Our celebration of Earth Day has me musing on the Ethic of Tragedy as perhaps the most humble and effective way of living faithfully in a tragic world. What follows is me going on and on about it, so read at your own risk. You’ve been warned.
One of my favorite texts in the Bible is Amos 5:19, about the person who fled from a lion and was met by a bear, only to escape the bear and make it home. When they entered the house, they put their hand on the wall to catch their breath and were bitten by a snake. Of course, since it is in Amos, it isn't told as a "story" per se, but my guess is that it originated as a story, so I'm going to keep telling it in that form. My further guess is that it originated as a proverbial story about someone for whom everything went wrong - a kind of "damned if you do, damned if you don't" sort of perspective. I think this story from Amos provides a tremendous jumping off point to speak about ethics from the perspective of tragedy.
Take, for example, the Climate Change crisis. If you visit the "Climate Clock," you can scroll down and see that, if the world stays on its present course, we have less than 8 years "to save the world." The countdown spins by so fast it creates a kind of anxiety and is a powerfully effective means of showing the severity of carbon in the atmosphere, the need to stop our dependence on fossil fuels, etc. Some people might consider this kind of information a "scare tactic," but for others a true "sign of the times." We often hear the same kind of urgency in letters that we might receive from the left or the right, arguing that unless we support candidate X or win this next election, "they" are going to bring disaster and ruin us all.
Setting aside for a moment whether these stark messages are true, partly true, or downright fabrications (a la FOX News and Dominion), they seem to be effective in getting people off the snide and into the arena of action or fundraising. It's an ethic of urgency, based on a binary choice between this or that; right or wrong; good or evil; us or them.
But here's a nagging thing about efforts to address Climate Change. I have an electric car, which I charge every night from my home, which is powered by solar panels. Only if I drive over 50 miles in one day do I have to switch from electric to hybrid and use gas. I love it financially because I've filled the tank twice in 2023 - and that was because my son borrowed it when he was home from school for a week. And I love it environmentally, because I think fossil fuel companies in the US and around the world justify their existence on the "supply and demand" model, but actually create the demand that they pretend to fill. I feel creepy buying gas because I am participating in what I believe is a misleading and sinister operation.
However, I know electric vehicles and solar panels are not perfect solutions. The batteries in electric cars are sourced from cobalt, lithium, and nickel, which have terribly unjust supply chain problems - as do most raw materials, including the materials for solar panels and oil. And the extraction of those materials through mining can cause as much damage to the environment as mining the materials for a gas-powered car. Then, after their use, there is a significant controversy over whether those batteries can be fully recycled, partly recycled, or eventually disposed of, and adding further toxicity to the ground. While electric cars and solar panels help reduce carbon output, there are still environmentally damaging issues that need addressing. It's like avoiding the roar of the lion and the jaws of the bear, only to be bitten by the snake hidden on the wall.
Here's my thought on the matter - Christian Ethics has always been exercised in a tragic nexus. Think of "just war" theories. Or Bonhoeffer joining a plot to assassinate Hitler. Or Christian missionaries bringing the gospel to the unchurched, on ships owned by the Dutch Trading Company that exploited those same peoples. It is rarely a matter of pure evil v. pure good. To use the language of Reinhold Niebuhr, it is ever a matter of proximate good and sometimes the lesser of two evils.
I think other biblical resources that try to reflect on this tragedy are Genesis 3 and the stories about Judas. In Genesis 3, the ground itself is cursed as part of Adam and Eve's disobedience. The ground. That's the context in which human life happens, especially if we just read Genesis chapter 2. The context in which we live is disrupted by and suffers the effects of human sinfulness. It is part of the inescapability of life on earth. And, of course, the stories that follow in Genesis - murder, Babel, the flood - show the consequences of such a tragic context. There is indeed 'right' and 'wrong' in those stories, but the point is that every story takes place within a tragic context.
Likewise, the gospel attempts to describe Judas shows how the early church struggled with his culpability. Was he simply a schmuck making an evil choice? Yes, he was taking from the kitty all along. Yes, he sold out. Yes, he conspired. And also, no. It was destined for Jesus to be handed over. Jesus himself says, "Go do it quickly" when handing Judas bread during the last supper. And judging from the prayer in the garden, Judas and God seemed to be on the same page. Judas even tried to return the money and committed suicide in response to his actions. Judas was both part of something outside of his control and was a responsible agent making choices with awful consequences. And that's a textbook definition of an ethic of tragedy.
Sometimes I think we have to be like Bonhoeffer - and perhaps Judas - and go out knowing that we're going to commit a sin, whether it's an assassination, a betrayal, or despoiling the environment in some way. But we go out resolved to do so because not doing so would result in a greater sin - the annihilation of Jews, God's plan of salvation being unfinished, or an even worse form of environmental catastrophe. In an ethic of tragedy, our hands are not clean, so we rely on grace. In an ethic of tragedy, the result is not certain, so we rely on hope. And in an ethic of tragedy, the way is not clear, so we rely on humility and the best collective wisdom we can attain. This is the long and difficult journey of taking up our cross and following the Christ.
Mark of St. Mark
