I have no idea whether Steve Hilton, the Republican candidate for governor of California, is a Christian. And frankly, for purposes of what I want to say here, it doesn’t matter very much.
What interests me is his recently released proposal for dealing with California’s homelessness crisis, because I think it illustrates something Christians must think about more carefully: What does compassion actually require?
Hilton calls his proposal “Off the Streets and Back on Track.” The basic idea is remarkably straightforward. California would build a network of Homeless Recovery Centers where people currently living on streets, sidewalks, parks, and encampments could receive shelter, food, showers, medical attention, addiction treatment, psychiatric care, job training, and help moving into permanent housing.
Families, women, veterans, and elderly residents would have separate secure accommodations. People struggling with drug addiction would be offered treatment. Those suffering from serious mental illness would receive appropriate psychiatric care. Those capable of working would be connected with community colleges, apprenticeship programs, employers, and job training. Caseworkers would help individuals move toward stable housing and continue providing care when necessary.
And then comes the other half of the proposal—the half that will undoubtedly make some people uncomfortable.
The encampments would be cleared.
Public camping laws would once again be enforced. If a safe and appropriate place is available, declining that help would not confer a permanent right to occupy a sidewalk, public park, or street.
I find that combination—not one half without the other—very important.
Compassion and Order Are Not Enemies
For years now, I have been arguing with some of my progressive Christian friends about what we mean when we use words like compassion, justice, and care for the poor.
Christians are unquestionably commanded to care for the suffering.
There is no wiggle room there.
The widow, the orphan, the poor, the stranger, the sick, the prisoner, the abandoned—Scripture repeatedly directs our attention toward people who are vulnerable. A Christianity that simply walks past suffering and says, “Not my problem,” is difficult to reconcile with Jesus.
Le Bon Samaritain, Rembrandt, 1632-1633.
But something else does not follow from that.
The Bible does not hand us a state budget.
It does not specify the proper size of Medicaid, the correct marginal tax rate, how much California should spend on homelessness, whether housing should come before addiction treatment, or under what circumstances someone suffering from serious mental illness should be compelled to receive care.
Those are questions of prudence.
Compassion tells us that the person sleeping beneath an overpass matters. Prudence asks: What will actually help him?
And those are not always the same question.
R. R. Reno recently made a related point while discussing immigration. Pastoral language about welcoming or accompanying people may express a genuine Christian moral concern, but it does not by itself tell governing authorities where limits should be drawn or how competing obligations should be balanced. Governments still have to govern.
The same principle applies here.
Is Leaving Someone in a Tent Compassionate?
Consider the strange situation we have created.
A man is living beneath a tarp. He may be addicted to fentanyl. He may suffer from schizophrenia. He hasn’t bathed in weeks. He is vulnerable to assault, disease, exploitation, overdose, heat, cold, and predatory drug dealers.
One “enlightened” response amounts to:
Here is a clean needle. Here is some food. Here is a blanket. We will respect your autonomy. Good luck.
Is that compassion or abandonment dressed in compassionate language?
Hilton’s proposal takes a different approach. Get the person inside. Feed him. Give him a bed and a shower. Find out what is wrong. Treat the addiction. Treat the mental illness. Help him acquire skills. Help him find employment if he is capable of it. Help him eventually find stable housing.
And, yes, establish some expectations along the way.
That strikes me as a much richer understanding of human dignity.
Human beings possess dignity precisely because they are more than bundles of immediate desires. We are embodied creatures capable of relationships, responsibility, work, recovery, community, and—in Christian terms—redemption.
Sometimes love comforts.
Sometimes love intervenes.
Often it does both.
Twenty-Four Billion Dollars Should Buy Accountability
There is another part of Hilton’s proposal that connects directly with something I have been writing about for months: government spending is not the same thing as compassion.
California allocated nearly $24 billion to homelessness and housing between fiscal years 2018–19 and 2022–23. That number does not come from a partisan campaign advertisement. It appears in the California State Auditor’s own report.
And what did the auditor find?
Not that every program was worthless. In fact, two of the five programs examined appeared to be cost-effective.
But the auditors could not adequately evaluate three of the five because California had not collected sufficient outcome data. The state had also failed to consistently track costs and results across its homelessness efforts.
Think about that.
Billions upon billions of dollars—and government often could not confidently tell taxpayers what was working.
I’ve made this point before: Christian stewardship should care about that too.
If I give $1,000 to a charity claiming to feed hungry children and discover that nobody is checking whether children are actually being fed, asking questions about the money does not demonstrate my lack of compassion.
It demonstrates stewardship.
Why should $24 billion of taxpayers’ money be morally different?
The proper measure cannot simply be: How much did we spend?
The question is: Did suffering decrease? Did people recover? Did they remain housed? Did addicts become sober? Did mentally ill people receive treatment? Did families get back on their feet?
Hilton proposes auditing homelessness spending, publishing costs and outcomes, and redirecting money away from programs that repeatedly fail toward treatment and recovery programs that produce measurable results.
That ought not be a left-wing or right-wing principle.
It is common sense.
Neither Cruelty Nor Sentimentality
The fundamental principle: We do not have to choose between abandoning people on the streets and abandoning public order.
A civilized society should be capable of saying two things simultaneously.
You may not live indefinitely on this sidewalk.
And:
We are not going to abandon you.
Come inside.
Here is a bed.
Here is food.
Here is medical care.
Here is addiction treatment.
Here is psychiatric treatment.
Here is job training.
Here is someone whose job is to help you get back on your feet.
But no, we are not going to pretend that living in a tent while addicted, mentally ill, sick, exploited, and isolated represents some higher form of human autonomy that the rest of society is morally obligated to preserve.
That isn’t compassion.
There is a distinctly Christian insight here.
Christian love never means simply affirming another human being exactly where he happens to be and then walking away. We meet people where they are because they bear the image of God.
But we love them too much to insist that they remain there.
For California’s homeless, perhaps genuine compassion begins with something as concrete as this:
Come in off the street. Let’s help you get your life back.
Addendum: A Role for Private Generosity
One final thought. I’m confident that many of the tech titans who call San Francisco and Silicon Valley home would be willing to make substantial charitable contributions toward solving this crisis—if they had good reason to believe their money would actually make a difference.
But there’s another economic reality California’s political leadership would be wise to consider. Wealthy individuals and businesses can relocate, and California’s high taxes and recurring proposals for additional wealth taxes create incentives for them to do precisely that.
This is something advocates of wealth taxes, including those aligned with the Democratic Socialists of America (DSA), don’t understand. Wealth today is not primarily land, as it was centuries ago. Much of it consists of financial assets, intellectual property, business ownership, and highly mobile capital. People can move, companies can relocate, and investment can flow elsewhere. Not without complications, of course, but much more readily than a landed estate could move in the eighteenth century.
And when wealthy entrepreneurs leave, California risks losing more than tax revenue. It can also lose jobs, investment, civic leadership, and substantial philanthropic resources.
California still has extraordinary private wealth and philanthropic potential. But government policies that discourage wealth creation or encourage its departure may also diminish the very resources available to address problems like homelessness.
Imagine what might happen if government, private philanthropy, churches, and charitable organizations worked together around a serious, transparent, results-oriented plan. Not simply managing homelessness, but actually helping people escape it.
Accountability doesn’t discourage generosity. It gives generosity a reason to flourish. And sound economic policy helps preserve the wealth that makes such generosity possible.
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We Don’t Have To Live Like This