Confucius Applied to the Ethics of Religious Knowledge

A contemporary scholar of Chinese philosophy wrote, “myths often contain an element of historical truth, and what passes for historical truth often has mythical elements.”[1] By implication, not everything that seems to be historically valid in a religious story is, for it is fair-game in that genre to assuage and even invent “historical” events to make theological points. Lest it be thought that histories are written objectively, it should not be forgotten that historical accounts are written by human beings, and thus are subject to our limitations, including bias. Nevertheless, religious stories, or myth, and historical accounts are different genres of writing, and have very different purposes and criteria. To conflate the two genres, or, moreover, any other domain with that of religion, is to deny the uniqueness of religion (as well as that of other, even related domains). Religion and ethics, for instance, are two, admittedly very closely related, domains of human experience.

Ethics is the field concerned with what a person should do, whereas religion goes beyond conduct to include, and be based on, the experience of transcendence that goes beyond, or is oriented to, beyondness. Religious mystics, such as Ramakrishna in the 1800s and Gertrude in a medieval monastery, would in all likelihood agree with Pseudo-Dionysius’s claim that religion goes beyond the limits of human cognition, perception, and sensibility (i.e., emotions). More precisely, religion, while being in our world, transcends it and does so inherently. Knowledge of the source, or infinite remainder, of religion inherently eludes us finite, corporeal beings, whereas knowledge currently beyond our grasp in domains such as politics, economics, the weather, and the other sciences can potentially be known by us. This qualitative epistemological difference is just one way of grasping why the domain of religion is unique, and thus warrants its own criteria, rather than any overreaching from historians and scientists. To be sure, the arrow goes both ways; distinctly religious criteria cannot legitimately dominate in the fields of history and natural science. Such overreaching in both directions has been the blight of religion especially in the last millennium at least in Europe.

To be sure, certain other domains are very closely related to that of religion. After all, five of the Ten Commandments contain ethical content, albeit crucially of a divine command rather than a human’s ethical theory. Recognizing that divine commands are not bound in principle to our notions of conduct that is ethical (or unethical), as Kierkegaard makes clear in Fear and Trembling in which Abraham’s attempted religious sacrifice of Isaac trumps the ethical verdict of attempted murder, it is legitimate to include religion in ethical analysis.

For example, whether knowledge is of the transcendent sort or merely potential, it is important not to overreach in what we think we know. This vice may be called epistemological arrogance. In fact, to Confucius, “knowledge (zhi) is to know what one knows and doesn’t know (2.17, 19.5). Such knowledge, in turn, enables one to learn (xue) what one doesn’t know.”[2] The arrogance in thinking one knows more than one does diminishes the knowledge that a person can potentially acquire. Hence, Confucius states in Analects 9.8, “The Master said, ‘Do I possess an all-knowing cognizance? I do not. If a simple fellow asks me a question, my mind at first is a complete blank, and I have to knock at both sides [of the question] until everything has been considered [and some clarity begins to emerge].’”[3] That is, Confucius (Kongzi) “did not think that he must be right; he was not obdurate; he was not self-centered.”[4] Intellectual humility is like a cup viewing itself as empty and thus as able to be filled; additional knowledge must overflow from an already-full cup.

Such humility is especially valuable when it is applied to knowledge in the religious domain, for to lapse there into overreaching as if a person could be omniscient (i.e., all-knowing), is to engage in self-idolatry. This is not so regarding knowledge in other domains. Therefore, the method that Confucius urges for earthly knowledge in those other domains pertains all the more when the human mind enters the domain of religion. Incidentally, to project self-idolatry onto intellectual arrogance in another domain is an example of religious criteria (and meaning) overreaching at the expense of the native criteria (and meaning) of the other domains.

I contend that with respect to religion, given the mind’s proclivity to overreach epistemologically (i.e., thinking one knows more than one does in a certain subject), it is prudent to be  ever vigilant in distinguishing religious belief, which is compatible with faith, from knowledge of divine things, which excludes faith and is ultimately self-contradictory because the essence of divinity is inherently beyond the limits of human cognition, perception, and emotion. Analects 2.17 refers to a statement ostensibly made by Confucius himself: “The Master said, ‘You [Zilu], do you know what I have been trying to teach you? To say that you know something when you know it and to say that you do not know something when you do not know it—this is true knowing[zhi].”[5] To be able to say what one knows and admit what one does not (yet) know is premised on knowing where the line between the two is. This in turn is premised on valuing knowledge. In Analects 19.5, “Zixia said, ‘To be aware each day of what you still don’t know and to remember after a month what you were able to absorb—this is proof of your love for learning.’”[6] A love of learning can be intuited by a person’s carefulness in making clear to others the limits of one’s knowledge.

In the religious domain, all that translates into resisting the temptation to presume to know not only what God is in itself (i.e., the essence of divinity), but also what God wants or wills and furthermore that God’s will must surely be behind some event in the world. To know that God caused an earthquake, for instance, lies beyond our ability to discern, and yet such overreaching has not been uncommon. To know that it is God’s will that a close relative dies at a certain time is similarly presumptuous, epistemologically, whereas to have faith, and thus a belief, that the loved one is in a better place fits with the human situs in the realm of religion. In stark contrast, to declare that the person is in a better place is dogmatic, and may say more about the psychology of the person making the statement than anything religious. Whereas a person enunciating more about economics or politics than the person actually knows is just pedantic, presuming to know that which lies beyond the limits of human cognition, perspective, and emotions in principle is of a sort of arrogance that is foisted by an utter self-contradiction: knowledge of that which is inherently beyond the limits of human knowledge. In trying to be akin to God, a human being flies too high and thus inevitably falls on one’s face. Humanity’s grasp of what divinity actually is may be more misguided than we assume. How, for example, is divine, theological love qualitatively different (i.e., unique) from the garden-variety love evinced typically in our world? It is easy to draw on psychology and metaphysics instead of looking below to a distinctly theological sort of love. Augustine’s notion of caritas love in his Confessions is soaked in emotion, and the Christian notion of divine agape love as self-emptying love is typically thought of metaphysically rather than distinctly theologically.

It is ironic that Confucius’s epistemological ethic can be so useful in how a person can approach religion as such. To be clear, in the Analects, Confucius is discussing knowledge that a person can potentially have. Such knowledge is not of the transcendent; in the religious domain, knowledge extends only so far and then belief must take over. This does not mean that the method proposed by Confucius cannot be used by people in discerning the limits of knowledge in matters of religion. The human susceptibility to over-reach in such matters even though faith is tacitly sacrificed in the process is so commonly exploited that more vigilance in distinguishing what one knows from what one does not know is needed. Divine revelation is by definition pristine, but it should not be forgotten that it must go through our atmosphere—or as through a smoky, stained-glass window—to reach us. Put another way, we are hardly pristine receptors, and yet we presume so to be even as we implicitly import psychology and metaphysics in essentially remaking divinity into something more familiar to the mind. David Hume’s The Natural History of Religion gets at the anthropomorphism that the human mind inevitably hangs on divine simplicity. For example, it is much more difficult for us to grasp the Christian theological notion of the Logos than its incarnation as a god-man because the latter is literally more familiar to us than is God’s creative rationale in Creation. To transcend a familiar mask of eternity—to use Joseph Campbell’s term—and be suspended in the mystery of the transcendent that lies inherently beyond our reach (not to mention our human form) is admittedly scary, but also so necessary to getting past religion in human terms.[7]

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1. Bryan W. Van Norden, Introduction to Classical Chinese Philosophy (Indianapolis: Hackett Pub., 2011), p. 2.
2. Mary Sim, “Why Confucius’ Ethics is a Virtue Ethics,” The Routledge Companion to Virtue Ethics, ed.s Michael A. Slote and Lorraine Besser-Jones (New York: Routledge, 2015), 63-76, p. 70.
3. Confucius, The Analects, trans. Annping Chin (New York: Penguin Books, 2014), p. 133.
4. Analects 9.4, in Confucius, The Analects, trans. Annping Chin (New York: Penguin Books, 2014), p. 131.
5. Confucius, The Analects, trans. Annping Chin (New York: Penguin Books, 2014), p. 20.
6. Ibid., p. 311.
7. This is essentially the thesis of my treatise, Godliness and Greed, which is published by Lexington Books. In my next book, God’s Gold, which unlike the first is written for a non-academic readership, I extend my thinking to how an anthropomorphic religion can be retained without the pitfalls of rendering the divine in so anthropomorphic terms.

Selfishness and Damnation on the Boston Subway

Imagine a crowded, standing-room-only subway car during rush hour in Boston, Massachusetts. Even though many riders are standing, a seated passenger keeps his backpack on the seat next to his own seat. It would be difficult upon seeing such a blatant display of selfishness not make certain assumptions about the man’s values and character. I did, twice on Boston subway trains, as I stood looking at one young man, and then another on another train about a month later who was doing the same thing. Because many of the train operators in Boston ignore their training by slapping the brake lever backwards all at once rather than gradually just before abruptly stopping at a station-stop, standing can be perilous. Once I found myself running through half of a trolley car to re-establish my balance because the driver had applied the brakes too abruptly.  The inconsiderateness for the riders could easily be inferred, and from that, we could say that the reckless employees suffered from the vice of selfishness. The same can be said of the drivers’ supervisors, for whom the word accountability was not in the English dictionary. With so much selfishness delimiting intending benefits to others that are intended by one’s decisions and actions, moreover, a dysfunctional organization and even an enabling society can be inferred. Some Christian theologians have sought to relate the ethical vice of selfishness to the religious sin of self-love, which as Pierre Nicole made clear in the seventeenth century, is mutually exclusive with Christian love from compassion. Even amid such clear relationships, the ethical and religious or theological domains should not be fused as if the two domains were actually one. To view selfishness self-love as containing both ethical and theological implications and yet hold that the two domains are qualitatively different—each having its own unique aspects—is the goal.

Selfishness is the manifestation of self-love that is oriented teleologically to the person’s exclusive benefit (i.e., private benefit). Although other people may benefit too, that is not within the selfish person’s purview. Typically, selfishness cuts off benefits going to other people and even a society as a whole. The vice is thus at odds with compassion, which fuels benevolence, because even if other people benefit, that byproduct is not motivated by a selfish person. Only such benefits as are in the self-interest, and thus  benefit, of a selfish person fall within one’s intentionality. That is not compassion.

A continuum from the ethical domain to that of religion may seem easily constructed; people of bad character are likely to go to hell rather than heaven. If the kingdom of God preached by Jesus in the Gospels is entered in this life by heartfelt acts of compassion to one’s neighbors and detractors alike, then people who are only concerned about themselves benefitting will not enter that spiritual state. As solid as this argument is, it is also vital not to constrain God’s omniscience (knowledge) and omnipotence (power) to fit within our ethical principles and theories. A figure such as Abraham might take a decision that is the inverse of compassionate—attempted murder of his only son—because God has decreed that Abraham sacrifice Isaac. To be sure, Abraham’s intent to make the sacrifice could hardly be considered selfish, but at the same time it is harmful rather than compassionate. God’s knowledge and power so surpass our own that we should take care in judging a selfish person soteriologically; salvation is up to God, not us.

John Calvin, a Protestant reformer in the sixteenth century, held that by absolute sovereignty, God has predestined an elect who are saved. Although he viewed wealth as a sign of God’s approval of the elect, it was not until the next century that Calvinists considered industriousness to be a Christian virtue.[1] Being rich could be an indication that, whether one is selfish or not, one is already saved among God’s elect. All this contradicts Jesus’s statement in the Gospels to the rich man that unless he gives up his fortune, he would not enter the kingdom of God; it would be easier for a camel to get through the eye of a needle. Furthermore, wealth as a sign of divine favor leaves out the divine favor that could be supposed to be lavished on monks such as Cuthbert and Godric of Finchale, who lived intentionally impoverished lives so to be worthy of being saved. Wealth as a sign of divine favor also flies in the face of the preachments of such religious notables as St. Francis of Assisi and Luther, both of whom can be interpreted as attempting to apply brakes to the emerging and maturating Christian pro-wealth paradigm in their respective times.[2] As a species of selfishness, greed—the desire for one’s own gain—is difficult to reconcile with neighbor-love as compassionate benevolence. A greedy, selfish person who claims to be saved by the blood of Christ on the Cross because Jesus died for mankind as if the person’s debt to God is already paid flies in the face of the claim made both by Paul and Augustine that God is love. To be in union with God thus requires that a person loves, and selflessly (agape) at that. In short, free-will must voluntarily chose compassionate love for a person to be among the elect. In fact, Samuel Hopkins, who was a protégé of the New England theologian and philosopher, Jonathan Edwards, claims in his book on holiness that the essence of the kingdom of God is kindness and acts of compassion oriented to the humanity of people who dislike one or whom one dislikes.[3] Such humane compassion is two degrees of separation from selfishness.

Even so, self-love and selfishness can be distinguished. Not only is the former term theological whereas the latter is of the domain of ethics; self-love, unlike selfishness, can include the intention and effort that benefits be extended to other people without instantiating compassion. In his book on virtue, Edwards himself distinguishes selfishness from “compounded self-love,” which differs from simple self-love because benefits are intentionally extended to other people rather than limited to oneself.[4] Similarly, Pierre Nicole, a seventeenth-century Jansenist Catholic priest and theologian, claims that the inherently sinful self-love can nonetheless be cleverly manifested as courtesy—but not interior kindness!—to other people because more can be gotten from laying out honey than from the stinginess of selfishness. Had the subway passengers moved their respective backpacks so someone standing could sit down to withstand the primitive, inconsiderate operation of the trains, perhaps a person who might have been useful might have sat in the suddenly empty seat. To clear off a seat with the intention of benefitting can be distinguished from having compassion for a passenger trying not to fall over or even be thrown forward in the train-car at the next station-stop. Hopkins, Edwards, and Nicole were all very clear in averring that even if self-love can have intentional beneficial consequences for other people, which are of course in the acting person's self-interest, the root is still a sin, and a sin is not identical to a vice or any unethical decision or action. Sin is utterly incompatible with compassion that resonates either from love directed to God (i.e., caritas) or selfless love (i.e., agape).  Self-interest, which is selfishness oriented to a goal, and is based in ethics rather than theology, is incompatible only with the second type of Christian love, agape. Even so, exercising such (wholly religious) agape love can be very unethical. In the religious (but not ethical) domain, ethical scruples should not get in the way of obeying a divine command.  

In Fear and Trembling, Kierkegaard distinguishes the universally-accessible moral domain from that of the divine command that only Abraham receives.  What is attempted murder (of Abraham’s son, Isaac) in moral (and legal) terms is a sacrifice in religious terms. Both domains are valid in themselves and their respective meanings, and they relate to each other, as in the story of Abraham, but attempted murder and religious sacrifice are qualitatively different. This point is also clear in the Book of Job, as Job is a righteous man and thus does not deserve to be made to suffer by the devil even as a test sanctioned by the Old Testament deity. Abstractly stated, divine omnipotence (i.e., all-powerful) means that divine command cannot be constrained by human ethical principles. Regarding the five Commandments that have ethical conduct, it is explicitly based on divine command, and thus on divine will, and thus is not a constraint on the deity. This does not mean that the ethical itself is theological in nature.

So, while it is tempting to relegate a selfish person to hell as a sordid reprobate, especially as selfishness is antithetical to benevolentia universalis, which in turn is a manifestation of “God is love” in Christianity, both our own finite nature as judges and the distinction between acting unethically and obeying a divine command, and, moreover, being saved, mitigate against making such a hasty and wholly convenient category mistake that superimposes that of the creature onto the Creator. It could be that the man on a crowded subway train puts his backpack on the seat next to him because suffers from PTSD or is autistic. Even such a simple justification, which separates our ethical verdict from God’s judgment on the man’s selfishness, can easily pass by mere creatures such as homo sapiens.  

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1. Skip Worden, God’s Gold: Beneath the Shifting Sands of Christian Thought on Profit-Seeking and Wealth. See also the author’s related academic treatise, Godliness and Greed: Shifting Christian Thought on Profit-Seeking and Wealth (Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2010). The first text is of the non-fiction genre for the general educated reader, whereas the second text is of the academic genre. Ironically, God’s Gold not only contains additional chapters, but is also an ideational improvement on God’s Gold, especially concerning the concluding chapter of both books. A Christian apologist, for instance, would prefer the conclusion of God’s Gold, which hinges on the Logos in answering a critique of anthropomorphism from David Hume’s Natural History of Religion. Sometimes better ideas reach a general readership rather than cloistered, over-specialized academia.

2. Ibid.

3. Samuel Hopkins, An Enquiry into the Nature of Holiness (New York: William Durell, 1710).

4. Jonathan Edwards, The Nature of True Virtue (Ann Arbor, MI: The University of Michigan Press, 1960).

Sarah Mullally as the Archbishop of Canterbury

On January 28, 2026, Sarah Mullally became the first woman to occupy the seat of the archbishop of Canterbury, which is the spiritual leader of the Church of England under its governor, the British King (or Queen) and of the worldwide Anglican Communion, which includes the Episcopal Church. The King (or Queen) being above the archbishop in the Church of England is in line with Thomas Hobbes’ seventeenth-century theory that the sovereign should be in charge of church and state lest civil war break out (again). Just as a British king is a man and a queen is a woman, so too, as of 2026, the Archbishop of Canterbury could be a man or a woman. This of course set the Anglicans even further off from the Roman Catholic Church, where only men can be priests and bishops, including that of Rome (i.e., the Pope). I contend that the intransigence on this point is due to a logical error involving a category mistake just for added fun.

The Confirmation of Election service out of which Mullaly became the Archbishop of Canterbury “marks a milestone for the Church of England, which ordained its first female priests in 1994 and its first female bishop in 2015.”[1] That was not long before 2026, so progressives in that Church had reason to be astounded as the swiftness of the change. In no small measure, the relative progressive stance of King Charles after his conservative mother, Queen Elizabeth, enabled the first woman to occupy the position in just a decade after the first woman was made a bishop in the Church of England. The tremendous change in the societal role of woman in the West since the early 1970s and the effect of this change on how all of Jesus’s disciples being men in the Gospels has been perceived differently can also be said to be factors in Mulally’s confirmation as the archbishop. Seeing in the contemporary world that women are perfectly capable of leading large organizations and even governments, Christians would be more likely to view the all-male discipleship in the Gospels as reflecting the societal context of Jesus or the writers of the Gospels and thus as not bearing for the contemporary world. Additionally, the point that just because Jesus selects only men in the Gospels doesn’t in itself mean that only men could be disciples could back up the historical-context argument.

Nowhere in the Gospels does Jesus say that only men can be disciples; were that line in the stories, then adjusting to the modern context would be more difficult from a theological standpoint. One of the problems with the notion of scripture is that everything in it must be taken as truth, so distinguishing, for example, between Paul’s personal opinion on women as leaders and a theological point that women should not be leaders in the Church is unfortunately difficult to do, if not utterly forbidden. That Paul’s stance on female leaders is so obviously his opinion, likely reflective of the world in which he lived, raises the thornier problem of including letters written to churches as part of scripture. Once a document has been declared to be scriptural, separating the wheat from the chaff becomes very difficult if not impossible from a theological standpoint. This is reflected in the opposition to Mullally’s appointment.

“Gafcon, a global organization of conservative Anglicans, says Mullally’s appointment is divisive because a majority of the Anglican Communion still believes only men should be bishops.”[2] In the Gospels, however, Jesus does not say, “Only men should be bishops,” and that he chooses only men is descriptive rather than normative. Hume’s naturalist fallacy holds that you can’t get normativity from a statement that is only descriptive. In other words, you can’t get “ought” out of “is”; something more is needed to say that what is, should be. If, for example, Jesus is to say, “only men should be my disciples” in the Gospels, the readers would expect a justification to also be stated as to why only men should be in the religious role. If there is a theological justification, readers would naturally expect Jesus to state it.

These problems aside, that the Roman Catholic Church had come to recognize Mary Magdalene as the Apostle to the Apostles may undercut that sect’s insistence that only men can (and should) be priests and bishops, especially since the discovery of the Gospel of Mary Magdalene in which she occupies a significant place in Jesus’s ministry. So perhaps more stunning than the swift change in the Church of England in the appointment of Mullally is the utter stubbornness of social-religious conservatives in that Church as well as in the Church of Rome.

Moreover, that matters given scant if any attention in the Gospels (hence excluding Paul’s personal letters to his congregations) have been so easily blown out of proportion many centuries after the Gospels were written, such as homosexuality, gender and the priesthood, and even abortion, demonstrates the vulnerability of the human mind’s self-check mechanism in the domain of religion (and politics). Religion loses its core element of transcendence and is instead so easily filled with personal ideology, in which is none other than self-love as self-idolatry. Rather than having compassion for “thy enemies,” ideological worship of oneself belies Jesus’s message in the Gospels on how to enter the Kingdom of God. Ironically, compassion even to the marginalized is in line with Paul’s dictum not to cause one’s brother (or sister) to stumble.

Lest this be viewed as an unabashedly progressive stance, it should be observed that feminist interpretations of the Gospels’ contents can easily replace theology with (feminist) ideology, such that the religion that results is in the very image of the feminists themselves. The same can be said of remaking Christianity according to queer theory. Such extravagances are just as damaging as reducing Christianity to opposition to abortion and homosexuality even though those two topics are not mentioned scarcely at all directly in the Gospels, and blowing one’s inferences out of proportion such that the religious text is distended beyond recognition is itself a manifestation of self-idolatrous ideology. 

I contend that were Christian sects to actually follow Jesus’s principles, conservative clergy would be oriented to serving the groups despised rather than fighting against them, and feminist and gay laity would serve conservative men in the clergy in respect to their humane needs. The last are first, and many of the first are actually last unless they put themselves after those whom they loath. Therefore, the conservative Anglican clergymen who opposed Mullally’s appointment were actually obliged as Christians to become servants of the female Archbishop of Canterbury, essentially washing her feet rather than castigating her as if being a female bishop rendered her as the Anti-Christ. Compassion for one’s detractors and those whom one dislikes does not imply agreement; rather, it is to begin the chore of expanding human nature to become a bridge of sorts to the Kingdom of God already in this world.

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1. Danica Kirka, “Sarah Mullally Confirmed as Archbishop of Canterbury, First Woman to Lead the Church of England,” APnews.com, January 28, 2026.
2. Ibid.

Devil’s Advocate

In the film, Devil’s Advocate (1997), human free-will plays a very important role. It has implications not only for whether humans tend to be good or evil, but also on how culpable God is for the evil that committed by humans. One of the devil’s sons by a mortal woman, Kevin Lomax, must choose whether or not to impregnate his half-sister, Christabella Andreoli, to produce the Anti-Christ, which John Milton, who is the devil, wants so much. In Christian theology, both the extent of free-will and how tainted it is from the Fall have been debated. Even within Augustine’s works, his thought changes. The one thing that cannot be asserted is that free-will both does and does not exist. Also, that so many greedy people have been so destructive of democracies and even the planet does not necessarily mean that God is responsible or that humans are not capable of choosing to do good over evil.

The full essay is at "Devil's Advocate."

The Vatican Tapes

After The Omen (1976), which was released just two years after the sardonic U.S. President, Richard Nixon, had resigned in utter disgrace from the presidency amid much economic and political pessimism in the 1970s generally, moviemakers got busy on stories involving demon-possession. The 2015 film, The Vatican Tapes, begins as an apparent demon-possession case and thus seems not to stand out among other such films, but towards the end of the film, when the demon-possessed young woman suddenly breaches the bounds of the sort of supernatural feats of which demons are capable, the true significance of her case emerges with stunning clarity. For that which possesses and kills the young woman is none other than the Anti-Christ, and that figure is in a wholly different league than demons.

The full essay is at "The Vatican Tapes."

Religious Liturgy and the Wholly Other

In the Zhuangzi, how can Zhuangzi possibly know that the fish are happy? To know what it is like to be a bat, a person must be a bat. This is not to say that we disagree with bats. Sonar represents the “sheer otherness” of a bat. In Christianity, how does eternal joy and bliss differ from happiness? Happiness is not a theological concept. There are different kinds of experience, and it follows that they have different kinds of truth-claims. To treat every such claim as the same kind of thing is premised on conflating domains of human experience that are qualitatively different. I contend that the domain of religion is both distinct and unique. Our ordinary ways of describing the world and even ourselves are not well-suited to our endeavors in the domain of religion.

The full essay is at "Religious Liturgy and the Wholly Other."

Iran’s Theocracy: An Uneasy Fusion of Religion and Political Economy

As mass protests erupted in Iran during the second week of January, 2026, Iran’s theocracy was on edge. That the protests stemmed from the dire economic conditions facing the people amid staggering inflation, including on basic food staples, rather than from foreign affairs, raises the question of whether religious clergy, including the “supreme leader,” Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, are competent in making economic policy. Without the ongoing political pressure that can come from constituents in a representative democracy, or republic, it is no surprise that the protests in Iran quickly became mass riots. In other words, bad economic policy by religious clerics in power in an autocracy can easily result in popular protests abruptly erupting into rioting. The overreaching of functionaries based in the domain of religion into politics (including economic policy), such that the distinctiveness of the two domains is ignored or obfuscated, can be distinguished from the problems that go with autocracy.

The full essay is at "Iran's Theocracy."