man” (pp. 92–93). Pastoral humility recognizes the limits of our
theological sensibilities and premises when reflecting on political matters.
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started organizing ourselves into tribes or clans millennia ago. We might say that politics
began in the travails of loss, scarcity, disappointment, and hope. The loss of paradise and the
impolitic murder of Abel represent the first scriptural, narrative glimmers of a group trying
to come to terms with the harsh realities of finitude and the need for and vicissitudes of
civilization. Who are we, who will lead, how will we protect ourselves, how will we survive
together, who will care for the orphans and widows, how will we organize ourselves—these
are some of the latent political questions in the Torah (Walzer 2012). Moreover, we see that
Greek philosophers, such as Plato and Aristotle (Barker 1958), believed that human beings
are social animals who organize themselves into a polis.
The group, the polis, is, as political philosopher Hannah Arendt (1958) argued, “not a
city-state in its physical location; it is an organization of people as it arises out of acting and
speaking together, and its true space lies between people living together for this purpose” (p.
198). For Arendt, stories and storytelling found the polis where courage is “present in a
willingness to act and speak at all, to insert one’s self into the world” (p. 186). Indeed, for
Arendt the “organization of the polis . . . is a kind of organized remembrance” (p. 197) that is
manifested in the public space of shared narratives and institutions. This communicative
space, this space of appearances, encompasses a complex web of economic, political, and
social rules, roles, values, beliefs, fantasies, and expectations/goals that are expressed and
lived out in collective secular and religious rituals, institutions, and narratives. These social
rituals, structures, narratives, disciplines, and discourses inform citizens (and non-citizens)
about whom to trust and where their loyalties lie; they provide a shared identity that is
crucial to making ethical decisions or assigning standards to social practices (Nealon 1998);
they signify and make licit, for good or ill, the kinds of authority, power, privilege, and
prestige that are meted out in diverse social contexts (Foucault 1972; Kertzer 1988; Ransom
1997); they represent the good aims citizens are to pursue and the sanctions that result when
they fail (Benhabib 1992); they determine and distribute various social goods (Miller 1989);
and they shape who we care for and how we care in the public sphere (Hamington 2004).
This intricate economic, social, and cultural web serves as the milieu that gives rise to and
shapes the political experiences of its members (Samuels 2004).
In brief, I offer a functional definition. By political I mean socially held symbols,
narratives, and rituals that are embodied in a group or society’s public institutions and
social-symbolic spaces that function to:
a. organize a person’s experiences and legitimate an individual’s actions in the public
realm (Arendt 1958)
b. facilitate collective discourse and action in the public realm (Young 1990; D’ Entreves 1994)
c. distribute power and resources (Kertzer 1988; Miller 1989; Ransom 1997)
d. legitimate authority and governance (Kertzer 1988; Foucault 1972)
e. adjudicate claims and discipline and repair breaches of both social order and the laws
governing social arrangements and the distribution of resources (Benhabib 1992)
f. provide an overarching social-political identity that supports collective action and
discourse, as well as provides for a shared sense of continuity and cohesion (Taylor
1989)
The notion of politics, then, refers to groups of people, not necessarily or always citizens,
who are engaged in public discourse pertaining to the common good and decisions being
made with regard to (a) who is allowed to participate in public discourse (citizenship and
identity), (b) who should govern, (c) what type of institution(s) should be the instrument of
governing, (d) the kinds of policies and programs that administer and regulate economic and
social affairs, and (e) the enactment and adjudication of laws that order the society.
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This bare-bones depiction of the political is fleshed out given the various religious or secular
traditions and their interpretive frameworks. For instance, with Aristotle we have a political
philosophy that gives form to the definition. Similarly, in terms of the Judeo-Christian tradi-
tions, political theologies have been around since before scribes put brush to papyrus. A cursory
reading of Hebrew scriptures reveals different political arrangements (e.g., Book of Judges, 1
and 2 Kings) that are understood from a theological perspective, though not all these arrange-
ments are affirmed by God (Walzer 2012). If we turn to New Testament scriptures, we note in
the Gospels of Matthew and Mark varied references to the kingdom of God and earthly rule
(e.g., Matt. 12:28; 19:16, 24; Mark 4:11, 26). In Acts and in the letters of Paul, the new
community struggles to organize itself as well as address questions about the relation of the
community to the Roman Empire and its political arrangements. After the first century, various
theologians wrote, directly and indirectly, on political matters. Prominent theological figures
such as Augustine (Eshtain 2004; Pranger 2006), Aquinas (Bauerschmidt 2004), Luther
(Szabari 2006), and others developed political theologies that were, in general, concerned with
addressing any and all of the areas identified above.
This said, the notion of “political theology,” which was first mentioned in the early
second century and then seemingly went underground for centuries (see de Vries 2006, pp.
25–29), began to gain greater attention and focus in the twentieth century. Hollerich (2004)
wrote that Roman Catholic “jurist and sometime Nazi” Carl Schmidt “is usually credited
with re-introducing the concept of political theology in modern discourse” (p. 107). This is
probably true, but Reinhold Niebuhr, H. R. Niebuhr, John Courtney Murray, Dietrich
Bonhoeffer, and William Temple were some twentieth-century theologians who addressed
political issues from their respective theological Christian traditions, though they did not set
out to write treatises on political theology. They were, however, public theologians who
necessarily possessed a political theological framework for critiquing the political order.
From my perspective the flowering of political theologies began in the late 1960s. There
were and are black, feminist, womanist, and Hispanic political theologies that address the
pervasiveness of political, economic, and social injustices (Cone 1970; Gutierrez 1985;
Moltmann 1973; Radford-Reuther 1983; Segundo 1985; Sobrino 1984, 1993). Freedom,
justice, and human rights, theologically and philosophically understood, were and are the
hermeneutical lens of liberation theologies as they critique dominant political structures and
elites who advertently or inadvertently undermine the flourishing of citizens and non-
citizens.5 Of course, liberation theologies were not the only political theologies to emerge
from the cultural and social upheavals of the 1960s. About the same time, Christian
Reconstructionism emerged, which is represented by political theologies that emphasize
dominion and advocate a return to biblical law.6 These political theologies are more
theocratic, apologetic, and evangelical in nature and emphasis than liberation theologies.
This very cursory glance is meant to suggest that political theologies (a) have existed as long as
people have thought about ways of organizing groups that rely on theological premises for
legitimation, (b) cover a broad spectrum from the endorsement of authoritarian theocracies to
prophetic, liberative critiques of social-political order that aim at liberation, (c) address questions
of governance, social organization, law, common good, distribution of resources, etc., and (d)
rest, in large part, on how theologians understand the relation between the ecclesia and culture

5
One could argue that liberation theologies do possess a notion of care that is implicit or latent in their aim to
correct injustices and, in so doing, enhance a people’s flourishing. This seems correct to me, yet care, as stated
above, is a more comprehensive concept than justice and freedom. Indeed, I am convinced that, as a political
concept, it alters the focus and discourse without necessarily overlooking issues of justice.
6
See for example the website of Chalcedon http://chalcedon.edu/about/ accessed 29 July 2012.
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(Niebuhr 1951). The discourse vis-à-vis political theologies largely frames issues, questions,
and concerns regarding judicial, legislative, and executive power, social-economic stability, and
national security in terms of rights, justice, law, freedom, the common good, etc. The question
arises as to how the pastoral care tradition can contribute to this discourse.

Care as a political hermeneutical framework vis-à-vis what is going on

The notion of care as a political concept is not new. During the last 30 years, a growing number of
feminist political theorists have used the idea of care as an interpretive framework for critiquing
political and socio-economic structures, policies, and programs, as well as developing possible
solutions for societal ills (Bubeck 1995; Engster 2007; Hamington 2004; Held 2006; Noddings
1984; Oliner and Oliner 1995; Robinson 1999; Tronto 1993). For instance, care as a political
concept, Tronto (1993) argued, “provides us with additional ways to think politically and strategi-
cally” (p. 185). Robinson (2011) elaborates further, arguing that “the notion of care is a valuable
political concept and . . . how we think about care is deeply implicated in existing structures of
power and inequality” (p. 3). In part, I rely on this body of research to provide a general definition of
care and its attributes. This serves as a basis for reframing care in terms of four theological premises,
which are understood and explicated in terms of the political. This pastoral notion of care, then,
becomes the theological lens for critically reflecting on political matters.
It is best to begin with a brief overview regarding how care is defined in this literature before
moving to the notion of pastoral care as a political concept. Tronto (1993) contended that caring
“is a species of activity that includes anything we do to maintain, continue, and repair our ‘world’
so that we can live in it as well as possible. That world includes our bodies, ourselves, and our
environment” (p. 103). Like any general definition, this covers a large swath of human activity,
ranging from a nurse tending to an infant to public policies that make health care affordable and
available to all. Building on and critiquing Tronto’s definition, Engster (2007) suggested that care
is “everything we do to help individuals to meet their vital biological needs, develop or maintain
their basic capabilities, and avoid or alleviate unnecessary or unwanted pain and suffering, so that
they can survive, develop, and function in society” (p. 28). In both definitions, we note that care is
an action, an activity that aims to sustain and develop individuals, the society, and the environ-
ment. Tronto and Engster recognize that the aim is not mere functioning within a society, because
there are instances of injustice when care is diminished though people continue to function. A
caring activity, in other words, would include a critique of and political resistance toward socio-
political structures and policies that inhibit care and, as a result, undermine human flourishing.7
Another feature of care in these definitions is that care is not restricted to direct interpersonal
encounters. In an earlier work, Bubeck (1995) argued that “caring for is the meeting of the needs
of one person by another person, where face-to-face interaction between the carer and cared-for is
a crucial element of the overall activity and where the need is of such a nature that it cannot
possibly be met by the person in need” (p. 129). This is a narrow understanding of care, because it
restricts care to face-to-face encounters. Of course, our deepest experiences of caring and being
cared for are dependent on these interpersonal encounters, but care can also be indirect. That is, I
can care deeply about people in Sudan and work to find ways for them to have basic necessities

7
Held (2006) and Engster (2007) point out that care has often been feminized and restricted to what women
do. Women are involved in activities that maintain, sustain, and repair selves, bodies, etc. This is, they rightly
argue, a distortion of care because care is mostly restricted to one gender, reflecting injustices within the larger
socio-political system. There are two points here. First, feminist political theorists critique and resist attempts
to assign care to one gender or ethnic group within a society. Second, “functioning” in society is not
necessarily mere adaptation, but rather, at times, resistance to society’s way of functioning.
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for survival, despite never having met any Sudanese people. Care, although direct, in most cases,
can also involve indirect actions, which necessarily includes those political actions that indirectly
lead to concrete caring actions aimed at helping particular people in need.
Both definitions also point out that care is an activity, which, for Held (2006), particularly
involves practices and dispositions. Care, she argued, “is a practice involving the work of care-
giving and the standards by which the practices of care can be evaluated. Care must concern itself
with the effectiveness of its efforts to meet needs, but also with the motives with which care is
provided” (p. 36). Held is rightly concerned about assessing the effectiveness of caring actions,
whether these are direct or indirect. At the same time, effectiveness is contingent on a caring
disposition or motivation (Hamington 2004). Of course, Held and Hamington recognize that some
people are motivated to care yet lack the skills, education, etc. to provide effective care. There are
also people who possess the requisite skills yet lack, for many reasons, the motivation to care in a
particular context. It is important to point out that both the motivation to care and the effectiveness of
caring practices are shaped by larger social-political systems and structures. For instance, from a
political perspective, a bureaucracy may be established to care for those who are ill and cannot
afford the costs of health care (e.g., Medicaid). The aim is to provide medical care, but the
motivations and practices of bureaucrats, who are removed from direct care, may inhibit effective
or adequate care and, at the same time, undermine individuals’ motivations to care. So, for Held
(2006) and Hamington (2004). It is not enough to examine the practices and motivations of those
who are directly involved in care to particular others. We must also attend to political structures,
policies, and programs that impact, directly and indirectly, motivations and practices of care.
In brief, feminist political theorists argue that the notion of care can be used as a hermeneu-
tical framework for critiquing political-economic power structures and policies that contribute
to or undermine human survival and flourishing. Care, broadly understood, means accurately
recognizing and appropriately attending to the psychological, social, cultural, and physical
needs of particular individuals. This includes attending care-fully to how individuals understand
their needs and sufferings. To care also means possessing the disposition to care, as well as the
requisite motivations and skills to provide for effective sustaining and reparative practices
aimed at helping persons survive and thrive.

Pastoral care as a political concept: theological premises and principles used

in answering the question, “What is going on?”

I think it is safe to say that the authors mentioned above believe passionately that politics
without care is vapid and vacuous and that an understanding of care divorced from politics is
dangerously sentimental and naïve. I could not agree more, though I wish to reframe this and
argue that we can envision pastoral care as a political concept, providing a hermeneutical
framework for constructively critiquing the socio-economic-political realm.8 To argue that

8
I wish to clarify this by pointing out that political realities have often been part of pastoral theologians’
concerns. In my own Roman Catholic tradition, there is a history of church leaders being concerned about the
effects of political-economic factors on the poor (National Conference of Catholic Bishops, Economic Justice
for All 1986), the proliferation of nuclear weapons (National Conference of Catholic Bishops, The Challenge
of Peace 1986), and the effects of unrestrained capitalism in the nineteenth century. There are other pastoral
theologians who address the political in their research and writings on diverse issues, including GLBT
concerns (e.g., Marshall 1997), domestic violence (Poling 1991), the elderly (Scheib 2004), the trauma of
war (Holton 2011), and ecology (Graham 1993). These and other pastoral theologians know that political,
economic, and social factors give rise to injustice and human suffering. Their focus is not on articulating a
pastoral political theology, but on addressing particular human sufferings and their sources and remedies.
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pastoral care is a political concept requires providing a theological perspective that unfolds
within the context of the political. That is, I identify the theological underpinnings of
pastoral care and frame them within the larger context of the political. More particularly, a
theological perspective addresses the questions of why care is necessary with regard to the
political, why we are obliged to care, and what care means in relation to the political. In
addition, working toward a pastoral definition of care vis-à-vis the political leads to
important features of care not clearly identified in the literature cited above. For the purpose
of brevity, I frame my discussion in terms of God and creation, imago dei, Jesus’ command
to be compassionate, and the kingdom of God.

God created the heavens and the earth

This Judeo-Christian belief has a couple of implications with regard to pastoral care as a
political concept. First, while human beings have a measure of freedom and agency, we are
ontologically dependent on God for our very being. God creates a space for creation to appear in
being. Dependency, then, is an attribute of human existence, indicating that no individual is
fully independent, autonomous, or completely self-reliant. Indeed, we are interdependent
creatures. This dependency, however, does not mean that human beings do not participate in
creation. Indeed, human beings have agency—God-given—and are, therefore, responsible and
accountable selves vis-à-vis God, other human beings, and the earth (Niebuhr 1989; Graham
1993). In other words, human beings are dependent on God yet are also agents cooperating with
and in God’s creative actions and grace. Second, as created, finite beings we are vulnerable,
though resilient, to the vicissitudes of nature and the reality of suffering and death. Our shared
vulnerability is part of the necessity of interdependence, wherein we seek the aid, support, and
strength of others to survive and thrive. Perhaps an obvious and common example of human
dependency, vulnerability, and our creative participation in life is birthing and rearing a child.
From a theological perspective, God incarnates Godself through the caring ministrations of the
parents, which are aimed at sustaining the dependent and vulnerable infant as well as helping
him/her thrive. Just as the parent is not a mere passive, dependent instrument of God’s grace, so
too the dependent and vulnerable child is not a mere passive recipient of the parent’s care. The
infant participates in the interactions, indicating a burgeoning agency and resiliency amidst
his/her near absolute dependency and vulnerability. For instance, a child’s active engagement
sometimes includes teaching the parent by verbally and nonverbally correcting him/her (Schore
2003; Sroufe 1995; Stern 1985). While a child’s dependency and vulnerability lessen as s/he
develops capacities to care for him/herself, s/he is, at different points and times in life,
dependent on others in diverse ways. I hasten to add that a child also learns to protect
him/herself, reducing his/her physical and psychological vulnerability and, at the same time,
becoming less dependent on the care of others. Nevertheless, existential vulnerability and
dependency continue throughout life, and there are occasions when life events heighten both.
I will say more about our participation in God’s creative grace, but for now it is important to
depict the implications of this theological premise with regard to a pastoral political theology.
Arguing from an existential and phenomenological view, Engster (2007) stated that human
dependency is a central premise in proposing an ethical requirement to care. “The duty to care
for others,” he wrote, “derives not from human needs in themselves or any philosophical claims
about the inherent dignity or worth of all human beings but instead on our inevitable depen-
dency on others and the web of caring relationships that sustain us” (p. 12). He contended
further that “the vulnerability of others does not in fact generate a duty to care for them . . . it is
our dependency on others rather than their vulnerability to us that ultimately grounds our
obligation to care for them” (p. 34). From the perspective of the theological belief that God
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created the world and we participate in God’s ongoing creation, I am only in partial agreement
with Engster. When we take note of a baby’s dependency on his/her parents for care, we cannot
help but also recognize the child’s vulnerability. It is both the reality of the child’s near-absolute
dependence and his/her vulnerability that evokes, in part, the parents’ motivation and obligation
to protect the baby and meet his/her needs. We note this as well in other situations. When we see
someone suffering on the side of the road as a result of an accident, most of us feel an obligation
to respond, though some will decide not to respond. This felt obligation is evoked by the fact
that the person is unable to care for him/herself and is therefore dependent on others to care. We
also respond because we recognize the victim’s vulnerability.
Human beings, then, are dependent and vulnerable existentially, even though we have agency
and strategies to reduce both conditions. From a theological perspective, we are dependent on God’s
grace and, as finite creatures, we are vulnerable to nature and the vicissitudes of living with each
other. Existentially and theologically, then, we are obliged to care for others when they are in need
and incapable of meeting their needs themselves. This obligation to care is most easily seen and
experienced in our relationships with family, friends, and our local community. In Hebrew scriptures,
citizens are obliged to care for those in need—the widows and orphans. In scripture we also note the
admonition to care for the stranger and even our enemies.
A pastoral political theology, then, has an ethical core that revolves around the requirement to
care effectively for people and communities that are in need of help. The ethical demand to care is
derived, in part, from the theological, anthropological reality of human finitude—vulnerability and
dependency. Given this, we can then evaluate political programs, policies, and structures to the
degree that they represent shared obligations to care for those in need and assess if these actions are
effective. I would add that whenever any political action, policy, or program demonstrably does not
result in caring for others, there must be ethical reasons for not doing so. These reasons are ethical to
the degree that the harm incurred is short-lived, minimal, and ultimately aimed at and concretely
leading to the maintenance of psychosocial needs. For instance, a loving parent sees her child
walking into the path of an oncoming car. Recognizing the danger, she violently pulls her child to
safety and, in the process, dislocates the child’s shoulder. The action is brief and the child’s
immediate suffering is clearly better than the greater harm of being hit by a car. The parent’s action
obviously harms the child, but it is ethical and caring because it preserves the child’s life.
Now let’s turn our attention to the political. Consider the political policy of embargoing
Iraq during the 1990s after the first Gulf War. Madeleine Albright, the U.S. Secretary of State
at the time, was queried by a reporter about the effects of this policy. The reporter indicated
that independent agencies had estimated that between 300,000 and 500,000 Iraqi children
had died as a result of the embargo. He asked: Was the price of their deaths worth it?
Albright responded affirmatively (quoted in Zinn 2003, p. 445). The policy was ostensibly
defended from the perspective that the United States and other nations sought to contain
Saddam Hussein’s power in the Middle East. Perhaps this was why the Secretary of State
replied in the affirmative. However, there was also the unspoken yet obvious political
agenda of maintaining hegemony in this region. More particularly, the United States has
long sought to secure its oil supplies in the Middle East and this was part of the realpolitik
justification for the embargo. From the angle of care, vis-à-vis dependency and vulnerability,
this political policy was deeply flawed and unethical precisely because of the inordinate
amount of suffering and death that resulted.9 I am confident that if 300,000 to 500,000

9
This is not meant to dismiss the rightful blame dues to the Iraqi leaders who were instrumental in continuing
to harm their own people, especially Kurds and those not of the Ba’athist party. Nevertheless, from a care
point of view, Albright’s response shows a remarkable indifference and lack of genuine care for the children
and parents who suffered as a result of this policy.
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American children had died as a direct result of foreign embargoes, U.S. citizens would be
rightly outraged at the injustice and lack of care toward these dependent and vulnerable
children. I would add here that what is remarkable about Albright’s response is the lack of
empathic or caring imagination regarding the suffering and deaths of children—usually the
most visibly dependent and vulnerable among us. The absence of empathic imagination also
signals the eclipse of any concrete obligation to care for these children and their families.
This does not mean that Albright is or was a callous or uncaring person, but that the presence
of the politics of force and the absence of a political lens of care meant that she and others
either did not think about or dismissed the negative effects of their political actions and
policies on Iraqi children and their families. And if she and others did recognize it, if only
after the fact, the actions were justified by the demands of political expediency and U.S.
hegemony, which are almost always inimical to the obligation to care about the vulnerability
and dependency of those who must endure the consequences of these types of political
policies.10

Imago dei

Another feature of God’s creation is the notion of imago dei—human beings are created in
the image and likeness of God. In terms of care, this theological idea has several meanings.
First, each human being bears the visage of God, which means, to use Levinas’s (1969,
1981) term, the face of the Other—the absolute alterity of the Other that evokes an infinite
demand to be responsible to and for the Other (Critchley 2007, p. 11). Second, the face of the
Other refers to being a person—an absolutely unique, valued, inviolable, and agentic self.
The face of the Other as person is further understood in terms of the philosophy of John
Macmurray (1961), as well as human participation in the creation of persons. Macmurray
argued that being a person is both a matter of fact and a matter of intention. Ideally, human
beings recognize and experience other human beings as persons and this is experienced as a
matter of fact. For instance, it is unquestionable, indeed inconceivable, that my beloved
friend is not a person. I experience him being a person as a fact—indeed, an ontological fact
(see Zizioulas 2006). Yet, for Macmurray, personhood is also an intention. We intend to
recognize and treat the Other as a person, suggesting the freedom to construct the Other as a
person or not. The obviousness of this intentionality is seen in all kinds of negative examples
of human beings recognizing and treating each other as less than persons (e.g., racism,
sexism, etc.). The reality is that the facticity of being persons is contingent on the recogni-
tions and actions of others. In this sense, human beings are dependent on and hence
vulnerable to the personal recognitions and treatment of others.
A third and related feature of imago dei vis-à-vis personhood is that we participate in
God’s creation to the extent that, in our recognition and treatment of the Other as a person,
we create him/her. Put another way, we create a space for the Other to appear as a person—a
unique, inviolable, valued, responsive subject—and this suggests both dependency and

10
One may consider this to be an idealistic or unrealistic perspective given the realities of international
politics. Moreover, one may raise the objection that Iraq could sell some oil for needed medical and other
supplies. Yet, any cursory attention paid to United States political policies toward various nations reveals
distinctly different approaches. For instance, the United States’ policy toward China (and South Africa during
apartheid) is one of economic and political engagement, even though China has a long history (as does the
United States) of human rights abuses. This is to say that there are other approaches the United States could
have taken that would not have resulted in the deaths of so many children. As for the oil for food program, this
overlooked both the fact that Iraq is an oil-based economy and the fact that the politically powerful are rarely
harmed by embargoes.
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vulnerability. For instance, the parent who consistently recognizes and treats his/her child as
a person fosters a space where the child develops sufficient trust to give expression to his/her
unique self (e.g., Winnicott 1971). When parents fail to do so, the relationship can be
repaired by localized spoiling, which, in my view, is a restoration of recognizing and treating
the child as a person. As adults, I suggest, shared recognition and treatment sustains
experiences of being persons together, suggesting a constant co-creation of personhood.
When we fail to do this, then there are relational disruptions that can be repaired.
Pastoral care, then, is founded on this theological premise of imago dei—personhood—and
our shared participation in God’s creation whenever we create and treat the Other as person.
Caring actions, then, necessarily rest on the existential, theological demand to recognize and
treat vulnerable and (inter)dependent Others as persons. Care is not simply rooted in our shared
existential dependency as Engster (2007) argued; it is rooted in the necessity of human dignity,
which is expressed in the recognition and treatment of others as persons. Of course, since we are
fallible creatures we, for a variety of reasons, fail to participate in God’s creative actions, and
these failures can be repaired by those actions that aim to restore the Other’s experience of being
a person. Negatively framed, forms of injustice and acts of carelessness reveal the negation or
the refusal of the infinite demand to recognize and treat Others as persons. Injustice discloses
the precariousness of life and the necessity of care. Positively stated, caring actions create
spaces that invite subjects qua persons into existence.
In terms of the political realm, the notion of care vis-à-vis imago dei is further elaborated
by turning to the political philosophies of Simon Critchley and Hannah Arendt. Critchley
(2007) wrote, “Politics is an ethical practice that arises in a situation of injustice which exerts
a demand for responsibility” (p. 92). Later he noted that a “metapolitical moment propels
one into facing and facing down a wrong or confronting a situation of injustice, not through
sovereign legal norms backed by the threat of violence, but through an ethical responsive-
ness to the sheer precariousness of the other’s face, of their injurability and our own”
(p. 120). While Critchley uses the idea of injustice, I would suggest a more expansive view:
Politics is an ethical practice that arises out of a situation of need wherein one confronts and
is obliged to respond to the particular needs of dependent and vulnerable others qua persons.
The political, then, is an ethical practice of caring, which arises in situations of public need.
The ethical core of all genuine forms of caring is the recognition and treatment of individuals
as persons, each possessing inherent dignity, uniqueness, and value.
Arendt’s (1958) phrase “space of appearances” deepens our understanding of care vis-à-
vis the political realm and imago dei. For Arendt, the space of appearances involves
individuals acting cooperatively in the public realm, expressing their unique subjectivities.
This space of appearances, I argue, is contingent on care that involves the shared recognition
and treatment of each other as persons. More broadly, the political ideally involves caring
actions that create spaces of appearance wherein individual subjects exist and thrive as
persons living life in common with other persons. The eclipse of this public space is seen
whenever individuals or groups of people are constructed as less than persons, such as in the
virulent racism of the Jim Crow South, where African Americans were restricted from
political space or segregated in public venues. Their marginalization from acting in the
political realm was the direct result of white constructions of black Others as less than
persons, which were connected to white-held narratives and attending political policies and
programs that reinforced white illusions of superiority and black inferiority. The ongoing
restriction of this space of appearances signified carelessness, a dearth of any recognition of
the “precariousness of the other’s face” (Butler 2004) and the denial of an existential demand
to recognize and treat African Americans as persons. In theological terms, racism represents
a denial of the belief in imago dei vis-à-vis black people, which fundamentally eclipses any
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obligation to care and results in injustices and other acts of carelessness (Alexander 2010),
including inadequate social care (e.g., injustices in voting, lack of adequate housing, food,
healthcare, education, or economic opportunities, etc.). Indeed, even public care for poor
black families, as Malcolm X (Haley 1964) noted, was riddled with racist beliefs, funda-
mentally corrupting care. He wrote that “if ever a state social agency destroyed a family, it
destroyed ours. We wanted and tried to stay together. . . . But the Welfare, courts, and their
doctor, gave us the one-two-three punch” (p. 23). Here we see the injustices that resulted
from a corrupt form of political care.
Another illustration of this theological notion vis-à-vis care and the political realm is seen
in the peculiar discourse on the topic of healthcare. Is healthcare a right? Are we obliged to
care for those—citizen and non-citizen—who are ill, even if they cannot pay? On the one
hand, the answer seems to be yes, because hospitals are required by law not to turn away
people who are in need of immediate care. This political policy represents a shared belief in
our obligation to care for someone—citizen or not—who is seriously ill and, therefore,
dependent and vulnerable. Implicit is the recognition that this individual is a person and thus
we are obliged to offer care. On the other hand, 50 million (DeNavas-Walt et al. 2012) or
more Americans are without any healthcare or adequate healthcare coverage, which does not
include the most vulnerable population, illegal immigrants, who are denied healthcare
programs that are offered to impoverished citizens (through Medicaid, for example). There
is, then, no societal obligation to extend healthcare to people who cannot afford it unless
they are very ill, which, in my view, means that some human beings are more worthy of care
based upon their fortunate ability to have a job that provides healthcare and/or those who are
wealthy enough to afford it. Indeed, the lack of healthcare and preventative healthcare
options significantly impacts people, health-wise and financially. Consider that among
wealthy nations, the United States has the highest infant mortality rate, lower birth weights
and, in poor sections of the country, lower life expectancies (Speth 2011). Also, thousands of
people declare bankruptcy as a result of onerous healthcare costs (Arnst 2009). I am
suggesting here that public discourse regarding healthcare, which is often framed in terms
of rights language, can be reframed in terms of our shared obligations to care for all people
not simply when they are facing healthcare emergencies, but also in offering routine
preventative healthcare that makes it possible for people to survive and thrive. We are
obliged to make healthcare available because all people are created in the image and likeness
of God, regardless of their income or residential status. I would add that while individuals
can do a great deal to take care of their own health needs, they also are better able to survive
and thrive whenever they have access to regular medical exams, dental care, and eye exams.
It is, then, not simply an issue of justice; it is also an issue of caring for fellow human beings
before they have to seek emergency health services.

The commandment to be compassionate and kenosis

Hendricks (2011) argued that the principles of Jesus’ politics were “justice” (mishpat—‘the
establishment of fair, equitable, and harmonious relationships in society”), righteousness
(sadiqah—‘behavior that faithfully fulfills the responsibilities of relationship both with God
and humanity’), and steadfast love (hesed)” (pp. 207–208). It is this steadfast love that is
revealed in Jesus’ compassion toward those who suffer (e.g., Matt. 93:36, 14:14, 15:32;
Luke 7:13, 15:20). Jesus lived compassion and also commanded others to be compassionate
(Luke 6:36; see Armstrong 1993). The gospels, then, tell the story of God’s relentless care
for those who suffer, and this compassionate care was incarnated in the life and ministry of
Jesus. Jesus’ solidarity with the poor, healing the sick, preaching forgiveness, and
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commanding compassion and love revealed the possibility of an ordering of society around
care, mercy, and compassion.
I contend that the concept of imago dei is the foundation of any disposition to be
compassionate. That is, the belief that the Other is created in the image and likeness of
God is the necessary basis for the disposition to be compassionate, which involves one’s
motivation to be moved by and empathically respond to the particular sufferings and needs
of Others. Compassion, then, presupposes a will and disposition to surrender to and be
moved by the other person’s story. To be moved by and to care for the Other, as Jesus did in
relation to the outcasts of society, requires the discipline of emptying oneself of constructs or
beliefs that threaten to impede both the recognition of the Other as person and compassion-
ate care. For instance, instead of shunning lepers and other societal outcasts, Jesus embraced
them, letting go of socially held constructs that viewed lepers as people to be feared and
pushed to the fringe of society. To survive at the fringe of society is to be denied a space of
appearances and, of course, care and compassion. Jesus’ healing of the lepers signified a
kind of compassionate care that created a space of appearance. Instead of lepers being
shunned from public space, Jesus created a public space where they appear, not in terms of
their labels but as children of God—imago dei. It is in this space that people who suffer can
be recognized and treated for their ailments.
This letting go or self-emptying is seen in the Greek term kenosis (Phil. 2:7). My
eisegetical interpretation is that self-emptying did not mean that Jesus gave up his identity,
role, cultural-religious beliefs, or mission. It is not really emptying, but a setting aside of
one’s own convictions, biases, ideas, etc., so that one’s recognition and treatment of the
Other as person is not diminished and thus the space of appearances is not obstructed.
Kenosis, put another way, is an action and discipline of subordinating object recognition to
personal recognition. Object recognition involves constructing the Other in terms of his/her
functions, characteristics, and conditional values vis-à-vis one’s own needs and desires, all
of which conditions loyalty and trust. Personal recognition involves constructing and caring
for the Other as a person. Kenotic compassion, in my view, is a political discipline of
creating a space to consistently subordinate object to personal recognition, and this disci-
pline gives rise to a spirit of societal hospitality and generosity. Hospitality and generosity
are foundational to a good enough society (or community) that reorders relationships in
terms of compassionate care.
Naturally, when this is framed in terms of the political, it seems idealistic or, worse, naïve,
but this may be due, in part, to the way our society is ordered in terms of zero-sum-game
capitalism, where competition is cooperative only to the extent it meets one’s own needs and
the needs of the corporation. Yet not all societies are organized and assessed in this way.
Consider that a country like Bhutan, a Buddhist country, uses Gross National Happiness
(Ura et al. 2012) instead of Gross National Product (GNP) in evaluating the health of its
society. Also, as Goleman (2003) pointed out, in Buddhist societies, where compassion is
emphasized, encouraged, and practiced, individuals who have experienced trauma have
fewer PTSD symptoms, both in the short and long term. These examples suggest that it is
possible to promote compassion as a societal value and practice.
So what does this mean in terms of the political realities of U.S. society? There are
numerous examples of political-economic policies that are devoid of any compassion toward
those who suffer the consequences of these policies. Indeed, in the very construction of these
political-economic policies, compassionate care is completely absent, while profit, power,
and prestige are present. The George W. Bush-era policies that allowed coal companies to
remove mountaintops to mine coal led to devastating environmental, health, and economic
effects for those in the immediate vicinities of these mountains. Indeed, Chris Hedges and
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Joe Sacco (2012) called these areas sacrifice zones, by which they meant that the people in
these zones were sacrificed on the altar of profit—economic profit for companies that did not
use these profits for the people who suffered the effects of mountaintop removals. We note
also the absence of compassion and the presence of profit in the immigration policies written
by legislators and for-profit prison officials (Archibald 2010: Preston 2011). These policies
were enacted to deter illegal immigrants and their children from finding work and receiving
education and, in some cases, medical care.
The discipline of kenosis is necessary for compassionate care, which is a political act,
whether it involves analyzing and protesting governmental policies and programs that overlook,
deny, or dismiss the needs and sufferings of people or promulgating policies that attend to the
particular needs of individuals, families, and communities. We often see this during disasters,
where many citizens and government leaders acknowledge the travails of citizens and non-
citizens and rally to meet their needs for survival. Yet, in a market society and its state-corporate
government, compassion is largely lacking, which means, in my view, that demonstrating
compassion publically is political because, like Jesus’ ministry, it belies the political realities
that aim at power, prestige, and privilege, relegating care to the home or charities.

The kingdom of God

The kingdom of God is clearly a political metaphor that the Synoptic Gospel writers use to
juxtapose the differences between this world and the next, as well as to heighten our perception
of the kingdom of God in the present. The use and meaning of this term varies, but, in general,
the gospel writers deploy it to overturn routine understandings of power, privilege, and
inclusion. The powerful on earth have easy entrance into earthly cities, while Jesus remarked
that it is easier for a camel to go through an eye of a needle than for the rich to enter the kingdom
of God (Mark 10:25). This does not mean that the rich cannot obtain citizenship in this realm,
but they cannot rely on the privileges and powers they have used to ease their earthly political
and social lives. Jesus also disrupts our understanding of inclusion. Who are citizens of the
empire or members of the chosen people and who are members of the kingdom of God? Early in
Matthew, Jesus warns the crowd, “Do not presume to say to yourselves that we have Abraham
as our ancestor. For I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham”
(3:9). We do not obtain a birthright into the kingdom of God based on power and prestige. Later
in Matthew, Jesus remarks, “Truly I tell you, the tax-collectors and prostitutes are going into the
kingdom of God ahead of you” (Matt. 21:32). After one parable Jesus remarks, “Then people
will come from east and west, from north and south, and will eat in the kingdom of God” (Luke
13:29). Inclusion is not based on tribal identity or religious political identity (Jews), but on
discipleship, and discipleship means following in the steps of Jesus’ ministry of compassion
(Luke 6:36–38). Power, privilege, and birthright may secure one’s citizenship and position
within society, but they have nothing to do with who will be included in the kingdom of God.
There are several other characteristics of the kingdom of God that are worthy of note.
Horsely (2003, 2011), Crossan (1995, 2007), and Hendricks (2011) frame Jesus’ ministry in
light of the political realities of living in an empire. The Roman Empire and its client-states
represented a political totality of force, coercion, and oppression. Crossan (2007) wrote that
the “Christian Bible presents the radicality of a just and nonviolent God repeatedly and
relentlessly confronting the normalcy of an unjust and violent civilization” (p. 94).
Furthermore, the kingdom of God is not and cannot be a political totality, precisely because
love, compassion, mercy, and forgiveness are for all people (Hendricks 2011, pp. 116–118).
Indeed, where Imperial Rome recognized and differentiated between citizens and subjugated
peoples, there is no such distinction in the kingdom of God.
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As noted above, the kingdom of God is not some future reality divorced from the present.
Evidence of the kingdom of God on earth is noted in acts of compassion, love, and
forgiveness. These acts are not simply and solely for friends, family, and fellow citizens.
The in-breaking or proleptic reality of God’s kingdom is partially manifested and realized in
expressions of compassion toward all human beings, strangers, aliens, and even our enemies
(Pannenberg 1969). Care, hospitality, and inclusion are visible signs of the kingdom.
Framing this in terms of a political pastoral theology does not mean seeking a utopia,
because clearly the kingdom of God can only be manifested incompletely. This said, the
aim is to assess the current dystopia, where people are marginalized from the space of
appearances, feeling hopeless about their voices being heard or obtaining sufficient funds
to provide care for their families. Using the characteristics of the kingdom of God, we
can analyze and critique political policies that (a) lead to food and housing insecurity for
millions of people, (b) secure economic and political power for the rich and well-
connected, (c) marginalize the poor, (d) place onerous burdens on those who have
completed their prison sentences, (e) restrict and undermine social benefit programs to
the neediest and most vulnerable, and (f) seek to maintain economic and military
hegemony. Each of the above represents the eclipse of care and compassion and also
signifies the absence of the possibility of partially experiencing the kingdom of God. On
the other hand, a positive analysis will take note of instances of the in-breaking of the
kingdom, including those not under the auspices of religion. For instance, the Occupy
Wall Street Movement challenges the U.S. plutocracy, demanding that people in positions
of political power heed the cries of the poor and disenfranchised—people who are left to
the margins or excluded from the space of appearances. Not-for-profit organizations that
seek to provide food, clothing, and healthcare to those who cannot afford it are signifiers
of the kingdom. Many individuals and groups who oppose the endless so-called “wars on
terror” are current-day peacemakers, many of whom care not only about the welfare of
Americans, but also about the welfare of Iraqis and Afghanis. That is, for them the lives
of Other people are just as important, valuable, and grievable as Americans. In short, the
in-breaking of the kingdom of God is always subversive to the ruling elites and the
privileged classes who advertently and inadvertently restrict the space of appearances to
themselves. Public care, which entails compassion and recognition and treatment of the
least of these as persons, signifies the possibility of the kingdom of God and the opening
of the space of appearances for Others.
The ideas of creation, imago dei, kenotic compassion, and the kingdom of God provide a
theological prism for understanding care, which together provide an interpretive framework
for a pastoral political theology that critiques contemporary political leadership, structures,
policies, and programs. The aim is not to seek a utopia of care and justice, but rather to
assess political failings, as well as moments of political grace where Others obtain the
necessary care to survive and thrive.

Conclusion

Pastoral theologians, in my view, can contribute to political philosophy and theology

discourses by bringing to bear the political notion of care, understood from theological
and ecclesial perspectives. Often, public discourse has appeared to focus exclusively on
justice, leaving care to the private realms of the consulting room or the hearth. My hope is to
encourage more deliberative discussion on the importance of developing a pastoral political
theology that relies on the notion of care in examining the political milieu.
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