Wretchard has written a typically thoughtful posting entitled, ‘Oil on Troubled Waters‘, in which he connects oil prices, carbon emission theology and winners and losers in the current economy. He notes, as does Spengler, that declining prices will cast whole regions into instability. But in spite of a world rapidly spiralling out of control, overwrought carbon cultists still insist on cutting emissions (and therefore demand). But the centerpiece of his post is one pregnant phrase that goes unexplored:
In the middle of an economic meltdown and a global fight against chaos, what we really should be worrying about is carbon levels.
For the world is currently fighting – and possibly losing – a battle against chaos itself, a concept and reality at the heart of the historical theology of civil power. To look for the beginnings of such theology is to be taken back to the history and ideology of the great powers of the ancient world. The Pharaohs as well as their rivals and successors used to support their place and mission in the world as a fight against chaos: whenever the times are out of joint with strife and bloodshed the gods send a ruler to be a king and deliverer, to establish order.
But when their rule fails, chaos gets the upper hand. Darius, for instance, thought of this world mission in terms of the basic Iranian metaphysical idea that history is conflict. In his palace at Persepolis he is depicted as being at war with some demonic colossus. That was the political testament of the ancient world right down to Alexander, a testament that was recreated in a new way by Rome. Wherever the imperium romanum went, there went also the pax romana. As long as the imperium lasted, the world was protected against chaos.
The Church took over this tradition and transformed it in light of its own Christocentric view of history: the state itself becomes ordained by God but not as part of the ‘order of creation’ but rather as an emergency measure taken by God in history, whether the particular rulers were godly or not. In a sense, every crown is a crown of God’s grace but the crown that God gives is a sword. And the sword is given to preserve order and to defend against chaos.
The imperium is the defense that God has made to keep the powers of chaos at bay but is not itself an everlasting defense. Tertullian can therefore conclude that the Christian must hope that the empire and its emperors will remain unharmed as long as the world remains, for just so long will they themselves survive. Judaism shared this understanding. In the first century, Rabbi Hanina said, ‘Pray for the peace of the ruling power, since but for fear of it men would have swallowed one another alive.’
When we look at the forces of chaos that are barely in check, consider this opinion piece entitled, ‘The 2nd-Largest Potemkin Village in History’ from today’s Moscow Times:
Yevgeny Gontmakher, who served in Boris Yeltsin’s administration as deputy social protection minister, is one of Russia’s most respected sociologists and economists. He published an article on Nov. 6 in Vedomosti that described what could happen to the Russian city of “N” during a financial and economic crisis. “N” represented a one-factory city that employed most of the local population, either directly or indirectly. There are hundreds of these small cities in Russia.
Novocherkassk, located in southern Russia near Rostov-on-Don, is a good example of one of these cities. It is best known for the labor unrest and protests in 1962 that led to a violent response from government troops. The problems started in the spring of that year, when production quotas were raised for factory workers but their salaries remained the same.
Then, on June 1, the central planners in Moscow announced a nationwide 30 percent increase in the price of meat and a 25 percent hike in the price of butter. The increases in food prices were the breaking point in an already tense situation. Spontaneous demonstrations broke out in the city, and this led to a ruthless government crackdown to quell the unrest. Soviet troops and secret service agents killed dozens — perhaps hundreds — of people.
Any official reference to the events in Novocherkassk was strictly taboo for the next 30 years because the “people’s state,” lauded by the Kremlin as fair, just and humane, was not supposed to have violent clashes with the people.
Gontmakher’s article was titled “Novocherkassk-2009.” That was the only direct allusion to the 1962 incident. The rest of the text was a purely academic treatment of the closing of a hypothetical major factory in 2009, when the current financial crisis is expected to reach its culmination. Gontmakher wrote about the likely consequences: widespread unemployment, plummeting consumer demand, street protests and the paralysis of municipal and regional governments unwilling to fire on unruly and angry crowds but who see no other recourse.
Can anyone guarantee that something like that won’t happen in dozens of towns and cities across Russia? Does anyone believe that the regional and federal governments will be able to handle the economic, social and political crises effectively and peacefully? Just turn on your television and look at what is happening in Greece right now. Thinking about this makes most people shudder.
Indeed, can any current government survive the whirlwind that’s coming? And who will be that deliverer who emerges from the chaos that even now is spreading?
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