Practising Christianity: A Comparative Odyssey

Introduction

The purpose of this paper is to answer the question of whether it is possible, i.e., logically or practically, for a person to practice Christianity in the sense required or prescribed by the New Testament writers.

Focusing specifically on the economy of the early church, I defend Kierkegaard’s analysis: that the practice described in the NT is radically different to the armchair Christianity most of us are familiar with. I draw on the analyses of Sergei Bulgakov in Philosophy of Economy: The World as Household and David Bentley Hart’s work on the same, as well as his commentary in his own translation of the New Testament. I discuss how this raises questions for the proper Christian’s engagement within a capitalist society, how one can “be in the world but not of it[1]”, and outline what a true New Testament Christianity might look like, expanding on Kierkegaard’s implications.

I

—Kierkegaard’s Diagnosis—

In the final years of his life, Søren Kierkegaard launched a sustained attack on what he called “Christendom.” His target was not Christianity itself, but the cultural, and institutional form Christianity had assumed in 19^th century Denmark. Kierkegaard’s Attack on Christendom begins with a simple observation. Christianity and Christendom are not the same thing.

The New Testament presents Christianity as a form of life. It requires self-denial, obedience, and the imitation of Christ. Christendom sanitises this into something else. Christianity becomes a culture, a tradition, a social identity. One is born into it. Everyone belongs to it. The result is that Christianity becomes easier, precisely because it is universal.

For Kierkegaard, this is not a minor corruption. It is a reversal. In the New Testament, Christ stands in opposition to the world:

“Our Lord Jesus Christ, Himself absolutely expressing opposition, stands in a world which in turn absolutely expresses opposition to Him and to His Teaching.[2]“

The relationship is antagonistic. The disciple follows Christ against the grain of society.¹

Christendom dissolves this tension. The world becomes Christian. The state becomes Christian. The culture becomes Christian. Suddenly, the individual can be assured that he is a Christian simply because everyone around him is one. The difficult task of discipleship is replaced by membership to a social club.

The consequence is that the radical demands of the New Testament remain on the page, but cease to function as such. They become symbols, ideals, aspirations, or pious exaggerations. The texts are admired, rather than obeyed.

Kierkegaard’s concern is, consequently, not hypocrisy, but honesty:

“Quite simply: I want honesty.”[3]

He is not claiming that he has achieved the standard set by Christ. His complaint is that Christians no longer admit that there is a standard. The distinction between Christianity and ordinary social life has been erased. What originally existed as a visible contradiction to prevailing social norms. In Christendom, however, Christianity and society have become largely indistinguishable.

This is why Kierkegaard can write that Denmark is a Christian nation, while simultaneously insisting that “not a single one of us is in the character of the Christianity of the New Testament.” [4] The contradiction is deliberate. A society can call itself Christian while systematically insulating itself from the actual demands of Christ.

So, Kierkegaard’s method is remarkably straightforward. He wishes to place “the leniency which is the common Christianity in the land” alongside the New Testament itself [5]. The question is not what Christianity has become, but what the texts say. If there is a contradiction between the two, it is the texts that must set the standard for Christendom, rather than Christendom that sets the standard for the text. Kierkegaard’s concern was not historically unique. Diarmid MacCulloch notes that one of the defining patterns of Christian history is the emergence of reform movements that arise in response to the church’s accommodation to surrounding society. The rise of monasticism after Constantine, for example, functioned as a critique of an increasingly respectable and institutional Christianity [6]. Kierkegaard’s attack on Christendom therefore belongs to a much older tradition of Christian self-critique

The force of Kierkegaard’s argument is that it shifts the burden of proof. The assumption is usually that Christianity is moderate, practical, and compatible with ordinary bourgeois life unless proven otherwise. Kierkegaard reverses this. The New Testament should be assumed to mean what it says unless there are compelling reasons to think otherwise.

The question, then, is whether the New Testament actually contains the sort of radical demands Kierkegaard believed Christendom had concealed. To answer that question, we must turn to the texts themselves.

II

—The New Testament’s Actual Demands—

Hart notes that modern Christians often underestimate the radicalism of the New Testament. The texts are not moderate. “The Gospels, the epistles, Acts, Revelation” are, as he puts it, “relentless torrents of exorbitance and extremism,”[7] and consequently “the qualified, moderate, commonsense interpretation is always false.[8]“

Rather than attempting to reconcile the texts with later theological developments and modern economic sensibilities, Hart attempts to read them on their own terms.

Matthew 6:19-24 presents a direct challenge to the accumulation of material wealth. Jesus commands:

“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume…”[9]

The issue is not merely greed. The object of criticism is the storing up of earthly treasure itself, reinforced a few verses later:

“You cannot serve both God and wealth”[10].

The earliest Christian churches appeared to have taken these teachings literally. Acts 2:44–45 reports that:

“All who believed were together and had all things in common… would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need.”

Acts 4:34-37 develops the point more explicitly:

“…no one claimed private ownership of any possessions, but everything they owned was held in common. There was not a needy person among them, for as many as owned lands or houses sold them and brought the proceeds of what was sold. They laid it at the apostles’ feet, and it was distributed to each as any had need.”

Whatever one makes of these passages, they describe a community whose economic life was recognisably distinct from that of the surrounding society. As Hart remarks, “I doubt we would think highly of their kind if we met them today.”[11]

Jesus’ encounter with the rich ruler makes the point in no uncertain terms. The ruler affirms his perfect obedience to the law. Jesus replies:

“Sell all that you own and distribute the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me”[12].

When the ruler leaves in sorrow, Jesus refuses to soften the command. He intensifies it:

“How hard it is for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God. Indeed, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God”[13].

Hart’s conclusion is that “Christ condemned not only an unhealthy preoccupation with riches, but rather the getting and keeping of riches as such,” and notes that “these counsels are stated, quite decidedly, as commands.” While Christians throughout history have debated the applicability of these injunctions to our own situation, the cumulative force of the texts, combined with the way they so obviously informed the practice of the early church in Acts, creates serious tensions for us. The earliest Christian writings consistently present material renunciation, economic sharing, and suspicion of wealth not as optional ideals for spiritual elites, but as ordinary normative features of Christian practice.

III

—Economic Theology: Bulgakov—

If Kierkegaard’s complaint is that Christendom has sanitised Christianity to make it comfortable, then Bulgakov’s is that modernity’s economism has made it invisible.

He begins with a simple observation:

“One of the most outstanding traits of contemporary humanity’s outlook is something we might call the economism of our epoch.

So-called economic materialism constitutes merely the most radical and perfect formulation of this general attitude and, however questionable this doctrine may seem to us, however shaky its philosophical, scientific, metaphysical, and empirical foundations, this deeper significance makes it something more than just a scientific doctrine that crumbles when it is shown to be inadequate.”[14]

The point is not merely that modern people care about money—every age has—but that modern people increasingly understand reality itself through economic categories. As Bulgakov puts it,

“Our epoch loves wealth—not money, but specifically wealth.[15]”

Human power is measured in terms of production, accumulation, and consumption, resources to be used—what Heidegger calls “standing reserve”[16]. Wealth becomes not merely a means, but a horizon.
Consequently, Bulgakov argues that economic thought is never neutral. Political economy presents itself as a science, but beneath its calculations lie assumptions about what human beings are, and what they are for. These assumptions become so familiar that they cease to appear as assumptions at all. Economism acquires the status of ‘common sense’. It becomes, in Bulgakov’s words, the “reigning worldview.”[17]

This observation helps explain the difficulty modern Christians often have with texts such as Matthew 6, Acts 2, 4, and Luke 18. The problem is not that these passages are obscure. Their meaning is often embarrassingly clear. The problem is that they are encountered within a civilisational context organised around priorities at odds with what the texts so plainly say. When Jesus commands the rich ruler to “sell all he owns”, modern readers instinctively search for qualifications—for reasons why the text must apply to him, but not to ourselves. When Acts describes believers holding “all things in common” and owning no private property, we immediately ask whether the arrangement was temporary, voluntary, exceptional, or symbolic. The urge to soften the text arises before exegesis even begins.

Bulgakov’s point is not that economics is unimportant. Quite the opposite. Economy concerns the most basic conditions of human life. It touches labour, property, survival, and material existence itself. But once economic activity becomes the primary lens through which reality is interpreted, it begins to function as a replacement theology. It tells a story that frames what is valuable, what constitutes flourishing, and what kind of future ought to be pursued. In this sense, economism becomes a rival vision of the Good.

From the vantage of our age, the practices of the early church inevitably appear irrational. A community that sells property, distributes wealth according to need, and treats accumulation with suspicion looks economically nonsensical. Yet this is precisely the point. Acts presents a community operating according to a different kind of logic. Wealth is subordinated to fellowship. Property is subordinated to need. Security is located not in accumulation, but in the Kingdom of God.

For Bulgakov, then, the problem is not that the New Testament lacks clarity. The problem is that modern Christians read the New Testament from within a civilisation whose basic assumptions about wealth, property, and human flourishing differ fundamentally from those of the apostolic church. Economism functions as a rival theology, shaping what can be imagined, desired, and ultimately believed. The distance between Christendom and Christianity, diagnosed by Kierkegaard, is therefore not merely institutional. It is economic.

IV

—Implications: What Authentic Christian Practice Would Require—

Taken together, Kierkegaard, the New Testament, and Bulgakov diagnose the same problem from three different angles. Kierkegaard identifies the sociological mechanism, the New Testament provides the substantive content, and Bulgakov explains the economic logic, which obscures the original vision.

Kierkegaard’s concern is that Christianity has been made socially acceptable. Christendom preserves the language of Christianity while quietly removing its demands. The New Testament reveals what many of those demands actually are. Material accumulation is treated with suspicion. Wealth is regarded as spiritually dangerous. The earliest churches shared possessions and redistributed resources according to need. The rich ruler is instructed to sell everything he owns. Whatever interpretive difficulties remain, these texts present a form of life that differs sharply from the assumptions of modern liberal societies. The more Christianity accommodates itself with prevailing social arrangements, the more alien it becomes to the movement the New Testament describes. What remains is often a religion that, as Hart says,

“…affirms the kind of people they are, rather than—as is actually the case—the kind of people they are not, and really would not want to be.[18]”

Bulgakov explains why this difference is so difficult for modern Christians to perceive. Economism has become the dominant horizon of contemporary life. Wealth accumulation, economic growth, private property, and material security present themselves not as contestable values, but as self-evident goods. Consequently, Christians encounter Scripture from within an intellectual horizon already structured by assumptions foreign to the text itself and its earliest recipients. The result is that commands that once appeared straightforward appear symbolic, exceptional, hyperbolic, or impracticable. What presents itself as interpretation is frequently accommodation. The text is not so much read as translated into the categories of an alien worldview. The tendency to reinterpret radical commands as symbolic, exceptional, or impractical is therefore not accidental. It reflects the influence of a rival vision of human flourishing.

Here, an obvious objection presents itself. The economic practices described in Acts may have been shaped by the early church’s expectation of Christ’s imminent return. If the first Christians believed history was approaching its conclusion, then the liquidation of property and the sharing of possessions may have appeared more reasonable than it does today. This consideration has some genuine explanatory force, but it does not dissolve the problem. The relevant texts are canonical, i.e., they continue to occupy a normative position within Christian Scripture. Even if one grants the influence of eschatological expectation, the burden of explanation merely shifts. Why should practices once regarded as normative cease to be treated as such? The historical context clarifies the question; it does not answer it. The burden remains on Christians to explain why commands and examples once regarded as normative no longer apply.

The question, then, is not whether Christians must reproduce the economy of the early church in every detail. The New Testament itself provides no complete economic blueprint. The more basic question is whether Christian communities are recognisably shaped by the values that these texts consistently command. If Matthew 6, Acts 2–4, and Luke 18 are taken seriously, certain features seem unavoidable: a willingness to subordinate property to need, resistance to the accumulation of wealth as an end-in-itself, a commitment to material solidarity, and a visible difference from the surrounding culture.

Which brings us back to Kierkegaard. Practising Christianity becomes most difficult precisely when it ceases to appear difficult. A church perfectly at home within the economic assumptions of its age may be successful, respectable, and culturally influential. What it cannot easily claim is continuity with the world described in the New Testament. The earliest Christians appear not as well-adjusted participants in their society, but as a strange people whose economic practices reflected both a different understanding of reality and the requirements of its sacred texts.

Authentic New Testament Christianity remains logically possible. Nothing prevents Christians from organising their lives around the communalist values prescribed in these texts. The difficulty is social, rather than conceptual. In a late-stage capitalist civilisation structured around accumulation, consumption, and economic growth, such practices will tend to appear irrational, extreme, or even threatening. For that reason, Christianity in its New Testament form is likely to survive not at the centre of society but at its margins. The distance between Christianity and Christendom identified by Kierkegaard has not disappeared. It has sharpened.

Conclusion

Kierkegaard’s contention was that Christianity becomes most endangered when it is made acceptable. Once the church is reconciled to the world, the demands of the New Testament cease to appear as demands. They remain in print, liturgy, and doctrine, but no longer function as obligations. I have argued that his diagnosis remains persuasive today. The New Testament’s treatment of wealth, property, and economic life is considerably more radical than most contemporary Christians are willing to acknowledge, and the practices of the earliest churches reflect that radicalism with uncomfortable clarity.

Bulgakov helps explain why this is so difficult to see. Modern people do not merely participate in economic systems; they inhabit an economic imagination. The assumptions of economism determine what appears realistic, rational, and morally intelligible before interpretation even begins. Consequently, the challenge posed by texts such as Matthew 6, Acts 2–4, and Luke 18 is often neutralised long before it is confronted.

The contribution of this paper has been to place Kierkegaard, the New Testament, and Bulgakov within a single argumentative framework. Together, they suggest that the distance between Christianity and Christendom is not merely theological or institutional, but practical and economic. Authentic New Testament Christianity remains possible. What is doubtful is whether a civilisation organised around accumulation, consumption, and perpetual growth can ever regard it as anything other than extremism.

References

Bulgakov, Sergei. Philosophy of Economy: The World as Household. Translated by Catherine Evtuhov. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2000. 39-42.

Hart, David Bentley, trans. The New Testament: A Translation. 2^nd Edition. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2023.

Heidegger, Martin. The Question Concerning Technology and Other Essays. Translated by William Lovitt. New York: Harper & Row, 1977.

Kierkegaard, Søren. Attack Upon Christendom. Translated by Walter Lowrie. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1944.

MacCulloch, Diarmid. A History of Christianity: The First Three Thousand Years (London: Allen Lane, 2009), 200–203.

The Holy Bible, New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition. Washington, DC: National Council of Churches, 2021.

[1] John 17:14-16. “I have given them your word, and the world has hated them because they do not belong to the world, just as I do not belong to the world. I am not asking you to take them out of the world, but I ask you to protect them from the evil one. They do not belong to the world, just as I do not belong to the world.”

[2] Søren Kierkegaard, Attack upon Christendom, trans. Walter Lowrie (1946), 39.

[3] Ibid. 23.

[4] Ibid. 42

[5] Ibid. 24

[6] MacCulloch. A History of Christianity (2009), 200–203

[7] Hart. The New Testament: A Translation. 2023, 32

[8] Ibid. 32.

[9] Matt. 6:19, NRSVUE.

[10] Ibid. 24.

[11] Hart, trans. The New Testament. 2^nd Edition. 2023, 37.

[12] Luke 18:22

[13] Ibid. 24–25.

[14] Bulgakov, Philosophy of Economy, trans. Catherine Evtuhov (2000), 39

[15] Ibid. 40

[16] Heidegger. The Question Concerning Technology. Trans. by William Lovitt. 1977.

[17] Ibid. 41

[18] Hart. The New Testament. 2023, 37.