Most Christians, if asked if they know any words in Hebrew, will come up with at least one: shalom. When asked what shalom means, the most common response is, “peace.” Though it is used in a variety of ways in Biblical literature, shalom is often translated as “peace.” Our connotation of the word “peace” is inextricable linked–and often defined by–its antonym, “war.” Peace is usually seen as the absence of war.
Much of my reading and writing is centering on shalom. Whenever I come across and author’s use of “peace” I’m eager to understand how he or she unpacks the idea and compare that with my developing understanding of a fuller sense of shalom. Karl Polanyi, in his The Great Transformation seeks to chronicle the rise of the modern nation-state and market economy as linked social structures, embedded with one another. Early in the book he deals with the role of peace in the development of both. In the opening chapters of the book, Polanyi looks at the hundred years’ peace (roughly 1815-1914), when most armed skirmishes were localized and escalation was mitigated by the “balance” of opposing large nations holding one another at bay. During this era the pursuit of peace came “under varying forms and ever-shifting ideologies–sometimes in the name of progress and liberty, sometimes by the authority of the throne and the altar, sometimes by grace of the stock exchange and the checkbook, sometimes by corruption and bribery, sometimes by moral argument and enlightened appeal, sometimes by the broadside and the bayonet–one and the same result was attained: peace was preserved” (loc. 917). In stark contrast with preceding centuries, the nineteenth century saw the rise of an acute peace interest. Prior to that time “peace with its corollaries of crafts and arts ranked among the mere adornments of life. The Church might pray for peace as for a bountiful harvest, but in the realm of state action it would nevertheless advocate armed intervention; government subordinated peace to security and sovereignty, that is, to intents that could not be achieved otherwise than by recourse to the ultimate means. Few things were regarded as more detrimental to a community than the existence of an organized peace interest in its midst” (loc. 932). So why the change? Why did nations who, previous to this period, had a history of warring and border skirmishes, turn so resolutely to arbitration and peacekeeping? Perhaps the growing mechanization of war and the threat of larger, more destructive conflicts gave these nations pause. Polanyi hints that there is something else at play, something other than the balance-of-power between nations working to keep the peace. This other factor, contends Polyani, is haute finance. This new international finance grew into a stabilizing force that did more to maintain peace than any balance of power arrangement. As a new agency, haute finance “supplied the instruments for an international peace system, which was worked with the help of the Powers, but which the Powers themselves could neither have established nor maintained. . . . There was intimate contact between finance and diplomacy; neither would consider any long-range plan, whether peaceful or warlike, without making sure of the other’s goodwill” (loc. 1000; 1004). Although it would function to maintain peace for nearly 100 years, “haute finance was not designed as an instrument of peace; this function fell to it by accident” (loc. 1,029). From the beginning haute finance was about making money. The development of international trade and the free market system required peaceable relationship between nations. Peace was a necessary condition of gain, but only a certain brand of peace: “Not peace at all cost, not even peace at the price of any ingredient of independence, sovereignty, vested glory, or future aspirations of the Powers concerned, but nevertheless peace, if it was possible to attain it without such sacrifice” (loc. 1,041). This brand of peace was not shalom. Instead of establishing wholeness, peace was a utilitarian function defined by the absence of large-scale war which, in turn, created fertile soil for international trade. As such trade between nations developed, it became linked with peace. “In the past the organization of trade had been military and warlike . . . Trade was now dependent upon an international monetary system which could not function in a general war” (loc. 1,111-13). Growing capitalistic endeavors led to growing prosperity in the Powers, giving the illusion that it was the presence of peace that was leading to financial gain, rather than the other way around. This contrasts with the kind of peace, even prosperity, found in Jeremiah 29. Here shalom is translated as both peace and prosperity, but it retains with it the attribute of wholeness or intactness. Peace and prosperity in the midst of exile were to be the product of pursuing wholeness in relationship between the exiles and their captors. They were to “build houses,” “plant gardens,” “marry,” “grow in number.” Through seeking “just, harmonious and enjoyable relationships” (a shalom phrase from Bryant Myers) God would prosper both the exiles and their captors. This is a markedly different mindset than one that sees peace as a necessary precondition for increasing wealth. In Jeremiah 29, peace was the means and the end. Regarding the climate that haute finance brought to peace in the nineteenth century Polanyi writes, “Take this economic system away and the peace interest would disappear from politics. Apart from it, there was neither sufficient cause for such an interest, nor a possibility of safeguarding it, insofar as it existed” (loc. 1,169). He later goes on to describe in detail how the collapse of the global economic markets led to both World Wars. I wonder how much we reflect this utilitarian view toward peace in our nation-building efforts today? Are we really interested in shalom or are we using the promise of peace via freedom and democracy as a way to create emerging markets that we can control for our nations’ benefit?
